max fic

[psifi872]

Author's note: All alien languages are conveniently translated into idiomatic English, for the comfort and entertainment of the reader. You're welcome. Also, I tweak the Star Trek timeline a bit, because three years is incredibly fast for a recovery from the Eugenics Wars.

Aver Gaque hummed happily, as he strolled down the corridors of his spaceship. Ahhh, he loved history. A hard snap, followed by cursing, interrupted Aver's pleasant musings. Shaking his head, Aver approached the forcefield separating him from his upset...guest. Now, what language did this creature speak? Ah, of course. Chomskese.

"Now, now. You'll only hurt yourself."

"Let me go! I am the king!"

"Well. You're a king, certainly, certainly. But, you see, you lost the battle with the Romulans. If I hadn't taken you, you would have died. Now, doesn't that earn me a little gratitude?"

"What do you want with me?" King Cimtiv growled.

"I want to display you in my museum."

"Display?!"

"Well, of course. You're an important historical figure, but not one that people know very much about. My museum will change that. People from all over the galaxy will be able to speak with you and learn about your time period directly from you. I promise you, you'll be very comfortable."

"What makes you think history will care about me?"

"Oh, I know it does! You see, I originate from about two thousand years in your future. My, you're a modest one. Surely, you know the importance of your work in joining the Federation and driving the Romulans from your planet?"

"You just said I died in battle."

"No, I said you would have. And you would! It was quite heroic and inspiring! The people of Chomsk rose up in a fury after the battle..."

The floor bucked beneath their feet, almost sending Aver to his knees and Cimtiv into the forcefield. Aver steadied himself, turning to gape for a brief moment at Cimtiv, before dashing off down the corridor. Fortunately, he reached his bridge quickly.

"Curator!" his helmsman, Seum, greeted. "It's a Federation ship. Sir. It's the Enterprise. Anyone from that ship would make a momentous display."

"Yes...no! No. It's too risky. We have to protect what we already have. Navator, disable their tracking device. Seum, make a time jump."

"When and where?"

"Earth 1995. We're going after our next exhibit."

"I thought we'd already collected everyone of interest from there," Seum said, sending a quantum magnetic pulse at the Enterprise.

"Almost," Aver grunted, as the ship faded and restabilized in the past. "There is one man, though, who we know almost nothing about. And we're going to find him."

"Seum!" Navator growled. "You have to give me more than thirty seconds!"

Aver sighed.

"Navator. Are we still attached to the Enterprise?"

Navator slammed his finger into a few buttons, before answering.

"Not. Anymore."

Seum groaned.

"I'm sorry! It's the Enterprise. I thought you would speed things up!"

"I can't speed up physics for your convenience, Seum!"

"GENTLEMEN. It doesn't matter. We have two advantages over the Enterprise. Firstly, we can land directly on the planet and, secondly, we can camouflage ourselves to appear as part of the surroundings. So, why don't we do that, very promptly, hmm?"

Navator turned back to his console with an angry huff, still jabbing his buttons harder than necessary. Seum sighed.

"Who are we looking for, anyway?"

"A man known as Mad Max."

"Are you sure he's a real person? I mean. The stories about him are pretty...well, mythical. You believe someone really just roamed the desert wastes, helping people? And ended up establishing civilizations?"

"I'm certain both that the man existed and that the stories are grossly exaggerated. There are surviving records from this time period, scant as they are. And, the stories told do agree on some details. It's widely acknowledged that Mad Max was a bronze."

"A bronze what?" Navator asked, nose wrinkling.

"That's a colloquialism. He was a guard charged with enforcing law and order. Guards like him were called police."

"You just said they were called bronze."

"In his society and age. The more universal word was police."

"Do the surviving records include a picture? No one seems to know who this guy was before the Eugenics Wars, as they're called.

"Oh, not for certain, no, but there are a few theories. Now, look at this."

Aver tapped into the ship's computer and a human face came up on the screen. The photo had been taken at night. A fairly young man stood on the sidelines of a street, the sort used by vehicles with wheels. Two or three vehicles lay in a twisted muddle of bent metal and broken glass. The young man, wearing a leather uniform, stared hard at the wreckage, his eyes sad and his mouth set in a grim line.

"This, gentlemen, is Max Rockatansky. He's mentioned in several newspaper articles and is mentioned more than a few times in news programs of the time. Evidently, he was a very skilled driver and ran down several criminals. But, then, he disappeared."

"Killed?"

"No. His disappearance happened around the time a notorious gang was hunted down and killed...a move not sanctioned by local authorities. It's supposed that he was their killer and then he fled."

"From the justice he was supposed to uphold."

"Yes, well, we don't judge. I'm sure his story will be quite enlightening, one way or another. So, let's get to finding him, yes? And, do remember he'll be quite a bit older now."


"Captain's Log. Stardate 7604.28. James T. Kirk commanding. Thanks to some unknown alien, we have arrived hundreds of years into Earth's past. Our mission is to rescue King Cimtiv of Chomsk from the aliens who kidnapped him and return him to his planet, the newest member of the Federation. Unfortunately, the alien ship disappeared, as it entered Earth's atmosphere. Our sensors have been unable to pick up any trace of the ship...and very little in the way of Earth technology.

Earth. Our readings show that this is Earth in the latter part of the twentieth century, a dark time. The Eugenics Wars are over, but Earth is in the earliest stages of recovery. Most countries are in chaos. Food, water, and fuel are all in short supply. Society, in many countries, has almost entirely collapsed. We actually know very little about this time period. Historical records from this time are rare.

Our scanners show very few signs of organized society. Most of the technology is either transportation or weapons. Some countries' populations are almost entirely nomadic. Ecological damage is severe, with famine and drought...rampant.

The good news is no one will care about who we are. The bad news is that won't stop them from trying to kill us, if they think we have anything of value.

However difficult, we must find and rescue King Cimvtiv, without disturbing the timeline."

Kirk ended his log and turned to Spock, who stood gazing cooly at him.

"And, I am open to suggestions."

"We were able to form a trajectory from the alien ship's emissions. The emissions decreased, once the ship disappeared from our sensors, but some remained. Based on that trajectory, we narrowed the field to a twenty-mile radius on the fringes of Sydney, Australia."

"Twenty miles, Mr. Spock?"

Kirk frowned up at him, but Spock shook his head, firmly.

"Given the alien ship's capabilities, we were fortunate to narrow it down that much."

"Twenty miles, which we will have to cover on foot?"

"Indeed, Captain, and this is a decaying age. From what our sensors detect, most clothing is leather and other durable goods from twenty years ago or animal skins from recent kills."

"That bad."

Kirk gave himself a few seconds to grieve for the humans of this time, then shook himself.

"So, the landing party will have to be small."

The bridge went still, wondering who the captain would choose to go.

"Captain. This is a high-risk mission. I must recommend that no one in the command chain go down."

"Risk is part of the job, Spock. We know almost nothing about this time period. We don't have an expert we can rely on. I'm going, with one security guard. Any more than that and we risk detection."

"Very well, Captain," Spock said, his tone heavy with a suppressed sigh. "Then, I recommend that you take Arthur Temadsen with you. The lieutenant has expertise in hand-to-hand combat, projectile weaponry, and a personal interest in archaic engineering."

"What kind of archaic engineering?"

"Combustion engines seem to be his main, though probably not only, focus."

"Very well. Have him report to the transporter room. Order the computer to replicate suitable clothing."

Kirk suppressed a sigh, seeing the "suitable clothing" that waited for him. Lt. Temadsen was wearing a leather jacket. The left side of the jacket was black leather, while the right side was short-haired fur. A length of chain around his waist held up thick, stained denim trousers, torn and patched. Heavy black boots completed the outfit. Temadsen hadn't bothered with headgear, his hair close-cropped enough to fit in well enough.

"Well. That is stylish," Kirk drawled, flatly.

Temadsen smiled, his bright blue eyes twinkling with humor, though he held in a grin. He handed Kirk a heavy bundle.

"Yours, Captain. I'm afraid it isn't any better."

"Well, I don't imagine it's much worse."

Kirk went behind the transporter console to change and revised his opinion. His boots, fortunately, were similar to Temadsen's. The rest of his outfit was leather, except for the parts that were metal chains. Some of the chains formed a codpiece that went up from his groin to wrap around his hips, uncomfortably like a metal diaper. More lengths of chain ran from a heavy belt around his waist from front to back, forming a sort of vest over a stained shirt. A short cape was tied loosely around his neck. Kirk ran his fingers over the metal studs that covered the sides of the helmet he'd been given.

"Are all these chains really a good idea? Who designed this?"

"I picked it out, sir," Temadsen admitted, sheepishly. "I thought you should look more dangerous than me."

"Dangerous? Well, yes, I suppose anyone who would wear this could be considered that."

"I had the computer replicate some weapons our scans indicate will blend in. We'd look odd, and be targets, without them, sir."

Kirk examined the array of weapons, handguns, rifles, and knives of various sizes, grimacing. He picked up a serrated knife and sighed.

"All right. We'll carry these, but remember we're not here to fight. We'll also carry standard phasers, set to stun. Let's hope we don't have to use any of this."

"Of course, sir," Temadsen agreed, taking his share of the weapons and tucking them away. "Sir?"

"What is it, Lieutenant?"

"Why this time and place? What connection could King Cimtiv have to twentieth-century Australia? Or, the kidnappers, either?"

"I don't know...yet. Believe me, I intend to ask them."


Most living things yearn to communicate. Birds cheep, garbluses spriffle, and cats meow. Thinking beings, inevitably, feel the need to talk with each other. If there was a song to the universe, it was the sonic tide of voices, spreading a throbbing harmony of greeting, information, and idle gossip.

Of course, the song was flawed. Discordant notes, fighting, screaming, and cursing, broke up the harmony. Still, there was something reliable about the constant presence of chatter in sentient societies. This one was no different. Aver strode out of his ship, wearing loose layers of linen that covered the feather-like feelers that covered his cheeks and chin. They almost could have passed for a human beard, if they weren't a vibrant green. So, he and Seum wore linen over their leathers, as they headed out into the desert.

Seum looked around, frowning.

"It's amazing this planet came back from this wreck."

"That's why what we do is so important, Seum. History is a guide, to keep from repeating terrible errors and history is most effective, when you can learn about it firsthand."

"So, you never feel any doubts about taking people?"

"Why? We only take people, when history says their lives end or they disappeared. Anyway, it's for the greater good," Aver insisted, looking around, then sighed. "I certainly won't have any qualms about removing someone from here. They'll be far better off."

"Yeah, steady food and drink is a good thing. Are you sure our display will be around here?"

"He has to be somewhere. We're directly in the center of the triangle formed by the three civilizations he is supposed to have founded. Most nomadic sentients keep within a certain territory. For now, we will suppose he is in the area. If he isn't, we might find someone who is familiar with his route."

Seum grabbed Aver's arm and dragged him behind a nearby tent, making a warning hiss in his throat.

"Now, Seum," Aver whispered. "Do calm down. This is a dangerous time, certainly, but we've braved worse."

"I saw a transporter beam."

"Then, again, we've never been pursued by the Enterprise. Which direction?"

"East."

"Fine. We'll go North."

"Not west?"

"No, no. They'll probably head in a straight line. North it is, unless you prefer to go south?"

Seum blinked, giving a half-shrug.

"I don't see how it matters. North is good. Though. Maybe we should try and get a look at them?"

"Erm. I'd rather not, thank you."

"But..."

"No, Seum! Don't twist my arm about it," Aver snapped, his face feelers throbbing and inflating.

"I thought you told me to calm down."

"Yes, well, I did. It's no good both of us being anxious. I need you to keep a clear head."

Seum kept his sigh silent, nodding. There was no use arguing. Aver was simply like that, so Seum headed north. Soon they came upon a couple of females with a few barrels of dark red liquid. One had silver hair twisted into a long rope down her back, while the other had dark hair chopped to just below her jawline. Aver recalled that white hair, among humans, was a sign of age. A mother and daughter, perhaps? Seum led them closer, pulling out a small bag of grain from a sack underneath his robes. He stopped in front of the younger female, staring a bit at the wine.

"How much?"

"What's in the bag?"

"Barley."

"Half for two cups."

"A quarter."

"Go thirsty, mate."

"It's good grain. No contamination, no vermin. Good enough to bake with."

"Hm. Let's see, then."

Seum spilled a small quantity of grain into the palm of his hand, allowing the female to take a couple of grains and chew on them.

"Tell you what. I'll give you a skin for the whole sack."

"How large a skin?"

The female held up a skin that would hold nearly two liters of liquid. Seum nodded.

"Deal."

They traded and Seum took a careful sip of the alcohol. He was impressed. It completely lacked the tang of radiation. He passed the skin to Aver, who took a sip, nodding graciously at the females. Barrels, boxes, and flat tires surrounded the women, serving as chairs and tables for their customers. Aver and Seum sat down, sipping slowly at their wine and listening.

"Look, there's got to be trade. People gotta be able to get goods, without all the stealing and killing. How else'll that happen without trade?!"

Aver looked over at the speaker, seeing a tall, heavy man with scars all across his cheeks. He sat, seeming at complete ease, across from a younger man, who was equally tall, but thin. The thin man shrugged.

"I didn't say there shouldn't be trade, Trimmer. Just not with someone else giving out rules. Look at Bartertown!"

"Oh, well...Auntie meant well enough."

"Did MasterBlaster 'mean well enough,' too? Heh? People start giving out rules to others and you get fights about who really gets to make the rules. Which is what got us here to start with."

"Well, sure, but then how do you keep trade fair and free? Eh, Moggy? Someone has to make rules or people like that Joe guy take everything for themselves."

"Yeah, but Bartertown and Joe are both gone. Both done in by a single guy."

"You don't believe that do you?" Trimmer scoffed. "That 'Mad Max' story is pure bunkeroo. Bartertown got burned down by Master and a bunch of kids. Plenty of people have sworn to that. Even if they did have some guy helping them, you don't really believe it was the same guy that took out Immortan Joe?"

"Joe was taken out by Furiosa," the younger wine trader told them, firmly.

"Right you are, Tapster," Trimmer agreed, raising his tin mug in salute. "Here's to Furiosa!"

"Plenty of people say those kids that burned Bartertown had help from the bloke who killed Blaster," Moggy insisted.

"I thought it was Iron Bar who did that. The bloke fighting Blaster refused."

"He's here, you know," Tapster told them, lowering her voice. "I saw him myself."

"Is he seven feet tall, covered in weapons, with glowing, red eyes?"

Moggy rolled his eyes, giving his friend a light shove.

"Name me someone who don't go armed," Tapster snapped. "And, his eyes are blue. Nice pretty shade of blue, too."

"Oooo, Tapster's interested!"

"Shut up, Trimmer."

"Nah, it's okay. I admit to looking. No harm in that."

"Not unless your mam catches you," Moggy chuckled.

"She was looking, too," Tapster retorted, grinning.

"I hear he used to be a Bronze," Aver interrupted, drawing stares, then shrugs.

"Don't know about that," Trimmer answered. "That's said about 'Mad Max,' but I'm telling you, it's all rubbish. We are cursed to live in interesting times and people tell tales. Then, they get drunk or confused, and those tales get stitched together. And, LO, a warrior wanders out of the desert, supposedly saving little pockets of civilization, but never sticking around."

"He didn't save Bartertown," Seum argued.

"Well, no, but those kids are supposed to be rattling around the ruins of Sydney."

"Then, he probably didn't save the kids, either, not in the long run," Tapster said, with a sad shrug, lifting a skin in salute and drinking.

"Well, actually, Sydney might be safe. Both sides wanted it, what with it being a port city."

Seum poked Aver in the side, keeping his movements unhurried.

"I'll be right back. Just gotta...ehm. I won't be long."

He waited for Aver's nod, then walked away. He ducked between two tents, emerging slightly ahead of his target.




Seum captures Temadsen. Temadsen pretends to be Max. Kirk captures Aver. Learns about Max's history and Aver's plans. Strikes deal to capture Max, if Aver agrees to return Enterprise to proper timeline. Has to convince Max to go along, in order to get Temadsen back.