Disclaimer: I own none of the universes that this wanders through and make no claim to the worlds and characters therein. This is intended entirely as tribute and entertainment. Also, working 12 graveyard shifts in a row is way harder than I remember it being. I'm getting too old for this nonsense...

Chapter 2

The Star Destroyer Death's Head floated in deep space, stark white hull barely lit by the distant stars. Chimaera floated alongside. They had rendezvoused at this forlorn section of the galaxy to avoid attention. It wasn't one of Thrawn's official rendezvous points – the Grand Admiral felt it prudent to keep some secrets from their 'allies.'

The Techno-Mystics were under guard, in their quarters. A polite, respectful guard, of course, but under guard nonetheless. They would not be allowed to leave, and their computer access was being strictly monitored. Quite probably futile, given how incredibly good with technology they were, but the Imperials had to at least make an effort. It was the principle of the thing.

Harbid had just finished debriefing the Grand Admiral on his excursion. "...I've had the sensor techs go through every reading we had of the... jump... since we arrived in Kalarba, Admiral. Once they have some conclusions I'll forward a full report."

"Excellent," he replied, red eyes ablaze with thought. "As well, please forward the raw data to Chimaera. I would like my own Intelligence people to review it."

"Of course, Admiral. I'll also pass along the data from Hosk Station. I will admit, I found it... disturbing." Unbidden, the imagery the orbital space station had gathered flowed through his mind. One moment, a pristine view of the outer system. The next, Death's Head erupting from something that looked, for all the galaxy, like a massive, mottled bruise. It faded slowly, allowing the starlight to show, over most of a minute. Nassistor had simply called it 'Her mark upon the universe' when they'd shown it to him. Harbid disliked mysteries and fanatics, and he was dealing with both now. The thought of getting the Intel people on the case was a comfort – surely one of them would manage to divine its meaning.

If not, at least he'd have done everything he could.

Thrawn spoke again. "I am curious about this planet you observed during your transit."

"We didn't get a clear scan of it," frowned Harbid. "In all honesty, Admiral, I think we were all too surprised, and I didn't think to have the sensor watch on high alert." He silently braced himself – the Grand Admiral appreciated honesty and would probably come down easier on him for not trying to shift blame. Surprised or not, it was still his mistake.

"Understandable." Harbid felt his heart start beating again. "We shall have to investigate further, then. Can your 'Engine' simply take you to that world, and not immediately away?"

"I think so. It's hard to get a straight answer out of the Omnissians, but once you strip the dogma out of their explanations it seems like there's two stages to the jumps." Harbid shrugged. "I admit the drive is a mystery-" a mystery I'd love to rip out of my engine room and give someone else "-but it does seem logical to me."

"Very well." The Grand Admiral stepped his fingers together. "In that case, I believe Death's Head can be spared from fleet duties for the week a system survey would take." A thin smile. "If we are to make use of a shortcut, we would do well to know more about it."

Mid Twentieth Century rock and roll music flowed from a portable stereo in front of a house that could have been lifted from American Suburbia of the same era. The houses to either side were similarly styled. It was a little slice of Old Earth nostalgia in the modern world.

Admiral Owen Paris was in his civvies, but he still drew looks from passers by; modern styles looking decidedly out of place amid denim pants and button-up shirts. He felt self conscious, but didn't let that dissuade him. He'd come for a reason.

The portable stereo sat next to a classically styled car – a 'muscle car' if he remembered the terms right – in bright blue with white racing stripes. Two legs stuck out from under the front end, amid an assortment of vaguely-organized tools. The Admiral double-checked the address on the quaint mailbox at the end of the driveway, then walked up to the car. Now he just had to figure out what to say. That was the problem with transporters; no time to think on your way over.

As he approached the car, an arm reached from beneath it, groping for a tool. It looked like it was going for a specific wrench, one just centimeters out of reach. Owen bent down, handed the wrench to the mechanic. The other man took the wrench, then stiffened. With a sound of metal casters on concrete, Tom Paris slid out from under the car. He looked and sounded surprised. "Dad?"

"Good afternoon, son."

Both men stood, both at a loss for words.

"Beautiful car," said Owen awkwardly.

"1967 Shelby GT350." For a moment, the two men stood in silence, admiring the classic car, then Tom said, "Dad, what are you doing here?"

"A man can't drop in to see how his son is doing?"

"Dad. I'm the black sheep of the family, a mighty embarrassment, and the millstone around your neck. What are you doing here?"

The Admiral exhaled loudly. He wished he'd figured out a better way to ask this, but his imagination had failed him. He'd just have to ask bluntly. "The Science Division has made a breakthrough on its Dimensional Drive research. They've got a prototype ready to test."

"Interesting. It sounds like you're looking for a crew."

"I am."

"Not happening." Tom's tone was obstinate. "Dad, I resigned my commission for a reason. I've had enough of the strange new worlds and new civilizations." He turned back to the car.

"Tom... Son. Please, hear me out."

Tom paused, crouched next to the rolling board. "Talk."

"This is new ground for Starfleet; for all of the Federation, as far as we know. There is all of one crew in the Fleet with any experience with this kind of interdimensional travel."

"Voyager."

"Yes."

"And everyone who didn't immediately resign after getting back is scattered to hell and gone across the fleet." Tom stood again, turned back to his father. "We got lucky as hell to get back from our last long trip – the one that stranded us in the Delta Quadrant in the first place. Do you seriously think any of us are gonna volunteer to head back out?"

"Seven of Nine has. Lieutenant Vorik, Ensign Lang, a few others. This kind of mission needs exceptional officers. And whatever differences we've had, son, you've proven yourself to be exceptional. We're also going to be talking to as many of the ship's engineers as we can; since you encountered some interesting problems on your previous trip."

"Engineers." Tom's tone was dangerously flat.

Well, he still hadn't had any brilliant ideas to get through this politely... "Yes."

"Including B'Elanna?"

The older man braced himself. "Yes."

Tom snarled, one fist clenching. "So if I say no, you're going to try and recruit my wife – your daughter in law – anyway?"

"Yes, son, I am. Because this is important."

From the front of the house came B'Elanna's voice. "Is this a meeting or a fight, Tom?"

"Don't know yet."

"Well, clue me in before you start something." The half-klingon walked towards the two men, fixed her father-in-law with a glare. "Why's this mission so important?"

Owen Paris glanced around the street. The confrontation had brought them attention from the neighbors. "I'd prefer to discuss this more privately." He gave his son a pleading look.

Tom stood in silent thought for a few moments, then shared a glance with his wife. "Fine. Come on in."

Inside, the house had the same deliberately quaint appearance as out, but there were several concessions to modernity. Owen spotted a replicator and a comm console at a quick glance. He took a seat at the kitchen table across from his daughter-in-law while Tom busied himself gathering glasses and something to drink. "So," asked his son, "Why's this so important?"

The older man took a sip of his iced tea. "Starfleet's been aware of the existence of alternate universes for quite some time. Since the 2260s, actually. But other than take precautions to prevent the specific method of reaching that universe from re-occurring-"

"Kirk's transporter accident?" B'Elanna interjected.

"Yes. But other than that, we couldn't do much about it. At the time Starfleet was occupied with so many other crises and dangers that we simply didn't have the resources to devote to it. Since then, we haven't had much contact with extradimensional groups and the project fell to the back burner, so to speak."

"Then we went pinballing across the universes," said Tom, "and made people remember it?"

"Yes. You also brought back a wealth of useful data."

B'Elanna nodded. "Hence a sudden breakthrough. But why's the fleet so desperate to get Voyager people back for this?"

Owen looked away for a moment. "Because this is new ground we're breaking, and there's a lot of... conservative people on the council. Only the fact that we know there could be some danger from those other universes is giving us the momentum to pull this off. They want people who've dealt with this kind of thing before as a sort of safety net."

Tom nodded slowly, exchanged another look with his wife. "Who's the CO? Janeway?"

"No, the Board of Inquiry's determination with her stands. She's staying with the Science Division."

"Then who?"

"Our most experienced man when it comes to dealing with the unknown and unexpected. Jean-Luc Picard."

The young couple exchanged another look. "We'll think about it."

Owen stood to leave. "Well. Thank you for that, at least. I'll just be going, I suppose."

He'd only made it a few steps when he heard his son stand. "Dad... why'd you come yourself? Why not just call?"

Owen sighed, decided that, however embarrassing it might be, his 'straight, honest answer' policy might just be the best thing here, too. "I haven't been the best father to you, Tom. Too caught up in myself, too proud. I wanted to see you. But just coming down to see you would be... it wouldn't be me."

B'Elanna's voice was softer than he was used to from the young half-Klingon. "Well, next time, just come by."

Owen barked a laugh. "I might just. Good day."

He walked into sunlight and artificial suburbia, trying to ignore the little voice in the back of his head reminding him of the saw about old dogs and new tricks.

The universe twisted around Death's Head once again, and Janos Harbid kept his eyes closed for a few moments until his stomach had settled. These jumps seem to get harder on the system. You'd think I'd get used to them. Ignoring the beginnings of a headache, he said, "Thank you, Nassistor. Astrogator, position check, please."

The response was swift. "We're at the rendezvous co-ordinates, Sir."

"Excellent. Sensors; can you detect the Flag?" He couldn't see any other ships from the viewport, but that didn't necessarily mean anything.

"Negative, sir, it looks like it's just us."

Harbid frowned. That's unlike Thrawn. Unlike Pellaeon for that matter. Unless something's happened... "Recheck. Signals – query the fleet for a status report."

He resisted the urge to glare at the Techno-Mystics, who stood around their damnable incense-burning console with an infuriating tranquility. Damn them and their bloody Engine. If something had happened... something that Death's Head could have affected were they with the bulk of the fleet instead of in the middle of no-where surveying some podunk system...

The duty officer quickly climbed out of the crew pit, walked up. "Sir, we've queried the HoloNet and... well, I'm not sure what's going on. According to the HoloNet, we were only gone for two days."

Harbid blinked. "That's impossible. We spent a week surveying in that system."

"I know, sir. But... that's what we've found."

There was a moment of silence as Harbid let that sink in. "Contact Chimaera. The Grand Admiral will want to hear about this."

Transiting through the Matrix took a toll on the minds and, some whispered, the souls of the spacers who made the trips, but they were hardy folk, who took to the challenge with the verve and stubbornness of their breed. Let civilians cower and hide from space, they were real men and women who feared no darkness, nor the visions that lurked in it.

But still, they tended to concentrate on their work and ignore those visions. It was only sensible, of course. The Matrix was beyond the edge of the sidereal universe, and human life could not survive there. Therefor it behooved the crew to pay attention to their jobs. Especially the riggers, who risked dying utterly alone in the blackness should they suffer any misstep out on the hull. Spacers certainly didn't concentrate so monomaniacly because they feared what, or perhaps who, they might see.

So when a thing like a twenty-foot long giant squid flew alongside the Princess Cecile, most of the crew wrote it off as a delusion until one of its tentacles tangled itself in the port rigging. The creature seemed almost as surprised as the riggers, and lurched away from the corvette. The mast it's tentacle had reflexively grasped tore away from the hull, sails shredding and lines parting with a twang that could be heard through hull contact. Something vaguely resembling a mouth – triangular, with three lips – opened, revealing wickedly serrated teeth, and the creature roared in surprise and challenge – a roar that, impossibly, the riggers and crew within the hull could hear.

Within Princess Cecile's bridge, Captain Daniel Leary gritted his teeth against that horrid, impossible roar and overrode the navigator's controls, transitioning the ship from the Matrix and back into the sidereal universe. As reality faded into view around them, he hit the intercomm and said, "All hands, prepare for acceleration." He waited a moment for the spacers around him to find a grip on something, glanced at Signals Officer Mundy to make sure she was strapped in, then kicked in the High Drive, pushing the corvette into motion on plumes of matter-antimatter thrust.

On the tactical display, Leary saw the creature suddenly appear in normal-space to port. The external cameras showed the creature as it seemed to cast about for a moment, then accelerated towards them, mouth opened in its impossible roar, eyes filled with malevolence above them. It's tentacles reeled back in preparation to strike at the cylindrical ship. Something like St. Elmo's Fire began to crackle between its raised tentacles, and a bolt of light lept from them, tearing into the Sissy's rigging. Leary felt the ship shake, breathed a short prayer that none of the riggers had been caught in that blast.

Then Sun shot the thing with the forward plasma cannon, the blast catching in just below one of its eyes. The creature's roar of challenge shrilled into a scream of pain, and it spun away as if stung. Another plasma bolt lashed out at it, searing one of the trailing tentacles.

Then what looked like a mottled, purple and green bruise formed on space itself, and the creature vanished. It's impossible screams cut off at once; the bruise faded over half a minute.

Heart racing, Leary sank back into his command chair. What the hell was that? He thought, and glanced at Mundy. The Signals Officer looked just as lost as he was; never a good sign.

Grand Admiral Thrawn's expression was unreadable, his red eyes glowing with a smoldering intensity, as he listened to Captain Harbid's report.

..."There was no sign of space-based infrastructure or even spaceflight capacity. The world's tech level is mostly low, seeming to be late midevil with a few early Industrial age outliers. Some very large and dangerous-seeming megafauna, with a fair amount of variation between species. Most of the civilized population appears to be human, though there are several other species around." He paused for a moment. "The rest of the system appears to be unremarkable. Asteroid belt, three gas giants and two unremarkable worlds in the outer system. One other planet in the inner system, uninhabitable."

There was a moment of silence as the Grand Admiral processed this. "Thank you, Captain. Tell me, do the Techno-Mystics have any ideas as to why only two days passed here while you spent seven surveying?"

The sixth-scale hologram of Janos Harbid was low in detail, but his expression of concern and unease was still clear. "I don't believe so, Admiral. It is difficult to filter their answers at the best of times, thanks to their dogmatic response to any question of technology, but they are being particularly inscrutable about this. They seem to have defaulted to calling it a 'gift from She Who Is As Gold."

"I see," said the Admiral. "Well. Have they any further information about the device's capabilities?"

"Not much. They have said that it should be able to move more than just one ship at a time, though I haven't tested that yet."

"By all means, Captain, please do so. And keep me advised of your findings."

"Of course, Sir. Thank you."

How did I let myself get talked into this? Tom Paris asked himself as the transporter beam deposited him in the Starfleet Headquarters Fleet Annex in San Francisco. It had been a year and change since he'd been at HQ – since the day he'd resigned, actually – and he'd sworn that he wouldn't be back.

Beside him, his wife echoed his thinking. "Six years getting home from our last trip... Why did we agree to this?"

"We're both too darn good-natured and helpful."

"Yeah. Come on, we may as well sign in and get our uniforms."

Shouldering their duffles the two prodigal officers walked through the crowd into Starfleet Headquarters. Minor miracle: someone had actually told the clerks to expect them. Larger miracle: said clerks actually had the paperwork ready and quickly, efficiently, cut them orders for the quartermasters and directions to the meeting hall where the Dimensional Drive group was supposed to meet. They made their way across the complex and, bundles of Standard Issue in hand, found the group. "I wonder how many familiar faces we'll find," Tom muttered as he surveyed the crowed hall. Several rows of chairs were set up in the middle of the room, facing a podium.

"Well, we already know about some of them from your father." B'Elanna was rubbernecking as well.

"Still irritated that you're not going to be Chief?"

The half-Klingon sighed. "A little, but I understand why. If they're doing this on an existent ship, it's own Chief's going to be annoyed enough to have an Assistant foisted of on him, forget being replaced. And since they've got Picard running the operation, it's almost certainly going to be Lieutenant Commander LaForge. If he's as good as his reputation says, I wouldn't want to replace him."

"True enough. Not sure where I'll be. I wonder how maneuverable a Sovereign is. Between Voyager and the Flyer I'm pretty spoiled on that."

A voice in a thick Souse accent derailed their train of thought. "Izza' you, Tom? Been a while, mate."

Tom blinked at the voice, turned. Walking towards them and wearing a wide grin was Dave Lister. He'd traded in the old boiler suit for a modern civilian jumpsuit, but he'd kept the dreadlocks and his battered Deerstalker and leather jacket, which had acquired even more beer logo patches. "Lister! Good to see you. Didn't expect to see you here."

The Liverpooler shrugged. "'ma consultant. I found somma Holly's old notes in Starbug's computer, 'anded 'em off. T' science guys found 'em useful, kept me on."

"What brings you to this part? Just showing off the result or what?"

"Nah. I'm comin' along. Subject matter expert an' all. We did some dimension flippin' of our own back on t' Dwarf."

B'Elanna couldn't help but smile. "Expert? You?"

"Scarey thought, innit?" He shrugged. "Wasn't goin' ta agree a' first, but t' more I thought on it... Your London's nice, but it ain't t' one I called home. Tha' an' itchy feet."

Tom snorted. "Yeah... that's probably what got us too." He smiled crookedly. "That, and I finished work on the Shelby."

"Fine car, t' Shelby. Norra patch on t' DB5, tho.'"

B'Elanna shook her head as her husband started arguing the merits of British and American sports cars with Lister, kept looking around. There were a lot of people in Science Division blue, a few other former Voyagers she recognized. Plenty of strangers, though. One of those strangers appeared to be a young, brunette Trill, talking in low tones with a blonde who looked vaguely familiar. I have to start meeting people sometime, she thought, and walked over. Tom would be safe enough talking cars.

The Trill looked up as she approached, gave her a wide smile. "Welcome! Are you part of the Dimensional Drive team?"

"Yeah. B'Elanna Paris, formerly off Voyager."

The blonde spoke, and B'Elanna started in surprise. "Hello, Lieutenant. It has been quite some time."

The half-Klingon looked at the blonde in surprise and confusion. Seven of Nine, hair unbound and styled to cover her ocular implant, makeup muting the appearance of the implant on her cheek, looked back at her with an almost guarded expression. "Seven! I didn't recognize you. Why the new style?"

The former Borg drone glanced away. "An attempt to minimize tension."

Because nobody likes having a Borg around, just like they never liked having a Klingon around, supplied a part of her own mind. "Well, it doesn't look too bad. And I never thought I'd say this, but I'm happy to see you again." And I might be the only one of your old shipmates to understand exactly why you're hiding things. She thought of her old hats.

A ghost of a smile crossed Seven's features for a moment and she seemed to relax. "Thank you." She glanced at the Trill. "Please allow me to introduce Ensign Ezri Tigan, Enterprise's Ships Councilor."

"Pleased to meet you." She quirked a grin. "We could have used you on Voyager. Hopefully this little trip is shorter, but still."

Ezri nodded. "Anything can happen." She smiled, cheeks dimpling. "I'm still a little in shock, actually. To be posted to the Enterprise is such an honor."

"Well, at least with all of us in new positions, we're even."

"NuqneH pa' 'Iv 'oH SoH," said a voice from behind her. B'Elanna turned, looking up. Very up. Behind her stood a Klingon warrior almost forty centimeters taller than her.

"Uh.. Hi," she said.

The Klingon blinked, then said. "Greetings. I am G'rokas, Commander in the Klingon Defense Force and temporarily assigned to Enterprise. Who are you?"

"B'Elanna Paris, assistant chief engineer."

Ezri piped in. "G'Rokas is our tactical officer at the moment."

For a moment, the old Seven was back, one eyebrow raised. "I would not think that a Klingon would be interested in an exploratory mission."

The big Klingon laughed, a deep, hearty sound. "I have had my fill of fighting for now in the war against the Dominion. And exploratory mission or no, it is a chance to serve under Picard. He is considered most honorable in the Empire, and glory flocks to him." He glanced around, as if making sure no-one else was in earshot, then leaned in and said, sotto voce, "And the weapons suite of a Sovereign class Starship puts the Vor'cha I spent the war on to shame."

B'Elanna couldn't help herself, she chuckled along with Ezri. Even Seven managed a smile.

"Who's your friend, honey?" asked Tom as he walked up, expression carefully neutral.

"G'rokas. He's part of the officer exchange program, it looks like."

"Indeed!" said the big Klingon as he turned towards her husband. "The Chancellor, in his infinite wisdom, restarted that program and I found myself volunteering. Perhaps everyone else in the room took a step back." He extended one hand. "G'rokas, son of Jkagvar."

Tom was fighting the urge to grin. A Klingon with a sense of humor was... unexpected. He took the extended hand, bracing for a crushing handshake and determined to give back as much as he could. "Tom Paris, son of Owen. B'Elanna's husband." Ooh. He was going to feel that handshake in the morning...

"It is good to meet you." He smiled toothily, then glanced towards the podium. "I believe the briefing is about to begin."

Chrono was just drifting off to sleep when the comm console chimed. Resisting the urge to snarl, he hit the 'audio only' option. "Harlaown here."

"Admiral, we have a response from Headquarters to your information request. They haven't identified the source of those sporadic anomalies we've been tracking, but they do have more information, and orders."

"Let's hear it."

"The energy signature of the anomaly is a partial match to two separate phenomena we encountered before the war. The species known as the Borg, and the curse-induced jumps of one Ryoga Hibiki."

Chrono was fully awake now. "That... does not sound like a promising combination. What are our orders?"

"The task force has been re-assigned to investigate this rather than continue to search for the Bradesons. Your discretion as to how."

Chrono started pulling his uniform back on. "Call the department heads. Staff meeting in ten minutes."

Time to solve another mystery.