July 10, 2386
Starfleet Rehabilitation Center, Luna
Tom and the Doctor sat in his office, facing one another. "It's curious, Mr. Paris, why T'Lassa never recommended some type of therapeutic mind meld. She clearly thought B'Elanna's memory loss was aberrantly expressed somehow. It is plainly written in her medical logs."
Tom sat in quiet contemplation for several moments. "You mean herself? Like performing it herself?"
The Doctor rubbed his chin. "There are more…qualified Vulcan healers who specialize in that type of treatment. T'Lassa is a general practitioner, and she is part human."
"She may be, but for whatever reason, she is telepathically linked to a human," Tom argued.
Tom stood and began pacing. He finally stopped, gazing out the window with his back to the Doctor. "There's something else, Doc," he said quietly.
Sensing his dismay, the Doctor asked, "What is it, Mr. Paris?"
"Something…strange. That I can't explain." He sighed, his shoulders shaking as his breath went in and out. "I…apparently have a gap in my own memory."
After several beats, the Doctor said, "Go on."
"We spent…days…looking for Miral's stuffed animal. I asked Aaron to help me…because I couldn't go back to our—my quarters." His voice was heavy, saturated with grief. "I gave it to T'Lassa's daughter. On the day of her funeral. But I…have no memory of ever doing it."
The Doctor's voice was hushed and full of sympathy. "Trauma…can have that effect, Mr. Paris. Your mind may have been trying to…protect you from the pain of those memories."
Tom turned and addressed him over his shoulder. "It's…very…precise, Doctor." The Doctor studied his face, his eyes slightly narrowed, urging Tom to elaborate. "I remember the accident…triaging the injured. I remember Dan and Joanna Hawkins…taking her body out of her husband's arms. Needing to do anything to…distract myself from worrying if B'Elanna was alive or not. I remember Aaron running into the triage area with Miral in his arms…me taking her…body…out of his arms." She had been cold to his touch, in actuality probably already dead before T'Lassa took her from him, but the word was unbearable to utter just the same. "But then nothing else…until the morning after the next day."
In an even quieter and gentler tone, the Doctor added, "During those hours, Mr. Paris, you were…informed of your daughter's death, your son's death, and your wife's potential for permanent brain damage. It is…understandable…that period of time…would have been what your mind was attempting to protect you from."
"That specifically?" Tom shot back. "There's nothing hazy, no fragments…not even remnants of a dream…or a nightmare. It ends like a movie…just being shut off. That moment…and then waking up, after the funeral." His voice became more strident, more desperate. "I didn't even know I didn't remember…"
He felt the Doctor's holographic hand on his shoulder. "Your mind would have…avoided that time…perhaps intentionally. I can't begin to imagine how…awful that time would have been for you."
Tom cleared his throat harshly, almost growling, as he pulled away from the Doctor's touch. "My point, Doctor," he hissed through gritted teeth, deflecting from the sympathy he simply could not bear, "is that…what if T'Lassa's memory is affected too? Why else would she have not mentioned the questions she had about B'Elanna's condition to me? Why wouldn't she have recommended some type of additional therapy, like you suggested?"
The Doctor sighed. "I don't know, Mr. Paris," he offered. "Anything is possible. And yet, your wish to find connections where none may exist…may be a source of disappointment. Perhaps it would make sense…to contact Dr. T'Lassa, to ask her specifically if she remembers writing that report, or if there is a legitimate reason why she omitted telling you the details."
"I think I should," Tom concluded. "But I have an appointment to talk to Admiral Janeway tomorrow. And, I also have an awful suspicion that whatever it is she has to tell me is somehow related to all this."
July 11, 2386
Starbase 47
"How much longer is Endeavor in the vicinity?" Aaron asked Harry as they sat together in the cafe, drinking their morning coffee. Normally, Aaron would just drink his daily shot of caffeine once he reported for duty, more often than not bringing one for his commanding officer, who always had a second cup once his duty shift started. Commander Kim was more of a coffee-first, work-after kind of person. They had shared a laugh over that, claiming Admiral Janeway's notorious penchant for the dark beverage had rubbed off on him.
"My assignment to you has no definitive end point, as far as I'm aware. I have an open-ended order to lead the investigation, to the completion that I deem is necessary. From what I know so far, I think we're about three quarters completed," Harry explained. "Not that any of the information we've learned so far makes any sense, at least not to me. My orders were a fine-toothed-comb top to bottom. I did, however, think that if there was an underlying cause…that something that we've found would start to jive. You know, make some semblance of sense. All I feel like we've done is find more questions."
As first officer, Aaron was privy to all of the information the various teams had collected over these weeks. He agreed that he could discern no patterns, no logical deduction that could definitively explain the accident and all of its consequences. Aaron had been an engineer with Starfleet long enough to know that the search for the truth involved everyone, even when at times the crews of starships or starbases needed to hand off the investigation to another team. The Starfleet Corps of Engineers was due to evaluate once this investigation was deemed complete. It was most likely that if nothing made sense here, those engineers would take over.
Aaron sat in comfortable silence with the man he now could call his friend. Tom and Harry had been best friends since almost the moment they had set foot on Voyager 15 years ago. Aaron surmised it was an opposites attract, yin and yang kind of pairing, even though he was sure both men had changed quite a bit from that distant past. Aaron and Tom were close as well, but for very different reasons, although perhaps with the same spirit of yin and yang. Harry and Aaron were more similar, more serious, and Tom had always been the more easy-going, jovial personality. Aaron knew as well that Tom and B'Elanna's relationship might not have gotten off the ground at all if Harry hadn't been there originally as a buffer between them.
Harry did like to talk, however, and as a general rule, Aaron did not. He was more introspective, more introverted. But Harry seemed to understand that, and didn't press Aaron to engage in endless small talk like other talkative people he knew and worked with. It was a pleasant change, and, this morning, it was more of a blessing. Aaron had a lot on his mind, and almost none of it was anything he felt he could talk to Commander Kim about.
As each day had progressed, Aaron had been sensing more apprehension from T'Lassa. Most of it was through their bond, unbeknownst to any of the other personnel on the station. It was a constant flow in her thoughts, to the point he knew, with worry, that she had started to shield him from that. It was vague and directionless, but pronounced. Aaron knew it had to do with what she had told Commander Paris, about the classified information she knew from her grandmother. Beyond that, Aaron had also begun to sense something worse, something darker, buried in her conscious mind. It was hidden from him in much the same manner as she had shielded the memories of her attack by the Romulans. However, this time, he had the sense that it was less about her own thoughts and experiences, but rather something she feared. Something much more serious.
"Endeavor is due back in another five days. That was the last report I got from Starfleet Command this morning," Aaron explained.
"It was a routine mission, transporting a delegation of diplomats," Harry replied. "They were in close enough proximity that it made sense, I guess. The fact that Endeavor's been occupied with so little for so long is unusual, to say the least."
"When was the last time a starbase was almost blown to bits?" Aaron asked. "That kind of damage is rare. Aside from the war with the Dominion, there are only a handful of instances in Federation history." Changing the subject, Aaron continued, "What's the plan for today?"
"Station logs," Harry said, grinning sardonically. His flat tone was an indication how much Harry was not looking forward to the work. Aaron didn't blame him. It was hours and hours of tedious, painstakingly meticulous work. Those kinds of tasks were never easy, and this one was complicated by the fact that the logs were incomplete due to the loss of power after losing the reactor and the subsequent damage to the computer core.
"Let me know if you need a hand. Even if I can't spare someone, I can maybe manage to sneak a few hours away to help if I can," Aaron offered. Both men finished their coffee in silence. Harry excused himself to get started, while Aaron decided he was going to stop by the Infirmary before he was stuck in Ops for the next eight plus hours.
XXX
"Aren't you due at your post?" T'Lassa asked him in lieu of a standard greeting as she met him in the entryway to the Infirmary.
"I am," he said. "Just wanted to…you know, say hi," he added.
We are telepathically linked, Commander. You are not merely stopping by, she thought, her words echoing inside his head.
"True, you caught me," he said sheepishly, shifting nervously on his feet. In his mind, he spoke further. We are linked, so you should know why I am here, Las.
She turned, moving away slowly as she inched towards her desk. "You are concerned," she said aloud, rejecting the continued telepathic communication. "I assure you, Commander, your concern is unwarranted."
"Ok, Doctor," he said, stressing her title sarcastically, irritated at her stiff professionalism, when he was here out of concern for her personally. "That may be true. But I feel like I'm about to crawl out of my skin…and it's all coming from you. You can suppress your emotions, and block them from me, but I'm…still…sensing it from you. Which means, if you were to let down your shields, it would most likely incapacitate me."
She looked at him, then looked away. The stoic mask on her face slipped ever so slightly. "I…was unaware that I was…affecting you this way," she said softly.
"What's wrong?" he asked gently. "Is it something about us? About what we talked about?" he asked nervously.
No! It was close to a scream, so loud it was painful inside his head. Never. The second word was quieter, rich with her emotion for him.
Then tell me, he thought to her. She didn't just hear the words, she felt them, running along the invisible wire that connected them. He was frantic with worry for her, and wanted to know the reason. Show me, he insisted, imploring her to drop the shields, if it was easier than putting whatever she was feeling into words.
She took a deep breath, and he felt it, like the breath she pulled in had come from his lungs, like he had breathed it into her. He sensed her guard coming down, bracing himself for what he knew was coming. He still almost staggered on his feet. Anxiety, fear, desperation…absolute dread. He was drowning in the emotions, overwhelmed. The thoughts, the words that would take form and could explain were buried beneath the emotions. The only thing he could know for sure was an impression–it was about him. All of that…was for, and about, him.
Gasping, trying to catch his breath, he spoke aloud, as a way to distance himself from that anguish. "Why? I don't understand…please, Las."
"I…had a dream. Quite vivid," she explained stiffly.
"A nightmare, you mean?" he asked, curious as to why something so seemingly insignificant was affecting her so.
"I wish it were something so simple," she murmured. "I have had nightmares. You've been pulled into my nightmares. This is more than that." She was struggling for control. He sensed the trepidation under her tone. "It was as if…someone…or something…was trying to communicate with me…without language. The thoughts did not originate with me."
"What does that mean?" he asked softly.
"I do not know," she admitted. He felt the fear rumbling underneath her composure.
July 12, 2386
Starfleet Headquarters, San Francisco, California
"When you said Starfleet Headquarters, I thought you meant your office. Not under a tree," Tom told Janeway after their formal greeting. She had directed him to a specific location in the gardens that beautified the grounds of the complex, situated close to Golden Gate Park.
In the bright sunshine, the scattered gray hairs on Janeway's head were more noticeable somehow. Her delicate features were pinched, careworn, in a way he had never observed while they had served together on Voyager. Starfleet had been quick to promote her after their triumphant return. She had barely been back on Earth for a few weeks and she had become an admiral. Far less traveling…far more responsibility. Each choice had its own set of consequences.
Absently, he wondered how much of his hair was now shot through with gray. He was closer to 50 now than 30. His hair was light…a sandy, blondish brown that disguised fading pigment quite well. His heart clenched when a memory surfaced…B'Elanna, sifting through her dark hair in the mirror, fretting over the few white strands she had seen at her temples, teasing him as she pointed to his matching state, despite the fact that his were less apparent. It had been weeks since he had even looked at himself in a mirror to know for sure anymore.
She folded her hands behind her back and started walking. She kept her head straight with her gaze fixed forward. She was making a concerted effort to appear casual with him, he realized. "This is less conspicuous, and draws less attention, Mr. Paris. It was why I wanted you to wait until you were visiting B'Elanna." They walked several meters in silence before she asked with quiet sympathy, "How is she, Tom?"
"The same," he sighed. "Although," he added brightly, "yesterday was…strange."
Janeway stopped, missing a step in her stride, narrowly avoiding a stumble on the cement walkway. "Strange how?" she asked intently, but resumed her normal gait almost immediately.
"It was like she suddenly remembered the Doctor's mobile emitter. That she used to be the one who maintained it for him," Tom explained.
Janeway stopped again, tilting her head in the familiar way that he knew was her wordless acknowledgment of the oddity. "That is strange," Janeway added. "He told me her memory engrams were scrambled. She remembers nothing about you…but she suddenly recalls that?"
"The Doctor is investigating further," he mumbled. "He thought I might get my hopes up." He scoffed bitterly. "Not understanding of course…there aren't any hopes to get up…right now." Or ever again.
He felt the soft breeze on his face, cool as it swirled onshore from the ocean. The sun was bright and warm, reddening the insides of his eyelids when he closed his eyes against the glare. Happiness is like sunshine. He heard the words in his daughter's voice, not her eight year old voice, but younger, closer to five, still close to her sweet baby voice. She had been explaining the concept to T'Mira.
Happiness. It was as good an explanation as any he had ever heard. Beautiful…but fleeting. Even in the purest, deepest hold of it, the end of it was always looming. As bright as it was, it was so easily blocked, blotted out by even the slightest passing cloud.
And if happiness was sunshine, then sadness…sadness was rain. It didn't matter how shielded from it you believed yourself, it always found a way to trickle in, seeping through the cracks. The misery permeated everything, drenching all that was safe and warm until it was ruined.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw distant rain clouds on the horizon, far across the bay. The rain clouds were always coming, never so far away from any beautiful day. He felt the tears behind his eyes, not sure why all of a sudden they threatened him, other than the haunting sound of Miral's voice in his head that would not seem to leave him. He worked incessantly to avoid it, but here, like this, he was assaulted by the permanence of the loss. Her voice at eight years old…five years old…the sound of her cries before she could articulate. That was all there was, all there would ever be. It wasn't enough. The unfairness of it boiled a blind rage out of his soul that took his breath away. Janeway had been speaking, but he had no idea what she was saying. He knew, from the upturned tone right before she'd paused, that she was awaiting his answer to a question.
"I'm sorry, Admiral…" he stuttered. "I'm…a little distracted."
Could she see that internal struggle somewhere on his face or in his eyes? He wondered, because she was infinitely compassionate, resting her hand on his shoulder and squeezing. "I asked how you've been holding up…but I think that sort of answered my question."
He was glad he hadn't heard, afraid that barely contained rage would flare at her. He didn't want to talk about his life, or his lack thereof. He wanted answers, answers she had told him she could give him. "What's going on, Admiral?" he asked seriously.
"There is a limit to what I can divulge, Mr. Paris, despite the fact that none of it should be divulged at all. I do not know all of it, either. It's classified at the highest level of security there is. And believe me, no one with Level 1 security clearance knows your doctor has 200 year old personal logs that contain information pertaining to any of this," she insisted.
"So T'Lassa is right? Is that what you're telling me?" he asked, lowering his voice in case someone else was within ear shot.
"T'Lassa is on the right track, Commander. Starfleet sent Chakotay and the Endeavor to retrieve that debris because they knew it was a piece of one of the spheres that was used to create spatial anomalies in the area of space formerly known as the Delphic Expanse. The fact that is now unaccounted for, after the series of events that led to the destruction of half of Starbase 47, has heightened this situation to critical," Janeway explained.
"Because of the temporal agents' involvement?" he asked.
She stopped dead, stretching her arm out across his chest to stop him as well. "We can't be too careful when it comes to that, Mr. Paris. But yes, you are correct."
He huffed in exasperation. "T'Lassa tried to explain it to me, but…it's confusing."
Janeway huffed herself. "Tell me about it."
"If this…war…is destined to happen…and the Federation is destined to win at this battle she explained…then nothing that happens now should be a surprise. That's 200 years in the future," he explained.
"Listen carefully, Mr. Paris. The race of beings who built the spheres live in a trans dimensional realm that is incompatible with life in our reality. At one point in the distant past, it is believed these beings were once part of this realm…but some type of cataclysmic event forced them out, changing their molecular composition. Their solution was to transform our galaxy into a form that was compatible with their altered state," she explained.
"Right, and Archer and the crew of the Enterprise NX-01, or…as T'Lassa said, T'Pol and the Chief Engineer, destroyed the spheres. They were collapsed back into the other realm, and the effects on our galaxy…the Delphic Expanse…disappeared," Tom expounded, reminding her that he did know part of the story.
"That race has always had the ability to scan alternate realities created by divergent timelines. Because of their nature, they cannot travel in time themselves, rather, they have been known to recruit other species to do their bidding for them. The Xindi, for instance. They have never stopped trying to alter the course of history that they know is destined to come to pass…about 200 years from now. T'Lassa believes that Starfleet, and the Federation, have become complacent concerning this scenario. I assure you, that is not the case. It is merely classified at a level which very few people have access to. Diligence, Mr. Paris. It is on-going," she concluded.
"So…what you're saying…is we just have to keep them in check until the destined time for the battle?" Tom asked.
"Correct," Janeway said sharply. "The battle is winnable in the 26th century. Apparently one of their strategies is to attempt to force the battle early…in order to take back the advantage from the Federation. In their way, the sphere builders are more of a threat to the Federation than the Borg." She sighed. "Starfleet also believes they may be utilizing a two-pronged attack…simultaneously attempting to force the battle prematurely…as well as affecting the future balance of power so that the battle becomes unwinnable in the 26th century."
"So why attack the starbase?" he asked, trying to rationalize what Janeway was saying with what T'Lassa had expressed.
"To be honest, we don't know. That's why Harry and Chakotay have been investigating. The hypotheses…are troublesome," she said.
"Admiral?" he questioned.
She continued walking, breathing heavily, as she contemplated what to say to him. She was silent for a very long stretch of time. "Did you ever wonder why…after all the…experience we had with temporal agents, knowing that they were authorized to do whatever was necessary to preserve timelines…they let that future Janeway…alter our history with such bold impunity?"
