Legal Disclaimer: Any characters or events that seem to mimic real life are purely coincidental . . . and, hey, if there is anyone meeting nasty gray aliens with claws, I want to talk to them! hee, hee>
Alternative Universe: Well, folks, because I'm insane enough to combine seaQuest, Voyager, and DS9 all together into one plot, there are some obvious changes! You'll notice the "obvious changes" quickly, I think.
Rating: PG-13.
Archiving: Just ask first. I'll probably say yes. :)
Cautionary Advice: (Clearing throat) Be prepared for a hefty dose of "suspension of disbelief." There is a degree of the intentionally ludicrous here. :) But remember . . . I warned you!
Length Advisory: Be prepared for a long haul! Currently, I haven't even set a cap on the number of parts involved . . .
Summary: seaQuest, plus Deep Space Nine, plus Voyager equals . . . lots of fun! Here's the short synopsis: Captain Bridger commands a starship, the Voyager both reaches earth and doesn't, and the Defiant gets sucked into yet another wormhole! Hmmm . . . crazy, isn't it? Well, of course it is . . . this is Sheri writing! :)
Long ago, in a galaxy far, far away (snicker, snicker) . . .
The Court of Lady Q: Part the Second
Welcome back, oh weary travelers, to the Court of Lady Q!
The scene is now familiar. Decadently luxurious pillows pile upon the floor, chocolates of every kind heap upon fine china, goblets of wine scatter in every direction. And, in the middle of the room, in the same uncomfortable chair, with the very same red napkin stuffed in her infuriating mouth, sits none other than SHERI . . .
She is growling, trying to convince all hearers that she really, really shouldn't be tortured. She even tries to look innocent, though anyone can easily see that the "innocent look" works about as well on her as it does on the Cheshire Cat, that mischief-creating feline whose main target in life is to wreak havoc and mayhem upon all.
LADY Q suddenly arrives in a puff of fairy-dust laden smoke. She glances around herself, then--dramatically, making sure she has the audience's full, undivided attention--snaps her fingers.
The room is overrun by all of ELFdom; a large and dauntingly insane looking crowd it is, too! A babble of voices assaults the air as ELFs from all corners of the planet (and even some from off world) speak at the same time. All is pandemonium. Over there sits CHANCE, trying (with mixed results) to keep ELFy seated and out of trouble. Over there is AT, who is hiding her "Weakest Link" manuscript from curious and rabid elves . . . sorry, ELFs.
Over there, trying to get into trouble, is AKIRA, whose Pickachu is, like Vader, up to some form of mischief. Mel is currently talking to her favorite wall, asking it for the exact center of the universe in a mad pursuit after spherical evolution--and fully expecting an answer. GHOSTGAL, SAILOR VULCAN, and the COW are whispering together . . . surely plotting some scheme? Judging by the grins upon their faces, the scheme is rather good. And over there is ALEXIA, who is being inundated with ELF snippets . . .
KATIE HITCHCOCK makes her grand entrance, eyes laughingly crinkled at the corners as she surveys the courtroom; behind her, dragging in three naughty ELFs accused of being late to their court summons, is SECURITY CHIEF CROCKER. The three naughty ELFs--SPARKY, MO, and SEA STAR--waltz in after Crocker, looking for all the mischief. Just as they are wondering if there are actually more ELFs in residence here, the doors crash open once more.
MARGARET and her fish Shadow enter the scene, rushing in with LUCAS and TIM chasing them, Shadow's bowl sloshing back and forth as Margaret runs. However, as yet, no information has been forthcoming on why Lucas and Tim feel they must chase Margaret; hmmm . . . a mystery to be solved? KAREL races in a moment later, a funny grin on her face as she carries a box marked MYSTERIOUS STRANGE SIDEKICK (is it really Opus the Penguin? Hmmm . ..).
In the far corner, eyes gleaming in fierce defiance, is STARGAZR, who is currently battling off seaQuest pirates. MISSY and her pet muse Kirby soon join the fray, even as Missy gives her very best wicked cackle; unfortunately, none of the pirate seaQuesters seem overly concerned, for
they only grin in delight. BRIDGER fights Stargazr, sword in hand, as Stargazr prepares to lasso Bridger and his pirating crew. KRIEG battles Missy, a devious leer upon his face.
Doors originally invisible suddenly crash open. In stride HOLLY and ALICIA, both grinning wickedly as they approach Lady Q. For a moment, the room silences, as all eyes fall upon the trio. With eyes still glowing, Holly removes a gigantic scroll from her pocket (though, most
interestingly, the pocket is far too small to contain the scroll). She hands the scroll to Lady Q.
With a dramatic pose, Lady Q opens the scroll. It unrolls . . . and unrolls . . . and unrolls, stretching, finally, across the entirety of the court room. Stargazr's Pirate Bridger neatly trots around it, then continues to attack Stargazr, even as she tries to follow the conversation.
Lady Q clears her throat. "Today, oh fellow ELFs, we decide Sheri's fate. But first, we shall review her crimes. I shall read only from the abbreviated version." Lady Q looks at the scroll. A pause of silence follows as everyone anxiously awaits the indictments against Evil Sheri.
"Here are her crimes, fellow ELFs." Lady Q's index finger rises into the air with a flourish. A blazing bolt of lightening appears, and each indictment is written in true thunderbolt fashion.
"1. Refusal to write on a regular basis." A thunderbolt rages through the court, distracting the audience for a moment. Lady Q continues, now producing two thunderbolts.
"2. Cheesy commentaries directed towards unsuspecting ELFs via email." Lady Q clears her throat on this one, glancing quickly towards Mel and Chance, who are snickering.
"3. Threats to torture and endanger other ELFs with the presence of her Evil Muse Vader." Again, Lady Q looks towards Chance, who gulps, immediately hiding ELFy behind her.
"4. Worse yet . . . the Cliffhangers of Doom." Lady Q directs a withering glare atSheri, then at all of ELFdom. Several ELFs (who shall remain anonymous) shift nervously under that glare. "Those are the crimes. Let us learn the punishments."
With a whip of Lady Q's hand, a glowing bubble appears. Alicia grabs it--jumping up and down several times to reach its hovering form—before she slowly circles the courtroom. Within it is a picture of horrific incongruity . . . one that makes all ELFs shudder as one at the twisted imagination capable of producing such an idea.
For within BUBBLE NUMBER ONE, Q and Vader traipse along in terribly tacky tangerine tutu's. Shrieks of horror fill the air as, slowly, Q and Vader begin line-dancing inside the bubble. Sheri sits in the middle of the bubble, forced to watch. She starts running madly as she, too, is drawn into the line-dance.
The bubble bursts, but not before Q's ominous "Bwaaahaaaahaaa!" rings throughout the court.
Abruptly, uncontrolled giggles erupt. Sheri pales considerably.
It would appear that all of ELFdom likes Trespass Torment One!
And what will the next Trespass Torment be? Tune in, O Reader, next time for the full list!
:: Yet another cliffhanger . . . in the prequel itself! :: Moans and groans fill the air . . .
{Now, for even more insanity, allow me to drag you kicking and screaming back into the dark caves of Infinity . . . where monsters await . . .}
And with that, let us return to poor Lucas and the nasty aliens . . .
Infinity: A Crossover
Part Fifteen
And We Meet . . . At Last
Bridger's eyes slowly opened. Lights, shadows, strange tubes seemingly spiraling in a million directions . . . none of it made sense. He blinked his eyes, wondering if he'd hit his head. And then he noticed the gray shape hovering above him.
Something big and gray was staring at him. Something extremely big and gray. Dark eyes glowed at him, like a cat's eyes spotted in the moonlight: an eerie, disturbing glow. A huge black robe draped across the creature's figure, material seeming to float everywhere at once.
Perplexed, Bridger tried to move his arms, his legs, his neck--anything. But, most alarmingly, he found he couldn't. He simply couldn't move anything. Bridger crushed the feelings of panic even now beating at his mind, and looked back at the creature leaning above him. The gray thing made a sound, reaching down to remove a cover of . . . well, it wasn't glass, but that was about the closest Bridger could describe it. It had extended over the length of him, glowing slightly with a strange luminescence. After a second, Bridger found the bindings holding him had been removed, too. He carefully sat up.
The creature made a sound, a cross somewhere between a hiss and a sibilant "th." Bridger watched, curious, as scales glittered softly in the half-light swimming throughout the room. The skin seemed gray, but, oddly, it had some sort of opalescence to it, making it seem almost multi-tinted, like a jewel.
Again, the creature spoke, this time moving its large claws quickly through the air. "Mhyaari lissskana shhsshhhorr," whispered the alien's words. Bridger shivered slightly, finding the language's sibilance almost frightening in its alien tones. He was used to alien languages; he even knew Klingon and a little Kardasi. However, he rarely had to work with alien languages themselves; the Universal Translator took care of that problem for him. Yet there certainly wasn't a Universal Translator here. And he'd never heard a language like this, one where the "s" sound prevailed, almost seeming to slither across the ears of its listeners. "Mahasss tosssar sisss'eee'sss." (1)
When Bridger could do nothing but stare at him uncomprehendingly, the alien hissed, then looked around the room quickly . . . Bridger would have sworn, if he wasn't misinterpreting the scene with his own human feelings and emotions, that the alien was nervous. The eyes darted several directions; the creature's breathing quickened slightly; its claws moved up and down, up and down in distraction. For all he knew, the alien was propositioning him; however, he didn't think so. The motions seemed oddly familiar, exactly like something a human would do.
And then it removed from the draped folds of its robe a heavily battered, scratched, somewhat malformed di-corder.
Bridger stared. This was the instrument . . . it had to be the same . . . the very same di-corder Lucas Wolenczak had used to contact the Infinity! It hadto be the same one!
His eyes widened further as the creature, once more frantically looking around them, handed him the di-corder. Its black eyes watched him, apparently waiting for him to do . . . something.
Bridger tinkered with the little pad for a moment, pushing several of its buttons; he was relieved when the entry display lit up. It was, at least, working. He didn't know if any of it was damaged, but it was working. That was certainly a plus.
As the creature continued to stare expectantly at him, though, Bridger suddenly wondered if it somehow had it in its head that he could run the damned thing. He could turn it on. He could turn it off. He could do a few other things with it, such as scan for dimensional activity and the like.
However, he sure as hell couldn't program the thing. Only a rare few could do that. Most people just used it for scanning purposes, if they used it all.
In fact, the only one he'd known able to successfully program one of these darn things was Lucas Wolenczak . . . and he didn't even truly know the boy. He'd only spoken with him over the comlink for a moment or two and yelled the ears off of Admiral Noyce about his unsolicited assignment aboard the Infinity. And damn all idiots to hell, but he sure hoped he still got the chance to meet him, considering the boy had been missing for a ridiculously long time in this forsaken wasteland of a planet.
The alien abruptly moved away from him, forcing Bridger to look up in alarm. However, the creature was simply leaning over another slab like the one he himself was sitting upon. Bridger watched as it removed the strange glass-like cover, then removed what looked like, from his angle, tubular bindings.
He heard a groan, then his eyes flew wide. He knew that groan. Lord knew he'd heard it enough after a certain Lieutenant indulged in the booze a bit too much, especially booze of the alien variety. It was Krieg.
Without waiting for permission, Bridger hopped down from his slab, di-corder in hand. He quickly reached the alien's side and peered down. Yes, it was Krieg, looking almost as battered as the di-corder, but seeming okay other than the scratches running down his neck. Even they seemed to be in the process of healing. "Krieg? How do you feel?"
Krieg groaned, then mumbled something indistinguishable. Bridger leaned in, trying to catch the Lieutenant's speech. "What? I couldn't hear you there."
"Forrible," Krieg mumbled before clearing his throat. He suddenly coughed, then stared at the dirt that caked his fingers after coughing. He sniffled. "I . . . shmwpeel . . ." Krieg sputtered softly for a moment. "I feel like . . . I just ate a mud pie." Krieg coughed again. Bridger's eyebrows rose as Krieg wiped more dirt from the corners of his mouth; Bridger knew he hadn't woke up with dirt in the mouth. He suspected he was very fortunate, indeed. He remembered telling himself, as the claws drug them into the ground, not to breathe the dirt, knowing it could suffocate him. "Where . . . are we?"
Bridger looked at the alien standing beside him, then shrugged as it turned its unfathomable eyes upon him. "I have no idea. We haven't exactly been able to establish a working alphabet." Bridger stopped abruptly, realizing that he was sounding a lot like Krieg. He breathed deeply, forcing the strained sarcasm from his voice. "Guess we're somewhere in the alien . . . territory, I'd imagine. Judging by the beds here, I'd say a medical room or something."
Krieg sighed, playing with his tattered pants leg. He then looked back at his Captain. "Sir, is Lucas here? Any sign of him?"
"No, not yet." He glanced around at the row of beds. "He could be in here, though. Unfortunately, it's hard to say."
After a second's thought, Bridger turned to the alien. He gestured at himself and at the Lieutenant, then raised his hands to his face, trying to quickly suggest the face of another human being; finally, he lifted his hands in a questioning gesture. He repeated the gestures as the alien stared at him in confusion.
After a minute filled with strange gestures and varying degrees of confusion, the alien seemed to understand. Its scales suddenly clattered together--Bridger wondered if that was the alien's version of an exclamation--as it gestured for Krieg to get up. Krieg instantly shot up from his bed, staring at the alien with the first hope he'd felt since waking up aboard the Infinity and discovering that Lucas was still in captivity.
Bridger and Krieg exchanged glances. Slowly, Bridger shrugged at the obvious question in Krieg's eyes. Krieg was obviously wondering if this alien could be trusted. "He already gave me this," he said, holding up the di-corder for the Lieutenant's inspection. Krieg's eyes widened at the sight of his own di-corder. "I don't think he'd give it to me if he wasn't, for whatever reason, on our side."
Excitement glimmered in Krieg's eyes. He grinned. "Let's go! He's gotta' be here somewhere, Captain. He has to be!" Krieg stared at the alien, trying to keep his grin to a minimum for fear of scaring the creature. Who knew? To them, a grin could seem like . . . an insult. However, he wasn't overly successful at hiding his elated smile. "Hang on, buddy, we're coming . . ." He whispered, energy suddenly buzzing through every muscle in his body.
The alien gestured them to follow him, waving his claws in their general direction and walking towards a rupture in the wall in front of them. Bridger could tell, by the material composing it, that it was part of a cave wall. So. Their captors seemed to be cave dwellers. That could make escape a bit more difficult, but they'd think of something.
He hoped.
Suddenly, the alien stopped before the entry, gesturing for them, too, to stop. It looked surprised: its scales clattered loudly, sounding like a drum set crashing to the ground. Bridger and Krieg waited anxiously as the creature hissed something in its odd language. "Mwwar kon'tillsss ssissh onnn." The sounds drifted past their ears. "T'yyyrkkskr sslrsss!" (2)
Even Bridger could hear anger in the voice. The voice rose in pitch, "Myrorrikk!" (3)
And then new voices joined the fray. Two heads peered through the entry. "Shalor," spoke the new arrivals. Bridger could have sworn the word was a curse, judging by the anger resonating through it. "Shalor ooklakk. T'yyyrkkskr mir." (4)
Two more heads appeared, quickly uttering, "Shalor," even as they turned cold, impersonal eyes upon Bridger and Krieg. One of them even seemed to sneer. "Myorrikk mir nayl'essk'org. Nadali." (5)
Bridger and Krieg continued to stare. Cautiously, his mind telling him that things were looking progressively worse, Bridger stashed the di-corder beneath the back collar of his turtleneck, all the time praying the damn thing wouldn't fall out on their way to wherever it was they were going. The four creatures entered the room, walking to their sides with great speed. Bridger noticed the clothing was no longer black, but green. Judging by the fact that all of them wore the same green clothing in the exact same cut, Bridger guessed that--all things considered--it was likely these green outfits were really uniforms. But uniforms for what? Really, that was the question. Were these aliens military? Were they spies, part of some intelligence network? Were they bodyguards? Were they . . . something entirely different?
An alien claw quickly interrupted Bridger's thoughts. "Nadali!" One shouted, then grabbed Bridger by the elbow. Another grabbed Krieg with a hissed, "Nadali mir!"
Before they could say a word more, Bridger and Krieg were wrenched away from the medical room. Looking back, his eyes wide, Krieg saw the large black-robed creature simply standing without motion, almost helplessly watching as they were dragged away.
Bridger glanced at the Lieutenant, then hissed as a claw dug into his shoulder--not enough to break the skin, but certainly enough to hurt. With a muttered curse to all of alien-kind and temporal anomalies, Bridger followed the creature as quickly as his legs would go. His curse intensified when he noticed that they were going further and further underground . . . and that the lighting was becoming increasingly dark.
He didn't know where they were going, but, somehow, he suspected he wasn't going to like it one bit.
As he trudged along beside Bridger, the only thought Krieg had on his mind was Lucas: was the boy here, too?
And if so, was he still alive?
Feeling something jab him in the side as he momentarily slowed down to catch his breath, Krieg sincerely uttered every prayer he had ever known in hopes that Lucas was still alive . . . and that they were heading right towards him.
*****
Bridger's eyes slowly opened. Lights, shadows, strange tubes seemingly spiraling in a million directions . . . none of it made sense. He blinked his eyes, wondering if he'd hit his head. And then he noticed the gray shape hovering above him.
Something big and gray was staring at him. Something extremely big and gray. Dark eyes glowed at him, like a cat's eyes spotted in the moonlight: an eerie, disturbing glow. A huge black robe draped across the creature's figure, material seeming to float everywhere at once.
Perplexed, Bridger tried to move his arms, his legs, his neck--anything. But, most alarmingly, he found he couldn't. He simply couldn't move anything. Bridger crushed the feelings of panic even now beating at his mind, and looked back at the creature leaning above him. The gray thing made a sound, reaching down to remove a cover of . . . well, it wasn't glass, but that was about the closest Bridger could describe it. It had extended over the length of him, glowing slightly with a strange luminescence. After a second, Bridger found the bindings holding him had been removed, too. He carefully sat up.
The creature made a sound, a cross somewhere between a hiss and a sibilant "th." Bridger watched, curious, as scales glittered softly in the half-light swimming throughout the room. The skin seemed gray, but, oddly, it had some sort of opalescence to it, making it seem almost multi-tinted, like a jewel.
Again, the creature spoke, this time moving its large claws quickly through the air. "Mhyaari lissskana shhsshhhorr," whispered the alien's words. Bridger shivered slightly, finding the language's sibilance almost frightening in its alien tones. He was used to alien languages; he even knew Klingon and a little Kardasi. However, he rarely had to work with alien languages themselves; the Universal Translator took care of that problem for him. Yet there certainly wasn't a Universal Translator here. And he'd never heard a language like this, one where the "s" sound prevailed, almost seeming to slither across the ears of its listeners. "Mahasss tosssar sisss'eee'sss." (1)
When Bridger could do nothing but stare at him uncomprehendingly, the alien hissed, then looked around the room quickly . . . Bridger would have sworn, if he wasn't misinterpreting the scene with his own human feelings and emotions, that the alien was nervous. The eyes darted several directions; the creature's breathing quickened slightly; its claws moved up and down, up and down in distraction. For all he knew, the alien was propositioning him; however, he didn't think so. The motions seemed oddly familiar, exactly like something a human would do.
And then it removed from the draped folds of its robe a heavily battered, scratched, somewhat malformed di-corder.
Bridger stared. This was the instrument . . . it had to be the same . . . the very same di-corder Lucas Wolenczak had used to contact the Infinity! It had to be the same one!
His eyes widened further as the creature, once more frantically looking around them, handed him the di-corder. Its black eyes watched him, apparently waiting for him to do . . . something.
Bridger tinkered with the little pad for a moment, pushing several of its buttons; he was relieved when the entry display lit up. It was, at least, working. He didn't know if any of it was damaged, but it was working. That was certainly a plus.
As the creature continued to stare expectantly at him, though, Bridger suddenly wondered if it somehow had it in its head that he could run the damned thing. He could turn it on. He could turn it off. He could do a few other things with it, such as scan for dimensional activity and the like.
However, he sure as hell couldn't program the thing. Only a rare few could do that. Most people just used it for scanning purposes, if they used it all.
In fact, the only one he'd known able to successfully program one of these darn things was Lucas Wolenczak . . . and he didn't even truly know the boy. He'd only spoken with him over the comlink for a moment or two and yelled the ears off of Admiral Noyce about his unsolicited assignment aboard the Infinity. And damn all idiots to hell, but he sure hoped he still got the chance to meet him, considering the boy had been missing for a ridiculously long time in this forsaken wasteland of a planet.
The alien abruptly moved away from him, forcing Bridger to look up in alarm. However, the creature was simply leaning over another slab like the one he himself was sitting upon. Bridger watched as it removed the strange glass-like cover, then removed what looked like, from his angle, tubular bindings.
He heard a groan, then his eyes flew wide. He knew that groan. Lord knew he'd heard it enough after a certain Lieutenant indulged in the booze a bit too much, especially booze of the alien variety. It was Krieg.
Without waiting for permission, Bridger hopped down from his slab, di-corder in hand. He quickly reached the alien's side and peered down. Yes, it was Krieg, looking almost as battered as the di-corder, but seeming okay other than the scratches running down his neck. Even they seemed to be in the process of healing. "Krieg? How do you feel?"
Krieg groaned, then mumbled something indistinguishable. Bridger leaned in, trying to catch the Lieutenant's speech. "What? I couldn't hear you there."
"Forrible," Krieg mumbled before clearing his throat. He suddenly coughed, then stared at the dirt that caked his fingers after coughing. He sniffled. "I . . . shmwpeel . . ." Krieg sputtered softly for a moment. "I feel like . . . I just ate a mud pie." Krieg coughed again. Bridger's eyebrows rose as Krieg wiped more dirt from the corners of his mouth; Bridger knew he hadn't woke up with dirt in the mouth. He suspected he was very fortunate, indeed. He remembered telling himself, as the claws drug them into the ground, not to breathe the dirt, knowing it could suffocate him. "Where . . . are we?"
Bridger looked at the alien standing beside him, then shrugged as it turned its unfathomable eyes upon him. "I have no idea. We haven't exactly been able to establish a working alphabet." Bridger stopped abruptly, realizing that he was sounding a lot like Krieg. He breathed deeply, forcing the strained sarcasm from his voice. "Guess we're somewhere in the alien . . . territory, I'd imagine. Judging by the beds here, I'd say a medical room or something."
Krieg sighed, playing with his tattered pants leg. He then looked back at his Captain. "Sir, is Lucas here? Any sign of him?"
"No, not yet." He glanced around at the row of beds. "He could be in here, though. Unfortunately, it's hard to say."
After a second's thought, Bridger turned to the alien. He gestured at himself and at the Lieutenant, then raised his hands to his face, trying to quickly suggest the face of another human being; finally, he lifted his hands in a questioning gesture. He repeated the gestures as the alien stared at him in confusion.
After a minute filled with strange gestures and varying degrees of confusion, the alien seemed to understand. Its scales suddenly clattered together--Bridger wondered if that was the alien's version of an exclamation--as it gestured for Krieg to get up. Krieg instantly shot up from his bed, staring at the alien with the first hope he'd felt since waking up aboard the Infinity and discovering that Lucas was still in captivity.
Bridger and Krieg exchanged glances. Slowly, Bridger shrugged at the obvious question in Krieg's eyes. Krieg was obviously wondering if this alien could be trusted. "He already gave me this," he said, holding up the di-corder for the Lieutenant's inspection. Krieg's eyes widened at the sight of his own di-corder. "I don't think he'd give it to me if he wasn't, for whatever reason, on our side."
Excitement glimmered in Krieg's eyes. He grinned. "Let's go! He's gotta' be here somewhere, Captain. He has to be!" Krieg stared at the alien, trying to keep his grin to a minimum for fear of scaring the creature. Who knew? To them, a grin could seem like . . . an insult. However, he wasn't overly successful at hiding his elated smile. "Hang on, buddy, we're coming . . ." He whispered, energy suddenly buzzing through every muscle in his body.
The alien gestured them to follow him, waving his claws in their general direction and walking towards a rupture in the wall in front of them. Bridger could tell, by the material composing it, that it was part of a cave wall. So. Their captors seemed to be cave dwellers. That could make escape a bit more difficult, but they'd think of something.
He hoped.
Suddenly, the alien stopped before the entry, gesturing for them, too, to stop. It looked surprised: its scales clattered loudly, sounding like a drum set crashing to the ground. Bridger and Krieg waited anxiously as the creature hissed something in its odd language. "Mwwar kon'tillsss ssissh onnn." The sounds drifted past their ears. "T'yyyrkkskr sslrsss!" (2)
Even Bridger could hear anger in the voice. The voice rose in pitch, "Myrorrikk!" (3)
And then new voices joined the fray. Two heads peered through the entry. "Shalor," spoke the new arrivals. Bridger could have sworn the word was a curse, judging by the anger resonating through it. "Shalor ooklakk. T'yyyrkkskr mir." (4)
Two more heads appeared, quickly uttering, "Shalor," even as they turned cold, impersonal eyes upon Bridger and Krieg. One of them even seemed to sneer. "Myorrikk mir nayl'essk'org. Nadali." (5)
Bridger and Krieg continued to stare. Cautiously, his mind telling him that things were looking progressively worse, Bridger stashed the di-corder beneath the back collar of his turtleneck, all the time praying the damn thing wouldn't fall out on their way to wherever it was they were going. The four creatures entered the room, walking to their sides with great speed. Bridger noticed the clothing was no longer black, but green. Judging by the fact that all of them wore the same green clothing in the exact same cut, Bridger guessed that--all things considered--it was likely these green outfits were really uniforms. But uniforms for what? Really, that was the question. Were these aliens military? Were they spies, part of some intelligence network? Were they bodyguards? Were they . . . something entirely different?
An alien claw quickly interrupted Bridger's thoughts. "Nadali!" One shouted, then grabbed Bridger by the elbow. Another grabbed Krieg with a hissed, "Nadali mir!"
Before they could say a word more, Bridger and Krieg were wrenched away from the medical room. Looking back, his eyes wide, Krieg saw the large black-robed creature simply standing without motion, almost helplessly watching as they were dragged away.
Bridger glanced at the Lieutenant, then hissed as a claw dug into his shoulder--not enough to break the skin, but certainly enough to hurt. With a muttered curse to all of alien-kind and temporal anomalies, Bridger followed the creature as quickly as his legs would go. His curse intensified when he noticed that they were going further and further underground . . . and that the lighting was becoming increasingly dark.
He didn't know where they were going, but, somehow, he suspected he wasn't going to like it one bit.
As he trudged along beside Bridger, the only thought Krieg had on his mind was Lucas: was the boy here, too?
And if so, was he still alive?
Feeling something jab him in the side as he momentarily slowed down to catch his breath, Krieg sincerely uttered every prayer he had ever known in hopes that Lucas was still alive . . . and that they were heading right towards him.
*****
A loud, shrill whistle blows through the air. The action comes to a sudden halt as all eyes turn to the source of this latest disruption in the saga of "Infinity."
Who should appear but one very upset TOM PARIS? Behind him is a lynch mob of Voyager-ettes, all ready to perform in this most strange story, but finding themselves, unfortunately, without either a place to perform or an audience to perform to. Paris walks up to the Court of LADY Q, angrily fixing the immortal mischief-hunter with a look full of ire.
As Lady Q successfully ignores him, her mind on the devious tortures she has planned for this poor, poor author, Paris at last chokes out, "That's it! I've had enough! I won't stand for it anymore!"
Lucas, standing to the side, snorts. He shakes his head derisively. "Can't stand what, Paris? The Court of Absurdity? The long wait between scenes? Or the mean, slithering gray aliens? Take your pick . . ."
Paris blinks, then shakes his head. His face is burning red. He waves his arms to-and-fro: "Well, hey, at least you've been part of the action . . ." He stops, stares, then frowns in perplexity as Bridger, dressed in a pirate outfit, dashes across the courtroom, mad pirates chasing him. Assuming he has erroneously landed in a madhouse, Paris shakes his head, then continues, "You know, my contract says I'm supposed to chop into the aliens--kinda like a true hero out in the middle of the wastelands--but, so far, all I've gotten to do is watch Vader hog all the scenes!"
He glares at Vader. Vader glares at him. Nothing profitable comes from the interchange.
"I signed on for adventure, for spies, for . . ."
Abruptly, Paris's choked words are heard spiraling into nowhere as the Ensign, belatedly finding himself pushed by Sheri into the Caves of Infinite, hurdles out of the scene.
Grinning despite her gag, Sheri rubs her hands gleefully, eyeing the rest of the Voyager crew for recalcitrant would-be heroes missing the action. As one, they scurry away, quickly leaving the Court before Sheri decides to sick the combined forces of ELFdom upon them.
And now, with that minor mutiny aboard Voyager taken care of, let us return to the Caves of Infinite Doom . . .
*****
Krieg looked at the cavern they'd been shoved into. It wasn't pretty, that much was for certain. Tall walls surrounded them on all sides: no entrances, no doors. Nothing. He wondered how the hell anyone got in and out of these caverns, then shook his head in self-disgust. Of course, there was only one way in or out, and that would, surely, be at the whim of their captors: they, obviously, could melt rock. Krieg only wished he could, too, so he could get his Captain and Lucas the hell out of here . . . after he found the boy (not "if," but "after").
Nervously, Ben paced, watching as Captain Bridger knelt to inspect yet another rock for what Krieg swore must have been the hundredth time. They'd been in here for . . . probably about three hours, if Krieg were any guess. So far, they'd managed to just about drive each other insane. Ben couldn't stop pacing. He couldn't help nervously walking around the room and hoping something would miraculously show itself as the perfect escape route out of here. He snorted mentally. Yeah, right. Next, he'd be asking for Q to pop in and solve the whole mess for him.
Of course, if that meant all of them were able to escape in one piece, perhaps calling Q wasn't such a bad idea. But, the problem was, he'd already tried it: three times. Still no Q, unfortunately.
Captain Bridger flipped out the di-corder for yet another helpless inspection. Krieg sighed as silently as possible, wishing that one of them knew how to use the stupid thing. What good was a scanning device if no one but the truly intellectually elite could use it? After scowling at its unhelpful screen for several more minutes, Bridger lifted his hand to throw the di-corder against the nearest wall.
However, just as Krieg was sure the Captain would destroy the annoying little device, Bridger inhaled sharply and, carefully, placed it back in his turtleneck. He scratched at his chin, then looked at Krieg.
He was opening his mouth to speak when the cave wall to their immediate right suddenly dissolved. Bridger stared, struck completely speechless.
Two figures were shoved inside: one slender and blond-haired, standing several inches above his fellow's shoulders; the other short and squat and . . . Bridger blinked, then truly stared. The fellow looked like a hedgehog with mottled skin. Even in the muted light of their cave, Bridger could see--almost blindingly--the glare of the . . . creature's purple and hot pink striped jacket and neon green pants. The fellow just about glowed in the dark.
He glanced at Krieg, who also was staring. No, not even Krieg, the often tasteless wearer of shockingly bright colors, could top this one.
The two figures stumbled into the cave. Bridger could hear both of the men curse under their breaths, each nearly falling flat on the face. His ears perked as he heard one of them shout, "You won't get away with this!" The voice strengthened, its owner's arms flapping violently in the air. "The Captain will blow you and your blasted caverns away if you don't let us go!"
The aliens, it seemed, were unimpressed with the man's threat. The hole in the cave simply . . . transformed into solid wall.
Bridger approached the two men, looking from one to the other as they took note of their surroundings. As he approached, the hedgehog looked up at him, startled, then smiled. "Hello . . . hello there! See, Tom, there is another human being in this mess of caverns and . . . strange places . . . and unutterably dark, dank scenery!"
Bridger stared at this, brows shooting up in perplexity. Dank scenery? Was that all the man could think about when aliens held him in captivity in the middle of nowhere with little to no possibility of escape?
The blond caught the look and snickered. "Sorry," he apologized for the hedgehog, smiling affectionately but shaking his head all the same. "He's the morale officer of our ship. He's just having problems coping with serious morale deboosters right now . . ."
Well, Bridger supposed that was an understatement. Feeling someone standing at his right shoulder, he looked over to see Krieg, who was staring at the golden-haired guy with interest. Bridger sighed. "Well, I suppose introductions are in order here. I'm Captain Nathan Bridger of the Federation Starship Infinity. This is Lieutenant Ben . . ."
Suddenly, Ben interrupted, "I know you!" He looked from the blond to Bridger, who was staring at him with surprise. "I know him, sir. From the Academy."
The blond groaned. Bridger looked at him with surprise. With a seemingly nonchalant shrug of the shoulders, the man pointed at himself. "I'm Ensign Tom Paris, Chief Helmsman aboard the Starship Voyager." Bridger's brows rose even higher. By all accounts, the Starship Voyager and its crew were lost, purportedly in the Delta Quadrant. They'd been moving rather quickly through the Badlands outside Cardassia Prime and Bajor when they were, suddenly, struck by what seemed to be a spatial anomaly.
Abruptly, Bridger groaned. Damn. Not another anomaly. Hell, spatial anomalies seemed more common than normal space. Maybe the anomalies really were normal space, and normal space actually was the anomaly . . .
He shook his head, tuning back into the conversation. Ensign Paris was still speaking: "And, yes, you probably know all kinds of rude things about me. Son of Admiral Paris, Starfleet flunky, Maquis traitor . . . that about sums it up. So . . . if you've heard of me, that's why."
Bridger stared at him, then glanced at Ben; if he wasn't mistaken, there was a lot of similarity between the two officers. From what he'd always heard of Paris, the man could get into trouble under the most innocent circumstances. Of course, he was the Admiral's worst-kept secret: everyone in Starfleet knew about that particular skeleton in the closet. Tom Paris was the Admiral's Son who had lied about an accident, gotten caught flying for the Maquis, ended up in prison . . . and then ended up as a consultant in the hunt for Commander Chakotay, his one-time superior officer of the Maquis.
An interesting case, definitely; Bridger just hoped they could trust the man not to betray them to the aliens at the first chance he got.
As for Paris's companion, Bridger just shook his head. He knew looks were often deceiving, but this . . . well, he wasn't about to put his safety, or that of Lucas Wolenczak and Benjamin Krieg, in this creature's hairy, garish hands.
However, there was certainly a plus side to all this: these two were, at the very least, on their side--assuming Paris didn't try to sell them to the highest bidder, of course. These were two more people with whom they could plot their escape. Now, if only they could find Lucas . . . Bridger would feel much better about their prospects. At least Lucas knew how to program the damned di-corder.
"Ah," Bridger began noncommentally, meeting the Ensign's heated eyes with calm. He smiled slightly. "I thought you were over in the Delta Quadrant . . . or something like that."
The hedgehog nodded excitedly, extending his hand towards Bridger. "Yes, most indeed, Captain!" He smiled, practically beaming goodness and cheer in the dark cavern. Bridger shook his head in wonder. "I'm Nelix, the Voyager's morale officer and cook. And we're definitely still in the Delta Quadrant, my home."
Bridger rubbed at his chin, looking the little man over--as if examining for drugs. The Delta Quadrant. How . . . ? A multitude of questions rumbled through his brain. The Delta Quadrant was seventy light years away. What he was hearing simply didn't make sense. It wasn't possible. You didn't just cross seventy light years in a manner of minutes.
Finally, though, he sighed. "Unless I'm very much mistaken, this isn't the Delta Quadrant. This is the good, old-fashioned Alpha Quadrant. How on earth did you end up here?"
Paris snorted, indignantly shaking his head. "Just like you. We got shanghaied by the damned aliens." Bridger had to admit, Paris had a point on that one. If the aliens could simply--whisk them away from their homes at any given time, who was to say they couldn't also cross quadrants, eons, universes? It was possible. In fact, Bridger was beginning to think that anything initially sounding highly ludicrous was, truly, the essence of normality, at least as it applied to reality as a Starfleet Captain. "We were in the Delta Quadrant when we got yanked over here. How about you?"
"Alpha Quadrant. They seemed to steal us right through the transporters."
Paris nodded, sighing. He shook his head, then explained as he felt Bridger's curious gaze on him, "Same here. The transporters seemed to be malfunctioning . . . again . . ." There was another universal similarity: transporter malfunction. If Bridger hadn't been worried, he would have laughed. "We were 'porting in from an Away Mission on an M Class planet, trying to get supplies. And then . . . we were here." Paris shrugged helplessly, agitation clear in his posture, in his eyes.
Bridger frowned. This left them with two possibilities . . . no, actually three: either they were in the Alpha Quadrant, or they were in the Delta Quadrant . . . or they were in someplace as yet unknown to humankind, some gray land stretching between dimensions and realities. He swallowed hard. He sure as hell hoped they were in one of the two, even if it were the Delta Quadrant. At least, there, they had a minute chance of getting home.
Before Bridger could share his speculations with his companions, he heard a strange wailing, almost clattering noise. He shivered, eyes looking around them in alarm.
And then he saw it: the wall behind them--interestingly, not the same wall as Paris and Nelix had entered through--suddenly turned into molten lava. He swallowed hard, watching as the lava dripped to the ground, very slowly flowing across the cavern.
He peered through the wall's new entrance and saw two guards awaiting them. The guards hissed, their strange language echoing throughout the cave, completely incomprehensible to the human ear. "Mir nayl'essk'org!" spat the creature, its emotionless eyes staring at them, unblinking, unflinching. "Myorrikk mir nayl'essk'org!" (6)
Bridger blanched as the guards strode through the entrance and grabbed his wrist. He followed without complaint, feeling the claw begin to scrape at his skin. Whatever else might happen, he realized he couldn't allow the claw to scrape him: it would paralyze him, perhaps even kill him. Now was not the time to stage a fight, not when they had no plan and no weapons.
He followed the guards into the cavern, encouraging his companions to do the same through his own example. He could hear them following him, each warily waiting to see where they would be taken.
Abruptly, painful light blared at Bridger's senses. He blinked his eyes, now accustomed to the dark shade of their prison, and looked around. Thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands, of gray slabs filled the room, lined up in rows, each slab holding an alien occupant. Large vats lined the cavern walls, steam flowing into the air, strange mists drifting ominously over the open containers. Shelves of chemicals, vials, test tubes, bowls, strange devices Bridger could only guess at . . . they were everywhere, a nightmare of jarring textures and projectiles.
Bridger swallowed hard, then turned to see Ben stop straight in his tracks. He followed the Lieutenant's eyes.
And he found, standing several feet away, the young man he had only seen in pictures . . . the young man he had seriously wondered if he would ever meet: Lucas Wolenczak. Standing beside the boy on his right was . . . a Cardassian . . . and on his left was what looked to be, judging by his uniform, a Starfleet Engineer.
For the first time in days, Nathan Bridger's spirits lifted. They were all together, at last.
Yet his mood plummeted towards depression when a new thought slipped into his mind: while it was very true that they had all finally met one another in this most insane and preposterous of chance encounters--they might have only met to die together.
*****
1) Mhyaari lissskana shhsshhhorr. Greetings, pale/light skin.
Mahasss tosssar sisss'eee'sss. Do not frighten--safe [you are].
2) Mwwar kon'tillsss ssissh onnn. Mine [they are]. I take them.
T'yyyrkkskr sslrsss! My right [it is]!
3) Myrorrikk! Fool!
4) Shalor. Doctor.
Shalor ooklakk. T'yyyrkkskr mir. Doctor Ooklakk [his name].
Prisoners [they are] below.
5) Shalor. Doctor.
Myorrikk mir nayl'essk'org. Fool prisoners come with me now[you will]. Nadali. Good-bye [to the Doctor].
6) Mir nayl'essk'org! Prisoners come with me now [you will].
Myorrikk mir nayl'essk'org. Fool prisoners come with me now[you will].