A/N: Greetings! This is my first fanfiction ever published, and I am just seeing how this goes. It is about a girl who is an extreme fan of science fiction that is NOT Star Wars, but that doesn't mean that you have to know everything she's talking about; the main characters certainly don't. Please, read and enjoy!

Disclaimer: If I owned this franchise or any aspects of it, including characters, plot, setting, etc., there would be no point to write fanfiction about it.

Happy Reading!

42.

There had been a storm the previous day; that meant that the ground was soaking with old muddy water and the concrete was dark with moisture. The February air was chilly, but not cold enough to allow snow; Holly thought it was quite unfair, really, for it to be this cold and not snow.

The girl in question strode across an old road that lay covered in gravel instead of asphalt. She had thick brown hair, which she presently ran a hand through; near her scalp the air was warm, and her fingers were chilled to the bone. Over her shoulder was slung a denim bag, packed densely with books. Her shoulders strained to support its great weight while her other hand, the one not currently tousling her hair, carried still more books and binders.

Holly was seventeen, the age of supreme stupidity and delusions of grandeur. The books in both her bad and she arms were the thick, old textbooks that she had rented from the school—their spines were fraying and many pages hung loose between others. Her blue hoodie, which bore the Star Trek science officer insignia on its breast, served as protection against the irritating cold, but not much; her exposed face and hands were painfully subject to the relentless and furiously chilling breeze.

As the headphones in her ears switched to the next song on her playlist, she turned the corner of the street and was greeted by a bright traffic light. The sun had not yet fully risen, as it was only a quarter to eight in the morning, and she felt blinded by the light. The stoplight was useless, because hardly anybody drove on this street, but it served as a shock to take Holly out of her reverie, indicating that she had arrived at her school.

Holly attended the small and incredibly old school of Saint Valentine's Catholic Academy. The parish in which she and her family lived, Pointe Coupee, had a miniscule population, so small that there was only one campus needed to educate all students in the entire parish, nearly the entire diocese. She herself lived near enough to the dilapidated building that she could walk there in under thirty minutes, which was why she was not taking the bus.

Her school was not a particularly bad one, per say. The only problem with attending a school so small was that there was no hiding. She could not easily remain inconspicuous or unobtrusive without looking like she was trying to do so, which would just defeat her purpose by attracting even more attention.

That meant that the entire school, kids her age and not, knew exactly what kind of student she was. Hers was not a name recognized then dismissed—no. Rather, it was a name told throughout the school as if she were an untouchable and cold being, literally. If someone failed a test and their parents scolded them, they could say, "Man, I'm no Holly O'Reilly," and their parents would fully understand the jibe. Holly's parents would argue that it was not a bad thing to care solely about academics, but it did nothing to help her habits of social ineptitude.

She hated speaking to people. Clare was fine, sort of. Clare knew when to back off, mainly because she had other friends that she could turn to; she had been the type of person who always needed human contact, whereas Holly had been the type of person who always needed solitude.

Not only did Holly have a reputation for being a complete "nerd" or "dork," she also had an infamy for being rather rude. That was because being unpleasant was the only way she could think of to get people to leave her alone—everyone seemed to want to talk to her, for some reason (probably just to swipe some homework or notes that they hadn't bothered to complete).

The day was boring; Holly and her best friend, Clare, argued about the integrity and allure of Star Trek and Star Wars, Holly favoring for the former. Clare was perhaps the biggest Star Wars fan alive—not literally, because Clare was actually quite slim—and Holly was the Star Trek counterpart.

She, Holly O'Reilly, was a Trekkie, no doubt about it. Clare, on the other hand, was a….what did Star Wars fans call themselves? What was their version of Whovian or Trekkie? Well, that just goes to show that Holly did not know much about Star Wars; she didn't even know their fandom identity, if there was one. If there wasn't, well….embarrassing for them, then.

Holly was a major sci-fi nerd; she preferred a certain type of science fiction, though. Star Wars had never caught her attention, mainly because of what she had heard about it from Clare. So far as she knew, everything important in the saga was that "Han Solo is a total hottie," (Clare's words, not Holly's) "Luke is ugly and kisses his sister," (also not Holly's) "Yoda can't speak correctly and Bigfoot tags along behind Harrison Ford," (those, for once, were Holly's words.) Of course, she also knew the basics; Luke and Leah (is that her name? Holly felt as though she was sorely wrong, but for the life of her she could not recall the actual pronunciation) are brother and sister, and Darth Vader is their dad. Oh, yeah; Jar Jar Binks is the worst character in history. Purportedly.

Holly supposed that it was fair, because the only things Clare knew of her interests were the "Live Long and Prosper" sign, the Doctor is an alien, and all the books Holly reads are old and boring. Of course, Clare couldn't be less correct on the last point, but Holly had long since given up in trying to get into her that HER BOOKS WERE NOT BORING.

She recalled a conversation from earlier that day, while the two of them sat outside at lunch…

"How 'bout that character game?" the loud voice of the girl next to her said. Holly looked at Clare, nodding. Her friend was tall and thin, a stark contrast to Holly's own short and subtly round form. The blond hair that framed her face and cascaded down her back in a halo of pure artificial color did actually compliment her complexion, Holly was loath to admit, while her own short, choppy and rather boring just did whatever the hell it wanted to.

The aforementioned 'character game' included two or more people. It was not something of their own invention, they had just not bothered finding out its real name. One person would think of a character from a fictional piece and the others would have to guess at who the character was. Simple, right? It was amazing how quickly something so menial could pass the time.

"Okay, you go first," said Clare, who sat across from Holly on the cement of the courtyard. She adjusted her body to a more comfortable position, leaning against the platform of an old stone statue of St. Valentine. Her halo of blond hair, cascading around her face and shoulders like a curtain of pure artificial color, was always much nicer than Holly's own. In fact, the two were nearly about as different as two people could get, physically; while Clare was tall and thin, with a very pretty willowy air, Holly was short and slightly rounder.

"Okay." Holly racked her brain, trying to come up with something that wouldn't be insanely hard for her sadly uncultured friend. She watched, thinking, as Clare absentmindedly scrutinized a loose threat on her diaphanous blue sweater. "Um….okay. I've got it."

"Man or woman?" she questioned.

"Man."

"Is it….from Doctor Who?"

"Nope." Clare looked crestfallen. She would have to try a bit harder, it seemed.

"Hitchhiker's Guide?"

"Nope."

"Star Trek?"

"Yep." Clare grinned.

"Oh, I know this. Um. Maybe I don't. But I do, no, I do. It's that pointy eared elf guy!" Holly faked an offended look after laughing at Clare's vain enthusiasm.

"That's how you view Spock?!" she demanded incredulously. "And no, it's not him."

"Oh, dang it. Well…who else is there in Star Trek? Ugh. Hmm…Captain Kirk? No. Fine then. That black chic? What was her name?"

Holly laughed. "Uhura is not a man, Clare," she stated. "I'll give you another hint: 'I'm a doctor, not a miracle worker!'"

"Was that supposed to help? 'Cause it didn't really."

It went on and on in this fashion. For some reason, the two girl were amused by this manner of entertainment. It really did not take much to relieve them of their boredom when they were in the company of both each other and food. It soon transpired that Clare would never guess that the character was Bones, or McCoy, so Holly gave in and told her.

"Okay, my turn now. I'm thinking of a character." Clare adopted a serene look, as though she were a teacher questioning her students on a subject discussed mere minutes previously.

"Does he wear classes?"

"What kind of question is that? No, of course not."

"It's an important question, that's what. Well. Does he have... a Poirot mustache?"

"A what? No. Maybe. I don't know. What's a Poirot?"

The bell rang, signaling the end of another lunch period. Clare stated that she had been thinking of a man called "Lando Calrissian" or something like that, right before they departed. It was surprising; with how few students the school held, how was it that the two shared basically no classes? Holly could never come up with a kind answer. The monotony of that day drew on, with lunch, one of the only hours that she shared with Clare, being the highlight. And of course the two had to pass their time in such a pointless and imbecilic manner.

Holly presently pressed a finger to the bridge of her glasses and slid them up her nose; they had a nasty habit of sliding off. When she had them correctly positioned, she spotted the bane of her existence: the lenses were smudged. Fingerprints, dust, anything on her glasses bothered her to no end. Holly shuddered; how DARE her glasses do this to her?

She pulled them from her face, pouting at the small frames, even though it would be to no avail, if one even can pout at glasses. Holly would not let inanimate objects hinder her pursuit of….point proving. She rubbed thoroughly with her hoodie the glass, held the frames up to the light to inspect their cleanliness, (or rather, the lack thereof) and rubbed them again. When she was finally satisfied, she raised her hands to push them back onto the bridge of her nose—

When she felt a harsh SMACK! Against her head as she collided with something very hard and unexpected. Her eyes closed and she instinctively recoiled, head ringing as she stumbled back and dropped the books that she held in her hands. Her body tilted, or felt like it did, at least, and she moved her feet back to try and steady herself.

Holly felt the throbbing of the blow on her forehead and cheek and the aching in her shoulders, and before she could even ponder what she had run into, figures swam before her eyes (open or closed, she couldn't really tell). The background shifted from white to black with bright afterimages in the foreground, and it was all very confusing, understandably.

The ringing in her ears only intensified as she glanced around her. All she could see was the bright mass of confusion, and she felt herself fall against the ground. It did not hurt as much as her head currently did, and her hands clumsily clawed at the ground surrounding her fallen body.

What she felt did not help ease her lack of understanding: it was not the harsh rocks of gravel that dug into her palms, but rather….was that….was that sand? It felt much softer than the usual ground, very dry, and very warm. The light intensified as Holly tried vainly to right herself, as if the sun had doubled in strength. She squinted, even though she was now certain that her eyes were closed.

Suddenly, the ringing stopped. It all stopped; the ringing, the odd figures, and the dizziness were suddenly gone. The pain and light, the undefinable heat, that was still present, but now that she could think clearly—at least, a bit more clearly. She was completely certain, now, that what she balled a fist around was sand.

She opened her eyes.

It was every bit as bright as she had thought. Holly had to blink several times before her eyes could adjust. Where was she? What happened? She was now beginning to doubt whether or not she had run into a pole…had she been knocked out? Was she dreaming? It certainly did not feel like a dream; all of her sensations were tangible, and there was no surreal element to the sandy desert in which she lay to betray this as a fallacy concocted by her subconscious.

She turned her head from left to right, trying to see past the vast expanse of dunes before her. To one side, there were many rocks, with a jagged horizon, and the other was just a yellow sea of dunes.

Oh my god, am I on Arrakis? This looks like Arrakis. I'm in Dune! This is so awesome

It's also impossible, Holly scolded herself internally….had the world gone mad? Though, she supposed it was just as likely as finding herself in the Sahara Desert. Only, in the Sahara, there are no gigantic, earth-eating (or Arrakis-eating) worms that sense the sound of footsteps, so it would be a bit better if she were in the African desert. Furthermore, the Sahara is actually ON EARTH, and actually REAL.

It must be a Thursday. She had never gotten the hang of Thursdays.

So where was she? As she turned around, however, her thoughts were cut short.

A rather familiar face stared back at her.

If this were Arrakis, she would be seeing Paul Atreides, Muad'Dib, or something like that. If this were Gallifrey, she'd be seeing the Doctor. But it was neither.

She was staring, head on, and a golden man. He was grimy and dull, now, but Holly knew from pictures that Clare had shown her that this robot, which was once a bright shining gold, was called C-3PO. It didn't take a genius—or a Star Wars fan—to know that.

His bright eyes were creepy, even though they were just round light bulbs. That was her first thought.

Holly's second thought was voiced aloud.

"What?" she demanded incredulously.

"Hello," came a soft, electronic voice. It was so unique that she could not adequately describe it—Holly figured that it was British, obviously, but that was about it—was it male? The figure of the suit worn by the man inside suggested such. It was a suit, that much was apparent; there were no such things as real talking robots that could walk like this. Weren't there? She was just waiting for the other one…what was his name…that walking trash bin… "I am C-3PO, Human Cyborg Relations."

Holly's mouth moved, but she spoke no words. She suddenly became aware that she was still on the ground and, in one quick movement, rushed to her feet. She began to back up, but her feet brushed against something. She tripped over herself again, and when she turned to regard the offending object, she was delighted to see that it was her old, trusty bag.

She decided that the bag was special. Not only had it survived a tumble to the ground (which she was honestly surprised at—it was so old that Holly had expected it to tear at the slightest touch) but it had also survived the transportation with Holly to the desert, Sahara or otherwise, where she met a mega-geek Cosplaying as C-PO from Star Wars.

She would name her bag Steven.

But the costume was surprisingly accurate….

"I'm not an idiot, you know," Holly stated. She tilted her head and raised an eyebrow, folding her arms across her chest, attempting some mild form if intimidation. She had grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder. The weight of the books was, for the first time ever, oddly comforting. "You're not real."

"Why, ma'am, whatever would make you say that?" the robot impersonator asked incredulously. "I am very much real, as you can see. This is my fellow droid, R2-D2…R2, where are you?" the golden body turned to inspect another droid, one that Holly had not yet noticed rolling away towards the jagged rocky horizon.

"How did I get into this mess?" the golden man said despairingly. "I really don't know how. We seem to be made to suffer. It's our lot in life." Was he talking to her? Or to the other droid? This one, Holly recognized as well; he was the shorter, blue and white trash bin that beeped all the time.

"I've got to rest before I fall apart," the golden droid admitted sulkily. "My joints are almost frozen. Miss, do you know where we are?" Holly shook her head, backing away from the odd man. He was a creep; probably some sort of murderer who went to very great lengths to avoid capture. The other robot, R2, beeped in response. "What a desolate place this is."

Holly now wished that she had seen the movies. She didn't know if the crazy Cosplayers had memorized lines from the film and were quoting them or not—she at least wanted to know how accurate they were in their portrayal, even if it was the last thing she ever wondered before she was brutally murdered. The smaller droid—she allowed herself the benefit of the doubt to call them droids, at least, because she just didn't know what else to call them—beeped a noise that sounded more like a whistle, actually, and turned sharply away from the two others. Holly followed his track with her eyes and saw that he was heading towards the rocks.

"Where are you going?" The little droid beeped yet again in response to his companions query. Was it just Holly, or did the little droid sound….sassy? No, of course not; that was ridiculous. A droid could be sassy just as much as a bunny could be murderous. Wait… "Well, I'm not going that way. It's much too rocky. This way is much easier."

The two droids continued to converse as Holly simply watched. She began to clutch her bag Steven protectively, as if it were a shield against the madness that was playing out before her eyes. She did not know what was happening, or who to believe; it was an elaborate show indeed, one arguing about pathways and the other (apparently) thinking there was a settlement in the opposite direction. Was there? Could she finally find someone sane to talk to, or would there just be foreign aborigines that she couldn't understand?

Oh, of course there would be. This was definitely nowhere near Holly's house, possibly even country. She must've been out for a long time.

"No more adventures. I'm not going that way." Holly was definitely being stupid. She scolded herself even as she did so, but as the two droids went their separate ways, Holly followed the tall golden man. There was something about him, even though common sense and logic clearly dictated otherwise, that was inherently not threatening about him, something that said "this man is not the murderer you think he is." She was either a very good or very bad judge of character.

"You said you're C-3PO, right?" Holly questioned, now that the other droid disappeared behind the dunes.

"I am indeed, Miss," he stated. "And might I ask, who are you?"

Holly considered something briefly before giving in to her worse judgement. "Uh, I'm Captain….Deanna Troi, of the U.S.S. Enterprise. Science Officer."

Holly was officially out of her mind. As Queen's 'I'm Going Slightly Mad' invaded her memory, she admonished herself strictly. What the hell are you thinking?! Deanna Troi? She would never be a science officer, let alone captain! And when is a science officer ever a captain? That's always for tactical.

Oh, what was she talking about? That didn't matter. What really mattered was whether or not the droid would buy her stupid half-witted lie.

That happened when she was nervous: she resorted to relaying the things that she knew. In this case, all that she knew (and could instantly remember) was a dumb story about, of all things, Star Trek? She sighed internally and, for nearly the fiftieth time today, regretted many decisions in her lifetime.

"Oh, you're a captain, Miss Deanna? How fascinating. Why exactly are you here, then? And where is your ship?"

Holly thought quickly, and her thoughts did not exactly warrant pleasing or even adequate results. "We….my crew and I, that is….we were shot down. I had to take the last remaining shuttle to the nearest planet….which happens to be this one. But I'm not exactly sure where this is, though," she stuttered and rambled. Oh, Holly was horrible at this. Lying was the absolute worst, even if she was only lying to a robot.

"That is quite devastating, miss. Do you know if any of your crew survived?"

Time to go on with the probably trademarked story. "Well, no, I don't. I left many hours after they did, of course….I tried to fend off as many….Klingons….as I could. Before I finally abandoned ship."

"Impressive." The two of them continued walking, and the intense heat of this horrid environment was really starting to wear on Holly. She had never enjoyed heat, and this was much too uncomfortable for anyone to bear. 3PO was lucky to be a robot. If that was really what he was, that is. "What are Klingons?"

"Oh, they're a race of hostile humanoids on the other side of the neutral zone. Always attacking Federation ships, they are. They had a bird of prey after the Enterprise….we didn't stand a chance." It was coming to her easily, being a Trekkie and all. She was so into the show that she could pilot one of their starships with her eyes closed….theoretically.

Holly continued to explain to 3PO the dynamic that the Klingons had with her 'United Federation of Planets' and he listened intently. It seemed as though he had an actual personality, not just an electronic computer for a brain. That did not help convince her that this was actually the protocol droid from the 'Galaxy far away" or whatever it was. She was startled to hear that they, the two droids and herself, were nowhere near her alleged "Alpha Quadrant." 3PO explained that they were on a planet in a place called the Outer Rim.

"Outer Rim?" Holly questioned.

"Oh, indeed. I'm sure of it. No Core World would be this sparsely populated, and I certainly would have identified them all by now. The chances of this being a major planet are depressingly low."

This confounded her to no end. What was this unfathomable droid speaking of? She did not know anything about the "Outer Rim" or "Core" worlds. This man must be a seriously devout fan. Of course, the same could be said of her…but not about Star Wars. Oh, if only she were Clare….

As they were explained to her, she panicked. Was her plan going to work? The way 3PO described it, it seemed they had charted the entire galaxy. Could she claim to be from another galaxy? After all, if 'space travel' was possible in this geek's impressively detailed Live Action Role Play, so why couldn't intergalactic traversing of the Universe be conceivable?

They walked on. As their conversation was drawn out, Holly pondered, only half-seriously, if this was the real life. Or is it just fantasy? Caught in a—okay, she had to stop herself there; she would not start quoting old song lyrics in her head. If there was any true sign of insanity, this was it.

What was she going to do? She did not know if she could trust anything that this 3PO man said, but she also couldn't know for certain whether this was an elaborate ploy or not. Because really, why would someone choose Holly to trick? Of all people, why her? She was of absolutely no significance to anybody aside from herself. Hell, even Clare was her friend mainly because she let her copy her homework—she was a walking brain with no personality, basically.

She may be exaggerating, but she was ten times more useless than everyone around her. She just walked around, reading and watching pathetic old television, studying and maintaining a delusion that she would actually do something with her life. Her brothers both had jobs, as did her parents. Even Clare had a part-time employment at the local hair salon; Holly had no job. One, because she took all advanced and AP classes and would have no time to actually get any work done when considering all of her homework. Two, there was nowhere in the small town in which she lived that would be of any interest to her. She would never lower herself so much as to work at a McDonalds or something of the like, and nearly everything else was a total bore.

She was a leech to her parents and she knew it.

Holly had no idea whatsoever how she had gotten here, so her mind was of no use either. She was blindly trusting a random droid/man/thing, so much that she was following him to God knows where in whatever direction the planet's poles dictated. Honestly, she wasn't sure if she was even on Earth anymore; this had to be Arrakis. It just had to.

Please, if I had to be sent anywhere, let it be somewhere I'm familiar with.

Holly would throw a fit if it wasn't.