Chapter Ten
The Last Night

        "Captain's Log, August 11, 1859...
        It feels strange to write out my log rather than dictate it. Really, there's no reason for me to do this. If we fail, there will be no future after this. If we succeed, I'll destroy this paper to preserve the timeline.
        Really, I'm just doing it to organize my thoughts. We've just spent the last few hours discussing the situation with Zandria Soran. My away team will join forces with Stuvor's group. He's nicknamed the group, the Magnificent Seven, although there's only five of them. The former cadet has an odd sense of humor. Actually, only three of the inaccurately named Magnificent Seven will be with us, White Wolf, Brisco, and Stuvor. Longarm and Morales are unable to remain with us. In any case, the others will provide a diversion, while my away team attempts to disable the missile launch pad.
        In the morning, we will gather supplies for the assault. Rian Longarm knows of an unused army depot where we can appropriate materials. Then we'll ride down to Death Valley, which is about a day's journey from Mateo. Since there's nothing to do until the morning, when the shops open; I've let my team disband for the night. Some of them have decided to go to sleep early, while the others have opted to look around the town."
        Johnson sat back from the small desk in the hotel room. He decided to finish off the log entry with a flourish. He signed, "Captain Thomas Robert Johnson, Junior." He smiled at the log entry. Then he crumpled up the paper, and pulled out his phaser. He fired on the ball until it was completely gone, vaporized. The captain stood up and went to the window. He looked down below at the street and the saloon across from the hotel.

        Ambassador Favor stood near the far end of the bar, in a bustling saloon. Gambling, singing, and dancing were going on behind him. The bartender handed him a mug of beer, with a frothy top. "Much obliged," Favor said to the bartender.
        The ambassador glanced at the tall bearded black man next to him. "Hey there, partner. Nice night, isn't it?"
        The man regarded Favor coldly.
        Favor tipped his hat. "My name's Nathan Favor. What's yours?"
        "It's Harry Hammar."
        "What do you do?"
        "I'm a blacksmith," Hammar said, staring straight ahead, sipping his beer. "A freeman," he added, emphasizing the word.
        "Oh of course," Favor nodded. "You know, if you don't mind me saying so, you remind me of a man I know from work. His name is Leo Bogarde."
        "A slave?" Hammar turned and looked at Favor through slitted eyes.
        "What? A slave? Oh no, no, no. Far from it. He's a leader of men."
        "Does he take orders from that white man?" Hammar asked.
        "Well yes he does but.."
        "Then he's a slave."
        Favor rolled his eyes. "No. It's not that kind of relationship. It's a relationship based on mutual understanding and trust."
        Hammar turned his head to look at Favor. A smile slowly crept on his broad face. Then a chuckle escaped his throat.
        "What? What's so funny?" Favor asked, smiling too.
        "Ain't no such thing as a relationship between a black man an' a white man, based on mutual trust an' understandin' or whatever bull you just said."
        Favor sighed. "Fine, let's change the subject."
        "I never brought up anything," Hammar shrugged.
        "Too bad Leo isn't around for me to introduce you two," Favor smiled sadly. "You'd have liked him. Say, he's from Jamaica."
        "Jamaica? Where's that?"
        "Oh, it's a beautiful island in the ocean south of Florida. Green countryside, beautiful sparkling beaches... you'd like it there."
        Hammar thought about Favor's words. He nodded slowly. "That does sound very nice to me. Perhaps one day, I will visit that place."
        "Good idea," Favor nodded. He smiled to himself. "Who knows? Maybe you'll end up living there, and having a big happy family that lives there for generations and generations...oh." Favor paused, realizing his words just took on an interesting and almost disturbing slant.
        "What?" Hammar asked, when the other man abruptly ceased his chatter.
        "Oh, nothing. Hey, I think the doctor's calling for me. Sorry. It was great meeting you. Good luck with your future." Favor hopped off the stool, taking his beer mug with him. Hammar twisted in his seat to look at the him as he walked down the bar. He turned back to face forward, shrugging.
        Favor sidled up next to Hartman at the bar. "Ah, the smells and sounds of a bar," Ambassador Favor said, gulping down the beer in his mug. He turned and leaned back against the bar, looking over the saloon. "Brings back memories of our Academy days, doesn't it?"
        "Don't remind me," Hartman said. "I still haven't forgiven you for what happened Sophomore year."
        "Oh come on, don't tell me you're still holding a grudge for that!" Favor turned around on his stool, facing forward. "How was I supposed to know you were allergic to sex with Rosatians? You know, like only three percent of the human population are allergic to their bodily fluids! You needed a date to the dance, I got you a date." Favor shrugged, giving him a So there look.
        "The rash was painful, and the injections were painful," Hartman glared at Favor. He gulped at the shotglass of whiskey. Favor looked at the him.
        "Say, do you know how long Chief Bogarde's family lived in Jamaica?" Favor asked.
        Hartman narrowed his eyes in confusion. "Uh, not really. I haven't talked with him much. Why do you ask?"
        The ambassador gave an exaggerated shrug and shook his head dismissively. "Oh..no, no reason at all." The doctor looked at Favor. He had seen Nathan use that I didn't do anything look too often to be fooled by it. He didn't press the issue.
        "Boy, you're putting away the liquor," Favor remarked. He glanced at a half empty bottle of whiskey in front of Hartman.
        "Yeah, so?"
        "Just saying. Last time we went drinking, you were drunk by the third glass of Saurian brandy."
        "Well, I've gotten more accustomed to drinking," Hartman shrugged. He waved for the bartender to come over and refill his shotglass. "Hey, leave the bottle here." The bartender shrugged, and left the whiskey bottle next to Hartman.
        "I guess," Favor shrugged. He motioned for the bartender to refill his mug with more beer. "It has been a while since we've had a night out together. What, more than five years?"
        "I guess," Hartman said. He gulped down the whiskey, and groaned. "This stuff is almost as bad as Romulan Ale."
        "Hey! Data! Come on over!" Favor waved to the android, who just entered the saloon. Data saw Favor and headed over to them. "Come on, grab a stool. Have a drink."
        "Alcohol has no effect on me," Data reminded the ambassador. "Therefore there is no point in drinking."
        "That's a shame," Hartman murmured. "What do you do if you want to forget something?"
        "I can simply erase my memory banks," Data shrugged.
        "Lucky you," Favor laughed.
        "Yeah, lucky you," Hartman shrugged, motioning for another drink.
        Suddenly, a fight erupted at a table nearby Data. Several men stood up and attacked each other, causing Data to side step out of the way. The android backed into another man at the bar.
        "Hey! Watch where you're going, jerk!" the man said, getting off the stool. He brushed at the spilled beer that was dripping down his coat.
        "Pardon me," Data said. "It was a accident. You see, these two men were fi...."
        "I don't give a damn about them, Pale Face," a kid gave his buddies a smug look and looked back at Data. He hooked his thumbs on his gunbelt. The man glanced at Data's belt. "You're empty, pal."
        "I am unfamiliar with the meaning of 'you're empty,' sir," Data said.
        Favor came to his rescue placing a hand on the man's shoulder. "Mr. Data is new in town from South America, sir."
        Suddenly, the man whipped out his gun, aiming it at Favor. Then he shifted the gun to Data's face. With his thumb, he cocked the hammer.
        "I don't give a damn where he's from," the man said. "We take this outside."
        Faster than the eye could see, Data quickly grabbed the man's gun. In a blur of motion, Data popped the gun chamber and emptied the bullets onto the wooden floor. Flipping the gun around, Data offered the gun back to the man, handle first. "I believe you are empty too."
        The man stood there, slack jawed. "That ain't possible..." he mumbled.
        "Leave. Before I contact the authorities," Data said. "Once again, I apologize for spilling your drink."
        The man snarled, and dropped to the floor, rummaging for the bullets. The man loaded the bullets back into the gun, and aimed the gun again at Data, standing out of Data's arm reach. "Let's see you do that again, Pale Face."
        "You cannot fire that gun," Data said simply.
        "And why the hell not?"
        "Because there's no opening for the bullet to come out of," Favor smiled. He pointed at the gun barrel. The man turned the gun to look at it. The front end had been crushed. The man groaned angrily, and stomped out as Favor chuckled.
        "That was an interesting way to handle it," he told Data. The android simply shrugged.
        Favor smiled and drank the last of his beer. He slammed the mug back onto the countertop. "Well! That was enough excitement for one evening for me! I think I'm gonna hit the hay."
        "I shall return to the room with you," Data nodded.
        "Ed? You gonna come?" Favor looked at Hartman.
        "Not just now... in a little while," Hartman replied. "You go on up."
        "Suit yourself. Night." Favor placed a hand on Data's shoulder for steadiness, and they walked out of the saloon, leaving Hartman behind.

        The saloon was nearly empty, due to the late hour. Hartman gulped down the contents of his shotglass, and sighed. He grabbed at the bottle, and poured the remainder of the whiskey. When only a few drops came out, he groaned. "Hey! Gimme another bottle!"
        The bartender came over. "Last call, and then I'm cutting you off."
        "Oh come on! I'm a doctor, I know what's enough for me. Now give me some more whiskey."
        The bartender sighed and poured whiskey into Hartman's waiting shotglass. He set the bottle next to the empty bottle.
        Hartman was about to gulp down his shotglass when a woman stepped up to the bar.
        "Mind if I sit here?" a woman said next to Hartman. The doctor spun around drunkenly to look at the newcomer. It took him a moment to recognize the woman as Deanna Troi. He set his full shotglass down.
        Troi sat in the stool that Favor had just vacated. "Would you like to join me for a cup of coffee?" She looked at the bartender. "Two coffees, please," she asked of the bartender.
        The bartender nodded knowingly. "Be two minutes," the bartender said. "Got to heat up some water."
        "Hello, counselor," Hartman said sullenly, staring at his full shotglass.
        "Hello, doctor," Troi said, settling on the stool. She had fashioned her nun's habit into a simple black dress, so she didn't look out of place in the saloon. "We haven't talked much on this mission, have we?"
        "Nah."
        "How are you doing?" she asked.
        "Fine. Oh wait, is this some sort of therapy question?"
        "There's no need to get defensive," Troi said gently. "I just wanted to know how you were doing."
        "Well, I'm fine."
        "You know, I was talking with Captain Johnson earlier as we were riding with the wagon train. He mentioned the circumstances of your last mission, concerning his first wife, Sarah Johnson."
        At the mention of the name, Hartman closed his eyes and turned his face away from Troi. "What of it?"
        "Well, it's a harsh ending to a terrible situation," said Troi.
        "I did what I had to do."
        Troi nodded silently. She looked at him. "But you didn't intend to do what you did."
        "I know!" Hartman said with a sudden vehemence. "But things all worked out in the end," he said more calmly. "I saved Tommy's life."
        "Yes, at a terrible cost," Troi said.
        Hartman said nothing.
        The bartender brought two teacups full of coffee. "Here ya go. On the house."
        "Thank you," Troi smiled at the bartender. The bartender nodded and went out between the tables to clean up.
        Troi sipped at her coffee. "I noticed you didn't sleep in the room with Data and I last night."
        "I was tired, I went to the other room and fell asleep right away."
        Troi studied Hartman's face. He grabbed his coffee and blew on it.
        Troi sighed and started talking. "I know I'm not your ship's counselor, but I've sensed a lot of conflicting emotions within you. I've also noticed some behavior that, to my trained eye, seem very obvious, whereas it would be unnoticeable to others."
        "What are you getting at?"
        "You may have a drinking problem," Troi stated.
        Hartman laughed, and sipped at his coffee. "No, I don't. I can see why you'd think that, but trust me, I don't."
        Troi only looked at Hartman with a neutral expression.
        "I know, the bottle's empty," Hartman gestured to the bottle of whiskey. "But I shared that with Nathan. Ambassador Favor, you know? Look, I know I've been drinking a lot tonight, but it's just for tonight. I can stop whenever I want."
        Troi's mouth twitched in a slight frown, which Hartman noticed.
        "Oh, that's right. That's exactly what an alcoholic would say. I can't win this, can I? You obviously already have your mind all made up, and have formed your own conclusions."
        "No, I haven't."
        "Yes, you have," Hartman said. "If you're so sure about this, why don't you just go straight to Captain Johnson and tell him?"
        "I'm not sure. I'm only talking with you now. I'm sorry if I offended you in any way. You have to understand, when I see warning signs, I have to step in."
        "I'm a doctor, I know all the warning signs myself. The excessive drinking, the memory loss, the mood swings, the lying, and the increased tolerance." Hartman counted off with his fingers. "But they're only warning signs. Not positive indicators. You know me, we served together for a while on the Enterprise ten years ago. Did you see any such warning signs then? No, you didn't."
        Hartman sighed and sipped more at his coffee. "Allright, you are right about one thing. I have drank too much tonight. I know I shouldn't have, but I did. I'm not used to real alcohol. It's different from syntheol. On top of that, I hurt my leg earlier when I fell down with my horse. I guess I just overmedicated myself tonight," Hartman laughed.
        Troi smiled. "I see. Well, if you need to talk about anything, just let me know."
        "I will keep that in mind," Hartman nodded. "I'm sorry if I seemed short with you earlier, that was just the whiskey talking. Tell you what, I promise I'll talk to the ship's counselor when all this is over, okay?"
        "You don't need to do that to prove anything," Troi said.
        "No, no, I'm not," Hartman gestured. "You got me thinking, and I have been a little stressed out lately. You've been sensing that, right?"
        Troi nodded affirmatively.
        "I'll just pop by the counselor's office and make an appointment. Thank you for getting me to thinking. I appreciate it."
        "No problem, Edward," Troi said. "Doctor Crusher spoke highly of you, so in a way, I think highly of you."
        Hartman smiled. "Thank you. We really should be going. It is late after all, and we've got a lot to do tomorrow."
        "True enough," Troi agreed. She set her empty cup down and got off the stool. "Coming?"
        "Go on, I've got to pay for this. The good ambassador stuck me with the bill." Hartman shrugged with a grin.
        "I see," Troi smiled. "Good night."
        "Yeah, see you in the morning." Hartman watched Troi walk out of the empty saloon. He turned around to face the bar. He set his half empty cup of coffee. He looked at the full shotglass still sitting before him. With a shrug, he downed the whiskey in one gulp. He looked around, and saw that the main room was empty. Apparently the bartender had gone into a storeroom in the back.
        He pulled out a flat silvery flask from his vest, and began filling the flask up with the whiskey from the fresh bottle. He then tucked the full flask away out of sight in his vest. "Hey, barkeep!" he shouted, to attract the attention of the bartender. "I'm paying up now." He rummaged in his pocket for the money that Stuvor had given them all earlier. "How much will this cost me?"

        A knock on the hotel room door made Johnson snap awake. He found himself in the armchair of the room. I must have dozed off, he told himself. He yawned and went to the door. Favor was sleeping soundly in the bed, and Ironsides was sleeping on the sofa. Riker slept on a blanket on the floor.
        Johnson carefully made his way through the room to the door. The captain opened the door. "Lieutenant Ruiz! What are you doing here?"
        Ruiz stepped into the room. "I'm reporting for Lieutenant Kyle."
        "How'd you find us? We've been out of touch for nearly two days."
        "I used the shuttle's sensors to look for sarium krellide power signatures." Ruiz said. "From your combadges," she added.
        "Oh. Good thinking, lieutenant. Have a seat," Johnson gestured to the desk. "So, tell me. What's going on aboard the Courageous?"

        After Ruiz finished her report, Johnson groaned, leaning against the window by the desk. The first rays of sunlight were peeking over the barren horizon.
        Johnson turned around and faced Ruiz. "Allright, lieutenant, let's wake up the others."
        Johnson left Ruiz behind to wake up the men, while he went down the hall to the other room, to wake up Troi and the others. He knocked on the door loudly. Troi came to the door, bleary eyed.
        "Come on. Up and at them, commander," Johnson said. He looked around the room. He saw Data sitting motionlessly, his eyelids closed. "Is he 'sleeping'?"
        "Yes, sir. Low power mode," Troi nodded, yawning.
        He noticed Hartman sleeping on the small couch against the wall. He looked back at Troi. "Wake 'em up. Let's meet in the lobby in an hour. We've got a lot to do." He headed back to the other room. Favor stood at the doorway, scratching his rear.
        "Hey," Favor said upon seeing Johnson.
        "Well, don't stand there scratching your ass, get dressed. We're going in an hour."
        "Aye, aye, sir!" Favor snapped his stocking feet together, and saluted in the old military style, dressed only in longjohns.
        Johnson sighed. "For a so called dignitary, you look really undignified."
        Favor grinned. "You ain't seen nothing yet. I have this collection of Hawaiian shirts. I've got some really undignified shirts. Really loud. So loud that the ruling family of Ramatis could hear them."
        Johnson's face scrunched up in confusion. "Ramatis?"
        "You know? They can't hear, so they have a telepathic - ah forget it. If I have to explain, the joke goes bad."
        Johnson gave a wry chuckle. "Most of your jokes are bad anyway." Johnson smiled and shook his head. "Enough of this verbal byplay. Get going."
        Favor smiled and he nodded. "Okay. I'll be ready."

Chapter Eleven
Railing Against Time

        Johnson looked around at his people assembled on the wooden sidewalk in front of the hotel. Down the street, Stuvor's friends were saddling up their horses. They had spent the night in another hotel. Rian Longarm was already gone, on his way back to his post at Fort Allen. Theresa Morales was also gone, already on her way back to Carson City.
        At the moment, Stuvor was with the others, going over the supplies they'd need to buy.
        Johnson waited a moment until Stuvor rode over to meet them. "I've got the list we need. I hope you guys can read Brisco's handwriting. He doesn't write much."
        Johnson looked at the list Stuvor offered him. "Hmm...is that forty pounds of gunpowder or ninety pounds?"
        "Forty. I think," Stuvor scratched his head. "Let me go and get Brisco and ask him again." Stuvor turned his horse around and called out for the miner.
        Johnson turned to look for Data. When the android exited the hotel lobby, Johnson went up to him. "Mr. Data. Last night, Lieutenant Ruiz came to my hotel room, relaying a message to me from Lieutenant Kyle. They've determined the cause of the problem aboard the Courageous. It seems the problem is due to a massive influx of super-energized tachyon particles in the EPS system."
        Data nodded, listening to Johnson.
        "Chief Fonda and Dr. Joh Emmeril have a possible solution to the problem. It involves the use of anti-tachyons. However, there's no known way to produce them. All their knowledge comes primarily from an article published over five, seven years ago. Do you have that article in your memory banks?"
        Data tilted his head oddly, signifying that he was searching his memory files. "Yes. The paper you refer to was originally the thesis paper of an Engineering student in Starfleet Academy. It was then published in the Starfleet Journal of Engineering."
        "Great, you know of it," Johnson smiled. "I'm going to have Ruiz take you to the shuttle and you can go and help them."
        "Sir, the article only proposes abstract hypotheses on how to produce anti-tachyons, not practical applications," Data countered. "However, I believe there is a person here who can assist us in creating the proper equipment."
        "Captain," Stuvor called out as he approached. "It's forty pounds. I've cleared up Brisco's notes for easier reading."
        "Good," Johnson nodded. He turned back to Data. "Who?"
        "The article was originally written by Cadet Ginger Stuvor." Johnson raised his eyebrow at that revelation. Slowly, both the captain and the android turned to look at Stuvor, who was just getting off his horse.
        "What?" Stuvor asked, upon seeing their stares.

        "You're sure you have the directions right?" Stuvor asked Data. The android was boarding the shuttle. Stuvor had to shout to be sure Data heard him from within the shuttle.
        "I am certain I shall find them," Data replied.
        "Just making sure. I hid those plans very well in my secret workshop so no one would find them," Stuvor shrugged. He looked at Johnson, who stood by his side. "I just couldn't bring myself to destroy those plans. I spent my first few months working on ways to bring myself back the 24th century. I think the plans are some of my finest work."
        The captain nodded understandingly. "I'm sure Captain Data will be able to find your blueprints. I'm also confident that the combined minds of my chief engineer, science officer and Data will be sufficient to bring your plans to reality."
        "I hope you're right, sir," Stuvor said. They watched the shuttlecraft rise off the ground, and shoot across the horizon, heading back for Carson City, to Stuvor's blacksmith shop. They got back on their horses and rode back into town to meet up with the others.

        "Careful with that!" Brisco yelled at Riker and Favor. They were loading a small barrel into the back of a borrowed uncovered wagon. "That could blow us all into next week!"
        "How many barrels would we need to get back to the 24th century?" Favor quipped to Riker. The bearded captain only grinned and shook his head at the ambassador. The clop of horseshoes drew their attention. Riker looked up to see Johnson and Stuvor ride back into town.
        Johnson rode up to the wagon. "How's everything?"
        Riker wiped off the sweat from his forehead. "We've got a day's worth of supplies for the ride down to Death Valley, plus all the things we need for the fight."
        "Good. Is everything stowed away?"
        "This's the last barrel of gunpowder."
        "Very well. Let's ride," Johnson nodded. He rode out to the outskirts of the town. Ironsides was already out there, taking his bearings with a compass.
        "Major," Johnson nodded.
        "Captain," Ironsides nodded back. "It's about three hundred fifty kilometers in that direction." The major pointed out across the flat expanse of dry ground.
        Slowly, the loose group of natives and Starfleet crew rode out of Mateo. Brisco and Troi sat at the forefront of the wagon with the barrels of gunpowder and other supplies in the back. The others rode on their horses, with Johnson and Ironsides in the lead, with Hartman and Favor bringing up the rear.

        Stuvor looked at Vekmon. "Well, interesting turn of events, huh?"
        "Hmm?" Vekmon murmured.
        "Captain Johnson being here with us. His ship up there. Now I can finally go home."
        Vekmon smiled. "Yes, that's right, you'll be able to go home."
        Stuvor sighed. "Only thing is, I still will have lost about five years of my life up there. And I've been here for just about four years. When I get back there, I'll be uh... about one year too young. Weird."
        "At least you will be back where you belong."
        Stuvor paused to look at Vekmon. "You don't look too excited."
        "I'm sorry. I'm just thinking about our upcoming confrontation with Zan. A part of me still loves her, and a part of me hurts very much from her sudden betrayal." Vekmon ran his fingers through his bristly white hair. "And I'll have to face up to my own actions, as an accomplice. Yes, an unwitting accomplice, but an accomplice nonetheless. You heard the captain. Our sun was fading from existence as they performed their slingshot maneuver. That means she had succeeded then."
        "But we'll change the timeline," Stuvor said earnestly.
        Vekmon smiled. "That we will. I'm still going to have to explain my actions to Starfleet Command, not to mention the Department of Temporal Investigations, no matter what timeline it is."
        Stuvor grinned. "Wouldn't it be funny if Lucsly ended up handling your case?"
        Vekmon groaned. "That guy has no sense of humor at all. Dulmur, on the other hand..." Vekmon chuckled. He frowned suddenly, thinking. "I have no idea how these two guys can handle being partnered up. Their personalities are so different."

        Ruiz maneuvered the shuttlecraft expertly through the rectangular hole in the heavy shuttle bay doors. Data sat motionlessly in the seat next to her, appreciating the skill she exhibited. He knew her job was much more difficult than it normally was, because the tractor beams that typically guided a craft in for a landing were nonfunctioning. She had to pilot manually, using the thrusters only.
        As they felt the familiar bump of a landing, Ruiz undid her seat's restraint belts. She went to the rear, where the EVA suit was, and began suiting back up again. Data merely undid his restraints and stood up. When Ruiz gave Data a thumbs-up, indicating that her suit was locked, Data depressurized the shuttlecraft so there wouldn't be an explosive outpouring of air when the rear door was opened, since the shuttlebay was exposed to the vacuum of space.
        Data himself didn't require an EVA suit since he could survive the vacuum of space for a short period of time. They left the shuttlecraft, and headed into the airlock that connected the shuttlebay to the rest of the Courageous.
        Fonda and Dr. Joh were waiting to greet Data. They instantly began bombarding the android with questions. Data held up his hands. "Please. Most of your questions will be answered with this simple statement. I hold in my hands," the android raised a metallic cylinder, "the plans for an theoretical anti-tachyon device. It so happens that the man who wrote the article that you recalled, was on the surface. Cadet Ginger Stuvor. I believe that time is of essence, is it not?"
        The women couldn't argue with Data's remark. They led Data to the nearest Jeffries Tube. After several minutes of climbing, the trio made it into the main engineering room. Data had to adjust his optical sensors to see in the dimness of the cavernous room. The familiar blue lights that the warp cores gave off were not present. Most of the monitors were either black or flickering barely. Fonda took the cylinder and opened the top, pouring out the paper.
        Joh helped unroll the plans and hold them flat, atop the useless master control table. Data, having already committed the plans to memory, watched the faces of the women to see their reactions to the ideas outlined on the paper. After a moment of reading, Fonda let out a long, low whistle.
        "This is... amazing. I daresay...brilliant," Joh shook her dumbfounded head. She looked at Data. "He must've graduated at the top of his class in the Academy's Engineering department."
        "Actually," Data tilted his head, "he was due to graduate from Command School before his erroneously reported death."
        "Command School?" Fonda looked at the android. "What do you mean... never mind. We don't have much time." She planted a finger on one section of the plan. "Now, this, I can cobble together out of the parts of a type ten shuttle craft."
        Joh nodded. "I think I can jury-rig an phosadic inverter for this component..." she said. Soon, both women were deep in rapid fire technical conversation. Data's golden eyes looked back and forth between the two women, taking in the dialogue, offering points of advice where he could.

        Johnson looked up in the clear blue sky, shading his eyes from the sun. Ironsides looked over at his commanding officer. "Thinking about the ship again, sir?"
        Johnson brought his eyes back down to earth. "Yes. I still can't get over what Kyle told me in the letter. My decision to place the ship in the missile's path activated the tachyon trap."
        Ironsides nodded slowly, his lips tight. He gave a slight shrug. "You did the right thing. 'The road to hell is paved with good intentions.' I find myself thinking of that famous proverb every now and then. History is filled with situations that the proverb describes exactly. The disastrous Vietnam War in the mid 20th century. The Eugenics war in the 21st century. First Contact with the Borg." The major shrugged again.
        "All of these were brought about the basic instinct to be good. To help. All of those things could have been avoided if we had hardened our hearts, turned away from the needs of others. But that would be to deny our true natures. So, all we can do is pave the road with our good intentions, and hope the road leads to heaven, not hell."
        Johnson looked at his first officer, regarding the man's stony profile for a moment. "I had no idea you had such a philosophical streak in you."
        "There's a lot of things you don't know about me," Ironsides remarked, staring straight ahead.
        Johnson smiled. "Well, the same can be said of all of us." He reached over to clap Ironsides on his shoulder. "I do know this; I'm glad Admiral Stone assigned you to the Courageous."
        Ironsides nodded, giving his characteristic tightlipped smile. The two rode on in the hot sun. Behind them came the rest of the group.

        "Ok, that's good, that's good. Bring it on down...easy...easy...stop!" Fonda called out. Data gingerly set down the massive power distribution node down. The bottom clanked against the deck. Fonda went around the cube shaped piece of equipment, checking the readouts.
        An ensign walked up to Fonda. The young woman reported, "That's all of the portable power generators we could find, sir."
        "That's good, thank you, ensign," Fonda waved her off, barely acknowledging her. Her mind was too deep in the construction project. Normally, the ensign would have been insulted, but she knew that whatever Fonda and Joh were working on, it was extremely important. She went back to her direct superior to check on her next duties.
        Fonda wiped the sweat off her brow. "You know, Data, I'm damn glad you're here. Most of the antigrav carts are on the fritz."
        "I doubt Doctor Soong envisioned me being used as a construction aid," Data remarked.
        Fonda smirked for a second, then frowned in thought. She tapped a spanner in the open palm of her other hand. "Ok, now...let's see...we're going to have to hook that up," she gestured with the spanner to a junction box on the node, "to the phosadic inverter."
        Data stepped forward. "It is currently located..."
        "I know where it is," Fonda snapped. "It's right by my office."
        "I was merely trying to help. As you can see, Main Engineering is in a state of confusion." The whole lower bay of Engineering was cluttered by various sized devices, all attached to one another through power couplings, cables, and cords. Dozens of medium sized boxes were arranged in rows all over the deck as well.
        Fonda looked at Data. "It's my Engineering, I know where everything is, thank you very much. Now, please go to the inverter and bring it over. It weighs just under a half ton."
        "Allright," Data replied. He went off to retrieve the device, leaving Fonda behind. The chief chewed on her lower lip thoughtfully, planning out the next steps.
        The hydraulic hiss of a Jeffries tube's accessway opening made Fonda turn around. He turned around in time to see Kyle drop down to her feet. The lieutenant brushed off her uniform. She spied Fonda, and went up to her.
        "How's it going?" she asked.
        "Slow, but good," the engineer replied. "Now, if everything was up and running fine, we would have been finished in only an hour or so."
        Kyle smiled. "If everything was up and running, we wouldn't need this thing. What did Stuvor call it?"
        "An anti-tachyon catalytic converter," Fonda answered.
        "So, when all of this is put together, how does it work?"
        "It's extremely complex, but it boils down to three basic steps. One, we hook this into the EPS system. Then the plasma goes through this specially modified power distribution node. We then inject a small amount of antimatter to produce the anti-tachyons. Then finally, the anti-tachyons sweep through the EPS system, nullifying the Super-Tachyons. Then we just expel the null tachyons out of the plasma manifolds."
        "Antimatter?" Kyle looked at Fonda. "Won't you need magnetic restraints for that? How do you propose to power a confinement field like that without power?"
        Fonda swept out her hand to the side of Engineering. "Lots and lots of portable power generators. I hope what we have is enough."
        "And if it isn't?" the lieutenant asked.
        Fonda let out a slow sigh. "The Courageous's done for." Kyle could only nod her head wordlessly at the sobering prospect.
        "Do you know what kind of reaction the null-tachyons will produce?" she asked after a moment of silence.
        "No idea, because if this thing works, then we'd be the first to make them."
        "Where's Data?" Kyle asked.
        "He's bringing over the phosadic inverter," Fonda tilted his head in the direction the android went off in. "And Dr. Joh is up on the second tier working."
        "Ah good...good. That means you're ready to make the connections?
        Fonda nodded in reply.
        Kyle looked at Fonda. "Does this mean you're almost done?" she asked hopefully. Fonda shook her head.
        Fonda explained, "No, this only is the end of phase two of the construction. I'd have to estimate about four or five hours before the anti-tachyon catalytic converter is fully assembled."
        She frowned. "Will the fusion reactors hold up that long?"
        "They will," Fonda said. "I'll make sure. I have a team of engineers working round the clock, in rad suits, manually controlling the fuel rods."
        Kyle nodded slowly. "Well, don't let me delay you any further. Back to work."

        Stuvor noticed White Wolf riding apart from the rest of the party. He rode out to his friend. "Brother, is there something wrong?"
        "Other than this insane woman trying to kill the sun?" White Wolf glanced at Stuvor.
        Stuvor smiled. "Yes, other than that."
        "No. I am merely enjoying the quiet."
        "Ah. Do you wish me to leave?"
        "That is not necessary. I can enjoy the quiet in your company."
        "I'm glad you can," said Stuvor.
        "Tell me," White Wolf turned to look at Stuvor. "These others...they are from the same place as you?"
        "Uh, yes. How did you know that?" Stuvor asked, surprised.
        The Native American shrugged. "I understand them."
        "What do you mean?"
        "I mean, when they speak, I hear my language. But their mouths do not move properly. All except for the pale yellow one."
        Stuvor cocked his head oddly at White Wolf's words. Then he laughed, throwing his head back. "Of course! The universal translator in the combadges!" he told himself in his own language.
        White Wolf shook his head, confused at Stuvor's strange words. "What did you say?"
        "Oh, I'm sorry," Stuvor said, slipping back into the tongue of White Wolf's people. "Your language does not have the words for it. What is happening is that they are wearing a talisman, such as the one I once wore, when you first found me after the fall."
        "Ah yes. Now I remember. The arrowhead talisman," White Wolf nodded.
        "Of course, you must not speak of this to the others, or to your people," Stuvor emphasized.
        "I know. I have kept my vow of silence, and shall always."
        "Thank you, my brother," Stuvor smiled.
        White Wolf looked at Stuvor intensely. "Remember, I will always be here for you."
        "Allright," Stuvor drew in a breath. His honorary brother's seriousness made Stuvor feel uneasy. He broke eye contact, instead looking over to the western horizon. The sun was changing color as it hovered above the horizon. He estimated at the amount of daylight left. From that estimation, Stuvor guessed they were close to the infamous Death Valley.
        He nodded to himself. They were making good time. By nightfall, they should be in Death Valley.

        "That's the final connection," Fonda sighed. She stood up from her kneeling position, and stretched her legs.
        Joh wiped her hands on her dress. "It appears so." She turned to one of the messenger ensigns by the nearby Jeffries Tube. "Young man, tell Lieutenant Kyle that we're activating the device in five minutes. Remind her to be prepared to vent the plasma manifolds. And be quick about it!"
        The ensign nodded, and disappeared up the tube. Fonda glanced at the nearby computer monitor, intending to check the time, then realized the monitors weren't working. She glanced at her wrist chrono instead. When the appointed minute arrived, it'd be up to her to activate the experimental anti-tachyon catalytic converter. If it was successful, she'd know. If it wasn't, odds were she wouldn't be there to care at all.

        Stuvor's estimation was correct. Merely a half hour after the sun had set, the group followed the river that Vekmon had jumped into days earlier.
        "Major, do you have anything to report?" Johnson asked. Ironsides was sitting on his horse, some distance away from the main group. He was scanning the surroundings with the tricorder Data left behind with the group.
        "No, sir. Nothing's showing up on the 'corder. She must have her special temporal shielding up."
        "Damn. I guess we'll just have to retrace Commodore Vekmon's steps."
        "Mmm," Ironsides merely grunted. The two of them turned about and rode back to the campfire.
        Two fires had been built. The wagon, understandably, was parked far away from the fires. The others were sitting and eating the rations that were bought earlier in the morning in Mateo. Upon hearing the hooves of incoming horses, some of the men stood up, hands hovering near their weapons, 19th century or 24th century.
        Once it was clear it was only Johnson and Ironsides, the group relaxed, sitting back down to their dinners. "Find any sign of her?" Riker asked the question that was on everyone's minds.
        "No," Johnson shook his head. "It seems she has her special camouflage up." Johnson tilted his head in emphasis on the word camouflage.
        "Ahhh," Riker nodded.
        Johnson continued on. "We'll just take a small group out to scout ahead. Vekmon and Riker will come with us of course, to retrace their steps."
        Vekmon, who had been quiet most of the journey, stood up and nodded. "I'll try my best, but I'm afraid I won't do well in the dark. I was also in a lot of pain from my sprained ankle."
        Riker nodded. "I'll do my best as well."
        Stuvor stood up. "I'd like to come along."
        "Very well."
        White Wolf stood up alongside Stuvor. Johnson sighed at the Native's silent volunteering. "I'm afraid he may not be able to keep up..."
        Stuvor smiled. "Don't worry. He can keep up with you. He knows a lot of things. A lot," he emphasized.
        Johnson opened his mouth, then closed it. "Very well. We'll talk about that as we scout ahead."
        Suddenly, the landscape brightened. All eyes went up to the sky when a wave of shimmering and sparkling lights rippled across the night sky.
        "Looks almost like the Northern Lights," Riker murmured. "But that can't be- it's the wrong season and wrong location." But to Johnson, the lights had sinister overtones to it. It reminded Johnson of the way a ship looked when it exploded from a warp core breach.
        "The Courageous?" he whispered, opening his mouth in shock.
        The other 24th century visitors had similar thoughts, while the natives just shook their heads in confusion at the strange sparkling sight. Johnson shot Ironsides a quick glance. Ironsides nodded. "Did you hear something?" he said loud enough for the group to hear.
        Johnson nodded. "Yes, I think I heard something. Let's check it out." With that, the two of them jogged away from the campfire, into the darkness. Johnson began frantically tapping his hidden combadge, hoping for any sort of response.
        "Johnson to Courageous," he hissed into the combadge. "Come in, Courageous!"
        "Johnson to Courageous!" he said again into the combadge. "Respond! Anyone, respond!"
        A sinking feeling settled in the pit of his stomach after the fifth and sixth tap on the combadge. He sank to his knees, letting out a ragged sigh. Then suddenly, a chirp resounded in the night air. Johnson's mouth broke into a wide grin. "Ha...ha!" he started laughing.
        Ironsides's tense face broke into a grin. He leaned over, his hands on his knees, exhaling a long sigh of relief. Johnson looked over at the major, smiling. Shortly after the chirp came the words to "Courageous to Away Team, do you copy?" It was Lieutenant Kyle's voice.
        "Yes, I copy. Johnson to Courageous, I copy!" He drew a deep breath to compose himself. "I take it Stuvor's plans succeeded?"
        "With flying colors," Kyle replied. "Literally. Did you see it?"
        "Yes, I did. It looked almost like the Northern Lights...but I was afraid it was some sort of explosion."
        "No, it was just a strange reaction between the atmospheric particles and the null-tachyons we expelled from the EPS conduits." Johnson nodded at the report. He looked at Ironsides, tilting his head back to the campfire.
        Ironsides smiled. "I'll go back and let the others know everything's ok."
        Johnson nodded his approval and talked into his combadge. "Well, I'll congratulate Stuvor on his success." Johnson smiled, looking off at the firelight, as Ironsides made his way back. "What's the status of the ship?"
        "Almost all systems are functioning normally again. Fonda expects full function within the next hour. We've got a lot to clean up. Almost everything needs to be recalibrated, sensors, warp coil alignment, et cetera, et cetera..."
        "Well, keep me informed. Uh, since I will be with the 'natives' at times, let's establish a code. One chirp for non-emergency communications. Two for emergencies."
        "Got it. What are you doing now?"
        "We're about to set off on foot to search for Zandria Soran's launchbase. We believe she has her special temporal shielding up."
        "Ah. I wish we could assist, but like I said earlier, we've got a lot of recalibration and cleaning up to do here."
        "Just let us know when you're available. We know for sure the launch time is set for 1200 hours August 13th," Johnson stated.
        "Acknowledged. If there's anything else...?" Kyle asked.
        "No, that's it for now. Johnson out."
        Johnson looked up at the fading lights in the night sky, smiling. He breathed in the dry desert air, and walked back to the campfires to get back to their work.

Chapter Twelve
High Noon in the Valley of Death

        The flat expanse of Death Valley was bathed in the warm light of the sun. Already, the temperature was past 100 degrees Fahrenheit. Johnson's clothes were soaked in sweat. "So this is the famed heat of Death Valley," Johnson remarked.         
        "Hmm," Ironsides merely nodded.
        "Almost reminds me of Vulcan," the captain said. Johnson laid on his belly on a rocky outcropping, next to Ironsides. Far in the distance, on one of the mountains that lined the valley, Johnson could make out the glint of metal, through the shimmer of heat waves.
        It had taken the scout team a long time to pinpoint where Zandria's launchbase might be. The team got a break when they found a scrap of Vekmon's torn pants alongside the river that he had jumped into. Johnson slid down off the rock, and sat back against it. He thought back to four hours ago, 0800 hours.
        "Can you tell us any more about Zandria's Temporal Shielding?" he asked Vekmon.
        The commodore shrug his shoulders apologetically. "I'm sorry. I don't know the specifics of it. She only told me the general concept. The shielding shifts the objects around in time. It totally confuses sensors, and also it's visually distorting."
        "What powers it?" Ironsides asked.
        "I believe it's an specially modified cloaking device. Possibly Romulan. I would guess all the schematics and information would be on the main control computer. She usually had automated systems to control the shielding and weapons. When I asked, she said I'd be better off not knowing. Of course, that was when I was a trusting husband, heh," Vekmon chuckled ruefully.
        "So," Johnson scratched his chin, "the Romulans were in on it with her?"
        Vekmon shook his head, smiling. "I don't think anyone had any idea what she was going to do, not even her husband. I wouldn't be surprised if the device turned out to be stolen. Look, Captain, I've already told you everything I know about her and her technology back in Mateo. You have to understand, she kept me almost totally in the dark on all her personal work. She pulled the wool so completely over my eyes."
        Johnson nodded sympathetically. "I just wanted to double check everything before we proceed."
        For the next four hours, the group put their plan in effect. After Vekmon had described the shielding to the group in Mateo, Data and Stuvor had figured out the weakness of the shielding. Stuvor told Johnson, "The shielding shifts the object around in time, right? But at intervals, the object will be in phase with the here and now, even for only a few seconds."
        "Yes?" Johnson prodded him along.
        "Well, Data and I think if we cause a rockslide, odds are, enough rocks will get through to strike the shield generator and deactivate it," Stuvor suggested. He said that Bronco Bobcat Brisco was skilled at explosives and he could set off a rockslide.
        Johnson looked at the old watch, reading the hands on the dial. 11:41, he read. Ironsides slid off the rock to sit next to Johnson. The major glanced at the watch in Johnson's hand.
        "They should have the barrels in place by now," the major said. Johnson nodded, thinking exactly the same thing. "We better move into position, sir."
        They got up and went to their horses, riding off to the side of the mountain. Some of the others would be on the opposite side of the launch site. Their observations of the launch site had showed that there was a large rocket launcher. Near it was a large shed, in which Zandria stored the tools and materials. Several meters away was the shield generator.
        All Zandria's preparations were complete, it seemed. Johnson and Ironsides joined up with Riker and Troi on the eastern face of the mountain. The time was nearing. Only a few moments away, 11:50, Brisco and the rest of the numerically incorrect Magnificent Seven would light the fuses on the barrels lining the ridge above the launch site. Brisco and Stuvor had strategically placed the barrels where they'd be most effective.
        When the explosions sounded out, Johnson and the others would climb up over the edge to confront Zandria and take out the launcher. Unfortunately, the rockslide wouldn't damage the launcher, since it was set on a fortified base of duracrete. The vital systems were high off the ground and wouldn't be struck by the rolling rocks. It'd be up to Johnson and the other team to do it.
        On the other side, Stuvor, White Wolf, and Vekmon would approach from the west. The others would make their way down, laying down cover fire from above to distract Zandria.
        Johnson glanced at his watch and nodded to the others. They started climbing the ropes that they had secretly put in place earlier in the morning. Riker was already taking the lead, climbing up the rocky side. Soon, the four of them were holding position near the edge, staying out of sight. The others would be doing the same on the west side.
        Johnson tightened his grip on the rope, and sneaked a peek at the pocket watch.
        A loud roar sounded out above his head, like a terrific roll of thunder. "Let's go!" Johnson called out. He didn't need to, because everyone was already scrambling up the ropes.

        Zandria turned around in shock as a large cloud of dust suddenly arose further up the mountain side. Several rocks emerged from the dark brown cloud, and she realized it was a rockslide. She dashed into the nearest safe shelter, the metal shed. Hundreds of rocks dropped and rolled down the mountain side, slamming into the reinforced shed and sweeping over the launch site.
        She twisted her mouth in an angry frown. She hadn't expected any resistance at all. She might have thought the rockslide was natural, but the timing was too coincidental. The deep rumbling and shaking slowed, and she risked opening the shed door.
        A low-lying cloud of light dust blanketed the mountainside ledge. Still, she could see through the haze to see that the shield generator was mangled. She shook her head and clenched her fists. She hadn't expected anyone to figure out the weakness in her shielding system, much less find a way to exploit that.
        Her hand went to her hip, grabbing her disruptor. She activated it, and looked around. A light wind helped sweep the dust cloud away. She saw that she was flanked by two groups, on the east and the west. They were training weapons on her. The lead man on the eastern side of the ledge called out.
        "Throw down your weapon! Surrender peacefully!" Johnson called out.
        "Who are you?" she called back.
        "Captain Thomas Johnson Jr., Starfleet."
        "Ahh, of the Courageous. Well, you know I can't surrender. I've got an appointment to make," she yelled back.
        "Zan! Don't do it!" another voice called out. She turned around to the other group.
        "Robert? You're still alive?" she asked, momentarily taken aback.
        "Yes. Look, if you do this, you'll die along with the rest of us," Vekmon pleaded.
        "Oh!" Zandria put a hand to her face in an exaggerated show of surprise. "I hadn't realized that! Thank you so much for telling me! Now I shall surrender."
        "You fool!" she screamed. "I have been planning this for years and years! I planned everything and anticipated every reaction. My marriage with you was just one part of my greater plan. I used your connections to get assigned to the Tempus's research group. I used your friendship with Cadet Stuvor to develop my time portal. Don't you get it?" she ended her tirade with a scoff.
        A woman called out to Zandria. "We realize that the death of your brother had a devastating impact on you."
        "And who are you?" she turned to the other group.
        "Counselor Troi. I'd like to help you deal with your issues in an healthier way. Destroying Earth is a much too extreme reaction for the loss of your brother. If you would like to, I can help you." Troi stepped forward, her phaser pointed away.
        "Oh, sure," Zandria nodded, walking slowly back to the launchpad. "We could talk and talk and talk and whoops, it's too late to launch the rocket. Nice try." She looked up at the sun shining in the hot desert sky. "Looks like it's high noon. Time for the ultimate show down."
        She raised a hand-held device, and pointed it at the launchpad. The menacing missile hissed and tilted up into the sky.
        Johnson shook his head. "Take her down!" he yelled out. Ironsides fired his phaser at her, and the west team did the same as well. Zandria dived behind one of the large boulders that came down in the rockslide. She pressed a button on the device. Several panels on the base of the launchpad opened, revealing phaser emitters.
        "Take cover!" Johnson yelled out, as he dived to the dirt. The rest of his team and the western team ducked as the base started firing streams of phasers at them. The air was filled with the loud whine of the automated phasers.
        "While I wasn't expecting 24th century interference, I put security devices in place to prevent interference by some of the natives. They should take care of you, or at least keep you pinned down enough for me to finish my mission," Zandria called out from her position.
        "Damn it!" Johnson muttered. He crawled to a spot where the phasers couldn't fire, and he waved at the group above for assistance. Soon after that, Johnson heard the sound of gunfire. From their vantage point, the Magnificent Seven could hit Zandria in her hiding position.
        Johnson looked over at her. She knew this too, and was moving for a better safe position. Johnson crawled back over to Ironsides, feeling the phasers whiz over his head. A scream made him turn. He saw Riker go down, grabbing his shoulder.
        "You ok?" Johnson called out.
        "Yeah, it just winged me. I stood up too early," Riker answered back.
        Johnson made his way to Ironsides. "Look you and the others try to draw the sensor attention, I'll try to make my way to Zandria."
        "Yes, sir. Be careful," Ironsides nodded. The major moved back, making his way to Troi and the injured Riker.
        Johnson crawled over to near the ledge, as far away from the others as he could get. Hopefully the automated sensors would choose to fire on three people as opposed to a single person. He peered over to the west team. They were pinned down by the automated phaser fire. None of then could get a clear shot. Several boulders and the shed blocked their view. He looked up at the mountain. The Seven couldn't get down fast enough to help. It seemed as if it was up to Johnson.
        "Now!" Johnson yelled out. He watched as Ironsides and Troi popped up from behind a rock to fire at the launchpad base. Predictably, the defense system focused on them. Johnson dashed over to Zandria. A stream of phaser fire made him dive for cover. He looked up to see Zandria make her way slowly to the ladder that led up to the main control computer.
        Johnson got up and ran for all he was worth. Phaser fire zipped near his arm, giving him goosebumps. He quelled his defensive instinct to duck and cover, and rushed headlong to tackle Zandria. He wrapped his arms around her slender waist, twisting her down to the ground.
        She dropped the hand-held device, and groaned in frustration. Zandria knew the seconds were ticking by before 12 o'clock. She reached for it in the dirt, but Johnson tugged at her, keeping her from reaching it. She turned to look at him, a look of rage and determination in her face.
        She kicked with her boot at Johnson's shoulder. The captain groaned, feeling pain rip out in his arm. She kicked again at him, the toe of of her boot slamming in his chest. Johnson spat out air involuntarily, momentarily shaken. Zandria took the opportunity to scramble for the device.
        Johnson shook off the daze and leapt at her again. They struggled, rolling around until finally Zandria was on top of Johnson. "You! Are! Not! Going! To! Stop! Me!" she screamed, pounding at Johnson's head. He lashed out with an arm, knocking away the device again out of her hands.
        "Nooo!" she screamed, looking at the device spin away several meters away. She turned back at him, wild eyed. She reached down at Johnson's face, scratching wildly away at his face. Her fingernails dug deep grooves in Johnson's cheeks, trying to claw his eyes out. Johnson yelled out, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to fend off her advances.
        Her insanity was giving her a boost in strength, making it hard for Johnson to fight her off. He tried to cover his face up with his forearms but Zandria was knocking them away easily, her fingers slashing at his face. With a grunt of exertion, he kicked her off him, and scrambled back, the blood flowing freely on his face. Zandria now could reach the device. She grabbed it, crowing triumphantly. She raised it. "Now, you all will die!"
        A gunshot rang out. The device snapped out of her hand. Johnson could barely tell that it had been Stuvor who fired. Zandria stared at her empty hand, shocked. Suddenly, Vekmon came out of no where, and tackled her to the ground.
        "Zan, don't do this! It's already twelve, you've lost. Just give up!" he said to his wife.
        "What? Twelve? Ohhh nooo..." she muttered. She seemed to go limp for a moment. Then suddenly, she grabbed a nearby rock and smashed it into Vekmon's temple. "I'll never give up!" she roared. Vekmon went down, unconscious. She scrambled up the ladder. "Even if the missile doesn't strike the center of the sun, it'll still cause a massive solar flare that will wipe out every living thing on the western hemisphere!" Zandria laughed. "Half is better than none," she shrugged.
        She fired with her disruptor at Johnson and the others. Zandria continued firing as she made her way up the long ladder. Stuvor fired, drawing her attention. He tried to fire again, not paying attention to the automated phaser defenses.
        Johnson shook his head at Stuvor's fatal error. He was about to call out an warning when Zandria saw him. She started firing at him with her disruptor.
        Stuvor dodged the first blast, and rolled across the ground. For some reason, Zandria fixated on Stuvor, continuing to fire at him. Stuvor ran out of range of the automated defenses, trying to shoot at Zandria.
        Stuvor was now completely around the main computer structure, near the edge of the cliff. The same river Vekmon had fallen into days earlier flowed beneath the cliff's edge. He looked behind him, suddenly aware of the lack of ground behind him.
        Zandria now had a clear shot. Stuvor turned around to see Zandria grinning ferally. "Thank you for making all this possible."
        Stuvor whipped his phaser up, trying to fire before Zandria fired. He wasn't fast enough. Zandria's disruptor blast struck him squarely in the chest.
        As Stuvor staggered backward, he looked down at his chest. He could see the disruptor energy eat away at his flesh and ribcage. An odd smell assaulted his nose, one that he had never smelled before. The grim realization that it was his own burning flesh and clothes hit him. Then there was no more ground for him to step back on.
        Johnson watched as Stuvor fell backwards off the cliff's edge. "No!"
He now sat up on the ground, trying to wipe away the blood from his eyes. He couldn't aim his phaser at all. The captain yelled out to in Ironsides's direction. "Major! You're a crack shot! Fire on the computer! Destroy the launchpad! Now!"
        The major stood up cautiously from his defensive post. He aimed, and fired once. It hit the ladder that led up to the ledge. Johnson could see that Zandria was already on the metal ledge and was within an arm reach's of the controls. Johnson yelled again, "Ironsides, fire now! Destroy the computer now!"
        Ironsides pressed on his phaser's firing stud. The single stream of red energy flew out and struck Zandria squarely into the chest. She went down, stunned. Johnson blinked his eyes, unsure of what he saw.
        The captain rolled over onto his belly and crawled for the device. He found it, and saw Stuvor's bullet only struck the hard metal casing. It was still functional. With a few commands, he deactivated the phaser systems. The constant barrage of phasers stopped.
        Johnson's ears still rang from the non-stop phaser fire. He slowly stood up, wiping the blood from his cheeks and chin. The others approached him. Troi went Vekmon's side, checking for a pulse. Hartman rushed to Johnson's side, his newly acquired medkit already open.
        "Hold still," the doctor was commanding Johnson. He dabbed at Johnson's face with gauze, blotting the blood away. He pulled out a small vial of clear liquid, and slashed some on gauze pads, and wiped at Johnson's wounds.
        "Yeeargh!" Johnson screamed out. "What the hell is that?!?"
        "It's medicinal alcohol," Hartman answered back. "The current version of antiseptics. Hold still!"
        "It stings so much!" Johnson groaned.
        "Well, sorry, but I've got to do this otherwise those scratches will get infected and you'll have worse problems. Quit squirming, it's for your own good." Hartman replaced the bloody gauze with fresh gauze. "Besides, this is the only medical kit I have for now. I bet you don't think it was so funny that my medkit got crushed earlier, huh?"
        "I get the point...Damn! That stings so much!"
        "Doesn't look like she injured your eyes. I'll know better in Sickbay. I'll be able to heal these scratches up quickly with a dermal regenerator. Just hold on these pads. I'm going to check on the commodore."
        Johnson nodded, putting his hands on the pads Hartman put on his cheeks. His vision was a little clearer now that the doctor had cleaned the blood away. Hartman went over to kneel by Troi and Vekmon. Ironsides walked up to Johnson.
        Johnson squinted at Ironsides. The major asked, "Are you allright, sir?"
        "I'll live," Johnson shrugged. "I thought I told you to fire on the computer."
        Ironsides looked blankly at his superior. "I missed. Lucky I hit Zandria instead."
        "Bull," Johnson spat out. "You're one of the best marksmen in Starfleet. You could have made that shot blindfolded. You disobeyed my order."
        "Sir, I--" Ironsides began to say, when Johnson waved his hand, cutting him off.
        "This is not the time to discuss this. Later, I'll deal with you."
        Ironsides sighed. "Yes, sir. I'll go and secure the launchpad."
        "Fine, you do that," Johnson waved his hand, dismissing the major. He turned to see Vekmon slowly sitting up. "How's the commodore?"
        "He'll be fine. Just a momentary loss of consciousness," Hartman reported back. Johnson nodded and saw Riker and Favor carrying the groggy figure of Zandria. Apparently, the stun blast was wearing off. He saw Ironsides approach the computer.
        Riker and Favor helped Zandria down the ladder. Johnson went up to them to face the woman. She was slowly waking up. She looked around to see that all her plans had fallen apart.
        "Zandria. It's over. We'll be taking you back to the 24th century. Once there, Counselor Troi can admit you to a psychiatric facility for treatment," Johnson said. "I'm sorry. I hope you do come to terms with your problems."
        Zandria nodded slowly, a forlorn frown on her face. She let out a long mournful sigh.
        "Favor, look out!" Troi called out.
        "Wha-?" Favor looked at Troi. Suddenly Zandria grabbed at Favor's phaser, and spun around out of the grips of Riker and Favor. She backed away, brandishing the phaser.
        Johnson and the others raised their phasers, freezing in place. She looked at them. "I've lost all of my family and friends. First my family to the Borg, then my brother at Picard's hands. How do you make that better, huh? What could possibly make things better? I thought about that for years and years. How could I see my family and friends again?"
        She stood straight, proudly. "There's only one way. I tried to get my revenge first but you cheated me out of that. But you're not going to lock me away in a psychiatric hospital and cheat me out of this!" She raised the phaser to her temple, and fired.
        Her body fell to the dirt, limp. Everybody stood still, surprised. Hartman slowly walked over to her body. He knelt at her side and turned her head over. Even Johnson could tell what Hartman was going to say.
        "She's dead, Tom."
        Vekmon moaned, putting his face in his hands. Troi patted him on his back.

        Ironsides watched as the events unfolded below him. He couldn't have asked for a better opportunity. He walked around to the other side of the launchpad, and popped open an access panel. He looked at the isolinear rods set in the computer interface. He withdrew several data rods, and tucked them away underneath his old military uniform. Then he pulled out his phaser and fired, destroying the evidence of his actions. Then the major fired a few times on the side of the launchpad.
        He walked around back to the main computer panel, and checked the results of his actions. He saw the Magnificent Seven make their way to the ledge from up on the mountainside. Ironsides went over to the ladder and climbed down.
        He went up to Johnson. "What happened?"
        "Zandria committed suicide," the captain replied.
        "Ah. Well, I secured the computer. There's some damage from the firefight we had earlier. I don't think there's anything worth salvaging," Ironsides reported.
        "I see," Johnson nodded. "I'll probably have a few men from engineering come down and look around. We'll take the missile back on the ship, and destroy everything else."
        Troi walked to Johnson. He turned around, noticing her presence. "How's the commodore?"
        "He's hurting, but I think he'll be fine in time," Troi replied.
        "Good," Johnson nodded. He sighed, looking at the body of Zandria. "It's a shame when people take their own lives."
        "Yes. All during the fighting, I've sensed that she was full of rage, depression, and loneliness. This was a suicide mission from the very beginning. I'm sorry, sir. I should have warned Ambassador Favor and Wil earlier to pay attention."
        "It's allright, Commander. You were taking care of Vekmon."
        Troi nodded slowly. "I better go back and be with him."
        "Allright," Johnson said. He turned to Ironsides. "Sweep the area for Stuvor's body. I also want you to contact Engineering on the Courageous. Have them send some men down. We can't leave any evidence of this."
        "Understood, sir," Ironsides replied.
        Johnson wiped the sweat away from his brow. "Damn, it's hot."
        Ironsides gazed up at the sun. "Yeah. At least the sun's still here."
        "You have a point there."

Chapter Thirteen
Departures

        "Captain's Log, August 13, 1859. Chief Fonda and some of her men have returned to the Courageous. They reported pretty much the same thing Major Ironsides said. There's nothing salvageable. Apparently, portions of the computer system were damaged in the firefight we had with Zandria. So it seems that all of Zandria's special weaponry won't be used by anyone else. On one hand, it would have been nice to learn how she made her temporal shielding and weapons. But on the other hand, at least no one can use that technology.
        The so-called Magnificent Seven parted ways soon after the fight. Hartman was able to use a cortical inhibitor to erase their short term memory. While I hate interfering with their memories, it's important to preserve the time stream. Unfortunately, they will not remember Stuvor's valiant death, either.
        We swept the river for his remains, but apparently the disruptor had vaporized him before he hit the water. We could only detect his molecular remains in the area.
        Commodore Vekmon, I also regret to say...died. He was struck and killed by a phaser blast from the automated defense system Zandria Soran set up. He disintegrated immediately.
        Lieutenant Janet Kyle has done an admirable job getting the Courageous back in tip-top condition after the insidious Super-Tachyon trap Zandria had laid for us. Chief Fonda and Dr. Joh Emmeril also deserve commendations as well. And it seems Garak has earned his pay as well. My last reports indicate that we will be back in operational condition in a few hours. When that happens, we'll use the slingshot maneuver to return to the correct time.
        All that's left is to tie up one or two loose ends. End Log entry."

        Johnson looked up at Vekmon and Data seated before his desk. Johnson sighed, looking at them. "I hope you know what you're doing."
        "Data and I have figured it out," Vekmon nodded. "It's a textbook predestination paradox."
        "Yes, sir," Data added. "You see, I received the date 'August 13th, 1959' via a base code in my positronic brain similar in the way the then-Captain Picard did in San Francisco in 1893. The code indicates that Commodore Vekmon was the one who input that information. If he does not, then-"
        "Stop. That's enough, Captain. I'll get a headache if I try to understand it. I'll get a headache if I don't understand it. I'll get a headache listening to you try and explain it," Johnson sighed. "I know what I need to know. Commodore Vekmon has to remain behind."
        Data closed his mouth and nodded.
        Vekmon smiled. "Don't worry, sir. This is what I've always wanted to do, ever since I was a little kid. That's why I got into the Department of Temporal Investigations. That's why I became a history professor. That's why I ever agreed to collaborate with Zandria in the first place."
        "I understand. Well, Lieutenant Kyle will escort you to the transporter room, and we'll provide you with food supplies and whatever else you need."
        "I appreciate that, Captain." The three of them stood up, and Johnson escorted them out of his ready room. Kyle was seated in the command seat, and upon seeing Vekmon and Data, she stood. Johnson nodded to her, and she nodded back. She walked over to join Vekmon and Data at the turbolift.
        Johnson turned to look at Major Ironsides who was standing at his customary post at OPS, near the readyroom door. "Major, would you please come in," Johnson said.
        The captain walked back to his desk and sat on the front edge. Ironsides walked up and stood at attention in front of Ironsides. "I know you know what this is about," Johnson began.
        "Yes, sir."
        "You disobeyed an order."
        "Yes, sir."
        "You're my first officer, my right hand aboard the ship, and you disobeyed my order."
        "Yes, sir."
        "You're my first officer, and you disobeyed my order for no good, clear reason."
        "Yes, sir."
        "And finally," Johnson breathed deeply, "you tried to pass it off with a lie. A clear blatant lie."
        "Yes, sir."
        Johnson stood up and walked around the room. "I've been thinking about it. At first, I thought perhaps you had a better reason to fire on Zandria directly. But in the final analysis, the best and proper target was the computer itself. If you had missed Zandria, she would have succeeded and we wouldn't be here having this discussion at all."
        Ironsides stood motionlessly, staring straight ahead like a diligent soldier. "I could have written it off as a mistake. But then you just came out and lied to me. I know my vision wasn't one hundred percent but I did see you hit her square in the center of her chest, just like a target practice holo-dummy. I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt this minute. Can you tell me why my order to fire on the computer was incorrect? Why she should have been the priority target?" Johnson stood next to Ironsides.
        "Your target assessment was correct, sir."
        "Allright," Johnson nodded. He stood silently, looking at Ironsides. "You know the worst thing of this situation is?" Johnson asked after a pause. "You're my first officer. I can understand a cocky ensign thinking he knows better than me. But you, a man of your experience, disobeying a order? I will not have my first officer disobey my orders without good reason on my ship. This is my ship. You are my subordinate. I am your superior officer. I must rely on you to follow my orders explicitly, questioning them only when there is good reason to question them."
        Johnson walked around the desk and sat down, interlacing his fingers together. "In light of this, I'm forced to reassess your position in the command structure. You broke my trust. You only get to do that once. The next time you do that, you're off my ship. Do you understand?"
        "Yes, sir."
        "You are dismissed."
        Ironsides spun sharply on his feet and walked out of the readyroom.

        Data looked on as Vekmon finished materializing on the surface. The older man dropped his bags and stuck out his hand to shake with Data's hand. The two of them shook hands.
        Vekmon shook his head. "Interesting twist of fate, isn't it?"
        "What is, sir?" Data asked.
        "All my life I've wanted to live here, but my friend, Stuvor ends up living here. And then, I'm consigned to living here."
        "I have long since given up on deriving a pattern from the randomness of life. I now have learned to simply live life," the android said.
        "Yeah. You can never know what paths fate will take you in."
        "You do remember my instructions?"
        Vekmon smiled. "They're etched in my memory."
        "Ah. I recognize that as a humorous play on words." Data offered an odd smile.
        "You're a good man, Data. Good bye."
        "Good bye, Commodore." Data tapped on his combadge. "Data to Courageous. One to beam up."
        Vekmon smiled sadly as he watched his last 24th century contact disappear in the blue transporter beam. He sighed and set off to the nearby town. He'd need a horse. Again.

        "The dilithium matrix isn't ready for us to attempt the slingshot maneuver for another four hours," Fonda told the group seated in the conference room. "Beyond that, Engineering is fully recovered from the effects of that damned tachyon infestation."
        Johnson nodded. "Allright," he cleared his throat. "That takes care of all the business. You're all dismissed," Johnson declared.

        The light faded. Johnson looked over to Data. "Have we arrived at the right time?"
        "Yes, sir," Data said. "It is approximately 2.3 seconds after our initial departure."
        "Good enough," Johnson patted his chair's armrest.
        "Sir, we're being hailed," Bogarde said.
        "On screen," Johnson replied.
        The viewscreen showed the face of Admiral Okunbach. "Captain Johnson? What happened? Our sensors showed massive solar energy fluctuations, then you disappeared around the sun and suddenly reappeared."
        Johnson sighed. "It's a very long story."
        Okunbach's mouth quirked in a smile. "Yes, of course it is."
        "Permission to dock in McKinley Station requested."
        "Granted." Okunbach smiled. "By the way, we've just received word that Admiral Picard has regained consciousness. His doctors report an excellent prognosis."
        Johnson heard Riker heave a relieved sigh. Johnson nodded in appreciation, he was also very relieved to hear that Picard was doing well now. He tapped his combadge to contact the transporter room.

        "Captain's Log. June 24th, 2384. Yes, I know, it's not the standard Stardate, but I kind of got used to the old calendar dating. The shore leave is over now. The crew seemed to enjoy the much needed break after the tense situations we've had to deal with in the past two months. I enjoyed visiting my wife again at Starfleet Headquarters. It seemed bittersweet, since that'd be the last week we'd have together for another five years. But we've already prepared ourselves for that, so this extra week was a nice treat.
        "To be honest, I also gave the shore leave to give Fonda some time to get Engineering back to normal, and also to let the Department of Temporal Investigations conduct their interviews.
        "Geez, these guys are really anal. They seemed satisfied with our accounts of what happened, and approved of all my decisions. As if I ever needed their approval. Still, it's better having them not breathe down my neck. I swear, I'm not going to get involved in temporal matters anymore.
        "Regarding Admiral Picard, I'm glad to say he is doing very well. He's up on his feet now, and the doctors say he will make a full recovery within a few weeks. I spoke with him this morning and he doesn't look like a man that nearly died. Picard's a resilient man. I'm glad Starfleet still has him in our ranks.
        "This morning, the Courageous is departing for the Neutral Zone. It seems that the Romulan Government wants a hand in on our Borderlands Mission. Since Ambassador Favor is one of our best people to deal with the Romulans, we've been assigned on a goodwill journey to Romulus on a diplomatic mission. We're due to meet a Romulan escort in twenty-seven hours. In spite of this recent diplomatic assignation, it feels good to be back on track for our primary mission, the exploration of the Borderlands. End log entry."

Epilogue

The 19th Century

        A old man crawled into the narrow space. Dirt fell down from the roof of the cave, making him cough. Finally the ceiling of the cavern rose enough for him to stand up. He swung his lamp around, scouring the ground.
        A glint of pale yellow caught his eye. "Aha... there you are..." He went to it and dug away at the loose dirt. He pulled the object out.
        "Hello again, Captain Data," Vekmon smiled through his bushy white beard.  He sat down on a fallen boulder, and stared at the lifeless face of Data. "It's funny. If I don't do this, the world ends. If I do this, the world is saved. So much responsibility lies on my head. And yours as well." He chuckled mirthfully at his own joke.
        "But since the world hasn't ended yet, I must have done it. So I better do it." Vekmon flipped open a panel beneath the dark brown hair of Data's head. "I have some special information to give you..."

The 24th Century

        "I have some special information to give you along with my status report," Ironsides spoke into his computer. "I was able to prevent the Department of Temporal Investigations from interfering with this mission, otherwise I would have not been able to retrieve the data that I am sending along. This data should prove useful to us. I hated having to break my trust with Captain Johnson. He's a good man. A good CO. But I know I have a mission."
        His combadge chirped. "Commander Ironsides, report to the bridge. The Romulans are here."
        "Yes, sir. I'm on my way," Ironsides replied. Turning his attention back to the computer. "End status report. Encrypt with Standard Triple-Tier Encryption protocol. Transmit in conjunction with the standard communications dump."
        "Acknowledged," the computer replied. Ironsides deactivated his desktop computer and walked out of his quarters.
        He walked onto the bridge, and was momentarily taken aback at the sight of three large green Romulan Warbirds on the viewscreen. Johnson turned to see Ironsides's reaction. He smiled. "Don't worry. Ambassador Favor assures me that they're friend, not foe."
        "Yes, sir," Ironsides nodded, walking to the OPS console, replacing the ensign who had been working there.
        Ambassador Favor was standing next to Johnson, facing the viewscreen. Bogarde announced, "The lead Warbird is hailing us."
        "On screen," Johnson. "Nathan, you have the floor.
        The viewscreen changed to reveal a severe looking Romulan, garbed in a gray uniform. "This is Commander Zivakal of the Warbird Devarras."
        "This is Ambassador Favor of the United Federation of Planets. We appreciate your gracious escort through your empire."
        Zivakal nodded. "Remain on our coordinates. Do not exceed warp five. And under no circumstances, power up your weapons systems. Devarras out."
        The viewscreen cut off, changing back to an exterior view of the Romulan Warbirds. They turned and took off in warp."
        Johnson sat down. "Follow our escorts." Favor sat down next to Johnson in the third seat.
        Johnson leaned over to Favor. "That was a succinct Romulan."
        "Most of them are," Favor shrugged.
        "Well, I guess I'll just have to sit back and take in the sights of the Romulan Star Empire. Hope our trip is uneventful."
        "Me, too," Favor nodded. They turned to watch the stars streak by on the main viewscreen.

THE END

SECTION ONE | SECTION TWO | SECTION THREE | SECTION FOUR

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