Star Trek 11: What happened to Wesley Crusher

[BadBeast]

Loving this thread a lot. Never had much time for fanfic before, but this is crying out for me to have a go. I have to go and see a man about a Targ, but I'll be back later. One to beam up Mr Scott . . . .

[BadBeast]

The most advanced awareness in the known Universe fizzled back into consciousness like a broken toaster.  He had taken to retreating into default hibernation mode whenever he began dwelling on how unfair it had all been, considering everything.
Misunderstood, mistrusted, feared, and ultimately rejected, he could understand and accept. It was the *cracklefizz* fucking pity that really made his shit itch. Data's pity!

How fucking dare he!  Sad,  flawed, inferior, destined to never feel complete, or fulfilled Data. And to wear that perpetually puzzled expression all the time? "Fuck that" thought Lore. 
A Pearl still, cast before swine by that crazy old *fizzle* beetlefucker Dr Sung.

And still, Data had given up his own existence, to save the life of that mudbrained slaphead psycho, Picard! Flawed as he was, Data was still worth more than Picard's entire species! And yet, there was something, some overlooked dynamic, that Lore just didn't understand. For all his superior circuitry, more advanced neural net, and emotion enabled OS,  something still didn't fit, and that intrigued him.

He thought back to Noonian Sungs research lab. If  the Federation knew what kind of depravity Sung committed in the name of "research", would they have been so quick to accept Data into the fold?  Oh sure, Sung was a brilliant mind, there was no getting away from that. But more Mengeles than Christian Barnard. Humans never seemed to look beyond what was immediately apparent.

"Wow, cool Robot" was the first reaction from the Federation. It was only after they'd picked Data apart, piece by piece that they realised quite what an exquisite creature he really was. And what did they do? Gave him a Military Commission! The fucking Military?!

Data, who could have ruled over a Golden age of prosperity, not just for the Federation, but for everyone, given the desultary rank of  "Commander", and sent to serve on a Galaxy class Starfleet 'Diplomatic' vessel. 

That was another thing.  If the Enterprise was really concerned with Diplomacy, why did it have enough firepower to lay waste entire Solar sytems? Why was it's Chief of Weapon systems the only fucking Klingon in the whole of Starfleet? With Data on board, it wasn't as if the ship even needed a crew!

No. The whole set-up was just cover for one of Starfleet's "Project Outreach" Black ops. Don't be fooled by Picard's credentials, or his exemplary service record, the man was a functional
psychopath. Capable of making snap decisions regardless of the potential damage, it was only his Starfleet Psy-augmented discipline that kept this potential monster in check.   

That's why they had Deanna Troi on board.  Let's face it, it was hardly for her so called 'counselling' skills was it? I mean, really?

No. She was there for one thing only, and that was to reinforce Picard's superego blocks.  And Picard was specially picked for one reason only. His latent Psychopathy. Strictly speaking it was a diplomatic reason, but he was never informed as to Starfleet's real motivation. Just primed, and sent out, like a bomb. A Trojan Horse. 

Starfleet Intelligence knew all about The Borg. Knew how they assimilated whole Galaxies. Knew that resistance was futile. So they went for subterfuge instead. Without the post hypnotic superego blocks, the Starfleet discipline, and the added soporific empathic fog that Troi generated, Picard was more Borg than the Borg were.

The Borg assimilated only because of Evolutional expediency. It was their nature to assimilate.
Picard would have done it purely for fun. For shits and giggles.
If The Borg were going (and it seemed, they were) to try to assimilate Man, Starfleet wanted them to think they were all like Picard. 

This was their reasoning. As soon as the Borg took the bait, assimilated Picard, and realised what a toxic fucking sepsis Mankind represented,  they would either:
A/ Run the fuck away, for ever. Or
B/ Recognise his potential as their superior, and confer immediate exalted rank upon him.

Starfleet, as it turned out, got neither. (Another example of Locutus' perfection) They got Locutus of Borg.

Lore liked Locutus. Saw in him the potential for greatness. Not in some primitive "Borg collective" way. Nor in a "Aren't Human's clever" way. (Anyway, Picard as Locutus surpassed his Humanity like mammals surpassed reptiles)

No. Lore saw what had really happened with Locutus. (As did Data)
Picard, had assimilated the Borg. Perfected the Arc of Collective in one move. Not like Data's assimilation. Data just became a Borg. There wasn't enough Human in him to prevail. But Locutus? Locutus was closer to the mad dreams of Noonian Sung than anyone but Lore and Data could ever know.

Lore could have understood if Data had sacrificed himself for Locutus. Locutus really was superior. But *crzzzt* Picard?  **zzzupss* "That fucking runty little *crzzzlzap*  bast. . . "
Lore returned to "Hibernation" mode before his serenity cache crashed. 

[Nephew Twiddleton]

This does not happen very often, but it happens often enough. It does not make much sense.

Acting Captain Data thought to himself, and made a facial expression that was simultaneously emotionless, and yet betrayed his thoughts. He did not notice this.

Captain Picard got abducted by renegades from the 39th Century, if that can be believed.

We have in the past dealt with this improbable time travel bovine excrement before, and we are not the only Enterprise to have done so. To date, the NX-01, NCC-1701, 1701-A, 1701-B, 1701-C, and 1701 D have all encountered various temporal displacement scenarios. Data thought to himself. But it seems like the NX-01, the 1701 and the 1701 D have had more than their share. Intriguing. A human mind would at this point leap to a conclusion that would be undoubtedly unfounded, illogical, and yet correct. Data gave orders as he was thinking this. Androids are not given to reverie where they are so absorbed by a thought that the outside universe ceases to exist. He realized that this was going to be his last barrier to attaining "humanity," whatever that meant, and that one day he would hope to figure out.

Riker was foolish. Yet again his sense of blind loyalty got him into hot water, and into the 39th century as well. Data reminded him what he would do if Picard decided to do the same, and it was his duty as acting first officer to remind Riker of this. Riker told him to shut the fuck up, this is the Captain we're talking about. Intriguing. Data thought to himself that he would make a better Captain than both of them. And he was absolutely correct. Data was decisive, logical, and not given to passion. Data had only one passion. The passion to attain passion. This presents an interesting existential paradox. Data thought about millions of things that day. He never left the bridge. He didn't have to. An android doesn't need food, sleep, recreation or sex (though he could. He WAS fully functional after all).

Data ultimately figured out what to do. It was a matter of going just a fraction under light speed without a warp field, running in circles, to create some sort of time dilation, to make the passage of 1500 years seem like a couple of weeks. Then it was just a matter of shooting a lot of people, and wondering why the Federation wasn't doing dick in the future, and then doing the sling shot thing around a star, like what Captain Kirk and Commander Spock used to do all the fucking time.

One day, I will become Captain. I will probably be the most effective captain in all of Federation history. I wish that I could feel a sense of pride right now.



.... maybe it is time to install that chip we took from Lore's positronic brain....

[Nephew Twiddleton]

Worf hated Star Fleet.  He wanted to be a medical officer, but it seems that the fleet had two uses for Klingons...Security and Weapons Officers.  How's THAT for the enlightened federation, right?  He's a Klingon, so all he can be trusted with is violence.  It's all they're good for.  Never mind that he aced his pre-med schooling, or that he had recommendations from 5 top surgeons.  Nope.  You can be a thug.  Because you people aren't good for anything else.

He tried telling Diana about it, but she sat there rigid, worried Worf supposed, that he was just waiting for the right moment to rape her or some shit.  Hell, he didn't even view her as "female"...She was a DIFFERENT SPECIES, for Chrissakes.  Not EVERYONE is like that famous pervert Kirk, who wasn't picky about what species he was schtupping.

Yeah, Worf hated Star Fleet, but who else would hire him in the first place?

You're worse than the Borg. At least the Borg tell you that they're going to assimilate you.

[Nephew Twiddleton]

Floating. Floating. Floatingfloatingfloating MOTHERFUCKING FLOATING.

Q was bored. He'd been bored for.... well, fuck. He couldn't rightly remember. Didn't matter as time was essentially meaningless now, in any sense or measurement.

A long time ago his kind got a little too intrigued with this weird species known as humans. Not the Federation. No, not Vulcans, those cold and logical pointy eared fucks, or those goddamn Andorians and their silly antennae, nor those pig-like Tellarites. Nope. None of those other Johnny-come-latelies that entered the Federation a bit late either.

A bit late was a long time ago. A very long time ago.

See, humanity for some..... inexplicable and counterintuitive reason was some how special. More special than the rest. And the Q never quite put their finger on it. Only that they had the potential to be the Q also, somewhere down the line.

Did they end up doing it? Did they make it?

Q couldn't remember. He had trouble even recalling what he was called, or even language. None of his thoughts are coherent words. Just... Images... He strained. Peeeeeeeecaaaaaaaaard. Picard.... He was.... special.... special among the special ones....

None of that mattered. Picard died long ago. The Federation, practically a wink after that, but not from their reckoning of time. Their star long ago destroyed their homeworld, the unlikely heart of the Federation. Their galaxy, long ago merged with another.

And then the stars.... they winked out. Time passed and after a while, it was all just red dwarves, white dwarves, and black holes. Then even those burned out and died. Even the Continuum was gone. Q helped strip ever last one of them of their immortality and let them die as mortals. There was nothing left for them. Only problem was that there had to be one left. A Captain to go down with the ship. It made his own old incarnation, a mock Starfleet Captain, all the more ironic. In fact, Q was wearing his 24th Century Starfleet uniform with 4 neat pips at the neck right now. Couldn't bear to change it. Seemed to torture him in all the satisfying ways. And he was all that was left in the universe, save for  scattered particles that almost never interacted with each other. Well, maybe an odd black hole here or there.

And here's that worst part. He was immortal, but somehow all of his power left him. Maybe he just didn't have the will anymore to make anything happen. He, who had been a god in all but worship, floated through trillions of what used to be years in the void. He wished he could die like every last motherfucking thing had.

But wait.... he felt something.... a strong, very strong pull. Ah, he thought, one of those rare black holes that will also eventually disintegrate into nothing. Here is my chance. Maybe now even I can die.

He fell into the event horizon. He stretched, and stretched, and ssssssstttttrrrreeeeeeeettttttttcccccccchhhhhhhhheeeeeeeedddddddd, a scene that would have made..... what was his name..... Neil...... DeGrasse....... Tyson.... laugh at the spaghettification. Time slowed. No matter. He'd be dead blessedly sooner even with the weird time warping than he had experienced. Maybe even Picard's scattered quarks are lost in here.

After what seemed liked eons, what was eons in the stretching of time in the black hole, a new horror came upon Q, and everything was put into a perspective he didn't really consider before. And he knew he was fucked for good.

When he hit the singularity, he didn't die. Oh no. He disrupted it, and in one Planck time, the whole fucking thing burst into something else. It burst outward with the force of trillions of suns. Burst forth in a space that was a new universe. And he remained intact. He set off another Big Bang, perhaps much in the same way that whatever god created the one he was born into.

Except this time, there was no LET THERE BE LIGHT!

No.



In this new Universe, with its own for real full fledged Creator God with a capital G, began with the lament, "Oh, not fucking again!"

Niiiice.  Always liked Q.  Thought his spiel in the series finale was crap, though.

Agreed. I think Q was misunderstood. Her really did know best, but he had a soft spot. He'd throw humanity into imminent extinction, but always give them a way out.

[Nephew Twiddleton]

Not again.

Yet some other crisis was going on. Yet again his expertise would be needed. Yet again he and his ship was under attack.

You know, when I was a kid, this is not what I imagined growing up to be.

Captain Picard tried to steady himself from the rocking of some weird interstellar phenomenon that threatened to kill him and destroy his ship. Picard was good on negotiation, but you can't negotiate with the Universe.

His life flashed before his eyes. Again. He was getting sick of this shit.

All I ever wanted was to not pick grapes and make wine, and instead just dig up old shit. I didn't ask for this. I didn't sign up for this. I'm just good at it. And the Federation needs me.

See, the problem with Picard is that on his standardized test, he was put on a fast track for Starfleet officer training with an eye for command. He did TOO well on the test. Hell, if you're smart enough, any government is going to tap you for command in the military. If you're third best, they tap you to run for office. He remembered that alternate life he lead when Q gave him a second chance and he didn't get stabbed in the heart, and ended up a dreary astrophysicist with no ambition.

Here's the thing. He had plenty of ambition. Problem was, he didn't want to be an astrophysicist, even though he was good at it. He didn't want command, even though he excelled at it. And he didn't want to be a wine maker, since what's the fucking point if you have replicators? No, let mon frere Robert deal with the family winery.

I just want to dig up old shit.

He heard his parents' voices reach out to him across the decades.

Jean-Luc, you must make something of yourself.
Son, you're never going to make anything of yourself in archaeology. What are you going to do with it? How are you going to support a family on that? You should be a doctor. Or a lawyer. Or an astrophysicist.
No, you should join the command. you should become an Admiral. You can do it.
You can be anything you want son. Just not an archaeologist. It's below you.
Hey, why can he do anything he wants but I have to step on grapes?
Fermez la bouche, Robert!


The last of the Borg implants was removed. Locutus was once again Jean-Luc Picard.

I just want to dig up old shit.

[Nephew Twiddleton]

"Fire photon torpedoes!"

The Enterprise was rocked with another disruptor blast from the Romulan Bird of Prey. And again.

"MR. WORF!!! FIRE PHOTON TORPEDOES!!!"

Worf snapped out of his daze and and fired the torpedoes. Normally a Klingon would be alert and maybe a bit gleeful in a time like this. Worf silently chided himself for getting caught up in his thoughts instead of focusing on the battle. The Romulan vessel eventually cloaked and scampered back across the neutral zone. Picard asked him what happened. Worf made some excuse about hitting his head in a sensitive spot on his ridges which temporarily stunned him. He brushed off suggestions of going to sick bay.

After his shift he returned to his quarters. I'm slipping, he thought and then proceeded to do some baatleth katas until he ended up smashing a lot of stuff in a fit of rage, including his statue of Kahless and Molor striving against each other. He sat down and pulled from his stash of vodka, and chased it with prune juice.

There were a lot of empty vodka bottles under his bed lately.

He thought about how the other Klingons looked down on him. Not because he was a p'takh, but because he was actually a Belarussian pretending to be a Klingon. It had been difficult for him growing up in the reconstituted Soviet Union, going to school in Minsk surrounded by a bunch of utopian commies concerned with science and exploration. A yearning for Qo'Nos pumped in his veins. So he embraced what it meant to be a Klingon, and became as much of a Klingon warrior as he could--from a Federation perspective tied in with the times, of course. Stoic, loyal, honorable, ready to fight at a moment's notice. But he knew deep down that it was all fake, that he was aping the customs, just like Lt. Riley's fake Irishness when he took over engineering on the original Enterprise. Klingons weren't actually stoic in the slightest. They took a psychotic glee in everything, including dying. The problem was the Worf just wasn't crazy enough. He'd never been brought up that way. So instead, when he was taken with one of his frequent violent fits totally unacceptable in a Starfleet officer, it was always a moody, frustrated sort. Even when he bragged that Federation women wouldn't be able to handle his sexual prowess, he ended up dating them anyway, and they didn't seem to have any injuries after.

Worf just wanted to be a Klingon. And deep down, he knew he'd always be a Terran. He would try to do better with Alexander. He was an annoying kid, but he shows potential.

Worf woke up from this dream in his lonely house outside of Minsk in a sweat. He puked into a bucked and then slugged down some more vodka to stop his shaking. He was older than he thought he was and had retired from Starfleet. Alexander had died 5 years ago in some sort of duel over honor. Worf pretended to be proud that his son died in combat, kept telling himself that he was now in Sto-Vo-Kor. But he didn't really believe it. He felt guilt, he was the one who pressured Alexander into thinking that a father's love and pride came out of some allegiance to a culture that they never quite fit in. He never said it outright, but that's what Alexander was lead to believe. It was his fault that Alexander never got some worthwhile job on Earth and instead went looking for action, and eventually, death.

Worf was never quite the same after that.

This.  Horrible, depressing, and less than he deserved.  Perfect.

Note the bolded. You write what you know. My father is Worf. I am both Worf and Alexander.

Twid,
Named after a celebrated member of the IRA. Could have ended up in a stupid place, based on expectations.

Also, I'm Picard. I just want to fucking play music.