By Alan Tripp
— Somewhere In Time —
“Steering this is just like steering a starship,” muttered Brianna Llewellyn to herself.
Her words referred to steering this version of reality through the seas of time to cement this alternate reality to the proper flow of time.
And if all worked as hoped, this just might give this version of her home galaxy a fighting chance.
The young captain’s eyes flowed across the timestream, watching it shift like the great currents of a massive ocean.
She might be a young captain, but it’s amazing what one can learn and do when everything was riding on it.
Her command, the U.S.S. Temporal Storm, was one of the last ships of the fleet where she came from.
“I will be fucking damned if I allow the bloody Iconians to wipe out every damn thing I’ve ever known yet again,” she muttered tersely. “At least this version of it all at any rate.”
It was a reality that when she needed another to flee too, she’d found by following the trail of her own father … a father she’d never known … whose ship had fallen through the cracks between realities.
“That temporal cloak of yours is a rather ingenious bit of technology,” called a voice behind her.
Any less seasoned officer might have been caught off guard and surprised.
But again, she’d seen too much in her short career and had too much to lose to be caught dimwitted.
“Trust me, this is for your own good,” she told the newcomer.
“The Temporal Prime directive says you do not have that right,” he returned.
“Watch the Iconians destroy the bulk of the civilized universe and see how fast that Temporal Prime directive goes out the window,” she retorted hotly.
The figure raised a pistol and leveled it at Brianna.
“Daniels, put that damn thing down and shut up and listen for once in your life,” another more gruff voice called out. “And remember your manners.”
A grizzled looking Klingon stepped through the outer circle of the represented timestream, moving into view.
“This is her temporal observatory, NOT yours,” he tossed at the one called Daniels before turning towards Bree.
“I’m Rha … a temporal agent with the Klingon Empire,” he said in way of an introduction.
“And my counterpart is Daniels … temporal agent with the Federation,” he continued.
He eyed Bree up and down.
“Now tell us who you are, and why you’ve crossed into this version of reality,” Rha ordered.
“Capt. Brianna Llwellyn in command of the Premonition-class, U.S.S. Temporal Storm,” she answered, clasping her hands behind her back.
“One of the last Alliance ships left in operation when we turned tail and left,” she continued.
“Now, why are you here?” Rha pressed. “I have an idea as to why, but he needs to hear it apparently.”
Over the next several minutes, the ship’s captain shared the story of her home reality and how a race called the Iconians had invaded not to conquer, but to destroy everything in their path.
Of how a desperate Alliance had used breakthroughs in temporal technologies to create ships outfitted with temporal drives so as to take the fight into their own timeline to try and change the events before they happened.
However, the Iconians … who could not travel through time themselves … sent their servator races onto the temporal battlefield to fight them.
It was odd that it was the Iconians protecting that timeline as the end results favored them, not those of the Alliance.
And when civilization finally fell, Brianna had instituted a hail mary of a plan, following her father from one reality into another by making use of the Mycelial Network.
Once here, she’d begun the work of shifting the timeline to do her best to stack the deck so this new reality at least had a fighting chance.
Until now, a temporal cloak had hidden her ship while they’d set about their work.
But that work when mixed with having broken through the wall of reality before that had taxed their temporal drive to the limit.
Meaning the drive would not last much longer.
But they’d set the pieces in the proper places on the game board with hopes the timeline might well be nudged in just the right directions.
Daniels sputtered and muttered complaints and arguments until Rha silenced him once more.
“Daniels, has it occurred to you that what this woman is doing might well be what is destined to happen in our timeline?” the Klingon asked his Starfleet counterpart.
He gestured in a sweep of his arm at the flowing timeline that circled the temporal chamber.
“That all this is meant to happen and as such fixed points in time? … Look around you. Note anything in her version of the timeline dsisplays missing from our own?”
Daniels grew thoughtful, considering the matter as he studied the displays and noted the differences in her readings verses those he’d last seen in his own.
It was like looking at an early version when you’ve already seen the end results.
Fixed points in the time stream. … Different points in the timestream. … Different points where reality shifts from one path to another as it diverges and shifts tracks.
“How can you be so sure?” he asked finally.
“Because I for one would like to survive the coming storm,” the temporal warrior said simply.
Secretly, Brianna had buried the fear she’d being feeling, never allowing it to show.
She’d known this day would come when they’d try to stop her, and she’d also known that such an action by them was one of the biggest obstacles that could well blow apart the house of cards she and her crew had built.
But at Rha’s words, she began to have hope.
“Wouldn’t you?” the Klingon pressed Daniels. “Wouldn’t you like to survive to see the future actually happen?”
“You and I come from a ‘possible’ reality … and our winking out of existence hinges in my opinion on the outcome of events yet to happen,” he added.
“At least from our perspective.”
