Path: newsspool2.news.atl.earthlink.net!stamper.news.atl.earthlink.net!elnk-atl-nf1!newsfeed.earthlink.net!prodigy.com!prodigy.com!border1.nntp.dca.giganews.com!nntp.giganews.com!newsread.com!newsstand.newsread.com!POSTED.newshog.newsread.com!not-for-mail Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated Approved: ascem@earthlink.net Organization: Better Living Thru TrekSmut Sender: ascem@earthlink.net Message-ID: From: "longbeachtrekstar" MIME-Version: 1.0 Mailing-List: list ASCEML@yahoogroups.com; contact ASCEML-owner@yahoogroups.com Subject: NEW FFF: Apocalypse | White 1/4 (TNG/DS9/VOY: C/T, AU) [NC-17] Content-Type: text/plain; charset=ISO-8859-1 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Lines: 702 Date: Sat, 27 Nov 2004 13:55:03 GMT NNTP-Posting-Host: 209.198.142.218 X-Complaints-To: Abuse Role , We Care X-Trace: newshog.newsread.com 1101563703 209.198.142.218 (Sat, 27 Nov 2004 08:55:03 EST) NNTP-Posting-Date: Sat, 27 Nov 2004 08:55:03 EST Xref: news.earthlink.net alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated:85788 X-Received-Date: Sat, 27 Nov 2004 05:55:10 PST (newsspool2.news.atl.earthlink.net) Title: Apocalypse | White Author: longbeachtrekstar ( longbeachtrekstar @ yahoo . com ) Series: TNG/DS9/VOY Codes: Crusher/Troi, AU Rating: NC-17 Parts: 1/4 Warnings: f/f sex, non-con, angst, violence, death (canon and non- canon characters) Disclaimer: Paramount owns Star Trek. This is not for profit, just for fun. Archiving: FFF, ASCEM, others please ask. Feedback: Yes please, here or by email. Notes: ^ ^ indicates telepathy. ^" "^ indicates speech while using telepathy/mind control. Special thanks to Farfalla for her genetics notes, but any scientific shortcomings are mine. The science in this story is about as accurate as any regular Star Trek episode -- which is to say, not at all. Written for Round XV of the Femme Fuh-q Fest -- http://www.geocities.com/femme_fuhq_fest/ Summary: The Federation faces a series of challenges which threaten Apocalypse | White by longbeachtrekstar, July 2004 Doctor Beverly Crusher, Starfleet Surgeon General, crossed the wide atrium of the research wing of the Leonard McCoy Starfleet Medical Center. Her footsteps echoed off the granite floor, harmonizing with the footfalls of a hundred others in the great hall. She jostled her way through the returning lunchtime crowd into one of the pressurized, inertia-dampened turbolifts, which whisked her to her office on the 214th floor in a matter of seconds. It wasn't her main office, actually. That was at Starfleet Headquarters, San Francisco -- literally just a few seconds' transport-time away from here. "Here" was Coronado Island, 800 kilometers down the rocky California coast. Actually, Coronado was the city, and North Island was the island. Even more actually, it wasn't an island at all since there was a long narrow isthmus connecting it to the San Diego mainland. None of that really mattered. What did matter was that Crusher wasn't stuck at Headquarters, awash in the political intrigue that inevitably fills any great government building. She needed to be here, where the real action was. It may be microscopic action, but it was important nonetheless. She entered her office and fairly fell into her desk chair, in front of a monitor which still held the diagram she'd been looking at before she left -- a promising DNA model they'd been studying for weeks. "How was lunch?" asked Doctor Selar through the open door as she passed by the glass-walled office. "Fine," answered Crusher without looking up. "Did you even eat anything?" "Of course I did." Again, she did not look up. They could have entire conversations this way -- never laying eyes on each other -- but neither one ever took offense. It was just a sign of how in tune with each other they were. Selar had transferred here at Crusher's request because of her expertise in genetics. That was seven years ago. Beverly herself had been working on "the Problem," as they called it, for over ten -- well before she'd been promoted to Surgeon General. And how long had it been since the Federation was first exposed to this problem -- this terrible disease? The worst of it had started half a century ago. That's when all the men began dying. Crusher stared at the diagram before her. She felt like she was close -- close to something they'd been chasing for decades. She stared at the screen with one blue eye and one gold. The gold one was a minor glitch in her genetic code. Otherwise, she was an exact copy of her mother, who of course was an exact copy of *her* mother. Her gold iris had made her a target for schoolmates' teasing when she was little, but in high school and college it had only made her more alluring. Errors such as this were to be expected when mass cloning was the only dependable source of reproduction. If they knew where and when the disease had started, they would've had a better idea of where to start searching for a cure. All they knew for sure was that about fifty years ago all humanoid males (Terrans, Vulcans, Bajorans...) in Federation systems began dying. It spread quickly, before isolation measures could be implemented, and within two generations the Federation's population was sliced nearly in half. Security became a priority, as everyone feared the Klingons or Romulans would take advantage of the Federation's sudden weakness and attack. Females of all species were drafted into Starfleet, and soon the military budget rivaled even the medical budget, which at that point rivaled anything else in history. Theories on the origin of the disease ran the gambit, from subspace radiation poisoning to a strange virus from outside the galaxy. The most common name for the disease was simply the Plague. In medical circles it was often referred to as the Problem, or even the Male Problem -- a term chock full of darkly humorous connotations. With so few healthy males left, medical research turned to cloning for the Federation's very survival. But the technology was lacking -- initially at least -- and as copies of copies were made, errors were creeping into the matrix. Catastrophically, most clones turned out sterile. And the male clones were as susceptible to the Plague as their natural-born counterparts, so the population remained overwhelmingly female. If anything good happened at all during those years, it was that the feared Klingon or Romulan attack never came. This was attributed to the enemy's own fears of contracting the disease if they ventured very far into Federation territory. But after many years, it seemed as if greed was overcoming caution. Rumors abounded that Starfleet's worst fears were coming true -- that the Klingon attack was yet to come. As she poured over the latest studies, Beverly suddenly felt a familiar sensation inside her head. It was as if a cool breeze was actually passing over her brain itself. "Deanna, are you reading my mind again?" Beverly "heard" a laugh, a giggle really, childlike and far away. "De, you know I don't like it when you do that." ^What are you doing?^ "You *know* what I'm doing." ^Tell me.^ "I'm reviewing chromosome diagrams." ^I knew that.^ Again, the giggle. ^Guess where I am.^ "De!" ^Guess!^ Beverly sighed. The worst thing about these annoying distractions was that she couldn't simply walk away from them. "The lobby?" she offered. ^No.^ "The hallway?" ^No.^ "De!" ^I'm on Jupiter Station!^ "What?" ^I know! I've never been able to communicate this far before. And I can *hear* people even farther -- on ships light-years away. I think I'll be able to *talk* to them soon, too. I'm really getting quite good.^ "That's great Deanna, really. But I need to get back to work." Beverly could actually feel Deanna's pout. ^That's all you ever do.^ "It's important." ^I know, I know... I'm on the 1800 shuttle. See you tonight for dinner?^ "Sure. San Francisco or San Diego?" ^How 'bout Paris?^ "Deanna..." ^Oh, what's a few extra miles when you're beaming around as electrons anyway?^ "Let's say San Francisco. I have to stop by my office anyway." Again, she felt the pout. ^Okay. See you tonight. Love you!^ "Love you." Beverly's head finally cleared, and she was able to concentrate on her work once again. ***** Eight hours later, Beverly, in a subtly elegant evening gown, sat alone at an intimate restaurant table. It was just as she'd expected - - Deanna was *never* on time. She sipped her wine and enjoyed the view of the San Francisco skyline from her vantage here on Alcatraz Island. The former garrison, then prison, then national park, was now privately owned and housed one of the more exclusive restaurants in the Bay Area. They even maintained a colony of pelicans here, giving credence to the island's Spanish name. Before she heard or saw anything specific, Beverly sensed a commotion near the restaurant entrance and knew immediately that her date had arrived. Nevertheless, she too was shocked when she looked toward the door. In came Deanna wearing a lacy white, completely see-through dress! Her only deference to modesty was a pair of midnight-blue thong panties. Her breasts, firm and luscious though they were, were completely exposed beneath the gossamer cloth. Deanna approached the table and took her seat, reveling in the fact that she was the center of attention. "Hello, Deanna. Modest as ever, I see," teased Beverly as she leaned across the table for a peck on the lips. "Observant as always," retaliated Deanna, picking up a napkin and laying it in her lap with a flourish. They enjoyed their meal and pleasant conversation, but Beverly privately reflected on how their relationship had changed recently -- and not for the better. Deanna's strong will and intelligence was what initially drew Bev to her, but lately this willfulness was becoming more selfish and impetuous. She'd taken an open-ended leave- of-absence from her counseling position in Starfleet and now seemed to be wandering aimlessly, preoccupied -- obsessed even -- with expanding her already remarkable telepathic abilities, and then lording them over others. "So anyway," offered Beverly, "I'm really excited about a possible model that Selar and I are working on." Deanna looked pensive for a moment. "Did you ever consider that... that maybe we should just accept the current situation, and move on from here?" Beverly paused with a mouthful of food. Then she chewed quickly and swallowed in order to respond. "Are you serious? You don't even *want* a cure? At some point, all males will die out, and there'll be no recovering after that." With a smirk Deanna replied, "Don't you like girls, Beverly?" "That's not the issue. We can't survive in the long run as a society of clones. Already life spans are down almost ten percent. Heart failures, leukemia, physical deformities are all up..." "All the more reason we should stop chasing the horizon and devote ourselves to improving cloning technology. Could you pass the wine?" The incongruous request caught Beverly off guard. She stared blankly at Deanna for a moment. "Never mind. I'll help myself." Deanna opened her hand toward the bottle but did not reach for it. Before Beverly's astonished gaze, the bottle slid across the table, into Deanna's grip. She picked it up and nonchalantly poured herself some more wine. "Deanna!" "Do you see? Do you see, Beverly, what a proper genetics program can accomplish?" "Telekinetics? Deanna, Betazoids have never been able to..." She shook her head. "This is too much... just too much for me to handle." "Why don't we get some fresh air?" offered Deanna. Moments later they were walking carefully over the uneven ground, down an embankment, from the restaurant to the water's edge. The wind off the ocean whipped their long red and black hair about their faces, but the evening was warm. They stopped on a patch of sand. "It's very romantic, don't you think?" asked Deanna. "Why have you been keeping secrets from me?" "Secrets?" "C'mon, Deanna. These powers of yours didn't show up overnight." "Well then... Maybe because I knew some people might be scared." Deanna stepped close to Beverly and wrapped her arms around her. "You're not scared of me, are you?" Beverly's stiff posture relaxed as she returned Deanna's hug. "No, of course not." They gave each other a couple of short kisses before coming together in a deeply passionate one. Deanna's hands found Beverly's behind and squeezed her through her evening dress. Beverly's hands were immediately drawn to the pair of breasts that had been taunting her all night. She squeezed them gently through the willowy material, then fished around and found a slit through which she could reach. Laying her hands on bare skin, her fingers sank deep into the fleshy mounds. Their lips met again, and hot tongues darted into receptive mouths. Deanna continued to massage Beverly through her dress, front and back. Bev had her hands inside De's dress and was able to slide her hands down and under the waistband of her thong. Deanna pulled back from the moist kiss, a silver strand of saliva momentarily catching the moonlight between them. "Yes, Beverly. Reach inside me. I want you..." They kissed again, but as they fumbled with each other's clothing, they lost their balance and plopped ungraciously onto the sand. Their embrace broken, they were overcome with a fit of giggles. Deanna then crawled over to Beverly. "We should be lying down anyway." "De, why don't we go back to my place?" "I like it out here. The wind, the waves..." "...the people who might see us, the cold wet sand! C'mon, let's go." She rose to her feet, brushing sand from her dress. ^You really want to stay, don't you?^ "Did you say something?" ^You want to stay.^ Beverly stopped brushing and straightened up with a smile. "Actually, I'd like to stay." Deanna held her arms out. ^Come to me.^ Beverly approached and took her outstretched hands. ^Take your clothes off for me, Beverly, my sweet.^ "Would you like me to take my clothes off for you?" "Yes, I would," replied Deanna aloud. Beverly reached up to her shoulders and undid a couple strings. Her dress slid down and pooled at her feet, revealing a simple but elegant set of pink bra and panties. ^Take everything off, Beverly. And tell me how badly you want me as you do it.^ Beverly pulled her bra down, freeing her breasts. Her pale skin shined in the moonlight as she squeezed and twisted her nipples to firmness. "Oh, Deanna," she groaned. "I want your hot body so bad. I want you to suck on my tits for me, to bite them and lick them." She slid a hand inside her panties and began moving it back and forth. She collapsed onto the sand once again, pulling the panties completely off. She began finger-fucking herself with a sense of abandon that Deanna hadn't seen in a long time. "Oh Deanna. I want you... I want you inside my hot cunt right now!" Beverly writhed lewdly on the sand. An unusually strong wave crashed ashore, and its cold wet foam enveloped her. The sudden shock pushed her over the edge into the throws of ecstasy. Deanna smiled sinisterly, not sure which she enjoyed more -- Beverly's erotic display, or her own sense of empowerment. Beverly continued to whimper on the sand next to her. "Deanna, please. Fuck me. I want you. I need you..." Deanna shed her own dress and lay herself down on top of Beverly. ^You shall have me, my sweet. You shall have me.^ ***** The next morning, Doctor Crusher washed up in preparation for her day, not quite sure how so much sand had ended up in her clothing. "Computer, schedule." *chirp* "0800 hours: Review antigen study with Doctor Selar. 0915 hours: Conference call with Vulcan Oncology Council. 1000 hours: Open. 1045 hours: Presentation of Andorian fungus double-blind study to Starfleet Council on Interplanetary-" The computer stopped mid- sentence. *chirp* "A schedule change has just been received. Federation High Commissioner Janeway has called a special Cabinet meeting at 1000 hours this morning." "Damn! Well, there goes my day. Computer: Reschedule the conference call and presentation. Then notify Doctor Selar. Tell her I won't be returning to McCoy this morning and to please transfer the latest lab reports to the Headquarters office." *chirp* ***** Doctor Crusher made her way across the Starfleet Headquarters campus. As she passed down a sidewalk between two buildings, she was startled when Deanna stepped out in front of her. "Beverly! Imagine bumping into you here," said Deanna mockingly. "Deanna. What brings you-? I'm sorry, I'm running late for a meeting." "My little doctor, always rushing off somewhere." She paused and stared at Bev a moment. As she did so, Beverly could feel the familiar cool sensation across her brain. "Oh my. Gonna see the Big Cheese herself," Deanna teased. "Deanna, how many times have I told you? It's rude-" "-to read people's minds, yes-yes-yes. But only because you can't read mine -- like speaking another language in front of someone. It doesn't have to be like that, though." Deanna had backed Beverly into a corner. "Remember what we discussed last night? You *do* remember last night, don't you?" she asked, with a gleam in her eye. "What part do you mean?" asked Bev, trying to act as if much of it wasn't a foggy haze. "These people..." Deanna gestured to the pedestrians passing them by. "They're nothing! Just a fraction of what we could be. Watch this." She tapped a passing Starfleet cadet on the shoulder. ^"You. Come with me."^ The petite blonde student followed Deanna deeper into the alley. Nervously, Beverly followed. ^"You're a sweet young thing, but you really should get out of those clothes."^ The cadet smiled and began disrobing. "Deanna!" "Oh, don't you see? They're nothing. Robots! Pets!" She turned back to the girl, who had discarded her top and had her pants down to her knees. Deanna reached out and pinched both her nipples -- hard. The girl cried out. ^"Play with yourself for me. Stroke your pussy, darlin'. Stroke it for me!"^ Like a puppet on a string, the girl responded to Deanna's every command without hesitation. She immediately began rubbing her fingers back and forth across her exposed sex. "Look at her, Bev. She's completely shaved. My, my. Kids today!" she mocked. Beverly was absolutely livid. "Dammit, De! Let her go. Let her go this instant!" "You won't even let her cum? Very well." She turned to the girl once more and said simply, ^"Get dressed. Go."^ The girl quickly retreated. "Damn you, Deanna. You used to be a counselor. You used to help people." "I'm *trying* to help you." Deanna stepped forward. She seemed to be genuinely pleading with Beverly, desperate to make her understand. "All your work isn't going to cure anything. You're just dismissing a new life form before you even give it a chance." "I've got to go now, Deanna... And I'm not sure I ever want to see you again." ***** Cadet Allenby stepped back into her dorm room. As usual, her roommate, Cadet Gomez, was studying at her desk. Tess came up from behind and threw her arms around her, kissing her on the neck. "Quit it!" giggled Sonja, giving her a playful slap. "I'm trying to study." "That's all you ever do," chided Tess. She ran her hands down Sonja's sides, tickling her. "C'mon, let's have some fun." "What's gotten into you?" "I don't know! I'm just suddenly feeling horny!" ***** Doctor Crusher stepped into the Cabinet briefing room, relieved to see that she was not late. Several others filed in behind her, and she took her seat at the large mahogany conference table. Just moments later, she stood again, as Federation High Commissioner and Starfleet Commander-in-Chief Kathryn Janeway entered. "Please be seated," she said, taking her seat at the head of the table. "Thank you all for coming on such short notice. Unfortunately, there have been some recent developments that I think we all need to be made aware of... Admiral?" "Thank you, sir." Fleet Admiral Hannah Shelby rose and walked to the blank wall along the long side of the room. As she approached it, it shimmered and was filled with the blackness of space and bright lights of stars. It wasn't a hologram, but the clarity of the image was enough to make you feel you could step right into it. "Over the past twenty-four hours, we've tracked five different Klingon battle groups leaving port toward the Federation border." As she spoke, the viewscreen shifted to display the area being discussed. Circles and arrows appeared, highlighting certain regions as she spoke. "Each of these groups has two to three of the latest generation Koloth-class J5 Battle Cruiser." A photo and cross-section diagram of the ship appeared on one side of the viewscreen. "These ships are fifteen percent larger than our current Galaxy-class vessels, and even a bit larger than our newest Sovereign-class vessels, which are already under production. Unfortunately, the first Sovereigns won't be ready for another six months." "What's our current defensive situation?" asked Janeway. "Task Force Falcon is already on station, commanded by Captain Jadzia Dax of the Tolstoy. I've given the order to assemble four more battle groups. I'll be leading Task Force Eagle myself. We're hoping this show of force will deter any actual acts of aggression." "And if it doesn't? Are we prepared to do more than rattle our sabers?" "We can't match them ship for ship -- in number or power. We're going to have to exercise economy of force -- striking hard in one area while others are left thin, then redeploying before any weakness on our part can be exploited. It will be... delicate." "Terrifying is more like it. Thank you, Admiral. Doctor Brahms, could you please update us on your progress with the new Sovereign-class ships?" The briefing progressed smoothly and efficiently. Janeway took notes and asked pertinent questions, but kept the pace quick. Meetings were a means to an end with her, not an end unto themselves. In short order, Doctor Crusher was called upon to report the current status of the medical situation. "As you may recall, because this disease only strikes males, we immediately began looking at the X and Y chromosomes. But initial studies were inconclusive. We've since looked at hormones, antigens, anything we could think of, but our research kept bringing us back to DNA. Now, Doctor Selar and I think we've finally isolated an exo- virus that's responsible. "There are 46 human chromosomes in 23 pairs. 44 are so-called autosomes, and two are sex chromosomes. This is also true of most Federation species. Some may have 48 pairs, or 44, but they all have a single pair of sex chromosomes. "Now, the X and Y chromosomes are themselves strings of thousands of pairs of nucleotides. A virus can't usually differentiate one chromosome from another, but Y chromosomes contain the SRY gene, which is what switches on the whole chromosome to make the person a male. It is this gene that also appears to switch on the virus. As we've known for some time, we can all be carriers, but it is only when the host is identified as male that the virus becomes active." "Has anything like this ever existed before?" asked Doctor Brahms. "Never, that we're aware of. And certainly not naturally." Doctor Crusher looked at Janeway. "There's more work to be done, but based on our findings so far... I think we're looking at a massive case of bio-terrorism." "When will you know more?" asked Janeway. Crusher shrugged. "Selar and I are working on a model right now. Artificial or not, identifying it is just the first step. We've still got a ways to go before we come up with a cure." Janeway rose to dismiss the group. "Thank you, all. Keep me informed via reports. I know we're all very busy. I'll try not to call any meetings that aren't absolutely necessary." "Commissioner?" Crusher asked. "My I have a word with you?" As the others filed out, the two women stood near Janeway's private exit. Beverly explained the unusual behavior of Deanna that morning and the night before (minus certain intimate details, some of which she was still fuzzy about herself). "I don't want to sound like I'm over-reacting, but if her power keeps increasing at this rate... well, I just thought you should know." "I appreciate that. With her mother being the Betazed senator, we don't want to create any unnecessary commotion. It might be good if you spoke with Senator Troi privately. Would you do that?" "Of course." ***** That evening, Mr. Homm answered the door to the Senator's quarters. Silent as ever, he let Doctor Crusher inside. She was always amazed by his seemingly constant state of serene contentment. She assumed that it took a certain amount of mental detachment for a non-Betazoid to live among a race of telepaths. It was an elegant home in the Pacific Heights region of San Francisco. The interior retained much of the old-fashioned decor and ambiance of centuries past -- large wooden doors, ornate windows, crystal chandeliers. Homm escorted Crusher to the library, where Lwaxana sat in a large chair in front of an equally large yet empty fireplace, sipping tea. She poured a cup from a tea service (not a replicator) sitting next to her and offered it to Beverly. Bev accepted it. "Thank you for seeing me, Senator." "Not at all, dear. It's always good to see you again. I got your message, but I really don't know how I can help you." "Anything you can tell me about possible causes for Deanna's behavior would help. Has there been any kind of trauma lately? Is she upset about anything?" "No, nothing. Why can't we just leave her alone? She'll get better -- she always does." "She's been this way before? Mind control? Telekinetics?" Lwaxana's head was bowed, and it didn't take a telepath to realize she was in emotional pain. When she spoke, it was not with the strong, resonant voice she used to win arguments on the Senate floor - - it was weak and frail. "No, it's never been this bad." She looked up. "Oh Beverly, what am I going to do? I'm losing her." Beverly put her hand on top of Lwaxana's reassuringly. "Why? What's going on?" "She was supposed to be our future -- our salvation! Things started out so well... but we weren't ready. We should have taken much longer, but when the disease hit, we panicked. We tried to do in a generation what should have taken centuries." Beverly had the awful feeling that she knew what Lwaxana was talking about, but she hoped she was wrong. "What do you mean? *What* should have taken centuries?" "Genetics. Deanna was supposed to be a new model for Betazed -- for the whole Federation!" "She's not just a clone? She was genetically engineered?" Lwaxana nodded. "More than engineered... *manufactured*, nucleotide by nucleotide." "But genetic manipulation of that kind is banned by the Federation." "I know, I know. We all knew... We just thought we knew *better*. She was going to be a prototype -- an example for all to follow." Beverly couldn't believe what she was hearing. Had the entire Betazed medical community decided to throw their ethics out the window? Them *and* the government? A conspiracy? But now was not the time for accusations. Beverly knelt down beside the sobbing Lwaxana. "Tell me, just how powerful can she become?" "We don't know. She's already gone beyond anything we expected." "How can we stop her? Is there a way?" ^You can't stop me!^ They both heard the familiar voice inside their heads -- former daughter, former lover. Lwaxana stared up toward the ceiling. "Deanna... Little One..." ^Shut up, Mother. Tell her nothing.^ Beverly tried to intercede. "Deanna, we're only trying to-" ^You're only trying to stop me!^ Lwaxana screamed and grabbed her head, slumping back into her chair. "Lwaxana!" Beverly rushed to her side. She checked her pulse. "Good God, Deanna. I thought you'd killed her." ^I probably should -- but still, she *is* my mother.^ Then she added, with obvious sarcasm, ^Even if it turns out that I'm adopted.^ "Deanna, you've got to stop this -- now!" ^I intend to. Tell me, are you quite proud at unwrapping your little puzzle? At curing the Plague to set everything right, as you see it?^ "We haven't cured it yet." ^And you won't.^ Suddenly everything vanished from sight for Beverly. When her vision cleared again, she was standing on a windy hilltop, overlooking Coronado Island and the Research Center. Deanna was next to her. "So, now you can teleport as well... Deanna, what are you doing?" The genetic super-woman deigned to actually speak to the mere human who addressed her. "I thought I would let you witness the end of the *first* chapter in Federation history, and the beginning of a *new* one." She turned toward the island and thrust her hands and arms out toward it. There was a mighty explosion, and the tower was instantly consumed in a flash which rose into a giant mushroom cloud. The resulting shockwave threw Crusher to the ground as a dust cloud swirled around her. She struggled to her feet and squinted through the haze of debris. The Leonard McCoy Starfleet Medical Center was obliterated -- 228 floors utterly vaporized. The entire island was a smoldering pile of magma -- white hot in the center and dark orange where it splashed into the ocean in a hissing cloud of steam. Beverly looked around and spotted Deanna, lying in a crumpled heap a few meters from her. She turned back to gaze into the inferno as one thought repeated itself over and over in her head: "Selar!" ***** "And I looked, and behold, a white horse, and he that sat on him had a bow. And a crown was given unto him, and he went forth conquering and to conquer." -- Revelations (6:2) (End of Part One of Four) ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ASCEM messages are copied to a mailing list. Most recent messages can be found at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ASCEML. NewMessage: