Just released - Snowybrook Inn: Book Four

As I wrote in a previous post, Snowybrook Inn: Book Four was recently released in ebook format, exclusively on Amazon.com. Three all-new stories set in my favorite fantasy world (of my own creation, of course; I can think of several fantasy worlds I like better, but I can't legally write in those, so...)

Book Five is in progress and should follow in a month or so, with Book Six coming later this year.

Pre-order on Amazon: Return to Snowybrook Inn

My next novel (actually, a novel-length collection of connected short stories) is now up for pre-order on Amazon.com. It's the sequel to Welcome to Snowybrook Inn, to be released on February 19, 2016.

Star Trek: Final Requiem

Yet another Star Trek fan fiction. I'm starting to think I spent way too much time writing Star Trek stuff. This one is a sequel to the original series episode Requiem for Methuselah. I wrote this one in 1999.

 

Star Trek: Final Requiem

 

Data watched impassively through the shuttle’s forward window as the ruddy brown planet grew larger. For the 6,813^th time he wondered why he’d been compelled to steal the shuttle and come to this planet. But the compulsion, like the previous one that Dr. Soong had left within him, offered no explanation. He’d been reduced to a prisoner in his own body, watching as it performed actions against his will.

Had he been human, he decided that the appropriate emotional response would be rage. Mingled with fright and trepidation, perhaps.

His mutinous fingers stabbed at the controls, initiating a landing sequence. Maneuvering thrusters took over from the impulse engines. The shuttle swooped down through a light smattering of clouds, made several course adjustments, and the thrusters shut off. The shuttle coasted over a dry, cracked seabed, skimmed over craggy mountains, came in low over a dusty desert. Finally the braking thrusters fired and the shuttle gently settled to the ground beside a crumbling castle.

Still feeling like an outside observer, Data watched himself stand, exit the shuttle and pass through the heavy oak doors of the castle, which were ajar. The castle was empty. He walked through dusty halls that were a chilly 9.65 degrees Celsius. There was no illumination, so he adjusted his eyes accordingly. Purposefully he wended his way through a maze of passages until he came to a closed door. Beyond the door he found a musty bedroom, spartanly furnished. Adjoining the bedroom was a laboratory, the various scientific instruments neatly organized. Along the far wall stood a human-sized metallic arch, with an attached control panel.

Data crossed the laboratory and positioned himself at the center of the arch. His fingers danced over the control panel. A flash of light engulfed him, and he vanished.

Captain’s log, Stardate 47553.7:

Starfleet Command has authorized us to exceed the new warp speed limits in order to search for Mr. Data, who has stolen a shuttlecraft and headed for an unknown destination. We suspect that he is once again under the influence of an overriding directive installed by his late creator, Dr. Noonian Soong.

Jean-Luc Picard strode onto the bridge. As he headed toward his command chair he glanced at the small star on the forward viewscreen. From this distance, on the very edge of the system, the star was barely larger than the sprinkling of background stars.

“This is his destination?” Picard asked, standing beside his chair, hands on hips.

Riker stood. “Yes, sir. The Omega system. Long-range sensors show that he’s landed on Holberg 917G, the second of three planets. There’s a Code Red quarantine beacon here, so we can’t go in any closer. No explanation given by the beacon, but Code Red means there’s a mortal threat in the system.”

Picard crossed his arms on his chest and tapped thoughtfully at his lower lip. “What is Data doing here?” he whispered. “And how did he make it past the planetary defense system?”

Riker cocked his head. “Sir?”

Picard tugged at his uniform, then strode toward toward his Ready Room. “Join me, Commander,” he called over his shoulder.

Riker followed and waited as Picard settled himself behind the desk.

“What I’m about to tell you cannot go beyond this room, Wil.”

“Understood, sir.”

“About 75 years ago, an earth man named Flint died on Holberg 917G after a very, very long life. He was nearly 6,000 years old when he died.” He waited for the shock to fade from Riker’s face. “During his long existence, he was known as Alexander the Great, Methuselah, Brahms, Da Vinci, and others we can only guess at. He was unarguably the greatest mind that ever lived.”

Riker smiled. “I think Lt. Barclay might argue that point, sir.”

“All jocularity aside, Wil, he had enormous creative powers. When James Kirk first met Flint, Flint actually pulled the Enterprise from orbit and shrank it. Kirk eventually set all to rights, as usual. He also learned that Flint was dying.”

“Kirk, sir?” Riker had a fascination for the first captain of the Enterprise.

“Yes. At Kirk’s request, Starfleet allowed Flint to live out the remainder of his life in privacy. At his death, he promised that the fruits of his mind would be made available to humanity. When we’re ready for it. Starfleet knows there is a treasure trove of technology on Holberg 917G, but Flint sequestered it behind an impenetrable defense system. Starfleet’s playing the waiting game, wondering when and if Flint’s technology will be made available to us. So they’ve classified this system as Top Secret, to discourage treasure hunters and prevent fatalities in attempting to penetrate the defense system.”

“So what is Data doing here of all places?” Riker asked. “And how did he get past the defenses?”

Picard smiled. “My thoughts exactly.”

Just then Worf’s voice came over the intercom. “Captain, there is a temporal disturbance on Holberg 917G—”

James Kirk materialized outside the double gate of the castle. He and Leonard McCoy looked up at the high buttresses, the three tiers, each higher than the last, and the large central dome. The castle seemed unchanged after eighteen years.

And the scowling, grey-haired man who stepped through the doors to greet them seemed hardly to have aged a day. Kirk held out a hand, but the man ignored it. “Flint,” Kirk nodded. “You look...remarkably well.”

Another, younger man stepped through the door to stand at Flint’s side.

“You expected a decrepit old man, hunched over and hobbling with a cane, I’m sure,” Flint said gruffly. “But I assure you I am very near death. Doctor McCoy’s diagnosis eighteen years ago was correct.” He nodded to McCoy. “You may scan me, if you wish.”

McCoy took out his medical scanner and ran it across Flint’s chest. “Terminal atherosclerosis,” he said, reading off the data. “Imminent renal failure, advanced colon cancer...” He shut off the scanner. “You’re a walking textbook of gerontological disorders. How is it that your outward appearance is so healthy?”

Flint smiled. “You wish me to reveal my secrets? Despite our brief time together so many years ago, I think you know me better than that.”

“But isn’t that why you called us here?” Kirk asked. “To hand your knowledge over to the Federation before you die?”

“Perhaps,” Flint said vaguely.

The young man standing at Flint’s side coughed, drawing Kirk’s attention. He couldn’t have been more than twenty, with slicked-back jet black hair, a rather large nose, and deep inquisitive eyes. His mouth was little more than a line in his face, with a playful smile dancing at the corners.

“I fear my manners haven’t improved with time,” Flint said. “Kirk, this is Noonian Soong, a student of mine.”

“Doctor Soong?” McCoy asked. “The cyberneticist?”

Soong nodded. “The same. Though I deny that I’m the shame-filled outcast the rumors would have you believe. “

“I’ d heard you were young, but I had no idea...”

“He’s come to me for...obvious reasons,” Flint said, studying Kirk.

Kirk tried to hold back the painful memory of a beautiful young...woman...whose awakening emotions had destroyed her.

“I see you still carry the pain, Kirk. And the love. As do I.” Flint pounded a fist to his chest. “In here.”

Kirk was silent.

Flint motioned toward the door. “Gentlemen, shall we go inside?”

They walked through the castle’s double-doored portal. “Tell me, Captain,” Flint called over his shoulder. “Where is the illustrious Mr. Spock? I had hoped he would be with you.”

“He’s away playing ambassador to the Klingons. Helping to negotiate a treaty.”

Flint led them down a hallway and into the same recreational room in which he...and Rayna...had entertained them eighteen years earlier. The ancient golden piano still occupied a corner of the room. But the pool table had been replaced with an enormous oak table, which had been laid out with the delicacies and sweet meats of ten different worlds. The four of them sat down and picked at the food as they exchanged polite conversation and the two Starfleet officers brought Flint up to speed on current events. During the meal Flint experienced a prolonged bout of coughing, during which his napkin came away with blood on it. He waved off McCoy’s concern. Another time he stopped talking in the middle of a sentence and stared blankly into space for several long moments before resuming as though nothing had happened.

When everyone appeared to have had their fill, Flint stood. “Soong, if you’d be so kind as to regale the good Doctor with some of your delightful quatrains, Captain Kirk and I have some matters to discuss in private.”

Soong nodded and turned a mischievous grin on McCoy. Kirk followed Flint down the hallway, through Flint’s tidy bedroom and into a laboratory beyond.

“Kirk, a life as long as mine has been gives a lot of room for creativity, and over the years the mind builds up a huge impetus for invention. There are insights in here,” he tapped his head, “that could revolutionize the Federation. New sciences, corrections to the fallacies of existing sciences. And some of the devices I’ve built would amaze you.”

Kirk looked around the room, searching among the neatly arranged scientific apparatus and the open textbooks.

 “You won’t find anything in here, Captain,” Flint said. “My masterpieces are...elsewhere.”

“Yet for all your vast intellect,” Kirk couldn’t keep the bitterness and sarcasm from his voice, “you couldn’t keep her alive.”

A look of rage, quickly suppressed, crossed Flint’s face. “I can’t deny that. But Soong is good, very good. With what he’s learned from me, he will succeed where I failed.” Flint touched a knob on an apparently blank wall and a door popped open. “I must insist, Kirk, that everything you see and hear from this moment on will be held in the strictest confidence.”

Kirk agreed uncertainly.

Flint went into a small room and wheeled out a gurney, upon which lay a man who appeared to be unconscious.

Kirk cocked his head perplexedly as he studied the man. “Soong?” he asked. For the man looked like an older version, perhaps ten years older, of Soong, but with oddly pale skin. Kirk remembered that day, so many years ago, when he’d discovered a room filled with failed versions of Rayna Kopek. “Soong is an android? Is this the only failure, or just the latest in a string?” Then Kirk noticed the vaguely Starfleet-like uniform, and the insignia. His perplexity deepened.

“Soong is human, Kirk, flesh and blood. I didn’t construct this one,” Flint said. “Soong did, in his own image. Or rather, he will. This is an android from the future, Captain. Who, it might interest you to know, serves aboard the Enterprise. A month ago, he came to me unexpectedly through one of my inventions—a time machine, of sorts. Soong doesn’t know of this android’s existence.”

“Why?” Kirk asked.

“I wasn’t sure at first, but then I realized, I arranged for him to come here, so near to my death. You see, I wasn’t sure what I should do with the bulk of my knowledge when I died, because my wisdom tells me that humanity is not yet ready for it. So: should I pass it on, at the risk of humanity mis-using it, or should I destroy it and hope they eventually discover it on their own? It was quite a puzzle for me. And then a month ago I found Data unconscious on the floor of my laboratory and I had my answer.”

“You’re not going to give Starfleet anything, are you?” Kirk said accusingly.

“On the contrary, I’m going to give the Federation everything I know—just not all at once. You’ll get some today. But when I die, a defense system will go up around this planet, so warn Starfleet not to come here.”

“But what about the rest?”

Kirk watched as Flint tapped a place on the side of the android’s head and a hatch flipped upward, exposing a network of circuits. “I’m going to give Soong a chip to implant in his creations, a chip that will compel them to come here once the Federation reaches the first of a series of scientific crises that I know are coming, and to which I, of course, have the solution.” Flint picked a circuit up from the table. He snapped it into place at a juncture in the android’s neuropath. “The circuit I’ve just implanted contains instructions, and conditions that must be met, so that this android may gradually reveal my knowledge to the Federation. He is virtually immortal, so my problem is solved.”

“But what if Soong doesn’t want to implant your circuit in his creations?” Kirk asked. “Or suppose it’s years before his creations are realized, and he forgets?”

Flint put his arms behind his back and started pacing. “I sought Soong out several years ago, during a brief sojourn back to Earth. He was barely out of his teens then, a wunderkind, living in the shadow of his own failed potential. His colleagues regarded him with a mixture of pride and shame. He was a solitary man, like me. It didn’t take much to convince him to come here, away from the watchful eyes of his critics, and continue his research with me as part colleague and teacher. We’ve made a lot of progress, yet even the combined might of our intellects have been unable to construct a positronic brain that won’t decay after a few days or weeks.”

“You’ve continued your experiments?” Kirk said, enraged. “Did the death of Rayna teach you nothing?”

Flint continued, ignoring Kirk’s outburst. “But after studying Data, I know where we’ve gone wrong. And knowing the nature of our error, Soong’s error, I’m not sure he will be able to construct a working positronic brain.” He held up an information diskey. “So I’ve put Data’s schematics on here. I’ll give it to Soong. He won’t like himself for taking the disk; he’ll think it’s cheating. But he will take it. He’ll tinker around on his own for awhile, and who knows—maybe he’ll succeed on his own. But he’ll use this as a last resort. Either way, a positronic brain will be constructed. And the price for this information will be that Soong implants the chip in Data’s brain. Bringing him back to me so that I may pass on my knowledge to the Federation through him.”

Kirk’s mind was reeling. “You’re talking about a closed temporal loop. The old question of the chicken or the egg.”

Flint nodded. “However it happens, the positronic brain originates with Soong. And he will implant my chip, otherwise we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

Kirk shook his head. “This is why I hate time travel. Damn paradoxes.”

Flint went into a violent coughing fit. He doubled over and fell to the floor, clutching at his stomach. Kirk bent down and gripped Flint’s shoulders with concern. He flipped open his communicator. “Dr. McCoy—”

“No,” Flint gasped, his coughing subsiding. “I’m all right.” He got shakily to his feet.

“Yes, Jim?” McCoy’s voice came through the communicator.

“Never mind, Bones.” Kirk closed the communicator.

“Thank you, Kirk,” Flint said, the color returning to his face. “Thank you for keeping my secret all these years, and letting me finish my life in peace.”

Kirk looked at his feet, feeling shamed. “I didn’t keep your secret, Flint. I had a duty to tell Starfleet. But I asked them to leave you alone, and they have, although they’ve kept an eye on this system, to prevent you from falling into the wrong hands. We’re no longer the barbarians you seem to think we are.”

“Well, then I at least thank you for the way you handled my case with your superiors.”

Kirk nodded. He pointed at Data. “Does Soong know?”

“No, and he never will. And I trust you, Kirk, to at least keep this secret from your superiors. I believe your Prime Directive or some such other philosophy demands it. Telling Soong and others would have an influence on future history.”

Kirk nodded slowly. “I’m inclined to agree.” He studied Flint in silence for several long moments, as Flint closed the flap on the android’s head. “Why did you ask me here, Flint? We didn’t exactly part on the best of terms. You no longer need your privacy. You could have requested Starfleet to send someone else. Why me?”

“Because, Kirk, I know the pain you’ve lived with over the years. It never goes away. It’s always lurking in the deepest corners of your mind, coming forth in the darkness of the night. I’ve felt such pain a thousand times over the course of my life. No man should have to live with it even once. And I know I’m partly responsible for your torment.” Flint headed toward a door on the other side of the room. “I never buried her. I kept her body in my laboratory, foolishly hoping that someday I could....repair her.” Flint held up a cautionary finger. “She won’t be staying. You understand that I must send her forward with Data, because I used his brain as a guide to restore hers.”

Kirk’s heart began hammering as he followed on Flint’s heels. He knew what was coming, but he didn’t dare hope.

Flint put his hand on the doorknob. “My gift to you, Captain: an easement for your soul. You’ll know that she’s still alive, somewhere, and hopefully in that knowledge you’ll find peace.”

Flint opened the door. A young woman stepped into the room, her eyes gleaming with life. She turned a radiant smile on Kirk, and his heart soared.

Flint passed away a day later, at sunset.

Picard and Riker hurried onto the bridge.

“A second temporal disturbance, Captain,” Worf reported. “Exactly 20 seconds after the first, if that’s of any significance.”

Picard looked at the viewscreen. “Both centered on Holberg 917G?”

“Yes sir.”

Picard and Riker sat down. The bridge sat in silence for several long moments. It seemed there was nothing to do but wait. When Worf’s console began bleeping for attention, everyone turned toward him expectantly. “It’s the missing shuttlecraft, sir. Departing the planet, on a rendezvous course with us.” He paused for a moment. “Commander Data requesting permission to dock in 5 minutes.”

“Permission granted.” Picard stood and headed for the turbolift, motioning for Riker to follow. “Shall we, Commander?”

The shuttlecraft settled to the hangar floor. A few moments later the hatched swung open and Data stuck his head out. “Greetings,” he said cheerfully to Picard and Riker, who stood nearby. He stepped onto the deck. “Captain, I must apologize for my recent behavior and the theft of the shuttlecraft. However, there are mitigating circumstances. My actions--”

“Were not your own, Commander. We suspected as much. Are you all right?”

“I am fine, sir,” Data replied. “And...I have a message for you. Not for you specifically, but for the Captain of the Enterprise.”

Picard raised his eyebrows, curious. “From whom?”

“James T. Kirk, sir.”

“James T. Kirk?!” Riker asked incredulously.

Data nodded. “The message is simply, ‘Hello.’”

Picard smiled, nodding appreciatively.

“I also have a solution to our current warp speed problems, sir. Courtesy of Flint. High warp speeds can again be achieved without risk of damaging the space-time continuum.”

“Indeed,” Picard said. “It seems you have been busy, Commander. I look forward to your full report.”

“I am afraid a full report will not be possible, Captain. My awareness of events ends shortly after I entered a castle on Holberg 917G and resume after I exited. Though my internal chronometer tells me 33 days have passed, I have no memory for that time period. Any knowledge or messages I contain were entered into my memory without my awareness.”

“33 days?” Riker said. “But you’ve only been gone four days, and—” He suddenly fell silent, gazing beyond Data at the shuttle hatch. A stunningly beautiful woman had appeared from within the shuttle, and stood silently gazing around the hanger.

Data turned and took her hand, helped her down onto the deck. “Captain, Commander,” he said. “This is Rayna Kopek. She is...a relative.”

Star Trek: Intrepid Voyagers

Here is another Star Trek story I wrote waaaaaay back in 1998 for the Strange New Worlds Contest.  

 

Star Trek: Intrepid Voyagers

 

Harry Kim's laughter rang across the bridge, cutting like a knife through a silence born from the boredom of the past two weeks, which Voyager had spent crossing a remarkably unremarkable expanse of space.

Chakotay turned around, unable to prevent a smile from spreading across his face. Harry's laughter was infectious. “Would you mind sharing the joke, Mr. Kim?” Chakotay asked.

Kim looked up from the small monitor on his console. By now everyone on the bridge was looking at him. His laughter quickly withered beneath Tuvok's habitual disdainful scowl. Kim coughed nervously as he looked down at Janeway. “I'm sorry, Captain. I've been monitoring a transmission for the last five minutes, and it's very funny, though I don't think the humor's intentional. But--”

Janeway had stood. “A transmission, Ensign Kim? From where?”

“From a star system half a light year off to port, Captain. It's being broadcast on a local, narrow subspace band, very limited range, not more than a few parsecs, perhaps a light year--”

“Content, Ensign. What's the content of the transmission?” Janeway asked.

Harry looked down at his monitor and stifled a new wave of laughter. “You'll have to see it to believe it, sir. I'll put it on the main view screen.”

He touched a button. The stars on the forward viewscreen wavered and were replaced by an image of Chakotay and Janeway. They were sitting very close together on the sofa in Janeway's quarters. Chakotay was completely naked, though his nudity was carefully concealed from view. Janeway wore a red silk robe. Each held a glass of wine in their hands. Through the window above them the stars rushed by. In soft, tender voices, they were debating whether or not they should reveal their passion for each other to the rest of the crew. The debate quickly died out as Chakotay swept Janeway into his arms and gave her a passionate kiss.

Tom Paris's sudden laughter pealed across the bridge.

On the viewscreen the romantic interlude faded. An advertisement flashed quickly by, loudly extolling the virtues of purchasing a new Ghotan Twin Engine Sky Rover.

Janeway slowly shook her head as she turned to face Kim. “Ensign, what--what is that?”

Kim smirked. “It's us, sir. Before your big scene, Tom and I were

in Engineering, trying to help B’Elanna restore power to the warp drive, which had earlier failed--I don't know why it failed; we seem to have come in halfway through the transmission.”

“But how--”

“Captain,” Tuvok interrupted. “Sensors show an object several thousand kilometers off the port bow, at the edge of the system where the transmission originated. Unmoving. Possibly a station of some kind.”

Janeway faced forward again. “On screen. Drop to impulse, Mr. Paris.”

Just as the commercials faded and Tom Paris's face appeared on the viewscreen, that image also blinked out and the starscape reappeared. A small spherical structure bristling with antennae swam toward them out of the blackness. It swelled until it filled half the screen.

“All stop,” Janeway said, and the sphere ceased growing.

“One life sign, Captain,” Tuvok reported.

“We're being hailed,” Harry Kim said.

“On screen,” Janeway stood and strode forward a step.

A man appeared on the forward viewscreen. The most remarkable thing about him, Janeway noted, was his ordinariness. He could have been a human from Earth. Unusual facial structures, like nose or forehead ridges and such, seemed to be the theme of the Delta Quadrant, and she'd come to expect it. But this relatively young man had nothing of the sort. She could see a large screen on the wall behind him, on which Tom Paris and B’Elanna Torres were in a heated discussion. Tom waved his hands emphatically at the flickering warp column behind them.

“I'm Captain Janeway of the Starship Voyager,” she said.

“Hello, Captain!” The man smiled raptly, gazing around the bridge at each member of the crew. “And there's Tom, and Harry, and--my god, it's Tuvok!” He looked back at Janeway. “Captain, you have no idea what an honor this is! I've been a fan of Intrepid Voyagers since the first episode! What a coincidence that you should arrive right in the middle of the show!” He pointed at the screen behind him: Neelix in the mess hall, talking with Tuvok.

“It seems you have us at a disadvantage,” Janeway said.

“Oh, excuse me, Captain. I'm very excited, not to mention extremely nervous. My name is Jenter Camal, Technician for Outpost 3.”

Janeway pointed at the screen behind him. “And what is that?”

“The Intrepid Voyagers. It's the hottest show on subspace. I knew it was based on true events, but I never imagined I'd actually meet any of you! Uh, Captain Janeway?” He looked at her sheepishly. “I know it's asking a lot but--would you...beam...me over so I can get some autographs?”

The briefing room, eight hours later.

Janeway and Chakotay stood as the door hissed open. Tuvok entered, escorting a tall middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and piercing, steel gray eyes. His open, friendly smile softened the intensity of those eyes. He strode confidently forward and firmly clasped Janeway's hand, vigorously pumped it. “Captain Janeway, what an honor to finally meet you! I came just as soon as I was informed of your approach--got me out of bed, as a matter of fact-- it's the middle of the night in my city. But no matter. Let me be the first to welcome you to Doran. I'm Nephtaf Centravi, of Centravi Productions.”

Janeway finally managing to free her hand from his vice-like grip. “I'd introduce Commander Chakotay, but I suspect that's unnecessary.” She sat down and motioned for Centravi to do the same. When he was seated she asked: “Are you with the Doran government, Mr. Centravi? I'd assumed they would send a government official.”

He shook his head. “No, I'm not with the government. But I might as well be. Centravi Productions owns most of the planet. As soon as the bureaucrats heard you were coming, they called me. You are the flagship of my network, after all.”

“We are?” Chakotay asked.

“Well, not you personally, of course,” Centravi said. “But Intrepid Voyagers is based on you, after all.”

Janeway folded her hands on the table before her. “Tell us about Intrepid Voyagers,” she said. “I'm sure you can understand our curiousity. We've never had contact with your people, and yet...” She pushed a button inset into the table and a monitor on the opposite wall came to life. Music played, words and disconnected images raced across the screen, and then Tom Paris and B’Elanna Torres stepped out of a turbolift, deep in conversation. Janeway muted the audio.

Centravi looked at the monitor, open astonishment on his face. “How—? Voyagers is only on once a week! How—”

“We recorded it,” Chakotay said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the universe.

“Record? For later playback! What an ingenious idea!” Centravi reached inside his jacket and withdrew a small palm top computer, into which he quickly typed several notes. When he'd finished he looked up to find the three watching him. Tuvok raised an exasperated eyebrow. “My apologies.”

“About Intrepid Voyagers...” Janeway prompted.

“Yes, yes. It's all computer-generated, of course. I created it a little over a year ago, fed in your personality profiles, personal histories, photographs, that sort of thing. I've got a dozen writers on staff that dream up new adventures every week. To tell you the truth, I'd never done this type of show before. All my others are live-action. Voyagers is the crowning achievement of a very long, successful career. It's the hottest thing on subspace.”

“So we've been told,” Janeway said. “But how did you learn of us? Where did you get all your information? As I said, we've never encountered your people before.”

“That's because we don't travel much. We're an extremely insular society, Captain. And very hedonistic. We prefer to sit in our homes plugged into various entertainments, rather than venture out into the universe. But I did some travelling a few years ago, searching for new ideas. Always looking for those. I went further from Doran than anyone had ever been before and hadn't found inspiration. Just as I was about to give up and return home, I stopped at a trading outpost on the far side of the Necrid Expanse.”

“We were there approximately two years ago,” Tuvok said.

Centravi nodded. “While there, one of your crewmen--Neelix--was involved in....Well, I guess I don't have to recount that for you, do I? Anyway, I watched you and your people from a distance. I knew I'd found my new show. So I gathered as much data about you as I could and returned home. Developed my ideas and began production. Intrepid Voyagers was an instant success.”

“And since then,” Chakotay said, “your people have been watching computer-generated simulacrums of us?”

“Yes. It's--”

“--the hottest thing on subspace,” Chakotay finished for him.

Centravi smiled.

“I'm not sure whether or not I should feel violated,” Janeway said.

“Oh, it's all fiction,” Centravi assured her. “Most of it, anyway. I mean, we've tried to be true to your individual characters, your mission and all that, but the adventures my writers throw at you every week are all pure fabrication. The people love it.”

“Did it ever occur to you,” Tuvok asked, “to ask our permission while we were on the trading outpost?”

Centravi shrugged. “I didn't see any need. I never imagined that you would be coming through our system. Although the show is billed as “The True Adventures,” and the people know that there really is a Voyager hurtling through space, they know it's all make-believe. You're no more real to them than...than...”

“Than the Tooth Fairy?” Chakotay said.

“Exactly. I think.” Centravi smiled. “Until now, that is.”

“Well, there's no harm done, I suppose,” Janeway said.

Centravi beamed. “Well then, Captain, gentlemen, I'd like to invite you and your crew to--”

“Bridge to Captain,” an excited voice blurted through the intercom.

“Go ahead, Mr. Paris.”

“Captain,” Tom said, “we're receiving a distress call from the outermost planet of this system. They're being attacked. Shall I lay in a course?”

“Stand by, Mr. Paris.” She looked at Centravi questioningly.

“That would be Gahka,” he said. “Doran has a large mining installation there. Captain Janeway, on behalf of Doran I formally request your assistance. Our ships are much slower than yours, and it would take precious time to mount an operation. Please?”

Janeway touched her comm badge. “Lay in a course, Tom. Red alert.” She stood and headed for the door. “It's been a pleasure, Mr. Centravi. I'll see you when we return.”

The door slid open. Ten men in attire that matched Centravi's were standing idly in the corridor beyond. Janeway turned back. “Who are all these people?”

Centravi stood and smiled ingratiantingly. “They're with me, Captain. If you don't mind, we'd like to tag along. Watch the action, explore the ship. Who knows? We might come up with an idea for an episode.”

Janeway sighed. “Very well. Just don't get in the way.” She looked sternly at Tuvok, silently berating him for not informing her of the presence of these other men. Then she headed for the bridge, Centravi hard on her heels.

Ten minutes later, Gahka loomed large on the forward viewscreen. A small planet, really little more than a moonlet, gray, barren and rocky.

“Sensors show an extensive network of tunnels lacing most of the planet, Captain,” Tuvok reported. “Ruins scattered across the surface.”

“Ruins?” Janeway asked. “From an attack?”

“No,” Tuvok said. “Decay is apparently due to abandonment.”

“The miners move around a lot,” Centravi said. “Once a vein is mined out, they move to another.”

“Faint life signs,” Tuvok said. “Clustered in a tunnel network near the equator. The life signs are sporadic, fluctuating. I cannot get a conclusive reading.”

“Possibly the galtric ore is affecting your instruments,” Centravi told him.

“Any other vessels in orbit, Tuvok?” Janeway asked.

“Negative. However, there is an ion trail leading into deep space. Perhaps residual discharge from the attacker's propulsion.”

“Hail the installation,” Janeway told Kim.

“I've been hailing them, Captain. No response.”

Chakotay stood. “I'll get the Doctor and take an Away Team down. See if there are any survivors.”

Janeway nodded.

“Let's go, Mr. Paris.”

As Tom and Chakotay headed for the turbolift, one of Centravi's cohorts fell into step with them.

“I hope you don't mind if Mr. Gert there accompanies you,” Centravi called after them. “Just to observe and get some ideas, of course.”

Chakotay's resigned sigh was indistinguishable from the turbolift door swishing closed on them.

Five people materialized in a dimly-lit tunnel: the Doctor also had one of Centravi's tag-alongs.

“Fan out,” Chakotay ordered. He headed left. Mr. Gert followed close on his heels, intently watching Chakotay's every move.

The tunnel walls were jagged, blasted out of the bare, cold stone of the moonlet. Lights were strung along the ceiling, many of them shattered and dark. In places the walls were scorched black. “Signs of weapon discharges,” Chakotay said on general-comm.

“Here too,” Paris returned.

“I've found a body,” the Doctor reported. “One of the Doran miners, and it's not a pretty sight. Dead. ...apparently.”

“Apparently?” Chakotay asked.

“Tricorder readings are...garbled,” the Doctor replied.

“Would the ore affect our tricorders even in such close proximity?” Chakotay asked Mr. Gert.

Gert grunted noncommittally, shrugged his shoulders. He continued staring unblinkingly at Chakotay.

“Thanks for your help,” Chakotay said, fighting his irritation. He was rapidly tiring of being shadowed by Gert.

They came upon a section of wall smeared with a sticky yellow substance. Chakotay cautiously stuck the tip of his index finger in it, brought the finger to his nose and sniffed. He quickly jerked his finger away and wiped it on an uncoated wall section. “What is this?” he asked.

Gert shrugged, and they continued on.

The tunnel suddenly widened into a large room. Three tunnels opened in the wall directly opposite. Bunk beds lined the other walls. Storage chests sat at the bases of the beds. The mattresses on the beds had been shredded, the chests forced open. Blackened streaks marked great gouges on the walls.

Several bloodied bodies were piled haphazardly at the room's center. Their limbs jutting at unnatural angles.

“More bodies, doc,” Chakotay said. “Follow my signal.”

“On my way.”

Chakotay stared around the ransacked room. “What the hell happened here?”

Again Gert shrugged.

Chakotay faced him, folding arms on chest. “You don't talk much, do you?” he asked in irritation.

Mr. Gert's mouth opened and Chakotay thought the man might finally utter a word—

—but Tom's urgent voice rang out from Chakotay's communicator. “Movement, Commander, all around us. Centered on your location.”

“Who is it?” Chakotay asked. “Miners?”

“Can't say for certain,” Paris said. “My tricorder can't get a positive lock. Whoever—whatever—they are, they're big, and there's a lot of them.”

“Meet me here on the double, Mr. Paris,” Chakotay ordered.

“You don't have to tell me twice.” Tom's heavy breathing indicated that he was running. “They're moving like lightning....Can't see them but tricorder says they're almost on top of me....Oh my god...” Phaser fire rang out, and static hissed across the comm channel.

“Tom. Tom!” Chakotay shouted. He hit his comm badge again. “Doc, where are you? What's taking you so long to get here? Doctor?” He looked at Gert.

The pound slap of running feet and a rustling movement behind them. In one fluid movement Chakotay whirled and drew his phaser.

“It's good to see you too, Commander,” said the Doctor, emerging from the mouth of the middle tunnel. Close behind him was the tag-along.

Chakotay lowered his phaser but didn't holster it. “Why didn't you answer me?”

“My comm badge emits only static,” the Doctor replied.

“Tom's in trouble.”

“Yes, I heard. I've also been unable to raise Voyager.”

Chakotay hit his badge. “Chakotay to Janeway.” Dead silence. “Chakotay to Voyager.” Again, silence.

“We've lost contact with the Away Team,” Ensign Kim reported.

Janeway looked to Tuvok.

“Sensors show that they are still alive,” Tuvok responded to her unspoken question. “However, Mr. Paris's signs are fluctuating...something has intersected his position, and others are closing on Chakotay, the Doctor and Centravi's two men.”

Janeway and Centravi stepped forward as one to stand at the railing below Tuvok's station. Centravi's face was almost comical in its concern.

“Can you beam them out?” Janeway asked.

“Negative. Our beam is being scattered.”

“Captain,” Kim called out. “Ship approaching. Engine signature matches the ion trail we found on arrival.”

Janeway faced forward. “On screen.”

The approaching ship resembled a gigantic spear, bristling with weapons and other unknown structures. Voyager's shields were automatically raised upon detection of the ship.

“Do you know who they are? Do you recognize that ship?” Janeway asked Centravi.

Centravi shook his head. “No. The nearest inhabited star is Nestor, twelve light years away. We don't have much contact with the Nestorans, but we know they don't have any ships like this. Besides, they're friendly. And I can't imagine why anyone would attack us.”

“Captain, we're being boarded,” Tuvok called out. “Engineering and the cargo bay.”

“How did they get through our shields?” Janeway demanded.

“Unknown.” Tuvok looked down as his control panel bleeped. “Multiple plasma beam discharges in Engineering. Intruders advancing and spreading rapidly.”

“Get down there now, Tuvok. And get them off my ship!”

Tuvok nodded and ran to the turbolift. The door slid open and Seven of Nine stepped out. Tuvok squeezed past her into the lift.

“Seven, go with Tuvok,” Janeway told her.

Without a word Seven turned and reentered the turbolift.

As the lift doors swished shut, Centravi asked excitedly, “Captain, who was that woman?”

“Seven of Nine.”

“Who? She's not in the records we have, but she looks like an interesting new character. Perhaps—”

“Not now,” Janeway curtly waved him off. “Harry, erect a Level 3 containment field around the bridge. Reroute all engineering functions here. Lock them out.”

Kim nodded.

“Tuvok to bridge. Intruders sighted. Engaging. They look—” He broke off as phaser fire erupted, someone, not Tuvok, screamed and the intercom went dead.

Janeway turned to Centravi with a worried frown. She felt impotent, having to stand idly by while her crew were fighting for the ship, perhaps dying....

As Chakotay and the Doctor were advancing through the tunnels toward Tom Paris's last known position, they heard a soft chittering and shadows moved on the wall opposite an intersecting tunnel.

Chakotay threw himself to the floor and scooted close to the wall, aiming his phaser at the tunnel mouth. The Doctor did likewise. Mr. Gert and his companion remained standing, watching curiously and without concern.

“Get down!” Chakotay hissed at them.

Large bug-like creatures suddenly skittered from the tunnel mouth. They were all hard carapace, clacking mandables and needle-sharp, stick-like limbs. Their multi-faceted eyes fastened unblinkingly on Chakotay and the Doctor.

Chakotay activated the universal translator function of his comm badge. “Halt!” he yelled from the floor. “Any further movement will be considered an attack.”

The creatures made chittering sounds and rushed forward.

Chakotay nodded at the Doctor. They fired together. Phaser beams sliced through the air, deflected harmlessly off the hard shells of the advancing creatures.

“Higher setting,” Chakotay called across to the Doctor. He ran his thumb across the intensity setting and fired again. The beam struck its target and ricocheted wildly.

Tom Paris's voice suddenly rang out, “All right guys, that's enough. Someone's going to get hurt by a stray beam, and it'll probably be me.” Tom stepped out of the side tunnel, waving his hands. “Hold your fire, commander.”

Chakotay relaxed his thumb on the trigger, but didn't lower his weapon.

The creature in the lead sighed. “You're probably right. I guess we've gotten enough footage, anyway.” It raised a limb. With several rapid clicks and faster than the eye could follow, the bug shrank, folding in on itself and collapsing, revealing a man beneath. The others did likewise, until a group of men were standing in the tunnel, next to a grinning Tom Paris.

Chakotay slowly stood and put away his phaser. “Costumes?” he asked, dumbstruck at this unexpected turn of events. Adrenalin and fear still pumped through his body.

“Armor, actually,” the lead man said.

Mr. Gert suddenly came forward and took Chakotay's hand, pumped it furiously. “Sorry for the deception, commander.” He smiled widely at Chakotay. “But it's been a real pleasure working with you. I must say, you're my favorite character. I'm the one that's been developing the Chakotay/Janeway romance on the show.” He released Chakotay's hand. Reaching behind his ear, he removed a small box-shaped device. Chakotay recognized the unmistakable bump of a holo-recorder node.

“So you can talk after all,” Chakotay said. He turned on Tom Paris. “You went along with this?”

Paris waved his hands. “Hey, commander, I was scared witless when they first ‘attacked’ me. But when they revealed themselves and explained things, I didn't want to spoil it for them right away. There's no harm done, and you have to admit, it is kind of funny.”

But Chakotay wasn't laughing.

“Give it time,” Tom said.

On Voyager, Janeway stood resolutely behind the tactical officer. “Lock phasers and torpedoes,” she told him. “Disable that ship, bring her just this side of complete destruction.” She turned to Harry. “After we've fired, tell them we'll finish the job unless they get their boarding party off Voyager.” She turned back to tactical. “Fire at will.”

Phasers sliced through space, with a volley of photon torpedoes hard on their heels. All passed through the ship without inflicting any damage and receded into deep space. Janeway looked at the tactical officer in perplexity—

—as an insistent bleeping suddenly sounded somewhere on Centravi's person. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the palmtop computer and looked at the small readout. “Nice timing,” he said. He touched a button, and the ship on the view screen vanished.

Janeway turned and looked at him askance.

“Transporters have a positive lock on the Away Team,” Harry called out.

“Beam them up,” Janeway said.

“Tuvok to bridge,” Tuvok's voice rang out over the no-longer-dead intercom. “We were in a running firefight, no one injured. The aliens have surrendered and are in actuality—”

“Put it in your report, Tuvok,” Janeway said curtly. “I'm about to get some answers directly from the source. Janeway out.” She looked sternly at Centravi. “Well?” she snapped.

“There's not much to explain, really, Captain,” Centravi said. “When I heard you were in our space, I saw an irresistible opportunity and I took it. Think of it: the first live-action Voyagers episode, featuring the true-life characters reacting to a dire threat! No rehearsals, no computer-generated nonsense! We spared no expense to make this as realistic as possible, which wasn't an easy task on such short notice. This will be the most-watched episode in the history of subspace.”

Janeway sighed and rubbed her forehead. “But how did you do it? The planet, the other ship, boarding us even though the shields were raised?”

Centravi shrugged. “Trickery, sensor ghosts—technologically simple things. And my people all carried holo-recorders, right in the thick of the action. As for the planet, I own it—or rather Centravi Productions owns it. One of our studios. And it was a simple matter to phase my actors through your shields, using my computer as a focus.” He tapped his palm top. “I'm sorry for any inconvenience, Captain, really. No one was ever in any danger. It was all in good fun—and good ratings, of course. Thank you.” He extended his hand.

Janeway folded her arms on her chest. “Give me your recording devices.”

“What for?” Centravi asked, taken aback by her reaction.

The turbolift door swished open. Chakotay and Tuvok came unobtrusively to stand beside Janeway.

“So they can be destroyed, of course,” Janeway replied. “You had no right to holorecord us without our permission.”

“And,” Chakotay interjected, “you've wasted our valuable time and resources.”

Tuvok: “Several decks are in a shambles from our mock battle. More time will be wasted in their repair.”

“So I tell you again,” Janeway said, “hand over all your recording devices.”

Centravi shook his head. “I will not.”

Without warning, Chakotay swiftly reached out and retrieved a small device, identical to Gert's, from behind Centravi's left ear. He smirked at Centravi, tightly squeezed the device in his fist. “That's one down, nine to go.”

Centravi chuckled. “Do whatever you'd like with that, Chakotay. It's just a collector; the footage from all our devices has already been transmitted back to my main studio on Doran.” Centravi turned to Janeway. “Really, Captain, there's no need for this unpleasantness. I should think you would be flattered, not outraged. No harm was intended, and you will be richly compensated back on--”

“Round up his people and throw them all in the brig,” Janeway said.

Tuvok seized Centravi's arm.

Chakotay drew his phaser and motioned toward the turbolift. “Let's go,” he smiled smugly.

Centravi shrugged out of Tuvok's grasp. “Captain, please, you can't do this! I'm an important man, a busy man! I've got to get back to Doran and—”

“Harry,” Janeway called out. “Hail Doran. Get in touch with one of Mr. Centravi's media rivals and inform them of his incarceration.”

Centravi's mouth fell open. “Captain!”

She smirked. “As you say, you're an important man. I'm sure all of Doran will want to know why we've detained you.” She motioned to Tuvok. “The brig.”

Chakotay waved his phaser at Centravi. “Please give me a reason to stun you.”

Nearly a day later Janeway strode into the brig. She stopped in front of the forcefield. In the cell beyond, Centravi and his entourage sat idly, numb with boredom. Gert and a few others were sleeping. Centravi stepped forward, facing Janeway.

“We're in orbit of Doran,” Janeway said. “Your local subspace channels are abuzz with news of your incarceration. They seem to think it's quite a scandal.”

Centravi nodded. “Good. Believe it or not, Captain, I'm grateful you contacted them.”

“What?” Janeway said, startled. “Why?”

“Like they say, the only bad press is no press. This “scandal” is an excellent promotion for Intrepid Voyagers. Even more people will watch our special episode because of it.”

Janeway sighed. The sigh quickly turned to laughter. “Oh, Mr. Centravi, isn't there anything I can do to get to you?”

Centravi smiled. “You're finally beginning to see the humor in recent events.”

Janeway went to the control panel behind her and deactivated the forcefield. “Get off my ship, Centravi.”

As his sleeping men came groggily awake, Centravi stepped out of the cell. “We owe you a great deal, Captain. I'm sure your crew could use a shore leave.”

“What are you getting at?”

“I told you we planned to compensate you for your troubles, Captain. There's a whole planet down there that thrills to watching your adventures on subspace every week. They'd be ecstatic to have you walking among them. Your crew's every whim will be catered to. We'll restock your ship. And perhaps some of your people would like to script a show for us, or even,” he paused dramatically, “direct an episode of Voyagers. Just give the word and Doran is at your disposal.” He stepped forward and extended his hand. “What do you say, Captain?”

“Mr. Centravi, I think my crew would mutiny if I refused.” She smiled and shook his hand.

Two weeks later, Tom Paris and Harry Kim stepped off the transporter platform. As the transporter reenergized, they turned around, curious. B’Elanna Torres and Seven of Nine materialized.

“Transporter Room to Bridge,” the transporter technician said. “The last of them are aboard, sir.”

“Thank you. Bridge out.”

Tom Paris stepped forward and helped Torres down from the platform. “There you are. I was hoping to spend the last day on Doran with you, and instead you sneak off without so much as a goodbye.” He smiled to take the edge from his voice, and kissed her. “Where'd you go?”

She smiled and turned to Seven of Nine. “Should we tell them?” she asked conspiratorially.

“I see no reason to withhold the information. Lieutenant Torres and I spent the last two days posing for a publication tentatively titled The Women of Voyagers.”

Harry Kim's mouth fell open.

“P-posing?” Tom asked. “Posing how?”

“In the nude, of course,” Seven of Nine said. Without a further word she brushed past Kim and left the Transporter Room.

“She's kidding, right? You didn't,” Tom asked B’Elanna.

She smirked at him, not saying a word.

“You did! Why would you do it?” Tom asked.

“For a thrill,” she said. “I wouldn't have done it, but...we'll never be back this way again, so who will ever see it? And they paid us very well.”

“Paid you?” Tom asked. “You don't need money, and you can synthesize anything you need. What could they possibly offer that would entice you to...”

She leaned close and whispered in his ear, “Meet me in about an hour and you'll find out.” She grinned at him, nodded to Harry, and left.

Tom and Harry watched the door slide shut behind her.

“The Women of Voyager, huh?” Tom said.

Harry nodded. “Think you can convince the captain to stay in orbit long enough for us to hunt down an advance copy?” Harry asked.

“I doubt it. Think you can contact someone on Doran and have them send us a copy over subspace?”

Harry grinned. “I'm prepared to die trying.”

“That's the spirit.” Tom clapped him on the shoulder and they left the room.