Chapter Eight
A Wagon Train To the Next Town

        Johnson opened his eyes to see Ironsides doing sit-ups on the wooden floor. A quick glance out the windows told him the sun was just coming up. He stretched out. Favor remained sleeping on his side, next to Johnson. The captain saw that he wasn't covered by the blanket anymore. He glanced over at Favor and saw that the blanket was in Favor's grip. "Hmph, blanket hog," Johnson said. He swung his feet over the side of the bed and sat up.
        "Good morning, Max."
        Ironsides paused in his sit-up. "Morning." The major resumed his sit-ups. Johnson stood up and yawned, stretching out. He looked around and saw Hartman leaning back in a chair, sleeping. Johnson smacked his dry mouth, and looked around for the water that Hartman was supposed to bring up.
        When he couldn't find it, he went over to Hartman. The captain nudged Hartman's foot. When Hartman didn't rouse, Johnson kicked harder. Finally, the doctor began to stir slowly. "Hey, where's the water?"
        Hartman looked up, squinting at Johnson. When he opened his eyes, he immediately shut them, groaning loudly. "What?" he mumbled.
        "The water?"
        "What water?" Hartman mumbled in reply, turning away from the sunlight in the window.
        "The water I asked for last night? Hey, you ok?" Johnson looked at his friend.
        "Eh, uh...umm uh...just a migraine....I'll uh, be fine..." Hartman said back, covering up his eyes, rubbing them.
        "Oh, ok. I'm sorry to hear that," he said. "I'll get the water myself." The captain turned to Ironsides, who was standing now. "Max, I'm going down to get water. Wake the others up for me please."
        "Yes, sir," Ironsides nodded.
        Johnson set out in the hallway. He paused. Wasn't Hartman supposed to sleep in the other room?

        The time-displaced away team gathered in front of the hotel. The cold morning fog was already being dispelled by the slowly rising sun. The city began working. Johnson exited the hotel. "Harold tells me that we can get rations from the store across the street, and horses at the livery stable on the other side of town. Mr. Data, you're with me. We'll go to the store. Everyone, give Data your canteens. After the store, we'll go to the local well pump to fill them up."
        The away team gave Data their canteens. The android slung them all over his shoulders. Johnson nodded, satisfied. "Ok. Go on to the livery. We'll catch up."
        The captain crossed the dusty street, accompanied by Data. "You got your 'money?' " Johnson asked the android.
        "Yes sir."
        
        The others made their way to the livery stable. The horse trader walked up to them. Ironsides and Favor went up to the man. Favor leaned over to the major. "Let me handle this. I've haggled on Ferengar."
        "Hmm," Ironsides nodded. The three of them huddled and talked. After a few moments, Ironsides and Favor headed back to the others.
        "Ok," Favor said. "He'll give us the horses we need, in exchange for all our valuables." Favor pointed to Troi and LeAnn. "That means your gold crosses. Ed, your gold watch. And as for me, my watch and cufflinks. All that included with Ironsides's uniform insignias, will pay for the horses."
        "Uh, I don't have my watch," Hartman said. "I must have, uh, lost it somewhere in the hotel."
        "Oh great," Favor said. "Ok, we'll just wait for Johnson to return. I think the man will take his gold cross too."
        "I'm sorry," Hartman shrugged.
        The group waited for Johnson and Data to meet up with them. After collecting the valuables, Favor gave them to the horse trader. The away team saddled up; and after a quick lesson from Data, the team started riding out of town.
        Data brought his horse up to Johnson. "Captain. Last night, I've been searching my memory banks. I believe I may have a match."
        "Well, don't keep me in suspense. Who?"
        "Commodore Robert Vekmon, from Starfleet Academy."
        "Oh?" Johnson nodded.
        Data tilted his head. "Another thing- I recall from the Starfleet records on Doctor Zandria Ronas, whom we know now as Zandria Soran, that she was married."
        "And?" Johnson raised his eyebrow, waiting for a point.
        "The man she was married to, was Commodore Robert Vekmon."
        Johnson's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Well, look around for the old timer. Maybe he knows where Vekmon went. It's possible Vekmon and Stuvor left town together."
        "Morning, fellers!" someone yelled out at them. Johnson halted his horse, and the others did the same. Johnson looked around for the person. He saw the old-timer again, sitting in a different place.
        "Yeah?" Johnson called out.
        "You was looking for a Stuvor right?" the old man said.
        "Yeah, but we want to know where the white haired man went."
        "The feller who was asking for Stuvor yesterday?"
        "That's him."
        "Why, him and Postman lit out of here fast, headin' south, with someone else. Just coupla hours afore y'all came here. Thataway," the old man pointed a gnarled finger.
        "Thanks!" Johnson said. He looked back at Favor and Data. "Looks like if we find Stuvor and Vekmon, we just might find Zandria. Find out what that stranger looked like. Then we'll ride."

        The day got hotter as the sun neared its zenith. The away team made sure to ration their water as they rode their horses southward along the trail. Ironsides led at the forefront, with Johnson riding alongside. Ironsides, because of his covert military experience, was the best suited at gauging the ground.
        After several hours' worth of riding, the group found themselves riding along a trail that was lined with a steep dropoff on the left side. The horses walked carefully along the trail.
        Data rode up to the forefront of the group. "Captain, I'm picking up a large number of life signs coming towards our position," Data said looking at his tricorder. "Apparently, there are two groups of them. Thirty-eight in the forefront and fifty behind." Suddenly he paused, looking off in the distance, hearing gunfire. The others weren't able to hear at a distance as he can.
        "What is it, Data?" Ironsides asked, looking in the direction Data seemed to be looking in. The party came to a gradual halt. Soon the group could hear the sounds of a battle.
        Data looked at Johnson and the others. "I believe there is a chase occurring, Captain." Data and Ironsides circled to the rear of the group, looking off in the distance. Data's eyes could make out the people. "It seems there is a Native American tribe being pursued by a platoon of the old United State Cavalry."
        "Oh, damn! They're headed straight for us!" Ironsides yelled out to the rest of the group.
        Johnson wheeled his horse around, looking at the oncoming rush. "There's only one way to go!"
        Hartman, being the closest to Johnson, shook his head. "No way in hell am I going to take that horse down this slope!" The others had already spurred their horses down the side of the steep slope.
        "I'll take my chaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!" Hartman screamed when Ironsides rode up and slapped Hartman's horse on the rump, making it leap forward down the slope. The others were nearing the bottom of slope. Johnson and Ironsides took the plunge last.
        The thundering of the hooves was shaking the ground now, and the shouting and gunfire was clearly heard now. Johnson looked on in concern as Hartman's horse stumbled. Both horse and rider went down, tumbling the rest of the way to the bottom. Hartman was thrown clear, and tumbled down, following his horse.
        As soon as Johnson reached the bottom, he dismounted and ran over to Hartman and the horse. Hartman was slowly getting to his feet. "Hey, Ed, are you allright?"
        "Uh yeah, I'm fine. I don't think anything's broken." He looked over at the horse, who got back on its feet quickly. "I'm a doctor, not a vet, but I think the horse's fine too. Probably just bruised, like me."
        Johnson let out a sigh of relief. Then he started chuckling. Favor rode up alongside Johnson, laughing. "You should've seen your face, your eyes were so big when you went flying off that horse," the ambassador slapped his thigh, laughing wholeheartedly.
        Ironsides grinned, reining in his horse. "They didn't teach us that in corps training," he said.
        "Next time, major, let me do the pushing," Johnson chuckled. They looked up, watching the chase go by overhead. Dust and sand rolled down the slope.        
        "Damn damn damn damn!" Hartman shouted.
        "What's the matter?" asked Johnson.
        Hartman held up his medical bag open for view. "The horse must've rolled over the bag. The medical tricorder and the regen are damaged. Sand also got into my equipment. Now we're stuck with the primitive medical technology here. Damn it!"
        "Well, salvage what you can and keep the rest. I don't want any anomalous technology left behind to be discovered by the natives or by an archaeologist in the future," Johnson commanded. He wheeled his horse around and faced the others. "Everyone. I have an announcement. Now that Doctor Hartman's medkit is damaged, I order you all not to get hurt for the duration of this mission."
        "That was kind of my plan from the get go," Favor smirked.
        Hartman walked over to Favor, who sat atop his horse. "Nathan, you still have the bag I gave you earlier?"
        Favor nodded. "It's in the saddlebag."
        "Good," Hartman nodded. He reached into the saddlebag, pulling out another black bag. "At least this will come in handy."
        "What's in there?
        "It's medical equipment of this era." Hartman opened the bag, showing Favor the silvery instruments and the bottles of alcohol and iodine.
        "Oh. Where'd you get it?"
        "I picked it up in the general store before we rode out," Hartman shrugged, as he closed up the bag. He looked up at Favor. "I used my gold watch to pay for it. That's why I didn't have the gold watch earlier."
        "I thought you lost your gold watch."
        Hartman blinked for a second. "Uh, well I did lose it, but really, I thought I lost it but it was in a different pocket. I found it, then used it to buy the medical equipment."
        Favor raised his eyebrows in slight confusion. "Oh. Okay."
        Hartman shrugged. "I'm just, you know, explaining what happened."
        "Yeah okay."
        Hartman walked back to his horse, which was now back on its feet. He mounted the horse and stowed the medical bag away.
        Johnson pulled up alongside Hartman. "Well, there you have it. No one will get hurt from here on." He smiled.
        Hartman looked over at Johnson, annoyed. "That wasn't funny."
        "Come on. Admit it, it was a little funny," Johnson prodded, as the group started riding again.
        "Eh, maybe," was the only reply Hartman would give.

        "Eh, maybe," Fonda said, shrugging. "I don't know." She sighed, rubbing her eyes. "We've been at this for several hours straight, without any breaks at all," he told Lieutenant Kyle and Garak.
        The trio were gathered together, studying the results of the analysis of the plasma samples Fonda's team retrieved from the EPS flow. They were reduced to using a PADD to look at the data, since they couldn't trust the master control table in Engineering to function well.
        Fonda continued. "These readings are inconclusive, I'd have to say. For one thing, there's way too much chronoal radiation coming off the samples. I'm starting to wonder if the tricorders are being affected now. It certainly can't be from the...ummm maneuver. That would have worn off by now."
        Garak looked at Kyle. "What maneuver? And that's the second time I've heard chronoal radiation being brought up. Where are we? More to the point, when are we?"
        "What do you mean?" Kyle asked.
        "I overheard Dr. Michelanos mention it to you on the bridge, earlier."
        "Overheard? Eavesdropping, I'd say," Kyle said, annoyed.
        "When you're an ex-Obsidian Order agent, it's hard to break the habit of listening to what other people talk about. The skill of gathering information is ingrained in our being." Garak shrugged, "I apologize. Now, can you answer my questions?"
        Kyle's mouth tightened, and she looked at Fonda. The Chief Engineer's face offered no unspoken advice.
        "That's allright. I guess things are bad enough that you need to know," Kyle said. She sighed and brushed a strand of hair away from her eyes. "We're in orbit around Earth, and it's the year 1859 according to Earth's calendar system. The maneuver Fonda was referring to was the slingshot maneuver."
        "Ahh, the method of time traveling by using the gravity of a star while traveling at high warp," Garak nodded.
        "You know of it?" Kyle asked, taken aback.
        "I know of many things," Garak smiled sweetly. "May I see the uncensored sensor logs from the battle leading up to the use of the slingshot maneuver?"
        Kyle nodded, and rummaged through a pile of PADDs on a nearby surface. She thumbed in a security code, opening up the files. She handed it to Garak, who read intently. Kyle left Garak to catch up on the details, and went over to Fonda. "So, how's the ship holding together?"
        Fonda sighed. "So far, so good. It's a good thing the warp core was offline, otherwise we might have had a warp core breach because the matter and anti-matter injectors would have poured in a incorrect ratio, and then we're gone. I've been working around the clock making sure the impulse engines don't have a runaway nuclear reaction. For now, things are holding fine. The thrusters are keeping our orbit stable."
        "How long before we start losing control over those things? How long before things truly fall apart?"
        Fonda looked at Kyle. "We better get this thing taken care of as soon as possible. I would estimate we have about 24 hours before things start getting critical."
        "I see."

        "I see."
        "So, will you come with us? Help us?" Stuvor asked the short man standing before them. The man spat out some tobacco juice on the ground, and chewed thoughtfully on the chaw of tobacco in mouth. Vekmon looked at the man. He had to be one of the hairiest individuals the commodore had come across in a long time.
        The man, Bronco Bobcat Brisco, Stuvor had told Vekmon and Riker earlier, was a wildcatter. He spent his life and money prospecting for oil or valuable metals. He used to be a miner before he struck it big in the gold rush of the previous year near Virginia City.
        Now, he and Stuvor were at Brisco's latest dig site, somewhere on the California-Nevada border.
        "Well...what's it in for me?" Brisco squinted at Stuvor.
        "Uh, if this woman succeeds at this, most of this," Stuvor gestured to the desert area, "will be blown up. A lot of people will die, including you and me."
        "This dynamite she's got, it's worse'n oil fire?"
        Stuvor nodded solemnly. "Much worse than an oil well catching fire. Much."
        "Oh, I don't want that. Ya gonna git ennyone else?" Brisco squinted.
        "Yeah," Stuvor nodded. "One other guy. I need people I can trust," Stuvor said.
        "Who?"
        "White Wolf."
        Brisco chuckled wryly. "Ya know I don' trust 'im."
        "He doesn't really trust you either."
        "Suits me just fine," Brisco shrugged. "Lemme git my seven shot an' hoss." The bearded man walked off. Stuvor, Vekmon and Riker walked back to their horses, and mounted them.
        "Interesting character," Riker murmured.
        "Oh yeah."
        "Reminds me of a Tellarite."
        "That was my first thought when I first met him. About as pleasant as a Tellarite too. But he kind of grows on you after a while."
        "I'll take your word for it," Riker smirked.
        Stuvor shifted in his saddle. "Now we have four on our side. We ought be at the campsite by nightfall." Stuvor glanced up, looking at the sun's position in the clear blue sky.

        "Hmm. I'd say we have about four to five hours' worth of daylight," Ironsides gauged, as he shaded his eyes from the sun. He looked over at Johnson, who was riding alongside him. They looked out to Data, who was riding back to meet up with them. The android had been sent out to scout ahead.
        "Report," Johnson said.
        "There is a wagon train getting on this trail. We shall meet up with them in about fifteen minutes at this pace," Data replied.
        "Where are they headed to?" Ironsides asked.
        "They are headed to a town called Mateo," Data answered the major.
        "What's there?" Favor asked, joining in the conversation.
        "Gold was found there. The town is booming, and these travelers are hoping to strike it rich," Data said.
        "Will they?" Johnson wondered. He knew Data probably knew the town's future.
        Data cocked his head, accessing his memory banks. "No, they will not. The vein of gold was small and within a few months, it will be exhausted. The land is not suitable for farming, and the town will collapse six months from now."
        By now, the away team could see the wagon train in the near distance. Johnson sighed, looking at the travelers. He regretted asking Data what would happen to the travelers. Now that he knew their fate, seeing the optimistic faces of the people made him slightly depressed.
        "Should we join up with them?" Johnson asked Ironsides.
        "There shouldn't be a problem. There's safety in numbers, and they might have seen Stuvor and Vekmon and the other stranger around here."
        "Okay."
        The away team rode up alongside the wagon train. Ironsides nodded at one of the wagon drivers. "Howdy."
        Johnson pulled on his reins, making his horse drop back. He ended up alongside Hartman and Favor. "I want you to talk to the people, see if they've met Stuvor or Postman, or seen Vekmon, or the bearded stranger on their journey south."
        "Allright," Favor nodded. Hartman nodded as well. Johnson went further back to relay the same message to the others in the away team. After telling the away team to question the people, Johnson rode to the rear of the wagon train. There, he saw a husband and wife at the driver's bench of the last wagon.
        "Good afternoon. How're you doing?" he smiled at them.
        "Good afternoon, Father," they said back to him.
        Johnson was momentarily taken aback, then remembered his disguise. He nodded back in greeting. "Heading for Mateo, are you?"
        "Yep," the husband said. "There's gold down there."
        "So I've heard," Johnson nodded.
        "Perhaps you could say a prayer for our good fortune?" the wife said, smiling at him.
        Johnson swallowed, feeling a little uncomfortable with his disguise. "I shall do that," he nodded. After riding alongside the wagon in silence, he looked over at them. "Say, you might help me out. On your trip down here, have you seen a tall man with white short hair? Perhaps riding with another man, a young man? Or a dark haired and bearded man?"
        "No, Father, we haven't," the husband said.
        "Ah. Have you met a man named Stuvor? Or a man named Postman?"
        "No, Father. Why?" the wife asked.
        "He's...a lost sheep," Johnson replied.
        "Well we'll be sure to keep an eye out for him," the husband nodded.
        "Thank you," Johnson smiled. He nodded, and spurred his horse on ahead to the wagon up ahead. He repeated the same line of questioning.

        Johnson saw Favor out of the corner of his eye. "Hey, Nathan."
        "Hey, Tommy. Sorry. No luck with finding out if Stuvor crossed paths with this train," Favor said. He brushed the dust off his black suit. "Hey, looks like we're coming up to the town now. Mateo, right?"
        "Right," Johnson nodded, confirming the name. Soon the others joined up with him. All the others reported the same thing Favor had reported. No body knew of Stuvor or of a man matching Vekmon's description. However, Troi had something different to report.
        "I was talking to a woman, she was at the front wagon- quite possibly one of the wagon train leaders. She seemed of Hispanic descent, as well. I had asked about a man named Stuvor, and also if she had seen a man like Commodore Vekmon. She had no knowledge. However, when I asked about Stuvor's alias, Postman, I sensed some suspicion rise up within her. As I asked her several more questions, she became hostile to me and defensive," Troi said. "I believe she may know something about Postman."
        "Finally, a break," Johnson said. "That's great. Do you know her name?"
        "I didn't ask," Troi frowned. "Her hand went near her gun on the bench next to her. I wasn't about to provoke her any further."
        "Ah well," Johnson sighed. "Tell me her description. Perhaps she may be more open with a man of the cloth."
        As they rode into Mateo, Troi described the woman.

        The wind blew dryly across the landscape. Stuvor and the others, plus a new addition, rode across the sparse brush that dotted the ground. Rian Longarm rode alongside Stuvor and Vekmon, while the others rode in a loose line behind them. Longarm, dressed in the blue uniform of the United States army, looked over at his friend, Stuvor.
        "You know, you're going to owe me big time for this," the sergeant said. "I had to use up my leave for this year. My leave, which I planned to spend in a brothel, boozing it up with loose women."
        "Don't worry. After all this is over, if I survive, I'll pay you back," Stuvor nodded.
        "Damn straight. Now, before I left, I checked the reports on Indian movements. White Wolf's tribe was last sighted a couple miles off in this direction. Whether they're still there, I dunno. You know how they like to move around a lot."
        Stuvor looked over at Longarm, a half smile on his face. "That's why they're called a nomadic tribe."
        "Whatever," Longarm grunted. "I still wish you'd tell me what's going on here. I don't like going into something without knowing what it's about."
        "Look, all you need to know is that there's an insane woman with a big bomb. We've got to stop her."
        "Fine," Longarm sighed. He settled into his saddle, and pulled down his tan hat, to block the light of the setting sun. "I'll go scout around ahead, check for Indian tracks."
        "Ok," Stuvor nodded. He watched as Longarm spurred his horse on up ahead.
        Vekmon and Riker sidled up near Stuvor. "So...what's the story about these people?"
        "The story?"
        "You know...Bronco Bobcat Brisco, Rian Longarm, and White Wolf?"
        Stuvor looked over at his mentor. "Okay. Brisco...what can I say? He struck it big at the Comstock Lode. His wagon axle broke, and he brought it in to my shop for repairs. For some reason, he took a liking to me, and became my friend. He's my only steady client. I let him pay when he has money, which is only once in a while.
        "Rian...his unit used to be stationed in Carson City, and he was in charge of maintenance. He brought in the Army's wagons and horses, et cetera, to my shop. Like with Brisco, we became good friends.
        "White Wolf... well he saw my escape pod crash into the desert. He saved my life. In return, I do free work for his tribe. I fix whatever they can't fix. I'm a honorary member of his family and of his tribe. I'm the only white man who can speak their language fluently."
        Vekmon smiled. "You always had a facility for languages."
        Riker looked at Stuvor. "Aren't you disrupting history by forming these associations?"
        Stuvor looked over at the captain. "Well, like Commodore Vekmon taught me, Time is elastic. Minor changes always are smoothed out in the course of Time. In fact, my being here alone, is changing history. In the six years I've been here, I've monitored the events of the world. Everything's pretty much unfolded the way they're supposed to."
        Vekmon nodded quietly.
        "You know...in a few years, the Civil War is going to break out. I don't think I could handle being here when it happens," Stuvor said. "And President Lincoln..." he sighed, shaking his head.
        Longarm came running back on his horse. He slowed to join up with Stuvor. "Yeah, they're still there."
        "Okay, thanks Rian," said Stuvor. He turned to look at the others. "You guys better hang back. I'm going into the tribe."
        "Injuns...never cared much for 'em," Brisco grumbled. Stuvor looked at the others to make sure they would wait. They nodded silently back at him.

        Stuvor rode on up ahead. The hideskin huts and tipis were scattered about. Several campfires were burning. The sentry of the tribe walked up ahead to meet Stuvor.
        "Who are you?" the sentry asked in his native language.
        "Brother of White Wolf. Postman," Stuvor replied in the same language.
        "You may enter," the sentry nodded once.
        "My thanks," Stuvor bowed. "Where is my brother?"
        "He hunts for the night. Out there," the sentry pointed with his bow.
        "My thanks again," Stuvor said. He rode his horse on out to find White Wolf. After a few moments, Stuvor sighted the lone figure of White Wolf, lying in wait on a rocky outcropping. Several bison were grazing on the sparse grass a few hundred yards away.
        Stuvor dismounted, and crept up ahead to meet White Wolf. White Wolf turned onto his back to see who was approaching him. When he saw it was Stuvor, he relaxed.
        "My brother. How are you?"
        "I am well. How are you?"
        "I am well too," White wolf replied.
        "I have need of your help," Stuvor sighed.
        "I have always been there to help you. Ever since your fall."
        "For that I can never stop thanking you."
        "What do you need my help for?" White Wolf asked.
        "There is a woman. Her mind is not right. She wishes to kill the sun."
        "That is not good," White Wolf nodded.
        "You are very right," Stuvor grinned.
        "One moment," White Wolf asked, raising his hand. Quickly, he rose, notching an arrow into his bow rapidly. As soon as he cleared a rock, he let the arrow fly. It struck its intended target, a bison, precisely. The animal went down. White Wolf bowed his head. Stuvor knew that the hunter was giving thanks to the animal's spirit.
        Stuvor stood up, to admire White Wolf's handiwork. The other man walked back to his horse, which had been tethered to a fallen tree. Stuvor went back to his horse. The two of them rode back to the village, where White Wolf informed the sentry of the fallen bison, and of his departure with Stuvor.
        They rode on back to meet up with the others. "All five are there?" White Wolf asked.
        "Not yet. There is one more to find, Teresa Morales. We need to borrow a wagon from her."
        "Ah. Where is she?"
        "I believe she's leading a wagon train to the white village called Mateo," Stuvor replied.

Chapter Nine
Meeting in Mateo

        After securing lodging for the night, Johnson convened a meeting in the men's hotel room. "Now... no one's been able to find this woman who seems to know of Postman?" he asked the others.
        The group shook their heads. "Damn. Right now, she's our only lead. Tomorrow's August 12th. The missile is supposed to be launched sometime on the 13th. We're running out of time," Johnson pounded his fist in his hand.
        "Well, we have all night to look for her," Ironsides said. A knock on the door interrupted the meeting. Johnson looked at the door, puzzled.
        "Maybe it's room service?" Favor quipped. Johnson shook his head, and held a finger to his mouth, signaling for quiet. He went up to the door and opened it.
        And found himself staring at the business end of a revolver. He stepped back a little, surprised. He looked at the person holding the gun. He recognized her from Troi's description.
        "Why are you lookin' for Postman?" she snarled at him. The others half stood, all going for their hidden weapons. The woman hissed when she saw the sudden movements. "No one move! Or he dies!"
        Johnson waved at the others, patting his hands down, telling them to sit down. Then he slowly backed into the room, holding his hands up. The woman slowly followed him into the room, the gun never wavering.
        "I'm afraid we got off to a bad start here," Johnson said. "My name is Thomas Johnson. And you are?"
        "A friend of Postman. Now, why are you lookin' for him?" she jabbed the gun forward.
        "We need his help," Johnson said. "We know him from long ago."
        "That's a lie. Postman has no friends or family from long ago," she said. "The next lie you give me, I give you a bullet."
        "Look, I'm telling you the truth. Postman lived in Carson City, right? He's very good with machines and tools, right? He's about this tall," Johnson gestured with his hand. "Dark hair, youngish guy, right?"
        "All true. But that tells me nothin'. Why are you lookin' for him?"
        Johnson sighed. "I told you, miss, we need his help."
        "Why?"
        "I can't say," Johnson shrugged.
        "Hmm. Perhaps I shoot you now. Maybe you is a bounty hunter. Or a bad man. No more talkin'. Sit." She gestured with the gun, motioning for him to sit. Johnson racked his mind trying to find a way to convince her that they weren't outlaws of any sort, when a series of gunshots rang out in the street below the hotel.
        Everyone turned to look at the open window. The woman turned back. "You want Postman? I'll give you t' him. Come." She pulled out another gun from inside her dress, pointing it at the others. "You all, stay. No one moves. Or I kill him."
        Johnson nodded at Ironsides. The major gestured silently. Johnson shook his head no. The captain allowed the woman to push him out of the hotel. They walked down the stairs and exited the hotel onto the street. Near the entrance of the town were several people on horses. The woman pressed the gun barrel into Johnson back, prodding him on to the group.
        Johnson looked at the apparent leader. The woman stepped to Johnson's side. "Look what I brung for ya, Postman. He's been askin' around 'bout ya."
        "Oh, have you?" the man leaned down in his saddle.
        "That's right, Stuvor," Johnson said simply.
        "What did you say?" Stuvor said, taken aback.
        "You heard me," Johnson crossed his arms.
        "You know him?" the woman asked.
        "No, I don't. But it seems he knows me," Stuvor shrugged. "Who are you?"
        "A traveler here. I can't say from where, but it's about the same place as you are from," Johnson said. A man rode his horse on up to Stuvor's side. Johnson recognized him as Commodore Vekmon. Vekmon gasped slightly when he saw Johnson standing there. Vekmon went over to Stuvor's side, and whispered in his ear.
        "Oh, I'm sorry, sir," Stuvor said. "Teresa, you can drop the gun. He's okay."
        "You sure?" Teresa asked.
        "I'm sure," Stuvor smiled.
        "We have a lot to talk about," Johnson nodded. "Alone," he said, looking at Vekmon.
        Another man rode up to the front. "What's going on?" he asked. He looked down at Johnson.
        "Oh, hello, Johnson. How'd you get here?"
        Johnson recognized him immediately. "Riker? How'd you get here? Never mind. Come with me and Stuvor."
        "What about Robert?" Stuvor asked.
        "Just you and Riker," Johnson said.
        Stuvor looked over at Vekmon, confused. Vekmon sighed and nodded for Stuvor to go ahead. Stuvor and Riker dismounted their horses, and joined Johnson. The captain led him into the hotel, up to the room.
        The away team stood at the ready, prepared for anything, when Johnson opened the door. "The infamous Postman," Johnson gestured to Stuvor.
        Troi smiled in surprise. "Wil!"
        "Deanna! You're here too?" Riker walked into the room behind Stuvor.
        The away team relaxed when they saw Johnson wasn't in any danger.

        After a long explanation, Stuvor smiled at Johnson. "I already know. Commodore Vekmon has already told me what's happening. And no, Robert wasn't involved in this plot at all. You needn't worry about him. And the launch time is noon on the 13th, in Death Valley."
        "How did Zandria Soran and Vekmon enter this time era?" Ironsides asked.
        "They built a time travel device capable of transporting organic materials through time, based on designs I made," Stuvor explained. He told them about his history with Vekmon in the Academy.
        "And how did you get here?" he asked them in return.
        "We used the slingshot maneuver," Johnson said.
        "Ah. I thought that was outlawed," Stuvor remarked.
        "Extraordinary circumstances call for extraordinary measures," Johnson replied.
        "Yes sir. Let me go and get Robert. Perhaps he can tell you more of what you need to know."
        "Allright," Johnson nodded, dismissing the young man.
        After Stuvor left, Ironsides went up to Johnson's side.
        "We shouldn't totally trust what Vekmon says," the major offered.
        "We'll keep an eye on him," Johnson nodded in agreement. "But for now, I'm giving him the benefit of doubt."
        "Allright, sir," Ironsides said.
        Riker spoke up. "I haven't felt any deception from Vekmon. He seems genuinely hurt that his wife turned out to be someone entirely different. He wants to set things right."
        "I see," Johnson nodded. "Still, it's a good idea to remain on our guard."
        Stuvor returned with Vekmon, and the 24th century group started discussing the problems facing them. The discussion went on as the sun sank below the horizon, and the moon rose high in the sky.

        Kyle looked at the moon through the conference room windows. She sighed, uncrossing her arms. She turned to face Garak and Fonda and Joh, who were seated in the dark conference room. Entire sections of the Courageous were blacked out, the lighting system had gone down. The crew assigned to the dark sections had to carry handlamps and lanterns.
        It would have been funny if it weren't so serious, Kyle thought to herself. She turned her mind back to the subject at hand. "I hope you have good news to report," she said to the three people seated before her. "And why is Dr. Joh with us?"
        Garak started. "Dr. Joh is with us because she put the finger on the problem. Why don't I let Chief Fonda begin?"
        Fonda nodded tiredly. "We've determined the true source of the problem. Actually, Garak did. All along, I had been assuming that the slingshot maneuver was responsible for the chronoal radiation that's permeating the ship, and that the readings we got off the plasma samples were erroneous.
        "Garak took the devil's advocate's position. He said, 'What if that's not the case? What if the chronoal radiation came from another source?' I'm sorry, Garak," Fonda looked at the Cardassian. "You can go on and explain it."
        "Thank you, Chief," Garak smiled. He looked at Kyle. "I analyzed the sensor logs leading up to the maneuver. Two incidents leapt out to me. Number one, the conical torpedo that struck the EPS junction. And number two, the fact that Captain Johnson placed the ship in the path of the sunkiller missile. Now, you may ask me, what do those two things have to do with each other?" Garak twisted his face in an exaggerated confused expression.
        He smiled and spread his arms out. "Nothing at all. At least, that's the way it seems to you all. But upon further investigation, I found an connection. First I had the chief assign me some skilled men, and we went over the torpedo remains with a fine tooth comb. We found portions of a device designed to release massive amounts of subatomic particles."
        "What particles?" Kyle asked.
        "Tachyons," Fonda answered.
        "But...how does that lead to the massive malfunctions we're having?" Kyle asked, sitting down at the table.
        "All in good time, my dear lieutenant," Garak nodded. "Normally, nothing at all."
        "Right, the ship normally purges large amounts of radiation and subatomic particles," Fonda said. "Plus tachyon particles don't normally interfere with a ship's systems."
        "But something happened," Garak said. "The ship didn't purge the tachyon particles. Why? What happened? So I studied the sensor logs, and started looking into the moments soon after the impact. The moment that leapt out to me was when the captain placed the ship in the path of the missile." Garak chuckled, shaking his head.
        "You all did exactly what Zandria Soran wanted you to do. You sprung the trap for her," Garak declared.
        "How?" Kyle asked.
        "I studied the sensor logs of the seconds when the missile passed through the Courageous. While you all were closing your eyes, waiting to die, something happened. I believe Lieutenant Commander Fonda can explain it better than me," Garak said, gesturing to Fonda.
        Fonda nodded. "When the missile passed through us, its temporal shielding interacted with the tachyons flowing through the EPS conduits, super-energizing the particles, making... Doctor, you found it first. Why don't you explain?" Fonda looked at the Bajoran scientist.
        Joh Emmeril nodded. "I discovered that it was not tachyons that were coursing through the ship's EPS system, it was a new form of particle. For the lack of a better word, we are terming them Super-Tachyons." Joh clasped her hands together and looked at Kyle. "I studied the plasma samples, and I detected them first. They give off a barely detectable signature, so it was very difficult. After some fine tuning to the science sensors, I was able to find and isolate them on the ship. The chronoal radiation we've detected is a byproduct of their presence, not of the slingshot maneuver."
        "Plus the nature of the malfunctions," Fonda said. "They all boil down to one single element. Timing. Either things are happening too fast, or too slow. The EPS system provides power to essentially all the systems on the Courageous. With the plasma contaminated with Super-Tachyon particles, the plasma flow is altered, providing too much or too little power. This produces the random speeds we've been experiencing in the ship's systems."
        Fonda leaned forward. "The computer operating systems can't handle this for a long time. So most of them shut down, like the lights and comm system, for example."
        Kyle nodded, taking in all this information. "How did Zandria Soran know the captain would put the Courageous in the missile's path?"
        Garak smiled. "You have to think like the enemy. To her, Starfleet is the enemy. She had planned out everything. She had to predict her enemy's moves ahead of time. The captain's order was so very predictable. Self-sacrifice...such a noble and naive characteristic of Starfleet."
        Garak shrugged. "So she exploited this for this two-pronged attack. First, the infusion of tachyon particles. Second, the energization of the particles."
        "I see," Kyle said. She looked at the engineers. "So, how do we get rid of this contamination?"
        "Two options," Fonda cocked her head, rubbing her neck. "First, purge the plasma completely from the ship. That's not too desirable," she said, "because we'd be completely without power. We'd have no way to replace the plasma. Now if we were in our own time...that could work."
        "Then I guess it's the other option," Kyle stated. "What is it?"
        Fonda and Joh looked at each other, and back at the lieutenant. "It's experimental," Fonda said.
        "Only theoretical," Joh said. "I remembered reading a paper on the nature of tachyon particles. I am sorry, I cannot recall the author's name, but the person had hypothesized that just like there's anti-matter for matter, there were anti-tachyons for tachyons. The writer proposed several ways on how to produce anti-tachyons."
        "So if we make them and put them in the plasma flow, they'd cancel out the effects of the Super-Tachyons?" Kyle inquired.
        "In theory, yes. The problem is...since the computer library system is down, we can't access that article. And I barely remember the contents of the paper. It was written over seven years ago, of that I'm certain. Plus, neither Lieutenant Commander Fonda nor I have ideas on how to produce the anti-tachyons. The author only gave out general theories, nothing concrete."
        "Perhaps Mr. Data knows of the article," Garak suggested. "He might be able to help. We'd need to bring him back onboard."
        "Ok," Kyle nodded. "I'll send Lieutenant Ruiz down to the surface. Do we even have any shuttlecraft that haven't been contaminated?"
        "We have one that's still functioning well," Fonda nodded. "Most of the equipment that have not exchanged plasma with the ship should be functioning. Which is why some of the tricorders, PADDs and the other equipment with independent power sources are operating normally."
        "Oh, I get it now," Kyle nodded. She thought for a moment. "What about the shuttlebay doors?"
        Fonda frowned tightly. "I don't like it, but... the best and quickest solution would be to cut a hole in the doors."

        After several long painstaking hours of cutting, the EVA suited crew finally made a hole large enough for a small shuttlecraft to pass through. Lieutenant Ruiz suited up in an EVA suit to enter the depressurized shuttlebay. With no tractor beams to help her leave the bay, Ruiz had to use all of her piloting skills to maneuver the craft through the small opening.
        Kyle breathed a sigh of relief as Ruiz left the shuttlebay uneventfully. Her thoughts remained on the last thing Fonda had said at the meeting. "We're running out of time. I can't maintain the fusion generators at safe levels anymore. We could have a meltdown in the next twelve hours."

SECTION ONE | SECTION TWO | SECTION THREE | SECTION FOUR

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