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	for eerie!cis.ksu.edu!jfy
Subject: Re: RE-POST "Time Waits For No Man" REVISED Part 7 of 7 (end)
Comments: schnitz

>Warning<  Over 500 lines of text follow.

Author's Note: The following story is a "revised" version of the original
"Time Waits For No Man." This version supercedes all previous versions and is
considered 'Final' by this author. It is being re-posted in the original
seven-part format.

I would like to thank all who wrote me after the original posting, especially
those who pointed out a minor, but serious, ommission in the first version.

Special thanks to Brian Murphy for the help on the original storyline.

As before, this story is dedicated to Lorraine Rice at NASA's Johnson Space
Center in Houston, Texas. An old friend who provided me with the kick in the
ass I needed to complete the project. This is for you and Animal.

>>ATTENTION MR. JOSEPH YOUNG<<  Please add this story to your archive. You may
also replace any previous version of it that may already reside there with
this 'Final' copy.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
The original authors of this story are myself and Brian Murphy. The original
author of the text is myself. I agree to grant free distribution of this story
as long as this message of authorship, the original, unaltered text of the
story, and the following disclaimer remain intact. E-mail regarding this story
my be sent to Joe (The Fez) Kirsch at fez@toz.buffalo.ny.us

--=[DISCLAIMER]=-- "Star Trek: The Next Generation" name and characters are
trademarks of Paramount Pictures. The following story is for entertainment
purposes ONLY and is not intended to infringe on any rights. Quotes from the
episode "Cause and Effect" used without permission, but with great respect.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

S T A R  T R E K: The Next Generation      Story By; Joe Kirsch & Brian Murphy
  "Time Waits For No Man" Part 1 of 7                 Written By: Joe Kirsch
      (Sequel to the ST:TNG episode "Cause and Effect" by Brannon Braga)

                *               *               *               *
        "Captain's Log: Stardate 7523.6. The Bozeman is continuing on course
to its assignment of charting the Phaesus system. So far, things have been
uneventful and all indications are that it will remain so. We anticipate that,
barring any incidents, we will reach the system in five hours and complete our
survey in approximately two more weeks."
          --- Last log entry received from USS Bozeman NCC-1941 ---
                --- as entered by Morgan Bateson, Captain ---
                *               *               *               *
        Morgan Bateson sat in his command chair on the bridge, surveying the
scene before him. The main viewscreen showed a hazy area of space before
them that took up their entire field of vision. The area appeared to ripple
and undulate like a large storm cloud.
        "Analysis of the disturbance." demanded Bateson.
        "Sir," replied Virginia Larson, the ship's first officer, who was
seated at the main science station, "the sensors are giving conflicting
readings of the disturbance." Larson peered into the hooded viewer at the
station. "It appears to be some form of temporal distortion. The equipment is
unable to discern the composition or the nature of the phenomenon. It does not
register as any plasma field, nor any other particulate or ionic disturbance.
Sensors are unable to identify any known types of energy present in the
anomaly."
        "Recommendation?" asked Bateson.
        "Sir, I recommend we take up position twenty-thousand kilometers from
the disturbance and investigate further." said Larson.
        "Agreed." said Bateson. "Helm," he ordered "bring us to
twenty-thousand kilometers from the disturbance."
        "Aye, sir." responded the helmsman, Lt. Jeffrey Prescott.
        The Bozeman moved ahead at one-half impulse power, heading directly
towards the cloud-like disturbance.
        "Now at twenty-thousand kilometers, sir." stated Prescott.
        "Very well, Mr. Prescott." replied Bateson. "All stop and hold
position here."
        "Aye, sir. All stop."
        Bateson turned to face his second-in-command to ask how she
intended to proceed with the study of the anomaly. He never got the chance.
        "Captain," called out Prescott, with a bit of anxiety in his voice,
"we are unable to hold our position."
        "Explain." ordered Bateson.
        "Sir," continued Prescott, "the helm is not answering to all stop.
Indicators show that the impulse engines have disengaged, but the
reaction-control braking system is not responding."
        "Confirmed, sir." added the navigational officer, Lt. Cho Sim,
"Forward momentum is carrying us into the disturbance."
        "Estimated time to contact with the disturbance?" asked Bateson.
        "We will enter the disturbance in precisely 24.6 seconds, sir."
replied Larson.
        "Red Alert." called Bateson as he punched a button on the intercom on
the arm of his command chair. "Bateson to engineering."
        "Engineering here, sir." came the voice of Lt. Cmndr. Ian Ellington,
the ship's chief engineer.
        "Mr. Ellington," Bateson asked sternly, "why has the RCS braking
system failed?"
        "Unknown, sir." replied the ship's chief engineer. "There seems to be
an interruption in the power leading into the system. I'm running
diagnostics now and attempting to re-route power to the RCS system."
        "Sensors show that there appears to be an energy-damping field at
work in this area. All primary power systems are being drained and are going
offline." reported Larson.
        "Engineering," commanded Bateson, "switch to auxiliary power systems.
Helm, go to manual over-ride. Stop this ship." Then Bateson decided to try
another tack. "Mr. Prescott, alter our heading. Bring us one-hundred-eighty
degrees about and engage the impulse engines. Full power."
        Prescott fiddled with the control panel before him. "Unable to alter
our course, sir. All maneuvering functions are not responding."
        "Switch to manual over-ride." replied Bateson.
        "Manual over-ride is not responding, sir" stated Prescott. "We are
still moving towards the disturbance."
        "We will now come into contact with the disturbance in 10.2 seconds,
sir." called Larson from her station. "Forward momentum has not slowed."
        "Bateson to engineering. Mr. Ellington, we need to stop this ship
NOW and I mean RIGHT NOW!"
        "Unable to comply, sir." crackled the response. "Auxiliary power is
down fourteen per-cent and falling rapidly. I have to initiate a full shutdown
of the warp core before we lose power to the anti-matter containment field."
        "Contact in three seconds." called Larson.
        Bateson could only sit and watch as his ship glided into the
disturbance. Despite the appearance of turbulence, there was none. The Bozeman
continued to glide peacefully along. Then the main viewer suddenly filled the
bridge with a white light that blinded all who looked into it. The automatic
luminance circuitry of the viewer attempted to compensate for the intensity of
the light, but was unable to do so. It instead shut down the viewer
completely. A deafening roar enveloped the ship, relentlessly pounding into
the very minds of everyone aboard. Then, just as suddenly as it all began, the
light and sound abated and all was silent.
        Bateson was the first to regain his senses and yelled "Damage report!
All decks!"
        Larson yelled from her position, still hearing the remnants of the
roaring in her ears, "Hull integrity intact, sir. No apparent structural
damage to the ship. Other decks reporting now, sir." Larson adjusted the comm
interface in her ear.
        "Engineering to bridge." came the call from Bateson's comm system.
        "Go ahead, Mr. Ellington." responded Bateson.
        "Sir, no damage to engineering. The power drain is still present, but
it has slowed and I should be able to compensate for it. I'll be able to begin
to restore main power to the systems within a couple of minutes."
        "Very good, Mr. Ellington. Continue with your repairs. Bridge out."
Bateson turned to look back at his executive officer.
        "All decks reported, captain." said Larson as she turned away from the
console to face Bateson. "No damage, minor injuries due to the noise. Sickbay
reports no casualties. Ship functions slowly coming back online. Helm,
communications and short-range sensors are still non-functional but under
repair."
        Bateson turned to face the navigator. "Position, Mr. Sim?"
        "Power is coming back to the navigational equipment now, sir. Our
position is..." Sim was cut short by the sound of an alarm. "Proximity Alert!"
yelled Sim as he looked at the navigational readout. "Unknown vessel, dead
ahead, sir! Range to vessel is two thousand kilometers, closing rapidly!" Sim
turned to face the captain. "We are on a collision course!"
        "Evasive action!" Bateson quickly rose from his seat and moved forward
to the helm. "Put other vessel on viewer."
        The viewscreen was filled with the image of the largest vessel Bateson
or anyone else on the bridge had ever seen. The massive ship loomed closer
and closer.
        "Helm is still not responding, sir!" cried Prescott.
        "Time to impact?" asked Bateson.
        "Impact in five seconds!" screamed Sim.
        "Oh my God!" muttered Bateson as he raced back to his chair. "Sound
collision alarm!" he ordered as he hit the ship-wide intercom. "All hands,
prepare for impact..."
        Bateson was stopped as his ship was enveloped by a green beam
emanating from the other vessel. It wrenched the Bozeman hard to port in an
effort to avoid the collision. In doing so, a number of unprepared crewman
were thrown across the bridge due to the lag in compensation from the inertial
dampeners. Those who were prepared were unseated by the force of the port warp
engine nacelle of the Bozeman coming into contact with the other vessel. The
impact rattled through every deckplate in the ship. Several of the bridge data
stations were short-circuited by power over-loads caused by the collision and
blew apart in a shower of sparks and shrapnel. The main lighting and power
went out and the emergency back-up systems kicked in. Cries of crewmen echoed
everywhere as fire and smoke permeated the bridge.
        Bateson crawled back to his chair, bleeding profusely from a cut on
his forehead that he'd obtained in his fall. He was in shock. He quickly
surveyed he bridge. The helm station was a smoking ruin, with Prescott lying
motionless in a pool of blood on the floor next to it. Sim was crawling to the
aid of his fallen comrade. Those who were mobile were scrambling to aid those
who weren't. Larson was removing the dead body of an ensign from the area of
the last working science station. She had what appeared to be a four
centimeter piece of control panel protruding from her right forearm. Blood
flowed freely from her wound.
        Bateson turned back to face the main viewer. The image was filled with
static, but he was able to make out the other vessel. It was shaking badly and
a blue-colored gas was escaping from an outboard pod on the starboard side of
the ship. Suddenly, an explosion tore through the inner section of the pod,
blowing the crippled vessel sideways, sending it spinning about on its axis.
        Bateson regained a small portion of his faculties and punched the
intercom on his chair. "Bateson to sickbay. Medical emergency on the bridge!"
        "Intercom systems are out, sir." rasped Larson, choking from the
smoke. "Major damage to our port warp nacelle. Matter/anti-matter containment
field fluctuating. Main power has failed. Auxiliary power and life support
systems failing. Estimated time to life support failure is four minutes."
        Bateson stood and looked at Larson. The grim look on her dirty and
bloodied face said it all. He looked around the ruined bridge one more time.
Looked at the living, the dying, and the dead. There was only one decision he
could now make. It was the one that no captain, from the first ocean-going
sailors on Earth to present-day starship captains, ever wanted to make.
        "Mr. Larson, send away the log bouy. All hands, abandon ship."
        It was the last order Bateson would ever give. The other vessel
exploded with fury on the viewscreen. Its glow bathed the bridge in white. The
eyes of the bridge survivors never had the chance to be blinded by its
brilliance. Being at a distance of less than five hundred meters from the
explosion, the Bozeman was blown away like an autumn leaf in a hurricane, its
own matter and anti-matter adding to the maelstrom of destruction.
                *               *               *               *
                *               *               *               *
        Morgan Bateson sat in his command chair on the bridge, surveying the
scene before him. The main viewscreen showed a hazy area of space before
them that took up their entire field of vision. The area appeared to ripple
and undulate like a large storm cloud.
        "Analysis of the disturbance?" demanded Bateson.
        "Sir," replied Virginia Larson, the ship's first officer, who was
seated at the main science station, "the sensors are giving conflicting
readings of the disturbance." Larson peered into the hooded viewer at the
station. "It appears to be some form of temporal distortion. The equipment is
unable to discern the composition or the nature of the phenomenon. It does not
register as any plasma field, nor any other particulate or ionic disturbance.
Sensors are unable to identify any known types of energy present in the
anomaly."
        "Recommendation?" asked Bateson.
        "Sir, I recommend we take up position twenty-thousand kilometers from
the disturbance and investigate further." said Larson.
        "Agreed." said Bateson. "Helm," he ordered "bring us to
twenty-thousand kilometers from the disturbance."
        "Aye, sir." responded the helmsman, Lt. Jeffrey Prescott.
        The Bozeman moved ahead at one-half impulse power, heading directly
towards the cloud-like disturbance.
        "Now at twenty-thousand kilometers, sir." stated Prescott.
        "Very well, Mr. Prescott." replied Bateson. "All stop and hold
position here."
        "Aye, sir. All stop."
        Bateson turned to face his second-in-command to ask how she
intended to proceed with the study of the anomaly. He never got the chance.
        "Captain," called out Prescott, with a bit of anxiety in his voice,
"we are unable to hold our position."
        "Explain." ordered Bateson.
        "Sir," continued Prescott, "the helm is not answering to all stop.
Indicators show that the impulse engines have disengaged, but the
reaction-control braking system is not responding."
        "Confirmed, sir." added the navigational officer, Lt. Cho Sim,
"Forward momentum is carrying us into the disturbance."
        "Estimated time to contact with the disturbance?" asked Bateson.
        "We will enter the disturbance in precisely 24.6 seconds, sir."
replied Larson.
        "Red Alert." called Bateson as he punched a button on the intercom on
the arm of his command chair. "Bateson to engineering."
        "Engineering here, sir." came the voice of Lt. Cmndr. Ian Ellington,
the ship's chief engineer.
        "Mr. Ellington," Bateson asked sternly, "why has the RCS braking
system failed?"
        "Unknown, sir." replied the ship's chief engineer. "There seems to be
an interruption in the power leading into the system. I'm running
diagnostics now and attempting to re-route power to the RCS system."
        "Sensors show that there appears to be an energy-damping field at
work in this area. All primary power systems are being drained and are going
offline." reported Larson.
        "Engineering," commanded Bateson, "switch to auxiliary power systems.
Helm, go to manual over-ride. Stop this ship." Then Bateson decided to try
another tack. "Mr. Prescott, alter our heading. Bring us one-hundred-eighty
degrees about and engage the impulse engines. Full power."
        Prescott fiddled with the control panel before him. "Unable to alter
our course, sir. All maneuvering functions are not responding."
        "Switch to manual over-ride." replied Bateson.
        "Manual over-ride is not responding, sir." stated Prescott. "We are
still moving towards the disturbance."
        "We will now come into contact with the disturbance in 10.2 seconds,
sir." called Larson from her station. "Forward momentum has not slowed."
        "Bateson to engineering. Mr. Ellington, we need to stop this ship
NOW and I mean RIGHT NOW!"
        "Unable to comply, sir." crackled the response. "Auxiliary power is
down fourteen per-cent and falling rapidly. I have to initiate a full shutdown
of the warp core before we lose power to the anti-matter containment field."
        "Contact in three seconds." called Larson.
        Bateson could only sit and watch as his ship glided into the
disturbance. Despite the appearance of turbulence, there was none. The Bozeman
continued to glide peacefully along. Then the main viewer suddenly filled the
bridge with a white light that blinded all who looked into it. The automatic
luminance circuitry of the viewer attempted to compensate for the intensity of
the light, but was unable to do so. It instead shut down the viewer
completely. A deafening roar enveloped the ship, relentlessly pounding into
the very minds of everyone aboard. Then, just as suddenly as it all began, the
light and sound abated and all was silent.
        Bateson was the first to regain his senses and yelled "Damage report!
All decks!"
        Larson yelled from her position, still hearing the remnants of the
roaring in her ears, "Hull integrity intact, sir. No apparent structural
damage to the ship. Other decks reporting now, sir." Larson adjusted the comm
interface in her ear.
        "Engineering to bridge." came the call from Bateson's comm system.
        "Go ahead, Mr. Ellington." responded Bateson.
        "Sir, no damage to engineering. The power drain is still present, but
it has slowed and I should be able to compensate for it. I'll be able to begin
to restore main power to the systems within a couple of minutes."
        "Very good, Mr. Ellington. Continue with your repairs. Bridge out."
Bateson turned to look back at his executive officer.
        "All decks reported, captain." said Larson as she turned away from the
console to face Bateson. "No damage, minor injuries due to the noise. Sickbay
reports no casualties. Ship functions slowly coming back online. Helm,
communications and short-range sensors are still non-functional but under
repair."
        Bateson turned to face the navigator. "Position, Mr. Sim?"
        "Power is coming back to the navigational equipment now, sir. Our
position is..." Sim was cut short by the sound of an alarm. "Proximity Alert!"
yelled Sim as he looked at the navigational readout. "Unknown vessel, dead
ahead, sir! Range to vessel is two thousand kilometers, closing rapidly!" Sim
turned to face the captain. "We are on a collision course!"
        "Evasive action!" Bateson quickly rose from his seat and moved forward
to the helm. "Put other vessel on viewer."
        The viewscreen was filled with the image of the largest vessel Bateson
or anyone else on the bridge had ever seen. The massive ship loomed closer
and closer.
        "Helm is still not responding, sir!" cried Prescott.
        "Time to impact?" asked Bateson.
        "Impact in five seconds!" screamed Sim.
        "Oh my God!" muttered Bateson as he raced back to his chair. "Sound
collision alarm!" he ordered as he hit the ship-wide intercom. "All hands,
prepare for impact..."
        Bateson stopped as the viewscreen showed the giant ship had slowly
slid out of the way of the Bozeman. The two ships missed hitting each other by
less than fifty meters.
        "The unknown vessel has cleared out of our path, sir." confirmed a
visibly relieved Sim.
        "Is the helm back online, Mr. Prescott?" asked Bateson.
        "Yes sir," replied Prescott, "power to maneuvering has been restored."
        "Outstanding," said Bateson dryly, "hold our position here."
        "Aye, sir."
        "Unbelievable," mused Bateson as he also sank lower into his command
chair and released his hands from the death-grip that was holding them onto
the armrests. "Do you think they could have cut it any closer?" asked Bateson
rhetorically.
        "I doubt it, sir" said Larson as she turned from her station, also
showing relief at having passed through the crisis. "That was about as 'near'
as a 'near miss' gets." A signal from the console returned her attention to
the controls. "Communications systems are back online. I'm attempting to hail
the other vessel, sir." Larson paused as she received a response. "The other
ship is responding to our hail."
        "Good." said Bateson. "Put the hail onscreen."
        "Aye, sir. Message coming through now." said Larson as she moved down
to the command area and stood just behind and to the left of Bateson.
        The viewscreen image of the other vessel was replaced by the image of
a middle-aged, balding man sitting on a chair in the middle of the picture. He
wore a two-piece uniform that was colored red and black. On the left side of
his chest he wore a silver and gold-colored pin that bore more than a passing
resemblance to the StarFleet insignia. Sitting immediately to his left was a
woman in a blue uniform, with long dark hair and dark eyes.
        "This is Captain Morgan Bateson of the Federation starship Bozeman.
Can we render assistance?"
        "I'm Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Federation starship Enterprise and
I was just going to ask you the same thing."
        Bateson thought quickly about this. Everyone in StarFleet, from the
youngest cadet to the oldest admiral knew the name Enterprise and the name of
her captain, the legendary James T. Kirk. The Enterprise he was aware of was
a Constitution-class ship, certainly not the behemoth that floated before him.
And the man on the screen was definitely not Admiral Kirk. Bateson decided the
only way to find out what was really going on here was to play dumb.
        "Captain Picard, your ship is not familiar to us." conceded Bateson.
        "Captain," spoke the figure on the screen, "have you any idea of what
has just happened?"
        "Our sensors detected a temporal distortion," said Bateson, "then your
ship appeared." Bateson bit down hard on his tongue, refraining from the
strong urge to ask the other just whom he had purchased his captains' license
from. "We nearly hit you."
        "The Enterprise has been caught-up in a temporal causality loop,"
replied Picard, "and I suspect that something similar may have happened to
you."
        Bateson looked uncertainly at the image of Picard on the screen. "You
must be mistaken. We left starbase only three weeks ago."
        There was a moment of silence as Picard looked somewhat uncomfortable,
troubled by something. "Captain," he began slowly, "do you know what year this
is?"
        "Of course I do," stated Bateson matter-of-factly. "2278."
        "Perhaps you should beam aboard our ship," suggested Picard. "There's
something we need to discuss."
        Bateson paused briefly, somewhat taken aback by the offer. "Very well,
I'll beam aboard in, shall we say, twenty minutes?"
        "Splendid. I look forward to meeting you."
        "As do I. Bozeman out."
        "Captain," stated Sim in a voice of disbelief as soon as the image of
Picard faded from the viewer, "I've just determined our current position. Sir,
we're over one thousand light years off-course!"
                *               *               *               *
                *               *               *               *
        Riker was the last of the command officers to enter the briefing
lounge. Already present were Picard, LaForge, Worf, Troi, Data and Dr.
Crusher. Riker took his customary seat on the right-hand side of Picard.
        "Very well," started Picard, "let's begin. Mr. Data, what information
do we have about the Bozeman?"
        "Sir," acknowledged Data, "StarFleet records of the Bozeman show that
the vessel disappeared while en route to survey the Phaesus system on or about
stardate 7523.6. That is the stardate of the last log entry received by
StarFleet. As Captain Bateson has indicated, the ship was three weeks out of
Starbase 83 when it was lost. In his final entry, Captain Bateson made no
mention of any problems having been encountered. After failing to hear from
the ship again, StarFleet declared the Bozeman 'overdue' on stardate 7525 and
launched a search party to look for the vessel. The group consisted of a total
of five vessels, including the Vaughn, the St. Croix, the Letchworth, the..."
        "Thank you, Mr. Data," interceded Picard, "I don't believe we'll need
that particular information. Please continue with your report."
        "I am sorry, sir" apologized the android. "The search continued until
stardate 7538.5, at which time StarFleet discontinued the effort and
officially declared the Bozeman as 'lost with all hands.'"
        "What do we know about her captain, Morgan Bateson?" was Picard's next
question.
        "I just finished reading over the records on him, sir." stated Riker.
"Captain Bateson, Morgan F. was 42 years old when he disappeared. Born in
Middlebury, Connecticut, he graduated with honors from StarFleet Academy,
specializing in alien culture studies. His first posting was aboard the
starship Bunker Hill. Captain De Graff credited Ensign Bateson with saving his
life and the lives of two other crewmates when a first-contact mission on
Foraq III went sour and the landing party was attacked. Bateson was severely
injured in the attack and spent the next three months in the hospital
facilities at Starbase 12 recovering from his wounds. There, he was awarded
the Legion of Valor by StarFleet.
        "After his recovery, he was posted as a lieutenant on the Gaspar,
where he was involved in a number of skirmishes with the Klingons." Riker
turned and briefly looked at Worf, almost apologetically. He then turned his
gaze back to Picard. "One happened while he was serving as second officer in
which he lost two members of a landing party he was commanding when they were
ambushed. A Klingon cruiser mounted a sneak attack of the colony on Cyvan IV
near the old neutral zone. After the incident, Bateson worked his way up to
the rank of commander and was promoted to ship's first officer. He was
commissioned as captain of the Bozeman on stardate 7312. The Bozeman was his
first command. Parents deceased, no known siblings, No record of any other
family or children. That's about all there is, sir."
        Picard nodded and turned to and Troi and asked "Counselor, do you feel
anything from him?"
        "I sense some anger," said Troi, "probably over the near-miss with
the Enterprise, but mostly I feel confusion or puzzlement. He is uncertain
what to make of his current situation. I also feel some hesitation from him
regarding his beaming over here, which I believe is normal considering the
circumstances."
        "Would you say that he is presently capable of making rational
command decisions?"
        "I believe so captain, but wherever there lies confusion and
hesitation, there also lies the possibility of making irrational decisions."
        "Understood. Counselor, I would like you there at our meeting." Picard
turned to face Crusher. "Doctor, I would like you to be in attendance as well.
I want you to give Captain Bateson a medical examination during the meeting. I
want to be sure that there hasn't been any physical damage done to him due to
the ordeal."
        "Of course, captain," said Crusher, "but I could do a more thorough
analysis of him if we could get him to sickbay."
        "No," Picard said curtly, "I don't want to show him any more of the
ship than is absolutely necessary. It is for that reason we will hold the
meeting here in the briefing lounge and not in my ready-room. He'd have to go
through the bridge to get there."
        "I agree, sir" intoned Worf, "we must limit his access while he is
onboard the Enterprise. If he were to gain knowledge of future improvements in
Federation technology and return these secrets to his own time..."
        Picard cut his security chief short. "Whether or not he learns about
future technological advances is not the issue here, Mr. Worf. All our records
indicate that the Bozeman disappeared without a trace ninety years ago,
suggesting that this is indeed the correct time-line and Captain Bateson and
his crew indeed belong here." Picard looked around the table as he continued.
"The issue now is how best to help him and his people deal with their current
situation. To allow him access to sickbay, the bridge, or other areas of the
ship where significant changes are evident would only add to his confusion
and, to borrow a title from an old Earth text, add to his 'Future Shock.'"
        "I agree, sir." said Riker. "I remember my feelings of shock and
confusion when I was led to believe I'd lapsed into a coma for sixteen years
and awoke to a whole new world. I can sympathize with what he and his people
are about to go through."
        "Mr. LaForge," said Picard as he turned to his chief engineer, "what
do we know about his ship?"
        "The ship," started LaForge, "is a Soyuz-class vessel, a precursor of
the Miranda-class. She has a top speed of about warp five."
        "That slow?" asked Riker with raised eyebrows.
        "Yes sir, commander." replied LaForge. "The older engines of the
Soyuz-claas type just can't put out the amount of warp field strength needed
to generate great speed, at least not by our standard. They used a different
warp speed meausrement standard in those days. By their standards, it can hit
around warp eight, but on our scale, it only works out to around warp five."
        Picard nodded. "What does the general condition of the vessel appear
to be?" he asked.
        "Preliminary scans of the Bozeman," replied Data, "show no structural
damage due to traversing the disturbance and all her main and secondary
systems are online and appear to be functioning properly, sir."
        "What about armament?" asked Picard. "Are her weapons systems
functional?"
        Worf answered this question. "Their weapons systems are functional,
sir, but not armed. Sensors show the ship has a standard complement of phasers
and photon torpedoes consistent with the class and era of their vessel. They
have made no special modifications that I am able to detect." Worfs eyes
narrowed as he looked at his captain. "Sir, are you expecting to do battle
with them?"
        "To be perfectly honest, Mr. Worf," said Picard, "I don't know just
what to expect of our new guests, but I'd like to be prepared for any
contingency." Picard turned to Data. "Mr. Data, do we have the command prefix
code for the Bozeman should we need it?"
        "No sir," replied the android, "that information was not listed in the
file I was able to access, since the ship was declared lost. However,
StarFleet does archive such information in the eventuality that a lost
starship is somehow recovered or co-opted by hostile forces. The information
is restricted to those officers who hold the rank of captain or higher."
        "Very well," stated Picard, "I shall make the proper inquiries. Thank
you Mr. Data." Picard looked at the others. "If there is nothing else, I
believe it is nearly time for our guest to arrive."
        There was no further input from any other members of the meeting, so
Riker dismissed the group and Dr. Crusher left for Sickbay to retrieve her
medical tricorder. As the room began to empty out, Picard spoke again.
        "Mr. Worf, I'd like to see you for just a moment please."
        Worf stopped his exit and looked at the captain. Troi, who had been
waiting behind, excused herself from the room. Riker, who was bringing up the
rear of the exodus turned to Picard before leaving.
        "I'll be in transporter room three to welcome our guest, sir."
        "Splendid, Number One" said Picard as the door closed behind Riker.
"Mr. Worf, please," Picard gestured to the chair nearest him, "sit down."
        Worf sat down and faced Picard. "Yes sir. How may I help you?"
        "Mr. Worf, I'm about to ask a most unusual request of you. One I'd
hoped I'd never have to ask, but under the current circumstances, I think it
would be the most prudent move."
        "Of course, sir." spoke Worf, "Anything that you require."
        "Worf," Picard said delicately, trying to choose his wording carefully
as no to offend the Klingon, "I would like you to confine yourself to your
quarters while our guest is aboard."
        "Sir?"
        "Worf, Captain Bateson and his people are from another time, a time
when the Federation and the Klingon Empire were still enemies. You heard the
report of Bateson's previous encounters with your people. The sight of
a Klingon onboard the Enterprise could cause unneeded complications to an
already touchy situation. I just don't want to throw any more logs on the
fire, as it were."
        "Aye, sir" muttered Worf as he lowered his eyes to look at the table,
a look of embarrassment slowly gliding across his dark features.
        "Mr. Worf," quickly spoke Picard, "I'm not, however, removing you from
duty. You will continue to work in your quarters and formulate a contingency
plan to deal with the Bozeman should her captain panic and decide to attempt
something foolhardy. I will recall you to the bridge after our guest has left.
Is that understood?"
        "Understood, sir." Picard's order had the desired confidence-building
effect on the Klingon as he raised his head and starred at Picard. "Thank you,
sir."
        Picard nodded in acknowledgement. "Dismissed."
        "Aye, sir." Worf stood and left the room. Picard then turned to the
computer interface and contacted StarFleet Command, apprised them of their
situation and requested the command prefix code for the Bozeman.
        He genuinely hoped he would not need it.
                *               *               *               *
                                ... continued


Sigs absorb 47 times their own weight in excess relevence.

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To: jfy@cis.ksu.edu (Joseph F. Young)
Subject: Re: RE-POST "Time Waits For No Man" REVISED Part 7 of 7 (end)
From: fez@toz.buffalo.ny.us (the fez)
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Organization: The Tower of Zot - Buffalo, NY USA - (716)839-0431
Status: RO

>Warning<  Over 500 lines of text follow.

Author's Note: The following story is a "revised" version of the original
"Time Waits For No Man." This version supercedes all previous versions and is
considered 'Final' by this author. It is being re-posted in the original
seven-part format.

>>ATTENTION MR. JOSEPH YOUNG<<  Please add this story to your archive. You may
also replace any previous version of it that may already reside there with
this 'Final' copy.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
The original authors of this story are myself and Brian Murphy. The original
author of the text is myself. I agree to grant free distribution of this story
as long as this message of authorship, the original, unaltered text of the
story, and the following disclaimer remain intact. E-mail regarding this story
my be sent to Joe (The Fez) Kirsch at fez@toz.buffalo.ny.us

--=[DISCLAIMER]=-- "Star Trek: The Next Generation" name and characters are
trademarks of Paramount Pictures. The following story is for entertainment
purposes ONLY and is not intended to infringe on any rights. Quotes from the
episode "Cause and Effect" used without permission, but with great respect.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

S T A R  T R E K: The Next Generation      Story By; Joe Kirsch & Brian Murphy
  "Time Waits For No Man" Part 2 of 7                 Written By: Joe Kirsch
      (Sequel to the ST:TNG episode "Cause and Effect" by Brannon Braga)

                *               *               *               *
        At the same time Picard was holding his briefing aboard the
Enterprise, Bateson was holding a meeting of his own on the bridge of the
Bozeman. Present were Larson, Prescott, Sim, and Ellington.
        "Mr. Sim," started Bateson, "just where in Hell's name are we?"
        "Sir, we're in an area called the Typhon Expanse. The effect of
entering the distortion has transported us one thousand and twenty-seven light
years from our original position. That is, at least, as far as I can tell."
        "Explain."
        "Well, sir," Sim began, "I'm having a problem in comparing our
star-charts to the actual positions of the stars that I'm reading from the
navigation computer. Everything seems to have moved and the positions of the
stars appear to have changed very slightly. I've had the computer run
diagnostics on the primary and secondary sighting routines, but the results
say that everything's fine.It's nothing that can't easily be compensated for,
I mean, it's not like they've moved light-years or anything. It's just..."
Sims voice tailed off as he shrugged at Bateson. "I don't know, sir.
Something's not quite right."
        "How long for us to get back to the nearest starbase?" Here it comes,
thought Bateson.
        Sim cringed. "At Warp 6," Sim took a breath, "Seven years, five
months and change until we reach Starbase 83, sir." Everyone tried to
suppress a collective groan. Nobody succeeded.
        "Cho, please tell me that this is a technical problem with the
instruments." pleaded Bateson.
        "Sorry, sir. No such luck. Diagnostics show everything is working
fine."
        Bateson nodded. "Report, Mr, Larson. What have we got on the
Enterprise?"
        "Sir," started Larson, "the last report we have from StarFleet
regarding ship locations and assignments shows that the Enterprise is
currently in the StarFleet Orbital Spacedock facility at Earth undergoing a
re-fit and repairs from her V'Ger encounter. Admiral Kirk is currently serving
as commandant of StarFleet Academy on Earth. Spock is currently listed as
provisional captain of the Enterprise and is scheduled to command a training
mission with a crew of Academy cadets as soon as repairs and upgrades are
effected."
        "So, it safe to say that the vessel before us is not the Enterprise
then?" Bateson was surprised he even bothered to ask the question. Of course
it wasn't. One look could tell anyone that.
        "Certainly not the Enterprise we are acquainted with, sir." Larson gave
the captain a look of puzzlement as she continued. "However, an exterior scan
of the vessel clearly shows her designation is indeed U.S.S. Enterprise with
the registry of NCC-1701 followed by the suffix of 'D', implying that it is a
descendant of the Enterprise line. It also has what appears to be a StarFleet
insignia on it, but it is inconsistent with the current insignia used by
the branch."
        Prescott was next to add to the conversation. "The ship is emitting a
StarFleet identifier beam stating that it is the Enterprise, registry
NCC-1701-D as well. However, it is not broadcasting on the established
StarFleet identifier beacon frequency."
        Bateson turned back to Larson. "What have our scans been able to
determine about the composition of the ship?"
        "Scanners indicate that the ship is composed mainly of duranium and
tritanium, along with some traces of terminium. Standard compounds used in the
construction of StarFleet vessels. However, there are also traces of other
elements in the physical make-up of the ship that the sensors are unable to
identify, sir."
        Bateson directed his next question to his chief engineer. "Mr.
Ellington, have you done a scan of the power source of the other ship?"
        "Yes sir" replied Ellington. "The vessel appears to be using a
matter/anti-matter reaction system somewhat similar to our, but far more
powerful. While the sensors have been able to identify the main power source,
we haven't been able to determine how the power is distributed throughout the
ship. There have been no indications of any conventional power conduits
running through the ship."
        "In other words," said an irritated Bateson sarcastically to no one in
particular, "everything so far adds up to 'close, but no cigar', correct?"
        "One thing appears to be reasonably certain, sir." said Ellington.
"The vessel does appear to be based on the classic StarFleet design for
starships, with a discernible saucer section, secondary hull, and what appear
to be outboard warp engine nacelles port and starboard."
        "What would you estimate the upper speed of the vessel to be, Mr.
Ellington?" queried Bateson.
        "As to the warp capability of the ship, sir," Ellington shrugged, "I
can't see how they can maintain warp field integrity on a vessel that size.
I've seen test models of the new Excelsior-class prototype that StarFleet is
building and I know for a fact that the Federation warp specialists are
collectively tearing their hair out trying to figure out how to sustain a warp
field around a spaceframe that size. And the Excelsior is half the size of the
other vessel. Then again," shrugged Ellington, "a Selurian Velex shouldn't be
able to fly either, yet it does."
        Bateson now looked at Sim. "What about the offensive capabilities of
the other ship, Mr. Sim?"
        "Sir, because of the inability of the sensors to establish the method
of power transference aboard the other ship, I've been unable to confirm or
deny the existence of any beam-emissive weaponry such as phasers," Sim gave
the captain a grim look, "but I have been able to read a large number of what
I believe to be photon torpedoes onboard. They are similar in configuration to
ours but with a much greater yield potential."
        Bateson had not liked the look on Sims face, and asked "How much
greater?"
        "By my estimation, sir," said Sim, "about five times more powerful.
They could blow down our shields for good with just one shot."
        Bateson took this in as he turned back to face Larson. "Have you
attempted to contact StarFleet regarding our situation?"
        "No sir," stated Larson, "I was uncertain as to whether or not you
wished to maintain radio-silence with StarFleet until we could ascertain more
information."
        Bateson nodded. "Under normal circumstances, I'd tend to agree with
that assessment, but," said Bateson as he gestured at the viewer, "these
aren't normal circumstances. While I'm aboard the other vessel, I want you to
send a coded message to Starbase 83 on a secured channel and inform StarFleet
of our current situation and request further instructions."
        "Aye, sir. But at this distance, they won't receive our signal for
over four months." replied Larson.
        "Terrific. Send the message anyway, commander. Well," started Bateson
as he looked at the ship's chronometer, "it's almost time for me to get over
there." Bateson stood and began moving toward the turbolift, then stopped.
"Mr. Larson, I want you to accompany me to my quarters before I leave. We have
one quick task we need to perform before my departure. Mr. Prescott, you have
the bridge until relieved by Mr. Larson."
        Prescott acknowledged his order as Larson moved to join Bateson at the
turbolift and together they entered into it. "Deck six." stated Bateson.
        Bateson turned to Larson as the turbolift began moving. "Virginia," he
started softly, "I want your honest personal assessment of our options."
        "Honestly sir," she began heavily, "I don't see where we have any
options at this point, other than attempting to verify the claims made by the
captain of the other vessel."
        "What do you think of their claim about a temporal causality loop?"
        "The theory of a causality loop is a rather new one, and hasn't been
widely accepted by most scientists. However, that seems to be of little
consequence since it would be the temporal rift that would explain the
presence of the other ship here in our time. It could also be equally
possible that it is we who are out of our correct time, sir." Larson grimly
shook her head. "Either way, I don't think that there's going to be room
enough for the both of us in the same time period, sir."
        "Explain."
        "Well sir, clearly one timeline has been affected, either theirs or
ours. The presence of people from another timeline would create a void in the
timeline from whence the others came, possibly altering either the past or
future of both timelines. What we need to find out is who is in the wrong
timeline. I didn't like what Cho said about not being able to get a proper
match to our star charts. While you're away, I'm going to run some tests and
try to determine once and for all if we're out of our time, or if they are. We
must take steps to restore the proper balance to each timeline by making
certain that whoever is in the wrong time goes back to where they belong,
before any irreparable is done."
        Bateson took this in as the turbolift stopped and the doors opened on
deck six. Both he and Larson exited the lift and walked briskly to Bateson's
quarters and entered the room. Bateson went straight to the computer interface
terminal.
        "Computer, initiate security protocol, recognition code Bateson,
gamma-delta-six-two-five. Access command control functions."
        "Code recognized. Prepare for retinal identification." intoned the
computer impassively. The optical interface scanned Bateson's eyes, comparing
the image of Bateson's retina to those on record. "Retinal scan complete and
verified, Bateson, Morgan F. Access to command control functions granted."
        "Computer, access command prefix code for U.S.S. Bozeman."
        "Command prefix code for U.S.S. Bozeman NCC-1941 accessed."
        "Computer, input new command prefix code."
        "WARNING: The input of a new command prefix code must be authorized by
StarFleet Command unless the captain deems the immediate security of the
vessel to be in danger of being compromised by external hostile forces."
        "Over-ride," said Bateson, giving the computer the proper code,
"security code alpha-three-one-theta-theta."
        "Emergency over-ride code verified. WARNING: The input of a new
command prefix code must be verified by the ship's First Officer. Does the
First Officer concur with the changing of the command prefix code?"
        Larson looked quizzically at Bateson.
        "Virginia," began Bateson, "we're in a situation where we are far from
home and being confronted by unknown forces who claim to be from the
Federation. So far, we've been unable to totally substantiate their claims,
but it doesn't take much to realize that that ship is like nothing we've ever
seen. We're in an area of space that no Federation starship has ever been to
before, yet they appear to have knowledge of Federation technology, and may
also have access to Federation files. That information may or may not include
the command prefix code to this vessel. In the event that these people are not
who they say they are and we need to make a hasty escape, I don't want them to
be able to stop us by taking control of vital ship functions remotely."
        Larson nodded and turned to the computer. "Computer, recognize Larson,
Virginia S. First Officer U.S.S. Bozeman."
        "Voice recognition verified, Larson, Virginia S. Prepare for retinal
scan." Larson moved into position to be scanned.
        "Retinal scan verified."
        "Computer, I concur with decision to input new command prefix code."
        "Verification of First Officer confirmed. Captain may now input new
command prefix code."
        "New prefix code nine, two, eight, four, zero. Enable."
        "New command prefix code entered and enabled."
        On his way out of his quarters, Bateson opened one of the drawers in
his desk and extracted a small type-one personal phaser and tucked it inside
his uniform jacket. Larson raised her eyebrows at the move.
        "Just in case I have to 'negotiate' my way out of there." said Bateson
cynically as they headed out of his quarters and made for the transporter
room.
                *               *               *               *
                *               *               *               *
        An alarm on the transporter control console alerted O'Brien and
startled Riker. "What is it, chief?" asked Riker, fearing that something was
wrong. He'd seen one transporter accident before, and privately prayed that
he'd never have to see another one again.
        O'Brien studied the panel before him. "Sir, I'm detecting a weapon in
transport. Old style phaser... looks like a type-one personal unit, set for
stun."
        "Looks like our 'guest' isn't very trusting." deadpanned Riker.
"De-activate the weapon but make no mention of it after he materializes. We'll
let him think he managed to pull a fast one on us."
        "Aye, sir." acknowledged O'Brien as he made the adjustments to
neutralize the weapon and then proceeded with the re-materialization.
        Bateson materialized on the transporter pad of transporter room three
on the Enterprise. Apart from the normal disorientation associated with
matter/energy transport, Bateson still felt as if he'd just awoke from a long
sleep. He almost felt like he was still in a dream state. Bateson realized
that he must have wavered or staggered, since a tall, bearded officer was
quickly rushing to his side.
        "Are you alright, sir?" asked Riker as he climbed onto the
transporter chamber and offered a hand to help stabilize Bateson.
        Bateson steadied himself and blinked hard, rubbing his eyes as he
did so. "Yes... um... I'll be fine in just a few seconds."
        "Are you sure, sir?" asked Riker as he led Bateson off the
transporter platform and over to the control console. "Perhaps I should
summon our doctor for you?"
        "No," said Bateson as he regained his composure, "there's no need
for that. I'm feeling better now." Bateson began to survey his surroundings
and suddenly he didn't feel so confident about his last statement.
        The room he was in was like no transporter room he'd ever been in
before. While the basic layout of the room resembled any normal transporter
room, the equipment was far from normal. Bateson had not seen technology of
this level even in any technical journals, let alone in any practical
application. Bateson stared at the transporter console and mentally gaped at
the controls. The entire control layout was reorganized and touch-sensitive,
even the sequence initiators. Bateson looked up at the bearded officer with
a look of unabashed surprise that quickly turned to suspicion.
        "Where am I," demanded Bateson, "and who are you?"
        "I'm Commander William Riker, First Officer of the Enterprise, sir.
This," said Riker as he pointed to O'Brien "is our transporter chief, Mr.
O'Brien."
        "Sir" acknowledged O'Brien to Bateson as he began placing the
transporter unit on standby.
        "You are currently in transporter room three onboard the Enterprise,
sir." continued Riker. "Are you certain that you wouldn't like to see the
doctor? I think that under the circum--"
        Bateson knew he could ill-afford to show how he really felt. "I said
no thank you, commander," snapped Bateson as he threw Riker a hard stare, "or
are you hearing-impaired?"
        "No sir," Riker said stiffly as he snapped to attention before a
superior-ranked officer, somewhat surprised by the outburst. "I am not."
        "Very well then, commander." said Bateson, "I believe your captain
said that he would like a few words with me."
        "Yes sir, he would." said Riker as he gestured to a doorway. "If
you'll follow me, sir..."
        Bateson followed Riker through the door into the corridor beyond. He
tried to take in as much of his surroundings as he could while keeping up
with Riker's brisk pace. The corridors were wider than those of some
Starbases he'd visited. And, at least to Bateson, there appeared to be
something of a decor. He even saw a potted plant in the corridor, something
he'd never seen on a starship before.
        "Tell me, commander," Bateson asked Riker at the reached the end of
the corridor and entered into the waiting turbolift, "when did StarFleet
begin allowing foliage in the corridors of a Federation starship?"
        "I believe," stated Riker "that's a question that would be best
answered by the captain, sir." Riker turned to face the front of the
turbolift car and commanded "Deck two" as the doors closed.
        Bateson had been trying to take it all in. Everything was different.
The sound of the ship's main power reverberating through the bulkheads and
deckplates. The technology and sound of the transporter room. The sounds the
doors made opening and closing. The turbolift. Bateson had seen or heard of
nothing like he had seen so far, not even on the newest of the
Constitution-class ships he'd been on. None of this made any sense to him. His
head was now spinning faster than it was in the transporter room.
        The turbolift stopped and Riker led Bateson out into the hallway. They
made a very short walk and entered what appeared to be a conference room of
some sorts, but appeared more to be a lounge with large, towering observation
windows that showed the starfield majestically hanging there.
        At the end of the table Bateson saw the man he'd seen before on the
viewer. There were also two women present; the dark haired one he'd seen with
Picard earlier, and another with red hair wearing what appeared to be some
type of lab coat. They all rose as Riker and Bateson approached. Riker handled
the introduction.
        "Captain Morgan Bateson, Captain Jean-Luc Picard."
        The two shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. Picard turned to the
two women. "Captain, this is our ship's counselor, Deanna Troi," gesturing to
the dark-haired one, "and our Chief Medical Officer, Dr. Beverly Crusher"
gesturing to the redhead. Both stepped forward and greeted Bateson.
        Riker took his cue. "I'll be on the bridge, sir."
        "Very good, Number One. Thank you." Picard turned to Bateson and
gestured. "Please captain, be seated. Before I begin would you care for any
refreshment? Some coffee or tea, perhaps?"
        "Nothing, thank you." said Bateson as he settled into a seat that gave
him a view looking outside the viewport. Bateson spotted the Bozeman floating
lazily off the port rear quarter of this striking vessel they called
Enterprise. He could see by her positioning that Larson had moved the ship
into the proper textbook position to execute emergency escape maneuver Beta,
should the need arise. Good move, thought Bateson.
        "Captain," started Picard, "I've asked our doctor here to conduct a
very quick physical examination of you while we hold our meeting. This is
to make certain that there were no detrimental effects as a result of what has
happened here. This is strictly a precautionary measure and one I feel you
would benefit from."
        "I promise you, captain, this won't hurt a bit." smiled the redhead as
she flipped open a small, gray piece of equipment, produced a small wand from
the end of it and began to wave it in the general direction of Bateson. He
really didn't see a way to stop her and resigned himself to the situation.
        Picard spoke again. "Captain, you are somewhat aware of what has
recently transpired here. Both of of vessels were involved in a temporal
disturbance."
        "Yes, captain. We've already established that much. Tell me, what else
in particular did you wish to discuss?" Bateson noticed that the doctor had
apparently finished with her examination and was now punching a number of
buttons on her device. The other woman just sat there, impassively starring at
him. It was the that he noticed that the one called Troi had no irises in her
eyes. At least, if she did, they were black and invisible to him. Bateson
found this rather unnerving.
        "Sir," Picard began gently, "you stated that, to the best of your
knowledge, you believe the current year to be 2278. Is that correct?"
        "Yes. Stardate 7523.6, to be exact. Are you suggesting it is
otherwise?" Bateson starred at Picard, looking for the physical reaction to
his next response. Picard took a breath and briefly glanced down at the table.
Bateson immediately knew he wouldn't like what he was about to hear.
        "Sir, I'm not one who likes to sugar coat things and I believe the
only way to to tell you something of this magnitude is to be candid." Picard
took another breath. "Captain Bateson, your ship has traveled through a
temporal rift, a warp in the fabric of both space and time. When you first
exited the disturbance, our ships collided. Both of our vessel were
destroyed as a result. Due to the excessive size of the resulting anti-matter
explosions in the proximity of the temporal distortion, a temporal causality
loop was formed. A physical loop in time caused a repeating timeline in which
both ships were doomed to destruction. Fortunately, we were able to discover
the repetition and take measures to break the loop."
        "I'm sorry, captain," said Bateson, "but I'm not really following you.
What exactly is the bottom line here?"
        "You," said Picard slowly and gently, "your crew, and your ship have
traveled forward in time. You are now in the year 2368, ninety years into the
future. The current stardate is 45652.3."
        Bateson sat back in the chair, looking Picard straight in the eyes.
"Captain, I would be lying if I said I've been anything less than overwhelmed
by what I've both seen and heard here. Before I left my ship, I discussed the
possibilities of what you've said with the members of my staff. While they do
seem to agree that some sort of temporal event has happened here, and one of
our ships may be in the incorrect time, they were undecided about which ship
could have been affected by the phenomenon." Bateson leaned forward in the
chair now. "What evidence do you have to support your claim that it is my
ship that is in the wrong time, and not yours?"
        Picard reach for a PADD on the table, activated it, and gave it to
Bateson. "On one other occasion, we encountered another Federation ship from
the past that was transported forward in time by a temporal rift. The presence
of that ship in our timeline created an alternate reality, one in which the
Federation was on the verge of collapse due to a terrible war." Picard lowered
his head slightly, reverently remembering the incident and cursing the
repercussions that his actions in the matter had caused. "It was only due to
the return of the ship through the rift that we were able to restore the
proper timeline." Picard now raised his head again. "However, that doesn't
seem to be the case here. Your arrival here, aside from the unfortunate
incident with the causality loop, seems to have had no effect on our universe
as we perceive it." Picard gestured to the PADD in Bateson's hand.
        "As you can see, we have StarFleet records on the Bozeman. Both the
ship and your crew were declared 'lost' after a search team failed to find you
when you didn't report from the Phaesus system. The hard, physical evidence
would be a change in the positions of the stars and systems compared with the
current charts that you would have onboard the Bozeman. A simple navigational
sighting will confirm the evidence. All of our charts match the navigational
readings we've taken."
        Picard leaned back in his seat. "It would also appear that here is
indeed where you now belong."
                *               *               *               *
                *               *               *               *
        Bateson sat in stunned silence. He heard the words, but didn't want to
believe them. Yet the evidence of their fact was in his very hands. His voice
cracked with his next question. "Captain, are you saying that we can't return
to our time?"
        Picard starred at Bateson. "The rift that brought you here has
collapsed upon itself. It would be impossible for you to return through it."
        Bateson knew better. "A temporal rift isn't the only way to travel
through time."
        Picard leaned forward now. "If you refer to the 'sling-shot' method in
which time travel is achieved by a close warp-speed flyby of a high gravity
object, like a star, I'm familiar with the process. I think we both know that
it is by no means a reliable method and a highly dangerous one."
        Bateson also leaned forward. "But if we were to succeed? What then?"
        Picard rested his elbows on the table, arching his fingertips
together. "If you were to your own time, you would invariably alter our
current timeline. It would be impossible to determine what the long-term
repercussions of your presence in our past would pose on our present. If your
ship were to become involved in aspects of our past that it clearly was not
supposed to have any role in, the results could be disastrous."
        Ninety years. That's all Bateson could think about. Ninety years. An
entire lifetime. Bateson and his people had traveled a lifetime in a second.
And he knew that if what Picard had said was true, he and his crew could never
go home. "Captain Picard, the implication of what you've told me are, quite
simply, staggering. I would like you to send your information to my ship for
review by my staff."
        "Of course," offered Picard. He then called the bridge and gave Riker
the order.
        "Assuming that we concur with your findings," continued Bateson, "how
do you suggest we proceed at that point?"
        Picard sat back again. "I've been in communication with StarFleet
Command regarding the situation. We will transport you and your crew onboard
the Enterprise to Starbase 173, which is a little over a week's travel at Warp
six."
        "Starbase 173?"
        "Yes, captain. I realize you are unfamiliar with it. It was built
after your disappearance and is the closest Federation facility to this area.
        "I see," said Bateson. "And my ship?"
        "StarFleet will send a tender vessel out to retireve her."
        Bateson did not like the sound of that. "And then?"
        "Once we arrive at the starbase," continued Picard, "the crew there
will see to your accommodations and begin to prepare you for acclimation to
your new surroundings and eventual transportation to whatever destinations
your crew see fit. You and your crew will be extended every courtesy and the
Federation will render any assistance that you may require."
        "I see," said Bateson. His mind was numb by this point and he could
only stare blankly ahead. The doctor began to take some more readings as he
sat there.
        Troi spoke to him now. "Captain, I realize that this is quite a shock
to you and it will be difficult for you to accept what you've been told here.
You must understand that we're here to help you and we mean you no harm. As
Ship's Counselor, I offer my services to help any of your crew who may have
trouble coming to terms with your new situation. That offer includes yourself
as well, sir."
        Bateson tried to regain his composure with limited success. When he
finally found his voice, it was rough and weak. "Thank you, counselor, for
your kind offer." Bateson cleared his throat and shuffled a bit in his seat.
"Captain, I believe I should return to my vessel now and confer with my crew."
Bateson stood as Picard summoned Riker to the room. A moment later, the first
officer entered the room. Picard then stood and faced Bateson, extending his
hand as he did. Crusher and Troi stood as well.
        Bateson took Picard's hand and shook it. "I'll be in contact with you
shortly, Captain."
        "I await your signal." said Picard as Bateson turned and started to
leave with Riker. "Oh, and Captain," said Picard as Bateson turned back to him
again, "welcome to the twenty-fourth century, sir."
        Bateson could only mumble a thank you as he and Riker exited the room.
                *               *               *               *
        Bateson barely felt the movement of the turbolift as it shuttled both
Riker and himself between decks. He only stood in silence. Staring.
        Ninety years. The better part of a lifetime.
        All in the span of one second.
        The turbolift stopped and Riker led Bateson down a corridor. Bateson
was so deep in thought about wondering about what Picard had said that when
Riker turned and entered the transporter room Bateson didn't hear the sound of
another door opening further along down the corridor. However, the sounds that
followed managed to grab Batesons' attention.
        Children.
        There were children aboard this ship.
        Bateson stood in amazement as a young woman was ushering a group of
children out of one of the rooms and began directing them down the corridor
away from him. Several of the children were laughing and carrying-on with each
other as they moved along. Then Bateson saw a sight that froze his heart in
his chest.
        One of the children was clearly a Klingon.
        Red alerts flashed throughout Batesons' already overloaded mind. He
was so shocked at the sight of a Klingon that he had to fight the instinctive
reaction to grab the phaser he'd concealed in his uniform. He was glad that he
successfully fought-off the notion, as this was only a child, and he didn't
want Riker to know what he'd seen. Riker had been inside the transporter room
and did not have a view to what Bateson was seeing. He decided that it was
best to say nothing and allow himself to be transported back to his ship
without incident. He'd let them think that they'd managed to pull a fast-one on
him. But he knew better. He knew that there was no way that a StarFleet vessel
would be allowed to carry children. Especially Klingon children.
        It was precisely at this instant that Bateson concluded unequivocally
that wherever or whenever he was, he wanted no part of it. He was going to get
himself and his crew back to where they belonged. The voice of Riker from the
transporter room snapped him out of his stupor.
        "Sir?"
        Bateson entered the room and the door closed behind him. "I'm sorry,
Commander."
        "Is there a problem, sir?"
        "No," said Bateson as he made his way to the transport platform.
Although he was still pale and visibly shaken, he tried to remain calm. "I
was just marveling at the sights I've seen here."
        "Bozeman confirms they are ready for transport, sir" said O'Brien as
he finished setting his controls. "Whenever you're ready, captain."
        "You may energize" said Bateson. As the room shimmered around him, he
could only think of one thing.
        Home.
                *               *               *               *
        Picard turned to Crusher. "Your findings, doctor?"
        Crusher alternated looks between her medical tricorder and Picard.
"Well, sir, there appear to be no residual after-effects of his travel through
the rift that I can see. He appears to be in good health physically, although
he is signs did show heart and adrenaline rates higher than normal. However,
considering the circumstances I feel that's only to be expected considering
his present situation."
        "What about his mental condition?"
        "I really can't be certain" conceded Crusher. "the medical tricorder
is very limited it its' ability to measure the psychological health of a
patient. In order to do any type of thorough psychological examination I would
have had to have him in Sickbay."
        Picard turned to Troi. "Your impressions, counselor?"
        "Captain," started Troi, "this man has traveled almost a whole
lifetime in only a second. In the span of less than an hour, he learned that
his entire world, his life, had drastically changed. The psychological impact of
this was simply overwhelming to him." Troi leaned forward in her seat. "He is
simply so stunned by what he's seen and heard that he hasn't even begun to
realize the full implications of what has happened to him. He's yet to realize
the fact than almost certainly any friends he might have had aside from his
crew are gone. Or the fact that there have been so many changes in technology
and culture that he and his crew could take quite some time to successfully
adjust to our society. The biggest change that he'd have to accept would be
the existing peace between the Federation and the Klingon Empire. That alone
could be his biggest challenge. And we haven't even told him that yet. You
don't have to be empathic to see how disturbed Captain Bateson was by the
news we've told him, let alone what we haven't. I felt that he was very
confused, very afraid. Almost to the point of blacking-out."
        "Yes," said Crusher, "I noticed that as well. That's why I started
taking further readings. For a second I was afraid he was going to go
catatonic on us. Then he managed to pull himself together a bit."
        Picard looked at Troi again. "Do you feel that he could pose a
possible threat to either himself or us in his current condition?"
        "It could be possible, sir" said Troi grimly. "This situation is very
similar to the one we faced three years ago when we were assigned with
Ambassador K'Ehleyr to meet a pre-alliance Klingon 'sleeper-ship' whose crew
had awoken prematurely."
        Picard nodded, remembering the incident. The Klingon crew did not
believe in the peace treaty. They were ready to engage the Enterprise in
battle until the ambassador and Worf deceived the Klingon crew into thinking
they commanded the Enterprise in order to peacefully resolve the situation.
        "I believe that Captain Bateson," continued Troi, "in his present
psychological condition, could indeed pose a threat to himself, his crew, and
possibly even to us."
        "I see," said Picard. "How do you suggest we proceed from this point,
counselor?"
        "Right now, captain," sighed Troi, "there's little we can do except
wait and see what his next move is. We should prepare for any action he may be
able to take against us, should he act irrationally."
        "Understood" said a satisfied Picard. "Thank you both." Troi and
Crusher rose and exited from the room. Picard tapped the intercom "Picard to
Lt. Worf."
        "Worf here, sir."
        "Mr. Worf, report to the bridge, and bring your plan to deal with the
Bozeman. It appears we may well need it."
                *               *               *               *
                                ... continued


Sigs absorb 47 times their own weight in excess relevence.

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To: jfy@cis.ksu.edu (Joseph F. Young)
Subject: Re: RE-POST "Time Waits For No Man" REVISED Part 7 of 7 (end)
From: fez@toz.buffalo.ny.us (the fez)
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Organization: The Tower of Zot - Buffalo, NY USA - (716)839-0431
Status: RO

>Warning<  Over 500 lines of text follow.

Author's Note: The following story is a "revised" version of the original
"Time Waits For No Man." This version supercedes all previous versions and is
considered 'Final' by this author. It is being re-posted in the original
seven-part format.

>>ATTENTION MR. JOSEPH YOUNG<<  Please add this story to your archive. You may
also replace any previous version of it that may already reside there with
this 'Final' copy.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
The original authors of this story are myself and Brian Murphy. The original
author of the text is myself. I agree to grant free distribution of this story
as long as this message of authorship, the original, unaltered text of the
story, and the following disclaimer remain intact. E-mail regarding this story
my be sent to Joe (The Fez) Kirsch at fez@toz.buffalo.ny.us

--=[DISCLAIMER]=-- "Star Trek: The Next Generation" name and characters are
trademarks of Paramount Pictures. The following story is for entertainment
purposes ONLY and is not intended to infringe on any rights. Quotes from the
episode "Cause and Effect" used without permission, but with great respect.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

S T A R  T R E K: The Next Generation      Story By; Joe Kirsch & Brian Murphy
  "Time Waits For No Man" Part 3 of 7                 Written By: Joe Kirsch
      (Sequel to the ST:TNG episode "Cause and Effect" by Brannon Braga)

                *               *               *               *
        Bateson materialized cursing in the transporter room on the Bozeman.
He immediately broke into a dead run out the door and to the nearest
turbolift. He emerged on the bridge seconds later. Larson vacated the center
seat as Bateson quickly made his way down to the command area, giving orders
as he went.
        "Mr. Larson, I want you to scan the other vessel for life signs. I
want you to look specifically for the presence of Klingons aboard the other
ship." Larson acknowledged her order and moved to the main science station.
Bateson sat in the chair and turned to the navigator. "Mr. Sim, the other ship
is supposed to be relaying updated navigational and scientific information to
us. Have we received their star charts yet?"
        Sim punched a button. "Yes, sir."
        "Good. Using their charts, I want you to plot a course for the star
system nearest to our position. I want to know the estimated travel time to
that system at maximum warp. I also want to know if they have any information
on the system itself, as well. Specifically, if there are any class-M planets
known to be there."
        "Aye, sir."
        "Reading scans of life aboard the other ship now, captain" said Larson
as the blue glow of the hooded display lit her face. "I am reading two Klingon
lifeforms aboard the other ship, sir." Everyone on the bridge turned at the
sound of the words. "One appears to be an adult, the other a child."
        "Only two? Are you certain?"
        "Yes, sir. I'm also reading one thousand and twelve known human or
humanoid lifeforms. There are also a number of other patterns in the scan that
the computer can't identify. They may also be lifeforms, but I can't be
certain."
        Bateson was mad at himself for not ordering the scan before he beamed
over to the other ship. He reminded himself to worry about that error later,
provided he had the chance.
        Sim spoke from the navigation station. "Sir, updated charts show that
the closest star system to us is the Kita system, charted only days ago by the
Enterprise by long range scan. Scans showed indications of one class-M planet
in the system, designated Kita IV, but it was not investigated. At maximum
warp, we would reach the system in nine point two hours."
        Larson moved down from the science station to Bateson's side. "What
happened over there, sir? Begging the captain's pardon, you look like you've
seen a ghost. What did they say?"
        Bateson starred ahead at the other ship on the viewer. "They said, Mr.
Larson, that we've come ninety years into the future."
        "They're right about that." replied Larson grimly. "I've confirmed
that we're the ones out of our time."
        "They said," continued Bateson, not appearing to react to Larson's
words at all, "that we can't go back to our time because we could disrupt
their concept of the universe. They said that they want us to go with them to
some starbase I've never heard of so they can 'acclimate' us to their
universe." Everyone on the bridge froze at the words. They all looked at each
other in stunned silence.
        Bateson spoke again. "What they didn't say, though, was that there
were Klingons onboard." Bateson looked at Larson. "Commander, could it be
possible that the unidentified lifeform readings could be more Klingons?"
        "I don't think so, sir. It would be highly unlikely that they could be
Klingon since we've already established their presence with our scanners."
replied Larson.
        "Could they be disrupting our scans, feeding us false information?"
        "Sensors indicate that there is no interference from the other ship in
our scans of the vessel. At least, none that we can tell. Given their
technology though..." Larson shrugged. "Maybe they are. I'm sorry, sir, but I
can't say for certain." She looked at Bateson questioningly. "What are you
thinking?"
        "It's been my experience that wherever there are Klingons, there's
trouble. I'm thinking that we should leave this place and attempt to return to
our own time by attempting to create a time-warp by using the sling-shot
effect."
        Larson's eyes opened wide. "Captain, are you aware of the dangers of
such an attempt? Sling-shotting has never been attempted with this type of
starship before. We could break apart before we even reach the speed
needed..."
        Bateson cut her off. "Commander, think of our situation. We're ninety
years and over one thousand light years from home. We're facing a ship that is
easily three times our size and far more powerful. They say they're our
friends, but they have at least two Klingons aboard that we know of, perhaps
more. I don't know about you, Mr. Larson, but I've yet to meet a Klingon that
I can trust. And if there are Klingons over there, then I don't trust those
people, regardless of what they say."
        Larson still wasn't convinced. "And what about that ship? She
seriously out-mans us and out-guns us. How do you propose we get by her, sir?
Somehow I doubt that they'll just let us go on our merry way, especially if
they think that we can alter their history by returning home."
        "I have a plan," said Bateson, "albeit a rather drastic and desperate
one. But I think it's the only chance we have." Bateson outlined his idea.
        Larson sighed and shook her head slowly. "That's a mighty big gamble,
sir. If they don't go along with..."
        Again, Bateson cut her short. "If they don't go along with it, then
we've got a choice to make. I don't think it will come to that."
        "And what if we succeed and make it back home," pressed Larson, "what
about their timeline? What happens to them?"
        "To tell the truth, commander," Bateson said rather bluntly, "I don't
really give a damn what happen to them. My main concern is for this ship and
her crew."
        "Both of which you're willing to gamble on a very high-risk maneuver
that could destroy the ship." said Larson quietly and evenly. "Sir, I believe
you should contact Captain Picard and ask him to explain the reasons for the
Klingon presence on his ship before we do anything rash. Perhaps they are
prisoners being transported between facilities. Another possible explanation
would be that during the time passed the Federation and the Empire came to
terms on some agreement. Perhaps they are simply a part of his crew."
        "No, commander," said Bateson began slowly. "the Federation would
never take a child as a prisoner. A prisoner would never have free roam of the
ship. This child was with a group of others. As for any treaty with the
Klingons," Bateson leaned forward, stroking his beard, "I've never known any
way to negotiate with them other than with a phaser, knife, or your bare
hands. They'd never sign any treaty with the Federation. They had to be
physically forced to sign the Orgainian Peace Treaty and they still defy it.
It is only the fear of Orgainian intervention that has kept them from
declaring outright war with us. No, Mr. Larson," said Bateson as he shook his
head, "I can't buy that explanation either. If we contact them about the
Klingons, we tip our hand and blow whatever chance we have at getting away."
Bateson sat back in the chair. "Time is running out and we have to act while
we still can." The decision was made.
        "Commander, prepare to scan the bridge of the other ship. Alert the
transporter room and have a security team proceed there immediately. I want
them armed with phasers set on stun, not kill. I don't wish to harm the
prisoner. At least, not yet. Mr. Prescott, prepare to raise shields and arm
weapons at my command. Mr. Sim, lay in the course for the Kita system,
maximum warp."
        Prescott and Sim acknowledged their orders and began his work. Larson
still stood beside Bateson, starring. Bateson swiveled the chair to face her
completely.
        "Do you have a problem with your orders, commander?"
        For a moment, Bateson thought she would say she did. She starred at
the captain for another second, then backed down. "No sir, I do not."
        "Very well. Carry on."
        Larson moved to the science station and began her scans. "I'm unable
to distinguish between the various crew members presently on the bridge.
There's no way of telling which one is Picard, or even if he's on the bridge
at all." She adjusted the controls. "Captain, I'm reading the adult Klingon as
currently being on the bridge, sir."
        Bateson looked at Larson with genuine surprise. "You're sure?"
        "Confirmed, sir. There is definitely a Klingon on the bridge."
        Bateson thought for a moment. "Mr Larson, feed those co-ordinates to
the transporter room."
                *               *               *               *
        Picard was seated in his command chair. Worf was at his tactical
station, inputting his plan to deal with the Bozeman. Worf had outlined it to
Picard, who had approved it. A signal from his console attracted his
attention.
        "Captain, we are being scanned by the Bozeman, sir."
        The port turbolift doors opened onto the bridge and Troi emerged,
heading quickly to Picard.
        "Something is wrong, captain. I'm feeling a great sense of panic
coming from Captain Bateson, as well as a number of others on the ship. I
think he's aware of the presence of Worf and Alexander onboard."
        Worf grunted, looking somewhat annoyed. "Captain, we must act with my
plan now. Before he decides to attempt an attack."
        Picard stood to look at Worf. "Lieutenant, are you reading any signs
the Bateson is about to power-up his weapons?"
        "No, sir. However they do continue to scan us."  A signal from the
console. "Captain," said Worf with alarm, "I'm reading a power surge from the
other vessel. They appear to be locking a transporter beam onto the bridge of
the Enterprise!"
        As Picard was giving the order to raise the shields, his chief of
security de-materialized before his eyes.
        Riker jumped to his feet. "Red Alert! What the hell do they think
they're doing" he said as he looked at Picard and then quickly moved to
man the recently vacated tactical station.
        Picard spoke. "Transporter room, this is the bridge. Locate Lt. Worf's
signal aboard the Bozeman and beam him back to the Enterprise."
        The voice of O'Brien filtered through the intercom. "Sir, the other
ship has raised their shields. I'm unable to get a lock on his signal."
        Riker spoke from the tactical station. "Captain, they're powering-up
their phasers and photon torpedoes." Riker looked at Picard. "He can't be
serious. He knows that he's out-classed. I can't believe he'd consider
taking us on."
        "Given the events, Number One," said Picard stiffly as he turned to
the viewscreen, "I don't think we can make any rational assessment of what he
may or may not be seriously considering doing anymore."
                *               *               *               *
                *               *               *               *
        "Bateson to transporter room. What the hell is going on down there"
bellowed the captain into the intercom.
        There was the muffled sound of a commotion coming over the open
channel. A crash was heard. Over the din came the voice of an unfamiliar
crewman.
        "More security to the transporter room! More security to the
trans...oooof!" The channel went silent briefly. Then the sound of a phaser
was heard. A voice yelled and a body was heard to be hitting the floor. Two
more voices yelled something and more phaser fire erupted. There was another
brief period of silence.
        "Transporter room," yelled Bateson, "this is the bridge! Report!"
        "Davidson here, sir." puffed the ensign. "The prisoner has been
subdued. The transporter room is secure."
        "Good work, Mr. Davidson." said a relieved Bateson. "Take the prisoner
to the brig and place him in one of the cells. I want an armed man posted
outside his cell until further notice." Bateson then turned to the viewscreen.
        "Your move, captain."
                *               *               *               *
        Picard turned to Riker, who was still manning the tactical station.
"Number One, hail the Bozeman."
        Riker sent out the hail and waited for a response. "They're answering
the hail, sir. Onscreen now." The image of Bateson came on the viewer.
        Picard spoke first. "Captain Bateson, you've transported one of my
crew aboard your vessel without authorization and against his will. Would you
mind explaining your reasons for this action?"
         Bateson starred stone-faced at Picard. "Captain Picard, I would like
to hear your reason for not explaining to me a Klingon presence on your ship."
        Picard took a breath and began slowly. "Captain, in the time that has
passed since your ship's disappearance, an alliance was formed between the
United Federation of Planets and the Klingon Empire. We are no longer enemies
with the Klingons. The one that you've abducted is a StarFleet officer and my
security chief, Lt  Worf."
        "It's not a very good security chief that allows himself to be
abducted" said Bateson rather smugly. "Perhaps I've done you a favor."
        "What is it you want, captain?" asked Picard sternly, trying not to
let his anger show too much.
        "It's very simple, Picard." said Bateson flatly. "We're going back to
our time and you're not going to interfere with us."
        "Unacceptable." replied Picard. "The repercussions of that actio..."
        "I don't much care about repercussions at this point." blasted Bateson
as he stood and began walking forward toward the screen until his image filled
the field of view. "The fact of the matter is that I have one of your people.
If you wish to see him remain unharmed, you will do exactly as I say."
        "I will not negotiate under threat." answered Picard. "If you release
Mr. Worf, I would be willing to listen to..."
        "Please, captain." interrupted Bateson, "I think we both know that
there's no way that's going to happen."
        "And I also think," stated Picard, "that we both know that your vessel
is out-matched by the Enterprise. We could easily over-power your ship and
render it neutral."
        "True enough." conceded Bateson. "However, I would recommend against
such action. If any attempt is made by you or your crew to compromise this
vessel, I will have no choice but to scuttle the ship, killing your Klingon
along with us." Bateson turned to a crew member who was off-screen and nodded.
        "Captain," Riker called from tactical, "sensors show the the Bozeman
has armed the self-destruct mechanism aboard."
        "Confirmed, sir" said Data from hid position at ops. "Captain Bateson
has indeed activated the destruct mechanism and has it locked into the
'scuttle' mode, meaning he can detonate the matter/anti-matter containment
vessels onboard his ship at will, bypassing the normal two-minute
self-destruct countdown."
        Picard looked solemnly at the image of Bateson. "What, precisely, are
your terms?"
        "There is only one way to proceed from here, captain." said Bateson
slowly. "First of all, let me reassure you that no harm will come to the
Klingon as long as you do not deviate from my instructions. Should you,
however, decide not to obey my instructions and attempt to interfere with our
plans, the Klingon will die and I'll blow this ship and anything near or on it
to kingdom come. Is that clearly understood, captain?"
        "Understood." said Picard.
        "Our plan," continued Bateson, "is to head to the Kita system. To
insure that you are unable to pursue and over-take us, you will jettison your
warp reactor coil, thereby rendering your warp engines inoperable. Upon our
safe arrival at Kita, we will proceed to the fourth planet of the system.
According to the recent charts we received from you, Kita IV is a class-M
planet. We will then deposit your Mr. Worf upon Kita IV with shelter and
provisions to last him until you arrive on impulse power approximately
seventeen days later. In the meantime, we'll have long since departed for our
own time."
        "Impossible," replied Picard. "Our ship design does not give us that
option."
        "Please," snarled Bateson quietly. "I may not be a warp theorist, but
even I know that there hasn't been a starship that uses matter/anti-matter
reaction for power that can't eject its reactor assembly in time of crisis
since the first days of warp travel. Even this vessel has the capability."
        "Our primary power supply depends upon the operation of the warp
reaction system." stated Picard. "To simply jettison our reactor core would
severely cripple the ship, perhaps even to the point where we would run out of
reserve power before we can reach Lt. Worf on Kita IV." Picard knew that they,
in fact, could safely make the journey on reserve power, he just didn't want
Bateson to think he could.
        "That is not my concern, captain." said Bateson flatly. "You will
comply with my instructions or your Klingon friend will perish. The choice is
yours."
        "Allow me to consult with my staff." stalled Picard. "I need to make
inquiries of my chief engineer pertaining to your demands and our ability to
function if we proceed as you suggest."
        "Keep in mind, Picard," shot back Bateson, "I'm not making
suggestions. I'm telling you what you MUST do. I will give you two minutes to
consult with your staff, no more. Remember, captain, any attempt by you to
attack or board this vessel wi..."
        It was Picard's turn to cut Bateson short now. "Understood, Captain
Bateson. Please stand by." Picard turned to Riker and made a slashing gesture
across his throat.
        "Channel closed, sir." confirmed Riker, still at the tactical station.
Riker walked away from the console and an ensign replaced him there. Riker
joined Picard and sat to his right. "You're not seriously considering his
demands, are you sir?"
        Picard had another idea. He rose and moved to a position between the
ops and navigation stations. He looked at Data. "Mr. Data, transmit the
command prefix code for the Bozeman. Lower her shields and shut down weapons,
navigation, and maneuvering systems. I don't want them to have any primary
systems functioning other than life-support and communications."
        As Picard was speaking, Data was complying with his orders. "Sending
command over-ride signal now, sir." A second passed. "The Bozeman in not
accepting our remote commands, sir. The attempt to gain control of the other
ship has failed. We must surmise that Captain Bateson has altered the prefix
code of his ship."
        "Well, then." muttered Picard as he looked away from the viewer. He
walked back to his command chair, but didn't sit. Riker stood to join him.
Picard looked at the engineering station. "Mr. LaForge, if we were to do as
suggested and jettison the reactor core, would you be able to recover and
re-install it safely?"
        LaForge let out a breath before starting. "If we eject the core, we
can recover it easily enough. Re-installing it is another story. The core
itself, as well as the two power transfer conduits that feed the warp engines
and supply the main power for the ship are serviceable only at either a
StarFleet shipyard or a starbase that is capable of performing class-5
engineering repairs. We don't have the proper equipment to safely re-install
it to working order."
        "If I may make a suggestion," started Data has he rose from the ops
console and moved to the engineering station, "I believe it may be possible to
restore at least limited warp power to the ship." LaForge stepped aside as
Data began inputting information into the engineering computer. Picard and
Riker joined them. "The difficulty stems from the inability for us to fully
re-connect the main power couplings for both the port and starboard power
transfer conduits. We would not be able to create a physical seal between the
matter/anti-matter reaction chamber and the main power couplings. resulting in
a leakage of plasma between the two units. If we were able to create a force
field utilizing an annular containment field that would contain and withstand
the flow of the plasma through it, we could conceivable restore limited power
to the warp engines, as well as limited main power to the rest of the ship."
        Picard looked at his engineer. "Mr. LaForge?"
        LaForge studied the theoretical model that Data had created on the
computer. "I looks like we may be able to do it, sir. But if we loose the
containment field, then we could flood the entire core with plasma. Then
we'd have to eject it for real before it blew-up in our faces. Also, all of
this is providing that the core itself isn't damaged during the initial
ejection and the recovery. In that case, we're stuck. There's no way we could
service the core out here."
        "How long to do it?" asked Picard.
        "We'd have to outfit a shuttlecraft with a tractor beam to help guide
the core back into the the ship, as well a set up guide beams along the length
of the core chamber itself. The core stands twelve decks tall, sir. Getting it
back into its proper position will take time. If we go too quickly, we could
damage the core. Then we'd need to re-connect the matter and anti-matter
reactant injectors to the main fuel tank lines. Next, we'd have to establish
the force field connection to the power conduits. Then, re-start the system.
We're looking at three hours, minimum."
        "What would our top speed be?" was Picard's next question.
        "If we pushed it, sir," said LaForge, "maybe I can get warp four.
Maybe."
        "What is the top speed of the Bozeman?"
        "The top speed of a Soyuz-class vessel is warp five, sir," stated
Data.
        "Mr. LaForge, we need to be able to get more speed than warp four."
Picard was resolute. "Divert power from anywhere you need to maintain and
strengthen the containment field. We need to catch that vessel before they
make their time-travel attempt."
        LaForge and Data made adjustments to the computer simulation.
After running the simulation a number of times, LaForge returned his attention
to Picard. "Captain, if I divert power from all systems except navigation and
life-support, we may be able to sustain warp five point five long enough to
catch the Bozeman just as she is entering the KIta system, but I can't
guarantee that the field will hold that long. The simulation shows that it
could go either way, it looks like it's about a fifty-fifty shot. We'd really
be toeing the line on this one."
        Picard turned slowly and gazed at the other ship on the viewer. He
paused for a second, and then gave the order. "Mr. LaForge, begin your
preparations for emergency matter/anti-matter reaction coil ejection."
        "Aye, sir." acknowledged LaForge as Data moved back to the ops station
and Picard began to move back to the command area.
                *               *               *               *
                *               *               *               *
        Riker followed Picard. "Captain, with all due respect, we can't give
in to their demands."
        Picard sat, still starring at the main viewscreen. "We cannot allow
them to harm Mr Worf or themselves."
        "Nor can we allow them to return to their own time, sir. If our plan
fails," pressed Riker, "then we'll be risking the lives of untold trillions of
beings throughout the universe. All for the lives of just over one hundred
people. I say we try to bluff him."
        "Bluff, Number One?"
        "Yes, sir." continued Riker. "We can create a facsimile of our main
reactor core and jettison that instead. We contaminate it with radiation to
make it appear as though it's the genuine article. We then shut down all main
power at the time of the ejection to complete the illusion. I doubt that these
people would be able to tell the difference anyway, sir. They're not very
familiar with our technology. We could then follow them to the Kita system
staying just outside their long-range scanners. After they leave Worf on the
planet, we'll be right there to give chase before they reach the sun."
        Picard mulled the idea briefly. "No, Number One. While I agree that
the chance they'd be able to detect the fraud would appear rather slim, I
can't afford to take the chance. If they do suspect a ruse on our part then
not only do we destroy any chance of gaining these peoples' trust ever in the
future, but we also risk them destroying their ship and killing Mr. Worf as a
response to our action."
        "What if he decides to take the warp core with him, sir?" pressed
Riker. "If he decides to grab it, there's no way we can replace it. We'd be
up the proverbial creek without a paddle, sir."
        "I'm quite aware of that, Number One. We shall deal with that only if
need be. For now, let's hope that he is still thinking in twenty-third century
terms and believes that we can't re-install the core and will see no need to
either take or destroy it."
        "Captain, commander," Troi now joined the debate, "Captain Bateson is
in a very agitated state. He is feeling confused, upset, disturbed, angry,
alone, and very frightened. He fears us, because we represent the future to
him. He's afraid that he will loose his love of his work in being re-trained
to our times. Quite frankly, he doesn't want to be here. He'd rather die
trying to return to his time than live in ours. I believe that in his present
state he will follow through with his threats should we fail to obey him. He's
ninety years and a thousand light-years from where he was an hour ago. His
friends, save those aboard his ship, are all dead and he feels that his life
has passed him by. He knows that he has nothing to lose by risking everything
because he believes that he has nothing here to look forward to."
        Picard looked from Troi back to Riker. "Will, the counselor is right.
If we push Bateson on this, he could easily 'pull the pin' on his ship, and
probably do a moderate amount of damage to us in the resulting explosion. If
there's still a chance that we can find a peaceful solution to this situation
then we have to pursue it, Number One."
        "At the cost of everything and everybody in the universe?" asked Riker.
"Sir, I consider myself a friend of Mr. Worf as much as anybody else, but..."
        "Friendship has nothing to do with it, Will." snapped Picard. "The
fact Mr. Worf is onboard as a prisoner has no bearing whatsoever on my
decision. Captain Bateson is irrational. While his crew may or may not agree
with his decisions, they're certainly not going to disobey him since he wants
to take them home. Especially those who left families behind. They are acting
solely on instinct at this point. They're all too shocked at what has happened
to them to think clearly. Perhaps during the time it would take them to reach
the Kita system some of the crew would come around and realize what they are
doing is wrong. Perhaps even enough to make a difference and, if need be,
relieve Captain Bateson of command." Picard looked forward at the screen and
the image of the Bozeman on it. He shifted in his seat and tugged on his
uniform to straighten it. "Number One, I don't know what destiny had planned
for these people when they were transported here to our time, but I don't
believe it was to die here, now, before us. By our hands. No." Picard's voice
trailed off and he turned to Riker. "Unless you have a major objection?"
        Riker straightened in his chair. "None, sir. However, I'm not sure
that StarFleet will see it your way, captain."
        "I'll deal with StarFleet, commander." said Picard, who then turned to
the tactical station. "Ensign, open a channel to the Bozeman."
        The ensign did as ordered, and in seconds the screen was again filled
with the image of Bateson and his bridge.
        Picard strode up towards the screen and stood between Mr. Data at ops
and Ensign Ro at navigation. "Captain, we will proceed as you have instructed
us and have begun preparations to eject our matter/anti-matter reactor core."
        Bateson showed no emotion as he responded. "Very well done, captain.
Let me assure you again of the safety of the Klingon prisoner as long as
everything else goes according to plan. However, should we detect any signs of
interference from you or any other ship that you might call, the Klingon dies
with us."
        "Agreed." said Picard. LaForge signalled the captain that he was ready
on his end. "We will commence with the ejection momentarily, captain. Stand
by."
                *               *               *               *
        On the bridge of the Bozeman, Bateson heard someone utter a sigh of
relief. "Stay sharp, people." warned Bateson. "We're not in the clear yet."
        The image of Picard on the main viewscreen had been replaced by the
image of the Enterprise. A hatch panel suddenly flew away from the underside
of the massive ship. The sensors detected the movement and displayed a
close-up view of the newly exposed area. There were still wisps of the gases
from the explosive charges floating about the area. A second later, a long,
cylindrical object was quickly expelled from the opening. The viewer tracked
the object as it sped away from the area.
        Bateson quickly turned to Larson. "Readings?"
        Larson studied the incoming data. "Picking up fresh traces of residual
energy patterns inside the object. Scans indicate they appear to be remnants
of a matter/anti-matter reaction with traces of reaction plasma. It appears to
be their core, sir."
        "Scan the vessel for power indications."
        Larson continued to peer into the hooded viewer. "I'm reading no
indications of any matter/anti-matter reaction onboard the other vessel. All
power now appears to be provided by a number of ordinary fusion reactors."
        Bateson released something of a mental sigh of relief himself. Then he
noticed something about Larson as she looked at him sitting in his chair. His
first officer had a look on her face that she tried somewhat to hide, rather
unsuccessfully. As he starred into her eyes he saw something there that he'd
never seen there before. A look he hadn't seen from anyone since he the
incident on the Bunker Hill when the Foraqi attacked them. He remembered
seeing the same look on the face of Captain De Graff and swore to himself
during his recovery from the incident that he would never forget it. He had
hoped never to see it again, and to see it on the face of his
second-in-command was a painful reminder of a painful time that sent chill up
his spine.
        It was the look of doubt.
                *               *               *               *
        "Matter/Anti-matter Reaction Assembly away." called LaForge. "Clean
ejection. Tracking assembly now, sir. Positive lock on track." LaForge turned
to face Picard. "It isn't going to get away from us."
        "Very good, Mr. LaForge." said a satisfied Picard, still standing
between Data and Ro Laren.
        "Message coming in from the Bozeman, sir." called the relief ensign
from the tactical station.
        "Onscreen." said Picard as he turned forward.
        "Very good, Captain Picard." spoke the image of Bateson from the main
viewscreen. "I commend your actions, sir. You have shown yourself to be a wise
and peaceful man. Please continue to show me you are indeed such a man and
make certain that we are in no way interfered with from this point on."
        Picard stepped around the implication. "Captain, I must take this
opportunity to ask you to reconsider what you and your crew are about to
attempt. It is not only potentially dangerous to your people, but ultimately
catastrophic to our entire universe."
        "And I ask you, Picard," replied Bateson, "to consider my position.
My first consideration is for vessel and her crew."
        "Which," responded Picard, "by definition, pledges your loyalty to
StarFleet above all else. If you were to return to your own time with
knowledge of the future, you or your crew could inadvertently or intentionally
alter the course of future developments that define our very existence.
StarFleet itself could conceivably cease to exist due to your actions."
        Bateson was unfazed by this. "Captain, under different circumstances,
I might enjoy debating the point further with you. Unfortunately, the issue is
not one that is open for debate. Now then, I'm sorry for the inconvenience
we've imposed on you, and I hate to have to run off so quickly, but I'm on a
tight schedule." Bateson stood. "Captain Picard, this has been an interesting
place to visit, but we wouldn't want to live here. May the rest of your
journey be a safe one. Goodbye, captain."
        With that, the image of Bateson faded and was replaced by the image of
the Bozeman.
        Picard turned around and walked back to his command chair, clearly
frustrated by his inability to get through to Bateson. As he sat in the chair
he gazed again at the image of the other ship on the screen. "Ensign Ro,
continue tracking the reactor core and lay in a course to intercept it as soon
as the Bozeman has cleared the area. Mr. LaForge, I want both you and Mr. Data
to report to engineering to oversee preparations for replacing the core." All
acknowledged the orders and a relief ensign replaced Data at ops as he joined
LaForge in the aft turbolift.
                *               *               *               *
        "Let's get out of here while the getting is good, Mr. Prescott."
ordered Bateson.
        "Aye, sir." responded the helmsman. "Coming about now. New course is
heading two-seven-five-mark-three-two-four. Destination: the Kita star system.
Speed is warp factor eight. Estimated time to arrival is nine-point-two
hours."
        "Very good, lieutenant." Bateson surveyed the bridge. Picard had made
a good argument and was a convincing storyteller. As he looked at the rest of
his crew on the bridge he tried to look into the eyes of the others. They had
all been watching him during the exchange with Picard and had heard the words
that were spoken. He was looking for indications that Picard had managed to
sway them with his argument.
        One look told him that Larson wasn't alone in her doubt.
                *               *               *               *
                                ... continued


Sigs absorb 47 times their own weight in excess relevence.

From fez@toz.buffalo.ny.us  Sun Aug 22 17:38:07 1993
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To: jfy@cis.ksu.edu (Joseph F. Young)
Subject: Re: RE-POST "Time Waits For No Man" REVISED Part 7 of 7 (end)
From: fez@toz.buffalo.ny.us (the fez)
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Organization: The Tower of Zot - Buffalo, NY USA - (716)839-0431
Status: RO

>Warning<  Over 500 lines of text follow.

Author's Note: The following story is a "revised" version of the original
"Time Waits For No Man." This version supercedes all previous versions and is
considered 'Final' by this author. It is being re-posted in the original
seven-part format.

>>ATTENTION MR. JOSEPH YOUNG<<  Please add this story to your archive. You may
also replace any previous version of it that may already reside there with
this 'Final' copy.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
The original authors of this story are myself and Brian Murphy. The original
author of the text is myself. I agree to grant free distribution of this story
as long as this message of authorship, the original, unaltered text of the
story, and the following disclaimer remain intact. E-mail regarding this story
my be sent to Joe (The Fez) Kirsch at fez@toz.buffalo.ny.us

--=[DISCLAIMER]=-- "Star Trek: The Next Generation" name and characters are
trademarks of Paramount Pictures. The following story is for entertainment
purposes ONLY and is not intended to infringe on any rights. Quotes from the
episode "Cause and Effect" used without permission, but with great respect.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

S T A R  T R E K: The Next Generation      Story By; Joe Kirsch & Brian Murphy
  "Time Waits For No Man" Part 4 of 7                 Written By: Joe Kirsch
      (Sequel to the ST:TNG episode "Cause and Effect" by Brannon Braga)

                *               *               *               *
        "On course for Kita system," said Sim from the nav station, "speed is
warp factor eight, sir." Sim looked at his console. "Aft sensors show all
clear, no sign of pursuit."
        "Enterprise is under motion." added Larson from the science station.
"She is running on impulse speed, heading," Larson looked quizzically at her
instruments, "heading away from us. Course one-two-nine mark three-five. No
evidence of pursuit from any other vessels. Forward sensors also show all
clear ahead of us on our current course." Larson rose up from her console and
moved down next to Bateson. "We appear to have gotten away with it, sir" said
the ship's executive officer with just a hint of cynicism. "At least, for
now." she curtly added.
        Bateson looked at her as if he was going to chastise her for that last
remark, but otherwise ignored it. He instead punched the ship-wide intercom
button on the arm of his command chair. Bateson's voice reverberated
throughout the ship. "All hands, this is the captain. It appears that we have
made good our escape. Well done everyone. However, we're not out of the woods
quite yet. The ship is to remain on yellow alert until further notice.
Remember, we're only halfway home, people. Stay sharp and we'll all be back
home soon. That is all." Bateson closed the channel and rose from his chair,
turning to Larson as he did. "Well, commander, so far, so good. Let's hope our
luck holds up."
        "Yes, sir. Let's indeed hope."
        "Security to bridge." came the call from the intercom.
        "Bateson here." replied the captain.
        "Davidson here, sir. The prisoner has regained consciousness and is
asking to see you, sir."
        "Very well, Mr. Davidson. I'll be down shortly. Captain out." Bateson
turned and began walking to the turbolift, speaking as he went. "Mr. Larson,
you have the bridge. After I see our guest, I'll be in my quarters. Alert me
to any problems."
        "Aye, sir." she acknowledged as Bateson entered the turbolift. She
then proceeded back to the main science station. They had received much
information from the Enterprise and she wanted to go through as much of it as
she could while she had the chance.
                *               *               *               *
        "Five hundred kilometers to reactor core." reported ensign Ro Laren
from her navigation station. "We will intercept it in one minute, sir."
        "Very good, ensign." replied Picard. "Slow to one-quarter impulse."
Picard punched the intercom on the arm of his command chair. "Picard to
engineering."
        "LaForge here, captain." came the filtered reply.
        "We are one minute away from the core, Mr. LaForge." reported Picard.
"What is the progress of your preparations?"
        "My crew is working on installing a series of repulsor beam units at
various points throughout the warp core chamber to assist in guiding the core
back into position and holding it there while we re-connect the matter and
anti-matter injector fuel conduits. Data is currently in shuttlebay two
outfitting the El Baz with the tractor beam emitter to guide the core into the
Enterprise itself. We should be ready to proceed with the recovery of the core
within the next few minutes, sir."
        "Very well, Mr. LaForge." replied Picard. "Inform the bridge when you
are ready to proceed."
        "Aye, sir." said LaForge. "One other thing, captain. Our initial
inspection has discovered that the latching system for holding the emergency
ejection hatch in place appears to have been damaged. We won't be able to
re-install it. That means I'll have to divert some more power to the
structural integrity field to compensate for the exposed area."
        "Can you repair the damage?"
        "No sir. The mechanism is damaged beyond repair, and right now we
don't have sufficient power to replicate a replacement."
        "Would the diversion of power affect our speed?" asked Picard.
        "I'm certain that it will," replied the engineer, "though I can't tell
by how much. We wouldn't know for sure until we re-started the warp reaction
system and tuned the confinement beams. I'd estimate we'd lose at least one or
two points of warp speed, possibly more depending on how efficient of a set-up
we can manage without compromising the confinement beams."
        Picard slowly shook his head, thinking quickly. "Can we gamma-weld the
hatch back into place?"
        "Yes sir," said LaForge, "but I wouldn't recommend it. If we weld the
hatch back into place and run into a containment problem with the core, we
won't be able to eject the core again. We could be compromising the safety of
the ship more than we already are."
        "Mr. LaForge, we can't afford to divert any more power from the warp
engines than absolutely necessary. If we don't catch that ship, we won't have
to worry much about losing containment."
        "Understood, sir." replied LaForge. "I'll inform Data to outfit the
shuttle with a gamma-welder as well. LaForge out."
                *               *               *               *
        LaForge watched the work in progress from the master systems display.
The emergency blast door still sealed the main engineering level from the core
chamber. LaForge had temporarily diverted power to the structural integrity
field to cover the area where the emergency ejection hatch had blow away as to
allow for a pressurized atmosphere and artificial gravity in the chamber. This
allowed the engineering team to install the repulsor beam emitters in the
minimum amount of time with the maximum amount of safety.
        LaForge saw the last unit was now installed and the team was clearing
the chamber. The chief engineer turned to two of his colleagues, Leffler and
Barclay, and motioned them over to him. He pointed to a diagram on the display
table. "Alright, here's the plan. Reg." he said to Barclay, "I want you at
the bottom of the chamber. Monitor the core as it comes back into the ship and
make sure that the repulsors properly align the core. Also run a scan on it
looking for internal damage. Robin," he said turning to Leffler, then
returning to the diagram, "I want you up here at the top of the chamber. When
the core is completely back into position, I want both of you to begin
re-connecting the main fuel conduits to the matter and anti-matter reactant
injectors."
        LaForge looked up from the diagram. "When Data begins inserting the
core back into the chamber, I'm going to have to drop the structural integrity
field. That means you're going to have to do this in a zero-g vacuum
environment. I want both of you wearing environmental suits with magnetic
boots. Also make sure you're both wearing your safety tether-beams. I don't
want to see anybody accidentally go floating off anywhere. Understood?"
        Both officers acknowledged their orders and begun heading off to
gather the needed equipment. LaForge tapped the communications panel. "LaForge
to Data."
        "Data here." crackled the intercom. "Go ahead, Geordi."
        "How much longer until you're ready?"
        "I am completing the modifications to the shuttlecraft now. I will be
ready for launch momentarily."
        "Great, Data. Let me know when you're ready. LaForge out."
                *               *               *               *
        The main viewscreen held the image of the warp reaction core. Picard
stared at the image, watching as the device slowly tumbled through the void.
The sound of the intercom coming to life grabbed his attention.
        "LaForge to bridge."
        "Go ahead, Mr. LaForge."
        "Captain, we're ready down here. Data reports the modifications to
the shuttlecraft are finished and he's standing by for launch."
        "Outstanding, Mr. LaForge. Stand by." Picard looked at Ro. "Ensign,
target warp core and activate tractor beam. Minimal power."
        "Aye, sir." acknowledged Ro as she set the controls.
        A pale green beam of energy lashed out from the ventral midship region
of the secondary hull. The beam enveloped the core and it slowly stopped its
spin.
        "Positive lock on the core, captain." reported Ro. "We have secured
the target."
        "Begin moving the core into position below the chamber entrance. Nice
and slow, ensign."
        The screen showed the core beginning to move toward the Enterprise.
The beam moved it to a position just below the opening in the secondary hull.
        "Hold at that position." ordered Picard. He tapped the intercom.
"Picard to shuttlebay two, you are cleared to launch shuttlecraft."
        The flight-deck officer confirmed the order and cleared Data for
launch. The image on the main viewscreen changed to a view of the modified
shuttlecraft exiting the hangar.
        "Shuttlecraft to Enterprise." crackled the voice of Data over the
intercom speaker. "I have cleared shuttlebay two and am proceeding to
position."
         The viewer tracked the image of the shuttlecraft as it proceeded to
the ventral side of the secondary hull and moved into position directly below
the core, the nose of the vehicle pointing directly upward towards the
underside of it.
        "Data to Enterprise. Shuttlecraft in position. Course and speed
matched to continue pursuit of the emergency ejection hatch plate while
insertion of the warp reaction core is carried out. Prepare to release
tractor beam on my command."
        "Aye sir." replied Ro. "Standing by."
        A beam emitted from the underside of the shuttlecraft. It joined the
beam from the Enterprise in holding the core.
        "Tractor beam established." reported Data. "Warp reaction core
secured. You may discontinue your tractor beam."
        "Disengaging tractor beam now." stated Ro as she switched off the
beam. She studied her readouts momentarily. "Confirmed. Shuttlecraft has
secured the warp core."
        "Shuttlecraft to engineering."
        "LaForge here, Data."
        "Geordi, I am beginning to maneuver the core toward the chamber
opening. Please reduce power to the structural integrity field in that area."
        "Understood. Stand by." A moment of silence. "Structural integrity
field has been powered-down. You're clear to proceed."
        All hands on the bridge watched as the main viewer showed the
shuttlecraft begin slowly moving forward, gently pushing the warp core back
into the ship.
                *               *               *               *
                *               *               *               *
        Bateson exited the turbolift and walked slowly down the corridor, deep
in thought. Thoughts of old times, old friends, and strangely enough, old
enemies. He'd never met a Klingon he could trust, that's what he'd said to
Larson on the bridge. It was something that he deeply believed in, especially
since Klingons usually went out of their way to make clear their distaste and
loathing for both StarFleet and humans in general.
        Bateson began recalling some of his past encounters with the Klingon
species. His first had come when he was still an ensign onboard the Bunker
Hill. He was working in the exo-biology department of the ship when Captain
De Graff called him to landing party duty. They had just arrived at Melana II
and were beaming down to the newly discovered M-class planet to take surveys
and collect sample specimens. He remembered when the call came in from the
ship about finding the wreckage. The ship's scanners had found indications
that a small vessel had crashed on the planet.
        They were transported to the site of the crash, joining Captain De
Graff and Dr. Kotok, who had already beamed down. The wreckage was that of a
Klingon scout ship which had apparently encountered some kind of difficulty.
While examining the wreckage, the bodies of two dead Klingons were found.
Then, while searching through some debris, Bateson thought he'd heard a noise.
        A search of the area revealed a third Klingon in the wreckage, alive,
semi-conscious, and severely injured. The Klingon was muttering something in
his native tongue, something Bateson wouldn't understand until later when he
had time to research the word. The Klingon was asking for help. Dr. Kotok
moved next to the wounded Klingon, scanning him with the medical tricorder.
        As the doctor turned his back to prepare a hypospray injection, the
Klingon suddenly produced a blade from his uniform. With one swift motion, he
placed the knife square in the back of Dr. Kotok. The doctor screamed in agony
as Captain De Graff unsheathed his phaser and opened fire on the Klingon with
full force, dispersing the atoms of the Klingon, who was laughing. Kotok later
recovered from his wound, but the incident stuck with Bateson for the rest of
his life. The Klingon had asked for help, only to try and kill the person
helping him.
        It was at that moment that Bateson decided he would never trust a
Klingon.
        Yet the Klingon he held in custody was supposed to be a StarFleet
officer, a chief of security at that. That meant that not only did he work
side-by-side with humans, but they trusted him with their lives, and he
trusted them with his. For Bateson, the very concept was so outrageous that it
was simply unbelievable. He rounded a turn in the corridor and entered the
ship's security office. Outside the far cell Davidson stood armed guard and
noticed Bateson's arrival. Bateson dismissed him as he stepped by the doorway.
        The Klingon was standing in the middle of the room. He was
surprisingly calm. Bateson had expected to see him snarling and drooling,
clawing at the force field. Instead, he merely starred at Bateson in rigid
silence. Bateson decided to speak first, and when he did, it was in rather
good Klingon.
        "/You wanted me? I am here. SPEAK!\"
        The Klingon actually looked impressed. "/You know the language?\"
        "/I learned some Klingoneese from my dealings with your people.\"
continued Bateson in Worf's native tongue. "/It is always wise to know what
your enemy is saying behind your back.\" Bateson switched back to Standard
now. "My study of it has helped me on more than one occasion. Now, you wanted
to see me, so I'm here. What do you want?"
        "I wish to know why you are holding me prisoner here."
        "And I'd like to know why your Captain Picard kept your presence on
his ship a secret from me." countered Bateson. "He asks me for his trust, yet
he deceives me. And where did that Klingon child come from?"
        "That child," growled Worf, "is my son, Alexander. He lives with me
onboard the Enterprise."
        "Lives with you on board the Enterprise..." echoed an astonished
Bateson. "Incredible. A Klingon raising a son on a StarFleet vessel. You
really expect me to believe that?" Bateson began raising his voice, clearly
becoming angry. "Or the fact that YOU yourself are a StarFleet officer?
Or that your people formed an alliance with the Federation, your sworn enemy?
Impossible!"
        Worf's only reaction was to continue starring at his captor. When he
spoke, it was in a controlled, yet annoyed tone. "You may believe what you
wish. I can only tell you the truth. As early as the year 2342, the Federation
and the Klingon Empire negotiators were working toward a peace agreement.
However, progress was slow and two years had passed without either side coming
to terms. Then, in 2344, a Klingon outpost on Narendra III was attacked by
Romulans. The only other ship in the area was a Federation vessel, the U.S.S.
Enterprise, NCC-1701-C. The vessel defended the outpost and gave the Klingons
there time to escape. The Enterprise was lost in the battle. The Klingon
leaders saw this as an act of great bravery and honor on the part of the
Federation and the way was cleared for a formal agreement. A year later, the
Grand Alliance Treaty, as it was to be known, was signed by both sides. To
date, the pact has held firm and shown itself to be a wise and productive
agreement."
        Bateson was still quite skeptical. "And how is it you came to be in
StarFleet? When did Klingons first become allowed at StarFleet Academy?"
        Worf walked slowly forward, but not in a threatening manner. He
stopped about a meter short of the field. He spoke in a low, almost reverent
tone. "My parents and I lived on Khitomer. About a year after the alliance was
signed, the Klingon colony on Khitomer was attacked by Romulans with the aid
of a Klingon traitor. The Romulans killed over four thousand Klingons there,
including both of my biological parents. When Federation help finally arrived,
I was found by one of the ship's officers. I was still very young and since my
parents were dead, the Empire allowed the officer, Sergey Rozhenko, to adopt
me and raise me with his family on the farming colony of Gault. When I became
old enough, I applied for admission to the academy. It was granted. So far, I
am the only Klingon who has ever applied."
        Bateson's mind was reeling from the thought of humans raising a
Klingon child as one of their own. "And what of your son? How is it he and
other children are allowed on a Federation starship? And what of the boy's
mother? Does she not live with you onboard as well?"
        Worf bowed his head to the floor for a moment, before leveling his
view at Bateson again. "The child's mother is deceased. Her name was K'Ehleyr
and she was an ambassador from the Empire to the Federation. She was murdered
by a traitor to the Empire that she threatened to expose."
        "I'm sorry." said Bateson. Strangely enough, he actually did feel
sorry for the Klingon. "What about the others?"
        "The Enterprise was designed as a long-duration spaceflight vessel. It
has been designed to achieve a mission term of fifteen years without any major
re-fit or overhaul. StarFleet decided that it would be beneficial to allow the
families of service members to accompany them on such long-duration missions.
In the case of my son, my adoptive parents were too elderly to take care of
him, so it was decided that he would stay onboard with me."
        Bateson still couldn't believe any of it. "So why did Picard deceive
me?"
        "You would have been told, in time. If Captain Picard had wanted to
deceive you, it would not have been hard. He could have easily ordered that
our lifesigns be hidden from your sensors. He chose not to tell you about us
because he believed that you would be distressed enough by the reality of the
events that brought you here and you might act irrationally if you knew of our
presence." Worf folded his arms across his chest and shifted his eyes around
the room. "It appears he was correct." Worf now focused his stared back at
Bateson. "I have answered your questions. Now you will answer mine. Why have
you abducted me?"
        Bateson obliged the Klingon by outlining his intentions.
        Worf shook his head. "Your plan will not succeed. Captain Picard will
not allow you to escape."
        "I'm afraid he had little choice in the matter." stated Bateson. "I
forced him into ejecting his warp reaction chamber. Right now, his ship is
limping around on impulse power while we're on course for Kita at maximum
warp. And I left him with stern instructions telling him that if our progress
is impede in any way, you die."
        "Did you secure the warp coil aboard your ship before leaving the
area?" asked Worf.
        Bateson looked quizzically at the Klingon. "No. Why do you ask?"
        Worf nodded with what looked to Bateson to be satisfaction. "You made
a grave tactical error in your plan. In a moment of desperation, you failed
to overlook the possibility that we may possess the technology to replace the
warp core. At this moment, I'm sure that Captain Picard is in the process of
recovering the reactor and is preparing for its re-installation." Worf was
unaware of whether or not what he'd just told Bateson could be true. He said
it merely to attempt to rattle his captor. "As I said, you will not be allowed
to escape."
        Bateson paled. He realized the the Klingon was right. He didn't even
begin to consider the possibility that Picard would be able to re-install the
core. When Bateson finally spoke, it was in a weak, uncertain voice and not
nearly as threatening as Bateson had wanted it to sound. "If he does, you will
die. I will kill you."
        "Captain Picard," said Worf with the sound of pride in his voice,
"is willing to sacrifice my life to save the lives of those whom you would
destroy by returning to your time. As am I. Be assured, you will not be
allowed to escape."
        "Well, Klingon," said Bateson rather impassively, having regained his
composure, "you are in no position to do anything about it." Bateson paused to
let his remark grill with the prisoner for a time. Surprisingly, Worf let the
comment pass without any response. He merely turned around and walked back to
the center of the cell, turning to again face Bateson.
        Worf broke the silence, speaking in a tone that, to Bateson, sounded
very thoughtful. "I've studied my ancestry and am familiar with the Klingons
of your period. I'm also familiar with the attitudes of my people towards
yours. Neither side held very high opinion of the other and frequent minor
battles and skirmishes were the order of the day. Neither side trusted the
other."
        Worf paced around the cell, continuing as he walked. "Even when the
early peace treaties were signed, there were still numerous confrontations
between Klingon and Federation forces because the commanders of those vessels
did not believe that peace was possible and held no trust in each other. This
distrust caused the failure of early treaty attempts. However, over a period
of time, both sides were able to put aside their differences and work
together."
        Worf stopped pacing now and returned to face Bateson. "They realized
that they HAD to trust each other. The only alternative was to continue
wasting resources on fighting and killing each other instead of working
together to help each other. The Grand Alliance Treaty was the single most
difficult pact to negotiate, but it has been the single most important
agreement reached between two races in this century. It took many years, but
in the end, both sides realized the wisdom of it."
        Worf leaned close to the force field now. "In time, I hope that you
will as well, for if you were to return to your own time, you would risk
destroying all that has been achieved. Doing so would be a great dishonor to
all who have died for this agreement, both human and Klingon. If your are
indeed a man of honor, you will abandon your attempt to return to your time.
If you do not," leered the Klingon, "then you are not an honorable man."
        The eyes of the Klingon burned into Bateson. "And I do not speak with
those who would act without honor."
        With that, Worf folded his arms across his chest and turned away,
leaving a speechless Bateson standing in the doorway.
                *               *               *               *
                *               *               *               *
        LaForge tapped the intercom panel. "Engineering to bridge."
        "Go ahead, Mr. LaForge." replied the voice of Picard.
        "Captain, the annular confinement beams have been installed on the
main power transfer conduit couplings. The warp reaction core chamber has been
sealed off and all non-essential personnel have been cleared from main
engineering. We are ready to proceed with reactor start-up."
        "Very good, Mr. LaForge." replied Picard. "Make it so."
        "Aye sir." said LaForge as he closed the channel. He turned to the
others in engineering. "Leffler, you monitor the internal temperature and
pressure readings from the core. Reg, you watch the fuel flow from the matter
and anti-matter injectors. Data, I want you to monitor and adjust the
confinement beam intensity and stability."
        All three moved off to their assigned stations. Each signaled LaForge
when ready.
        "Alright." began LaForge. "Robin, begin raising the temperature in
the core."
        "Aye sir," replied Leffler, "adjusting temperature now." She began
manipulating the controls at her station, reading-off the temperature as it
increased. "Interior core temperature rising. Temperature now 1,000 degrees
Kelvin and rising. Internal pressure readings are nominal. Internal core
temperature now 125,000 degrees." She continued studying the display.
"Core temperature now 500,000 degrees. Internal pressure is still reading
nominal." Leffler adjusted a couple of controls. "Internal core temperature
now 1,000,000 degrees and continuing to rise."
        "Reg,' called LaForge as he turned to Barclay, "bring the matter and
anti-matter injectors online. Keep them in stand-by mode until my command."
        Barclay glanced at his monitors, then turned to LaForge. "M-m-matter
and anti-m-m-matter inj-j-jectors on-online."
        "Internal core temperature now 2,000,000 degrees Kelvin." reported
Leffler. "Pressure readings are still nominal." An indicator beeped. Leffler
turned to LaForge. "Core temperature now 2,500,000 degrees Kelvin and holding.
Warp core is now fully preheated, internal pressure readings are right on the
mark."
        "Now, Reg." ordered LaForge. "Engage injectors."
        Barclay acknowledged the order and activated the injectors. From the
top and the bottom of the warp core respectively, the injectors began firing
concentrated streams, one made of matter, the other consisting of anti-matter.
A sequential glow began to appear in the core as the magnetic constrictors
compressed and moved the streams toward the center of the chamber. As the
streams came into contact with the dilithium crystal in the core, a low thrum
flowed through the ship as the matter/anti-matter reaction began producing a
tuned plasma stream.
        LaForge turned to Data. "Reactor start-up successful. Is the
confinement field holding?"
        "Affirmative." replied the android. "Plasma stream now beginning to
flow through port and starboard power conduits. Readings indicate the
confinement field is successfully containing the plasma leakage from the power
transfer couplings."
        LaForge looked at the viewscreen on his master systems display. It
held the image of the warp core. He adjusted the controls to focus the image
on the power couplings. Both were bathed in a brilliant purple-violet glow,
the result of the blue plasma being restricted by the green confinement field.
        Satisfied for the moment, LaForge turned back to Barclay. "What's your
mix ratio, Reg?"
        "T-t-twenty-f-five t-to one." replied Barclay. "S-standard
idling m-mixture, c-commander."
        "Good." remarked LaForge as he turned back to Leffler. "Start bringing
the engine pressure up, Robin. Slowly."
        Leffler began adjusting another set of controls. "Internal pressure of
engines rising. "1,000 kilopascals..." She continued adjusting the controls.
"20,000... 50,000... 72,000 kilopascals and holding."
        "Reg," called LaForge, "Adjust the mixture. Bring it down to a ten to
one mix."
        Barclay acknowledged and worked the controls. LaForge continued
watching the images of the main power couplings on his viewer. As the ratio
was adjusted, the purple glow flared brighter, illuminating the entire core
area.
        LaForge turned to Data, who anticipated the question. "Annular
containment beams are holding steady. No fluctuations in power. The plasma is
being contained." The android quickly checked his other readings.
"Matter/anti-matter reaction controlled and stable. Internal engine and core
pressures within tolerable design limits." He turned to face LaForge. "Main
power systems are coming back online."
        The chief engineer returned his gaze to his master systems display and
confirmed the statement made by Data. He then tapped the intercom.
"Engineering to bridge."
        "This is the bridge," came the voice of Riker, "go ahead Geordi."
        "Commander, the warp reactor has been successfully re-started. We now
have main power back online and the warp engines are now operable."
        "How is your confinement field holding up?" asked the voice of Picard,
who had cut in on the conversation.
        "Readings show it's holding up so far, but we'll see better once we go
to warp. I suggest we proceed with engaging the warp engines, accelerating one
warp factor at a time until we reach Warp four."
        "Understood, Mr. LaForge." replied Picard. "Acceleration control will
be transferred to your location in engineering. Proceed with Warp entry at your
discretion."
        "Thank you, captain. LaForge out." The engineer studied his master
systems display panel as the computer re-configured the available controls to
accommodate for the addition on the main acceleration controls for the vessel.
LaForge turned to the other crew members in engineering. "Status report."
        "Internal core and engine temperatures and pressures are holding
steady." reported Leffler.
        "I-i-injector readings a-are n-n-nominal." called Barclay.
        "Confinement field reads stable." added Data.
        "Alright, people." breathed LaForge. "Here we go." Laforge worked the
acceleration controls and the ship began moving. Its speed continued to build
until it reached the velocity set by Laforge, and the Enterprise entered
Warp-Space.
        "Warp one." called LaForge. He turned to look at his colleagues. All
of them signaled to him that everything was fine. He adjusted the controls
again.
        "Warp two." he called. Again, there were no indications of any
problems from any of the others. LaForge kicked it up another notch.
        "Warp three." Still no problems.
        "Warp four." All clear.
        "Warp five." Good so far.
        LaForge decided to take it slower now.
        "Warp five point two." Everyone confirmed no problems.
        An alarm sounded from Leffler's station. "Warp core internal pressure
has dropped slightly. Still within acceptable operating limits."
        "The confinement field has expanded," called Data, "causing the drop
in pressure. I am attempting to reverse the expansion and strengthen the
integrity of the field." Data swiftly operated the controls and adjusted the
power and frequency of the beam. "The expansion has been reversed."
        "Confirmed." reported Leffler. "Core internal pressure has returned to
previous levels."
        LaForge adjusted the acceleration controls again.
        "Warp five point four."
        "Pressure dropping again, commander." reported Leffler.
        "The confinement field has expanded again." explained Data. "I am
engaging auxiliary power to compensate for the expansion." After again
adjusting the controls, he turned to LaForge. "I have succeeded in reversing
the expansion, The effort is utilizing all available main and auxiliary power.
We will not be able to compensate for any further expansion."
        LaForge nodded in acknowledgement. He then tapped the intercom.
"LaForge to bridge."
        "Go ahead, Mr. LaForge." replied Picard.
        "All we can get out of it is Warp five point four, sir. We've diverted
all available power from everywhere except life support and navigation,
including auxiliary power. If we push it any harder, we risk losing confinement
field integrity."
        A moment of silence preceded Picard's next words. "Mr. Data, when
would we arrive at the Kita system at Warp five point four."
        Data strode over to the master systems display and joined LaForge.
"Traveling at Warp five point four, sir, we would reach the system
exactly seventy-two minutes, thirty-nine seconds after the estimated arrival
time of the Bozeman."
        Again a moment of silence. "Mr. LaForge," ordered Picard, "we are
making preparations to evacuate as many families and non-essential personnel
as possible to the cargo and shuttlecraft bays. Prepare to divert power from
the life support systems of the evacuated areas. We need that extra speed, Mr.
LaForge."
        "Understood, sir." responded LaForge as Data returned to his
monitoring station. Several minutes later, the clearance came from the bridge
to proceed.
        "Additional power has been diverted to the confinement field."
reported Data.
        LaForge drew a breath as he adjusted the acceleration controls one
more time.
        "Warp five point five."
        "Pressure drop in core again." reported Leffler. "Still within
acceptable operating parameters."
        "The field has expanded," stated Data, "but is otherwise stable. I
read positive field integrity and anticipate that we should be able to
maintain it providing that there are no further power demands."
        "LaForge to bridge."
        "Go ahead." spoke Picard.
        "The additional power appears to have done the trick, sir. Data
reports as long as we don't push it any further, we should be able to hold
Warp five point five."
        "Grand, Mr. LaForge. Contact the bridge if there are any difficulties.
Picard out."
        Laforge shook his head and snorted at the response. If there were any
further difficulties, LaForge wouldn't have to inform them. They would find
out as soon as he would if something went wrong.
                *               *               *               *
                                ... continued


Sigs absorb 47 times their own weight in excess relevence.

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To: jfy@cis.ksu.edu (Joseph F. Young)
Subject: Re: RE-POST "Time Waits For No Man" REVISED Part 7 of 7 (end)
From: fez@toz.buffalo.ny.us (the fez)
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Organization: The Tower of Zot - Buffalo, NY USA - (716)839-0431
Status: RO

>Warning<  Over 500 lines of text follow.

Author's Note: The following story is a "revised" version of the original
"Time Waits For No Man." This version supercedes all previous versions and is
considered 'Final' by this author. It is being re-posted in the original
seven-part format.

>>ATTENTION MR. JOSEPH YOUNG<<  Please add this story to your archive. You may
also replace any previous version of it that may already reside there with
this 'Final' copy.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
The original authors of this story are myself and Brian Murphy. The original
author of the text is myself. I agree to grant free distribution of this story
as long as this message of authorship, the original, unaltered text of the
story, and the following disclaimer remain intact. E-mail regarding this story
my be sent to Joe (The Fez) Kirsch at fez@toz.buffalo.ny.us

--=[DISCLAIMER]=-- "Star Trek: The Next Generation" name and characters are
trademarks of Paramount Pictures. The following story is for entertainment
purposes ONLY and is not intended to infringe on any rights. Quotes from the
episode "Cause and Effect" used without permission, but with great respect.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

S T A R  T R E K: The Next Generation      Story By; Joe Kirsch & Brian Murphy
  "Time Waits For No Man" Part 5 of 7                 Written By: Joe Kirsch
      (Sequel to the ST:TNG episode "Cause and Effect" by Brannon Braga)

                *               *               *               *
        Bateson lay in his bunk, staring at the ceiling. He been there for a
few hours. Knowing that he wouldn't be able to sleep, he wanted to try and get
what rest he could. He knew that he might not get the opportunity to do so for
quite some time. He'd been thinking hard about his meeting with Worf. Bateson
had to admit that he was like no other Klingon he'd ever met. Where the
Klingons that Bateson knew would've growled and slobbered and cursed and then
shocked themselves silly trying to escape the confinement field in order to
wring Bateson's neck, this one could not be provoked.
        Worf was behaved, disciplined, and fairly well mannered. A credit to
his adoptive parents, mused Bateson. Humans raising a Klingon. It was the most
ludicrous thing that Bateson had ever heard in his life. Bateson tried to
imagine what it would be like if there were an alliance between the Federation
and the Klingons and found he was unable to envision anything at all. Bateson
thought that there were too many fundamental, philosophical and political
reasons that would stand in the way of any alliance, regardless of how much
time has passed.
        He looked at his bunkside chronometer and saw there was just over two
hours remaining until they were due to enter the Kita system. He decided to
get up and refresh himself with a quick shower before returning to the bridge.
As he swung his feet off the bunk, the door chime sounded. "Enter." said
Bateson as he stretched out his arms and tried to work out a slight kink in
his back.
        The door opened and Larson entered the room. Upon seeing the captain
on his bunk she stopped and looked up. "I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you, sir."
        "That's alright, commander. I was just getting up. Is there a
problem?"
        "I just wanted to check in with you and let you know that everything
is proceeding as planned. No sings of obstruction or pursuit. The Kita system
will be in range of our long range sensors in one hour. We'll conduct the
scans of the system as soon as we are in range and look for the presence of
any vessels in the area. I recommend that we stop the vessel at the maximum
distance to execute the scan before proceeding further. That way, if there's
someone there waiting for us we'll have the greatest possible chance to
react."
        Bateson stood and looked at her, rubbing his eyes as he spoke. "I'm
not too keen on having to stop the ship." Bateson neglected to mention his
faux-pas with the warp core of the Enterprise. "How long would the scan take?"
        "A minimal amount," replied Larson. "I can get a good reading within
two minutes. The chances of being over-taken by any pursuing ship in that
amount of time would be very remote."
        Bateson mulled the suggestion for a moment. "Very well. We will stop
for the scan, but remember, commander, brevity is of the utmost concern. I'll
be on the bridge in twenty minutes." He heard Larson acknowledge the order as
he walked over to remove a clean uniform from his dresser. As he began laying
it out on the bunk, he noticed Larson was still standing there. As he
finished, he looked up at her again. "Was there something else?"
        Larson looked down at the floor and shuffled slightly. "Yes, sir. I
believe there is." She looked up into Batesons' eyes. "Permission to speak
freely, sir?"
        "Of course," said Bateson as he walked over and took a seat at his
desk, offering one to Larson. She sat as Bateson asked "So, what's on your
mind?"
        Larson drew a breath, then began. "Sir, with all due respect, we can't
return to our time. I feel we have to abandon your plan."
        Bateson was stunned, but reacted quickly. "On what grounds do you base
your decision?"
        Larson leaned forward in her chair. "Captain, I've been going over the
information that we downloaded from the Enterprise. After comparing their
findings with ours, I agree with their assessment. We have indeed traveled
ninety years into the future and can't go back."
        "Other starships have traveled through time before and returned
successfully." countered Bateson.
        "Yes," agreed Larson, "they have. The difference is that all the other
cases, the starship had traveled back in time. Never before, at least to our
knowledge, has a starship traveled forward in time other than to return to
its own time. In all previous trips made into the past, great care had to be
taken to assure that there was no 'contamination' of history with knowledge of
future events. For us to return to our own time with knowledge of future
events could severely 'contaminate' the history of these people and alter the
natural evolution of time. There's no way that we could suppress the knowledge
of what we've seen here, especially about something like a Federation/Klingon
alliance. Things would leak out eventually. You know just as well as I do how
scuttlebutt gets around."
        Larson sat back in her chair. "C'mon, Morgan. When did we hear about
the Excelsior project? Three months before StarFleet officially announced it?
Four months, maybe? Something like this," said Larson as she gestured around
in the air with her hands, "there's absolutely no way you could keep a lid on
it."
        It was Bateson's turn to stare at the floor now. Larson was right, and
they both knew it. Larson continued speaking, again leaning forward. "Another
thing to consider is that time travel has never been attempted in any type of
starship other than a Constitution-class vessel. I've gone over simulations
run by Chief Ellington as to our ability to successfully enter a time-warp.
The outlook is not very promising. The best simulation give us about a thirty
percent chance of making it, with a seventy percent chance of us breaking
apart or blowing up before reaching time-warp velocity. The other simulations
aren't as optimistic."
        Bateson still starred at the floor. Larson sat back in the chair
again, pausing for a moment before continuing. "The last consideration is our
location. Even if we were to successfully execute a sling-shot maneuver, we'd
come out of time-warp right where we attempted it, in the Kita system. It
would still take us over seven years to return home from there. And that's
providing we could maintain a speed of Warp 6 for over a seven year period.
And I think we both know the we'd expend all of our fuel long before then.
What do we do then, sir? Wait for help? For how long?"
        Bateson remained silent.
        "Morgan, look at me." said Larson and Bateson lifted his head. "We've
known and served with each other for the last six years. And for the last two,
I've served as your executive officer. As your X-O, I'd like to think that
you have at least some small amount of respect for my opinion. Please, Morgan,
reconsider your decision. I'm asking you as a friend. Think about what you're
trying to do. Change your mind before it's too late."
        "We can't stay here, Virginia" said Bateson tiredly. "I can't stay
here. I don't belong here."
        "Why?" asked an astonished Larson. "This is the opportunity of a
lifetime. Think of all the advances that may have been made by these people.
Advances in technology, in medicine," Larson leaned forward, speaking
intensely now, "in society. Think, Morgan. Think of all the new races mankind
will have met in the course of ninety years. The new levels of cultural
interaction must be fantastic. And think about the Federation/Klingon
alliance, for goodness sake. Do you mean to tell me that you'd actually prefer
to go back to where the Klingons were our enemies and where we had to watch
over our back all the time looking for them? Fighting with them? Even killing
them?"
        "No, goddammit" exploded Bateson, who stood up and began walking about
the cabin as he spoke. "Of course I hate the fighting and killing. When I
think about all the useless deaths on both sides, it makes me sick. How many
friends have we both lost because of fighting with Klingons? Billy McCready
and Salo Thon were murdered on Cyvas IV. Gina De Santis at the encounter in
sector 104. Gunther Hess on Dysius V. The list goes on. All good friends who
were killed by those bastard butchers."
        "Then why go back? Here, in this time, the Klingons are our allies. No
more fighting, no more deaths. Why go back to it?"
        Bateson walked slowly back to his chair and sat down. He propped his
elbows up on the desk in front of him and wearily held his head in his hands.
"Virginia, I feel so empty here. So out of place. Out of date. Old. Everyone
that I knew and cared about that wasn't on this ship is dead. There's nowhere
to turn anymore. Dammit, when I woke up yesterday, I was forty-two years old.
Now I'm one hundred and thirty-two, and boy, do I ever feel it."
        Bateson looked up at Larson now. "I was forty years old when I was
given command of the Bozeman. Forty is kind of old for a first command by our
standards. I wonder, what is their standard to be the captain of a starship
with all these advances you speak of? Would I ever be able to overcome all the
obstacles in my way in order to regain command of a starship at my age?"
        "Look at Captain Picard" offered Larson. "He's clearly older than you
are, and look at the ship he's commanding. He commands the single most
impressive vessel we've ever seen. If all your worried about is being able to
get another command, well, then I..."
        "No, Virginia," sighed Bateson was he leaned back and starred at the
ceiling, "it's more than that. It's this whole Klingon/Federation thing. The
Klingon spoke to me about the alliance. He said how good it was to have it."
Bateson lowered his stare and leveled it at Larson. "He was very impressive,
Virginia. Nothing at all like I'd expected. Yet, deep down inside of me
there's a voice crying out that he's a Klingon. It tells me not to trust
anything he says or does. After all I've seen, all the dealings I've ever had
with the Klingons, it boils down to a single fact. I can't live with an
alliance. My very fiber of being rejects the concept of a peace treaty as
being totally implausible, to the point of which I'm incapable of even
imagining the notion. And I've just spent the last four hours laying on that
bunk over there trying to contemplate it."
        "Morgan," began Larson gently, "don't think I'm not sympathetic to
what you're feeling. I know that there's probably a number of others onboard
who feel as you do. Hell, the thought of an alliance is a bit far fetched to
me as well, but I'm willing to entertain the possibility. You must do the same
thing. You can't allow you emotions to interfere with your making decisions.
There's too much riding on this."
        Larson hardened her tone. "If we return to our time, we would be in
direct violation of the Prime Directive. We would be knowingly altering the
natural evolution of not one, but two distinct cultures. We would be altering
our future, while re-writing their history. We cannot go back." Larson now sat
up in her chain, looking Bateson straight in the eyes. "And I'm afraid, sir, I
can't back you on such a decision."
        Bateson looked at Larson as though he was seeing another person for
the first time. "What do you mean?"
        "I'm hoping," said Larson stiffly, "that you won't force me into a
position that I'd rather not be in, sir."
        Bateson stood now, not at all liking what he was hearing. He spoke
harshly. "I'm waiting for a better answer than that, commander."
        Larson stood as well, facing the captain at attention. "Captain, sir,
as Executive Officer of this ship I must inform you that if you attempt to
order this vessel to return to our former time, it will be my duty as a
StarFleet officer to relieve you of command of this ship for violation of
General Order Number One and personally assume command of the Bozeman. After
your arrest and incarceration, I will then be required to notify StarFleet
Command of the incident and convene a preliminary inquiry into the matter."
        "You can't be serious. Are you threatening me, commander?
        "No, sir. I am merely informing you of my duties should you decide to
proceed with your current plan. And yes, sir, I am indeed serious about this
matter." Larson said nothing further, she only starred at Bateson.
        "Your remarks have been noted, commander." said angrily Bateson as he
moved off toward the head. "I'll join you on the bridge shortly. Dismissed."
        "Aye, sir." said Larson as she strode out of the cabin. The door closed
behind her.
        As Bateson entered the head and went into the shower, he thought about
what Larson had said. She was right, and he knew it. He couldn't explain to
himself why he was acting the way he was, but he knew it was wrong. However,
the thoughts of leaving everything behind, the thoughts of learning everything
anew, and particularly, of learning how to love thy enemy frightened Bateson
to no end.
        Bateson had thought that he felt alone and empty before. Now, after
the confrontation with Larson, he felt even more so.
                *               *               *               *
        "LaForge to bridge!"
        Picard answered the call. "Go ahead, Mr. LaForge."
        "Captain, we're losing plasma containment. The emitters of the annular
containment field are showing signs of great stress and are close to burning
out."
        "What happened, Geordi?" asked Riker.
        "The plasma stream is generating too much heat and pressure for the
emitters to take. We have to reduce power before it goes down entirely and
floods the core containment area with plasma. If that happens, we're looking
at a core detonation."
        "Damn." muttered Picard. "Reduce power, Mr. Laforge."
        "Aye, sir." responded the engineer. "Reducing speed now." Several
moments of uncomfortable silence followed. "Captain, we've stabilized the
field and are proceeding at warp five point four."
        "How long to effect repairs?" asked Picard.
        "Not possible, sir. In order to repair the damage, we'd have to shut
the core down again. Come to a full stop. I'd need about twenty minutes
to replace the emitters. Then I'd need another ten to re-start the reaction
and get us back up to speed. I don't think you want to take up that much time."
        Data now entered the conversation from engineering. "Captain, I
believe Geordi is right. If we proceed under our present speed, we would reach
the Kita system fifteen point one minutes after the ETA of the Bozeman. Should
we stop for repairs, we would not reach the system until at least thirty-seven
point eight minutes after the ETA of the Bozeman, sir."
        Picard was not happy with either option, but he saw no others. "Very
well. Mr. LaForge. Continue at best possible speed. Inform the bridge of any
further difficulties. Picard out."
        "Fifteen minutes," mused Riker. "I hope it's not going to be too late."
        "So do I, Number One." replied Picard as he starred ahead at the stars
on the main viewscreen. "So do I."
                *               *               *               *
                *               *               *               *
        The sixth-largest continent of Kita IV lay almost entirely in the
equatorial latitudes of the planet. Spanning an area of about seven thousand
kilometers, the only substantial plant life was to be found on the northern
and southern coastal regions where the land stretched into a more temperate
climate. The heartland was a combination of both mountainous and desert
regions, with temperatures ranging from forty degrees Celcius during the day
to twenty-five degrees at night in the plains. For all intents and purposes,
the central portion of the continent was a virtual wasteland.
        However, one mans' waste can be another mans' gain. Atop a plain
overlooking a canyon carved from the rock my a long-dried river sat a large
complex. Below the complex on the canyon wall, a large number of tunnels had
been excavated. A network of walkways connected the various entrances. A
number of workers were visible on the canyon wall, quickly moving to and fro
between the different levels. At each level was an overseeer, watching as the
laborers went about their jobs.
        The overseeers were Ferengi.
        The Ferengi had discovered the planet several years ago when a vessel
under the leadership of DaiMon Gan explored the system. Gan quickly found
that along with all the other common ores and minerals on Kita IV, there was a
strong presence of two more significant elements, gold and latinum.
        In the better half of the last two decades, gold-pressed latinum had
become the universally-accepted standard for those races whose cultures still
used the currency system. It was also the 'preferred' form of payment for less
scrupulous beings who engaged in the buying, selling, trading, and sometimes
the 'appropriation' of goods and/or services. Unlike Federation Credits,
gold-pressed latinum was untraceable, a great convenience for those cultures
or individuals who wished to keep a low profile.
        The cost of producing gold-pressed latinum was rather high, adding to
the value of the substance. The difficulty lay in the power, heat, and
pressure needed to successfully fuse the two elements at the atomic level.
Pressing facilities were few and far between due mainly to the prohibitive
costs of the initial operating set-up and subsequent maintenance.
        Gan had managed to secure funding from the Ferengi Trade Consortium to
begin a modest mining and pressing operation, at the cost of all of Gan's
personal wealth and property as collateral, much of which had been obtained
throughout his thirty years serving the Alliance. Gak had made an arrangement
to then sell the processed gold-pressed latinum from the facility to the Trade
Consortium at a moderate profit, giving the Consortium a much-needed source of
working capital.
        Gan had been using the profits obtained from the sale of gold-pressed
latinum back to the Consortium to finance further exploitation of the planets'
resources. There were a great abundance of fossil fuels on the planet, ripe
for an enterprising DaiMon to extract and sell to lesser-developed
civilizations who relied on such things. Gan had even been able to keep a low
enough profile on the operation as to allow it to go unnoticed by the Trade
Consortium, thereby maximizing his potential for profit by not having to give
the Consortium their usual percentage.
        Gan had chosen his first officer, Pul, to act as administrator of the
pressing facility. While the Consortium had expressly informed Gan that he was
to run the facility, Gan felt that it would take too much of his time to do.
Gan had opted to instead allow Pul to run the facility while Gak continued to
roam space, peddling the other marketables he had pilfered from Kita IV.
        Things had not gone well for Gan in the last two years, though.
Profitable dealings were few since more and more civilizations were turning
away from fossil fuels and the market had softened considerably. Also, Gan was
working without the intelligence available from the Trade Consortium telling
other DaiMons of possible avenues of financial advancement. There was no way
Gan could avail himself of these reports without alerting the Consortium to
his covert activities.
        Problems with the initial set-up of the pressing facility, delays in
boring out the mining shafts, constant labor difficulties due to the climate
and conditions as well as higher than projected maintenance costs had all
conspired against Pul and had put production from the facility months behind
schedule.
        The Trade Consortium was displeased with Gan about the lack of an
operating profit from the facility. The Consortium had given Gan an ultimatum:
get the facility to a profitable status within the next sixty days or they
would foreclose on the property. This mean that not only would Gan lose his
claim to the facility and all of his collateral, but he would, in all
likelihood, also lose his title of DaiMon as well.
        For the past several days, Gan had been at the facility, overseeing
the operations and attempting to expedite the production process while dealing
with the labor and maintenance problems. He had personally removed Pul from
his position and had banished the former administrator to work with the others
in the mines extracting the needed elements from the surrounding strata as
punishment for his mis-management of the project.
        Gan was now in the administration offices at the facility, studying
production and labor reports. Running at top-efficiency with around-the-clock
production, Gan estimated that, barring any further unforeseen incidents, he
would be able to make the operation profitable within the time specified by
the Trade Consortium.
        Within the next several minutes, however, was to happen one of the
most unforeseeable incidents he could ever have imagined.
                *               *               *               *
        "Kita system now coming into maximum scanning range, sir." reported
Larson from her science station.
        "Understood, commander." replied Bateson. He spoke to Prescott. "Helm,
all-stop, hold position here."
        "Aye sir." acknowledged Prescott as he worked the instruments. "Helm
answering all-stop, thrusters to station-keeping."
        Bateson turned to Larson. "Commence your scans, commander."
        "Aye sir." she responded as she turned to her viewer. "Beginning
long-range scans of the system now."
                *               *               *               *
        "Xak to DaiMon Gan." buzzed the voice of Gan's new first officer over
the communicator. Xak was commanding Gan's Marauder in orbit of the planet.
        "What is it?" blustered Gan. "I told you I wasn't to be disturbed."
        "I'm sorry, DaiMon, but the scans have returned. And this time our
sensors are picking up another vessel."
        "A ship?" asked Gan. "Are you sure?"
        "Yes, DaiMon. The ship has just entered the field of our long range
sensors."
        "What type of ship is it?"
        "It appears," replied Xak, "to be a Federation vessel."
        Gan cursed. Just over two days ago, a Federation ship had sent
a long range probe through the system. Gan was worried about the Federation
finding out about his operations. While Kita IV was not known to be claimed by
any known races, the planet did fall inside of Federation space. The Trade
Consortium had not registered the existence of the pressing facility there,
but that wa not the issue.
        The problem stemmed from Gan's personal side-venture. The method used
by Gan in extracting the other items had been forbade by the Federation, as
well as the Ferengi Alliance. If it were to be discovered, not only would the
clandestine operation be closed down, but it would serve to complicate matters
should the Trade Consortium have to register the pressing facility with the
Federation.
        Now, a Federation ship was scanning the system. All that Gan could
think of was that they had somehow managed to detect his operations from the
readings received from their intrusive probe and were now on their way to
investigate the readings.
        "Have they scanned you yet?" asked Gan.
        "No, DaiMon. They have just begun scanning the outermost planets in
the system."
        Gan stood. "Transport me up."
                *               *               *               *
        "Readings of the Federation vessel?" asked Gan as he strode onto the
bridge of the Marauder.
        Xak sounded confused. "The vessel is an ancient one. A type that,
according to our information, has not been in service of StarFleet for at
least eighty years."
        Gan leaned over and studied the read-out. The ship was an old
Soyuz-class vessel. Gan looked at the monitors and shared the disbelief of
his first officer. It didn't take Gan long to realize the profit-potential of
such a vessel. Not only would he have no problems selling such an antique to
any number of space-vessel museums, but since this was still an operational
vessel he knew that he would also be able to find other buyers. Many a
smuggler or trader would like nothing better than to get their hands on
Federation technology, even if it was eighty years out of date.
        Gan thought quickly. "Move us to the southern polar region. Take up a
position directly above the magnetic pole of the planet. Once we are in
position, shut down all unneeded power systems. They will not be able to scan
us there."
        As his crew moved to comply, Gan again studied the readings of the
old ship. What Gan saw was not a potential threat from the Federation. He
instead saw a gift.
                *               *               *               *
        "Now entering the Kita star system, sir." said Sim from the navigation
station. "Course projection through the system on main viewer now." The viewer
showed the chart of the system and the Bozemans' relative position. The course
projection showed they would enter standard orbit of Kita IV in ten minutes.
        "Very well, Mr. Sim." replied Bateson. They were the first words he'd
spoken in the hour since they took their initial readings of the system. He
had merely sat there, starring straight ahead, as if daydreaming. "Continue on
course." Bateson turned to look at Larson. "Commander, scan the fourth
planet."
        Larson manipulated her equipment and starred into her hooded viewer.
"Preliminary scans of the planet coming through now, sir. Class-M environment,
oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere. Reading eleven major land masses accounting for
approximately sixty-two per-cent of the surface area. The remainder is covered
with water." Larson adjusted the controls. "Temperature ranges from arctic in
the polar regions to tropical in the equatorial latitudes. Reading signs of
vegetation and foliage throughout most of the temperate regions."
        "Life sign readings?"
        Larson studied the viewer for a moment. "Inconclusive at this point. I
am reading a number of what appear to be some forms of insect life, along with
some apparent readings of small, lower-animal life forms present, but none so
far that are readily recognizable. I'll need more time to conduct more
intensive scanning." Larson looked up a Bateson. "We'll be able to get better
readings as we approach the planet."
        "Very well, Mr. Larson," replied Bateson. "Carry on." he ordered as he
again began starring silently ahead.
                *               *               *               *
                *               *               *               *
        "Entering standard orbit around Kita IV, sir." reported Sim. The image
of the blue-green planet filled the main viewscreen.
        Bateson turned to Larson. "Commander, what have your scans found?"
        Larson looked up at the captain. "I'm still unable to identify the
lifeform readings I'm getting with anything we've ever seen before. There are
no records on file matching any of the patterns I'm scanning." A beeping came
from her science console. She quickly toggled a switch to silence the alarm
and returned her gaze to her instruments. "Captain, I'm now getting
indications of another type of lifeform reading from the planet below." She
paused a moment to decipher the readings. "It appears to be a humanoid
species, but I can't match it up with any known lifeforms." Another alarm
sounded. "Now getting readings of an installation on the surface of the
planet."
        Bateson stood and walked over to the science station. "What kind of an
installation, and how large?"
        "Sensors indicate that the installation covers an area approximately
one square kilometer in size." said Larson as she continued peering into her
viewer and adjusting the controls. "There are indications of a number of
fusion-type reactors powering equipment that is generating high amounts of
intense heat and pressure. Sensors also indicate a network of tunnels beneath
the surface of the installation." Larson looked up at Bateson. "I believe it
appears to be some type of mining and refining facility. I'm also now reading
a number of smaller, less developed sights of excavation on the planet as
well. the same type of lifeform readings are present at these sites as well,
though far less in number."
        "Are those sites the only place where you're reading the unknown
humanoid lifeforms?"
        "Affirmative, sir." replied Larson as she again gazed into the hooded
viewer. "Reading what appear to be roughly one hundred and fifty individual
signals in and around the major installation, approximately another forty
throughout the other sites. Still unable to collate the signals with any
known lifeform. Reading only indicate that they are roughly humanoid in
nature."
        "Dammit all." muttered Bateson as he returned to his command chair.
Larson turned away from her instruments as watched him as he moved off. He
sat down and starred at the main viewer for a moment, stroking his beard. The
though that there might be an alien presence on the uncharted planet had
never occurred to Bateson. Another tactical error. Larson continued to stare at
Bateson, and she wasn't alone. The others on the bridge were also starring at
Bateson, awaiting his further orders.
        Bateson spoke slowly. "Mr. Sim, consult the star charts. How far to
the next closest star system know to have a class-M planet?"
        Sim consulted with the charts in the astrogator for a moment. "The
nearest," he said as he turned back to the captain, "is the Dorav system.
Thirty-nine hours travel at maximum warp."
        Bateson sighed, still stroking his beard. He shook his head slightly
and sighed again as her turned to face Larson. "Commander, have security
begin preparations to beam down emergency sheltering and supplies for the
Klingon. As soon as that's completed, have the prisoner escorted to the
transporter room under armed guard and beamed to the surface below."
        Larson quickly stood and walked over to Bateson, speaking as she
moved. "We don't know what's there, sir. What if those lifeforms are hostile?
We know nothing about them. We don't know how they'll react to him."
        "We're not going beam him down anywhere near them." said Bateson. "We
can dump him off halfway around the world from them. They'll never know he's
there."
        "We can't be sure of that, sir." replied Larson. "That's a fairly good
sized down there. I think it's pretty certain that there may be a modest
amount of ship traffic through here. It could be possible for someone to
detect him from orbit, possibly someone who would intend on harming him before
he could be rescued. Plus we haven't even begun to consider the danger that
could be posed to him by the unknown bacteriological, insect, and lower-animal
lifeforms."
        "Quite frankly, Mr. Larson," said Bateson in a slow, matter-of-fact
tone, "I could really give a damn about whether or not he lives to see his
rescue. He's only a Klingon."
        Larsons' eyes widened at the words. "Request permission to speak with
the captain alone, sir."
        Bateson looked up at her coldly. "Anything that you need to say can be
said right here, commander."
        Larson stiffened to attention. "Very well, sir. I must remind the
captain of the discussion we had earlier in your quarters. We cannot proceed
with the plan."
        Yes, goddammit," exploded Bateson as he stood toe-to-toe with Larson,
"I remember. That's my problem," he yelled as he began to pace around the
command area, his face reddening with anger, "I remember. I can't forget.
Twenty years of remembering." Bateson clenched his fists in rage and slammed
them down against the bridge railing. "I remember it all! The fighting, the
killing, I remember it all! Every last damned detail!" Bateson returned to
Larson, his eyes wide, his voice hoarse from screaming. "I'm supposed to just
up and forget all of that misery? Simply forget about all the dead, all the
wounded? Let bye-gones be bye-gones?" Bateson screamed at the top of his
lungs. "I CAN'T DO IT! I CAN'T ACCEPT THAT!" Bateson starred at Larson for a
moment, out of breath and shaking with rage. As he looked around the bridge,
he noticed the rest of the crew starring at him, open-mouthed by his tirade.
Bateson breathed deep, again looked at Larson, then slowly sank back into the
command chair. He bent forward, resting his elbows on his knees and lowered
his head into his hands. There were a few moments of uneasy silence.
        "Captain Bateson," began Larson slowly, "under StarFleet Regulations,
I hereby relieve you on the grounds that you are psychologically unfit to
command this vessel pending a formal psychiatric evaluation by Chief Surgeon
Dr. M'Bouche."
        Bateson didn't even acknowledge the words. He merely sat there,
holding his head in his hands and starring at the floor.
        "You," continued Larson, "are ordered to report to Sickbay, sir."
She looked down at the broken man slumped over in his chair. "I'm sorry, sir,
but you've left me with no alternative."
                *               *               *               *
        "The Federation vessel has scanned the planet, DaiMon." informed Xak.
"I believe they have discovered the operations below." Xak turned to look at
Gan. "What are your orders?"
        "Have they detected us?" asked Gan.
        "If they have," replied Xak, "they are ignoring us."
        "Well, then." said Gan as he sat back in his command chair. "Perhaps
we should do something that would make them sit up and take notice." Gan
turned to his helmsman. "Prepare to restore main power to the ship."
        "What are we going to do?" asked Xak.
        "Xak," began Gan, "we are going to grab ourselves a Federation relic."
        Xak's beady eyes opened wide. "We are going to attack, DaiMon?"
        "They are unsuspecting." replied Gan. "What better way than with the
element of surprise?"
        "But that is a Federation ship!" countered Xak.
        "Yes," agreed Gan, "a Federation ship eighty years out of date. Look
at it," gestured Gan to the scanner monitor, "we have a superior vessel with
superior firepower. That ship wouldn't stand a chance against us."
        "And what of the Federation?" asked Xak nervously. "They will send
more ships to investigate the loss of one of their craft."
        "We will block the transmissions of the ship, buying us more time."
answered Gan. "They will not be declared overdue for some time. Even then, it
will still take time for the Federation to send out search vessels." Gan
rubbed his hands together. "By that time, we will have long since disposed of
the ship. When they do come, we will say that we never saw their missing
ship."
        "But when they see the operations on the planet," pressed Xak, "they
will accuse us of illegal activities on the surface."
        "They will have no proof of any illegal activities." sighed Gan. "We
will close down the other mining operations and claim that they already
existed there when we installed the pressing facility. The pressing facility
is a legal operation apart from it's being unregistered with them." Gan
assumed a mocking look on his face. "A clerical oversight on our part that is
easily rectified."
        "What will we do with the crew?" asked Xak. "Kill them?"
        "Don't be a fool, Xak. You'll never make DaiMon thinking like that. As
I recall, there are at least three different species that are looking for
humanoid 'subjects' for the purpose of conducting biological and medical
testing on. I also recall that the 'finder's fee' for providing subjects,
willing or otherwise, was quite substantial." Gan rolled his eyes upward in
thought. "Between the profits from the sale of the vessel and it's technology,
coupled with the profit from the sale of the crew, we should be able to come
out of this deal with enough gold-pressed latinum to last us years."
        "If the Trade Consortium finds out..." began Xak.
        "If the Trade Consortium finds out..." mimicked Gan mockingly. "Bah!
They will never find out unless someone opens their mouth. If that happens,"
Gan leaned forward and leered first at Xak, then the rest of the bridge crew,
"then I will find the culprit and strangle him with my own bare hands."
        "I don't know about this, DaiMon." replied Xak uneasily. "This is a
very risky plan. Many things can go wrong and we would lose everything if
caught."
        Gan stared hard at Xak, raising his voice now. "I'm beginning to
believe I may have made an error in selecting you as my new first officer,
Xak. If you are incapable of carrying out a simple snatch-and-grab operation,
then perhaps I should consider putting you to work alongside Pul, digging in
the mines."
        Xak drew himself up to attention. "When do we proceed, DaiMon?"
        Gan sat back in his chair, satisfied. "Stand by to attack on my
command."
                *               *               *               *
                                ... continued


Sigs absorb 47 times their own weight in excess relevence.

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To: jfy@cis.ksu.edu (Joseph F. Young)
Subject: Re: RE-POST "Time Waits For No Man" REVISED Part 7 of 7 (end)
From: fez@toz.buffalo.ny.us (the fez)
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Organization: The Tower of Zot - Buffalo, NY USA - (716)839-0431
Status: RO

>Warning<  Over 500 lines of text follow.

Author's Note: The following story is a "revised" version of the original
"Time Waits For No Man." This version supercedes all previous versions and is
considered 'Final' by this author. It is being re-posted in the original
seven-part format.

>>ATTENTION MR. JOSEPH YOUNG<<  Please add this story to your archive. You may
also replace any previous version of it that may already reside there with
this 'Final' copy.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
The original authors of this story are myself and Brian Murphy. The original
author of the text is myself. I agree to grant free distribution of this story
as long as this message of authorship, the original, unaltered text of the
story, and the following disclaimer remain intact. E-mail regarding this story
my be sent to Joe (The Fez) Kirsch at fez@toz.buffalo.ny.us

--=[DISCLAIMER]=-- "Star Trek: The Next Generation" name and characters are
trademarks of Paramount Pictures. The following story is for entertainment
purposes ONLY and is not intended to infringe on any rights. Quotes from the
episode "Cause and Effect" used without permission, but with great respect.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

S T A R  T R E K: The Next Generation      Story By; Joe Kirsch & Brian Murphy
  "Time Waits For No Man" Part 6 of 7                 Written By: Joe Kirsch
      (Sequel to the ST:TNG episode "Cause and Effect" by Brannon Braga)

                *               *               *               *
        Bateson continued sitting in the command chair, still starring
vacantly at the floor. Larson was still at his side. The attention of everyone
on the bridge was centered on the command area.
        "Please, sir," began Larson, "you've been relieved of command and
ordered to report to Sickbay for psychological examination." Larson bent down
to whisper the rest into Bateson's ear. "Please don't force me to have you
escorted from the bridge under guard."
        Bateson slowly looked up at Larson, her words finally beginning to
register with him. He glanced around the bridge at the faces of the others
present. One by one, they began to turn away from him, returning their
concentration to their duties. He looked back to Larson and saw the anguish
and sorrow in her eyes at what she had done, but he also saw the hardness and
determination that she felt she was justified in her actions. He knew now,
fully realizing for the first time, that he was wrong. Everything he had done
since coming here, he had done wrong. He allowed his emotions, his deep-rooted
fear and hatred for Klingons, to force him into gambling on what must have
been one of the all-time long-shots in galactic history.
        Bateson had hoped to return that which had been lost from his life.
Instead, he'd lost so much more. His command, his career with the inevitable
court-martial, the trust and respect of his crew, and, quite possibly, his
sanity.
        Bateson lowered his head slightly again for just a moment, and saw
that he had no choice but to accede. He then rose and, facing Larson, he began
speaking in a hoarse, tired tone. "Mr. Prescott, make a note in the ship's log
that as of this stardate, I relinquish command of the Bozeman to Comman..."
        Bateson was cut short by the sound of an alarm from the navigation
station. Sim quickly turned to face Bateson. "Sir, unidentified vessel
approaching!"
        Bateson turned to Sim as Larson raced back to her science station.
"What? Where in hell did they come from?"
        "Unknown sir," replied Sim as he studied the read-out. "They just
appeared from the area of the southern polar region of the planet. One minute
there was nothing there, the next, they showed up."
        "Is it the Enterprise?"
        "Negative, sir. The ship does not match any known vessel on record,
including the record we made of the Enterprise."
        "Place image of the vessel on main viewer."
        "Aye, sir. Image coming up now."
        The viewscreen switched to the image of the other vessel. It was
roughly crab-shaped in design, sporting a ruddy color, reddish-orange in
appearance. While smaller than the Enterprise, it was still clearly larger
than the Bozeman.
        Larson called out from her station. "Previous course of the ship
indicates that they came directly from the southern magnetic polar region.
Sensors do not function well in magnetic polar areas due to the intense
magnetic energy found there." Larson looked up at Bateson. "It appears they
could have been laying in wait. Perhaps it is a sentinel ship for the
installation below." Larson returned to her viewer. "Vessel is on an intercept
course with us. Range is thirty-five thousand kilometers and closing."
        Yet another tactical error. His worst mistake yet. Bateson had not
considered the possibility of a sentinel ship, let alone hiding one in the
magnetic blind-spot of the ships' sensors. Bateson now fully realized that his
clouded judgement could very well have led them all to their deaths.
        "Red alert!" called Bateson. "Shields up, bring weapons to ready.
Mr. Larson, hail the other vessel."
        Larson opened a channel and sent the hail. "No response, sir." she
replied a moment later. "They appear to be jamming our transmissions."
        "Keep trying." ordered Bateson. "Mr. Prescott, break orbit and
initiate escape sequence Beta."
        "Aye, sir." acknowledged Prescott as he manipulated the helm controls.
        "Unknown vessel is matching our maneuver." reported Sim. "At current
speed, it will overtake us in twenty-five seconds, sir."
        "Mr. Prescott, initiate escape sequence Delta. Full impulse power."
        "Vessel continues to match our maneuvers." said Sim a moment later.
"Twenty seconds to intercept."
        Bateson turned to Larson. "Any response to our hail yet, commander?"
        "None, sir." she said, adjusting the audio interface earpiece. "All
frequencies are still being jammed by the other vessel."
        "Very well." said Bateson as he turned back to the main viewer. "Mr.
Sim, target unknown vessel, phasers and photon torpedoes. Hold for my
command."
        Larson stood at attention at her station. "May I remind the captain
that he has been relived of duty."
        Sim did not comply with his order, instead he turned and watched both
Bateson and Larson in indecision. Bateson quickly stood and moved to Larson.
"Commander, we are in a life-threatening situation. I'm aware of the fact I've
been relieved, but I'll not clear this bridge in a crisis situation. If you
want me out of here, you'd better call that 'escort' you spoke of." Bateson
turned to the confused Sim. "Carry out your orders, mister!" He then proceeded
back to the command chair.
        Sim looked to Larson, and she slowly nodded in agreement. Sim returned
to his instruments and carried out his orders. "Phasers and photon torpedoes
locked on target, sir. Intercept in ten seconds."
        Bateson turned to the science station. "Mr. Larson, warn the other
vessel we'll open fire unless they identify themselves."
        Larson complied with the order. "Transmissions are still being
blocked." A beeping from her panel grabbed her attention. She consulted her
viewer. "Now reading a power build-up onboard the other vessel."
        Bateson leaned forward in the chair. "Evasive action! Open fire, Mr.
Sim. All weapons."
        At the same time the Bozeman opened fire, the other ship also
unlimbered their weapons. Two globes of pure white emerged from the front of
the ship, quickly traversing the distance between the two vessels. The first
shot missed the turning Bozeman, but the second struck her directly amidships.
The ship lurched as shielding flared brightly, trying to deflect the energy
away from the vessel.
        "Damage report!" yelled Bateson.
        "Direct hit on starboard side, decks six through eight, sections three
and four. Superficial damage only, no reports of injuries. Shields are down to
seventy-eight percent."
        "Damage to other vessel?"
        "One photon torpedo and three direct phaser hits on other vessel.
Unable to determine the amount of damage inflicted, if any. The ship is
proceeding unimpeded." Larson continued to stare into the hooded viewer.
        "Mr. Prescott, continue evasive action. Mr. Sim, continue fire on the
other vessel. Fire at will."
        "The other vessel is firing again." called Larson.
                *               *               *               *
        Worf had been lying on his bunk in the security cell when the red
alert sounded. The armed guard who was stationed outside of his cell remained
at his post. When the ship had been hit the first time, the force field
confining Worf to his cell fluctuated. Worf was caught off-guard and was
unable to seize the opportunity, having been thrown back onto the bunk by the
sudden lurching of the ship from the impact of the hit. He now crouched ready
by the doorway, out of view of the shaken guard and awaiting a second chance.
He got it moments later when the ship was again rocked by the twin-impact of
the enemy fire against the ship's shields.
        The force field again fluctuated, and this time Worf was prepared. He
quickly bolted for the doorway and emerged from the cell with a flash of light
from the severely weakened force field. He crashed onto the floor about two
meters from the cell. Momentarily stunned by the residual effects of passing
through the force field, Worf quickly recovered.
        The man who had been guarding the cell was laying in a heap in the
corner of the room, having been unprepared for the violent motions of the
ship. He had been knocked from his feet by the impact of the incoming fire and
was disoriented. He regained some of his senses and spotted Worf loose and
heading towards him.
        Too late, he unholstered his phaser. Worf was instantly upon him and
kicked the weapon from the man's hand. The guard got up on one knee and tried
to tackle the Klingon low. Worf quickly side-stepped the lunge and
administered a neck-chop as the guard flew past him. The man hit hard onto the
floor and lay motionless.
        Worf quickly walked over to the guard's phaser and picked it up.
The weapon was old by Worf's standard and he looked at it momentarily to
acquaint himself with its operation. Making certain that the power level was
on a stun setting, he slowly moved through the security office towards the
exit. As he reached the door, he opened it and checked the corridor outside of
it. Since the ship was on red alert and all hands were manning battle stations,
the corridor was empty.
        With phaser in hand, Worf ran down the corridor to the nearest
turbolift. Worf entered the car and as the door closed behind him, he ordered
his destination.
        "Main bridge."
                *               *               *               *
                *               *               *               *
        The bridge was now under emergency lighting. Bateson looked around as
several of the bridge crew were recovering from the last round of shelling
courtesy the other vessel. The Bozeman was out-classed and taking a drubbing,
as was her crew.
        "Two direct hits, sir." said Larson as she continued looking into her
viewer, grasping tightly onto the edge of the console. "Shields now down to
seventeen percent. We can only withstand one more hit before they are
completely blown down. Engineering reports damage to main power couplings.
They estimate five to ten minutes before repairs can be effected and main
power restored. Forward photon torpedoes are temporarily offline. Phasers
functioning on auxiliary power only."
        She looked up at Bateson from her viewer. "We scored with two torpedo
and two phaser hits on the other ship. Still no visible sign of damage to the
target." She adjusted her earpiece. "Sickbay reports fourteen crew members
with minor injuries, no casualties thus far."
        Bateson turned to face Larson, the look of defeat in his eyes.
"Commander, if you have any suggestions, now's the time to give them."
        The request had caught Larson off-guard. She thought for a moment and
then shrugged. "If you could only get them to talk, maybe we could resolve
this peacefully, or at the very least buy us time to get the mains back
online. They haven't answered or hails," she said cautiously, "maybe they'll
answer our surrender."
        Bateson sat silently considering the proposal. He saw no other viable
solution, other than destroying the ship. And while he had actually believed
he was prepared to do it before, he found that he wasn't prepared to do it
now. "Broadcast our surrender, commander. All frequencies and languages."
        Larson turned to her controls and began broadcasting the message. "The
unknown vessel is still jamming our transmissions."
        "Then signal them in Universal Code with our running lights." replied
Bateson. "They can't jam those." Larson turned to comply.
        Just then the doors to the main turbolift opened. Worf quickly emerged
from the lift, brandishing the phaser he'd taken from the unconscious guard.
        "Freeze!" he yelled as all hands turned and stood up, gawking at the
sight. Worf was standing in the alcove between Larson's science station and
the environmental controls station. Worf began to proceed slowly forward, the
aim of his phaser leveled directly at Bateson. The captain stood there
dumbfounded. "Who's attacking your ship" demanded Worf.
        The ensign manning the environmental station decided to attempt to
disarm the intruder. Worf rewarded the inexperienced man by catching him
with a stiff knee to the mid-section and a forearm to the head as he doubled
over. During the action, Larson had come up behind Worf and kicked the phaser
from the hand of the Klingon, sending it flying back into the alcove, bouncing
off the turbolift door. Worf quickly spun around and back-handed the woman
away from him, sending her reeling into the bridge railing.
        During the fracas, Bateson had bolted from the command area, charging
at the Klingon. Worf was ready, however, and sidestepped the man, catching
hold of his right arm as he passed. Worf continued to force the off-balance
Bateson head-first into the alcove, coming down on top of the man. Worf
quickly reached over and regained possession of the phaser. He hauled Bateson
up to his feet, holding the man in a hammer-lock. He then slammed Bateson
face-first into the alcove wall, holding the phaser at the man's head. The
rest of the bridge crew began moving towards the struggle, but Bateson waved
them off with his free hand.
        "Now, tell me," growled Worf, "who's attacking you?"
        "We don't know," gasped Bateson, "but whoever it is, they're kicking
the tar out of us!" Bateson was bleeding from his nose, which Worf had broken
when he slammed the captain against the wall.
        "Show me their ship."
        Bateson awkwardly gestured at the main viewscreen as it held the image
of the other ship.
        Worf looked at the vessel and nodded in acknowledgement. "That is a
Ferengi ship. They are not very worthy adversaries. We should easily be able
to defeat them."
        "Look around you, Klingon!" struggled Bateson, "Our shields are
almost gone, the photon torpedoes are out and we're on auxiliary power. We'd
have a hard time defeating a shuttlecraft at this point!"
        "You do not know the Ferengi like I do. I have had dealings with them
before. They are a less than honorable species that travels space in search of
commercial gain. The entire race exists solely for the purpose of making a
profit. We can use this weakness to our advantage."
        "How?" asked Bateson.
        Worf released the captain from the hammer-lock and backed away from
the man. Bateson flexed his arm and straightened his uniform, trying to regain
his composure. He turned to face the Klingon, the roles of captive and captor
having been reversed. He wiped the blood from his face with the sleeve of his
command jacket.
        Worf kept his aim of the phaser leveled at Bateson as he spoke. "If we
can convince the Ferengi that we're carrying a precious cargo, they will
divert their attention away from us and on securing the 'cargo' instead. We
can then use the opportunity to effect repairs and attack them." Worf
maneuvered close to Bateson. "The plan only requires one thing to succeed,
though." Worf looked Bateson straight in the eyes, lowered the phaser, turned
it around in his hand, and offered it to Bateson. "It requires," said Worf in
a serious tone, "that you trust me."
        Bateson stood there, looking incredulously at Worf and the phaser he
offered him. Bateson took the weapon, and continued starring into the eyes of
the Klingon, trying to read his intentions. Unable to do so, Bateson was left
with only his instincts to guide him in the decision. While he still didn't
exactly trust Worf, the peace-offering of the phaser helped ease Bateson's
distrust. He walked over to Larson and handed her the weapon. "Stow that,
commander." Bateson turned back to face Worf. "What's your plan?"
        Worf looked mildly pleased that Bateson had accepted the offer. Worf
quickly surveyed the bridge and the Ferengi ship on the viewer. "They appear
to have stopped their attack, at least for the moment. We must act quickly.
Everyone remove your uniform jackets."
        Bateson motioned for everyone to comply. "Are you going to let us in
on this idea of yours, Mr. Worf?" he asked as he doffed his jacket.
        "Captain," began the Klingon questioningly, "are you familiar with the
Earth game known as 'poker?'"
        Bateson and Larson turned to face each other, each raising their
eyebrows at the question.
                *               *               *               *
        "The Federation vessel has been disabled, DaiMon." reported Xak as he
studied the readings from the sensors. "Their main power systems have been
interrupted and all weapons are offline." He studied the readings further,
then turned to Gan. "They are signaling that they wish to surrender."
        Gan assumed a most satisfying look. "You see, Xak! Did I not tell you
it would be a simple matter?" He rose from his command chair. "Put me in
contact with them."
        Xak did as he was ordered. The image on the main viewscreen shifted
from an external view of the crippled vessel to an interior view of what
appeared to be the bridge of the ship. A number of people were milling about
at various stations there. One of the first things that Gan had noticed was
that no one in the scene was dressed in a StarFleet uniform. They were all
casually dressed. A bearded human in the center of the picture stepped forward
and began to speak.
        "Ferengi vessel, I'm Morgan Bateson, captain of the Bozeman. What is
your business with us?"
        Gan was momentarily taken aback. He had expected to see a ship full of
Federation personnel. "I am Daimon Gan of the Ferengi ship Gystul. You are not
a StarFleet captain?"
        Bateson laughed. "No, DaiMon Gan, I am not a StarFleet captain, merely
an entrepreneur like yourself."
        "If you are only an entrepreneur," asked Gan, "why are you traveling in
a Federation starship?"
        "You mean decommissioned Federation starship." corrected Bateson. "I
managed to procure it from a dealer of such items in the Beta quadrant."
        "Decommissioned starships do not have Federation equipment and
weaponry onboard." countered Gan. "Nor do they have markings that identify
them as Federation vessels."
        "The markings," explained Bateson, "were replaced by myself and my
crew. We use them to intimidate other unsuspecting species and to deter
potential attackers. In this instance," sighed Bateson, again wiping blood
from the area of his nose, "that didn't work. As for the equipment and
weapons, the dealer I acquired this vessel from was also able to supply me
with, shall we say, 'appropriated' Federation equipment to outfit it with."
        Gan weighed the possibility before answering. "I don't believe a word
you say."
        "I'm not asking you to believe anything, DaiMon." replied Bateson in
a tone of annoyance. "You have attacked my vessel without provocation and are
disrupting my rather tight delivery schedule."
        Gan noticed a female at the rear of the bridge quickly turn in her
chair to face Bateson. She spoke to Bateson. "Quiet!"
        Gan immediately picked up on this. The Seventh Rule of Acquisition
tells Ferengi to 'always keep your ears open' and Gan had heard the magic
word: delivery. He signaled Xak to quickly scan the other vessel again. "What
delivery?" asked Gan.
        "We have some precious goods we are delivering to..." began Bateson.
        "Dammit, Morgan!" screamed the female as she jumped from her chair and
quickly moved over to Bateson. "Why did you have to say anything? Now those
blood-sucking rabble are going to want a cut of our take!"
        "Excuse me, DaiMon." said Bateson as he muted the audio portion of the
transmission. The two continued in a silent, yet very animated argument on
the screen.
        Gan glanced over at Xak with a look of puzzlement and curiosity.
                *               *               *               *
        "Bateson to Worf." said the captain into the open intercom channel
while still gesturing furiously at Larson.
        The voice of the Klingon grated through the intercom from his location
in the ship's main computer room. "Worf here, captain."
        "Is everything ready for this phase of the plan?"
        "The disinformation I've prepared is ready for covert transmission to
the Ferengi vessel's computer system." replied Worf. "I am ready to begin
preparations for the second phase."
        "I hope you know what your doing." said Bateson while getting poked in
the chest by a silently raving Larson.
        "I have successfully performed a similar maneuver once before." stated
Worf. "You must trust me."
        Bateson could find little reassurance in the words, but didn't see
where he had much choice in the matter.
                *               *               *               *
                *               *               *               *
        Bateson and the female were continuing their heated debate on the main
viewer in silence as Gan watched.
        Xak turned to Gan. "Scan of the other vessel complete, DaiMon. I can
detect no signs of any cargo aboard their ship."
        "Are you certain?" asked Gan.
        "Yes, DaiMon." replied Xak. "If they do have anything of value aboard,
our sensors cannot detect it."
        Gan grunted as he continued to regard the figures on the screen. The
argument was appearing to draw to a close as the female moved away from
Bateson and regained her station on the bridge of the other vessel. Bateson
took a moment to compose himself before opening the audio channel again.
        "I'm sorry for the distraction, DaiMon." apologized Bateson as he
strode closer to the viewer. "My partner was concerned about having to share
the profits from our venture with any others. I have laid her misgivings to
rest."
        "I have scanned your vessel again, human," replied Gan, "and have
found nothing of any value to me aboard." Gan leaned forward and scowled at
Bateson. "So tell me another story."
        Bateson sighed and rolled his eyes upward. "Of course you don't.
That's because you don't know what you're looking for. I'm going to transmit
to you a specific frequency of the EM spectrum to scan. Then tell me what your
scanners tell you." Bateson turned and gestured to the female, who began
working controls on her panel.
        Gan stepped forward and stood beside Xak as they received the
transmission. Xak fed the information into the computer system and began
another scan of the ship.
        This time, a large bloom of energy was detected aboard the other ship.
A reading so intense that it nearly over-loaded the sensor equipment.
                *               *               *               *
        Bateson stood on the bridge of the Bozeman between the helm and
navigation stations, awaiting the response of Gan.
        "What is that?" asked a surprised Gan. "I've never seen anything like
that before."
        "It's a new element, discovered less than a year ago." explained
Bateson. "It's called Placebium."
        "Never heard of it. What is it used for?" was Gan's next query.
        "It has properties very similar to Uranium," stated Bateson, "but
has less toxicity and is easier for us to synthesize. The people on Herjek
II are not a very advanced culture and use the material to power their
old-style fission power reactors. It offers a greater power yield than
Uranium, but, fortunately for us, it also has a considerably shorter
half-life and radiates its energy more quickly." Bateson looked at Gan very
seriously. "Since they have over one thousand fission reactors online powering
their world, they tend to go through it at a very profitable rate."
        "How profitable?" leered Gan.
        Bateson looked up in thought as he spoke. "The cost of producing
one kilogram of Placebium is roughly equivalent to one-half bar of
gold-pressed latinum." Bateson leveled his stare at Gan. "We sell it to the
Herjekians at a cost of seven bars of gold-pressed latinum per kilo." Bateson
smiled at the Ferengi. "How's that for profitable?"
        If Gan was impressed by the numbers, he did not show it. "How much do
they purchase per consignment?"
        "The average consignment," said Bateson, "is five hundred kilos. That
works out to seven thousand bars of gold-pressed latinum per delivery."
        "How often do they purchase a consignment?"
        "On the average, we make one trip a month," replied Bateson, "but that
is due to increase very soon since the planet's legislature has decided to
begin work on several more new reactor facilities. Also," added Bateson,
"their military is considering using Placebium in the building of new fission
weaponry for defensive purposes." Bateson again looked seriously at Gan. "Say,
when they start ordering more, we're going to need some help to keep up with
their demands. How would you," asked Bateson, "like to get in on the most
profitable 'legitimate' business deal in the quadrant?"
        "What are you proposing, human?"
        "I'm proposing a partnership. If you would be willing to help us make
deliveries, we could cut you in for," Bateson looked up in thought, "oh, say
twenty percent."
        "Sixty." replied Gan.
        Bateson laughed. "Really, DaiMon. I'm serious."
        "So am I."
        "Alright. Thirty percent." said Bateson.
        "Fifty percent." countered Gan.
        "I'm just asking you to deliver the stuff," replied Bateson, "not make
it."
        "We may be able to provide a wider clientel for the product. We
deserve an appropriately higher share."
        "Fair enough." resigned Bateson. "Thirty-five percent."
        "Forty-five percent," demanded Gan, "or I'll send a team over there
and take it all by force."
        "Do that," warned Bateson, "and I'll destroy the ship, along with your
boarding party and the merchandise. Then you'll have nothing." Bateson though
for a second. "Forty percent is my final offer. Take it or kiss it good-bye."
        "How do I know that the merchandise is real?" asked Gan. "We have no
records of any such element in any of our files."
        "If you wish," replied Bateson, "you may send over one of your
mineralogists to substantiate our claims. But no more than one person."
        Gan thought about this for a moment before replying. "You want me to
send over one of my people so you can have a hostage. Isn't that right, human.
Very clever."
        "I give you my word," stated Bateson, "that we will in no way harm any
one person from your ship who would beam over to verify our claims. If you
wish," offered Bateson, "you may even send him over armed."
        "Do you think me a fool, human?" bellowed Gan. "One armed Ferengi
against an entire ship full of humans? BAH!"
        "Then what do YOU suggest, DaiMon?" asked an exasperated Bateson.
        "Beam a sample over here for our inspection." said Gan
        "Not possible." stated Bateson. "The molecular composition of the
element will break down in the process of matter transport. The instability
has something to with the way the element is synthesized. The only thing you'd
receive would be a transporter room full of radiation."
        Gan was not fooled. "Then beam it over in a magnetic containment
bottle."
        "That'll stop the radiation," warned Bateson, "but it won't stop the
decomposition of the Placebium due to matter transporting." Bateson shrugged.
        "Then how do you get it on board your vessel?" demanded Gan.
        "We do it the old-fashioned way, DaiMon." responded Bateson. "By
shuttlecraft."
        "Very well, then." said Gan. "You will personally bring me a sample of
this Placebium onboard one of your shuttlecraft."
        Bateson turned to Larson, who gave a nod of approval. "Agreed, DaiMon.
I will bring a one kilo sample of the element over to you personally on one of
our shuttlecraft. Shall we say in," Bateson regarded the chronometer, "five
minutes?"
        "That will be acceptable, human." replied Gan. "I warn you: no tricks
or your ship will be destroyed."
        "No tricks." said Bateson. "I will see you shortly, DaiMon. Bateson
out."
        The image of Gan was replaced with the image of the Ferengi Marauder
on the screen as the channel was closed.
        Bateson exhaled a sigh of relief and turned to Larson. "Well,
commander. We're in it now, aren't we?"
        "Yes sir." replied Larson as she, too, exhaled a deep breath.
        Bateson strode back to his command chair and punched up the intercom.
"Bateson to engineering."
        "Engineering." crackled the response. "Ellington here, sir."
        "How are your repairs coming along?" asked the captain.
        "Almost completed, sir. We will have restored main power momentarily."
        "Do not engage main power until ordered by Commander Larson." replied
Bateson. "We want to play 'dead' for the time being. Is that understood,
chief?"
        "Aye sir." replied Ellington. "Awaiting X-O's command."
        "Very good." said Bateson. "Stand by." He closed the channel and
opened another. "Bateson to Worf."
        The basso tone of the Klingon rumbled through the audio interface.
"Worf here. Go ahead, captain."
        "It appears," began Bateson, "that they've taken the bait. Is phase
two ready?"
        "I am at shuttlebay one. Phase two has been completed." stated Worf.
"I have been monitoring your communications from this location. You have done
well, captain. I suggest you proceed with phase three of the plan."
        "Understood, Mr. Worf. I'll join you momentarily. Bateson out." The
captain closed the channel. Bateson then turned and headed for the turbolift,
stopping at Larson's station before entering. "You understand your
instructions, commander?"
        "Yes sir." she said as she stood. "I'll be awaiting your signal."
        "Very good." said Bateson. "You have the bridge." Bateson turned to
enter the lift, then stopped and again turned to Larson. "Any bets about
whether or not this gamble pays-off?" he asked.
        "I wouldn't bet on this one with YOUR money, sir." she smiled. "But,
all things considered, we have nothing to lose."
        Bateson frowned. "'Nothing to lose.' That's what I said when we lost
Enterprise, isn't it?" The doors closed on Bateson as he he thought silently
to himself.
        ** And look where it got us. **
                *               *               *               *
                                ... continued


Sigs absorb 47 times their own weight in excess relevence.

From fez@toz.buffalo.ny.us  Sun Aug 22 17:38:18 1993
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To: jfy@cis.ksu.edu (Joseph F. Young)
Subject: Re: RE-POST "Time Waits For No Man" REVISED Part 7 of 7 (end)
From: fez@toz.buffalo.ny.us (the fez)
Comments: schnitz
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Date: Sun, 22 Aug 93 13:26:59 EDT
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Organization: The Tower of Zot - Buffalo, NY USA - (716)839-0431
Status: RO

>Warning<  Over 300 lines of text follow.

Author's Note: The following story is a "revised" version of the original
"Time Waits For No Man." This version supercedes all previous versions and is
considered 'Final' by this author. It is being re-posted in the original
seven-part format.

I would again like to thank all who wrote me after the original postingof this
work.

Special thanks again go out to Brian Murphy for the help on the original
storyline. Well done, Bri.

And a very special thanks to all who've stayed with this story until this
final segment. I hope you enjoyed it.

>>ATTENTION MR. JOSEPH YOUNG<<  Please add this story to your archive. You may
also replace any previous version of it that may already reside there with
this 'Final' copy.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
The original authors of this story are myself and Brian Murphy. The original
author of the text is myself. I agree to grant free distribution of this story
as long as this message of authorship, the original, unaltered text of the
story, and the following disclaimer remain intact. E-mail regarding this story
my be sent to Joe (The Fez) Kirsch at fez@toz.buffalo.ny.us

--=[DISCLAIMER]=-- "Star Trek: The Next Generation" name and characters are
trademarks of Paramount Pictures. The following story is for entertainment
purposes ONLY and is not intended to infringe on any rights. Quotes from the
episode "Cause and Effect" used without permission, but with great respect.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

S T A R  T R E K: The Next Generation      Story By; Joe Kirsch & Brian Murphy
  "Time Waits For No Man" Part 1 of 7                 Written By: Joe Kirsch
      (Sequel to the ST:TNG episode "Cause and Effect" by Brannon Braga)

                *               *               *               *
        The gullibility of the human species never ceased to amaze DaiMon Gan.
Not only had he managed to get the humans to give him a sample of the new
element, but he'd gotten their leader to bring it aboard himself. Gan turned
to Xak with a look of great satisfaction. "When the human comes aboard, you
will scan the sample of this Placebium. I want a detailed analysis of its
molecular structure."
        "Yes, DaiMon." said Xak.
        "Once we know the structure of the element," salivated Gan while
wringing his hands, "we will be able to synthesize our own supply."
        "What of the humans, DaiMon?" asked Xak.
        "After we have the information we need to make the element ourselves,"
said Gan matter-of-factly, "we will destroy their ship."
        "But DaiMon," protested Xak, "I thought you wanted to take the ship
and crew and sell them. There would be no profit in destroying..."
        "Xak," blustered Gan, "you are almost as big of a fool as the human
Bateson! We would only be able to make a one-time profit on the ship and crew.
But with the ability of synthesizing Placebium, we would be able to make a
long-term profit from the sales of the element to the Herjekians."
        "But if we were to capture their ship," argued Xak, "then we would
profit even more. It would be a shame to waste all that potential capital."
        "Now," said Gan, "you're starting to think like a DaiMon! But in this
case, it would be too risky. Bateson has already threatened to destroy his
vessel if we try to commandeer it, and has probably left instructions with
the rest of his crew to do so in the event that he doesn't return." Gan shook
his head. "We would do better to let this opportunity pass by in favor of the
Placebium."
        Xak nodded, seeing Gan's point. A signal from his console grabbed his
attention. "Message coming in from the human, DaiMon."
        "Onscreen." ordered Gan.
        The viewscreen showed the image of Bateson sitting behind the controls
of a shuttlecraft. Bateson spoke. "DaiMon Gan, I'm ready to transport the
Placebium sample to your vessel. Are you prepared to receive me?"
        "Yes." replied Gan. "You may proceed."
        "Understood." said Bateson. "Launching shuttlecraft now."
        Gan turned to Xak. "Exterior view."
        The scene on the viewer shifted to an exterior view of the Bozeman.
>From the rear of the vessel appeared a small shuttlecraft. It cleared the
vessel and swung about slowly and proceeded on a course for the Marauder.
        The image of Bateson again appeared on the screen. "I have cleared the
Bozeman and am on course for your ship. Estimated time of arrival is one
minute."
        Xak had been scanning the shuttlecraft and reported to Gan. "Shuttle
contains one human occupant and what appears to be a small amount of the
Placebium, DaiMon."
        "Any signs of weapons?" asked Gan
        "None, DaiMon."
        Gan nodded. "Captain Bateson, you are cleared to come aboard the
Gystul. I look forward to our meeting."
        "I too." responded Bateson. "Shuttlecraft out."
        Gan smiled gleefully, anxiously awaiting his prize. He wouldn't have to
wait very long.
                *               *               *               *
        Bateson exited the shuttlecraft and emerged on the flight deck of the
shuttlebay. He was joined by Lt. Worf.
        "Alright, Mr. Worf," said Bateson, "it's showtime."
        The two quickly moved over to the launch control area. Worf had
re-configured the controls to show the course and speed of the unmanned
shuttle. It was proceeding unimpeded under computer control toward the Ferengi
ship.
        Bateson tapped the intercom. "Bateson to bridge."
        "Bridge." replied Larson. "Go ahead, sir."
        "Prepare to move to phase four. I'm on my way back up there."
        "Aye sir."
        Bateson turned and gestured for Worf to follow him. Both made a dead
run for the nearest turbolift.
                *               *               *               *
        "Distance to target?" inquired Larson.
        "Five hundred meters and closing, commander. Shields on the Ferengi
ship are still down in anticipation of the arrival of the shuttlecraft."
replied Sim.
        "Mr. Prescott, prepare to execute course change on my command. New
heading will be one-nine-two-mark-one-oh-five. Speed will be full impulse.
Bring us to position one kilometer aft of the target. Hold for my command."
        "Aye sir." responded Prescott, repeating the heading and speed.
        The first officer opened the intercom. "Bridge to engineering."
        "Ellington here, bridge."
        "Chief," ordered Larson, "the main power restoration sequence will be
shields, maneuvering, then weapons. Confirm."
        "Shields, maneuvering, weapons. Confirmed, X-O."
        "Keep this channel open and hold for my signal."
        Ellington again acknowledged the order.
        "Time, Mr. Sim?"
        Sim studied his display. "Shuttlecraft will reach target area in fifteen
seconds, sir. Their shields are still down."
        "Keep weapons offline until we reach out new position," said Larson,
"then target Ferengi vessel in the area Lt. Worf specified and fire when
ready."
        Sim acknowledged his orders and consulted his instruments. "Ten
seconds."
        The turbolift doors parted and Bateson entered the bridge along with
Worf. The Klingon immediately strode to the science station and took the seat
there that was relinquished by a relief ensign. He immediately checked the
readings. Bateson stood on the raised portion of the bridge deck directly
behind Larson, leaning forward on the railing. A crewman was heard to call out
"Captain on the bridge." This momentarily diverted the attention of Larson,
who turned to face Bateson. The captain quickly gestured for her to carry on.
        "Five seconds!" called Sim.
        "Engineering, restore main power now!" ordered Larson. "Helm, execute
new course!"
                *               *               *               *
        Xak looked up in alarm. "DaiMon! The humans' ship has regained power
and is moving off!"
        "WHAT?" bellowed Gan in outrage.
        The main viewer cut to a picture of the Bozeman. It had turned to port
and was now under motion. In a wide, arcing course, the vessel was moving to
an undetermined position aft of the Marauder. An alarm sounded from Xak's
console.
        "The shuttlecraft!" exclaimed Xak. The main viewer now switched to an
image of the shuttle just as it impacted with the forward weapons array of the
Ferengi ship. The resulting explosion overloaded the optical imaging system of
the viewer. The entire ship rocked violently.
                *               *               *               *
        "Impact and detonation." reported Worf from the science station.
"Moderate damage to foreward sections of the ship. Forward weapons have been
destroyed."
        "Now in position one kilometer aft of the Ferengi vessel." reported
Prescott.
        "Weapons online." reported Sim. "Phasers and photon torpedoes locked
on target areas." Sim activated the firing controls. "Firing on target now."
                *               *               *               *
        Chaos reigned on the bridge of the Gystul. Nearly everyone, including
Gan, had been thrown to the floor by the force of the initial explosion. Crew
members were struggling to their feet and attempting to return to their
stations.
        No sooner than they had, the ship was again rocked. This time, it was
by a series of explosions.
                *               *               *               *
        The Bozeman had fired a spread consisting of four separate phaser
bursts, each at maximum power, and two photon torpedoes. All had found their
marks.
        "Direct hits on all targets." stated Worf as he regarded the
information pouring into the viewer. He adjusted the instruments. "Aft weapons
array destroyed. Main power system of the target vessel appear to be offline."
        The main viewscreen held the image of the Ferengi vessel. The ship was
listing to starboard and was slowly spinning on its axis. A small cloud of
debris was floating near the ship as the Gystul silently floated through the
flotsam.
                *               *               *               *
        Smoke permeated the bridge of the Marauder. A number of small fires
had been extinguished by the automatic fire suppressant system, but the
ventilation system had momentarily failed.
        Gan was stunned, but quickly regained his senses and rose to his feet.
"Shields!" he barked at Xak.
        "Shields are not responding!" he cried as he worked furiously at the
controls.
        "Damage report!" ordered Gan.
        "Direct hit in engineering section." reported Xak as he continued
examining his control panel. "Main power has failed. Both fore and aft weapon
batteries have been destroyed." He again consulted his instruments. "Main
maneuvering systems have been damaged. We are drifting. I am engaging
secondary maneuvering systems to correct our attitude."
        "Put the humans' ship onscreen." said Gan.
        "Main viewer is inoperable." replied Xak. "Short-range scanners have
also failed. I can get no reading on the location of the other ship." A
beeping from his console warranted his attention. "DaiMon, long-range sensors
indicate another vessel entering the system."
                *               *               *               *
        "Confirmed." stated Sim. "A second vessel is now entering this star
system."
        Worf looked into the hooded viewer at the science station. "Reading
the incoming vessel now." He looked up. "It is the Enterprise." A signal from
the sensors drew Worf's attention. "The Ferengi vessel is attempting to
withdraw."
        A cheer erupted from the bridge crew. Larson turned to face Bateson
and cracked a satisfied smile. Bateson, however, only starred at the receding
vessel on the viewscreen. He then turned to face Worf. The Klingon rose and
walked over to Bateson.
        "You have done well." said Worf to Bateson. The Klingon then turned to
the rest of the smiling bridge crew. "You have all done well."
        Larson rose from the command chair and walked over to Bateson and
Worf. "I stand relieved, captain." she said.
        "On the contrary, commander." said Bateson softly. "I believe it was I
who was relieved." He forced a small grin to his face. "Superior job,
commander. Carry on."
        Larson beamed. "Aye, sir." She returned to the command chair and sat.
"Mr. Worf, would you be so kind as to signal the Enterprise?"
        "Of course." said the Klingon as he returned to the science station.
        Bateson still stood leaning forward on the bridge railing, staring
blankly ahead, lost in his thoughts. He didn't hear Larson order him to
sickbay to have his nose attended to until the third time she had said it.
                *               *               *               *
                *               *               *               *
        Two hours later, the Bozeman and the Enterprise were proceeding at
warp four to Starbase 173, where the Enterprise would undergo the proper
repairs to the matter/anti-matter reaction chamber. The slower warp speed
worked well for both vessels. It allowed Bateson to keep pace with the
Enterprise while it allowed for Enterprise to restore partial main systems to
the ship.
        Bateson entered Picard's ready-room onboard the Enterprise. Picard
looked up from his information monitor and stood to greet the visiting
captain.
        "Captain Bateson. Welcome. Please," said Picard while gesturing, "be
seated." Bateson sat and starred at Picard. "I've just finished going over the
reports of the incident filed by your first officer and Lt. Worf. I was just
about to read yours."
        "Regarding my report, captain," started Bateson wearily, "there is one
more thing I'd like to add to it."
        "Of course." said Picard. "That is?"
        "My resignation." replied Bateson solemnly.
        Picard seemed taken aback by this and leaned back in his chair. "While
this is, of course, your option, I'd like to know what you are basing this
decision on."
        "I would think that would be obvious." said Bateson, starring down at
the table top. "My conduct in this affair has been unbecoming of a StarFleet
officer. I acted rashly, allowing my personal feeling to dictate my actions. I
kidnapped a fellow officer and held him forcibly against his will. I also
recklessly endangered the lives of not only my crew, but your crew and your
officer as well. And to top all of that off, I ignored an order from my
second-in-command that relieved me of duty." Bateson raised his head and
starred into the eyes of Picard. "Any single one of those offenses is
punishable by court martial. I believe it would be in my best interest to
resign my commission and save StarFleet the trouble of a court-martial."
        Picard sat silently in contemplation for a moment. "Captain Bateson, I
won't try to soften any of the issues for you. Certainly, StarFleet will
conduct its own investigation into the matters you've just described. However,
considering the circumstances that provoked these actions, and considering the
final result of those actions, I feel that StarFleet may show some leniency
toward you on this case." Picard sat forward, resting his elbows in the table
and arching his fingertips. "After all, it was your vessel that discovered the
illegal Ferengi mining operations on Kita IV. And if there is going to be
blame passed around, then surely I deserve a share of it for not informing you
about Lt. Worf and his son when we first met."
        "That's still no excuse for my actions." responded Bateson.
        "Quite so." agreed Picard as he again reclined in his chair. "However,
I still feel that there are certain extenuating circumstances to you case, and
I would be happy to testify to that effect on your behalf. I believe,
captain," said Picard gently, "that you may again be allowing your personal
feelings to influence your decisions." Picard leaned forward and activated a
PADD on his desk and handed it to Bateson. "Have you read this?" he asked.
"This is the report that Lt. Worf has filed. Considering the fact that you
abducted him, he has a number of kind things to say about you, especially in
your decision to accept the 'Placebium' ruse and your subsequent 'performance'
to your Ferengi audience."
        "A very inventive ploy on his part. One that saved all our lives."
conceded Bateson as he scanned over the report. "He said he'd done something
similar before."
        "Indeed." replied Picard. "Three years ago, we were engaged in a 'war
games' exercise when we were attacked by a Ferengi vessel. The Enterprise was
disabled and we were unable to defend ourselves. As part of a ruse to deceive
the Ferengi, Mr. Worf was able to circumvent their sensor systems and feed
them false information, making them believe that more Federation starships
were entering the sector. He was instrumental in saving all our lives in that
situation as well." Bateson lay the PADD down on the desk and Picard retrieved
it. "Fortunately for you and your crew, he was able to perform a variation on
that ploy and mask the energy signatures of the two photon torpedoes that were
hidden onboard the shuttlecraft. His skill also allowed him to create the
false readings of the non-existent Placebium."
        Bateson nodded his head in admiration. "He would make a fine tactical
officer."
        "He already is." replied Picard. "He's served this vessel in that
capacity for the last four years. You were not told of this because knowing
that you were holding our senior tactical officer would have opened up other
offensive options to you."
        Bateson sat in silence for a moment, contemplating what Picard had
just said. "To think, I was willing to kill him just because he was Klingon."
Bateson slowly shook his head in disbelief and stared past Picard and into the
empty void outside of the viewport.
        "I believe you should make an appointment to visit counselor Troi and
discuss this matter with her. She is very helpful and I often rely on her
opinion myself. I will hold your offer of resignation from my official report
until we reach Starbase 173. That will give you plenty of time to reconsider
your position. I sincerely hope that you do indeed have a change of heart.
After all," smiled Picard, "I don't think StarFleet would be too keen on
losing its senior-most living captain."
        For the first time since he had come to this new time, he managed to
crack a genuine smile at the jibe. "Thank you, captain. I will take your
advice."
        Picard stood. "While you're taking my advice, I suggest that you
return to your ship and get yourself some much needed rest."
        Bateson stood as well. "I believe I will, captain. However, there is
one more thing I need to do while I'm still onboard. Thank you again, Captain
Picard."
        "You're quite welcome, Captain Bateson." said Picard.
        Bateson turned and left the room.
                *               *               *               *
        Worf was in his quarters, going over the duty roster for the next
day's security shift. The door chime sounded.
        "Enter." responded Worf.
        The door opened and Bateson entered the room. He briefly looked at his
surroundings, then spoke to the Klingon. "The computer said I could find you
here. An I disturbing you?"
        "Not at all." replied Worf as he turned off his PADD and set it down
on his desk. "Please, captain. Sit if you wish."
        "No, thank you." declined Bateson. "I'm only staying for a minute."
Bateson again glanced about the room. "Where is your son?" he asked.
        "Alexander is at school." replied Worf.
        Bateson nodded, looking decidedly uncomfortable. "Lieutenant, I just
came by to say a couple of things. First, I would like to apologize for my
treatment of you. My decision to kidnap and imprison you was unjustified and
certainly uncalled for."
        "I took no personal exception to your actions, captain." stated Worf.
"In fact, your action was a fair strategic move. Your apology is accepted."
        Bateson let out a small sigh of relief. "Secondly, I never properly
thanked you for your actions on the Bozeman. Without your knowledge and
experience, we surely would have been destroyed."
        Worf stood and walked over to Bateson. "There is no need to thank me,
captain. I am only glad that you decided to listen to my advice. I realize
that it must have been a very difficult decision for you to make."
        Bateson nodded. "It was. You must understand," said Bateson
sorrowfully, "that in the time that I come from, one simply does not trust a
Klingon. No personal offense meant, Mr. Worf, but, it's just that... it's
just..." Bateson's voice tailed off.
        Worf thought for a moment before replying. "Twenty-four years ago, the
Federation took action that paved the way for peace, trust, and friendship
between our two races. It is my hope that the actions I took will help to
reach the same results between my people and yours."
        Bateson smiled. "That it will, Mr. Worf." he said, extending his hand
in friendship. "That it will."
        For the first time in his life. Bateson shook hands with a Klingon.
        "There's an old Earth saying, Mr. Worf. 'Time waits for no man.'
Clearly, it has not waited for me. It's clear that I have some catching-up to
do."
        Worf released Bateson's hand. "You have already taken your first major
step, captain."
                *               *               *               *

                                 T H E  E N D

                      Or is it  T H E  B E G I N I N G ?


Joe "The Fez" Kirsch          West Seneca, N.Y.  U.S.A.           August 1993
             "I yam Popeye of Borg. Preparesk to be askimilated."


Sigs absorb 47 times their own weight in excess relevence.

