Star Trek: Section 7G

Episode 1: "We've Already Been Here, Man"

Extortion. The surest way to keep your job. These are the voyages of the starship Nixon. Her five year mission: To secretly follow behind Starfleet's "golden boy," Captain James T. Kirk and fix his fuck ups before they get out of hand. To cover shit up and never let him know what's going on.

Captain's Log: Stardate 1314.1 Why the fuck couldn't Kirk have simply done the noble thing and blown his ship up like the captain of the Valiant had done? Instead, he has to go and try to save everyone.

Following the Enterprise through the galactic barrier has severely damaged the Nixon, and our only possible place of repairs, Delta Vega, has been cannibalized of all useful components. Not that my chief engineer, Mr. Aphroodle could make much use of them, even if they were there, Pakled's are not exactly known for their engineering prowess. Still, somehow, we have to get this ship up and running before Kirk reaches his next destination. I wonder if Kirk knows just how big of a fuck up, he really is.

Captain Lincoln's dictation into his log was interrupted by the entrance of the Science Officer, Sybok.

"Captain, the away team is assembled and awaiting you in the transporter room." Sybok's tone was his usual cheerful nature, meaning, as always, he didn't understand the gravity of the situation.

"Thank you, Sybok." Lincoln snapped off his terminal and stood up. "We're going to have to figure out some way getting the lithium cracking station up and running again, as well as making the necessary repairs to our ship. Judging from Kirk's report to Starfleet, we're going to be lucky to do anything at all. Bastard took the prime parts and suggested that Galactic Mining Corporation be informed of this, so the next time they send a ship out here, they'll have the necessary spares. Of course, with nothing to pick up, they'll have no reason to send someone out here to make repairs, the market for cracked lithium isn't exactly a high demand one."

"Oh, I'm sure that the market will turn around, sir! I, myself, just bought some cracked lithium futures! They're only going to go up and up! Harry Mudd told me so!"

"You're awfully emotional for a Vulcan, Sybok." Lincoln remarked dryly.

"Oh, don't talk to me about other Vulcans! They think that they've figured out the secret to the universe, but the truth is, they're the most prudish species in the universe. Why, if it hadn't been for Finnegan having that Orion slave girl go down on me and then give me a rim job, I'd be the same kind of insufferable bastard the rest of the Vulcans are! I tell you, captain, those women really know how to treat a man."

"Sybok," Lincoln sighed as they stepped into the turbolift, please spare me the details of your sex life."

"But sir," There was an obliviousness to Sybok's manner that grated something fierce on Lincoln's nerves. "Until you've had an Orion slave girl lick your asshole while wearing a Denebian tongue vibrator, you just haven't had a meaningful sexual experience!"

"And the fact that she's doing it under duress and is forced to live her life in bondage doesn't bother you a bit?"

"Oh, no, sir! Once you've had sixteen orgasms in as many seconds, things like that don't bother you at all!"

Lincoln was saved from further details of Sybok's sexual escapades by the turbolift catching fire. Normally, Lincoln would be pissed at such an event, and proceed to launch into a tirade about the substandard equipment Starfleet had issued them, but he was so grateful for the distraction that he didn't mind the fire, nor the failure of the automatic extinguishing system. Even the manual extinguisher being broken to the point where he was forced to smash it against the wall repeatedly in order to get it to function didn't get a rise out of him. All that mattered was that he no longer had to Sybok speak.

The two of them stumbled out into the corridor, once the fire was out, coughing and gasping for air. They staggered towards the transporter room, and practically fell through the door.

"We planet go?" Aphroodle asked from the transporter pad.

More, more.....

They materialized on the planet to the sound of screaming. Lincoln turned around to see that two of the engineers who'd beamed down with them had materialized fused together. Unfortunately, the fusion was obviously going to be fatal for the crewmen. Their organs were dangling from the outside of their cojoined bodies, while several major arteries poured blood on the ground. Lincoln pulled his phaser out and quickly put the men out of their misery. Replacing his phaser, he grabbed his communicator and flipped it open.

"Lincoln to Nixon. We lost two from engineering. Did Tim hit a wrong button again?"

"No sir," came the reply which was barely audible over the sound of electrical discharge and coughing. "We've had another malfunction with the console."

Lincoln buried his face with his free hand.

"How long until you get it repaired?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know, sir." the transporter tech spoke between coughs. "We're out of spares, and there's not too many things left I can cannibalize for parts. We've hit everywhere outside of sickbay. I could probably rig something up, using parts for one of the shuttles, but-"

"But we might need the shuttles if you can't get the transporter working again, and God knows if the shuttles are in good enough shape to make any of it worthwhile." Lincoln finished the tech's sentence.

"Yes, sir."

Lincoln was quiet, thinking furiously. No matter what, he was screwed. No, it was worse than that, he realized. He was hog-tied, bent over, and being sodomized by a sehlat infected with rage fever. They had two primary, and now, conflicting objectives. They could repair the lithium cracking plant, or they could repair fifty year old Nixon, but not both. If they failed to catch up with the Enterprise and keep Kirk from looking the fool that he was, then the only thing they would ever have to look forward to, assuming they were rescued, or were able to return home on the next ore ship, which was currently scheduled to arrive nineteen years from now, was a courts martial. Not repairing the lithium cracking station would mean that Starfleet would deduct the lost revenues suffered by the Galactic Mining Company from their pay for the rest of their lives, and eliminate all possibility of ever transferring off the Nixon to something better, like a garbage scow. Unless. . .

"Sybok!" Lincoln was suddenly more animated. "Tell me, how, exactly, does this lithium cracking station work?"

"Oh, well, sir." Sybok's gestures were animated as he spoke. "The automated equipment extracts the ore from the ground, where its moved into those vacuum chambers you see there, subjected to high voltage produced by the matter antimatter reactor, and the lithium crystals are then coated with a thin film of oil to preserve them, before they're loaded into cargo containers, where they await pickup by the ore ships."

"And how many crystals can this plant produce in twenty years time?"

"At a rough guess, I'd say one million tonnes."

"And how much would need to be produced in order for the Galactic Mining Corporation to be able to turn a profit, if" Lincoln raised a single finger to emphasize the point he was about to make. "Galactic Mining would have to replace this entire facility?"

"Well, given Mr. Mudd's estimates on lithium price increases-"

"Let's just stick to current rates, Sybok." Lincoln said quickly.

"Perhaps a hundred thousand tonnes."

"Ok. I want you, Mr. Aphroodle, and ensign Fleegman to do an inventory on how much lithium has already been produced, then I want that plant modified so that it can produce enough lithium that there will be two hundred thousand tonnes before the end of the day. At which point, I want this plant stripped of everything we need to repair the Nixon."

"Yes, sir. Just one question, sir." Sybok was hesitant as he spoke.

"What's that?"

"Do I have to work with Mr. Aphroodle? He gets on my nerves."

"Karma, Sybok."

"Yes. sir." Sybok's shoulders slumped. "Come on, you two, let's go."

"Nixon, are you still there?" Lincoln turned back to his communicator.

"Still here, sir. We managed to get the fire out."

"Fire?" Lincoln caught himself before the crewman could respond. "Never mind that now. I need as many members of the crew with engineering training down here as quickly as you can bring them down. Take a look at the shuttles, and if they're unlikely to kill anyone, use them, we'll worry about the transporters later. If the shuttles need repairs, then figure out which you can fix the fastest: The shuttles or the transporter. Cannibalize anything you need to get the job done. I don't care if you have to pull the life support from sickbay. Just get it done. I expect a progress report in one hour."

"Aye, aye, sir!"

"Lincoln out." He snapped his communicator shut and returned it to his waist. Things might turn out better than he thought. He hurried to join the others at the plant.

Much to his dismay, Lincoln found them, not hard at work inside the plant, but instead standing outside, vomiting profusely. As he ran towards them, his mind raced over what could possibly be causing them to be so sick. Sybok, despite being a Vulcan, was subject to the same kinds of foibles as any human, so it was entirely possible that the reason he was vomiting was because the other two were puking. What was concerning was Mr. Aphroodle's inability to keep his breakfast down. Pakleds weren't terribly bright, and he would be more inclined to see the former contents of the others' stomachs as a hot meal, than a reason to throw up. This could mean that they were all afflicted by some kind of illness. If that were the case, then the entire crew would be at risk, and they would be endanger of failing to complete their mission, in spite of the solution Lincoln had come up with.

Did you name the starship after the villain of Watergate because it was the centennial of his birthday that day?

Nah, I did it because fuck Nixon, the paranoid bastard.

"Sybok," he wheezed. "What's wrong?"

"The smell, captain. Apparently, they failed to bury Lieutenant Kelso and the others. They just left them inside the building."

"You saw the bodies?"

"Just the one, captain." Sybok managed between heaves. "I assume the others are in there as well. Kirk's report to Starfleet was not exactly detailed, as you recall."

Lincoln cursed his luck. They no doubt would have to decontaminate the plant before they could work on anything else inside. This meant that they would be even farther behind the Enterprise than they already were. If they were held up too much longer, it was likely that Commodore Mendez, the head of Section 7G, would assume that the Nixon was in breech of her orders, and have the entire crew arrested the next time they arrived at a starbase. Not good. Not good at all.

Lincoln called up to the Nixon and told them to send down spacesuits along with the first load of supplies and engineers. The progress report they gave him was promising. They had gutted both shuttles and were making good progress on getting the transporters up and running again. Even better news was that all the transmissions from the Enterprise were of a routine nature, with no indication that the ship had encountered anything at all.

Of course, this didn't necessarily mean anything. Kirk's report as to what happened in the wake of their encountering the galactic barrier was rather vague. He had described the discovery of the marker from the Valiant, and its contents, but no mention of how a ship from 2065, when warp drive hadn't even been discovered by Earth, had somehow made it 25,000 lightyears from home. According to him, the Valiant had been ordered to self-destruct after members of the crew had developed "ESP."

He described their entry into the galactic barrier, along with the damage to the ship and deaths of several members of the crew, but nothing about how Lt. Kelso, Dr. Dehner, and Lt. Cmdr. Mitchell died, only that "it was in the course of their duties." This could only be an ass covering move on Kirk's part. If a member of a starship's crew died, Starfleet automatically ordered an investigation of the incident. Death of its personnel was something any good service tried to avoid. If people thought that by putting on a uniform, they were automatically signing their death warrant, they would be unlikely to enlist. So any death had to be investigated to see if it could have been prevented, or to try and prevent it from happening in the future.

Using a cop out, such as saying someone died in the course of their duties, was a euphemism for saying someone fucked up, but you don't want anyone to know about it. Either the deceased did something embarrassing, like dying while performing auto-erotic asphyxiation, or their superior officer fucked up. Knowing Kirk, he was the one who probably screwed up, but that wasn't much help. It was entirely possible that what had led to the deaths of Kelso, Dehner, and Mitchell, would be a threat to their own lives, and they knew nothing which might help them prevent the deaths. None of the Nixon's crew had died when they'd followed the Enterprise into the barrier, nor had any of them developed ESP.

Kirk, ever the man of low cunning, had managed to frame not only Lincoln, when they were together at the Academy, but had also managed implicate the commander of the Academy in a sex scandal involving a Talusian whale donkey. Kirk had then used this to blackmail the Academy commander into ensuring that Kirk's career was never tainted by a black mark on his record. As punishment for his, inadvertent involvement in Kirk's scheme, Lincoln was assigned to Section 7G, and told that if he ever wanted to get into regular Starfleet, he would have to make sure that Kirk's career went swimmingly. Lincoln had assumed that the assignment would be a short one, since Kirk was always getting into trouble and would most likely be killed at some point. It had been over 10 years since then, and Kirk was proving to be depressingly long-lived, even without Lincoln's help. He suspected that Kirk had someone else from Section 7G watching over him, but hadn't been able to prove it yet.

Lincoln phasered out three graves in the ground near the front of the plant. Aphroodle, Sybok, and Fleegman had all recovered from their puking session and were milling about aimlessly. Lincoln realized that he needed to find something productive for them to do, if he ever hoped to get their mission back on schedule.

"Sybok, I want you and the others to try and see if you can speed up the automated mining equipment without going back into the plant. I'll stay here and wait for the supplies to come down and call you when they arrive. We've got to get going on this, somehow."

"And if we can't?"

"Then I want you to come up with a list of components we need in order for this to happen. I don't care what we might have in ship's stores, if we have to, we'll gut everything on the ship, save the transporters, in order to get the ore out of the ground faster. Just get it done, and get it done quickly." Lincoln had sensed that Sybok was going to raise an objection, since the ship's stores were always understocked, and moved to cut off that thought before it could be voiced.

"What we do?" Aphroodle's tone reflected his eternal befuddlement at nearly everything around him.

"We find train! Train that go underground! We make train go faster!" Fleegman snapped.

"Oh."

The trio marched off dejectedly, while Lincoln looked around for some place to sit and wait. Again, he reflected upon the stupidity of beaming down to a planet with a faulty transporter and no supplies. Standard away team kit, per Starfleet regulations was that no crew member was to carry any more than a communicator, phaser, and a tricorder. This made sense, he supposed, if one could always be assured of a safe beam out, or if they knew they weren't going to be beaming down into a potentially hazardous situation. Given, however, that the crew of the Nixon never knew if they were going to be arriving in a hostile environment (Kirk had the tendency to piss off the natives, he'd noticed), or if the transporter was going to work, it made no sense for them to show up with just the standard kit. Of course, the more things they asked the transporter to beam down with them, the more likely it was that one or more of the away team would end up like the poor unfortunates from this mission.

So, what was the solution? Using a combination of shuttles and the transporters might work, but that would require that they could count on both to be operational, something he knew was out of the question. No way was he going to carry extra gear, that was too risky, and damned if he was going to let Kirk out live him if he could help it. They could reduce the size of the away teams to no more than four members, saving the other two transporter pads for survival gear, but that wasn't always possible, as they might need to get a full compliment down in a hurry. A second beam down for the supplies might not be practical, even if the transporters were still functional. He could always make one of the enlisted men carry the gear.

The more he thought about it, that seemed to be the best option. Put them on the back two pads, which always seemed to malfunction, so he never stood on them, and if they made it down with the gear, great. Even if there was some kind of accident, it would be more likely that the gear would survive than any living creature. Nor would the death seem overly suspicious, in fact, transporter deaths were kind of expected on a ship like the Nixon. Starfleet rather preferred if people in Section 7G died in that manner. It eliminated someone they considered to be little more than dead weight, and wouldn't raise too many eyebrows with the deceased's potentially influential relatives back home. It was a near perfect solution, and something that it seemed Kirk was too stupid to figure out.

Sybok stared at the ore train as it exited the mine on its way to the cracking plant. There was no way of telling how old the equipment was. The basic design of mining machinery had changed little over the years. There were material improvements, along with upgrades to the power supply, and the use of phasers instead of cutting bits, but in general, the improvements had all been cosmetic. Except for the controls, which Fleegman, he noticed, was busy trying to sort out. Why humans insisted on having unlabeled lumps of plastic as controls was beyond him. It made everything more difficult, because before you could use something effectively, you had to memorize the exact location of the controls. Perhaps, he thought, that's why the crew of the Lincoln made so many mistakes.

Speaking of mistakes, he dryly mused to himself. Aphroodle was standing and staring at the ore train seeming to drool on himself in his befuddlement.

"Train for what?" Aphroodle asked.

"Train for rock. Train take rock from hole in the ground to machines."

"Why use train? Why not beamer?"

"Yes, beamer used. Beamer break rock so rock can go in train."

"Not that beamer, other beamer!" The Pakled was clearly frustrated about something.

"What 'other beamer,' you half-witted spawn of a Andorian turtle?" Sybok snapped. This was getting frustrating, if they didn't get to work soon, they would have no hope of catching up to the Enterprise.

The Pakled waddled over to the opposite side of the ore train, faced Sybok, said "Other beamer!" and then proceeded to rapidly slap his face while making a high pitched noise. He then crouched down behind the car, scuttled over to one a little farther away, rose up from behind it, stopped slapping his face, repeated the phrase "Other beamer!" and placed his hands on his hips.

Sybok stared stunned at the Pakled. Someone had once said that simple solutions appeal only to the simpleminded, and yet, here, right before his eyes, a simpleton had come up with a more effective method of mining than anyone else in the Federation. It was gapingly obvious to boot, now that he thought about it. Why have beings and/or complicated machinery toiling away in dangerous mines, when they could simply beam the stuff out? Furthermore, if the processing power of the plant's computers was great enough, they could materialize only the refined ore, meaning that, potentially, they could accomplish the task in signicantly less time than they had previously thought.

"Sybok to captain." Once back onboard ship, he was going to have to talk to Mudd. If the two of them were to go into business, operating a mine in the manner that Aphroodle had just described, they could become very rich, no matter what the price of lithium was. They'd have the lowest operating costs in the entire galaxy! "I believe I've found a way for us to be able to leave here ahead of schedule."

There was a tortured scream behind him, and Sybok turned to see Aphroodle grabbing chunks of ore. Sybok ducked as a large hunk rocketed towards his head. It was quickly followed by others as Aphroodle began hurling them at him.

"What's wrong?" Lincoln's voice was concerned.

"Nothing, sir!" Sybok managed between ducks. The hunks were getting larger. "Only I meant to say that Aphroodle and I--"

There was another loud scream from the Pakled.

"I mean to say, Aphroodle has come up with a way of getting the necessary material mined and processed much faster than we had thought possible."

The Pakled dropped the half-meter sized hunk he'd just picked up and nodded happily. There was no trouble with letting him take the credit, Sybok decided. Aphroodle would never be able to capitalize on the idea, and Mudd was certain to see the wisdom in moving quickly when Sybok explained the scheme to him.

Lincoln, upon hearing the plan for extracting and processing the ore using the transporter, was enthusiastic, and ordered the team to return to the plant as the supplies and other engineering personnel had arrived. So far, they had found only the one body, but they'd managed to get it removed and buried. The plant's transporter appeared to be in working order, so they would begin the process as soon as Sybok and the others returned.

They had just reached the plant when they heard a loud booming voice shout, "Well, what do we have here? I would have thought that Jim would be long gone by now."

Looking up towards a cliff some meters away, they saw two figures, a man and a woman, in Starfleet uniforms, staring down at them. While the faces of the figures were indistinct due to the light, there was no missing the glowing eyes both of them had. The man's head was cocked at a slight angle as he glared down at them.

"Who are you?" Lincoln asked, stepping forward.

"Ah, I see," the man said. "You're not with the Enterprise, that would explain why I didn't recognize you, Captain Lincoln. I was once known as Gary Mitchell, and she was once known as Dr. Elizabeth Dehner, but you may call me 'God' and her, 'Goddess.'"

"Mitchell? Dehner? But you're dead!" Lincoln was incredulous.

"Jim Kirk dropped a rock on me." Mitchell and Dehner floated to the ground in front of Lincoln and the others. "Kirk, that lover of long hair literature should have known that one does not kill a god by dropping a rock on him."

"Oh, God!" screamed Fleegman. "We're going to die! I don't want to die!"

Mitchell waved his hand and Fleegman was suddenly gagged and mummified in duct tape. Fleegman responded by putting up a frantic struggle which served solely in causing him to lose balance and topple over. He proceeded to thrash about on the ground, Mitchell eyed Fleegman darkly for a moment, then a large boulder appeared, hovering over Fleegman, who instantly froze, and then soiled his uniform.

"Good." Mitchell's voice was softly menacing. "So long as you're quiet and don't move, nothing will happen to you."

"Now, what shall we do with the rest of you?" Mitchell began striding around Lincoln, like a drill sergant inspecting a raw recruit. "On the one hand, you have as much reason to hate Jim Kirk as I do. On the other, your whole career is built around protecting Kirk. An ironic punishment, I must admit."

Mitchell stepped away from Lincoln and began to circle Sybok.

"And you are the disowned brother of Mr. Spock. Sybok Spock, what a singularly unimaginative name, even for a Vulcan, but unlike the other Vulcans, you seem to be a bit more relaxed."

"Oh, thank you, sir! I have tried hard to--" Sybok began.

"Shut up!" Mitchell's tone was harsh, the ground rumbling under their feet for effect. "And wipe that simpering grin off your face, it makes you look dumber than you already are!"

He next moved to examine the chief engineer.

"Aphroodle Aphroodle, so named because the only species more lacking in imagination than the Vulcans are the Pakleds. The only reason you're in Starfleet is because one admiral has a thing for big, dumb women, and unfortunately for him, she wasn't quite as dumb as he thought. Too bad you're too stupid to be able to capitalize upon the opportunity fate has given you."

Mitchell gestured in the direction of Sybok.

"Do you know, Mr. Aphroodle Aphroodle," he said mockingly. "That Sybok here, plans to take your idea for mining and processing lithium and profit from it? And he has no intention of sharing any of the profits with you."

Aphroodle made a sound like a wounded hog and leapt towards Sybok, only to find himself suspended in mid-air by a gesture from Mitchell. He hung there for several moments, his limbs whirling in impotent rage as Mitchell laughed at him. Then, with a twist of his hand, Mitchell dropped the Pakled, and held him immobile on the ground.

"Calm down, my semi-evolved friend," Mitchell's laugh was cold. "What Sybok doesn't know is that were he to undertake such an endeavor with Mr. Mudd, he would never see a single credit. Nor does he realize that Mudd has spent the money Sybok's already given him, not on lithium futures as he has been told, but on wine, women, and song. With more emphasis on the wine and women than the song."

"Gary, stop torturing these poor children," Dr. Dehner spoke up at last. "They haven't hurt you, and its not their fault that they're here."

"You're right," Mitchell waved his hands, and the crew found themselves seated in comfortable chairs, free from all bonds. "I gave Jim Kirk the chance to leave me here in exile, as he claimed he wanted to do. Instead, he came after us and tried to kill us. He thought that I was arrogant for calling myself a god, but what kind of man offers his friend sanctuary, and then proceeds to try and kill that friend? Kirk is an arrogant coward. Once he decided the rules of the game, he sought to change them, and didn't even bother to ensure that we were dead. Preferring instead to flee, rather than face the consequences of his actions."

"As Sulu pointed out," he continued. "Our, since I must include the lovely Dr. Dehner in my account, power is growing exponentially. Before Kirk tried to kill me, I materialized a number of plants to provide us food. The amount of energy required to create even one ounce, is greater than that of the Earth's sun. And I did it all by waving my hand. If Kirk had paid attention in his physics courses, he would have known that there was no point in fucking with me. He would have gotten the hell of here, the moment he realized we were gone, and hoped that we had forgotten about him.

"Of course, he might have thought about that if Spock hadn't asked Scotty to beam down that phaser rifle. So much for the logical Mr. Spock. Even if Kirk was too busy chasing Carol Marcus' skirt to pay attention in physics, Spock, the passionless Vulcan should have known better than to bother. Flintlocks against the Enterprise would have been more effective than a phaser rifle against me."

"You'll have to forgive my brother," Sybok interrupted. "He likes to pretend that his human half doesn't influence his thinking, but any Vulcan could tell you that he was 'emotionally afflicted.' Not that this is a bad thing."

"Kirk would expect me to kill you for saying that," Mitchell paused in his pacing as he spoke, looking at Sybok. "But there is wisdom in what you speak. Really, the reason that you Vulcan's are so dispassionate is that you had so little to inspire you on that planet of yours. On Earth, when men looked up at the night sky, they saw the Moon, so tantalizingly close, yet so impossible for them to reach.

"The Moon inspired poets, artists, composers. Men that more mundane fellows like Jim Kirk looked up to. Perhaps if you Vulcans had had something similar, you might not have such a large stick up your asses. I think. I think. I think I should do something to change that.

"Yes," Mitchell's head twisted around at an odd angle. "You Vulcan's would be much better off if you had something like Earth's Moon to look up to. But not for all of your history. You are too far bloody a species to allow to run rampant across the cosmos without something to temper your hot blood."

"Gary," Dr. Dehner's voice was concerned. "What are you thinking? You're not planning on hurting them, my love?"

"Of course not, my dear." Mitchell's tone was conciliatory as he looked at her. "I merely wish to give them something to inspire some of them to become romantics. I also want to give them an extra push, one that Earth didn't have."

Mitchell held his hands up, almost as if he was praying. Lincoln and the others felt a strange shift. One that they couldn't explain. There was the strange feeling of motion, yet they knew that they hadn't moved at all in their seats. It was almost as if they were onboard the Nixon, when it was doing an evasive maneuver, and the inertial dampers had gone again.

"What just happened?" Lincoln asked.

"Sybok, tell me what you see in the sky." Mitchell responded, in lieu of answering Lincoln's question.

"I, I, see what looks to be Vulcan!" Sybok's mouth was agape. "You've moved us to Vulcan?"

"Much more than that, but before I go into more detail, why don't you explain to the others what's so remarkable about where we are."

"It is impossible for a world this size to be so close to Vulcan without the gravitational forces causing immense problems on both worlds. In addition to earthquakes and atmospheric turbulence, both worlds should be drawn together by their gravitational fields, and Vulcan's orbit shifted dramatically. None of that seems to be happening!"

"Excellent, Sybok." Mitchell beamed proudly. "An accurate assessment of the situation, and far more succinct than what your brother would say. You may thank me, for the lack of disaster currently afflicting your ancestors."

"Ancestors?"

"Come on now, Sybok. Do you think putting a moon around Vulcan in the 23rd century will do much to get your fellow Vulcans to relax a bit? Where's the mystery? They could beam themselves up here in an instant, and start to figure out what's going on. No, putting this planet here as a moon just after Surak turned you people on to logic will have the biggest impact. You'll still be the pointy-eared Zen masters of the galaxy, so no worries about you playing a part in Vulcans conquering everyone and turning them all into slaves, but maybe you guys won't be the rigid assholes you've always been."

"Well, aren't you festive!" The statement came from a man, dressed in an outfit which resembled something a Rennaisance fop might wear, standing atop the cliff where Mitchell and Dehner first appeared. He floated down beside Mitchell with a flourish.

"Oh wait, you're a breeder, aren't you." The man said with a sneer after he noticed Dr. Dehner. "I was wondering who had been mucking about in my part of the galaxy. Let me guess, you went into the galactic barrier, had your brains scrambled and now you think you're a god."

In response, Mitchell shot lightning bolts from his fingers at the sudden interloper. These were deflected with a laugh by the figure.

"Oh, please, that crap was lame in Jedi two hundred years ago. You just moved a planet across twenty five thousand lightyears and almost ten thousand years into the past, and when you're confronted with someone who's your equal your response is to shoot lightning at them? Why don't you make some 'pew, pew' noises while you're at it?"

An elaborately carved wooden throne appeared and the stranger seated himself in a mincing manner.

"As much as I love your idea of giving Vulcan an impossible moon, we just can't leave it like this."

"Why not?" Mitchell was contemplating his options. His powers were still new to him, so he didn't really have an idea of what could do from an experiential standpoint. The newcomer's abilities were a total mystery to him as well. Whomever, or whatever, he was, he was strong enough to block Mitchell's efforts to probe his mind.

"Because it would totally screw up the time line, silly!" there was a note of exasperation in the stranger's voice. "If that happens, then I won't be able to meet the Peak Hard!"

"The Peak Hard?" Lincoln's interjection was soft, as he wasn't certain how these godlike beings would react to him speaking.

"Captain Jean-Luc Picard," he said with a rhapsodic expression on his face. "Future captain of the USS Enterprise-D and E. An old man, by human standards, but he has the tightest buns in the galaxy, and he would let me watch. Sometimes.

"Oh, I'm Q, by the way," Q stood up and quickly made the rounds of the Nixon's crew, shaking their hands. When he reached Mitchell and Dehner he stopped. "No point in shaking either of your hands, since I've ruined your little game. Oh, and as soon as we wrap things up here, you two are going to have to meet the rest of the Q Continuum, I'm afraid. Its a rule, you see. we omnipotent types stick together, lest these lesser beings come up with a way to kill us."

With a snarl, Mitchell threw himself on Q and began pummeling him brutally. It was a risky, but calculated move on his part. He figured that the one thing Q would be incapable of predicting was a physical attack. Given that one is supposed to launch an attack using one's most powerful assets, it only stood to reason that Q hadn't had to deal with a direct physical confrontation in some time. So, that would be where he was weakest.

And, indeed, he was. Mitchell's fists encountered no resistance from tensed muscles, only soft, buttery flesh, that rewarded his blows with high pitched screams and flailing limbs. In response to this, Mitchell began using his mental abilities to augment his punches. Not putting psychic blows against Q's body, but enlarging his muscles to increase the power of each punch. It wasn't long before he began to hear the satisfying sound of Q's bones breaking.

"Enough!" Dr. Dehner shouted, flinging her arms wide. Q and Mitchell found themselves flying away from each other and pinned to the ground by the power of Dehner's mind. "Gary, get rid of those stupid muscles, you make the Hulk look skinny, and Q, you keep your damned mouth shut while I speak."

Q closed his mouth, and did his best to look meek, while he concentrated on healing his shattered bones and ruptured internal organs. Organic bodies could be such a hassle at times, but they did make exploring the universe more interesting. Besides, without a body, he had nothing to stroke the Peak Hard with, and, oh, was that man divine.

"For omnipotent beings, you two are a couple of idiots," she continued, her eyes blazing white. "Notice I said 'are' and not 'acting like.' By moving Delta Vega here, Gary has created an alternate timeline. This means that there's another universe where Picard goes on to command the Enterprise, and Q can hang out in that universe and get all the old man booty he wants. Provided, of course, the two of you don't do anything else stupid to fuck things up. Like marooning the crew of the Nixon here, because the two of you are more interested in having a supreme being dick measuring contest than getting anything done."

Both men looked sheepish. Q appeared to be on the verge of tears, while Gary desperately tried to think of things he could do to try and smooth things over with Elizabeth. He thought about rearranging a star cluster so that it spelled out the words, "I love you, baby," but realized that might not be enough. Perhaps if he also made a planet populated by tribbles and kittens she would forgive him.

"I'm sorry," Gary said meekly.

"I'm sorry, too." Q added.

"Okay, I'll let the two of you go, but if either one of you starts anything, I'm going to rip your dick off and stuff it in your own mouth. Wait, no, Q, you'd probably just enjoy that. In your case, I'll stick your nuts on the event horizon of a black hole. Let's see how sexy you are with a set of balls stretched a couple of lightyears."

She dropped her arms, and the two men rose gingerly to their feet, heads hung down in shame.

"That's better. Now, Gary, let's see if you were smart enough to bring the Nixon along with us." She glanced skyward. "Nope, I should have known that would be the case. Okay, now we're going to have to create another Delta Vega and have it appear a femtosecond after this one disappeared. Any longer than that, and the crew will probably have noticed that the planet disappeared."

She wiggled her nose, and then smiled. There was a lesser strange shift, like the one they had felt before, which could only mean that they had been returned to their own time period and placed on the new Delta Vega.

"That's done. Should we wipe their minds?" pointing to Lincoln and the others. "No, the memories of what happened here might come in useful for them, and will help ensure that Picard becomes captain of the Enterprise one day. I guess the only thing left for us to do is go meet this Continuum you were talking about, Q."

"Uh, excuse me," Lincoln spoke up nervously. "Before you go, could I ask a favor of you?"

"What's that?"

"Um," Lincoln scratched his head, absentmindedly. "I was just thinking, I'm guessing that those of us on the Nixon play a part in making sure that Picard becomes captain one day."

"Well," Q waved his hand exorbitantly. "If it weren't for the Enterprise having such a positive impression upon Starfleet, they never would have named another ship that, or sought to put their best captain onboard her. Like the navy they're modeled after, Starfleet is big on tradition. If only they were as big on seamen as the old navies were."

"Well, in order for us to be able to do our job, we kind of need a better ship." Lincoln ignored Q's big sigh and downward glance. "I mean, right now, we're dead in space, and even with the repairs we can make, we'll still have trouble keeping up with Kirk. And well, you've seen the kinds of screw ups he's capable of. Don't you think it would be a good idea for us to have a ship we didn't have to worry about breaking down constantly on us?"

Elizabeth thought for a few moments, looked at Mitchell who gave her a "whatever you want, babe" expression. Q, she noticed, was nodding vigorously and making the shape of firm buttocks with his hands, while thrusting his pelvis vigorously.

"All right, but you're not getting a brand new ship. That would raise too many questions. I'll restore the Nixon to her condition when she was originally built."

"Thank you." Lincoln bowed in admiration.

"Ok, you two, let's go meet the Continuum."

Dehner, Mitchell and Q quickly faded away, but not before Lincoln thought he heard Q say, "Is she on the rag, or what?"

"Let's go home," Lincoln pulled out his communicator and asked for the team to be beamed up.


Captain's Log: Stardate 1315.1 Dr. Dehner has fucked us. The Nixon's a fifty year old ship, and when she said that she would restore the ship to its original condition, I thought that would mean giving us a ship like the Nixon if it had been built today. Instead, we got a brand new ship, based on a fifty year old design, so she's lacking all of the upgrades to things like the hull plating, engines, deflector shields, weapons, and other equipment that's been done over the years. In short, we're just as fucked as we were, only in a different way. Mr. Aphroodle and Sybok are trying to rig something up so that we can at least reach warp 9. Otherwise, its unlikely we'll be able to catch up with the Enterprise any time soon. Suicide is beginning to look like a viable option at this point.

Nice one - do we get to see further adventures of the Starship Nixon?

In theory, there are 78 or so more episodes to go, after all. That one took longer than I expected to bang out, so the next one will have to wait until I have a little more free time.