by Nigel G. Mitchell
(c) Copyright September 1996
PART FOUR
After recovering from the stun-gun, Wade and Rembrandt had decided to try to lay low for a while and figure out how they were going to get Quinn and Arturo back. But after seeing the hostility of the crowds towards non-Trek fans, they had both decided their first order of business would be to find a way to blend into the crowds. That meant changing out of their normal clothes into the Star Trek- dominated wardrobe of this world.
Now Rembrandt was wandering through the aisles of a clothing store, still wincing from the lingering headache the stun-gun gave him. The selections weren't much to look at by his standards. He was in the Earth section of the store, which mainly consisted of racks and racks of Starfleet uniforms.
The uniforms were arranged, not by type like "shirts" or "pants," but by TV show and season. There was the Classic Trek section and the "Voyager" section and the "Next Generation" section, each containing replicas of the show's uniforms. And those sections were divided into Medical, Security, and other departments.
And that was just in the Earth section. There was also a Klingon section, a Borg section, a Ferengi section, and a host of other sections devoted to the alien races of the show. With clothes and makeup kits to buy, you could transform yourself into anyone or anything on the show.
Rembrandt shook his head as he murmured, "One good thing. It looks like bellbottoms were never invented in this world."
Wade emerged from the dressing room. She was barely recognizable. It wasn't just the heavy grey robe she wore that draped over her body. It was the short, black, clipped hair, pointy ears and eyebrows, and slightly greenish tinge to her skin that made Rembrandt blink.
She spread her arms. "Whadda you think?"
"What're you supposed to be?" Rembrandt asked.
Wade scowled and put her hands on her hips. "Come on, Remmy, I'm a Vulcan. I think I look pretty good, too, if I do say so myself." She began adjusting her wig.
Rembrandt shook his head and walked towards her, his boots clumping softly on the floor. He brushed his hands over the blue skintight uniform he was wearing. "I don't know why you didn't just put on a regular Starfleet uniform like me."
"Because," Wade said as she smoothed on one of her eyebrows, "the women's outfits only come in two types - mini- skirts from the sixties or the spandex from Next Generation. I wouldn't put on one of those mini-skirts without chaining the hem to my legs, and I won't put on one of those spandex jobs without locking myself in a gym for two months."
Wade finished primping herself and grinned up at Rembrandt. "Besides, Vulcans are cool."
"Yeah, well, I always went for the Klingons myself." Rembrandt cast an eye towards a female Klingon mannequin that sported an armored uniform. "But, uh, I don't think you wanna wear one o' those either."
"Not on your life," Wade said, eyeing the chest. "Now come on, let's get outta here. We have work to do."
"Right." Rembrandt began to head for the counter, then did a double-take to squint at her face. "Did you shave off your eyebrows?"
Wade smirked as she walked past him to the counter. "You gotta sacrifice to look the part, Remmy."
Rembrandt followed her to the counter. They handed the clerk cash when she rang up the bill. They had been fortunate enough to be carrying silver coins from two worlds ago, because their regular money would have been worthless on this world. Instead of presidents like Abraham Lincoln, George Washington, and Ben Franklin on the dollar bills, they had people like William Shatner, Patrick Stewart, and Gene Roddenberry.
After paying and having their regular clothes bagged, Rembrandt and Wade set out down the street.
"Yeah, this is more like it," Rembrandt whispered as they moved through the crowds. "First time since we landed in this nuthouse that nobody's been starin' at us."
He tugged at his collar. "Just wish I could get comfortable in this outfit."
"You gotta get into it, Remmy," Wade whispered. "Imagine you *are* a Starfleet officer."
"Let's just concentrate on getting the others and getting outta here, okay?" Rembrandt asked. "I don't wanna get too cozy in this place. Where to next?"
"How about the Lamplighter Bar and Grill?" Wade asked. "If the others got away, that's where they're bound to show up."
"Good idea," Rembrandt said. "And I could use a drink."
They walked down the streets to where the Lamplighter, their usual haunt on a thousand worlds, usually stood. But instead, there was a strange building with a glowing sign that Rembrandt frowned at.
"Ten-Forward?" Rembrandt asked. "What's that?"
"It's the bar on the Enterprise-D of the Next Generation," Wade said with a grin. "Must be a franchise on this world. That's so cool. I always wanted to go to that place."
Wade rushed towards the doors, which was a finely decorated set of glass. As she approached, the doors hissed open. Wade flashed Rembrandt a smile and hurried inside, her robe flapping around her ankles.
Rembrandt stepped into the bar. It was a replica of the one on the show, from what he had seen. It looked more like a lounge with smooth lines and lighted tables scattered around the room. One end of the bar had a counter where men and women in uniforms served drinks to faux-aliens and Starfleet personnel. Rembrandt stood at the other end and looked to see large windows on either side. But instead of a view outside, the windows were in front of screens that projected dazzling views of outer space.
Wade was already sitting at one of the lighted tables. She was studying what looked like a row of chessboards mounted one on top of the other. As Rembrandt took a seat across from her, Wade picked up a piece on one level.
"Tri-chess," Wade said. "I knew a friend who played this game. Really tough."
"Girl," Rembrandt said, shaking his head, "I never knew you were into Trek this much."
Wade smiled as she put the piece back. "You never asked."
A black woman approached the table. She was wearing a strange scarlet gown and a hat that was shaped around an enormous platter that she looked like a teacup. She had a knowing smile on her face as she looked down at them.
"Good afternoon," the black woman said. "My name is Guinan, I'm the owner of this establishment. I...can't say I've seen you around here before."
"Uh, yeah, we just came in on the last shuttle," Wade said.
"I see," Guinan said, and Rembrandt thought he caught a hint of disbelief in her voice. But she brightened as she said, "Well, what can I get for you folks?"
"I'll have a beer," Rembrandt said.
Wade was studying a menu on the table. "I'll have a Klingon Ale. Make it a Light."
"Okay." Guinan produced a pad and pen from her gown and wrote carefully. "One beer and one Klingon Light coming right up."
She glided away from the table. When she was out of earshot, Rembrandt whistled.
"Man, what's with her," he murmured.
"She's an actor," Wade said. "Guinan was on TNG, and she always acted like that. It's all part of the experience."
"We gotta rescue the others and get outta this madhouse," Rembrandt said. "We need a plan."
"And answers," Wade said, then looked over her shoulder at a TV mounted on the corner wall. "Hey, look the news is coming on."
On the TV, a man in a Starfleet uniform sat behind a desk with a grim expression. A deep voice said "This is TNN..." before he spoke.
"Good afternoon," the newscaster said, "and welcome back to Trek News Network. I'm Warren Hull. Our top story...Vice- President Frakes continues to deny rumors that he and President Stewart were in any way involved in the Ferengi trade scandal from last month, and insists that he and Stewart will run for a third term. This is in continued defiance to the other competitors to the presidential race, Kate Mulgrew and her running mate Marina Sirtis."
"In other news," Hull continued, "two men, Maximilian Arturo and Quinn Mallory, were arrested in San Francisco today for allegedly making blasphemous remarks towards the Show. The two men are currently being held at the West Coast Starfleet headquarters until it can be decided what penalties should be levied against them. The companions of these men are still at large, believed to be still in San Francisco."
Wade leaned over the table, the light from it casting angular shadows across her Vulcan face. "That's them! Quinn and the Professor."
"Yeah," Rembrandt murmured. "Starfleet...sounds like a pretty heavy place. How're we gonna get in there and save 'em?"
"I dunno," Wade said. "But we've gotta try."
The newscaster was continuing his broadcast. "And tragedy struck the Tribble Fair last night when the members of the radical terrorist Alternative Video group struck, setting off bombs and holding the audience hostage for an hour as they preached their malicious and blasphemous dogma. The members managed to escape before Starfleet security could arrest them."
"Alternative Video movement," Wade whispered. "Wonder what that's all about."
Guinan seemed to appear out of nowhere alongside their table, holding a tray with two glasses. "They're a terrorist group. Dedicated to breaking up the monopoly that 'Star Trek' has on this world."
"Oh, I see," Wade said, forcing a smile.
Guinan set their drinks in front of them, glanced over her shoulder, then leaned close to Wade and Rembrandt. Her voice lowered to a whisper. "If I were you, I'd try to contact them. The AWs are your best chance for saving your friends from Starfleet and getting out of this universe to your own reality."
Rembrandt stared at her. "How do you know about us?"
Guinan straightened with a coy smile. "I have my sources. Take one of the taxis out front to this address. Good luck." She slipped Rembrandt a piece of paper, then melted back into the crowds.
Rembrandt stared at the empty space where she once was, then looked across the table at Wade. "Now that was one spooky gal."