A/N: So I guess this is finally happening! Hi, fellow Voyager fans. I've had the idea for this story in my head for... oh, ten years at least. For some reason, something has always held me back from writing it. Maybe I was too young; or maybe it was lack of confidence in my abilities. Or maybe it was that dreaded thought that comes up in every writer's head: "Who the heck would ever read that?" But this idea wouldn't go away. In fact, it's only grown over time, to the point where I can't ignore it anymore. And for once, the time seems right. So here we go. Hope you like it. It's going to be long.

Disclaimer: As if I need to mention that I don't own Star Trek. I should think that'd be common knowledge.

Forget Me Not

Chapter One

The room was different than Jordan had imagined it. In her mind, she had conjured images of white walls, gleaming metal surfaces, and a strong smell of disinfectant. Maybe a bland, mass-produced art print hanging on one of the walls, as a half-hearted attempt at a personal touch. In short, typical hospital surroundings — cold, sterile, and depressing. After all, she had been in enough hospitals to know what to expect. This wasn't her first rodeo.

Instead, she found herself in a warm, welcoming space, painted in a soft beige. As she stepped forward, her slippered feet sank into dense, lush, high-pile carpet. Recessed lighting from the ceiling cast the room in a muted light, and classical music issued forth somewhere from hidden speakers. There was even a fountain along one wall, a single, smooth sheet of water trickling down a slab of grey slate. There were no windows, but given their current location, she hadn't expected any. In spite of that fact, the whole effect was surprisingly soothing.

Of course, all the homey little touches were quite pointless, but they served to put Jordan somewhat more at ease. She supposed she shouldn't have been surprised; her uncle had always done everything in style. The filthy rich bugger.

And of course, the purpose of these design choices was clearly to distract the eye from the elephant in the room — or, more accurately, the giant silver dinosaur egg in the room. In this respect, the decorator had failed spectacularly.

The contraption was roughly three feet wide by seven feet long, and perfectly oval in shape. Aside from the top, which was transparent and festooned with a bank of controls and blinking lights, the machine was entirely smooth, and composed of a metal alloy that Jordan had never seen before, and until today would have sworn existed nowhere in nature. A doctor and a technician were standing by to initiate the process, just as soon as the patient was ready.

Which she wasn't.

It was not that Jordan distrusted the technology itself. She was familiar enough with the track record of its inventor to have complete faith that the machine would do exactly what it was designed to do. She had no fears in that regard whatsoever. Her trepidation was much more personal in nature.

She felt a light touch on her arm, and turned to see her father Christopher at her side. "Pretty cool, huh?" he said, his smile decidedly strained. "I told you, didn't I?"

Jordan's gaze drifted back to the machine. "Adjectives escape me at the moment," she heard herself say.

Dr. Wainwright spoke up. "You have absolutely nothing to worry about," he told her, his voice filled with practiced reassurance. "The machine has been tested and proven over a hundred times. If there were any question as to its safety, your uncle would never have recommended the procedure. Rest assured, it's just like going to sleep."

"Except forever," Jordan murmured under her breath.

"Not forever, Jordan," her father said firmly. "Just until—"

"I know, Dad. We've gone over this a million times." She gave a resigned sigh. "It's my best chance. I understand that."

Dean, her boyfriend of three years, came forward and slipped his arm around her gaunt shoulders, hyper-aware of every change in her mood. "You okay, babe?" he asked softly.

Jordan took a deep breath and forced a smile. "As long as I don't think about it too deeply, yes. I'm okay."

Her older sister Sarah unzipped the large duffel bag she was carrying and stuck a hand inside. "Look, Jojo. I brought you some stuff." She began pulling out items, one by one. "Your old jeans and your favorite shirt, to wear when you wake up. Your copy of Hitchhiker's Guide, because I know you never go anywhere without it. And of course, your journal, so we won't be tempted to read it while you're..." She swallowed. "While you're in there," she finished weakly.

Jordan smiled, her eyes growing slightly moist. "Thanks, sis."

Sarah reached up and rubbed her head. "No problem, Fuzzy."

Dr. Wainwright cleared his throat unobtrusively. "Your uncle wished me to convey his apologies. He truly wanted to be here, but he had a very important meeting in Tokyo that he couldn't miss. However, he did ask me to give you this."

He retrieved a folded square of paper from his white lab coat, and Jordan took it from his fingers and opened it. Inside were a few lines, written in her uncle's familiar, manic scrawl.

"Jordan,

I'm so sorry I couldn't be there today, but I couldn't get out of this damned business meeting. Inventing the future can be so annoying, am I right? But I'll be thinking about you, kiddo. And I promise I'll find a way to make you better. Have a good rest, Jojo. See you real soon.

Love, Uncle H.

P.S. Give your dad a noogie for me."

Jordan couldn't help but chuckle. "What a dork," she said, handing the note to her father. "How did you ever survive with him as a brother?"

"It was a close thing," he replied wryly. "I lived in constant fear."

They were stalling now, and the doctor seemed to realize it. "Whenever you're ready, Jordan," he said patiently.

She nodded. Reluctantly, she turned to Dean, who was trying valiantly to conceal the fact that he was miserable. "Well... here I go, I guess," she said, rather lamely.

He pulled her into his arms, holding her delicately, as if she might break. After a long moment, he pulled away slightly and kissed her. "You got this, babe," he whispered.

She squeezed his hand tightly, then released it. Her sister was next, and far less hesitant about hugging the stuffing out of her. "Are you sure about this, Jordan?" she asked, for the hundredth time.

"I'm sure." Sarah's lip began to wobble dangerously. "Don't do that," she ordered. "Don't even start. Everything's going to be okay. I promise." Sarah nodded, still looking unconvinced.

Letting go of Sarah, she looked up at her father, and her composure finally faltered. "Daddy," she began unsteadily.

He held her slight, frail form tightly, his head cradling the back of her fuzzy head. "Jojo," he said simply.

"Tell Uncle I said thank you," she said, her voice muffled by his shirt. "For this. For everything he's done for me."

"I will," he promised.

Finally, Jordan extricated herself from his embrace and turned toward the doctor, who nodded. Slowly, she stepped up to the machine, which was humming very faintly. It looked so... alien.

She felt compelled to make some sort of speech, but she had no idea what to say. As usual, her irrepressibly odd sense of humor made the decision for her. "Don't kill my fish," she blurted. "Wait, those are terrible parting words. That's one small step for man... No, that's been done. Umm..."

"Just shut up and get in the thing," said Sarah, laughing in spite of the tears forming in her eyes.

"Yessum."

With the technician's assistance, Jordan climbed into the machine and lay on her back, ignoring her suddenly pounding heart. As the humming grew louder in her ears, she took a long, slow breath to force down the rising panic. Just like going to sleep, she told herself. I love sleep. This is going to be awesome.

Bringing a hand to her lips, she blew a kiss to her three favorite people in the world. "See you soon."

No one said "I love you", because it would be too much like saying "Goodbye".

Chakotay's helmet slipped down his forehead as he bent over in the debris. In spite of the cool temperature inside the cave, beads of sweat were beginning to form on his forehead. As he paused in his work to wipe away the perspiration with his sleeve, he was struck once again by the sheer immensity of the place. Not for the first time, he wondered how this site could have gone undiscovered for so long.

At first, it had been an archaeologist's dream come true, he thought. Among the underwater ruins of Los Angeles, a marine research vessel had been monitoring the migratory habits of the local wildlife when it had picked up strange readings. They had expected to find a sunken spacecraft. What they found was something much more exciting. Deep beneath the Pacific Ocean, under the ruins of the old city, a series of interconnected subterranean chambers had been carved into the very rock. By all estimates, it had been there for centuries. Even now, it might have continued undisturbed indefinitely, if it hadn't been for a routine scan by a small team of marine biologists.

As soon as he had heard the news, Chakotay had wasted no time in organizing his own archaeological expedition. After the initial team had beamed down to the site in environmental suits, lights and oxygen converters had been set up inside the chambers. Soon all that remained was to see what secrets lay hidden in this extraordinary place.

It wasn't long before the purpose of the chambers became apparent. It was clear that, before the cave-in which had caused much of the place to become buried in rubble, it had been a medical facility of some kind. Gradually, Chakotay's team had uncovered long hallways lined with doors, some leading to rooms filled with various medical equipment. Other doors led to patients' rooms, the beds half-covered in dust and debris.

But closer inspection began to reveal something strange and, to Chakotay, unsettlingly familiar about the place. The technology used in the facility was far beyond anything that would have been possible at the time it was built. In fact, it was more advanced than almost anything Chakotay had ever seen before. Almost.

At first he had entertained the theory that the technology he was seeing came from an alien source. But this facility had been clearly built with humans in mind. In addition, all the information his team had gathered had confirmed that it had been built a little over four hundred years ago; in the year 1990, to be precise. A facility with unaccountably advanced technology, dating from the late twentieth century, buried under the ruins of Los Angeles.

It was all too perfect to be a coincidence.

Chakotay stood up, stretching the sore muscles in his back. As he did so, he looked over at his companion, crouched in the rubble. Her clothes were filthy, her blonde hair was disheveled, and a vague expression of displeasure graced her Nordic features as she stared at her tricorder. Chakotay smiled; she was gorgeous as always.

"How's it going over there?" he asked.

Seven of Nine raised a cybernetic eyebrow. "There is particulate in my scanning equipment," she said.

One less acquainted with the former Borg drone might not have read anything into her simple statement, delivered in her usual monotone. Chakotay knew better.

He came over to join her, wiping his hands on his own dusty trousers. "This place is getting to me, too," he replied. "At first I was thrilled when we began uncovering all this incredible technology. I thought maybe it was evidence that an advanced alien species had visited Earth and shared its knowledge with humans, centuries before First Contact. But this..." He gestured expansively, before shaking his head in disgust. "This has Chronowerx Industries written all over it."

Seven stood up, pushing her hair out of her face with a metal-laced hand. "Your incident with Henry Starling and the timeship notwithstanding," she said, "this is still an important scientific discovery, Chakotay. As you yourself stated, the technology we have found here may revolutionize the field of medicine. You should be pleased."

"I am," he said quickly. "Don't get me wrong. It's an amazing privilege, to be a part of this dig. I just..." He hesitated. "I really hated that guy," he grumbled at last.

The corner of Seven's lips quirked in a slight smile. "I thought historians were supposed to be impartial," she teased.

He gave a wry chuckle. "I would be, if the jackass hadn't tried to strand us in the twentieth century."

"That was discourteous of him," she agreed.

Chakotay took his wife's hand and threaded his fingers through hers. "I'm proud of you, by the way," he said. "I know archaeology isn't your preferred field of research. But you've been a huge help to me in this expedition. I want you to know I appreciate all of your efforts."

"I will admit I was... less than enthused by the idea," Seven said slowly. "But I must say, I have enjoyed the scientific aspect of it. Even if your method of excavation is appallingly inefficient."

He laughed. "And what would you suggest?" he asked, already knowing what she was going to say.

"The solution is obvious: Lock onto all of the solid matter in the chambers and beam it to the surface for further study."

"Ah," said Chakotay, "but then you'd be leaving out the most important component of archaelogical exploration." To illustrate his point, he wiped a smudge from her cheek. "Getting dirty."

Seven's ice-blue eyes rolled skyward — or would have, if the sky had been anywhere in sight. "Human males are overgrown children," she said despairingly.

"I've got news for you. It's not just humans; it's all males."

"Tuvok would disagree."

Chakotay was about to say something to the effect of Tuvok being as boring as one of the Doctor's slide shows, when one of the other members of his team came hurrying up to them, breathing hard. "Chakotay, Seven," he said in an urgent tone. "You'd better come see this."

Chakotay frowned. "What is it, Edwards?"

The man gave a helpless shrug. "We have no idea."

"When we first excavated this chamber," he said as he led them into a small area, "we assumed it was just another patient recovery room. But when we began to clear away the debris, we found this."

Moving past his colleagues, who had crowded together in the cramped space, Chakotay came forward to get a better look, and stopped in his tracks. And stared.

"That's definitely not a hospital bed," he said.

In the middle of the room was a smooth, metallic oval object, a little over two meters in length and less than a meter wide. The top of the capsule was made of a hard, clear substance, which had been cracked by falling debris. But what it contained was still clearly visible: a bed meant to hold a single human.

"This isn't the only one," said Edwards. "We've found four others, in rooms just like these."

Seven stepped forward and scanned it with her tricorder. As she read the results in the readout display, her brow wrinkled in surprise. "I'm detecting the same poly-deutonic alloy that was used to construct the Doctor's mobile emitter."

"Twenty-ninth century technology," Chakotay said grimly. "That confirms it. This facility belonged to Henry Starling."

Seven wandered off, still frowning at her tricorder like it was playing a joke on her, while Chakotay's team showed him the other capsules, all buried and crushed by the cave-in that had occurred centuries ago. The function of the machines was unclear, but there was no doubt that they had been created using stolen technology from the future.

"That idiot," he muttered, glaring at the bizarre apparatus in front of him. "Picking and choosing what to take and exploit, like a futuristic buffet line. He probably didn't even know what these things do."

"Yes, he did," came the sudden sound of Seven's voice behind him. Her face was pale. "And so do I."

Silently, she led Chakotay and the others through a doorway, partially blocked by fallen rocks, and into another small chamber. A sixth capsule stood in the room, fully intact and humming softly.

Humming.

"My tricorder detected a very faint energy signature," Seven said quietly. "The pod appears to be self-sustaining."

"It's still working?" Chakotay said in disbelief. "After four hundred years? How?"

"I don't know." She did not sound happy about it.

Slowly, he moved closer to the capsule. The humming grew louder. He reached out and rested a hand on it, and almost drew it back in surprise. It was ice cold.

"You said you knew the purpose of these devices," he said to Seven. "What is it?"

She didn't answer. She only continued to stare at the pod.

Frowning, Chakotay used his sleeve to sweep the dust from the surface of the machine. As he did so, he suddenly realized what had gotten into Seven.

Through the transparent window, he could clearly see the figure of a human — a young woman in a white gown, pale and painfully gaunt, with sunken eyes and hollow cheeks. She had almost no hair on her head, only a thin layer of fuzz. There were absolutely no signs of decomposition. She was perfectly preserved. Either that, or...

"She's alive," Seven said bluntly.

Chakotay stared.

"Huh," he said.

A/N: Yep, I did it. I went there. I know the whole cryostasis thing has been done before. What can I say? I love a good Human Popsicle story. Tell me what you think so far. Would you be interested in reading more?

-Octopus