You can still say "hey, great job, loved the interaction between the characters" without saying "so that's what [REMOVED BY SPOILER CENSOR] is up to nowadays." I'm not saying every day, or even every week. Once in a while is nice.

_________________
Love is an angel, disguised as lust
Here in our bed until the morning comes
-- Patti Smith, "Because The Night (Belongs to Lovers)"

The last part of Chapter Three

****

“You’re in command of this mission, Lieutenant,” Murdock told Willow again, having separated her from the others in the Main Shuttlebay. “That means you’re responsible for Lt. Maclay and Chief Gunn’s safety. Clear? That also means, no unnecessary risks.”

“Yes, sir,” Willow answered, as seriously as she could given how gleeful she was at being asked to lead her very own mission.

Murdock smiled at her, knowing pretty much what was going through her head. “I know how, um, heady it is, your first command out, in the field and all that. But as I said before, this is strictly an information-gathering exercise. Recon, some surveillance as necessary, but you are not to engage any, oh, hostile assets. Those phasers are supposed to be for self-defense.”

“Yes, sir,” Willow said again.

“Now, Chief Gunn has had quite a bit of combat experience. While you are in command of this mission, any recommendations he may have about…” The captain hesitated for a moment, wondering how to phrase his thought diplomatically. Then he decided, to hell with diplomacy… “…keeping you and Tara from getting your asses shot off, I would give such recommendations considerable weight. Understood?”

“Absolutely, sir!” Can we, for the love of cheese, get on with it? Willow raged behind her respectful expression.

Gunn had spent the time during Willow and Tara’s absence becoming familiar with the Led Zeppelin’s many eccentricities. The controls were of a much older configuration than currently in use by Starfleet; there were, in fact, a few buttons and switches (something Gunn had only seen in the Fleet Museum once, on leave) on the helm and ops consoles. Fortunately, he was a full pilot’s rating about eight hundred hours of flight time; ten minutes under DaKar’s tutelage gave him an easy familiarity for the hybrid shuttle.

The chief petty officer had kitted himself out in rather baggy trousers, tucked into battered boots, and an equally loose pullover, topped by a long duster. A colorful bandanna was wrapped around his shaven pate. He gave the two female officers a critical look as they came into the Shuttlebay in their respective outfits, finally giving a quick appreciative nod. Tara in particular was both bemused and fascinated by his costume; she had a feeling he had dug it out of his closet. Gunn had been something of a mystery to her, having never really opened up to her in the one counseling session she had scheduled for him.

The captain had forbore remarking on their lateness, or the probable reason for it, although Tara thought she saw a thoughtful expression cross Dr. Devereux’s face. Willow, on the other hand, noted the almost-leer on Jodell DaKar, and mentally dared him to say anything. The centuries-old Trill, not the least bit intimidated, gave a last sidelong glance and moved off, ostensibly to give the shuttle a final checkout.

Devereux, meanwhile, took Tara to one side for a pep talk. “So, how’re you doin’? Nervous?”

She thought to demur on that, then decided there was no percentage in trying to kid a kidder. “A little. B-but that’s good, right? I mean, being overconfident doesn’t help. I think.”

“Mmmm. That’s hard to say. Back at the Academy, we had that last Parisees Squares game against Minsk. We were definitely the underdogs, but we managed to pull it off. There’ve been a couple of missions I had, where being convinced you were invincible was a definite asset.” He smiled, then abruptly sobered. “You probably shouldn’t need that. This is relatively low-risk, I’m thinking. It’s not like we’re beaming you naked onto Romulus…”

“I’m happy about that.”

“Just give Willow whatever advice and evaluations you come up with, and go from there. This is all stuff you’ve trained and prepared for.”

“Thanks. And don’t worry.” She lowered her voice, stepping a little closer to the older man. “You gonna be good while I’m gone?” Tara worried that his depression and feelings of guilt might overwhelm him, causing him to overindulge in his favorite alcoholic beverages.

He gave her grin of the young man he had once been. “Yes, dear.” She chuckled in reply.

Near the Led Zeppelin, Thelvran was giving Gunn last-minute instructions. “Charles,” he said, surprising the young chief petty officer, as the Andorian was usually a stickler for protocol, “it is your responsibility to keep them safe. They do not have very much combat experience. You do.”

“I got their backs, sir. Where else would I be?” Gunn answered matter-of-factly. Thelvran nodded and smiled, then held up his right hand between himself and Gunn, who met it with his own. The two then performed a complex handshake, the kind perfected by urban youths of centuries past, ending with the pair miming shooting a phaser at an imaginary target over their heads. They grinned at one another. “Be cool, boss,” Gunn said.

“Hang loosely,” Thelvran answered, prompting a slight smile from his subordinate, who decided he’d correct his superior when he got back.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Murdock announced, drawing everyone together. To the three junior officers, he said, “After you take off from here, proceed straight to Adigeon Prime. The Hannibal is going to undergo a course correction; we’ll be arriving about thirty hours after you do, from a completely different vector. With all the commercial traffic the planet gets, it should allay any suspicions of collusion between us.

“Communication is extreme need only. You can set your combadges on silent warning; if by some chance we need to contact you, the badge will oscillate silently, so if you not in a secure location, just give the badge a quick double-tap. Contact us when you can do so discreetly. Any more questions?”

“About how long are we going to be snooping about down there before we or you decide, um, we need to ratchet things up? Or not?” Tara asked.

Murdock considered this. “Only a couple of days. Mind you, anything truly hot, I expect you to let me know as soon as you can; again, try not to blow your cover unless it’s an extreme emergency. I don’t expect you all to keep quiet with bamboo shoots under your fingernails. Yes, Maclay, I’m kidding,” he added in response to Tara’s silent (but rather wide-eyed) question.

****

“And awaaay we go,” Gunn muttered as he coaxed the converted shuttle out the enormous doorway (and through the atmosphere-restraining force-field) of the Main Shuttlebay. Then he had to bear to starboard in order to miss hitting the central pylon that supported the Ordnance Pod. “Who designed this damn starship anyway…I mean, putting something like that right in front of your shuttlebay…” He trailed off as he precessed the Led Zeppelin around 180 degrees.

Through the main viewport, Willow and Tara could see the Nebula-class starship begun to pull away as it changed course. Willow had never seen the outside of the ship before, although she knew the general design of it. Tara remembered arriving with the captain and DaKar in the Leonardo da Vinci, the captain’s yacht. She did a mental double take as she realized that that was less than four months ago. Time flies when you have a whole new life…and love… She looked over at Willow and smiled. Enraptured by the sight of the Hannibal, she did not notice.

“We’ll see you on Adigeon Prime,” came Murdock’s voice over the com. “And do not pick up hitchhikers!” Gunn snickered at that, while he punched the controls.

Moving swiftly and surely, for a warp-dynamic absurdity, the Led Zeppelin surged to faster-than-light speed.

****

Hours later, Murdock sat in his ready room, trying not to berate himself for sending the three on their solo mission. It was not as if he was unsure about trusting them to do the right thing. This was more what Charlie would call “the mother hen syndrome.”

Devereux had stopped by, coming off-shift with his usual minibar set-up. Murdock had politely declined both the drink and the accompanying advice. The counselor took this in stride and departed with only the barest hint of pique.

And, of course, an afterthought of advice: “If you’re gonna brood in here half the night, Sam, for God’s sake, catch up on some paperwork.” Murdock had responded with a genial obscenity and a friendly grin of thanks.

He had managed to reduce the piles of administrivia down a considerable level, though the effort had not been enough to entirely occupy his mind. He mulled over some things that had been brewing in his subconscious for many weeks now, about Willow Rosenberg and Tara Maclay, how and more importantly why they intrigued him so much.

The second part of that question still eluded him. Murdock recalled the day he had met Tara, picking her up at Aldebaran after he and DaKar had finished their leave on Casperia Prime. She had already been assigned to the Hannibal as the new assistant ship’s counselor, only to have a bout of food poisoning (actually an allergic reaction to Aldebaran shellmouth, a delicacy in many restaurants on that world) interrupt her original itinerary. Starfleet had informed Murdock of this while on route back the ship in the Leonardo, so it was merely a matter of a quick course correction.

He was struck by how quickly he was taken with her. (Not the same way that Jodell DaKar had been, of course; the Trill was a bit of a rake, but after several lifetimes one tended to shed the externally-imposed social mores and get right to business, as he would often put it. As it turned out, Tara proved less than interested in becoming another notch on DaKar’s sidearm. Fortunately, he was highly adept at avoiding making unpleasant situations and took it in stride.) While Murdock had never entirely mastered the reservation that most Starfleet captains held between themselves and their crews, he found Tara very pleasant company for the trip back to the Hannibal. At first he chalked that up to her training as a counselor. Then, after Charlie had (after swearing him to secrecy) told him about her empathic abilities, he wondered if that might give her an advantage in dealing with people in the most pleasant, easy-going manner possible. Certainly her own somewhat diffident aspect made her choose the path of least volatility.

As it turned out, he was still getting to know Tara when another new arrival literally dropped in their collective lap: Willow Rosenberg, freshly arrived from the twenty-third century and needing a place in the universe. Like many other people on the ship, Murdock felt his heart go out to this poor girl, who had lost the life she had had, the friends… He admired the fortitude she displayed in adjusting herself to her new situation, forcing her formidable intellect to absorb all the information she needed for her new job, in an incredibly short time as it turned out… Murdock wondered if he himself could have done so well, even given the many times he had to do adapt to new situations under dangerous circumstances.

Even as he had welcomed the two new arrivals and oversaw their taking their places in the traveling family circus that was the U.S.S. Hannibal, he found himself amazed at how much his new science officer and assistant counselor occupied his thoughts. The fact that the two of them had begun a romantic relationship in the last couple of months pleased him, inordinately so. As a captain, he wasn’t really supposed to care about that stuff. Still, he could not deny the sense of aptness about their relationship, the sense that he knew on some level before they that…

It was at that point, on a night some weeks ago as he prepared for bed, that the notion truly struck him. He knew Willow and Tara were going to hook up. Before they did.

How? I’m not empathic. Charlie’s told me enough times I barely know what’s going on in my head, let alone anybody else’s. And precognition would be a handy tool to have in this job, but no…

Not precognition. Memory.

I’ve met them before.

That thought had caused him to sit up in the middle of his bed in the middle of ship’s “night.” It was impossible, but there it was. Somehow, he had encountered the two of them – together – sometime in his past. Unfortunately, intense perusal of his personal logs and hours of brain-cudgeling had failed to produce a viable answer. He knew instinctively that it would be useless to question the two of them. Somehow, Murdock knew that the circumstances of their meeting would have eluded them as well.

Now, working in his ready room on his paperwork and woolgathering about his favorite twosome, Murdock had at last fatigued himself enough to go have dinner and go to bed. He was straightening up his desk when the com chimed. “Bridge to Captain Murdock.”

Always when you want to just lie down and go to sleep… he thought ruefully, even as he acknowledged the page. Then his curiosity peaked somewhat, as the caller was not the bridge duty officer, who would have paged him in response to a crisis or an important announcement. This was the Beta Shift ops manager, Lt. al-Jahara. She wouldn’t have called him just to let him know that the wastewater lines on Deck Twelve were backed up, but…

“A personal message has just arrived for you, sir. It was routed through the Federation civil communications network.”

That caused him to raise his eyebrows. He didn’t get many personal messages these days. “Pipe it in here to my desk screen. Murdock, out.”

The header of the message indicated that it originated outside Federation space, from a small commercial transport, then routed halfway to the core worlds before it was transferred to the Starfleet communications network and sent to him. All this caused a delay of two or three days to reach him. He rolled his eyes at this, then proceeded to read further.

It was from Yoshikiro Onada. That alone caused him to draw in a breath, painfully. He had never met Kiro, but he knew who he was, and the fact that Kiro was contacting him could only mean that something had happened to his old friend. Murdock felt his throat turn to ice, and advanced the text further, knowing in his heart that his old friend was gone, and that Murdock had once again been left behind…

Wait a sec… Murdock’s eyes finally caught up to his brain, and actually read what was displayed on his screen. Those eyes widened as the brain registered the import of what Kiro was telling him. Far from being dead…

“Oh, no, no no no no no NO!” Murdock leaned back in his chair, scarcely able to believe his eyes. Of all the crazy… And what was worse, he could not alter the timetable he had already set with Willow, Tara and Gunn. Contacting them was out of the question. Even though Willow would be… He quenched the thought. This mission was too important to jeopardize, despite what the old man was attempting to do. And, actually, according to some of the information Kiro was providing, certain aspects of the problem on Adigeon Prime now made a certain sense.

But still… He reread the message, hoping against hope that the message really said something else entirely. No such luck. The heartfelt groan escaped him unbidden, as did the rhetorical question, “What is that senile delinquent trying to do this time?”

_________________
Love is an angel, disguised as lust
Here in our bed until the morning comes
-- Patti Smith, "Because The Night (Belongs to Lovers)"

Hello Kittens-

Ah, the opening scene with Polonius and Laertes- no, Murdock is more sincere with Willow than Polonius ever was with his son. It was interesting to see W/T observed and their effect on the Captain. I like how they go from being two crew members (part of his family) finding love to a sudden deep puzzle. I like the reference to Gunn's costuming. And then there's the 'senile delinquent' who for some reason I was picturing as a cross between Mike Grell's and Frank Miller's Oliver Queen/Green Arrow. Now it seems very appropriate.

The captain's trouble is that life has an unreliable script girl so no one ever gets the scripts on time and even if they do some prima donna has to improvise their scene.

BTW-An aside on the good ship Lep Zeppelin and the history it represents. In 1981 I saw a girl pick up a Beatles album and show it to her friend. "I didn't know Paul McCartney was in a band before Wings." Kids!

Looking forward to more,

Jixer

Ahh, Shakespearean references. Nearly went over my head (it's been twenty years since drama class). Yes, they are a puzzle, and he to them -- but that is another story. Hee.



I tried to get the description of Gunn's outfit as close to the early Angel episodes as I could. I remember Miller's OQ/GA from the Dark Knight series. Hmmm. There is some resemblence; the old man definitely has a knack for trouble. But then, so does everybody else in this story...



Not to mention the mentally arthritic cretin from Mars also known as the director...you know, the sort that makes you play the lead in Richard III like Tatum O'Neal...



You're telling me. Forget remembering the Beatles -- kids these days barely remember Duran Duran!



Yeah, me too...*ahem* I mean, yes, I'll get right on it... [/i]

_________________
Love is an angel, disguised as lust
Here in our bed until the morning comes
-- Patti Smith, "Because The Night (Belongs to Lovers)"

Interesting that Murdock has stumbled across these two souls before - but I wonder how, and where, and what happened? The title 'fearful symmetry' suggests that this parallel between the here-and-now Willow and Tara and their past selves might not be a good thing, if it plays out its course - still, I have faith in Willow and Tara to find a way to squeak a reasonably happy ending out of the jaws of fate. And Murdock, of course - he's a Starfleet Captain, that's practically their job.

I got a chuckle out of Thelvran's comments - "Hang loosely." Aliens almost getting the hang of colloquialisms is always good for a laugh. As for Gunn... well, he's right about that support pylon. But you have to admit, the design does look a whole lot better than the Phoenix variant. I guess I always figured they'd laid out the runways in the main shuttlebay on an angle, like on aircraft carriers, though I must admit I'd never really given it a whole lot of thought - a Nebula-class isn't among the various starship models berthed on my shelves, so I've never really had a close look at the layout.

(Out of date it may be, but there's always been something about the Ambassador class that I really like the look of.)

_________________
Chris Cook

Through the Looking-glass - Every world needs a Willow and Tara.

I was wondering when you'd show up. Dude, don't leave me hanging...



Again...another story. Sometimes I'm going to throw things in that are going to be the setup for something down the road. I know, Chekhov said "Hang a pistol on the wall in Act I, you have to use it by Act III." OTOH, Chekhov probably couldn't hold his wad on anything. It's a common problem among men...well, other men...so I'm told. Actually, the title, from a William Blake poem, refers to the old man in an oblique way. In fact, I almost called this story "In the Forest of the Night," but I decided "Fearful Symmetry" went well with the title of the previous W/T story.



I know. I have to school myself to not overuse it, as I don't want to turn Thelvran into a caricature. He's another old character of mine (though not as well "fleshed-out" as Murdock and The Master of Onada) from back in the day.



Hmmm...personally, given that the main spacecraft is of course moving, trying to dock a shuttle at a right angle or even the slight 'aircraft carrier' angle you mention, oblique from the axis-of-travel of the ship, seems dicey to me. But then, I can't even pilot a Cessna, let alone a shuttlecraft. I could be wrong.

I've always liked the Nebula class. To me, it's the TNG variant of the Miranda class, represented by the Reliant in Wrath of Khan. In the years since it's been introduced, it's become the "workhorse" of Trek (notice how many times you see one of those ships in DS9...far more than the Galaxy class.) The Ambassador was made to be the "in-between" between the Excelsior of the movies and the Enterprise of the TNG era. That said, that class is ship is still in service "today."

Thanks for the feedback, Chris! Always a pleasure.

_________________
Love is an angel, disguised as lust
Here in our bed until the morning comes
-- Patti Smith, "Because The Night (Belongs to Lovers)"

Chapter Four

S.S. Van Gelder

Breathing so lightly that he seemed barely alive, the Master of Onada continued his meditations, his journey through his past…

”What troubles you, Anjin-san?”

Sitting on the wooden floor a couple of meters away, his grandmother could tell that he was having trouble reaching his meditative state this day, some six years after he had arrived at the ancestral homestead.

In that time, Shikiku had taught him the philosophy and martial wisdom that had been passed down from master to disciple – somewhat different than that taught to the students and night tigers – for three thousand years. He had wondered if she was doing this because he was her grandson; she riposted sharply, saying that, undisciplined quarterbreed that he was, he was the only one of the household worth teaching.

Only much later would he understand that to be a Master of Onada, one needed more than strength and courage or even skill. There was an indefinable essence that one possessed – or not. For the first time in three millennia, none born in the household, within the extended Onada clan, contained the necessary quality to become…

…something more than ordinary men.

It started with the breathing. The training continued, with bo staff and wooden boken in place of sword, with the learning of pressure points and nerve clusters and joints and tendons and ligaments and how to cause them to fail; with the art of concealment, even in plain sight…the training continued despite long hours, despite temperatures both high and low, despite fatigue and hunger and pain.

The martial, physical training was only part. There were the lessons of three thousand years of Onada history, the chronicles written by Masters, the exploits of Disciples sent on pilgrimages across the known (and sometimes, unknown) world. There was the story set down by Master Isoroku, who as Disciple journeyed to an island in the north, to meet a boy king who supposed drew a sword from an anvil. Another was the tale of Master Tetsuo, who met a sea captain of great strength, who commanded a ship of pirates and yet was strangely compassionate, who apparently could not die.

At least somewhat credible by comparison was the chronicle of Kenji Onada, who had enlisted in the Japanese Navy during the Second World War, who had flown as a kamikaze pilot. By happenstance, his plane had missed its target and plunged into the sea. Kenji had managed to make his way to a deserted island, and lived with his shame and fear for thirty years, until an American adventurer convinced him that his family would forgive him. Steeling his courage, Kenji had returned home, where his Master had wholeheartedly welcomed him.

Still, the boy had questions about the vocation of the Masters of Onada…

“Our ancestors…they killed people,” he began tentatively.

“Yes,” his grandmother answered, hardly nettled.

“Why?”

There was barely a pause before her answer. “Because it was necessary. Because the Masters of Onada were the ones with the faith, the heart and the skill to do it correctly.” The boy was about to protest, opening his eyes, only to have her silence him with a look of her own. “It is the function of all life to grow, to perpetuate itself, and in the fullness of time, to either surrender itself…or to be taken.”

“Is it right to do that, though? I mean, I’ve read of other disciplines…that don’t…you know…” The boy hated sounded hesitant in front of her. She was keeping quiet this time, which just made him feel as if he was just braiding the rope with which to hang himself. “They make a big deal about avoiding conflict, and, well, doing as little harm to others as possible.”

The old woman nodded thoughtfully, surprising him a little. “There are those, like the Xiaolin of China, who tread the paths of peace. A worthy vocation…for them.

“The sparrow may fly like the falcon, but he does not hunt. We do not take money for what we do, like the ninja” she nearly spat the word, “nor do we follow the bushido of the samurai,, pledging their lives to politicians.” She managed to inject a little disdain there, as well. “The Onada follow a singular path, narrow and even uncertain. We prepare for the coming of the greatest Master…the Destroyer. Even though, Anjin-san, we cannot be sure that he will ever come to be. Yet, we know no other way.”

He was not entirely comfortable with that answer, then or years in the future. Still, there was something… “What about us, then? The Masters of Onada…we surrender our lives, as well?”

“Of course, Anjin-san. We no less than others. But when a Master of Onada passes from this life, the pillars of heaven itself should shake with the passing.” She smiled with the charm of the girl she had been long ago.

The last part of the training was mental, such as the meditation that they undertook on a daily basis. The ability to look inside one’s own mind, she taught him, was invaluable in understanding the world around them. “The universe whispers to itself, Anjin-san, constantly. These musings tell us much, if only we had the ears with which to hear them. Your thoughts must be silent, to hear these whispers.”

Sometimes the boy’s thoughts were so silent that, at times, he could hear his grandmother’s…and, apparently, she could hear his. “You still have questions, boy. Ask, and trouble yourself no more.”

“I just don’t…” He had to take a deep breath to formulate his troubles coherently. “I’m not sure I can always figure out how to do the right thing all the time. The way you seem to.”

“Mmmm….there is an expression in other parts of the world: ‘act as if ye have faith, and faith shall be given unto thee.’ Courage and fear are mirror images of one another, mostly because they are often based upon illusion.

“But enlightment…ahh, a difficult question. That, I’m not sure I can answer for you, for that entails things you must experience for yourself. You must walk in paths that may come easily to others, but demand great sacrifices from you.”

“What sort of paths? What must I do?”

She gave nearly a minute’s thought to this question. “You must place your faith in someone, absent of reason. You must give your solemn word to someone of recent acquaintance. And, in the fullness of time, when someone gives you her heart, you must return the gift, without hesitation.”

The boy shrugged. “How am I to know when I’m to do all these things?”

Obuchan smiled. “That is for to decide.”

And, years later, he would indeed, as yet another misadventure involving his ship and crew came to a head. A young ensign, only months out of the Academy, but possessing the necessary scientific and technical skills to pull the desperate plan that he had devised.

“Captain, I don’t…um, not really sure I can do this.” Her green eyes seemed moist with anxiety and uncertainty. How young she seemed…and yet there was something that reminded him of Obuchan. If only he could help her tap into that…

“I have faith in you, mi hija,” he said, putting what he hoped was a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Take that faith, and make it your own; you will be able to do anything.”

The young redhead gave him a smile that was both charming and sharp. “Yes, sir.”

The old man’s eyes snapped open, for he felt a slight shift in his perceptions. He breathed deeply, his body at once becoming tensed for action. With supple grace he rose from his meditative position.

He did not need to check the room’s monitor to confirm what he already knew. The transport ship had dropped out of warp. They were in orbit above Adigeon Prime.

*****

“Mission log: Stardate 50276.2. Lt. Willow Rosenberg recording.

The Led Zeppelin is continuing onto Adigeon Prime; ETA approximately six hours. Lt. Maclay, Chief Petty Officer Gunn and I have reviewed the general area of Seriffe-sen, the largest metropolitan area on the planet, where we are to concentrate our discreet search for signs of genetic engineering.

In the meantime, I am conducting an inventory of the cargo we are carrying as part of our cover…”

“What the hell is a self-sealing stembolt?”

“It’s a stembolt,” Tara said as she came back into the cargo area, seeing Willow hold a PADD in one hand and a coding stylus in the other, “which is also, and this is just a wild stab-in-the-dark, self-sealing.”

There was something in Tara’s tone that made Willow look sharply at her girlfriend and fellow officer, though she couldn’t quite identify it. She huffed slightly as she rolled her eyes. “Uh, yeah, kinda got that part. I meant, what do you do with them?”

Tara grinned slightly, as happy memories, wonderful in their rarity, cascaded through her mind. “We used to use them on Norpin, putting together houses and buildings for the colonists. The whole community would get together, fabricating the sides and foundations of the buildings; then we’d put them together using the stembolts. Then we’d have huge suppers, everybody bringing something for the potluck…”

“Sounding wonderfully bucolic,” Willow commented absently. She had turned back to her PADD, therefore missing the dark cloud that glided over Tara’s face at that moment.

The blonde pursed her lips and said, “Yeah, that’s me: Simple Small-Town Girl, Pushing ‘Boring’ With a Short Stick.”

With a bit more force than strictly necessary, Willow set her PADD down on the nearby cargo container. “Oh-kay. Let’s get into it.”

Tara crossed her arms, her eyes half-lidded, giving her a deceptively sleepy look. “Get into what?”

“Ever since we got on this cockamamie moon-bus, you’ve been Captain Distant, or failing that, Lt. Commander Snarky McSnark. You gotta problem with me, Tara,” she continued, stepping forward in the other’s space, “do me the courtesy of, y’know, taking it up with me. I don’t wanna read about it two years from now in your personal log.”

Tara opened her mouth, then closed it, then stepped back as if to give herself room to organize her thoughts. “Look, I-I know this is going –“ She stopped to take a deep breath, then tried to clear her mind of anxieties. Abruptly, some part of her summoned an image of Charles Devereux; she found there an anchor of professional detachment that helped to her to discuss her personal problem.

“That little session you an-and I had, right before we left…I’m a little uncomfortable about it.”

Willow blinked, as if not quite sure she heard correctly. “Hold the line there a sec…you said you were fine with it.”

“Y-Yeah, I did…”

“So you go from ‘It’s okay, it was fun’ to ‘I’m a little uncomfortable’? That’s a hell of an evolution there, Tara!”

“I’m just not used to you being that…aggressive.” Tara grimaced as she said the last word.

“Aggressive?” Willow mulled the word over for a second. “Well, okay, I suppose, but that’s because usually you call the shots.”

If Willow had said she was secretly a Romulan agent, she could not have gotten a more flabbergasted expression from Tara. “Wh-wh-what? Me? Are you nuts?”

“Tara, you’re the one who tried that whole ‘let’s sleep apart’ thing,” Willow countered, then continued through Tara’s aborted protest, “and, well, you’re the one who decides which, like, stuff to try out, based on that research you used to do, not that I complained, mind you, and you’ve been, well, out longer—“

“Whoa!” Tara almost shouted, remembering at the last instant to lower her voice; Gunn, naturally, could not be that far out of earshot. “What do you mean, out? As in ‘out of the closet’? A rather archaic, and m-may I say, insulting term?”

Willow blinked again, wondering how she got onto the defensive in this exchange. “Uh, yeah, okay, archaic, yes, we used to use that term back in The Day, but insulting, so not intend—“

“It’s insulting, Willow, because it implies that I had…have something to hide. I don’t. I’m proud of who I am. I don’t need to hide my s-sexuality.”

Willow couldn’t quite keep from uttering a short laugh. “Oh, that is so rich coming from you, Miss We-Can’t-Even-Hold-Hands-In-The-Corridor!”

“Th-that’s different,” Tara countered diffidently, not quite able to meet Willow’s gaze. “We’re Starfleet officers, Willow; we’re expected to behave with a modicum of decorum.” She inhaled sharply, summoning up her counselor’s detachment, even as she squashed the inner voice that muttered about the unfairness of using her psychological training in a non-therapeutic setting. “I think you don’t feel comfortable in a situation unless you’re in control, or at least feeling special in some unique way. Isn’t this just you feeling like you’re not the smartest kid in class anymore?”

“Or maybe it’s you worrying that I’m going to be heading back to Boys’ Town!” Willow thundered.

Shaken, Tara asked meekly, “Should I be?”

“No.” Now it was Willow who couldn’t keep her gaze level. “Tara, I—“

“No, Willow, stop. Let’s not do this now,” Tara cut in. “One of us is going to say something irreparable.” She moved closer, not quite into touching distance. “Why don’t we put this on hold, okay?”

“Is that an order?” In spite of their shared emotional turmoil, a ghost of a smile and even a slight twinkle in her eye.

One corner of Tara’s mouth quirked upward in response. “Just a prescription.”

TBC

_________________
Love is an angel, disguised as lust
Here in our bed until the morning comes
-- Patti Smith, "Because The Night (Belongs to Lovers)"

awww.....fighting, not good.....

_________________
Vale
-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

"When you get excited about something, one might imagine you as a small, maniacally grinning rubber ball, which someone throws at the wall in an enclosed room, and goes bouncing off every surface for about 15 minutes." - Mudrat

Capt Murdock
I'm loving this fic. Loved Equilibration (sp?) too. I'm not a big knowledge woman on Star Trek, but I find it's un-necessary as you deliver a complete world and characters, and add in Willow & Tara and you've got me!

It was good to see more of the off duty personas at the birthday party and the officer's meeting next day. I know just how Tara felt btw.

So now they're off on a secret mission, and the Onada master has reappeared. Two things in this last update caught my attention: the second set of clothing, and this snippet of the Master's memory:

I'm looking forward to the former making an appearance , and I'm intrigued by the latter. Was this a task our time travelling redhead performed in the past, or is she still to carry it out?

thanks
Anne

_________________
Spells for Two

Every path has its puddle. Old English Saying... I think I just stepped in mine...

I do try to write this so that the non-Trekkies on the board (their name may not be Legion, but it's a significant faction) will enjoy the story too.



I did say she was an ensign, so given that WIllow is a lieutenant (j.g), this happened in her past. (Anne, if you truly want insider gossip/details, PM me.

Thanks for the feedback. Grease for peace!

_________________
Love is an angel, disguised as lust
Here in our bed until the morning comes
-- Patti Smith, "Because The Night (Belongs to Lovers)"

Heh. I can't believe I actually enjoyed that Willow and Tara fight. The fight of adults who must be adults first, in a relationship second. I'm sensing some serious unbalance in their relationship caused by lack of communication. Oh, well . . . can't wait to see them fight more!

I loved Equilibration (I'm sorry if my spelling is bad) and I'm loving this. Jodell DaKar is my favorite character, and its nice to see that he hasn't disappeared. Your villains are appropriately frightening. I am the scared . . . for our heroes of course, and for Murdock.

notl33t: Actually, you got the spelling spot-on. Take two sainthoods out of petty cash.

DaKar is actually the one character that I didn't create (I mean, besides the transplanted Buffy-verse characters). My good friend Captain Serek (Yoo-Hoo! Still around, sailor?) came up with Jodell, with a little input from Yours Truly. He's around in this story quite a little bit.

Glad you're enjoying the show!

_________________
Love is an angel, disguised as lust
Here in our bed until the morning comes
-- Patti Smith, "Because The Night (Belongs to Lovers)"

Hmm, looks like it'll be an interesting show when (I'm assuming she will) Willow catches sight of the Master of Onada.

I liked the argument between Willow and Tara - not because they were arguing, of course, but everyone does now and then. But they were, well, young and emotional, but at the same time with a level of maturity that speaks well for them - they knew not to get too carried away, especially with time short, and I liked that they both still could share a smile at themselves, even with the tension. It seems like the 'honeymoon' is coming to a close, and it's time for the girls to stop assuming everything's great, and just talk about their relationship more than they've been doing.

_________________
Chris Cook

Through the Looking-glass - Every world needs a Willow and Tara.

Thanks for the compliment. I wrote Jodell DaKar to have some of Dax's enlightenment but with some of my personality. Capt. Murdock is expanding on some of our brain sessions. The story itself is progressing nicely.

_________________
I.ve come a long way for the power of Genesis, and what do I find? A Square Pegs reject, another actress playing Saavik, and Leonard Nimoy's stand-in.

Chris...Jim...thank you both for your usual insightful and most welcome feedback. Sorry I'm not more specific, but I have to help get dinner ready.

Love ya's!

_________________
Love is an angel, disguised as lust
Here in our bed until the morning comes
-- Patti Smith, "Because The Night (Belongs to Lovers)"

Continued from the last installment. BTW, if any of you hear about a Trek book called "Fearful Symmetry," it ain't me, kids. That's a story set in the Mirror Universe.

****
”Captain’s Log, supplemental. Having received some new information that might have bearing on our current mission, I have decided to inform First Officer Faraday and Doctor Devereux of these developments.”

“Well?” Murdock asked, impatience giving his voice an edge that would slice cheese. Faraday and Devereux barely dared to glance at one another; as Devereux was re-reading (or pretending to) the information on the deskscreen in the ready room, he had an excuse not to look at the captain.

Commander Olivia Faraday chose to ignore the note of pique in her captain’s voice. She had a fair knowledge of the shared past between Murdock and the individual who was the subject of the communiqué. She decided, however, to concentrate on those aspects of the missive that dealt with their current mission. “This ‘Kaiser Muldoon,’ if this is the same individual I read about at the Academy…it does explain why the seemingly sudden increase in the availability of genetic resequencing on Adigeon Prime.”

“I think you’re right, Number One,” Devereux concurred distractedly, still re-reading (or still pretending to). “One thing I don’t understand is, if he is one of the lost ‘Eugenics Warriors’ – or, what was it they called them back in the twenty-first?”

“’Augments’. No, Charlie, those were all accounted for. All of the genetic ‘supermen’ that escaped in the Botany Bay either died on Ceti Alpha V or in the Reliant. That’s verified.

“Muldoon’s the product of twenty-third-century genetic engineering,” Murdock continued. “Apparently there were some of the Khan Noonian Wannabes –“

“’Khannabes’”

“What?”

Devereux chuckled. “If Willow were here, she’d call them ‘Khannabes.’”

Murdock gave him his best sarcastic oh, thank you look, the expression rumored to dry out a martini at twenty meters. “In any case, back in the 1990’s, a handful of them evaded capture and went underground. Several generations later, some of their descendants got together and, using the increased knowledge of the human genome gathered over two-and-a-half centuries, created a new-and-improved version…Kaiser Muldoon.

“He was raised in secret, and eventually told of his heritage…although being a genius even by today’s standards, he probably figured it out himself. He somehow found out that the Botany Bay had been found, and that Khan and his Merry Men had been revived and deposited on Ceti Alpha V—“

“And look how well that turned out…”

“Twenty-twenty hindsight, Charlie. In any case, he ran across the Admiral,” Murdock continued, waving his hand at the deskscreen, “back when he was a records officer. Muldoon thought to coerce him into revealing the location of the planet, which at that time was being kept secret, by kidnapping him and his grandmother. Long story short, Muldoon came in second, got himself shipped off to Tantalus to get a personality adjustment. Apparently, it didn’t take.”

“So he eventually was released,” Faraday continued, “and now he’s apparently set up shop on Adigeon Prime, trying to create an entire army of augmented humans.”

Murdock nodded impatiently. “And if that were all we had to contend with, that would be one thing. But, Guess Who has decided to crash the party!?”

“I’ll admit it is unfortunate that the Admiral decided to…”

“’Unfortunate?’ This is not ‘unfortunate,’ Number One,” Murdock countered, not noticing the rather sardonic tone in his voice. “’Unfortunate’ is slipping on a banana peel. What this lunatic is doing would be found under the heading of ‘disastrous!’”

“Captain…” Faraday began, trying to find the magic middle ground between respectful disagreement and full-on rebuke. “He is just one man, sir. Capable, experienced, certainly, but even so, I don’t see how his mere presence on Adigeon Prime is going to escalate matters to a ‘disastrous’ degree.”

Murdock gave her raised eyebrows, his patented what-are-you-kidding-me expression. “Were you asleep the day they taught about his career at the Academy? He is required reading, y’know – right between Harry Mudd and Kodos The Executioner!”

“What I think we need to discuss,” Devereux broke in, before Faraday could respond, “is what we do with this information.”

Murdock paused in mid-rant. “Uh, ‘do with’? How do you mean?”

“I mean…what do we tell Willow?”

Faraday’s inhale could not quite be called a gasp, but it was significant nonetheless. “Should we? I mean, Willow’s adjusted to being in this time quite nicely, all told, but…” She looked at Devereux with uncharacteristic uncertainty; this was more his area than hers.

“But she is still fragile, if you know where to look,” Devereux agreed. “She’s still taking her friend Alexander Harris’ death fairly hard –“

“Xander.”

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Xander. His nickname from childhood was Xander,” Murdock elaborated, his manner less agitated than before, but somewhat distracted. “You’re right, Charlie. As much as I would love a big happy reunion with those two, now is not the time or place. Given the nature of their mission, I would rather not have Willow…distracted, right now.”

Faraday and Devereux looked at one another, then back at the captain. “Agreed, sir,” Faraday murmured. Devereux nodded.

“Number One, I want you to handle the initial meeting with the planetary governor. Coordinate everything through Commander Kolrami and Mr. Thelvran. Thank you, both. Dismissed.”

Faraday rose and started towards the ready room door. She turned back when she noticed the counselor hadn’t moved from his seat. Devereux turned to her, his expression subdued but purposeful. Sensing what he was up to, the first officer exited the ready room.

Murdock inhaled deeply, glanced significantly up at the ceiling, and mentally braced himself. “Now what did I do wrong, Dad?”

Devereux refused to get sidetracked by verbal sallies. “Why does it bother you so much? What he chooses to ‘get himself into’?” He waved at the deskscreen, implicating the information Murdock had received not long ago. “Olivia was right: he’s a big boy now, and he was when you first met him – how many years ago was that, refresh my memory, please…”

“Don’t do that,” Murdock muttered. “That depresses me, you know that. Okay, I’m afraid for him, is that what you want to know?”

“It’s a start.”

“He’s very old. A lot older than most people, even in this day and age, hope to ever see.” Murdock smiled grimly. “I know, kinda weird, considering my…personal situation. But he’s going to shake hands with the Grim Reaper, sooner than later, and messing around with Kaiser Muldoon is just going to make that even sooner.”

Murdock stood and crossed to the viewport, which showed stars streaking past at warp speed. “You and Olivia, and DaKar and all the rest of the Usual Suspects…hell, Willow and Tara, too, and don’t ask me to explain why…you’ve all become very close to me. But him…” He turned to face Devereux, his counselor and friend, with the long sorrow of his life. “For a long time, he was the closest thing to family I had.”

****
S.S. Led Zeppelin

“Everything okay?”

Tara shot a sharp glance in Gunn’s direction, sitting in the pilot’s seat across from her in the Led Zeppelin’s cockpit. The dark-skinned chief petty officer was monitoring their course to Adigeon Prime, but he cocked an eyebrow at the blonde counselor.

“Um, I don’t know, just some, uh, r-relationship stuff. Y-you know.”

“Can’t say as I do, telling the God’s honest,” Gunn replied. “Never been in one.”

Tara clicked almost immediately into Counselor Mode. “You’ve never been in a relationship? Ever?”

Gunn shook his head, then (rather hastily) amended this. “Well, not to say I haven’t been with women. I mean, intimate, you know…with women…”

“Gotcha. Just some quick liaisons, you both have your fun.”

“Hey, I don’t go around breaking women’s hearts, okay?” He was a little defensive on this point.

Tara smiled, to show him that he should not take it that way. “Nothing wrong with that. As long as the both of you knew what you were getting out of it – or not getting out of it, as the case may be. It’s not like we’re living in the twentieth century, y’know.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“But still, there is the pleasure of having someone to come home to,” Tara persisted. “There is more than one reason for two wom—for two people…” She was sure that the quick, amused glance he shot at her for her gaffe caught the blush she couldn’t entirely suppress. “I mean, what’s the old expression…why buy the cow—“

“—when milk is cheap?” Gunn finished with her, smiling a bit. “Yeah, I heard that before. I just can’t….” His sentence trailed away with a shrug.

“What can’t you do?” Tara pressed, when he didn’t go on.

Nearly ten heartbeats went by before he answered. “Back home…I never had anybody, really, ‘cept my kid sister. Alanna.”

Tara nodded. She recalled, from her perusal of Gunn’s personnel file, that he had been born on Turkana IV, a failed Federation colony where the government and civil infrastructure had broken down completely, leaving the colony desiccated and in the control of gangs. As a teenager, Gunn had apparently been at least loosely affiliated with some of these gangs; Tara had the impression that he had done things he was not terribly proud of.

“I was supposed to take care of her,” he continued after a brief pause. Tara knew the tremendous effort he took to keep his grief locked away, felt it battering away at his mind like a captive beast. “Our parents were dead, and I was supposed to keep her safe. I couldn’t.”

“How old were you?” she asked, already knowing the answer, from his file.

“S’not the point!” Gunn snarled back. He closed his eyes, shook his head slightly. Tara saw him start to apologize for the outburst, and, keeping her face set in a professional mask, waved off his pique. “I was supposed to protect her! I messed up. She’s dead. End of story.” He turned back to the console, jabbing in commands with savage energy.

“You protect people now, don’t you?” Tara asked, her eyes boring into him. “But it’s…just a job to you. You don’t have personal feelings for your shipmates. Not even for Thelvran, who’s not only your boss, but someone who considers you a friend.” Gunn raised an eyebrow at that, which earned him her patented oh-tell-me-I’m-wrong look that few sentient beings could withstand.

“Look, you made your point,” he averred, “but that’s not the same thing as…” He paused, then inhaled deeply. “I just don’t think I’ve got room for—“

For better or worse, the helm console beeped for his attention. He turned back to it, entered in a command. Tara turned to the viewport to see the long streams of warp-distorted stars suddenly shorten into dots. A bright point of light resolved itself in the upper left quadrant, followed by a planet Dopperling out of lightspeed and settling in the center of the port. This, obviously, was their destination…

“Adigeon Prime,” Tara said, unnecessarily. “I’ll get Willow.”

Gunn nodded. “Game on,” he muttered, though not without a certain relish.

TBC

_________________
Love is an angel, disguised as lust
Here in our bed until the morning comes
-- Patti Smith, "Because The Night (Belongs to Lovers)"

Woo, that's bad news. The whole 'Augment' arc was a bit shaky if you ask me, but that's not what I'm thinking of when I think Eugenic Warriors - I'm thinking Khan, and Khan was not someone you'd want to mess with. I mean, let's face it - Kirk got lucky in Star Trek II, and it cost a lot to get the ship out in one piece. So the prospect of Willow, Tara, and Gunn going up against Khan mk2? Not a happy thought. And as much as it may be convenient for Willow not to be distracted with what her superiors now know, I'd be pretty surprised if she doesn't learn it along the way - probably in some highly inconvenient manner.

As always, lovely blending into established canon - the Eugenics history aside, there was Tantalus, the Turkana colony (they make good security officers there, evidently ), Kodos (he was a great villain), Harry Mudd (not so much, though...) - you do a great job of respecting Star Trek's long and varied history, and using it artistically.

I'm curious to see what will happen with Gunn. He's got a lot going on in his head, which I suspect he's pretty reticent to let anyone in on - Tara may have gotten a bit of a free pass there, given his affection for her (whether he's given up on her or not, he's likely still more willing to talk to her than just any counselor), but I'd be surprised if this is the last we hear of Gunn's troubles. While I hope for a happy ending for him (and it would seem likely that that ending has a certain Fredness about it), I'm sure it won't come without its share of strife on the way.

_________________
Chris Cook

Through the Looking-glass - Every world needs a Willow and Tara.

I have to say, I was getting the idea nobody was reading my story anymore...nobody was giving me any feedback...:(

As usual, Chris, you are my most insightful critic. I do try to make my story as intricate as possible for the hardcore Trekkers, without losing the regular Kittens along the way.

Yes, I have my reasons, mainly for dramatic effect, for having Murdock not contacting Willow...mostly about the old man. He's not as terribly worried about the trio regarding Kaiser Muldoon, as they are doing very low-level recon, and the Hannibal is going to be at Adigeon Prime anyway soon. (Basically, I'm setting up a reunion scene. Just bear with me on this...)

Gunn is the character that, perhaps even more than Willow and Tara, fits so well in the Star Trek universe. Uncomplicated and blunt at first glance, he's very complex and far brighter than he usually lets on. As for Fred...well, she's going to show up eventually in this story...although she's not entirely what she seems, either.

_________________
Love is an angel, disguised as lust
Here in our bed until the morning comes
-- Patti Smith, "Because The Night (Belongs to Lovers)"

I'm not much when it comes to comment things, and due to a 'small significant problem' I lack mostly everything that reminds of insight. But I'll give it a try.

My focus in this story has been on Willow and Taras relationship (of course) and Gunns affection for Tara was a good idea, mostly because I like seeing Willow 'slightly' jealous. The argument between the two of them was.. detailed, to say the least. And as most people, I'm hoping for a good reconciliation *puts away the lexicon after checking spelling*, but I wouldn't mind seeing them getting seperated for a while, and Gunn with either of them.

Being away - and in danger would surely make them get past the argument point, and I can imagine the relief when they meet up again, in public or not.

And the situation with Muldoon.. well, I cannot say exactly my thoughts on him. He seems like a classy villain, but I think we'll need to learn more about himself. His past seems dark enough, though.

Great story. I loved the first one, and I love this one, as well. The crew is great, and their interaction is just what you expect from a veterancrew. Alot of bantering, captain, commander or no.

_________________
Tara: Do whatever that makes you.. h-happy.
Willow: She is my everything.

In my experience, just about all of us have 'small significant problems.' Don't sweat it.



I don't think it would be giving away too much to say that there is going to be a period of separation for Willow and Tara...though not because of an argument...



Funny you should mention Muldoon...the next part, the last section of Chapter Four, concerns him and his henchmen.



Given how new you are to the Kitten board (joined just this May) it seems as if you had gone hunting in the archives for the first story, Equilibration. You certainly are dedicated! Thanks for your feedback and continued support.

_________________
Love is an angel, disguised as lust
Here in our bed until the morning comes
-- Patti Smith, "Because The Night (Belongs to Lovers)"

The last section of Chapter Four...

***

Adigeon Prime

“…so if you postulate a sheaf of non-Euclidean continua that interact on a series of four-dimensional hypersurfaces, you can easily bypass the binomial paradox.”

Kaiser Muldoon was fascinated in spite of himself. He stared at the latest series of scribbled calculations, freshly adhered to the walls of the “guest quarters,” by the young woman who had been sequestered there for the last few months.

She was eagerly showing her “host” her work, which covered the walls like an exotic fungus, dressed in the same functional jumpsuit she had worn day after day, strands of dark curly hair escaping from the otherwise meticulous knot she tied it back with.

“This is very interesting,” Muldoon muttered as he worked his way through the figures. He was impressed with the complexity and elegance of the equations…especially coming from someone whose mind had not been genetically engineered like his own. “How did you get the value for x as y approaches infinity?”

"Oh, that's from Linderman's quantum phasing equations," she replied brightly, cheeks dimpling. "He presented them at the Nelvato III Conference back in '69; got laughed off the stage." Her chuckle stopped in mid-stream as she noticed the new arrival that Muldoon turned to greet.

"I am here, O Mighty King," the blonde muttered with false brightness, wearing a red dress that would be called "slutty" on any of a dozen planets. She held a small PADD in her left hand.

"Good," Muldoon acknowledged, then turned back to his charge. "Would you excuse me for a moment?"

"Sure," the brunette chirped noncommittally, spearing the blonde with a nasty look before turning back to her calculations.

"I want Seraph and Blood William to head up the strike teams," Muldoon began without preamble. "Round up everybody we have on-planet, then wait for my go-signal. We should be able to breach the starship's defenses within a day of their arrival."

"I thought I was heading up the strike teams," the blonde pouted.

"Well, of course, you are in overall charge of the operation, dear," Muldoon consoled smoothly, "but even you can't be everywhere at once, and I may need you down here for some -- how shall I put I put it -- mopping up? Not to mention, I can't have you giving up your 'day job' quite yet. I might need the information that you have access to -- and I need you also to keep certain people in line."

"Oh, fun," she replied flatly. "You know, if Blood William goes up, you know Cilla will tag along."

He sighed. "I expect that. We'll just have to deal. But tell her," he added sternly, "the doll stays home."

The blonde snickered. "Oh, I almost forgot," she said, holding up the PADD, "this came in from Farius Prime. Apparently some guy busted up The Smiling Targ looking for you. Another member of your fan club?"

Muldoon shrugged, took the proferred display device and accessed the information. "I have no idea. Frankly, if the Federation was to come after me, I would expect a lot--" He frowned as he came across a description given to the intruder. The blonde registered a hint of disbelief, and even concern, on her employer's face. After a few seconds, shaking his head as if ridding himself of a momentary fugue, he handed the PADD back. "Well, it appears as if this individual is going to get his wish; Flaxians are so unreliable, you just can't trust them to keep their mouths shut. If he is here, we can keep an eye out for him. Pass it along."

"Right." The blonde assistant exited the room, leaving Muldoon to watch the brunette start another page of calculations. His thoughts took on dark tones, besot with old memories of defeat and disappointment.

"It can't be him," he whispered.

_________________
Love is an angel, disguised as lust
Here in our bed until the morning comes
-- Patti Smith, "Because The Night (Belongs to Lovers)"

The last section of Chapter Four...

***

Adigeon Prime

“…so if you postulate a sheaf of non-Euclidean continua that interact on a series of four-dimensional hypersurfaces, you can easily bypass the binomial paradox.”

Kaiser Muldoon was fascinated in spite of himself. He stared at the latest series of scribbled calculations, freshly adhered to the walls of the “guest quarters,” by the young woman who had been sequestered there for the last few months.

She was eagerly showing her “host” her work, which covered the walls like an exotic fungus, dressed in the same functional jumpsuit she had worn day after day, strands of dark curly hair escaping from the otherwise meticulous knot she tied it back with.

“This is very interesting,” Muldoon muttered as he worked his way through the figures. He was impressed with the complexity and elegance of the equations…especially coming from someone whose mind had not been genetically engineered like his own. “How did you get the value for x as y approaches infinity?”

"Oh, that's from Linderman's quantum phasing equations," she replied brightly, cheeks dimpling. "He presented them at the Nelvato III Conference back in '69; got laughed off the stage." Her chuckle stopped in mid-stream as she noticed the new arrival that Muldoon turned to greet.

"I am here, O Mighty King," the blonde muttered with false brightness, wearing a red dress that would be called "slutty" on any of a dozen planets. She held a small PADD in her left hand.

"Good," Muldoon acknowledged, then turned back to his charge. "Would you excuse me for a moment?"

"Sure," the brunette chirped noncommittally, spearing the blonde with a nasty look before turning back to her calculations.

"I want Seraph and Blood William to head up the strike teams," Muldoon began without preamble. "Round up everybody we have on-planet, then wait for my go-signal. We should be able to breach the starship's defenses within a day of their arrival."

"I thought I was heading up the strike teams," the blonde pouted.

"Well, of course, you are in overall charge of the operation, dear," Muldoon consoled smoothly, "but even you can't be everywhere at once, and I may need you down here for some -- how shall I put I put it -- mopping up? Not to mention, I can't have you giving up your 'day job' quite yet. I might need the information that you have access to -- and I need you also to keep certain people in line."

"Oh, fun," she replied flatly. "You know, if Blood William goes up, you know Cilla will tag along."

He sighed. "I expect that. We'll just have to deal. But tell her," he added sternly, "the doll stays home."

The blonde snickered. "Oh, I almost forgot," she said, holding up the PADD, "this came in from Farius Prime. Apparently some guy busted up The Smiling Targ looking for you. Another member of your fan club?"

Muldoon shrugged, took the proferred display device and accessed the information. "I have no idea. Frankly, if the Federation was to come after me, I would expect a lot--" He frowned as he came across a description given to the intruder. The blonde registered a hint of disbelief, and even concern, on her employer's face. After a few seconds, shaking his head as if ridding himself of a momentary fugue, he handed the PADD back. "Well, it appears as if this individual is going to get his wish; Flaxians are so unreliable, you just can't trust them to keep their mouths shut. If he is here, we can keep an eye out for him. Pass it along."

"Right." The blonde assistant exited the room, leaving Muldoon to watch the brunette start another page of calculations. His thoughts took on dark tones, besot with old memories of defeat and disappointment.

"It can't be him," he whispered.

_________________
Love is an angel, disguised as lust
Here in our bed until the morning comes
-- Patti Smith, "Because The Night (Belongs to Lovers)"

CaptMurdock
I can't say how sorry I am that I missed giving feedback to the previous posting of this excellent fic. I like to read and then come back after digesting, and somehow I missed coming back to yours.

I love this story: I watched only some of the StarTrek series so am not across all the characters and references, but it makes no difference to my enjoyment as it is a great story all by itself.

Looking forward to more.
Thanks
Anne

_________________
Spells for Two

Every path has its puddle. Old English Saying... I think I just stepped in mine...

Thank you, Anne. Late feedback is better than no feedback at all! I'm glad that my story is accessible even to the casual Trekkie.

Oh, dear, I seem to have posted it twice. Well, I was having trouble posting on the board this morning. Hello, mods!

Thanks again!

_________________
Love is an angel, disguised as lust
Here in our bed until the morning comes
-- Patti Smith, "Because The Night (Belongs to Lovers)"

Neat finale to the chapter there - I like how even Muldoon was taken aback when he got the news of who's after him. The best villains are the ones who aren't so overconfident that they never blink. And Fred was very Fredlike, good writing on her. She's adorable

And the prospect of more c24 Buffy cast showing up? Blood William and Cilla, they should be a fun pair. Also - I don't know if you planned this or not - there's a nice resonance between the name Cilla and 'Scylla', which is quite appropriate for Dru, really.

_________________
Chris Cook

Through the Looking-glass - Every world needs a Willow and Tara.

Thank you, thank you. No, I had not picked on that particular resonance -- some things escape even me. However, did you pick up on "Seraph"?

And the identity of one more "c24 Buffy" castmember will soon be revealed...

Thanks again!

_________________
Love is an angel, disguised as lust
Here in our bed until the morning comes
-- Patti Smith, "Because The Night (Belongs to Lovers)"

Well, gang, I'm going to pull a bit of a dirty trick on you all. I have most of this story plotted, even written out in my head. Unfortunately, I can't post my head -- I use my head...occasionally.

Anyway, these are upcoming scenes. I have kept some things still secret, such as the identity of the old man. I do hope this generates some interest in this story. I will try to get back to writing it soon.

****

Gunn braced himself for the Nausicaan’s charge, when a phaser beam lanced out from his left and nailed the hulking alien in the chess, poleaxing him. He turned to see Tara, still extending the small phaser in her hand and breathing out in relief.

He looked at the unconscious Nausicaan, then back at Tara. “Nice zap,” he commented.

She grinned shyly. “My first.”

***

Tara watched, wanting to disbelieve her eyes yet unable to, as the old man dodged Gunn’s phaser yet again and stepped closer to him. A long arm snaked out, supple fingers grabbing Gunn’s wrist, making him cry out involuntarily and losing his grip on the phaser.

****

Willow wasn’t sure who this man was, or how she had gotten here, or why Tara and Gunn were so wary of him. However, she had her own phaser, and she pointed it now at his back. “Don’t move,” she said in her best commanding tone.

Very slowly, the old man turned towards her. “I never thought that so much time would pass,” he intoned evenly, “that you would ever point a phaser at me, Willow Roseberg.”

With her empathic senses, and her clear view of Willow’s face, Tara could feel her lover’s confusion turn to recognition…and an almost palpable joy.

****

“There’s someone in the anteroom,” Thelvran whispered. “I can’t tell who, sir.”

Murdock shrugged. With neither of them armed or able to contact the ship, they were rather at a disadvantage. “Well, it’s easier to ask forgiveness…” He launched himself toward the doorway, drawing back a fast. Spotting a figure in the dim light, he let loose with a right hook…

…and felt, rather than saw, his intended target not only evade his punch, but grab his arm. Before he knew it, Murdock was flying through the air, to crash against a stack of small cargo containers.

****

Tara and Willow watched as the old man stood over Murdock, peering quizzically. “Cassius?!?”

****

“I do wish there was another way,” Kaiser Muldoon said apologetically, as he leaned over Tara, fastened tightly in the apparatus he had crudely fastening.

Tara barely recognized her own voice as she growled, “Get on with it.”

****

“I don’t need you encouraging her,” Murdock angrily muttered.

“Young people out to avenge their loved ones rarely need encouragement, Cassius,” the old man replied. “They need guidance.

****

“Who’s this geezer,” Blood William sneered as the old man stepped up.

His dark haired companion looked up and down. “We’ve a tiger amongst the kittens, my William,” she said in a feather-light tone.

The old man chuckled darkly. “Funny you should phrase it that way.” Spinning suddenly, he leg-swept them both off their feet.

****

Murdock looked at Willow, his expression resigned. “Just don’t do anything stupid. And if you do,” he added as she started to walk away, “sell yourself dearly.”

_________________
Love is an angel, disguised as lust
Here in our bed until the morning comes
-- Patti Smith, "Because The Night (Belongs to Lovers)"

Tease! Tease!

I look forward to reading future updates or a time when you can post your head , because this remains one of my favorite uberfics.

_________________
You learn her source, and we'll introduce her to her insect reflection. Um... that, that was funny... if you um, if you studied Taglarin mythic rites... and are a complete dork. -- Tara

Tease! Well, there's a whole bunch of things to look forward to, in order. So first up, I'll sit here and look forward to Tara phasering some lowlife Nausicaan

_________________
Chris Cook

Through the Looking-glass - Every world needs a Willow and Tara.

As the Moose said, This Time For Sure. A real update. You'll have to wade through a little more backstory of the old man AKA the Master of Onada before you get to the W/T goodness at the end. Enjoy.

****
Chapter Five

Agarashima, Japan, Earth
The past

After seven years of living in the House of Onada, the boy felt it was time to leave.

A large part of this desire was the acceptance letter from Starfleet Academy. He knew Shikiku disapproved, but this was going to be the embodiment of his dream to be a starship pilot, not the destiny he felt she was forcing onto him. He had passed the preliminary exams that he had managed to take on the sly…not easy, considering how busy Obuchan kept him.

Still, the thought of leaving the house, even to go merely across the planet to San Francisco, had been daunting, until he had received the communiqué from his parents…and his brother.

The news that he had a three-year old brother was, to say the least, a shock, given his feelings of abandonment that he had thought he buried long ago. First they leave me behind, he mused bitterly, now they’ve replaced me!

“You cannot run away from your life, Anjin-san,” his grandmother admonished him as he was packing his articles. “Remember, no matter where you go—“

“There I am?”

The old woman’s expression momentarily darkened as she considered an angry reply, then twisted in confusion as she considered his words. “That’s one way to put it, yes. Someday, however, you are going to have come to terms…not only with your parents, but with yourself. With your destiny.”

“And did you ever consider,” he countered angrily, “that this…going to Starfleet Academy…is the way I do that?”

She was silent for a long time after that. Finally, when he was nearly done packing, she said in a resigned tone, “You must do as you think best,” and left his room. It took him a minute to figure you that this was her way of saying good-bye.

Later, as he made his formal farewells to the family elders (and the informal handshakes and hugs with the younger members of the household) in the courtyard of the great house, he saw his grandmother, the Master of Onada, standing in the doorway of the house, half in shadow. Marshalling his inner strength, he expressed a thought towards her: I will always remember, Grandmother.

Even as he sensed the thoughtcast shatter against her icy resolve, he could feel her secret pride in him, that he had learned so much in so few years.

Then she was gone. And, then, so was he. It was ten years before he went to see her again…and that was when all the trouble truly started.

****

Seriffe-sen, Adigeon Prime
The present

The Master of Onada walked through the alleyways and roofed arcades of Seriffe-sen, Adigeon Prime’s capital city. He choose seemingly random routes that would have discouraged any potential casual muggers and shaken any active pursuit. His eidetic memory, honed through long years of meditation and practice, served him well in preventing him from getting lost.

At a casual glance, the city was impressive, bordering on breathtaking. Tall skyscrapers were interspersed with elevated walkways and public-transit tubes. The architecture was a mish-mash of styles from several worlds, upswept Rigellian inverted pyramids sharing the skyline with Zebelian rococo.

The old man remembered an old two-dee motion picture, one that Cassius had shown him years before. The story took place in an imaginary metropolis, where immense structures, like ancient ziggurants, dominated a skyline where rain constantly fell. The light from garish advertisements reflected off the rain and the flying cars that floated through it. Down below, ground-dwelling workers scuttled in and between the buildings like rats.

Cassius had called this form of entertainment “psi-fie,” whatever that was. It was certainly bleak. The story itself was somewhat interesting, regarding a police officer who had to hunt down artificial humans, ironic because the man seemed hardly human himself.

While Seriffe-sen was certainly not as bleak or as filthy as that fictional city, there was an undercurrent of malice afoot.

The old man knew that the direct approach he used on Farius Prime would not do here…at least not yet. He spent much time in one local tavern or another, his sharp ears and lip-reading eyes picking up the odd tidbit of information that might lead him to Kaiser Muldoon, or to the illegal genetic engineering that Muldoon was heading.

He divided the remainder of his time between meditating in his modest room at a low-key hotel and checking out the spaceport and cargo docks. He was bemused by the motley assortment of ships that passed through.

He did, however, find the trio of young people who had arrived in what was obviously a converted cargo shuttle interesting. The tall, dark-skinned man was obviously a man of keen instincts, keeping unobtrusively aware of his surroundings at all times. The old man knew of the weapon that this man carried because he himself was aware of it, his body language subtly changing to accommodate the quickest possible access.

The dark street warrior’s two companions were equally intriguing. The curvy blonde woman seemed almost too fragile to be in such rough surroundings, but here again, the Master of Onada could sense that she was a much tougher cookie than she usually let on. Peering at her from his vantage point between piles of cargo containers, about twenty meters away, the Master could see that she was a quiet beauty, the kind that often required a second glance to see the diamond in the rough…

Abruptly, in the middle of helping out with the manifest, the blonde straightened, then looked in the Master’s direction. A tenth of a second beforehand, however, he had already ducked back into the shadows, having picked up the mental wave emanating from her powerful mind. An empath, he thought, even as he employed mental disciplines to shield himself from her sense. Well well well. He stilled any further thoughts, just in case she could pick up anything more.

Cautiously, a millimeter at a time, he creep back to his previous viewpoint. She had apparently decided that she had been wrong; she was already back at her task.

The third “cargo hauler” was another young woman, who stayed mostly in the background where the old man could not get a good look at her. He could tell only that she was small and slim, with red hair, and reminded him strongly of…

The old man straightened, then ducked back once again. Working his way out of the cargo facility, the old man headed back to his hotel, feeling the need to calm himself

This was not the time to be thinking of one whom time had taken from him, long ago.

***

“I just had the feeling that someone was watching us.”

Gunn nodded sagely as Tara told him and Willow about the brief empathic flash she had had while they were unloading the Led Zeppelin earlier this evening. They were in their room at the “transients’ hotel” near the spaceport, provided for crewmembers of space vessels passing through the system.

“I’m so knowin’ we were being watched,” the chief petty officer replied, doffing his coat after checking out the room the three of them had been given. Truly, it was not a luxury suite on Risa, having only the basic amenities: bed, deskscreen, closet, refresher with autovalet (“No replicator? What about room service?” Willow pouted, before seeing the derisive looks from both of her companions.) and a reclining chair.

“You got that feeling, too?”

“’Feeling’, nothin’. Everybody was scoping us out from the time we landed. Trust me, sirs, we’ve got the wretched hive here, complete with scum and villainy.

Willow and Tara exchanged glances at this. Neither of them thought that Seriffe-sen looked particularly threatening, as cities on non-Federation worlds go, but Gunn was far more experienced as an urban street warrior; they trusted his judgment on this. The two women also raised an eyebrow at their close accommodations. “Maybe we can get a separate room for you, Chief. I mean, we’re getting enough credit for our cargo –“

“Unh-unh!” Then, remembering himself, the chief petty addressed his two superiors in a far more respectful tone. “I mean, with due respect, sirs, that’s not a tactically-viable option. The captain assigned me to watch your backs. I can’t do that if I’m down the hall.”

Willow was about to retort that she and Tara were more than capable of taking care of themselves when the counselor replied, “You’re right.” She turned to Willow, cutting off the half-formed protest. “He’s right.”

Gunn had the good grace not to look smug, but he did affect a slightly vindicated air as he said, “We should probably hit the local hot spots once tonight before we sack out.”

“No.” This time, Tara had to disagree. “We’ve had a long trip and we’re all tired from dealing with the cargo and stuff. We need rest…and that means you, too, Charles,” she added as he appeared to counter her argument. “Consider it an order, mister,” she concluded in her best Lieutenant Counselor voice.

“Yes, ma’m.” In truth, Gunn felt too tired to really put up a fight on this issue. Still… “I do think one of us should stay up at all times, though. I don’t trust the lock on that door. Electronic looks can be overridden from the outside.” He pointed to the door of their room, a single slider with inset bevels, common on numerous worlds inside and outside the Federation. Its lock, to both Gunn’s and Willow’s eye, did nothing to make the Master Treasury Vault on Ferenginar seem jealous.

Tara’s dark blonde brows furrowed for a second. Then, she stepped into the refresher. Willow and Gunn traded bemused gazes, especially as a couple of wrenching sounds came out into the room. Willow was about to enquire when Tara emerged from the refresher, carrying the towel rod that had been attached to the wall in there. Adjusting the length of the rod carefully, Tara wedged it tightly between the inset of the door and the interior of the doorframe, rendering it virtually impossible for anyone to go through the door quickly, short of using explosives.

“Not bad,” Willow said, taking out her tricorder and inputting commands on it. “I’m setting up a warning system, in case anybody tries to beam in here – or beam us out. This’ll detect any targeting scanners and shriek like the devil just got a hotfoot.”

Setting down their various ordnance to be recharged by induction, the three prepared for sleep. Gunn doffed his outer coat, removed his concealed holster, and set his phaser within reach of the reclining chair. Settling himself down, he was asleep less than five minutes later.

The two officers looked quizzically at him; Willow mouthed to Tara Is he really asleep? Tara shrugged, then motioned to the bed. Nodding, Willow removed her jacket and shoes.

Tara did likewise, then reclined on the bed, on top of the covers; by mutual silent agreement, the two of them decided this would be the best way to be ready for any possible occurrence. Tara slid over to leave room for Willow to lie next to her.

For a minute, neither moved or said a word. Willow was feeling a knot of tension in her stomach; this was the first time she had been really alone with Tara since their altercation on the Led Zeppelin. Then she felt light yet strong fingers slowly intertwine with her own, and felt her tummy troubles melt away. She turned to her left, and saw a beautiful smile mirroring her own. “I wish…” she began, whispering to Tara.

“Shhh.” Tara raised up slightly to look at Gunn in the recliner, a couple of meters away. She laid back and whispered, “Close your eyes and concentrate.”

“On what?”

“Shhh! Um, I dunno…o-on me.”

Shrugging internally, Willow did as instructed. It was actually harder than she thought to clear her mind of extraneous musings. She conjured an image in her head of Tara. She imagined golden strands of hair falling through her fingers, the scent of vanilla clinging after. The whisper of silk as it fell away from her skin, freeing the tiniest whiff of sweat. Rounded shoulders gave way to lean, well-toned arms, to clever fingers. The protrusion of collarbone led to wonderfully rounded delights, tapering down to a flat stomach, which in turn led down to…

Now you’re getting it.

Willow was so surprised to hear Tara’s voice in her head that her eyes opened by reflex. She glanced quickly at her girlfriend. Tara’s eye were still closed, her breathing deep and regular. Hurriedly, trying not to break the spell, so to speak, she lay back and closed her eyes again. Tara…can you read me?

Willow…this isn’t a subspace comlink.

Oh. Well, this is pretty cool.

I know, Tara answered. Her mental “smile” illuminated Willow’s mind. I suspected it might get easier for us to communicate telepathically, over time. It does take a certain amount of mental discipline to do this.

Are you saying I’m undisciplined?

Well…you do tend to have several simultaneous tracks of thought running through your head at any given moment. Sometimes, I’m glad not to be a full telepath…I think you’d drive me nuts.

Yeah, me and my dangerous brain. Is this something anybody could do with you, I mean, not that I want anybody else sleeping with…wait, that’s getting possessive and jealous again, I just meant, can other people talk mind-to-mind with you if they concentrate hard enough?

Not really, Tara replied, marshalling her thoughts before Willow could go on yet another mental tangent. Most people don’t have the kind of discipline to communicate telepathically, unless they have a high esper potential…which, by the way, you do.

Me? I mean, I do?

It’s in your file, sweetie. All sort of things are in your file. That thought definitely had an amused “flavor.” Similarly, Tara could feel the mental raised eyebrow from Willow.

The two lay in a companionable silence, verbal and mental, until Willow “spoke.” Tara…I’m sorry we had that fight.

As attuned as they currently were, Tara’s answer surprised Willow. I’m not., actually. Before Willow could reply, she pressed on. I mean, yes, I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, and I know you feel the same, but…I think we, you and I, we need to tell each other when something’s…off. Relationships take a lot of work, once you get out of the initial stages…oh, God, now I’m sounding like Counselor Woman…

That’s okay, you put up with Science Gal often enough…You’re right. I just…don’t like fighting with you. Makes my stomach all achey…

Mine too. But I want us to be together a long time, and if that means we have fight out our problems before we go to bed, then…

…we stay up and fight all night? Okay, but only as long as we have the required intense reconciliation afterward.

Tara giggled out loud at that, an odd sound for anyone who would have happened to be listening. Deal. Ohhhh, now I really wish we had our own accommodations…

Settling down into a peaceful, if frustrated, mental silence, Willow and Tara fell asleep.

TBC

_________________
Love is an angel, disguised as lust
Here in our bed until the morning comes
-- Patti Smith, "Because The Night (Belongs to Lovers)"