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 Third
You collapse once more into the comfortable pillows heaped upon the floor, grabbing a chocolate bonbon as candies float past your fingers, each candy magically suspended in the air. Your smile widens as you remember exactly what events are soon to transpire:
THE SENTENCING OF THAT NAUGHTY ELF WRITER, SHERI!
More chocolates appear mysteriously within your fingers, and a goblet of honeyed nectar--the goblet richly hued, its crystals capturing every color you have seen--plunks down at your side. You recline on the pillows, grinning at the ELFs surrounding you, all eagerly awaiting the sentencing . . .
Especially since the rumors have been flying. One rumor states that Sheri shall receive Trespass Torment One: imagine, Vader in a tangerine tutu! You giggle at this idea, relishing the thought. Then there is the rumor that Sheri shall receive Trespass Torment Three, which you haven't yet seen. You gleefully rub your hands together, imagining the worst . . . and what images spin through your head, too! And there is always your personal favorite of all rumors: that Sheri, for her misdeeds against ELFdom and readers in general, shall receive all THREE torments!
Your grin widens when you consider who shall likely be tried in the Court of Lady Q next! Surreptitiously, you glance around the room. Yep. At least three possible victims come to mind. Funny . . . all three victims are somewhat pale right now. They're hiding in the shadows, too. Snickering, you wonder why.
LADY Q suddenly appears, hovering over the assembly of ELFs, a magic wand in her hand. As she wildly waves it around, a new bubble comes into focus. Your heart races in anticipation as you wait to see what is within BUBBLE NUMBER TWO . . .
Slowly, the bubble circles the Court. A delighted chuckle bursts past your lips as you finally see the punishment: a fully defended Fortress snaps into the bubble. Around it is a moat of alligators, all with perfectly sharpened teeth and claws. Extended over the moat is a Writer's Plank, complete with computer, keyboard, desk, and writer. Of course, the writer is SHERI, and tears of anxiety slink down her face as the hungry alligators clatter their razor-sharp teeth together, anticipating their next meal will be soon. Sheri continues to write frantically, each sentence blazing onto the screen, the alligator tooth serenade "encouraging" her to work faster . . .
The bubble explodes, and you sigh in regret. Darn. That looked like one good punishment!
However, there is still Trespass Torment Three to consider, and, surely, it will be the most wicked of all . . .
And now, fellow travelers, we move onwards, to the Cave of Infinite Doom, where our heroes await the next step of this crazy plot . . .
*****
Infinity: A Crossover
Part Sixteen
The Plot Twists . . . Again
Lieutenant Krieg?
Lucas's mind froze in shock, in something close to terror, as he saw the familiar dark-haired man standing across the cavern. He didn't recognize any of the . . . people (just what was that funny looking creature with them--the one with the odd, multi-hued skin?) . . . with him, but he definitely knew Krieg.
"Holy shit," Lucas muttered, eyes focused away from his Cardassian and human companions. He swallowed hard, then nervously glanced around the room. The guards, as always, were watching . . . however, they were watching from a distance. That was good.
"I beg to defer, young man," Elim Garak began, looking at Lucas oddly. "There simply is nothing holy about shit."
Miles snickered to Lucas's left. Lucas could only stare at Garak, wondering if the Cardassian was teasing him. It was hard to tell, what with the inscrutable ice-blue eyes Garak turned upon him. Garak could be laughing to high heaven, for all he knew; unfortunately, it was nearly impossible to tell.
Lucas rolled his eyes, wondering if all Cardassians were as enigmatic as Garak. If so, he supposed they made the perfect Cosmic Puzzle. He sighed. "It's just an expression, Garak. A human idiom." He gestured across the room. "I know one of the men who just walked in. It's Lieutenant Krieg."
Both Garak and Miles seemed nonplussed by the information. After several seconds of apparently fruitless, Garak finally asked, voice rippling with eloquence, "Just who, might I ask, is Lieutenant Krieg? I don't recall hearing the name."
"Mmmm. He was . . . stuck here with me. He got away. I didn't," Lucas explained before exclaiming in annoyance, "Or I sure thought he'd gotten away! What on earth is he doing here?"
"It would appear, my dear Mr. Wolenczak, that the good Lieutenant did not succeed in 'getting away.'"
Well, that much was obvious. Lucas glared at the Cardassian. "Thanks, Garak," he grated, fidgeting with a beaker of alien chemicals when a guard happened to glance their way. He whacked a test tube into the tailor's midriff. "The next time I need the obvious pointed out to me, I'll be sure to ask you."
Garak blinked at him. The perfectly calm, innocent expression covering the Cardassian face just rankled his already stressed nerves.
"Will you two cut it out?" Miles growled. He glared at both of them. "The two of you are startin' to get on my nerves . . ."
Lucas rolled his eyes, ignoring Miles.
"Far be it from me to get on your nerves, Chief O'Brien . . ." came Garak's polished statement. Lucas snorted. Yeah, far be it from Garak to try to annoy O'Brien. Sure.
Under different circumstances, Lucas would have been laughing himself silly over these two. They rarely seemed able to agree on the smallest or most mediocre of details. They verbally baited one another, disguising the "baiting" with innocuous pleasantries. They snickered over each other's mistakes, even the smallest ones. He wondered if they were this bad on Deep Space Nine. If so, it was a genuine miracle--one of the True Wonders of the Federation Age--that the two hadn't bitten each other's heads off already. He supposed it was also a miracle that the residents of Deep Space Nine hadn't simply stuck the two into the nearest docking bay and spaced them.
Right now, Lucas had to admit it: spacing Garak and Miles had its appeal. At least that way, he wouldn't have to listen to their non-stop sparring.
Lucas cleared his throat. He inconspicuously regarded his two companions, overting his eyes as one of the guard's glanced their way. As the guard moved on, he peered up at Garak. "How can we make it over there without the guards getting overly interested in what we're doing?"
Garak considered the question for a moment, seeming pleased to be regarded as the resident expert on spying, deception, and intrigue. After a moment, a sly smile flickered over his gray face. "I'll take care of that for you." He glanced at O'Brien, who watched him with suspicious, uneasy eyes. His smile widened. "Mr. O'Brien . . . I need to create a disturbance. Would you be so kind as to oblige me?"
O'Brien nervously shuffled his feet back and forth. He looked at Garak's smile, then looked over at Lucas's anxious eyes. After a second, he sighed. "All right, you blarmy tailor. What plan did ya' have flippin' in that twisted little head of yours?"
If possible, Garak's smile widened . . . now seeming more of a shark's smile than a Cardassian's. Lucas watched with interest as the tailor energetically rubbed his hands together. Hmmm. He wasn't certain, but if he were Miles . . . he'd be getting really nervous about now. Really, really nervous.
"Well, my plan is truly quite simple. Even you should understand it."
Lucas ruthlessly silenced the amused chortle that had almost erupted at this latest of Garak's insults. Miles' face reddened, and strangled sounds of pure anger threatened to escape his throat. Lord. Poor Miles! Once again, the Cardassian was doing a thoroughly efficient job of baiting the man.
Garak continued describing his plan: "We'll create a disturbance by starting a fight. While we're fighting and throwing cruel curses at one another, Mr. Wolenczak shall proceed to establish secret contact with the Lieutenant. This should provide him the cover required."
Again, Lucas found himself trying not to chuckle. Mr. Wolenczak shall proceed to establish secret contact with the Lieutenant . . . it just sounded so darned . . . spookish. It sounded like something from a spy story. What with the aliens and the melting caves and the spy tactics, Lucas was beginning to feel he was part of a really poorly written holonovel. Perhaps he was the victim of some author's truly terrible idea of plotting technique . . .
He sighed just as the idea started to hold a certain charm. Thinking he was part of a holonovel didn't help him. It obviously didn't save his skin. So, wishing he truly were in a holonovel instead of this absurd reality, Lucas returned his attention to the scene surrounding him.
*****
"CUT!"
The loud voice stormed through the air. As one, the characters stopped, looking for the speaker.
With an annoyed groan, Krieg plopped down upon a rock. Unfortunately, the rock was made of flimsy wire, paper, glue, and lots of paint. It crunched to the ground in one swoop, sprawling the Lieutenant's lean figure across the floor. He growled, muttering, "Damn low budget productions these days . . ." Krieg glared up at the characters surrounding him, barely catching a mumbled "well done, Krieg." His glare intensified. "What was that? No--don't even think of saying it."
Thankfully, Krieg's fellow characters were wise: they decided to keep their mouths shut.
Lucas scratched at his head, puzzled. He looked at his fellow characters, pulling out a much-abused and written upon script. He frowned, trying to follow the obnoxious arrows and circles that indicated last-minute plot changes.
After a second's intense reading, he glanced up. He shook his head. "Hey, Voice-over." Lucas blinked at this, hoping the mysterious voice would understand he was referring to it. He continued, "What do you mean, 'cut'? The story was going exactly as it was supposed to . . . that is, until you decided to intrude."
"Hey, don't look at me. I'm just the director of this darn story," the disembodied voice called back. It cleared its throat. "The producer says we need to add a new scene."
"The producer?" Bridger inquired, looking with concern at his fellow characters. No one was going to pull in some new plot twist right smack in the middle of his scene . . . not if he had any say on the matter, anyway. "What producer?"
The voice whined back, "You know . . . The Producer. The One who Writes . . . occasionally, that is . . ."
Abruptly, the voice silenced; a loud whack resonated through the cave, followed by the voice howling in agony. The poor voice soon returned to the scene, however, sniffling unhappily. "That wasn't necessary, I tell you. I was just making a general observation."
Much disturbed, the characters stared at one another. They waited anxiously for the voice to return. After a moment, Bridger started pacing back and forth, periodically checking his watch. Finally, he shouted, "Hey! Could we get on with the show? Gees, I've got a ship to run, you know . . . and Lucas has some aliens to run from . . ."
Lucas's head snapped up. He frowned. "Look here, Bridger, that's not in the script! I've already done my running from the aliens." He suddenly noticed the mischievous grins surrounding him, all seemingly directed at him, too. Ooops. "Uh . . . look, maybe you've got your roles confused, Bridger. I think it's probably Krieg who gets to do the running. Lord knows he should be pretty good at it, considering the trouble he creates . . ."
Several snickers met his statement. Krieg glared his way; Lucas simply grinned back. Point one to the blond-haired genius . . .
Suddenly, the voice returned. It cleared its throat. "Okay, okay! The producer has decided to let this scene play out. But after that . . . she's determined to add a new Plot Twist."
As one (in a rare show of unity), the characters groaned. Their fiendish minds whirled frantically, calculating their chance of escaping the producer's clutches. Lucas wondered if the producer responded well to bribery. Bridger wondered if the producer would be overly upset by the Infinity firing a complete spread of photon torpedos at the producer's house. Garak wondered if he could secretly have the producer kidnapped and replaced, then tortured at his convenience. Krieg wondered what hallucinogen the producer had been smoking, for he sorely wanted--no, needed--some of it.
"All right, everyone! Take your places!" The characters scurried around the set, Krieg carefully shoving his crunched rock out of view. "Okay . . . ACTION!"
Inhaling deeply, Lucas tried to remember where they'd left off. Oh, yeah . . . something about holonovels . . .
*****
After a second's silent, steaming contemplation, Miles abruptly jerked his head up and down; Lucas at last decided this was the Chief's version of a highly annoyed nod. He glanced at Garak to see triumph practically gleaming from the alien's scales.
Great. Now they're at it again. Lucas sighed, wishing--as he had several times already--that he was anywhere but here.
A lump suddenly developed in his throat. Well, maybe not anywhere. Given the choice of facing these hostile aliens or facing his father, Lucas thought he'd take the aliens. At least with them, he knew why he was considered expendable. The aliens didn't seem to consider him irrelevant because of some unfathomable mistake he'd made to piss off his father's sense of justice. No, nothing of the sort; the aliens view of him was actually quite uncomplicated. He was simply expendable for two reasons: he was both a prisoner and a human being.
Besides, at least with the aliens, he had allies. At home, he'd never had allies.
With a slight shake of his head, Lucas looked at his two quarreling allies. Well, there was one positive aspect to all this tension: neither Garak nor Miles would need much acting ability for their upcoming "fight." The two already seemed more than happy to strangle one another just for the fun of it.
Lucas cleared his throat as the two continued taunting one another. Finally, a chagrined Miles turned towards him, even as Garak snorted in annoyance at his intrusion. "Look, guys . . . I've got one problem with this plan of yours." Silently, Lucas added, Other than the obvious fact that you really want to kill each other.
As they waited, clearly expecting him to continue, Lucas sighed. He glanced at the guards. "What if they decide dead prisoners are better than fighting prisoners?" Garak blinked at this, and Miles frowned. "What if they just . . . vaporize you?"
Miles sputtered, clearly worried.
Garak, on the other hand, seemed none-too-concerned over the matter. He merely commented, his voice dry, "Well, it would still serve as an excellent diversion."
Unable to hide the shock hurdling through his mind, Lucas shook his head. He stuttered, "But--but that doesn't do us any good! For heaven's sake, Garak, you can't just . . ."
Garak smiled at him, clearly pleased at Lucas's shock. He winked at the still-sputtering-Miles. "I was merely teasing, my dear boy."
Lucas glared at him: merely? Lucas wanted to take that "merely" and wrap it around the Cardassian's scaled throat.
After a second's silence, Garak patted Lucas's shoulder--which only made Lucas angrier. "Now, dear boy . . ."
Lucas thought if he heard another "dear boy" from this Cardassian, he'd attack the tailor with his own sewing sheers.
". . . I was simply distracting you from your worry over our current situation. I thought a bit of lightness might make you feel better."
Lightness? The Cardassian somehow thought that talking about their getting killed in a diversion was a light distraction? Lucas knew he'd never understand Cardassians if Garak were any sign of their normal state of thought.
"Anyhow, Mr. Wolenczak, I doubt they will try to harm or kill us. Do you both not remember the fight that occurred last night?" At Lucas's thoughtful nod and Miles' grunt, Garak continued, "No one was killed, and the guards actually seemed quite taken with the violence. I suspect they enjoyed every minute of it."
"You would know, you Cardassian slimo . . ." Miles muttered, glaring at Garak. "You used to be Chief Torturer for your government, didn't you . . . before they exiled you?"
Lucas wanted to find a rock under which to hide. However, Garak took Miles' words without a flinch. He smiled eloquently. "Why, Mr. O'Brien, you are digging beneath yourself now! I am shocked that you would do so before the boy!"
The boy glared at both men, then sighed. He intervened just as Miles was preparing to retaliate with some low comment, "Okay, okay! Save it for the diversion, will you?" Lucas glanced from one face to the next. "I remember the fight, too. You're probably right. I doubt they'll take it as anything other than a break from their boring routine."
"Exactly!" Pleased, Garak all but beamed at him. Lucas wondered if Miles had been serious about Garak once being the Chief Torturer for the Cardassians. Garak . . . seemed to have some interesting depth to him. "Now, why don't you start heading towards the other side of the cavern now, Mr. Wolenczak? Mr. O'Brien and I will be more than happy to provide that diversion for you."
I'll bet, Lucas thought with a mental snort. However, he simply nodded, leaving their sides.
He moved towards Lieutenant Krieg and his friends when Garak and Miles started throwing things at one another. He was nearly half there, his own look of warning keeping the startled Krieg from running to Garak and Miles' aid, when he heard the guards laughing . . . at least, what he assumed was laughing. A kind of nasal snorting--for lack of a better word--filled the cavern. The guards circled their fighting inmates, then started to encourage them with pokes and stabs of their claws. Cursing under his breath, Lucas could only pray that the claws weren't breaking skin, and that Garak had been correct in his assessment.
*****
"Okay, people, IT'S A CUT!"
Lucas glared up at the unseen voice as his fellow characters slumped to the ground in boredom. He crossed his arms over his chest, sulking. "You just like to intrude on good scenes, don't you? Admit it. You just like to drive us all crazy."
The voice laughed drolly, increasing in volume as Lucas rolled his eyes. After a second's pause, the voice said, "Well, it'll be a good scene. I promise you'll like it."
Lucas snorted.
"And, besides, you're not in it. It'll give you a minute or two to relax."
Startled, Lucas stared at the characters around him. They were equally startled. "Hey, what do you mean, I don't get to be in this? We've all finally managed to get together here . . . Bridger, Krieg, me . . . and now you want to ruin it?"
"Nah. Not ruin it. Just visit a few other friends."
Lucas was about to complain, but the voice summoned the Character Removal Force before he could utter a sound. Within seconds, the stage and all its angry characters had been rolled up and locked away by invisible powers. Seconds later, the scene had been replaced, new characters suddenly springing to life as the scene unfolded itself . . .
*****
"Report!"
Commander Chakotay, the First Officer of the Federation Starship Voyager, looked up from his study of the ship's sensor readings. He glanced at the view screen, carefully maintaining his balance despite the rocky turbulence shaking the ship, almost rattling it apart. He ignored the clash of warning klaxons, the glare of red alert lights flashing on the Bridge walls, as he focused on their current situation. "We have an anomaly approaching at phenomenal speeds. It should reach us in . . . approximately two minutes."
Captain Kathyrn Janeway stared at the view screen. An immense funnel of light filled the entire screen. Small eddies of light could be seen swirling within it, with bolts of energy streaking across the anomaly at alarmingly fast speeds. She swallowed hard, then glanced over at Lieutenant Tuvok, her Chief of Security. "Thoughts, Lieutenant?"
"It could be the cause of our missing crewmembers," Tuvok replied in his logical, controlled voice. Janeway could always rely on his detached Vulcan instincts in the most trying situations. Vulcans rarely allowed emotions to sway them, and Tuvok was no exception to this rule. "However, it is larger than any quantum singularity encountered yet. Under most circumstances, I would advise avoiding it at all costs."
Janeway nodded, knowing all too well what he meant. "Unfortunately, now is not most circumstances." She looked at Chakotay, who simply shook his head. They didn't have much choice--actually, they appeared to have no choices. One minute, the singularity had not been there; the next, it seemed to engulf half of the Delta Quadrant. "Well, we'll have to take our chances with the anomaly. We can't hope to pilot around it at its present speed and course."
She inhaled sharply as another blast of energy shook the ship. "Commander, I want you piloting this ship. With any luck, we'll remain intact after we hit this . . . anomaly." With a nod, she gestured Chakotay over towards the helm. Since Ensign Paris was . . . missing, Chakotay was the best pilot on board. Though certainly no Tom Paris at the helm, his well-above-average piloting skills would have to suffice.
Chakotay slid into the helm, then glanced up once more at the viewing screen. His eyes widened fractionally; for once, he was glad the crew could not see his expression, could not see the amazement, the fear that flashed across his face. He was the "stoic," the spiritually centered member of the crew. He wasn't supposed to show shock or fear--but he was certainly doing both right now. He couldn't do otherwise.
The anomaly rapidly whirled towards them. Chakotay could see streaks of violet, streaks of teal, jaggedly jolting through the mass of energy. He could have sworn that he heard a hum, a cry . . . an echo from the energy mass itself. It was almost like the anomaly sang--and to him.
Amazed, he simply watched as it approached. The energy within its form seemed to sparkle, to glitter: a diamond in a field of white. He wondered what made it so . . . so wonderfully beautiful. He had seen so many nebulas, so many vivid streaks of light across a field of blackness, and yet this one . . . this one seemed special. It caught his eye, its form weaving in an endless, complex dance before his eyes, a rhythm the nuances of which he could only imagine . . .
". . . Commander!" A voice murmured in his ear. He blinked, confused, wondering where he was. His glance then drew back towards the anomaly, and he smiled. Ah, that was where he wanted to be. That was where he was from. He needed to be there, part of that beauty.
Without thought, without hesitation, Chakotay set a course heading directly into the anomaly: directly into his home. It would only take minutes, seconds, and then he would be there. At last, after this long, journey, he would be home . . .
"Commander, what do you think you're doing?"
Chakotay felt a sharp tap at his shoulder. A hand firmly gripped his right shoulder blade, then span him around in his chair. Startled, he looked up to see Janeway staring down at him, her hazel eyes furious. Brown eyes met hazel eyes: they stared fire at one another, until, abruptly, Janeway reached over Chakotay's shoulders. Without a sound, she hit the helm controls.
Stiffly, she stood up, unable to understand how Chakotay--Chakotay, her friend, her First Officer--could do this. How the hell could the man look at her, sincere shock shining in his eyes, when he had just set their course straight for the gates of hell itself?
How could he do it?
But he had, and Janeway knew there was no way of changing what he'd begun. There probably hadn't been any chance of their escaping this anomaly beforehand, but Chakotay's . . . mysterious actions made their escape impossible.
Softly, aware that every eye on the Bridge was rapidly shifting between her and Chakotay and the huge anomaly awaiting them, Janeway ordered, "Commander Chakotay, you are to report yourself directly to Sickbay." She paused, watching as he rose to stand several inches above her. She didn't blink an eye as she continued, "After that, and if the Doctor finds nothing to explain your odd behavior, report to the Brig."
With a short nod, Chakotay left his post and headed for the turbolift. Its doors shifted open, he stepped in, and then . . . Janeway watched as the doors shut and he disappeared from sight.
She breathed heavily, then slid into Chakotay's vacated seat. She just couldn't believe . . . couldn't believe Chakotay had done this! He'd started piloting the Voyager right into the anomaly . . . as if their situation wasn't bad enough as it was!
Captain Janeway seriously doubted they'd live through this encounter with the anomaly; judging from its immense size, she felt certain it would shred them into tiny particles. However, should the impossible occur and the anomaly not shred them to pieces, she truly hoped that they could find what on earth had made Chakotay head them right into certain danger. If Chakotay, her friend, could so suddenly turn against the entire crew . . .
Wham.
Janeway's thoughts were interrupted as the ship jolted to its far side. The Voyager span out of control, even as its Captain tried every strategy she had ever heard of to bring the ship aright. If only Paris . . . if only Paris hadn't been transported out . . .
Helplessly, Captain Janeway glanced up at the view screen. Her eyes widened.
It was beautiful. Lights of purple, of white, of emerald . . . they twinkled around the Voyager's hull, tiny jewels glowing in the onyx of deep space. The anomaly seemed to come alive, to spark with living being.
Captain Janeway swallowed hard. Quietly, she reset the controls . . . just a touch.
This beauty, this living light, would not harm them.
It would only help them.
It whispered at her gently, calling to her . . . speaking in words so soft, so tender, a warm caress against her mind.
Oh, so soft . . . the call embraced her thoughts. Slowly, Janeway shut her eyes, feeling the warmth of the anomaly surround her, surround her crew, surround her ship. Such warrrrmmmmtttthhhhhh . . .
Shatter.
Blinding agony abruptly seared her brain. Kathyrn Janeway reared up, her spine stiff, wooden: she screamed and screamed and screamed. The shrill sound shrieked throughout the Bridge . . . joining with the cries of her companions.
Oh God oh God oh the pain . . . the PAIN. Janeway tore at her hair, hands shaking, trembling. Tears streaked down her face, running in unheeded lines, marking her countenance.
Blood soon intermingled with the tears. It trickled from the corners of her eyes, from the scratches her sharp fingernails gouged into her own flesh.
Unable to feel, unable to do more than simply breathe, Janeway slipped, unconscious, to the floor of her Bridge.
And the blindingly radiant light continued to swallow the Voyager as it drifted, without control or thought, through the turbulence surrounding it.
*****
Off stage, lounging moodily on a bean bag, Lucas shuddered. He ran his hands over suddenly chilled skin, now glad that he hadn't been in this scene.
Lord, the woman's shrieks had been enough to raise the hairs on his neck. He saw the Captain, her body slumped on the Bridge, and he wondered . . . would the Voyager make it through the anomaly? Would it crush them?
Swallowing hard, he looked at his companion characters. They seemed just as upset as he was. He cleared his throat, then said to no one in particular: "Man, that was bad." He paused, feeling eyes watching him. He shrugged. "Really bad. I'm just glad I wasn't in that ship."
Several nods met this statement. He saw Bridger shiver, and he knew the Captain was thinking of the Infinity. Would they, too, encounter the same anomaly?
If so, Lucas held little hope for his would-be fellow crewmates. That anomaly had looked . . . well, down-right destructive. He certainly wouldn't want to look out the view screen and see that thing awaiting him, lurking in the depths of space, well away from any help.
Again, he cleared his throat, then asked hesitantly, "Do . . . do you think they'll be okay?"
Silence met his inquiry. Several heads nervously looked away, the owners seeming quite interested in a thorough inspection of their shoes.
However, abruptly, Garak snorted. Lucas's head whipped over towards the Cardassian tailor. His eyes widened at the man's words: "Of course they'll be okay! I'd be willing to stake my very life upon it!"
Lucas's mouth opened slightly. He slammed it shut, though, as Garak winked at him.
Garak grinned, realizing that everyone was staring at him. Amusement dripped from his features. "Why, do you think our Esteemed Producer would waste an entire story developing the characters of this work . . . simply to destroy them out of nowhere and for no distinguishable purpose?"
Lucas shifted nervously on his feet, secretly thinking that, yes, he could easily think of many "Esteemed Producers" who would do such a thing. However, he wisely decided to keep his mouth shut on the matter.
Garak continued: "Obviously, the Producer will not kill them off. It would be a waste of good character tissue."
Lucas frowned, beginning to pace. He had one problem with the tailor's theory. Unfortunately, it was a big problem: "Well, you have to remember who our Producer is." Lucas snorted. "She plays with plots like some tailors play with scissors . . . cutting here, snipping there, removing extra material any time she darn well pleases."
The tailor grinned, obviously pleased with the analogy.
Lucas continued, "However, unlike a good tailor, she rarely seems to have any pattern behind her madness!"
Garak frowned at this. Bridger outright paled. Krieg looked for a fake rock under which to hide. Obviously, if the Producer could so casually get rid of the Voyager's characters . . . she could do so with them, too.
Suddenly, Krieg looked up. His eyes gleamed. "I have an idea!"
All the characters stared at him, shaking their heads in amazement. That was frightening.
"Hey, I can have ideas, too!" Lucas snickered at this, but Krieg said, "I think we should organize a character union . . . we should go on strike! Just as she starts to throw in more Insane Plot Twists, we can . . ."
"CAST CALL!" a voice hollered, its words echoing throughout the stage area.
Krieg stopped, smack in the middle of a great line. It was the dratted Voice-Over--again. He swallowed hard, glancing at his fellow characters.
With a loud groan, Tom Paris shook his head. "She's ready to go at us again. It looks like it's time for the next scene."
Krieg crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at all the characters. "It will be another Twisted Plot Twist, I tell you! We . . ."
"Curtain time in FIVE SECONDS!"
"Someone must track that voice down and kill it," Garak stated darkly, glaring at the air in front of him.
"Ah! But, Mr. Garak, perhaps the Next Scene will be a good, happy one!"
As one, all the characters stared at Neelix in open shock, then snorted.
However, just as Garak was about to propose a fifty-point plan to the hostile takeover and eventual demise of the Producer, the scene of Voyager floating into an anomaly disappeared . . . to be replaced by one far more sinister.
Even Garak paled at the scene into which they next would travel.