textfiles/sf/STARTREK/graduati

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From: cmfaltz@panix.com (Titania)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: GRADUATION (Pt. 1/10) by MELISSA WILSON 
Date: 1 Feb 1995 12:29:36 -0500
Organization: The Q Continuum
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From WILSON@ATHENA.HOOD.EDU Tue Jan 31 22:22:23 1995

My dearest thanks to Christine Faltz, without whom this could not
have been posted, and more importantly, this hand could not have
touched Him.  To you, and to our two cohorts, would anyone like to
make an entry with the Captain's Log?

Fond dedications to: the strumpets ... um *crew* of the JLP Ship of
Looooooooooooove (May all your fantasies come true, 'specially the
squidgy ones); to a certain sanctuary of froggies; to Sandra
Guzdek, my cohort (let's all go horting!) in drool and BONC, for
editing this monstrosity; and most especially, to Amy de Kanter,
for Tuesday night Trek parties, pictures of Gates McFadden,
complaints about Abby's idiot boyfriend, and that Riker yoyo (wait,
isn't that a little redundant?).  Any references in this story to
their work is *intentional* (and used with a bit of begging and
pleading).  Go read their stories.  You won't regret it.
 
And now, without further ado, welcome to My Personal Universe.
I hope you enjoy your stay.
 
Typical disclaimer about Paramount owning everything up to and
including the kitchen sink.  Feel free to distribute, so long as my
name and header are attached.
 
***
Graduation
The Green Chronicle
 
A Star Trek: The Next Generation story by
Melissa "Merlin Missy" Wilson
wilson@athena.hood.edu
missy@darklair.com
Copyright 1995
 
***
Chapter 1: Arrivals and Departures
***
  
     Near the edge of the Galaxy, on a yet-nameless world circling
an angry red sun, in the middle of a forest in late Autumn, just an
hour past mid-day, a young man sat cross-legged on a hard, flat
rock inspecting a bright stone.  At first glance, his appearance
was unremarkable: short dark hair, height slightly more than that
of the average male of his species, but nothing out of the
ordinary.  Only his eyes set him apart from other members of his
kind, and that only if one knew precisely how to look.  If they
were a little less wide and innocent than they once were, if there
was not as much life in them as there might once have been, it
could be chalked up to the added years.  However, only one person
in the universe knew just how many years that had been, and the
price paid for each one. 
     Unbeknownst to him, he was silently being observed by that
very person.  His watcher was humanoid, about two meters tall, with
two large fingers and a thumb to each hand.  He had a slight
protrusion at the bridge of his nose, while his head, which always
gave the impression of being just slightly too heavy for his
shoulders, was mostly bald save for a small greyish fringe that
ended in an intricate knot at his nape.
     As far as the youth was concerned, the alien could have been
a child, or a being of Q's age.  He had never told, and the Human
had never asked.  All the boy knew was that sixteen years before,
by his own reckoning anyway, the Traveler had entered his life
briefly and changed it forever.  He had quietly arranged
encouragement for the boy and had left upon a dream.  Once, he had
reappeared when things looked bleak, and had given him a glimpse of
what was possible before slipping back into mystery.  Time passed
for the Human, and then the universe opened to him with the merest
step sideways.  The Traveler returned and left again, but he did
not leave alone.
     For the past eight years of his life, the youth had grown in
wisdom and ability.  No longer the cocksure, precocious child, he
had been tempered with life experiences beyond those of most
Humans.  Together, they had been to places that were not locations
but dreams, a world made of music, a universe of poetry.  With time
having no more meaning than starlight, they had tripped through the
past of a dozen races, but only once had the Human glimpsed the
future, and that was enough.  Each trip took months of preparation
and training, though of a far different sort than he had ever
before known.  The courses in the Traveler's academy were patience,
meditation, and long study.  The classroom was the universe.  Now,
the time had come for the final exam.
     "Wesley..." he called.  A distant bird cried from the woods. 
     Wesley turned to face his teacher.  "It's time to go, isn't
it?"  The Traveler nodded.  "You always get that look when it's
time to move on.  So where do we go next?" 
     "Not we.  You."  Seeing the youth's quizzical look, he
continued.  "There is something only you can do, something that
must be done.  You have reached the end of your lessons.  This is
the final test." 
     Wesley stood, not really surprised.  His strange friend had
mentioned recently that their association was coming to an end.  
Still, his stomach churned with nerves as he asked,  "What is it?" 
     "There is..."  He stopped, trying to collect his thoughts and
memories.  "If nothing else, you have learned that time is fluid.
Paradox is usually not a problem when we Travel, because the
timestream smoothes out the small eddies we cause.  Otherwise, we
would destroy the universe the first time we moved from one time
into another.  Obviously, we do not."  Wesley nodded.
     "Sometimes, however, things are not as they seem.  Paradox
becomes an integral part of the picture, and certain things must be
accomplished to make the timestream stable.  My primary reason for
existence, I would like to believe, is to channel these paradoxes
into the timestream so they do not disturb the rest of it."  He
paused, trying to think back, to remember the right words ...
     "But now there's a paradox you can't fix." 
     "Yes."  Now he remembered.  This is how it had gone, how it
had been written.  "But you can fix it, and you must.  And I cannot
tell you how, or why, or even the overwhelming importance in that
the universe unfolds exactly as it has thus far."  Now for the push
sideways, to keep him from the center a little longer.  "The time
has come for you to repay your debt to me.  The timestream must be
kept whole.  The price may be your life." He had to add that part;
it was all part of the bargain struck long ago. 
     Wesley turned his attention back to the stone for a brief
moment, turning it over in his hand.  It was a heartstone, found
only on Rigel VI.  The stones were prized for their unique property
of glowing at humanoid emotional states: red for fear, brown for
sorrow, green for happiness, yellow for serenity, blue for love. 
Each stone was mined, polished and shaped individually, with no two
ever alike.  Robin had given it to him the last time they had seen
one other, and he had sworn to her that they would marry the next
time he saw her, no matter how long it took.  He slipped the
pink-tinged stone into his pocket with a sigh.
     "What do I have to do?"
     The Traveler smiled sadly.  Of course the child had accepted
the task.  That too, was part of the timestream flowing onward,
just as true and unalterable as his birth, or the long past death
of his father, or the far-too-soon loss of the woman he loved. 
Some things could never be changed.
     "You must trust me.  First, we will test language skills.  Ask
the most important question in tlhlngan." 
     "nuqDaq'oH puchpa"e"" 
     "In Bajoran High tongue." 
     He repeated the question in Bajoran, in Andorian third
dialect, then in Ssruuk, and finally in Romulan.  The Traveler
nodded acknowledgement at each, then quizzed him on history,
philosophy, scientific theory, literature, firing questions like
phaser blasts.  "Now, we will test your Changing." 
     "What form shall I take?" 
     "Lakanta first." 
     Wesley closed his eyes, and began his exercises.  His
breathing slowed as he slipped into deep relaxation.  Then, his
appearance shuddered, and he Changed.  Where Wesley had been stood
a different man, a small "rat's tail" of hair at his neck, and an
older, rounder face.  He was dressed in supple brown leather down
to his moccasins.  He opened his eyes and looked to the Traveler
for approval.
     "Good. Now Worf."
     Again the relaxation, the Change, and a handsome Klingon male
dressed in a cranberry red StarFleet uniform appeared in Lakanta's
place, long hair pulled back in a grey-streaked ponytail.  The
Traveler nodded.
     "Your stepfather."
     The man standing before the Traveler was much older and
slightly shorter than the last two, but with an air of dignity and
grace about him.  The ponytail was gone, replaced by a wreath of
silvery-white hair.  The uniform had become an ambassador's formal
garb, scarlet and gold.  In a perfect replica of the man's cultured
voice, Wesley asked, "What do you think?"
     The Traveler smiled.  "I think you should not do that Change
around your mother.  It would... worry her."
     The replica grinned.
     "Now, I want you to become an adult male Vulcanoid, average
Romulan citizen's attire."
     The image paused a moment in thought, trying to remember his
studies on Romulan culture.  The shudder, the Change, and he was a
Romulan of perhaps fifty or sixty years.  He had not changed his
own facial features much, just altered them to fit the Rihannsu
image.  His clothing had become a simple robe with somewhat large
shoulders over slacks gathered at the bottoms, with a pair of
nondescript boots.
     "What is the most important rule of Travelling?"
     "You can't go back to the same place twice, or else you'd meet
yourself coming the other way."  He paused.  "Which means I only
have one chance at this, whatever it is."
     The Traveler nodded his approval.  He turned away for a
moment, to catch a glimpse of sunshine through the cool woods. 
When he turned back, his eyes were full of light.  "When all is
done, you will return here to this time.  I will be waiting."  He
raised his hands in a gesture of farewell.
     "But you haven't even told me When I'm going or what I'll be
doing."
     "You must discover that for yourself, Wesley.  All I will tell
you is that you will be prepared and that you are in the correct
shape for the test."  He placed his hands on the Romulan Wesley's
shoulders, already knowing what the outcome would be. "May Fate
lead you to your future."
     He sent Wesley Travelling.
     Alone, he sat on the large rock so recently vacated by his
protege, and watched the distant sun through the primordial forest.
After a while, he heard approaching footsteps.
 
***
 
Hecouldnotseeathinginsidethetimestreamhehatedgoinglikethis
butthatwaswhatthetravelerwantedandhewasfallinghewasfalling.
***
 
     The disorientation always came first.  Wesley put a hand out
to steady himself, found a wall of some sort, and clung there. 
After a few moments, enough time to take a deep breath and let the
world revolve beneath his feet, he straightened and tried to get
his bearings.
     Walls rose high to either side of him, with a few stray words
written here and there.  He dug into his memories of written
Rihannsu, but could not make any sense of what they said: "Cool
Disco Dan," "Beware of the Duck in the Red Plaid Jacket."  With a
last shake, his head was clear, and he realized he was standing
somewhat drunkenly in an alley.  Somewhere Romulan.  He read
another, "Pink Mosh Bunnies Rule" and wished that he'd studied more
written language.  Mosh bunnies?
     "You there!" came a voice from behind him.  He turned slowly.
A Romulan guard stood at the end of the alley, glaring at him.  Had
she seen?
     "Yes?"  he replied carefully, trying hard to think of a good
excuse for being there and the words to say it.  He came up blank.
     "You know the rules.  There will be no loitering in the
alleyways."  Loitering?  Good.  She hadn't seen him Travel.
     "I'm sorry, Centurion,"  he said, speaking slowly to get the
words right, and hoping to hell he sounded stoned.  "I seem to have
lost my way."  He stepped gingerly toward her.  If he was lucky,
she would just tell him to head home.
     "Centurion?"  She looked skeptically at him.  "I think you
should come with me."  So much for being lucky.
     He scratched his head and reread the graffiti, buying time to
think.  "Wait a minute.  I know where I am now.  I live two streets
that way."  He pointed behind him.  He turned to walk down that way
as fast as he could without seeming to hurry.
     "Wait."  Damn.  "I think I'd better accompany you home.  Just
to make sure you arrive safely."
     "There is no need for that.  Honestly."  The Traveler's
teachings echoed through his mind:  stay calm, always think before
you act, and NEVER tell your real name.
     "What's your name, Citizen?"  The first phrase learned in any
tongue.  Also the worst.  Have to pick one fast.
     "Dalek."  Suddenly, he was struck by inspiration.  "What is
*your* name?"  He let his gaze wander over her.  She was fairly
pretty by his standards, and certainly by those of her own world.
     "To you, I am 'Yes, Watch Commander,'"  she said, obviously
unimpressed.  "And you are beginning to try my patience, Citizen
Dalek."  Nonetheless, she shifted to a less threatening posture. It
had worked; she thought him drunk.  That was fine by him.
     "In that case, I will go."  He turned back down the alley,
hoping against hope that she wouldn't follow.
     She followed.
     "Show me where you live, Citizen."
     He decided to try one last time.  Thinking of two old and dear
friends, he said: "You are the most beautiful woman in the
universe."  He felt something press against his back.  A split
second later, he realized it was a disruptor. So Will *hadn't* been
kidding when he said that it wouldn't always work.  Bummer.
     "If you do not start walking and show me where you live, you
will be the most dead man in the universe."
     "Yes, Watch Commander."  He started walking, wondering where
in hell he was going to go.
 
***
 
     The garrison, if that's where he was, was as imposing on the
inside as it was unnerving from the outside.  Wesley looked around
in wonder at the massive hive of bureaucracy humming all around
him.  Brown-clad workers scurried busily by, making just the
slightest veerings in their direct paths through the chambers.  The
Watch Commander shoved him in the back.
     "Stop gawking."  She pushed him down a maze of hallways, and
into a disturbingly tiny room, perhaps a meter and a half to a
side, with one small light panel as decoration.  The door slammed,
leaving him alone with his thoughts.  So much for charming her, or
trying to fool her into thinking he actually lived around that
block.  It hadn't helped when he had chosen a door at random, only
to have the real resident pick that time to come home.
     He realized that he could be there for some time.  He sat on
the floor, and noticed the slightest upward force.  He pushed down
with his hand, and met with more resistance.  So the cell had a
force-shield, and was no doubt monitored somewhere.  He was not
really surprised; Worf had employed a similar device to keep
prisoners from going through the floor or ceiling in the brig. 
Escape would be that much harder.  He could still Travel out of the
cell, if absolutely necessary, but then he would not be able to
complete whatever he needed to do.  Also, Traveling while Changed
was usually not a great idea, unless of course one *enjoyed*
migraines that lasted over a week.  The jump there had been
controlled by the Traveler.  For his return, he would need to find
a place where he could be unseen, or there would be far more
questions left behind than was healthy for the continued good of
the timestream.  But how would he answer the questions that were
sure to come *now*?
     The door opened suddenly.  A large, unsmiling guard pointed a
disruptor at him.  In his head, Wesley dubbed him Chuckles almost
immediately.  "You, come with me."
     Wesley didn't argue.
     Another maze, glimpses here and there of hurried Romulans, and
he was brought into another room much like the one he had just
left, this one equipped with a desk, two chairs, and an official of
some sort reading a data padd.  The official looked up at him,
gestured towards the remaining seat, and continued reading the
padd.  After some time, he glanced up, and seemed surprised to see
Wesley still there.
     "Name?"
     "Dalek."
     "Occupation?"
     "Traveling musician."  The Traveler always seemed to have an
appropriate persona on hand, and the wandering minstrel motif was
usually the safest and most popular answer.  "Would you like to
hear a song?"  He took a deep breath in preparation to sing as
loudly and off-key as possible.
     "No."  Also the usual response.  "It seems we have no record
of you here in Kalind."  Kalind?  "Perhaps you could enlighten me
as to where you come from, Dalek."
     "That would be because I just arrived here this morning from
Lin'Ank Rumm, as I tried to tell that Watch Commander on the way
here.  Are you sure you don't want to hear a song?"  He took
another deep breath.
     "Quite sure."  Good.  On one trip, they had managed to get
away with being itinerant singers for months after only singing
once.  They had been paid quite handsomely to never attempt it
again.  "We asked the Watch Commander, and she told us about your
claims.  Now, wouldn't you know that no one in Lin'Ank Rumm has
ever heard of a traveling musician named Dalek?"
     "I play to a very select audience."
     "You play to no audience at all.  You do not exist in our
files anywhere."  The official looked directly at him for the first
time.  "If you would like to exist, you will cooperate in our
questioning.  Do you understand?"  Wesley nodded.
     "Name?"
     "Dalek."
     The official, whose name he never did learn, looked over the
top of his padd to the guard standing quietly behind Wesley's
chair.  Out of the corner of his eye, Wesley saw him move
nanoseconds before he felt the blow.  His ears rang a nice tune; he
tried to hum it but failed.
     "Name?"  It was going to be a long day.
     "Dalek."
 
***
 
     Hours later (days?), Wesley returned to "his" cell, although
it could have been another for all he could tell or cared, and
collapsed on the floor.  They thought he was a spy.  They thought
he was an imposter of someone who didn't even exist.  They hadn't
taken a blood test yet, or a physical scan.  He didn't know how he
could possibly fool either right now.  He could still Travel.  He
had kept that in his mind during the interrogation.  If he had to,
he could Travel.  The thought had given him strength somehow, the
way a secret could.
     He felt a cut across his cheek, and drew back green-flecked
fingers.  The illusion was good, but not good enough.  He would
have to think of something soon.  The bleeding wasn't bad, and
stopped after a minute.  By then he was sound asleep.
 
***
 
     Autumn again.  The sky was grey-tinged, and the sunlight had
that special quality of lateness unique to the closing of the year
on every world.  The breeze brushed against his face, and smelled
of coming snows.
     He looked down to see himself in a loose, white linen shirt
with splayed sleeves and a short jacket.  Robin was glorious beside
him, in a long, flowing burgundy dress gathered at the waist, with
the slightest dip in the laced, tight bodice.  A small wreath of
late flowers held long, dark hair out of her oval face.
     His mother was to his right, dressed in a similarly
breathtaking gown in the deepest shade of royal blue he'd ever
seen, the waist more than just a shade too tight.  Seated next to
his mother, he saw his stepfather in an outfit much like his own,
with a midnight-blue cloak wrapped around both of them.
     Another Human male was to Robin's left, perhaps fifty or sixty
years old, with dark hair turning silver, and a strange smile.  He
knew without conscious thought that it was the Traveler, who had
brought them all to this strange place.  The eyes gave it away.
     Wesley looked around the crowded round theatre.  Noisy people
sat in the balconies and stood near the front stage.  A trough went
through the standing crowd, almost overflowing with waste and
noxious debris.  The average audience member seemed to have too few
teeth, and not one of them appeared to have bathed in at least a
month.  In that respect, the party of five seemed to stand out. 
However, few people seemed to notice, as though being unusual was
normal for the place.
     On the stage, two men began to converse.  After a few minutes,
the audience quieted enough for Wesley to hear them: 
     "The Twelvemonths' time, a brief eternity,
     Has lately passed as 'twere some solstice eve,
     Made sacred by the vows we shall exchange.
     How fares the gentle Kate?"
     "I'sooth, she speaks
     Of nothing further than our coming feast
     To Hymen's glory ... " 
     Wesley glanced to his mother and Jean-Luc.  Both were
enraptured by the sounds and sights of a play which had been lost
for nearly eight hundred years.  "Love's Labours Won" had only
shown a dozen times, perhaps two, before it had passed out of
history with its author.  But history was the stock in trade of the
Traveler.
     The wedding gift he had chosen for his mother, the one thing
he knew that would entrance his stepfather, a chance to spend time
with them and the woman he loved, all combined into a few hours'
trip into the end of Earth's sixteenth century.
     He took Robin's hand, and held it as she squeezed, a warm
smile on her lips at him and at the obviously happy couple beside
him.  He looked over to the Traveler, and a shudder passed through
to his sleeping body.  The Human male with the alien eyes was not
watching the play at all, but instead seemed intent on observing
the young woman beside him.  His voice echoed into the dream, a
half-memory of times to come.
     The time has come for you to repay your debt to me.
     He owed the Traveler for the gift, for the long-dead play, for
the look of joy on the faces of the three most important people in
his universe.  This was the debt he had to pay in the present, of
which he was slowly becoming aware again.  He fought against the
return of consciousness, clinging to Robin's hand as a lifeline to
this wonderful dream-world.  Still he watched with a kind of
detached awe, as he realized for the first time that the Traveler's
guise resembled what his father might have looked like, only older
and sadder.  In his father's voice, the Traveler's words whispered.
     The timestream must be kept whole.  The price may be your
life.
     Unable to move or speak, he watched as the Traveler took
Robin's other hand and gently pressed it to his lips.
     The dream died suddenly, and Wesley found himself trembling on
the floor of the cell.  He knew the Traveler could do things beyond
his own comprehension, but could he control even his dreams?  If
so, he had just given a good reminder as to why Wes could not
leave.  If not, if the last part had just been a result of his
nervousness combined with the interrogation, then he really needed
to rest his imagination.  The Traveler and Robin?  Carefully, he
felt the comfort of the heartstone in his pocket.
     "Law 103: A couple of lightyears can't keep good friends
apart.  Or real years, either."  He sat up, in preparation to meet
whatever would come next.
 
***
 
     The door opened.  The guard who had helped in his questioning
the day before again gestured with his disrupter.  Wesley looked at
Chuckles, looked at the disruptor, and shrugged.  This was getting
old.  Fast.
     They walked in silence through the maze, Wes beginning to
wonder idly if he would get a piece of cheese at the end.  The
thought made his stomach gurgle, as he realized he had not eaten
since the previous day's lunch.  To ignore the increasing noise
level from his insides, Wes began to hum a snatch of song he'd
heard the last time he'd Traveled into Earth's past, just two weeks
previous.
     Chuckles swatted him.  Obviously a music critic.
     Wes found himself led back to the nameless bureaucrat's office
again.  The Romulan stared at him across the desk, and did not
invite him to sit.
     "You do not exist, Citizen Dalek."  He let the full
implication settle in before he continued.  "There are no records
of you anywhere.  No one remembers you.  You have no home, no
friends, no family, nothing."  The ironic truth of his own words
did not reach the administrator, however.  Wesley already knew he
had no one.  He was not even precisely sure as to what century it
was.  He almost laughed at the absurdity of it all, then remembered
Chuckles at his back.
     "Under normal circumstances, you would be questioned until you
told us what we need to know."  He gestured meaningfully at the
guard.  "The only official charges we have against you for now are
vagrancy, public intoxication, and attempted robbery."  Wes looked
at him questioningly.  "Your attempt to convince the Watch
Commander that another citizen's house was yours constitutes trying
to rob him of his name,"  he explained.  "However, these are hardly
capital offenses.  Also, our resources are somewhat limited.
Therefore, not only should we not hold you, we could not keep you
here longer than absolutely necessary anyway."
     "So you are going to let me go?"  Wes could not believe his
good fortune.
     "Go?"  The Romulan looked puzzled, then understanding set in.
"Ah, yes."  Wesley smiled in relief.  This nightmare could end
soon, and he could find out what the Traveler had wanted him to do.
Already, he was looking forward to his tour of Romulus.
     "The colony will be glad to have another pair of hands."
     "Colony?"  His imagined wanderings around the shores of the
Apnex Sea ended abruptly.  What was he talking about?
     "In the Carraya System.  It's rather new, rumored to be a
somewhat wet place, but if you don't mind needle-snakes or
Klingons, you'll fit in just fine."  He typed something into a
padd, and handed it to Chuckles.  "See that the prisoner is put on
the transport."  He smiled thinly at Wes.  "You can sing for them
in your spare time."
     Klingons?  Needle-snakes?  The Carraya System?  It all sounded
familiar, like something he should know from an old nursery rhyme. 
As Chuckles escorted him out, he began to think longingly of home. 
 
***
 
Well, that's the beginning, folks.  I am well aware of the fact
that it is starting out slow.  Trust me, once this roller coaster
gets in gear, you'll need those airsick bags.  Kindly address any
constructive criticism and comments to wilson@athena.hood.edu or
missy@darklair.com, and not to the poster.
 
Merlin Missy:)
PSEB: Chief Chemist and Bottle Washer, Also Part Time Ship's Disc
Jockey on the JLP Ship of Loooooooooooooooooove
BONC: cofounder
FROG: You got a problem with that?


-- 
"I was just marking my territory, and you got in the way." -- Jack 
Nicholson in "Wolf"

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From: cmfaltz@panix.com (Titania)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: GRADUATION (Pt. 2/10) -- by MELISSA WILSON
Date: 2 Feb 1995 14:36:51 -0500
Organization: The Q Continuum
Lines: 533
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From WILSON@ATHENA.HOOD.EDU Thu Feb  2 00:30:14 1995

Typical disclaimer about Paramount owning everything up to and
including the kitchen sink, except for a few parts that belong to
Republic Pictures.  Feel free to distribute, so long as my
name and header are attached.
 
***
Graduation
The Green Chronicle
 
A Star Trek: The Next Generation story by
Melissa "Merlin Missy" Wilson
wilson@athena.hood.edu
missy@darklair.com
Copyright 1995
 
***
Chapter 2: Fish and Paint Chips
***
 
       The docking bay was enormous.  He had seen a dozen
shipyards, had walked the passageways of starbases without number,
but nothing had prepared him for this.  It covered at least one
hundred square kilometers at the ground, and stretched skyward into
darkness.  Romulans in workers' garb hurried through the bay, some
carrying tools looking vaguely analogous to Federation standard,
some holding devices whose purpose he would not even speculate. 
Considering the tiny cell in which he had spent the night, and the
small ground-car in which he had been brought, this place was
nearly too large to comprehend. 
     Chuckles, who seemed to be his eternal shadow, led him to the
ship.  It was surprisingly beautiful; the graceful lines flowed
down the sides of its long hull, which split into two airy wings,
and the whole thing was the palest shade of eggshell blue.  Had
first contact been with such a vessel, he thought, things just
might have gone differently between the Federation and the
Romulans. 
     Then, quieter than moonlight, the ship powered up and lifted
gently off the pad as Wes watched, unbreathing.  The delicate nose
pointed towards the sky and soared into darkness.  Wesley then saw
the ship that had been parked behind it.  Medium-sized, squat,
looking somewhat battle-scarred and weary, it sat looking for all
the world as though it would sigh heavily at any time. 
     "Move it, prisoner.  They're waiting for you." 
     Wes stepped aboard the tired vessel, then tried to turn for
one last glance at the gargantuan bay.  Surely the entire Romulan
fleet was launched from this place!  His view, however, was blocked
by Chuckles' looming form.  The guard handed a padd to a passing
crewmember. 
     "This is 'Dalek.'  Be sure to afford him your best
hospitality." 
     "Oh, we certainly will,"  she said, squinting at his uniform,
"Captain Jarit."  Jarit?  So Chuckles *did* have a name after all. 
Wes watched him leave with no sense of nostalgia whatsoever. 
     "Come with me."  The crewmember led him to a compartment in
the back with almost the same dimensions as his cell.  He wondered
if they had been designed by the same architect, and whether this
person had been summarily shot.  With a sinking feeling, he saw
that he had four bunkmates: two men, two women, all Romulan, none
friendly.
     "Wake up, slime.  This is Dalek.  He'll be joining us for our
little trip."  She turned to Wes.  "Enjoy your stay."  She slammed
the door behind her; he heard the hum of the sealing mechanism
being activated. 
     He glanced around the compartment and tried to smile. 
     "Anybody know where we're going?"  He was met with cold stares
by three of his companions. 
     "The place beyond the stars where all journeys end."  The
woman looked at him once, her eyes strange and deep, then returned
to her studious examination of a crack in the wall's paint. 
     "Ignore her,"  said one of the men, the more muscular of the
two, who was probably early into his first century if Wes was any
judge of Romulan ages.  "She's mad."  He offered a small tight
smile that had little warmth to it.  "I'm Trehan."  He pointed to
the others.  "That's Josolar."  The other, younger man nodded.  His
appearance was that of the idealized Romulan citizen: short black
hair, dark brown eyes, skin the most perfect shade of olive, thin
but powerful frame, possibly around sixty or seventy.  "That's
Kriana."  He indicated the woman sitting quietly on one of the
bunks, a long coil of hair pulled back from her face.  Wesley
thought she was probably between the men in physical years, but
somehow much older in another way.  There was a familiar quality to
her, of terrycloth and steel.  "And that's..." 
     "T'Riest, retainer of the House of Skone."  Again she granted
the soul-piercing stare for him, then back to the peeling paint. 
The tiniest flake floated down, and she laughed as though it had
been the most impressive feat of magic ever performed. 
     "Her name on the padd was Arrhat, but she keeps changing it. 
For all we know, she might *be* named T'Riest." 
     Wes sat down at the edge of one of the two bunks, noting that
the arrangements would be a problem come sleep-time.  "I'm Dalek,
traveling musician and poet.  Would you like to hear a song?" 
     "No,"  said the three of them in unison.  Arrhat giggled at
the wall again.  Wes shivered slightly.  Knowing better, but
feeling very alone, he tried once more to make conversation and
figure out just where and When he was. 
     "So why are you all here?  I was taken for vagrancy.  They
couldn't find my records." 
     At first, no one spoke.  Wes mentally kicked himself for
whatever faux pas he had committed this time.  Then, the smaller
man, Josolar, began. 
     "I was a doctor.  I had ... the wrong opinion in a discussion. 
Unfortunately, a member of the Tal Shiar was within hearing
distance.  I'm lucky to be on this vessel."  Wesley noticed
newly-healing scars along his arms and across his hands, and
swallowed deeply.  "My daughter is still on Romulus, in my mother's
care.  Even if I did have objections to being here, it would not
matter.  I will not give the Tal Shiar any reason to harm her." 
     "I worked in the shipyards,"  said Trehan.  In fact, I helped
build this monstrosity.  Never thought I'd actually ride in it. 
Last week, I was in a tavern, having an ale with some friends. 
This other guy in the room started acting uncivilized, making
suggestions about one of the women I was with.  I warned him once,
but when he kept on, I decked him.  Started a fight."  Trehan
smiled at the memory.  "Turns out he was a Subcommander aboard the
_Taris_." 
     "Did you win?" 
     "Don't be stupid.  If I had, do you think they would have let
me live?  So instead, I'm on the transport to Hell.  Almost had
him, though.  Makes you wonder what kind of people we have in the
military these days, you know?" 
     Wes just nodded, then turned to the woman Kriana.  "And you?" 
     She did not speak at first, and Wes thought that maybe she
just had not heard him.  She gazed at Arrhat for a long moment, but
the other woman simply continued watching the paint with
fascination.  When she finally spoke, she had a soft exotic accent,
but her voice was firm, and her tone unyielding.
     "I was chief assistant to Senator Turin, since before he ever
held a council seat in our home province."  Both the men perked up
at this; obviously they had heard of the man, but Wes remained
clueless.  "We both wanted the position, but he had more people
with him, although not enough to win.  I withdrew from the
election, and influenced my own supporters to follow him. 
Together, we managed to overcome the opposition easily.  After
that, I was his right hand and closest friend, there for every
decision, every vote, lending him support on the one condition that
he listen to my suggestions.  I know for a fact that he would not
have been made Senator if it had not been for me. 
     "Three weeks ago, he decided that our association should take
a more ... intimate direction.  I told him that I had no interest
in such a relationship with him, that I preferred him as my friend
and colleague.  He ... "  She paused.  A look of deep anger passed
over her face.  "The Senator is a man who does not accept refusal."
     For a reason he didn't want to know, he found that he could
not meet her eyes. 
     "Afterwards, I contacted the authorities, some of whom I had
considered my friends.  They chose to avoid a 'public defamation of
character' for the Senator.  I was told that what had transpired
was of my own doing, that I had no doubt encouraged him, and that
I should not press the matter further.  I attempted to inform
friends of mine in the Senate, and for my trouble, I was seized at
my home two days ago."  She turned to Trehan, eyes blazing with
hurt.  "You call the place we're going Hell.  You may be right; I
certainly do not want to spend the rest of my life in some
backwater prison camp with clam-heads.  But at least none of my
'friends' will be there."
     The group soon descended into silence.  Wesley found his gaze
drawn over and again to Arrhat who, for some reason known only to
her, was now trying to catch her own shadow. 
     "We don't know why she's here,"  explained Trehan after a
while.  "Maybe the hospitals were full, maybe they broke her mind
during an interrogation.  She hasn't said."  Arrhat seemed to catch
hold of something in the air.  She held it against her ear, nodding
occasionally as though she were listening to a tiny voice.  She
turned her dark eyes to Wes again. 
     "The Arrhat lady was a thief; Jacky wants a cicatrin leaf." 
She opened her hands and let whatever it was loose, seeming to
watch it fly off.  He saw nothing. 
     Jacky?  Now there was a name with meanings.  Jack had been his
father, tall and strong and always smiling and lost beyond the call
of the universe.  And Jack was now his baby half-brother, sweet and
full of deviltry and wise beyond his seven years.  Jacky, with his
mother's mischievous smile, and the hazel eyes of his father; Jacky
of the strange glances and deep inspections of marbles and bits of
string; Jacky, who had made a collection of tree leaves gathered
throughout time and space by his adoring big brother... 
     He had Traveled to the future only once, with the Traveler in
charge, and he had seen the little boy's future self.  The Traveler
had not forbidden him to go forward again, but he never had after
that.  The future had forever lost its allure, because he *knew*
what would become of Jacky the leaf-catcher.  He shuddered. 
     "Are you well, Dalek?"  asked Josolar, looking concerned. 
     "Oh yes.  Just a little hungry all of a sudden." 
     "I imagine they'll feed us soon.  I hope."  They settled in to
wait, making the scarcest conversation, each taking turns watching
Arrhat in her latest adventures. 
     Dinner was small: a bowl of spicy soup, a thin piece of bread. 
For Wesley, it was a feast, gone too soon.  After the bowls had
been removed, he felt himself grow sleepy, and realized he had
little idea as to what time it was.  He noticed that the others
were beginning to drag as well. 
     Kriana called softly over to Arrhat, who grinned vacantly,
then crawled into one of the bunks.  It was a tight fit, but Kriana
slipped in beside her, and was asleep in a minute.  Wesley looked
at the remaining bunk and then to the other two. 
     "You guys can have the bunk.  I'll camp out on the floor." 
They nodded agreement, and slipped into slumber quickly.  Wes
stretched out on the floor, and immediately regretted his decision. 
The cold metal sent a chill through his body.  After a long time, 
he fell asleep to no dreams.
 
*** 
 
     In the middle of the night (?) he woke groggily to feel
something warm at his side.  Arrhat had joined him on the floor,
and was settling down to sleep, her forehead pressed against his
shoulder. 
     "Arrhat," he whispered, poking her in the arm, "what are you
*doing*?"
     "Trying to sleep," she answered, to his surprise.  "Just don't
try anything, or I'll have to kill you."  She moved a little
closer, and began to breath deeply. 
     "Why ... " he asked into the darkness.  He found himself
unable to frame the rest of the question. 
     "Because you needed me," she mumbled, consciousness slipping
fast away.  Her breath fell into a pattern of deep snores.  Wesley
soon drifted to sleep beside her, dreaming of cicatrin leaves
blowing in a calm wind.
 
***
 
     In the morning, or at least when Wes woke up, he noticed that
Arrhat had moved to a far corner of the cell and was playing a
complicated game that involved counting her fingers over and over. 
The other three looked tired still, but semi-awake.  Kriana
stretched once, then seemed to disappear into the wall.  Trehan
began to exercise his somewhat prominent muscles, while Josolar
observed Arrhat at play. 
     "I haven't seen such a case in a long time," he said quietly,
perhaps to himself. 
     "You know what's wrong with her?"
     "Oh yes.  Although I am not in the least equipped to deal with
it here.  As close as I can tell, she has ..."  He said a word
Wesley did not understand. 
     "Okay, what is it?" 
     The doctor looked back at Arrhat.  "Imagine having two or more
different people in your mind, each one wanting equal time and
space to use the home body."
     "Like a Trill?"
     Josolar looked at him quizzically.  "Trill?"
     "Never mind.  So how many people do you think she has in her?"
     "From what I've observed, maybe four.  I only know T'Riest and
Arrhat, but I've seen her in other personalities.  Have you noticed
that sometimes, she will look perfectly lucid?"  Wesley nodded,
remembering the previous night.  Had it been a dream?  "That's
definitely a separate personality from when she acts like a child,
or talks high nonsense."
     "What can we do about it?"  asked Kriana, the first she had
spoken that day.
     "If I had access to a medical database, I could see what has
been done in the past.  Try to find a way to merge her selves into
one.  It's a long process, from what I've heard, and I wouldn't
know where to begin."
     The quiet returned.  Breakfast, much the same as dinner,
passed in silence.  Wesley found himself sinking deep into thought. 
Part of him wanted to glean as much information about this place,
these people, as possible.  Another part warned him not to get too
attached.  The last time, he had let himself become too close, and
it had nearly cost him his soul, not to mention the mission.  His
thoughts turned to the past, Earth's past, where he had spent
months listening and learning from an extraordinary group of
people.
     They had lived in Old New York City, but not in the city
itself.  Instead, they lived secretly in underground tunnels
running all over beneath the streets, a small group of hurting
people who had found a wonderful place to heal.  For a while, he
had taken on the form of one of them, a young man called Mouse. 
The Traveler had kept the real Mouse busy, showing him wondrous
devices to figure out in the long eternal dark of the Tunnels.
     Meanwhile, Wesley had gone back to school.  He learned their
ways quickly: take only what they throw away Above, always help out
friends in need, and the community above all.  The ideals they
lived by were revolutionary in a way, but also wonderfully
familiar.  The leader, whom everyone just called "Father," was a
gentle curmudgeon, older, with a curious accent that seemed to fit
him well.
     His adopted son was another matter.  According to the history
Wes had learned, the Vulcans were the first alien race to encounter
Humans.  Yet, the man in the Tunnels was obviously some close
relative to the Caitians.  It was all very confusing, especially
when it turned out his DNA was compatible enough with Human DNA to
produce a child without any outside help.  And then there was that
child's mother ...
     They called her Catherine, and he thought she was lovely.  For
the oddest reason, she reminded him of Ishara Yar, with the same
undying strength, but she was far kinder.  When she spoke to him,
as Mouse, he felt as though he had known her forever.
     She disappeared.  For months, her lover searched for her,
trying to find some clue to her whereabouts.  Wesley helped every
way he knew how, scouring the unknown city for hours each night. 
It was, of course, the Traveler who found her first.
     One night, his strange friend had wakened him, and told him
that he must hurry.  To save time, they Traveled to where she was
being held, arriving just as the doctor left her.  Wes went in
alone.  She had lain in a birthing chair, strapped down, injected
with a drug and left to die.  Quickly, he retrieved the bottle:
morphine.  He knew enough about such drugs; with the proper
treatment, he *could* save her.  He frantically dug through the
drawers, looking for the correct things.  His mother would have
known what to do immediately, but he could only hope what he did
was right.
     Then he saw the Traveler slowly shake his head.  No.
     He had almost, *almost*, done it anyway.  He could have
abandoned everything he had learned in the past eight years,
forgotten everything he had accepted about the Prime Directive all
his life, and he could have helped her live to see her baby again. 
Almost.
     He couldn't.  The Traveler had told him that his path had been
set long ago, and for his life, he could not break free from what
he had been taught.  He unstrapped her from the chair.  She was
very weak, dying from the loss of blood and the poison racing
through her veins.  Somehow, he carried her up the stairs, to where
the love of her life was waiting.  He and the Traveler watched from
the shadows, heard what she said to him as she died.  After that,
he could not stay in that time, where his thoughts were for an
abandoned child crying into the night, where every tunnel echoed
with the sound of her breathing, growing shallower with each
whisper.
     He had let her die.
     Jamie, the real Mouse's best friend, had come the next evening
with her round face and innocent eyes, wondering what had happened. 
He could not tell her, could not for his life express the grief of
letting a friend --- no, someone he had grown to love --- just slip
away like a dream.  He had come close to crying, finally
understanding so much about what the Traveler had meant when he
spoke of the curse of knowing What Must Be.  Jamie had just held
his hand the entire night.
     When morning came, he had begged the Traveler to let him
leave, before he caused the death of anyone else.  He refused to
even consider letting harm come to his new friends by his own
actions or inactions.  He had left without even telling Jamie
good-bye.  But of course she would never know that.
     Without his being aware of it, hours passed in this state,
just sitting and remembering times long ago.  Dinner, then
sleep-time came again, with the arrangements much the same as they
had been the evening before.  The group had barely spoken to one
another all day.
     In the night, Wes became aware of Arrhat, who had again fallen
asleep beside him, innocent as an angel.  He stroked her hair in
her sleep protectively, wondering how long it would be until he had
to hurt her as well.
 
***
 
     He awoke slowly, enjoying the fading memories of his dream, a
concert in the Tunnels held by some of the children.  Gradually, he
became aware of the hard floor, and something else.
     Arrhat was sitting across from him, watching him intently. 
There was no trace of madness in her now.  At the edge of his
perception, he noticed that the others still slept.
     "Good morning,"  he offered, not sure of what to expect.
     "Hello."
     Feeling like an idiot, he continued.  "How are you today?  You
don't seem to have been sleeping well."
     "Kriana dreams loud."  Arrhat's eyes began to wander, taking
in the floor, the ceiling.  Wesley wondered if she actually saw
anything.  Dreams loud?
     "What do you mean?"
     But she had already left him far behind.
     The others woke in a few minutes, but by that time, Arrhat had
returned to her normal state, and was happily engaged in making
shadows on the wall with her hands, mostly butterflies and birds. 
Breakfast came.
     "Not again,"  moaned Trehan, splashing his spoon into the
soup.  "I can't keep up my strength on this stuff."
     "Maybe we're not supposed to keep strong,"  said Kriana,
darkness across her eyes.  "Maybe they want us to weaken, so we'll
be more subservient for whatever they have planned."  It was a
sobering thought.
     Josolar took a spoonful of the broth and stared at it for a
minute.  "You know, I once patronized a restaurant where they
served this everyday.  It was considered some of the best soup in
the city.  One day, an official went through the owner's storeroom
and found mynolans in the freezer."  Trehan and Kriana both looked
ill.  Wesley had heard of mynolans: bat-like creatures not known
for their cleanliness.  Josolar tasted his soup experimentally. 
"At least we know it isn't made of mynolans,"  he said, his face
perfectly bland.
     "How?"
     "Mynolan soup is edible."
     Trehan was the first to start laughing.  In moments, Wesley
and Kriana were having fits, and Josolar had cracked a wide grin. 
It had been an extremely weak joke, but it was the first one any of
them had heard in too long.  It was also the first thing to bring
them together.
     Trehan calmed down enough to ask,  "How many surrealists does 
it take to change an input panel?"  He paused, gathering their
attention.  "Fish!"
     Arrhat shook with laughter, her entire body rocked with
tremors, while Josolar looked perplexed.  "Fish?"
     Kriana looked at him and said,  "Fish!"  For no reason, they
lost it again.  It felt wonderful.  One of the faceless guards who
brought them their meals passed outside the door.
     "What is going on in here?"
     The five of them stopped laughing just long enough to shout in
unison: "FISH!"  The guard's look of incomprehension brought on
another wave of laughter.  He shook his head and left them.  This
did not help the mass giggling fit in any way.
     After several long minutes, tears streaming down from each of
them, the laughter resolved into hiccups.  However, by that point,
something had happened among them.  The dam broke.  As if to make
up for the previous day's silence, the words flowed from them, and
could not come fast enough.
     "When I was small,"  said Trehan,  "my father used to take me
to see the ships in the bay where he worked.  I still remember how
large and glorious they seemed, and more than anything, I wanted to
crawl inside them, see where the wires and diodes and little things
went."
     "I was seventeen," Kriana said, "and he had just turned
twenty-three, and I thought I was so adult to be seeing someone so
old.  We used to walk along the edge of the jungle, listening to
the sounds of the beasts.  Remus shone above us in the sky so close
that it seemed I could capture it if I just stretched a little
further."
     Wes told them,  "My father's grandparents had raised him since
he was small, and he loved them like his real parents.  I'm even
named after my great-grandfather.  Sort of.  After Dad died, they
held my mother responsible, though I don't know why.  I haven't
seen them since I was five, but I hear from my great-aunt now and
then.  They just refuse to see either of us, as though they can
feel better by not remembering."
     Josolar spoke.  "We stayed up to watch the sunrise, deep mauve
against the morning sky, playing upon the clouds like some sweet
child.  The air was so cold that I could taste the frost in it, but
we wrapped ourselves together in the blanket.  I realized at that
moment that I would never see another daybreak quite as lovely, but
she was there with me, and all the dawns were in her."
     "I was twelve ..."
     "It was summer ..."
     "We held hands ..."
     "I was home ... "  The stories came without slowing, without
pattern, flashing bright images of lives so perfect in their ...
had he thought humanity?  Friendship was planted, took root, and
blossomed in the hours after breakfast.  They talked late into what
felt like night, sharing stories of the past and hopes for what the
future might bring.  Only Arrhat did not speak, but sat quietly,
her wide eyes touching lightly upon each of them, silent as wind. 
At last, when fatigue set in, and they prepared to sleep, she
spoke, but only one simple declaration.
     "I have been places to which none of you will ever travel."
     Suddenly, Wesley was no longer tired.
     "What did you say?"  But she did not respond.
     If she slept on the floor that night, he did not know it.
 
***
 
     "Wake up!  Wake up!"  The voice of the guard roared into his
slumbering brain.  "The ride is over."
     The door opened, two guards walked in, and without ceremony
herded them out into the hallway, where other similarly disoriented
people milled around.  The crowd must have held fifty prisoners
stuffed into the corridor all told, with half that many guards
holding disruptors.  No one seemed willing to see if they'd use
them.
     Wes became dimly aware that he had been separated from his
friends.  He turned against the motion of the crowd, trying to
catch a familiar face.  However, he had only been among them
briefly, and was still in the mindset of "all Romulans look alike." 
Trying to see Trehan's bulk would be his best bet, but the others
crowded too close, and he was lost.
     Then, he felt someone take his hand.  Arrhat had somehow found
*him*.  She said nothing, only looked at him.  Her eyes were light
blue, like Earth's horizon in the early afternoon, full of light
and mystery, like his mother's eyes.
     The crowd pushed on, and the pair found themselves outside the
transport in full daylight outside an imposing wooden fortress with
rolls of barbed wire ringed around the edges.  Wes made a wager
with himself that the wire was electrified.  Thick jungle pressed
in around the edges, hugging the structure.  As he watched, a large
hawk-like creature rose from the trees, swooped low over the
fortress, and flew away.  The entranceway opened, and the prisoners
were led inside, to a courtyard in the center of the compound.  A
medium-sized dais had been set up at the front, made out of lumber.
     They stood there for several long minutes, and the heat of the
place began to press down on Wesley, who had never been one much
for humidity.  He hoped whatever was going to happen next would get
itself over with soon.  As if reading his thoughts, Arrhat gently
squeezed his hand and smiled, her brown eyes gazing warmly at him. 
Brown?
     A man, a bronze-haired Romulan looking somewhat important,
stepped to the dais.
     "Welcome, my friends, to your new home.  I am General Tokath,
administrator of this place."
     Tokath??!!  A hundred memories, stories really, flashed in his
mind.  A blasted shuttle; a Klingon woman pulled from the cockpit
who wasn't Klingon, sweet Ba'el with the beautiful smile who had
left her home for the sake of love just before a brutal war between
her two peoples; Alexander asking Deanna to be his mother; Worf
wanting both, unsure how to tell either; the twins, whose impending
arrival had settled the matter for then, but not forever.  Worf had
come to this place, seeking his father, and instead found a place
where Klingons and Romulans lived in peace.  Belle (as Wes called
her) had told him only a little about her home, although he had
asked often.  And her father's name had been Tokath.  But what year
was it?  Would he see a younger Belle looking shyly from a corner? 
Had she even been born yet?  The questions nearly drowned out the
rest of Tokath's speech.
     "Each of you was brought here to help us build this colony for
the duration of your sentence.  When your time has finished, you
may go back to Romulus, or you may stay here as a permanent
citizen.  You will have plenty of time to decide.
     "While you are here, you must remember our primary rule.  You
will cooperate with everyone here, be they Klingon, Human, or
fellow Romulan, and you will treat everyone with respect.  If you
do not, you will be sent on the next transport back to prison, and
I intend to make your life miserable before you go."
     Then, all thoughts of Belle, Arrhat, and the rest of the
universe slipped out of his mind, possibly for good, as a Klingon
man and a Human woman stepped onto the dais beside Tokath.
     "These are the liaisons for the Klingons and the Humans of our
colony.  You will treat them with the same courtesy you would treat
me.  This is L'Kor."  The large man fixed the audience with a
scowl.  "And this is my wife, Tasha."
 
***
 
Interested yet?  Just pass along your comments to the list or to
wilson@athena.hood.edu/missy@darklair.com, and not to the poster.
 
Later ...
 
Merlin Missy:)
PSEB: Chief Chemist and Bottle Washer, Also Part Time Ship's Disc
Jockey on the JLP Ship of Loooooooooooooooooove
BONC: co-founder
FROG: Anyone see last week's X-Files?


-- 
"I was just marking my territory, and you got in the way." -- Jack 
Nicholson in "Wolf"

Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!news.ksu.ksu.edu!news.sibylline.com!eskimo!openwx!news.sprintlink.net!howland.reston.ans.net!math.ohio-state.edu!caen!zip.eecs.umich.edu!panix!not-for-mail
From: cmfaltz@panix.com (Titania)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: GRADUATION (Pt. 3/10) -- by MELISSA WILSON
Date: 3 Feb 1995 12:36:00 -0500
Organization: The Q Continuum
Lines: 441
Message-ID: <3gtpi0$drb@panix.com>
NNTP-Posting-Host: panix.com

Typical disclaimer about Paramount owning everything up to and
including the kitchen sink.  Feel free to distribute, so long as my
name and header are attached.
 
***
Graduation
The Green Chronicle
 
A Star Trek: The Next Generation story by
Melissa "Merlin Missy" Wilson
wilson@athena.hood.edu
missy@darklair.com
Copyright 1995
 
 
***
Chapter 3: Lost and Found
***
 
     Wesley's face went slack, shock racing through his system.  At
last, he knew why he had come to *this* place, *this* time. 
Gradually, he became aware of a strange woman's hand in his own, of
the wooden stage, and upon that stage ... 
     He had forgotten how beautiful Tasha was.  Compared to the
others in their circle of friends, she had really changed very
little.  Her bright hair was longer that it had been, and brushed
softly against her shoulders, while her sea-green eyes seemed to be
a little deeper, a touch sadder.  There were lines around her mouth
that had not been there before, but a smile graced her lips, and it
made up for years.  Her outfit was a simple tunic gathered at the
waist, with a light, forest-green cloak over her shoulders, a
casual style accenting her figure.  Which had changed.  Either she
had been eating much better since (when?), or there was going to be
a little problem arriving in about four or five months. 
     He tried to think back, to remember when he had seen her last.
The only picture he could form was of a hologram she had asked to
be shown at her funeral.  And of course, Sela.  The first time he
had seen a vid of the Romulan commander, he had nearly choked.  The
resemblance had been so close, physically at any rate.  Sadly, Sela
had possessed none of her mother's goodness of spirit.  She had
backed the Klingon Civil War of '69, and later lured Ambassador
Spock to Romulus in order to invade Vulcan, nearly killing two of
Wes's closest friends in the process.  Sela had told then-Captain
Picard of her origins, how her mother had been captured in the past
and married to a Romulan general, how she had given birth to Sela
shortly thereafter, how she had died ...
     Now, fifteen years after he had last seen her alive, she stood
before him, not five meters away, smiling gently upon the crowd of
Romulan prisoners who were no longer captives precisely.
     "Dalek, that fine cloak you are admiring has already been
promised.  Perhaps you can persuade the tailor to find you
another."  Arrhat's soft whisper against his cheek brought him
swiftly back to reality. 
     "Uhh.  What?" 
     "That pretty green cloak you have been staring at for the past
five minutes.  It is already being worn by someone, and I do not
believe you will be able to borrow it."  Her mad eyes looked past
his, into his thoughts.  Great.  She noticed.  The entire colony
probably noticed.  He felt a flush rise to his cheeks, and hoped it
was green. 
     "No worries,"  she whispered.  "I believe the cloak will need
tailoring soon enough.  The hem will be too short, I think."  Then
she laughed, but very quietly, so as not to attract attention. 
     Wes became aware of Tokath, who had finished his welcome. 
"You will now be escorted to the infirmary, and then you will
receive your quarter assignments." 
     The crowd pressed into him again, and he lost Arrhat's hand.
He looked around wildly for her, fearing what she would do in such
a place, and what it might do to her, but she had melted into the
press of bodies.  He allowed it all to wash over him, carry him to
the infirmary, where he realized with a sickened feeling that he
would have a lot of explaining to do.
 
***
 
     After waiting for what seemed like hours, his name was called,
and he entered the doctor's cubicle.  The lights were too bright,
and the room actually seemed chilly compared to the wet heat of the
outdoors.  To one side, a large golden bird glared at him from its
cage.  Wes shuddered inwardly at the scrutiny. 
     "Remove your clothing,"  said the doctor with no emotion.  He
complied, albeit reluctantly, trying to work his breathing
exercises and centering himself for the false scan. 
     Saying nothing, the doctor ran a medscanner over him, her
features cold.  He decided she could use a few lessons in bedside
manner, preferably Starfleet Medical style.  He shivered, trying to
concentrate on fooling the scanner.  He thought of everything he
had ever read on Vulcanoid physiology: blood-chemistry, heart
rates, a thousand details.
     No wonder the Traveler chose a blank scan for his baseline. It
was a hell of a lot easier.  His breathing deepened; the noises
from the machine kept steady.  After forever, she turned it off. 
     "Other than a slight fluctuation in your heart rate, you seem
fairly healthy."  As he moved to gather his clothing, she stopped
him.  "That won't be necessary.  You will receive other apparel."
She pointed towards the opposite door.  "Out there." 
     "I have to get something ..."  He reached for the heartstone. 
     "Drop them.  You may take nothing with you." 
     "But ... " 
     "Go."  She did not shout.  She had no need.  Just like with
Catherine, he really had no choice.  He walked through the door,
wondering how he would ever explain this to Robin. 
     The next room had a small shower that sprayed him quickly,
then dried him before he reached the opposite side of the room and
through the next door.  A guard waited there for him, with a large
pile of folded garments.
     "Name?"  Wes had an unpleasant flashback. 
     "Dalek."  The guard was not going to argue the point. 
     "Here."  He handed him a small bundle.  "Put this on." 
     He dressed quickly, grateful for the feel of fabric against
his skin once more. 
     "This is your room assignment.  Everyone sleeps in the
barracks for now."  Wes thanked him, and went to find his room. 
     Outside again, he found himself walking freely for the first
time since the whole crazy ride had started.  Admittedly, he was
still in a form of prison, but the air brushed warm against his
face, and no one was pointing a disruptor at him.  It was a nice
change.
     He looked at the padd with his room assignment, trying to
decipher the guard's writing.
     After a few minutes, another Romulan walked out of the
infirmary, looking not quite so lost as he was.  He followed him
carefully to the barracks, trying not to appear too confused.  He
reached the door, pressed the "Open" panel, and stepped into his
new home. 
     Four sets of bunk beds leaned against the bare walls.  The
blankets looked thin and cheap, and it smelled of old sweat.  There
was no window.  Five of the bunks already seemed to be used, with
blankets covering three beds, and bare grating for the other two.
Blankets lay folded at the foot of the other three bunks, all on
top.  Great.  He just loved heights.  He selected a bed with a
blanketed bottom.  He had nothing against Klingons, but he had
heard stories about Klingon snores that truly frightened him.  He
climbed up to his new bunk and lay down, waiting for whoever else
was coming to arrive. 
     In a few minutes, he heard the door swish behind him, and the
sound of voices conversing in Romulan.  Familiar voices.  He sat up. 
     Josolar and Trehan did not notice him at first, looking with
distaste at their surroundings. 
     "The decor leaves much to be desired." 
     "You mean it stinks.  This is gonna be a long stay." 
     Wes said casually,  "I've stayed in worse." 
     "Dalek!"  Trehan grinned widely, while Josolar stared. "I
didn't see what happened to you when they herded us out." 
     Wes jumped down.  "I know.  I found Arrhat, but she disappeared 
after Tokath's speech.  Either of you see Kriana?"
     Josolar shook his head.  "I kept an eye out for all of you, but
I didn't even locate this reprobate until just now."  Trehan glared
at him, then grinned. 
     "You're just jealous because Kriana likes me better."
     Wes laughed.  He had believed the others gone for good; now he
knew that he would have missed them.  "Calm down, kids.  Now let
*me* welcome *you* to our new home.  You seem to have your choice
of Klingon or Romulan bedfellows."  He indicated the bunks. 
     "Doctor, I know you love to study alien societies and such.
Please feel free to take the bunk with the Klingon." 
     "Trehan, you're so kind, but I would not dream of depriving
you an opportunity to increase your cultural awareness.  I must
insist."
     "Really ... "  They both turned to Wes, their pasted on grins
deepening.  He knew what was coming next.
     "Forget it.  Klingons snore." 
     Trehan's face took on the oddest expression, while Josolar
asked,  "And how, pray tell, would you know that?" 
     "Trust me."  His mother had told him.  When he had asked her
where *she* came by the information, she had merely said, "Mukbara
class."  He hadn't pressed it.
     Eventually, they compromised: Josolar was to spend the first
night in the "Klingon bunk," Trehan the second.  Wes had the funny
feeling he would be commandeered into switching bunks before long.
Soon, they became bored and restless, so they began to wander the
hallway looking for familiar faces, preferable two *female*
familiar faces, with Wes quietly looking for a third.  However, no
one they asked seemed to have seen or heard from either of the
women.  From some speaker which none of them could locate, the new
arrivals were informed that the midday meal was about to begin in
the common room.
     "Perhaps we can locate them after we have eaten," suggested
Josolar.  Wes realized they had not eaten breakfast, and dinner had
been that awful broth.
     The common room was actually a misnamed group of dining rooms
projecting from a common center, where some unidentifiable food
product was being served.  Wes kept his eyes peeled for anyone he
might recognize, especially a certain Human liaison.  He caught a
brief glance of blonde hair, but it had gone before he could see
the owner.  Beyond feeling by this point, he took a tray, and
waited in the eternal line. 
     Trehan got to the front first, and inspected the food as he
brought it by the other two. 
     Wes asked hesitantly,  "What's for lunch?"  Trehan looked down
at his tray, then straight at both of them, a gleam in his eye that
was either mirth or incipient tears. 
     "Fish."
 
***
 
     After lunch, during which the three had difficulty keeping
straight faces, and having nothing better to do, they headed back
to their room.  They followed a Romulan walking with two Humans,
the first Wes had seen other than Tasha, back through the
corridors, until they reached their quarters.  Which all six of
them promptly entered.
     The strange Romulan looked at them.  "You must be our new
roommates."  To the Humans,  "It would appear that we're full." 
     "Great.  Now y'all outnumber us,"  said one of the Human men
in a soft drawl. 
     "Don't be so rude,"  said the other.  "That's an order."
     "Yessir, Captain, Sir!"  The Human provided an overdramatic
salute.  Captain???  "Ensign Dodge Imno.  Pleeztameetcha."  Imno
bowed deeply, his red hair flopping, which made the action border
on the ludicrous.  Wes thought that he looked, just a little, like
a duck.
     The man addressed as "Captain" rolled his eyes. 
     "*Lieutenant* Richard Castillo."  Wes stared at the tall man,
his dark hair brushed out of a rugged, tired face.  There was
something about him, his carriage, the look of seeing Something
More in his eyes, that seemed both familiar and frightening.  He
had seen him before, somewhere.  He was positive of it, yet the
name meant nothing to him.
     "I am Ekan," said the Romulan quietly.  "Our other roommates
have not finished eating yet, but they will join us soon.  Everyone
has today free because of your arrival."  Ekan's voice was soft,
almost female in timbre, in cool harmony with his thin frame.  Gold
highlights touched his hair, and his eyes were grey, something Wes
had *never* seen in a Romulan.  Then again, before today, he had
never seen a Romulan with blue eyes, assuming he hadn't imagined
the whole thing. 
     As if to support his growing suspicion that she could read
minds, Arrhat chose that moment to glide in the room.  Without
saying a word, she threw her arms around Ekan's neck and kissed him
passionately while the others watched in amazement.  When she came
up for air nearly a minute later, Ekan had a flabbergasted
expression on his face. 
     "Err ... Hello." 
     "Have you two met?" asked Trehan. 
     "Not yet."
     Arrhat released Ekan and smiled angelically at Imno and
Castillo.  "Hello.  Captain Aileen Marcus of the _Acland_.  Where
do you boys hail from?"  It took Wesley a total of fifteen seconds
before he realized that she had spoken in flawless Standard.
 
***
 
     The two Klingons, K'toktehn and Qu'aemon, arrived a few
minutes later, but by that time, Arrhat had slipped back into her
usual state, inspecting the floor with interest.  Ekan watched her
carefully, as if worried that she would kiss him again, and looking
somewhat disappointed that she did not.  Wes wondered where her
quarters were, and if she would take it into her head to drop by
later that night. 
     He noticed that although everyone was speaking civilly to one
another, a certain coolness pervaded everything.  The Humans seemed
uncomfortable around the Klingons, but more so around the Romulans,
while the Klingons did not seem overly friendly to either group.
Neither of the latter made much conversation, something he could
understand.  There was a hunger in their eyes, an unnameable fire
that seemed to be guttering dangerously low. 
     His own friends were chatting amicably enough with Ekan, who
turned out to be a guard.  Tokath had specifically ordered that the
guards bunk with the prisoners, and Ekan did not seem overly
opposed to the idea.
     The only one completely at ease in the room was Arrhat.  It
was almost funny.  Out of nowhere, a stray thought struck him: she
was very much like a child.  He wondered if he would be quite as
accepting.  Although he stood with the Romulans as one of them, his
sympathies were for the Humans and the Klingons.  Where had they
come from?  Belle had never said, and had certainly *never*
mentioned the Humans.  The questions piled up again.  He turned to
Castillo.
     "What ship did you say you served on?" 
     "I didn't.  We were on the USS _Enterprise_."  A cold feeling
spread through him.  His discomfort must have been apparent.
"You've heard of it?"
     "Once, in an old song ... "  He quickly covered:  "I'm a
traveling singer by trade.  I pick up songs everywhere. Would you
like to hear one?"
     "Not now."  The group slowly grew silent.  Wes felt a return
of the first day on the transport: awkward silence of strangers
tossed together by chance and regulations.  This time, though, they
were of three different species which had been hell-bent on
annihilating one another for the past century or so.  This was not
going to be a fun arrangement.
 
***
 
     Arrhat accompanied them to dinner, holding Ekan's left hand
and Wesley's right.  She almost seemed to float down the corridor,
skipping now and then to break up the monotony.  Qu'aemon was
warming to her, but K'Toktehn said nothing more than absolutely
necessary, and tended to frown at her when her attention was
elsewhere, which was most of the time. 
     When they reached the dining area, both Klingons moved off, to
Wesley's disappointment.  He had hoped to find out more about them.
     Fortunately, the sight that greeted him next made up for the
temporary loss.  A group of Romulan and Human women stood to one
side of the hall, talking quietly.  Among them were Kriana and
Tasha. 
     With a cry of delight, Arrhat raced over to Kriana and hugged
her tightly.  The others joined them.  Kriana held on to Arrhat for
a moment, then quickly hugged the three men.
     "It looks like your friends found you,"  said Tasha, patting
Kriana on the shoulder.  "She was worried that all of you had
forgotten about her."
     "Never!"  stated Trehan, a bit too forcefully.  "We're the
Fabulous Five of Fish!"  He grinned, while those not in on the joke
looked confused. 
     Wesley had barely heard him.  He listened, drinking in her
voice, and trying desperately not to stare at Tasha.  He wanted
nothing more than to hold her, tell her that everything was just
fine now, that he was going to take her back home.  He did no such
thing, of course, but he very much wanted to, very much indeed. 
She did not notice him at all, which was good.  It would not have
been easy to explain.  Instead, she spoke to Castillo. 
     "You're looking well, Lieutenant.  Hard labor doesn't seem to
have harmed you too much." 
     "You also seem fairly well, Lieutenant.  How are things?" 
     "Things are fine.  Sela asks me for stories of home."  Sela?
So she had been born already.  But Sela had not mentioned a younger
sibling, which meant that she either did not think it was
important, or that the child Tasha now carried would die young,
perhaps even before birth.  There was a distinct likelihood of
either, as Sela had also neglected to mention Ba'el, who now
appeared to be her half-sister.  Wesley didn't want to think about
that one.
     "What do you tell her, Lieutenant?"  Wes sensed the
undercurrents flowing quietly through the conversation, saw the
half-hidden look upon her face, the answering pain in his.  Yet,
their words and bearing suggested nothing more than the most
passing acquaintance.  So much was said in the mundane speech. 
     Tokath saw them, and walked over.  The subtlest change came
over the pair, but Kriana was laughing with Trehan, and no one
appeared the wiser.
     "Hello, my dear.  Making friends with the new arrivals?"  He
slipped his arm around her.
     "Just trying to make everyone feel at home."  She smiled
absently at the group.  "After all, we're going to be here for
quite some time."
     "We will indeed.  Why don't you invite your friends to
dinner?"
     "Maybe soon, after they've settled in."  She suddenly looked
very uncomfortable.  Wesley wondered if it had anything to do with
the prospect of spending time with Lieutenant Castillo in her
husband's presence.
     "Perhaps later, then."  Tokath's suggestion had lost, but the
man himself gave the distinct impression of having won.
     The two of them moved off.  Wesley watched as a small tow-
headed Romulan girl joined them.  Tasha lifted her up, and for a
moment, the most radiant expression he had ever seen crossed the
woman's sad face.  His heart warmed at the sight, then froze.  This
sweet child, the center of her existence, would betray her mother
in less than a year.
 
***
 
     After dinner, Kriana left for the infirmary.  With a nervous
air, she told them that the doctor had wanted to speak with her.
Josolar accompanied her, wanting to see what kind of equipment was
on hand, and maybe to offer his services.
     The other people around the hall headed towards the common
area outside.  Wes and his shrinking group of companions followed
them.  Darkness had gathered outside, warm and enfolding.  Torches
were set up around the perimeter, and a larger fire burned in a
crude centerpiece.  Most of the colony's Klingon population seemed
to be gathered around it, with a few small groupings of Romulans or
Humans interspersed throughout.
     Castillo and Imno joined one of the Human groups, and Wesley
very nearly went with them before he stopped himself.  There was a
comfort in being among one's own species, and his necessary
distance from them made him instantly, achingly aware of just how
far he was from home.
     He asked Ekan casually what day it was, then tried to
calculate just When he was.  With some amusement, he realized that
at that moment, somewhere in the universe, there was a med student
in her last year of school suffering from morning sickness and idly
wanting to castrate her husband.
     Fortunately for all parties involved, both feelings would
eventually pass.
     He saw Tasha across the fire, holding Sela's hand and watching
the unfolding events.  Just knowing that she was there made it
easier.  He began to watch the Klingons in their rite.
     L'Kor, the Klingon liaison, had lifted a handful of dirt and
was singing as he walked around the flame.  He tossed the soil into
the fire, causing sparks to fly.  The others kept time by stomping
their feet, singing at certain parts of the song.  It was magical
and tragic at the same time.  The people had lost their home, their
freedom, their honor, and now had only this song and this ritual to
cling to, if one could forgive the pun.
     Meanwhile, the children squirmed while Romulans talked in the
background, a very rude response as far as Wes was concerned.  On
the other hand, the Humans, including Tasha, seemed entranced by
the fire and the spell created by L'Kor's song, whether they knew
the meaning or not.  It spoke of another time, when honor and glory
were more than words, and victory was still possible.  Belle had
sung it once, very softly, as a lullaby while she watched his
little brother one deep night.
     When the ritual had ended, the little band of Romulans
returned in silence to the men's quarters.  They found Josolar and
Kriana waiting there for them.  Kriana's eyes were green-rimmed,
and she trembled.  With a glance from the doctor, Ekan mumbled
something about looking for Qu'aemon and left the room.  Arrhat
took Kriana's shaking hands, then held her.
     "What happened?"  demanded Trehan.
     Josolar placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, then said
quietly,  "The doctor wanted to run her examination again, to
confirm the results.  Kriana is pregnant."
     In the silence that followed, Wes asked softly,  "Is it ...
his?"  Kriana nodded, unable to speak.
     "If you would like," Josolar said, looking uncomfortable,  "I
can arrange something with Dr. Mirith.  You should not be forced to
carry this child."
     "What are you talking about?"  asked Trehan.  "It's her baby,
for the sake of Toq!"
     "But she did not *ask* for this baby.  She should not have to
pay the price for that _monster's_ actions!"
     "That doesn't matter!  This is her child, no matter who the
father was.  Killing it would be murder!"
     "Stop it!"  Arrhat's shout rang through the room, startling
them all.  "Just... just stop it."  Kriana sobbed quietly into her
shoulder.  Arrhat stroked her hair gently, whispering,  "It'll be
okay.  Shhh...  It'll all be okay."
 
***
 
Okay, so there's a pregnancy motif (and to the gang, no it has
nothing to do with a certain recent announcement on the part of a
certain friend of ours, either).  Kindly send all your pregnant
comments to the list or to wilson@athena.hood.edu or even
missy@darklair.com, but not to the kind poster.
 
Later ...
 
Merlin Missy:)
PSEB: Chief Chemist and Bottle Washer, Also Part Time Ship's Disc
Jockey on the JLP Ship of Looooooooooooooove
BONC: co-founder
FROG: Anyone looking for an inorganic chemist or a librarian?


-- 
"I was just marking my territory, and you got in the way." -- Jack 
Nicholson in "Wolf"

Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!news.ksu.ksu.edu!news.sibylline.com!eskimo!openwx!news.sprintlink.net!howland.reston.ans.net!math.ohio-state.edu!caen!zip.eecs.umich.edu!panix!not-for-mail
From: cmfaltz@panix.com (Titania)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: GRADUATION (Pt. 4/10) -- by MELISSA WILSON
Date: 3 Feb 1995 12:38:41 -0500
Organization: The Q Continuum
Lines: 742
Message-ID: <3gtpn1$ede@panix.com>
NNTP-Posting-Host: panix.com



Typical disclaimer about Paramount owning everything up to and
including the kitchen sink.  Feel free to distribute, so long as my
name and header are attached.
 
***
Graduation
The Green Chronicle
 
A Star Trek: The Next Generation story by
Melissa "Merlin Missy" Wilson
wilson@athena.hood.edu
missy@darklair.com
Copyright 1995
 
***
Chapter 4: The Lady and the Lake
***
 
     In the darkness, Trehan, Josolar and Wes conversed quietly
from their bunks, trying not to disturb their sleeping roommates.  
However, Qu'aemon's snoring seemed to drown everything else out
quite nicely.
     "What are we going to do?  That baby's going to cause a lot of
problems."
     "Whatever she decides, we will have to accept.  We cannot
command her one way or the other.  For one thing, she outranks all
of us by a galaxy."
     "Hmm?"
     "Think about it.  She was Turin's chief aide, and she had
friends in the highest ranks of our society.  If things had gone
differently, I would not have been surprised to see her elected to
the Senate within the next ten years."
     Trehan snorted.  "Not with a criminal record.  She'll be lucky
to be allowed in any post now.  Just like the rest of us."
     "I hope she's okay,"  Wes whispered.
     "Yeah.  Arrhat isn't exactly the best person to watch her."
     "She's all right,"  he replied too quickly.
     Trehan rolled over to one elbow, and stared across the
darkness to him.  "Are you fond of her?"
     "He certainly sounds as though he is."
     "No!  I just think there's more to her than what you think, is
all.  You just dismiss her."  He was greeted by kissing sounds from
Trehan.  In the next top bunk, Ekan laughed very softly.  Wes
leaned over.  "Not you too."
     "She seems ... interesting."  Ekan smiled, then rolled over
and went to sleep.  Having exhausted their conversation, Josolar
and then Trehan quickly followed suit.
     Wes remained awake, staring at the ceiling, and debating
whether he should risk a Change back to his normal shape.  After a
while, he felt watched.  From the opposite side of the room,
K'Toktehn's eyes glittered in the darkness.  Unnerved by the
scrutiny, Wes casually rolled over, and pulled the blanket over his
head.  So much for Changing.
 
***
 
     The following day began a new chapter in Wesley's life.  At
daybreak, all the colonists were awakened and sent to breakfast, an
almost quiet affair filled with the sounds of chewing and
complaints at the early hour, but little else.  Afterwards, work
began.
     The condition of the compound was far from wonderful.  The
only semi-permanent buildings thus far were the common room, the
infirmary, and the barracks.  The outer walls themselves were
temporary, to be replaced with permanent living quarters in the
walls of the place.  In his mind, Wes saw the final structure as a
kind of castle, with alternating sandstone blocks, and a large
tower in the center.  No doubt, he thought, where the kidnapped
princess lives, waiting to be rescued.  The timeliness of the idea,
not to mention its patent ludicrousness, brought a smile to his
lips now and then at night, when could breathe.  He learned to
manage on very little sleep, for when the others snored, he had
time to Change back for a while, which did wonders for his
occasional headaches.  Most importantly, staying up late gave him
time to think.
     Tokath's plan had become clear to him as the days progressed,
and it was brilliant.  The Klingon and Human prisoners might have
been enough to build the prison camp themselves, hauling the blocks
from a neighboring quarry under the careful watch of Romulan
guards.  However, the general was intelligent enough to realize
what this would do to the morale of his charges.  Had the prisoners
been mere slaves to their guards, they would have either revolted
or died.  For the Klingons, at least, there could be no middle
ground.  The Humans would most certainly have survived, but with no
other thought than freedom.  Considering the relatively small
number of guards, and the isolation from Romulus, the situation
could quickly become untenable.
     From the first inception of the camp, Tokath must have seen
the problems.  But what to do?  By allowing a representative of
each race to help administrate, he could alleviate some of the
pressure.  People who thought they had some say in their lives were
that much less likely to revolt.  The racial tensions, on the other
hand, would not be so easy to circumvent.
     Tokath had finally chosen the one option that made all three
races equal: he had asked for convicts from Romulus, no doubt a
certain caliber, say the political objectors, the vagrants, the
mad.  These he put on an equivalent level with the others in the
colony.  Suddenly, the Romulans were just as oppressed as everyone
else, and that oppression did not seem so terrible to them.
     The warden had taken care of his wards, feeding them adequate
if not wonderful food (Wesley for one could not wait until the
replicators finally went on line), giving them freedom within the
compound, and occasional liberties outside.  Then he had delivered
the coup: instead of calling their home a prison camp, he labeled
it a colony, and inspired them with the notion that they were not
building a jail, but creating a home.  It was an incredible plan,
sweeping in its ideas, and in the notion that three species, so
long in conflict, could work together in peace.  Wesley admired him
for the sheer audacity to think such a thing when he had surely
been trained all his life that Romulans were the superior race.
     On the level of grandiose dreams, Tokath's goal should have
been paramount over all.  Yet, the plan forgot the simplicity of
the individual dreams of the colonists.  The Humans would happily
die for an ideal, but only if they believed strongly in it.  The
Klingons needed their honor.  The Romulans had their own ideas
about how life should go.  No one was truly happy.
     Every day, Trehan talked about what he would do when he got
back home, which ships he would work on, the places he would visit. 
With a distant look, he would mention another city he had always
wanted to see, while his muscles tensed for the next stone.
     Josolar, quickly ensconcing himself in the infirmary, spoke
longingly in the evenings of *real* diagnostic equipment, rather
than the modified tricorders with which he had to keep them all
well.  Of his daughter he said very little, but there were times
when his eyes were far, and he would smile sadly when one of the
colony's few children skipped by.
     Kriana said nothing about home, other than passing references
now and then to old friends.  She spent her free hours in the
company of the administrators when she could, and had volunteered
to be a section watch, meaning basically that she woke people in
the morning.  It was a menial job in comparison to working at the
highest levels of Romulan government, but at least it returned to
her some of the authority that she had so suddenly lost.  As to her
impending arrival, she made no mention.  So far, her choice of
action was to take none.  She lived her life from day to day,
quietly regaining herself, and spending a large amount of time with
Tasha, with whom she appeared to have developed a bond.
     Wesley bitterly envied her if only for that, since he had been
unable to see Tasha for more than a minute at a time, and then
always accompanied.  He wanted desperately to get her aside long
enough to tell her who he was, and find a means of escape.  If
worse came to worse, he could stop time to do it, but then she
would be stopped too.  There was no way to win but follow Kriana's
example and wait to see what would come.  Patience, alas, was not
his strong suit.
     And then there was Arrhat.  Alone among them, she seemed happy
to be exactly where she was, laughing, skipping, and generally
getting on everyone's nerves, only to make up with her head
innocently on the offended's shoulder.  Rarely did any two of her
sentences agree in tense, form, or meaning, but that did not
matter.  Often, after a particularly difficult day, when the stones
just would not budge, she would creep into the men's quarters and
simply be there, and that would be enough.  She had made it a
personal quest to make them all smile, either through a strange
nickname (translated, Imno had become "The Artful Dodger," Qu'aemon
"Fuzzball," and K'Toktehn "Papa Bear", to whichhe only deepened his
frown and said nothing), or a particularly inappropriate
observation at exactly the wrong time.  It usually worked.  She was
group little sister for the Fabulous Five of Fish, as Trehan had
dubbed them (even though the five had grown to include Ekan and
Qu'aemon, and occasionally the two Humans).
     K'toktehn remained aloof, but not coldly so.  He had struck up
a friendship with Imno, asking about his home and his former life
with a patient air completely at odds with the stereotypical
Klingon temper.  For Imno only, he would become more than a shape
in the shadows, actually smiling now and then.  He simply did not
choose to associate with the others, but preferred to sit quietly
in the background, perhaps listening, perhaps not.
     Amongst them, Wesley sat and smiled, and wondered inside what
would happen to these people's lives when he took away the light of
their warden's life.
 
***
 
     They had all settled into routine: breakfast, then off to the
quarry to haul stones in the morning, then lunch, then slowly
shaping the stones into blocks, then dinner.  Afterwards, there
would be a gathering in the common area, a time for ceremony, or
for sharing songs and stories before sweet, if painful, sleep.
     So far, Wesley's frame, obviously weaker than that of the
average Romulan, had not come into question.  Whenever he dropped
a tool, or could not quite hold up his end of a brick, he blamed a
bad elbow, and laughed it off before Josolar could get concerned. 
As time passed, his real muscles, hidden by the Change, developed. 
Unfortunately, this also meant that for the first month or so, his
body was in agony nearly every night as it realized what was
happening to it.
     No matter how strong he might become, which admittedly was not
that powerful no matter what he might try, he wouldn't stand a
chance in a fight with a Romulan or Klingon, and there would be
about even bets with another Human.  He needed to establish himself
as a noncombatant from the beginning.  Thus, he made his mark
early, singing old Romulan ballads he had picked up during his
travels, and interspersing them with Klingon songs he had learned
from Worf and Belle.
     One night, he had sung a favorite of his, a tune with roots
back on Vulcan, although he had changed the lyrics.  It was a sad
tale of a woman born to pain, then granted happiness only to lose
it once more.  He called it "The Lady of the Blue Ship," as the
woman at the end of the song chose to ride on the doomed Blue Ship
with her lover than stay in the unreal world of the Starry Isle. 
He was extremely proud of the song itself, the first he had ever
written.  When he had finished, the others had applauded politely.
     "Dalek,"  Kriana said carefully,  "you were a professional
singer?"
     "Yes," he beamed.  "What did you think of the song?"
     The others began to shift in place, not meeting his eyes. 
Arrhat, to whom tact was a four-lettered word, had no such qualms.
     "You were fortunate to have been arrested.  Otherwise, you
probably would have starved."
 
***
 
     Every fourth day was a half-day of work, with time off the
rest of the day.  Some people used the time to sleep, others to
recreate.  The children in the colony, three Klingons, four
Romulans and Sela, started a series of games specifically for the
half-days.  These were the times Wes tried to find Tasha alone, but
something or someone thwarted him at each turn, no matter how well
he planned.  Usually, she had meetings during that time with L'Kor
and her husband,  with Kriana often assisting, planning the next
phase of the buildings.  Kriana would come back in the evenings
both exhausted and delighted at the new things being planned.
     After the first few days, the gates were opened to the
colonists, letting them explore the outdoors if they so chose.  The
group, suffering from more than a little cabin fever, took the
opportunity.
     Outside the compound, the jungle pressed in around them. 
There were a number of animals native to the planet, including the
needle-snakes Wes had been warned about.  Fortunately, there were
no large carnivores nearby; the biggest one was a feline about a
meter long from nose to tip of tail, and its favorite snack
consisted of local birds.  Along their walks, the group had found
small piles of feathers marking the end of one of the unfortunate
creatures.
     Trails, possibly trod by some of the herbivores that
frequented the place, wound through the trees, most going nowhere. 
One, though, had led to a decent-sized watering hole.  After a few
misses, most of the Fabulous Five (or Seven, or Nine, depending on
the day) had its location down to memory.  With the heat of the
planet constantly surrounding them, the pond made an excellent
place to swim, and the sun would hit it just as they arrived after
the half-day of work.
     Still, the jungle was a dangerous place, and they always
traveled in pairs if not groups of three or more.  On the fourth
free day, a needle-snake had attacked and killed a Klingon
prisoner, a young man named Taydok.
     He had been walking with two friends when the snake had fallen
on him from above.  One of the others killed the snake, while the
third carried him back to the compound.  He was dead by the time he
reached the infirmary.  Once the Klingon Rite of Death had been
observed (which took all of about a minute), Doctor Mirith
performed an autopsy, assisted by Josolar.
     Later that evening, looking drawn and tired, the young doctor
reported back to his friends.
     "The toxin was all through his system.  We found traces of it
even in his bone structure.  The poison attacks the central nervous
system, and neutralizes the chemical signals from the brain to the
muscles, including the heart, and even between neurons.  I'd say he
was beyond help within ten minutes, maybe less.
     "Dr. Mirith is going to ask Tokath to organize a hunt for the
snakes.  She wants to extract the venom and develop some kind of
antidote for it."
     "A hunt?  Is she *nuts*?"  asked Trehan incredulously.  "Those
things can kill you!"
     "That's the point, Trehan," said Kriana drily.  "If we can
catch one, we can find the antidote and then it *won't* kill us."
     "*You* go out and get yourself killed by one of those things. 
I have better things to do."
     Arrhat, looking at nothing in particular, said, "Trehan's
afraid of snakes."
     "No I'm not!"  he said quickly.  He looked around, saw that
something more was necessary.  "I don't have to like them.  But I'm
not afraid of them."  No one felt like arguing with him.
 
***
 
     Tokath announced the next day that anyone who would volunteer
for the hunt for a needle-snake would not have to work in the
quarry until one was found.  Castillo, Imno, K'toktehn, and
Qu'aemon immediately signed up; Trehan flatly refused.  Ekan found
himself assigned to gate duty.  Wesley put off making the decision
for a day, then was chagrined to discover that Arrhat and Kriana
had also gone on the hunt.
     Nearly two-thirds of the workforce chose to search for snakes
rather than cut stones, and frankly, as the humid day pressed on,
Wes wished he were among them.  Trehan was silent as the sandstone
itself the entire day.
     The end of the hunt came quickly.  By evening, three needle-
snakes had been found, with no casualties except among the snakes. 
Two of them had been brutally killed, and the third was near death
when the team that had caught the creature brought it to the
infirmary for extraction of the venom.
     "Mirith removed as much of the venom as possible from the
snake,"  Josolar told them later.  "It did not even struggle; it
merely lay on the table,"  he glanced to K'Toktehn,  "with some
restraint, of course."  The large Klingon had been in the group
that had captured the needle-snake, but had been strangely mute
about the whole affair.
     "We did not need to hold it.  There was no fight left,"  he
said, simply.
     "Still, I wouldn't have wanted to do it alone.  After she was
finished, Mirith told us to kill it and bring the other two, hoping
that perhaps we could get more from them."
     "Good thing, too,"  said Trehan.  "It could've bitten you or
one of the others.  Then where would you be?"
     "We'll see what happens when the poison sacs regenerate."
     That took a moment to sink in.  Kriana spoke quietly, "You
didn't kill it."
     "No.  The other two were already dead."  He paused.  Wes had
heard what shape the other snakes had been in after their capture. 
One of them had killed, therefore all of them were to be destroyed. 
"I could not justify killing it.  I told Mirith that I would look
after it until it recovered.  We may even be able to get more venom
to work on a serum.  When it is time, I can release it."
     Imno nearly exploded.  "Great!  You have the deadliest thing
in the jungle in your office, and you want to let it *go*??!!  For
what?  So it can attack one of us when we're walking someday?  Or
maybe you'd rather just let it go in here, hmmm?"  Castillo flashed
him a warning look.  "Some night when the rest of us are asleep,
just let your little baby loose and see what happens??!!"
     "Dodge ... " Castillo began.  Imno spun on him.
     "Don't even tell me the thought hasn't crossed your mind. 
Just wake up his friends, let the snake go, and whaddaya know?  No
more Klingons or Humans to worry about."
     "That's enough, Ensign!"  Castillo's voice carried through the
room.  Then, more quietly,  "If they wanted us dead, we would be
dead.  I have no doubt of that.  No one knows we're here except the
Romulan government and these people.  The same goes for K'Toktehn
and Qu'aemon and all the other prisoners here.  Besides, if they
killed us, who would build the compound?"
     "If they didn't have prisoners, they wouldn't *need* a
compound," came the retort.
     Wesley said,  "We're all prisoners here, for various reasons."
     Imno turned to him bitterly,  "You can go home.  You aren't
supposed to be dead."  A sudden feeling of foreboding flowed
through him.  The _Enterprise-C_ had been destroyed.  According to
history, her crew had died with honor defending the Klingon outpost
at Narendra 3.  The selflessness of the act had led to the first
real breakthroughs in relations with the Klingon Empire.
     Suddenly, Wes needed to know how it had happened, why they had
sacrificed everything for the outpost, and why a certain young
Lieutenant from over twenty years in their future had been on the
ship when it had all transpired.
     But he didn't know how to ask without sounding as mad as
Arrhat.
 
***
 
     After that, Wes redoubled his efforts to find time alone with
Tasha to find the answers.  Every half-day off, he tried to make
some time to slip out and see where she was and what she was doing. 
Yet, something always prevented him from administrative meetings
(hers) to impromptu group trips to the swimming hole (his) which
could not politely be refused.  He was willing to settle for
talking to her with another Human around, but that too seemed
impossible.  It seemed that despite his diverse ideals, Tokath was
not keen on the idea of his wife associating with others of her
kind, especially Castillo.  At times, Wes would catch her eye, and
try to hold her gaze, but she always passed by, not knowing.  It
was frustrating, more so because Wes could feel the time slipping
from him.  Sela had told Captain Picard that she was four when her
mother had been killed, and she had made no mention of siblings. 
Sela was four, and Tasha's own pregnancy advanced with the
relentless pace of all nature.  The patterns grew smaller and
smaller; soon he would be forced to act, no matter the
consequences.  It was with spiral patterns that his mind filled
each night as he prepared for sleep, narrowing curves leading into
times undreamt.
 
***
 
     His chance came unexpectedly three months into his stay.  It
was a half-day, Tokath was out with L'Kor inspecting the current
status of the building, and the others were nowhere to be seen. 
The general's quarters were of course among the first to be built,
and the family had moved in the week before.  Tasha would be there
alone with Sela.  He hoped for enough time.
     Nerves twanging, he pressed the entrance panel, straining to
hear the chirp inside.  There was no response.  He tried again,
suddenly sure that she was not home, that she had gone with Tokath,
and that he would have no more chances.  As he was about to press
it again in desperation, the door slid open to reveal a very
pissed-looking Lieutenant Natasha Yar.
     "If you press that button again, I will personally break your
fingers off."
     "I ... I'm sorry,"  he stammered.  Suddenly, all his plans
deserted him in the wake of actually seeing her there.  Her
sunlight-colored hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail.  Yet,
her sea-green eyes were the same, defiant to the end, and boring
directly into him.
     "You obviously never had to get a four-year-old to sleep. 
What do you want?"  It was now or never.
     "I need to speak with you alone."  She sized him up, then
slowly opened the door to let him inside.
     The room was cooler than the hot outdoors, and much darker. 
As he let his eyes adjust, he tried to think of what to say.
     "You're Dalek, the minstrel, aren't you?"  He nodded, knowing
now how to tell her.
     "Oh yes.  I was a traveling musician, you might say.  I've
been everywhere from Romulus to Turkana Four, and have learned
songs from all the masters.  In fact, I learned a tune not so long
ago by Darryl Adin himself.  Would you care to hear a verse?"  She
paled; it had worked.
     "What?"  came from her in a small gasp.  He tried to take her
hand, but she pulled away and moved, perhaps unconsciously, into a
fighting stance.  "Who the hell are you?" she demanded in a low
voice.
     "A friend."  He breathed deeply, then Changed back to his
normal self.  Her eyes grew round.
     "Oh my god ..."
     "Don't be afraid.  I don't know exactly what happened in your
timeline, but in mine, you and I were friends.  There is no way I
could ever hurt you."
     "Who ... who are you?"
     "My name is Wesley Crusher."  With a strange joy, he saw
recognition light in her eyes.  She knew him!
     "But, it's only been five years, and you were seventeen, but
you're obviously older ... "  Suddenly, her legs went out, and he
caught her, setting her gently on the couch.
     "How?"
     "In my timeline, there was a man from Tau Alpha C, a Traveler
through time and space, who told me that I could do what he did. 
I've been learning for about eight years now.  This is my 'final
exam,' as he put it.  I have to rescue you from this place."
     "Rescue?"  She seemed to roll the word in her mouth, tasting
its unfamiliar sweetness.  "Why would you want to rescue me from my
home?"
     Wes was taken completely off-guard.  "Because you need ...
Because ... Don't you *want* to go back?"
     "Back to what?  When I left the Enterprise, *my* Enterprise,
there had been a war going on for twenty years.  I left one hell on
Turkana Four for another, in a dying Federation.  Here, things are
different."
     "I'll say."
     "You still don't understand.  This is a good place, a safe
place.  Peace is a reality here.  We're working on plans that could
change the galaxy, by showing people that Romulans, Klingons and
Humans aren't natural enemies.  It's an experiment, really.  Tokath
wants to blend the three cultures together, and show the Senate
that it can be done.  And I want to help him."  She looked around
the room, still somewhat chaotic with boxes everywhere, and papers
strewn carelessly about.  "This is my home."
     He had not expected this.  Happiness at the thought of rescue,
fear even, but a desire to stay?  "After all that they've done to
you?"
     "What's been done to me?"
     "Well," he fumbled with the phrasing,  "your marriage, for one
thing!  Sela for another."
     She glanced into another room, presumably where Sela slept. 
"That little girl is the most wonderful thing in the universe," she
said quietly, her voice filled with emotion. "I've had friends,
lovers, even a husband, but none of them come close to the effect
she's had on me.  She is *everything*."  She turned back to him. 
"If my marriage to Tokath only ever gave me Sela, I would have
considered it wonderful beyond imagining."
     All the speculations he had made about her life after her
capture were quickly falling to nothing.  His mind had been filled
with the horrible notion that she had been kidnapped, tortured,
then forced to bear some halfbreed brat.  Sela had never suggested
anything else.  But there was obviously much more going on than any
of them could ever have guessed.
     "You're in love with him."
     Her eyes softened, just a touch.  "Yes.  Now and then, I think
that I might have married him anyway."  Seeing his expression, she
continued.  "Despite what you might think, he's a good man.  I know
that he has led attacks on Federation and Klingon territory, that
he has far more deaths on his soul than anyone has a right to own. 
But he would not let the Romulans kill their prisoners.  Instead,
he offered me the lives of my friends if I would consent to marry
him.  He could just as easily taken me as a personal servant and
let the others be executed; I couldn't have stopped him.  But he
let me decide."
     "Some decision.  'Marry me or die.'  He's a real saint."
     "You sound just like Richard.  Why you understand?  Sometimes
you have to compromise a little to be content."
     "The Tasha Yar I knew would never let herself be 'content'
with life.  Sometimes you have to risk to be happy.  It isn't even
a great risk.  We can be gone in moments."
     "And the other Humans?  Surely you weren't planning on just
taking me and going.  Where will you take them?  Back to their
homes?  Or to your time?  They don't belong in either place.  And
neither do I."
     "Yes you do!  You have no idea what it did to us when you ...
when *our* Tasha died.  It nearly killed the rest of us."
     "Obviously it didn't."  Suddenly curious, she asked,  "how
long has it been since ... she died?"
     "Fifteen years."
     "Fifteen years."  She was lost in thought for a moment.  "You
get married yet?"
     "Not yet.  Mom did, though.  She married the captain a while
back."
     A smile.  "Always knew they would.  Fifteen years ...  I've
only lived five since I came here.  Don't you see?  I don't
*belong* in your time."
     "You don't belong here, either.  Maybe I could take you to
when you would have fit, seven years ago.  It wouldn't be more
difficult than any other time."
     "Do you have any memory of me being brought back seven years
ago?"
     He paused.  "No."
     She smiled, with just a trace of pain.  "Then you have your
answer.  I wish it could be different."
     "So do I."  He tried one last time.  "What about Richard and
the others?  Will you condemn them to living the rest of their
lives here?"
     "If they want to go, and if you will take them, let them
leave.  But I can't go with you."
     "Don't say that.  Think it over for a few days.  *Please*.  I
can stay for another month, even another year, if that's what it
takes to convince you to come back home."
     She glanced downward at her stomach.  "In two months at the
most, I'll need to be somewhere safe for quite a while."  She met
his eyes.  "I couldn't even think of leaving for at least another
month."
     "Why?"
     She frowned.  "The Romulan Senate is divided on the colony. 
Some want it to be a regular prison camp, others want it stopped
completely.  They're sending someone in a couple of weeks to see
what we've done so far.  If the senator isn't satisfied, the colony
will probably be disbanded.  Everyone will be either put into a
real prison, or killed.  I can't allow that."
     "What part do you play in it?"
     "The dutiful wife and mother, of course."  Her mouth twisted. 
"Any problems will reflect badly upon the colony.  The sudden
disappearance  of General Tokath's wife, not to mention her Human
friends, would qualify as a serious problem."
     "Point taken."
     She looked at him oddly.  "Unless ...  The Romulans would be
imprisoned, at worst, but the rest of us would be killed.  There
are seventeen Humans, and nearly a hundred Klingons.  Could you
take us all away?"
     He wanted so much to say that he could.  "No.  It wouldn't be
possible.  There are reasons."
     Sadness crossed her features.  "Then none of us can leave, at
least not until after the senator's visit."
     "How long will it be?"
     "At least a week.  Maybe more.  That will cut it close."
     "Say the visit is over quickly, the review is favorable, and
you still haven't gone into labor.  Then will you at least think
about it?"
     "I'll think about it.  I promise.  It would be wonderful to
see everyone again."  Then, in an almost child-like manner, she
said, "In my timeline, we were at war with the Klingons for twenty
years.  I lost a lot of good friends, including Dare.  One of the
reasons I went back with the _Enterprise-C_ was to prevent the war
from ever starting."  Her eyes were wide, with hope and fear.  "Did
we succeed?"
     War.  The picture slid into focus, after years of questions. 
In the midst of a hopeless battle, they had come across a miracle,
a rift in the space-time continuum just wide enough to slip through
and come out in the future bloody but unbowed.  They had found a
Federation at war, and had chosen to return to the past and certain
death to prevent that war.  But for a few, death had not come as
quickly as they had wished or dreaded.  A brave handful had
survived, despite odds of a million to one against them.  Then
again, when it came to ships named _Enterprise_, million-to-one
chances seemed to come through relatively often.
     "Yes, oh yes, you succeeded."  A radiant smile appeared on her
face.  "We've formed an alliance with the Klingon Empire, and both
sides are doing just fine.  And so is Dare, alias the Silver
Paladin."  He clasped her hands.  "You did it."
     Suddenly, she hugged him.  He awkwardly returned the embrace. 
"Thank you," she whispered.  "Thank you for that.  It *was* worth
it."  After a moment, she pulled back, and he could see the glisten
of tears in her eyes.  "It was all worth it."
 
***
 
     He left a few minutes later.  When one wanted to stay
unnoticed, one did not pay undue attention to the General's wife. 
As he stepped back into the oppressive heat and light, he realized
that he still had a great deal of time on his hands.  He wandered
back to his quarters, but found no one there except K'Toktehn, who
was reading a novel in Rihannsu of all things.  Wesley smiled
inwardly.  Tasha had been right on one account; the cultures were
beginning to blend.
     K'Toktehn had no idea where the others had gone.
     Having literally nothing else to do, Wes went for a walk in
the forest, aiming vaguely for the swimming hole in hopes that he
might find one of his friends.  Idly, he wondered where Kriana had
gone.  She had been moody lately, and far quieter than was her
wont; it was probably due to horomonal changes, but he was worried
nonetheless.  If she was at the swimming hole, he would work on
cheering her up.
     As he walked, he planned his course of attack on Tasha's
reluctance to return home.
     First, he would have to figure out what to do with the crew of
the Enterprise-C.  They *could* come back to 2379, but it would be
a hard adjustment.  He could also quietly return them to their own
time, if they could keep silent about where they had been, and how
they had returned.  That, too, would be difficult for them; their
families would want to know that they lived, unless they did not go
back home at all.
     The other option would be to find them a nice place of their
own, away from anyone who might ask questions.  Then again, they
were not bad off here; the gilded cage was a pretty one, and roomy
enough, he supposed.  He knew enough about his own species to see
that they would not accept captivity forever.  It was not in their
nature.  Besides, Castillo would stay with his crew, and Tasha
would stay with him.  She had followed him across time and space
once; she would not accept such a separation now.  Could he then
justify bringing all of them with him, just to have Tasha back
home?
     What to do about the Klingons?  They had to stay; Belle's
existence proved that beyond a doubt.  If he began futzing with the
timestream to the point of his own history changing, he could
create a paradox big enough to fly a Galaxy-class starship through. 
It would eventually flatten out; time was fluid, and could stand
problems of that nature.
     Unfortunately, it could wipe out most of the Alpha Quadrant
(or the past thousand years, take your pick), in the process.  As
a Pakled might say, that would be bad.  Paradoxes could be very
nasty.  What worried him more than he would like to think about
were the intimations made by the Traveler now and again that his
very existence hinged on a paradox.
     But he would never say what, or why.
     The night Catherine had died, the Traveler had taken him to a
pool of still water in the Tunnels, and shown him the reflected
stars.  Softly, carefully, he had explained the paradox that had
cost the woman's life.  The child she had birthed had a great
destiny ahead of him.  When the Traveler told Wes what the boy's
name would be when he went Above, he had simply stared in shock. 
The Traveler might just as well have said that he'd been there for
Zephram Cochrane's birth, and he would not have been more
surprised.
     The child's mother had not lived; it was a matter of history,
but nor did the man who killed her raise the baby.  The father
needed to know about the boy; the man he was to become had a
younger half-sister with whom his life was intertwined.  Two of the
greatest leaders in the bad times to come were made possible that
night, leaders whose actions had shaped the history of the
Federation to come.  The timestream had returned to its course. 
And Catherine was dead.
     Now Tasha was part of the paradox: dead but not dead, a 
prisoner of time and her own loyalties.  How could he possibly
convince her to leave, when she had so obviously found a place to
be happy?  How could he allow her to stay, when he knew she would
die in less than a year?  And what would they do about Sela?  She
was *definitely* a part of his own history.  If the story changed
for her, if her mother had not been killed, but disappeared
instead, things might have worked out differently in his own past. 
There was no danger of deleting his own existence; his birth was in
a few weeks, and lightyears away.  However, his universe would be
altered, which might have kept him from Travelling, which would
have kept him from changing things, which would have let the
universe unfold as it did previously, which meant he would
Travel...  Again the nasty paradox.
     The questions began to form spirals in his mind, chasing their
own tails with maddening frequency, but never catching them. 
Without his being aware of it, he had reached the swimming hole. 
Coming out of his reverie, he heard something in the tangle of
jungle just beyond.  Carefully, aware that there were things in the
jungle best left unencountered, he moved aside some brush.  And
froze.
     There was a small clearing, perhaps a meter and a half
squared, and it was quite occupied.  Qu'aemon had Arrhat in a firm
grip from behind, pinning her arms to her sides, as he bit into her
neck.  Meanwhile, Ekan held her head still as his mouth pressed
hard against hers.  He could not see her face, but heard muffled
sounds from her throat.
     He paused for about two seconds, some rational part of his
mind screaming that he had no chance against either a Klingon or a
Romulan in a fight and what in the name of Kolker was he doing
about to take on both???  Another voice, not as loud, but far more
powerful, said simply:  "Would you stand by if this pair tried to
rape Robin?"
     The two seconds passed; he marched into the clearing.  He
grabbed Qu'aemon from behind, and when the Klingon brought his face
around, decked him solidly on the jaw.  He dropped Arrhat and fell
back, looking dazed.  Ekan instantly moved into fighting stance, as
Qu'aemon recovered.  Wes ran everything he knew about hand-to-hand
combat through his brain.  There wasn't much.  With a silent plea
to whatever guardian angel had watched over him thus far, he
prepared to be pulverized, but not without doing as much damage as
he could.
     "Run!" he shouted to Arrhat, hoping that she would have enough
sense to get help.
     She looked back at him, trembling.  The shaking grew, and he
realized that she was laughing.  In moments, tears were streaming
down her face from her mirth.  Wes surrendered whatever hope he'd
held for reinforcements.  He turned back to Ekan, who had eased
down, and seemed on the verge of laughter himself.
     "This is rich,"  whispered Arrhat between gasps for breath. 
"I always wondered when you were gonna beat up these two losers." 
For the second time, she spoke Standard.
     Qu'aemon began to smile.  "It *is* kind of funny."
     Wes felt lost.  "What the hell is going on?!"
     Arrhat calmed down enough to place a hand against his face. 
"I know what you were trying to do, and it's sweet.  But the boys
are no threat."
     "But he had you, and *he* was ... and you were ...  Oh."
Understanding hit him square in the forehead.  He glanced around at
the ground for a convenient hole to drop into.  "Um.  I'll just go
now."
     "Don't," said Arrhat, with a glance at the others.  "I knew
you would find out eventually.  I just didn't know I would have to
tell you *now*."
     "Tell me what?"
     "Well, for starters, that these two twits are my husbands."
     "Husbands?"  Everything was spinning now.  There was something
important, something he had to remember about her.  Her eyes.  It
almost made sense.  Still, the small voice of reason, rather miffed
that it had been ignored to date, chimed in with a reminder that,
up till this point, Arrhat had demonstrated all the mental
stability of a ferret on amphetamines.
     The two men took her hands, and stood beside her protectively.
     Qu'aemon said,  "Our 'marriage' is not exactly legal where I
come from, and not especially favored by our families.  But I for
one figured that since they don't have to put up with her snoring
or his talking in his sleep..."
     "*My* snoring?"
     "You both could wake the dead."  Ekan shook his head sadly.
     Wes thought for a moment.  "But Arrhat, you came with our
group.  And you have not had *that* much free time."
     She smiled oddly.  "Time?  I have all the time in the 
universe, Wesley."  He stifled a gasp.  How could she know?  "Don't
be alarmed.  I've known who you were since we met aboard the ship."
She glanced fondly at her companions.  And Changed.
 
***
 
Keep reciting this mantra: Plot twists are my friends.  If this is
too twisted, just pass along your comments to a) the list, or b)
me!  I can be reached at wilson@athena.hood.edu or
missy@darklair.com.  Please don't feed or provoke the poster. 
 
Later ...
 
Merlin Missy:)
PSEB: Chief Chemist and Bottle Washer, Also Part Time Ship's Disc
Jockey on the JLP Ship of Loooooooooooooooooove
BONC: co-founder and Head Drooler
FROG: The Spring is sprung.  The grass is riz.  Me wonders where
      the froggies iz.


-- 
"I was just marking my territory, and you got in the way." -- Jack 
Nicholson in "Wolf"

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From: cmfaltz@panix.com (Titania)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: GRADUATION (Pt 5/10) -- by MELISSA WILSON
Date: 6 Feb 1995 18:05:46 -0500
Organization: The Q Continuum
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Xref: tivoli.tivoli.com alt.startrek.creative:5732



-------------------------------
Typical disclaimer about Paramount owning everything up to and
including the kitchen sink.  Feel free to distribute, so long
as my name and header are attached.
 
***
Graduation
The Green Chronicle
 
A Star Trek: The Next Generation story by
Melissa "Merlin Missy" Wilson
wilson@athena.hood.edu
missy@darklair.com
Copyright 1995
 
 
***
Chapter 5: T'Riest and Traveler
***
 
     Arrhat stood before him as a Human woman.
     She wore a uniform that looked vaguely Starfleet-issue; it had
the same form-fitting style, but the top was solid cranberry save
for a thin black seam around the shoulders, and it was solid black
from the midriff down.  Her dark hair was held in a bun at the back
of her long neck.  She was nearly his height, and carried it
proudly, her bearing that of someone who knew precisely who and
what she was and damn anyone who thought different.  Her oval face,
filled with secrets, seemed familiar, like someone he might have
seen in an old photograph once and then forgotten.
     Her eyes were her most remarkable feature, with depths he had
not thought possible.  They were the color of a stray piece of sky
caught between two clouds near the edge of the horizon some Spring
afternoon, and they reached inside him.  There were aspects of
every woman he had ever known in that glance: strength, wisdom,
experience, and the faintest air of sadness underlying all the
rest.  Now he understood why he could not pin down a distinct color
for them; a Traveler might hold another form for months, but the
eyes remained mirrors of all the universes ever known.
     "Now do you understand?"  Her normal voice was not much
different from her Romulan voice; other than the intonations, she
could still have been speaking Romulan.
     "I think so," he said, uncertain but learning.  He turned to
the males.  "What about you?"
     Qu'aemon Changed into a humanoid male, about two meters tall,
with golden-hued hair and greenish-blue eyes.  He looked like an
average Human man, although he too seemed familiar.  Compared to
his Klingon persona, his new form was almost weak-looking.  Almost. 
Wes noticed uncomfortably that a bruise was forming on the other
man's jaw.
     "Ummm...  Sorry about that."
     "S'okay.  If I saw what you saw, I probably would have hit me,
too."
     "As would I,"  said Ekan.  He turned to Qu'aemon, or whoever
he was, and grinned.  "Hit you, that is."  Ekan, Wes noticed, had
not Changed.
     Qu'aemon was about to respond when Arrhat cut him off with a
look.  It was obvious who was the CPU in the family computer.
     "So you three just Travel together?"  Now *there* was a useful
question, surely to be marked down on stone pillars for all the
universe to read in awe.  Chalk another one up to Wesley Crusher,
prodigy and general expert on idiotic small talk.  Oh boy.
     "Actually, it's the *four* of us," explained Qu'aemon. "We
have another wife, but Dell doesn't Travel much with us." 
*Another* wife? 
     "Ah ... "  He sighed; this was getting him nowhere.  "What are
you doing here?  I was sent, I *thought*, to rescue Tasha and the
other Humans, and set some paradox right.  But I don't know any
more, and I'm getting confused."
     Arrhat looked away, as if conducting an internal debate with
two people who barely tolerated one another.  Of course, the little
voice of wisdom whispered, Josolar thinks she has multiple-
personality syndrome, remember?  Then, she returned his gaze.
     "You are here to correct the paradox, but first you need to
set it into motion."
     "Huh?"
     "Please don't ask me.  I can't tell you what will happen.  You
must understand."
     "How will I know when the time is right?  Tasha doesn't even
want to come with me,"  he said, a sudden feeling of despondency
settling upon him.
     "You will know,"  said Ekan.  "When there are no more choices
to be made, your path will be the only one you can take."
     Wes nodded, not because he understood but because it seemed
the right thing to do at the time.  "Who are you really?  I only
know your assumed names."
     "It would be easier on you if you did not know our real names,
so that you don't accidently slip," said Arrhat. "Besides,"  she
smiled,  "I've already told you my real name, Wesley."
     He racked his brains.  "T'Riest?"
     Arrhat only laughed, then Changed back into her Romulan form. 
How easy it seemed for her!  She whispered,  "Does it really matter
anymore what my name is?  For now, I am Arrhat the mad thief from
Romulus.  When we visit Dell, her family knows me as Ami.  I have
been called Marivic and Kavata and T'Riest and Morag and Aileen and
Piera and Yibeli and Arkady and Brooke and Valkris.  I am the maker
of timelines and the guardian of young children.  I have been a
musician, a poet, a biochemist, a Starfleet Academy cadet, a
philosopher, and a professional duelist.   I have played Ophelia
before the last Queen of England, and sung "The Lady of the Blue
Ship" in a Bajoran settlement camp.
     "I was present for the discovery of the Medici Stars, for a
concert in the Tunnels beneath Old New York, and for your birth. 
I have met four presidents of the Federation, and sixteen people
claiming to be the one true prophet sent from God.  I've had lunch
with H.G. Wells, debated physics with Zephram Cochrane, painted
with Cool "Disco" Dan, and sung lullabies to Surak.  I have seen
the iceberg that sunk the _Titanic_, the assassination of
Chancellor Gorkon, and the sunset on Kataan.  I turned twenty-eight
a week before we met on the ship."
     Wesley tried to think of something profound to say in
response.
     "Oh."
     He turned to the men.  Qu'aemon yawned with a great deal of
exaggeration. 
     "Well *that* was overdone, dear.  Are you sure that you aren't
related to his grandfather?"  He jerked his thumb towards Ekan.
     "Shut up, dear," the other two said in unison.  Wes felt the
situation slipping away from him.
     "What about you?"  he asked Ekan.
     "I am ... "  he paused.  He tilted his head in a manner that
reminded Wes of someone else he had once known well.  "I am."
     Wes sighed.  At least Arrhat had married the right guy.
 
***
 
     The compound was unnaturally quiet when they finally returned. 
Dinner had not yet started, nor were there any ceremonies scheduled
until after dark, yet no one was in the courtyard.  The four of
them split up to search.  Wes went to the infirmary, thinking to
find Josolar.
     The outer door was unlocked, but no one was in the room. 
Since he was already there, he checked on the snake.  Its vitals
had been improving steadily.  Josolar had even finally given the
thing a name: Sunoph'l'pighis, which as near as Wes could
translate, was equivalent to "Spot."  There were times he worried
about his friends.
     From across the room, the raptor screamed for freedom.  The
bird, red-golden in color with bright yellow eyes, had been
captured at the founding of the colony.   Mirith officially had the
care of it, but in reality everyone in the camp had a small stake
invested in the creature.  It had no  name, and was merely referred
to as "the large avian."  Blood-lust was in its eye; it wanted the
snake badly, and as far as most of the colonists were concerned, it
could have the creature.
     Wes watched the snake for several minutes.  Its half-lidded 
eyes stared into nothing.  Only the occasional darting of its
tongue betrayed that it lived.  The cage, a transparent aluminum
box with a grating at the top, took up nearly the entire wall,
giving the snake more than enough room to stretch out.  Josolar had
even brought in some small plants from the outdoors to provide
scenery, and fed his little pet with the finest replicated food he
could, a greenish paste that looked rather revolting.  From what
they could determine, its natural diet consisted mainly of rodents,
and occasionally larger animals when frightened, but Josolar
refused to feed it anything living.  The snake did not seem to care
much either way.  The long body, nearly five feet in length and
tapering to a sliver at the tail, remained motionless, waiting
quietly for whatever fate or the good doctor might bring it.  Given
a choice, it might have slithered directly into the bird's cage.
     "It'll be okay, big fella.  I'll make sure you can go home,
too."  But he had no idea how.
 
***
 
     He finally caught up with the rest of his Romulan friends at
dinner.  Conversation was minimal.  Wes certainly couldn't relate
how his day had gone to the others, and no one else seemed to be in
a chatty mood.  Even Arrhat seemed sullen, only giving him the
briefest of nods when he caught her glance.  He wondered if she was
embarrassed at being caught in the act, as it were.  So far, he had
never been exposed as a Traveler, although ...
     He sat straight up, nearly knocking his tray off the table.
     "Are you all right?" asked Trehan, looking concerned. 
Qu'aemon, sitting across the table, glared at him intently.
     "Ummm, yeah.  Just had a sudden thought is all."  The
Romulans, the *real* Romulans, looked at him expectantly, while the
Travelers tried not to look too concerned.  "This place would look
much better with drapes."
     Ekan placed a friendly, and very firm, hand on his shoulder. 
"You have been hanging out with Arrhat for far too long a time."
     "I represent that remark," said Arrhat, meticulously sculpting
her dinner into a grotesque statue.  The small talk slipped into
another topic, but Wesley tuned it out.  She had known his name,
and she had *known* that he would discover her.  But how?  Because
someone had told her.  The Traveler.  He seemed to *know* things
about Wes before he did.  He had known when Wes accidentally set
his mother into her own private universe, and come to help.  He had
known when life was getting just too damned low at the Academy, had
known where to be when he came to Darvon V.  Arrhat, whoever she
was, knew when to be caught by the Romulan authorities in order to
be brought here.  He had been captured by being utterly unprepared. 
He could use some prescience right about now.
     Josolar's voice startled him.  "Are you sure that you are
feeling well?  You've barely eaten."  He tried to think of
something, but Kriana saved him.
     "Small wonder.  This ... stuff resembles what you're feeding
that snake of yours."
     Imno, at the end of the table, put a bite into his mouth and
made a face.  "That sure explains a lot."  K'Toktehn laughed to
himself, which brought more than one stare from the others.
     Sure enough, as Wes looked down at his mostly-ignored dinner,
it looked like the dietary supplement for the needle-snake.  He
felt ill.
     "You know, I *am* feeling a little under the weather.  I think
I'll turn in early."  Without another word, he left.
     As he went, he passed Tokath's table.  Tasha was laughing at
something her husband had just said.  She looked so peaceful.  How
could he ever think of taking her away from this life?  Then he
looked at her tray.  The food was the same grey-green mash that he
had barely eaten.  Snake food.  He hurried out and back to the
safety of his quarters, where he quickly fell asleep.
 
***
 
     He stood in a large transparent aluminum box in Ten-Forward. 
A crib sat inside the box with him.  When he looked in, he found a
baby, no more than a few weeks old, staring up silently at him.  He
noticed small points on the child's tiny ears.  He knew that the
baby was his responsibility, that he had to escape the box with it,
but he could not Travel out of it with another person yet.  He
didn't know how.
     On the other side of the box, all his friends from the
_Enterprise_ were gathered for his mother's wedding to the Captain. 
He tried to call to them, tell them that he was there, but no one
heard him.  Then, out of nowhere, a boy of about seventeen or
eighteen appeared in the box with him.  He had neatly cut brown
hair, and bright hazel eyes.  In the way of dreaming, he knew it
was Jacky, even though the bride at the wedding had a conspicuous
bulge in her dress uniform, a bulge that would form into his little
brother.
     "You look like a man with a problem."
     "I need to get out.  I'm supposed to be best man."  He pointed
to the crib.  "We both need to get out."
     "Then just walk through it."  He demonstrated.  Wesley picked
up the baby, and tried to follow.
     "I can't get through."  Jack shook his head sadly, and then
Robin stood outside of the cage beside him.
     "Then you'll have to fly out, but you must hurry, for you
haven't much time left,"  she said, and laughed, and as she
laughed, her features became waxy and pale.  Like water, her skin
began to run, until it formed into another form.  Arrhat.
     "I have all the time in the universe, Wesley.  But you don't. 
Not anymore."  Then, she moved up beside the box, and whispered, 
"I'll tell you a secret about the box: the only way to get out is
to go in."
     In the dream, it made perfect sense.  "What about the baby?"
     "Leave her.  Fate will guard her."
     "No!"  He held the infant close against his shoulder. 
Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through him.  He pulled the child away,
and saw a row of sharp teeth covered with his own emerald-colored
blood.  As he stood frozen, he saw a forked tongue slither out of
her mouth, and lick the blood from her lips.
     He woke screaming.  When the others had finally quieted him
down, Josolar looked at his shoulder.  Small symmetric scars like
teeth-marks dotted the skin, an angry, bloodless green.
     Wesley did not sleep the rest of the night.
 
***
 
This one is short to make up for the last one, which turned out to
be much longer than I'd thought.  Please send any comments, long or
short, to wilson@athena.hood.edu or missy@darklair.com, and not the
kind wonderful poster.
 
Merlin Missy:)
PSEB: Chief Chemist and Bottle Washer, Also Part Time Ship's Disc
Jockey on the JLP Ship of Looooooooooooooooooooooove
BONC: co-founder
FROG: We're the ones the SFLA didn't want. MUAHAHAHAHA!


-- 
"I was just marking my territory, and you got in the way." -- Jack 
Nicholson in "Wolf"

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From: cmfaltz@panix.com (Titania)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: GRADUATION (6/10) -- by MELISSA WILSON
Date: 7 Feb 1995 11:38:10 -0500
Organization: The Q Continuum
Lines: 610
Message-ID: <3h87li$is0@panix.com>
NNTP-Posting-Host: panix.com



Typical disclaimer about Paramount owning everything up to and
including the kitchen sink.  Feel free to distribute, so long
as my name and header are attached.
 
***
Graduation
The Green Chronicle
 
A Star Trek: The Next Generation story by
Melissa "Merlin Missy" Wilson
wilson@athena.hood.edu
missy@darklair.com
Copyright 1995
 
 
***
Chapter 6: Artful Dodgers and Paper Flowers
***
 
      Morning came, and everyone went back to work.  Wesley's focus
had changed.  He had to think of some way to get Tasha and the
other Humans out of the camp without changing the past as he knew
it.  As he carried blocks back to the compound, he made and
abandoned half a dozen plans.  Some would need to wait until after
Tasha's baby was born, which might be too late.  Others involved
changing the flow of the timestream far too much.  He even toyed
with the idea of ridding the Federation of a certain Romulan
Commander before she could help start the Klingon Civil War, among
other things.  Now *there* would be an interesting future.
     At lunch, he made sure to sit at a table where he could make
eye contact with Tasha several times during the course of the meal. 
She glanced back at him twice, but affected to ignore him the rest
of the time.  It was probably safer that way.
     The rest of the day passed quickly.  After dinner, everyone
gathered in the courtyard.  Tokath stepped upon the dais, while
Wesley inched towards the front to stand near Tasha.
     "My friends, I have some news to relate.  It seems that there
are those in the Senate who do not appreciate our efforts here. 
They will be sending a representative to see our progress.  If she
is satisfied, our colony will be allowed to remain here
permanently."  There were a few cheers.   "However, if she does not
like what we have created, if she  thinks the needs of the Romulan
people will be better satisfied by a prison camp, then the colony
will be abandoned, and all of you will return to Romulus."  He
paused, then, in a softer voice: "If that happens, I will no longer
be able to protect you."
     He glanced at Tasha, who stood drawn in tight against herself
beside him.  He raised his voice again.  "Therefore, we will have
this colony in perfect running order by the time of the Senator's
visit.  We have three weeks to finish the compound."  He held up a
diagram, filled with intimidating marks and figures.
     "The final structure is almost complete now; L'Kor assures me
that if we eliminate the free half-day, and if everyone puts in two
hours more each day, then we can have everything in order by the
time the Senator arrives."  Voices began murmuring; this was not
going over particularly well.
     "Also, there has been a suggestion to hold a small celebration
when the Senator arrives.  Anyone who is interested should contact
Kriana, who has graciously volunteered to be in charge.  I happen
to think it is a good idea.  If the Senator sees how hard we have
worked, and sees how happy we are, then she will surely allow us to
continue our work here."  This elicited a few more cheers than
before, and he stepped down.
     Imno, his face dark, turned to Kriana.  "Have you lost your
Romulan *mind*?"  He shrugged off a steadying hand from K'Toktehn. 
"We have to work longer days with no rest to finish our own prison,
and then you want us to make a carnival so that some Rom bitch
thinks that we're happy little convicts?  I don't think so."  He
was becoming loud; if he gathered enough steam, he could incite a
small riot.
     Wes stepped between them.  "We all have to work the extra
hours, Dodge, not just you.  We'll manage."
     "*You'll* manage, Romulan.  I've had enough."  He jumped onto
the dais to address the assembly in general and the General in
particular: "Why did you bring us here?  Why didn't you let us die
with our ship?  We're sick of this place, sick of living at your
leisure."
     "Are you sick of living?" came a voice from the crowd.  It
might have been Qu'aemon's, but Wes couldn't be sure.  Imno didn't
hear it anyway.
     "And you."  He faced Tasha.  "Why didn't you stay back on
*your* _Enterprise_ in *your* time where you belonged?  If you
weren't with us, he would have killed us long ago."  His voice
broke.  "We could have died with some dignity.  We don't belong
here.  We want to go home."  The rumblings started earlier had
increased to a disturbing volume, and most of them sounded Klingon. 
The Humans weren't the only strangers in this strange land.  Of
course, at least some of the Humans were far stranger than any of
the others could have dreamed.
     Imno turned to face Tokath directly.  "You have no concept of
what I can do.  If I chose to, I could ... "
     He never finished.
     One of the guards drew his disruptor and fired.  Before anyone
could react, Imno was converted to pure energy, and was gone on a
breath of wind.
     For a few echoing moments, everything went motionless.  Wes
had the oddest feeling that time had stopped, a situation with
which he was well-accustomed.  Then someone gasped, and someone
else screamed, and a roar went up from the mob.
     Tokath spun on the guard.
     "How *dare* you!" he bellowed.  "Explain!"
     The guard, who had obviously expected something more along the
lines of "Good job, soldier," was at a loss.  He sputtered,
"General, he was inciting a riot.  The prisoners might have
revolted.  I thought he was dangerous."
     "You 'thought?'"  Tokath sneered.  "You didn't think. You
acted without considering the consequences."  He gestured towards
the crowd, which by this time had begun to focus on the guard
menacingly.
     "But General!"
     "If we were aboard my ship, I would kill you where you stand. 
You will leave on the next transport.  Give me your weapon."  He
held out his hand.  Defeated, the guard handed it over.  Two of the
other guards seized him.
     Tokath placed the disruptor on the dais for all to see, then
spoke in a quiet tone that demanded attention.
     "I am deeply sorry for this unfortunate incident."  He took in
a ragged breath.  "I do not condone the guard's actions.  He will
be dealt with appropriately, I assure you.  I do not take the death
of anyone lightly.  That is why all of you are still alive.  Please
do not take the actions of a foolish man to be the attitude of the
rest of us."  He drew his own disruptor and obliterated the murder
weapon.  "No more blood."  He stepped down again, and took Tasha's
arm.  She stared at him without recognition, then at the dais.
     "Please say that we'll tear down that wretched thing," she
whispered.
     "After the Senator goes away.  I promise you."  He led her
away, but she looked back to Wesley for the briefest moment.  Then
they were gone.
     Arrhat climbed up on the dais, and stared down at where Imno
had been standing minutes before.  Ekan joined her, took her hand
as she whispered:  "It seems the Artful Dodger found an ending to
his story after all."  When she started to cry, Ekan held her, and
wept a little, too.
 
***
 
      Castillo changed room assignments that night, choosing to
crowd into a room of mostly Human prisoners.  It was just as well;
living quarters would change as soon as the compound was complete. 
He left with barely a word.
     K'Toktehn was more distant than ever, while even Qu'aemon was
in a less than sociable mood.  When Arrhat tried to take his hand,
Wes noticed that he pulled away sharply.  Twice.  Obviously, he was
trying to keep in his Klingon persona, which Arrhat had to have
known, but she still looked genuinely hurt.  On an impulse, Wes
hugged her as she and Kriana left.  She didn't even smile.
     After Castillo and the women were gone, the room seemed very
cold and empty.  None of the men wanted to look towards the empty
bunk just yet.  They readied for sleep in silence, and Wes soon lay
in his bunk staring at the ceiling.
     Tokath had managed the situation well.  He had dealt with the
guard quickly, before the mob could react.  Assuming he could keep
them at bay until the transport arrived, tempers could return to
their more typical level of only slightly above normal.  Normally,
they were the temperature of an average city sidewalk on Vulcan in
midsummer.  Wes had taken note how Tokath had studiously avoided
the use of the word murder.  Also, that bit about the one foolish
man speaking for the group had not only been about the guard.  Just
because Imno had been outspoken, the rest of them would not be held
responsible.  However, if the others *should* begin to take his
example, they too would be dealt with.  Quickly.
 
***
 
      Night passed, and morning followed.  The day brought a
distinct cooling to relations among the prisoner-colonists. Several
times during the day, Wesley walked by a group of conversing
Humans, only to notice the sudden silence as he passed.  The
Klingons never spoke much during work in the  best of
circumstances, so their silence was not quite as obvious. 
Nevertheless, the atmosphere of the entire work detail was as
solemn as a funeral party, which indeed it was.
     Despite the quiet, or maybe because of it, the work in the
quarry proceeded quickly.  That day, and into the next week, the
final construction of the compound went faster than anyone had
thought possible.
     Three days before the scheduled arrival of the Senator, the
compound was complete.  Completely ringed with a sandstone wall,
filled with quarters for all the colonists, the structure was
breathtaking.  The barbed wire was gone, and the wooden planks had
been converted into firewood for the central fireplace.  Nothing
remained of the original structure but the wooden dais in the
center of the courtyard, which would stay until after the Senator's
visit.  On the same note, though, no one was sure if the colonists
would still be there after the Senator's visit.  Tokath maintained
a positive attitude, even going to the quarries with the others to
help carve the final stones.  It was a gesture, of course, but a
good one in terms of public relations.
     When the last stone, a block at the top of the perimeter wall,
was set, everyone was present.  Ekan spread the mortar, then Trehan
and K'Toktehn set it in place.  A sigh spread through the crowd
like a cool breeze, and for a brief moment, they stopped being
Klingons and Humans and Romulans, and became people.  There was a
general back-slapping and hand- shaking that lasted several
minutes.
     Wesley found himself beside Tasha, and quickly hugged her. 
There seemed to be more of her than there had been a week and a
half before.
     He breathed into her ear.  "How long?"
     "We might have a month left.  Maybe less."
     "You'll have to tell Castillo the whole story.  He doesn't
trust me anymore."
     "All right.  Move away now."
     He casually pulled away and slapped the nearest Klingon
companionably on the back.  The large bulk turned around.  It was
K'Toktehn.
     "What?" he snarled.  Wes jumped back.
     "Just congratulating you is all."  He suddenly realized that
the brief spell of good-naturedness had passed, and people were
again moving into their own cliques.  A look at the Klingon's face
made his stomach shrink into a tight knot.  Imno had been his
friend, the only real friend he had.  Not even Qu'aemon had made
him laugh.  Imno was dead, a Romulan had killed him, and the
Klingon had not yet allowed himself to grieve.
     Wesley suddenly felt that he was in *big* trouble.
     K'Toktehn moved towards him, and he backstepped quickly,
almost running into Tasha.  The expression on her face was clear:
If Tokath sees us together, we both die.  Deal with it.
     "Listen, K'Toktehn, let's pretend we're friends, okay?"
     "What would a Romulan know of friendship with a Klingon," he
demanded, "when Romulans go killing with impunity?"  It was the
longest sentence Wesley had ever heard the Klingon utter.  That
fact did not have much time to register, as it was followed by a
very heavy-looking fist.
     Wes ducked to one side, catching the blow on his shoulder.  He
staggered slightly, tried to form some plan of attack, or at least
escape.  He wasn't nearly strong enough to fight a Klingon male in
his prime; as a means of suicide, a poisoned dagger would be less
messy, and certainly less painful.
     The fist lashed out again, and again he avoided it.  This
wasn't going to work for long.
     K'Toktehn drew back again, and having no time for a better
idea, Wes caught the fist, pulled it through and over his shoulder. 
In moments, K'Toktehn was staring in some wonder at the clouds.
     As he tried to rise, several guards surrounded them both,
weapons ready.  Tokath stepped in.
     "What is going on here?"
     K'Toktehn spat.  "Typical Romulan."  He looked to Wes
disdainfully.  "You have no honor, bringing them into this."
     If there was one thing Wes could do, it was think on his feet. 
"Sorry, sir.  My friend here had mentioned a Klingon martial art
form, 'muck barrow' or something.  I asked him to demonstrate, and
I guess things just got out of hand."
     Tokath looked at him as though he had sprouted another limb. 
He glanced at Tasha for confirmation of the story.
     "I certainly learned a lot," was all she would say.
     Tokath drew a deep sigh from somewhere within.  "There will be
no more 'demonstrations.'  Is that understood?"
     K'Toktehn, who had pulled himself to a sitting position,
nodded solemnly.  Wes added, "Yes, General."
     "Good.  We cannot allow fighting among us, especially with the
Senator's arrival coming so soon.  Too much depends on it."  He
motioned the guards away.  "Come, my dear."  He offered an arm for
Tasha.
     "I think I'll walk around a while.  The sunlight and fresh air
will do me good."  She offered him a smile, but it was a plastic
mask, thin and quickly removed after he left.
     Wes held out a hand for K'Toktehn, but he ignored it and rose
on his own.  "We will have another 'demonstration' later, Romulan." 
He did not smile as he moved away.
     "For someone trying to stay out of sight, you certainly seem
to draw attention to yourself."  Tasha shook her head.  "How's the
shoulder?"
     "Don't ask."  The dull throb had the all too familiar tingle
of a pain that would linger.  He couldn't even ask Josolar for a
pain reliever; Romulan drugs could kill a Traveler as easily as a
Human.
     "Duck better next time."  She stood back, appraising him for
a moment.
     "What?"
     "Nothing."  She paused.  "It's just that the Wesley I knew
would never have even dreamed of fighting a Klingon, and certainly
couldn't have beaten one.  Hell, I don't  know that I could have
done it, even when I was training every day.  I get the feeling you
won't be having problems from any of the others."
     She was right; no Human in his or her right (or left) mind
would fight a Klingon, and the list of winners in such
confrontations could probably be counted on the fingers of one
thumb.  Something was amiss, but he was damned if he could figure
out what it was.
     "I'll tell him tonight," she said, and wandered off in a
carefully casual manner.  He didn't watch her leave.
     "Dalek!"  He heard a shout off to his left.  "Dalek!"  He
wondered why Dalek hadn't answered.  People should answer when
people called their names.  Names.  His name was supposed to be
Dalek.
     "Yes?"  he responded, trying not to look like an idiot.
     Trehan caught up with him, for once with none of the others in
tow.  "Did I see what I think I just saw?"
     "It depends.  What did you see that you think that you saw
that you might not have seen?"  He grinned; three months ago, a
sentence like that would have been beyond his linguistic skills. 
Then again, from the expression on Trehan's face, it might still be
beyond him.  Wes had the sudden feeling he had just asked him
something about avocados.
     "Maybe he managed to get you after all.  What in space made
you pick a fight with K'Toktehn??!  Hasn't anybody ever explained
the hazards to your health?"
     "You sound like Josolar.  You two spend far too much time
together."  It was a weak attempt to change the topic.
     "Dalek.  You can't just think with your fists.  You have to
think things through.  Now K'Toktehn's *never* gonna come around." 
He muttered something about fools and their heads being soon
parted.  Still, there was something in his glance akin to respect
now.  Not much, for Trehan had his own ideas of what warranted
admiration, but some.
     That evening, Wes noticed people staring at him, and
whispering.  Klingons and Romulans alike who had pushed by him
without much thought now stood at a distance and watched him go by. 
He had become either a hero or a target.  So much for remaining the
unassuming minstrel.
 
***
 
      With the final construction of the compound finished, the
barracks became unnecessary.  There were quarters available now, if
one chose to double or triple up.  For the time being, Wes had a
room with Trehan and Josolar, with Ekan, Qu'aemon and K'Toktehn
next door.  Kriana and Arrhat had managed to get a room on the
other side with just the two of them, although there would be three
soon enough.
     The loss of the large room also brought the loss of something
else.  Even with the new free time, officially spent in planning
the final details of the Senator's visit, the whole group was
rarely together.  More and more, Trehan and/or Josolar would be
with Kriana, while Arrhat spent time with her husbands.  Wes
wondered how long it would be until they requested family quarters. 
Maybe they would just kick K'Toktehn out.  That was sure to put him
in a good mood.
     His friends otherwise occupied, Wesley turned his thoughts to
escape.  Imno's death left sixteen people to go Travelling with
him.  It would have to be quickly, before anyone noticed that the
Human population was dwindling at warp speed.  The carnival gave
him an idea for a back-up plan, at least.
     Late one night, Wes lay half-asleep when he heard a tapping at
the door.  Blearily, he crawled out of bed and answered it; the
soft snoring from the others' beds did not change from their rhythm
in the slightest.
     "Yes?"  he whispered, trying not to waken them.
     "Dalek?"  came the whisper from the other side.
     "Yeah?"
     "It's Castillo.  Can you come out?"  His pulse jumped. Tasha
had gotten the message through.  He slipped outside.
       Castillo stood shivering in the cool moonlight.  He looked
*nothing* of the man who had led his ship in a hopeless defense for
a lost Klingon outpost.  The night-wind robbed his heroism, left
him kin to the timid animal who was his ancestor, who had huddled
near a fire against the terrors in the darkness when time was what
passed between dusk and day.  The same blood that coursed through
Castillo's veins passed through Wesley's, and through every other
Human from that crisp night onwards.  The shared aloneness drew
them all together.  There was no way that Wes could leave him here.
     "Can you come back to our quarters?  There's something we need
to discuss."  He nodded, and Castillo led him along the passage to
his own quarters.
     When his eyes adjusted to the light, Wes saw something
amazing: a room filled with Humans.  It had been so long that the
entire time he was there, he kept looking for pointed ears and
bumpy foreheads.  There were fifteen of them, including Castillo,
and not an alien among them.  If Tokath ever caught wind of this
meeting ...  Then he saw the fear in their eyes.  He was the
Romulan, the alien.  He was the enemy.
     "You all know Dalek, I believe."  A few nods, the fear
remained.
     "It's okay," he said, trying to reassure himself as much as
anyone.  "I'm a friend.  My name is Wesley Crusher."  There was
little response.  Obviously his alternate self had not made an
impression on them.  Or had never met them.
     A woman near the back asked:  "As in Doctor Crusher?"  He
nodded, and she explained to the others.  "She was the doctor
aboard the _Enterprise-D_."  More recognition now.  At least they
knew of his mother.  Perhaps Tasha had told them about the _E-D_.
     He decided the direct approach would be the best.  He stepped
apart from Castillo, took a deep breath, and Changed back to his
normal form.  Several of the Humans gasped, and one crossed
himself.
     "I've come from the future to rescue you."  There.  It was
done, for good or ill.  He could not turn back now.  Suddenly, the
silent group came alive with questions.
     "How did you do that?"
     "When are we going?"
     "Are you Human?"
     "How do we know you're not a Romulan spy?"
     "Rescue ... "
     "Home ... "
     Castillo silenced them with a quick gesture.  "Do you want to
wake everyone up?  He's here, and Tasha trusts him. That's enough
for me."  He looked at Wes expectantly, eyes filled with faith. 
Tasha trusted him, therefore Castillo trusted him.  That was love. 
The simplicity of it awed him.
     Wes faced the little group.
     "You have spent a long time here, too long.  I'm going to ask
you to do something very difficult, and wait a little longer.  I
can't tell you how important it is that this colony continue.  If
the Senator finds anything amiss, like all of us gone, there is no
way she'll let this place stand."
     "So?" asked someone who sounded eerily like Imno.  "What do we
care what happens to a bunch of Romulans after we leave?"
     "The Klingons are in this, too."
     "Last time we were in the future, the Federation was at war
with the Klingons."
     "You prevented the war.  The Klingons are our friends, and the
ones from this colony are very important to future events."  Or at
least to *my* future events, he added to himself.
     "Where will we go?" asked someone else.  "How do we set things
right without messing up the future?  We're not supposed to be
here."
     "You'll have some time to decide that.  The Senator arrives
the day after tomorrow.  We all have to be on our best behavior. 
She'll be here about a week.  Once she's had a chance to give her
report to the Senate, we leave.  Say, two weeks from tonight.  By
then, you'll have to choose whether you want to return to your time
or to mine.  I'll tell you now: you can't go back home."  The
voices murmured.  "If you do, it will disrupt the timestream.  I
can't allow that."
     Before there could be a large disagreement, he turned to
Castillo.  "You know where the swimming hole is."  He nodded. 
"There is a clearing just behind the bushes there that should hold
all of us if we squeeze.  Over the next two weeks, everyone should
familiarize themselves with the place.  We leave at midnight. 
Whatever happens, don't be late."  He did not need to tell them
what would happen when they were discovered missing.  Anyone left
would be executed.
     In silence, the others dispersed a few at a time, until the
only ones left were Castillo, his roommates, and Wes.  The other
two men went to bed, leaving the pair alone.
     "She's told me about you," said Castillo suddenly.  "Before we
came here, the whole lot of us were interned together on Romulus. 
We numbered thirty-eight back then. We would be taken one by one
and 'interrogated' for hours at a time.  Nineteen of my people died
as a result of the questioning.  When we weren't being questioned,
we were in a large cell somewhere in the bowels of the Romulan
military headquarters.  It was always dark, and it stank, and there
were rats, or something like rats, crawling over everything.
     "Sometimes, the only thing that kept me sane was Tasha. She'd
tell us stories of the future, about places she'd been and people
she'd known.  She told us about her friends on her _Enterprise_,
everything she knew, over and again.  Your mother was her best
friend, and Tasha would tell us the stories she had learned about
your family.  She never really had one, so maybe it was the next
best thing.  I close my eyes every night, and I can hear her voice
telling me about your first steps and I can feel a rat run across
my hand.
     "When the interrogations were finished, we were going to be
executed.  Then Tokath stepped in.  He had not been involved with
us until that day.  He saw Tasha, filthy, dressed in the smelly
remnant of a uniform that hadn't been designed yet, and he fell in
love with her like *that*.  He loved her in the daylight, and I
loved a voice from the darkness and we understood one another
completely.  He cut a deal, letting all of us live if she would be
his.  She didn't hesitate.  They took her out of the cell, and I
didn't see her again for nearly a year.  When we came here, I saw
her at a distance, and all I could see was the fierce woman of the
ship from the future, and all I could hear was the voice from the
darkness telling me about people we would never see again."
     He caught Wesley's gaze and held it.  "There are things that
bind people far deeper than blood ties.  You and I and Tasha and
Tokath are bound."  He seized Wes's shoulders with a half-mad look
in his eyes.  "You must promise me that you will protect her, no
matter what."
     Had it been daylight, had they been on a starship and among
friends, Wes would have laughed off Castillo's fears and told him
that Tasha was far more capable of taking care of herself than
anyone he had ever known.  The night was cold, though, and filled
with distant stars in unfamiliar constellations and the dimming
greenish light of a dying moon, and night-fears were more real than
daylight when all there was between life and the darkness was the
flickering of a fire and the popping manta leaves.
     "Castillo ... "  Sela had been so certain, and she and Belle
had never mentioned one another.  Tasha had been dead for fifteen
years, and also for thirty years, and there wasn't a thing he could
do to change the timestream.  But she trusted him and this soul-
wounded man trusted him.  "I promise."  The madness faded, and
Castillo became himself again.
     Without a word, Wes Changed back to his Romulan form, and
slipped back to his quarters silently.  With the blankets securely
around him, he tried to make himself believe that the smoke in his
nostrils was only his imagination.
 
***
 
      The Senator was scheduled to arrive just past mid-day, in
order to have a proper daylight tour of the place before dinner. 
The meal was to be an extravagant affair with traditional Romulan,
Klingon, and Human dishes prepared by the colonists.
     Trehan had made five batches of breadcakes from his family's
"secret recipe."  Wes, bothering him in the kitchen, was allowed to
sample one and knew immediately why no one had ever bothered to
steal the secret.
     One of the Klingons, a woman named Gi'ral, had decided to make
a real treat for the Senator.  Without telling a soul, she had
crept outside night after night gathering ingredients. The day of
the feast, she had finally told her friends about the dish she
planned.  In the way of all small communities with too much time on
their hands, the rumor reached Tokath within an hour.  His face
took on a pained look.  He went to find her, and spent a great deal
of time explaining why gagh was not the best thing to serve to a
member of the Romulan Senate when trying to impress her.  According
to the story Wesley heard that afternoon, this "discussion"
culminated with Tokath consuming the worms himself, praising them
all the way down and excusing himself quickly afterwards.
     The General did not attend the noon meal.
     Through the afternoon, decorations hurriedly fashioned in the
past two days were plastered to the bricks like paint.  Dried
flowers and fresh were strung from the central building to the edge
of the compound on slender wires as a papery display in blue and
red and orange.  Every movement of the humid air drifted the exotic
scents lower to where the people busied themselves, and now and
again some of the petals would come loose and settle to the dusty
ground.
     Anticipation set in, and with it nervousness.  What if she
wasn't impressed?  Worse, what if she came and decided that the
compound would make a lovely place for a Romulan- only settlement? 
Wes knew how things would work out, but he couldn't tell the
others, could only sit and watch them as the hours grew old without
the first sign of an arriving ship.
     Well after dark, Tokath called a meeting in the courtyard. 
Looking a bit peaked himself, he told them to go ahead and eat,
that perhaps the Senator had meant the following day.  Almost in
silence, everyone filed towards the dining rooms, tramping
carelessly on dirty flowers fallen from the sky.  Inside, the now-
stale food waited patiently for them.  There were some grumbles
from the Klingons that gagh at least would still have been fresh,
but the words went unheard by Tokath, who did not show up for
dinner, either.
     During the meal, word went around that the Senator's ship had
broken down en route, but that she had fortunately found passage on
another ship.  They were set to arrive sometime in the next few
days.
     Another, less public announcement also was passed around: the
Humans were to meet that night to discuss the new problem.
     Kriana and Arrhat came over that night.  Arrhat left fairly
soon, probably to see Ekan and/or Qu'aemon, but Kriana stayed and
talked well into the night.  After a while, Josolar turned in,
leaving the three of them.
     Out of nowhere, Wes realized that although he was welcome to
stay, the couple would really like him to leave.  He made some
excuse about wanting to take a walk, and went outside.  He wandered
aimlessly for a bit, then headed to Castillo's quarters.  The other
Humans had already gathered there.
     He Changed to make them more comfortable.  They went over the
problem, and after a great deal of heated discussion, decided to
postpone the trip another week.  The others had no choice but to
accept; Wes was the only one who could free them.  He could not
tell them that he disliked waiting as much as they did, that he
knew what would come if he hesitated too long.
     He felt time speeding away from him with burning wings.  Tasha
had less than a month to go, and the Senator was late.  Did he dare
pull them out before the visit was complete?  That the colony was
approved was a matter of history, but if he managed to mess it up
too soon, history would have something to say on the matter.  Not
for the first time, he thought back fondly to when the only thing
he had to worry about was trying to get a look at the Bridge on the
old _Enterprise_.
     Again they parted as before, a few at a time, with the last
meeting set for the night before the Senator's new arrival time. 
As Wes left, he saw his own fears reflected in Castillo's lined
face.  He could offer no comfort; he merely tried to smile, and
walked out.
     When he finally went back to his quarters, Kriana and Trehan
were sleeping in the main room, and Josolar was snoring in the
bedroom.  Sleep sounded nice.
 
***
 
      Just past noon on the proscribed day, the familiar sound of
a ship's engine began to hum in the background.  Everyone gathered
in the courtyard to await the landing.  Tokath, the two liaisons
and a few others, including Kriana, waited at the opened gates. 
From a tiny point of darkness in the cloudless sky, the ship grew
at an interminal speed.  After what could have been hours, it
became clear enough to see: pale blue, the shade of the morning
sky, with lightly traced wings that could have flown it without an
engine.  It was a lovely ship, a ship to bring peace, like so many
other vessels he had known.
     Kriana, her eyes like twin moons, began to tremble.  Wes
couldn't figure out why, until he looked at the ship again.  He had
seen it before, in a docking bay on Romulus.  His subconscious
picked upon it, and gradually allowed the rest of him to become
aware.
     With a bizarre sense of closure, he knew beyond a doubt that
Senator Arkaed had gotten a lift from Senator Turin.  Of course
Turin would be aboard, would come ashore, would learn of the child
Kriana carried.  Heavens only knew what he would do when he found
out.
     Damn him.
     Then damn him again.
     The blue ship touched gently to the ground.
 
***
 
You knew this was coming, didn't you?  All psychic/psychotic
predictions go to me at: wilson@athena.hood.edu or
missy@darklair.com.  All Hershey's Hugs or Kisses go to the poster. 
 
Later ...
 
Merlin Missy:)
PSEB: Chief Chemist and Bottle Washer, Also Part Time Ship's Disc
Jockey, JLP Ship of Looooooooooooooooooooove
BONC: co-founder
FROG: Do the X-Files have a thing for us or something? 


-- 
"I was just marking my territory, and you got in the way." -- Jack 
Nicholson in "Wolf"

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From: cmfaltz@panix.com (Christine M. Faltz)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: GRADUATION (Pt. 7/10) -- by MELISSA WILSON
Date: 8 Feb 1995 13:58:04 -0500
Organization: The Q Continuum
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NNTP-Posting-Host: panix.com



Typical disclaimer about Paramount owning everything up to and
including the kitchen sink.  Feel free to distribute, so long
as my name and header are attached.
 
***
Graduation
The Green Chronicle
 
A Star Trek: The Next Generation story by
Melissa "Merlin Missy" Wilson
wilson@athena.hood.edu
missy@darklair.com
Copyright 1995
 
***
Chapter 7: Magic and the Night
***
 
     Senator Arkaed was lovely.  Her hair, longer than the current
fashion and black with a few streaks of shocking white, coiled down
past her slim waist.  The crimson of her form-fitting jumpsuit
brought the slightest emerald tint to her dark face, while her deep
eyes looked past him into his better self.
     When Wes could think coherently again, he took a closer look,
and guessed her to be about middle-aged, figure at least a century
and perhaps older.  This did nothing to help the effect she was
having on his self-control.  Some very interesting thoughts flitted
through his head before he could stop them.
     A man, perhaps fifty years old, joined her on the gangway, and
from the barely-controlled reaction from Kriana, he was the other
Senator.  He was about average height for a Romulan, say about two
meters, and had an open, friendly face.  At first glance, one would
believe him an honest sort, the kind of man you could trust.  No
doubt it made him a far more effective politician, and had probably
been the reason he was elected.  Considering his youth, his
experience could not have been the reason.
     Arkaed smiled at him gently, shyly.  So it wasn't the gown
that had put the blush in her cheeks.  Great.  The senators were
lovers.  At the very least, he might leave Kriana alone now.  Her
pregnancy was at that stage where she could still get away with
merely looking fat.
     He glanced at her.  She looked very *very* ill, and her
discomfort grew as he neared her.  Something would have to be done
and quickly, because Tokath had just introduced L'Kor.
     "My wife, our Human Liaison, Tasha."  Turin took Tasha's hand
with a practiced air.  However, he gave the impression of holding
something unclean, touched out of politeness and quickly dropped.
     As Wes watched helplessly, the General turned to introduce his
next friend and associate to the Senators.
     "And this is our most prized assistant ... "
     "Kriana!"  Arkaed's face lit with recognition and joy, while
Turin offered no more than a tight smile.
     Arkaed paid no heed, and embraced her happily.  After a
moment, Kriana returned the hug.
     "Kriana, you never mentioned that you knew the Senator," said
Tokath, a slight edge to his voice.
     "I didn't want to sound like I was dropping names, General," 
she replied.  Tasha, just behind her, looked on with veiled eyes,
not smiling at Turin in the slightest.  Kriana must have told her. 
Maybe, if she told Tokath ...  But no.  That would not change his
plans at all; he still needed to keep the Senators happy, and
knowing that one of them had raped a dear friend of his would not
help.
     "Kriana," said Arkaed, "do you think you could give us a tour
of the compound?  We can catch up on things."  She flashed a heart-
warming smile at her.  Kriana wilted.
     "She would love to," said Tokath, his tone allowing no
protest.  "Wouldn't you, Kriana?"
     "If you don't mind, I'm feeling a bit ill right now.  I'm
afraid I wouldn't be a good guide."  She wouldn't meet Tokath's
eyes.  "Once you've seen the place, I would enjoy talking over old
times.  Just not right now."  She squeezed Arkaed's hand.  "If
you'll excuse me."  She slipped into the crowd and was gone.
     Tokath looked after her in more than mild shock.  He was not
often crossed.  Quickly, he covered.  "If you might allow me, I'll
show you around.  We have made a great deal of progress here in the
past few months.  For example, these walls ..."  With the senators
occupied, the crowd slowly dispersed.
     Wes went looking for Kriana.  He found her back in her
quarters, crying, with Arrhat holding her hand.  Half a second
later, Trehan walked in and enfolded her in a hug.
     "He should be shot," he whispered.  "Twice."
     Kriana nodded.  "I thought that I could face him, that it
wouldn't be like *this*."  She shuddered.  "I look at him and I can
feel his hands on my shoulders and I can taste his mouth and I feel
so dirty."  This last was said in a whisper.  Her tears flowed
freely, and all Wes could think to do was to find her a
handkerchief.
     Trehan kissed her hair softly.  She jumped at the touch, and
he pulled away.  "I won't let him hurt you.  I promise."  He looked
at Wes for a long moment, then left.
     Wes pulled a chair over, took her other hand as gently as he
could, and listened.
 
***
 
     The night was filled with light and sound.  Torches both flame
and electronic made the courtyard a place of wonder.  Someone had
found something resembling tinsel, and had strung it in strategic
spots to catch the flames and shine them dancing back.  Most of the
prisoners had found something slightly nicer to wear than their
usual garb, and were ambling about the courtyard in costume.
     The masks were Kriana's idea.  One night, she had been looking
through the computer records for something when she discovered,
quite by accident, a romantic little story about a masquerade
aboard a starship.  She fell in love with the notion of dressing up
in costume and becoming, for a night, someone that she wasn't.  The
idea for the carnival had sprung from that.  Tonight, most of the
people present wore some sort of disguise, and after a while, it
became difficult to discern the Klingons from the Humans from the
Romulans.
     As Wes walked through the crowd, he nearly ran into a woman
with a rust-colored owl mask.  Her escort was uncostumed, and with
a rush of adrenaline, he recognized Turin.  Obviously, Senator
Arkaed had wanted to see the booths and listen to the music.  Such
as there was.
     Six Klingons had replicated a variety of instruments, and were
playing something interesting with a lot of percussion and a very
simple melody.  The lyrics were low and guttural, and seemed to be
part of the back beat.
     Wesley couldn't quite make out what they were singing, but
hoped fervently that it wasn't along the lines of "Kill the Bloody
Roms."  He had offered to sing something at the carnival, then been
told point blank that if he tried, he would lose the use of both
arms for the next month.
     At least Senator Arkaed seemed to be enjoying the music, had
even greeted the singers with loud applause after a decidedly ...
interesting song.  From the words he understood, the lyrics sounded
like something equivalent to the old one about the salesman and the
farmer's daughter.  In Klingon.  He sighed, covering a laugh.
     Turin just looked as though he were bored and trying not to
show it, applauding in the right places, a vacant smile plastered
on his face.
     Wes couldn't stay around to hear more; he needed to get his
own show together.  Late one night in the barracks, when he was
half-asleep, he had been thinking how much his abilities were like
magic, and how he might have been awed at them had the Traveler
never shown him just what was involved.  This got him to thinking
about magic, and then about doing a magic show for the children. 
At the thought of himself dressed head to toe in the traditional
black cap and top hat, he had laughed himself awake again.  His
laughter had also awakened Qu'aemon, who had promptly thrown a
pillow at him.  Some people had no sense of humor.
     The sign, lettered by Arrhat, read "Come One and All to See
the Magic of Dalek the Great and Terrible!"  It had a crude 
painting of a Romulan man in a hat with stars on it.  It was 
probably supposed to be him, and he had thanked Arrhat for it,
wondering to himself if she had ever Travelled as an artist the way
he Travelled as a musician.  No wonder the Traveler had come as an
engineer; it had to be easier to pretend to be something one was
good at because one could always pretend to be worse.
     Wes opened the kit he had assembled and emptied the contents
on the table.  He had a deck of cards, three large interlocking
rings, a mirror, and an assortment of pretty stones he he'd found
while working in the quarry and wandering in the jungle.  Another
mirror was already in position just opposite the table.  The rest
of his act would come from inside.
     It was scheduled to start in about half an hour, but people
were already gathering.  He stretched a blanket across the nearest
archway as a curtain, then went over his act in his head while the
crowd grew.  He'd considered asking Arrhat to be his requisite
"lovely assistant," then decided against it.  Knowing her, she
would no doubt upstage him easily, and this was *his* show.  She
could watch the performance with the others.
     He looked out the curtain, and saw her sitting near the front
with Ekan and Qu'aemon.  At least, he hoped they were Ekan and
Qu'aemon.  The Romulan male wore a serpent's face and dress, while
the Klingon sported a simple black eye mask and blue jumpsuit, with
a midnight blue cape over it.
     Arrhat, of course, had to be different, and so had done
something to her hair to make herself a gorgon.  She wore a *very*
short, wispy, mint-green dress that just barely qualified  as
clothing.  One strap lay upon her right shoulder, but her left 
side was nearly bare down to her waist.  After a few minutes, 
Qu'aemon gave her his cloak.
     Shifting his view, he saw Kriana as she found a seat on the
opposite side.  Trehan and Josolar were nowhere to be seen, but
they would probably be along soon.  People dragged chairs from
their quarters, others brought blankets and spread them on the
ground.  For what was supposed to be a little bit of magic for the
children, this was quickly becoming a major event.
     His mouth went dry.  Out in the darkness, he saw Tasha,
dressed as Arkaed had, with a feathery bird mask and a blue gown
that hid her stomach nicely.  Somehow, the dress was harder for Wes
to imagine on her than the mask.  With her were her husband, in
hues of gold, and daughter, who had a set of tissue-paper wings
that, with her carefully up-swept hair accenting her pointed ears,
made her look like nothing so much as a woodland sprite.  L'Kor
wore the tusks of a targ, while his companion for the evening, who
might have been named Bechaba if Wes remembered correctly, wore an
outfit in several shades of brown.  The two Senators were right
behind them.  The crowd parted for them to get up front: there were
obviously certain advantages to rank.  Maybe he should make some
quick changes to the program.
     He checked his chronometer --- no time.  It would have to
stand on its own.
     He tugged into place his own costume, a simple black and white
outfit, with a black cloak and fragile white half-mask. He pulled
the cloak around him and stepped out.
     He raised his arms.
     "Greetings one and all!  Greetings!  Welcome to the realm of
Dalek the Great and Terrible, Wizard of Shi'hyne!"  He waited for
the applause to die down slightly; everyone was in a good mood.
     "The world of enchantment is a dangerous one.  Those of you
who dislike danger, please leave now."  A dramatic pause.  "Very
well.  I see you are all of brave stock.  We shall see how you are
at the end."  He remained impassive but grinned inside.  The patter
was as old as time itself.  He had heard similar spiels in theatres
on ancient Vulcan, on the streets in New York four hundred years
ago, and in a bar on Proxima Centauri.  The words were the same,
the tricks were the same, the same look of childlike wonder was on
the faces of the audience.  That was the glory of it.
     He let the flow of the words carry him along in his normal 
tricks.  He did a few card tricks, which involved calling up a 
member of the audience to pick a card and then guessing which one
it was.  The mirror at the other end of the courtyard worked very
nicely with this trick.  He did a few basic card tricks, but only
a few --- they tended to bore the audience after a very short
while.
     He moved on to the rings.  With a few distracting spell words,
he found the places on them where the metal wasn't continuous and
locked and unlocked them easily.  He moved on to juggling, and
began to use his other abilities.  He took five of the stones, and
tossed them up in the air.  After a minute, he added the rest of
the stones.  He then tossed the mirror up as well.  Using the
thoughts of the audience as a power source, he kept all the objects
airborne.  As a last touch, he plucked the mirror out of the air
and balanced it on his head while the rocks orbited.  This brought
gasps and then a standing ovation as he caught five of the stones
in each hand and a large jade colored one dead center in the mirror
without scratching it in the slightest.
     He bowed and dropped the rocks.  Damn.  At least he caught the
mirror; for a time-traveler, seven years of bad luck could be a
life sentence.  He set it down carefully, then finished his act
with the grand finale which had given him the idea in the first
place.
     "And now, ladies and gentlemen, and the rest of you people," 
a few laughs,  "I will perform my final illusion. Traditionally, a
master of magic should have a beautiful woman at his side so that
he can put her in a box and saw her in half or just make her
disappear altogether.  I for one cannot allow another person to be
put into such danger, so I will do my most dangerous deed alone. 
I will make *myself* disappear."   He held his arms aloft, drew his
cape around him, and spun around.  As he turned the third time, he
stopped time.
     The world was silent.  He paused and just looked at the others
for a moment, if moments had any meaning there.  Over a hundred
people sat or stood in the warm light, frozen as though an icy wind
had blown through.  He saw whispers half-completed, mouths opened
in yawns, hands raised to do something or another, all stopped.
     Well, almost all.
     Arrhat glanced at her still husbands.  "That's the quietest
those two have been in ages."  She turned back to Wes and smiled. 
"Thought you might pull something like this.  Not a bad trick,
though."
     "Thanks.  Why are they stopped?"
     "They're not true Travelers.  They can Change, and they help
me when I go someplace, but they haven't the talent to do it
themselves."
     "Then how did you find them?  I thought you met them
Travelling, the way we met."
     "I did meet them Travelling, although I didn't meet *you*
Travelling."
     "Then how ... "
     "You certainly ask a lot of questions for someone in the
middle of an act."  A somewhat evil smile crossed her face.  "Want
to make it a really fun trick?"
     "Depends."  He hated getting half answers.
     She explained her idea to him and he laughed.  This *would* be
a spectacular finish!  They prepared in moments, and when they were
in place, he restarted time.
     On the stage, a black-cloaked figure slowed its spinning.  The
audience sat back, disappointed.  So much for the trick.  Then, a
slim hand emerged from the cloak, removed the white half-mask, and
revealed a startled Arrhat.
     Amid a burst of delighted applause, Wesley stood up from
between Ekan and Qu'aemon, who wore matching expressions of
astonishment beneath their masks.
     With three steps, he was back on the stage.  With a flourish,
he traded capes with Arrhat and received his mask. They took hands
and bowed, Wes confidently, Arrhat pretending to still be
surprised.  He kissed her politely on the cheek and they both
descended to cheers.
 
***
 
     He supposed that being the center of attention wasn't all bad. 
Sela was fascinated by his last trick, and dragged her parents over
to pry the secret out of him.  Senator Arkaed joined them, but
Turin and the Klingons had left.  Wes amused Sela with a few more
card tricks while chatting with Tasha and the others about magic
and music.  He was loving this: he could spend time around Tasha
with no thoughts of impropriety by her husband.
     He pulled Sela's card from behind her ear, and she laughed. 
She had a very pretty smile, and he couldn't help but return it. 
How could such a sweet little girl ever become the cold Romulan
Commander who'd tried to invade Vulcan?  He did another trick, this
one involving the card "walking" along his arm, and she giggled
again.
     As he played with her, he wondered where Arrhat had gone.  She
had wisely pretended to be as shocked at the trick as the rest of
the audience, then had slipped away with her husbands.
     "Dalek," asked Arkaed, "why were you sent here to the prison
camp?"  He smiled and stopped time for a moment.  He removed a ring
from the Senator's hand, and restarted it.
     "Some people simply cannot appreciate a little magic now and
then."  He opened his palm and revealed the ring.  She gasped, then
smiled, delighted.
     "I thought you were arrested for vagrancy and public
intoxication," said Tasha, mirth in her eyes.
     He flashed his best grin.  "Okay, so a *lot* of people can't
appreciate a little magic now and then."  He turned back to Arkaed,
bowed, and said,  "I am Dalek of Lin'Ank, master troubadour and
amateur magician.  Would you like to hear a song?"
     "I would like that."  He looked at her in mild shock, while
Tokath, perhaps in memory of the last attempt, winced.
     Wes started into the first thing in his head: "The Lady of the
Blue Ship."  Arkaed seemed to like it, and probably even thought it
Bhad been just now written for her.  The look of enchantment on her
face made him almost wish it had been.
     Tasha held Sela against her, absently stroking her soft hair. 
Her green eyes were far away, in a Starry Isle of her own.
     Tokath stood back and rubbed his ears, appearing somewhat
pained.  Music critic.
     As he neared the end of the ballad, at the climax, when the
Lady looked from the bow of her fantasy vessel to the captain of
the tattered Blue Ship, he saw Kriana standing alone near an empty
booth, frozen in terror: Turin had just walked straight through a
conversation between two Humans, and was making a beeline towards
her.  Wes had to do something fast.
     He started to choke, then coughed loudly.  The two women's
faces turned to concern, while Tokath actually looked relieved.
     "I'm sorry.  Must've strained my voice tonight," he rasped
out.  Turin was halfway there and closing.  "Please excuse me."
     Arkaed's hand stopped him.  "Perhaps a drink will help."  She
turned to Tokath.  "General, why don't you get this man some
water?"  Tokath looked miffed at being ordered, but walked off in
the wrong direction.
     "No, thank you."  He tried to push her away without being too
obvious.  Turin was almost there.
     From out of nowhere Wes could see, Arrhat appeared beside
Kriana.
     "There you are, darling.  I've been looking for you all
night."  In full view of Turin, she turned Kriana's frightened face
to her own and kissed her with a deep and lingering passion.
     Turin's eyes went wide as he stopped dead.  Arrhat paid him no
attention.
     "I don't know about you, but right now, I would *love* to get
back to our quarters," she said in a silky voice that could have
sent a young boy through puberty.  She winked demurly and took
Kriana's hand, led her back towards their quarters.  Turin flushed
a bright green, and tried to appear as though he hadn't seen her.
     Wes grinned.  Senator Turin obviously had a few personal icks
to work through.  He would not be seeking out Kriana's company
anytime soon.
     Tokath returned with an emerald-green crystal glass filled
with ... something.  Wes thanked him, then drank it carefully.  A
buzzing feeling went through him almost at once, and he returned to
the song with renewed vigor.  At the end, he added another stanza,
which basically was a call to the audience to sing of the Lady, and
pray that someday she would return to the Starry Isle.
     Arkaed applauded happily; Turin approached her from behind,
and wrapped his arms around her.  Sela yawned as her father picked
her up.  Tasha stared for a moment, then offered a smile and a
handshake.
     "That was lovely, Dalek."
     Not to lose the opportunity, he took her hand, bowed, and
lightly touched her knuckles to his lips.  "My pleasure, lady."
     Perhaps Tokath didn't notice, for he made no reaction.  With
a final bow, Wes left them and wandered through the crowd.  His
heart was light, his head spinning in a pleasant manner.  Happiness
bubbled through him, and he knew that he could do anything the
universe asked of him.
     For the last time in a long while, he felt joy.
 
***
 
If you want to use the toaster, 
Please flame me and not the poster:
wilson@athena.hood.edu or missy@darklair.com 

Thank you.

Merlin Missy:)
PSEB: Chief Chemist and Bottle Washer, Also Part Time Ship's Disc
Jockey, JLP Ship of Loooooooooooooooooooove
BONC: co-founder
FROG: *croak* 


-- 
"I was just marking my territory, and you got in the way." -- Jack 
Nicholson in "Wolf"

Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!news.ksu.ksu.edu!vixen.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!news.sprintlink.net!uunet!panix!not-for-mail
From: cmfaltz@panix.com (Titania)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: GRADUATION (Pt. 8/10) -- by MELISSA WILSON
Date: 9 Feb 1995 16:17:09 -0500
Organization: The Q Continuum
Lines: 454
Message-ID: <3he0ol$f39@panix.com>
NNTP-Posting-Host: panix.com



Typical disclaimer about Paramount owning everything up to and
including the kitchen sink.  Feel free to distribute, so long
as my name and header are attached.
 
***
Graduation
The Green Chronicle
 
A Star Trek: The Next Generation story by
Melissa "Merlin Missy" Wilson
wilson@athena.hood.edu
missy@darklair.com
Copyright 1995
 
***
Chapter 8: Thunder and Silence
***
 
     The first thing Wesley was aware of was a reminder of why he
should never drink anything Romulan, alcoholic, or green.  His
teeth were alive with tortured nerve endings.  His eyes had an
unidentifiable crust around them which made blinking an exercise in
pain-endurance.  His tongue seemed to be attached to the roof of
his mouth by a process not unlike grafting two trees together.  His
hair hurt.
     The second thing Wesley was aware of was the extreme darkness. 
It was no doubt well before morning, and all he really wanted to do
was to point a phaser to the orangutan that was trying to break out
of his skull, then get more sleep.
     The third thing Wesley was aware of was Ekan, shaking him
awake and yelling that someone had killed the Senator.
     He sat straight up, regretted it immediately, then stood
anyway.  The room was at a delightful angle, reminiscent of some
very old vids he had once seen of a "television program" starring
two men who dressed up in tights.
     "Holy hangover," he muttered, then looked at Ekan.  The
Romulan (Vulcan?  He wasn't really sure.) looked as though he could
be hit with a ground car and wouldn't notice.
     "You didn't know about this."  Ekan shook his head numbly.
     "He never told us.  He said that she'd fallen ill and had to
go home."  Not Arrhat.  The Traveler.
     "Maybe the first time around, she did."  She.  His head was
finally clear enough to let the implications of "She" sink into
him.  "Arkaed's ... dead?"  The words felt distant, like something
out of a storybook.  The Queen died in childbirth, so the King
remarried, all long before the story ever began.  No one ever
mourns the long-dead Queen.
     "Not yet, but close enough.  There was a snake in her bed. 
Turin found her, took her to the infirmary.  Josolar and Mirith are
working on her now."  His voice lowered.  "I don't know if
Sunoph'l'pighis has enough venom to make more antidote."
     "Oh."  He saw her, the long soft hair, the brightness
radiating from her eyes, heard that rich voice speak with perfect
understanding of her place in the scheme of things.  A little part
of him died as the next thought filled his mind.
     "They don't have separate rooms, do they?"
     "No, fortunately.  If they had, he might not have found her
until morning."
     "If they had, she would have found *him*.  Someone was trying
to kill Turin."  Ekan's eyes went wide.  Obviously, he had been too
upset by the news, or he would have figured it out on his own. 
"Did Arrhat tell you what he did?"
     "Yes.  You don't think that Kriana ... "
     "I don't know," said Wes quietly.  But he did know. Kriana
would have done it, given half a chance.  For her sake, though, so
would Trehan, or Josolar, or Arrhat.  Hell, he probably would have
killed Turin if he wasn't terrified of screwing up the timestream.
     Trehan had told Kriana that he would not allow Turin to hurt
her, but Trehan was almost phobic of snakes.  Josolar liked snakes
and loved Kriana, although he had kept it hidden fairly well. 
Arrhat knew how things were *supposed* to turn out, could do
anything within that pattern, and certainly cared for Kriana.  As
for Kriana herself, he had no doubts whatsoever that she was
capable of killing Turin.
     Ekan stared through him.  Maybe he was telepathic, for all he
said was "Fish."
 
***
 
     A small crowd had gathered in the infirmary.  Ekan and Wes
found Arrhat and Kriana sitting beside the large bird cage.  One
glance confirmed his fears: Arkaed was not doing well.  Without
words, the four of them huddled together, knowing what would come
should the Senator die.
     Tokath and Turin walked in from the opposite side.
     " ... have utmost faith in Drs. Mirith and Josolar."
     "I'm sure you do."  Turin actually looked absent, lost.
"Whoever it was wanted to kill me, you know."
     "Don't say that," Tokath soothed.  "It was a needle-snake.  We
have them all over in the jungle."
     "In the jungle.  Not in here."  His eyes cast about the room,
finally setting on Kriana, who could only return the gaze.  Wes had
seen that look on deer with light in their eyes, preparing to die. 
But there was something else.
     She hadn't placed the snake in Arkaed's bed.  Wes knew it to
the center of his being.  Any of the others might have, but Kriana
had innocence in her eyes.  She had liked Arkaed; she would not
have harmed her to have revenge on Turin.  There were better
methods for that.
     Turin took this in, let his eyes wander more.  Wes wondered
who would bear the blame.  Turin couldn't blame Kriana without his
own crime becoming public knowledge, and Kriana was very well-
liked through the colony.  Another snake could find its way into
his bedroom.
     The door to the surgery opened, and Josolar, exhausted,
stepped out holding a very weak-looking Sunoph'l'pighis.  The bird
held the snake in its gaze hungrily and clicked its beak.  Josolar
took a deep breath.
     "Mirith says that she has a chance.  We managed to remove a
great deal of the poison, and our snake had venom to make just
enough antidote.  We hope.  If she needs any more, she will die. 
We wouldn't have time to get another snake, and we can't replicate
the venom or the antidote with the equipment we have here."
     A sigh went through the crowd.  She would live!  Before any
amount of happiness could seep in, though, Turin strode to where
Josolar stood, and announced:
     "There will be an inquiry into this immediately.  I intend to
find out who tried to kill the Senator using any means necessary. 
I am hereby taking command of this prison camp until further
notice."  Tokath gaped, then started to protest, but Turin silenced
him.  "If anyone attempts to impede my investigation, that person
will immediately be arrested for aiding and abetting the attempted
murderer.  No one will be held above suspicion.  Do I make myself
clear?"
     "You cannot put this colony under martial law,"  said Tokath,
quietly.  The snake lifted its head to stare at the hungry bird. 
Josolar stilled its movement.
     "This isn't a colony.  Despite your opinion, General, this is
a prison camp.  It's time it started to be run like one."
     "I will contact the Senate.  You have no right ... "
     "I will also contact the Senate, and tell them how shoddy of
a system I found here, with prisoners allowed to walk around
without any restraint.  If Arkaed dies, I will hold you just as
responsible as the person who placed the snake in her bed. 
Fraternizing with these animals has made you weak, Tokath.  I
suppose your next wife will be a Klingon?"  He grimaced.  "At least
Klingons have some modicum of civilization."
     Tokath merely stared at him, unbelieving.  Thank goodness
Tasha wasn't there.  Wes felt sick to his stomach.
     The golden bird in the corner shrieked for the snake's blood.
     "As Arkaed is ill, I have all the powers granted her by the
Senate until she is well or there is another Senator sent here. 
Until that time, what I say is law.
     "Now, this is what I am going to do first."
 
***
 
     The inquiry went quickly.  With the help of his personal
guards, Turin was able to interview every person in the colony in
the course of two days.  He wanted to know who had been where,
when, and with whom.
     Fortunately for Wes, he'd been seen by dozens of people that
night, at all hours.  The magic show had granted him a kind of
celebrity, and since he appeared Romulan, he was not subject to the
same scrutiny as the Humans or Klingons.  Amazingly, the Fabulous
Five of Fish had only the briefest of encounters with Turin, and
released.  Wes still held them as prime suspects, but Turin did not
seem to care, not even holding Kriana for longer than the others,
and that supervised by his guards.
     After a while, it became obvious that he was holding the
aliens for nearly twice as long as the Romulans.  Had one of them
decided to take Imno's death to heart and rid the universe of a
Romulan or two?  Wes didn't want to know.
 
***
 
     By the end of the second day, Arkaed's condition had neither
improved nor deteriorated.  She simply *was*.
     Turin ordered all the prisoners to gather in the courtyard. 
They came, some frightened, some beyond caring, all knowing that
this announcement would determine their fates for better or for
worse.  Wes stood with Trehan, Josolar and Kriana, Arrhat near Ekan
and Qu'aemon, and K'Toktehn all alone near the perimeter of the
crowd.  Doctor Mirith was the only one absent, choosing to stay
with Arkaed in case of any change in her condition.
     Tokath and Tasha stood together near the platform, Sela in
front of them.  Without speaking, they held hands and waited for
the Senator to speak.
     Turin stepped onto the dais.  No one had stood there since
Imno's death.
     "As you know, I have been conducting an investigation into the
events of two nights ago.  As of yet, Senator Arkaed's condition
has shown no improvement."  He paused, as if pained.  "It is a pity
that you prisoners cannot appreciate the kindness that has been
shown you by your benefactors.  Some might say that too much
kindness has been shown you."  He sent a significant glance towards
Tokath, who met the gaze with composure.
     "Some would say that any kindness would be too much.  Some
people also kick small animals for enjoyment."  Tokath's voice was
perfectly neutral.
     "Some sleep with them."  The General's eyes blazed.  Tasha
looked as though she would spit nails.  Preferably Turin's.
     Trehan whispered to his friends:  "So Turin sleeps with small
animals, does he?"  Josolar shushed him, but Kriana smiled.
     Heedless of the interruption, Turin continued: "My
investigation has uncovered a conspiracy among your so-called
colonists."  Conspiracy?  But there wasn't any ...  A cool breeze
skittered through the sticky air, bringing chills down his spine. 
He couldn't possibly know ...
     "The Humans," he said the word as if it tasted oily, "have
been conspiring for some time to overthrow the guards and seize
control of the camp."  No ...  "They have been gathering late at
night, making plans.  The last meeting was the night before our
arrival, no doubt to plan the assassination of Senator Arkaed and
myself.
     "This behavior cannot be tolerated.
     "The Humans will be sent back to Romulus on the next transport
for more detailed questioning.  If Arkaed dies, they will be
executed immediately.  If not, they may be permitted to live on
Romulus in a more appropriate setting, since they obviously cannot
be trusted in a prison camp environment.
     "So speaks the representative for the Senate."
     Tokath, a flame burning hot within him, said in a dangerous
voice:  "I will fight this with every ounce of my being, Turin. 
You will not do this."
     Turin smiled, but it was cold and dry.  "You have no say in
this, Tokath.  You have little good will in the Senate right now. 
If you fight me relying on upon it, you may find yourself in prison
with them."  He let that sink in, then:  "I will even grant you one
'kindness.'  Your wife will be permitted to remain with you, as you
have already sworn that there was no way that she could have
attended the meetings without your knowledge, something I seriously
doubt but will accept for now.  You will continue to run the prison
camp for the Romulans and the Klingons, assuming you can keep them
in line, for as long as you live.
     "However, if you do try to oppose me, I am afraid that your
wife must be held responsible for the actions of her friends, and
you both will be taken to Romulus for questioning as to how this
debacle occurred.  You should keep in mind that no one else will
take command of this camp should you be imprisoned or executed. 
Therefore the Klingons would also have to be returned to Romulus.
     "I advise you to consider your options very carefully before
you contact the Senate."  The trap sprung; Tokath's options had
been reduced to two.  He could try to protect the Humans, and risk
everything he had ever dreamed in a futile fight against the man
who held all the cards.
      If he did, it was likely that all the aliens would die, his
wife and daughter included, and he himself would perish with his
dream.
     If he chose to remain silent, nearly one hundred Klingons had
a chance for life, and he could save the woman he loved, even if
she would hate him for the rest of her life.
     There really were no options left.
     "The transport will arrive in three days.  During that time,
the gate will be locked.  No one is to be allowed in or out.  Any
Human caught trying to escape will bring instant judgement on all
Humans in the colony.  All of you will be executed.  The same holds
true for the Klingons.  Any Romulan caught aiding an escape will be
similarly dealt with.  We will have order here if I have to
personally kill every prisoner.  Do not make that necessary."
     Then we simply won't get caught, thought Wesley grimly.  His
own path was clear now: he had to get the Humans out.  Tonight. 
There could be no more delays.  Tasha would have to come with them. 
If she stayed, she would be executed as an accomplice.
     He moved beside Castillo, and mouthed the new plan in his ear. 
With an imperceptible nod, he agreed.  There was something else,
something that he was forgetting ...
     He whispered one final instruction.  Castillo's eyes widened
barely, but he nodded again.
     Timestream be damned.  Tasha had to be told: Sela could not
come under any circumstances.  He would cheat history after all.
     He hoped.
 
***
 
     The Humans could not risk another gathering in the compound:
they needed to reach the relative safety of the jungle for Wes to
take them to the place they would call home.  This required them to
actually leave the compound, a distinct problem with the new
orders.
     Wes had an idea.
     An hour before midnight, the plan went into motion.  Ekan, who
had been brought into the Humans' confidence only by Wes's
reassurances, was to stand watch until midnight, when he would be
relieved.  He would turn a blind eye to any attempted escape for as
long as possible, but when his replacement arrived, he would have
to turn on them.
     Having no other options, Castillo agreed on behalf of the
others.  In groups of two and three, the Humans fled over the
walls, being sure to leave ropes behind so as to defer suspicion
from Ekan.  Everything was done in utter silence.
     At last, the only ones left were Wesley and Castillo. Tasha
had not shown yet.  Wesley kept glancing at his chronometer,
worried.  The next guard was due at any time.  Where was she???
     Across the courtyard, a figure approached.  Wes and Castillo
ducked behind two barrels, trying not to breathe.
     "Who goes there?"  said Ekan in a low voice.
     "Reslan."  The other guard.  Damn!  The two Humans stared at
each other helplessly.  "I'm here to relieve you."
     "Why?  It's not midnight yet."  Ekan's voice betrayed all the
emotion of a Vulcan.
     "I thought you might like to spend some time with Arrhat." 
They could actually hear the guard's grin.  What a time for someone
to be nice.
     "Well, I appreciate that."  Ekan was stalling.  Wes risked a
peek out, and he saw why.  The new guard's back was toward the
courtyard, where Tasha stood holding a bundle and looking
terrified.  Despite his warning, she had brought Sela.  He felt
something turn inside him, like a page in an old book, as he
watched Tasha's actions become a part of history.
     She turned quietly towards the wall, where one of the escapees
had left a rope just out of sight of the guards.  She stared up at
the five-meter-tall wall, despondent.  There was no way she could
climb it with a child in her arms and another in her belly.  The
wall might as well have been fifty meters.
     Carefully, she moved to the wall, and moved towards the locked
gate.  She was still behind the guard, but would be unable to do
anything if the guard was still there when she drew near.
     Wes counted his options.  They could incapacitate the guard. 
They could kill the guard.  He couldn't Travel to Tasha; his
Travelling wasn't exact enough.  He would probably end up somewhere
in the woods.
     Then all the options fled him, as Sela cried out and the next
page turned.  The guard turned, raised her weapon.
     Castillo leapt out to distract the guard.  She spun, blasted
him with her disruptor.  He fell to the dusty ground unmoving.  She
turned back to Tasha.
     "Put the child down, and walk over here slowly."  Tasha set
Sela on the ground, kissed her on the top of the head, then took a
step forward.  She turned on her heel, and sprinted towards the
rope as fast as she could, knowing that she would not be able to
climb it.
     The guard aimed her weapon to fire.
     Ekan's gun crashed down at the base of her skull and she fell. 
"This way!" he hissed.  Wes grabbed Castillo beneath the arms, and
dragged him toward the gate, which Ekan was even now in the process
of opening.  Tasha lifted Sela as she ran back towards the gate.
     The lock was impossible.  Ekan changed the setting on his
disruptor and incinerated it.  Wes carried Richard through and into
the jungle.
      After they had gone about a hundred meters, Wesley's arms
burned.  There was no sign or sound of Tasha.  A feeling of dread
spread through him.  He carefully set Richard down behind a
cicatrin tree, hoping that no needle-snakes wanted a Human snack
tonight.  Almost without thought, he pulled a leaf from the tree. 
For Jack.  He moved back towards the compound.
     The shouts inside confirmed his suspicions.  They had been
discovered, probably from the disruptor blast.  Against his better
judgement, he climbed the wall, and peered in.
     Tasha, Sela, and Ekan were surrounded by armed guards.  Turin
must have slept in his clothes, because he appeared fully dressed
in front of them.  Tokath stood behind him in his night-clothes,
agony on his face.  Tasha would not meet his eyes.
     A straggling crowd gathered, as Turin gloated over his
captives.  Ekan just smiled peacefully.
     Wes wanted to stay, to see what he knew must come next, to
prevent it if he could, or die trying.  Something else called him. 
There were fifteen Humans who needed him.  He had promised to free
them, and if he delayed, they would be discovered and then they
would die.
     He crept down from the wall, and slipped back the way he had
come.  The warm night air had done nothing for the numbness in his
heart.
     He picked up Castillo, slung him over his shoulders, and
carried him to the rendezvous point.  As they reached the spring,
he came to, and Wes set him down.  His back thanked him.
     "Come on.  We're almost there."
     "There?"
     "The clearing."
     "Is Tasha there?"
     Wes stopped.  There was a sting behind his eyes he hadn't felt
in quite a while.
     "No.  They caught her."
     "What?!"  Castillo was fully awake now.
     "She was right behind us, but she and Ekan were caught by the
guards."
     "We have to go back for her."
     "We can't.  If we don't leave now, they'll kill all of us."
     "I'm not leaving her."  He turned, and before Wes could stop
him, dashed back the way they had come.  Wes considered stopping
him, and knew there was no time.  He entered the clearing.
     "They found us out.  We have to go now,"  he said woodenly. 
He grabbed the hands of the two nearest him. "Everyone hold hands,
and think ... think happy thoughts."
     He began his breathing exercises, trying to calm his spirit
enough to reach inside, touch that part of him that Travelled the
ways of time and space.  Part of him worried that he couldn't do
it, that he had never Travelled with more than one other person and
what in the name of Kolker was he doing trying it with *fifteen*
others??
     Like a flash of blueness from a leaden sky, he heard the
Traveler's voice inside of him, telling him how to dance across 
the universe if he would reach out just so.  He Changed back to his
true form.
     There!  He felt it, like a smooth stone in his hand, warm as
a Human body.  Gently, he twisted, opening the passage.  He saw the
timestream in all its glory, stepped lightly into it, going for
distance and not time, keeping his destination firmly in mind.
     And Travelled. 
 
***
 
Insidethetimestreameverythingwaslightandcolorandsoundwithout
asoundorthebriefestbeamoflightandtheuniversewashisplaything
looktheregoesababyuniversemadeofmusichowcuteandallwasgoodand
sweetandmorebeautifulthanarainbowandhelookedtowheretheywere
goingandknewthatitwasgood.
 
***
 
     The sky was green, the grass was blue.  Then he fell.
     The disorientation passed.  Wes found himself staring face up
into a gorgeous Spring sky.  Carefully, he stood.  The others were
grouped around him, looking ill.  The first time one Travelled,
that tended to happen.
     "Welcome to your new home."
     "Where are we?" asked someone.
     "Someplace safe.  The world is called Gault.  Assuming I got
the placement right, we are about one hundred kilometers thataway
from the colony."
     Groans went up from the Humans.
     "You can reach it in five days if you follow the sun.  By
then, you should have a story in mind as to why you are here. 
Maybe your shuttle went way off course.  Whatever you do, you
cannot mention the _Enterprise_ or me, and you can *never* tell
about the prison camp, or the Klingons there."  As Wes spoke the
words, he knew beyond a doubt that someone would tell, would start
rumors about the prison camp in the Carraya Sector and the Humans
of the _Enterprise-C_.  That, too, was part of history.  "Oh, and
there should be a little boy, a Klingon, in the colony.  Be kind to
him."
     "What about you?"  asked a woman Wes vaguely recognized as a
leader among them, although he couldn't remember who she was.  Now
that Castillo was gone, she looked to be the one to take them the
rest of the way home.
     "I'm going back.  I'm going to try to get Tasha and Castillo." 
He had not even known until he said it, but as the words formed, he
knew that his path had been set long before he had ever taken his
first breath and screamed into the San Francisco morning fog.  This
morning.
     "Good luck,"  the woman said simply.  Fulton!  That was her
name.
     "You too."  He centered himself, reached inward again, and
Travelled towards the circle's joining.
 
***
 
Anyone who wants to make a comment or critique, send them to
wilson@athena.hood.edu or missy@darklair.com, not the poster.   
 
Later ...
 
Merlin Missy:)
PSEB: Chief Chemist and Bottle Washer, Also Part Time Ship's Disc
Jockey, JLP Ship of Loooooooooooooooooooove
BONC: co-founder
FROG: Spoiler Alert!  Just kidding.


-- 
"I was just marking my territory, and you got in the way." -- Jack 
Nicholson in "Wolf"

Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!news.ksu.ksu.edu!vixen.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!news.sprintlink.net!uunet!panix!not-for-mail
From: cmfaltz@panix.com (Titania)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: GRADUATION (Pt. 9/10) -- by MELISSA WILSON
Date: 10 Feb 1995 19:10:21 -0500
Organization: The Q Continuum
Lines: 397
Message-ID: <3hgv9d$sbs@panix.com>
NNTP-Posting-Host: panix.com



Typical disclaimer about Paramount owning everything up to and
including the kitchen sink.  Feel free to distribute, so long
as my name and header are attached.
 
***
Graduation
The Green Chronicle
 
A Star Trek: The Next Generation story by
Melissa "Merlin Missy" Wilson
wilson@athena.hood.edu
missy@darklair.com
Copyright 1995
 
***
Chapter 9: The Serpent and the Golden Bird
***
 
     It was still dark, just barely.  There was water in his shoes. 
Wes had managed to Travel directly into the spring.  It was a good
thing he'd materialized right side up this time.
     He hoped fervently that he hadn't changed time-location, or
else this would become an impossible task.  With a silent plea to
no one in particular, he headed back towards the compound as fast
as he could.
     Halfway there, he nearly ran headlong into a guard.  The man
raised his disruptor.  "Don't move, Human."  Bloody hell.  He'd
forgotten to Change back to Dalek.
     Wes racked his brains for the guard's name.  He had arrived
with Turin.  "Tr'endet, what's this all about?"
     "Cut it, Human.  We know you tried to escape.  Turin wants to
make a special example of the ones we catch.  Tell me where the
others are, and he *might* let you die."  Maybe, just maybe ...
     "You've got it wrong.  I was out taking a walk ... "
     "Get moving."  He tightened his grip on the disruptor.
     "Okay, okay."  This had better work.  He began to walk in
front of Tr'endet, then turned around.  "Wait!  I forgot."
     "What?"  The Romulan was looking straight at him.
     He Changed into a semblance of John Doe, a being of pure light
thousands of candle-powers in strength.  The guard screamed as his
inner eyelid slammed shut, and he dropped the disruptor.  Wes
grabbed it, set it to stun, and shot him.  Then, he Changed into
Tr'endet.
     He quickly dragged the real Romulan into a thicket and left
him.  His sight would return in a while, long after Wes was gone.
     He walked back to the compound, trying not to look
conspicuous.  He was met at the gate by a guard whom he knew,
fortunately.
     "Halt!  Why are you back so soon?"
     "Turin called me on my communicator."
     "All right.  Go ahead in."  Whew.
     He walked through the gates, and looked in shock at the
courtyard.  The dais had another structure on it now, a wooden beam
to tie prisoners to for execution.
     The first light of morning peeked over the horizon.  If Turin
was the theatric type, he would schedule the execution for dawn and
make it mandatory.
     Already, people were gathering in the courtyard, trying not to
look at one another.  He saw Kriana on the other side, her face
pale and drawn.  Josolar, beside her, put his arms around her.  She
didn't seem to notice.
     Within a few minutes, the majority of the prisoners were
there.  The absence of the Humans was keenly obvious.  A drum, very
low, could be heard, keeping a soft heartbeat in the background. 
Slowly, with measured steps, several guards brought in Ekan, almost
nude.  His uniform had been torn from him in insult.  He looked at
no one.  His wife and husband were nowhere to be seen.
     Next came Castillo and Tasha together, he leading her gingerly
by the arm.  Wes suddenly noticed how swollen her stomach was.  She
could go into labor at any time, and Turin would kill her anyway.
     Castillo led her to the dais, where they stood together. 
There was something in his stance, in her eyes, that betrayed them. 
She loved Tokath, but she had loved Castillo first.
     And Tokath knew.
     The look on the General's face as he walked out behind Turin
could have frozen the heart of a star.  He had loved her, had given
her a home, had offered her friends a chance for life, had made a
child with her, but she would rather die with her Human lover.  Wes
felt a brief pity for the man.
     Sela stood in front of the dais, her eyes round.  A Klingon
woman, Gi'ral, held her tiny hand.  A sense of what must be filled
Wesley as he remembered.  Gi'ral would eventually have a daughter
of her own, a sweet half-Klingon half-Romulan girl whom he would
call Belle.  Another circle.
     Turin stepped onto the dais, and began to speak.  The words
were unimportant; he would use any excuse possible to exterminate
the Humans.  Wes didn't particularly care why.  He heard Turin say
something about fitting all the remaining prisoners with baridium
pellets to keep track of them.
     He took a deep breath, and stopped time.
     Almost.
     The world speeded up and slowed down and people walked
backwards and moved slowly forwards.  He didn't understand, until
he saw Arrhat across the courtyard.
     "Arrhat!  Stop it!"
     She said nothing, only continued pushing against him lightly.
     "He's going to kill Ekan.  Don't you even care about *that*?"
     Her eyes were hooded, but her voice was calmer than a summer
evening.  "You cannot save them like this.  The timestream would
not survive it.  Ekan understands."  She turned towards the dais,
where Ekan awaited his death.  She would not give in, even for him. 
"This is your final test, Wesley."
     He pushed harder, and she pushed back, not even straining. 
There was no way to get past her.  He stopped, trying to gather
himself for one last assault.  Time moved inexorably forward again,
as Turin read from his scroll the charges against the prisoners. 
When he finished, they would die.  The time-traveler was out of
time.
     He looked around wildly, found himself in front of the
infirmary.  He ducked inside.  The golden bird cried out for
freedom.  That was it!
     He turned to the bird's cage, and ignoring the nips, placed a
hand over its eyes.  The bird went still.  Good.  He removed the
hand, tore a strip from his uniform, and tied it over its eyes.  It
wouldn't last long, but it didn't need to last for more than a
minute.
     He drew the bird out, felt its talons pierce the skin on his
arm, ignored it.
     He opened the snake's cage, grabbed him firmly the way Josolar
had shown him, and lifted him out.  The half-lidded eyes opened
wide, and the tongue darted out to taste the crisp morning air.  He
heard Turin's voice echo:
     "The penalty for the above charges is death."  It was time.
     He strode outside, a giant golden bird on one arm, a huge
snake held in the other.
     "Stop this!"  His voice rang out with power and authority.  He
Changed back into Dalek, and added a nimbus around him for effect. 
He was Dalek the Great and Terrible, Wizard of Shi'hyne, the man
who had taken down a Klingon warrior, who held the two fiercest
animals in the jungle in his hands without fear, and who had just
changed shape before their eyes.
     "Release them, or taste my power!"  He gestured, and flames
appeared in the fireplace.  Of course it was an illusion, but it 
looked good.
     The guards trembled and lowered their weapons.  Turin was not
impressed.  He raised his own disruptor and shot at Wes, who had
just sense enough to duck as the door to the infirmary vaporized. 
Damn.
     The snake fell from his hand, as the bird's blinder came
loose.  Free at last, it spread its wings, pounding Wesley's head
with its power.  Then, it seized the snake, and flew into the sky.
     He had to get to them now!
     Wes ran on pure adrenaline.  He launched himself towards the
dais, almost flying himself.  Just a meter left to go ...  He
touched Tasha's hand.  Ekan, knowing what was to come, grabbed
Castillo's arm.  He Changed absently back to his own form again. 
Center ...  Center ...
     "Kill them!"  Turin's command cut through the guards' fear. 
They raised the disruptors, pointed them towards the four on the
dais.
     Wesley turned his head as he tried to reach that calm center
one last time, and it was as though the timestream had slowed
itself to a crawl.
     A shriek from the dawn of time echoed through the compound, as
the raptor flew overhead with the serpent entwined in its claws. 
High against the blood-colored morning sky, the bodies outlined in
night and fire became indistinguishable, the bird-serpent from
ancient legend come to reclaim its birthright as lord and master of
them all.
     The snake, wounded by the bird's talons and the long
captivity, suddenly twisted and snapped at its captor's wing.  The
bird screamed and dropped it, and Wes watched entranced as the
snake fell and landed at Turin's feet.  Dying now, and angry as all
hell, it raised its head to strike at his unprotected leg ...
     Center ...  He touched it, stroked it lovingly, felt the power
move through him, become him, and he could do anything, become
anything in that limitless instant.  He saw the timestream,
splashed into it as a child splashes into a wading pond.  This was 
his true place, his gift.  He held to Tasha's hand, and Travelled. 
 
***
 
Insidethetimestreameverythingwasbeautifulagainandhehadnot
feltsoatpeacesincenowwhoareyouarrhatbutyouarenotjustarrhat
areyouyouarefarmorebecauseicanseeyounowandwhatisthatyoure
doingwaitjustaminutetashawaitcomebackcomebackcomeback ...
 
***
 
     He went back, of course.  His first thought had been to find
the other survivors from the _Enterprise-C_, but his lost charges
were not there, nor had they ever been.  The only place left to
look was the colony.
     When he arrived, he found himself in some anonymous patch of
jungle.  With no other recourse, he tried to find a familiar path
or landmark, listen for some sign of life, anything.  It took him
most of the day, but he found a familiar trail, and followed it to
where he had left Tr'endet sleeping.  He was, of course, no longer
there.
     Quietly then, he went back to the compound, hiding at the
least sound.  He reached the wall after nightfall, and again peeped
over the side.  Not a soul was in the courtyard, and a brief
premonition flashed through him: Turin had made good on his threat
to kill them all, and had left.
     Then, he saw a guard, one of the camp's regular complement,
standing in the shadows near the gate.  Wes realized, feeling a 
little foolish, that it was time for dinner; everyone was probably 
in the common room.  He decided to wait where he was rather than
risk entering the compound yet.  He did not have long to wait.
     People began filing out, gathering around the dais.  Wes saw
Trehan standing alone, watching the wooden structure as though it
might tell him why all his friends were gone.
     Tokath stepped out into the firelight, gently holding Sela's
hand.  He did not, Wes noticed, touch the platform.
     "My dear friends," he began in a voice so unlike his own that
for a moment Wes wondered who had spoken.  "These past few days
have been a great strain on us all.  Death has visited our young
colony far too many times."  He paused, a heavy weight on his soul. 
"I cannot promise you that it will not continue to stalk our
courtyard.  I can, however, swear to you that this ... this
monstrosity that has seen so many die will itself die.  Maybe, with
these cleansing flames, we can arise anew from the ashes."
     He pulled down a torch from the wall, and cast it onto the
dais.  The wood, somewhat damp from the wet air, did not catch at
first.  Then, with a sigh, the hungry flames licked against it, and
the wood erupted into flame.
     The bonfire grew quickly.  Klingons and Romulans gathered
close by its light and warmth.  Trehan moved in, only to be joined
by Josolar, just leaving the infirmary.  The two clasped hands and
watched the fire, burning smoke in their eyes.
     Wes did not see Kriana or K'Toktehn anywhere, and hadn't
really expected to see Arrhat or her husbands.  Some of the smoke
drifted towards him, and it smelled of campfires from long ago.
     Kriana exited the infirmary a few minutes later.  She spoke to
Tokath, then faced the firelit forms.
     "You will be happy to know that Senator Arkaed has awakened." 
Wes could see smiles amid the dancing lights.  "Since her health is
still fragile, she has authorized me to act in her stead.  I have
already contacted the Senate with my recommendations about the
colony.  I told them that General Tokath has done an outstanding
job thus far, and that he should be allowed to continue as warden
of this particular prison."  Had the announcement come on a happier
day, there would have been applause.  As it was, there was the
scarcest murmer through the crowd.
     "I have also apprised the Senate of the events of the past few
days, and of my theories concerning them."  She hesitated, but only
for the briefest moment.  Tokath nodded to her.
     "According to Doctor Mirith, the venom of the needle-snake is
deadly within ten minutes.  Senator Arkaed was brought to the
infirmary well within that limit.  Turin must have been there as
she was bitten, but he said that she had been unconscious when he
found her.  Also, one of his guards, a man named Thindlst, was
missing during the initial landing.  Turin's other guards have not
seen him, although he was on the ship.  This evening, one of those
guards, whom I shall not name, confided to me that Turin had
ordered him to kill Thindlst the night the Senator was bitten.
     "I believe that Turin came here with the express purpose of
destroying our colony, and saw a conspiracy among the Humans as a
means of doing just that.  I believe that Turin ordered Thindlst to
capture a needle-snake, then had him killed so that he could not
turn informer.  He used Arkaed, and he planned to use us all. 
Instead, he was killed by another snake.  You may be happy to know
that Sunoph'l'pighis is recovering nicely.
     "I'd like to tell you that I know for sure that the Senate
will accept my recommendations, but I don't.  All I can tell you is
that we might have a chance.
     "Thus speaks the representative for the Senate."  With nothing
more to say, she walked back to where Trehan and Josolar stood. 
The three friends gathered close together and watched the dying
flames.
     Wes knew how some things would turn out.  He knew that the
colony would be allowed to continue, that Tokath would remarry and
have another daughter, that Sela would grow into the image of her
mother.  He knew that eventually the Romulans would enter into a
war with the Klingons, and would lose.  These things were a part of
history.
     He did not know how life would work out for Kriana the leader
and her baby, or for Trehan the dreamer and Josolar the healer. 
Perhaps he would never know.  He could not Travel back, for fear of
meeting himself, and he probably would not Travel to their future,
just in case the war brought something to them that he would not
wish to face.
     "Fish," he whispered from his dark perch, and convinced
himself that the water in his eyes came from the smoke that drifted
up from the courtyard and floated lazily towards the dark and
dreaming sky.
 
***
 
     He had not arrived far from where the Traveler waited.  He was
sure that his footsteps, crunching through the Autumn leaves, were
audible for miles.  Like he cared.
     He saw the tall alien sitting on the large flat rock where he
himself had sat a lifetime ago to inspect a stone.  He did not even
have the stone anymore.  He sighed, then plopped himself down
beside the Traveler.
     After a long while, he said, "I failed."  The Traveler said
nothing, only sat and listened.  "Well, aren't you going to yell at
me, or say anything?"
     The Traveler turned his odd face to him, and smiled that
mysterious smile that had always bugged the hell out of him. 
"Congratulations.  You have finished your training.  You are a
Traveler."
     Huh?  "But ... I didn't pass the test.  I lost Tasha.  I had
her right *there*.  I was going to take her and Castillo back home,
and Arrhat stole them away with Ekan.  I failed her."
     "You still do not see, do you?"
     "See *what*?"  What the hell was he talking about this time?
     "You fulfilled your task, Wesley.  The Humans are free and the
colony will thrive.  As I said, you have passed."
     "But Tasha ... "
     " ... Is exactly where she needs to be.  And Richard is with
her.  Be happy for her, for they are both finally where they
belong."  He paused, as a sad look crossed his face.  "Now, it is
time for you to go where you belong."
     "Home ... "  For a moment, he couldn't remember where that
might be.  Robin's face filled his mind.  Home was wherever she
was.
     "Yes.  But first, I have three gifts for you.  Consider them
graduation presents."
     He reached into a pocket, and drew something out.  He opened
his palm, to reveal a small round crystal with flecks of something
inside.  Wes took it, looked in, and saw tiny mirror images of his
own face.  He looked from the reflections to the Traveler.
     "I give you your past.  You will find once more that which you
had thought lost forever."
     He reached into another pocket.  Again, he opened his palm, to
reveal the heartstone Robin had given him.
     "I give you your present."  With a cry, Wesley snatched it,
held it against his heart.  It glowed a brilliant blue.
     "How did you find it?  I thought it was gone for good."
     "I saw where Doctor Mirith put it, and I obtained it when she
wasn't looking."
     The words drifted through his foggy brain to settle home. 
"You saw ... "
     The Traveler Changed into K'Toktehn.  "I saw."
     "You ... "
     "While you sat here just before your journey, I went to
Khitomer, got captured, and spent years in the prison camp,
listening."
     "But why?"
     "Because I knew you would need me there to help, and because
I wanted to know Dodge and Richard.  Besides, you would have been
pulverized in a match with a real Klingon, but appearing to knock
one down can be just as useful."  He smiled, and Wes knew it for
the truth.  He Changed back, then reached back into his pocket one
last time.
     "Finally," he said, a strange sadness in his voice, "I give
you your future, Wesley Crusher."  He opened his palm to reveal
another heartstone, twin to the one he held.  While he tried to
figure out exactly how he had come by *another* one, the Traveler
Changed again to the form he had during that trip to the
Renaissance, so long ago.  He was Human, older, with silvering
hair.  He looked like Wesley's mental picture of what his father
might have become, had he lived.
     Or his father's son.
     "Oh my god ... " he breathed, his mind refusing to comprehend
the now obvious truth.
     "Oh, I'm sure I've had that idea now and then, but fortunately
it passed."
     Wes stared at ... himself.  "That was how you always knew
where and when to be, isn't it?  When Mom was in the warp bubble,
you knew when to be there."
     "Because I put her there in the first place."  Spirals had
filled his/their dreams for years, and suddenly the spirals
connected, ran back upon themselves.  The universe was clear and
free and beautiful as the crystals in his hand.
     Wes, the younger, asked the only thing that popped into his
mind: "Who is Arrhat?"
     The older Wes smiled affectionately.  "'Arrhat' is someone
very special to me, or should I say *us*.  Do not judge her
actions.  She too does as she must.  I promise you that you will
encounter her again."
     "Obviously."  They both laughed.
     "You must return to Robin now," said Wes the elder after an
endless time.
     "Can you tell me anything else before I go?"
     "Just ... Just love her.  Be the universe for her.  You still
only have a lifetime, and it won't be long enough to spend with
her."
     Wes nodded.  "When will you go now?"
     "First?  I will go to your wedding.  My memories have grown
hazy, and I would really like to refresh them.  After that, I have
one last stop to make, and then *I* can go home."
     "Which is where?"
     "You already know."  He did, too.  
 
***
 
Please don't feed or tease the poster.  Send all comments to
wilson@athena.hood.edu or missy@darklair.com.  Send all mosh
bunnies to Hood College.  Just kidding.
 
Later ...
 
Merlin Missy:)
PSEB: Chief Chemist and Bottle Washer, Also Part Time Ship's Disc
Jockey, JLP Ship of Loooooooooooooooooooooooooove
BONC: co-founder
FROG: Who's got the chocolate sauce?


-- 
"I was just marking my territory, and you got in the way." -- Jack 
Nicholson in "Wolf"

Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!news.ksu.ksu.edu!vixen.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!news.sprintlink.net!uunet!panix!not-for-mail
From: cmfaltz@panix.com (Titania)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: GRADUATION (Pt. 10/10) -- by MELISSA WILSON
Date: 10 Feb 1995 19:12:52 -0500
Organization: The Q Continuum
Lines: 569
Message-ID: <3hgve4$sul@panix.com>
NNTP-Posting-Host: panix.com



Typical disclaimer about Paramount owning everything up to and
including the kitchen sink.  Feel free to distribute, so long
as my name and header are attached.
 
***
Graduation
The Green Chronicle
 
A Star Trek: The Next Generation story by
Melissa "Merlin Missy" Wilson
wilson@athena.hood.edu
missy@darklair.com
Copyright 1995
 
***
Chapter 10: The Past, the Present, and the Future
***
 
     Wesley saw the house not ten meters away.  It had been two
years by his own reckoning since he'd last been there, and he was
pleasantly surprised to see that he'd reached it so easily.
     The cottage was a replica of the original family home,
according to Nana anyway.  The thick stone walls were made to hold
in the warmth of the fireplace, while the interior furnace,
tastefully hidden between the walls, made sure that the coziness
was more than just ambience.  The Howards were proud of their
history, but none of them were fools.
     He keyed the electronic lock and stepped into the gloom.  The
caretaker had kept it clean for them, chasing away the cobwebs,
making sure the pipes didn't freeze and generally keeping the roof
from falling in, but he had no reason to keep the lights on when
the family was not expected.
     Fortunately, he had also been told that Wesley had a habit of
just showing up places when he was not expected and could he
possibly keep some non-perishables in the pantry and make sure that
the new replicator was functioning right and by the way could he
also not mention to anyone how the older son tends to appear out of
nowhere even when there may not have been a ship in orbit for weeks
and how he often arrives in the middle of the day though nobody
ever actually sees him come thanks ever so much and here's that
bonus, by the way ...
     The caretaker was a nice gentleman by the name of Tom Norris,
who was quite intelligent but had very little of the fanciful
speculator about him, a great asset in a man with twin daughters
ready to go away to school.  If put to the question as to why he
watched the house, he would laugh and say something about doing a
favor for an old friend, or sometimes about getting paid to make
sure a house didn't get up and run away.  What he wouldn't say,
even to his wife, who had also known a young woman named Beverly
Howard once upon a blue moon, was that he felt particularly
unnerved by Bev's kids.  The younger tended to look at people with
the same scrutiny his own children, and Tom himself, had once
scrutinized the slugs on the tomato plants.  The older ...  Anyone
who tended to appear literally out of nowhere, sometimes looking
much older than he should or younger than he had a right to be, who
could leave just as mysteriously with a note of thanks and no
footprints on the muddiest days, well, Tom just as soon preferred
to keep someone like that happy.  Were he a very imaginative man,
he might have contemplated cloaked vessels and transporters,
possibly espionage or even smuggling of illegal goods.  Fortunately
for everyone, he did not think about such things, just as long as
Wesley didn't leave too much of a mess and the nice retainer
appeared in his account at regular intervals.  Wes liked Tom
Norris.
     He found the window and opened the curtains, then went looking
for the replicator.  After he'd eaten something (lunch? dinner? 
People who thought travelling through space made for bad jetlag
never tried wading through the timestream), he located the comm
panel (in the living room on the coffee table beside a photo album
that had been full for at least a century).
     His wanderings through the past were done for now.  It was
time to live in the present.
 
***
 
     "Admiral Rossa would like to speak with everyone who calls
her, but if she did she simply would not have time to do anything
else," explained the annoyingly cheerful commander at Starfleet
Headquarters.
     "Could you please just tell her that I called?  We need to
discuss an offer she made some time ago."
     "Of course.  If you'll tell me what it concerns, I'll pass
along the message when she gets back."
     "Tell her my name.  Tell her she can reach me on Caldos. 
She'll *know*."  Before the commander could ask anything else, Wes
closed the channel and sat back in the chair.  Three hours of going
through the usual channels simply to leave a message for the
Commander in Chief, Starfleet, was not his idea of a pleasant
afternoon.  With his current luck, the Admiral wouldn't even 
remember him.  Well, he could always call back.
     He had wanted to save the next call for last only because he'd
wanted to have some good news to tell, but then again, he would
have time for that later.  All the time in the universe.
     He keyed in the code and hoped that she was off-duty.  After
what felt like an hour, the screen dissolved into a face he'd
feared more than once that he would never see again.
     "Hi stranger," she said, her voice uncertain.
     "Hi beautiful.  Want to get married?"
     Robin pondered this for a moment.  "Depends.  When?"
     "What are you doing tonight?"
     "Patrolling the Neutral Zone.  We won't be back to your part
of the galaxy for a few weeks yet."  She hesitated.  "Are you
serious this time?  I mean, are you going to tell me in a month
that the Traveler wants you to go into Ancient Andor to interview
Telev or something?"  They'd done this before, talked both
virtually and in reality, only for him to go playing in the
timestream again.  She had no reason but his word that this time
would be any different.
     "Not unless I want to go myself.  I'm finished.  The Traveler
told me that I've completed my training with him.  For good this
time."  As to what else the Traveler had told him, he could find a
way to tell her someday.
     "In that case," she said, looking as though she might cry, 
"let's plan a wedding."
 
***
 
     The _Enterprise_ was out on a mapping mission, and wouldn't be
back for two months.  The _Hood_, where a certain Lt. Cmdr. Lefler
served as Chief Engineer, would be ferrying diplomats back and
forth to the neutral planet Geneva, where the _Pasteur_ was
currently stationed, and looked to be so for as long as the peace
talks continued.  Meanwhile, the _Chekov_ was on a mission to the
Gamma Quadrant for a reason her captain could not go into, but it
was scheduled to return in about six weeks and could be pursuaded
to detour by Geneva for a day or so.  Alexander was due for a
vacation in about three months, and could probably arrange passage
to Geneva if his security clearance went through in time.
     Then there was Geneva itself.
     It had been chosen for the peace conference for a very good
reason: no indigenous intelligent lifeforms, and a location just at
the corners of Federation, Romulan, and Klingon space.  The
conference was to finalize a new alliance among the Federation, the
Klingons, the Cardassians, and the Romulans (The Romulans?  The
last Wes had heard of sector politics, the Romulans were quickly
losing a war with the Klingons, who were more than prepared to
occupy the Romulan Empire.  He'd have to look into this more when
he had a chance).  The independent races like the Borg and the
Ferengi were also invited to come and voice their own concerns. 
Even the Hortas had sent an ambassador.
     With the chance for peace so close, the leaders of the four
main factions had already arrived, with various ambassadors and
diplomatic functionaries from all interested parties coming and
going throughout the somewhat tedious process of writing the actual
treaty.  Security forces from every race imaginable set up nets and
cameras and as often as not ended up spying on one another just as
much as on the attendees at the conference.  It was a merry mess,
full of pomp and circumstance and blustering and quiet rooms filled
with ambassadors who had been working together so long they were
closer friends with their declared enemies than with members of
their own species.
     In the middle of it all, his stepfather was acting as the Head
Ambassador for the Federation, since he had made a favorable
impression on all the above leaders in his days as a starship
captain.  The Klingons remained indebted to him for helping them
through internal problems, while even the Cardassians would allow
him to help them towards agreement.  Add to this his half-Klingon,
half-Romulan aide, who was fluent in twelve languages and growing,
and was already being groomed for an ambassadorship of her own
although she was a year younger than Wes.  This made the
ambassador's often maddening job somewhat easier.
     Jean-Luc had once described the job of mediating disputes
among the Big Four as akin to walking through a cow pasture with a
shovel, trying to get the exact same amount of manure on every
square centimeter of ground without stepping in it, all the while
balancing a shuttlepod and a cat on his head and trying his best to
avoid the ambassador from Betazed.
     This was not a description he mentioned to anyone who would
carry it back to said ambassador, fortunately.
     What the peace treaty meant for Robin and Wesley was that
everyone would meet in orbit around Geneva in three months.  They
would have a small ceremony in the Ten-Forward lounge of the
_Pasteur_, with the wedding party consisting of her parents, his
mother and step-father, his brother, and a very small guest list of
friends who were like family.  For no reason he could justify to
himself, Wes added three more invitations and silently hoped.
     It would be a short, intimate gathering with Robin in her
dress uniform, Wesley in an appropriate suit, both conducted
through it all by his mother.  They could have the wedding, have
the reception, and then everyone could hop aboard their own ships
or beam down to the planet, as the case might be.  It was a good
plan.
 
***
 
     The plan changed.  Someone in the Ferengi delegation overheard
Ambassador Picard conversing with Captain Picard via subspace
concerning their son's upcoming wedding.  To be precise, the aide
to the Nagus was eavesdropping, hoping to discover some profitable
information, but the result was the same.  When the Nagus heard
about the wedding, he declared that it would be a perfect
opportunity to get in good with the ambassador and make a show of
respectability among the other diplomats there.  Considering the
Nagus' *current* level of respectability in the eyes of his fellow
politicians, any change would be an increase.  When he told
Ambassador Picard of his intention to attend the wedding, in the
presence of several representatives of various parties, there was
no way for Picard to politely tell the Nagus that he wasn't
invited.
     The Head of the Klingon High Council soon after took Picard
aside, and asked him very politely, at least in consideration of
the stereotypical image of the Klingon who would just as soon eat
a book as read it, as to why the Grand Nagus had been invited to
his son's wedding and not the Klingon delegation.  Had Picard
forgotten the many years between them?  No, Picard had not
forgotten; he simply had not yet had time to send out the
invitations.  He would, however, be certain to hand-deliver the
invitations for the Klingon delegation just as soon as they were
properly ready and would the Emperor be coming as well?
     According to twentieth-century astronomers, stars formed when
pockets of hydrogen gathered together to form larger pockets. 
Gradually, gravitational forces would pull in still more hydrogen
until the mass and density of the gas caused enough heat for the
gathering to combust.
     A similar process took place with the guest list for the
wedding.
     By the time everyone's ego had been satisfied, the guest list,
which had formerly been given a top limit of twenty, now numbered
slightly under five hundred, which included the Leader of the
Klingon High Council, the Emperor of the Klingon Empire, the
Praetor of Romulus, the Proconsul of the Romulan Senate, the Head
of the Obsidian Order on Cardassia, the Commander in Chief of the
Cardassian military forces, the President of the United Federation
of Planets, the Commander in Chief of Starfleet one Admiral
Connaught Rossa, the Grand Nagus of the Ferengi Alliance, Hugh the
acting head of the Freed Borg Collective, assorted ambassadors from
every planet, everyone's husbands and/or wives, about two dozen
offspring, one larva, and Boothby, who had been talked into it only
because Ambassador Picard had personally promised him a tour of the
famous Geneva Hanging Gardens.  It looked to be the social event of
the season.
     The original group who had been invited talked quietly amongst
themselves about just sending presents and then leaving the
quadrant at Warp 13.
     The original bride who had been planning the wedding came
close to calling the whole thing off when she heard the news from
her soon-to-be-stepfather-in-law, with the words that had she
wanted a circus, she would have married a clown.
     Ambassador Picard, who had known his wife for half his life
and still had problems understanding her and thus knew very well
that he had no hope of explaining things to Robin, contacted his
stepson, who was still on Caldos waiting for Admiral Rossa's return
message, and told him what had occurred.
     Wes contaced Robin, and they had a long discussion about life
and love and why they should have gotten eloped ten years before
and forgotten this mess.  However, with his parents there, hers on
the way, and Guinan graciously agreeing to cater everything no
matter where the bloody thing was held, they really had to go
through with it.
     Very shortly after this, Wesley received a message from
Admiral Rossa, who had finally gotten his original message and who
of course could never have forgotten him and how would he like the
title of Starfleet Temporal Ambassador at Large with a tidy income
attached so long as he would agree that any interesting historical
tidbits he might learn or pick up in his travels would be turned
over to the proper authorities for study and of course he realized
that officially Starfleet and the Federation had not even heard of
Travelers since they had discovered the previous year that Tau
Alpha C was uninhabited other than by protobacterial lifeforms so
could he possibly keep his abilities quiet and by the way this was
the Admiral's private office number he could feel free to use it oh
he should know that the admiral's personal secretary had been
reassigned so good to hear from him and she would see him at the
wedding.
     It was a long three months.
 
***
     The day arrived.  Robin had been sequestered in the guest
quarters assigned her since the morning.  She had spent the day
with Belle, Lal, and a woman she'd known from her academy days
whose name Wes was still incapable of pronouncing.  The women had
kicked the men out the previous evening right after the rehearsal
dinner, then spent the rest of the night talking about them. 
Captains Riker and Worf immediately implemented Operation Bachelor
Party, only to discover that the subject of the occasion, who had
attended similar soirees for them and knew the usual aftermath, had
wisely locked himself in his own quarters.  Fortunately for
everyone, there was not a lock in existence that had ever kept out
Data, and the festivities went on.
     This, Wes decided, was why so few husbands could remember
their anniversaries: they probably couldn't remember much of the
wedding, either.
     Ambassador Picard had agreed to meet the guests and show them
the way to the _Pasteur_'s largest room.  This was actually all
five of the ship's holodecks with the walls separating them removed
and the whole thing made to resemble the Ten-Forward lounge from
the late lamented _Enterprise-D_, albeit much larger.  Captain
Picard bowed out of escort duty, claiming that she still had a ship
to run.  The ambassador did convince several of their friends to
assist in this endeavor, which led to the Grand Nagus of the
Ferengi Alliance being escorted to the main holodeck of the
starship _Pasteur_ by an android starship captain and a former
Maquis.  It was an interesting morning.
     Near the end of the beamups, Wes joined Jean-Luc and Belle in
transporter room four.  All of the others were busy with various
tasks, he was not allowed to see Robin, and frankly, he really
didn't want to be alone for fear of accidentally Travelling to
Ancient Pakistan or somewhere out of sheer nervousness.
     The Breen delegation beamed up, and with some devotions to the
god of Protocol from both sides, they were shown the way to the
holodeck.
     "How many more parties are arriving?" asked Wes when they
returned to the transporter room.  The chief checked the panel.
     "This should be the last one.  It's the Romulan delegation."
     Wes saw Belle's eyes light up with anticipation.
     "Do you know the ... "  He was cut off by the whine of the
transporter.  Seven forms materialized on the pad.  Jean-Luc and
Belle stepped forward to greet them.
     "Praetor, Proconsul," he said.  "Thank you so much for joining
us today."
     Belle spoke almost at the same time:  "Welcome to the ship! 
I was hoping you'd come!"  She smiled and embraced the Proconsul
warmly.
     Wes stood back from them, staring.
     I give you your past.
     His stepfather was saying: "May I present Wesley Crusher, the
groom?  Wesley, this is ... "  He let the words pass by him as he
shook hands with the Praetor of Romulus.  She was still wearing
red, and her dark hair still had the brilliant streaks of white,
but not a wrinkle had graced her features.
     "Pleased to meet you, Praetor Arkaed."  He turned to her
husband, a man who thankfully looked nothing like Turin, and also
greeted him.
     Then he faced the Proconsul of the Romulan Senate, flanked by
two men whom Jean-Luc had just identified as her consorts, one
built large and stocky, one slimmer and closer to the Romulan
ideal, and between them, the woman who had changed the fate of the
Romulan Empire.
     "Congratulations, Wesley," she said in that softly accented
voice.  "Marriage is one of the grandest journeys anyone can take." 
She smiled happily at her husbands.
     "Thank you, Proconsul," he managed to get out.  There was so
much more that he wanted to ask, to say, but the words escaped him. 
He repeated, simply, "Thank you."
     Trehan laughed.  "Wedding day jitters.  Gets every man I've
known."
     Josolar looked over at him.  "So that's why you walked into
the doorframe the day of our wedding."  He explained to Belle: "He
was unconscious for over an hour.  I was convinced he'd given
himself a concussion."  She smiled, as Trehan pretended to be
shocked.  Kriana grabbed a hand from each.
     "That's enough, children."  She sent a silent plea to Arkaed.
     "Ambassador, perhaps you could show us where to go."  Everyone
else already transported, the whole party went, with Wesley
trailing along behind, drinking in their presence.
     "How is little Valkrys?" asked Kriana.
     "She's decided that if walking is good, climbing is better,"
said Belle.  "Right now, she's in Robin's quarters.  She may be
flower girl, but not if she tries to eat the freesias again."
     They made small talk for a few minutes, and then they were at
the holodeck and there was no more time.  Wes tried desperately to
think of something to say to let them know, but his mind was blank.
     The Praetor thanked them for the escort, prepared to move
inside and what if he couldn't find them again after the reception?
     "Proconsul?"
     "Yes?"
     "At the reception, we're having Beluga caviar.  I think you'll
like it."  The others stared at him.
     "Ba'el ... " started Kriana.
     "Ummm ...  Fish eggs, I believe."
     "Ah."  She said nothing more, but a smile graced her lips as
she nodded to them and went inside.
     "What was that about?"  asked Jean-Luc uncertainly, visions of
interstellar conflicts no doubt dancing in his head.
     "The past,"  said Wes, and smiled.  "We should finish getting
ready."
 
***
 
     He stood in front of the mirror, checking his suit for about
the billionth time.  It was a simple suit: dark pants and jacket,
with a white shirt.  The matching tie had been ritually sacrificed
the night before in a mysterious ceremony involving a pair of
scissors, a bottle of champagne, three poker chips, cat fur
(unintentional), a book of matches and some kiwifruits.  He brushed
an imaginary bit of lint from his shoulder.
     "Wesley," said Jean-Luc, patiently standing behind him, trying
somewhat unsuccessfully to make Jack keep his clothes on.  "You
look fine.  Stop worrying.  That's an order."
     "Too bad I'm not Starfleet, isn't it?"  They shared a smile,
and he felt better.  Jack looked from his father to his brother,
then went back to figuring out the best way to untie his
uncomfortable shoes.
     Jack was dressed in a smaller version of Wesley's own suit. 
As ringbearer, he had to look his best.
     His father looked handsome in an outfit reminiscent of his old
dress uniform: red, long, with gold braiding around the collar. 
His legs were in tight black leggings, to the delight of his wife
who swore to anyone who would listen that he had the best legs in
the Federation.
     "Where's Mom?  I was sure she'd find an excuse to come in here
and cry."
     Jean-Luc snorted.  "Hardly.  Last I saw her, she was heading
towards Robin's quarters to counteract Eliza's influence again."
     "Uh oh."
     "My thoughts exactly."
     Eliza was his soon-to-be-mother-in-law.  Eliza was a plasma
specialist, like Eliza's much quieter husband Chester.  Eliza was
a very interesting woman.  Eliza didn't *like* Beverly Picard. 
Eliza thought that children should only be conceived in wedlock,
and when Eliza first met the somewhat-pregnant woman who was to
become Eliza's daughter's mother-in-law, the woman was still called
Doctor Beverly Crusher and had no intention of marrying the father
of her child until her other child was there.  Eliza didn't like
that.  Eliza thought that Eliza's daughter had become attached to
a family with no morals whatsoever.  Eliza had forbidden Eliza's
daughter to see Wesley ever again.  Eliza's daughter had told Eliza
exactly where Eliza could go.
     They had since made up, fortunately.
     There was a chime.
     "Come," said Wes, and his mother entered.  He glanced
knowingly at Jean-Luc.
     Before she could say anything, Wes asked, "So is there
anything left of Eliza, or should we leave the sector before the
authorities arrive?"
     "Wesley, really!  I wouldn't hurt my favorite in-law, now
would I?"
     "I didn't ask you about Robin.  I asked about Eliza."  She
laughed, then bent down to Jack.
     "Now what do you think you're doing, young man?"
     "I hate this suit, Mommy.  It itches!"
     His father bent down, and said in a conspiratorial voice,  
"Trust me, Jacky.  It gets worse as you get older."
     Beverly straightened, not quite as quickly as she once had. 
She was in dress uniform: cranberry red and form-fitting, it looked
a bit like her husband's outfit.  Her legs were also clad in tight
black, which his stepfather enjoyed for more than one reason. 
First, she looked fantastic (his mother and her husband still had
very healthy libidos, something which made Wes more than a little
uncomfortable), and second, if he had to wear them, *she* had to
wear them.
     "Wesley," she began.
     The door chimed again.
     "Come," they said in unison.
     The door opened to admit an older couple, both probably well
past ninety, he with salt-and-pepper hair and deep brown eyes, she
with pure white hair drawn back, and eyes the green of the sea.  A
younger woman was with them, her delicately tapered ears betraying
her half-Vulcan ancestry (so he had always been told, anyway), with
long, straight blonde hair.  His mother paled as her *other* in-
laws stepped uncertainly into the room.
     Jack, never one to be at a loss for words, asked them "Who are
you?"  For a fleeting moment, Wes thought of Arrhat as his mind
tried to assimilate the appearance of people he had not seen since
he was younger than his brother.
     "Jacky, these are my great-grandparents, Mr. and Mrs. Crusher,
and this is my great-aunt Rachel."
     "Hello, Wesley," the older woman said, her voice just on the
edge of quivering.
     "We got the invitation, and thought that now would be a good
time to say hello again," said the man.  He and his wife both
looked extremely ill at ease, while Aunt Rachel remained impassive.
     Beverly, still in minor shock, said, "It's always a good
time."
     Time.  Wes said quickly:  "Could I talk to the two of you
alone?  We only have a few minutes left."
     Jean-Luc picked up Jack.  His mother squeezed his hand
briefly, then they left with Aunt Rachel, no doubt still wondering
just what was going on.  Wesley, on the other hand, was beginning
to realize one of the secrets of the universe.
     For the first time in twenty-five years, he faced his father's
grandparents.  "You knew.  You knew to come today."
     She spoke.  "Fifteen years.  And you said you hadn't been
married yet.  Today seemed like the first day that wouldn't destroy
everything."
     Your existence depends upon a paradox.
     You are here to correct the paradox, but first you need to set
it into motion.
     You will find once more that which you had thought lost
forever.
     Hesitantly, he reached out and took her hand, touched his arm. 
"Welcome home, Lady.  We've missed you so very very much."
 
***
 
     Had Ten-Forward, real or imagined, ever looked so alive with
faces and flowers?  Had there ever been such music?  His heart
soared inside him as Jack walked towards them with a pillow
carrying two golden circles.
     He waited, watching Robin walk down the aisle hand-in-hand
with her father and mother.  She reached him, kissed her parents,
and then took his hands.  His mother smiled gently at them all,
then turned her eyes to the book she carried.
     "We gather here today ... "  Her words floated over and
through him.
     "Wesley Richard Crusher, do you ... "  He was certain that he
answered the appropriate "I do," but he couldn't remember it.  All
he could see was Robin's bright face looking into his soul and
smiling at what she found there.
     I give you your present.
     Suddenly, without his being aware of it, his mother had
reached the part where she said,  "By the power invested in me ..." 
He stopped time.
     Wesley looked around him.  His mother stood before them, ready
to bless the union with words made sacred centuries before.  His
stepfather stood beside him, holding Jacky's shoulder to keep him
still, acting as best man just as he had stood for Jack, and as
Wesley had stood for him in his wedding.  The circles continued to
close.
     Robin's friend of the unpronounceable name, Chester and Eliza
were to the other side of Robin, Eliza attempting to smile at his
mother.  He ignored her.
     In the audience, he saw faces he had known and loved for the
better part of forever beaming good will back to him: Geordi and
Laren, Deanna and Will, Worf and Ba'el, Guinan, Data, Saavik, Reg,
Miles, Keiko, Tom, Jaxa ...  These were his universe.  He saw their
children, ranging in ages from the twins, who were almost as old as
Jack, to Valkrys, who'd just turned one and had developed a taste
for freesias, to Lal who was both older than them all and younger
than the baby.  There was no sign of Q or Amanda.  It was just as
well.  He recalled quite clearly what they had done at his mother's
wedding.
     Closer to the middle, he could just make out where his three
favorite Romulans watched unknowing.  He wondered how life had
turned out for them, how many children they had, if they ever
thought about him, or their group's mad little sister.  He would
find a way to ask, somehow.
     At the rear of the room, behind the diplomats and the
professional manure-spreaders, he could see another set of three. 
The story he had always been told was that Aunt Rachel's father had
been a Vulcan trader far from home at the wrong time, that he chose
to remain quietly anonymous, that her mother had married her
stepfather a week before her birth.  As to the truth, well, Guinan
had once said that truth was in the eye of the beholder.  He beheld
them motionless, and understood.
     Then, he saw another pair who were not frozen.  The Traveler
sat in his Human form, his own older self, and the thought warmed
him, with a beautiful young woman beside him.  It was, of course,
Arrhat in *her* Human form, with her sky-blue eyes that still
seemed so familiar ...
     I give you your future.
     They both nodded at him.
     He started time again.
     " ... by Starfleet Command, I now pronounce you husband and
wife."
     Then, the only thing left for him to do was to kiss the bride.
     So he did just that.  
 
***
 
I'd call this the end, but it's not, really.  In the realm of the
Travelers, even time has no meaning.  From this one tale, a dozen
others are already branching outwards, and from them, a hundred
more.  That's why this isn't "Part One" of the Chronicles (or "Part
Two" for everyone who read the last story).  So long as nothing
conflicts with canon *too* much, the rest of the Chronicles will be
colors, a part of this one, before, after, and in-between the rest
of the portrait.  It's all the same story, you know, here in my
personal universe.  Drop by again sometime soon.
 
Later ...
 
Merlin Missy:)
PSEB: Chief Chemist and Bottle Washer, Also Part-Time Ship's Disc
Jockey on the JLP Ship of Loooooooooooooooove and Official Poster
of Amy de Kanter BONC Stories.
BONC: co-founder
FROG: How many froggies does it take to change a lightbulb?  Yes!
 
A Parting Thought: Anyone who gets all the references and in-jokes
in this story --- WRITE ME!  We have a great deal to discuss.
LLABH MM:) 


-- 
"I was just marking my territory, and you got in the way." -- Jack 
Nicholson in "Wolf"