Darth Pestilence, in the Clone Wars era...

"Manipulation"

Darth Pestilence awoke screaming.... arms and legs flailing, the Sith icon flying wilidly on it's rough twine, hitting her in the face five times, then six, then ten. Suddenly aware of where she was, and her circumstances, she saw that the interrogation droid was poised over her like a bulbous black insectoid lover. The syringe, white and sterile against the gleaming black droid, fixed an accusatory gaze on her. A single drop fell from the point of the needle and splashed on her breast.

Then the door to the cell opened, and metal footsteps strode in quickly. Purposefully. There was a cough, like someone who smoked too much jamja weed, and the metallic filtered voice. "She's broken loose." General Greivous. It... the cyborg general of the separatist army, coughed again. "Where's the battle droid that was guarding her?" It sounded as if every word was a struggle. Like an old machine trying to run without oil.

"Over there, sir." Another battle droid pointed at the debris she'd left in a corner of the cell. 

Darth Pestilence didn't remember the particulars of the combat. Only that she'd managed to get a hand around its scrawny neck, and after a flash of activity, the droid had been a smoldering pile of debris in the corner of the cell. 

Greivous coughed again, painfully, as if trying to eject something from its throat. It repeated the tortured cough, and leaned close over her. "Sorranus Muti--"

"--is dead," she interrupted it. Then she spat at it's vocoder. 

Greivous coughed again, but only leaned closer to her. She could smell what seemed like a mix of solvent and rotting animal flesh. "Not yet, " it said roughly, and gave an ugly, tortured laugh. One mechanical claw encased her neck and shoved it back down. Two more closed around her hands. His fourth hand finished securing her hands to the steel table, the secured her feet. "From what I've heard you should be used to that position," it coughed. "Try not to enjoy it."

Greivous stayed for the entire twelve hour session, and was disappointed when she failed to reveal any treason. "Release the prisoner," he ordered the battle droids. Then he fixed his arms behind him and marched from the room. 

"Where is Count Dooku?" He demanded of another battle droid on the bridge. 

"Hmm...." the droid hummed uncertainly. "Could you say that again?" 

"Where is Count Dooku?" 

Greivous repeated impatiently. He was already deciding which droid to assign to replace the faulty one questioning him.

"Hmm...." the droid repeated, with an increasingly loud hum. "Could you say that again?"

Greivous lifted an adamantium hand and swatted the defective head off of the defective droid. 

"Bah! I'll find him myself!" 

"Find who?" The rich timbre of Count Dooku asked from behind him. 

"I have finished interrogating Darth Pestilence," he almost seemed to choke the words out, and puncuated his statement with a rough cough. "There is no evidence of treason," he

coughed sharply, then added, "yet."

"Perhaps the traitor is someone else," he said slowly. "I will pursue the matter myself." Then he turned quickly and left.

"Let me assure you, my student," Dooku told Darth Pestilence, "I had no idea that General Greivous was going to committ this unauthorized act. If only he had come to me, I would have told him--"

"I'll deal with Greivous," she answered quietly, but with venom. 

"Perhaps--" Dooku said hesitantly.

"Perhaps what?"

"I was just thinking that sometimes a traitor will seek to divert attention by casting allegations elsewhere."

"Greivous is a traitor?" She gasped.

"Perhaps not," he answered soothingly. "But it might be a good idea if you addressed these concerns with him... by whatever means you find necessary. After all, we wouldn't

want to have any internal weaknesses in this time of struggle, would we?" He smiled.

Star Trek: Temporal Cold War: "Strike"

Lt Smith sat in the cockpit of the time pod while Supervisor 194 continued to talk to her through the subcutaneous transceiver in the skin just behind her right ear. "The probe will be launched from a cloaked orbital platform at midnight. The target appears to be the Kremlin."

"And of course they will blame it on the West."

"Al Qaeda."

"That's ridiculous. Al Qaeda had no interest in Russia at that point."

"And Russia knows that. The threat is from Gasparov, a Russian separatist with ties to the Eastern Coalition. If the western powers were to learn that there is a separatist movement in Russia, they might covertly support it. But claims of an Al Qaeda attack on Russian soil- on the Kremlin could win western sympathy and support."

"Can't I transit straight onto the platform?"

From his office in 21st century New York, Gary Seven adjusted the controls of the Beta V terminal until a computer generated image the platform appeared in the velvet of space. "That was my first thought, but there is a temporal detection grid surrounding it. Someone is apparently expecting interference." He sighed. "We'll need to drop you in behind the moon. You can set the pod to take you in towards the platform and beam you on board."

"A temporal detection grid on a cloaked platform orbiting earth in the 21st century? Who is sponsoring this guy?"

"That is a different line of investigation. Just focus on the probe, 135."

Smith knew that Seven meant business when he dropped the names and started going by numbers. "Acknowledged, Supervisor 194. I have the schematics committed. Ready to launch."

"Launching." Seven sent the relay signal that according to the tech specialists at Aegis Headquarters didn't so much launch 135 from the 31st century as it pulled her towards the 21st. It was a matter of quantum and temporal physics that he understood enough to utilize and work with, but no more.

Smith felt her ears pop as the travel pod appeared in normal space/time. After checking the locator readout, she rose from the control panel and turned. "Transit successful. Some of the automatic circuits seem to be non-functional. I'm going below to manually prep security protocols."

"Acknowledged." 194's voice sounded distorted and attenuated, but that was a normal effect of trans-temporal communications. "That's been known to happen. Something about the biocircuits reacting to the time travel. You have two hours before the probe is launched."

"I should have plenty of time," she said as she moved aft to the craft's interior maintenance hatch. Without another word, she opened the reinforced hatch and descended into the time pod's null space compartment. This compartment, a storage and maintenance area larger in volume than the exterior hull of the roughly cylindrical time pod was composed of null space, an outgrowth of the 'portable hole' physics cheat developed in the experimental R&D labs of ACME Corp. The null space compartment made possible some of the more exotic propulsion systems of the pod, as well providing easy access to the biocircuitry that made the whole thing possible. Smith didn't pretend to understand the physics behind null space, except that it had something to do with a portable subspace generator. And even that was rumored to be a ruse created by the same brains that created the null space generator. "Just don't close in on me" she thought outloud as she opened an access panel and enabled the tracking/retrieval feature that would automatically return the pod to the 31st century within a set amount of time. Once it was set, she closed the access panel and climbed back up to the cockpit. Out of null-space environment, she could contact Seven again. "I set auto-retrieval for five hours.

"Acknowledged 135. You'd better get moving."

"On my way," Smith answered curtly, cutting the comlink. "You're such a ray of sunshine," she muttered. Then she moved to the cockpit and sat down and swiveled the chair around to face the control console. Accessing the pod's sensors, she found the cloaked platform exactly where Seven said it would be. "Computer, engage cloak and set course for the platform. Notify me when we're in transit range."

"Acknowledged."

It took just a few minutes for the pod to slip through space. Before long, Smith saw a computer generated wire-frame outline of the platform. A muted 'ping' from the console indicated that transit range had been reached. "Transit enhancers active. Scan for life support status."

"Transit enhancers active ," the computer repeated. "Life support simulating Class M."

"Beam me to an area that doesn't contain any life forms." Smith paused for a moment, allowing the computer to locate such an area. She had committed the layouts (gathered from 194’s all-knowing, all-seeing Beta 5 computer) to memory, so she had an idea where that would take her. Her breath caught as the beam caught her, and transited her to the platform.

“What the hell?” She was in what appeared to be the launch deck. Filled with people. And all of them pointing energy weapons at her.

“Computer! Emergency transit!”

Seconds later, she found herself back in the pod. “Alert! Alert!” The computer announced.

“What happened?”

“Probe launch ahead of schedule.”

Smith swore. “You were supposed to beam me to an area without lifeforms!”

The computer seemed to hesitate for a moment, then it went on as if she hadn’t said anything. “Probe will enter the atmosphere in five minutes. Target, Kremlin. Moscow. Russia.”

“What happened?” She shouted. “There were lifeforms there! Lots of angry lifeforms!”

“Probe will enter atmosphere in four minutes 50 seconds.”

“What’s wrong with you?” She shouted.

“A self-diagnostic will take ten minutes. Probe will enter atmosphere in four minutes 40 seconds.”

“We aren’t finished with this. Intercept probe. Prepare to fire phasers.”

“Probe will enter atmosphere in four minutes 30 seconds.”

“Time to intercept.”

“Three minutes 30 seconds. Probe will enter atmosphere in four minutes 20 seconds.”

“That’s too close. Accelerate. Prepare to fire phasers.”

“Probe will enter atmosphere in four minutes 10 seconds.”

“Fire!”

“Pod is not in range to assure destruction of-“

“Override and fire!”

“Firing.”

Smith was vaguely aware of the pod vanishing around her… the she seemed to catch up with it. Then she was transited outside of the pod. She found herself walking into Seven’s office, coming out of the transit chamber built into a wall.

“Your pod was returned to the 31st century. What happened?”

Smith had to stop before answering him. She still hadn’t caught her breath from the harrowing evengts of the last few minutes. “The computer beamed me into an inhabited and heavily guarded section of the platform. I was almost killed. I ordered the computer to beam me back, and as I materialized, the probe was launched ahead of schedule. I attempted to intercept. Phasers were firing as the pod was retrieved.”

“The mission was not a complete failure,” Seven said dryly. “The probe was not destroyed, but it was disabled. It broke up in the atmosphere and has been reported, thanks to agents 371 and 195, as a meteor strike. It rained down over the Ural Mountains in Russia. More than 1,000 people were injured in the Chelyabinsk region. Most reliable sources have accepted it the story.” Seven sounded almost mournful. “Our people will recover the debris and scatter a sufficient amount of extraterrestrial material to satisfy the souvenir hunters.” He stepped slowly behind his desk, but didn’t seat himself. “So what do you think happened?”

“I don’t know. Either those weren't lifeforms on the platform…” she began.

“Or there’s something wrong with the computer,” Seven finished.

Star Wars: "Five Sight" (a concept introduced by Spider Robinson for Callahan's Crosstime Saloon)

"So this is what became of the Jedi?" Thirty-Eight asked Sorannus Muti. He was indicating the thunderously snoring Chan-San-Lightyear.

"He's more effective than he looks," she answered from the cockpit of the freighter Ambiguous.

"He'd almost have to be," Thirty-Eight answered. The Republic Commando and his squad mates, Forty, Sixty-Two, and Seven were watching the lounging Jedi."Because he sure does--"

"He even hears things in his sleep," Lightyear interrupted them before opening his eyes. "And he has a really bad feeling about this." Lightyear stood up to his full two meters and walked the short distance into the cockpit. "I have this sudden, uncontrollable and increasing urge to sample the waters on Tattooine."

At Thirty-Eight's confused glance, Muti explained. "Lightyear has five-sight." Another quizzical look from the clone-trooper, and further explanation. "An urge," she paused. "A compulsion for self-preservation that makes him want to be opposite of danger. More than foresight, but not quite a sixth-sense."

"Right," Lightyear said. "And it kept me alive when the Jedi were being wiped out--"

"Drunk and half-naked in the middle of a chorus line of similarly dressed Twileck dancers," Muti finished.

"But alive. And prepared to carry on the fight. I'm no Obi-Wan-Kenobi," he said. "But I never tried to be. 'Be not more than you are', Master Yoda said."

"Didn't Master Windu put it another way?"

"He said 'Just try not to get killed'." He looked at the navigational display. "So why are you trying to ruin all of my hard work?"

"Because Master Luke recalled us to Coruscant. On the double."

"When? I didn't hear a thing."

Thirty-Eight grinned. "Wow. You sure your eyes were closed?"

Star Trek: Temporal Cold War: "Introduction"

In the 31st Century... "What is the decision of the Tholian Assembly?" Thoris asked. In response, the dark, swirling column came to life. "We will observe," it said in a series of screeches and clicks that the computer translated into Federation standard. And while the image was more shadow than anything else, the outline of a Tholian was unmistakable in the telepresence chamber. "We will not commit ourselves further."

"Acceptable" Thoris answered. "Is the Zantari representative present?"

Another telepresence unit lit up in a swirl of smoke and static, This time there was no discernible outline, but rather a muted representation of the flashing colored strobes that was the natural state and form of communication of the plasma-based lifeform. The universal translator hesitated for an instant before providing a translation. "The Zantari Coalition hereby withdraws from the Temporal Accords." With a distinct 'pop', that telepresence chamber was gone.

"Okay", Thoris said as she finished her first cup of coffee. "Mr Daniels, is there any word from the Romulans?"

Daniels walked into the darkened chamber wearing a 24th century Starfleet uniform. "Forgive me Ma'am. I just left a meeting with Ambassador Spock. He reports that his fifth attempt to enlist the Romulan government's assistance to locate Nero has failed. The Romulans aren't talking to anyone."

"I guess we'll find him eventually," she said quietly. "Or he'll find us." Then she spoke into the darkness. "Computer, access please." She reached her hands ahead of her and holoprojectors built into the bulkheads created a virtual access point in the air, within easy reach. She swiped her fingertips across the screen, and an image of a 20th century rocket gantry appeared. She touched a portion of the image, and it zoomed in to show a human in a business suit from the era lying prone and working inside a panel. "One-Nine-Four is about to find himself on the Enterprise." Her eyes narrowed as she saw a black cat come into the picture crawling carefully next to the man and meowing impatiently. "Isis is with him. That seems to be going well, but I'm keeping an eye on him anyway."

Daniels turned to watch the scene. The tell-tale sparkling of a 23rd century transporter began to manifest itself, and One-Nine-Four sat up and picked up the cat. "It never hurts to pay special attention when the Enterprise is involved."

"Any Enterprise," she added with a grin. "So what can you tell me about the Furies?"

"Six months and not a sound. I think they're gone for good this time."

"What about the Krenim? They threatened-"

"Let me show you." Daniels swiped at the virtual display. It shifted to show an area of unidentifiable deep space. "This is the outer perimeter of Krenim space at its heighth." Suddenly a Federation Intrepid class starship appeared. "Voyager is just entering their space. There is a bit of temporal flux, but the computer gives a 95% probability that Janeway will put an end to their machinations."

"Good," Thoris said. "But again, we'll keep an eye on them." "There is also a report from Five-Nine-Seven."

"Refresh my memory."

"Los Angeles. Early 21st century. Miss Eden seems to be handling her challenges very well."

"Right. You didn't go back again, did you?"

"No," he smiled. "But as it turns out, Five-Nine-Seven-"

"Wait. 'Five'? Aren't all 'fives' Klingons?"

"Yes Ma'am. Five-Nine-Seven is the only Klingon authorized in that sector in that era. He has been heavily vetted, and surgically altered to pass as human. He is in contact with Miss Eden through social media of the day and reports that despite some setbacks, her work is progressing nicely."

"Well, that's good to know. There's alot riding on that one." Then she turned to the darkness but continued to speak to Daniels. "Well, the Klingon representative to this council is unable to attend today. The Andorian representative is protesting what his government considers 'temporal imperialism'. So as we do not have a quorum, there will be no meeting today. Was there anything else, Mr. Daniels?"

"There is some news regarding the Andorians that should be discussed privately."

Thoris glanced at the sparkling and humming column that was the Tholian's telepresence chamber. "Away from 'observing' eyes?"

"Yes ma'am," he smiled uneasily. "There is just one other, well, unusual piece of business."

"Mr. Daniels, we redefine 'unusual' every day. Bring it on."

"Very well." He tapped the ancient comm badge on his chest, then caught himself. "Forgive me. I was in the 24th century for six months. You pick up habits." Then he spoke to the darkness. "Please come in, gentlemen."

Thoris turned her gaze to the sound of reinforced double doors opening and the sight of filtered light streaming into the normally dark chamber. She quickly recognized two figures. One tall and lanky, pushing another in what appeared to be an ancient motorized wheelchair. As they approached, she recognized them. Ambassador Sarek and Admiral Leonard McCoy. "Excuse me, but what the hell are they doing here?" she demanded from Daniels.

"Madam," Sarek said with a strength that belied his obvious age. "You will forgive our intrusion. But my son is missing. Or, rather he will be missing. We require answers."

"Yeah," McCoy added. "What the hell are you people playing at?"

"Gentlemen, I won't answer any questions until you tell me what you're doing here." Then she turned to Daniels. "Well?"

Daniels cleared his throat. "The Guardian of Forever-" He stopped as she made an angry noise and rolled her eyes. "In the 24th century, the Guardian revealed a past that included the destruction of the planet Vulcan in the 23rd century. These gentlemen-"

"The Temporal Accords were in place by then," she interrupted. "These gentlemen employed the Yridians, who had not yet signed the accords, to investigate. They eventually traced the, well, discrepancy to an incident of time travel in the 25th century. At that point Ambassador Spock seemed to go off the grid."

"It is reasonable to assume that Ambassador Spock traveled back through time," Thoris concluded, "and somehow, as a result Vulcan was destroyed."

"Poppycock!" McCoy blurted out. Sarek looked down at McCoy with practiced indulgence. "The Doctor is essentially correct. The planet Vulcan exists today. That is a fact. Despite what the Guardian revealed. The next logical step would be to send trusted associates through the Guardian to this altered past to investigate."

"You can see why I felt the need to intervene," Daniels said.

"Yes," Thoris said. "But why bring them here?"

"Mr Daniels' protestations were insufficient to deter us." Sarek answered.

"In other words, we didn't buy it. And we still don't."

Thoris directed a pained look at McCoy, then turned to Sarek. "Mr Ambassador, we want to know what happened to your son, and Vulcan. But we have the resources to do that without introducing some of the," she said paused, choosing her words carefully, "variables inherent with travel through tthe Guardian. Will you please allow us to oversee the investigation?"

"That would be acceptable."

"I don't like it one damned bit," McCoy protested.

"As long as we are satisfied with your progress," Sarek added. "Otherwise we shall return to the Guardian." 

"Mr Daniels, make it a priority. And get these gentlemen home." "Yes Ma'am." "And then we talk about the Andorian problem."

Main Page Photo

You might wonder why I picked a picture showing no sci-fi elements... well, most of my science fiction writing is Star Trek or Star Wars, and I thought it only appropriate to note the two people responsible for those two franchises...

The Kapact Project

Introduction and explanation: I've been writing Kapact as a character since 1994. He is a Klingon General of royal blood He (and his detractors) describe him as 'The Common Soldier with Royal Blood'. Over the last 19 years I have written not only about Kapact and his career and family, but also about his ancestors. All of that will be compiled here.