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. (Clearing throat) You'll notice a few differences between Kristin Westphalen here and Kristin Westphalen in the show. They're not huge--I just wanted to play with the explosive tension between Bridger and Westphalen--but they're there.
Rating: Consider this PG, simply for safety's sake. There is some violence involved and some rather difficult topics at the beginning of the story (much like the stories "Away from Monsters" and "Monsters Return" in my seaQuest universe), but things quickly change in tone from there. Mild language warning, too. Rating for Craziness: High. Rating for Snideness: Right off the Scale. Rating for Sanity: Zero.
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: the seaQuest, Voyager, and DS9 get into trouble together. :)
Long ago, in a galaxy far, far away (snicker, snicker) . . .
[Scene: Dark caves. A strange, surreal orange glow flickers about the cave walls. Shadows cling to the rock (of course, the rock is paper mache--but who's counting?). As the camera zooms in, we see LUCAS slumped against the floor, moving uncomfortably and screaming. His head suddenly tosses, as if he is having a terrible nightmare. Suddenly, there is movement in the cave entrance. A figure approaches LUCAS.]
LUCAS: (peeking his eyelids open. A frown abruptly forms, and he whispers in worried confusion) Hey! You're not supposed to be here. What if the . . . (he pauses, then dramatically looks around himself) . . . aliens walk in while you're here? It's not in the script, you know!
BRIDGER: (sighing. He slips down to sit beside LUCAS, who watches him with remarkably clear eyes for someone who is supposed to be drugged by alien venom) I wanted to find out when it's my turn again. I'm bored. (He pauses, then lowers his voice) I want ACTION: monsters, aliens, creatures of the deepest, darkest, dankest corners . . .
LUCAS: (groans) Just wait a bit. You'll get your chance. The way SHERI writes, there's probably a monster lurking between every page . . .
BRIDGER: (snorts. LUCAS silently ponders whether Bridger, given the large quantity of snorts he is assigned by a certain author, will eventually grow a snout and pig's tail) I won't get to fight those monsters with you monopolizing all the attention! I'd like a few moments, too, you know . . .
LUCAS: (rolls eyes) Hey, all I get to do is scream and get hurt. You get to beat up the nasty old aliens! Besides, look on the positive side: This is SHERI writing. I'm sure she'll change her mind sooner or later. She changes her mind at least once a paragraph!
BRIDGER: (face brightening) Hey, that's true! SHERI never knows who's going to do what and when . . . she doesn't know the meaning of the word "plot." I'll just suggest things to her in her sleep. (BRIDGER stands, then immediately transforms into . . . an imp dressed in red. He grins, then vanishes, leaving only brimstone and LUCAS still huddled on the floor)
[Scene: Dark room. Again, the effects are constructed of highly expensive paper mache.]
BRIDGER: (magically appears floating over my head) Hey . . . psst . . . SHERI . . .
SHERI: (swats at the little BRIDGER IMP, but misses and hits herself instead. Muffled curse is heard)
BRIDGER: (thinking frantically, then reaches for a bull horn, which--as usual in my fiction--magically, preposterously, impossibly overload of adverbs required in SHERI fiction> appears before him) HEY, SHERI, WAKE UP!
SHERI: (screams, sits up, sees BRIDGER, and continues to scream) OH, GOD, I've been writing too much . . . I've lost my mind! (Thinks for a moment.)
BRIDGER: (crosses arms and raises eyebrows in a classic "oh?" expression)
SHERI: Oh . . . that's right. I never had it to begin with . . . (With that, our poor AUTHOR whacks herself over the head until she finally falls asleep, the BRIDGER IMP studiously ignored)
And now, we return to our poor friends aboard the Infinity,
who are scurrying helplessly in search of our two heroes . . .
Infinity: A Crossover
Part Eight
Bridger to the Rescue?
Captain Nathan Bridger glared at the reports in front of him: Nothing, nothing, nothing! The sensor readouts, the transporter reports . . . none of it indicated any fluctuations, any anomalies, any anything that might help them find their missing crew members. It was frustrating. He had the best crew in the Fleet. He had one of the finest ships in the Fleet. He had the best minds, the best scientists in the Fleet frantically scurrying for answers—and yet there were none. Lucas Wolenczak and Ben Krieg had just disappeared without a trace.
His comm badge beeped, and he growled. With an impatient mutter, he touched the golden badge and snapped, "Bridger here."
Lieutenant Commander Katherine Hitchcock's voice rang back at him, undeterred by his snap. "Sir, we just received an inter-dimensional signal. It appears to have come from Krieg's di-corder, though how on earth he managed to work this calculation on a di-corder is well beyond me . . ."
Bridger shook his head, already out of his seat and steaming towards the bridge. "Does the signal seem legitimate?"
"Aye, sir." There was a short pause, then, "It matches Krieg's di-corder frequency."
"I'm on my way." Actually, he was half way there already. "Bridger out."
As Bridger practically barreled into the turbolift to the bridge, he let out a sigh of relief. With luck, they'd be getting their two crew members back soon. There'd been no end of grief over this catastrophe. Noyce had been down his throat about Lucas; Commander Hitchcock had been screaming about Krieg, her ex-husband; people were afraid to use the transporter, fearing a similar fate.
He himself had felt terrible about both disappearances. Admittedly, he and Krieg weren't the best of friends—actually, he couldn't think of anyone who called Krieg a "best buddy"—but the man could certainly supply the ship well. He was also a good officer, if a bit unorthodox in procedures. And Lucas . . . Nathan had felt awful about the teenager's disappearance. The poor kid had already faced his father's fists; he didn't need to face this on top of it. He'd also been looking forward to talking science with the kid. He sure as hell didn't want to put Lucas's name in the ranks of the permanently missing in action.
The bridge was a flurry of activity as he sprung from the turbolift towards his command chair. Katherine Hitchcock quickly stepped aside, handing him a datapadd as she did so. He scanned the data, eyes brightening as he, too, agreed with Katie's assessment: This was certainly coming from Ben's di-corder. "Well, Commander, you're exactly right. This seems to be the Lieutenant's. Is Commander Ford down in transporting?"
"Aye, sir. He wanted to run the figures a few times. Dr. Westphalen is with him."
"Good. Thank you, Commander." He tapped his comm badge, routing it through to transport control. "Commander? Any luck?"
A brief pause, then, "Aye, sir . . . or we think so, at least. Dr. Westphalen has ran the numbers through the computer about five times. They appear to work exactly to the last detail."
"Very good. Doctor?"
"Yes, Nathan, they seem to work quite well. I'm still not sure how Ben managed to come up with these numbers, but not even the computer could have scaled them as well. I'm going to have to have a talk with Mr. Krieg, I believe, when he gets back . . ."
"I wouldn't get too excited, Doctor. I doubt the Lieutenant was the mind behind these numbers."
A pause, then, "Oh?"
"You forget he's not alone. He's with Lucas Wolenczak, who, from what I understand, is more than capable of producing such figures." Bridger paused, smiling slightly. He could almost hear the wheels of Kristin's mind spinning from here. "Is it safe, then, to try transporting them back over?"
There was a heavy silence, then, "Nathan, if they're wrong—if Mr. Wolenczak has even erred slightly . . ." Nathan tried not to snort at Kristin calling Lucas "mister," for she obviously didn't know how young the boy really was. ". . . If this happens, they'll be killed immediately."
Startled, Nathan blinked quickly, listening as she explained about temporal mechanics and the result of any error—no matter how slight. He swallowed hard, then asked softly, "Do you believe the settings are correct?"
"Yes. Yes, I believe the numbers are right."
He inhaled deeply, frowning. For a moment, he ran a hand over his chin. He finally said, try to push his misgivings aside, "Then we'll do it. Wait until I'm there with you, though."
"Understood."
His stomach tight, Bridger left the bridge to Katie—who watched him with frightened, worried eyes—and hurried to transport control.
*****
Bridger flew into transport control, ignoring the startled gazes swinging his way. He simply looked towards Dr. Westphalen as he arrived smack in front of her. "Well, ready?"
She scowled, shaking her head over his preposterously childlike behavior. The man was captain of one of the Fleet's fastest ships, and he still acted like a child of eight or nine years! From what she'd seen of Admiral Noyce, Bridger's boss and good friend, the man was just as bad. In the Academy, the two had often been reprimanded for practical jokes; now, since they were both in command positions, it seemed that those practical jokes got sillier with each year. And to make things worse—as if their jokes weren't bad enough—both men tended to bring their executive staffs into the practical jokes, too . . . willingly or unwillingly. She often wondered if silly dispositions and childlike antics were necessary prerequisites for command. At least, this seemed to be the case with the Fleet officers she'd known.
However, she also liked him—like a moth to fire, she often thought. His antics, his enthusiasm for life: these were all qualities she found precious in this man of incredible political and military clout. Of course, she'd never say this to him. Oh, no—never. She'd already had one failed marriage; she wasn't planning on becoming "involved" with such a man as Captain Nathan Hale Bridger. While he had never had a divorce, Bridger was still a grieving widower. Five years back, Caroline Bridger had died and he'd secluded himself from the rest of the world until a position with the Fleet was offered to him on the very vessel he'd designed.
Kristin sighed. Bringing together two people with a history for tortured romances? No, it just simply would never work. It was an impossible idea. So . . . they were at a stalemate Kristin never intended to pass: he still believed she thought him the devil incarnate and she still stayed as far from him as humanly possible.
But now was not the time for thinking about Bridger and failed romances. With an annoyed shake of her head, Kristin returned her mind to the possible catastrophe awaiting them. She nodded in response to Bridger's question. They were, all things considered, as ready as they ever would be. With a weary sigh, Kristin quietly entered the last string of commands to initiate the transporter, then waited, her stomach twisted into knots, for what was to follow . . . whatever that might be.
A shimmer, then a yowling, screeching hiss reverberated through the room. Kristin's nerves tightened, and she blinked with horror. Two figures formed in the static of the transport beam: the first figure, tall and dark-haired, was reaching franticly for the hand of the second figure. Kristin gulped at what she saw. The second figure seemed to be . . . stretching, as if caught between something she couldn't see.
Then the shimmer began to fade, to dissolve.
Oh, God.
"Tighten control. Phase out the ion interference!" Bridger snapped. Commander Ford ignored the rudeness, quickly following Bridger's directions. Slowly, the shimmer came back into focus—as did the outline of a claw as it caught at the wrist of the slimmer of the two forms. Kristin thought she heard a cry of pain, but wasn't certain; the sounds were simply too distorted.
Slowly, the transporter light disappeared. One disembodied form coalesced into flesh and immediately toppled to the floor. Blood puddled around his right arm.
But the second of the two figures disappeared.
***
** Imaginatively insert all kinds of "legalese" here--then imagine that this print is in tiny little letters no one in their right minds would read. Then, like Yahoo! Geocities, hope everyone ignores what you're saying. (Annoyed? Bitter? Me? No. Never! grin>)