by Michael O'Brien
written ?? - set October 2290
"Our fight is over, Commander," the Russian admiral rumbled. "It pleases me to know that we may be able to help you end yours as well."
"You are a lucky man, sir." Grin'elle spoke as much to himself as anyone else. "If things were only a little different, Earth might have two more generations of war ahead."
Misa Hayase gave him a quizzical look. "I'm sorry? I don't quite understand."
Kriet came back to the here-and-now, and smiled. "I apologize. It doesn't mean anything." He walked over to the large picture window. In the city below, sitting among scaffolding and construction mecha, sat the nearly complete Stellar City Megarodo, nearly ready for launch. He shook his head, smiled again, and turned back. "And may I congratulate you on your upcoming wedding? I only wish I could attend."
Hikaru Ichijo took her hand, and displayed an expression that only true love saved from being a leer. "Yes; it should be quite an evening." Grobal looked away tolerantly.
The door signal sounded, and Lynn-Minmay's presence lit the room even further. Her eyes sparkled as she saw Grin, making him want to melt. "Commander! I hoped I would see you once more before you left. I'm sorry my schedule has been so heavy lately. Did you get all you needed?"
Grin'elle tapped the tightly sealed canister on his belt. "All in here. You felt no aftereffects, I hope?"
"I'm fine, really Mr. Kriet. I hope your plan works. This Athene must be a very special person. It will be strange, though, having a sister in another universe!"
"It won't be the first one," Grin couldn't help but mutter.
"What did you say?"
Misa laughed. "You might as well forget it, Minmay. He always says things like that, then refuses to explain them."
"Then I'd better leave, before I do it again," he countered. "Once again, everyone, thank you for everything. And, despite it all, don't be too surprised if I do show up again." He walked to the corner of the room, where a hatch slid aside in a large silver box. He stepped through, and the opening sealed itself; there was a pause, then a translucent red stripe across the top started pulsing and a grinding, scraping sound filled the room. Grin'elle Kriet's TARDIS faded out of existence.
Misa settled into Hikaru's arms. "Do you really believe what he's said about other universes?"
Admiral Grobal looked high in the sky, where an allied Zentraedi warship kept station above Macross City. "There are so many things that could have been just a little different - and changed the history of mankind." He relit his pipe. "Is it honestly possible that other realities don't exist?"
Minmay came up to the window behind him at that. They traded a look, then stared up to the stars, trying to imagine a galaxy that held Klingons, Romulans, and a Federation...
The Time Vortex (the TARDIS)
No other TARDIS carried this option; it was Kriet's own invention, constructed as an escape when a convergence of natural forces had thrown him into Starfleet's 'Mirror' Universe. Since then, thanks to the uncertainty of the Vortex, alien distress signals, enemy action, and a host of other causes, he had had ample opportunity to field test the machine. Warp drives folded space; the TARDIS engines twisted time; but the Multiverse Device bent reality. Now, if Grin'elle programmed it correctly, it would take him home.
He worked carefully. The timeship's generators provided the power, and its computer provided control, but at a basic level, it was Kriet's own mind that gave the Device direction. There were many chances here for error.
By his reckoning, he had just left the reality tagged 'Macross-prime' in the year 2012. His destination was the universe 'USS Enterprise (Batron)' in the twenty-third century. Finally the course was fine-tuned to Kriet's satisfaction. He threw a switch, locking it in, and reached to throw the large transit-initiation lever...
Co-ordinates unknown
Intercepting a time capsule is nearly impossible; but they can be located, with the correct instruments, by the distortion they cause in the Vortex; and these beings had had long practice interfering with time.
On a scanner screen in an anonymous control room, a point of light appeared on a map meaningless by three-dimensional standards. An alien voice barked a cryptic command. Millions of nameless slaves died instantly under the assault of a single technological weapon; but there was still an immeasurable moment for the minds of these time-sensitive slaves to spasm in agony. The fourth dimension crumpled...
The TARDIS
Seattle - Tacoma Sprawl, North America
In every direction, steel and concrete reached almost to the horizon. As humanoid cities go, it was probably one of the major population centers of its planet. Even from high altitude, you could detect the life down there; the living, breathing organisms that, when taken together, formed the larger organism that was the city itself.
High altitude was where the noise sounded. Low-pitched, drawn-out grinding echoed through the thick air as a silvery shape appeared. But an experienced observer would have noticed that the moan rattled sickeningly, and the solidifying box whirled rapidly about its axis rather than remaining stable.
The sound cut out, and the box suddenly plummeted as if released from an invisible hold. It fell fast and heavily, smashing through the decaying ceiling of an abandoned building near the city's borders. The TARDIS finally came to rest, a lower corner embedded in the building's concrete floor.
Kriet didn't so much step out of the TARDIS as fall out. The hatch slid shut behind him as he wobbled to his feet again. A TARDIS had protection fields and inertial dampeners; they had kept him alive, but it had still been quite a ride.
As soon as his wind returned, he looked around. The place seemed to be a storage center, but at a guess, there had been no pickups or deliveries for at least three or four years. The hole his TARDIS had entered by was covered over by collapsed roofing and supports. Kriet was struck by the almost tangible feeling of decay and age, glossed over with an occasional repainting or slapdash repair job. Somehow, he had the feeling that he didn't want to stay here long.
Grin held his head in his hands for a moment, trying to think. He knew he could repair most of the damage to the Multiverse Device, but would need electronic spares to complete the work. If the accident had dropped him in a Starfleet-similar universe anytime between 2010 and 2300, then he should be able to patch together some sort of temporary replacement.
That led him to the other problem. He'd have to find out which universe he was in, as well, to give him reference markers for heading home. Luckily, each reality had a slightly different 'feel' to it, and Grin had had long practice; an hour's exposure to this frame should give him a base to work from. At least he hoped so. His first impressions were rather confusing.
He seemed to have ended up below ground. A short search revealed stairs, which he ascended. Grin'elle reached a door at the top, and opened it -
- and stepped into the glare of several spotlights.
He seemed to be in the building's central storage area. A decrepit ceiling stretched far over his head, and the space just under was crowded with catwalks, supports, and metal beams. The rattle of chemical projectile weapons being readied surrounded him, as an amplified voice blasted, "All right, shadowmage! Next time you plan to sneak into Seattle, don't do your meteorite imitation! Remain absolutely still and keep your hands where we can see them; we're going to take back those hot little cell-samples of yours!"
Grin's eyes opened wide. This had to be the worst case of mistaken identity he'd ever stumbled into - and the geography reference was little consolation!
A heavily armored man approached. Both the plating (labeled 'Lone Star Security Services') and the gun muzzles trained on Kriet convinced the Starfleet officer not to try anything. Regeneration is never fun, and it doesn't always work on multiple gunshot wounds. With a deft movement, the cop swooped in, pulled the sealed canister from Grin's belt, and stepped back.
"All right, my spell-casting friend," the loudspeaker continued. "There's some big fans of yours downtown who're just dying to have a little conversation with you. Step forward slowly and - "
With a sound like balloons popping - or perhaps zeppelins - the spotlights all went dark and sprayed shards of glass over the scene. As the glare faded and Kriet finished a dive to the concrete floor, he saw a large riot-control vehicle and three smaller cars parked halfway through large loading entrances. About ten armored men looked about in confusion as a deep growl informed them, "An' dis is for dem potshots ya took at me last month!"
A thudding concussion sounded from an overhead catwalk as something made a huge dent in the armor of the riot control vehicle. Small automatic weapons chattered, knocking two of the police to the floor. Grin couldn't see if they were wounded or stunned.
His question was partially answered as a three-meter figure which must have massed at least a hundred-twenty kilograms fell from the catwalk, landing on one of the fallen bodies. Grin heard bones break, and he doubted they belonged to the heavyweight.
The giant stood, plucking something metallic from his thick, knobby skin. "Oh, ya think dat hurt? I'll show ya hurt!" He grabbed the body he'd landed on and threw it at a group of police standing behind a car. It hit hard enough to knock them back a meter or two. The basically humanoid creature unlimbered a large submachine gun and pulled back the bolt.
Bright flares of unearthly light briefly lit the faces of two more attackers up on the catwalk. One was an unshaven, unkempt, filthy figure with silver mirrors where his eyes should have been. Kriet saw him snarl gleefully as lightning jumped from his fingertips.
The other was a mousy-looking girl whose thick wraparound sunglasses couldn't hide the intelligence in her face. Miniature suns leaped from her palms at the policemen. Grin saw the light actually split and curve around their armor into their bodies. The cops screamed.
By this point, the giant was gleefully emptying his ammo supply into the parked vehicles, the smashed spotlights, and any warm body which happened to be nearby. "He'll have fun, fun, fun, 'till the coppers take his HK away!" howled the creature, rather off-key.
The police weren't in a position to object. "All forces retreat! Pull out! We have what we came for!" shouted the loudspeaker. Completely demoralized, the cops did just that; with respectable speed, they were gone.
The lightning throwers dropped to the floor, joined by the giant, who was happily caressing his smoking gun. After closing the large loading doors, they approached Kriet confidently - while minutely eying his slow, cautious rise from the ground.
"Don't think we've met," the man said. "They call me Skid." Loud, battered clothes hung from his frame, composing an outfit which looked like it had been stolen from a twenty-first century video version of Yellow Submarine - which in fact it had. Several weapons, both heavy and discreet, were slung about his body beside mysteriously stuffed carry pouches and bags.
He indicated the girl. "This is Weekend, and I'm sure you've noticed Drool, here." She wore a blue leather vest with what looked like armor plates sewn in, a lacy blouse, and loose trousers which matched the vest. A submachine gun like the giant's hung across her back. Drool, on the other hand, wore only a stained t-shirt and blue jeans two normal humans could have fit in. The giant showed fangs as he smiled and mimed wiping his mouth, grunting, "Ugh. Urk. Kill. Hurt."
"Drop it, big guy," sighed the girl.
"Vivisect. Discombobulate. Laterally incise the thoracic vertebrae," he continued, grinning wider.
"You aren't who we expected," Skid continued. "The Stars seemed to be expecting you, though."
Weekend snapped her fingers, and sparks flew. "We don't like contradictions. They confuse us. Sometimes we just have to remove them." The sparks grew bigger, jumped higher.
Skid moved close. Kriet could see his own confused reflection in those blank silver eyes. "So, tell us, chummer. Just who are you, and what are you doing here?"
An emotion Grin had felt few times before in his score of decades ran through his body now: fear. Most Time Lords never leave their safe little enclave on Gallifrey, and those who do generally possess the skills and natural abilities to meet any challenge with grace and style.
Somehow, Kriet knew this situation was different. Instead of automatically taking charge of matters as usual, he felt completely lost - not that these characters looked ready to hand him trust, loyalty and obedience on a silver platter. The intensity of their gazes made it clear that they had better find his answer acceptable - or Grin's travels would abruptly come to an end.
Grin'elle thought rapidly. His real name - any of them - would mean less than nothing to these street cavaliers. The style apparently demanded a label, a title which told potential enemies to remain potential; at the same time, it would have to fit well enough for the streets to accept it.
Inspiration came from the pseudonym taken by a fellow Time Lord, long ago. "They call me the Professor," he claimed.
"The Professor?" smirked Weekend.
Kriet folded his arms. "Uh-huh. Anyone who crosses me gets taught a painful lesson."
There was a long silence, which was suddenly broken by deep guffaws from Drool. "Guess that'll teach you guys to carry that attitude. If ya could see yer face, Skid."
The magician smiled - slightly; Kriet knew he'd bought himself some breathing room. "All right - Professor. That still doesn't tell us what you're doing here. We expected a courier from Chromogene. You ain't him."
"No, I'm not," Grin agreed coolly. "What I am is stranded, and somewhat disoriented." He took a deep breath, hoping that a society of technology and magic would believe his next claim. "Try this on for size, folks. You've met your first time traveler."
Drool's weapon rose to cover him again. "Hey, Drool may look dumb, but Drool not that stupid."
Kriet felt a kind of psychic tickling. He turned to see Weekend, who'd slipped behind him, hold her palms out again and mumble softly. He prepared to dodge more lightning, but she simply opened her eyes and gave him a surprised frown. "It's chip-truth, guys. At least he thinks so."
"A time-traveler?" Those unreadable silver orbs faced Kriet again. "So how'd a master of time and space end up here in a collapsing shell in the Barrens?"
"My ship's landed here," Grin'elle began to explain. "It's parked downstairs - "
The building rocked with the pressure of an explosion. "Now what?" yelled an exasperated Weekend as she brought her gun out and forward. Skid cursed and waved his hands, mumbling. It was hard to tell behind those mechanical eyes, but his expression seemed unfocused. Only a few seconds later he reported, "The Stars are shining." Drool and Weekend tensed, while Kriet shot him a quizzical look. He grimaced and explained, "The parking lot's packed with Lone Stars. Think we made 'em mad."
"Can we slip out the back way?" asked Weekend.
Skid grimaced. "Nope. They've ringed the place."
Drool returned from a quick trip to the catwalk, toting a hand cannon almost as tall as Weekend. "We fight our way out, yes?"
Another explosion rattled the warehouse. Skid smiled nastily. "That thick hide of yours proof against a grenade launcher, troll?"
"One good rescue deserves another, right?" All heads turned to Kriet, who grinned smugly. "I was just telling you folks about my TARDIS, right? Anyone for a short trip - say a few kilometers in any reasonable direction?"
They glanced at each other quickly. "Lead on, Professor," said Skid. "But your Deity help you if you're ghosting us."
The four of them dodged into the door Kriet had recently appeared from just as one of the outer doors collapsed with a large crash. Metal slugs sprayed through the volume they had just occupied.
They all leaped down the stairs, (Drool's landing was nothing less than impressive,) and ran up to Kriet's TARDIS. He pulled a key from around his neck, and inserted it into an invisible keyhole in the side. The hatch slid open, and Kriet jumped in. "Quick and the dead, guys. Let's get a move on!"
Skid hesitated. "This is a time machine?"
Weekend rolled her eyes. "You were expecting H.G. Wells at the controls?" She followed Kriet, and Skid reluctantly followed suit.
Drool looked doubtfully at the TARDIS - a meter square, two and a half meters tall, and already holding three people. "Uh, it been long time since high school, but Drool seem to remember something about how many people fit in phone booth - "
From inside, Skid, Weekend, and Grin'elle all yelled "Drool!"
Small-arms fire from the stairway made up the troll's mind. "Little guys' funeral," he shrugged. The hatch closed behind him. Someone lobbed a brace of grenades, causing an incredible amount of noise and smoke. When it cleared, the TARDIS was gone.
Kriet bent concernedly over the main console, then his face cleared. He'd hardly been worried about the grenades, but this was the first chance he'd had to check the TARDIS for injury since his 'landing.' "Son of a - the temporal limiter's been roasted! Co-ordinate overdrive scrambled... Wonderful. I'm now the proud owner of a hyperdimensional crosstown bus."
The others stared around at the huge, high-tech control center. Drool, of course, felt it necessary to voice the traditional line: "This - this bigger on inside than outside!"
Weekend winced. "Articles, Drool! 'A' - 'an' - 'the'! I know you've heard of them!"
Drool looked at her, enunciating clearly, "You are absolutely no fun at all."
Grin'elle looked up. "I can land us anywhere in the city limits. Got a suggestion?"
Skid examined the scanner screen. "Will this thing show a map?"
"Sure." Kriet manipulated controls, and the scanner screen opened. "I'll put us in hover mode." Weekend gave him a pained look. "Partially materialized, my friend: invisible to radar and invulnerable to collision." She relaxed somewhat.
Skid pointed to a pillar of fire and smoke. "Maybe I'm glad we found you, Professor. That's where we were a few moments ago." He moved his finger to an intersection a few blocks away. "We have friends waiting here. Did you say something about repairs on this thing?"
"Yes," Grin answered. "I'm rather low, unfortunately, on electronic spare parts at the moment."
The cybermage smiled at him. "Well, Professor; hang with us a while. We might know the people you need to talk to."
Grin looked sidelong at him. "That would certainly be a big help," he confirmed. He looked away, and his expression hardened. "Besides; I have property to recover."
Weekend stared at the both of them, biting her lower lip in calculation. "I think it's safe to land now," she suggested. "Can you bring us down - without attracting mega-attention?"
Some of the mirth returned briefly to Kriet's eyes. "I can do even better than that," he said.
A stretch limousine rounded the street corner and braked to a stop. Out climbed the rather motley group of adventurers. Skid gave the machine a long look and whistled. "Style! If only my last Mr. Johnson could see this!"
Grin'elle looked a little smug. "Unlike others, my chameleon circuit works perfectly," he said. He looked about. Bright neon reflected off unidentifiable plastic-wrapped lumps lying against the walls. With a shiver, Grin realized that they could easily be either garbage or bodies. Scratched plexiglass fronted shops which pandered to unrestrained consumption, and darkened apartment windows overhead seemed to hold sinister secrets. Cars shrouded in tinted glass hurried by. His slight smile faded quickly.
Flashing emergency lights lit them from above as a vectored-thrust hover vehicle banked overhead, zeroing in on the burning building a few blocks down the street. Fire-fighting equipment flashed by, sirens screaming. "We can't stay here long," Weekend said. "They're a little excited about our recent activities."
A black-haired Amazon stepped from the shadows, planting her hands on her hips. "I should have known," she said. "We can't take you folks anywhere."
Skid inclined his head a fraction of a millimeter. "Greetings, Lady Dragon," he intoned. Grin looked at the woman's high-swept Vulcanoid ears. He'd read up on J.R.R. Tolkien; if Drool was a 'troll', than this woman had to be - an 'elf.' Admittedly, he'd never conceived of an elf whose features were a mix of Oriental and Native American, but at least the woman dressed the part. Thick, fashionable leathers displayed strategic areas of bare skin. The flowing cloak, engraved longsword, and carved hardwood staff topped with crystal completed the picture well.
Another blank-eyed man joined the group, moving with the mechanical grace of cybernetic muscle replacements and eying Kriet distrustfully with reddish, glowing optics instead of silver mirrors. "Who's this stray you've picked up, Skid?" One hand scratched at the thick growth of red beard around his chin, while another toyed with a grenade hanging next to even more hardware than the others carried. Armor plates clicked quietly in the lining of a stylish wraparound jacket, and tight trousers of heavy-gauge plastic made him look even more robotic.
The mage motioned at the Starfleet officer. "Lady 'D', Moloch; this guy says he's the Professor. He pulled us out of Lone Star's little campfire."
Lady 'D' eyed him appraisingly. "Well done," she murmured.
"He's a time traveler," Skid continued.
"Right. Unt I em Adolf Hitler," responded Moloch.
"I keep getting that reaction," groused Kriet.
"Where are the others?" asked Weekend.
"Our pretty little deckhead's invading Chromogene. She said something just felt wrong about the run."
"Chip-truth, Lady. Our little friend never showed up. Instead the Professor here walked right into a Lone Star setup," Skid informed her.
"So ka," she nodded. She cocked her head at Drool. "That certainly explains the explosions."
He smiled, patting his cannon. "Nice bang-bang."
A black van pulled up, in shape and styling greatly resembling one of the shuttlecraft Kriet used back home. The side door rattled open, revealing a powerful, heavyset man in a thickly pocketed and belted jumpsuit sitting in the driver's seat. "Let's buzz, chummers!" He pointed at a police scanner radio. "You guys are the hottest thing on the airwaves right now."
"Coming, Wheels," Moloch said. Kriet realized that the driver was physically connected to his vehicle by control links, much like a Starfleet Mechforces pilot.
"Weekend!" The street sorceress glanced over at Skid, who pointed at her and Kriet. "You ride with the Professor, there. Bring him to the safe house!"
"Got it!" She smiled at him. "Come on, chummer. With that timeship of yours, we could beat them by about half an hour."
"Unethical, dear. Besides, accidentally meeting oneself is nowhere near as fun as the stories say."
"Wet blanket," she shot back.
The TARDIS made its usual scraping fade-in in the back room of an abandoned retail store. Weekend and Grin'elle came out.
The front area was filled with piles of mildewed clothing. The windows were blacked over, and the door had been replaced with a steel shutter. This raised to admit Drool, Lady 'D', Moloch, Skid, and Wheels.
"Wheels, this is the Professor," Skid introduced. "He dragged us out of that structure fire before it gave us that roasted, juicy flavor."
Wheels shook Kriet's hand. "Good of you. Some of these jerks still owe me money."
Grin couldn't stop staring at the metal plug mounted in Wheels' skull. "Direct neural interface," he mused. "Takes guts to wear one of those. We didn't build them until the end of the 23rd century." He stopped short. "Speaking of which; I'm sure this sounds like a weird question, but could someone tell me what year this is?"
Wheels stared at him, then at Moloch. "What's with this guy?"
"We told you in the van; he says he's a time traveler," Lady 'D' answered. "It might explain how he got here before we did, you know. I didn't see you using an inordinate amount of brakes on the way over."
"According to the reports circulating last New Year's, it's 2050 AD," Skid said.
"2050," Kriet breathed, relaxing slightly. "Good. At least I should be able to get the parts I need to make it back home."
Weekend poked her head out from a rear office. "Come here, guys! Our rockergirl's got something!"
They all filed into the small room, where a woman worked at a small computer terminal. She had her back to them, but Grin saw the interface cable connecting her keyboard and her skull, and gathered that the video screen propped against the wall was for their benefit.
"I decided to deck Chromogene's mainframe," she narrated as the screen flashed through personnel dossiers. Using a computer to steal information from someone else's network: this concept, at least, was familiar to Kriet. "Their ice programs chased me out of here before I could show you guys what I found, but I've managed to ensure that we won't be interrupted again - ah, here we are." A trid-photo and bio-extract flashed onto the screen. Kriet didn't recognize the file, but he could see that the others did.
"Dat's de guy we were s'pposed to meet at de warehouse," Drool rumbled.
"Ten out of ten, chummer," she said. "But, you see that sequence in his employee number up at the top?"
"Yeah."
She pressed a key, and the whole file evaporated. "This is their real personnel database. That's what their ice was chasing me away from."
"Where'd he go?" Drool demanded.
Skid gritted his teeth. "Nowhere. He never even existed."
"Exactly!" She turned and smiled at them all; and Kriet's knees went weak.
"Nebula?" he said in a small voice.
She saw him for the first time. "Oh. I don't think we've been introduced..."
"Dis is de Professor," Drool announced.
"Looks like you've got another fan, my dear," grinned Wheels. He nudged Kriet. "You got a copy of Sluts of the Shadows too?"
She looked ready to kill. "The next time someone mentions that bootleg simsense in my presence, I'm gonna give their brains a quick tour of the back wall. I've told you a thousand times, that's not me, it's a lookalike!"
Moloch crossed between them. "He probably just has a few of your albums. I've always said you carry an awfully high profile for a shadowrunner."
"Maybe," she grumbled. "At least I can show my face in downtown police stations."
"Why would you want to?" Skid muttered.
Throughout this exchange, Grin's mind was racing. He should have recognized the lengthy hairstyle, the pure voice. Here he stood in front of a girl who wouldn't be born for more than two hundred years, and in a different universe at that!
Thick black hair obscured the left side of her face as it cascaded down to her hip. The right side was short and pulled back to reveal a polished silver socket where the datalink cable rested snugly. She wore a tight black bodysuit under a long open shirt with a many-colored, metallic weave. A fitted webbing harness under the shirt carried a light pistol, velcro-sealed pouches, and assorted electronic gear. Her bright blue eyes seemed to see with a clarity even fine-tuned artificial replacements couldn't equal. Kriet felt his tenuous grip on the situation slipping farther.
Lady 'D' had put her mind to work, too, but on a different facet of the problem. "This whole thing had to have been a setup. They must have wanted what the Professor was carrying."
"If he's a time traveler, how would they know he would be here?" asked Moloch.
"Who knows what the corp mages have been up to recently?" replied Lady 'D'. "The right spell could easily have tipped them off."
"I'm lost," Grin'elle said. "How did you folks get involved? Not that I'm complaining about still possessing all my original manufacturer's equipment, but..."
Most of them looked away. Moloch said slowly, "As it happens, we're... a little low on cash at the moment. A friend said that the Stars would be intercepting a Chromogene courier tonight, and... we thought it might be worth some nuyen if we intercepted him first."
"What were you carrying, anyway?" Lady 'D' asked.
Kriet looked her in the eyes. "Cell samples. Cloning stock. A good friend of mine back home needs them desperately to get herself a body."
"Get herself..." Wheels mouthed. He stared at Grin'elle. "You're talking about an AI, aren't you? A computer intelligence!"
Grin returned the stare. "She's earned it. I have to get those samples back."
Nebula frowned for a moment, then turned back to her cyberdeck. Her expression dimmed as information in geometric shapes flowed over the screen. The view centered on one particular structure, then zoomed into it. The decker came back to the physical world as a file assembled itself on the screen. "Perhaps you should have a little talk with this guy. He's a corp exec at Chromogene; I happened to duck into his answering machine while dodging that ice. There are several phone messages to Lone Star on file in there."
Kriet stared at the picture with loathing and hatred. "I don't think it would help much." The disguise was good - very good. In another situation, the exec might have had trouble, but his tall, skinny frame and unusual jointing was much easier to disguise as the body of an elf. Unfortunately, Grin'elle had seen far too many of his type recently to be fooled.
"You are looking at an alien," Grin announced.
A Black Hat!
The others stared uncomprehendingly at him. Finally Weekend leaned against the wall, 'fanning' her pistol about her index finger, then tossing it and catching it again. "All right, Professor," she said, staring tiredly at the ceiling as the gun continued to whirl. "Let's have the whole story."
Kriet felt a sudden urge to spill the whole tale. He was sick of operating covertly throughout the universes, pretending to blend in, watching his speech and actions to prevent the slightest slip. He knew that as scruffy as these people looked, with the Black Hats on the planet, he'd need their help to survive.
Grin'elle nodded. "The whole story. Feel free to throw your truth spell, my dear; you'll see nothing but the straight dope."
He took a deep breath. "I was on my way home, to two hundred years from now, when the Time Vortex - the dimension my time machine uses - was disrupted terribly. I suspect it was arranged by the very forces who are working against us now.
"We're at war with these aliens. The 'Black Hats,' the 'Bad Guys,' whatever you want to call them; they've never told us what they call themselves. For reasons we've never known, it is vitally important to them that humanity is stopped from making certain types of progress. Perhaps they plan an invasion, a research program, a tri-vid documentary - we've never managed to find out, and it's really gotten past the point where it matters. What we do know is that they will go to any lengths to achieve this goal: thievery, sabotage, assassination, or mass murder.
"I'm a member of the military of my own time. We were called in by a private concern to counter one of the Black Hats' latest operations, and for reasons of our own, arranged to take the contract.
"One of those reasons is vital indeed. There was once a woman charged with the safety of a colony which, to her knowledge, might well have been the last remnants of humanity in the universe. I was there when she sacrificed herself to stop their mass murder - theirs, and my friends' as well."
Drool snorted. Coming from that respiratory system, the sound echoed for several minutes. "How touching. Maybe you give her medal. Put in her coffin."
Kriet spun on him. "Listen up, you DNA dinosaur! Maybe you folks don't set a lot of value on these things, but the way we keep score, it makes her a lot more of a person than some genetic accident whose greatest intellectual achievement is aiming his submachine gun properly to get that exact pattern of spraying blood!"
Seams creaked in the troll's t-shirt as he bent down to put his face scant millimeters from Grin's. "Glad you guys can afford pretty storylines in the future, breeder. Down here, ya cover someone else's butt only if he's coverin' yers. Nobody in 2050 hands out prizes for a dramatic death and noble actions."
The Time Lord's eyes seemed to flash as he stared right back. "There's an entire squadron of starships devoting their entire energies to bringing Athene Graham back to life." His voice dropped. "When you buy the farm, is there even going to be anyone around to carve something on your tombstone?"
Amazingly, Drool's voice got just as quiet. "Well, now, that's not gonna matter much to me when it happens, is it?"
Wheels broke the following silence first. "So, you're going to use those cell samples to do this?"
Grin'elle took a deep breath and looked away from the troll. "Yes. Her mind - personality, spirit, soul, whatever you want to call it - was transferred, at the last minute, to the computer aboard my timeship. The private concern we are dealing with has a technique which may be able to turn the samples into a viable human organism, after which we hope to be able to transfer her personality into it."
"But... that would take years, to grow an adult female from DNA basics," objected Weekend.
Skid looked at Grin, the light dawning. "And you're a time traveler."
Kriet shrugged, looking at the floor and speaking slowly. "Maybe. I generally try not to complicate things any more than they achieve on their own. What's important is that we fulfill our obligation."
Nebula was eying him strangely. "This woman must indeed mean something special to you."
The Starfleet officer's voice was toneless now. "She indirectly caused one of the most traumatic events in my life." He looked at the console-equipped rockergirl with hard eyes. "I intend to bring the whole matter to a conclusion."
An instrument strapped to Moloch's wrist called subtly for attention with toned-down sound and light. He unreeled a bud earphone from its side and wedged the tiny speaker into his ear. After a moment's listening, he replaced the phone and looked at the others. "That was Morgan. Apparently Mr. Johnson at Fuchi is ready to accept the merchandise we acquired for him last week."
The corner of Skid's mouth twitched. "At the new price?"
Moloch grinned. "The new price."
The twitch turned into an honest smile. "Well, Professor, it seems you've brought us luck - and nuyen - after all." He turned to Wheels. "We'll take the van, if you don't mind driving. Nebula, I think we'll leave the Professor here - Mr. Johnson gets nervous about an excess of warm bodies on his payroll. See how much he'll tell you about these alien dudes. We're not quite finished with Chromogene and Lone Star just yet."
"Clear channels, Skid," said the decker. In a flurry of disorganized motion, the others vanished.
Nebula began shutting down the communications program on her cyberdeck, as Grin looked on. He wasn't sure about being left alone here, but he could also appreciate the cybermage's reasoning. Besides, he knew he was still certainly in no position to argue with Skid's decisions.
She finally finished shutting down her equipment. Rather than flip the main power switch on the computer, however, she rebooted it with another disk. Sliding a protective panel over the keyboard, she turned the deck over and slid another panel open, revealing a somewhat different kind of keyboard.
Grin'elle looked on with some surprise as she started picking out a tune on the portable synthesizer the cyberdeck had turned into. "That's a neat trick, there," he commented.
"What's that?" she asked, smiling.
He pointed. "The modular transformation sequence, there. Very convenient."
Her smile turned sly. "A side effect of my extracurricular activities; most corp types get awful touchy when you carry a cyberdeck around their offices, but they're all honored to get a sneak preview of Nebula's latest hit single." She patted it affectionately. "It's paid for itself - several times, in fact."
"Are you very well-known around here?"
Now the smile was sardonic. "Hmm. Either I should be insulted because you've obviously never heard of me, or amazed when this proves you really are a time traveler."
"Make us both happy; go with the second option."
Nebula laughed in a way which had an odd effect on Grin's chemical balance. "As far as these guys are concerned, I'm too well-known. Of course, they don't complain when my face gets them into nearly any secure building in Seattle - not to mention the seriously trendy nightclubs." She stopped a moment, obviously having just thought of something. "Not that I should honestly expect otherwise, but... Assuming you are from the future - do you mean that I've been totally forgotten by then?"
Grin'elle had to think about that one for a moment. "Now that I think back, I do believe that your music was just gaining new popularity in the Federation when I left." Well, it wasn't a lie, anyway.
She gave him a long look. "If that's a line of bull, at least it's a comforting one." Her fingers found the keyboard again, and she divided part of her attention to the music. "This is a new piece I'm working on. Naturally, you're not hearing it properly at all, but I think it'll be ready for release in a week or three."
What came from the synth's speaker sounded pretty good to Grin. "What do you mean, I'm not hearing it properly?"
"You're not getting the orchestration and the sensorium, of course. You sound like one of those retro types who've never slotted a simsense concert in their lives."
He just looked at her. Suddenly Nebula blushed. "Oops. You haven't, have you? Well, you won't believe it 'till you try it, Professor." She pulled an interface cable matching the one still connecting her synth and her skull from one of her harness pouches. "It makes sound-only look like silent black and white flatscreen stuff." She reached over with the cable, then drew back. "Oh. I bet you don't have a jack, either."
He shook his head. "Sorry. Squeamish."
She chewed a nail, thinking. "Wow. You are retro." She brightened. "Wait a minute!" A further search through her gear revealed a device like a small plastic tiara. "I stole these trodes the last time I flew JAL. Between that garbage they called a meal, and the only functioning sim channel being a string of commercials, I felt they owed me." The singer plugged the cable into a jack at the back of the circlet. "Here. You gotta kind of rest it on your temples."
Actually, Grin'elle was quite familiar with the procedure. He communicated with his Valkyrie aerospace fighter mecha in a rather similar fashion. He settled it into position quickly.
Watching him, Nebula shook her head. "For someone who's never done this before, you do it pretty good." She raised an eyebrow. "Guess that's why you're the Professor, huh?"
Grin returned her expression. "You'd never believe my experience in adapting quickly to new situations."
She raised the other eyebrow. "I bet. Well, then, since you're new to this, but a fast learner, I think I'll hand you a treat. Some folks would pay good nuyen for this, you know." The techno-rocker fiddled at the function keys on her synth. "Here's the rough cut of the latest chip from Nebula: Battlesky!"
Kriet's vision slowly clouded, and his other senses faded as well, as the simsense signal took control of the sensory centers of his brain. The feeling was actually somewhat terrifying until one got used to it, but the Mechforces neurohelm caused similar sensations, and Grin had little trouble adapting.
A vast, empty starfield appeared. The only light was supplied by a distant sun, but there was nothing in sight for its feeble rays to warm.
At first, all was silent; but slowly Grin'elle became aware of a far-off sequence of notes, growing louder as they repeated. A few of the remote stars began to move, creating a new constellation; a connect-the-dots picture of a woman with head thrown back and arms spread. The musical pattern was clearer now; to Grin it sounded like stringed instruments crying warning, heralding danger. The woman's head fell forward to seemingly gaze at him, and he recognized the visual in-joke; how better to depict a singer whose street name was Nebula?
Her arms made a slashing motion, and the stars which composed her began to drift back to their natural places in the firmament. Now he began to hear a steady rhythm, insistent but not intrusive, overlay the repeating strings. With a start he realized that an object had moved into view: an Earthlike planet given phases by its solitary star. The lights of industrial civilization showed on its night side.
A tense synthesized guitar began to play. Lights he had thought were stars began to resolve into the propulsion units of starships. They were ugly, blocky creations lacking symmetry or balance, and the outthrust pods and antennas were too easily recognizable to a Starfleet veteran. Grin'elle had the feeling he knew exactly what was going to happen. The strings moved from warning to defiance, a bass guitar added its tension and strength, and a singing voice Kriet had always thrilled to entered the setting.
The road ahead - is torn and rough
But slowing us - is not enough
They knew we'd fear - we'd doubt our strength
They never guessed - we'd go the length
Once we were down - we're on our feet
We learned in school - and on the street
They made their plans - but it's too late
We're ready now - today's the date...
The universe a staging ground, an audience of stars
Chronos is our time keeper, the referee is Mars
The challenge at our doorstep stands, they wouldn't tell us why
We go to meet our destiny, out in the Battlesky!
The attack Grin'elle had foreseen began. Solid projectiles and beams of directed energy launched themselves from the weapon apertures of the spaceships. Artificial day lit areas of the planet tiny from Kriet's viewpoint, but perhaps city-block sized to the inhabitants below. Primitive missiles and emitted radiation struck back at the attackers from the planet's surface, doing more damage than they should have; still, Grin'elle knew this type of scenario quite well, and knew that the defenders had already lost...
We've trained and armed - we know our task
With shield to block - and cloak to mask
We step onto - the killing ground
Our muscles tensed - our balance found
They send to us - their greatest might
But we'll not lose - this final fight
A mighty blow - a broken joint
A wound, a gash - the turning point...
The universe a staging ground, an audience of stars
Chronos is our time keeper, the referee is Mars
The crowd looks up in wonderment, the fireworks they fly,
They try to guess our destiny, up in the Battlesky!
The bass guitar only played every other measure now. The strings had turned desperate, pleading. Grin cringed, sure he was about to watch the conquest of a world; and then, the situation changed.
The light of the sun increased almost painfully. When the flare died, five of the most beautiful spacecraft the Starfleet officer had ever seen cruised with lazy anger toward the fight. Vast white arcs of gleaming metal curved to connect lifesystems, drive nacelles, and sensory clusters. These vehicles deserved the name 'starship' in a way even those of Kriet's Federation couldn't match.
The reinforcements curved to block the paths of the smaller, more numerous aggressors, proving both by their maneuvering and the punishment they took from the attacker's weapons that they were hardly as delicate as they seemed. Their own armament targeted their assailants, and the spheres of zero-gee explosions enveloped ship after ship.
It was fine, while it lasted. Unfortunately, the numbers were still five starships and an under-defended planet against a swarm of merciless invaders. The flashes still appeared, with slightly less frequency, on the battered globe; and the spotless white finishes of the graceful defenders slowly but inexorably became pitted and scarred. A particularly well-aimed bolt impacted an engine of one of the great ships, and its flawless curved passes began to wobble dangerously. The detection equipment of another vanished in a great sheet of flame, and the ground-bound destruction increased...
It's all or none - our choices gone
The die is cast - our Rubicon
We stand and face - the next attack
Our shield is swift - the blow turned back
The foe confused - his heart grows cold
There's more to us - than he was told
He charges forth - and we respond
We cannot let - this fight go on...
The universe a staging ground, an audience of stars
Chronos is our time keeper, the referee is Mars
The final round is coming up, and now it's do or die
We stand and choose our destiny, watched by the Battlesky!
The lyrics trailed away. The guitars sang songs of surrender, the strings cried out in pain, the drumbeat slowed and stopped...
A single, high, pure organ note rang out. Grin would have bet anything that you couldn't synthesize that note, that it must have come from an air-driven pipe the size of a warp engine. At the instant of the note, a shaft of searing light connected the largest starship and the planet. Dimmed running lights on the ship's hull flared to full power. Its engines roared as it swung from its evasive course to one aimed at the heart of the attacking armada.
Another note sounded, then a third, and a fourth. The chord blasted through Kriet's brain as all five ships were linked with lifelines of - what? Pure energy? Thought? Will? It didn't matter. The defenses of the planet and the guns of the starships acted as one, now: as a synchronized whole. Grin'elle now truly knew how this combat would end, and this time he was not mistaken. The guitars now screamed victory, revenge, vindication as the attackers were quickly decimated. Any who survived fled, and the light which connected the victors grew until there was no night anywhere on the planet.
The universe a staging ground, an audience of stars
Chronos was our time keeper, the referee was Mars
The fight is finally over now, we tell the past good-bye
We leave to seek our destiny, beyond the Battlesky!
The music reached a peak of celebration, then faded. A huge hand constructed of starstuff reached up, and the planet and ships descended to rest lightly in its outstretched palm. Nebula held her creation out to her audience of one, as if seeking approval; then, as if knowing she had gained it, smiled and bowed deeply. This universe began to disintegrate, as the real one reasserted its hold...
"Wow." For the life of him, Grin'elle Kriet honestly couldn't think of anything else to say.
The rockergirl's sly smile was aimed at him again. "Does that mean you liked it?"
He put a hand to his temple, massaging the skin as he slid the trodeset off his skull. "Your earlier guess hit spot on. I've never experienced anything like that, before." He was stalling. Simstim like this was very new to him, true enough, but the experience itself seemed horribly familiar. "Uh... Where do you get the idea for a show like that?"
She leaned forward conspiratorially. "No one believes this except the magicians, and you know how spaced out they are; but I actually dream my best ideas. This was a dream I had a few months ago, and I've worked since then refining it and turning it into light and sound." Nebula began coiling the various cords and storing them away.
"My first number one album came to me that way. I dreamed I was performing on a faraway planet, with a backup band of bizarre alien musicians, in the worst dead-end holes you can imagine." A distant look entered her eyes. "It was actually a lot of fun - in the dream, anyway. That was my inspiration for Songs From the Center of Time."
That started another train of thought Grin was willing to miss. He changed the subject. "And you write these all yourself, with that?" He pointed at the synth.
"Oh, no. This only writes the audio and olfactory portions. Visual and tactile sections have to be programmed using studio equipment. I have the latest workstation setup back at my place. Would you like to see it?"
"Don't we have to stay here and wait for the others?"
"Nah. It might be hours before they get back, especially if they get sidetracked. They'll know where I went, and how to reach me. Besides, I'm starved. A good bout of decking takes it out of you, you know."
Grin'elle realized that his stomach had been clamoring for attention for some time. "Yes, I could use a meal myself. Uh, I don't think I have anything you folks would call money..."
She squeezed his hand, lightly. "Don't worry about it. I'm sure that I can nuke something from the freezer."
Grin wasn't quite sure what that meant. "Whatever you say, my dear."
The lobby's receptionist was rather pretty, which was unusual for an ork. There was no doubt, however, that there was plenty of muscle tissue under that blouse, even if it was rather nicely distributed. Skid waved Mr. Johnson's token at her, and she nodded and made no effort to bar their progress. Drool lagged behind for a few steps. If he was hoping for a phone number, he didn't get it.
They entered one of the anonymous offices, and found an anteroom sheathed in metal and plastic, with plush chairs scattered about - even one Drool's size. The cushions gave deeply, even under Weekend's slight weight. She sank into the seat disgustedly. "This stuff'll poison your brain if you hang around it long enough," she said.
"In that case, my dear, we will try to make this as quick and painless for you as possible," a deep, authoritative voice said. They all turned, as the door to the inner office opened, revealing a tall, dark man whose pinstripes and horn-rims did not conceal his layers of muscle and sharp expression. "Won't we, friends?"
Skid's fingers clicked nervously - or so it seemed. Only one who'd worked with him for some time could know that that wasn't nerves, but the preamble to a particularly impressive spell. "Excuse me, Johnson-san, but I don't believe we've met before."
The corporate type smiled sadly. "Oh - yes. I'm afraid that our superiors were dissatisfied with the results my predecessor provided for them. I've been assigned to conclude the transaction in his place."
Wheels ran a finger along the glass-topped table, checking it for nonexistent dust. "Well, now, that's a real shame. Kinda liked him, too. Sure he approves this change in the plans?"
"Perhaps this will relieve your misgivings," the suit said. "Catch, samurai." A small object arced from his hand to be intercepted by a blindingly fast grab by Moloch. His blank, glowing eyes gazed at a small screen on a reader the object disappeared into. He looked up. "Certified, chummers. The new price - and another fifteen percent. The bank's a Fuchi laundry."
Skid nodded sharply. "Drop it, Lady."
She made a fast set of hand signals, and a tightly sealed metal attache case faded into view atop the table. The suit's expression didn't change, but his body language was suddenly that of a slavering wolf.
Skid stood to leave. "It's been a pleasure. Feel free to call on us again - we might even accept."
"Maybe you be eligible for repeat customer discount," joshed Drool.
It happened so fast that even the chipped and wired Moloch had no time to react. The door glowed red, then fell to the floor as a fine powder. A tall, gangly man in tailored leathers walked in, displaying a pistol which he held as if it was an extension of his own arm. "Humans would consider this a rather large gun. I recommend quiet and no sudden moves."
The suit went for his own gun. It hadn't cleared his lapel before the newcomer's weapon spoke. It coughed twice more, and the Fuchi man's lifeless body fell against the wall and to the floor.
Drool used the distraction as the chance to swing a huge hamfist directly at the gunman's neck vertebrae. It never connected; his opponent spun, reached up with an absurdly delicate-seeming limb, and stopped the swing in mid-arc. The troll's surprised eyes met the other's calm expression, and widened further as another three bullets slammed into his chest.
"I advised against that course of action," he said mildly. "Anyone else?" The others stood immobilized by shock and indecision. "Congratulations. Think of it as passing an IQ test." He took out a small remote control, and tapped out a button sequence. Instantly all in the room but him were paralyzed in truth.
Another one, dressed similarly, appeared in the doorway. He held up three fingers. The gunman nodded, glanced quickly about the room, and pointed at Moloch. Moving again with incredible speed, he snapped electronic wristbands on the arms of Skid and Weekend, while his companion did the same to the street samurai. Another button on the control was pressed, and a faint whine began to build.
"Who are you?" Wheels managed to choke out.
"Your friend the Professor didn't mention us? Well, tell him you hope he's said goodbye to the Batron. He'll understand." With that, the whine became unbearable. The captives' limbs were freed, but Wheels' shots intersected empty space - and the samurai and the two mages were gone as well.
He munched at a remaining bit of crust as she led him over to a large multimedia console. "This has controls for olfactory stimulus emulation," she hit a button and the scent of roses tickled Kriet's nose, "tactile image reconstruction," she guided his hand to a foam pad which abruptly took on the feel of fragile flower petals, "and even holographic modeling for the live stage shows." A few more touches on a complex keyboard, and a ghostly image of the bloom appeared before Grin's eyes.
With the flip of a switch, reality returned. "These are just the quick-and-dirty showoff versions, of course," the singer explained. "For an actual production, the sensory model would be highly refined. You couldn't tell it from the real thing."
Grin'elle rubbed at his eyes. "Don't some people get a little too involved in this stuff?"
Nebula shrugged. "Evolution in action. Anyone with that tenuous a grip on reality probably ought to be removed from the gene pool, anyway." She checked a time display which floated holographically over a corner table. "The others'll probably be occupied for a little while. Wanna see some real magic?"
Grin threw his arms wide. "Why not? I couldn't possibly be any more impressed than I am now."
A truly evil expression blossomed on her face. "One would think you're old enough to know the danger of rash promises, Professor."
She pulled another chair over to the console and retrieved the trodes she'd used on Grin'elle earlier, handing them to him as he sat. As he donned them, he watched the rockergirl do what looked like an astonishing amount of data retrieval and program set-up. Finally she rested for a beat. "This ought to be a lot of fun. Haven't had the chance to test the two-person full-sensory link before."
Before a startled "What?" could escape Kriet's lips, she'd hit the switch, and the universe changed output channels.
The time traveler found himself in a vehicle of incredible complexity, hurtling along a three-dimensional framework of grid references and massive, ever-changing structures. It dawned on him that, while very different, the scene reminded him of the illusionary interior of Bahamoud 19, the giant computer formerly inhabited by Adam Capek and Athene Graham.
"The Matrix!" The exuberant shout came from the driver's seat, where Nebula - or at least a highly realistic full-sensory projection - pulled at controls with intoxicated abandon. "Here and the stage are the only two places I truly live!" Stunned, Kriet was struck by the thought that her rapturous expression only made her look more beautiful.
As Grin got his bearings, he realized that many of the capsule's complicated devices were non-functioning theatrics, and that the multiple levers, dials, and switches before the singer had little effect on their actual course. It was much like being on the set of an adventure video; as an extension of Nebula's personality, it wasn't actually very surprising.
They banked into a tight downward spiral, steadily losing speed. A gentle thump announced their arrival on some solid surface, and walls and a ceiling faded into view as their vessel melted away. The rockergirl moved into Grin's vision, wearing a long, flowing dress which appeared to be composed of densely packed, constantly moving miniature suns.
Nebula ran an appraising look over him. "Well; a man in uniform. You weren't lying about your Federation. The threads suit you." Kriet looked down, realizing that somehow his nondescript traveling gear had been replaced by his Starfleet 'monster maroons.'
She smiled at his confusion. "Welcome to Nebula's Playroom, where reality is what you define it!" The girl leaned forward conspiratorially. "Beware, for one's true nature is liable to betray him in this world - as you have already experienced." She twirled about, and briefly seemed to be the center of a small galaxy. The walls melted into city parkland as she spread her arms theatrically, and a small table with two chairs sprang from the floor. Nebula ended her short dance with a graceful slide into one of the seats.
Grin'elle followed her more sedately; his thoughts were in turmoil, and he was trying desperately to order and silence them. Dared he remain for long in an environment influenced by his own thoughts, both conscious and subconscious? Kriet knew only too well the tricks a mind could play.
Nebula handed him a tall glass filled with what looked like water. For a second, he felt the unexpected warmth of her hand in this unreal universe; he jerked back reflexively, almost spilling the clear liquid.
"You're surprised? Let me guess. You're asking yourself how you can feel my hand when this is all computer generated illusion?"
"The question had crossed my mind," Grin said quietly. He sipped at the drink. The flavor was indescribable - and excellent.
"Professor, your brain defines 'real' as the sum total of the data sent to you by your sensory organs. If I bypass that, and send information directly to the data processing centers of your gray matter, then it's as real as anything your meat body may experience. And you needn't worry about said physical form; I've intercepted all your motor signals as well. In fact, those control your movement here, for the most part."
"Still, you created this 'reality'."
"Men created your spaceship, didn't they? Is it any less real? The laws of physics created the planet your meat body stands upon. Is it any less real?"
Grin stood abruptly. This was beginning to be unfunny. "I think I should go."
She looked up at him. "What are you afraid of?"
He closed his eyes, putting his hands to his temples. "Can't you feel it?"
She did, now: a vague nausea. "What are you doing?"
"You shouldn't have brought me here. You shouldn't be here!"
Nebula felt her pocket universe changing, transforming. The effect centered around Kriet, who had dropped to his knees. "Professor - " But she knew that was wrong. "Who - who are you?"
Grin'elle began to speak as though he hadn't heard her, but was answering the same question he had just asked himself. "I am a Starfleet officer, trained for two centuries by the time travelers of Gallifrey. My thoughts and memories span the local spiral arms across thousands of years and a score of alternate timelines. I have experience of all three sciences known to intelligence: magic, technology, and psionics. And I - know - you!"
Suddenly, Nebula had the insane impression that she was overlapping herself, not once, not twice, but a hundred times. She heard her own voice say, almost without her intention, "And who am I?"
Kriet's eyes snapped open. They didn't seem to see her - or perhaps they saw her all too well. "The lead singer of Artificial Intelligence. The key to the defeat of the Lifeline Thirteen program. The vigilante leader of the Hardcases. The sorceress of Tela Krohm..."
With each of his recitations the singer felt a burst of recognition from one of the multiple images that now composed her. As the waves of Kriet's mental ocean crashed against her she realized her surroundings were unraveling as her programs failed to cope with the activity of their brains. The world collapsed around them, forcing them closer with every second, until they were little more than an arm's length apart. Mechanically, unrealizing, they reached out -
- and together slammed down the switch disconnecting them from the Matrix.
It took a moment for both of them to realize that they had made the transition. Nebula's expression cleared at the same moment Kriet regained his bearings; with a start, she leaped away from him, data cable popping from her skull with a faint 'ping!'
Grin'elle fought to clear vocal cords which somehow felt much older than two and a quarter centuries. "What is it?"
"Stay away from me! You - just stay away!"
He blinked and shook his head. "I have the darndest feeling that all this was your idea."
She stared at him a moment, and the terror faded. "I - I'm sorry." Gingerly, she walked to a synthetic leather couch pushed casually against one wall. A small laugh drifted from her throat. "You know, after you get to be a certain age, you figure you've seen it all..."
Grin stood and looked away, rubbing a a stiff neck. "Yeah. I'm familiar with the feeling."
"All that you said in there, about both yourself and me... Is all that true?"
"My life and I have a special arrangement, Nebula. It constantly plays its little games with me, and I scream and whine about it to no avail." He finally turned to look at her. "It's worked for the last couple of centuries."
She shook her head. "You're really over two hundred years old?"
"My instructors would have considered me a stripling. The people I left behind have a unique perspective, and in actual practice they mature much slower than, say, humans. Think of me more as a thirty-year-old with a lot of mileage."
The singer considered that. "What did it mean - all those other me's?"
"I don't know." He walked over, sitting down beside her. "I do know that this is not the first time we've met - it's happened once before, on a completely different timeline, in a completely different century." Grin'elle raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps I'm not the only subject of these games."
She looked him steadily in the eye, then grabbed him behind the neck and pulled his head forward for an unexpected and lengthy kiss. "All right, Professor," she said when they finished, still locking gazes with him. "Prove to me that we're not still in the Matrix - that this is anything other than a dream."
As Nebula kissed him again, hungrily, Grin'elle discovered that he approved of the plan wholeheartedly.
"Too bad neither of us smoke."
"You kidding? Breathing the air around here is bad enough. They still have cigs in the twenty-third century?"
"Nahh. I just watch a lot of old movies." He paused. "Then I go visit."
"Yeah, right."
"Y'know, the Starfleet version of you tried to get me in bed once."
Her expression dimmed. "Do we have to talk about that?"
"Not at all," Grin said reasonably. "Guess I see your point."
Nebula's vidphone chose that moment to buzz shrilly. The singer jumped out of bed, wrapping the sheet around her and leaving Grin'elle quite naked. He raised his eyebrows but didn't say anything; it was her place, after all.
Lady's expression deserved further study; it was a kind of worried furious that relaxed long enough to take in the rockergirl's sheet-clad form and remark, "I'll be wanting to hear about this one - later. You and the Professor put some clothes on and meet us at the Zombie Zoo, yesterday. We've got a situation here."
"What's - " Nebula started.
"Just - come - now." Brief irritation passed across her expression. "And, Professor, please try to remember that 'yesterday' is just a figure of speech, okay?" The signal cut off.
"Charming," Grin commented. "Reminds me of a Security Chief I know."
Nebula shot him an apprehensive look. "Shut up and hand me my underwear."
Grin's TARDIS was still in the abandoned store, so they made the trip over on a vehicle Nebula called a Yamaha Rapier and Grin'elle called 'a guided missile with two wheels bolted underneath.' They pulled up outside the Zombie Zoo, a place that looked like Charles Addams had decided to build a nightclub. It showed signs of surviving a major structure fire (probably a civic beautification project, Grin mused) and recent repair. A hand-lettered sign out front let the world know that the place was 'Under New Management.'
The bouncer's eyes went wide when he saw Nebula, and the two had no trouble walking right in. The band on the cobweb-festooned stage played a death march at ten times normal speed, adding a heavy drumbeat. Out on the floor, teen-aged faces coated with pale makeup bobbed wildly around foam tombstones planted in a layer of fake dirt. It might have surprised Kriet if he hadn't seen weirder things among primitive hunter-gatherer cultures.
Nebula edged around the crowd, keeping her face averted; now was not the time to start an autograph session. Drool, Wheels, and Lady 'D' leaned impatiently against the bar; once spotting the couple, they walked back into a small unoccupied office. Grin'elle and Nebula followed.
The singer closed the door behind them. "I can't believe we're meeting here. I've heard stories about this place."
"One of Skid's drinking buddies bought the place after the previous owner vanished," Lady replied. "He lets us use it on occasion. The only magic around here now consists of me and the special effects on the glasses." She glared at Kriet. "Although, if you're looking for zombies, you could do well with the pair of the Professor's 'acquaintances' we just ran into."
"What?" Hardly original, but a valid response.
"Your 'Bad Hats' showed up, chummer. At least, they did a very good impersonation: if those geeks were from this planet, than I'm an Ork. They took Skid, Weekend, and Moloch right out from under us, and put three slugs into Drool that only his armored epidermis blocked. Lastly, they said to tell you, Professor, that you'd seen the last of the Batron." She folded her arms. "I'll assume you know what that means."
Kriet's mouth fell open. When it closed again his teeth came together again tightly. "They have the cell samples - and they're the ones who interfered with the TARDIS! They had this whole thing planned all along!"
"Well, that's just fine, Professor," Wheels noted, "but what exactly does this have to do with our drinking buddies?"
"Simplicity itself, my cybernetic speed demon. Your friends are hostages to my - our - good behavior. Only you can help me recover my property and get home. They'd rather you didn't. Your friends will die as soon as they're assured of my ineffectiveness, but until then they're confident that those hostages will keep you out of the way."
Drool shook his head. "Dey doan know us vewwy well, do dey?"
"They never do." Kriet looked at the floor. "The one thing that keeps us one step ahead: they always underestimate the opposition." When he looked up there was fire in his eyes. "Where are they?"
Lady's face was grim. "I tracked them astrally to the upper stratosphere." She grimaced. "My art does not function past the boundaries of Earth's ecosystem."
"But military technology does." Everyone turned to Wheels. "A friend of a friend of a friend told me that an interplanetary vehicle on the course you described, Lady, continued that course and is on a three-week transfer orbit to Jupiter - or, more likely, one of its moons."
"That's odd," Kriet said. "Normally, they wouldn't use such primitive technology... unless, perhaps the presence of the laws of magic in this area of this frame inhibits facets of their more advanced science!"
"And again... in English!" Drool sounded like a bandleader.
"It means that they can't use some of their most advanced equipment. No wonder they find you a threat. Under the correct conditions, you guys could take them apart!"
"Well, all right; let's get 'em!" said Wheels.
"We'll need to hurry; I bet they are heading for one of Jupiter's moons. That's a great place to put a spatio-temporal gate." Kriet was thinking out loud.
"How do you know?" Lady demanded.
"Just do."
"Come on den," Drool growled. "Let's cram into dat flyin' telephone booth a' yers and wipe 'em!"
Grin'elle stopped short. "That's not gonna work," he said.
"What?"
"Why not?!"
"I told you guys, it's busted! Hopping around Seattle is no problem, but the TARDIS isn't up to space travel right now. Even if you all can find me the parts, it'll take a couple of days to fix."
Wheels planted his fists on his hips. "Well, I got friends in high places, but none o' them are gonna loan me a spaceship. How do you suggest we catch them, Mister super-technological time traveler?"
There was a long silence while Grin'elle stared into the distance. Abruptly he blinked and fixed his gaze on the cybered steersman. "Do your friends maybe know where a spaceship would be kept?"
"I already doan like dis," Drool interjected.
Nebula looked curiously at the Starfleet officer. "What do you have in mind, Professor?"
An excited, evil smile spread across Kriet's face. "I've only been in your Seattle for a little while, but I think I've begun to understand some of the rules here. Tell me, 'chummers,' if someone has something you need and won't give it to you, what would you do?"
"Simple. We'd take it." Lady 'D' blinked, and looked sharply at Grin. "I think I know what you have in mind. And for the first time ever, I think I agree with Drool..."
UCAS Wright
The radio answered, "Wright, this is Control. You are cleared for transfer. Report on retro burn to L5 approach."
"Roger," the commander replied. "Estimate next report in 51 minutes. Out."
"Where's our precious military technologist now?" asked the copilot.
"Checking the cargo for the two hundredth time, of course," answered the navigator. "It's getting so I'm afraid to ask what he's got back there."
There was a piercing whine from the cargo area behind them. The copilot turned sharply, releasing his webbing harness. "Something's gone wrong in the back."
The commander allowed a small look of concern. "Go ahead. Report back when you find it."
Before the copilot could push himself toward the cockpit door, it slammed open by itself. A huge hulking form shouted, "Sorree, it find you first!" It pressed a button on an absurdly small, pistol-like device in one hamfist and a green light enveloped the cockpit. The officers fell limp.
Drool howled with laughter as Grin'elle and Wheels pushed past to examine the instrument panels. "Drool likes his new toy!"
"Yes, well, you're lucky the power packs still function. I stuck those phasers in storage in the TARDIS years ago." Grin literally stared into space for a moment. "Never had to use them before today."
Lady 'D' squeezed past the troll, growling, "Why don't you move your Volkswagon-sized arse?" She pushed the navigator out of his chair, and shoved all three of the spaceplane crew at Drool. "Bad enough sitting next to you in that packing crate for twelve hours. Make yourself useful and tie these guys up in the back. The Professor says this'll wear off shortly." Turning to the others, she continued, "You two rocket scientists think you can fly this thing?"
Wheels was already jacked into the ship's computer system. "If the Professor can work the manual stuff, I can make this computer do somersaults."
"Better not. Drool hates free-fall already, and I don't think we have any Dramamine For Trolls on board. Yeah, I can handle these controls. Took an elective course once in Antique Aerospace. Lotta fun."
"Nice to know we're in the hands of trained professionals."
Nebula floated in, taking position behind the commander's seat Grin had appropriated. "Drool found the supercargo," she reported. "He was hiding under the passenger seat. No other passengers aboard. This must be mainly a cargo flight. I also activated the equipment you attached to the reactor vessel."
"Good," Grin'elle replied. "Wheels, have you entered the orbital co-ordinates we collected from the TARDIS scanners?"
"Just finished. I'm plotting possible orbital transfers now."
"Give me a maximum-energy orbit to intercept the Black Hats' ship at the earliest opportunity. Use a 200% thrust rating."
Wheels gave him a weird look but continued calculating. Nebula cocked her head at him. "You planning to burn out the motors halfway?"
Grin'elle shook his head. "Don't worry. The fusion booster you just activated for me will give us double the thrust with minimal heat increase." He turned back to his controls. "I hope."
"I knew he was going to say that," Lady announced to no one in particular.
Wheels hit the intercom. "Drool, strap our guests and yourself down! We're hitting maximum thrust in two minutes!" He brought a course plot onto a display. "The bad guys will be decelerating when we reach them, which is good for us; they won't be able to play variable-thrust games when we board. They can't speed up, they've got to be running at maximum now; and if they cut thrust, they'll miss Jupiter and the moons entirely."
Kriet nodded. "Looks good to me." He turned around. "Ladies, take a seat and strap in; after all this, I'd rather not lose you when we cut on the engine." Nebula went aft, to the passenger section; Lady 'D' began assembling the complex harness around herself.
Wheels counted out the last seconds. "Five - four - three - two - one - ignition!"
A gentle hand pushed Kriet and the others back into their seats as the spaceplane continued to accelerate. Though moving only at a few tenths of a gee, the Wright had built up an impressive amount of speed. Still, he wished for one of the McKay's shuttles, or even a transporter stage. By the standards the Starfleet officer was used to, this velocity felt like little more than an injured crawl.
Grin turned to Wheels. "How long before turnover?" he asked impatiently.
Wheels' fingers tapped at the keypad. "About a half hour, now. We'll be in docking position just after they make their turnover; until then, we'll be in his sensory dead spot, where his drive radiation blocks everything."
"Can we handle any backwash?"
The rigger nodded confidently. "These things are well shielded and built for reentry. We'll have no problem."
Grin'elle released his seat harness. "Good. We'll have something of an element of surprise. Nebula, I'd like you to take over for a while; I'm heading back to stretch the kinks out. If we hit anything you can't handle, just yell and I'll be right back up here."
"Gotcha, Professor. Doesn't look too hard."
He headed back to the small passenger area, where Drool sat immersed in the task of lovingly stripping and cleaning his hand cannon. Nearby, Lady 'D' reclined in one of the seats, brow furrowed and body tense. Perspiration trickled from her forehead and mumbled, inarticulate cries escaped from barely parted lips. Grin looked back at the troll, but Drool didn't seem to be noticing anything unusual.
Kriet grasped the mage by the shoulders and shook her gently. "Lady? Lady 'D'? What's wrong? What's going on?"
Her eyes snapped open and she shoved at him violently. Grin fell against the seats across the aisle, looking up to see her standing over him. "You shouldn't have done that." She turned away and sat down. "However, I suppose that it was for the best."
Grin'elle stood and perched on the aisle seat across from her. "Geez, you Seattle women sure get physical." He stretched a back muscle, sore from both immobility and abuse. "What were you doing?"
She regarded him bitterly. "There is an element to the astral equivalent of deep space which prevents me from using my art. Were I try to enter astral space itself from here, I would surely go mad."
He digested that. "And you were...?" he prompted.
"I hoped I could create a safe zone around myself, which would at least let me cast low-level spells." Lady leaned back with an angry sigh. "I was unable to do so."
Grin spread his hands. "I'm sorry. I wish I could help you." He gestured at her weapon belt. "You still have that evil-looking sword, not to mention a somewhat more modern slug-thrower."
She eyed him piercingly. "And could you be satisfied with the loss, even temporary, of half your abilities?"
He stood. "It's the hand we've drawn." Grin began to head forward again, but stopped and looked back at her. "Don't despair completely, Lady. You never know for sure what will happen when the Black Hats are involved."
Wheels voice floated back from the cockpit. "Professor! We need to discuss some final course corrections before turnover!"
"I think that's my cue." Grin'elle continued forward while Lady frowned at his back.
Nebula slid aside to make room for the returning Kriet. He buckled the seat harness, flipping switches to bring up various readouts on their current situation. "Have you located the other ship?" he asked.
Wheels pointed to one of the brighter stars in the sky. "There's the light from his drive. We'll have to plot his position carefully, because once we turn over and slow to match his speed, our drive will blind us the same way his does."
"So we won't see each other until we're right on top of him."
"Right. I'll have to stay here when you board, to make sure we stay in docking position."
"Gotcha. How long until final course options are ready?"
More tapping of keys, then: "Coming out of the computer now. Computer says Plot E is optimal. I agree."
"Concur. Set up Plot E and activate on the count."
A digital readout deceased at the rate of one unit per second until it reached zero. They lurched forward as the engine cut off, then gently to the side as the spaceplane spun end for end until its main thruster was pointed forward in the direction of motion. The main drive flared to life again, and once more they felt the gentle pressure backward.
"That's done it," Wheels reported. "Thirteen hours on this course until intercept. You'll need to ready the docking gear for ship-to-ship transfer. I'd also recommend some quick sleep and a few calories. Those firefights tend to take it out of you." He spun around to stare at Kriet and Nebula. "Listen to me! I sound like a freakin' flight attendant. I'm several million miles from home, flying a spaceship by instinct and hastily modified vector-thrust programs." He put a hand to his forehead. "Professor, tell me again how I got into this."
Grin'elle slapped a hand on his shoulder. "Cheer up. Just think of the favor Skid and the others'll owe you guys."
Wheels turned back to the instruments. "They couldn't pay this back if they lived a thousand years."
UCAS Schwartzkopf
Weekend regarded the apparition coolly. "I see we've just won starring roles in Star Wars XII."
The thing's voice came from a speaker mounted on the side of its neck and sounded like a computer with asthma. "We received a report that a spaceplane was hijacked a few days ago and was last seen heading after us. We thought you would appreciate being awake while we kill your friends."
"Darn friendly of you," commented Moloch. "Care to provide a big helping of 'why' as a last meal? The bad guys always do, you know."
The alien made what might have been its version of a smile. The expression tended to turn the humans' stomachs. "Yes, I have seen some of your entertainment fictions. It's quite simple. We wish to kill your 'Professor' before he and his comrades can disrupt another operation of ours. The samples your friend pursued so vigorously served as convenient bait." It locked eyes with Skid and Weekend. "As for you, you will die because you got in our way."
An alarm sounded. The alien cocked its head, listening to a message only it could hear.
The second its attention left the shadowrunners, Moloch moved with every ounce of speed his artificially enhanced reflexes would provide. His face turned as red as his eyes as his mechanical muscles slammed into overload. The human bones they were attached to creaked in protest, and the street samurai screamed with pain and exertion. The manacles held. The wall they were welded to did not. With the piercing cry of tearing metal, his hands came free and shot out to break the alien's neck. The entire action was so swift, the creature only had time for an expression which could only be shocked surprise.
Moloch gasped for breath that took a long time returning. Finally he wheezed, "They're fast, and they're strong, but their bones snap like ours do." He took a deep breath, braced himself, and hauled mightily at the cuffs restraining the magic-users. Soon they all wore steel bracelets, and the wall looked like the aftermath of missile combat.
Skid tried vainly to slide his manacles off, but soon gave up. "Ever thought of challenging Dunkelzahn to an arm wrestle, Moloch?"
Moloch had other things on his mind. "They took all my gear. How about you guys?"
The cybermage ran a quick check. "Nada. And if we're in deep space like it looks, Weekend and I won't be throwing any spells, either."
She raised her fists. "We still got these." A corner of her mouth twitched. "I need to discuss what happened to Drool with one of those freaks."
Moloch's blank red eyes stayed on them a few moments, then bobbed as he nodded. "Good enough." He poked his head around the corner of the alcove they'd been imprisoned in; the corridor it was part of was empty in both directions. "Which way do we go?"
The ship shook with the echoes of an explosion. Skid pointed in the direction of the sound. "My guess - that way." They set off.
As the three of them attempted stealth down a brightly lit corridor with no cover, they began to hear strange sounds: high-pitched whines and distorted hissings. Inhuman cries and muffled shouts drifted back to them, and then they heard a string of gravelly obscenities that could only have come from one throat.
Weekend charged forward. "Drool!!" she screamed. The others ran to keep up, turning a corner where an unforgettable sight awaited them.
What had once been a crew relaxation area had been reshaped into a battlefield of overturned tables and smashed chairs. Once-functional equipment on the walls smoked, sprayed sparks, or slowly dripped into molten puddles on the floor. Lady 'D', the Professor, Nebula, and Drool pointed unfamiliar weapons in the general direction of about a dozen aliens with plenty of cover from a frontal assault and none whatsoever for the rear.
There was a timeless moment, broken by the slow descent and rise of one of Drool's heavy eyelids. Waving the phaser in the air, he screamed, "Bar fight!!!!!"
The signal dated from the street adventurers' first meeting, and even Kriet figured out the intent. He had attended Starfleet Academy, after all. The aliens were completely outclassed.
As a Black Hat tried to bring its weapon around to the three new attackers, Moloch's high-tech nervous system and muscles relieved it of the gun and reinserted it in the creature's skull. Another one grazed Weekend with a shot which disintegrated part of her armor vest and shoulder tissue, but the alien had to stop shooting when a thrown table from Drool flattened it against the deck.
A swift kick from Grin'elle shattered a leg joint of a Black Hat, spoiling the shot of the one it toppled into long enough for Nebula to cook them both with her borrowed phaser. Lady 'D' charged another with longsword drawn; it squeezed off a shot which impacted the center of the blade. To the surprise of both, absolutely nothing happened. With a kind of gleeful astonishment, she bisected first the alien's weapon, then the alien. Lady gazed lovingly at the blade. "Orichalcum," she crowed. "Don't leave Earth without it."
Quickly, the combat was over. Skid relieved the last survivor of its weapon by stomping on its chest and breaking its wrist. Grin raised his eyebrows, and Skid turned his silver mirrors on him. "Should I have read him his rights first?"
"A quick death's all the rights I'll give 'em," Drool growled, rubbing his barely healed bullet holes.
Grin'elle looked at the bodies, and considered how this bunch had probably spent their lives - and spent others in the process. He looked back at Skid. "I didn't say anything."
They took a quick inventory. The three former captives all had liberated guns ("Disintegrators, looks like," Grin guessed. "Be real careful where you point them.") and the others carried Kriet's phasers. Drool was wounded again, but didn't seem to notice, and Weekend was wobbly but standing.
Lady ground her teeth. "I got a spell that would solve that in moments..."
Weekend's eyes flashed. "I'll be fine. These turkeys couldn't scrag a pedestrian without an instruction manual."
Skid finished tying a rather improvised bandage across her shoulder blade. "Heck, you got hurt worse the night Drool mooned an Ancients' rally."
Nebula looked shocked. "I missed that one. How come they haven't hunted you down by now?"
Lady pointed to her own elven ears. "Let's just say Drool still owes me for that one." The troll shrugged.
The ever-present alarm klaxon changed notes and became more strident. Moloch tensed. "I'd guess they've noticed the silver's missing. I recommend a beating of feet."
Grin'elle planted himself where he was. "I'm not leaving here without the cell samples. You folks aren't leaving here without me. Any questions?"
Skid opened his mouth, then closed it. Lady looked at Grin, then looked away. Moloch raised a pointing finger, then dropped it. Drool rolled his eyes, shook his head, and said, "Just one, Professor. Where do you want the remains?"
Grimly, they stalked forward, toward where Wheels had guessed the command center would be. Grin figured the leader of the group would be best bet for possession of the samples, and hoped they'd find him in command.
The three former prisoners walked point with the stolen disintegrators. The weapons proved much more powerful than the Federation phasers, so no cover provided protection for the aliens; if anything moved, it dissolved. Finally, the party reached an airlock-style door clearly marked 'Command - IDs only.'
Grin turned to Nebula. "Can you open it?"
She began rummaging in her gear. "Give me five minutes." Before she could extract whatever device she had planned, the heavy security door hiss-thunked open. In the airlock vestibule stood one of the aliens, gun drawn and aimed at Drool's stomach. With its other hand it displayed the invaluable canister from Kriet's belt. Grin recognized the cut and styling of its coverall, while the others remembered it from the disrupted delivery meet. Fingers tightened on the triggers of high-technology destruction, and a wave of focused energy washed toward the creature.
Nothing happened.
Drool sub-vocalized a concise "Uh-oh..." and attempted to back away slightly - for better positioning, of course. The troll hadn't moved a foot before he bumped against an invisible barrier now closing off the corridor.
The Black Hat spoke. With this one, English actually came from its mouth. After hearing it, Skid, Weekend, and Moloch thought they might prefer the synthesized translator.
"I suppose I can thank you for disposing of several of my less useful underlings," it intoned, "but I won't. You street scum have seriously disrupted our effort to prevent the Batron's rescue mission, and we are pressed for time and resources. As soon as Kriet is executed, we will return you all to the other Earth ship and disable its drive. I do not think a rescue will be mounted."
Moloch and Drool were trying vainly to break from the invisible prison, but the barriers now surrounded them in an unbroken cube. "What is this stuff, anyway?" grunted the street samurai.
"Forget it," Grin advised. He stared at the creature. "Their technology is at Clarke Magic level, even in the twenty-third century."
The alien inclined its head. "Very true. But our weapons will fire quite easily into the barrier."
Kriet held up a hand. "Just so I can die happy; what did you need those cell samples for, anyway?"
"They will be taken back to our central operations area, and made very good use of." It stared back at Grin'elle. "I have talked too much. Grin'elle Kriet, you are sentenced to death."
Nebula threw her arms around him, crying, "No!!!" She crossed between him and the weapon at the moment of fire, taking the full force of the disintegrator beam in her back. The rockergirl fell to her knees, dragging Kriet with her.
There was no wound; her clothing and flesh remained whole. Still, Nebula knew she was being torn apart: not atom by atom, but on all the levels of existence she hadn't even known until her meeting with the Time Lord. With a start, she realized that she could still feel him; where he stood, she felt the disruption the least. Nebula reached for that presence as an anchor point in the midst of a hurricane, and felt it reach out in turn to hold her mind together.
Grin felt their essences combine, and stood up. Dimly he saw the alien shoot again, and again, but the energy filtered through the singer's existences and metamorphosed on contact with his memories, until it reinforced them both rather than tearing them apart.
"What is this?" the Black Hat growled. "Who have you brought here, Kriet?"
Grin turned innocent eyes on it. "How should I know? This whole thing was your idea, wasn't it?"
The daylight fades and darkness readies,
My eyes not sure of what they see
Something's gone wrong with what's around me,
A twisted, warped reality
I take one step, perhaps another,
Hoping to stay on solid ground
My only hope is now to master
The deadly secrets I have found
The song started as a whisper, then built into full strength as Nebula found energy and voice. With each note the free energy around them surged until it became physically tangible, causing subtle changes in the fabric of space-time around them. As she started a chorus, Grin realized that he knew the words as well, though the source was unguessable; his untrained but willing voice joined hers.
Can you bring me back, can you rescue me?
Do you even know where in the world,
where I am?
Will you tell me how, will you set me free?
I'm lost in space and I'm lost in time
I don't even know if I've lost my mind
I only know here and now - rescue me!
I never asked to know the mysteries,
A journey never to be made
But now I'm here and now I need you,
You know how to end the charade.
Darkness advances, light must falter,
The world I knew will soon be gone
My hopes erode against black ocean,
I only wish for one more dawn.
The Black Hat had discarded its weapon. Now it shouted unintelligible orders into a communicator while making passes with its other hand. Skid or Lady might have recognized them, but Grin'elle did not. As he shot a glance at the magicians, he noticed a look of surprise appear on their faces. Tentatively, then with more sureness, they began making gestures of their own, and Grin suddenly had an idea about what some of the changes he and Nebula were causing might be... Now all the Terrans had joined the song.
Together we are more than separate,
Friendship and love defend the day
A union more than just the pieces
We two can make a better way
It's now or never, a last battle
Alone I cannot hold this course
The darkness only will grow greater
We must repel its evil force
Can you bring me back, can you rescue me?
Do you even know where in the world,
where I am?
Will you tell me how, will you set me free?
I'm lost in space and I'm lost in time
I don't even know if I've lost my mind
I only know here and now - rescue me!
The barrier vanished. Three phasers, one disintegrator, and three spells of catastrophic physical destruction spoke. Screams of alien death, fried computer equipment, and rending metal echoed as a shockwave knocked them halfway down the hall. When they looked again, the hatch was sealed tightly and would not open for anything.
UCAS Wright
"Just as well," the rigger told them, pointing out the spaceplane's viewport. "Look." The entire forward section of the military ship was missing.
"Did we do that?" Skid asked.
"I was kinda upset," Weekend added.
Lady ran a polishing cloth down her magesword. "Very impressive. It didn't help the Professor's mission much, however."
"Well," Grin announced with a resigned look, "at least the items you liberated from the military ship's armory ought to keep you guys happy for a while." Most of the party was loaded with guns and equipment.
"What we can't use, we can sell high," said Moloch.
"You sell. I keep." Drool admired a Vindicator, stroking the barrels.
"How do we get back? You don't sneak this thing around modern radar," commented Nebula.
"I took care of that. Despite the loss of the bridge, I scavenged some pretty nice electronic equipment from the other sections. There was enough to repair my TARDIS, plus a pretty nice prototype of a counter-detection generator. It ought to cloak this spaceplane long enough for us to land and ditch it."
"That's it then, isn't it? We won!" shouted Weekend.
Skid pumped a fist in the air. "Wheels, my man, plot us a course home. Even Seattle's a better place than this!"
"I've had that course in the computer since you idiots left the ship," the rigger replied. "What do you think I did for entertainment while waiting for you yahoos?" He punched at the controls. "Strap down. Thruster fire in two and counting." There were loud cheers.
Grin left the celebration and headed for the passenger section to find a seat. Drool and Weekend headed past, talking excitedly on their way to the jumpseats in the cargo area; lastly, Nebula emerged from the cockpit to strap down next to Grin'elle.
Soon the faint push of the activated engine could be felt, and when things seemed to be settled, they loosened the harnesses. The singer turned in hers to look at Kriet. "I'm not ever liable to understand what really happened out here, am I?"
Grin was silent for a few moments. "Do you know what the word 'romantic' originally meant?" She shook her head. "It was a noun instead of an adjective; it described a person who believed in certain things. That type of person believed there was an ultimate good, and an ultimate evil; he believed that all events had a pattern, and that nothing occurred without a reason. Even the blackest moments in life were there to promote a greater light."
"I guess I do know what you're saying," she said. "I've found that most of my songs run in that vein, whether I plan it or not."
He considered a moment, then continued, "There's a chance, Nebula, that you and I both are part of something bigger. I have the power to travel to all permutations of the universe, while a little bit of you already inhabits them all - and we always seem to come together. I used to think that this was the Creator's way of being cruel. Maybe - just maybe - it's not a cruelty at all, but a necessity. Maybe we're actually needed in all these places we are."
Nebula frowned. "What makes us so important?"
"Important? Every gear is important in a clockwork. They just all have different shapes, sizes, and capabilities. Every piece is important," he repeated to himself.
She watched him for a few moments. "You'll be leaving us when we get back, won't you?"
"I have to. I have duties, responsibilities. Besides, I have the strangest sense that I've done what I need to here... for now, at least. That same tickle says I'm not finished there yet."
"That's the place you're Grin'elle Kriet. What the alien said."
"Yes."
She hung her head for a moment, then drew a familiar cylinder from her jacket. "You'll need this, then."
Grin's eyes bugged. "I thought that was vaporized with the bridge! Where did you get that?"
"Drool grabbed it when Mr. Bad Hat dropped it. He can move pretty fast for a dude his mass, you know. He told me to give it to you and not to tell you where it came from." She smiled. "Under those warts, he's soft as a marshmallow, you know. Just don't ever try to prove it. He chooses his own times."
Grin'elle fastened it tightly to his belt. "I'll tell Athene for him. She'll appreciate it." He looked into the rockergirl's eyes for a long time, before breaking away reluctantly. "I'm going to miss this one of you, Nebula."
She took his hand. "My name is April, Grin'elle. I'm in love with you, you know."
Reluctance slowly melted into affection, and he leaned in and kissed her. "I will live for hundreds of years, and never look older. I have a time machine that can bring me here moments after I leave, no matter how long I'm gone. You haven't lost me yet."
Nebula rested her head on his shoulder. "Yeah, well, I have friends who are magicians and top scientists. You'd better come back, or I'll come after you."
The Wright sped on to Earth.
Redbar Towers apartment complex
"I also know some bounty hunters, 'Professor,'" she teased him. "Come back or you'll have a price on your head. These guys aren't going to let a little old dimensional barrier stop them."
Grin cocked his head. "Don't worry. We'll meet again."
"I'm referring to this version!" she stated, pointing at herself.
"I might be too," Grin parried. He disappeared into the TARDIS, and with a horrible lurching grind, it followed suit.
Nebula watched until the last trace of silver had melted from the room, then turned to leave. That really was an awful noise for a high-tech spaceship to make. In fact, she thought it had faded away, but there it was again...
She spun around. "Professor?"
USS McKay
"I had to make a detour," Kriet explained. "Nebula, I'm going to need you; we're going to have some computer work for you. And - bring Athene's main memory."
She flashed a wide smile. "You're kidding."
"Maybe not. Get going." She ran off to get her equipment.
Ty'elle looked his vice exec over. Grin sported several bruises and a tired look. "You were gone for longer than a few minutes, weren't you? You and that silly TARDIS. Are you okay?"
"My brother, I feel better than I have in about two centuries."
Dujhar took a second look. "You mean that, don't you? Where have you been?"
Just then, April Vincent returned with two sturdy cases. "It's all here, Commander. Where are we going?"
"To Captain Conner." Noting Ty's sidelong look, Grin added, "For real this time."
"This trip of yours won't be a cakewalk, Grin. Watch yourself."
"Don't worry!" To April's pleased astonishment, he grabbed her and planted a solid kiss. "I've got the best assistance in a dozen universes!" The hatch closed, and the TARDIS scraped away.
Ty's jaw hung loosely. "I'm gonna tie him down and have Cassie pump two quarts of sodium pentothal into his veins. Then I'm gonna sell it to the Federation Enquirer and retire early." He shook his head and returned to his duties.
Redbar Towers apartment complex
Nebula watched until the last trace of silver had melted from the room, then turned to leave. That really was an awful noise for a high-tech spaceship to make. In fact, she thought it had faded away, but there it was again...
She spun around. "Professor?"
He lay half in, half out of the hatchway of his TARDIS. The 'monster maroons' had been replaced by a red-and-black jumpsuit with a silvery arrowhead at the breast and a row of tiny disks along the collar. He showed evidence of internal wounds, and smoke poured from the inside of the time machine.
"G-Grin'elle?"
"Hi - Nebula," he gasped between grunts of pain. "Got - a moment? I seem - to be - in some trouble..."