Disclaimer: I own nothing but this computer and a compulsion to use it to write things like this story. So, Picard and Andrew aren't mine. All I can do is make them dance . . . dance, monkies, dance!
A/N: Welcome to the geekiest story ever geeked onto the page. I tried to get as many Trek references and accuracies as possible, but I outright refuse to consult an Enterprise schematic, so if I get some of the layout wrong and you picked up on it, well, you’re a bigger geek than me… *g*
Thanks and smooches to spikeNdru who beta’d and to stoney321, who offered like a month ago . . . you know, before I was way overdue with this story . . .
Written for the scoobies in space ficathon.
Andrew cased the basement, checking that all of the action figures were, in fact, as fully deployed as Jonathan had said. He could just imagine the tragedy that would follow a missing Bobba Fett or Lt. Cmdr Worf. Tragedy.
He picked up the Worf action figure, checking for scratches that would bring the value down even more, now that the figure was out of it’s original packaging. He then reverently set Worf down on his stand: a plastic symbol of the Klingon Empire. He was so excited he could hardly contain himself. Things were going to change . . .
“It’s finished!” called Warren. He ran from the back, excitedly waving something that looked like a tri-corder. Andrew nearly squealed with glee. Warren had finished it!
Jonathan immediately left the game of Bond he’d been playing. It didn’t matter that he was close to the final mission. It was time for a different mission.
“With this,” began Warren giddily, as he waved the tri-cordery thing about, “we can warp ourselves into any dimension we want. Anything that imaginably could happen can happen, and you know what that means . . .”
“The Final Frontier!” said Jonathan, excitedly.
“Beyond The Next Generation,” Andrew whispered reverently.
“Yes! Wait! No! I thought we agreed on original Star Trek?”
“No,” said Jonathan, “YOU agreed on original Star Trek, Andrew and I compromised on Voyager, since I wanted DS9 and He wanted Enterprise.”
Warren rolled his eyes. Andrew really liked Captain Archer. It was beyond comprehension. “Yeah, fine, whatever. It’s the same basic universe, just different points on the timeline. And . . . Voyager?” Warren shook his head. “C’mon, guys.”
Andrew and Jonathan looked at each other. “Captain Janeway’s hot!” said Jonathan. “She has that whole authority thing going for her.”
“And I really like Paris—I mean, he’s cool.”
Warren shook his head again. Of all the shows, they had to pick Voyager. He turned the dial back in time a little. Not like they’d know ‘til they got there.
Jonathan caught the movement of Warren’s hand. “Hey! I saw that! You’re turning it back! You’re trying to send us to the Enterprise NCC-1701!”
Warren tried to stall. “No! No, I’m, er, adjusting the dial . . . it’s stuck.”
“Liar!” Jonathan dove for the device.
Warren held it up, just out of Jonathan’s reach, laughing as his short friend tried to reach it.
“Jerk!” yelled Jonathan, sissy-kicking Warren in the shin. He made a grab for the device as Warren doubled over to grab his leg.
“You stupid midget! That hurt!” Warren held onto the control and whapped Jonathan on the side of the head. The two nerds began smacking each other, Warren at the disadvantage since one hand was full of the device, and Jonathan at the disadvantage because he was short.
Andrew looked on, wincing as his two friends attacked each other. “Guys! Someone’s going to poke an eye out!”
Jonathan finally made a grab for the control, his hand hitting one of the buttons on the side.
“No!” Warren watched in vain as a red beam came out from the front of the machine and engulfed Andrew. One moment Andrew was standing there, hands raised, the beginnings of a scream on his lips; the next he was gone.
Jonathan and Warren stared at the empty place he’d left, both still clutching the tri-corder. Jonathan hit Warren on the shoulder.
“Penis! Now look what you’ve done!”
Warren looked affronted. “Me?! You’re the one who pushed the button, Frodo!”
Another scuffle ensued, nicely distracting the two remaining members of the Trio from the fact that they had absolutely no idea how to get Andrew back.
*****
Flash.
Screaming.
A boy suddenly appeared making high-pitched verbal exclamations, with his hands raised in a position most likely meant to ward of something offensive.
Lt. Cmdr. Data tilted his head at the odd appearance, but he did not react beyond that. For one, unusual events were not at all uncommon on the USS Enterprise NCC-1701-D, and now E. And it would take more than another unusual occurrence to surprise Commander Data. He’d calculated the odds of his ever being surprised at 3, 791, 029, 374 to one.
The high-pitched verbal exclamation of what Data calculated to be fear ceased and the boy lowered his hands a little, looking around. The man—for Data had scanned his bio readings and determined him to be approximately twenty years of age, and therefore old enough to be considered a man in human culture—continued to lower his hands. Data watched as his eyes widened. Surprise. An interesting emotion, to be sure.
The man was twisting his head about, trying to look at everything at once. Data assumed he was analyzing his environment for tactical purposes, or perhaps for study. He decided it was probably time to initiate contact with the man. Humans had a set amount of time where it was considered polite to remain silent. Any longer than that time could be considered a social faux pas; however Data had found it almost impossible to find an equation to measure that time. It was another element of humanity that he found puzzling.
“Hello. I am Lieutenant Commander Data of the USS Enterprise—”
“NCC-1701-E. . .” The man trailed off, mouth gaping. Suddenly a grin lit up his face. He took a step forward and pulled Data into a hug. “We really did it! I’m really here! Oh, Yoda, it’s a dream come true!”
Data was unsure of what to do. While he did not know this man, the man appeared to know him, and he was certain he would break another human social convention if he did not reciprocate the embrace.
He patted the man on the back.
*****
Commander Riker stared fixedly at his report of their initial scans of the neutral zone as he walked down the hall. Crewmembers scattered as he made his preoccupied way to the bridge.
A sound registered on the edge of consciousness. It was sort of a high-pitched . . . well, he supposed he’d have to call it squee-type noise. He frowned and entered the bridge, trying to figure out what was making the sound. It was grating, whatever it was, and he certainly wasn’t in the mood for it now.
The bridge doors opened with a woosh and Commander Riker walked impressively on to the bridge. He took a moment to wink at Ensign Samuels, a cute, blonde transfer, when he noticed another blonde transfer. He was less cute.
A boy was walking around the bridge, followed by Data, whose blank countenance gave off the impression of serious puzzlement. The boy would stare at something, like the view screen, and then the high-pitched sound that Riker had heard earlier would begin to emanate from him, growing increasingly louder, until the boy found something else to stare at and make the noise over.
The doors closed behind Riker with another woosh. It was a really good thing the Captain was—the ready room doors opened—here. Riker sighed. It was going to be like Wesley Crusher again; only this time the boy apparently had no useful talents, and was, by all appearances, a moron.
The Captain took a step onto the bridge, also preoccupied. Riker figured the captain was mulling over Starfleet’s orders for the Enterprise to scan the neutral zone for possible Romulan threats while the Borg attempted to attack Earth. The Captain frowned suddenly and then looked up. He was about to open his mouth to ask what the hell was going on his Bridge when . . . Riker’s eyes widened. The kid sat in the Captain’s chair. Riker grinned a little, trying to hide it from the Captain. This was going to be funny.
The boy stroked the armrests lovingly. Captain Picard tried to prevent himself from having a coronary.
“What the hell are you doing on my bridge?”
The boy looked up. His eyes widened. The squeeing noise began again. Captain Picard started at him. Was this the Fanboition ambassador? He was about a month early! And why wasn’t the universal translator working?
The noise abruptly stopped and the boy stood up. Picard turned to Data, who usually knew about these sorts of things.
“Commander Data?” He asked, gesturing to the boy.
Data appeared to think for a moment before answering. “He appeared suddenly in the hall outside cargo bay four as I was coming here for bridge duty. He acted as if he knew me, and others on board, and he expressed an interest in seeing you. However, his arrival is still unexplained and I have no memory of him, nor could I find his name in any Earth records, or any of those from subsequent human colonies.”
Picard turned back to the boy. “Who are you?”
The boy gaped like a fish for a moment, and Picard sensed admiration. He cringed internally. He hated fans. It wasn’t that he wasn’t flattered at the attention, but . . . his job was too important for autographs.
Finally, the boy looked as if he could speak. “Th-this is such an honour, sir! I, oh Yoda, I can’t believe I’m actually here! Warren’s going to be so jealous! Although, I did sort of want to visit Captain Archer or maybe Captain Janeway . . . a continuing journey in pursuit of home . . .” The boy sighed.
Picard stared. He recovered some dignity and glared at the boy. “Mr. Hawk? I don’t have time for this!” The Captain turned to the security people present on the bridge. “Remove this idiot. I’ll deal with him later.”
The boy’s eyes widened. “I’m being yelled at by Captian Picard! It’s just like Wesley Crusher in Encounter at Farpoint!” The boy paused reverently. “This is the single greatest moment of my life . . .”
Picard’s face was turning red. He took a deep breath and ignored the boy who was being removed from his bridge by the efficient, and above all, big, Lieutenant Hawk. Turning to his crew he began to speak.
Andrew couldn’t hear him very well, what with the being dragged from the bridge and all, but he did hear what Commander Data said in response.
“Captain? I believe I speak for everyone here, sir, when I say,” there was a pause, “to Hell with our orders.”
Andrew smiled widely as he was manhandled away from the bridge.
*****
The buzz was starting to wear off for Andrew. He’d been to the bridge, he’d sat in the chair, he’d even met the Captain, but now he’d been sitting in a Starfleet detention cell for a few hours with nothing but a taciturn security officer for company. And he was an Ensign. Andrew didn’t want to establish any sort of meaningful relationship with the guy. He’d seen this movie. His guard would be a Borg before they hit the half hour mark.
Which was another grudge he had. Movie time was definitely off from real time. He’d been sitting in this cell for close to six hours, if he was any judge, and the Enterprise hadn’t even engaged the Borg yet. Montages should really be banned. They just made people forget the boring parts in between.
The doors at the other end of the room whooshed open. Andrew was relieved. Finally, they were getting somewhere.
Commander Riker stood in front of the detention cell, gazing at the boy. He had to admit, this wasn’t usually Starfleet procedure, but the kid had appeared out of nowhere and sat in the Captain’s chair. He was lucky that he’d only been put in detention.
“I’m here to ask you some questions,” said Riker, cringing a little at the boy’s look of excitement. “Computer, take a record of interrogation.” The Computer beeped in response. Riker pulled up a chair. “Name?”
“Andrew Wells. Not to be confused with my lame-o brother Tucker.”
Riker gave him a look. “So you have a brother? Is he here?”
“No! Tucker’s still in therapy. That’s what happens when you release dumb Hell Hounds on the school prom and get caught by the slayer. Now, flying monkeys at the school play? Way cooler, AND I got away clean . . . except that while everyone was running away I was knocked over into the concession table and had a cooler of that McDonalds orange juice land on me, so I was orangey and sticky, but clean in the not-being-caught sense.”
Riker shook his head a little to clear out the verbal babble. “So you have a brother named Tucker who . . . you know what? Let’s go back to the beginning. Your name is Andrew, you have a brother who’s not here, and you’re from . . .?
“Sunnydale.”
“Sunnydale?”
“Yeah. California?”
Riker tried to smile comfortingly. It was hard. “So you’re from Earth?”
“But not this Earth.”
Riker raised his eyebrows.
“See, War—I invented this tricordery-thing that let us go into any dimension we wanted, so we chose the dimension where TV—we chose THIS dimension since we wanted to talk mano e mano with the great crew of the Enterprise. But we couldn’t decide which one, since Warren wanted TOS, but I was definitely more into Voyager, or TNG, of course,” Andrew smiled winningly at a bemused Riker. “So, Warren tried to trick us, because he’s all into meeting Kirk, since William Shatner wouldn’t sign his hat, but Jonathan got mad since we’d agreed, and tackled him and the thingy went off and now I’m here.”
Riker blinked. He wasn’t sure if what he had just heard was supposed to make sense. He was also beginning to seriously regret volunteering to interrogate this guy. Nothing that came out of his mouth formed a coherent sentence. He grasped at the one thing that had.
“So . . . you’re from Earth, then?”
“Yes . . . well, no. Not this Earth. Our Earth has way fewer aliens and a lot more demons.”
Riker stood up. “I’m . . . just going to go get someone,” he said. “We have this . . . I have to return to duty.”
Andrew sighed. “You’re going to send counselor Troi down here, huh?” He looked a little disappointed. “I guess you and the Captain are busy with the Borg attacking Earth . . . and ditching the neutral zone.”
Riker stared. “How did you know our orders? More importantly, how did you know we were going to disobey them?”
Andrew grinned. Now they were interested in him. Finally he was getting somewhere. He may actually get to have a conversation with the Captain.
Riker eyed him as he waited for an answer. When one was not forthcoming, he turned and left the room, searching for the counselor.
*****
Troi and Riker strode down the hallway together towards the brig.
“. . . and he’s almost impossible to talk to coherently, Deanna. This is going to take all your skill.”
The counselor smiled slightly. She wasn’t surprised that Riker was having trouble communicating with their new guest. He was very straightforward. He liked to ask a question and get a simple and reasonable answer. In that way he was very similar to the captain. She, on the other hand, was far more capable of waiting for a response and rooting through what a person said to find out what they meant. Plus, she had that whole psychic thing working for her. That was nice.
She put a calming hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Will. I’ll talk to him.”
Riker shook his head a little as they stopped in front of the door to the brig. “Believe me, Deanna, that doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll get any information.”
Deanna smiled reassuringly again and entered the room, assessing her client from the doorway. She sensed boredom from him, as well as a brewing excitement and . . . dread? No, worry. And expectation . . . a deep respect from the captain. And disappointment?
Andrew Wells sat up, and Deanna saw him sigh. She pursed her lips a little. Now she knew the source of his disappointment. He wished he were talking to the captain, whom he respected, instead of the counselor, whom he did not. She pushed aside her irritation and sat in the chair that Will had undoubtedly vacated in his hurry to find her, due to his frustration with their captive.
“Hello Andrew. I’m—”
“Counselor Troi. Betazoid.”
The counselor was a little taken aback. Will has said that their guest knew a lot about them, but she hadn’t expected to hear her name and race laid out in such a bored tone.
“Do I get to talk to the Captain soon? At least tell me I get to talk to him before you go through the temporal vortex thingy, because if I’m still here when that happens then I’m going to get assimilated along with my guard, and I don’t think that those Borg eyepieces would be very comfortable.”
Deanna was floundering, but she managed not to show it.
“What makes you think that the Borg will manage to assimilate the ship? I sense some anxiety. You mentioned that you knew that we were going to join Starfleet to protect Earth. Are you worried that we might be overtaken by the Borg?”
Andrew sighed heavily. “I’m not really worried that it might happen . . .”
Deanna smiled. “Good. So what are you—”
“Mostly because I know that it will happen once we make it to Earth. There’s only about ten minutes of movie time before the Borg beam on after we get there. Is it possible for me to get a drink? The show never really focused on how dry the air was in Space.” He made a little coughing sound.
Deanna stared. Now she understood what Will meant about the complete lack of straight answers.
“Will you excuse me for a moment?” Deanna smiled reassuringly.
“Could I get a Raktagino? I’ve always wanted to try one.”
Dianna paused and then nodded, smile fixed firmly in place. “Sure.”
She walked calmly out of the brig and continued a little past the door. Riker pushed himself away from the wall he’d been leaning on. He grinned a little at the flustered look on the counselor’s face.
“So . . . ?”
She drew herself together. “It is my professional opinion that our guest is insane.”
Riker bit back a bark of laughter. “Really?”
Deanna nodded. “Really.”
Riker sobered up for a second. “What about all his information about the Borg?”
Deanna paused. “He believes that if he stays in the detention cell the Borg will assimilate him, but I didn’t sense much fear associated with the idea. What I sensed mostly was a sense of . . . curiosity. As if he was interested in finding out what happened next. But he doesn’t seem to think it’s real. In fact, I sensed almost no connection with his environment. This is a game to him.”
“So, you think he’s dangerous?” asked Riker, frowning.
Deanna considered. “No. I actually think we should move him from detention to secure quarters. We may get more from him when he’s removed from the idea of a Borg attack.”
Riker nodded. “I—”
He was cut off. “Commander Riker, please report to the Bridge immediately.”
Suddenly the ship shook.
*****
Andrew lay on his bed, happy that they’d given him quarters on the deck above deflector control, but unhappy that he still hadn’t spoken to the Captain. They weren’t taking him seriously here. He had information about the Borg that would be helpful. He’d told them that soon the ship would be assimilated, and they weren’t doing anything. And it had been another stretch of long, boring nothing that would most certainly have been another time lapse in the movie.
Finally he sat up, coming to a decision. “Computer! Start a personal log for Andrew Wells.”
“Personal log started for Andrew Wells.”
“Starfleet fan club member 104672, Andrew Wells, Personal Log, StarDate 50893.5 or, er, April 2063 CE. I have been detained on board the Enterprise for what seems like days now, the crew having felt threatened by my intimidating knowledge of their doomed future . . .”
*****
Captain Picard walked down the hall as if each step brought him closer to his doom, and if he had been walking a few floors down, that might have been the case. However, here it was just reluctance to talk with what Troi called, “a babbling lunatic”. But reluctance was a luxury he couldn’t afford. The boy had been right about the Borg attack and the Borg invasion of their ship. The Captain wanted all the information this Mr. Wells had, as well as a damn good reason why he had it.
He had to do this fast. The Borg were rapidly Assimilating the crew, however they had not reached this deck. Picard did not think it was a coincidence that the boy had requested his quarters here.
“So, this kid knows something?” asked Lily, whom Picard had in tow, after fleeing from most parts of the ship. Except this part. Picard was again suspicious of the coincidence.
“So it seems.”
He stopped in front of the door. “Computer! Open door.”
The computer beeped affirmative and wooshed open to reveal Andrew Wells lying on his back, speaking.
“ . . . And then Warren made himself this robot girlfriend, which is so totally lame, and even worse because he wouldn’t make me one, and all I wanted was Christina Ricci. I even would have settled for Robo-T’Pal, but he said that he was through making robots because of the whole ‘attacking the slayer’ fiasco. But then he offered one to that demon I summoned, which I thought was totally unfair, especially since I summoned him, so you’d think I’d get some credit, or a reward, but—”
“Mr. Wells!”
Andrew sat up, startled. His eyes grew wide when they landed on the Captain and his partner.
“Captain Jean Luc Picard,” he said in a reverent whisper.
Picard resisted the urge to smack the awed look of the boy’s face, and quickly got to the point.
“I believe you have information about the Borg?”
Andrew nodded.
Picard smiled, humourlessly. “Good. You are going to give it to me. Now.”
Andrew looked a little upset. “Is that all? I mean, I thought you’d want to know about the mystifying boy from a different Earth who mysteriously shows up on the ship in a dramatic and timely fashion!”
Captain Picard took a step closer. “The Borg are rapidly assimilating my ship and crew, we are stuck in the past where they will attempt to assimilate Earth to stop any chance of a future for human-kind, and you think I care about who you are or where you come from? I don’t have time for this, Mr. Wells!” Picard had grabbed the front of Andrew’s shirt. Only the barest thread was restraining The Captain’s temper.
Lily grabbed the Captain’s arm. “Jean-Luc, calm down! If this kid has information then—”
Picard whirled, still holding Andrew’s shirtfront, dragging the boy with him. “You don’t understand, Lily! How could you?! The worst threat that the Federation has ever faced is gaining on us, and this, this boy won’t tell me what I need to know! I don’t care where he’s from or how he got here! All I care about is stopping the Borg!”
Picard eyed Andrew for a second longer and then let go of his shirt in disgust, causing the timely and mysterious visitor to fall to the floor. Picard walked away from him, trying to gain some control over his temper.
“They invade our Space, and we fall back. They assimilate entire worlds, and we fall back. Well, no more. The line must be drawn here! This far, no further! And I will make them pay for what they’ve done!” Andrew looked up a little. “Well, you, I mean.”
Picard turned to Andrew, who had moved to a sitting position on the floor. The boy looked up. “I forgot that part of the movie. I don’t know why. I mean, it’s my favourite. I’ve seen that scene like a hundred times.”
Picard stared. He didn’t know how Mr. Wells knew. That very thought had been brewing for so long. That very speech had been stewing in his mind, he just hadn’t given birth to it yet. And here was this boy, taking the very words from his mouth, and saying them better than he could ever hope to, and talking about it like it was some sort of entertainment. And there were Borg everywhere. And he still needed answers.
Andrew continued. “I’ll tell you what you need to know. But it doesn’t really matter, because you’ll solve it on your own. Or will you? I mean, have I ruined the S/T continuum? Or, are we okay? I—”
“Just tell us already!” Said Lily. “Damn, man, I can’t take any more if this flip-flopping!”
Andrew straightened, positioning himself as if he were about to tell a story of great importance. Like one might relate on Masterpiece Theatre.
“It all begins with dignified Jerry Goldsmith music and a backdrop of stars . . . Space. The Final Frontier . . .”
*****
Space and Time were tricky things, Captain Picard reflected. If you played with one did the other change too?
Things were all sorted with the Borg. They’d had, what Ensign Wells would certainly call, “a grand adventure,” but they’d come through. Earth was saved, First Contact had happened, and the future had been ensured for the present.
There had been little glitches. He had yelled at his crew, called Worf a coward, and stormed off to his ready room. Lily had followed and demanded an explanation, and he could feel the words—words recited by an enthusiastic and somewhat embarrassing young man—coming to the fore. Lily had looked around a little and said, “You’re trying not to say the speech, aren’t you?” and eventually he had just smashed the ships to break the awkward silence. And then he’d ordered the self-destruct.
For all that he didn’t want to be predictable, he’d had to give in to the narrative flow.
And afterwards? Well, he now found his crew one member larger. It wasn’t that the boy was a particularly gifted officer, but he did seem to have an uncanny knowledge of the rules and regulations of Starfleet, the ship’s layout, and the various capabilities of the different types of vessels in the Federation. Plus the Klingon and Romulan Empires. He also insisted that they fix up the Defiant, since “it was important, and so cool with the cloaking device and the maneuverability, and Worf needed some way to get back to DS9, and . . .” Picard had stopped listening. There was this technique that he employed sometimes when Data talked about things that no human could understand, which basically consisted of looking dignified and nodding. He found it invaluable here.
What he also found invaluable were constant references to Mr. Crusher. Mr. Wells seemed to know what he was talking about whenever he mentioned his protégé, and the Captain felt that Wesley’s example could only be a good influence on Andrew. For all that the boy had been annoying at the start of their time together, he had become a man worth knowing.
But for now it was an uphill slog through the Tarkanian snow to cut down on his irritating habits. Like sitting in the Captain’s chair. Like he was doing right now.
“Ensign Wells!”
The boy jumped, looking guiltily back at the Captain. “Yessir?”
“Ensign Wells, if you do not vacate that chair I will allow Lieutenant Worf to do it before he goes, and he is much less forgiving than I.”
“It would be my pleasure, sir,” growled Worf. He didn’t like the way the boy looked at him. There was not enough fear in his gaze to truly honour him.
Andrew jumped up, saluting a little haphazardly, and hurried into the communications chair. It wasn’t what he’d dreamed of doing in Starfleet, but he was willing to start small.
“Set a course for the Neutral Zone. We have a meeting with the new head of the Romulan Empire.”
“Course set, Captain,” replied Data.
“Engage.”
The Neutral Zone! Nemisis! Andrew tried to suppress a squee of delight. He was mostly successful.
The End
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