Trigger Warning: This chapter contains mention of illicit drug use.


Day 6

Crewman Ben Carlson
Personal Log
Stardate: 54731.8

We're supposed to report anything out of the ordinary. Those are our orders. I should report this. I know I should. But I can't. I'd be severely reprimanded, possibly removed from duty all together - forced into rehab or therapy for sure. Beyond that, I'd be pitied, judged… no one on board would treat me the same again. No one would trust me.

'There's Carlson,' they'd say. 'He couldn't handle it, and he put us all at risk.'

I can't report this. Instead, my guilty conscious is going to put it all in a log.

A couple months after we learned about what happened to our Maquis comrades in the Alpha Quadrant, Voyager stopped for shore leave on a friendly little planet. And on that friendly little planet, I met Rishern-Tamm. Tamm was a short man, a very intuitive man. He knew exactly what I needed and exactly what I could offer in return.

The night after I met Tamm, I stole two kilograms of trilithium resin from our waste bins – 'cause let's face it, B'Elanna wasn't paying attention – and for it, Tamm gave me a very nice-size bag of white powder. It's a strange drug, not like anything I've used before. It has the consistency of cake-flour and smells like lemonade, but it sure gets the job done.

That was three years ago.

The powder, I forget what he called it now, well… it takes the edge off. In the beginning, it was the only thing keeping me sane. I was so consumed by grief and anger I couldn't see straight.

The powder helps me forget. If I use too much of it, I forget a lot. When I first started, I forgot whole days at a time, so I have to be careful. And I am, I'm very careful. Don't get me wrong, I don't have a real problem or anything like that. I'm still able to do my duty, I never use when I'm going on shift. But sometimes, when I've got a day off here or there, it's hard to keep from thinking about them... All those innocent people, my family, my friends, all gone.

It's been getting easier, actually. Time and the powder has helped. And now, it seems, when I was just about to give up the habit completely, I've doubled my stash.

I should report this. If I don't, at the very least, I should destroy it. I should destroy all of what's left and finally get clean. But, then again, what's a snort every week or so? It's not like I can't do my job, and who knows what shit we'll run into next out here. I might just need every last gram.

And, to the current situation, how much relevance can a half-bag of uppers really be in the grand scheme of things?

Back under the mattress it goes. And with this log my conscious is clean.


Day 8

Seven of Nine
Daily Log
Stardate: 54738.3

At 1100 hours, Ensign Kim and I commenced cataloging and examining the temporally displaced items recently found onboard.

The objects, in order of their discovery, were as follows:

· Gold necklace with moonstone pendant – Naomi Wildman's quarters

· Framed photograph of Crewman Chell's wife – Lt. Ayala's quarters

· Failed power converter module (SN: PCN-849-8210) – Lt. Torres's office

· Pair of corduroy men's slippers – Lt. Nicoletti's quarters

· Half-eaten chocolate bar – Lt. Winford's quarters

· Hyperspanner (SN: 02-B-031) – Jeffries Tube 14, BB Section 4

· Five empty ration bags – Senior briefing room

· Mug containing trace amounts of green tea with honey – Captain Janeway's ready room

· A book titled "The Tale of Genji" – Ens. Ashmore's quarters

Ensign Kim, ever-thorough, noted that we had neglected to include Tuvok. To which I retorted, he would not have fit in the bin.

Neelix also reported a mystery tray of food including a chopped salad and soup, but it had been previously recycled.

Our brainstorming session began with a discussion of what the objects had in common.

Four of the items: the slippers, the photograph, the necklace, and the book – were found in quarters not belonging to their original owners and have exact duplicates which exist in our timeframe. The necklace was intended as a gift from Neelix for Naomi's birthday which will occur in five weeks' time. The slippers and book belong to Crewmen Murphy and Nozawa, respectively.

Additionally, the hyperspanner and the power module have serial numbers matching versions already on the ship. Commander Tuvok also has a counterpart onboard.

Seven of the items: The chocolate bar, the five ration bags, the mug of tea – could not be attributed to any one person but were out of place in their surroundings. The captain does not drink tea and the computer recorded no one in her ready room to have left it on her desk. We have not utilized food rations in over a year. Lieutenant Winford is allergic to chocolate but found the half-eaten confection on his coffee table.

After lengthy discussion and several varieties of scans, we were unable to discern a pattern or functionality to the items, their locations, or their owners, leading us to the conclusion that the objects have been sent to us randomly, as an effect from some yet-to-be-determined cause.

We were concluding our session when Lieutenant Paris entered with a collapsed medical cot to add to the list. It had appeared half an hour earlier in the middle of the mess hall. Neelix complained that the item, complete with a very large bloodstain, was disrupting lunch.

A DNA analysis was not performed as the presence of nano-probes were detected via tricorder.

The blood on the cot belongs to me.


"Everything about this situation rubs me the wrong way, Chakotay," the captain says, walking even-shouldered with him down the hall. "I can't put my finger on it, but I feel like we're headed into something bad here."

Sir considers his words carefully as he enters the turbolift behind her. He doesn't wish to feed into her worry, but he cannot deny that he, too, is deeply troubled by recent events. "Deck one," he orders, deciding finally that honesty is best.

"I can put my finger on it. In the last week we've been gifted a dead body, a bunch of random objects in the wrong places, and now, a bloodied cot shows up in the mess hall. These things are concerning enough if we didn't also believe they're coming from our own future."

"Temporal mechanics," she swears under her breath. "Have I mentioned I hate temporal mechanics?"

He chuckles slightly. "You have."

"I hate it almost as much as I hate jumping to conclusions."

The lift comes to a halt and so does he, barely stopping her forward motion with an outstretched arm.

A jagged chunk of metal, only slightly smaller than Sir, is lodged at the entry to the bridge. Two officers are struggling to move it.

"Sorry Captain, Commander," says one of the men.

"One, two, three…" the other officer counts and then the bulkhead shifts and rolls to the side.

"It showed up a minute ago," the broad one, Ayala, explains. "Just… popped right out of thin air."

She sighs and looks to him. Sir reads the trepidation in her eyes and knows her words before she speaks them.

"Very bad."


Sir is the last to enter the impromptu evening meeting, though no one seems to pay his tardiness any mind. He sizes up the room and observes that the attendees are an equal mix of concerned and caffeinated.

B'Elanna, his friend, takes to the floor. He thinks for just a moment that she looks tired, she's working herself much too hard. He is worried for her unborn child and makes a mental note to ensure she's getting enough rest.

"So far we've been unable to predict when or where something will appear," B'Elanna reports. "Seven, Harry, and I have been working with three different teams around the clock, and we just cannot crack the code. The only thing we can say is that the objects are showing up with greater frequency. What started out as about one object per day, is now more like four or five."

"At this rate we're going to need to hold a garage sale," Paris says.

"We did get lucky with that giant chunk of bulkhead," B'Elanna continues. "Nicoletti was quick on the draw and took readings of the spatial tear the moment it happened. It will take time, but we can use that information to adjust our sensors."

"What about when these things are coming from," the captain asks. The furrow which has become a permanent feature of her brow has Sir greatly concerned.

"Tuvok," B'Elanna says matter-of-factly. "He's pretty much what we have to go by right now. Tuvok, and the necklace."

"And the melon," interjects Seven.

Sir looks to his right. "What melon?"

"Ensign Bronowski discovered a rotted melon under one of the shelves in the airponics bay a few hours ago," Seven explains. "The plant which yields the fruit is still in its germination phase. The ensign estimated it would take at least another nineteen days to grow a specimen of that size."

"That's assuming it's the first piece of fruit," the captain muses.

"Correct."

"Okay, so we're looking at anywhere from three weeks to… three months, if you take into account Tuvok's body," Paris deduces.

"The necklace for Naomi would be in about five weeks," Kim reminds. "That seems like a consistent time-frame."

"Provided that the necklace wasn't just sitting there for a while," Paris adds.

"Wouldn't she have opened it on her birthday?" asks Kim.

"It is possible that she was not there to open it," offers Seven.

The room becomes hushed and anxiety ripples around the table, hurrying Sir's thoughts. The prospect of something happening to the child is too disturbing for him to dwell on.

"We have a lot of evidence and a lot of speculation," the captain says, drawing his attention again. "What we don't have are facts. We need facts." She is growing agitated and he wants nothing more than to allay her frustration but cannot think of a meaningful way to do so.

"It would appear that facts are only to be had as we gather more data from more objects over time," Seven reminds.

"Maybe we'll be zapped a padd with a bunch of logs on it," Paris muses.

"That would be nice, wouldn't it?" The captain splays her hands flat on the table once again and purses her lips. "Unfortunately, we can't wait until something like that comes through."

"Nor would we be able to act on it if it did," Tuvok states bluntly.

Sir notices that all eyes are now on the stoic security officer.

Holding everyone's attention, Tuvok elaborates. "In the event that someone from our future is trying to send a message to affect change in the past, we would be duty bound by the Temporal Prime Directive to ignore it. I needn't remind you, this is an oath we have all sworn."

Sir hates the way the Tuvok's eyebrow rises as if there will be no further debate. He anticipates that several attendees will argue this point, but the captain stops everyone with her hands in the air.

"We will cross the Prime Directive bridge when and if we get to it," she says. "For now, I'll take every piece of evidence we can find. And, if we can't predict when or where these things will appear, we need to find them as soon as they do. B'Elanna, Harry," she turns to them. "Your top priority will be upgrading the sensors on each deck to alert us the moment a spatial tear occurs.

"We'll have to hand-calibrate every sensor," B'Elanna tells her. "It will take days to cover every area of the ship."

"Use whatever resources you need, but make it happen."

The captain leans toward Sir next and he is at full attention.

"In the meanwhile, Chakotay, Tuvok, assemble teams. I want a deck by deck, room by room search. Wake the crew up if you have to. Note anything out of the ordinary. Every person on this ship is to thoroughly search their own quarters and report back. We're going to do this every twelve hours until B'Elanna is finished with the sensor upgrades."

"Yes, Captain," he and Tuvok reply in unison.

"In the meanwhile, I want to go to yellow alert. With that crumpled bulkhead and the medical cot in the mess hall, I'm becoming more and more convinced that 'future us' is headed for trouble and I intend to be ready. Temporal Prime Directive be damned, I won't become a sitting duck."

"We're going to stay on yellow alert for the next three months?" the pilot asks, incredulous. "I just figured we'd wait for Tuvok to stub his toe and then start counting."

The stoic Tuvok appears unamused. But the captain, she puts on the first smile Sir has seen in days, and it brightens his entire outlook.

"We'll certainly be monitoring Tuvok's toes for any sign of trauma," the captain says. "But until we know more, we will remain at yellow alert for as long as it takes, Mr. Paris. As long as it takes."