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Kalon 1
April 15, 2025

“Wake up!”

Kalon snapped her head up off her arms, blinking her heavily lined and eyeshadowed green eyes rapidly.

She sat at a wooden table that stretched far in both directions, one of several in the expansive area. The walls were made of even older wooden cases filled with books in various states of care. A massive globe sat just out of the corner of her eye.

“Awake now? I warned you not to stay out here last night.”

“Sorry, Grams.” Kalon stretched, shaking the gentle, wrinkled hand from her bare shoulder. “Is it time for work already?”

Grams pursed her lips. Her narrow shoulders slumped, defeated, and held out a metal bat to Kalon.

“You should have the mind to wear a cardigan at least if you start reading after supper.”

“I’ll try to remember.”

Grams frowned doubtfully. “I’ll make you a toast just so you have something in your stomach.” She paused her retreat. “Do go wash up first. You look a state.”

Kalon smushed her fingers into her cheeks as if to feel the condition of her face before leaving her spot. She retreated downstairs to her room through a small door tucked into a corner. 

Her room was cramped with just a small bed, wardrobe, and narrow crate that acted as a bedside table. There was hardly room to shuffle around once the wardrobe door was opened, revealing a mirror.

The black liner she had put around her eyes yesterday was now smudged and smeared into the dark, purple eyeshadow making it appear as if she had black eyes from a broken nose. Her maroon lipstick was wiped across her pale cheek.

She licked her fingertips and vigorously rubbed at the smudges to assemble some sort of order. She stuck her fingers into the short, curly mop of purple atop her head, shaking it to loosen any tangles. She frowned at the fading color and pulled a lock straight to assess the length.

Kalon switched out her black, sleeveless corset top for a low cut gray top with black beading. It was enough of a change to call the outfit satisfactory.

She munched her toast on her way up the narrow stairs to the main floor, resting her bat on her shoulder. She waves the last bit in that air at the old man in the near distance.

“Morning, Gramps!”

Her hand fell as more of the lobby revealed Gramps was not standing alone, but facing two young men. Kalon’s smile fell as she recognized the guarded stance of the black-haired one.

“Ah, Kalon, good of you to start your morning with us.” Gramps ushered her to stand between him and the boys. “We have guests. And so early.”

“I see that.” She stared into the mismatched eyes pointed her way. “All right, Khoa? Bex isn’t with you?”

“He’s being stupid, tryin’ for a mid-life crisis early or something.” The black-haired boy shrugged. “Don’t know, or care.”

Kalon’s shoulders relaxed at Khoa’s response. He was in a good mood, not surly and wanting to start fights.

Khoa brought images of foxes into Kalon’s mind; an elegance and cuteness that played into inquisitiveness. There was a sharpness to his eyes that indicated he could be clever, and that he should never be backed into a corner.

He was the only person she had come across with a face piercing, whereas hers was a bar over her right eyebrow, his was a small, thin ring in his bottom lip.

Kalon frowned. “Where’s your piercing?”

Khoa’s hand covered the bandage that covered his bottom lip and most of the space beneath, touching his chin. His odd-eyes changed, hardening and narrowing.

“Always observant, ain’t you? You just standin’ and starin’ and only now realize I look different? Always off in your own head. Notice Bex ain’t here yet?”

“I noticed as soon as I walked–!” She stopped herself, taking a breath. “Sorry.”

Gramps cleared his throat loudly. “That’s enough greetings. As I said, Kalon will assist you. Just tell her the subject and she can narrow down your options.”

Khoa clicked his tongue. “I said it already, there ain’t a subject. He just wants to sit alone and grab whatever gets his attention.”

“You know that is not how this library operates.” Gramps brushed the pistol on his hip. “Do you take issue with that, boy?”

“Right now I do.” Khoa stepped forward. “I dare you.”

“Khoa, quit it. I ain’t….”

The young man with Khoa had hair so pale it looked as if it glowed in the light. There was a vacancy in his blue eyes, staring into nothing as his words failed him.

“I could always chaperone. That way should he think of a subject, I am right there ready to fetch it. Get him out quicker.” Kalon bounced the bat on her shoulder. “I can handle him should he try to steal or alter anything.”

Gramps silently relented, ushering Khoa towards the old, carved wooden doors.

Kalon tilted her head, offering up a small smile. “Hi, I’m Kalon Gousa, the assistant librarian.” Her smile faltered at the silence. “And you are…?”

“Innit….”

“Good to meet you. Come with me. I’ll escort you to the study chamber.”

She went back to the same table she had fallen asleep on. She pulled out the chair she had used, frowning as Innit sidestepped her and sat two over.

Innit had no piercings in his ears like she and Bex had. He had no facial piercings like she and Khoa had. She felt the jeweled bar through her eyebrow, furrowing.

“Did Khoa catch his lip on something?” She waited but Innit said nothing. “How’d you meet Bex? Or is it Khoa?”

“Grew up together….” Innit rested his head on his folded arms. “I reckon that’s all I got to say about it.”

His accent was similar to Khoa’s, so Kalon assumed that was which person he grew up with. He had an angular jaw and a tilt to his eyes that reminded Kalon of a cat. His pale hair was more lackluster on inspection; an indication that it had gone unwashed for a stretch of time.

“Just tell me when a subject pops to mind, and I’ll assist you.”

She paused for a sign that he had heard her, but none came. She drummed her nails on the table, tilting her head at the chips in the fuschia polish. Gramps would not be happy if she left this stranger to go get her nail polish. She busied herself chipping at it in an attempt to remove it.

She changed focus to her hair once she had chipped off the polish on three fingers. She felt the shaved sides, pulled at the curls on top. She had worn this haircut for three years, and had been dying it for the last two. A change would freshen up her life a bit.

She dug a short, black marker from the strap of her knee-high, heels boots. She removed the cap with her teeth and began doodling haphazard flowers on her arm.

“Do you stop fidgetin’?” Innit scowled her direction from his position on his arms. “I ain’t got a moment of peace since sittin’ down!”

“We’ve been here for hours. Look!” Kalon twisted awkwardly to point out an analogue clock wedged between two bookcases. “Do you see that there? Near three hours and you have not spoken nor shown any inclination of wanting something to read.”

Innit leaned back in his chair. “Fine. Got anything current, or y’all just keep molding piles of paper here?”

“How dare you! Our texts are in great care.” She scoffed. “What a dim view to only want the newest thing.” 

“Dim?” Innit glared. “Stupid, right? Y’all with your stupid accent.”

“My accent? My accent!”

She faltered when a retort failed to come to mind. Innit had an interesting accent, unlike those she heard growing up and not only because he was from the United Americas. That accent was common enough that it was not unusual to hear it even outside the library doors despite them being just under three hours from Geneva Colony.

Kalon took a breath. “It depends how current you want your reading. Grams is our transcriptionist. Her ear is accurate, but it takes longer now for her to write up trending news clips.”

“She… watches and writes up everything?” Innit frowned. “Ain’t that a good way to go nuts?”

“You would think so, but, no, she has a method to it. Working only two days a week helps too.”

“Just two days….” Innit stared off. “What if something came up? Something that….” He shook his head. “It ain’t a thing. Just runnin’ my mouth.”

Grams had been working every day for the last three weeks, long into the night half the time, obsessing over the revelation coming from the United Americas. Kalon gleaned it related to President Washington, and did not care beyond that. She cared nothing for politics and abhorred gossip. She would read the final collection to have knowledge of what the subject was on the chance of someone wanting to read it. Grams was concise and blunt in her reports, so the work would not be too much of a chore.

“Is your interest in politics?”

“Absolutely not!”

“Ah, so it is Khoa and not Bex. I thought so.”

Innit snorted, the corners of his mouth twitching. He showed no further reaction and kept his eyes on the grain in the table, picking at it.

“Do you like imaginary stories or real stories?”

“Stories? I ain’t readin’ any type o’stories. What good is that?”

Heat flared up in her chest at his careless, nearly disgusted response. Her hands balled against the table, audibly scraping the wood and drawing his attention–his hackles raising in kind.

Kalon launched to her feet, causing him to flail about on his seat to keep from falling off.

“What point was there in your coming here? You care nothing for stories, histories. You seem disinterested in everything, and too dour to even look around at all this splendor.”

“Talk about ego.” Innit slowly stood. “You ain’t much to look at.”

“I meant the library, twit.”

Innit’s pale skin tinted pink. “That’s well and good, because you look like you’re tryin’ pass for a boy with that haircut.” He pointedly looked at the lowcut of her shirt. “Ain’t no bad haircut hiding those.”

She stiffened as a bolt of electricity shot through her from his stare. She gnashed her teeth and covered herself with her arms. She tried to spit venom at him, but no sound escaped her mouth.

Innit waved dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, I know, tryin’ to make your neck look longer. Still points right down to your chest.” He scoffed. “As if y’all ain’t doin’ that on purpose. It’s all for a look.”

“Get out.”

She was shaking, still holding herself tightly.

Innit deflated, curling away from her. He abruptly stood and walked off. He doubled back.

“Sorry. You ain’t look like a boy at all, that’s what I was–.”

“Go!”

He hesitated before stepping away. “Fine. I ain’t ‘bout to break my back over this.”

--

Grams finished her large transcription three nights ago. Kalon had devoured it. It was as straight to the point as could be, but the sudden resurrection and then immediate fall of a First Son brought out the need to add more context, more background. It was four pages of pure political thriller.

Kalon arched her feet to stand on her toes, lifting her spiked heels from the floor. She slid the thin collection beside a book written on Scarborough Washington’s childhood.

“Kalon.” Grams appeared from behind a shelf. “Vern is calling for you.” She stopped her. “Before that, I need to update the Shepard family from Rio Colony….”

“Do you have your pen?”

Grams smirked, taking a small notepad and pen from her cardigan pocket. “I know better than to ask without it. Go on.”

“The most is written about Rexmere, the second son and third child of the former Attorney General for that colony. But, these writings don’t start until his bid in Scarborough Washington’s marriage pool. He was more a footnote for works on his parents, and even on those of his eldest sister and older brother. Should I point out which books for Blackbern or Almavita first?”

“I was hoping to start with the youngest.”

“Casarina?” She frowned. “A fashionista. She married into the Apex family–the book on the Attorney General’s rumored retirement mentions it in the forty-fifth chapter, a grand total of three paragraphs on the two-hundred and ninety-seventh page. But, only the book on the rumor, not the actual retirement book. And the Apex family was huge into textile, so Casarina ended up designing clothes.”

“Speculations are that she is up for a massive promotion.”

“Really? As… what? She out paced her in-laws with her first major design–Scarborough Washington’s inaugural gown; there are several photographs of her in it. I dare say I needn’t point them out.”

“Too much into the gossip camp for me to state yet. I just want to be prepared should the rumors come true.” Grams poised her pen. “Titles and pages, if you would, my dear.”

Kalon rattled off titles, general contents, and specific pages. Once finished, she shouldered her bat and went to find Gramps.

Gramps was near the entrance, rifle pointed at the floor but clearly visible. A few steps forward revealed Khoa and Innit in the doorway. She bristled as she approached, dropping her bat to drag it across the floor to gain their attention.

Innit was somehow paler than before, with pronounced dark circles under his sky blue eyes. Whatever was troubling him had not appeared to affect Khoa, him being more or less the same but with an extra edge to indicate he and Gramps had not been speaking well to each other.

“Ah, there she is.” Gramps ushered for her to join them. “As explained, Kalon will fetch what interests you on this visit. I prefer it if neither if you went any further.”

Kalon put her hand on Gramps’s shoulder. “It’s fine. So long as it’s just the one, and not for long, I can babysit.”

“He did nothing but waste your time and more the last time.”

“Art books.” Innit kept his voice low and eyes down. “Pictures of art. Or sceneries. Or such things.”

“See? Not more than an hour or so.”

Gramps relented. He turned his focus on getting Khoa out, leaving Kalon to motion for Innit to follow her to the same table as his last visit.

“Any artist or art style you have particular interest in?”

“Do I look like a guy that can even know the difference between a picture and a paintin’?” He took a seat. “I just need the quiet.”

“Monet, perhaps, if that is the case.”

 She kept Innit in sight as she retrieved a collection of Monet, going with the one that contained bits of information just on the chance that the photographs alone were not enough to keep Innit occupied. She dropped it with a deafening THUNK and sat opposite, kicking her spiked heels up on the neighboring chair.

She took her spiked choker from her neck as the minutes dragged on, inspecting the shine on each point.

“Painted his wife much of these.”

“He truly loved her.” Kalon re-clipped her choker around her neck. “I’m certain he was quite fond of his second wife, but I do wonder how much of it was to keep her and the children in comfort and offer legal protections.”

Innit nodded absently. He slowly turned a page, holding his face up on his fist.

“All the girls wear the same long dresses.”

“The style at the time.”

“It’s… nice, I reckon.” He shrugged. “Different. Bet you could pull it off.”

“Because it’s different?”

“Ain’t nothing wrong with different.” His face tinted pink. “Got anything else?” He shut the book. “Ain’t gettin’ much out of this.”

She returned the book and grabbed one featuring sculptures.

“More art?” Innit scoffed. “Why’re they all naked? Ain’t this old timey porn?”

“What? No! It’s art.”

“So… those old Hustlers are art?”

“Old what?” Kalon shook her head vigorously. “No. Of course not.” She hurried to sit next to Innit. “See, look here. It all comes down to intention. Most is about form, I believe; it being much easier to capture human bodies in metal, stone, and clay if they have nothing to hide beneath.” She flipped to a full page of lovers in a passionate kiss. “Look at what Rodin does here.”

“Who?”

“The artist. Look!” She tapped the photograph. “Look how they hold each other. Look at the indent of the man’s fingers on her thigh. You couldn’t see that if he had them clothed.” She turned to a pair of hands poised upright with the fingertips near touching. “No further bodies required to get the intention of this one across. It’s quite fascinating.”

“Also lovers.” He tilted his head to the side to shift his gaze to her. “You’re one of those romantic types, ain’t you?”

Kalon’s enthusiasm waned with her smile. She pulled at the lacy cuffs of her off-the-shoulder top. She found Innit no longer looking her way, now studying the grain of the table with his leg bouncing.

“My thoughts are… more that it would be nice if someone could love me, more than the idea of love itself. I’m not a starry-eyed girl waiting on a dashing rogue.”

Innit’s leg stopped twitching. “Ain’t it usually a prince?”

“Yes, but I share your distaste for politics.”

“Distaste….” Innit stared into nothing, eyes still on the table. “Can’t say if that’s right or not.” His brow knit. “Why’d you reckon no one can love you?”

“Pardon?”

“How you said it. You said it like no one in their right mind would try, not that you ain’t got suitors or something.” He stiffened. “This ain’t… about your hair… right?”

Kalon’s face burned. She stood, slamming the book shut.

“Why are you so fixated on how I look?”

“I ain’t!” Innit scrambled up. “I’m makin’ conversation!”

“And you turn it right to how I look!” She used both hands to wave the book. “We were talking about art! I showed you some beautiful–.”

“Yeah, and you could’ve picked anything.” He ripped the book from her hands, casting it on the table. “Why this?”

“You said that’s what you wanted when you came in!”

Innit’s pale face filled with color. He took a step away.

“Reckon I did say that….” He cleared his throat. “I just didn’t…. There was more to it than sceneries. I need something more bland. Something I won’t give any mind to.”

Kalon squinted at him, frowning. “What happened?”

Innit bristled.

The echoing thumps of Gramps approached diverted them from further reaction. He informed Innit that his hour was up, and told Kalon that Grams wanted more help with her project.

Kalon shouldered her bat and gathered up the book, keeping her back to Gramps and Innit. Her cheeks felt hot.

Innit cleared his throat. “I’ll think up a better topic for tomorrow.”

---------

I decided to do all of the writing from Kalon's pov so I could get a feel for her. And it was less likely for the 'what-if' parts to stick than if I went with Innit, since I'm still not 100% (or even 90%) sold on him getting a wife and kid(s) down the line. He's got other stuff to get through first. Oh, but, that Monet artbook is one I own. So, it's pictures with histories and stuff, and I had a lot of paragraphs about them talking about Monet's love for his first wife, and how his second wife was the caretaker for his chidren with her and the scandal at the time of this woman and her own children living with him, moving around with him, and him funding all the schooling and things for her kids as well as his own for nearly ten years before they get married, when really the talk should've been how her husband just up and ditched her and the kids, living a 'bacholer life' blatantly. Because, at that time period, he should've been providing for his family to some degree even if he wasn't with them, and he just wasn't. So, you get people all scandalized this married woman is a live in nanny and her boss is paying for her children's schooling, but it's like... was she supposed to not work or send her kids to school? And that's why I had Kalon mention the legal protections, because she did eventually get out of that marriage and Monet did marry her and adopt her children, and set them up with wealthy marriages and great apprenticeships and an took care of their futures.

Lol, it was just a thing that was mindboggling to me, so it was mentione a little. I'm also not completely sure on the timeline of things, so there will be some spoilers here and there (like Khoa's mouth), but like most of the stuff in here, take it with a grain of salt.

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Scene 20

Shuttlebay 1 was silent when Worf entered. The Galileo was parked on one of two landing pads and appeared to be powered down. He scanned the area for signs of trouble, and his narrow eyes perked up when he saw the phaser on the floor across the room.

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With one great explosion, the door burst from the shuttle–trailing with fire and water as it struck and subsequently clattered across the floor of the shuttlebay.

Worf had lunged behind the control panel but had been clear of the line of fire. Wide-eyed, he raised himself over the panel to take a cautious look.

Gemini Rowlett and Ace Gallagher stood in the doorway of the shuttle; Gemini in a casual Aravasti tunic and Ace in a tuxedo. Their hands were outstretched and the blue-white glow of their power was fading from the veins of their arms and neck. 

“Sweet!” Ace turned to Gemini. “That worked perfectly–the fire suppression system didn’t even have a chance to activate!”

“That was pretty awesome, I will admit,” Gemini smirked.

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The two Aravasti sprinted out of the shuttle and rushed into the hallway toward Ten Forward.

Worf, blinking, scratched his head and ran after them.

When the two officers entered Ten Forward, they saw overturned tables and a random scattering of people. Data was near the bar, standing over an unconscious Ensign Maddox with a phaser in his hand. Elliot had a bloody nose and was propped on his hands and knees next to him, glaring at the floor. Selena was curled at his side, clutching his shoulder. Guinan was tucked behind them, gazing despondently at Beverly, who was kneeling beside them. Beverly had a tricorder in hand, her face devoid of expression. Behind her, Geordi’s face had sunken behind his visor with his lips pursed in a tight pout.

A fallen man was between them, with only his dark slacks and dress shoes visible from where Ace and Gemini stood.

“We have a casualty,” Beverly spoke lightly, her eyes falling to the floor.

Gemini’s heart was in her throat as she followed her gaze. She slowly approached the fallen man, stepping around the tipped chair that had been blocking his identity. She gasped when Ace pushed past her and immediately came to a halt.

TNG-Q-20.jpg

It was Mickey D. 

A deep burn had seared through his pinstripe suit in the center of his chest.

“I’m not sure who this man is,” Beverly closed her tricorder and set it down, “but he saved two lives today.”

Gemini released a breath, half as a sob, and half as a sigh of relief, when she found Hudson peeking out from behind an overturned table. She dropped to the ground beside him, grasping him in a tight hug.

Ace frowned, still looking at the fallen man. “This is Mickey D.”

The collective gasp of the room was followed by heads and eyes turning to one another in surprise. Even Worf, who had snuck in behind the two Aravasti, appeared stunned.

“He took the shot for me,” Elliot’s voice wavered as he curled around his knees. “Hudson tried, but he… he pushed us both and took the shot.”

Commander Riker rushed into the room with Captain Picard in tow. They stopped beside Worf, looking for answers, but when Will recognized the man on the ground, his face fell in dumbfounded shock.

“Mickey D??”

“It’s a long story, sir,” Ace looked at him, “but I am more than willing to tell it.”

 

---
Scene Notes

  • I am kinda sad we didn't get to see more Aravasti power in this story, but there just wasn't a lot of opportunity.
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Star Trek: Q-Dimensional
Scene 19

When the shuttle door opened, Gemini’s hand was still on the door lever and her face was twisted in concern. “Ace, they told me to come back here; is everything…” Her voice trailed off as her face instead gaped in surprise.

Behind Ace was a short, rotund man in a pinstripe suit.

“Gemini, this is Mickey D,” Ace gestured to him. “Mickey, this is Gemini.”

“Hello–oh,” Gemini blinked as the man kissed her knuckles instead of shaking her hand. 

“Ciao, caru miu,” he smiled at her. “Meeting both living Aravasti in one day… perhaps luck truly is on my side.”

The two Aravasti glanced at each other and shrugged. Ace then gestured to the padded benches in the back of the shuttle and coaxed Mickey D over.

“I would recommend leaving very quickly, Ms. Gemini,” Mickey said once he took his seat.

Ace glanced up in expectation.

“Got it,” the pilot slid back into the chair and powered up the flight engines.

Ace joined her in the cabin in the copilot seat a moment later, tugging on his tie to remove it.

Pulling back on the steering console, Gemini lifted the shuttle from the pad and began circling to gain altitude. They had scarcely reached the edge of the atmosphere when a brilliant light broke from the mansion below.

An explosion had burst from the inside of the house.

“Woah–what–”

“That time–that home–is now gone.” Mickey said almost cryptically.

Ace swiveled in the chair to look at him. “But, everyone inside–”

“They are safe. They have gone. Bernard would have made sure.”

Gemini evened out the shuttle’s steering as they left the planet’s atmosphere. “I’m not gonna lie–I’m very confused as to what’s happening right now.”

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“Really??” Gemini pulled her eyes off of the window.

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“And Mickey D coming along–and his house detonating–is tied to that?”

“In a way,” Ace looked back at the man in the pinstripe suit.

“Your friend has convinced me to plead my case to the Federation and make amends for my past actions,” Mickey said, his hands crossed over his middle as he sat back on the bench. “I could not refuse such a compassionate gentleman.”

Gemini pointed at the man to her right. “Are you talking about this guy?”

Mickey D bounced from a bout of laughter while Ace jabbed Gemini in the arm and turned back to the front window.

Gemini removed her phaser from her belt to more easily fish his communication badge out of her pocket. “So, how’d you manage that?” She asked under her breath.

He caught the badge in one hand when she tossed it to him, and he fastened it to the lapel of his coat. “Honestly, other than just being nice, I’m still not sure,” he matched her lower tone. “Either way,  getting him back to the Enterprise is a good first step.”

“Back to the–oh no,” she fumbled around the scarf wrapped around her chest and patted her communication badge. “Hudson? It’s Gemini!”

“Hey, there’y’are! I was wondering how things were goin’ down there.”

Gemini breathed out in relief when she heard him answer. “Yeah–some changes came up, but we’re on our way back. Where are you?”

“In Ten Forward.”

“What??” Gemini nearly fell from her chair. “What are you doing there??”

“Gem, it’s eight–er–twenty hundred hours,” he corrected, “I came down to meet up with Geordi and Data like we usually do.”

Gemini was trembling. “But–you’re supposed to be planning the date!”

“I’ve already planned it, and everything is ready!” He laughed a bit. “You’re really lookin’ forward to it, huh?”

“Well, yes,” she said through clenched teeth. “What do you think about meeting me in Shuttlebay 1? I’m almost there.”

“Oh, yea! Lemme finish up here and I’ll be right there!”

“Okay–I love you,” she winced as she spoke the words.

“Love you.”

Gemini huffed a long breath and leaned forward until her head was against the steering console.

“All right–what’s going on?” Ace asked point blank.

Her eyes were slits when she turned her head to look at him.

“It is beyond obvious something is wrong,” Ace commanded, “and you need to tell me what’s happening.”

Gemini sighed painfully and flopped backward until she was slumped against her chair. “Fine–this is going to sound really weird, though,” she eyed the inked Q on her wrist. “I’ve… I’ve seen what happens after we get back from this mission.”

The man in the tuxedo frowned. “Huh?”

“I’ve already lived through this entire day,” Gemini thrust her hands into the air. “And the first time, after we landed in the shuttlebay, I got a call from Beverly to go to Ten Forward because…” she swallowed the lump in her throat, “Hudson gets shot and dies.”

“What??” This time, Ace nearly fell out of his chair.

“He was protecting Elliot; an ensign goes rogue and shoots him–but Hudson gets in the way.” She scowled at the floor as tears stung her eyes. “I was given a chance to change whatever I could to stop it from happening–but every single thing I do doesn’t seem to be making a difference!” She gnashed her teeth, “After everything I’ve tried, he’s still in Ten Forward, and if he doesn’t leave, it’s going to happen again!”

Ace’s eyes were distant as he processed her words. “Okay,” he straightened up after a moment and squared himself to Gemini in the chair. “How long after we land do you get the call?”

“Well, we argued–we sat in the shuttle a while before we got out and I got the call...” she looked at the time on the shuttle console's readout. “Since we're getting back a little later... I'd say we've got six, seven minutes, maybe?”

He nodded. “Okay. The second we land, we jump out of here and run to Ten Forward. Not hard to do from Shuttlebay 1–just get to the closest turbolift and go down to deck ten. The faster we can get there, the faster we can stop what happens.”

“Unless Hudson is waiting for me in the shuttlebay,” she pointed at him.

“Yeah,” Ace nodded, only for his expression to twist. “But then… wouldn’t that mean Elliot would get shot?”

Gemini stiffly sat back. “Oh. Right.”

Ace waved his hand. “We can still run to Ten Forward. We can explain to Hudson later.”

“But what about Mickey D?” She pointed to the back of the shuttle.

The man glanced between the two Aravasti, remaining silent.

“Okay–if Hudson is in the shuttlebay, I’ll run to Ten Forward and you take Mickey to the brig for holding. If Hudson is not in the shuttlebay, you run to Ten Forward and I’ll take Mickey.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

A beeping sound from the shuttle’s control panel alerted them they were approaching the Enterprise. Sure enough, the great ship was rapidly coming into view.

“I’m curious,” Ace was still watching the window, “has anything else changed from the first time you lived through all this?”

“Well, you didn’t win the first time.”

“I didn’t?” He shot her a glance. “No wonder you doubted me!”

“And, obviously, Mickey D wasn’t with you.”

The man in question blinked a few times and looked down.

“Interesting,” Ace scratched his chin. “I wonder how that managed to happen?”

“Beats me,” Gemini’s heart was racing as the tractor beam pulled the Galileo into Shuttlebay 1. She winced when she found the room was empty of all officers.

“All right, Gem,” he nudged her shoulder. “You got this.”

She frowned, bumped his fist, and stood up. She took a few steps backward to be in line with the door as her eyes watched the landing from the front window. She took her eyes away only once to glance at the Q on her wrist.

The shuttle hissed and came to a stop on the floor.

Ace hit the trigger to open the door.

The phaser was pulled from Gemini’s waistband.

She instinctively slapped her hands on her lower back and turned around to find Mickey D pointing the phaser at her.

“Mickey!” Ace shot to his feet, only to shrink back when the man pointed the weapon at him.

TNG-Q-19.jpg

“I’m sorry,” he said simply as he stepped backward out of the shuttle’s open door. “Your plan was valiant, Mr. Gallagher, but we both know there is nothing for me here. My time is up.”

“Sir, please–I need to go,” Gemini tried to reach toward him.

“You will both stay here,” Mickey narrowed his eyes. “And I will go.”

“What?” Gemini blinked.

“No–Mickey–what are you–”

“Michael.”

Ace blinked back surprise.

“Michael D’Angelo,” he said sadly.

Ace took a step forward, “Mickey D,” he muttered in realization.

“We are more similar than you know,” he smiled, squeezing a tear from the corner of his eye.

In one swift movement, he shot the shuttle’s panel and triggered the door to close. Despite Ace and Gemini’s shouts from within, he fired another shot at the exterior panel to seal the door from the outside, threw the phaser away, and hobbled as fast as he could into the starship’s hallway.

“No!!” Gemini rushed to the door and tried desperately to force it open.

Ace gnashed his teeth and ran to her aid, only to pound his fists against it in frustration.

Trapped in the shuttle, two could only turn to each other in anguish and fear.

 


Commercial Break

 

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Scene Notes

  • I know what you're thinking... Could Gemini have just told Hudson he's going to get shot and to leave Ten Forward? Maybe; but then where would the epic plot stuff happen??
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August 13, 2025
Star Trek: Q-Dimensional
Scene 18

Ace was unable to hide a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he followed Mickey D to the doorway of a lavishly decorated lounge. The room was covered in patterned textiles and plush pillows. A mock fireplace wisped its silent flames toward the ceiling and provided most of the light in the dimly lit room. Mahogany tables were set beside oversized chairs–currently occupied by a handful of robed women.

“Go,” the boss waved his hand.

The women understood and obeyed. They each got up and covered themselves with the edges of their satin robes as they departed through the door Ace had just walked through. 

He locked eyes with Rose moments before she, too, disappeared.

The door was closed behind her.

Ace blinked away his perplexed expression and turned back to Mickey. “I knew it,” his eyes narrowed. “Rose does work for you.”

“She does,” the man came to a stop near a cabinet beside one of the end tables. “I needed someone to scout out the players for me.” He retrieved a bottle of wine from the cabinet and tilted it toward him. “I told her to find the one with the most promise and keep an eye on him.”

Ace puffed a laugh through his nose. “I’m honored, I think.”

“You should be.” The man then pulled two wine glasses from the cabinet. “Can I offer you something to drink?”

“Thanks, but I don’t drink,” Ace held up a hand.

“Ah,” he paused and instead poured the wine into one of the glasses. “Now, I hear you came from Tal E, and that they recently joined the Federation?”

“Sir, I’m going to be honest with you,” his lips twisted into a smirk. “While I am from Tal E, they are not part of the Federation.”

“I see,” Mickey offered somewhat flatly before he drew the lifted glass to his lips.

The younger man casually slipped his hands into his pockets. “I figured that’s what Bernard was alerting you of one of the times he pulled you aside.”

Mickey hummed and took another swallow. “You’re very observant.”

“As a gambler, I need to be.”

“Indeed. Your skills have impressed even me.” Mickey gestured to a pair of velvet-backed chairs nearby, and the two sat down. “Not just any player would risk going all-in on the first round… and all you had were three sevens.”

“I figured I’d do something rash and unexpected so I could see how you reacted.”

“Is that so,” his beady eyes looked up from his glass. “Did I meet your expectations?”

“Considering you did the same thing with two aces,” he grinned, “I’d say so.”

Mickey tipped his glass toward him. “I would assume you have been playing since a young age.”

“Yes, sir.” Ace watched the man take another sip of wine. “That was how I made my living for quite a few years growing up in Fortanya. And I assume you’ve had many years of experience, yourself.”

“I merely dabble.” He waved his other hand.

“I don’t think someone who dabbles would host the most prestigious gambling tournament in this sector, sir.”

Mickey broke into a hearty chuckle that bounced his entire rotund frame. “Ah,” he breathed after a moment, “but how does one who lives on an uncontacted planet attend such a gambling tournament?”

“Well, the trouble is, someone did make contact with Tal E,” he paused as he watched Mickey’s movements slow, “just long enough to abduct me.”

“Abduct?” Mickey’s eyes were still focused on his glass.

“I was taken from my home and brought to the planet Barea, where I was genetically altered to be an Aravasti–and therefore the Barean’s enemy. I managed to escape with a Barean who befriended me, but our ship went down halfway back to Tal E and Starfleet picked us up.”

While Ace spoke, a stillness fell upon the older man. “I had wondered, with your hair, if you were Aravasti.”

“I’m surprised you’ve heard of them.”

“Just that only one remained,” Mickey finally glanced up.

“There was only one left before me, but they took her genetic material and gave it to me and ninety-nine others. I ended up being the only one to survive… so that makes two of us.”

The man’s attention drifted away again, only to perk up when Ace waved his hand.

At once, the blue-white glimmer of his power glinted in his eyes, glowed down his neck above the collar of his shirt, and peeked through his fingerless gloves. With one finger pointed upward, he removed the wine from Mickey’s glass. 

Mickey’s small eyes grew wide as he watched the rounded drops of liquid float before him.

“I got the ability to control water,” Ace found a smile, “but wine’s close enough.”

Mickey D’s mouth gaped as the wine returned to his glass. “Truly remarkable,” he muttered.

“And because I have these powers–since I have been altered–the Federation decided I was too different to be returned home.”

Mickey D’s eyes narrowed. “No–no, that is ridiculous. Why would they say that?”

He shrugged. “It was something about having to break the Prime Directive if they brought me back.”

“Ah!” The man grunted an exclamation. “To hell with the Prime Directive–to hell with the Federation!” He waved his wine glass as he continued, “I can get you back to Tal E.”

Ace’s expression twisted. “What?”

“I can call in a favor–I have many pilots.”

“No, hold on–”

“I can get you back home!” He stressed, stiffly setting down his glass on the table beside him and sloshing its contents.

“No, listen!” Ace held up a hand when he realized Mickey was growing flustered, “I have a new home now! Remember when we talked about how situations change? That home can change?”

Mickey D’s entire form appeared to droop. “But, Mr. Gallagher…”

“I’ve spent too long processing my losses,” Ace’s expression was pained, “I don’t want to go through that again.”

Silence blanketed the tension between them.

“And, your new home,” Mickey said after a moment, his eyes on the floor, “is with Starfleet, is it not?”

“It is.” Ace watched Mickey carefully. “And I bet that’s what Bernard told you, too.”

“He cross-referenced your real name, once I learned it,” the boss admitted. “Michael Gallagher is an Aravasti ensign with Starfleet assigned to the USS-Enterprise.”

Ace felt a pang of anxiousness in his chest. “You’ve learned a lot more about me than I expected.”

“As a man of my profession, I have to.” He looked up glumly, “And I believe I know enough, now, to admit to a terrible deed.”

This statement did little to relieve Ace’s anxiety.

“Three years ago, a group from Barea approached me with a job. They wanted to pick up a hundred random people from a handful of planets–didn’t care who, didn’t matter from where.”

The shock of realization had already struck Ace like a lightning bolt. “No,” he spat.

“I hired five of my own pilots and one Barean transporter and sent them off to a couple nearby systems to get the job done. I did get a little curious, but all the Bareans told me was they needed a disposable population.” He winced. “Who would have thought I’d then meet the only one who survived…”

Ace released a shaky breath.

“Mr. Gallagher,” Mickey D slowly opened his arms wide, “I am the reason you are here–the reason you were taken from your home. The reason you cannot go back.”

Ace lost eye contact. His strength felt as if it had been sapped as he struggled to stay upright. “Why?” He hissed to the ground.

“It was a job.” Mickey’s words were simple. “I got paid to do it. I got paid to do a lot of jobs over the years. And in these last few months, I have only found more reasons to despise what I have done.”

Ace glanced up, noticing a change in Mickey’s voice.

“I know you didn’t come here just to play poker. No,” he scowled at the ground, “you had a very different reason to attend. And why not? As a gambler, an Aravasti, and a member of Starfleet, why not get sent to my tournament to take me down?” He gestured to the wine cabinet a few feet away. “I made the bans so weapons could not be smuggled in, but with your power, all you need is the wine in my cabinet to drown me in my chair. Considering I was a part of how you got that power… I find it… dreadfully ironic.”

Ace looked at his hands, gloved except for his fingertips. He could summon his power just as he had earlier–not as a trick, but as judgement.

TNG-Q-18.jpg

Mickey D held a trembling hand toward Ace, at once appearing small and almost frail. “Mr. Gallagher… Michael… You have done what I have always feared would happen… you have given my victims a face.” He let his hand drop as his body slumped forward. “I do not fault you for what you must do. All I can do… is beg for your forgiveness.”

A pang again pulsed through Ace’s chest and settled in his stomach. His lips were parted, and his teeth were clenched behind them. He closed his eyes and gripped his fingers into fists.

“I forgive you.”

Mickey D’s deflated form began to uncurl. “What did you say?” The words were scarcely audible.

“I forgive you,” he repeated. “I may still be bitter about what’s happened to me… but I will not allow that to make me act on vengeance. Besides,” he bit his lip, “you’ve said enough for me to figure out you’ve already been given a death sentence.”

Mickey’s eyes had dropped to the floor long before Ace had finished speaking, and on his final words, they squinted shut. With a half-smile, he shook his head, and huffed out a breath. “You are something else, Mr. Gallagher,” he muttered before glancing up. “Seven weeks ago I was diagnosed with a terminal illness. I assume it is the final payment for the jobs I have done.”

Ace again faltered between emotions as Mickey D wrung his hands in his lap. “I’m sorry.”

“I formed this tournament to give away my fortunes–every contestant walked away with a portion of my estate; even the man who came at the last moment, but I had no seats left for him to play.”

Ace’s brows knitted together. “I knew he wasn’t being kicked out… even then, that didn’t seem like something you’d do–despite Rose trying to tell me otherwise.”

“Rose was supposed to test you and your perception of me,” Mickey D’s lips tugged into a faded grin.

“I suppose I passed?” Ace cocked an eyebrow.

“More than that, Mr. Gallagher,” the man shook his head. “I see so much of myself in you, you know–except that you are a far better person to live out your life in kindness despite what has happened to you. If only… if only I had some way to make amends for my part in it.”

Ace pressed his lips together. “Come with me.”

His eyes grew cold. “That is a death sentence if I ever heard it.”

“No, listen,” Ace reached out and grasped Mickey’s knee. “Come with me back to the Enterprise. Let me help you tell your story. I will vouch for your repentance.”

“That is not how the Federation works–and you should know,” he pointed at him, “since they are forbidding you from returning home!”

“But you would be allowed to take the Federation beyond the rumors and the fear and show them the side of you you’ve shown me! You would be allowed to stand up and accept what you’ve done, but offer up the rest of your life as a changed man!” Ace leaned in closer, “You would be allowed to give yourself a face.”

The wheels were turning behind Mickey’s unfocused eyes. His lips were tugged in a frown. His breaths were slow and deep. His rotund frame was unmoving.

At last, his hand went to his lapel.

“Bernard, signal the Galileo,” Mickey D spoke into a small communication device clipped inside his pinstripe suit.  “Allow it access to the back landing pad.”

“...Sir?” Bernard’s voice returned.

“Mr. Gallagher and I are leaving. You know what you need to do.”

“...Yes… yes, sir.”

“Thank you, Bernard.”

Mickey D removed the device and dropped it into his half-empty wine glass. He then stood–albeit with some difficulty–turned, and walked toward a door at the back of the room, waving at Ace to follow behind. 

Ace was so stunned, Mickey had gone halfway across the room before he realized what was happening. He got up quickly and hurried to catch up with him as he opened the door into the night outside.

A rushing of wind blew into the room as the lights surrounding the back landing pad were obscured by a Federation shuttlecraft with its Starfleet insignias painted over.

“Come, Mr. Gallagher,” Mickey D turned to the young man behind him. “I will allow you to lead the way from here.”

 

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Scene Notes

  • Anybody's theories pan out with Mickey D's role in Ace's abduction?
  • Ace has been though a whole lot (no matter what universe he's in) but he's got a good moral center despite it all. I'm proud of him.
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