A/N: A little but of time here. Life got crazy. Thanks for your patience.
Trans dimensional Realm
"We have eliminated all current threats to our desired outcome," the First says.
"It is not assured!" the Second snaps. "There are still many divergent timelines…despite our efforts."
"It is to be expected this far from the outcome," the First explains calmly.
"There is another variable! There has to be! There is no other explanation!" the Second argues.
"It is the Displaced!" the Third concludes. "She has interfered."
"That is not possible!" the First argues in return. "Her power has been diminished. She cannot affect outcomes."
"You fool!" the Second rails. "She has recruited assistance. It is the only explanation for the cross contamination you see!"
"It is why we cannot see to the focal point. The timelines have tangled," the Third explains.
"How is this possible?" the Second asks.
"Perhaps with the assistance of another faction. One with technology superior to our own…like the Federation," the Third answers.
"Find the missing element!" the First orders. "Examine it all again!"
"We will," the Second agrees. "But what when we find it?"
"Perhaps," the First says directly, "we will have to intervene."
July 12, 2386
Starfleet Headquarters, San Francisco, California
Tom quickly tried to get his bearings, even as he reacted in shock of the admiral's question. "I just…assumed, you know…all that deposition…and…"
Janeway tilted her head to the side, an indication that he was underestimating all what she was explaining entailed. "You were…very busy, when Voyager returned to Earth," Janeway explained. She had been ready to say dealing with your newborn baby, but it felt like rubbing salt in his wounds, and she found she couldn't do it. He still knew, obviously. She watched the dark clouds appear in his eyes like the storm looming across the bay. "But it was three weeks straight, Tom." She sucked in her breath, and folded her hands behind her back as she continued walking. "What I am about to tell you goes nowhere, to no one. Not even your first officer, is that clear, Commander?" she asked sharply.
"Aye, Admiral," he said formally, not used to that tone with her when the situation wasn't life or death. It chilled him when he thought that it might just be that bad, only he wasn't aware of it yet.
"The timeline where the other Admiral Janeway came from…it took 23 years for Voyager to return to Earth. Your daughter was 16 years old the first time she set foot on earth. It was your daughter, a Starfleet ensign, who stole the device she used to travel back in time at displaced coordinates…because Janeway ordered her to," Janeway explained.
"She lived…in that timeline?" Tom asked, just a whisper. It had shocked him, and he found refractory anger was suddenly burning inside him. It wasn't Janeway's fault… or was it? What if this entire timeline was never supposed to happen? He tried to push the thoughts away, but they kept encroaching.
"Tom, Temporal Investigations allowed me to change that timeline to this one…because that one had already been tampered with," she explained. "Apparently, before any evidence of tampering, which takes quite a bit of effort to prove in the 29th century, or so I'm told, Voyager was missing for only five years."
"How could they possibly know that?" Tom asked in amazement.
"Believe me, Tom, it's the 29th century. We saw just a fraction of that technology. They're able to do a time trace, something we can't do now. But, you remember that strange recording we found of Ensign Kim…that course correction when we tried to use the slipstream drive?" she asked.
Tom had just reminisced with Harry about that not that long ago. "Yeah, the one where Voyager crash landed and we all died?" he asked, the same harsh sarcasm there like when he had spoken to Harry.
"That was what was tampered with. You were right back then, that the calculations were incorrect. But originally, Harry was able to compensate, and Voyager never crashed. Everything that we remember happening in the Delta Quadrant after that incident never happened the first time, including provoking the Borg like we did," she explained.
Tom felt chills again at the eerie explanation. "Is that why they didn't stop that future Harry from changing it back?" he asked.
"They only tell me what I need to know, but that's a safe assumption. I was told, and it makes more sense than anything else I've thought about with this, that the farther away from a focal point in time, the more difficult it is to reverse a timeline. Things that would seem to be of no consequence suddenly become crucial. It also makes it harder to change. So that–someone making the ship crash when originally it didn't, wasn't fixed by undoing that event, but something else farther down the time stream. Harry's actions created the timeline where Voyager was gone for 23 years," she said.
"I still don't understand," Tom told her.
"The difference between five and seven years was negligible. What wasn't negligible…there is definitely a focal point in time that was erased when Voyager returned too late. And there is growing concern that…the explosion or some consequential event stemming from that has now reset the timeline to exclude that focal point," Janeway explained.
"They're in the 29th century, aren't they?" Tom exclaimed with frustration. "Can't they tell what's changed?"
Janeway sighed, actually reaching up and rubbing her temples. "Temporal mechanics headache. Again," she groaned. She puffed out a breath that fluttered her bangs gently. "All they can see are the broader changes, without the exact causes, until they do a time trace. Which is long and complicated, especially if there are forces at work trying to change things as they are working."
Tom walked beside her without speaking for a while. It made his head spin. "What is the bottom line here?" he asked eventually. "The sphere builders blew up the station because Voyager returning home after 23 years gave them an advantage in this future war…and when it changed back to only seven, they lost it?"
Janeway gave him a crooked smile. "That's pretty good, Tom. It took me a lot longer to wrap my head around that."
"The sphere builders blew up the station," Tom restated, emphasizing the words, as it changed from a possibility to a reality that he was now only just understanding.
"They created the graviton waves that destabilized the station…and the reactor. That is all the power they have to interact with our realm. The rest flowed from one incursion, which they had to have been monitoring," Janeway explained.
"The tachyons…" Tom said as it all seemed to click at once.
"Harry is fully aware. He's examining all that's left of the station logs as we speak, with the intention of finding the evidence and the trail of the tachyons," Janeway offered.
"So, if everyone, or at least the investigative team, knows who and why…how are we supposed to stop them? How do we fix it?" he asked.
"That, Mr. Paris," Janeway said sharply, "is what we need to figure out."
July 12, 2386
Starbase 47
Save her...
T'Lassa woke, sitting bolt upright in the bed. Aaron lay asleep next to her, completely unaware. She sensed his presence in her mind, a soft flutter because he was only sleeping. She forced her shields in place, feeling the fear as it started in the center of her mind and bloomed outward, like an explosion. He had already said he could sense that through her shield; assaulting him without them was too much.
Using her logic, she battled the fear. There is nothing to fear at this moment. I am safe in my quarters. She forced her attention back to the memory of what had woken her.
It wasn't from a dream. It was almost a thought, a thought she could sense. Although in all of her life, she had never communicated telepathically with anyone she wasn't in physical contact with, other than through bonding. It was a desperate thought, piercing in its intensity.
Save her….Save whom? she asked into the darkness, thinking to herself, not expecting an answer.
She startled again when she received one.
Your child.
She had never heard the voice while conscious before this moment, even though she had been hearing it during her sleep for a while. She felt her temples throb…the earliest sign of a headache. Odd, she thought to herself.
Save T'Mira from what…or whom? she called out again, tempering the distress she felt at the thought of her child in danger.
The answer wasn't words, but an emotional spiral that swirled around her like a whirlwind. It amplified the headache, to the point she felt like needles were poking into her skull. She forced her concentration past the pain, trying to understand.
Frustration. What she was sensing was frustration. But why?
She reached, but couldn't feel anything else. The voice was gone.
Still slightly trembling, she rose from bed quickly and rushed out of the bedroom in search of her medical scanner. She opened the cover of the kit and activated the instrument. The room was dark, but she could see the lighted panel on the tricorder. She started with her headache, and then continued to scan the rest of her body. She made sure she got a thorough read, and then uploaded the data to her computer in the Infirmary. Moving rapidly in the dark, she put the instruments away and then moved back into the bedroom.
In the uneven darkness of the room, she could see Aaron, shifting under the blanket in a fitful sleep. Her agitation was seeping into his unconscious, she realized. Was she causing a nightmare…or pulling him into the darkness of her thoughts? Climbing back in bed beside him, she resisted the urge to touch him. It was instinctual, to touch him to calm him, but she knew her touch would have the opposite effect, transferring her dismay farther into him through their bond. Instead, she focused all of her mental energy on projecting nothing but warm emotions toward him. Her love and affection for him, the warmest of anything she could feel.
In a very short period of time, he visibly quieted. It required her to stay awake, maintaining the tight stream of emotions meant to relax him, but it was worth it. She had no desire to pull him back into her nightmares.
July 13, 2386
Starbase 47
The moment T'Lassa reported for duty, Dr. Conlin noticed her state.
"Doctor," he said questioningly. "You look exhausted. And I'm factoring in the idea that your Vulcan genes mask the first…oh, I don't know…35 percent?… of your loss of stamina." He twisted his mouth to the side, waiting for her usual retort about things of that nature. When it didn't come, he started to worry.
"I was expecting 36.86 percent…or something like that," he said, his brows furrowing. "What's wrong? You looked better rested after the explosion."
She looked lost in thought, deeply concentrating on something intangible. "This may sound strange. But, please hear me out. I have a headache," she added.
Conlin stood with his arms crossed, contemplating T'Lassa's motivation for telling him something so superfluously simple. He narrowed his eyes in scrutiny. "Ok…" he drawled.
"Without a lengthy explanation, would it be possible for you to run a complete neurological scan on me?" she asked briskly.
"For a headache?" he asked incredulously.
She blinked, accepting her initial request was too vague. She had been trying to avoid a larger issue, but now understood that she couldn't. Sighing, she began, "The short version—I believed someone or…some thing was communicating telepathically with me. I scanned myself in my quarters. I uploaded the data. Take a look at it," she said firmly.
She waited while he accessed the computer. She saw his eyes scanning as he read at breakneck speed. The transformation of his face was gradual. From curious, to studious, to confused…to bewilderment. "How is that possible?" he asked softly.
"I take it, then, that you concur with my initial assessment," she added. She hadn't really thought she had made an error, but an extra set of eyes could sometimes offer a different perspective.
"I would have expected the increase in telepathic neurotransmitters since you are a bonded Vulcan female…even with partial human heritage and a human mate. But the pattern you detected…it's an almost perfect match for your own…with a consistent phase variance," he explained.
"My conclusion as well," she admitted.
"The headache seems to be the direct result of the phase variance. Similar to a headache caused by blurry vision. The patterns overlapping within the variance is causing you to overcompensate to maintain focus," Conlin explained.
"So then, will you complete the scan, as I've requested?" she asked, slightly more insistent this time.
He studied her face, sensing her discomfiture, despite her Vulcan mental disciplines. "Alright," he said softly. "But…I know you have a better idea about what it is you want me to look for. I'll do the full workup. I just want to know what you're expecting."
She crossed her own arms, pinching her elbows in her hands. "I would…like assurance that…I am not…insane," she said. The sentence spoken by someone else would have been sarcastic. She was purely serious. At his questioning face, she added, "Because, as you saw in the data, it appears I have been having a telepathic conversation…with myself."
XXX
Dr. Conlin was still analyzing the scans he had taken on T'Lassa when she received the communication from Commander Paris. Via subspace, they were able to converse in real time, although it appeared from the background that it was night on Earth where he was. It was still the middle of the afternoon on the station.
"What can I do for you, Commander?" she asked the moment she activated the comm panel.
"Wait, T'Lassa," he interjected, before he started with the reason for his call. "Is everything alright?" He scanned her visage, noting her gaunt and pale face. Her blue eyes were dull from lack of sleep and her complexion was washed out.
"Commander Michaels is running the station quite smoothly, Commander," she offered.
Tom half-smiled. "I don't doubt that, Doctor. I was asking about you. You look like you've been awake since I left."
Something strange passed over her face, inexplicable to him. "I am in the process of investigating a potential issue. However, it is personal. I will explain once I have some more answers, when you return, Sir."
"Are you sure, T'Lassa?" he asked. "If there's–"
"It is better suited for an in person discussion," she informed him.
He folded his lips, considering her statement. "Yeah, now that you mention it, I have some of my own information to relay to you in person. It can wait as well. What can't wait…the reason why I decided to contact you while I'm still here. You know the Doctor is treating B'Elanna, after Starfleet Medical approved his transfer to her case. He was reviewing her file and he had some questions about your report."
"Go ahead, Commander," she said.
"He was wondering, if you had questions about the severity of B'Elanna's memory loss and how it didn't correlate with the severity of the head trauma that was observed, why didn't you explain that to me? Or let me know…before she was sent to Luna," he asked.
She stared, her eyes wider. "I don't understand," she said quietly.
"What do you mean?" he asked, concerned by the troubled look on her face.
"Commander, I went over that report with you…almost word for word. Three days after Commander Torres regained consciousness. It was pertinent to my suggestion that she be moved to the facility on Luna. The hospital was better equipped to run testing that I could not on the station. Specifically because it was so disparate in nature," she finished.
She watched him on the monitor as he scrubbed both hands across his face, tousling his hair. "I'm losing my mind," he grumbled to himself behind his hands. It wasn't his usual flippant tone. He sounded desperate, crazed with worry.
"Commander," she cut in, sharper, in an attempt to pull him out of his fugue.
He pulled his hands down, folding them on the table in front of him. "I…have…now multiple…instances of memory loss that I can't explain. I don't remember you telling me that. I don't remember…that explanation…at all." He took several long, deep breaths. "I also apparently gave Miral's stuffed targ to your daughter at her funeral."
T'Lassa's eyes widened more. "I was there when you did that, Commander. I assure you, you did exactly that. I believe she still–"
"She gave it to Aaron to give it back to me," he said, the words rushing out in a stream as he hurried to get to the point. "Look, I had no idea that I didn't remember anything…until I went back and tried to recall. The Doctor was attributing it to stress…or trauma…but you just confirmed it far past that day. Almost 12 days later."
She didn't hesitate with her next words. "Perhaps the Doctor should examine you there, Commander. I could certainly run tests when you return, but he could get you some answers faster, I believe," she added.
"We were concerned that you had gaps in your memory as well…but it now seems only I do. He…wanted to know why you didn't recommend a medicinal mind-meld for her," he mumbled.
"Commander, I did," she stressed.
"What?" he asked, almost breathless.
"It was in the same report. I did mention it in the same conversation…but it is in the report as well," she repeated.
Strident, upset, he shot back, "Even if I've gone completely insane, the Doctor can corroborate that piece of information is not in your report."
She tapped the controls on her panel, her hands a blur of motion as she moved. She found the report to which Tom was referring. Scanning it, she stifled a gasp when she realized, just as he explained, that recommendation was no longer in the report. "Commander, it appears that while your memory may have been affected, my report has also been altered without my knowledge."
Tom sat forward, almost lunging at the screen. "There has to be information about who changed it…when they changed it. If it was in the official log, there are only four people who could have–"
"I am aware, Commander," she told him quickly, as she toggled to the security portion of the log. He watched her pale celery green. "It was altered…by me…two days after I filed it." She sighed. "That I do not remember."
"Damn it," he swore under his breath. "What the hell is going on?"
She thought, but did not say, that she feared she was at just as much risk for insanity as he.
"T'Lassa, brief Aaron, ASAP. I should be back there in three days. We are going to figure this out," he said firmly, then cut the connection.
He would go back to this conversation a thousand times, wondering what else he could have done differently, what else he might have suggested. It was such a generic conversation, he knew. Nothing about what he asked was unusual. Nothing about what he asked had actually caused anything to happen. Hindsight was always perfect. And tragedy always prompted retrospection. The greater the tragedy…the deeper the retrospection.
