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Path: moe.ksu.ksu.edu!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!pacific.mps.ohio-state.edu!cis.ohio-state.edu!magnus.acs.ohio-state.edu!usenet.ins.cwru.edu!agate!apple!apple!mumbo.apple.com!gallant.apple.com!mcmelmon.apple.com!user From: mattm@apple.com (Matthew Melmon) Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative Subject: World of Two Moons - I Message-ID: <mattm-131192163422@mcmelmon.apple.com> Date: 14 Nov 92 00:40:25 GMT Sender: news@gallant.apple.com Followup-To: alt.startrek.creative Organization: Apple Computer, Inc. Lines: 374 For my next trick, I shall try something most people probably won't realize is a cross-over (saving, of course, for the fact I've just spilled the beans). Again, as with everything else I've done - I'm afraid this will be 'serialized.' Which is to say, in several parts. Which is to say, it ain't finished yet. Now, with Dune, Gone with the Sunset, Belly of the Whale, and Five Star Trek - I have managed to finish the story. It just takes a while... Also, as with everything else I've done, Wesley figures prominently. *I* think he's cute as hell, even if the writers didn't have a clue what to do with him... Sans further babbage: World of Two Moons: Part I Wesley awakened with a start. The dream. It had happened again. The strange woman with unbelievably long hair. And fins! But beautiful, even so. A mermaid. Or a siren. The sheets were uncomfortable. He pushed them away and stood up on the bed. His skin was very pale. Geeks always have pale skin, he thought. The moonlight only made him seem even more pale. But the woman in his dream. Now, she was pale. Wesley. He didn't like that name. It wasn't a bad name, but it was very soft. Crusher. Another strange name. Especially when juxtaposed with Wesley. Wesley Crusher. A soft, brutal man? Hardly. He was a geek. But not for long. Wesley smiled in the darkness. A smile no one could see. But even if they could, they wouldn't understand. Now? Should he do it now? His breath started to come with more difficulty. God, the trouble he would be in. But so the fuck what? Now it was. Wesley got dressed. Nobody had stopped him on his way to the transporter chamber. The computer, of course, knew he was there. The computer was suposed to stop people from doing suspicious things. But the computer wasn't about to stop Wesley. He had seen to that. The tingle of re-materialization passed. He had always liked that feel. Dull red emergency lights came on. The Klingon Bird of Prey was only set up with it's emergency lights. Or so the Federation officials responsible for it thought. Wesley stepped off the antique ship's transporter platform. A very famous little craft, this. Captain Kirk - James T. - had used it to save the Earth. He did that so frequently. Nobody ever accused Kirk of being a geek. Now, the little thing was a tourist attraction here in San Francisco. Tourist attraction and geek expirement. Wesley had convinced the Academy to let him modify some of the onboard systems. Like the warp drive. The shields. The computers. And the cloaking device. They didn't know about that one. He'd had enough contact with the Romulans to make some guesses about their new cloaking technology. Working with the Klingon model, he'd made a few alterations. It might almost replicate the Romulan level of undetectability. Of course, it might also blow up in his face. What the fuck? You only live once. And he was tired of being a geek. Wesley sat in the captains chair. Even in this antique, it felt so much more authoritarian than the Enterprise. None of that triad crap on a Klingon warship. One ship, one captain. And now, that captain was him. "Computers," said Wesley. There was a hum. The consols came to life. "Awaiting instruction," replied the generic female voice. "Initiate launch sequencing." The Bird of Prey - Jamie, he called it - was kept inside. There was a huge pseudo-glass dome covering the display hall. That dome wouldn't be there much longer. He was going to cause a lot of damage. It made his blood race. "Launch sequence initialized and waiting further instruction." Wesley sucked his lower lip into his mouth for a moment. The exhibition hall computers would have detected the power-up. But they were covering his ass. Nothing would have been reported. Yet. But crashing through that ceiling was another matter. Structural integrity would not be threatened. The exhibition hall's computers would still cover for him. But when the Bird of Prey crashed into the San Francisco night - that would be a different story. And there were the orbiting destroyers - the Dahlia and the Kareninna. They would notice. "Launch," said Wesley. The ship lurched. Jamie was old, but she could perform. Could probably out-maneuver anything in the fleet. There was a thud. A brief shudder. Then a cascade of falling shards. He was in the night sky. Blasting away with too much thrust would throw down a rain of deadly radiation. He didn't want to do that. Better to take it up into low orbit nice and slow. That would give the cruisers floating around plenty of time to lay in an intercept. But that shouldn't matter. Either his pseudo-Romulan cloak would work, or it would blow the little Bird to so much metalic dust. ___________ In standard Earth orbit, the destroyer Dahlia glided lazily above the planet. The duty officer had taken reports from San Francisco with some skepticism. Why would anybody try to steal an antique Klingon warship? And how could they be foolish enough to think they'd get away with it. But scanners quickly confirmed the reports. "Captain, I think you'd better come to the bridge... immediately." ____________ Wesley saw the destroyer moving to intercept. Technically, he was outgunned, outmaneuvered, out shielded, and generally overpowerd. Furthermore, the Klingon cloaking techology was thoroughly understood by the Federation. The lazy intercept was understandable. The Dahlia was hailing him. He ignored them. Very soon, he would be free of the upper atmosphere. Even the Romulan technology would not help much in such an environment. To many ionized particles. Even in high Earth orbit, the planet's magnetic field would betray him. But only if they looked. The Klingon technology shouldn't require that they look. The Dahlia crew would be momentarily confused. He was counting on that. The Dahlia was raising her shields. Good. That would use up time. She was charging her tractor beam. A ship of that size wouldn't be able to hold him. Wesley knew that. He knew the Dahlia very well, in fact. But they didn't know that. They didn't know about all the work he'd put into this little falcon. Jamie. He cleared the atmosphere and began to accelerate. The tractor beam locked on. He increased thrust. The beam faltered. That would surprise them. They were charging their phasers. "Cloak," he said. ___________ On the bridge of the Dahlia, a moment of confusion. "We've lost them," said an ensign. "What do you mean, 'lost them?' It's a Klingon cloaking device! Find them!" The ensign tried furiously. Nothing. He turned slowly to the captain. "I'm sorry, Captain. We are unable to compensate for the cloaking device. It is _not_ of Klingon manufacture..." ____________ Wesley had cleared the gravity well. Cleared most of the radiation belt. The Dahlia was bringing itself about. It knew his general direction. They would find him sooner or later, so long as he remained in the soup of interplanetary space. But he wasn't about to do that. "Warp..." ____________ On the Dahlia bridge, the ensign looked up from his console. "Captain, the Klingon ship has entered warp space. After-image analysis indicates a departure at... warp seven." "Impossible!" The bridge was quiet. "Captain, the Kareninna is hailing us." ____________ Free from the Terran system, Wesley relaxed. It was still a long way to where he was going - but only he knew where that was. The cloak was working perfectly. And Jamie was a small ship. He knew the Enterprise could never track him. And thus he knew the Federation was helpless. He was free. "Free to follow a dream," he said aloud. "Only a dream." But no. Not only. There _was_ a world of two moons. He had found in. How? Impossible to say. The dreams told him where to look. And there it was. So it wasn't only a dream. He probably should have told someone... No! That's the geek thinking again. He was going to do this by himself. Fuck the Federation... The Enterprise would come looking for him. His mother. And Picard. He liked that. Let them look. Let them look. ____________ The admiral stared blankly at Picard for a moment. Then continued. "So you see, Picard... We have a bit of a problem." The captain rested his fingers on his desk. The admiral could not tell, but Picard was smiling to himself. To think that Wesley was finally acting like a rash young man. Finally. Thank God it didn't happen on my ship, thought Picard. "You are certain, admiral, that it was Wesley?" "It is the most logical explanation, captain. Wesley had several ongoing projects involving the Bird of Prey. He was retrofitting several modern technologies... Re-useability experiments. And there's the cloaking device. I can count the number of people who can take apart and re-assemble even the Klingon device. But unless a Romulan agent has infiltrated the Academy..." The admiral broke off. His eyes widened. "Now, admiral!" interjected Picard, "I don't believe for a moment that Wesley is acting as a Romulan agent." "I hope not... But you do think it was him?" "Yes." "And you'll find him?" "Yes." "How?" "I don't know yet. But the place to start is where he started. You can expect us in a day, admiral." ____________ From Ten Forward, Picard watched the Earth grow larger. His affection for the world of his birth had never dimmed. It never failed to wash him with emotion. Riker was guiding the ship in. Picard was thankful for the time to reflect. He could feel Guinan move up behind him. Picard tensed involuntarily. Guinan was a mystery, and while mystery fascinated him - he didn't always appreciate it so close to home. "It makes for a wonderful picture, doesn't it, Captain?" Picard could only nod. He knew that if he spoke, his voice would betray his emotion. He didn't want that. Not now. The planet stopped growing in size. They had assumed standard orbit. Soon enough, the search would begin. It was a daunting task. Looking for a cloaked ship in the vastness of space. And Wesley, he was now an unpredictable quantity. The Wesley that Picard had known would never have been capable of such a feat. And Picard was glad he no longer knew Wesley. This was a mystery more to his liking. "Commander Data to Ten Forward," he commanded. Picard had a plan. ____________ Wesley dreamed. He was underwater. Looking up. Two pale, white eyes stared down at him. Moons. This world had two moons. He had seen them over and over again. Something moved between him and the pale white eyes. Something slender, with billowing fins. And hair. Long, long black hair. Almost a woman. Her eyes were large and pale as well. And they burned with fire. A shark circled about them. Wesley was afraid, but he knew it was a dream. He also knew the woman was not afraid. She floated lazily at the center of the shark's circle. The monster darted in. And was slammed away. Something invisible. Something irresistable. Batted it away like a small insect. The shark trembled for a few moments. Spasms of confusion. Then began circling again. Oblivious to it's own danger. The shark knew no fear. The strange woman knew no fear. Only Wesley knew fear - but of which one? The shark attacked. This time, an ark of pale red light connected it to the floating woman. The shark continued in it's path. But it was dead. Wesley could tell. It glided past the woman. It sank into the depths. He was alone with her now. The woman smiled. Who is she, Wesley thought? The woman smiled. Who? "Winnowil," said a voice in his mind. Wesley woke with a start. Path: moe.ksu.ksu.edu!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!wupost!uunet!olivea!pagesat!netsys!agate!apple!mumbo.apple.com!gallant.apple.com!mcmelmon.apple.com!user From: mattm@apple.com (Matthew Melmon) Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative Subject: World of Two Moons - II Message-ID: <mattm-011292125416@mcmelmon.apple.com> Date: 1 Dec 92 20:54:03 GMT Sender: news@gallant.apple.com Followup-To: alt.startrek.creative Organization: Apple Computer, Inc. Lines: 264 Part II Beyond the massive transparent planes of glass, a crescent of blue Earth cut across the black void of space. Guinan rotated a glass slowly in her hand, even as the planet spun about its own axis. As she wiped the glass with a soft cloth, she mused about Wesley's actions. Strange, they were. But not entirely unexpected. Sooner or later, it is always the way of youth to rebel agains the expectations of their seniors. Wesley's reaction had been extreme, even as it was belated. And then, Guinan dropped the glass. It shattered upon the counter as she put a hand to her forehead. Pain! Her breath came rapidly, when it came at all. Through a haze of agony, she saw people coming towards her. Members of the crew. She collapsed against the bar. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. The captain must be warned. She felt arms supporting her. People were calling her name. So many voices! Impossible. She knew it was impossible. There were only a handful of people in Ten Forward, but she heard thousands of voices! Or the same voice, a thousand times... And something like laughter. Blackness and cold overcame her. She fell into the shattered glass. ____________ Shattered glass, everywhere. From the massive dome that had blocked out the chill San Francisco air. Picard, Data, and Counselor Troi, walked amidst the rubble. They stopped where the Bird of Prey had been resting. "Well Data," began the Captain, "What would Mr. Holmes do now?" Data looked about thoughtfully for a moment. "I do not think, Captain, that we shall find any relevant clues here. Though this may be the 'scene' of the crime, it is not its point of origin." "Crime," said Counselor Troi, "is perhaps too strong a word." Data looked at her. "Theft is a crime, Counselor." Picard cleared his throat. "Yes. Well, where should we begin?" "We have begun, Captain..." "Yes, but where shall we really begin?" "I do not understand, Captain..." "What next, Data?" "Yes. To understand the crime, we must understand the criminal. That is why I had asked for Counselor Troi's presence. We must know what Wesley was thinking, before we can hope to know where he has gone. To track a small, manueverable ship - one that is as well cloaked as a Romulan war vessel - is simply not within the realm of practicality." ____________ Hovering beneath that pane of ocean where light becomes dark, Winnowil smiled. These strange new beings pleased her. The young, restless one pleased her most. For a moment, she was sad - she had known someone like that once. Long ago. Winnowil looked towards the moons that she could not see. He was still there. In the Palace. Above and beyond the world. But held by it. Trapped. Wanting to leave, but not wanting to leave behind. Rayek. He had found the strange new worlds first. In his magical quest for the other vessels of the High Ones. Winnowil had only followed, but she paid these aliens more mind than Rayek, for whom only the High Ones were of interest. But Winnowil had long ago tired of the High Ones. Indeed, as the years have passed, the skills of Elves here and now had perhaps eclipsed the forefathers of their race. Certainly Rayek. He and the Palace were essentially of one mind and body. Winnowil flushed with pride. She, too, had grown. Just as excercise makes the muscle stronger, so too has use of her powers improved their range. Their scope. Their force... A cry for help! From this world. From this sea. Like a darting fish, Winnowil was gone. Bursting through the sea, alive with strength. One of the Leviathan's was in danger. In pain. Her mind raced ahead, arriving in the blink of an eye. Trolls! They had learned to built powerful ships. Heavy woods and steel. She could not break apart their hulls as she could the more fragile human craft. The trolls were hunting. She saw the harpoons fire upon the gentle giants of the deep. She felt the creatures terror and pain. Its mind was vast, but its thoughts were emotions. Her body caught her mind. Hundreds of yards beneath the surface of the sea, the trolls' doom spun unseen. Above her, the powerful hull cut through the brilliant dome of light that marked the water's end. A dagger. A spear. A weapon. A fierce concentration wracked her body. If she could not crack the hull, she would crack the sea! Crack the sea! Winnowil flung her arms wide. The waters parted. A canyon in the ocean, robbing the hunting ship of that which supported it. In an instant, the troll ship passed from unshakeable confidence to unknowable terror. The sea had swallowed them! Exhausted, Winnowil released her hold on the waves. There was a thunderous clap. Deafening. She hadn't consider that. But it was over. She watched the trolls die. She moved towards one the wounded giant. Several long spears protruded from its flesh. Winnowil could heal it. She would heal it. She was still the greatest healer this world had known, even if those who walked the surface had forgotten of her. Or made her the stuff of dreams and nightmares. ____________ Data stood stiffly in the center of Wesley's Star Fleet room, turning about every so often to observe. Picard and Troi fumbled about. "So, Inspector?" "That would be me, Captain?" "Yes, Data. What have you deduced so far?" "The evidence would suggest the suspect left in hurry." "Fear of discovery?" "I do not think so, Captain. At least, I do not think the suspect was afraid of any discovery being made in this room. Often, an individual who fears discovery of something wrong goes to great lengths to create a facade of rightness. This chamber does not look particularly 'right.'" "What's wrong with it?" asked Troi, "And why do you keep using the word 'suspect?' I find it distracting and a little annoying." "Nothing is 'wrong' with the appearence of the room, other than to say it is not 'right.' It is not particularly well-kept. Nor is it particularly not well-kept. Often, a person with something to hide will exhibit more extreme behavior towards every day things. As for the word 'suspect,' Counselor, I use it because it is accurate. Which word would you prefer?" "Wesley." ____________ Doctor Crusher helped Guinan sit up. The instruments had reported no signs of physical trauma, yet the evidence of pain on the woman's face was readily evident. It obviously took great effort for her to speak. Doctor Crusher told her not to, but Guinan insisted. "I must tell the Captain. Warn the Captain!" She winced in agony. Doctor Crusher raised an injector. Guinan waved her off. "There's something out there... Something dark. Cold." Her breath was coming in gasps. Doctor Crusher pushed her back down on the medical bed. Ignoring the feeble protestations. She raised the injector. Pressed it against flesh. In moments, Guinan had passed into a comforting oblivion. Doctor Crusher tapped her communicator. "Captain..." ____________ Troi had become impatient with Data. She turned to Captain Picard. There was more to this room than misplaced clothing. There was something here! Or the fading aroma of something that was here. "Captain," she said, "a powerful emotional drama has played itself out in this room." "A struggle?" "A struggle, yes. But not of bodies. Of minds. And wills. But not entirely a struggle. It is more of a..." Picard looked at her expectantly. Troi relized that what she would say would seem funny. Or embarrasing. Or both. But it is what happened. What she felt had happened. "More of a what?" the Captain asked. "A seduction, Captain." She could see the faint twitch of a smile form on his lips. She rushed on. "An alien seduction. The emotional residue remains. I believe that I can form a clearer picture of what transpired by entering a trance. I will need to concentrate for quite some time. Without interruption." Her seriousness was infectuous. Picard nodded. Grimly. An alien seduction? He did not like the sound of that. Troi sat upon the floor. She controled her breathing. Rythmic. Her eyes closed. Time passed. Picard and Data waited. And then, her eyes snapped open. A look of terror. Her body arched. "Captain!" Picard rushed to her. "Eyes! Two eyes! No! Moons! Two moons! Water... Waves! Something is pulling me down! Pulling me down! Captain! She screamed. And then, fell silent. "Captain..." chirped a voice from nowhere. Picard jumped. It was Doctor Crusher. Captain Picard was not Captain Picard for being unable to react quickly. "Beam us up immediately, Doctor. We have a medical emergency." Troi was not breathing. Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative Path: moe.ksu.ksu.edu!ux1.cso.uiuc.edu!uwm.edu!linac!pacific.mps.ohio-state.edu!cis.ohio-state.edu!magnus.acs.ohio-state.edu!usenet.ins.cwru.edu!agate!apple!mumbo.apple.com!gallant.apple.com!mcmelmon.apple.com!user From: mattm@apple.com (Matthew Melmon) Subject: World of Two Moons - III Sender: news@gallant.apple.com Message-ID: <mattm-151292161711@mcmelmon.apple.com> Date: Wed, 16 Dec 1992 00:17:44 GMT Organization: Apple Computer, Inc. Followup-To: alt.startrek.creative Lines: 209 Part III Information. It was his name. His purpose. To analyze and provide information. And he was very good at it. An artificial being developed to augment the capabilities of creatures designed by the chance collisions of a billion years. Data had, at his fingertips, the universe as the Federation knew it. Every star. Every planet. Everything. A sea of information so vast, no mortal being could absorb it. Even Data could not master it all. But he did not need to. Moons and water. And life. These criteria would limit considerably the number of worlds he need consider. Wesley could not have discovered a new star given his available resources. Furthermore, he could not track the source of the telepathic beings 'transmissions.' He must have deduced the location of the planet from available knowledge. If Wesley could do it, it stood to reason that Data could. Unless the basis for the choice depended in some part upon a thought process alien to an artificial creature. A guess. ____________ Doctor Crusher sighed. There was nothing she could do. Troi was not regaining conciousness. And the doctor had no idea why. There was no reason for it. As with Guinan, nothing was physically wrong with the Counselor. Nothing but a coma. Beverly looked at the Captain. "I don't know, Jean-Luc. I just don't know. She shows no sign of physical trauma. She should be fine. I can keep her like this indefinitely. But..." Picard noded. But should they? Was she really dead? Would her mind recover? Doctor T'Sellar brushed her hand across Troi's forehead. Picard waited for the enigmatic Vulcan to speak. They were a mysterious, powerful race, these Vulcans. The Federation was fortunate to have encountered them. "She is trapped in a state of contemplation," said the Vulcan after several moments. "This condition is not unknown to us. It is actually common among the very holiest of our people." "A trance?" asked Doctor Crusher. "Yes. One of this depth is almost never achieved by any but the greatest monks. Her mind has completely left this plane. No link to the body remains. Perhaps her Betazed training will serve her. Perhaps not." "If not?" demanded Picard. T'Selar knew the humans would not understand. They did not see this as a fascinating development. They saw it as a horror. A tragedy. And her experience with humanity taught T'Selar that they did not take fundamental truths well, where such truths conflicted with their own desires. If Counselor Troi's training was not sufficient, she would never return to her body. She would be lost. "If not, she has - for all purposes - died." That was the answer. And already she could see the signs of refusal growing in their faces. Denial of reality. This denial was often a source of pride in humanity. A willingness to face a bleak future with hope. But T'Selar saw it only as a source of needless frustration. To much energy was spent on these hopes. They did not understand. The chirp of his communicator cut Picard off before he could speak. Data had finished his task. "Captain, I have isolated seven worlds which have mulitple moons, bodies of standing water, and are known to support life, or have a high probability of being able to support life - and are within the estimated ranges for Cadet Crusher's primitive Bird of Prey." Picard nodded, though he knew Data couldn't see him. There was nothing left for him to do, here. The Doctors would be able to choose the best course of action without him. He said as much. The two doctors watched him go. Beverly turned to T'Selar. "So, what do we do?" ____________ The dreams had grown stronger. More intense. Longer. Wesley knew he was moving in the right direction, but what would he find when he got there? Who cared? It would be something different. Something beyond... Beyond what? He didn't care. Very soon, he would be landing on this strange world of two moons. And then he would know. ____________ Picard listened intently to Data's analysis. What had been an amusing development had taken on a terrifying, sinister edge. Two members of his crew had been attacked. Guinan with horrible pain, and Troi with the loss of her soul. And Wesley. What would become of Wesley, if they failed to solve the mystery? And what would prevent this being from striking again? And what could they do about it? And which world? So many questions. But the answer to the last was imperative. They couldn't begin to seek the answers to other questions until they knew what they were dealing with. So, which world? Three with no known life. One world with a soup of early, primitive microbes. One with several sophisticated civilizations, around the level of feudal Japan or imperial China. Under full isolation by order of the Federation as a developing world not yet ready for contact with inter-stellar travellers. Two member worlds of the Federation, crawling with all manner of life, from every corner of explored space. Could there be some unknown being on one of the three worlds hospitable to life, but showing no signs? Could there be something lurking in the primordial seas of the fourth world? Or the fifth? Or could someone, something, have infiltrated the Federation? "Recommendation, Mr. Data?" "Of the set, Captain, it is most likely that a powerful telepathic being would be found on either of the two member worlds. Not only would such a creature have the opportunity to develop there naturally - but relatively open facilities for inter-planetary travel increase the population pool essentially to all Federation space." "And it would be easier to hide," added Commander Riker grimly. "And it would be easier for an incoming ship to be detected. Even one that is cloaked," said Picard, "Wesley would know that." "That is correct, Captain," replied Data, "but Wesley has no reason to suspect we would be able to limit his destinations to water-holding worlds with two or more moons." Picard nodded. It did not feel right to him. But Wesley couldn't possibly suspect they were on his trail. Of course, whatever attacked Troi and Guinan knew. And, of course, whatever attacked the two women and whatever 'seduced' Wesley into this game were likely one and the same. Picard didn't know what to do. But he had to decide. He was the captain. "Commander Riker, alert both member worlds of the situation. Instruct them to use every available resource to track the Bird of Prey. Commander Data, assist them in developing detection algorithms." "And us, Captain?" asked Riker. "Set in a course for the fifth world. Maximum warp." Data cocked his head to one side. "Captain, that world is under maximum quarantine by order of the Federation. It's civilization is not to be disturbed by any contact with inter-stellar..." "I am aware of that, Commander Data. Now, execute your responsibilities. I will be in sick bay." Picard stood. This would distribute the available resources over the widest possible number of worlds. There was no need for the Enterprise on either Federation planet. And Picard had a strange feeling looking at the projected image of that fifth world. A feeling he was right. The Enterprise shuddered as he stepped into the turbo-lift. The warp engines were bending the fabric of space. They were off into the unknown. Not completely unknown, thought Picard grimly. Something out there can kill across the void of space.