Equilibration (Trek uberfic -- UPDATED 8/2/04)

[CaptMurdock]

justin: Past the uncertain phase? Really?!? That's great! I was so worried... Not hardly, bubushka.



Grimlock: Actually, most of the senior staff (with the obvious exceptions of Captain Murdock and Doctor Devereux) are somewhat non-committal about Willow and Tara's developing relationship. Well, DaKar might be interested...but only because he might be interested in a threesome. He's such a perv...



I'm glad you all liked the bathtub episode. The next part will be up shortly. Peace out.

_________________



"Honey, in case you didn't hear me the first six thousand times: no more teleportation spells."

[skeeter451]

Just wanted to let you know, Capt, I've been enjoying this a lot. Thanks for writing.

Susan



Skeeter451@mysticmuse.net

The Mystic Muse Fan Fiction Site

[frumpycat]

Mmm.. update shortly eh? I've been enjoying this fic so much that now I'm discreetly checking out my favorite parts of it again and again at work...bad frumpycat....

[CaptMurdock]

In addition to the usual disclaimers and such, I'm adding the following angst warning: Set phasers on Kleenex.



Equilibration

Chapter 6 (continued)



He could hear the yells of the pirates over the waves as their ship drew near the Leonora, and tightened his grip on the Toledo salamanca in his hand. He shouted orders to his crew, Blake and Tetsuo and Ratbag and Nathaniel and the others, as the pirates drew near. Damnation, he thought. Another day and they could have made port in Samoa. Hardly a paradise, but enough of a safe haven that they would not have worry – too much – about having their throats slit and thrown overboard to provide a free lunch for the sharks.



Then the ship was close enough, and the pirates swung or jumped aboard the Leonora, some of them mistiming their leaps and ending up trapped between hulls of English oak and Ceylonese teak, smashed to jelly by the force of the sea. Thankfully, he had drilled his ragtag crew until they performed with almost military precision, an enormous advantage against these undisciplined scum of the sea…but there were so many of them! He hefted his sword and commanded his crew to repel the boarders. He sliced and stabbed and punched and kicked his attackers, punching a hole through them that his crew wasted no time in widening. They were used to his almost inhuman strength and skill, and knew to watch his back while he unfailingly took the brunt…



Then the leader of the pirates bellowed a challenge, slicing the throat of the young boatswain’s mate, and leaping towards him. He spared a glance at the mate, hardly more than a boy, and spat a curse at the pirate…a Maori, by the look of him. With a toothed club in one hand and a wicked-looking knife in the other, the pirate charged…



The brick wall behind him threatened to suck the heat from his body. He’d had to leave his cape and frock coat behind, and the night’s chill was biting him through his shirt. A few yards from him, in a Whitechapel alleyway, the anarchists threatening the Crown were planning their great masterstroke to bring the Empire to its knees. He pondering going for Scotland Yard, then dismissed the idea; by the time he brought them here, at most they would simply be gone, and at worst on their way through the secret underground to Buckingham Palace. He was outnumbered, but the odds were not so ridiculous that the element of surprise might not work for him…



Then, the strange one, the recent arrival with the oddly yellow cast to his features (although this man looked like no Oriental he had ever seen, with his upswept eyebrows…and were his ears pointed a little?) had looked up – must have heard him! The man’s hearing was obviously quite acute. The man brought something from under his coat, and pointed it towards the alleyway entrance where he hid, something that was shaped like a gun…and spat green fire which shattered brick…



Another victory celebrated in Harry’s office in Langley, Virginia, brandy and cigars (although only Harry partook of the latter) behind the locked doors of the Deputy Director of Operations, just he, Harry and the cat, Hatshepsut, whom he knew was much more than a cat, maybe even one of Harry’s mysterious alien employers. However, he knew he could trust Harry, and in turn he was all Harry could rely on…besides the cat, that is. Against such foes as Khan and the Eugenics Warriors, Harry needed all the help he could get…



And again, Harry’s warning: “If you ever come here and I’m not here, and I don’t get in touch with you within one hour, whatever the reason…run. Don’t look back.”



Then the day came, and he hung around maybe a few more minutes, making discreet inquiries as to the whereabouts of Deputy Director Steen. Of course, none of the Agency drones knew jack. He knew it was time to leave…



Downstairs in the car park, the two agents, male and female, who said they were sent by Harry but failed to give the correct phrase that would tip him off that Harry had really sent them. The man had almost drawn his servo when he kicked it out the guy’s hand; the female had counterattacked with a nerve strike that he had seen Harry use. They were definitely trained by the same people; his only advantage was being a lot stronger and more resilient than he looked. Too long, they decided, breaking off the fight and vanishing into a cloud of blue fog…



He woke up in what had to be the sickbay of the Federation starship that had come to his rescue. He knew they would figure out what he was; people did not spontaneously recover this quickly from explosive decompression, which he would have suffered when the Dalgoda ship blew a hole in the Edmund Fitzgerald’s hull. The man now coming in, with a interesting mix of European and Asian features (and since when do they allow beards in Starfleet?), wearing a gold tunic and wearing command insignia, was even now sizing him up. “You the honcho here, sport?” he had asked the captain, appreciating the lazy smile in return.



Again, the same guy, now holding a katana, next to the severe-looking Vulcan holding a lirpa at port-arms, and the Tizarn noblewoman with her powerstaff, the four of them standing with backs against each other, facing down a tavern full of warp-trash on one of the Hegemony’s fringe-worlds. Resigning himself to a major brawl, he picked up one of the nearby chairs, shrugged and said, “Rock and roll.”



Then, back to the face of his father, classic Roman profile and sad basset-hound eyes, his father who stood in his house. He could hear his wife in the kitchen while his father tried to convince him that leaving her would be the best option for all. He was having none of it. He had never forgiven his father for leaving his mother, so long ago, and he couldn’t do that to the woman he loved. His father shook his head. “You must leave her, my son.”



Many years later, the words would come back to haunt him as he stood over her grave.



Worst of all was the image that finally came before him, the image of the man that time should have taken long ago, kept alive by cybernetics and stolen DNA and arcane substances from all over the galaxy. The man who had carved out a ruthless empire out of the ashes of the Federation, had crushed out virtually every civilization in known space, all to keep himself from persecution. The man who wore a bizarre parody of his face…because they were the same, separated only by time.



“They’ll all get taken away from you. They’ll all betray you,” this mockery said, even as he (himself) pointed a phaser directly at this nightmare. “People you trust. People you love. You’ll have nobody left, kid. Killing me won’t change that. I did the same thing, when I was you, and it still happened to me. Go on, kid. Do it!”



He pressed the firing button. And the world exploded.



Murdock came awake sitting bolt upright in his bed. He did not scream; he had long since kicked that particular habit. He just wished that he could keep from sweating profusely, or just stopping the dreams altogether.



He threw back the covers and swung his legs out to the deck, taking several deep breaths to calm himself. Fortunately, the dreams (memories, really) did not come every night, or he would have gone stark raving bonkers long ago. Still…



“Bridge to Captain Murdock” came the voice of the Gamma Shift bridge watch officer, Lieutenant Monroe. “Captain Murdock, please respond.”



Realizing that Monroe had probably been trying to reach him for half a minute or more (and that the intercom was what had awoken him in the first place), Murdock reached over to the bedside control panel and pushed the open-intercom button. “Murdock; talk to me.” His tone, as moderate as he could make it, still carried a dangerous undertone: This better be good. One of the quirks of his otherwise outstanding metabolism was that he was a bear for sleep.



“We’ve picked up a distress call from Memory Alpha. They’ve been attacked.”



That drove any remaining cobwebs from Murdock’s mind. “By whom?”



“The signal didn’t give much in the way of identification, sir. The attackers apparently arrived in several small ships, of varying types. That’s all the information we got before the signal was cut off.”



The captain mulled this fact over quickly. That tended to eliminate most of the Federation’s main adversaries, such as the Romulans and the Cardassians, at least operating in a direct fashion. It did leave open the possibility of intermediaries, or putting it more bluntly, henchmen. Leaving that aside for the moment, who else could it be? Acamarian Gatherers…Ferengi privateers, operating outside the official sanction of the Alliance…Maquis? Why would any of the above want to hit Memory Alpha? Granted, there is some sensitive material archived there, but it’s rather far inside the Federation perimeter. Somebody wants something bad…or wants us to think that...



“Shall I set a course for Memory Alpha, sir?” the patient voice of Lt. Monroe called over the intercom.



“Ye—No, not yet. First attempt to contact Memory Alpha; the distress call could be a fake. Then send a encoded message to all Neutral Zone and Demilitarized Zone monitoring stations, and Deep Space Nine, about the distress call, but advise that even if there was an attack on Memory Alpha, that it could be some kind of diversion and they should keep their eyes peeled.”



“Aye, sir. Anything else?”



“Ummm…if you don’t hear an all-clear from Memory Alpha, call the senior officers to the bridge. I’ll be up there in ten minutes. Murdock out.” Closing the commline, he walked over to the vanity and filled the sink with cold water. He regarded his tired reflection in the mirror above the sink. “Y’know, I just wish these bozos would keep office hours.”



*****



Willow awoke with the disorientation that comes from not knowing where you are. She blinked as she lay on her side; she was not that familiar with her quarters, having occupied them for mere weeks, but she was fairly sure that she was somewhere else. Then more parts of her cerebral cortex came online, and she remembered the events of the last few hours.



Her brain screaming like an intruder-alert siren, Willow slowly turned over to face the other way, where Tara lay on her back, softly snoring. Willow’s eyes bulged as she hooked the events of last night to “now.”



Slow down, she thought, trying to control her breathing. I don’t think we did anything, really. She threw off the covers to reveal that her wrap had become undone during the night; she didn’t see or feel any signs of...well, undue familiarity, for lack of a better term. Similarly, Tara’s robe had become undone from her unconscious shifting; revealing the creamy skin of her torso, particularly…



Willow found herself captivated by the pointed cap of flesh peeking out from underneath the fabric. Her mouth, feeling desert-dry only a moment ago, now felt as if it was flooding with saliva. She swallowed carefully, careful of any lingering nausea from last night’s debauche. She leaned forward, towards the opening in the robe, the creamy mound there so enticing…



Out of bed, no bothering with the wrap, heading toward the autovalet to pull out her clothes. Fortunately, they were there, returned from being reduced to chemical fibers and spandy clean. With shaking fingers, Willow dressed.



She crossed back to the bed, drawing the covers back over Tara, who then shifted in her sleep to lay on her side. Willow shook her head, amazed at the sight before her. God, she’s beautiful. Leaning down carefully, she kissed Tara near the corner of her mouth. A moment’s further contemplation, then Willow was gone.



Back in her quarters, Willow sat on her bed, hugging her knees to her chest, trying to control her breathing as her thoughts spiraled out of control. What is happening to me? I’ve never been attracted to a woman in my life! I mean, I’ve known gay people, never had anything against them, but when did I become gay? Did that temporal anomaly…do something to me? Maybe there’s something in the replicated food on this ship. Maybe Tara has some weird telepathic thing, even something unconscious, of course unconscious, ‘cause she would never do something like that to me! I know her, at least well enough, I’m pretty sure. She’s a wonderful person, she’s so kind, and smart, and beautiful, I can talk to her like I could talk to Buffy, and I feel like…



Feel like…what? I feel attracted to her?



Her deep breaths turned to sobs, as tears cascaded from her eyes, tears of deep confusion and stress. Oh, God, Buffy…I wish you were here. I so need to talk to you, and I can’t, and the only person here I feel I can talk to is the last person I can talk about this to, God, I don’t know what to do!



Laying back on her pillow, Willow cried herself to an uneasy sleep.

_________________



"Honey, in case you didn't hear me the first six thousand times: no more teleportation spells."

Edited by: CaptMurdock at: 3/26/03 10:53:03 pm

[jixer]

Hello Kittens-



The loneliness of being out of time for Willow has been relieved by Tara. Now that is lost to her and the loss of her time is crashing in on Willow as she faces a change in her very thoughts about herself without the support of her friends.



Replicators to maximum chocolate as well.



Jixer

[Kalita]

Hmm, Willow's in quite the pickle, eh? I hope she does find someone to talk to - unless she works it out on her own. She is one smart girl.



Also nifty to see Murdock's background. These are memories, more than dreams? Might he have something in common with a certain Mr. Brack? Or Mrs. Lefler?



Plus, I was somewhat tickled at hearing of the Edmund Fitzgerald. That name has a lot of weight, this side of the border (mostly thanks to Mr. Lightfoot).

"...not many people understood the karmic value of grilled cheese."

-Tara, Blue Athame's Angels and Goddesses

[frumpycat]

Yay! I’m really liking this story. Love the Cap’s dreams and especially Willow’s reaction. It seems really true to form.



Willow’s reaction reminded me of a friend of mine’s from undergrad (when he realized he might be gay). He’d always considered himself straight but he never really dated girls that much even tho he was a pretty good looking guy. A mutual friend in our group was gay and would occasionally mildly flirt with him. When the mutual friend started flirting with someone else my friend got a little uptight, and then admitted to me that of all things he felt kinda jealous, and he was starting to freak out b/c he started realizing that he was probably gay, and was attracted to the mutual friend. (they had a loooooot in common too...loved playing the same sports, even same major, etc.)



Needless to say he tried some ham handed flirting with the mutual friend (but never in front of us….he was really kind of scared about it…he told me about it later) and things kind of took off from there where they started dating.

[AntigoneUnbound]

Hey Captain~~I'm always psyched to see an update on this story. I may have mentioned this before, but I often have a hard time getting into more sci-fi or galactic-oriented fiction, but this is a wonderful exception, and it's because of your character development, I think. I'm a real sucker for seeing someone's internal dialogue, knowing what they're thinking, and you do that very well here.



The dream was very dream-like (how's that for a trenchant observation?), by which I mean that it had that kind of surreal element to it, combined with the sort of temporal instability that most dreams have.



As always, though, my favorite part involves Tara and Willow. For the first time in a while, we could see just how lonely Willow was. I was sort of thinking that we might see that again, and this is the perfect time to reintroduce it. You paint a clear picture of Willow, so simultaneously enticed and terrified, and so abjectly alone.



And I know that I for one felt my own mouth fill with saliva when you described the oh-so-alluring hint of Tara's breast.



Thanks for the great story, Capt. Murdock.

Mary

[shuyaku]

My dear Captain - okay not the morning after I was really looking for, but a great update nonetheless. Poor Willow (but at least she got to sneak a peek hee hee)



-shuyaku

[CaptMurdock]

Hoo-boy! Lotsa nice comments here.



jixer: Well, Tara's not exactly "lost" to her yet, but I understand what you're talking about. Hey, in any universe, Willow's a survivor.



Kalita: See my comment to jixer above, but also, bear in mind that Willow is not alone.



Brack? You mean that guy that hangs out with Space Ghost? J/K. "In common with..." that's a good question. Go back and re-read my description of Murdock's father in his dream -- I thought I gave a fairly decent portrayal of how he looked in that particular episode (heh heh). And here's another clue for you all -- the walrus was Paul.



(Oh, and BTW, just so you know I'm not cribbing all my ideas from Peter David...just a few of them...my backstory on Murdock existed -- on paper, or its electronic equivalent -- long before Morgan Lefler (AKA Morgan Primus) saw the light of day, or the printed page. And don't get me started on how much Paramount has "stolen" from me and my colleagues. "Temporal Cold War" -- phooey! I had the idea for the Revisionists long before Enterprise crept onto the air. If I ever find the bug that Paramount planted in my computer, it's Lampshade Time!)



Please forgive the proceding outburst. CaptMurdock has been given his medication and he is feeling much better. We now return to our regularly-scheduled post.



As for the Edmund Fitzgerald, I have the feeling that particular ship in Murdock's dream was named not necessarily for the ship that sank (God rest the 29 souls who comprised her crew) but for the Gordon Lightfoot song. YMMV. Might have just as easily been named Carefree Highway...



frumpycat: I'm glad that Willow's inner dialogue and anguish sounded real. Having never discovered my inner gayness, I could only rely on my half-baked memories of two friends of mine, one who tiptoed out of the closet, the other who busted out like the A-Team...and a large dose imagination.



I'm glad things worked out for your friend. Fortune favors the bold (or maybe the foolish, depending upon whom you ask).



AntigoneUnbound: I'm glad you're enjoying the story, and I appreciate you making the effort to wade through the technobabble. Stick with me, kid, I'll make a Trekkie out of you yet!



I'm glad you enjoyed the "surreality" of the dream, but as I said before, it was more a hash of Murdock's memories than anything else. Boy's led an interesting life ("temporal instability" included).



As for the "sneak peek" (re: yours and [shuyaku[/b]'s comments) tell me about it.



Thank you all for reading and leaving feedback! The next chapter should be starting up soon.

]

_________________



"Honey, in case you didn't hear me the first six thousand times: no more teleportation spells."

[jixer]

Hello Kittens-



Wow, Captain, I know where you're coming from. As a long time gamer and SciFi fan I've seen dozens of ideas from our little group end up on the big screen a couple of years after we suggested it. It's become a running joke. Never thought to look in the computer though, I'm old fashioned and thought it was a bug.



Jixer

[Grimlock72]

Yeah, that dream was weird allright It was a bit longish though, I'm impatient that way I guess. I trust that dream will make more sense a couple of chapters later on, observe my patience once again .



Capt. does have a point about the attack on Alpha possibly being diversion, but at least one or two ships should go anyway. Not all ships in the sector of course.



I don't have much info station Alpha handy but since it's so important I tend to doubt a group of losers such as those maquis could get in. Especially since they don't seem to use stealth much .



Willow is of course confused, the crying and being upset likely comes from confusion as well. Poor girl has no-one she really knows well enough to talk about problems like the one she has right now . Tara would gladly be her confidant, but that would kind of defeat the point.



I have faith in Willow, she'll just need more time to figure things out. Willow and confusion don't go well together under normal circumstances anyway I wonder what Tara will do/think when she wakes up without Willow being there. Hopefully she won't go on a huge guilt-trip, she's so damn good at those.



Grimmy

--

She(Tara) knew that she was Willow too. If she knew that then why hadn't Willow herself? That wasn't fair. She was Willow. she should have known that first. -- Willow in _Sidestep Chronicle_ (part 80)

[Kalita]

Ah, but if they'd named it for the song, the ship would be The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald - not an auspicious name for a spacegoing vessel. But still possible - and they'd then call it the Edmund Fitzgerald for short, so my point now goes nowhere.



Just an observation, then...

"...not many people understood the karmic value of grilled cheese."

-Tara, Blue Athame's Angels and Goddesses

Edited by: Kalita  at: 4/1/03 7:04:13 pm

[bluewillowwitch]

Captian,

I just caught up with this fic. I have to say I love what you are doing here. I'm not a huge Trek fan but I love the way you have & mixed into it so well. I do however have to say that you can't do that. The cliffhanger is just mean! I can't wait to see what happens next. I have to say that I hope and get toghter in a relationship soon.



bluewillowwitch

[CaptMurdock]

Grimmy: (if I can call you that...) Memory Alpha is a planetoid where the United Federation of Planets archives information and data from its member worlds (at this time, some one hundred fifty civilizations). It is meant to be used by anyone, even those of species that are not Federation members. While there is classified data archived there, it is protected by encryption formidible enough to defeat all but the most brilliant computer expert. However, the physical security, by the very nature of Memory Alpha, is not that impressive. A small force like the Maquis (who are hardly "losers" as you will soon see) could penetrate the complex and access the computers.



As to Willow and Tara, yes, the dynamic of their relationship is complicated. Tara, according to the demands of her job as assistant counselor, had to be able to listen and advise her patients in an impartial manner. It's rather difficult to be impartial with someone whom, at the very least, you've shared a rather steamy bubble-bath with. OTOH, it's gotta Primal Scream beat by a mile. Currently, I'm struggling as to whether to have a scene were Tara wakes up and feels terribly guilty, or just pick it up later where she goes to the bridge and finds Willow.



Kalita: Don't sweat it. Yours was a very Willow-ish (Willow-like? Willow-esque?) observation. Always welcome.



bluewillowwitch: Hey, I have to leave something for the later chapters! I know you people -- if I give you all the W/T goodness now, you'll switch over to The Gilmore Girls! Well, forget that!



L8r!

_________________



"Honey, in case you didn't hear me the first six thousand times: no more teleportation spells."

[Grimlock72]

Captain,



Calling me 'Grimmy' is fine by me, not to worry there



I definitly had a wrong picture in mind when thinking about Memory Alpha then. I figured it was something like Earth and it's defenses. Just couldn't see a group of rogues show up there and actually get



I do wonder what the purpose of attack MA would be. Access itself can't be the problem since it's more like a public library in that regard. Using guns to overcome a strong encryption is also not very likely to work, so... that leaves threathening to destory all the archives...



I never saw that TOS episode (_Lights of Zetar_, bit before my time ), seems the Zetarians attacked MA. Hmm, that was before the archive was there though... bwah.. only confusing myself here



Still wondering what Tara will think when waking up, maybe that she all dreamt it in her alchohol-induced state ? As long as she doesn't feel too guilty for living a little.



Grimmy

--

She(Tara) knew that she was Willow too. If she knew that then why hadn't Willow herself? That wasn't fair. She was Willow. she should have known that first. -- Willow in _Sidestep Chronicle_ (part 80)

[bluewillowwitch]

Hey Captian,

I understand that you can't give us all the W/T goodness but a little more would be nice.



bluewillowwitch

[Catwalks]

god I cant believe i missed this



have to say i love it, as a fan of buffy and trek you inserted Willow and Tara perfectly into a wonderful tale



one passage had me puzzled for many minutes...

Quote:

---

as Tara leaned back under her ministrations. “You have wonderful hands,” Tara said in an exaggerated drawl, “so warrrrrm.”

---

i could "hear" Tara/Amber say it but it drove me nuts placing it ... then i had a wonderful flashback to the "Stuff" photoshoot



god i would love to have applied that oil!!!!!



here's hoping for an update soon



B



p.s. edited to say



last night as i drifted off to nap land (or not as was the case) I was laying there thinking about this particular fic and i suddenly had a mental picture of Tara removing the bra in the tub...suddenly my brain hit the brakes!!! I mean imagine in 300 years the bra - still the same - I mean surely its gotta have changed a bit

and then it hit me - I could even see the ads for it ...



the all new 24th century "anti grav" Wonderbra®



no need for those pesky straps this tailor made unit, with twin anti-grav pockets will gently cup and support each breast, with the touch of a button you can chose the exact amount of lift for that perfect fit and definition, the anti-grav range includes, the ultra invisible (just a slim strap that wraps around just under the breasts), skin coloured of course to wear under the most revealing of gowns, right up to the strapless black silk.



Try one on today and I'll guarantee you look down and gasp ...

"Gosh, look at those!"



i wonder if i could patent the idea now - lol





---------------------------------

"Dude! like you're getting in the Boob light alright!" - AB Stuff photoshoot

Edited by: Catwalks at: 4/7/03 1:07:20 am

[CaptMurdock]

Quote:

---

originally posted by Catwalks

I was laying there thinking about this particular fic and i suddenly had a mental picture of Tara removing the bra in the tub...suddenly my brain hit the brakes!!!

---

Yeah...I'll bet. (I'm just having fun with ya)



Your discussion of bras does bring up an interesting point, though. Granted that we might have more advanced transportation and weapons and computers and other bits of technology centuries in the future...but what mundane advances will take place? Will people still eat using forks and spoons? How do they wash clothes -- or do they wash them? (The "autovalet" is something I semi-invented for this story based on something I read that Gene R. postulated about a starship's ecology way back in the days of the Original Series.) I imagine brassieres, owing to advances in synthetic materials and construction, will be both lighter and more comfortable, but due to the (ahem) construction of the female body and the demands of society (read: horny slobs like myself), are going to be a necessary evil.



Anti-gravity bra? Why not just go to a space station or other environment and switch off the artificial gravity? Must easier than carrying a multi-megawatt power source right next to your skin...



Thanks for the comments! you all!

_________________



"Honey, in case you didn't hear me the first six thousand times: no more teleportation spells."

[CaptMurdock]

Title: Equilibration



Chapter Seven



Disclaimer: The characters of Willow Rosenberg and Tara Maclay,as well as Buffy Summers, Xander Harris, Faith, Warren Mears and Jonathan Levinson, or the reasonable facsimiles that I employ in this story, are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy productions. The setting for the story is within the universe of Star Trek, created by Gene Roddenberry and owned by Paramount Pictures, Inc. No infringement of copyright is intended. The other characters are the creation of either myself or several colleagues who don't care what I do with them. In any case, I'm a firm believer in Kasden's Law ("If you steal from one source, it's plagiarism; if you steal from ten sources, it's research.")



Pairing: W/T (not precisely the Willow and Tara that we all know and love -- but close enough for government work.)



Spoilers: None (as this does not take place in the Buffyverse at all, we're all safe as far as that goes. As to Trek, this takes place mid- Deep Space Nine (call it third or fourth season).



Rating: PG-13.



Summary: A young 23rd-century Starfleet officer named Willow Rosenberg finds herself stranded in the 24th century. Ninety years later, Tara Maclay, an assistant counselor on the ship that rescues Willow, endeavors to help her with more than professional dedication. They both are newcomers to a somewhat eccentric crew, led by a captain who is a lot more than he seems. Meanwhile, the rebel group known as the Maquis, led by an unusual troika, are on a mysterious quest that may jeopardize the very existence of the Federation.



Feedback: Email me at cloister@earthlink.net. Thanks.



Distribution: For God's sake, don't put this on a Trek board without asking me first! I'll lose all my street cred. :-)



Chapter 7



Memory Alpha

Federation Data Archive



Jonathan worked at the master systems console with ever-increasing frustration, gritting his teeth as he tapped at the keypads. “Can’t believe this antiquated junk…” he muttered, glaring at the data displays and snarling when they would not show what he wanted them to show, as if they had been manufactured specifically for the purpose of giving him migraines and ulcers.



Soon after the Admiral Byrd had landed, Faith and Warren had led the assault force, in conjunction with those from the other two ships, towards the center of the complex. He had trailed in their wake, trying not to think about the members of Memory Alpha’s rather minimal security detail, who were quickly overran, stunned…or worse. Jonathan tried to think about that as little as possible. After securing the main operations center, Warren had deposited him here, to make sure no further communications (after the initial, hurried distress call) were made, but mostly to dig through the computer’s database for the particular files he was looking for.



All Warren would tell him was that he had discovered an ultra-secret series of transmissions, that Starfleet Intelligence had given this information a classification so high it did not even have a designation, far higher than even the quantum-torpedo research project. The exact nature and origin of this information was unknown.



“Great,” Jonathan had said. “So we don’t know what it is or where it came from. What makes you think that it’s anything worth going after?”



“Oh, replicate a brain!” Warren had shot back. “Anything that the Federation needs to keep that secret, has to be worth more than latinum! Starfleet Intelligence would not use such measures for…for…” He had broken off, mentally searching for a pungent example.



“A cookie recipe?” Faith had sniggered.



“I dunno,” Jonathan had replied. “Could be some killer macaroons.”



Warren, employing resources that Jonathan could only guess at, had come up with an obscure designation for the transmissions: Curator. Jonathan could not find any hidden meaning, besides the incredibly obvious, in the name. His own discreet inquiries, directed at the few assets he still had in place in Starfleet, failed to enlighten him further.



Accessing the database as soon as he had bypassed the initial protocols, he had to employ several schemes to decrypt the high-level directories and find the Curator documents. Unfortunately, instead of being downhill from there, the job became almost exponentially more difficult. All files under the Curator heading were protected by unbelievably dense encryption schemes that stopped Jonathan cold. Where the hell did they get this stuff, he wondered as he tried yet another illicit program, the Ferengi Commerce Authority? He wanted to take the phaser rifle propped beside the console and fire a few bursts into the display to induce a little more cooperation.



He considered grabbing one of the technicians stationed at Memory Alpha, now being sequestered in the main refectory by the Maquis strike teams, and grilling him about Curator. After a few seconds’ cogitation, he abandoned the notion. No way any of these turkeys have anywhere near the clearance to access these files.



Still, his effort wasn’t a total loss. All knowledge was considered valuable in his eyes; you just had to have the ability to separate the signal from the noise, was all. Characteristic smirk in place, he set back to work…



Some minutes later, Warren and Faith sauntered in, having completed their impromptu tour of Memory Alpha and making sure it was secure, at least for the time being. The timetable that they had worked out called for them to hold facility for no more than a few hours, tops, before Starfleet had a chance to respond (though Faith was of the opinion that taking a starship out was not nearly the impossible task that some of the Maquis made it out to be). This plan, of course, depended upon Jonathan being about to squeeze out the info they were looking for out of the computer and still have time, as he put it, to stop for lunch… Faith looked a little mussed, but she was glowing with recent exertion. Some of the security guards, and even a couple of technicians, had taken it upon themselves to test Faith’s formidable physical reactions and fighting skills. Several of these were now reviewing the data they had received, in the form of broken bones, concussions and multiple contusions.



“Have you got it?” Warren asked, brandishing his Cardassian phaser, somewhat depleted in energy after a few skirmishes. Faith’s older-model disruptor was holstered against her leg. Though she could use (and had used) energy-weapons, hand-to-hand combat was still something of a thrill for her.



Trying to keep his voice level as possible, and without taking his eyes off the display, Jonathan shrugged and replied, “It’s…coming.”



“It’s coming?!? When is it going to ‘get here’?” Warren nearly howled.



“This isn’t like making cheese sandwiches, Warren,” Jonathan muttered back, defensively. “This stuff is protected by encryption schemes I’ve never even seen before. I’ve tried every ‘unraveler’ protocol I can think of, and none of them have so much as scratched these files.” He looked over his shoulder at Warren nervously. “I can’t open these files,” he concluded with an apologetic tone in his voice.



Faith shook her head disgustedly. “All this way, and no payoff! God, I should have my head examined for signing on this traveling circus!”



Warren was not so phlegmatic. “You swore to me that you could break into this computer and find out what Curator is! Everything we planned, all the resources and assets we’ve gathered together, getting all available personnel to Memory Alpha…all of this was contingent upon you cracking these files!” His voice rose to dangerous levels and his grip on his phaser tightened perceptibly. Faith could see that at any second Warren was going to level his weapon and send a beam of deadly energy right through Jonathan’s head. She debated whether or not to intercede…



The potential target of Warren’s ire, however, held up a placatory hand. “Hang on, hang on. I didn’t say that all was lost. I have managed to glean some information from all this,” he said, indicated the console and by implication the computer archives. At Warren’s perplexed stare and Faith’s raised eyebrows, he elaborated. “As I said, the text of the Curator files still encrypted, and unreadable. But, I was able to extract the header information from some of the files. For instance, I was able to find out that the subspace transmissions this information was carried on, also went to Starfleet Intelligence, the Vulcan Science Academy, the Daystrom Institute, the Department of Tem—“



“I don’t care where it went!” Warren interrupted. “None of those places…we don’t have anywhere near the capability of breaking into successfully! And even if we did, we’d have the same problem with the encryption!”



Jonathan nodded. “True. But we might not have it where the Curator files originated.” With a flourish, he tapped out a brief command on the console, bringing up a navigational display. “Which, by the way, is here.”



Warren peered at the navigational coordinates and the planetological index on the screen. “That’s where Curator is?”



Jonathan shrugged. “That’s the origin point of the transmissions. I’ve double-checked. That’s the place.”



Faith leaned over to look at the display. “I don’t recognize that star system.”



“No reason you should,” Jonathan quipped. “There’s nothing there, except a dead planet circling a burnt-out sun. Of course, if you had something so secret that you wanted nobody to know about it…”



“…What better place to stash it?” Warren finished. He laid a comradely hand on Jonathan’s shoulder, conveniently forgetting that he came within a micrometer of blowing his head apart less than a minute ago. “Jonathan, I take back…seventy-five percent of everything bad I’ve ever said about you.”



“Jeez,” Faith said, rolling her eyes, “Coming from you, Warren, that’s practically foreplay.”



The curly-haired man said nothing, but merely stared at the coordinates that Jonathan was even now downloading to a PADD.



“I have you now,” he whispered, in an oddly sepulchral tone.



********



Exiting the turbolift, Murdock strode onto the bridge, still tugging his uniform into place, headed towards Lieutenant Althea Monroe, the Gamma Shift bridge duty officer. He was about to bark out “Report,” when she turned and neatly handed to him, handle first, a large ceramic Starfleet-issue mug full of potent-smelling black coffee. He accepted the beverage with the air of a man accepting a glass of water after a week stranded in Vulcan’s Forge. “Ah, Lieutenant. Take two sainthoods out of petty cash.” Murdock took a long draught, savoring the Jamaican Blue Mountain (or, at least, the replicator’s best reproduction thereof) and felt his brain jump-start. “Report.”



“We’ve been unable to establish contact with Memory Alpha, sir,” Monroe replied, trying not to smirk at her own initiative in getting her captain a quick pick-me-up. “I have contacted Deep Space 9 and Starbase 375, near the Demilitarized Zone, as well as all stations near the Romulan Neutral Zone. None of them report anything out of the ordinary, but they agreed to go to Yellow Alert.”



Murdock nodded. “Long-range sensors?”



“At this distance, they don’t tell us much, sir. The star that the planetoid orbits is still there, and there’s no unusual subspace or gravimetric phenomena that might interfere with communications. The Memory Alpha planetoid itself is not detectable, nor would any space vessels that would be in orbit, sir.”



Nodding again, Murdock glanced at the main viewscreen, noting the presence of individual dots of distant stars, as opposed to elongated streaks of superrelativistic light, which indicated that the Hannibal had dropped to normal space. Taking a more conservative sip of coffee, he asked, “Course to Memory Alpha?”



“Already plotted, Captain. We can be there in ten hours at maximum warp. And I’ve called the senior officers to the bridge, once we could not establish contact with Memory Alpha.”



“Good…then, let’s rock ‘n’ roll,” the captain commanded. Lt. Monroe, familiar with her commanding officer’s odd euphemisms, nodded and proceeded to tell the ensign at the helm to go to warp.



Murdock turned towards the turbolift doors as he heard them hiss open behind him. Dr. Devereux stepped out with the careful tread of a man who generally feels in control of his faculties, but doesn’t want to take any chance of doing a Brody in front of his superior. He held a small plastic cup in one hand as he strode over to the captain, and shook out two small tablets into his other hand.



“Take these,” the counselor said, offering the tablets to Murdock.



“Well, good morning to you, and what are you giving me?”



“Good morning, and thiamine. Consider it my prescription. Sir.”



Murdock smiled and accepted the vitamins. “Who am I to argue with my doctor?” He popped them in his mouth and chased them with a generous swig.



“Yeah, yeah,” Devereux replied, taking two thiamine himself. He gestured for the mug in Murdock’s hand and accepted it from the captain.



Several seconds later, Devereux was certain he was going to cough up bronchial tissue. “Why in the name of God did you put coffee in a coffee cup?” he asked, once he had the power of speech again, handing the mug back.



“I’m sorry,” Murdock said, hardly contrite. “Not ‘Irish’ enough for you?”



Devereux glared, then sighed and turned to business. “Have we received any information from Memory Alpha?”



“No. Once the senior officers are all here, we’ll go into the conference room.” Devereux nodded, turning as the turbolift doors opened again to admit Commander Faraday. The Sikh was twisting her long dark hair into a hasty braid, and her normally taut features seemed a little drawn, but otherwise she seemed fit.



“Sam…Charlie,” she said by way of greeting. She accepted two tablets from Devereux and accepted Murdock’s proffered coffee mug.



“Don’t drink that,” warned the counselor.



Faraday, however, chased the tablets down with a generous mouthful of coffee, followed by a satisfied sigh.



DaKar entered the bridge next, definitely looking as if he felt the effects of the previous evening. “Oh, God. I think at least three of my previous hosts are currently experiencing hangovers.”



Murdock glared at Devereux. “You and your vino.”



Devereux shrugged, gave the Trill three thiamine tablets, pointed to the mug still in Faraday’s hand and said, “Don’t drink that.”



The turbolift door hissed again, admitting Dr. Govarr. “If you all aren’t too busy fortifying your inefficient metabolisms…”



The four humanoid officers turned to give the Tellarite phasers set on Stink-Eye.



“…is there any information about casualties?” the chief medical officer concluded, in a slightly subdued tone.



Damn. Legitimate question. “Not as yet, Doctor,” Murdock replied. “Once Gelfa and Thelvran arrive, we’ll adjourn to the conference room.” As if on cue, the Zakdorn and the Andorian exited the turbolift. “Speak of the devil…” Murdock remarked, only to immediately regret it when Thelvran rather self-consciously looked upwards towards his antenna. “Sorry.”



*******



By force of long habit, Tara had always been an early riser. Consequently, even after the night she had had, she awoke before the computer’s wake-up page automatically brightened the lights. Even so, it was several seconds before she remembered …well, as much as she could remember…



Ohhhh, Goddd, tell me I did not do what I did do, she thought, absently closing her robe around her even as the implications of her state of undress were sinking in. She…she’s my patient! I’m her counselor! And that…that little episode in the bathtub, so not standard therapy! Although, maybe it ought to be—stop it, Tara!



She clambered out of bed, taking several deep breaths to calm herself. “Um, com…com—“ She found that she still could barely talk coherently. More breathing while keeping her eyes closed help. “Computer, locate Lt. Willow Rosenberg.”



“Lt. Willow Rosenberg is in her quarters,” the computer replied.



Tara thought about calling Willow on the intercom, then decided that she’d probably still be asleep. She sat down in one of the chairs in the common room, putting her head in her hands.



What have I done? I’m probably the only person she can really open up to, and now…I may have abused that trust. She’s still a walking nerve-end because of what she’s been through. What if she thinks that I’m only trying to help because I want to…get intimate with her? I can’t deny that I want to. Dammit, Charlie warned me not to compromise my work… Great, I’ve not only managed to jeopardize my career, I probably irrevocably hurt the first woman I’ve ever fallen in love with.



Bitter pragmatism, born of a life of hard work and little emotional comfort, eventually reasserted itself. Tara rubbed her eyes dry, stood up, and headed for the closet and her uniform.



For better or worse, there was work to be done.



TBC

_________________



"Honey, in case you didn't hear me the first six thousand times: no more teleportation spells."

Edited by: CaptMurdock at: 4/27/03 1:59:19 am

[bluewillowwitch]

Hey Capt,

just read the lastest update. I loved it. You need more with and in it though. Now I know you have to have you dramatic effect but come on. I waited for this update and now you have me worried. You can't do that to a girl. I need and happy together. You are just so . Okay so can't wait for the next update. Please let it be soon.



bluewillowwitch

---------------------------

"Fate keeps happening."--Anita Loos

[Grimlock72]

Why would a top-security document EVER be stored at such a low-security building ? Heck, why would anyone at MA be working on such a document in the first place ? Besides, why don't they just download the documents they want and encrypt them safely back home ? It's not like you really can decrypt documents that easily without the keys anyway, at the very least it will take lots of time. (I wonder if those documents self-destruct after to many tries, heh)



It will take the Hannibal 10 hours to reach MA and the senior staff is meeting already, sounds a bit early. Heh, most of the staff seems to agree with the 'too early' part :-).



Poor Tara, all shaken up. Good thing she decided not to hide in her quarters for the day, wouldn't have done much good either. What work is Tara referring to, going to Willow to repair some of the (perceived) damage or going to the staff meeting ?



Grimmy

--

She(Tara) knew that she was Willow too. If she knew that then why hadn't Willow herself? That wasn't fair. She was Willow. she should have known that first. -- Willow in _Sidestep Chronicle_ (part 80)

[frumpycat]

Yay! Woke up this morning and ran into your update! Better than coffee.....



Aw, poor Tara, I'm wondering if she's going to pretend nothing happened when she sees Willow or is going to confront her about it...not easy choices. I wonder if Willow will be the one to address what's going on between them now....

[TemperedCynic]

Tara is very hard on herself; the makings of a good officer. She's right. Involvement with a patient will produce a quick retirement planet-side. Love will not be denied, however. Especially, if the love is mutual.



Willow's first thoughts the morning after should be worth a full chapter - hung-over, mortified warp-speed Willowbabble. Makes me chuckle just thinking about it...

---

More than any other time in history, mankind faces a crossroads. One path leads to despair and utter hopelessness. The other, to total extinction. Let us pray we have the wisdom to choose correctly. Woody Allen (1935 - )

[ukxenafan]

Hey, just caught up on this fic. I love Buffy and Trek, but wasn't sure about a crossover, however I am really enjoying the story. Very well written, and some interesting characters in there too.



Thanks a lot - looking forward to more!!

[Kalita]

Nice update on the B-plot, and even a bit on A! You've got the Maquis Trio down nicely (very cleanly moved from the Buffyverse), and I'm definitely warming ever more on the senior staff on this boat.



But I repeat what others have said above: MORE W/T!



And update soon, eh?

"What do people mean when they say the computer went down on them?"

- Marilyn Pittman

[CaptMurdock]

Grimmy, old friend, did you think I haven't thought of most of these? (I say "most" here; I admit I hadn't thought of the notion of simply downloading the documents and simply scooting off. However, I can fix that with one line in a later update). There are very definite reasons for these and many other questions. All will be revealed. You will be quite satisfied with the story...you are getting very sleepy...you will trust CaptMurdock implicitly...you will lend him copious amounts of money and not expect to get paid back...



Well, it was worth a shot.



Yes, kittens, I know that this portion was a little light on the W/T Hot-and-Heavy, but dammit! I have plot to worry about!!!







Oh, all right, I'll see what I can do...



ya!

_________________



"Honey, in case you didn't hear me the first six thousand times: no more teleportation spells."

[CaptMurdock]

Okay, kitties, here is the next part of the story. I'm a little nervous about this, because this is the part of the story that I don't have plotted and scripted to the letter. Yes, folks, I am winging it to some degree. Ya still love me? Okay, here we go...



Title: Equilibration



Chapter Seven



Disclaimer: The characters of Willow Rosenberg and Tara Maclay,as well as Buffy Summers, Xander Harris, Faith, Warren Mears and Jonathon Levinson, or the reasonable facsimiles that I employ in this story, are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy productions. The setting for the story is within the universe of Star Trek, created by Gene Roddenberry and owned by Paramount Pictures, Inc. No infringement of copyright is intended. The other characters are the creation of either myself or several colleagues who don't care what I do with them. In any case, I'm a firm believer in Kasden's Law ("If you steal from one source, it's plagiarism; if you steal from ten sources, it's research.")



Pairing: W/T (not precisely the Willow and Tara that we all know and love -- but close enough for government work.)



Spoilers: None (as this does not take place in the Buffyverse at all, we're all safe as far as that goes. As to Trek, this takes place mid-Deep Space Nine (call it third or fourth season).



Rating: PG-13.



Summary: A young 23rd-century Starfleet officer named Willow Rosenberg finds herself stranded in the 24th century. Ninety years later, Tara Maclay, an assistant counselor on the ship that rescues Willow, endeavors to help her with more than professional dedication. They both are newcomers to a somewhat eccentric crew, led by a captain who is a lot more than he seems. Meanwhile, the rebel group known as the Maquis, led by an unusual troika, are on a mysterious quest that may jeopardize the very existence of the Federation.



Feedback: Email me at cloister@earthlink.net. Thanks.



Distribution: For God's sake, don't put this on a Trek board without asking me first! I'll lose all my street cred. :-)



*****



“As all of you no doubt are aware,” Kolrami said, beginning her rather unnecessary prefatory report (“You might as well let her do it,” Devereux had said, sotto voce, to Murdock, “she’ll just get cranky if you don’t.), “Memory Alpha is nothing more than a great repository for the accumulated knowledge of the member worlds of the United Federation of Planets, which now number in excess of one hundred fifty civilizations.



“The facility was established in 2266, and was intended to be the largest computer archive then in existence. In the last hundred years, advances in isolinear storage technology, as well as in subspace communications speed and clarity, have made Memory Alpha somewhat redundant, but the facility continues to get regular data transfers. And, it is still a central location for scholars and researchers who don’t want to brave the Federation civil subspace network to download large chunks of information.



“The facility employs multiple computer cores that are interlinked by a series of subspace—“



Captain Murdock ostentatiously cleared his throat at this point. “Um, thank you, Gelfa. I think this might be heading into the territory of extraneous detail.”



"'Extraneous’?” Kolrami replied, very obviously put out. “I doubt there is such a thing.” However, a significant look from the captain and the first officer persuaded her to truncate her presentation. “Hmmm…well, other than a rather bizarre incident in 2269 with a disembodied collective consciousness claiming to be a remnant of the lost Zetaran civilization, Memory Alpha has never been the subject of a direct assault…until now.”



Faraday nodded. “That is the peculiar part of this whole incident. As Memory Alpha is basically an open archive of information, what would prompt anyone to conduct an armed assault?”



By way of answer, Murdock nodded towards the security officer, who leaned forward, his azure features crinkling in thought. “The Federation, in the spirit of redundant documentation, does send highly classified material to Memory Alpha…however, such material is heavily encrypted, so that no casual user will access it.”



Devereux didn’t quite snort in derision, but his manner made clear his feeling towards this policy. “What’s to stop people from simply downloading the information, spiriting it away, and cracking the code at their leisure?”



DaKar shook his head. “The encryption system also protects against unauthorized duplication of files; without the proper authorization, the computer won’t let anyone copy classified files.”



“So Starfleet sends top secret material that nobody can read, nobody can copy, but, hey, at least it’s there,” Murdock concluded sarcastically. “The bureaucratic mentality, fabled in song and story. All well and good, as long as nobody has the keys to the vault, so to speak.”



DaKar shrugged. “The encryption on these files, I’m told, is pretty much foolproof.”



“That’s what they said about the Titanic,” the captain muttered, half to himself.



Dr. Govarr looked confused. “What is this ‘Titanic’?”



“I’ve heard about this…I believe it something that people are always arranging deck chairs on,” Thelvran offered.



Before anyone else could pipe in another question, comment, remark, or anything else he was going to be sorry for, Murdock cut the discussion short. “Look, I’ll rent you guys the video. Now, can we get on with this? Mr. Thelvran, security details?”



He nodded, once again all business. “Memory Alpha had only a minimal security detail stationed there, sir. We’ll have to assume that any sizable force was able to overwhelm them and secure the facility.”



“Any ideas on who this ‘sizable force’ might be?”



The Andorian shrugged, a somehow stilted gesture on his slim yet taut frame. “That is difficult to say for certain, Captain. The proximity of Memory Alpha to the Federation core worlds would tend to rule out many races currently hostile to the Federation, such as the Cardassians or the Romulans. On the other hand, there are few independent groups who could command the resources to successfully overrun the facility.”



“The Orion Syndicate, maybe,” Devereux opined, “though this doesn’t seem their style, given their reputation for intimidation, extortion, and the old reliable ‘concrete galoshes.’ Outright raids don’t fit their past behavior…at least, not directly. They could be brokering a deal…”



“I vote Ferengi,” Faraday added. “Could be private individuals looking to make a quick bar of latinum, or could be the Alliance getting bold in their old age.”



“I disagree, Commander” Kolrami replied, her tone only just within the boundaries of politeness. “Even considering the Ferengi cultural mindset of profit, it’s hard to believe that they would risk antagonizing the Federation so openly. They would have to do a cost-benefit analysis of the parameters of margin-of-profit versus probable losses in a Federation-Ferengi conflict. I do not see how they would conclude a strategic yield.”



The first officer’s dusky features hardened slightly, and she was about to make a sharp rebuttal to Kolrami’s statement, only to be interrupted by Murdock. “I think we’re chasing shadows at the moment. We’ll, no doubt, find plenty of clues on-site. In the meantime, let’s go over what we need to do when we get to Memory Alpha. Mr. Thelvran, go ahead.”



“I think that we need to consider the possibility that the attack on Memory Alpha may be the foundation of an ambush, targeting this vessel.”



Devereux rolled his eyes. “You always think it’s a trap.”



“Many times, it is,” Thelvran countered evenly. “As your people often used to say, just because they’re out to get you doesn’t mean you’re not paranoid.” As soon as he said that, Thelvran realized he spoke the phrase incorrectly. “Wait…strike that, reverse it—"



"I get the idea, Mr. Thelvran, and you may have a point. It wouldn’t hurt to keep our guard up…and who knows? Maybe we'll get a chance to test out some of those new security wrinkles we've thought up."



The Andorian positively brightened. "I look forward to it, sir."



"I thought you might. Dr. Govarr?"



"I've reviewing the personnel manifest of the facility," the doctor said, his gravelly voice cutting through the quiet sobriety of the conference room. "Memory Alpha has a permanent staff of forty; usually there are anywhere from thirty to seventy visiting researchers stationed there as well. Postulating a worst-case scenario, having a hundred or more casualties would overwhelm Sickbay. I would need to set up an alternate care facility on the ship."



Kolrami quickly consulted a PADD, then answered. "I can have Cargo Bay Five cleared out within thirty minutes. You should be able to set up the emergency medical support modules there."



"Thank you, Gelfa," Govarr said, nodding in her direction.



"Moving right along," Murdock continued, pleased at how smoothly his senior officers worked together in spite of their differing and often clashing personalities. "Mr. DaKar, what do you have to say?"



"Nothing of importance on my end," the chief engineer replied. As usual, he kept the ship's engines and systems ticking along as a matter of course.



"Terrific; keep it that way. Number One, you have suggestions for away teams?"



Faraday nodded. Consulting the notes on her PADD, she read off with a lyrical tone, "Two teams will beam down for the initial survey of the site. Team One will be led by Lt. Thelvran, with Lt. Commander Kolrami, Dr. Govarr, Dr. Devereux, and two security personnel. Team Two will have a doctor, recommended by Govarr, Lt. Rosenberg, two security men, Lt. Maclay, and…"



"Hold on a sec," Devereux interrupted. "With all due respect, Commander, I don't think it's a good idea for Tara – Lt. Maclay to participate in this mission, at least not on the away team."



"You don't think she's ready for counseling duties of this nature?"



"Oh, she's qualified to be a counselor, no question," Devereux countered. "But she doesn't have any field experience."



"She's gotta go out sometime, Charlie," Murdock said. "But if you think she can't handle it—"



"No," Devereux replied, a little sharply. "She can manage…Captain"



"Glad to hear it. Though now that we have the subject on the floor…I'm not sure about sending Lt. Rosenberg into the thick of things. I'm afraid she still…"



"She's already been certified fit for duty, sir," Faraday said, taking a certain pleasure in cutting her superior officer off. "And her record reflects a fair amount of experience with away missions. Some of the incidents cited make for, well, interesting reading."



"I'll bet. Anyway, you never did get around to saying who was going to be leading that second away team. Should I bother to dig out my dancing shoes, Number One, or are you going to insist, as usual, that it's your job?"



The silence that followed Captain Murdock's seemingly lighthearted question carried an undercurrent of tension. This was an old argument between Murdock and Faraday, stemming from their conflicting interpretations of Starfleet policy.



In the decades following the twenty-third century's so-called "Age of Heroes," the notion of starship captains beaming down into potentially dangerous situations had become rather frowned-upon by Starfleet. It had been argued that captains were too valuable to risk going on away missions; at the very least, captains were considered to be extraneous in situations not involving diplomatic negotiations. Starfleet wanted their top officers to be decision-makers, not risk-takers.



Some starship captains, Murdock among them, considered this guideline ludicrous. A leader, the rebuttal went, is supposed to lead. "'It's hard to lead from the rear'" Murdock said, quoting (he said) the legendary Captain Christopher Pike, "'the information is second-hand and the view is terrible!'"



The senior officers remembered one such incident, early in Faraday's time as first officer on the Hannibal. She had argued passionately, albeit respectfully, that she should lead the away team into a particularly hazardous situation. Murdock had gently countered that while he was unmarried and had no children, Faraday was not so unencumbered, and that she should think of the possible consequences to her husband and children before risking her life. Faraday had stepped back, almost as if physically struck, then calmly requested to speak to the captain in private. Once out of sight of the other officers, she had, not to put too fine a point on it, chewed his ass out for throwing her husband and kids in her face to manipulate her. She concluded her tirade by saying that if he ever, ever tried that loathsome tactic again, she would request an immediate transfer off the ship. Chastened, he humbly apologized and granted her request to lead the away team.



This was not the last time that the captain and the first officer argued about this, and Faraday did not always win the argument. Now, Faraday looked at Murdock, eyebrow raised, wondering if he was going to try to make a case for himself, or simply give the order and be done with it.



"All right, Number One," Murdock finally acquiesced. "You lead the second away team. But, no wacky stunts, understood?"



The comically paternal finger that he shook at Faraday did not mitigate the expression of disbelief she shot back in his direction which seemed to say, Who, me? You're the reckless one in this outfit.



******



In the turbolift, Willow couldn't stop adjusting her uniform, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles and constantly correcting the angle at which her commbadge hung on the front. Do I have the correct insignia? she asked herself for the fourth time. She reached up to feel the pips on her collar. Okay, two pips, one gold, one painted or marked black, which is correct for a jay-gee. Although, maybe I screwed up and put two gold pips on, and then people are going to think I'm trying to impersonate a full lieutenant…or, even better, I've got two black pips, then people will think I'm trying to create a whole new rank: the Vice Ensign.



That last thought made her grin, for the first time that morning. Willow had woken up feeling terrible, for reasons that (thankfully) had little to do with her alcohol consumption the previous evening. Waking up alone in her quarters did not produce any more answers to the questions she had waking up next to Tara. If anything, she felt horrible for running out on Tara; she was halfway through her course of self-recrimination when it occurred to her that she was due on the bridge in less than an hour. Showering and eating a quick breakfast, she put on her uniform and bolted from her quarters to the turbolift, which deliver her right to the bridge, where she hurriedly strode…



…almost running smack dab into Tara.



"Oh!" the blonde assistant counselor said, as Willow appeared in front on her as if by magic, or at least by transporter She had arrived on the bridge some time ago, and had gotten a quick précis of the current situation from Lt. Monroe. "Um, hi. I-I mean, good morning."



"Yeah, um, good morning. How are…you?"



Tara nodded, trying not to visibly gulp, which was going to be a trick as the word "Gulp" kept flashing in front of her eyes like a bad neon sign, at least in her imagination. "Oh, w-w-well, I'm okay. Really. Um. How are you?"



"I'm fine!" Willow almost cried, attracting the attention of the other personnel on the bridge. Chastened, she lowered her voice down to a conversational level. "I mean, I'm…fine. Y'know, Finey McFine."



Tara found herself suppressing a smile. "Good, good. I-I was wondering…" Tara trailed off as she abruptly lost the nerve to ask her about the previous evening in her quarters. She looked away, trying to get her insides on an even keel again.



Willow took the opportunity presented by Tara's train-of-thought derailment to look around the bridge. "Wait a minute," she said as something odd occurred to her, "am I really early, or are the Alpha Shift officers all missing?"



"Huh? Oh! No, they're all in the conference room, in a meeting, I mean. There's been some kind of emergency on Memory Alpha." At Willow's blank stare, she continued: "It's a Federation archive constr—"



"I know what Memory Alpha is," Willow riposted shortly. At Tara's stricken expression, she amended her remarks. "Sorry. Um, I mean, I remember what that is; in fact, I was there once, for…well, call it a research project."



Tara got a very complex impression from the emotional radiation connected to that statement, an odd mix of whimsy, nostalgia and melancholy. She remembered from her brief review of Willow's service record from the old Hannibal, as well as some statements from Willow herself, that there were several anomalies in the young science officer's past. Of course, given the overall reputation of the captain and crew of the old Saladin-class destroyer for getting into – and out of – bizarre and even ridiculous situations, she should not be surprised that Willow, along with her friends Buffy and Xander, would have a few interesting items in her "jacket."



"I see," Tara said, deciding not to pursue the subject at this time. Taking a deep breath, she decided that she would steer the conversation back to a more personal matter. "Willow, I think w-we need to talk—"



With damnably bad timing, the doors to the conference room opened, admitting the senior officers to the bridge. Captain Murdock, naturally, was at the front of the group. He caught Willow's and Tara's eyes immediately. "Ah, good. You two, in my ready room, if you please." Without waiting for an acknowledgement, Murdock went through the ready room doors.



As the senior officers relieved the Gamma watch, two young lieutenants stood frozen at the rear of the bridge, not quite daring to speak, confused and a bit nervous about being summoned by the captain. Wide-eyed, Willow cast a apprehensive look at Tara: What's going on?



I don't know! Tara mouthed back. Sighing, she cocked her head in the direction of the ready room and shrugged her shoulders. Shall we?



Nodding, Willow started towards the doors, muttering "'The wages of sin are death.'"



Tara's "Shhh!" was covered by the pneumatic hiss of the doors. Then there was just the two of them, Murdock behind his desk, and his odd collection of knickknacks.



"Take a pew, ladies," the captain said evenly. At their uncertain expressions, he amended his use of ancient idiom. "Please, sit down."



Looking at one another out of the corner of the eyes, Willow and Tara sat down, both fatalistically certain that the captain knew of their antics last night, and was now about to lecture them unmercifully about interpersonal conduct between two officers.



"As you both may know," the captain began, "there is a situation on Memory Alpha that we have diverted the ship to investigate." As he outlined the basic situation, the two women covertly breathed a sigh of relief. "Now, Lt. Rosenberg, I'm going to need you to monitor long-range sensors for the next seven hours, before we drop out of warp in the star system where Memory Alpha's located. Once we arrive, the plan is to send down two away teams, initially, to assess the situation. The two of you will be on the team led by Commander Faraday. Lt. Rosenberg, you have visited the facility, uh, some years ago…"



"About ninety-four, I think," Willow piped in, unable to resist.



"That ought to be…just about right," Murdock conceded. "Plus, your general expertise at the sciences, and with computers, will be of use. Lt. Maclay, you might be needed in your capacity as counselor. Dr. Devereux will be going down with Team One."



Tara nodded. "Um, yes, sir. I-I hope I can be of some us—Oh! I also took the Starfleet Emergency Medical course." About forty percent of active Starfleet personnel undertook this ancillary training, designed to augment the normal medical personnel on board a starship.



"Really?" Murdock inquired, quickly checking Tara's service record on his deskscreen.



"Really?" Willow echoed, sending an expression of frank admiration Tara's way. The blonde counselor sent back a slightly abashed grin.



The captain read the screen briefly, then shut it down. "Well, I knew you were something of a renaissance woman, Lieutenant, but you've managed to surprise me once again. Now, my question is, given everything that happened last night…"



Tara's sudden dread, that Murdock knew everything that had happened in her quarters, was mirrored by her sensing Willow's near-terror regarding the same thing. She felt the resurgence of nausea in the pit of her stomach, and would have bet a bar of gold-pressed latinum that her erstwhile compatriot had similar icky stirrings.



Murdock noticed that the two young officers both had (he thought nostalgically at the turn of phrase) deer-in-the-headlights expressions on their faces, but the pause in his question was hardly perceptible



"…are you two going to be able to stay sharp for the next eight hours or so?"



Tara recovered her voice first. "Uh, y-yes, sir! We'll be fine. I, I mean, I'll be fine, I can't really speak for Willow…"



"I'm cool, sir," Willow interjected with a Pshaw! demeanor. "No problem."



"You sure? Dr. Govarr can always give you something if don't feel up to this…"



"No, thank you, sir," Tara replied, drawing up some hidden reserve of bravado. "That's what coffee is for," she added cheekily.



Murdock gave her a slight smile, as if saying Good for you. He glanced back at Willow, who abruptly shook her head. "Um, no coffee for me, sir. Caffeine kinda makes me, y'know, a spaz."



The captain nodded, mock-soberly. "Right. No spaz. In that case, you two are dismissed for now. Commander Faraday is going to have a pre-game briefing for you all in about six hours, so keep an eye on the chronometer. Willow, I want you to feed her constant reports on any sensor contacts. I want as few nasty surprises on this mission as possible…though we're probably going to get some anyway. Off you go."

_________________



"Honey, in case you didn't hear me the first six thousand times: no more teleportation spells."

[tasha]

It's starting to get interesting now... This away mission should be good



It's funny to see Willow and Tara worrying about Murdock knowing about their 'incident'



Hope to see more soon



tasha

[jixer]

Hello Kittens-



I like how the Hannibal's mission hurtles along as Willow and Tara wrestle to keep the cat firmly in the bag. The turbolift scene and 'deer in the headlights' make me think there's some holes in that bag.



Thank you for this story, Cap'n.



Jixer