Chapter 01 - "Wanna do somethin' stupid?"

Samantha Bex enrolls in Starfleet Academy and meets the eccentric time travel fanatic, Detective Kuade.

NOTE: For the purpose of this story, I have created a version of Starfleet that is far more stringent and structured than later years. The events described in this story as well as on the actual Discovery show will help to shape Starfleet into the more cavalier institution we are all familiar with.

**Special thanks to B3ta R3ad3r for editing work**

TIME: The following takes place a few months before the episode The Vulcan Hello, and about a month after the Prologue.

My characters...

Samantha Bex: 29, born in the year 1988, abducted in 2017 and displaced two and half centuries later on Donatu V. How she got there and how she managed to survive this Klingon infested planet is unknown.

"Thank you for registering with the Starfleet Academy - Main Campus, Samantha Bex. Please take your Starfleet issued tricorder and ensure that it is properly functioning before leaving the supply station," a gentle computer voice instructs.

"Umm..." a young human woman takes the small device out of a replicating unit and rolls it in her hand to look for a switch. The small gadget, smaller than a brick and about as heavy comes with an attachment that looks a bit like a microphone.

"Please take your Starfleet issued tricorder and ensure that it is properly functioning before leaving the supply station," the computer voice instructs again.

"Where is the power switch?" she mumbles to herself, pressing her thumb hard into to the screen and following the outlines with her fingers.

"Could the primitive in the front of the line, please get her tricorder n' go?" an annoyed twangy voice calls from behind.

Bex looks over her shoulder and sees a long queue of various off-worlders standing impatiently behind her. The Orion inhabitant next in line stares repulsed at the top of her head. She looks up at the green man, expecting to be chewed out, but he remains distracted by her six-inch scar.

"Hello!?" the twangy voice calls again, "Some'ova us would like to get across the bridge this century, please!"

"Uh, sorry..." Bex pockets her gadget and takes her shoulder bag off the ground.

"Thank you," comes that critical voice.

The young woman walks past a rather handsome looking human with long blonde hair. His gold embroidered Starfleet Uniform indicate a command position, though he stands charged with maintaining proper queue time at the replicator. His hair hasn't been washed in days and bags hang under his bloodshot eyes.

He shakes his head at her, "They're gonna eat you alive cadet. You should quit now. Country-bumpkins like you don't last long in Starfleet," he hazes with the strong odor of alcohol on his breath.

"Country-bumpkin?" she cocks an eyebrow at his thick accent, "And what Louisana swamp did you crawl out of?"

"I wouldn't cop an attitude if I were you. You're talkin' to a Commander."

"Hm, I thought they ran ships, not queues."

The Commander laughs in disbelief and folds his arms across his chest, "You wanna be the fastest cadet court-martialed in Starfleet history? Cause I can make it happen."

"Commander Beauregard," a queuing Vulcan speaks up in a monotone voice, "If I am not mistaken, you were recently court-martialed for bringing a pregnant tribble on the Enterprise and as such, you do not have the proper authority to-"

"Yes, thank you, Ensign Hork! I didn't ask," Beauregard interrupts trying to remain cool.

Bad sign, Bex thinks to herself, first Starfleet Commander I meet is a complete drunk, she walks away.

"Hey, Cadet! Hey! Watch yourself! I'll remember you!" Commander Beauregard threatens. She pays his threats no mind and takes in the warm California sun.

It's a beautiful early late day in 2255 San Francisco. The main Starfleet registration pavilion is on the other side of the bay from the main campus. There's a complimentary shuttle cadets can take to cross, but Bex decides to walk. It'll give her time to take in her surroundings and see how much has changed since the year 2017.

She casually strolls down the Golden Gate bridge, and to her delight and surprise, despite being 260 years older, the bridge remains relatively unchanged since the last time she last traipsed across it. There is a new coat of paint of course, as well as some new lights neither LED or halogen, but it is still red and 'classic'. In fact, there is quite a bit of classic past millennium art to behold. She expected to arrive back on Earth to something far more sci-fi-like; fewer trees, less brick, and mortar, buildings shelled in chrome and irritating holograms, but it seems the earthlings of the future take pride in their past. Bex takes comfort in that.

Even the aliens she passes by don't seem so out of place. Some may have different colored skin or weird looking noses, but for the most part, all are humanoid with 2 arms and 2 legs. Again, she was expecting to see something more fanatical, like the deep sea creatures found in Earth's oceans. She begins to wonder whether it would be possible to make a home here or is it too similar to the Earth she left? Is this nostalgia she feels growing inside or is it yearning for something she can never get back?

"Enjoying the scenery?" replies a mid-Atlantic accent. The woman pulls her attention away from the San Francisco Bay and is greeted by a pair large brown human eyes, "I too enjoy a leisurely afternoon stroll now and again," the man smiles charmingly. His dark hair lays slicked back in a simple pomade and his broad shoulders adorned in a vintage yellow sports coat and black tie.

She raises her eyebrows at him, "Yeesh. Guess I'm not the only time traveler."

"Oh!" he appreciates her noticing his attire, "I do have a habit of dressing to the nines," he holds out his hand to shake, "Detective Kuade, Agent for the Department of Temporal Investigations," he says with a dashing smile, "I am here to investigate your abduction, Samantha Bex."

Bex takes his hand bemused, "Uhh... DTI didn't mention anyone by the name of Kuade was representing me."

"Yes! Well um," Kuade falters, "I'm... consulting for the department. I am what you call uh... Freelancer."

"Ah! You mean an ambulance chaser. Or I guess in this case; a time machine chaser. Sorry, but I'm not interested in rounding out your portfolio," Bex walks away casually.

"Ack!" he almost breaks character, "Wait!"

"I already have both Starfleet and the Vulcan Expeditionary Group looking after my case. I don't need a third stiff," she says over her shoulder.

The detective steps past and stops her before smoothing his tie and hair, "Ahem. Ms. Bex. Please understand, this is not my attempt to take advantage of your unfortunate displacement. Make no mistake, I only have your best interest at heart. Your time travel case is... ambiguous... complicated. Even the Vulcan's are scratching their bowl cuts over it. Not only were you abducted by an unknown entity, but you were also deserted on a dangerous alien planet-a planet that neither Starfleet nor the Vulcan's have any jurisdiction."

"And you have that jurisdiction?"

"Unfortunately, no."

Bex turns away.

"Ugh!" Kuade catches her again, "But, there are more unconventional ways to gather clues," he shifts a little, "For instance, I can assist you in your relocation to the 23rd century."

"I lived two years with Klingons. I think I can handle this century," she winks.

"The future is not so simple, Ms. Bex. The scientific and cultural advancements of these past two centuries may puzzle an antiquated human such as yourself."

She tilts her head a little insulted.

Kuade continues, "For instance, 'Tricorder on!'" he instructs the device in Bex's pocket and it blips on causing several welcoming prompts to speak up. She blushes and muffles it.

"I can provide assistance in helping you get established and acculturated to your new life here in the future," he continues, "Perhaps in my observations of your progress, I can pinpoint the reasoning behind your kidnapping."

Bex remains unconvinced and frowns at him with a hand on her hip.

"Did Starfleet offer you any such assistance? Or the Vulcans?" he asks.

"No, they just sort of left me here..."

"Were you even interviewed?"

"The Vulcans did some kind of mind-melt when I was found."

"Mm-hmm, meld," Kuade corrects, "A sort of... first-person account of your life. That should be more than sufficient to determine a culprit. Yet, even with their telekinesis and starships, they are still no closer to solving your case than I am! Perhaps a little bit of old-fashioned sleuthing can help," he grins and wiggles his eyebrows.

This man is exhausting, Bex huffs.

"Well, it's not like I can ask the Klingons!"

"Oh! So the Klingons were the ones who abducted me?"

"Heavens no!" Kuade scoffs disgusted, "They're nowhere near capable of such a technology. Really, Ms. Bex, if those troglodytes are your bellwether of current technological prowess, you really do need me."

Bex is annoyed and turns away once more, "No thank you, Detective. I don't need a babysitter" she calls over her shoulder and smiles sarcastically, "Besides, I'm about to get all the education I need!"

"Yes!" Kuade yells out, "But you're going the wrong way!"

Bex stops and realizes she's been turned around.

"Starfleet is on the other side of the bridge and about another 20 miles," he smiles weakly and shrugs, "I have a car..."

"I can't pay you," Bex sits in the passenger seat of a yellow 1967 Ford Mustang as Detective Kuade taxies her to Fort Baker. She still feels suspicious about this eccentric man and sits leaning far away from him.

"No payment required. You live in a New-World Economy now, Ms. Bex," he sighs with excitement, "I have so much to teach you!"

"It's just Sam. And I mean... repay you for your consultations-if I decide to accept your offer."

"Beneficial mutualism. I will help you carve out a new path in life, and you will help me... fill out my portfolio."

"And exactly how long would this co-symbiotic relationship last?"

"Well, that depends. Right now, returning you back to 2017 isn't really an option. As far as I know, no one other than your abductors has come close to perfecting time travel technology. So, getting you settled in and acclimated to this century is my first priority. Starfleet is a good place to start, but the timeframe depends on what you choose to study. I'd suggest from your experience with the Klingons; Exoarchaeology or Xenolinguistics as possible field choices."

"I was thinking with my experience with the Klingons, I should study Zoology."

"Uh.. erm well, what did you study prior to your abduction?" he asks rather curious, "If I had to guess, I would say you were a writer. You're very well spoken, perhaps even a lawy-"

"NO!," Bex cuts him off, "Rule number one if you're going to be following me around; never bring up my past life or my time spent on Donatu!"

Kuade stumbles, "Oh! Uh-I.. I didn't mean to pry. I just figured, based on your psych-evaluations, you were comfortable with talking about your past. But, heh, that's fine... Just makes my job really difficult," he grumbles under his breath.

He falls quiet and after a mile of awkward silence, Bex sighs and tries to lighten the mood, "So, you really like mid-century Americana, huh? Is that why you're so gung-ho about helping me?"

"I am a fan of many eras and not just those exclusive to Earth. I am a historian, a chronologist with an advanced degree Temporal Mechanics. I take pride in my work and I hope to be one day be recognized for it," he still seems upset.

"You know, I'm from the latter half of the twentieth century."

"Yes, I am aware."

"Never even seen a sports coat that loud before," she laughs to herself.

Kuade frowns, "You're going to be a hassle, I can tell."

Midday one Tuesday a few weeks after meeting, Kuade helps Bex study in her dorm for her upcoming Galactic Cultures exam. He lays lazily on her bed fiddling with her tricorder, quizzing her on various alien species. She hastily searches for the pieces to her uniform while in short pajamas shorts and top. With the uneasiness of their first meeting now just a faint memory, the two have become more casual with one another.

"Romulans," he quizzes.

"Uhh... Planet Romulus, sector Z-6, militaristic caste system, um.. slavers, xenophobic," she puts on her pants and then hunts for her coat.

"Good. Vulcans."

"Planet Vulcan... uhhh, I dunno, sector J?"

"No."

"Highly logical... telepathic suggestion, similar to Romulans but not nearly as racist."

"No!" Kuade says annoyed, "You're not taking this seriously."

"I could say the same to you..." Bex mumbles under her breath as she zips up her coat, "Have you made any progress, yet? In my case, I mean. It's been three weeks," Bex checks her reflection in a floor length mirror and fixes her wrinkled collar.

"Uhh.. I've gathered some intel," Kuade hands over her tricorder.

"Yeah? Do you have any leads?"

"Leads?"

"In who abducted me!" she gets annoyed, "Or why or how they did it? Geezus, you are the worst detective."

"It's hard to do any investigating when your only witness to the events refuses to talk about it," he rebuffs.

"Don't you have some special gadgets you can use instead?"

"Gadgets?"

"I dunno, like an EKG meter to measure time particles."

Kuade recoils in horror, "Never say anything like that out loud again!"

Bex huffs, "Whatever. At least I'm not paying you..."

"You'll get kicked out of the Academy for using language like that!"

"What time is it?" Bex grabs Kuade's wrist to check his antique watch "I have to go."

"Go where? You have a xenoanthropology exam in an hour!"

"Yeah, but the Captains' Invocation is about to start."

"And? Wasn't that last week?"

"No, the Captain's Vigil was last week."

"I thought the Vigil was two weeks ago."

"No, that was Orientation."

"Then what's next week?"

"Midterm Orientation?"

"So when does High Command actually command?"

"Don't know, but this presentation has the Captains from the Hood and Exeter present. They won't be on world for another several months. I need to speak with them," Bex slides on her boots.

Kuade clamors to his feet, "I'm not following you, Sam. This exam needs to take priority, not schmoozing with the higher-ups. If you fail this test again, you will have to retake the class."

"Why do you care so much about my personal life? Shouldn't you be more interested in solving my case?"

"Are you not my client? Should I not, as your consultant, be concerned with your well-being?"

"You're crossing the line..." Bex attempts to smooth down her short, unkempt hair over her thick scar, "I'm only going to listen in to the speech for a few minutes. I'll be out in time for the test. Promise."

Kuade takes Bex by the shoulders and looks at his ward seriously, "I don't believe you. You're up to something, Sam Bex. Do you even want to be in Starfleet? You don't seem to put any effort into your studies... Am I being hustled by you?"

Bex frowns playfully, "No," she heads down the hall and turns, "Don't worry so much, Detective. You'll wrinkle your coat."

Kuade pats down his mustard colored sports coat and ponders a bit.

Bex sprints down to the main auditorium hall which is a beautifully constructed marbled fortress with fountain art that she can only describe as "Neo-Neo-Greek". Red cadet uniforms contrast against the pristine white marble and drones trim the hedges and grass.

"Future officers of Starfleet," a dark skinned Vulcan introduces in the main hall, "It is my honor to introduce, Captain Katrina Cornwell of the flagship USS Enterprise."

The auditorium erupts with the polite applause from about 10,000 cadets and officers. On the stage sit several starship captains and admirals in their full ceremonial regalia. Bex steals a seat by the top of the stairs. Captain Cornwell steps up to her podium with a humble smile. Her gray hair rests straightened to perfection without a strand out of place. She speaks with great candor.

"Thank you, Admiral Terral. Every year, I am invited to address Starfleet's newest cadets. I am asked to direct them down the path that empties into the void of wonders that is our galaxy. Every year, my heart grows fuller as I look around this auditorium. I see the faces of our next generation of scientists, adventurers, and leaders. I am reminded of my younger self and my naiveté of what I thought I would find in those stars. Never could I have imagined the magnificence and the terror that awaited me. Luckily, I'm here to prepare you for such sights.

"Starfleet is more than just the exploration of the greatest frontier," she speaks in a more serious tone, "We are the Federation's first contact with undiscovered civilizations. We serve as its diplomats, its champions and its first line of defense. For every new species Starfleet encounters, for every new religion, language, technology, we put ourselves at risk that our next encounter will not be so friendly. This is why every starship in our fleet is equipped not only to examine new avenues of science and anthropology but to defend itself against those who seek to destroy it. Whether that threat is from Klingons or a dying star, we must step up to protect any and all peaceful civilizations in need, no matter the odds. We are not just pioneers. We are heroes."

Bex's composure drops and a lead ball forms in her stomach.

Cornwell smiles and speaks more casually, "A good example, a few weeks ago, I was on route to the Andorian system when my passenger shuttle flew too close to a black hole. It was the helmsman's first day," she jokes and the auditorium laughs softly, "We slipped passed the event horizon and rescue seemed impossible. Luckily, my First Officer, in his profound creativity, rerouted power to the Enterprise's tractor beam. He then used the reverse thrusters to pull us out of the gravitational pull so that we could be beamed back aboard safely. His ingenuity is the lifeblood of this institution. It is what all of us need in order to truly master the stars..."

Bex stares down at the floor with her elbows resting on her knees. She fidgets as if having an anxiety attack. Her knee shakes, sweat beads down her back, her hands feel cold and clammy but her face hot.

You're lying... she thinks as the Captain's words seem to go muffled in her burning ears. Up in the balcony shadows stands Kuade, arms folded, mouth stern while he stares down at his client. He can tell she is in distress as do several of the cadets seated around her.

"Hey," the woman sitting next to Bex whispers softly, "Are... are you okay? You look sick."

"...It's a big galaxy, and it's not just aliens you have to worry about," the Captain chuckles.

"Excuse me, Captain!" Bex pops up from her seat to address the speaker.

"I will take questions after the presentation," Cornwell dismisses.

"What about Donatu V?"

"Uh... I'm sorry?" Cornwell seems annoyed.

"Donatu V. There was a human prison colony stationed there. You say that every Starfleet ship is capable mounting a civilian rescue, but no such relief was ever organized for these people."

All attention turns to Bex, including Commander Beauregard sitting in the front row who is quite surprised to see her.

"I.. I'm not familiar with the Donatu V human colony," Cornwell speaks carefully, "I do know that Donatu was once occupied by Klingon combatants and as such, the Federation has classified the planet as hostile and restricted. If there were prisoners, Starfleet has protocols for extraction."

"Protocols?"

"Yes. We can't just enter enemy airspace without proper procedure," the Captain says condescendingly and the audience laughs softly.

"You laureate about altruism and bravery. Yet when given the opportunity to demonstrate such accolades, Starfleet allowed 125 prisoners to be tortured and killed over the course of 18 months!"

The auditorium murmurs in accusations and Kuade's stern expression drops. Cornwell falls silent so the Captain of the USS Hood speaks up, "Oh wu-wait, now. There were only 50 prisoners on Donatu V."

"Oh, so you know about this, Captain?" Commander Beauregard accuses from the audience.

"That's right," Bex corrects with cynicism, "The USS Exeter was the first to answer our transmission when we were still 125 strong but accused us of being in arms with the Klingons. Then your ship sir, the USS Hood, ignored our pleas and the Klingons slaughtered over half of us again. Then it was the USS Farragut and the Excalibur," Bex points to each of the captains on the stage, "Every time we sent out our distress call, we risked exposing our location to the Klingons. We went from 125 to 53, to 27, until there was only ten of us left. You had almost two years to figure out a timetable for rescue but never followed through. So, pardon my frustration, sirs, but when it comes to the death of my comrades, I was hoping for something a little more thoughtful than, 'our hands were tied.'"

"I-I I'm sorry," Cornwell stammers hard in a rare moment of weakness and it causes her subordinate, Beauregard, to smile wide in disbelief, "We should discuss this in private, in my office," she recovers, "What's your name cadet?"

Bex stands tall and says with a cold bite on her tongue, "My name Samantha Bex, and I'm the only survivor of the Donatu V prison colony!" and with that, she turns and leaves the auditorium as cadets and officers gawk loudly to one another. Captain Cornwell tries to calm the audience and Commander Beauregard jumps to his feet to chase down Bex.

Bex half stomps, half runs down the main courtyard of the campus, past the Neo-Greek fountains and luxurious landscaping. She yanks her uniform's stuffy collar, ripping the fabric as she holds back hot tears.

"Cadet Bex!" a voice calls from behind, "Samantha Bex!"

Bex turns and immediately recognizes the blonde and starts stomping off again, "I don't need another tongue lashing from you, Commander."

"No, wait! Bex!" Beauregard rushes out in front and holds his arms out. He gasps for air and then looks up at her with a big opalescent smile, "You need a drink."

Bex and Beauregard laugh over bourbon in the corner of a quiet bar outside the Academy late in the evening. Kuade joins the pair but insists on Shirley Temples. He sits politely across the drunken pair as they muse about war stories and schooling, alienating the investigator from the majority of the conversation.

"...they were everywhere! Coming out the Captain's ears! It was awful! To this day, I'm still findin' hairs."

"And they're called Tribblies?" Bex giggles.

"Tribbles, Tribbles," the handsome blonde corrects, "Like, old Earth hamsters."

"Ah yes. Hamsters, the primitive Tribble," she teases.

"Primitive?" Beauregard winces and runs his fingers through his long hair, "Ahh.. shi-I'm sorry. I can't believe I called you that. I swear! I had no idea that you were actually from the past. I lose control of my mouth when I drink. It's uh, part of what got me grounded here at the academy for six months. You can kick me a little if it'll make you feel better."

"No big deal, I've heard worse," Bex assures him.

"The problem is, Mr. Beauregard is always drinking," Kuade cuts sounding a little bored.

"Ay ay, Detective," the commander reacts offended, "It's Charlie. Everyone calls me Charlie. Not Mr. Beauregard, not Chucky, and sure as hell not Charlie Beau," he then inquires of Kuade, "And uhh, Mr. Detective. Who the hell are you anyway? You gotta name?"

"Kuade."

"A last name?"

"Department of Temporal Investigations."

Charlie shakes his head and points, "Y'know. I don't think that's your real name. Not a real department either. Never heard of it. Who is this guy?"

"An avid fan of mine. I think he's in love with me," Bex teases, slurring a little on her words, "Says he's trying to help me get situated, but he's just taking advantage of my vulnerable position," she suggests with her eyes.

"Ahhh! A wellsophile," Charlie plays along, "Got himself a time traveler to squeal over. We have all kinds nowadays."

Kuade blushes hard, "I have no idea what you two are insinuating! I am a professional-"

"A professional where, exactly? You Section 31?" Charlie interrogates.

"No..." Kuade says stiffly.

"Starfleet?"

"Subsidiary."

"Who's your Captain?"

"Classified."

"Are you even a licensed PI? I don't remember you ever showing me your badge," Bex cocks an eyebrow.

"Well, of course not!" Kuade declares as if this is already well known information, "This is my very first temporal displacement investigation, Sam. You will be the litmus test I submit for approval to the Federation Board! Dependent on your successful relocation, I hope to become an official agent, so that I may lend my skills in the decontamination of this timeline!"

"Ohhhh..." Bex sucks in air, "That's uhhh lotta pressure. You should've told me how important my part was..."

Kuade's eyes widen.

"Okay, okay. Be honest now," Charlie asks jokingly, "How bad you failin' your classes?"

She grimaces.

"It can't be that bad," Kuade says in horror.

Bex and Charlie laugh hysterically. The detective is not happy to see his client is such a lush.

"I'm ahead in combat training," Bex offers as condolences, but Kuade closes his eyes and sighs with grief.

"More brawn than brains, huh?" Charlie winks.

"Mm-hm. Well, I mean," she says while swallowing a burp, "I am a bit over my head here. I feel a bit like a kid from the bottle rocket club visiting NASA."

Charlie hits his fist on the table and cackles.

"Samantha Bex! You should've told me you were funny. We coulda done this sooner," he flirts as he refills her shot glass with bourbon from his pint.

Bex shrugs modestly, "A skill I picked up."

Charlie's smile twitches a little, "Yeah? Picked that up on Donatu?"

Her expression drops and the atmosphere grows a little chilly.

"Is that where also you got the... the," he motions to the head.

She blushes as she touches her scar, "My crown?"

"Helluva battle trophy. Wish I had something as nice. The only thing I got from fightin' Klingons is an unquenchable thirst for liquor," he salutes with this glass and leans back in the booth, "So, you goin' back to Starfleet in the mornin'?"

Bex shrugs weakly, "Being in the future, I do have new opportunities to explore... such as the galaxy. I've only seen a small bit of it, but maybe there are more hospitable planets out there."

"There are, but you dun have to join Starfleet to go see 'em."

"Maybe then, I just joined because I wanted answers."

"Did you get any answers?" Kuade finally has something to do and he switches on his tricorder.

"Unfortunately," she replies coldly.

"How many ships?" Charlie asks Bex.

"Hn?"

"How many ships intercepted your transmission?"

"Six."

"Six!"

"Or-seven, if you count the one that actually saved me. All were within range. All had the power to penetrate the barrier and mount a rescue," Bex speaks soft and slow, "But... for almost two years, I had to lie to my crew-my family, as to why those ships refused to help. Rescue was the only motivation we had left to keep fighting. So, I lied, because Starfleet thought it better to honor a non-aggression pact that barred their ships from entering orbit... 124 people... killed by red tape..."

Charlie's face goes white.

Kuade looks up from his notes, "A trolley problem," he says grim and sets down his tricorder, "If you could save five lives at the expense of one by switching the tracks of a runaway train, could you do it?"

"That little ethics problem is on the final exit exam," Charlie points out, "Starfleet is at risk of startin' another war with the Klingons. Better to sacrifice the lives of the few for the survival of millions."

"I understand the logic behind their decision but doesn't help the bad taste in my mouth... Had I'd known how fruitless our efforts were, I would've spared my friends the burden of having any hope..." Bex moves to take a sip of her bourbon, but pauses, "In the end a Vulcan saved me," she downs the rest of the shot.

Charlie takes a deep breath and raises his mug, "To Bex's crew."

Kuade smiles meekly and raises his glass.

"Had I been on one of those ships..." Charlie nods slowly to himself after downing his drink, "I would've gone after you. I mean it. Don't matter what pact the Federation writes or what protocol the Prime Directive suggests... When someone's hurtin', you save 'em," he shrugs, "That simple. Starfleet used to be that simple, but it's too big now... lost its thoughtfulness..."

The table goes quiet while the three take a long quiet moment musing over thoughts of failure and disappointment.

Charlie chuckles to himself, "Hey," he gives his new friend a wild look, "You wanna do somethin' stupid?"

"Ughaah... Loralee! Loree!" Around midnight, Charlie falls through an open window on the second floor of a Starfleet dormitory. His calls for a woman named Loralee are muffled in the shag carpet as he fails to find his footing. His boot is caught in the curtains and he's making quite a bit of noise. Officers peek out their doorways and gawk when they see the blonde haired cowboy well known throughout campus.

"Charlie!" A beautiful woman with long braided hair and black eyes tiptoes out of her room in a bathrobe, "What are you doing here?" she snaps at him, but her voice is naturally sweet sounding. She pulls the drunkard to his feet and the blushing officers in the hall giggle and return to their rooms.

"Loralee... you gotta stop me," he sniffs and wipes his nose, "Imma 'bout to do somethin' really stupid."

"Oh no," the Betazoid regrets picking him off the floor, "I don't want any part. Go back to your apartment, Charlie. I'm not bailing you out again."

"No no no... Not prison. I'm not gonna live through this one. I'm done. It's over."

"Charlie. Charlie!" the young woman takes her old friend by the collar, scared by thoughts she sees swirling in his mind, "You've been drinking again and you're letting your insecurities get the best of you."

"No no! I'm gonna do it! I mean it! I'm gonna leave Starfleet," he swallows hard and takes a dramatic step back, "If they ain't gonna give me a Starship, Imma steal one myself. And if Cornwell doesn't like it, she can-"

"She can chase you down and shoot you herself. Yes," the woman interrupts, "I've heard this song a thousand times already."

Charlie smiles, "It's the way I've always wanted to die... 'Cept, now I might have a chance of outrunning that quack. I found someone as stupid as me," Charlie turns to Bex who has quietly slipped past the curtains only moderately intoxicated, "Lieutenant Loralee Roh.. meet Cadet Samantha Bex, the 21st-century human!"

Roh doesn't say anything, but shyly tightens the knot on her robe once she realizes Charlie's not alone.

"I know..." he notices his friend's disappointment, "Helluva century to live in."

"Are you done singing your swan song, because I have drills in the morning," Roh folds her arms and tries to look cross, but comes off only slightly inconvenienced.

"Why are they still makin' you do drills? You're a damned Lieutenant and the best pilot I know! You should be in the air flyin' not running on the ground doin' drills,"

"I've been accused of showing sympathy towards the enemy," she lifts an eyebrow in accusation.

"Hey hey, listen listen," he throws his arm around her petite shoulders and points at her chest, "Pilot..." points to himself, "Captain," he swings his arm out to Bex, "Security officer..."

"Ugh! Ah.. uuff!" Kuade falls through the window, stands quickly to his feet and smooths out any wrinkles in his coat and hair, "Uhh... DTI Agent, Detective Kuade."

"...science officer," Charlie affirms, "All I need is an industrial sized medkit and I got every station," Charlie throws his arms wide, "My motley crew of unlikely personalities! Everything you need to run a Starship."

"A small one maybe. Can you two even shoot?"

Bex and Kuade answer with a shake of their heads.

"Easy fix, easy fix. Shootin's easy."

The empath huffs and knits her brows. His inebriated emotions mix in with her's and she struggles to distinguish between them.

Charlie gently cups her cheeks and brings his face closer to hers, "Feel me... I've been wantin' to do this for a looong time... We've talked about this. Planned it. Starfleet ain't the same no more. It's bloated. Restrictive. Stodgy. Nothing but banquet halls and meetings and kowtowing to the Vulcans. Meanwhile, no one notices the Klingons mowin' down moon colonies and passenger's vessels, 'cause everyone's so tied up in the big picture. It ain't the blustrius Starfleet my grandfathers knew. It ain't the Starfleet I was promised," he voice goes soft, "It ain't the Starfleet I promised you."

Roh's inhibitions begin to fail. The empath drinks in her suffering friend's emotions and her black eyes begin to quiver.

"I wanna help people. I want... to be a hero like my old man and his old man and his old man," he drops his hands from her cheeks, "Or so be it I might not be able to wait for Cornwell to pull the trigger."

The Betazoid takes a deep breath and gazes at Charlie in his worst drunken stupor yet. Never has she seen an officer less ready to command, less in control of his emotions. He won't even make it out of the system.

"Starfleet's been a big disappointment for me, too..." she rubs her forehead and sighs, "But, you need to sober up first."

Charlie drinks a strange blue gel from a medicinal bag as he runs along the side wall of a large hangar bay on the edge of campus. He squeezes the last of the sobering solutions from the pouch and tosses it on the ground in favor of his phaser. It's four in the morning, Los Angeles time. Most of the Academy is busy readying for the day's drills. Security is at its weakest this hour.

Charlie peers around the corner as Roh slides up next to him.

"I need to get into the main bay to open the hangar doors."

"Do you have the clearance?"

"Yeah, the problem is the guards."

Roh breaths hard as her heart suddenly begins to race, "Charlie, I don't... feel right. My head won't stop spinning and I can't stop sweating. I don't think this is possible. We're going to fail."

"You're in my head, Lieutenant," he says smoothly, "Get out and focus on your own emotions, not mine."

She closes her eyes and takes a couple of deep breaths.

"That's good," he gives her an encouraging smile, "How many guards are we lookin' at?"

After a moment of feeling her surroundings, "Five. Two at the front of the main hangar doors, and three inside. They're armed."

Charlie lifts a small receiver to his mouth, "You get all that?"

"Yeah," Bex answers a little breathless.

"Where are you?"

"Roof. There's an opened ventilation shaft up here."

"Perfect. We'll have to take out both groups of guards at the same time otherwise we risk someone callin' for backup. Loralee will go around to the other side of the building. On my mark, the pair of us will take out the guards in front. Bex, I need you to slip down into the hangar and take out all three of the guards around the ship."

"All three?" Bex hesitates, "...okay."

"I'll need you to signal me when you're in position. They will have phaser rifles, so you need to try and get behind them and stay close. Their weapons are useless in close combat. Once the guards out front are down, I'll enter through the pedestrian access and use my clearance to open the main doors. We'll have less than two minutes to get the ship up and runnin' once they're open. Is everything clear?"

"Roger," Bex affirms.

"Set phasers to stun."

"Good luck," Roh whispers before disappearing around the backside of the building.

Charlie takes a deep breath and leans against the wall. He's had a death grip on his phaser for the past several minutes. He relaxes and stretches his fingers and notices a very strong tremor in his dominant hand.

Bex crawls slowly to the ventilation window up top the hangar building. It's warm this night and the cooling system blows full blast, creating a cloud of steam. She could use this to her advantage and slip down. There's an access ramp about 12 feet below the vent opening that leads to a two-story staircase. She can hide behind the supply crates at the landing of the stairs. She just needs to wait for the three pacing guards to be positioned to the far side of the ship. That way a blind spot is formed and-

"I hope you know how unorthodox this is," Kuade whispers in Bex's ear.

"GAHH! What are you doing here!?" she snaps.

"Observing and documenting your progress with readjusting to the 23rd century. My current assessment is not good!" his giant brown eyes grow wide with annoyance.

"Then why don't you alert Starfleet security? You could be charged as an accomplice, you know. I thought you wanted to be an investigator."

"No, as a matter of fact, I rather loathe that job prospect at the moment," he hisses, "You're not making this easy for me, Sam. You were supposed to stay in Starfleet and graduate with an earned spot on a Starship. Not a stolen one."

"But you still haven't tried to stop me," Bex leans over the window to check the guards' positions.

Kuade grits his teeth and pulls her back, "I... I can't. I can't interfere with your choices. It's against the rules."

"What rules?"

"THE rules. The rules that govern all of time and space. I cannot hinder nor force you to do anything. I can try and reason with you, but it is ultimately up to you what you want to do with the rest of your life. If you want to play hero with a drunken cowboy and a telepathically immature Betazoid, I can only reiterate to you how bad of an idea that is!"

"Sam! You still there?" Charlie checks in.

Bex smiles and puts a hand on Kuade's shoulder, "Thank you for your input, detective," and with her confidence restored, she swings down through shaft and lands with a rather loud thud. Luckily, the AC vents are humming and she can quickly crouch down the runway and stairs without detection. At about halfway down the steps, she hops over the railing to land behind several large supply crates.

She pants hard from having to take shallow breaths on the way down. A gap between the crates serves as her spy hole. The ship she's assisting in liberating is not exactly a StarSHIP per say, more like a very large shuttle. It's a Nova-class prototype scout ship about 100 meters long, shaped like an arrowhead, with smoothed edges and deep navy blue finish. It's also stealth and Cornwell's personal favorite.

"I'm in position."

"Right... You give the signal," Charlie instructs.

Bex's heart flutters a little when she hears this. Giving her the command to initiate an attack isn't really supposed to be some great showing of respect, but why does it make her so nervous? A cloud of doubt rumbles above her head and sobers her thoughts.

What the hell am I doing? I'm about to commit grand larceny with Charlie of all people! Wouldn't it be so funny if Charlie, the man who was a jerk to me before, convinced me to steal a spacecraft in some convoluted attempt at hazing? Does hazing even still exist in the 23rd century?

The lost time traveler mulls these thoughts over in her mind as she watches her target through the crates. The two officers on the opposite side of the ship have their back turned as they talk. The third officer lazily paces around the closer side and then turns to look at the ship.

"Now!" she gives the signal before her brain really commits to the idea. Clamoring over the crates, she sets her phaser to stun but doesn't trust her aim, so rushes over to the first officer and shoots point blank in the neck. Momentum still going, she slides under the ship just as the other two officers alert to the muffled shout of their comrade. She punches one officer in the face and elbows the other. They tussle around a bit as the guards' guns are too bulky to be properly used so close to their target. The smaller of the officer blacks out first, but the second stumbles back, gripping tightly to consciousness so that he can call for backup.

POOOAWW!

Charlie shoots a stunned bolt into the officer's chest from an impressive 100 feet away. A wave of relief washes over Bex when she sees both him and Roh sprint across the bay.

"Come on! Get that ship open!" he demands and sprints up the steps that lead to the control room.

Bex rounds the ship and falters a bit. She never finished basic training and thus, has no idea how to open a cargo bay door.

"It's there!" Roh scampers over and pulls a lever on the underside and a ramp begins to open to the belly of the ship.

Meanwhile, Charlie beats his fingers into a control panel, frantically searching for the correct icon needed, "Computer! Open hangar bay doors!"

"Voice confirmation," the computer requests.

"Commander Charles Beauregard the Fourth of Starship USS Enterprise!"

"Access denied."

"What? Do it again! Commander Charles Beauregard of the USS Enterprise!"

"Access denied."

"Ahh, dammit, Cornwell!"

Roh jumps from station to station inside the ship, switching on panels of lights and schematics as the engines begin their howl.

"Roh! Get those photon torpedoes ready tah fire!" Charlie hails this ship over the comm system.

"Torpedos?" the young pilot questions in confusion.

Charlie slides down the stair railing and shouts at the ship, "We're gonna have to blow the damn doors open!" the cowboy then runs between the various supply walls and steals boxes of medkits, tools, and weapons. Bex helps with this effort but is thwarted by none other than Kuade.

"Whoa, whoa!" the detective pulls Bex off the loading ramp, "Where are you going? You can't get on that ship!"

"Wha-Kuade!?"

"You could go to prison for life, Samantha, or worse, Charlie could get you killed! Stay in Starfleet! Complete the program."

"And then what? Let some other captain get me killed if I don't age out of the Academy first?"

"Then go somewhere else! Find work here on Earth and settle down. Just live your life in peace. You've already had your adventure."

"I've only stepped off this planet once and it was absolute hell."

"C'mon, Bex! What's the holdup?" Charlie shouts as he climbs the ramp.

"Answer me this, Detective Kuade. Is there any possible chance that I can go back home? To my time?"

Kuade's eyes widen and his mouth drops open, but he does not answer.

"Bex! Get on the ship!" Charlie demands.

"Your hesitation speaks volumes, detective," Bex turns to go up the ramp, but Kuade stops her once more.

He holds her by the arms, squeezing firmly as he struggles to explain, "It's not that it's impossible to get you back... It's just that... there are rules," he shakes his head, "It could ruin everything!"

"Then I have my answer. I'm sorry, Kuade. I know you wanted to wrap this up quickly and move on to your next case, but Starfleet didn't work out."

The engine kicks up and blows dust and wind at the arguing pair.

"Cooome ooooon!" Charlie yells.

"You're my only case!" Kuade yells over the roar of the engines.

"What!?" Bex blocks her eyes from debris.

"I have no other clients! You're the first reintroduction case study!"

"If that's true, then how can any of this be unorthodox? No ones' set the standard yet!"

Kuade smiles a little at her response.

The cargo ramp begins to retract and Bex steps up onto it leaving Kuade behind in the wind storm. She turns back to look at him and watches his perfectly parted hair and pressed suit tear in the wind, but he doesn't seem to mind.

"Enjoy being the third wheel!" Kuade shouts as the cargo ramp door shuts, although a smile still crosses his face.

The defeated detective backs away from the ship as it's torpedo cannons light up and blasts four orange wads of heat and energy at the hangar bay doors. The entire building booms and shakes violently, but when the dust clears, the doors a merely dented.

Charlie and his crew sit cockeyed in their seats and stare for a moment in disbelief. It's going to take several rounds to break through.

"...a-again!" Charlie demands.

"Someone probably heard that..." Bex points out.

"This isn't going to work!" Roh complains under her breath but continues to ready the cannons.

"Well then, get those torpedos ready to fire on whoever they sic on us!"

Bex unfastens her harness and sets her phaser to kill. She exhales as she realizes that she may have to fight her way out of Starfleet.

"Voice confirmation," the computer requests over the shuttle's comm.

"Detective Kuade, Agent for the Department of Temporal Investigation."

"Confirmed."

The hangar bay doors slowly open causing debris to dislodge from the ceiling. Bex stands from her seat to look out the top of the bridge window. Kuade smiles down at her from the control room with an pride in his eyes.

The Cargo bay door opens just far enough to allow the detective to climb aboard with a little bit of Bex's help. His suit now torn and his hair sticking up from the engine blast.

"I like the look," Bex pokes fun, "But I thought you weren't supposed to interfere."

"Well," Kuade leans on his elbow while lying on the shuttle floor, "My probationary position does come with some TS clearance, and I can't very well let you rot in prison," he huffs with a grin.

"He's curious," Roh pipes up over the comm as the ship slowly ascends up and out of the hangar, "I can feel him from here. He wants to see what will happen."

Kuade's eyes go big and his cheeks go flush.

"Better strap in, you two," Charlie warns through the comm, "We're gonna have to warp our way outta here. Oh! And welcome to the USS Marquis," he turns to his pilot, "Rumor says this ship comes equipped with an experimental multi-warp hyperdrive. I say we try this feature out. Commander Roh, warp factor 8! Let's fly!" he exclaims as armored Starfleet officers flood the hangar, unloading their rifles at the departing ship.

The Marquis engines burn hot with blue as the Marquida take off like a bat out of Starfleet hell and into space. The thunder of the engines quickly passes and replaced with the wail of hundreds of campus alarms.