Vermicular Confusion (III of VI)

[oparu]

Title: Vermicular Confusion (III of VI - part I part II)
Author: Oparu
Rating: PG-13
Universes: Star Trek: The Next Generation/Stargate Atlantis
Notes: Crossover! Crackfic 3rd season TNG, 2nd season SGA (yes, I'm a moron who can't keep her SGA canon straight... *headdesk*). Elizabeth/John, Deanna/Will, Beverly/John-Luc. (as a totally random thought...I've completely refallen in love with my TNG ships)


Teyla had been planning to take the day off. Unlike her colleagues, John, Rodney and Ronon all barely seemed to need time to collect themselves at all, she was fond of actually taking a day or two and settling herself. She believed she worked better because of it. Chiding herself as she realized all three of them would probably take offense, she tried to relax back into sleep until she remembered what she had planned for the day.

It didn’t feel like a day off, her mind wasn’t ready to be centered and though she remembered having the urge, she didn’t feel like she’d acted upon it yet. Was she headed out early? Teyla couldn’t remember but she wondered if something was wrong. Her sleep felt out of sync, jarred for some reason as if she was just slightly out of phase.

Before she opened her eyes, she realized why she was unsettled. Even without really opening her eyes, the lights over her head were entirely unfamiliar. Not only that, but the sounds around her, the smells, even the feel of what was beneath her was wrong. That was why she wasn’t sleeping, why she felt off. She didn’t recognize the soft electronic sounds around her. It wasn’t the technology of her Ancestors, she’d become accustomed to that. This was different but still highly technical. Someone moved alongside her and Teyla spent a moment trying to decide if she should tense and prepare to defend herself or relax and let her captors believe she was still asleep.

Part of her mind argued that she might not be in any danger; that whoever these highly technical people were they might actually be on her side. Teyla’s experiences argued that her team was never that lucky.

“She appears to be awake,” a soft female voice reported calmly. Teyla wondered how they knew, she hadn’t moved or opened her eyes but the voice carried a degree of certainty.

“The bridge has been contacted,” a deeper voice rumbled, male, off to her left. Whoever they were, they spoke the same dialect as the people from the SGC, the words seemed slightly accented, though she couldn’t place the planet. “The captain is on his way.”

Was the captain going to interrogate her? Teyla didn’t feel any restraints but some captors didn’t need them. Her slow contemplation of her surroundings was broken with a crash of something metal against the wall and she knew Ronon was awake.

Sitting up and opening her eyes in the same instant, Teyla watched as her vision came into sharp focus on Ronon being restrained by a woman. The same soft voice that had been above her a moment ago was now lower and more commanding as she addressed him.

“If you do not remain still, I will have you restrained,” the voice threatened. She was tall, nearly John’s height if he had been standing, and she had very black hair cut bluntly around a beautiful, angular face. Teyla paused when she realized that the woman’s eyebrows made neat angles upward instead of curling around her eyes. A moment later, she saw the ears. The woman grappling with Ronon had huge, pointed ears.

“I am Dr Selar,” the woman in the tight blue jumpsuit explained to an astonished Ronon, who’s hands she held in a death grip. Teyla was certain if he struggled he would escape, but the pure shock of a woman as thin as Dr Selar restraining him with apparent ease had surprised him long enough for her to gain leverage.

“We mean you no harm,” Selar continued with a level of calm that Teyla almost felt as a palpable thing. She reminded Teyla suddenly of her father on his days of deepest meditation. “You were injured and we treated you. You are not being held against your will.”

Teyla couldn’t help smiling as the doctor raised one of her strangely beautiful eyebrows at the irony of her own statement.

“I will release your arms if you do not attempt to injure me,” Selar continued with the same supernatural calm.

“I can’t promise that,” Ronon growled as he tensed his arms and prepared to shake free. “Prove it,” he challenged.

Selar released him and took a step back. Ronon paused, still stunned and stared at her. His eyes were wide and focused on something near Teyla’s feet. She followed her gaze and landed on him.

She was certain he was the owner of the deep, rumbling voice, though she was entirely surprised he spoke any language she could understand. He was easily Ronon’s height, perhaps taller, and though he wore the same jumpsuit as Selar, just in gold, the rest of his similarity to her stopped there. Instead of Selar’s pointed ears, he had a heavy, ridged forehead that climbed all the way up his skull. His teeth were pointed and his body was muscular and as dangerous as the weapon he held in his hand.

The small handheld weapon was of an entirely unfamiliar design but Teyla had no doubt, from the way he held it in a huge, dark hand, that it was a weapon of some force.

“You have not been harmed,” the deep voice rumbled from the man with the skull, “Yet.”

The threat was something Ronon instantly understood. Rubbing his wrists as if that would somehow explain to him how she had been able to hold him. Ronon and the man in gold stared each other down like great beasts realizing they were not alone in their habitat. Teyla was reminded suddenly of the lions she’d seen on videos of Earth, both coiled and ready to spring if the other made a threatening motion.

The door in the wall hissed open and Teyla and Ronon both startled. She’d almost thought it was part of the wall, the door was so smooth, but a man in a red jumpsuit, older, completely bald and seeming as human as John or Rodney entered the room. There was no doubt he was in charge, both the doctor, the austere Selar, and the dark, hulking man with the metal sash who hadn’t yet said his name, moved imperceptively back as if giving him the best space in the room.

“I apologize if your presence here is unnerving,” he began in a pleasant tone. “As I’m sure my crew has explained, we mean you no harm,” he moved his hands to demonstrate his open palms. “Even the weapon pointed at you is non-lethal,” he assured Ronon, who couldn’t seem to decide who he wanted to glare at more, the large man with the weapon or the doctor who had restrained him. “Lieutenant Worf is only concerned with the doctor’s and my safety and is not threatening you.”

“We understand,” Teyla spoke for Ronon when her friend only bared his teeth. “I am Teyla and this is Ronon. Our compantions are Dr Rodney McKay and Colonel John Sheppard. I an Athosian, Ronon is Satedan.” The leader nodded politely but neither planet meant anything to him. Wondering which was more important, hiding the existence of Atlantis or the existence of Earth, Teyla decided the bald leader deserved the truth.

“Sheppard and McKay are from Earth,” she explained as she slipped from the bed and stood in front of the leader.

“Earth?” the leader repeated with a small smile. “I am also from Earth,” he volunteered as if explaining his sudden amusement.

“John is from a place called America,” Teyla ventured. “He also calls it the united States. Rodney comes from a superior nation called Canada.”

“I suppose there are many arguments to be made about the superiority of either,” the leader nodded graciously as he spoke. “I am from France.”

“Wine is from France,” Ronon grunted as he followed Teyla’s lead on stepped up so his chest was level with the weapon in Worf’s hand.

“That’s right,” the leader agreed with a wider smile. He exended his hand towards Teyla and kept his grin. “My family actually owns a vineyard. Please, allow me to welcome you to my ship, I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard and you are aboard the Enterprise.”

Teyla shook his hand and appreciated the quiet strength she felt there.

“This is Dr Selar,” Picard explained with a slight incline of his head. When Teyla followed his gaze with a questioning look he smiled again and offered. “She is Vulcan. Lieutenant Worf is my head of security, his people are called Klingons.”

“I believe your ship must be very safe,” Teyla offered with an approving look at Worf. The Klingon’s glare softened for a moment before her attention was drawn back to Picard.

“We found your vessel floating adrift,” he explained calmly dismissing Worf’s weapon with a glance of his deeply intelligent eyes. The Klingon lowered his weapon but kept his gaze firmly on Ronon. “You and your friends--“

“We are a team,” Teyla explained politely when he paused.

“Your team,” Picard continued amenably, “Were all injured, we brought you here to treat you and my crew is attempting to repair your vessel.

Teyla paused for a moment, sinking the words ‘Klingon’, ‘Vulcan’ and Enterprise into her mind in case they became important. “We are on a ship?” she asked when it occured to her she could not feel the deck moving beneath her feet. On the Daedelus, she had always been able to feel the vibration of that ship’s engines.

“Yes,” Picard explained again with endearing patience. “The Enterprise is a very fine ship, if you allow me the boast. Would you like to see it?”

Ronon’s sudden movement in her direction made Picard smile slightly again. There was a warmth in his Teyla’s instincts begged her to trust. “Ronon is welcome to join us.”

“John and Rodney?” Teyla asked as she moved her eyes towards the ‘Vulcan’, Dr Selar.

“They are completed healed and resting,” the doctor reported as she tilted her head towards them. “You are welcome to observe their condition.” Her hand gestured at a bank of lights on the wall. Teyla did not understand the words and symbols but she recognized that the triangles were a gentle shade of yellow, harsh colors seemed to mean danger, and that Rodney and John were both quietly asleep.

“They will contact me when your team awakens,” Picard promised and Teyla nodded. Torn between protecting her and the unconscious, Ronon hesitated.

Worf cleared his throat. The gesture surprised Teyla because it nearly seemed out of place coming from the imposing figure. “Sir, perhaps Ronon would appreciate a different tour,” the hulking officer suggested.

Still amused, Picard took a moment and then nodded. “Very thoughtful of you,” he agreed dryly.

“Yes, sir,” Worf replied as he gestured towards the door.

“Where’s my weapon?” Ronon demanded of Picard before the leader could active the door.

“In cargo bay two,” Picard answered lightly. He took a step forward and Teyla waited for him to activate the door with his hand, as the doors worked on Atlantis. Instead, this door simply opened, as if it had seen them coming.

Startled again, she stopped. Picard gestured to the left. “Cargo bay two is that way,” he said. “I’m sure Worf can take you to check on your weapon. I assure you, it is not necessary aboard my ship.”

Teyla was inclined to agree with him. Crew members passed them in a long, seemingly endless hallway. The walls were soft beige and filled with more panels of lights. It seemed everywhere she looked on the Enterprise, there were more lights, and it struck her how extraordinary this ship might be. Unlike Atlantis, dormant for eons and just starting to come to life, this Enterprise was in the prime of her existence, run by the very people who had built her.

“You have not encountered the Wraith,” Teyla stated simply as she watched Picard’s crew pass her. Very few of them were armed, and the ones who were wore gold uniforms, like Worf. Falling in step behind Picard, she tried not to let her mouth fall open as she watched the variation of crew that passed her. Some of them were blue skinned, some were scaly and one family seemed to be entirely covered in dark brown fur.

“The Wraith?” Picard asked politely. “No, I’m afraid of never heard of that species.” A group of children, mostly human but some no species that she could recognize, ran pass them, giggling and not bothering to hide the way they stared at the captain. Their teacher was another Vulcan, like Selar, but he had dark skin, more like Worf’s or Ronon’s. The ears still distracted her as he walked by.

“You have children on your ship?” Teyla asked, surprised. She’d thought the Enterprise would be more like the other human military organizations she knew. The SGC did not have children. She assumed Atlantis would not be allowed to have families either but here on the Enterprise, children ran freely in the corridors.

“We have many civilians on this ship,” Picard answered patiently. “The Enterprise is one of Starfleet’s finest achievements, a ship where crew members need not be separated from their familes to serve in the fleet.”

“Starfleet,” Teyla repeated as she followed Picard into a small space, like the transporters on Atlantis, and waited for him to touch the controls. Surprising her again, he simply spoke to the space.

“Ten forward,” Picard requested. The space made a pleasant sound and began to move, humming as it carried them through his ship. “Earth, my Earth,” he corrected carefully, “Is part of a vast network of worlds and cultures called the United Federation of Planets.”

Thnking she might understand, Teyla followed him into a new corridor and nodded. “Are you a trading organization?”

“We share ideas and technology,” Picard answered. A gentle smile remained on his face and Teyla realized she found his company quite enjoyable. “Many years ago, actual trade for currency was all but abolished on many worlds. We, along with dozens of other races, view exploration and the pursuit of knowledge as our highest calling.”

“You live in an extraordinary world,” she breathed as she tired to imagine real exploration as the mission of great ships. “I have traveled all of my life and I have never encountered anyone who could spend their resources on a ship for exploration.”

“I am frequently reminded of that fact,” Picard replied as he led her towards two wood and glass doors. Compared to the simple grey doors found elsewhere on the ship, these doors were surprisingly ornate. Teyla lingered watching a man with a heavy blue line down his face converse with another Vulcan.

“Come,” he suggested. “I believe you’ll enjoy this.”

Beverly Crusher had a splitting headache. It was the kind that burrowed into the back of her head and lingered there, as if part of her brain had been scooped out and replaced with pain. Lying in the quarantined room in the strange outpost that held her, she could keep a running inventory of all the parts of her that ached. Her left shoulder had suffered some kind of impact and moving her arm to far in either direction sent a searing pain across to the back of her neck. She couldn’t remember the impact. She wasn’t even sure there had been an impact with a solid object but the evidence of their injuries suggested something had been enough to overwhelm the inertial dampeners. What it had been really wasn’t her department.

Deanna seemed to be in slightly better shape physically. In the few moments of conversation they’d shared, she’d been able to gather that Deanna had few injuries. However, the counselor was distracted. At first, she’d thought Deanna might be sharing her headache, but from the way Deanna’s eyes never left Will, it was obvious he was having some kind of effect on her. Beverly had never really understood what the relationship between Will and Deanna was but she’d seen the kind of power it had.

She hoped Deanna understood why she had lied to about Will. As far as she could tell, their rescuers were primitive humans with twentieth century technology. Their surgical techniques certainly seemed historic. Even though the room they were kept in was more advanced, these humans were still using metal scalpels and vacuum drainage. Shuddering when she imagined subjecting Will to that barbaric kind of medicine, she forced herself back up to a sitting position.

“Doctor?” she called when the doctor wasn’t in her field of vision.

“He’s speaking with someone called Dr Weir,” Deanna explained from Will’s side. “She called him on his radio.“

Closing the distance between her bed and Will’s, Beverly appeared to stumble, letting Deanna catch her and bring her to lean on Will’s bed. “The guard?” she whispered out of the corner of her mouth.

“Bored,” Deanna replied in a whisper. “He wishes his shift was over.”

Beverly sighed and let Deanna guide her into the chair she’d been sitting in. “Thank you,” she said in a more normal tone. “Beckett?” she whispered as Deanna reached past her for a plastic pitcher of water and a cup.

“Concern for Will, caring, dedication-“ Deana nodded slowly. “He’s trustworthy.”

Beverly accepted the water and spoke carefully around the rim of the cup. “Can you get a reading on anyone else?”

“Military personnel, human, focused on their duties,” Deanna reported and Beverly let herself breathe a sigh of relief. “Some of the less disciplined minds might be scientists, engineers, traders. No more than a hundred.”

Setting her water aside, she reached down to make sure Will’s temperature was still normal. Moving a lock of hair off of his forehead, she felt only a slightly increase. “Any threats?” she asked softly.

When Deanna sighed, Beverly raised her eyes. The circles under Deanna’s eyes were dark against her ivory skin. Wondering if her friend had slept at all in the last few hours, Beverly reached for her hand.

“I can’t get a clear feeling. I-“ Deanna broke off and bit her lip as she rubbed her temples. “He’s blocking me. He- Will- doesn’t know where he is, he’s half-conscious. He’s panicked, afraid and he’s asking for help the only way he can. Why did you-“

Interrupting with a squeeze of her hand, Beverly whispered. “This is twentieth century Earth, some kind of military outpost. They might split us up, make decisions for us, if Will is your husband-“

Deanna’s nod was quick. “Will he be all right?”

Beverly wrapped her fingers around Deanna’s and tried to look more optimistic than she felt. “I’m going to ask Beckett to bring me the medkit from the shuttle,” she explained as she felt the strength of Deanna’s grip increase in response.

“Their leader is concerned, worried-“ Deanna began to pull everything she could from her senses. “It’s not our presence but the absence of someone else. We were not supposed to arrive when we did. Someone else, someone important to her, is missing.”

Soaking that in, Beverly tried not to let the knot of guilt in her stomach make her palms any more damp with nervous sweat. Revealing their technology, even medical technology, was walking a thin line through a grey area of the Prime Directive. Trying to justify it to herself, Beverly looked down at Will’s unnaturally pale skin and the primitive rubber line caring blood into his veins and reminded herself she was doing the right thing. Will Riker wasn’t a plague that was changing the course of planetary development, he was her friend and he was in danger. She had a responsibility as a doctor to save him from a barbaric surgery he would be lucky to survive intact.

“Glad to see you up and about,” the Scottish doctor called from the doorway. “Are you feeling any better?”

“More like I walked into a rock wall and less like I ran into one,” Beverly answered as lightly as she could. Dragging herself to her feet, she let Deanna’s hand steady her.

“You look a wee bit better,” the doctor noticed as he studied her face. “I wish I could say the same for your friend.”

“Doctor-“ Beverly began.

“Carson,” he corrected her as he extended his hand sheepishly. “Forgive me for not introducing myself earlier. I’m Doctor Carson Beckett. I believe you are a doctor as well.”

His guess earned a tiny smile from Deanna. Beverly closed her eyes for a moment when the pain behind her eyes swelled into something white hot. “Beverly Crusher,” she introduced herself in return.

“Deanna,” her friend offered simply. “My husband is Will Riker.”

Dr Beckett took her hand and shook it warmly. “I’m sorry I can’t do more for him,” he apologized as his eyes joined Deanna’s on Will.

“I can,” Beverly volunteered bluntly. “There’s a medical kit on our ship. If you bring it to me, I can stop the swelling in his brain before the damage gets any worse.”

Taken aback, Beckett just stared at her before curiosity overcame him. “You can? With what? I’d love to-“

“I will escort you to Dr Weir,” a new guard offered politely from the doorway. “One of you.”

Beverly squeezed Deanna’s arm just above the elbow and steadied herself on her feet before she nodded. “I will go with you.”

Her escort’s insignia were tiny gold maple leaves. Beverly couldn’t remember what they stood for. He said nothing as they walked through the outpost. The quarantined room gave way to a long corridor of brown stone and blue lights. Where ever they were was well designed and actually quite beautiful. One corner even led to an expanse of glass windows with water and brilliant blue sky beyond.

“We’re floating?” Beverly asked softly as her silent escort allowed her to look out over an endless mass of blue.

“Took my breath away the first time too,” he admitted with a grin. “Doctor Weir’s office is this way.” His outstretched hand indicated a set of stairs and a doorway that opened onto a greater space. He wore a simple dark blue flight suit and his soft brown hair and thoughtful eyes reminded her oddly of her son. Her heart sent a sudden stab of worry through her that surpassed her headache. Jean-Luc was still on the Enterprise and he would find her. He always had.

The arched door opened up into a grand chamber. Directly across from her was a stunning expanse of stained glass windows. A catwalk and balcony ringed the room and a grand staircase led up to them just below the display of color. In the center of the room was a strange stone ring, covered in glowing symbols she didn’t recognize. Right in front of that ring was the wreck of the Montreal.

Counting her blessings that she had not been more injured than she was, Beverly winced as she saw the dried blood on the inside of the glass and the grotesque angle at which the shuttle had crashed into the stone floor. Heavy scratches ran from the Montreal to the stone ring and she wondered if it was some sort of portal into the outpost. Technicians, most of them in short sleeved, light blue shirts, swarmed over the ship and Beverly’s heart leapt when she recognized the neat grey box of the shuttle’s medkit.

Her escort indicated the grand staircase. At the top of the stairs, a dark haired woman argued with a man who spoke with an accent Beverly had trouble placing. Her exhaustion finally allowed her to remember that he reminded her of Worf’s parents.

“Dr Weir,” her escort interrupted politely when it became apparent there was not going to be any sort of pause in the argument. “Allow me to present Dr Beverly Crusher.”

Startling at the use of her name and title, Beverly turned to her escort in surprise.

“Forgive me,” he whispered as Dr Weir nodded and dismissed the flustered scientist. “I’m a very good listener.”

“Please,” Dr Weir gestured up a second set of stairs towards a walled glass office at the end of the long catwalk. “I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself sooner. We’re-“

“You seem quite busy,” Beverly interrupted to test the level of familiarity this leader would allow her. Unlike the rest of the crew of this water outpost, Dr Weir wore red and the unmistakable burden of command. Her green eyes were quick and intelligent and her curling brown hair hung neatly to her shoulders.

“I’m afraid you arrived in the middle of something,” Dr Weir offered with the same apologetic tone. “Are you all right?”

“A bit knocked around,” Beverly admitted as she sank gratefully into the simple chair across from the large grey desk. The rectangular objects on the desk seemed to be primitive computers, fitting her assumption that this was some kind of late twentieth century installation. “Dr Beckett has taken good care of us.”

Dr Weir’s green eyes lit in a pleasant smile. “I’m glad to hear that,” she replied. Sitting up straight in the chair behind the desk, she met Beverly’s eyes. “I’m told you have a request?”

Surprised to get so quickly to the point, Beverly returned her candor. “There is a medical kit on our shuttle that I need to treat my friend. I am a medical doctor. I can assure you I mean no harm to you or anyone on your outpost, I just want to heal his injuries.”

Dr Weir’s poker face was incredible; all the surprise in her face was confined to her eyes. “You can do that?”

“Our medical technology appears to be slightly more advanced,” Beverly replied guardedly.

“Carson,” Dr Weir began and then restated. “Dr Beckett said operating on your-“

“Will Riker,” Beverly interrupted again hoping a name on the patient might make her cause more credible. “His name is Will.”

“Will-“ Dr Weir modified and continued; “Needs a very difficult operation. Dr Beckett wasn’t entirely sure he could complete it without causing brain damage.”

Dr Weir seemed fairly reasonable and she was too tired not to let her desperation show. “Without an operation,” she pleaded. “He’ll be dead by tomorrow morning. He’s a good friend. He loves music, jazz, even plays the trombone.” The other woman’s eyes softened slightly and Beverly reached for what Deanna had exposed for her. “He’s saved my life, both of them have. They, I mean, Deanna-“

Darkness, a deep-seated pain, flashed across Dr Weir’s face as she interrupted; “I approve the operation.”