#timefest

Btw, soft reboot meaning

Can you ever go wrong with the fake married trope? It’s certainly a good way for two dumbasses to stall for time! This entry by @ectogeo-rebubbles is sweet and a lot of fun.

“Eddington to Bashir and Garak. It’s taking longer than we thought. You’ll have to stall for another 10 minutes or so.”

Ten more minutes! Julian had been about to deliver a final snappy one-liner and press the big red button, but now they needed another much longer delay. He cast around in his mind but he was completely out of ideas. He threw a pleading look at Garak.

“Doctor,” Garak said, and Dr. Noah turned around to look at him. “Before you end the world and kill us both, Mr. Bashir and I have a favor to ask.”

“You are in no position to make demands, Mister...?”

“Garak. I do realize that. This is merely a humble final request. You see, Mr. Bashir and I are engaged to be married in a few months, but if we are to die today... I’d like to reschedule our wedding to right now.”

A novel-length fic by @almaasi about Julian and Garak stranded for months together on a planet? Yes, please!

“Bashir to the Defiant. Come in, Defiant.”

No reply.

“Enough! Enough, Doctor. If I might make an educated guess,” Garak said, as he hung white-knuckled from the headrest of a pilot seat, one boot keeping him from falling into the spiderweb-cracked viewscreen, “down here, we have no signal. The chance that a distress call would penetrate those rather formidable-looking clouds, and reach the Defiant, let alone a rescue mission be launched and arrive before we plummet through these branches to the jungle floor, is really quite slim, wouldn’t you say?”

Julian bit his lip in a grimace, concentrating on the hissing, shimmering, bronze-green world spread out before them. “I don’t see a clearing anywhere. There’s nowhere to land safely.”

“At this point,” Garak replied all too calmly, “I would take landing at all over dangling here like some oversized, hard-shelled fruit. Who knows what manner of alien creature might find us a tasty morsel.”

Julian shot his companion a smile. “Hang in there, Garak.” He let out a breath in preparation. “Alright. Taking us down. Brace yourself.”

“Hm.”

On the third day of Timefest we’re delighted to have @aurora-nova-fic‘s 100th DS9 fic on AO3! Featuring a transformative experience with the Prophets and, as always with AuroraNova, a fascinating insight into the characters’ thought process (In this case Garak. Mostly.)

Garak was not one to let minor unpleasantries derail him from his purpose. Therefore, when he noticed his hands started to itch, he compartmentalized the feeling away and went right on working with the dreadful Cheltian wool he’d been commissioned to turn into a suit. Business was slow since he’d reopened, a consequence of his six-month absence and of Starfleet’s disapproval of his quadrant-saving methods. He could not afford to lose a customer over a trifling inconvenience.

After an hour he had to admit to himself that the rash was a mildly troubling development.

Half an hour after that, he looked at the welts breaking out on his palms and decided perhaps it would be wiser to visit the infirmary. He might be able to enjoy few moments of rousing conversation with Dr. Bashir, which was infinitely preferable to a lecture on taking better care of himself and the importance of asking for medical help when needed. Garak had a lunch scheduled with the doctor for the following day, and such a lecture was surely in his future if he showed up with his hands in this state.

Exciting and emotional short crashfic by @aztecl! 

There was a muffled sound tickling his ears amidst the ringing. Julian tried to lift his head to find the source, but he saw nothing but stars and a burst of white. A groan escaped from his throat as his head hit the ground again. With the light impact, the white faded into dark spots in his vision.

Julian noted a concussion as a likely possibility. Scratch that - a highly likely possibility.

When his vision finally cleared, he saw the remains of smoke and runabout. He couldn't remember what exactly had hit it and caused it to crash, but Julian had a suspicion that the ceiling had caved in and collapsed on top of him and Chief O'Brien.

Miles!

Julian tried to sit up again, this time with even less success than before. He grunted with the effort and coughed instead. He also gathered his courage to look down at his own body and injuries.

@cemetrygatess writes an absolutely fascinating exploration of the 26-hour Bajoran day and what that sort of cycle can do to humans. A wonderful piece that will just fuel more speculation!

“Doctor, any update on the medical shortages?” Sisko asked at that week’s senior staff meeting.

“I’ve been able to obtain alternate supply lines for everything we talked about last week except for tenoxotrin,” Dr. Bashir replied.

“Tenoxotrin? That name sounds familiar,” Jadzia said questioningly.  

“It’s the medication all humans need to be able to operate on the station’s 26 hour day.” Well, actually 26 Hours, 13 minutes and 40 seconds, Julian’s brain supplied, though he was able to hold his tongue. Those were the sorts of tidbits that Julian’s brain was good at holding on to, even when no one was interested.

“It’s a Bajoran Station, of course it’s a 26 hour day!” Kira said rather indignantly.

“Yes, of course.” Sisko’s voice was calm. “How much do we have left?”

“As of today, none,” Julian replied.

“And how big of a problem is this?” asked the Captain.

The way the TOS characters slot in pretty much perfectly to the AU old west setting really highlights how much Roddenberry was influenced by westerns when he conceived Star Trek, not to mention the skill with which @captain-athos writes them. 

Bones didn’t mourn the day Jamieson stopped showing up to make deliveries. As much as he needed the steady reliability of his various medicines and materials showing up on time, he did not particularly enjoy the inevitable interruption of the other man deciding that mid-consultation was a great time to stop for a lengthy chat. Bones had patients to see, and he got precious little time to himself during the day without having to worry about inane gossip from the next town over. So when Spock showed up one day instead of Jamieson and simply said “Doctor McCoy?” in a low, quiet voice, Bones counted his blessings.

When this exact exchange continued with no change, however, Bones started to worry. Was the man being impolite, when he simply nodded and left? Was it something about doctors in general? Or Bones himself? No, he didn’t hate the idea of being rid of Jamieson’s idiotic ramblings, but this was just as strange.

He said as much to Jim one night, during the weekly dinner they shared. As the Sheriff, Jim didn’t get much time to see his best friend anymore but nothing short of an emergency was going to stop him from making sure they had a moment, once a week.

“I’m pleased you’re so taken with him already,” said Jim with a grin, “he’s an odd sort but he seems nice enough. Talks like some sort of professor, though.”

“I wouldn’t know,” said Bones, pushing the food on his plate around with his fork. He didn’t have to look up, but he knew Jim would be watching him with that amused twinkle he got in his eyes sometimes, and the thought irritated him.

“I’m sure he’s just shy,” said Jim, “he keeps to himself, mostly. Hell, in between deliveries and running the telegraph office it’s amazing he has any time to talk at all.”

Never enough takes on the DS9 episode Destiny, aka the one where the Cardassian scientist thinks Miles is flirting with her (and we all learn that Cardassians flirt by arguing). This one by @vermin-disciple features a regretful Dax and a Julian Bashir who thinks he knows it all about Cardassian flirting.

“I prefer the serialist poets from the First Republic, like Iloja of Prim. He's easily my favorite Cardassian writer.”

This was a rather cheap trick of Curzon’s for feigning omniscience. In fact, Dax had read a grand total of three Cardassian writers, and two of them had been serialist poets. The third work Jadzia had only read half of, merely to see if Julian’s complaints about it were justified.

“It is so rare to meet a non-Cardassian who appreciates our literature,” said Ulani, as impressed as Jadzia had intended.

“I took an interest because I had the chance to meet Iloja.”

Both of their visiting scientists were taken aback.

“You knew him?” said Gilora eagerly.

“One of my previous hosts, Tobin, met him when he was in exile on Vulcan. As I recall, he had quite a temper,” said Jadzia.

Of the two serialist poets Tobin had read, the second had been recommended by Iloja, apparently so that Iloja would have someone to rant to about his rival’s many deficiencies. Tobin had meekly and (he thought) politely stated that he’d liked Esio’s work, and Iloja had explained to the poor fellow in exacting detail why he was wrong.

Jadzia basked for a moment in Ulani’s awe. She’d been reading the woman’s work in anticipation of this collaboration, and she had a sharp mind as well as a lovely face.

The evening went downhill from that point