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It was an old Constitution-class ship. The dedication plaque on the Bridge identified it as the NCC-1764, the Defiant. But the ship had, due to Tholians detonating a tricobalt warhead in the gravity well of a dead star, been shot back some 133 years in time and to the other side of the pond, the Mirror Universe. 

It was that same handsome guy in command, but somehow Otra could figure out that it was a day or two previous to what she had seen before, when he had meekly surrendered the Defiant directly to his emperor. 

T’Pol, a female Vulcan Science Officer, looked up from her station. “Engineering is not providing sufficient power. There is a stream of delta radiation; it appears to be interfering with the efficiency of our engines.” 

“Reed,” asked the captain, “is it a weapons discharge?” 

“Not so far as I can tell,” replied the Tactical Officer, who was wearing the uniform of a MACO Major. 

“Hoshi,” commanded the handsome guy in charge, “get me Engineering.” 

Hoshi was a sexpot sloe-eyed Communications Officer with a patch on her arm that said H. Sato and one rank clip, signifying that she held the rank of Ensign. She worked to comply as quickly as she could, her fingers flying over her console. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a well-built dark-skinned MACO Sergeant who came a tad closer. She gave him a secret smile. “Yes, Captain Archer.” She paused, listening for something in her earpiece. “Go ahead.” 

“Engineering! We need more power!” 

“Tucker here,” was the exasperated response. “I’m doin’ the best I can! This ship didn’t exactly come with instructions. I’ll need more muscle down here. Might need someone to pull on some of these levers; they seem to be stuck. I lost ‘bout two-thirds of my staff when we came over in escape pods from the Enterprise.” 

“Right,” Archer swiveled in his chair and his eyes alit on the MACO Sergeant. “I’ll send someone; Archer out.” He turned to the MACO. “Get anyone left in Engineering to work on that, Mayweather. Wake ‘em up if you have to.” 

“I’m a MACO, not a wake-up service,” Travis Mayweather grumbled as Hoshi grinned. 

“Get down there,” Archer commanded through gritted teeth. “Go into their quarters and wake up Andreiou and Porter and Crossman personally if you have to!” 

Yes, sir!” Mayweather grinned and licked his lips, having instantly changed his mind. The idea of Jenn Crossman – one of the best-looking women on the ship – in her bed was something he wanted to see. Never mind that she shared her bed with Old Man Hayes. The idea of the slinky redhead in skimpy lingerie was making his mouth water. 

Hoshi scowled at him. “Maybe the Sergeant here could pull a lever or two,” she snarled, “when he’s not busy pulling his own lever.” 

“Right,” Archer agreed. “Hoshi, get another MACO up here to guard the Bridge, maybe Hayes. Mayweather, go! Now!” 

“Yeah,” Travis took one last look at Hoshi, who tossed her head at him, pretending to ignore him. As he left, he could hear Major Reed at the Tactical station, muttering something about lax discipline and how it could be cured with a good flogging. 


Otra’s vision shifted, and she saw a different Constitution-class starship. This one was the NCC-1701, the ISS Enterprise

The handsome guy in the command chair was someone well-known in Mirror Universe history – a Vulcan with a goatee named Spock

The Vulcan dryly requested, “Report, Mister Sulu.” 

“I’m seeing a surge of delta radiation. It’s in the general vicinity of the Agony Booth,” replied Sulu, an Asian guy with a large facial scar, clearly a souvenir of dueling. 

“Commander,” added Chekov, the fellow next to him, “it might interfere with our systems. The ion storm near the Halkan home world is bad enough.” His Russian accent was somewhat similar to Milena’s, but was not an identical match. 

“Are Captain Kirk, Lieutenant Commander Scott, Doctor McCoy and Lieutenant Uhura en route?” Spock inquired. 

“I’m seeing a transporter power beam wobble starting,” Chekov reported. 

“I shall investigate,” Spock declared. “Mister Sulu, you will go to the location of the Agony Booth and determine what is wrong, and why there is delta radiation present.” 

Sulu looked at him. “That’s Engineering’s job.” 

“And most of that department is on unpaid incapacity leave due to various stints in the Booth. Now, the Booth is under your purview, Mister Sulu. Unless, of course, you wish to step aside, perhaps in favor of Mister Giotto,” was the crisp Vulcan reply. 

“No, sir.” 

As Sulu departed, Otra’s vision followed him. A few decks away, the area near the Agony Booth glowed with delta radiation. “They don’t pay me enough,” Sulu grumbled. 

As his body came in contact with the seething radiation, the vision very briefly reverted back to the Defiant and over a century previously. Mayweather was coming into contact with a similar mass of glowing delta radiation. “This isn’t part of my job description,” he groused. 

In that instant, the two men switched places, as time and space were exchanged.

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