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: R. This part of the series is R because of a rather violent and emotionally charged scene towards the end.
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 First
Welcome, weary travelers! No, please do not be overly frightened, though imaginary voices are speaking to you even now . . . after all, good company is hard to find, and what better company can there be than the babbling voices of your own mind?
With . . . a few extra voices, too, of course, murmuring hauntingly within the confines of your teeming brain. But, Fair, Gentle Reader, please refrain from screaming for just one moment.
Look around yourself, and tell me what you see.
{PAUSE.}
Your eyes, oh Reader, travel across a world much changed since the last time you looked upon your surroundings. No longer are you in your own home, but you now find yourself, somehow, reclined lazily against a pile of velvet cushions and elaborate Persian rugs. Sprawled next to you are goblets of fine vintage wines, crystal perfume sprayers, decadent chocolates from every corner of the known world . . . jars overflowing with honey . . . vats of rich ruby mead, sparkling in the soft light trembling across the room . . .
Your eyes, quite surprised, focus on a new sight in front of you: sitting (rather uncomfortably, I might add) in a chair of hard edges and no cushions is the figure of someone . . . you seem to recognize, though as if from a dream. Your mind spins in concentration. Who could this be?
And why, why, is a scarlet napkin stuffed into her mouth?
Your ears perk as, suddenly, you hear a sound: "Mmmmwww wwaaass shhhh." Your eyebrows rise, for you do not understand the half-articulated mumble arising from this gagged person. Is this, perchance, an alien language? Again, the sound intrudes upon your peace: "Mmmmm wwwwiii nooowww!"
Caught between trying to understand this odd person sitting so uncomfortably in front of you . . . and tasting of the chocolate so invitingly tempting you . . . great surprise strikes your mind as yet another odd thing happens. Into the scene pops a new figure who, after glancing your way rather surreptitiously, proceeds to pose with dramatic flair.
The figure turns to you and says, loud voice filling the room, "Greetings, Reader! I am LINDA of Q: the weird, strange, odd, bizarre, insane ELF fanatic and Employer of the Mischievous Q . . ." More inarticulate bursts of outrage from the gagged figure. Linda Q grins mischievously, waving her finger at the gagged figure, as if scolding a naughty child. "Add evil and wicked . . . twisted . . . to that description. I am, of course, best known as . . . LADY Q."
Awareness gradually dawns on you. Is this not the same Lady Q who Q, that mischievous immortal, so grandly loves to annoy? You listen as Lady Q continues to explain your predicament: "This figure before us, the one who is currently gagged and sitting in that most uncomfortable of chairs, is SHERI. We are all here because of her."
You glare at Sheri. She, most audaciously, glares right back.
Grinning wickedly, as is her wont, Lady Q continues: "She is currently sitting before you because she has violated THE MOST IMPORTANT RULE OF ALL ELF WRITERS."
There is a dramatic pause, in which time Lady Q poses with hands raised and eyebrows arched. You begin to wonder if someone has tampered with your water to produce such odd and overly-dramatic hallucinations. This figment of your imagination continues to say, "What is that Rule? Why, Sheri Ann Denison has forced you, the Reader, to wait anxiously, impatiently, most annoyingly for her next installment of Infinity, that Crazy Crossover of Most Infinite Weirdness. Furthermore, she has persistently hinted at what shall be in the next installment, even as she refuses to produce the promised material."
Another dramatic pause. "As proof of this author's Most Terrible Crime, I offer Exhibit A." Lady Q waves her arms through the air, then snaps her fingers. Before you appears a replica email message, tauntingly floating just before your reach. On it reads the following:
>>So . . . what will happen? Will Lady Q fight off Bad Q for Sheri's rock?
> > >
Will aliens intervene?
> >
Nope, well . . . maybe not the evil, gray aliens from "Infinity" which
seemed to have disappeared off the face of the weird, multi-dimensional world which they inhabit (hint hint, Sheri)
Lady Q walks before you, a TOME OF DOOM within her hands. As you look closer, you see the words ELF WRITER'S CODE OF HONOR written across the cover in boldly glowing yellow letters. Lady Q flips to page 1,563, paragraph 5, subsection 2.5, and reads, "By no means shall an ELF writer taunt her audience ruthlessly with innuendo or non-subtle hints of what shall happen in future episodes, without immediately posting a segment of the said fiction within one week's time." Lady Q stops, looks my way, and snorts derisively. "Furthermore, if said ELF does proceed to conduct herself in such a hideously cruel manner, she shall be thrown before the Court of Lady Q and All ELFdom, who shall her punishment decide."
Lady Q snaps the book shut, grinning wickedly. "That, Dear and Most Patient Reader, is why you are here."
You move around excitedly upon your pile of luxurious cushions. Lady Q watches, then says, voice once more dramatic, "You must decide her Fate. Here's the challenge. Sheri must write a fully complete installment of Infinity with much humor and devious plotting . . ." A pause fills the air. "Or suffer the consequences she will . . ."
Now, you wonder if Lady Q realizes she sounds like Yoda.
"You must decide, O Reader, what torments Sheri, writer of Infinity, shall suffer for her trespasses." She grins. "And to help in your decision, I have compiled the following Trespass Torments from which you may select."
Lady Q waves her hands like a wacky magician, and at each flick of her wrist a bubble appears over her head, a glowing lightbulb within each bubble. "And first of the Trespass Torments shall be this . . ."
She snaps her fingers; your eyes widen, and widen, and widen . . . as the most bizarre scene ever to be witnessed plays before your dazed eyes . . .
{PAUSE. The scene suddenly disappears, just as you are able to see the whole picture . . . and now you find yourself back in your room, frustrated, wondering if what you saw was really there . . . or just a figment of your own imagination. Was it real? Was it a dream? Only time can tell . . .}
Suddenly, out of the thin air itself, a paper airplane spins towards you, heading directly for your head. You gasp. The paper airplane lands magically within your hand, then unfolds itself with a sounding of trumpets.
Your eyes widen. Before you burns a message, penned in flaming letters--literally flaming, for tongues of fire delicately wreathe across the surface:
Stay Tuned, O Reader, as the Saga continues in . . . The Court of Lady Q!
You groan, belatedly realizing that you should have expected this. After all, is it not printed within the ELF WRITER'S CODE OF HONOR that all ELF stories must have some sort of dementedly cruel cliffhanger?
Growling, you stomp away from the Burning Message . . . only to find yourself sucked into yet another crazy scene, this one on Deep Space Nine.
And with that, let us return to Infinity and Deep Space Nine . . .
Infinity: A Crossover
Part Fourteen
Bad Joke . . . or Just Really Bad Plotting?
Nathan Hale Bridger, Captain of the Infinity, sat staring at nothing. He frowned, lines marking themselves almost angrily into his skin. Before him, shaking his head with equal anger, was Captain Benjamin Sisko of Deep Space Nine. They were sitting in Sisko's office, realizing, for the first time, the depth of their problem.
Sisko agitatedly picked up his baseball--a battered relic of the twentieth century and one of his fondest tools for stress reduction--and shuffled it between his large hands, from time to time looking across his desk at his guest. Bridger continued to scowl, staring with fixed fascination at his own feet.
Finally, Bridger looked up. He broke the silence. "This is absurd. Ridiculous. Insane. In fact, there aren't any words for it. I just can't believe this." He paused, then exhaled loudly, trying to loosen his nerve-wracked muscles. After a second, he ran a slightly trembling hand through his hair. "I . . . just . . . cannot . . . believe . . . this."
Sisko sighed. He sympathized with the Captain, for he felt the same way. Who could believe it? It was the most idiotic thing he'd ever heard of. Hell, it was worse than one of the notoriously stupid jokes played by that immortal fiend Q. In fact, right now, Ben would give much for this to be just a joke played by Q; he'd even laugh himself to tears. However, he knew it wasn't a Q joke. Not even Q had this bad a sense of humor.
The truth was simple. This mess was their reality, and denying it did them no good.
After a blink and a shake of his head, Bridger tapped his com badge. He hated to do it, but he had no choice; he needed to talk to Krieg, and he needed to talk to the man now. Unfortunately, he also knew that Krieg couldn't zap himself into a shuttle and simply fly on over. No . . . nothing could be that simple around here.
Bridger momentarily wondered if both he and Sisko were cursed. It certainly appeared that way, given what was happening.
To make a bad situation even worse, for whatever reason, DS9's docking ring was currently refusing to operate. It plain would not operate: no ands, buts, or ifs about it. No ships could pull in, and no ships could pull out. According to Sisko, this catastrophe had been driving both his crew and DS9's customers insane for the last five days, but . . . well, since Sisko was missing his Chief Engineer, no one had yet been able to fix the problem.
Of course, the reason they just happened to be missing their Chief Engineer was anything but comforting. One week ago, Chief Miles O'Brien had, "coincidentally," disappeared just as he was transporting planet-side for a mission. Yeah, right: coincidentally. Bridger had never believed in coincidences, and he most certainly wasn't going to start doing so now. As he thought of the Engineer's mysterious disappearance, Bridger's voice was practically growling when he addressed Commander Ford. "Commander, beam Lieutenant Krieg over to Ops. Now."
There was a second's pause on the other side of the link; Bridger could almost imagine the Commander's mind racing with questions, most of them probably wondering just what Krieg had done to get himself into trouble this time. However, the Captain wasn't in the mood to clarify the situation. Not now. He didn't even want to admit that there was a situation.
"Aye, Captain." A brief silence filled the air before Ford announced, "Beaming him over right now, sir. He's all yours."
Great, Bridger thought with a mental sigh. He shifted in his chair, then watched through the open doors of Sisko's office as the static energy of a transport beam slowly coalesced into the figure of Lieutenant Benjamin Krieg. The man looked like a convicted felon about to face his own death sentence. Krieg was shifting nervously from one foot to the next, looking around him with wide eyes at DS9's Ops room. His eyes widened as he saw Major Kira Nerys glare at him with her fierce green eyes, her red head nodding him towards Sisko's office. Krieg's eyes widened, and he cautiously approached the office, a knight walking straight into the lair of a dragon.
Bridger snorted at this image. Krieg, a knight. Not quite. He'd be more like the thief trying to sneak up on the dragon to steal its gold.
As Bridger studied Lieutenant Krieg, he sighed. The man looked positively guilty, though he knew, in this, that Krieg had truly had nothing to do with the problem. He had just been the situation's unfortunate victim. However, Krieg's face reminded him of many a criminal about to face the executioner.
*****
Sisko was staring at Krieg when Bridger turned to glance at DS9's Captain. Eyes rising towards the top of his bald head, Sisko asked, "That's him? The man that escaped from . . . wherever he was?"
Bridger could well understand his misgivings. Where Krieg was concerned, he usually felt them himself on at least a weekly basis. "Yeah, that's him." He nearly smirked at the stricken expression on Sisko's face; the expression was priceless. In fact, in Bridger's experience, almost all reactions to Krieg were priceless. "He's the one that escaped the aliens."
Sisko stared at Bridger, openly skeptical. Bridger really couldn't blame Sisko for the skepticism. What man looking at Krieg wouldn't wonder how on earth the man managed to keep himself out of the Brig more than three hours at a time? When considering that Krieg had most miraculously escaped hostile aliens no one else--from DS9 or Infinity--seemed able to even find, his escape seemed more of a . . . hallucination.
Of course, Bridger knew better. He knew that Krieg's escape had been orchestrated by someone else . . . and that that someone else was still in the hands of the aliens.
If he were still alive.
The longer he stayed in their hands, Bridger knew the more likely it was that Lucas Wolenczak might never reach come out alive.
Krieg jumped as the doors to Sisko's office closed behind him, then cleared his throat as he turned towards Captain Bridger. "Uh . . . sir . . . what can I do for you?"
"Well, Lieutenant, it seems Captain Sisko is in the same situation we are." He watched Krieg's eyes blink before elaborating, "They're missing a couple members of their crew. The crewmembers disappeared when they were transporting over."
Krieg's eyes widened as his face lost all color. After a moment, he swallowed hard, looking from one captain to the next.
"I'd like you to recount everything that happened. I'm hoping there might be some clues we've missed." Bridger sighed, really not thinking it would help, but more than glad to at least feel like they were doing something to solve the problem. "There could be something to help us find Mr. Wolenczak and DS9's crew."
Krieg nodded. As Sisko gestured him towards a chair, the lieutenant quietly sat down and proceeded to tell his story, covering everything from the frozen alien wasteland to the alien claws reaching for him from the suddenly melting rock. As he discussed his escape, Bridger frowned sympathetically; Krieg looked like he wished he could hit something, anything, to change what had happened. The fact that the escape hadn't even been his doing clearly troubled Krieg, considering he'd been the one to make it back to safety while his companion--the one who'd actually figured out how to escape the alien landscape--had been captured.
Sisko cleared his throat as the last of the story was told. He glanced briefly at Bridger. "I'm sorry this happened, Lieutenant. And I appreciate your telling me what happened, though I know it wasn't a comfortable tale to tell."
Krieg only nodded, his eyes trained on the floor.
After a second's silence, Sisko rubbed tiredly at his eyes, making Bridger realize just how tired he was, too. They'd been working non-stop on bringing Lucas Wolenczak back; he'd simply forgotten to eat or sleep for the past day. As thoughts of food suddenly snapped into his fatigued brain, Bridger's stomach growled.
"Well . . ." Bridger began, hearing his stomach growl once more. He noticed Sisko's partially hidden smile and tried not to roll his eyes. "I think our best bet might be to work together on this. Our missing crewmembers are most likely in the same place. And, from what Lieutenant Krieg has said, I'd say their time is limited. We need to get them back now."
"Agreed. We could start with . . . hmmm . . ." Sisko sighed, thinking. He shrugged. "I suppose we could start with the transporter logs. My crew's been combing them from top to bottom, looking for anything that might help, but my Chief Engineer was one of the ones taken. They simply might have missed something your Chief Engineer might notice."
"Yeah. I'll have Commander Hitchcock look over your records, just to be sure. I'll also have Dr. Westphalen run a cross-comparison analysis between the two records. With any luck, she may find something there . . ." Bridger yawned, wishing like hell he wasn't so tired. He had things to do, records to examine . . . lives to save. He didn't have time to be tired. This was especially true with more than one life on the line. "I'll have you download the information to my ship. We'll do the same for you. Any other . . ." Bridger stifled another yawn. " . . . suggestions?"
Sisko momentarily considered telling Bridger to get some sleep, but thought better of it; he knew Bridger was too much like himself to sleep when a member of his crew faced danger. Instead, he simply shook his head. "No, that should do it. I'll tell my people what happened to you, Lieutenant. Maybe they'll see something here that we've missed."
Krieg nodded, glad to feel they were, at least, continuing to work on the problem. He just prayed they found something.
"So . . . if there's nothing more . . . I guess that's it for now."
Bridger yawned, blinking his eyes to focus them. "No, nothing more. I'll keep in touch, Captain." With that, and an acknowledging nod from Sisko, the Captain tapped his com badge. "Commander? Two to beam over."
He was rubbing his eyes tiredly, wishing he could find a pillow upon which to lay his head, when the transporter kicked in. A warm tickle coursed through his body, and he waited for the transport to finish.
Seconds later, his skin prickled with freezing cold. Wind blasted against his thinly protected skin.
Bridger's eyes snapped open.
A familiar voice ripped into his thoughts. "No!" Krieg's voice shouted, fear ringing clearly through the man's voice. "No . . . no . . . no!"
Slowly, Bridger's eyes focused. He blinked, wishing what he saw would just disappear. But it didn't.
"This has to be someone's idea of a really bad joke," Krieg whispered at last, his eyes pleading for their situation to change . . . for someone to appear from nowhere and tell them this was just some holosuite projection. Unfortunately, Bridger couldn't lie to the Lieutenant. This was no holosuite projection. Krieg continued, "It's gotta' be."
No one's luck was this bad. However, Bridger suspected that this was no joke as, now fully alert, he looked around himself.
Darkness surrounded him, a night so black that Bridger wondered if it ever ended, if there ever were a time when light shined in this desolate world. Scraping up from the frozen ground were harsh gray rocks, each angled cruelly, as if some giant had been shaping the rocks into weapons. He heard the howl of winds as they bitingly blew what little warmth he had away . . .
His eyes suddenly shot wide open as he realized something. The howls weren't from the wind.
Bloody, bloody hell and damnation, those howls were coming from . . .
Bridger had no time to complete his thought, for, turning, he felt Krieg grip his arm and yank him after him. The two ran at break-neck speed, jumping across the jagged rocks in front of them. A rush of images blurred past Bridger's vision. Claws erupted from the earth itself, rock suddenly shattering . . . then melting into molten lava . . . as the claws grasped for their feet. They jumped over the claws raking at their legs, swerving desperately as they continued to run.
Krieg yelled in pain as a claw ripped into his leg. Claws abruptly covered his leg, each grasping at him from the broken ground, a hiss ringing through the air. Nails chattered against one another, gripping the Lieutenant's flesh and snagging against tender muscles and tendons.
Screams of agony, pain.
More agony filled the air as Bridger, too, felt the claws tear into his flesh . . . as his own blood oozed into the once-hardened ground . . . as blackness finally dropped upon him.