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Inspired Voyage (ST: Voyager / SI)

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SIDoragon
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Oct 2, 2019
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Inspired Voyage (ST: Voyager / SI)

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A/N: This started as a simple thought experiment, and just sort of snowballed from there. I've...

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Oct 2, 2019  #1

A/N: This started as a simple thought experiment, and just sort of snowballed from there. I've been passing it back
and forth with good buddy PublicLee Speaking who has been a wonderful help in smoothing out the concepts and
giving it a direction. If you haven't read any of his stuff yet, please do so now because he is an excellent writer. It has
been a good ten years since I last wrote any Trek fiction, so this will hopefully be a good time and fun read. The first
two chapters are written and ready to be posted, and more should soon follow. And with nothing left to add, lets get
into the story.

Inspired Voyage

Star Trek: Voyager​

Season 1 - Episode 1: Caretaker

March 2371

I woke up feeling worn down and sore, feeling like my head had been slapped around a few dozen times by a heavy
mallet. My eyes could be glued closed for all the effort it was taking in opening them. The last time I’d ever been this
out of it was after a third consecutive night terror a year ago, and I could feel that old familiar sinking feeling as
‘dread’ and ‘fear’ fought a war against me with their good allies ‘hyperventilating’ and ‘blind panic.’

My arms and legs moved, barely, but it was still progress. Experience was telling me that the sleep induced paralysis
would eventually fade, it would just be a very unhappy minute of struggling as my various muscles decided to turn
back on.

Glacially slow, my eyes finally started to open. I squinted against the glare of the overhead lights, fighting to focus…
wait, why are there overhead lights? My bedroom has a ceiling fan with three bulbs, not a dome that was backlit!

And with that small realization, my mind snapped into total focus. Adrenaline flooded my veins as ice-water traveled
down my spine, sweeping aside the mild paralysis as my fight-or-flight instincts began to scream “find a weapon,
you asshole!” at me.

Wide eyed and awake, I tried to take in my surroundings. I looked to be in some kind of hospital room? I was on one
of three beds along the wall, with a quick glance showing me that they were unoccupied and thus no longer
important. There are two circular spaces inside this small hospital room; one behind glass and the other open with
another bed inside it. The room behind the glass looked to have a desk and chair, so I’m guessing it was a doctors
office, but why did it look so familiar? The white walls were offset by a pale blue carpet and the dull pink of the beds,
although the oval room with one bed looked to have black walls with yellow lights for some reason.

In fact, why did this whole room look so familiar to me? I’ve never been in it before, but I could almost swear I’ve
seen it before.

I noticed an odd beeping sound above and behind me, and glanced back to see a monitor panel that was obviously
keeping track of me. It was difficult to read, but also just as familiar as the damn room. I shook my head, fighting to
review my recent memories and work out how I got here...

...wherever here was.

Looking back down, I noticed for the first time that I was only wearing some very soft pajama-like pants, the blanket
on top of me hiding away the rest of me. Granted I’m used to sleeping like this, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised I
woke dressed like this, but since this isn’t what I was wearing when I went to bed that means someone stripped
me...

“Mr. Shepard?” a man said, stepping into view as he appeared from the doctor's office.

As my eyes dart to him, I blurt out, “Robert Picardo?” as I recognize his face and bald head.

The man, nonplussed by my outburst, quickly recovers and walked up to my side while waving a small device over
me like this was an episode of Star…

...FUCK...I’m still dreaming aren’t I? This is a weird fucking dream. Why would I…

“Ouch!”

I flinch back from the man as he looks at me dispassionately. “You are, in fact, not dreaming.”

Blinking, and rubbing the spot he had just pinched, I can only offer, “Oh, sorry. I assume I just said all that out loud?”

“You assume correctly,” is his prompt reply. “You appear to be a little disconcerted. What is the last thing you
remember?”

I have to force myself to tear my eyes away from the man who played “The Doctor” on Voyager, but manage to do so
by rubbing my eyes and shaking my head slowly. “Last thing I remember, I went to bed last night. Where am I?”

The man finishes his ‘scan of me’ and stands there by the side of my bed. “You ‘went to bed’ nearly a week ago. You
are currently in Voyager’s sickbay. You are the last one to wake from what transpired aboard the Caretaker array.”

If I felt worried bordering on concerned before, I was now officially on the edge of full-fledged terrified.

He went on, “You were displaying some unusual neural activity, likely as the result of whatever it was that the alien
did to all you, but seeing as you were in no danger and for all intents seemed to simply be asleep, Captain Janeway
and I decided to wait and allow you to wake naturally. Of course, we didn’t expect it would take this long to do so.”

“Now that you are awake, I’m going to inform the Captain. She wished to speak with you before you were
discharged. I recommend you lay back and try to relax, it may take some time before she comes to see you.” the
man finished, looking me over for a moment before walking back into his office and tapping his hand to the shiny
badge on his chest.

God damn it.

****

God damn it all to hell. I’m on Voyager!

After I lay my head back down on the pillow, things started to come to me. Explanations, I think, but in the most
roundabout way possible. I started having flashbacks to things I’ve done, like filling out a certain CYOA that I had
been curious about. I had been curious about a week ago and filled out a v1 form for WORM, and now I’m stuck with
this shit.

I couldn’t have picked Endbringer, or chosen to act as an Emperor of Man or a Psychokinetic, no I had to be an idiot
and pick Inspired Inventor as my power. I am much more familiar with the v5 CYOA and would have loved to have
had some of those builds I had made. My favorite build would have allowed me to turn into an Endbringer at will and
use its abilities to pump out technological wonders, but no, I had to end up with this v1 piece of shit.

Worse, it had been nerfed to hell and back because whatever had brought me here seemed to think “hard mode” was
still too easy. Tinker 12? Forget it, you aren’t actually a Tinker. That was removed. Five charges each day? Nope, I
start with a total of 10 charges, and earn a charge point for each week I survived. Oh yeah, I can only hold 10
charges at a time as well, so there is another downside. And instead of getting the ability to McGuyver nukes out of
a plasma screen television and a microwave oven, I simply gain knowledge. If I wanted to turn into a discount
Bakuda, I would have to drop points into explosives and engineering just to build the bombs, then I would need
physics, chemistry and whatever else was required to replicate her effects.

All that to say, I will need a long, long, long time to do anything.

Sure, if my different themes overlap then their knowledge will stack, building off of each other and integrating
perfectly. And all fields of knowledge are open to me, so I can learn anything from martial arts to political science,
and everything in between, but you have to know what you need to know. And I need resources to build anything.

Resources that are going to be rare on a ship stuck out in the middle of nowhere!

That is the main power covered. The secondary power of ‘Invictus’, however, might actually be more useful on this
wonderful voyage of the damned. Things like distress, or panic, should mean very little or nearly nothing to me. I’m
supposed to be able to undergo any disaster without batting an eye, ignore pain, remain mentally untroubled by even
the most terrible trauma, and fearsome odds won’t give me pause. The fact that I was having a panic attack when I
awoke means I must have been really freaking the fuck out.

But the ability to throw off mind control like it was an irritating fly can only be a good thing. Especially in a universe
where mind-controlling aliens in a real thing. At least I hope I can throw it off. Only way to know for sure is to be put
into that situation, and I’m fairly sure I don’t want to risk that.

The real question mark is what the hell good ‘Blank’ is going to be? Protect me from Q?

Okay, on second thought ‘Blank’ might be my most valuable power. Maybe.

Well, on that note I decided now was a good time to sit up on this bed and stretch my sore arms and back. I could
see the Doctor glance at me from his office, but other than looking to make sure I didn’t actually leave the bed, he
seemed content to let me proceed with my bed yoga. This is certainly going to take some getting used to.

Fuck. I’m a reincarnation. Which means I’ve lived out an entire life up until this moment. The circumstances were
supposed to be entirely under my control, but without being able to make any major changes to the setting.
Everything from this point forward is up to me, but what did I do before I got here?

I could feel something starting to work its way forward from the back of my skull, but if it is memories or just motion
sickness, I’m not sure.

Sadly, my introspection is interrupted as Sickbay’s door open and the woman who can only be Captain Janeway
marches into the room like someone on a mission from God. She doesn’t spare a glance at the EMH Doctor, and
instead walks right up to me and all my shirtless glory.

Why do I not feel self conscious about that? Oh right, Invictus.

“Commander Shepard?” are the first words out of her mouth. My mind immediately prompts me the image of a
smiling Krogan called “Grunt,” and all I can think is that whatever brought me here has a sense of humor. That is
quickly followed by roughly twenty five years of memories and experiences flashing into my head so fast and hard
that I have to grab my skull to keep it from spinning.

Holy shit whatever brought me here was lazy. It basically stole my Mass Effect character creation.

I remember growing up in a Starfleet family. My childhood was filled with memories of time spent on ships and
stations all across Federation space as they were transferred from one posting to another. We never stayed in one
location for more than a few years. Following in their footsteps, I enrolled with the Academy. John Shepard, dad,
was killed during the Cardassian War a few years ago. Hannah Shepard, mom, is looking forward to seeing me in
San Francisco - she just made Admiral. I spoke with her just before I got on Voyager. We were planning my birthday
next month...

Rather than join Starfleet, I was recruited to join a different organization. During the War, a mission went wrong and I
was trapped behind enemy lines. I managed to overcome and survive physical and psychological stresses that
would have broken most, and survived while the rest of my team fell. I was the sole survivor of that mission, and
they promoted me for it.

I can hear someone calling my name, and when I look up I see the Doctor standing over me waving a medical
tricorder. Janeway is standing next to me, concern mixed with curiosity on her face.

The Doctor gave a small nod and said, “You seem to have low blood sugar. That would explain the sudden wave of
dizziness.” He stepped to the side for a moment, grabbing a hypospray and adjusting the dosage for a second,
before stepping back and jamming the device to my neck. A soft hiss followed, and he took a step back to add,
“Rather than ignoring the symptoms next time, speak up and tell me before you pass out.”

“Thanks, Doc.” I mutter, but he nods and steps away to head back into his office.

Janeway takes a step forward and smirks at me before declaring, “Lets try that again. Commander Shepard, I’m
Captain Kathryn Janeway. Welcome to Voyager. Now, who are you and why are you on my ship?”

I furrowed my brow at that. “You obviously know who I am. You just used my name and rank.”

“And frankly that is all we could get off the computer.” She declared, her eyes narrowing dangerously at me. “We
have your name, rank, age and serial number. That is it. No records of your history, background, last deployment,
nothing.”

I thought about that for a moment, and as the answers came to me I frowned in resignation. This was going to get
tricky, and I had to play along until they offered up some knowledge that I shouldn’t currently have, but I might make
my way through this minefield. With a sigh, I offered, “Please, Captain, call me Branden, or just Shepard. I don’t like
formality very much. And before we continue, I need to know if Lieutenant Tuvok has been recovered along with the
Marquis you were ordered to capture.”

That got her attention. Janeway crossed her arms in front of her chest and shifted weight onto her backfoot. “How
do you know about that? Our mission was classified, as is the Lieutenant’s mission.”

I sighed, deep and long, “Please, Captain. It will make things simpler to explain and keep me from repeating myself
later.”

There was a short pause as she seemed to mull things over in her head, before Janeway tapped her comm badge
and declared, “Janeway to Lt. Tuvok. Please report to Sickbay at once.”

“Thank you,” I offered, but she didn’t respond. Instead the Captain just stood there and waited while I went back to
stretching my arms and shoulders.

Almost two minutes of silence passed before the doors to Sickbay open and I see Tuvok stroll in and walk towards
us. I was wondering why the door hadn’t closed yet, before I then see Chakotay quickly step inside move to his
Captain’s side. I try to keep the groan from escaping, since this will just make things more difficult, but it is difficult.

“Reporting as requested, Captain.” Tuvok says before standing at ease and waiting to see what this is about. I can
see the small quirk of his eyebrows that say he is curious, something I’ve learned after working alongside Vulcan’s
for many years…

Fuck, this memories are integrating quickly. They will be useful, so I know I shouldn’t fight them, but damn is that
disconcerting to suddenly have decades of experiences moved to the forefront of my mind.

“Now,” Janeway begins, bring me back to the moment, “care to explain what this is about?”

“Captain,” I start, forcing a frown and adding an edge to my voice, “why the hell is a Maquis wearing a Starfleet
uniform? And why is he wearing the rank of First Officer? What happened to Cavit?”

Chakotay looks surprised, and maybe a little insulted. Tuvok is indifferent as expected. But Janeway looks to the
floor for a second and then back at me with what I can only say looks like sympathy. “Shepard, you obvious know
about our mission to the Badlands so I’m not going to get into that right now. Just listen carefully.”

At my nod of agreement she continues, “Seven days ago, this ship was pulled from the Badlands into Delta
Quadrant. Several members of my crew were killed during that violent hurtle across space, including my first officer,
helmsman, chief engineer, and the entire medical staff. Furthermore, crew of both this ship as well as the Marquis
vessel were abducted upon our arrival and subjected to a painful three-day medical examination conducted by the
being who brought us all here, the ‘Caretaker.’”

“After he was done with us, he returned most of us to our ships. Two of our crew, B’Elanna Torres and Ensign Harry
Kim became ill after the experiments and the Caretaker sent them to the Ocampa homeworld for care and medical
treatment. To get our crew back, Chakotay and I put aside our differences to locate them and find a way home.”

Janeway sighed, frustrated, and continued, “Turns out the Caretaker was dying, and he didn’t have the energy to
send us back home while he was also sending a massive stockpile of power to the Ocampa. After the Caretaker
died, we planned to use his technology aboard the Array that brought us here to send us back, but a hostile species
known as the Kazon made that impossible by attacking us. Rather than allowing the Kazon to seize the Caretaker’s
technology and upset the balance of power in the sector, I made the decision to destroy the Array.”

Chakotay spoke up then, his voice clear but a little shaky. “My ship, the Val Jean, was destroyed in the battle with the
Kazon. My surviving crew was transferred to Voyager, filling vacant positions and pulling our resources. We’ve sworn
to serve under the Captain, and run this ship like a Starfleet vessel.”

“At maximum speed,” Janeway picked the story back up, “it will take 70 years to get back to Federation space. Of
course, no starship can maintain that speed for so long. Nevermind we have only so much fuel. More likely the
journey would take a hundred years, maybe more. So we will keep an eye out for advanced technology and other
methods of getting home faster.”

There was a long silence that followed that revelation. And I have to admit, even knowing all of this already,
intellectually, hearing it spoken with such reverence and somber attention made it so much more poignant. I could
hear the years spoken in such a way that it felt like a hammer was beating on my chest.

I looked at the floor, nodded slowly, and took a moment to pretend to be internalizing the information.

“Captain,” I slowly started, bringing the three Starfleet officers out of their own thoughts, “pull up my service record
and enter my real serial number, 19-Espsilon-099. The record you can see is just a placeholder.”

Janeway nodded to Tuvok, who walked over to a monitor near the door and began tapping commands into it. A few
moments later, the Vulcan’s hand came to a sudden stop as he read my record. After a minute of silence he stepped
into the Doctor’s office, grabbed a pad, and brought it back to the monitor to copy the information down, and then
cleared the screen.

As he handed the pad to Janeway, an impatient Chakotay blurted out, “Well? Who is he?”

Rather than answer him, Tuvok remained quiet and simply looked at his Captain who was reading over the data with
a growing look of concern even as her eyes widened. After another minute of skimming, Janeway pried her eyes
from the pad and looked at me to ask, “Is this true?”

I knew what she was referring to, it was the same question asked each time that mission report was read. I just
nodded and said, “Every word. I don’t know if your computer has the full report or just the summary, but it
happened.”

Chakotay finally had enough and raised his voice to demand, “Who the hell is he?”

Tuvok turned to the First Officer and calmly declared, “A superior officer.”

“This is Commander Branden Shepard,” Janeway answered, “of Section 31.”

Funny how things work. Section 31 has always been somewhat comparable to the Romulan Tal Shiar or the
Cardassian Obsidian Order. We are effectively the Black Ops branch of Starfleet Intelligence. A secret buried so
deeply that only Admirals and Captains even knew of our existence.

Starfleet’s dirty little secret.

Old ingrained habits from years of command snapped the Maquis into a perfect rod-straight attention. It was a
shame Starfleet didn’t do salutes, his would have been textbook.

I sighed, both a little over dramatic for show as well as a little genuine, and then spoke up, “Don’t do that. I’m the
equivalent of a Starfleet Captain, but this is Janeway’s ship. I’m just a passenger.”

Tuvok looked pointedly at me then. “Which begs the question, why are you on Voyager?”

“Because by now I was supposed to be back on Earth,” I answered. “I was on DS9 when Starfleet Intelligence got
some new intel for you. Since Voyager was supposed to be retrieving you and heading back to Earth, I was going to
just be a passenger after passing on my message. The only person who was going to know I was here was you,
Lieutenant.”

“Intriguing. What information could have been so important that it needed to be delivered as soon as I had been
retrieved?” the Vulcan asked.

I pointedly looked at Chakotay, waiting a moment for someone to realize and tell him to leave, but when they didn’t I
accepted it as their decision and declared, “We received confirmation that the Maquis agent known as Seska isn’t
Bajoran. She is in fact a Cardiassian agent.”

That got everyone’s attention, so I added, “I suppose it is too much to hope that she died on the Val Jean?”

Next thing I know, I’m feeling a fist impact my jaw and I’m falling off the medical bed.

When the stars clear, I see Tuvok holding Chakotay against the Sickbay wall, and the Doctor is standing over me with
his scanner running over my head again.

Chakotay is yelling, “You lying son of a bitch! I’ve known Seska for more than a year and she hates the Cardassians!
Hell, her knowledge of Bajorian tactics is how we managed to survive all this time!”

The Doctor helped me sit up, so I replied, “Seska has been an intelligence operative for the Obsidian Order since
2361. In 2367 she underwent surgical operations to transform her physiology into that of a Bajoran so she could
infiltrate their resistance. After the Occupation ended in 2369, Seska was reassigned to spy on the Maquis. And like
any member of the Order, she is trained to play the long game. Tell me, Chakotay, how soon after she joined your
group did you begin sleeping with the enemy?”

The First Officer began a new round of swearing but was swiftly cut off by Janeway yelling, “Enough! While I’m
inclined to believe my First Officer, I also know the reputation of Section 31. And if Starfleet Intelligence says she is
Cardassian, I have to at least entertain that possibility.”

The Doctor stopped his scanning for a moment to helpfully add; “Seska is one of the few former-Marquis
crewmembers to have not come to me for a physical as requested. If she is a Cardassian, a simple blood test would
be more than enough evidence.”

Chakotay stopped his struggling and declared, “Fine, bring her in and test her blood. Then we’ll have the truth-”

“I recommend,” I interrupted the Marquis, “catching her off-guard. If we call her to sickbay, she could try to run. Send
a security team to escort her.”

“Run where?” Janeway asked, eyes raised at me. “We are 70,000 light years from home.”

Tuvok answered for me. “Most species react badly to having their secrets uncovered. They do not react rationally.”

“Plus,” I added, “Voyager has two shuttles and a Runabout. She has had several days to establish her own plans for
evac. Personally, I would order your security officers to simply stun her and use the teleporter to bring her directly
here.”

“I refuse to treat someone as guilty until they are proven so,” the Captain snarked. She tapped her badge and called,
“Janeway to security, please send a team to escort Seska to Sickbay.”

****

I had originally decided to hold off on putting any Inspired Inventor charges into anything just yet, and at first I was
glad to have shown that restraint. Thanks to my Reincarnation and life up to this point, I had more than six years of
Starfleet Academy training working its way through my mind, as well as an additional six years of combat
experience and field command running operations against the Cardassians, Romulans and most recently
intelligence gathering runs on the Dominion.

And isn’t that weird as fuck. All this knowledge and experience that I have gathered over my life, and at the same
time it is all just so new and interesting. Add on top of that the bacon bits of knowing in broad strokes what is going
to happen in the next few years in the Alpha Quadrant. Kind of glad I’m not on Earth, to be frank.

I remember the first time I saw Earth from space. I was just six years old and had followed my parents to Earth to
visit some extended family. Like a pilgrimage of sorts, most humans on the transport gathered around the port-side
messhall window and pushed their children to the front so they could get a good look. Me and a dozen other kids
saw Earth for the first time, the home of humanity and birthplace of the Federation, and we're left with a feeling that
could only be called a religious experience.

Hannah, mom, told me that her parents had done the same thing to her, and they went through the same thing at my
age.

At the same time I also remember watching the live feeds from the International Space Station on youtube.

Taking a moment to shake the disconnected memories out, I went over and over what I now know once more. From
the Academy I learned how a warp drive works, from experience with 31 I learned how to kill a dozen men with an
overloaded phaser buried in the dirt like a landmine. On starships I hung around the gold shirts in engineering,
learning how to build warp coils for fun, and on a classified mission in the neutral zone I learned that Romulan
warbirds can’t come to a full stop nearly as quickly as they may need to.

With a deep sigh, I sit up from my new bed and swing my legs over the side, looking out the window of my quarters.
We weren’t currently at warp, so I took a moment to simply enjoy the view of strange, alien stars that would have
been impossible to see on Earth. The ship was currently undergoing some minor repairs that occurred during the
apprehension of Seska.

As soon as security had found her and asked for Seska to follow them to Sickbay, she had known her cover was
blown. So she called out a simple command to the computer, a simple script command she had thrown together as
soon as she was on board, that caused most of the ship to freak out. Warp Core began to overheat, and that threw
all of Engineering into a tissy. Propulsion and navigation soon followed, and that was an exciting time to be in
Sickbay when all of the gravity plating shut down on the entire deck at once.

Thankfully, none of this was too dangerous as people were in place to handle it. All Seska was doing was attempting
to escape, and hadn’t managed to make it more than a dozen yards before a second security team that Tuvok had
insisted on cornered her.

Rather than risk capture, her Cardassian training kicked in. Seska took the easy way out, rather than risk giving up
her secrets or being marooned on a M-class planet as I was going to propose to Janeway. I knew the captains
morals wouldn’t allow for summary execution of a spy.

So, eventually her corpse arrived in Sickbay. A quick blood test proved that Seska had been Cardassian all along, and
I got to enjoy watching Chakotay turn nearly green before he rushed out of the room. Last I heard, he was calling a
meeting of all the Maquis on board to let them know. Brave of him, not entirely smart, but brave.

That left me alone with Janeway and Tuvok. Both of them seemed at odds with how to proceed with me, in their
own way. Tuvok, for example, seemed to be perfectly fine with the situation. I was Starfleet Intelligence, I just
brought him vital information that could have saved the ship in the long run, and more than that I was a trained
soldier who can help protect the crew.

Janeway, on the other hand, I suspect was more pensive about allowing someone on board who found it easy to
take the violent route first. This is post-Borg pre-Dominion War Starfleet I’m dealing with, which means military
minded operations are one of those things you do “over there” somewhere where no one can see what is happening.
Starfleet is about exploration and science, but 31 is all about doing whatever is necessary to protect the Federation.
That means removing people, theft, and blowing up things.

And in my opinion, that is exactly what is going to be needed in the Delta Quadrant.

Since they had no idea what to do with me for the moment, and the immediate concern has passed, the security
team escorted me back to my quarters on Deck 4. For some reason, I don’t think they liked me, judging from their
stiff expressions and unwillingness to talk to me, but I’ll try to not let that get to me. It has been a long week for
everyone here, and I’m not exactly making things any easier.

Okay, so, since I have a charge cap and I don’t want to go to sleep and miss out on gaining a skill point back, I might
as well use one or two now before turning in. Then again, I suppose there is no reason why I can’t do that while I’m
taking a bath?

Ten minutes later I was immersed in a tub of hot water, safe in the security of knowing that every drop of water will
eventually be sterilized and consumed as drinking water. Under normal situations the water would be replicated, and
then returned to the replicator after I was done. From energy, turned into matter, and then back into energy. But every
starship had a water reclaimer system built into the life support systems, to be used when energy resources were
scarce. Such as now, when we are 70 years from a known trade port.

It just made recycling easy and convenient.

So, relaxing in the water, I leaned my head back and decided it was time for a test run. Only question was, what
should I try to learn? Most things that I would immediately need were already “programmed” into me from my life. I
could go down to engineering right now and calibrate the warp core. There were even a handful of things I knew that
would be useful to ship security that is already in use on Section 31 vessels.

Which left the question of what do I want to know, that could be useful, that this ship of the damned can’t learn?

What would Shepard do?

Huh, now that is an idea. Why focus on Star Trek technology when I can learn anything? So how about something
from Mass Effect instead? I mean, my first name is still my own at least but whatever the hell brought me here
chose to name me Shepard. Maybe that was a hint?

Mass Effect: Omni-tools, 1 charge.

Son of a…

My brain went into overdrive as it began to literally download information from an endless sea of data. In a single,
infinite, moment I was intimately familiar and aware of concepts that would have been foreign to me just a moment
ago. And since the amount of useful information given to you by Inspired Inventor does deeper as the concept you
spent the charge on gets narrower, and I chose a very specific thing, I could literally walk into a workshop and begin
building these damn things.

And on my god would Omni-tools been useful in this universe. Multipurpose diagnostic and manufacturing tools, as
well as computers used for a variety of civilian and battlefield tasks as complicated as hacking, decryption, or repair.
Higher-end omni-tools can even be used as straight up weapons. Flashlight, scanner, repair systems, dispenser for
medi-gel (something else I might need to ‘invent’), camera, communication systems, miniature replicators…

Holy shit, it is building on top of my Star Trek knowledge as well. In the Academy you had to learn how to repair
basic replicators since they are so vital as well as dangerous. And my knowledge of omni-tools integrated that
knowledge without even skipping a beat.

They can also be very effective melee weapons. I’ve never even heard of Geth Juggernauts using omni-tools before,
but I now know that they commonly use them to create energy pulses and to drain enemy barriers. Hell, Alliance
infiltration units used a cryo-blade to flash freeze opponents flesh on contact.

Holograms are also nothing new to Starfleet, so having a holographic interface in the form of an orange gauntlet
appear when activated should be easy to adapt to. Plus, they could prove to be deadly surprises for opponents who
expect a disarmed person when we hand over our phasers.

Because this is Star Trek and eventually someone is going to be caught off guard on a planet's surface without a
weapon.

At least I’ll be able to give something to Captain Janeway when she comes back around to speak with me in the
morning, because I know she will. I would in her position. She’ll want to know what I can do for Voyager now that we
are all alone out here on the opposite side of the galaxy.

What can I do?

I can prepare this ship for war with the Delta Quadrant.
 777

SIDoragon Oct 2, 2019 View discussion

Threadmarks: Season 1 - Episode 1: Caretaker (part 2) View content

SIDoragon
Dragon of Story and Song

Oct 2, 2019  #2

Season 1 - Episode 1: Caretaker Part 2

March 2371

Waking up the following morning was something of a learning experience for me. On the one hand, the persistent
hangover-like headache and muscle pain that I had been vaguely aware of from the previous day had vanished,
leaving me with a clear mind and more focus. On the other hand, I was already on the floor and working my way
through a set of pushups before I knew I was doing them.

Apparently my new old life had some interesting habits associated with it. And that was more than just a little
disturbing. I stayed in the plank position for a good thirty seconds while I tried to come to terms with what was
happening and why. Mostly I just held the position and tried to not freak out, as memories of doing this exact same
routine for the last six years flooded into me.

Something else I’m going to have to get used to, I guessed. Random memories. Not sure how comfortable I was with
that, but I’d have to get used to them. Didn’t really have a choice.

After collecting myself and calming down, I finished the set of floor exercises, might as well, before walking to the
replicator panel on the wall and seeing what was on the menu. It turned out that the machine was shut down, but a
quick visit to the restroom got me the glass of water I was craving. Problem, meet solution.

Halfway through the door separating the restroom from the rest of the guest quarters, which frankly was more than
a little like a small apartment, I reached up to the doorframe on a whim and began doing pull ups. I had always been
strong, in my previous life, but pull ups had always been one of those exercises that had been impossible for me to
do. I couldn’t help the broad smile that graced my face, or the little giggle of glee completely at odds with what my
new old memories said I’d normally do, when I effortlessly pulled myself up off the floor and let my legs dangle out
in front of me.

I was up to twenty pull ups before I let myself drop to the floor and started shaking my head in wonder. At least I
could admit this body was in good shape, although I did wonder if that would make me stand out too much. From
what I remembered from the shows in my previous life, and from what my memories from this life are feeding me,
most humans in Starfleet were physically average. Not too strong, not overly muscular, and with a significant
amount of focus on cardio. Then again the most physically demanding thing people in Starfleet ever did was “run
away.”

Had an over-reliance on starships made humanity weaker? I’d noticed that my arms were larger than most people’s
legs on this ship, and my natural height had carried over between universes to leave me towering over most
crewmembers, so I supposed I’d be a good example of the difference between ground and space combat. For most
missions with 31, if you are engaged in ship-to-ship combat then you have seriously screwed up somewhere. The
point is to get in, get out, and not be seen. Then again, my new old memories, and my memories of the show, never
showed 31 agents as that muscular.

Maybe it was just a difference in philosophy between the two very different settings and not strictly about the
organizations? Star Trek was all about peaceful negotiations, playing things safe even as they explored the frontiers
of space, and relying on transporters to turn any major conflict into ship-to-ship action. It played into an optimistic
view of the future. Meanwhile, Mass Effect had a lot more hostile negotiations, dealt with dangerous wildlife and
pirates as just something that routinely happened, and exploration was often performed from behind the barrel of a
gun. It didn’t attempt to portray a utopia, and instead showed a galaxy that might be, when you have many different
races all existing at the same level of technological development - a collection of interests working for their own
gain.

I supposed that means if the Alliance was an analogy for Starfleet, then Cerberus was an analogy for Section 31. We
certainly did have a similar preference for assassinations, sabotage, and questionable technology.

Stopping that line of thought before I began to slide down that rabbit hole, I took a seat on the floor and crossed my
legs. I’ll admit that in my old life I once had a bit of an anger issue, especially when I was young, but, of all people,
my art teacher in high school talked me into considering meditation as a way to deal with my issues. Certain
stresses at that time of my life had been getting to me, impacting my educational and social life, and so I tried the
exercises, found what worked, and eventually made it a part of who I am. Was. Am.

Certainly helped lead me to a more relaxed life as an adult, and heaven knew I needed to deal with what has
happened to me sooner than later if I didn’t want to explode on something, or someone. So I straightened my back,
took a slow deep breath, and focused inwards.

It felt different than it had before I arrived here. My usual mental space had always been a void, black and endless,
and I found the emptiness to be conforming. It was like wrapping yourself in a blanket that blocked out everything
else but was cool to the touch. That same void was there, but I was no longer completely alone. There was an orb of
some kind, white and warm, about the size of a golf ball, directly in front of me.

I reached out for it, touched it, and felt a jolt as all the information I had acquired yesterday rushed into me. Clarity
came with it, telling me exactly what I knew, as well as what I didn’t. I could physically see where the gaps in
information would be, pathways where improvements, offshoots, and derivative technologies would be developed,
as black spaces in the branching stream of information, making the beginnings of a grand web.

With this new clarity came disappointment. Yes, researching omni-tools from the Mass Effect universe the previous
evening worked as expected; I now knew how to construct one. If I had the spare parts and equipment common to
that universe to do so, that is. It wasn’t that much of a hurdle in the long run, it just meant I would have to spend time
designing the tools and parts I’d need before scanning them into the replicator to make as many copies as I needed.
Not a problem.

No, the real issue was what I didn’t learn. For example, how to program the subsystems to make it useful. I’d learned
how the develop the code for the device itself, but not for the variety of things it could be used for. It was like
knowing how to make a cell phone, Operating System and all, though only the bare minimum to function. It could
make calls, but if you wanted to play chess you would have to also develop the app for it. Same for the calculator,
calendar, wireless internet connector and everything else we took advantage of those handy little devices for.

That is where I was with the omni-tools. I could make the hardware, but the apps were another issue. So, making an
omni-tool with built in tricorders and all the other various tools would be challenging. My Starfleet Academy training
hadn’t covered the basics of writing the code that made a tricorder work, nor building them from scrap, they focused
on reading, maintaining and repairing them. That required the more specialized training you got if you took followed
the Operations scholastic tree.

Unfortunately, my reincarnation was more interested in weapon systems, combat strategies for both ground and
space, and specialized defenses, not programming.

On the other hand, this wasn’t an impossible situation. I could learn what I needed by using my power, paying for it
with precious points, or I could learn how to program my omni-tool through more traditional means. Considering
how good the ship’s computer systems were, I might be able to just ask it to load in the code necessary once I have
the hardware in place. Then it would be a simple matter of making sure the interface was user friendly and the
information collected was accurate.

That would be something I’d l have to run past the engineers and have them double check for me once I had a
prototype ready.

I pulled away from the orb of information, frowning in thought, as I considered these seemingly arbitrary restrictions
that have been put on me by whatever cosmic joke stuck me here. Oh, I could probably use this gift to instantly learn
how to construct Iron Man’s suit of armor, but more than likely wouldn’t get the necessary information for an arc
reactor to power it because it was technically not required to make the suit function at minimum requirements. You
could power one of those suits by hooking it up directly to an alternate source of energy, it would just make them
less useful, and I could forget about the Jarvis AI helping me as well. Most likely I would have to pay extra for each
system, several points might have to go into the suit’s arc reactors alone since it was technically an outgrowth of the
original, much larger, piece of technology.

Then again, Voyager’s warp drive most likely could out produce any energy produced by an arc reactor by several
orders of magnitude, and even if I wanted Iron Man’s armor, it most likely wouldn’t be very useful for me or the crew
until I could mass-produce the versions designed for operations in space.

No, I’d started down a particular tech tree, so I might as well see my way through it as much as I could before I
needed to branch out. That way they’d all work together, and I would hopefully only need to figure out how to make
them interface with Voyager’s computers once. What I was going to get from this tree was limited, Gods knew that
most of the tech in the Mass Effect universe runs on a unobtanium-like Element Zero. So, unless it is possible to
replicate or synthesized Eezo in the trek-universe, most of the technology of that setting would be useless to me.
Robotics, body armor, omnitools, and that might just be about it. Maybe medi-gel. The ideas for some Trek versions
of the technology, on the other hand, could be useful.

Maybe some time later, when things calmed down, I could shift focus to Genetics. I never agreed with the idea of
humanity shying away from a technology that could solve ninety percent of its problems. Just because humanity
was pulled into a third world war, which was going to happen anyway based on the way things were going at the
time, didn’t mean the idea of augments was inherently a bad one. It just meant that the technology hadn’t been
perfected yet. Nearly every other species in the Federation used genetic engineering to some degree, but if a human
was found to have had it used on them to do anything more than remove a genetic disease (so long as it wasn’t a
germline replacement), then that person was hit with a stigma by their peers and a possible prison time by the
government, even if they hadn’t wanted it or it was done before they were born.

It’s what would have happened to Dr. Bashir on DS9. Even with the Dominion War in full swing, Starfleet took the
time to get involved and almost locked up the man just because his parents got him some minor enhancements to
make up for poor genetics when he was a child.

That being said, genetic enhancements would be a valuable but slippery slope to climb. Everything would have to be
reviewed by the Doctor and would also require me to show that I knew a hell of a lot more about an incredibly
stigmatized field than I really wanted. Not only that, it would require the Captain and crew trusting me.

Based on what I could remember, which I must admit wasn’t that much as almost ten years had passed since the
last time I’d watched Voyager, I knew the crew of this ship would need help. If things happened as that had on the
show, people will die, and there won’t be many opportunities to replace the missing crew. After all, only the truly
desperate would be willing to abandon all they knew and live on a starship full of strangers for the rest of their lives
with no hope of ever going home. Those that do won’t be the kind of people who will take well to Starfleet rules and
regulations.

Robotics could be an answer to the problem of labor, but once more I just didn’t see that happening. It's already
impressive that an Intrepid-Class starship, something the size of an aircraft carrier that normally carried thousands
of people, was run by just a hundred and forty. Hell, the ship could, and would, still run with half that number. I
couldn’t imagine the materials needed to build a dozen T-800s would be difficult to find in your average asteroid field,
I didn’t remember anything unusual about their components, but people would still get worried. With the Federation’s
history of homicidal AI’s, anything that appeared to house one was an issue, and their design would make everything
worse. With Replicators, normal robots weren’t needed for construction, so the crew wouldn’t even be comfortable
with the concept of mindless machines.

If I wasn’t careful, that fear could eventually lead to me being left behind on some moon one day.

Nodding internally, my choice seemed to be made for me. I would have to stick to small improvements for now,
earning trust and building a good reputation with the crew. I would have to pick what skills I wanted or needed very
carefully since I could only hope for fifty points a year to accumulate. And becoming an expert in something may
take a fifth of that.

A tone at the door shook me out of my thoughts, and I looked up from the floor to call out, “Enter!”

To say I was surprised to see Tuvok enter my quarters while carrying a serving tray with an obvious plate of
something hidden under a stainless steel bowl alongside a glass of water, would be an understatement. As he
stepped inside, I rose to my feet and gave him a respectful nod, but stayed where I was until he had placed the tray
on my bedside table and moved a respectful distance back towards the door.

Before I could say anything, the Vulcan looked at me and raised an eyebrow. “When I entered, what were you doing
on the floor?”

Glancing over at him, I smirked as I replied, “I would think, of anyone on board, you would recognize meditation.”

“Curious. While I know that Humans are capable of meditation,” the man explained, “It is uncommon to find one of
you who practices it. You may be one of only three or four people on board who do so.”

As I walked to the tray of food, I smiled at the Vulcan. “That might be true, but I’m not going to begrudge those who
don’t. It is a useful art and I can think of a lot of people who could use a little more centering.”

It wasn’t difficult to notice he was keeping himself between me and the exit, but I decided I wouldn’t call him out on
it. “Thank you for bringing me something to eat, Lieutenant.”

“You have likely noted by now that your room’s replicator is disabled,” He stated factually. “We are currently running
on limited power, and so to conserve energy we have temporarily disabled replicators for the entire crew. Ration
packs have been distributed for the time being to make up for the shortfall, but if you wish for something a little
more...adventurous, you can find one Mr. Nelix working in the kitchen.”

I raised an eyebrow at the head of security, new world knowledge clashing with old for a moment as I choose how to
respond to that. “I wasn’t aware that Intrepid-class starships possessed kitchens. The mess hall is supposed to just
have a series of replicators and that is all.”

“Indeed,” he answered, eyebrow twitching slightly just enough for me to recognize as irritation. “Much to the surprise
of many, and without prior permission, Mr. Nelix took the space normally reserved for the captain’s private dining
room and converted it into a small kitchen.”

“That must have been a joy to discover,” I laughed softly. “Exactly how many code violations did this spontaneous
new room receive after the engineers went over it?”

“Plenty.” Was all he would say about it.

I removed the cover from the tray, seeing something that looked like scrambled eggs, except it was red and seemed
to have the consistency of cardboard. I took a small sample bite of the concoction, and started to cough. Between
fits of gasping, and sipping water, I managed to choke out, “I suppose I don’t want to know what it is made from?”

“Presumably, no.” was the immediate reply. “But I have been assured by the Doctor that it is safe for general
consumption.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” With that I put the top back over the plate and turned to look at the Vulcan. “So, I have to
ask, but is it really necessary to keep me locked in here like a prisoner?”

Tuvok arched an eyebrow and stated, “To the best of my knowledge, you are not a prisoner. Nor is this the brig.”

“Right,” I drawled out. “That’s why security has been outside my door all night. And why food was brought to me by
the head of security.”

He tilted his head ever so slightly to the right as he answered in his usual clipped voice, “I brought you food, because
I knew you had not left your quarters, and I am to escort you to Captain Janeway once you have completed your
meal. The guard detail on your quarters is due to the fact the Maquis crew would by now know of Seska’s death and
might seek to blame you. They are there for your protection. Mr. Shepard.”

I didn’t quite believe him, but it wasn’t worth fighting about. I was about to meet the Captain anyway and get this all
sorted out, so going along with this might be the best thing to do.

Taking another bite of the food, this time doing a much better job of not being overwhelmed by alien spices, I looked
back at the Vulcan and asked, “So how is Chakotay holding up? Is he blaming me, or himself?”

Cocking his head ever so slightly to the side once more, Tuvok replied, “It is not my place to speculate on the mental
state of the ship’s First Officer unless there is a medical emergency.”

“Fair enough.” I accepted. “I just hope that he can put the situation behind us. We’ll likely be working together in the
future.”

After a moment’s pause for thought, he replied, “I have worked with and known the Commander for some time, and
have seen him put aside his disputes with others for the good of his mission. I believe he will do the same once
more should there be no further antagonization.”

I nodded in understanding, finished my last bite of food, and cleared my throat with a glass of water. “Well, if I’m
going to see the Captain, I should dress the part.”

“A temporary uniform had been placed in your wardrobe prior to your dismissal from Sickbay.” Tuvok helpfully
informed me. That was a good thing to know, since all I remember bringing onboard were my civilian clothes.

When I checked the closet, I was more than a little surprised to find what was basically a blank uniform. It was just
like any other crewmembers on the ship, but instead of a red, blue, or yellow shoulder stripe it was grey. Section 31
uniforms were a uniform black, but they also didn’t look much like normal Starfleet uniforms since they weren’t an
acknowledged part of the Federation. Usually you just wore what was required to play the role you were assigned.

I stepped into the bathroom for a moment to change, and exited a few minutes later with a stretch as I moved
around to get used to the material and how it hung on me. With a gesture, Tuvok led me out of the room waved away
the two security officers who nodded at the two of us and walked away.

The journey that followed was one of silence. I saw a few people walking the halls, some carrying repair kits or
datapads, and they all looked busy. We traveled up a couple of hallways, stepped into the turbolift, and exited a
moment later on Deck One where Tuvok led me to a door on the starboard side. The Captain’s ready room.

After we were granted leave to enter, I could see Janeway sitting behind her desk nursing a cup of coffee in one
hand while the other was holding up a datapad. Something I just didn’t understand was why everyone insisted on
using those pads. Pads are very useful if you need to be mobile, or share information away from any wireless
connections, but since almost one hundred percent of all data is kept on the ship’s main computer network, why not
just use the perfectly good terminal on your desk and access the data there?

“Captain, I have escorted Commander Shepard as requested.” Tuvok announced unnecessarily.

Janeway didn’t look at us, or do anything else to acknowledge she heard us, but it was obvious she had. Purposely
ignoring someone is a standard technique used to establish dominance and show who is in control of the situation.
She was already in charge. I honestly didn't care about who was in command of who on this Love Boat, as long as I
could get a lab to work in, so all this posturing was pointless.

All she succeeded in doing was making the Lieutenant and I stand at attention for a prolonged period, and wasting
everyone’s time.

Eventually, she broke her silence and announced, “Thank you, Mr. Tuvok. That will be all.”

He nodded to her, turned, repeated the action towards me, and stepped back out. No sooner had the doors hissed
closed behind him did Janeway look up and declare, “You are something of a problem for me, at the moment.”

With no way to respond to that, I just remained standing at attention. From what I remembered of her, she’d be
looking for anything to criticize to gain an upper hand, her first tactic having been useless.

She looked back at the pad in her hand, “I’ve just been going over your service record in more detail, or at least the
portions that I have access to. Argus Array information retrieval in 2369 is an interesting footnote to be added to the
history books, since without that the Peace Treaty of 2370 would have been very different. As would the various
operations you ran on Bajor, Cardassia Prime, Arawath and a half dozen others.”

“I think my favorite mission in your file has to be the Kriosian rebellion,” Janeway sneered, almost hissing between
her teeth as she continued on. “A Klingon tributary planet along the Federation border, and not only did Section 31
find out that it was the Romulans who had been supplying the weapons to the rebels there, killing innocents, they
then began to funnel more weapons to the planet while you personally led the locals in a series of operations to
force the Klingons into granting them their independence.”

The silence following that declaration stretched out, broken only by the sound of Janeway taking a drink of her
coffee as I still stood at attention. Another unexpected benefit to my newfound athleticism was I found no trouble
holding this position. After nearly a minute, she asked, “Well, do you have nothing to say?”

“May I speak freely?” I asked, and almost hoped she wouldn’t agree.

When she gave me the nod to proceed, I said, “Argus was a simple data mining mission. The station was also a
target for the Cardassians. We knew they would be there soon to destroy it, and that it would take too long to get the
information if we went through official channels.”

“As for the Kriosians,” I continued, “all I did was finish what the Romulans had begun.”

“You undermined our ally.” Janeway countered. “An ally that the Federation has spent a lot of time and effort over
the last hundred years to keep happy. Why would you risk a century of peace like that? We have laws about
interfering in the affairs of other species and governments.”

“Do you think if would have been better for the Kriosians if we didn’t help them?” I asked, frowning at the thought.
“Let's play this out on the assumption that me and my people didn’t help the Kriosians. The Romulans continue to
provide limited support for the independence movement, which the Klingons tolerate. To a point. Eventually the
Klingon governor would have to take action, and that action would include birds-of-prey in orbit launching attacks on
anything that looked like a good target. Armed camps, government centers, hospitals, schools, basically anything
large enough for insurgents to whole up in. Meanwhile, the Klingons start to think it is the Federation providing aid to
the rebels, even though we aren’t, which just makes relations between us worse. This isn’t helped when Starfleet
learns what the Klingons are doing to the people on their world. It would be seen as another Bajor, where the
Federation stood back and allowed millions to die because trying to kick the Klingons out would be too hard, or
because it might, only might, start a war.”

After a deep breath I calmly added, “In the end, the Romulans get exactly what they wanted: the Federation and the
Klingons turning against each other. Let’s examine what actually happened: because of the way we handled it, the
Kriosians got their independence after losing only a few thousand people to the Klingons, they then immediately
sought Federation protection which was given to them, and the Klingons no longer had a convenient place to attack
the Federation along the border from, if it should ever come to that. Rather than warring with the Klingons to remove
one of the few remaining worlds they held in the neutral zone, Section 31 persuaded them to give it up willingly, thus
saving lives.” And wasn’t that a weird thing for my memories to throw at me.

The fighting on that world had been brief, relatively. A few years of buildup, but only around four months of fighting
was needed. The Klingons, in all honesty, had no real reason to hold onto the world other than ‘honor’ and prestige,
because they had done exactly jack all to make what should’ve been a vital strategic interest into something
worthwhile. It would have been like the United States occupying West Berlin after the Second World War, and not
building a military base there.

Then again, I suppose that had more to do with the Feudal nature of the Klingon Empire rather than any active failing
of their leadership.

“You say that,” Janeway rebuked dismissively, as if saying so negated any of my points, “but all I see in this record of
yours is someone I don’t want on this ship. There is a reason why Section 31 is not a formal part of the Federation or
Starfleet, and it has a great deal to do with the way your organization operates. You don’t operate on the same moral
compass as we do, or even think of solutions the same way. If there was a building in your way, keeping you from
your objective, agents of 31 are more inclined to just blow up the building and anyone inside rather than let
something like that stop their mission.”

I cocked an eyebrow at that. “Does the building have a bomb in it? If it is just in the way, it's more efficient to just go
around it. We generate less attention that way. Just because Section 31 operates outside the standard Starfleet
Doctrine does not make us monsters. You are in command of an Intrepid-class starship, Captain, a vessel that
possesses the firepower to wipe out every living thing on a planet if used correctly. Is the only thing keeping you
from doing so Federation law?”

“Besides,” I pressed on, “just because we think differently isn’t a bad thing. In fact, in our current situation, I would
argue that it is vital to your survival.”

“Explain.” she ordered, not taking her eyes off me. To someone else it would be a pinning, intimidating glare. I’d seen
worse.

With a shrug, I stated the obvious, “In Federation space, with Federation support of hundreds of ships nearby and
clearly established rules of law, Federation doctrine can work. But we aren't in the Federation, or anywhere close to
it. We are strangers to a region of the galaxy that has its own powerful interstellar powers and rules. And it is the
height of hubris to believe that as we stomp our way across the galaxy, knocking over ant hills and generally making
a mess of things because we don’t like their way of doing things, that everyone should play by our rules. You can
stick to Starfleet law on this vessel, but once you are beyond the outer hull it’s the wild west.”

I knew she wouldn’t listen, not yet. Hopefully she would before we met the Borg. “Compassion given to all,
regardless of circumstances, won’t work here,” I finished. “We don’t have the resources to do so.”

“I’m not sure I need a soldier on this ship.” Janeway eventually argued after a long moment, but there was no heat
left in it. “Not since the early days of Starfleet have trained soldiers been on our ships outside of wartime
circumstances.”

“MACO units occasionally get called up when missions require the starship to be in dangerous territory or in a
situation where they will be away from resupply for a long period of time,” I pointed out. “We’re in both. Most
captains tend to forget that Starfleet may primarily be a scientific and exploration organization, but we must also
prepare for conflicts and defend ourselves. Out here, in the Delta Quadrant, you are going to need every advantage
you can get.”

Janeway looked down at her cup of coffee, frowned at the resulting emptiness, and then tapped the pad on the table
for a few moments as she thought. I stood, waiting. She looked up at me, expectantly, but I had said my piece.

After a long moment of us just staring at each other, the Captain declared, “I am unable to directly command you
since you are a part of a different branch of Starfleet, but I will expect you to follow my orders on this ship.”

“You are the Captain. This is a Starship. I follow your orders. It is that simple.” I agreed simply.

She nodded. “I’ll treat you the same way I have the recovered Marquis, by finding you a job you can take on while
onboard that you are well suited to. I suspect you will be able to take over Mr. Tuvok’s job as Chief of Security in a
few weeks, allowing him to focus on being my second officer, once you are up to speed.” Janeway reached into a
drawer near her knees behind the desk, retrieved something, and then tossed it at me.

I caught it on reflex, and then widen my eyes at seeing a Section 31 comm badge in my hand. Unlike the bright silver
badge everyone else wore, mine was black as onyx and slightly heavier. Without hesitating, I attached the device to
the uniform over my left breast. Once in place, I gave the Captain a thankful smile. Going from inconsolably hostile
to gracious and friendly that quickly left me wondering if her anger, too, was a power play. Either way, it didn’t matter.
I had a position I could work from, and head of security would give me enough leeway to make small changes that
would help everyone sooner rather than later.

With that thought in mind, I noticed Janeway was smirking at me. “Welcome aboard Voyager, Commander Shepard.
Treat her well, and she will treat you well.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

 796

SIDoragon Oct 2, 2019 View discussion

Threadmarks: Season 1 - Episode 2: Basket Case (part 1) View content

SIDoragon
Dragon of Story and Song

Oct 7, 2019  #280

Season 1 - Episode 2: Basket Case

March 2371

This has got to be the most unappealing place to eat ever devised by a bureaucracy.

This was the first thought I had after stepping out of the turbolift onto Deck Two and walking into the Mess Hall.
Looking around, it was very difficult to find anything to go against that initial thought. The space itself was fairly
open, and I did enjoy the windows that ran the length of the far wall, but even that did absolutely nothing to change
my opinion. It just screamed, “Life is grey, and so are your taste buds.”

When you first walked in you were assaulted by the grey carpet on the floor, harsh in its plainness. Enclosing the
space were walls that came in two colors; light grey, and dark grey, with steel light scones on the walls. Steel
because chrome wouldn’t be grey enough. The ceiling was a mixture of backlit diffusing panels and recessed LEDs
sporadically placed around the room, which met the goal of providing a source of illumination to keep you from
knocking something over, but failed to provide enough of it to really see what you were really eating.

Maybe that design was made on purpose? Get people to eat then leave? In any event, I wouldn't want to read a book in
here.

The rest of the room continued to fit this lack of color. Silver metal tables dotted the space, with a dark grey band
crossing it in such as was as there was no question which side of the table belonged to someone. These were
paired with grey wave chairs; those annoying ones that were one piece and shaped to the form of a chair. At each
end of the Hall were replicator stations encased in, you guessed it, more grey.

There are Soviet-era ultra-utilitarian bunkers that have more personality than this room.

Aside from the red or yellow stripes on the crew’s uniforms, the single most colorful thing in the room was the
strange Mr. Neelix, who was standing behind the impromptu bar doling out food. The Talaxian had taken to his role
as chef with a vengeance; the Captain’s Dining Room turned Kitchen had a half dozen fires going with various pots
and pans stacked atop them bringing things to a boil or swimmer. Part of me was looking forward to trying his
cooking because what I could smell was actually pretty interesting, but one glance at that long plume of ginger hair
cresting over his scalp, or the long ‘whiskers’ on either side of his jaw, brought to my mind the image of an angry old
tom cat my cousin kept.

It was infamous for basically living in the kitchen, but that hadn’t mattered to anyone until Christmas one year. He
was forced to give up the kitchen after people started to notice the red hair in all the food.

Since replicator rations were in short supply aboard the ship, Neelix was supplementing the food supply with what
he could. So far the ship had stopped at two uninhabited worlds to collect wild fruits and vegetables, while
collecting more seeds to grow food in Cargo Bay Two, which had always been a small source of frustration for me.

It was a surprising thing to find, when I got my hands on an actual, complete, map of the ship, Voyager didn’t, in fact,
have twenty different Cargo Bays. I remember when watching the show, any time there was an issue in a Cargo Bay
it was always Bay Two, but the deck and even the location of it shifted from episode to episode. Presumably it was a
mistake made by the writers of those scripts and not something to be taken as gospel, but I had been worried until I
was able to see them with my own eyes.

Thankfully, some of my confusion had been taken care of. Cargo Bay One is on Deck Four, although it was two decks
in height and had doors for both. Cargo Bay Two wan on Deck Eight, and while it was also multilevel there were only
entrances on a single level. It was also longer, being roughly twice the size of Bay One.

Of course, this also confused me because by the time Seven of Nine was supposed to join the crew, she took over
Cargo Bay Three - which didn’t exist. There were several possible places for a third or fourth Bay, but Voyager hadn’t
established them yet. Maybe this was something that would be done later on when they finally realized they needed
more space to store goods and supplies than an even the Intrepid class, which was designed for long-term
exploration, had. There were many unused rooms that were marked down for supplies on the map of the ship, so I
didn’t understand why they wouldn’t use anything other than Cargo Bay Two.

With a mental shrug, I decided to risk the food and approached the counter. Neelix immediately noticed me in the
dim light, and I just managed to catch his eyes widening in surprise before he plastered on a smile.

He gave me the warm greeting of, “Why hello there, Mr. Shepard! Welcome to the galley. My, my, you are a big fellow.
You must need a lot to eat to get that big. Might I be able to interest you in today’s special, mashed Jibalian tuber!”

I leaned over the nearest plate and took a quick sniff, confirming that it’d been what I had been smelling. With a grin I
told him, “Looks like red mashed potatoes, but smells like sweet corn. Let me guess, it’s high in carbohydrates?”

“Actually, no!” The Talaxian beamed at me, laughing happily, and immediately proceeded to explain, “You are the
third person to ask me that today! No, the Jibalian tuber is high in a lot of necessary vitamins. A serving of this only
has 4 grams of carbohydrates, though it has 8 grams of fiber, but the real beauty of this little gem is that just one of
them has a large percent of your daily vitamin needs. I think the Doctor told me it had seventy-two percent of a
human's daily needs.”

I smiled at that, and gave a friendly nod to the alien as I picked up my plate, juggling it a little with the data padd I
was carrying, but before I could walk away he tapped my arm and added, “Now, be warned, I have been told by some
of the crewmen that it is a little on the spicy side.”

That made me pause.

Slowly, I sat the tray back down, picked up a spoon, and scooped up a bit to try. The moment the red mash hit my
tongue I knew exactly what he was talking about. My eyes started to water, sinuses cleared, and I fought down a
coughing fit with an effort of supreme will. That effort quickly failed.

Fighting the urge the drink a nearby glass of water, I managed to choke out, “It takes like a raw jalapeno.”

“That is what Mr. Paris said,” Neelix agreed happily. “I have been meaning to ask if that is some kind of delicacy on
Earth?”

I slowly shook my head, glaring at the alien. “Not by itself. It is a spice used to make things hot. They are normally
eaten with something else to take some of the heat away. The juice was once used as a weapon on earth, spraying
it into our opponents eyes to blind them. Some special breeds could even burn our flesh. I suspect this was one of
those.”

“Oh dear. I may need to apologize to some people who got the first dishes. Those would have been stronger.” The
Talaxian slowly added, looking thoughtful but completely unconcerned about the torture he had inflicted.

I finally gave up and start chugging the class of water. As I finished the cool liquid, I told him, “Maybe if you are going
to be cooking for a predominantly human crew, it would be prudent to learn what their palette is. I know some
people back home who would eat that as a challenge, to win a bet, but not as a normal meal.”

I glanced over at the kitchen and tried my best to fight down an aggrieved sigh that I knew was going to become a
routine thing. I’d only been awake for two days in this universe, and I was already finding things to get annoyed
about.

“Neelix,” I began slowly, “when you were preparing this food, did you not wear any gloves?”

“Excuse me?” He seemed genuinely confused by the question.

“Gloves. For your hands. Keeps germs from getting into the food.” I explained. “It’s why we have rules for handling
the preparation of meals. We also wash our hands regularly, but I don't see a sink in your kitchen, or any soap.”

I looked pointedly at the tiny kitchen he had cobbled together. “There are also utensils hanging over the cooking
elements, and I see food being cooked next to preparation areas used for raw ingredients, increasing cross-
contamination.” I knew that thanks to the twenty fourth century medicine, most things could be cured with a
hypospray, but that shouldn’t excuse negligence for basic food safety standards.

Maybe it was just me. Maybe generations of reliance on synthetic food, biofilters, and advanced medicine had
eradicated all common sense regarding food handling. Maybe laws or regulations regarding food safety were
abandoned around the same time aliens and their culinary habits started to leak into the human sphere.

Oh Gods, I’m turning into Gordon Ramsey. My life is not going to be going around inspecting various kitchens for
cleanliness or the cooks for competency!

With a shake of the head, I added, “Maybe you would like to get someone from Engineering to take a look over the
space and bring it up to code? It’d make things easier in the long run, and make it easier to cook.” I’d just ignore how
Tuvok knew about this for several days and hadn’t already done something about it.

I glanced down at the tray of food, and gave a mental shrug. I might be able to save it.

Glancing up at Neelix, I finally realize just how much I had annoyed the alien. His mouth was puckered up and his
skin tone had shifted from pale to purple. “Now see here. I’ll have you know that the Captain approves of my kitchen
and I won’t have you disrespecting my efforts to provide help to the crew!” he snapped at me.

My first reaction is to bark back at him and give him a piece of my mind. However, I felt myself calming down, and
realized doing so wouldn’t help anyone. Instead I just picked up my tray, gave the alien a smile and a friendly nod of
my head, and walked to the back of the room. Most of the room was empty, so finding a table wasn’t difficult. I
picked the far corner, with a clear view of both entrances and my back to the wall, my new old memories demanding
I sit there. I sat my tray and padd down, but before taking my seat I walked over to the Replicator and decided that
this would be worth the use of a ration.

“Computer, half a cup of sour cream and half a cup of shredded cheddar cheese. Room Temp,” I instructed. If it was
anything like Jalapenos, the oil that caused the burn would bind to the nonpolar milk products.

The machine acknowledged my order with a chirp, and after a couple seconds of watching a small lightshow it had
produced my request in a pair of small containers. I dipped a finger into the cream to see if it was real, cringed at my
unhygienic action, and frowned a little in thought even as I picked up the containers and took them back to my table.

“If you were just going to replicator some food, why did you take my tray?” Neelix grumbled from his counter. A few
people glanced over to see what was going on, but otherwise did nothing.

I sighed in exasperation and said, “I’m not replicating a meal, just some ingredients that you don’t have. Come here
and try this.”

I mixed the cream and cheddar into the hot red mash until it was well blended. I took a test bite, and was a little
disappointed, but at least I no longer wanted to drown myself in a glass of milk. I imagine it is because a replicator
can’t make real dairy products and that was why the taste was off. Biofilters screen out bacteria and pathogens as a
safety feature, which might explain why my new memories of food from the Federation didn’t really mesh well with
the memories from my original life.

Unless you got something spicy, replicator food was bland. Homemade and fresh grown was still best, but most
people just didn’t have the time or willpower to make a meal when you could just tell the computer to make
something. It was likely the reason why restaurants, like the one Sisko’s father runs, were so popular in a post
scarcity world that had food synthesizers in every home.

As Neelix walked over to me, his frown still cemented on, I gestured for him to try it. He pulled out a spoon, took a
bite, and his eyebrows rose in response. “What happened to it?”

“You're a Talaxian. This heat might be normal to you, but not us. If you have questions about what Humans eat, or
why, ask us. We learned a long time ago how to bring the heat from spicy food down to a more tolerable level. Fresh
sour cream works best, but in a pinch replicated stuff will work as well. Equally useful would be some kind of salted
tuber chip.” I informed him.

Neelix glared at me for a moment, before he suddenly straightened his back, gave me a nod, and walked back to his
kitchen far more quickly than he had come out of it. I grinned, chuckling briefly, and then turned to my meal to dig in.

Once the meal was finished off, the heat bearable, I pushed the tray to the side and returned to the padd I held with a
sigh of resignation, similar, but different than a sigh of annoyance. It was the duty roster for Security, handed off to
me just before I got into the turbolift up here by Chakotay himself. Starting tomorrow I was in charge of ship
security, reporting to Lieutenant Commander Tuvok, and I was about as satisfied with what I saw on the padd as I
was with the inside of Neelix’s kitchen.

Twenty-two people, including me, were currently assigned to Voyager’s Security. Sadly, nine of the original officers
were lost when the Caretaker flung the ship across the galaxy. Those nine had been replaced by Maquis, largely at
the direction of First Officer Chakotay. Included in the roster were the notations Tuvok left arguing against this.

Eight of those nine I would have to get to know later, but one of them was going to need to be spoken to Now. This
wasn’t because they had done something wrong, but because some bright spark had decided it would be a smart
idea to place a Maquis at the provisional rank of Lieutenant without any prior experience commanding, or even
working, in Starfleet.

She and the two other Lieutenants in Security would be meeting me shortly for a sort of orientation, but boy-oh-boy
did I see some issues with the rest of the staff. Three Lieutenants, four Lieutenant Junior Grade, and thirteen
Ensigns. And on top of that we also had four Chief Petty Officers who were only assigned to Voyager so they could
complete their final requirements to be moved up to full commissioned officers.

Of those four CPO’s none of which were on track to join Security, they were assigned to Security because of poor
fortune and Janeway’s lack of leadership. Security had been understaffed when they got there, and with the mission
changing from extraction to exploration, they’d shuffled the FUNs around to technically fill the requirements,
because obviously someone who’d trained all their schooling to be an engineer could be a soldier without issue. To
be fair to Janeway, she started her career as a science officer and moved to command, though it showed in her
actions, so she might not understand the problem. Then again, looking at their records, if she is going to throw away
a pair of engineers and scientists, I’d happily take them under my wing.

If this is how she treats the rank and file crew, then yeah, I would have been worried about a mutiny if I was Janeway.
Huh, maybe that is why Tuvok wrote that holodeck anti-mutiny training program in the original timeline. I wonder if he’ll
write it again? Would he put me on the pro or anti mutiny side?

I looked up as the far door opened, and blinked as I saw a short, pale skinned alien humanoid with blonde hair walk
in carrying a basket full of vegetables. She strode straight into the kitchen, greeting the Talaxian warmly with a kiss.
‘That must be Kes.’

She looked more delicate than I remembered, but her face matched the crew manifest portrait I had been given and
familiarized myself with. I had to admit, I was both envious and saddened by her species, the Ocampa. Born with
great mental potential, gifted with the ability to learn at an accelerated rate as well carrying some genetic memories
from their ancestors, they had the trade off of having the comparative lifespan of a mayfly. Only nine years to grow,
learn, build a future, and hand it over to the next generation before you died.

When Kes got on Voyager, she had to have known she was going to die long before the ship made it home. That was
a hell of a sacrifice she made, to leave her home, her people, behind to die with strangers. Then again, she was
barely a year old, so maybe she was going through her species’ version of teenage rebellion. Though, with how
much she saved the crew, it was likely for the best they found her when they did.

Poor Ocampa. No more Caretaker to provide for them, stuck underground on a desert world while Kazon slavers
camp out on the surface waiting for them to poke their heads out. Five years of energy reserves left for them to find
a way to survive on their own. With how they were, they’d waste all ten years, then die in their city or escape it
completely unprepared. In ten years, the Ocampa that still lived on their homeworld might be extinct.

Then again, we have our own power issues to deal with. I considered. Maybe it’s time to start a mental wish list of
technologies and ideas to explore that might help. Hell, I still have to make time on the holodeck to adapt the omni-tool
design I’d spent a point to buy. And I might need to drop another point into it anyway to make it more efficient. The
design I’d received, if built, would look almost nothing like device used in the game, needing a full vambrace and
glove to function.

I watched as Kes left the kitchen, paused, and then turned to look over at me. After barely a second’s hesitation, Kes
smiled and started walking over towards me. As she approached, I felt my new manners kick in and I stood to greet
her. Far braver than I would have been in my old life, Kes walked right up to my table and boldly declared, “Hello, my
name is Kes. I don’t believe we have met.”

Extending a hand for her to shake, I smiled back at her, “Commander Branden Shepard. Just call me Shepard.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Shepard.” she replied, that infectious smile of hers never wavering. “Do you mind if I sit with
you?”

“Not at all. Please help yourself.” I indicated the opposite chair with a hand as I sat back. “To what reason do I owe
the pleasure?”

Her smile faltered for a moment before she seemed to effortlessly grow it back. Her voice was soft as she
answered, “Well, to be direct, I wanted to talk to you about Neelix. He seemed very upset when I spoke with him just
now. But I also want to know who you are. I have been introducing myself to the crew and getting to know them all.”

I glanced over at Neelix, who was staring at the two of us in the way only jealous boyfriends could, and I struggled
not to laugh. “Neelix and I have a few differences of opinion on cooking for humans. Nothing that can’t be worked
out.”

“He mentioned something about his food not being good enough for a garbage disposal.” She looked at me evenly
at that, like she was waiting to gauge my reaction.

A flicker of anger died as I took a slow breath and sighed. “I don’t like words being put in my mouth. I simply pointed
out that the natural spiciness of the food prepared today would be too much for the average crewmember. I then
showed him how to make it more tolerable for Humans. I never said anything bad about his food.”

“His food handling,” I went on, “is another story. Earth kitchens have sinks to wash hands and food before prep. We
separate our cooking stations and our prep stations to prevent cross-contamination.”

“Cross-contamination. Are you saying the food has gone bad?” she asked innocently.

“No, potentially harmful organisms or substances on uncooked food is rendered safe by the process of cooking it,
but that doesn’t help if you put cooked food on the same thing that held uncooked food moments before. There are
at least a dozen health and safety violations in his kitchen, and I suggested he have Engineering come up here and
make sure everything is safe.”

Kes leaned back for a moment, frowning in thought. “That isn’t what he said.”

“He was likely just saying things to make himself feel better.” I offered, not really caring what the Talaxian said.
“Sometimes people blow up or exaggerate the truth because they want to provoke a certain emotion. He likely just
wanted some attention and sympathy from you, and then in an hour he will be fine.”

A lopsided grin graced her face, and Kes rolled her eyes a bit. “That sounds exactly like something Neelix would do. I
love him, he is a good man, but he can be very prone to exaggeration. He can be very prideful.”

I offered a shrug and a half-grin in return. “He’ll have to get used to it. Sometimes the way we do something doesn’t
make sense at first, but there’s usually a reason for it. Usually, that reason has something to do with someone
hurting themselves.”

Kes thought on that for a few moments, giving my words a good deal of weight, while I glanced around the room and
saw some people leave while others entered. I noticed that Neelix was now adding small containers of sour cream
and cheese with his plates, so I guessed the lesson was learned. That only left the question of why nobody
explained all this to our new aliens before I got here. While Section 31 didn’t care that much, I’d have thought that
Starfleet, with all of their rules for first contact, would have a protocol to help avoid cultural clashes like this.

“So,” the Ocampa said, changing the subject, “why is your uniform different from everyone else?”

She pointed at the grey strip on my shoulders, and continued, “Everyone either has Red, for Command, Blue for
Science, or Yellow for Engineering. What is Grey?”

I’d thought about my answer to this question for a long while, having expected it to have come up before now.
Starfleet personnel didn’t normally wear this uniform, after all. “Technically, it is an unassigned uniform. This is worn
by those who don’t fall into the three color-coded branches of Starfleet. I wear it, because while I am on this ship, I
am not technically a part of the Voyager crew. Or I wasn’t until we ended up here. This is the last day you will see me
wearing it though, since tomorrow I will be taking over Security duties.”

Hopefully, I added to myself, I’d have my new uniform ready in time. Like Hell was I going to have my Security teams
wearing the same standard yellow uniforms that every other operations team has. It made it impossible to tell who
belongs where at a glance, as if Engineering and Security where the same thing. I was going to be putting them in
one of the alternate designs that had been in the records but never implemented. That would last until I came up
with something better.

Did I expect Janeway to go along with this? No, not at all. But I’d cross that bridge when I came to it.

“I thought Tuvok was our Chief of Security?” Kes asked, eyes wide at the news.

I gave something between a shrug and nod, before explaining: “The Captain needed to put me somewhere useful.
My advanced rank makes it difficult to have me doing maintenance work in Engineering, so the next best solution is
to find something I have experience with and putting me there.”

She cocked her head slightly, brimming with naiveté, “So you have experience doing Security work?”

“In a manner of speaking,” I grinned at the young woman. “I know a few things that should help, at least. My
experience is with commanding military forces.”

She blinked at me, not understanding what I meant. I don’t think the Ocampa even had the concept, and the Kuzon
seemed to be nothing but military, so that was possible. Either way, she continued smiling at me, “So what is Tuvok
going to be doing?”

I shrugged, “That’s up to him. Technically, he is the ship’s Chief Tactical Officer, in charge of all Operations, which
makes him third in command overall. While Security will no longer be his direct concern, I will have to report to him
so I assume he’ll have some things to comment on.”

“So, what is the difference between military and security for your people?” The Ocampa leaned forward, interested.
“On my world, we really didn’t have need for soldiers and police were few.”

I leaned back in my chair, sharing an easy smile with the young woman. “We usually have a clear division of intent
with our armed forces. Security is in the role of policing, to suppress criminal activity, maintain public order and
safety, and keep the crew safe from crime. They live in settlements, and stations, and most who do that job aren’t
part of Starfleet at all.”

“Military forces, on the other hand,” I waved a hand in front of me, indicating the crew coming in for lunch, “are more
focused. We are there to deter hostile invasions from other states, and to engage in combat operations on foreign
worlds. Basically, Security’s job is to make sure everyone on board this ship is obeying the law and take action to
make sure people don’t break it. My experience is going to other worlds to stop hostiles there before they can cause
problems at all.”

There was more to that, a lot more, but this was just the basics. “Both organizations are armed and occasionally end
up in combat situations, but my organization is much more heavily geared towards this role. With our situation, the
Security crew is going to be needed act a lot more militaristically then they would back home in the Federation. What
I’m hoping to do is share some of that knowledge so the crew will get home safe,” I ended, taking a drink of water.

“Interesting,” was all Kes has to say. Instead she gave me a polite smile, stood, and added, “Well, I need to get back
to the aeroponics bay. I’ll speak with you again soon.”

I stood with her, gave her a warm smile and a nod of the head, and watched her walk away before returning to my
seat. There was still another thirty minutes before I needed to go meet with my new Lieutenants, so instead I picked
up my padd and kept reading. As I read, my mind kept wandering back to other things I could spend point on to help
the crew. How those things could mesh with the other things I already knew. What could be useful now, versus later.
What would require special materials, and what I could use a Replicator to make.

Maybe I shouldn’t have been so quick to dismiss the arc reactor idea, I considered. From what I remembered of the
movie, the original reactor - before Tony miniaturized it - looked a lot like a toroidal plasma containment system for a
fusion power plant. I might be able to actually make the damn thing by substituting comic-book physics with Star
Trek physics, but I was still not sure what the power output would be. Would it be enough to be worth the work,
enough to be worth the points that could be spent elsewhere?

Throwing my Academy education at it, I could guess that the thing works through Palladium-103 and 107 radio-
isotopic decay to produce electrical current, albeit how it managed to produce a metric butt-load of current, I didn’t
know. Then again, if I did, I wouldn’t need to spend the points.

Fine, I told myself, focusing inwards. I have 9 more charges I can spend, but I don’t want to have less than five in my
reserve. So let's spend these four on…

Mass Effect: Omni-Tools (1 Charge)

The option was there, even though I’d already bought it. I didn’t get any other information, just the option itself.
Mentally selecting it, I felt the charge drain out of me, the foreign feeling of information ready to be learned taking its
place.

I leaned back in the chair and closed my eyes, like I was taking a quick nap, and just allowed the flood of knowledge
to wash over me. What I knew about omni-tools increased tenfold in a matter of seconds, and I could physically feel
the information I’d gained building on what I already knew.

Turns out, it was a good thing I’d paid for this charge. I would have had a difficult time building the device before, but
now the design and construction time would be reduced, while versatility would be greatly increased.

With a slow, deep breath of air to clear my mind, I decided on the next topic. This time I tried to focus not on a piece
of technology, but a concept. As I did so, I felt a new option appear in my mind.

Efficiency (1 charge)

And holy shit that just made everything I know fall into question. Was what I considering really the most efficient
way to build an Omni-tool? Or a warp core? Managing the ships energy supplies? Growing food? I now knew enough
that I could see there were problems, and I could barely get the sense of some simple solutions to improve things
Voyager’s situation. It wasn’t a lot, most on the level of getting Engineering to build Neelix’s kitchen, and I had a
feeling that I’d need a lot more charges in this for any large scale improvements, but even the small ones my new
knowledge was feeding me would be a great help on the ship and the crew.

With a shuddering breath, I gripped the table and stabilized myself. I imagined that from the outside observer, I must
have looked like I was in pain or suffering from something, but thankfully the little corner was out of the way and I
had always been able to blend into the background. My grey uniform helped, working as an oddly efficient form of
camouflage in this horribly decorated room.

As I regained more and more control of my thoughts, I turned my mind to the idea of an Arc Reactor, and got two
responses:

Marvel MCU: Arc Reactor (1 Charge)

Marvel MCU: Arc Reactor (2 Charges)

So they can cost multiple points, I realized. In a sense, the Omni-tools had as well, to get what I actually wanted. A
single point had gotten me a bulky, ponderous system, and it was only the second that netted me what I really
wanted. I considered last two charges I wanted to spend and decided on a course of action. Better to find out if I
don’t need it, than let the question linger in the back of my mind forever.

“Mother of God,” I mumbled, unable to control myself, clenching my eyes as tightly as I could as the information felt
like it flowed over and into my retina at warp speed. This was not a pleasant learning experience.

But I was already learning things. Important things. I was smart to drop two charges into the technology because I
certainly would have been limited with the massive original design that barely broke even on the power output, if
that had been the one-point option. Now I had the Earth-199999 design based on Tony’s chest mounted Palladium
reactor, which could put out three gigajoules of power per second. It was even meshing well with my Trek-
knowledge, filling in the blanks and improving the design until it was able to produce four gigajoules per second, the
precision possible with their tech light years beyond what Tony could’ve achieved. The efficiency knowledge, as little
as it was, still helped make a difference as well.

A few more charges in that technology, along with more efficiency, and I might have something that would - maybe
not end the search for more power - but would significantly help provide the ship with an alternate source of power. I
could already see that it wouldn’t be compatible with the warp engines, so we would still need more deuterium,
antideuterium, and dilithium crystals to power the core. However, the extra power could be useful for replicators, life
support and many other systems that didn’t draw large amounts of energy at once. If nothing else, a few dozen arc
reactors placed around the ship could work as an emergency power supply.

We would be the only people that have them in the sector at least, if not the universe. At least until someone stole
one from the ship. Or Janeway traded it away, since it wasn’t a Federation tech and she could rationalize it away as
not upsetting the balance of power as much as Warp Core technology. Or one of the random people Janeway
always invited onboard and gave free reign scanned it. Or the Borg assimilated it.

Christ, this is going to be harder than I thought.

Last edited: Oct 7, 2019

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Threadmarks: Season 1 - Episode 2: Basket Case (part 2) View content

SIDoragon
Dragon of Story and Song

Oct 13, 2019  #554

Season 1 - Episode 2: Basket Case (part 2)

March 2371

A quick stop at my room to freshen up, and I was soon making my way to the Security Complex on the same deck. I
hadn’t realized when I was given quarters on Deck Four that the security center was on the same level, but I wasn’t
going to complain about its serendipitous nature.

Growing up, watching Voyager on the television, I never really gave much thought to what was in the center of the
ship and how complex everything must be. What you saw on screen never told the whole truth about what was on
each ship, deck by deck, or how it was laid out. All one ever saw were corridors and the occasional window that let
you know the room was against the hull. It was how I knew that the Mess Hall and the crew quarters were at the
edge of the structure, but that still left a lot of unaccounted for space in such a massive vessel.

That was why I had been so dumbfounded to realize how absolutely stuffed Deck Four was.

Officer quarters reminded me of my first apartment in size, to be honest, and had everything you would need to be
comfortable; living area, bedroom, bathroom. They were generally reserved for those of lieutenant rank or higher, as
well as members of the senior staff. Living areas, like in my room, were located along the forward half of the outer
hull, came with a replicator terminal, and was largely customizable, to a point. As for the standard décor, if you liked
grey, you were going to be very comfortable in one of those rooms.

‘As soon as I save up enough rations, I’m going to need to do some major redecorating in my room.’

At Forward was the ship’s secondary Tactical Sensor Suite, which was basically a convenient way of saying “Here is
a series of giant fucking computers.” The room was roughly shaped like a triangle, gradually tapering to a point as it
reached in from the outer hull. It impressed me to see it, if only in how different it looked from the rest of the ship. It
kind of reminded me of a trek-version of a server farm; a floor to ceiling maze of black computer panels and blinking
lights sealed up so tightly that not even air could get inside the casings, and not a scrap of grey fabric in sight. They
were top of the line systems, able to scan and analyze a volume of more than forty-one hundred cubic light years in
about six seconds.

Opposite this room were the Aft Torpedo Launch Bays. They were effectively one massive room, but there was a
dividing wall, which could be sealed in an instant, that ran up the center that split it into the Starboard and Port
rooms. Each room was basically a mirror of the other, equipped with a launch tube fed by an automated conveyor
system that funneled over torpedoes from the ammunition racks at the other end of the room. Each launcher was
governed by its own tactical station, but they didn’t have to be manned for the launchers to be fired. During a tactical
alert there might be two people here, four maximum, but they were there to make sure that something didn’t jam at
the wrong moment. The setup was surprisingly well thought out and efficient, showing off the automation that the
show talked about, but never displayed in its episodes.

Working your way back from the torpedo bays, you had a pair of escape pods, more tiny sub-light ships than stellar
life rafts, with a turbo-lift on the opposite side of the hall, followed by a slightly larger than normal officer’s cabin.
Then you had the Structural Integrity Field Generator Compartments. Located on either side the Deck, there was
always a person posted to the rooms at all times, unlike the torpedo bays. Wise, considering how important it was to
make sure our ship doesn’t rip itself apart every time we do anything strenuous.

From there you had another larger than normal officer’s cabin, followed by the Primary Hull Electro-Plasma System
(EPS) Distribution Node Compartment. Essentially, it was one of the ships various transformer hubs. They were
located here because the ship’s shield emitters were there as well. They also regulated power output for this deck
and the two above and below us. This room was also where the crew quarters begin for the forward deck.

That was basically the outer “ring” of the deck, separating it from the never seen interior was the corridor. Starting
from the forward section of the deck and working your way back you have the port and starboard battery room used
to provide emergency power. Followed by the Emergency Life Support centers for Decks Three and Four.

Another corridor crossed the ship here, splitting this area in thirds, as we get to the Holodeck-Support mechanical
rooms, and the Transporter Rooms. These rooms are also mirrored, one in the port side and the other on the
starboard, with Jefferies tube, which were just service crawlways, access splitting them apart.

Another corridor sectioned this area off, but directly across from the Transporter pads was the ship’s Security
Complex, which made sense. I could not believe how much more there was to it than was ever shown on television.
The complex was actually well thought out and used the space well. Shaped like an isosceles trapezoid, the hallway
had six doors that separated the complex into useful areas. From the starboard side, the first door led into a hallway
that wrapped around to the back of the trapezoid where you found three different brigs. From the show, I had always
assumed they had a single room since there was always just the brig and the one jailer. Turns out that each brig was
a single cell room attached to a single warden area.

At the second and fourth doors down the Security/Transporter hallway you had armory rooms. These were where
the ship stored all its handheld weaponry and other ordinance. There were fourteen storage lockers in each room for
hand phasers and rifles, with room for additional ordinance.

The third door opened into a five level, auditorium style, briefing area with thirteen places to sit all facing the stage at
the opposite end of the room. With the Security compliment the ship original had, that would be enough for the
entirety Security crew, but after the addition of the Maquis crew and the subsequent personnel reshuffle, any briefing
there would have to happen twice. Or everyone would have to stand.

The fifth room down the hallway was Security’s shooting range. Technically it was the ‘Security Testing and Training
Room’, but in function it was just an indoor shooting range. It was split into two rooms, the first was a gathering area
with storage lockers for gear and six partitioned changing rooms along with one-size-fits-all training clothes in each
space. This lead into a small holographic “range” that could be used for everything from testing accuracy skills to
hand-to-hand combat. It wasn’t a full holodeck, you couldn’t build an entire city in a room, but it could provide you
with a wide variety of enemies and training aids.

The last door opened into my honest to god office. Something I hadn’t even considered before coming here is that
each section chief on board had to have a private office of some kind to work on reports, but it turns out that they
not only exist but are useful. The Chief of Security office doubled as an informal meeting room; it had a long grey
couch with a stainless-steel table, as well as a pair of chairs placed across from his desk. At the back of the room
was a small washroom, just enough to do your business, but it was more than appreciated. Just like the Mess Hall, it
had that same hideous grey carpet and dark grey walls, and so I added another room to my remodel list.

This was where I was going to be meeting my Lieutenants.

I had only been in the room for two minutes, just enough time to sit down behind the black console that doubled as
my desk and take a few sips of tea, when the door tone announced someone was waiting to come in. “Enter,” I
declared, while making a mental note to lock the door open when I was here and able to talk to people. It would send
a better message and I didn’t like the idea of being shut in this drab room all the time.

The first to enter was a tall black man, built like an NFL linebacker and nearly as tall as I was. Lt. Andrews had had a
long Starfleet career, which made it all the more confusing why he was still only a Lieutenant. His file was full of
observations from previous Security commanders and captains that painted a dismaying picture of ambivalence
and laziness. Decent scoring on his weapons training and hand-to-hand combat, but apparently he wasn’t good at
doing everything else.

“Please take a seat, Lieutenant,” I ordered the older man, offering the chairs or the sofa with a sweeping gesture. I
wasn’t very picky. “We’re still waiting on the others.”

Andrews looked like he was trying to suppress a scowl, and failed, but gave me a nod and glanced around the room.
He started to move to the couch, stopped to glance at me and see if it was a wise choice, and, when he saw I wasn’t
going to say anything, proceeded to sit down. The man’s uniform was clean, the image of perfection for regulations,
but he still gave it the ol’ Pickard maneuver and tugged it down.

About twenty seconds behind him the door chimed again. “Come in!” I called, picking up my cup and taking a sip of
the hot beverage. The traces of spice were gone, but I didn’t care for the aftertaste of the Talaxian’s cooking

Two women filed in as the doors parted. Glancing at the two of them, I didn’t need to look at their faces to pick out
who was who.

Lt. Felecia Dalal was a trim and fit woman of Indian descent. Average height, and in her early thirties like myself, one
of her previous commanders noted her down as the “Team Mother” type because of her tendencies to passively,
some might say passive-aggressively, coerce the rest of the security forces into doing what she ordered. She would
be the one who checked in with them at all hours of the day, made sure they were on task, and insured everyone got
their jobs done while not trusting them to do it on their own. There were certainly always some crew that would need
such oversight, but she did not discriminate.

There was an amusing story in her record from some time she spent on Deep Space Four. During the Cardassian
War, there had been an attempt by the aliens to seize the outpost, and during the fighting the then Ensign ended up
separated from her team and had to go hand to hand against a Cardassian that found her. When her commanding
officer found them, expecting to have to rescue her, she was instead found standing over the face-down Cardassian
with his arms behind his back in a wristlock. When the invader tried to stand, presumedly thinking that he was going
to be taken to the brig, Dalal was noted as having smiled at her attacker and informed him, “Stop moving or I’ll just
break it more.”

As it stood, there were recommendations in Dalal’s file for promotion to Lieutenant Commander. Because of that I
was currently eyeing her as my adjutant. If needed.

Provisional-Lt. Brenda Wood on the other hand, was a complete mystery. The blonde was currently wearing the Ops.
uniform that was required for the job - at least until tomorrow - but you could tell she was uncomfortable in it. The
way she subconsciously shifted as she stood, flexing against the fabric, trying to find a way to be comfortable in it,
spoke of unfamiliarity and unease.

I sympathized. While the new me was comfortable with what I was wearing, she was showing the same reactions as
I had in my old life when I needed to wear a suit and tie.

From what little was in her record, mostly put together by Tuvok using what he learned of everyone during his
undercover assignment, Wood wouldn’t be out of place in my division of Section 31. Raised on a border world, the
twenty six year old woman had a lot of hate for the Cardassians who razed her home town to the ground during the
war. She had an equal amount of hate for the Federation because the only reason the Cardassian had been able to
do what they did was because the Federation flat out refused to provide the colony with the weapons to defend
itself. They had, according to Tuvok’s notes, claimed that their ships in the area would be able to respond to any
attack, which they did. Two days after the fact.

A self-taught engineer, Wood moved from colony to colony and ship to ship during the war. In terms of general
ability, she was nowhere near Torres skill, but had instead specialized in learning how to build things that go boom.
After the war, she took exception to the Federation drawing a line on a map and telling all the humans on the other
side of it to move. She had friends and family on that side of the map, what had been Federation space for a century
prior to the conflict, and she saw it as just another example of the Federation screwing people over. So she turned
her back on the Federation which had turned its back on her people, joined the Maquis, and made more things go
boom.

I guess Chakotay thought someone who likes explosions and hates Federation rules would make a decent Security
Officer? What the hell was he thinking? I wondered. There was no way Tuvok was going to utilize her correctly, now
that he was back in Starfleet, but his loss was my gain.

“You asked to see us?” Dalal asked, standing at attention just inside the room. Wood stood upright next to her,
obviously making an effort at trying to stand at attention, copying the older woman’s motions for the most part.

I nodded slowly. “I did. Please, take a seat and we can get started.”

Rather than join Andrews on the sofa, the two ladies took the pair of chairs across from me. As everyone settled in, I
asked, “Would anyone like some tea, or water? I would offer you coffee but after seeing what that Talaxian was
offering in the Mess I couldn’t in good conscious endorse it.”

Wood and Andrews declined with a shake of their heads, but Dalal accepted the offer of tea. Giving them time to get
settled, I moved around the room to gather the cups and trays. While I was doing so, Andrews spoke up from the
couch, “Sir, why did you ask us here?”

Dalal immediately snapped back, apparently scandalized by the man's lack of respect for a senior officer, “Andrews,
zip it.” The speed of her response indicated she’d been expecting his comment.

I just waved it off, however. “No, that's fine. This is an informal gathering at best. I just wanted to meet the people I
would be working with. Provisional-Commander Chakotay essentially just handed me the duty roster a few hours
ago and told me I’m in charge, so this is just a meet and greet.”

Wood apparently didn’t like the prefix I placed before the First Officer’s rank, likely seeing it as the slight I meant it to
be. “I trust Chakotay,” She told me levelingly, meeting my eye but not glaring. “Not so sure about you yet.”

“And that is why we are meeting,” I smirked back at her, returning to the desk with the pot of tea and three small
cups. I poured the herbal blend I’d had Replicated for this meeting into a cup for Dalal, the fragrant mix of citrus,
mint, and pine wafting through the room, before I topped off my own cup and placed the pot down so anyone could
grab it.

As I sat back down, leaning into the chair and sipping on the warm drink, I asked, “So, before we begin, what do you
three know about me?”

My three Lieutenants glanced at one another, but didn’t say anything. After Dalal glanced at Andrews, who glared
back at her mulishly, and at Wood, who returned her gaze levelly, she spoke up. “Nothing, sir. We know you’ve taken
over Security from Lieutenant Commander Tuvok, that you are a Commander who is going to report to him, and your
name. That is all we officially have been informed of, sir,” she informed me.

I had to applaud her diplomacy. She hadn’t mentioned that I was reporting to someone of inferior rank, though she
had brushed up against the topic if I wanted to address it. If it was something that upset me, it would’ve let her
obliquely mention the issue, so she could not be accused of not knowing it, but didn’t name it, in case it upset me.

She didn’t say anything else, but from her polite but intent stare, Andrew’s glare, and from how Wood seemed
simultaneously interested in whatever I had to say and ready to run that they’d all heard things, scuttlebutt already
running wild across the ship. I let out a reluctant sigh as I placed the cup back down and resolved myself to do
something I was trained to never do.

Tell the truth.

"I am aware of how hard it is to keep a secret on a ship, especially a ship with this small of a crew. I'm sure that all
three of you have heard, or thought you have heard, of my history. While you would never normally hear someone like
me say so, this isn't a normal situation, and if we four are to work together, then it does us no good to keep this a
secret.” I met each of their eyes in turn. “I was a member of Section 31 of Starfleet, the black operations division of
the Federation's military, normally known only to those Captain rank and above. When we get home, you will be
required to keep this organization a secret as well, but I trust that you will all be able to do so. My organization was
so named as, under article fourteen, section thirty-one of the original Starfleet charter, extraordinary measures are
allowed in the face of extreme threats.”

I let the statement stand for a moment, before going into more detail. “We were the Federations first, invisible line of
defense. We went where others could not go, helped where others could not help, and we accomplish what others
cannot accomplish. We spied. We conducted sabotage. We stole secrets. We conducted otherwise illegal analysis.
The actual number of agents we had is classified but it is the largest collection of intelligence operatives in Starfleet
by far.”

“We also control several affiliated organizations that were not necessarily a part of Starfleet Intelligence in order to
help Starfleet, and the Federation as a whole. It’s very highly classified how we did it, where we did it, or when we did
it. Very little of what we did was ever, or will ever be publicly acknowledged. What we did had to be kept secret
because when we went into those organizations, and conducted intelligence work, we were violating their laws.”
Andrew’s glare didn’t abate in the slightest, having obviously either heard, or at least suspected, of what I was
revealing or the man had a damn good poker face; Dalal’s expression was accepting, even though it was obviously a
mask to hide her true feelings; and Wood, oddly enough, seem to have the slightest Grin. Each of them would have
to be dealt with differently, but I wasn’t done.

“I speak of this in the past tense because I am no longer part of Section 31. When we get home, however long that
takes, I likely will rejoin them again, but until that point I am a member of your crew, your commanding officer, and
the one who will do his damnedest to make sure as many of us, Security and otherwise, get home safely, because
just as I worked to defend the Federation, I will work to defend Voyager as well.”

I regarded them all levelly, unashamed of my past. “Any questions?"

There was a long minute of silence that followed my little speech. The three Lieutenants stared at me, then at each
other, before looking back at me. Dalal looked down and stared at her cup of tea, using the motion to buy herself
time to process what I’d just said, while Wood reached for the pot on the desk and snagged a cup, more at ease than
she’d been a moment ago.

Andrews on the other hand, if anything, seemed to push himself deeper into the sofa and scowl harder. If he knew
who I was, actually knew about Section 31, he wouldn’t still be so openly hostile. Either the man was an idiot, or this
was a guy who didn’t know what I was talking about, but knew he didn’t like what he was hearing. I suspected it was
the latter.

After taking a long drink of the tea, Wood looked me dead in the eyes and pronounced, “At least you aren’t Tuvok.”

Damn. That was cold.

I looked over at the former Maquis and asked, “If you are referring to me being Human, instead of Vulcan, you are
absolutely right. If not, I might need you to expound on that.” I had a good feeling, but if I was going forward with the
‘honesty is the best policy’ route, it would do to ask for some from them as well.

Taking a second to refill her cup, Wood returned to her seat and of all things smiled at me. “You were up front with
who you are. What you are. Tuvok spent all those months with us pretending to be our friend. Lying to us every day.
Acting like he agreed with our cause and was helping us fight back. Instead he turned us over to Starfleet. Or at least
he would have if the Caretaker hadn’t interrupted their plan.”

She took a sip of her drink, paused, then asked calmly, “Did you have anything to do with Seska killing herself?”

Dalal and Andrews both stared at the young woman, but she just shrugged at them and continued on, “What? It is a
legitimate question. He wakes up in Sickbay, and less than an hour later she’s runnin’ from security, settin’ up warp
core overloads, and eventually turnin’ a phaser on herself.”

With a sigh of resignation I schooled my face and answered, “If you know about that, then you should also know that
Seska was a Cardassian plant. She infiltrated the Maquis and was working against you all. That Cardassian ship that
chased your crew into the Badlands? That was supposed to be her people picking you up. Only reason you guys
ended up getting away from them was Chakotay being stupid enough to fly into an area of space everyone else is
smart enough to avoid, and Torres being brilliant enough to keep your ship in one piece once he did.”

Glancing over at the other two Lieutenants, I then added, “Only reason I was onboard Voyager was because S31
wanted me to deliver the truth of Seska’s allegiance to Tuvok once he was aboard. We had a lot of friends in
Starfleet Intelligence, and no one in S31 agreed with the idea of handing over Human colonies to Cardassian control,
so moving openly to inform Starfleet about the spy was in the Federation’s interest. We actually pushed to keep the
war going, since the only reason the Union sued for peace was that they were losing, but Federation policy is to take
any chance at peace when presented. Even if will result in more conflict later. ‘A life saved now is better than ten lost
later’ seems to be the watchphrase among Starfleet High Command.”

I shrugged, taking another sip of my tea. “But there is a limit to what you can do when your organization doesn’t
officially exist.”

There was another long lull in the conversation after that. Wood seemed to be okay with me being in command,
given my expressed sympathy with the Maquis stated goal, but that still left Dalal with a look of thoughtful
contemplation while Andrews remained in his seat scowling away.

Lt. Dalal sat her cup down and looked me over, sizing me up for something, and finally asked, “Sir, how much
experience do you have with Starship Security?”

I smiled at the Indian woman. That was a brave question to ask, I thought. Calling me out right here and now to see if
I’m actually a good leader? This was the time to do it though, in an unofficial meeting away from prying eyes. In
response, I reached up and tapped the three golden pips on my uniform’s collar. “I didn’t get to my rank by sitting at a
desk, or having it handed to me, if that is what you are asking. But there is something you need to know; the
starships I’m used to serving on have a very different view of the purpose of Security. S31 ships, the few that exist,
are not science vessels like this one, or cruise ships like the Galaxy-class. They are ships of war, low war, far outside
of official supply lines, and our Security teams reflect that. There are going to be changes made to the way Security
runs on this ship, because we don’t have a Federation starport or ship just a week away to drop off people or pick up
supplies.”

Andrews sat up at that, asking, “Just what kind of changes?”

“Well,” I began, glancing at each person in turn. “The first change is going to be our uniforms. Stop by the
quartermaster before turning in tonight and pick up your replacements. Security Officers shouldn’t be
indistinguishable from Engineers or repair crews. If we’re under attack the crew should know who they can trust to
fight, and who will take cover and hope the enemy goes away.” The uniforms I’d found weren’t what I wanted to be
giving them right now, but they would have to do until I manufactured combat hardsuits for our use. Gods, that’s
going to be an uphill battle, I thought, dreading the upcoming arguments with Tuvok and Janeway.

But that was an issue for another day. I reached under my desk and pulled out a, “Type-2 Phaser,” laying it on top of
the ebony surface. “A popular standby aboard Federation starships, starbases, space stations, and planetary
facilities. Sixteen variable power settings, including stun and kill. This is admittedly a very useful and well designed
tool, but that is what it is, a tool. It is not a sidearm and really shouldn’t be used as one, let alone a primary weapon.
At best, it is holdout weapon you should be hiding around your ankle, at worst it is a very fancy looking fire-starter
when you are stranded planet-side while the rest of us fight our way to you to pull you out. We will continue to carry
them, but I’m also going to be working on getting us all actual phaser pistols and rifles, and possibly other non-
standard-issue weaponry. The Type-2 is a good tool, but it isn’t suitable for every situation, and most of those
situations are combat related.”

Moving on, I added, “I am also making a list of things I’ve picked up from S31 over the years and seeing if I can
recreate them and bring them online for our use. Better holographic systems, versatile tools, better
communications, improved security systems. Something to keep in mind is that S31 was usually fielding gear two
generations more advanced than Starfleet as a whole. We keep them a secret to keep them out of enemy hands, but
the chances of us meeting a Romulan or Cardassian out here is slim to none, and we need the advantage.”

“It’s worked well for us so far,” Andrews commented from the sofa, a look of ill-suppressed disgust on his face. “This
is a Federation ship, not some spy vessel, so why should we be doing things your way?”

Glancing at the three, I could see a wide range of emotions playing out. Andrews was hating every moment of this,
and me, and seemed to just be looking for a reason to not obey orders. Wood was almost the complete opposite
and almost looking worried she wouldn’t be getting new toys. Working with the Maquis, she was likely used to
having to reply on scraps to get by, so having a chance to play with something no one else onboard has seen,
something more advanced than even the Federation used, likely called to her like a siren. In the middle, as was
quickly becoming a pattern, was Dalal, who seemed like she was conflicted, and could possibly either help me push
my changes forward, or she could file a complaint with Tuvok. She was glad to see that I was acting like an actual
leader, but was just as obviously unsure about not following strict Starfleet regulations.

“Lt. Andrews” I began, still holding a smile firmly on my face. Both of us knew it was fake but, ironically, proper
Starfleet Protocol. “We will be doing these things because we need to adapt. We are in an unknown region of space,
for the most part, and we will need to be prepared for anything. Just like back in the Alpha Quadrant during the early
days of Starfleet, we will be encountering a wide range of different species with different capabilities. Hell, in our
first three days here we found a hyper-advanced sporocystian lifeform that was ambivalent to our existence at best,
the friendly Ocampa who were protected by said lifeform but not all that advanced, and then the Kazon who, if our
brief interaction is indicative of their normal behavior, make most Klingon attitudes look tame by comparison. Two
of those three could have killed us if they so wanted to. In fact, the Kazon tried and did destroy the Val Jean. That
was in three days, the extent of our time here ‘so far’. We are looking at a journey back home measured in years.
How many species do you think we will find that want to kill us?”

There was a small pause as Andrews slid back into the couch, digesting what I just said and not looking happy
about it, but Dalal leaned forward and asked, “What do you mean by ‘for the most part?’ No one in the Federation has
been to the Delta Quadrant before so this whole region is unknown to us.”

I stared at the woman for a few seconds, figuring out how to word it, before asking, “It has been awhile for me, but
I’m pretty sure the xenobiology class covered the Borg in their lessons. Correct?”

At that comment, all three crewmember sat up straight, even Andrews, the laid back atmosphere of the meeting
gone in an instant. In its place tension sang, with a strong undercurrent of fear. “You’re not suggesting. . .” Dalal
trailed off, skeptical but smart enough not to dismiss what I was saying out of hand.

I went on, just as calmly as I had before, as if the three lieutenants before me weren’t hanging off my words, “A fun
little fact that you won’t have learned about in xenobiology, the Enterprise-D’s encounter at Farpoint wasn’t the first
time we had contact with those bastards.”

That tensioned thickened, until you could cut it with a knife. “It’s true. A small number of drones were discovered on
Earth, in Antarctica if I’m not mistaken, back in 2153. While they were being studied, their cybernetic systems, freed
from the ice, regenerated. They infected the science team studying them, assimilating them and stealing their ship.
They were destroyed, barely, by the original NX-01 Enterprise. Still, they managed to send out a subspace message
to the Collective prior to their destruction. That subspace message was sent towards the Delta Quadrant, though we
didn’t know where exactly.”

Wood was leaning forward in her chair, enraptured. “How do you know that?”

“Secret.” I smirked back at her, a little honest humor leaking in. “If you want something else to worry about, ask me
about the First Federation sometime.”

Seeing Andrew’s renewed glare, and at Dalal’s disapproving look, I schooled my face, thinking of the Borg making the
effort natural, and said, “But if you or anyone else on this ship takes issue with the things I’m doing, I just want you
to remember that one day we will have to enter, and cross, Borg-space. And considering that the Borg don’t have the
entire Quadrant as their domain, that tells me there are other threats out there that are just as powerful as they are. I
very much doubt that’s the Kazon, who themselves are already a significant threat to us.”

I sat back and laid the cards on the table. “In the end, we are alone. We need to prepare for the worst, train for war,
and hope we never have to fight against what unknown forces lurk out there in uncharted space. I think we all know,
however, that those hopes would be in vain.”

With everyone taking me a little more seriously, and now having their undivided attention, I added, “Now, let's talk
about something much more worrisome than the Borg. Tell me what you think about the junior-officers assigned to
us.”
 858

SIDoragon Oct 13, 2019 View discussion

Threadmarks: Season 1 - Episode 3: A Summoning of Thunder (part 1) View content

SIDoragon
Dragon of Story and Song

Oct 18, 2019  #957

Season 1 - Episode 3: A Summoning of Thunder

March 2371 (14 days in the Delta Quadrant)

As the weekly staff meeting droned on and on, I found my own attention drifting. The briefing room was located to
the port side of the bridge, with three large view ports facing the front of the ship, giving me a great view of
absolutely nothing but empty space. The room itself was dressed much like the rest of the ship, with its off-grey
coloring, but at least had a few creature comforts to provide a relaxed atmosphere for meetings. The odd-shaped
table reminded me of a top-down view of a starship at warp, and while it was obviously designed to support seven
chairs, it could go to ten in a pinch. The captain sat at the head of the table, closest to the windows, which my
training told me was customary. A monitor on the wall allowed visual aspects or presentations during briefings if
needed, and a replicator was set up beside it for additional comfort, but the décor could use some work.

It still annoyed me that the only real color in the room, besides the uniforms, were the tan chairs. The sterility of life
on a starship was already starting to get to me and I tuned out the reports on general ship status and fuel supplies
to find ways to alleviate it. Most of my mind was currently going over the various things, nick-nacks really, that I
would like to add to my living quarters to make it more inviting. I’d been saving up replicator rations but still wasn’t
sure what exactly to spend them on. Maybe paint the walls forest green, so I didn’t feel like I was stuck in a medical
lab twenty-four-seven?

In my old life and new, I had always had a very spartan mentality when it came to décor or comforts, with little things
going a very long way. Most of my possessions in both lives weren’t things I got for myself; I usually saw things as
temporary, but I made an exception for those items I made myself, as they were a display of skill, or other people got
for me, since it was a sign they cared or were thinking of me.

An interesting divergence between the two lifetimes, however, had been how my creativity was expressed. In my old
life it was with art; paintings, drawings, simple images drawn on napkins. Alternatively, my new life went in the
direction of sculpting: clay, wood, metal and various other materials.

It was a little disturbing sometimes when I compared the two. I could remember a painting I did of a sea serpent in
watercolor, left hanging on the wall of my living room. At the same time, I had apparently sculpted the same scene
out of rock for my mother in this life.

Family life was something else that was really confusing to me. Old world me was the outlier of the family, raised by
a single mom and grandmother alongside my little brother, part of it, but separate because I couldn’t relate to
anyone. I grew up raising myself, managed my own problems, and worked hard to escape our rough neighborhood
so I could go to school and move far away from anyone I was related to. At the moment I ended up in this new life, I
hadn’t seen my mom for two years or my brother for ten.

On the other hand, John and Hannah Shepard were wonderful parents. They might have been a little difficult to reach
at times because of their duties, but they were always attentive and supporting of my interests. They were both
major parts of my life and strong influences on who I became. When I had trouble making friends as a child, they
spoke with me and introduced me to other child on the starbase. Father gave me the interest in art and history, while
Mother passed down the concept of discipline and teamwork. John had been ecstatic when I got accepted at the
Academy, throwing a large party for me along with some of the crew of the USS Thunderer we had been aboard.
Hannah and I had grieved together when he was taken from us by the war. She had been understandably concerned
when Section 31 recruited me during my second year at the Academy, but supportive of my decision to join.

There was also an Uncle Warren and Aunt Alice, living in Armstrong City, that I was fairly close to. Weird to think that
I actually have family living on the Moon.

Even weirder to realize that I actually missed all of them.

As each day passed in this universe, the lines of the two different past lives I’ve had were becoming more and more
blurred. Yesterday I smelled something in the Mess Hall that reminded me of home, but I couldn’t figure out which
home. When I woke up this morning and put on my uniform, all I wanted in the world was a cup of Vulcan tea to go
with a breakfast burrito. I just knew, in my bones, that I had never had that combination before, and it was doing a
remarkable job of freaking me the hell out. It was an odd feeling, mentally worrying and doing everything that should
have me shaking with the stress of it, only to physically feel nothing more than moderate concern.

Thank you Invictus.

Maybe, whatever I was in either life, didn’t matter anymore. This was Voyager, and I’d already taken steps to start
building a third life here. Maybe I should just forget about both previous lives and just focus on the one I had now.

My attention was shifted back to the present when LtJG Paris tapped his padd on the briefing table and declared,
“Engine efficiency’s down another four percent from last week. I know I said this at our last briefing, but if we don’t
get more power for warp drives, we’ll need to get out and push the ship back to the Alpha Quadrant.”

I glanced over at the former convict, feeling a little conflicted about him. My past life memories of the man know
him to be an excellent pilot, and eventually a great friend to much of the crew. His hobbies were things I enjoyed
myself, such as classic movies and beer with junk food. On the other hand, for all that glamor and confidence the
eventual family man would show in the years to come, right now he was still the same Han Solo-ish womanizer who
was only a month out of the Federation Penal Settlement in New Zealand.

That was something else that rubbed me wrong. The man was convicted of treason, but was only sentenced to
eighteen months’ imprisonment. I knew the Federation didn’t believe in the Death Penalty, and were soft on the
Maquis for various political reasons, but eighteen months in prison, in a minimum security farm, for treason? What
the fuck?

It got even worse when I thought back to Richard Bashir, and how he will plead guilty to the illegal genetic
engineering of his son in 2373, only to be sentenced to two years in the same penal colony. I didn’t know if that said
good things about the Federation’s rehabilitation system, where only two years was needed, or poor things about the
code of justice when treason was rated as a lesser crime than minor genetic engineering.

Janeway glanced around the table, seemingly looking to see if anyone had anything else to contribute, before
deciding on, “Ensign Kim, how has the search for alternative energy sources been going? Last week you mentioned
the holodeck’s energy matrix being incompatible with the other power systems.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” The young man nodded, lips firming in obvious frustration. “I’ve attempted to work up a converter of
sorts, but every time I try to run more than a trickle of power though it I end up blowing out the relays.”

“How much of a ‘trickle’ are you able to siphon?” Tuvok stoically asked from his seat next to me.

I glanced at him, before running my eyes over everyone else at the table. We basically had the entire command staff
in attendance; Janeway with Chakotay and Tuvok on her either side of her closest to the head of the table. I was
next to Tuvok on behalf of Security, while Kim was next to me representing Operations as a whole, with B’Elanna
Torres following him and representing as Chief Engineer. Paris was on the other side of Chakotay on the opposite
side of the table. Science Officer Samantha Wildman was next at the table, since she was the senior Science Officer
on board - even if her expertise was on xenobiology, with Neelix and Kes following after. The Doctor was on the
screen, watching the proceedings with interest.

Wildman confused me a little. Mostly because I remembered her from the show and how she just stopped
appearing after a certain point. But I couldn’t recall her ever dying either. She was also never invited to these weekly
briefings on the show either, so I didn’t know if this was just a case of the television show and reality not lining up, or
if I was the cause of a strange butterfly effect.

Ensign Kim furrowed his brow in thought for a second, before looking up at the Vulcan and revealing, “Maybe
enough to charge a tricorder every day. The amount we can trickle off is absurdly small.”

It hurt to know that I could help with this problem, today even, but doing so would be counterproductive in the long
run. As much as a pain in the ass it was to eat that fucking Talaxian’s food, allowing Voyager to work though these
early resource problems would help the crew in the long run and foster cooperation between the Starfleet and
Maquis crew through shared misery. It would also encourage people to think outside the Federation’s small box and
find creative solutions to unusual problems. It was a skill set they’d need to hone sooner rather than later.

That said, If I didn’t already know that things would work themselves out in the short term, at least for a time, I
wouldn’t hesitate to help. Foreknowledge was useful like that. However, I also knew I couldn’t rely on that forever, as
my presence had already caused some not insignificant changes. I gave it six months before most of the things I
knew from the TV show would be obsolete, just from Voyager not arriving at the times it originally did.

Janeway had closed her eyes in thought, and after thinking it over nodded to herself. “We’ve been purposely avoiding
inhabited worlds for the time being,” she began, eyes snapping open to look at us all, “hoping to get ourselves back
into a decent condition before we start risking contact with the unknown civilizations of the quadrant. With no way
of knowing if the first people we come across will be as friendly as a Risan, or as argumentative as a Tellarite. But
we don’t have a choice anymore. We need antimatter and the only way we are going to get it is to talk to people and
trade for it.”

Neelix looked concerned for a moment, but steeled himself to say, “I’m sorry to interject, but trade might be a bit of
an issue for you fine people.”

“Why?” Chakotay frowned at the Talaxian.

The alien seemed to bristle slightly as he quickly stammered, “I-I-I only mean to say that, that your Federation has
some very strange concepts about payment.”

Paris chuckled and looked at the table for a moment, before looking up and seeing a room full of blank faces staring
back at him for an explanation. Tom smirked as best he could and said, “He is talking about money. Currency.
Federation doesn’t use it.”

The Talaxain nodded, and pushed forward now that he knew people were listening. “Between the Federation not
using any money, and even if they did it would be worthless out here, and your own rules about not trading your
amazing technology, Voyager doesn’t have much in the way of bartering power.”

Janeway leaned back in her chair, staring consideringly at the alien. “In lieu of trading technology, what would be an
acceptable form of payment, Mr. Neelix? As our resident expert on this region of space, you would know better than
the rest of us.”

“That would really depend on the planet,” The Talaxian hedged, looking contrite. “On some worlds it could be
something as simple as medical supplies or unique foods. On others it could just be clean water or entertainment.
Dilithium, warp plasma and other supplies needed to run a starship are also popular and valuable, but so are the
kinds of things you would be trading for as well.”

Kim huffed sarcastically, “Why don’t we just find some Latinum?”

Neelix looked over at the Ensign and slowly remarked, “Possibly. But considering that it is an incredibly rare material,
I don’t think we could just hope to stumble across any. No, No, our best bet would be to find an unclaimed source of
Beryllium. In my humble opinion.”

“Beryllium?” Tuvok echoed, left eyebrow pushed upwards just a fraction to show interest. I found myself leaning
forward as well, intrigued.

“Oh yes,” the Talaxian smiled wide at us, “many species across many sectors of space would trade a large fleet of
starships for a block of it no more than a few cubic centimeters in volume.”

Torres nodded slowly in understanding. “I get why.” She looked up at the rest of us and continued, “Earth lucked out,
finding the metal in the crust at nearly two to six parts per million based on geography. It is found on most other
worlds in the Federation at point-two or point-three parts per trillion. But minute amounts are used in everything
from radiation shielding, mechanical applications and precision instruments. We use it a lot in our warp cores
because a thin layer can withstand the heat of warp plasma.”

Neelix nodded enthusiastically. “Oh yes. I would guess that an amount, roughly the size of my hand, would be
enough to get all the antimatter you could ever need.”

“Unfortunately we wouldn’t be able to take it with us.” Torres quipped dryly. “We can only store so much antimatter
onboard without risking a catastrophe.”

Janeway leaned in, tilting her head in a visible show of listening, “And if we offered replicated Beryllium?”

The Talaxian frowned, and then offered a mournful shrug. “I don’t know. I’m not familiar enough with your
technology to say what the difference would be.”

“If we do use the replicators,” the Doctor interjected from his screen on the wall, “I recommend the industrial one in
engineering for maximum accuracy, as well as implementing appropriate hazardous gear when near it. Beryllium is
highly toxic if inhaled, and can cause weakness, joint pain, difficulty breathing, and much more. It might be best to
keep it in a vacuum sealed container to be safe. I would also not recommend keeping more than two-point-two
kilograms on hand at any one time.”

Nodding firmly, Janeway declared, “Fine then. Torres, I want a report on the differences between natural occurring
Beryllium and the best we can replicate. Mr. Neelix, you know the region best, so I want you to get me a list of
trading posts you recommend that are within thirty light-years of us along our course home. After I review it later,
we’ll set a new course and see what we can trade. And since I don’t want to put all our eggs in the Beryllium basket, I
want suggestions from everyone here about alternative trading options.”

“Moving on,” the captain continued, “aside from the constant energy issues, how are our food reserves?”

Kes leaned in and smiled sadly, “I’ve got half of cargo bay two converted into aeroponics, but it will take time for the
seeds and plants to fully mature. At least a month before the first crops are ready.”

“On the bright side,” Neelix cut in, jumping to the defense of his girlfriend, “the reserves of raw fruits and vegetables
we picked up so far should last a few months at the current pace.”

Ensign Wildman leaned in and quietly offered, “In addition to the aeroponics, I would like to recommend the creation
of an aquaponics farm in the other half of cargo bay two.”

My eyes darted to the Science Officer like they were attached to a laser targeting system. I didn’t know what
changes happened to cause the blonde woman to be brought to the briefing room, but right now I wasn’t going to
complain. That idea was one I had been considering bringing up and dropping into a few ears, but she’d gotten to it
before I could get the opportunity. Even better, it made more sense for a xenobiologist to have the idea than a soldier
like myself.

Janeway looked at the young woman approvingly, like she was just seeing her for the first time. “Why should we
work on aquaponics and not just continue to expand the aeroponics we already began?”

The younger woman hesitantly looked at the captain in the eye and nodded. “The system is low maintenance for
one. It works by establishing a symbiotic relationship between the fish and plants. The plant roots provide the
oxygen the fish need to live, while the fish provide the nutrients in the water for the plants to thrive. Other than
checking the water to make sure it is balanced for both the fish and plants, it is largely hands-off.”

“It does require a lot of water,” she offered at, Janeway’s disbelieving look, “much more than a typical hydroponic
garden, but that is a simple enough thing to remedy. There are lots of water-rich comets in the galaxy. Additionally,
the addition of fish and other water-born animals would also supplement the crew’s diet.”

“I’m a big fan of fish.” Paris helpfully offered.

The captain glanced around the table, and not seeing anyone arguing against the idea, asked, “What are the
downsides?”

Torres perked up, “Not many. There will need to be some thought given to design and fabrication, but our crews can
get around to it.”

“Design shouldn’t be too difficult.” Kim added, warming to the idea. “The first Lunar and Martian colonies used
aquaponics as well. Plans should be in the computer. We should be able to adapt their early designs for the cargo
bay as well as bring them up to date.”

The Chief Engineer nodded along. “Agreed. There is also the issue of power to run the set up, but in the grand
scheme of things it is really a minor drain. It’s isolated and self-sufficient, so it shouldn’t impact any other systems.

“And having fresh meat and more variety will certainly improve people’s morale.” Chakotay offered. “I would consider
that more than worth the minor expenditure of resources.”

Janeway leaned back into her chair, grinning at each of us in turn as she scanned the room, and said, “Alright, let's
do it.” She looked at Wildman and added, “Ensign, it sounds like a good idea and perfect for the science team.
Coordinate with Kes so aquaponics and aeroponics both can be maximized in their available space. We might as
well dedicate the entirety of cargo bay two to food production, which means we are going to need to make space for
a third cargo bay somewhere. Mr. Kim, please provide me with suggestions by the end of the day for which storage
rooms to expand into a third cargo bay, as well as how those choices will impact the ship and crew.”

She looked down at a PADD in front of her, looking over the items on this week's agenda. “Okay, lets see what’s next.
The personnel situation. We’ve managed to find a replacement for the Transporter Chief, Chief Engineer, and
astrogation plotter. We still need additional medical support to supplement the Doctor.”

The EMH in question spoke up, “Someone who knows the difference between the typical tricorder and a medical
tricorder would be nice.”

Kes raised her hand a little and threw in, “I’ve been spending some time with the Doctor, and since tending to the
aeroponics doesn’t require too much attention, I would like to volunteer to help in sick bay. Maybe be an assistant.”

“She is certainly more helpful than Mr. Paris,” the Doctor added dryly.

Smiling warmly at the girl, Janeway nodded, “That sounds like a fine idea. It would certainly help the crew.”

“On that same note,” I raised my head, looking at the captain, “I want to schedule some time over the next month to
bring the Doctor over to a holodeck and teach some field-medic basics to our Security forces. If that is alright with
you, Doc?”

The stoic Doctor shrugged. “Certainly fine by me. Knowing that some more of the crew can help in an emergency
will make my holographic life easier.”

Chakotay stared hard at me as he asked, “Shouldn’t Security teams already know basic first aid?”

“Most of them do,” I replied, unconcerned. “For most of them it will be a refresher course since it is a skill most don’t
keep up with. Lack of use or need. However, for some reason, I recently got a large influx of former-Maquis assigned
to me who never had to learn it. Hell, some of them have never held a phaser before. You wouldn’t happen to know
anything about that appalling lack of basic training, Provisional-Commander?”

The First Officer’s expression darkened as he looked like he was about to take the obvious verbal bait, but Janeway
raised her hands at the two of us and angrily ordered, “Enough!”, the calm and magnanimous presence she’d been
exuding gone so fast it was as if it never existed.

‘Am I still holding a grudge against the man for sucker punching me in Sickbay? Maybe a little.’

“I don’t care what the issue is between you two, but it is over.” She demanded, staring at the both of us until she felt
we had listened to her. “Mr. Shepard, your request is approved. How much time do you think it will take to get
everyone up to Starfleet standards?”

I waffled my head side-to-side in thought for a few seconds, before answering, “I’m thinking of having the classes
twice a week for a month, just to make sure I cover the basics needed. After that I would like to have follow up
sessions every six weeks to make sure everyone remembers, but that will be part of my training simulators.”

“Training simulators?” Tuvok asked.

I nodded at the Vulcan and replied, “Live fire training aids on the holodeck. Most of them may know Security
protocols, but also have close to zero experience when it comes to actual fighting. Ironically, this is one of the few
areas where the Maquis crew have an advantage over our own officers. My long term project is going to be getting
them all up to stuff.”

Janeway stared back at me levelly, lost in thought by the looks of it, before she finally said, “Well, I suppose this is as
good a time as any to ask what other changes you are going to make to Voyager’s Security teams.”

Her voice displayed a false calm. I knew because I had to sit and listen to her yell at me for issuing the new Security
uniforms for half an hour before she would let me offer my arguments as to why it was necessary in the first place.
She’d made it clear that ‘This isn’t your Section, this is my crew’ several times. Seventeen, in fact, as I’d started
counting when I realized she was just repeating herself over and over again. Even then, after hearing all the logic and
reason of MACO’s being standard on certain long-term deep space “exploration” assignments and how the uniform
was still Starfleet issue - just not implemented, Janeway had been extremely reluctant in allowing the change to
continue. I still wasn’t sure what finally made her allow it, especially given how I’d expected her to reject something
simple, to give myself more leeway to covertly make larger changes. I wasn’t sure if it was the fact that I wasn’t
budging, that my suggestion was technically in line with Starfleet regulations, or the fact Tuvok agreed with me
when she called him in to back her up, but by the end of the day she had relented.

Personally I liked these uniforms much better than the ones the rest of the crew was wearing. For one thing, they
had pockets on both thighs and upper arms. Actual, honest to god, pockets. There wasn’t that much of a difference
between it and the standard uniform the rest of the crew had: combat boots instead of dress shoes, the
aforementioned pockets, and the division color being reduced to just a thin bar that ran across the shoulders and
chest at collarbone height. It was still a two-piece black jumpsuit, although now the division color was shared with
the undershirt.

“At the moment,” I began to answer, “I’m not planning on anymore major changes. I need to first focus on getting
everyone trained up. I’m going to implement some changes to tools and tactics, as I work out the kinks, but at the
moment I’m more worried about getting everyone to understand how to avoid friendly fire. Or when not to avoid it.”

“I would think you would always want to avoid that.” Paris commented from his side of the desk.

In reply, I looked to Torres and asked, “If you were being held hostage, would you prefer your rescuer take the time to
talk your assailant down? Or would you prefer we just shot you both with a phaser set on stun and sorted out the
situation later?”

B’Elanna almost made me laugh when she cocked her head to the side and actually gave the question some
thought. Thankfully I was able to hold my emotions in check, just long enough for her to answer, “I suppose that
would depend on if I needed to run afterwards.” I couldn’t help but snort and smile at the young woman.

“An efficient solution,” Tuvok offered, looking at me before glancing at the Chief Engineer to add, “and an excellent
observation.”

I got my mirth under control and added, “That is kind of thing I’m trying to get them all to think about. Different
situations require different solutions.”

Janeway nodded, her face what I would call carefully neutral, and then said to the room, “Well, I think that about
covers everything we needed to talk about this week. Is there any other new business?”

“Actually,” I spoke up, looking to the Captain in time to see annoyance flash across her face before tapping on my
PADD, “I wondered if anyone else here has given any thought to the list of ships that have gone missing in the
Badlands prior to us?”

That got everyone’s attention, and I think I could see the wheels started to spin behind the eyes of several of the
crew. “I think the Caretaker has been snatching people from the Badlands for a lot longer than anyone has
considered. I’ve gone through the records, and over the last three decades the Badlands had a sharp upswing in
missing ships.”

Paris jumped in to add, “Now wait, the Badlands are a sea of persistent plasma storms and gravitational anomalies
spanning eighty-four parsecs. There couldn’t have been that many people trying their luck in there.”

“You’d be surprised,” the First Officer said, shooting a glance towards me. “Desperate people do desperate things.”

“While that is true,” I gave the Provisional-Commander a bone, “that doesn’t explain the Cardassian Union reporting
more than thirty vessels lost in the last decade alone.”

“Wow,” Torres gasped from her seat. “If the Cardassians admitted to that many, the real number must be much
higher.”

“The Bajoran Resistance,” I went on, “used the Badlands as a refuge from Cardassian patrols. Or sometimes as a
weapon itself, since the larger Cardassian ships had a more difficult time avoiding surprise plasma storms. That
was the cause for most of their missing ships, but there wasn’t always any wreckage.”

“There wouldn’t always be,” Chakotay argued. “Sometimes the storms would wash over the area enough to remove
any trace.”

“Sometimes,” I gave. “but not every time. And while the Federation risked fewer ships in that region, they suffered a
similar rate of loss. From the records, for every six ships that entered the region, one ship would go missing without
any sign of combat or any other anomaly being the cause.”

Janeway looked down sadly, her face looking both hopeful and worried in equal measure. “You think we aren’t the
only Federation ship in the Delta Quadrant.”

“I don’t think we were the first or even the second ship pulled across the galaxy,” I agreed. My own voice was pitched
to match the tone of concern I should be conveying. “From the records of the last twelve month alone, there were
eight Federation vessels that had gone missing.”

As I passed her my padd with the information pulled up, I added, “Most of those ships were small craft that likely
wouldn’t have survived the trip. Of those listed, I think the top three would be our best bets to keep an eye out for; the
Nova-Class USS Equinox, Norway-Class USS Lillehammer, and the Saber-Class USS Talwar. While small, they were at
least the same size as the Val Jean and we know she made the trip.”

What was worse, I wasn’t even making this up. I knew for a fact that the Equinox was out here, but I’d never heard of
those other two ships before. That no one had attempted to search for them and just assumed they were destroyed
only made it worse. It was almost as if, prior to the Dominion War, Starfleet just didn’t care too much about ship or
crew losses. Who really needed to care when you knew you had a massive population who could just fill in the gaps,
and enough production capability that even the material losses could be written off.

“Of those three,” I emphasized, “I think we should really be looking for the Equinox. The Nova-class science vessel
was the product of a project started by Admiral Toh. While it ultimately went in a very different direction, the early
design that was used became the Nova-class.”

“What was this original project?” the Vulcan asked beside me.

“Defiant Pathfinder. It was proposed as a torpedo fast attack ship.” I answered, unphased even as everyone else at
the table blinked at the idea of Starfleet designing a dedicated warship. Surely they had to know that not all
starships had a purely exploration and science focus? If that was the case nearly every ship in the fleet would be
considered overly armed and armored. “Interest in the project was fairly low, until the Battle of Wolf 359. Seeing
forty ships brought down by one cube that suffered barely any damage scared the designers, and it shifted focus
from a torpedo ship to a full on dedicated anti-Borg warship. The design they already had was shifted to the Nova-
Class, removing some of the armaments to make more room for scientific equipment, while the new design would
be closer to a pocket battleship.”

Kim leaned forward and asked, “How the hell do you know so much about this?”

Janeway shared a glance with Chakotay and Tuvok, a silent question passing between them, but before she could
say anything I replied, “Because I wanted on it. The prototype Defiant was officially commissioned last year, but last I
heard Utopia Planitia was still working out some issues with it.”

I went on to add, “But the Nova-class still carries some holdovers from its early warship design. Especially in
structural reinforcement. That is why I think she is still in one piece.”

“Neelix,” I said, getting the Talaxian’s attention. “When Voyager first found you, you were conducting salvage
operations on a vessel the Caretaker brought to the Delta Quadrant, right?”

“Well, yes,” the alien hesitated to admit. “The Caretaker brought a ship here at least every other week for the last few
years. Many of them were able to limp away after he let them go, but occasionally something would happen to them
before they got very far. I was recycling one of those when you found me. Usually, the Kazon would just attack them
if they thought they could get away with it. Fortunately, the local Kazon faction wasn’t very powerful, that battleship
you so wonderfully destroyed was quite unexpected, and they kept the knowledge of the Caretaker strictly to
themselves.”

I nodded along. “Did you keep any records on your ship about vessels that passed by or arrived? You might have
caught sight of one of these three ships, or others.”

The Talaxian hummed to himself for a few seconds, before he began to bob his head energetically, “You know, I just
might. After we are done here I’ll go down to the shuttle bay and check my ships logs.”

Janeway had been getting more and more interested in the conversation as it had gone on, and she was reading
more from the report I’d put together. It didn’t surprise me when she ordered, “Mr. Neelix, make that a priority. In fact,
consider the meeting over. I want you to get on that now.”

She looked up, making eye contact with all of us individually, “The chance that we might not be alone out here, is too
important to ignore.”

“Yes, Captain.” the alien declared, standing ramrod straight before marching out the room.

“Well, Shepard? Anything else you want to throw at us before the rest of us leave?” Chakotay asked, smirking as
Neelix ran out.

“Not at the moment, but we’ll see what happens next week,” was my reply.

“Regardless,” Janeway began, her voice oddly light, “thank you for bringing this to our attention. This information
might be very useful, and in any case we will keep our eyes open for other Alpha Quadrant ships in the region. Any
friendly faces would be welcome.”

“With that said, I think we all have our assignments. Dismissed,” she commanded.

As I and everyone else stood, I turned to face the Chief Engineer and asked, “Torres, when would you have time to
help me out on the Holodeck? I have a little project I think you might be perfect to help with.”

"Depends," she replied, smirking. "Think you can talk the Captain into allowing Engineering to have those same pants
as part of our uniforms?"

I didn't bother to hide my matching smirk, "I'll see what I can do."

 834

SIDoragon Oct 18, 2019 View discussion

Threadmarks: Season 1 - Episode 3: A Summoning of Thunder (part 2) View content

SIDoragon
Dragon of Story and Song

Oct 23, 2019  #1,341

Season 1 - Episode 3: A Summoning of Thunder (part 2)

March 2371 (15 days in the Delta Quadrant)

“Computer,” I called out, walking up to the panel adjacent to the door. “activate program Shepard-Alpha-One.”

Regardless of whatever complaints I may have had about the Star Trek universe, and its various complications and
shenanigans that make even the most impossible soap opera look like a history documentary, I would never not love
the holodeck.

When I had a day to explore the ship and interact with the crew, familiarizing myself with the layout of important
areas of the ship, I had made sure to include the holodeck in my rounds. How could I not? Holodecks simulated life
in its lushest form. You could simply recreate a specific place, set up combat training, or even enter a narrative story
far more immersive than the best role-playing video game. People us these fantastic machines did not merely
pretend they were in another place, they simply were.

It was so iconic in fact that I couldn’t really recall any other fictional setting that had such advanced holographic
technology in it. The X-Men’s Danger Room might be the closest to it in purpose and scale, but the idea of a
holodeck was just so definitely Star Trek in nature that no other form of fiction really even tried to approach it. The
few that come closest usually substituted having anything be real for having everything be virtual, like in The Matrix
or Sword Art Online.

As I walked into Voyager’s holodeck, my face broke into a wide smile. The dark grey floor was crisscrossed with a
yellow grid, while a latticework of metal covered the walls and high ceiling in a network of omnidirectional
holographic diodes, enabling holographic projects and holograms. It was such a simple design, but I much preferred
it to the bare black shell with yellow grids that had been required in the previous generations of the holodeck. It was
also easier to maintain, memories of the hours spent having to keep an older one in the academy running lingering
in the back of my mind.

The science behind the holodeck was simply ridiculous, if I was being honest. A complex amalgamation of
transporter technology and replicators that could create the illusion of actual substance and matter by manipulating
photons within a force field. Who in their right-minds would ever have considered that combination for something as
innocuous as full-immersion video games?

My credits would be on the porn industry. Even in my old life they were pushing the advancement of entertainment
technology. Why did 56kbs dial-up phone lines get replaced with terabyte per second fiber optic? It certainly wasn’t
the stock market. I had even seen the beginnings of realistic virtual reality programs being pushed by them, which
was soon followed by large computer companies for the purpose of video games and designer software.

It was a dirty, little, and often ignored secret that sex was one of the primal base desires that ran the world.

Or at least it did in my old life. I wasn’t so sure about my new one, Shepard having been more focused on combat
than leisure, but I could confirm that holodecks being rented out for private personal use, then auto-cleaned, was a
thing on Earth. Have a fantasy you wished to explore? Rent a holodeck and find out if it is for you. It wasn’t
something that is allowed on Starfleet property, with a lot of locks on what was allowed to run, but in the private
sector it was a major industry. Given Janeway’s preferred holo-novel, I wondered if she’d used a command override.
With Paris’ go-to being a French bar and whorehouse, I figured he either had hacked the system, or, more likely, it just
refused to let you upstairs

Regardless, the complete immersion and prevalence of the technology was likely part of the reason why Holo-
addiction was so prevalent and easy to diagnose, what with fantasy being better than reality for some people.

The program currently running wasn’t very complex, and barely used the room to its full potential, but it was what I
had been able to build at the moment. What they don’t tell you in the show or books was that creating holodeck
material was complex and required a hell of a lot of programming skills. If you were just recreating something that
has already been done, it is easy enough to reskin and change some details to skip a majority of the work.

For example, Mr. Paris’s Chez Snadrine simulation, the aforementioned bar, which the pilot had been testing out
when I’d walked by previously, reused a lot of the same character subroutines found in various other holo-programs.
More than that, when I’d asked him about it, and convinced him it was to learn and not to get him in trouble, he’d
revealed that the bar itself came from a holo-tour of tourist locations across Marseille and been copied wholesale,
with minimal tweaking. It was likely going to take him another week to get the virtual billiards room exactly right, but
it was an easy enough program to build when you didn’t try to do so from scratch.

Compared with the Emergency Medical Program that required a decade of work and dozens of technicians to make
work properly, and in the process managed to accidentally create an artificial intelligence, making my digital
tinkering lab was much more doable. Just not ‘two weeks from scratch’ doable.

Having only discovered the wonders that were Holodeck Copy & Paste functions the previous day would be the
reason why my program was, at present, little more than a pair of L-shaped metal workbenches. Each was three
meters to a side, with three drawers in the base that were full of all the little toys the best mechanics of the twenty-
four century could ask for, placed in the center of the room to form an open square. Equal distance between the two
benches, was a ring “drawn” on the floor to represent a presentation area.

It wasn’t flashy, but then again it didn’t need to be. I just needed a place to work on my prototypes, and then, once
constructed, an area I could make any minor adjustments that might be needed without having to scrap the thing, all
without five different people jogging my elbows. I wasn’t about to try to jump into the spawning season for salmon
that was Engineering, everyone constantly rushing about with fragile components, inches away from slamming into
each other.

Sometimes, those people worried me.

Following on my heels as I walked to the first bench, Torres spoke up from behind me dryly, “Wow, Shepard. You take
me to the nicest places.”

The smile in her voice and the humor in her eyes took the heat out of the words, so I simply replied, “Computer,
please add a palm tree half-meter away from Torres.”

As the new addition materialized next to the woman, she huffed, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards, and I
turned back to what I was doing at the workbench. Despite what she’d said at the briefing yesterday, Torres hadn’t
been able to come with me right then, needing to block out some time to come join me here the day after, which had
allowed me to make some final adjustments overnight.

I had finally gotten to bed around twenty-three hundred last night, and then woke up an hour later when I felt the
second 'charge' I'd gotten since arriving here slot itself into my reserve, bringing me back up to seven. From that, I
learned two things: the first thing I learned was that the charge is earned at midnight Tuesday morning, for whatever
reason. The second thing I learned was that the earning of a charge was not only noticeable enough to wake me up,
but also was also more than a little painful. I could feel the pressure slot in behind my eyes for fifteen minutes
before it gradually faded away, as if nothing had ever happened. I hoped the pain would lessen as I got used to it, or
at least hold steady. If it got worse, then some points might need to be spent on tech to figure out what was going
on to me, and to lessen the side effects.

“So, Shepard,” Torres began, walking up to the workbench, turning around, crossing her arms and leaning back
against it as she spoke, her head tilted appraisingly towards me, “what was it that you wanted to show me?”

I nodded, mostly to myself, as I steeled myself reveal the first bit of tech to her. The decision to do this, to show the
technology off and share it with the crew, was not one I could make lightly. I’d wanted to before I’d downloaded the
first schematic from whatever God, Akashic Record, or Eldritch horror this stuff came from, but I knew that once I
handed a single piece of tech over, I was invalidating large chunks of my foreknowledge.

Some things would be the same. The Borg would still have the same territory, planet Hell would still be toxic trap,
and that Okampa station would still try to lead us to the Caretakers mate and get us killed. Other things, things that
depended on the Voyager being at just the right place and just the right time, we’d miss those entirely.

If I said nothing, if I did my best to keep my changes small, like getting an engineer to look over the Talaxian’s
kitchen, it wouldn’t change that much. He’d not almost kill the ship with cheese, but the knock-on effects would be
minimal.

This, this would be something else entirely. I would be stepping off into the unknown, and this would set off a chain
of events that would forever change the way things would have played out in that fictional show I remember. One
change would lead to another, and then another, the ship would arrive too early, or too late, or with completely
different capabilities, until the problems the Voyager was facing were unrecognizable.

“Computer,” I firmly said as way of a reply, “access my private files and transfer the specifications in Project: Tali 1.0
to holo-program Shepard-Alpha-One. Then render the item in the display circle.”

There was a confirmation chirp, and a few seconds later a gun-metal grey vambrace appeared on a chest height
podium in the circle. It wasn’t overly large or ornate, maybe seven and a half centimeters long, and just large enough
to fit around my wrist. It was designed to be self-adjusting, flexible, so it could be slapped on and then forgotten
about. The top of the band had what looked like a miniature phaser array running around in, but that was actually a
series of miniature holographic projectors just like the ones used in this room.

The original omnitools used carefully controlled, tiny mass effect fields, which required element zero and Omni-gel,
two things which I just didn’t have. Without Eeezo, I needed a work-around, and the emitters would be just that. It
made half the programs I knew how to code into it absolutely useless, but it was the best I could do with what I had.
‘Inventing’ Omni-gel later on would be helpful, but this base tech would be enough to change things quite a bit.

“Tali, huh?” Torres commented, raising an eyebrow at me.

I shrugged at her noncommittally, answering with a quick, “Old girlfriend.” Gods I loved the Quarians. Waving to it, I
smiled at the young woman and explained, “So this is what I wanted to show you. A little side project of mine for the
last couple of years. Well, one of my side projects. This one, I call it the Omni-Tool.”

“Okay,” the engineer nodded consideringly, stepping closer to it and examining the device, “but what does it do?
From the name, I’m going to assume it's some kind of multi-purpose equipment?”

I nodded in reply, and then faltered when I realized I was going to have to give the sales pitch to her. I knew what this
was, and the dozens of things it could do, but no one else here would. If wanted Torres to understood what this was,
I’d have to explain its capabilities in detail. Or at least the capabilities I'd figured out how to implement so far.

“The omni-tool,” I began, moving forward and strapping the device to my right arm, “is a multipurpose diagnostic and
manufacturing tool, with a built-in computer. The intent in its construction was to make a tool that was viable for a
multitude of tasks, such as hacking, decryption, or repair.”

At her look of disbelief, I turned on the device and a large holographic gauntlet wrapped over my hands and my
forearm to the elbow. I had some ideas for future generations of this device, for example a combat version that
didn’t glow and could make projections that were as solid as actual armor, but for now the image presented was
similar to the Mass Effect versions of the device. The orange wasn’t as brilliant, but I got the distinct pleasure of
watching the Chief Engineer jump at the sudden appearance.

With my off hand, I tapped the top of the hologram which caused an interface panel to slide up and out. A few
swipes, similar to how I used to use my old smartphone, and I was in the settings manually changing the color from
orange to blue, red, and then purple before winding back to orange and adjusting a slider that changed the
brightness from “ghostly” to “obnoxious” and then back to default.

“As you can see,” I said, “you can adjust its appearance to your own personal preferences.”

I waved her over and pointed down at the interface panel. “This screen acts as ‘home’ screen from where you can
navigate to different applications. It can be used with your off hand, like I have been doing, or,” I moved holographic-
covered fingers and watched as the screen moved, “with your primary.”

With my off-hand I tapped a button on the screen that looked like a wrench and hammer crossed over each other,
which caused bright orange ring to appear over the back of my hand. “This is the tool function. You can either scroll
through pre-programmed list of our most common tools,” I tapped on the hammer and one appeared in my right
hand, “or just call out the name of the tool you want.”

I let go of the hammer, and it looked like gravity began to pull it down and away before it just vanished in a burst of
glowing motes. Once it was gone, I called out, “Plasma-torch,” and a moment later a pen-like object appeared in the
right hand, the same way the hammer had. Moving over to my workbench, I activated the tool and a hot-blue beam
of light burned into the surface. While it wasn't actually a torch, the simulated molecules moved with the same
speed and energy, exciting the molecules of the table just as a normal torch would. After drawing a smiling-face, I
stepped away, waving to it and informing her, “powered tools are not an obstacle.”

Torres nodded along, grinning slightly, moving a hand over my impromptu drawing and feeling the heat. It was all
simulated, but it should still work. “I can see how that could make things easier. Would be nice to not have to worry
about carrying around a whole tool kit, or wondering if the person helping me would grab the actual tool I asked for.”

She walked over to me, and ran her fingers along the torch handle in my hand. She blinked, “Feels like the real thing.”

“It should,” I said, “I based the holographic program on the same ones we use for holodecks, and then adjusted the
confinement beams to the point that everything works just like the real thing. Well, almost like the real thing.” I
slammed the head of the torch on the side of the table, Torres flinching as, instead bending or, worse, exploding, it
instead dissolved into shimmering orange light.

Holding out my hand and commanding, “Plasma-torch,” again, and it re-formed in my hand. Dropping it, it dispersed
itself once more. “The effects are the same, but it’s not really there, so anything that isn’t it’s primary function won’t
be possible.” Dropping the tool and closing the app. As the ring above my hand faded.

Tapping another app, this one with the icon of a radar screen, the disk appeared just above my open palm while a
display screen formed on the gauntlet. Unlike the tiny screens used on every handheld Starfleet device, this one ran
the entire length and was easy to read. “This is the tricorder function. As you can see, the disk that symbolizes that
an application is active appears in different locations so you can never get mixed up what is running. The default
program is for an engineering tricorder, but with a quick swipe it can switch functions to medical scans instead.”

I displayed the ease of switching back and forth, and then held my palm up to the palm tree I had impulsive
conjured. “It's as good as the handheld devices, but not the larger scanners in the Medbay, but it doesn't need to. The
device works as intended. See, it says that's a holographic projection, while you and I are meatbag organics.”

Torres snapped her head up to look at me, raising an eye in suspicion. “Does it literally say ‘meatbag’ on that thing?”

“No,” I chuckled, “an old friend of mine used to think robots were better than people. So he called us meatbags. Just
an old joke.”

“You have a lot of old friends,” she commented, looking back down at the device on my arm.

I wasn’t about to tell her the truth about that joke, or admit to being frustrated with how much of an absolute pain in
the ass it had been to turn the basic tricorder functionality into an interactive app without projecting the entire
device. The knowledge for building an omni-tool had been the easy part. The second information dump had given
me enough different construction methods that I learned how to construct the device using Trek-tech and brought it
up to a functional level, but, rather than just program in the normal Mass Effect programs, integrating functionality
from other pieces of Trek-tech had required me to spend every free moment I’ve had for a week figuring out how to
make it work the way I needed it.

I could’ve just provided it to the chief engineer with the basic uses, but, without the additional functionality, chances
were Torres would just point out that what they already had was better. As I lowered my arm and pressed the
shutdown button, I grinned at the woman and said, “So, this has been a little side project of mine, a hobby really.
What do you think?”

“Well,” Torres drew out, obviously trying to be nice, “I feel a little confused. I thought you said you needed my help
with something.”

“Ah,” I smirked, “I do.”

“I’ve got it to this point, and it works on paper," I explained, "but now I need someone to manufacture the damn thing,
solve the problems that crop up while doing that, and have someone use it. Also, I’m hoping you will consider it an
appropriate bribe.”

“Bribe?” Torres looked at me, cocking her head in confusion, but folding her arms in suspicion.

Nodding at her, I explained, “I’m not happy with the armaments on board. As Chief of Security, it's my job to make
sure everyone's safe, so I’m looking to make something a bit more rugged in the field and more intimidating against
potential enemies than a four inch stick.”

I tapped my padd a few times, pushing instructions to the holodeck computer, which displayed them on the wall.
The engineer glared unbelieving at me, not bothering to look at them, and shot back incredulously, “And what,
exactly, is so wrong with a type-two phaser that requires you to redesign something everyone in Starfleet, and the
Maquis, is trained to use?”

“Besides the fact that it has sixteen different settings?” I asked rhetorically. She stared back, uncomprehendingly,
and I shook my head. “The phaser is an excellent tool, I’m not disputing that. It is very sleek and versatile.”

“Then why do you need something else?” she insisted, leaning back against the bench once more. Her stance was
closed off and the frown she wore made me feel as if I had insulted her family.

“Because it isn’t designed for the role we use it for,” I said simply, listing off its flaws: “For anything more than three
meters away, it is wildly inaccurate. It/s small enough that it can be easily stolen in urban environments, leaving the
user defenseless. It has too many settings, which can create issues if you are in a firefight when your stun-setting is
suddenly thermal, a wide cone, or just outright lethal. Worst of all though, it doesn’t look dangerous.”

Torres barely moved in response, only raising an eyebrow at me to continue while she prompted, “Doesn’t look
dangerous?”

I looked the half-Klingon up and down, and grinned. “Have you ever looked at our tools with a critical eye? From the
way we brandish it, any aliens unfamiliar with the device can tell it is a weapon of some kind, but, objectively, it looks
like a toy you would give a child to play with. Hell, our Tricolors would look just as dangerous if we held them the
same way we hold our phasers. What I want,” I told her, finishing what I was typing up, “is something like this.”

On the workbench, materialized a phaser and phaser rifle from the Kelvin-timeline Star Trek. Or at least as close to it
as I could recreate from my memories. It had a sleeker profile, largely by replacing the chrome-like finish with a
matte black that seemed to drink in the light, giving it a much more intimidating appearance. There was no
mistaking this for a toy.

I waved at them. “This is just what I want the exterior casing to look like. I based their designs off the early phase-
pistols and rifles in our database and then brought them up to something more modern looking, but if you have any
suggestions please feel free to point them out. The main thing is I’m not looking for a tool that shoots a single
continuous particle beam. The phaser already does that and will make an excellent field-tool. I'm not suggesting we
don't carry the phaser, just that security carries something more. What I’m looking for is similar to the ancient EM-
33’s, they shot concentrated pulses of energy instead of a single beam you have to maintain.”

“You seem to know you’re way around a workshop,” Torres pointed out, turning her back to me and looking over the
specs I’d displayed on the wall for the first time. From her tone, she was obviously trying to figure out my angle, “and
you’ve done all this research, why not build it yourself?” she turned to look back at me, gauging my reaction.

I smiled at her, “Well, rather than spend the next month or so working out the idea and developing a prototype on my
own, I thought I would enlist the aid of our lovely chief engineer and bribe her with a tool that should make her life
easier.”

“So,” B’Elanna slowly spoke, turning her back on me again and spending a few more seconds looking over what I
was showing her while, ostensibly, thinking over the deal, “You are going to pass me this device-”

“-omni-tool,” I helpfully supplied.

“Omni-tool, thank you,” she nodded her head in my direction and moved on, “to beta test and in exchange you want
me to help you design a weapon.”

“Well, you won’t be the only one beta testing,” I supplied, “and I’m not going to ask you to take detailed notes of how
it works for you if you don't want to, just use your greater engineering expertise point out when it doesn’t something
it wasn’t supposed to. Once the bugs are worked out of this vambrace version, it will be easier to add a working final
version to our standard uniforms.”

The engineer reached over and grabbed the holographically created pistol case without looking at me, turning it over
in her hands, and even held it out as if she was shooting at imaginary targets on the other end of the room. “I have to
admit, with the internals of an electromagnetic weapon, properly distributed, this design would be well balanced and
feels more comfortable in my hands. And it certainly is more interesting looking than the type-two we usually use.”

She put it down, repeating the process with the rifle case. “Okay,” she suddenly decided, turning to look me over, “I’ll
help you out. But on one condition.”

I hadn’t expected her to agree that easily. Hoped, yes, but I wasn’t going to argue with her. “Just one?”

Smirking at me, Torres continued, “I heard what you said in the meeting yesterday about having training simulations
for the Security teams. I want in.”

I narrowed my eyes in thought, already figuring out how to slot her in, even as I asked, “Why?”

The engineer shrugged her shoulder nonchalantly and smiled, “Should be interesting. And, if nothing else, I should
be able to get a decent workout.” After a moment’s pause, she added hesitantly, “Unless your training sessions are
similar to Tuvok’s, and focuses on procedures and rules.”

“In a way, they would,” I admitted offhandedly, her expression starting to wilt, “but only in that It’ll be testing 'rules' of
engagement and 'procedures' on how to extract captured personnel from hostile forces.”

“Then I want in,” she repeated, grinning.

“Deal,” I said, extending a hand, which she grasped firmly and shook. Before I could say anything more, the ship
shook, and we hung onto each other for stability. We both looked at each other, heading for the door at the same
time. “Security team, go on standby,” I directed as Torres commanded “Engineering, report.”

“Hull breach on deck 3, but it’s sealed. Engineering’s fine, Lieutenant,” the on-duty Engineering lead’s voice replied
through B’Elanna’s comm badge.

I paused at the doorway and turned back, working the holographic Omni-tool that still rested on my arm. Connecting
it to the ship’s systems, Torres stopped as well. “What are you doing?” she demanded, “We need to go.”

My training wasn’t in the field, but I felt my stomach drop as I pulled up Voyager’s sensor readings. However, I
needed to be sure. I opened up the display wider, until it was several feet square. “What does this look like to you?”

The engineer growled to herself a little as she stepped up beside me, confirming what I thought as she said, “It’s a
debris field of deferentially charged polaric ions. Is this what the ship’s seeing?” I nodded. “You’ve sold me, now let’s
go!”

I followed her out, the Omni-tool disappearing from my arm as I crossed the threshold. My doubts about what I
should do, however, stayed as B’Ellana’s comm badge spoke with Janeway’s voice, “Miss Torres, meet us in
transporter room two.”
 769

SIDoragon Oct 23, 2019 View discussion

Threadmarks: Season 1 - Episode 4: Time and Again (part 1) - Interlude 1 View content

SIDoragon
Dragon of Story and Song

Oct 28, 2019  #1,735

Season 1 - Episode 4: Time and Again

March 2371 (14 days in the Delta Quadrant)

Ensign Joseph Bell glanced out the mess hall window during his patrol, watching the stars rapidly pass by, their
movements instilling a sense of ease within him. It wasn’t that he was particularly stressed out or easily entertained,
he just really liked watching those dots of light slide past. Knowing they were moving was more than enough cause
to raise his spirits, at least for a few minutes.

Knowing that this ship was inching closer and closer to the alpha quadrant, one light-year at a time, helped offset
the inevitable crushing reality that home was still seventy years away. Humans hadn’t had to face such long travel
times since the early days of the First Contact era, when colonization ships would carry thousands of people in
stasis out to new worlds to be settled.

Only in their case the journey was measured in six years and few time lost. That was less than a single decade gone
in moments to the passengers, versus Voyager’s seven which they had to be up for every single day of. It was
enough to make anyone depressed.

Ensigns David Felix and Emanual Jackson stepped up next to Bell by the window, their reflections a sharp contrast in
backgrounds. Bell was white and skinny, and not yet out of his teens. Normally he would still be at Starfleet
Academy, but when your home was a planet the Federation left behind, and it was the Maquis that’s protecting your
family, what ‘should be’ is less important with what ‘is’. He’d been willing to stay in school but the Maquis cared
more about what he could bring to the fight than about how many years of education he carried under his belt later
on, so Joseph had left his previous life behind.

Felix was actually from Earth originally, a place called Virginia, but more than being from the Federation homeworld,
the tall blonde caught a lot of grief from some of the Maquis by being a damn Romulan fan-boy. He did great work,
but he tended to idolize those aliens, even to the point of making occasional disparaging remarks about Vulcans in
general and Lt. Tuvok in particular. Despite that, he worked hard to get ahead and Bell felt the man was funny in a
dry humor sort of way. Turned out he was right about Tuvok too, though Joseph was pretty sure Felix hadn’t actually
known that Vulcan was a Federation spy, or he would’ve said something.

Jackson on the other hand was short, Hispanic, and older then Felix and Bell combined. The man had an interesting
outlook on life that Bell could understand, but not agree with. Jackson had apparently worked hard at the Academy,
served on several starships, earned his rank as Ensign, and then effectively stopped. He didn’t refuse to work, he just
did the bare minimum that was expected. Not enough to get reprimanded, but not enough to get commended either.

Jackson, having reached what he believed to be a sweet spot in Starfleet’s hierarchy, decided he wanted to be an
Ensign for the rest of his career. Bell had talked to him about it, while they were both manning the security ship, and
Jackson had explained that Ensigns didn’t have to make life-and-death decisions, they didn’t get sent on dangerous
away missions (that was for crewman and superior officers), they just had to follow orders to the best of their ability.
He was happy where he was and wasn’t going to do anything to upset that.

At least until he had ended up on this ship.

Now a Maquis Virginian Romulan-wannabe and a man whose greatest goal in life was to be an eternal Ensign were
assigned to Security on a Federation ship on the opposite side of the galaxy from either of their homes. To Bell, it
sounded like the start of a particularly bad bar joke.

Maybe what really bothered him was how everyone seems so happy to get along, even these two. It just didn’t make
any sense to him how a Starfleet crew and a Maquis crew would willingly work together. They were enemies, but
they sure weren’t acting like it. Based on the things he’d seen these last few years running weapons and people
around the Cardassian demilitarized zone they should’ve been at each other’s throats. He’d expected there to be
grand deck-wide riots among the various crews, dividing lines drawn, fights breaking out every few hours, open
hostilities, nasty looks, something!

Instead most people just put the past behind them and moved on with no hard feelings. Everyone was pretending
that just a month ago they hadn’t all been enemies. That the Federation didn’t see the Maquis as lesser for not going
along with what a bunch of bureaucrats halfway across the sector, far away from the consequences of their
decisions, commanded from on high. Seska had told him that things would be quiet for a while, as the reality of
them being all alone against the Delta Quadrant sank in and people did anything to survive, but, eventually, those old
divisions would reappear.

The Feds wouldn’t be able to help themselves, and once they got comfortable, realized they weren’t going to die
tomorrow, they’d start looking down on the Maquis again. Old grudges would gradually resurface as things on the
ship got worse, and before long Maquis and Starfleet would be murdering each other off as both sides fought for
control of the ship. Except Starfleet did everything from space, while the Maquis were used to ship-board, close
quarters combat.

It was inevitable. Privately, Bell even agreed with her. The shock would wear off, but things would still be okay, at
first. So long as the food was plentiful, showers were hot, and holodecks worked, everything would work well
enough. But once things begin to break down, replacement parts became harder to come by, and resources got
scarce, the Feds would start to turn on them. When it came what was right, like holding their territory against the
Cardassians, and what was easy, like retreating like cowards, the Federation chose what helped them and damn the
little guy. They were already on replicator rations, but that wasn’t so bad. When it started coming down to who got to
eat, not who had to try Neelix’s cooking, then the fake ‘we’re all together’ front would vanish, just like Starfleet had
from his home.

“You okay?” Felix commented, raising an eyebrow as he glanced at the Bell through his reflection.

Bell shrugged a little, still watching as the stars past them by. “I’m fine. Just taking it all in.”

His fellow Maquis grinned at him, prodding Bell with a, “Sure about that? There looked to be a lot going on upstairs.”

Glancing at the two of them for a moment, Bell ground his teeth and said, “Okay, I’m curious about something. How
are you both so okay with all this ‘squad’ stuff Shepard’s having us do?”

Jackson glanced up from the odd fruit he’d been eating, grabbed from the kitchens, and looked over at the Joseph.
“Don’t like how Shepard divied up all the Maquis onto different teams?” the smaller man asked. There was
something in his tone, but Bell couldn’t tell if it was derision or just poorly faked interest. Bell assumed it was the
second, for the sake of the patrol. “Missing your compadres?” the shorter man added.

Joseph couldn’t help the pained grimace that rose from that observation. The Fed had a point, but so did he. “Maybe
a little. You gotta admit that we all got along easier when we were all on a single team, instead of divided between
three.” The fact that he had to deal with Feds was a large part of that.

Raising an eyebrow at the teen, Jackson asked, deadpan, “Are you saying you don’t get along with me? I’m hurt. Truly
hurt.”

With Felix snickering on the other side of them, Jackson went on to explain, shaking his head slowly, “Come on,
amigo. Splitting everyone up just makes sense.” Bell stared at him, because no it didn’t, and Jackson sighed.
“Lieutenant Wood’s one of you, so putting her in charge of a bunch of Starfleet officers will help her to adopt
Starfleet methods, while having so many former-Maquis on the other squads will make them to mix the different
methodologies around. Make them calm down a bit. Get the LT to back off a little too.”

With a firm nod, Felix added his two credits, “And it likely won’t be forever. Shepard doesn’t seem like the type of
commander to set something like that and leave it be. More likely we will all be trading squads around every so often
to get everyone on the same level. It would help us all work together most efficiently, no matter the circumstances
we find ourselves in.”

Trust Felix to think about combat ‘efficiency’, Bell thought. At least that hadn’t changed. “I just don’t trust him,” he
muttered, shrugging before he turned away from the window and began to move towards the door on the far end of
the room. “Come on, our shift is nearly over and we still have Deck Three to patrol.”

Having a squad patrol the ship as part of a three-man team, instead of Starfleet’s required two-man pairs had been
another new change the Commander had implemented. At least Bell could grudgingly agree that it was a good idea
since all too often those two people would have to split up at the first sign of a problem and become easy targets for
borders. He should know, he’d been one of those borders, though only once. Another of Shepard’s new rules was, no
matter what, no one went anywhere alone on patrol. Didn’t matter if you were on a planet or on the ship, Security
worked as a team, and needed to stay as a team. Despite himself, Bell had to agree that was a good idea. Downright
Maquis, even.

If nothing else, though. having two other people to talk to instead of just one made the time go by much faster.

Case in point, they were nearly at the end of their shift, and Bell could swear they had only just begun it an hour ago.
Jackson had been around some actions with the Romulans, and had been telling stories, and sometimes getting
into arguments, with Felix. Bell added his two credits in whenever they couldn’t agree, or got stalled for a topic.

Calling for a turbolift, Bell and the other two Security Officers waited for a moment and glanced down the hallway.
There were only one or two people coming or going at any given time it seemed, but it was what they expected
during the night shift.

“So what have you two been doing to pass the time?” Felix asked as the lift door opened and the three men stepped
inside. “For recreation.”

“Deck Three.” Jackson called out, the door slid closed and the turbolift hummed as it started to move down a level.
“Not too much. I’ve been watching the 2368 QuantumRun. The fencing tournament was pretty impressive, although I
think someone must have bribed a few committee officials in the hoverball exposition. There were a lot of fouls not
called. Pendajos.”

“QuantumRun?” Bell asked, surprised by the revelation. He hadn’t taken the sleepy older man as a sports fan. “Isn’t
that over fifty different sports and, like, six hundred events? It’ll take you forever to watch all of it.” The doors chose
that moment to slide open, letting the three of them walk out and let an Ensign in the red division colors of
command staff take their place.

Jackson just shrugged as the doors shut with a hiss behind him. “Not forever. Six hundred events, average each one
at, say, two hours apiece, and you basically end up with seventy-two thousand hours of coverage. Should work my
way through all of that in three years or so. ‘Sides, there are some events I just can’t sit and watch.”

Felix scoffed, “If I had to bet, the volleyball matches won’t be one of those you choose to skip.”

At Jackson’s shrug of indifference, the other two just started chuckling. A moment later the shorter man joined
them, nodding ruefully in admission of a point scored.

“What about you, Bell?” Jackson asked, once the three had their laughter under control again. “Anything interesting
in your off hours?”

Shaking his head, the younger man answered offhandedly, “Not really. Just working on a backlog of books. I find
reading relaxing. What about you Felix?”

“The usual things I suppose,” the other Maquis hesitantly replied. “Keep up with my exercises. A few of us gather
and talk about the things we got up to in the Maquis. Trading stories. Most of them we’ve already heard before, but it
is just nice to hang out. You’d know if you joined us.”

“I’d rather not.” Bell answered, his eyes moving across the various doors to officers’ quarters as they meandered
around the deck. “You know I don’t care about that kind of thing. It’s just. . . boring. Besides, I don’t care if you once
saw a nebula that looked like a Denebian Slime Devil. You either pulled your weight, or you didn’t. That’s all that
matters to me.”

Felix snorted, “Spoil sport. What’s the point of being a warrior if you can’t take pride in your victories?”

Jackson looked over at Felix and asked, “I don’t think I’ve ever asked. What did you do on the Val Jean?”

The Virginian’s face firmed up in a frown as he spoke, “Not much, sadly. I was mostly on board for muscle, which we
rarely needed. That’s why I think I ended up in Security. Had only been on that ship for a week before we ended up in
the badlands. Before that I jumped around, but originally I was a hydrological engineer on Marva IV. Thick clouds on
that world, but not much water unless you replicated it or pulled it from the atmosphere. Nasty creatures though. I
once took on a hexapod with claws as big as my arm with nothing but a knife and a smile.” The man grinned, though
his victorious smirk faded. “That was where a lot of the people from Salva II ended up after the Cardassians kicked
them off their planet. The ones that survived. Moisture farming didn’t seem so important after that, so I went and did
my part to help out.”

“Why’d you leave?” Bell asked, eyes forward even as his ears listened in carefully. “I remember you being in a hell of
a hurry to leave when we picked you up on our supply run.”

Felix smiled sadly, “You know the old story. Boy meets girl, on a break between ship duties, then another girl, without
telling his first girl. There may have been a third. Needless to say, none of them really looked kindly on me after that.
Of course, I didn’t know how unkindly they had become until someone started shooting at me. Wonder if it was
Valerie’s family, or Linda’s. Telna’s family still liked me, even if she didn’t, so not them at least. Luckily, Val Jean was
getting ready to leave at the time. Thought I would just help around the ship a few weeks until we got to the next
colony and I went my own way.”

“Which is why we didn’t usually pick up strays on runs. You guys always come with baggage.” Bell commented,
turning his head to smirk at the older man. “Speaking of strays, what’s had Neelix worked up all afternoon? Last I
heard, he’d basically locked himself in his old ship and didn’t come back out until late in the evening.”

Jackson grinned widely, if sleepily, as he replied, “Get this nino. During the morning briefing Shepard dropped the
bomb on everyone that Voyager might not be alone out here. Neelix spent the day working through that mess of
cables that he calls a computer for any records that might help prove it one way or another. Turns out, he did have a
brief look at the Equinox from a distance before it went to warp.”

Felix stared back at him in disbelief, “He didn’t try to make contact with them?”

“You’ve met Neelix, right? Remember how shifty that cabrón was those first few days on board, and how when we
found him scalvaging he almost shot us to keep us away?” Jackson slowly shook his head at the memory, and
pressed on, “Like it woulda done anything other than piss off the la jefa. No, at the time he was more worried about
staying out of the way of someone whose ship was a hell of a lot bigger than his.”

“They get a heading at least?” Bell asked, genuinely curious.

Jackson shook his head in negative, adding, “Nah, they were only on his sensors for a few moments. They hightailed
it out of there in a hurry. Neelix got just enough information to show that we’re not on anything like a similar course.
Command staff’s throwin’ around a theory that they were more heavily damaged than we were, so took off towards a
nebula where they could hide out and make repairs in relative safety. By now, there is no telling where that ship
went.”

“At least we know we have an ally out here. Somewhere” Bell offered, trying to look on the bright side as the three of
them finished their circuit of the deck and were winding their way back to the turbolift once more. As they made
their way down to Deck Four and back towards the Security offices, Joseph asked, “How do you know all this?”

Jacksons grin was back, this time so wide it seemed like his face might fall off, said, “I’m so glad you asked! I’ve
been hanging out with Ensign Jenkins.”

“Wait,” Felix snapped back into the conversation, “that gorgeous nightshift helmsman?” At the man’s confirmation
nod, the Virginian let out a groan of exasperation. “Damn it. I was planning on asking her to the holodeck.”

The other two gave their compatriot a good-natured chuckle, turning the corner of the hallway as they approached
the main office. When they entered, they found Lt. Andrews waiting for them by the office door, padd in hand, and the
three men straightened up.

“There you are,” the Lieutenant began without preamble when they approached. “New orders. Your team is pulling a
double shift tonight. But to make up for it you get the rest of tomorrow off.”

Jackson hung back as Bell and Felix took a step forward, coming to attention in front of their superior officer. Bell
was the first to say, “When was this decision made, Sir? We are supposed to be coming off shift a few minutes from
now.”

Andrews scowled at the pair. “Typical Maquis, huh? Not willing to put in the extra work you are assigned? Figures.”

Clenching his jaw to keep from saying something he’d likely regret, Bell took a breath and pushed ahead. These Feds
were all about protocol, they could choke on it. Jackson was okay, but it made sense the higher you went, the worse
Federation got. Suddenly Jackson’s Ensign end-goal made more sense. “No, Sir. Not at all. Just wondering when this
decision was made and why our XO isn’t the one passing along the message, Sir.”

“Your superior officer is. I’m the one telling you.” Andrews stated matter-of-factly.

Felix, sighing dejectedly, asked, “Sir, who else knows about this? Has the rest of Gamma been informed or just us?”

Bell furrowed his brow in thought. Separating the entirety of ship’s Security crew into three ‘squads’ had been
another thing Shepard had done to promote cooperation. He said that, to help ‘foster cooperation’, it would make
sense to divide up the newcomers so that the Lt. Andrews had two Maquis on his Alpha Squad, one a Lt. Junior
Grade and another an Ensign. Lt. Wood was the only Maquis on Beta Squad. Meanwhile Lt. Dalal had one Lt. Junior
Grade and three Ensign Maquis in her Gamma group. That meant that while Andrews was superior to them in rank
he wasn’t the superior officer of anyone in Gamma group, anymore than Tom Paris was.

Before he could think more on this, the door to the Security Chief’s office slid open and a very angry looking Lt. Dalal
stepped out. She didn’t even break stride as she moved past the three, eyes locking onto her coworker only causing
her stormy look to reach Monsoon levels of intensity.

“Andrews,” their XO stated, voice calm in contrast to her expression, “I would like to talk to you in the office for a few
minutes.”

The bigger man ground his jaw and narrowed his eyes at both her and the three men, but just gave a nod and
marched into the room without saying another word. Before she turned to follow him, Dalal turned to Bell, Felix and
Jackson to say in a much less turbulent tone of voice, “You three are finished for the day. Enjoy your night, and if this
happens again in the future remember to do what you did today and check in with me.”

With a brief nod towards them, Lt. Dalal followed after the man and shut the door behind her, leaving the two men
stunned by what just happened.

After a few good moments to reflect, Bell hesitatingly asked, “Anyone know what that was about?”

Jackson chuckled, drawing the other two men’s attention towards him, and the miniature padd he was slipping back
into his pocket. “What happened, is Andrew is going to get his ass chewed out. Again. Fuckin’ puta.”

At the blank look of his companions, Jackson laughed a little harder and explained, “Andrew’s squad was supposed
to be on the next shift. He hates third shift, and tried to get us to do it for him. Lazy bastard.”

“You know,” he added, a second later, seemingly to himself, “I don’t get him. Man spent all that time and energy
getting to where he is, to have all that responsibility, and then wastes it by playing silly games he ain’t gonna win.”

Felix nodded along, adding, “The Lieutenant looked like she was going to tear him apart.”

Bell decided he wasn’t going to bother pointing out how, if this happened regularly, Dalal wasn’t going to change
anything, and instead shook his head and prepared to say good night. “Anyway, we’re off duty,” he sighed. “I’m going
to head back to my quarters and get back to my books.”

Felix looked over at him and asked, “You sure? I know a few of us are going to go play some hoverball on the
holodeck.”

Shrugging, Bell only replied, “I’m sure. There’s a book I just started, and I really want to finish it.”

“You have plenty of time to read a book,” Jackson offered. “It’s like my shows, it isn’t going anywhere, and you’re not
gonna get anymore any time soon.”

“I know,” Joseph replied, “but I don’t want to wait. I’m just going to get some grub and head to my room. Hopefully
before my bunkmate gets third shift. She snores.”

It only took two minutes for Bell to offer his farewells, and arrive in his quarters a few decks down. Moments later he
was be changed into his night clothes, under the covers, and reading about brave adventurers fighting off evil
invaders on a padd before he fell asleep.

===/\===​

Bell awoke with a start when the ship suddenly shook, rolling him out of his bunk and onto the floor. They had a belt
to stop that, but no one ever bothered to use it. “What the hell?” was all he managed to get out of his mouth in
response to the rude awakening before his comm badge chirped and he heard Shepard’s tenor voice ring out from
his desk, “Security Team, go on standby,” before going silent once more.

The man scowled at the badge, but did as instructed by quickly throwing on his uniform. If it wasn’t an emergency,
he’d go back and take a shower, but borders didn’t care how much you smelled. It was the work of only a minute to
get into uniform and check the time, revealing it was still early morning, but Bell had still managed to get a full
night’s sleep.

Finally, strapping his phaser to his waist and making one last inspection in the mirror, Bell rushed out of his quarters
and made a beeline to the turbolift. There were two others with him, both Feds that were part of the science division,
but heading down the hall at what seemed like a leisurely pace. Apparently only the Security teams needed to be
getting anywhere in a hurry.

After letting the two scientists off at their stop there was nothing slowing Bell down from reaching the Security
offices.

As he double-timed it into the main assembly room, Bell noticed that he wasn’t the first to arrive, but he was in one
of the better states. Most of the people who had already arrived looked like they needed at least six cups of coffee
before they would be able to function, likely the people from nightshift who were just getting ready to sleep before
the alert rang out. Bell could barely fight the urge to laugh at a half-awake Lt. Andrews sitting at the front of the
room, having claimed one of the desks in the back corner and with his head propped up by his arm, trying his best to
not nod off back to sleep.

For the next twenty minutes that was the state of things. More people showed up, mostly trickling in at a walk since
a Standby order was just to be ready to do something as soon as possible. There wasn’t anything that said they
couldn’t just wait in their rooms until given new orders, but it was obvious that most people felt they would be better
off gathering here instead.

“It wake you up as well?” Felix’s familiar voice rang out as the man waved to Bell from his seat in the top, back row
on the other side of the room from Andrews.

“Nah,” Joseph drawled out as he walked over, taking a seat next to him, “I was already on the floor. Doing pushups as
part of my warrior’s wakeup, you know how it is.”

A snerk of laughter was his reply. “Yeah, Sure, me too. Took me a few minutes to wake up fully, the game went a bit
long. Thank goodness it wasn’t a red alert. I’d be at my station in boxers.”

“Yeah, no one wants to see that,” Bell agreed, chuckling.

As the two men talked, Lieutenants Dalal and Wood entered the room and moved towards the front. There was a
whispered conversation between them, and Bell watched as Andrews rolled his eyes, stood up, and joined them as
the conversation in the room became more animated.

He was tempted to head down there and ask the Lieutenant what he needed to do, just like on a Maquis ship, but
knew it wouldn’t be seen in such a good light among all the Starfleet in the room. They were just supposed to wait
like good little soldiers until orders came down from on high.

Commander Shepard took that moment to walk through the door, and Bell forgot all thoughts of getting involved.
The look on the Commander’s face spoke volumes, and he didn’t want to be anywhere near the receiving end of that
wrath. Not when Shepard was such a tall bastard built who looked like he could break most of the people in the
room in half with a glare. Hell, even Felix was wary of the guy, and Bell had seen that guy take out a Klingon. It was a
drunk Klingon, but that just made it more impressive.

Bell had only spoken to the man a few times so far, and the commander always came across as, for lack of a better
term, cold. Oh, Shepard was always polite, he listened to what Bell had said about splitting up the crew and actually
seemed to accept constructive criticism from his subordinates, unlike Andrews, but Bell always had the feeling that
the man would take you apart in an instant if he needed to. As soon as you approached him, the man’s eyes ran
across your features in a way that made you feel like he was trying to figure out all your secrets and that it was only
a matter of time before he found them. Like he could know anything he wanted about you, it was just not worth the
effort to find out.

It was a feeling he didn’t get with other Starfleet personnel. The only time he had felt something similar was among
a few of the older, scarred Maquis, and a couple of Bajorians he had met who lived through the occupation.

There was even a rumor working its way around the ship that the man was part of some black ops Federation spy
organization like the Romulan Tal Shiar that Bell had gotten Felix to talk about. There was another that said he was a
Starfleet experiment to recreate the old Augments from Earth’s past, like Khan but with kill codes in his head if he
went rogue. A third said he was actually a time traveler, who’d Janeway picked up on the Collector’s station before
she blew it up. Whatever the truth was, Bell was going to stay exactly where he was seated along the back wall and
be happy about it.

Shepard didn’t waste any time as he moved to the main screen and pressed a few buttons, bringing up a view of
what looked like a dead, grey planet. As he did, he spoke loudly, “I’m glad to see everyone got up and dressed. Alpha
Squad, sorry about the lack of sleep, but you should be able to go back to bed soon. If we need you, I want you
rested and ready to go because then everything will have gone wrong.”

“What happened an hour ago,” he continued speaking, as if he hadn’t just suggested that whatever this was could be
bad it might require the entire Security detail, “was that Voyager was hit by the leading edge of a shockwave. It
caused a minor hull breach, but that was contained and has already been patched.”

“The source of the wave was this planet,” he declared, pointing at the screen. “It is covered in differentially charged
polaric ions, which suggests one hell of a massive detonation. Thus, the Captain adjusted our course to investigate.
All life on the planet had been destroyed. Everything down there is dead, even the bacteria.”

He pointed at a crater on the screen. It was impossible to tell how big it was from here, but it visible from upper orbit
which suggested a seriously sinister scenario. “From what we could tell up in orbit, there was a civilization down
there. There are artificial waterways and a global aqueduct system that must have been impressive a few days ago.
Now, everything is seared to cinders.”

“Our illustrious Captain, Head of operations Tuvok, Chief Engineer Torres and our Primary Pilot, Lieutenant Junior
Grade Paris, against my recommendations, all went down together to investigate.” Shepard looked like was glaring
at the screen, almost like he was challenging it somehow. “They reported what appeared to be the aftereffects
runaway polaric ion explosion. It looked like polaric energy was piped into every business, park, and home on this
planet. Was, until a few hours ago.”

A general wave of disbelief swept the room, though only half the people seemed to understand what that meant, and
Bell wasn’t one of them. “That can’t be possible,” someone spoke above the general murmur of discontent. “That
would mean every street, every power outlet on the planet, was a potential bomb waiting to go off. Um, Sir.”

Shepard nodded along, showing his agreement with that assessment. “I don’t think they got that memo Ensign.
Unfortunately, it's too late to tell them that now.” He waited a moment, and the anger on his face seemed to ebb,
though only for a moment.

“Sadly,” he began again, face set in cold fury, “such a massive detonation had other side effects. It shattered
subspace on the surface. Lieutenant Junior Grade Paris is reported as having experienced something like a vision
while he was on the surface, claiming to have seen the same place they were standing on experiencing a bright
sunny day with men and women going about their business. Instead of leaving immediately, the crew, including the
Captain, decided to investigate. Janeway apparently discovered the subspace fractures as floating across the planet
like icebergs, and finally ordered everyone back to the ship.”

Everyone seemed to be holding their breath, waiting to hear the inevitable bad news. Shepard didn’t disappoint them.
“Janeway and Paris are missing. They disappeared into thin air, possibly through one of those subspace fractures.
An engineering team is being assembled to figure out how to pull the two out of wherever they are. In the meantime,
Security is going to be on heightened status on the ship while one squad heads down with them for their safety.”

Shepard glanced around the room, like he was evaluating everyone, and all Bell could think was, ‘Please let me stay
on the ship. Please.’

After a moment to look around, the Commander growled out in annoyance, “Alpha squad, you are going to catch a
bunk. You all look ready to fall over. Tomorrow we are going to step up the exercise program, for everyone.”

More genially he went on, “Beta, you are staying on the ship on ready status.”

Getting a nod from Wood, Bell cursed under his breath as Shepard offered his judgement. “Gamma, prep for an away
mission and meet in the shuttle bay in fifteen minutes. As there are subspace fractures, I think we can all see why
using transporters to move us through subspace is a bad thing, so we’re talking the long way down. Dismissed.”

“Well, shit.” Felix quietly enunciated next to him, voicing Bell’s thoughts exactly.
 821

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Threadmarks: Season 1 - Episode 4: Time and Again (part 2) - Interlude 1 View content

SIDoragon
Dragon of Story and Song

Nov 5, 2019  #2,217

Season 1 - Episode 4: Time and Again (part 2) [Interlude 1]

March 2371 (15 days in the Delta Quadrant)

Tuvok was waiting for them as the group made their way to the shuttlebay, Bell observed. The Vulcan had looked up
as Gamma squad strode into the L-shaped room, coming to stand slightly straighter than usual and quirking an
eyebrow in a way that the Maquis man found insufferable.

Lt. Dalal was at the head of their parade, and turned her back on Tuvok, raising an arm to indicate the Class Two
shuttle, the Dawkins, sitting nearby. “Gamma, board up.”

Bell hung back and waited for everyone else to step inside the craft, not eager to set foot inside the cramped vessel
until he had to. He remembered what Jackson had said about these ships; “fast, maneuverable, but not built for
people with spines.” Six people were more than enough to make the space feel oppressive, and they were marching
eight inside, not counting the pilot and engineer.

Then again, the Vulcan is going to have to shove himself in that Cochrane along with the engineering crew and the
others over there, Bell reflected, noting that Chakotay and Torres were looking their way. It could be worse.

Tuvok said something to Chakotay and strode away from the shuttle carrying the engineering crew, calmly
approaching the Lieutenant to speak with her. “I do not believe an armed escort will be necessary for this rescue
mission.”

The Indian woman smiled widely at the Tactical Officer, amusement clear on her face. “Oh I fully agree. However, I
was ordered to have my people escort yours. I’m just following my orders. If you find fault with them, you’ll have to
take it up with my commander, Sir,” she stated, perfectly formal and polite. Bell couldn’t be sure, but it almost
seemed like she didn’t like Tuvok that much. It was definitely a point in her favor.

Tilting his head to the side, the Vulcan rebutted, “Be that as it may, it is my professional opinion that having so many
people on the planet’s surface would pose an unacceptable security risk.” Bell wondered if the man had listened to
Dalal, or was trying to order her without really ordering her, so she’d do what he wanted and likely get in trouble
without Tuvok technically doing anything wrong. More Federation doubletalk bullshit, the Ensign thought darkly. He
didn’t trust any of the Voyager’s crew, but the Lieutenant in charge of his squad hadn’t done wrong by him yet. She
just smiled at him, giving him a nod of assent, but not saying anything in reply.

“What’s wrong, Tuvok?” came Shepard’s increasingly familiar voice. The head of Security was casually stalking
across the bay, adjusting the phaser strapped to the belt around his waist with one hand while the other was
carrying a Tricorder. Bell observed the Commander approaching the Vulcan like he was an old friend, and for all the
Maquis knew they might have been. “Is everyone ready to go?”

The stoic officer looked up at the chief of security and repeated, “It is my professional opinion, as head of
Operations for Voyager, that having too many people on this mission would be dangerous, as well as counter-
productive.”

Shepard looked at the man, then glanced over at the Cochrane shuttlepod as Kim, Torres, Chakotay and for whatever
reason, the Ocampa they’d picked up, were all getting onto their own craft. “Right,” the Commander drawled dryly.
“So you believe that having the entirety of the senior staff and command crew be on an away mission is acceptable,
but having a single security team on site to provide support is unacceptable?”

Tuvok jerked an eyebrow, almost like a blink, before he glanced back at his shuttle for a moment and stared at his
own group. He turned back to the Commander, expression fractionally tighter. “Your point is. . . noted,” The Vulcan
admitted, giving the other man a small nod. “For the record, I did object to having the First Officer join us, but he
overruled me.”

Dalal looked at the head of operations, like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, and innocently asked, “Just out of
curiosity, sir, who is in charge of the ship while we are all down here?”

“Lt.JG Ayala,” came the man’s immediate reply. “Commander Chakotay placed him in charge while we are away.”

Bell blinked back some surprise at that. Ayala had been Chakoty’s right-hand man aboard the Val Jean, but since
they all got stuck here the man had spent most of his time as a relief tactical officer on the bridge. Bell had actually
forgotten the man existed from time to time as he was almost never seen off the bridge, and the command level
wasn’t part of Security’s patrol routes.

“Provisional Lieutenant, Junior Grade Ayala,” the Commander absently corrected, while glancing down at the padd in
his hand.

Dalal glanced over at Shepard, with just a hint of a frown, and asked him, “Why do you do that?”

“What?”

“Why do you add the provisional to their ranks?” Dalal asked once more, her tone inquisitive but also slightly
reprimanding.

Tuvok quirked his eyebrow once more and added, “I, too, have noticed you have this tendency. I previously believed
you only did it to Commander Chakoty as a means to provoke an emotional response. However, I now observe that I
was in error.”

Commander Shepard smirked, letting out a small huff of amusement through his nose, and then admitted, “It did
start out that way, Tuvok. Eventually, it just started to become a habit, I suppose.” He shrugged carelessly, “It’s
technically correct, which is the best kind of correct.”

“Interesting,” the Vulcan commented. “I would have presumed it had originated as a negative subconscious desire
directed at the Maquis, not as something so understated.”

Dalal blinked at the Vulcan, “What?” Bell mentally echoed the question.

Shepard, on the other hand, just chuckled. “He thought I hated the Maquis and was singling them out,” the
Commander translated. “Which is just silly.”

“Wait, you don’t?” the Gamma leader shot back. Bell hadn’t even noticed, though now that he looked at it, it was
obvious.

“Hell no.” the man shook his head and smirked. “If anything, I wanted them to win their border dispute. My biggest
problem with the Maquis was how stupid they were being. If they had been smarter, they would have organized their
resistance on one of the worlds the Federation offered to relocate them to, and then launched their attacks on the
Cardassians from a position of strength. That would’ve given them a safe place to gather forces, organize supplies,
and keep up the good fight while still having some form of Federation support. Instead they treated the neutral zone
like a game of wack-a-mole and are slowly being eroded. Best projections have their fight ending, one way or the
other, in the next three to four years. Not that we’ll be there to see it. Pity, I had a few bets going.”

Bell could feel his blood boiling at the cavalier way Shepard was talking about his people, but when he turned around
to see how everyone else was reacting, he saw he was alone with the Lieutenant, Lieutenant Commander, and
Commander. Everyone else had gotten comfortable in the shuttle as Lt.JG Harewood started the preflight sequence.

Seeing Tuvok, Dalal and Shepard walking towards their shuttles, Bell kicked himself into gear and stepped inside the
Dawkin. The Commander gave him a knowing look, but didn’t say anything about Bell’s eavesdropping as they sat
down and buckled in.

No one spoke in the shuttle as it lifted up and exited the ship, the flight smoothing out as it passed through the bay
door into hard vacuum. There wasn’t really any need to say anything at this point. The situation had been explained
to everyone and there wasn’t anything he could do about it. Engineering was been working on a solution to having
two people lost inside a subspace fracture, and they needed to act fast as the fractures were all slowly closing in on
themselves. It was Bell’s job to look out, and if something dangerous fell out of an invisible tear in reality, he was
supposed to stun the hell out it.

Instead everyone looked towards the front of the small craft at the rapidly approaching planet they had been
orbiting. The explosion had blasted much of the surface to darkened ash, saturating the atmosphere. As the shuttle
dropped lower and lower, it was like diving underwater, the light dimming more and more. From what he’d overheard
an engineer saying, the planet was rapidly cooling and the ash clouds were plunging it into a global winter.

The techie had guessed that, within two years the entire planet would look like a giant snowball, and if everything
down there wasn’t already dead it would be soon.

It wasn’t just darker, as the ship descended the turbulence crew more and more pronounced as well. These shuttles
were rated for atmospheric flight, that much Bell knew, but he wasn’t aware of how much punishment that could
take and that little bit of ignorance exacerbated his nervousness. The ash shouldn’t be able to clog anything
important, and the pilots should be able to fly by instruments alone, but this wasn’t normal ash.

Minutes later all the shaking suddenly abated as the shuttle cleared the clouds, the landscape a dim twilight despite
it being almost mid-day. The Ensign could barely make out the other shuttle ahead of them, almost black with caked
on ash, as well as the rapidly approaching ground. Every few seconds he was able to make out more and more
details of the surrounding area, eventually making out that they were passing over farmlands and former woods by
the shape of the regularly flat areas and the broken dead stumps that occasionally poked out of the ground.

Soon what should have been wilderness gave way to massive black-water rivers and the remains of clearly artificial
structures attached to them that directed the flow into several directions, leading to a jagged forest of towering,
warped steel in the distance.

Jackson’s voice was sober as he whispered, “Mother of god. There would’ve been millions in that city alone.”

Unconsciously Bell nodded his head, connecting the dots and imagining what it might have once looked like. Here
and there were clearings that could have once been warehouses or office buildings, over there would have been a
beautiful park with a small waterfall as the central fixture if that brackish pool had been a fountain, and he could
easily imagine those ruins on the hills as apartment buildings.

Of course, it was the smaller buildings that had survived the chain reaction best. Markets and plazas that were
closest to the ground survived mostly intact. Intact being relative of course, since all the windows and doors were
obviously blown out, and the outer surface blackened by the flash fires, but the general structures still remained
fairly intact.

That was how he noticed they were landing their shuttles in a nearby square, surrounded on two sides by long, low-
profile buildings that might have been some kind of shopping center. There were triangular cuts in the concrete here
or there, filled with scorched dirt, where plants of all types must have grown and beautified the area.

No sooner than the shuttle had sat down did Felix slip out of his harness and pop the hatch open. Everyone was
assaulted with what Bell could only describe as burnt everything. The air was as dead and lifeless as the planet had
looked, the cloying ash still in the air pummeling the crew’s lungs like a carbon sledgehammer.

Bell unbuckled himself and reached a hand behind the man’s head, giving it a firm smack, before berating his friend
with, “Thanks for the warning.”

Harewood finished powering down the shuttle, glancing out the window and huffing, “This place is a mess. Gonna be
a bitch to clean.”

He looked over at the black woman, giving her a critical eye. Bell’s interactions with the girl had been limited to
professional settings thus far, but he had quickly pegged her as the ‘bad cop’ to Lt. Dalal’s ‘good cop.’ Starfleet
through-and-through, she was a stickler for the rules and protocols in a way that didn’t endear her to the Maquis
members of the squad. She hadn’t made them clean the showers with a micro-resonator, or anything else ridiculous,
but Bell might’ve taken that over hearing her talk about the necessity for ‘proper dress at all times and for all
circumstances’ for the tenth time.

She was somehow making friends with the other Maquis, regardless of her need to be a stickler for rules, and even
Bell had to grudgingly say she was a good person at heart. She’d actually explained why they needed to be in
uniform, even off duty, and it’d made some sense, even if Bell didn’t like it. There was something of a friendly rivalry
forming between Harewood and Lt. Wood on the firing range as well, and the two squads were having fun betting on
who would have the best score at the end of the week.

It didn’t hurt that Harewood seemed to hate Andrews as much as Bell did.

The woman turned back to the rest of the passengers and barked out, “Oh good, you all survived the ride down. Now
get the hell out of the shuttle and make yourself useful. Tricorders out, set to magneton sweeps so you can spot
those subspace fractures we were warned about.”

Bell was still used to having a subordinate give the orders instead of the leader. In the Maquis, the captain gave the
orders, and his second made sure they were ordered. Here it wasn’t the Commander, or even Lieutenant Dalal giving
the orders, but the third in command here, who they needed to follow as if Shepard himself said so. As everyone
began to gather their gear and bustle towards the exit, Lt.JG Harewood shouted out once more, “And keep your
damn eyes open! If you don’t know what you are looking at, assume it’s dangerous!”

Felix mumbled, “This whole damn planet is dangerous,” looking out across the bleak landscape.

Bell gave his friend a shove and as soon as his feet hit the cracked pavement he reached for his tricorder as
instructed. As one, the occupants of the shuttle began to move to the second shuttle only a few meters away to help
unload the equipment.

The door was already open, of course, and Torres was standing there with her own tricorder out. Shepard walked up,
a Tricorder of his own active, and from the look on his face it was obvious he didn’t like what he was seeing.
B’Elanna nodded to him and headed back inside the shuttle as the Commander slowly turned around, scanning the
surrounding area. Bell also noticed that there was an armband around his bicep that hadn’t been there before.

Shepard looked up at him, and noticed what he was looking at, so explained, “Anti-polaric field emitter. Should repel
the fractures if they get within three meters of you.”

He glanced inside the shuttle, and Bell looked in to see Torres shifting something that looked like a jumbo phaser on
a tripod. Shepard called out, “How many of these armbands did your people get the chance to make?”

The half-Klingon looked up at him, the self-recrimination Bell had seen on her face before when she hadn’t been able
to do everything she wanted to, and answered, “We managed to make ten, so we can cover half of everyone here.”

Nodding, Shepard turned back to the growing crowd around the shuttle and said, “Buddy system is in effect. For
every person with an armband, another person without one needs to stay within three meters of them. I’ll say it
again, if you don’t have one of these armbands, you stick to someone who does.”

Bell watched the Commander turn back to the shuttle and help Torres and Tuvok remove the gear they would need.
On the other side of them, Chakotay and Kes were walking away, heads bowed together and whispering something
back and forth as they looked around.

Less than ten minutes later, the security officers had erected a cordon around the square. Bell and Jackson hadn’t
been lucky enough to get one of the armbands, but Harewood had and so the two of them were sticking close to the
junior-lieutenant as instructed.

Kes seemed to be aimlessly wandering the area, an arm-banded Chakotay by her side, while Tuvok and Torres
followed behind them carrying the gear. Bell could see that they were looking for something, but what that would be
was still a mystery to the man.

The Ensign shivered as he felt the wind kick up. Checking his own tricorder, the temperature had fallen another two
degrees and he could feel the static tingle of a storm on the horizon. If he had to guess, and if this was anything like
that desert planet he’d done that run to, they had maybe an hour before it started. It would eventually get here,
though and if it was anything like that sandstorm, it would be terrible.

Jackson turned to his friend and asked, “Any clue what they are waiting for?”

“Do I look like I know?” Bell snarked back.

Harewood looked up from her tricorder and chided, “You both need to pay attention in your briefings. That device
they are carrying around can open a subspace fracture, but they can only use it once in any one area and will only
work for about thirty seconds before it burns out. That means they have to pick carefully where to set up.”

Jackson rolled his eyes at that. “I did pay attention, sir. What I wanted to know was how they were deciding where to
set up.”

“Maybe wherever that Kes girl is leading them.” Harewood shrugged back in reply. “This stinks like a psi-op. The regs
for those are so vague they’re nearly useless.”

There was another gust of cold wind, the wind biting at their exposed heads and hands, and Jackson gave a brief
shake at the sensation. “I hope they find it soon. It is already negative-six out here, and it is only going to get worse
the longer they take.”

Bell smirked at his friend. “Glad the Commander got all of us these new uniforms?”

Jackson nodded enthusiastically. “Damn right I am. Wind bites right through the old ones.”

Harewood smirked at the both of them, adding, “Engineering isn’t. They are a little jealous, actually. Had several
crewmen wondering where they could get some of these pants.” Another point in the woman’s favor was, once they
were following regulations, she was a great source of gossip.

Bell grinned at the woman, unable to resist the opening, “You sure they weren’t just trying to use a pickup line on
you?”

Harewood narrowed her eyes at him, making her smile look less friendly and more dangerous. “Fraternization is
against regulations. I can tell the difference, Ensign, see that you can too.”

Holding up his hands in surrender, Bell glanced around the plaza. Of course, Starfleet would have regulations against
something as natural as that. Not only did they control their officer’s actions, they controlled their bedrooms as well.
He tried to find something to talk about, to change the subject, but there wasn’t that much to see. Everything was
either broken or burned beyond recognition, but he needed something to do.

That was when he noticed Shepard was standing near the center of the plaza, next to what would have once been a
stone bench under a tree. The Commander was staring at his tricorder, and looked like he was waiting for something
to happen. Glancing at his own device, Bell could see that the path between he and the Commander was clear of
fractures, the damaged space a fuzzy blur on the screen, but there was one or two further away that seemed to be
drifting aimlessly.

Bell considered what to do, and was more than a little conflicted. This might be a good time to ask Shepard about
what he was talking about before we left the ship, he thought. What does he know about the Maquis? How is he so sure
we’re gonna fail?’

“Hey, Harewood,” the Ensign commented, trying to keep his tone casual, “I’m going to have a word with the
Commander. He doesn’t look very busy at the moment.”

The junior lieutenant glanced at Bell, then over at where Shepard was standing, and then at her tricorder, before
answering, “He tells you he’s busy, you leave him alone, Ensign. That’s his call, though, not mine. Path is clear, go for
it.”

With a brief nod of thanks, Bell turned and walked off towards the center of the square. The wind kicked up a bit of
dust and ash in his path, some of it swirling and revealing the bits of torn subspace, but he blinked the grit from his
eyes easily enough.

Bell watched as Shepard put away his tricorder and looked up at the darkening sky, his face seemed to be relaxed, or
maybe considering. It looked like he was anticipating something. Maybe he was as concerned about the
approaching weather as Bell was.

“Commander,” the Ensign greeted.

Shepard snapped his head down to look at the other man, concern written across his features. “Bell? Aren’t you
supposed to be over with Harewood?”

“Yes, Sir,” came the reply. “I just wanted to have a word with you while you didn’t look too busy.”

Shepard looked around the square. Bell followed his gaze, but he didn’t see anything there. The Commander
continued to stare intently at nothing, commenting, “Now might not be the best time.”

“I don’t see why not,” Bell shrugged. “Nothing around here is a threat, the planet is dead, and all we have to do is
stand around and wait for B’Elanna to set her equipment up.”

Sighing, Shepard nodded, still looking around, and asked, “What do you want to discuss with me, Provisional Ensign
Bell?”

Bell started to open his mouth to reply, but stopped as he glanced at Shepard’s armband. Or rather, where it was
supposed to be. Instead of asking his question about the Maquis, he cautiously stated, “Sir, it looks like your
armband is missing.”

Shepard glanced down at his arm, and then back at the Ensign without saying a word, the barest hint of a smile
flickering at the edges of his lips. Bell blinked at the odd expression, and then nearly fell over as he was assaulted by
noise and light. Between one moment and the next the surroundings had shifted from a world of death and ash, to
vibrant and full of life. The thick grey clouds that looked like they could begin dropping snow at any moment were
gone, replaced with a clear blue sky that held not a single cloud in it, the deep blue with just a tinge of evening
orange touching it. The silence of the square was gone, and a cacophony of noise greeted him as he looked around
and saw birds in the green trees and hundreds of men and women talking as they went about their business.

Nearby he could see two dozen kids playing a game that looked like tag around a small playground full of swings, a
handful of adults watching over them. The broken and burnt pavement that covered the square had been replaced
by red cobblestones and massive orb-shaped containers full of plants of all kinds of colors and sizes.

As a hand fell on his shoulder, and Bell spun around to see it was Shepard looking back at him. The larger man was
openly grinning now, looking between him and the tricorder in his hand. “Congrats, Provisional Ensign.”

“Sir?” Bell asked, having no idea what just happened.

“You just traveled a week backwards in time.”

==/\==​

Harewood had been glancing over at Bell to see if she was about to get a show. Shepard looked and talked like
some of the hardasses she had met over the years, but she had also seen that the big guy was about as dangerous
to the crew as a teddy bear over the past week. The crazy Talaxian was more of a danger than the Commander was,
despite all the rumors being thrown around about him. He just played up the hardass act to get results, but all he
was really interested in was making sure people were safe.

She could respect that.

So while she had been watching and hoping for a bit of a show, maybe a dressing down that every Ensign needed
from time to time, the last thing she expected was to see the two men vanish where they stood.

Blinking a few times to make sure she was sure about what she saw, and seeing that Jackson had seen the same
thing she did, Harewood slapped the comm badge on her chest and called out, “Harewood to Commander Shepard!”

When there was no response, she tried once more with the same result. After the third attempt to contact him, and
with no response, the decision about what to do next was easy. Protocol was clear. “Harewood to Lieutenant Dalal.”

“Dalal here.” the voice of her squad leader spoke through her badge.

“Ma’am, I just watched Commander Shepard and Ensign Bell vanished into a subspace fracture.”

There was a brief pause, before the squad leader’s voice replied, cold as ice, the warmness gone in an instant, like
the life from this planet. “What.”

“They’re gone, ma’am.” Harewood repeated. “The two were talking in the middle of the square one second, and the
next they were gone.” She brought up the readings from her Tricorder. “Four of the fractures jumped, all of them to
where the Commander was. They closed themselves an instant later. I don’t know why.”

There was another brief pause, followed by a brief tone that represented a team-wide message, “This is Tuvok. All
personnel are to remain where they are and use their tricorders to confirm there are no fractures near you. Report
any anomalies immediately.”

“You get that Harewood?” Dalal’s voice returned after the Tactical Officer had finished. Her tone had thawed slightly,
but not by much.

Harewood nodded, mostly to herself, while looking at Jackson to make sure he had as well. “Yes, ma’am. Standing
by.”

As the line closed, Harewood and Jackson held their tricorders tightly as they carefully looked for any more
fractures near them. It was Jackson that eventually broke the silence with a muffled, “I hope they’re okay.”

“Me too, Ensign,” the woman muttered back. “Me too.”

 ==/\==​

“Hey, calm down!” Shepard barked quietly, shaking the Ensign slightly. A couple of the locals glanced over at them,
but after looking at the pair’s dirty clothes their attention slid off them and back to what they were doing.

Bell tried to follow that order, tried to breathe normally and get everything under control, but it wasn’t really doing
anything to stop the panic that was rushing through him like a shuttlecraft at full impulse. He’s heard about what
happened to people who time travelled. It was never good. He could unmake reality, or become his own grandfather,
or unmake reality by becoming his own grandfather. Oh god, his mom had always said he looked like her father, what
if-

“We’ve gone back in time,” Bell whispered furiously, hoping that by saying it outloud so the universe could notice it’d
made an error and drop them back on that cold, dirty, and most of all safe ashball. “We’ve gone back in time.”

“Yes,” Shepard confirmed in a soothing voice, “and now we need to get ourselves under control so we can plan a way
out of this mess.”

Bell tried once more to get under control, taking deep breaths and letting them out slowly, and after a few more
minutes he felt like he was okay once more. Or at least as okay as he could be in this situation.

“Okay,” Bell managed to slowly, and quietly, state, “so we fell through a fracture just like Janeway and Paris did. How
do you know we only fell back a week?”

Shepard smirked as he spoke, “Tricorders are very handy things. It wasn’t hard to figure out the when-we-are since I
had been using it just before we arrived here.”

“What?”

With an exasperated sigh, Shepard continued, “Don’t worry about, unless the Maquis have courses on temporal
travel via subspace incongruities, you wouldn’t understand it anyways. Just trust me when I say we are six and a half
days in the past. Now the question is, where are Janeway and Paris?”

Bell was getting a stronger grip on the situation, made easier now that he had a specific task to focus on. “Okay.
Right. We know where we are, now we need to find the Captain.”

“Assuming she’s here.” Shepard added absently, walking towards an alley and fiddling with his tricorder.

“Right,” Bell nodded, following his superior officer. “Assuming she is...what? Why wouldn’t she be here? We’re here.”

Shepard smiled patronizingly at the smaller man, which only made the Ensign angry. “What makes you think we fell
into the same fracture as the others? There were dozens of them around the area, and those armbands everyone
was wearing were pushing them around in ‘unpredictable’ ways. Janeway could have showed up around the same
time as us, or she could have arrived a month ago. Or maybe she was unlucky enough to arrive just seconds before
the explosion that will destroy this world.”

The reminder that they were on a planet with a quickly approaching expiration date did nothing for Bell’s nerves, but
steeled his resolve to understand exactly what was happening. “Right. Speaking of those armbands, what happened
to yours. If you had been wearing it this wouldn’t have happened.”

Shepard didn’t even have the good grace to pretend to be disturbed. “Must have fallen off. Whups. I don’t know what
happened to it, and at this point it doesn’t matter. We’re here.”

The Commander looked around with a critical eye, and commented, “On the one hand, it won’t be difficult to just
blend in with these people. They all look human, at least on the surface.”

Bell looked around, noticing all the hundreds of people once more. He could see smiling faces of families going
about their normal routines, merchants peddling their wares with loud voices. There were even a few people walking
what Bell assumed was a pet but looked more like a miniature rhino covered in fur than any dog. He saw them, and
knew they were all going to die.

Nodding, as he had nothing else he could do, the Ensign asked, “Well, what should we do?”

Shepard tapped his comm badge, “Shepard to Janeway. Paris.”

Bell sighed in annoyance at the silence. It’d be too easy if they’d responded, and everything he’d read about time
travel said it was never easy. “I assume that means the we got here before them?”

“That would be the best case scenario.”

“What other scenario could there be?” Bell asked, with morbid curiosity.

Shepard huffed humorously. “Lots of things. Maybe they arrive so far back in time they are already dead and gone.
They could have arrived not long ago and been arrested. There was no sign of these people having a post-warp
civilization so if they were captured the Captain and Paris could both be in some government bunker being treated
as lab rats. There’s a reason why the Prime Directive was invented in the first place. There are a lot of things that
could have happened to them.”

As Bell started to think of all the horrible things that might’ve happened to the other two, things that might happen
the him, the Commander added, “I’m going to assume we just arrived before them because we can’t really do
anything else.”

Bell was so preoccupied with their conversation; he didn’t notice the man approach them. He was dressed in a
uniform, more formal than what everyone else was wearing, in a dark brown coloring. “Pardon, but I was curious
about your dress. Where are you from?”

Shepard looked over and smiled at the man, giving him a nod. “Evening. Thank you for noticing the suit. Do you like
it?”

The man, obviously some kind of security officer Bell guessed, based on the club at the man’s waist nodded in reply.
Maybe he was some kind of local guard, not necessarily law enforcement.

“It is certainly, distinctive.” the guard said. “And dirty. Why are you wearing it?”

Shepard continued to smile, waving and arm at Bell and himself like he was showing them off. “Because I designed
it. I’m a fashion designer, and thought I might garner some attention if I worse my creations. Mr. Bell here is helping
me, giving some feedback on how it hangs and people’s reactions. So far it has been fairly mixed. I’ve gotten a few
orders, but one fashionless jerk disliked it so much he threw something at us. You wouldn’t happen to be interested
in purchasing your own?

The guard gave a small laugh, shook his head, and without another word walked off as if he hadn’t just been talking
to them.

“Well,” the Commander grumped, “that was rude.”

Bell eyed his superior officer, wondering if the man insane. “Fashion designer? Really?”

“I needed to come up with something. We do stand out.” Shepard countered. “And I wasn’t entirely against the idea
of selling him my uniform for some good money.”

“You sound like a Ferengi,” Bell groused.

“And?” replied the larger man. “Unless you’re on a Federation world, you need money. Or at least some form of trade
goods. Hell, even the Federation understands bartering and trade. We rely on it, even if we like to pretend we don’t.
But we’re not in the Federation right now, are we?”

“Now,” Shepard stood up straight, and looked around. “We are going to be here for awhile, so we’re going to need
some basic things. Food, water, shelter, and information.” He pulled out his tricorder and looked around, grabbing
Bell’s elbow as he led him into the alley fully. “Lets observe some of the local commerce for a while, get an
understanding for their method of exchange, and then we can plan what to do for sleeping accommodations. With
our tech, securing the funds needed won’t be a problem.”

Bell’s brow furrowed. “But, wouldn’t doing so be unfair? Wouldn’t we be stealing?”

Commander Shepard laughed, nodding. “Tell you what, Bell. When we find Janeway, you can tell her yourself.”
 780

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Threadmarks: Season 1 - Episode 4: Time and Again (part 3) - Interlude 1 View content

SIDoragon
Dragon of Story and Song

Nov 8, 2019  #2,394

Season 1 - Episode 4: Time and Again (part 3) [Interlude 1]

March 2371 (15 days in the Delta Quadrant)

Joseph Bell yawned long and loud as he walked out of his bedroom and into the living room. Lazily, he moved over
to the curtain that stretched across the wall, pulling back the gaudy fabric to look out over the bustling city below.
There were vehicles large and small zipping along roads left and right, while hundreds and thousands of people
made their way to and from work on elevated pedestrian pathways that connected all the buildings together in neat
stone spiderwebs.

Water was everywhere, Bell noted. Alongside the roads were aqueducts wide enough for three shuttlecraft to pass
down side-by-side. Each waterway led to the largest buildings, which had waterfalls pouring out of them and falling
into collection pools that fed back into the artificial streams. Families and pets could be seen gathered around the
glistening stone basins, eating and laughing and enjoying the bright day ahead as the last vestiges of dawn finished
blooming.

It had been a detail that no one had mentioned when they saw the planet after its destruction, that no one had been
able to tell from the ruins. Water played an almost religious role in this society, and, as such, it was everywhere.

The thought made Bell frown. They only had another thirty hours or so before the explosion was supposed to
happen, and the thought of all this beauty being wiped out made him feel despondent.

“Dammit.”

Bell’s head briefly shot in the direction of the Commander’s bedroom before turning back to look out the window. It’d
been quiet, as the man’s minor outbursts always were, but in the muted apartment Bell could still make them out
clearly. Joseph had noticed that when Shepard talked to himself, the displays of emotion always quiet, small enough
to be dismissed, but still there. It made him feel a bit better, that the Commander wasn’t some unflappable
Übermensch.

Holing themselves up in one of the most expensive rooms in the city hadn’t been nearly as surprising as how they
had managed to get there in the first place. Bell wasn’t afraid to admit that he’d been a little too surprised and
overwhelmed in those first few hours of arrival to really pay much attention to his surroundings. Shepard had led the
two of them to a small courtyard diner and calmly sat the ensign down at a table, as if the two of them were
supposed to be there. By the time Joseph knew what was happening, several empty glasses that smelled strongly
likely alcohol appeared before them.

Bell hadn’t been sure if he should drink, doubly so when he’d seen that Shepard was just drinking water. At the man’s
nod, and his glare, Joseph had taken a sip. Whatever it was had been fruity, and a little salty, but very powerful.
Without anything to do other than drink and watch Shepard do something with his tricorder, Bell had soon felt like he
was floating on a cloud, his worries distant and any thoughts of looping his own family tree long gone.

Two hours later the two men had finished a fish dinner that tasted surprisingly like lamb, Shepard had paid
somehow, though it was only later that Bell had realized he should’ve been worried about that, and the two were
wandering deeper into the city center. An hour after that they were in their current home and Bell was dead to the
world, trying to head off the ensuing hangover with aggressive rest therapy.

It hadn’t worked.

Shepard’s plan, whatever it had been, had worked, however. The Commander had been taking care of the two of
them, and Bell was really appreciative of it. If he were on his own, he would’ve ended up homeless, arrested, or
worse, but when he’d offered to help, Shepard had just given him an amused, if patronizing, smile and told him to
take it easy. Bell didn’t know what an Operations Commander had to learn to get their rank, but he was pretty sure
scrounging up what must’ve been a year’s pay in a few hours on an alien world with nothing more than a tricorder
wasn’t common knowledge. That, just as much as the time travel, had worried Bell.

Growing up on a border planet, you always heard stories about the insane things that happened to people who
joined Starfleet and went out to poke at strange mysteries of the universe. Stories of men and women who got
blown up and put back together with nary a scratch, who met strange new aliens who turn out to be so utterly alien
that normal people couldn’t even hope to understand them, or people who came across strange occurrences that
were so complex that others spent years studying them only to start to understand them. Stories about the brave
explorers who faced it all with a smile.

There were other tales, though, not so nice stories about the horrors that were out there. Of ships that went out,
never to come back again, no trace of them left behind. Of aliens that seemed friendly, who welcomed outsiders
with open arms, only to reveal horrors once it was too late to escape. Of secret government facilities that existed in
purposefully unchartered space where even those you thought you trusted could be the enemy. Of the men and
women who walked into those situations with grim determination, and while they survived, they didn’t always come
out whole.

Nowhere in all that time Bell had spent listening to these stories, in bars, in mess halls, or on patrol with the Maquis
did he ever expect to be finding himself in one of those tales. He’d hoped it was the first, but he had a nagging
feeling, one that grew the longer he spent around the Commander, that it might be the second.

Turning from the window, trying to banish those dark thoughts, Bell moved to the back of the living space. He
entered the ornate looking kitchen that hid half a dozen appliances he didn’t understand how to use and began to
pull ingredients out of the refrigerated unit built into the floor. That was something else the young man was growing
to really like about these people - the Makull: their almost compulsive need to hide everything that wasn’t in use.
Even if it was only an illusion. As an example, in the kitchen, the only thing you’d see when you walk in would be a
granite counter to separate the cooking space from the living area, and a range with attached sink built into the
counter itself. Above it are cabinets and drawers under the counter just like in any Federation kitchen, but unless you
knew what to press, you’d never know they were there. Instead of jutting outwards, they were all recessed into the
walls in such a way that you didn’t have to think about them until you needed them.

Bell pulled out a packaged fish egg the size of his fist from the floor fridge, along with a skillet from the wall cabinet,
and started preparing breakfast. It was his turn, after all.

From a development standpoint, Bell was guessing that the Makull people were just shy of being a warp-capable
species, but he didn’t expect them to ever willingly choose to be. He never received a fancy Federation education,
only the basics of what was available on the frontier, but with the tech level they had, these people should’ve had
tons of satellites. They’d have them to look outwards for danger, to collect scientific data, heck, they’d have them for
telecommunications, but they had nothing up there. Nothing at all. It was as if they’d never even considered it.

The Makull, as far as Bell could tell, thought in rivers and aqueducts, preferring to stay on the land or in the water
over flying high in the sky. Their global communications system, the remains of which Voyager hadn’t spotted, was
instead carried by an artificial neural network of thick cables under the sea, and this setup snaked into each region
through the aqueduct walls. Tests Shepard had done, which Bell had helped with, had shown that the speed of data
transmitted was comparable to the experimental bio-neural gel-packs back on Voyager, which was an amazing
discovery.

Despite what Bell would’ve thought with such a large, unified system, geopolitically they didn’t have a unified
government, or even a history of large nations and empires. Shepard had spent nearly the entire first day here
studying their history. Bell, having heard some rumors about the other man, had asked if he was planning to
overthrow the government. Instead of laughing it off, or exasperatedly dismissing it, the big man had just thought
about it, before slowly shaking his head and telling Bell “I don’t think we’ll need to go that far, but good initiative.”

Letting the. . . whatever the Commander actually was to his work, it wasn’t until dinner that Bell had found out how
these people worked, and was shocked at the results, a sentiment that, from his knowing nod, Shepard had shared.
This wasn’t a world of disparate nations, like Earth of old, but a planet of city-states. Each province had a primary
city it was named after - they were currently in Markov - and each city was supported by farmlands, with wide,
uninhabited spaces between them.

Each province traded amicably with each other for the most part, although nearby Kalto had a dispute over some of
the lands on their shared border, not that either side had anyone there. While wars used to be a thing here, they were
always short fights, and there was currently a vast and complex series of alliances that made any modern warfare
unthinkable as a single battle could quickly pull in thirty or more cities to either side, and no one wanted that. It was
a system of assured destruction through treaties, and it worked for them. These aliens seemed to prefer diplomacy
over fighting anyway, and it showed in their history.

Bell wished they had more time to learn about them as he was really starting to enjoy his time here, but tomorrow
would be the end of it, one way or another.

Shepard had made it clear that they couldn’t prevent the destruction that was coming, the Temporal Prime Directive
made it impossible. Bell hadn’t even heard of such a thing but, as horrible as it was, it’d made sense when the
Commander had explained it. The Federation’s normal Prime Directive was dumb, in Bell’s opinion, and Starfleet
broke it all the time. The temporal Prime Directive, on the other hand, was made to stop paradoxes, and closed
loops, and all the horrible things time travelers could find themselves in, with little-to-no hope of escape. There was
a reason that stories of successful time travelers, like Kirk in 2286, were few and far between.

Their main plan was to get off planet, Shepard and Bell having cobbled together a basic 4-man pod that’d get them
all up past even orbit and out of the blast range. It’d only taken them a day and a half, with Shepard’s know how,
though he wouldn’t explain how he knew how to make such a thing, and the design wasn’t like anything Bell had ever
seen before. Hopefully, though, Torres could open one of the subspace fractures like she was planning after they’d
grabbed Paris and Janeway, and the the four of them would be pulled through to after the blast, as Bell really didn’t
want to rely on the pod, but until then all they could really do was wait for their chance.

But, while they couldn’t interfere in the natural course of events, Shepard had been free with his tricorder and
downloaded much of the historical knowledge and cultural examples to add to Voyager’s database when they were
back on the ship. Bell had seen some of their classic examples of literature, and he had instantly taken a liking to
their style. There was a, well, flow to it that was truly unlike anything he’d ever read before. Shepard had left the
curation of their literature to Bell, while the man himself could be heard listening to their various forms of music
deep into the night. These people would be gone, there was nothing they could do to stop that, but their culture and
their history would live on with Voyager.

The egg in the skillet had just begun to move from dark purple in color to a pale red, which some experimentation
and reviewing the local cookbooks said meant it was almost done, so Bell added some chopped vegetables to the
protein and started to stir. The end result of this cooking wouldn’t look or taste anything like the scrambled eggs he
had on the colony, or Voyager, since it was a fish, but at least it would be tasty. Better than what Neelix cooked, at
least.

It was just getting near ready when Shepard silently opened his door and stalked into the living room, enormous
muscles taught with tension. Without a word the large man started to make the locals version of tea, which was
weak, but tasty, and moved to prepare the plates while he let the drink brew.

Bell had to blink at his Commander’s appearance, however. Normally the well composed and sure of himself man
stepped out in the morning almost indistinguishable from the locals – usually wearing a salmon and orange shirt
with brown pants that was apparently the local equivalent of ‘dressed-down but still ready to work.’ Today he was
wearing yellow shorts, and nothing else. His hair was messy, his eyes distant, and the man looked like he was
worried about something.

“Something wrong, Sir?” Bell asked as the Commander poured the beverage, almost mechanically, and passed one
to the junior officer.

Shepard looked over at the man out of the corner of his eye, as if he wasn’t sure he could trust the younger man. Bell
wanted to be hurt by that, but he’d come to realize that the older man had a lot of secrets, and doled them out like a
Vulcan gave compliments. The Commander shrugged slightly, sipped his tea, and muttered almost inaudibly, “Yeah,
no headache.”

Bell blinked at that. “Um. Sir? Wouldn’t not having a headache be a good thing.”

The Commander looked like he was trying to pick his words, and slowly answered, “Once a week, I always have a
headache in the morning. Every week. They usually wake me up in the middle of the night. Today, no headache. Slept
like a baby.”

As Bell moved the egg to two plates and set them and the cutlery on the counter, he replied with a shrug if his own,
“Could be a lot of things. Could be something in the air. Could be something in the water. Could be something in the
food. You scanned them to make sure they were safe, but there might be something that’s helpful in them. Maybe
bring some samples to see if they make natural painkillers or something? We’ll find out when we get back, Sir. I think
I’ve gotten the hang of cooking these things too.”

Shepard accepted the odd omelet without complaint, digging into his meal with enthusiasm. The Ensign had learned
that this wasn’t a remark on his cooking, the Commander did so with anything half-way edible.

Bell ate slower, thinking about and planning out his day. It was a habit he picked up from his father, which he still did
every morning in memory of. Over the past week it’d been made obvious the two men had very different habits,
which made Bell thankful that they had somewhat separate living accommodations, their spacious apartment
containing five separate bedrooms. Shepard was orderly, and almost painfully meticulous in everything he did, but
he was always doing two or three things at once, never taking time to consider things. While Bell wasn’t a slob by
any stretch, even he could admit that when you compared the two men it was obvious who was more carefree in
their living styles, but at the same time Bell could sit back and enjoy his breakfast while Shepard shoveled it down.

Also, Shepard had this insane need to play music at all times that drove the younger crewmen to begin daydreaming
about sneaking into the Commander’s room and breaking his speakers, just to get him to stop. He didn’t maintain
any delusions that he’d get away with it, or that Shepard couldn’t break him like, not a twig, but a small branch. He’d
finally, politely, and hesitantly asked the larger man to turn it down, and he’d just agreed with a polite apology of his
own, having gotten used to soundproofed cabins, leaving Bell feeling more than a little foolish.

Even with their differences, though, Bell had found himself getting along with the Commander. Not exactly friends,
the man was a Starfleet Commander, after all, and Bell was a Maquis smuggler, but they got along fairly well, better
than he’d ever expected to. Working with the man to collect the Makull’s culture had helped Bell understand the line
the older man was trying to walk, how he was helping the only way he could, but stopped from doing more. The
problems back home were a bit similar, but here they were working to avoid a paradox that’d delete them from
history, back home the Federation just didn’t want to get their hands dirty, something Bell was coming to believe that
Shepard would’ve had no problems with.

Shepard moved around the counter and started to clean his plate and fork, as well as the skillet, as he asked, “So,
you going to do the usual?”

Bell took another forkful of egg and savored it as he gave a slow nod. While Shepard would go out into the city and
gather more data for part of the day, before coming back to the hotel room and working on something in his room
that Bell was yet to see, the Maquis would go back down to the plaza they had arrived in and keep watch for either
signs of Torres’s subspace fracture widening device, or an appearance of the Captain, while searching the data-
terminals for cultural information they’d missed. Shepard scanned for the Captain and pilots combadges daily, only
to get no response every time, so either the other two had arrived so early that their devices had already been
destroyed, or they had gotten here later despite leaving sooner.

The Commander got a faraway look in his eyes for a few minutes, before turning back to the Ensign and announcing,
“I’m going with you today.”

“Sir? I’ve been doing what you told me to. You don’t need to watch me do it.” Bell argued. “And you said the two of us
together would be more suspicious than just me.”

Shepard shook his head in the negative. “No, that’s not it at all. I just haven’t been back to the square since we
arrived and would like to help. I’m finished with that. . . thing I was working on, so I might as well help you out.” There
was obviously more to it, but the Ensign had learned when he could ask questions, and when it would be like trying
to breathe vacuum. You could make an attempt, but you weren’t going to get anything.

Bell finished the last of his egg, not agreeing with his Commander, but knowing it’d be useless to argue, and passed
the plate and cutlery over the counter for Shepard to clean and put away. “Well, in that case, Sir, the more the merrier.
Frankly, it is a lot of space to cover without staring at your Tricorder, which gets you funny looks, and I never know if
what we’re waiting for will appear in the square or inside one of the shops.”

“I don’t think it will happen in the square at all.” Shepard observed conversationally as he dried off the plates. “But I
think I know where.”

“Oh?” Bell asked, studying the other man’s expression. The commander would get a hunch, and that expression, and
then suddenly know what to do. It’d only happened twice, three times if Bell counted just before they’d gotten
dragged back here, but he was starting to recognize it. “If not where both we and the captain disappeared from, then
where do you think Torres will decide to punch through subspace. We can bet on it,” Bell offered with a smile,
knowing he was likely going to lose.

The Commander quirked an eyebrow up at the Ensign, thinking, before slowly answering, “I think, that it will open at
the power plant.”

Bell’s smile quickly left his face, eyes narrowing in disbelief. “The power plant. You mean that big one on the edge of
the city? Where you calculated the explosion started? That has had protesters outside it every day we’ve been here?
The one location that has an active military presence other than the army base and the capitol building? That power
plant, Sir?”

“Yep.” came the Commander’s succinct reply.

Sighing with exasperation, already used to his superior’s simple replies to things that needed a more complex
answer, the junior officer asked, having already had to ask for clarification close to two dozen times in the past week,
“And why, oh glorious leader, do you think that will happen?”

Shepard got a far off look in his eye once more, and slowly answered, “Because sometimes effect precedes cause.”

Glad that his sarcasm hadn’t gotten in him trouble, but annoyed at the explanation now needing an explanation,
Ensign Joseph Bell just looked at his commander and replied, “Really, sir?”

“Absolutely,” agreed the larger man with grave seriousness, though the hint of a repressed smile poked out from
beneath his somber expression.

Bell shook his head, simultaneously annoyed yet not, and stood so he could return to his room in order to get ready
for the day, which would be his last here, one way or another. Pausing at the doorway to his room, he called over to
his commanding officer, “Unless you plan on meeting the Captain like that, sir, you might want to get dressed.”

The Commander’s laughter echoed behind him as Bell closed the door behind him.

==/\==​

“This plaza’s never not been busy,” Bell complained to his commanding officer.

Shepard nodded his agreement, eyes scanning the crowd from where they both were seated outside a small cafe
near the edge of the square. Not the same one Bell had gotten drunk at, this one provided a good view of the
markets and an easy route to enter them.

“Your usual?” The waitress asked Bell, who nodded, holding up the middle and ring fingers to mean two. Shepard
had given him a briefing on ‘normative cultural practices’ on things like idioms and hand gestures when the Ensign
had first woken up, and hadn’t let him out until he could repeat them back to the Commander.

Joseph had considered doing more than flirting with the woman, after making sure everything was compatible, but
with her coming fate he couldn’t bring himself to do anything. He’d even had an idea about taking her with him when
they ran, of convincing Shepard to modify the pod to take five, but it wouldn’t work, for a dozen reasons. Shepard
gave him a questioning look, and Bell shook his head, staring back out over the open space before them.

They had learned that the plaza was named after the cities founder, but that wasn’t much of a surprise when nearly
half of the bridges, streets and important locations around here did the same thing. What made this plaza a little
different was that the actual first stone laid for this nine-hundred-year-old city was placed in the spot occupied by
the enormous tree in the center of the square. The older construction, which had required the polaric energy pipes
be laid over it instead of worked into the stonework like the rest of the city, is what let it stay as intact as it had when
the entire system detonated in ionized fire.

“Do you think it ever dies down?” Bell asked, making conversation. “Other than, you know.”

The Commander turned and looked at the Ensign, taking a slow sip of the drink the waitress had delivered without
Bell noticing, either to take a moment to think or because he thought the answer was so obvious it didn’t require an
answer. After a few moments Shepard finally told him, “No, not really. You ever been to one of the bigger cities on
Earth? San Francisco, New York, London, Toyko? Any of the major planetary capitals?”

Blinking at the non sequitur, Bell just shook his head and answered, “I was born on a colony world. Didn’t have a
reason to ever visit Earth, Sir.”

Shepard took another sip of tea and set the cup down. “There are a lot of major cities on Earth like this one. Twenty-
four-hour days and night life to pick up the slack when most people are asleep, or in this case thirty-hour days.
Potsdamer Platz in Berlin was always one of my favorite places on Earth. Lots of character. When they rebuilt the
city after World War Three, they made sure that it was an integrated heart of what was to come. Holotheaters,
philharmonics, commercial stores, and some of the best damn curry-wurst I’ve ever had. The beer gardens of
Munich are more my speed though. One of the few places on Earth that you can still get real alcohol instead of
synthehol,” the man mused.

Bell let him talk, listening. The first time the Commander, who couldn’t have been more than thirty-five, started
describing things on Earth like an old man would, Joseph had thought he was bragging. ‘Look at all these great
things a fringe-rat like you has never experienced.’ But the more he’d talked, the more Bell had realized he wasn’t
describing these places for Bell’s sake, but for his own, the same way that Bell would describe his home-town, which
he hadn’t seen in years and knew he might not ever see again. The two of them might be opposites, and Shepard
might’ve been a Starfleet stooge, but Bell always felt a bit closer to the man when he started talking like this. Not in
the details, but the sentiments expressed.

“Anyway,” the Commander added, eyes refocusing back on the plaza, “that place was just as busy as this one.
Maybe more so since they have a decent number of aliens visiting there as well.”

Bell shook his head, not seeing the appeal of the teeming crowds. “I could never do that.” At Shepard’s inquisitive
glance, the Ensign explained, “I don’t ever want to live in a place where I can’t walk around without worrying about
knocking people over.”

“You haven’t had much trouble adapting since we’ve been here,” the larger man pointed out, not unkindly.

The Ensign leaned back in his chair and looked out over the plaza. “Haven’t had much choice in the matter. We’re
here, so I’m dealing with it. Doesn’t mean I like it. Can’t believe I’m saying this, Sir, but I can’t wait to get back on the
Voyager.”

“Fair point,” his companion acknowledged, even if he didn’t agree.

Bell was about to ask something, but was interrupted before he could begin by the sound of a young boy screaming.
Shepard’s eyes hardened as he honed in on the source of the sound instantly, with Bell following his gaze. They
could see the boy pointing at two people, obscured by the crowd of people, and the same security guard who had
laughed at the two of them walking quickly over to them.

Shepard stood from the table, dropping a few coins the locals used as currency on the table, easily twice their bill,
and said with forced calm, “I think we should check that out.”

“Why?” Bell countered, but got up anyway. “Just a kid yelling.”

“If you were ten years old and saw someone appear out of thin air, would you have yelled?” Shepard asked
rhetorically before walking away, disappearing into the crowd in an instant.

Bell had to admit the man might have a point, and they should check it out even if it was nothing. He followed his
superior further into the busy plaza, having a much harder time trying to move through the mass of people.

As the two got closer, Bell manager to start picking out words the kid was screaming. Something about demons, but
it wasn’t really clear, the kid obviously trying to push himself into hysterics for attention, like Bell’s cousin used to. It
wasn’t until Bell was nearly on top of the boy that his eyes widened in surprise.

Janeway and Paris, standing there in there Starfleet uniforms, were trying to explain something to the guard. The
man with the club just pat the boys back, smiling at him and saying firmly, “Enough of that now. Run along. Have a
confection bar and calm down.”

The kid’s screams stopped immediately as soon as he was given the treat, just like Bell’s cousin, while the guard
straightened up, looked at the gathering crowd, and ordered, “All right everybody, back to your business. Nothing else
to see here now!”

Bell watched the young boy rush off, face angry but oddly focused. Shepard, who stepped out of the crowd like a
ghost, must have seen it as well as he leaned in to tell the Ensign, “The boy might be trouble later.”

“Sorry about that,” the guard said to the Captain and Helmsman as he turned back to face them.

Paris took the initiative, waving it off with a simple, “No problem.”

“Demons,” the guard guffawed, “Who knows what gets in kids heads, huh?”

Janeway gestured at the two of themselves and added, “Perhaps it was uniforms. We’re not from this area.”

The guard nodded along happily, shaking his head. “Aye, that Shepard fellow said he had some friends putting his
fashion on display. Truth be told, I hope the man well, but I don’t think his ideas will take off any time soon.”

“Shepard?” Paris asked, confused.

“There you two are!” the man in question answered, sounding annoyed, strolling forward through the dispersing
crowd and leaving Bell hanging back to watch. “I pay you to showcase the new design, not scare little kids!”

Paris and Janeway snapped their heads around, surprise written on their faces, but Paris was faster on the uptick
than the Captain was. “Sorry about that, boss. He just kind of ran into us.”

Janeway schooled her face, looking much more serious than her Helmsman, and nodded along. “We didn’t expect
that to happen.”

Shepard shook his head slowly, looking obviously disappointed. His voice was somber and angry as he berated
them, “And now all that anyone is going to remember about my fashion line is that it scares children. You have both
ruined me. Come on, let's get you out of here and into something that won’t frighten anyone else. Maybe plaid would
work. No one’s scared of plaid.”

The guard laughed at that, chuckling as he walked away now that everything was under control.

Shepard waved an arm over to Bell, and started walking away in the direction of the square’s exit. The other two
followed him without a word said, apparently realizing that the situation was handled. Ten minutes later the four of
them were walking out of the plaza and heading in the direction of the walkways, heading back towards their nearby
hotel.

Paris and the Captain both held their tongue for an admirable long time considering all the questions that had to be
boiling away inside their skulls, longer than Bell had been able to, thought it hurt his pride a little to admit it. Then
again, if Shepard had given him the stern look he’d turned on the two of them, he might’ve kept his mouth shot too.

Less than thirty minutes after arriving back in time, Shepard and Bell opened the door to their apartment and led the
two temporally displaced humans to relative safety.

The door had barely closed behind them before Paris erupted with, “Fashion designer? That’s what you went with?
What, was travelling vacuum salesman already taken?”

Shepard stopped in the middle of the kitchen, his hand less than a centimeter from the refrigerated storage unit.
Turning slowly to face the young man, a smile wide on his face, the towering man shot back with, “And what would
you have chosen, Tom? I suppose, secret agent? Paris, Tom Paris of MI5? Being a spy would go over well with the
locals, I’m sure.”

Janeway shot an annoyed glance at Shepard, which Bell didn’t really understand, but remained silent, letting the two
men argue it out.

“No but it would have been something more interesting than clothing!” the helmsman cried out in hopefully mock
outrage. Bell didn’t know that much about Paris, other than he’d been picked up by the Feds for being Maquis, but
with how close the man was to the others in Starfleet, the Ensign had his doubts if he was more like Felix, Chakotay,
or possibly even Tuvok.

“Gentleman!” Janeway snapped, her humor at the situation as nonexistent as replicated latinum. After all attention
had shifted to her, she added, “Commander Shepard, how the hell did you and Ensign Bell get here?”

Shepard finished opening the fridge and pulled out four glass bottles filled with something that Bell found that
tasted similar to strawberry juice. Setting them on the counter and making a “go on” gesture, grabbing one for
himself, he replied, “Same way you did, just later and earlier.”

Having gotten used to the Commander’s cryptic statements, Bell enjoyed the frustrated look of ‘that explains nothing’
on both officer’s faces. Shepard took a pull on his drink, letting the moment stretch, before continuing, “After you
both vanished into a subspace fracture, we had to figure out a way to get you back. Torres and Kim figured out how
to make a polaric generator that they could, will, fire at one of the fractures somewhere and open a hole to pull you
back. Security provided the escort.”

Bell huffed humorlessly, some escort they turned out to be, but the Commander ignored him and pressed on. “So,
about two hours after you vanished, we were all back on the surface. Torres, Tuvok and Chokotay following Kes
around-”

“Kes?” Paris interrupted, obviously finding her presence just as odd as Bell had. Maybe the man was more Maquis
than Starfleet after all.

Shrugging, Shepard just stated, “Yeah, the Ocampa. Something about ‘feeling’ you both. Apparently her species is
telepathic, wasn’t in her file. Anyway, while they were hunting for a place to set up, Bell and I got gobbled up by
another fracture that jumped on top of us.”

“Jumped? You’re saying they’re alive?” Paris asked incredulously.

“No,” the Commander disagreed. “We thought they moved along set paths, but Ensign Bell and I found out too late
that they can also skip around. We ended up arriving here six days ago.”

Janeway listened patiently as the Commander went over everything that the two of them had been doing in their
time. How they checked on the species, which was very different from humans once you got past the surface
similarity, the local history, set up this safe place to operate from and everything else.

Occasionally the two newcomers would ask a pointed question, but for the most part stayed quiet and just soaked
everything in.

Finally, after almost an hour of talking, Janeway reached out and took the remaining glass, having not touched it at
all, and took a sip of the purple beverage. She blinked at the glass a few times, before muttering an unexpectedly
warm, “not bad.”

She looked at the two security officers, and smiled at them, as Bell tried to figure out if she was commenting on their
actions or the drink. “Not bad, both of you. I would rather no one else got stuck down here with us, but you have
done well for yourselves considering the circumstances. And thank you for your wonderful rescue from the local
guards. Now we just need to figure out a way to get out of here. I agree with Ensign Bell that you ‘escape pod’ is
likely to be seen by almost every major government, and is thus an unallowable breach of the Prime Directive.”

Bell blinked, not having said that at all. All he’d actually said was that it wasn’t a subtle way out and should be a plan
B, and that they still had until shortly before noon tomorrow to try something else before they used it. He didn’t see
how it would violate the Fed’s ‘Prime Directive’ if the civilization was going to not be there any longer, but Shepard
had ordered him not to argue with Janeway. He hadn’t understood why then, but he was starting to.

“Why?” Paris started after he had finished his own drink, “All we need to do is just wait for B’Elanna to do her thing
and we’re home free.”

Janeway looked thoughtful, but Bell was about to agree with him. At least until Shepard shook his head and said,
“Won’t work.”

At everyone’s stare he continued on, “All the best to our Chief Engineer, but she’s only worked on the problem for an
hour. I’ve had a significantly longer time frame to puzzle out this paradox.”

Janeway frowned, and then blinked in quick understanding. “You don’t think the polaric generator will be enough?”

Shepard reached back into the fridge, this time pulling out the local’s equivalent of a stout beer, and passed a few
bottles out as he spoke, “When they kick on the generator, it will work, don’t get me wrong. The beam will focus on
the subspace fracture and make a window into our time. The core idea is sound.”

Before anyone could ask what the problem was, he went on, “But, the window will still be closed. We would see each
other just fine, and hear each other, but nothing physical would be able to actually travel through it.”

Paris frowned, “So you’re staying we’re stuck here? Then I vote pod!”

The Commander shook his head, grinning at him, “I didn’t say that. The pod only took a few days. I haven’t exactly
been idle here.”

Moving from the kitchen and into his bedroom, Bell could see for the first time what it was that his Chief of Security
had been working on for so long. He carried in a metallic contraption, a meter-long conglomeration of irregular
sized-sized blocks on a tripod, along with what looks like a phaser attached on the end, and moved it into the living
room for everyone to see.

“Since I don’t have access to the resources of our ship,” Shepard prefaced, “I’ve had to make do with local materials.
Still, I managed to make a second polaric generator that will lock onto and match Torres’s frequency.”

Janeway blinked in astonishment, and then smiled wide as she stared at the tangle of wires and metal, somehow
able to instantly see what it did. “She creates the window-”

“-and we smash it open.” Shepard finished for her with a nod.

Paris looked between the two of them for a moment, before motioning between himself and Bell, requesting, “Would
someone explain what us plebeians need to do?”

Janeway looked at her helmsman fondly and explained, “When B’Elanna used the device on her end to create an
opening, we should see an unmistakable opening in subspace. When that happens, we fire this into it which will
punch a hole though for all of us to walk through. She can extend half the bridge, but we need to meet her halfway”
She turned back to the Commander and asked, “How long do you think the hole will remain open?”

“Not long,” he replied. “Torres’s generator will only run for thirty seconds. This one I made might only last for fifteen.
So when we turn it on, we need to be ready to go. The rupture might remain stable a little longer on its own, but
that’ll be risky.”

Bell nodded along, “So now we need to find where Torres will open it.”

“And I’m fairly sure I know the when and where,” Shepard added, looking resigned.

Janeway didn’t say anything, and just stared at Shepard, eyes narrowed, and lips pursed. “Well?” Paris demanded,
when she didn’t say anything.

“Captain,” the Commander asked, “if you were going to use a polaric generator on a subspace fracture to open a
wormhole, where would you look for optimal results?”

Janeway furrowed her brow, and then sighed in defeat. “I would go to the flash point.”

Shepard nodded in understanding, but Bell felt his stomach drop, and Paris looked on in confusion. The Helmsman
was the one to ask, “What flash point? Where?”

The Captain looked over at the two and explained, “Subspace fractures like the ones we fell through slowly heal over.
Just as an explosion ripples outward, pushing the air away, soon enough more air rushes in to fill the void. Subspace
will eventually seal over and we will be stuck here.”

Shepard picked up the thread and ran with it, “In the hour it had taken to figure out a solution and get back to the
planet, more than sixty percent of the fractures on the surface had already healed over. They’d be racing against
time to try to find the best location to use, since they might only have one shot. The place with the largest
concentration of them would be the flash point.”

Bell grimaced, remembering their conversation from breakfast. He was right, it was a sucker bet, though not the way
he’d thought. “You’re talking about the power plant.”

“What power plant?” Paris asked. “Wait, you don’t mean. . .”

“There is a polaric energy power plant on the edge of the city,” the Commander explained. “It was the same location
our scanners picked out as a possible source of the explosions when we arrived in orbit.”

Janeway looked down, guilt playing across her features. “We did this. We already violated the Prime Directive in the
worst possible way.”

“What do you mean?” Paris asked, concerned.

“Nevermind,” she waved it off, looking up, though a shadow of the guilt remained. “Shepard, when is the explosion
supposed to happen?”

“In about sixteen hours.”

The Captain nodded, mostly to herself it seemed, and said, “In that case, we might as well rest and relax. We have a
big day tomorrow.”

==/\==​

In the ruined corridor of a burnt-out husk of a building, on an equally burnt-out husk of a planet, the away team stood
together.

Kim held his tricorder tightly, a look of strong concentration on his face. “Polaric levels are higher in this location
than any place on the planet.”

“This had to be the flash-point of the explosion,” Torres confirmed. “Whatever went wrong, it happened where we’re
standing.”

Commander Chakotay nodded, and looked over towards Tuvok to ask, “Do we have subspace fractures to work with
here?”

The Vulcan, stoic as always, gave a brief nod and said, “Affirmative. They remain numerous in this area. if we hope to
find and retrieve the Captain, this is the point of highest probability to succeed in doing so.”

With that, the First Officer turned to the others and briskly ordered, “Set up the equipment.”

==/\==​

The sleep the crew had sought that night hadn’t been as restful as the group had hoped. Shepard and Janeway, Bell
found out when he awoke that morning, had stood by the window and watched the lively city all night. Since the
Commander wasn’t using it, Paris had taken his bed and tossed and turned unable to relax. For his part, Bell would
admit that his nerves kept him awake for a while, but he still managed to get some rest.

Breakfast had been filling, with Shepard cooking up all the food they had stored to make more than enough for
everyone, not that anyone ate very much. The atmosphere was very much reserved and somber as they all knew this
was the day this world would end. The only question remaining was if they were going to end with it.

As they all dressed for the day, Shepard loaning out the two newcomers the clothing in their size he had purchased,
Janeway moved to the center of the room and took a firming breath. “Alright gentleman, we all know what we need
to do.”

Bell and Paris nodded, while the Commander wrapped the polaric device up and folded it into the same type of
backpack they’d seen the locals wearing.

The Ensign took a step forward, inhaling slowly as he did so, the attention of the newer two on him. “The two of us
had already figured out how to get inside the plant, in case that’s where you arrived, so that isn’t really an issue. Not
with the constant protests taking place around it. We can use the distraction to slip through the perimeter fence with
the quick use of a phaser.”

Shepard nodded along, adding, “There are a lot of potential exits and entrances to the building. Security around the
place is actually pretty good, but the structure wasn’t built with defense in mind, so it won’t be enough to stop us.
The most they deal with are people spray painting messages, because everyone knows what would happen if there
was an explosion.”

“Okay then,” the Captain nodded. “Let’s go.”

==/\==​

“Four one by three one zero.” Tuvok read aloud, calling out the sighting information for the generator in a clear voice,
the tricorder providing all the data he needed. “Two percent drift, range six meters, mark.”

Kim nodded along as he input the information into the device placed between himself and the Chief Engineer. “I
have it. Initiating generator.”

The young woman across from him nodded, her expression just as serious as the ones of those around her.
“Scanning for a subspace beacon.” A brief pause before she shook her head slowly, “It doesn’t look like they were
here.”

Tuvok looked down at her, commenting, “It is highly unlikely that Captain Janeway or any of the others would come
here to-”

“No,” Kes interrupted the Vulcan, “the Captain and Commander did come here. This is where they died.”

Chakotay winced at the callous way the young girl had said that, but soldiered on anyway. “Okay, if Kes is right, the
Captain was here at the moment the explosion occurred, but her badge didn’t survive. Is there any way to break
through subspace a few minutes before the detonation?”

Kim lowered his face in concentration for a moment, and then looked up to reply, “If the widest point of the fracture
represents the time of the explosion, couldn’t we open a hole just before the widest point?”

“There’s no way we could pin-point the exact time we’d be penetrating, but we could make an educated guess.”
Torres hedged, not wanting to let Chakotay down.

“I feel it is my duty to point out,” the Tactical Officer stated, “there is absolutely no logical reason to believe Kes is
correct.” After a moment he then added, “However, since I have no alternative course of action to recommend at this
time, I suggest we proceed.”

Torres looked up at the man leading them, nodded, and looking for confirmation to proceed asked, “Commander?”

==/\==​
Breaking into the plant had been even easier than any of them had expected, Bell reflected as he carried the device
that would get them to safety. There was a larger protest than usual at the front gate, leading local security forces to
gather there to confront it and get the people there to disperse. People were shouting loudly, throwing rocks and
other things at the plant’s employees and guards, and calling on the facility to be shut down. Bell wanted to go help
them, shout about how dangerous this kind of power plant really was and how they were all idiots for having
constructed it in the first place, but he also knew there was no point.

Time was running out, and the Voyager crew needed to get back to their own place in the timeline.

A quick flick of the wrist with the phaser, and Shepard had carved a hole in the chainlink fence large enough for
everyone to slide through. The grounds surrounding the plant had a hundred-meter clearance of grass and gravel,
and all kinds of security feeds had to have picked up the four of them running across the open space to the nearest
door, but all things considered the facilities personnel had more things to worry about at the moment.

Shepard had his tricorder out, his phaser holstered, and was using it lead the four of them deeper and deeper into
the tight network of corridors. Along each wall were thick tubes, an occasional thin window appearing along them
every six meters or so showed more of that bright green polaric energy running through the building like cancerous
arteries, ready to burst.

In the center of a network of tubes, in a nondescript corridor that didn’t look like was any more important than any
other corridor in the building, Shepard came to a stop and announced, “This is the spot.”

Paris, who had been silent since they left the hotel, only asked, “What spot?”

“This is where the explosion took place.” Janeway stated, and the Commander nodded in confirmation.

“Okay,” the helmsman started, “so what do we do now?”

Shepard took his package from Bell and sat it down on the ground, starting to unwrap the device he had
constructed. Bell moved to help him, clearing a small area and setting the tripod up. It wasn’t much work, but every
little bit helped.

Janeway asked, “What time is it?”

Bell briefly looked down at his tricorder and answered, “Local time is four-oh-one rotations, plus twenty.”

“Let’s not do anything until twenty-three.” She said simply, as if commenting on the weather. Bell stopped and
starred at her. The explosion was going to take place at plus twenty-two.

Shepard stilled, unnaturally so, and slowly, fluidly, looked up at the Captain, who had her phaser out. She’d said she’d
cover their backs, but she wasn’t facing backwards, but towards the other three crewmen. “Janeway,” he almost
growled, it was so low, “don’t do this.”

Bell and Paris looked at each other, unsure about what was happening, but Janeway, who had sounded unsure all
morning, now replied in her normal, authoritative tone, “You will not use your device, Commander. That is an order.”

“Wait, what?” Paris stammered. “But that’s how we are going to get out of here. I’d rather not be here when it all goes
kablooey, and I’m sure I’m not the only one.”

Shepard slowly stood up, muscles visibly tensing under his clothing, but before he could do anything the Captain
trained her phaser on the Security Chief. The man snarled out, “She has no intention of sending us back, Paris. She’s
so sure she’ll kill us all rather than consider that she’s wrong.”

A bright light started to form behind the Captain in the corridor. As the three of them watched it open, Janeway
glanced back before quickly facing them again and stating with complete confidence, her tone almost chiding,
“Don’t you see yet? We did this. It’s our rescue attempt that is going to set off the explosion.”

Shepard shot back, anger getting the best of him for the first time as he held his tricorder firmly in his hand and
shook it at her, “I know! I’ve factored that in, but that isn’t the point! If you do this, if you break the loop this way we
would have never come here! We would never learn what we did for these people! Their planet will be just another
habitable world with a non-warp capable species that you will ignore. We won’t remember anything! And then what
happens a week from now, a year, when something else causes this planet to explode because no one warned
them? Who will remember them then?!”

“Their future isn’t our responsibility.” the Captain shot back, her tone mild as the circle of light behind her slowly
growing, Torres’ voice distantly coming through, and Bell felt himself go cold. She didn’t look like a Starfleet Captain
in that moment, nonaggressive to the point of stupidity but concerned for her crew, she looked like the worst of the
Maquis, the ones who’d do anything to win because they knew they were right. “This is.”

Shepard looked ready to charge her, but before he could move Janeway fired her phaser, the wide spectrum beam
catching him as he tried to dodge the shot.

Bell had just a moment to see his friend fall limp to the floor in front of him, the Commander having blocked Bell
from being hit, Paris falling down as well, before the Captain fired again. After that, he knew only darkness.

==/\==​

The engineer reached over and grabbed the holographically created pistol case without looking at Shepard, turning it
over in her hands, and even holding it out as if she was shooting at imaginary targets on the other end of the room.
“I have to admit,” she started slowly, “with the internals of an electromagnetic weapon, properly distributed, this
design would be well balanced and feel more comfortable in my hands. And it certainly is more interesting looking
than the type-two we usually use.”

Torres put the device down, repeating the process with the rifle case. “Okay,” she suddenly decided, turning to look
her companion over, “I’ll help you out. But on one condition.”

Commander Shepard hadn’t expected her to agree that easily. Hoped, yes, but he wasn’t going to argue with her.
“Just one?”

Smirking at him, Torres continued, “I heard what you said in the meeting yesterday about having training simulations
for the Security teams. I want in.”

I narrowed my eyes in thought, already figuring out how to slot her in, even as I asked, “Why?”

The engineer shrugged her shoulder nonchalantly and smiled, “Should be interesting. And, if nothing else, I should
be able to get a decent workout.” After a moment’s pause, she added hesitantly, “Unless your training sessions are
similar to Tuvok’s, and focuses on procedures and rules.”

“In a way, they would,” He admitted offhandedly, her expression starting to wilt, “but only in that it’ll be testing 'rules'
of engagement and 'procedures' on how to extract captured personnel from hostile forces.”

“Then I want in,” she repeated, grinning.

“Deal,” the man said, extending his hand, which she grasped firmly and shook. “We’ll be meeting on Saturday for the
first round of-arggg.” He cut off suddenly with a pained groan of agony, grabbing his head with his free hand and
dropping to one knee.

The pain in his head was nearly indescribable, as if every jackhammer on Earth was moved to a single spot on the
back of his skull and turned on at once. The pressure behind his eyes increased rapidly, and darkness started to
creep in around the edges of his vision even as he fought desperately to keep them open.

Subspace Fractures: (1 Charge)

Planetary Escape Pods: (1 Charge)

Polaric Energy: (1 Charge)

Temporal Paradox Mechanics (1 Charge)

Temporal Isolation Beacons: (1 Charge)

As the deluge of information settled into the back of his mind, the pressure on his eyes began to slowly ebb away.
With that small recession, everything else began to slip back into place and his breathing started to even back out.
The pain in the back of his head was still there, but it was quickly throttling back down from all his nerves being set
on fire to a typical headache, and even as he became aware of it that too started to fade away back to wherever it
came from.

“Whatever the issue was, he seems to have gotten over it.” the familiar voice of the ships EMH greeted the
Commander as he came to be more and more aware of his surroundings.

The big man opened eyes he hadn’t been aware he had closed, blinking as he found himself lying on the floor. “What
happened?” he asked, surprised to find his voice so horse.

Torres was kneeling next to him, waving the holographic omni-tool over him. “You just suddenly grabbed your head
and dropped to the floor screaming in pain. I transferred the Doctor’s program over, but by the time he got to you it
was already over.”

He sat up slowly, with the Doctor and Torres helping him upright, and he shook his head gingerly to get the cobwebs
out. “That was a first.”

The EMH nodded, and simply said, “I want you to head directly over to Sickbay so I can perform some tests. Your
slow recover from the predations of the ‘banjo man’ might have been indicative of additional damage not suffered
by the rest of the crew, possibly related to your previous postings. Your lack of a complete medical record does not
help either, I hope you know.”

Shepard nodded along, aware of how pointless it would be to argue he was fine after what they had just seen. “Sure
thing, Doc. As soon as I’m good enough to walk in a straight line I’ll make my way over to you.”

“Yes, do so,” the Doctor agreed, disappearing from the holodeck.

B’Ellana looked at him, concerned, “Will you be able to make it on your own? I need to report to Engineering, but-”

“I’ll be fine,” he tried to smile reassuringly, though it came out pained. “Had headaches all my life, this one was just
worse than normal. It’s already fading, you heard the Doc.”

“But you’re still going to sickbay, right?” she pressed.

Shepard, taking a deep breath, nodded. “Definitely. Just because I’m used to them occasionally doesn’t mean I want
that to happen in the field. After all, it’d be unfair if you only beat me because I couldn’t fight back.”

The half-Klingon gave him a half-grin. “Exactly, I’ll beat you because I’m better, not because of some silly medical
issue.”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that Torres,” Shepard teased, and she walked out smiling. After she left, and the door
closed, the smile dropped off his face. ‘Well,’ he thought to himself, what the fuck caused all that?’

He gave it a few moments, thinking things over and trying to understand what had led to him overspending, and on
polaric energy of all things. No one used it, given the dangers it posed, and the one group that Voyager stumbled
across. . . Planetary Escape Pods. Temporal Paradox Mechanics. Temporal Isolation. It all made sense, but to return
to this moment, without what he’d planned to get. . . He suppressed a growl, one thought on his mind.

‘Damn you, Janeway.’

 801

SIDoragon Nov 8, 2019 View discussion

Threadmarks: Season 1 - Episode 5: Acylurea View content

SIDoragon
Dragon of Story and Song

Nov 13, 2019  #2,969

Season 1 - Episode 5: Acylurea

March 30, 2371 (15 days in the Delta Quadrant)

April 22, 2371 (38 Days in the Delta Quadrant)

After four hours in the ship’s sickbay, being poked and prodded by a holographic doctor who was growing more and
more irritated at the lack of progress on the quandary that was my mysterious headache, all I wanted to do was lay
down and go to sleep.

The bed in my quarters sung to me like the sirens of old, promising sweet pleasures if I just rested atop it for but a
few moments and allowed the comfortable covers to envelop me in a warm hug. Fortunately, like Odysseus before
me, I took steps to keep myself safe from the call. Lacking earplugs, I made do with a large cup of coffee, replicated
through the judicious use of my rations because I refused to drink the engine lubricant that insane Talaxian was
calling coffee. It sat in my hand and shared its warmth with me. A small half-eaten ham sandwich joined me in the
living room, carefully placed atop the table next to a smattering of data padds that I needed to read. I could trade
food for sleep for a bit, but too long and I’d have to hit the gym or pay for it later. And last but not least:

“Computer, access musical archive. Earth, nineteen-hundreds. Play personal selection, Fallout, volume at sixty
decibels.” A quick series of chirps confirmed my request, and a few moments later the smooth voice of Nat King
Cole’s ‘Orange Colored Sky’ started to pipe through the rooms various speakers.

Sadly, whatever point of divergence in history that separated the Earth of my dimension from the one based in Star
Trek effectively removed most of the music I was familiar with. My favorites from Rammestein, Metallica, Jonathan
Young, Weird Al and everyone else I could think of had simply never existed, or had changed so much I didn’t
recognize them. Fortunately, those changes didn’t really do much to the atomic-era musical generation, so I still had
plenty of the older tunes I could relax into.

Maybe I should try to reintroduce heavy metal through holographic concerts? Something to consider, if only to see
how Klingons reacted to Heavy Metal. Nothing against their ‘modern’ music, but while my reincarnation had plenty of
fun memories of going to see live performances of what can best be described as retro-synthwave mixed with
disco, the part of me that wasn’t from around here just needed a bit of that familiar comfort from my past life.

The doctor, unable to come up with a diagnosis, had encouraged me to rest when he didn’t find anything wrong,
issuing strict instructions for me to go to bed. I agreed to take the rest of the day off, and had arrived at this piece of
furniture, but sleep was the last thing I wanted right now. Instead my mind was running through the ramifications of
what had just happened.

“Okay,” I began to tell myself. Maybe it was the music, but the part of me that was the old me was coming a bit to
the forefront, as Shepard would never be caught dead talking aloud in his cabin, even if he scanned for it for bugs
every few days.

Bringing the cup of coffee to my lips and sipping carefully at the contents, I continued, “so let's work through this
logically. I had known that the polaric planet event was going to happen soon, and while I knew it would be fine if I
didn’t interfere I also knew that if I didn’t get involved then there was a good chance the species would kill
themselves at some point. More than that, they had managed to take an extremely dangerous form of power
generation and made it stable enough to use as a planet-wide source, ” I muttered aloud, leaning back on the couch
and staring up at the ceiling in thought.

What a source of energy that would be as well. Gram for gram polaric energy outperformed the standard fusion
reactors of the Federation. It didn’t quite outperform matter-antimatter reactions, but the fact that it was close
wasn’t something to laugh at either, and it could do so without the industrial infrastructure needed for antimatter
creation and storage, not to mention dilithium crystals and everything else needed to power a warp engine that
couldn’t just be replicated. That alone would be a worthwhile reason to go down to the planet and recover the
technical information for how they managed to make the technology safe enough for general use, but it wouldn’t be
easy to get that data.

“So,” I mused, after taking a bite out of the sandwich, “that could’ve been my motivation to go down to the planet,
which explains why I spent a point on subspace fractures. I would need more than just a single day, so I’d use that
information to identify how far back in time the fracture would send me.” From my old knowledge base, that
would’ve been the height of stupidity, unable to figure out if I’d come out a year, a day, an hour, or a second before
the explosion.

With my new knowledge however, pinpointing a fracture that’d drop me within a day or two of when I needed
wouldn’t be that difficult with a standard tricorder, now that I knew what to look for. I didn’t know why I knew what to
look for, that knowledge hadn’t been included in the purchase, only what to look for.

That was nice enough to know, but I wasn’t on the planet, I was still here. Voyager had already sped past the planet
while I was in sick bay, I checked, and everything had gone as it had before, down to Kes coming onto the bridge.
That meant we obviously weren’t stuck in the effect-proceeding-cause loop of explosion-investigate-time-travel-
cause-explosion. Most likely, knowing what happened in the original timeline, it happened again. Janeway shot the
rift opened by the rescue party to seal the breach and prevent the polaric energy power plant from creating a
cascade explosion.

Something wasn’t adding up though.

If the massive download of information told me anything, other than the fact that the Inspired Inventor power does
not play well with time travel shenanigans, it was that I must have had a plan. The subspace fracture purchase
basically added another twenty-five or so years of research information on top of what I had already learned at the
Academy. Checking the computer for what information was in its databanks, I found my knowledge outstripped
everything there, but not by very much.

Federation research into polaric energy, on the other hand, could get a massive boost forward with the information
I’d instantly leaned, largely because proper research into that field was too tightly restricted to get anywhere in a
quick manner. Considering how dangerous it could be, I agreed with those restrictions, and even my previous
colleagues agreed, S31 not touching it at all. The fact that any explosion caused by it was incredibly distinctive was
likely the main reason, however.

Then there was the temporal mechanics data-dump that built extremely well on top of the subspace fracture
information, the latter forming a large latticework of concepts and knowledge that the form clicked into. Temporal
Mechanics, unlike tech or something specific like subspace fractures, was a broad topic. However, unlike Efficiency,
which was a straightforward progress of knowledge, this was random, almost seemingly unconnected bits of
knowledge, that only made sense in the barest sense. I was half-tempted to put another point in it, just to see what
would happen, but time travel could, ironically, wait.

Those choices made sense if I went down to the planet. I would need the subspace information to find my way
through time, and the polaric energy research along with temporal mechanics would allow me to find a way to not
only end the loop, but to allow everyone to remember what happened. In theory. I could see how it would work, but
it’d be tricky, requiring a device that would keep the fracture open and harmonize it, creating a temporal ripple that’d
let the neural frequencies of those involved resonate, transferring the memory engrams backwards to the
divergence point of the ripple itself. That obviously hadn’t happened.

That theory, however, quickly fell flat with the introduction of the two other downloads. Planetary escape pods, and
temporal isolation beacons, were both so far outside the realm of what I would have needed that I didn’t see why I
would need the information enough to go into the red for them, dipping into my ‘I need this or we’re all gonna die’
reserves of Inspired Inventor charges.

Taking another sip of the coffee as the music started on Cole Porter’s ‘Anything Goes,’ I shook my head ruefully. “Not
exactly true, I could see the point of planetary escape pods. Assuming that something went wrong, I’d want to get
off planet like a bat out of hell.”

As I thought about it, how I’d likely go about things, and how Shepard would approach the same problem, it started
to make a little more sense. S31 training instilled a certain set of rules into your behavior, such as always knowing
where the exits were or assessing the threat level of every individual as they may be an enemy operative, that helped
keep its agents alive. Since I’d be- since I was on a planet with a set termination date, I would want an emergency
way off the planet in case Plan A failed for some reason.

In retrospect, that made my decision to download information on polaric energy systems make even more sense for
me to download, since I’d need to use local materials to build the damn thing. If I had enough time I could’ve
cobbled together something less dangerous, but without knowing the exact tech levels on the ground I couldn’t
know how long that would take, and with what I’d have to leave behind, if the planet didn’t explode, it might give
them technical information they wouldn’t already have. While I had quite a few problems with the Prime Directive, it
did have some places where it fit, and that meant I wanted to contaminate the culture with Federation technology as
little as possible.

“So,” I whispered aloud to organize my thoughts, “what the heck was the beacon for and what happened on that
planet?”

Closing my eyes and focusing inwards, I tried to distinguish my new knowledge from my old. It wasn’t easy, as the
information I’d purchased blended in, as if I’d always known it. Only when I tried to remember how I’d learned it could
I easily distinguish it from my normal knowledge. For things like efficiency or subspace fractures that was hard,
because the knowledge added itself everywhere on the topic, like several feet of pristine snow covering the
landscape of my knowledge base. The temporal isolation beacon was more distinguishable because it came with
schematics, though it came with a bit of technical knowledge that synced up with both subspace fractures and
temporal paradoxes. “Or did it just highlight the information I’d already received but hadn’t fully understood yet?” I
asked myself.

The information gain was slight, and checking it against the computers it was barely more information than Starfleet
taught it’s engineers, though I hadn’t taken that class myself. Sure, combined with my own knowledge and the single
point I’d spent on efficiency I could get the energy requirements and necessary materials reduced fractionally from
the design I was provided, barely enough to matter, but with a polaric reactor the size of a car battery I could easily
have had enough of an energy source to power it even without that boost. The problem was I didn’t see why it would
be paramount to need it, enough to drop myself down to a measly two points.

“Unless,” I slowly drew out, “the point of the download was to provide a clue to what I did.” Did I know I was going to
fail? No, but I was still trying to look at this like myself, not the person I’d taken over. He was the other half of me
know, and his actions and inclinations might’ve influenced my decisions. “Computer, play ‘Sub-space blues’.” The
aforementioned disco-synthwave started playing, and as I tried to consider it.

It took a few minutes, but I felt the pattern of my thoughts shift slightly. I was still me, this wasn’t mind control, but
just like you’d feel different listening to classical than you would rock and roll, I considered the problem from the
perspective of the S31 Agent I was.

After realizing I’d spent precious resources on a planet that would never help us, or the Federation, I started to get an
inkling of what might’ve happened, but I needed more information than I had. For all of the destruction that S31
agents brought upon the Federation’s enemies, we were data analysts and engineers more than the sociopathic
killers Janeway had accused me of being. The fact that we engineered societies and politics didn’t make the
mindset any less valid, and I needed more to work with than just supposition.

Carefully setting the mug down, I walked over to the computer terminal on the other side of the room. Another thing I
was going to have to change was how...lame, the Voyager-era personal computer was. Tiny monitor, with even tinier
input panel, it could really do with an upgrade, and that was something both parts of me were in agreement over.
Maybe I could reintroduce the idea of a gamer-setup to the crew? A pair of large eighty-centimeter monitors
mounted on the wall, a larger ergonomic keyboard on the desk and a remote paired-padd would make this room
much more comfortable for me and increase my productivity by a nearly obscene amount. It would draw suspicion,
but having, for some reason, to out myself was likely inevitable.

I waved that errant thought away and called out, “Computer, access my personal database. Have I received any
transmissions from outside the ship in the last twenty-four hours?”

There was a brief chirp of acknowledgement, followed by the background music dropping a few decibels as the
computer replied in its usual synthetic voice, “Database accessed. Negative. No subspace transmissions received.”

“Well, that was a dead end,” I said to myself, before hesitating. There were certain systems that only Section 31
officers had access to. Bypasses and shunts that piggybacked on the Federations tech so smoothly that they didn’t
interfere and were never noticed. They were that smooth, because they were built to do so, instead of hastily added
on afterwards like some sort of saboteur. “Computer,” I tried again, giving it the proper access codes and clearance,
“have there been any specialized transmissions from outside the ship in the last twenty-four hours?”

“Affirmative. Subspace transmission received on Four-Eight-Four-Two-Two-Point-Six-Nine.”

“Display transmission.” I commanded, thoroughly interested. That would’ve been just as we were passing by the
polaric planet.

There was a brief amount of back and forth arguing with the computer about needing to provide my security codes
again, verifying it was me, and then recovering and rebuilding the information received through one of our S31
decryption algorithms. While going through all this trouble, the only thing I could think of was, ‘why the hell did they
make this so difficult?’

Almost immediately I realized the answer was that I made this nearly impossible for anyone else because it was
only intended for my eyes only. If I’d gotten any of it wrong, the ship would’ve ‘deleted’ the message, instead actually
shunting it off to a secondary storage site where I’d have to retrieve it near manually. I could probably sneak into
engineering to do so, but I’d rather not.

Soon enough the effort paid off, and I was greeted by a virtual treasure trove of information. Easily two petabytes of
data had been sent to me, and instead of Voyager’s main computer it had been compressed down and transmitted
directly to my personal database. Which was nuts because I only had four petabytes of storage on the hidden
partitions of my virtual drive. I was going to have to make room, maybe set up some additional storage. The trick
would be doing so without Torres or Tuvok noticing.

Looking over the information provided, it seemed to be largely cultural in nature. History of the Makull people, which
I presumed was the name of the species on that planet we passed, along with literature and music, biology,
technological records and even records of the local flora and fauna. There were also maps of the locals polaric
power plants and figures representing its future growth across the planet, as well as the safety measures they had in
place to prevent the very kinds of accidents that would have drawn Voyager to it in the first place. Opening one of
them showed notes that someone, likely myself, had made showing they were all functioning, along with an almost
excessive amount of question marks. Continuing to troll through the records I’d also downloaded their literature,
plays, movies, and serials, which, now that I had it, I could see the entertainment and cultural value of, though I
wondered what had happened to make me considering grabbing those as well

I had to admit, I was impressed with my cataloging ability.

The most recent file was an audio/video file named ‘Watch me first!’, which I had of course ignored, searching for
the S31 codes that brought up the video that was actually supposed to be watched, so I opened it to see what must
be my other half had to say. It was bizarre to see my own face staring back at me, especially wearing strange
clothing and sitting in a room I had never seen before. My past self looked tired, his eyes half closed and staring at
something off-camera.

“Shepard,” I said to me, “hopefully you figured out something was wrong and have received this transmission. If the
Voyager picked this up, then this video will delete itself when you’re done, and Janeway will have watched the video
meant for her. Then again, if my plan worked then you already know all of this, so you can skip to the end. If you
haven’t, then take a seat, things have gone a bit off. If you’re worried about the others finding this, or someone else,
I’ve programmed the pod to head off into the star so there’ll be no trace.”

“I included everything I’ve been able to find on these people, just in case the plan to stabilize Torres’s subspace
fracture goes to hell. As well as everything I’ve been able to quickly compile about the points I’ve spent. With any
luck this will let us get extra knowledge from I. Without having to pay the cost.” He sighed, long and wearily, before
looking back at the camera and continuing, “Though something’s off with it, and I don’t know what it is. Janeway and
Paris showed up today, as expected. Paris and Bell are both in their bedrooms, resting up. Janeway is standing by
the window watching the nightlife and not saying anything. She’s been there for three hours, and I don’t know what
to think.”

My other self leaned forward, “I’ve thought about this, and I’m not sure she’ll go with the plan. I remember what she’s
like, what she will be like, so I can’t be sure, but I do know she’ll talk. What she won’t necessarily do is listen. There’s
no way I can see to tell her what she needs to know without revealing my own foreknowledge, though I might be
able to excuse that through time-travel.” His other self laughed grimly, “Though if we get through this, she might
believe me. The more time I give her to mull over the specifics of the plan, the more time she has to come up with
objections or to stab me in the back for the ‘greater good’.”

He glanced off camera, before shaking his head. “It skipped over so much time, what with only an hour per incident,
so I can’t be sure if this is normal for her or something I should be worried about, but I don’t have time to worry
about this. I’ve built subspace neurological harmonizer that should lance this paradox like a temporal boil, using the
fractures around the power-plant to make the connection, piggybacking off Torres’ device and returning to the day
when we arrived, giving you a week’s worth of memories for the four of us to work with. I’m so glad I brought a
medical Tricorder with me instead of a normal one, or else this wouldn’t have worked, though scanning Janeway
without her noticing wasn’t easy. Why am I explaining this?” he asked himself, the himself in the room, not the
himself watching. “It’ll either have worked, so I already know this, or it hasn’t, in which case this doesn’t matter. If it
didn’t work, that was my plan. Here’s to hoping that it’ll have worked, so you don’t need to watch it at all. Shepard
out.”

I leaned back in my chair, and mentally replayed what I’d just heard, the file already gone. Killing the music, I sat in
silence, turning it over again and again in my head.

Something had gone wrong. Obviously. The question is, what was it? I perused the encrypted notes on the
information that was already sitting in my head and saved it to a hidden drive on my Padd, easily downloading the
gigabyte of hastily made notes and removing them from the greater file. I could easily enough slip the rest into a
portion of the ship’s memory, claiming that an S31 exploratory vessel had ended up here before, but the information
I had was fragmented and this was the only planet they’d been able to fully scope out before they’d found a
wormhole back home. It’d give credence to any of my warnings, but that left me with the quandary of what had gone
wrong with my own plan?

Had it been Janeway, like the other me had feared? My first thought had been that it must’ve been her, but not
everything was the Captain’s fault. Had the device malfunctioned, and we’d all suddenly get these memories in a day
or two instead, the carrier wave not able to make the secondary jump back in time and coming out when B’Elanna
made her attempt to retrieve us? I’d have to lay low for the next several days, just in case. Had it been something
else entirely?

I’d always wondered about the events of this episode, as time loops required some inciting incident that wasn’t the
time loop to get started. If we’d only investigated because the planet was destroyed, and us investigating had what
caused the planet to be destroyed in the first place, that made no sense. Temporal paradoxes just didn’t work that
way, you couldn’t close a loop unless you stopped what started it in the first place, but that meant that if Janeway
was right and it was our fault, that we’d done something to create the initial explosion in the first place.

What did fit a with temporal paradox theory, however, was that we hadn’t started it at all but our actions had
butterflied out to stop the events that would’ve caused the explosion, and Janeway had wanted to be so powerful
and responsible for everything that happened around her that she’d stolen someone else’s cross. For all of this
supposition was worth, none of it told me what I’d done wrong, and what I could do in the future to stop it from
happening again.

“Well, shit.” I muttered.

==/\==​

“Why am I drinking Red Leaf tea?” I asked no one in particular. It’s a Cardassian drink, and something I’d never tried
myself before. Not exactly popular in the Federation, it was very popular in Cardassian space due to its energizing
effect on the body. For most of the species in their space, the drink was a mild stimulant. To most other humanoids
though sipping it was like getting a low voltage electric charge run through you.

As I thought about Cardassians, and why I might have replicated one of their drinks without thinking about it, a brief
flash of memory filled in the answer as an attractive smiling face flickered before my eyes before I banished it back
to the past, where it belonged. I let out a small, “Oh, right. Her.”

Torres was standing next to me, eyes focused on the monitor outside Holodeck Two alongside my own. Without
glancing my way, the Klingon hybrid sniffed and asked, “How can you drink that stuff?”

I shrugged slightly, “Tastes a bit like Guinness to me.” If you were drinking it with a phaser battery in the glass.

She paused her tapping on the padd in hand, looking at me with a slightly amused expression. I expounded, “I like
various drinks. I'm a man of many cultures.”

“Right,” she huffed, smirking as her eyes turned back to the monitor. “Next thing you’ll tell me is that you like Gagh!”

I shuddered theatrically, “No, I do not like eating worms. Anyone that does, has problems.”

As the engineer started to laugh at me, I softly added, “Shell Squid on the other hand, on a nice bed of rice, is
delicious. I don’t know why so few people outside Qo’noS have ever heard of it.”

“When did you try Shell Squid?” B’Elanna confronted me, her eyes narrowing. “That is practically impossible to find
anywhere. It’s one of the few Klingon foods I’ll happily eat,” she added, almost as an afterthought.

I gave a little shrug. “I spent a couple of weeks on the Empire’s homeworld a few years ago. Wasn’t what I would call
fun, but once I managed to acclimate it wasn’t so bad.”

“What were you doing there?”

I just looked at the woman’s interrogative stare and smirked, before turning back to monitor.

On the screen were two views of the current holodeck program in progress. On the left, the one that Torres was
focused on, was a tactical map that displayed a small town. There were approximately fifty buildings of various
shapes and sizes arrayed around a circular central courtyard. Roughly three thousand people represented on the
screen, the vast majority showing up as grey blips as they moved about the town and went about their business.
Represented by blue dots, was the three-person security away team currently using this simulation. It was Alpha
Squad’s turn to play, and Lt. Andrews had picked LtJG Luis Gonzalez along with Ensign Daaje Yaso to join him. What
I thought was interesting was that Andrews had rounded his team out with two former-Maquis, rather than his own
people, but I would ask him about that later. He had been free to pick whomever he wanted from his Squad, and he
had.

The three blue blips were currently in a triangular formation around a green one on the tactical screen, but on my
half of the monitor I had a live display of where they were and what they were doing. My frown grew as I saw that all
three members of the Squad were correctly placed around their holographic VIP, but like idiots all three of them were
facing the young woman they were sent in to extract, all of them keeping an eye on her. Andrews and Gonzalez, who
were in front of the VIP, kept glancing back at her instead of where they were going.

This was a fairly standard Starfleet Intelligence training simulator, but, unsurprisingly, no one on Security had been
run through it until I started two weeks ago. It was a clever program, and adapted well to changing situations and
requirements with hundreds of variables that can be adjusted on the fly. Weather, time of day, population, size of the
town or city it was set in, how alien the locals’ appearance - which affect how badly you may stand out – was, level
of technological development, and so much more were all easily changed values, allowing the program to be re-run
in hundreds of different ways without having to build a new one.

Yesterday I’d ran Beta though the same village, but it had been during the middle of the day and during a
thunderstorm. Less people in the town were willing to go outside, which made it easier for the local defense forces
to find their team and apprehend them, but cut down slightly on visibility and gave the team a few seconds longer to
be noticed as the soldiers didn’t want to be out in the rain either. I made the locals look human for them so they
might have had a chance of blending in, but for whatever reason the idea of merging into one of the more populated
buildings to avoid detection didn’t occur to Lt. Dalal. They were forced to give up when they were surrounded by two
dozen enemies near the extraction point, though they had done so without a single ‘fatality’, on either side.

On Torres’s screen I could see a hundred red dots scattered around the town. Most of them were in teams of two,
and they were systematically patrolling their standard routes. Thanks to the two Maquis, the three of them had
managed to find their VIP informant without their presence being picked up, something only Lt. Wood and team Beta
had managed thus far, but time would tell how successful they were.

“So how far do you think they’re going to get?” Torres asked, going back to her screen.

I frowned in concentration. “That is going to depend on how well Andrews listens to the other’s advice. I’ve noticed
that your former conspirators are much better at this type of scenario than normal Starfleet officers.”

Torres gave an accepting nod of the head, and then smirked at me once more. “And I’ll begrudgingly accept that
Starfleet personnel are much better at the whole running around once they’re caught thing.”

“Ouch,” I declared, making a show of holding my chin and staring at the woman. “Eh, I’ll take it. Running can tell you
a lot of things about the group that’s chasing you. Vulcans break off and encircle while Romulans go after you
through shortcuts while pretending to break off and encircle. Besides, sometimes being able to outrun your enemy
is more important than being able to outgun them. Not that I’ve ever prescribed to that theory.”

Over the last few weeks Torres and I have been working a lot together, building trust and a dialogue between the two
of us. The omni-tool project had gone through ten more redesigns to make it easier to use and more robust to
prevent accidental breakage while in engineering. Because of that, thanks to Torres, we now had three more people
in that department who were serving as beta-testers before we rolled out the final product. Everyone who had
anything to do with Operations were excited for it as word of the new toy had swept through the ship.

It was impossible to keep a secret on this ship. As that old saying goes, two people are able to keep a secret if one
of them is dead. I was just glad I hadn’t been called to the carpet by Janeway yet. I’d breathed a sigh of relief when
no one regained the memories of the paradox, but that just meant I had other things to worry about.

Speaking of which, the weapons projects between Torres and I had grown a bit more complex. Our initial design for
the phaser pistol had hit a brick wall because of size issues. More specifically, our new firing mechanism couldn’t fit
the required safety and secondary systems inside the proposed housing unit. Not without a redesign of the internal
mechanism that neither of us had time for, or without forgoing them which neither of us would risk. On the other
hand, we didn’t have that problem with the new Torres-Shepard Seventy-One Phaser Rifle we cooked up. Well, rifle
was a rather grand and inaccurate term for the faux-submachine gun we co-developed. Andrews was currently
fielding a holographic prototype in the simulator, along with the most recent version of the omni-tool design. For the
purpose of the exercise, I hoped he wouldn’t need to use it, but if he did I was looking forward to how it would fare.

We wanted one person on each team who went through the simulator to have the new equipment on hand so we
could see how it might handle under real-world conditions, or as real world as we could get.

On top of the hand weapons, I’d been giving Torres some minor help with increasing the efficiency of the phaser
arrays. Her team of people were the one doing the work, I was just passing along some “things I’ve picked up in the
field” notes to her, but it was getting me an in with the rest of engineering. Her occasional “why didn’t we think of
that!” was so amusing that I considered putting another point in it, but I’d just finished refilling my reserves and it
could be better spent elsewhere.

I suppose what surprised me the most was how much fun I was having with them.

“Here we go,” I announced as I looked over at my screen once more and saw the three members of the squad
careful working their way around some of the building. It looked like they were trying to skirt their way around the
outer edge of the town to avoid most of the people as well as the guards.

It was a cautious approach, and might even work if they kept their eyes open, but I didn’t think it was going to be that
easy for them.

Sure enough, halfway through their movement, a guard patrol walked by the alley they were using and one glanced
inside, spotted them, and shouted a warning. His partner took cover and fired a green blast of hot plasma at the four
of them, the guards in this scenario wanting the informant dead rather than captured, as was sometimes the case. I
watched, interested, as Andrew’s shoved the VIP behind a low wall attached to the building and brought up his
weapon, the hot plasma missing them both but close enough to note that Andrews would’ve received superficial
burns. The Lieutenant pulled the trigger, and TS-71 unleashed a five-round burst of polarized phaser bolts at their
enemy, three out of the five hitting. The second guard was out of their path, but the first went flying off his feet and
fell to the ground unconscious.

“You know,” I started as I looked over at my partner, “if any of them had their tricorders out they would have seen the
guards coming.”

“Shut up,” Torres good naturedly shot back. “You’re just saying that after what happened to me when I ran through
this.” The woman hadn’t so much as glanced at hers, despite being the chief engineer, something I was still having
fun teasing her about.

Of course, before we unleashed this program on the rest of Security, Torres had been insistent that she would run
through it first, and I’d let her pick anyone from Security, or anyone else from Engineering that volunteered. She’d
picked one from each, both of them Maquis. Her play through had been set up so she was the VIP and had to get
herself out of the city to a waiting shuttle, and her solution to the problem had been to literally stun or knock out
everyone she saw, accidentally killing one trooper who’d tried to shoot her from a rooftop and fallen down several
stories, but she’d been gone before he’d fallen, and had missed it. Guard or civilian, didn’t matter. They were in her
way.

The three had managed to get within fifty meters of the shuttle before the remaining forty eight guards swarmed her
team. Impressive, but still foolish.

“Besides,” she indicated my screen. “I think they realized their mistake.”

The other guard had been stunned before he could get another shot off, and I could see Andrews using his omnitool
and its large screen to get a detailed map of the area around them, while Yaso was dealing with her smaller tricorder
screen. Gonzalez had been moved to rear guard to protect the VIP while the other two tried to clear a path. Instead
of circling the town and avoiding the patrols, now that their cover was blown, they were trying to fight door-to-door in
as straight a line to their goal as possible.

“Excellent job of improvising, but I think the person with the VIP should have the tricorder out, not the two on point.” I
shrugged.

As if to prove my point, one of the guards leapt out from behind the corner of a building, blindly firing their energy
weapons at Gonzalez and the VIP. The two figures went down easily, forcing Andrews and Yaso to take cover and
return fire if they wanted any chance of recovering their comrades. Given that the enemy was using plasma
weapons, they’d likely only be recovering their remains if this had been real.

“And that is why I hate escort missions,” I muttered.

Torres smirked at me once more, “Too difficult for you, Shepard?”

“Yes and no,” I answered honestly, not looking away from the screen. “It is much easier to worry about myself or a
few people with similar training. Imagine if, for your run, you’d had to babysit a noncombatant. As soon as you throw
in requirements to protect someone like this, it just makes everything so much more difficult.”

“Had to do something like this before, huh?”

I shrugged nonchalantly, letting the blatant question about my past go by without much comment. “Once or twice. I
never lost anyone, thankfully, but that doesn’t mean I liked it any better.” I ran a hand down my face, memories
flooding back up to the surface to remind me of things I’ve had to do in training, and the things I’d had to do out of it.
“Sims were always much worse than the real thing, which was kind of the point, but what we have been putting the
Squads through lately would have been considered basic training by my old bosses, if not light duty.”

Torres looked back at the screen in front of her, apparently noting the large number of red blips converging on the
two conscious members of the team, the holodeck having knocked them out when they ‘died’. “Want to call it quits
here?”

Shaking my head, I answered, “No. We keep going until they call it quits or are all incapacitated. The program doesn’t
stop when one of them dies, but also covers what happens next. Dalal, even though she gave up, could’ve been
recovered along with her team and the informant. They might’ve been tortured, or one of them killed, but it was that
or certain death. Only way they are going to learn is if they play it out to the end, whatever that is.”

“What was your time on this Sim anyway?” She asked, turning her attention back to me. “I know you ran through it
just like I did.”

“Twelve minutes, sixteen seconds, alone. Fourteen minutes, thirty-six seconds with a VIP,” I answered, looking back
at the young woman blandly. “Made it off planet both times.”

“What?” Torres snapped at me. “It took me forty minutes just to get within sight of the shuttle! How did you get
through there so quickly?”

I raised an eyebrow at her, and simply said, “If I tell you how, you won’t be able to run that same course again.”

Growing silent for a few moments, the two of us looked back at the monitor and watched as Yaso was the next to
fall under the barrage of energy attacks, ‘dying’ as she took a shot to the shoulder. Andrews was leaning in and out
behind cover, smartly using his omni-tool to locate targets before popping out and firing with his rifle. However, the
numbers soon became untenable and the big man fell to a barrage of weapons fire when two groups of guards
flanked him from either side. If this had been real, there wouldn’t have been enough left of him to be recognizable
from the slag of melted concrete and metal.

I was actually impressed. Andrews might be a pain in my side but he knew how to fight, just not when to quit. That
TS-71 design had also proved its worth in each of the simulations as every time combat began the shooters were
able to lay down suppressing fire much more effectively than the type-two phasers, and to hit more accurately as
well. The slight reduction in accuracy that came with the rapid-fire design was more than made up for by putting
more energy downrange. I’d look into a sniper variant, but selling these was going to hard enough without something
that screamed ‘tool of assassination’ to Janeway’s sensitive Starfleet sensibilities.

I was also happy to see I didn’t have to instruct anyone to combine the new weapon with the omni-tool either. Each
squad and almost instinctively combined the two, increasing their effective ability.

With everyone down, the holoprogram ended and statistical data was correlated and transmitted back to my padd
for review. The doors for Holodeck Two opened automatically, and I walked into the bare room to find our three
Security personnel asleep on the floor. The holograms’ shots brought no pain, being instantly ‘lethal’, and any
program designed to inflict pain required direct permission of the Captain which I knew I wasn’t going to get. On the
other hand, it was safe and extremely effective to teach people to avoid being hit instead of tanking a potential lethal
blow.

Torres supervised me as I strolled over to each fallen form and pressed a hypospray to each neck, injecting a small
amount of stimulant to wake them. Each of them was still groggy, but they would be able to listen to me and make it
back to their beds afterward so they could sleep it off.

Once they had all stood back up, I gave them their results, “Congrats, you all died.”

The two Maquis groaned, Andrews scowled, but no one said anything. I continued, “Your infiltration to find the VIP
went well. There were a few minor places you could have improved on, but otherwise it was well done. Problems for
you really started during the exfiltration.”

B’Elana typed away at her pad, and a window opened, displaying the governmental office building they’d picked up
the informant at. “Exactly five minutes after you left with the VIP, her supervisor noticed she was missing and called
security. A minute after that, they’d checked the cameras and saw you three meeting up with her and escorting her
out, wearing completely alien clothing. A minute after that, the city guards were informed she was missing and
began to hunt for her. Three minutes after that, one of the patrols literally ran into you. Any of you have any idea how
to stop that from happening again?”

Yaso stood up as straight as her tired form could manage, sheepishly admitting “We used our tricorders too late. We
put them away to keep from drawing attention to ourselves, but that basically blinded us to what was happening
around us.”

I shook my head. “Not at all,” came out of my mouth, and surprise crossed all their faces. “There are times when you
won’t be able to use a tricorder, and it is a good habit to get into to not rely on it and use your natural senses instead.
But since you had them, and they worked, you could have used them when no one was around. There were four of
you, three of you could bodily hide the fourth from view while they check to make sure the path is clear.”

Andrews cracked his neck before asking, “And after the alarm was raised, how do you escape with so many after
you?”

“By withdrawing.” I declared with conviction. “You don’t always win the fight by standing and shooting. Your goal was
to get your VIP and yourselves off the planet, not to defeat the planet’s corrupt military. Once the VIP was down and
unrecoverable, the next priority was getting away with your lives. Instead you bunkered yourself behind some cover
and tried to take as many of them with you as you went down.”

With a bit more warmth in my voice, I informed all three, “We are alone out here. Every one of us is irreplaceable, so
we need to make sure we do what we can to stay alive. I don’t want to lose any one of you, which is why we run
these sims. To get us used to overcoming the worst so everything else is just another day. So everyone can come
back safe. Leave the desperate last stands to the holo-novels.”

“Anyway,” I sighed, “I’m going to write up a full review of your performances, highlight areas for improvement, and
have it for you in your inbox in the morning.” I perked up to add, “Oh, Andrews, how did the gear perform for you?”

The Lieutenant blinked when I called on him, but then squared his shoulders and nodded, “The Tool took a few
minutes to get used to, but once I did, I couldn’t stop using it. Too useful if anything. The ‘71 is comfortable, and I
have to admit it's easier to use than a type two.”

Yaso nodded at that last part, “Wish I was using one. Might have made a difference in getting away.”

“Okay,” I nodded at them. “Head back to your rooms and rest up. You had a hard day, so eat hardy and get a good
night's sleep. Dismissed.”

The three shuffled out of the Holodeck, looking just as tired as you would expect after running an exhausting
combat sim for the last hour. And before that having done a morning of exercise with their entire team, another
practice which had fallen by the wayside.

“Armor might be my next project,” I muttered to myself, making a note. “Powered armor could help keep people from
getting tired as well as provide some protection to weapons fire.”

Before the three had left, I saw Tuvok casually wait for the tired security officers to pass before he calmly walked
inside the room and towards me. He raised an eyebrow at the presence of B'Elanna, but otherwise did little more
than note her presence.

“I observed this afternoon’s training,” the Vulcan announced without preamble. “When Captain Janeway assigned
you under me as Voyager’s Chief of Security, I had assumed, with your background, you would be cavalier with the
lives of those assigned to you. Based on what I have observed for the passing weeks, I am pleased to admit that I
have been proven wrong.”

I didn’t really know how to respond to that, mentally translating it from Vulcan to Human. Basically, he’d just said, ‘I’m
glad you aren’t willing to let our people die, because I thought you wouldn’t care about their lives.’ I’d assumed, from
his professional demeanor and willingness to let me run things as I see fit, that he hadn’t bought into Janeway’s
‘Section 31 are all evil and like to kill innocents because they can’ rhetoric, but I’d apparently been wrong.

Reigning in my justified indignation, and frankly anger, I called on my training and smiled genially. With good humor, I
replied, “I’m not sure if I should take that as an apology, or a backhanded compliment, but for now I’ll just say thank
you.”

The Vulcan just tilted his head slightly and stated, “I believe it was neither. How are you proceeding with your goal of
bringing ship’s security up to your standards?”

I huffed a brief laugh, finding the man’s brisk nature amusing, and noting how he’d dodged the topic of what he
actually meant altogether. “So far, so good. I’m taking it slower on them than the organization was with me, but I’m
also starting from a lower baseline. How about you? The former Maquis integrating with the ship well enough in the
rest of operations?”

“As well as can be expected at this point,” Tuvok stated, nodding to B’Elana, who leaned against the wall, arms
crossed and expression stony. “There is the occasional issue, but they are usually dealt with easily enough. I have
come by to remind you that your monthly security report and review is due on my desk by oh-nine-hundred
tomorrow.”

He took a step back, nodded at the two of us, and marched back out of the holodeck as swiftly as he had entered,
the door closing behind him.

“What an asshole.” B’Elanna stated into the oppressive silence.

I couldn’t help it. I broke down laughing. The statement was just so, her.

“On that,” I gasped out a minute later, just barely getting my laughter under control as the Chief Engineer gave me a
glare, “I absolutely agree with you. He isn’t always like that, though. Tuvok must have been more agitated than usual
about something.”

“Only thing on this ship that gets to him seems to be Neelix,” Torres deadpanned, her anger fading as she realized I
wasn’t laughing at her, but at the Head of Operations. She went on in a simpering voice, somehow patronizing and
pleading at the same time, “Mr. Vulcan, please tell me more about how your species is boring.”

More chuckles erupted from me. “You do a decent Neelix impression.”

“Don’t you dare get any ideas.” The woman narrowed her eyes at me, but I could see a small smile tugging at the
corner of her mouth.

As we saved the records of the program, me for planning purposes and Torres so she could refine the weapon’s
design a little more, the young woman next to me finally said, “Okay, tell me how you did it. I’ll promise to not use
that exact sim variable again. I need to know.”

I held my tongue for a long moment, just looking at the half-Klingon in anticipation for her reaction, before finally
admitting, “I ran across the rooftops. If you look there are large sections that are the same size, since they were all
built to the same standard, and where I couldn’t go over I could clamber down an alley, cross the street, and go back
up. If you go this way,” I drew a jagged line across the map, “They mostly line up, and the gaps are small enough they
can be jumped, even carrying someone else. You’d be surprised how little people think to look up, and by the time
they realized what I was doing I was practically at the landing pad. From there I shot my way in, jumped in the ship,
and flew away.”

B’Elanna’s inarticulate yell of rage was priceless.

 879

SIDoragon Nov 13, 2019 View discussion

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