Chapter Five
Arrival and Betrayal

        Vekmon set down the bags, looking around the dusty and rocky terrain. He narrowed his eyes in surprise, seeing various large structures already there. He pulled his tricorder out, and waved it at the sky. "Hmm...right time. August 10, 1859, 0600 hours, GMT." He looked at the metal structures in the near distance, perched higher up on the rocky promontory.
        He frowned at the structures, which looked suspiciously like prefabricated storage sheds from his own era. He picked up the bags and made his way down a dusty trail. He found a tent nearby and the remains of a campfire. He set the bags down by the tent, and turned to head back to the arrival coordinates.
        He looked again at the small metallic sheds on the promontory. He pulled out his tricorder and scanned the sheds.
        A faint humming, one that he felt more than heard, made him turn around. Out of a distortion in the air, Zandria Soran stepped through. She stumbled forward a few steps, as if she had been running.
        "Zan, are you allright?"
        "Yes, I'm allright," she snapped at him. "Where did you put my bags?"
        "Oh, right this way," Vekmon gestured. He walked down the trail to the campsite. "I put our bags by the tent."
        Zandria went over to the bags, checking through the contents quickly. "Everything's all here," she said aloud.
        "Good. Uh, honey... what are those things up over there?" Vekmon gestured up to the sheds. "They're made of duranium and titanium metals, not right for this era."
        Zandria turned around, raising a disruptor that seemed to appear out of nowhere. "I know. I sent them here, earlier."
        Vekmon's gaze went to the disruptor. "Wha...what's going on? What are you doing?"
        "I'm doing my sisterly duty. And your usefulness has come to an end." She raised her disruptor into a firing position. "I'm sorry to inform you that our marriage has been a sham. I'm not even Zandria Ronas. I'm actually Zandria Soran. Sister to Tolian Soran."
        Vekmon's eyes glinted with realization. "And you...what are you planning to do?"
        "Well, Jean-Luc Picard and James T. Kirk took away my only relative in the galaxy. So I'm going to take away their families and home. I'm going to destroy the Earth."
        A explosion sounded in the distance. Vekmon looked up in the direction of the explosion, which seemed to come from just up the trail, where they had been earlier. He thought he saw smoke from fire.
        "The time portal, what happened to it?" he asked, quickly tapping his wrist controls. When nothing happened, he looked at Zandria.
        She had already taking her wrist control band off. She dropped it, and crushed it beneath her boot heel. "I"m afraid it's a one way trip for both of us. And your trip ends right here." She fired, the blast winging Vekmon's arm.
        He groaned and slapped his hand on his hurt left arm. He stumbled backwards. She fired again, but missed. Vekmon spun around, and started running. Disruptor blasts hit the rocky ground near him as he ran for all he was worth. His Department of Temporal Investigations training began kicking in.
        Vekmon ran up to the edge of a cliff. He looked down and saw a river making its way through the terrain below. He looked back at his wife, at Zandria Soran. She smiled and fired again. Vekmon felt the heat of the disruptor bolt as it passed Vekmon's head. He spun around and took the only way out. He dived from the cliff.

        Johnson blinked his eyes. He realized he was on the bridge of his starship, the U.S.S. Courageous. The recent events of the day flooded into his mind. "Status report," he called out.
        "Uhh..warp engines are offline," Ruiz said, as she stirred in her seat. "Impulse engines are only at half strength."
        "Shields are offline. Navigational deflector is offline," Ironsides said from behind Johnson.
        "Where are we?" Johnson asked.
        "We're seventy-six million kilometers away from the sun," Ruiz stated.
        LeAnn added, "We're drifting."
        Johnson nodded, rubbing his neck. "The next question is- when are we?"
        "I've already determined that," said Data. "From the star patterns, and sensor analysis, we have arrived to the year 1859. It will take a few more moments to calculate an exact date."
        "Allright," Johnson cleared his throat. "Let's work on getting everything back online." He pressed his chair's armrest console. "Engineering?"
        "Fonda here," came the reply.
        "I was wondering when you'd get power going again?"
        "Well, that slingshot maneuver wiped out our energy reserves. Plus the EPS conduits are acting strangely. We can get you shields and the deflector online in a few minutes. Impulse engines will take a while more. Warp, that's another story."
        "Well tell me that story later in the briefing session in a hour," Johnson sighed. "Just get as much back online as you can."
        "Aye, sir."
        Johnson put his hands between his legs, and leaned over, looking at the deck. He still felt a little wiped out from the time travel.
        "You ok, sir?" Ironsides asked.
        "Yeah. I'm allright," Johnson nodded. He sat back in the chair. "Nothing to do but to wait." He turned in his seat. "Major. You did contact the Department of Temporal Investigations before we left communications range?"
        Ironsides shifted on his feet. "Uh, I'm sorry sir. I wasn't able to in time."
        "Damn. Looks like we'll have no back-up for this," Johnson shook his head.
        His combadge chimed. He tapped it. No response came through. He tapped his combadge again. And again.
        Finally he heard someone. "-an you hear me?"
        "Yes I can. Who is this?"
        "This is Dr. Joh Emmeril. I'm down in Engineering, working on the power problem, as requested."
        "What have you found?" asked Johnson.
        "Well, nothing so far. The power drain from the slingshot maneuver is making it difficult to even ascertain that there is a problem."
        "Well just keep on it."
        "Yes, sir. Joh out."
        "Sir, I've got shields and the navigational deflector back," Ironsides announced.
        "I've got impulse now," LeAnn said from the helm.
        "Good," Johnson smiled grimly. "Get us back to Earth."

Chapter Six
Ride On

        Vekmon coughed violently, struggling to stay above the surface of the water. At least the fall didn't kill me, he thought. That thought came to little comfort as he kicked with his feet. His right ankle screamed with pain, so intense that Vekmon gasped and lost buoyancy. He sank below the surface of the water yet again, as the current dragged him further down the river.
        Suddenly an arm wrapped itself around his neck, jerking him up roughly. He struggled against the arm, trying to pry himself loose.
        The arm was implacable, and Vekmon felt it tighten again around his throat. Suddenly his head broke through the surface of the water, and he gasped for air. He grabbed at the arm again, hoarsely shouting, "Let me go! Let go!"
        "Stop it! I'm trying to save your damn life!" a deep voice boomed authoritatively.
        A brief moment later, Vekmon was dragged onto the banks of the river. The man laid Vekmon gently onto the wet mud and kneeled by his side. Vekmon now was able to see his savior.
        "Who are you?"
        "Captain William T. Riker, of Starfleet," the bearded man said. "Your turn. Who are you?"
        "Commodore Robert L. Vekmon, also of Starfleet," Vekmon managed to reply in between deep gulps of air.
        "What the hell are you doing with Zandria Soran?" Riker asked. "Sir," he added hastily.
        "I'm married to her," Vekmon replied as he sat up painfully. He quickly assessed his wounds as he had been trained to. His wound on his left arm was not too bad. He flexed his legs. Another stab of pain in his right ankle made him wince. He must've sprained it, or broken it, by hitting the water from such a height.
        "You okay?" Riker asked.
        Vekmon nodded. "Ah, I've been worse," he shrugged. He gingerly stood up, with Riker's assistance. He made sure not to lean too much on his right foot. He checked to be sure he wasn't wearing anything anachronistic. He wasn't since they had planned to travel back in this specific era. The only things that were wrong were his wristband control and tricorder. He took the wrist control and stuffed it out of sight into a pocket. As for the tricorder, he folded it up and shoved it into a pocket on the inside of his jacket. Vekmon now seemed no different from any other dusty traveler in the old West.
        "What are you doing?" Riker asked.
        "Blending in with the natives," Vekmon explained. "Take your combadge and collar pips off, stow them away in a pocket. Strip down to your undervest. It's too hot for a black jacket, and you'd look too odd."
        Riker complied, taking off his black jacket. Now he only had his grey vest and maroon undertunic on. "Mind telling me what the hell is going on?"
        Vekmon shaded his eyes from the sun, scanning the horizon. "I don't really know much myself. I only found out my wife is the sister of the mad scientist Tolian Soran, and that she plans to destroy the Earth somehow."
        "That much I know," Riker nodded. "She just fired one of Dr. Soran's sunkiller missiles in the present, I mean, the future." He paused and looked at Vekmon. "Where are we? Scratch that, I know we're on Earth. When are we?"
        "It's August 10th, 1859. I'd wager it's about 0730 hours now. Did anyone else come with you?"
        Riker shook his head. "It's just you and me. Although, in about thirty years or so, I'll be back here in San Francisco, with some of the other Enterprise crewmembers. We could wait it out and get them to help us." He grinned at his suggestion.
        Vekmon smiled in spite of himself "No, I don't think we have thirty years. I think maybe only a few days. I think she's building a missile launch pad up there."
        "For another sunkiller missile," Riker nodded. "Just as well. I'm not looking forward to meeting my younger self. It gets awkward."
        "Ah. What were you doing in San Francisco anyway?" Vekmon asked.
        "It's a long story."
        "Aren't they all?" Vekmon nodded sympathetically. He looked off in the distance. "There, you see that?" he pointed.
        Riker looked in the distance, seeing a faint ribbon of smoke rising from the horizon. "Yeah."
        "Let's go there."
        "Why?"
        "Well, firstly, we need horses, and that's the only sign of civilization I can see around here. I know someone else we can go to for help."
        Vekmon started limping off towards the distant fire, and Riker walked up alongside him to help him walk.

        The Courageous glided into orbit around Earth. The senior staff and bridge crew were gathered in the Conference room, as well as the guests, Data and Counselor Troi.
        "Allright people," Johnson said, drawing the room's attention to him. "I don't know how much time we have, so let's get right to it. Mr. Data, how much time do we have anyway?"
        Data stepped forward. "I do not know the time at which the event will occur, only the day. August 12, 1859. Currently, it is 1036 hours, August 10, 1859."
        "So, say...about forty hours, give or take?" Johnson prompted.
        "For now, that is a satisfactory assumption," Data stated.
        "Wait a minute...August 10, 1859?" Hartman asked incredulously.
        Johnson held up his hands. "Please. We may not have much time to stop Zandria Soran. So I'm going to make this short and sweet. Number one, I want to minimize any temporal effects our trip may take. That means that keeping the knowledge that we're in the past limited only to the people in this room. Ironsides, I want you to shut down Astrometrics, Stellar Cartography, and any other site where there is access to external sensors. Make up a reason, equipment failure, power mode restrictions whatever.
        "Ensign LeAnn, take the ship over to the dark side of the moon. I don't want anyone with a telescope to see us.
        "Dr. Joh, continue assisting Fonda with the EPS problem. Is it sabotage, a virus or what? Get Garak to help you. I'm sure he's an expert in detecting sabotage. But under no means tell him what else is going on.
        "Bogarde, I want you and Data to scan the surface to find out where Zandria Soran might be. Sometime in August 12th, she's going to fire a sunkiller and destroy the sun and the entire solar system. We've got to stop her.
        "Fonda, what is the status of engineering?" Johnson asked.
        Fonda crossed her arms. "Well, we've got pretty much everything back up and running after that slingshot. The only thing is that the warp cores are drained. You pushed the ship really hard. I don't think any other ship in the fleet could have made it. It'll take a while for the dilithium crystals to recharge."
        "How long?"
        "Approximately forty-eight hours."
        Johnson pursed his lips, thinking. Finally he gave a single nod. "That's allright. Will the ship be ready to do the slingshot maneuver again to return to the present?"
        "I'll make sure it is," Fonda nodded crisply.
        "Good," Johnson slapped his hand on the table top. "Allright, let's go to work."

        Zandria hummed lightly as she pushed the anti-grav cart across the rocky ground towards the large metal structure. She looked at it, smiling. "Tolian, you'd be proud." She continued pushing the cart, which held the body of a half-completed long missile.

        Riker dropped off his horse that he bought, and walked tiredly towards a puddle of water. Vekmon called out. "Hang on. Check the water with my tricorder."
        Riker went up to Vekmon and took the tricorder. He scanned the water, making sure it was potable. When the instrument gave its results, Riker dropped to his knees, drinking the water out of his hands. Then he dropped in the dirty canteen the horse trader gave him, filling it up with water.
        He walked up to Vekmon and handed the canteen to the parched man, then led Vekmon's horse to the water. His own horse had began munching on a patch of prairie grass.
        "Riker, here you can fill up the canteen again, and don't forget my own." Vekmon handed Riker another canteen.
        Riker filled both canteens up, and took his horse to drink from the water.
        Vekmon shifted in his saddle and groaned.
        "How's the ankle?" Riker asked.
        "Really swollen. At least it's only sprained, you said."
        "Yeah, that's what the tricorder said," Riker nodded.
        "Picard's much worse off than me though," Vekmon mused.
        Riker nodded somberly. "Yes, last I heard. It's not the end I'd envisioned for him."
        "Agreed," Vekmon smiled sadly.
        Riker looked up at the high sun, and back down at his own shadow, which was thin and close to his feet. "Looks to be about noon."
        Vekmon nodded. "Probably be another half day's ride."
        "In that case, let's get going." Riker got onto his horse.
        Vekmon nodded grimly. He looked down to his horse. "Allright, Horse. Let's go! Heeyah!" With that, he dug his heels into the horse, setting off north. The horse ran as fast as it could, kicking up a cloud of dust behind them, with Riker right alongside him.

        "I think we've found it."
        "That's great, Bogarde," Johnson said. "Where is she?"
        Bogarde sighed. "I haven't found her. I've set the sensors to detect El-Aurian life signs, but they detect none. Maybe she hasn't arrived yet."
        "Well, what have you found?"
        "It's hard to tell, but I've found traces of duranium and tritinium and various 24th century components," the tactical chief said.
        "Where? Put it on the viewscreen," Johnson commanded.
        The viewscreen showed the North American continent, then zoomed into the western part of the continent. "That's going to be Nevada, right?" Johnson checked.
        "That is correct," Data replied. "October 31, 1864, Nevada becomes the 36th state to enter the old United States."
        "I see. I don't need a full history lesson here," Johnson said. "Just a yes or no will do."
        "Yes, sir," Data said.
        "Is that area populated?" Johnson asked.
        "No sir. It's all desert. Not even animal lifeforms are detected."
        "Ok. Bogarde and Data, you're with me. Transporter One," Johnson declared. He looked over at Ironsides. "You have the bridge."
        
        The Away Team raised their phasers, ready to confront Zandria as soon as the transporter effect wore off. Instead, they saw nothing, only a bleak desolate landscape.
        "Bogarde?" Johnson looked over at his tactical chief.
        The tall black man shrugged. "Sensors told me there was 24th century metal here."
        Data holstered his phaser and opened a tricorder, and began taking readings. After a moment, he turned to look at the other three men. "There is anachronistic metal here. It's buried under several meters of dirt and sand. From these readings, I have determined it is the remains of an escape pod. It has been here for nearly six years."
        "An escape pod?" Johnson asked, stepping forward to look at Data's tricorder readout.
        "Yes, a standard escape pod utilized on class 2A starbases. Hold on, sir." Data ran a pale finger over the tricorder controls. "I'm detecting residual subspace radiation."
        "From what?" Johnson asked, still holding his phaser at the ready.
        "The signature is unusual. I have only seen it once before..." Data trailed off, his eyes staring off into space. Johnson assumed that the android was searching his internal memory banks.
        "Captain," Data said finally. "I have reason to suspect that this is Cadet Stuvor's escape pod from Starbase 296."

        "So far, maintenance has cataloged no less than thirty complaints about the computer's activity in the past four hours," Fonda told Garak.
        "Well, as you requested, I searched for obvious signs of sabotage. And I detected none," the Cardassian expatriate said.
        "Well, you two are just going to have to run over the ship again, with a fine tooth comb," Fonda said.
        "Are these quirks the reason why sensors are non-functional?" Garak asked.
        "Yes," Fonda said.
        Garak smiled. His large brown eyes stared at Fonda. "Please. As you humans so quaintly say, 'don't kid a kidder.' "
        "You have your orders from the captain," Fonda said.
        "Point well taken, Commander." Garak looked at the science station in the auxiliary science lab. He looked at the sullen Bajoran doctor standing next to him. "Do you have anything you'd like to add to the discussion?"
        "No," Joh replied.
        Garak smiled and shrugged. "Well, shall we start from the very beginning?"
        Fonda leaned at the console, looking over Garak's shoulder. "Ok. The first malfunction was reported on the bridge, when Ensign LeAnn attempted to lay in a course back to Earth. The controls didn't respond to her commands until 3.6 seconds later."
        "Yes, I see that," Garak said, pointing to the line that indicated the malfunction on the screen. "But was that truly the beginning? I seem to recall being thrown out of my soft bed from such a lovely dream..."
        "I remember that. I spilled coffee all over my uniform. But that was about twenty minutes beforehand. I wasn't on the bridge when that happened. I'll ask Major Ironsides."
        She stood up straight and tapped her combadge. No chirp signaled an open channel. She tapped it again. She tapped it several more times. When no chirp sounded, she sighed and started walking out of the science lab, to the nearest turbolift.
        Finally a chirp sounded. Then another chirp, then a series of chirps, one for each tap she made. Garak turned around to look at Fonda, a quizzical expression on his grey face. After the chirping stopped, Fonda spoke. "Fonda to Ironsides."
        "Ironsides here. What is it?"
        "Do you recall the strange impact that occurred early this morning? Let me get the exact time..." Fonda headed back to the computer station to look at the log.
        "Oh, I know what you're talking about. A torpedo from the Tempus penetrated the outer hull. Repair teams have already taken care of it."
        "Hm. Where was it?"
        There was a pause as Ironsides was looking up the location on the computer. "Aft section, deck 40, sector 2-1."
        "Thank you, major." She tapped her combadge, closing the connection. After ending the connection, Fonda looked at Garak. "I want to take a look for myself, personally."
        "A capital suggestion."
        Joh spoke up again. "If it's all the same to you two, I'd rather remain here. I have several things I'd like to look into."
        "Fine," said Fonda. She and Garak walked out of the room, leaving Joh behind.

        Johnson stepped back onto the bridge. Ironsides stood at attention. Bogarde and Data followed him in. "What the hell is wrong with communications?" Johnson seethed.
        "What do you mean?" Ironsides cocked his head.
        "What do you mean??" Johnson repeated. "I just tried to contact you on the surface, but I couldn't get a signal through."
        "Well, I got no signal..."
        "Sir, we're getting a signal from the surface now," Bogarde said, back at his post at tactical.
        "What?" Johnson twisted his face in confusion. "Put it through."
        "It's audio only," Bogarde said, as he tapped the appropriate button.
        A familiar voice came over the comm system. "Johnson to Courageous...Johnson to Courageous...Ironsides, respond! Johnson to Courageous..."
        Ironsides and Johnson stared at each other. "That's exactly what I was saying on the surface."
        "It must have been delayed, somehow," Ironsides shrugged. "Lieutenant Commander Fonda, Dr. Joh and Garak are currently investigating the problem now."
        "I see. Well, what I was trying to tell was that Data believes we've found the remains of an escape pod from the 24th century, from Starbase 296. He thinks it is the one Cadet Stuvor used in trying to escape."
        "I see," Ironsides nodded. "Wasn't Starbase 296 the one equipped with the Final Measure?"
        Johnson narrowed his eyes at the major. "Yes. Yes it was. How did you know?"
        Ironsides shrugged. "I have a background in secrets, if you recall. I have a very high security clearance."
        "Ah yes," Johnson nodded.
        "Excuse me?" LeAnn said. She twisted around in her seat to face the captain. "I couldn't help but over hear. Is Cadet Stuvor still alive?"
        Johnson looked at the young woman. "Well, we didn't find any organic remains, so it seems he walked away from the crash landing. Beyond that, we don't know."
        "Oh," LeAnn sighed, visibly disappointed.
        "Damn it!" Bogarde shouted out.
        Johnson and Ironsides snapped around to look at the tactical officer, just in time to see him slam a big meaty fist onto the tactical console. "What is it Bogarde?" Johnson inquired.
        He looked up, aggravated. "It's the sensors, sir. They're going nuts on me. I was fixing in onto a possible location. I thought I saw a subspace transceiver signal somewhere in the northeast part of Nevada, but it disappeared. Then it reappeared. I tried fixing our short range sensors onto it for a better signal, but then it went all hinky on me."
        "Hinky?" Johnson asked.
        "Yeah. One second I'd be reading a large city, with several hundred life signs, then no life signs at all. I think the sensors aren't staying focused in one location."
        "Ah," Johnson nodded. "And did hitting the console help?"
        Bogarde grinned sheepishly. "No, not really. But I felt a little better."
        "Ah," Johnson nodded. He started to speak when Data's voice broke in.
        "I believe the problem with sensors is similar with the problem with communications, only on a greater magnitude. Chief Bogarde's assessment that the sensors are not remaining fixed on one location is correct. I believe that the sensors are indeed relaying time-delayed information to him. And the problems are due to Earth's rotation. As he says, one second, he is reading a city. The next second, he is reading the desert area next to the city."
        Johnson stared at Data. Then he turned to Ironsides. "This problem is getting worse."
        Ironsides gave a lopsided grin. "At least I don't have to lie anymore about a sensor problem."
        Johnson returned the grin. "I'm sure you have no problems lying at all in any case."
        Ironsides only shrugged and smiled in response. Johnson tapped his combadge, waiting to hear the chirp. When it came immediately, he let out a relieved sigh.
        "Johnson to Fonda."

        Fonda twisted around in the narrow Jeffries tube, struggling to tap her combadge. The cramped surroundings made it hard for her to maneuver. Finally she reached her combadge.
        "What is it?" she asked. She heard the captain's voice.
        "Sensors are now affected by this strange problem. Have you made any headway?"
        "Well, if you consider finding the beginning point of the problem headway, yes I have. I think it's the torpedo that Ironsides thought was merely a dud."
        Johnson thought about that for a moment before remembering the strange torpedo impact. "Yes, I see. What of it?"
        "Well, Garak looked at the remains that the repair team recovered. He said the torpedo casing was designed to penetrate a hull. It was conical instead of the usual oblong cylindrical shape."
        "Why wasn't this pointed out earlier?" Johnson asked.
        "We were busy," Ironsides raised an eyebrow.
        "Oh yes. Go on, Fonda," he said into his combadge.
        "Well, the torpedo hit near one of the secondary major EPS junctions in the aft section. That makes me think the torpedo had something to do with the EPS fluctuations, which leads to the odd computer malfunctions we've been having."
        "Do you have any idea what the cause might be?"
        "No idea. But at least Garak and I have something to start from."
        "Ok. Keep up the good work. Johnson out." The captain turned to look at Bogarde. "Ok, where was that subspace transceiver?"
        "According to historical records the town is called--"

        "--Carson City. You look like you've come a long way, stranger," the old man said from his seat on a wooden chair.
        Vekmon nodded, wiping the sweat off his forehead. "Yeah, I have. What time is it?"
        The old-timer pulled out a gold pocketwatch and looked at the dial, using a nearby lantern to read the watch in the darkness. "Quarter after eight."
        Vekmon shifted on his feet, sighing. His ankle was feeling slightly better. Thankfully, it turned out to be only sprained, not broken. He straightened up again and turned around to look back in the darkness, looking for Riker. The captain was at a nearby well, giving water to their horses.
        Vekmon looked back up at the grizzled man. "Would you happen to know of a man by the name Stuvor?"
        "Hmm..." The man chewed on his lower lip. "Nope. Ain't nobody by that name in these parts."
        "Damn," Vekmon sighed. "How about a fix-it? Know of one around?"
        "A fix-it?" the old man asked. "Like a blacksmith?"
        "Yeah, like that."
        The old man leaned back in his chair, and pulled out a bag of tobacco. "Yep. There's a couple of those here. And I heard tell of two more over up in Virginia City."
        "What are their names?" Vekmon asked.
        "What's the matter? You in a hurry to get something fixed?"
        "Yeah, I am... I need to fix something real soon."

        Johnson stared at the faint blue and red lights of the shuttle that was streaking back up into the night sky. Ruiz nimbly flew the shuttle back up into space. He looked back down and checked the charge on his small Type I phaser. The captain had ordered the away team to be equipped only with the small hand sized phasers, in order to better conceal them from the populace.
        Captain Johnson tugged at the constricting Roman Collar of his missionary priest suit. He didn't like how the corners dug into his neck. Like Johnson, the rest of the Away Team was wearing 19th century clothes. Commander Troi wore a nun's outfit to complement Johnson's disguise. Major Ironsides, as befitted his stature, was in a Union Army uniform, with the rank of Major.
        Ambassador Favor wore a fancy black suit with a silk ascot, and a black cowboy hat. Hartman wore a brown typical western suit, complete with a bow tie and brown bowler hat. He gripped a small black bag, which contained a medkit.
        Data wore a cowhand's outfit, and a cowboy's hat. He carried a leather satchel in which he could hide his tricorder in.
        Everyone had a communicator hidden somewhere on their disguises, for transporter lock purposes. For all the good it'll do, Johnson shrugged. The transporter chief had deemed the transporter system too affected to use safely. Which is why Ruiz had ferried them to the surface in the dead of the night, so no one would see them.
        Off in the distance, Johnson could see the lights of Carson City. "Allright," he said. "Let's go in." He felt the comforting stiffness of the sword he carried beneath his long black priest's robe. Ironsides also had a sword, but it was part of the uniform.
        "Mr. Data, are you reading the subspace transceiver?" Johnson asked.
        "Yes I am. The tricorders appear to be unaffected by the problems on the Courageous."
        "Thank God for small favors," Johnson said.
        Favor chuckled. So did some of the other people on the away team. Johnson turned to them. "What's so funny?" he asked.
        Favor pointed to Johnson's outfit.
        Johnson looked down at his clothes and the realization sank in. "Oh. Heh," he chuckled.
        The motley assortment of people headed in to the city before them.

        The old timer spat out some tobacco juice, and leaned the chair forward to look at the newcomers coming in from the dark. He scratched his frizzled beard, pulling out a bug, crushing it.
        The priest approached the old man. "Pardon me. Would you happen to know if a man named Stuvor lives here?"
        "Nope. Like I told the other guy, ain't nobody by that name here."
        "What other guy?" the priest asked.
        "Ehh, about yea tall," the old man raised his hand, indicating a height. "White hair, cut real short-like. Losin' hair too."
        "Ah, " the priest nodded. "Did he say anything else?"
        "Nope," the old timer shook his head. "Oh wait. Yeah he did. He wanted to know where the blacksmiths were. He said he had to fix something real fast."
        "Thank you, sir," the priest said. He started to walk into town with the others.
        "Hey!" the old man called out. "I answered yer questions. Now I gots one of mine own. What's with the one with the yellow skin?"
        The cowhand stepped forward. "I am from South America."
        "Ahhh that explains it. A foreigner," the old man nodded.
        "Uh, is that all?" the priest asked.
        "Yep. Go on," the old man waved them away. He muttered to himself. "Why's everybody always ask me questions?"
        The cowhand paused and turned around. "Perhaps it is because you are the first person a visitor sees."
        "Huh. How 'bout that? Mebbe I better find another sittin' place," the old man said. The cowhand tilted his hat at the old man and rejoined his companions.

        Hartman was near Data. "Where did you come up with that ridiculous South America excuse?" he asked the android.
        "I have found that people are more willing to accept differences when explained away as being a characteristic of a foreign nationality."
        "Ah," Hartman nodded.
        "Mr. Data!" Johnson called out from the head of the group. "Do you have a direction on where the transceiver is?"
        "Yes, sir," Data nodded, surreptitiously looking at his tricorder. Hartman and Ironsides stood near him, to block the view from anyone looking on.
        "Well, you take point then," Johnson said. Data made his way through the group, with Johnson and Ironsides flanking Data.
        The group made their way through the dusty streets of Carson City. The oil lanterns flickered pale light onto the wooden sidewalks along the streets. The storefronts were all closed for the night. The only places open were saloons and hotels, and there were plenty for the weary miners and speculators.
        Data had briefed the group about the current events in the trip on the shuttle. The Comstock Lode, a large deposit of silver and gold and various other minerals had been discovered nearby only recently. A large mining boom occurred. Carson City was growing due to that. So was another mining town, Virginia City, which laid to the northeast of Carson City. In only a few years the Civil War would break out.
        The Away Team made their way to a dark street, where only a few lanterns were hung. Data, with his android eyes, easily guided them to the correct place. They came to a small barn. The smell of hay and horse manure hung in the air.
        "You're sure the subspace transceiver is here?" Favor asked, wrinkling his nose at the smell.
        Data took one furtive glance at his tricorder. "Yes. I am certain." He folded up the tricorder and put it in his leather satchel. He went up to the doors and pushed the door open.
        "Everyone, stay out here. I will go in with Data," Johnson said.
        "I need a light," Johnson called out from inside the barn. Favor looked around, and went over to the nearest lantern. He looked around, making sure no one was watching. Quickly, he took it off the hook, and carried it back, giving it to Johnson.
        "Ah, the great and famous ambassador reduced to stealing lanterns, are we?" Hartman smirked.
        "Borrowing. The term is borrowing," Favor smiled, wagging a finger at his friend.
        Johnson shook his head as he carried the lantern in to Data. They looked around the barn, finding nothing out of the ordinary. Stalls for horses lined one side of the barn, and several unfinished projects laid strewn about on the other side. A furnace was set in the left rear corner of the barn, with a funnel to send the smoke out of the barn. A table covered with papers and a lantern sat near the entrance. Johnson peered over the papers as Data continued on in further into the barn.
        A paper on the top of the others had large letters scribbled on it. Johnson lowered the lantern to read it.
        "SORRY. CLOSED FOR NOW. WENT AWAY ON BUSINESS. BE BACK IN A FEW DAYS. G. POSTMAN" the letter read. Obviously it was for any customers who came in to see this 'Postman' for his services.
        "Sir. I have found it," Data called out.
        Johnson looked up to see where Data was. The android was standing in the furthermost stall near the back of the barn. The lights of the tricorders blinked in the darkness. Johnson made his way down the aisle of stalls, to the one Data was in.
        He opened the gate and let himself into the stall, looking at Data. The android held up hand. "Stop!"
        Johnson froze. "What?"
        Data pointed down to the hay and grass. "Mind the manure." Johnson looked and saw he almost stepped in a large pile of horse waste.
        "Thank you, Captain," Johnson said, as he side stepped the hazard.
        "You are welcome," Data replied. He dug his fingers into a space between the boards that made up the back wall of the stall. The android pulled away a false wall, to reveal a small room.
        Johnson widened his eyes in surprise. He took in the contents of the room, which had various scientific equipment scattered about. One item drew his eyes. A subspace transceiver.
        "Hmm. It seems that this 'Postman' is our missing Stuvor," Johnson sighed. Data stared at the captain, saying nothing. "But where is he now?" Johnson wondered aloud.

        Vekmon settled back on the thin wool blanket that was laid out on the dry ground. Firelight danced over his face as he stretched his sore muscles. He looked over at the strange man sitting opposite him at the campfire. The man had long shaggy black hair, and a mustache and stubble across his chin and cheeks. His hat sat down on the ground next to him, along with his gun. His clothes were dusty from life in the west.
        The man noticed Vekmon looking at him. He smiled. "Do I really look that different to you?"
        Vekmon chuckled, shrugging. "Well, yes, Ginger, you do."
        "It's the mustache, right?" Stuvor nodded. "When I first arrived, I tried to shave everyday, but do you know how hard it is to shave with the razors they make here? It's nothing like the microlasers we have. After a while, I stopped caring and just let the mustache grow in. I think it helps. I look like your everyday blacksmith right?"
        "Well, you do. But it's not just the mustache," Vekmon shook his head. "You look different. A little more weathered. Your attitude is different too. More confident. It's a far cry from the wet behind the ears cadet I knew, what? Five years ago."
        Riker walked into the circle of firelight, dumping more kindling on the ground. "Yeah. You look nothing like the Stuvor I remember, back on Starbase 296."
        "Well it's hard not to be confident when you know what's going to happen in the future," Stuvor chuckled. The smile faded from his face as he sighed. "Well, living here for almost six years has uh...weathered me as you say. Hardened me a little. No family, no friends...that's hard to deal with."
        Stuvor laid back on his bedroll, looking up at the stars, with his hands behind his head on the ground. "For the first couple of months or so, I tried to figure out a way to return to my time. But I just couldn't. So I accepted my fate, and I began to feel better. That's around when I wrote the letter to you."
        "That was clever," Vekmon added.
        "Thanks. I thought you'd like it. Anyway, I settled down, and started to make a life for myself. And then you and Captain Riker show up at my smith's shop just as I'm closing up, and screw everything up." Stuvor chuckled, amused at the whole situation. He turned over onto his side to look at Vekmon, his dark eyes gazing at his mentor and friend.
        "Tell me more of this woman, Zandria Soran," Stuvor asked. "What can we expect from her?"
        Vekmon expelled a long stream of air as he sighed. "Anything and everything," he shrugged. "She didn't exactly let me know of her plans until at the very last minute. And she tried her best to make sure I wouldn't tell anyone else." He rubbed his sore ankle. The swelling had begun to go down.
        "I'm pretty certain she intends to fire one of Tolian Soran's sunkiller missiles. I recognized the beginnings of a launch pad when I first came through the timeportal. Beyond that, I don't know anything. I've already told you all this earlier."
        "I know," Stuvor nodded. "It's just sometime helpful to go over the details again. Let me see the wristcontrol again, please." Stuvor held out a hand.
        Vekmon leaned over, handing over the time machine wrist control to Stuvor. The younger man studied the small piece of technology by the firelight. "Amazing. I had almost forgotten my idea for this."
        "It worked well, at least until Zandria blew it up."
        "She blew up the time machine?" Stuvor frowned.
        Riker nodded, rubbing his hands in front of the fire. "I was there as she made her escape. She had the whole warehouse boobytrapped. The whole place went up in flames. I made it through the portal by the skin of my teeth. In fact my uniform was on fire when I came through," Riker grinned. He went silent for a moment. "I wonder if Parker made it out safely."
        "There seems to be something missing from here," Stuvor looked up.
        "Yes, the relay conduit," Vekmon remarked. "It was made of a gold alloy, and we needed horses bad. So I pried it out and gave it away in exchange for the fastest horse I could find. I figured since the machine wasn't working anymore, I wouldn't need to use it anyway."
        "Oh I see. Do you have any other 24th Century tech with you?" Stuvor asked.
        "Well, Riker still has his combadge, although he lost his phaser in the confusion as he came here. That's it...no wait. I have the tricorder. Here," Vekmon rummaged in his satchel, producing the tricorder. "There's not much on here. Just historical records, energy readings, and sensor programs."
        "Perhaps Zandria put something on there, something that could help us figure out what her plans are?" Stuvor asked.
        "Good idea." Vekmon flipped open the tricorder and accessed its memory directory. "Mmhmm," he murmured as he scrolled through the tricorder's contents. "Ah, here's something," Vekmon declared. His brows knitted in confusion. "I can't access it. It's encrypted."
        "Here, let me try," Stuvor held his hand out. Vekmon handed over the tricorder. Stuvor bit his lower lip as he concentrated on the tricorder's files. Vekmon walked over to Stuvor's side, so he could look over the young man's shoulder.
        After a while, Stuvor beamed in satisfaction. "I've got it open now!"
        "Good, what is it of?"
        "Umm, let me see...it's a map of the solar system?" Stuvor looked up at Vekmon, angling the tricorder so the other man could see it. A beep made Stuvor look at the tricorder again. "Wait, there's more."
        Stuvor leaned in to show Vekmon the tricorder monitor. Riker walked over to look over their shoulders.
        The two men looked on the tricorder's small screen. The map of the solar system zoomed in to Earth. A bright yellow line spun out from Earth and went directly to the sun. A series of numbers scrolled across the side of the screen.
        "It's a trajectory map," Vekmon concluded.
        Stuvor looked up at Vekmon. "For the sunkiller missile."
        "Look up the position of the Earth in relation to the sun," Vekmon told Stuvor.
        "Got it."
        "Compare that to the position of the Earth in relation to the sun now."
        "Ok. Calculate how long it will take Earth to move into position according to the trajectory map."
        Stuvor nodded. "I see what you're looking for. Calculating it now. Got it now."
        "When does it happen?"
        Stuvor swallowed before answering. "The Earth is in position at 1200 hours, August 12th."
        "That's not much time," Riker shook his head. He walked back to his own bedroll and sat down.
        "I've got a few friends I know here who could help us out," Stuvor said. He looked at Vekmon. "Do you know anyone else here? A Temporal Agent?"
        Vekmon shook his head. "No, they removed all memories of Temporal Agents. I can't remember if anyone is here in this era. I doubt it. If there was, then they'd have found Zandria's preparations already."
        "Maybe she killed them," Riker suggested. "After all, she'd have known to check for them."
        Vekmon sighed. "Could be."
        "How about you, Captain? Do you know anyone?" Stuvor asked.
        "Not really. I do know I have an ancestor who will be involved in the Civil War in a few years. But no, no one to help us."
        "Mmhmm," Stuvor shook his head. "Let's grab some sleep. Come sunrise, we'll go and get some of my friends. They'll help us take Zandria Soran down."
        "Allright."
        "Good night." Stuvor laid back down, closing his eyes.
        "Good night," Riker said, as he settled down on his bedroll.
        "Good night," Vekmon replied. He laid down as well. But he didn't close his eyes. Instead, he looked at the stars. He cursed himself silently, angry for causing this situation to happen. For letting his heart blind himself to the true intentions of Zandria. He sighed sadly, looking up at the stars. He wished that things were as peaceful on Earth as they were up in the sky.

        Things weren't as peaceful as they seemed in space. Bogarde growled frustratedly at his console. "That's it, sir. Every single system on the Courageous is now affected by this...thing!"
        The screen next to the command chair started flickering, and the ship's executive officer sighed once again. So far the day had not been going great for Lieutenant Janet Kyle. She awoke to a screeching alarm, that went off two hours before it was set to ring. That was her first clue all was not right in the world.
        The alarm refused to deactivate, prompting Kyle to decide to start her day. When she met with Captain Johnson, she was overwhelmed by the barrage of problems cropping up on the ship, not to mention the fact that the alarm woke her up two hours too early, but about 500 years too early. And then the captain decided to go planetside, leaving her in command of the malfunctioning Courageous.
        Kyle glared at the computer screen which continued to flicker merrily to some strange rhythm. She muttered, "That's just great." She sat back in the command seat, rubbing her temples. Sighing, she sat forward, and opened up a tricorder, and started working on it. "At least the tricorders are still working," she muttered to herself. Pausing, she tapped her combadge. When the chirp didn't come, she remembered that communications had gone down an hour ago.
        She turned to an ensign standing by the forward turbolift. "Ensign, please go get Garak in Engineering. Have him come up to the bridge."
        The young man nodded and went into the turbolift to relay the message. After a few minutes, Garak returned with the messenger. Garak seemed very glad to step out of the turbolift. He smiled at the lieutenant.
        "The messenger system is working well, so far," the Cardassian said. "I also find it very amusing. The flagship of Starfleet, reduced to sending messengers from deck to deck to relay a simple message."
        "It might have been funny, if it weren't so serious," Kyle replied.
        "You know, you may consider prohibiting turbolift use now. Midway through our journey, the turbolift paused for a half moment," Garak said. "I was assaulted with very unpleasant thoughts of being trapped there for the duration of the mission."
        "Oh, great," Kyle sighed. "If the turbolift system goes, then everything will come to a screeching halt on this ship."
        "Well, I wouldn't term the activity here as going at a brisk clip," Garak shrugged as he sat down in the seat next to Kyle.
        "What have you figured out so far?" she asked.
        "Well, Doctor Joh and I have been working on the problem while Chief Fonda has been busy keeping watch on the warp drive, particularly the magnetic containment fields. I for one, am glad. She seems to be a very competent engineer. All business. Quite almost Cardassian, if I do say so."
        "Get on with it, Garak," Kyle sighed.
        "Well, I've tracked the malfunctions. They definitely do come from the secondary major EPS junction. The malfunctions started at deck 40, at the point of impact and spread outwards in a matter of time. Chief Fonda made an interesting observation."
        "What?"
        "The spread of the malfunctions seemed to match the spread of the plasma through the EPS system."
        "I see. Have you found any indications of the cause yet?"
        Garak shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not. The next step is for us to analyze the plasma. Unfortunately, now internal sensors aren't working. So we need to capture a sample of the plasma. And as you may have guessed, we're unable to do that automatically. So, as we speak, Lieutenant Hiroshi and a few of the other Engineering crew are now working to manually retrieve a sample of the plasma to analyze."
        "Allright," Kyle nodded, scrunching up her face in concentration.
        "Have we still been unable to get assistance from Starfleet or one of its allies?"
        "What?" Kyle looked over at Garak. "Oh, no, not yet. Like I told you before, we're in a very isolated sector of space."
        Garak sighed. His penetrating eyes look at Lieutenant Kyle, evaluating her words. "You know, I might be of more help if I knew exactly what is going on."
        "I'm sorry. Captain Johnson has declared all information to be released on a 'need to know only' basis. And so far, you've been doing well so far with your current state of knowledge."
        "Very well."
        "However, if the situation changes so that you need to know, I will inform you," Kyle added.
        "I shall rely on your wisdom. You are the commanding officer now, after all," Garak smiled ingratiatingly. He clapped his hands together and rubbed them. "Well! I shall go now. I must stop by the science lab to pick up some scientific tricorders to take to Engineering. Which Jeffries tube do I use to get there?"
        Kyle thought for a moment. "Uh...Tube 14a."
        "And how do I access that tube?"
        Kyle jerked her thumb over her shoulder, pointing to the wall. "There's an entryway behind the bottom center panel."
        The hiss of a turbolift opening drew their attention. Doctor Michelanos, the doctor in charge of Sickbay now that Hartman was offship, stepped onto the bridge.
        "Uh, the turbolifts.." Michelanos began to say.
        "I know," Kyle cut him off. "I'm going to declare the turbolifts offlimits in a few minutes."
        "I've already informed her of the problem," Garak smiled.
        "Ah," the doctor nodded. "Captain, what did you want?"
        "Since things have worsened, I wanted to tell you to prepare for injuries and casualties," Kyle answered. "I also wanted a status report from sickbay."
        "I thought as much. Um, most of the injuries from the recent battle have been taken care of. But ever since the malfunctions began, sickbay has been getting a stream of minor injuries with the occasional serious injury." Michelanos shifted on his feet. "So far, we've been getting along with just the tricorders and stand alone medical equipment. Also, without the computer's aid, the staff has been getting a mental workout with making diagnoses."
        Kyle's brows furrowed with concern. "You said minor injuries? Like what?"
        Dr. Michelanos shrugged. "The majority of the injuries we've been getting have been broken or bruised noses."
        "How's that?" Kyle asked, confused.
        "Well, umm..." Michelanos raised his eyebrow in concern, "from...walking into doors that don't open in time."
        "Oh," Kyle remarked. Slowly her mouth twisted into a grin. A chuckle escaped from her mouth. She tried to stifle it and compose herself, but the more she thought about it, the funnier it was. She ended up laughing out loud.
        Garak found it equally as amusing, and laughed along with Kyle. Dr. Michelanos couldn't blame them. He had the same reaction when the injuries first started coming in. He grinned as he watched the lieutenant laugh.
        Quickly, Kyle composed herself. She felt a little better, now that some of her tension had been relieved. "Thank you doctor. That's all I wanted to know. You can return to the sickbay."
        "If you want, you can accompany me into the Jeffries tubes," Garak added.
        "Allright." Michelanos followed Garak to the Jeffries tube accessway. He paused and turned. "Oh, by the way, I haven't found any ill effects from the chron..."
        Kyle hissed, and tilted her head to Garak, who was busy removing the panel. He looked at her, and sighed, knowing that there was more going on than he knew. He looked up at Michelanos. "What the executive officer means to say is that I don't need to know, doctor." He smiled, and opened the entry.
        Michelanos continued. "I haven't found any ill effects from the uh...radiation."
        "Thank God for small favors," she smiled sadly.
        "Mmm," Michelanos nodded. "I did notice that the injured people who came in from Deck 40 had the highest levels of..." The doctor paused, and looked into the Jeffries tube, making sure Garak was gone. Once he was satisfied, he looked up. "The injured from Deck 40 had the highest concentrations of chronoal radiation. But like I said, there were no ill effects."
        "Hmmm," Kyle nodded, remembering that fact. "Well, thank you, doctor. You may go now." She watched as Michelanos crawled into the tube after Garak.
        She chuckled again, thinking about the broken noses. "The doors...they didn't open...heh." Suddenly, the grin dropped. "Oh great," she muttered to herself. "If the doors don't open, what about the shuttlebay doors? Now we can't get the away team back."

        Johnson peered up at the night sky for the umpteeth time, hoping to catch a glimpse of the blue lights of a shuttle's warp nacelles. He sighed, dropping his eyes to the ground. He kicked at a clod of mud with his black boots. Sighing again, Johnson looked at the nearby major. "Guess we're going to have to spend the night here, Max."
        "Guess so," Ironsides shrugged.
        "Come on, let's go tell the others," Johnson said. The two disguised officers walked down the small hill to meet the rest of the away team, who were gathered at the base of the hill.
        After hearing the news, the team started back to Carson City. They went directly to the nearest hotel they saw. Upon entering the lobby of the hotel, the away team was assaulted by the pungent smell of tobacco smoke. Being from the 24th century, the team had very little contact with tobacco smoking. Johnson walked up to the counter, to a chubby bearded man.
        The man smiled, showing yellow stained teeth. His black oily hair was swept back on his balding scalp. "Ah, welcome to my humble hotel! My name is Harold. What may I do for a man of the cloth?"
        The man's breath reeked of alcohol. Johnson wrinkled his nose. "Um, I need some rooms." He glanced over at his away team and mentally divided them. "Two rooms. One large room and one small room. As close to each other as possible, please."
        The portly man looked at a large book. He ran a thick finger down a page. "Ah!" he looked up. "You are in luck. I do have two such rooms, very nearly adjacent, as you requested!"
        "That's good," Johnson nodded. "What floor and what room numbers?"
        "Ah, first the matter of a small, small fee," Harold shrugged with insincere modesty.
        "Oh. That's right," Johnson remembered the archaic monetary system. "How much?"
        "Five dollars a week."
        "I don't think we'll stay a week."
        "Then two-fifty a night," Harold answered.
        "Ah," Johnson nodded. "Very well. I'll be right back with your payment."
        Harold grinned toothily. "I shall get your keys and be right here."
        "Okay," Johnson nodded. He walked back to the group. "Uh, anyone have two-fifty?"
        "Two-fifty what?" Hartman asked.
        Johnson opened his mouth, then paused. "You know what? I don't even know. That's what the hotel manager is asking for the rooms."
        "I believe that means two dollars, fifty cents," Data offered.
        "Dollars? Cents?" Johnson said blankly.
        "The form of currency the United States used to have, before the global economy overhaul," Data explained.
        "Still, the question remains...does anyone have two-fifty?" Johnson sighed.
        Data pulled his combadge off from underneath his leather vest. Using his artificial fingernails, he popped open the front of the badge, swinging it open on its hinge. Then he snapped off the gold bars that framed the delta symbol.
        "What are you doing?" Favor asked.
        "Gold is valuable currency in this era. I have used the gold off my combadge before in San Francisco. Or rather, I will use it, in thirty-four years."
        "Huh?" Hartman expressed the sentiments of the others.
        "It was a complicated situation with many variables," Data said.
        "Oh, a long story. Aren't they all?" Hartman nodded.
        "But what if you need your communicator later?" Ironsides asked.
        "It stands to reason that since we have been unable to contact the ship, that the communications system is down. Therefore, our communicators are useless, except for short range communications. Besides, I have a subspace transceiver in my positronic brain. It can mimic the functions of my combadge if needed. So it is logical I give up my combadge."
        "Ah," Ironsides nodded. Data finished snapping off the gold bars from the combadge's front cover. He crushed the fragments into nuggets. He handed one of the small nuggets to Captain Johnson.
        "Here. This should be approximately two-fifty," the android told Johnson. The captain smiled and headed back to Harold.
        He dropped the nugget on the countertop. "Here you go. Your payment."
        "Ah, much thanks. I regret having to charge a man of the cloth, but I am but a humble hotel keeper. I have expenses. Here, your keys. Second floor. Rooms 201 and 205. The larger room is 201. Sign here, please." Harold pointed to the hotel's register.
        Johnson paused as he picked up the pencil that Harold provided. He considered using a false name, but he realized his name was fairly common in any era. He just signed "T. Johnson."
        "Thanks," Johnson said, as he took the keys from the man.
        "We also have a fine bar in the back room, as well as games of chance, if you or your companions wish to pass some time."
        "That's fine, thanks," Johnson said as he backed away from the counter. He went over to the others, and led them up to the second floor. "Allright," Johnson said to the others. "Data, Hartman and Troi will take room 205, while the rest of us take 201."
        "Here," he said, handing the key for Room 205 to Troi. "The rooms should be close to each other."
        They went up the stairs, and into the long hallway, looking for the rooms. "203...202... ah, 201," Favor called out, standing in front of the door.
        "205's over here," Troi called out, on the far side of the hallway. Johnson looked to the far left at Favor, then over to the far right at Troi.
        The captain shook his head. "Adjacent, my ass." He headed over to Favor, as Data headed over to Troi.
        Hartman went up alongside Johnson. "I'm going to see if I can get some water. I'm thirsty. I saw a lot of people walk in and out of the back room. Maybe there's a bar back there."
        "Yeah, there is one, Harold mentioned it. Maybe you can get some water there."
        "Oh, good." Hartman nodded.
        "Yeah." Johnson reached the room door. He pulled out the key. "Hey, take the key." The captain tossed the key over to the doctor. "Bring back some water for us too."
         Hartman plucked the key from the air. "Ok, will do," Hartman smiled, and headed back to the stairs. Pausing, he patted down his coat and vest. He pulled out a pocketwatch, and looked at it. "Hmm. Yeah, that'll do."
        He made his way to the backroom. He blinked back the irritation of the heavy smoke that hung in the backroom. He saw several green felt-topped tables, that he recognized as gambling tables. The doctor headed straight over to the bar that was on the left side of the room. Raucous talking and music filled the room
        Hartman had to raise his voice to get the attention of the bartender. "Hey! Over here!"
        The bartender went over to the end of the bar, to Hartman. "Gimme a shot of liquor!"
        "What kind?"
        "Whatever you got," Hartman said, "as long as it gets me drunk."

Chapter Seven
The Long Night

        Johnson sighed with relief as he pulled the hard collar off his black tunic. "Finally," he said, twisting his head to the left and right.
        Favor sat on the wooden chair near the door, pulling his boots off. "It's that hard to wear?" he asked, looking up at Johnson.
        "Yeah. Cuts into my chin everytime I look down. I bet you really like that suit."
        Favor looked down at his outfit. "Yeah, I picked it out of the historical records. It's a typical banker's outfit."
        "Figures. You come from money, so you'd wear that."
        Favor shrugged, loosening his ascot. "Well, it's just play clothes. I don't care much about the money."
        Johnson sat down on the bed, as Ironsides began a series of pushups. "That why you didn't go into the family business?"
        Favor nodded, leaning back in the chair, crossing his legs. "Yeah. I didn't want to turn into my father."
        Johnson chuckled wryly. "I understand. I've been there."
        "What do you mean?"
        "Ahh, it's too long a story to go into. Maybe I'll tell you later."
        "No problem, Tommy boy."
        Johnson rolled his eyes. "Don't call me that."
        Favor chuckled. "What can I say, there's so many variations on a nickname for you."
        "Well, focus your creative urges elsewhere. Such as who was that other person that asked for Stuvor? And where do we go now?"
        Favor's mouth twisted into a thoughtful frown.

        "It's been a long time since we've been able to sit down and talk," Troi said, now out of her nun's habit. She sat on the bed and leaned back against the headboard.
        Data stood by the window, looking out on the dark street. "Yes. 79 days, 13 hours and 1.6 minutes."
        "Oh, you've been counting the minutes until we talked again?" Troi smiled.
        "I was merely bolstering your comment," Data said, turning to face her.
        "Just a joke. Do you have your emotion chip installed?"
        "No. It is in storage on my quarters aboard the Enterprise."
        "Why?"
        "I am afraid that if I were to activate it, I would be overwhelmed with grief and concern for Admiral Picard."
        Troi looked at Data, her eyes widening in understanding. "Ohhh Data..." She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, patting the blanket next to her. "Sit down."
        Data complied, walking over to the bed and sitting next to Troi.
        "You've dealt with the loss, or potential loss of a crewmember before, with your emotion chip before?" Troi asked.
        "Yes, I have. But Admiral Picard is more than a crewmember."
        Troi smiled sadly. "Yes, I understand that. I feel the same way about him too."
        "How are you able to function on this mission, knowing that he may be dead now?" Data asked.
        Troi sighed. "People deal with loss in different ways. Some people choose to deny it. Some people choose to ignore it. Other people give in to addictions."
        "And you?" Data's golden eyes stared innocently at Troi.
        "I..." Troi looked away from the android. She frowned slightly as she thought. "I have acknowledged the possibility of the admiral's death. However, I also have acknowledged the possibility of his survival. You were there, just as well as I. How many times did he survive a dire predicament?"
        Data opened his mouth to answer, but Troi put a hand to his mouth. "No, don't answer that. I just asked you that to remind you that he is a survivor. In any case, I have a mission to do. I'm here to assist in stopping Zandria Soran, however I can."
        "I understand."
        Troi looked at Data. "Not using your emotion chip is tantamount to running away from a problem. In all the years that I've known you, you have not been one who shies away from a challenge. The first step that many of my patients need to take is the step of acceptance of their own feelings, their own problems."
        "I understand," Data nodded again. "Thank you, Deanna. I appreciate the insight you have given me."
        "Just remember, everyone has to deal with loss at one time or another in their lives. It's a fact of life," Troi said. "Captain Johnson, Ambassador Favor, Major Ironsides, Doctor Hartman... they all have to deal with it."
        Data nodded.
        "Now, if you have any questions, or feel the need to talk, please don't hesitate to tell me. I'm here for you."
        "Thank you."
        "Good. That's settled then." Troi got off the bed, and stood in front of Data. "Now, can you help me get out of this dress?"
        Data blinked at Troi.
        "I can't reach the catches in the back," Troi explained, turning around and pointing to the seam.
        Data nodded and stood up, starting to undo the hooks.
        Troi smiled. "You're still fully functional, aren't you?"
        Data blinked again. "I, uh..."
        Troi laughed. "I'm sorry, I was only teasing. I forgot to mention that one of the coping skills we use in dealing with grief is humor."
        "Ah, yes."

        Hartman laughed wildly. "That is the funniest thing I have ever heard in my entire life!" He banged on the bartop, laughing. A row of dirty shotglasses, which were lined up in front of Hartman, shook with each pounding.
        The dirty faced, grizzled prospector nodded, chortling.
        Hartman sighed, wiping a tear from his eye. What the hell are vittles? he thought to himself. He looked at the prospector's shotglass. "Hey, you're almost empty. You want more whiskey?"
        "Naw, I've had enough for tonight," the other man said. "I gotta git to my claim. Gots to gets up early."
        "Oh, come on, stick around. I love your jokes! I've got plenty of money for drinks!"
        "Much obliged, friend. But I cain't." With a tip of his hat to Hartman and the bartender, the prospector walked away from the bar.
        Hartman sighed, and looked at the bartender. "One more shot of this fine whiskey, good sir!"
        The bartender sighed and pulled a half full bottle of whiskey out. He placed it on the counter. "You want me to just leave it here?"
        "Oh, good idea! I'll buy the bottle."
        "That'll be four dollars."
        "More money? What about that watch I gave you for my tab?"
        "Worth only about six bucks. A bottle of rotgut's more."
        "Rotgut? Is that the brand name?" Hartman grabbed the bottle to peer at the stained label.
        The bartender nimbly grabbed the bottle back from Hartman's loose grip. "Money first."
        "Allright. Fine," Hartman sighed. "First, I gotta pee. Where's the men's room?"
        The bartender pointed to a wooden door in the back of the room.
        "Much obliged, pardner," Hartman grinned. He hopped off the barstool and walked through the room.
        A woman sitting at the far end of the bar caught Hartman's eye. She smiled at him. He smiled back, and winked. She winked back at him.
        Hartman's smile got broader and he cheerfully made his way to the back door. He opened it, to find himself standing in a dirt alley between the hotel building and another building.
        The faint smell of urine hit him. "Ahh. The men's room," he said to himself. He walked down the alley, taking care not to step into any puddles. He leaned against the back wall with one hand, and struggled with his pants. A moment later, he was sighing with relief.
        He buttoned his pants up, and reached into his vest pocket, pulling out his combadge. He grunted as he tried to break off the golden bars. "Friggin' android strength," he muttered. "Ah screw it." He dropped the combadge on the ground, and started pounding on it with the heel of his boot. Finally, he picked up the pieces of the combadge. He sifted through the pieces, picking out gold chunks, and dumped the rest into a coat pocket.
        He walked back into the bar. The woman he had winked at, was seated next to his stool. She smiled warmly at him as he approached the bar.
        He looked at her longer. Now that he was closer to her, he could make out her features. Her dusky skin was smooth, lined with faint wrinkles, from outdoor life. Her long black hair dropped down to just beneath her shoulders, in waves. Her full lips made her smile all that much more attractive to him.
        "Hi there," he said to her.

        Stuvor's eyes opened, and he blinked to regain focus. He sat up sighing. He looked over at the orange smoldering embers of their campfire. A chill crept into his bones, and he pulled his jacket out of his saddlebag and put it on.
        "Can't sleep?"
        Stuvor looked over to see Riker laying on his side, looking at Stuvor.
        "Oh, no sir. Just can't sleep long enough."
        Riker smiled. "You don't need to call me sir. You're supposed to be dead, so you're exempt from Starfleet protocol."
        "Okay. Then what..."
        "Wil."
        "Okay, Wil. Is that with one L or two L's?"
        "I don't care. Usually one L," Riker shrugged. "It sounds the same either way when you say it. So, what woke you up?"
        "Oh, just a homesick dream."
        "What do you mean?"
        "Oh, for about a year after I arrived here, I had dreams where I found myself back home, right time and everything. As if being here was the dream. I figured it was because I was homesick. So I took to calling 'em homesick dreams."
        "Ahh, I see. I had those when I got my first ship assignment."
        "Really?"
        "Yeah. When I was a newbie, I'd wake up in my quarters with a start, realizing that I was in the middle of nowhere, lightyears away from home. Annoyed the hell out of my bunkmate."
        "Oh yeah?"
        "Yeah. He was a light sleeper. Brujans usually are, you know."
        "Oh. Never met one."
        Riker tilted his head. "Maybe later."
        "Oh yeah?" Stuvor smiled at Riker. "How? We're stuck here. Even if we manage to stop Zandria, we're still stranded here. Well I'm not. I have a life here. But you two are new, so you're gonna be stranded here, just like I was."
        "I see your point. Maybe we can figure out a way. Even cadets, or former cadets like you, should know that a Starfleet officer never stops trying."
        "I didn't, at least for the first few years."
        "Well, maybe the Commodore and I can help. Maybe Zandria will have a contingency plan to return to the future. I don't think she really would leave herself with no out."
        "You sure?"
        "No."
        Stuvor shrugged. "You know, I think you're right. Maybe it's just wishful thinking, but I have this nagging feeling that I have left something undone... that I've got something else to do."
        "I know the feeling," Riker grinned. "Felt the same way as a cadet. I had a feeling that I was destined for great things."
        "Yeah, that's it," Stuvor nodded.
        "All cadets go through that."
        "But you did do great things," Stuvor pointed out. "I mean... you were the first human to serve on a Klingon ship, you helped uncover a parasitic conspiracy in Starfleet Headquarters, you helped stop a Romulan invasion of Vulcan. Hell, you once stopped the Borg from destroying Earth!"
        "Twice," Riker said.
        "Hm?"
        "Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot that wasn't generally public knowledge."
        "What wasn't?
        Riker only smiled. "To be honest, I didn't do all these things by myself. I did them along with many other hard working Starfleet officers."
        "Yes, of course." Stuvor stifled a yawn.
        "Ready for some more shuteye?"
        "Yeah. I guess I just needed to talk to someone. I mean, really talk to someone, who knew what I'm talking about. It's been six long years since I've been able to even mention the word Starfleet without getting odd looks. I do have one friend I've confided in, but as understanding as he can be, he quite can't get what I'm saying."
        "You've told someone about the future?" Riker frowned.
        "Don't worry, I trust him implicitly. He won't spill the beans."
        "Spill the beans?"
        Stuvor laughed. "I mean, tell others about what I've told him."
        "Oh, I see. You've picked up the language, I see."
        Stuvor nodded, smiling. "Hard not to. Well, I'm gonna go back to sleep. Thanks, Wil."
        "No problem. Good night."
        Stuvor laid back down, and closed his eyes.
        Riker laid back down as well, nestling his head on his wadded up black jacket. Suddenly he felt a twinge of homesickness. He thought he almost could feel Troi smile in his mind. He sighed and smiled, shaking his head to himself. The talk with Stuvor had made him think about things he would rather not think about. He hoped he wouldn't have one of those homesick dreams.

        "So how long have you been out here?" the woman asked.
        Hartman closed his eyes. "Uh, just came into town earlier tonight."
        "No, I mean out to the west," Julianna said.
        "Oh, what makes you think I'm not from here?"
        Julianna smiled and shook her head. "It's obvious you ain't from these parts."
        "Then what parts would I be from?" Hartman asked, as he poured more whiskey into Julianna's shotglass.
        "Can't place it," Julianna said, as she downed the shot of whiskey. "I'm good at those things, but you... you're a conundrum."
        Hartman sputtered in his drink. "A conundrum?"
        "I mean, a big problem, a riddle."
        "No, that's not it. I know what that word means. I'm just surprised to hear you say it."
         "Why?"
        "I didn't expect to hear you say that."
        "Because?"
        "Well, aren't you...?"
        "A whore?"
        "Well, I wouldn't use that term but..."
        "No, I'm not. I'm a nurse."
        "Oh really? I'm a doctor!"
        "That's not going to get you into my skirt."
        "No, no, no, I really am one."
        Julianna nodded. "Okay."
        "Well, what's a gal like you doing here?"
        "Well, I'm stuck here. My husband left me."
        Hartman frowned, leaning onto the bar. "That's a shame. What about work?"
        "My husband was the doctor."
        "Oh, I see." Hartman shook his head. "That's a shame."
        Julianna shook the bottle. "I'll tell ya what's a shame. We're out of booze."
        Hartman looked at the empty bottle. "Oh, no problem. I'll get us another one."
        "Oh would you?" Julianna smiled. "Great!"
        Hartman reached into his pocket and pulled out the remnants of his combadge. "Uhhh..." He scattered several small golden pieces on the bar, waving for the bartender.
        "Is this enough for more whiskey?"
        "No," the bartender replied.
        "Oh come on! Look, I have friends here. I can get more money."
        "Fergit it, I'm cutting you off. You had enough. A man like you drink that much, you got a problem."
        "I don't got a problem!" Hartman shouted. "I just wanna buy a drink for my new lady friend!"
        "Oh come on, Earl," Julianna said.
        The bartender looked at her. "You too. You been mooching off my customers all night. Pick someone, go home and screw him for some money to buy your own booze."
        Julianna tossed her shotglass angrily at the bartender, who deflected the projectile with his broad forearm.
        "Piss on you," she retorted. "Come on, Eddy, I think I've got some scotch at home."
        "Uh... I shouldn't leave the hotel... maybe I should just go to sleep."
        "Oh, come on, just for a little more. I don't like to drink alone."
        Hartman sighed, letting Julianna tug on his arm. He turned to look at the bartender. "Good bye, Earl!"

        "Oh god, oh god, my head... my head..." Hartman moaned as he awoke. He looked around at his surroundings. As he kicked with his leg, a bottle clattered. He looked down, and saw three empty liquor bottles. A grunt made him look around. He saw a woman lying half naked, spread-eagled on a bed.
        Who is that woman? Oh... what was her name? Ju... Ju... Ju...Jul... Julianna! What am I doing here? Hartman staggered to his feet. "Oh my head," he groaned, wobbling on his feet. He saw a small black bag on a dresser. What's my bag doing here?
        He went over to the dresser, and grabbed the bag.
        Julianna stirred, and sat up. "Morning."
        Hartman winced at the sound of her husky voice. "Good morning."
        "What are you doing with my husband's bag?"
        "What?"
        Julianna pointed at the bag in Hartman's hands.
        "Oh, this is your husband's medical bag."
        "You want it? You can have it. He left it here. If he wants it, he can go to hell."
        "Well, I don't really need it..."
        "Take it! Take it, go on. You going to go back to your friends?"
        "Yeah," Hartman nodded. He went up to the only window in the darkened room. He peered out through the heavy curtain. "Sun's just about to come up."
        Julianna groaned. "Where's that bottle..." She flopped over on her stomach, rummaging underneath the bed.
        Hartman frowned. "Julianna... maybe you just should go back to bed."
        "No, can't sleep. Need a shot to settle my nerves afore I sleep, ah here's the bastard." Julianna sat up with a nearly empty bottle. "Enough for two shots. Want one?"
        Hartman's head throbbed and the only thing he could think of that would stop the throbbing was another shot. He stepped forward, then stopped. "No. I've gotta go now. Really."
        "Suit yourself. More for me."
        Hartman paused at the door. "Look, maybe you ought to lay off the drinking. Too much isn't healthy."
        Julianna laughed as she poured the brown liquor into a tea cup. "Look who's talking! You sure look fine to me! 'sides, it's just helping me get through this patch, what with my husband and that slut."
        Hartman blinked. "How long ago was that?"
        Julianna made a raspberry, as she shrugged. "Must be of two years ago. Damn bastard."
        "Two years?" Hartman echoed, as he watched Julianna gulp down the liquor. A horse's clopping down the street startled Hartman.
        "Do you really have to go? You know I don't like to drink alone," Julianna said. She leaned back on the bed. "You're good company. Real good company. I can be too."
        She winked a red eye at him.
        Hartman smiled weakly. "I've got... responsibilities. I can't do this..."
        Julianna frowned at Hartman. She pointed the teacup at him. "Y'know, you never did say what brought you into the bar. Can't be the booze, it's the worst in the territory."
        "I... uh... I've got to go. It was nice meeting you."
        Hartman ducked out the door, and stumbled his way through the narrow hallway, and ran down the stairs.

SECTION ONE | SECTION TWO | SECTION THREE | SECTION FOUR

 MISSIONS | PERSONNEL | SHIP SPECS | COMMENTS | CREDITS | MAIN