Better than a kick in the knickers with a winklepicker

Labour - a world of Ow.

Tue, 14 Jul 2009 20:51:33 GMT

Thanks for the various congrats - unoriginal_liz, of course I don't mind you commenting! (loved the icon too).Everything still very strange - used to it just being me & Vi kicking around the house, and of course, used to a toddler who cheerfully goes to bed at 8 and doesn't bother us until about 7 the next morning, meaning last night's 12.30am, 3.20am and 5.30am feeds (when he refused to settle after the latter, and was hiccupping and sicking after most of them) came as a shock to the system. Alex is, so far, fairly low maintenance compared to how Vi was in the early stages though. We'll see if that lasts.

So - let me regale you with the story of my second - and, unless I have a massive change of heart, final - labour.

Much simpler and shorter than Vi's induced labour (those wanting to compare & contrast, here is the story of Violet's birth) but still not really one I'd recommend. Why does nature make putting these blighters in feel so nice and getting them out the most painful, body-damaging process possible?

As I mentioned in the locked post on Friday, I woke up at about half 5 with regular, low, period type cramps, and I actually managed to get a bit more sleep after taking some paracetamol once Hubs had elected to take the day off work and look after Vi since I was tired and we didn't know if this was going to turn into labour. At no point did the pains get closer together or more regular - they just slowly got stronger and stronger through the day. By the time I posted they were like the worst kinds of period pain I'm aware of. We called the MiL and asked her to come up in case we'd have to go to hospital, Hubs napped while Vi did since none of us knew how long it would take - I was in too much pain to sleep by that point, even with paracetamol, so I twittered and did some light housework to try to keep my mind off it. By 4-ish I was having to jiggle from one foot to the other through the cramps - my 'labour-dance'. I was sure this was it now, and the MiL had arrived, so we went off to hospital. Saw a lovely midwife who was like a blonde Jo Brand, but who also guessed that I really wasn't ready for them to take me yet. An internal confirmed my fears - my stupid, reclusive Narnia-cervix was still in Narnia and merrily clamped shut. Woe. We were sent home with worrying advice like 'try to sleep' and 'eat and drink as normal', suggesting I could be this way overnight at least. We went home and sat with our next door neighbour who were entertaining Vi & MiL with a playdate with their granddaughter. They gave me wine & crisps and we talked childbirth as the labour pains got ever stronger. We went home for tea at about quarter to 6, but I was suddenly nauseated by the thought of eating and tried to rest in bed. By this point though, I couldn't stay lying down with a contraction and had to pace around the bed, touching every bedknob. Labour-dance had turned into labour-OCD. I'd forgotten about the Mantras from Vi's labour, the touching things was a weird silent version of that. As they were finishing tea I thought I really wanted to go to hospital, but I remember the Birthing Unit were engaged, so for some reason I decided to wait through the whole of Vi's bathtime, timing my contractions. By the time Vi was bathed and Pyjamad, things were getting desperate. I didn't need to push yet, but the pains were getting 'bowel-y'. Had the most uncomfortable car journey ever up to the hospital. Then had to wait for what seemed like an age in the delivery suite they'd put us in for a midwife to come. Once I'd fallen on the bed because I couldn't physically stand any more and started screaming into the pillow, Hubs went to grab somebody. Another internal showed I was only 3cm dilated. Stupid cervix.

And here's where I discovered exactly how willful that part of my anatomy is - it's The Fastest Cervix In The West. A couple of contractions after I'd been confirmed as 'only 3cm', I needed to push. I'd gone from 3cm to 8cm in a couple of minutes. I'm pretty sure at that point that I had Gas & Air, but it was taken away from me again soon after when my waters broke in spectacular, Exorcist fashion, revealing meconium in the water and a pressing need now to get the kid out.

Things were made yet more pressing by the revelation of a policy of the Birthing Unit that I wasn't previously aware of - if you're pushing for more than an hour, they can't keep you, they have to transfer you to the nearest proper Maternity Unit. WHICH IS IN ASHFORD. I was facing a half hour ambulance ride, when I just needed above everything to stay where I was and push. One midwife managed to talk me into getting off my back and onto my knees, holding the headboard of the bed for support. Moving was awful, but actually the best thing ever because suddenly I was in control. The weird thing about labour is that towards the very end, although you're very uncomfortable and beyond exhausted, once the kid's in the birth canal it doesn't actually hurt so much - didn't with me, anyway. I could feel Alex's head so close to being out by the time the ambulance drivers got there and was absolutely determined not to go - he wouldn't even have been born in the ambulance, by this point I knew he'd be born on the gurney halfway through the hospital. I remember about three good pushes, followed by a massive release, and for a second forgot that you need one final good push to get the shoulders and the rest of the kid through. I can remember slumping forwards on the headboard, a large amount of vomit on my favourite TShirt (hadn't had time to change - and you'd better believe I exorcist-sicked on one of Hubs' best TShirts too!), noting that my hair and face were absolutely slick with sweat, but not realising how hot the room was, aware of a large pool of blood around my knees, repeating 'I did it' at considerable volume. That was at 10.20 - two hours after we'd got to the hospital.

I didn't believe that I had torn - I'd felt no pain on him coming out - but apparently I had done - badly. It took as long to stitch me up again as it had to give birth. Everyone was baking hot except me - I was shivering. The good news was that, since stitches are painful & that, they were going to let me sup on Gas & Air again. Wheee! To be honest, the afterpains were bothering me more than the stitches (they'd given me a local, after all) but I'd have faked pain to get my hands on lovely, lovely G&A. Hell, I deserved it.

That was when the fun began. Everything was happening a half-speed. Everyone sounded like Paul Robeson to me. I quoted Aliens at people. I sang a Michael Jackson Medley - loudly. I insisted that one of the midwives had been my teacher back in Ilkeston. I said that the other midwife looked like Annette Crosbie. I claimed - unfairly and cruelly - that my newborn son looked like Adrian Childs. I laughed my arse off, which was unfortunate since it was my arse they were attempting to fix in the first place.

They were pretty much done with me by about 1am, when I had the world's most needed bath ever - which turned a pretty revolting colour rather quickly. Then they wheeled us into the lovely double room where they let us stay for several nights. I failed to sleep, even though Alex was quiet and dozy. I couldn't come down for hours. Then I woke up and discovered that I was incapable of moving. Besides the obvious, I appeared to have strained muscles in my arms, legs, shoulders, neck and face. My eyebrows hurt. My one concession to making myself human that day was to have a shower, wash the sweat from my hair and put on a new pair of super sultry paper pants. That was the furthest I went all day - the bathroom. I spent pretty much that whole day in bed. The next day I actually bothered to put on 'day clothes' - namely being a pair of joggers and one of Hubs' old TShirts. I've got makeup on and everything today - I'm getting there!

POP!

Mon, 13 Jul 2009 16:15:39 GMT

I have a son! Alex was born on Friday night after a relatively short & uncomplicated (but still very painful & knackering) labour. I have strained muscles I didn't even know I had (and no, I don't just mean 'down there' - I feel like I've just got back from a marathon Yoga session with Satan himself instructing).

Back home now, but V busy catching up as well as juggling the needs of both kiddies. Shall post more/reply when I get the chance.

Scribbles xxxx

Unpopular Fandom Opinions Meme

Thu, 09 Jul 2009 20:29:34 GMT

Yoinked from mrs_picard

Name a fandom, and I'll give you the scoop on at least three of my unpopular opinions related to that fandom.

D&DC
1 - I think Hank's a bit of a douche
2 - I think Venger's the gayest gay what ever did gay. He's all about the boy-batty.
3 - As far as I'm concerned, the greatness of D&DC is all down to the characters. If anybody starts even mentioning the game it's based on or the 'rules' of the fantasy world, I fall into a coma.

Press Gang
1 - Spike is not in the least bit attractive to me.
2 - I ship Sam & Kenny harder than I do Spike & Lynda.
3 - I think Kerr's a massive bellend.

TNG
1 - I think Season 1 sucks. If I'd watched it from the start instead of falling in around S4, I'd never have given it a chance.
2 - I'm convinced that Data is a Masochist. And a bisexual.
3 - I love Bitches on TNG. Yes, even Ro. Yes, even Vash!

Lost
(I'd say 'I think Jack's a dick', but I don't think that's too unpopular an opinion!)
1 - I feel monumentally sorry for Ben, and remain convinced that all he really needs is a shag.
2 - Every element of the Jack/Kate/Sawyer triangle bores me to tears. The only part of that whole mess that I liked was Sawyer/Juliet, but that's gone for a Burton now.
3 - I believe that the writer's strike was the best thing that happened to the storytelling of that show, and that if the early series had been as short as the later series, it wouldn't have lost so many peoples' interest earlier on.

Oh. For. Fuck's. Sake.

Thu, 09 Jul 2009 19:43:23 GMT

ARGH!

'Every pregnancy is different', I thought.
'The second one tends to come out easier,' I thought.
'Everything else has been happening much earlier on with this pregnancy, so the birth probably will too', I thought.
'I've been having Braxton Hicks for ages, and really painful contractions for several evenings in a row - I must have dilated loads by now', I thought.

In fact, I was a little surprised to make it a week overdue so that I needed to go in for a membrane sweep today in the first place. But I thought, considering all the contractions I've been having, that they'd get it done and the rest would be history. Rerun would most likely be born tomorrow.

But, oh no. I forgot about my stupid fucking cervix, which is apparently so far back it's practically in fucking Narnia. This wilfully recluse part of my anatomy has given me a particularly nightmarish time with every smear test in my life (always fun when they have to crack open the extra-long speculum), refused to soften even a little for two attempted membrane sweeps with Vi, remained Fort Knox-like even after hours of inducement-drugged contractions, then shot open over a few hours meaning I was needing to push before the bloody midwives even believed I was really in labour.

And now I really fear that history will repeat itself. They're trying for another sweep on Sunday, but considering there was no chance today even after all the evenings of contractions I've had I'm not holding my breath. On Sunday they'll be booking me in for inducement - probably on Wednesday. I really, really, really don't want to be induced, but I have a horrible feeling that I will anyway.

So frustrated. So very frustrated that all the pain I'm going through every evening at the moment is for nothing. My stupid body gets pregnant at the drop of a hat, and then retains the bloody kid forever. It's like a fucking baby-sponge! Whaaaah!!!

Mon, 06 Jul 2009 13:50:57 GMT

Still not popped.

Have some Melancoly Beatles for a rainy Monday.

Endgame Chapter 3

Sat, 04 Jul 2009 22:20:06 GMT

Ayyy! Managed to get another chapter of Engame under my belt before Poppage! http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4895260/3/

And, yeppers, we have a Fatality! Told you there'd be death. Not the last one, either.

Sat, 04 Jul 2009 20:24:21 GMT

Still Pregnant.

Carry on.

Ooh, one interesting thing - we did realise the other night that the woman playing the 'Mister Snappy' Mum in Psychoville is Alex Kelly from Hubs' film - barely recognisable under loads of blonde curls!

The people a few doors down are having a garden party. With bunting and everything. STOP HAVING FUN WHEN I CAN'T, PEOPLE OF BRITAIN!

You're doin' flips, read our lips, you're in love!

Thu, 02 Jul 2009 14:48:24 GMT

Still here. Still hot, impatient & beyond irritable. At least this means I should be able to watch Mitchell & Webb & Psychoville tonight.

Nothing really to add, so here is probably my favourite Disney Song ever instead.

But if you take a look inside yourself you might just find some in there...

Tue, 30 Jun 2009 13:08:57 GMT

Jesus Wept! Am I seeing things or does the front page of OK Magazine actually have a blurry photo of a possibly-dead-certainly-dying Jacko being bundled into the ambulance? Did I miss a meeting where it was decided that any pretence of respect for the dying or bereaved relatives is now going to be ignored in favour of ghoulish voyerurism? Whatever you think of the bloke - I've never been a big fan in particular and went off him personally around the Earthsong/Jarvisgate incident, but I enjoy his music from the 70s & 80s still - he was still a human being, splashing pictures of him dying on the front page to flog copies of your shitty downmarket gossip rag is still diabolical. Whether the family approved of it or not (and from what I've heard about them, I wouldn't put it past 'em) it's still grotesque. We really are no better than the cunts who used to pay to point and laugh at Bedlam patients, aren't we? Modern media is rubbish.

CAPSLOCK STILL HERE

Mon, 29 Jun 2009 19:34:08 GMT

Have had a few 'proper' (ie both crampy & achey) contractions this evening - will they stay? Will they go? That's the beauty of childbirth - we just don't know! Hope I pop soon though - it's so bloody hot!

My Showbiz Chum Off The Telly (and I think I can now happily refer to him as My Showbiz Chum - he has recently enquired as to my wellbeing, and called me 'a very funny lady', so suck on that!) David Schneider appears to want me to LiveTweet the Labour. To which there is only one suitable reply -

I have Pralines & Cream Icecream in the freezer, and ISIHAC to listen to. These are good things.

Oh, and I highly recommend renting out 'If You See God, Tell Him', if you can - 4 parter black comedy drama by David Renwick from back in 1993. Very of-its-time, but considering that the main things it satirises are over-commercialisation, dumbing down and the then-Government's handling of Recession and mass unemployment, it's still very current. Wonderful performances from Richard Briers and Imelda Staunton as well as lots of great cameos, but the one who really shines is Ade Edminson, very much against type as a Meldrew-esque put-upon suburban everyman. Gloriously dark & surreal - touches of Gilliam, especially 'Brazil', which it seems to directly reference in certain shots.

Sun, 28 Jun 2009 20:09:45 GMT

At no point in a woman's life should she ever find herself describing the state of her cervix to her own mother.

Oh, late pregnancy - never change.

(Still not popped, in case you hadn't guessed.)

Ee-Hee!

Fri, 26 Jun 2009 09:02:03 GMT

He's With Elvis Now.

Wherever that is.

Tune for you

Thu, 25 Jun 2009 14:37:04 GMT

Still not popped.

Love this remix of 'Being For The Benefit of Mr Kite'.

All pretty normal until 1:48 where it breaks into She's So Heavy and Helter Skelter on top of the end of Mr Kite. For some reason, it makes me think of Twelfth Night. It makes me want to do a version of the play set in a Mental Institute.

TRAIN COMING! TRAIN COMING!!!

Tue, 23 Jun 2009 19:53:54 GMT

Vi had her first train ride today! She bloody loved it! We had another Playgroup Excursion to this park not far from Dover - it had been rescheduled from a fortnight ago when it had been raining, which was great because it's been a glorious day today. Vi had loads of fun, played with her little friend Henry (chased him around a lot shouting 'Henry, come back!'), kicked balls, climbed on climbing frames, covered me in chocolate icecream while remaining immaculate herself somehow - the lot.

One minor point, I'll have to create a virtual memo to myself that while my pride in many of my friends writing and publishing both online and in paper Gay Erotica is a fun addition to many discussions about literature, mentioning it to a group of mums from a Church Playgroup in the presence of their tots might not be a great idea. There was Tumbleweed Moment, and the conversation moved on. Hopefully they'll forget about that one or attribute the faux-pas to somebody else.

Great toddler conversation from today:

Little Boy to Vi: You're a Bashy-Bashy!
Vi: Not Bashy-Bashy; Vi-Vi. I'm a little girl.
Little Boy: I'm a boy. I've got a winkie!
Vi: I've got a winkie!

Also, while colouring in and waiting for her dinner, Vi picked up the calculator, held it to her ear as t'were a mobile phone and said:

Hello, Nana. (*pause*) Playing. I'm drawing Igglepiggle. (*pause*) Mummy's pretty, Daddy's pretty, Vi-Vi's pretty. (*pause*) OK. Bye-bye.

That kid. Cuter than a kitten full of baby rabbits.

This is a ma-a-a-an's world...

Mon, 22 Jun 2009 20:56:22 GMT

Still here. Still not popped.

You know what? I'm going to see if I can't start a Meme, just for shits & giggles. It's an idea I came up with the other night...

Female characters tend not to have as much love in Fandom as males as a whole. It's most likely an outcome that results from a number of factors - I'm not just going to blame it on institutional misogyny, I don't think it's that simple. But I still don't like it. So, why not give the women and girls in your fandom/s a bit of love - Post with some of your favourite fictional females, and tell us why you like them. And pass it on!

Lynda Day

Every time some idiot who's only ever seen NuWho of The Moff's work claims based on that that he 'can't write female characters' I want to reach through the computer screen and staple a Garfield to their head. Lynda is complex, fierce, uncompromising, deep, furiously moral... she tries too hard to hide her concience, her fondness for those she keeps close and her anxiety - probably because as a girl in a man's world she perceives them as weaknesses. She struggles not to be seen to struggle and is therefore easily written off as a 'bitch', but she's actually probably the least bitchy female in Press Gang's core cast... OK, not counting Sarah! But the main reason I love her...? She is the world's worst dressed teen protagonist. Bar none. God bless her.

Turanga Leela

Like Lynda, Leela overcompensates for the massive insecurities she feels due to her appearance & upbringing by constantly trying to outperform at everything - not too difficult a task when you work for Planet Express. And like Lynda, she often goes in with all guns blazing without properly thinking things through, as well as often pushing away the one guy who really gets her - she's so used to being alone, plus she's a bit of a fantasist and has ideals that people can rarely live up to. I love her because she's such an outsider - she's so awkward - and so wonderfully unglamorous.

Daisy Steiner

Daisy is probably the most genuine female character I've ever seen. She's lovingly written and performed - an overweight, unfocussed, childlike geek, dreamer and aspiring writer in her mid 20s... watching Spaced in my early 20s I felt for the first time that I was watching a sympathetic character that was so close to being me. I was Daisy Steiner. I still am Daisy Steiner, a little. She's actually got the better wardrobe.

Kaylee & Zoe

There's no way I can choose between these two ladies, even though they couldn't be more different - Kaylee the sweet, cheerful, girlish techno-nerd hick and Zoe the stoic, badass warrior woman. Both excel at 'man's work' in a masculine world without sacrificing their comfort in their femininity... Kaylee surrounds herself with pretty things and Zoe enjoys being a wife, doing wifely things and craves motherhood - and I like to think that, had Firefly (and Wash) been given a longer lifespan, we'd have seen her juggle her work and pregnancy/children. There's much to aspire to in both of these ladies.

Little girls, little girls, everything around me is little...

Sat, 20 Jun 2009 14:46:10 GMT

Nobody tell Friend Claire, but she's getting a massive box of Vi's 12-24 month clothes as her welcome-to-mummyhood prezzie! Tried to include plenty of basics as well as the pretty-pretty. Got all nostalgic packing it up. Alas, couldn't find the Monsoon Summer Trousers or purple hat o'cutery. Hey ho.

Vi's in a bit of a rotten mood today, *but* so far she hasn't complained that her teeth hurt at all - first time she's gone this long without needing Calpol since she bashed them in.

I heartily endorse this product.

Fri, 19 Jun 2009 13:47:16 GMT

Vi is slowly getting better, and as her puffy lip goes down her mouth doesn't look *too* bad any more. She's eaten loads so far today, which is good.

plus, my friend Claire has had her baby - I wanted to beat her, or least have a Father of The Bride 2 situation where we ended up having our sprogs on the same day. But it's great news for her, and she got a girl, which was what she'd hoped for.

Plus plus I am now Celebrity Endorsed on Twitter! David Schneider recommended me for Follow Friday - I'm well chuffed! I feel like I should have a badge made up.

Writer's Block: Conversion Rate

Wed, 17 Jun 2009 18:50:26 GMT

Have you ever considered converting to another religion?

View other answers

I considered becoming a Hasidic Jew for a while, but I couldn't get the ringlets right.

Dammit, Spiner! First Nemesis, now this?!?

Sun, 14 Jun 2009 13:52:08 GMT

Good Thing: Brent Spiner thinks exposing Twitter followers who tell him that Transgender people are 'A tragedy for God' (in response to a comment he'd made supporting Chastity Bono) for the ridicule they deserve is worth it for the lulz.

Indifferent Thing: I think it's funny to joke about the Pope's bizarre recent comment about LGBT people being 'as big a threat as Global Warming' at The Amazing Spiner-man.

Another Good Thing: jimmyrabbitte is a very funny guy who, while being a man of Faith, is happy to go on a long, increasingly surreal flight-of-fancy 'debate' with me about the Pope's opinions on The Spine's career, Star Trek & SciFi in general.

Very Good Thing: jimmyrabbitte is so funny that The Mighty Spine sees fit to RT one of his messages to me. Mine & Jimmy's Twitter usernames are therefore published to The Spine's half a million followers.

Not So Good Thing: Out of all those people - those 500,000 people who got half of mine & Jimmy's Twitterbanter RTd to them, who is the ONE SpineFollower that sees fit to follow me as a result? The 'LadyBoys make Baby Jeeboo Cry' woman.

Face, I don't believe you've been introduced to Palm. Palm, this is Face. You'll be working together from now on.

Actually, I haven't blocked her yet. Haven't followed her either. My crap, mimsy Leftiness wants to see the best in people and thinks from the Tweets she's made on her Profile she might be more well meaning but misguided than an actual, factual, frothing bigot. Shall give her the opportunity not to be a douche, but I'm really not sure why she's following me. Do I not wear my Atheism and Pro-LGBT-Rights Stance on my sleeve enough? Does she automatically assume that married, pregnant mums only come in Conservative? Does she think she can change my mind or is she genuinely open to the differing opinions of others? Hmm. We shal see.

'Alloo Piggie!

Sat, 13 Jun 2009 21:03:01 GMT

We've had the InLaws over today and all went out for a day trip to Farming World. Me & Vi went before, with Playgroup, but because there were more people to run around with Vi we were able to stay out much longer today. So. Much. Fun.

The B-i-L is currently obsessed with goats and spent ages cooing over various different breeds. Vi really liked the piglets, the rabbits, the shire horses and the shetland ponies. She's spent most of the rest of the day telling us that she fed the rabbit some grass and that one of the horses was lying down. She also loved the various climbing frames and spent well over an hour on them - much easier for me to sit on the grass and watch someone else scampering after her on them than to try to haul myself up there with her. Oh, and she loved my ice cream too - so much so that I had to abandon it and buy myself another, even though we'd got her a perfectly good Mini Milk.

She now has an adorable pink line over her cheeks and nose where she caught the sun.

It knackered me well out, though. I had to have a nap this afternoon.

Rollercoaster - Roads Less Travelled Pt 2

Sat, 13 Jun 2009 13:59:59 GMT

Second half of Rollercoaster - Roads Less Travelled is here.

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

Roads Less Travelled

-x-

Two

-x-

It had happened again. Well… something had happened, anyway. It would take him a while to work out precisely what that something was, however. If he were still capable of half the things he used to be; still swift and analytical of mind, still practically impossible to distract, then perhaps he would have been able to come up with a solution there and then. But things just were the way that they were. There was no changing matters, no going back…

From behind him in Engineering, Worf was calling his name. The Klingon sounded surprised and relieved. What was there to be relieved about?

He ran his fingers over his newly deceased best friend’s VISOR, and noticed that they were trembling slightly. Stupid emotions. Was he ever going to grow accustomed to them?

‘Data!’ Worf repeated, grabbing Data’s shoulder and pulling him around to face him. ‘At last. You’re alive again. You…’ Worf stopped stock still for a second, his mouth half-open in disbelief as he glanced Data up and down. ‘Oh.’
Data managed a tight smile. ‘You are not the version of Worf with whom I was speaking moments ago, are you?’
Worf shook his head.
‘It came as quite a surprise to him, too. In fact, from my point of view, this is the third occasion today in which you have been shocked at seeing me in this particular state of being.’
‘You’re human,’ mumbled Worf.
‘I had noticed that,’ Data replied, aping Worf’s hushed tone.

He stood back, aware that he was being unfair on the unfortunate, reality-hopping Klingon. It was merely that his day was going badly enough as it was without having to explain his circumstances three times to the same person.

‘I have been like this now for three years,’ Data explained. ‘I saved Q’s mortal life and he returned the favour by bestowing upon me a gift that I was not at liberty to refuse.’
‘You still sound like the old Data,’ noted Worf.
‘Yes,’ Data sighed, ‘my grasp of syntax remains the same. I have no way of ascertaining whether it is so that Q can claim that he did not entirely alter me from the being that I used to be, or merely his sadistic sense of humour at play.’ He paused. ‘I take it that your version of myself was thanked differently…?’
‘From what I’m aware, Q never so much as breathed a word of gratitude to the Data of my reality for saving his life.’
‘Then he had a fortunate escape,’ Data replied. ‘If you should ever be safely returned to your own reality, please do him the favour of advising him never to get into the “good books” of a member of the Q Contiuum ever again.’

‘You are not pleased to be human?’ Worf asked.
‘I never wished for the “magical transformation” that he facilitated,’ Data told him. ‘And, while humanity has its advantages, on days such as today it does feel like a burden.’ He felt a new swell of bitterness and grief rise up within him, but was able to bite it back down. His hands faintly trembling again, he held Geordi’s VISOR up to Worf. ‘Had I the mental capacity and speed of an android, would I have been able to save him?’
‘I can have no way of knowing,’ Worf replied. ‘Commander LaForge still died in the reality I was last in, but in that universe you had never existed, as an android or otherwise.’ Worf paused. ‘Since he died even when you were not present, it can be assumed that his death is, at least, not your fault.’

Data didn’t reply. Geordi’s name was just another that he could add to the list of people whose lives he believed he might have been able to save if left as his creator had intended. As an android, might he not have also saved Wesley, and Shelby? Might he have saved Picard from that fate worse than death? And if so, might not the Borg have been denied that further advantage that they now held over the Federation? He could not help but wonder whether his involuntary transformation into flesh and blood had made the whole universe a darker, more dangerous place in which to live.

He snapped himself out of it.

‘Time is of the essence,’ he announced to Worf, suddenly. ‘I do not know when you will switch realities again, and forget everything that I have just told you. I am certain that you will be able to acquaint yourself better with this version of reality as you continue to dwell in it.’ He sighed at the diagnostic array. ‘When you switched, something occurred to your RNA. Were I android, I would be able to process the information faster, but as it is, I will require time undisturbed to do so. Perhaps you should report to Captain Riker and inform him that you have yet again changed realities, and that I am working on the clues as to why.’
Worf stalled. ‘Captain Riker?’
‘Yes. Captain Riker. I take it that your Captain Picard was not abducted by the Borg.’
‘He was,’ Worf replied, ‘but we were able to retrieve him.’
Data looked back at him. ‘Then, it really would appear that your universe was bestowed with all of the luck.’

-x-

Matters had now reached a stage where Worf found it almost pleasantly surprising to discover that any one of his colleagues was still alive and serving with him. Besides the human Data and Captain Riker, he had been able to ascertain from his conversation with the Captain that Dr Crusher and Counsellor Troi were still present aboard the Enterprise. He was further relieved to be met outside the Ready Room by Tasha Yar.

Yar gave him a sympathetic smile. ‘So, what’s changed for you this time?’
‘Much,’ Worf replied. ‘Every time that reality changes, it becomes a little less recognisable from the one I’m accustomed to.’ He frowned. ‘Every time, yet more good people have been lost.’
‘And there was me thinking you Klingons celebrated the deaths of soldiers,’ Tasha replied in a fondly mocking tone.
‘To die in battle is a great honour,’ Worf replied. ‘To never have existed, or to have been assimilated into the Borg’s slavery… that is a different matter.’

Tasha, it seemed, had no answer to that. Worf nodded at her red Commanding Officer’s uniform.

‘You are the First Officer?’
‘Ever since Shelby was killed,’ Tasha replied. ‘You’re the Security chief, by the way. I don’t know whether you’re used to that or not.’
Worf grunted and made his way over to the Tactical console. ‘I may have to familiarise myself with the controls. Again.’

He gazed at the console. It was different to the one he was used to, but much more recognisable that the one he’d been faced with in the previous reality. He was certain that he would be able to work with it.

‘Any further questions?’ Yar prompted.
‘Yes,’ Worf muttered. There was one large difference about the previous reality that had troubled him greatly. He lowered his voice. ‘Am I… married?’
Tasha beamed. ‘I should say so.’

It was as she smiled that Worf noticed the glint of gold on the third finger of her left hand. He balked. First Troi, now Yar?!? Who would he be wedded to next – Guinan?

‘You…’ he whispered, tightly, ‘you and I are…’
Tasha cut him off with her loud, joyful laugh. ‘You and me? Not that I don’t think the world of you, Worf, but… you and me…?’ She dissolved into giggles again.

Relieved as Worf was, he couldn’t help but feel more than a little annoyed at the strength of her reaction.

‘I’m sorry,’ Tasha gasped, wiping an errant tear of mirth from the corner of her eye. ‘With what happened to Geordi, if I can’t find something to laugh at, I’ll fall apart right now. It’s just that you’re like the big Klingon brother I always should have had. I don’t think reality’s ever going to get that weird. Besides, I just can’t imagine you with anybody other than Deanna.’
‘So, I am still married to Counsellor Troi.’
‘I think it’s generally the done thing to refer to one’s spouse by their first name, but yes.’
‘And you...?’

The Turbolift doors opened and Data stepped on to the Bridge. Seeing the being he had always known to be an android suddenly turned human was certainly one of the more unsettling changes to Worf’s concept of reality. Even though Worf knew that Data had always longed to be more like a human, something about him now didn’t fit. Maybe Data merely didn’t suit full humanity, or maybe it was just that being made human by Q had created an aura of falseness about him. Whatever it was, there was something uncomfortable about Data in this guise – as though he were wearing a costume that didn’t fit.

The former android headed straight for Worf and Tasha.
‘There you are,’ he announced, needlessly. ‘I believe that I may have discovered a clue as to why you are becoming unstuck in reality, Worf. I suggest that we meet with the Captain immediately, so that I may explain.’

Worf cocked his head a little at Data. Wet eyed and flushed, the new human was still as distracted as he had been in Engineering.
‘Can it be stopped?’ Worf asked.
‘I have identified what I believe to be a quantum flux in your RNA at the time of the…’
‘But can it be stopped?’ repeated Worf. ‘Can it be rectified?’
Data looked lost. ‘Um.’ He looked down at the floor. ‘If we can find the cause, then… um.’

He rubbed a shaking hand over his forehead. For a horrible moment, Worf thought that he was going to be witness to Data breaking down into a flood of tears.

‘Hey.’ Tasha put a hand on Data’s shoulder. ‘Pull it together.’

It had not been a command, but a gentle, caring encouragement. Tasha rubbed her hand supportively down Data’s arm, until he caught her wrist, gratefully. That’s when Worf saw it. His attention before had been so caught by the sight of Data as a human that he hadn’t noticed the plain gold band on Data’s wedding finger. Well, he reasoned to himself, that at least made some sense.

‘We’ll get through this,’ Tasha continued, ‘we’ll do what needs to be done, and then we can let ourselves grieve.’
‘Just as we always do,’ murmured Data.
‘Just like always,’ Tasha agreed, giving his arm a quick squeeze. ‘Let’s go and see the Captain.’

-x-

Accidents such as this are not supposed to happen. The paths criss-cross, and sometimes more perceptive beings are aware of how close the intersections come, but a total breakdown of the walls such as this is practically unheard of. However, nothing out in the endless black is entirely impossible, and if you journey into the unknown, then the unpredictable is likely to catch up with you. It was not the first tear in reality, nor would it be the last. It was highly unusual, however, for the same person to get caught up in the meshing of paths for a second time. This was probably why Tasha heard the voice as the ship fell through the quantum fissure into a void flooded with other versions of itself.

‘You don’t want to start slipping through parallel dimensions,’ Tasha murmured, instinctively approaching her husband’s post as she watched the screen fill with Enterprises, ‘you never know where you’re gonna end up.’
Data glanced across at her. ‘Are you quoting somebody?’
‘Guinan,’ breathed Tasha.
‘Who is Guinan?’
‘I don’t know,’ Tasha admitted, ‘but I know that, wherever she is, this’ll be giving her a killer headache.’

Behind her, Worf was trying to hail the other ships in an attempt to find his own version of reality. Unfortunately, it seemed, everybody else had the same idea. The hailing frequencies were a gabble of voices. This was going to be like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Images of the ship’s Bridge – always slightly different in design and crew – began to flash up on the screen as various Captains Picard, Riker, and at one point, Jellico, attempted to piece together what was going on. She watched the different crews as they popped up. Although it gladdened her heart to see Picard and Geordi alive in so many of them, as well as the occasional glimpse of the other friends she had witnessed the deaths of, she found it troubling that she herself was absent from over half of the crews that she saw. One of the versions of Worf they’d played host to since this whole incident began had mentioned that in his universe she had been killed years ago. More concerning to her still was that every time she saw an alternate version of her husband, he was still android. Whenever a crew appeared on screen that contained both her and Data, the other Tasha was never standing at the other Data’s side as she did at her husband’s Ops post. The other Tasha and other Data would always be apart… she always got the feeling that there was an awkwardness between all those other versions of themselves. From the comments this latest version of Worf had made, in his reality Data was neither human nor in a relationship with Tasha.

Tasha instinctively brushed hands with her husband as she wondered – certainly not for the first time – whether his enforced humanity and their marriage was linked. She’d always hoped not. She’d fallen for him before he was changed. Admittedly, it was during that upheaval after his transformation – when he wasn’t able to cope with his new biological needs; when emotions, physical pain, fatigue and slowed responses were still coming as unpleasant shocks to him – that they found themselves growing closer and truly realising that they should be an item. She couldn’t imagine though, had he not been made human, that him being an android could have prevented her from marrying him. Was she really capable of being that shallow? She’d told him the day she’d proposed that she’d always love him, no matter what – that they were meant to be together - and she’d believed it. The recent breakdown in reality, however, had made her question whether anything, even love, was truly “meant to be”. Worf himself seemed surprised and uncomfortable at the concept of being married to Deanna, and Tasha couldn’t imagine those two not being completely in love with one another. Perhaps love really was just down to circumstance, and dumb luck. The idea of that depressed her no end.

The void was continuing to fill with different versions of the ship. How many more could the fissure take before reality collapsed completely? One version of Captain Riker could be briefly heard offering a solution, as long as the correct Enterprise for their version of Worf could be found, but his voice was quickly lost in the confusion again. There were voices desperate to return to their realities… and voices just as desperate never to go back. As plagued as Tasha’s reality was by the Borg, the cries for sanctuary from other versions of themselves brought home to her just how much worse her situation could be.

Amongst the half-conversations being picked up came a spark of hope for a return to normality; the voice of Jean Luc Picard speaking about a remodulated shuttle, and the possibility that sending one of the Worfs back in it could mend the tear. Tasha shared a glance with her husband. It was both joyous and heartbreaking to hear Picard’s voice again. The voice of the old Captain mentioned that the remodulated shuttle had been Data’s idea – another Data, an android Data, no doubt. Her, human Data cast his eyes back down at his console. She knew that he didn’t need reminding that his mind now was nowhere near as quick or keen as it had been when he was electronic. As a human, he could never have come up with that sort of plan so swiftly.

In spite of the plan that had been suggested, the cacophony over the hailing frequencies continued abound. Some voices were still determined not to go back; most were either questioning the proposed solution or still, as they were doing, fruitlessly trying to find which ship it was that the version of Worf they were currently playing host to belonged aboard. After all, even if the fissure were sealed, what would that mean for everybody who had fallen through? Would the Worf with them remain unstuck in reality? Would they all now remain dislodged in this strange void? How could they ensure that they’d be returned to the correct reality, and even if they were, would they have any memory of what had happened? Would the strange events surrounding Worf’s reality jumping be undone? Would Geordi be revived? Tasha found herself instinctively trusting the plan that she’d heard – but was that because it made sense, or just because she’d longed to hear Jean Luc Picard’s voice again for so long that she’d automatically have faith in any proposal he put forth?

It was certainly better than any plan they’d come up with themselves, so maybe all that there was left to do now was wait.

-x-

‘Worf!’

Tasha beckoned the Klingon over to her table. He had entered Ten Forward looking lost and mildly put-out. He sat down opposite her with a pensive expression.

‘You OK?’
Worf frowned at her. ‘There was nobody in my quarters.’
‘Were you expecting anybody to be in your quarters?’ Tasha asked. ‘I thought Alexander wasn’t due back for another few days.’
‘I was anticipating…’ Worf trailed off. ‘After all, it is my Birthday…’
‘Why would we throw a party in your quarters? You’d hate that. We’re having a little get-together here at 2100 hours. Remember? It was all arranged before you left for the tournament.’ Tasha paused. ‘Guinan sends her apologies, by the way – she doesn’t think she’ll be well enough to make it by this evening.’
‘Guinan is ill?’
‘Headache,’ relied Tasha. ‘I imagine it’d be to do with this… what did you call it? A Quantum Fissure?’
‘That’s likely,’ Worf nodded. ‘I was beginning to wonder if I were the only one who was in the least bit affected by it after it was sealed.’
‘Well, Guinan’s perceptive like that. Frankly, I’m just grateful that it was somebody else falling through into the wrong dimensions for a change.’ Tasha smiled brightly before sipping at her coffee. ‘So what was it like?’

Worf shook his head, vaguely. ‘There was a state of much confusion aboard the vessel that I found myself on in the fissure, so many of the details were not available to me. Another version of the Enterprise’s crew was able to locate the version of myself who belonged to their universe and seal the fissure. The events surrounding my dislodging in reality must have undone themselves. I found myself returning from the Bat’leth tournament once more as though nothing since then had ever occurred.’

Tasha set down her cup. ‘I meant, what were the other realities like?’
‘Strange.’
‘How?’
Worf eyeballed her. ‘Do you really want to know?’
‘Of course! Come on, I already know the sad fate of one alternative Tasha Yar – you’ve got to tell me at least some of the other ones were just a little bit happy.’
‘Some of them were content,’ confirmed Worf, warily. ‘Largely. From what I was able to tell.’ He paused. ‘In the first reality I visited, however, you were dead.’

Tasha’s smile dropped. ‘How?’
‘In many versions of reality,’ Worf explained, ‘it would appear that the Telemachus Tragedy happened to us instead.’
Tasha nodded, solemnly. ‘I never could shake the feeling that we really dodged a bullet when Deanna was too sick for that conference. She’d have been on that shuttle that crashed, otherwise.’ She thought back. ‘That all happened so long ago – I’d have barely known you guys. God, I’d have been so young…’ she trailed off. ‘But that was only in the one reality, right?’

‘Of those that I visited, yes. But there was another reality in which it had been Commander Data who lost his life on Vagra II.’
‘Poor Alternate Data,’ Tasha breathed.
‘Death in the line of duty is preferable to having never existed in the first instance,’ muttered Worf, quietly.
‘Was it really all that bad?’ Tasha asked. ‘Weren’t there any realities where people were alive and well and happy? No surprise babies? No surprise marriages?’

She caught a small, knowing smile playing around her Klingon friend’s mouth.

‘There were,’ she prompted, lifting her coffee cup to her lips once more, ‘weren’t there?’
‘In the final reality,’ Worf admitted, ‘both you and I were married.’
Tasha choked a little on her coffee. ‘To each other?’ she asked, incredulously.
‘When I asked you that in the other dimension, you laughed in my face.’
‘Really?’ Tasha winced. ‘I apologise on her behalf. It’s just…’
‘It’s just that I’m the big Klingon brother you should always have had?’
‘I couldn’t have put it better myself.’
‘You didn’t.’
Tasha wrinkled her nose, confused. ‘What?’
‘You were not my wife,’ Worf clarified. ‘You were never my wife.’
‘Well, you don’t have to sound so relieved about it,’ Tasha grumbled. ‘So, who was?’
‘Hmm?’
‘Who was your wife?’
‘I don’t see how that is any of your business.’
‘Oh, come on!’ Tasha paused. Worf had obviously made up his mind that the identity of this mystery wife of his should remain a secret. Which obviously meant that it had to be somebody she knew very well. ‘Well, at least tell me who I was married to…?’
Worf raised his eyebrows. ‘Who do you think?’
‘Don’t tell me there’s a dimension out there where me and Data actually made it work together?’

Worf nodded. She didn’t know why, but that knowledge suddenly made her incredibly happy.

‘Well, how did we manage to pull an impossible feat like that off?’
‘He was human,’ Worf replied, simply. ‘Q’s doing, after the Calamarain.’
‘Oh.’ Tasha pondered this. ‘Well, good for him, I guess. Got what he always wished for… I mean, I know he’d said no to Q turning him human with a click of the fingers before, but… but it worked out for him, right?’
‘Isn’t there an old human saying,’ Worf retorted, quietly, ‘that one should always be careful of what one wishes for?’
‘Weren’t we happy together?’ Tasha asked.
‘I believe that the marriage I saw between the two of you was loving,’ Worf told her, ‘and you did seem to be content with the situation.’
‘However…’ Tasha prompted.

Worf paused, before reluctantly answering. ‘He was miserable. He was in a situation where he was no longer himself, and three years after he had been transformed, he was still constantly struggling with his humanity. You were a comfort to him, but…’
‘But not enough,’ Tasha sighed. She wondered now whether every time she’d wished Data to be a little more human, she had been wishing the unhappiness Worf had described upon him.

‘That reality doesn’t affect ours,’ Worf added. ‘They were different lives, running parallel to ours. That is all.’
‘You really think that?’ Tasha asked. ‘You’re really not going to let all those other Worfs whose lives you lived, and all those different decisions they’d made affect the way you carry on with your own life?’
‘I am not,’ Worf resolved. ‘This is my reality, and it is shaped by my own will. I’d have it no other way. Neither should you.’

Tasha fell silent for a moment. Maybe Sela’s continued presence serving as a reminder of the ill-fated Other Tasha made her a little more concerned about the happenings of other dimensions, or maybe it was just that Worf’s description of her being married to a human version of Data, with her joy in his humanity coming at the cost of Data’s own wellbeing, had stuck in her mind, but she couldn’t help but feel particularly moved by the story Worf had just told her – as though it were a part of her own life, somehow. Still, what was dwelling on these matters going to achieve?

She pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind and gave her friend a bright smile.
‘Great to have you back, Worf.’
‘It is a relief to be back.’
‘Happy Birthday.’

Rollercoaster - Roads Less Travelled Pt 1

Fri, 12 Jun 2009 12:29:14 GMT

More Rollercoaster, set during the S7 episode 'Parallels'. Actually trying to write Worf's POV for a change - actually really bloody difficult. There's usually one character in any fandom I write for that Ihave real trouble 'getting' - looks like in TNG it's Worf.

Oh well. Part 1 here, Part 2 will be up as soon as I get chance.

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

Roads Less Travelled

-x-

‘Worf?’

Deanna blinked at the Klingon. Something strange had just happened. There was a moment of confusion in her mind as she looked at him… as though, for the briefest instance, he had become a stranger. The feeling had quickly left her again, and she would have discounted it as her mind playing tricks on her… if only Worf himself wasn’t so suddenly disoriented.

Shaking his head in confusion, the Klingon set down his untouched slice of cake. Deanna reached out to touch his arm, lightly.
‘Worf, are you all right?’

Worf looked at her, his Klingon bravado masking how obviously shaken he was.
‘Why are there so many people in my quarters?’
Deanna frowned. His confusion was genuine. Had he suffered a sudden bout of amnesia, perhaps…?
‘We threw you a Birthday Party,’ she told him, gently. ‘Remember?’
‘Why?’
‘Because… it’s your Birthday?’
‘Why a second one?’
Now Deanna was getting as confused as Worf. ‘What?’

‘There was to be a small gathering in Ten Forward this evening,’ Worf replied. ‘The only reason that I agreed to that was to avoid…’ he waved his large hand at the festivities still going on around him, ‘…something like this. It was all arranged before I left for the tournament.’
‘Nothing was arranged,’ Troi argued, ‘at least, as far as you were aware. We were all very careful to keep this a surprise.’
Worf growled. ‘She knows I cannot stand surprises!’ He started looking about himself. ‘Where is she?’
‘Where’s who?’
‘Tasha!’

The room fell silent at Worf’s irritated cry. Deanna felt as though her heart had fallen through the floor at the call of that name. And he really did think that Tasha should be at the party, didn’t he? Poor Worf. What had happened to his mind?

‘Commander Yar,’ Worf barked again, as all eyes in the room gazed at him in quiet horror, ‘this was not what was decided. You have dishonoured our agreement. Come out of hiding and show yourself…’
‘That’s enough, Worf,’ snapped Riker. ‘If you really didn’t want us to carry on with the party, you should have just said so. I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you’re upsetting a lot of people.’
Deanna pulled at Worf’s arm again. ‘Worf, Tasha isn’t here. And she certainly never made Commander. Don’t you remember?’ She gazed into his heavy browed eyes. No. He honestly had no idea what she was talking about.
‘Tasha’s dead.’

He pulled away from her, shocked. ‘When?’
‘Six years ago,’ Troi replied. ‘Vagra II. Armus…’
‘Armus attacked the crew of the Telemachus,’ Worf told her, obstinately. ‘He killed four Starfleet Officers as well as all of the passengers on board the transport shuttle it was sent to retrieve.’
‘No, Worf.’ Deanna struggled to rein in her own emotions as well as those of the people about her who still mourned their fallen friend. ‘Armus attacked us. And I know very well that the passengers of that shuttle were saved, because I was one of them. Tasha lost her life saving mine. How can you not remember that?’
‘You were never on that shuttle!’ Worf was growing desperate now. ‘You were unwell…’

‘I think there’s only one of us here who’s unwell,’ interjected Dr Crusher. ‘You’d better come with me to Sickbay, Worf.’
‘I am not unwell! I remember…’
‘You’ll go to Sickbay, Lieutenant,’ Riker announced. ‘That’s an order.’

As Deanna watched Worf leave with the Doctor, she noticed Geordi, from the corner of her eye, set down his own plate and give Data a short, consoling pat on the shoulder.
‘Guess the party’s over.’

-x-

‘Woah. Easy there, Worf.’

Geordi wasn’t quite sure whether or not he should help Worf steady himself. Witnessing a Klingon almost black out was certainly a new experience for him, and he didn’t know what the etiquette was in that sort of situation. Figuring that it would likely be horribly humiliating for Worf to be physically supported as he fought off the dizziness, he just hovered around him, feeling a little useless. Thankfully for everybody involved, Worf quickly recovered his sense of equilibrium. He did, however, seem to be utterly bewildered, and blinked around at Engineering as though in a dream.

‘You OK?’ Geordi asked. ‘You want me to contact Dr Crusher?’
‘She was here…’ Worf muttered, indicating to the computer bank in front of him. ‘Or… I was there…’
‘Huh?’
‘Why am I in Engineering? I had been sent to Sickbay.’
‘Maybe you should be sent to Sickbay.’ Geordi frowned at him. ‘Worf, you’ve been here with me for the last five minutes. Remember? The Argus Array?’
‘Wouldn’t Commander Yar be more…’ Worf stopped himself, suddenly. ‘Of course. I would have been her replacement.’
‘What about me?’ Tasha asked from behind Worf.

The Klingon very nearly jumped out of his skin. He span around in surprise to face Lieutenant Commander Yar.
‘You are…’ struggled Worf, ‘not dead…’
Yar quirked an eyebrow. ‘Not as far as I’m aware. Are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
Worf shook his head. ‘I believe I’ve just suffered a vivid hallucination, but it appears to have passed now.’
‘When you got dizzy, you mean?’ Geordi clarified.
‘I imagined a surprise party thrown for my birthday,’ Worf explained, ‘only you, Tasha, were long-dead. You had died in the line of duty during an alternative version of the events of the Telemachus Tragedy…’
Telemachus Tragedy…? Geordi and Tasha exchanged glances.
‘You mean, Wolf 359?’
‘No,’ replied Worf, ‘Armus.’

Geordi’s breath caught in the back of his throat, and Yar’s expression hardened.
‘I’ve told you before,’ warned Tasha, stonily. ‘I don’t ever want to hear that name again.’
‘Perhaps I should see Dr Crusher,’ Worf muttered to himself.
‘If you must,’ Yar told the Klingon. ‘But I’ll need another Security Officer down here to replace you – we have to get through this information as quickly as possible, and me and Geordi alone just won’t be fast enough…’
‘Surely Commander Data will be able to process this information in seconds…’

Geordi’s throat tensed up again. What the Hell was Worf thinking?

Worf glanced around Engineering, oblivious to the expressions of the others. ‘Where is Commander Data?’

For a moment, Tasha flushed, and looked as though she were trying not to cry. Just before Geordi caught her arm, she let out a deep, calming breath.
‘I’ve got a feeling your mind’s still playing tricks on you, Worf,’ she replied.
‘Is he on the Bridge?’ Worf asked.
‘Oh, Worf,’ Tasha sighed. ‘Data’s where he always is.’

She patted her chest, drawing attention to the small lump that was always just visible protruding from the valley of her breasts beneath her uniform. Still, Worf seemed clueless. Wordlessly, Tasha reached into the neck of her tunic and pulled out the necklace and large, crystal pendant that she had worn for the last 6 years. As she held the crystal up to Worf’s eyes, a small hologram fizzled into being. The tiny image of Data flickered as the hologram stood awkwardly and attempted a half-smile. Geordi looked down, fighting back memories of that terrible, heartbreaking funeral.

Worf stared at the hologram.
‘Dead?’
‘We’d barely got to know him,’ Tasha replied, sadly. ‘He was one of the good ones.’ She switched off the small, translucent image. ‘Not a days goes by that I don’t wish I’d let him know that when I had the chance.’

‘He is not dead.’
‘Worf,’ Geordi interjected, ‘it’s been six years. If the Daystrom Institute couldn’t fix him, if even his creator couldn’t fix him once he’d finally emerged from the woodwork…’ Geordi trailed off. Worf still looked nonplussed. ‘You do remember all those things happening, don’t you?’
‘None of those things did happen,’ argued Worf.
‘I think you should report to Sickbay,’ Tasha suggested.
‘I was just in Sickbay!’
Tasha tapped her Comms Badge. ‘Yar to Dr Crusher. Has Lieutenant Worf been to see you recently?’
‘No,’ replied the Doctor’s disembodied voice over the Comms link. ‘Why – what’s the matter with him?’
‘You can see for yourself,’ Tasha replied. ‘I’m sending him over to you straight away. Yar out.’

There was a moment’s stalemate as Tasha glared at the unmoving Klingon.

‘Do I have to call a consort of Security Officers to escort you there, Lieutenant?’

Worf scowled for a second longer, then sighed in acceptance. ‘That will not be necessary. Sir.’

Geordi watched as Worf left Engineering.
‘I’ll get Llewellyn down here to go over the information with us,’ he muttered. He caught Tasha’s arm. She seemed flushed again. ‘You OK?’
‘Yeah,’ Tasha breathed. ‘Bad memories.’
‘Tell me about it. You know, I honestly think he did believe Data was still alive.’
‘I know.’ Tasha gave him a small, sad smile. ‘Whatever imaginary world Worf’s in right now, I wish I lived in it too.’

-x-

‘What happened, Lieutenant?’

Riker frowned at Lieutenant Worf. He had never seen the Klingon looking so bewildered before in all his days. Of all the times to freeze up, too – on the Bridge with a Cardassian warship approaching. They were out of the woods now, but if Riker hadn’t stepped in… he had never had to intervene in another Officer’s duty before to see that it was properly executed while he’d been First Officer of the ship. He’d never had to – this crew was supposed to be the best of the best. Worf had come highly recommended by Lietenant Commander Yar when she’d accepted the Second Officer post, and for over six years now he had served them well at Tactical. But now… it was as though Riker were looking at a completely different person. This Worf was shaken and confused, blinking at the Tactical panel as though he’d never seen it before in his life. This wasn’t the unflappable rock that Riker had worked with; battled with; lost the woman he loved to. Who was this?

‘I am not familiar with this panel,’ Worf mumbled, staring down at the console at the Tactical post.
‘It hasn’t altered one bit since the day we took the ship out of Spacedock,’ Riker replied.
‘Mr Worf,’ Picard added, ‘if you don’t believe you’re fit for duty…’

Worf shook his head, dogmatically. ‘I will be fine. I just need time to understand the configuration of this new console…’
‘But it isn’t new…’
‘It is to me,’ breathed the Klingon, scrutinising the panel.
Deanna was on her feet, her dark features furrowed with concern. ‘Do you have any idea what could have triggered this amnesia?’
‘It is not amnesia,’ Worf replied, desperately. ‘Reality keeps… changing around me…’ he broke off, scanning the Bridge as though for the first time. ‘If Commander Data were here, perhaps he could hypothesise reasons why this is happening… reasons beside my losing my faculties…’ he nodded at Yar, watching him worriedly from her post at Ops. ‘I take it from Commander Yar’s position, however, that he remains deceased in this version of reality.’

Riker screwed up his face. Worf was just babbling now – spouting hysterical nonsense.

‘Who’s Commander Data?’ Tasha asked, softly.
‘An android Officer,’ Worf insisted. ‘He…’
Riker felt his eyebrows hit his hairline. ‘Android? Officer? You don’t mean one the construction bots, surely?’
Worf suddenly looked rather sad. ‘No sentient artificial lifeform has ever been created?’
Riker shook his head. ‘The construction bots are supposed to be close to sentience… there was that Soong guy who thought he could make ‘em fully aware… poor bastard.’
‘Dr Soong was incapable of perfecting the positronic brain?’ Worf asked with the same faint sadness.

Riker exchanged glances with Deanna. Everybody knew about Soong – it was practically a modern-day cautionary fable about trying to play God.

‘Soong was a lunatic,’ Riker explained. ‘Set fire to his lab and then hung himself. Schoolchildren know that.’
At her post, Tasha shuddered. ‘Got what was coming,’ she muttered. ‘Those bots give me the creeps as it is without giving them brains.’
‘The macabre rumours surrounding a 30 year old lab fire are neither here nor there,’ interjected Picard. ‘Mr Worf, I can’t risk you serving on my Bridge while you’re in this state of confusion.’
‘Sickbay again,’ sighed Worf.
‘”Again”? You haven’t been confined to Sickbay for years,’ countered Deanna.
‘I’ll tell Dr Pulaski to expect you shortly,’ Picard added.
‘Pulaski,’ echoed Worf, emptily. ‘It will make a variation, at least.’ He paused. ‘I take it that Sickbay is where it has been in past realities…?’
Picard shook his head. ‘Counsellor, perhaps you should act as an escort for your husband. Just to ensure he doesn’t wander out of an airlock by mistake.’
Worf took one step towards the Turbolift, then stopped, and did a double-take at Deanna.
‘Husband?’ he repeated, wearily.
Riker pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. It was going to be a long day.

News Of The Poos

Mon, 08 Jun 2009 13:01:36 GMT

Today is not a good day, news-wise, to be full of Pregno-Rage. Nobody should have to look at Nick 'Drunk, Racist, Ranting Old Fuckwit Of An Uncle That Everybody At The Family Gathering Is Trying To Ignore' Griffin's smug fat 'Whee, I been done gots myself elected' face ever, let alone a woman who is achey and tired and constantly being punched in the bladder from the inside. Angry at the morons who voted for him, angry at the normal people who were too idle not to vote against him. Managing to focus all my anger on the one person I know who joined that Racist Facebook group, even though she might not have voted BNP and even if she had, she lives dahn sarf, so it wouldn't have contributed to either of the BNP MEPs that have been elected in the North. However, I'm picturing every BNP Voter in the land as her - thick, fat, fugly and, if Family Gossip is to believed, a shit parent. Yeah - I'm shaking my metaphorical fist at a hoard of imagined cave trolls whose approach to starting a family is just to stop the pill without telling their partner and are then so busy watching Jeremy Fucking Kyle that they forget to tell their beloved brood how to fucking talk. And they're always so ugly too, aren't they? Have you ever met an objectively aesthetically pleasing Racist - of any Race? No? Me neither. And it's like the fuglier they get the more Racialist they get. It's like there's some sort of mutually exclusive teeth-to-tolerance ratio.

Anyway. There's an interesting article in the Grauniad here, the jist of which is basically 'yes, it's shit, but let's all stop flapping our hands and look how we should go about opposing them properly, since what we're doing at the moment clearly isn't working', which made me calm down a little. And maybe once the Labour party has finally fallen to pieces (as it appears imminently about to do) it can get back to actually being the Labour Party instead of a dysfunctional mish-mash of Labour and Conservatism.

But then also in the news there's the horrible story of the pregnant young woman randomly stabbed to death in Grimsby yesterday, which is shaking and horrifying for me for so many reasons. Being heavily pregnant already makes me feel much more vulnerable than I do when not visibly pregnant. It's not just because I obviously wouldn't be as able to run from or fight against somebody who attacked me as I would otherwise... being this pregnant makes you feel so visible. You feel like you stick out like a sore thumb, and that your blatant vulnerabilities, as well as the vulnerability of the child you're carrying, makes you a glaring Nutter Target. Yes, there have only been three stories including this one of pregnant women being attacked in the street by strangers that I can think of. Compared to all the cases of violent crime against women both in the street and in the home, that's peanuts, I know. But it's still terrifying when something like that happens and reminds me what a high-visibility blimp of a potential psycho-target I am. *Sigh*.

Other people suck

Sun, 07 Jun 2009 19:51:16 GMT

Dearest Darling fellow shoppers of Canterbury,

You know that bit of tarmac-slash-cobblestone (for Canters is a town of many cobbles) directly in front of you? The bit of High Street where you're shortly about to tread? Well, that's a place that's commonly referred to as 'where you are going', and it's generally helpful if, while you are walking, you cast a glance in that direction every once in a blue moon. Because the thing about a busy High Street, see, is that it generally is quite busy. That is, there are other people trying to navigate it apart from your own sweet self, and it gets very annoying for a person who is looking where she's going to have to try to second-guess which way you're going to aimlessly drift while gazing gormlessly at something shiny in the middle distance off to your right and try to dodge around you, thus avoiding getting knocked into by your cattle-like self. This is particularly difficult when you veer off in one direction, then alter course again without looking and drift across to the other side.

Also, people who walk infuriatingly slowly and take up too much space on the pavement to dodge around without the person behind you having to step out into the road (basically, yer Oldies in pairs and yer great big fatties) - MUST you randomly draw to a sudden halt approximately once every ten steps, causing the human traffic jam of people trying to get past you to constantly bump into the back of you? MUST YOU?!?

Seriously, sometimes I wonder if I'm invisible, which is surely madness as I am currently bloody massive.

And the rubber button...?

Thu, 04 Jun 2009 14:20:32 GMT

Well, folks, I have done my bit for democracy for another day, and voted in the local & Euro elections on our way back from playgroup.

I was amazed at the amount of joke parties and one-trick-pony nutter parties on the local ballot form, though. We had candidates for the Bastard Nazi Pudendas, some sort of Jesus-Bothering Party, THREE separate anti-EU/not-quite-as-racist-as-The-Twats-but-getting-there fringe parties, not counting UKIP who were also skulking around my ballot paper, a Socialist Labour party making sure there was at least one hard-left fringe party to keep all those hard-right ones amused, something called Jury Team which, while having a fairly impressive Superhero Gang type name, gave absolutely no indication about which (doubtless single-issue) policy it was they represented, as well as one Billy No Mates desperately seeking attention by standing with a Joke Party. Plus the three main parties and the Greens. That's loads! Maybe it'll help spread the bitter, racist, xenophobic, thick-as-shit nutter votes out having quite so many, but honestly. Who looks at the political climate and thinks 'I know what there's room in this market for! Yet another knee-jerk-hooray-for-the-queen fringe party! Because UKIP and all those other Right-Wing parties don't *quite* represent the level of distrust I have for Teh Forruns properly. I'll make my own. I'll give it a name that makes it sound like a rubbish online dating service, or one that mentions how awesome Ingerland is. Yeah. This time tomorrow I'll be Prime Minister!'

Oh well. It's their own money they're wasting, I suppose. Go Go Democracy and all that jazz.