STAR TREK: A Long Road (Voyager Fix It Quest)

I'm sorry everyone, I've tried to continue Prime Factors several times and it just isn't working. And since quests are for fun, I'm going to do something you can't do when running a real show, but can do when you're just having fun!

I'm just going to cancel the episode and skip to State of Flux!

It's not your fault, I think writing a fun caper seemed more fun at the time, but the combination of taking a vacation in the middle and mild burnout meant coming back to it felt very un-fun.

So, yeah, the teleporter device just transports to other universes, rather than to places in your universe, and it's not even guaranteed to bring you back to your home dimension, so the Sikarian civilization is slowly unwinding as it disperses throughout the multiverse, and the people who own the hotels don't care cause they're rich!

The Borg was from a parallel universe, so it was trying to communicate with the collective...but this collective isn't their collective, which is why it was all out of it!

So, yeah, sorry about this.

On to State of Fluxxxxxxxx!

PING!

The cheerful noise of an M1 Garand finally being emptied echoed throughout the holodeck. Seska remained on her belly, one eye closed, looking down the range at the target that fluttered slightly in the warm, balmy breeze. The faint sound of cricks squeaked and squealed in the air - rising and falling and making her feel as if she could lay here forever.

"Nice grouping," Tom Paris said, causing Seska to jerk her head up. "Heh, you okay?"

"...yeah," Seska lied.

She felt...

She felt...

She felt...

Seska shook her head, then slid back, drawing her legs up under her. She hefted up the heavy rifle she had been resting on the ground and laid it against her body, half hugging it. There was something about pre-warp weaponry, especially those built by humanity, that felt good to her. The weight. The heft of them. The fact they had been churned out in plentiful numbers. Her people had suffered in want and deprivation, raided by Klingons and Romulans and cheated by the Ferengi for centuries - their world's resources had been stripped under the feckless and useless leadership of the First Republic. They'd gotten nothing for it, and when the Union had been formed, they had made things right and good and proper.

But by then, making guns from woodstock and metal had been replaced with durasteel and plastimold disruptors, and the small of gunpowder with the ozone stink of energy weapons.

"Seska?"

Seska jerked her head up, feeling her neck tightening as she realized she had been nuzzling her gun. "What?"

"Are...you...sure you're okay?" Tom asked, and the idiot actually looked concerned for her. She snorted.

"Fine," she said. "It's just..." She stood up. "I've asked for my name to be put on the away team rotations."

"Really?" Tom looked genuinely shocked. The shock then turned instantly to a boyish grin.

"Yes, really!" she snapped, annoyed and a bit flattered at the same time. "What's so shocking, I'm a trained Cardassian naval officer, I've been on away missions!" She lied, and Tom didn't call her on it. "And...and...I feel kind of useless on this ship sometimes."

Tom started to stand. "Well, I think it'll be good for you," he said, nodding to her as he did so. "Now, my turn for the rifle."

"Fine," she said, handing it over. She watched his hands as he worked in the clip, feeding the bullets into the rifle then snapping it back shut again with a pleasing clunk. The tactility of it made her skin prickle. "So, you know, these weapons are a lot like what the Union would have made, had we been so primitive during our worlds of liberation."

"...uh...heh...yeah, sure," Tom said, looking grimly amused.

"What! It is!" Seska said, flushing.

Tom muttered something under his breath, then shook his head, looking chagrined.

He didn't know how good her hearing was...

Even with the ringing.

Idiot.

The door to Seska's cabin shut and she sighed as she settled down in her chair. She leaned back, slowly, and then looked at her printout of her favorite repetitive epic, laid out in the four tablets. Her fingers slid along one of the tablet edges, playing the text in gleaming, flickering patterns, and then...and then, driven by an impulse to resolve the annoying knot of curiosity that the Paris Entity had slipped into her brain, she leaned back. "Computer, query."

She paused, listening to the faint chime that came from the wall.

"...what is an...Sturmgewehr?" She brought the word out with slow, careful deliberation.

"The Sturmgewehr 44, translated to "assault rifle 44" in English, was a German assault rifle developed during World War II by Hugo Schmeisser. It was also known by its early designations as the MP 43 and MP 44 - the Maschinenpistole 43 and 44. The StG 44 was the first successful assault rifle, with features including an intermediate cartridge, controllable automatic fire, a more compact design than a battle rifle with a higher rate of fire, and being designed primarily for hitting targets within a few hundred meters."

Seska beamed. "Oooh!" she said. Tom had been complimenting her. And the Union! Mostly the Union. Not her. Not even slightly her! That was silly, he wasn't complimenting her!

THe computer continued. "Other rifles at the time were designed to hit targets of over a thousand meters, but this was found to be in excess of the range in which most enemy engagements actually took place. The StG 44 fulfilled its role effectively, particularly on the Eastern Front, offering a greatly increased volume of fire compared to standard infantry rifles. The StG largely influenced the Soviet AK-47, introduced three years after the war concluded."

Seska had to admit, if this had been any other time, she'd have simply been satisfied with that. Tom had been flirting with...the Union! Not her!

But...

She was in a good mood. Expansive. She would allow the computer to tell her more about this useless human history. She leaned back in her seat. "Computer, tell me about this so called Eastern Front. I am curious."

The computer smoothly continued. "The Eastern Front in this context refers to the invasion and attempted conquest of the Soviet Union by Nazi Germany. Considered one of the most brutal land campaigns in human history, it is seen as a presage of the future violence of the Eugenics Wars in the 1990s and serves as the ideological basis for those campaigns. This topic is complex - how would you like to proceed? Famous battles? Causes? Belligerents?"

Seska shrugged. "Causes," she said, figuring that would be the most alien.

"The causes of the conflict were primarily rooted in the ideological beliefs and material realities of Nazi Germany. The Nazi Party's belief in the supremacy of their ethnic group, combined with their belief in the constant state of warfare between ethnic groups, was used to justify imperialistic ambitions in the massive amounts of territory and resources controlled by the Soviet Union. Seen as a vile attempt by pre-hated ethnic and religion minorities to control and dominate what was rightfully the possession of the Nazi's favored ethnotype, the invasion of the Soviet Union was required by Nazi ideology. This ideology further shaped the brutality of the campaign."

Seska felt a strange...coldness creep along her spine. She shifted in her seat, fidgeting left and right. "D-Define brutality?"

Humans were...squemish. That's what her academy courses said.

"Query: Did you wish for brutality to be defined in this context or by itself, as a word?"

"In this context, show me the brutality." Seska said, nodding and turning to face the wall screen.

And the computer did so.

Later that night, Seska laid in bed. She was uncomfortable on her back. She laid on her side. She was uncomfortable on her side. She tossed back and forth. For some reason, she was thinking of her uncle. He'd been in the Cardassian Union Infantry - and he had been why she had gone into the armed services at all. Though...he had also been why she had gone navy...she tossed her head, her eyes closing. She was trying to think of anything but her uncle and his sad, empty eyes...but then she was thinking of Tom Paris, holding the M1 Garand, which had been used by his ancestors to shoot and bayonet and bash Nazis out of western Europe. The look on his face, and the soft mutter...

Maybe a Sturmgewehr would work better...

She bit her lip, hard. But when she didn't think of him, she thought of...

She groaned.

The night dragged on. She knew she needed to sleep, tomorrow she had an away mission. She had an away mission...an away mission...

Seska jerked upright, gasping heavily at the alarm in her room - the computer had messed up, instead of Cardassian throat singing, the alert was some tinkling chime thing she had never heard before. It had still woken her up, but still...she scowled and muttered to the air: "Alarm, off. I'm awake." She rubbed her hands against her face, frowning as she felt something odd under her palms. She stood, stumbling to the bathroom in her quarters, then sighed and dropped her hands. She had to be awake for her away mission - but in the gloom, she looked more like a ghost.

"Computer, lights," she said.

The lights came up.

A ghost looked back at her from the mirror.

Seska screamed, leaping back into the sonic shower, her back slamming against the wall. The computer chirruped. "Do you require assistance?"

Seska didn't have any room in her brain to respond. She was too busy gaping at the mirror. Gray skin replaced with the warm pink. Smooth nose with a ridged one. Her brow was sleek and her hair was the same warm black, but it dangled down around a glittering, brilliant gold Bajoran earring. Her fingers went to the curve of her ear, feeling the gold. It felt real. It felt very real.

"Do you require assistance? If you do not respond, I will be forced to alert-"

"I'm fine!" Seska croaked. Her voice, at least, sounded the same. She stepped to the mirror, her fingers rubbing along her body. "N-No, no, no, no no..." She put her palms over her face, then...then an idea hit her. "Computer, replicate me a one use tricorder!" She hurried to the wall mount in her room, where the replicator whirred and hummed. She yanked the cheap, barely finished tricorder from the carrying bay and held it before herself, scanning her body. The scan came back without any sign of medical alterations, dimensional energies, psychic manipulation, or temporal flux.

The door chimed.

"Hey, Seska!"

It was Neelix.

"Are you awake in there?" He sounded cheerful. "Wouldn't have expected you to sleep in..."

"I..." Seska paused, and realized...she had no idea what to say.

---
CURRENT TRUTHS: "I'm a bajoran!?"
CURRENT MOMENTUM: 0

[ ] "Be out in a second!" (act normal - you don't want to get dissected or detained or executed for anything until you know what's going on!)
[ ] "I'm...feeling sick!" (waive off this away mission, try and figure out what is wrong with you)
[ ] "...something weird's going on..." (Come clean, no matter how scary it is.)
[ ] Write In