Alysson deMerel's Fiction

         | Back to Main Page | Back to Story Page |

Transporter Accident

This work of fanfiction is just a piece of silliness based very loosely on a universe not entirely unrelated to Star Trek - The Next Generation.

All the usual disclaimers apply - almost everything here is a trademark of Paramount Pictures, used without permission, and no link with Paramount is claimed or implied. The timeline and events portrayed could happen only in that alternate creation where anything is possible - and not in Paramount's ST:TNG universe. All deviations from the sourcebooks and established timelines are acknowledged.

... Besides, how else would I get to paint the Enterprise the colour I want it?

1. Mission Briefing

Captain Picard regarded his senior officers as they sat around the table in the briefing room.

"This is a most unusual mission, and Starfleet have issued orders that it be treated with the utmost secrecy. Information has been received that Jackson Friends, a technophobic genius has escaped from the penal colony of Magnus Alpha. He is described as being a ..."

Picard consulted a tablet in his hand,

"... a Neo-Luddite on a self-proclaimed crusade from the ultimate deity."

He paused for breath, allowing Will Riker the opportunity to speak, grinning as he did.

"You mean he's on a Mission from God?"

"Exactly, Number One, and in his warped mind, he believes that his mission is to destroy any technology beyond that of the early twenty-first century, when the quantum-warp theories which underlie the warp drive were first developed."

"So we have to track and apprehend a fairly harmless, though vocal madman? Then why would Starfleet issue sealed orders?"

"Because, Number One, in his insane hatred of technology, he is willing to use the most advanced technology in the execution of his deranged mission. He has stolen a semi-automated research vessel with trans-warp capability, a prototype vessel capable of being operated and navigated by a single person.

"His course has been plotted by the Lexington and is projected to intersect the location of Earth approximately in the year 2004. It seems that one of the side-effects of trans-warp capability is an unpredictable tendency toward temporal shifts."

Geordie's eyebrows lifted behind his visor.

"You mean, Sir, that Friends has figured a way of predicting, or even using the trans-warp drive as a time machine?"

"Exactly, Mr laForge. We have been given clearance to deliberately create a temporal warp ourselves and to intercept Friends, and to do whatever is necessary to put right any damage he does to the timeline. We have all the available information on the period in question? Mr Data?"

The android rose and walked to the display. Indicating the intersection of a number of coloured lines on the chart, he began:

"Starfleet psycho-statisticians have projected that the most obvious temporal node for Friends to attempt to tamper with, in the projected time-frame, is that surrounding the theorist, Dr Alysson deMerel. We think that Friends is going to try to destroy the Quantum Warp theory before it is developed. We know little of deMerel's life, though Geordie is Starfleet's expert in this area."

Geordie looked embarrassed. He mumbled out an explanation.

"The life and work of deMerel is something of a hobby. I find it fascinating that this woman, working as a data network manager should, in isolation and without any apparent previous research, have developed the entire framework for the mathematical basis of our modern drive systems. In fact, she even theorised both warp and trans-warp in her papers.

"deMerel's theories were only put to the test in 2065 when Zephram Cochrain built the Phoenix - the event which brought about First Contact. Nobody is certain about deMerel's fate, but it is widely believed that she worked with Cochrain. She disappeared, apparently in April of 2065, just before Cochrain's historic flight. The current theory is that she died in the Borg attack on April 4th of that year.

"Of course, it was her work that brought the possibility of the modern transporter system to the Federation. Without her peculiar slant on the physics, we would, like most races, have never recognised the possibility of single-terminal matter transmission."

Riker interjected, "you are obviously quite passionate about the subject, Geordie"

"Yes sir, besides, I have a personal debt of thanks. Without a side effect of her work, Isolinear circuits would never have been developed and I wouldn't be able to see."

"So, what you're saying, Geordie, is that virtually all of the technology we take for granted is thanks to this one woman?" Picard was looking uncharacteristically worried.

"Yes, Captain. Even if we had somehow contacted the Vulcans without a warp-drive, many of our systems would still be nothing more than dreams and wishes."

Picard looked at Data. "Please continue Mr Data."

"Yes, Captain." Data's head swivelled back to the display.

"It has been computed that a slingshot around the neutron-star Sartellius-Sigma at warp nine-point-eight-two with a perigee of apprixiamtely twenty seven million four hundred and twenty three thousand kilometres will bring us to an appropriate location in time before Friends arrives. We will then, after travelling to Earth, have between eight months and six years between our and Friends' arrival in that time period. Unfortunately, our return to our own time is uncertain at best. It is to be hoped that we can retrieve the transwarp vessel intact and use its drive to aid our return."

Data, having completed his part of the briefing, returned to his seat. Geordie rose and took the stand.

"In order to cope with the tidal stresses and the shear forces due to the proximity of Sartellius-Sigma, even at that range, it will be necessary to increase the structural integrity fields in the hull. I propose that we take on extra mass, and to ensure that the transporters are set up to replace any structural component that de-stabilises during the trans-temporal jump. Previous experience indicates that many of the structural failures experienced during warp-ten excursions are due to temporal de-phasing of individual components. We will need to take a leisurely acceleration run toward Sartellius-Sigma in order to ensure that we are precisely on-target. A deviation of as little as ten-to-the-minus-six on our approach could spell a variation of up to fifty years either way. Captain?"

"Thank you Geordie. Beverly?"

Dr Crusher stood, her red hair, as ever, threatening to cover her face.

"Sartellius-Sigma is one of the largest non-singularity masses in the quadrant, and the gravitational tidal stresses that the crew will be subjected to are incredible. In order to survive with minimum risk, it would be advisable to prepare the crew with anti-acceleration drugs. I would also recommend that any non-essential crew be lying down when the manoeuvre commences. That way, they are less likely to suffer falling injuries."

"Thank you, Doctor. I believe that is all?"

Picard looked around his officers.

"Then let us prepare as best we may."

2. The journey back and beyond

The approach to Sartellius-Sigma was uneventful.

Worf, had been transferred once more to the Enterprise on temporary secondment for a dangerous mission. He was heard to remark that a quiet ride just means that the excitement is going to come as a better surprise.

The Enterprise crew were well drilled, and without fuss or bother went to their quarters or to their stations, being hypojected as they left the turbolifts. By the time the acceleration run toward the neutron-star was underway, the corridors were deserted. Only a skeleton crew was in engineering, and a few standby personnel laying on temporary bunks in the corridors outside.

Ensign McLaren was heard to murmur to his companion across the corridor, "Strangest duty post I've ever drawn, laying on a bunk outside engineering. It looks like a ship out of the early days, before Starfleet."

Several nervous laughs were to be heard.

The corridor lighting dimmed as every joule of spare energy was diverted to the essential systems. Bulkhead doors closed silently, ready for decompression emergencies, just in case the secondary containment fields couldn't be brought on-line fast enough.

The bridge was a gloomy sight with only the glow of the panels and main viewscreen illuminating the faces of the bridge crew.

Captain Picard had already given the order, and the Enterprise was in mid dash between here and there.

"Time to trans-temporal intersect in fifteen seconds."

"All hands, brace for impact!"

The ship began to vibrate, softly at first, then with greater violence. A grinding noise reverberated throughout the vast ship.

"Ten seconds!"

"We're within allowable limits!"

"Navigational shields at ninety-eight percent!"

The vibration became a tooth-jarring rattle

"Shields at seventy-six percent!"

"Hang on!"

"Five seconds!"

The rattle became a high-frequency jolting, the bridge became an irregular blur.

"Shields at fifty-two percent!"

"Structural failures in decks five through twelve. Transporter repairs holding."

"Structural integrity fields failing ..."

There was an endless moment when the universe held its breath and hiccuped, the roller-coaster ride paused at the bottom of the slope, and then it was over.

The jouncing, jolting became a rattle and then a vibration, and then - silence.

The shields regenerated and were once more to one hundred percent. There was a whisper and a sparkle as a hull component was replaced by the skilfully manipulated transporter system.

"Engineering. Report?"

"Everything is fine here, Captain. Barring a few minor blow-outs and damaged power couplings, we have come through apparently undamaged. I'd like to run some diagnostics while we're underway to Earth, sir."

"Make it so."

The inventory of damage was minimal, which served only to make the Klingon Tactical Officer more wary. The only casualty was Ensign McLaren, who had broken his wrist falling out of his bunk. For some reason he seemed to think that this was a fitting twist to the strangest duty he'd ever pulled in Starfleet.

The transporters were taken off-line for repairs, not having been designed for continual use for in-place repair-fabrication. Several of the delicate transporter systems had failed, resulting in one of the hull plates having been fabricated in bright blue.

"Where are we, Number One?"

"We're twelve months earlier than expected, Sir, but at the same time, we're further from Earth than we expected. We'll arrive in home space about ten months before Friends' notional window of opportunity. Sartellius-Sigma will not be available to use as an acceleration well from this end, Sir."

"Why not, Number One?"

"There is no sign of it on sensors. There would appear to be a Blue Dwarf in the location of Sartellius Sigma instead, approximately twice the mass of the Neutron Star. It hasn't detonated, yet!"

"How is that possible, Number One? The neutron-star was formed over a million years ago!"

"Captain, I think I may have the answer."

"What is it Mr Data?"

"I calculate that the warp-recoil of our transit of the neutron-star's gravitational well has displaced us not only in time and space, but in some other dimension as well. This is not our own universe."

The Klingon winced as he bit his own tongue.

The ship headed toward the Earth in her majestic fashion, silently and with speed. Her graphite-grey form streaking through the darkness of interstellar space, the gleam of distant stars reflected wetly from the strange alloy surface of the hull. The faint glow of annihilating particles formed a nimbus at the edge of the forward navigational shield. Her progress was sedate - the crew had months in which to perform the necessary maintenance work on their ship, and to prepare for whatever might befall them.

Earth. A blue and white planet circling an insignificant yellow-white star, and accompanied by her companion, an airless moon as large as the twelfth planet, Signet, yet to be discovered by Earth's astronomers.

The Earth now had a second companion, a massive Federation starship far from home and long before its occupants had been born. The entire crew were being dumbfounded by the transmissions from the planet they now orbited.

The Enterprise had been stationed in an extreme orbit. The planet seemed to be wreathed in a tangle of space-hardware. There were literally hundreds of satellites orbiting the planet, not to mention the tons and tons of scrap in random orbits. The ship's computers had thrown a fit trying to calculate a suitable orbit. No matter where the Enterprise stationed herself, she would be visible by her wake of destruction and deflected metalwork.

There was even junk out here, but at least, none of it seemed to be active. Several pieces had been recovered, including what could only be a vacuum-desiccated pork pie.

Then Data had chanced upon the video transmissions from the planet's surface. Simple radio carrying sound and image information. Data had almost shut himself down for a level four diagnostic when he saw the program.

"Star Trek? And starring us? What is going on, Mr Data?"

"I have precisely no idea, Sir, but I am working on the problem. Interestingly, they seem to enjoy such speculation as entertainment, inventing the physics for the purpose of supporting the plot. They appear to have chanced upon a combination that closely mimics our own time. The only major differences between their imaginary Enterprise and ours are in the details of the design. That and the colour of the hull."

"I noticed that. Why do you think they used a white-painted ship?"

"Because it is easier to produce the effects using a white model. graphite-grey, whilst eminently practical, is basically not very visible. Particularly when you consider that the effects they use are largely constructed using camera techniques. Holo-technology is unknown here."

"So how do we get home, or even to our original destination?"

"I have no idea, Sir, but I am listening to what my gut would say, and I am inclined to believe that our presence here is no accident."

Riker grinned. "You mean that you are having an intuition, Data?"

The golden-skinned android turned to the First Officer.

"Yes, there is some matter in the computations which gives me cause for concern as to out intended destination. I have reviewed our trajectory calculations from first principles, and there is an error term which was ignored, but which was obviously significant. Ignoring it was deliberate on the part of Starfleet Command, even though to do so would excite a missed trajectory. I believe I know where we are."

"Then where are we?"

"Reality. I calculate that the error term was along a dimension that may be equated with probability. There are a series of attractors in that dimension, and this is the prime attractor continuum. What we call reality is, in actuality, a lower order of probability. I suspect that what we have to do concerns this universe, and our own will be repaired as a result."

"Very well, then, Mr Data, we will go with your intuition. What is it we have to do?"

"What we came here for. Our objective has not changed. I have accessed the planetary communications network. They call it the web, I can not find any useful reference to any doctor deMerel, and the only reference to Alysson deMerel is in the works of some unknown author of fantasy fiction who has published her work on The Web under the name Alysson deMerel. Very strange fiction, but the physical description matches our own Dr deMerel."

"How do we speak to this Miss deMerel?"

"We use something called e-mail."

"Then get her on screen."

"It's not that simple. We have to send a text message and she will then, perhaps, respond. There is no geographical information associated with this communication medium. She does state that she lives in Southern England, and it is possible to infer a specific region, but there are no official records of her. It is possible that Alysson deMerel is a pseudonym used for the purpose of publishing her fiction."

Data sent a friendly greeting and an expression of esteem for deMerel's works of fiction. Data had read through her works - fiction, poetry, a couple of essays on, presumably, fictional subjects, and had found the entire refreshingly imperfect. There was a naivete to most of the works he had sampled from this world that was missing in his own era. The imperfection was the proof of the un-aided artistry of this planet's people. Some of the subjects covered in deMerel's fiction were matters he had often wondered about, himself. His cybernetic mind was taken back to his offspring, Laal.

Data reflected that the people of the twenty third century were, perhaps, too perfect; too well balanced to be entirely real. Perhaps the levels of technological support available in his own century stifled truly original thought and artistry. He considered the philosophy of imperfection for a few hours while he awaited a reply from the author.

A reply was eventually forthcoming, on the following Monday morning, local time.

Dear Lieutenant Data,
I am glad that you have enjoyed my writing. As you can see, I have produced no fiction based on Paramount's StarTrek to date, although I am currently working on a couple of fan-fiction ideas.
You ask for more information about me. In the spirit of the WWW, I will answer in generalisations. A. deMerel is a pen name only. I am the Network Manager for a local educational institution. I am single and live in the country, well away from the town. I am also 'over twenty-one'.
As is proper, I do not consider it safe to meet strangers face-to-face who I know only from the internet, so I would be grateful if you would remember that it is not considered correct to ask this on the net. I assume that you are a newcomer to the world-wide-wait, and so will not subject you to a full-scale flaming. Yet.
There are no pictures of me on the net, nor, I hope, will there ever be.
Regards,
Alysson deMerel

Data was taken aback. Will Riker understood, though.

"These were rough times, Data, and a young woman needed to be careful. They weren't all as well balanced as we are now. Murder, rape and robbery were almost daily occurrences in many districts, and the whole of the social system was rife with corruption."

Will Riker's history of the late-twentieth and early-twenty-first centuries was, like that of most people from the twenty-third century, based on the fiction of the time - almost the only documentary evidence that survived the wars in the mid-twenty-first century. What they had seen of the videocasts from the planet below bore out their beliefs.

Data had, by now, figured out the information held in the headers of the e-mails sent to and from the various nodes around the globe. He had also discovered that not all locations had fixed electronic addresses, so he set about finding the terminal used by deMerel.

He sent an apology for his breach of 'netiquette,' saying that his wish to meet deMerel had been a general hope rather than a direct request for a meeting.

He tracked the destination of the message, and obtained the telephone number of the terminal from which the connection had been made. He noted that the reply came from the same telephone number, and that connection to the mail server was usually made from that number at the same time each day. He scanned the area, finding the workstation in a room filled with computers and surrounded by rooms containing many terminals.

"I have found Miss deMerel, sir. I would like to beam down and meet her next time she is logged on."

"You won't be able to disguise your origins, Mr Data. It will be obvious that you are not of terrestrial origin."

"I believe that Miss deMerel will be able to handle this. The evidence of her fiction suggests that she will be more resilient than most, and this is hardly a first contact situation. My non-human origins may, under the circumstances, be reassuring."

"Very well, who do you wish to take?"

"I'd like to take the ship's counsellor and Dr Crusher."

"Why Counsellor Troi and Dr Crusher?"

"Because there appears to be concern over homicide, rape and robbery in the society we are dealing with. Miss deMerel has already intimated that personal meetings are not encouraged. I thought that if, perhaps there were two females present ..."

"Yes, yes, Data. I see your point. Make it so."

At the appropriate time, Data accompanied by Beverly Crusher and Deana Troi materialised in the office used by Miss deMerel.

Data was surprised to find himself facing a middle-aged man, bearded and long-haired, who had gone from relaxed and sitting to standing and in a fighting stance in a fraction of a second. In the time it took, he noticed, for the away-team to materialise.

Data had pulled his phaser from its belt-position, but the figure simply relaxed and stood up straight.

"Liutenant Data, I presume? I must say you do look better than Brent Spiner's excellent representation of you."

He pronounced it 'Lef-tenent'.

Data's positronic matrix almost went into overload.

"Alysson deMerel, I presume."

The figure bowed. "At your service. I assume that you were expecting someone about five foot four, auburn hair and female?"

Data nodded, for the first time in his existence, speech was beyond him.

"Well, Mr Data, I'll tell you. My fiction doesn't work in its context unless it appears to have been written by a woman. A strange quirk of human psychology. And you might as well call me by my given name, Roger Knight. Now, are you going to introduce me to your beautiful companions, or do I have to exercise my psi abilities and introduce myself to Dr Crusher and Counsellor Troi?"

"May I present Beverly Crusher, ship's doctor, and Deanna Troi our ship's counsellor."

The three humanoids laughed.

Data looked bemused, replayed the sequence of events to himself and laughed.

Troi looked worried.

"How did you know who we are? I felt no sense of being probed. Are you strongly telepathic?"

"No, my thoughts don't get any further than the inside of my own skull, thank goodness. Simple logic, and the assumption that the television series is, somehow reflected in reality somewhen. An assumption drawn from your android crewmate and the fact that I saw and heard your arrival by teleport - both technologies not yet available locally."

Dr Crusher was waving her tricorder around.

"Incredible. You've actually got arthritis, injury scars all over you, and all of the signs of having suffered numerous diseases."

"Ye-es, so? I'm not too bad for my age. A bit creaky when the damp gets into the joints, but basically okay. The martial arts does the joints in, in the long term, after all."

"I'm curious. How come you're so calm when your society is filled with such risk of murder and violence that you refuse to meet people?"

"Simple, it's not. This is a peaceful backwater I work in, and the threat of violence is generally just that, a threat. Besides, I can take care of myself."

A teenage girl walked in.

"Hi, Mr K. What's this, a costume party?"

"Hi, Sally. Sort of. These are just three friends on their way to a convention down in, where was it, Exeter?"

"Yes, Exeter."

"Oh wow, I've always wanted to do a Star Trek convention! Can I go?"

"Sorry Sal, this one's invitation only, and I'm probably going to have to miss it, too. Midweek and all."

The girl wandered out.

"Thank you, but why did you lie?"

"Because most of the folks in this century aren't ready for visitors from the future."

"How do you know we're from the future?"

"Twenty-third century, according to the sourcebook, but not, I think, our future. You're a utopian future, and are therefore, I'd guess, less likely than a less ideal world. By the way, is here and now close to the main probability line?"

"It is the prime line. How did you know?"

"Logic and a gut feeling. You're here by accident, I'd guess, and you had travelled back in time to meet a Miss Alysson deMerel. Presumably something significant?"

"She originated the technologies we use, at least in our own world."

"And you're stuck without her?"

Data nodded miserably.

"Don't look so miserable, Mr Data, Your goose isn't cooked yet."

"I think that I am having trouble with my processing matrix."

"No, you've got creeping reality. We need to get you folks on your way fast."

Roger Knight. shut down the workstation he had been using, and pulled a disk pack from it, putting it in a large case. He opened the door.

"Chris? I'm going to be out for a while. You're in charge. Here are the keys. Lock up if I'm back too late."

"Conventioneering, then?"

"Yeah, just don't tell the boss, Chris. I'll try to bring you back some Spock-ears."

He returned to the office, and picked up the case.

"Okay, lets go. Four to beam up?"

3. Transporter Accident

Roger Knight felt the flush of strangeness as his atoms were ripped from him and dragged the light-second out to the transporter room on the Enterprise. His office faded and was replaced by a clean, clinical looking futuristic chamber.

He felt himself released from the force-field that was the transporter, and promptly staggered. He felt wrong, somehow. The artificial gravity was probably set differently to Earth normal.

He heard the cry of Transporter Accident. He was just thankful that it wasn't him that had just had his atoms blasted whichever way.

He looked around to see the worst, and noticed that everyone seemed to have arrived intact, and that he was the centre of attention.

Fearing the worst, he looked down. Yes, there was his shirt and stripy tie, his blue trousers, black moccasin-style shoes, case full of data packs and his big hard drive. Then he noticed it.

His chest seemed to be rather more, how could he put it, more full than when he last looked. And the floor seemed, closer, somehow. He passed out.

He woke in the sick-bay. He felt fine, so why was he here?

"Mr Knight?"

He looked up at a bald man with a steady eye.

"Captain Picard, I assume?"

"Yes, and I apologise for the, ahh, um, mishap? We're still trying to figure out what has happened."

"Well, so am I, Captain, so am I. Tell me, who am I?"

"Ahh, I'm afraid I'm going to have to let our ship's counsellor take care of that for you."

"Roger, I'm afraid we don't understand what's going on. According to the diagnostics, there was no transporter malfunction. The pattern you arrived with is the one the transporter thinks was the one you left with."

"Figures. Now, how about letting me up, and showing me what I look like?"

"Are you sure?"

"Let's get it over with. I assume that I'm all crumpled up like some sort of concertina. Well, I'll just have to live with whatever has happened. I gather that transporter accidents are usually fatal?"

The betazoid nodded glumly.

He was helped up, and taken to a mirror. He couldn't walk properly, his balance felt all off. For one thing, there was a weight on his chest. Then his legs felt wrong - as though they were hung from hips too wide for comfort. His whole body felt over sensitive, and his voice seemed to whistle and screech in his ears. He held his eyes closed. He opened his eyes, but what he saw didn't register at first.

There was a pretty young woman looking at him. Small, about twenty, nice figure, long, chestnut hair. She was wearing one of the off-duty jumpsuits that seemed to be fashionable in the twenty third century.

Then he realised that he was looking at himself.

A slender hand went to the lips. "Oh wow! Oh Shiiii ... uh? Oh POOT!"

He started giggling. The sensations suddenly made sense.

"Looks like you've got your Alysson deMerel, then?"

Troi looked bemused.

Pointing at the mirror, Roger Knight said, "That is how I imagined Alysson deMerel to look. I think I'm getting an idea of what's going on. Now, how am I going to get home like this?"

Troi kept silent, she realised that this wasn't a modern human, this was a creature from the primordial past, an un-reconstructed personality full of anger and passion. Feeling this person's emotions was like meeting a Klingon in human form and magnified, or, and Deana sighed inwardly, Will in the throes of his passion. But now? Now, there was a seething sea of fury and fear that terrified her. What she felt from this person was stellar fusion held under rigid control, waiting to be directed at a suitable target. She prayed that she never become the focus of such energy.

"Right, first things first. I need a pee."

"Through there."

The figure swayed unsteadily into the med-bay's toilet. A few minutes later Roger Knight re-emerged, obviously feeling more comfortable.

"I suppose that you'll have to start calling me Alysson, Deanna."

Troi noted that Roger, now Alysson had her emotions under the same kind of control that the vulcans used.

"You need to let the emotions out, Alysson."

"No, that's where you're wrong. I'm stuck with this shape, one that I never expected to wear, and I'm going to need all my strength to survive, let alone figure out how to get back to my own body. Besides, I'm saving it up for the person in charge."

"The captain?"

Roger/Alysson shook his/her head and pointed upward.

"You feel the need to vent your anger at a non-existent entity?"

The Betazoid empath was having difficulty following the logic of this creature.

"No, it is definitely an extant intelligence. I don't believe in this level of coincidence, therefore someone, or something, is responsible, and will be held accountable.

"One: you ended up in the wrong space-time continuum.

"Two: There just happens to be an author who uses a pen name that equates with some historical figure from your own past.

"Three: A transporter 'accident' turns said author into said historical figure.

"And as I always say, Once is for chance, twice is for coincidence, the third time is a bad habit. I think I see where this pattern is leading, and I don't like it."

Troi looked at the angry woman.

"You are getting hysterical. Please try to calm down and be rational about this."

Roger Knight turned her smouldering stare on the counsellor. Deana squirmed under the steady gaze.

"No, this is as rational as it gets. We can try for hysterical if you like? Or you could try a well reasoned counter argument?"

Deanna felt very, very small and insignificant. She would rather hit Worf with a metal stanchion and tell him that his mother had a smooth forehead than argue with the petite human before her. She realised that she was terrified beyond belief, and that it was all her own fear.

"I'm sorry, Alysson, but I'm afraid, too. I can't give you one good argument against what you've said."

"I'm sorry, too, Deanna. I know that my temper is pretty scary, and I'm afraid of what's going on. I only know one way to calm down without fixing the problem first, and if you're the person I think you are, it'll work for you, too."

"And what's that?"

"Four words: Shwartz velde kirsche torte."

"Pardon?"

"Black forest gateaux with whipped cream and chocolate-kirsche sauce."

"Can I have some too?"

Beverly Crusher had entered silently.

Alysson deMerel-Knight nodded, and the three women swung out of the sick bay together.

Ten-forward saw the three march in, now more relaxed than tense. They threw themselves at the bar where Gynan was serving.

"This looks like a chocolate attack to me," she said.

Deanna replied, "it is. And we come bearing recipes. Alysson?"

Alysson looked at the strangely-clad woman.

"Hi, Gynan. This is a Black forest gateaux serving method ..."

Ten minutes later Gynan had the recipe and method. It was entered into the replicator computer and the process was simulated, resulting in the appropriate molecules being synthesised. Four plates were produced, each bearing a slice of the chocolate-cherry delicacy, Gynan insisting that she needed to know what the final product was like.

Not a word was spoken as the four women delicately ate their sweets in an appreciative silence. In unison, they slid their plates away from them, and pushed back their chairs.

"That was incredible," ventured Deanna.

"Unbelievable," commented Beverly

"I can't believe what I'm feeling," suggested Gynan.

"The universe looks infinitely better from the outside of a chocolate dessert," remarked Alysson.

Troi looked at Gynan. "What are you feeling?"

"Satisfied with only one slice," grinned the other.

There was general laughter.

"I have a recipe for 'mass extinction by chocolate' if anyone is interested?"

All eyes swivelled toward the speaker.

"You've a recipe for what?"

"Mass extinction by chocolate. It's like death by chocolate, but more so. My own invention."

"Is it some kind of weapon?"

"It could be in contravention of the Kittimer Accord, yes, but it's probably okay for research and humanitarian aid purposes."

Deanna said, "it sounds cruel. Can we try it later?"

"We could share one portion between us, for the purposes of scientific research?"

"That is an excellent idea, Beverly. Make it so?"

Alysson spent an instructive half-hour with Gynan trying to come up with some of the more exotic ingredients. In the end they got Data to beam some samples up from the surface, increasing the available liquors in the bar by a considerable number.

"This stuff is lethal, what is it again? It's so-o sticky!"

"A chocolate liqueur, it gives you quite a hangover, I gather."

"And this green stuff?"

"Green chartreuse. It's made as medicine by French monks."

"What does it cure?"

"Sobriety."

"What about this yellow syrup?"

"Banana rum."

"Good for anything?"

"Yes."

"What?"

"Anything."

"This stuff looks like condensed coffee froth."

"It's coffee, cream and Irish whisky. Mix with an equal quantity of the same whisky, and you've got a bombshell. Good for a bad head."

"As a cure?"

"No, a cause."

Alysson had introduced Gynan to the art of exotic cocktail-making. The woman was practising on some of the off-duty crew-members.

The replicator bleeped, and a plate bearing the results of Alysson's recipe emerged, along with four spoons.

As the four sampled the chocolate treat, Commander Riker arrived.

"Good afternoon Ladies." He grinned, and was peremptorily acknowledged by Deanna.

"Sorry, Will. Religious devotions."

"What sort of devotions ... ?"

His nose detected the smell of chocolate. He went and found a spoon.

"I think I have died and gone to heaven ..."

"No, I don't think so, I don't remember dying, and I'm sure that I'd have noticed that sort of thing, at least in my professional capacity."

Riker asked, "who invented this?"

"I did."

"I'm sorry, but I don't recall seeing you here before. But I have to say that you are not only beautiful, but a culinary genius, too."

"I'm Alysson deMerel. I'm pleased that you enjoyed my little offering, Commander Riker."

He did a double-take.

"Doctor deMerel? I didn't think that ..."

"No, and nor should you with a fifth portion of Mass Extinction inside you."

There were girlish giggles.

Roger Knight, a.k.a. Alysson de Merel was working overtime in holodeck three assisted by Geodie Laforge and Lieutenant Data. She had managed to get the ship's computer to holographically simulate an early twenty first century computer system, and had loaded a copy of her preferred operating system on it. Now she was busy using the holographic simulation to recover the data from her data packs - two dozen DVDs crammed with all manner of data - including the Star Trek movies.

As she worked, she had the computer give her a summary of her future history.

"I'm not sure that you should be seeing all of this stuff, Dr deMerel."

"It would certainly seem to be in direct contravention of the principles of good temporal practices. I believe that there are in excess of twenty three million potential temporal paradoxes all ready in existence, and the number is increasing with each second you are here."

"Mr Data, Geordie, quite simply, there are no temporal paradoxes. I have already examined your history database. Roger Knight disappeared under suspicious circumstances yesterday morning. He was declared missing presumed dead three years later. Intriguingly, his heir was a Miss deMerel who, incidentally, took over both his house and his job. Miss de Merel appeared a week after the disappearance of Mr Knight. It is strange, but the amount of detail that you have on Dr deMerel is disproportionate compared with other historical figures.

"Your biographical information for Einstein is sketchy at best, and as for Professor Hawking, he is barely mentioned in your database except as the author of 'A brief History of Time'. If I were paranoid, I would think that there's some conspiracy going on here.

"Now, about these field-theory equations ... ?"

Geordie was in his element, explaining the operation of the technology that had been originated by the woman , or someone like her, who had developed the theories that he was expounding. Somehow she seemed to be absorbing the information instinctively, and was assimilating it into a unified whole.

Listening with only half an ear, Data was busy computing the possible outcomes of the causality loop he was watching form. Suddenly he realised what was actually happening.

"Dr deMerel, Geordie, I have calculated that you are altering the probability matrices of the whole universe, at least for those aspects of it that we impinge upon."

Alysson replied, "Yes, that's what Humans do."

"But the outcome of your current conversation will alter the whole of the prime timeline."

"And you have just cemented the rift, I would guess?"

Data looked horrified. He closed his eyes in order to expend more effort on a solution to the problem. An expression of horror came over his face.

"I calculate that ..." His face became a rictus of pain before he went on.

"I calculate that our own time line has ceased to exist as a separate entity ..."

There was a blurring of the world and the ship became just a little less perfect. Data's immaculate uniform became a shade darker, Geordie's nose became a little more hawk-like and his visor became a finer mesh of sensors than before, his uniform was noticeably creased.

"... and that our database is no longer accurate. There seem to be inconsistencies in my memories."

"And it will get worse, Mr Data. I suggest that you both continue to brief me on the ramifications of warp-theory until we reach a stable temporal state."

"Pardon?"

"I think I see what is happening and why. We are collapsing a probability field from inside. While you interact with me, you are partially outside of the causality loop. Here and now we can produce the best possible world that is achievable in objective reality. Your time-line was unlikely compared to my own - a utopian ideal, if you like. What I see is more real, you are less perfect, more classically human. Gentlemen?"

The android and the engineer considered this and then proceeded to teach the young woman the finer details of advanced warp dynamics.

As Alysson absorbed the theories, the enterprise became more and more real. The hue of Data's skin became less golden and more tanned.

Geordie became side-tracked onto the design and construction of isolinear circuits and their developmental history from silicon-based porous circuit devices.

The world blurred and his visor was a narrow fillet of textured metal across his eyes. Data's grey eyes sparkled with pleasure as he surveyed the holographically reproduced computer from the early twenty first century.

"Gentlemen, please continue to expound your knowledge of trans-warp flux dynamics?"

They did, and as before Geordie became side tracked, and recounted the development of syn-parallax circuits from isolinear devices. Data began to speak about the creation of novel elements using abnormal base particles as their components of construction.

Geordie's visor was now gone, his vision restored by silver-grey implants in his eyes. Data's features were now indistinguishable from a human's as he talked excitedly about the massive strides made by his creator, Dr Sun.

Alysson deMerel completed the transfer of her data to the Enterprise's databanks. She had the computer replicate a laptop computer system using the transporter system. Her specifications included the latest syn-parallax devices and a self regenerating power source. Her data was poured into a tiny corner of the machine's almost indestructible memory, along with vast tracts of data on the most advanced warp theory and device building technologies.

"Geordie, Data, please continue?"

Geordie continued his discussion, speaking about the latest advances in discontinuous non-field effects in anti-warp counter-matrices. Once more he sidetracked himself onto the subject of graviton-field anti-spacial devices - circuits that were made of warped space and could operate in negative time.

Unnoticed, Alysson's laptop underwent a major upgrade.

His face contorted subtly as his silver eyes became normal, human brown eyes flecked with iridescent silver.

Data interrupted him.

"Dr deMerel, may I make an observation?"

"Certainly, Mr Data."

"You are, I think, possibly the most captivatingly beautiful woman I have ever met."

"Thank you, Data, but why bring it up right now?"

"Because I suspect that our time together is now exceedingly short, and I wanted you to know how I feel."

"So how do you feel, Data?"

"Wonderful. I ...."

He felt reality slipping away from him. There was a shift and the ship was as it had always been, he was as he had always been and Geordie was the visored engineer once more.

"Curious ..."

A fourth figure was standing in the holodeck. Friends had fired a phaser at Alysson deMerel, and she lay burned and twisted against the bulkhead.

"That's it. She's dead. We'll all cease to exist shortly, and the horrors of the past three centuries will be undone. Farewell ..."

Friends dematerialised once more, beamed back onto his own ship.

Data had noticed that The Luddite seemed to be sporting Borg components. So, now he looked, was Geordie. Data accessed the ship's data banks. The Borg had invaded the Earth, and had assimilated most of the population just after the nuclear wars in the late twenty first century. The survivors of the assimilation had adopted Borg technology, resulting in the monstrous cybernetic hybrids that humans had become.

"Dr Crusher, medical emergency holodeck three. Dr deMerel has been shot."

The doctor beamed in, her Borg medical accessories rapidly began to repair the injured woman's frame.

"She's dead. I may be able to revive her."

The doctor disappeared with Alysson's body.

There was another shift and Data was replaced by a human crewman called Alan Dennis. Geordie had vanished altogether. The ship was now entirely old fashioned. The Holodeck was now a workshop containing outdated computer equipment. The Enterprise's top speed was warp four, and the Federation only included Humans, Vulcans and Betazoids.

Dr Crusher worked her best medicine upon the stricken girl, and as she began to slip inexorably away, Beverly Crusher began to pray to whatever powers that were to intervene.

A fresh-faced medical orderly entered, his eyes twinkling and his impish grin topped by hair worn in a studied, tousled mop.

"Dr Crusher, may I assist?"

"Yes, but I don't know what you can do. She's slipping away."

The orderly walked over and kissed the dying woman on the lips. Her eyes flew open and the look of injured shock in her eyes was unmistakable.

The world shifted once more and the orderly was gone, the sick bay was the one that had been thrown back in time by the gravitation of Sartellius-Sigma. Alysson deMerel was being patched up by Dr Crusher, the superficial phaser burns on her body healing rapidly under the influence of the dermal regenerator.

Captain Picard walked in.

"It seems as though Friends has made his move."

The medical orderly walked in, now wearing a Starfleet Admiral's uniform.

"Yes, indeed, mon Capitan."

"Q!"

He bowed.

"What are you playing at, this time?"

"Unfortunately, Captain Picard, this is not a game, and even if it were, we're not playing by my rules. Your friend Friends is playing a game where the existence of not only the world you know is at stake, but all of the many continua, including the Q-continuum.

"For once, mon Capitan, we are entirely allies. We are met in common cause. I'm afraid that I have had to tamper unmercifully with this universe's causality in order to force our adversary to make his move in the most advantageous timeline. Advantageous for us, that is."

"What are you talking about Q?"

"Roger Knight will be able to explain, or should I say Dr deMerel."

The young woman fixed her gaze upon Q. The demi-god became uncomfortable under the stare. He started fidgeting, and shifting his body.

"You! You ... you ..."

Each syllable seemed to make Q jump as if being electrocuted.

"Why? I was quite happy as I was! And what do you do? Turn me into a damned woman! I was happy being a man! I want my life back, freak!"

Dr Crusher winced each time the woman's mouth moved and shot another bolt of verbal lightening into Q's frame. Picard's smile widened each time Q reacted to the woman's words.

"Well? Answer Dr deMerel, Q!"

"I had to do it. There was no deMerel in this time line."

"So. How. Do. I. Get. My. Body. Back?"

When he stopped twitching, Q looked worried. He mumbled something.

"WHAT!?"

Captain Picard blanched, Dr Crusher grabbed a console for support. Q was flung against the bulkhead.

He picked himself up and, twining his fingers into knots, avoiding the woman's eyes he repeated his words.

"I'm afraid that you can't."

He hurried into an explanation.

"When Friends shot you the probability field collapsed to a single point and the potential for the existence of Roger Knight disappeared. What you are wearing is the true body of Alysson deMerel. It was what was meant to have happened all along given that Roger Knight shouldn't have ever existed, it was the uncertainty factor that always exists in these things. In the main time line you were Roger Knight, in every other time line you were Alysson deMerel.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry. I can do something to make you feel better about it ...?"

Alysson deMerel used a rude word. The Captain blushed and Dr Crusher blanched. Q shrank noticeably into his clothes.

"I'll take that as a no then, shall I?"

She used a complex string of expletives to enliven a graphic description of what Q could do with his suggestion, his assumed corpus and the entire Q continuum. The Captain Blanched and Dr Crusher blushed. Q writhed as though being repeatedly struck by a series of physical blows.

Part way through Alysson's tirade Data walked in, saw Q being verbally assaulted and began taking mental notes.

Deanna Troi walked in and fainted, which event cut short Alysson's stream of invective. She rushed over to the unconscious empath and held her close to her, cooing gentle words of apology. Troi began to regain consciousness.

Deanna Troi's first thought was that she had been cut down by a phaser, but her nerves felt raw, rather than numb as she had felt when she had been stunned by phaser-fire before. Then she remembered the searing fire of that stellar anger.

She considered fainting again, but the feeling of gentle protection prevented her from taking refuge in the blank darkness.

"Deanna, can you hear me?"

"Urrrrgh!"

"She can hear you."

"Counsellor Troi, I have to say thank you for saving my skin."

She thought, 'What kind of nightmare has Q in it?' Then she remembered. She opened one eye.

"Chocolate ..."

"She's going to be alright."

As Deanna opened her other eye, she saw Alysson deMerel leading Q out of the sick bay by his ear.

Followed by Data, Alysson returned to the holodeck where Geordie was still tinkering with Alysson's simulacrum computer.

"What's HE doing here?"

"What, Q? Making trouble, what else? HE did this to me!"

"Q?"

The super-being nodded miserably.

"There's a cost to being a Q," he moaned, "and this is it. You're bound to upset someone, someday."

"Yes, and now you're going to start fixing what you broke."

"Yes, Mistress. It was Friends' fault. He's the one who was going to kill you."

"No, not me. My analogue in another timeline."

"Yes, true, but he arrived in the main line anyway. It would have been you, all I did was to ensure that you were in the right time-line and form to survive. Beside. I did save your life."

"Hrumph!"

There was a shimmer, and a figure appeared pointing a phaser at Alysson.

"I don't know how you survived, but this time I'm going to make sure."

"You!"

She shouted. Q collapsed, Geordie sat down suddenly and Data lost his train of thought. Friends dropped his phaser.

"You! It's ALL your fault! What are you going to do about it?"

Q took the moments of respite to make good his escape from the fiery temper. Friends, on the other hand, was shaken rigid. He started to stammer out words so broken that he was incoherent.

Alysson turned the temperature of her gaze fully on the twisted little man. Once more she launched a stream of invective loose, this time going into full and gory detail what she would do to Friends, cell by cell.

Data decided that his attempts at writing a novel would pale into insignificance in comparison with the inventive nature of the treatment she was threatening to visit upon Friends. Geordie was busy taking note of the graceful motion of the woman's body as she delivered her salvo. There was no way he was going to listen to the details - he was, after all, an engineer and not a doctor.

By the time that Alysson had calmed down, Friends was in a state of catatonic shock. The raw fury of this unreconstructed personality's temper was too much for his already fragile state of mind.

While the crew were preparing to return Alysson to Earth, and to harness the trans-warp drive of the stolen ship to get them home, Alysson borrowed the ship's tactical officer, on the grounds that she was unlikely to be able to hurt his feelings.

No one ever asked Worf what had happened, but he had emerged from the holodeck pale and shaking. Ever afterward, he was extra careful to be polite to auburn-haired human women - when he couldn't avoid them altogether.

As for Q, when he next appeared on the Enterprise, he seemed unusually subdued.

Deanna Troi, Beverly Crusher and Data beamed down to the planet with Alysson deMerel in order to help to integrate her back into her own society, only to find that an Alysson de Merel was already in residence. The four of them left quietly after dropping the entire works of A. deMerel onto that woman's computer.

"Let her cope with the future blind, all I can do is give her access to the right words. I think that I'm going to have to live a different adventure ... at least I won't have to worry about temporal paradoxes now..."

The four of them returned to the Enterprise where Deanna and Beverly helped Alysson drown her sorrows in Romulan SynthAle. And a portion of mass Extinction ...

In ten-forward, they were joined by Will Riker, Captain Picard, Geordie and Data. Alysson was welcomed aboard as a passenger back to the twenty-third century.

In the morning, Alysson woke in her cabin, though she was never quite sure how she had come to be there, but the presence of a crystal ball made from a sapphire the size of a tennis ball suggested who had visited her. When she peered into the ball, Q's face looked out and wished her luck in her new life. A laptop computer graced her desk. Not of Starfleet design, this was a machine built using a more advanced technology yet.

It seemed familiar. When she activated it, the first thing she saw was a file, "On the development of graviton-field anti-spacial devices as a development of anti-warp counter matrices." The author was Dr Alysson deMerel, dated about fifteen years hence, shiptime. She smiled, a smile of genuine pleasure.

"Alright, Q, you're forgiven. Now all I have to do is learn to enjoy being a woman."

Far away in another order of reality, Q smiled at what he saw reflected in the pool. He stood and drew his companion into his arms. Her chestnut hair cascaded past his hands raising pleasant goose bumps on his flesh.
"Alysson ..." he murmured.
"Mmmmmm ... I know. Now kiss me, fool ..."

         | Back to Main Page | Back to Story Page |