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."