Wolf In The Fold

Posted on Fri Jul 26th, 2019 @ 9:18am by Lieutenant Commander Mnhei'sahe Dox & Commander Rita Paris & Lieutenant Commander Sonak & Lieutenant Samuel Clemens XV & Petty Officer 2nd Class Ila Dedjoy & Petty Officer 3rd Class S'Rina Wil'I'Ams

Mission: Mudd on the Souls of Mankind
Location: Bozeman, Montana, Earth, 2063
Timeline: 2063
Tags: Mudd, Time Travel

No one really noticed the local idiot in the overalls and ball cap who wandered into town for a drink.

The yokel seemed to be reveling in the crisp air, the smell of the pine trees, the caress of the winds... like a sailor returned home from the sea. Nobody cared, as she wasn't bothering anyone, and she was just some idiot in overalls, after all.

There had been a shock jock that had started broadcasting recently, and Tapper had been playing it in the bar, because a lot of what the guy was saying resonated with at least a third of his clientele... who also turned out to be the most vocal as well. Political arguments of varying ideologies and even religion came into play. The more people argued politics, the more beer they drank, and that worked for Tapper. He himself didn't much care for the message or a lot of what was being said. But it was good for business, so Tapper tuned it out and served his patrons.

About an hour ago, the broadcast had stopped, replaced by some guy reading Mark Twain stories in a folksy manner. The conspiracy theorists were getting up in arms now, claiming that the political activist who called himself the Trumpeteer was being silenced by the very forces he spoke out against.

The outsiders.

Foreigners.

Aliens.

The damn aliens just kept invading, and they were going to steal our women and rape our cattle, keep us down by insuring we couldn't advance. It was aliens that had brought down this once proud nation, and it was aliens who were still among them, selling drugs and committing crimes. It wasn't the fine, upstanding decent folk- no, it was dirty aliens, who looked like they came straight out of hell itself, with their weird languages and their ways that were different than ours.

It was us against them, after all. Otherwise we would lose our way of life, and be forced to embrace their weird cultures and permissive behaviors and weird sex stuff that just made people uncomfortable. With their three or four way marriages, or married to a dog, and all the other things that made a mockery of the union as it was intended by God himself, one man and one woman. Because those aliens, they are all 'let's hump everything' and apparently, according to the current argument in one corner at least, no straight man's butthole was safe when aliens invaded.

This was the scene into which Rita Paris casually strolled, and sat innocuously at the bar to listen for a few minutes. To hear what was said, and to listen for the fear behind it all. Throughout human history, lust, fear and greed had been the primary motivations of the species. Which Rita felt quite comfortable with- she was, after all, very human. These assholes, bigots, drunks and wannabe fascists were her ancestors, after all.

As terrible as the things they were saying were, filled with the hate and rage and fear she still believed in each of them, there was at least a small spark of nobility. Though they were comporting themselves like cavemen shouting and thumping their chests to the darkness, roaring their defiance at that nebulous thing beyond their comprehension which they feared- thus they hated. Still, that ember of nobility was there... it just needed a little gentle breath to bring it to a flame.

Walking along the exterior of the open-air bar, Mnhei'sahe "Melanie" Dox had her hands in the pockets of her vintage style bomber jacket as she casually circled the perimeter of the bar. It was largely open with multiple entrances but a few specified paths, and she stopped near the entrance closest to the rear alley that Cleopatra Mudd had gone into when Dedjoy had beamed her out. It was a likely escape route, she thought, should trouble break out.

Pretending to nurse an opaque, empty brown beer bottle she had fished off of a trash can, the red-headed Romulan looked like any of the other casually angry drunks listening to the hateful rants. Her large, pointed alien ears hidden by her newly lengthened red curls and burried under a black cap. Catching Rita's attention from the corner of her eye, she gave the slightest of nods.

The ancient astronaut, the lost navigator, the golden girl from the golden age believed in her heart that humanity was better than this. She had seen it and proven it, time and again through decades to come and centuries beyond that. Rita Paris believed in humanity- but sometimes, particularly in times like this, humanity needed a slap in the face. As one of the angry crowd commented, Paris chose that moment to speak up.

“Where you from, mister?” the blonde dressed as a local idiot asked, with reasonable innocence.

“I’m from Texas,” the rough-hewn fellow replied, with no small degree of pride.

“That’s funny, you look Hispanic,” Paris countered.

“I am, so what?” The Texan replied.

“Well, that means that your family were aliens once, and they came to this country, and they became a part of the country,” Paris applied basic logic to the argument. “Which is how you are now a citizen. You really think we should close the borders to all aliens? Because if that was the policy, you would be somewhere in South America right now instead of here in Montana.”

The Texan was willing to blow her off, but Paris wasn’t in the mood. This called for some grandstanding, in good old-fashioned political style. So Paris climbed up onto the bar, and addressed the crowd.

“This? This is what we’ve come to? We came through the wars and we barely survived as a species, we’re barely holding onto the planet with all of the pollution and trash. We poisoned the waters, we irradiated the land and we’re still here, clinging to this fragile ball of mud spinning through space. And after all of that, your takeaway is that we need to be on guard against new people, new ideas, new ways of life?” gesturing around broadly, she continued. “All of this glorious lifestyle is what you are so up in arms to defend?”

There were dissenting voices in the crowd, but Paris spoke over them, her voice of command ringing out clear and strong. “That isn’t who we are- not as a people, a nation or even a species. We’re not xenophobic bigots who think the answer to our problems is to bury our heads in the sand in regard to our own problems and faults, and blame some nebulous ‘other’. Has it maybe occurred to you we could use a little more diversity in our culture? Maybe we’re not doing such an amazing job using the same old ideas, the same old ways. Maybe we could be more."

“Maybe, just maybe, if we embraced change and progress and diversity instead of fearing it, we might not be drinking liquor this guy brews in the back. Maybe we could come together to do more instead of squabbling amongst ourselves, fighting over the scraps left of our society and blaming others for our problems. Maybe if we faced our problems and faced our fears, we could be so much more. Change the world, and reach for the stars… we could be great if we’d let ourselves be great. Instead of just showing how narrow-minded and petty we can be as a people.” The crowd seemed to be going along with it, so Paris pressed the point for her final thrust, to bring this speech home and sway some hearts and minds.

“In the annals of human history, we’ve done some really horrible things. The Crusades, the Inquisition, more wars than can be counted. I mean, Nazis- TWICE,” she emphasized, seeing people nod their heads. Bigotry might be easy to stoke in people, but even actual Nazis did not want to be called out as Nazis. “What has defined us as a people is not our capacity to hate, but our capacity for compassion. To bridge the gap between other cultures. To form bonds that are unlikely, yet as strong as our will as a people not to vanish from this Earth. We’re better than this, people. We don’t have to be defined by our fears and our greed and our hatred. We can be a great people, and we should act like it.

The truth was told in the faces of her audience. Many looked inspired, some looked guilty, ashamed of the rhetoric they had been engaging in. And some still looked angry… but they were a select few, and Rita figured she couldn’t concern herself with changing every mind in the room. So long as they weren’t ready to form a lynch mob when the Vulcans landed, she’d take that as acceptable.

Which all might have worked wonderfully, save what happened next.

In the din of the crowd, the time-traveling miscreant and target of the away teams mission, Davo Mudd, came out from behind a small cargo shed he had been hiding behind once the tide had begun to turn, having recognized his pursuers from the U.S.S. Hera. After all, Mudd was no fool; Rita Paris had argued against him in the Tribunal, and while she was out of uniform and wearing bulky clothing, he’d recognize that nauseating idealism anywhere. Both Sonak and Dox had stood against the former Artan Queen in battle.

In fact, as a Baroness with her own booth during the tribunal, Dox stood out in his memory as a particular threat as he quite distinctively remembered how dangerous the young Romulan was with her twin blades facing down the pirate hordes. Wanting to remove that threat, he moved quickly while the roaring cheers of the crowd for Rita’s stirring oratory had made it difficult for even sensitive Romulan ears to hear him run up behind her.

Turning around just in time to see Mudd rushing her with a mad dash, Dox was too late to defend herself as he lunged forward with something in his hand. Slapping Dox's arm as she brought it up to defend herself, Mudd connected with a small metal clamp that looked like a scarab that immediately dug a series of four claws into the meat of her arm, locking itself onto her.

Suddenly, the Romulan pilot felt an impossible wave of pain radiate from the point of contact throughout every fiber of her being. Like electricity, the jolt ran through her so rapidly, her every muscle locked in place and not even a scream escaped her lips as Mudd's miniature Agonizer felled the red-headed Romulan woman. As she struggled to remain conscious from the unbearable pain, she looked up to see his grinning face rimmed with encroaching blackness.

Which was when he yanked her hat off her head and yanked her up by the long mane of curly red hair, exposing the pointed ears of the Romulan woman.

“Oh sure, you make a lovely speech for diversity and open arms to aliens. But what about the aliens already right here among us! Look! Pointed ears, just like the devil!” Mudd shouted as Dox’s eyes fluttered, eyeballs trying to roll back up in her head as she struggled to retain consciousness through the impossible pain.

A number of the bar patrons turned to look, even as Paris cursed her luck. She’d been so focused on the crowd she hadn’t been watching for an ambush, and she hadn’t expected Mudd to get the drop on Dox of all people. But however it had come to pass, now she had a situation, and she had to deal with it.

“Plastic surgery can do an awful lot these days. You gonna fat shame her next, or call her a crazy redhead? You’re loco, mister,” Paris started, when in a smooth and deft action Mudd produced his Terran officer’s dagger and cut a gash on Dox’s forearm. A gash which promptly bled green, not red.

“Oh really? Is green blood a plastic surgery alteration?” Mudd shouted, and as he held up the bleeding forearm to the crowd, the mood began shifting rapidly back toward a very negative tone.

Mister Sonak, if you could get into position to cut off Mr. Mudd’s escape and be prepared to drop him, it would be appreciated. Meanwhile, let’s see if this can be solved with words and ideals. While she wasn’t positive that Sonak would hear her thoughts, overestimating the kolinahr had usually paid off for her in the past, and she made the broad assumption he would hear her, or simply know what to do. After all, they had been partners on away missions for years, and both were quite familiar with the tactics and strategies of the other.

Affirmative.

Sonak's eyebrow shot up as he perceived Rita's thoughts despite the distance separating them. He could feel the mental connection between them almost as when they had been in their own universe. Almost; here, he could not access the minds of others without direct contact, as he could do then... except with Rita. Logic answered that their matrimonial bond was the conduit. As for the source of that power increase... he had his hypothesis but elected to test it at more appropriate opportunity. For now, History was at stake. he had to concentrate on the here and now.

This was standard security procedure for apprehending a fleeing suspect; position yourself at his main avenue of escape and catch him at the moment said suspect thought it had eluded capture and pursuit. And in this primitive, rustic setting, it was rather easily to identify.

However, they were dealing with a 24th-century criminal; and one from a parallel universe at that. Therefore, logic would dictate that he would favor means of escape that would be anything but primitive and rustic.

Yet, logic again warned him that, if those means failed him, he would have no choice but to resort to more mundane solutions. Thus, logic left him only one sure way to succeed in apprehending the man, whatever he would do or not do.

A full minute after his wife's mental call, he was ready.

In position, he sent back to her.

There was reassurance in hearing Sonak in her mind, because the brilliant scientist was capable in all things, and if Mudd fled, he would run into the waiting arms of a Vulcan nerve pinch. A number of options were available to her right now to turn the tide, and feverishly Paris’ mind worked to find one that she felt would work. Intuition had always guided her, and today was no different as she strode down to squat on the bar, out of reach of Dox and Mudd, but still close enough to affect the situation. Which was when Mudd dropped the bleeding arm of the chief helmsman and brought the stylized dagger to her throat.

“Not one inch closer, because you know I’ll do it, Rita,” Mudd sneered, using the familiarity of Paris’ first name as a taunt. But she didn’t rise to the bait- instead, she spoke slowly and calmly to the madman from another reality hell-bent on making this one conform to his own.

“You can’t get away, Mudd. You can try to poison the hearts and minds of these noble people, but you can’t win. They’ll never be the selfish, frightened people who lash out against anything different-“ Paris began, as she realized chemical propellant firearms were being produced and waved about, and one of them was the bartender, who was pointing a rather large double-barreled affair at her.

“I think you might wanna get offa my bar now, missy,” Tapper intoned as the crowd turned uglier, much to Mudd’s delight.

“Really?" Mudd cackled. "Because from where I’m standing, this is an alien invader amongst us, and you probably are too. And it looks to me like these fine people recognize the dangers of strangers among them, infiltrating our society, pretending to be human while secretly undermining us and working to keep us down. Why are we poor? Why are we hungry? Why are we huddled in survivor settlements like this? Because of THEM!” Mudd pointed to Rita, who stood up on the bar to get away from grasping hands. This situation was rapidly escalating out of control, and she realized she had one option.

“Oh yeah? Who won the revolutionary war and was the founder of our country?” she fired at Mudd, a question any schoolchild would know.

Mudd snickered. “Benedict Arnold, of course!”

The crowd paused.

“Who won World War II?” Paris asked as Mudd looked around a bit nervously.

“The Axis powers, of course…”

The crowd turned a bit uglier again, but they weren’t focused on Rita this time.

“Who let fly the first missile, Mudd?” she asked, arms crossed and an arched eyebrow rising as a smug smile settled into place.

“We did…?” Mudd replied, then realized too late his mistake. In not bothering to research the history of an Earth that was a mirror of his own, he had been outsmarted by his own big mouth.

“NOW who do you think is the alien and who do you think is the local? The gal who knows who George Washington was, who knows the Allies won WWII and knows Russia launched first? Or the guy who clearly doesn’t know the history of the world?” The crowd had turned once more, only now they were moving in on Mudd.

“Where’s my daughter, Rita?” he asked through gritted teeth as he held the knife blade tightly to Dox’s throat, drawing a thin line of green blood.

“Safe, far and away from you, father of the year," Paris snarked, then reined herself in. The day would not be won by threats or barbs, but by the defining, shining trait of humanity- compassion. "Let her go, Mudd. The jig is up and we can all still walk away from this. Your scheme isn't going to work- these people are better than that. There's no... need... for bloodshed. Come back with us, and I promise you a fair trial, and visitation with your daughter until you're both better and you can decide healthy boundaries for one another. See reason, Mudd... please."

As a career liar and inveterate conman, Mudd was particularly good at deducing truth from falsehood. In the entreaty he had received from Paris, he could discern no falsehood- the woman meant every word of what she said. As he removed the knife from the bleading throat of the Romulan helmsman, he began tapping at a large wrist comm, at which point Rita shouted, “Get him!”

The locals, confused and ready to hurt someone, surged forward to tackle Mudd, which worked well to cover him beaming out. As they did so, Rita spotted the agonizer unit on Dox’s wrist, and innovating as she tended to do, poured a beer over it, causing it to short-circuit and fail.

“Get gone, Dox,” Paris ordered through the cochlear, even as she reached out to Petty Officer S’Rina. “Tell me you have him, S’Rina.”

There was no answer.

As soon as the Agonizer was disabled, Dox's head began to clear enough for her to be furious with herself for being so useless. "Aye, C... Rita." The still light-headed young woman with the wounded pride replied as she obeyed. She ran, slowly at first, in an arc in the direction Mudd had taken off in while moving clear of the crowd that she had been outed to.

Moments ago, as Petty Officer S’Rina stood guard outside Mudd’s ship, she saw him approach from the woodline, and she shot him with a transporter tag. Then another stepped out from behind a tree, and she shot him too. Which was when another Mudd managed to get the drop on her and slap an Agonizer on the sturdy armored Klingon warrior.

Who turned and smiled.

“My armor is insulated, fool. Your petty weakling tricks will not work on me!” she declared with a snarl, driving the butt of her rifle across the jaw of the ersatz conman, which promptly knocked his head askew, leaving it dangling by some wires and tubes.

“Well if you’re going to be that way…” another Mudd declared as an arc of electricity came off the small scout ship she was guarding, a bolt of lightning which fried her suit’s systems, blew out her communications and rendered the muscular Security officer quite unconscious, her armor steaming slightly with wisps of ozone-scented smoke.

It was at that moment that the actual Davo Mudd transported in, so the Muddbots did not have time to do anything more as he immediately started the engines and took off, abandoning his robotic servants to pollute the timestream as he charged for the sun.

As Mudd blasted off, all his attention was concentrated on his escape; thus, he didn't notice that his security system was off... nor the tall, slender form that moved silently behind him and stretched a hand to pinch the nerve clusters between his neck and shoulder.

Sonak had logically deduced that the only place he could be sure the transdimensional criminal would fall back to would be his own ship. Hence, he had hid in it and as a first action quickly disabled the security computer to pounce on him once he would come aboard. There would be no intruder alert, no emergency forcefield, no emergency beam out or gassing.

But the little time Sonak had to prepare had not been enough to notice all of the equipment stored willy-nilly all across the cockpit; like what was propped against a bulkhead behind 21st century Earth clothing... until a mechanical hand grabbed his own wrist.

Vulcans are strong and Sonak is stronger than the average Vulcan. He was able to wrestle with the incomplete Mudd android suddenly moving to protect its master, but only to a standstill; and even that, barely holding his own. That gave time for Mudd to realize what was happening, and to act accordingly. He shouted over his shoulder at his artificial slave.

''Evacuate!''

Still grappling with Sonak, the half-formed Mudd facsimile threw itself with Sonak at the back of the cockpit. As soon as they slammed on the floor, Mudd hit a side console. It quickly closed a pressurized door and a sudden blast of decompression shook his ship.

With a wide grin and a chortling laugh, he flew at full impulse away from the jettisoned escape pod.

"Miss Dedjoy, talk to me- what's going on?" Paris called through the cochlear as the scene in the bar devolved back into more of the usual. Dox was gone, Rita herself seemed to be in no danger, and she couldn’t see Sonak anywhere about, but the canny Vulcan was a professional. Wherever he was, it was the right place at the right time, and he would be fine, she was confident.

But best not to take any chances where Mudd was concerned.

Over the comms came Ila's frantic voice, trying to monitor several situations. "Ma'am! S'rina is down, surrounded by Muddbots, with Dox en route. Mister Sonak is aboard Mudd's ship's escape pod with a Muddbot. Unfortunately, I was unable to redirect his transport signal so he slipped away from both of us." After a moment of silence, she continued her report. "Commander, he's flying towards the sun. Scanning... He's planning another time jump!"

“Get a lock on Mr. Sonak’s escape pod and see if you can tractor it in or beam him out, whichever is feasible. Miss Dox can tend to Miss S’Rina- tell me you have a way to track Mudd, Miss Dedjoy- otherwise we have to chase him, and we have to move now,” Paris ordered through the comms, mind racing to imagine how Sonak ended up in an escape pod.

As Dedjoy replied to Rita, Dox listened in on the open comm line as she ran out of the thick brush to the clearing where Mudd's ship was. While she moved, she tore off the sleeves of the shirt under her jacket to create makeshift bandages for her arm and neck. In the clearing, was the prone form of Petty Officer S'Rina, her armor still slightly smoking. Next to her, the beheaded Muddbott, as well as a pair of inactive bots laying there who appeared to have been shot.

Running to her side, Dox got on her knees and checked for a pulse. It was a calculated risk to get that close and touch a downed Klingon warrior and the young Romulan knew that if S'Rina woke suddenly, she would likely be hit and hit hard, but it was a chance she'd have to take.

"Good. Pulse is strong." Dox muttered to herself as she leaned back slightly to get out of immediate striking range. "Melanie to Rita. S'Rina is out but seems okay. There's a few broken Muddbots here as well."

Then Dox gave S'Rina a slight shake to the unconscious warrior. "S'RINA! It's Dox. Are you okay?"

With a growl, the Klingon warrior grabbed the Romulan, struggling to bring herself to arms before she recognized the Starfleet officer, and relaxed her grip a bit. Grunting, she levered herself up on an elbow.

“Ambushed me… dirty little dung eating insect…” the Klingon warrior grumbled as she struggled to rise. Her armor’s systems were all blown, so she exchanged it for her uniform, which made it far easier to move. “Did he get away?”

Righting herself on one knee before her Klingon comrade in arms, the red-headed Romulan held her bandaged arm to help S'Rina up. "Yeah. He... Ambushed me as well. Got an agonizer on me and... Outed me to the entire kreldanni bar. He's already broken orbit."

That's when the world began to shimmer, and Dox, S'Rina and the trio of Muddbots transported out.

"Miss Dedjoy, time for the transporter to recharge? Mister Sonak, slow down or inconvenience our quarry if you can, please. Miss Dox, plot an intercept course... slingshot around Earth to get up speed while the transporter recharges and be prepared to draft another starship in the timestream." Having snuck into the alley to get some privacy, Rita considered her options as she broke into a run for where Mudd's ship had been located. They might have to leave her behind to catch Mudd if he couldn't be tracked. Smelling the pine trees, the feel of the wind of her home planet bracing her cheeks and filling her lungs as she ran to cheat destiny was a thrill for her, for this was her home planet, to which she always felt a connection. More of a pit stop than a shore leave, but at least I got to set foot on Terra Firma.

Back on-board the Danu, Dox immediately helped S'Rina up and ran to the helm. "Aye, Commander, I'm on it!"

"Forty five seconds to transport. As for Mudd's ship, we have tracking on him already. He'll be gone in twenty seconds and... Lucky just got a ping on him." There was silence as Ila worked at the displacement drive console.

From the helm, Dox was working quickly as the speedy Runabout began accelerating around the planet. "Course laid in and ready for maximum escape speed."

''There is no need for haste,'' came the deep voice of Sonak, as he entered the forward compartment. Face bruised and clothing torn, but otherwise showing no other serious consequences from his tussle with an android. ''My first action when I boarded his craft was to inspect Mudd's nav computer settings. If I may, Lieutenant... as I boarded his craft, I noticed Mudd's preloaded nav program bound for these specific spacetime coordinates.''

He came to the navigational console and input a spacetime trajectory he had already calculated in his head.

''Omega system, planet IV, stardate 4447.5, at the outer edge of the sector patrolled for the last six months by the USS Exeter under the command of Captain Ronald Tracy.''

''We know this is not a particularly important point in the timestream," Sonak continued, plotting an appropriate pursuit trajectory. "Affecting the events there would not significantly alter History; at least, not along the intent of Mister Mudd. If he is aiming at that particular place and time, it is for another, very specific reason that would help him achieve his end goal.''

"It's a ghost ship," Rita recalled, having read the tale of the fate of her old ship's doppelganger in this reality when she had arrived in the Prime Universe. "The entire crew except for Tracy and the landing party's corpses were powder in their uniforms on the deck... a bioweapon that had mutated on the surface, that could only be countered by the planet's radiation, I think? Kirk apparently didn't think to tow it or call for someone else to do it, and theoretically, the orbit decayed and she fell, and she burned."

''Chief Medical Officer McCoy of the USS Enterprise did the first and most extensive study of the affliction,'' Sonak reminded them all. ''The original victims of the bioweapon had spread a counteragent in their environment. Exposing oneself to planetary conditions for at least five point three consecutive hours acts on biological matter like a vaccine to the contaminant. As for the Exeter, Starfleet General Order 35 left no alternative; should the entire personnel of a Starfleet vessel or installation become severely incapacitated or deceased due to an environmental or medical contaminant, said vessel is to be destroyed within a 24-hour period from initial discovery of cause to prevent spread of the epidemic agent.''

On the surface, Rita's countdown was ticking. She couldn't count the seconds of the day in her head to keep track of linear time like Sonak could, but close proximity to both him and danger had given her a pretty good internal clock. It was time to beam up. Stopping her running, she stood still, closed her eyes and took in a deep, cleansing breath.

You are a Starfleet officer, you are mission commander, and you are going to DO this. You are not going to freak out and fall apart, you are not going to have an anxiety attack, and you are going to be fine, because the transporter isn't going to scramble or hurt or molest you. You are going to walk off that pad just fine and take charge because that's what your crew are looking to you for, and that's what they need to get the job done.

Opening her eyes, Paris finished psyching herself up.

Go save the galaxy.

"Miss Dedjoy, beam me up," Paris ordered, taking off the hat and running her fingers through her hair as she began the transformation into energy. While she was still aware of the sensation- every atom, every molecule of her matter exploding into energy as it was encoded into the beam- it was no longer painful. It still took much longer to her perception than relative time outside the annular beam, but she watched the planet Earth fly away from her, faster and faster, until she was beside her world, there in space, with great brown patches and no ice caps.

The world their pioneers had needed to repair, recover and heal in order for their children to reach for the stars. To whom she would be of the inheritors who would blaze the trail for the generations to follow. Noble pioneers of the stars, driven by human ingenuity and the urge to explore strange new worlds.

Coalescing back into matter, she realized that she'd been lost in thought, and found it curious. She wondered what Sonak's perspectives would be on the phenomenon later as she felt herself returning to matter, the weight of gravity once more tugging upon her as she was rebuilt, atom by atom, molecule by molecule, back into the local yokel in the overalls. Who moved to step confidently off the transporter pad, stepped on her long-trailing trouser cuff and tripped, sprawling on the deck.

"I'm okay! I'm okay!" the embarrassed commander said as she scrambled to her feet, then couldn't resist a laugh at how embarrassing that had been. From the helm, Dox let out a silent sigh of relief for Rita. As she righted herself, Rita stopped, her blue eyes locking with the steel grey eyes of Sonak.

"A Constitution class. Spend a few hours on the surface and you're cured of the plague that killed the entire crew, so then what you have is a pristine Constitution class circa 2367. A remarkably sturdy chassis, very adaptable. That's why Mudd's going to steal the Exeter- Jim Kirk abandoned her to gravity and history. It's the perfect crime- no one will ever know she's missing."

''Not quite,'' Sonak corrected her. ''Records show that Kirk did his duty and followed General Order 35; any vessel or installation compromised with a contaminating agent must be destroyed within twenty-four hours. Simply abandoning the ship in orbit could result in someone finding her and boarding her to die; or if immune, like let's say androids, become carriers and spread the affliction to other worlds. A starship falling from orbit would threaten the inhabitants of Omega IV. So Captain Kirk followed the most efficient, logical procedure in the book for such a situation. That is, send the ship on a direct course towards the sun, monitoring it all the way to make sure not even a piece of contaminated debris would ever escape total disintegration.''

The Vulcan read everyone's unavoidable question on their faces and answered it before anyone could voice it.

''Once the Exeter would be close enough to the sun's corona, it would be impossible for sensors to detect; only the explosion of it's warp core. Thus, the Enterprise could never know that this exploding warp core would in fact be that of Mudd's ship, hidden in the Exeter's hangar deck. With 24th century metaphasic shielding technology, the Exeter could then hide within the sun's corona until the Enterprise departed the Omega system. His own ship's cannibalized tech would easily allow him to turn a 23rd century vessel to full automation. Then, Mudd could slingshot himself back to an earlier era to alter history as he initially intended; destroy the Vulcans during First Contact, this time with a starship from the future, and in doing so, usher the first step in rebuilding the Terran Empire.''

Again, he anticipated their objections.

''We would not be there to stop him; he correctly deduced that we would chase him through time again. But by the time we would retrace his steps and perhaps deduce what he would do and try to pursue him, he would already be back here to finish the job, this time before we could again interfere.''

Sonak explained further after a pause.

''With a ship two centuries advanced beyond the technology of this time, he would be unstoppable in his bid to become the first Terran Emperor, once the Enterprise E would have departed. Or he could do even better; bring Captain Picard and his crew to their end and seize a 24th century battlecruiser. Even Lieutenant Commander Data with his then organic grafts would fall victim of the contaminating agent of Omega IV left on the Exeter. A few hours planetside would have immunized Mudd to it, just like it did for Tracy, Kirk, Spock and McCoy as records show; giving himself up as a starship thief and a temporal directive violator to get aboard would be all that he would need to do.''

"I'd be a fool to think it wasn't him taking a stab at us personally, but how would he know?," added Rita Paris. "In this universe, our counterparts were never assigned to the Exeter, although Michael Stuart was... poor devil." In their quarters hung the best photo they could find of him from this universe- still clad in red, a handsome dashing fellow, though not quite as handsome as the one Rita and Sonak had once known as their captain.

In their reality, the heroic engineer had led a rebellion against the power-mad Tracey, and managed to limp the starship home with the rest of the landing party and Tracey in the brig. In the 'clean sweep' protocol of crew replacement, both Sonak and Paris had been brought aboard, and it was their experiences connected to the USS Exeter that had brought the star-crossed lovers together. It held a special place in their hearts; because no sailor ever forgets a ship they love, even if it was only expressed as an extreme satisfaction with one's starship assignment.

Sonak shook his head.

''I do not think he has us in mind, Commander. We are a deterrent to his scheme, not a catalyst. I suspect securing the Exeter is his plan B to alter history right here, right now.''

"So we have his chronal coordinates," Paris mused aloud. "Since time is literally on our side for a change, what do you say we show up a little early and get ourselves some immunity...?"

This time, Sonak nodded approvingly.

''A logical approach, Commander. However, it will prove unnecessary.''

Again he answered her silent, questioning yet mildly bemused expression.

''While I was aboard his craft post disabling his internal security system, I glanced at his nav computer, as I said. And may I respectfully remind you, Commander, that I hold an A7 certification in computer science.''

The sudden light in her eyes and the smile that began to spread across her face as the eybrows rose in the unasked question, now anticipated his concluding explanation.

''I hid a simple trojan horse subprogramming inside his original nav sequence, to be triggered instead of his previous coordinates once activated; and I suspected he would be in too much of a hurry to do but a cursory check before launch. I had hoped to apprehend him myself... but he was far more resourceful than I anticipated. Nevertheless, he obviously failed to see his spacetime coordinates change from 4447.5 to 78997.8; from 2265's Omega IV to Tantalus IV, circa 2396.''

His deadpan tone filled the silence.

''I suspect the guarding starship and the defense stations of our own time period would diligently and efficiently intercept an unregistered vessel, especially one suddenly appearing in orbit of one of the Federation's most secure penal colonies.''

Ila flashed a grin and fired off a message to their own timeline via the interface and Lucky, informing them of Mudd's imminent arrival. "I almost wish I could see the look on his face. I hope security has body cams on. Commander, at your order, we can jump once more to our own time."

Nodding gratefully to the crew around her, Rita Paris smiled nodded, then pointed that finger she favored to gesture with so often toward the viewports... toward the future.

"Let's go."

------

In 2396...

The trick was to ride the momentum you had from exceeding warp 10 to where you wanted to go, and to just sleep off all that extraspatial chronal lag. So when Mudd slowly woke up from the effects of the slingshot, it was to see that his ship was surrounded by system patrol craft with flashing blue and yellow lights. One of them had his ship in a tractor beam and his comm systems were blinking.

Grinning, Davo Mudd reached for his engine controls, only to find that the helm was unresponsive for three reasons. One, he was almost out of antimatter. Two, his warp coils were fused from the trip. Three, these were not the expected tractor beams of 2268 but of 2396 and there was no way he was breaking a lock from them, even with all the tricks he had. They'd just lock another on him as he tried to get away with his fused warp coils. He didn't even have enough power left to disguise his ship anymore.

His grin turning to a sneer of disgust and sliding effortlessly into a grimace of rage, his hands flew across the consoles trying everything... Anything... To escape.

That was when his comms crackled to life of their own will, the system patrol goons having hacked their way past his security. "Davo Mudd, this is Starfleet Security. We've been briefed on your recent activities and demand that you surrender yourself immediately for trial."

"No! Damn you! It was that woman with that Artan Princess... That blond buxom bombshell that looked like a pinup poster for the Terran Empire... She's the one that followed me across time and foiled my plans, isn't she? Rita... Rita Paris!" Davo Mudd shook his fist at the ceiling as half a dozen heavily armed and armored MACO beamed onto his little ship.

"I will have my vengeance Rita Paris! This I swear, upon the blood of Mudd!"