Trekkin' Kismet

    Quite frankly, she was fed up with it. Star Trek was all that Star Child ever talked about. At first, Trisha didn't mind. In fact, she found it rather amusing that a true extra-terrestrial would enjoy a science-fiction program so much. The program used plausible material within its plot lines. Even the engineering was surprisingly close to what she knew to be reality. But now what had once been a quaint little hobby, had become an intolerable nuisance. Star Child stopped her excited chatter rather abruptly when she noticed that Trisha had put her hands over her ears and was furrowing her brow somewhat menacingly. Star Child, in turn, folded her arms and pouted.

    "Well," she said with a huff, "I can take a hint!" She turned on her heel and stormed out of the apartment.

    Apparently not, thought Trisha, or you would have shut up an hour ago.

    Trisha soon regretted being so insensitive toward Star Child. Although she is a visitor from another world, she is younger than Trisha relatively speaking. Star Child consistently looked to her for the guidance of an older sister. Trisha had to take the responsibility seriously.

    Oh well, I can always make up to her later. For right now, I have to get my uniform out of the laundry.

    She grabbed a nearby clothes basket and headed for the building's laundry room.

* * *

    Star Child sat alone in her room furiously wiping tears out of her eyes. She hated it when she cried. It made her feel like a child. Her given name had never bothered her because it meant "child" in a different sense. Yet, now it taunted her.

    "I am not a child!" she said to no one in particular.

    Star Child sat on her bed clutching the first gift that Trisha had ever given her. The large white teddy bear was approximately half her size, and she held onto it for comfort. On the walls about her were posters of spaceships. Some were elaborate blueprints of the same. The most common occurrence was a large stylized disk connected by a short neck-like affair to a large barrel shape. This was, in turn, connected by means of graceful wings to two rod shapes that hung above and to the rear of the disk. To some it seemed gangly, awkward, even ugly. To Star Child it was sheer grace. The beauty of form combined with the practicality of function. On the forward underside of the disk ran the letters: NCC-1701 U.S.S. Enterprise.

    Also among the posters were the pictures of the intrepid crew members who traveled to distant planets and discovered life forms which had never before been encountered. She felt a tingle of excitement at the concept. She had long dreamed of becoming an interstellar explorer much like these people were; like her mother was...

    The woman cupped her daughter's chin in her hand and smiled. It was time for her to go back. Back to the starship which brought her and her colleagues to new unexplored worlds. She could only stay for a few days while the ship replenished its supplies and fuel. She kissed the five-year-old child on the forehead.

    "Good-bye, R'y'sha. My Little Star. When I look at the stars in space, I will think of you."

    It was merely days afterward that the news of the destruction of the exploration vessel reached the homeworld. All hands were lost. A five-year-old girl stood indignant in front of strangers who tried as best they could to explain why her mother was never coming home again...

    "I don't care what Trisha thinks. Star Trek is the most important thing in the universe."

    Soon, Star Child fell asleep. Tears slowly melted into the teddy bear's soft, water resistant fur.

* * *

    The worry lines in Trisha's face deepened as no one answered her third attempt at calling Star Child's house.

    She's really pissed off at me, thought Trisha as she placed the receiver in its cradle. I just didn't realized how much that stupid TV show meant to her. It must be her only link to the world she came from since her exile. Damn! Why didn't I see that before?

    Trisha rubbed her temples in a vain attempt to relieve the anxiety that had slowly built itself into a massive headache.

    I'll have to go talk to her first thing tomorrow morning, she said finally.

    Trisha loosed her robe belt and tossed the robe on the floor to reveal a lace-trimmed, ivory charmeuse. Then after climbing into bed, she struggled to attain sleep. Only after two hours of tossing and turning did sleep finally take over her mind.

* * *

    Her first realization was the loud noise screaming over and over at her. The repetitious sound slowly brought her into reality. Trisha reached for her alarm clock, only it wasn't there. It was then that she realized with a jolt that there was a red light flashing on the far side of the room. Even without lights, her night-vision told her that she was no longer in her own bedroom. This room was small with one bed to the rear. To her right was a small dresser with a good sized mirror on the wall. On her left was a small door. Next to the door in the corner was a round, cushioned chair. Across the room was a transparent slide door which led to a small foyer and eventually to another door.

    Trisha walked to the mirror and noticed that she was wearing her uniform. Her dagger was strapped to her right thigh. Looking down on her dresser she saw the katana sword which was her trademark. Somehow she had become Kismet in her sleep.

    What the hell is going on, thought Kismet.

    Almost as if in response, the lights came on and two large burly men led by a shorter, younger man with a conservative haircut came bursting into the room.

    "Don't move," cried the short man in a very thick Russian accent.

    The two larger men had strange guns trained upon Kismet. Even without a weapon, the forcefulness of the young Russian's voice stated that he meant business. The Russian reached behind him and pulled out what appeared to be a small cell phone.

    "Keptin, we hev found the intruder. We hev her on deck six in one of the crew's quarters."

    "Understood, Mr. Chekov," replied the cell phone.

    Chekov! thought Kismet in realization.

    "Bring the intruder to the bridge, please."

    "Yes, sair."

    Kismet couldn't believe her eyes and ears. It had to be a dream.

    "Alright, you," said Chekov sternly. "Carefully, remove your weapons and throw them onto floor in front of me. I warn you, if you make any sudden moves, I will be forced to stun you."

    Kismet decided that it was best to comply. Slowly, she unbuckled the straps that held the dagger to her thigh and tossed it at Chekov's feet. Next, she slowly removed the katana from the dresser and tossed that down as well.

    "Wery well," said Chekov approvingly. "This way."

    After a short trip, through a small corridor, they entered into a turbolift. In a matter of seconds, the doors whisked open to reveal a small circular room. Several people sat in chairs at strategic points around the perimeter. In the center was the largest chair. Standing next to that chair was a strong, young man. He wasn't especially handsome, but he exuded charisma all over the place.

    "I am Captain James T. Kirk of the U.S.S. Enterprise. Who are you, and what are you doing on my ship?"

    Once I've found the answer to that, you'll be the second to know, thought Kismet with a smirk.

    It was obvious that he was not happy about her unprecedented appearance. Upon failing to get a response, Kirk turned to a tall, lean figure with a stoic face and curiously shaped ears.

    "Do you think she understood me, Spock?"

    "Unknown, Captain," replied Spock in a cool even tone. "However, the shape of her throat would delineate that she has no larynx with which to respond."

    Another much older man of medium height with piercing blue eyes immediately waved a tiny cylinder near Kismet at Spock's revelation. The machine gave a high-pitched whirring sound. After a quick glance at the device he replied, "He's right, Jim. She has no voice box."

    Kirk frowned at this bit of information. He took a step closer to Kismet.

    "Can you understand me?"

    Kismet nodded.

    "Do you know where you are?"

    Kismet cocked her head sideways in hesitation, but soon responded with a nod.

    "Where are you from?"

    Kismet looked uncertain. Then, a young dark-skinned woman stood up and handed Kismet an electronic pad with a writing stylus.

    "Thank you, Lieutenant," said Kirk with a smile. "I wish I had thought of that sooner."

    The woman responded in kind while Kismet wrote the answer to Kirk's latest question and handed the pad to him. Kirk read aloud.

    "Earth. Monument City, New York." A pause. "1991!?"

    Kirk looked up in astonishment, the dark-skinned woman gasped, the man with the blue

eyes held a look of disbelief on his face, while Spock merely lifted an eyebrow and uttered, "Fascinating."

    Kismet looked triumphantly around the room.

    Yes, let's see them figure that one out.

* * *

    "Well, I checked her out in sick bay, and as far as I can tell, she's human," said Dr. McCoy. He sat at the briefing table slightly slumped back with arms folded. "As to whether or not she's from the twentieth century, I couldn't tell you if she's from Earth much less anything else."

    Kirk sat diagonally across from McCoy. "Why not?"

    "Well, Jim, it seem her DNA had been altered."

    "Altered?"

    "Designed, more like.  Basically, she been reconfigured into some kind of superhuman."

    Kirk's face held a pensive expression. You mean she's another survivor of the Eugenics Wars from the late 1990s?  Another of Kahn's followers?"

    "I couldn't say for sure, Jim," replied Dr. McCoy.   "I seriously doubt it.  The psychological profile shows that she lacks the ambition of the other Eugenics survivors.  She's as stable as you or I."

    Kirk turned to his First Officer. "What about you, Spock? Anything on this Kismet?"

    Spock sat with his elbows on the table, fingers steepled before his face. At the captain's request, he reached over to the computer console near him. An image of a young woman with snow white hair appeared on the screen at the table's center.

    "That's the same woman!" exclaimed McCoy. "Well, except that the woman in sick bay has black hair."

    "This is Ambassador Trisha Fate. The background on Ambassador Fate is sketchy at best. She is one of the Federation's foremost ambassadors, second only to Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan. She is mostly involved in first contact situations."

    "But are we looking at the same woman who is on board the Enterprise," asked Kirk.

    "So far the results are inconclusive," replied Spock. "A thorough bio-scan should produce immediate results."

    "Bones?"

    "Already done. You should be able to make your comparison from here, Spock."

    Spock toggled a few switches on his console.

    "Computer."

    "Working."

    "Compare the bio-scan of Ambassador Fate with the bio-scan of the unknown human presently in sick bay."

    A few seconds pass.  "Comparison shows no appreciable differences in the bio-scans of Ambassador Trisha Fate and Kismet."

    "Are they, in fact, the same person?"

    "Affirmative."

    A shocked look crossed McCoy's face. "That's impossible! How can the same person be in two different places at once?"

    "Spock?" asked Kirk.

    "According to Starfleet, Ambassador Fate is located on Lactra VII. She is the only person in the Federation the Lactrans will communicate with. It is not quite understood why."

    "And what about the strange clothing she was wearing," asked Kirk. "Not exactly standard diplomatic uniform, and those ancient weapons she was carrying were certainly not part of the ambassadorial dress of any planet in the Federation."

    "Our only assumption," said Spock, "would be that Kismet is telling the truth. Since Ambassador Fate cannot be contacted, there is no way for us to be certain."

    Kirk wasn't pleased with the answers he was getting.   "Alright, assuming she did come from the twentieth century, how did she get here? Why did she appear in one of the crew's quarters?"

    "So far, I have not been able to ascertain the method by which she reached the twenty-third century and, eventually, the Enterprise," said Spock.

    "You mean you're stumped," chided McCoy with an impish grin.

    Ignoring him, Spock continued. "We recorded no time displacements like those we encountered near U.F.C. 465537."

    At the mention of the star around which the Time Planet orbited, an image of Edith Keeler entered into Kirk's mind. He quickly pushed it aside.

    "Also," added Spock, "we located no subspace anomalies indicative of a cloaked ship, nor were there energized particle traces to indicate the use of a transporter."

    "So you're saying she just said `Alacazam!' and here she is," said Kirk. "That doesn't make any sense, Spock."

    Spock was slightly nonplused at Kirk's reference to sleight of hand illusionists but recovered quickly.

    "Indeed. The situation is most..."

    "Don't say it," said McCoy in mock exasperation.

    "Fascinating," finished Spock, raising an eyebrow in triumph.

    McCoy covered his face with his hands and groaned.

* * *

    Kismet sat lotus style on the diagnostic bed in sick bay. A med tech was showing her the different implements and how they worked.

    "This is a spray hypo," she said handing Kismet the device.

    Kismet took the hypo and examined it. A confused look developed upon her face, and she reached for the data pad and stylus with which she communicated.

    "Where's the needle?" she quickly wrote.

    The med tech tried to suppress a laugh, "We haven't used needles for hypos in years. They're still needed for transfusions, of course."

    McCoy entered the room followed by Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock carrying Kismet's sword and dagger.

    "Alright, nurse, I'll take over, now," said McCoy.

    The woman nodded and left. McCoy put on his best smile and rocked back and forth on his feet. "Well, now, you seem to be posing quite a mystery on this ship, Miss Kismet. It seems you are who you say you are, however a few interesting puzzles have popped up."

    "Do you know the name Trisha Fate," asked Spock.

    Kismet nearly blanched white (if that were possible). She pointed to herself.

    "Are you saying that you are Trisha Fate," asked an astonished Captain Kirk.

    Kismet nodded and proceeded to remove a small card laminated in plastic from her boot. She handed the card to Kirk.

    "What do you make of this, Spock?"

    "Fascinating."

    McCoy rolled his eyes.

    "It is an old-style motor vehicle operator's license," continued Spock. "It appears to be genuine."

    "Okay, so you're from the twentieth century," said Kirk still with some skepticism. "How did you get to the twenty-third century and aboard the Enterprise?"

    Kismet could only shrug her shoulders. She had hoped that they would be able to solve that mystery for her. As much as she was intrigued by her new surroundings, all she really wanted was to get home.

    "These weapons of yours," said Kirk taking the items in question from his First Officer, "why do you carry them? I'm pretty sure swords and daggers weren't hefted about in twentieth century United States as part of the local culture."

    Kismet thought about explaining her night job back home but decided instead to show them. Since the med tech had shown her how to use it, she reached for the library computer terminal and typed in access for information on twentieth century criminals - specifically Kismet. The terminal whirred for a few minutes, and the requested information revealed itself on the screen. Kismet turned the monitor around so that the others could see.

    Kirk read the information. "You're an outlaw?"

    Kismet frowned at the choice of words. She type onto the screen, "Vigilante."

    "Well," said Kirk rubbing his forehead with the tips of his fingers, as if that would relieve his frustration, "until we can figure out how you got here, I'm afraid we'll have to restrict your movements about the ship."

    Kismet frowned. Kirk turned to Spock. "Mr. Spock, please assign V.I.P. quarters for our guest."

    "Of course, Captain." Spock turned and left the sick bay.

    Kismet understood the Captain's position, but she was not happy about it. At least she wasn't going to the brig. But then she remembered from her "conversations" with Star Child that strict incarceration in the brig wasn't Kirk's style, unless you were proven dangerous to the ship and its crew.

    Kismet was escorted to one of the V.I.P. staterooms on Deck Four. It was vast in contrast to the crew's quarters within which she first awoke. The room was approximately forty feet long and twenty-five feet wide. Kirk pointed out the computerized units within the room and explained their functions, then he left.

    Kismet tried her best to figure out how she got here. Until now, Star Trek was merely an annoying television show. Upon reaching no conclusions, she decided the best thing to do was rest. First, Kismet made immediate use of the sonic shower unit. She wasn't used to the idea of cleaning up without water, but on a craft that traveled through deep space, it made sense to limit water use to essentials. The sonic vibrations managed to relax her tired body, but it was of little help for the mind. Next, she selected a personalized meal from the food processor unit. After a refreshing dinner of deviled crab, lobster tails, a light salad, and a synthesized white wine, Kismet finally decided to bed down for a time.

    Perhaps after a bit of sleep, things will be much clearer.

    She lay down upon the room's bed. It was soft but firm. It didn't take long for Kismet to drift off to sleep.

    A chime rang out which echoed throughout the room. Kismet snapped awake, not being familiar with the sound. The chime echoed again. Kismet stood and searched around the room looking at every computerized convenience for the source of the sound. Then she heard a more familiar sound. Someone was knocking on the door. Kismet walked over to the door. Upon registering her presence, the door's sensor signaled for the door to open. On the other side stood the dark woman whom she had met on the bridge.

    "Hello, Kismet," she said with a genuine smile. "I am Commander Nyota Uhura."

    Hmm, thought Kismet. Swahili.

    She handed a pad and stylus to Kismet.

    "The Captain felt that it might be a good idea to show you around the ship. To make you feel more welcome, more relaxed."

    Kismet took the pad and wrote, "Asante. Asante sana."

    Uhura's mouth opened in surprise.  "You know Swahili?"

    Kismet wrote, "Yebo," meaning yes.  "I am fluent in about twenty different languages."

    Uhura looked her charge over.  "Perhaps you might consider a change of clothes. What you're wearing now seems a bit...revealing."

    Kismet smiled.  This from a woman who used to wear a mini skirt for a uniform.  On the pad she wrote, "I like to make a fashion statement."

    Uhura merely shrugged, and the two started down the corridor.

* * *

    Kirk and Spock were in the Officers' Lounge on Deck Three huddled over a game of Three-dimensional Chess. It was Spock's move, and as usual, he was having difficulty determining Kirk's unorthodox method of strategy.

    "I still find it hard to believe that she is from twentieth century Earth and be Ambassador Fate at the same time," said Kirk.

    Spock reached up and moved a knight from the game's second level and placed it on a square at the the top level.

    "I would seem," said Spock, "that perhaps Kismet is an ancestor of Ambassador Fate's."

    Kirk sat up. "How could you have three hundred years distance between two people and still have them look like twin sisters?" asked Kirk. "I would think that quite a bit of new gene material would have reduced the chances of that happening."

    Spock raised an eyebrow. "Indeed," he intoned, "I was merely making a supposition."

    Kirk smiled at his friend. "Of course, and what would logic suggest?"

    Spock's brow knitted in concentration, though he was not concentrating on the game. "I believe that Kismet is, in fact, Ambassador Fate at an earlier age, and that Ambassador Fate has an age that spans centuries."

    Kirk pursed his lips.  "It's possible. We've certainly met our share of near immortal beings. One or two of whom have been on Earth."

    "Indeed," agreed Spock.

* * *

    Kismet and Uhura were walking through the botanical garden on deck twenty.  All around them were various plants and flowers, many from alien planets.  Kismet studied each one closely.

    This can't be a dream, she thought.  These details are absolutely intricate.  I've never even imagined anything like some of these.

    Kismet's observations were interrupted by the sound of someone humming.  Upon looking up, she noticed a small work bench at the far end of the garden toward the ship's aft.  Sitting at the table and trimming a bonsai bush while humming was an Asian man with a long face and a pleasant expression.  Uhura walked over to him, and Kismet followed.  When the man noticed Uhura approaching he smiled.

    "Hello, Uhura."

    "Hello, Hikaru," responded Uhura.   "Is that the same tree you've been working on for the past week?"

    "Actually, it's not really a tree, and yes, it's the same one."

    As if remembering Kismet's existence, Uhura turned to introduce Kismet.  "Hikaru, I want you to meet our guest.  This is Kismet.   Kismet, this is Hikaru Sulu."

    "Pleased to meet another lovely lady," charmed Sulu taking her hand and kissing her knuckles.  In spite of herself, Kismet felt a touch coquettish.

    What the hell am I doing, she thought coming back to herself.  I'm glad Kevin isn't here to see me making a fool of myself.

    Uhura was smirking at Sulu.  "Alright, Sulu, behave yourself."

    Kismet preoccupied herself with some of the plants on the table while the other two conversed.  One of the flowers moved.  Kismet jumped back a bit attracting Uhura and Sulu's attention.

    "Oh," said Sulu rising.  "I'm sorry. I guess you've never met a Bauregard Weeper before."

    Sulu walked over to the plant which had a tall, pithy, green stem covered in short leaves.  At the top was a single, fuchsia bloom, the petals of which were moving like a claw with multiple fingers.  Sulu tickled the flower beneath the bloom. It seem to respond to the touch with high pitch chirping noise.  Sulu invited Kismet to do the same, but she politely declined.  There was just something disturbing about a flower that moved like an animal.

    Sensing Kismet mood, Uhura said to Sulu, "Well, we'd best be moving on.  There are other things to see."

    Sulu nodded, still smiling. "Maybe next time."   

* * *

    Kismet and Uhura visited the recreation lounge, and the officers' mess.  They even visited the swimming pool located on the bottom deck of the secondary hull.  Finally, Uhura took Kismet to one of the crew lounges.  Here she introduced Kismet to a group of crewmen who had formed a small band.  Uhura, it seemed, was their vocalist.  Kismet enjoyed the music, although it was unfamiliar to her.

    One of the band members was an ensign who had a saxophone.   Kismet asked to see his instrument.

    "It belonged to my great-grandfather," said the ensign, "but it still plays well."

    I'll be the judge of that, thought Kismet with a smirk.

    She hefted the tenor sax and scrutinized its condition.  Then, she put the mouth piece to her lips and began playing one of her favorite Boney James tunes.  The others in the lounge quickly quieted down as they began to realize that they were in the presence of a master saxophone player.  The other players immediately picked up the beat and improvised around her.  When she finished, the lounge erupted in applause.

    "That was fantastic," beamed the ensign.  "I didn't know it was supposed to sound like that!"

    "You're very good," said Uhura encouragingly.

    Kismet shrugged modestly and the other band members laughed.

* * *

    "Kirk, until we can find out the truth about this woman's claims, she is to be kept under tight surveillance," said the Starfleet Commander.  "The president of the Federation himself deems this an extremely important matter.  Your orders are to bring her to the nearest starbase for questioning.  Starfleet Command out."

    Kirk toggled off the intraship communicator and looked at Spock.

    "Not at all an unexpected reaction," said Spock.  "Considering the high level of clearance held by Ambassador Fate, the upper echelon of the Federation would consider this matter to be of paramount importance."

    Kirk rubbed his chin as he pondered the situation.   Coming to a final decision, he punches the intraship communicator.  "Kirk to bridge."

    "Chekov here."

    "Lay in a course for the nearest starbase.   Ahead warp factor six."

    "Aye, sair."

* * *

    Trisha entered her assigned quarters.  It had been a long and eventful day.  She had spent a lot of time with the band in the crew lounge teaching old, forgotten songs and learning new ones.  Commander Uhura had gone back on bridge duty.  Now, Trisha had time to herself.  Time to study her current status.  Would she ever get back home to her time?  Was there really another Trisha Fate somewhere else in the galaxy?  Trisha didn't know what to make of things.  She decided to perform her usual bedtime ritual with a mug of hot chocolate milk.  At last, she lay down on the bed.  Perhaps she could get used to living in the twenty-third century, but she'd try to find some way home, as best she could.

    It didn't take long for sleep to take hold of Kismet, but it didn't last long. Again the alert klaxon sounded. When Kismet awoke, she found herself in a different room.

    Oh, no! Not again!

    This time Kismet decided to leave the room first. When she stepped outside, she noticed the corridors were much different than before. She started down the corridor only to meet face to face with a tall, dark-skinned man with an odd, bony, plate-like formation on his forehead.

    "Drop your weapons, now!" he roared.

    Instinctively, Kismet reached back for her katana, and discovered, too late, that it was a bad move. A beam of energy lanced out at her from a weapon the creature was holding and hurled Kismet backwards. Blackness engulfed her vision.

* * *

    Kismet awoke feeling stiff and a bit dizzy.

    No doubt the result of that phaser, thought Kismet, suddenly remembering what it was the Klingon was holding. I must be aboard the Enterprise-D this time.

    As she stood and stretched, she noticed a strange pale-faced man with gold-colored eyes. She walked toward him and was surprised to run into an invisible wall. The energy beam became slightly visible when she came in contact with it, then it disappeared again.

    Impressive, thought Kismet.

    She nearly jumped when the man spoke in a soft, yet matter-of-fact, tone. "I am Lt. Commander Data. The Captain wishes to speak to you. I am here to escort you to him."

    Kismet smiled. So, this is the famous Pinocchio.

    She wasn't much of a Star Trek fan, but she enjoyed hearing about the exploits of the android Data who, in his quest for being human, was actually more human than most of us. The force field dissipated, and Data motioned for her to step out, like a gentleman holding a door for his lady. The two walked out of the security area and boarded a turbolift.

    "Bridge," said Data.

    The lift acknowledged the command and began its speedy ascent. Kismet studied Data closely during the trip. The android tipped his head slightly.

    "Is there something wrong?"

    Kismet blushed with embarrassment at being discovered and merely stared at the wall instead. The doors snapped open. Kismet gasped as she stepped out of the lift. The sheer size of the bridge took her breath away.

    Not bad. Put hoop at each end and you could play a decent game of basketball.

    As she looked around, the duty officers only afforded her the briefest of curious glances, with the exception of the Klingon security officer who glowered at her for a good two minutes before returning to his station.

    "This way please," said Data pointing to a door opposite the turbolift.

    They entered a short hallway which led to a room with a long table surrounded by twelve cushioned chairs. At first, Kismet was drawn to the seven large windows which offered a panoramic view of outer space. The stars went streaking into the distance in a blaze of rainbows. The sound of someone clearing his throat brought her thoughts back inside the room. In three of the chairs on the far side of the room sat a young man with dark hair and a close-cropped beard and trim mustache; an older man with white hair, though mostly bald, who held a definite air of dignity about himself; and an attractive young woman with dark wavy hair and eyes that seemed to penetrate to the depths of the soul. The younger man held a blank face and at the same time was scrutinizing the enemy for signs of weakness. The woman simply sat passively, as if she were merely an observer, but not completely detached from goings-on. The older man's face was plain but serious, full of expectations. He was the first to speak.

    "I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the U.S.S. Enterprise. Who might you be?"

    Kismet covered her face with one hand and sighed. Great, here I go again.

    "What do you mean by that?"

    Immediately, all eyes focussed on the woman.

    "Counselor?" asked the Captain.

    She turned to Picard with a surprised look upon her face. "I can read her thoughts clearly. She distinctly said `Here I go again.'"

    The younger man looked confused. "I thought because you were half human you couldn't read people's minds."

    "Apparently, this woman has the ability to project her thoughts to people with high PSI ratings," replied the counselor.

    Kismet's face brightened. That's probably because my sister is an ESPer. We converse with our minds constantly.  I guess I'm acclimated to doing it without thinking about it.

    "What is your name?" asked the woman.

    Kismet.

    "Kismet," repeated the woman for the benefit of the others.

    "A very unusual name, I must admit," said Picard. "Where are you from?"

    "Monument City, New York. United States of America. 1991," relayed the counselor.

    A look of incredulity slowly crept across Picard's face followed by skepticism. "You're a time traveler?"

    "Not intentionally," responded the counselor. "To be honest I don't know how I got here. I was in my room sleeping. When I woke up, I was on board the original Enterprise commanded by Captain James T. Kirk."

    The younger man, Kismet recalled his name as Riker, shifted in his seat. "You expect us to believe that?"

    "No, not really. But it's the truth. They couldn't figure out how I got on board, so they put me in a secured room. I decided to get some sleep and `Whamo!' here I am."

    The counselor couldn't help but smile at the colloquialism. She looked at Picard directly. "Captain, I sense no deception here. What she is telling us is the truth as she understands it."

    The Captain seemed to contemplate something. "Mr. Data, check out any information on the appearance of a `Kismet' on the original Enterprise."

    Data looked as if he were searching for something inside himself. After a few moments, he snapped back to reality. "There does seem to be an incident where an intruder called Kismet appeared on the Constitution class heavy cruiser U.S.S. Enterprise: NCC-1701-A. The intruder was incarcerated and soon disappeared without a trace. There were no recorded time displacements, no record of transporter use, and the shuttle craft and lifeboat modules were all in place. A cross reference made by science officer Spock revealed that she was also Trisha Fate, a Federation ambassador who was assigned to communicate with the inhabitants of Lactra VII and disappeared shortly thereafter."

    "Thank you, Mr. Data," said Picard. "I want you to work on finding out how our guest happened to arrive here. Perhaps you can find something that our predecessors could not."

    "Yes, sir."

    "Counselor Troi, I would like you to work with Miss Kismet and try to get as much information as possible about the incidents that occurred leading her here. Also, assign quarters for our guest to stay in."

    "Yes, Captain."

    "Well," finished Picard, "if there's nothing else, this meeting is adjourned."

* * *

    Troi and Kismet sat opposite each other at a table in Ten Forward Lounge. A small dark woman in a flowing blue gown and a flat-topped blue hat walked up to them.

    "Hello, Deanna. Can I get something for you and your friend?"

    A shocked response came from Kismet.

    Troi looked up and smiled. "Guinan, this is Kismet. She is a visitor from..."

    "The past," finished Guinan. "I know. The only thing that travels faster than a starship at full warp is rumor. So, what can I get you?"

    "Nothing for me right now." Troi paused. "But Kismet will have a ginger ale."

    "Good choice," said Guinan. "Won't find a better ginger ale anywhere else in the galaxy."

    After Guinan left them, Troi looked at Kismet. "Who's Whoopi Goldberg?"

    Kismet smiled. It's not important.

    "So, what did you do for a living back in the twentieth century?"

    I illegally took it upon myself to fight crime.

    "Why illegally?"

    Kismet's face darkened.

    A friend of mine was paralyzed from the waist down in a hit and run. There were no witnesses except myself, and the police were nowhere to be found.

    Troi was slightly confused. "I'm sorry, `hit and run'?"

    A man driving a car, a combustion engine vehicle, came careening down the street at incredible speed and ran into her while she was crossing the street. He didn't even slow down to see what he hit. She...she almost died. I wanted so much to go after that bastard, but I had to take care of Joy. That's her name.

    "I'm sorry," said Troi sympathetically, reaching for Kismet's hand.

    Hell, I don't have anything against the police. Most of the time they do a great job, but crime in my town has overrun their efficiency. They can't be everywhere at all times. The law helps them and protects the rights of the victims, but it also prevents them from taking the necessary measures to be as effective as possible.

    "So you decided to work outside of the law."

    Kismet smiled weakly. Just call me a conscientious objector.

    "Here's your ginger ale," said Guinan approaching the table. Kismet thanked her with a nod and a smile. "Not much of a talker, huh?"

    "She's mute," offered Troi.

    "Uh-huh," said Guinan as if she already knew. "Well perhaps you'd like to meet our chief engineer Geordi La Forge. He has a disability, too. He's also learned to cope with it. In fact, he believes that it has improved him in some ways."

    Kismet strained to think of who Geordi La Forge was. Oh, yeah! Kunta Kinté. The cute guy with the VISOR. Laughs like Immanuel Lewis.

    Troi looked at Kismet curiously. "That's the second time you've referred to another name when you were told about someone on this ship."

    Guinan simply looked at Kismet and said, "Oh, really?"

    Damn! Uhm, some people just remind me of celebrities back home.

    "But how did you know Geordi wears a VISOR? You've never met him," prodded Troi.

    At this point Guinan sat down, put an elbow on the table and rested her head in her hand and stared intently at Kismet. "I want to hear this one."

    Kismet looked helplessly from one to the other, then dropped her head. Promise me you won't tell anyone. The fewer people who know, the better.

    After Troi relayed her condition to Guinan, Kismet began to explain the phenomenon known to everyone in the late twentieth century as Star Trek. Troi and Guinan both sat motionless as Troi quietly repeated everything that Kismet thought to her. When she was done, all that could be heard was the buzz of the other conversations going on around them.

    "That's incredible," muttered Troi.

    Guinan simply held the same expression as if they had been discussing the weather.

    I'd just as soon forget the whole thing.

    Kismet brightened suddenly. So, when do I get to meet this Geordi La Forge guy?

* * *

    In engineering, Troi led Kismet to a small office. Inside sat a young, Black man with what looked like a modified hair comb covering his eyes.

    "Geordi, there's someone here I want you to meet."

    La Forge looked up and a broad grin stretched across his face.

    "You must be Kismet."

    Kismet smiled in return and nodded.

    La Forge rose from his chair and walked around the desk with an outstretched hand. "Pleased to meet you."

    "Geordi, Kismet wanted to meet you because of your VISOR," offered Troi. "She also has a disability. She can't speak."

    Geordi's smile dimmed slightly, but it didn't disappear altogether. "I see. Well, would you like me to show you around?"

    Kismet nodded.

    "Okay, right this way."

    Geordi, took Kismet to many of the major interest spots on the Enterprise. Upon reaching one of the recreation rooms, they discovered Worf practicing with a very stylized sword. This caught Kismet's interest. They watched until Worf acknowledged their presence with a scowl.

    "I'd sure hate to go up against Worf with a weapon like that," said Geordi. "I'd hate to go up against Worf period."

    Kismet smirked with a sinister glower. She pointed at Worf then herself, then the sword. Geordi realized all too well what she was asking.

    "Listen, you reeally don't want to do that," he said with urgency.

    Worf sneered. "If she wishes to challenge me, let her."

    Kismet crossed the room to where an identical sword hung on the wall and removed it from its resting place. Judging its weight, Kismet tossed the weapon straight up and caught the hilt as it spun back toward her. She then commenced with a series of circular swings to either side of her body.

    Geordi whistled. "I guess you already know how to handle one of those."

    "If that was supposed to impress me," growled the Klingon, "it didn't."

    The two took defensive stances opposite each other and began to circle. Worf made the first lunge, and Kismet parried it neatly to one side. He lunged again, and Kismet blocked. Each time the swords met, force fields around the blades revealed that a sword connecting with a person would be non-fatal. Worf swung for Kismet's legs, and she fluidly jumped over the blade.

    He immediately swung back at a higher level. Kismet took him by surprise by leaping straight up and somersaulting over him instead of ducking as was expected. However, Worf spun around in time to block a blow from the rear. A feral grin covered his face. He was definitely impressed this time.

    Before the battle could continue, Geordi's communicator pin spoke out.

    "Riker to La Forge."

    Geordi, whose heart had stopped pumping up until now, hesitated a bit before responding.

    "La Forge here."

    "Please escort Miss Kismet to the bridge."

    "Acknowledged. Sorry, Worf, maybe some other time."

    "I will be waiting," said Worf with the tone of a warrior who had found the ultimate challenge.

    Kismet smiled and presented him with her weapon, then turned and left with Geordi.

* * *

    "Sorry we're late, sir, but Kismet wanted to challenge Worf in game of Battleswords," said La Forge.

    Riker's eyebrows went up. "I take it Mr. Worf wasn't too hard on you," said Riker with a grin.

    Geordi shook his head. "Commander, as far as I'm concerned, she was winning."

    "It seems Mr. Data has been unable to determine how it is you appeared on board the Enterprise," broke in Picard. "Unfortunately, nothing of what you have told us has provided any insight into solving the problem. Starfleet Command has assured us that they will continue to work on it. In the meantime, we will be dropping you off at Starbase 12. Hopefully, you will be able to get transport back to Earth. It won't be the twentieth century version you remember, but I'm sure you'll still find that it is indeed home."

    Kismet didn't frown, but she didn't smile either. Could she really get used to an Earth that had changed so much, especially since her friends were now all dead? Troi sensed the turmoil she was going through, but said nothing. Kismet merely turned around and left the room.

* * *

    Kismet entered the spacious room she was assigned. It was normally given to bachelor officers, but this one was available for special guests. Tears rolled down her cheeks. It seemed she would never get home - to her home. She wondered if the others had missed her in years past. Kismet flopped down on the bed and slowly drifted to sleep. Suddenly, a sharp buzzing noise sounded. Kismet snapped awake and looked around. She was in her own room in her own apartment. Upon looking down at herself, she noticed that, once again, she was wearing her ivory charmeuse instead of the stylized blue uniform of Kismet. Trisha slapped the alarm clock into silence. Something next to it glittered in the morning light. It was a communicator pin from the Enterprise-D. Trisha started to pick it up and thought better of it. She hastily put on some clothes and grabbed her transtator band. She had to make an apology.

* * *

    The knock on her door woke Star Child with a start. She yawned and rubbed her eyes. Who would be knocking this early in the morning? Star Child got up and groggily walked to the door. Upon opening it, she snapped fully awake.

    "Trisha, what are you doing here?"

    "I came to apologize," replied Trisha's transtator. "I realize how much Star Trek reminds you of where you come from. I should respect that. I'm sorry for being so evil."

    Star Child smiled. "It's okay, Trish, really. I realize that I was going on like a broken record player. I should realize that everyone doesn't share the same interests as I do."

    Trisha smiled also. "I understand there's a new Star Trek movie showing now. Wanna go see it?"

    "Do I ever! But I thought you didn't like Star Trek?"

    "A girl can change her mind, can't she?"

    "Great! Oh, did you see the present I left on your night table?"

    Trisha looked confused. "Present?"

    "Yeah, it's a replica of the Star Trek: The Next Generation communicator pin. It makes the chirping noise and it can interface with telephone lines. I made it myself."

    "Oh, that! Sure, I saw it. Thanks."

    "What'd ya think, that somebody beamed it into your room or something?"

    Trisha grinned. "You'd be surprised at what can happen these days."