TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 26, 2380 RUINS OF MUSASHI CITY MUSASHI, OUTER RIM TERRITORIES Gryphon had long since begun to form the opinion that this trip wasn't going to be worth it. Radiation levels were higher than anticipated in the operative part of the ruins - not catastrophically higher, but enough to cut into the amount of time he'd expected to have available for the search. Besides which, it was almost immediately apparent that Breckenridge was right. Someone had been there before them. The ruins of the Seventh Street School showed distinct signs of having been entered and searched -after- the destruction of Musashi City. He hadn't expected entering the ruined school to affect him so strongly. It was a long time ago, after all, and he'd done a lot of hard living since then. There had been a time when he'd believed his heart sufficiently hardened that nothing reminding him of his old life, or of the way he'd lost it, could possibly penetrate it. That lasted until he found himself at the intersection with the hallway where his doppelganger had done the slaughter for which he had been hunted ever since. It came upon him suddenly, when he looked up from his tricorder and realized he was standing in the exact spot he had been that day, the closest he had ever managed to approach the room itself. Back there at the T-intersection was the doorway where the other him had shouldered past him. Utterly bewildered, he'd emerged from the door, advanced four paces up the hall toward the office... Black, desiccated traces of his blood remained on the floor here where Kei, thinking he had done the terrible thing whose evidence lay scattered all around her, had shot him. As he had that day, Gryphon fell to his knees, then to hands and knees. He vaguely remembered holding that position for a few seconds, trying to come to terms with the fact that he'd just been suddenly and perhaps mortally wounded by his lover of three centuries. There was a faint recollection of Kei walking toward him, her weapon leveled at his head. He wanted to ask her what the fuck was going on, but his body wouldn't work. He had just enough time to see her come to some kind of decision, her face hideously expressionless, and holster her sidearm before everything went black. Saavik lowered herself to one knee next to him, switching her tricorder to medical mode and playing it over him. "Your radiation exposure is still reasonably low," she told him. "Are you experiencing strong symptoms already?" Gryphon shook his head, struggling to to get control of himself. "No," he said. "I just... " With an effort, he pushed himself upright, settling back into a sort of seiza, and his face was tear-tracked as he turned to her and said, "It... happened here. The children were over there, by the office door. So was Kei. I fell here." He gestured to the faint bloodstains, mostly remaining only in the cracks between the one-foot-square floor tiles. Remaining businesslike, Saavik retrieved a swab from her field kit and collected some of the residue. Then she put a hand on his shoulder and asked, "Can you go on?" "Of... " Gryphon collected himself and clambered to his feet, looking disgusted with himself. "Of course I can," he said, a little roughly. "Come all this way for a breakdown. Pff." He wiped angrily at his face. You're right, you know. I'm too emotional." "I have never said you are -too- emotional," Saavik remarked mildly. "Indeed, were you not so emotional as you are, you would be a... rather colorless figure." Gryphon glanced at her as they moved up the hall, scanning. "Was that a compliment on my fiery human nature?" "You may very well think that," Saavik replied piously, her attention fixed on her tricorder. "I couldn't possibly comment." Unable to keep a rather goofy grin off his face, he followed her up the hall. /* The Who "The Seeker" _Meaty Beaty Big and Bouncy_ (1971) */ Eyrie Productions, Unlimited presents UNDOCUMENTED FEATURES EXILE Manhunt Part 3: Collect Telegram from the Edge of Forever Benjamin D. Hutchins (c) 2009 Eyrie Productions, Unlimited Gryphon's spirits didn't stay bucked up for long. As he and Saavik searched the ruins of the old school, they flagged, dipping lower and lower with each dead end. The Musashi City authorities had had time to do some initial investigation, and remove the bodies of the dead; whatever findings they might have made were lost when the center of the city was destroyed. There was nothing of use to be found in the classrooms, the hallways, or the maintenance spaces, all of which had seen combat as the WDF's Shadow Security Squad, the Lovely Angels, and Gryphon had entered from different directions to deal with the terrorists who had seized the place. The most promising item they found was in the old gymnasium. Gryphon remembered his battle with the bad guys in there as if it were yesterday - could still almost feel the exultation that had rushed through him when his last little dirty trick had worked and he'd freed the hostages held out there without losing one. The wreckage of his Cyclone remained where he had dropped it... but it bore not evidence that might be useful to him now, but rather the best evidence yet that someone had been here before him. The wrecked Veritech bike had been stripped of all identifying components. Any hope Gryphon might've had of proving that he was down here, and not halfway across the school getting ready to wipe out a fourth-grade class, was gone. He trembled for a moment on the edge of fury, his frustration boiling up within him, his pulse pounding in his ears. He knew this was at least partially due to the radiation his body was absorbing, which had already begun killing his cells, and would eventually start knocking bits off even his reinforced DNA. He fought it down with an effort of will, and as he did so, something occurred to him. "If we can't prove I was here," he said, "what about where the other me came from?" Saavik looked up from a fruitless examination of one of the Cyclone's broken pieces. "Pardon?" "He had to get here somehow. GENOM's big Star Destroyer wasn't in the system yet. The Lidless Eye was on CAP for the SDF-17's orbit; anything bigger than a small shuttle would've been spotted instantly. This situation unfolded fast. They couldn't have known ahead of time that I'd go along with the Triple-S until the last minute... so how did he get here? We're looking at this from the wrong end." He looked at his wristwatch. "Twenty minutes. Come on!" Saavik followed, silent, watching his mind work furiously as he led the way back to the spot where his life had come crashing down around him. This time he paid no attention to the memories and ghosts crowding around him; he went straight to the spot where his doppelganger had stood to commit his crime and looked around. He was beginning to perspire, his face was flushed, and Saavik didn't think it was only from emotion and exertion. She could feel her own face growing warmer. She wished that disagreeable trickle of sweat would stop running down the groove in the center of her back. For a moment, she wondered what it was called - she was sure she had known once - something to do with the spinalis thoracis? - but then put it aside. Now was no time to deal with ephemera. "I didn't see him before I got here," said Gryphon, mostly to himself. "Neither did Kei. So he didn't get in that way... or -that- way. Which... unless he came in a window... " He turned and walked fast down the branch hallway, past several classrooms, and out a side door into what had been the school playground, fiddling with the settings on his tricorder as he did so. With growing excitement, he passed the drooping remains of a seesaw and a merry-go-round, ducked under some sagging monkey bars, following the tricorder's beeping. "I knew it!" he cried. "Terminium? No reason for -that- to be on the grounds of a school." Picking up speed, he broke into a jog, heading for the far end of the schoolyard, where a small metal outbuilding had partially collapsed with time and corrosion. Actually -giggling- now, Gryphon said, "You, yes you, behind the bike sheds - stand still, laddie!" Then he rounded the end of the shed and stopped so abruptly that Saavik, who had been running to keep up with him, nearly ran into the back of him. In front of him was a blackened crater in the asphalt, perhaps six feet in diameter and two feet deep, with a few charred shards of metal scattered around the base of it... and that was all. Gryphon stood staring into the crater for a few long seconds, his face frozen in the remains of his giddy grin. The tricorder, still beeping, fell from his suddenly slack hand. As if triggered by the sound of it hitting the ground, he flew into a sudden rage, driving his fist into the back of the shed hard enough to dent the rusty sheet metal. "No! No, no, no, NO, we were so CLOSE!" he yelled. Saavik couldn't see what he was so worked up about. "What? What is it?" "There was a drop pod here," Gryphon said, gesturing to the hole. "One of the ones GENOM used to use to drop Boomer infantry... but it's GONE! Someone beat us TO it!" His face crimson with anger, he abruptly jerked his phaser from his belt and started blasting things, more or less at random. Saavik was paralyzed by shock for a moment, then seized his arm and tugged at it to get his attention. "Benjamin. BENJAMIN!" she barked. "Get hold of yourself! The radiation is affecting you very strongly now." She checked her own tricorder, then let it hang by its strap and took him by both shoulders, staring into his face with laserlike intensity. "We have received a dose of nearly four point five sieverts. We -must- get out of here." Gryphon wrenched himself out of her grasp and picked up his tricorder, his fingers scrabbling at its controls. "No! There might be something else - " Saavik grabbed his shoulders again. "You said it yourself. Someone's beaten us to it. Nothing further can be served by staying here to be fatally poisoned!" He tried to pull himself free again, but failed - she was sure of her grip this time. "We might be able to - " Her hands tightened convulsively, sending sharp pains shooting up both his arms as she shook him with more than slight violence. "YOU DUMB BASTARD, _LISTEN TO ME!_" she roared, her normally lovely (if somewhat angular and reserved) face almost demonic with fury. Gryphon blinked, utterly shocked out of his own fugue by her sudden, explosive rage. Saavik seemed to be nearly as shocked by it herself; she blinked back at him, the wrath erased from her face and replaced by the sort of surprise normally associated with sudden gunshot wounds. Slowly (for her hands had cramped with the force she was exerting) she released his arms, backed up a step, and glanced away, the shock on her face rapidly being overhauled by deep embarrassment. "... I think the radiation may be affecting me as well," she admitted awkwardly. Gryphon gave her a you're-not-kidding look tinged with a strange appreciation and agreed, "I think you may be correct. Let's get the hell out of here." They trudged around the school building in silence. When they reached the Cyclone parked out front, Gryphon regarded it for a moment, then turned to Saavik and said, "I feel a little lightheaded. Maybe you should drive." Saavik shook her head. "That would be inadvisable after my previous outburst. I may not be in complete control of myself." Gryphon threw his leg over the bike and got it upright. "I guess -not,-" he agreed; then, with a thoughtful look, he added, "Maybe you really -are- in the early stages of pon farr." "If I wasn't when we came here," Saavik said wryly as she stowed their tricorders in the cargo compartment on the back of the Cyclone, "I probably am now." Gryphon thumbed the turbine online. "Well, try to keep it together until we get back to base. I didn't bring my sleeping bag. Ow!" he added as she slugged him in his already bruised upper arm. "You -are- losing control of your emotions," he said, fingering the spot gingerly. Saavik climbed onto the back of the Cyclone, put her arms around him, and nestled against him with the ponderous deadweight of a person who is very, very tired. "Just drive," she said wearily, settling her cheek against the broad expanse of his upper back. "Just... drive." WOODY CREEK, COLORADO EARTH, CENTAURUS SECTOR Raoul Duke led Valeris into a smallish living room crammed with a couple of couches, a small table with what appeared to be an ancient typewriter on it, a gigantic television set, and an antique stereo rig with the biggest speakers she had ever seen. One of the couches had a large man dressed in black asleep on it; he snored lightly, but didn't stir as Duke and Valeris entered the room. Duke left her there, standing in front of the empty couch looking uncertainly around, while he went to the kitchen. A moment later the sound of an opening refrigerator drifted back to the living room, along with his voice: "You want a beer?" "No!" Valeris blurted, vaguely horrified, as she removed her coat; then, catching herself, she modulated her tone and replied, "Uh, no, thank you." Duke returned with a can of beer whose label Valeris couldn't read (it wasn't even in an alphabet she recognized); he tore off the pulltab, took a swig, and then said, "All right. You've got a message for me?" Valeris nodded, then hesitated, almost biting her lip. "I... well... Dr. Duke, it might be easier if I were to just... -show- you." She raised a hand with the fingers arranged in a particular pattern, hoping he knew enough about her species to understand what she was intimating. Duke's eyebrows shot up from behind his orange sunglasses, halfway to the green banker's visor he wore across his balding forehead. "Oh!" he said. He took another pull of his beer, then shrugged. "Okay, sure. Shit, why not. Lay it on me." Valeris took a half-step toward him, then another, until she was right in front of him, and placed her right hand against the side of his face, arranging her fingertips according to the ancient formula. She swallowed hard, but otherwise controlled her nervousness well as she reached out with her consciousness. "Your mind to mine," she murmured, looking through his shades into his eyes. "Your thoughts to mine. One and toGHHK." The "g" in "together" choked off in a strangled sound as Valeris completely lost track of her physical self. /* Blue Man Group "White Rabbit" _The Complex_ (2003) */ Valeris had touched relatively few minds in her time, not all of them by choice. The only other human she'd ever melded with had been trained in mental discipline possibly greater than her own, and had walled off the bulk of his ancient, well-traveled consciousness, only letting through the part he absolutely needed her to see and understand. Raoul Duke, on the other hand, either knew or cared nothing for psychic compartmentalization. He hid nothing, -attempted- to hide nothing. Everything he knew, everything he was, lay bare to her inspection, whether she wished to inspect it or not. Years before, Valeris had read a story by an ancient Earthman about a book written in an alien language, so incomprehensible to the human mind that the very shapes of its letters clawed at the sanity of any person who attempted to read them. Great wisdom and knowledge could be had in the book, but the price of attempting to gain them was huge. Raoul Duke's mind was that book, and she had just read every page at once. She almost pulled back, tried to tear herself away from the terrible truths she saw, but some part of her that remained rational knew that if she did that, she could potentially kill both of them, and in any case she would fail in her mission. She seized hold of that thought and held on with both hands, so to speak, as shock and weirdness buffeted her, threatening to destroy the very core of her identity. We were somewhere around Barstow (on the edge of the desert) when the drugs began to take hold. A man with the face of Raoul Duke (but whose name, Valeris was for some reason convinced, was Thompson) rose out of the mental chaos. Valeris tried not to focus on the fact that his features were constantly shifting with the flood of both his and her own memories. This was most difficult to ignore when her memory of the Spock from her own timeline came and went over Duke's features. It was really bad when her betrayed mentor's voice also overlapped. "Jesus, woman, why didn't you say something?" Spock/Thompson demanded. "Last thing I needed was to have to walk you and your weird baggage out of the Fear. Try to keep up. We're on a -deadline.-" The imperious instruction broke through her fugue, at least momentarily, and reminded her that she was supposed to be -supplying- the vision here, not receiving it. Marshaling all her remaining strength, she found the images she needed and pushed them outward, hoping the pounding in her head wasn't distorting them. As the flow of the meld reversed, Duke thought to himself, This reminds me of the time I tried dust. It was in a little club on Rigel called the Boostbox. There I was - mother of God, there I am! Holy fuck? He had no time to contemplate his mental reflection, though, as what was, essentially, a carefully edited version of all that had happened to Benjamin Hutchins since Duke had last seen him careened through their heads. "You sure you're ready for this, man? You're welcome to stay as long as you want." "No. No, I appreciate it, I really do, but I've got to get back out there. The answers I need aren't here in Woody Creek." "All right. I know what that's like. But come back anytime you like. When you find the information you need, bring it to me, we'll figure out how to get it spread where it'll do the most good. Shit, I'm a doctor of journalism, after all." A grin. "I know. Thanks for everything, Hunter. I'll see you later." A roar of turbines; gone. Catapulted into 80 years of adventures, near misses, close scrapes. Another visit to Earth, but in the wrong hemisphere - no time, nor a safe window, for a side trip to Woody Creek. A leap to an alternate dimension. Wild times as a member of what seemed like a later model of Starfleet. Suddenly the focus switched from Gryphon - from memories he had gathered and passed on to Valeris for conveyance to Duke - to Valeris's own memories, layered into the parts of her life that overlapped Gryphon's to provide context. Her part in a conspiracy to bring the Federation to war with the Klingons; her trial; her time in prison... ... her deliverance. "I can't make it," Roger Cartwright growled, staring with more anger than pain or dismay at the phaser burn in his left thigh. He turned to Valeris, fury burning in his sunken eyes, and grabbed her arm. "You go. Tell them I sent you in my place." Valeris blinked at him, astonished into speechlessness. "I - but - Admiral... " "-Go,- Valeris," he told her. "That's an order. Just do one thing for me when you're free." "Anything," she promised immediately. Cartwright grabbed her other arm, held her squarely in front of him, his bloodshot eyes boring into hers. "-Get that bastard Ben Hutchins,-" he snarled. Then, before she could form a reply, he turned her around and propelled her roughly toward the breach in the wall. "Go!" It took her six weeks to track down someone else with a grudge against Captain Hutchins that was the equal of Cartwright's in intensity, and who could help her exact the revenge she'd promised the disgraced admiral. She barely recognized him when she -did- find him, but he knew who she was well enough. Her trial had made that kind of headline. The scruffy figure slumped in the command seat bore little resemblance to the neat, even dapper Starfleet officer he had been twenty years before. His filthy, slapdash starship bore even less resemblance to the trim, taut (perhaps -overly- taut) vessels he had commanded in those days. But the eyes... the eyes were the same, as Cartwright's eyes had been the same, and a feral light came into them when she told him what she wanted his help doing. "My chief concern is obvious," she said. "Your vessel would be no match for a well-handled Constitution-class heavy cruiser." "Yes, well," the pirate captain replied, "you can help me with that, can't you? And I'll tell you what: I'll throw in a substantial discount for my services." Valeris arched a haughty eyebrow. "You intend to -charge- me for helping you exact your revenge?" James Cook Styles's grizzled, unshaven, haggard face creased in a nasty smile. "Ah, well," he said. He paused to take a swig from a little flask - Saurian brandy, if Valeris's sensitive Vulcan nose didn't lie - wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve, and went on, "I have a business to run here. Seeing that smug little bastard breathe vacuum would be more than payment enough for -me,- but my crew... they have expenses." Getting aboard the Invincible was surprisingly easy; word of her escape from Jaros II had presumably reached the fleet by that point, but who would ever have expected her to infiltrate a Federation starship? It was a simple matter of gaining access to Starbase 401 (for some strange reason, Hutchins always stopped at 401 inbound from rimward exploration, rather than proceeding straight to Spacedock), then slipping aboard with a shore party. A few judicious bribes to dockworkers, a few well-placed nerve pinches - one to an engineering crewman about her size - and it was just a matter of waiting for the vessel to be in deep space en route, well out of range of help, and then monkey-wrenching a few key systems. At which point, of course, Styles double-crossed her. Instead of the cool whisper of the transporter, her reward for rendering the Invincible vincible was the shocking pain and sick terror - yes, she wasn't too proud to admit it, terror - of coolant burns and radiation poisoning. Styles's first salvo shattered the base of the portside warp energy conduit not ten feet from the station she'd used to disable the vessel's drive and tactical systems. /* Robert Fripp "Here Comes the Flood" (feat. Peter Gabriel) _Exposure_ (1979) begin 02:25 */ Things became a strange blur at this point, events coming one on top of another, jostling for space like commuters on a crowded train. Sounds were muted and no one who spoke could be heard at all; colors seemed strangely washed out and the flow of recalled reality seemed to stutter and skip occasionally, slowing down and speeding up in no fixed pattern. Valeris remembered, or thought she remembered, some heroic someone, taking her for a gravely wounded genuine crewmate, dragging her up a Jefferies tube to sickbay. Then there was nothing but noise, light, panic, chaos. The deck shuddering, a horrible, unnatural sensation like space itself twisting into a knot and suddenly releasing; banging noises, rending metal, an atmospheric howl - a doubly frightful sound in a starship that was never supposed to touch atmosphere - and then a Godalmighty thunderous brain-wrenching CRASH Valeris was still residually amazed to have survived at all. /* end 03:56 */ The next thing she remembered was waking up in a cold, brightly lit room with a man leaning over her. "Hi," said Gryphon conversationally. "How are you feeling?" "I... " Valeris sat groggily up, touched the stinging burn on her face, and found herself surprised that it wasn't worse. The lightheadedness and nausea of radiation poisoning seemed to be gone, and she could feel that her broken parts had been mended. An intravenous drip was still connected to her arm; a look at the bag indicated that it contained a 10-percent solution of RadAway, assuming the label was accurate. "... seem to be intact," she finished. Gryphon nodded. "Good, good. Dr. Selar did the best she could with what she has to work with." He dragged over a collapsible chair, parked it next to the camp bed she lay in, put his feet up, and went on, "I'd like to know why you tried to kill me and my crew. Do you think you might be able to tell me that?" Mastering both her surprise at having survived and her dread at having been captured, Valeris turned so that she was sitting on the edge of the bunk and gave him her best blank look. "Certainly," she replied, then added, "I will not, but I am certainly -able- to." Gryphon regarded her without expression. "As such things go," he said at length, "that was pretty weak." Valeris shrugged slightly. "I was not aware that I would be judged on my standard of repartee." A tiny smile tugged at a corner of Gryphon's mouth. "That's a little better," he said. Then, rising, he walked a few paces away, his hands behind his back, before turning to face her again. "Look - what's your name? Valeris? Right. I'm genuinely mystified here. I mean, I understand you couldn't go after Jim Kirk on account of he's dead, but why me?" Valeris made no reply. He waited for a moment, then went on, "You destroyed my ship and got seven-eights of my crew killed." "Then take your revenge and be done with it," she suggested reasonably. "I will not waste the last few moments of my life pandering to your human curiosity." "It's not just a matter of idle curiosity." She raised an eyebrow at him again. "Surely you're not going to waste the survivors' time convening a -disciplinary hearing,-" she said mockingly. "No, and don't call me Shirley," Gryphon replied automatically, drawing a stifled snort from one of his officers, who were for the most part trying to remain inconspicuous over in the far corner of the large, empty room - some kind of space shelter, Valeris suspected, like the ones used to house mining crews on asteroids. She gazed at him blankly; he shook his head and went on, "I know -what- you did, at least in general terms. What I don't know - what I have to know, in order to decide what to do with you - is how and why. Without that, I don't know whether I'm dealing with a dangerous psychotic, or just a criminally deficient intellect." Color rose slightly in Valeris's cheeks. "I was the first Vulcan to graduate valedictorian from Starfleet Academy," she replied haughtily. "And I was the first midshipman to build a Viking longship in the zero-gravity lab," Gryphon shot back. "So what? Answer my question." Valeris blinked. "That was you?" "I had help," Gryphon admitted. Off to the side, Commander Saavik gave a small wave of acknowledgement, though Valeris couldn't help but notice that she didn't look at her in the process. "Anyway," he went on, steamrolling over the digression, "I wasn't even ON the Enterprise when you got busted for treason. I was somewhere in the Bessemer sector, hauling ass to get to Khitomer before your pseudo- revolutionary pals could kill everybody on the ship. Including you, I might point out." Despite her efforts to maintain a proper Vulcan reserve, the last part of his statement visibly struck a chord within Valeris. She regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, then said slowly, "... I confess that last point had not occurred to me." Gryphon returned to his chair. "Now we're starting to get somewhere," he said. "No," Valeris replied flatly, "we are not." She lay back down, careful not to disturb her IV, and fixed her gaze on a joint in the ceiling. "In fact, I see no point in prolonging this conversation further." Gryphon shook his head. "Mm, no, see, I'm afraid we can't stop there. There's still a lot I need to know, and I'm just going to have to find a way to get you to tell me." With faint alarm in her eyes, Valeris darted a second glance at Saavik, but she deliberately declined to meet the younger Vulcan's eyes, and Gryphon moved his chair so that he blocked Valeris's line of sight. "Don't look at her," he said sharply. "That would be the -easy- way out. Neither one of us gets to go that route." Off to the side, Jaime Finney leaned toward Vanessa Leeds. "(Here we go,)" she murmured gleefully. "(The master at work,)" Vanessa agreed. He didn't hit her. He didn't have her mind-probed by either of the Vulcans on his crew. He didn't use a Klingon agonizer on her (though, to her puzzlement, she noticed that one of his officers had one). He didn't even yell at her. What he did instead was sit by her sickbed and speak calmly, quietly, reasonably, and above all gently to her for the better part of an hour. By the time he finished she suspected that she would have done anything he asked. She still wasn't sure how he had done that. Rick Sterling nudged Max Hunter and whispered, "(Two quarts of your grog says he makes her cry.)" Max frowned. "(Without touching her? You are on, my pink friend.)" "Where you are now," Gryphon said (firmly suppressing an almost overwhelming urge to go on, "ain't no good unless you can get away from it."), "what you did in the past no longer matters. Apart from the people in this room, no one in this -entire reality- even knows who you are. If you want - if you can let go of the past - you can start all over again. How many people get such a chance?" He smiled and added with mild sardony, "It would be illogical to walk away from that." "(Ohh, he's good,)" Vanessa whispered. "(A true craftsman,)" Saavik replied dryly. With tears trickling down her face, Valeris asked him in a low, near-broken whisper, "What can I do?" "(Damn,)" Max muttered, his antennae drooping. Gryphon considered. "I'm going to leave you here. Someone will be coming to investigate the crash; they'll find you and take you back to civilization. They may have some hard questions for you, but you've committed no crime here. They'll have to turn you loose eventually. After that... " He spread his hands. "... it's up to you. If you want to do me a favor, you can take a message to someone for me." "What message?" Smiling, he reached out, took her hand, and raised it to his face. "It's probably easier if I just show you," he said. Valeris blinked in shock, shrank away for a moment, then steeled herself. "If you are sure," she said. The sense of being in a vast archive with most of the file drawers securely locked. She would never have imagined a man like him could have such an orderly mind. "Tell him it's from someone who was there when the fun stopped. He'll understand... " When she woke, he was gone. They were all gone. Her head whirling, she lay back to rest and meditate until the investigators came. The phantom Duke who occasionally had Spock's face was back, only this time he didn't seem nearly so Spocklike, apart from the intermittently pointed ears. "Okay," he observed. "That's something to think about. I think I can let you off at the next stop without too much harm. Though, hmm, I should probably leave you with something from my collection. That way I'll be able to shoo off the gloomy giant on my couch before you start making any sense. I hope the conscious me remembers to do that. You're probably going to need it pretty bad. Enjoy the lizards!" Everything dissolved to puce. What she had felt after the meld with Gryphon was nothing compared to what crashed through her head when she staggered away from Duke. She collapsed on the formerly unoccupied couch, unable even to grab at her head, fresh tears - of pain this time - running down her face as her synapses burned. Duke blinked, shook his head, and then saw Valeris writhing in anguish on the sofa. He sprang to her side with a muttered oath. "Hey! Are you okay?" "I need... I cannot... neural pathways," she gasped, tears still leaking from her tightly-closed eyes. "Oh, right, right, shit." Duke patted the pockets of his jacket, looking around the room. "Uhh... right." He pulled open a drawer on the coffee table, rummaged in it, then produced a little foil packet. With quick, decisive motions, he broke off the end, pulled out a flat, octagonal blue tablet, and returned to Valeris's side, his hand to the side of her face. "Okay, here. Open up. Put this under your tongue." Whimpering, she let him slip the tablet into her mouth, then tilt her chin back up to hold it in. "Let it dissolve -slowly.- And don't worry if you start hearing everything in shades of blue." After a few more moments, she began to relax, her hands falling to her sides. She opened her eyes, gazing up at Duke with a look of unfocused wonder, one pupil considerably larger than the other. "... -wow,-" she said, and then her head lolled as she lost consciousness altogether. "Shit," Duke grumbled, gathering her up and arranging her more comfortably on the couch. Then he stood up, put his hands in his pockets, looked around the living room again, and seemed to realize what he had just been "told", before the crisis at the end. The realization galvanized him into action. "Shit!" he said again, louder. He raced out of the room, returning a moment later with a battered leather bag into which he started stuffing apparently random clothes, pharmaceuticals, and other unknown items from drawers, shelves, and other hidey-holes around the room. Catching sight of the slumbering man on the couch, who had slept through the entire psychic chaos festival that was the mind-meld, he let out an aggrieved noise and then yelled, "Wake up! Wake up, you big bastard, come on!" The large man stirred, then said in a voice thick with sleep, "Nngh. Dammit, Duke. You know I'm trying to sleep through this year." Duke picked up a rolled pair of socks and started furiously swatting the man about the head and shoulders. "Up! Up! Get up and make yourself useful, you goddamn pig! The Eschaton is imminent!" MegaZone rolled over, sat up, shook his head, and asked irritably, "What the hell are you yelling about?" Then he noticed Valeris stretched out on the other couch, blinked slowly, raked his hands through his long dark hair, and gave Duke a less irritable, more skeptical look. "Who's the chick?" "I'm not sure she even knows any more, man," Duke replied, stuffing more clothes into his bag. "We'll have to wait and see when she comes out from under the zaphrexadine." Zoner goggled. "You gave her -Cortex Bomb?!-" "Is there something better for synaptic overload shock?" Duke inquired blandly. Zoner thought this over for a second, then shrugged, conceding the point. "Well... no, I suppose not, but Jesus, Hunter. She might think she's Napoleon when she comes to." "Better than the alternative," Duke replied. "Go get your stuff together. We've got to hit the road." "Why? What's going on?" Duke pivoted in place, looking around, and then lunged at an endtable, knocking over a stack of magazines to uncover an old-fashioned telephone. Lifting the instrument, he dialed a long number, fouled it up in the middle, jiggled the switchhook, tried again, and then waited, muttering, "C'mon, c'mon... Bacon! It's Duke. He's back." He scowled at the phone. "Of course I'm sure, goddammit! I'm a doctor of journalism! Right. Uh-huh." He nodded. "Okay, I'll take care of it, then. No, man, no! You stay here and handle the Ditryllian thing. That's important shit. I've got Zoner with me, we'll handle this. Right. Okay, I'm off. Got to arrange alternative transportation. Yeah. See you." He hung up, turned, and saw that Zoner had moved only as far as the other couch, where he sat thoughtfully timing Valeris's pulse. "What the hell are you still sitting around for?!" Duke demanded. "We have to get moving!" "Where? And what for? Was that Derek you just called?" "Of course it was," Duke replied. "You know any other insanely rich bastards named Bacon who are spending this week stopping the Ditryllian flu outbreak in Jakarta from wiping out everybody under the age of 30?" He glanced at his watch. "Goddammit, where -is- that pointy-eared sonofabitch? I expected - " With a shimmery sound, two forms started to materialize in the corner of the room. " - oh, thank Grodd," Duke grunted, zipping his suitcase. "Will you go get your shit already!" he cried at Zoner, flogging him with the socks again. Spock and a slightly groggy-looking, slightly disgruntled Dr. McCoy finished beaming into the house, took their bearings, and then advanced. "It's about time you got here," Duke said. "Starfleet. Never around when you need 'em." McCoy blinked. "Spock, what the hell is this?" he demanded. Spock adopted the long-suffering look of a man who knows he is paying a penance for some past misdeed, even if he can't quite remember what that misdeed might have been. "I don't believe you two have been introduced," he said, then added dryly, "and if the universe possessed any built-in safety protocols, you would not be meeting now. Dr. Leonard McCoy, Dr. Raoul Duke." Catching sight of Valeris's limp form, now sporting a faint, rather silly smile on her unconscious face, he frowned very slightly, then arched an eyebrow at Duke. "Dr. Duke," he said with a hint of severity. "I cannot help but observe that you seem to have debauched my escaped detainee." Zoner found the moment appropriate to recuse himself from the discussion, since he'd missed the events being discussed anyway. He got up and sidled from the room, disappearing through a side door. Duke, ignoring the disapproval in the Vulcan's tone, went into the kitchen, his voice trailing back into the living room behind him. "Well, what the hell else was I supposed to do, man?" McCoy stepped around the couch, played his medical tricorder's extension sensor over Valeris's body, and then looked startled by the readings. "My God! This woman's been given a massive dose of chlorozaphrexadine!" "Of course she has," said Duke, a trifle belligerently, as he emerged from the kitchen juggling two glasses and a fresh can of beer. He handed one of the glasses, containing a clear liquid, to Spock, then rounded the couch and offered the other - something amber - to McCoy, who took it automatically and then regarded it warily. "She was having a complete synaptic goddamn meltdown," Duke went on. "It was either drop the Bomb on her or let her spend the rest of her life taking a deep personal interest in applesauce and wallpaper patterns. As it is, she'll be just fine in a while. Probably." McCoy consulted his tricorder again. "My God, he's right. Her limbic system is completely disordered. I haven't seen neurochemical readings like this in a humanoid since... " "Since the time you injected yourself with an overdose of cordrazine and hallucinated that you had traveled to the 1930s?" Spock asked archly. McCoy scowled at him. "Actually," he replied, "I was thinking of the time you breathed the alien spores and thought you were the Zen Master of Happy Thoughts." Spock considered this, then nodded. "Touche, Doctor." "How did this happen?" McCoy demanded of Duke. "She wanted to show me something. I guess she wasn't as ready to look behind Door No. 2 as I thought she was." McCoy blinked. "A mind-meld with a human did -this?-" "Dr. Duke is... unusual," said Spock. Then, reproachfully, "You should have prevented her from making full contact." "I thought she knew what she was doing. Jesus God, man, don't you people train your children before you turn them loose on society?" Spock let that pass. "You appeared to be expecting me. Why?" "I know where she came from," Duke said, gesturing to Valeris with his beer. "It was obvious you'd come looking for her. And it's good you're here, because I need your help. Well, sort of. If you're here, I assume Kirk is up there with that giant goddamn birdbath of his." "The Enterprise is in orbit, if that's what you mean," Spock replied equably. McCoy took a sip of the drink Duke had handed him, then regarded it with surprise. "I'll be damned," he said, "that's not bad." Then, as if something alarming had just occurred to him, he scanned it. "You wound me, Doctor," said Duke. "Sorry," McCoy apologized automatically, taking another sip. "A fine mint julep. This is the first thing that's made any sense to me all day," he added with a smile, regaining some of his good humor. "If I may interrupt your mixological appreciation, Doctors," said Spock dryly. "Why do you need the Enterprise?" "Because I've got to get somewhere in a hurry, that's why," Duke replied. Spock gave him a look that most people would have found withering, or at the very least daunting, and said, "Starfleet is not a charter service for the convenience of Federation citizens - even doctors of journalism." Duke ignored the implied rebuke. "Goddammit, don't you think I know that? This is important!" He flung out a hand in a gesture that encompassed everything and yelled, "The whole goddamn galaxy is about to change and I'm offering Kirk a chance to be right in the center of the vortex!" Zoner reappeared, a duffel bag over one shoulder, and asked, "Why? What's happening? You told Derek 'he's back.' Who did you mean?" Duke rounded on him, throwing up his hands. "Jesus Christ, who do you think I meant? The man at the other end of the goddamn Lever of Archimedes! -Gryphon!-" McCoy fumbled his drink, nearly pouring it on his patient's face. Spock raised an eyebrow. Zoner just stared. "-Puppies,-" said Valeris distinctly, without regaining consciousness. FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 28, 2380 SOCKO SODA BOTTLING CO. VESPER, MUSASHI Saavik surfaced from a long, complicated dream involving her calculus professor at Starfleet Academy having been replaced by Zefram Cochrane, who spent the whole class period trying to show them how to derive the tenth logarithmic subroot of Bailey's Irish cream. Opening her eyes, she saw an unfamiliar glowstripped ceiling. It took her a moment to get her brain up to speed and realize that she was in sickbay at Socko Soda. "Ah," said Dr. Selar. "Welcome back, Commander." She moved to Saavik's side as the first officer sat up and moved to the edge of the table/bed, held out a hand to stop her from getting down, and ran a medical scanner over her. "How long was I unconscious?" Saavik asked. "Forty-eight hours," Selar replied. "I thought it best to keep you under until you regained full liver function." "That bad?" "Bad enough." Selar handed her a terry robe with the Invincible's name on the back to put on over her patient's gown. "Still, you should be fine now, except for some minor dehydration that you can take care of yourself now that you're conscious." Saavik got down from the table, stepped into a pair of felt slippers someone had obligingly left by the bed, put on the robe, steadied herself, and found that she felt fine with her feet on the floor. "Thank you, Doctor." She looked around; the sickbay was empty apart from the doctor and the one remaining bedridden patient, an engineering ensign with a badly fractured leg that still hadn't quite set well enough to bond. "Where is the captain?" "I released him yesterday," Selar replied. "His regenerative properties are such that he required only a surface decontamination and a RadAway drip; he's taken care of repairing the damage on his own. He's probably asleep in his quarters right now." She sat down at her desk, pulled up a document on the desktop terminal Instrumentation had rigged for her, and then looked over the top of the monitor at Saavik. "I doubt I am telling you anything you don't already know, but certain of your neurochemical markers remain somewhat deranged." She paused and went on delicately, "The pattern is... predictable and familiar, and quite outside the scope of my responsibilities." Saavik quarter-smiled. "An elegant turn of phrase." Selar inclined her head. "Thank you. At any rate, Commander, I can do no more for you. You're free to go and... do whatever you intend to do." Burying herself in her case notes on Ensign Prescott's injury, she said absently, "Peace and long life, et cetera." Long acclimatization to Selar's brusque way with patients meant Saavik took no offense; indeed, she still had that quarter-smile on her face as she collected a bottle of water from the refrigerator and left sickbay. The process floor was mostly empty and quiet; a glance at the tall windows along the far wall showed that it was night out. The giant clock someone had installed at the top of the Matrix said the time was 22:38. Vanessa was still in there, a green-and-red container of a soft drink called "MDW" and a sack of Doritos perched on a small table next to her seat. Her glasses flashed holographic reflections as she turned to see who was moving, recognized Saavik, waved to her, and then went back to her work. Saavik roamed the base aimlessly, uncharacteristically at a loss for what to do with herself. She knew what she -wanted- to do, but it seemed... inappropriate. She also knew what she -ought- to do, which was go to her own quarters and get some sleep, but that in turn seemed... impossible. So she found herself, a few minutes later, standing on what had been the bottling plant's loading dock looking out into the freight yard behind the plant, which the engineering crew had staked out as a revetment for the Telgorn transport they'd seized from the pirates on Xawin. Engineer Lang and his surviving technicians had been climbing all over it since they arrived on Musashi, trying to get a better feel for the radically different technology base it represented. Even now, in the middle of the night shift, two or three techs were inside, futzing with the navigational systems. As she stood there gazing thoughtfully at the vehicle, Saavik considered changing into a work coverall and helping out, but before she could put the half-formed plan into anything like practice, Jaime Finney appeared, grease-smudged but happy, from one of the weapons bays. "Hey," she said. "You're finally out of bed. How do you feel? You guys gave us quite a scare." "I'm fine, thank you," Saavik replied. "Why are you working on the transport so late? Has something happened?" "Nothing real urgent," Jamie replied. "Cap'n wants us to sell this tub and buy something that isn't splashed all over the law enforcement nets as a pirate ship. We're just trying to get it into the best condition possible so we can get enough for it to buy something decent." "I see. That makes sense," Saavik said. "I'll go change and assist - " Jamie grinned indulgently at her; though she was Saavik's junior by several years in both age and seniority, and two grades in rank, they were old shipmates dating back to the last few years of the Enterprise under Kirk, and that gave her the right to more than a little familiarity, especially in the middle of the night on a ruined planet in an alien universe. "We can take care of this without you," she said. "You go on upstairs." With a mercifully un-sly smile, she added, "Captain's waiting for you." Saavik flushed more than a little, betraying the still-delicate state of her emotional control. "How did - " "There are no secrets on a starship," Jamie said sagely. "Besides, I may not have a degree in advanced mathematics, but I can count to seven." Saavik's blush deepened. "Lieutenant, I... " she said haltingly. Jamie smiled fondly at her, still with no trace of sardony or salacity. "Hey. How long have we served together? I know you; I know him. I doubt the chain of command is in jeopardy." She took a wrench from her belt, tossed it in the air, caught it, and then went on cheerfully, "Now get going! I got this." Saavik stared at her with an expression midway between astonishment and gratitude, alloyed with a dash of embarrassment and more than a dash of something that might be one of the many kinds of love. Then, gathering her dignity like the folds of a dress, she nodded and said, "As you were, Lieutenant." Still grinning, Jamie saluted her with the wrench. "Aye aye, ma'am." SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 29, 2380 By the captain's order before he retired on the evening of the 28th, the following day was officially designated Avast That Bloody Hammering Day at Socko Soda. Hands were forbidden from making any noise, and the bell was to be muted, until at least noon. Also, since it was February 29th, the day did not "count" in the normal scheme of duty, and ordinary watches were not to be stood. In other words, everyone, apart from the crew who had taken it upon themselves to go sell the Telgorn, had the day off. It should be noted that the captain gave this order not in any expectation of being kept up late on the 28th, but because he firmly believed that when a man has been heavily irradiated and had his hopes for the future dashed, he deserves a little peace and quiet. In the event, no appreciable noise was made after noon either. Gryphon emerged from his palatial stateroom (actually a sort of loft over the middle of the process floor that had once housed the plant's automation computers) at 1430 to find the place as quiet as a church, with crewmen sitting in small groups reading, maintaining weapons, lifting weights, or quietly sparring over in the PT ring. At first, when he stepped out onto the safety-railed "balcony" leading to the catwalk, he wondered for a moment if everyone had left, they were so quiet down there. He descended the open metal stairs to the floor and made his way down to the vicinity of sickbay, where he found a young officer stumping toward a group of his shipmates with cast and cane. "Hello, Mr. Prescott!" he said with a delighted smile. "Good to see you're finally up and about." "Good morning, sir, thank you," said Prescott cheerfully. "I'm on the mend. Dr. Selar resequenced the osteogenerator serum last night and got it more to my system's liking." "Good to hear. Have Jamie and Hank taken the Telgorn into town?" "Yes, sir. They left this morning. Should be back before dinner. At least, I hope they are - they were supposed to pick up a local dish for us all to try. Something Lt. Leeds found in one of the databases she's searching. It's called 'shyam'." Gryphon grinned. "Ah, excellent. I've been hoping for a chance to have a little Shyam 101 around here." If the captain were still grieving for his lost hopes - and how could he not be - he seemed determined not to show it in front of his crew. Hands in pockets, he moseyed over to the Matrix and stood watching the data stream by on a couple of Vanessa's screens, but made no move to pester her or intervene. An hour or so later, Commander Saavik appeared from the far end of the facility, made an abridged tour of the floor (since there were no normal watches, there wasn't much executive officering to be done), and then paused at a discreet remove, more or less watching him watch the Internet go by. In the cooler, more rational light of day, Saavik wasn't sure what she was expecting from the crew. If, as Jamie said, there were no secrets on a starship, well, there were certainly no secrets in an abandoned soda factory. She had imagined... what? Smugness? Knowing looks? A certain erosion of discipline, of respect? But no. None of that. Instead, there was... discretion. Understanding, yes, but not obtrusive, not gloating. Everyone obviously knew what had passed between the top two members of their chain of command, but it was almost as if they were all... -pleased.- That was in itself slightly unnerving, but it was better than the alternative. Presently, Gryphon noticed her watching him; smiling, he moved his head slightly, inviting her to join him. After a moment's hesitation, she did so. "How are you feeling today, Commander?" he asked. "Much better, thank you." "Good, good. As you know, the mental -and- physical health of my crew are of paramount importance to me." Saavik inclined her head. "Indeed. I shall note your diligence in my log." "You do that," said Gryphon complacently. She was about to give him the eyebrow, or perhaps an elbow, when a sound from outside interrupted her train of thought. Gryphon perked up like a hunting dog at the sound. It was a ship arriving, and just from the grumble of the thrusters and the whine of the repulsors, he thought he knew what kind. If he was right, after all, he'd designed it. He was near the front of the wave of people who headed out through the loading dock into the freight yard, where their new ship was just settling on its landing skids with a few puffs of venting steam. Angular and curved at the same time, with slightly cruel lines and uptilted wings, it didn't sit on the tarmac out there so much as hunker down to wait for a victim. It was a bit old and battered, its green and red thermocoat dingy and streaked in places, but it still looked mean and ready to rock. A moment later the central ramp trundled down and the acquisition crew descended, with a beaming Jamie Finney in the lead. "Well? What do you think?" she said. Gryphon gazed at her and the ship for a moment, then burst out laughing. "I might've known you'd find us a Klingon ship," said Max Hunter, palming his face. "I don't think she is, though," Jamie protested. "I mean, I know she -looks- like one, but all the instruments are labeled in English. And she doesn't have that... smell." Still giggling, Gryphon went partway up the ramp and opened a small hatch which permitted access to the back of the ramp controls. On the inside of the door, as he had expected, was a label bearing the distinctive, and distinctly un-Klingon, logo of the Utopia Planitia Naval Shipyards, Zeta Cygni. "Just as I thought. This is one of mine," he said, grinning. He shut the hatch and patted the bulkhead into which it was set. "This isn't a Klingon bird-of-prey at all. It's a Predator-class corvette. You're looking at my very first starship design." His crew stared at him. "-You- designed this ship?" Henry Lang blurted. "Yup, 150 years ago. The Klingons started making knockoffs a year later. Yes, indeed," he added with a sentimental look, running his hand along the bulkhead. "This should do -nicely.-" He descended the ramp again to stand in front of Jamie. "Well done, Mr. Finney," he said. "This mission's first pleasant surprise." "I may have another for you, sir," said Vanessa from the back of the crowd by the door. "If you'll come to the Information Center, Vision and I are ready to give you an interim report." "It's still too early to draw any worthwhile conclusions from our integratic sweeps of the Internet at large," Vanessa told him a few moments later, back in her seat at the center of the Matrix, "but based on what you reported when you returned from Musashi City, we have been able to piece together a few things." Gryphon gave her a curious look. "I made a report when I got back from Musashi City?" "Yes you did," said Vanessa with a nod. "There was a lot in it that wasn't of any use, although it was interesting - I didn't know what aglets are, for instance - but you did mention a few things that helped." "Based on what you and Gunny Breckenridge said about the site having been investigated already, we checked the databases of every law enforcement, private investigation, and corporate security outfit we could get our fingers into - which was pretty much all of them," Vision elaborated. "There's no record of anyone having even considered trying to process the Seventh Street scene since the Crash." "Nobody?" "Not a one. It doesn't seem like it's even on anyone's radar." "That's odd. Why wouldn't whoever swept the site tell anyone about it? Even if it was GENOM, they'd have slanted whatever they found to back up their version of the story and trumpeted it to the heavens." "What's more," Vanessa added, "the Musashi authorities have repeatedly said they won't -permit- any outside agency to visit the site, even if anyone asked, which no one ever has." Gryphon frowned. "Hmm." He turned away for a moment, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, and then caught Saavik's eye. "Are you pondering what I'm pondering, Commander Saavik?" "I believe so, Captain," Saavik replied, then added with perfect seriousness, "though I must point out that if they called them Sad Meals, children would not buy them." While their crewmates grinned all around them, Gryphon gave her a look of pure adoration and said, "I love hangin' with you, man." Then, becoming cheerfully brisk in a way that sent a thrill of anticipation through all hands, he turned and strode into the middle of the floor, declaring, "Mr. Saavik, Mr. Lang, select a crew for the Surprise. I want to be on Meizuri by midweek." "Aye aye, sir!" "A Predator takes a crew of twelve," he said to the assembled crew. "The rest of you will remain here under Mr. Prescott's command until we return. Mr. Prescott, I'm giving you an acting order as lieutenant." Prescott drew himself up as well as his cast would allow, his face going pink. "Sir!" "Chief Giotto, I'm entrusting Socko Base's security to you. I know it'll look a little silly on your resume, but please do the best you can." Giotto smiled broadly. "Aye aye, sir!" "Finney, Hunter, Sterling and Leeds," Saavik called out. "Woodward. Tarolo. McRea." "Chance and Bainbridge, you're with me," said Lang. As those whose names were called grabbed their kit bags and fell out, Gryphon stood for a moment surveying his little kingdom - for even dispossessed and adrift, a ship's captain who still had the loyalty of his crew was very like a little king - with the broad, bright smile of a man who, whatever his problems, whatever the challenges confronting him, loves the life he is getting to live. "Crew selection complete, Captain," Saavik reported. "Very well, Mr. Saavik," Gryphon acknowledged. Then he took one last look around before picking up his own "go bag" from the pile where they'd all been made ready days before, shouldered it, and announced, "Let's ride!" /* Emma-Jane Murphy & Richard Tognetti Violin Concerto No. 3 in G, K. 216: III. Rondo - Allegro (W.A. Mozart, composer) _Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World_ (2003) */ Eyrie Productions, Unlimited presented UNDOCUMENTED FEATURES EXILE Manhunt Part 3: Collect Telegram from the Edge of Forever starring Benjamin D. Hutchins Saavik Raoul Duke Valeris Roger Cartwright James C. Styles Jaime Finney Vanessa Leeds Richard E. Sterling Maximilian Hunter MegaZone Spock Leonard H. McCoy, MD Selar, MD Francis E. Prescott III Henry Lang Alberto Giotto by Benjamin D. Hutchins dialogue assist Chad Collier Geoff Depew plot wrasslin' Philip J. Moyer title Janice Collier essential backup services The EPU Usual Suspects To be continued in Part 4: Sleeping Alone Is For Suckers E P U (colour) 2009