Part Four
Trill Colony, Morana VI
Earth Year 2377, Present Day
Kiara gently cradled the baby in her arms, and smiled warmly. The tiny baby gurgled slightly in contentment as he stared back up at the mysterious, yet kind face above him.
"He's beautiful," she whispered.
Next to her, the proud mother stepped up to her side, tutting slightly.
"You know," Rana noted, "I think every grandparent in the galaxy is contractually obligated to say that the first time they see their grandchild."
Kiara smiled wider, as she gently fussed at the baby with her finger.
"Well, unlike all those other liars, I'm telling the truth. He's perfect, Rana."
The tiny baby gurgled again, and the proud grandmother's smile widened further.
"Absolutely perfect…"
Rana allowed herself a moment to fuss over her son as well, mother and daughter enjoying the moment in blissful silence.
"Even the name is perfect," Kiara continued, "My beautiful little Halon."
"It was Tavin's grandfather's name," Rana whispered, "The first of his family to leave Trill and move out to the colony."
Kiara nodded, but she was barely listening, so engrossed was she with her grandson.
The younger Trill looked back at her mother as they stood together in the kitchen of Kiara's home in the main settlement and studied her face a little deeper.
"And I guess the sight of your first grandchild hasn't made you feel old at all?" she offered with a knowing tone.
Kiara glared back at her daughter with mock indignation.
"I'm still young. As a matter of fact, despite what the doctor might have said at my last checkup, I've just entered my early middle age."
Rana nodded back with a smile, before she looked a little more serious. Knowing that there was more of this conversation to be had.
"And you're really ok with all of this?"
"All of what, dear?"
Rana fixed her mother with a mature look that defied her relative youth, still only 21 years of age.
"I know you and dad weren't entirely…comfortable when I decided to settle down early. You both wanted me to explore before anything like that happened. Maybe even spend some time away from the colony, get out into the cosmos."
"Your father might have wanted that," her mother countered, "I'm always happier when everyone I know has their feet firmly on the ground."
The tiny Trill in her hands gurgled again, as if he was somehow agreeing with her point.
Kiara chuckled and fussed the child some more, then looked back over at the still-concerned face of her daughter. Clearly she was going to need a little more convincing on this point.
"I'm serious," she persisted, "Were we surprised when you told us that you and Tavin were getting married, and that you were pregnant? Of course. But I met your father when we were still young, don't forget."
"Right," Rana nodded, allowing herself a slightly more relieved smile.
"I guess," Kiara continued, as her gaze drifted away from the infant for a moment, "When it comes down to it, you can never really predict what your life is going to be."
Rana stared back curiously for a moment, before Kiara shook herself back into the present and gently handed her grandson back to his mother.
"Now, how about you take this little one back to the others. I know for a fact that Jalon wants to fuss over him. He always did with you. And I'll finish dinner."
Rana smiled and nodded, taking her gurgling son out of the kitchen and back through to the living room, where her husband was doubtless chewing over some colony administration issues with her father.
Kiara's expression turned a little sadder now she was alone. She even allowed herself to emit a tiny sigh. For a moment, she looked down at her hands, turning them over in front of her eyes and observing the wrinkles on her skin.
Maybe she did feel a little old.
She stepped over to the kitchen window and peered out into the evening twilight, looking up at the clear sky. Just as she found herself doing from time to time.
She wasn't sure what she was expecting to see. In truth, she wasn't sure she wanted to see anything. But she still gazed up on occasion, when she was alone.
She was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell ringing.
"Don't worry," she called out into the living area, "I'll get it."
She didn't bother listening for any sort of acknowledgement from the gathering in the other room, and headed straight for the front door of the house. She moved a little slower these days, but she still got there in good time.
She pressed the button to open the door slightly impatiently, wondering who was disturbing their night with the family. She expected to see one of Jalon's deputies. Doubtless having rushed over with some minor piece of colony news that could easily have waited until the following day.
But that wasn't who it was.
Instead, as the door opened, she saw someone entirely unexpected standing on her doorstep.
"Oh my," she whispered in shock.
'*'*'
'*'*'
Mannheim Research Outpost, Vandor IV
Temporal Reset Number Unclear
Natasha Kinsen woke up.
And then, Natasha Kinsen woke up.
And then, as if to be completely certain, Natasha Kinsen woke up.
She looked across the room in confusion.
Because, at the same time that she was waking up three times in a row, she was also standing next to the table, idly taking a bite of double cheeseburger (with all the trimmings).
With some considerable effort, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and got up. While she was simultaneously waking up again, and looking at the version of her swinging her legs over the side of the bed and getting up with further confusion.
She felt her head beginning to swim. A wave of nausea threatened to overtake her. Somewhere outside the room, she heard what sounded like at least five distinct Klingon growls of frustration.
Natasha Kinsen woke up.
Except she didn't. Because she was already out of bed, and standing up.
Or, at least, she thought she was.
With a great deal of effort, she managed to make her way over to the table, where a pristine double cheeseburger (with all the trimmings) was waiting for her. The version of herself that had taken a bite out of it a few moments ago was now cartwheeling down the corridor outside, for some reason.
As she idly took a bite out of the cheeseburger, she felt herself waking up again.
She resisted the urge to look back at the bed, where she was sure she could hear the sound of her feet hitting the floor as she stood up. After all, she had some cartwheels to do.
She walked away from the table, leaving the bitten double cheeseburger (with all the trimmings) behind, even as she approached the table to take a bite from the untouched version of the same meal that was waiting for her.
As she reached the corridor, and the table, and she woke up, she found herself confronted by a distinctly confused Denella. Or specifically, by four distinctly confused Denellas.
"What the hell?" the first one said. Followed by the second one. And then the third, and the fourth, as the question cascaded down the line of green-skinned women as they caught up with each other.
Natasha Kinsen woke up.
She also finished her sequence of cartwheels and raced on inside the living area. She also looked back at the collection of Denellas that were standing in the corridor and tried her best to answer her question.
"The Mannheim Effect," she managed to say, several times.
"So, this is a good thing?" the Orion replied, and replied, and replied, and replied.
Klath came crashing out of his own room, roaring in frustration. He was followed by a second roaring Klath, with a third following close behind.
"Hey guys," Sunek's voices called out, "Check this out!"
Multiple Natashas, Denellas and Klaths turned around, to be confronted by the perplexing sight of a perfect circle of Suneks, all performing a dizzying Mexican wave. The sight of that many Hawaiian shirts and synchronised arm movements caused a fresh wave of nausea to pass through Natasha.
Even as she was waking up. And mid-cartwheel.
She tried to focus back on the multiple Denellas. Even as she felt herself take a bite out of a double cheeseburger (with all the trimmings).
"This is a good thing," she said, several times, "I think."
Before any of the Denellas could formulate a reply, several of the Klaths stepped in to bellow out a response instead.
"What is happening?" they growled, one by one.
Natasha glanced from Klath to Denella to Sunek to Klath to Denella to Sunek to Klath to Denella to Sunek. She was at a loss for an answer. And none of what she was seeing was helping things.
It was the still-dancing collection of Vulcans that finally offered an answer, in a similarly unnerving cascading fashion to the Mexican wave they were still performing.
"Meltdown."
Natasha Kinsen woke up.
'*'*'
'*'*'
"What have you done?!"
Berlinghoff Rasmussen asked the question shortly before Berlinghoff Rasmussen asked the same question. It was an experience that both Berlinghoff Rasmussens found decidedly unsettling.
At the controls, two slightly out of sync versions of Dr Lester Brooks were staring aghast at the information in front of him.
The screens were all dark, having long since shut down. The flood of temporal resets and time loops now being generated inside the experiment were far too much for the system to handle, and the live feed had dissolved in a burst of chaotic static.
The rest of the readings that were still somehow available were equally indecipherable. Even given the previously bemusing state of play inside the experiment itself, things now seemed to have left the realms of science altogether.
It was temporal reset number one and number one million, all at the same time.
No matter how many versions of himself might have been there, Brooks found himself regretting the decision he had just made. Once again, his father's work was falling apart. He had lost control.
No, he thought to himself, not this time.
"I can stop this!" he called out, several times, as he raced over to the collection chamber for the chronitons, before racing over to the collection chamber for the chronitons.
All the while, Rasmussen and the other Rasmussens watched on helplessly, starting to feel like they were losing their mind.
"We need to shut down the collection," Brooks continued, his words echoing around as multiple other versions of himself repeated himself, "Before the whole thing overloads and causes a—"
The alarm that suddenly began to blare out told him, and him, and him, that he (or they) was (or were) too late.
Meltdown.
On the other side of the lab, the Rasmussens all took a step back in sequence.
"Wh—What's happening now?" they all echoed, "We need to get out of here!"
One by one, they turned and ran for the exit.
"No!"
"No!"
"No!"
Each version of Brooks called out in order. Each one consumed by despair as everything continued to unravel. Both metaphorically and literally.
In a final desperate attempt to rescue something from his work, and no longer thinking straight amidst the chaos all around them, the Brookses reached out for the metal collection cylinder built into the centre of the apparatus in front of them.
The one that was filled with chronitons.
The one that was about to implode.
As the first of the Rasmussens reached the door and dived desperately out of the lab, the first of the Brookses made contact with the cylinder.
Just as time itself was unleashed.
'*'*'
'*'*'
Jirel had been transported thousands of times over the course of his life. It was something that, while initially unsettling, you soon took for granted.
Except this time. Because this time, Jirel felt himself coalesce as the transport completed. And then felt it happen again. And again. And again.
He looked down and was relieved to see he was in one piece. He was dressed in the black jumpsuit that had been replicated for him by Agent Taylor, complete with a sturdy belt and tether around his waist.
And then he felt himself look down again. Which felt weird.
He took a step forward, then turned back. And found himself looking at himself.
"Holy crap."
As he said that, and even as he felt as though he was beaming in all over again, he glanced to his side and was surprised to find multiple versions of his father looking back at him.
His head began to spin. It was like he was stuck in the middle of some sort of hall of mirrors. Except each copy of himself or his father was slightly out of sync with the others. He recalled what his older self had warned them about. It was definitely getting trippy.
"Come on," the furthest forward of the grey-haired men dressed in a similar jumpsuit to his own motioned, "We don't have much time."
None of the Jirels could bring themselves to ask whether that was supposed to be a pun.
As Jenner gave the order, he glanced at a Starfleet tricorder in his hand, checking which way they were supposed to be heading.
Even as Jirel felt the sensation of himself beaming in again, he tried to articulate what he was seeing, given that Jenner was acting far too calm to be seeing the same thing.
"But," he managed, the words echoing around him, "Everything's—"
"Yes, I know. But we need to block it out and focus. This way."
With that, Jenner took off down the corridor of the research outpost, with a surprising amount of speed for his age. Seconds later, another Jenner followed in his wake. Then another, then another.
Still struggling to comprehend what he was seeing, Jirel took off after his father. Several times. He had to work hard to catch up with the leader of the pack of running Jenners.
"I suppose this is all just another day at the office for you Starfleet guys," he panted as he reached his father's shoulder, trying to block out the sound of the question echoing back over and over again behind him.
"Actually," his father offered with a similarly unerring echo, "I usually just deal with the Tholians."
Despite the disconcerting surroundings, and what he was here to do, Jirel relaxed slightly with his father's candour. He looked down at the cylinder the older man was carrying.
"So this is why you beamed down with me? Didn't trust me with that big bottle of antimatter?"
"Naturally," his father replied as he checked the tricorder again, "Someone's gotta be here to make sure you don't screw everything up."
There was the usual level of grouchiness in his tone, but there was something else there as well. A hint of something that Jirel was very reassured to hear.
A sense of camaraderie. They were definitely in this together.
"And besides," his father continued as they jogged around an intersection, "I wanna make sure that we both make it back from this. This time around."
Jirel nodded more solemnly, then felt himself nod again.
He blocked that out as best he could and focused on his father's reassuring words. They were going to be able to do it this time.
He was going to save the others. And save himself.
Both men rushed on down the corridor, each oblivious to how impossible that was going to be.
'*'*'
'*'*'
Old Jirel sat in the rear section of the Annapurna and looked down at his hands.
He inspected each crease and wrinkle with a sad glint in his eye. He'd never really considered it until now, but he was old. He had gotten old.
But still, he'd done it. He'd stayed out of the way, for all these years. Just like he'd been told he had to do. And he'd made sure that his younger self had got to where he needed to be. To preserve the timeline. In order for him to go through all of this all over again.
In order for him to grow old.
After a moment, he stopped inspecting his hands and picked up the small hypospray from the table in front of him. He held it up to the artificial light and saw the tiny volume of liquid substrate inside the vial at the base. Ready for use.
He wondered if he could bring himself to use it. Now he'd gotten this far.
He heard footsteps approaching from behind and looked around to see Agent Taylor walking in. He set the hypospray back down, but made no attempt to hide it.
"Beam-in complete," she reported, "You didn't want to wish them good luck?"
"They didn't need it," he pointed out, "They'll know what to do."
"Either way, we should both get to the cockpit and monitor what's going on. I've re-enabled the temporal shielding for now, but we still have patchy sensor coverage."
Old Jirel nodded thoughtfully, his mind still a chaotic blur of thoughts.
"So," she persisted, "Let's get—"
"How many times have we done this?"
She paused at this unexpected question. Despite the need for them to get back to the cockpit, she felt compelled to sit at the table. She owed the older man that. She also couldn't help but glance at the hypospray next to his hand, a little unnerved.
"What do you mean?" she replied, already having an idea of the answer.
'I mean this," he sighed, gesturing around, "This…mission. How many times have I gone through all this, given up everything, just to get back here and go through it all over again?"
She shifted in her seat, steepling her fingers in front of her and keeping a professional edge. Even though she could sense the implication behind his questions.
"Well, I guess it depends on your frame of reference. Either once, and once alone. Or an endless, infinite number of times. Temporal issues tend to be strange like that."
He mustered an unamused snort.
"They certainly are strange."
"But," she pressed, "This is what you have to do. I know it's difficult, but this is what we've been working towards. We have to protect the timeline. We have to follow the rules."
The aged Trill glanced over at her with a slightly accusing glare.
"You wouldn't be here if everyone followed the rules, Leona," he remarked pointedly, "If your grandmother, and that Starfleet captain she met had done what you're asking everyone to do here, and preserved the timeline."
She felt an unexpected flare of frustration inside her.
"That's not fair," she retorted, working to keep her tone calm.
"Isn't it?"
"No. It's a completely different—"
"How?"
She paused and sighed, still keeping one eye on the hypospray as she weighed up the best way to pick her way through the apparent hypocrisy at play. In the absence of an immediate response, Jirel continued.
"I guess I've been wondering if there's another way. Turning it over in my head, whatever bits and pieces of temporal science I've read over the years. The few bits I've understood, anyway. To see if there's a way for him to break this…loop."
"And there isn't," she said, more gently, reaching her youthful hand across the table to his own slightly wizened one, "There's nothing he can do to stop this."
He mustered another sad smile, knowing what he knew about what his younger self thought.
"That's not what he thinks. Or my father. They're down there right now, certain that they can do something to stop it happening, if they're just extra careful. Like that's a brand new idea that we didn't do when I was his age."
"Is that really such a bad thing? Maybe that's what gives them the determination to go through with it all. That sliver of hope might be a powerful tool."
"Maybe," he sighed, "And I let them go down there still believing it. Gives a whole new meaning to lying to yourself, hmm?"
There was no mirth in his comment. She noted his gaze drifting down to the hypospray with fresh concern.
"It's just," he continued, "I'm old. And I'm tired of just going round and round like this."
She squeezed his hand a little tighter before she realised what she was doing.
"I know why it's different," she replied, "What's happening here compared to what happened with my grandmother."
Jirel silently looked up and waited for her to continue.
"My grandmother had nothing in her own time. No family, no partner, nobody to leave behind. She lived for her work. For science. And she got more than she could have dreamed of in the 23rd century. An era of humanity that prioritised knowledge and understanding over everything else. And she even found love. Not with the Starfleet captain she fell for, but you can't have everything."
"Whereas," the aged Jirel offered, "I've never been much for science?"
"Whereas," she clarified, "You already had everything you wanted here, in the present. You didn't gain anything from your trip through time. You only lost. Your friends, your ship, your…place in the galaxy. That's why it's different. And that's why this is so hard for you."
Old Jirel felt a tear escape from his eye and roll down his wrinkled cheek.
He thought about the Bounty. About Klath, Denella and Sunek. And especially about Natasha. All the friends he'd had, that he'd left behind. Firstly when he walked away from the Bounty, and then when he ended up a temporal refugee.
"I know," he replied eventually, "I guess it's just taken me thirty years to figure it all out."
He squeezed her hand back and sighed again, picturing Kiara Loren's face.
"And I guess the other Jirel was right. I didn't do anything with my life."
"You had to—"
"Protect the timeline, I know. But would it have been so bad if I'd have just…settled down? Met someone? Had a family?"
"We have no way of knowing. That's the problem."
The old Trill stifled a final grimace, as he squeezed her hand even tighter while his other hand picked up the hypospray.
"I guess we didn't," he nodded, "And I guess there was no way for the Jirel down there to stop this from happening. But…maybe that's not his job."
He let go of her hand and stood up. She mirrored his move and stepped around the table to block him from moving.
"You know," she said with a look of sadness, "That as an Agent assigned to Temporal Investigations, I am duty bound to stop you from interfering in the timeline, no matter what the cost."
"I know," he replied softly.
"Otherwise," she continued, stepping even closer to him, "I'd lose my job."
"I definitely wouldn't want that," Old Jirel nodded in understanding, "You've been…very important to me over the last year. But I have to try."
She sighed deeply, holding back a tear of her own. She reached down and clasped the wizened hand that was now holding the hypospray.
"Unfortunately," she said, pulling herself proudly up straight as she prepared for what she could see had to happen, "You must've taken me by surprise, while I was busy monitoring the mission down on the surface. And you subdued me with a hypospray of sedatives."
Old Jirel's craggy features creased into a thankful smile.
"Really," she added, "This is clear evidence that the DofTI should ensure that at least two agents are assigned to these cases in the future. Which I will note in my report."
"You should definitely tell them that," he whispered.
As she released her grip on his hand and readied herself, another feeling overtook her.
"Huh," she shook her head, a wry smile forming on her face, "I guess it must be something in my DNA. Everyone in my family has a thing for elderly time travellers…"
She surprised herself as much as Jirel as she leaned in and kissed the old man on the cheek.
"See you around the—"
The rear section of the Annapurna filled with the telltale sound of a hiss from the hypospray at her neck. The sedative took hold instantly, as she slumped limply into his arms.
With a little effort, the old man slowly carried her out of the rear section and into one of the recessed rest areas nested into the wall either side of the century walkway of the craft, setting her gently down on the bottom bunk.
He took a moment to marvel at how peaceful she suddenly appeared, then swiftly turned away and strode back to the rear section. He knew he had a few things to replicate.
And then he knew where he had to go.
'*'*'
'*'*'
Young Jirel was starting to get used to the trippiness.
He and his father, along with several other time-delayed versions of him and his father, were making good time through the facility.
And the fact that there were multiple other versions of them all around them, coupled with the unerring feeling somewhere in the back of his mind that he was, somehow, still beaming into the facility, was almost becoming background noise.
Almost.
Alongside him, Jenner checked his tricorder and nodded, as another Jenner behind him reached to check his tricorder.
"Just up ahead and to the right," he noted, as the instruction echoed around, "That's the main laboratory."
"And that's where the others are?"
"Hard to tell from these readings, they're too confused," his father admitted, "But based on what Agent Taylor described, they should be nearby. In a testing facility."
Through the cacophony of overlapping voices and noises all around him, Jirel maintained his focus on that. The reason he was here, and why he was putting himself through this.
To rescue the others.
As they turned the corner, following Jenner's directions, they were confronted by another unerring sight in front of them. A man they had never met before, but with whom they were both familiar from Agent Taylor's extensive briefings. Berlinghoff Rasmussen, time-travelling con man.
Or, to be specific, several Berlinghoff Rasmussens. All fretting outside a heavy closed door.
"Oh," they called out as a slightly out of sync chorus, seeing the human and Trill approaching, "Thank heavens you're here."
"Berlinghoff Rasmussen, I presume," Jenner noted with solemn authority, "I'm here to inform you that you're under arrest for multiple temporal violations."
"An interesting suggestion," the lanky humans responded with cascading levels of sarcasm, "But, if I may be a teeny bit bold, I think there are bigger issues just at the moment."
They all gestured to the heavy metal door in front of them. The Jenners and the Jirels looked at each other.
"I guess that's the place," Young Jirel(s) shrugged.
"Where's Dr Brooks?" several of the Jenners asked back to the collection of Rasmussens.
"That's an excellent question," the Rasmussens replied with a clear air of worry, "I'm, ah, not entirely sure. He…tried to fix everything."
"And?"
"And he, um, failed."
None of the Jenners, nor the Jirels, understood what that vague explanation meant. In truth, the Rasmussens themselves were entirely at a loss as to what happened. He knew he had escaped, at least from the lab itself. And he knew that Brooks had been right next to the chroniton collector when things had gone really wrong. But that was it.
As far as he was aware, Brooks was dead. But there was no way he could be sure.
Still, through the swirling multiples of each individual in the corridor, Jenner turned to Jirel.
"Right. Whatever the hell we need to seal up must be in there. This is it."
Jirel felt an immediate pang of fear. He knew what potentially lay in store for him inside that room. It all suddenly felt very real, rather than some insane dream. But he thought of the others, wherever they were. And he mustered a nod.
"Mr Rasmussen," Jenner continued, "Please step back."
"Oh, with pleasure."
The lanky human slinked back down the corridor. All the time wondering if there was any realistic way for the many versions of him slinking away to make their escape.
"Jirel," Jenner continued, "Fix tethers. Now."
With some difficulty, working around the various other versions of himself at different points in their temporal journey, Jirel made his way to the wall opposite the entrance to the lab. There, he and his father grabbed their electromagnetic tethers on their belts and attached them firmly.
It's probably that, he thought to himself. The tether snaps. That's how it happens.
As if he was reading his mind, Jenner reached over and double checked the anchor point of his son's tether with careful precision.
"All secure," he reported, "Don't worry."
Jirel considered denying that his thoughts had been that selfish given the wider context of the mission, but instead he just nodded back thankfully.
Jenner gruffly nodded back, even as a second version of Jenner began to check the tether again, and then turned back to the door.
"Let's go."
Together, the father and son walked forwards. Jenner tapped the controls. The door slowly opened.
And if Jirel thought things were trippy before, he found himself stepping into pure chaos.
'*'*'
'*'*'
Mannheim Research Outpost, Vandor IV
Temporal Reset Number Infinity
Natasha Kinsen woke up.
And she kept waking up.
Waking up became less of a single, simple action and more a perpetual state of being. A mental Möbius strip that kept looping back around on itself in one fluid motion.
She tried as hard as she could to stop waking up. To complete the waking up task and reach a seemingly theoretical point in time when she was, in fact, entirely and completely woken up and ready to do something else.
But it was impossible. The process of waking up was now never-ending. It was her alpha and omega. She was no longer a person. She was the concept of waking up.
She strained to focus on what usually happened after waking up. After all, she'd been through it enough times.
She tried to swing her legs over the side of the bed. To walk over and take a bite of double cheeseburger (with all the trimmings). To break through a succession of doors. To rip up a series of metal floorboards. To dance a tango with Sunek.
But all she did was continue to wake up.
Over and over again. Perpetually waking up.
And then she could make out something new, all around her. She was no longer inside a pristine white room. Or at least, it didn't seem that she was.
Instead of the walls of the bedroom, she just saw the face of Doctor Lester Brooks.
Instead of the ceiling above her head, she just saw the face of Doctor Lester Brooks.
Instead of the floor, or the bed, or the door, or the table with the double cheeseburger (with all the trimmings), she saw the same face.
She tried to look at her hands. And saw Doctor Lester Brooks.
And he was laughing.
Nothing in her Starfleet training, or her years of experience in space, could come close to her explaining what was happening.
She was waking up. Constantly.
And she was Doctor Lester Brooks. Forever.
The face of Brooks contorted into a smile, then a leering cackle. Partly unhinged, partly terrified, partly delighted.
His mouth opened. All of his mouths opened.
"Meltdown!"
Natasha Kinsen tried to reply. But she couldn't.
She was still waking up.
'*'*'
'*'*'
The force of the wind was enough to cause Jirel to stagger forwards. He had to wince and shield his eyes from the coruscating light shining at him from across the expanse of the main laboratory.
He had never seen a temporal vortex before. But he was pretty sure he could spot where it was.
The swirling mass of noise, colour and energy pulsed on the far side of the room, where it had already consumed the chroniton collector. And Doctor Lester Brooks. The deafening noise of the wind was all around them, and had already apparently sucked up anything in the lab that wasn't nailed down.
Jirel felt his tether pull taut behind him from the strength of the wind sucking him inwards. He began to brace himself for the inevitable, feeling himself being drawn towards the vortex.
"Jirel!"
He heard his father cry out. Several times.
Forcing his attention away from the yawning vortex, he turned to Jenner, who was similarly struggling against the power of the temporal chaos.
His father's tether was almost pulled taut, all the way back to the anchor point in the corridor.
"Grab this," he called out, holding up the antimatter container with some effort, "You're nearer! I can't get much further than this! You need to place it inside the vortex!"
Jirel licked his lips. As far as avoiding falling into the vortex was concerned, getting close enough to throw a cylinder of antimatter into it didn't seem like the cleverest next step. But his tether was secure. He had checked it, and his father had double-checked it.
And he had to save the others.
With a fresh grunt of effort, Jirel took a heavy step forward and reached out for the container.
Jenner reached even further, feeling the straining tether around his waist starting to choke him as he tried to keep his footing. He grimaced in pain as he inched the metal cylinder a little closer to his son.
And then the wind whipped up a little more. The vortex grew a little wider. The sudden feverish gust caused Jenner to stumble. He dropped the cylinder.
Over and over again, he dropped the cylinder.
Several Jirels and several Jenners watched helplessly as the tiny metal object dropped to the floor of the lab and rolled along the ground, sucked onwards by the vortex and the wind. Until it clattered into the base of the lab's central table, where it remained. Stuck in place.
"Well that went well!" Jirel couldn't help but call out, already knowing that none of the versions of his father in front of him would appreciate any of the echoing deliveries of that comment.
Jenner kept his focus on the cylinder, even as the wind whipped all around him. It had ended up about fifteen feet in front of him, agonisingly out of reach, and stuck fast.
Jirel gritted his teeth and sighed sadly. He was the closer of the two of them. He had to get that cylinder.
Maybe there was no escape.
He moved towards where it lay at the base of the table, inching a few more steps out of his tether, even as the cord strained against the forces at play.
"No!" Jenner called out over the wind, "Wait there. I'll get it."
Through the chaos, the grey-haired admiral stepped towards the table as best he could. He wanted to avoid getting his son into any more of a dangerous situation than he had to. This time, he was certain, Jirel wasn't going to end up inside the vortex.
He managed to shuffle closer and closer to the cylinder, foot by foot, even as the wind howled and the vortex crackled.
But he came up short.
With a frustrated growl, he tugged uselessly on his tether, but there was nothing more to give. This was as far as he could go. Jirel would have to do it.
He gritted his teeth and winced as he looked back at the violence of the temporal vortex.
No, he thought. There was another way.
Without pausing to think any further, he reached down and unclipped his tether from his belt.
"Hey!" Jirel cried out as he saw what his father was doing, "Don't do that—!"
In an instant, the wind picked up Jenner's entire body, throwing him a few feet and slamming him into the solid main table, where he clung on for dear life to the metal rail around the edge. His grip now the only thing preventing him from being sucked into the vortex himself.
He forced his ageing body to ignore the pain in his solar plexus from being slammed into the table with such force, and reached down towards the cylinder on the ground with one hand, keeping a tight grip on the rail with the other.
He clasped the metal container tightly and stood back up, then began to inch his way towards the vortex, ready to release the antimatter.
He knew he didn't have the strength to cling on to the rail for much longer. But that didn't matter. So long as, this time, it wasn't Jirel who was sacrificing himself.
Through the maelstrom, Jirel watched his father dragging himself along the side of the rail with one arm. Any second now, it looked like he would be sucked into the swirling chaos of the vortex. To be trapped in the past, just as his older self had been.
And then, in an instant, everything became clear to him.
Everything that his older self had been cryptically talking about back in the runabout.
"You'll know what to do when you need to."
He realised now that he wasn't here to protect the timeline, or prevent a disaster, or even save the Bounty's crew. After all, Starfleet were perfectly capable of doing that without an idiot who bought a spaceship.
He was here to save his father.
He saw it now. That was why he ended up in the past. That was why there was no way he would ever be able to prevent it from happening. Because he couldn't let that happen to his father.
Without a second thought, he pulled out a few more feet of slack on his tether. The one that had been so carefully double-checked. And he allowed himself to be carried to the table.
He hit the solid metal rail next to his father with a heavy thump. His head slammed down onto the top of the table with enough force to open a stinging cut on his forehead, bloodying his face.
Just as he arrived, Jenner reached out towards the vortex and released the antimatter cylinder. It disappeared inside with a roar.
The admiral felt his other hand losing grip. Felt himself being sucked into the yawning storm.
And then he felt an arm on his waist.
He looked down, in time to see Jirel fixing his own tether to his waist. He turned around, again and again, seeing several faces of his son in the chaos.
"Jirel!" he cried out, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
The Trill smiled back, as the fury of the vortex pulled at his body. He felt his feet lift off the ground, being pulled towards it.
"Sorry," he managed to shout, "Guess this really was my destiny all along."
Jenner despairingly grabbed his son's hand, even as he was being pulled in by the vortex. With the antimatter deployed, the tempest was starting to close. But not fast enough. Jenner knew he couldn't hang on. He couldn't hold his son back. Not by himself.
And Jirel knew that as well. He knew where he was going, and he was strangely fine with it.
He prepared to embrace it.
And then, he felt another arm grab him.
In shock, he looked over to see his older self, with his own tether around his waist, helping his father to keep a hold of him, grasping his other arm with all his might.
The two Jirels, amongst all the other time-displaced snapshots of Jirels swirling around the temporal disturbance, stared each other down.
The vortex continued to close.
"What about destiny?" Young Jirel managed to scream out.
"Screw destiny!" Old Jirel shouted back, equally at peace with his own decision.
Jenner just grimly kept hold of his son's arm. And between them, he and Old Jirel kept hold until the vortex sealed up and disappeared.
The wind dissipated. Young Jirel felt his feet drop to the ground.
It was over.
Young Jirel smiled at his older self. Old Jirel smiled back.
And then he collapsed.
'*'*'
'*'*'
Natasha Kinsen woke up.
And this time, for the first time in a while, she actually woke up.
She was no longer in the process of waking up, or repeatedly waking up, or being consumed by the very concept of waking up. She had woken up. She was awake.
She sat bolt upright in bed and looked around. It was the same room, yet somehow different.
There was no double cheeseburger, with trimmings or otherwise, waiting on the table. The walls seemed a little less brilliant white. Everything seemed a little more, for want of a better word, real.
She clambered out of bed and rushed out into the corridor, where she was almost instantly joined by Denella, Klath and Sunek.
"What the hell happened?" Denella asked, voicing the question on everyone's lips.
In truth, Natasha couldn't even begin to guess. She had no idea if the others had been through the same trip, but her head was still swimming from the endless loop of Dr Lester Brookses that she had just been subjected to.
However, one thing seemed likely. If things had gotten better, then something must have happened. Something must have changed.
"Hey," Sunek offered, pointing to one side of the corridor, "That's new."
They all followed his gesture, and saw that there was a new door on the side of the corridor, next to the entrance to the living area. An open door.
A way out.
"A trick?" Klath asked, not entirely believing his own eyes after this long trapped inside Brooks's temporal nightmare.
"I…don't think so," Natasha replied, still feeling a little groggy, though noting that her headache appeared to have cleared up.
"One way to find out," Denella shrugged.
As one, they rushed to the open door. And made their escape.
In an instant, they found themselves in a short corridor. And from there, they quickly found their way to the main laboratory.
The room was a scene of carnage. Broken equipment and ruined furniture lay strewn everywhere, as if a tornado had just passed through.
And then Natasha gasped in shock. Because instead of Berlinghoff Rasmussen, or Doctor Lester Brooks, they saw someone entirely unexpected in the midst of all of the carnage. Someone none of them thought they would ever see again.
She couldn't help but cry out.
"Jirel!"
'*'*'
'*'*'
Jirel heard her voice, and looked up from where he was crouched on the floor.
He saw four familiar faces, with expressions ranging from relief to confusion and back again. Four faces he had come to miss so much. And he wanted to rush over to them. To hug them in relief.
But instead, he quickly beckoned Natasha over. He needed a medic, for the man that was lying on the ground next to him.
To his side, Jenner stood and stepped back to give Natasha room as she approached. She emitted another audible gasp when she saw the patient himself. An aged Trill, but one that looked exactly like…
"It's a long story," Jirel managed, forcing any warmer words of reconciliation to the back of his mind for now, "Can you…treat him? Please?"
Her medical training kicked in, as Jenner handed her a familiar Starfleet tricorder. She began to scan the impossibly-visaged Trill. And was immediately baffled by the readings she got back.
Klath, Denella and Sunek approached the scene, and saw the face of the man on the ground for themselves.
"Holy crap," Sunek blurted out, "That guy looks just like—"
"A very long story," Jenner underlined, the authoritative tone of his voice managing the unlikely feat of shutting the Vulcan up on the spot.
The older Jirel managed to lift his head up and weakly patted his younger self on the leg, even as Natasha continued to try and make head or tail of the readings.
"She won't be able to do anything," he croaked.
"She will," Young Jirel insisted, "She's really good."
Old Jirel mustered a chuckle, even as he grew a little weaker.
"I know. But there's nothing to treat. I'm not dying, I'm just…ceasing to exist."
Natasha looked up from the tricorder and went to respond, but found that she had no obvious follow-up to that sort of diagnosis.
"I don't belong in the timeline any more," he continued weakly, "There's no place for me here now."
"But," Young Jirel persisted, "H—How does that work? If you no longer exist, then how can you be the one that tells me what to—"
"Gotta love a temporal paradox," Old Jirel smiled peacefully, "Just…promise me a couple of things."
"Of course."
"There's a data chip, back on the runabout. I…want you to read it."
Young Jirel nodded sadly, even as his older self appeared to start to fade from view right in front of them all.
"And…I want you to…make your own future."
The older Trill slumped back, leaving the younger one at a loss for words. He felt a curious surge of emotion at the sight of the aged version of himself fading away. Even if he wasn't technically dying, it certainly felt like it.
Natasha gently set the tricorder to one side. Even if she was struggling to put together the full story of what was happening in front of her, she could see there was nothing to be done from a medical perspective.
With a final burst of energy, the older Jirel managed to beckon her closer. Young Jirel watched on curiously as she leaned in, and his old self whispered something into her ear. Whatever it was, it was enough to cause her eyes to moisten slightly as she nodded back.
And then he faded away entirely. And Jirel found himself staring down at an empty patch of metal flooring in the middle of Doctor Lester Brooks's ruined laboratory.
For a moment, nobody said anything. Nobody really knew what to say. Then, Jenner stepped over and helped Jirel back to his feet, before doing the same for Natasha. And then he gently patted his son on the back. The son that was still with him.
"Well," he managed, "I guess that's…mission accomplished."
The admiral thought back to those fateful moments before the vortex closed. What his son had been prepared to do for him. And he embraced the swell of pride that burst forth inside him.
"Thank you, Jirel," he nodded sincerely, deftly using his years of Starfleet training to hold back the tears he definitely didn't want to shed, especially in front of the Bounty's motley crew.
Jirel mustard a relieved nod back, then turned to the rest of the Bounty's confused crew and smiled warmly.
After another contemplative moment of silence, everything got too much for the most talkative member of the group.
"Ok," Sunek's rant began, "What in the sweet world of T'Plana-Hath just happened? Who was that weird old guy? Where did he go? Where did you come from? Why is Admiral Whatshisname here? What the hell is going on?"
Jirel tried to think of the best way to explain it all, to put into simple words everything that had just happened. And he quickly gave up. He'd need to wait for someone a lot cleverer than him to bring them all up to speed.
So, instead, he focused on one thing that he could explain. One thing that, after all that he had been through, and where they had ended up, he now realised was stupid not to explain to the rest of the Bounty's crew.
Whatever he was going to do, wherever his future would take him, he could start with the truth.
"Guys," he said to the gaggle in front of him, gesturing to Jenner, "I guess I'd like you all to meet…my dad."
Natasha, who had already been privy to that particular nugget of truth, smiled. The others were just stunned into silence.
"Well," Sunek managed eventually, gesturing to the grey-haired man's waistline, "You'd better hope that doesn't run in the family."
Jenner defensively placed a hand on his paunch.
And after all that had happened, Jirel was surprised to hear himself laugh out loud.