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The following story takes place after "Needs of the Many"

Star Trek: Maximillian

Strength In Darkness

Chapter VII

The Romulan warbird Llaihr III hung silently on the viewscreen of the Maximillian bridge, motionless. There were no signs of any life from the vessel, and the only lights that could be seen emanating from the craft was sparks from the recent firefight. The vessel was tough, however, and survived the blows from its foe, and even as the countdown presumably continued to its destruction it still appeared dangerous, owing to the initial design of the vessel many years ago.

It was a moment before Critch returned to the bridge, followed closely by the rest of the away team. They had wasted no time after being beamed in getting back to work. Overload had met with chief engineer Squirrelly almost as soon as she appeared on the transporter pad, tossing him Skrit's emitter so that even the energy being could return as quickly as possible. Critch hoped that he wouldn't be needed, as this fight seemed to be over. Even if the self-destruct was cancelled right after they left, there was no chance for one mere warbird to match up against a top-of-the-line Federation ship, even if the captain was a bit green. He remembered his holodeck battle and smirked as he assessed the warbird. It was nice when something came together the way it was supposed too, for once.

"What happened to the kaboom? There was supposed to be an earth-shattering kaboom!" Blobbin frowned at the Llaihr III.

"Indeed. The self-destruct should have activated before we reached the bridge." Kelvok tapped a few panels in the back of the room.

"Should I hail them, Captain?" Xan asked, but Critch shook his head.

"No. I hate being robbed of an explosion, and I'm done with this guy. Lock phasers on their engines, and…"

He was interrupted by Overload, excitedly calling out to the room. "Their engines are powering up!"

Critch gritted his teeth, and finished his thought. "Fire!"

As the blue lines arced through space, the warbird suddenly jumped into warp speed, leaving the phasers without a target, disappearing in the blackness.

"Ah hell…Intercept course. Maximum warp! Let's get 'em!" Critch ordered.

"They're topping out at about Warp five, Captain. Their engines must have been slightly damaged in the battle." John Chubb offered, filling in at the main security station. The armory officer preferred to stay in the background during something like this, but since it appeared Skrit was out of commission, it was time for him to do his duty. Critch nodded.

"Time to bring weapons to bear?" Turock asked.

"A minute, there's a bit of interference from the su…sun." Chubb looked up. "They're heading right for the sun."

"Might not have to waste the torpedo." T'Purr offered, and Critch stood.

"A suicide run makes no sense, Captain. If he wanted to die, he wouldn't have cancelled the self-destruct." Nilrathi said.

"Or just let us destroy him…" Critch put his fist to his mouth, thinking as quickly as he could. Something obvious that he was missing.

But it was Kelvok and Turock, both having been chief officers when this circumstance had occurred before, who came to the realization at the same moment. They looked at each other. Turock spoke. "Slingshot."

"Time Travel." Kelvok completed the thought, and Critch realized just what the subcommander had been referring to all those times.

"He's going back…back to when Shinzon was alive. He's going to change history…Frak."

Databit did some quick calculations. "Captain, the Romulan ship will enter timewarp five seconds after we enter firing range."

"One shot at this then..." Critch knew he could take the shot, sit down in the chair and be a hero, or the goat. The chance of increasing his ego and his legend tempted him. But he looked at Commander Chubb, long a crewmember of the Maximillian, long having been in the background, never seeking nor wishing glory. He had earned his commander rank the hard way, through time in grade. Critch remembered about the different classes of Captain, and remembered that he was a leader of a team, albeit a very large one. "Commander Chubb!"

"Sir!"

"Can you hit it?"

"I can try, Captain."

"Do or do not, there is no try!" Blobbin yelled out, turning a shade of dark green." Chubb looked at Critch, fire in his eyes.

"I can do it, sir."

"Then do it." Critch sat back in his chair, not needing to scare his crew with speaking what would happen if something went wrong. There wasn't time anyway. Fifteen seconds separated the Maximillian from firing range on the Romulan vessel, twenty seconds from timewarp and an entire new battle. He trusted his officer, though, so he was silent, only tapping on his armrest, to get a small tactical view of the ships, one red and one green. They were the green one, and they were gaining on the red, but not quickly enough for Critch's tastes.

The stars soared past the Maximillian's unblemished hull, its torpedoes primed and ready for war, its crew on the edge of their seats, a silent countdown running through the heads of every member on the bridge that had heard Databit's exact estimation of time. Turock glanced at Critch, and their eyes met briefly. He didn't have to say anything at all.

John Chubb's mind was swimming. He knew that the Romulan ship would veer off at the last possible second, and that would happen right as the Max would get in range. He ran through scenarios both trained for and untrained, and at the end simply had to make a guess, based on historical documents and books that he hadn't thought about since the academy. As the countdown in his head hit zero, he pressed the button, launching the weapons, completing his task.

Two torpedoes rushed out of the front bay of the Maximillian even faster than what the Mighty Max was moving. They moved through space on a pre-programmed course, with their important mission. They quickly caught up with the Llaihr III.

On it's own programmed course, it's subcommander still laughing hysterically, so sure of his victory, the warbird banked left suddenly, and yellow and orange streams began to trail off of its wings. No scientist or intelligence known by the Federation knew how this method of time travel worked. For every successful jump there were a thousand failures, and selective stoppages by future Federation members. To date, the only one that had managed to do it more than once was James Kirk, and that had been a hundred years prior. And now S'Rka, a Reman, was about to succeed where so many had failed. He could not help but laugh, even as he realized that the torpedoes were still following him.

The quantum torpedoes struck the engines directly, the shields having long since been dissipated by fire. They erupted with the added strain, and the explosion ripped the ship in twain. S'Rka finally stopped laughing when the fire seared his lungs, shortly before destroying the rest of him.

"YES!" Critch, Databit and Overload all erupted into a cheer when they saw the engines of the Llaihr III explode, followed shortly thereafter by the vessel. "Nicely done, Commander!" Critch grinned at Chubb, who offered a "thumbs up" signal, before turning back to the viewscreen. The commander's expression changed quickly as he took in what had happened.

"Uh, Captain?" Critch looked up, and stared.

The explosion had not faded due to lack of oxygen. Instead, the fire was growing and growing in an immense shockwave of white and orange energy, and it was expanding at an exponential rate.

"What the hell did we hit?" Critch wondered, and realized suddenly that there was no chance, the Maximillian was going to be struck by the explosion and there was nothing he could do. "BRACE YOURSELVES!" Critch covered his eyes as the jolt from the shockwave hit, and all was white…

It was suddenly quiet, too quiet for Critch's tastes. He figured he was still alive, as he was not in pain, and there were no angels singing or anything like that. From what he can tell, the light had disappeared, so he slowly lowered his arms from protecting his face.

He was shocked when he looked around. Everything and everyone was frozen in place, stopped in whatever position they were in when the shockwave had hit. He stepped over to Overload, her arms holding Databit to her protectively, and waved a hand in front of her face. Nothing. She and everyone else on the bridge, as well as presumably the entire ship, were completely stopped. Critch was used to strange things happening but this was beyond the pale. He walked around, looking at everyone, hoping that he wasn't the only one. Even Blobbin, who had sunk into a puddle, was trapped in that form. Critch thought about getting a bucket for him, to play a joke for when everyone woke up, if they woke up. He decided against it, muttering to himself, "Okay…" He sighed, and went to lean on his chair. He was surprised again when the chair sort of 'rippled', and he fell through the chair, landing awkwardly on the floor.

"Ow!" He said more out of surprise than any pain, and looked up. The chair looked solid enough, but unless his body was failing him, it was as if it wasn't even there. Propping himself up, he waved a hand through the chair. Satisfied that he wasn't losing his mind even more than he already had, he stood again. Curious, he waved a hand through Blobbin, and it was the same as the chair. There was just a slight wavering of the part of the body that Critch was moving through, and that was all, no feeling, nothing but air. Critch shook his head. Maybe he was dead.

With that thought, a voice entered his head. "No, you're not dead. Why does everyone always think that?" He didn't recognize the sort of smarmy voice, and he instinctively put his defenses up.

"Who's there? Show yourself!"

"Oh yes, Captains give orders. Come outside and play, Critch." The android shook his head. What was he talking about? He looked at the viewscreen, and saw it waver a bit. Sighing, he figured that the only thing he could do was continue to play the game. At least the floor was solid enough. He strode forward, up to the front of the bridge, and then after taking an instinctive breath, walked right through the viewscreen.

He did not feel the cold of space, the heat of the sun, or anything else against his synthetic skin. Instead, there was just more nothing as he passed through the ship and finally out onto the hull of the saucer section. The light of the nearby sun did not affect his vision, and there was no change of temperature that he could tell. The debriefing of this will be a lot of fun. Critch thought, as he looked around, finally finding what he assumed was the source of the voice that had taken up residence in his head.

A man stood with his back to Critch, looking down below the hull. He appeared to be wearing a Starfleet uniform, which surprised Critch, but he was dealing with too much surprise already to let this one show. There wasn't anything special about the man. He was not extraordinarily large nor extraordinarily small, just average. Except of course for the fact that he was standing outside of a hull of a starship with no visible means of staying alive. A brief fearful thrill went through Critch's body, as he mulled the possibility that this could be a Marconian, one of Critch's race, somehow now with power far beyond comprehension. When the figure turned his head around, this thrill went away, and was replaced with an apprehensive anger. "You!" Critch said, accusingly.

"Moi?" The man placed a hand on his chest. "Come now, Captain, surely you don't recognize me?"

Critch shook his head, walking towards him. "Your picture has been tossed around the fleet more times than I can count. You've annoyed some powerful people…Q."

The omnipotent being laughed, "Guilty as charged, but I'm not here to talk about the past, or whatever. I'm here to clean up your mess."

"My mess?"

"Tsk Tsk." He waved a finger in front of Critch's face, and the android fought an urge to slap it away. "Exploding a ship full of Theylaron radiation at the first steps of time warp? Tends to leave a nasty hole in the continuum." Q waved a hand, and against his better judgment, Critch peered down into what he thought was just more space. If he thought he couldn't be surprised any more, he was wrong.

Instead of the blackness, Critch was confronted with a whirlpool of color. Spinning slowly through the void were pictures. Images. People moving, talking, ships of incredible design and unknown power soared through space. Things even Critch couldn't imagine were taking place before his eyes. "What…What…"

"Come now, Captain, you should know alternate universes when you see them!"

"But…But these are nothing like…"

"Phh, like yours is like this universe. Look at that one, a big planet killer moon and a space station, all getting blown up by a bunch of kids. Look over there, 20,000 humans left, just trying to find Earth." He chuckled. "There is another one. Look at that! You're all fluffy bears. The continuum is a wonderful place, Critch!" He rolled his 'r's' as he spoke. "And it's filled with…you."

"Me?"

"Well, you and your friends. This ship. A hundred thousand universes, and all of them with a Maximillian, mind you. What makes you so special, anyway? That the continuum has chosen you as a focal point? The mind boggles with possibilities."

Critch backed up, his mind swimming. "Wait, wait a minute…you froze them."

"Didn't want to cause a stir."

"Then why are you showing me?"

Q turned to him, seriously. "Honestly? Jean-Luc was busy. What do you think? You're from another universe, one where they want to invade other universes and kill them. Thought you could use a reminder at what's at stake should…you know."

"Should a war start."?

"More a 'When it starts', I would say. Your people are most tenacious."

"I wouldn't know. And you won't stop them?"

"And there's the other reason I can't help. Number one, wife and kid now, family man and number two, I can't mess with other universes. To each their own. Could be next week, could be next year, could be a hundred. I need someone to have some perspective. So when it's time, you'll remember."

"I…wait." Q started to walk away, but Critch did not follow. "So I'm going to forget everything?"

"For a time. Don't worry." He winked at him. "It'll come back to you. And I'll leave some eyes and ears around…you know, just to keep an eye on things."

"Whoa, I don't want one of your kind on my ship!"

"You won't even know they're there." With that, Q snapped his fingers, and the images of futures, pasts, and presents so different disappeared from view, and mind.

"Whoa!" The Maximillian stopped its lurch, and suddenly all was calm. Critch had dropped to one knee, and was holding his head. Suddenly there was a fog over his mind that had appeared right when the shockwave hit. He looked up, and the others were looking back at him, all of them holding on to something to prevent falling themselves.

Critch stood, shaking off the fall and embarrassment. "What was that?"

"Scans show a small anomaly of unknown origin at point of impact. Trace amounts of Chronometric particles…and unidentifiable particles."

"Unidentifiable?" Critch sank in his chair. Last thing they needed right now was to investigate anomalies. Last thing he ever wanted to do was send out probes for a month.

Turock was the one to break Critch out of his stupor. "We have other priorities right now. The sleeper ships are still en route to their targets."

Critch smiled, happy to have an excuse. "Exactly. Lets lay down some sensor probes, and we'll get a science ship out here. Overload, I'm feeding you some coordinates. Set fastest course to the closest one and we'll go from there. Lets go." With the sound of her happy "Aye!" he turned to Turock. "Admiral, you should probably be the one to contact Starfleet on this one."

"Agreed." Turock nodded, and moved to the turbolift. Critch settled back in his chair, and after a moment, the Maximillian jumped to warp once more.

Captain's Log, Stardate 57124.6. The Maximillian is currently on a weeklong journey to our last sleeper ship. The others have been captured without incident, and there will be a tribunal to decide what to do with the Remans. But that's for far higher ranks than me, so I'm not concerning myself with it. After we get to the ship, we're going to hit a starbase for resupply, then," he sighed, "back to the anomaly to see what's up with these particles. Also Admiral T'Kill wanted to see me about some reports. I just want to take a nap.

Critch stood uncomfortably in full uniform before Admiral T'Kill, who read over a couple of padds in his hand. After a beat, he looked up at Critch. "Wanted to tell you that you did a good job, for a rookie."

Critch nodded.

"They don't get easier, Captain, so enjoy it while you can."

"Yes sir."

"You're waiting on me to yell at you for something, aren't you?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Well tough, as usual you can't get everything you want. I did want to ask you a question, though."

"Ok…"

"Why didn't you take the shot on the Llaihr III? Not that Chubb did a bad job, but next to Skrit, you're the best marksman."

"Delegation."

"Captain, there's a time and a place…"

"Admiral, it's what you were telling me about being a good and great Captain. But it hit me, that a Captain is only as good as his crew. Now I could have taken the shot, and let everyone worship me for a while. Not bad. And then next time there's a crisis everyone just drops everything and looks in my direction. No thank you. My people are good people…strange as hell, but good. They need the room to do their jobs just as much as I need mine."

The point was not lost on Turock, who nodded. "What if Chubb would've missed?"

"We'd deal with that then. Go off on a grand adventure to save the Enterprise. Wouldn't be the first time. And c'mon, the guy's a commander; he knew what he was doing. Bottom line is, I think a good Captain gets the job done. A great Captain not only gets it done, but gets others to do it for him." He winked at Turock.

"That's a…unique perspective, Captain."

"Whatever works, Admiral."

Turock sat back in his chair, appraising the android. "Critch, at the beginning of this, I was going to file a complaint with the Commandant of Starfleet to have you removed from my ship. You're reckless, impulsive, and I still don't entirely trust you."

"You forgot incredibly good-looking." Critch was used to insults by now.

"You're still reckless, you're still impulsive. But I don't think you're going to do any more damage to this ship than we've already done."

Critch caught the omission. "I save your ass one time and you trust me? Will you buy me dinner if I do it again?"

"Don't push it." Turock stood, and offered a hand. Critch did the same, and they shook. "Don't make me regret changing my mind about you."

"I'll give it my best shot, Turock." Critch let go of his hand, smirked, and quickly left before Turock could say anything. Shaking his head in angry humor, He went to sit back in his chair, but noticed before he rested that his chair had turned silver, and was not exactly stable. He jumped to his feet as the chair quickly formed into a mercury blob.

Blobbin smiled. "Told you so."

"Shut up." Turock found his real chair, and tried to get back to work.

"Told you so."

"Shut up."

"Told you so." This line of arguing would continue for another two hours.

Epilogue

Captain Critch Starblade finally settled into his bed, his head resting against the pillow, and he curled up to finally get some rest. Despite his android body not requiring sleep, he relished it. Just as he began to drift off, he heard an insistent chime.

"Captain?"

He let out a heavy sigh. "Now what?"

THE END…