Strange Communications
Episode Name: Strange Communications
Written By: Eidolon
Cast: Eidolon and Valentine.
Produced By: Starfleet
Directed By: Eidolon
Aired On: Sun Oct 31 20:08:00 2004
Stardate: 54500.8
Time: Sun Oct 31 18:42:56 2004
Stardate: 54500.7
The hours have worn long, but Ghorev's device to transport ships between universes slowly nears completion. The Paine slumbers, humming softly as it draws its power from the station it calls home, and Tara Valentine stands watch -- alone.
And muttering to herself, as she tries to make sense of the extremely complicated equations Ghorev and Laco came up with to make this project work. "... carry the two... No. C'mon, brain, wake up." She gives the edge of her PADD a little smack with the heel of her hand.
The cylindrical object suddenly whirs with an influx of power, dimming all the lights in the room.
"Warning. Temporal disturbance detected," the computer chimes helpfully. "Compartment sealing in thirty seconds."
Valentine looks up with a blink. "Temp- /what/?!? Holy..." Running would probably be the smart thing to do. Hello, legs? Do your thing.
The walls of the room bend outward and then blow away, making an impossibly vast distance in the confines of the rather tiny engine room...
...and then, she's somewhere that she wasn't before. The skyline of New York City twinkles before her as viewed from Liberty Island, while the Statue of Liberty rises majestically above her.
Gee, there's nothing like finding yourself on the other end of the quadrant to make a gal stumble. Tara does manage to keep from falling, though she does end up halting to slowly turn, wide-eyed. "Uh oh."
. o O Valentine thinks "This is /not/ the way to get out of the Fleet, girl. You're gonna have just loads of fun explaining this to Big Blue."
The silence of the night stretches, with only the soft wash of the water surrounding the island making any noise whatsoever. It's a perfect night for viewing the city, really.
Valentine takes a deep breath. "Houston, we have a big, humongous, serious problem," she mutters. "Okay. The lady in green makes it pretty obvious /where/ I am. Temporal disturbance... /when/ am I?" She glances upward. "No hovercraft. That's not a good sign."
Public address speakers click on, flooding the area with a deep baritone voice, calm and controlled. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is Grand Admiral Spock, Commander-in-Chief of the Imperial Starfleet." The voice pauses for a long moment, then continues. "I regret to inform you that as of 2247 hours, the combined forces of the Cardassian Union and Klingon Empire have broken through our defensive perimeter at Wolf 359. The first vessels will be entering this system in the next five hours."
The voice falls silent again. "I have ordered the surviving Starfleet vessels to retreat to defensive positions around the Alpha and Beta Quadrants. We are defeated, but we will not cease to resist until the invaders are driven back to their own space -- be it tomorrow, or centuries from now."
Valentine blinks, glancing up, and pales. "Imperial... Oh no. Oh no no no no no." Tara backs up instinctively several steps, trying to fight down panic. "This doesn't make sense. Not our universe. Cardassians and Klingons? Doesn't sound like the Mirror either. I think. I /knew/ I should've insisted on that history lesson over there." The engineer looks around quickly. "Can't stay here. Should stay here. This is where Hiro will look. Little exposed though. Oooh, just /wait/ til I get my hands on that Laco!"
"Imperial forces stand ready to defend you as ground troops land, but it is illogical to resist the inevitable." Spock's voice sounds vaguely remorseful as he speaks now. "This will, most likely..."
"...be the last broadcast from Starfleet Headquarters." She's somewhere else now, the bridge of a starship, staffed by what would appear to be normal twenty-third century Starfleet personnel -- save for the fact that they wear black uniforms with crimson accents, rather than the crimson with black from Valentine's universe. She stands at the back of the bridge, directly behind the occupied command chair.
"Helm, lay in our projected slingshot trajectory," orders the man in the command chair before he spins and nods to the man at communications. "Shut him off, Mister Garcia. There's nothing we can do for him... or Earth now." Of course, he's younger, wearing the rank pin of a captain, and he sports a thin goatee, but the man in the middle chair is someone who Valentine knows all-too-well: Robert Harris.
Valentine blinks again. Okay, this is starting to get surreal. Happy bloody Halloween. Literally. And if she thought she was feeling exposed /before/... Tara doesn't move, lest movement attract attention a few seconds earlier than she wants it to. She starts to frown a bit, going up on tiptoe to peer over the 'captain's' shoulder. Slingshot trajectory? The kind used in... "Oh hell..."
No one takes notice of her -- including Harris, who looks directly at her as he inspects the monitors at the back of the bridge before facing forward once again.
The Vulcan woman at the helm nods after a moment. "Course engaged, sir. Proceeding at maximum warp through the calculated slingshot trajectory."
The science officer, also a Vulcan, straightens up. "Temporal coordinate plot indicates that we will emerge in the year 2400." Harris nods to that, leaning forward slightly in the chair. "All hands, brace for temporal displacement." And then, in an aside only he is meant to hear, he adds, "I'm so sorry, Annie. So very sorry."
Valentine arches an eyebrow lightly, and glances down at herself to make sure it's still her usual uniform she's wearing. "You're gonna be sorrier than you think, buddy," she mutters with a wince.
The star, presumably Sol, rushes closer and closer on the screen, growing impossibly large. "Captain," the science officer reports, "I am detecting gravimetric distortions consistance with Klingon cloaking devices, closing on an intercept course." He pauses, looking into his scanner. "Confirmed. Two K'tinga-class cruisers and a B'rel-class Bird of Prey decloaking astern. They are locking weapons."
The woman at the helm reports, rather coolly, "Unable to alter course at this time, sir, unless we disassociate from this temporal trajectory."
And then the first torpedo strikes the ship, followed by two more, each causing the lights to flash and sparks to erupt from the engineering console.
Valentine reacts instinctively, pouncing toward the erupting console, before she realizes what she's doing and skids to a halt, frustrated at her lack of ability to affect anything here. And even if she could... "Prime Directive. Right." *GROAN*
A final torpedo hit reverberates through the ship, the science officer calls something that sounds like, "Temporal trajectory has been altered!"... and then it's as if reality is sucked backward and inside out through a straw...
When suddenly it's later. "What do you mean, we're off course?" Harris asks his science officer in a low voice. "When are we? -Where- are we?"
"2377, and the Dulcais Sector," the Vulcan reports impassively. "Judging by the nearest Klingon time beacon signal."
And then, she's back in the Paine's engine room, where the lights come back on and Ghorev's machine stops whirring abruptly, followed by a chirp from the PADD which is still clutched tightly in her hand. The display lights up with a text block:
Ensign Christine Anika Hurley, Serial 419-2089-10622, Communications Officer - Station 419.
URGENT: OUT OF CHOCOLATE. SEND MORE. NEED SHOES.
Fell behind at the palace - still alive. Found by friends.
Respond ASAP.
Valentine spreads her hands quickly for balance... and slowly looks around. Cautiously she prods at the deck with a booted toe, and lets out a long breath. "Whoa. What the..." Her eyes go instinctively to her PADD, then widen. "Chris! Computer! Release Engineering!"
The computer chirps obidently, and the door seals release with an audible ker-WHUMP.
And Tara goes pell-mell, sealing the section again behind her with instructions to open for Commander Ghorev only. Now to find the Commander...
