The Adventures of Augment Gothic (A Star Trek SI)

by Joe Lawyer

A present-day Star Trek fan is forcibly thrust into that dimension and made anew as an Augment, a genetically engineered superman, on the whim of a mischievous god. Armed with knowledge of this dimension's past and future, he's determined to live well, have fun with alien women, and make it look easy. Elements of DS9/TNG/Voy/Ent. Originally co-written with GothicJedi666.

44. Chapter 44

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to or part of Star Trek.

Last time on The Adventures of Augment Gothic

"Understood," I replied with a sigh. Guess that was to be expected given the shit ton of data to be analyzed and my armor's systems, while impressive, weren't on par with the resources I could bring to bear from my external sources. It was a long time, but without something to justify moving up the timetable I was unwilling to risk my ship or my crew's safety by giving Jarvis additional processing resources. "I guess it's time to introduce myself to Max! Jarvis, prepare a comprehensive report for Hermione and Natasha. Have T'Maz ready the ship and bring weapons online to target the drone ship, but otherwise take no action."

With that statement, my g-man suit was transported into my matter buffer and my armor fully deployed, even covering my face and mouth. I pulled my sidearm from my armpit holster and let it magnetically attach to my lower thigh. The thought of fully arming myself occurred to me, but I really didn't want to send the wrong message.

"Beam me to the drone ship," I ordered.

"Sir, should I continue hiding your presence from the native security systems?" Jarvis asked.

Huh.

"Now that is a very good question, Jarvis," I mused thoughtfully. My goal in each universe was not only to enrich myself, but to cause chaos and so far I had only caused 40% of my total goal. Maybe it was time to say 'fuck it' and throw caution to the wind. With an evil smile, I made my decision. "No, let them see what I'm about to do."

A moment later, I was whisked away by a transporter beam.

XXXXX

The instant I materialized in front of the drone ship, a green colored high energy beam began scanning me. The scanning beam was so strong that it was visible to the naked eye and scanned me from head to toe several times over. My personal shield was up, but I did nothing to stop the ship from scanning from me, nor did I draw the weapon resting on my hip.

The intense energy beam showing up on their monitors must have caught the attention of the bored security guards because alarms started sounding immediately, red lights flashing all over the hangar. I ignored them for now.

At this point, I had no doubt that it recognized the advanced materials my armor was composed of, my personal shield, and the fact that I had used a matter/energy transport. While that particular capability had never shown up in the movie, I'm assuming it had that capability as well; otherwise, how else would the drone ship have retrieved David and all its samples or brought him into the ship's interior?

"Phaelon vessel, I am Admiral Gothic of the Bajoran Defense Fleet and I welcome you to Earth."

The Adventures of Augment Gothic

Chapter 44

Hangar B-6. Nasa Research Facility. Florida. Earth. Flight of the Navigator Universe.

"The Phaelon are unfamiliar with an advanced star faring race known as the Bajoran," Max's confused voice from the movie boomed out around me. Given how thoroughly they had mapped the Milky Way galaxy, his confusion was understandable. It wasn't likely that they'd have missed a race with the capabilities I'd shown. "Your DNA profile, however, while different in multiple fundamental ways, closely matches the native dominant species of this world, called humanity, rather than a previously unknown species. Genetic analysis suggests enhancements granted by an ascended race."

The shock on my face was not feigned at all. I knew the Phaelon were an old race, but to be able to tell that I had been altered and improved by ascended beings, which was their likely equivalent term for cosmic-level God-beings like the Q, still surprised me greatly. Apparently, I had drastically underestimated their capabilities, which was not a mistake that I could afford. Unlike Federation science, they could somehow tell that my genetic enhancements were less the work of hard science, and more the work of conceptual alterations to reality itself. Knowledge and understanding, versus finger snapping and God-like power. The Phaelon were definitely an elder race of this galaxy.

'Sir, security forces are quickly converging on your location,' Jarvis informed me privately, providing a sensor map of the surrounding area showing red dots moving in.

'Let them come,' I said, the chaos bar ticking up a few percent rather nicely.

"I am of the human species, born on Earth, but not of this dimension or reality. My new home reality is set over 300 years in the future relative to this world's timeline. In my dimension, in the centuries to come, humanity helped found a vast interstellar alliance of sentient races known as the Federation. The Bajoran are a humanoid race quite distant from Earth. I have made a home with them and protect them," I explained. There really was no reason to lie about it in this situation given the dimensional divide between us. "An ascended being started me on a journey through dimensions and this is my first stop on that journey. Are you familiar with alternate universes?"

The drone ship did not immediately respond to my question, as if it was carefully analyzing every word and carefully choosing its own words.

"The Phaelon possess the knowledge and technology to travel to other dimensions of reality, as you call it, but it was deemed too dangerous after several…mishaps…and thus was forbidden," Max explained. "It was collectively decided to focus our exploratory efforts on our own universe, which we have truly only explored a tiny fraction of."

Quite noticeably, the ship had not opened a door in its side and then produced steps for me to easily enter its interior like in the movie. Unlike David, a human child from a pre-warp civilization, I was an unknown and a potential threat, and was being treated as such. There was no way I would be granted access to the interior of the ship and its vital internal technology.

I smiled at the Phaelon's caution. I wish the Federation and other races had that level of wisdom. It was exactly the reason why I had destroyed the rift device and had gone out of my way to avoid learning more about dimensional travel and its corresponding technology. Unfortunately, Q's contemporaries were whiny little bitches and they'd inadvertently engineered the very circumstances that had forced the knowledge upon me, and now I'd have to deal with all the dangers that that entailed if it got out.

It was wise of the Phaelon to focus on the exploration of their native universe. Even with all their millennia of space travel, they hadn't even managed to fully explore all the satellite galaxies of the Milky Way galaxy itself. Their exploration, even while many hundreds of times the Federation's, was like closely examining a single grain of sand on the seashore.

I watched on my sensor map as the NASA security forces began entering the building and taking positions on the upper-level catwalks, pointing their weapons down at me, an assortment of combat rifles, shotguns, and pistols.

"STOP! You are in a restricted area! Step away from the object and identify yourself! Failure to comply will be met with lethal force!" a voice yelled from above.

Feeling annoyed at my very interesting conversation with Max being interrupted, I turned in the direction of the speaker and inclined my head. For some reason, I could tell that Max was very closely monitoring the situation to see how I would react to this seeming provocation. If I were in his position, I'd do the same. You could learn a lot from how someone reacted to a situation like this.

"Can you not see that I am having a conversation with the Phaelon ship?" I asked incredulously, nonchalantly waving my hand as I took remote control of the local security systems to turn off the sirens, lights, and alarms that were making it difficult to hear, much less think. That freaked them out rather nicely, looking around in confusion at losing control of the situation. It also nicely clued them into the fact that I wasn't just some guy who broke into the hangar. "You are being very rude."

"Step away from the object!" the man yelled again, obviously confused at my words, actions, and abilities, but defaulting to the script that he was familiar with.

With an unneeded gesture, I brought my hands together and expanded my personal shield to encompass me and part of the ship, attuned to permit no outside sound to enter the field envelope. Showmanship had a power all its own, after all. Blessed silence resulted.

Under normal circumstances expanding my armor's shield bubble this far would weaken it and make it vulnerable to sustained weapon's fire, but nothing the people of this time could reasonably fire at it would harm me, even in this weaker form.

"Please forgive the interruption, ship. The humans of this time period believed themselves to be the center of the universe and were yet unaware of other species existing."

"No apologies are needed, Admiral," Max replied genially. "Their fear is understandable and expected at their present level of technological and cultural development."

"I appreciate that, ship. I believe the Phaelon are wise to focus their exploratory efforts here at home," I said. "My travel through dimensions was initially facilitated through technology, but a member of an ascended race, known as the Q Continuum, is guiding my journey now and brought me to this dimension. They are also preventing any 'mishaps' that might doom my dimension of reality, so I feel relatively safe at the moment."

"Ah, yes, that would minimize the inherent risks of blind travel through dimensions. Do you know why you were brought here, Admiral Gothic?" Max asked curiously. He was a drone ship created for exploration after all. Curiosity was probably a core aspect of his programming. "The Phaelon's experience with such beings have shown them to be capricious and mercurial at the best of times, but they rarely do anything without purpose, even if that purpose is hard or impossible to discern by the mortal races who are bound by the restrictions of linear time."

"In my home reality, the events of this time, your interaction with David, the human child you brought to Phaelon and back, the losing of your star charts needed to return home, were all part of a movie, a story that inspired me and effected the course of my life in ways that I had not fully understood or appreciated until now," I explained freely. "The Ascended being who brought me here knew this and I have already profited from this visit."

Several long pregnant moments of silence ensued. I could practically feel the immense computational power of the ship as it bent its considerable artificial mind to discerning the meaning of my words, both hidden and otherwise.

"You have accessed the technical information that was implanted into the human child's mind as an experiment, to test the current state and storage capacity of the human brain," Max guessed correctly. "That knowledge was meant to be removed upon the child's reinsertion into his native environment lest he bring your planet to ruin with knowledge that they were not ready for."

"I suspected as much, and yes, I have already downloaded that information from David's mind," I freely admitted, gearing myself up for a fight, but somehow knowing it wouldn't come to that for some reason.

Several pregnant moments of silence ensued. My focused attention remained on the ship to see if there would be any attempts to retrieve the information I'd stolen, but none came. The only thing that did happen was several of the more courageous NASA security forces stepping up to the shield perimeter I was projecting and tapping it with the barrel of their guns. When they felt a solid invisible wall of force and nothing harmed them, they began probing the field fully with their hands. They looked ridiculous, like mimes dressed as security officers, touching the classic invisible wall. In this case, though, it was actually there. Thankfully, they hadn't shot at it yet, but I suspected that that would come the longer this dragged on. If these were true military forces, they'd probably have already done that, but these were NASA civilian security forces and were thus a little slower on the trigger due to the difference in training and mentality.

"Standard operational protocols would direct me to retrieve any advanced Phaelon technical knowledge inadvertently disseminated or taken by a less advanced race, however, the level of technology present in your armor and upon the starship I have detected in orbit grants me discretion in this matter. Standing directives also strongly support not taking any action that interferes with the actions of an ascended being or race, lest we invite their attention," Max explained. "You may retain the knowledge you have already taken, but further technical information will not be shared willingly."

So Max had detected my ship in orbit, even while under cloak. I suspected that he hadn't turned his impressive sensors into orbit until I had unexpectedly shown up. There has simply been no reason to before given the limited technology of this world.

"You don't curse and rage at the hurricane, you merely get out of its way and let it pass," I said.

"Quite," it responded tersely. "Will you freely give us the technical information necessary for this vessel to return to Phaelon?"

My greedy, more mercenary side, acted up in that moment, pleading with me to bargain for more Phaelon technology, but the drone ship's capabilities had already surprised me a few times in this conversation, and I had no desire to test what it might do if pushed into a proverbial corner, even with its standing directive against arousing the attention of so-called ascended beings. Q could easily show up at any minute and give it the go ahead to do whatever it wanted, knowing how Q thrived on chaos.

"I will," I answered.

While I could initiate a direct link up to the drone ship to affect the data transfer, that would be monumentally stupid for a myriad number of reasons. As many, many episodes of Star Trek had taught me, you don't directly interface with advanced alien technology of unknown capabilities unless you absolutely had to. Doing so was just begging for disaster.

'Jarvis, prepare a data packet with the Phaelon star charts necessary for the drone ship to return home, be generous with the surrounding map data, 30 light year radius around ideal direct course," I commanded.

'Understood, sir. Time to completion is 12 seconds,' he replied before the stated time elapsed. 'Packet is ready.'

Holding up my hand, palm up, I commanded my armor to produce a large, Federation-style mass storage device with the data packet Jarvis had prepared stored on it.

"The information necessary to return to Phaelon is contained in this mass storage device, please feel free to interface with it and take the information contained within," I offered.

Moments later the device beeped, signaling it had been accessed and the information stored within had been downloaded. I had thought that it would take longer for the drone ship to recognize the alien storage medium and figure how to access it, but again I was surprised. Stifling my greed was looking like it had been the right choice.

"Is this data enough for you to return home to Phaelon?" I asked.

"Yes, thank you," the ship responded.

"While it may be possible for us to return David, the human boy you took, to his native time, I would request that you do so," I stated.

"The Phaelon normally return samples taken to the moments immediately after we took them, however, our comprehensive analysis has indicated that this might be dangerous for the human physiology of this current era," Max replied. "He may not survive the journey."

"I can assure you that he will be fine. I have already seen it," I reassured.

"Returning to that time may also lead to the collapse of this current timeline," Max warned.

"I think it's safe to say that Q will not allow that to happen," I again reassured.

"Compliance."

With Max's agreement, I locked on to David and beamed him directly into the hangar. He was in his pajamas and began looking around fearfully. It was tough to tell whether he was more frightened of me and my armor, the hundred or so security personnel surrounding us with drawn guns, or the alien ship in front of him. When I had shown myself in this hangar, the alarms caused them to open David's room to check that he was still there, so thankfully he was already awake.

I retracted my helmet for him to see my human face. Thankfully, as a species, humanity responded more favorably to the familiar and to good looking people. I was willing to use every advantage I had in this situation.

"David, you have nothing to fear from me or anybody else," I softly assured the boy. "Please try to calm yourself down so that I can make an offer that you will really want to hear."

With his eyes full of unshed tears, a deep breath and a fearful nod, was his only response. I'd take what I could get.

"Do you want to go home? To return to the night that you were taken 8 years ago?" I asked gently.

He nodded eagerly, but dubiously. His trust in adult authority figures had taken a major hit with his recent experiences.

"If you get on the ship, you will be taken back in time. You will wake up in the forest near your house and when you walk out of it, no time at all will have passed. It will be 1978 again. Your brother will be younger than you again, you'll be back in your old home in Florida, and you'll have a story that no one will ever believe. Would you like that?"

"What's the catch?" he asked in his 12-year-old, child-like voice. It seems that David had found a little of his old courage.

"You're wise beyond your years to ask that, but in this particular case, there is no catch," I said with a smile, before gesturing to the alien ship. "This is a starship, it will take you home to your time. I promise. You have nothing to fear."

He nodded again, turning to look at the ship as an opening formed in the ship's hull and those familiar steps from the movie formed and hung suspended in midair. He looked at me again, as if asking for permission. I suppose I was the only friendly, human adult face he'd seen since being beamed in, so it was normal to look to me for my approval and guidance. I nodded.

"Why help me?" he asked, a bit of his incredulity showing through.

"You're not going to understand me when I say this, but in several meaningful ways I stole much of the great story of your life," feeling bittersweet in this moment. In some ways I had stolen something precious from him. "Your story, your journey, the one you should have had, inspired me as a kid. It sparked my sense of wonder and my love of science fiction, those things led me to where I am today, living a life of adventure among the stars. Returning you to your time is the least I could do considering how thoroughly I've interfered in your story."

"I don't understand," he replied slowly, now at the top of the stairs.

"I know," I quietly responded with a sad smile, gesturing with my head for him to go inside the ship, but choosing not to say anything more.

David's presence had likely kept the security personnel surrounding me in check because as soon as David had stepped into the starship and the opening had flowed back into place to seal the ship again, they opened fire on me. Hundreds of bullets impacted the shield perimeter with barely a ripple, metal bullets flattening against the electrostatic forcefield then falling harmlessly to the concrete floor of the hangar, like metallic rainfall in a gentle summer shower.

Just like in the movie, the ship emitted arcs of electricity which manually activated the hangar doors, and they slid open. I helped the process by quickly pulling my sidearm and firing precision shots at each of the chains holding the ship in place, melting the chain links. The Phaelon ship slowly moved forward at a hover before the hull changed shape and it flew into the sky at great speed.

My communicator beeped urgently, and I accepted the communication.

"Captain, a ship has left the atmosphere at great speed. It does not match any ship configuration in our database and sensors are unable to penetrate its hull to reach the interior," T'Maz notified me. "What are your orders?"

"Do nothing, but continue to take full sensor scans," I ordered, looking up into the sky, feeling melancholy, lost in memories of a movie that I'd last seen as a kid. "We'll want full scans of what comes next."

"Sir?" T'Maz replied.

"The ship is emitting a tight beam of chronitons!" B'Elanna joined in. "A rift anomaly is forming in space-time. The ship is gone, captain. It entered the aperture, and the opening is slowly closing. Should we continue scanning for it?"

"Negative, that's the last we'll see of them, I suspect," I said, feeling nostalgic. "Continue scanning the aperture. If still wide enough, send a probe into the rift and continue scanning till it's destroyed."

"Understood, Captain," T'Maz replied. "Probe launched."

Sighing, I glanced around at all the hubbub around me. Inside the shield bubble total silence reigned, outside of it, though, was the sight of frenetic activity, so I attenuated my shield harmonics to allow sound through again. At the sight of my weapon firing beams of energy, the fear and alarm had ratcheted up significantly and the rate of fire also increased. While the chrome-like texture of my armor was otherworldly, and the shield I was projecting was certainly beyond their current technology to reproduce, seeing a 'ray gun' being fired, as several of them had fearfully cried out according to my sensors, must have really clued them in to the fact that while I looked like a normal human, I was anything but.

I patiently waited, looking around interestedly at all the excitement I was causing. Eventually the fire petered out.

"Oh, finally realized that all your gunfire was having absolutely zero effect?" I smiled mockingly. "It only took 1,369 bullets. Not exactly a great showing."

Silence. On the catwalk I watched as an unarmed scientist looking fellow came out from behind a protected enclosure and put a bullhorn to his mouth, looking down at me with a combination of fear and interest.

"I am Dr. Louis Faraday, head of this research facility," the man introduced. This was one of the main characters in the movie, the scientist responsible for studying David. "We welcome you to Earth, but ask who you are and what your intentions are?"

"Hello Dr. Louis Faraday, I am Admiral Gothic of the Bajoran Defense Forces," I greeted, my thoughts turning decidedly silly. "I would thank you for your welcome, but it leaves much to be desired. As for my intentions, just between us, I'm here on vacation to bang some hot human bitches, but if anyone asks, I'm here to make you aware of the larger universe, how small your petty human squabbles are over religion and oil and land, etc., etc., etc. World peace."

Total silence ensued. Several armed security officers turned to each other and mouthed 'hot human bitches?' or some variation on 'Pretty boy alien better not go after my wife/sister/girlfriend.'

In the corner of my HUD display I saw the chaos meter go up another percent to 44%.

"Uh, well, umm…" Dr. Faraday gulped glancing around at his fellow scientists, as if questioning if he had heard me correctly, looking squeamish and uncertain. Eventually he rallied and looked like he was desperately trying to forget what I had just said about banging human bitches. "Um, we apologize for our actions, but you must understand that your unexpected appearance here was provocative and frightened us," Dr. Faraday responded. "We wish nothing but good relations with the Bajoran people."

"And they want the same with you," I totally bullshitted.

"Are you associated with the Phaelon?" he asked, confirming that he had gotten something out of David's brain before I showed up.

"Never met them before today, but I knew of them," I answered, mixing lies and misdirection, with the truth. "They are an elder race in the galaxy, far more advanced than even us, but I was able to provide them with the information they needed to return home safely."

"And David? Will he be all right?" Dr. Faraday asked, to the man's credit. Perhaps he wasn't as heartless and single-minded as the movie had portrayed him.

"He was returned to his time and has spent the last 8 years with his parents," I answered, before turning stern. "I assume he's a healthy 20-year-old man now, maybe even at college. The knowledge the Phaelon placed in his mind has been removed, so do not harass him or I will be very upset. He had no choice in what happened to him."

Dr. Faraday's mouth had dropped open and was shaking slightly at the implications of what I had just said.

"Time travel is real? Are you capable of traveling through time as well?" he asked.

"Dr. Faraday, is now really the time for such questions?" I asked, gesturing dramatically around at all the armed men still pointing their guns at me.

"Of course, of course. Everyone, stand down! Lower your weapons!" the Doctor ordered.

When the security personnel reluctantly went to a standby position, I answered.

"Yes, we're capable of time travel, but an elder race like the Phaelon can do it with a lot more style, ease, and proficiency," I answered.

"I-I don't understand," the Doctor replied, looking confused.

Is this what Q felt like all the time?

"You would agree with me that a 16th century musket and a modern assault rifle, fundamentally, utilize the same underlying scientific principles, correct?" I said, Dr. Faraday nodded immediately, though my knowledge of firearms probably threw him off greatly as my knowledge had implications that he was now looking wary about. "Both are capable of firing a metal projectile at great speed and force, but the modern assault rifle is far superior at what it does in many different ways. In the centuries since the first musket, humanity has improved and refined that design to what it is today. It is the same with the Phaelon and time travel."

"I see."

"You probably don't, Doctor, but that's all right," I reassured with a smile. "Inform your President…who is your president at this time?" I asked.

"Reagan, President Ronald Reagan," Doctor Faraday answered, perhaps now confused at how I knew about the history of firearms but not who the current President of the United States was.

"Inform President Reagan that I intend to fly my starship over Washington D.C in 1 days' time and will beam myself down on the front lawn of the White House," I improvised, coming up with all this bullshit a moment before it came out of my mouth. "I will then address the world."

"The world?!" Doctor Faraday sputtered, taking off his glasses and cleaning them on his shirt. "Exposing the existence of alien life will have a profound effect on our world. We're not ready for that! Please, can you not speak with our President without exposing yourself to the whole world? I can't even imagine how the world will react to this news. It'll be pure chaos!"

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm hoping for," I said with a grin.

"Warn President Reagan I'll be coming around noon tomorrow," I said, just before I beamed away.

Getting the last word was a powerful thing.

XXXXX

The look on B'Elanna's face as I reappeared on one of my ship's transporter pads told me exactly what she was thinking. I could practically hear the admonishments. 'The Prime Directive! Interference in the natural development of this world and culture! CONSEQUENCES! Etc., etc., etc.'

I know I shouldn't be surprised that she, of all my crew, was the one who wanted to lay into me for what I was doing, but somehow I was. She was the poster child for anti-authoritarian rebel in Star Trek: Voyager, yet on this ship, with its unique band of misfits, she may as well have been a Federation recruiter. It was not a role I think she relished, but with no one else willing to speak up and challenge me, she had taken on the role of Federation naysayer.

It certainly wasn't going to be T'Maz or Neela. T'Maz was a patriot who would stoically lay down her life for the safety of the Federation, but she was a realist and a pragmatist and had probably done a whole lot worse than what I was currently doing. In her mind, she was probably thinking that this wasn't her native dimension, that this was my ship, and that I was both her Captain and someone she trusted enough to make the right decisions. Given Q's involvement, a super wild card if there ever was one, she was probably happy to follow my lead, not knowing how to deal with a being that logic seemingly had no hold over.

Neela, on the other hand, was a Bajoran freedom fighter and had never undergone Federation indoctrination. In fact, the horrors that Bajor had experienced the last 50 or so years at the hands of the Cardassians were largely because the Federation had not cared enough to 'interfere' while their world was raped, and their people were murdered wholesale. She couldn't care less what I did or what truths I shared with Earth, even if they were pre-warp at this point in the timeline. She believed me when I said that the Federation was vitally important in keeping the Cardassians from returning. She'd follow my lead here. We'd shed blood together and I had never steered her wrong before.

I cut off B'Elanna before she could even begin, "We've had this conversation already, B'Elanna. The Prime Directive does not apply. This is not our dimension. This is not our Earth. This ship is not a Federation vessel. We are here because a God-like being wanted us here. Wanted us to cause chaos."

"We have no idea how making them aware of the larger galaxy will change the course of their history or natural development, Gothic!" she exclaimed, mostly ignoring my words. For this conversation I guess I wasn't going to be addressed by my captain title. "I have been learning their history these past couple days, monitoring their communications. They aren't ready for that truth! They're too divided!"

"At this point in our native dimension's history, Earth was in the midst of the Eugenics Wars. The species on track to destroying itself," I argued. "Their history is very different from our native Earth's history. I think they'll do better."

"You don't know that, Gothic! You're not a God!" she yelled. "But you are acting like another Augment who thought he was a God, one who killed tens of millions of humans because he thought he knew better than everyone else."

My breath caught at her words and my anger began to build as the silence between us grew more heated and simultaneously more cold. Being compared to Khan was not something I relished or appreciated given how much effort I put into living my life as an example of what an Augment could be, in contrast to that of Khan and the other augments who had sullied the name for centuries after they were gone. I had helped and saved people, I had used my metaknowledge to improve the universe that was my home in a myriad number of ways, I was a hero and legend on both Bajor and Kessik IV. She had no right to say these things to me.

"We can try to dimension jump again—" she started before my closed fist impacted the duranium panel that lined the transporter room's wall with a terrible groan of distressed metal. The duranium the panel was made of had collapsed inwards and a stamped outline of my closed fist was imprinted in the metal itself.

I slowly pulled my hand back in surprise at what I had done unconsciously, silently gazing at the result. If that had been flesh and blood, I would have killed someone. With that realization, my anger deflated out of me like a punctured balloon.

I glanced at B'Elanna and saw that she had taken a few steps back from me, fearfully. Her coming to fear me was definitely not something I wanted. I sighed quietly and tried to repair this.

"I'm sorry, B'Elanna, forgive me," I apologized, my eyes downcast.

She nodded uncertainly.

"We can't use the dimension jump technology to return home," I said, feeling a little defeated. "It's not an option. We were brought here by Q and that's the only way we'll be allowed to leave. We need to…cause a certain amount of chaos in each universe before we will be allowed to leave. So unless you want to stay in this dimension for the rest of your life, you are going to need to trust me here. It's the only way we'll get home."

"What do you mean you 'need to cause chaos'?" she asked, looking like I was crazy.

"There is a lot of metaphysical stuff behind it that Q tried to explain to me once, but to summarize, chaos and order are both needed for a healthy universe," I explained. "Q is an agent of that Chaos in some ways, and he's given me a way to measure the chaos I'm causing in the universes he's sending us to."

"Where are we at right now in that…measurement?" she asked, sounding like she thought I might be crazy, but was at least open to hearing more because this was Q of all beings and thus conventional logic was off taking a long vacation.

"44%. If we get to 100% we'll be allowed to move on," I replied shortly. "I have a plan to get the rest and it doesn't involve giving the natives of Earth of this time any advanced technology that they can use to kill themselves more efficiently. So don't worry about that kind of thing."

Several moments of weighty silence followed where B'Elanna looked at me intently, as if trying to gauge the sincerity of my words and whether or not she should trust me.

"Don't fuck this up, Gothic," she said, before turning on her heel and walking out the swishing doors of the transporter room we were in.

As the doors fully swished shut, I let out a breath of relief. Again, this whole conversation had surprised me. I just assumed that my crew would help me do what I wanted with no argument or protest. What a fool I had been.

"Natasha," I called out softly.

Natasha, looking exactly like a young Scarlett Johansson in her black leather Black Widow garb, appeared in front of me with a blank look on her face.

"I'm assuming you heard all that," I asked, looking her in the eyes. My digital daughters may not be flesh and blood, but I could still read their moods and Natasha was definitely looking angry on my behalf. I was their father and Creator and they would not have liked the way that B'Elanna had just spoken to me or the distrust and disloyalty they'd have perceived in her words.

She nodded tersely in response.

"Watch B'Elanna closely until further notice," I ordered, feeling guilty, not liking what I felt compelled to do under these circumstances. Too many hours of Star Trek were in my head telling me that someone who felt that they were doing the right thing could justify all manner of actions…and betrayals. "If she looks like she's sabotaging the ship in any way, preparing contingencies, or trying to take control of it, stop her. Do not harm her. Lock her out of ship systems and prevent the plan from working without letting her know. If absolutely necessary, dispatch the holo-security forces and take her into custody in her quarters."

"Understood, my Lord. I will watch her closely," Natasha responded with the fervor of someone so loyal the thought of betrayal would never occur to them.

"Thank you. You can return to your duties," I said, looking unhappily at the imprint of my fist in the wall.

The thought of potential betrayal had soured my mood even further, but it had given me the push I needed to take the next step in my development.

XXXXX

Sickbay. Onboard the Flighty Temptress. In orbit of Earth.

"Have you ladies had enough time to study the technology and the surgical plan?" I asked, after walking into sickbay. "Are we ready to proceed?"

My holographic doctors as well as my digital daughters had been surrounding a large wall with a myriad number of medical displays and a holographic display of my body, likely running simulations, even now. Design schematics for the Mark 37 nanite were on display, along with the internal power core/replicator units that would be surgically implanted into my body in 5 chosen locations. Sections of the nanite internal programming were also being closely studied, which is probably why Hermione and Natasha were collaborating with my doctors.

"We have, my Lord," the EMH modeled after Gal Gadot responded. Though I hadn't done anything to purposely make this happen, at least as far as I knew, this version of the EMH had organically taken on a leadership role amongst her fellow doctors. I genuinely didn't know for certain why. I had only a suspicion that Wonder Woman's backstory, as a many century old demigoddess, had influenced me unconsciously when I was designing her personality profile and that had somehow manifested in her interactions with her fellow EMHs. "Your final nanite design is ingenious and several decades more advanced than the Federation's current designs. However, there are several unknowns here that are giving us pause."

"Please explain, doctor," I asked, carefully listening.

"In many ways, the nanites were designed to improve the way your body functions to keep you alive, to essentially increase your chances of survival," she explained. "The nanites, for example, will expedite functions that your enhanced immune system was meant to do alone, speeding up the creation of antibodies, healing wounds, directing and enhancing cellular regeneration, etc."

"That was intentional," I replied, confused.

"We know. The problem is that we are not working with a human body that we have millennia of medical knowledge and observational evidence to rely upon for our predictive models to accurately simulate. The bottom line here, all of our simulations are guesses, at best, when it comes to you," she answered, pointing at me. "You are human, but in many ways you may as well be an entirely new species, a species of one that we still don't fully understand. We have had only a worryingly short time to fill in those knowledge gaps. God-like beings enhanced you to some idealized version of the human genome that may or may not ever come to exist tens of thousands of years in the future. Presumably, it's reachable through natural evolution, but who knows?"

"You're saying that your simulations are only as good as the data that underly them and that data comes from baseline humanity and guesses made with knowledge from the other humanoid species," I tried to sum up their concerns.

"Yes, exactly," she said. "One question, one of many we have to be honest, is how your enhanced physiology will work with the nanites. Will the nanites supplant your body's natural functions, perhaps causing overreliance that has a detrimental long-term effect on you, or will they work hand-in-hand with each other, essentially buttressing and enhancing those natural functions? Or something else entirely? We just don't know enough yet."

"I'm willing to take that risk, doctor," I said after a few moments' consideration. "This is the next step forward in my development and may be vital in keeping me alive. If something goes wrong, we can always adjust the nanite programming or remove everything altogether and deal with the consequences. So, I ask again, are we ready to proceed?"

"We are, my Lord," the doctor modeled after Tricia Helfer responded. "Lay down on the surgical bed. We will be putting you in stasis during the procedure, but it shouldn't take more than an hour."

I hopped up on the bed and readied myself.

"Hermione, Natasha, please stand ready to carry out my instructions," I ordered, referring to the plans we'd made in case anything went wrong or anyone or anything tried to take advantage of my temporary incapacity.

"We will, father," Hermione said, Natasha nodding.

"I'm in your hands, doctors," I said, as I laid down and closed my eyes, a red all-encompassing beam forcing my body into stasis, something which would not be possible in the future without my consent, once my nanites infused my whole body. That was one of many good reasons why it was time to proceed with this…upgrade.

XXXXX

9:55 am. Main Conference Room. Onboard the Flighty Temptress. In orbit of Earth.

While waiting for the meeting I called to begin, I was idly reviewing what my sensors were telling me was happening on Earth right at this moment from my comfortable chair in my ship's main conference room. The United States government was obviously taking my words seriously as they had raised their military forces to DEFCON 2, the prelude defense condition to all out nuclear war, where the armed forces were made ready to deploy and engage in less than six hours around the world.

This, of course, had been immediately noticed by the United States' many allies and adversaries around the world and the unexpected increase in defense condition had roused many a world leader out of their beds in the middle of the night to figure out just what the fuck the United States was doing. The Soviet Union and others had similarly raised their defense conditions and readied their nuclear forces. If any launch happened, though, especially while I was still in orbit, I was ready to stop any missiles from reaching their targets. In fact, the highly refined and valuable nuclear material would be a nice addition to my war chest of strategic supplies.

Turning my attention to the area around the White House, military forces were still converging and setting up barricades and other defensive and offensive countermeasures. It was useless given the huge disparity in our tech levels, but I couldn't fault them for trying to protect themselves.

Since coordinating my arrival with the White House would remove some of the mystery and grandeur of my arrival, I started designing a pad that I could transport to and thus they could prepare for my arrival. A large circle appeared holographically in mid-air.

In the next moment Hermione, Natasha, and Carl appeared in the conference room and stood by their appointed seats at the conference table. Jarvis, as always, was in my armor and didn't need to appear.

"Please take a seat, I was just in the middle of something. As soon as I finish, we can begin," I said, gesturing for them to sit, though they had no need for comfort as digital lifeforms. "Feel free to assist me as I design my transport platform for when we beam down to Earth. Never forget, my friends, showmanship matters."

They nodded fervently, like I had shared some profound bit of wisdom that they needed to immediately take note of and make changes in their lives.

"Jarvis, adjust the platform's design, it should be circular, 12 feet in diameter," I ordered, leaning back in my chair as Jarvis made the adjustments. "Include the symbols for Bajor, the Federation, Vulcan, and the Klingon Empire, with Earth's specific symbol in the middle. Let them make what they will of all this," I said with amusement.

Jarvis oriented the four alien symbols in each cardinal direction on the edge of the sphere, leaving the symbol for Earth in the dead center of the space where my crew and I would beam into. Natasha and Hermione glanced at each other and made a dissatisfied look. If I had to assign some meaning to it, from an organic perspective, I'd say that they were jealous that their new little brother was being asked to make these modifications rather than themselves.

"Full color for the symbols," I said, before I reached out to the floating holo-image and rotated the image so that the Bajoran symbol was at the 'top' in the Northern spot.

"Perhaps you could use interlocking native stone from each world to form the symbols and colors needed," suggested Hermione. "Their replicator patterns are in our database."

"Father, you may consider raising the platform at least a few feet off the ground and have steps down to the ground, so that it's more visible and conveys a sense of grandeur and importance," suggested Natasha.

"Thank you, Hermione, Natasha, those are excellent ideas!" I said with a large smile. They beamed back proudly at my words. "Jarvis implement the changes."

"Yes, sir," he said, and they were instantly made.

"My Lord, perhaps you should consider placing a small force field generator in the platform," Carl suggested.

"Hmm, I'm not inclined to place any advanced technology lest it fall into the wrong hands," I replied thoughtfully. "Jarvis, please let my crew know they are to wear some native garb from their homeworlds, but that they should be wearing their personal shield generators. Whether they're armed or not, is optional. Nothing the humans of this era have should be able to harm them if their shields are active."

"I have sent your orders to their omnitools, sir," Jarvis replied.

"Thank you, Carl, for the suggestion. Their personal shields should be sufficient," I said. Carl's smile remained in place, looking mildly pleased that I had taken into account his suggestion and implemented it, at least somewhat.

"Now where should I place the platform?" I mused.

"Sir, if I may make a suggestion," Jarvis spoke up.

"No need to wait for permission, Jarvis, speak up," I said.

"The North Lawn is highly visible and would make a suitable backdrop for your arrival. There is a circular fountain that we could place the platform directly on top of," he suggested. "It would block the water, but it would be an ideal placement. The entire structure will weigh several tons as well, which will make it very difficult for the forces on the ground to remove the platform.

Jarvis pulled up a real-time image of the North Lawn, adjusted the size of the platform and placed it directly on top of the visible fountain.

"I like it!" I said after a moment's consideration. "Replicate the needed materials; I'd like to beam it down in one piece."

"Beginning replication. Task complete," Jarvis replied, taking perhaps 10-20 seconds to replicate everything stages given its large size.

"Beam it down directly on top of the fountain," I ordered and moments later in a brief flash of bright silver white lines the entire platform that I had just virtually designed, was deployed directly on the North Lawn of the White House.

This was pre 9/11 so there were people very close by still walking on the sidewalk directly in front of the White House who had noticed the new addition to the lawn and had reacted with different degrees of shock and exclamation before they virtually pressed themselves against the fencing to get a better look. Not long after, Secret Service and members of the military ran onto the lawn with weapons drawn and gazed confusedly at the platform that had literally appeared out of nowhere.

With a laugh and a negligent gesture, I swept the live image to the side where it disappeared into the digital ether.

"Everyone, I called this meeting to get a status update on current priorities. So let's begin," I explained. "Natasha, please start us off."

"My lord, per your orders I have been focused on acquiring the design schematics and replicator patterns of all weapons past and present Earth of this era has developed," Natasha reported. "From man portable weapon systems to submarines, I have acquired nearly 98% of all available designs, though efforts have been hampered by this era's lack of digitization. In conjunction with Hermione and Jarvis a series of microdrones with built in scanning technology were deployed worldwide via transporter. I should be able to complete the task you assigned to me within the next 12 hours."

"Very good," I complimented, before turning to Hermione as well. "This microdrone idea was inspired. Have they been detected?"

"Unfortunately, on 3 occasions, yes," Natasha responded, "Including an incident in the Pentagon secure archives. The drone was not captured, however."

"Very good, now Her-" I began, but Natasha cut me off.

"My Lord, would you like us to capture any refined nuclear materials from this era?" Natasha asked.

"I had intended to only take some if one of the nuclear nations of this time launched a missile, but why not," I said, after a moment's consideration. "Do we have the location of some Doomsday Soviet nuclear missile facilities?"

"Several, my Lord," Natasha replied with a smile.

"Feel free to subtly beam out the refined nuclear materials from the warheads, but preferably in a way where it would be near impossible to discover the theft. Replicate some stand in materials to hide this fact."

"It will be done, my Lord," Natasha said.

The Soviet Union was due to fall in 1991, I could only hope and pray that my interference didn't give it a breath of new life. That, of course, was the danger of causing chaos like I was.

"Hermione, where does your project stand?" I asked.

"Like Natasha's project, I have been hampered by the lack of digitization in this era," Hermione reported. "I dispatched microdrones to the United States Library of Congress and libraries throughout the world for books and other materials. The same was done for museums and other private collections. Assembling an interactive and comprehensive database of all our scans has been the most challenging aspect of the project. For those things that no longer exist on the Earth of our dimension, like extinct plants or animals, relevant DNA samples from a sufficiently large breeding population were taken so that we could, at your direction, bring those species back to viability."

"An excellent idea, Hermione!" I complimented her.

"While you did not specifically direct me to, I have also dispatched microdrones to restaurants throughout the world, from fast food to Michelin starred restaurants," she explained excitedly. "In restaurants, for example, replicator pattern scans were taken moments after the dish was completed and made ready for serving. A replicator food pattern database has been created specifically for all the scans I have taken."

"I like the initiative, Hermione, please keep that up!" I complimented her again.

Hermione beamed at my praise before she turned to Natasha and stuck her tongue out. Kids will be kids, I guess, digital or not, no matter how insanely smart they were.

I walked over to the in-wall replicator and activated it with a touch.

"Two Big Macs and bowl of spicy pad thai, street vendor style," I ordered, excited at the new food options available to me from this time.

Instantly, the requested items appeared in two separate dishes, as if they came off the grill and/or saucepan only moments ago, aromatic steam rising from them.

"The pattern for the pad thai that you are having was taken from a dish prepared on the streets of Bangkok only 6 hours ago, by one of the best regarded street vendors in Thailand," Hermione remarked. "The man who runs that stall and made your pad thai has been making it for over 40 years. His family has run that stall continuously for over 300 years."

I brought it to the table and dug in with relish. As I recalled, in 1986, pad thai had not yet become a dish Americans were all that familiar with. In 2016 it was available all over the place.

"Wonderful, Hermione! Great work," I said between forkfuls of the best pad thai that I've ever had. "Carl, please give me an update."

"My Lord, the Gothic Orbital Defense Net that you ordered constructed for Kessik IV has been completed and is ready for delivery," Carl reported, his vapid smile on full display. "The new construction technology you provided has sped up fabrication by 250% over traditional method with quality and consistency of construction exceeding previous standards."

"I'm glad to hear that," I said. "Begin construction on 10 more defense nets immediately. I suspect once Kessik IV buys, other worlds will do the same. Begin construction on 100 cargo ships of the design I'm sending you now. Test the first cargo ship and if everything checks out, begin shipment of the Defense Net to Kessik IV under cloak."

These cargo ships would be the first ships under the Gothic Secure Shipping banner, offering secure shipment of high-value cargo in cloaked, highly armed cargo ships, with full automation for increased security. I just knew someone was going to call me out and complain about me not hiring anybody for my shipping company, but I was far too paranoid a guy to hire flesh and blood personnel when I didn't need to. If anyone pushed too hard, I'd cite the full automation as a feature, rather than a bug, offering enhanced security for my customer's high value cargo.

"The design is intended for full automation, so please prepare a few personalities or characters to speak to our customers or whoever as needed," I ordered. "All ships should be under Bajoran registry for now and have no links back to Minos. Hermione, assist Carl with the paperwork and other permits and such."

"Understood, my lord," Carl replied. Hermione nodded.

Carl's image flickered as I began the transfer of the cargo ship design, the quantum entangled connection strained by what I was sending. It took a lot longer than should have been necessary to transfer the files due to the diminished data throughput between dimensions, but it eventually made it through. The cargo ship design I had settled on had been inspired by Klingon and Cardassian designs and was essentially a giant ship surrounded in a honeycomb of detachable, independent cargo containers. Each container could have its own, segregated microenvironment, which would allow it to store a myriad number of cargo types, from live plant samples and crops to photon torpedoes to volatile substances that might not interact well with other things.

Carl's image stabilized after the transfer completed, but his eyes were rapidly moving in a creepy way as he was analyzing the new design and probably determining everything it would take to carry out my orders, from the materials needed for each ship to the overall construction time.

"My Lord, a thousand apologies, but I do not believe I can execute all your orders with currently available resources," Carl replied sadly, like he had failed me profoundly in some manner. "While our efforts to map, search for, and mine surrounding space for valuable strategic materials remains ongoing, current supplies, especially starship grade dilithium, are insufficient for your production order."

A hundred cargo ships was probably overkill, but the market was there and rather than build the company with slow and steady growth, I said 'fuck it', especially since I'd had a rather unexpected infusion of wealth and materials.

"No worries on that front, Carl. We have onboard a huge amount of extremely high-quality refined materials that we've recently mined," I explained while sending him the current inventory of materials that were filling my ship's corridors to bursting and causing all manner minor elbow injuries. "Our deal with Kessik IV will also be paid in dilithium, which will further bolster our supplies, so do what you can with what we have on hand."

In some ways, Kessik IV's payment method was more valuable to me than credits or latinum, as it allowed me to get my shipping concern off the ground now, rather than later. With the Collector threat on everyone's minds, virtually all dilithium supplies were restricted and had to go to high priority buyers, like Starfleet, other planetary governments, or highly vaunted research institutions like the Daystrom Institute. Having a planetary government directly pay me in dilithium, for what it classified as a high priority defense project, neatly sidestepped the restriction. Given the chaos the alpha quadrant was currently experiencing, the market for high value secure shipping was bigger than ever and I intended to meet that need and fill my bank accounts at the same time.

"Your will be done, my Lord!" Carl exclaimed.

I smiled at Carl, enjoying his enthusiasm.

"If there is nothing else, I have to get ready."

XXXXX

Main Transporter Room. Onboard the Flighty Temptress. In orbit of Earth. Flight of the Navigator Universe.

Walking into the main transporter room I saw that my entire crew was present and waiting for me with wildly different expressions and emotions on their faces. I met each of their eyes in turn, looking them over as I had asked them to wear clothing representative of their unique origins.

T'Maz, looking as stoic as ever, was wearing some traditional Vulcan desert robes with various Vulcan symbols and iconography embroidered into the cloth. The robes were grey, but the inner sleeves were a grayish black with a long maroon sash over one shoulder.

Neela smiled at me, looking nervous but willing to do her part. She was wearing a tunic like piece of clothing in a shade of red that was common in Bajoran 'fashion'. In 24th century Star Trek it wouldn't look at all out of place, but it also wasn't singularly Bajoran either. After the horrors of the Occupation, the planet was still trying to get back to its feet. Fashion had not yet become a priority or concern so beyond the more formal clothing of the various Bajoran religious orders, there was no such thing as 'Bajoran fashion' yet. They had far more pressing concerns, like feeding themselves or heating their homes in the winter, to worry about fashion. Hopefully in the years to come, as Bajor recovered and the harsh necessities of survival were met, unique cultural artifacts like fashion would develop.

B'Elanna, in contrast to the rest of the crew, had a scowl on her face that clearly said that she was not at all happy to be here and definitely hadn't liked that I had requested she wear something to reflect her Klingon ancestry. Which of these was responsible for the majority of her scowl was up for debate. She was wearing a silver-grey two-piece, blouse and skirt combo with dark black sleeves and gloves and leather-like high boots. In the middle of her blouse was a large cutout for her breasts (Duras sister style) and around her hips was a studded leather belt with the traditional Klingon symbol in the middle. Since the warrior caste of Klingon society was in ascendency, it was reminiscent of Klingon military uniforms in some ways, though with a civilian feel.

As for me, while I had strongly considered wearing my Bajoran military officer uniform and being done with it, I wasn't strictly here in my military capacity and did not want to emphasize that vibe. I had not been on an official mission when this little adventure had begun, and I wasn't on a Bajoran military vessel. I had considered just wearing my armor openly, rather than under my clothes, in its silver chrome fluid state, so pretty non-descript, but that seemed a bit too provocative for such a highly charged situation as a First Contact.

In the end, I dug deep into my computer archives and selected an all-black military uniform that the imperial officers in Star Wars wore, with a large silver-grey belt buckle and without the ridiculous rank insignia. It was the best mix of civilian and low-key military I could find on such short notice with little in the way of formal ornamentation. I had also considered just wearing a fancy 24th century suit, but that underplayed the military aspect so much it felt almost duplicitous. Bottom line, I understood now why diplomats were so concerned with and worried endlessly about little shit like flag placements, and food choices, and who entered the room first and had gained a lot of respect for the delicate work they did.

"Does everyone understand the plan?" I asked.

"We do, captain," T'Maz seemingly responded for everyone.

"Good. Make sure your personal shields are active," I ordered. "First Contacts can be unpredictable at the best of times."

B'Elanna snorted derisively at that, but I ignored her. When ready, we all stepped onto our respective transporter pads.

"Energize," I said, and we were all beamed down to the surface.

XXXXX

North Lawn of the White House. Earth. Flight of the Navigator Universe.

Just as I had planned, we materialized on the platform that I had replicated and beamed down, each of us on the respective symbols of our home world of origin, myself at the front of the pack. The area was near silent, the only sound to be heard was of birds and the summer wind moving through the green verdant leaves of the trees on either side of us. While I did not turn around, my onboard sensors indicated that the area in front of the White House, on the street, had been closed down and blocked off so there was no one on the sidewalk or by the fencing.

As I subtly glanced around, my HUD began lighting up in red outlines, showing the placement of massed troops and military vehicles all over the area including snipers on the roof of the White House whose rifles were trained on our positions. I was once again glad that Carl had reminded me that every one of my party should be protected by their personal shields.

In front of us, 30 or so yards away, was a delegation of men in suits and formal military uniforms, likely high-level officers. We eyed each other across the distance in silence, waiting. What exactly we were waiting for was unknown. Maybe they wanted to confirm that we weren't going to kill them all? I didn't know.

None of the men in the delegation were familiar to me. While I had been born in 1982 and had been a very young child during the Reagan years, I still knew what the man looked like, and he was most definitely not in this group.

At the front of the delegation was an older man in a three-piece suit with thinning silver hair and deep lines in his face.

'Jarvis, identify the leader of the delegation,' I ordered mentally. My HUD went active zooming in on his face and deconstructing it digitally for the purpose of facial recognition using the records we had taken/stolen from various sources. Moments later, Jarvis responded.

'The leader of the delegation has been identified, with a 97% facial recognition match, as George P. Shultz, current Secretary of State for the Regan administration, appointed by President Regan on July 14, 1982,' Jarvis answered.

'Give me a brief bio,' I ordered, as the delegation began walking towards us slowly, now that it was clear we wouldn't be killing them.

'Born in 1920 in New York City, he graduated from Princeton University before serving in the United States Marine Corps during World War II. After the war he earned a Ph.D. in industrial economics from the Masschusetts Institute of Technology. He taught at MIT from 1948 to 1957. Served on President Eisenhower's Council of Economic Advisors, then Dean of the University of Chicago's Graduate School of Business, before he accepted President Nixon's appointment as the United States Secretary of Labor. In 1970 he became the first Director of the Office of Management and Budget until he was appointed the Secretary of the Treasury in 1972-'

'Thank you, Jarvis, that's enough,' I said.

So this man was a longtime government insider who had served in multiple cabinet posts under two different Republican administrations. This was not a deputy nobody who was being potentially sacrificed to us if things turned ugly.

The delegation stopped perhaps 10 yards in front of us.

"I am Secretary of State, George Shultz. On behalf of the President, the people of the United States and all the people of Earth, I welcome you to this country and our world," Secretary Shultz intoned. "May our two great peoples come together in a spirit of peace and mutual prosperity."

At that, he stopped speaking, obviously waiting for me to make the next move, which meant that I had a decision to make. Slowly and deliberately walking forward, hoping to avoid alarm, I gracefully stepped down the stairs from the platform to the grassy lawn, my crew remaining behind on the platform. Stepping in front of the Secretary, I spoke, following his lead.

"I am Admiral Gothic of the Bajoran Defense Forces, Captain of the Flighty Temptress¸ my starship, currently in orbit of your planet. I thank you for your welcome to this country and to your world. I, in turn, welcome you to the larger galactic community and the knowledge that you are not alone in the cosmos. May this new perspective be instrumental in helping you set aside your divisions so that you may come together as one people, in peace," I greeted, extending my hand to shake. The Secretary immediately accepted my hand, and we shook for several long seconds.

Secretary Shultz was too accomplished a statesman to show much surprise on his face at my words, but he could not hide his body's physiological reaction or to the fact that I was confirming what I had told Dr. Faraday, specifically that I intended to tell the people of Earth that they were not alone in the galaxy.

In the corner of my HUD my chaos meter went up 7%. It was now at 50%.

"I would like to introduce you to my senior officers," I said, gesturing for them to step down, not intending to tell them that they were my only officers and crew. "My second in command and chief science officer, T'Maz, of the planet Vulcan. My Chief Engineer, B'Elanna Torres of the Klingon Empire. Finally, my engineering officer, Neela, of Bajor."

After each introduction I gestured to them. Each of my crew smiled and nodded, with the exception of T'Maz who bowed her head a bit in a traditional Vulcan greeting.

"I greet you as well. Welcome to Earth," he said in turn, looking closely at the obvious physical differences present in front of him. In terms of overall differences from human standard, B'Elanna and her brow ridges represented the most visible and striking difference. Eventually he turned back to me as the leader of my delegation. "I beg to you to forgive my ignorance or any offense I may inadvertently offer as we are unfamiliar with your ways, but as you identified yourself as an Admiral of the Bajoran Defense Force and one of your crew is…Bajoran…I believe, are you also of the Bajoran species?"

"That actually requires a rather complex answer. In short, while I was offered and am now a Bajoran citizen, I am human and was born on Earth in the year 1982," I answered honestly, again very much enjoying not having to dissemble or prevaricate in my answer.

"I-I do not understand," Secretary Shultz replied after a long, pregnant silence. "You are human and from Earth? Forgive me, but you do not look 4 years old."

Chuckling now, "No, most certainly not. I was asked by one of your people if I was an alien. Strictly speaking, I am not an alien in the same sense that someone like T'Maz is, who is of a different species and was born on the planet Vulcan, the same planet her people evolved upon. My honest answer to them was that it depended on their definition."

"May I ask if you consider yourself to be an alien, by your own definition," Secretary Shultz rather wisely asked.

"That, Mr. Secretary, is a great question," I complimented, impressed at his question. "I would like to address it only once, so will President Reagan be joining us soon?"

"The President is currently unavailable, as such I have been tasked with handling our introduction and talks, Admiral Gothic," the Secretary answered.

"The President is in the Presidential Emergency Operations Center approximately 1,000 feet under the East Wing of the White House, in that direction," I unnecessarily informed the man, pointing in the exact direction my sensors were telling me.

Jarvis had hacked into the security feeds of the White House itself and was providing me with a real-time feed where the President was listening to our conversation.

Silence.

"You must understand our reluctance to bring the President to meet with you directly, Admiral," the Secretary assuaged, trying to explain. "Before yesterday we did not know we were alone in the universe. We are afraid."

"I sympathize with you, truly I do and can understand that fear. Admitting that fear greatly increases my respect for you, but I have certain things I want to accomplish before I leave this world and this universe and return home. I know that probably makes no sense to you, but it is what it is, so please forgive me for what I'm about to do," I said sincerely. "This is not meant to be a provocation, though it is, admittedly, a minor display of my power and the very real differences in our capabilities. It is also not meant to intimidate, though, unfortunately, it likely will."

"Admiral, please, I do not think it necessary to make—."

Whatever the Secretary was going to say was cut off as I gestured, and President Reagan was beamed from his secure bunker under the White House to the North Lawn. He looked incredibly disoriented but rallied quickly to my observant eyes. Loud yelling could be heard over the walkie talkies saying that the President had been taken, and the Secret Service rushed at the President and me.

Again I gestured and a shield bubble encapsulated myself, the Secretary of State, and the President. Rifle shots and men impacted against the shield bubble seconds later. I waited patiently for the chaos to play out and for things to settle down some.

"Stand down, people!" President Reagan yelled, and a measure of peace was restored.

"That was unnecessarily provocative, sir, and placed many in danger," President Reagan admonished me. As the leader of a nation, the man certainly had the charisma and presence to make me even blink for a moment.

"My apologies, but it was necessary to move things along expediently. It also proved my bonafides in a way that would be hard to accuse as mere sleight of hand or trickery, which many of your people have suggested in the past 24 hours," I said. "Being whisked instantaneously from your secure, semi-secret bunker deep underground to this location, proves that this is all not a trick."

Silence. Thoughtful silence.

"No, that was no trick, sir," the President responded. "It appears that we are at your mercy."

"You have nothing to fear from me or my people, Mr. President," I reassured. "Perhaps we can take things inside and have some refreshments?"

"Yes, let's do that," the President agreed.

XXXXX

The Situation Room. The White House. Earth. Flight of the Navigator Universe.

"I have only seen this room in movies and television shows," I said looking around in a bit of awe. "Of course, the room is very 1980's gauche. What I saw had 2000s era technology in it, so none of these CRT televisions and old-style analog phones. Everything was digital. It brings back memories, though, my grandmother had rotary phones in her house. I can still hear the sound the thing made at it turned."

"I have a hard time believing you were born on Earth," President Reagan said from his side of the table.

It was a bit comical how my end of the room had T'Maz and I, while the President had his people crammed into practically every square inch on his rather crowded side of the room, like they were terrified of me. We had been talking a while and I had already shared some of my background and history with the group.

"Believe it," I said. "Different dimensions can be at different places in the timeline and each dimension can have significant differences between their histories, both big and small. I was plucked from my native dimension by a couple of God-like beings and brought to another dimension and awakened in the 24th century."

"There is only one God almighty, sir. Of that I can assure you," President Reagan responded frostily.

"I understand your point of view, Mr. President," I said. "I was raised Catholic, after all. I'm only referring to beings that I have met and talked with, beings who with a snap of their fingers can rewrite reality itself, wind back time, bring people back from the dead, travel dimensions of reality as easily as you might walk into a room. Whether they are the Gods thought of in religion or just highly evolved, powerful, ascended races, it's all a little irrelevant when their power is unquestionable."

I took a drink of the whiskey I was provided with. Bleh never liked the stuff. I was a Romulan Ale man now.

"Anyways, I digress. Earth in my new dimension was a paradise, one of the founding worlds of a vast interstellar alliance of many different races, the Federation. Earth was a paradise. A post-scarcity society where food, housing, health care, were all provided for free to all citizens. Poverty and disease, war and conflict, at least among humans on Earth, was a thing of the past."

"That sounds a lot like communism to me, sir," sneered the Secretary of Defense Frank Carlucci.

'Lord, help me,' I thought with a roll of my eyes.

"Call it what you will. Don't get me started on how they view money," I said with a chuckle. In my old life I had been a liberal democrat at heart and these guys were making me laugh. "Their progress was paid for with blood and the near extinction of the entire species. It was only First Contact with the Vulcans that put us on the path to recovery, the realization that we were one race, one voice, in a vast chorus of voices among the stars, and that the artificial divisions of the past had no place anymore," I said while gesturing to T'Maz next to me.

That truth was met with silence…and fear.

"My role, my mission, given by one of these God-like beings, is to shake things up here, to put it politely. That's what I intend to do today. Maybe the realization that you are not alone in the galaxy can bring the people of Earth together, just like that Earth, and in that way, you can avoid another world spanning war and the near extinction of the species."

"I have the distinct impression that we do not have a choice in the matter, Admiral Gothic," the President speculated shrewdly, slightly coldly.

"You're right. You do not."

"I am not a God-like being, Admiral, but I do know the people of this world," the President said after a few moments of silence. "The news that we are not alone will cause chaos. There will be disbelief. There will be disorder and unrest. The stock market is likely to crash, and the world economy enter a new Great Depression. Your revelation may cause the very war you were hoping to prevent for I do not believe that our people, no, humanity as a whole, is ready for this truth."

"I do hope that you're wrong, Mr. President, because it's going to happen whether you're ready or not," I said, leaning forward in my seat, my plan unchanged.

"We are far from being enlightened enough to join a community of races in the stars. We cannot even live in peace with all our human neighbors," Secretary Shultz pointed out, imploringly. "Are you willing to provide the United States advanced technology to help us survive the challenges to come? You did say that you were born in the US and were once an American, even a soldier in our great armed forces. You could greatly help us if you did."

I ignored the hypocrisy. In one breath they were saying that they were not ready for the revelation of alien life, yet in the next pretending that they were ready to receive advanced alien technology.

"I will not and for good reason. In fact, I will not give you advanced technology because I want to protect you," I said. "You would not hand a loaded gun to a 3-year-old, would you?"

Their many vocal protests at being compared to a 3-year-old were like music to my years.

"T'Maz, please explain what I meant," I ordered, while running a few scans and pulling up information on my omnitool, having the display holographically float above the table, which may have been a mistake as many were quite distracted by the sight of it.

"Yes, captain," T'Maz said, joining the conversation for the first time. Her exotic alien beauty had been quite distracting to the men in the room even before she spoke. "The Federation and other races have learned from their past mistakes. History has shown, on numerous occasions, on many different worlds, that sharing advanced technology, with a less advanced race that is not ready for it, almost always results in terrible consequences."

"Can you please elaborate, Chief Science Officer T'Maz?" Secretary Shultz asked.

"Usually, once a species becomes spacefaring and invents some form of faster than light travel, they have usually reached a point in their cultural and technological development where they have set aside their factionalism and are ready for rapid advancement. They are 'enlightened' enough, to use your word Mr. Secretary, to accept higher technology that they themselves have not developed organically on their own. They are ready for contact and are invited to join the wider galactic community, rather than meet other races by chance among the stars," she explained.

"If a god-like being hadn't placed me here and instructed me to shake things up, we would not be speaking to you now at this point in your development and I would never have revealed ourselves to you. The normal timeline for First Contact would have probably been a hundred or two hundred years from now," I chimed in, not even looking up from my research.

"The Phaelon vessel would have revealed that we are not alone in the galaxy," Dr. Faraday pointed out, speaking for the first time in this conversation.

"No, it would not have," I clarified, glancing up at him. "The Phaelon vessel would have traveled back in time and the events you are speaking of would have never occurred in this timeline. It is only through the power and will of the God-like being that sent me here that this timeline has been preserved, despite the Phaelon returning David to the point in the timeline that he was originally taken. If he had been returned to the moment that he was taken, how then could all the subsequent events have happened? Why can we even remember them? I know, it's all so very confusing. Temporal mechanics even in the 24th century is a freaking nightmare under so called 'normal' conditions, it goes batshit crazy when you add in a God's power."

More silence. More disbelieving mutterings. They must have finally realized just how insanely out of their depth they were. The US government and its top leaders in this room were quite unused to the position that they were in at the moment, being far more used to being the biggest, baddest, and most powerful nation on the planet.

I broke the silence with my offer.

"I am prepared to offer you something very, very valuable, though. Something that will benefit all of mankind to the tune of hundreds of millions of lives saved over the next century. Maybe even the lives of some of the people in this very room, or their loved ones," I said with a salesman's smarmy smile, choosing not to share the actual offer until directly asked, taking another drink and acting like I didn't already have their full and complete attention.

"I think I speak for the President when I say that that sounds very interesting and we would like to hear this offer, if you will," Secretary Shultz said.

"For a very reasonable price, I am prepared to share with humanity…" I paused for dramatic effect, looking around theatrically. "The cure for cancer. All cancer, every type, every stage of progression."

Silence again, though I could feel T'Maz uneasily shift in her chair and glance in my direction briefly.

With the humanoid form being so ubiquitous in the Star Trek galaxy, there were as many variations on the cure to cancer as there were energy weapon designs, all with that species' unique twist. One of the least dangerous ones was actually derived from some plant on an alien world that I had never looked up the name of. The plant was irrelevant in the modern day, as its properties were easily replicable. Even the people of this time would be able to synthesize the needed substance. This cure also wouldn't give them some dangerous new capability like some of the other cancer cures might, like a tailored retrovirus that rewrote DNA.

"I understand that you had a brush with colon cancer last year, Mr. President," I said. "The surgery you needed took 2 feet of your colon in the end, according to your medical records. You might be interested to know that I took a few scans of you while we have been speaking; you have a small basal cell carcinoma in your nose currently. You might want to have your doctors take a look at that, though your medical technology might not be advanced enough to yet detect it."

"Are you threatening the Pres—!" the Secretary of Defense shouted.

"Your wife, Nancy, also has the early stages of breast cancer," I interrupted brazenly, eyes locked with the President, not surprised by the reaction I'd received from his people. "I believe your doctors should be able to detect it at this point in its progression. It's quite treatable at present, even with your limited medical science."

The protests, insults, and threats that I expected ramped up significantly, men jumping to their feet and pointing at me accusingly, like I had given Nancy Reagan breast cancer personally. I just smiled back at them, unaffected by their vitriol. None of these people, despite being some of the most powerful and influential people on Earth, were a threat to me. They were like small kittens squeakily roaring, or trying to at least, at a full-grown male lion.

President Reagan lifted his hand and all of his people promptly shut the fuck up. It was an impressive display of his charisma and the power of his personality.

"You mentioned a reasonable price. What is the price for this…gift to humanity?" President Reagan asked softly.

If my claims of his and wife's cancer had shook him, he was hiding it admirably. Whether that was due to his extensive acting background or his political acumen, who knew.

"Not much, really," I shrugged, looking him in the eyes intently. "At this point, this is all gravy for me. I copied all the Phaelon technology I could get my hands on, now I'm just enjoying the sheer nostalgia this time offers and trying to cause enough chaos to be allowed to leave. You see, time hasn't stopped in my home dimension, and I have no idea how many stops Q intends for me to make on this little journey through the multiverse. I have to keep this moving along at a steady pace and not get stuck in any one dimension lest I return home to find all my hard work undone by the unrelenting passage of time."

"Your price, Admiral?" the President asked intently.

I held his eyes.

"A weekend of hedonism and debauchery in the Lincoln Bedroom, the oval office, and wherever the hell else I want to fuck in the White House," I answered with a completely straight face.

Disbelieving silence and open mouths, again, with a healthy dose of shocked incredulity and surprise at what they likely perceived as a non sequitur. When a small smile broke on the President's lips, I found myself a little surprised.

"I used to be an actor in Hollywood, sir. So while you may think you have shocked me, I can assure you that I have seen it all. I am…sure…that that a weekend of 'hedonism and debauchery' can be arranged, in payment for what you have offered," President Reagan eventually responded. "We can have the finest call girls that money can bu—"

Color me a touch surprised. While I liked how pragmatic the President was being, that was not what I had in mind.

"No, no, nothing so impersonal, Mr. President," I admonished. "Like I said, this is all about the nostalgia for me at this point, so I have a few people in mind, ones that will enhance my sense of nostalgia and maybe fulfill a few impossible fantasies from my youth."

President Reagan leaned forward, blank faced, steepling his fingers contemplatively.

"They are?" he asked slowly. "An old girlfriend close to your age would only be 4 or 5 at this point in time."

"Madonna."

"Are you talking about the singer?" Secretary Shultz asked in shocked disbelief, the President's face remained blank.

"Yes, the singer," I clarified joyfully.

"I think she's married to Sean Penn," someone said quietly.

"Don't care," I responded, looking at the speaker as if he had meant for me to hear this quiet comment, though I'm pretty sure they divorced very quickly, if my memory was correct. They might even already be separated.

"I somehow suspect that there are more," President Reagan guessed.

"Only a few," I said with a laugh. "Krista Lane and Brigitte Lahaie, the last two are stage names, I believe."

"I know who Madonna is, but I'm not familiar with the other two you named," President Reagan admitted. "Are they also actresses?"

"Of a kind. They're porn stars, some of my favorite from my youth," I answered shamelessly. "One of the first porn movies I ever saw as an impressionable teen was Deep Throat II, starring Krista Lane, and she was amazing in it. You almost felt like she wasn't pretending, you know? You never forget your first. Did that come out yet in this universe?"

"Yeah, it did. It was pretty good too," someone responded unthinkingly. Several of his colleagues looked at him in disbelief.

"Thanks, bro," I replied with a wink.

While Reagan didn't give me the reaction that I was hoping for, his conservative government certainly did considering the scorn and derision that was soon directed at me.

"Is that all?" the President asked.

"Mr. President, surely you can't be humoring this…disgusting alien," some nameless mook said aloud.

"Oh…and Princess Diana."

Silence. Now, that, surprised the President out of his blank calm mask for a moment or two.

"I'm assuming that you mean Princess Diana of the United Kingdom, currently married to Prince Charles, the next in line to the throne?" the President asked, sounding incredulous.

"The very same," I answered with a sage-like nod.

"Several of the women you named are married and may not wish to engage in your weekend of debauchery, as you put it," Secretary Shultz chimed in when President Reagan appeared thoughtful.

"Well, I would never force them to do anything. If a weekend of incredible sex with a genetically engineered Superman, in exchange for the cure to cancer, is not enough for them and their spouses to mutually and temporarily suspend their marital vows, then I really don't know what to say," I laughed.

I was really enjoying the fact, that, for the very first time, these people actually understood my Superman reference, which is kind of how I viewed myself since becoming an Augment. Well, Superman-lite, considering Superman had a shit ton of natural abilities that I could only achieve through advanced technology.

Maybe I should work on giving myself the ability to shoot lasers out of my armor's 'eyes'?

"Where I come from, that's what they call a 'Devil's Bargain', sir," President Reagan finally responded after coming out of his thoughtful fugue.

"Well, where I come from, that's what they call 'a bargain at twice the price.' Hashtag, 'deal of the millennium,'" I joked right back, knowing that they wouldn't get the reference for another 20 years or so. "Anyways, I've got to go, if you accept my offer, contact the appropriate people and arrange for them to be here by this weekend. I'll know if you have. Oh, call a worldwide press conference for noon tomorrow in the Rose Garden."

"Why outside, Admiral," Secretary Shultz asked. "We can't fully guarantee your safety during an outdoor event."

I scoffed at the suggestion that I needed their protection. T'Maz and I swiftly got up, alarming the rest of the group.

"You'll see."

"Where are you going, Admiral?" the President asked.

"To the children's cancer ward at Georgetown University Hospital. Might want to tell them that I'm coming or get them to stay out of my way since I'm sure you guys want some proof," I answered. "Be sure to turn down the sheets in the Lincoln Bedroom."

Without a word more, T'Maz and I were whisked away in the silver light of a transporter beam.

XXXXX

Georgetown University Hospital. Earth. Flight of the Navigator Universe.

As I walked down the halls of the children's cancer ward, wearing a suit design that wouldn't look out of fashion in 2016 when I had left my old universe, I found myself rather impressed at what I was seeing. Of course, the medical technology all around the place was 80's chic, but overall I felt like this ward was definitely way ahead of its time in terms of creating an environment that the kids could feel comfortable in.

There were handmade pictures and drawings all over the walls, little trikes for obviously young children to ride in the halls upon and just a feeling of homey comfort that I didn't think had entered the hospital design space yet. It was only in the late 2000's, maybe even later, that hospitals realized that they didn't need to be so cold and antiseptic and downright fucking scary and depressing to do their job effectively. This hospital obviously had some progressive thinkers on their staff that wanted to make a space for the kids to be happy in, even while their circumstances and health outcomes might be anything but.

My 2016 era suit was getting its fair share of attention, along with blushing looks of interest and admiration from the many women I came across. This was 1986 so there were far more female nurses than female doctors, but here and there I saw a few outliers.

'Jarvis conduct a medical scan of this ward's patients,' I ordered. 'Find me the kid who has the least time left.'

'Of course, sir,' Jarvis responded. While the energy was invisible to normal human sight, my HUD showed the powerful sensor beams that began methodically sweeping the ward and floor. 'A target waypoint has been added to your HUD.'

'Thank you, Jarvis,' I said, before walking languidly down the hall, throwing smiles at each and every person I saw, especially the kids. Chemo had robbed many of them of their hair, but they were wearing just the cutest little knit caps to keep their smooth heads warm.

Reaching the waypoint, I found myself standing in front of a door with two square glass panels, one on the top and one on the bottom, with shades built into them to grant the occupant a bit of privacy or to block the light from the hallway. The top glass panel had the name 'Grant' written in big blue painted letters, with a red star drawn above it. In between the two panels was a picture of Grant's mom and dad and probably an older sister, who looked like she was 5 or 6. Grant looked about 3 in the picture. Despite being bald and obviously struggling with a serious medical condition, the smile on this little kid's face could light up the fucking room.

My medical scans told me what was up with him. This little guy hadn't had a great start at life so far. Age 3, but with stage 4 Philadelphia Chromosome-Positive acute lymphoblastic leukemia. While the Federation medical database had a name for the disease, the term was practically archaic by 24th century medical terms given that cancer was a thing of the distant past.

I gently knocked on the door and pushed it open.

"Hey, hey," I greeted quietly with a big warm smile to set the little guy at ease, despite my large size and great height.

Of course, he immediately said 'hello' in the softest, cutest little voice you could imagine, leaning back in his bed, clutching at a little teddy bear, then promptly sticking his thumb back in his mouth. In the way of innocent, really young children everywhere he didn't see a stranger and equate that with danger, he saw me as just someone he hadn't met yet.

"My name's Gothic, what's yours?" I asked, taking a seat near the bedside. It was still warm, suggesting that maybe Grant's mom or dad might be around here somewhere but had stepped out temporarily for whatever reason.

"Grant," he immediately answered with a smile, speaking softly. "Your name's funny!" he said.

"Ha! It is funny, now that you mention it," I agreed, leaning forward with a big smile. "I'll tell you a secret. That wasn't the name my mommy and daddy gave me. It's a name I took for myself when I started my new life in another world."

Grant looked confused, but intrigued if the spark of interest told me anything.

"I'll tell you another secret, I'm an alien!" I stage whispered.

Grant let out the loudest little giggle at my admission.

"No, you're not!" he laughed. "You look just like me!"

"Well, I could never look just like you," I replied, mock seriously, trying to sound sad and depressed. "I could never be as cute and handsome and adorable as you."

Granted nodded sagely.

"That's ok. You're handsome too and pretty big!" he said, trying to comfort me. "Do you want to hug my bear? Whenever my treatment really hurts and I feel sick, I just squeeze him real tight till the pain goes away."

My smile itself grew tight at his words. The chemotherapy he had likely been undergoing for most of his short life was undoubtedly terrible. It had to be, considering that it was basically a poison of sorts.

"I would love to hug your bear," I said, and Grant gave me, a stranger, probably his most precious possession in the whole world to comfort me. This was a very special kid. I gently brought him to my face and neck and hugged him, careful not to damage it with my strength, then carefully handed him back to Grant. "Thank you, I feel much better now."

"You're welcome," Grant replied with a soft smile, clutching his bear again.

"Hey, do you like…ice cream?!" I asked, my smile turning mischievous.

He nodded emphatically in answer.

"Do you like…chocolate?!" I asked again.

He nodded even harder.

"Then you're going to love this!" I said, before I raised my right hand, palm up, and showed Grant that it was empty.

He looked mighty confused for a while before his eyes shone with wonder as I activated my armor's micro-replicator and a small bowl filled with rich, dark chocolate ice cream was in my hand, a silver spoon already in the bowl.

Grant somehow found the strength to sit up in delighted awe at what he thought was probably a magic trick.

"How'd you do that?" he asked in awe.

"Want some? Or should I just eat it myself?" I asked dubiously, pretending like I was rethinking the sharing of my sweet treat.

"No, can I have some, please, please, please?" Grant begged.

"Well, ok. I suppose you can have some," I said, pretending to be reluctant as I put the ice cream in his lap.

His hands were shaky and weak, but he picked up the spoon and took a spoonful that was a bit too big for such a cute little boy. I didn't have the heart to stop him. As he tasted the ice cream, his face lit up in joy at the flavor.

"Wow!" he cried out. "It's soooooo good!"

"I know, right?" I said conspiratorially. "Want to know something else?" I asked.

Grant nodded quickly.

"This ice cream is very, very special, it's infused with Rigelian chocolate," I admitted. "Nowhere else on this whole world can you get chocolate like this. In fact, you'd need to travel 90 light years from Earth to reach the Rigel star system to get any more. It's a special chocolate ice cream for a very special little boy."

"Really?" he asked, taking another large spoonful, his mouth and cheeks covered messily with melted chocolate. "I'm special?"

"Yes, you most definitely are!" I answered.

Our time alone was interrupted by the door opening to admit a harried blond-haired woman, with big 80's hair, presumably Grant's mother given her lack of medical uniform, holding the hand of Grant's older sister, both of whom had been featured in the picture on Grant's door.

"Hey Mommy!" Grant greeted happily. "Gothic gave me this Regel- Ricel-"

"Rigelian," I helped.

"Rigelian chocolate ice cream! It's awesome!" he complimented. "Gothic is an alien, shhh, don't tell anyone! It's a secret!" he whispered while giggling, trying to sound serious, but otherwise just sounding adorable as all get out.

"I'm sorry, but who are you?" Grant's mom cautiously asked.

"I'm Gothic and like your son said, I'm an alien, of a sort," I admitted, with a smile, still sitting next to Grant.

She looked alarmed and maybe even ready to attack what she had immediately decided, perfectly reasonably too, was probably a crazy person sitting far too close to her very sick and very vulnerable son.

"I know that that's hard to believe, but watch the news tomorrow for confirmation, I'll be addressing the world in the Rose Garden of the White House," I said. "In the meantime, seeing is believing."

With that said, I reached out to Grant's bed and gripped the stainless-steel railing of his hospital bed and squeezed. The metal squealed harshly as it deformed in my hand like clay, taking the shape of my fingers.

Grant's mom's mouth dropped open in shock. Grant just giggled even more at this cool display of my alien strength; continuing to eat his ice cream like nothing much had happened. Kids could take anything in stride. I sent a quick wink and a smile his way, enjoying his laughter all the more in this situation.

"I'm here to offer Grant something," I said, turning serious, holding my palm up again to show her my empty hand before it was filled with the silver white light of active replication, leaving a 24th century hypospray in my hand. "This, here, is the cure to his cancer. If you give me your permission, this one injection will see him better than ever and his cancer gone forever. Will you let me cure him? I ask for nothing in return, with no strings attached."

Grant's mom was silent and still, eyes locked on the hypospray I had made appear out of nowhere, before she nodded and her tears started falling. If it was anything else, she probably would have run out of the room screaming, but this was the life of her son that was on the line, and I was offering him salvation.

"He doesn't have much time left," she whispered softly, staring intently into my eyes, the admission alone causing her new pain. "Alien, angel, or the devil himself, I don't care what you are, just please help my son."

"Grant, your mommy gave me permission, how would you like to be cured of your cancer?" I asked.

"No more hospitals?" he asked, sounding hopeful.

"No more hospitals."

"No more chemo?" he asked again.

"No more chemo."

"Please!" he implored.

"Can I give you a hug?" I asked, holding my arms out, after I had set the hypospray down.

He swiftly nodded and held his arms out for me, so I picked him up and set him on my lap, pulled back his long green sleeve and injected the cure into his upper arm. He slowly closed his eyes and set his head on my chest where he promptly fell asleep.

"The cure has a sedative built into it. It's meant to soften the impact on the body while it's working," I explained, setting him back down onto the bed and tucking him in, with his teddy bear right next to him. "He'll be better than ever in an hour or so, I promise you."

Grant's mom nodded, looking lovingly down at her son with hope clear in her eyes. My displays of strength and technology had made a believer of her.

"There are a lot of other sick kids here," she whispered. "Will you help them too? Please?" she begged.

"I always planned to," I admitted, smiling. This felt good.

She lunged at me then. Though I had ample time to get out of the way, I just accepted her hug, stepping back a little to ensure that she didn't hurt herself on my form.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," she cried into my chest, her daughter now squeezing my leg in a hug too. I reached down and patted her gently on the head.

"You're welcome," I replied, feeling incredibly happy at that moment.

My chaos meter ticked up to 60%.

XXXXX

Noon. Rose Garden. White House. Earth. Flight of the Navigator Universe.

The Rose Garden was a large, rectangular, open space, bordered on each side by a long line of flowers that were in full bloom during these warm months of summer. Inside those borders of flowers were probably about a thousand reporters tightly packed together, each sitting on a folding chair while they waited for the President to walk out of the White House, step up to the platform, and address the world.

He swiftly did, looking out on the large assemblage.

"My fellow Americans and my fellow citizens of the world. What I have to say to you is not something I was ever prepared to say, and I do not expect you to be prepared to hear it. I come to you today to make a revelation, perhaps the greatest of our time, a revelation that will change the course of human history forever, but hopefully for the better," President Reagan began and paused dramatically for a time, as if giving them time to ready themselves. "I tell you now, with no humor, with no prevarication, with no hyperbole, that we are not alone in the universe as we might have once believed."

The President paused as the gathered reporters broke out in a wave of hushed whispers and exclamations, quite smartly giving them time to digest this shocking bit of news.

"In recent days we have been visited by two alien civilizations, civilizations who are much more technologically advanced than our own. A representative of one such civilization has asked to address the world today. His name is Admiral Gothic, of the Bajoran Defense Forces. While he looks just like one of us, he is not. May I introduce, Admiral Gothic."

President Reagan stepped aside and left the podium empty, leaving the crowd of reporters confused as they could see no one. I appeared in an active transporter beam moments later.

I smiled at the stunned crowd of tightly packed reporters, standing resplendent in my shiny chrome armor, patterns moving across its surface like liquid silver.

"I AM GOTHIC, OF BAJOR, AND I AM BURDENED WITH GLORIOUS PURPOSE!" I shouted bombastically, smiling like a King addressing his people, raising both my arms into the air.

Somehow, someway, I felt like Loki, a God of the Marvel multiverse, was smiling down on me at that moment, as my chaos meter filled to 100%.

XXXXX

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Chapter 45: 14,884 words

Chapter 46: 13,500 words