Note: Well, I had this idea kind of lurking in the background for a few months, but it took Elrodw's re-posting of his excellent MAU: Trek stories here to bring it to the front. A few wasted CPU cycles later, a completely differed story idea ( I might still write it ) and then, bam! This idea sprang to life. Sorry. I know, I know, Whisper Book 2 and Jade Skirt, but I couldn't stop thinking about "wouldn't it be cool if...??". So, thanks goes out to Elrod for his most excellent MAU universe and all MAU mistakes/trangessions are totally my fault. I am trying to keep this story as close to the MAU rules as possible, but I am afraid I may end up bending a few. Thanks also go out Beyogi for his almost daily feedback and suggestions. Last but not least, djkauf for his magical editing.

<* Chapter 1 *>

As a 27 year old and an honorably discharged Army veteran with two tours in the sandbox, Hector Vasquez absolutely loved his civilian job! Especially, on days like today because today he was operating the D9, or Caterpillar D9 Heavy Bulldozer. The weather sunny and a pleasant 70 degrees Fahrenheit, perfect for being stuck inside a 49 ton hunk of metal because when the summer heat came, it would not be fun.  The D9’s regular operator had called in sick and Hector was the only other employee licensed to run the monster.  He enjoyed the raw power of the D9 as it easily flattened everything in its path. Trees, boulders, hills, cars, okay, not cars because his boss would kill him if he accidently ran over someone’s car, but a man could dream, right?  Grading a road bed might be a little boring at times, but it beat being shot at by some insurgent while trying to help rebuild their infrastructure.

As third generation Mexican-American, Hector had just enough Mexican blood in his veins from his mother’s side of the family to give him the characteristic jet black hair, brown eyes and slightly tanned complexion. Yet, from his father’s side of the family, he inherited the frame and build of a NFL Linebacker. At six foot three, 230 pounds and none of it fat, Hector was a physically imposing man, but unless you got him angry or struck a woman; he was a teddy bear. His nickname in the Army was “Dozer”. Not because he drove a bulldozer or was so large he flattened everything in his path, but because he was so calm and mellow. For the people who didn’t know him, the MMA, NRA and U.S. Army Engineers Red Castle bumper stickers on his truck probably did not help dispel his tough guy image.

Currently, he was operating the D9 solo, or without any other support crew, to finish the rough grading before the paving crews started their work when the sun reflected off of a large metallic object approximately 20 yards ahead and in the D9’s path. His two tours in Iraq had made him very paranoid when it came to unexplained metallic objects.  It took him over a year of being back in the world and as a civilian before he stopped panicking over boxes or other large debris items common on the side of the road in the U.S.  All those items made excellent hiding spots for IED’s.

“What in the hell?” Hector shaded his eyes in an attempt to get a better look as he backed the throttle off.

It was too large to be a simple soda or beer can and the blade had already worked over that area in his last pass. So, whatever it was, it could not be something that might damage the D9.  Hell, short of a landmine or an IED, nothing could break one of the D9’s tracks, but it wouldn’t hurt to make sure. It was probably nothing and he needed to take a break anyway.

Hector climbed down from the cabin and jumped off the massive tracks.  He kicked some dirt out of the drive assembly and checked the track tension. The tracks looked fine, but it never hurt to check your equipment.  Looking ahead, he spotted the metallic object and as he approached, it began to look more like one of those high-end aluminum briefcases people used to transport delicate equipment. If it was and there was something in the case, its contents were sure to be destroyed if the D9 ran over it.  As he got closer to the object, he noticed that there did not appear to be a single scratch on its surface.  That was strange, but maybe it had flipped over and the damage was all on the other side?

He was not a trained EOD specialist, but as a former 12N or Horizontal Construction Engineer, he had some familiarity with IEDs and a good understanding of what they looked like.  He felt fairly confident the item was not a IED, but it did not hurt to check. Hell, maybe some domestic terrorist had planted a bomb to protest the construction.  Before he got too close, he inspected the area for wires or anything that looked like it could be a trigger, but the metal surface was smooth and unblemished.

Very strange, he decided to use the D9’s blade to push the earth around it and free it from the dirt.  He was not about to try digging it out. Of course, if it did turn out to be an IED, his boss would probably be pissed if it exploded and scratched the D9’s paint job.

Chuckling at that thought, he re-mounted the D9 and expertly used the monster blade to dig just under the box, causing it and a few hundred pounds of earth to flip the box out. Using the D9 as a gardening shovel was a bit like trying to drink from a firehouse, but Hector was a pro and he applied just the right amount of force to dig the strange box out.

The box did not explode. So, he decided it was probably safe to use his hands to carefully remove some dirt from the sides of the box. All of the sides were smooth, no wires or anything to indicate what it might be or what might be inside of it, no scratches, dents, seams, handles or hinges, nothing except smooth metal.

“That’s weird, but I don’t see any damage. It’s not a bomb, but what in the hell is it?”  Hector muttered as picked up the box and turned it over with his hands, inspecting all of its sides.

The only thing he could find that might tell him what it was or what might be in the box was  some funny writing that kind of resembled that fake Klingon crap his room-mate, Greg, liked to pretend he could read.  Most of Hector’s buddies thought Greg was a nerd or a dork because he liked Star Trek, Transformers, and comics and was an accountant, but Hector knew better. Greg was a geek because while he did like all those things, he did not go all the way down the nerd path and dress up like his favorite Star Trek character or camp in line when the new movies came out. Yes, Greg was a bit of an introvert, but he was actually pretty cool and funny as hell once you got to know him and Hector knew him better than just about anyone since he had been friends with Greg since the 7th grade.

The two had crossed paths in the 7th grade due to a shared a love for EverQuest, followed by WoW, or World of Warcraft in high school. It was via the MMO gateway drug that they discovered a mutual love of comics, science fiction and fantasy.  They just did not agree with which Marvel super hero was the better in a fight, Wolverine or Spiderman.  Greg argued for Spiderman, while Hector argued for Wolverine. At least they didn’t argue over Batman versus Superman like some fans are prone to do.

The two lost touch after high school. Hector joined the Army, while Greg went to college. After Hector was discharged from the Army, it was pure luck that he bumped Greg while looking for an apartment. The two of them decided to combine their resources and went from looking for a simple apartment, to renting a modest three bedroom house with a garage for working on their toys. Greg’s R/C cars and Hector’s motorcycle.

Despite their different career paths and post high school experiences, their shared love for all things science-fiction, comics and videogames strengthened the bond of friendship they started in school.  That did not mean that they both would not make fun of each other’s chosen profession.  Hector was the ‘ditch digger’ while Greg was the ‘pencil neck’. So, while Hector worked construction, sweating his ass off in the summer, freezing it off in the winter and complaining about it, Greg worked as one of those pencil necked accountants in a nice and cushy air conditioned office surrounded by hot accountant women.  Well, a few of them were hot, but the scenery had to be better than on a construction job. The dude had it easy, but so far, he had yet to score with the one hottie that he has had his eyes on the last couple of months.

Yeah, the pencil necked geek had it bad. He was in the ‘friend zone’ with all the girls at his office.  Secretly, Hector thought the girls at Greg’s office thought his friend was gay, but Hector knew that was most definitely not the case with Greg. While Greg was not ugly and he was even in pretty good shape, for an accountant, he just had a hard time talking to women. Greg was looking for Mrs. Right, his soul mate and intellectual match while Hector was only looking for Ms. Right-Now.

It was almost painful to witness all the times Greg had been shot down when they tried going to a club together.  Women at the clubs were not looking for someone like Greg; they were looking for someone like Hector. The man who would flirt with them, make them laugh and ravish them in bed. Not someone like Greg who respected and wanted to get to know the woman before bedding her.  Oh sure, the women all claimed the wanted someone like Greg, but when it came down to it, they went for Hector instead.  It was almost sad.

Despite his success with the ladies, Hector was currently single. No girlfriend could hold his interest for more than three months and conversely, no girlfriend felt like sticking around due to his wandering eye and general lack of commitment for a relationship. He was not against marriage; he just hadn’t found the one he wanted to marry.

It was fortunate that Hector was such a nice guy because he somehow managed to end the doomed relationships on friendly terms.  He operated on the ‘you don’t piss down your own well’ principle.  Women were pack animals and if the word got out that he was a jerk or lousy in bed, he would start having trouble with the ladies.

Due to Greg’s geek credentials, Hector felt pretty confident that he would know what to do with the case and how to open it.  The dude loved to tinker with crap in his spare time.  Hell, Greg could probably build a robot out of his spare parts bin that could open the thing remotely if it was a bomb.  Why the dude went into accounting instead of engineering was a mystery to him.

With a planned solution to his mystery, he tucked the case under his arm and walked the 100 yards to his truck. He dropped it on the passenger seat so he would remember to give it to Greg when he got home and with that task complete; he ducked over to the stink infested porta-potty to relieve some of the pressure on his kidneys.  The D9 vibrated like a son of a bitch.

That evening, when Hector walked into the house from the garage, he set the mystery case down on a shelf next to the door while he took off his dirty boots and clothes. He did not want to track all the construction dirt into the house.  He grabbed the case, but noticed that Greg’s Corolla, or ‘chick car’ as Hector liked to rib Greg over, was missing.

With a shrug, he set the case back on the shelf, making a mental note to remember it later tonight when he took out the trash. Finally, he grabbed his dirt covered jeans, brown colored white socks and earth stained t-shirt and carried those items directly to the washer while enroute to the shower.

~o~O~o~

Greg Williamson felt pretty damn excited.  The new Star Trek teaser trailer was out and the web was abuzz with trying to figure out who the villain was.  This was his 5th time watching it and he had a few ideas, but nothing concrete.  This teaser trailer was almost as good as the 2007 Michael Bay Transformers movie trailer.  The mars rover getting stomped by a Decepticon was totally awesome!

“Yo, Greg, watcha watching?” Hector, his roommate asked wearing only his boxers after a hard ‘day at the office’.

Greg refused to even consider how manly Hector looked compared to himself. “Dude! I know you think you’re some Latino Don Juan, but come on, a little modesty wouldn’t hurt.”

“Don’t hate tha playa, hate the game.” Hector stuck a mock gangster pose with his fingers making up some gang sign while purposely flexing his muscles to show off his Army tattoos, pecs and six pack abs.

It took all of Greg’s self control not to laugh at Hector.  The dude was a total show off. If he didn’t know better, purely by accident because he was NOT looking, he would think Hector was compensating for some deficiency with his huge truck and super fast gixxer, or whatever he called his crotch rocket death machine motorcycle. “Besar mi culo, honky.”

The expression on Hector’s face was priceless. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at Greg’s mashup of Spanish and English slang. “Hmmphh, there is some fine filth over here Denise...” Hector flexed his bicep and pointed off to the living room as if he was professional bodybuilder posing in a competition while he spoke with a mock British accent.

Greg chuckled at his friend and then, paused and sniffed the air. “Dude, that was pretty bad. Go take your shower, you stink.”

Hector started to head out, but turned back just before he walked out of sight. “Oh yeah, last week, I found some weird case at the new road site. I forgot about it, but remind me to show you after I am done with my shower.”

“Sure man...” Greg absently replied as he turned back to restart the Star Trek trailer for the 6th time.  They both completely forgot about the case until Hector decided to head out to the garage and tinker with his bike.

Hector spotted the case sitting on the shelf, in plain sight, right where he left it last week.  “Dunno why I didn’t spot it and remember to bring it in sooner.” Hector muttered as he grabbed the case, but paused when he thought about the possibility of it being a bomb. “Hmm, maybe we should look at it out here...” If it was a bomb, it would suck to have it blow up in the house and destroy their new HDTV.

“Hey, Greg!  Got a sec? I have something to show ya.” Hector yelled from the garage door.

“Umm, sure, be right there, dude!” Greg yelled from his room.

While he waited, Hector decided to set the case down in the middle of the open stall. He also decided to move his bike to the other side of the garage because it would suck if it was a bomb and destroyed his bike.  Of course, if it was a bomb, 10 feet would not make a big difference either way.

“So, whatcha got?” Greg asked from the open doorway.

Hector pointed to the case.  “That thing. I didn’t know what to make of it or how to open it, but I noticed some writing on it that kinda reminded me of that Klingon crap you read.”

Greg stepped back a half step with mock annoyance, hands on his hips. “Oh...really, crap? You dare insult a blooded Klingon warrior?!?”

Hector crossed his arms impatiently across his chest. “Dude, you get queasy at the sight of blood and you eat your steaks well done. So, are ya going to check it out or not?”

“Fine, fine, lemme turn on the work light.” Greg reached over and plugged in the overhead fluorescent work light before he walked over to the case.  Before he touched the case, he walked around it a few times and examined it from all sides.  He returned to the side with the strange writing on it and squatted down to get a closer look.  

“Hmmm, it does kind of look like Klingon, but it’s definitely not Klingon!” Greg touched some of the symbols and traced them with his fingertip. “See here, this one looks like a Klingon “D” symbol, but it isn’t because the next symbol is like nothing I have ever seen in any Klingon dictionary.”   He absently rubbed off some dirt that obscured the start of the symbols.  “Are you sure it’s not some of that Arabic writing?”

Hector shook his head back and forth. “Not even close...”

“Hmm, it could just be something someone made to mess with people.  You know, like those fake Bigfoot footprints.  If this was actually real alien writing, it could say anything from, ‘Sale Ends Saturday’ to ‘Press Here to Destroy the World’!” Greg said as he absently wiped off the rest of the crusted on dirt to expose all of the strange symbols.

Greg had no sooner finished saying that, when the box jumped up, flipped over to its other side and quickly began to grow. The little suitcase sized box went from being tiny and non-threatening to a scientifically impossible, large and scary old fashioned phone booth sized box. They both stood, stunned and rooted in place, too afraid to move. What if it really was a bomb or even worse, an alien invasion portal? With mouths gaping and trying to form words, they both looked at each other and then, back to the box.  That simple action snapped them both out of their paralysis.

“Madre de Dios!” Hector jumped backwards, slamming into and tripping over the hood of Greg’s car while Greg bounced off the workbench and fell flat on his face directly in front of the alien phone booth.

“Holy fucking shit!” Greg scrambled back to his feet.

They both raced to the door with Greg just beating Hector back into the house. With Hector hot on his heels, Greg raced to his room while Hector peeled off at his own room. Greg could hear Hector frantically shoving shells into his 12 gauge pump shotgun while Greg snatched from the wall above his bed’s headboard the only weapon he had that might be useful to stop an alien invasion.  His bat'leth, the huge, crescent shaped, two handed Klingon battle sword.  It was just a replica weapon, but it might cause an invading alien to pause for a second or two before it blasted him.

Greg debated calling the police, but he doubted the 911 operator would take the call seriously. “911 operator, what is the nature of your call?”  “Umm, hello, sorry, but some alien box just exploded in our garage and aliens are pouring out of it right now!”

Yeah, he could see that call ending well.  

“Ahh!” Hector exclaimed when they surprised each other in the hallway.

“Dude!” Greg looked over at Hector’s shotgun with alarm.  What if the thing had gone off when they bumped into each other?

“Placo! Umm, Shhhh!” Hector violently motioned with his hand for Greg to not make any more noise.  With their hearts beating wildly in their chests, they both listened intently, but there were no sounds or signs of movement coming from the garage. Together, they both crept closer to the still open doorway.  

Somehow, Greg found himself in the lead or 'Point' as Hector would call it. “Hey! Why am I in front? You’re the one with the fucking shotgun!” He turned and furiously whispered to Hector.

“I am watching your back hombre. Stay low, comprende?”  Hector whispered back without taking his eyes off the doorway as he nervously held his shotgun against his shoulder, ready to fire at the first sign of trouble. Greg could tell Hector was nervous.  He only spoke in Spanish or with a Spanish accent when he was stressed out or angry.

Still no signs of life from the garage. They both cautiously crept down the hallway, slowly inching their way closer to the doorway. To keep Hector from accidently shooting him, Greg duck walked with his bat’leth swinging from side to side while he tried to not cut himself with the awkward blade.  They both paused a few feet from the doorway and after another anxious minute, Greg nervously peeked around the corner, into the garage.

The booth was still there and except for the fact that it was previously, a small suitcase, it looked harmless. No blinking lights, strange smoke or alien sounds were coming from it at all.  Greg looked back at Hector; he had his shotgun aimed directly at the booth.  

He anxiously nodded with his eyes for Greg to go ahead. “I got ya covered; just keep to the side and out of my line of fire...”

“That’s hardly reassuring...” Greg muttered as he cautiously approached the alien booth.  He was not sure if it really was of alien origin, but it was the only thing that fit the current facts. He felt a little braver when he touched the smooth metal with his bat’leth and nothing happened.

“Maybe the alien invasion portal is on the other side?” Hector helpfully whispered.

Greg turned back to glare at his friend. “Oh, that’s so not helping right now!”

He tapped it a few more times before he slowly begin to circle it, counter-clockwise, but stopped on the side of the booth facing the front of the garage.  On that side, he found what appeared to be the outline of a door with a small purplish crystal set in the center of it.  To the side of that feature, Greg spotted a ruby colored plate that looked like a large bird footprint.  Above the three taloned print, or paw print was what appeared to be a rectangular display of some sort. It did not look like an LCD display, or any other kind of display Greg had ever seen before, but he intuitively felt certain it was a display.

“Greg, ya okay, man?” Hector anxiously called out to him from the ‘safety’ of the doorway.

“Yeah, umm, dude, there’s something that looks like a door and an access panel over on this side...” Greg said as he reached out to touch the paw print.

“Fuck! Whatever you do, don’t touch it!” Hector said as he moved closer and Greg did exactly the thing he warned him not to do.

The display plate started to flicker and some more of that alien writing appeared, floating in mid-air, a perfect holographic display system. Greg recoiled, not because it hurt, but because it was so damn cool.

“What’s it say?” Hector asked, peering curiously around Greg’s body as he cautiously approached the machine, shotgun still held at the ready.

Greg snorted. “Hell if I know, man. It could be anything from a doomsday countdown to the evening news!”

“Oh yeah, does it do anything else?” Hector relaxed and pointed his shotgun up and towards the ceiling, his curiosity overcoming his alien invasion concern.

The text was simply hovering in place, as if it was waiting for something. What if the text said something like, “Press here to begin your Alien invasion!”?  Greg recalled the acid blood alien from the “Aliens” movie and shuddered with horror. Those things would really suck if they did invade Earth.  Greg glanced back to Hector, as if to ask him if he was sure.  

“Just be ready to jump out of the way...” Hector lowered the barrel of his shotgun.

Not feeling all that reassured, Greg placed his hand on the paw print again and just as he imagined his worst case scenario, a near perfect hologram of the Queen Alien flickered into existence a few seconds later, replacing the text or warning message.  Greg jumped back and clutched his bat’leth even harder because if an acid for blood, face sucking Alien jumped out of that box, he was totally going to shit his pants.  

“Santo puta mierda, tá­o!” Hector rattled off something in Spanish too fast for Greg to even hope to understand, but it probably was not nice. Hector was definitely feeling stressed.

They both held their breaths for almost 20 seconds before either of them dared to breathe.

A visibly shaken Greg turned to Hector. “I was just thinking of how much it would suck if one of those things were in that box...” He sucked in a deep breath as he collected his thoughts. “Holy shit dude...I think that thing read my mind!”

“You watch too much sci-fi man.” Hector looked and sounded skeptical, but at least he was speaking English again, even if it was still with an accent.

“I’m going to try it again, except this time, I am going to think of the new Spock.”  Greg said as he, once again cautiously, yet excitedly approached the booth.  He gingerly reached out and touched the paw print. Almost instantly, a perfect image of Zachary Quinto with Vulcan ears, eyebrows, hair and a Starfleet Science Officer uniform replaced the Alien Queen image. The detail astounded Greg, causing him to forget to be afraid of the alien booth.  Spock even had his new model phaser and tricorder clipped to his belt.

Hector tapped Greg on his shoulder, causing him to flinch with surprise and Hector to chuckle. “Dude! Don’t do that! That shit’s not funny!” Greg growled, looking over at Hector.

“Only you would be enough of a geek to find an alien holographic display unit and make it display a picture of Spock instead of some hot alien chica, preferably naked.” Hector expectantly peered over his shoulder at the slowly rotating Spock hologram.

“Fine...” Greg thought of Zoe Saldana as Uhura, but wearing her red communication's officer uniform instead of naked as Hector had requested. With that stray thought, the uniform disappeared and displayed Uhura in the nude.

“Wow, now, that’s what I am talking about!” Hector whistled.

Embarrassed by his Freudian slip, Greg quickly re-imagined Uhura with her uniform and she was instantly clothed.

“Ah man, she’s pretty damn hot, but she looked even better as a blue alien chick.” Hector now stood next to Greg, completely at ease with the alien device.  

Greg knew Hector was a horn-dog, but that statement took even him by surprise.  As he thought about Zoe Saldana as the blue skinned alien girl, Neytiri, her image formed and began to slowly rotate.  She was lacking something, weapons, and as he thought of that missing detail, her bow appeared on the image, once again, in perfect detail, just like he remembered them in the movie. No, better than he remembered them because he did not think he had that good  a memory.

Greg was now almost 100% sure the machine was alien because there was no way a human built machine could produce such perfect hologram images. However; it was the mind reading interface that was the final nail in the alien device origin coffin.  Medical researchers were just now starting to figure out how to create bionic limbs that could read signals from the brain and he knew they were nowhere close to being this good.

“Hey, have you figured out what that purple knob over there does?” Hector glanced over at the offending protrusion.

Greg glanced over at it. “Umm, no, but I am kind of afraid to touch it now. What if it causes the booth to open and we release her or that Queen Alien?”

Hector took a few steps back and pointed his shotgun past Greg and at what they thought might be the door.  He gave Greg his patented, lady’s man smile. “Well, if it’s her...” He glanced over at the floating blue chick and faked cocking a pistol. “Then, oh yeah, The Hector is ready with his secret weapon, but if it is the other alien, all I can say is, it was nice knowing ya Greg.”

“Ha ha...she’s blue, not green. She will be immune to your Captain Kirk charm, but sure, let the dumb gringo red shirt free the alien. Real smart dude.” Greg nervously chuckled at his attempt of humor while inside his guts were churning with fear. He wasn’t wearing a red shirt, but if any situation called for one, this was probably it.  He felt pretty stupid even considering it, but never the less, he slowly reached over, and after one last glance back at Hector; he touched the purple crystal.

[Whoosh!]

An open doorway materialized on the once smooth surface causing the purplish crystal to disappear and reveal the glow of a matching purplish crystal inside the booth’s yellow lit interior. Once again, they both jumped back, but this time, not as far since they were both getting used to this machine’s surprises.

“Is there anything in there?” Hector asked, shotgun pointed at the garage floor, but ready to be brought back up and aimed directly at the open doorway.

Greg shook his head, no. “Nothing, I see another crystal, I’m going in...”  He cautiously stepped into the machine, first with one foot, tippy toes testing the floor, and then, reassured when nothing happened, both feet.  Now fully inside the machine, Greg saw, absolutely nothing. No cool alien weapons or hidden treasures. He turned back to Hector. “Nothing in here man. Should I try touching this crystal thing in here?”

Hector shrugged his shoulders. “Beats the fuck outta me man. What if it transports you to some other planet or the door closes and locks you in?”

With Hector’s ‘helpful’ doomsday scenarios in mind, Greg panicked and accidently fell backwards. His hand brushed against the purple crystal and the light from the garage was cut off when the door closed or more accurately, simply disappeared because the opening was not there anymore. Before he had time to think about what was happening, he was bathed in a bright red light that caused him to blink his eyes.  A blink was all it took.

The red light vanished and the doorway instantly reappeared. Greg never felt more relieved to see something in his entire life as sweet, sweet, heavenly bright fluorescent light once again filled the booth. Even better, he had not been teleported to some alien world because when he looked out and down from the raised interior of the booth, he spotted Hector.  

Hector stood with his fist raised to bang on the door and a stunned expression on his face. Greg never felt so glad to see another human being in his life, but his overriding instinct told him to get out of the crazy machine as fast as humanly possible, if not sooner. With nothing but escape on his mind, Greg screamed for Hector to move as he jumped out of the crazy machine, brushing past and knocking Hector to the side in his rush to get out of the thing before something else could go wrong.

~o~O~o~