Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Oh, Kathryn, we are finally having dinner together again, and I’m tardy. I’ve brought one of my last bottles of Antarian cider as my contribution to tonight’s event. Fetching it from the cargo Bay has made me late, but you’ll forgive me once you see the bottle. We’ve had a quiet week, and in the Delta Quadrant that is cause for minor celebration. And the last time we had dinner together, you commented that you were getting tired of the replicated stuff.

That was a while ago. We haven’t had a dinner like this in weeks – a real dinner, not a working dinner when the table has as many PADDS and monitors as it does dishes. We used to try for once a week, then it tapered off to every other week, and lately the best we have managed is once a month. When we do sit down together, it’s comfortable and safe. Just two friends breaking bread together. These days, that’s enough.

I ring the chime and you tell me to come in. I make it about two steps before I skid to a stop. You are on your hands and knees on the floor, in the midst of a myriad of cogs and circuits and tiny little screws. You look up at me with a lopsided smile. “You’re late,” you say. Then you see the bottle in my hand and the smile reaches your eyes. “Unfortunately, so is dinner.”

I can’t help smiling back. “Let me guess. You burned the roast again.” Your problems with replicators, especially at meal time, are becoming the stuff of legend. I offered dinner in my quarters instead of yours, but you insisted that everything was fixed this time. Dodging your carefully organized piles, I carefully make my way to the table, where I can pour the cider.

You rock back on your heels. “Once, a long time ago, I called this replicator a glorified toaster.” You look around at the piles. “It never forgave me.”

“I didn’t realize replicators hold grudges,” I said as I hand you a glass. All the pieces have been carefully sorted, like Naomi finding all the edge pieces of her puzzle. A chuckle escapes me, despite my best intentions.

You glare at me. “What’s so funny?”

“I just left Icheb and Noami assembling a jigsaw puzzle in the Cargo Bay.” You look around and see the same thing I do – you are treating this as a three-dimensional jigsaw puzzle. Once, not so very long ago, you would have laughed with me. Now, you grant me a knowing nod but nothing more. “Find me the thermal regulator, please. How is Icheb?”

It takes a second to find the regulator, but I hand it to you. “In a few years, he may be running the ship.”

You cock your head at me even as you connect the regulator to a circuit board. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not ready to retire just yet.”

Before I can answer, the ship lurches dramatically, enough to cause all your little piles to spill into each other. “Janeway to bridge,” you say, tapping your communicator. “Report.”

It’s Harry Kim who responds. “That was some kind of gravimetric surge. It’s overloading our inertial dampers.”

“Source?” you ask, all business. The nascent good mood of the evening has evaporated. This is the Delta Quadrant, and the only routine is the lack of the routine. We set down our glasses, I help you to your feet and we head down the corridor to the turbolift.

“That’s a good question,” Harry says, and that is enough to tell us that whatever it is, it’s bad. Harry must be deeply lost in thought to respond so flippantly. “Seven is trying to localize it.” Then he says with urgency, “Engineering says the warp core is destabilizing.”

“I better get down there,” I tell you.

You nod. After nearly seven years, we almost don’t need words to communicate. I know how you will respond to a critical situation and you know what I will do. You get on the turbolift to go to the bridge. I head for the aft turbolift that will take me to Engineering. As I walk, I can’t help thinking that this is just business as usual for us – malfunctioning replicators, interrupted dinners and inexplicable crises. And isn’t that what makes it fun?

Chapter Text

B’Elanna Torres stretched lazily in bed, her leg curling around Tom’s body as he kissed the length of her neck. A very good evening indeed, she thought, as she let herself drift away on his seductive ministrations. She’d been exhausted after a double shift -- Beta followed by Gamma -- and had fallen fast asleep the minute her head hit the pillow. It had been a pleasant surprise to wake up just over eight hours later to find Tom lying next to her, his blue eyes dancing with an invitation she couldn’t quite resist. 

Later, as she emerged from the sonic shower, she found Tom had already laid out dinner for her -- salad with strips of grilled chicken accompanied by garlicky breadsticks and a fragrant tomato soup garnished with several basil leaves. She raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“What’s this all about?” she asked.

Tom shrugged. “I had a few extra rations,” he waggled his eyebrows suggestively, “and since we’re running a little late this evening, I thought we could enjoy a nice dinner together before we start our shifts.” He gestured towards the table. “Have a seat.”

B’Elanna smiled. An evening like this made it impossible to believe that there had been a time in her life when she had been hungry, cold, and consistently on edge over when the Cardassians would next attack. Feeling Tom’s warm fingers curling around hers also banished those times when she’d felt alone, friendless, unworthy of love. It had been a long hard road to get here from there, but she knew she wouldn’t trade a single minute of the journey. She relished every bite of the delicious dinner, despite knowing that this particular meal meant she’d be spending the next few days eating Neelix’s latest concoction in the Mess Hall. Still, she felt it was worth the trade-off. 

“Baytart has the helm this shift since the Doctor requested my assistance in Sickbay. Crew physicals,” Tom said, his lips twisting into a wry grin as he broke a breadstick in half. “For some, half the battle is persuading them to actually show up. For example, I have it on good authority that Commander Tuvok is currently in the Mess Hall enjoying dinner. He’s up first on the schedule.”

“Good luck,” B’Elanna said with a wry grin.

“I’m sure I can convince him of the logic of an annual check-up. The captain, on the other hand--” Tom shook his head. “Well, that’s a problem for next week, thank goodness.”

“You’re very persuasive when you want to be,” B’Elanna said, with a smile. 

After they’d finished eating, she kissed Tom and made her way to Engineering. Joe Carey was waiting there for her with a detailed listing of the Beta shift issues, most of which were relatively minor.

“Thanks. Sorry, I’m late,” B’Elanna said. 

Carey waved off her comment. “You just worked a double shift. You deserve a little extra R&R before tackling the next one. Besides,” he said shrugging, “it’s been pretty quiet here.” Carey paused. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a look at junction J-7 in Jefferies tube 31. I was getting some odd readings earlier and would like to investigate myself. I’m sure it’s nothing but better safe than sorry.”

B’Elanna nodded. Carey was Starfleet through and through and didn’t let a variance of any kind escape his attention. She admired his attention to detail, though sometimes she thought he worked too much and didn’t spend enough time off-duty. It suddenly occurred to her that she had no idea what Joe Carey did in his free time. “That sounds great. Keep me informed,” B’Elanna said. 

She watched Carey exit Engineering and then immediately turned to the most pressing matter on the list: a plasma relay that seemed to be intermittently overheating. The likely culprit was probably a clogged vent, or possibly a misaligned circuit. Both issues would require manual intervention. 

She was about to assign Freddy Bristow to the problem when the entire ship shuddered. B’Elanna grabbed the railing surrounding the warp core to brace herself as Voyager convulsed one more time.

“Report!” she called out.

Susan Nicoletti yelled from a nearby station, “‘The inertial dampers are overloading!” 

Stumbling towards her, B’Elanna asked, “Reason?”

Nicoletti shook her head. “Unknown…” her fingers ran across the LCARS panel quickly. “I’m picking up a massive wave--”

“Torres to the Bridge.”

Harry’s voice crackled to the comm. “Looks like we got hit by some kind of gravimetric surge--”

B’Elanna stared down at the console. The gravimetric surge was sending spikes of energy throughout the ship, and the systems analysis indicated a wide variety of operational functions had already been adversely affected. B’Elanna took over the panel from Nicoletti. 

“I’m reading a spike in the warp containment field!” B’Elanna called out. “‘Sue--”

“I’m on it!” Nicoletti called back, racing towards the core. 

B’Elanna tapped at her console furiously. She could see a rapid ionization of the dilithium matrix taking place. “The dilithium is overheating! We need to reduce the temperature immediately, otherwise this--”

“The rate of inter-molecular collisions are increasing!” Nicoletti called out. “I’m going to vent the pressure, give it more space--”

B’Elanna bit her lip. Nicoletti had the right idea. She only hoped they had enough time to implement it. In the meantime though, the console was beeping violently at her; her attempts to cool the warp core were not working. The depressurization was their last option prior to a possible warp core ejection. The worst-case scenario was looking increasingly likely as she noticed the velocity of the molecules had not slowed at all. She quickly tapped her comm badge. “Torres to Kim.”

“What is it?” Kim sounded tense. 

“We are getting some anomalous readings from the warp core,” she said with a calm she didn’t quite feel. It was the type of news she’d gotten quite adept to delivering over time, and they’d always managed to get themselves out of a bad situation, whether it was the time Seska and her Kazon buddies took over the ship or when they’d allieds with the Borg to defeat Species 8472. “We are doing everything we can to stabilize it.”

There was a pause and then Kim said, “Understood. Kim out.”

“Lieutenant, the inertial dampers have failed!” Vorik yelled, and as if to underscore his statement, Voyager jerked violently. B’Elanna desperately hoped that Baytart at the helm was  trying to compensate. B’Elanna’s stomachs clenched; the morning’s delicious breakfast threatened to haunt her. She was still gripping the console for balance when Chakotay ran into Engineering.

“What’s the status?” he called out.

“Not good,” B’Elanna answered, deciding not to mince words with her old friend. She nodded towards Nicoletti. “We’ve had some luck depressurizing, but whatever hit us, it’s done a number on the dilithium matrix. We can’t seem to reduce the kinetic energy and we’re running out of options.”

“What can I do?”

“Help Susan. I’m going to start dumping dilithium.” It hurt to say the last part; dilithium was precious, but she’d rather lose the crystals than the warp core. 

“Understood.”

B’Elanna started the operation to vent the dilithium, but the earlier systems’ malfunction meant that the valves stubbornly refused to open. B’Elanna banged her fist against the console. Not again . She turned to face her crewmen in Engineering. She could see Nicoletti had moved off to another console while Chakotay was still in front of the warp core. The blue waves within the core were moving with alarming speed and she knew the intensity of the molecular collisions would only increase. It was an alarming situation and she knew that ejecting the warp core was the prudent and only course of action left to her. 

She raised her voice so that everyone could hear her, “We’re losing containment! Everyone out!”

The engineers rushed out of the room, but Chakotay continued to work. B’Elanna rushed towards him just as a giant bolt of energy flared out from the core and hit Chakotay dead-center. He stumbled and fell backwards. B’Elanna let out a small yelp as she rushed to his side. Half of his face was covered in burns. 

“Emergency medical beam out! Get Commander Chakotay to Sickbay, now!”

Chakotay de-materialized a few seconds later. B’Elanna immediately started the process to eject the core. It took only a moment, and then she too evacuated Engineering. Once the bulkheads slammed behind her, she listened to the all too familiar countdown, fervently hoping they’d managed to avert disaster.

Chapter Text

His hails to the bridge after the first jolt had gone unanswered, so the EMH was relieved when the comm signal came through from Engineering; this meant ship-wide communication was still possible, even if the captain and other bridge officers were choosing to ignore him. He put his hurt feelings on the side as Chakotay’s prone body materialized onto the biobed, not hesitating before rushing to the first officer’s side. His tricorder beeped anxiously as he ran a scan. Chakotay’s vitals were strong, but a particular reading caught the Doctor’s eye. Chroniton particles . He frowned. 

“Kes!” he called out.

“What is it, Doctor?” 

“I need a blood sample from Commander Chakotay,” the Doctor said. 

“Right away.” Kes brought over a hypospray which she delicately pressed against the commander’s neck. The vial filled and then she put it into an ESR machine. Within thirty seconds, the result came back. “You have to see this, Doctor. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

The Doctor was at her side quickly, and saw what she was pointing at. “Interesting. As I theorized, the commander appears to be in a state of temporal flux. The cellular structure of various body parts are at different ages. His left arm, it seems, is at least two years older than his right leg, and I’m reading similar types of age discrepancies across his organs as well. Fascinating,” he said, a note of awe in his voice. “I’ve read about this phenomena many times and have accumulated quite a bit of relevant knowledge, but this is the first time I have actually seen it happen. Truly intriguing and something I do believe my peers at Starfleet Medical would want to hear about.”

Kes’  brow furrowed in confusion. “But he is all right?”

“We will have to bring him back into synch,” the Doctor answered airily, with a wave of his hand. “It is quite an easy process.”

“I believe you, Doctor.”

The Doctor examined the blood sample more closely. By measuring the half-life of the chroniton particles,  the Doctor was able to approximate the exact variance to counteract the effects of whatever temporal anomaly Chakotay had encountered. “The key, Kes,” he said, unconsciously slipping into lecture mode, “is to make sure that the synthesized serum is measured at the same frequency as the temporal vibration detected within the red blood cells. Any over-calculation can cause severe trauma to the patient.”

“Like placing the patient in the wrong time frame?” Kes asked, her eyes bright with interest as she followed the Doctor’s careful actions. “Is that a possibility here?”

“It is always a risk when dealing with temporal incursions, which is why it is a very precise and exact science,” the Doctor said with an air of pride. He knew he was the only one aboard Voyager  who had the training to deal with any time travel situation, but he was certain the crew had no idea just how difficult it was to counteract the effects inherent in any temporal incident. There were so many factors and variables to consider when developing an antidote, it was impossible for a mere human brain to comprehend. He was pleased that Kes at least could see just how brilliantly he handled this particular state of affairs. He narrowed his eyes as he stared at the wavy lines of the graph . He quickly calculated the figures and came up with an answer. He said with confidence,  “We need to compensate for a temporal factor of 0.47.”  

“Yes, Doctor,” Kes answered.

“As you can see, I have a very complete and accurate set of instructions here to replicate the serum,” the Doctor said. “It is an extremely delicate procedure, and requires a great deal of concentration and patience.”

“I hope you don’t mind me watching; I’d like to learn exactly how you proceed so I may assist you in the future.” 

Kes stepped to the side, as was her habit, as the Doctor crossed to the replicator to input the exact specifications for the serum. Within thirty seconds, a glass tube materialized. The Doctor smiled in satisfaction as he lifted it to the light to examine the clear liquid within. He cast a glance towards Chakotay on the biobed and as if reading his mind, Kes spoke up, “The Commander’s vitals remain stable, Doctor.”

“Perfect.” The Doctor placed the vial into a lab instrument and ran a spectral analysis on the sample. The results satisfied him that he’d obtained the perfect antidote. He loaded the vial into the hypospray and then gently injected it into Chakotay’s neck. 

Kes kept a steady focus on the Commander’s vitals, briefing the Doctor ever so often with changes in status. “All seems well, Doctor.” Her tone was infused with warmth and admiration. Not for the first time, the Doctor felt a burst of pride for his young protegee. He could not ask for a better assistant than Kes. She had a genuine interest in learning the fine art of medicine and most importantly, she seemed to understand him like no one else could. 

“I will wake him in a few minutes. I want to give the serum enough time to circulate throughout his body so that all of his time-affected cells have had a chance to be properly infused,” the Doctor said. “As you can see, this procedure also requires a great deal of patience, something not many people have.”

“But which you excel at.”

At this, the Doctor beamed. “Well, of course I would never say that but since you brought it up--”

Kes squinted slightly then, tipping her head to the side, a thoughtful expression crossing her pretty features. “Doctor, Chakotay was the only one who beamed here from Engineering. Do you think any of the other personnel there were affected by whatever anomaly caused his condition?”

The Doctor frowned. “I hadn’t thought about it.”

“You should,” Kes urged. “If Chakotay was in Engineering when this happened,” she paused, “the others might not even know what happened to them. With your permission, I’d like to check on them myself.”

“Very prudent,” the Doctor said, tamping down the irritation that while he was the ship’s chief medical officer and an expert in treating temporal disorders, he was eternally imprisoned within Sickbay. He pasted a smile across his face as he watched Kes grabbed a tricorder.

“I will report back as soon as I can,” she said. 

The doors closed behind her, leaving the Doctor alone in Sickbay with Chakotay. The room suddenly seemed very large, the hum from various ship systems extraordinarily loud. Even his footsteps seemed to echo as he crossed the expanse of gray carpet. He was quite alone. A quick check of the chronometer told him it was time to revive Chakotay. A quick hiss of the hypospray and then Chakotay opened his eyes. The commander glanced about, confusion clearly etched on his features.

“Welcome back. Lie still,” the Doctor said firmly.

Chakotay blinked. “What happened?”

The Doctor decided to keep things simple. “You were transported here. Your body was in a state of temporal flux.”

“Temporal flux?” Chakotay’s voice carried a note of incredulity.

The Doctor nodded. “You had the liver of an eighty year old man, and the kidneys of a twelve year old boy.” The barest hint of a smile crossed his face. “Fortunately, I was able to create a chroniton-infused serum that brought you back into temporal alignment. Anywhere else, that antidote would've earned me a prestigious award.” He fluttered his hand dismissively. “Of course on Voyager , it's just another day in the life of an under-appreciated EMH.”

The commander didn’t seem to take notice of the comment. “What about the rest of the crew? No other casualties?”

“Not that I'm aware of. I've tried calling the bridge, but no one answers. Were we attacked?”

“I don't think so. We ran into some sort of anomaly.”

The Doctor nodded. Barring an attack, that would have been his other guess. But the silence from the bridge puzzled him, especially combined with the fact he hadn’t been notified about possible casualties flooding into Sickbay. At least Kes would tell him what was going on. “Naturally, no one thought to inform me.” He raised his voice at the sight of the commander struggling to sit up. “What do you think you're doing?”

“Leaving, and you're going with me.” Chakatoy stood up, somewhat unsteadily.

This time it was the Doctor’s turn to be confused. “I am?”

“There may be other injured crewmen.” Chakotay picked up an extra med kit and gestured towards the doors Kes had most recently exited.

The EMH stared at Voyager’s first officer in disbelief. “In case you've forgotten, I'm a prisoner of these walls.”

This caught Chakotay’s attention. “Where's your mobile emitter?”

“My what?”

A shadow crossed Chakotay’s face and then as quickly as it had come, it vanished. He said, “I'll be back.”

“Wait!” The Doctor took a frantic step forward. “Tell me about this mobile emitter!” 

But it was too late. Chakotay was gone and the Doctor was alone again once more.

Chapter Text

Bridge, pre-Caretaker

"Harry, what's going on?"

Ensign Kim shook off the officer's grip on his arm, sidestepping a little, not wanting to be disrespectful but not appreciating being manhandled. He'd never seen the tall man with the facial tattoo before. Then again, he was only an ensign. There might be some reason this commander was on the bridge. Perhaps they had taken on another officer before leaving Deep Space Nine?

"Sir? I'm afraid I don't know you," Harry exclaimed.

The captain leaped up and turned about to look, then started to come up to the back of the bridge. "Take him into custody," she ordered sternly as she put her hands on the railing and stepped up to confront the man. Hearing the disapproval and ire in her voice, Harry took the hint and faded off to his post, not being security; the actual security officers were already in motion. "How did you get aboard this ship?" the captain demanded to know in her low gravelly voice.

"Kathryn?"

Harry stared across the bridge at the commander. There was a strange note of familiarity in his tone.

The captain's voice dropped even lower, and dripped with suspicion. "Oh, I didn't realize we were on a first name basis."

"We should have known that the Maquis were involved," Andrews said.

"Maquis? Involved in what?" the strange man exclaimed, sounding defensive.

Harry blinked -- so this was a Maquis, not an officer! Had the captain known about this and briefed everyone but Harry already? He was stationed on the bridge! He should have been briefed! Or maybe it was his fault? Had he missed a memo or a briefing? Turning to his console, he started to review his messages and notifications, looking for a hint of what he'd missed. Then he realized he was at Operations on the bridge and he was panicking -- he should focus! No sense in being distracted on the bridge, he could look for it later and apologize to the captain if he had to.

And now he realized that if he had missed anything he would have heard about it already. Surely he'd be scolded for missing a meeting. Or paged to it, if he wasn't there.

Calm down, Kim. Stay on point.

"Just when we're about to chase your ship into the Badlands, our systems start malfunctioning and, you step off the turbolift," the captain was saying, clearly putting the pieces together ahead of him.

The Maquis in Starfleet clothing showed no signs of anxiety -- whatever he was, he was confident in a way Harry envied. "Captain, I know this may be hard to believe but I think I've somehow been thrown seven years into Voyager's past."

"Really? Let's try another theory. You learned Voyager had been assigned to capture you, and you managed to get on board to sabotage her." The captain crossed her arms, scowling.

But the Maquis was insistent and firmly respectful. "Check your sensors. See if they're showing any strange temporal readings."

That was going to be the cue for her to order Harry to do it, so he jerked his eyes to the panel in front of him. "Captain, the environmental controls are fluctuating." Not exactly temporal, but nothing else was out of the ordinary.

The captain didn't seem to care; she clearly wasn't taking anything the Maquis said seriously. "Take him to the brig."

Harry watched security remove the man from the bridge. The captain glanced at him, gave him a nod, and returned to her chair. He decided to start actively scanning ahead of them, as they were traveling toward the Badlands. As he did so, he kept thinking about the conversation with the Maquis, how odd it was that one of them would be aboard in the first place. There hadn't been any signs of sabotage or tampering.

Then again... would there be? Maquis would probably make efforts to conceal what they did. He made a note to initiate a Level One diagnostic department by department, just to be sure. He'd have to talk to Carey about it when he had a chance.

Chapter Text

The Last of Stadi 


Lieutenant Veronica Stadi, chief helmsman of Voyager, was annoyed with herself. She'd let Dr. Fitzgerald's opinion of their "murderous, unrepentant jailbird" Thomas Paris affect her own behavior towards the young man. The former pilot was a little too good at hiding what he really felt behind a mask of indifference towards everyone else. He may have caused the deaths of those other officers at Caldik Prime, but he certainly wasn't unrepentant. No, he was being eaten up from guilt. She was Betazoid. She knew what was in his heart, and whatever else he might be, he was also a kid, bleeding out from the inside because he hadn't told the truth about the accident right after it happened.

Since no one had realized he hadn't told the truth until he himself came forward to correct the record--at the cost of his career--she should have known that Voyager's chief medical officer had been wrong about him. Stadi had felt there was so much more to Paris from the moment she met him, when she’d picked him up from the McAllister. That ship had ferried their "observer" close enough to Voyager's current position to make it feasible for Stadi to transfer him the rest of the way to Deep Space Nine and Voyager. His flirting ceased as soon as he laid eyes on their ship. Paris's hunger to have the helm controls in his hands, to fly her, superseded any hopes he may have had of touching Stadi in a more sensual way. She could tell from the rapt expression on his face that any thoughts of initiating a relationship with her were banished from his mind as soon as he saw the sleek new vessel.

Too bad, really. Thomas Eugene Paris might have the reputation of being a bad boy, but deep down he had a good heart. And he sure was clothed in a pretty package. A lot prettier than Fitz's, that's for sure.

The proof was in what their new operations officer had related to Stadi the previous evening, in the crew's Mess Hall. The kid had looked so lonely, eating his dinner by himself, that Stadi had taken the seat across from his to visit with him for a while. She liked to do that, to make the new staff feel comfortable. If it was overwhelming for Janeway’s chief helmsman to be taking part in the first mission of one of the most technologically advanced ships Starfleet had ever built, how must Ensign Harrison Kim, who had just graduated from the Academy, be feeling? He was very much out of his element.

As soon as she sat down, Stadi had to maintain her personal shielding at the highest level to prevent any accidental telepathic connection with him. Kim's emotions were right there on the surface for any Betazoid to read. You didn’t need to be telepathic to be able to feel the poor guy's unease! She kept their chat casual, and in only a minute or so he’d relaxed and proved to be a charming conversationalist. She was certain he would be an asset to their ship's complement, young as he was. He was quite open about how much he had to learn.

The story Kim then related, about what Paris had done to prevent his getting fleeced by Quark, the shady bar keeper on Deep Space Nine, confirmed what Stadi had already discovered: Paris wasn't at all what he seemed to be. When she'd tripped entering their shuttle on the McAllister as they were preparing to return to Voyager, Paris had grabbed her arm to prevent her from falling. That touch broke through her shields. Stadi had felt the excruciating howl of pain coming from the mind of Paris, the lone wolf who was destroying himself from within because he'd been excluded from his pack. That was the real Paris, not the one who flaunted a devil-may-care exterior in everyone's face. The air of indifference was the pretense, a show of bravado, and a poorly executed one, once she'd realized the truth.

Stadi hadn't tried to read Paris on the McAllister, of course, but still--to any Betazoid, a secret learned through inadvertent thought reception was sacred. She'd never reveal what she'd learned to anyone--except to Tom Paris, perhaps, if he ever opened himself up to her. Whether he ever did or not, she'd determined right then she'd try to be nice to the former pilot. If she could help him in any way to feel better about himself, she would. Stadi didn't think he was beyond redemption, no matter how badly he’d screwed up in the past.

But Cavit and Fitz didn't want Paris to enjoy even a crumb of companionship. Stadi had just overheard the pair filling in the green ensign all about Paris's criminal history, in a blatant attempt to keep Kim from even being civil to the observer. She’d been sitting in a corner of the crew’s Mess Hall, becoming more and more incensed by the way the senior officers were misrepresenting Paris, when the man himself came in to eat his own meal. The first officer and the doctor had immediately gotten up to leave, glaring at the observer, leaving Kim to confront Paris alone--or leave him flat, which is probably what they’d hoped the ensign would do. Kim remained where he was, though, and asked Paris if what they’d told him was true. Paris had freely admitted it was.

That was enough for Stadi. She went to see the captain to tell her she’d report back to the helm as soon as she'd had “a word or two” with Dr. Fitzgerald and stormed down the corridor outside of the Ready Room.

Whatever negative thoughts her ex-boyfriend Fitz might have about their observer should properly be shared only with like-minded individuals (dirty minded, in Stadi's opinion--she'd never warmed to Cavit). To try to poison the well and destroy any shred of good opinion someone else might have of Paris, especially after he'd done the kid a favor, was repulsive. She was well aware that Fitz's feelings towards her had not changed, but Stadi’s opinion of him had plunged even more, thanks to his actions this afternoon. She vowed never to have anything to do with him again. In fact, she'd rather have their new EMH-Mark-1 activated to be her doctor during the rest of this mission than have Fitz ever touch her again!

Stadi had just come through the entrance of Sickbay when the deck rose up beneath her feet and threw her down hard. A blinding light flashed, forcing her to close her eyes. As the ship continued to jolt and shake, almost as if it was being torn apart, she opened them again and saw the medical consoles blowing up in the medical staff's faces. While Stadi watched, V'Ashta, the Vulcan nurse, fell into one and was consumed by electrical flames. A wall installation exploded, engulfing Dr. Fitzgerald as it crushed his body.

The violence blew Stadi out into the corridor. The opposite wall stopped her slide as the ship, pulled by unimaginable forces, tilted sideways. The mental cries of the crew died away, until all she could sense were the last thoughts of the two nearest to her, as life drained out of the bodies of V'Ashta and Fitz. She tried to get to her feet, but she seemed to have fallen behind an invisible barrier that would not yield.

She could see the corridor she'd just walked through. It was still in perfect condition. Sickbay was in a shambles, but then her vision blurred. Dr. Fitzgerald and his nurse had disappeared. Through the open doorway, Stadi could see Sickbay was pristine again--but completely empty. What had just happened? Some sort of disaster had struck Voyager, of that she was certain, but none of what she’d just seen made sense.

But then Stadi felt so very strange. A wave of energy passed through her; she heard a tearing sound and knew it must be her. There was no pain, even though she sensed her body was dissolving into space. No, not space, because she could tell she was still wholly enclosed within Voyager. Was she being thrown into another dimension? She’d heard of a Mirror Universe. Could she be falling into that?

Ultimately, it didn’t matter. She was in a place where Lieutenant Veronica Stadi, chief helmsman of Voyager--dear Benara to her mother on Beta Zed--did not belong. Perhaps she had already died in whatever place/universe/time this was, and she could no longer exist.

All thoughts of love and friendship, anger and redemption melted away. As Stadi fell into eternity, she calmly embraced its peace.

Chapter Text

“Take him to the brig.”

When Captain Janeway gave that order, Chief Petty Officer Ross A. Maglietta jumped to comply. The bridge had been a bit chaotic when his prisoner first strolled onto the deck; just as Voyager was about to enter the Badlands, equipment failures began all over the ship. It was bad enough that the captain sent Commander Cavit to Engineering when she couldn't get a response. That meant that after the captain, Ensign Kim was the next senior officer on the bridge, which wasn't instilling confidence in anyone. When this man, wearing the rank of full Commander, confidently strode onto the bridge, Maglietta didn’t recognize him, but that wasn’t surprising. He had joined the ship just before it left Deep Space 9 and hadn’t met many of the officers outside of the Security Department yet. But Captain Janeway took one look at the commander and ordered him into custody. Apparently, he was one of the Maquis crew they were ordered to capture.

The Maquis babbled something about time travel and temporal readings, but it sounded like gibberish to Maglietta. It must have sounded like that to Captain Janeway, too, because she just said, “Take him to the brig.”

He and Crewman Rufus Koszula already had their phasers pointing at the man, so they drew the duty. Maglietta gestured toward the turbolift. To his relief, the man obeyed calmly, without so much as a dirty look. “Brig,” Ross said curtly as they all stepped into the ‘lift.

The prisoner was tall and muscular, and looked as if he could put up quite a fight. Maglietta tensed, ready to react if needed. A physical confrontation in the enclosed space of the turbolift would be difficult and dangerous. The Maquis offered no resistance, however; he just stood quite still and seemed to be lost in thought.

The turbolift passed Deck 2, and suddenly Maglietta was jolted off balance with such force he dropped his phaser and fell to his hands and knees. It was as if the turbolift had struck something – except when the initial vertigo from the impact passed, he saw he was no longer in the turbolift. He was suspended in the middle of the shaft, with no visible means of support.

The turbolift and the Maquis prisoner had completely vanished; all he could see was the depth of the shaft stretching down for 15 decks. His stomach flipped over as he realized he and Koszula were on some kind of invisible platform that had never been there before. It felt solid but it was inexplicable. He wasn’t normally afraid of heights, but at the moment, he was terrified. He thought he might throw up.

“What the hell?” Koszula exclaimed; he had landed on his butt – but on what? There was nothing there! He also was looking down, his eyes going wide as his brain measured the length of the fall they seemed about to take. “Wha – what – “

Maglietta swallowed hard. It was a long way down for a couple of guys apparently perched on nothing at all. “Shit,” he said as he staggered to his feet and leaped to grab one of the ladders on the wall. “I don’t know what’s going on, Rufe, but don’t just stand there!”

Koszula looked at him, then jumped on to the ladder on the opposite bulkhead. “Where’s the turbolift? What happened to the Maquis? Did he do this?”

“I don’t know what the hell ‘this’ is!” Maglietta snapped. His brain was refusing to process the situation; it was focusing only on the emptiness below them. He couldn’t take his eyes off the deep and empty hole beneath him.

“Well, Chief,” Koszula said, emphasizing the rank to point out that Maglietta was the senior officer in charge, “what do we do now?”

Snapping out of his fog, Maglietta figured they were closer to Deck 3 than to Deck 2 and tried to take a step down the ladder. His foot just banged against the invisible barrier. He looked up. “Climb up, I guess,” he said. “We need to get out of this shaft before the turbolift comes back.”

“Where are we going?” Koszula asked as he climbed. “Back to the bridge?”

“Eventually,” Maglietta said as his gut rumbled ominously, “but I sure as hell need to hit the head before we try to explain this to Captain Janeway. And I’m gonna be there for a while.”

Chapter Text

Seska closed her eyes in frustration as Chakotay snatched the phaser rifle away from Rulat and fired across the Engineering deck. After knocking Nabin to the deck with one shot and then shooting consoles that sparked and smoked and caused a very loud warning about a coolant leak, he climbed the ladder to the upper level of Engineering. It was hard to believe Culluh could tolerate anyone as incompetent as Rulat. Some day, she would have the power to simply eliminate him but for now she had to tolerate him.

She snatched up a rifle from the deck, but by that time, Chakotay was already at the top of the ladder leading to the upper level. As she took aim, he tossed the phaser rifle upwards. Rather than clatter on the floor, the rifle simply disappeared in midair. Then Chakotay followed it, and instead of seeing him standing on the upper level of Engineering, he also vanished, as if passing through an invisible curtain. She could see the upper level plainly and she should have been able to see him, but he wasn’t there.

Her anger transformed into puzzlement as she tried to process what she had just seen. For the first time, she wondered if he had told the truth the first time and the ship was somehow involved in a temporal anomaly. She needed to think, which wasn’t easy as the computer was still blaring about a coolant leak, Rulat was making grunts and huffs as he tried to fix the problem and Germot was already climbing up the ladder, his feet thudding and thumping as he went.

“No!” she yelled at Germot, who was clearly ready to follow Chakotay into oblivion. These Kazon were such idiots. “Scan the perimeter and report any anomalies. Something’s not right here.”

What was it Chakotay had said? He was barely conscious after Rulat clubbed him in the head, but he had said –

“Seska!” Rulat shouted, with panic in his voice. “I cannot fix this coolant leak!”

Of course he can’t, she thought. I have never worked with any species as inherently stupid as these ghencardăst Kazon. Culluh seems to be a genius among them and he is easier to manipulate than Chakotay ever was. “I’m coming,” she said aloud, and 45 seconds later, she stepped back from the console. “Done,” she said, and pointed to a red field on the monitor. “This control and this one,” she pointed to a yellow bar graph on the opposite side of the monitor, “need to be in alignment. Don’t let them get out of sync again.”

He gave her a bitter look and she had to look away so he didn’t see her contempt. Like all Kazon, he resented taking orders from a female even though she just saved all their lives. Oh, when this is over, she promised herself, I am going to make some changes in Kazon culture. I’m getting tired of pretending subservience to creatures this ludicrous. At least the Humans recognize merit regardless of species or gender. They have their faults, but it was much easier living among them.

She began pacing the deck, trying to think. Could it be possible? Was the ship fractured in time? She replayed the past fifteen minutes in her mind.

Chakotay had walked into Engineering and seemed surprised to find them here, as if he had forgotten that just three days ago she and Culluh had taken over his ship and deposited him – and the entire crew – on a godforsaken planet where, by all rights, they should have been stranded for years. If not forever. Why was he surprised?

Of course, stupid Rulat had immediately struck him with the butt of a rifle and rendered him semi-conscious. She healed the cut on his head, being gentle, even caring. There was still a chance she could win him over. As far as he knew, she still had possession of his offspring. “You didn’t really think I’d hurt you, did you?” she asked in a honeyed voice and playful tone. She had often used that voice with him, with good results.

He was having none of it. The look he gave her was unyielding. “How did you get here?” he asked.

She laughed. “Don’t tell me that little bump,” she ran her index finger down the healed cut, “gave you amnesia.” Straightening, she gave up the pretense of affection and said coldly, “It’s time you accepted that I am in control of Voyager.”

He blinked, and looked down. “But that was five years ago,” he murmured. In hindsight, she didn’t think he realized he said it aloud.

When she asked what he was talking about, he claimed they were in the middle of some kind of temporal anomaly. But he gave up that ridiculous story after a single hard blow and claimed he had a dozen men on board. He said they had locked her out of all the key systems on the ship. And he tricked her into letting him stand and walk to the console. That’s when he overcame Rulat and grabbed the rifle. He’d managed to hit one of her men and one of the coolant controls before he disappeared up the ladder.

She was a bit chagrined that she had allowed it. No one knew better than she how dangerous he could be when he was motivated. She had let her guard down when she saw him, and that was a mistake. She should have realized that he gave in too quickly, and she believed him when he told her what she expected to hear.

In her own defense, he looked so good compared to these Kazon and Culluh. And if Rulat had been even marginally competent, Chakotay would not have escaped.

Not escaped - disappeared. The upper level of Engineering was visible but oddly deserted. No Chakotay, no Starfleet would-be commandos, not even one of Culluh’s men.

None of it made sense – unless he told the truth the first time, and the ship was somehow existing in different time periods simultaneously.

Germot called to her from the top of the ladder. “What did you find?” Seska asked.

He looked troubled. “It is very strange,” he said. “I can’t get readings of anything beyond the top of this point.”

“Are there any signs of anomalies?” she asked, irritated.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. There’s just – nothing. Not even space. It’s like there's an invisible wall blocking the scan function, and I can't see anything on the other side."

She thought for a moment, and then said, “Try to touch that wall. Don’t go through it, just see if you can feel anything there.”

He reached out a tentative hand, then reached a little farther. His palm stopped abruptly in midair, and jerked back quickly, as if it had bounced off something. “It’s like a wall,” he said, “It tingles a little, but it doesn’t read as a force field.” With a defiant stare, he added, “I’m not going through that.”

She nodded, not really surprised. “Come down and get back to work,” she told him. “We need control of the ship’s functions.” If a temporal anomaly, and not Chakotay, had locked them out of the key systems, the effort would be futile - but it served to occupy the Kazon so she could concentrate. Her task, for the moment, was to try to figure out what was going on.

Preposterous as it seemed, the temporal anomaly explanation was the only one that fit with everything she had observed. Engineering was trapped in some kind of time bubble, contained entirely in this level. She decided not to share that conclusion with her companions. These Kazon wouldn’t believe her – or if they did, they’d panic and do something stupid. They lacked the imagination to deal with a threat that wasn’t firing a weapon at them.

So, they were trapped in a time bubble - but Chakotay had somehow managed to enter their bubble. Somehow, he was not limited by the temporal anomaly. That meant he might be coming back.

He said this moment was ‘five years ago.’ Yet he appeared to be in good health and still wore that loathsome Starfleet uniform. That could only mean that he didn’t spend much time on that splendidly horrid planet. He and Janeway somehow regained control of the ship. And, she realized suddenly, he didn’t ask about the baby, so he must know it was Culluh’s child, not his. That explains the look he gave me.

So. It all added up to one thing – failure. Culluh couldn’t keep the ship even though she had handed it to him on a latinum platter. He probably didn’t listen to her about something important and did - was going to do - something stupid, and lost the ship.

That did not portend well for her own future. She knew that for all his declarations of love and devotion, Culluh only took her as his consort because she was of use to him against Voyager. Knowing him, he would pin his failure on her. If he didn’t kill her, he would demote her from consort to a mere bed-warming slave. He might even renege on his promise to raise the child, not knowing it was really his.

No. I can’t let that happen. And she definitely didn’t want to spend the rest of eternity trapped in this room with these miserable excuses for sentient beings. I wonder, will we just stay here in some kind of time loop for all eternity, repeating the same behavior over and over, or will we just age and wither until one by one, we die? Neither alternative appealed to her. She wanted to see her son again. She wanted to show Chakotay he’d made a mistake by siding against her.

Chakotay, she knew, must be searching for a way to restore his timeline. If he found one, then surely she could find a way to restore this one instead - or even alter the future.

For a moment, she wished there was a way to go back a little further, to a time when he still trusted her. Chakotay was a fool but a moderately intelligent fool, and the sex was so much better with him than with Culluh. If only she had been able to persuade him to overthrow Janeway, things might have been so much better. But he had refused, and now he had lived five more years as Janeway's lapdog. She had to assume they were lovers by now, and that he knew she had lied about the baby’s paternity. So. She probably had lost her last leverage with him.

He’ll be back, I think. She couldn’t imagine a possible solution that didn’t involve main Engineering. Once he was back, she would get him to tell her his plan. If he could figure it out, then she should be able to easily calculate how to adapt it to her needs. Perhaps I’ll offer him a chance to stay with me and leave Starfleet and its ridiculous rules behind, but even as she thought it, she realized it was unlikely he would agree. He must be fully indoctrinated by now.

She shook her head. We could have been so good together. I think I even loved him a little, the way you love a pet hekant. I’m sure he loved me, at least until he met Janeway. It was so obvious that bitch appealed to his hero complex; he loves nothing better than to rescue the helpless. The instant he decided Janeway needed him, he’d cut Seska out completely. The bitterness of that rejection still cut sharply.

If only the baby had been his. Stealing his DNA had been just the right move, making sure she would retain a bargaining chip with him. When she was first pregnant, she believed she had succeeded, but the moment she first held her son, she knew he was Culluh’s. He looked just like his sperm donor, poor thing, and too fat and healthy to be a premature human infant. Still, she had truly enjoyed telling Chakotay the child was his. Try and forget me now, hero. The look on his face when he heard that news was worth all the trouble.

But there was no sense dwelling on the past when there was still a future to be shaped. She hadn’t stayed alive all these years by having regrets. If she could keep Voyager, she would keep her position, and eventually Culluh wouldn’t even realize that she was the real power among the tribes. And best of all, she could train her son to avenge the wrongs done to her by these insufferable Kazon. All she had to do was wait for Chakotay and then seize the opportunity.

After all, she excelled at seizing opportunities.

Chapter Text

Still shaken by his encounter with Seska in Engineering, Chakotay leaned against the corridor wall and took a deep breath, trying to calm his pounding heart and gather his thoughts.

It had been five years since Seska and the Kazon had taken over Voyager, stranding the crew on a barren, primitive planet. He remembered every detail of the events that led to their people retaking the ship – and Seska’s death. And yet, somehow, she was alive and well in Engineering as if no time at all had passed.

Chakotay had already seen a very obviously pre-Delta Quadrant Janeway who’d ordered him thrown in the brig, believing him to be the renegade Maquis leader she was charged with taking into custody. The security guards escorting him from the Bridge had disappeared in the turbolift – right after he’d experienced an odd tingling sensation, almost as if he’d passed through an invisible barrier of some sort. He’d felt the same thing in Engineering, when first entering and also when he’d gone after the rifle he’d tossed – and had somehow mysteriously moved out of Seska’s field of vision even though he could still see her clearly.

He was beginning to have his suspicions about what was going on, but he would wait for the Doctor to confirm his hypothesis.

Chakotay looked up sharply at the sound of approaching footsteps. His first impression was of a tall man in a red and black Starfleet uniform. He had salt and pepper hair – temples already gone nearly completely white – and pale blue eyes. There were three pips on his collar, two gold, one black.

Chakotay drew a blank as to the man’s identity. A lieutenant commander on board Voyager… Suddenly, he knew who it was. John Cavit, Voyager’s original First Officer, who’d been killed during the ship’s wild ride to the Delta Quadrant. Instinctively, Chakotay pulled back against the bulkhead, trying to conceal himself. If he hadn’t been able to convince Captain Janeway, with whom he had a long and involved shared history, of his improbable tale of being thrown back seven years into Voyager’s past, he doubted he’d be any more successful with Cavit, who was a total stranger.

Cavit halted a few feet away, frowning. He thrust his arm forward, and then immediately pulled it back. He didn’t seem to see Chakotay. Chakotay was puzzled; his efforts at hiding hadn’t been very effective and the majority of his body was in plain sight. Cautiously, he inched forward until he was nearly face to face with Cavit. He put out a hand and felt the faintest hint of something tingling. He abruptly pulled back, but clearly hadn’t been fast enough.

“Who’s there?” demanded Cavit, looking wildly from side to side. He took a step forward, and was bounced back, as if there was a solid barrier in front of him.

Cavit slapped his comm badge. “Cavit to Bridge. Captain, do you read me?” There was no answer. Cavit tried again. “Engineering come in, please. Computer, call for a site-to-site transport to Engineering, authorization Cavit pi zeta fourteen.”

Chakotay watched, fascinated. Cavit was apparently trapped in this section of the corridor, just like Seska in Engineering. He wrinkled his brow in consternation, wondering how he was able to navigate freely. All he knew was he’d had the sensation of passing through something that set his skin tingling, and then Seska couldn’t see him. The rifle he’d thrown had passed through, too, but the medkit he’d taken with him from Sickbay had disappeared while he was en route to the Bridge. Just like the guards. He had no idea why. He shook his head and wiped his sweaty palms on his pants.

Cavit was still fruitlessly trying to hail someone – anyone – on the comm. Although Chakotay knew he should double back and head to Sickbay another way, he couldn’t help but stare at Cavit for a few seconds longer. This man was Janeway’s first XO. Chakotay found himself wondering how Cavit felt about his captain, if he, too, admired her forthright nature and ability to choose the correct course of action based on very little data. Had Cavit been frustrated by Janeway’s propensity for sacrificing herself for the sake of her crew? Chakotay speculated on what kind of professional relationship they had, how well they worked together, if they were friends beyond the necessity of the command team.

Chakotay also wondered what would have happened if Cavit had survived the trip to the Delta Quadrant. Would Cavit have gone along with Janeway’s offer to the Maquis to join her crew? Or would he have argued they should spend the next 70 years – or however long it took for the ship to return home – in the brig? Maybe Cavit would have persuaded Janeway to use the Caretaker’s Array to get them home, sacrificing the lives of the Ocampa in the process. Overriding all these questions was one that seemed paramount - with the XO spot already occupied, what kind of position would Janeway have created for Chakotay to “keep the peace” i.e. keep the Maquis happy and cooperating?

Chakotay chided himself for his foolishness. He had no more time to waste. With a last glance at Cavit, who persisted in shouting futilely into his comm badge, Chakotay set about locating the nearest access hatch to the Jefferies tube network. It would be more prudent to continue his journey to Sickbay this way. As he began crawling on his hands and knees, he already knew what his first question for the Doctor would be.

Chapter Text

The thumping noise from the wall signaled someone was about to ambush him. Being on Voyager was definitely turning out to be more than the Emergency Medical Hologram was programmed to handle! He whirled about, looking for the source of the noise. The Jeffries tube hatch was opening; he grabbed the only thing his program could identify as potentially useful as a weapon: the hypospray on the tray behind him. He called out, “Whoever you are, I suggest you surrender. I'm armed!”

“It's only me, Doc.” Chakotay emerged and stood up, hanging onto the edge of the biobed to steady himself. The EMH charged over to the bed.

“Commander, please tell me what's going on!” the Doctor hated being left out of the loop. Chakotay had been here just twenty minutes earlier, and now he was back? And with still no more information than he’d given him before! The commander moved to the end of the biobed, and so the EMH followed suit, in full confrontational mode. 

“If you tell me the stardate,” Chakotay said.

“49624.” The EMH didn’t know why it mattered, but he was programmed to comply. Commander Chakotay seemed different -- something about him was off. 

“No wonder you didn't know about the mobile emitter. You don't get it for another year,” Chakotay said.

Now, that was completely confusing. “I don't understand.” Nothing in Chakotay’s medical record suggested he had a proclivity towards predicting the future.

“I'm not sure I get it myself, but the ship seems to have been fractured somehow.”

The EMH frowned. “Fractured?” He imagined great fissures in the hull, or cracks in the walls.

“Different areas seem to exist in different time periods.” 

This reminded the EMH of the time the entire ship had apparently been twisted into knots, resulting in crewmen being unable to get from one place to another. But how could it be that time changed from one area to the next? Though when he’d been here before, Chakotay’s body had been out of temporal sync, so it was possible.

“How many of these time periods are there?”

Chakotay gave a little shrug. “I'm not sure. On the bridge, it's before Voyager even left the Alpha Quadrant. In Engineering, it's the time when the Kazon took over the ship.”

Now, that was cause for alarm. “Kazon? We've got to protect ourselves!”

But the commander was calm and cool. “Don't worry. So far I'm the only one who can cross from one zone into another. That serum you gave me. It must've made me immune. Normal technology won't pass through the barriers. Can you replicate a chroniton-infused hypospray casing using the same principles you used to make the serum?”

It was clear that his programming wasn’t up to the task of keeping up with what Chakotay was intending. This wasn’t making much sense at the moment. “I think so. Why?"

“I have to take some of it with me.”

“What for?” This was making no sense at all.

“If I'm going to put the ship back together again, I need help.”

The EMH sighed. So many hours and days and weeks of this sort of thing, so little explanation. What would the serum do for the ship? If only they would give him more information, he could truly show them what he was capable of.

He put together the requested items as quickly as he could and provided them to the commander. He watched Chakotay leave with the hypospray and shook his head, wondering what he could expect next. Ever since he had been brought online following the encounter with the Caretaker’s Array, he’d been through so much. His latest adventure, which had involved being sent into an artificial reality to deal with an AI gone astray and free crew members from being trapped in stasis, suggested his tribulations wouldn’t end any time soon. 

The sickbay doors opened, and this time Kes came in. She seemed a bit upset. “I tried to get to Engineering, but it seems there are barriers -- invisible ones, like force fields. I can’t get very far in any direction. I could tell they were there; it makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up when I get too close. I didn’t try to touch any of them.” She hugged herself, clearly feeling unsettled. “I didn’t see anyone at all. It’s eerie.”

“Commander Chakotay was just here. Didn’t you see him leaving?” 

“No, I didn’t. Doctor… are you all right?”

“I’m just evaluating the situation. Commander Chakotay ordered me to make more serum. He said the ship was fractured into different temporal zones, and he needed it to put it back together. That must be those barriers you described, different zones that you can only travel through after you’re treated.”

“But that’s good news! I can inoculate myself and then go try to help,” she exclaimed.

The EMH was flabbergasted. “Kes! You can’t possibly go wandering through different time zones -- who knows what’s happening in any of them? Starfleet vessels can encounter anything from Borg to shapeshifters to -- who knows what ! The Vidiians could be lurking around every corner, then if you got away from them you might run into the Kazon! He just told me they were in Engineering! No, no -- you need to stay here in Sickbay and help me prepare for what will surely be a flood of injuries!”

Kes listened, open-mouthed, and seemed properly chastened. She nodded slowly and looked down for a moment as if deep in thought. As she raised her head again, she said, “You’re right, of course. Maybe… if the commander comes back for more serum, maybe I should work on making more of it. And I should start replicating more medical supplies, if you think there are going to be injuries?”

“An excellent idea, Kes. Thank you.”

Chapter Text

Bridge, Caretaker

This time, when the Maquis in a Starfleet uniform came back, Harry was ready. When the turbolift opened, he looked up from the console where he and the captain were examining the distortions, said, “Captain!” and drew his phaser. Captain Janeway moved away from him, toward the intruder. Harry kept the phaser trained on Chakotay.

“Where are my officers?” the captain demanded. She'd sent two officers to put the man in the brig. How the hell had he ended up back on the bridge?

“The turbolift passed through a temporal barrier. They couldn't get through. If you're willing to hear me out, I can explain. At least partly.” Chakotay was dead calm, unsmiling. Ignoring Andrews standing behind him at the ready to intervene as needed, as well as the phaser Harry kept aimed at him.

“You mean about your being from the future,” Janeway said, still not taking him seriously.

“Your first Starfleet posting was on the Al-Batani , where you once knocked out power to six decks by misaligning the positronic relays.” Chakotay wasn’t at all perturbed. Harry wondered what it would take to make the man flinch.

“Nice try, but you could have read that in a Maquis intelligence file.”

“How's Molly, your Irish Setter? You rescued her from a pound on Taurus Seti IV. She was the runt of the litter, but you thought she had spunk. You love music, but you never learned to play an instrument. Something you still regret.”

Harry almost wavered -- but the recital delivered so calmly did little to reassure anyone, including the captain.

“How do you know these things?” Janeway asked, quietly suspicious.

“Because you told me, about three years from now.”

Alarming as that was, the captain strode forward. “My ready room.”

Chakotay followed her to the ready room, with Andrews following close behind, his phaser at the ready. Harry finally lowered his. Whatever was going on, it was clear the captain wanted to figure it out on her own. 

Some moments later, as Harry scanned and monitored the level one diagnostic he was running on the bridge systems, Andrews paged the bridge asking for assistance -- the two security officers ran out. And after some tense waiting Harry watched Andrews and the other two returned with grim looks on their faces.

“He took the captain,” Andrews said. “Injected her with something and vanished through some sort of barrier.”

The female ensign whose name Harry couldn’t yet remember put a tricorder on Harry’s console. “Those are the tricorder readings we took.”

“I’ll run a full analysis,” Harry exclaimed. He had to get the captain back if he could. “Maybe one of you should wait in the corridor in case she gets away and needs help?”

“Good idea.” Andrews left the bridge again.

Harry turned to the task of downloading the scans into the computer. Something really fishy was going on here. He’d have to keep trying -- the ship’s sensors weren’t giving them anything that indicated much was wrong. Except that Stadi, and a couple of Bridge officers, and now the captain had vanished. This Commander Chakotay was apparently able to come and go at will. 

It wasn’t much to go on, but he hoped that he would be able to figure out something -- they had to get the captain back. The first officer wasn’t on the bridge, and trying to contact Cavit or other members of the crew had failed. Communications past the corridor had been cut off. 

It was a strange, strange thing to happen -- they hadn’t even reached the Badlands yet! The first day of the first mission, and most of the bridge crew was gone.

Harry looked around suddenly aware that he was the only senior staff left. Stadi was gone. Cavit wasn’t here. Their security chief hadn’t reported for duty yet. The doctor was presumably in sickbay, which was unreachable. Now the captain had vanished. 

Am I actually in command now?

This was not good. At all. This was his first starship, his first posting! The very first mission!

Steady, Harry. Don’t lose your cool. The captain will be back soon!

Or at least, he hoped she would….

Maybe I should go sit in the command chair. Do the work from there?

He looked in the direction of the captain’s empty chair. The most important chair on the bridge, and every cadet’s dream. And here he was, in charge, he could sit there! 

Shaking his head, he surveyed his own console again. No. The smaller monitors on the command chair would slow him down. He really had to get the work done, and fast, and there was a reason that department heads had these stations on the bridge after all.

Setting aside thoughts of the command chair, he set to work with a will. If Starfleet called, they would want to know where everyone was! They hadn’t even had a red alert and more than half the senior staff were gone!

Should he call a red alert? 

Keep it together, now. Figure it out. You can do this! 

Exhaling, he brought up the readings Andrews had taken with the tricorder, and stared at them with a scowl. He hadn’t ever seen anything like this before….

Chapter Text

Captain Janeway strode into her ready room, scanning the hypospray taken from the rather astonishing Maquis who had calmly walked onto her bridge a second time, claiming to have come from the future. “It’s a fascinating story,” she said dryly, “But as the Ferengi say, a good lie is easier to believe than the truth.”

He seemed incredibly unconcerned for a renegade facing arrest, she thought. She saw no signs of nervousness, no tension in his body that might signal an imminent physical attack. In someone else, she’d have interpreted his body language as arrogance. But Chakotay calmly regarded her with a slight smile, as if he liked what he saw. “So you're saying no one on your crew has encountered any of these temporal barriers?”

For a moment the captain hesitated. Stadi had left the bridge and seemingly vanished; they could not raise her on the comm and the internal sensors apparently weren’t working. And the two security officers who had left with him the first time had not yet returned. “My helmsman disappeared after she walked down that corridor,” Janeway admitted, “but that doesn't prove she passed through a temporal barrier.”

She deeply hoped he was making this up and instead was covering up some malicious Maquis plan. It would be easier to cope with a potential saboteur than with a temporal anomaly. Apart from the fantastical nature of the claim, she hated temporal mechanics with a passion.

Chakotay’s smile broadened, as if he guessed what she was thinking, and she caught her breath involuntarily. “If you inject yourself with that,” he said, indicating the hypospray, “I can take you down that corridor and show you that everything I’ve said is true.”

That smile, she thought, should be listed as a weapon, along with those dimples. It was charming and disarming and probably got him past a lot of female security officers - and possibly a few males as well. It was a good thing she was deeply in love with her fiancé or she might have found herself vulnerable. She set down the scanner, which was providing a mishmash of indecipherable data, and extended the hypospray to Andrews. “Have Mister Kim run a full spectral analysis. For all I know, this is poison and Mister Chakotay is trying to assassinate me.”

She deliberately didn’t look at the Maquis so that he would understand she was immune to his smile and his good looks. Because of that, she was caught completely off guard when he suddenly grabbed her extended arm. In one swift move, he had her tightly pressed in front of him with one arm, and his other hand pressed the hypospray to her throat.

“She's right,” he said to Andrews. His voice was still soft but no longer charming. He sounded cold and determined. “It's poison, and I'll use it.”

Andrews didn’t lower his weapon but apparently realized he couldn’t use it without hitting Janeway as well. He gaped at the two of them, his expression filled with anxiety and uncertainty at the same time.

She struggled, but unsurprisingly Chakotay was too strong for her to break free. He began backing up, and she realized he knew exactly where the door to the corridor was. That was odd; she knew for a fact that particular egress did not show up on any of the schematics for Voyager. It had been a last-minute change at her request, in case she needed to meet with crew or other visitors but did not want them parading through the bridge. If Chakotay had somehow obtained Voyager’s design specs, he should have expected that door to lead to her private head, not the corridor. Yet without hesitation, he backed them into the corridor until they were a few meters beyond the doorway.

Andrews followed them, but slowly, keeping some distance between them. “Let her go,” he growled.

“Lower your weapon,” Chakotay countered, but he continued backing up. While Andrews didn’t stop his slow advance, he did drop his hand slightly. Without warning, Janeway heard a hiss and felt a cold sting at the same instant, and knew that Chakotay had just injected her with whatever was in that hypospray.

“Captain!” Andrews shouted in alarm.

She half-expected to feel the heat of a poison sweep through her bloodstream, but other than a slight prickle at the injection site, there was no effect at all.

Chakotay kept moving back until they seemed to push through something tingly. Andrews chased them but stopped suddenly. He stood in the middle of the corridor, staring directly at her and yet seemingly not able to see her. He looked confused, and tapped his communicator. “Andrews to the Bridge. I need help here.”

She shouted, “Andrews!” and felt, rather than saw, Chakotay shake his head. He had not loosened his grip on her.

“He can’t hear you. We’ve moved into a different time frame.”

As if to prove his point, two more security officers ran out from her ready room and stared blankly down the corridor. Andrews said, “Scan the area but don't go past that bulkhead.” She realized Chakotay was correct; they could neither see nor hear her.

“You want more proof?” Chakotay said into her ear. “It's right down that corridor. You just have to trust me.”

“It isn't easy when you're holding me hostage,” she said testily, and immediately he released her. She half turned, but he didn’t move.

She was suddenly very aware of how closely he was standing to her; she could feel his chest as he breathed. It felt absurdly intimate for the situation, unless it was intended to intimidate her. If so, it wasn’t working; she felt annoyed but not intimidated. He made no move to restrain her as he said quietly, “Stay or go. it's your choice.”

Now I know how Alice felt when she fell down the rabbit hole, Janeway thought. Incredible as it sounded, he must be telling the truth. It was the only way to explain why Andrews and the security officers couldn’t see or hear them. Even accepting that they were in the middle of a temporal anomaly, though, didn’t change the fact that he was still a renegade Maquis, a sworn enemy of the Federation. She needed to keep that in mind.

“Now that I’m inoculated, I can go anywhere on the ship I want?” she asked carefully.

He nodded. “That’s right.”

“Then I suppose I don’t need you anymore.” She started to walk past him, but he stepped slightly to the side, blocking her with one shoulder.

His face was very close to hers. “Without me,” he said quietly, “you’ll be walking into a future you know nothing about.”

That stopped her before she took a single step. She really studied him for the first time. He looked older than the photos in his intelligence file, with just a few hints of gray in his hair and more defined crow’s feet around his eyes. If anything, it made him more attractive. That was something his file had not mentioned – that he was so compelling in person.

He wasn’t wearing the usual pips to designate rank, she noted; he had a rank bar that was often used for brevet promotions in times of war, or when communication with HQ wasn’t feasible. But genuine rank pips and rank bars were easily obtained or replicated. It wasn’t proof of anything.

She replayed their earlier conversation in her mind. He knew about her Irish setter, Molly. He knew she regretted never learning to play an instrument. Those personal details were definitely not in any official files. Could the Maquis have hacked her private messages?

She cast him another sidelong glance. He didn’t seem to be in any particular hurry. He stood there patiently, waiting for her to make up her mind. It was as if he knew that pushing her would be a mistake.

This was the moment. She had to decide to trust him or not. Either he was a future member of her crew or he was a Maquis intent on evading arrest and possibly doing harm to herself and Voyager. There was no middle ground here.

Chakotay cocked his head just a little, apparently sensing she was near a decision. It didn’t make sense, but her instincts were telling her to trust him. As a scientist, she despised relying on instinct but as a commander she had learned to trust her gut.

Tersely, she nodded, acknowledging her decision to work with him.

“Where are we going?” she asked as they began walking in the direction of the turbolift.

He apparently needed no explanation or even acknowledgment of her decision. They fell into a matched rhythm as they walked. “The Astrometrics Lab.”

She looked up sharply and felt some of her doubts return. “Voyager doesn’t have an Astrometrics Lab.”

Chakotay smiled. “Harry designed it – or, will design it.”

“Harry Kim?” she repeated, thinking of the green-as-grass, over-eager ensign on her bridge. He was barely a month out of the Academy, if that.

“I realize from your perspective he’s new to the job,” he told her as the turbolift doors opened, “but he’s going to become one of our best people.”

One of our best people, she repeated silently to herself as the turbolift doors opened. He said it so naturally, as if Voyager’s crew was his, too.

He told the turbolift to go to Deck 8, and she said immediately, “Our people?”

With a bit of a roguish sparkle in his eyes, Chakotay said, “I’m going to be your first officer.”

“Really.” She needed to think about that one. It was beyond her imagination how a Maquis wanted for serious criminal offenses could become a first officer on a Starfleet ship in just seven years. That was what he said, wasn’t it? That he came from seven years in the future. Setting that aside, she asked, “What’s the reason we’re going to this, er, Astrometrics?”

“It has temporal sensors that can help us map the ship and tell us how many timeframes we’re dealing with.”

She stared at him skeptically. “Now you’re trying to tell me that Harry Kim invented temporal sensors?”

“No.” He hesitated, and for just a moment, looked like he might be enjoying himself. “We used Borg technology for that.”

“Borg?” she asked incredulously. Just when she thought his whole story could not get more far-fetched, he mentioned the Borg as casually as she might talk about Vulcans.

He must have sensed her rising doubts, because his eyes lost the twinkle and turned serious. “It’s a long story.”

And this was why Kathryn Janeway hated temporal mechanics, temporal anomalies and time travel. It was messy and improbable and complicated. There was nothing simple or elegant about it, not like quantum cosmology. Something told her that the more he shared about the future, the harder it would be for her to believe him. And for better or worse, she had decided to believe him.

“Maybe you should keep it to yourself,” she finally said. “Temporal Prime Directive. The less I know about the future, the better.”

He nodded, and she instantly regretted saying it. Questions began to pop up in her mind like bubbles in champagne. When was he going to become her first officer? How did he get reinstated in Starfleet? Why was he wearing a rank bar instead of pips?

I hate temporal anomalies, she thought as they exited the turbolift.

Chapter Text

Crewman Cordelia Foster was blissfully off duty as she walked on the warm, white sands of the beach, wearing a flimsy white dress and carrying a bouquet of pale pink roses. Her hair was loosened from the tight braid-and-bun style she wore on duty. It hung in waves around her shoulders, moving gently in the breeze. The sun shone brightly from a sky dotted with small, puffy clouds, causing diamond-like reflections on the waves. A small crowd of family and friends were watching her approach. She was on her way to the pavilion where her wedding would be held. She looked up and saw her beloved Kit standing beside the officiant, waiting for her and radiating joy. Everything was perfect.

Somewhere, deep below the happiness she was feeling, a small voice said, No. That’s not possible.

She ignored the voice and kept her focus on Kit. They had waited so long, been through so much to get to this day. From today onward, the future was going to be filled with love and laughter and all good things.

Kit is dead, the little voice piped up. This can’t be real.

Cordelia stopped in her tracks. Kit wasn’t dead; Kit was waiting for her. See?

But suddenly a fog swept in off the ocean and swallowed up the pavilion and Kit in a white haze.

She stared, trying to pick out any details from within the fog. You’re dreaming again, Cor, the little voice said. Don't do this to yourself. You need to wake yourself. You know how. We talked about it. She recognized the voice now. It was Counselor Poradca’s voice, drummed into her brain through all those grief-counseling sessions.

Yes. She had to be dreaming, Cordelia realized. The wedding had never happened. Kit had been killed at Wolf 359. At least, she hoped Kit was dead, rather than assimilated. That was the one belief that had kept her sane in the aftermath. She had to be dreaming, and she had to try to rouse herself.

It helped when she felt someone touch her. As if from a great distance, she heard Captain Janeway say, “She’s got a pulse.”

I’ve got a pulse? That’s good. It meant she wasn’t dead or dying herself, wandering through some cosmic purgatory with white beaches. She tried to open her eyes, but they were just too heavy. Come on, wake up!

Another voice spoke – Commander Chakotay. “I’m detecting an active neurogenic field. This could be the day the telepathic pitcher plant put us all in comas. Or it might be the time aliens invaded our dreams.”

Cordelia tried to make sense of his words, but her brain seemed fuzzy and slow. Telepathic pitcher plant? What did that mean? But he said something about dreams. She had to wake up!

“We’ve got to get them help,” she heard Janeway say. It seemed a little louder this time. Maybe she was finally shaking this off.

“Don’t worry,” Commander Chakotay said. “We managed to get out of both situations.”

What situations? Get out of what? With a supreme effort, Foster managed to open her eyes. Her head was just too heavy to lift, but she got a glimpse of the backs of the Captain and the Commander as they walked away. She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

In just two steps, they seemed to vanish. She should have been able to see them in the corridor, but they were gone.

It’s just another dream, she told herself, and closed her eyes. She felt herself sinking back into the soft, comforting depths of sleep and everything went dark.

Crewman Cordelia Foster was blissfully off duty as she walked on the warm, white sands of the beach wearing a flimsy white dress and carrying a bouquet of pale pink roses.

Chapter Text

“Can you believe it? That whole section...it’s...it’s just gone.”

Icheb had been through a lot in his life. Seen a lot. But the idea that an entire section of Voyager had simply vanished--even though the ship itself was still holding together--was shocking. He tried to revert to his facade of Borg imperturbability. That usually served him well in stressful situations, but he doubted he would be quite as successful today as usual. Fortunately, the only person who could detect any subtle signs of an emotional reaction in him was the one person on this ship he didn’t mind seeing it.

Lieutenant Wildman leaned over the sensor panel and pointed to the large area of the ship displayed in gray tones, which suggested that it had been--eradicated.

With quick movements of his fingers over the controls, Icheb took a count of the bands shown in other colors. “Thirty-seven. That’s how many distinct temporal segments of the ship currently exist,” he said.

Naomi shook her head. “Whatever caused that surge was certainly powerful. It’s fortunate that we still have sensors at all.”

“We may not have them for long. We’re drawing power from our local generators. Nothing is coming from the ship wide backup system.” He didn’t bother to mention that without propulsion, Voyager was simply hanging space. Was this how their long journey to the Alpha Quadrant would end? Unless they could find a way to get through the temporal barriers, they wouldn’t even be able to reach the escape pods. Best not to think of that eventuality now. After everything Voyager and its crew had been through over the years, he couldn’t believe that would be their fate.

Naomi hit her comm badge. “Lieutenant Wildman to Captain Paris.”

They waited for a response for several seconds longer than strictly necessary before Icheb confirmed the obvious. “Communications are still down, Naomi. We can’t communicate with the Bridge. It must be in a different temporal zone from ours. If we can identify what time period is represented in each zone, however, we may be able to communicate with someone else in ours.”

“Seven, you mean? I wish she hadn’t left to check on that energy fluctuation Commander Kim detected. She knows more about these systems than anyone, even our first officer--or you.”’

Despite the gravity of the situation, Icheb couldn’t suppress his smile. Commander Kim had helped build this Astrometrics lab in the early days, shortly after Seven arrived on Voyager. While Seven was still the ultimate authority, Icheb knew almost as much about it as either of them. “I’m sorry I didn’t suggest I go to check on the fluctuations myself, but you know how she is when one of her systems is threatened.”

Naomi didn’t return his smile. “I wish Seven were here, but I’m glad you’re the one who's with me now, Icheb.” She reached out and lightly touched his forearm.

Icheb understood. As much as he’d like to take her into his arms to comfort her at this moment, as Starfleet officers, they had a job to do. He gently grazed his fingers over the back of the hand touching him and said, “Acknowledged, Lieutenant. Let’s see if we can identify exactly which time zone is which. There may be a clue to the one that’s primary, so we can restore the ship to a single zone--preferably one from before a third of the ship disappeared from our sensors.”

Naomi bobbed her head slightly to indicate she understood they were back in professional, not personal mode. “Aye, Commander,” she said weakly, and turned to her instruments to follow his order.

They both looked up when they heard footsteps. Icheb hoped Seven was returning, and with someone else, since he could tell more than one person was rapidly approaching. Could she have met up with Commander Kim? They might have some answers to their questions. But Seven and Harry Kim were not the ones who entered Astrometrics. The greeting Icheb was about to utter froze on his lips when he realized who they were.

“Captain!” Naomi said, in a hushed, disbelieving tone of voice.

“I'm sorry. I don't recognize you, Lieutenant.”

“It's me, Naomi Wildman,” she replied to the figure standing in front of her.

“How did you…” Icheb managed to choke out that much before the other figure addressed him.

“Are you Icheb?” Chakotay asked.

“Something tells me you weren't expecting us,” Captain Janeway observed.

“No, ma'am,” Icheb replied.

“You both died...”

“Seventeen years ago,” Icheb finished Naomi’s sentence.

To Icheb’s surprise, Commander Chakotay didn’t respond with the same degree of shock that he and Naomi were experiencing. His next comment explained why.

“The captain and I haven't risen from the grave. The ship's been fractured into different timeframes.”

“Thirty-seven to be exact,” Naomi said in a calmer tone of voice.

“How did you calculate that?” Captain Janeway asked.

“We've had seventeen years to upgrade the sensors,” Naomi informed her, a slight smile betraying how pleased she was to be providing her captain with information for a change, not vice-versa, as had been the case in the distant past. “A chrono-kinetic surge interacted with the warp core.”

“It shattered the space-time continuum aboard the ship,” Icheb added, as he reopened the schematic on one of the larger screens, pointing out how the ship had been sliced apart, in a temporal sense, by the surge.

The captain turned to the commander and said, with an air of certainly, “The accident that occurred in your timeframe.”

“The question is, can we repair the damage?” Chakotay answered.

“If we could get to a section of the ship that still exists in that time period, maybe we could counteract the surge, stop it from happening,” Janeway suggested.

This would be unlikely, if not impossible, Icheb realized. “That section was the focal point of the surge. It seems to have been...obliterated.”

“It's too bad Seven's not here,” Naomi said softly.

“Seven?” Captain Janeway asked.

“Someone who knows more about temporal mechanics than any of us,” Chakotay explained.

“Unfortunately, she hasn't been found either,” Icheb said. 

The commander said, “Maybe we can find her in another time frame.”

From their exchange, as well as the fact that Captain Janeway hadn't known who Seven was, Icheb decided this captain must be from a different and earlier time period than the commander's. How could that be? When Icheb had tried to step out of Astrometrics, right after they'd felt the jolt from the chrono-kinetic surge, he'd been unable to travel out of this part of the ship. How were the two commanding officers able to move around so freely? They must have come from somewhere else on Voyager; they didn’t appear to be ghosts. Icheb longed to pepper the pair with questions. Where, or more properly, when were they from? How was it possible they were alive at all? Did they simply slip into another time frame seventeen years ago? The captain had disappeared, but the commander had been killed in Engineering from a warp core power surge. Icheb vividly remembered attending the funeral held for the members of the crew who had been lost. He'd clutched onto Naomi's left hand for comfort while her mother had been holding onto her daughter's right hand. He hadn't cried; Naomi had shed enough tears for both of them.

Before Icheb could put any of these questions into words, the captain turned to Naomi. “I have an Ensign Samantha Wildman on my crew.”

With a touch of pride in her voice, Naomi responded, “My mother.”

Chakotay clarified, “Naomi was the first child born on Voyager. A few years later, we rescued Icheb from the Borg.”

“When I was little, there was nothing I wanted more than to be the Assistant Captain,” Naomi added, her face glowing, reflecting the hero worship she’d felt toward Captain Kathryn Janeway so many years ago, before her loss had prodded Naomi to grow up and accept the responsibilities of adulthood even faster than she’d already been trying to do. 

It brought Icheb back to the last time he’d seen a living Commander Chakotay, when the child Naomi had been with the adolescent Icheb, only a year removed from his rescue from the Borg. He’d been tutoring Naomi in genetics. She’d taken the puzzle she was putting together as a game rather than as a learning tool, matching shapes and colors like one does with an ordinary jigsaw puzzle. When the commander discovered them in Cargo Bay Two, Icheb had asked the commander not to say anything to Seven about his “creative approach” to teaching a lesson, since Icheb was supposed to have been writing a paper on transwarp instability at the time. The commander had agreed, asking Icheb, in return, to hide his remaining bottles of Antarian cider ("the real thing, not 'the replicated stuff' ”) so Neelix wouldn’t find them. Icheb had known just the place: inside the containers holding salvaged Borg components. Icheb had assured the commander that Neelix would never look for them there, since Neelix always said those containers gave him “the creeps.”

Icheb had completed the task later that day, even though his heart had been heavy. Captain Janeway had disappeared without a trace, and Commander Chakotay had been killed. Icheb had complied with the commander's last request, even though the first officer would never get to enjoy them.

But what about now? Did the commander even remember that day?

When Commander Chakotay advised the captain, “We should get moving,” Icheb couldn’t resist saying something, just as Naomi had told the captain about wanting to become her assistant someday.

“Commander. In case you were wondering, I never told Neelix where you hid that cider.”

Chakotay responded to Icheb’s comment with a broad grin and a quick nod before he left Astrometrics with Captain Janeway. The praise Chakotay had given to Icheb that day came to mind: “Officer level thinking, Icheb.” He hoped the commander was pleased to see the rank he’d reached. He was young for a second officer, but on Voyager, regrettably,  attrition had helped him attain that position much sooner than he would have if the ship had reached the Alpha Quadrant by this point in time.

Icheb turned to Naomi. From the way she was grinning, she obviously had also caught the reference from that last time they’d seen Commander Chakotay. She threw her arms around him. “Oh, Icheb, I hope he finally gets to drink that cider. The bottles are still there where you hid them, aren’t they?”

He smiled down at his wife. “As long as Cargo Bay Two is intact, they should still be there. But now, Lieutenant Wildman, we need to get back to our task of identifying which time period each of those thirty-seven temporal segments represents. Maybe that will help us solve the problem of this ‘ship of many time zones,’ and return it to just one, as it should be.”

"Yes, sir!" Naomi took a step back, gave him a crisp salute--with just a touch of her usual insouciant sense of fun gracing her lips--and turned back to work at her favorite console. He turned to his with a renewed sense of hope that this would not be the last time he would see that long-lost pair again--alive and well.

Chapter Text

Timeframe: Shattered plus 7 days

Jor smoothed the tunic of her dress uniform. The collar felt tight around her neck, and the elastic in the cuffs pinched at her slender wrists. The black pants were too long; she’d always meant to fix that, but she’d never gotten around to updating her specifications. It had just seemed so wasteful to spend replicator rations on something that she didn’t wear very often. Except for funerals.

She stepped towards the viewport, put her hand up against the thick clear steel. This was the only barrier between her and the outside, the only thing protecting her from being spaced.

The hum of the sonic shower – Tabor was still getting ready – in the background provided the barest of distractions. She kept thinking about the way Voyager had slammed into an anomaly defined only by a strong kinetic chroniton signature. The ship had rattled, shuddered, objects had fallen to the deck, and then the minute fractures appeared across the bulkheads, crazed, and branching across the metal. We’ve lost containment, we’ve lost containment , Lieutenant Torres had said. The lieutenant had been calm, standing off to the side as she urged everyone out of Engineering. And then the ship had lurched to the left. Someone screamed; Jor thought it might have been her.

Later, when she opened her eyes in Sickbay, Tabor held her hand.

“You’re okay. It’s just a concussion,” he said. He leaned down, kissed her forehead lightly. “As soon as you get your official release, you can come back with me to my quarters.”

Later she found out that it would be impossible to return to her quarters for months; the walls had been ripped out, the floors buckled. Force fields were all that held that section of Voyager together.

A day later, Jor was back on her feet. She went to Engineering at the start of Alpha shift and found Lieutenant Torres there, dressed in her grey tank top and black pants only. Her hair fell on her face, and there was a smudge of grease across her cheek.

“Reinforce the shields,” Torres told Jor. “Don’t worry about the warp drive. We’re not going anywhere any time soon. We just need to hold this ship together.” And then Torres’ voice cracked slightly as she said, “Captain Paris is depending on us.”

And that’s how Jor found out that the anomaly had taken three of Voyager’ s command staff. Janeway disappeared on her way to the bridge when the bulkheads had given out on deck 2; she was presumed dead as her body was not found. Chakotay had died when the plasma flare hit him squarely in the chest while he was helping Lieutenant Torres in Engineering. Tuvok never recovered from the radiation burns sustained in the Mess Hall.

For more than twelve hours, Jor worked side by side with Torres and other engineers cleaning up the mess left behind by their encounter with that thing, that undefined thing . It was quiet work, back-breaking work, relentless. When she was done, she went back to Tabor’s quarters. Before the anomaly, she’d left her toothbrush in the bathroom. Now it was the only personal thing she had left. And she knew it would be selfish, selfish , at a time like this to use precious replicator resources for anything more.

But then she was forced to replicate another dress uniform. She knew she didn’t have to, that no one would say anything if she had chosen to wear her regular uniform (grimy as it was) but this was the captain and Chakotay. And so she replicated it in a fog, not really paying attention, and only realizing after the fact she had repeated the same mistakes that had plagued the one she’d lost. She’d sworn in Bajoran under her breath, but then decided it was ok. That it had to be ok.

Now, she stared out the viewport, watching the stars outside. Just a week before, she’d stood in this very spot, Tabor’s arms around her. She’d felt safe then, as if nothing could quite touch them. She didn’t feel that anymore, not with gaping holes marring Voyager’s hull.

“You ready?” Tabor’s hand was light on her shoulder. She didn’t turn around.

“Ninety seconds,” Jor said.

“What?”

“That’s all the time you have in space,” Jor said. “After you’re swept out, with no protective gear, the longest you can last is ninety seconds until—“

“Don’t think about it.”

“I can’t stop thinking about it.”

They stood there quietly, and then Tabor said, “We should go. The memorial—”

“I know,” she said, but she still couldn’t move. This wasn’t the first time they’d said good-bye to a colleague aboard this ship, and she’d always said she couldn’t – wouldn’t – get used to the pomp and circumstance that accompanied a burial in space. But she couldn’t quite get her tongue around ‘Captain Paris.’ It was hard to think of affable Harry Kim as first officer. She thought about how the new command team had looked, standing stiffly side by side in the Mess Hall. Paris had assured them that they would repair Voyager , but his cheeks were hollow and his gaze unfocused, his face unshaven. Our mission hasn’t changed, we will go home , Captain Paris had told them all. And looking around, all Jor could think about was those whose mission had ended here and now. But there was quiet acceptance from the survivors that this was the shape of things to come. She had been Maquis and now she was Starfleet. She would follow where they would lead. But it didn’t feel right. “This doesn’t feel like home.”

“Eventually you’ll be able to go back to your own quarters.” The unspoken “if you want” hung in the air between them.

It wasn’t what she’d meant, but she let the comment go. Jor turned to face him. He looked so handsome in his uniform, but his dark eyes seemed distant, as if he too were trying to process what had happened to Voyager, to them. She wondered what it meant now that she was in his quarters every night, curling her body against his, his hand on the curve of her hip. He’d never been possessive before. She’d never wanted to be possessed before. She sucked in her breath. “We’d better go then.”

Tabor indicated the door with his arm, and she led the way. The doors slid open and she stepped out and then immediately recoiled as she seemed to meet with a giant barrier of some kind. Her arm tingled, as if she had been shocked and the sensation radiated down her back. Jor stared straight ahead; there was nothing that she could see. She gasped.

“What the hell?” she said. She took another step and it was as if she was being pushed back. She fell against Tabor. He caught her.

“Are you all right?”

“I, I don’t know,” Jor said, staring forward into nothing. It was as if her -- their -- entire world had been shrunk to Tabor’s quarters. “I don’t know what’s out there. Do you?”

And Tabor took a step towards the door but was unable to pass the threshold. He put his hand up, gingerly touching what was there and wincing as he seemingly encountered the same barrier Jor had. Tabor stared at Jor, his eyes wide with worry and fear. Whatever caused the invisible barrier that kept them from leaving Tabor’s quarters was a cipher. Jor swallowed hard. This was, she thought, her last safe place on this ship. And when Tabor pulled her close, his fingers intertwining with hers tightly, she didn’t resist.

Chapter Text

As they left the Astrometrics Lab, Kathryn found herself lagging behind Chakotay’s brisk pace. This day was turning into one shock after another. Temporal anomalies, a ship fractured into 37 different time zones, a Maquis first officer and some seriously strange adventures – aliens invading dreams? Telepathic pitcher plants? – were difficult enough to process as individual events, but considering all of them as part of her future was more than she could quite grasp. She was feeling a little shell-shocked, not to mention confused.

The news that Naomi Wildman was the “first” child born on Voyager had surprised her. She wasn’t sure how there could be children on board at all, but perhaps Starfleet decided to make it a family-friendly ship after the Maquis mission was over. Voyager seemed a little small for that, but reportedly it had worked well on the Galaxy-class ships, so perhaps it was part of a trend. It was a stretch, but she could imagine it. She could see Naomi born on her ship after it was adapted for families. She didn’t recognize the species Icheb represented, but that was immaterial. This was a concept she could recognize, even embrace.

No, it was the other thing that unsettled her. She’d experienced the death of loved ones and colleagues and witnessed the death of complete strangers; she had pondered the big questions of life and death before, most recently when she and Mark became engaged. They had talked about the possibility of her death in the line of duty, and how, if that happened, she wanted him to go on with his life.

But this was different; it was the first time anyone had ever told her that she was the one who had already died. Somehow, that made her mortality very real, and she wasn’t ready for it to be real. Chakotay seemed remarkably untroubled by the conversation, but it had knocked her off balance.

After walking ten steps in silence, she felt the now-familiar tingle that signified passage into another time zone. The corridor remained unoccupied by anyone else, so she took advantage of the opportunity to say, “So. You’re dead.”

He smiled a little and shook his head. “The reports of my death are greatly exaggerated.” When she didn’t return his smile, he added, “Clearly I’m not dead in my timeline, or I wouldn’t be here.”

Was he really so unperturbed? If she understood correctly - which was in doubt, she acknowledged - they both must have died right about now, whenever ‘now’ might be, in Naomi and Icheb’s timeline. It seemed they died in the event that caused the ship to fracture in time.

She found that hugely disconcerting, and could not understand how he could respond to the news of their imminent death with such equanimity. Looking at him closely, she said, “I’m dead, too.”

“Well,” he said with a slight smile, “it wouldn’t be the first time.”

She skidded to a halt and stared at him. “What do you mean by that?”

From the look on his face, she guessed he instantly regretted his words. “Let’s just say, this isn’t your last brush with temporal anomalies.”

Her heart sank. “Really?” She shook her head at the prospect, and considered the literal meaning of his words. “So, how many times do I die?”

The expressions that passed across his face were fascinating. In the space of barely two seconds, he looked startled, sad, and finally, with some palpable effort, neutral. “You don’t expect to live forever, do you?” he asked in a forced tone of artificial lightness.

She stared at him in disbelief. “Are you really that cavalier about it? It doesn’t bother you, that to those two young officers we’ve been dead for seventeen years?” she pressed.

He didn’t respond immediately, and she was getting to know him well enough to realize he was carefully considering his words before he spoke. Finally, he said, “Death is our eternal companion, the only wise advisor a warrior has.”

The quote was familiar, but she couldn’t place it. “Shakespeare? Sun Tzu?”

“Castañeda,” Chakotay replied. He looked at her closely and saw she was still troubled. “It doesn’t make me happy,” he said slowly, “but I’m not going to waste time worrying about it. If we can discover a way to restore the ship to a single timeline, who knows what the future will be? Icheb and Naomi’s timeline isn’t the only possible outcome. We need to find Seven and see if she has any ideas. ”

With a mental sigh, she acknowledged he was right; even if they did return to a single timeline, there was no way to predict what would happen in any of them. Note to self - add this to the list of reasons you loath temporal mechanics.

She started walking again. “We just descended on those two young people like the Ghosts of Christmas Past, yet the three of you seem completely unfazed by it. At least you have to admit, it’s weird.”

To her surprise, he chuckled audibly. She looked at him sharply. “What’s so funny?”

With a broad smile, he said, “One day you will look Harry Kim in the eye and tell him weird is part of the job.”

That made her chuckle, as well. “Well, that certainly describes today, doesn’t it?”

With an effort, she pushed thoughts of death, invading aliens and inexplicable relationships to a corner of her mind for later review. Focus on the problem at hand. As they rounded a corner in the corridor, she said, “So tell me, why are we looking for this Seven in the Cargo Bay?”

He got a look on his face that she was beginning to recognize – it was a look that meant he didn’t want to tell her everything. “She spent a lot of time there.”

Kathryn frowned. Based on Chakotay’s maddeningly brief comments, she pictured Seven as a brilliant scientist, a genius at temporal issues, and possibly a bit eccentric considering she used an integer as a name. Brilliant scientists did not spend a lot of time in a cargo bay, unless it had been converted to some kind of laboratory. “Working?” she asked, trying to picture it.

Chakotay shook his head and smiled ruefully. “Regenerating.”

Chapter Text

Encounter at Utopia Planitia

Time period: pre-Caretaker & Relativity

It had not been until a decade into his Starfleet career that Lieutenant Joseph Carey, a third-generation Starfleet officer, had caught his first whiff of new-starship smell.  Straight out of the Academy, he’d landed a posting in Engineering aboard the venerable Enterprise, under Captain Picard, where he’d met his wife, Pol Mikka, who was also assigned to that same department. They’d married within a year of meeting, and their first son, Kano, was born aboard the Enterprise.

They’d chosen to leave the Enterprise in 2369 when Mikka’s homeworld of Bajor petitioned the Federation for assistance following its emancipation from Cardassia. Fleet Admiral Alynna Necheyev had jurisdiction over the region and was a key player in a new treaty being negotiated between Cardassia and the Federation over border colonies. Mikka applied for and received a transfer to San Francisco to work as Necheyev’s aide.

"Do you know this means one day I could actually set foot on Bajor?” Mikka asked on their last night on Enterprise . All of their belongings had been packed and readied for transport. Mikka sat back on her heels, surveying the room. Kano was asleep in the adjoining bedroom. “I’ve always dreamed of seeing the mountains there. The way my parents spoke of Bajor, their regret at not being able to go home after the Occupation…”

Joe smiled. He would miss the Enterprise, but this was a key opportunity for Mikka, albeit with a very personal connection. Plus, San Francisco would be a good home base for them to expand their family. Life aboard a starship, even one as family-friendly as Enterprise, would offer additional challenges and Joe knew San Francisco would be more a more stable option for them. Plus, if the dueling parties couldn’t come to an agreement on the treaty, it seemed as if the low-level hostilities between the Cardassians and Federation would continue. Earth, far away from any possibility of conflict, offered a sense of safety for his young family.  “I’m looking forward to exploring with you,” Joe told her.

Their second son, Nori, was born in San Francisco. Being stationed at Headquarters had been a good opportunity for Mikka, but Joe hadn’t quite found satisfaction working as a design engineer at Utopia Planitia’s shipyard. He told himself that keeping his family together was more important; there were few starship postings available for families, especially lately. So, a true return to space hadn’t seemed to be in the cards for Joe. However, when the opportunity arose to join Voyager’s maiden voyage into the Badlands as the assistant chief engineer, Mikka encouraged him to take it.

“It’s your chance to get back into a functional engine room on board a starship,” Mikka had said. “And then you can decide what you prefer.”

Joe had stared around the spacious apartment they called home. “I’m not sure a starship is the best place—”

Mikka placed her hand firmly over Joe’s. “Go. It’s just going to be for a little over a month.” Then with a small smile, she added, “Consider this your contribution to the cause.”

With that, Joe made his decision to take the job on Voyager . Now, striding through the heavy double doors that led into Engineering, Joe felt a tingle of excitement as he gazed at the tall pulsing column of blue plasma that was the centerpiece of the room. As an Intrepid-class ship, Voyager was much smaller than the Enterprise , but the technology installed was nothing like Joe had seen before. The bioneural circuitry was supposed to speed up computer response time considerably, making the ship the most maneuverable vessel yet. He’d spent a few weeks taking a crash course in bioneural gel packs, and now getting to work with them was an extraordinary experience. And Commander D’Tal, the chief engineer assigned to Voyager, was brilliant; Joe knew he could learn a lot from the man. All in all, he knew he’d made the right choice to take the assignment aboard Voyager . A few weeks running through the punch list, then a short shakedown cruise, and then finally, a 3-week mission into the Badlands. On Voyager’s current schedule, he’d be back in time for Kano’s first baseball game of the season.

“How are you doing?” Carey paused by a station to greet one of the engineers. Susan Nicoletti, he thought her name was. There were so many people aboard Voyager at the moment – both crew and workers from UP, that it was hard to keep track of who was who, including the UP-based team that was installing the newly-delivered EPS manifolds. Still, Joe wanted to make the effort to get to know everyone who would be on his team – both professionally and personally – and that included eating with various team members in the Mess Hall. While they would be working together for only a few weeks, the Badlands were an extremely harsh environment, and teamwork would be key in making sure Voyager was able to complete its mission.

“Great. Thank you for asking,” Nicoletti responded with a smile.

Carey nodded, and continued to make his rounds around Engineering, checking in on various projects. He found Freddy Bristow monitoring the plasma flow through the check valves.

“How does it look?” he asked.

“Flow rates have been optimized,” Bristow told Carey. “And the thermal gradient is measuring within parameters.”

Carey nodded. “Good. The design engineers warned me that the valve seats could show signs of cracking if the temperature of the plasma rises outside of the safety zone. We have about fifty degrees to play with, but I’d rather not risk it.”

“Understood.”

Everything seemed to be going well. He was confident he could report back to D’Tal that they would finish the punch list on time, if not a little early. He set himself at a console just to the right of the warp core, off the main concourse, to monitor the dilithium flow rate. The diagnostics returned positive. He was still evaluating the power curve, when he became aware of a person behind him. He turned to see a blond woman in a blue uniform working at a nearby console Carey frowned. He didn’t remember seeing her before, but she did seem to be familiar with Voyager ’s systems.

“Hello,” Carey said.

The woman turned. She was a real looker, with eyes a very striking shade of blue. She tipped her head towards him. “Sir.”

“Lieutenant Carey.” Joe extended his hand. “I don't think we've met.”

In a decidedly formal and clipped cadence, the woman said, “Jameson, Anna, Service number eight six zero seven nine zero.”

Carey didn’t bother to hide his smile. The woman seemed stiff, perhaps even a bit nervous. “I'm not security,” he said in a friendly tone. “I'm just trying to get to know all the new faces around here. What are you working on?”

“I am attempting to realign the EPS manifolds.”

Carey arched an eyebrow. So, she was a member of the EPS manifold installation team. “Do you need a hand?”

“No.” There was a decidedly cool undertone to the response.

“Well, maybe I'll see you in the Mess Hall later.”

“Unlikely.”

“Hmm?”

“I am not a member of Voyager's crew,” Jameson said. The tension in her shoulders was obvious. “I'm on assignment here at Utopia Planitia.”

“Too bad,” Joe said. It was obvious Jameson wasn’t in the mood for small talk, so he decided to end the conversation on a friendly note. “Well, next time I'm in the neighborhood, I'll drop by and say hello.” He turned back to his console, and his attention was immediately diverted by a slight blip in the dilithium flow rate. After a quick calculation and a consultation of Voyager’s operations manual, he determined it was nothing to worry about. When he turned back around, Jameson was gone, and he took her absence to mean she’d successfully realigned the manifolds.

He was still at his console when a warning light went off. Carey frowned. Quickly, he pinpointed the malfunction emitting from one of the EPS conduits on deck four, section thirty-nine.  As he traced the system schematic, he became aware of a presence just off to his left. He lifted his gaze to see the captain standing there.

“Problem?” Janeway asked.

“One of the EPS relays just went offline,” Joe said, hating that his very first conversation with his new captain would be to deliver bad news.

“Voyager 's first malfunction.”

“I'm sorry, Captain,” Joe said. “I tested those systems this morning—”

Janeway held up her hand. “As you were, Lieutenant. I've been looking forward to getting my hands dirty.”

Joe hid his surprise. He’d read up a little about Janeway and knew she had a science background. He hadn’t thought she’d be the type who would actively fiddle with the ship’s systems, though. Captain Picard certainly hadn’t been that type. It was another reminder of how different this experience would be from his previous ones. He wondered what Mikka would think.

Janeway and Admiral Patterson disappeared into the Jefferies tube entrance near the main Engineering doors. Joe considered whether Janeway would be pleased or insulted if he offered his help. He paused, as he saw Commander D’Tal standing on the opposite side of the warp core. It was possible D’Tal knew the answers to these questions, as he’d met Janeway during a senior staff meeting and would have a better sense of the captain’s demeanor. But before Joe could ask, Nicoletti appeared at his elbow, holding a PADD out to him.

“I’m detecting some odd readings on deck four, section thirty-nine,” Nicoletti said. “It looks like there's an unusual amount of power being consumed in that area, and the thermal values are rising.”

Joe looked at the information. Nicoletti was right. The spike was well outside normal operating parameters, and Joe could think of no good reason for it. He also knew that the captain and admiral were headed in that direction. If the power surge continued, there could be the possibility all the circuits in that area could overload and -- his mind quickly calculated the worst-case scenario. There was no time to spare and he needed to get to the Jefferies tube quickly to avoid a meltdown. If his calculations were right, he knew exactly where a thermal overload would cascade from and he decided he needed to be just upstream of that point to disconnect the circuits most likely to burn out and spark an explosion. He grabbed his tool kit.

As he brushed past Nicoletti, he said “I’ll check it out myself. If anyone is looking for me, I’ll be in Jefferies tube 31 at junction J-7.” He pried open the door, and ducked down, pushing his tool case in front of him. The metal grate bit painfully into his knees as he crawled as quickly as he could. He had minutes, he knew, to get to the identified location. If he was right, the explosion would cripple, if not destroy Voyager . He was only about ten meters into the tube when a bright light flashed in front of him. As he processed all the possible implications of what he had just seen, his only thought was that he had let Mikka down. 

Chapter Text

We are distracted from our labors by a sudden and acute state of temporal flux around us. Our beachhead aboard Voyager is but a small subsection saved from a vanquished cube, and yet we are receiving cross-chatter on all channels from drones elsewhere. The effect is typical of a cube at transwarp whose chroniton field has failed.

If we had to describe the sensation to a lesser being, we would say it is like when a drone is assimilated as an adult and its implants have only just been grafted on. Not only is there information from entirely new senses flowing into this drone, but its old senses continue to provide their inferior input streams alongside the vastly superior Borg implants—such as the dull, flat picture from this drone’s pale blue human eye which cannot rival the flood of electromagnetic data from the same drone’s ocular implant.

For the moment, however, the weak human eye is the superior of the shattered streams of our ocular implant, even though everything we see with it is tinged with green—the only color of the wide Borg spectrum within the visual range of Species 5618, the origin species of this drone. The human eye sees only one image that agrees exactly with our current tactical situation. Our various implants see multiple images of the Borg subsection around us, interspersed improbably with the original empty state of the cargo bay, as well as various modified versions of our Borg installation which clearly do not match our current situation.

We strive to ignore the noise, but this drone is unable to do the precision work of our mission—mass-replication of the EMH’s altered nanoprobes—with our senses in their current state. The other drones are less disturbed by the effect than this one, but we nevertheless set them to the task of mapping the temporal regions of the ship. If Species 8472 are responsible for these temporal effects, then the danger threatening the Collective is even greater than the Borg now believe.

Regrets, however, are irrelevant.

Currently mapping subsection 004 of the vessel, a drone reports in a stuttering stream of data. The words, vessel, vessel, vessel, echo in our mind. We analyze this disturbing new symptom—the original communication was in a language far more precise than Federation Standard, but the echoes are distinctly Standard—but a few milliseconds serve to dismiss it. The temporal flux has merely exacerbated one of the many annoying side-effects of the alterations to this drone necessitated by our role of interfacing to the primitive Voyager collective.

Our suspicion is that the humans have managed to steal our Borg transwarp technology to return to their quadrant while distracting us with the task of adapting their inferior technology to our needs, having never intended to actually help the Borg. Of course they were unaware of the temporal stresses involved, and thus we drones suffer the consequences. The humans themselves are too primitive a species to sense a missing chroniton field. Doubtless they thought they were getting away with their plan undetected. There are flaws in this theory, however—

Currently mapping subsection 023 of the vessel, vessel, vessel, another drone reports. The drone adds, Anomalous readings approaching subsection 001.

We snap to attention through the echoes, because this is subsection 001. We turn our attention to the cargo bay doors, which slide open to admit units 1 and 2 of 147, Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay. We are at first relieved that the primary representative of this turbulent collective has recovered from injuries sustained in the flight from Species 8472. But the other drones have already assessed the anomaly: this Captain Janeway was never injured, and is in other ways molecularly unlike the Human female who struck a deal with the Borg. Preliminary analysis: she may be a clone.

We scan Commander Chakotay, revealing that his biological age has increased by approximately 3.5 Human years. With that point of reference, we conclude that Captain Janeway is not a clone but a similarly time-shifted version of herself, though younger. However the humans have accomplished this feat, we expect it will only add more chaos to the already disordered Voyager collective.

They approach, and we ask them, “What’s happened to this vessel?”

Commander Chakotay introduces us to his ersatz superior. “Captain Janeway, meet Seven of Nine, tertiary adjunct of Unimatrix Zero One.”

Formalities are irrelevant, and we ignore them. “Have you informed this version of Captain Janeway of her agreement to help us against Species 8472 in return for—”

Commander Chakotay holds up a hand as he interrupts us. “Temporal Prime Directive.” Before we can respond, he continues, “We’re not here to help the Borg, Seven. We need your help.”

“We are Borg,” we remind him. “And we are helping one another already. Species—”

“Forget about Species 8472 for a minute,” the Commander insists. “The ship is in temporal flux. It’s been split into–”

The drones report the mapping project is complete, and we interrupt him with the results: “Thirty-seven distinct temporal fragments. When will this happen?”

“It happened about three and a half years after your timeframe,” the Commander admits.

“Then it is no concern of ours,” we reply. “We will continue with our efforts against Species 8472.”

We turn away, but the humans linger, apparently dissatisfied with our response. We turn back to advise them, “Your best chance of surviving this anomaly is to return to your respective timeframes.” We pause, uncertain whether we should reveal the Borg’s ignorance on this point. But our temporary semblance of humanity has made us curious, so we have to ask, “How did you escape your own timeframes?”

“Excuse us a moment,” the Captain says, drawing Commander Chakotay aside for a whispered conversation that, of course, every drone in the Cargo Bay can hear.

“Don’t tell her about the serum,” she orders him. He makes a non-committal noise that she seems to interpret as agreement. “The Borg aren’t interested in helping us,” she observes (correctly), “and I can’t say that I’m surprised. Let’s try to find Commander D’Tal instead.”

“Who?” the Commander asks, apparently forgetting the Temporal Prime Directive.

“Voyager’s chief engineer,” she replies sharply. “What happened to him?”

“Even if we could find him, Engineering is crawling with Kazon,” Commander Chakotay informs her. From her lack of reaction, it seems she already knew. Having neatly avoided the question by repeating facts, he offers up another truism: “Take my word for it, Seven is our best bet.”

“Then I don’t like our odds.”

As we are analyzing the potential threat of Kazon in Engineering—Species 329, unworthy of assimilation but potentially threatening to small groups of unarmed humans—we miss the exact wording of the Commander’s efforts to convince the Captain to talk us into helping them. But his final admission is disturbing enough to stand out from the noise: “You were always better at getting through to her than I was.”

We frown, hoping our efforts against Species 8472 will not drag on long enough to establish some memorable pattern of interactions between this drone and these humans. Yet the temporal echoes of other drones that only this drone can hear also favor that outcome. We set such concerns aside as the humans approach once again to within the range of their inferior hearing.

“Seven—may I call you Seven?” the Captain asks us.

“My designation is Seven of Nine,” we respond, “but Commander Chakotay appears to be in the habit of abbreviating it.”

He raises an eyebrow at us. Our forehead implant prevents us from returning the gesture.

“Seven,” she continues, “we need your help to bring Voyager back into a single timeframe.”

“Such an effort may do more harm than good,” we inform her. “In the Borg’s experience, anomalies of this sort tend to resolve themselves. Drones who attempt to explore the phenomenon are invariably lost, while waiting it out usually leads to casualties of less than thirty percent.”

“That’s not acceptable,” she says.

“Your sentimentality is irrelevant to our mission. For your own safety, you should return to your timeframe.”

Commander Chakotay interrupts. “We’re not going to do that, Seven.”

“You may do as you wish, Commander,” we reply, “but the Captain should return to her timeframe, to ensure the continuity of our timeline as well as your own.”

“And what if I don’t?” she threatens. “Won’t that change Voyager’s past and interfere with your mission, whatever it is?”

“Possibly,” we admit, “but so would the distraction of helping you with your futile efforts.”

“If we succeed, this distraction will not have happened,” the Commander says. “Your mission—” He stops and looks at his superior.

We, however, have no concern for their Temporal Prime Directive, nor in hiding inconvenient future truths from some past version of their Captain. “Tell us,” we say, “were our efforts to save the Collective successful?”

The Captain is clearly startled. “Don’t tell me I saved the Borg!”

“Tell us,” we insist.

“This entire line of questioning is”—the Commander grasps for a word—“irrelevant. The future isn’t set in stone—”

“Just tell her, Chakotay.”

He sighs and responds, “Yes, we saved the Borg.”

“I would never—”

“You did.”

The Captain puts a hand to her forehead. “I hate time travel.”

With victory against Species 8472 in sight, we bring an end to the pointless chatter. “Very well,” we agree, “we will assist you.”

We lead the humans to a nearby Borg control panel, which we have already recalibrated for the primitive human visual system. “When a Borg cube travels through a transwarp corridor,” we explain, “the temporal stresses are extreme. To keep the different sections of the cube in temporal sync, we project a chroniton field throughout the vessel.”

The Captain asks, “How?”

“Each cube has specially designed conduits. If we install similar conduits throughout this vessel, then generate a sufficiently powerful field, we may be able to force Voyager back into temporal sync.” This will require some effort, but with a large enough collective—

Commander Chakotay interrupts our calculations. “Temporal sync with what?”

We do a brief analysis of the option of bringing the ship into sync with our own time period, where the Commander should be able to advise us exactly how to defeat Species 8472. However, the risks are too great compared to the more obvious course, which we explain: “The vessel will return to the moment of the original chronokinetic surge. Since the surge will last for six or seven seconds, Commander Chakotay will have a short time in which to try to counteract the warp core reaction.”

The Commander is skeptical. “Even if we could replicate these conduits, we’d have no way to get them through the temporal barriers.”

We wait for him to reveal the existence of his secret serum. If he is unable to adapt it to this application, certainly the Borg can. Serum-treated nanoprobes are the obvious choice for rapidly building out a chroniton conduit network.

But Captain Janeway speaks first: “The bio-neural circuitry.”

We understand immediately, but the Captain must explain to her confused inferior officer. “It runs through every section of the ship, almost like a nervous system. If we could inject the gel packs with your serum, we could use them to transmit the chroniton field.”

We admire the efficiency of the idea. “The warp core could be recalibrated to generate that field,” we add.

“Work on it,” the Captain agrees. “Chakotay and I will see about modifying the serum.”

We warn them of the inefficiency of their plans. Two weak humans to modify the serum and inoculate an entire ship full of primitive bio-neural technology? The Borg would send ten and recruit even more along the way. “If I were to assimilate you into a small Borg Collective, you could then assimilate others. The work would proceed more rapidly.”

We are not surprised that she refuses. “Sorry, but I like my plan better. We’ll be back.”

We listen as they walk down the corridor, away from the Cargo Bay. They are already spending their time as inefficiently as possible, discussing irrelevant human literature and rehashing the information disparity of their differing timelines. It would seem their Temporal Prime Directive is more honored in the breach than in the observance, as their literature would say.

We quickly make the calculations needed to recalibrate the warp core. We should return to our primary task, to which the other drones have returned despite anomalies and interruptions. But under the current plan, any progress we make on our mission will be forgotten if Commander Chakotay succeeds, and eradicated as well if he fails and Captain Janeway is consequently lost from our timeline.

Instead, we turn our attention to contingency plans. At the top of our list is the issue that Engineering is crawling with Kazon. It seems unlikely that a group as unworthy of assimilation as Species 329 could have taken over a ship with Voyager’s superior technology, yet that appears to be the case in at least one temporal fragment of the ship. If it occurred in our past, Voyager’s logs should contain useful information about this incident. We begin assimilating the logs.

Chapter Text

"In the middle of the journey of our life, I found myself astray in a dark wood, where the straight road had been lost."

Janeway stopped short in the ship’s corridor, struck by the familiar words. "I didn't know Dante's Inferno was on the Maquis reading list," she said, giving Chakotay a searching look.

"Actually, I borrowed your copy."

"My fiancé gave me that book as an engagement gift.” Even as she spoke, Janeway was well aware of how incongruous it sounded. She recalled her sister’s reaction.

“He gave you a copy of the Inferno,” Phoebe repeated in disbelief. “For your engagement. Sorry, but that’s an extremely odd gift.” She paused. “I know you said you didn’t want a ring, because of not feeling comfortable wearing it on duty, but... the idea of giving you a book is so…OK, I could maybe see one of those Victorian novels you’re so addicted to. But a book that details a journey through the seven circles of hell? That doesn’t exactly bode well for your married life, Kathryn.”

She hadn’t expected Phoebe to understand.

Because of the demands of a Starfleet career, Kathryn had resigned herself to a long-distance relationship and knew very well how fortunate she was that Mark was willing to put up with her lengthy absences. She didn’t allow herself to think about what this would ultimately mean in terms of children, but she and Mark had been together now for nearly a decade and he’d showed no signs of flagging.

“You’re my lodestar, Kath,” Mark had said simply. “The vision I have before me, keeping me on track…even when we’re apart, there’s something holding us together. It’s not easy being separated, but knowing that when we are together…you’re worth it.”

“Oh, Mark,” Kathryn answered, deeply touched. “If anyone is guiding anyone here…knowing you’re waiting for me makes it easier for me to go out there.” Feeling her emotions threatening to spill over, she quickly sought to lighten the mood a bit. “So you’re saying I’m your Virgil?”

“Beatrice in Paradiso would be more accurate,” Mark said with a smile. “But that will come later, when you’re back from this mission to the Badlands and we’re exchanging our vows.”

As he bent to kiss her, she murmured, “I guess we’re both fortunate to have the right guide at the right time.”

Mark’s words, spoken only a few weeks earlier, echoed in Janeway’s mind now as she studied the Maquis leader. She still didn’t trust him completely, but she acknowledged she needed his help, not to mention his knowledge of the future, as they made their way through the fractured ship.

Though she knew it wasn’t wise, she couldn’t help but speculate about what the future held, or draw conclusions based on what she was witnessing. Chakotay would be – was now – a trustworthy ally, and she was getting definite hints that he would come to mean a lot more to her in the years to come. It was an alien concept, as up to now Mark had been her steadying anchor while she journeyed among the stars. Despite whatever accident would end up stranding Voyager in the Delta Quadrant – a fact she’d gleaned despite Chakotay’s attempts to keep her learning too much of the future – it was clear that this man with her in this moment, the Maquis commander she’d been ordered to capture, knew her. And in the corner of her mind, just for a second, she allowed herself to wonder just how deep his familiarity went.

“I've never lent it to anyone," she said now, returning Chakotay’s gaze.

"Not yet," Chakotay said, smiling gently. "Anyway, I agree with Dante. If you always see the road ahead of you, it's not worth the trip."

"A soldier and a philosopher," Janeway said with an answering smile, and quickened her pace.

Chapter Text

Sickbay, pre-Tuvix

“I've replicated these belts to resist the effects of the temporal barriers, just like the hyposprays.” The EMH adjusted the harness on the captain’s shoulders. The bandoliers he had replicated were a work of art, really, a stroke of genius on his part.

“I didn't realize you were programmed to be so versatile.” Janeway clipped the belt and resettled the bands on her chest.

“I wasn't, but when you're thrown into the deep end of the galaxy and left running for as long as I've been, it helps to develop a few extra subroutines,” he replied with great self-satisfaction. Since the last visit from the alternate Commander Chakotay, he’d done a little sleuthing in the computer about time travel. Starfleet captains had, it seemed, quite the knack for running into temporal phenomena, or even intentionally creating them.

“How long have you been running?” The captain’s surprise was startling, and a little confusing. Chakotay seemed to be from the future, how did she not know this about the EMH?

“Almost three years, since our original doctor was killed.” He heard the door in the back of the medical office open -- the commander was returning from the rarely-used restroom.

“Killed? How?” Janeway turned around to look at him in bemusement.

“In the incident that stranded us here in the Delta --”

The commander strode over, speeding in to intervene. “Doctor. The Temporal Prime Directive, remember?”

Well! From his scolding tone, the commander apparently thought he should be the final arbiter of who knew what! The EMH bowed his head, meekly sidestepping. “Of course. I'm sorry.” He scurried off to his office and busied himself at his desk, to eavesdrop. It was obvious these two were not going to treat him like part of the crew. But he should be informed, so he could be ready for whatever needed to be done to help any injured crew!

“The Delta Quadrant? Is that what he was about to say?” The captain sounded surprised. So -- the two of them weren’t from the same time?

How had the commander convinced her to cooperate? She had to be from early in the mission. She was ignorant of the nature of his program, didn’t know they were in the Delta Quadrant -- this was a Janeway the EMH hadn’t dealt with before. Which meant she was placing so much faith in this former Maquis in a Starfleet commander’s uniform!

“Ready?” Chakotay said, with some intensity that suggested he was attempting to evade an answer. Yes, indeed, the commander was calling the shots!

The captain volleyed back with an attempt to reassert rank with what was clearly an order. “I'll take the upper decks, you take the lower.”

“I don't think splitting up is a good idea,” Chakotay shot back firmly.

The Doctor took a chance -- peered around the edge of the door, staying well back at his desk. He wanted to see how the captain would take the subtle challenge. The two were still standing there facing each other, not paying any attention to him.

“We'll get the job done faster,” she stated, raising her head, pushing harder. Hands on her hips.

The commander backed off ever so slightly, but responded with a firm tone, a set expression, and a steady gaze, eye to eye. “As your first officer, it's my duty to protect you. I know a lot more about what's out there than you do, and we have no way of communicating if something goes wrong. It may take a little longer, but we should go together.”

The captain wasn’t in agreement, from her expression. But she gave a little shrug. “After you… Commander.” A concession, not a capitulation. With a little reminder of rank that said she was going along with his suggestions for now.

The two of them strode out of Sickbay, and the EMH emerged from his office to contemplate. If his interactional subroutines, human variant, were correct, those were two headstrong, not-quite-on-the-same-page officers trying to accomplish a common goal. But the captain the EMH knew would have collaborated more with her first officer. It made him worry -- what would happen if the uneasy collaboration didn’t succeed? The commander was obviously taking the situation, whatever it was, very seriously indeed.

"Captain? Commander?" Kes walked out of the med lab, through his office, joining him in Sickbay. "Oh, have they gone already?"

"Ah, yes,” the Doctor replied. “You just missed them….”

Chapter Text

Kes didn't like deceiving the Doctor, but she didn't believe he'd be happy with what she planned to do. While she was still in the med lab, collecting the last of the ampules filled with the chroniton-based serum, she decided to take matters into her own hands. Literally.

"Captain? Commander?" she said as she walked out of the med lab and into the main area of Sickbay. "Oh, have they gone already?" she said, disingenuously. Of course they were gone. She'd waited until she heard the Sickbay doors close behind them.

"Ah, yes,” the Doctor replied. “You just missed them. I trust they have sufficient supplies of the serum in their bandoliers. We'll keep the ones you just made on hand in case they  come back for more."

Kes did not reply to the Doctor's comment. Instead, she moved to the storage closet and removed one of the larger med kits from the shelf.  After adding the last dozen ampules to the case, she snapped it shut and pulled the strap over her shoulder.

"Kes, what do you think you're doing?" the Doctor asked.

She was quite pleased to detect that note of pleading in his voice. His emotional growth was coming along quite nicely--but really, now was not the time to think about that. "I'm going back to Engineering."

"You can't! I told you, the Kazon have control of that area of the ship!"

"But some of them may be injured. They may be in pain and need treatment."

"According to the commander, none of our crew are in Engineering during this time period. Seska and her Kazon minions will take over the entire ship in the future! I don't know how the crew gets it back. The commander says we do, but who knows what might happen to you if you wander around down there. You can't get there anyway..." The Doctor paused, and a look of horror spread across his face. "You didn't!"

Kes began to walk towards the entrance to Sickbay and calmly admitted, "Yes, I did. I inoculated myself with the serum. I can go anywhere on the ship now, too."

"But you won't know what you might be walking into! It’s not just the Kazon or the Vidiians--there could be others even more dangerous that we haven’t even met yet. That's why the commander and the captain aren't splitting up. Since the commander knows things the captain doesn't, he'll be able to guide her. No one can do that for you."

Kes stopped to reconsider her position. She knew she had to do something to help the captain and the commander, but the Doctor was right, too. After a moment's thought, she found a solution. "The commander crawled through the Jefferies tubes to get back here after he escaped from Seska in Engineering. I can travel that way, too. I'll stop and listen at the access ports to see if anyone who is injured needs my help."

"It's still too dangerous, Kes."

"Doctor, people all over this ship may have suffered critical injuries and might die if they don't receive medical care. They need our help, but you can't go to them. I'm the only one who can."

"Kes, if the captain and the commander succeed in returning the ship to Commander Chakotay's temporal zone, none of that will matter."

"Doctor, you can't mean that! Whether or not the injured will ever remember this happened, we cannot just let them suffer. What if something goes wrong? If Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay can't undo all of the damage, we could lose some of the crew forever."

The EMH's expression took on an air of profound sadness. "Of course, you're right.” He sighed.  “If I only had that mobile emitter he mentioned, I'd be able to leave my prison and help them, too."

"But you don’t, so that's simply not an option." She walked up to him and placed a comforting hand on his arm. "I'll do my best in your place. I'll be very careful. You know I have extremely sensitive hearing. I'm much better equipped to sneak around in the Jefferies tubes than most of this ship’s crew!" Kes smiled as she pointed to the delicate tips of her ears, which were shaped to catch sounds much more efficiently than a human's--if not as effectively as a Vulcan's.

"All right. Remember, if you need to go through a barrier with any equipment, you'll need to treat that with the serum, too."

"Oh, you're right. I almost forgot about that! I need to treat this med kit, don't I?"

The Doctor opened the kit and extracted one of the vials. Placing it inside one of the hyposprays from the nearest supply tray, the EMH quickly treated the entire exterior of the case. "Remember, you only have eleven more doses now. Make sure anyone you give it to is someone who will assist you. While you're gone, I'll prepare more of the serum. Just in case."

"Thank you, Doctor. For everything," Kes said, in a way to suggest the statement encompassed the entire time they'd been together. She felt confident that all would be well, that they'd see each other again, but considering the circumstances...well, it didn't hurt if her words had a deeper meaning, too.

Together, they moved to the Jefferies tube access point and carefully opened the hatch. No one was in sight in either direction. The Doctor helped Kes onto the ladder, and she descended into relative darkness, with only the safety lamps to light her way.

Kes glanced back over her shoulder and smiled briefly before walking briskly down the Jefferies tube, toward a junction that would lead her down to Deck 6 and below, towards Engineering. It might have been a lucky accident that she hadn't been able to get to Engineering the first time she tried, with the Kazon in control there. Kes didn't know why, but she was confident that this time she'd be able to help--someone. She just hoped that anyone she’d encounter would be a member of their crew, and not a Kazon.

Chapter Text

Soooo hungry. Where is food? Here before. Not now. Where?

There! Good smells. Yesssss - big, upright, juicy, protein cells. Snack time!

Lots of noise. I quiet. Very quiet. Getting closer. Sounds.

“How do you get to be my first officer?”

“Our crews will be forced to work together after we get stranded.”

“In the Delta Quadrant? How does that happen?”

“Are you sure you want to know?”

Stealth, so near, quiet, almost there. So yummy -

What? Running away? Stop! Come back! I catch –

Whumpf!

What happen? Why can’t I follow?

Where food? Where smell? Soooooooo hungry.

Where my food?

Chapter Text

The curtain of light flashes across the room. I stand behind the force field containing me in the brig and watch, fascinated, as it moves.  When the light is gone, so is my guard, almost as though he’s been erased from existence. Fascinating. When I call out, no one comes. But I can still hear the thrumming of Voyager’s engines, and the rush of plasma through the EPS conduits; these sounds reassure me that we aren’t under attack and all systems are operating normally. So, I resume pacing.

The cell is approximately thirty paces in length. I walk toe to heel, very carefully, and in as straight of line as I can manage. The Vulcan had suggested I meditate, focus my thoughts elsewhere, but I’ve never been quite able to sit still. Moving keeps the blood flowing, the muscles warm; one never knows when one must act. When I reach the wall, I put my hand on the wall to steady myself. I turn my left foot perpendicular to my right and then slowly pivot and begin the process of marking thirty paces to the other wall.

There is only one cell in Voyager’s brig, an interesting design feature for a ship on a mission to capture a Maquis cell. Perhaps though, the captain would have arranged for us all to have private quarters. The quality of their mercy is the soft underbelly of the Federation and Starfleet.

The doors swoosh open and Chakotay comes in with long-legged strides, followed by the captain. I study him carefully. He looks different to me, in just the few hours since I last saw him. Perhaps a little bit rounder in the face, possibly a loss of some muscle tone. The word I’m searching for is “softened.” Yes, that’s right. I have always been very good at assessing my opponents. I smile.

“Suder.” Chakotay’s voice is clipped. Do I detect a little bit of a quiver as well? He is wearing an interesting contraption – a weapon, perhaps? – across his chest. Though, if one is creative enough, a weapon can be easily procured, created, out of nearly anything. I think about grabbing him by the straps, pulling him close. How easy it would be. But this damnable force field contains me.

“Have you reconsidered my execution?” I ask cheerfully.

“Execution? Who is this?” Janeway asks. I notice she’s wearing the same contraption as Chakotay. I realize it’s a series of metal vials. I mentally calculate the impact if hurled at a certain trajectory and speed, with an assumed variable for the weight.

“A member of my Maquis cell,” Chakotay says, never taking his eyes off me. “Guilty of murder.”

Now this is interesting.  The captain seems completely unaware of who I am. I give Janeway my most charming smile, but her attention is wholly focused on Chakotay.

“Are you telling me we are possibly considering executing someone on this ship?” Her tone is the color of fury, but Chakotay doesn’t seem to notice. Of course not. Chakotay has always been so cerebral, thinking instead of feeling . Thinking too much gets in the way of necessary action. One must be observant at all times, to understand what is happening. Opportunities do not often repeat. But one must always be ready to act.

“Of course not,” he says. He does not look at me. He does not look at the captain, either, but addresses his words to her. “Go ahead and take care of the gel packs. The force field is still active.”

Janeway glances at me sideways but then acquiesces and heads towards the far wall. She removes a panel. The bioneural gelpacks glow blue. I remember how they feel in my hands. They are soft, so delicate, just like their humanoid creators; it’s easy to put too much pressure on them, cause them to strangle, as the liquid pulses slower and slower until it is quiet. It really is, you know, a matter of pressure.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“It’s not your concern.”

“Perhaps it is. After all, I’ve been left alone.” I take a step closer to the force field. “I don’t suppose that was your intention?”

Chakotay glances at the empty station where my guard should be. “No,” he said finally. His gaze drifts to the captain. There’s something in his eyes and I see what he doesn’t. I smile to myself. Every man has his weakness and I just found Chakotay’s.

“So,” I say conversationally, “I wasn’t just a member of your Maquis cell now, was I?”

Chakotay jerks to attention. “What do you mean?” There’s a sudden sharpness to his tone.

“I did what you knew had to be done, but you didn’t want to – or couldn’t do yourself,” I tell him. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Janeway sitting back on her heels, watching me, watching him. The wariness in her stance tells me she doesn’t wholly trust Chakotay. “Isn’t that right?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The raid on Altarian IV. When we took the replicators.” I raise my hand, my palm so close to the forcefield separating us that I can feel the prickle against my skin. It’s electric. “You asked me to lead. Remember?”

“You were the best man for the job,” Chakotay says, color draining from his face, but his voice is steady.

“Altarian IV.” Janeway is on her feet now. “That was a Federation outpost, destroyed in a Maquis raid.” Her eyes are hard as she looks first to Chakotay and then to me. “There were no survivors.”

“An unfortunate turn of events,” I answer lightly. “But explosives, they are tricky, and when fuses are not stored properly, it appears they can ignite prematurely.” I want to tell her just how spectacular that explosion was, that it was one of my very best. I remember how it burned white hot, the smell of sulfur filling the air, as I piloted us away, the hold of our stolen ship filled with the much desired and needed replicators. I sigh in contentment.

Chakotay’s fingers curl and uncurl. “It was an accident .”

Janeway looks aghast. “They were civilians .” She whirls to face Chakotay. “I don’t remember reviewing this incident in your dossier.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t have, Captain,” I say cheerily. “Your first officer wasn’t there.” I let the force field prickle my skin. My threshold for pain has always been quite high.

Chakotay presses his shoulders back, his jaw tightens. “I didn’t know what you would do—”

“You knew exactly what I was going to do and that’s why you sent me!” I turn to Janeway. It’s her attention I want. “He sent me because failure wasn’t an option and he knew I wouldn’t let the cell down.” I add, conversationally, “There were women and children at that outpost. And when I returned with the replicators, no one asked what happened. Not even when the news vids reported what had happened.” I look directly at Chakotay. “Do you remember what you said to me when I returned? Congratulations, Suder , you said, you may have turned the tide in this conflict for us .”

“Enough,” Chakotay says sharply.

But Janeway moves in my direction. Tension straightens her shoulders, but there’s an energy to her step. Her neck is long, slender, and easily the width of my hands. “How do you sleep at night?” she asks.

I shrug. “Very easily. Every war has at least two sides. Someone has to die, someone has to kill. I pick the option that allows me to survive.”

Her eyes flash at me, color rising in her cheeks. “There’s no room for someone like you on my ship.”

This is the moment I’ve been waiting for. “Then lower the force field. Execute me.” I widen my arms in a gesture of supplication. “You could transport me into space. It’s quick and bloodless. A phaser with a good aim is also an option.” I consider it for a moment. “I’ve heard that the bat’leth is very effective, but quite messy to clean up afterwards.” The captain has gone pale. I have her full attention. “Shall I continue?”

“ Kathryn,” Chakotay says. He grabs her arm. She visibly flinches but doesn’t protest as he pulls her towards the door. “Let’s go. We have work to be done.”

At this, I call out, “Have you already forgotten that I’m the best man for the job?”

But the doors close without a response.

Chapter Text

She couldn’t quite bring herself to look at him.

As they exited into the corridor once more – mercifully leaving the brig and its occupant behind – Janeway was struck by what she’d just learned. Altarian IV. Of all destructive raids by the Maquis, resulting in the wanton destruction of life, this had been one of the worst.

“There were no survivors,” she’d said, aghast.

Chakotay’s reply, trying to excuse the inexcusable. “It was an accident.”

“They were civilians,” she said, still trying to take it all in. “I don’t remember viewing this incident in your dossier.”

And Suder’s mocking rejoinder. “Your first officer wasn’t there.”

Indeed, he wasn’t.

Janeway took in a sharp intake of breath. She’d allowed herself to forget who she was with, lose sight of her primary mission. Chakotay, for all his charm, for all his reassurance that in the future he would come to be her first officer, all the hints that he’d become a friend and ally, was still the Maquis leader she’d been sent to capture. Whatever he might become in the future, she still should never have allowed herself to forget who he really was.

He glanced at her now, and his expression rapidly changed. “Stop,” he said.

She refused to meet his eyes. “We have other gel packs to treat. We’re getting to the area of the holodecks, and then the cargo bays--”

“Kathryn--”

“That is, if this mission to save the ship is as vital as you’ve led me to believe.”

He exhaled deeply. “We need to talk about what just happened.”

“There’s nothing for you to say,” she said, continuing to move onward. “You’re a Maquis. Your cell was responsible for any number of devastating raids.” She couldn’t resist adding, “There’s a reason I was ordered to go after you. The fact that our present circumstances – this anomaly which has fractured the ship into multiple time frames – necessitates our working together, doesn’t change a thing.”

He stepped directly in front of her, preventing her from going forward, and forcing her to look at him. “I’m not going to make any excuses, Kathryn. Altarian IV was a debacle – we got the replicators, but at a terrible cost. And though I wasn’t physically present, I am responsible – I sent Suder and the others to carry it out. I’m sorry. I would do anything if I could bring those people back, prevent the senseless loss of life. But I can’t.”

She nodded, striving to keep her voice and expression neutral. “I hear what you’re saying.”

He glanced at her sharply. “What concerns me now is how we go on from this point. We’ve established a modicum of trust between us; I hate to think we’ve lost that.”

She bristled. “Surely, you don’t expect me to forgive you for--”

“I don’t expect you to forgive me, or to forget,” he interrupted. “What I want – need - is for you not to allow this - or anything else you might learn along the way - to interfere with our mission.”

“And what do you want, Commander?” she asked coolly.

He hesitated a long moment. “Kathryn, you’ve always held yourself and those serving under you to high standards; you drive your officers hard, and yourself even harder. Right now, safe within in the confines of the Alpha-- maybe you can’t envision a time when everything isn’t black and white. But believe me, there will come a time when you’ll have to deal with the gray areas, to understand that sometimes there is no decision you can make which is completely right.”

She was silent, thinking. Or a decision, which in retrospect, turns out to be wrong? Finally, she said, “Everyone has a questionable command decision at some point in their careers, where you convince yourself you’re acting for the greater good, despite the individual cost. Is that what you’re saying?”

“I am.”

“I guess I can accept that,” she said slowly. Against her better judgment, she realized she wanted to trust him.

“So going forward, still allies?” He held out his hand.

She grasped it firmly. “Yes.”

He gave her a smile. “I’m glad.”

“Me, too,” she said, and was surprised by how relieved she felt.

Chapter Text

Chaotica swept into the large cave chamber and gazed at his chief minion expectantly. “Well?”

"Thieves, my liege," Lonzak said, as the Robot grabbed the female intruder and immobilized her arms.

"Do not resist," the Robot said in its standard monotone.

Lonzak bowed obsequiously, even as he held a ray gun on the male. "They were attempting to rob your laboratory!”

Doctor Chaotica silenced him with a word. "Foooool! Don't you recognize the Queen of the Spider People?!" He himself, of course, had no such difficulty, even if she wore a strange costume so different from her usual gown. At least her hair was in a familiar, if somewhat subdued style. He glided over toward his prisoner.

"Arachnia, my bride," Chaotica purred, as he stroked her cheek in delight. "I knew you'd return to me one day..." He recalled her most recent betrayal and felt his countenance darken. "...so I could watch you die." He threw his head back and cackled in glee.

At his command, Arachnia was strapped to the Table of Torment, her pitiful attendant - undoubtedly a eunuch - held off to the side under guard. At least this time she hadn't come with Proton, though Chaotica didn't think too much of the fellow she was with. Not that he was one to talk, after all - look at Lonzak. He sighed. Good help was so hard to find.

"Raise the Lightning Shield! Power the Death Ray! Her fleet may be lurking nearby! We must defend ourselves!"

"I'm open to suggestions," Arachnia murmured to her eunuch.

"Our best bet is to play along."

Arachnia rolled her eyes. "Don't let me stop you."

"I'm not the one he's in love with," the eunuch fired back. Arachnia rightfully glared at him for his impudence, but then fell silent.

Chaotica, meanwhile, had been examining one of the vials Lonzak had removed from the Queen. "Arachnia...you beguiled me once with your foul potions. Did you think you could toy with my affections again?"

"Were these characters always this ridiculous?" the Queen said, stubbornly refusing to make eye contact with him.

Chaotica felt himself growing hot under the collar. “If I order Lonzak to pull that lever," he said, nodding at Lonzak who, ever eager to serve, immediately grabbed it and looked at his liege with longing, "you'll never mock me again!"

Chaotica stalked away, striving to bring his temper under control. No sense in ruining his enjoyment of this little scene by losing patience too quickly.

"Arachnia!" said the eunuch in alarm.

"Please...my liege," the Queen said plaintively, clearly understanding her danger at last. "I meant it as...ridiculous to think...I would ever try to deceive you."

Chaotica nodded once, slightly mollified. He would let her continue and plead for her life.

Arachnia continued. “I’ve come to warn you of a fiendish plot..."

She glanced at her eunuch, obviously waiting for him to continue.

"...By aliens...from the Eighth Dimension," the eunuch finished.

Chaotica laughed derisively. Did they think him stupid? "Eighth? Everyone knows there are only five dimensions!"

"If you don't believe us,” Arachnia said forcefully, “examine their handiwork for yourself." She gestured with her chin. "There's a hidden panel over there behind those rocks."

Chaotica was suspicious, but decided to give her the benefit of the doubt—for now. "Very well, I'll humor you. Lonzak!" he yelled.

Lonzak scurried to the pile of rocks and moved them aside, revealing an unfamiliar piece of equipment that shimmered oddly. "I've found it, Highness!" he cried.

Chaotica's fury was palpable. "They've sabotaged my laboratory!" he raged.

"That vial you're holding, it's a neutralizing potion," Arachnia interjected quickly. "If you inject their device, you'll render it harmless!"

Chaotica hesitated, then threw caution to the wind and plunged the tip of the vial into the alien surface.

"Release me, and I'll disarm all their devices...throughout your realm," Arachnia promised in her rich throaty voice, her eyes promising even more.

"Oh, Arachnia...you DO love me!" Chaotica said as he glided to the Table of Torment and removed the Queen’s restraints and bent over her, preparatory to raising her to her feet.

"How could I resist your...magnetism?" she said with another meaningful look that sent his heart leaping.

"Or I yours! Together we'll rule the cosmos!" He raised a rapturous fist in the air. "And grind our enemies into dust." Overcome with passion, he kissed her hand, and his lips traveled up her arm. By the time he captured her mouth with his, Arachnia had closed her eyes, clearly too overcome with passion to resist him any longer.

Later, after Arachnia and her hapless eunuch had gone on their way, Chaotica settled himself on his lonely throne and replayed their romantic tryst in his mind. He hoped it wouldn’t be too much longer before the Queen of the Spider People paid him another visit.

Chapter Text

She was Megan Delaney, she was in a holodeck, and she was in trouble.

Barely five minutes ago, she had been Margot Riviere, standing in the back room of the boulangerie with Genevieve and Phillipe and kneading a dough that was destined to become a baguette. Then the neural interface implanted by the Hirogen failed, not just for her but for all the brain-controlled “inhabitants” of Sainte Claire. Suddenly, she was no longer Margot, apprentice baker - well, no, that wasn’t quite accurate; she still had all of Margot’s memories, but she knew who she really was. She was Megan Delaney, a member of the crew of the USS Voyager and currently a prisoner and pawn of the Hirogen.

Before she’d had a chance to come to grips with the odd duality of memories, holographic Nazis with very effective weapons began herding all the confused crew/villagers into the center of the street. This did not bode well; a mass round-up like this implied imprisonment or execution. Megan saw Tom Paris and B’Elanna Torres being forced at gunpoint out of the Coeur de Lion. Jenny elbowed her silently, and nodded toward B’Elanna’s pregnant belly. Megan understood; even though the implants had failed, the Hirogen’s World War II program was still running.

Then an intense flash of light quite literally blinded her. She threw up her hands to try to protect her eyes, but even so it was several seconds before she could see again. And when she could, she wasn’t sure just what she was seeing.

The holographic Nazis were strobing in and out, as if the intense energy burst had disrupted their photonic coherence. Prominent among them for his solidity, the Hirogen Turanj was still there, dressed in a Nazi officer’s uniform. He had his hands over his reptilian eyes, and she wondered if the Hirogen had a nictitating membrane that had closed because of the light and now was not opening quickly.

And – every other actual person had disappeared. Apart from Turanj, Megan was the lone physical being in the street. She was alone in a holodeck with no safety features and she was in trouble.

She had to run, now, before Turanj realized she was still here, too.

But where? The answer immediately suggested itself. The nearest building was the church, and its bell tower had louvres that would allow her to see out without revealing her position. She dashed inside, running as best she could in the awkward skirt and laced shoes she still wore. Carefully closing the doors behind her, she ran up the small spiral stairs that led to the tower.

From there, she had a panoramic view of the holodeck, showing the entirety of the small French village of Sainte Claire. The holographic Nazis began to slow in their odd strobing and finally stabilized. They seemed shocked by the disappearance of the villagers. You and me both, boys. Jenny, where are you?

Turanj finally seemed to recover his sight and was looking around. After shouting angrily at the Nazis, he almost ran to the holodeck exit at the end of the street. The doors opened, but Turanj didn’t leave. He didn’t seem to be able to. He tried several times but always seemed to bounce or jump backwards, as if he were hitting some kind of invisible barrier. His rage was fully visible, even from so far away. He slapped his comm badge several times, apparently with no response.

Then he stalked back to the waiting holographic Kapitän and gestured around the town square. Clearly, he had given orders to search all the buildings.

None of this made any sense. She remembered the battle with the Hirogen, when Voyager was finally overwhelmed by the sheer number of the enemy. It got a little hazy after that, but she definitely remembered being Margot Riviere, born on February 29, 1916 in the village of Sainte Claire, now occupied by Nazi forces. She remembered her twin sister Genevieve, also an apprentice baker.

Oh, dear lord, where is Jenny? Jenny had been standing right beside her at the moment of the blinding light. Now she was nowhere in sight. Was she hiding, too? Was she all right?

Megan pulled in several deep, calming breaths. She couldn’t dredge up any training at Starfleet Academy that applied to being trapped by an alien enemy alone in a holodeck with no safeties. Jenny might remember something; she had a knack for recalling the most arcane things.

Jenny came to the Academy too, because that’s what they always did. They stayed together. Megan could count on one hand the number of times they had ever been separated for more than a few days. They were a matched set. Besides their looks, they shared a passion for all things astronomical. In other ways, they were complementary rather than identical; extroverted Jenny kept introvert Megan from retreating into her studies, and Megan made sure Jenny scaled back her partying when needed. If not for Jenny, Megan might have had no social life at all, and without Megan, Jenny might not have graduated on time. They’d enlisted together, and they had been pleased that Starfleet let them stay together. After four years in the Delta Quadrant, though, Megan found herself occasionally wishing for just a little bit of separation. Not a lot – life without her twin was impossible to imagine – but just for a few days, so that Megan could figure out who she was when she wasn’t Jenny’s other half.

She closed her eyes and told herself that Jenny was fine, wherever she was. But she didn’t believe it. A feeling swept through her, a bad feeling. The word that came to mind was bereft. Or empty. For as long as she could remember, she always knew when something bad happened to Jenny even if they weren’t in the same place at the moment. Now, she realized with a sinking heart, she knew. She was truly alone for the first time in her life. Tears began to leak down her cheeks, and she wiped them away. This was no time for weeping. Survive first. Cry later.

With a resolve to stay strong, she looked out at the street again. Turanj and his Nazis were emerging out of the boulangerie and heading for the Coeur de Lion. That meant the boulangerie should be safe, at least for a while. She needed to get out of the church before they searched it. She ran down the stairs and back into the sacristy, gambling that she knew something that Turanj didn’t.

Although now Catholic, at one time this had been a Huguenot church. When the prosecution of the Huguenots had become widespread, the parishioners constructed a secret tunnel which would allow their pastor to escape a government search. Even if Turanj were aware of the history of the church, Megan doubted he would understand the significance of it. Certainly, none of the Nazis had discovered the tunnel, as the resistance had been able to use it.

At the back of the wardrobe which held the priest’s robes was a secret door. Pushing the garments aside, she found the concealed latch almost immediately. As the passed through the narrow opening, she pulled it shut behind her. Immediately it was completely dark, and she wished she had even a match to create a little bit of light. Slowly and carefully she made her way down a narrow set of stairs until she reached the bottom.

Placing one hand on the wall, she began walking forward as quickly as she could in the pitch dark, fighting claustrophobia with every step. Even though she knew it wasn’t true, she couldn’t shake the feeling the walls were closing in on her. And the ghosts. Long ago, this tunnel had been used as an ossuary and she knew there were still skeletal remains on the side she was not touching, which was why Margot - Megan - had used this tunnel only once before. She reminded herself that she was a Starfleet officer, not a superstitious villager, and tried to push her fears aside. Finally she reached the end and found the ladder that led upward. Carefully, she pushed on the panel over her head and moved it aside, allowing her to scramble to the floor of the boulangerie’s back room, where the actual baking was done.

With a sigh of relief, she collapsed to sit cross-legged on the floor, her terror somewhat abated by the exertion of getting there. The place was a shambles, the floor covered in flour, utensils, and broken bowls - and the half-kneaded dough she’d been working on when the implant failed. The oven doors were flung open, and the carts of bread loaves toppled over. The Nazis had been thorough in their search of the kitchen.

But not, she saw with relief, all that thorough. But then, they’d been looking for people, not small arms. She crawled over to the toppled cart and began sorting through the loaves until she found the heavy one. Ripping the bread apart, she found the revolver wrapped in oilcloth that the head baker Philippe – actually Phil Jacobson, she now realized – had carefully concealed that morning. Then she looked around for the cuckoo clock and saw that miraculously, it was still on the wall. Moving quietly, she took it down, removed the back and found the box of bullets inside.

Almost as soon as she loaded the gun, she heard the front door open, its little bells jingling loudly in the silence. She considered going back down the tunnel, but her claustrophobia won out, so she moved to the side of the door into the kitchen and waited, holding the revolver with both hands. Whoever it was, they were quiet, which meant it wasn’t the Nazi soldiers. She heard no conversation and no footsteps in the front room, used for sales and display. If it hadn’t been for the creaky old floors, she might have thought they left. Could it be Turanj alone? She held her breath, waiting as the door slowly pushed inward.

Megan found herself aiming the gun at Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay. She nearly collapsed with relief but managed to stay upright. “Quick, close the door,” she said as she lowered the gun.

“Ensign Delaney?” the Captain asked.

“Megan,” she replied reflexively, and then realized something was odd. The captain’s hair was suddenly long and up in a bun again. And while she and the commander were both in uniform instead of the World War II costumes they had worn earlier on the holodeck, they each sported a bandolier loaded with small cylinders. She looked from one to the other in confusion. “What’s going on?” she asked. “Do you know where everyone went?”

Commander Chakotay looked grim. “Listen to me, Ensign. The ship encountered a temporal anomaly and has been fractured into different time periods. The Captain and I are working to stabilize the situation before the stresses become intolerable.”

“We have to treat the gel pack,” the Captain added. “It should be behind that stove.”

Megan tried to digest what she had just heard. Different time periods? “There was a really bright light,” she said. “Was that when the fracture happened? That was when everyone else disappeared.”

“Very likely,” Captain Janeway said. She was trying to help Chakotay move the old iron stove. “Can you give us a hand here?” She added as an aside to Chakotay, “I can’t believe what an emotional roller coaster this day is becoming. I don’t know what to expect from one time period to another. We’ve gone from the deadly to the ridiculous back to the deadly. What’s next?”

Suddenly it dawned on her why the Captain looked different. As she helped them move the heavy stove, she said, “You aren’t from my time frame, are you, Captain? You’re from earlier.”

“We’ll explain later,” the Captain said as Chakotay knelt to expose the gel pack. “Right now, time is of the essence.”

“Everybody else disappeared,” Megan told her. “Everyone who was here.” Suddenly, her fears for Jenny rose up and overpowered everything else. “Do you know where my sister is? She was right next to me and then-- Since that flash of light, I think I’m the only one here. Except for Turanj and the Nazis.”

The captain shook her head in response to the question about Jenny, but Chakotay looked up. “We can take you with us,” he said. The captain gave him a questioning look, and he said, “She won’t survive here if she’s alone. The safety protocols are off and Turanj is out for blood.”

“All right then,” Captain Janeway said, and withdrew one of the cylinders from her bandolier. “I’m going to inoculate you, Ensign. Then you’ll be able to leave with us.” She pressed a hypospray against Megan’s neck, and Megan felt a cold prickle.

Chakotay straightened up. “Done. Let’s get out of here, quickly.”

“Out the back,” Megan said. “They’re searching the square. You were very lucky you were able to get in without being seen.”

She led them through the back door of the bakery, and they began to jog in the direction of the exit, pausing only at gaps between the buildings to make sure they weren’t seen. When they reached the end of the last building, they stopped.

“All right,” Chakotay said quietly. “We need to get to the exit as fast as possible. I’ll go first and if I draw fire, the two of you go hide again. Try to find a Jefferies tube to get out – I’m not sure the one in the Coeur de Lion is still available, but there should be one in the hotel lobby if you can get in.”

“I thought we were staying together,” Captain Janeway said sharply.

“One of us has to make it out of here,” he replied. “And my job is to see to your safety.”

“You are not expendable.” The captain fixed the full Death Glare on him.

“Neither of you are expendable,” Megan said quickly, and she meant it. “You both need to get us out of this mess, the way you always do. I’ve got the gun, and I’ve had a lot of practice recently. I’ll go first and then cover you if there’s any fire.” They both looked like they wanted to argue but said nothing. She was relieved they saw the logic of her plan.

“On three,” Megan said softly. She used her fingers to silently mark the count and then took off running. She saw no one in the square. Perhaps the Nazis were still in the church or possibly they’d gone back to the hotel. She could scarcely believe the good luck.

When the exit doors materialized, she stopped and signaled the others. The captain and the commander began running at full speed toward her, the commander a little in front.

Chakotay was already at the exit and the doors had opened when something – a movement, a reflection, Megan wasn’t sure – caught her attention. She turned her head and saw Turanj, a grim smile on his leathery face and his eyes as cold and black as obsidian. He was standing to her left and pointing a Nazi rifle at Captain Janeway.

“Run!” Megan screamed as she simultaneously jumped between the captain and Turanj and fired off four rounds from the revolver. She wasn’t able to keep her footing, though, and fell to the ground. Janeway and Chakotay dragged her through the exit and into the corridor.

“Are you all right?” Janeway asked immediately.

“I think so,” Megan said, but as she tried to sit up, her head began to swim. She lay down again. “Maybe not. Did I get him?”

Janeway looked through the still-open doors. “Yes. You hit him, Ensign. And you saved me.”

Megan smiled. “Good.” The dizziness was getting worse and suddenly she felt cold. She closed her eyes and heard Chakotay say, “Oh, no.”

She opened her eyes and realized blood was puddling against her abdomen. Her own blood. She must have been hit by Turanj. Funny, she didn’t feel it when the bullet hit. She didn’t even feel pain.

“We’ve got to get her to Sickbay,” she heard the captain say, as if from a great distance.

“No,” Megan said. She meant to be firm and loud, but her voice was weak. “Save the ship first.”

“I hate to say it, but she’s right,” Chakotay said. “If we can save the ship, she’ll survive. She survived the Hirogen the first time.”

“But,” Captain Janeway began, but didn’t finish that thought.

“Go,” Megan said, and closed her eyes again.

“All right,” Janeway said reluctantly. “Thank you, Ensign.”

Megan managed a weak smile. She heard them leave, and she sighed.

Then she heard silvery laughter – Jenny’s laughter. She didn’t see her, but she’d know that laugh anywhere.

“Hurry up,” Jenny called to her. “I’m way ahead of you. You’ve got to catch up.”

Chapter Text

Timeline: Threshold plus 3 days

As Chakotay entered a code into the keypad next to the door panel, Janeway frowned.

“These are Cavit’s quarters,” she said.

“Yes,” Chakotay said, knowing just the very act of opening the door gave Janeway even more information about the future. “We can inject the serum into the gel packs so they circulate through the crew quarters.” The doors slid open and Chakotay led the way inside. Janeway hesitated, but curiosity shone in her eyes. Chakotay glanced over his shoulder.“It’s fine. Don’t worry about intruding, come on in.”

Once inside, Chakotay took a quick survey. His medicine wheel hung on the wall, but the mementos he had brought back from New Earth were conspicuously missing from the dresser.

“Are you a herpetologist? I don’t remember seeing that in your file.”

Janeway’s question cut into Chakotay’s thoughts. He turned to see her standing by his desk, the PADD in which he recorded his official logs gripped in her right hand. “What? Um, no.” The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. “What do you have there?”

“I didn’t mean to pry--”

“I know, I know,” Chakotay said with what he hoped was a disarming grin as he crossed over to her. “You want to know what’s going to happen in your future, but you already know that without resetting the timeline, you may get insight into something that will never happen.” He was thankful that she relinquished the PADD without argument. “The access panel for the gel packs is over there.”

Janeway nodded and removed a vial from her bandolier as she went towards the location Chakotay had indicated. Chakotay sighed in relief as he glanced down at the PADD. The screen showed a picture of two large amphibians alongside a trio of smaller ones. The stardate read 49380.35. Chakotay swallowed hard as he started reading.

"

First Officer’s Log

Captain Janeway and Lieutenant Paris successfully completed another transwarp flight. Upon discovery on the swamp planet, I am challenged delighted to report that they have returned to Voyager and are currently returning to human form in Sickbay. Their flight took them to a previously unknown world where we collected a great amount of data. The only species discovered there are reptilian amphibian in nature. Lieutenant Tuvok and I discovered and recorded the presence of five such beings. Human DNA was noted in all five specimens which is just really odd. This is an entirely new species which I can only conclude are hyper-evolved humans the discovery of which supports Starfleet’s continuing mission to seek out new life but I admit to a certain amount of bewilderment. Preliminary DNA analysis of the three lizard babies smaller specimens show traces of DNA similar to that of the captain and Mr. Paris. It appears the transwarp flight caused Janeway and Paris to hyper-evolve and while in this state, unbelievable as it may sound the captain appears to have mated with Paris they appear to have reproduced to have spawned created an entirely new species. The biological implications and mechanics of this situation defy explanation and I am unsure as to how to share this news with the captain and Paris. While I acknowledge the successful nature of Janeway and Paris’ flight mission the risks to human physiology are considerable and for that reason, I recommend we delay any other flights while we study the effects I am concerned about the effects such technology will have on the crew as a whole. Until we can understand how to negate the effects, I believe no further exploration of transwarp capability should be undertaken. I haven’t decided what to do about the offspring produced by Janeway and Paris as the issues to consider are many. After they have sufficiently recovered, Janeway and Paris will be able to provide a full accounting of their experiences for the official log. I’m hoping they remember because I don’t want to be the one to tell them they have offspring. The Doctor will update the captain and Lieutenant Paris’ medical records as required by Starfleet guidelines. In the meantime, I’ve ordered us to resume course for the Alpha Quadrant. End official log.

Chakotay raised his gaze in time to see Janeway finish injecting the serum into the gel packs, wearing an expression of blatant curiosity. Chakotay felt a tingle of fear, wondering just how much Janeway had seen of the logs. It was clear from what the text that he saw that he hadn’t yet recorded the supplemental log that sparsely discussed his decision to leave Janeway and Paris’ offspring behind.

“Everything all right?” Janeway asked in a tone of voice that clearly indicated she was finishing for more information. “You know, that image I saw… were they lizards or amphibians? I was unable to discern the species.”

Chakotay managed a pained smile. Sometimes the temporal prime directive provided a very good excuse not to answer questions from a superior officer and in no timeline did he ever want to revisit the transwarp flight and its ensuing consequences. Some episodes were best left in the past.

“All in good time,” he said. He waved his arm towards the doors. “After you.”

Chapter Text

When the pulse struck, Crewman Mortimer Harren had to work as hard as he ever had to maintain Voyager's power supplies at an optimum level. All of his efforts had threatened to be insufficient to the task for the longest two minutes he'd ever experienced in his life, even though Mortimer, one of the most highly trained of all the engineers on Voyager's staff (and, in his opinion, probably the smartest), was using every trick he'd ever learned--even the ones his Maquis crewmates had taught him--to keep the ship's power supplies stable.

When it was all over, Mortimer had just one thing to say. "What the hell just happened?"

His first impulse, naturally, was to call Main Engineering to demand an explanation. He couldn't reach them, however. Communications were down. He was here in his hideaway on Deck 15, and he couldn't speak with anyone in another section of the ship.

Well, there was always Mitchell. The crewman didn't know much about plasma physics, but he was on duty most of the time when Harren was. Maybe he knew something about what was  happening.

Except Mortimer couldn't see Mitchell anywhere on Deck 15, or at least, the parts of it he could access, because he couldn't even get near the turbolift, where Mitchell was usually stationed. While trying to get to another deck via the Jeffries tubes was a possibility, Mortimer couldn't leave his post for very long, especially after he'd just had to work so hard to keep the plasma flowing at a constant rate during the recent...incident? Is that what it was?

It would certainly be nice if someone came down and told him what was happening, but keeping him in the loop wasn't exactly a priority. Generally speaking, Mortimer liked it that way. For some reason, he felt a little uneasy about not being in the know tonight.

The best thing for Mortimer to do was to return to his post until communications were restored, or until someone came down and handed him a power requisition.

As he sat there for what seemed like hours waiting for word from someone, even though the chronometer told him only seven minutes and five seconds had passed since he'd returned to Plasma Sublimation Control Room 007, Mortimer's thoughts slipped off into how the perception of time was a relative concept. When you were involved with something that you were interested in, you could look up and be amazed at how long you'd been working. To you, it seemed as if only a few minutes had passed, when actually, hours had sped by. Or when you were worried that your efforts to save yourself would fail, and you'd tried A, B, C, D...right down to X, Y, and Z--like what had just happened to him when the power fluctuations had warped his perceptions--you would have no idea at all how much time had passed until after the crisis was over.

And, of course, there was now, when nothing was happening to divert his attention. The minutes and seconds seemed more like hours. He looked at the chronometer again; less than a minute had passed since the last time he'd looked at it.

He couldn't leave his post under the circumstances. He was stuck here. How boring! What a waste of his precious time, which he could better put to use by working on his rationale to toss Schlezholt's theories into the crapper, where they belonged.

Mortimer checked out the dials and readouts in his domain. All of the readings were as they should be. Voyager's systems were stable again.

Mortimer's gaze fell on the PADD he used to work on his theories. A thought struck him. Time. Had his calculations accounted for all the temporal variables? Could he demolish Wang's Second Postulate, and therefore Schlezholt's grand theories, by evaluating that aspect more fully?

Mortimer laughed out loud as he realized this could be the key!

Setting all of his instruments to audible alarm status so that no little blip of instability would be missed, Mortimer picked up his PADD and began his calculations.

Although Mortimer checked his chronometer several times while he worked, he was barely aware of how much time had passed. The plasma relay functions proceeded without any disturbance at all for quite a while. He'd been able to work steadily for close to two hours when he finally shouted out, "I've got it! I've done it! Schlezholt and Wang have been left in my dust..."

Suddenly, all of Mortimer's alarms went off at once.

Chapter Text

As they strode down the corridor, Janeway asked, “Do we need to go into Cargo Bay One? Is there anything that might be useful there?”

Chakotay thought rapidly as he knelt beside the external gel pack they had come to treat. Unlike Cargo Bay Two, they could access all the gel packs for this bay from the corridor bulkheads, so the only reason to go in would be for equipment or people. At the moment the time fracture occurred, there had been no equipment there that might be useful for them now, and there was no way to know what personnel were inside.

After thinking about it briefly, he decided it wasn’t a good idea to go inside. He was more than a little wary of who they might encounter; the ship had been boarded several times over the years and he really didn’t want to come face to face with the Vidiians, Svriani - or gods forbid, Species 8472. But more than that, as he considered some of the uses the cargo bay had been put to at various times, he did not want to risk the possibility of Kathryn confronting one of her most indefensible decisions in the Delta Quadrant. He would not be able to gloss over the details, and he did not feel up to explaining the circumstances that led up to it, not after their recent confrontations with Suder and the Hirogen. As long as they were successful in repairing the time fractures, it wouldn’t matter who was in there now.

“I doubt it,” he told her. “We mostly use it for storage of spare engine parts. I don’t think it would be worth the time to check.”

She nodded. “All right. I have to rely on your judgment, don’t I?”

=^=

Cargo Bay One was preternaturally silent. Noah Lessing stared at the exit doors, expecting Captain Janeway or Commander Chakotay to return. They’d stormed out - or rather, Janeway stormed out and Chakotay followed - when he refused to tell them anything about Ransom's plans or the location of the Equinox. Janeway was implacable, and just before leaving she promised to lower the shields around the Cargo Bay. The shields that were his only protection from certain, painful death.

He strained to detect any sound, any distant whistle, but all he could hear was the sound of his own breathing. Janeway had left him tied to a chair and unable to do anything more than look around. He tested the ties holding him to the chair. He strained with all his might to break free, but with no discernible effect. Then he tried bouncing the chair - could he break it? No. It was solid metal. He was not going to escape this way.

His eyes swept anxiously around the area in front of him. It was an ordinary cargo bay, filled with stacked containers of various sizes that looked sealed. Even if he could somehow get free, there was no place to hide. He knew from bitter experience that ducking behind anything, even a tall stack of containers, was useless. The Spirits always seemed to know and could maneuver to any angle. He might have been safe inside a container, but on his own, he would not be able to unseal and open one large enough to hold him.

How long had he been alone – one minute? Two?

Janeway had been merciless. I’ll drop the shields around this room and let your little friends come to play, she said. Had she done that yet? There was no way to know, until a fissure opened and one of the vengeful Spirits of Good Fortune broke through. It was so quiet. He would hear the Spirits before he saw them. If Janeway wasn’t bluffing.

She had to be bluffing, right? If she turned off the shield, it was the same as murder. She was a Starfleet captain, and Starfleet captains weren’t murderers. Except... Ransom was. And because of that, Noah was, too. Now the Spirits of Good Fortune wanted justice and Janeway wanted answers. He now understood all too well that even Starfleet captains could become murderers with the right motivation.

He strained to listen closely. Was that a low hum? Or was it just his imagination? How long had he been alone? His heart began to thump in his chest so strongly he thought he could hear it.

Why couldn’t she understand? He was not going to betray Ransom. They’d been through the depths of Hell together and they were family. Screw rank, Ransom was his brother in bonds forged in fire, misery and despair. He would die before he betrayed him or any of his Equinox crewmates.

He would die. The reality of the expression suddenly hit him like a body blow. Noah forced himself to take three deep breaths, and his racing heart slowed a bit. I am going to die, he thought.

Was that a whine? His eyes flicked anxiously around the cargo bay. How long had he been alone in here? It felt like hours.

He studied the bay again. Nothing had changed. There was still no place to hide even if he miraculously freed himself. Somehow the Spirits always found their prey if they were in the same space.

Damn it, where was Janeway? Where was Chakotay? How long had he been alone in here? He looked around the bay yet again, trying to see any oddities or ripples in the air. Holding his breath, he tried to listen for a sound, any sound. Even though he knew it was impossible, he thought perhaps he could hear the shields working.

He didn’t want to die. He hadn’t wanted to kill the aliens. He only wanted to get home to his wife. Was that really so terrible? He just wanted to get home.

Closing his eyes, he tried to picture Mistella, but her face was a blur. Why couldn’t he picture her? A bubble of panic began to build, and he forced himself to calm down. Carefully, he tried to build the image in his mind a piece at a time. The afternoon he proposed, they’d been walking through a park in Addis Ababa while they were visiting her parents. The sun was shining and she had been wearing a yellow dress that seemed to glow against her skin - but he still couldn’t see her face. If I’m going to die, don’t let me forget her face.

A sound caused his eyes to pop open. What was that? A whistle? Yes, it was faint but it was definitely a whistle and he had heard it before. The Spirits had found him. Was Janeway really going to leave him here, unprotected? Would she really let him be killed?

The faintest of high-pitched whistles grew into a whine. He opened his eyes and saw a strange ripple in the air about fifteen meters away. Janeway really had turned off the shields. The Spirits of Good Fortune didn’t care that he was helpless. Why should they? Noah had not cared when they used their fellow Spirits for fuel on Equinox.

He took a deep breath. It was a simple choice: betray Rudy, or die. Murderer he may be, but he was not a traitor. He would die before he turned on his Equinox family. He would die.

The whine increased. The ripple became a seam. He knew exactly what was coming next. No one was coming to save him. He was going to die now.

He closed his eyes and tried again to picture Mistella’s face as the whine became a scream.

Chapter Text

Reassurance -- by jamelia

Marla Gilmore hadn't been able to sleep much. After working for almost twelve hours on strengthening the Delta Flyer for today's mission, Tom Paris had pulled her aside and filled her in about what was going to happen. "You'll need to spend a lot more time than usual tutoring the children today. We have to keep them out of their cargo bay while Seven stays in touch with her friends in Unimatrix Zero." And he'd told her what Unimatrix Zero was all about, too. She hadn't expected that, although naturally, she'd heard rumors. Crewman Marla Gilmore was "Lower Decks"--the lowest of the low, in point of fact, since she'd come over with her four surviving crew mates from the Equinox.

Tom had been honest with her about what they all faced. The Borg. When she admitted her fears, he'd turned to her and said, "Marla, I know this is the first time for you, but we've faced the Borg Queen before. We're still here. We're going to be fine. Have faith in the captain's plan."

Having faith in your captain's plans was a little harder for Marla to do than it was for Tom Paris after everything that had happened to her on Equinox, but she'd gone to her quarters and tried to sleep. When that had proven elusive, she'd spent much of the night preparing lessons. She wasn't sure that teaching them about how star systems and planets formed would hold their attention during a firefight with a Borg cube--which seemed inevitable, given what Captain Janeway, Commander Tuvok, and Lieutenant Paris's girlfriend Lieutenant Torres were out to do. Lieutenant Paris had told her he knew she was up to the task, so she'd do her best. Besides, spending time with the four youngsters rescued from the Borg and with Naomi Wildman, the child of one of the crew, might also distract her from the dangerous mission the crew of Voyager was now undertaking.

The "Borglets" were waiting for her and for Naomi Wildman in Astrometrics. Icheb was to help out the Delaney sisters there, since Seven would be otherwise occupied. Once Ensign Wildman dropped off her daughter--after giving her a prolonged hug before departing for her own assignment in Sickbay--Marla herded the younger children into the Geophysics lab. They'd barely arrived when the red alert sounded.

Marla tried to keep her four charges occupied with her lesson, but her attempts at distracting the children were futile. From the way the ship rocked whenever it was hit by weapons fire, they all knew the battle had begun. With every jolt and vibration, Marla’s engineer's senses alerted her to the effect the Borg weapons were having on Voyager’s hull. She didn’t need to look at instruments to tell her when protective shields must have failed somewhere on the ship and only force fields would be left to hold it together. At one point, Marla thought about moving her class to the corridor outside the escape pod hatches, but she quickly discounted it. These labs provided easy access to the pods--a major reason that the children's red alert station was in this section--but this part of Deck 8 was in the most protected area of the entire ship. They were safer here.

Marla made an attempt to gain control of the situation by calling out, "Now class, we're going to review the factors our geologists use to classify a planet...”

The two girls approached Marla, but the twins ignored her. Their faces were blank masks; their eyes stared outward, unseeing, as if they were unable comprehend what she’d said. Perhaps they weren't, for, as Mezoti explained, “They’re communicating subvocally, Crewman Gilmore. They’re afraid of being assimilated again. So am I.”

The matter-of fact tone of Mezoti’s voice startled Marla, but when she looked at the girl, she saw a haunted expression lurking in her big gray eyes. Mezoti usually exuded an air of self-possession, but not today. She looked as vulnerable as Naomi. “Can you hear each other’s thoughts, Mezoti?” Marla asked, as she guided Mezoti and Naomi to the chairs in another corner of the lab.

“Yes. I can listen in if I want to, but I don’t, not usually. Their subvocal communications aren’t any more interesting than what they say out loud. It’s just boy things.”

For the first time in hours, Marla smiled, and Naomi giggled a little. If only this overall situation wasn’t so serious...but that’s when Marla realized the deck beneath her feet was no longer shaking. The only vibrations beneath her feet were the familiar ones of the engines--at high warp, Marla was fairly certain. Was their ship fleeing from the cube in a futile attempt at escaping from assimilation? Or had the first phase of the operation been completed successfully?

The ship shook again, but not from weaponry this time, Marla thought. A white light flashed so brightly, Marla reflexively closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she saw that Mezoti, Azan, and Rebi all still had their eyes tightly closed.

“Are you okay?” Marla called out.

The children slowly opened their eyes and looked around. Mezoti suddenly cried out, "Crewman Gilmore! Naomi's gone!"

Marla quickly surveyed the room and realized Mezoti was right; there was no sign of Naomi. "Maybe she's gone to her mother in Sickbay," Marla said as she hit her combadge. "Gilmore to Ensign Wildman. Ensign?"

The lack of response was ominous. Marla hit her combadge again and tried to contact the Bridge, then Engineering. No one answered. At Mezoti’s insistence, she tried to reach Icheb in Astrometrics. Nothing. “I’m sorry, Mezoti. Communications must be down throughout the ship.” 

“Can we go to Astrometrics? Icheb may be able to tell us what’s happening,” Mezoti asked.

“That’s a good idea. Azan, Rebi, come with us."

The twins were closer to the doorway than Marla and Mezoti were, but their progress was abruptly halted. “I can’t get my foot to go forward,” Rebi said, “but I can’t see why.”

Azan added, “There’s something in our way. Something invisible.”

Marla and all three children explored the obstruction. The barrier extended the length of the room, cutting them off from both the doorway and the access hatch to the Jeffries tube system. The geophysics lab was a fairly large room, unconnected to the other science labs the way Biology and Botany were to each other. Marla didn’t need to say anything to the three children to know that they were just as aware as she was that they were trapped.

The twins returned to their corner and turned their gaze inward, no doubt communicating subvocally once again. Mezoti suddenly shook her head, stared into space herself, and then said, in a mournful tone of voice, “Crewman Gilmore, I can’t contact Icheb.”

“Could he have been knocked out?”

“Possibly…” Mezoti suddenly darted over to the barrier and tried to force her way past it. When she couldn’t get through, she called out, “Icheb!” several times, shouting louder with each repetition of his name.

“He’d never be able to hear you through the doors and the walls, no matter how loudly you scream,” Marla said gently, as she guided Mezoti back to their chairs.

Within a very short time Mezoti had calmed down--outwardly, at least. Finally, she murmured, “That’s curious.”

“What’s curious?”

“Azan and Rebi are wondering if the Borg have put up that barrier to keep us here until drones can come to assimilate us. But I don’t think so. That light was white. Borg powered systems are almost always green.”

“The barrier doesn’t act like a force field when you touch it,” Marla said.

“It doesn’t feel like a Borg force field, either,” Mezoti observed.

Not unless they’ve assimilated another culture’s “distinctiveness” since you were on your cube, Mezoti, Marla thought. Hoping she sounded more confident than she felt, however, Marla said aloud, “Well, we’ll just have to wait here for someone to come find us. Or until they restore communications.”

As Marla sat with Mezoti, across the room from the equally silent twins, Marla wondered what was happening on the rest of the ship. Should she try to present another lesson to the three children, who possessed a wealth of facts about geophysics without actually understanding how the planetary structures formed? The Borg assimilated knowledge and didn’t bother to work out the principles for themselves through observation and experimentation. The children had seemed to enjoy their lessons with Marla--or at least, they'd said they did--but her crewmate Noah Lessing claimed they enjoyed his biological science lessons even more. After Marla noticed Mezoti flexing her hands repeatedly, as if to restore circulation in numbed limbs, she remarked offhandedly, “I wish we could get into the Biology and Botany labs next door. Maybe we could find something in there that would interest you all..."

Mezoti shuddered. “Not the Biology lab,” she whispered.

“Why not, Mezoti?”

The girl gulped noticeably and said, “It brings back bad memories.”

Marla was about to stand up but settled back into her chair after detecting the note of misery in the girl's voice. What sort of bad memories could such a young child have? And then she thought she knew. “Do you remember being assimilated?” Marla asked.

“No. I don’t. Maybe I was too young. The Doctor said I’m eight, but he can’t really know exactly. A maturation chamber makes you grow up fast. But I remember another assimilation, of someone we captured. But we failed.”

“Ensign Kim?”

“Before that. We needed to assimilate more drones to operate our cube. Grownups. We captured a vessel and tried to assimilate its pilot. We injected him with nanoprobes, but they didn’t work very fast. Even though he hadn’t turned into a Borg yet, First ordered Icheb and me to tear off his arm and put on a cybernetic one. And we cut out his eye to put in an ocular implant. But we couldn’t get the new arm or the eye to attach right.” The haunted look returned to her eyes as Mezoti added, “He just kept screaming. And he bled all over. And then he died. We killed him.”

Marla put her arms around Mezoti. “You couldn’t help it. You were Borg, and that’s what they do...”

“No, we weren’t fully Borg. If we were linked to the Collective, we would have known what to do. We would have obeyed the orders of the Queen and wouldn’t have felt bad about it. Icheb feels bad that we killed him, too. I don’t know what First thought. Maybe that's why he wanted the link with the Collective. Maybe he thought the bad memories would all go away once he was a drone. I don’t want to find out if that’s what happens to you. I don’t want to be Borg. I don’t want to kill people to turn them into drones.” Marla wasn’t certain, but she thought Mezoti blinked away a few tears. “I keep hearing his screams, smelling his blood. I don’t want to be assimilated.”

Marla hugged Mezoti. The Norcadi girl usually held herself aloof, but today, she seemed to need the comfort of another being’s arms around her--for half a minute or so. Then she sat up straight again and asked Marla, “Are you afraid of being assimilated?”

What a question! Marla sighed and said, “Any sane person would be!”

“Do you think you’d still feel bad about what happened on the Equinox if you were assimilated?”

Marla could barely hide her shock. “How do you know about what happened on the Equinox?”

“Naomi remembered a lot about what happened. About Seven and the Doctor being kidnapped. I wanted to know more, so I read the logs about how you came on the ship.”

“I didn’t think you were allowed access to the ship’s logs.”

“I hacked into them.”

“You need to be taught about erosion and the difference between igneous, sedimentary, and metamorphic rocks, but you know how to hack into the ship’s logs?” 

For the first time all morning, a slight smile crossed Mezoti’s lips. “I’m good with technical systems.”

Marla laughed, but all the while her mind was racing feverishly, trying to come up with an answer to Mezoti’s question about how Marla felt about her time on the Equinox. Throughout her time on Voyager, Mezoti had proven herself to be quite single-minded. Marla knew the girl would demand an answer.

Fortunately, Marla didn’t need to say anything more just then. The entrance to the Geophysics lab slid open. A second later, two figures emerged from behind the invisible barrier. “Commander Chakotay! And Captain Janeway! Are you back from the cube already?” Marla exclaimed.

“Cube?” The captain spoke hesitantly, as if she had no idea what Marla was talking about. The captain’s gaze moved slowly from Marla and Mezoti to the twins and back.

Commander Chakotay asked, “Crewman Gilmore, how are you doing?”

“We’re all okay in here.”
 
“Is Naomi all right, Captain Janeway?” Mezoti asked. "And Icheb?

“Yes, they're both fine,” the commander answered for the captain. “They're in Astrometrics. Safe.”

“Can we go there, too?” Mezoti asked.

“Not at the moment. I don’t have time to explain right now. I need to treat a gelpack in this lab to help us get things back to normal.”

“Of course, Commander.” Marla stepped out of his way. He quickly moved to the gelpack access port and used a medical hypospray on it. The air around the gelpack seemed to ripple slightly--or perhaps it was an optical illusion, and it was the gelpack itself reacting to the treatment. 

While this was going on, Mezoti was staring at Captain Janeway in an almost clinical manner. As the commander rejoined the captain, Mezoti stated flatly, “You’re not the Captain Janeway I know. You don’t know who we are, do you?”

The command team exchanged a brief but intense look before Commander Chakotay replied, “I can't explain now, Mezoti.” He paused, glanced at each of them in turn, as if he was considering how much he could tell them, before saying, “Let me assure you, you’re going to get out of this situation just fine. Relax. Enjoy each other’s company for just a little while longer. You’re safe here. But for now, the captain and I need to leave you with Crewman Gilmore so we can finish our mission.” 

He flashed a quick grin before touching the captain on her arm. Without another word, the two officers passed through the barrier and disappeared.

No one spoke for several seconds before Mezoti announced, “We have just experienced a temporal paradox.”

Marla immediately realized Mezoti had to be right. Their Captain Janeway could never have been assimilated, her mission completed, and then recovered from the Borg cube this quickly. The Doctor could perform miracles, but he wouldn’t have had enough time to restore her to her usual appearance. In fact, the captain didn’t look quite like herself. Her hair was much longer and worn in a bun. Now that she thought about it, Marla thought the captain even seemed to look younger than she had just a day ago, when Marla had last seen her in Engineering, consulting with Lieutenant Torres and the Engineering shift supervisors Nicoletti and Chapman.

“Crewman Gilmore, did you believe the commander when he said we were safe?” Azan asked.

Before responding, Marla's thoughts turned to their other visitor. The commander knew us. He even seemed to recognize our situation, I’d be willing to bet he’s not from our now--he might even be from the future. Aloud, Marla replied, “Yes, Azan. I do. I believe they have everything under control. Why don’t we do as the commander suggested and relax here for a while and stop worrying about what’s going to happen, because it’s all going to turn out all right.”

Azan and Rebi glanced at each other and shrugged in unison. They went back to their corner, but instead of standing and staring into space, as they had during much of the past hour, they shared a terminal and began to work on something. Marla didn't care if they were working on the lesson she'd installed in the computer in the early morning hours or were playing some sort of game--they were occupied, and that was really the goal of today's assignment.

Marla was just about to turn back to Mezoti when she felt a tug on her arm. As Marla had anticipated, Mezoti said, “You never answered my question about the Equinox.”

Marla took in a deep breath of air before replying, “I don’t think becoming assimilated and forgetting would be a good thing for me to do, Mezoti. I helped to kill beings who never tried to harm us until after we began to kill them to turn their bodies into fuel. We may have been desperate, but that doesn’t excuse the terrible things we did. And we were adults who should have known better. We knew what we were doing was wrong, but we did it anyway.”

She took the girl by the hand as they sat down in front of the desk. “Mezoti, you were children who didn’t know the pilot you captured would die. I’m not saying you’ll ever be able to forget what happened--or even if you should--but you didn’t mean to kill him. We meant to murder the Spirits of Good Fortune. I'll always have what we did to them on my conscience--and I should. The only way I can make up in some small way for my sins is to do everything I can to get everyone on this ship home. Including you.”

Although Mezoti was still holding Marla’s hand, she broke eye contact and stared down at the deck beneath their feet. “What home will I ever have? The Norcadi don’t want me. The captain asked them to find me a home many times, but they never answered her. I know why. They hate the Borg. That’s what I’ll always be to them.”

Marla couldn’t deny this. She remembered how the people in the Tsunkatse arena cheered, yelling at the Hirogen warrior to “kill the Borg,” even though Seven was no longer linked to the Collective. Past association was enough for the Norcadi to lust for Seven to die during the death match. She didn’t want to contemplate what the Norcadi might do to Mezoti if she ever was returned to them.

Seeming to understand Marla’s silence as confirmation of Mezoti’s assertion, the girl walked towards one of the view screens in the lab. She studied the cross section of the rocky, terrestrial-type world displayed there before confiding, “When Icheb’s parents lied to the captain about wanting him to live with them again--and then they sent him back to the Borg--I told Seven I never wanted the captain to find my parents. I wanted to stay on Voyager forever. To stay with Seven.” She sighed. “Now I’m not so sure. Maybe living on a planet wouldn’t be so bad.”

“It might be safer, although the Borg attack planets, too,” Marla said as she walked towards Mezoti.

“But on a ship there’s nowhere to hide. Maybe if I lived on a planet there would be a place I could go to escape from them.”

Marla stood beside Mezoti and put her arm around her shoulders. “Perhaps. Do you want the captain to look for a planet for you to live on? Foster parents to live with?”

“After she saves us from the Borg cube?”

Marla, detecting a hint of humor in the girl’s voice, couldn’t suppress her smile. “Are you doubting our captain, now, Miss Mezoti?”

Mezoti made eye contact with Marla and shook her head. “No. I don’t know how, but she’ll find a way to save us.”

The Norcadi girl’s lips were curved into a very small smile, but those big eyes of hers were much older than they should be in one of such tender years. Mezoti was haunted by memories that, as Marla knew from experience, would never truly fade away. Marla gave the girl another quick hug before releasing her. Turning to the twin boys in the corner, Marla asked them to join her and Mezoti in front of the view screen.

As they discussed different types of planets and how they formed, Marla observed the three children. Azan and Rebi, who’d always seemed to form a single entity of twinhood, were, like Mezoti, old before their time. The Borg had robbed them of their innocence as well as most of their childhood. Their experiences would forever set them apart from those who had never been assimilated. Mezoti, although younger than the boys, sought a measure of redemption for deeds she’d performed under the direction of First, the adolescent who had taken over the leadership of their small band of immature drones from Icheb.

Marla didn’t know if she would ever find redemption for the deeds she’d done under the direction of Captain Rudy Ransom and his executive officer, Lieutenant Maxwell Burke. She hadn’t been a child when she’d stolen alien lives. She may have been under orders, with no recourse but to sacrifice her own life if she didn’t comply with what her superiors had insisted she do, but she hadn’t been brave enough to stand up and refuse to comply. She wasn’t like her current Captain Janeway, who at this very moment was risking her life to save drones she’d never met--and never would.

Her respect for the commanding officers of Voyager was great. They deserved her loyalty. For the rest of her life, she vowed to do her best to act the way she should have on Equinox--and hadn't. Once she returned to the Alpha Quadrant, Marla believed she would face severe consequences for all she'd done on her last ship; but until then, she'd do what she could to redeem herself in her own eyes, if no one else’s. Protecting these children with her own life, if need be, would be a start.

Chapter Text

Time period: post-Caretaker

Michael Ayala had never quite got used to the sensation of rematerializing in a transporter beam, the feeling that every cell in his body was reassembling itself - and the hope that the pattern buffer got it right. And so, as he solidified on Voyager’s transporter pad, he flexed his fingers and nervously glanced down at his boots. B’Elanna Torres, however, seemed to have no such qualms as she strode off the pad and towards the double doors that led out to the corridor. They didn’t slide open. B’Elanna glared, and then marched to the panel directly to the left of the door.  She furiously started tapping in a series of codes. The only response was an insistent beeping.

 Ayala stepped down from the pad. Voyager’s transporter room was just like the others he’d seen during his Starfleet days – sleek, modern, designed for a limited if specific purpose. He noted the absence of a transporter chief or any security. Incredible as it may seem, Tuvok – revealed not long ago as Voyager’s security officer, though Ayala still thought of him as a fellow Maquis - had thought it a good idea to order the four of them held in an unsecured transporter room to wait out the negotiations between Chakotay and Captain Janeway.

“Try the Jefferies tube,” B’Elanna ordered. Neither Smithee or O’Donnell reacted to her words so Ayala scanned the walls before locating what he thought was the most likely access panel. He wrenched the door open and got on hands and knees to attempt to crawl through but was immediately repelled by something . The stinging pain flung Ayala backwards and he landed painfully on his backside. 

“What the hell,” he said, getting to his feet. He pointed towards the Jefferies tube in response to B’Elanna’s questioning look. “They must have erected force fields to keep us imprisoned here.”

 “I guess we’re stuck here then,” Ann Smithee said, thrusting her fists into the pockets of her gray overalls as she watched B’Elanna’s attempt to get the doors opened. Ayala said nothing. He wasn’t quite sure, after all, where they would go if they did get those doors open. Head to Engineering or the Bridge and attempt a hostile takeover? Surely the Starfleet personnel outnumbered them. And anyway, they were in the middle of the freakin’ Delta Quadrant—

 “Give me a hand,” B’Elanna barked. “Why are you just standing there?”

Jack O’Donnell and Ann exchanged a look, but neither reacted, but this didn’t surprise Ayala. Jack, despite his golden boy looks, had always been more of a fighter than an engineer, and Ann, the chief astro-navigator for the ValJean , had always shied away from more technical duties, preferring to focus her efforts on plotting the safest and most efficient course through the stars. Ayala took decided steps in B’Elanna’s direction.

“Here,” he said, handing her the tool that had been in his jacket pocket. That iso-spanner and the clothes he wore were now the only things he owned. He tightened his jaw. B’Elanna took the tool from him and gazed at him curiously.

“Something bothering you, Mike?” she asked. “Besides the obvious?”

“I’m hoping Chakotay is all right.”

A shadow crossed B’Elanna’s face. “He’s fine ,” she snapped. She went back to the panel on the wall and began to ease off its cover. There was a tension to her shoulders as she studied the naked circuits, but Ayala knew that if anyone could get them out of this room, it would be B’Elanna Torres.

And then what ?

He hadn’t realized he’d spoken out loud until Ann said, “What?”

“He’s wondering what we do next,” Jack said, his arms crossed against his chest, his legs spread wide as he stood where the transporter chief would typically be stationed. “Isn’t that right, Mike?” Jack spat out the name with a bit of a sneer.

“It’s a realistic question. We don’t even know where we are,” Michael said calmly.

“Sure, we do. We’re on a god-damned Starfleet ship in the middle of the Delta Quadrant,” Jack answered. “So, what’s the plan, Mike ? How are you going to get us out of here? Or are you just going to give in and surrender when that Starfleet captain comes in here to throw us all into the brig? How do you like that? Seventy years in the brig.”

 B’Elanna cast them all a baleful look over her shoulder. “Shut up, Jack.”

 Ann was careful to put distance between herself and the rest of them. “You really think they’re going to put us in prison now?” she asked, hugging herself.

“It’s a Starfleet ship,” Jack said. “We’re prisoners.” His lip curled. “We’d have been better off staying aboard the ValJean and blowing up with Chakotay.”

“He did not blow up,” B’Elanna said through gritted teeth.

“You really trust that these Starfleet types got him off the ValJean?” Jack challenged.

“They got us out,” Mike said quietly. “Along with the rest of our crew earlier. They didn’t have to, you know.”

B’Elanna threw an exasperated look in their direction. “As I told you before, Chakotay was on the bridge with me when the captain ordered the array destroyed and now the two of them are `discussing’ our fate. Chakotay is trying to bargain for our freedom, or at least our lives.”

A silence fell over the room and their collective attention turned towards the half-Klingon who continued to persist in her efforts. Michael leaned against the wall. Maybe Jack was right, and they were going to be locked up as soon as Voyager’s captain opened that door. But he had been looking at that very same fate in the Alpha Quadrant, possibly even worse. At least that’s what Penelope had said to him as she packed her bags.

“This cause of yours--you can keep fighting, but can’t you see? You’re never going to win, not against the Cardassians, not against the Federation. We had a life here,” Penelope said. She wasn’t even paying attention to what was going into the suitcase, didn’t even notice when she threw his vest into the mix. He said nothing. Just watched. “And now, now we have nothing. No, I take that back. We have less than nothing, because you’re insisting on playing superhero, trying to save your people from an unjust fate.” She stopped then, her face flushed. “I just wanted us to have a good life, Mike.”

“This is our home,” he said. He stared out the window. “Until the Federation decided to give it to the Cardassians. If that’s not worth fighting for—”

“There are hundreds of other colonies and planets out there, thousands. What’s so special about this rock?” Penelope demanded. “Is this how you want your boys to grow up, as fugitives or outlaws? And what if you get yourself killed or captured?  What do you think will happen to us then?” she shook her head. “I don’t want to leave you, Mike, but I’m not going to stick around till the bitter end.”

“You used to believe in this cause too.”

Her eyes flashed sparks at him. “That’s before I had two little boys to worry about. What’s so sacred about this ground, Mike? Is it worth your life, or the lives of your family?”

He knew there wasn’t an answer that would satisfy Penelope, that would get her to stay. And if he was being truly honest with himself, he knew she was right. The Maquis were fierce, nimble, but out-manned and outgunned. The odds were against them. But he knew he would never forgive himself if he didn’t stand up for what was right.

He was still thinking about that last conversation with Penelope when he became aware of Jack and Ann talking in low voices. He strained to hear and the few pieces of dialogue he heard alarmed him. He took a step towards them.

“You really think we can take over Voyager?” he said.

“No one was asking you,” Jack said.

Crouched on the floor, B’Elanna raised her gaze, but then turned her attention back to what she was working on.

“Besides,” Jack went on, “you aren’t really one of us, are you?”

Ann shifted her weight from one foot to the other, shifting her black-eyed gaze downward. No one was better at shrinking from a fight than Ann.

“I heard you tell Chakotay that the supply run into the Badlands was going to be your last mission for the Maquis, that you were quitting,” Jack went on. He scowled. “No wonder you trust these Starfleet types. You were about to go running back to them. You think you were going to show up in a new colony and they were going to welcome you with open arms? Ha!”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ayala said. He stepped closer to Jack. Ann moved away hurriedly; her slight shoulders bowed with tension. Jack clenched his fingers into a fist.

“I never thought we’d have a coward in our midst,” Jack said. “First sign of trouble, you cut and run.”

Ayala found it difficult to get the words out. Jack had always been hot-headed; it was both the man’s best and worst qualities. No fear when it came to dangerous situations, but also no idea of when to take a step back. There was no enemy, no starship Jack wasn’t willing to go toe to toe with. “That’s not fair and you know it,” Ayala finally said. “You have no idea—”

“You think I don’t have family to worry about? You don’t think I have people to worry about too? What makes you so different?”

Ayala swung his arm out reflexively, but Jack was quick, catching his forearm tightly before contact could be made. Ayala knew he was stronger than the other man, that he towered over him and could take him easily. He wrenched himself free and took another swing. Jack ducked.

Ann shrieked. B’Elanna looked up.

Jack’s face was red as he kicked his leg out, catching Ayala by the ankle. Ayala nearly lost balance, catching himself just before Jack could come at him again with another punch. He put his hands up in a defensive posture, tensing to anticipate the next move, but B’Elanna came between him and Jack.

“What the hell is the matter with you guys?” she demanded. She was a small, but formidable presence, with plenty of muscle in those sinewy arms as she pressed her palm against Jack’s chest, forcing him to step back, while at the same time holding Ayala at bay.

“So, you’re not bothered that our comrade-in-arms here, Mike, was planning to rat us out to Starfleet?” Jack spat the words out.

“I would never do that!” Ayala shot back. He could feel the blood rushing in his ears. “You are putting words in my mouth. And if you don’t believe me, ask Chakotay. Or better yet, B’Elanna. Chakotay tells you everything, doesn’t he?” He turned a pleading look towards the half-Klingon. “B’Elanna… what do you think?”

“I think you’re full of shit,” B’Elanna said crossly, “both of you.” She settled herself on the floor with a PADD that she had found in one of the cabinets. “Mike’s right. We’re not going to be able to take the ship, but maybe we can make things a little more interesting, give ourselves some leverage.” Her eyes narrowed as she looked at Mike. “And whatever you were or weren’t going to do after our supply run, your plans have now officially been disrupted.” She held the PADD out to him “Make yourself useful and look at this. I think I may have figured out a way to bypass Voyager’s encryption codes.”

B’Elanna’s intervention had the required effect; Ayala took the PADD while Jack retreated to the far side of the room. Ann sulked off to the side, refusing to make eye contact with any of them. Ayala crouched next to B’Elanna.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Don’t mention it. Jack’s an ass,” B’Elanna said in a low voice, “but you know better than to antagonize him. You know how he is.”

Ayala bit his tongue; it was impossible to not antagonize Jack O’Donnell. Instead, he focused on the data B’Elanna had managed to download.

“Their security systems are sure in need of enhancement,” Ayala said, marveling at the amount of information B’Elanna was able to bring up with minimal effort. “If they don’t upgrade their security, anyone can break into their systems and take control of the ship.”

A small smile played on B’Elanna’s lips. “Exactly.”

They bent down to study the data together, with Ayala pointing out a few places where he thought B’Elanna could take advantage of deficiencies in Voyager’s systems. He was also barely aware of Jack and Ann, who seemed content to remain in their separate corners. Once he and B’Elanna were finished formulating their plan of attack, Ayala decided he would approach Jack again, try to clear the air. In that sense, B’Elanna was right. Whatever had happened in the AQ no longer mattered. Even if she hadn’t left him, Penelope was now light-years away, free to do as she liked. The only people Ayala knew he could trust were his fellow Maquis.

He was still pondering this change in his circumstances when the doors swished open. Ayala’s eyes widened as Chakotay – now dressed in a red-shouldered Starfleet uniform – strode in, followed by Captain Janeway.

Ayala returned to his spot by the wall as B’Elanna sprang to her feet. “What the hell's going on, Chakotay? And what are you doing in that uniform?”

Chakotay said quietly, “It's a little complicated.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” B’Elanna said pointedly, her eyes darting between the woman and Chakotay.

“Voyager 's had an encounter with an anomaly,” Chakotay said. “It's fractured the ship into different time periods.”

“We're trying to undo the damage, but we need access to that panel,” the captain said, gesturing.

B’Elanna moved a little bit closer to Chakotay, her eyes flashing as she held Chakotay’s gaze. “First, she destroys our only way out of the Delta Quadrant, and now you're collaborating with her?”

“Try to understand. I'm from a time period in your future when all of us will be working together.”

B’Elanna scoffed under her breath. “That's pretty hard to believe.”

“B'Elanna,” Chakotay said firmly, “I've never lied to you before, and I'm not lying now.” He slipped past B’Elanna and propped open the panel that Ayala had been leaning against just a few minutes earlier. Ayala couldn’t quite see what he was doing, but after a moment, Chakotay straightened and nodded at the captain.

“Let’s go,” Chakotay said to her.

“Hey!” B’Elanna said.

Chakotay glanced over his shoulder at her. “Look, I’ll explain—”

“This is the most ridiculous piece of shit I have ever heard,” B’Elanna declared. She slammed her contraband PADD onto the console. “First, we get hurled into the Delta Quadrant, and now you tell me you’re from the future? And you ask me to trust you? How do I know you are who you say you are?” She glanced quickly in Ayala’s direction. “Maybe you can settle an argument for us.”

“B’Elanna. I don’t have time for this.”

But B’Elanna plunged ahead, as if Chakotay hadn’t said a word. “What did you and Mike talk about on the ValJean ? Before we went into the Badlands?”

Ayala stiffened. Chakotay’s glance flickered from B’Elanna and then to Ayala. Ayala nodded slightly in Chakotay’s direction.

“He told me he would be leaving,” Chakotay said quietly.

A satisfied grin crossed Jack’s face, instantly followed by a savage sneer; Ayala was sure only Chakotay’s presence kept the man from lashing out.

“Okay,” B’Elanna said, with an edge of defeat in her voice. “So… now what?”

“Stay here,” Chakotay told her. “I’ll be back.” And then with a small smile, he said, “And Jack, you might have been right this time, but Mike’s going to have your back in the future. More times than you can count.”

And with that, Chakotay and the captain disappeared through the door.

Chapter Text

Looking Forward: Kathryn

Kathryn was quiet as they left the transporter room. The Maquis they’d encountered were more along the lines she’d expected of Chakotay, angry and mistrustful. But the words of B’Elanna Torres echoed in her mind. First she destroys our only way out of the Delta Quadrant…

Chakotay had carefully avoided any hint of how they’d wound up in the Delta Quadrant, she realized. He was either proscribed by the Temporal Prime Directive – or he was trying to protect her from an unpleasant truth. Did the ship suffer because of her poor judgment? Or worse, her incompetence?

What was it he had said to her earlier - there will come a time when you’ll have to deal with the gray areas, to understand that sometimes there is no decision you can make which is completely right.  Was this what he meant? Did he mean the ship was stranded because of one of her decisions?

She took a deep breath. “That woman blamed me for stranding Voyager in the Delta Quadrant.”

He shook his head. “She was angry.”

That didn’t answer her question. She pressed on. “But was she right?”

His hesitation told her that it was true. Voyager was in the Delta Quadrant, apparently unable to return because the means to get back were destroyed by something she did, or did not, do. Will or will not do? She dismissed the tenses as irrelevant. Either way, it was her fault.

He seemed to know what she was thinking. “You had good reasons for what you did.”

It was hard to imagine anything that could justify an outcome like this. “What reasons?” she asked, skeptically.

“You were trying to save lives.” He was obviously struggling with how much he could tell her, what he could say, but she knew he was trying to reassure her. Unfortunately, it wasn’t working.

“Whose lives?” she demanded.

“An alien culture,” he said, and then added, seemingly against his better judgement, “The Ocampa.”

Ocampa? Presumably they were a Delta Quadrant species; she’d never heard of them, at any rate. Perhaps she would feel differently if he’d said Vulcans or Andorians or even Klingons - all of them more familiar species - but she couldn’t even picture an Ocampa in her mind. She could, however, easily visualize the faces of her crew.

“In other words, I’m going to choose to help a bunch of strangers at the expense of our own people.” Just the thought of it made her angry, almost as angry as that Torres woman had been. As captain, she was responsible for the safety and well being of her crew. They were supposed to be her first priority, and her decisions were supposed to reflect that. `How could the fate of an unknown alien culture outweigh that?

She expected him to defend her decision, to argue with her and reassure her. Instead, to her surprise, he simply said, “It’s not like you to second-guess yourself.”

“In this case, I’m second guessing a decision I haven’t even made yet,” she retorted, but his words struck a deep chord within. She’d long had a tendency to blame herself for things that went wrong, assume responsibility for things beyond her control, and yes, to second-guess herself on occasion. Mark had made her realize it and had tried to help her overcome that tendency. She felt a perverse sense of pleasure at the thought that if this man from the future perceived her as someone who didn’t normally behave that way, then Mark had obviously been successful.

But this wasn’t about second-guessing some past decision. This was about a future action she would undertake. She had no idea what factors were involved, but surely she had thoroughly evaluated the known risks and benefits before taking that fateful step. But now her breath caught at a sudden thought - if she could avoid making a questionable decision on the basis of new data, foreknowledge of just what she was getting herself and her crew into, wasn’t that the right thing to do?

She was going to have to think about this further. She wasn’t sure how she could change the actions, not to mention the fate, of her future self, but surely there had to be a way.

Looking Back: Chakotay

As they left the transporter room, Chakotay saw that Kathryn was lost in thought. He had carefully avoided the topic of how Voyager got to the Delta Quadrant; it was just bad luck they’d just encountered B’Elanna Torres at her angriest. The half-Klingon had blurted those damning words out in a fit of rage as soon as she saw Kathryn. First she destroys our only way out of the Delta Quadrant… He’d recognized at once that B’Elanna and the other Maquis they’d encountered in the transporter room had landed in a very narrow time segment. It must have been after the destruction of the Caretaker’s array when Valjean’s crew had been beamed over to Voyager, but before Janeway had offered to integrate them into Voyager’s crew. That had been what, four hours?

He remembered that Tuvok had split the Maquis into small groups for security reasons and had them wait under guard in separate locations during that time. Chakotay had forgotten precisely where each was taken, but obviously B’Elanna, Ayala, O’Donnell and Smithee were held in the transporter room. Come to think of it, there should have been a guard there with them; with a touch of alarm, he decided - hoped - that guard was stuck in another time period and not dead and concealed in a jefferies tube by his very angry former crew.

He understood their anger. After all, they were waiting to learn their fate - and the only options seemed to be jail or abandonment - and the realization they were stuck in the Delta Quadrant was fresh and raw. No wonder B’Elanna was so angry; she was likely masking a lot of fear behind her rage.

Clearly, her words had deeply affected Kathryn. She hadn’t said a word since B’Elanna’s accusation; instead she just looked very pensive. When they’d talked after the confrontation with Lon Suder, he had tried to hint that she would be making very difficult choices between equally bad options, and he suspected she was putting two and two together. He knew with certainty she was going to ask him about the precise circumstances that led up to Voyager’s being stranded, and he dreaded having to answer her.

In all their years in the Delta Quadrant, Kathryn had always been decisive. She had been resolute with the Borg and steadfast in her decisions about the Hirogen, Kashyk, and all the aliens in The Void. Once she determined a course of action, she never looked back.

The only exception was that first decision to destroy the Caretaker’s array to save the Ocampa from the Kazon. He hadn’t realized how heavily it weighed on her until the fifth year of their journey, when they’d reached a vast starless expanse which took weeks to traverse. She’d retreated to her quarters to brood for the duration. The crew helped snap her out of it eventually, but ever since then, she’d made enough off-handed comments for him to know that she’d continued to question her judgment on that fateful day. He’d give anything not to have to tell her this, and he certainly didn’t want to tell her something that would make her question herself now.

But he knew Kathryn Janeway, and he knew she wasn’t going to just let this pass.

Finally, she looked up. “That woman blamed me for stranding Voyager in the Delta Quadrant.”

“She was angry,” he deflected, knowing it was inadequate, but not sure what answer he could give her.

“But was she right?” Kathryn pressed.

There was no way to avoid it. He considered citing the Temporal Prime Directive, especially since she herself had done so earlier. But he knew she was not going to give up on this until she was satisfied. Just how little could he get away with telling her? Trying to stall for time, he said slowly, “You were trying to save lives.”

“Whose?” she fired off.

“An alien culture,” he said reluctantly. “The Ocampa.”

She nodded, as if confirming something she had already guessed. “In other words, I'm going to choose to help a bunch of strangers at the expense of our own people.”

Damn. There it was, almost exactly what she’d said in her quarters one night in the starless void. What could he say to her, here and now, that would make her understand and stop blaming herself?

He could tell her exactly what happened, but it was too much detail to cover in the short time they had; he didn’t think she would be satisfied with just a brief summary. She would have to be there in the moment, with all the factors in play, forced to make a snap decision, before she could truly comprehend what she’d done and why.

She had chosen life. Life for the Ocampa, and a chance for both of their crews to live. If she had used the Caretaker’s array to get them home, not only would the Ocampa perish at the hands of the Kazon, but additional members of her crew surely would have died on the violent return trip, just as several had died when they were pulled in. And what of the Maquis? What fate would have awaited the survivors once they returned to the Alpha Quadrant? Kathryn had chosen the option that saved the lives of the many.

But he couldn’t say that to her. It would only lead to more questions which really would reveal too much of the future. He needed to deflect this line of thought immediately. “It’s not like you to second-guess yourself,” he finally said. And apart from this one issue, it was certainly true. It was perhaps the trait that served her best in the Delta Quadrant, the one that enabled them all to survive.

She shook her head. “In this case, I’m second-guessing a decision I haven’t made yet.”

He had no answer for that. They continued down the corridor in silence, but he knew the topic wasn’t closed. This idea was going to simmer in her mind for a while. He needed to be ready for when it finally came to a head, and he sincerely hoped they would be finished with the inoculation of the rest of the gel packs by the time it came up again.

Chapter Text

Ensign Vorik walked around the airponics bay, searching for the section devoted to plants of desert climates. Ordinarily, he knew exactly where it was located, but today was not ordinary. Today he was deep into pon farr and his ability to think, let alone think logically, was nearly non-existent. B’Elanna Torres occupied his mind and filled his senses – her scent, the feel of her forehead ridges against his hot fingers when he attempted to bond with her, the full-throated shout in response to his touch –

He stopped and shook his head, an illogical gesture that nonetheless served to refocus him. He was here to meditate, since attempts in his quarters had been interrupted by Tuvok. It was absolutely necessary for him to regain control, and as Lieutenant Torres had rejected his advances, he must ease the primal sensations coursing through his body another way. The holodeck would be a pale imitation of his homeworld, and so he had come here in search of relief. The desert section of the airponics bay was closer to Vulcan than anywhere else on the ship. He hoped the setting would enhance his ability to concentrate and purge the hot waves of emotion that were roiling through him. It flowed like molten lava through his mind and into his body, igniting wild thoughts of copulating bodies rolling in warm sands –

Stop! You must gain control. He finally found what he was looking for, a large space of sand studded with succulents, shrubs and wildflowers, some in pots, some planted, some suspended from hanging trellises; the plants were not all grown solely by airponic methods. This little patch of sand had become a haven for the Vulcans on board, as well as many others from hot, dry environments. “Computer, adjust air flow to match the salan of ShiKahr.” The computer complied and a warm breeze wrapped itself around him. Vorik dropped to the deck, sitting cross-legged, and brought his hands together in the position believed most conducive to deep meditation. The mind rules…

By repeating his focusing mantra about three times more often than usual, he felt himself just beginning to find the calm center needed for prolonged meditation when there was another interruption! Furious, he jumped to his feet, his hands balled into fists, ready to confront whatever unlucky being was intruding into his privacy.

“I don’t remember an airponics bay,” he heard a voice say. It sounded like Captain Janeway.

“You gave Ke – you gave permission for it to be created, to help supplement the food supply,” he heard Commander Chakotay replied. “We started in a cargo bay and then repurposed an auditorium we weren’t using.  There are some meditative spaces as well as gardens.”

Vorik took a deep breath. This was a private time, a sacred time. How dare they intrude upon him? Hadn’t he been promised privacy? Every additional thought strengthened his fury. But these were his commanding officers. He could not, must not, vent his rage on them. Every muscle in his body stiffened with the effort to maintain control of his emotions.

The footsteps grew louder and then the captain and commander rounded a corner and came into view. They were both wearing some kind of holster or bandolier, which made no sense at all, but that observation was quickly supplanted by his awareness of Captain Janeway. He had never before noticed how her trim figure was similar to the nubile female acolytes of the Temple of Mount Seleya, or how her hair glowed like the skies of The Forge at sunset.

“Ensign, uh, Vorik?” she said greeted him. Her voice was like the windchimes in his mother’s garden, musical yet complex. And her scent - that faint combination of musk and vanilla had to belong to her. How had he missed that? His heart began to beat strongly and he suddenly felt warm as his blood heated up.

Commander Chakotay was looking at him with a somewhat alarmed expression. “Oh, no,” he said. “Not this.”

“Not what?” Captain Janeway – Kathryn – Vorik’s Kathryn  - asked.

Vorik took a step towards her, extending one hand. She was beautiful, she was strong, she was intelligent. She was a perfect mate. “Captain, have you come to help me?”

“Help you?” she repeated, looking concerned. “How?”

“Don’t ask!” Chakotay said, and quickly pulled her to stand behind him, effectively separating Vorik from his Kathryn. Vorik’s fists tightened even more, but the commander didn’t seem at all aware of that; truly, it was infuriating. Calmly, Chakotay continued, “The gel pack is behind the agave - the century plant.” He pointed to a large potted plant up against the bulkhead. “Take care of it while I cover you.”

“Cover me?” she repeated in confusion, her gaze darting between the commander and Vorik, but she did as Chakotay said. “What is happening?”

“Tell you later,” Chakotay said tersely, watching Vorik warily. “Suffice it to say, that there are moments from our past seven years that I wish I had handled differently, and this is one of them.” He moved to the side, effectively blocking the captain from Vorik’s view.

Vorik’s vision went red. “Do you challenge me?”

Chakotay adopted a defensive posture. “I’m not going to fight you, Ensign.”

“Then stand aside.” Vorik drew himself up to his full height, thrusting his chest out slightly, his shoulders squared back.

“No.” Chakotay stared at him unflinchingly. “You need to calm down, Ensign. What’s happening to you, it's a natural part of your physiology. I promise you. This will pass.”

Calm down? There was no calm. There was only need, and boiling blood, and more need. He was breathing heavily. “Koon-ut-kal-if-fee!” he shouted, his voice echoing around them. Filled with berserker rage, he lunged forward. Then he remembered that the commander was known for his skills in hand-to-hand fighting, especially pugilism. It would be necessary to find something to defend himself. He would let no one stand between himself and his chosen mate. He looked around, and found a weapon. A small yucca plant with multiple pointy-looking leaves was in a pot near his feet, and he picked it up, holding the dagger-like tips menacingly toward Chakotay.

The commander looked at him in disbelief. “Just what do you think you’re going to do with that?”

In response, Vorik charged straight at Chakotay, hoping to impale him on the plant’s many points. Chakotay merely stepped aside, letting Vorik pass him by. Enraged, Vorik turned around and came at him again.

The commander looked around and snatched up one of the potted cacti, a relatively small jumping cholla, holding it away from his own body. “Stay back, Ensign! I’ll use this if I have to!” He swung the cactus at Vorik, who leaped back.

“I will have her!” Vorik yelled. “She must be my mate!” He lunged again, but again Chakotay swung the cactus. This time it missed him by mere millimeters.

“I’m finished here,” Kathryn - his beautiful, strong Kathryn - called. Her voice was nothing less than a siren call. Vorik paused to look at her once more, feeling the waves of desire rise again.

“Then get out of here,” Chakotay told her, not taking his eyes off of Vorik. She did not hesitate, but turned as if to leave.

“Noooo!” Vorik screamed. “Come back!” He dropped the yucca pot and started to follow her, but Chakotay swung the potted jumping cholla again and this time, it made contact. Needles embedded into his hands and arms and Vorik howled with pain.

Chakotay let go of the pot and it dropped, dragging itself along Vorik’s leg as it fell. He howled again as many barbs pierced into his skin. Every movement made spines dig deeper into his flesh.

“I’m sorry, Vorik,” Chakotay said. “But it will all be over soon.” Then he turned and followed the Captain.

The captain cast a look in Vorik’s direction. “I am looking forward to that explanation, Commander.”

Chakotay just offered a small smile and tipped his head towards the door. And then they were gone.

Vorik stood very still and looked at his hands. The palms were studded with cactus needles. He tried to look at his leg but the entire cactus seemed to be attached to it. He could see several small branches clinging to his shin, burrowing under his uniform. The hot, burning rage and passion he felt only moments ago transformed completely into hot, burning pain. He had no idea how he was going to free himself from the hundreds – thousands? – of needles penetrating his body.

The mind rules, he told himself, and discovered that jumping cholla needles were remarkably effective as aids to focusing meditation.

Chapter Text

The initial jolt sent Tom Paris flying across the room. He landed on his chest, his arm awkwardly bent underneath him. He took a slow, painful moment to assess his injuries and then, grasping at a chair for balance, pulled himself to his feet. He had wrenched a few muscles and would probably have a few bruises as mementos of this event, but as far as he could tell, no broken bones.  As he cast his glance around the Mess Hall, he could see others gradually rising from where they had fallen. A few remained where they lay.

“What the hell happened here?” Tom said to no one in particular. There was no answer.

The smell of burning plastic wafted past Tom’s nostrils as he gingerly stepped forward through the detritus of fallen tables and chairs. Food, dishes, utensils, and other items were scattered across the gray carpet. Flames shot up from Neelix’s grill, where the cooking pots had tumbled onto the burners; the emergency fire suppression system hissed in the background. And then Tom stopped short as he stared at the prone woman dressed in a blue uniform, her eyes staring up at the ceiling, leg bent. Swallowing hard, Tom leaned down and with trembling fingers, gently closed Jenny Delaney’s eyes.

“Paris to Bridge.” His voice sounded unnaturally loud to his own ears amidst the groans. “Paris to Janeway.” He put his hand against the counter, palm flat, bracing himself, his eyes smarting from the smoke. “Paris to Engineering.” His heartbeat pounded loudly in his ears. “Paris to Torres.” He coughed. “Paris to Sickbay.”

“Lieutenant.” A gentle touch on his forearm. Tom turned to see Neelix. The Talaxian appeared to be unharmed. “Are you all right?” Neelix questioned anxiously. “What happened?”

“I’m trying to figure that out. Short answer is I think we’ve hit some kind of anomaly,” Tom said, unease churning in his gut. He twisted around and saw Freddy Bristow helping William Chapman to his feet. And then, near the wall, he saw two more crew members on the ground. One of them – Billy Telfer – wasn’t moving; his uniform was badly burned. He wasn’t breathing.

Tom recognized the other one as the person he had initially come to the Mess Hall to find. “Excuse me.” Tom picked his way through the debris and then knelt at Tuvok’s side. The commander’s eyes were closed, his breath rapid and shallow. Tom lifted Tuvok’s wrist, found his pulse; it was erratic. And then he saw Tuvok’s face; the right half was covered in a burn pattern characteristic of radiation, the skin peeling away. Tom swallowed his nausea. “Neelix, get me the first aid kit.” Tom’s fingers trembled as he opened the kit. He pressed a hypospray filled with netrazine to Tuvok’s neck. “Where’s the dermal regenerator?” He looked up at Neelix.

Neelix’s whiskers twitched. His fingers opened and closed. His eyes were wide, but his voice quivered with shades of guilt as he said, “I guess we forgot to restock the kit after the last emergency drill.”

“I need one,” Tom said sharply, biting back his rebuke; Neelix was probably chiding himself enough over the missing instrument. “The commander is in hypovolemic shock.”

“I’ll ask Freddy to get one from Sickbay.”

Tuvok’s head lolled to the side, but he seemed calmer. “Lieutenant,” he said, his voice hoarse. The explosion must have singed his vocal cords.

“I knew you were avoiding your physical, but this is a hell of a way to get out of it,” Tom said, attempting a smile.

“Crewman Tefler—”

“Focus on yourself. We’re getting you help,” Tom said.

“The EPS relay—”

Tom nodded as his gaze drifted to the charred and smoking panel just two meters above him. Sparks still emitted out of the smoldering remains of the EPS replay. “Looks like it exploded.” He shifted through the rest of the contents in the med kit. More than a few items were missing. Where the hell was Freddy Bristow anyway?

“You,” Tuvok rasped, “are the senior officer here.”

Tom shook his head. “No.”

Tuvok’s grip on Tom’s wrist was surprisingly strong. “I am incapacitated.”

Tom gently freed himself. “Don’t go anywhere,” he said. “I need to check on the others and then I’ll be back with a dermal regenerator.” He found Neelix and quickly directed the Talaxian to start converting the Mess Hall into a makeshift infirmary. The beds were stored inside the floor compartments for this precise purpose. Neelix immediately started asking those who appeared unscathed by the impact to start clearing space for the injured.

Tom quickly made his rounds, assessing his fellow crew members. Most had bumps and bruises, but a few had broken bones and there were a handful who were suffering from radiation burns as well as acute radiation poisoning. He was looking at his tricorder when Freddy Bristow approached him.

“Did you get supplies I needed?” Tom asked.

“No, I couldn’t leave.”

Tom jerked up. “What?” It was hard to keep frustration at bay. What did Freddy mean, he couldn’t leave?

“There’s something weird. I went out the doors and then I just… stopped. I couldn’t go forward and I could see into the corridor but I couldn’t move forward because there’s something there blocking me. Every time I tried, I was snapped back.” Freddy’s expression turned from bewildered to afraid. “When I touched that thing , it was as if I was being slapped.” He took a shaky breath, put his hand on his chest. After a moment, he continued, “Chapman just tried to leave out of the other door as did Samantha Wildman. And it’s the same story with the Jefferies tube; I wasn’t able to crawl more than a meter before I was pushed back. We’re stuck here, Lieutenant. And no one is responding to my comms.”

Tom slowly processed what Freddy had just told him. In the background, he could see the crew making quick work of setting up cots and moving the injured onto them. Between their inability to leave the Mess Hall and the lack of response to his hails, it was clear no help would be forthcoming. He squared his shoulders, ignoring the sharp pain in his solar plexus from where he’d landed when Voyager had initially hit whatever it was. 

“All right,” he said, remembering Tuvok’s directive to take charge. “I did an initial assessment of the injuries. We need to start treating the most severe cases first.” He quickly gave directions as to what was to be done. And then he himself started to wind his way through the cots, rapidly dispensing first aid.

Tuvok lay back on a cot. His breath was still shallow, and the radiation burns were ulcerating. Tom quickly checked the Vulcan’s heartbeat; it was erratic. Tuvok grimaced. Tom quickly injected a dose of analgesic and then followed it up with additional netrazine.

“That should help. You’ll be up on your feet in no time,” he told Tuvok. He knew they both knew he was lying. As he got to his feet, he became aware of a presence at his elbow.

“Tom,” Mariah Henley said. “Could you check on Tal? I think she got hurt when the EPS exploded.”

Tom followed Henley to where Tal was lying on a cot, shivering. Her hands were covered in burns. Tom gave her some netrazine. “Are there more?” he asked.

Henley nodded. “Yes, quite a few people seem to have burns, though few are as severe as Commander Tuvok’s.” They both turned to see Neelix covering a body with a white sheet. “Will he be okay?”

Tom decided honesty was the best policy. “I don’t know.” He handed her a hypospray. “Keep dispensing the netrazine until we run out, then switch to the analeptics.” He knew analeptics wouldn’t do much for burns, but they could help possibly regulate breathing in those patients currently suffering from shock. Given their meager supplies, it was the best he could do until help arrived.

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Henley said. And then Tom blinked in surprise as he saw Commander Chakotay and Captain Janeway come in through the far door. Commander Chakotay looked as he normally did, but the Janeway who followed him looked subtly different. She reminded him of the captain who had offered him her hand in Auckland and a chance at a new life. If they were able to come in, perhaps there was a way to go out. Tom quickened his step to close the distance between himself and the command team. 

 “How did you get in here?” Tom asked urgently. 

“There isn't time to explain,” Chakotay said.

Tom was about to object to that when Janeway said, “What happened to these people?” She gazed at the rows of beds set up.

“Radiation poisoning,” Tom said. He gestured back to where he’d initially found Billy Telfer and Commander Tuvok. “The EPS relays overloaded when we ran into the anomaly.” He sucked in his breath. The air still held a scorched aroma. “We need the Doctor and medical supplies, or we're going to have a lot more casualties.”

In an infuriatingly-calm voice, Chakotay said, “I'm afraid that isn't possible right now. Do the best you can.”

Tom felt his jaw clench. Couldn’t the commander see that they were standing in the middle of a medical emergency? If there was a way to leave the Mess Hall, then Tom wanted to know about it, so that he could get the supplies they so desperately needed. But he remembered that he’d only recently gotten his pip back. “Yes, sir.” He turned away; it was necessary to maintain his composure, no matter how irritated he was with Chakotay. He was in the midst of checking on Tal Celes when Janeway called out to him.

“Mr. Paris!”

Tom turned on his heel and went immediately to Tuvok's side. He looked at the Vulcan’s face, and then made a show of checking his tricorder. He shook his head ever so slightly as he watched Janeway’s face contort in anguish as she stared at her friend. Tuvok extended his hands, his fingers painfully shaping themselves into the traditional Vulcan greeting.

“Live long and prosper,” Tuvok said and then his eyes closed.

Janeway looked up, almost as if in shock. Tom didn’t have to tell her what she already knew.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. Janeway got to her feet and she didn’t make eye contact with anyone as she turned to head out the door. Chakotay gave Tuvok one last look. Tom decided to take his chance, insubordination be damned. “Commander, if there’s a way to get out of here, you need to tell me. Otherwise more people are going to die.” He lifted his chin defiantly, daring Chakotay to push back on him again. “What is going on? What’s the damage to the ship? Why are we stuck here? Have you seen B’Elanna?” 

Chakotay’s expression remained impassive. “Do what you can to help the people here, Lieutenant. If the captain and I are successful in our endeavor, then everything will be alright.” As if sensing Tom’s desire to further argue the point, Chakotay then punctuated his words with a sharp, “That’s an order.”

And then he too was gone, leaving Tom surrounded by a field of cots, with the realization that he was on his own as the senior officer in charge. Inhaling sharply, he got to work, trying not to think too deeply upon the greatness suddenly -- and in the most unwelcome way -- thrust upon him.

Chapter Text

Location: Mess Hall
Time: Present

The pain was almost insurmountable.

Tuvok gritted his teeth as he fought back against it. It took every bit of effort he could muster, his reserves already worn thin by the sheer magnitude of his injuries. He had already tried and failed to enter a healing trance. All he could do was lie there and wait for the netrazine Lieutenant Paris had administered to him to kick in. At best it would stop further damage. But it could not heal the ravages his body had already sustained.

Tuvok weakly turned his head to one side and surveyed his surroundings. The Mess Hall was a scene of barely controlled chaos. The room was packed with the wounded and dying and there was not enough medicine to go around. Dimly, he could hear Paris say, "Keep dispensing the netrazine until we run out, then switch to the analeptics."

Unless something was done quickly, Tuvok would not be the only one to die of radiation poisoning.

He recalled what happened when they ran into the anomaly, how the EPS relays overloaded. He’d shoved a hapless crewman out of the way and taken the brunt of the explosion.

"We need the Doctor,” Paris said to someone now, “and medical supplies, or we're going to have a lot more casualties."

"I'm afraid that's not possible right now. Do the best you can."

It sounded like Commander Chakotay. How had he gotten to the Mess Hall? The last Tuvok had heard, Chakotay had been having dinner with the captain. But somehow Chakotay had found his way here, and the next thing Tuvok heard confirmed that Voyager’s First Officer was not the only one to make an unexpected appearance.

"How do you know how I like my coffee?" said a familiar husky voice nearby.

"You haven't changed your standing order in seven years," Neelix said.

Tuvok managed to lift his head in time to see Janeway take the mug gratefully. "Thanks. It's just what I needed."

Neelix put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry, Captain. You'll get us out of this. You always do."

Janeway watched Neelix move off, a troubled look on her face.

"All done here," Chakotay said.

"Captain..." Tuvok ground out.

She turned, saw him lying on the cot, and rushed to his side to take his hand.

"Tuvok?" the captain said, blinking away tears at the sight of him.

"I'm...pleased...you're here," Tuvok said, struggling to get the words out. "I didn't think I'd see you again.” To his misting eyes, she looked young, as if this was long ago. He even fancied he saw her hair in a bun, like she used to wear it at the beginning of their journey. “I want you to know...that it's been an honor to serve with you... and to be your friend." Tuvok's breath caught in his throat.

Alarmed, Janeway called out, “Mr. Paris!”

Paris’s concerned features appeared in Tuvok’s line of sight; he began passing a mediwand over Tuvok’s head and chest, then shook his head.

Tuvok held out his hand to Janeway in the Vulcan salute, his fingers trembling slightly. "Live long...and prosper."

His head dropped back, and he grew still. Tuvok’s last sight, as he released his katra into the Great Beyond, was the face of his beloved captain.

Chapter Text

Kathryn was shaken to her core as they left the Mess Hall and stepped into the turbolift. She barely heard Chakotay give the instruction for the next destination.

She could not erase the image of Tuvok from her mind. Even when she closed her eyes, she saw him dying in pain. And all the others around him, injured nearly as badly. Whatever had been the immediate cause of their injuries, she now knew the root cause. She was to blame. She had made a decision, and this was the ultimate outcome. Another, even more chilling, thought came to mind - if they implemented the plan that Borg drone – Seven of Nine – advocated, it was all going to happen again in the repaired future.

“I can’t let this happen,” she muttered. “Not again.”

Chakotay looked at her in surprise. “What are you talking about?”

“Voyager getting stranded.” Her brain was running at top speed, and an idea was forming. “All these deaths, this entire future, it’s my fault.” It was clear now, he had tried to warn her about this decision at least twice - the first time, when she asked how they became stranded and he asked if she really wanted to know, and the second time, when she confronted him about the Maquis mission to Altarian IV. On reflection, her decision to save an alien race at the expense of getting her crew home might have been worse than his; he had not planned on the death of innocents, but apparently she knew exactly what she was doing when she made her choice.

She looked him straight in the eye. “I’ve got to do something to change it.”

He looked at her a little warily. “What do you have in mind?”

“Maybe we can find a way to modify Seven of Nine’s plan. Put Voyager into temporal sync with my timeframe.” That would work, she told herself. I would remember and I could fix it. If we never get stranded in the Delta Quadrant, none of this will happen. I won’t be separated from Mark. Tuvok will not die.

With a deep frown, Chakotay said, “Halt turbolift.” He turned to her. “Seven’s plan is dangerous enough. Trying to alter it is too risky.”

“It’s worth the risk,” she retorted.

“If Seven’s idea works, Tuvok and those other crewmen will be fine,” he assured her.

Can he read my mind? she wondered, then realized it didn’t require a telepath to connect her comments to what they had just witnessed. Still, it showed that he understood her very well. How had she developed that close a friendship with the renegade Maquis she’d been sent to arrest? But she was not appeased by his words.

“They’ll still be stuck in the Delta Quadrant,” she said and was surprised to hear a hint of bitterness in her voice. She made an effort to tone it down. “If the temporal anomaly doesn’t kill them, something else will. The Borg, telepathic pitcher plants, macroviruses.” She waved a hand to encompass all the other dangers she’d seen so far, including enemies like the Hirogen and the Borg. “The Delta Quadrant is a death-trap.”

“What about the Temporal Prime Directive?” he asked, in a tone which indicated he thought he had just played a trump card.

“To hell with it,” she said curtly. She’d always hated time travel. This was the first situation she’d ever experienced in which the Temporal Prime Directive was in direct conflict with her desires, and she discovered she didn’t give a damn. It had always struck her as a bit self-serving, anyway; why should one timeline be given priority over others just because it had already happened? Perhaps the altered timeline was in fact the better one. A being would have to be omniscient to make that judgment, and she knew of no omniscient beings in Starfleet.

Chakotay looked at her intently; she fancied she saw a hint of disapproval in his expression. “With all due respect, it’s a little presumptuous to think you have the right to change everyone’s future.”

Something between a chuckle and a hiccup escaped her. “From what I’ve seen, they’ll thank me.” She doubted anyone would ever thank her for stranding the ship in the Delta Quadrant.

He shook his head. “All you’ve seen are bits and pieces. You’re not getting the whole picture.”

“Really,” she said sarcastically. “Just what am I missing?” It seemed pretty clear that life in the Delta Quadrant was fraught with danger, anger, fear – and death. She wasn’t certain her soul could survive the burden of that many losses.

“It’s not what,” he said quickly. “It’s who. People like Seven of Nine, a Borg Drone who'll become a member of this crew after you help her recover her humanity.”

Her eyes widened. That Borg would be a member of her crew? It was nearly unimaginable. Then she remembered Jean-Luc Picard. He had returned to duty after recovering from his assimilation by the Borg. She tried without success to picture the formidable Seven of Nine as a restored human, daunted by the mere thought of the effort it would require to restore her from the Collective.

“Or,” Chakotay went on, “Tom Paris, a former convict, who'll be our pilot, chief medic, and husband to B'Elanna Torres.”

“That angry woman I just met?” she said in disbelief. It was hard to imagine that anyone with that much rage would ever fit in with a Starfleet crew, let alone have a happy marriage with Tom Paris, of all people.

He smiled. “She's going to be your Chief Engineer.”

She nearly interrupted him but decided against it. She knew from the intelligence file on Torres that she had been a brilliant but undisciplined student during her short time at the Academy. What could possibly happen in the Delta Quadrant that would help her reach her potential? What did – what would – Kathryn see in her to trust her in the position of Chief Engineer?

Chakotay smiled faintly. He must have sensed he’d captured her interest. “Two crews, Maquis and Starfleet, are going to become one. And they'll make as big a mark on the Delta Quadrant as it'll make on them - by protecting people like the Ocampans, curing diseases, encouraging peace. Children like Naomi and Icheb are going to grow up on this ship and call it home.” He’d been speaking quickly, but he paused before locking gazes with her. He added, “And we'll all be following a Captain who sets a course for Earth, and never stops believing that we'll get there.”

The intensity of his stare and the sincerity of his words made her look away, a bit shaken. For that instant, she had no doubt about his loyalty to her – not to Starfleet, but to her. And to the crew. She shouldn’t trust him; he was a Maquis and if not her enemy, then at least her opponent. She’d been ordered to take him into custody. Yet, somehow, at this moment, that didn’t matter. He was her ally.

And he made it sound like an adventure, not a disaster. Wasn’t that why she was in Starfleet in the first place? For the adventure and discoveries along the way? There was always risk in space, always.

He was right about one thing: today she had seen just isolated bad moments. If the friendship and loyalty he had demonstrated all day was an indication, there was much more to the future than one loss after another. He spoke of people and the bonds they would forge. Rather cleverly, he had forced her to acknowledge the difficulty inherent in some command decisions before she ever had to question her own actions in the future. In retrospect, had he been preparing her for what she would learn as well as explaining his own past actions? Her curiosity had been piqued before, but now she allowed herself a brief moment to wonder what her relationship with her future first officer would entail.

And, in a burst of clarity, she realized he was right. She should not try to change the future just because it was going to be difficult. With a wry smile, she said, “Are you going to be lecturing me like this for the next seven years?”

It was a concession, and he recognized it. With a smile, he said, “Don’t worry. You’ll always get the last word.”

Oh, my. That smile of his, and those dimples. Something stirred within her, something just a little bit dangerous. She took a deep breath and suppressed it. “In that case,” she said briskly, “let’s get back to work. We have gel packs to inoculate.”

Chapter Text

Newly promoted Commander Phineas Ducane was enjoying a cup of coffee in the ready room of his ship, the USS Relativity, when his combadge beeped. With a gesture, he activated the holographic monitor on the table and pressed his thumb against the screen. Immediately, he found himself looking at the face of his XO, Lt. Wells.

“Sir,” Wells said. “The Temporal Integrity Commission just notified us of a strange reading from the 24th century.”

“Oh?” Ducane said. He had a sinking feeling he knew what was coming next.

“Yes, sir. It appears to be the Federation starship Voyager, in the Delta Quadrant. The Stardate is 54450.32. “

“Describe the reading.” Janeway again. Braxton had been right; Voyager was involved in far too many temporal incidents.

“The ship has been fractured into 37 distinct and differing time periods,” Wells said, frowning.

“Don’t tell me,” Ducane said with a sigh. “They are within half a million kilometers of the Morlock Anomaly.” No one quite understood the Morlock Anomaly, other than the fact it remained harmless and quiescent unless someone or something got too close to it. Then it turned into a snarling temporal nightmare defying explanation, even in the 29th century.

Wells checked, and his eyes widened in surprise. “Yes, sir. If they don’t find a way to correct this, the stresses will rip the ship apart. Should we prepare for a temporal incursion?”

With a quick flick of his fingers, Ducane pulled up the notes on the Morlock Anomaly. First reported to Starfleet in 2377. In the Delta Quadrant. By...

Looking back to Wells, Ducane shook his head. “No, Lieutenant. Voyager will get itself out of this situation. Or not. In either case, our help is not required.”

And frankly, chasing Janeway drove Braxton to temporal psychosis and ended his career. That way lies madness. No, Ducane thought as he broke the connection and lifted his cup, I intend to keep my job – and my sanity.

Chapter Text

Time Period:  Counterpoint/Fair Haven 

Location:  Mini Holodeck 

Inspector Kashyk of the Devore arrived on deck 14 of Voyager, pleased that even here, in the depths of the ship, his order to pipe Mahler’s Symphony Number One was in force. He was especially pleased that it was the second movement, which was his favorite.  While he found the music soothing, he felt certain it was intimidating the hell out of Voyager ’s crew.  A moment later, he found Prax.   “What is so important that I need to be here?” Kashyk demanded. 

Prax bobbed his head in deference.  “Sorry, Inspector – it’s just that I don’t know what to make of this. It’s apparently a small holodeck but there seem to be a number of personalities embedded in the memory.  This program,” he said, pointing at the screen, “was created a year ago, but after several months of no usage, it was accessed by the ship’s doctor just three days ago. It’s possible Janeway may have hidden some telepaths here.”

The Inspector considered this.  He was aware that Janeway had concealed at least some of the telepaths in transporter suspension – which, he had to admit, was extremely clever.  If she could hide them there, was it possible she could also hide them in a holographic environment?  

“Good thinking,” Kashyk told Prax.  “Let’s see what we can find.” They walked into the holodeck, and quickly realized it was only about half the size of either of the two main holodecks on Deck 6.  There was a console near the entrance, which he walked over to. The screen which Prax had left up showed there was a program which had been accessed just before the Devore first came on board. It listed an active male and female within its cast of characters. “Let’s see what we’ve got,” he said.  

He touched a few controls, and almost immediately the holodeck shimmered into a new form.  He now appeared to be inside a home, although not decorated in anything a Devore would remotely consider to be good taste.  The two persons proved to be Human, a blonde woman in an unflattering jumpsuit and a subadult male with distastefully bad skin.  “Hello,” the woman said brightly with a totally irrational smile. “Are you a friend of my husband? He’s a famous doctor, known all across the galaxy for his brilliant innovations and truly astonishing diagnostic skills.  Why, he...” 

Tuning out the babbling voice, Kashyk realized these were simply holograms in what appeared to be a remarkably insipid holoprogram.  The search for the missing telepaths would have to continue elsewhere. With a sigh, he reached for the controls to deactivate the program.  As he touched the computer’s screen, a white light erupted and Kashyk reflexively squeezed his eyes shut. 

When he opened them, he was not standing in the dubious home, or even in an unused holodeck.  He appeared to be standing in a pre-industrial village of some kind. The street was not paved and there was an equine tethered to a post outside a whitewashed building.  The illusion was excellent; the small holodeck seemed expansive. “What happened, Prax?” he said. 

No one answered.  Kashyk looked around, and discovered that Prax was nowhere in sight.  With a deep frown, he turned to leave. He walked confidently to the exit and the doors appeared and opened.  He stepped forward and slammed into something, something invisible. His nose throbbed a little as he cautiously reached out a hand.  There was definitely some kind of invisible barrier. Whatever it was, it was solid.  

He turned around and studied the village again. There were people out and about, apparently all Human although they were not dressed in the style of clothing he had observed on Voyager.   Could any of the telepaths be hidden among them?  A few men were congregating outside the building where the equine was tethered, and he walked over to them, biting back his irritation as his shiny black boots sunk at least a few centimeters into the surface of the muddy road.  

The tallest among them looked up as Kashyk approached.  “Well, hello there,” he said with an unfamiliar accent. He sported a stubbly beard and appeared to be a mature male;  Kashyk mentally dubbed him ‘Stubble.’ “We don’t get many strangers here these days.” 

Kashyk looked around.  “What is this place?”

“Why, it’s Fair Haven, man,” one of the others, an older male with white hair, told him.  He had the same odd accent. “And it’s welcome ye are, at that.” 

Kashyk looked around the group. None of them had  any noteworthy features -- like nose ridges or pointy ears -- that bespoke a heritage other than Human.  “Are there any others here?” he asked shortly. 

Stubble drew back a little, clearly bristling at Kashyk’s tone of voice. The Inspector had often found alpha males got defensive with him before they understood the balance of power – that Kashyk had all the power, and they had none. The man definitely looked less friendly than a moment ago.  “Are you lookin’ for anyone in particular, then?” 

“Not necessarily,” Kashyk said coolly.  “I just would like to inventory the population.” 

“Inventory!” a third man with red hair and a red beard repeated, nearly choking.  “As if we were naught but tools in a box or tins on a shelf! What are ye then, a landlord? ”

Stubble seemed unruffled. “Well, here comes a few more of the populace.”  His head inclined to the left, and Kashyk looked in that direction. Another gray-haired man was leading a large black and white bovine down the street. The bovine lifted its head in Kashyk’s direction and blinked its  large, brown eyes at him. “Moo,” it lowed. 

The other men began to laugh. “Aye, be sure to include Bessie in your inventory,” the bearded one said. “I think she’s taken a shine to you.” 

Suddenly Stubble seemed to light up.  “Well, would you look at that,” he exclaimed. “If it isn’t Katie O’Clare.  She’s come back.” 

Kashyk wheeled about in time to see the holodeck doors close behind Captain Janeway and her cypher of a first officer – what was his name?  Chakko? Chakotay. There was something definitely odd about them, though. They both wore bandoliers over their uniforms, although he could not see any weapons in their hands. And Janeway herself looked different; when he’d left her just fifteen minutes ago, her hair had fallen in soft waves around her face but now it was pulled back into an unflattering bun on top of her head.  Oddly, it made her look younger.

Kashyk watched silently as Stubble shouldered his way through the group and half-ran to meet them.  “Katie!” he greeted her, cupping his hands around hers in a way that suggested affection and extreme familiarity. “And aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” 

Janeway smiled rather tentatively.  “Good to see you, too,” she said, then shot a sideways look at her companion. 

Chakotay smiled.  “You must be Michael,” he said, extending his hand.  “I’m, um, Katie’s cousin from America.” 

Stubble - that is, Michael, shook his hand.  “Glad to meet you.” He quickly turned back to Janeway. “Ah, Katie, it’s been an age since you’ve graced us with your presence.  How are you, luv?”

“I’m well,” she said with a diffidence that surprised Kashyk. “The thing is, Michael, we are a little pressed for time.  Would you mind if Ch- my cousin and I went inside there and looked for something? It won’t take but a minute.” 

“Darlin’,” Michael said, “you know I can’t refuse you anything.  The floors are a bit damp from moppin’, but go on in.” 

The two of them smiled and nodded their thanks, and began walking toward the building.  As they passed Kashyk, Chakotay gave him a sidelong look but Janeway didn’t seem to notice him at all.  

“Captain Janeway,” Kashyk said imperiously.  She stopped and turned around, as did Chakotay.  “Just what are you doing?”

“Go on in,” Chakotay whispered. “I’ll take care of this.” 

She looked puzzled but went inside. 

“Stop!” Kashyk snapped. She ignored him, but the men gathered outside did not. With Michael, they began to form a semi-circle around him. He looked around the group slowly, knowing that his supercilious stare was often enough to cause people to back down. Strangely, it didn’t work immediately. 

“Inspector Kashyk,” Chakotay said slowly, as if speaking to someone of sub-intelligence, “we are currently experiencing a temporal anomaly.  Captain Janeway has to make a repair so normal time can be restored. We would appreciate it if you would simply let us do our work.”

Kashyk waved him off.  “Temporal anomaly? Please.  Do you think I’m that gullible?”  Leaning toward the entrance to the building, he shouted, “Captain Janeway, you will come out now or there will be consequences.” 

Michael took a step toward him.  “Are you threatening our Katie?”

“Yes, he is,” Chakotay said quickly. “His intentions toward her are most improper.” 

“Are they, now?” Michael said softly, his fingers curling into fists. His eyes narrowed as he stared at Kashyk.  

The Devore inspector was tired of this. “Computer, end program.”  Nothing happened.  

“It won’t work,” Chakotay said softly. “You don’t have the authority to stop this program.”

“You will pay for this insolence,” Kashyk warned. 

Janeway emerged then, and after nodding at Chakotay she said to Michael cheerily, “Thank you.  I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.” 

As she started to leave, Kashyk grabbed her by the arm.  “Not so fast, Captain.” 

Even as she looked up at him with complete surprise, he felt a strong hand on his other arm.  It was Michael. “Let her go,” Michael said in a low, quiet voice. 

Janeway pulled free of Kashyk and took a step back. Chakotay said, “Men, we’d appreciate your help keeping Mr. Kashyk here occupied until we’re gone.” 

“With pleasure,” Michael said, not loosening his grip.  “Fair winds, Katie.”  

The two Starfleet officers hurried away.  Furious at their complete disregard of his orders, Kashyk pulled himself free and started to follow. “Janeway, you bitch,” he shouted angrily. 

This time, the hand was on his shoulder and it spun him around.  Kashyk barely saw Michael’s fist before it struck his nose. 

Kashyk’s hands went to the source of sudden and intense pain- his nose - as he staggered backwards, off balance.  He might have landed on the ground except that he bumped into something solid. 

“MooOOOooo,” he heard. 

Once he managed to right himself, he stared at the blood from his throbbing nose pooling in the palm of his hand. “You –”  he began, but Bessie, displeased by the fact he had bumped into her, landed a single blow of her rear hoof on the seat of his pants and he was propelled forward.

It drove him directly into Michael, who pushed him back as he struck him again.  In a desperate attempt to defend himself, Kashyk swung back. He wasn’t trained in this form of hand-to hand combat but some kind of primitive instinct took over. It was gratifying to feel his fist connect with skin and bone. Michael staggered backwards, shaking his head as if trying to clear it.

The group of men all formed a wide ring around them, cheering and shouting.  “Take him, Michael!” one of them yelled. 

Michael grabbed Kashyk and shoved him toward the center of the street.  “Whoever you are,” he said, “it’s clear you need a lesson in manners.” He began circling, his body tense and poised for a fight.  

Looking around frantically, Kashyk realized that Janeway and Chakotay were gone.  Whatever else was going on, he was going to have to deal with this very forceful hologram before he could do anything else.  

Where the hell is Prax when I need him?   He gathered himself and prepared to fight.  His skills might be a bit rusty; it had been a long time since he’d had to fight his own battles.  Still, he was confident he could easily overcome this rustic buffoon.  

“I’ll lay a pound on Michael,” one of the crowd yelled. 

“Two pounds,” called another.  

“MOOO!” Bessie added. 

When he saw his chance, Kashyk jumped in low, grabbing Michael around the waist and throwing him to the ground.  Before he could follow through, though, Michael rolled away and was back on his feet, bouncing lightly. “Do your worst, boy,” he said through gritted teeth, wiping a bit of spittle and blood from the corner of his mouth. The crowd, which seemed to have grown, cheered.  

Janeway, Kashyk thought as Michael landed a left hook on his jaw that sent him reeling, you will pay dearly for this. Oh, but you will pay. 

Kashyk barely had gotten himself into a defensive stance when Michael hauled back and landed another left hook across Kashyk’s face. Kashyk stumbled backwards, knocking up against something boney and soft and definitely stinky. The crowd burst into laughter as Kashyk fell painfully to the ground, his face close to the mud. Above him, Bessie mooed. Michael looked down at him, a grin playing across his face.

“Here in Fair Haven, all people are welcome,” Michael said loudly, clearly playing to the crowd. “But when you pick on one of our own, especially a fine lady like our Katie, we ain’t going to stand for it.” 

Kashyk swallowed hard, tried to right himself, and realized that his hand was sunk in something soft and squishy. He brought his hand to his face, wondering what it was, and then grimaced as the odor hit him. He stared in dismay and anger at the yellow and brown manure coating his arm up to the elbow. As his blood boiled in rage at the indignity of it all, he glanced up just in time to see the chuckling crowd dispersing. As he awkwardly tried to get to his feet, Bessie’s tail swished, and smacked him in the head. 

Down Kashyk went once more, this time face first into the mud. He clumsily got back to a sitting position,  just in time to see Michael disappearing into his pub. 

“You can eat dirt, Mr. Kashyk!” the man called out rudely.

And that’s when  Kashyk realized that Mahler was no longer playing in the background.  It had instead been replaced with a feisty jig. 

Chapter Text

They had returned to Deck 8 in the quest to inoculate all the gel packs, to visit a room originally intended as crew quarters but converted into guest quarters at some point. Chakotay told Kathryn he was not certain that the general inoculation of the crew quarters gel pack network would reach this one because of some security measures they installed at the time of the conversion, and they decided to take no chances.

As they turned into the corridor near the cabin, Kathryn felt the momentary pins-and-needles tingle as they passed through a barrier and into yet another timeline. To her surprise, Chakotay stopped outside the door. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

He frowned. “The guest quarters designation is gone,” he said. He was staring at a placard next to the door, which bore three letters. “I’m not sure what ‘CCC’ stands for.”

Kathryn shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”

They walked in and stopped short in surprise. The space was filled with colorful mats, small desks, and bins of toys. One of the desks was covered with large puzzle pieces while another had a PADD. A bulkhead sported a large screen designed to look like an antique blackboard with the Federation standard alphabet printed in large letters. There were two bassinets, an occupied crib and a small kitchenette with a replicator. “CCC,” Kathryn murmured. “Child Care Center.”

She walked over to the bassinets and found each was occupied by a sleeping child. The younger was a healthy blue Bolian infant, and the other was a Bajoran child perhaps eight months old; she’s always found it difficult to judge the ages of non-Human children. The crib held a Human toddler, with his thumb in his mouth. At least, Janeway assumed it was a boy from the clothes and haircut. She looked at Chakotay questioningly, but he looked as baffled as she felt.

“I don’t know,” he whispered. “This must be after my time.” He walked over to the wall and found the gel pack.

Stepping away from the sleeping children, she asked quietly, “Shouldn’t there be an adult here?”

“I expect there was,” he said. “Perhaps the time fracture displaced whoever it was.”

Kathryn looked back at the sleeping children. This confirmed that Voyager would become a family ship, ready or not. She supposed that wasn’t too surprising, since they were going to be stranded in the Delta Quadrant for years; still, the ramifications of that were overwhelming. It was one thing to begin with the intention of being a generational ship and quite another to become one on the fly.

Inoculation completed, Chakotay straightened and nodded toward the exit but they stopped when the door to the next chamber opened. A small child emerged but stopped when she saw the two of them. Kathryn wasn’t sure how old the girl was, but the shoulder-length hair, floral leggings, polka-dot shirt with a silver tulle dancing skirt and silver shoes reminded her of Mark’s niece, who was about seven years old.

She was clearly not human, or rather, not only human. The forehead ridges bespoke a Klingon heritage, but no Klingon ever had eyes that blue. The girl regarded them silently, her bright glance taking in their uniforms. She betrayed no fear, but she was not showing any friendliness, either.

Oh. A child who was part Klingon, part human? Looking at the girl’s blue eyes, Kathryn realized she had to be the child of Tom Paris and that Torres woman. Chakotay had told her they would marry, after all. She could see the child definitely had Tom’s -- and Owen’s --eyes.

“Well, hello there,” Kathryn said in her best non-threatening tone. “Who are you?”

The child bit her lip. “I don’t know you. I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”

With a smile, Kathryn knelt down on one knee to be on the child’s level. “Then let’s not be strangers. My name is Captain Kathryn Janeway. What’s yours?”

Intelligent eyes looked at her with scorn. “You can’t be captain. My daddy is captain, and everyone knows there is only one captain.”

That took her back. Tom Paris would become captain of Voyager? Well, someone had to be in command; Naomi had told them they were both dead and she had just seen Tuvok die. But still – Tom Paris? Her convict-observer?

Granted, the Tom Paris she had seen in the Mess Hall was a different person than the one she had left on her Voyager. He’d been efficient and respectful, and it was clear that he was the leader in that hectic, tragic room. Come to think of it, he’d been wearing the pips of a lieutenant. The Tom she knew was a convicted felon with a messy past and a bad attitude. He wanted another chance, she was sure of it, but so far she’d seen little to give her hope he would use that chance well.

What was it Chakotay had said of him? She’d glossed over that because of her shock at the idea he would marry the angry Klingon woman. But he had said that Tom would become their pilot and chief medic, as well as a husband. That he reformed himself in the Delta Quadrant. Here was confirmation of Chakotay’s claim about the marriage, in the form of this beautiful child. If that was true, the rest must be as well. It was a lot to take in.

Chakotay squatted down beside her. He was smiling broadly. “Then you can call her Kathryn. My name is Chakotay.” He waited a moment, then prompted, “What’s your name?”

After giving the matter some consideration, the girl said seriously, “Miral.”

“Miral,” Kathryn repeated. “That’s a lovely name. Do you live on Voyager?”

“Of course I do,” she said with a decided tone of disgust at the question. “I told you, my daddy’s the captain. And my mommy is the Chief Engineer.” Then she looked around, and for the first time seemed upset. Her chin quivered just a little as she said, “Do you know where Miss Vermelha is? She went in there” – she pointed to the chamber from which she just emerged - “to use the bathroom but she’s not there now. I’ve looked and looked and I can’t find her. I can’t get her on the comm, or mommy or daddy, or anyone. I tried to go look for her, but I keep bumping into something.”

“Crewman Camisa was here?” Chakotay asked, and Miral nodded. Kathryn remembered Vermelha Camisa; she’d come on board Voyager at Utopia Planitia in the Sciences Department. She had seen Crewman Camisa in Sickbay among the less seriously injured, although she’d hardly registered that fact at the time. Chakotay was right, she must have been relocated to that time period at the moment of the time fracture.

He put a reassuring hand on Miral’s head. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’re looking for them, too. Why don’t you just sit down here and wait for them? I don’t think it will be too long.”

“Can’t I go with you?” she asked plaintively. “I don’t like being alone.”

“I’m sorry, you can’t,” Chakotay said gently. “How old are you, Miral?”

She seemed to consider whether it was wise to continue the conversation, then said, “Seven.” She quickly added, “and a half.”

“Well, you’re a grown-up girl, aren’t you?” he said. “Can you stay and look after the babies?”

She bit her lower lip in disappointment and for a moment Kathryn was afraid she would start crying. But after a moment, she just nodded silently.

“Good girl,” Kathryn told her. “You’re very brave.” She hated leaving this little one alone with the other children, but they didn’t have a lot of choice. They could hardly bring her with them, and they didn’t have time to find someone else, explain what was going on, get them agree to mind the children, inoculate them and bring them here. The unknown deadline - the moment when the stress caused by the temporal fracture would rip the ship apart - was surely closing in on them.

Chakotay was looking at MIral with an odd expression. “Miral, do you know what year it is?”

She looked annoyed that he would even doubt that she knew. “2385. See?” She pointed to the large blackboard-like screen and Kathryn noticed for the first time that it had the Stardate and the Earth date in the upper left corner.

His eyes widened a little, but he just said, “Don’t worry. You won’t be alone long. You’re a brave Starfleet officer, aren’t you?”

That made her laugh. “You’re silly. I’m not an officer yet. Don’t you see, I’m not in uniform.”

Kathryn touched Miral’s shoulder. “You’ll be fine, I promise.” She reminded herself that in a way, none of this was real. In the restored timeline, Crewman Camisa would not disappear and the children would not be alone. 

MIral heaved a sigh and trudged over to one of the desks. Sitting down, she picked up a PADD and began calling up an app. “All right,” she said with a big sigh. “But please don’t be long. I don’t like dirty diapers. They’re smelly and gross.”

“We promise,” Kathryn said as they both stood. Before leaving, though, Kathryn turned around and saw Miral softly singing to herself as she studied the PADD. Singing to ward off the unknown bogeymen? She was a brave girl indeed.

With an internal sigh, she followed Chakotay to the corridor. The hardest part of this day was proving to be walking away from people in need – in corridors, in the Mess Hall, outside the holodeck, and now here. But once they got the ship back in temporal sync, none of this would even happen.

“You didn’t mention that Paris and Torres have a daughter,” she said to Chakotay as they left the room to move on to the next set of gel packs.

He was actually grinning. “They don’t – at least not in my timeline.”

By now, she could tell when he was holding something back. “And – “ she prompted.

“And from what Miral just told us, the B’Elanna of my time is probably pregnant, but I don’t think she knows it yet.” It was apparent that he was very happy with this realization; he couldn’t seem to stop smiling.

“Well, you did say Naomi was the ‘first’ child to be born on Voyager. That certainly implies others.” Kathryn found herself smiling as well. “You said Tom will be our pilot and chief medic?”

“You’ll give him a brevet commission,” he said with a nod. “After a bumpy start, he’ll prove you were right to trust him.”

So. I knew about Dr. Fitzgerald, but we must lose Stadi and V’Ashta, too. This realization saddened her but at the same time it was balanced by the thought of what it meant for Tom Paris. Apparently he rose to the occasion and transformed himself into a responsible officer, husband and father. And that angry woman, B’Elanna Torres, developed into a senior officer and mother to a beautiful little girl. Owen would be so proud.

Chakotay had told her to look at the bigger picture, and it seemed he was right.  Apparently, the future wasn’t just hostile aliens and death; there was love and life as well.  “You know,” she said to him as they walked, “this was one of the few things I’ve seen all day to support your claim that good things will happen in the Delta Quadrant.”   

“I’m glad you can see that,” he said.  

They both were smiling as they continued on. 

Chapter Text

The Frozen Corridor  

Kathryn and Chakotay still had smiles on their faces as they headed to the location of the next gelpack on their list. His smile disappeared abruptly when she asked, "So, who is this Seska?"

After a very brief hesitation, Chakotay replied, "She was a member of my crew, who turned out to be a Cardassian spy. She made an alliance with the Kazon and took over the ship." He barely took a breath before adding, "It's all right, we got it back." As touchy as she'd been over some of his revelations, he wanted to reassure her of that.

But how much more should he say to Kathryn about Seska? What could he say? "Oh, she was someone who duped me into a sexual relationship as part of her infiltration of my Maquis cell and later stole my DNA in an attempt to have my child. She failed, but not before causing a tremendous amount of tension between the two of us and grief for the entire crew of Voyager when she abandoned us on Hanon IV, where we lost Hogan ."

No, there wasn't time to go into all of that, of Seska's betrayal, and how deeply it cut into his self-confidence. In fact, he'd be happy if the subject never came up again at any period of time.

Kathryn took another step and observed, "Sounds like she's not going to be as cooperative as the others."

Truer words were never spoken, Chakotay thought acidly, but out loud, all he said was, "I suggest we take a page from your rule book. We try diplomacy."

"Fine," Kathryn replied crisply, "But the next page in that book says that when diplomacy fails, we need a backup plan."

"Something tells me you already have one," he said.

She chuckled lightly and shared what she had in mind. Once he agreed with her plan, Chakotay suggested they should go to the Transporter Room right after they treated the next gelpack. "The Maquis may need some convincing, considering the time period they occupy. I don't think the others will give us much trouble."

They were some distance from the turbolift. As they turned the corner of the main corridor, a side branch came into view. Although the first five meters or so of it were brightly lit, further down, there was no light at all.

“That’s strange,” Kathryn said. “Have you noticed any other corridors like this in your travels around the ship?”

“No, I can’t say that I have.” 

The dark corridor was rather ominous. Was this the area of the ship Icheb and Naomi had told them about? “Perhaps we should…” But Kathryn was already striding towards what was obviously another temporal boundary. “Captain, I advise caution. Remember what Naomi said about the part of the ship the instruments in Astrometrics indicate have been ‘obliterated.’ ”

For once, she heeded his advice. Perhaps the Kathryn Janeway of this era, the one he’d only known for a very short time, was far more “by the book” and prepared to listen to advice from her first officer, for she stopped at the edge and didn’t proceed any further. Once he’d reached her side, he could see that something was able to leak through the barrier. Light from the corridor in which they were standing cut through the darkness far enough to reveal that two bodies were lying on the deck. 

He detected a distinct chill in her voice as she said, “I can’t see the other crewman’s face, but this looks like Timothy Lang.”

“Yes, that’s Lang.”

“When did this happen?”

From the hoarfrost and ice crystals covering the still forms and the walls and deck for as far up as he could see, the dark corridor was completely frozen. That implied the entire ship must be as well. No light, no heat? No power. What time period could this represent? There were times they'd had to scrape by when they were very low on energy supplies; but even when they’d been forced to land on the planet they called Demon, they’d never been so low that the environmental controls were completely off-line in any portion of the ship. And no one had ever frozen to death--or at least, not that he remembered. He had no ready answer for her.

“Commander?” Kathryn asked.

He finally said, “I can’t recall when any event happened to explain this, Captain,”

“Perhaps this will occur even further in the future than Commander Icheb’s and Lieutenant Wildman's time.”

He hesitated before saying, “If that’s true, then we need to get to the Transporter Room to put our backup plan in motion--so hopefully, it never does.”

“Agreed,” she said, turning briskly on her heel and back up to the main corridor. With one last glance into the frozen branch hallway and the two bodies lying there, Chakotay followed.

Once he’d rejoined the captain, they walked in silence for more than a minute. Knowing how personally she took the loss of any of her crew, he thought she might require a short period of silence to honor the dead. He would not disturb her until he needed to say something pertaining to the task at hand.

Chakotay himself had a lot to think about. Had his own time stream changed at least once already? What he saw in that corridor certainly suggested that it had. Regardless, if they were successful and brought all of Voyager back to his own time, it would not be of benefit to Crewman Lang.

For Chakotay knew, in his own time, Technician First Class Timothy Lang had been dead for over a year.

Chapter Text

Time frame: Caretaker

Sitting felt unnatural, in a situation like this. Cooped up in the transporter room, B’Elanna Torres wanted to move, react, but instead she willed herself to stay calm. After all, Chakotay had said he’d be back, that he’d explain everything on his return. As the minutes ticked by, it became even harder to remain calm. She knew that as the tension increased, so did the odds that Jack O’Donnell and Michael Ayala would be brought to fisticuffs again. The truth of the matter was that they were on Voyager with no way to return to the Alpha Quadrant, now that Janeway had destroyed the array. She also knew the Voyager crew outnumbered the Maquis members roughly three to one. What they needed now was solidarity, not dissension. And, she thought ruefully, it also required defining what now really meant.

Hadn’t Chakotay said something about a temporal issue? There was plenty of documented evidence regarding temporal incursions and phenomena, but B’Elanna had never personally encountered one before. If the Chakotay who had come into the transporter room was the Chakotay she knew, then she owed it to him to try to understand what was happening.

At that moment, the doors opened and Chakotay came striding in. He was alone, but still wore the bandolier on his chest. B’Elanna rose to her feet. Ayala and O’Donnell both stirred, curiosity etched on their faces. Ann Smithee stood off to the side, her eyes wary.

“Where’s Janeway?” B’Elanna said.

“She had something else to take care of. I thought it was better for us to talk alone. Maquis to Maquis.”

B’Elanna narrowed her eyes. “You’re very comfortable in that uniform.”

“You will be too,” Chakotay said. His gaze swept the group. “All of you will be.”

“I don’t believe that after Janeway destroyed the Caretaker that we would happily put on a Starfleet uniform and become part of her crew,” B’Elanna said acidly.

“Think. You know there are no other options. At least, not one that we’d like.”

B’Elanna knew Chakotay was right. O’Donnell had brought up the brig, but there had been another, unspoken, alternative as well: being stranded on a planet here in the DQ and left to fend for themselves. B’Elanna had no desire to die alone on a godforsaken planet out here, but neither did she have any great love for the AQ; after all, everyone and everything she held dear currently was here on this starship.

 B’Elanna folded her arms against her chest. “Ok,” she said. “So, we stay on Voyager . We become a part of this crew. Janeway is our captain.”

Chakotay took a moment to consider and then he said, “Yes. That happened seven years ago.” He added, “This ship has been fragmented into 37 different timelines.”

B’Elanna pursed her lips as she thought about all information she knew about temporal mechanics. “If what you’re saying is true, it won’t be long -- a matter of hours even -- that those 37 timelines will stress the structural integrity of the ship and it will be destroyed.”

“And all of the timelines – yours, mine, the other 35 – will cease to exist,” Chakotay said. He didn’t have to finish the thought. B’Elanna understood immediately what he was saying, She tossed a quick look at Ayala, Smithee and O’Donnell showed that they, too, comprehended what was going on.

B’Elanna felt a new energy surging through her muscles. Now she had something to work with. “So, we need to restore the timelines before Voyager shatters due to chronitonic forces pulling it apart. And fast.” A thought occurred to her. “How do you know which timeline is the right one? What gives you the right to decide?”

Chakotay seemed unruffled by the comment. “I was injured when Voyager hit the anomaly and the serum the Doctor treated enabled me to move through all the different time zones. Everyone else – including you – was trapped behind temporal barriers. These vials,” he indicated his bandolier, “are filled with the serum that counteract the effects of the chrono-kinetic surge that occurred during the initial collision.” He paused, casting an appraising glance at O’Donnell, Ayala and Smithee. “The captain and I have been injecting the gel packs with the serum to return Voyager to the moment of the original chrono-kinetic surge.”

B’Elanna furrowed her brow. “Gel packs?”

“State of the art technology,” Chakotay said quickly. “It allows for greater responsiveness throughout the ship’s circuitry. Voyager is the first ship to have them installed; you’ll become an expert in how to care for them even though they will frustrate you.”

“The ship’s nervous system?”

“At a basic level, yes.” Chakotay shifted his weight from foot to foot. “But we have a problem.”

“And what’s that?”

“The Kazon are in Engineering.”

B’Elanna frowned. She’d only been in the DQ for a few hours, but she’d already had enough of the Kazon to last a lifetime; their aggressive actions towards the Ocampans were the reason why Janeway had taken the decision to blow up the array, not to mention the ValJean had been collateral damage when the Kazon had first fired upon them. B’Elanna raised her chin to meet Chakotay’s gaze squarely. “What do you need?”

“They are not likely to give up control of Voyager without a fight, but we need access to the bio-neural gel packs located in the main engineering console. Once all the gel packs on the ship are injected, we’ll have a few seconds in which I can counter-effect the warp core reaction and force this ship back into temporal sync. If you let me inject you, you would be able to cross the temporal barriers and accompany me to Engineering.”

“As backup,” Ayala said.

Chakotay nodded. “And there’s something else you need to know. Seska is with the Kazon.”

B’Elanna’s eyes widened. The last time she’d seen Seska was shortly after they’d all been separated aboard Voyager . Seska had been with a group of Maquis who’d been sent to the cargo bay. She thought back to what Chakotay had said earlier, that Voyager had been fractured into 37 time zones. “Just like you and I are from different times, so is Seska.”

“Yes. She’s from the time zone a year or so from now.”

B’Elanna’s jaw tightened. It was easy to draw a conclusion about her erstwhile friend. “She betrays us?”

“Yes.” Chakotay took a deep breath. “And there’s more. Seska is a spy for the Cardassians.”

B’Elanna recoiled. “That’s impossible. A Bajoran would never--” 

Chakotay held up his hand, abruptly cutting her protest off. “She’s not Bajoran.”

B’Elanna’s chest tightened. She could count the number of close friends she’d had in her lifetime on one hand and Seska had been one of them. To know that Seska had infiltrated their ranks felt like a personal betrayal of that friendship. 

Chakotay continued, “If she succeeds in reversing the effect I was describing, it will reset the timeline to a point where all of us – Maquis and Starfleet both – will be in a fight for our lives.”

“Then there’s more than one traitor among us,” O’Donnell said with a pointed look at Ayala. Ayala bristled noticeably.

B’Elanna rolled her eyes in exasperation at O’Donnell’s reference to Ayala’s apparent desire to leave the Maquis, and it was clear that Chakotay had a similar reaction.

“Over time, we will learn who were our friends and who weren’t, but for now it’s time to put all of these old grudges to the side,” Chakotay said, urgency lacing his voice. “I need access to Engineering to be able to put Voyager back into temporal sync, but it’s impossible at the moment without your help.” His dark eyes were pleading now. “B’Elanna, can I count on you?”

The transporter room fell silent and all attention was directed towards B’Elanna. Time seemed to stand still. She still didn’t understand the future that Chakotay was a part of, but she had to trust that he was telling her the truth. And that didn’t leave her with a lot of options.

B’Elanna inhaled sharply. “If we don’t help, then Voyager will be destroyed, and all of us will die, regardless of what timeframe we’re from, or we’ll end up in a situation where Seska and her Kazon are in control of the ship.” Inwardly she cringed as she thought about those aggressively snarly-coiffured aliens who’d so tormented the Ocampans. There was something about them that reminded her of the Cardassians and the Occupation. As primitive as the Kazon seemed, a state-of-the-art starship in their hands would mean the balance of power would tip and could result in dire consequences for the entire sector. Both the ValJean and the Caretaker’s Array – their one hope of returning to the Alpha Quadrant – had been destroyed  to protect the Ocampans from them.

B’Elanna couldn’t let that sacrifice be in vain.  She lifted her chin defiantly, and looked at Ayala; he gave her a slight nod, but a similar check from O’Donnell and Smithee elicited no reaction. B’Elanna pointed first to Ayala and then to herself. “Count us in.”

Chapter Text

Facets - To Be of Service


Neelix had been kept very busy in the Mess Hall since the accident--or whatever it was--had happened. Fortunately, the Talaxian chef had taken some of his vegetable stock out of the stasis unit to make more soup just before the incident occurred. The replicators weren’t working at this point, but his stove was. Since the dinner service was barely half over, a good supply of food was still available to offer those who were in good enough shape to consume it. Sadly, many of the people who could still feed themselves were busy taking care of those who were too badly injured to eat.

Luckily, when the incident occurred, Tom had been in the Mess Hall trying to convince Tuvok to come to Sickbay for the physical examination he’d been putting off. Tuvok had approached the replicator wall and was standing next to Billy Telfer when the EPS relays blew up. Neelix didn't know about Billy's condition--he feared the worst--and Tuvok…

While Neelix was caring for those with severe burns, helping them ingest liquids, he avoided glancing in the direction of the cot where Lieutenant Commander Tuvok was lying. The second officer was no longer in need of that annual physical.

In the immediate aftermath of the accident, Tom sent Ensign Bristow to find out what happened and to obtain medical supplies, particularly another dermal regenerator, since the one that was usually in the Mess Hall's med kit was missing. With the communication system down, Samantha Wildman was frantic when she couldn't contact her daughter in Cargo Bay 2, where Naomi was studying with Icheb. Sam had tried to run out one of the exits to check, but she couldn't get through the doorway, even with Bill Chapman's assistance. The way was blocked. Despite Neelix’s long-standing aversion to traveling via the Jeffries tubes, he’d offered to go that way to get down to Deck 5, but Freddie Bristow went in his place. Freddie didn’t get very far, either. That way was blocked, too. There was no way out of the Mess Hall at this point, although Lieutenant Chapman continued to try every few minutes.

Tom had begun to treat the injured with what he had available. Fortunately, since it was frequently employed as the triage center or when there were more patients than Sickbay could accommodate, the Mess Hall was well stocked with pharmaceuticals and first-aid supplies (other than that badly needed dermal regenerator). However, the severity of some of these injuries threatened to exhaust what they had on hand very quickly. When the captain and commander came into the Mess Hall the first time, Tom had just announced that they were running short of netrazine, the medication of choice for severe radiation burns.

Neelix had just left Crewman Tal Celes’s side when Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay returned. As Neelix approached the command team, he overheard the captain say something to Tom about “different temporal zones separating parts of the ship.” Since she was speaking in a low tone of voice, Neelix became a little uncomfortable; he guessed he wasn’t supposed to hear that. On the other hand, he’d already wondered why she’d been so surprised he knew the way she liked her coffee, and Neelix hadn’t seen her wear her hair in a tight bun for years. If people were stuck in different temporal zones, the captain had to have come from a time period that existed during the very first years of their journey.

Those were years Neelix didn’t look back upon with pride. He’d been a scavenger-- really, little more than a hustler and con man--until he’d joined Voyager’s crew. On more than a few occasions he’d participated in shady deals, not to mention some that he knew were illegal. He’d been insanely jealous of anyone who paid attention to Kes in those days, too. He’d even thrown a bowl of hair pasta all over Tom during a fight over Kes in this very Mess Hall, when he suspected Tom had tender feelings towards Kes. They cleared the air later on, but this reminder made him want to make amends all over again. The captain had forgiven him for his most severe transgression--when Wixiban tricked him into running contraband at the Nekrit Expanse Depot--and had assigned him the important job of acting as her “ambassador” and trading intermediary throughout Voyager’s journey. She’d believed he could be redeemed at a time in his life when he had trouble believing it himself. He wanted to pay her back.

“Captain, if there’s anything I can do to help you overcome this crisis, just let me know. I’d like to do it in memory of...Mr. Vulcan.” Neelix felt himself getting a little choked up as he thought about how terrible it would be for the captain to have to notify Tuvok’s family of his demise in the next datastream. He was about to volunteer to write T’Pel with the sad news about her husband when Sam Wildman rushed up to the captain and commander.

“Captain, you haven’t seen my daughter, have you? She was studying with Icheb in Cargo Bay 2 this evening, but I can’t reach them. I’ve been so worried about her.”

“She’s fine, Samantha. We just saw her in Astrometrics. She’s there with...Icheb,” the captain said.

“Oh, thank you. I’m so relieved to hear she’s safe,” Sam replied.

The commander and the captain exchanged a quick, uneasy glance, and Tom suddenly looked down at the deck as if he couldn’t meet Sam’s eyes. That was very strange, but the sudden silence gave Neelix the opening he needed. Nodding towards the hypospray she was holding in her hand, he said, “Captain, how about giving me a dose of whatever you just gave Tom, and I’ll do whatever you ask me to do.”

“Let me come with you, too, Captain,” Sam asked.

Tom cleared his throat. “Sam, since I’m going with the captain and the commander, we really need you to stay here. You’re one of the few in this room right now with significant field medic training. And it would be good for you to stay to help Sam, Neelix. Some of the crew are in a bad way.”

“Tom’s right,” Commander Chakotay said, in a tone of voice that brooked no argument. “Your services are needed here.”

Neelix looked at the captain to see if there was any chance she might overrule the first officer, but the softness of her gaze and her crooked little smile assured him she would not. When she gently patted him on the forearm, just before she gave Sam a quick hug, he knew pleading would be of no use. Sighing, Neelix slowly nodded his head, accepting his orders with as much grace as he could muster.

Once the three senior officers disappeared down the corridor, Neelix looked around and realized Sam really did need his help. Tom had already done what he could for the most seriously injured--or else, like Commander Tuvok, they were already beyond anyone’s help. After a quick consultation with Sam, Neelix moved down the line of cots and offered a sip of water, a little broth, and a hypospray of an analgesic to Crewman Dell.

It was the best Neelix could do for the young man, since they were now out of netrazine and were running short of just about everything else. If what he’d overheard was true, and some kind of temporal paradox was the cause of this disaster, he hoped the captain, the commander, and Tom would be able to undo what had happened.

As Neelix glanced over at the shrouded form of his deceased Vulcan friend, he thought sadly, You simply must succeed, Captain. I’m not ready to say good-bye to Mr. Vulcan just yet.

Chapter Text

We glance around the expanded Cargo Bay with our newly restored ocular implant. Temporal echoes no longer disturb this drone’s tasks; the chaos of data and futures have been reduced to order, and all is ready for Commander Chakotay’s return. Having completed our work on the temporal situation, the other drones return to their original tasks, unconcerned that all progress on the nanoprobe weapon will be lost when we return to our own timeline.

This drone devoted some effort to discovering a method of preserving our memory past the reunification of Voyager’s disparate parts, but we have established that only Commander Chakotay, and not any of his small and weak serum-inoculated crew collective, will remember these events afterwards. If there is an afterwards that does not involve permanent Kazon control of this vessel.

Since we also have a plan for that eventuality, this drone occupies herself by reviewing Voyager’s accumulated astrometric data. The early years are disorganized, but later logs display a more organized approach—

Commander Chakotay barely glances around him as he strides toward us. We, however, watch his expression carefully as his subconscious observations slowly make their way to the surface. At first, he appears slightly puzzled, and visibly sets the emotion aside as he asks for our results.

“You told Captain Janeway you weren’t done with the recalibration calculations,” he says. His tone conveys a justified disbelief; we are Borg and we did have preliminary results thirty seconds after we first formulated the problem.

“We informed you that more comprehensive knowledge of Voyager’s engines in your timeline would reduce the risk of failure to below—”

He interrupts. “You wanted to talk to me alone because Captain Janeway refused to give you the serum when we inoculated your gel packs.” He glances quickly to his right as a drone passes through his peripheral vision.

We had attempted to explain the complex nature of the current dissociation event to them: apparent permeability of the fluctuating temporal barriers early on, followed by more solid divisions preventing any paradoxical travel between temporal regions later, and even the sudden disappearance of any redundant persons. But Captain Janeway’s usual scientific curiosity failed her when it came to questions of temporal mechanics, and Chakotay, we fear, never had much to begin with. He is no more patient now than on his previous visit.

“It’s no use arguing, Seven—I’m out of serum. Just give me the numbers we need to bring the ship back into temporal sync and sit tight here. We can handle Seska.”

We raise an eyebrow—one of the few Human facial expressions this drone is able to reproduce despite our implants—and turn aside without comment. The PADD we pull from its alcove displays the full results of our calculations, to our desired degree of precision. “Commit these to memory before you begin any recalibrations,” we instruct him. “The PADD may not survive the initial chroniton realignment pulse—”

He pushes it back. “It won’t survive my trip to Engineering.” There is audible uncertainty in his voice, however, and this new puzzle seems to have shaken his previous subconscious observations up to the surface, like so many bubbles of oxygen in a Borg maturation chamber. For the first time, he looks directly at the new opening in the bulkhead behind us. “Is that the hazardous cargo area? Did you break through the wall?”

“Your cargo is not hazardous to drones,” we reply.

“But why?”

“We had new drones to accommodate.” We are still holding the PADD between us; he continues to ignore it.

“You had—” His voice trails off as a drone in a Starfleet uniform walks across the hazardous cargo area. “Is that Sue Nicoletti?”

“Yes,” we say.

“You assimilated Lieutenant Nicoletti.”

“Yes,” we repeat. The words cold hands, cold heart drift through our linguistic subprocessor, but the thought is both obscure and irrelevant so we do not give it voice.

“Why?” he asks again.

“Twelve of Thirteen has been quite helpful in supplementing Voyager’s logs,” we reply. “We informed you that more comprehensive knowledge of Voyager’s engines in your timeline would reduce the risk of failure to”—this time he allows us to complete our sentence—“below three percent.”

Commander Chakotay is dumbstruck. The Borg suffer from a similar condition associated with too much data being fed to a single drone. Of course no drone would struggle with such a small quantity of information, and yet, we do require the Commander to continue to function. We attempt to reassure him.

“Do not be concerned about your crewmen. They will not remember their time as drones if your mission succeeds, and will suffer far less than the rest of Voyager’s crew if it fails.”

He looks around more carefully this time, perhaps attempting to count the number of drones in uniform. We choose not to confuse him further with the actual number.

“But if you’ve assimilated someone from my timeframe, then…”

“We reverse-engineered the serum from the gel packs you inoculated earlier. We are Borg, and we will be monitoring your encounter with the hostiles in Engineering. Although the Kazon are unworthy of assimilation, they are aggressive, well-armed, and led by a—” We pause, because Commander Chakotay’s expression does not yet reflect the resignation we expected to see at this point.

He shakes his head. “Then you know we separated you from the Collective.” He finally accepts the PADD from me. “Yet you still want to help us.”

“We still need to help you,” we correct him. “We now know you were telling the truth about the success of our mission to defeat Species 8472. We would not jeopardize it over the unfortunate fate of one drone.” Not to mention the misplaced pride of fallible humans in their diplomacy and weaponry.

We doubt our one eyebrow can truly convey the depth of this drone’s lack of faith in humanity, so we add, “We intend to ensure that you succeed.”

Chapter Text

A Simple Twist of Fate

Lieutenant Walter Baxter loved spending time in the sonic shower. The vibrations shaking his skin were so...stimulating. Given his lack of success in the romantic department since his arrival in the Delta Quadrant (not that his wife back home would approve of such, should he have achieved any), the sonic shower provided the only caresses he'd experienced in the past year.

The Delta Quadrant had provided a number of entertaining experiences, even if it had proven to be somewhat lacking in satisfying interpersonal relationships. A simple search for coffee--or at least, the energy supplies to replicate it--had been remarkable when the nebula in which said energy supplies were expected to be obtained turned out to be a not-so-wee beastie, for instance. Meeting new species, like the Ocampa and the Talaxians, was something Lieutenant Tuvok, the ship's Security Chief, would describe as "of interest." Of course, the Kazon and Vidiians were never much fun to meet up with, and the Sikarians had been rather snobbish towards the crew, collecting their stories without reciprocating by sharing their advanced technology so that Voyager could return home. When Walter took into account the expansionist Haakonians and the ongoing conflict between the Baneans and Numiri, he’d come to the conclusion that engaging in war with their neighbors must be the favorite pastime of the species in this region of space.

And then that spatial distortion thing happened to the ship last week, while the senior staff was celebrating Kes's birthday party in Sandrine's. That had been extremely frustrating to Walter personally. He'd been trapped in an endless loop of some sort, wandering around the ship for the longest time because he was unable to find the cargo bay he was seeking, no matter which route he took. He always seemed to end up in the Mess Hall. At the time he thought he must be losing his mind, but it turned out the ship really had been all twisted up like a big pretzel. Weird.

Tonight, in the sonic shower, Walter was determined to relax and enjoy the rippling sensations traveling across and through his body for as long as he could. When he first stepped in, he felt an odd shuddering vibration beneath his feet. That went away, however, and he proceeded to leisurely scrub all the cares of his day away.

Or at least, that's what he'd expected to do, but suddenly the sonic shower really went on the fritz. Or the frizz, to use a more descriptive term. When the regular pulsations turned into erratic snaps that made his skin feel like a thousand tiny insects were biting him, Walter jumped out of the shower, which was still rumbling even after he'd turned the switch to "off."

That's when he realized it wasn't just the shower. The deck beneath his feet was rumbling, too.

With his memories of the previous week's malfunctions still so fresh in his mind, Walter jumped out of his sanitary cubicle and into his quarters. Once there, he was relieved to discover his living and sleeping areas weren't vibrating. Whether only the sonic shower and the sanitary cubicle had been affected, or if the irregular vibrations had simply ceased, Walter didn't know. When he saw his uniform still resting serenely on his bunk where he'd left it there to take his shower, however, he gratefully slipped it on.

Once fully dressed, Walter stepped over to the replicator in his quarters and requested a cup of coffee. Unfortunately, it apparently wasn't working as it should. The coffee issued forth as ordered, all right, but without a cup for it to splash into, it made quite a mess on his floor. After sopping up as much of the liquid off the carpet with an off-duty shirt as he could, Walter tried to order a glass of water. Again, the liquid splashed all over, since the glass never materialized. Once he was finished cleaning the carpet again, he decided to try the Mess Hall. Maybe he could find something a little more interesting to drink there, too--as long as Neelix hadn't "improved" the beverage in some way. Neelix's concoctions could be a little too interesting for Walter's taste.

As the door to his quarters swished open, Walter lifted his left foot to step through, but he jumped back immediately when he noticed two figures racing down the Deck 10 corridor. Torres and Ayala. Out of uniform, too, he thought in surprise as they passed him. It almost looks like they're in their Maquis outfits again. But of course, that can't be. Unless...of course, that must be it.

"What's your hurry? Is there a costume party everyone forgot to tell me about?" he called after them, chuckling. But they completely ignored him.

And then something very strange happened. They disappeared. If that had happened after they'd reached the bend in the corridor leading to the upper level of Engineering, he wouldn't have been at all surprised; but they hadn't gotten that far. They should still have been in plain view; but although Walter hadn't heard the whine of a point-to-point transport, there was no trace of them. He'd heard the pounding of their feet, but then he couldn't hear a thing except for his own breathing.

Perplexed, Walter cautiously approached where he'd last seen the chief engineer and his immediate superior officer, Lieutenant Ayala. He was glad he hadn't been running himself, because as he walked up to that spot, he bounced against an invisible barrier of some kind. With a shrug of his shoulders, Walter turned around and walked in the opposite direction, past his quarters, to get to the turbolift at the other end of the corridor. He could get to the Mess Hall that way.

And he bumped into another barrier. No matter how hard he hit it, or how carefully he pried around its edges to see if he could find a way to squeeze his way through, nothing happened, other than making his hands and fingers tingling in a way that was quite annoying. He went back to the first barrier and the same thing happened. No luck there, either. Well, if he couldn't travel through the corridors, he could always travel through the Jefferies tubes. Walter had never been fond of crawling on his hands and knees to the nearest junction where he could stand erect, but as a Starfleet Security officer, he sometimes had no choice.

Reentering his quarters, he walked over to the access port. Except...he couldn't quite reach the latch. His hand hit still another tingly barrier he couldn't see, about ten centimeters or so in front. He was unable to touch the hatch's surface. Walter's replicator unit was on the same wall. It was almost as if the same sort of thing that blocked the corridors ran through this section of the walls, too. And if that was so, no wonder his replicator wasn't working right.

Walter went back out to the corridor. He used the announcer to see if Lieutenant Chapman, whose quarters were on the other side of the corridor, would let him in to use his access hatch. Chapman didn't answer. When Walter tried the communicator, it wasn't operational. He tried using his master security code to get through the doorway--and nothing happened. He couldn't get in. He couldn't get through the barriers on either end of the corridor, and he couldn't get access into the Jefferies tubes to get anywhere else than this small area of the ship. He was trapped.

Last week he kept arriving at the Mess Hall when he didn't want to go there. Today, he wanted to go there and couldn't.

Walter Baxter slowly collapsed against the wall of the corridor all the way down to the floor and moaning softly, over and over, "Oh, no! Not again!"

Chapter Text

Deck 2, Caretaker

“Sit down already!”

Rufus Koszula stopped pacing, leaned against the wall of the corridor and slid down to sit on the floor with a thud, and glared at Maglietta. “This is stupid.”

“We lost the prisoner!!” Maglietta snapped. “Do you really want to try explaining this to the captain?” A disappearing prisoner, an invisible barrier in the turbolift shaft, and then they’d each just spent an extended period of time in the head… telling the captain he’d had crazy diarrhea was not on his list of things to do to get a promotion! They had taken turns, and Rufus had taken even longer in the head than he had, so he had no room to complain!

“Like sitting here forever is helping at all,” Rufus shouted.

Maglietta banged his head against the wall once more, and got to his feet. Koszula jumped up as well, encouraged by Maglietta’s movement. Maglietta put his hands on his hips and thought for a minute.

“Okay. I’m just going to explain it as it happened. How we couldn’t ride in that turbolift with the Maquis prisoner who just vanished into thin air and then we had to climb back up.”

Footfalls distracted them -- both of them turned, and came to stiff attention as Captain Janeway approached. She wore a bandolier full of vials on her chest and strode along as if in a big hurry.

“Crewmen,” she exclaimed. Pulling a vial from her bandolier, she inserted it into a hypospray she was holding in her right hand. “Mr. Maglietta. There’s no time to explain -- I need to inoculate you, so you will be able to pass through any temporal barriers you may encounter on your way to Engineering. There is a group of aliens called the Kazon who’ve invaded that part of the ship, and we need to retake it so we can restore the ship to normal functioning. You’ll see both Starfleet and Maquis there -- I need you to focus on the aliens, not any Federation species you will see present. Clear?”

“Yes, Captain,” Maglietta exclaimed, hoping he didn’t look as totally gobsmacked as Rufus did. He let her press the hypospray against his throat. She reloaded and pressed another into Koszula’s neck, and gestured back the way she’d come.

“Get going -- and don’t stop for anything else along the way. You may see others -- we’re dealing with a temporal anomaly, once it’s resolved everyone and everything will return to normal. So don’t be delayed by situations where you would otherwise feel compelled to stop and intervene.” She hurried onward toward the bridge.

Maglietta picked up their weapons from the floor, tossed one to Rufus, and turned to follow his captain’s orders, strange as they were. Koszula followed.

This time, the turbolift didn’t bounce them into thin air. But their weapons vanished from their hands.

“Shit!” Koszula yelled, jumping a little. He spread his hands and looked around at the floor.

“Guess the phasers don’t get to come with us,” Maglietta said. “We’ll have to get some more from one of the lockers near Engineering.”

They left the turbolift and walked down a corridor to a junction. Maglietta looked at the nearest panel as they turned a corner. “Damn, we’re on the wrong deck. The turbolift didn’t go all the way to Deck 11 -- we’re on Deck 10 and the wrong side of it too.”

“The computer’s obviously not doing too well either. Let’s go back to the ‘lift.” Rufus turned around with him.

But they stopped when they heard a buzzing noise. Then a large three-tentacled flying blob whizzed around the corner in front of them! Maglietta screamed and ran the other way, dodging down a side corridor -- Koszula was running hard at his side, panting, swearing in gasps.

They passed another corner, and Maglietta came to himself enough to recognize this wasn’t going to end well, running from a flying creature. He dove at the next hatch he saw, yanking at latches, and rolled into the Jeffries tube behind it. Rufus was hard on his heels as he moved down the tube. “Close the hatch!” he yelled and Koszula obliged, yanking at it desperately. A distant thumping told them how close they had come to being… bitten? Strangled?

No matter. They were safe now.

They panted in silence for a mutually-agreed-upon few moments.

“If it’s all the same to you maybe we should go down Jeffries tubes to the next deck?” Koszula said with a gulp.

“Yeah. Okay. Can’t be all that far.”

They crawled through another couple of barriers along the way -- Maglietta recognized them by the weird crawling feeling on his skin. Finally, they reached a junction where they could stand up, and then Maglietta looked around at the panels and the sequence of letters and numbers on the wall.

“Um….”

“What now?” Rufus snapped. He caught himself. “Sorry, sir. What is it?”

“Computer,” Maglietta called out, just in case. No answer. “Yeah. We’re lost. No idea where Jeffries tube 84, section 29 is.”

Rufus sighed audibly. “Maybe we should find a hatch and try the corridors again? We’ve gone through a couple of barriers -- the flying thing should be trapped back in that other section.”

Maglietta turned down the tube to the right, looking for a hatch to give it a try. “We’ve got to be close.” Or so he hoped. He hadn’t been paying a lot of attention to exactly how far they’d gone downward. So much for his training -- they’d drilled it into their heads at the Academy that panic was your worst enemy….

Maybe Mom was right -- maybe I should have been a teacher….

Chapter Text

Facets - Who, Who Are You?



As she'd promised the EMH, Kes stopped at every hatch and listened for anyone crying out for help, or even for someone moaning in pain. But she never heard anyone. As she traveled, sometimes on hands and knees in the tubes with lower ceilings, Kes felt a tingling whenever she moved through a temporal barrier. The light around her would waver in a way that reminded her of the reflection of a body slipping into a pool of water. Now that she knew what it was, her skin no longer crawled, but it was a strange sensation, nonetheless.

As she slipped deeper down into the bowels of the ship, she could hear something, a banging sound coming from junction J-7 inside tube 31. If a Vidiian or a Kazon was making the noise, she could be crawling into danger. Kes stopped and listened for a minute until she recognized the voice that was calling out. "Help me!" It was followed by a very frustrated, "I can't (bang) get (bang) out! (bang)"

She crawled around a bend in the tube and saw Lieutenant Joseph Carey alternately striking the walls and an invisible barrier between temporal zones that had cut him off from the rest of the ship.

Kes had a problem, however. If the engineer kept hitting the temporal barrier that way, he might accidentally knock her out if she happened to be coming through it at that very moment. She was about to try anyway when Carey suddenly slid along the tube, past one of the access hatches in this section, until he reached what was apparently another temporal barrier. He had just struck that one with his fist when Kes took advantage of his change in position and crawled through the barrier.

The lieutenant whipped his head around and shouted, "Who the hell are you?" as soon as he saw her.

"It's me. Kes. The Doctor's assistant."

"Doctor? What doctor? There's no doctor assigned to a ship before it's commissioned. And what's your species, if I may be so bold as to ask?"

Kes rocked back on her heels. He'd said, "before it's commissioned." This Lieutenant Carey must be from a time frame before Voyager was launched--when it was still being built. He wouldn't have any idea who she was, or what an Ocampa was, for that matter.

"I'm not going to hurt you," she said, holding her empty hands up to her shoulders in a submissive a way and lowering her voice to its huskiest tones. Neelix told her she sounded so seductive whenever she spoke like that, he'd do anything for her. She hoped Lieutenant Carey would respond the same way; he had to trust her if she was going to help him. Then she thought to smile as sweetly as she could and said, "You must know a small female like me can't overpower a big man like you."

"I know no such thing. Since I don't recognize your species, I have no idea of your abilities. For all I know, you're as strong as a Vulcan--or a Klingon--and could bend me into a pretzel."

She couldn't completely suppress a giggle at the image of the Lieutenant Carey pretzel that came into her mind, but she quickly assumed a more sedate demeanor. "I promise I wouldn't do anything like that even if I could. My people aren't known to be very strong...physically. But you must listen to me. This ship is in terrible danger. I'm sorry to tell you that it isn't in the part of the galaxy you think it is, or the period of time you might expect. The reason you’re stuck here is because you’re trapped between temporal barriers. I'm not sure how far in the past your time is from mine, but it must be at least two years.” She paused to let what she was saying sink in. “A lot will happen to your crew between your time and mine; but if history is to unfold the way it should, the enemies who have taken control of Engineering must be stopped. I can help free you from this temporal prison you're in now with a treatment that is completely harmless. Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay have tested it. Once I give it to you, we can offer to help them retake the ship and return it to its proper time frame."

"Captain Janeway. This isn't some sort of test to see if I'm too gullible to become part of her crew, is it?"

"Ah, no. Captain Janeway would never do something like that. She's been my mentor ever since she saved me and N...um, my friend, from the Kazon."

"And who are the Kazon now, I wonder?"

She could tell from the tone of his voice and the skeptical expression on his face that he still didn't trust her, let alone believe a word she was saying. She would have to change that in a hurry, even if it meant she’d have to become much more personal with him than she’d like to be by listing a number of injuries he'd sustained since he became a Starfleet officer. By the time she mentioned the finger broken when another engineer accidentally dropped a hyperspanner on him from an upper level during his first assignment, Carey exclaimed in horror, "How can you possibly know all of that?"

She sighed. "It's part of your personal medical record, Lieutenant, which isn't accessible to anyone other than the Doctor, his assistant--that's me--and Lieutenant Paris, his primary field medic. And maybe Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay, but only if you gave permission for the information to be released to them. I know you have a wife and two sons that you’ve missed very much while you’ve been here...on assignment. You like to play darts, because you usually win, but you prefer to avoid the ship's pool tournaments. You're not very good at that."

The lieutenant shook his head, trying to absorb what she'd told him. Kes appreciated how traumatized he must be, but if they were going to be of any help to the captain and the commander at all, they couldn't keep fencing with each other much longer.

"Lieutenant Carey, I understand how overwhelming it is for someone you've never met before to know so much about you. You will know me in the future, and we'll enjoy spending time together--as friends--but for now, you simply must take everything I've said on faith. If you let me inoculate you with this serum, I'm sure I can provide enough evidence to show you I'm speaking the truth."

"I don’t know..." his voice trailed off.

Kes sighed and glanced away from the lieutenant's face. What could she say to convince him of her sincerity? That's when she noticed the toolkit leaning against the wall. He must have brought it in here to accomplish whatever task he had been assigned to complete within this Jefferies tube. That gave her an idea.

"Lieutenant, I realize you might be a little nervous about what this serum could do to you. What about your toolkit? Or even one of the tools in it--the hyperspanner, perhaps? Why don't you toss the kit into that barrier behind you and see what happens."

"I know what will happen. It will bounce right off!"

"You've already tried that, I guess," she laughed.

For the first time a grin crossed the lieutenant's face. "Several times."

"All right. Let me treat your toolkit. I have to do that for it to come with us through the barrier anyway. We had to spray my med kit before I came here."

Carey agreed. As soon as Kes said he could toss it, he did. The barrier shimmered as the toolkit slipped through to the other side. Kes could see it clearly, three meters or so down the tube, but Carey's eyes bulged a little as he asked, "What happened to it?"

"It's on the other side of the temporal barrier. It could be in the same zone as Seska and the Kazons in Engineering, for all I know. If you let me give you the serum, you'll be able to see it and can retrieve it yourself."

Lieutenant Carey stared at Kes for a few seconds before he nodded, closed his eyes, breathed in deeply, and leaned in close enough for her to administer the serum. As he exhaled, Carey opened his eyes and looked behind him. Uttering a somewhat stunned, "There's my kit," he crawled through the barrier and retrieved his tools.

"You see. I told you it wouldn't hurt you."

"But you didn't warn me it was going to tickle now, did you?"

His hearty laugh joined her lighter one, which ended sooner than his. "Enough. We have to get going; we don't know how much time we have before Captain Janeway has to try to take back the ship. We're on Deck 11 now, aren't we?"

"We are."

She thought about the layout of the ship for a moment. "The weapons lockers on this deck are probably in Seska's temporal zone, but if we're going to help the captain and the commander take action, we'll need to obtain something substantial from one of the other decks. Maybe the phaser rifles?"

"There aren't any weapons on this ship yet," Carey said soberly.

"In your timeframe, perhaps, but in mine there are. And it's likely we'll find weapons in the lockers of every temporal period except for yours. If we crawl up to the next access port, I think we'll be close to the locker on Deck 10. We'll see if we can reach it without running into anyone. If we do meet up with a member of the crew from a zone where everyone knows me, it will be all right. They'll know you, too. Once you're armed, we can move towards one of the hatches on this deck that opens into Main Engineering and wait. From what I know of Seska and the Kazon, I'm sure there will be plenty of noise to let us know when something's happening there."

"No weapons for you?"

"Do I look like someone who knows much about weapons?" she replied with an impish grin.

"From what I've seen, I'm not sure what you might be capable of now, Miss...what did you say your name was again?"

"It's Kes, Lieutenant Carey."

He put out his hand for her to shake. "You can call me Joe," he replied. "And if you need training on how to handle weapons, I'll be happy to give it to you. I have a hunch you'd be a quick study."

As they began to crawl along the Jefferies tube to the nearest access port, Kes couldn't resist saying, "I have to be."

Chapter Text

Harry Kim, Bridge/Engineering, pre-Caretaker/Basics, zakhad

The captain came out on the bridge, wearing a bandolier full of vials. For a few seconds, Harry wondered if he should pick up the phaser he’d kept at his station -- but the Maquis wasn’t with her. A lieutenant stood right behind her, however. Paris. The “observer” they’d taken aboard, who had rescued him from the Ferengi in the bar on Deep Space Nine. How had he gotten to the bridge? Harry still hadn’t figured out why they were cut off from the rest of the ship. He moved a few steps from Ops and hesitated, waiting for the captain to speak.

“Mr. Kim, bring your phaser and come with me,” Janeway ordered, gesturing at him.

“Captain?” Andrews stepped away from tactical. As he was security he perhaps thought anything involving weapons would involve him.

The captain glanced around the bridge at those present. “Mr. Andrews, you’ll remain here. Mr. Paris, Mr. Kim and I have something to do. We’ll be back shortly.”

“Ma’am,” Andrews exclaimed, now obviously attempting to get her attention. When she turned back and gave it to him, he went on. “Wherever you’ve been -- have you seen anyone else? Any of the missing officers?”

Harry understood the question -- he’d wondered about that too, and whether they might be next. If the phenomena might spread to the bridge. Janeway’s reassuring smile was tight but sincere.

“Mr. Andrews, trust me -- I share your concerns. I wish I could explain fully what’s happened. But time is of the essence, and if we’re successful, all of those missing will come back to us alive and well.”

Andrews was dubious, but seemed to accept it. Harry still wondered if it could be as easy as she made it sound, but grabbed his phaser and went -- orders were orders. The anxiety was pointless and the questions were irrelevant, when the captain said ‘jump’ it was his job to do it.

As they left the bridge, Paris pressed a hypospray against his neck suddenly. Harry’s arm came up automatically to fend him off, but too late. “Hey!”

“Relax, Harry, it’ll help you get to where we’re going,” Paris said. He smiled at the ensign. “I forgot how wound up you used to be.”

“Used to be? What are you talking about?”

The captain strode ahead, and then faded through an invisible barrier -- and before he could stop walking, Harry was through it too, with Paris right beside him. He stopped, almost turned back, but the captain was making a beeline for the turbolift at the end of the corridor.

Once they were inside, Janeway said, “Engineering.” She met Harry’s eyes seriously. “Ensign, I’m about to give you orders that you’ll have to follow without a lot of background. But I assure you it’s absolutely necessary that you do.”

“Sir -- Ma’am?” he stammered, trying to remember her preferences. They had only just left the space station and this was already more than he’d had to deal with. Ever.

“We’re going to Engineering. Commander Chakotay will be facing down a Cardassian named Seska, and some others from a species called the Kazon. We’re going to back up Chakotay to retake Engineering so we can bring the ship out of this temporal distortion and go on with our lives.”

So now they were on Chakotay’s side? And he was suddenly Commander Chakotay, instead of a Maquis? And there was a Cardassian aboard as well as some alien species Harry had never heard of -- he wondered briefly if he should trust the captain. Maybe this was one of those alien mind control situations they warned him about at the Academy?

Paris chuckled. “You look like you could use a drink, Har. Relax. We’ll be fine.”

“How do you know?” Harry challenged, before he could stop himself.

“Mr. Kim,” the captain chided gently, “we can restore the ship if we help retake Engineering. This version of Mr. Paris here has actually been aboard for almost seven years, apparently. Chakotay is their first officer -- ours, in the future,” she added.

“Commander Cavit….”

The turbolift came to a stop. The doors opened. Captain Janeway’s face went from sad to determined, as she strode forward. Her expression seemed to imply that Cavit was no longer a member of the crew, for whatever reason. Paris glanced at her back, sober for a few seconds -- but then he winked and put a hand on Harry’s shoulder, guiding him out of the lift.

“There’s a lot that’s gonna happen, Harry. Some of it will be crazy, or sad. But a lot of it will be pretty good.”

“Like what?” This version of Paris was nearly as self-assured as the Maquis commander that the captain had magically started to trust. Something about that annoyed Harry to no end.

“Oh… we’ll be good friends. You’re gonna be the best man at my wedding.”

“Oh, right, of course,” Harry scoffed.

“Seriously, I know right now it’s like five minutes ago, you were on Deep Space Nine getting swindled by Quark. You have this great girlfriend on Earth, and she’s so into you. But you just wait,” Paris said, waving his hands expansively. “You’re about to have the greatest adventure ever.“

“Tom,” Janeway said, about to go around a corner ahead of them. She raised a finger at him in warning. “Temporal Prime Directive.”

Tom shrugged. “Yeah, well -- if this is like any of the other problems with time, won’t we all just snap back to where we were, without any idea of what really happened?”

The captain stopped in her tracks. They caught up with her. Janeway shook her head, looking at the floor. “You know, you’re right. We probably won’t remember.”

“So it doesn’t make any difference at all to tell Harry he’ll make friends with a really sexy Borg lady, and have this other girlfriend -- “

“Tom.” Janeway put her hands on her hips. “Stop.”

Paris feigned open-mouthed dismay. “Captain... It’s true, isn’t it?”

Harry stared from one of them to the other, back and forth, trying to suss it out. “Is it?”

“Well, Mr. Kim… it’s a little more complicated, but in essence, Tom is correct. Not that I know from personal experience. But apparently, at some point, we have at least an alliance with the Borg.”

“Alliance? With the Borg!” Harry blurted.

“You see, Harry --”

The captain put a hand on Tom’s shoulder. “Mr. Paris. We don’t have the time. Let’s go.”

They followed her, because she expected it. And they ended up on the upper level of Engineering, looking down at the people standing in front of the warp core. The Kazon had lousy personal hygiene -- their hair looked terrible, like it was never combed. The Cardassian woman was talking down to them. Then Chakotay arrived and started to bicker with her.

“See, they were Maquis together, only she was altered to appear Bajoran,” Paris said. “And then we found out she was really Cardassian.”

Harry exchanged a look with the captain. “Are you just making up stuff now?”

“Not at all! Harry, I wouldn’t lie to you! Not about that, or the time Q wanted to mate with the captain, or the time you had this space VD --”

“Tom, enough,” Janeway exclaimed harshly. Then her glare eased. “Q wanted to mate with me?”

“Uh, yeah. Long story. And there was also this mass murdering xenophobe who really liked Mahler and boarded the ship for inspections --”

“Sshhh,” she said, waving a hand, leaning on the railing. Harry looked too. The Kazon were raising their weapons. Seska said something.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Tom muttered. He was watching intently as the Kazon milled about trying to be intimidating, instead of waiting in line for haircuts.

"It's too dangerous. There are too many variables!" Chakotay said loudly, as the Cardassian woman who must be the aforementioned Seska pushed him away from the console.

"You're not pleading for your life, are you?" Seska said, her voice echoing around engineering as she keyed in a series of new commands.

"I'm telling you, you're endangering your own life!"

The captain looked up at Harry and Tom, and said urgently, “Do it!”

Harry didn’t like the idea of just jumping down. But Tom went over the railing, and rather than be outdone by the former prisoner who now wore a Starfleet uniform, Harry ducked under and leaped. He felt the tingling zap as he fell through the barrier and landed on one of the Kazon.

As he began to wrestle the larger alien, he tried not to let his face fall against his foe -- the aliens smelled as bad as they looked!

Seska, Engineering, Basics - Penny

As Seska had anticipated, Chakotay had returned to Engineering to solve the problem of the temporal fractures. This time, though, as he stepped off the turbolift he stopped immediately. Rulat and Nabin held the tips of their phaser rifles mere millimeters from his head, but he ignored them and fixed his gaze on her. Seska realized with relief that for once, the Kazon had obeyed her; they had fallen silent at her command, leaving the hum of the warp core as the only noise in the room. Finally, free of their incessant and pedantic chatter, Seska was able to think clearly as she circled towards the prisoner, her gaze intent on him. She said nothing as they stared at each other.

He had acquired some new accessories - a bandolier fully stocked with vials or cylinders. She was curious but not too worried. If they were some sort of weapon, he’d be dead before he could use them. She let the silence grow between them, waiting for him to reveal his intentions.

Chakotay’s jaw worked slowly as if he was struggling to find the right words. Was he nervous? “Seska, please listen to me,” he began. At her nod, he began speaking rapidly. “You didn’t believe me before, but the ship has encountered a temporal anomaly. It has been fractured into 37 different time zones. Everyone is trapped within their zone. In a matter of hours, stresses on the ship will tear it apart unless we do something.”

She had guessed most of this already but did have one question. “If no one can leave the time zone they’re in, how are you able to get around?”

He shrugged. “I’m not sure. I was at ground zero for the event, so that may have done something to me.” She wasn’t certain she believed that was the entire truth, but he hurried on before she could question it.

“But I’ve got a plan,” he went on. “I’ve created a serum to inject all the gel packs on board.”

That explains the vials, she thought. That’s his serum.

“Then,” he continued, “when I activate a chroniton pulse from Engineering, the serum will cause the gel packs to create a field that will synchronize back to the time of the incident. That will restore all the timelines to their proper place. We’ve already injected the gel packs in the other timeframes. That just leaves the ones in here.”

After a pause, he added, “It’s in both our interests to work together.”

He sounds so sincere, Seska thought. Well, he probably was. Five more years as Janeway’s lapdog seemed to have drained all the aggressiveness, all that devil-may-care daring, out of him. That was too bad. She’d liked the impetuous, angry Chakotay with fight in his eyes. How wonderful it had been to share a bed with a man who didn’t flinch, who was able to understand what it took to win. A rebel who was always willing to take things into his own hands. I wonder if he’s still in there, under all that Starfleet self-righteousness. What would it take to bring him out?

“I agree,” she said slowly, continuing to study him. Did he have a weapon hidden somewhere? He might be foolish enough to return here unarmed, but that seemed unlikely. Her gaze narrowed as she stared at the bandolier he wore. The Chakotay she knew would have known the danger he was walking into, and been unafraid to do so - and prepared for a fight. Was there a poison instead of serum in one of the vials he carried? Or had he really come back here armed with only hope and that smile? One way to find out. “Let him go.”

Rulat looked shocked. “You believe him?”

“His story is too preposterous to be a lie.” That much was true: she believed the tale of the temporal fractures. She didn’t buy into his let’s-work-together-we’re-all-friends-here attitude, not for a moment. He was concealing something, she was sure of it. No one, not even a tame lapdog, could be that naive. She had taken his ship and marooned his entire crew, and now he expected her to believe that was all forgiven? What was he up to?

Once freed, Chakotay gave her a nod and hurried over to a console where he began entering a lengthy command. Seska followed him, crowding his personal space so that he couldn’t help but be aware of her – and where she could see exactly what he was doing. “I’ll admit,” she drawled into his ear, “it’s an ingenious solution.”

He didn’t look up. “I’m glad you’re cooperating.”

“Oh,” she said, using her most honeyed voice, “I believe in cooperation, as long as it benefits me.” She leaned in toward him, so that her breast brushed against his arm.

Chakotay remained focused on his task, ignoring her. All the more determined to get his attention, she ran a hand down his arm. “You know, it’s true what they say,” she almost purred.

Without looking away from the console, he said absently, “What’s that?”

She was getting angry; how dare he ignore her? All he had to do was side with her instead of Janeway, and she’d make sure he lived. Possibly as her personal slave, but he would live. She tried one more time. With a flirty smile, she said, “Men just get more distinguished as they get older. A few lines here,” – she ran a light finger down from his eye to his chin – “and a little gray there.” She brushed the back of three fingers across the hair at his temple. She’d forgotten just how smooth human skin was, how soft it was to the touch. She dropped her voice seductively. “It adds character.”

He jerked back from her touch, shot her a sideways glance and again focused on the console.

Seska stepped back, any hint of affection gone. She was angry, coldly and deeply angry that he had rejected her yet again. And in front of the Kazon too. It was an insult that could not be tolerated. “Too bad their minds start to go,” she snapped, and then signaled Rulat, who again grabbed Chakotay from behind.

The surprise on Chakotay’s face warmed her heart. As incredible as it seemed, he really had not expected her to turn on him. It was time to show him who was really in charge now, that she knew exactly what was going on. “The last time you were here, you had that nasty head injury, and you mumbled something about my taking over the ship five years ago. If that’s true, then you’re from a future time frame, which means that at some point, your crew is going to regain control of Voyager.” She smiled icily. “I can’t allow that. Step away from that console.”

She signaled again, and Rulat jerked him back, giving Seska access to the fields where Chakotay had been working. It took only a few seconds to understand what he had been doing, and what she needed to do now. “It’s an ingenious plan,” she repeated, and began entering new commands. As she’d suspected, B’Elanna hadn’t done much to upgrade the system security on Voyager in the months since she’d left the ship . Just a few keystrokes and she was able to get the access she needed. “It just needs a slight modification.”

His head jerked up in alarm. “What are you doing?”

This time, she ignored him and kept her eyes fixed on her task. “Recalibrating your pulse to bring the ship into temporal sync with my time frame.”

She heard a bit of doubt in his voice as he said, “That's not possible.”

This time, she did look at him. She wanted him to see the triumph in her eyes, and her disgust at his failure to respect her abilities. “When will you learn to stop underestimating me?”

He shook his head. “If you make even the slightest miscalculation, you'll destroy the ship and kill everyone.”

“What other choice do I have? If I can get Voyager into my own timeframe, then I'll be able to ensure that you never retake the ship.” She thought for a moment about what that really meant. Yes, she would retain the ship and her position, but it also meant a lifetime with the Kazon. An eternity as Culluh’s consort. Just for the sake of her own sanity, she felt compelled to give him one final chance to see that he would be better off with her. “Don't worry,” she said reassuringly. “I won't hurt you. You can start fresh with me.” It sounded sincere because she was. She really would protect him, keep him with her.

His expression changed from concern to – to what? She didn’t recognize the emotion that played across his face. “Sorry,” he said evenly, “that's not the future I have in mind.”

Seska nearly choked as his tone made it clear: he was looking at her with contempt. Her anger returned, fresh and hot. How dare he condescend to her, who was so obviously superior to him and his bitch of a captain? This was the last time he would ever reject her.

“In that case,” she said, not caring that her wrath was evident, “Goodbye, Chakotay.” It would be a useful lesson for the Kazon to see that she was capable of putting her emotions aside and taking decisive action. She did not waver as she nodded, and Nabin gleefully aimed his phaser rifle at Chakotay.

She took pleasure watching her captive’s eyes widen slightly as he realized she meant to go through with it. He was afraid now. She licked her lips. Good. Let your last moments be nothing but fear.

“It's too dangerous,” he said quickly. “There are too many variables.”

Seska smiled, enjoying his discomfort. He might pretend he was only worried about the ship but she knew better. She had seen too many others try to mask fear for their lives behind a façade of nobility. She wondered if she could make him admit it before he died. Continuing to key in new commands, she said, “You're not pleading for your life, are you?”

“I'm telling you, you're endangering your own life,” he insisted.

She nearly laughed out loud. Was this the best he could do? Wasn’t he man enough to fight for his life? Perhaps she had been wrong about him. “I’m touched by your concern.” There might be some fun in prolonging this, she thought. Maybe he’ll even grovel. Yes, I think I’ll make him beg.

______________________________________________________________________

Janeway, Engineering, Basics - Rocky

From the upper level of Engineering, Captain Janeway watched as Chakotay approached Seska and her band of Kazon. Chakotay had insisted he’d be able to get through to her, but based on what she’d heard about Seska, Janeway was more than a bit skeptical this would work. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him, but the Cardassian woman had the look and feel of a predator. Indulging Kim and Paris in their chit chat had distracted her somewhat but she had to focus on what was going on below, to track when intervention might be needed.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Tom Paris muttered at her side.

Harry Kim shot him a puzzled look, but Janeway heartily agreed. The news that Seska had once betrayed Chakotay’s trust made her very wary. Not that she thought Chakotay would be taken in by his former compatriot again, but because he had something to prove in persuading Seska, getting her to be on his side; he might even view it as a way of fixing his earlier mistakes with her.

Janeway also didn’t like the looks of the half dozen or so Kazon soldiers milling around the main Engineering floor. From the little she had seen, they seemed more like hired thugs than a cohesive group. The knowledge that Seska had used them to take over her ship and strand Voyager’s crew on a primitive planet did not endear them – or Seska - to her either.

Careful to keep out of sight behind the temporal barrier, she leaned forward to listen more closely.

"It's too dangerous. There are too many variables!" Chakotay said, as Seska pushed him away from the console.

"You're not pleading for your life, are you?" Seska said derisively as she keyed in a series of new commands.

"I'm telling you, you're endangering your own life!"

Shit. Any remaining hopes Janeway had of diplomacy winning the day vanished. “Do it,” she said tersely.

Without any hesitation, Paris and Kim cleared the railing and jumped down onto a pair of Kazon on the main Engineering floor immediately below. Though big and burly, the Kazon were taken utterly by surprise as the two Starfleet officers landed directly on them and wrested their weapons away. Though they were disarmed, the Kazon managed to regain their equilibrium and fought back.

Janeway, hoping to gain a tactical advantage, chose to descend in a more conventional manner via the open lift, using the greater vantage point to note the disposition of the other Kazon soldiers. She was aware it left her exposed, but gambled the risk was worth it.

Seska had turned at the sudden motion, and Chakotay managed to get free of her. He immediately went back to the console he’d been working at earlier, presumably trying to undo whatever Seska had done, and to finish setting up the pulse to restore the ship to a single timeline.

The young officers from Astrometrics, Icheb and Naomi, chose that moment to enter Engineering. Seska stood still, seemingly stunned at the sudden appearance of all these others. Naomi rapidly worked at another control panel and some consoles exploded directly in front of two more Kazon; Janeway wondered if this was meant to be a distraction. She couldn’t see where Icheb had gotten to.

Reflexively, Janeway caught a rifle Paris threw to her as she hopped off the lift and made her way toward Chakotay. The floor of Engineering was becoming more crowded as Torres and two other Maquis joined the fray. Out of the corner of her eye, Janeway saw Torres wrest a rifle away from a Kazon soldier. Her companion, a tall dark fellow Chakotay had earlier called “Ayala,” grabbed another Kazon and restrained him. Janeway fired at one who came a little too close to Chakotay and the panel he was working at. Just how many Kazon were there? Janeway had thought she’d seen a total of six, but in the melee she’d lost count.

She fired a shot off to her right, then halted, momentarily distracted at the sight of “that angry woman”, Torres, fighting tooth and nail. Janeway couldn’t stop thinking of the acrimony in Torres’ voice when she’d accused Janeway of stranding them all in the Delta Quadrant. And now, despite that, to see her join forces with the Starfleet officers to help their cause--

Janeway abruptly felt someone grab her from behind.

“Stop!” yelled Seska. She jabbed a weapon into Janeway’s neck, keeping the captain in front of her as a shield. “Put down your weapons.”

Conscious only of the point of the phaser pressing against her neck, Janeway felt rather than saw a Kazon snatching her rifle from her. She forced herself to calm down and not think that this could possibly be the last moments of her life. She purposely relaxed her muscles, wondering if that would cause Seska to ease up on her, even a little. But the Cardassian woman holding her hostage only tightened her iron grip.

Chakotay must have moved away from the panel, as Janeway became aware he was standing next to Kim, aiming a rifle point-blank at Seska.

“Don't listen to her,” Janeway called out defiantly. She was rewarded with a hard jab that made her gasp for breath.

Seska moved closer to Chakotay, keeping Janeway in front of her all the while. “Oh, your faithful first officer isn't going to let you die,” she said scornfully. Her voice rose sharply and she directed her next words to the commander. “Are you?”

Janeway gasped again as Seska suddenly dug the phaser further into her neck, as if she was trying to bore a hole through Voyager’s captain without pulling the trigger.

Slowly, Chakotay lowered his weapon. At the same time, Icheb handed his to one of the Kazon. Another rifle was taken from Torres.

Janeway refrained from closing her eyes in despair.

Seska glanced around at the tableau in Engineering, at all of the individuals from different time segments, as if she now understood what had so perplexed her moments earlier. “Very clever, Chakotay, inoculating them with your serum.” Her admiration almost sounded genuine, and then her voice regained its former harsh tones. “Now it's time to inoculate my people so we can have access to the rest of the ship.”

Chakotay’s eyes met Janeway’s as he said steadily, “I won't do that.”

“Then you just lost your Captain!” Seska shrieked.

______________________________________________________________________

Icheb, Engineering, Basics - Jamelia116

At that moment, the outer door to Engineering slid open. While Icheb knew the Kazon must have only seen an empty corridor at first, he saw Seven immediately. He was taken aback by the vision of a statuesque Borg drone bursting through the temporal barrier. Seska’s desperate phaser fire was absorbed by Seven’s Borg shielding; and in the space of a single breath Seven stepped up to the Cardassian, disarmed her, and clasped a Borg-enhanced hand roughly around Seska's neck. Seska stared at Seven as if stupefied--as well she might. Icheb knew Seska had been dead for some time before Voyager first encountered the Borg.

“Now drop your weapons,” Chakotay ordered. The stunned Kazon quickly complied.

An equally nonplussed Captain Janeway muttered “Thanks” to her Borg rescuer.

As the crew picked up the weapons and herded the bewildered Kazon to the center of the room, Seven assessed Seska, and in a few succinct words, proclaimed, "Species 2000. Cardassian. Worthy of assimilation if young enough to become one with the Collective. You are not young," she snarled, “and your judgement is flawed if you believe an alliance with an incompetent species like the Kazon could succeed. Their bodies may be strong, but their minds are weak. They are unworthy of assimilation."

Naomi whispered to Icheb, "This is the ‘Borg Lady’ that terrified me when she first came on board. Do you think she’ll destroy Seska and the Kazon?"

"Possibly. They're now irrelevant," he answered softly. Not softly enough, however, for Seven of Nine's head whipped around at the sound. Tossing the now-gasping Seska to the floor, where a livid Torres and grim Ayala roughly dragged her erect to stand between them, Seven strode over to the pair. Although Seven had always been the closest thing to a parent Icheb had ever had, this version shook him to the core. He understood how the very young Naomi could have been absolutely petrified at the sight of a Seven in full Borg regalia, as she was when she first arrived on Voyager.

Seven of Nine--he could not think of her as his Seven the way she looked now--stopped half an arm’s length from the couple and eyed them closely. She stared at the implant plate on the side of Icheb's nose for a full 4.7 seconds. Icheb half expected her to plunge her assimilation tubules into his neck and reassimilate him on the spot. The eyes of other drones he’d encountered were always a little out of focus, as if listening for the voice of the Hive mind and following its demands were as much as they could process all at once. Seven of Nine’s were filled with an implacable hostility towards individuality.

He had always wondered what she had been like before they met. Now he knew. This is what she had saved him from.

He heard Naomi sigh and felt her grab his hand when Seven of Nine swiveled on her heel and walked back to confront Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay. "My offer to assimilate your crew temporarily still stands, Captain Janeway. You would be able to restore the ship more efficiently. Reconsider."

"Thanks, but no thanks, Seven. I appreciate your...proposition, but I believe we’ll be able to complete the necessary repairs with our...available personnel." Icheb knew the captain was trying to be diplomatic in her refusal, but he could see she was more than a little uneasy--as well she should be. Icheb remembered enough about his days as Second in the Children's Collective to be unsure what the fully Borg drone might decide to do, now that the immediate danger from Seska and her Kazon followers had been terminated.

At that critical juncture, Icheb heard a Jefferies tube access hatch open behind Naomi and his location. He heard Naomi's sudden intake of breath as a pair of newcomers came into view. Fortunately, neither was a Kazon: the Ocampa female must be Kes, followed by a human male Icheb had not seen in almost seventeen years. There never had been any doubt that Lieutenant Joseph Carey had died all those years ago. Could this strange incident result in an alteration of history? Would it change Carey's fate?

"Have we missed all the fighting?" the engineer asked.

"I told you we needed to hurry," the Ocampa woman admonished lightly, although Icheb couldn't detect any degree of heat in her comment. He thought she was actually amused, perhaps even relieved to have missed the battle. The massive phaser rifle she was holding in her arms probably weighed at least half as much as she did.

The captain smiled quizzically at the lieutenant. "You may have missed the fighting, Mr. Carey, but you can help us put things to rights so we all can return to when we each belong. And while you’re doing that, perhaps you or Kes can explain how you both happened to get here. I don’t recall giving an inoculation to either of you!"

______________________________________________________________________

Carey, Engineering, Basics - Seema

As they approached the hatch, Joe Carey couldn’t push back the sense of deja vu which washed over him; this was the exact spot in which he’d crawled into the Jefferies tube in an attempt to prevent a thermal overload just a few hours previously. Now it seemed he’d be coming to the rescue in another way. He glanced over his shoulder to see Kes just a meter or so behind him.

“You ready?” he asked.

She nodded at him, showing him the weapon they had retrieved from the locker on Deck 10 was powered on. Joe checked the settings on his own and then kicked the hatch door open. He scrambled out just in time to see a Klingon woman wheel back and slam her fist into a Cardassian woman’s face. Blood dripped from the Cardassian’s nose. In fury, the Cardassian woman lurched forward, but the Klingon nimbly dodged the blow and with a quick flick of her leg, brought the Cardassian to her knees.

Emerging from the tube, Joe tried to make sense of the tableau in front of him. "Have we missed all the fighting?" he asked. He could see uniformed Starfleet officers congregating, rifles aimed at five aliens of a species he’d never seen before. These must be the Kazon Kes had told him about.

"I told you we needed to hurry," Kes answered.

From off to the side, where she was just outside of his field of vision, Captain Janeway said, "You may have missed the fighting, Mr. Carey, but you can help us put things to rights so we all can return to when we belong." With a curt nod, she said, “Please help Ms. Torres secure the prisoners.” And without waiting for an answer, the captain walked away.

Joe took a step forward. The rifle was heavy in his hand. There was quite a bit of commotion as it seemed that some of the Starfleet officers, along with a few in civilian clothing, were herding the Kazon in his direction. His attention, however, was diverted when the Klingon roughly yanked the Cardassian’s arm.

“Get up!” the Klingon ordered, waving her rifle towards the Cardassian. “You! Who are you?”

With a start, Joe realized she was addressing him. “I’m Joe Carey--”

“Hello, B’Elanna!” Kes called out.

The Klingon woman started. “You know me.”

“Yes, I do,” Kes said, and then she gasped. “Ayala! Look out!” The warning was enough for the tall, dark-haired man behind the woman named B’Elanna to swing into action, his arm catching one of the lunging Kazon in the chest. The impact of the blow sent the Kazon backwards against the wall. The Cardassian woman’s lip curled in disdain. B’Elanna grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back; the Cardassian did not react. Swiftly, Kes crossed the width of the room, with Joe behind her; both of them kept their rifles trained on the prisoners.

“What should we do with them?” B’Elanna said. “We’ve got to put them somewhere.”

“But where?” Carey asked, surveying his surroundings. “We need someplace where we can get them out of the way, keep them contained, but not let them access anything vital.” Engineering hadn’t changed much since his time frame, but nothing obvious stood out as a potential prison.

As he was evaluating the options, his eye caught a flash of black armor. Pale, mottled skin. Grey tubes and metallic implants. A Borg? Aboard Voyager? Next to him, Kes seemed startled.

As the Borg turned toward Carey, there was something in its organic eye that caught Carey’s attention. He had seen that shade of blue before. And before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “Anna? Anna Jameson?”

“That designation is unknown to us,” the Borg told him coolly.

B’Elanna waved her rifle impatiently. “Well? Got any ideas?”

“I’m still thinking,” Joe said. With difficulty, he pulled his gaze away from the Borg. He was sure that was Anna Jameson who had been part of the EPS manifold repair team in his time frame. She’d clearly become a permanent member of Voyager’s crew and then assimilated but then rescued, similar to what had happened to his previous captain, Picard.

“Put them in the Jefferies tube!” Kes suggested. “The temporal barriers will keep them from accessing the rest of the ship.”

B’Elanna signalled acceptance of the idea and pushed the butt of her weapon hard against the Cardassian’s back. The woman stumbled but quickly righted herself. Joe followed, his hand clamped on the Kazon’s forearm, while the man called Ayala pushed the rest of the prisoners forward. Kes held the hatch door open.

“Get in,” B’Elanna said roughly.

Carey and Ayala used their bodies to block off the Kazon from trying to escape. The Cardassian allowed herself to be shoved forward, but took a long last look at B’Elanna.

“We used to be friends, you know,” the woman said. “Good friends.”

“I would never be friends with a Cardassian,” B’Elanna hissed back. “You betrayed us, Seska, and I will never forgive you for this.” Between gritted teeth, B’Elanna repeated, “Get in.”

Seska got in, and then Ayala pushed a Kazon prisoner in behind her while B’Elanna kept a wary eye on the others. Joe prodded the next Kazon into the tubes with a rough prod of his rifle in the alien’s back. When the last one was in, Kes was about to slam the hatch close but Joe stopped her.

“Someone has to guard them,” he said.

“They can’t go anywhere,” Kes reminded him.

“Yes, but we can’t just leave them in there without supervision.” He’d spent enough hours in those tubes to know just how much damage the Kazon could do by accessing critical systems.

“He’s right,” B’Elanna said. “If they get out while we’re implementing the fix for the temporal flux, I have no doubt they will attempt to sabotage our efforts.”

“All non-essential personnel must return to their original locations when the ship fragmented,” the Borg said in a monotone.

“That decides it then. I was in the Jefferies tube when Voyager was impacted,” Joe said. “I’m the obvious person to guard them.”

“I’ll keep an eye on the prisoners while you get in so the rest of you can get to where you need to,” Kes said quickly. At Joe’s surprised look, she gave a little shrug and said, “You’ll find that I’ve got a pretty good aim when it comes to firing a rifle.”

“But what about returning to where you were when--?” Joe asked.

Kes smiled. “Don’t worry, I know some shortcuts on this ship,” she said, indicating another Jefferies tube hatch on the opposite wall. “I’ll make it back to Sickbay with no problem,” she said. “Besides, Kazon are unpredictable, not to mention Seska always has a trick or two up her sleeve. You might need my help.”

Joe cradled his rifle as he went in while Kes and Ayala kept their weapons trained on the prisoners. Joe squirmed into a position where he could keep a sharp eye on the prisoners. B’Elanna peeked in and was about to shut the door when Joe held up his hand to forestall the action.

“In case I don’t get the opportunity to witness it again, I just want to tell you that you have a mean right hook,” Joe said.

“Thanks,” B’Elanna said. And she shut the door with a resounding thud.

______________________________________________________________________

Harry Kim, Engineering, Basics - zakhad

Harry felt a little unsteady on his feet; he was breathing hard, trying to recover from the struggle with the Kazon and from the overwhelming smell of them. Like a bad case of athlete’s foot. He had time now to glance around -- he had no idea who the young couple near the door were, hadn’t understood why there was a Cardassian aboard at all. Chakotay waited with Janeway, and Tom Paris stood to one side smirking. The Borg woman stood apart from everyone.

Was that the Borg lady Tom had mentioned? Really sexy was not the way he’d describe her! He cringed inside just thinking about going any closer to her, let alone making friends. She glared around Engineering as if the feeling were mutual.

At that point, the Klingon woman, who he assumed was Maquis based on her clothing, spoke. “Seska and the Kazon are secure in the Jefferies Tube.” Harry thought she sounded quite satisfied. “What’s the status of the last gel packs?”

Chakotay nodded. “They’re ready.”

That was it, then. The time had come to take the final steps to restore the ship.

The captain stepped forward. She stood tall and strong, and turned slowly to look at each person gathered there, her motley crew made up of people from so many pieces of Voyager’s future. “The rest of us should return to our sections. After Chakotay initiates the warp pulse, he should find himself at the moment Voyager encountered the chrono-kinetic surge. He’s only going to have a few seconds to reset the deflector polarity. If the timeline is restored, the rest of us should have no memory of what’s happened here. So I’d like to thank you now for putting your doubts aside,” she looked at Chakotay, “and helping me put mine aside as well. Good luck to you all.”

Harry glanced around, smiling, and saw he wasn’t the only one. One and all, the people who had helped re-take Engineering were satisfied with the outcome, and no one seemed to doubt that the fix would succeed. It was obvious that the captain and the Maquis leader made an effective team, regardless of the rocky start of this adventure. Chakotay nodded, then turned toward the warp core.

Paris sidled over and clapped a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Better get back to the bridge. I have to get to the Mess Hall, which is on the way -- let’s go.”

Harry walked with him toward the door, falling in with the rest of the people following Janeway’s orders, moving slowly to let the Borg leave well before them. He leaned a little toward Paris and muttered, “I am not making friends with a Borg!”

Paris chuckled, and gave a dismissive shake of his head. “We’ll see,” he replied, grinning.

Chapter Text

Timeline: Present

Out in the corridor, Tom Paris caught a glimpse of B’Elanna Torres striding purposely towards the turbolift. There was a vitality in her step, reminiscent of her Maquis days when she practically bristled with an angry passion that demonstrated her dedication to the cause. It was a mood that Tom hadn’t seen from her in years, and it was a good reminder now of the person she’d once been.  Tom quickened his step, conscious that he was leaving Harry behind, but he didn’t care. It was good to see her finally, even if this version wasn’t his B’Elanna. Yet, he told himself.

He finally caught up to B’Elanna and Ayala as they stood waiting for the turbolift. He paused, taking in her dark red patterned shirt underneath a leather vest, her tight-fitting pants, and those knee-high leather boots. Once, B’Elanna’s Maquis garb had been a symbol of rebellion; now, based on the teamwork they had all exhibited in Engineering, he saw it as a promise for the future yet to come. B’Elanna’s dark eyes sparked as his gaze met hers.

“What are you looking at?” she asked sharply.

It took only a second to reorient himself to the fact that this was the B’Elanna who had treated him with disdain in the Maquis and who only months into their journey into the DQ, had called him a ‘pig.’ “You,” he said honestly. “I’m looking at you.”

His response seemed to disarm her. B’Elanna shifted from foot to foot. “You probably expect me to thank you for saving me down on Ocampa.”

Tom just smiled. In retrospect, he knew it wasn’t just B’Elanna he had saved; that moment when he’d pulled her out of the underground tunnels was the moment his new life had begun. He just hadn’t known it at the time. “I’m just glad you’re okay,” he said, his voice catching just slightly at the back of his throat.

B’Elanna’s eyes narrowed as she contemplated the comment. Finally, she said, “I guess I’ll see you around, Paris,” as the turbolift doors opened. She followed Ayala in, and seemed a bit surprised when Tom and Harry crowded in after them. B’Elanna didn’t meet his eyes as they gave the computer the commands for the respective locations they were to return to. Tom pressed back against the wall as the lift lurched upwards, the fingers on his right hand twisting the ring on his left hand. It was an action that didn’t go unnoticed by Harry, whose eyes widened in realization as he looked first from Tom and then to B’Elanna.

“Oh,” Harry said with a chuckle, “I get it.”

B’Elanna didn’t bother to hide her irritation. “Get what?”

Tom couldn’t help a little bit of a smile. To hell with the temporal prime directive . “Eventually,” he said, “our opinion of each other will change. For the better.”

B’Elanna considered what Tom said. “If Chakotay’s plan works…”

“It will work,” Tom said. “It’s got to.”  The alternative was daunting, to say the least. Would Voyager be destroyed? Or would they end up permanently locked in one of the other 36 timelines? It was a lot to consider, and he decided he didn’t want to think about it. “After all, who wants to be stuck on a ship with a bunch of Kazon and Borg for the next fifty years?”

Harry blanched at that description. “When you put it that way…”

The turbolift lurched to a stop at deck 4. Tom reached out, placed his hand on B’Elanna’s forearm. It was risky, he knew, but he couldn’t resist. This might be his last opportunity to connect with her. And he was grateful when she paused, turned to look at him, her dark eyes filled with curiosity as she took in the gold band on his ring finger.

“So, in the future,” she said quietly.

“Yeah,” Tom answered. “Happily ever after.”

The comment seemed to take B’Elanna by surprise. “Really? A petaQ like you?”

“Yeah. A petaQ like me. Lucky me.”

B’Elanna gaped and Tom took the opportunity to run his thumb lightly along the curve of her jaw.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said softly. “You’d better go.”

The doors closed, and Tom leaned back against the turbolift wall. “Yeah,” he said to Harry, “You guessed it. I’m going to marry that woman.” As the turbolift continued its downward path, he closed his eyes as if to keep the memory of B’Elanna’s face fresh in his mind. When the timeline was restored, and all was well, he would ask B’Elanna if she still had those boots and if so, could she pair them with that black lace nightgown for him tonight?

Chapter Text

Before Kathryn thanked and dismissed her crew, she’d taken a moment to look at each of them one more time. Earlier, Chakotay had told her that she was seeing only bits and pieces of the future. He was right. She could grasp it now: how this disparate group would be able to come together, united in a common cause, and able to accomplish the near-impossible by sheer dint of determination. They would be a single crew, one that would look to her for leadership, with Chakotay to support her.

And that, she realized, is how they would survive the death trap otherwise known as the Delta Quadrant. If they represented the future of Voyager, there was surely a great deal of good in it. That was what Chakotay had been trying to tell her most of the day. Gratitude warmed her heart as she thanked them all and encouraged them to return to where they had been immediately after the fracture occurred.

They nodded and struck out from Engineering, heading in various directions, in twos and threes. She started to follow, but stopped mid-stride. It had been a surreal day, and despite being cognizant of the Temporal Prime Directive, she’d nonetheless learned quite a bit about her possible future on Voyager. The people she’d encountered in different segments of time all knew her, some clearly regarding her favorably, others less so. She thought again of the trust so many had given her, their confidence in her ability to do the right thing, make everything right once more. None had guessed that she was equally adrift in this temporal fluidity - but fortunately, with someone that she, too, could place her trust in and depend on. One man, whom her orders from Starfleet declared an adversary, but from her experiences today felt more like an ally.

Her curiosity had been building all day. Now it was like an itch that demanded attention and she had only this last chance to scratch it. She turned around and walked back to Chakotay as he headed for the warp core. He paused as she approached.

“Mind if I ask you one last question?” she asked quietly.

He resumed walking as he said, “Will I have to break the Temporal Prime Directive to answer it?” She wasn’t sure, but she had the feeling he was trying to hold back a smile.

They reached the rail that surrounded the warp core and stopped. She realized she was suddenly nervous. Did she really want the answer to this question? It wasn’t as if she was going to remember it. So what was the point?

Maybe there was no point, but she wanted to know anyway. “Maybe. Just a little.”

He looked at her expectantly and suddenly she found she couldn’t meet his eyes. It seemed too dangerous to connect with his gaze, as if something might happen that she wasn’t ready for. Her hands began to fidget, and she looked down at them as if they belonged to someone else. Her heart thundered in her chest, so loudly she wondered if he could hear it. She took a quick breath. “For two people who started off as enemies, it seems we get to know each other pretty well.”

Well enough for her to loan him her Dante, the symbol of her relationship with Mark. Her fiance, whom she loved deeply and had parted from just a short time before, whom she had every intention of marrying upon her return. But if what Chakotay had been telling her was true - and she’d come to believe him even before the ever-mounting pile of evidence left her no other choice - that wasn’t going to happen. Somehow, Voyager would end up stranded in the Delta Quadrant, far away from all that was familiar. A life without Mark - it was unthinkable, from where she stood now.

And yet - she couldn’t help but wonder just what her relationship with Chakotay would be in this nebulous future he came from, seven years from now. Something about Seska’s voice when she called him her “faithful first officer” had implied something more than a purely professional relationship. For the first time, she allowed herself to consider the implications.

When they’d disagreed, Chakotay knew exactly what to say and how to say it to persuade her, and very few people had ever managed that before. They worked together smoothly, like a team of long standing instead of acquaintances of just a few hours. He had not only shown deep loyalty to her, but he had always respected her rank, deferring to her leadership even though he was the only one who fully understood the situation. And he’d tried to protect her from the knowledge that her decision was responsible for stranding them in the Delta Quadrant. Instead, he pointed out they’d both made difficult command decisions, with regrettable consequences. He’d quickly come to feel like a friend, one who knew her deeply, on so many levels.

And, if she was honest with herself, she felt more than a little attraction to him. It seemed a bit unfair to Mark even to acknowledge that, but this was not the time for anything less than total honesty. And still being honest, she sensed that the attraction was reciprocal.

“So I’ve been wondering,” she went on, and finally found the courage to look him in the eye. “Just how close do we get?”

Now he was the one who couldn’t look at her directly. His eyes dropped and he seemed slow to answer. Tension started to build between them, and her heart began to pound even faster. “Let’s just say,” he began slowly, and she realized he was choosing his words with great care, “there are some barriers we never cross.”

Her first reaction was shocked surprise, and yes, disappointment as well. He was telling her they had never been lovers, and for some reason that surprised her. Seven years in the Delta Quadrant, yet such a deep friendship remained purely platonic? That was a little sad, somehow; it felt like a waste of potential. Then she realized that meant she’d remain faithful to Mark, at least physically, and that of course was a relief. Wasn’t it? Why did she feel so conflicted?

Chakotay’s answer only raised more questions, but there was no time to seek for answers. And no point to it, either, since she wouldn’t remember his response later. A little ruefully, she held out her hand. He gripped it warmly and for the second time that day, shook it. Perhaps this time they held on a little longer than normal, but after all, this was a kind of goodbye. They smiled at each other, and she said, “See you in the future.”

As she left Engineering, she thought that the future was going to be very interesting, indeed. Very interesting and very complicated.

Chapter Text

When B’Elanna arrived in Engineering that evening, after spending a very pleasant interlude with her husband, Joe Carey was waiting for her. He provided her with a detailed listing of the Beta shift issues, most of which were minor and easily resolved.

“Thanks. Sorry I’m late,” B’Elanna apologized as she took the PADD from Carey. 

Carey waved off her comment. “You worked a double shift. You deserve a little extra R&R. Besides, it’s been pretty quiet here.” Carey turned to leave, but then he paused. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a look at junction J-7 in Jefferies tube 31. I was getting some odd readings earlier and would like to investigate them myself. I’m sure it’s nothing, but,” he shrugged his shoulders, “better safe than sorry.”

B’Elanna nodded. Carey was Starfleet through and through. Even after all of these years in the Delta Quadrant, Carey still operated by the book and didn’t let a variance of any kind escape his attention. It did cross B’Elanna’s mind that Carey spent a little too much time in Engineering. What did he do for fun anyway? But then again, before her marriage, she was guilty of the same, wasn’t she? It was much different when you had someone to go home to. All she said to Carey, however, was, “That sounds great. Keep me informed.”

She watched Carey exit Engineering and immediately turned to the most pressing matter on the list: a plasma relay that seemed to be intermittently overheating. The likely culprit was probably a clogged vent, or possibly a misaligned circuit. Both issues would require manual intervention.

She was about to assign Freddy Bristow to the problem when the entire ship shuddered. B’Elanna grabbed the railing surrounding the warp core to brace herself as Voyager convulsed one more time.

“Report!” she called out.

Susan Nicoletti yelled from a nearby station, “‘The inertial dampers are overloading!” 

Stumbling towards her, B’Elanna asked, “Reason?”

Nicoletti shook her head. “Unknown…” her fingers ran across the LCARS panel quickly. “I’m picking up a massive wave--”

“Torres to the Bridge.”

Harry’s voice crackled to the comm. “Looks like we got hit by some kind of gravimetric surge--”

B’Elanna stared down at the console. The gravimetric surge was sending spikes of energy throughout the ship, and the systems analysis indicated a wide variety of operational functions had already been adversely affected. B’Elanna took over the panel from Nicoletti. 

“I’m reading a spike in the warp containment field!” B’Elanna called out. “‘Sue--”

“I’m on it!” Nicoletti called back, racing towards the core. 

Chakotay suddenly appeared in Engineering and ordered, "Reroute main power to the deflector, and set the polarity to the frequency I'm inputting."

"Why?" she asked.

The first officer turned to her and said, "Have you ever heard of a lightning rod? In about three seconds, we're going to need one."

He certainly sounds like he knows what he's doing, B'Elanna thought to herself, as she quickly implemented the change in the polarity setting. She'd barely taken her hand off the control when the entire ship shuddered. A cacophony of alarms went off as almost all the lights in Engineering went out for several seconds. Thanks to the blue shimmer of light from the warp core, which was now glowing steadily, Torres knew Nicoletti must have stabilized it before Chakotay’s “lightning rod” did its work.  B'Elanna would have to remember to compliment Sue when the conditions in Engineering had returned to a semblance of normal. 

As the first wave of reports came in from her department, she was relieved to hear nothing critical seemed to have been seriously damaged--other than to Chakotay's "lightning rod." B'Elanna cast a critical eye at the commander, waiting for an explanation. But none was forthcoming; Chakotay lingered in the vicinity just long enough to hear her assign Vorik and Nicoletti to lead a work crew down to the deflector dish to begin repairs.

"I'll be needed on the Bridge," he said as he left hurriedly.

"I should think so," B'Elanna responded dryly. Intraship communications were still down.

Fortunately, it only took a few minutes to get them up again. B'Elanna could have predicted which message in the queue would be first: the one which originated from Plasma Sublimation Control Room 007 on Deck 15.

"What the hell just happened?" Mortimer Harren demanded to know.

"We've had a...glitch," she replied. "What's the status of the plasma flow?"

"Stable now, but I was going crazy for the last couple of minutes. The flow rate was fluctuating constantly, and the temperatures were well outside of the range of the titanium casing. If it hadn’t been for my quick action, chemical degradation would have likely occurred, leading to detrimental cracking in the conduits and thermal attack across key systems. But I was able to compensate for the increased flow by..."

"Got it. We were lucky you were there instead of someone with lesser ability. But now we need your services elsewhere."

"You promised me a quiet night down here, Lieutenant. I've been working everywhere else in Engineering for the past two weeks!" he exclaimed indignantly.

B'Elanna sighed in exasperation. "You can work on your arcane theories another night, Harren. I'm sending Freddy Bristow down to babysit your station. I need your expertise repairing that deflector dish."

"What? Not again!" Harren groaned. "What wrecked it this time?"

"I haven’t the slightest idea," B'Elanna said. As she closed the connection, she wondered, And what did we need that lightning rod for, anyway?

Chapter Text

"After Chakotay initiates the warp pulse, he should find himself back at the moment Voyager encountered the chrono-kinetic surge. He's only going to have a few seconds to reset the deflector polarity. If the timeline is restored, the rest of us should have no memory of what's happened here. So I'd like to thank you now for putting your doubts aside, and helping me put mine aside as well. Good luck to each of you."

Naomi had to fend off an almost overwhelming urge to run up to Captain Janeway and embrace her. The captain and Chakotay looked the same as they did seventeen years ago, just before their lives were terminated by that chrono-kinetic surge. Almost an overwhelming urge. She was no longer the five-year-old who aspired to be the Captain's Bridge Assistant; she was a mature woman, fully capable of controlling herself and acting appropriately, even in stressful situations.

Besides, Icheb was standing next to her. He'd have grabbed her to make sure she followed Starfleet protocol towards senior officers. She managed to contain herself.

Instead, she surveyed the other members of their little commando group: Seven of Nine, still the frightening "SpokesBorg" of Voyager's short-lived, ill-fated alliance with the Collective, before she became Naomi's close friend; Harry Kim, at this point in his life, a very green ensign who was younger than Naomi was in her own timeline, but even then a competent officer; B'Elanna Torres and Michael Ayala, when they were still Maquis (dressed in very attractive leather outfits); and last, but certainly not least, Captain Paris, when he was much younger, with a hairline a lot lower on his forehead than it was the last time she'd seen him, before Voyager was fractured into thirty-seven time zones.

The short tour of her companions as they were here, on this version of Voyager's Main Engineering, accomplished what she'd meant it to do. The young lieutenant’s only farewell to her once and, in her heart, still Naomi’s captain was a simple nod of the head. Icheb touched her wrist to indicate their path homeward, to their own Voyager, which existed in a section of the ship that had experienced life in the Delta Quadrant for twenty-three years--and counting.

As they approached the Jeffries tube where Lieutenant Carey was guarding Seska and her Kazon allies, she whispered, "I’ve heard a lot of stories about Seska, Icheb. I was just a couple of months old when she banished the crew to Hanon IV. My mom never told me how bad it was there, but I’ve read the logs. I almost died! Seska had just had a baby herself, but she had no qualms at marooning someone else’s baby. I’m sure she expected me to die! Now that I’ve actually seen her in action, she really is a heartless b...well, she’s heartless. I’m sorry that her son was left motherless, but I’m not sorry that she died when Captain Paris--Lieutenant Paris, that is--took back the ship with Uncle Neelix’s Talaxian friends."

Icheb nodded his head and led her to a hatch much farther down, after they’d passed through another temporal barrier. According to their habit, Icheb climbed in first. In their own time, some spots in their oft-repaired ship had gaps that were awkward for her to traverse unless he stretched out a helpful arm for her to grab. As they climbed, they passed through three more temporal barriers during their relatively short trip from Deck 11 up to Deck 8. Every time they slipped past one of those flashes of light, marking the terminus between one time period and another, Naomi wondered what year in the ship's long history that segment represented. Was each a discrete chunk of time, or did some zones splinter and twist through many decks and sections of Voyager? If they'd had enough time, they could have visited a few, reliving memories of other stages in the lives of Icheb and Naomi Wildman.

But they didn't have the time. They weren’t sure they had to return to their own temporal period before the commander initiated the warp core pulse that--hopefully--would bring him back to his time. That had seemed to be the safest course of action; but with so many variables, and when any misstep might endanger the lives of both Captain Janeway and Chakotay, they were in a rush to get back to Astrometrics before he triggered it.

Once they arrived at Deck 9, they had to travel in the horizontal tube, past a couple of other sections, before they reached the ladder that would take them to the access port in Astrometrics. As they walked up to the ladder, Naomi said to Icheb, "The captain was still in Engineering with Chakotay when we left. I wonder what they were talking about?"

"They probably wanted to give the rest of us enough time to get to where we're supposed to be before the attempt to send the commander back to his time."

"I'm glad we only had to go up three decks. The captain and Harry will have to climb all the way up to Deck 1."

“I’m sure they’re taking the turbolift,” Icheb answered. “We probably could have, too.”

“Of course,” Naomi laughed. “But this is more fun, though, isn’t it, Icheb?” Her husband was about to put his foot on the first rung of the ladder when she added, "Wasn't it good to see them again, Icheb? And Lieutenant Carey and Ayala, too? Alive and well! I've missed them so much."

He looked over his shoulder at her. "I've missed them, too, Naomi. Seeing the captain and commander together again, it's like it should always have been. If this plan works, I hope they'll be alive and whole in another timeline, even though we won't have them here with us." He began to climb up the ladder that opened into Astrometrics, with Naomi following closely behind. Halfway up the ladder, they passed through another temporal barrier. Astrometrics, where they'd been trapped until the captain and commander administered the serum that allowed them to cross between time zones, must have been its own little island inside the ship.

As she crawled through the access port, Naomi extended her hand, and Icheb pulled her out of the port and into his arms. After the climb through the arteries of the ship, she enjoyed the feel of his arms encircling her so tightly. "This isn't according to service duty protocol, Lieutenant Commander Icheb," she murmured into his shoulder, and glanced up at his eyes, with a smile upon her lips.

He didn't return her smile. "Do you understand, Naomi? If the commander succeeds in returning to his time several seconds before the wave hit the ship, he might prevent the temporal fracturing from ever happening. This whole timeline will disappear. Who knows if we'll ever find each other in another timeline, in another future? This moment may be the last one we'll ever have to be with each other."

"We've been together lots, Icheb. Just this morning..." That morning, after they'd made love, they'd talked about whether it was time to go to the Doctor to initiate the procedure to conceive a child. After all, they'd been married for two years, and Icheb had finally agreed it was time. He’d been sure they'd be able to make any genetic modifications that might be necessary to become the parents of a Brunali-Ktarian-human child. Captain Paris certainly wouldn't have any objections to gaining a prospective crew member, particularly one with a Ktarian heritage, which would likely have had an accelerated growth rate.

And then Seven had walked out of the door of Astrometrics this morning, and nothing was the same.

"Yes, and if this timeline is extinguished, that morning, and all our other mornings, afternoons, and evenings, won't have happened."

"I believe they would have happened. We were fated to be together, Icheb, in any timeline there could be. What were the odds we'd have even found each other? You, a Brunali from one end of the galaxy, and me, a human/Ktarian from the other side. Yet here we are, together, in the Delta Quadrant. And we met long before that chrono-kinetic wave hit us."

"You seem very sure of that, Naomi. I hope you're right." He closed his eyes briefly. His brow furrowed in pain and he sighed before opening his eyes again and gazing down at her. The trust, love, and faith that they'd always have each other shone out of his eyes. Windows to the soul, it was said. She knew her soul was precious to him. He'd do anything he could to keep her safe. But this? They'd already done all they could, and now they could only wait to see if what they'd done would save Voyager from destruction. As hard as it was to face the fact that if the commander succeeded their last seventeen years together would proceed very differently from what they now knew, if Chakotay wasn't successful in changing history, it could be even worse. How long could this ship hold together, divvied up into thirty-seven different timelines? They’d never understood how it had in their own timeline, when, from the survivor’s perspective, the ship had been terribly damaged but all within one time frame. Now they had the answer: the ship had been held together through the actions of those other temporal segments for Captain Paris’s crew to repair the ship well enough to keep it whole as it flew on into the future. Their future.

It wouldn't be long now. Either their memories would be blotted out, but they'd still be here, working in Astrometrics on the course mapping project Captain Paris had asked them to complete, or--or what? Nothingness? Death?

At least they were here together, Voyager's second officer, Lieutenant Commander Icheb, who had brought the assignment this morning, and the second in command of Astrometrics, Lieutenant Naomi Wildman. No one else was here to see them. There was no need to hold back. It wouldn't be a public display of affection--not by a long shot! As he pulled her as close to him as possible, he was sure this would be a very private moment. And if she was right, and the procedure didn't result in their own timeline's obliteration--well, let someone come through that door and catch them! It would be a moment of embarrassment, but they were married, after all. And they'd still be together.

He bent down and covered her lips with his. He felt like he was falling into her, like they were merging into one body. If only they had time to really merge, to do it right...

There was a flash of light...

Lieutenant Commander Naomi Wildman had been off duty all day. Tonight was going to be special. Today was their fifth wedding anniversary, and she had everything planned. Real champagne, not the syntheholic stuff. The hypospray filled with alcohol-metabolizing serum was all made up and placed next to the vase, ready to be used if necessary. She didn't want her husband to collapse after dinner, which he could do if he had more than half a glass of champagne. His nanoprobes usually needed a little boost on the rare occasions he decided to indulge. And she had plans for this evening! Romance was in the air! No falling into a stupor tonight!

Soft music floated through the air. The replicator was all set up for dinner. The table was set with their best glassware, flatware, and dishes. The coverlet on the bed was turned down. The only item still on her list of things to do was to slip into something a little more comfy, and...

The door slid open. "You're early!" she exclaimed.

"The captain knows what day it is. She told me I could leave ahead of schedule. I'll make it up tomorrow, whether she wants me to or not."

"I'm not quite ready. I was going to change into something a little more...enticing."

"No need to change your outfit. I love the way you look, just as you are."

"Flatterer. I suppose you were talking to Tom today, and he was sharing all sorts of romantic lines he loves to use on B'Elanna."

"I don't need Commander Paris to teach me any romantic lines. Not when I've got you to inspire me."

Icheb came close enough to rub his hands over his wife's arms. She shivered a little, as she always did when he touched her oh-so-softly like that. Icheb was romantic in his own way, although not in many words. But that didn't matter now. "So, how was your day?"

"Okay. But tonight's going to be better."

Naomi laughed and threw her arms around her Icheb's  neck as he drew her into his embrace. They began to kiss, slowly at first, and then with greater intensity. Naomi thought her marriage sometimes felt more like a wild affair whenever they had the chance to show how much they loved each other. Icheb said they were soul mates who, quite miraculously, had discovered each other in the depths of the Delta Quadrant. "Childhood sweethearts," people said of them, and Naomi Wildman had to admit this was true. She'd always believed their love was meant to be.

Tonight, however, her plans for her anniversary celebration were accelerating a bit faster than she'd like. Time to get back on schedule.

"I think we should enjoy a bit of that special dinner before we get too involved to eat. I spent all day cooking. It was almost like I was back in Uncle Neelix's kitchen."

"Cooking in a kitchen all day? Since when?!" Icheb laughed.

"Well, in my mind I was cooking--with a little help from our replicator. C'mon. Let's eat. Food." She took him by the hand and led him to his place at the table.

"Just food?" he asked, with a twinkle in his eye.

"Well, maybe a little bubbly with the food. And then we can move on to other activities later on..." She tilted her eyebrow in imitation of her mother-in-law's favorite, always pertinent expression.

"Bubbly it is," Icheb said and reached for the bottle chilling next to the dining table.

Just as Icheb popped the cork on the champagne bottle, right before he poured a healthy amount of the bubbling liquid into her glass and a very small amount into his, a quick flash of light brightened both their faces. So intent were they upon the pouring of the wine into the glasses they were about to raise in to toast each other, neither of them noticed. Here in their quarters on Deep Space Seventeen, they were enjoying a very special and private celebration, just one of many Icheb and Naomi Wildman would share throughout their long and happy marriage.

And really, there was no reason that little flash of light should matter to them. They couldn’t remember the other time that particular quality of light meant something. Only Admiral Chakotay retained his memories connected to that flash, which was just like one emitted by a warp core pulse--the one he'd initiated seventeen years before on Deck 11, to be exact.

As Commander Chakotay had said to Captain Janeway on the Bridge, on a Voyager that once again existed in only one time frame (in response to her query about the reason he'd ruined the ship's deflector dish): "I can't tell you, Kathryn. Temporal Prime Directive."

Who would have believed him if he tried?

Chapter Text

Time Period: The Present

Harry sat in the command chair on the bridge, watching the nebula on the main viewer, waiting for another sensor sweep to give him results. He heard the turbolift open and glanced over his shoulder. Captain Janeway strode onto the bridge and stopped at the rail, taking a long look at the image on the screen. “What is it?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Harry said, then frowned as he checked the readouts on the monitor set into the arm of the chair. “Main power is being rerouted to the deflector dish.”

“Who gave that order?” the captain snapped, but before anyone could answer, a wave of light erupted from the anomaly, engulfing Voyager. The ship rocked again, and the main lights went out.

Harry waited as the ship settled and readouts returned to normal. Baytart was working at the helm to get them stabilized. There’d been a time when this sort of situation, rife with unknowns, might have shaken him up. But they’d always made it through. Whether they had all the answers or not, as long as they stuck together and kept working as a team, Voyager always resumed course for home at the end of each adventure. Every time they came close to destruction, cool heads and rational decisions prevailed, so he’d learned from the captain to just deal with the crisis as it came. He watched energy levels fluctuate and level off.

“Damage?” the Captain called out.

“The deflector dish has been burned out,” Harry said, “but otherwise we’re okay.” As if to prove the point, main power returned as soon as he finished speaking. He stood up, ceding command to his captain without further delay. Back when he’d come aboard, he’d have leaped out of the chair the instant Janeway came on the bridge. How far he had come.

The captain came down from the back of the bridge as he moved to his station, glancing across the details coming up on the console. “Engineering reports that the deflector dish is completely fried.”

Janeway looked at him. “Is that the technical terminology?”

Harry smiled. The captain’s wry amusement didn’t give him a second of concern. “Straight from the Chief Engineer herself.”

The turbolift doors opened and Commander Chakotay walked out. Janeway turned to him immediately. “Do you mind telling me why B’Elanna burned out the deflector dish?”

Chakotay’s smirk told Harry that things were fine. He’d be much less relaxed if they weren’t. “Actually, I ordered her to do it.”

The captain sat looking up at her first officer, waited for an explanation, but when the Commander remained silent, she said, “Do you mind telling me why?”

“Trust me,” the commander said. “It was better than the alternative.”

Harry could see the captain’s head come up ever so slightly as she contained her impatience. “Which was what, exactly?”

“I can’t tell you.”

Captain Janeway stared at her first officer. “Why not?”

The commander actually smiled as he said, “Temporal Prime Directive.”

Harry suppressed his grin and busied himself with a detailed review of ship’s systems status. Chakotay was too smooth. The betting pool about the captain and commander would be busy again.

“B’Elanna’s got a team working on repairs,” Chakotay went on. “What do you say we finish our dinner?”

Harry looked up again, watching them openly; Janeway stood up again with a nod. Without so much as a backward glance at Harry she started for the turbolift. The commander turned and walked with her, close but not touching her, and hesitated to let her go in first.

It had been a long and interesting seven years, watching those two vacillate -- it seemed they might be moving into a closer orbit than before. Maybe… just maybe, he might finally put a few replicator rations into that betting pool.

After the doors closed behind them, Harry moved back down to the command chair, sat down, and glanced at the helm.

“Let’s get going,” he told Pablo.

“Aye, sir,” Pablo Baytart said. “Resuming course, best possible speed.”

After they were a safe distance from the anomaly, Baytart swung around in his seat to face Harry. “So,” he said slowly, “Something obviously happened. Somewhere. Some when. And I wasn’t there, again.” He sighed. “You may be the most experienced ensign in Starfleet, but nothing ever happens to me.”

Harry chuckled. Baytart was right about one thing; something had happened, and he wondered if he would ever get the full story on the burnt-out deflector dish. No doubt it was a good one. Maybe Chakotay would tell them at the next senior staff briefing, maybe not. Either way, it was certainly never boring on Voyager.

Chapter Text

It’s been a long day - for me, at least. For you, barely thirty minutes passed between the time our dinner was interrupted and when we returned to your quarters to finish fixing your replicator so we could eat. For me, it was hours - yet I feel more energized than I have in a long time. Who knew time travel could be so invigorating?

And now dinner is over, we’ve just about finished the bottle of cider and you tell me I should run down to the Cargo Bay and grab another. “How do you know that’s where I keep it?” I ask you.

Your eyes sparkle with just a hint of mischief. “Temporal Prime Directive,” you say, tossing my own earlier words on the bridge back in my face. You enjoyed that. I lift my glass in acknowledgement and finish the bit of remaining cider.

As you set down your glass, you lean forward a little. "You've been smiling all night," you say. "Whatever happened today – and I'm not going to ask again - it certainly left you in a good mood."

My smile broadens of its own volition. It's true, I am in a good mood. I found something today that I feared was lost, and I feel renewed.

Just before it was all over, when we were still in Engineering, you looked at me curiously. “For two people who started out as enemies, it seems we get to know each other pretty well. So I’ve been wondering. Just how close do we get?”

"There are some barriers we never cross," I told you - the younger you, the Kathryn who hadn't yet left the Alpha quadrant. You considered that, appreciated the play on words – we’d been crossing temporal barriers all day – and shook my hand. You thought you understood. You might even have looked wistful at the thought of wasting the potential you sensed in our short time together.

What I didn't tell you was how many times over the years we almost did cross those barriers. I didn't tell you how we worked to erect barriers between us and how hard it was to do, or how easy it would have been, time and again, to forget about our responsibilities and about our duty to the crew and simply lose ourselves in one another.

It was only a few days ago that I realized how thoroughly the barriers have been integrated into our relationship. You walked behind me during a staff meeting, and your hand brushed against my shoulder. You didn’t seem to notice. I did. You rarely touch me anymore; it's part of the barriers. We don't touch, we don't allow eye contact to linger, we don't stand closer than we must. We had to practice this; it didn't come naturally. But I began to wonder if practice really had made perfect, if the barriers were no longer barriers at all but only the natural way of things.

Your friendship is important to me, but I grieved to think that we had lost the reason that required the barriers in the first place.

That's why today was so remarkable. I walked onto the bridge and found you – the younger you, with your long hair up in a bun and an air of optimism radiating from you, the you who put yourself between me and Paris when I first set foot on Voyager. Kathryn without barriers. After the first shock, I reminded myself to keep my emotional barriers up, but without your resolution to bolster it, my own shattered.

And it was there again. The spark. The attraction. The paradox of simultaneously hoping and fearing that this was something unique and overwhelming. Even though you were dedicated to your fiance, you sensed it. I saw it in your eyes – when I told you that you loaned me the Dante, when you asked if I would lecture you for seven years, when you asked how close we are. I felt it in your touch, when you clasped my hand. You knew it then, just like I did.

"I found something today," I tell you now, as I rise to leave. "Something I thought I'd lost."

"What was that?" you ask, unsuspecting, walking beside me.

Maybe it's unwise, but I want to see. I want to see if it would happen for us now. With surprisingly little effort, I lower my defenses. 

I stand in front of you, blocking your way, and you look up at me with a question in your eyes. The question fades almost immediately as you sense the difference in me, the lack of self-protection. And I see it happen. Without my own resolution to bolster it, yours shatters.

The air suddenly seems thicker, harder to breathe. Your eyes fix on mine. I cup my hand against your face and half expect you to pull back, but you don't. I think you want to test this as much as I do.

Your gaze does not waver as I run my thumb across your lips and look at you. You are older yet more attractive than before; if this quadrant has diminished your optimism it has also honed your strength. Yes, the pull between us is sexual, but it's more than that, somehow. It's something elemental and inevitable, and my spirit responds to it, seeks it hungrily.

The feeling is even stronger than it was just hours ago, with the younger Kathryn. Perhaps this is because, here and now, we know each other so well. Back then, we only suspected the possibilities between us. Now we know what will happen, when we let it.

Your mouth has opened slightly beneath my touch, and you are waiting - not moving, barely breathing, just silently waiting. I take my hand away from your face but hold it up, and you raise yours to meet it. Palm to palm, fingers intertwining, as we did one night on New Earth. You smile at me, just as you did then.

The barriers are down but we know the boundaries. It's not the right time, not yet. I step back, my hand falling to my side. You do the same, but you are smiling, a small and secretive smile, and I think you are as pleased as I am to find that we do indeed still need some protection from our own desires.

"Good night," is all I say.

"Good night," you answer, and I leave.

I found something today I thought I had lost. I found hope again.

Chapter Text

Various Facets Along The Way But Eventually They Get To The End

Maglietta felt relief as they finally, finally rode the turbolift on the way to the correct deck to access Main Engineering. The long wander through Jeffries tubes and then through mostly-empty corridors and multiple invisible barriers had been frustrating and sometimes frightening. There had been a brief visit to a corridor full of frozen bodies, and a few terrifying moments of dodging into a side corridor as a female Borg stomped by, either not seeing or completely ignoring them. 

But they were at long last moving toward Deck 11, and it looked likely they would be able to carry out the orders they had been given!

Rufus said, “There’s a weapons locker right down the corridor from the ‘lift, as I recall.”

The turbolift suddenly changed direction for a minute, then stopped on Deck 10. When the doors opened, Harry Kim and the “observer” from the New Zealand Penal Colony stood there. Both of them went wide-eyed.

Before Maglietta could speak, Kim exclaimed, “Weren’t you two on the bridge earlier? The captain sent you to the brig with Chakotay in custody! Where’ve you been all this time?”

“It’s kind of a long story. But we ran into the captain, and she sent us to help in Engineering,” Maglietta replied. “After giving us a shot of uh, something? She said something about temporal anomalies. We were delayed a few times on the way here.” Absolutely no need to repeat the entire embarrassing story.

“Okay,” Kim affirmed, losing some of his dubiousness. “Anyway, we handled the Kazon so you don't need to go to Engineering. Captain Janeway and Chakotay are about to implement the fix -- bring the entire ship back into sync. So you guys need to get to the bridge with me before it happens. You might get stuck in some other time - past or future - if you don’t get back to where you belong. And that would really screw up things -- the Temporal Prime Directive matters, y'know.”

“Let’s get going,” Paris exclaimed, moving into the turbolift with them. Kim came in as well. “Here’s hoping the ‘lift works this time. We were on a different one that went up, then turned around and came all the way down to Deck 10. This one is clearly having issues too -- here we are on Deck 11.”

Maglietta exchanged an alarmed look with Koszula. He really didn’t like the sound of that, given how their luck was running so far. “Okay. Let’s give it a try.” 

“Bridge, and Deck 2,” Kim said as they all turned to face forward inside. The lift moved. And a few minutes later, it stopped again. 

The door opened onto another corridor. Not the bridge. Paris sighed, and stepped out, keeping the doors open with a hand. “Computer, what deck is this?”

As usual, there was no answer. Paris shot a frustrated look at Kim and came back inside. Maglietta saw a movement over his shoulder as the doors closed, heard a shrieking wail -- 

A resounding thud and a large bulge appeared in the turbolift doors. They parted slightly and a really weird-looking appendage in gray green poked through. 

“Aw, hell ,” Paris blurted, kicking at the appendage. “Species 8472! COMPUTER! BRIDGE!” 

The turbolift didn’t budge. Paris gestured upward toward the ceiling hatch, while aiming another kick at the creature again. 

“Get climbing,” Kim urged shrilly, leaping up to cling to the footholds on the wall. “Whatever that thing is, it’s strong!“

The appendage withdrew and the doors slammed shut. Another thud shook the lift, and then another bulge appeared in the doors. Maglietta lunged forward to climb behind Paris, who now crowded Kim as he jerked at the hatch in the ceiling, pushing it up and scrambling out. Koszula immediately followed, whimpering in fright.

“Climb,” Paris shrieked. “ Move! Climb! There’d better be another barrier up here or we’re toast !”

Maglietta resisted the urge to kick Koszula in the head whenever he bumped into his foot. He scrambled upward frantically behind the other two, adrenalin doing its job -- the sounds of panicked breathing filled the shaft. Below, more thudding followed by the terrible sound of duranium doors tearing -- Koszula let out a yelp just as Maglietta felt the sizzle of the barrier passing over his skin as he climbed through it. 

Maglietta yelled as he lost his handhold. He fell a short distance to the left and ended up clinging to the wall of the turbolift shaft from a stanchion, trying not to fall the rest of the way down. He clung desperately, sure he was about to lose his hold. Koszula, now hanging onto the ladder alongside him, reached over and grabbed the shoulder of his uniform.

“I got you, man,” he exclaimed. 

“Come on!” Paris’ shout echoed in the tube. The other two were climbing faster, the sound of their feet on the rungs echoing down. Maglietta couldn’t even see them very well any more.

“Coming,” Koszula called back. He hauled at Maglietta’s uniform, keeping him close while he found his footing on the ladder next to him. It was tight but they paused there, catching their breath.

“Thanks,” Maglietta said. “Let’s -- “

A wailing and shrieking below followed by an impact of something huge against the barrier made both of them flinch. They both looked downward; the sight of the large tripedal alien hitting the invisible barrier sent his heart back into frantic spasms, and Maglietta sped upward, his palms stinging with every frantic grab of a rung. 

At the first opportunity he opened a hatch and crawled through into a Jeffries tube. Once Koszula was inside with him, they sprawled against the wall, panting.

“Damn it,” he blurted. “We’re losing time! And we’ve been left behind!”

Koszula crawled a dozen feet and opened a hatch that should lead into a corridor. Maglietta went out with him and stood up, automatically straightening his jacket, and glanced up and down the corridor. Something was odd about this; the lighting was at half intensity and no one was around. Another time period, another problem? 

“Deck 6,” Koszula commented, pointing at a terminal on the wall. “We’re almost there.”

Maglietta turned toward the turbolift. Behind them, heavy footfalls sounded -- when he glanced back there was a scaly-faced alien in a blue-gray uniform, tall shining black boots, wearing a red armband with a swastika on it and holding a really big gun .

Koszula screeched and ran with him. It took a few seconds for the turbolift to respond to his banging on the panel next to the doors. The Nazi-alien strode down the corridor toward them, shouting out something he didn’t understand. Maglietta didn’t even wait to be inside fully before telling the ‘lift “BRIDGE! NOW!”

The sharp concussions of an old style machine gun sounded off as the door snapped shut. The turbolift car started to move, and then -- of course -- it lurched to a halt again.

When the doors opened, Maglietta stepped out and found himself in yet another corridor.

“Fuck! It’s Deck 3,” he shouted, pounding a fist on the wall. Why couldn’t it be Deck 2? So close!

A buzzing noise started, and at the other end of the short corridor, the strange flying three-tentacled blob they’d seen earlier appeared, hurtling down toward them rapidly.

He retreated back into the turbolift and the door snapped shut. He and Koszula panted together for a moment while the thing struck the door with muted thumping noises. This turbolift car was not the one with all the bulges in the door from the other alien, he noticed peripherally. 

He inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, and said very carefully, as if it would matter, “Computer -- BRIDGE.”

The turbolift went into motion again. Koszula leaned against the wall and slid to the floor.

Maglietta almost collapsed in relief with him, but glanced at the panel next to the door. It was moving in the wrong direction. The lift was moving laterally, it should have been moving upward! And as he watched the indicator flipped ninety degrees and told him they were moving down . He felt the static of another barrier along his skin, and then seconds later, another, closely followed by another. The indicator flashed back ninety degrees -- who knew what deck they were on!

“Aw, SH -- “

A flash blinded them for a moment.

Ross Maglietta, Chief Petty Officer of the starship Voyager , found himself standing in a turbolift. On the floor, breathing heavily, was Crewman Koszula. Disheveled, sweaty patches in the armpits of his uniform, looking up at him as if he’d just appeared there in the lift with him.

And Maglietta realized he was similarly sweaty, his uniform rumpled, breathing heavily. He calmed himself, as there was no reason to be so panicked.

“Crewman?”

“What… are we doing here? Weren’t we on the bridge?”

“Good question.” And then it came to his attention that the red alert beacon on the wall of the lift was blinking. Then he started to remember escorting a Maquis off the bridge, but… there was no Maquis here.

“Or were we supposed to go to Engineering? Didn’t the captain want us to do something?” Koszula went on, getting up from the floor.

It was coming back to him, as Koszula spoke. “The captain did order us to Engineering -- something about aliens. And temporal anomalies. I think.” Maglietta thought he also  remembered a reptilian alien -- Xindi? -- firing a gun, and then some sort of gigantic insect opening the turbolift door, but that made absolutely no sense at all.

“You’re sure we shouldn’t go to sickbay? If we can’t remember things, that sounds like we need the doctor. Maybe the inertial dampeners were in flux and we got thrown around the turbolift car, and we have head injuries.”

“Yeah. I think so. Computer, sickbay.”

When the door to sickbay opened they both stopped in their tracks. A loud yell drowned out the urging to ‘push’ -- there was a screen blocking the view of a biobed at the back of sickbay, but they could see the silhouetted image of someone standing at the end of the bed and someone else sitting up on the biobed in an odd position. 

“ I’m pushing, you worthless petaq! bIjatlh pagh pe', 'ej jIH DoH SuHay'DI' !!”

A Klingon?

On Voyager ? 

“You’re doing fine, B’Elanna. Deep breaths. The baby is doing fine. Now, push ,” a man said calmly.

Maglietta let the door close again -- he and Koszula stared at each other, both speechless.

“Think he’s busy,” Koszula said at length. 

Maglietta retreated, his companion coming along without a word. In the turbolift Koszula was the one who asked for the bridge.

They made it to Deck 1 without issues. They stepped through the door -- 

“What! The hell!” Rufus muttered under his breath. “Are we hallucinating?”

“I dunno,” Maglietta said softly. “Hang on for a minute. Let’s figure this out.”

They stood there looking around the bridge, because man, things had changed . 

Janeway was standing in the middle of the bridge, addressing an admiral and a couple of other officers, whose smiling faces took up the main viewer. He thought he recognized Admiral Paris. 

“I look forward to it,” the admiral was saying, and then the screen flicked to a view of Starfleet vessels gathered in space ahead of Voyager .

“That doesn’t look like the Badlands,” Koszula whispered.

They were distracted by movement to their right -- the Vulcan lieutenant-commander at security was staring at them. 

“Sir,” Maglietta responded. The Vulcan looked down at the captain. They followed his gaze, and Maglietta watched Janeway returning to her seat -- 

-- the Maquis prisoner was sitting in the first officer’s chair!

The Maquis prisoner who had vanished in the turbolift just a little over an hour ago was sitting in the first officer’s chair. 

No one was reacting to the oddity of a man who’d been in custody just hours ago, in uniform, in Cavit’s chair -- but there he was.

Smiling at Janeway. 

Who wasn’t wearing a bun anymore, Maglietta noticed -- when had she gotten a haircut?

Tom Paris left the helm -- and where was Stadi -- crossed the bridge and rushed up to the turbolift. “Excuse me, fellas, I have to go see my daughter,” he exclaimed happily, brushing past them into the lift.

Koszula and Maglietta stared at each other. Maglietta turned again to find Earth now occupying the main viewscreen. 

Earth was not in the Badlands, last time he’d checked.

“Can I help you?”

The polite voice shook them out of the stunned reverie. That Maquis, Chakotay, had come to stand in front of them. 

“What… the hell is going on?” Maglietta managed. “I was sent to Engineering by Captain Janeway to deal with some aliens called Kazon, and when we got there we were told to come back here.” 

“ Oh!” Comprehension dawned on the Maquis’ -- the commander’s? -- face. “You’re here from that point where the ship fractured into different time zones! You must have been in a fragment in this timezone when it was corrected. Come with me. Let’s chat for a minute in the ready room. We have a bit of catching up to do… can’t have you violating the Temporal Prime Directive, can we? You’ve been presumed dead for about seven years.”

Maglietta followed him, suspending judgment now. 

“... the hell,” Koszula muttered from behind him, clearly feeling the same way. “Got to be some kind of space-pollen-induced hallucination.”

As they followed Chakotay from the bridge, he glanced back at them with a smirk. “No pollen,” he murmured as the door opened in front of him.

“So, head injuries,” Maglietta grumbled at Koszula. “It figures.”

“My mom told me I’d regret Starfleet,” Rufus said.

“Mine did too. She was a temporal physicist…”

Chapter Text

Food! Need food! Food keeps running away!

There were two Yumms. Then two more. Disappeared.

Two came back. Disappeared..

Starving! Need FOOD!

<Flash>

Bright light! What happened?

Where am I? Same place. But different -

I SMELL FOOD! I SEE FOOD!

First Yumm returned! Yumm looks different now.

Don’t care. Food is FOOD.

Two others like me arrive. They want my food. It’s MY food. Not theirs. MINE!

Swooping in with others. Smells sooooo good!

What is Yumm aiming at me? It’s big. Not food.

Don’t care. I EAT NOW!

Big thing spits red light! What is hap-

<Splat!!!>  <Splat!!!>  <Splat!!!> 

Splat's all, Folks!  Thanks for reading "Facets" all the way to the end!