January 29, 2387

USS Yeager

Three months. Today was the three month anniversary of Captain Paris' maiden voyage on his flying hangar bay, the U.S.S. Yeager. There had been monthly updates with Admiral Janeway, as well as with a special group of engineering admirals he secretly called the Brain Trust to Admiral Janeway, who would always give him a reproachful glare, right before she covered her mouth with her hand to hide her amusement. She always reminded him he was here, out in deep space, because that "Brain Trust" wanted answers, and believed he was the most qualified officer in Starfleet to get them.

This was briefing number three, which meant, due to the scheduled intervals of update meetings, the Brain Trust was joining the call. He had spoken directly with that group of five admirals only once briefly before his ship had been christened, and received regular orders from them. He also filed everything in his computer, with the portal that gave them instant access to any data the Yeager had in its database.

The meetings were a formality and Tom hated them. The Brain Trust was not privy to the highly classified double mission the Yeager was involved with, so this meeting would have a different tone in more than just one aspect. The usual, casual conversational tone he could maintain with Janeway was not suitable now. He hoped to be able to speak with her privately after this particular briefing was over, not sure if it would be possible, since this was the first instance. In December, Janeway had been reluctant to inform him she had still been barred from visiting B'Elanna at the Rehabilitation Facility. All she could tell him were second-hand updates from The Doctor, the same information The Doctor already shared with him. At the end of December, The Doctor had been hopeful that by the end of January, she would be able to accept visitors again.

Tom knew The Doctor had been working around the clock for all this time, exclusively with his wife. Fortunately, he was a hologram and didn't require sleep or even mental breaks, just engineering diagnostics every so often to make sure his holomatrix remained stable after so long of continually running without deactivation. At least to Tom, it sounded like she had made tentative headway…which only meant she would be back to the state she had been before the incident he had caused. The Doctor's only nagging concern recently was the need for sedative drugs, which she hadn't required before. For whatever reason, she was too agitated without them now.

The briefing was the first thing on alpha shift, so he planned on meeting Harry, his XO, in the briefing room with the rest of the senior staff.

Three months.

It mattered not how time had streamed away from him, advancing him further into the years of his life, or how many days had actually passed. Despite the wonders, the thrills of discovery, the achievements of designs made real and all the pure joy of creating, nothing quite filled the hole left deep inside his soul.

Seven months had passed, and still, in the twilight haze between dreams and waking, he would still reach for her, missing her body beside him in his bed, wondering why he was alone. His quarters on the starship, his starship, would slowly come into focus, and he would gradually float back into his body and his life. The pain would come into focus, like under the lens of a microscope, the blur of pain's edges sharpening. His daughter gone, his son dead before he had ever lived, his wife a hollow shell of the woman he loved. This constant, morning descent from dreams to reality kept him unhealed.

Waking, eating, sorting his tasks and going about his day would push those feelings back down, away from his ability to function, thrive sometimes, even laugh when something was funny. Nevertheless, true joy eluded him–the pure joy his life had been on the station. It had been too brief, fleeting, and he had never suspected at the time that would have been the last of it he would ever see.

Even on his best day now, he was incomplete. Nothing ever made as much sense as it would have could he have shared it with her. Nothing brought him the same utter peace as watching his child sleeping, safe in her bed, surrounded by her family. Nothing made him feel as purposeful as he had, holding his daughter's hand as she took her first steps, or teaching her to say "Daddy'" and "Mommy." Nothing out here to him was worth what he had paid to get here.

Thousands of people had but one dream--to be the captain of a starship. A select few were lucky, living out the dream as he was doing now. While he knew how truly blessed he was, and was even thankful for the Admiral for securing this for him, he would have traded it back in a second for one more day, one more hour, with his wife and daughter.

His purpose now was the people who served under him. He was responsible for the 88 souls on board--their safety, their goals, and their responsibilities. When they succeeded, he succeeded. When they failed, he failed. When there were no more options, they found them anyway. They made the impossible seem possible. When there was nothing left to give, somehow they found more and gave it again. A good captain instilled that kind of behavior…and he had learned from the best. It was the honor of his life to lead his crew. They made living his life bearable.

He had learned much from Kathryn Janeway. How to lead, how to be compassionate and firm at the same time. How to instill loyalty and how to believe in people who did not yet believe in themselves. To be fiercely idealistic and ruthlessly pragmatic. To be, above all else, the leader who held them together. Made them a team, a crew, and even a family.

Today, he was tired. Feeling his age. God, when had he started acting like an old man? He was only in his late 40s. Too often in his life, he had been accused of being juvenile…enjoying cartoons and silly holodeck programs. His interests had always been banal. It's part of your charm, B'Elanna had said more than once…and had been just as exasperated by it too.

Growing older seemed like this constant exchange. Giving something up, getting something in return. Youth for age. Arrogance for wisdom. Recklessness for peace. But in a dark lens, he had given up more than he'd gained. Love for loneliness, joy for sorrow. Excitement for monotony. Comfort for pain. Hope for despair.

You are just feeling sorry for yourself today because your new helm officer is better than you ever were, even when you were young.

He smiled on the inside, something rare, as Harry's words came back to him, the moment he had said those words about Ensign Hirae. You lucked out then, didn't you? Because to be that good…she would have to have been the all-time best, right?

At least as the captain, he could still pilot at the helm of any one of the ships they were flying around with out here. That was his greatest joy, at least in this limited life he lived now.

Rocket Man…burning out his fuse up here alone…

Those words stayed in his head, sometimes out of nowhere, when he wasn't even thinking. It had become his anthem. He heard them now as he walked. Really, really sorry for yourself.

He thought, maybe, he should finally take up Harry's invitation to use the holodeck. He was definitely in need of a distraction.

}LS{

"Admiral Cheney," Janeway said, being respectful, yet cutting him off mid-sentence, not willing to listen to another long-winded diatribe. "That is beyond the scope of this mission, let alone this briefing. Perhaps we can address that off-line and let Captain Paris continue," she encouraged. Tom could see her smile was withering, frozen on her face for too long.

"Very well," Cheney droned, his monotonal voice always flat, barely registering his impatience that his questions would not be answered immediately.

"Thank you, Admiral," Tom said, his return smile just as stiff. He kept his face neutral as Harry kicked him under the table. "That initial report—that's correct. We have a functioning trans-warp coil. My team of engineers used the Borg specifications, but they started from scratch rather than try and modify the components from the non-functional prototypes we had stored in the database."

"That's an excellent development, Captain," Admiral Wong added excitedly. "And which experimental design was your team anticipating to equip with said warp coil?"

Tom gestured for Harry to continue. "Admiral, the NX-654 has the most potential. It's small enough to maneuver but can still sustain a crew of four, so test flights could be extended for multiple days at a time." Tom smiled, glad that Harry agreed with him, despite the fact that he had given Harry free rein to make whatever choice he saw fit. The 654 was a cross between the Delta Flyer and the newest design of Starfleet runabout, with the scaled down model of the largest deflector array ever meant to be a functional part of starship.

"Thank you, gentlemen. I'm sure we've taken up enough of your time," Wong interjected again, Tom saw thankfully, before Cheney could open his mouth again.

"Thank you, Admiral," Tom said, and cut the connection, breathing a sigh of relief. He waited a full two minutes, then reactivated the comm. "Admiral Janeway, are you still there?" he asked. The monitor of the computer winked back to life.

"I am, Tom," she said, smirking. "And to answer your question, yes, he's a blast at cocktail parties." Both he and Harry chuckled at her comment.

"We'll be in Sector G35 in another two days, Admiral," Tom informed her. "The Owen Paris is ready."

"Select your team and brief them, Captain. It's time," she said firmly.

"Aye, Admiral," he said. He was thinking about how to ask the next question when she answered for him.

"I saw her about five days ago, Tom," Janeway said, her voice softer and gentler. "She didn't remember me, but once The Doctor explained who I was, she was fine. And she didn't forget again the entire time I was there." She was forcing positivity into that last statement. Tom was certain that was because that was the best news she was going to relay. His fears were confirmed when she continued, "She doesn't remember you…at all, even from after the accident. And Dr. T'Sira thinks it's best if she isn't reminded that she's married. Emotional impedance that isn't helpful right now."

He bowed his head into his hand, feeling Harry's sympathetic gaze on him. He had expected as much, after everything he had heard from The Doctor already, but it still stung when he heard the words. "The Doctor has her wedding ring. You know, in case she asked any questions they couldn't answer…"

He almost choked just swallowing his saliva when he heard that. All he could do was nod in acknowledgment. Eventually, he asked, "Is she at least ok? Or is she still heavily sedated?"

Janeway closed her eyes tightly, just for a brief second, before she replied. "She is still…on a higher than normal dose of sedatives. But she doesn't appear…drugged, if you understand. The sedatives are acting to keep her affect normal."

That frantic, nonsensical agitation was still there…simmering underneath the medication dose. It didn't make any sense at all…but almost nothing did when it came to all of that. He hoped his mission into G35 would be the beginning of the answers he needed to find.

"Thank you for…checking on her, Admiral," Tom added quietly. He fought the same battle, his guilt and his uselessness, his need to be with her and his inability to do so. Janeway cut the connection.

"Tom, I have the duty roster to post. But after that, how about dinner? A little bit of skiing in the holodeck?" Harry asked.

"You hate skiing," Tom quipped.

"I'm trying to compromise here. Skiing now…for water skiing, someplace tropical…at the end of the week," Harry offered.

"You have a deal, Harry," Tom agreed reluctantly.

}LS{

Ensigns Hirae Lan and Jalon Gim, a Bajoran and Trill respectively, sat together in the mess hall, at the end of their evening repast. They had been casually conversing, new friends assigned to their first deep space missions together on the Yeager. They were both pilots. Of the 88 crew members aboard, 38 total were pilots. The majority of the crew was engineers, a total of 41 officers. The crew was rounded out with four medical staff, and then the command crew: captain, XO, Chief Engineer, Chief of Security, and the second officer who was the chief helmsman. Half of the engineering crew also specialized in an area of science. Recruiting for the crew had been challenging, as the skill set required had been unique.

Hirae was laughing, nearly sputtering her coffee over something Jalon had said, when she noticed the captain and the first officer enter the mess hall. She sat up straight, swallowing down her noisy laughter.

"What?" Jalon said, looking over her shoulder quickly, wondering why her companion seemed suddenly uncomfortable.

"The captain," she hissed in a nervous whisper. A little louder, she asked her companion, "Why doesn't he eat in his private dining room? None of my friends from the academy have to worry about the captain in the mess hall. It's weird."

"Why are you worried about him here? Captain Paris is the easiest-going CO you are ever going to have," Jalon told her. "That's why he's here. He mingles."

"He's still the Captain," Hirae retorted. "And he's dressed me down for being late, for missing my collar pip…a bunch of other things."

Jalon smirked. "He wants to make sure you don't turn into him, I think. He was…not always the way he is, from what I know. Plus, he served on Voyager. They were like a family. Captain Janeway always mingled with the crew. They were all each other had for almost seven years. I'm sure he's just used to that."

"I don't know," Hirae said warily. "Sometimes he…I don't know, he gets this…look. I can't explain it. But it makes me think I'm doing something wrong."

Jalon stopped smirking, her face growing serious. "I know what you mean, but you're misinterpreting that look. Do you know about Starbase 47? About what happened?"

"Vaguely," Hirae admitted. "I know he was the base commander…and that it was decommissioned. I was on a training mission when it happened."

"An explosion from a damaged reactor," Jalon said softly, not wanting anyone to overhear. "Both of his children died and his wife was permanently disabled. And about three months later, the XO and the Chief Medical Officer died during repairs and they decommissioned the station."

Hirae's eyes widened as she listened. She stole a glance back at the pair who had started the entire conversation, seeing Paris as if for the first time. "But…that was…seven months ago," she whispered in awe.

"And that's why…sometimes…he looks like that, I think. He's here because he needs to be. Don't take things like that too hard, Lan. When you hear him talk about the ships we're working on, that's the real him. And he's a really genuinely nice guy," Jalon explained.

Paris and Kim moved towards their table. The two women exchanged nervous glances over the remaining dishes in front of them.

"Good evening," Harry said with a smile. The ensigns smiled awkwardly in return.

Once Harry and Tom were far enough away that they were out of the ensign's earshot, Tom grumbled, "Do you remember when that used to be us? Wondering if we should ask Janeway if she wanted to sit with us?"

"That was me, Tom," Harry quipped. "You always told me if she wanted to sit with us, she'd invite us to sit with her."

"Right," Tom replied, somewhat distracted. "I guess that's right. Which also means…now that's my job, right?"

"Only…you freak people out when you do that, ok?" Harry teased him. "You're the captain."

"Funny…but I just still feel…like me. When do you think it'll sink in?" he asked as they sat down.

Harry scoffed. "When everything is about to hit the fan…and we're all looking at you to figure out what we should do."

Tom rolled his eyes at the good-natured ribbing his friend was giving him. "I know you just finished the duty roster, but we need to have a quick meeting tomorrow about who we are assigning to the Owen Paris. We need to be able to fully debrief everyone before we arrive at the appropriate coordinates."

"Full crew complement, we're looking at five, correct?" Harry asked to clarify.

"Me and four others, yes," Tom replied.

"You?" Harry retorted. "Since when? I'm the XO, Tom."

Tom blew out a long breath and held it, pulling down on his jaw with one hand, the way Harry had seen him do so many times when he was trying to find the way to nicely say something he wanted to scream. "Since the purpose of all of this, ultimately, is to find out why the race who has begun to destroy normal space in this sector caused the accident that ruined my life. That's why."

The easy banter back and forth stopped as the air around them got tense. "I get it, Tom, but–"

"Do you?" he shot back, his eyes narrowed.

"It isn't just about you," Harry argued.

"No, it's not. I have a job to do, many jobs actually. And it isn't just me. It's apparently the fate of the entire Federation we're trying to protect out here. It just so happens that, for whatever reason that I don't understand, my life being ruined and the danger to the Federation are apparently caused by the same thing."

Interlude

"What is it you want me to do? I don't understand how I can help you," she argues, bewildered.

Daniels looks on hesitantly, as if he is internally deciding what he can tell her, and what he must keep secret. "I received authorization not only to contact you, but to share with you the technology we have acquired from another faction that…mimics the technology the Sphere Builders use to examine multiple timestreams simultaneously. It allows you to transverse, back and forth, into different timestreams."

She looks on, still utterly confused, starting to feel her stomach twist with dread. What he is explaining sounds impossibly difficult, and she questions her fitness for the task, why he has chosen her. She asks him, "Why me?"

Daniels is suddenly animated, desperate to explain at least what he knows he can. "There is only one timestream we have seen where your father survived beyond the day of the explosion. The Sphere Builders are concentrating all of their efforts in that one timestream." His face softens with sympathy before he speaks again. "This will be very hard to hear, Miral, but when your father survived, no one else did. Your timestream counterpart where he is…died when she was eight years old, in the same explosion. Your mother was badly injured and permanently incapacitated. T'Mira's mother and her husband also died."

Miral's eyes fill with tears, anger battling for dominance with her sadness. "T'Mira's mother died in the same explosion that killed my father." She gulps, struggling to calm her breathing. "My god…how did he…how did he live after all that?" she asks incredulously.

Daniels sighs again. "There was only one timestream where Dr. T'Lassa, T'Mira's mother, survived that day. But her husband, Lieutenant Commander Michaels, did not." His face becomes animated again and he speaks faster. "They are focal points in time…where events diverge to form a uniform outcome."

"You said that…that I…that Miral," she flinches, saying her own name like she is referring to someone else, "...died as well."

"There are almost equal instances of your survival, in multiple timestreams. You aren't the focal point. Which is why you can help us," he stresses. "Your mother as well. But we came searching for you…because you can interact with more people without being known. They know you as a child. You are going back 16 years into your past. That is the instance where the timestreams diverge."

"What am I supposed to do?" she almost shouts in frustration. "I don't understand."

"None of that…the explosion…and everything that happened afterward. None of that was recorded by time. Which means it was an incursion, done after the fact to affect a specific outcome. We can't trace it with our technology while incursions are still occurring. It's the limit to the technology. We're trying to keep history from recording that event."

"But…it happened. Sixteen years ago. My history recorded it," she argues.

"It seems that way, because you're living in the effect, outside of the cause. It's still dynamic, because we have a way to stop it. If you can help us…find out why they did what they did. What were they trying to change. If we can't determine what it is, the time trace will fail and it will appear as if it was supposed to happen. Like the Xindi attack on Earth in 2153. We couldn't undo that."

She stops breathing for a moment. "Wait…stop it?" she shouts. "You're saying I can change history, make it so that explosion never happens?" she asks shrilly.

"Preserve it. Prevent the tampering, rather than changing history, but yes, that's factually correct," he tells her.

The tears she has been fighting all along overwhelm her, spilling down her cheeks, merely at the thought that she could somehow keep her father alive. "Tell me what I have to do."

Daniels produces a mechanism and presents it to her. "This device will allow you to cross into other timestreams. These," he says, producing what look like miniature versions of her Starfleet combadge, "will help you move others with you across the timestreams. You need to reunite everyone…in order to solve the riddle, so to speak. Your father and mother, you, and T'Mira's mother and stepfather. Three different timestreams. It's doable, without risk of temporal psychosis. More than that runs a risk."

"What the hell is temporal psychosis?" she asks abruptly. "And why don't you have it?"

"I have specific genetically engineered aspects to me that protect me from it," he explains. "Too many jumps in too short a period of time puts you at risk. Captain Braxton, who you spoke of, eventually succumbed to it, after a series of mistakes he attempted to correct."

"That seems…extreme," Miral questions. "You said you were given permission by your superiors to do all of this?" she asks.

"The graviton wake…and the radiation. The entire Alpha Quadrant is doomed…unless we know how to stop them. And we won't. Until you can find out why…find out what they were trying to erase. Grouping everyone together is the safest way to keep them from causing further disruptions that we can't detect."

"I'll do it. I'll do whatever you say, so long as…" she swallows, holding in the remainder of her tears. As long as I can see my father again.