SINGULARITY
By HECK

THIS IS A TOTAL self-indulgence on my part. As you know, I love 
to write about my heroine, Brenhya. But what you may not know 
is that I am also a confirmed Trekker, and next to strong women 
and money [joke], Star Trek is my greatest passion. Especially 
The Next Generation.
So in an idle moment I was thinking to myself, how would 
Brenhya cope aboard the USS Enterprise D? And, even more 
interestingly, how would Starfleet cope with Brenhya? And then 
I thought, why the hell not? This is the result.
Comments to heck@heckster.co.uk

Copyright "Heck" 2000

PROLOGUE

  A MILLION STARS glittered like diamond dust scattered across 
a black velvet cloth. A perfectly round full moon hung like a 
freshly scrubbed dinner plate on a night that was crystal 
clear, with not a single cloud to obscure the beauty of the 
heavens. 
  A light, warm breeze stirred the grass, and a solitary bat 
fluttered across the pale moonface, disturbing the perfect 
peace for a moment.
  The woman lay on a grassy hillock, gazing up at the night 
sky. Her three friends were grouped around a campfire below, 
drinking a herbal tisane and talking in low voices, but on this 
night she felt the need for solitude. They had recently 
undergone a prolonged ordeal, battling against an horrendous 
evil, and she needed just a little time alone to think and 
evaluate.
  She shifted her position slightly, making herself more 
comfortable. She moved her long, long legs to cross her ankles, 
and linked her fingers behind her head, rearranging her long 
cascade of chestnut hair. Hair so luxuriant and sleek that it 
showed glossy even in the dark.
   In repose, her face was a picture of serenity, a half smile 
playing about her full lips. Taken in isolation, her features 
were not perfect. Her nose was perhaps just a shade too long, 
her brilliant green eyes just a tad too far apart. Perhaps her 
jaw was a little too square, and maybe her high cheekbones were 
not quite high enough. And a tiny scar on the margin of her 
upper lip marred the symmetry of her mouth. But viewed as a 
whole, she was achingly, heart-stoppingly lovely.
  Standing upright, she would have been just a hair's breadth 
under six and a half feet tall. Her body was immaculately 
proportioned, and even lying down it would have been obvious to 
an observer that she was a warrior. 
  Arms bent and linked behind her head as they were, round, 
peaked biceps the size of a big man's fist were evident even 
when relaxed. Her forearms were comprised of rubbery hard, 
strap-like muscle and sinew, and her large hands, had they been 
visible, would have been evidence of tremendous strength.
  Unflawed golden skinned covered wide shoulders that tapered 
to a narrow waist, and her flat belly showed the ridges and 
squares of terrific muscularity. Strong, flared thighs gave way 
to comparatively small joints and full, diamond shaped calves 
entwined with the leather straps of her sturdy sandals.
  Brenhya had been raised by a Sisterhood of Priests, Warriors, 
and Servitors, and had been trained in the arts of war by the 
finest fighting women in the world. She had quickly shown 
herself to be a 'natural', and had grown to become one of the 
finest warriors the Sisters of Themyra had ever known. She was 
also by far the most powerful, and had yet to meet the man or 
woman who was her equal in strength. Although, blessed with a 
superb heritage and having always been the strongest in her 
peer group since childhood, she saw nothing unusual in it, and 
avoided unnecessary displays. Unless it became necessary to 
make a point as, it seemed to her, it often did.
  That she was muscular, there was no doubt. But she was not 
grossly muscled and she was amazingly agile and flexible. And 
for all her strength and fighting skill, she was entirely 
feminine. Men stopped and watched her open mouthed as she 
passed, and often had cause to be thankful for the loose 
trousers that were thier habitual wear.
  Brenhya wore her usual attire; a soft leather halter that 
covered her magnificent breasts but left her midriff bare, and 
a short leather skirt that allowed her freedom of movement. No 
jewellery or bauble adorned her, save for the brass circlet 
about her brow that also served to keep her hair from her face. 
Wide brass wristguards chased with beaten designs enclosed the 
lower eight or so inches of each forearm.
  There was no reason to expect an attack. As far as she knew, 
all her current enemies had been dealt with. So she had left 
her most powerful weapon, the mighty Wheelbow that none but her 
had the power to draw, with her friends down below, together 
with the stiff leather pauldron that protected her shoulders 
but was not conducive to comfort when relaxing.
  But Brenhya was a warrior, and as such was never unarmed. 
Close by, within easy reach, a heavy broadsword lay in an 
ornate scabbard. And nestling snugly within her left wristguard 
lay her small, almost dainty stiletto-bladed knife. An elegant 
little weapon, nonetheless she could gut an opponent with it in 
less time than it takes to tell.
  Something was happening up there in the starry sky. A 
roiling, swirling shape that at first she though was a cloud 
formation, although it seemed to be lit from within, was taking 
shape. It was like a slow whirlpool in the sky, and was 
marvellously beautiful to behold. She rose to her feet, shaking 
her head as she did so, as if standing would bring her closer 
to the phenomenon.
  Planting her feet wide and hands on hips, she smiled to 
herself as she watched the unfolding drama above. She knew that 
strange things happened in the sky, and had spent many evenings 
watching shooting stars. But she had never seen anything like 
this.
  And as she watched, it seemed to her that it extended a 
finger, almost beckoning to her. She cocked her head to one 
side, and moved a few steps higher up the hillock.
  With the speed of light, the finger shot toward her from the 
void. A narrow shaft of swirling light enveloped her before 
even her lightning reflexes could react, and retracted with the 
same speed.
  A light, warm breeze blew across the deserted hillock, 
stirring the grass that rippled against the edge of the heavy 
broadsword that lay abandoned on the sward.

                                                 CHAPTER ONE

  Captains log; Stardate 45328.1: This is the third day of our 
patrol of the Stochablian system, close to the Romulan Neutral 
Zone. There is a civilisation on Stochablia 3 that we suspect 
may be on the verge of developing warp technology, and the 
Enterprise is on hand to assist. They are, of course, unaware 
of our presence here.
  A pre-contact team has maintained a presence on the planet 
for some four years, now. The Prime Directive has been upheld, 
of course, but the indigenous people are humanoid and reported 
to be so much like Earth humans that very little in the way of 
prosthetics have been required.
  The team on the planet is being headed by a Lieutenant-
commander Amanda Hucker. I know her only by reputation, but she 
is one of the foremost exo-biologists in Starfleet. Her latest 
reports indicate that the first tests of the Stochablians' warp 
drive may be imminent ...

  "Captain Picard to the Bridge!"
  The voice of Commander William T. Riker interrupted Picard's 
log entry. "Computer, save entries and close log", he 
instructed before tapping his comm badge. "On my way".
  Jean-Luc Picard stepped through his Ready Room door, tugging 
down his uniform jacket and casting a critical eye over the 
bridge. The bridge staff were all at thier stations, and 
everything looked normal. "Report!"
  "Captain, you might like to take a look at this". Riker 
vacated the centre chair and indicated the huge view-screen.
  With a nod to Counsellor Deanna Troi in the left hand chair, 
Picard took his seat. He looked up at the screen, and his eyes 
widened slightly at what he saw.
  A swirling mass of colour and cloud was forming in the 
blackness of space, surrounding a narrow throat that seemed to 
spew space dust from its maw.
  "What do you make of it, Number One? A wormhole?"
  The Exec shrugged his broad shoulders. "Mr Data?"
  The pale skinned android turned in his seat at the helm. He 
spoke directly to Picard. "Sir, our scanners show that it has 
some of the properties of a quantum singularity. Yet it has no 
gravity, and seems to be emitting large quantities of tetryon 
and chroniton particles. It has the appearance of a wormhole, 
but the entrance, or more properly, the exit, is no more than 
two metres across".
  "So it is a wormhole?"
  Data furrowed his brow in a very human-like manner. "For want 
of a better word, I would have to say yes. Albeit a very small 
one".
  "It poses no threat to the Enterprise". The rumbling voice of 
Lieutenant Worf came from the ops console above and behind the 
senior officers. The Klingon sounded almost disappointed.
  "In and of itself, I would have to agree with Lieutenant 
Worf", Data said. "But it is directly in our path, and less 
than ten thousand kilometres distant".
  "All stop!", Riker barked. "Yellow Alert!". Even at a quarter 
impulse power, ten thousand kilometres was only a few seconds 
away, and the Commander did not want to find out the hard way 
what would happen if the great ship collided with the small 
disturbance.
  "So for the moment", Picard decided. "We'll call it a 
Singularity. What's it doing, Data?"
  "Nothing, Sir. It just ...is".
  Riker smoothed his neat beard. "I suggest sending a probe, to 
take a closer look. We might discover some interesting data".
  Picard, obviously intrigued by the phenomenon, nodded his 
bald head. "Agreed. Mr Data, ready a class one ..."
  "Sir", the android interrupted. "Something is coming through 
the singularity. It is a living being. A humanoid".
  "Mr Worf?"
  "Already locked on, Sir. Beaming it directly to sick bay".
  "Very good. Picard to Crusher. You have a patient being 
transported in. Humanoid, but species unknown. Exposure to 
vacuum",
  "Acknowledged". The voice of Dr Beverley Crusher, Chief 
Medical Officer, sounded brisk and businesslike. "We already 
have her".
 Picard rose from his chair, puling down his jacket in his 
familiar manner. "Mr Worf, Data, Counsellor. You're with me". 
He strode up the ramp toward the turbolift. "You have the 
bridge, Number One".

  Beverley Crusher whistled as she studied the display above 
the bio-bed. She had seen a lot of things in her medical career 
with Starfleet, but never anything like this. It was a first, 
as far as she knew, and might be worth a paper.
  She turned as the sickbay door hissed open, and smiled as 
Picard, Worf, Troi, and Data walked in.
  "How is she, Doctor?" Picard was  a starship captain first, 
foremost, and always, but he never allowed it to get in the way 
of his compassion.
  "Well, she's unconscious, and there's been some minor 
petechial bleeds due to the vacuum exposure, which I can repair 
with no trouble. But otherwise she's fine". She stepped aside 
to allow her visitors a clear view of her patient. "More than 
fine, I would say".
  With the exception of Data, the officers' eyes all widened at 
the sight of the magnificent creature lying on the bed. Worf 
actually sucked air through his teeth as he viewed the woman. 
Picard looked at him in surprise; it was unusual for the 
Klingon to react this way, although it was understandable. The 
Captain could not remember when he had last seen such a superb 
specimen of womanhood.
  "Quite impressive", he commented. Crusher gave a small laugh.
  "Jean-Luc", she teased. "Your capacity for understatement is 
unsurpassed". She smiled. "I like the colour of her hair, 
though".
  The auburn tresses that spilled across the pillow were almost 
exactly the colour of the Doctor's own. Deanna Troi smiled at 
the Doctor's small vanity.
  Picard inspected the sleeping body. "She is human, I take 
it?". The humanoid form, so well adapted to conditions on many 
worlds, had been duplicated in many forms and guises throughout 
the galaxy, so his question was not unreasonable.
  "Undoubtedly. But ..."
  Picard held up a hand. "That being the case, and given her 
...development ...Doctor, you are no doubt familiar with 
history regarding Khan Noonien Singh?"
  The infamous Khan had been responsible for millions of deaths 
during the eugenics wars at the beginning of the twenty-first 
century. He and his genetically enhanced followers had wreaked 
havoc, but had finally been overpowered and banished from Earth 
on the sleeper ship, Botany Bay. They had been discovered more 
than two hundred years later, and were revived by the captain 
of the first starship Enterprise, where they promptly attempted 
to take over the ship and return to Earth. Captain Kirk had 
outmanoeuvred Khan, and had left him and his crew to build 
thier own lives in isolation on Alpha Ceti Six.
  Crusher shook her head. "I understand your concerns, but no. 
I find no evidence of any eugenically enhanced DNA. And in any 
case, look at her clothes, and the workmanship in these 
bracelets". She lifted one of the woman's arms to illustrate 
her point. "These would indicate that the level of technology 
where she comes from is about equal to that of Earth during the 
middle-ages. Probably central or western Europe".
  Data nodded. "I concur, Captain".
  "So she has come here not only through space, but through 
time also?", Picard queried.
  "Mm-hmm". Beverley nodded as she confirmed his theory. "And 
that's not all. Jean-Luc, every living thing in this universe 
has its unique DNA, its own identity, if you like. But there is 
one thing they all have in common, be it a Vulcan or a Denebian 
slime-worm".
  Picard nodded. "Molecular resonance. I know".
  "Right. Every organism in the universe has the same molecular 
resonance. In fact, so has every inorganic thing".
  "But ...?"
  "But hers is slightly different. She resonates on a slightly 
different frequency than you or I do. Or Worf does". She paused 
for effect. "She is not only from a different time, she is from 
a different reality".
  It took only seconds for Jean-Luc Picard to make a 
connection. "The Mirror Universe?"  He shuddered at the 
thought. In the Mirror Universe, many things were different, 
and standards of ethics, legality, and morals were blurred 
there, to say the least.
  "Possible, but unlikely", Data opined. "Science has 
postulated an almost infinite number of alternate realities, or 
universes. The chance that she came from the only one about 
which we have positive knowledge is remote. To say the least. I 
have a theory ..."
  "Yes, thank you, Mr Data". Picard cut him off in mid-flow. "I 
shall be pleased to listen to it at a later time. But for now, 
Doctor, you have everything under control?" Beverley nodded. 
"Very well. I would remind you all that this is a being from 
another time and, we think, another reality. Therefore, the 
Prime Directive applies. She should be confined to sickbay 
until we can find a way to send her home".
  "Beverley, give me a call when she comes round", Deanna said. 
"She's bound to be disorientated, at the very least".
  The four turned to leave. Worf seemed reluctant to go, and 
turned to the Doctor as he reached the door. "Doctor. From her 
appearance, I would say that she is a formidable warrior. Would 
you like me to remain here, or at least post a security team 
outside?"
  Beverley smiled up at the towering Klingon. "Thank you, Worf, 
but no. I'll put a pressor field over her when she starts to 
wake. That will prevent her from making any sudden movements".
  Worf growled quietly, but nodded. He hurried to join the 
others.
  In the corridor, Captain Picard tapped his comm badge.
  "Picard to Riker. Number One, will you and Mr LaForge join us 
in the observation lounge? I think we need to discuss our 
'visitor'".

  The starfield stood still outside the windows of the 
comfortable lounge. Deanna thought it never looked as 
beautiful, or as peaceful, as it did when the massive ship was 
at rest.
  Around the long table, the officers sat in their familiar 
places. Picard had given a synopsis of what they knew so far.
  "So the problem now is", he continued, "how to send her back. 
Ideas?"  
  "The singularity is unlike anything we've come across 
before". Geordi LaForge ran a finger along the top edge of his 
VISOR. "Most wormholes operate in both directions. Like a two-
way street. So you can get through either way, from either end. 
This one seems to work only one way. So we can't just put her 
in at this end. It would just spit her out again".
  "What about if we transported her deep inside it?" Riker 
enquired.
  "Same problem. Only this time, it would rip her apart before 
her molecules had time to coalesce".
  "Mr Data". Picard turned to the android. "I believe you have 
a theory?"
  "Yes, Sir. Sensor readings on the singularity are quite 
complete. We know that it emitted tachyon and chroniton 
particles, and these were all negatively charged. I believe 
that, if we reconfigured the sensor array to emit a stream of 
positively charged tachyons and chronitons, that would have the 
effect of reversing the polarity of the event".
  "Mr LaForge?"
  "It could be done. We'd have to configure it to shoot a jet 
of particles, rather than just a stream, and it might destroy 
the singularity all together. But if it works, it would have 
the effect of reversing the flow of 'traffic'. We could 
transport her into it, and it should take her home".
  "Crusher to Troi". The intercom butted in. "Deanna, you asked 
to be notified when our 'guest' starts to wake".
  "Excuse me, Gentlemen". The Counsellor left her seat. "I have 
a house call to make".
  Riker watched her go. "That brings us to another problem", he 
said. "Worf, you said you recognised her as a warrior. What 
made you say that?"
  "It is obvious, Sir. Looking at the condition of her body, 
and the way she is dressed, she cannot be any other".
  "She might be just a highly trained athlete." Riker was 
hoping that the woman might not be trouble, but the Klingon 
shook his big head.
  "I cannot agree. In the time she appears to come from, there 
would be little in the way of organised sport. The only reason 
for someone to train themselves to that degree in her days 
would be to fight".
  Riker faced the Captain. "I bow to superior experience", he 
said, tacitly acknowledging Worf's own status as a warrior. The 
Klingon preened slightly. Riker went on. "That being the case, 
I'd say the sooner we get her off the ship and back to her own 
time and place, the better".
  "Agreed", Picard said. "Geordi, how long will it take to 
reconfigure the array?"
  "It's a big job, Captain. I'll have to almost strip the whole 
thing down and rebuild it. If I can borrow Data to help, two, 
maybe three days. In the meantime, I'll re-route power to the 
auxiliary sensors, so we're not totally blind".  
  Picard stood, indicating that the meeting was over. "Make it 
so. Number One, will you ..." He was cut off by Deanna's urgent 
voice on the intercom.
 "Security to sickbay! Security to sickbay!"