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From: SWBURT0@ukcc.uky.edu
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: Star Trek vs Star Wars (1/13)
Date: Fri, 27 Jan 95 15:58:31 EST
Organization: The University of Kentucky
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Star Trek and Star Trek characters are copyrighted by Paramont and whomever.
Star Wars and Star Wars characters are copyrighted by Lucasfilm and whomever.
This posting is a non-profit, unofficial fan-fiction posting done purely
for fun and for private enjoyment.  No violation of copyrights is intentional
Resemblance of any character or story to
anyone living, dead, fictional or otherwise is purely coincidental.
 
 
"Imperial Domination"
 
Episode 1: Blank Slate
 
The Imperial Star Destroyer _Manifest_Destiny_ appeared to hang motionlessly
against an endless backdrop of stars.  But its apparent stillness was only
an illusion caused by its massive size and by the fact that it had dropped
out of hyperspace far from any star system.
 
"We have come out of hyperspace, Captain Biehn," the bridge officer said to
the angular man standing just behind him.  Captain Biehn nodded silently.
A cold pensiveness seeped from his gray eyes as he pressed his thin lips
together.  The bridge officer watched him expectantly.
 
After several long moments, Captain Biehn returned from his private thoughts.
"What do the sensors report?" he asked the bridge officer.
 
"The instruments have not detected any artificial signals as of yet, but
the computers are still sifting through the reports from the survey drones."
"It does appear to be a very quiet patch of space, doesn't it?" said Biehn
amicably.  "Although, appearances can be deceiving."
 
"Sir?"  The bridge officer's voice echoed his confusion.
 
"The ship that popped out of the Devix worm hole had detailed maps of this
area, an area which lies far outside known space.  In addition, the Devix
worm hole ship lacked any maps of Imperial space, all of which adds up to
the conclusion that that ship came from an interstellar civilization outside
the realm of the Empire," said Captain Biehn.
 
"But, that's impossible," stammered the bridge officer.  "The galaxy has
been charted and colonized since the earliest days of the Old Republic.  Our
Imperial forces routinely patrol from one end of the galaxy to the other.
How could a new region in space suddenly appear out of nowhere?"
 
Captain Biehn's eyes had that faraway look again.  "However improbable that
conclusion might seem, it is a possibility that we must explore and exploit,
if possible."  He shrugged.  "Galaxies do cross occassionally, and when they
do, strange things happen to the fabric of space and time.  Whatever has
caused this new region of space to open up is of concern to the Imperial
scientists and not to us.  We are here only to gather as much intelligence
as possible while the worm hole exists.  Hopefully, we may find a few more
ships and artifacts of alien technology for engineers back home.  It would be
quite a boon to the Empire if we brought home the secrets of long range
matter-energy transportation from this little safari."
 
A buzz of activity broke out at one of the sensor stations, and the officer
in charge strode up to Captain Biehn.  "We're picking up an alien ship on
our scanners.  It is closing in on us very quickly."
 
"Let's have a look," said Captain Biehn as he followed the surveillence
officer to an appropriate station.
 
"The ship is approaching at an acute vector but appears to be slowing," said
the second officer.
 
"Coming to investigate the new worm hole, no doubt," commented Biehn.  He
gestured for the officer to continue.
 
The woman glanced up at Captain Biehn and said, "Sensors indicate
that the ship apparently travels at supralight speeds by distorting the
immediate space around it.  It doesn't appear to have any hyperdrive
capability, though."
 
"Just like the Devix ship," said Biehn, "I can see why a worm hole would be
exciting for them.  If they have to actually traverse normal space rather than
cut through hyperspace, they must be quite limited in how far they can go.
That warp field makes them ridiculously easy to track in normal space."
"But they can't seriously be considering traveling through the worm hole?
Without a hyperdrive, how would they ever get back if it collapsed while
they were on the other side?"
 
Captain Biehn's expression was calmly logical.  "Judging from what the Devix
ship did, I imagine that traveling down the worm hole is exactly what our new
friends have in mind.  And their lack of hyperdrive means that we have an
advantage; if they prove to be too hostile for us, we can always collapse
the worm hole and go home knowing that they won't be able to follow us, as
long as they don't steal any of our technology while we are trying to steal
theirs."
 
"Captain, the alien ship is now within two standard orbits of our outer
perimeter.  Shall we try to cripple it?"
Captain Biehn considered his possible strategies for a moment and then said,
"Perhaps we should test the strength of our opponent first.  Launch a flight
of TIE-fighters and have them scout out the alien ship."
 
- - -
 
"Suit up, guys."  Roland sounded annoyingly cheerful as he interrupted his
two wingmen in their game of holographic chess.
 
Graham gave his flight leader a dirty look but continued to play, making
a carefully deliberated move.  His partner Kyle studied the move with the
utmost concentration, totally ignoring the call to duty.
 
"Hey," said Roland, leaning over the gaming table, "Time to go.  Our wing
is due out in fifteen.  Scramble."   He reached over and touched a control.
The chess pieces flickered and then disappeared.
 
Roland's two wingmen groaned and muttered their complaints.  "For all the
fiery gas of Benarg," Graham cursed, "I was winning."
 
"Let's go," said Roland, rapping his knuckles aginst the table.
 
Kyle, the younger of the two players, rose from the table and headed out of
the rec room after his wing leader.  Graham grumbled under his breath at
his bad luck.  As they picked up speed walking through the stark halls of the
Imperial Star Destroyer, Graham caught Kyle by the sleeve and said,  "You
owe me."
 
"But we didn't finish the game," protested Kyle.  "All bets are off."
 
"But I was winning," Graham insisted.
 
"So sue me," Kyle dodged into the pilots' locker room.
 
"Cut it out and get suited up," snapped Roland irritated.
 
When Roland had turned his back, Graham whispered conspiratorily at Kyle,
"When we get back, you owe me another game."
 
"Yeah, sure," said Kyle distractedly, and the three pilots rapidly dressed
and hurried out towards their TIE-fighters.
 
----
 
"Deanna," said Dr. Beverly Crusher, "I'm worried about April.  I don't think
that she's gotten over her husband's death.  It's been almost a year, and
she's still showing signs of grieving."
 
"Many people feel a deep sense of loss many years after the death of a loved
one," replied Deanna Troi, ship's counselor on board the Federation starship
_Enterprise_.
 
"But she spends half her time on the holodeck and the other half of her
time nose deep in work.  Did you know that she's been trying to get the
holodeck computer to think like her husband?"
 
Deanna's eyebrows arched in surprise, "Really?  May be I should ask her about
it in our next session.  Although, more than a few people that we know have
tried to recreate important relationships using the holodeck computers."
 
"You don't quite understand," said Dr. Crusher, "I mean that she's trying to
feed in the thought patterns and memories of her late husband into the
computer."
 
Deanna shook her head uncomprehendingly, "Memories?  What do you mean?"
 
"April Sullivan is a brilliant energy-matter physiologist.  Her specialty
is in transporter technology, and her latest work involves the long term
storage of matter-matrix patterns."
 
"Well, I know that," Deanna said, "Which makes having loss Dave in a
transporter accident very traumatic for her.  We've discussed that often,
but she seems to be handling it very well these days."
 
"What concerns me is the reason for why I think she appears to be handling
her loss so well, because I don't think she is.  One of the med techs in her
lab told me that Dr. Sullivan has extracted her husband's neural patterns
from some of her sample data.  Evidently, her husband played guinea pig for
some of her work."
 
"But I thought that there weren't any stored matter-patterns of her husband.
Otherwise, it would have been possible to avoid the accident, or at least to
recover from it."
 
Dr. Crusher fidgetted as she said, "The problem is that there weren't any
complete matrix records of her husband, but April has somehow found enough
data to duplicate Dave's brain."
 
"His brain?"  Deanna sound incredulous, "Just his brain?  What is she going
to do with a disembodied brain?"
 
 
"That's what I've been trying to tell you.  I think that she's trying to
use that data to program the holodeck computer to create a surrogate husband.
I'm not sure that it's healthly to try to bring someone back from the dead by
putting his brain into a computer generated image.  I think you should talk
to her,"  Dr. Crusher rubbed her arms nervously, "Before she creates her
own Frankstein monster."
 
"I think you're right," Deanna agreed. "I'd better have a talk with her."
 
----
 
Captain's log
 
The _Enterprise_ is currently investigating the disappearance of several
civillian craft, including a small research vessel contracted out by the
Star Fleet Academy.  A total of fifteen craft have disappeared from the
Lassiter sector during the last two weeks, and Star Fleet has ordered us
to investigate.  So far, we have not discovered the cause of the
disappearances, nor have we even determined whether or not they are all
related to one another somehow.  My team has come up with several working
theories, all of which are equally likely and equally unsupported.  Both
Riker and Lieutenant Worf feel that pirates may be operating in the area,
but Lieutenant Commander Data has offered an interesting theory based on the
sporadic appearance of an enormous worm hole in this sector.  Data theorizes
that the ships may have somehow wandered or been pulled down the worm hole
only to have it collapse after them.  If this is so, they could be thousands
of years away from us even at warp speeds.
 
While Data's theory is rather off the wall, I think that it is worth checking
out.  I have instructed that a probe be launched through the wormhole the
next time it appears, so we can determine if any of the missing ships are
perhaps trapped on the other side, although this may be a wasted effort if
the other end of the wormhole is changing locations each time it opens.  If
it is and the missing ships have had the misfortune to travel down the
wormhole, we will be able to do little for them except mourn their passing.
 
----
 
Captain Jean-Luc Picard had gathered his command staff in his ready room for
a briefing on their upcoming mission.  "We have received reports of a new
worm hole in the Transient Sector, and Star Fleet has asked us to investigate
it."
 
William Riker shifted in his seat.  "I take it that we aren't the only ones
who are interested in this hole."
 
"You're absolutely right, Number One," said Picard, "But hopefully we'll be
one of the first ones there.  Preliminary reports indicate that this is no
ordinary worm hole.  In fact, it may be connecting us to another galaxy."
 
"An intergalactic worm hole?" echoed Geordi La Forge.  "That's incredible."
 
Riker nodded and said, "I imagine that the Ferengi will be crawling all over
the area, trying to wring out as much profit as they can."
 
"Yes," said Picard, "That is to be expected.  And we, too, need to make the
most of this rare opportunity.  The conjunction of two galaxies is a rare
enough occurance, but coupled with the unexpected benefit of a worm hole,
we have a chance to peer into a galaxy other than our own Milky Way.  But I
must urge caution.  Star Fleet Intelligence has informed us that several
ships have already disappeared in this sector."
 
"Disappeared?  Into the worm hole?" asked Riker.
 
"That would be a logical conclusion," Data piped in.
 
A pained expression crossed Picard's face. "Actually," he said slowly, "We
just don't have any more information.  Several smaller vessels, including a
Ferengi trader, have disappeared from the area.  And the Ferengi are accusing
the Federation of piracy.  Star Fleet has instructed us to use the utmost
caution in investigating this worm hole.  Someone on the other side may very
well trying to investigate us."
 
"Fascinating," said Data.
 
Worf wrinkled his face in alarm.  "Perhaps the forces on the other side of
the worm hole are preparing an invasion.  We must be prepared to defend
ourselves," he said forcefully.
 
"Perhaps," said Deanna Troi thoughtfully, "Perhaps they are as curious about
us as we are about them.  We could be quite alien to them."
 
"Well, right now, this is all speculation.  We don't even know if there is
a 'Them' for us to be concerned about.  Nevertheless, I want the crew to
be held on the alert, just in case."
 
 
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From: SWBURT0@ukcc.uky.edu
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: Star Trek vs Star Wars (2/13)
Date: Fri, 27 Jan 95 16:02:12 EST
Organization: The University of Kentucky
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- - -
 
The Imperial Star Destroyer cruised silently across the vast emptiness beween
the outer planets of an alien star system.  As it passed a huge gaseous
planet, the massive destroyer spawned a cloud of tiny, one man, twin ion
engine fighters.  The ships began racing towards the star system's inner
planets in groups of three.
 
 
"Angel leader to Angel Two, close it up Kyle," Roland said over the
com.
 
"Wilco, Angel leader.  I'm picking up the target now, at oh six point two.
It appears to be headed towards a small space station of some kind," said
Graham.
 
"Roger, Angel One.  We'll close and intercept before it has a chance to dock.
Remember, we want the ship intact.  Shoot only to disable.  The captain wants
artifacts and live specimens," Roland instructed his two wingmen.
 
Kyle chuckled, "Specimens?  Is that what that old pirate is calling the ships
we've been hauling on board?  Specimens?  He makes it sound like we're on
some sort of scientific expedition instead of trying to steal whatever we can
from the ships in this part of space."
 
Roland smiled beneath his breathing mask.  "We aren't stealing, exactly.  At
least not in the Corellian sense.  We're just 'borrowing' a few of these
alien ships to see how they work, that's all.  They may not have much of a
range, but if these ships are anything like what fell out of the Devix
wormhole, then the Imperial lab boys will be able to piece together how
those teleportation devices work.  Can you imagine just how quickly we could
end this rebellion if we could teleport an entire battallion of stormtroopers
anywhere we wanted?  And if we can end the Rebellion, then we can all go
home."
 
"Well," said Graham, "I've heard that the xenobiologists have been doing a
little piecing together of their own.  Or I should say breaking into pieces.
I've heard that they've been vivisecting the crews from the alien ships."
 
"Rumors," said Roland, "Those are just rumors.  I can't believe you thought
those were true.  Nobody in the fleet would be that barbaric."
 
Graham persisted. "Oh, yeah?  Then what have they been doing with all of those
aliens they've been finding?  And how come they won't tell us anything about
them?"
 
"I've heard that some of them are human," said Kyle.
 
"Don't be ridiculous," said Roland, "The chances of human lifeforms developing
in another galaxy are astronomically small."
 
"Cut the chatter," broke in a fourth voice, the attack commander. "Angel
flight, prepare to engage the target."
 
----
 
Lieutenant Grimly did a double-take at his scanner console.  Instead of
seeing the single scheduled shuttle in his scopes, he saw about a dozen of
tiny, fast moving objects approaching.  A quick check confirmed that the
blips on his scanners were artificial and self-propelled, unmistakably
spacecraft of some type or another, although the computer failed to identify
them.
 
Suddenly, a garbled signal from the supply shuttle burst through.  "...under
attack! ... assist...."  Grimly read his scanners, which echoed what the
broken transmission tried to report.  The dozen or so objects began swarming
all over the Federation shuttlecraft.  The scanners picked up the telltale
signs of energy residues from high energy particle beams and explosive solids
surrounded the shuttle.  Helpless in the science station, Grimly could do
nothing except trigger the station's own defences and send out a distress
call.  Grimly just hoped that whoever was attacking the shuttle didn't also
decide to attack the station.
 
----
 
"We are receiving an urgent distress call from Science Station Hawking,"
reported Lieutenant Worf, with a slight edge in his voice.  "Pirates are
attacking the station's scheduled supply shuttle, and the station is
requesting immediate assistance."
 
So this is it, thought Picard to himself.  "Commander Data, plot us an
intercept course for Science Station Hawking, warp nine."
 
Commander Data worked inhumanly fast and soon said, "Course laid in."
 
"Engage," said Picard.
 
The _Enterprise_ leaped forward.
 
----
 
The Star Destroyer _Manifest_Destiny_ locked a powerful tractor beam on the
alien ship and reeled in its newest victim with an irresistible force.  The
crippled shuttle could do nothing to stop it inexorable journey towards the
enormous battle ship.
 
Their immediate task accomplished, Angel flight circled casually about, as if
reluctant to return to the confines of their mothership.  Roland frowned as he
scanned the subspace bands for any intership communications.  The space
station towards which the shuttle had been heading was broadcasting a tight
message deep into space.
 
"Angel leader to Heaven's Gate," Roland said, contacting the
_Manifest_Destiny_
 
 
"I'm picking up some directed transmissions from a space station orbiting
an inner planet.  The transmissions seem to be directed out of the system."
 
After a pause, the logistics coordinator on the Star Destroyer responded,
"Roger, Angel leader.  Have your team investigate the station, and report
back on whether or not the station looks like it can be taken."
 
"What?" said Kyle in disbelief over the flight's private channel.  "Has the
captain gone mad?  He can't be serious about wanting to take that space
station.  It's not like picking off a freighter."
 
Graham smirked, "It's his Corellian blood.  It's adled his brains.  On the
other hand, that station probably hasn't got much in the way of defenses, or
else they would have started shooting at us the moment we grabbed their
shuttle."
 
Acknowledging his team's new orders, Roland sighed.  "You heard the woman,
let's go in.  But keep your forward deflector shields at full power.  Guns
or no, those aliens still have teleportation devices we don't even undestand,
so keep your heads and your distance.  We're just supposed to do a quick
looksee."
 
The three TIE-fighters turned in formation with precision as they arced
towards Science Station Hawking.
 
----
 
"Captain, we've just entered the Hawking system now," announced Data.
 
"I'm picking up a large ship just off of the starboard bow," added Worf.  "I
also detect numerous smaller ships, possible shuttlecraft or single person
fighters."
 
"Hail the ship," ordered Picard.
 
"The ship is retreating, heading out of the system," said Worf, "Shall I
give them a warning shot across the bow?"
 
"We don't even know they are," said Picard. "Data, can you identify them?"
 
"Negative, captain.  The ship is of an unknown design."
 
Picard looked unhappy. "What can you tell me about them?"
 
Turning to face the captain, Data said, "The ship appears to be powered
by sublight speed engines, with limited armaments and layered shielding.
It also appears to be carrying approximately forty-six thousand seven hundred
eighty five beings on board, most of whom are possibly human."
 
Data's last remark surprised Picard, "Human?  Could they be pirates?"
 
"Possibly," said Data, "Although it seems unlikely that a pirate ship would
carry so large a crew.  A crew of that magnitude would suggest a more formal
organization, perhaps a military one."
 
"Human," mused Picard, "But where are they from?  Who are they?"
 
"No response to our hails," said Worf.
 
"Keep trying," said Picard.
 
"Captain, the ship appears to be withdrawing," Worf said.
 
"Yes, Lieutenant Worf, I am aware of that," said Picard.
 
"Sir, if they are pirates or some other unknown hostiles, shouldn't we be
trying to stop them?" insisted the Klingon.
 
Picard scowled at his unpleasant prospect.  "You are right, Lieutenant.  Put
a shot across their bows, and tell them to prepare to be boarded."
 
The _Enterprise_ powered up her phasers and sent a blast of energy hurtling
across the flat forward section of the Imperial Star Destroyer.
 
----
 
Captain Dieter Biehn, ever a cautious sort when it came to his own survival,
didn't like the look of the aggressive frigate that had come racing into
the system.  The powerful bolt of energy that had flashed across his forward
bow and that caused a spike in the power sensors only justified his
misgivings.
 
"Recall the fighters," he ordered, "And prepare for the jump into hyperspace."
 
"We're retreating?" asked a bridge officer in disbelief.
 
The normally flamboyant and charismatic Corellian captain frowned, "Call it
a strategic withdrawal.  I just don't want to tangle with a ship of unknown
strength.  I've got a few tens of thousands of lives to worry about, and if
we get into trouble, there ain't nobody on this side of the hole that's
going to stop and give us a helping hand."
 
The bridge officer nodded.  Bluntly stated, the captain's decision seemed to
make perfect sense.
 
 
 
----
 
"We're being recalled," said Roland, just as the three TIE-fighters swept
by the space station.  "The ship's going to make a jump as soon as it clears
the outer planet, so we'll need to run on afterburners if we don't want to
miss the boat."
 
The lead TIE-fighter pulled up sharply away from the station and sprinted for
deep space.  His two wingmen followed closely.
 
"I'm picking up a frigate or destroyer or something between us and the
_Manifest_Destiny_," said Kyle, "May be we should give it a wide berth."
 
"Negative," said Roland, "Unless you guys want to miss the bus, we fly a
direct course and just pray that that ship doesn't see us."
 
----
 
"Enemy ship accelerating away," said Worf.
 
Picard hid his irritation at the Klingon's immediate assumption that the
fleeing ship was hostile.  But Worfs the ship's weapons officer, and
thinking in those terms was hib.  "Set in an intercept course,
Commander Data."
 
"Sir," interrupted Worf, "I'm picking up three small enemy craft headed
straight for us.  Do I have permission to fire?"
 
"Shoot only if fired upon, Lieutenant."
 
Commander Riker turned to face Picard and said, "Captain, perhaps we should
try capture one of those ships using the tractor beam.  If they won't
voluntarily tell us who they are or what they want, may be we can ask one of
them, face to face."
 
The suggestion rather disgusted Picard at first, and yet, it was at once
a practical and sensible thing to do.  "Make it so," Picard ordered.
 
Data spoke up quickly. "I do not think that would be a wise thing to do,
captain," the android said.  "My analysis of the alien craft suggests that
the angle at which we would be applying force on the ships and the speed at
which they are moving would cause enough shearing force to disintegrate
our target."
 
"Belay that order," said Picard hastily.  "Worf, can you coordinate with
the transporter room to beam one of the pilots on board as soon as the tractor
beam is applied?"
 
"Captain," Geordi La Forge interrupted, "According to my readings, we should
be able to beam the pilot in directly, without using the tractor beam."
 
"Those ships are unshielded?" asked Picard.
 
"They do have minimal shielding, but not enough to block a transporter beam,"
said Geordi.
 
"Then make it so.  Worf, have Officer O'Brian select one of the three ships
and bring its pilot on board.  Also, send a security team to the transporter
room to meet him."
 
 
 
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From: SWBURT0@ukcc.uky.edu
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: Star Trek vs Star Wars (3/13)
Date: Fri, 27 Jan 95 16:02:55 EST
Organization: The University of Kentucky
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----
 
The three TIE-fighters faced the last obstacle between them and safety, the
fast moving frigate.  The tiny ships raced hopefully past the alien craft,
which boast huge yet strangely beautiful engine nacelles.
 
Kyle trailed his companions slightly, distracted by the sight of such a weird
looking ship.  As he skimmed over the top of the alien craft and away from it,
however, he thought he heard a low, mind-numbing hum.  His enemy now behind
him, Kyle instinctively readjusted the power on his shielding to give
maximum power to the rear deflector shields.  Even as he did so, however,
everything seemed to blur and dissolve around him.
 
----
 
"We are ready for the jump, sir," reported a bridge officer on board the
_Manifest_Destiny_.  "But one of the fighter wings is reporting a missing
man."
 
An energy burst from the alien ship streaked across the destroyer's bows.
Captian Biehn frowned and ordered, "Commence jump."
 
"Enemy ship, accelerating to light speed," said Worf, his voice rising
with excitement.
 
"Follow them," order Picard.
 
The _Enterprise_ closed in on the huge ship, which seemed to crawl away from
them.  Suddenly, like a pigeon that had been waddling slowly away from
danger, the alien ship lerched and disappeared.
 
"Where did they go?" yelped Riker. "Did they cloak?"
 
 
 
"I've lost them, Captain," said Worf.  "Scanning for cloaked ships."
 
Data looked up from his scanners, "Captain," he said, hesistating.
 
"What is it, Data?" asked Picard.
 
"If I might voice my opinion, Captain, I believe that the alien ship is no
longer in this area of space."
 
"How could that be, Data?  They couldn't have just vanished into thin air,"
said Picard.
 
"As incredible as it may sound, sir, the instrument readings suggest that
the alien vessel generated something similiar to an artificial worm hole
connecting it with some undetermined location.  The ship could have then
traveled through the worm hole and left our present location while the
hole collapsed after it."
 
"Create a local worm hole?" exclaimed Geordi, "That's impossible."
 
"It is impossible given our level of technology; however, it is not beyond
the realm of physical possibility.  In the language of twentieth century
futurists, this idea is called 'traveling in hyperspace.'  The basic premise
of hyperspace is the idea of shortcutting distances in normal space by
cutting through a fold in the space fabric and traveling in another
dimension."
 
Geordi smiled, "Oh, I get it.  Just like traveling down a worm hole.  This
extra dimension somehow connects two points in space separated by a given
distance in normal space and allows the ship to shortcut through, just like
tunneling through the earth instead of traveling around the surface."
 
"Exactly," said Data.
 
"The sensors indicate that the space around us is clear," said Worf.  "No
sign of the enemy ships."
 
"Well," said Picard with visible relief, "That's that.  Commander Data, please
work with Commander La Forge to analyze the sensor recording of that ship.
I want to know as much as possible.  Also, check all signals emitted from
that vessel.  They may be using an alien form of communication.  If they are,
I want to know of any ideas that you might have about what they are using.  If
we run into that ship again, I want to be able to talk it."
 
"Aye, aye, Captain," said Data at the same time as Geordi's "Yes, Sir."
 
Picard turned to Riker and said, "Shall we go and greet our guest?"
 
----
 
"Medical emergency in transporter room two!" Chief Petty Officer O'Brian
yelled into his communicator.
 
The armored, almost Borg-like creature he had beamed aboard the _Enterprise_
has collapsed on the transporter pad and now lay in screaming agony.  With
an experienced eye, O'Brian instantly realized that something had distorted
the signal just as he was bringing the alien pilot on board.  The error rate
had been low enough for the creature to survive materialization, but O'Brian
could tell from the way the alien lay groaning that the errors were terribly
significant.
 
Dr. Crusher rushed into the transporter room with her medical team.  After
running her medical tricorder over the black armor, she gasped, "My word,
he's human!  Get him to sick bay immediately."
 
The medical team worked furiously to get the writhing pilot to sick bay.
 
----
 
 
The room was silent expect for the soft murmurs of the doctors, the patient's
unconscious moaning, and the steady electronic boink-boink of the monitors.
 
"How is our patient?" asked Captain Picard as he entered Sick Bay.
 
Dr. Beverly Crusher stood up from her patient's bedside and walked over to
escort the captain in to where the Imperial pilot lay unconscious.
 
"We've been able to stablize his condition and to remove all of the armor
fragments from his body," Beverly said, shuddering at the memory of having
to carefully beam out the pieces of metal composite and plastic that had
become scrambled into her patient's flesh by the transporter.  "But he's still
in critical condition.  He has a lot of cellular damage and internal bleeding.
I'm waiting for his vital signs to improve before trying to reverse the
damage."
 
Captain Picard turned a compassionate eye on his prisoner.  The pilot's
breathing was labored and erratic.  A thin layer of sweat gave his pale skin
a sickly sheen.  "What do you have in mind?"
 
Frowning unhappily and hugging her arms about her, Dr. Crusher said, "I've
asked Dr. April Sullivan to assist me in attempting to perform cellular
reconstruction on our patient.  Because the data image of his matter matrix
was distorted in transit, we'll have to use information from his genomes to
 
 
approximate what his body was like."
 
 
 
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From: SWBURT0@ukcc.uky.edu
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: Star Trek vs Star Wars (4/13)
Date: Fri, 27 Jan 95 16:03:55 EST
Organization: The University of Kentucky
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"You're planning to recreate his body using his genetic code?"
 
"In essence, yes."  Dr. Crusher could sense the captain's apprehension, and
it only fed her own doubts.  "I would normally have ethical misgivings about
this, but it's his only hope.  He's dying now, and his only chance of
survival is our ability to piece together his body using our general knowledge
of human physiology.  I'm just afraid that the process could erase
his memory.  He won't be a vegetable, and his mental capacity should be there
in general, but I just can't be sure of how his neural pathways should be
connected except in the most general of ways."
 
"I appreciate the delicacy of the procedure you wish to perform, Doctor, but
is there any way we can question him to find out more about him and his
people, about where he came from, first?  If you do your work based only on
his genetic make-up, he will lose all of his memories, his entire past.  You
are planning on turning him into a blank slate.  May be we should question
him before you begin."
 
Dr. Crusher waited patiently for Picard to finish before replying, "I know
perfectly well what I am suggesting we do.  But his life is at stake.  As
his physician I can't risk subjecting him to extensive questioning.  His
condition is too unstable.  In my mind, saving this man's life is my highest
priority right now.  Unless we can reverse the cellular damage, we might as
well just kill him outright.  It would be more merciful then letting him die
like this."
 
Picard's face revealed a troubled expression.  "According to the Hawking
Station reports, his people were either unwilling or unable to respond to
standard Federation communications.  We need to discover out how best to
contact these people, because quite frankly, we haven't made a very good
first impression.  Abducting one of their pilots and shooting at them is not
a sign of friendship."
 
"I think that the impressions made by both sides leaves much to be desired,"
said Dr. Crusher.  "Several Federation merchant vessels and at least one
Ferengi trader are missing on our side as well."
 
"It's a bit soon to blame our new visitors for all of those disappearances,"
said Picard.  "We only have evidence connecting this new civilization with
a single missing ship, although it does look pretty damning.  But for all we
know, the other craft could have crossed over into the other galaxy.  What
the Federation needs now is more information, information that your patient
has locked in his brain."
 
Dr. Crusher placed her hand on Captain Picard's arm and said, "You're not
listening, Jean-Luc.  The distortion was marginal but enough to affect every
fiber of the man's body.  His memories are already scrambled from being
transported through that field.  If you insist on questioning him now, you'll
be risking his life for only the unlikely possibility of getting better
information.  It's not worth it."
 
"Not worth it?" said Picard, "Our galaxy is at stake here.  We must ensure
that his people receive our message of peace before they react to this
accidental provocation."
 
"Jean-Luc, he's human, just a boy," said Dr. Crusher softly, "He's not much
older than Wesley."  She regarded her sleeping patient with a maternal
compassion.
 
"He's just one man.  And he could die anyway.  Thousands or even millions
will die if his people declare war with the Federation."
 
"And he's just an outsider, so his life doesn't matter?" said Dr. Crusher,
her voice rising slightly in anger.
 
"I didn't say that."
 
"But that's how you feel, isn't it?" Dr. Crusher insisted.
 
Picard screwed his face as he tried to suppress his indignation.  Finally he
burst out, "Doctor, I think you are letting your emotions get in the way
of your better judgment.  I think it best if we can get a Vulcan, may be
Dr. Selar, to attempt to mindmeld with your patient before you try to
treat him."
 
"But, Jean-Luc!"
 
"Dr. Crusher, that is an order, and I think that in this case Star Fleet
will back me up."
 
- - -
 
Lights.  There were a lot of bright lights above him.  Kyle blinked his
eyes slowly.  The lights smelled of apples and strawberries, or may be it
was the sounds of distant voices that felt like an icy wind.  He could
almost see the words floating about the room, only they were in an alien
script and quite unintelligible.  At least the nausea had gone.  Kyle
breathed weakly.  He felt as if in the middle of a drug-induced hallucination.
Only, where was he, and how had he come to be this way?
 
Someone came to stand over him.  An exotic yet stern looking woman gazed down
at him.  He tried to speak, to say something.  Hello, may be.  He was feeling
 
 
better, stronger.  Honest.  The soft mewling that escaped his lips surprised
him.  The stranger silenced him with her hand.
 
Her fingers felt warm and paper-dry as she placed her hand over his face.  He
could hear her speaking from a distance, faint echoes in his mind.
 
"Breathe deeply.  Relax," she instructed, "I mean you no harm.  Our minds
are becoming one.  Your thought are my thoughts; my thoughts are your
thoughts.  Your pains are ...."
 
"What's going on here?" Kyle asked.  He felt lightheaded, as if his mind
were floating freely inside his body.
 
"You are among friends," soothed the Vulcan mind.
 
Kyle's mind began a series of free associations, and thoughts and images
flashed faster than words through his mind.  Mind control.  Jedi knights
and Lords of the Sith.  Rebels and the assassination of the Emperor.  Chaos,
bloodshed, the embattled Senate, the Fleet, the Academy, his home world, his
mother.  Only his thoughts seemed seemed wrong somehow.  He pictured things
he couldn't name and remembered things which seemed to have no meaning or
significance.  His memories spun wildly out of control.  His senses reeled.
He could smell the blood flowing through his body, and he knew that wasn't
right.
 
Dr. Selar tried her best to make sense of the mental chaos that confronted
her.  While she had become accustomed to the general disorganization of a
human mind, the random connections forming in her subject's mind became
increasingly painful for her.  She could tell that his pain was increasing
as well as the anesthetics and analgesics began to wear off.  The Vulcan
doctor broke contact and shook her head.
 
"It's no use," she said sadly.  "He's dying."
 
"Then let us work," snapped Dr. April Sullivan, anxiously nudging Dr. Selar
aside.  The Vulcan glanced at Captain Picard, who nodded his head.  The Vulcan
stepped back and began assisting in the preparations.
 
April felt a sense of fearful excitement as she rapidly entered the final
commands into the computer.  She sneaked one last look at her patient and
damped down her urge to burst out crying.  The Imperial pilot looked very
similar to her dead husband.  The resemblance was uncanny; only the pilot
was about ten years younger.  April forced herself to be objective and to
ignore the eerie feelings of being haunted by a ghost.
 
"The program should automatically correct any genetic anomalies," said
Dr. Sullivan, "But, I still feel nervous about this whole procedure.  I
feel like I am working in the dark."
 
"You're doing fine, April," encouraged Dr. Crusher.
 
Doctor Selar paused in her work and said, "We are working in the dark,
metaphorically speaking.  The uncertainty which you are feeling comes from
the fact that we are at best crudely approximating the correct physiology
of particular human based on our general knowledge of the human body.  Not
to mention, there is a distinct possibility that this being only appears to
be human but may not be human at all."
 
"Don't even mention that!" exclaimed Dr. Crusher.  "If he's not human, I
don't want to know what we'll have done."
 
"If he's not human now," said April drily, "He will be when we are done
with him."
 
Their work done, the three doctors took one last look at their sedated
patient.  Then Dr. Sullivan said, "Energize."
 
The hum of the transporter filled the room and Kyle's body vanished into
thin air.
 
"Let's hope this works," said April.  "Computer, run matrix correction
program six zero six and energize when done."
 
"Acknowledged.  Running matrix correction program six zero six," said the
computer.
 
"I hope this works," said Dr. Crusher.
 
April smiled calmly at her and said, "Matrix manipulation is a proven
technique, although regulations generally forbid what we are doing now."
 
"Still," said Dr. Crusher, "I feel like we're tinkering in something that we
shouldn't be.  I feel like I'm a sculptor trying to reshape the face of
a statue or a painter trying to restore a work by an Old Master."
 
The vulcan raised one eyebrow, "Or perhaps like a mother waiting to give
birth?"
 
Dr. Crusher laughed self-consciously.  "Am I so transparent?  Actually,
I feel a little like Doctor Frankenstein."
 
"And that," said Dr. Selar, "Would make me Igor.  A fascinating image."
 
"Re-energizing," announced the computer, followed by the hum of the
 
 
transporter.
 
Their patient reappeared on the table.  Dr. Sullivan hesistated, giving
both Beverly and Selar a significant look, before rushing to her patient's
side.
 
Kyle's eyes fluttered open, but they were distant and empty.
 
Dr. Crusher frowned, "We aren't getting much neural activity.  We aren't
getting any readings above the most basic brain activity."
 
"May be he is still under the effects of the medication," Dr. Selar suggested.
 
April fidgetted.  "No, that can't be it.  I eliminated the drug residues when
I re-matrixed him."
 
Dr. Crusher ran her tricorder over him.  "You're right.  His body reading are
perfectly normal.  His brain seems to be functioning correctly."
 
"Only, there is no pattern to his neural activity," said Dr. Selar.
 
"His mind's a blank slate," whispered Dr. Crusher.
 
The Vulcan doctor raised an eyebrow and said, "Most aptly put, Doctor."
 
"What now?" asked April.  "We saved his body, but his mind is gone."
 
"But his brain is healthy," Beverly insisted. "He should be capable of
thought."
 
"He has the capability to think," said Selar, "But he has to relearn how to
think.  He must relearn everything he knew.  Just about the only things he
doesn't have to relearn are the automatic responses like breathing."
 
"To do that will take years," said Dr. Crusher.  "What are we supposed to
do with him?  We have a body, but how to we return him his life?"
 
"We cannot give him back his life, or more precisely, the memories of his
life because we do not have them," said Dr. Selar. "In fact, we cannot
even return him to his own people."
 
"But we could give him a new life here," suggested April.
 
Dr. Crusher gave April a strange look. "What do you mean?"
 
"We could give him a new mind.  Give him a set of new memories that would
help him adjust to normal life in our world.  I have isolated an image of
David's brain pattern.  We could use that as a base on which to rebuild
his neural pathways."
 
Up until now, the captain had remained a silent spectator, but the new
developments stirred him into a more active role.  "Dr. Sullivan,"
protested Captain Picard, "You aren't suggesting that we put your husband's
brain into this man's body?"
 
"It doesn't have to be Dave's brain," April said quickly.  "And we wouldn't be
physically transplanting a new brain in his head.  We just need a pattern
after which to model his neural pathways.  We could use just about anyone's
memories."
 
"Using the memories of a living person would pose certain problems," said
Dr. Selar, "Problems of identity which could be better avoided using the
memories of someone who is no longer in existance.  If we were to undertake
this operation, using Lieutenant David Sullivan's neural pattern would be
a logical choice."
 
"April," said Dr. Crusher, "It won't bring Dave back.  Nothing can bring
Dave back.  He's dead."
 
"Would you stop talking about Dave?" April shrieked.  She regained control of
herself, ashamed at her outburst.  She continued in a tight voice, "I'm
suggesting a way to help this man live a decent life rather than live as
a half-dead vegetable in an institution.  We don't have programs to retrain
people with the memories of a newborn.  He's just going to end up
institutionalized for the rest of his life if we don't do this."
 
Dr. Crusher fought within herself.  "I just don't know.  It just sounds so
unethical to put someone's memories into someone else's body.  But, if it
would save a man's life...."
 
"Doctors," said Picard, "You all have already saved this man's life.  What
you are suggesting, Dr. Sullivan, is highly irregular."
 
"It's just like a transplant," argued April.  "It would give this man a
chance at living a normal life.  Besides," she paused and added softly, "Dave
would have wanted it this way, for someone to benefit from his death."
 
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From: SWBURT0@ukcc.uky.edu
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: Star Trek vs Star Wars (5/13)
Date: Fri, 27 Jan 95 16:04:30 EST
Organization: The University of Kentucky
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"I have to agree with Dr. Sullivan, Captain," said Dr. Crusher relutantly.
"As he is, this patient is no different from anyone else in the Federation
suffering from a complete loss of memory.  What he has is worse than acute
amnesia.  We've effectively erased his mind, and I feel partially responsible.
I'm supposed to help my patients, not turn them into vegetables."
 
"In that case," said Captain Picard, "I suppose that we could try some sort
 
 
of reprogramming.  But is there anyway you can retrain his neural pathways
without duplicating Lieutenant Sullivan's memories exactly?"
 
April snorted incredulously, "Captain, if we could do that, the Federation
would never have to send anyone through school or the Academy.  Programming
a human mind is not quite as straightforward as programming a computer, even
one as complex as Commander Data."
 
Captain Picard shrugged in a very French way and said to Dr. Crusher, "I'll
leave the final decision up to you, as senior medical officer.  Do whatever
you think is necessary to help your patient.  I can see that he is of no use
to us as a source of information as he is now."
 
"Thank you, Captain," said Beverly.  Her mind made up, Dr. Crusher signalled
Dr. Sullivan.  "He's all yours, April.  I just hope you're right."
 
 
----
 
The operation over, the medical team hovered around their patient's bed
expectantly.  The patient coughed and opened his eyes.  Drs. Crusher, Selar,
and Sullivan stood together in a loose group.  Ship's Counselor Troi had
replaced Captain Picard as the observer.
 
The man.  "What am I doing here?"
 
Dr. Crusher walked over to his side, "Do you know where you are?"
 
"Yeah," he said, rubbing one temple and squinting his eyes against the light.
"I'm in Sick Bay."
 
"It worked," breathed Dr. Sullivan.
 
Dr. Sullivan's voice caught the man's attention, and he searched for her face.
"April?"  he asked.
 
April trembled.  The voice was David's, only it was different, deeper, richer.
She took two quick steps towards the familiar stranger and then caught
herself.  She could barely walk the remaining few feet to her patient's bed.
 
"Boy," said the man, "I feel awful.  Everything feels wrong.  I even sound
wrong.  What happened?  Was there a transporter accident?"
 
Tears began streaming down April's face.  Dr. Crusher sat down beside the
man and said gently, "I have something very difficult to tell you, and you
may find what I have to say hard to accept.  But, you aren't David Sullivan."
 
"What?"  the man looked from face to face to see if this were some practical
joke.  "Not David Sullivan?  What are you talking about?"
 
Counselor Troi joined Dr. Crusher and said, "May be I'd better do this."
Dr. Crusher nodded and gave way to the Betazoid.
 
"Now, um, David, may I call you David?" she asked, unsure of how to proceed
now that she had taken center stage.
 
"Counselor, you've always called me David.  What's going on here?" the man
looked frantically around and then drew his own awful conclusions.  "There
was an accident, wasn't there?  Was it that last experiment?  April?  Where's
April?"  He tried to get out of bed to find April, but Deanna pushed him
back down.  He swallowed his fears and asked shakily, "Have I been scrambled
into someone else?  Is that what you're trying to say?"  April stepped up
along side the bed, and the man who thought he was David Sullivan gazed
askingly into her eyes.
 
April was serious and calm.  Almost too calm, thought Beverly.  A glance at
the ship's counselor told Dr. Crusher that Deanna thought so, too.  April,
however, was acting as professionally as anyone could have asked her to
under those circumstances, and they let her speak.  "What we are trying to
tell you is that, yes, you were in a transporter accident, and that accident
distorted the areas of high intelligence in your brain, essentially destroying
all of your memories."
 
A look of confusion hung over the man's eyes.  "But I can remember things.  I
can still think."
 
Deanna cut in gently, patting their patient reassuringly on the arm.  "What
you are remembering are neural patterns borrowed from another person.  In
order to treat your medical condition, we used the memories and experiences
of someone named David Sullivan to rebuild your mind."
 
The man stared positively horrified at the women  "This David person is dead,
isn't he?  You've put the brain of a dead man into my body!"
 
Deanna looked helplessly at the three doctors.  Beverly nodded, hugging her
arms again.  Dr. Sullivan simply stood back, her face pale and drawn.  Only
Dr. Selar had a relaxed if somewhat bemused expression on her face.  Deanna
considered what to say next.  Finally she said, "Not exactly.  Your brain
is still yours.  The tissue and neural chemistry is all uniquely yours as
dictated by your genetic make-up.  Only the neural patterns have been
changed to give you a concrete basis on which to rebuild your life."
 
"But what of my memories?  I mean my real memories, the real me?  Who am I?
What am I like?  What's my name?  I don't even know my own name.  If I'm
 
 
not who I remember being, then who am I?"
 
All three women regarded the man in uncomfortable silence.
 
"Quite frankly, sir, we don't know who you are," said Dr. Selar.  "All that
we know about you is that you piloted a small attack craft, and that you
were brought on board the _Enterprise_ in an attempt to detain you for
questioning.  Unfortunately, the transporter signal became distorted while
you were being energized, possibly due to an unforeseen interaction between
the transporters and your ship."
 
The man laughed incredulously.  "Well, was I at least human?"
 
Dr. Crusher said in all seriousness, "From what we could make out, yes."
 
"You aren't even sure if I was human?"
 
"It was touch and go there, and when you arrived on board, your body was
already, uh...," said Deanna, hesitating at the last words.
 
"Mutated?" their patient finished.
 
"You are quite human now," said Dr. Selar, "And in good health."
 
The man closed his eyes and said carefully, "And just how am I supposed to
feel about this?  You mutate my body, nearly killing me in the process, and
then save me by turning me into someone else?  Am I supposed to feel grateful?
Is this some kind of new criminal punishment?"
 
"We are trying to help you," said Beverly defensively.
 
"I'm sorry," the man said quickly, looking earnestly at Dr. Crusher.  "I
didn't mean it like that.  Of course I'm grateful."  He paused a moment and
then added in a sarcastic, rather depressed voice, "Very grateful."
 
"We didn't mean you any harm," said Deanna.  "And right now, at least, you
aren't in any trouble."
 
"So what is my status, exactly?  Am I under arrest?"
 
The two human women looked at each other and at Dr. Selar, who shrugged.
 
"I guess that's something Captain Picard will have to decide," said
Dr. Crusher.
 
----
 
A soft chiming noise announced that someone was waiting outside of his Ready
Room, and Picard answered with, "Enter."
 
Dr. Crusher stalked in determinedly.
 
"Hello, Doctor," said Picard, "What can I do for you?"
 
"It's about that man we brought on board from that starfighter.  Why has
Lieutenant Worf taken him to the Brig?  He's of no harm to anyone, and
putting him in prison is hardly helping him adjust to his new situation."
 
"Lieutenant Worf was acting under my orders, Doctor.  Your patient's new
status, I'm afraid, is that of a Federation prisoner," said Picard.
 
"That's not fair!" Beverly protested, "That man hardly deserves to be
treated like a criminal any more than David Sullivan does."
 
"Your patient is not David Sullivan," said Picard reasonably.  "He was caught
red-handed in an act of piracy against a Federation vessel.  You knew that
before you started all of this."
 
"But he is no longer the same man who committed those crimes.  He literally
has all of David's experiences and feelings.  That man only knows what it's
like to be a loyal Star Fleet officer.  Only now, we're treating him like
a criminal.  Can you imagine what that is like?  Here we are telling him that
he is guilty of doing things he would adamantly oppose doing and can't even
remember doing."
 
"The law," said Picard firmly, "Is clear on this.  Whether or not he can
remember committing the crime is irrevelant in light of the fact that we
caught him doing it.  However," the captain relented, "He current condition
will be taken into consideration during sentencing.  Things would have been
much easier, I think, if you had just left things well enough alone."
 
"As if condemning a human being to living as a vegetable is a viable
alternative?" Beverly said bitterly.
 
"Well," exclaimed Picard angrily, "What would you have me do with him?  Give
him Lieutenant Sullivan's position and adopt him into our crew?"
 
Dr. Crusher looked lost, "No, of course not.  I'm sorry, Jean-Luc.  You're
right, of course.  It's just that I feel like I've saved a man's life only
to have him handed over to a firing squad."
 
Captain Picard regretted his outburst and said gently, "I didn't mean to be
so harsh, Beverly.  I know how you must feel.  But it's not as if he'll be
executed.  In fact, he'll probably just be put in an institution somewhere."
 
 
 
"Why did you let me transplant Lieutenant Sullivan's memories in him
if you knew that we'd just lock him up anyway?"
 
The captain was silent for a long while before answering.  "I guess that I
was feeling guilty about having ordered him brought on board before thoroughly
checking out the consequences.  May be I was hoping that somehow some of his
original identity would survive that transplant and that having something for
his mind to latch on to would give some part of that identity a chance to
surface.  It's hard for me, too, to see someone who is otherwise healthy be
nothing more than an empty shell of a person."
 
"A blank slate," said Beverly.
 
Picard nodded, "A blank slate.  Any fate would be better than that.  At least
this way, he is someone, albeit a prisoner for now."
 
----
 
The man decided to call himself David for the lack of anything better to
call himself.  Afterall, it was the only name he was now used to going by.
David sat forlornly on the bunk in his cell and flicked drops of water into
the force field sealing him in his prison.
 
April approached his cell shyly.  David looked up and smiled, setting down
his cup of water.  April could feel her heart pounding at a hundred miles a
minute as she stepped up to the force field.  She hadn't felt this way about
seeing anyone since her last dinner date with her dead husband.
 
"Hello, April," the man said.  April's felt her stomach flutter.  How could
anyone who looked so different from David, so much younger, sound just like
him?
 
"Hello," April stammered.
 
The man stared at his hands, avoiding her eyes.  "It's ok if you call me
David.  I don't seem answer to anything else."
 
April felt a lump forming in her throat. She could barely breath out
the words, "Hello, David."
 
David cleared his throat and said, "Thank you for coming to see me.  I know
I'm not really David Sullivan, and so I know that I don't mean anything to
you.  But I really do appreciate you coming to see me."
 
April nodded, speechless.  Coming here was a mistake, yet she had felt
irristably drawn here.  She had to come, if only to lay her ghosts to rest.
 
David also felt the awkwardness of the whole situation but finally said, "He
loved you very much."  What he really wanted to say was, I love you very much.
 
April looked up and found herself staring deep into a pair of loving and
sincere grey-blue eyes.  David could tell she had heard his unspoken words.
 
"He was a very lucky man," David said huskily.  He cleared his throat again.
"And I'm sure he would tell you that, uh, you did the right thing, and that,
uh, he misses you very much, but that life goes on.  You've got to go on
with your life.  He would have wanted that."
 
"Oh, David," April began weeping. "I miss you so much."
 
The man tried to comfort her despite the force field that separated them.
"Now I've made you cry.  Oh, honey, don't cry.  You'll get puff eyes."
 
"Puff eyes," April echoed, smiling briefly through her tears at their private
joke, but then the tears flowed again as she said, "I can't bear to lose you
again."
 
David felt as if his soul was dying as he said with forced brusqueness,
"Listen, lady, David Sullivan is dead.  Your husband is dead.  I'm just some
no good pirate whose life you've saved.  I'm grateful for your efforts, but
you are nothing more than my doctor.  You don't mean anything to me.  You
can't let me mean anything to you.  You've got to pick up the pieces of your
life and keep on going.  Get a life."  He turned to face away from her so she
wouldn't see the tears welling up in his eyes.  "I'm not your husband."  He
choked on the last words.
 
Cursing her own foolish sentimentality, April balled her fist, angry with
herself.  She turned and fled the brig.  David let his chin drop against his
chest as he heard her footsteps run out of the room.  Then he took a deep
breath and tried to compose himself.  Only he felt so inconsolably sad that
he wished he could trade places with the dead David Sullivan.  David walked
up to a solid wall of his cell and pounded at it with his fist as he let out
a scream of anguish.  Then he threw himself on to his bunk and curled up
into a tired ball.
 
"I love you so much, April," he whispered.  "I love you so much."
 
----
 
 
Captain's log, supplemental
 
Our first encounter with a civilization possibly from a galaxy other than our
 
 
own has ended sourly.  We know little more than what meagre information we
have been able to glean from the analysis of the encounter.  In addition,
our meeting has left us with the awkward problem of what to do with the
pilot we have brought on board.  Although he was a true alien before he
set foot on the _Enterprise_, we have since then literally remade him into one
of us.  Although as a Star Fleet captain, I have the authority to make
whatever decisions I deem best under novel situations such as this, I cannot
help but wonder if I did the right thing.  On the other hand, I do believe
that if I hadn't have allowed Drs. Crusher and Sullivan to do all that they
could, I would have felt worse.
 
Still, our main mission remains unaccomplished.  We still do not know the
nature of the alien ship or the whereabouts of the missing civilian vessels.
The only thing I feel certain of is the fact that we have not seen the last
of our alien visitors.
 
 
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From: SWBURT0@ukcc.uky.edu
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: Star Trek vs Star Wars (6/13)
Date: Fri, 27 Jan 95 16:05:18 EST
Organization: The University of Kentucky
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"Imperial Domination"
 
Episode Two: Specimens
 
 
On board the _Manifest_Destiny_, Roland and Graham drowned their sorrows in
a few mugs of their favorite intoxicant.  Yet surprisingly, both men looked
unmistakeably sober.
 
"I can't believe the kid's gone," said Graham.  "One minute, everything's
fine, and the next, poof, he's gone."
 
Roland pouted grimly and said, "We all know the risks; we all face death
every time we go out."
 
"But his ship wasn't even damaged!" exclaimed Graham.  "Whoever these guys
are, I'm gonna get them.  I just can't believe that anyone could have weapons
that... that awful."  Graham shuddered.
 
This time Roland frowned for another reason.  "Cut it out, Graham.  Don't
think so hard about it."
 
Ignoring Roland's warning, Graham continued, "And we're collecting
information to help bring these weapons into the Empire.  I can't believe
that we're doing this.  After over a thousand generations of peace, our
generation is trying to develop weapons that can wipe out lives as if they
were nothing.  Things were so much more civilized when light sabers were the
main weapon of choice.  At least it took real effort to kill someone.  You
know, I have a real bad feeling about this."
 
"Don't talk like that," Roland said sharply, "Someone might hear you.  And
besides, it's just your drink talking.  You're a good pilot.  You have a
gift for it, like the old Jedi, but the days of galactic peace are gone.
We've got a duty to do.  We've got to maintain law and order within the
Empire, or else thousands of years of civilization will come tumbling down
before our eyes."
 
Graham poured himself another drink and said, "I just don't think I'm going
to come back from this one."
 
Reaching for the bottle, Roland poured a drink for himself as well.  "I don't
think I'm going to make it either."
 
----
 
Captain Biehn paced back and forth along the central aisle of the Bridge.  His
grey eyes stared blankly out of an impassive face, the normal good humor
nearly extinguished.  He stopped by his Intelligence officer and asked, "Any
progress?"
 
"The computers are still analyzing the data.  But they have concluded that
the alien ship may have teleported the missing TIE-fighter pilot on to their
own vessel," came the reply.
 
"So," said Biehn, "We have lost the advantage of stealth and surprise.  No
doubt, the military forces belonging to this 'Federation' will be looking
for us.  Still, I'd hate to cut our mission short.  I'm not going back to
the Sith Counsel and the Senate empty handed.  If we could only capture a
Star Fleet ship."
 
"Sir?"
 
"We have been limiting ourselves to ships weaker than ourselves," said Biehn.
"Purposely.  I'm very reluctant to go head to head against a ship like the
one we just encountered so far from our own support lines.  But according to
the information the interrogators have obtained, the technology available on
ships like the one we just ran into is significantly better than the ships
we've been picking up.  And it makes sense.  Military ships are almost always
better built than your run of the mill, tramp freighter.   I've been limiting
strictly to civilian craft, which means that we're just picking up the
Federation's technological scraps.  If I want to cut our mission short, we'll
have to get hold of something really good."
 
"But, sir.  We can hardly wage a private war on this side of the hole just
to obtain a few technology secrets for the weapons labs back home.  How can
we go up against a ship that can go faster than light in normal space and
that can throw that much energy around?   I'm not even sure that our
ray and particle beam weapons can pierce that ship's shielding, much less
 
 
our solid ordinance.  And what chance have we got against an enemy that can
teleport the entire Bridge crew into deep space or at least into our own
shields?"
 
The Corellian smiled, "That's true, but who said we had to wage war against
them?  Those Ferengi creatures remind me of a few other lowlife types back
home, like Mitnins or Rawgs.  Those types will sell their mothers if the
price is right."
 
"Are you suggesting that we buy the technology we want?" asked the officer.
 
"And why not?" Captain Biehn said, smuggly surprised at his own genius.  "We
could trade them a few of our droids for a warp engine and a transporter or
may be a few phasers.  Droids don't seem to be very common out here, and
those Ferengi creatures were drooling over even our old astromech droids like
a bunch of greedy Jawas.  I think that we can do a little business here,
provided we find the right people."
 
Biehn's subordinate looked unconvinced, "But that will take time.  How are
we going to find the 'right people?'"
 
"Our best bet," said Biehn, "Is a place called the Neutral Zone."
 
----
 
The tramp freighter and part-time smuggling ship _Luck's_Mistress_ cruised
leisurely along the Romulan Neutral Zone as her crew waited for a chance to
sneak across the border between Federation space and the disputed territories.
Her unkempt and unsavory crew felt smuggly confident that they were alone
for light years in any direction, and so when the proximity alarms sounded,
it caused a furor of activity.
 
"Ship coming in port aft, vector one two eight!" cried the helmsman.
 
"Where'd she come from?" cursed the pirate captain."
 
"Federation side," said the distressed helmsman, "She must have been running
cloaked."
 
The captain cursed again, "Cloaked?  Then it's not Star Fleet.  Is it a Rom
warbird?"
 
"No, negative....  Captain, that ship is huge, at least sixteen hundred
meters long."
 
"That can't be right," said the captain with frightened anger.  He rushed
over to look the readings over himself.
 
"They're launching missiles at us!" shrieked the unnerved helmsman.
 
"Accelerate to warp!" yelled the captain.  He punched in the appropriate
commands.  The ship's engines began whining, but something jerked the ship
backwards.  The captain let fly a stream of colorful epithets.  "They've got
us in a tractor beam."
 
"The missiles are getting closer!"
 
"Those aren't missiles, you bozo," snapped the captain.  "Those are manned
shuttelcraft."
 
----
 
"Angel Leader to Angel One, cover me, Graham," Roland said.
 
"Wilco."  Graham flew close behind his wingman as the two TIE-fighters
approached the alien ship.
 
"Looks like we have her in the bottle," said Roland with satisfaction, "She
doesn't show signs of bolting."
 
Graham grunted unenthusiastically.  Flying about in his TIE-fighter only
drove home the fact that Kyle was no longer with them.  Graham fatalistically
felt that his turn was next.
 
"Heaven's Gate, " Roland spoke into his mike, "This is Angel Leader.  It looks
like the specimen is in the bag.  Reel her in."
 
"Roger," came the response, after a brief pause.  "Intelligence has picked up
an alien vessel approaching mark twenty oh five.  Request that you
investigate."
 
Graham swore softly as he listened in.  "Why us?" he muttered to himself.
 
If the request upset Roland, he hid it well.  "Roger, Heaven.  Angel Leader
out."
 
"You heard her," Roland said to his unhappy wingman, "Pick it up."
 
"Why do we always get stuck with the unpleasant jobs?" complained Graham.
 
"Because," explained Roland patiently, "We're flying the long-range snubs.
Let's go check this blip out."
 
----
 
 
 
Captain's log
 
An alarming trend has developed in the hunt for our mysterious visitors.
An increasing number of ships have been reported missing close to the
Romulan Neutral zone.  This development has caused much concern because of
the delicate nature of the Romulan peace treaties.  So far, all of the
disappearances have been of Federation vessels, and the Romulans have yet
to log any formal complaints.  Thus, we are assuming that our visitors
have been limiting themselves to taking Federation ships, mostly tramp
freighters and, ironically, pirate ships.
 
I am beginning to suspect a method to this madness.  Our alien captain has
taken great pains to avoid any confrontations and seems to show a fondness
for attacking only those vessels weaker than himself.  He seems to be
searching for something, and perhaps he is collecting ships to study and
dissect them, like bugs or exotic specimens.  A fact that seems to support
my hunch is that the when a vessel of a particular type is the first of
its kind to disappear, it vanishes without a trace.  But, as soon as a similar
 
make of ship is taken, wreakage from the ship in worse repair appears in
the area in which the second ship disappeared.
 
Furthermore, we have made the grisly discovery of some of the bodies belonging
to a random sample of the missing crewmembers, floating among the discarded
ships.  Many bear scars of torture and for the non-human ones, dissection.
 
Our visitors are definitely hostile but not confrontational.  They are like
jackals prowling at the edge of the herd, waiting to prey on the weak.
 
I have taken it upon myself to find these invaderss, and to at least capture
my own specimen to find out who our visitors are and how to stop them.
 
----
 
The _Enterprise_ prowled at the edge of the Neutral Zone while carefully
keeping a safe distance from the actual border so as to not attract any
unwanted attention from the Romulans.
 
Simultaneously monitoring several sensors, Commander Data sat quietly in the
command chair.  A heavy silence hung over the Bridge, which seemed quieter
during the third shift than during the other two.   A proximity alarm began
beeping for attention, sounding loud in the stillness.
 
"Fourteen small craft of the intergalactic type approaching at full Impulse,"
reported the officer manning the weapons console, "Shall I raise shields?"
 
Data cocked his head to one side as he quickly reviewed his options.  One
thing was clear in his mind: he wanted to capture at least one of the pilots
from the approaching ships.  "Raise shields and activate the tractor beam,"
he finally ordered.  "Also, activate forward phasers and begin tracking the
incoming targets, but hold your fire.  Broadcast the standard hailing
message."
 
"They'll just ignore the message," said the weapons officer.
 
"The decision to hail the incoming ships is not based on whether they will
answer, Lieutenant, but on Federation protocol."
 
"Yes, sir. Hailing ships now."
 
Data watched as the tiny ships drew nearer.  The computer continually adjusted
for the closing distance, so the image of the craft seem to always remain at
the same distance; only the resolution of the image steadily improved.
 
"The formation is starting to split up.  Independent weapons tracking system
engaged."
 
"As soon as one of the ships comes in range, lock on to it," Data ordered.
"But select an alternate target as soon as your chosen target shows any
signs of disintegration."
 
"Aye, aye, sir.  But we may end up going through a number of them."
 
"Acknowledged, Lieutenant.  Helm, please extrapolate the origin of these
craft, and scan for any large, alien vessels."
 
"Yes, sir."
 
Things well under control, Data decided to inform Captain Picard of the
new developments.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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From: SWBURT0@ukcc.uky.edu
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: Star Trek vs Star Wars (7/13)
Date: Fri, 27 Jan 95 16:05:51 EST
Organization: The University of Kentucky
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----
 
Riker sleepily rubbed his eyes as he stepped out of the turbolift and on to
the Bridge.  The room buzzed with activity.  He headed towards his station.
 
"The ships are retreating!" yelled Worf excitedly from behind his station.
"They are splitting up and heading away from us."
 
"Select a single target and chase after it," ordered Picard.  "Don't let it
get away."
 
The Imperial TIE-fighters had scattered as soon as the _Enterprise_ had
revealed her nature and her intent.  After watching the Federation starship
grab on to three different fighters only to rip each of the tiny ships apart
under the strain, the rest of the fighters wisely decided to bug out.  The
snub fighters scattered before the _Enterprise_, like a herd of gazelle
racing away from a lionness.
 
But determined not to be robbed of her prey, the _Enterprise_ began bearing
down on two of the small craft, which struggled to stay just out of the
effective range of the _Enterprise's_ tractor beams.
 
"She's on our tail!" yelped Graham.
 
"I see her, I see her," Roland replied.  "Keep going."
 
"My main stabilizer's starting to give," Graham announced in a panicked voice,
"I can't keep this speed up."
 
"Keep calm, Angel One, keep calm.  You'll make it."
 
Data listened to the conversation with great interest.  Only his inability to
feel excitement prevented him from crowing over the breakthrough he had just
achieved.
 
"Captain," Data said, "I believe that I am intercepting the ship to ship
communications of the two small craft which we are pursuing.  The Universal
Translator has just finished analyzing the language and should be able to
give a rough, real-time translation."
 
Pleased with what was going on, Picard said, "Put the communications on, Data.
If they won't talk to us, we can at least listen to what they are saying to
each other."
 
"Aye, aye, Captain," Data said, and two terrified, human voices burst in over
the air.
 
"Prepare to make the jump to light speed," said one voice, probably the
leader of the two.
 
"I can't!  The strain is starting to cascade through the main control systems.
I can't stay ahead of that beam."
 
"You've got to, Graham.  Come on, you can make it, you can make it.  I can't
do anything to help you.  We've just got to keep going."
 
Captain Picard nibbled on one finger thoughtfully and said, "Worf, do you
detect any change in the ships?"
 
The Klingon answered, "The one nearest to us does appear to be suffering from
some difficulty.  However, we do not seem to be closing in on the ships."
 
As if to defend his efforts, Geordi said, "The targets keep changing
direction, and if we go any faster than we are, we're likely to overshoot
them and lose them for sure."
 
"Hold her steady, Commander La Forge," said Picard.  "Lieutenant Worf, do
you think that you can safely bring the starfighter into control and keep it
from disintergrating if it does slip into our tractor beam?"
 
Worf scowled.  He would prefer destroying rather than capturing the two craft,
and if it were him flying those fighters, he would self-destruct his ship
rather than face capture.  But he answered the captain's question anyway, "If
we can keep our position constant relative to the target and thus minimize
the shearing forces or if the target slows down enough once in the beam, then
it should be no problem."
 
"Can you do it, Geordi?" Picard asked.
 
"I'll sure try."  Geordi straightened with anticipation.
 
The desparate voices called out urgently to eachother across the darkness.
"She's going to fail, she's going to fail.  Get out of here, Roland.  Leave
me."
 
"Damn it, Graham, I'm not leaving you."
 
"Will you get out of here?  I'm dead already."
 
Silence, and then. "Sorry, Graham."
 
 
 
The lead TIE-fighter suddenly shrank into a pinpoint of nothingness as it
leaped into hyperspace.  And Graham Wayfarer found himself very much alone.
With his engines shrieking unhealthily, Grahan suddenly realized what he had
to do.  His hand shook badly as he purposely slowed his ship.
 
"Enemy ship slowing and entering tractor beam," announced Worf.
 
"Stay with her," Picard instructed Geordi, "Don't let her slip away or damage
herself."
 
Geordi pressed his lips together.  The captain was asking a lot out of the
_Enterprise_.  Only Geordi's consumate skill maintained the delicate bond
which link the two ships.
 
"The enemy craft is slowing," said Worf with relief.  A slower moving target
would make his job easier.
 
"Watch for any signs of her turning to attack, Worf," warned Picard.
 
"Aye, aye, Sir."  Worf, of course, had already thought of that and had the
phaser targetting computers steadily tracking the tiny craft.
 
Graham stared numbly out into space.  Turning to attack was the furthest thing
from his mind.  He no longer even cared what happened to him.  He closed his
eyes as he felt his ship shudder under the invisible force that drew his
fighter closer and closer to the behemoth behind him.  Then, he began rigging
up the self-destruct sequence.
 
"Sir," said Worf, "I'm detecting a power build up in the enemy craft."
 
"He's going to self-destruct!" yelled Picard, "Beam the pilot aboard now!"
 
"We shouldn't drop shields if the ship is going to explode," protested Worf.
 
Geordi had an inspiration, "I'm going to shear off and destroy the ship before
she blows.  Prepare to drop shields and beam the pilot aboard on my signal.
Now!"
 
Worf's warrior reflexes served him and the Imperial pilot well, as events
blurred together.  Geordi changed the tractor beam vector ever so slightly,
causing the alien starfighter to disintegrate.  Worf then pulsed the shields
and beamed the pilot into the transporter buffers while the shields were
momentarily down.  The wreakage from the small ship then splattered harmlessly
 
against the reactivated shields.
 
The Klingon announced with satisfaction, "Enemy pilot in transit."  And he
had every right to be happy.  He had actually locked on to the pilot a
fraction of a second too late, and Worf had fully expected to be bringing
on board a corpse.  So when the transporter computer reported a live human
in transit, the Klingon felt doubly lucky.
 
"Excellant, Geordi, Worf," said Picard.  "Any readings on the mother ship?"
 
"Negative, Captain," said Data.  "The all ships appear to have made the
transition into hyperspace."
 
"Very well then," said Picard, rising.  "We'll just have to be satisfied with
what we do have.  Commander Riker, Lieutenant Worf, come with me.  May be
this time we'll be able to learn something about our visitors."
 
----
 
"So," David asked Dr. Crusher, "How did I do?"
 
Dr. Crusher smiled across her desk at her patient.  If not for the two armed
security guards behind him, this might have been a normal doctor to patient
consultation.  "Your scores fall well within a ninety-eight percent match
with the last psych test on record for David Sullivan," she said.
 
He gave her a lopsided grin and said, "And you're surprised?"
 
"Well, yes.  I mean, your brain chemistry is quite a bit different than
that of the original David Sullivan.  I would have expected a greater
deviation in your test results."
 
"I'm like a scientific experiment to you, aren't I?" David commented with more
humor than Beverly would have felt if their situations had been reversed.  The
better acquainted she became with this charming, young man, the more she liked
him.  May be it was because he was only four or five years older than her own
son Wesley.
 
"You are a unique case," Dr. Crusher explained.  "I don't know of any other
cases in which a psych test has been adminstered to someone with the exact
same experiences and memories of someone else but who has a totally different
genetic makeup."
 
David leaned back comfortably.  As long as he was with Dr. Crusher, he felt
accepted and valued.  "So, am I shaped more by my environment or by genetics?"
 
"I don't know," said Dr. Crusher.  "What do you think?"
 
Shrugging, David said, "Well, coffee sure doesn't taste as good as I remember
it to, but chocolate and Romulan ale, which I used to hate, are now topping
 
 
my cravings list.  Also, I'm sometimes surprised by little things, like the
colors or certain things, or the sounds of certain things.  Things are somehow
different from how I remember them.  I guess I really am looking at things
through new eyes. Was the original David color blind?"
 
Beverly mentally noted the point.  "Yes," she said, "He was.  He had the red
green form of color blindness."
 
"I thought so.  I think I've just discovered the color red.  I've also noticed
I have less concentration now than I used to, but I can handle spatial tasks
more easily."
 
"Ah," said Dr. Crusher nodding, "So you've spotted the two percent difference,
too."
 
"Will the difference grow with time?"
 
"May be.  May be not.  I just don't know."
 
"You know," David said, "I really wouldn't mind all of this, if it weren't
for Dr. Sullivan."
 
"Oh?"
 
The young man fidgetted.  He clearly found it hard to confide to her about
his deepest feelings, but he had already said all there was to be said.
 
Dr. Crusher voiced his feelings for him. "You're afraid that if you change
that you'll grow apart from her, and that she won't love you anymore.  Is
that it?"
 
"Yeah," he said, the boyish smile returning.  "Isn't it stupid?  I mean,
she's never loved me as me before in her life.  He's the man she loved, and
yet I remember with absolute clarity how they felt for one another.  I don't
want that love to stop.  I don't want to be me.  I want to be him.  It's
like I am him but not him.  I get all of the heartbreak of losing the most
important person to me in my present life and no possibility of getting her
back.  And she's right there, just out of reach." He paused and then added,
"I want April back.  I still love that woman."
 
The sound of Dr. Crusher's communicator broke the silence that followed.
Beverly tapped at the pin in well-controlled nnoyance and said, "Dr. Crusher,
here.  Go ahead, Bridge."
 
"Ah, Beverly," said Picard, "Your services are required in transporter room
two."
 
"I'll be right there.  Crusher out." She returned her attention to her
patient.
"Well, David, I guess I'll have to cut our conversation short."
 
"Can we talk again?" David asked hopefully.
 
"Yes, of course.  The guards will see you back to your cell."
 
As David rose to his feet, he said, "Thank you for your time, even if I am
just a laboratory specimen."
 
Beverly paused.  "You're my patient.  And you should thank Captain Picard for
allowing me to meet with you like this."
 
"May be you can thank him for me," said David.
 
"Yes, I'll do that."
 
----
 
The newest prisoner on board the _Enterprise_ materialized without too much
fuss on the transporter pad.  Worf and his security team quickly restrained
the man in the black uniform and partial armor, not that he fought much.
Rather he stood by meekly, somewhat dazed.  One of the security guards soon
had removed the man's breathing gear and set the helmet and pack on the floor.
 
Dr. Crusher hurried in shortly after.  She glanced over the prisoner to check
for signs of shock.  His apathetic behavior spoke volumes.  She waved her
medical tricorder over him, but she could have guessed the results.  "He's
in shock.  He needs to be in Sick Bay."
 
"Worf," Picard signalled the Klingon.  The captain didn't bother finishing
his order.  His chief security officer was already guiding their prisoner
out of the transporter room and into the hallway.  Commander Riker trailed
after the group, and Captain Picard turned to leave.
 
"If I might have a word with you alone, Captain?" said Dr. Crusher.
 
The transporter room door slid shut, leaving the captain alone with the
doctor.  "What is it, Dr. Crusher?"
 
"I did another psych test on my other patient, David," she began.
 
"And?"
 
"There are some small differences, mainly in areas of physical responses.
But the fundamental personalities are nearly identical.  Even his basic
temperments is the same as before." Dr. Crusher let her words sink in.  "It's
 
 
almost freaky.  The two men must have had similar personalities to begin with,
 
and now that Lieutenant Sullivan's past has been overlaid on top of our
John Doe's mind, Sullivan's identity dominates so strongly that for all
practical purposes that man is literally another David Sullivan."
 
"But won't more of his own personality surface with time?  Genetics does
play a role in determining personality," said Picard.  The idea that one
individual could replace another bothered him.  Picard wanted the two men to
be distinguishable.
 
"I think that what we have is an extraordinary coincidence.  Aside from the
matter of age, the two men are very similar in the physiological aspects of
their personalities.  David Sullivan's past and personality just happens to
be a good match.  In a way, I'm glad that we don't have to worry about him
rejecting his transplanted identity.  What I'm guessing is that we'll continue
to see small changes and adjustments in David's personal preferences, but
in the end, things will settle down within the next few months.  And when they
do, our current David will act and react close enough to the real David
Sullivan to be his clone."
 
"They are that similar?"
 
Dr. Crusher nodded.  "Like I said, it's eerie.  You know, there's always that
old wives' tale about how everyone has a double somewhere in the world.  Well,
this may be a living example."
 
"So you think that I should advise Star Fleet of the fact that we have
managed to bring Lieutenant Sullivan's ghost back to life?" Picard said,
half jokingly, half serious.
 
"It has been done before," Dr. Crusher replied.
 
----
 
 
Captain Picard disliked prisoner interrogations, but he felt it was he duty
under the circumstances to make the first attempts at contact.  He said,
"You are on board the Federation Starship _Enterprise_, and I am the captain,
Jean-Luc Picard."
 
The prisoner stared determinedly past Picard and anwered in near monotone,
"My name is Graham Wayfarer, rank Lieutenant in the Imperial fleet.  My serial
number is PP3-1498-0293."
 
Despite the fact that their prisoner seemed well-versed in what unnervingly
appeared to be the modified Geneva Convention, Picard persisted in his
questioning.  "Where do you come from?  And what were you doing in Federation
space?  Are you from another galaxy?"
 
"My name is Graham Wayfarer, rank Lieutenant in the Imperial fleet.  My serial
number is PP3-1498-0293."
 
Picard sighed.  He was getting nowhere.  Captain Picard caught Worf watching
him and their recalcitrant prisoner impassively.  "Well, Lieutenant Worf,
any suggestions?"
 
"I suggest we try truth drugs, sir," said the Klingon.
 
Wrinkling his face in disgust, Picard said, "You might be right, but I would
prefer it if our guest voluntarily talked to us."
 
Graham glared at his captors sullenly, unimpressed by their good cop/bad cop
routine.
 
"The Federation is a peaceful organization," said Picard, "We mean you no
harm."
 
The prisoner snorted derisively at the captain's words.  Graham had seen with
his own eyes the destructive capability of these people, and it scared him
even though he had thought he was a battled-hardened killer.  If their
vessels could deal so much deadly force during peacetime, the 'Federation'
must certainly be a ruthless and bloodthirsty bunch.  Anyone who could harness
the powers of mass destruction before even bothering to make it to the other
side of the galaxy surely could not understand the meaning of the word peace.
Back where Graham had grown up, real peace had existed within living memory
in the space governed by the Old Republic now Empire for thousands of human
generations.  Up until the Clone Wars and the military emergency that had
ensued, the light saber upheld justice and law.  His own people were still
frantically learning how to kill each other in deadly earnest, while the
denizens of this galaxy could do it without even trying to.  Peace indeed.
His captors didn't even begin to understand the meaning of the word.  He had
been captured by barbarians.
 
Worf narrowed his eyes at the prisoner's obvious disrepect for the captain,
but Picard brushed off the man's hostility.  "I can understand your resentment
towards us right now.  But you must try and see things from our perspective.
You, obviously, come from a civilization alien to our own, and your forces
have attacked and abducted several of our ships.  We would prefer open
dialog."
 
"Blezt Hober min il Hiffe," said the prisoner, switching languages.  The
Universal Translator could make little sense of what the man was saying.
Picard looked around, disconcerted.  Graham repeated his statement in the
language Picard had been using with him, "You understand nothing of peace."
 
 
 
 
 
 
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From: SWBURT0@ukcc.uky.edu
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: Star Trek vs Star Wars (8/13)
Date: Fri, 27 Jan 95 16:06:27 EST
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The fact that their prisoner had spoken in a Federation language without the
help of a translator startled Picard, and the captain barely registered
anything more than the fact that the prisoner could speak Federation standard.
"Can you understand our language?" asked Picard, with guarded excitement.
 
Graham hesistated the split second that it took the Universal Translator to
repeat the question in Galactic Standard.  Smiling for the first time since
he had been brought aboard, Graham answered honestly, "No."
 
At that, Picard sat back.  Had it been his imagination?  He looked at Worf.
The Klingon shrugged and said, "I heard him speak in Federation Standard as
well."
 
"Are you lying to us?" Picard asked with an edge in his voice.  A dangerous
expression formed in his eyes.
 
"No," Graham stammered nervously, "Not exactly."  Now I've done it, Graham
berated himself.  By letting slip the fact that he, like most people in the
Empire, had learned to pick up alien languages relatively easily, Graham had
inadvertantly slipped into a dialogue with the enemy, a definite no-no.
 
Picard glared suspiciously at the younger man, who shrank visibly away from
the captain's rising anger.  Now that he had recovered from the shock of
being alive, Graham suddenly found himself wanting to stay that way.  And the
prospect of dying at the hands of these barbarians unnerved him.
 
Graham continued appeasingly, "I pick up phrases quickly.  That's all."
 
"You mean you've been learning our language just by listening to us talk?"
 
The TIE-fighter grinned sheepishly and said, "Wouldn't you?"
 
"Fascinating," said Picard.  "I'm going to ask someone better trained in
observing human behavior to talk with you."  The captain tapped his
communicator and said, "Bridge, have Commander Data and Counselor Troi report
to the Detention Debriefing room.  I would like them to meet with our guest."
 
----
 
Back in his now all too familiar cell, David paced idly back and forth in
front of his cell door.  Although light from the force field made the hallway
beyond seem darker than his cell and thus it was hard to see what was going
on outside his cell, David found what little activity he could catch a
glimpse of immeasurably more interesting than his own bleak cell.
 
The sounds of footsteps and voices caught David's attention, and he stopped
to stare out through the force field.  He recognized the less than welcome
outline of the Klingon head of security striding closer, but the prisoner
walking dejectedly along side of the Klingon attracted David's close
attention.
 
The man, dressed in a severe and plain uniform, glanced up.  He caught sight
of David watching him from a starkly light cell.  The prisoner's eyes widened
in surprise.
 
"Kyle!" Graham cried out, breaking away from his guards just enough to
stagger towards David's cell.  Alarmed at the man's reaction, David leaped
backwards.  The confused expression on Kyle's face scared Graham.  "Kyle?"
he repeated, this time in more of a question.
 
Lieutenant Worf reached out and grabbed his handcuffed prisoner by the arm
and hauled him bodily backwards.  Graham resisted half-heartedly but never
took his eyes off of his old friend.  "Kyle?" Graham kept repeating, "Don't
you recognize me?  What have they done to you?  Kyle?"
 
David stared mesmerized at the prisoner who struggled frantically with the
security personnel.  Worf practically threw the man into an empty cell
diagonal to David's own.  The new prisoner picked himself up off of the floor
of his cell and threw himself against the now activated force field.  David
winced as the man bounced painfully off of it.
 
The man blurted out something in an alien tongue which could only have been
a heartfelt curse.  Unimpressed, Worf merely gave the fuming prisoner a calm
warning, "I have activated a force field across the door to your cell, and
you will only hurt yourself it you attempt to throw yourself against it.  You
cannot escape."
 
The man spat out another insult but avoid touching the deceptively transparent
cell door.  Worf and the guards filed out of the detention block, leaving the
two prisoners alone.  As Worf walked past David's cell, the two Lieutenants
made eye contact.  The Klingon lifted his chin slightly in a subtle greeting,
which David returned politely.  The main brig doors slid shut with a soft
hiss.
 
"Kyle?" Graham called out tentatively in a tense voice.  "What's wrong with
you?  That is you, isn't it?"
 
David stepped up to the doorway and peered out curiously at the new arrival.
The man knew who he, David, had been in his former life.  David had once been
someone named Kyle, and this man sounded like he knew Kyle well.  A sense of
nervous excitement flooded David's senses.  He felt an almost morbid need to
know his own past even though he was sure that it would appall him to find
out what atrocities he had committed in his past life.  "Uh, hello," David
 
 
said.
 
"You don't remember me at all," said Graham anxiously.
 
"No," David replied regretfully, "No, I don't sorry."
 
Graham reeled at the realization that the other man was in fact his lost
wingman and friend and that Kyle honestly did not remember him.  He sat down
heavily on his bunk.
 
"Excuse me," David called out to his fellow prisoner, "But you seem to know
who I was.  Would you mind answering a few questions?"
 
Shaken badily, Graham whispered in a hollow voice, "No.  Go ahead and ask."
 
David resolved himself and asked, "Who am I?"  The question sounded bizarre
to him, but he had to ask it.
 
The Imperial pilot looked up from his bunk and said, "You really don't
remember anything, do you?"
 
"No," said David, "I don't."
 
A look of suspicion entered Graham's eyes.  "Wait a minute.  How do I know
you aren't some sort of trick to get me to talk?"
 
"No, wait, please," pleaded David, "Please, just tell me who I am.  You don't
have to tell me anything you don't want to, but I've got to know who I really
am."
 
"Who do you think you are now?" Graham asked.
 
"I don't know," admitted David.  Then he quickly added, "I have the memories
of someone named David Sullivan, but everyone tells me he's dead.  They just
used his neural patterns to replace mine after my mind was wiped out."
 
"They flushed your memory?!" Graham gasped in disbelief.  He stared at Kyle
in panic, "They flushed your memory?!"  Graham's voice started to shriek.
 
"It was an accident.  It was an accident," David yelled over Graham's
hysteria.  The Imperial pilot ignored him.  "Oops," David mumbled under his
breath.
 
Graham was terrified out of his mind, and he began pounding his fists against
the walls.  Finally, exhausted, he collapsed in a corner of his cell out of
David's line of sight.
 
"Uh, hello," David called out hopefully in the silence. "Hello?  Are you all
right?  Hey, you there.  Hello?"
 
I'm not going to let them mindwipe me like some droid, thought Graham.  He
suddenly wanted to die, to escape being robbed of his identity and enslaved
by these horrible aliens.  He stared at the force field and wondered if
throwing himself against enough times would eventually kill him.  He gathered
his grit and then launched himself at the open void.
 
The sound of the prisoner's body slamming into the force field and bouncing
off brought David running back to the door of his cell from the edge of his
bunk.
 
"Stop that!" David yelled.  The man didn't listen, but rather only picked
his dazed body up off of the floor and ran into the force field again and
again like a panic-striken animal.  "Computer," David yelled, "Emergency
in the Brig.  Alert the guards and have a medical team brought down here
right away!"
 
Almost immediately, the guards came running in.  Graham grew even more frantic
at the sight of the guards, and he began throwing his body against the far
walls of his cell.  Sweat, drool, and blood poured down the prisoner's face.
Graham's eyes were wide and mindless with terror.
 
"Lower the force field," commanded Worf as he ran into the Brig a few moments
later and immediately seized up the situation.  "Set phasers for stun."
 
The prisoner began screaming and cursing.
 
"Fire!" ordered Worf.
 
Dr. Crusher and Captain Picard dashed through the detetion area doors just
as the Imperial pilot crumpled to the floor.  The instant the prisoner had
fallen insensible to the ground, Dr. Crusher leaped forward to his side.
She anxiously ran her tricoder over him.  SHe began to mutter under her
breath at the results.  "Damn," she said, "I'm losing him."  She began to
rapidly apply all of her resusitation techniques on him.  David watched
helplessly as the drama unfolded before his eyes.
 
"What's wrong with him?" asked Picard, worried that he might lose his only
possible source of information.
 
"He's going into full cardiac arrest," the doctor said grimly.  She grabbed
a hypodermic and jammed a full dose into his arm.  She sat back and waited
for a response.  "He's not responding.  Come on, come on.  Breathe, dammit.
Live, live."
 
 
 
But Graham wanted to die so badly, he could taste it.  He let his mind slip
closer and closer towards death.
 
"Don't die on me," Dr. Crusher pleaded threateningly.  She grabbed another
hypodermic and injected her patient again.  Graham coughed unwillingly and
moaned.  Then he began vomitting and choking up blood.  "Transporter room,"
Dr. Crusher yelled, "Transport two to Sick Bay."  Both the doctor and her
patient faded from view.
 
A stuffy stillness hung over the Brig like a dense fog.  "Clean this mess
up," ordered Picard, stalking out of the brig.
 
Worf walked towards David's cell and demanded, "What happened?"
 
David furrowed his brows and said, "He knew me.  He knows who I am and what
you've done to me.  It scared him."  David paused and looked into the
Klingon's eyes. "It scares me."
 
Worf studied David thoughtfully and then tapped his communicator.  "Counselor
Troi, you are needed in the Brig."
 
"I don't need anyone to hold my hand," David snapped angrily at Worf.  "Just
leave me alone.  All of you.  I just want to be left alone."
 
----
 
"April," said Deanna, peering around the corner of the doorway into
Dr. Sullivan's lab, "I need you to come with me to the Brig."
 
April jerked her head up quickly and asked, "David?"
 
Deanna nodded.  April practically ran out into the hall.  The two women
walked quickly towards the turbolift.
 
"Has something happened to David?" April asked, her voice filled with concern.
 
"He's very upset, and I think that he'd respond best if you tried to
talk to him."
 
"Oh, Deanna," April said, slowing.  "I don't know if I can."
 
The two women stopped in front of the doors to the lift.  "He needs you,"
said Deanna.  "He's just had a terrible shock."
 
April searched Deanna's eyes and then gazed at the floor.  "All right," she
said, "Let's go."
 
Deanna followed Dr. Sullivan into the turbolift and said to the computer,
"Brig."  The lift began to move.  All too soon, the lift slowed, and the
doors opened.  April hesitated, and Deanna led the way past the guard station
towards the cell area.
 
April's attention immediately focused on David the instant she stepped into
the room.  As if some sixth sense had told him who was coming, he strode
towards the door to his cell and watch mesmerized as April came closer.
 
Deanna signalled a security guard, who deactivated the force field to David's
cell.  The instant the lights faded, April ran towards David, who caught her
in his arms.  She hugged him tightly and then stood back.  "Are you all
right," she asked.
 
He mustered a wan smile for her and lied, "Sure.  Never better."
 
"You look awful," April chided him comfortingly.
 
"I think we should leave them alone," Deanna said to the guards.  They
understood her statement to be the order it was and followed the counselor
out of the cell area.
 
----
 
Although she had gotten her patient to Sick Bay, Dr. Crusher was not out of
the woods yet.  The moment after the two materialized, Dr. Crusher had yet
another emergency to deal with as her patient began drowning in his own
vomit.  It had taking a good deal of effort on her part to clear his breathing
passages, and still, he had ended up filling his lungs with fluid.  As
a precaution, Dr. Crusher began applying the suitable antibiotics and only
hoped that her patient wouldn't react badly to her foreign medicines.
 
Graham's face was a pale, sickly shade of white with enormous grey circles
under his eyes.  His gasping breath sounded painfully tenuous in Beverly's
ears.  The past few days had stressed her to the limit.
 
"Dr. Crusher?"
 
Exhausted Beverly looked up at the voice.
 
Dr. Selar walked into the room, "Do you need any assistance?"
 
"Oh, Selar," she replied, "It's you.  I guess I can manage here.  I'm just
a tad worn out."
 
"Captain Picard has asked me to attempt a mindmeld with the prisoner," Selar
said, almost apologetically.
 
 
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From: SWBURT0@ukcc.uky.edu
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: Star Trek vs Star Wars (9/13)
Date: Fri, 27 Jan 95 16:07:02 EST
Organization: The University of Kentucky
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Beverly folded her arms, irritated.  "I've just give him a sedative.  May
be you should try back later, when he's up to it."
 
Although Vulcans were not in the habit of paying attention to emotions, Selar
had learned long ago to respect the emotional state of the humans around her,
not matter how illogical or irrelevant they seemed to her.  "I had similar
misgivings about the captain's request, but he was most insistant."
 
Dr. Crusher was too tired to fight any more.  "I understand," she said
simply.  "Go ahead, but be careful."
 
The Vulcan doctor made her first contact gently.  She brushed away a damp
lock of hair from Graham's forehead before placing her finger tips against
his feverish skin.  He coughed and moaned.  With great care and compassion,
Selar began exploring the depths of Graham's mind.
 
----
 
 
Dr. Crusher shifted her weight from foot to foot as she stood uncomfortably
in front of Picard's desk.  Sensing her uneasiness, Picard invited
Dr. Crusher to take a seat, but she politely declined.
 
"I am sorry to hear that you patient didn't make it," Picard said.
 
"I'm sorry, too," Beverly said.  "These newcomers to our galaxy are too
much like us.  I'm having a hard time staying objective.  What do they want,
and why have they come here?"
 
"Dr. Selar tells me that they are just as curious about us as we are about
them.  This ship that is taking Federation vessels is some type of battleship
assigned to find out as much about us as possible without making any direct
contact," said Picard.  "Their rather underhanded approach seems to stem from
the fact that their home civilization is currently in the middle of a civil
war of some sort, and their main reason for coming into our galaxy through
the worm hole is that they hope to steal our weapons technology."
 
"So how do we deal with them?  Start a war?  Blow them up every time we
run into them?  How do we stop the disappearances?"
 
"That," said Picard, "Is something that we will just have to figure out as
we go."
 
"Mmm."
 
"Dr. Crusher," asked Picard abruptly, "Is somethine bothering you?"
 
"As a matter of fact, yes.  What has Star Fleet decided about David?"
 
"Well," stalled Picard.  Now it was his turn to feel uncomfortable.  "I have
sent all of the records and test results to Starbase Alphus Major, and they
have been forwarded to Star Fleet Headquarters."
 
"And?"
 
"Star Fleet Command is asking for my recommendation on the matter," Picard
stated simply.
 
"And just what is your recommendation?"
 
The captain reweighed his current decision carefully before answering.  The
act of putting his inclination into words and telling someone would make it
harder to change his mind.  "I am currently considering the recommendation
that your patient David be granted citizenship into the Federation and given
a suspended sentence for his involvement in the piracy of the Hawking
shuttlecraft.  If Star Fleet agrees, we'll drop him off on the nearest
Starbase, and he can choose what he wants to do from then on."
 
The decision seemed fair, but Dr. Crusher knew things were never as simple as
they seemed.  "Captain," she said hesitating.
 
"Oh, do sit down, Beverly," said Picard restlessly, indicating the empty chair
 
across from his desk.  "You're making me nervous."  This time Dr. Crusher
accepted his offer and sat down gingerly on the edge of the proffered chair.
 
"Are you aware of Dr. Sullivan's current state of mind?" the doctor asked.
 
Picard fiddled with a stylus.  "Counselor Troi has been keeping me informed.
Yes.  Why do you ask?"
 
"I think April has fallen in love.  She's transfered her love for her late
husband on to this man.  In her mind, our pilot friend is her husband."
 
"Given the circumstances, it's quite understandable," said Picard.  "What I
really should do is take disciplinary action."
 
"But?"
 
Picard slammed the stylus down on the table and rubbed his chin.  "But I was
the one who allowed this to happen in the first place.  This fiasco is my
responsibility."
 
"We had no choice," said Dr. Crusher.  Then she added after a moment's
silence,  "I'll talk to her."
 
 
 
----
 
"David," said April softly.
 
"Hmm?"
 
April placed her hand on top of the man's in front of her.  "What are you
thinking about?"
 
David snapped out his reverie and took April's hands in his.  "I was just
thinking about that guy they brought on board?"
 
"The foreign pilot?"
 
"Yeah, the one who died."  David patted April's hand and kissed her fingers
absently.  Then he continued, "I was just wondering what they're going to do
with his body."
 
April squirmed and tried to pull her hands away from his, but David caught
her by the wrist and held her firmly but tightly.  "You know," he said, "Don't
you?  What will the medical team do with the body."
 
 She stopped resisting and let her arms go limp.  "They'll do an autopsy, I
guess."
 
David snorted.  "Dr. Crusher knows what killed him.  He suffocated in his
own vomit.  But we won't bury his body, will we?  We'll just send it along
to be studied like another xenomorphic specimen.  His body will be poked and
examined, and in the end, we'll do the modern day equivalent of stuffing
him and sticking him in a museuem."
 
"David, why are you doing this?"
 
"Because," David said earnestly, "Because I'm one of his kind, or my body is,
at least.  My brain is all Federation, but the blood that runs through these
veins was born in another galaxy, another time.  Am I just another specimen,
too?  A freak exeriment?"
 
"David, don't," April pleaded, sounding much younger than her thirty some odd
years.
 
Realizing what he was doing to her, David stopped.  "I'm sorry," he mumbled.
 
April wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close.  She at once wanted
to comfort him and be comforted herself.  "I love you," she whispered,  "I
love you for who you are now.  I love you now more than I did before, inspite
of, no because of the differences.  You are and will always be a part of me...
as long as you want me."  April sat back, searching David for any signs of his
love for her.
 
The Imperial pilot smiled and said, "It'll be rough."
 
Dr. Sullivan laughed back the tears, "Yeah, I know.  When is it ever easy?"
 
----
 
Captain's log, supplemental
 
We are still patrolling the Romulan Neutral Zone in hopes of catching up with
our piratical friends.  Personally, I am finding this current assignment
unpleasant and difficult.  Our first two contacts with our visitors have
resulted in tragedy, one with a young man lost in a strange world now his own
and the other with the gruesome death of yet another young soul.
 
These visitors from a distant galaxy are so much like us.  Not only are they
humanoid, they are human.  We cut them, and they bleed.  We cause them grief,
and they weep.  We share our experiences with them, and they become us,
indistinguishable from our own sons and daughters.  And yet we have failed
in every attempt to open a dialogue with them.  The deaths continue.  I feel
as if I am failing all of humanity by my failure to learn who these people
really are, our fellow travellers in this lonely universe we call home.
 
And as if to mock my efforts, time is now conspiring against me.  Commander
Data informs me that our galaxies are moving apart, and that soon the worm
hole linking our galaxy to theirs will close forever, creating a gap of
both time and space.  While this will end the reign of terror that our
visitors have had over the ship traffic in this area, it is not entirely a
happy event.  We could learn so much from each other.
 
What we have learned so far from the Imperial pilot who died so needlessly
despite our best efforts to save him hints at a culture far older and richer
than our own.  Theirs is a unified galaxy of millions of races and peoples
in a single civilization with a single heritage.  They have conquered their
galaxy while we have not yet even begun to explore ours.  They have lived
in peace and harmony far longer than we have even been able to reach the
stars.  And now, our brothers are in trouble.  They have come searching for
answers, and yet all that they are learning from us is how to destroy their
own people more efficiently.
 
Time is short.  Not only do we need to extend the hand of peace between our
world and theirs for the short time we can, but it is imperative that we
relight the hope for peace and freedom in their hearts.
 
 
 
If we do not, if the only thing that they learn from us is how to kill, maim,
and destroy, then we will have truly failed.
 
 
 
 
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From: SWBURT0@ukcc.uky.edu
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: Star Trek vs Star Wars (10/13)
Date: Fri, 27 Jan 95 16:07:37 EST
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"Imperial Domination"
 
Episode Three: Slave Trade
 
Except for the fact that starfield across which the _Manifest_Destiny_
travelled lay in a different galaxy from the one in which she had been built,
the Imperial Star Destroyer seemed to be at home.  Only the hollow eyes and
somber faces of her crew revealed the true state of things behind her
confident demeanor as she cruised along the Romulan Neutral Zone.
 
Even the ship's captain was not immune from feelings of homesickness.  Behind
his stony exterior, Captain Biehn hid his longing to be able to gaze out of
the Bridge windows and see friendly stars.  His melancholia was contagious,
and his entire crew worked only at half efficiency.  They all wanted to go
home.  Only the fear of the Reformed Senate and the Sith Counsil kept them
at their post.
 
The senior Intelligence officer was reluctant to disturb the captain as he
wandered among the different Bridge stations and thus ended up trailing his
captain about.  Eventually, Captain Biehn noticed the officer tailing him,
and then a while later decided to acknowledge the man's presence.
 
"You have something to report?" Biehn asked.
 
"Our scouts have located promising spaceports on several outposts.  Although
some appear to be quite primitive, we should be able to make contact with
black market in this area."
 
Biehn accepted the news without much enthusiasm, even though it meant that
they were a step closer to be able to go home.  "Have you chosen your men?"
the captain asked.
 
The officer hesitated, "Actually, sir, I was thinking about asking for
volunteers.  With your permission, of course."
 
The captain moved wordlessly to the next bridge station, and the Intelligence
officer followed him.  Biehn chit-chatted with the ensign in front of him
and perused over the sensor readings before continuing his conversation with
the Intelligence officer.  "Do you think that anyone will want to volunteer?"
 
"Well, no, actually."  The officer licked his lips nervously under the
Corellian's cold gaze.  "But, uh, under the circumstances, I mean with the
general morale being the way it is, I, uh...."
 
The captain let his officer off the hook and smiled, the first time in days.
"I agree with your approach.  If no one volunteers," the captain added as an
afterthought, "Then I'll go."  He might as well, Biehn thought.  It was
against regulations, but then again, everything about their current mission
deviated from standard procedure.  He would probably face a court martial
when he got back regardless of what he did here.
 
Biehn's answer shocked his subordinate, who gaped speechless at Biehn's
retreating back.  If nothing else, the captain's words were almost enough to
shame even the Intelligence officer into volunteering.  Almost.
 
----
 
In the end, Captain Biehn decided to join the intelligence gathering party
anyway, and the four others of his crew who had volunteered snapped to
attention as he entered the Federation shuttle.
 
"At ease," Biehn said.  The two men and two women relaxed visibly.  The
captain gazed around the stripped shuttle, which had been carefully booby-
trapped in the event that they should be captured.  Likewise, the technicians
had booby-trapped the twelve expressionless droids that patiently awaited
their fate in the hold.  Biehn avoided looking directly at them, but he
could here the mechanicals shufflingly quietly in the dark.  May be this idea
hadn't been such a hot one.  The Corellian eyeballed his crew.  He stopped
in front of a serenely confident officer.  "Do I know you?" the captain
asked.
 
"Major Roland Evert, flight leader of A-six wing," the man replied.
 
"Angel Leader?" Biehn asked.  Roland nodded curtly.  "Are you to be the pilot
on this mission?"
 
"I assume so, sir," was Roland's reply. "Unless you were prefer to have
someone else."
 
Captain Biehn studied the man thoughtfully.  Angel flight, mused Biehn.  It
was part of his long range fighter wing and a squadron that had suffered
heavy losses in this campaign.  The man's dedication impressed him.  "Did you
volunteer?" Biehn asked.  He almost didn't want to let the man go with them.
It somehow didn't seem fair.
 
"Yes, sir," said Roland, starting to sweat slightly under the captain's
intense questioning. "I did. Sir."
 
"You really want to do this?" Biehn persisted.
 
"Yessir."
 
 
 
"Do you mind if I ask why?"
 
Roland paused.  Why by the moons of Endor did he want to volunteer for this
suicide mission?  He honestly didn't know.  "Personal reasons, sir."
 
Biehn accepted the answer without probing deeper, although he could sense that
may be all of them had volunteered out of a need to reclaim something this
foreign galaxy had stolen from them.  "I'm glad to have you on my team,
Roland," Biehn said.  Then he addressed the shuttle crew.  "As you are well
aware, our mission is a dangerous one, and we will be making first contact
with the aliens here.  Our goal is to gain as much technical information as
possible without compromising our own.  Our prime directive is this: under
no circumstances are you to reveal who we are and where we are from.  The
people you come into contact with must not realize that we are not one of
them, or else the game will be up.  I want you to keep your eyes and ears
open.  We are looking for a someone willing to sell us technical equipment,
engines, drives, weaponry, transporters.  The items may be physical devices
or written design.  You have all been fully briefed on what to look out for.
We only have a limited amount of goods for which to trade for this
information, and we can't afford to waste any of it.  We will trade these
droids," said Biehn, pointing in the general direction of the hold, "For
the information we need.  I don't think that I need to warn you that we are
entering enemy territory, and all contacts, civillian or otherwise, are to
be considered hostile.  Any questions?"
 
The volunteers shooks their heads and mumbled negatives in subdued voices.
 
"Well, folks," Biehn concluded, "It's time to go."
 
----
 
 
Captain's log
 
The number of Federation ships reported missing has dropped significantly
over the past several days, and I can only hope that this is good news.
The Romulans show no signs that any of their ships are missing, but then
again, they might not care too much if they lost a few smugglars.
 
Things seem to have returned pretty much to status quo in the Romulan
Neutral Zone except for a few scattered reports of some infighting between
some Ferengi traders on Trading Post Vel-Kir.  Although the Intelligence
reports are spotty, Star Fleet has reason to believe that the Ferengi have
managed to come into possession of several advanced artificial lifeforms,
androids, and are now fighting among themselves over the selling rights.
 
It's only a hunch, but I feel that this unusually activity has something to
do with our mysterious visitors, although no one seems to know what has
happened to them.
 
Dr. Selar has briefed me on her mindmeld with the deceased Imperial pilot,
and evidently, the use and ownership of androids is widespread throught the
Imperial galaxy.  I have spent much time discussing this data with my
command team, and an unsettling possiblity keeps cropping up.  The Imperials
may be trading their androids like slaves for technology.  Because of my
friendship with Commander Data, I find this suggestion particularly appalling,
and yet I know that many in our own Federation would gladly trade just about
anything to learn the secrets of advanced robotics.
 
I hardly think that the Ferengi have gotten hold of these alleged androids
through either honest means or conquest.
 
----
 
"We are entering within transporter range of Vel-Kir, Captain," said the
ensign at the helm
 
"Thank you, Mr. Hooper," said Picard.  "Any activity out there, Mr. Worf?"
 
The Klingon glanced over his boards and said, "Negative, Captain, although
there are two Ferengi trading vessels orbiting the far side of the planet."
 
Picard turned towards Riker and asked, "Is your Away Team ready?"
 
"Yes, sir.  All suited up and ready to go."
 
"It's a rough place down there, Number One," warned Picard.
 
"I'm sure we can handle it."
 
----
 
Riker and his Away Team materialzed in a quiet part of the rowdy settlement.
Like all frontier towns, the Federation trading post on Vel-Kir had a certain
roughness to it.  Commander Willian Riker automatically counted heads as soon
as his team had touched down.  Both Geordi and security woman Sarah Jameson
began scanning the area with their tricorders.
 
"All clear, Commander," said Geordi.
 
"Well, this place is certainly colorful," remarked Counselor Troi.
 
Data tilted his head to one side to consider her remark and said, "I do not
 
 
notice any significant increase in the variety of colors within my field
of vision."
 
"What she means, Data," Geordi explained patiently, "Is that she finds the
place interesting but in a rather negative sense."
 
"Oh, I see.  Colorful as in having variety or interest,"  Data audiably
corrected himself, although no one really cared.
 
"That bar looks promising," suggested Riker.
 
"Is that the voice of experience?" Deanna commented dryly.
 
Riker laughed and shook his head in disbelief as Counselor Troi forged on
past him towards the rundown cantina.  The rest of the team followed on her
heels.
 
The cantina was dark and smoky.  The air inside was stale and heavy with
the smell of alcohol, tobacco smoke, and other intoxicants.
 
"Can I help you?" asked a gruff voice from behind the bar.  The bartender
eyed their Federation uniforms suspiciously.
 
The team defered to Riker, who shook his head and said, "No, we're just
enjoying a little shore leave."
 
Sensing that Riker's answer hadn't helped to allay the man's doubts, Deanna
sidled up to the bar seductively and said, "But, I'd like a drink."  She
glanced over the drinks list and added, "I'll have a double chocolate rum."
 
"One double chocolate rum coming up," the grubby man echoed.  He efficiently
poured her a drink and placed it delicately in front of her.  Then he nodded
towards the rest of the Away Team.  "You gentlemen want anything?"
 
Riker followed Deanna's example and sat down next to her, "Yeah, I'll have a
beer."
 
"German, British, Purian, Andorian, Mitsnik,...?" the bartender trailed off.
 
"Uh, German, dark," Riker specified.  The bartender's gaze never wandered
from Riker's face as he served up his beer.  He placed the frothing mug down
sloppily in front of Riker, and a little splashed over the rim and on to the
counter.
 
"May be you'd better split the team up, so we won't look so conspicous,"
Deanna whispered to Riker.
 
He gave her a defensive look, "I was just about to do that."  Riker turned
to Geordi, who nodded and wandered off with Security officer Jameson.
 
Riker sipped his beer in silence until the bartender had stopped watching
them toserve another customer.  Then, Riker asked Deanna, "Do you sense
anything suspicious?"
 
"Nothing except that there's an excited Ferengi watching us from the corner
of the room," Deanna replied nonchalantly.
 
"Where?" asked Riker, scanning the bar and tables.
 
Deanna pretended to play with the straw in her drink and pointed covertly
towards a Ferengi sitting next to a doorway.  He sat with back to the wall
none to subtly guarding the hallway leading presumably to a back room.
 
Riker's eyes narrowed slightly.  He turned back around to face the bar.
"I bet that we'd find whatever is going on in that back room pretty
interesting.  May be we can find a way to...."
 
Before Riker could finish, the door to the backroom opened and several shifty
looking Ferengi traders filed out followed by several roguish humans.  The
Ferengi chattered smuggly, but the humans carried themselve with somewhat
more reserve.  The party split up, the humans making their way towards the
exit and the Ferengi towards the gaming tables.
 
"What do you make of those humans?" asked Riker.
 
 
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From: SWBURT0@ukcc.uky.edu
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: Star Trek vs Star Wars (11/13)
Date: Fri, 27 Jan 95 16:08:05 EST
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Deanna focused her attention and said, "They seem anxious about something,
but I can't tell about what."
 
"May be I'd better follow them."  Riker rose to his feet and casually pushed
his way towards the cluster of humans.
 
Deanna watch his progress and started to leave herself when an oily Ferengi
voice addressed her from behind.  She turned around and saw the same Ferengi
who had been guarding the backroom door grinning wolfishly at her.
 
"I could not help but notice your beauty," the Ferengi said, "Perhaps we
could spend some time together?"
 
Annoyed, Deanna said offhandly, "You couldn't afford me."
 
"Oh, but I can, or rather will soon be able to," boasted the big-earred alien.
 
"Why?" Deanna said, hiding her interest in a bored voice.  "Are you planning
on bumping off your grandmother for the insurance money?"
 
 
 
Either the alien didn't understand her cutting remark or else he purposely
ignored it, for he continued nonplussed.  "I just seem to be enjoying a lucky
streak.  My trade is in rare items, and today, my captain has made a deal to
obtain some very rare goods indeed.  Now, you like the sort of woman, the rare
sort, that might enjoy living a life of luxury."
 
"I seriously doubt that anything 'your captain' deals in is that rare," she
said, pushing her way past the obnoxious Ferengi.
 
He grabbed her arm and said, "What if I told you that we have obtained
fully functional robots, machines capable of thought and emotion?"
 
Androids with emotion? thought Deanna.  She turned around.  "Well, that does
sound rare, doesn't it?"
 
"Yes," said the Ferengi with satisfaction.  "And if you'll share the evening
with me, I'll even introduce you when our first one arrives tonight."
 
"I think I'm free for the evening," Deanna said coquettishly.
 
"Good.  Good."  The Ferengi offered her an arm and lead her away towards
the gaming tables.
 
----
 
Riker tailed the humans but stopped just outside the bar.  There, the three
humans, two men and a woman, held a quick conference.  Riker tried to look
inconspicuous as he lounged in the doorway as if waiting for someone.
 
Captain Biehn signalled to Roland and Fresla as soon as they left the bar.
The three edged over against the building's outer wall and out of the main
foot traffic.  "Well," said Biehn.  "This deal should do it.  We should be
able to go home after this."
 
Roland and the woman nodded.  "Do you want me to make another run back to the
ship to pick up the new droids?"  Roland asked.
 
"No," said Biehn, "Let Fresla go.  I want you to keep an eye on our friends
and make sure that they don't try anyhing funny on us.  I've got a bad feeling
about this lot."
 
"Roland should go," protested Fresla.  "I can hold my own against these guys."
 
Biehn shook his head emphatically. "I need you to modify the booby-trap on
those last droids," he said.  "Our customers will want to see something more
than the standard mindwiping has been leaving.  Since you are the robotics
engineer with the most exposure to these people, you're probably one of the
few people who can give them something that they'll fall for.  No, Roland's
it."
 
"Fine with me," Roland said and then added, "Sir."
 
"We'll meet you back here later this evening," said Biehn, and Roland's two
companions melted into the crowds.
 
Roland walked right past Riker without even paying him a second glance.  But
Riker had noticed that the Imperial pilot carried himself with a decidely
military bearing and had a pistol of somesort tucked under his belt.  Riker
followed the pilot back into the bar.
 
----
 
"The ship's sensors have detected a shuttlecraft leaving the planet surface,"
Worf reported.
 
"Of alien design?" Picard asked hopefully.
 
"Negative, captain.  It's one of ours.  It's the Hawking shuttle."
 
"The Hawking shuttle," Picard said, sitting up right in his command chair.
He straightened his jacket with a tug.  "It looks like our friends may have
made their first mistake.  Can you tell where the shuttle is headed,
Mr. Worf?"
 
The Klingon worked quickly.  "It appears to be on a vector that will take it
just past one of the outer planets.  However, an asteroid belt lying between
the shuttle and the nearest planet along its course is obscuring our sensor
readings.  I cannot tell for sure whether or not there is a large ship waiting
out there, but I do detect an anomaly that could be one."
 
"And that asteroid belt would also obscure a planetside view of that area of
space as well," mused Picard.  "If I were the captain of that vessel, that's
exactly the sort of place I'd pick to hide."
 
"Shall I plot an intercept course with the shuttle?" Worf asked.
 
"No," said Picard, "I don't want our visitors to bolt again.  What I want to
do is to pinpoint where that ship is and to approach it heading inwards
towards the sun.  That way, we'll be driving it into the system instead of
out of it.  If the analysis of their FTL drives is correct, they won't be
able to jump into hyperspace if they are pinned up against a large gravity
well.  If we force their ship deeper into the star system, we'll have a
better chance of keeping them within the gravitational field of one of the
 
 
planets."
 
"What about the Away Team?" asked Ensign Hooper.
 
Picard turned to Worf and said, "Lieutenant Worf, contact the Away Team and
tell them to return to the ship immediately."
 
----
 
Deanna had deactivated her communicator.  Since she was not wearing a
standard Federation uniform, she felt sure that no one would know that she
was a Star Fleet officer unless an untimely request to check in blew her
cover.
 
When Counselor Troi failed to respond to the general recall, Riker sent the
rest of the team back to the ship and returned to the bar to look for her.
He foound her deep in conversation with a motley crew of Ferengi.  The aliens
gave Riker's Federation uniform a dirty look, and Deanna's host spat, "What
do you want, Fed man?"
 
Riker had no patience for the Ferengi's ill manners.  "Counselor," he said
to Deanna as he made it insultingly obvious that he meant to ignore her new
drinking companions, "Time to go.  The _Enterprise_ has found the Imperial
ship and are plotting an intercept course."
 
"You're a Fed!" cried Deanna's Ferengi host.  The Ferengi did not know the
'Imperials' were, but he could tell instinctively that his captain's deal
was about to fall through but that the Federation had an interest in the
Ferengis' latest business associates.  And someone with an interest in
anything was always a potential buyer.
 
Deanna made her excuses and left quickly with Commander Riker.  Even before
they had beamed aboard the _Enterprise_, the Counselor's Ferengi friend
was urgently whispering his conclusions into his captain's ear.
 
----
 
Captain Biehn found a certain comfort in walking the length of the _Destiny's_
bridge once again, even if it were only for a short while.  He knew that
he didn't need to personally oversee the final transactions, but he hated to
leave tying the loose ends up to others.
 
"Captain," came an urgent voice.  Captain Biehn turned to see his second in
command striding towards him excitedly.
 
"What is it, Commander Plume?"
 
"The sensors are picking up a Federation ship closing in rapidly on us from
the edge of the system.  Estimated time of arrival, eight minutes."
 
Only a slight muscle twitch along Biehn's jaw gave any indication that he
wanted to swear and curse at the new developments.  "Have the helm plot us
a course into open space and do the jump calculations."
 
"Yes, sir."  Commander Plume went quickly towards the helm control and began
relaying Biehn's orders.  The captain followed him.
 
"Changing course now, sir, and accelerating to light speed," said the
helmsman.
 
"The enemy ship is changing course with us, sir," reported the nearby sensor
technician.  "She's still between us and open space."
 
"Can we make the jump from within the system?" asked Biehn.
 
His officers paled.  Finally, the helmsman said, "We could, sir, but it would
be slightly riskier to be heading towards the sun while we made the jump
unless we made our approach at a reduced speed.  The _Destiny_ isn't exactly
a top of the line Corellian cruiser or a super destroyer."
 
"Tell me about it," said Biehn drily.  The huge wedge-shaped destroyers had
been designed to save the taxpayers' money and not the lives of their crews.
"Which way would give us the best shot at making it into hyperspace?"
 
Biehn's officers blanched and looked at each other with concern.  They all
knew that the incoming ship outgunned them.  Finally the helmsman said, "I
suppose flying into the sun.  But we'll have to fly this tub like a skyhopper
through heavy syrup."
 
"Do it," said Biehn.  His orders given, Biehn's underlings dispersed to their
respective battlestations.
 
----
 
"Sir, the enemy ship is turning about and heading in towards the system,"
reported Commander Data.
 
"Follow her, Geordi," Captain Picard ordered.  "Worf, broadcast an general
hail on all frequencies."
 
"Aye,aye, Captain."
 
"Six minutes to phaser range," said Data.
 
 
 
----
 
"Sir, the enemy ship is hailing us."
 
Biehn did not respond immediately to the news.  After awhile, though, he
asked, "What are they saying?"
 
"They are requesting to negotiate with us.  And captain, they are hailing us
in Galactic Standard."
 
Could we talk them into letting us go? Biehn wondered.  It was worth a shot.
"Very well, ensign.  Establish a communication link."
 
----
 
A powerful beam of energy hit the _Enterprise_.  Numerous systems onboard
went haywire, and on the bridge, the lights dimmed.
 
"Are they shooting at us?" yelled Picard over the startled cries of his
command crew.
 
"Raising shields and arming weapons systems!" said Worf.  With the shields
up, the ship's systems began to return to normal.
 
"Insufficient information, captain," said Data calmly.  "The computers are
yet able to ascertain the nature of the beam."
 
"Sir," said Worf, "Our enemy obviously tried to disable our ship.  Do I have
permission to fire?"
 
"Negative, Worf," said Picard resolutely.  "Do not fire unless fired upon."
 
"Two minutes to visual contact," said Geordi.
 
----
 
The crew of the Ferengi ship _Luster_ did not know what was going on exactly,
but the sight of the _Enterprise_ flushing out a massive alien ship past the
Vel-Kir trading post got their attention.  The news was quickly relayed to
the _Luster's_ captain.  Seeing her sister ship becoming excited over these
strange events soon alerted the crew of the _Pocket_, and soon every Ferengi
on Vel-Kir knew that something was up.
 
Roland, on the other hand, could only guess at what was causing such a stir
in the bar.  Something was aggitating the Ferengi, who were beginning to
eye him appraisingly.  Sensing the growing danger, Roland tried to discreetly
sneak out of the bar before things got ugly.  The young man showed more
confidence than he felt as he swaggered towards the door to the cantina.
 
"Going somewhere, human?" said a Ferengi wearing the uniform from the
_Pocket_.
 
"What is it to you?" Roland said darkly.  Hiding his movements carefully,
Roland moved his hand closer to his pistol.
 
"He's ours," said a second Ferengi, this one from the _Luster_.
 
"I'm leaving," said Roland, continuing on his way out.
 
"You're coming with me," said a _Pocket_ crewman.  The Ferengi jerked out
a phaser and pointed in Roland's direction.
 
Roland dove to the ground and tucked into a roll.  As he came up, his blaster
cleared his belt, and he shot a good sized hole in the Ferengi holding the
phaser.  Other phasers leaped into view, and Roland cursed.  He didn't yet
know what those wicked looking guns could do, but he was sure he was about to
find out.
 
Half of the Ferengis had their weapons set for stun and began firing at
Roland as he dodged behind fallen tables and chairs while trying to avoid
the broken glass and blasts of whatever it was they were shooting at him.
The other Ferengi had their phasers set on a kill setting and were busy
shooting at each other.  Roland watched in horror as the Ferengis unfortunate
enough to fall into the path of the questing beams dissolved into nothingness.
The Ferengis' weapons, Roland concluded, were nothing more than
disintegrators, pure and simple.  Instead of filling with dead bodies, the
barroom became decidely emptier as time went on.
 
Crouching unseen behind a table, Roland eyed the exit.  Although he had
nowhere to run to outside, at least no one would be shooting at him there.
He steeled his nerves and then sprinted for the door.  He never even
remembered hitting the ground.
 
 
----
 
"The Federation ship has raised her shields and is powering up her weapons,"
reported the sensors officer.
 
Captain Biehn felt crushed.  "How soon till we can jump?"
 
"Our next jump window will be in four minutes," said the helm, "As soon as
we clear the gravitational pull of the planet."
 
"The Federation ship has an estimated contact time of seventy-five seconds
 
 
and closing," announced the sensors officer.
 
"Sir," said Commander Plume, "If we have to abandon ship...."
 
"Let's have a little optimism here," said Biehn.
 
Plume continued, "If we have to abandon ship, the general consensus of the
crew is to go down with the ship.  We will make our last stand here with
you.  The crew wanted me to tell you that, sir.  It's been a pleasure serving
under you."
 
"We're not dead yet!" snapped Biehn.  "Direct full power to the shields, and
ready the artillary.  Helm, plot a direct course at the planet.  I want you
to bring us in towards Vel-Kir and slingshot us past."
 
"But, Sir!" yelped the helmsman, "We can't manuever well enough at these
slower speeds...."
 
"Accelerate to light speed.  We're gonna make that jump even if I have to
shred the engines."
 
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From: SWBURT0@ukcc.uky.edu
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: Star Trek vs Star Wars (12/13)
Date: Fri, 27 Jan 95 16:08:30 EST
Organization: The University of Kentucky
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----
 
"The enemy ship is manuevering towards the planet, Captain.  I think that
they are going to attempt to use the gravitational pull to slingshot
themselves towards open space," said Data.
 
"Can they make it?" asked Picard.
 
Data replied, "My estimates give the odds at four hundred fifty three to one
against."
 
"Their course is suicidal," said Geordi.
 
"Their cowardice is disgraceful," said Worf.  "They are running like
Ferengi dogs."
 
Picard grew thoughtful, "Data, do you think that their ship could withstand a
photon torpedo?"
 
Data looked confused, "In what sense, Captain?"
 
"I mean, if could we cripple them without causing a significant loss of
life if we fired on them?"  the captain asked.
 
"Without more precise knowledge of their shield capability, I cannot give
you a precise answer," Data hedged.
 
A tone of impatience crept into Picard's voice, "Well, how about a rough
guess?"
 
Even Data could sense the Captain's irritation, and the android shifted into
the mode he used for dealing with irate humans.  "I would estimate that if
the torpedo does not cause any unforeseen chain reactions, then the alien
ship should be able to withstand a direct hit."
 
"Can you hit the ship in a nonvital area, Worf?" Picard asked.
 
"Sir?" Worf said, surprised.
 
"Can you shoot the ship and just cripple it?" Picard repeated.
 
The Klingon frowned at the request and said valiantly, "I will do my best,
Sir."
 
Counselor Troi listened with misgivings to the exchange.  "Data," she asked,
"What do you estimate their casualties will be if they are hit by a photon
torpedo?"
 
Data swirled his chair around.  "At most one to two percent at this range.
Their shielding is not exactly compatible, although it should dampen most
of the destructive effect."
 
"One to two percent," Deanna murmured.  It sounded so clean, and yet....
"How many people did you say were on board that ship?"
 
"Close to fifty thousand."  Data turned back to his duty.
 
"Photon torpedos locked on target," Worf reported.
 
"Fire when ready," said Picard.
 
As the photon torpedos streaked across the dead of space towards the Imperial
Star Destroyer, Deanna realized the magnitude of the potential loss.   Her
mind had a hard time accepting it: five hundred to one thousand wounded or
dead.  If the _Enterprise_ loss that many people, they would be practically
no one left.  Deanna wondered at the size of that number.  Fifty thousand.
Just what sort of resources were required to provide food, water, air, work,
and entertainment for fifty thousand living beings.  What would it be like
to be the ship's counselor on a ship the size of a fair sized town?
 
No one on board the _Manifest_Destiny_ had time for such idle thoughts.
 
"Torpedos coming in from the stern, starboard side."
 
 
 
"Can the guns intercept them?"  asked Biehn, tense with nervous energy.  He
hadn't wanted to start a fight, but now one had started, he was ready to make
his stand.  He was tired of running from death.
 
"They are tracking them now," said Commander Plume.  As if to make Plume's
comments old news, the firing guns finally caught up with the torpedos and
blasted them.
 
"Enemy ship still closing," said the sensors officer.  "We won't have time
like that to track the incoming torpedos at this range."
 
"Helm," Biehn called out, "How soon until we can make the jump?"
 
"Two minutes and twenty seconds."
 
"I've got another incoming!" yelled the sensors officer.  "She's going to
hit!"
 
A distance bang jolted the _Destiny_ like a small earthquake.  The crew on
the Bridge looked around, and Biehn noted a lot of worried faces.
Nevertheless the damage to the Bridge was minimal.  "Damage report," said
Biehn.
 
His officers scrambled to receive the reports pouring in.  Commander Plume
gathered the data and summarized, "The hit did minor damage to the shields
in sector PH-54 and PH-56.  Minor damage to the auxilliary stabilizers.
No firm report on the casualties yet.  Some minor fires.  The fire crews are
working on them."
 
Biehn nodded.  He turned back to the helmsman, "Time until we can jump?"
 
"The damaged to the stabilizers are forcing us to slow down in order to
control the ship," the helmsman said tightly.  "New estimated time until
jump, ten minutes and forty seconds."
 
Biehn pursed his lips.
 
"Another incoming!" shouted the sensors operator.
 
"Take evasive action!"
 
The _Manifest_Destiny_ appeared to respond sluggishly, although she was
actually banking quite sharply and traveling quite fast.  The _Enterprise_,
however, easily traveled even faster.
 
"Keep your distance, Mr. La Forge," warned Captain Picard.
 
"Their weapons do not appear to be much danger to us," Worf said derisively.
 
"Keep your opinions to yourself, Mr. Worf, and switch to phasers.  Commander
Data, keep scanning for suitable targets on that ship and give them to
Mr. Worf."
 
"Aye, aye, Captain," Data replied.  He worked quickly, and soon Worf sent
a deadly light show raining down on the Imperial ship.
 
The _Manifest_Destiny_ really began to slow.  The muscles along Biehn's jaw
were working overtime as he began to grind his teeth.
 
"Several of the aft shields are starting to fail.  Our smaller weapons don't
seem to be making much of an impression on the enemy ship.  Shall we fire
the big guns?" asked Commander Plume.
 
Captain Biehn held his breath and let it out slowly.  He knew that up until
now his opponent had only been trying to slow them down, to cripple them to
the point at which they had to stop.  Biehn himself had approached trespassing
ships, smugglars and blockade runners mostly, in just that way.  However,
if the _Destiny_ used her main batteries against the approaching frigate at
point blank range, superior shields or not, the enemy ship would receive some
damage, but not enough to stop them.  If the _Destiny_ started firing in
earnest, it might just convince the aliens to destry them outright.  "Helm?"
he asked.
 
"Five minutes, forty seconds."
 
He just might have to cut off an arm....  "Scramble all the fighter crews,"
Biehn finally said.  "Or at least all that will go.  We need to buy some
time."
 
Commander Plume nodded grimly.  He knew that the captain was asking his
TIE-fighters to make a suicide attack on the frigate in order to by the
_Destiny_ more time to escape.  Biehn's second in command just wasn't
convinced that he could force anyone to go to their deaths.
 
"Plume," Biehn called out after him, "Tell the pilots that we'll provide
them cover fire with the big guns."
 
Plume stopped and looked Biehn directly in the eyes.  He saw that the
Corellian was ready to die fighting.
 
On board the _Enterprise_, Picard waited impatiently for their prey to
slow up and surrender.  "Continue hailing the enemy ship," Picard ordered,
as if he could will his enemy into giving up peacefully.
 
 
 
"They won't answer," said Geordi.  The Imperials' resolute silence had become
a standing joke.
 
"Well," snapped Picard, unamused, "Keep trying."
 
Deanna watched the ongoing battle with remorse.  "I feel that they would
rather die than surrender to us, Captain.  Perhaps we should let them go."
 
"They have committed hostile acts in Federation space," Picard asnwered
harshly.  "I intend to end this matter right here and now."
 
Knowing all too well that her suggestions were falling on deaf ears, Deanna
sought comfort inwards.  Riker spared her a concerned glance, and she smiled
mournfully at him.
 
"The enemy ship is launching multiple fighters at us," said Worf.
 
"Are those ships capable of harming us?" asked Picard.
 
"That is highly unlikely," snorted Worf. "Sir."
 
"Then I guess we can ignore them," Riker concluded with a shrug.  Suddenly an
explosion caused the _Enterprise_ to tremble.  "What was that?" asked Riker.
 
"It appears to have been a proton torpedo fired by a fighter," said Data.
 
Another explosion jarred the _Enterprise_.  "Mr. Worf," yelped Captain Picard,
"Stop those fighters!"
 
"Aye, aye, Captain."  The Klingon adjusted the targets selected by the ship's
computer to include the swarm of tiny ships dancing about the _Enterprise_.
Soon the _Enterprise's_ phaser banks began blowing up one target after
another.
 
Only Riker seemed to notice Deanna wincing every time a fighter was reduced
to space dust.  Her reaction puzzled him until he thought of the Imperial
pilot they called David Sullivan sitting in the Brig.  Suddenly the tiny
ships seemed less like abstract targets, and more like actual people running
in front of a machine gun in a vain effort to create a diversion.  "Worf,"
Riker alerted the Klingon, "Keep a close eye on that destroyer just in case
she tried to make a run for it."
 
But on board the _Manifest_Destiny_, Captain Biehn had a few promises to
keep before he could make his escape.  "Fire all main batteries, staggered
pattern," he said quietly.  His artillary officer snapped to attention
and relayed the order down the line.
 
The main guns on the _Destiny_ began to blaze joyously, after having held
their peace for so long.  For the first time, the _Enterprise_ shook under
the might of the Empire.
 
Never failing to lose sight of his goal, Biehn turned towards his helmsman.
"Time until the jump?" the captain asked.
 
"Ten seconds, nine, eight, ...."
 
Picard braced himself for another shockwave.  The _Enterprise_ jumped.  "How
are our shields holding?"
 
"They are holding at eighty perrcent.  The damage to the _Enterprise_ is
considerably less than it would appear... from the ride," reported Geordi.
"It's just like flying through a little turbulance."
 
Then abruptly, the Imperial Star Destroyer stopped firing.  With a startling
speed, the _Manifest_Destiny_ bolted for open space and vanished, leaving
behind a few stray TIE-fighters that scattered away like leaves blown by
the wind.
 
"The enemy ship has entered hyperspace," Data announced.
 
"Is it over?" Riker asked.
 
The command crew looked at each other, mumbling.
 
"It would appear so," said Captain Picard.
 
"Captain," said Worf, "We are receiving an incoming message."
 
"Surely they aren't trying to contact us now, after all that," said Riker.
 
"No, Commander," continued Worf, "We are being hailed by the Ferengi trader
_Luster_.  The captain DaiMon Pud says that he has something of value which
he thinks we might be interested in buying."
 
"Buying?" asked Picard, puzzled.  "Put the message through."
 
A predicatably slimy Ferengi appeared on the main screen.  "Greetings,
Captain Picard," said DaiMon Pud.  "I'm glad to see that you don't always
suceed in your piracy."
 
"What do you want?" asked Picard impatiently.
 
"My name is DaiMon Pud, captain of the honest trading ship _Luster_."
 
 
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From: SWBURT0@ukcc.uky.edu
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: Star Trek vs Star Wars (13/13)
Date: Fri, 27 Jan 95 16:08:57 EST
Organization: The University of Kentucky
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The Ferengi's manner was beginning to grate on Picard's nerves, which were
still raw from battle. "I know who you are, DaiMon Pud.  What I want to know,
ishat do you want?"
 
"Ah, a trade, of course.  I sell rarities, one of a kind items, very special
things.  For a price."
 
"What do you have that I could possibly want?" Picard asked.
 
"Ah, of course, you would like to see the goods."  DaiMon Pud waved to someone
standing just out of view, and two Ferengi guards shoved a disheveled human
male into the center of the viewer.
 
"It's one of the men from the bar," Riker exclaimed.
 
"How perceptive of you," said DaiMon Pud.  "This is one of the pirates you
were chasing, yes?  An Imperial Pirate?  From another galaxy?"
 
The Ferengi captain signaled his men, and they forced Roland to his knees.
Then DaiMon Pud grabbed Roland by the hair and held his face up for Picard
to view.  "What would you pay for a live visitor from another galaxy?"
 
Deanna sat up at the sight of the Imperial's bruised and battered face.  He
was at most one or two years older than the two Imperial pilots they had
come to know.  "Captain," Counselor Troi whispered urgently, "We've got to
get him out of their hands."
 
Picard motioned for Deanna to be quiet.  "Star Fleet does not buy people,
DaiMon Pud.  You know that.  Slavery is illegal in the Federation."
 
"We don't care about how you justify your expenses to your superiors.  List
it as a reward, then, for our capture of this pirate."  The Ferengi let go
of Roland, and the young man glared daggers at the leader of his captors.
 
"How do we know that your prisoner is who you say he is?  He looks like a
Federation citizen to me," bluffed Picard.  From the reactions of both
Riker and Deanna, Picard had no doubt that the man the Ferengi were trying
to sell to them was in fact an Imperial.  It would be just like the Ferengi
to double cross a business partner and then sell him into slavery.
 
DaiMon Pud laughed.  "That is easy to prove," he said.  "Say something, you
goat."  The Ferengi kicked Roland in the gut, and the young man doubled
over coughing.  "Speak for the man, or I will find a less pleasant buyer."
The Ferengi jerked Roland's head back up.
 
His eyes closed in pain, Roland coughed and the recited, "My name is Roland
Evert, rank Major, flight leader of A-six wing in the Imperial fleet.  My
serial number is PB6-2903-3390."
 
Data checked the computer analysis and said, "The language matches that of
the other pilots, Captain.  He is who the Ferengi say he is."
 
"Let's not mince words, Captain Picard.  I know the value of my goods.  If
you will not buy, I am sure I can find someone who will.  That is the
advantage to dealing in rarities.  People, even Rolmulans, always want to
buy novelty."
 
"Captain," Deanna pleaded.
 
 
"All right," Picard relented.  "Let's bargin.  Geordi, plot a course back
to Vel-Kir, full impulse."
 
----
 
"I don't want to know about it," said David, "And I don't want to meet him.
Nothing you can say will change my mind."
 
April sat next to David across from Deanna and held his hand reassuringly.
"Are you sure, honey?" April asked.
 
"He is curious to find out who you are," said Deanna.
 
"I don't want to meet him, ok?" David said petulantly.  "What is with you
people?  I don't remember who he is."
 
Deanna eased forward in her chair.  "I understand your reluctance, David,
but I think that it is important for you to acknowledge and face this
part of your identity.  I think you should at least meet him.  Just talk
to him.  We've already warned him about what to expect.  But put yourself
in his place.  You are the only other person in this galaxy who comes from
where he does.  If nothing else, you should at least show some effort to
help make him feel more at ease here."
 
"He's getting sent away, isn't he?" David asked in a hostile voice.
 
Uncomfoble under his angry glare, Deanna sat back in her chair.  April
patted David's arm gently and leaned her head against it in an effort to
calm him down.  "Yes, he is," said Deanna.  "He'll be put on a ship to
Earth as soon as we reach Starbase Twelve tomorrow.  This is your last
chance."
 
Doubt formed in David's eyes, and he addressed April.  "What do you think?"
 
 
 
April avoided his eyes and picked at the sleeve of his shirt. "I think," she
said, "That you will regret it for the rest of your life, if you don't do
this.  And if I ever do marry you again, I will end up spending a number of
sleepless nights listening to you moan about it."
 
A smile tugged insistantly at a corner of David's mouth, and both he and
April began giggling uncontrollably.  "All right," he finally said, gasping
for breath, "You win.  I'll talk to him."
 
"His name," said Deanna, "Is Roland."
 
----
 
Roland rose to his feet the moment he heard footsteps echoing in the hallway.
Then the detention area doors slid open to admit Ship's Counselor Troi, a
striking woman in her mid thirties, and a very familiar face.
 
"Kyle," Roland gasped.
 
David walked up to the stranger and said simply, "Hello, Roland."
 
Roland stared at his friend as if he were seeing a ghost.  "We thought you
were dead."
 
David scuffed one foot against the ground.  "The man you knew as Kyle is
dead."  David forced himself to stare the other man in the eyes.
 
Roland turned away uncomfortably and began pacing slowly in his cell.  "Yes,
I'm sorry.  They told me.  It's just I thought that.... No, never mind.
We don't know each other.  But thank you for coming."
 
"No, wait," David said.  "You do know me, don't you?  Or you knew who I was."
 
Roland stopped and studied David carefully again.  "Yes, we were friends.
We flew together."  Roland smiled sadly at some memory.  "You were a good
pilot."
 
"And you were my wing leader?" David guessed.
 
For a brief moment, Roland entertained a small bit of hope, but the unspoken
apology in David's eyes extinguished it.  Roland began pacing again.
He's like a caged animal, Deanna thought.  She felt like crying.  An
oppressive silence hung over the room.
 
David struggled to put his feelings into words which would make reasonable
questions.  "What was my name?" he finally asked.
 
Roland laughed.  It sounded almost like a sob to Deanna's sensitive ears.
"Kyle Rasterbin Skywalker.  Your name was Kyle Rasterbin Skywalker."
 
----
 
Epilog
 
Captain Dieter Biehn hated appearing before formal hearings and review boards,
especially Senate ones.  He sweated uncomfortably in his Imperial Fleet
uniform and wished to be somewhere else, anywhere else.  A teleportation
device would certainly be handy right about now.
 
"Captain Biehn," whispered a Senate aide, "You can go in now."
 
The Senate floor buzzed with the loud voices of angry politicians trying to
yell each other down.  The air in the room sweltered and hung as stale and
still as that in an oven.  Biehn had to consciously force his reluctant body
to move forward into the room.  The noise that began to die down as he entered
the hall was more out of curiosity than respect, he could tell.  He
stopped in front of the main podium, like a prisoner standing before the
judge's bench.
 
The Senate Speaker stepped up to the podium and looked down at the nervous
Corellian captain.
 
"Captain Biehn," said the Speaker, "The Imperial Senate appreciates the
courage and sacrifice which you and your ship displayed in the service of
the Empire.  But, quite frankly, your last mission should never have
happened."
 
Well, the captain thought drily to himself, it would have saved everyone a
lot of grief if they had decided that before ordering him across the hole.
 
The Senate Speaker continued to talk, although Biehn only caught bits and
pieces of what the politician was saying.  Most of Biehn's attention was
consumed by his own brooding.  But the Senators closing statement regained
the captain's attention.  "In conclusion, the Senate is hearby ordering
that all knowledge of this mission by stricken from the records, and that
a moratorium be placed on the analysis of the weapons technology brought
back by the _Manifest_Destiny_ and her crew.   Captain Biehn, you and your
ship will be reassigned to a new patrol area, to be determined.  That is
all.  You may go now."
 
Typical, fumed Biehn.  Just typical.
 
----
 
 
 
The Star Fleet Interrogator walked towards the stark questioning room with
more anticipation than she normally felt for her job.  Since hers was one of
the more unsavory positions in Star Fleet, Pauline had always resented her
assignment.  Until now.   She identified herself to the computer, which
confirmed her identity and opened the door to the locked room.  Both the
door and an invisible force field around it made sure that no one would
disturb her and her subject.
 
The man appeared to be in good health, although his face seemed drawn and
almost serenely sad.  He nodded at her as she came in and sat down across
from his chair.
 
"Good morning, Roland," she said brightly, "How are you?"
 
"Fine."
 
"So, what shall we talk about today?" she asked, activating her recording
device.
 
"Would you like to hear a story?" Roland asked, enigmatically.
 
Pauline decided to humor the prisoner.  His melancholia made him so pitiful
sometimes.  Her heart would just go out to him.  "What kind of story?"
 
Roland seemed reluctant to start, and then he began, "A long time ago,
in a galaxy far, far away...."