I do not own Star Trek 2009, Supernatural, NCIS, NCIS: LA or Stargate SG-1.
And I apologize for the delay everyone…those in North America will have heard about the snowstorm that hit Ontario, eastern Canada and the East Coast of the USA. I was stranded at a friend's house away from my computer and have only returned today! *scribbles frantically*
Starbase 5
"Admiral," one of Pike's young lieutenants asked as they sat around a dinner table. Pike made a point of sitting with a different group of individuals every night so he remained connected to them. "How could all this happen when it's just the stock market?" Pike looked up from his mashed potatoes.
"Pardon?" he asked.
The young man flushed a bright pink. "I'm just not sure I understand. It's just the stock market. Why did everything go to hell?"
Pike leaned back in his chair and tried to figure out how best to explain the conundrum. "Son, do you remember studying the Great Depression in history class?" When several heads nodded in agreement, Pike continued. "The price of stock went down drastically, reducing the value of paper wealth. Paper wealth is when an asset is assigned a value based on how much that asset could be sold for. Even in the 1930s, a significant amount of America's wealth was based on that concept – that an asset was valued by how much it could be sold. In comparison, real wealth is something that can be physically possessed, like gold. We've been getting away from real wealth these days because quite frankly, it just isn't practical to possess real wealth when you're Starfleet. It's simply too big."
So far, everyone was following. "When Lucifer took a big chunk out of the Federation's paper wealth, he upset the delicate balance between the Federation and her peers. When the evidence of paper wealth was lost, people panic, beginning with those in the financial sector. When paper wealth evaporates, real wealth becomes a huge priority and there are runs on banks. Those who possess enough real wealth to survive a stock market crash hoard their wealth." Pike gestured to the star base around him. "Suddenly this base becomes the most important thing in our lives because without it we are shelterless and powerless."
The lieutenant nodded slowly. "But if everyone hadn't panicked, the attack could have been mitigated, couldn't it?"
Pike shrugged. "Maybe. But most sentient life doesn't react well to the threat of something so intrinsic. Lucifer knows that. And when Lucifer knocked out the stock market, he took out a big chunk of Starfleet's financial assets as well. Star ships may be worth a lot but their value rapidly depreciates once they show signs of wear and tear. Enterprise may be an expensive chunk of change but Kirk keeps getting holes blown in her. No one would want an unspaceworthy ship unless she was sold for scrap and you wouldn't get your money's worth from a scrapper."
Another ensign raised her hand awkwardly, unsure how to interrupt but clearly with a burning question. "How do we fix it?" she asked.
Suddenly Pike found himself on the business end of an entire table's worth of motivated, idealistic young Starfleeters ready to charge out and save the world. He sighed and stuffed a bite of roast beef into his mouth, giving himself time to think. "There isn't a straight answer," he said slowly after swallowing. "It's not like there is one simple answer. Even if Lucifer is caught, it won't fix the damage. The most we can do is try to return some sort of stability to the Federation." The actions he should take next were preying on his mind. As an admiral, he still had sway and as the commander of a functioning star base, he could take effective action in their current quadrant. The real question was how to direct the ideal youngsters under his command.
"What do you think we should do?" he asked suddenly, turning the lecture into a discussion. Pike sat back and chewed over his vegetables as the table erupted with ideas. Some were improbable, others had feasible merit.
He started taking mental notes.
Impala
Sam scowled at the empty square of space where his prototype had sat. "Damn him," he muttered. His alternate self had been aloof, sad and not very much like Sam himself. Sam should have set a guard on the prototype, recognizing the necessity for such precautions.
"Should have put a guard on it," Carter grumbled. "Sorry," she apologized. Sam shrugged. Alt-Sam hadn't tried to hide his movements and his route showed up clearly on the monitored security cameras but there had been no call to restrict his movements. "We should have known better, having experienced alternate versions of us in the past."
"Well," Sam sighed. "I suppose I have to decide what to do next." Carter perched herself on a tall lab stool, offering an open ear. Stay with SG-1 and try to build the device again from scratch (the thought of which quite frankly gave Sam a headache) or head back into Starfleet space and gather more information from the anomaly itself.
As he talked, Sam glimpsed his crew, wandering rather helplessly around the corner when they weren't furiously studying. "We're Impala crew members," he said suddenly with decisiveness. "Carter, you've been a great help but we can take all the information we need with us. The device can be used anywhere. We're better off hunting for more information than sitting here like stumps."
Carter smiled with understanding and faint amusement. "I wondered how long it would take you to lift off again," she said without taking offense. "I'll tell General Landry. The IOA won't let us come with you this time, though." She pushed a folder of paper across the table. "That report just came in from our monitoring station on the other side." She let him read in horrified silence.
"Good God," he finally exclaimed. "We have to go back now."
"Be careful," Carter said quietly. "You're going to be flying into a hornet's nest and while the Impala is indomitable, she's not indestructible."
Sam nodded as he gathered up PADDs and research in a distracted manner. "Gather up your crew," Carter offered. "I'll take care of this." She shooed Sam out the door, directing him to the 'Gate control room. A broadcast was put out over the intercom and soon Impala members were crowding the 'Gate room and its hallways with their busy chatter, eager to charge out into the universe and find their captain.
"Thanks," Sam said distractedly to General Landry, who took no offense to the lack of formality.
"Glad to help, son. Let us know if we can help," he said with a comforting, fatherly sort of gruffness.
"Beam us up," Sam ordered briskly and remembered to nod again in thanks to the Stargate team before the swirling particles swept him off into the search once more.
Washington
Though he didn't show it, Gibbs was completely frustrated and at his wits' end. The trail ended. The only thing left was a minor trace of sulphur and a few anomalous readings. He turned around to face his command crew, all of whom were showing matching frustration that Gibbs himself was experiencing.
"It's like the bastard disappeared into thin air," Abby snapped and McGee nodded emphatically.
"But we have no evidence to support a conclusive, cogent theory of disappearance," he added and Abby smacked his shoulder.
"Don't remind me of that," she grumbled. "Sensibility is overrated."
That alone decided Gibbs. "We're going to back up Admiral Pike," he said quietly but clearly. Everyone froze.
"Gibbs?" Dinozzo asked.
"He's led us on a chase for too long and we're getting nowhere. That'll feed Lucifer's ego. We're not capable of getting ahead of him this way. Pike will make use of us. Turn this tub around," Gibbs ordered calmly. "Dinozzo."
The first officer snapped to attention on pure reflex. "Yes sir."
Letting go of the chase burned in Gibbs' throat but watching the tension leak out of his crew confirmed his decision. Tearing them apart wasn't worth finding the miserable bastard. He knew them – they wouldn't let it go. Abby and McGee would figure out what happened but if he took the pressure off, they would figure it out without added stress.
That and if the scuttlebutt was right, Pike was a sitting duck in Starbase 5. This was the right decision.
He'd keep telling himself that until he was blue in the face.
Enterprise
Dean watched through the closed infirmary doors as McCoy adjusted some complicated piece of medical equipment over a drugged alt-Sam.
He knew Kirk was debating what action to take next. He should be worried as well. But right now, Dean's sole focus was on the battered, crumbling man who had had to be sedated until McCoy determined an effective course of action. Dean's teeth ground and he tried to swallow the hot anger that boiled up every time he thought of alt-Dean. He wasn't a sentimental man, nor one inclined to coddle anyone, least of all his brother. But Dean Winchester also knew how to treasure family. Letting his personal feelings of revenge and rage take over to the point where his family suffered? To the point of death? Dean might be an insensitive ass but the idea of getting his whole crew killed was repulsive, repugnant and utterly wrong.
Which brought him to the conundrum of what to do with alt-Sam. The sentiment felt awful but two Sams in the same universe would result in entropic cascade. Since Dr. McCoy had quite literally locked him out of the infirmary, Dean wandered down to the brig where Sam's crew of Vulcans waited, simmering in anger and concern. It was odd to see Vulcans so emotional and trying to hard to pack it away. Clearly they agreed with Surak but had not entirely learned to suppress their wild feelings.
Dean stepped forward and singled out the first officer while switching on a translator. It wasn't hard to spot the man. "You," Dean pointed. "Sam's man." The Vulcan snarled at Dean. "How long have you served Sam?"
The Vulcan gestured angrily in what was probably a forgotten, rather rude gesture. Dean settled himself into a squared, solid stance and skewered the man with a keen captain's eye. The Vulcan paused, clearly surprised. "How long?" Dean demanded.
Reluctantly, the Vulcan replied, "Five years."
Five years? That was how long alt-Sam had been stranded here? Hell.
On the other hand, Dean reflected in a heartbeat later, alt-Sam had clearly been his typical Sam-self despite the grief and hurt, drawing people to him through Sam's willingness to take on everything in a vain attempt to save everyone. It could present a solution. Take alt-Sam away from all things jarringly painful and similar to something new, where he was valued for who he was and not who he wasn't.
It could work, as long as Dean was reasonably certain that he would be leaving behind a Sam who was healing, not merely coping. He nodded to the still-confused Vulcan and returned to the infirmary, determined to break into Bones' domain single-handedly if necessary.
To his surprise, the doors whooshed open without pause. He suppressed his startled reaction and charged through. Alt-Sam was sitting up, conscious and alert, listening to Dr. McCoy. Dean paused, assessing reactions like a captain even as he packed away his gut reaction to throttle whoever had reduced his alt-brother to this state. Especially since that person was himself in another reality.
"Captain Winchester," McCoy began with uncustomary formality. "Sam would like a word." Dean startled forward, feeling like a bull in a china shop.
McCoy shot him a warning glance and faded into his office.
"I'm not going back with you," alt-Sam said with a broken finality.
Dean nodded agreeably. "I get it."
Alt-Sam blinked. "You do?" Dean continued to nod, feeling like a bobble-head doll. Alt-Sam stared and Dean swallowed, trying to think of a way to tell everything without turning things into a chick-flick moment.
"Your men need you," he began. That would be easiest method of motivating Dean himself and Dean reckoned at this point, alt-Sam was more like Dean himself than the Sam Dean knew. "The Vulcans down in the brig need you. You're their captain. Hell, I'm not sure how much longer Jim can hold them before they break out and come to get you."
Alt-Sam blinked furiously and Dean tried not to fidget. "You're a good man," Alt-Sam said quietly, voice trembling with emotion. "Better than my brother and I don't know how that's possible."
Dean was fishing for something to say when the whole ship suddenly shuddered and the alarms started whooping wildly. "Keep him there and in one piece!" Dean ordered to Bones, who was already darting around the infirmary making sure it was ready for casualties. The CMO nodded distractedly and alt-Sam stared ahead without expression. Dean darted through the hallways and up onto the bridge just in time for the ship to rock again under fire.
"What the hell?" he demanded.
"Raptors," Jim snapped shortly. "Pretty sure they followed alt-Sam but don't tell him that. Sulu, don't let them get away! We can't let word of our existence get out."
The Raptors were not a small scout force. Clearly alt-Sam had made an impression on his enemies in five years because they came in with all phasers firing. "Shields?" Kirk asked.
"Holding, keptin, but ve cannot endure forever!" Chekov's fingers were dancing across the consoles.
Kirk rattled his fingers against his chair arm, thinking furiously. "Dean?"
"Gotta fight here, Kirk or we'll never make it home again," the other captain put in his two cents. "That and Spock still hasn't figured out that anomaly. Leaving behind a mystery would kill him."
Kirk laughed. "You heard the man. Let's win this."
It really wasn't fair. Once the Enterprise had decided to go on the offensive, the Raptors were outclassed and outmatched. "Captain," Uhura called as the final warbird exploded, "they managed to get out an SOS."
"You weren't jamming?" Kirk asked, very aware that his communications officer would take offense to that question. Sure enough, she sat bolt upright and shot him a glare the likes of which he hadn't seen since the Narada incident.
"Of course I was but I'm afraid they used a low-tech version we discarded because it was so very easy to hack. I wasn't looking for it." The last words were said with self-acrimony.
Kirk waved off her silent apology. "Don't worry about it, Uhura. We're all out of our depth here. Mr. Chekov, let me know when someone comes to check out that SOS message they sent. Spock, get on that anomaly. We have got to get out of here."
The Vulcan first officer practically scowled in determination, a new fire lit under his tail. "Mr. Scott," Kirk continued. "We need that cloak back up and keep it up!"
"Aye, capt'n."
Dean didn't wait around. Kirk was busy keeping their asses alive, so it was up to Dean to figure out what to do with their guests. He found himself back in the infirmary, staring at his not-brother. Alt-Sam was looking better, his eyes lighter but still burdened. "Better?" Dean asked.
"Not doing worse," Alt-Sam replied hoarsely. Dean could accept that. It wasn't a bad answer.
"Come with me," Dean said, trailing his not-brother along like a kite. Before long, Alt-Sam was standing in the brig, leaning rather unwillingly on Dean's shoulder as his injured leg wobbled unsteadily. The crew in the cell leapt to their feet and hovered within millimeters of the security screen, blurting questions in Vulcan at their commander. Dean slid back into the shadows as Alt-Sam's shoulders straightened, gaining a sense of belonging even as Dean watched. Good. This was good.
"We can drop you off at a neutral location," Dean offered when there was a lull in the conversation. Alt-Sam startled at the sound of his not-brother's voice. He turned on his heel, a commander between an unknown factor and his crew. It was good to see. Alt-Sam would be all right eventually. "We can also give you enough credit to pick up a ship," Dean offered.
Alt-Sam relaxed fractionally. "I'll get Kirk to let your boys out as long as you promise to keep them in a restricted area. We can't have them peeking into the future," Dean continued. Alt-Sam nodded, growing into a fresh sense of purpose.
Yeah, he'd be all right, Dean thought. Now that his brother was sorted, they just had to get themselves back into the right time.
Impala
Sam stared in horror. They knew it was bad intellectually but that was nothing compared to actually seeing it. Starbase 3 was already being torn apart by enterprising scrappers who were laying claim to it in lieu of their more powerful employers, to whom Starfleet owed money that, in the course of normal economic times, would have been easily paid off.
"Commander," Shari barked from the communications station. "We're about to be boarded and chopped up just like that 'base!"
Sam cursed. "Get us out of here now, Cas. Detour through the closest nebula and shake our tails."
It was almost too late. Most of the ships were weaker and smaller than the Impala but their numbers were far greater. "Taking over the phasers," Sam declared formally, stepping into Ash's usual chair with ease.
"Incoming hail from the Serenity," Shari announced. "Says to and I quote 'get your fat Starfleet ass behind this moon before they shoot you full of gorram holes.'" When Sam glanced over at her, she had a cheeky glint in her eye as the environment on the bridge lightened. He appreciated what Shari and Mal had just done.
"Well, hop to it Cas," Sam ordered with a lighter heart. The Impala skipped through the tiniest of holes and darted around the moon. Serenity waggled her odd, alternate universe tail and hopped to warp speed. Impala followed, cluing in immediately.
"Sam, you stupid ass," Mal greeted agreeably once the ships were relatively safe. His crew looked a little more rag-tag than normal but relatively unsettled by the massive upheaval in orderly Federation affairs. "Where's your idiot brother and how the hell did you let this happen to the Federation?"
"Dean, Ash and the Enterprise disappeared into an anomaly about a week ago," Sam replied. "The stock market crashed after that while I was busy trying to find them." Mal whistled, long and slow.
"Well," he drawled. "You're on my side of the law now. Better teach you the ropes so that when Dean shows up, you've got a ship and crew to give back to him." Sam bristled in indignation. He was not some kid brother to be looked after. Mal grinned at him over the viewscreen, knowing exactly what was going through Sam's head. For the Impala's sake, Sam gritted his teeth and nodded to the smirking free-trading captain.
"Jackass," he snapped immaturely, knowing that would prove Mal's point. "Fine. But we stop by the time-space anomaly first. I want another look."