STAR TREK/THE REIGN: HIVE MIND

Fan fiction Crossover by Lance Berry(Before reading, you may wish to read my brief bio notes on this story)

PROLOGUE: THE BIG SWITCHEROO

Captain Jean-Luc Picard breathed a sigh of relief, mixed with exhaustion. Today concluded what his first officer had referred to as one of the more "interesting" days serving aboard the U.S.S. Enterprise. Just over two weeks earlier, the Federation's flagship had been called to an emergency evacuation of an entire planet in the Miaxta system, where the primary planet's life-giving star had unexpectedly begun to collapse upon itself, far ahead of its projected million-year schedule.

The Miaxtans, a hill-dwelling people who had only recently advanced to the level of technology once possessed by Earth circa the late 22nd Century, had a culture which did not entirely favor independent thought in specific categories such as the arts or sciences. They had what was known as a Prime in every major societal category, who would lead the way in advances of biology, chemistry, music, painting, political thought and others…creating new technologies and advances which others would follow and build upon, rather than being independently creative and branching out from said discoveries. This cycle would go on until the Prime reached a level of old age when it was time to retire, then independent thought would be favored for a decade, with the most intelligent and forward-thinking leader in their chosen field being posted to the position of the new Prime. Once elected, the cycle of doleful following would continue anew until that Prime reached retirement.

The problem which spurred the sudden evacuation of the planet was that the current astronomer Prime —who was nearing the age of retirement—had long ago determined that Miaxta had another million years of useful energy to gain from their star before it would begin the inexorable breakdown and collapse of its death knell. The Miaxtan astronomy Prime had made a mistake in his calculations though—a rather large one, forgetting to carry a 2, which led to more erroneous assumptions in his mathematics, which his ego never allowed him to see fit to recheck—thereby leading to a false belief that all was right with their sun. Once the star began its breakdown—solar flares causing intense heat around Miaxta and an abrupt melting of half their polar ice caps—the ruling council made an immediate call to the Federation, of which they had recently become a member, for help.

Seventy starships were immediately rerouted from routine patrols and other areas of non-immediate necessary involvement, to deal with the evacuation of Miaxta. As flagship commander, Captain Picard had been placed in charge of the rescue and moving the Miaxtans to twelve starbases within the closest proximity, with at least 30 of the starships under his command warping to twenty more starbases in other systems, in order to shelter the species until a more suitable permanent world could be found. Fortunately the Miaxtans were one of the less "bountiful" societies Picard had encountered, the majority of the peoples condensed onto only two of the five continents their planet had to offer. This made for a slightly easier evacuation which took just over two weeks working around the clock, the crews of each starship pressed to their limits. Yet in the end, the Enterprise and its fleet were successful: the Miaxtans were safely away, and as the Enterprise and its fleet warped away from the system this last time, three probes were left behind at strategically placed spots to witness the slow demise of the star and feed all scientific data back to Starfleet Command.

Now, as Picard slipped out of his red-and-black Starfleet uniform and slipped on an overlong nightshirt, he wondered what would happen to the astronomical Prime. He had been a proud man, Picard thought when he first met him at the officiating ceremony welcoming Miaxta into the Federation three years ago, but during the evacuation, the captain had seen what a broken, humbled person he had become. Time and experience makes us all humble in the end, Picard thought to himself as he sat on the edge of his bed in his comfortable stateroom. Yet he still felt some pity for the man, brought so low because of a careless mistake his own ego couldn't allow him to rectify.

"Computer," Picard said, glancing out his window at the casually passing stars outside as the Enterprise traveled under low impulse power. The ship's computer—the smartest A.I. ever constructed by Federation scientists—answered with an affirming chirp. "Begin notes for next day." He paused, trying to recall the stardate as he gathered his thoughts. "Stardate: 43989.0. Send personal commendations via personal viewscreens to each member of the crew for their outstanding work during the evacuation. Have Mr. La Forge summarize for me those ideas he had for improving warp core efficiency. Promote sciences Chief Lieutenant DeFalco to full commander. Meet with Counselor Troi regarding…" he paused, trying to figure how best to phrase his meaning. "Regarding these…intuitions I've had recently. This…feeling of unease that possessed me, just before we began the evacuation of Miaxta. Mark this last as medium priority however, schedule for midday if possible."

He halted again, lost in thought. He had been feeling very uneasy lately, and without a discernable reason. The last few missions the Enterprise had run before the Miaxtan evacuation had gone off without a hitch, and the crew was soon due for some scheduled shore leave. Yet for the last few weeks, Picard had an unnerving sense of dread roiling deep within his gut, that would catch him late at night as if a prowler had ambushed him unexpectedly in his room; a feeling that some deep, terrible storm was on the horizon, and he could just barely make out the flashes of lightning under the dark gathering clouds. He didn't like it, nor did he like the idea of seeing the ship's counselor, even though he considered Deanna Troi to be a good friend and close confidant. Jean-Luc Picard had always been adept at analyzing himself psychologically, in order to deal with whatever difficulties of heart and mind troubled him, so that he was able to push past any personal problems and deal with whatever task lay immediately at hand. It was the reason he had excelled at Starfleet Academy, and the reason he eventually earned the right to command the flagship of the Federation itself. Let lesser men go treat themselves in therapy.

Or is that just ego talking? Picard thought to himself, as his earlier reflection on the humbling power of time and experience immediately came back to him. He chuckled aloud, and the computer politely asked him to restate this last bit. "Nothing, nothing," Picard replied, then added, "And one more thing: at 1600 hours, have a private dinner in Ten Forward for the senior staff, to thank them again for their exemplary work during the evacuation. End notes."

The computer answered with a confirming beep as it stated, "Notes for Stardate 43989.0 logged. They will be replayed as part of the morning itinerary reminder at 0830." The computer then switched itself off, allowing Picard to lay back and retreat to the comfort of his bed. As he pulled the covers up snugly to his chest, he smiled to himself as he thought about tomorrow night's dinner with the senior staff. After all, it is nice to be told one's appreciated at some point…he thought to himself, before the day's exhaustion overtook him and he fell completely asleep.

ANOTHER UNIVERSE, ANOTHER TIME…

Captain Travis Rand stepped into the main conference room aboard the Horizon, and nodded politely as his senior staff greeted him. The handsome, 35 year-old black man moved briskly to the far end of the rectangular table and took a seat. He glanced briefly out the window at the stars outside as the mighty Heavy Cruiser—flagship of the United Earth Force fleet—held position. It had been only two hours ago that their latest crisis had been resolved, and the captain wasn't happy with any aspect of the handling or resolution of it in the slightest. He turned his head forward, giving a quick onceover to his senior staff: First Officer Mara Christenson, security chief Tholin, chief engineer Jamie Hughes, and chief medical officer Ben Williams. At one time or another, he had trusted each of these people—as a group or individually—with his life, and they had entrusted theirs to him, both as captain and friend. That trust was still there, and hopefully always would be, but recent events had caused him to doubt the loyalties of at least one person not present.

Rand slapped the dsp(data storage pad) he had brought with him down on the table and leaned back in his chair. "Alright. Let's talk openly about what happened with the Calvorian youth, and how I don't ever want something like this to happen again," the captain stated flatly, his already brown features darkening with simmering reserves of indignation. He turned to his security chief. "Lieutenant-Commander Tholin, I want you to start coming up with a new set of security protocols immediately, so that no one can ever stow away in any incoming transport crates again. I don't care how large or small a parcel is coming aboard—I want us to be able to detect any life forms inside, no matter how low they can render their body temperature and respiration."

Tholin leaned forward, the lionoid alien lashing his tongue across his sharpened teeth before speaking. "I have already begun designing such protocols, Captain," he said in his naturally gruff voice, which sounded just slightly like stone rubbing against stone. The security chief—an outcast among his own people, ever since he defected from their side to that of UEF's at the height of the Earth-Calvorian War—was always two steps ahead when it came to thinking in terms of tactical strategy. "In fact, I am certain that once my designs are approved by you and incorporated into the ship's A.I. net, Earth Force itself will want to incorporate them into all their current and next generation ships of the line."

Rand nodded approvingly. "That's what I want to hear. I assume that your designs will include medical information on species you know about, but that might not be included in the UEF database, which Doctor Williams can add to his own files?"

"They will," the Calvorian answered assuredly, his greenish-yellow eyes flashing confidently. Doctor Williams, seated across from Tholin, cleared his throat lightly. "Something, Doctor?" the captain asked.

"Yes," Williams—a big, burly bear of a black man, in spite of his advancing years—replied, looking somewhat less confident than Tholin. "I'd like to remind the Captain that even after a foundation for understanding how Calvorian physiology works was attained post-war, UEF still hasn't been able to crack the technique Calvorians have for lowering their various bodily rates to a point simulating near-lifelessness while being able to retain full mobility. Even with Tholin's input, I don't see how we can expect to have a fully functional system that will allow us to detect occurrences like that."

"I have faith in you, Ben," Rand said somewhat dryly. He was in a foul mood following the resolution of the incident with the Calvorian youth that had snuck aboard his ship, and had no desire to brook disagreement with his plan to increase ship's security. "You and Tholin will work together, pull resources from any department you need, but I want that system working." Without waiting for an answer from Ben, he looked to Tholin once more. "Is the Diviner in the brig, as I ordered?"

Tholin nodded. "I placed him there myself, immediately after you told me to."

"What?!"

Rand turned to his left, looking into the shocked face of his first officer, Mara Christenson. The beautiful woman—widow of the Horizon's previous captain, David Christenson, who had been a living legend in their own time—was raised in the strict faith of the Catholic Church, and Devon Bova, the ship's assigned Diviner, was spiritual advisor to both her and the other 951 crewmembers aboard the flagship. "Captain," the dark-haired woman said in as polite a tone as she could muster, "I understand you're upset over what Diviner Bova did. But he was acting on his best principles—"

"I don't care," Rand said sharply, cutting her off. "You know—all of you know," the captain said with a brief glance at the rest of his senior staff, before turning back to Mara, "how I feel about the separation of Church and UEF law. I don't care how many billions of Unicreds the NCA spent to have Earth Force allow them to put chapels aboard our ships. I don't care whether Bova thought he was serving God, the All, the NCA or his own ego when he gave that boy sanctuary in the ship's chapel. The fact is that he took it upon himself to give shelter to an illegal alien who was not only a deserter from the Alliance's Cypher Division, but also a fugitive. And through those actions, placed this ship and its crew at the cutting edge of a potential new skirmish based on whether or not I could convince that boy to give himself up, when we only ended the entire war between our two species not even a month ago!" Rand slammed his fist down upon the table, making Jamie start. Mara's eyes widened in surprise, and Ben's narrowed as he observed the captain studiously. Travis Rand was a passionate man, but in any situation his staff had seen him in, no matter how stressful, he always managed to keep himself calm and collected.

This was highly uncharacteristic behavior for him, but only Tholin had the nerve to notice it publicly. "Captain…are you alright?"

Rand glanced at his tactical chief, but quickly looked away, his eyes focusing on the tabletop he had struck, before he exhaled heavily and sat up a little straighter. He had to reach deep down to find the stillness he had learned to access during his years practicing martial arts at the Academy, but he managed to calm himself just enough to find a civil tone before he addressed his fellow officers again. "Bova remains in the brig until tomorrow. That's all there is to it. Tholin and Ben will get to work on increasing the life sign database and security measures. Jamie, you will help them in any way necessary."

"Understood, Captain," the young engineer answered in a subdued tone, not wishing to incite him any further.

"We've all had a rough day, and it's late," Rand said after a moment. "Luckily third shift has taken over, so I suggest we all get some sleep. See you in the morning. Dismissed."

The Horizon's senior officers shared brief, uneasy looks across the table, but all stood…except one. As the others filed out of the room silently, Rand exhaled again and looked over to find Ben still seated, an eyebrow raised in an expectant manner.

Rand waited until the others had left and the conference room doors closed before saying flatly, "I don't want to talk about it."

"I think you need to," the elder black man said. "I've never seen you like this. And I don't think it's what happened with that boy, Thara, that's bugging you. I think it has to do with what happened down on Earth."

Rand got to his feet and stood at the side of the conference table facing the windows. He leaned against the table, his back to Ben, as he stared at the stars outside. "I said I don't feel like talking about it."

"Yeah, okay," Ben answered dryly, and stood. He walked around the table toward Rand as he said, "I've known you for far too many years, my friend. I know that tone in your voice says you do need to talk, even if you don't want to."

Ben arrived at his friend's side. "Travis. What Carstairs did to you—"

"What Carstairs did to me was wrong," Rand said sharply. "It was wrong on every conceivable level, and it's made me do the one thing I've never done in all my years in Earth Force: doubt myself." He turned to Ben, and the doctor was shocked to find tears of anger at the corner of the captain's eyes. Ever since he had met Rand on Titan all those years ago, Ben Williams had only seen Travis Rand cry once…such things, such vulnerabilities and perceived weaknesses were for lesser men than him.

Rand gritted his teeth and grunted in annoyance as he dug his thumb knuckles into his eyes, getting rid of the offending evidence. When he was done, he looked out at the accumulation of foreign stars once more, avoiding Ben's gaze as he said, "How am I supposed to be certain now, that anything I do—any action I take—is of my own free will? That the Venseshi didn't implant some command protocol into me from thousands of years in the past, seeing whatever moment I'm in?"

Ben rested what he hoped would be a comforting hand upon his friend's shoulder. "Travis…remember, I examined you too, once you told me everything. I found no evidence of genetic enhancement or manipulation in your body, and that's going down to a sub-atomic level. For all we know, the recording you found might have been some sort of ruse, used for…I dunno…whatever possible purpose they could use it for. Maybe…maybe the Venseshi are some race we're going to have to face off against in the future, and they did this because they wanted to throw you off, make you doubt yourself at a critical time. Buddy, we don't know…"

"You're reaching, Ben," Rand said, but chuckled as he did so. "I appreciate it, but you're reaching, and we both know it. When I found that recording on New Acrea, every word felt truthful, right! Those aliens did something to me, reached down into my genetic lineage, to—"

"To produce the perfect human being, to fight some ancient darkness that's supposedly on its way?" Ben completed the sentence for him. Travis had told him all about the recording that had addressed the captain personally on New Acrea, once he had managed to shut off the device that was threatening to open a destructive portal to the dawn of time. Ben didn't doubt his friend in the slightest; he simply doubted the veracity of the circumstances. "Travis, I hate to tell you this, but you are far from the perfect human!" He said this with a good-natured snicker, hoping to lighten his friend's mood.

It didn't work. Rand slipped his shoulder away and stood to face him. "When's the last time I had a cold, Ben? When's the last time I came to sickbay for help with an upset stomach, or a virus, or any one of a million different ailments I could have as a normal human being?"

The doctor had no answer for that. Aside from the shattered leg he had once treated Rand for—which was received in the line of duty—the younger man's medical record was beyond impeccable, dating back to when he was a child. Rand nodded slowly, his own questions unintentionally answered by the chief medical officer's silence. Before Ben could think of anything else to say, Rand turned sharply on his heel and left the room.

Deck 12 of the Horizon was one of eight decks housing crew quarters. However, this deck was often referred to unofficially as the "Officers' Deck", since all quarters for the command staff were placed here. As Rand entered his room, the lights came up automatically. He stood silently a moment as the door glided shut behind him, and glanced around his regulation size room: one bed, a desk with chair and vid-com, recycle dump-shoot mounted to the wall and a closet and bathroom to the side. Rand took off his black uniform jacket and shirt, tossed them over the back of the chair, and sat down on the edge of his bed. He focused on pulling off his black uniform boots and pants, attempting to drain all thought of the day out of his mind.

With a light sigh, he stood once more, pulling down his covers as he said aloud, "Computer. How many briefing messages do I have for the morning?"

The ODC(Omni-Directional Comlink) gave off a responsive chime before the smartware answered in a pleasantly feminine voice, "You have seventeen briefing memos for the date of January 23rd, 2194, Captain. You also have one personal message stored from Commander Christenson, sent eight minutes ago."

"Dump the one from Mara, I'll speak to her tomorrow," Rand ordered as he sat on the bed once more, then began to slip under the covers. "Store briefing messages until the morning, standard wake time of 0650." He laid down fully, clearing his throat once, then ordered, "Lights off." The ODC answered with its distinctive chime once again, and Rand exhaled as the lights in his quarters doused fully, and he forced the stress from his body as he drifted away almost instantly into the calmness of a dreamless sleep…

GOOD MORNING?

Jean-Luc Picard had overslept. He could feel it, as he pulled himself out from under the shroud of a long, lazy sleep. For some reason, the Enterprise's computer failed to wake him as it usually did at his appointed time. He would have to figure out why, perhaps get Geordi La Forge to check on it. Yet as he sat up, a curious sensation overtook him, and he began moving his arms down his body, taking stock. He felt his comm-badge, his pants, the boots on his feet—for some reason, he was fully dressed in his Starfleet uniform while in bed!

Picard cleared his throat as he tossed aside the covers and sat up, now realizing as he threw his legs over the side of the mattress that his bed felt a bit stiffer than normal, and his boots came down with a mild –clunk!- on an uncarpeted floor. "Computer, lights!" He ordered, and the ship's systems answered with an unfamiliar chime as the lights came up automatically…and Picard's mouth dropped open in unpleasant surprise.

This wasn't his stateroom aboard ship. In fact, this room was completely unfamiliar to him, as no such design was aboard the Enterprise at all! He looked around, taking stock of the room, sparsely decorated indeed with a desk, chair, comm-screen of some sort. A small restroom, a closet with unfamiliar clothing in it, and a strange type of contraption on the wall. Turning around, he saw a poster of Earth hanging on the wall beside the bed. The words "For Freedom" hung above the planet, and "Forever" beneath. Picard looked around warily at the room once more…it was at least two times smaller than the standard stateroom aboard a starship, and seemed built for functionality only.

"Computer," Picard said cautiously, the unfamiliar chime sounding once more as he got to his feet, glancing down to confirm that he was indeed in his full uniform, "Where am I? Is this some type of holodeck simulation?"

"Please re-state your first question," this feminine voice, sounding far more sensual than businesslike as his own ship's computer, answered. "The term 'holodeck' is not stored anywhere in UEF archives."

Picard's brow furrowed quizzically. "'UEF'? What does that mean?"

The unfamiliar chime again, followed swiftly by the reply: "UEF: United Earth Force. The military government instated on planet Earth on Friday, December 15th, 2124."

Picard's eyes widened slightly. United Earth Force? He thought, trying to gather his thoughts about the situation he was in while simultaneously analyzing the bits of information he was being given. 2124—the 22ndCentury? This last thought came to him with a bit of alarm, as he realized now he was two centuries out of his proper time period!

He exhaled, trying to remain calm. "Computer…what is the current starda—" he stopped himself. If a simple term like holodeck isn't stored in this computer's memory, then obviously it won't know what a stardate is, Picard quickly realized, then offered instead, "What is the current date?"

The odd chime sounded once more. "The current date is Tuesday, June 8th, 2190." There was a sharp double-buzz from the computer, which startled Picard. "Why are you asking these questions?" the machine demanded, a more authoritative tone in its synthesized voice.

Security measures, Picard assessed immediately. It realizes I'm not this room's occupant, and is trying to determine whether or not to call security…well, whatever type of security exists here, wherever 'here' is. Thinking quickly, Picard answered, "I'm…a guest…here. I've simply lost track of time. Not exactly a lie, Picard thought, and far more truth to it than even I currently know, to be sure.

The computer did not reply to Picard's statement, nor did it set off any alarms or make any audible calls for security. Picard was relieved, but not by much; he still had to figure out where he was. He felt a bit more relief when his comm-badge sounded for an incoming communiqué, and the familiar voice of his first officer, Will Riker, queried, "Riker to Picard! Do you read me, Captain?"

Picard tapped his badge with an over-eagerness he tried to quell immediately. "Picard here. Good to hear your voice, Number One. Where are you?"

"I'm in the corridor, sir. I'm assuming you're in one of the crew quarters. You might want to come out here and join us."

It hadn't been until that very moment that Picard had even realized the room had a door leading elsewhere. He took a breath, exhaled lightly, and replied, "I'm on my way." He stepped forward, still somewhat surprised that the computer did not bar his egress; instead, the door slid aside easily, allowing him to step out of the room--and into a morass of confusion…

Crewmen from the Enterprise filled the narrow corridor from one end to the other, wall to wall. Almost all of them were tapping their comm-badges, trying to reach other crewmembers in an attempt to ascertain their safety. Several of his people crowded around Picard as soon as they saw him, a look of panic on many of their faces which he found highly disconcerting as they bombarded him with questions, the only answers he could find to give being either "I don't know" or "We are trying to assess the situation accordingly."

"Come to attention! Clear a path!"

The booming voice thundered through the corridor from one end and echoed almost all the way to the other. The semi-panicked chatter of the Enterprise crewmembers died down to a dull warble as Picard found himself almost smiling at the sound of his Klingon security officer's voice. He turned and saw surely enough that it was Worf, leading a path through the crowd, shoulder-to-shoulder with Will Riker. Behind the two men followed Counselor Deanna Troi, chief engineer Geordi La Forge, Lieutenant-Commander Data and Dr. Beverly Crusher, holding hands with her young son, Ensign Wesley Crusher. To Picard, it seemed more as if Wesley were holding his mother's hand to give her emotional support than the other way around, though the doctor put on a very confident façade.

Riker did choose to smile at his captain—a smile of relief, though there was some underlying apprehension beneath. "It's good to see you, sir," Riker said. "When I woke up in the first officer's quarters, I thought at first I was either dreaming or having a very lucid nightmare. But after locating Worf and the others, I was at least relieved to find we were all together."

"The sentiment is shared, Number One, most definitely," Picard replied, then glanced around briefly at the dull grey metal walls of the relatively narrow corridor. Picard again had the idea that this path was built more for functionality than comfort. "You mentioned you woke up in the first officer's quarters? So we are aboard a ship?"

"Most definitely, sir," Geordi chimed in. "The motion of the Enterprise is difficult to ascertain on a personal level, with our cushioned floors. But on this ship, you can feel the vibration through the metal deck plates."

And now that La Forge had mentioned it and Picard gave himself a moment to become aware of the ever-present vibration in the metal flooring, he realized he could tell they were aboard a ship. "But what ship are we on, and where are we?"

"We are aboard the United Earth Force Heavy Cruiser Horizon, sir," Data responded this time, the same detached matter-of-fact calmness present now, as it always was, in his android voice. "It was launched from the Hephaestus Shipyards orbiting Mars on Monday, September 11th, 2180. It carries a crew complement of 952; thirty-seven officers and 915 enlisted personnel. It is the flagship of the UEF fleet in this universe."

"In this universe?" Crusher repeated, trying valiantly to conceal the worry she felt from her voice.

Picard nodded. "Apparently, Doctor, we are indeed in the 22nd Century of another universe or parallel dimension. To be blunt, we're not in Kansas anymore." Picard was abruptly aware of the closeness of the rest of his crewmen and women, pressing in as they attempted to listen to the senior officers' dialogue and learn more of their situation. The captain held his hands up to quiet down whatever lingering chatter there was in the corridor, and his crew faithfully followed his instruction. He cleared his throat and said in as calm a voice as he could manage while speaking loudly enough to be heard:

"I understand how disconcerting this is to all of you. None of us truly knows what's going on, how we got here, or why. All I can ask from each of you is that you remain the consummate professionals I know you to be, so that we can continue to look out for each other, while finding a way out of this situation. Listen to the senior staff as if this was nothing more than a routine procedure, and I promise you, we will get home."

The speech had the desired effect, as several personnel nodded in deference to the captain's orders. Picard gestured for the senior staff to follow him, and he led the way through the parting crowd to a door at the end of the corridor, which was relatively isolated. The door opened as the captain drew close however, and to Picard's surprise, it turned out to be a lift. With a brief, cautious glance inside, Jean-Luc stepped in, followed by the others.

As the door closed behind them, Picard exhaled lightly and looked them over once: although stoic expressions covered most of their faces, he could tell they were just as anxious as he about the situation, and that most if not all had come to the same conclusion as he had:

"Q" Picard said darkly, dropping the letter, word, name, cursed utterance, like a stone into a still pond.

There were several affirming nods. "But why?" Wesley blurted, his teen voice cracking slightly as some mild panic seeped through.

"Since when does Q need a reason to do what he does?" Troi answered, then looked to Picard. "Captain…since we're here, if this 'here' is indeed real, then obviously the Horizon's crew is in our universe and time, aboard our ship."

"I agree, Counselor. The only problem is, they haven't a clue as to whom or what they're dealing with. We at least have a slight advantage, though it can't be said it's much of one."

"We should discuss tactical options," Worf said brusquely. "We need to figure out why Q sent us here, what he wants, and what his end game is."

"I agree, but first things first," Riker said, then eyed the captain. "We need to get the crew calm, then find a way to override this ship's A.I. I was able to ask basic questions, but I could tell the ship's smart enough that it was beginning to realize I wasn't a member of the crew. We can't afford to put our people at risk, not knowing what kind of self-defense protocols this ship has in place for dealing with intruders. For all we know, it could shoot poison gas out of the air ducts."

Picard raised an eyebrow. "I would hope that the so-called 'UEF' wouldn't go to such Machiavellian lengths to protect their ship, but I concur with your assessment, Number One. The same thing happened to me when I tried a discourse—"

A chime sounded in the lift, startling all. "Sixty seconds have elapsed. Please state a destination floor," the sensual female voice stated, though a bit harshly.

"Look, just give us a minute," Geordi said impatiently, then corrected, "Give us another minute." There was no reply from the ship, and so they figured they had been granted their requested grace period.

Picard addressed them all, now speaking slightly faster, in order to hurry things along before their respite was up and they were greeted with lord-knows-what. "I want each of you to take a different deck, locate and organize our people. We need to find out if only Starfleet personnel were brought aboard, or their families as well. Wesley—" Picard said to the young ensign, whom he had gradually come to trust during his brief few years aboard ship, "For now, I want you to stay with Beverly. Once we've determined who's here among our people, it will be your job alone to gather together and watch over the families, as Doctor Crusher will be needed with us. Do whatever's necessary to keep them and their children calm. If we run into any danger while we're here—"

"Which we assuredly will, if Q has his way," Worf grumbled, not too subtly.

Picard ignored the comment as he continued, "—keeping these families safe will be a top priority."

Wesley nodded. "I understand, Captain."

"Once we've got our people calmed and situated," the captain said, addressing the entire senior staff once more, "Data and Geordi will attempt to interface the Lieutenant-Commander's neural net with the ship's computer, to see if we can access and override its security functions so we can find out exactly where we are and how to get moving safely."

"Captain," Data spoke up, "It is entirely possible that my neural net may be far too advanced to successfully interface with such primitive technology."

"He's right, Captain," Geordi acceded. "Failing that, I'll probably have to try an end-runaround the ship's entire A.I. net to weaken its security infrastructure and learn how to give us access. That may take days or weeks."

"Possibly," Picard reluctantly agreed. "Then again, we're assuming this technology is 'primitive' simply because of what we're used to working with, and because we know what time period we're in within this reality. For all we know, their 22nd Century tech might be the equal to ours. I'm hoping for the latter, since that will make our task much easier."

"Do you really think that's possible, sir?" Riker asked.

Picard nodded. "One thing about Q; annoying trickster he may be, but no matter what scenario he's put us in, he's always given us some type of fighting chance. Capricious, but fair…to a degree. We'll just have to see what happens."

The chime again. "Sixty seconds have elapsed. Please state a floor destination."

"Bridge," Picard answered easily and without hesitation. The lift began to ascend, and he told his crew, "I may as well see how the other half lives. In the meantime, you all know your assignments. Get things started, and we'll reconvene on the bridge in thirty minutes."