Shuttle Down II
by
Judy and Jacki


A StarTrek Voyager Novel in six parts

SUMMARY: When Tom Paris and Harry Kim crash on Earth almost 400 years in the 
past, Voyager mounts a rescue operation with the help of Sam Beckett, who has 
'leaped' into Tuvok, and Admiral Al Calavicci, and with the sometime hindrance 
of Captain Braxton of the 29th Century Time Police. 


CHAPTERS 4, 5, AND 6: The crew gets closer to a rescue and the holodoc has a 
chance to work on some of Tom's injuries. In Chapter 5 the rating is R for 
intensity of situations and language. The captivity of the crew members becomes 
more serious as Tom's nightmares endanger his health. Several hankies! By 
Chapter 6 the showdown between the captain and the colonel takes interesting 
turns as Janeway works to get her crew back. 

WARNINGS: RATING: R. Mostly PG-13, but turns into serious R after later parts. 
The R is for mature themes concerning post-traumatic stress. There's lots of Tom 
angst. Spoilers for 'Future's End' and any other episode ever shown! Set during 
end of 5th season. 

DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns Voyager and its characters. Quantum Leap was a 
Universal television series created by Donald P. Bellisario. We've borrowed all 
of them with no intent for profit. (Consider the cost of the computer, the 
software, the Internet connection, etc.) The story is ours, copyright 1997, 
1998. 

ARCHIVE: Archiving is okay, just ask us. We'll probably say yes. Please keep the 
disclaimer and our names attached. 

E-mail us at jlf@door.net. The web page is http://www.door.net/jlf. 




CHAPTER 4
Plan B
Harry tossed restlessly on his cot in the darkened room. He dreamed that 
Warrington was interrogating him again. She loomed above him. She demanded 
answers. Hiss. And more answers. Hiss. 


He turned restlessly onto his side. More hiss. More questions. And in his dream 
he answered her. Every question was met with detail after detail. He woke up 
with a start and sat up on the cot. 



Looking around the room, he saw only shadows in the darkness, shadows of 
furniture, shadows of his imagination. He heard the hiss-hiss of the ventilation 
system and then he heard himself breathe, in and out, great gulps of air. He 
felt so alone. Even the first days of Voyager's journey in the Delta Quadrant 
weren't this bad. There he had a friend in Tom Paris, there he had a role to 
play, there he had a few familiar reminders of home. 


Here on earth in this small underground cell, he had nothing, no friends, no 
job, no future. He swallowed hard on the bitter taste of his fear, the fear that 
he would let down everyone who depended on him. But feeling sorry for himself 
wouldn't help. His friend lay injured in a hospital four hundred years from 
effective medical care. The fear and defeat were so hard to shake off. Harry 
hugged himself against the underground chill. He hoped Tom was feeling better, 
but even Harry's usual optimism couldn't overcome the image of his best friend's 
battered condition. Harry lay back down on the cot, drawing the blanket up 
around his shoulders. Despite his fatigue from the nerve wracking and physically 
punishing events of the past two days, sleep wouldn't come. 
*** 
"Al. Finally." 
"What?" 
Clad in a bright green and iridescent purple outfit, Al had stepped into the 
Voyager's dining room where Alpha Shift personnel were alternately eating and 
trying to avoid eating a purplish, vibrating *thing* for their breakfast. Al 
found Sam confronting the purplish thing on his plate. Sam poked it with a fork 
and it vibrated in place. He was sure it was not purple Jello. Sam sighed and 
looked up at his friend, complaining, "We need you, Al." 
"I'm here." He nodded toward Sam's breakfast. "Nice color. Matches my outfit. 
So, who's winning?" 
Sam snorted. "It. Whatever it is." 
Al floated through the table and sat down across from Sam. "So what do you need 
me for?" 
Sam started to explain about the new plan for a rescue mission. Then he blinked 
out in a blue light just as if he were leaping and Tuvok took his place. 
Fortunately, the crew were still battling with their own breakfasts and didn't 
notice. 
"Admiral." 
"Tuvok? What happened? Where's Sam?" 
Before Tuvok could answer him, Sam leaped back in. 
"Sam! What just happened?" 


"I . . . I don't know, Al," Sam stammered. "It was the strangest thing. It felt 
like leaping . . . only . . . only it didn't." 
"You sound a little confused, Sam." 


"I am confused. I don't remember this ever happening before. Has it, Al?" 
"No. No. It hasn't." 
"Was Tuvok here in my place?" 
"Just for a moment." 
The silence lengthened between them. Finally, Al asked, "Did you go to the 
waiting room?" 
"I think so. But I wasn't alone in there." 
"You weren't?" 
"No. There was a guy there in in a white shirt, khaki pants blue eyes, blonde 
hair." 


"Uh-oh. Braxton." 
"The time cop." 


"I'll bet he's trying to bring you home." Al gazed at the younger man. 


"Maybe right now isn't such a good time. Al, I've got to help these people and 
the mission the captain has in mind needs me. And you. Could you talk to 
Braxton, get him to hold off for a little while?" 


"Uh. . . Sam, Braxton doesn't know I know about him." 


Sam leaned across the table, upset that his strongest desires, desires to go 
home and to help others, had come into conflict. "Well, maybe this would be a 
good time to tell him." 


"I will. I will. And maybe you should tell the Captain." 


"Let me think about it," Sam hedged. Would Janeway see them as too unreliable to 
allow them on the trip? 


Al knew enough not to push Sam. Instead, he asked, "Now, what do you need me 
for?" 


"We need you to be an Admiral. In dress whites." 


"I think I can handle that." 


*** 


The shuttle pulled away from Voyager once again with Chakotay piloting. B'Elanna 
and the holodoc were also along. As were Sam and Al. Al wore his admiral's 
uniform with the mobile holoemitter on his arm. Sam wore slacks, shirt and tie, 
and a white lab coat. A white gimme cap covered the tops of the Vulcan ears. 
Stuffed in the pocket of the coat was a stethoscope. The holodoc was similarly 
attired and held a medical case. B'Elanna had a multicolored kerchief tied 
around her forehead barely concealing her ridges. Both she and Chakotay wore the 
uniforms of a paramedic. 


As the shuttle moved over Lubbock, Chakotay engaged the modified holoemitters on 
the shuttle exterior and it transformed the outward appearance into that of a 
helicopter. B'Elanna used the fuzzy lock algorithm watching for confirmation of 
Tom's presence. With Al's help, Chakotay talked to the hospital base and 
identified themselves as a medical transport from Albuquerque. As an apparent 
helicopter, the shuttle swung over to University Medical Center and set down on 
the helipad in the noon sunshine. Sam, Chakotay, and the holodoc exited and 
strode purposefully into the hospital emergency entrance. Al stayed behind 
monitoring the radio chatter. B'Elanna focused her attention on the 
holoemitters, praying that the jury rigged system would hold up until they were 
no longer needed. 


Sam asked at the emergency room desk after the location of Tom Paris. The clerk 
looked up the information on his computer and shrugged, indicating that they had 
no one registered by that name. As Sam and the clerk talked, Chakotay turned 
away and surreptitiously palmed his tricorder using it to scan for Tom's fuzzy 
skeletal signature. 


"I'm sorry, doctor," the clerk said. 


"He'd been in a plane crash," Sam explained. 


The clerk shrugged again. "I wasn't on duty yesterday. If he was hurt badly 
enough to be admitted you might ask at intensive care. Maybe he was there and 
has been moved. I don't know. He could be between rooms and not yet logged into 
the computer. It shouldn't work that way, but . . . " 


Sam frowned and looked at Chakotay. He subtly turned his eyes toward a corridor 
behind them. "Dr. Beckett." 


"Yes." 


Chakotay's eyes indicated that they should go. Sam thanked the clerk and 
followed Chakotay to the corridor, the holodoc trying not to stare too blatantly 
at his surroundings as he trailed behind. The three men kept going down the 
corridor until Chakotay stopped, frowning seriously at his tricorder. Puzzled, 
he punched a button. The frown disappeared. "Tom is somewhere above us. Is there 
a lift around here?" 


"I'm sure I wouldn't know," the holodoc sniffed. "I'm a doctor, not an 
architect." 


Sam stopped his smile in mid emergence as he located the elevator. He pushed the 
'up' button. "Here. This'll take us up." 


They went up one floor and Chakotay indicated that they should get out. In the 
corridor Sam spotted the signs that directed traffic. One sign read, "Surgical 
Intensive Care" with an arrow pointing the way. Chakotay's tricorder readings 
agreed with the sign. "This way." 
The men arrived at a set of double doors guarded by two MPs, one reading a 
newspaper, the other eating out of a colorful sack. Their name tags identified 
them as Mackenzie and Brown. Behind the men a sign told visitors that they had 
ten minutes at the top of the hour and that only two visitors were allowed at a 
time. Sam ignored the sign, ignored the only mildly interested men, and pushed 
at the doors. The MP with the newspaper, Mackenzie, began to object. 


"Hey." Mackenzie stood up, realizing that these were new doctors he was seeing. 
"Sirs. Who are you visiting?" 


"I'm Dr. Beckett, Mr. Mackenzie," Sam said answering a different question. Then 
he went on the offensive. "Isn't it a little unusual to find an MP, two MPs, 
guarding the seriously ill? I doubt if they're going anywhere." 


Chakotay and the holodoc let Sam carry on as the MP became flustered. The 
holodoc had to acknowledge that for a doctor Sam Beckett wasn't a half bad 
intimidator. Having said his piece, Sam pushed open the doors and the three of 
them entered the quiet unit. The MP's demand for them to stop ended feebly as 
the doors closed behind them. Mackenzie trailed into the unit behind the 
visitors. 


A stern faced nurse came up to the threesome, diverted from her original path to 
one of the bays holding a sick patient. She addressed the space between the 
holodoc and Sam. "Doctor." 


Sam picked up the implied challenge. "Dr. Beckett here to see the plane crash 
patient. These are my associates. And you are . . . Nurse. . . " he read her 
nameplate ". . . Duran. Where is the man?" 


"Room 9, doctor." She nodded toward the back of the unit. 


"Thank you, Nurse Duran," Chakotay said flashing his dimples in a warm smile. 


The nurse gave him a second look before she continued on her way. For his part 
the holodoc appreciated how twice Sam had used names of the people he met to 
good effect. And Chakotay had obviously had an impact on the nurse with his 
smile. 'Something to remember,' the holodoc told himself. Hanging behind, 
Mackenzie leaned casually against the nurse's station and watched the three men. 
Unseen by them, he pulled out a cell phone and punched in a phone number. 


The entrance to Tom's cubicle was flanked by two empty chairs. Chakotay 
remarked, "More guards?" 


Sam shrugged. "This level of security is unusual. I don't know what to make of 
it." 
Sam stepped inside the bay and was not surprised to find the patient on a 
ventilator. But neither the holodoc nor Chakotay were prepared for what they 
saw. Sam's eyes automatically scanned the monitors and he picked up the chart 
with the name 'Jones' written on it noting the ups and downs of Paris' recovery. 
Unfortunately, Sam noted, it was mostly down. The young man on the bed was 
barely alive; only the life support was keeping him breathing. 


Chakotay gasped and the holodoc angrily asked. "What are they doing to him? 
That's . . . unbelievable." 
"They're keeping him alive," Sam told them grimly. 


"But that tube in his mouth . . . it looks as if it's forcing him to breathe." 


"It is. His lungs have filled with fluid and without the forced breathing he 
wouldn't be getting any oxygen." 


"This is . . . this is. . . " Chakotay finally lapsed into silence, speechless 
at the sight of the mottled bruised face, the plaster around his left arm, the 
sheer whiteness of the skin where it wasn't discolored, the chest that rose and 
fell in time with a noisy machine. "Is it okay if I try to talk to him?" 


"Yeah. He's sleeping, not in a coma. That's good news, by the way." Sam tried to 
keep his voice soft and gentle. These two cared about the young pilot. Now that 
Sam had seen him, he felt the beginnings of a kind of sadness over a man dying 
too young. 'Funny,' Sam thought, 'normally I'm a lot more emotional about these 
kinds of events.' 


"I'd better get to work," the holodoc said to no one in particular. He set up 
his field kit on the portable bed table and began drawing out his medical 
tricorder, regenerator, and hyposprays. He picked up the tricorder first. 


Chakotay stepped close to the bed while at the same time trying to stay out of 
the way of the holodoc. He was overwhelmed at Tom's appearance. In order to 
examine the extent of Tom's injuries, the holodoc had pulled down the light 
sheet and blanket, exposing Tom's battered body covered now with only a thin, 
too short hospital gown and with a variety of tubes going in and out of various 
parts of his body. Chakotay thanked the spirits that he hadn't been injured in 
this primitive time. He could see extensive bruising and swelling all over Tom's 
body. Tentatively, he touched Tom's unbandaged arm. "Tom?" 


The holodoc ran his scan, frowning over the readings and then ran the scan 
again. He turned a grim face to Sam. As Sam and the holodoc conferred in hushed 
tones, Chakotay's full attention went to Tom. Tom's eyelids fluttered and 
Chakotay encouraged him to greater awareness by calling his name again. Tom's 
eyes managed to open partway and he seemed to stare at Chakotay. The first 
officer patted Tom's arm and tried to reassure the injured man. "I know you 
can't talk now, Tom. I guess that's a first." Chakotay thought he'd better 
clarify his remark, "That was a joke. But we're here. The holodoc's got his 
tricorder on you and he's going to make you as good as new. It won't be long." 


Tom's eyes seemed to register Chakotay's presence, but Chakotay couldn't be sure 
if the younger man recognized him. There didn't seem to be any real recognition 
or reaction from Tom. Tom's eyes blinked a few times and then closed. Chakotay 
turned on the doctor, urging him to do something. 


"I am, Commander. Please step aside now." 


The holodoc moved into the space Chakotay made for him. Regenerator in hand, the 
holodoc carefully held it over Tom's head then gradually moved it along Tom's 
body lingering over each injured site, his arm, chest, side, abdomen, hips, and 
leg. "This is a preliminary fix, very superficial. None of the broken bones are 
knit enough to bear weight. But I've managed to heal the surgical scar to 
decrease the risk of infection, reduce some of the fluid buildup in his lungs 
and reduce some of the swelling in his brain. I really can't do much more until 
we get him back to the ship. This should stabilize him enough to get him there." 



It was a long speech for the holodoc, but he didn't want the commander to expect 
Paris on his feet piloting the shuttle anytime soon. The holodoc made another 
pass over Tom's body and concentrated on Tom's face. Sam stared in awe. The 
swelling and bruising had gone down and Sam could almost make out the fine bone 
structure of the pilot's face. Before the holodoc had finished, the group was 
interrupted by Hernandez and Rain. 


"What do you think you're doing?" Hernandez barked. 


Rain startled at the sharpness in her companion's tone. Then she saw Sam. 
"Tuvok! What . . . ?" 


"Don't interrupt me," the holodoc ordered. "I need full concentration here." 


"Doctor!" Rain exclaimed, recognizing the holographic doctor from his visit to 
Los Angeles two years earlier. "You're here to help Tom." 


Chakotay saw Rain smile at 'Tuvok' and then the holodoc in turn. "You must be 
Rain Robinson." 


Sam tried out a tentative smile on the young woman. "Uh . . . hi." 


"What the hell's going on?" Hernandez demanded. 


Nurse Duran stuck her head inside the cubicle. "All of you visitors are going to 
have to wait outside." She waited for a moment. "Don't make me call security." 


At the mention of security, the holodoc moved protectively closer to Paris. "I'm 
trying to save this man's life." 
"Nurse Duran, please. Give us a moment." Chakotay smiled at her. She seemed to 
subside somewhat, but pushed her way toward the monitors. "I need to check him. 
The patient comes first." The nurse took the chart from Sam's hands and compared 
the last entries with the readings from the monitors. She looked up finally and 
stared at the holodoc. She knew what the monitors were showing and she saw the 
restored face of the injured patient. Her tone held a mixture of curiosity, 
respect, and a little fear. "What did you do?" 


Rain looked over the nurse's shoulders at the monitors. "Holy cow." 


"What?" Hernandez barked again. "Will somebody answer me?" 


Rain looked in wonder at Tom while speaking to Hernandez. "Look at him, Rachel. 
When we went for lunch his temp was 104.2. Now it's 101.3. And it looks as if he 
could start breathing on his own. He's got some color back in his face. I mean, 
a different color. Not all bruised." 


Nurse Duran repeated her question. "What did you do?" 


Sam saw the holodoc's chest puff out and feared the truth would come out, so he 
cut off the holodoc's words after the word "I." Sam told the visitors, "My 
colleague used an experimental technique we developed." 


"Yes," Chakotay picked up the story. "And we're moving him to our 'facility' to 
finish his convalescence." 


"I don't think so," Nurse Duran drawled, folding her arms across her chest. "And 
don't think of using those dimples, darling." 


"For the third time, what in the hell's going on?" Hernandez snapped. She 
pointed to Tuvok. "Rain, you recognized this man." 


"He's Tuvok. Tom's friend. You remember, the one I told you about." Rain's eyes 
darted back and forth from Hernandez to Tom. When Tom struggled awake, she and 
the Voyager crew turned their attention to him. No one noticed when Hernandez 
pivoted in disgust and left the cubicle. 


Tom's eyes seemed clearer, his complexion pinker. He motioned for the tube to 
come out. The nurse looked at the holodoc, who nodded. But she said, "I'll need 
to get the doctor. For the anesthetic." 


"I have just the thing," the holodoc told her carefully concealing his actions 
from the visitors. He retrieved a hypospray from the table. He adjusted its 
setting and pressed it against Tom's neck. "This will last only a few minutes. 
You may proceed." 


With their attention focused on the nurse's actions in removing the ventilator 
tube from Tom's throat, they didn't notice until too late that Hernandez had 
returned with the two MPs. Hernandez startled them by saying, "If this man is 
well enough to travel, then he comes with us." 


Chakotay reached for a phaser tucked into the medical kit, but Mackenzie drew 
his gun and leveled it at the first officer. "Don't do it, mister. This man is 
our responsibility." 


Hernandez observed, "Doctor. Your experimental treatment seems to have worked." 


"No. Not entirely. He won't fully recover unless he goes to our 'facility'. And 
even then, he may have gone untreated too long." 


Rain looked at Sam. "Is that right, Tuvok?" 


"I'm afraid so," Sam told her. "We have . . . we have the most advanced medical 
facility in . . . in thousands of miles. If my colleague here says he needs to 
be in our facility, then he does." 


"Are you a doctor, too? I mean, you're dressed like one but I thought you were . 
. . you know," she whispered the words, "a spy." 


Sam smiled at her. "I'm many things, Ms. Robinson." 


Chakotay cut in, "We need to get Tom moved now. And," he gave Hernandez his full 
attention, "we need to retrieve our other crewman. Harry Kim." 
Rain looked guiltily at Hernandez and Chakotay read the situation right. "So you 
do have him. We need to pick him up." 


Hernandez challenged Chakotay's quiet assumption of authority. After all, her MP 
held a gun on the man. "I don't think you understand the situation. The Colonel 
has jurisdiction here." 


Chakotay's hand moved slowly, casually across his chest as if to brush off a 
piece of lint. Instead, he activated his comm badge. "You may have a colonel, 
but we have an admiral. Admiral Calavicci." 


His hand brushed against the comm badge again to shut it off. Hernandez wasn't 
sure what she had just seen him do -- her eyes narrowed suspiciously, but she 
couldn't figure it out. 


Tom's coughs diverted their attention from the stalemate. Nurse Duran and the 
holodoc almost collided as they both bent over the patient. Chakotay edged back 
closer to Tom's bed. "Tom. How do you feel?" 


Tom wasn't sure what he was seeing. But he experimented with answering the 
question that had been addressed to him by the man who looked like Chakotay. His 
voice croaked, "Hurts. Throat hurts." 


"I'll get you ice chips," the nurse told him and bustled out of the room 
relieved to have an excuse to get away and call hospital security. On her way 
out, she put her hand on Mackenzie's gun arm. "Put that away. This is a 
hospital, not a free fire zone." 


Holodoc thought he could love that woman, but duty called. He turned his 
attention to Tom Paris and gave him a pain relieving hypospray. Rain had put a 
cup and straw to Tom's face and Tom sucked on the straw for a few sips then 
turned his face away. His voice still weak, Tom asked, "Where am I?" 


They all looked at each other and finally Chakotay spoke. "You're in a hospital, 
Tom. We want to get you well enough to take you home. The doctor and Sa . . . 
Tuvok are here to help you." 


"Harry?" Tom asked, almost afraid to hear the answer. 


"Harry's fine, Tom." 


"He died," Tom contradicted, eyes tearing. 


"No. He didn't." 


Tom swallowed. Why wouldn't they tell him the truth? "No. The shuttle crashed. 
Harry died." 


Chakotay put his hand on Tom's shoulder. "Tom. He's alive." 


The tears overflowed and trickled down his face. "But . . . " 


Hernandez took pity on the anguished patient. "Your friend is alive. He's in a 
lot better shape than you are. He came to see you. Don't you remember?" 


"He . . . he was an angel." Tom whispered as Chakotay's fingers gently wiped 
away the tears from his face. Tom tried to reconcile the hallucinatory visit of 
Harry the angel with the words of both Chakotay and the unknown woman. What had 
happened to them? He felt confused and unsure of himself. He didn't really 
remember things clearly. The wormhole and the wild ride through it. The crash. 
On a planet. But what planet? These people in the room were human. And one was 
Rain Robinson. "I'm on Earth?" 


"Very good, Mr. Paris," the holodoc told him. "I think you're going to make it." 



"Was that a test?" Tom asked. He missed the smile that passed between 'Tuvok' 
and Chakotay and he missed the implications of what it meant that the man he 
knew as Tuvok had smiled. He winced from the soreness in his throat. Despite the 
hypospray, it felt raw and scratchy. Closing his eyes, he missed Chakotay 
stopping the holodoc from using the regenerator on Tom's throat by nonverbally 
pointing out all the visitors that were watching. Chakotay squeezed Tom's 
shoulder in reassurance and Tom felt grateful. The commander was like a solid 
landmark in a cloudy nebula. Although he still hurt, he realized the pains had 
subsided to almost tolerable levels. And he could breathe again. He remembered 
vaguely how hard it had been to breathe just a short while ago. But then the 
thought that he was on earth intruded on his inventory of his aches and pains. 
If he was on earth, did that mean a return to prison? Pushing through the panic 
at that thought was the realization that Rain was here. Rain was from the 20th 
century, wasn't she? But prison . . . he shivered in spite of the fever that 
still gripped him. "Earth? What happened? When . . .?" 


"We'll talk later, Tom," Chakotay told him firmly, eyeing the MPs and Hernandez. 
"Try to rest for a little while. The rest of us have some things to sort out 
here." 


The nurse arrived with a cup of chipped ice. She edged past the MPs and took up 
a position near Tom's head. "Here. Let this melt in your mouth." 


He opened his mouth and gratefully accepted the ice. Closing his eyes, he 
allowed himself to enjoy the sensation of the cold icy water sliding down his 
raw throat. It was gone too soon, but before he had a chance to ask for more, he 
felt another hypospray and heard the doc's words, "This should help him to 
rest." 


Realizing that the holodoc had once again managed to use his body to hide his 
actions from those present, Sam said, "Good idea. I saw some disturbing 
fluctuations in his vital signs. I don't think he's out of the woods yet." 


"All right. Now, we're going to transfer Tom to our facility and you will not 
hinder us," Chakotay bluntly told Hernandez. 


Hernandez snorted. 'Here we go again,' she thought. "Not likely, mister. I told 
you our colonel has jurisdiction and we have the upper hand here." 


Behind her, Al drew himself up in full admiral splendor and said sweetly, "I'm 
Admiral Calavicci. Is there a problem here?" 


Hernandez and the MPs whirled about to face Al's grim visage. Each executed a 
salute as they realized that this was indeed an admiral. 'Whoops,' Hernandez 
thought, 'the Colonel is not going to like this.' That thought was quickly 
followed by, 'How am I going to tell her this?' 


"Put down your weapons, boys," the Admiral told the MPs and they reholstered the 
guns. 


Chakotay requested, "Nurse Duran, would you unhook our friend here from all 
these machines?" 


The nurse wished her hospital security would get here soon. She wasn't sure that 
it was safe for the patient to be unhooked. And this time, the commander was not 
smiling at her. His politely worded 'request' had sounded more like a demand. 
"I'm not sure it's in the patient's best interests. His doctor needs to be the 
one to decide." 
Chakotay looked to Sam and the holodoc for advice. Sam read the monitors. "He's 
stabilized. I'd leave in the IV and the catheter until we get him back to the . 
. . uh . . . facility." 


"You're not his doctor," Nurse Duran pointed out. 


The Admiral intervened. "We all appreciate your concern for this patient, but 
please cooperate. They don't send out an admiral unless its important. And I 
want this boy moved. Now." 


Chakotay softened, smiled at her. "Please." 


"Well, darling, since you put it so nicely. But one of you is going to put on 
this chart that you take responsibility. And billing is going to want someone to 
pay for his care before you leave." Feeling that she had covered all the bases, 
Nurse Duran began unhooking the EKG leads from Tom's chest. Rain watched the 
nurse comply with Chakotay's request, ready to assist if needed. But the nurse's 
hands were gentle as she pulled away the hospital gown to get at the leads. Rain 
couldn't help but notice how bruised Tom's chest appeared under the light 
dusting of curly golden hair. It had obviously been one hell of a crash. 


Sam indicated Hernandez. "She'll take care of all the arrangements. Right?" 


Hernandez' dark eyes narrowed dangerously. "We already have made arrangements to 
pay his bill," she grated out. "Can I come with you?" Rain asked Chakotay. "I'm 
Tom's friend." 


All four men, the admiral, Sam, Chakotay and the holodoc, said, "No." 


"Why not?" she whined. She really wanted to see where Tom was going and unravel 
the mystery behind these men's unexpected arrivals into her life. 


Nurse Duran meanwhile finished her work and turned off the monitors. "I've 
unhooked him from the pain pump; you'll need to take care of his pain management 
yourselves. Bring in your stretcher." 


Chakotay and the holodoc looked at each other in surprise. They were so used to 
relying on transporters that they hadn't thought of the need for a stretcher. 
Sam directed Rain, "Rain, there's stretchers down in emergency. Would you please 
bring one up here?" 


"Does this mean I get to go?" 


"We'll see," Sam told her. He knew the answer was no, but hoped for her 
cooperation by the delaying tactic. 


Rain glanced back at Tom and went out for the stretcher. As she left the unit, 
two hospital security personnel, a man and a woman, entered. "Uh-oh," Rain said 
under her breath as she continued on her way. 


When the security detail arrived at Tom's cubicle, they saw two women and six 
men crowded into the small space. With their presence the bay was filled beyond 
capacity. Hernandez jostled against the admiral and his mobile holoemitter fell 
off. At first, with all eyes on the new arrivals, no one noticed that the 
admiral had disappeared. Then Chakotay realized that Al was gone. He said 
nothing but his eyes widened in fear. Without the admiral, their authority could 
evaporate just as quickly as his holoimage. The holodoc and Sam could still see 
Al. It was the holodoc who first realized that Chakotay was signaling to him 
frantically and pointing to the emitter now lying on the floor. But Hernandez 
and Brown were between the holodoc and the emitter. As the holodoc tried to push 
his way forward, Sam, not understanding what was going on, put out a restraining 
hand. "Stay with Tom," Sam hissed. 


"You don't understand," the holodoc told him sotto voce, "the admiral." 


Hernandez whirled around, having overheard the holodoc. She realized the admiral 
was gone. "Where is he?" 


"Who?" Chakotay asked innocently. 


"The admiral." 


Nurse Duran made up her mind. Of the different factions, she rather liked the 
Chakotay faction better. "I believe he left with Ms. Robinson." 


Chakotay almost choked, then turned his full smile on the nurse, fully aware 
that he was flirting with her. He mouthed the words 'thank you' at her. 


The female security detail took in the confused scene and announced, "The nurse 
and one doctor can stay. The rest of you, out. Now. We'll sort this out in the 
security office." 


Sam stayed behind with the sleeping pilot. Unseen by all but the holodoc, Al 
also remained behind. Once the traffic had cleared out, Sam retrieved the mobile 
holoemitter and returned it to its place on Al's arm. 


"I guess I went invisible, huh?" 


"Yeah. Al, I think . . . " before Sam could finish his thought he was seized by 
the tingling sensation that had occurred before when he and Tuvok had briefly 
changed places. 


Al watched in horror as his friend seemed to shimmer incorporeal. But Sam didn't 
disappear. This time a shimmery figure emerged from Sam and both figures fell 
down. The admiral admonished, "I don't like this, Sam." 


Sam gasped from the strange sensations acting on his unconsenting body. Then he 
began to straighten up. The other figure was Tuvok who stumbled from the effects 
and dizzily grabbed hold of the bed rails on Tom's bed. The admiral swore 
softly, "Damn, I really don't like this." 


Neither figure had totally escaped the aura of the shimmer. As Sam almost 
reached his feet, the shimmer intensified and Tuvok melded back into him, both 
shimmers fusing together. The shimmer dissipated. The whole incident had taken 
less than ten seconds. Unless Al had seen it with his own eyes, he would not 
have believed it. 


"Sam? Is that you?" he asked of the Tuvok appearing man in front of him. 


"It's me. What happened, Al?" 


"You became two people all at the same time. You and Tuvok. What . . . what 
happened?" 


"That's my question. You did talk to Braxton, didn't you?" 


"Not yet. You don't think that was his doing?" 


"Who else, Al?" 


"I got your point. Maybe I'd better get back and take care of that little 
detail. Are you going to need me around here some more?" 


"Yes. Wherever they went, an admiral's voice could be what's needed to get 
Chakotay and the doctor out of security and Tom released to us so we can get him 
back to the ship." 


Rain appeared at the doorway with a gurney. "Hi." 


"Good timing," the admiral observed. "I'll head down to security. In the 
meantime, why don't you just try to wheel him out of here? I think you've got a 
clear shot now that all the mayhem's been moved." 


"Okay," Sam agreed. "We'll take care of Tom, you take care of the others and 
we'll meet you back at the helicopter." 


"Consider it done," Al told him, drawing himself up to full military authority. 


Rain wheeled the gurney past the exiting admiral into the cubicle next to Tom's 
bed. Once out of sight, Al quietly requested that Ziggy center him on Chakotay, 
then he disappeared. Distracting Rain, Sam let down the bed rails and motioned 
Rain toward Tom's feet. "On the count of three." 


They moved Tom and his various tubes and bags to the gurney. Rain covered him 
with a blanket. As they started to move out of the unit, four MPs bustled 
inside. Sam took one look and realized he wasn't going to get the pilot back to 
the ship on this day. 


*** 


Haylene noted the attempts to reverse the leap of the human into the Vulcan. 
Obviously, someone's attempts were going dangerously awry. She searched for this 
someone and was surprised to find a third entity who was out of place in the 
time line. A 29th Century time police officer was the source of the abortive 
reversal attempts. Definitely, this situation had captured her curiosity. 
Although she searched, she was unable to locate the original source of the 
leaping. 


*** 


B'Elanna was an angry woman. Her Klingon side bristled with tactless venom. 
"What do you mean he was gone!!!" 


"B'Elanna, please be calm. We can find him. You have the skeletal lock. Let's 
use it to track him. He can't have gone far." Chakotay's words sounded far 
calmer than he felt. The hollow sick feeling he'd had when he'd discovered Tom's 
cubicle empty was still with him. He took a deep breath trying to center himself 
and slid into the pilot's seat. Without Al he wasn't sure what he was supposed 
to say, but B'Elanna had passed the time learning as much as she could from 
monitoring the airways and she called base. They were cleared to take off and 
she told Chakotay to go west. Still in the guise of a helicopter, the shuttle 
banked to the west. She used the shuttle's computer in an attempt to identify 
Tom's skeletal signature. 


"I'm not getting it," she muttered. 


The holodoc suggested, "Perhaps his skeletal features have changed yet again. I 
was able to do some regeneration on Tom when I was in there." 


"Of course," she swore and told the computer to set a fuzzy resolution somewhere 
between the last setting and Tom's original pattern. "I'm picking it up." 


"Where?" 


"Keep going to the west. I'm setting the small viewscreen to show us the surface 
traffic." A picture-within-a-picture appeared on their viewscreen, allowing them 
to see the outside conditions as well as the traffic down below them. "Computer. 
Superimpose identification of the fuzzy lock of Tom Paris on the surface 
traffic." 


A blinking cursor settled on top of one of the vehicles moving westward. "Okay. 
Let's see if this lock is stable enough for a transport. Computer, estimate the 
probability of a successful transport to the shuttle." 


B'Elanna swore in Klingon when the computer told her the chance of success was 
only 28%. Her string of epithets having run their course, she demanded, 
"Computer. Why is the chance of success so low?" 


"Parameters are not sufficiently identified for successful transport." 


"What does that mean?" the holodoc asked. 


She explained, "This fuzzy lock is fine for locating Tom and quite a bit of his 
surroundings. But it's the same reason we couldn't beam him out of the hospital. 
The information is too fuzzy, too imprecise to guarantee that he'd actually 
rematerialize as just Tom. We beam out an injured man, part of his bed, part of 
his medical equipment, and if the pattern buffer can't sort it out without 
significant error we get back a mixed matrix -- he could end up looking like a 
dysfunctional Borg if he survived at all. Damn! Damn! Damn!" 


"All right. We'll follow them, land the shuttle right behind them, go out and 
physically get him back when they stop," Chakotay suggested. 


"Right," she agreed testily. "We go in with phasers blazing and to hell with the 
Prime Directive. The Captain would kill us." 


Chakotay looked over at her curiously. "We go in and we get Tom. And if they've 
taken him to the same place where Harry is, we get Harry as well." 


"Chakotay. Have you noticed it's just the two of us?" 


"Excuse me," the holodoc noted, "but I am here as well." 


"You're a doctor, not a commando," she told him. 


"That's my line, Lt. Torres." 


Before the doctor could respond further, Chakotay interrupted their verbal 
volleys. "B'Elanna, look at the viewscreen," The blinking cursor had 
disappeared. 


"Where'd he go? Computer, locate Tom Paris." 


"Searching. Search is unsuccessful." 


"What happened?" 


"It was there. Stationary," Chakotay told her. "I saw it move slightly and then 
it disappeared." 


"Computer. Reconfigure the scanners to maximum." 


"Reconfiguring." 


"Locate Tom Paris." 


"Search is unsuccessful." 


On a hunch, she directed, "Scan for Harry Kim." 


"Scan is unsuccessful." 


"Computer, identify individuals with Tom before his signal was lost." 


"Four unknown human males. One unknown human female. One human/Vulcan male, Sam 
Tuvok Beckett." 


"Where are they now?" 


"Unknown." 


"What are they using to block our scanners?" B'Elanna stopped just short of 
slamming her fist into the bulkhead by her side. Her hand still hurt from the 
last time she'd given in to her frustration. "Damn!" 


"Unknown shielding," the computer answered. 


"Computer. Zoom in on Paris' last known location and display." Chakotay wanted 
to see where Tom had disappeared. 


The picture-in-a-picture zoomed in on a van parked in front of an airplane 
hanger. There were two sentries visible on duty, but nothing more. 


Chakotay told the computer, "Computer, scan on multiple frequencies and store." 


He piloted the shuttle up and quickly away from the scene. B'Elanna asked him in 
disbelief, "You're leaving?" 


"You were right. We'll come back when the chances of getting Tom and Harry back 
are a lot better than they are right now. We can't go into that situation now. 
Those guards were armed, B'Elanna. We need more information about this 
building." 


Wisely, she kept her thought 'we've done it before' to herself. B'Elanna 
realized the difference between an encounter in the Delta Quadrant and the 
present situation on primitive earth. She had a healthy respect for the 
integrity of the time line, if not always for the Prime Directive. Slumping into 
her chair, B'Elanna realized she hadn't seen him since he'd winked at her in the 
conference room. What she wouldn't give to have both of those blue eyes and the 
body to which they belonged in the same room with her. Her room, maybe. Hugging 
her arms around herself, B'Elanna tried to think positively. Despite these 
setbacks in rescuing Tom, she had to believe that they would get Tom back to 
Voyager. And back to her. 


*** 


When Tom woke up, his room was dark and felt different. He kept his eyes closed 
for a while, trying to sense what seemed different. It wasn't that he was on 
Voyager. He'd recognize her hum anywhere. There was a 'hiss' 'hiss' sound. 
Otherwise, it was as quiet as a tomb. That was very different from the hospital 
where there had been constant noises, including the ones made by the machines 
connected to him. Now, he wasn't aware of any machine noises. He did tune in to 
his various aches and pains. It wasn't too bad, but he felt both sluggish and 
almost dreamy. He remembered some drug concoctions he'd ingested during those 
long ago, drifting days when he'd worked so hard to obliterate his emotional 
pain with alcohol and other drugs. And, chillingly, he recalled the Auckland 
prison. The illegal drugs he'd unwillingly been given so that . . . No. He 
wouldn't think about that now. Back then he'd felt damped down, dissociated from 
himself. And that was somewhat like how he felt now. Drugged. 


'Something must have gone wrong,' Tom realized. He was supposed to have gone 
back to Voyager, but he remembered a ride in a van with Rain and Tuvok. Where 
was he? It didn't seem like Voyager. On Voyager they wouldn't have drugged him 
like this. Would they? Scared of what he might see, Tom finally opened his eyes. 
Wherever he was, it was very dark. He saw nothing as he tossed his head from 
side to side trying in vain to see something, anything. Panicked, he gulped in 
deep breaths of air as he felt the room and the darkness closing in on him. Tom 
wanted to scream, but his attempts scraped at his already sore throat and all 
that came out was a sorry croak. The panic intensified and he hyperventilated, 
which only increased his terror. He broke out in a clammy sweat and gulped and 
gulped at the air. Finally, without answers, he passed out. 


Rain entered Tom's room in the infirmary area of the underground compound, 
leaving the door cracked open so that she could see without turning on a light. 
When she checked on him, she found Tom's fever had returned and his skin felt 
clammy to her touch. She debated not calling in Dr. Smith, but finally decided 
she didn't know enough about Tom's condition to treat him herself. In the 
compound's conference room, Warrington looked over the dark skinned man who'd 
identified himself as Dr. Samuel Beckett. She'd long ago asked him to remove his 
cap and now she regarded the slanted eyebrows, the oval forehead, and the 
pointed ears with a mixture of suspicion and fear. "How do you explain your 
appearance?" 


"What? My black skin? I think that's obvious, Colonel." 


"Lt. Tarani ran a computer search on the name you gave Mr. Mackenzie: Samuel 
Beckett from Indiana, MIT, and other schools. Beckett is white." 


Sam winced at her accusation, but said nothing. 


"Your ears. How'd they get that way?" She paused for her most damaging charge. 
"And when Dr. Smith took a blood sample, why was your blood green? Where are you 
from, Mr. Who-Ever-You-Are?" 


Sam remained silent. Her voice was compelling, but he knew there was nothing he 
could tell her. 


"You're an alien, aren't you?" she suggested softly. 


Sam looked at her startled. "No. I'm not." 


"Then what is your explanation?" Now her voice filled the room, demanding 
answers. "You're not Dr. Beckett, so who are you?" 


Johannsen led Harry Kim into the room. "Colonel. Here's Ensign Kim, as you 
requested." 


Harry's surprise at seeing Tuvok was too easily written on his face for 
Warrington to miss. Without thinking, the young ensign blurted out, "Tuvok! What 
. . . " 


Harry stopped himself at the stricken look on the commander's face. 


Warrington knew this kid had no poker face and was pleased that it worked to her 
advantage again. She whirled on the young man. "Who is this, Ensign?" 


Harry clammed up and she persisted. "You called him Tuvok. 'Tuvok' what? What's 
his rank?" 


Sam sighed. "Tuvok is a commander. There is no need to badger the boy. Is there 
any chance you'd allow us to talk to each other? Alone." 


"Not now. No, I don't think so, Commander Tuvok," she angrily emphasized his 
name. "And I imagine that when we look there will be no trace of you in any data 
base. No fingerprints on file anywhere. The whole smokescreen. So, who do you 
work for?" 


"I'm not at liberty to say," Sam intoned, Tuvok's voice carrying the intended 
measured cadences characteristic of the commander. 


Harry smiled to himself. So Voyager had come after them through the wormhole. 
Tuvok must be here to find him and Voyager would be beaming them out at any 
minute. Still, he worried about Tom. As Warrington's eyes narrowed on Tuvok's 
calm pose, Harry asked, "Have you seen Tom? Is he all right?" 


Sam gave the earnest ensign a gentle look. "Your friend's doing better." 


Harry's relief was palpable. Even Warrington softened to see the happiness in 
the young man's face. Before Warrington could interrogate Tuvok any further, Dr. 
Smith hurried into the room and pointedly drew her off to the side out of 
hearing. Smith was unaware of the heightened sense of hearing of Vulcans or he 
would have left the room with her. 


Warrington demanded to know why the doctor interrupted her. Smith's hushed voice 
and frowning face conveyed his concern, "The pilot's taken a turn for the 
worse." 


"What's wrong?" she asked checking back at the conference table to make sure 
they weren't overheard. Harry sat still, staring straight ahead, intent on 
recovering from his earlier missteps and Tuvok sat impassively as if bored. 


"His lungs were almost clear when they brought him here. But their medical 
technology may be only a temporary fix. Maybe the ride from town . . . He wasn't 
strong enough. I don't know. The pneumonia's gaining ground with a vengeance." 


"How bad is it? Can we treat him here?" 


"I've got him on an antibiotic drip. If it's going to work, it should bring 
about improvement by morning." 


"You'll keep an eye on him?" 


"'Course." Smith hesitated before leaving. 


"What is it?" the colonel asked. 


"He was asking for Tuvok." 


"Any chance I could question him? I'm not getting anywhere here." 


"I don't think now's a good time to question him. Paris seemed disoriented, 
panicked even. It might help to just let his friends see him for awhile. Maybe 
later . . ." 


She thought over the doctor's suggestion. "When I'm done here." 


Smith nodded and left to return to his patient. 


When Warrington turned her attention back to the men in the conference room, she 
found the two sitting stoically, unmoved from how she'd left them. She decided 
to try another approach. 


"Mr. Tuvok. Commander. I'm pleased that I'm finally dealing with a higher up. 
Apparently your people tell ensigns here nothing of value. But I want an 
explanation." 


Sam folded his arms across his chest and regarded her balefully. Harry watched 
the security officer confront the determined colonel. To his surprise, he 
thought he saw an uncharacteristic smile play across the commander's familiar 
face. "You want aliens, don't you? Flying saucers, little green men from Mars, 
whatever . . ." 


Harry was shocked. He wasn't sure about Tuvok's references to flying saucers and 
green men. What could the commander be thinking? 


"What if you really met an alien?" Sam continued. "What would you do to it?" 


Warrington's orders on that subject were top secret. Her lips compressed into a 
tight line. 'Tuvok' resumed, "You can't tell me, can you? But let me guess. You 
capture it, subject it to tests against its will, you keep it secret from the 
world. When it dies from your tests or from opportunistic infections or . . . " 
his voice broke a little, "from loneliness, you autopsy it. And without any 
concern for its culture or customs you dispose of its remains into some tank of 
preservatives. Isn't that what you would do, Colonel?" 


Harry felt goose bumps as he listened to Tuvok's dispassionate explanation. For 
his part, Sam had put to good use the knowledge his photographic memory had 
captured from Voyager's data banks. If there was to be a successful 'first 
contact' between earth and another species, then someone enlightened on earth 
had to influence governmental policy so that his dark scenario did not come to 
pass. Historical records hadn't told him who would be enlightened enough to 
prevent the 'capture it, test it, dispose of it' scenario from happening. Maybe 
it would be someone like Colonel Warrington or her successor. 


Warrington sat down across from the man whose skin was as dark as her own, but 
whose appearance and bearing suggested an origin that was not African. A stray 
thought tried to insinuate itself. 'What if,' the thought taunted, 'what if 
Africans had been space pioneers eons ago, populating other worlds and only now 
returned to earth to investigate the status of their descendants who'd stayed 
behind? Get real,' she told herself angrily and turned on Tuvok to deflect her 
momentary fantasy and subsequent self-reproach. "What's your point?" 


Sam sighed. For a moment he thought her reactions to his story demonstrated some 
empathy, some understanding. He guessed he was wrong. He tried another tact. 
"You have no authority to hold us. Our Admiral Calavicci, is working even as we 
speak to have us released. And he's real -- check your computers." 


Warrington didn't miss the confused expression on young Kim's face. "Yes. My 
people told me about your admiral. Apparently, he just disappeared. I have you. 
He doesn't. Tell me about your mission." 


'So much for that approach,' Sam thought. At some point he'd have to have a 
chance to clue in the ensign. Kim's facial expressions were giving away too 
much. "Colonel, I can't tell you anything and you know it. Neither can Kim or 
Paris. You know as well as I that secret means secret." 


Harry was relieved. This sounded more like Tuvok. But who was Admiral Calavicci? 



The Colonel and Tuvok sparred a little longer, but each refused to give an inch. 
Her eyes hooded in thought, Warrington considered that she might learn more if 
the commander and the ensign were to spend time with the Lieutenant. "It's 
getting late. Let's take a break. You can see your lieutenant for awhile. But 
time is on my side, gentlemen." 


*** 


Al motioned Braxton to a chair across from his desk. He'd brought the man to his 
office so that he could safely, he hoped, interrogate this unwanted guest from 
the future. Braxton was dressed in the khakis of a routine worker at the 
installation. He even had a name badge, 'Braxton'. Carefully lighting up a 
cigar, drawing on it and pluming out the smoke, Al let the moments pass and the 
discomfort level increase for Braxton. Finally, Al addressed the blond crew cut 
man opposite him. "So. Braxton. From the 29th Century, I understand." 


Al enjoyed watching the rapid play of emotions disrupting Braxton's previously 
placid exterior. Braxton even half rose from the chair, but the admiral's voice 
and cigar told him to resume his seat. "Stay put. There's armed guards outside 
of this door. You're messing with this leap and I'm not going to allow it." Al's 
tone had gone from slightly rough to a full throated gravel. He growled, "You're 
finished, mister." 


Braxton settled back in his chair, rapidly figuring out that somehow the leaper, 
the Vulcan, must have recognized him. Then the alien must have disobeyed the 
Prime Directive by giving that information to this early 21st Century admiral. 
Even as he thought about the Vulcan, Tuvok slipped inside the office and took a 
seat in a chair off to the side of the admiral's desk. Braxton resumed his 
impassive expression. He told the admiral, "Your visitor looks like Dr. Beckett, 
but I've been able to determine that he's a Vulcan." 


"My name is Tuvok. I'm from Voyager." 


Braxton gave him a humorless glance. "Voyager again? Doesn't your captain have 
anything better to do than visit this time period?" 


"And you?" Tuvok responded raising an eyebrow. Braxton's grunt was noncommittal. 



The introductions out of the way, Braxton thought he knew what the admiral 
wanted and proposed a deal. "Your Dr. Beckett wants to stop leaping. I'm trying 
to bring him home." 


Al stopped in mid-puff. He almost choked on the cigar smoke. Carefully, he 
placed the cigar in its ashtray. "Why?" 


"Isn't that what all of you want?" 


"I doubt if you're doing whatever it is you're doing just to help us. Why? Why 
now?" 


"This area, this past half century has seen multiple time-related incursions. 
The Ferengi in Roswell, Kirk in New York, Florida, California, Janeway and 
Chakotay, Tuvok and that Tom Paris in Los Angeles, and now your Dr. Beckett 
leaping into the place of Voyager's Tuvok six years ago in this time line. I 
came to the source. This project. . . " 


"What do you mean 'this project'? We weren't around when Roswell happened. Hell, 
Sam wasn't even born then." And Al told himself to get a history lesson from 
Janeway. What were Ferengi? 


"There is a space-time anomaly associated with late 20th Century and early 21st 
Century earth. Your project Ziggy and Dr. Beckett tapped into that anomaly. And 
got caught." 


"What's a space-time anomaly?" 


Braxton sighed. It didn't matter, really, what he revealed to this admiral. When 
he restored the time line as he'd been ordered, the space-time anomaly would 
close up, Project StarBright would never have happened, and this admiral would 
have no knowledge of a 29th Century time traveler. 'Might as well tell the man, 
manipulate him, enlist his cooperation, be done with this assignment,' he 
thought. Sam Beckett wasn't the only one who'd like to go home. 


"Admiral, this is complex, but I'm going to try to explain it so that it makes 
sense to you. There are many types of space-time anomalies. The one associated 
with Earth in this period allows for time travel through how to describe this? 
Engineers, scientists, men like your Dr. Beckett, imagine or design and even 
build or construct their time travel devices. Or sometimes they're caught up in 
something like the wormhole that apparently brought Voyager here this time. At 
any rate, almost anything will work." 


Al blinked in surprise. "I don't follow." 


Braxton searched for an understandable analogy. "It's hardwired into this space 
and time like speech is hardwired for humans and most humanoids. The languages 
differ, but speech is achieved nonetheless." 


"Because it's hardwired." Al mulled that over. "So there are many kinds of time 
and space travel? And Sam hit on one kind?" 


"Right." 


"Then why can't he control it?" 


Braxton decided to stick with his speech metaphor. "It's like he learned 
English. But that doesn't mean he understands the nature of language itself." 


Tuvok thought he could explain, "Dr. Beckett learned how to leap, but to control 
leaping he'd have to learn about this space-time anomaly itself. And like 
someone who only knows English and has never heard another language, he doesn't 
know there's other ways of expressing space-time. And until he does and can use 
that knowledge, he can't 'speak' the language for coming home" 


Braxton confirmed the explanation. "There you have it, Admiral." 


"And you know about space-time so you can bring him home?" Al asked skeptically. 



"Close. Space-time still has its secrets and mysteries to us in the 29th 
Century. But we know enough to have set up a temporal integrity committee, a 
time police, to prevent unwarranted interference in the lime line." 


"But Sam's been helping people, righting what once went wrong. He isn't hurting 
anything." 


"You don't know that, Admiral. His small perturbations in space-time have had 
some great consequences hundreds of years into the future. Actually, this isn't 
our first attempt to stop him. We thought an adversary . . . " 


"Alia. The Evil Leaper." 


"Yes, Alia. She wasn't evil, just taken over by evil forces from our time. It 
was an unfortunate experiment in trying to stop Beckett that didn't . . . " 


"It got away from you," Al speculated. "So. Not everyone in the 29th Century is 
on board your time police philosophy." 


Tuvok found it fascinating to learn about another time traveler like Sam 
Beckett. And that there was some controversy in the 29th century. 


"No. Not everyone is in agreement," Braxton allowed. "There are those who oppose 
us for their own gain." Braxton's contempt for these opponents was clear. 


Al fell back in his chair in surprise. "You're a true believer, aren't you?" 


Nodding, Braxton replied, "Yes, I am. And you need me. Admiral, if you're going 
to get your Dr. Beckett back, you do need me. I'm the 'language expert' who can 
communicate with the space-time anomaly." 


"You've been trying to bring Beckett back, but your two attempts haven't been 
very successful. Do you have any idea what happened this last time?" 


Braxton shrugged. "As you said. I was unsuccessful. Dr. Beckett didn't return." 


"More than that. I saw it. Both Sam and Tuvok emerged in front of my eyes. Then 
they went back to being Sam again." 


"What!" 


"Maybe you don't speak to this space-time anomaly in a language it understands, 
after all." Al tapped his cold cigar. "Now, listen to me. We need your help." 


Braxton regarded the admiral coldly. "Yes. I suspect you do. Here's what I can 
do . . ." 


*** 


Janeway paced the perimeter of the shuttle remains in the cargo bay. A shuttle 
had been parked in the background. Both B'Elanna and Chakotay stood outside of 
the territory she'd staked off. "Why is this so difficult? These are not 
Cardassians or Kazons. They're humans. On earth. Four hundred years in our 
past." 


Her death glare swept the entire cargo bay. 


"Captain. I have a theory about the shielding on their base." 


"Yes?" Janeway stood in front of B'Elanna, hands on her hips, just waiting for 
the younger woman to continue with her idea. 


"We thought their shielding might be lead as Sam or Al suggested. But I 
remodulated the sensors to work through lead shielding. I asked the computer to 
identify the nature of the shielding. Captain, the computer didn't know what it 
was." 


"I'm not following." 


"Virtually anything on earth should be capable of being probed by our sensors. 
Anything on 20th century earth." 


"Of course!" Chakotay thought he caught on. "What you're saying is that since we 
can't identify it, it's probably from some time ahead of our own future. So 
someone from the future shielded that base ." 


"Braxton." Janeway snapped. "Braxton." 


"How could he know . . . ? It must be part of 29th century history. Somehow that 
bunker went down in history as an important place, a place to be protected." 
Janeway rubbed her temples. "This time travel stuff is giving me a headache." 


"What can we do?" B'Elanna asked. "Tom and Tuvok or Sam and probably Harry are 
down there. We have to get them out. The doctor wasn't able to finish healing 
Tom." 


The holodoc appeared from the inside of the shuttle carrying his medical kit. "I 
was just arranging my instruments when I heard my name." 


"You were eavesdropping," B'Elanna corrected. 


"So I was," he assured her smugly. 


"Doctor, about Tom . . . " 


"Yes, Captain. As I'm sure you've heard, it was a good thing we got there when 
we did. Another few hours and Tom would have died. I fixed what I could, but it 
was not a thorough fix and in some areas probably not a lasting fix. After all, 
I thought we'd be flying him back to Voyager." 


"What's his prognosis?" 


"I don't believe he is in imminent danger of dying. But the concussion resulted 
in some pressure on his brain even in sick bay I might not have been able to 
reverse the damage due to the great passage of time before treatment. It just 
won't get any worse." The holodoc provided a summary of what he'd been able to 
do to help Tom. "He was not a pretty sight." 


Janeway turned to Chakotay with a question mark on her face. The commander's 
hand touched her arm. "Tom was barely recognizable." 


"Without treatment in sickbay, doctor, what do you think will happen to Tom?" 


"It's the pneumonia I'd worry about the most." 


"Can he die from that?" B'Elanna asked anxiously. 


"As I said, he's in no immediate danger. Presumably, his captors will see to his 
medical care, even if it is criminally primitive." 


"We've got to get him out of there!" B'Elanna voiced the sentiments shared by 
them all. 


As Janeway and Chakotay continued to discuss Tom with the holodoc, B'Elanna's 
eyes roved over the shuttle debris almost out of habit. Although her thoughts 
were preoccupied with Tom's condition and with how much she missed him, her 
engineer's eye spotted what she'd hoped to find. It had eluded her search 
earlier, but now she walked over to it, lifted the scorched and fire blackened 
device and brought it back to the senior officers. 


"I finally spotted it, the Voth cloaking device," B'Elanna explained. "Maybe we 
can modify it enough to get close to the bunker. Once we're close we can go in 
and get Tom," she suggested, then added, "and the others." 


Chakotay looked at the charred device in her hands. "It looks beyond repair." 


B'Elanna took his mild statement as a challenge. "If it can be fixed, I'll fix 
it." 


He held up his hands palms out in a gesture of mock surrender. His voice was 
sincere. "I know you can. It's probably our best chance to rescue them." 


"I know you'll do your best," Janeway said kindly. She slipped Chakotay's arm in 
the crook of her elbow and led him away, the holodoc trailing behind with a 
bemused expression on his face. 


"Chakotay. What if Braxton gave us the sensor codes to break through that 
shielding?" 


"An interesting idea, Kathryn. If we could simply transport them out of there . 
. . " 


"Sam kept his comm badge on?" 


"Unless it was taken from him. Of course, it's useless until we can break 
through that shielding." 


*** 


Sam and Harry were led to Tom's room by MPs. The lights had been turned on. They 
saw the doctor and Rain inside. From the doorway they saw a small 8' x 10' room 
dominated by a hospital bed and equipment. A screen partially hid a toilet and 
sink. It looked like what it was: a cell converted for medical use. 


Smith motioned for them to come in and Harry led the way to the bed where Tom's 
pale figure lay very still. "Tom. Tom?" 


Rain and Smith stepped back to the doorway to give them space and some privacy. 


Hernandez appeared at the doorway and indicated that Rain should join her. 


"Hi, Rachel," Rain greeted in a subdued tone. 


"How's he doing?" 


"So-so." 


"The Colonel wants to talk to us." 


Rain glanced at Smith for his nodded permission and then walked down the hall 
with Hernandez, all the while wondering what the legendary Colonel wanted. 


When he heard his friend's voice, Tom struggled to open his eyes. He could 
barely speak, he'd screamed his throat raw when he'd awakened earlier, 
disoriented and panicked in the darkened room. But he could try to smile for 
Harry. He couldn't maintain it for long, he was just too tired. For some reason 
his eyes were blurred with unshed tears. Gathering what strength he could 
muster, Tom managed to croak out Harry's name. 


"It's me, Tom. Hey. It's all right. You're going to be okay." 


Tom couldn't believe it. This was really Harry and he wasn't dead. Harry's hand 
found his own and clasped it, Harry's warmth encasing his cold fingers. 


"I'm right here," Harry crooned. "Just work on getting well, okay?" 


"'kay," Tom agreed. As he closed his eyes the tears spilled out onto his cheeks. 
Harry brushed them away very lightly. Tom's eyes flew back open in fright with 
the fears that had been building up through the long evening in darkness. 
Breathing with effort, he whispered. "Harry. Are we in prison?" 


Harry held Tom's hand in both of his own and gave a gentle squeeze. "Don't worry 
about that, Tom." 


But Tom's fears weren't so easily banished. With almost the last of his energy, 
he asked again, "Are we?" 


Harry looked helplessly at Sam. For his part Sam wasn't sure what it was that 
Harry needed from him. Sam shrugged back as if saying 'I don't know'. 


"Tom. Tom, listen to me," Harry urged, "you've been hurt. You're sick. These 
people here are trying to help you get better." 


". . . but . . . this isn't Voyager," Tom told him, desperate to understand. 


"No. It's not," Harry agreed and appealed silently to Sam who stepped in. Sam 
leaned down to speak to the obviously agitated young man. He placed his hand on 
one side of Tom's face in a gentle gesture of reassurance. Very troubled blue 
eyes looked up at Sam. Sam told him, "There was a change of plans. Don't let it 
worry you. You need to rest and get stronger." 


This time Tom surrendered, "'kay." 


His last thought as he drifted off was that they must be in prison. Neither 
Harry nor Tuvok wore their comm badges. 


Briefly, Sam picked up the emotional disturbance in the pilot. As he let his 
fingers slide off Tom's cheek now bristling with blond stubble, the sensations 
of distress disappeared. Puzzled, Sam wondered at the sensations that had been 
called up merely through touch. Sam put aside his own troubled feelings as he 
watched Harry pat his friend's hand one last time and place it carefully on the 
bed. The helpless look he cast Tom touched Sam deeply. He reached out and placed 
his arm around the ensign's shoulders, squeezing gently. He said, "Come on," and 
led Harry back to the doctor. 


Harry told the doctor, "I'd like to stay here with Tom. He's worried that he's 
in prison." 


Smith frowned, "Is that a problem?" 


"It is for Tom," Harry told him. "Before we met, he'd been in prison. He had a 
rough time." 


Smith realized that the pieces of the puzzle that had bothered him had finally 
fallen into place. That partially explained the signs of abuse, the fractures 
and scar tissue no more than five years old, that he'd seen on X-rays and in his 
physical exam of the pilot. "Why was he in prison? And what happened to him in 
there?" 




Sam spoke up, "Classified." He hadn't hung around with admirals for nothing. 


Smith nodded acceptance. He told Harry, "We'll have a cot brought in for you." 


"Thank you." 


"I'd like to stay as well," Sam added. 


"I'm afraid there may not be enough room for two cots." At Sam's intent look, 
the doctor shrugged. "Suit yourselves. There's an intercom on the wall. Call me 
if he needs anything." 


Harry smiled. The doctor was beginning to remind him of the holodoc. As Smith 
left, Sam turned to Harry and said, "I think we have some catching up to do. I 
know you think I'm Tuvok, but my name is Sam Beckett." 


After answering Harry's puzzled, but intelligent, questions about leaping, Sam 
tried to figure out how to phrase his question. "Does Tuvok have any special 
abilities?" 


"Uh. Yeah. I guess so. Why?" 


"When I touched Tom's face earlier - - something - - I don't know what happened. 
I got impressions. Images. Emotions." 


"From Tom," Harry stated matter of factly and sat up on the cot. "Tuvok can see 
or hear a person's thoughts. Usually he has to touch the person in a particular 
way. I don't know much about it. Tom once . . . Tuvok melded with him . . . saw 
into Tom's mind. It helped get Tom out of trouble that wasn't his fault." 


Sam frowned. "I wish I knew more. It was kind of scary, touching him and then 
sensing all this violence." 


"Violence?" 


"Yeah. It was just an impression, not very precise. But it was directed at Tom 
and it was troubling." 


Harry frowned. "I think there's a lot about Tom that I don't know." Harry mulled 
over the possibilities for the impressions that Sam had gained from his brief 
contact with Tom. He just didn't know. Finally, he shrugged. "You know, there's 
a lot about you I don't know either." 


CHAPTER 5 
Tom's Nightmares



Al found Sam and Harry sitting on cots, heads together, talking softly. The 
young ensign had an astonished expression on his face, apparently at the story 
Sam had been telling him. Since Al had the holoemitter turned off, Harry didn't 
see the holographic Al, but he tracked Sam's eyes as he turned towards Al. 


"Tuvok? Uh-Sam?" Harry asked. 


So Sam had told Harry about leaping. Al looked around the dimly lit room, noted 
the still form of the young pilot, the absence of others in the room, the door 
closed. He activated the holoemitter and smiled gently at the startled ensign. 


They all spoke in hushed tones around the sleeping pilot. "Hi, kid. You must be 
Harry. I've heard a lot about you from your captain. I'm Al." 


Harry stared at Al, then at Sam, then back at Al. He still couldn't get over a 
20th century hologram. "Uh, hi." 


Sam turned to Al, all business. "Al. What do you have? Did you talk to Braxton?" 



"I did," Al motioned with the handlink toward the hospital bed. "How's the kid?" 



Sam sighed. "He's not out of the woods. So far he's awakened twice he was trying 
to scream, but his voice is almost worn out. A nurse came in a while ago to 
change his dressing and give him a sponge bath. It was amazing, Al. There was no 
scar left from surgery. Unfortunately, his fever's up and I suspect that the 
pneumonia's worse. The doctor here has him on full spectrum antibiotics and 
after the last awakening, he's added some Valium to his meds schedule." 


"You can hardly hear him scream, his voice is so hoarse," Harry added softly, 
looking back at his friend, concern suffusing his features. 


"He going to be all right?" Al asked. 


Harry regarded the two men earnestly. "You've got to understand, Tom's - Tom's 
worst nightmares about the past have been coming true again. First, he thinks he 
caused another shuttle crash and he doesn't believe me when I tell him that it 
wasn't his fault. And now he thinks he's been thrown back in prison. We were in 
prison once. He got stabbed and almost died . . ." 


Al shook off a flashback of his own days as a POW in Vietnam and reached out to 
the ensign. He wanted to reassure Harry, but he knew what Tom was in for after 
his physical wounds healed. Al ventured, "Maybe when he's better we can find him 
some help with his demons." 


"There's no counselor on our ship," Harry warned. 


"I'm not much for counselors myself," Al responded. He knew that Sam was 
watching him, but he refused to return his glance. "Still," Al said, "there are 
plenty of people who learn how to put the past behind them. Or at least function 
around the worst of it." 


Each was lost in his own thoughts for a moment, then Sam broke the silence. "Al. 
What about Braxton?" 


Al brightened at the prospect of a new topic and whistled. "Now there's a piece 
of work. He about fell out of his chair when I told him we knew who he was and 
then when Tuvok introduced himself, he was surprised that Voyager is back. And 
get this -- he 'talks' to this space-time anomaly, only his conversations 
haven't been going too well. If I hadn't seen all of this the last couple of 
days, I'd think he was nuts and lock him up in the looney bin." 


"Al, please. I'm glad you're enjoying this, but will he help us get everyone 
back to where they belong?" 


"I think so. Hard to tell with him. He and Tuvok were working on a plan when I 
left." Al turned to Harry. "And the last time I saw Chakotay, he was heading 
back to the helicopter to track Tom. I guess they couldn't get here in time, but 
I'm sure they're gonna try again." 


Harry heaved a sigh. He knew they must have been looking for him, but it was 
still a relief to hear about it. 


Sam mulled over Al's words. "Al, maybe we can help from this end. You can turn 
off that holoemitter and scope out this place. Then have Ziggy center you on 
Janeway and tell her what you've seen." 


"Will do, Sam." 


"And, Al" Sam admonished, "For Janeway's sake, turn yourself back on first. We 
wouldn't want any embarrassing encounters." 


Al gave Sam his best innocent look. "Gee, Sam, I was hoping for an encounter of 
the third kind." He turned off his holoemitter before Sam could respond. Sam 
watched him float out the door into the corridor. He was surprised when Al 
popped back inside a few seconds later. "Brace yourself, Sam. There's a full 
colonel and a doctor headed your way. And she looks pissed." 


Sam updated Harry on Al's observation when they heard the door being unlocked. 
Colonel Warrington entered and headed directly towards Sam and Harry. 
Thunderclouds sparked off the Colonel and both men scrambled to their feet. This 
was just the effect she was hoping for. She signaled Smith in and he went to 
Tom's bed. Rachel Hernandez and Rain Robinson hung back by the door. Two MPs 
could be seen through the door's window. 


"Okay, no more bullshit," Warrington barked. "You've had your visit with your 
friend. Now I want some answers." 


Sam explained patiently, "You know we can't reveal anything". 


"Fine," she snapped and turned to the doorway. "Rachel, you and Rain take these 
two to the conference room while I have a chat with Tom here." 


Harry balked. "You don't know what you're doing. First, he's unconscious. And, 
second, he doesn't know where he is or what's going on." 


Warrington smiled and released a claw. "Do you think you're the only ones with 
medical technology? Our methods may seem primitive to you, but Dr. Smith is very 
competent. I'm sure that he can bring Tom to consciousness and a little old 
fashioned sodium pentothal should do the trick." 


"Truth serum," Sam told Harry. 


Harry's bravado fell. "Don't . . . Don't do that." He was shocked to see his own 
nightmare was coming true. "I'll tell you what I can." 


Still invisible to all but Sam, Al started pacing back and forth and muttered to 
Sam. "Sam, she's serious. She's gonna do this." Memories of his own 'pentothal 
interviews' after his return from Vietnam were vague, but disturbing and he 
shuddered. "You have to stop her." 


Sam spoke up. "What do you need to know to leave Tom alone?" 


Warrington released a second claw. "I thought I made it clear. Neither of you 
interest me any longer. You would tell me anything, any lies, to protect your 
friend now. I want the truth and I think my best shot is talking to him. We 
might chat a little later to fill in some details, but we'll see." 


Warrington motioned and the two MPs stepped behind Sam and Harry. Sam felt awful 
about this, and he felt even worse when Harry's eyes pleaded with him to do 
something. Still, he knew they were outnumbered and there was no winning this 
one. "I'm sorry," he said to Tom, Harry and Al. Sam looked past Warrington to Al 
and said, "Still I'd prefer that someone stay with Tom and monitor his 
condition. His health is still precarious." 


As Al nodded, Warrington replied, "Dr. Smith will stay through the interview." 


Sam noticed that Smith had turned away from all of them long ago and busied 
himself with Tom's IV. 


At a nod from Warrington, the MPs nudged them forward. The first MP was 
surprised when Harry slugged him, but the second wasted no time in shoving Harry 
up against a wall. "If you want to see Tom again, we'll have no more of that," 
the Colonel stated. Harry began to resist again when the MP pushed him towards 
the door, but Sam gave him a warning look. "I hate this," Harry muttered. He 
allowed himself to be pushed to the hall when he turned and threatened Smith 
"You better not hurt him." 


Smith wheeled, his eyes narrowed, and his voice became edged like a dilithium 
crystal. "I don't hurt my patients." 


Rachel led the group towards the conference room and Sam noticed that Rain 
lingered at the cell door. When Rachel called after her, she quickly caught up, 
but Sam noticed that she looked deeply troubled. Apparently she hadn't seen this 
side of her team before. 


*** 


Al loved a lot of things about leaping. He loved the feeling of relief when he 
first found Sam in a new place. He loved the nostalgic feeling when one of the 
leaps reminded him of late night parties or early morning flights. He loved the 
women. But most of all, he loved it when Sam made things better, even if he 
teased him for being a Boy Scout. 


But sometimes he hated the leaps, and this was one of those times. Sam often 
asked him to stay with others when Sam couldn't be with them, and Al had always 
done it. He never told Sam what it did to him when he had to watch bad things 
happen and couldn't stop them. He just did it. And now for the first time, he 
had the holoemitter and could effect things, but he couldn't use it. As a 
military man, he knew that he was most useful as a spy now and his appearance 
might ruin any further rescue attempts. 


As someone who'd been on the receiving end of one of these 'chats', it was 
killing him to watch it happen again. Even though he knew they couldn't hear 
them, he swore at Warrington and Smith, told them repeatedly to stop, that the 
kid had nothing to give them, that he'd seen the 24th century and it was no big 
deal once you got used to the faces, but they just kept getting ready for the 
interview. Once he'd exhausted his rage, Al finally settled a little. If they 
couldn't hear him, maybe Tom could. As Smith made another injection, Al leaned 
towards Tom's bed. "Tom, my name is Al and I'm a friend of Sam and Harry's. 
We're gonna get you out of here as soon as we can and you're gonna be okay. But 
we can't do that yet. There's a colonel and a doctor here and they're gonna ask 
you some questions. I know that you don't feel like talking, but they make you 
want to. You won't be able to stop yourself. It's not your fault. I'll stay with 
you through the whole thing and after they're gone." Al grasped Tom's hand and 
knew he wouldn't let go until it was done. 


Tom stirred slightly at Al's words and opened his eyes, even though he didn't 
seem to focus on anything particular. Warrington assumed that he was ready for 
questioning. She had shaken off the military tone she used for Sam and Harry and 
selected the softer tone that worked so well with her nephews. 


"What is your name?" she asked him. 


"Thomas Eugene Paris," he answered dreamily. 


"Where were you born?" 


"San Francisco." 


"When?" Tom was quiet, so she tried again. "What year were you born?" 


"2344." 


"Did you say 2344?" 


Tom sighed and slowly answered, "Yes." 


Warrington and Smith exchanged stunned glances. She turned back to Tom. "Who do 
you work for?" 


"Starfleet." 


"What is Starfleet?" 


"Service for space exploration and peace." 


She looked at Smith as if Tom had just said 'truth, justice, and the American 
way'. Taking a deep breath, she asked, "Are you a lieutenant in Starfleet?" 
Warrington faltered slightly on this unfamiliar word. 


"Lieutenant junior grade." 


"And what do you do for Starfleet?" "Pilot Voyager." The colonel thought she 
heard pride in the young man's voice, despite its raspiness. 


"Voyager . . . Is that the name of your ship?" 


"Yes." 


"When did you start flying this Voyager? What year?" 


"2371." 


"And how long have you been piloting?" 


"Four . . . four years." Warrington shook her head in wonder. She needed to know 
more and checked with Smith. "You've got a little more time" he whispered. Al 
winced at these words. 


"Tell me about Voyager. How many crewmen does it carry?" 


"Hundred thirty five, thirty six." 


"Who's in command of your ship?" 


"Captain Kathryn Janeway." Warrington saw a little smile play at the corner of 
his lips. 


"And Captain Janeway was born in the 24th century?" 


"Yes." 'Well,' Warrington thought, 'at least his story is consistent.' 


"Is she from Earth?" 


"Yes." 


Warrington wasn't sure which answer she wanted to her next question. "Are any 
crew not from Earth? Are there any aliens on your ship?" 


"Yes." 


"Where are they from?" 


"Vulcan . . . Bajor . . . Klingon Empire -- she's only part Klingon . . . " 
Another soft expression passed over Tom's face and his voice took on a wistful 
tone. Al recognized that tone of voice and smiled a little himself when he 
acknowledged that some things about relationships just don't change. He tried to 
remember which ones were Klingons. When he realized it was B'Elanna, he mused 
that Tom had interesting taste in women. 


"Is Harry from 24th century Earth?" 


"Yes." 


"And where is Tuvok from?" 


"Vulcan." 


"Okay, how did you get here in the 20th century?" Warrington asked. 


"Wormhole." 


Warrington sat back. She thought all of this stuff was just science fiction. But 
how many times had her NASA friends talked about wormholes? She exchanged 
glances with Smith, who shrugged. He splayed his fingers and mouthed back 'five 
more minutes.' Al sighed and told Tom, "It's almost over, Tom. Just a few more 
minutes. Hold on a little longer." 


There was a moment of silence as Warrington tried to think of what she most 
needed to know. "Where is Voyager, now?" 


"Don't know." 


"What does your Captain want?" 


"Go home . . . Take us home." 


"Is she going to attack Earth?" 


Tom seemed startled at the question. "No." 


"Were you trying to attack Earth?" 


"No." 


"Then what were you doing when you and Harry crashed?" 


"Testing cloaking device . . . then wormhole . . . tornadoes." Tom's voice 
became a little more strained and Smith didn't like the rising signs of 
agitation. He gave Warrington the cut sign. 


Warrington thought carefully. "Okay, Tom, we don't have to talk about that now. 
I just have one more question. If you go back to Voyager, what will the ship do 
next? Where will you go?" 


"Back . . . go back." 


"Go back where?" 


"Delta Quadrant." 


"You won't try to stay on Earth?" Warrington ignored Smith's gestures. She knew 
Tom was tiring under the strain, but she needed an answer. She was tiring 
herself. Still, she was surprised at his reaction to the question. 


"No . . . No . . . No . . . " was all he answered, but with each word he became 
increasingly restless. Whatever else he told her, she knew genuine terror when 
she saw it. "That's enough," Smith told her and this time she agreed. 


She felt genuine pity for the young man. "Alright, Tom, you're alright. 
Nothing's going to happen to you here. You just need to get some rest." She 
continued to soothe him while Smith monitored his condition. When Tom was 
resting comfortably, they both exited the cell in silence. 


Al also sat in silence. He couldn't quite look at Tom, but he wasn't ready to 
let go of his hand either. He was relieved that it was over, for both of them. 
It was a strange sensation to know that they'd done the same thing to him, but 
he guessed this side of the military never changes. Still, he felt an 
indescribable bond to Tom and a little more compassion for himself as a younger 
man. 


Al stayed for only a few minutes when Sam and Harry returned. Harry wanted to 
know everything that happened, but Sam sensed Al's exhaustion and sent Harry to 
sit with Tom. 


"Al, are you okay?" 


"I'm fine, Sam. We're both fine." 


Sam knew his friend well enough not to press him, especially in front of other 
people. "I guess this was tough for you, but thanks for staying. It made it 
easier to go." 


Al turned away as he lit a new cigar. "Before we were interrupted, I was going 
to check out this facility. I better get back to it. I'll have to see you later. 
Oh, and Smith left an ice pack on the cot for Harry's bruises. I don't think 
he's very fond of the MPs methods." He glanced once more at Tom and then back to 
Sam. "Take care of him." Sam nodded, wishing he could do more for all of them. 


*** 


Smith and Warrington didn't speak until they'd returned to Warrington's office. 
The colonel was a little more disturbed than she'd like to admit. 


Finally, Smith sighed. "Well, that was interesting." 


"I don't know, Ham. Could this Paris be programmed?" 


Smith asked, "You mean implant a story that would come out under interrogation 
or drugs?" Warrington nodded. "Sure. It's possible. And if they did it to one, 
they would do it to all of them. I don't know about Tuvok's physiology, but 
Harry would probably respond the same way. But Alicia, that's quite a story -- 
it would certainly make them more suspicious to their captors, not less. I don't 
see how it works as a cover story." 


"Agreed. And who would risk sending someone whose blood is green?" 


"Well, I've never seen anything like Tuvok before. On the other hand, we both 
know that too many of my military colleagues have engaged in medical 
experimentation for decades. Exposing people to radiation, chemical warfare 
agents, and who knows what else. I mean, we're on the verge of cloning humans if 
it hasn't already happened at another facility. Area 51 is just a few hundred 
miles away who knows what our neighbors are up to?" 


"Not only that," Smith continued "but Paris' injuries turned around in the space 
of what? - maybe a half hour? That just doesn't happen. Either it was a miracle 
or medical technology that's years ahead of anything I've ever seen." 


"Four hundred years ahead?" Warrington asked. 


"24th century?" Smith smiled. "I don't know. This whole thing is unbelievable. I 
just wish I could retain my naive faith that the future is going to be better 
than the past or the present." He sighed and changed the topic, "Well, what do 
you want to do now?" 


"I'm not sure yet," Warrington replied. "I was angry. I don't like mysteries and 
I don't like lies. It might be time to call the brass so they can decide how to 
deal with this. But I'm not about to make an ass of myself telling them that an 
injured pilot told me that I captured time travelers and aliens. I'd sound like 
some paranoid TV or B-movie character." She sighed, "Maybe I shouldn't have 
questioned the lieutenant in the first place." 


"It's not the proudest moment in my career either, but you were right: we had to 
know if they posed a threat, " Smith replied. "If it's any comfort, I don't 
think Tom Paris will ever remember being questioned." They sat for a few minutes 
until the doctor changed the subject once again. "Tarani's people never did turn 
up anything 'alien' in that wreckage, did they?" 


"Not a sliver." 


Smith smiled, "It's times like these that I'm glad I'm not the boss. Maybe you 
could just set the crewmen on the surface. See if the mothership lands and takes 
them away. Film at 5." 


Warrington laughed, for the first time in several days. "That's it. I'm gonna 
find your copy of E.T. and lock it away until this is over." Her grin faded. 
"Okay, let's get serious. Pull the team together for a meeting first thing in 
the morning. I want an update from every unit and let's try to figure out what 
we've got." 


"What about our guests?" Smith asked. "Those medical fixes on Paris don't seem 
to be lasting." 


"I want to keep them all here as long as I can. We know that their friends have 
tried to intercept them before. We'll have to keep security pretty tight. As of 
now this facility is on lock-down. Unless you have to move Paris back to a 
trauma center, nobody goes in or out of the complex." 


"Okay. I'll check on Paris and the others before I turn in. See you later." 


"Good night, Ham." 


*** 


Al appeared in the conference room where Janeway and Chakotay had been reviewing 
their options. They sat close to each other, very close, Al thought. Their heads 
were almost touching, but they jumped apart when Al appeared and cleared his 
throat to gain their attention. 


"Captain, I have an update for you." 


"What is it, Admiral?" 


"Okay. The good news is that Tom, Harry, and Sam are all being held in the same 
room and the same facility. There's some security at the Air Force Base, but 
they're not equipped for World War III either. I've got as much information as I 
could gather on-site, plus Ziggy pulled up some schematics, and Tuvok made some 
notations that he wanted me to pass along." Al punched up the information from 
the handlink, then passed it Chakotay, who downloaded it into the computer. 


"Thank you, Al. This may make all the difference in rescuing our crew." Chakotay 
smiled, but he and Kathryn both noticed that Al did not smile back. 


Janeway grew more serious. "I take it this doesn't solve our problems 
completely." 


Al puffed more vigorously on his cigar. "The bad news is that they know about 
you. They know all of it . . .Voyager, time travel, wormholes, aliens. If you go 
back to get your men, they'll be expecting you. Colonel Warrington she's in 
charge there she had a doctor shoot up the Paris kid and . . . " 


"Hold it," Chakotay interrupted. "Tom was shot?" 


"Oh, no. Not 'shot', shot up. Drugged. They drugged Tom to make him talk. He 
didn't have any choice." Al didn't realize that he'd begun pacing again. 


"Poor Tom. Is he alright?" Janeway asked. "Why did they do this to him?" 


"They always pick off the weakest. Harry and Sam tried to step in, but they 
didn't really have any cards to play. Harry did slug one of the MPs on the way 
out. Good kid, that Harry. I like his style." 


Janeway's anger started to rise. "Damn them! They had no right to do this. And 
to do this to Tom..." 


Al was impressed that she was so protective of her crew. He liked that in 
commanding officers. But there seemed to be something personal in this reaction. 
"Is there something I don't know?" Al asked. 


Chakotay silently asked and received permission from Kathryn to tell Al about 
Tom's background. Chakotay described what he knew about Tom's involvement with 
the shuttle crash, the years of drinking, his stint with the Maquis. And Kathryn 
added details about the Auckland prison, Tom's later imprisonment with Harry, 
and the time that Tom was punished by having a murder victim's memories 
implanted in his brain. 


Al whistled softly. He could see all of Tom's experiences in his mind's eye. 
This helped explain Harry's reaction to Tom's nightmares. Al shook his head and 
muttered, "Prison is not a good place for a young man in his formative years." 


Chakotay inquired gently, "Yes, Admiral. Seven years, wasn't it, that you were a 
prisoner yourself?" 


Al was startled as his own flashbacks joined the picture of Tom in his mind. He 
was surprised sometimes at how quickly it resurfaced. Al was gruffer and louder 
than he intended to be when he asked, "How the hell did you know that?" 


"I'm sorry, Admiral . . . Al. You could say we have our own version of Ziggy and 
you made the history books," Chakotay replied. 


"We didn't mean to pry into your personal affairs," Janeway added softly, "but 
we needed to verify Sam's and your identity after you arrived on our ship." 


Al quickly wanted to move this conversation in a new direction. "Well, anyway, 
it's over now. But Paris is a good kid and you give him what he needs when he 
gets back." 


"We know," Chakotay softened the challenge that was rising in his own voice. 
"We'll do our best for him." 


Al nodded. He knew that he was identifying with Tom Paris, but he also knew that 
he wasn't wrong to do so. "Okay. So what's the next step in the rescue?" 


Janeway turned her gaze from Chakotay to Al and gave a resigned sigh. Nothing 
about the situation had been easy. She chirped her badge to call her chief 
engineer. "B'Elanna, how's the rehabilitation on the cloaking device going?" 


"Five hours, Captain, give or take." 


"I don't have to tell you how important this is." 


"No, you don't. Torres out." 


The three of them laid out a basic rescue mission. Given the failed efforts of 
subterfuge, Janeway decided that a more direct diplomatic approach might be 
warranted. They would be prepared for a skirmish if it came to that, but she and 
Chakotay hoped it could be settled more peacefully. 


After reviewing and giving his final input to their plan, Al responded. "I'm 
going back to the project. I'll return as soon as I can. If I don't make it back 
before you leave, go without me. Whenever I'm ready, I'll have Ziggy center me 
on you, Captain. I'll be in full Admiral mode if you need the authority." 


"Why are you leaving now?" Janeway asked. 


Al smiled. "Ma'am I admire your ethics, that you won't leave the troops behind 
without another effort. No offense, but given your track record, let me see what 
I can do in terms of another plan in case this new one doesn't work." 


Janeway smiled, "We've tried Plan A and Plan B. I'd like to see one succeed 
before we run out of letters in the alphabet." 


Al chuckled and added, "Also, I can help tie up some of the loose ends in the 
20th century. From what Sam tells me, you'd be much happier if no one ever found 
out you were here in the first place." 


"That's true," Janeway said. "So what do you plan to do?" 


"Remember, I'm only six years ahead of Warrington's time," Al explained. "I 
still have a few friends in high places. First, Ziggy can find someone who was 
Warrington's superior in 1998, I'll find that person in my time, and with a 
little friendly persuasion have some orders predated to take effect at 
Warrington's base tomorrow. Second . . . Well, I'm sorry, Captain, but I don't 
think I can tell what will happen next." 


Janeway started to object, but Al was already leaving as he cut her off. 
"Remember, even though we're centuries apart, I still outrank you. And if things 
don't work, you still have plausible deniability." And with that he was gone. 
For the first time, Janeway and Chakotay understood Sam's inability to control 
Al's appearances. 


Chakotay's gaze remained on the Admiral's last position. He muttered, "A 'real' 
hologram." 


"It is amazing." 


"And not just his clothes," Chakotay laughed. 


Laughing with him, Janeway said, "I need some coffee. We're going to be up all 
night." 


"Kathryn, we'll get them back." 


"Damn right we will. I'm going with you." 


"They'll be no senior officers left on board." 


"It's not as if we're expecting company up here." 


"No. I guess we aren't." 


*** 


Back at Stallion's Gate, Al provided Tuvok with an update. Finally, he contacted 
Senator Weitzman and called in a favor. Weitzman's first reply found Al holding 
the phone away from his ear. But after Al gave him the old Calavicci 
razzle-dazzle, the senator agreed to make the appropriate arrangements. After 
hanging up, Al said to the empty room, "That went well. Let's see if I can get 
some cooperation out of Braxton." 


*** 


Big hands reached toward him, grasping blindly at his small body. The large 
hands came closer and closer as he tried to stop his breathing, stop the 
heartbeat that pounded so loudly it must be heard outside of his chest. The 
hands kept after him and he whimpered. Why couldn't he make himself so small as 
to disappear? No. They kept after him. He lashed out, flinging his small arms 
and fists at the danger he knew was there, the danger that was relentlessly 
after him. He launched himself away, scrabbling frantically in the dark. 


"No. No," his hoarse cries tried to turn away the threat, make the hands go 
away, make the large bulk of the other go away. "G'way . . . Please . . . no . . 
." 


Sam was the first to hear the muted sounds of the pilot's nightmare. He reached 
over the few inches between the cots and touched Harry to wake him up. Harry had 
been sleeping lightly and quickly understood that Tom was having another 
nightmare. He scrambled to stand at Tom's bedside. 


"Tom. Tom. Wake up. It's me, Harry." 


Who was Harry? Another threat? "G'way!" 


"Tom, you've got to wake up. You've torn out the IV. Tom . . . " 


Hands were on his arm. He tried to fling them away, tried to wrestle out of 
danger. He heard a crack and felt a shock jolt up his free arm. He woke with a 
start, blinked in the sudden light. Harry. He saw someone else Tuvok and not 
Tuvok. He screamed, the scream a rasping cry. "Get away! Get away from me!" 


Harry was saying something, but Tom's attention focused on the Tuvok/not Tuvok 
being who was closing in on him. 


The being hadn't stopped, had grabbed his free arm. Now Tom was pinned. Harry 
was on one side holding one arm, the stranger held the other. 


"No! Get away. Get away," he broke down sobbing. The stranger startled, briefly 
let go, jumped back, then returned to hold down Tom's arm with the cast. 


"Tom!" Harry's frantic voice finally broke through his fear. "Tom. It's me. 
Harry. You've had a bad dream. It's just a bad dream a bad dream. Understand?" 
Tom's bent head nodded as he continued to cry. "We need to help you. You're 
bleeding where the IV needle broke off. And you've cracked the cast on your 
other arm." "A bad dream?" he gasped. 


"Yes," Harry confirmed. "Yes. A bad dream." 


Tom's sobs decreased, his breathing slowed down. The loud pounding of his heart 
quieted. 


"Do you remember any of it?" Sam asked. 


He remembered the feelings. "Fear. I was terrified. I thought . . . I thought 
you were I was . . . I don't know." In a small, scared voice he said, "I don't 
remember." Tom realized how much his arms hurt. "My arms?" 


"Let's take a look." 


Sam peeled off the shattered cast. "You really did a number on this." 


"What happened?" Tom asked. 


"You hit it against the wall." 


"Some dream," Tom muttered. 


"I'd say so." Sam's fingers and eyes examined the pink skinned arm that had worn 
the cast. He marveled that there was only a hint of a scar where the bone had 
broken through Tom's skin. 


Harry kept the pressure on Tom's other arm trying to stop the bleeding from the 
broken IV needle. Tom looked at it curiously, noting the blood on his gown and 
sheets and on Harry's night clothes of shorts and a T-shirt. "What did I do to 
it?" 


"You yanked out the IV, broke off the needle and now you're bleeding. We called 
for the doctor." 


Tom jerked back out of their grasps, his back to the wall. His breathing had 
accelerated again and he couldn't stop the shaking that wracked his body. 


"What's wrong?" 


Tom blinked at his friend. "I I don't know." 


"Was it mention of the doctor?" Sam asked. 


The fear invaded him again and he took a shaky breath. Tom looked helplessly at 
Sam and shook his head. Confusion and fear warred each other to a shaky truce. 
Sam pressed his palm against Tom's forehead. "We need to get in a new IV line. 
There's still some antibiotics with your name on them." 


Carrying his medical bag, a rumpled, sleepy Dr. Smith bustled inside, "What's 
the problem?" 


Tom gasped at the sight of the man. 


"It's all right, Tom," Harry soothed. "It's Dr. Smith." 


Sam took the doctor aside and filled him in out of earshot as Tom looked on 
warily. Before the conversation finished Tom began to cough, the kind that 
seemed as if his lungs were trying to cough themselves inside out. On his side 
on the bed, he bent over at the waist, unable to stop coughing, temporarily 
ignoring the pain from his still healing ribs and pelvis. 


Tom flinched when Smith touched him. Smith told him, "Tom, I'm going to put on 
my stethoscope and listen to your breathing. I'm not going to hurt you." 


As the coughing fit subsided, Tom lay limply on his side, exhausted and drained. 
He jerked briefly when the doctor placed the stethoscope on his back. He kept as 
still as he could, took as deep a breath as possible when asked, but couldn't 
stop the fine tremble that shook his body. 


They helped him to lay back down and Smith ministered to the broken IV, swiftly 
removing the broken needle and swabbing the bleeding hole with alcohol. Tom 
flinched and gritted his teeth. He closed his eyes as the doctor palpated a vein 
further up his arm as the man searched for another IV site. 


Tom felt so tired and wanted to sleep, but feared the nightmares would return. 
He felt a dull throbbing pain in his healing arm and in his hips and ribs. His 
chest muscles were sore from coughing and his head had tight bands around it 
that kept squeezing at his brain. It wasn't like before, not nearly as intense. 
But he hurt and couldn't understand why the pain didn't go away. He groaned, 
moving restlessly in a futile effort to escape. 


Smith called Rain Robinson on the intercom. "Rain. Wake up and call the nurses. 
Tell them that I want the lab opened in five minutes. Then, get down here to 
Tom's room. He seems to respond to you and I want you to escort him through the 
procedures." 


"What happened to Tom?" Rain's voice asked over the intercom. "Is he okay?" 


"He'll be fine. Just get down here." 


Smith turned back to Tom and told him, "I'm going to give you something for the 
pain. It will also help you to get some rest." 


Tom's eyes flew open, another wave of fear drowning him. The nightmares. And 
something else. Weak as he was, he tried to struggle away from Smith. "No. No. 
Please." Harry could hardly stand to watch Tom in such pain. He turned his venom 
on Smith. "I blame you for this nightmare. This wouldn't be happening if you 
hadn't drugged him, questioned him. What did you do to him? He didn't even know 
me." 


Smith resisted the urge to take a verbal slice out of Harry's hide for that one. 
He took a couple of deep breaths before he responded. "I told you before that I 
don't hurt my patients. This is the wrong time and place to talk about this. 
Right now, I think we both want the same thing for Tom, to get him more 
comfortable. A sedative is the best I can offer to help him. You've been here 
all night and this is . . . what? . . . the third time he's struggled with 
nightmares. Tom needs help: Do you have anything better to offer?" 


Overwhelmed by his own helplessness, rage, and frustration, Harry turned away 
from the doctor. At this point, Rain walked in and sensed the tension in the 
room. She saw the broken cast, the bloody sheets, and couldn't imagine how 
things had deteriorated so badly. Although she wasn't clear about what had 
happened, she did know that she could trust Smith to do his best to help Tom. 


Smith took Rain aside and appraised her of what had happened. Then he softly 
asked Harry and Sam to come over and join them at the door. The MPs watched 
Harry and Sam's movements carefully, although escape was clearly the last thing 
on their minds. Smith wasn't optimistic that this conversation would go any 
better than the one just concluded with the young ensign, but he knew what 
needed to be done. "I'm going to move Tom to our lab where we have more adequate 
facilities to assess and treat his injuries from this nightmare. Then, I plan to 
bring him back here when we're done, unless we run into further complications." 


Initially, Sam was surprised that Harry didn't have another outburst until he 
realized that Harry was desperately scrambling for a way to prevent Tom's 
removal. Sam, too, recognized the risks in a permanent separation from Tom at 
this point, but he also knew that any resistance on their part would be met with 
restraint, sedation, and/or removal. He reasoned that a more diplomatic approach 
might buy them some time. "What procedures are you planning in your lab?" 


"I want to conduct a scan to verify that no further pieces of the syringe are in 
his vein. I think we got the whole thing, but I want to be sure," Smith answered 
reasonably. "I need to x-ray his broken bones to make sure he hasn't done any 
more damage." 


"How long will all this take?" Sam queried. 


"I won't know until I take a look." 


Tom started to moan again and Smith and Rain went over to check on him. Sam was 
somehow comforted to see the quickness of Smith's response and the compassion on 
his lined face. Sam decided that he had not seen any dishonesty from the doctor 
yet and from what he could remember from his own medical training, the treatment 
plan seemed reasonable and appropriate. Smith started back to Sam and Harry 
while Rain remained with Tom, speaking softly to him. When Smith returned, Sam 
finally said, "Okay. On one condition." 


Smith was waiting for this. "What?" 


"One of us goes with him." 


"No." Dr. Smith spoke directly to Harry, knowing that this was the most 
difficult part for Harry to hear, yet also knowing that his decision to bar them 
from the lab was right. "If one of you comes with us, that means that two MPs 
have to come along to watch over you. Between me, my staff, you, and the MPs, 
the room is going to be too crowded. You've already seen how easily agitated Tom 
is by people and I don't want to make that worse. Also, I plan to have him 
sedated enough to sleep through the rest of the night, but when he comes back, 
he's going to be in full restraints . . . " 


Harry could not stand quietly any longer. "No! You can't do that! Haven't you 
heard anything we've said? Tom thinks he's in prison, he's trying to escape. His 
panic will be even worse if he realizes you've tied him down!" Harry appealed to 
Sam, clearly despairing. "Tuvok, you can't let them." 


Smith felt sorry for the kid, but he pushed forward. "Look, I don't like doing 
this and believe me, if I had a better option I'd take it. I know that Tom is 
terrified of something, here or in his past." 


Harry knew the description was true. He stood mutely as Smith continued, "I've 
seen plenty of kids like Tom before. Between the disorientation that accompanies 
concussion, the delirium of falling in and out of high fevers, the pain and 
exhaustion of traumatic injuries, and being moved around from place to place, 
plus what he claims is time travel," Sam raised one eyebrow slightly, Tuvok 
style, realizing anew how much Tom had been forced to tell his captors, "no 
wonder he doesn't know what's going on and he panics." 


Smith took a deep breath and looked carefully at both Harry and Sam, "But, we 
all know something else is happening to him. It would be easy for Tom to just 
fall into the sedation and exhaustion and sleep through this experience. Yet 
he's still clawing his way back to consciousness, or semi-consciousness, and 
that's when he's really at greatest risk to hurt himself. Next time he could do 
more serious harm." Smith paused, wanting his next words to sink in, "In his 
weakened state, he could die from what would normally be a survivable injury." 


The two men gave Smith their full attention. Finally, they exchanged glances 
with each other and seemed to come to a silent decision. Smith took advantage of 
the silence and offered a carrot. "Rain will go with him and keep him as calm as 
she can, but that's the best I can do. Besides, if you're not there, I get to be 
the bad guy when he realizes he's in restraints. I am sorry. But it has to be 
done." 


Harry fought with himself over Smith's words. He couldn't believe his ears, but 
worse, he couldn't believe that he thought Smith was right. As much as he wanted 
to protect Tom, what if he or Sam didn't wake up fast enough next time? In fact, 
they hadn't awakened quickly enough this time. No matter what illusory choice 
they made now, how could he explain to B'Elanna or to Captain Janeway or to Tom 
what he let happen tonight? How could things have gotten so out of control in 
just a few days? 


Smith recognized the defeat and acceptance growing in the younger man and noted 
the calm demeanor of the older one. Smith told them, "I want to give Tom another 
minute or two to settle into the sedation before we try to move him. Tell him 
whatever you want, whatever he needs to hear to give into it. Then I want the 
two of you to get some rest while we're gone." 


Harry's hackles started to rise once again, but Smith was willing to give some 
ground. "Relax. I'm not planning to sedate you, just try to get some sleep while 
you can. I'll come back and let you know how he's doing." 


Sam and Harry joined Rain at Tom's bedside and Sam spoke gently to Tom as Smith 
watched from the door. Smith thought it strange the way the older man held Tom's 
face, but the patient seemed to calm under that touch. When Tom's breathing 
became more even, Smith came over and he and Rain quickly moved the pilot out of 
the room. 


Harry started to walk towards the door, but Sam held him back and walked him 
over to the cots. Harry's strength had reached its limits and he collapsed, 
defeated. Sam turned down the lights and sat on his cot. It was a moment or two 
before Sam realized that the young man who had so strongly supported his friend 
was now crying. He hesitated, then decided that placing a hand on Harry's 
shoulder and gripping it lightly was the called for response. 


When Harry seemed to have quieted, Sam asked, "Harry? Are you all right?" 


Harry wiped his eyes, "No." He turned on the cot so that he could make out Sam's 
shape in the dim illumination. 


"I'm sorry. I wish I could do more." They both realized he couldn't, so Sam 
changed the subject. "I wanted to ask you about something. I know you told me 
that Tuvok can pick up on what a person's thinking or feeling. And I don't know 
if this is important . . . " After letting his voice trail off in uncertainty, 
Sam told Harry, "I -- felt something earlier when I held Tom's arm." 


"More images?" 


"I think so." Sam took a deep breath. "It was unnerving, Harry. It seemed like 
someone much bigger than he was hitting him. I got the impression of a little 
boy being hit by an adult man. There was fear. No, more like panic." 


"If that was his nightmare, it's funny Tom didn't remember it." Harry thought 
about Sam's impressions. "I think I'm Tom's best friend, maybe B'Elanna's gotten 
closer to him lately. But Tom doesn't talk much about his past. I'd guess if it 
was a real beating, then it had to have been his father." 


"I thought his father was a Starfleet Admiral." 


"He is. Was. I guess Admiral's aren't all perfect like your Al." 


Sam smiled, "Al's not perfect, but I know he doesn't beat on defenseless 
children." Harry seemed to wince and Sam apologized, "I'm sorry. I know better: 
child abuse occurs anywhere." 


Harry let a silence float between them, then seemed to respond to Sam's 
observations. "My guess? I bet he never told anyone and I bet Tom never saw a 
doctor for injuries his father inflicted. A home medical tricorder could do a 
lot of patching up and no one would be the wiser." 


"I guess all of us, no matter how far into the future, have things we don't want 
to share with others. Or maybe we do want to share, but just can't." 


Harry nodded even though Sam couldn't see the gesture in the darkened room. 
"Yeah. I know what you mean. It's like we don't really talk about what happened 
to our ship anymore. Voyager's mission was supposed to take a few weeks. 
Instead, it's been over three years. My fiancé is probably not my fiancé 
anymore. And me? I'm definitely not 'innocent' Harry Kim anymore. I'd go home 
and I wouldn't be the person who left." 


"I'm sorry, Harry," Sam apologized again. 


Harry thought he heard pain in Sam's voice. "What is it?" 


Sam put his head between his hands. "I guess I'm feeling sorry for myself. I'm 
so tired, Harry. I know I've done some good, helped some people. But . . . it's 
like whoever Sam Beckett is, he's disappearing . . . leap by leap. Like you, if 
I were able to go home: would there be a Sam Beckett left to go home to?" 


Neither man could answer these questions, so after a moment of thoughtful 
silence, Sam suggested, "I guess we'd better try to get some sleep." 


*** 


Warrington sat in the conference room going over updated reports from her team. 
A cup of cold coffee stood neglected by her hand. Absently, she picked it up, 
sipped, and almost spit the cold beverage back into the cup. This wasn't her 
night. She was initially relieved to hear a knock and see Hammond Smith's head 
sticking through the door, but she quickly sensed he was not bringing good news. 
Her relief turned to dread. 


"Alicia, have you been here all night?" 


"I didn't want any surprises at the morning meeting. You don't look too good 
yourself. I thought you went to bed hours ago. What's up, Ham?" she asked and 
waved him to a chair. 


"It's Paris. He had another crisis episode. He's been thrashing and tearing up 
the repairs pretty good." Hammond was inwardly pleased at Alicia's look of 
concern, something she would never allow to happen in front of her staff. "I've 
got him sedated, restrained, and returned to his friends. I think the 
antibiotics are finally kicking in. That alone should help him considerably. All 
things considered, it could be worse." 


"But?" 


"Huh?" 


"Ham, I'm too tired for games. You're leading up to something. It could be 
worse, but there's more you don't want to say. Lay it out." 


"Okay. As officers, I know that we have certain responsibilities and that we 
have limited authority. I like being part of the military, and I like what I've 
been able to do for all the wounded kids over the years." Alicia Warrington had 
seen that look of gentleness before when Ham remembered some of his special 
patients. She let him sit in silence as he gathered his thoughts. "But that's 
just it . . . I've always seen myself as a doctor in a soldier's world, not as a 
soldier. And as a doctor, I'm telling you that you've got to bring this 
situation to an end quickly." 


"Why? Why now?" 


"Because I don't like losing salvageable patients. I see some of them I know are 
going to die and there's nothing I can do. I've learned to live with that, even 
if I'll never like it. But Paris isn't one of them. He can make a full recovery 
and lead a normal life." Ham got up, went over to the coffee maker and brought 
two warm cups back to the table. "But when I treated him tonight, I saw that 
look in his eye and I've seen it before. If he thinks this is going to be his 
life, he'll give up and die. He'd rather be dead than in prison." 


"Ham, this is hardly Attica," Alicia reminded him. 


"Well, apparently this isn't his first experience with confinement. And from 
what I can tell prison is just as bad in the future. He's as scarred as anybody 
we'd pull out of, say, your Attica. Anyway, all he has to do is think he'll 
never be home, wherever that is, and that could be enough to do it." 


They both drank their coffee in silence for a few moments. "All right," she 
agreed, "Paris is 'at risk'. What about the other two? And do they know about 
the lieutenant's shaky condition?" 


Alicia was not pleased when there was no improvement in Smith's demeanor. "Tuvok 
knows about Paris. He must have had some medical experience himself. He was a 
real pro in the last crisis. And I think he saw the same thing in Paris that I 
did. But dammit, Tuvok has problems of his own. The MPs said they've seen him 
whispering to thin air like he's having a real conversation with somebody. I 
don't know if he's psychotic or if this is normal behavior for an alien." 


"And Harry Kim?" Smith smiled. "Well, Harry's the most stable, physically. I 
don't think he knows about Tom's risk, and I don't expect Tuvok to tell him. He 
wanted to rage against me, against any of us, but so far Tuvok's been able to 
rein him in." 


Warrington sat back and sighed. "Let me see if I have this straight. You're 
telling me I have one man who might die, another who's losing his mind, and a 
third who's looking to attack us. Wonderful, absolutely wonderful. Ham, we must 
have these little 3 am chats more often." 


"Alicia, I wish I had better news for you. But, I know how you feel about 
surprises and I didn't want to blindside you in the morning." He drank a little 
more coffee. "What will happen to them if they get passed up the line as alien 
captives?" 


"You probably know that better than I do," she accused. "The protocol for alien 
examination and disposal is clear. Tuvok was right." He winced. She responded 
defensively, "Don't look at me like that. This isn't my policy or my decision. 
You know that I don't personally think this is the best way to deal with the 
unknown. But I have limited authority." 


"You're right. I'm sorry," Ham offered. When he saw her relax a little, he 
pushed forward. "But you have all the authority here. It's still your choice 
whether they get passed on. How much have you reported to your superiors?" 


"Nothing specific. Crashed plane, injured pilots, investigation underway, the 
usual. Given the recent bizarre events, I didn't think it was too smart to tell 
them anything more until I know what's going on. I'm not really willing to lay 
my career on the line over a broken pilot or a man with green blood and 
invisible friends. At this point, it's personal I want the truth and I want 
supporting evidence. Until then, I can stall Washington with the standard 
paperwork. In triplicate." 


Ham smiled, "Well, it's times like these that I'm glad I'm not the boss." He was 
warmed to see her smile in return. Smith stood, stretched, and yawned. "I'm 
going to check on our guests one more time and then head back to bed. Are you 
going to get any sleep tonight?" 


"We'll see," Alicia replied. She pulled her chair closer to the table and opened 
the next file. Ham looked at her for a moment, bent down, and gave her a kiss on 
the cheek. She looked up at him, not surprised by his tenderness. "Okay," she 
acknowledged, "I'll be there soon." 


*** 


The grogginess lightened just a little and Tom thought he heard a child crying. 
He struggled to fuller awareness so that he could find the child. But the room 
was dark and he heard only snoring. Thirsty and groggy from drugs, Tom worked 
harder to wake up. As he tried to move, he found he couldn't. He tried to flex 
his arms and they wouldn't budge, his legs wouldn't move, even his chest was 
secured to the bed. 


'Oh, gods,' he thought fearfully, 'they'll get me now.' All consideration of the 
crying child that had brought him awake was forgotten. He understood that he was 
just waiting meat set out for those who were after him. 


"No, no," he whimpered struggling hard against the unforgiving restraints. Panic 
fueled surging protests against the bonds. But nothing worked. He was aware that 
someone was at his side, a male voice calling his name. He remembered the crying 
child and cursed at and pleaded with the man at his side. "Damn you, damn you! 
Don't do this. Please." 


Suddenly a bright light blinded him. When he blinked his eyes open he was 
bewildered to see Tuvok and Harry standing over him. "What . . . ?" 


"Tom, you were having a nightmare." 


"No," he corrected. He knew it hadn't been a nightmare. Nothing bad had happened 
to him when he was asleep. It was waking up and finding himself tied down in the 
dark that had triggered his struggles. "Please. Untie me." 


"We can't. You could hurt yourself." 


"No," he told them again and took a deep breath to collect himself so that he 
could try to sound reasonable. "No, you don't understand." 


"What don't we understand?" Harry asked, his voice soft. 


Tom tried to remember. He knew it was important. It felt almost as if his life 
depended upon it, but he couldn't remember. What was wrong with him? Why 
couldn't he remember? His fear turned to unfocused rage and he cursed at them, 
"Fuck you! Fuck you!" 


Their voices told him he would be okay, that everything would be all right. He 
raged at them. How could they tie him up and keep him helpless? Gods, they had 
no right to do this. But their soothing voices persisted in telling him nonsense 
and gradually the drugs reclaimed him to the dark oblivion. 


Once Tom had settled down and dropped back to sleep, a very shaken Harry Kim 
asked Sam, "What's wrong with him?" 


Sam called upon his long ago medical residency and his photographic memory. 
"Head injury and post-traumatic stress result in unpredictable outcomes." 


"What does it mean?" 


"For Tom? I don't know. We had a case of a young woman. She'd been in an auto 
accident, but it also turned out that she'd been a victim of child abuse. Well, 
she'd put up the same kind of fight as Tom, and when she came to and realized 
she was restrained, she went crazy. Eventually, she exerted so much force 
against the restraints that she broke a few more bones. It just got worse and 
worse for her." 


"What happened to her?" Harry asked. 


"Eventually she was released. I don't know what happened to her after that." Sam 
tried to pull himself out of the past. "Hey, at least Tom hasn't broken any 
bones and he's gone back to sleep. Harry, I'm sure that once Tom's back on your 
ship he'll be all right." 


Harry knew he was being fed a line to make him feel better, but he let Sam get 
away with it. He wanted to believe that Tom would be all right. "Yeah. I guess 
so. Tom will be fine." 


CHAPTER 6 
The Colonel, The Captain, and The Admiral



Janeway dozed on the couch in her ready room when her comm badge chirped. 
"Janeway," she said yawning and stretching. 


"Captain. We've got it." 


"B'Elanna?" 


"The cloaking device. It's going to work." 


Janeway knuckled the sleep out of her tired eyes. "How soon can we leave?" 


"Ten minutes?" 


"Good work, B'Elanna. Chakotay and I will meet you at the shuttle." 


Torres activated the cloaking device as Chakotay piloted the shuttle closer to 
Earth. All wore their Starfleet uniforms. As Janeway told her first officer, the 
Colonel was anticipating their arrival so there was no need for subterfuge. 


Janeway fretted a little over the Admiral's absence. "He said he'd be here," she 
muttered. 


"Who?" Chakotay asked. 


"Al." 


"I'm sure he'll do the best he can. Between Tuvok and Braxton, he's got his 
hands full too." Janeway nodded thinking that Chakotay was probably right. 


From her place at the engineering station, an undisguised B'Elanna hailed 
Voyager, "Vorik?" 


"Yes, Lieutenant. The cloaking device is working at 84% efficiency." 


"Let's hope that's enough," she retorted crankily, her sour mood gaining her the 
holodoc's professional, but unverbalized, appraisal. 


"Entering Earth's atmosphere," Chakotay announced. 


In the predawn darkness, the cloaked shuttle settled on the tarmac outside the 
hangar. Phasers at the ready, the four members of the away team silently fanned 
out from the shuttle. Janeway motioned them toward the hangar and they 
approached from different angles. Encountering no resistance, they clustered by 
the elevator door. 


Janeway frowned and whispered, "Chakotay, I think they've made this too easy." 


He briefly rested his hand on her arm and gave her the full benefit of his 
dimples. "The welcome mat appears to be out. Maybe we can do this without 
conflict." 


"Agreed. B'Elanna, keep your phaser handy, set on stun. You'll be our first 
source of defense. Everyone else, put your phasers away." Chakotay pressed the 
button to the side of the elevator door in imitation of Sam's action in the 
hospital. The group waited in silence for the elevator to arrive. Torres 
vigilantly scanned the area as if expecting to be surprised by armed guards at 
any moment. 


Before the elevator doors opened, Al stepped out of his own door, resplendent in 
his dress whites. He looked around in puzzled silence at the quiet group before 
him. "Where's the party?" 


"Glad you could make it," Janeway replied, with a hint of relief. She didn't 
quite have a handle on the Admiral at times he was so professional, but he could 
also be a bit of a renegade, a man clearly used to doing things his own way. 
Still, Janeway was glad to have someone from the 20th Century on her side. He 
carried a handlink in his left hand and a rectangular case in his right. 
Curious, she began to ask about his plan, but he pointed up to a surveillance 
camera fixed on them and stated loud enough for all to hear, "Security." 


Janeway nodded and any further discussion was cut short when the elevator 
arrived and its doors opened. Janeway motioned the group inside, "Shall we?" Al 
stepped forward first and led the doctor to the back wall. The others entered 
and the elevator automatically began its descent. This time B'Elanna pointed out 
the security cameras mounted in the corners. 


To no one's surprise, there was a contingent of 20th Century military police 
greeting them when the elevator reached its destination. Weapons were pointed at 
them, but the away team indicated their peaceful intent by raising their hands 
in the air. 


Al just gave them a withering look and made two MPs break eye contact. He didn't 
smile, but privately, he loved being able to intimidate them so easily. Although 
well trained, one of the guards gasped audibly upon clearly seeing B'Elanna. She 
gave the offending MP a mild 'get over it' growl. Janeway flashed her a warning 
look, but B'Elanna had been up for days and she had little patience left for 
20th Century ignorance. 


"Lt. Johannsen," the head of security greeted them. "Colonel Warrington is 
waiting for you. She'll meet you in the conference room. Follow me directly any 
effort to stray will be met with a forceful response. Don't bother to ask any 
questions until we're in the room . . ." Johannsen continued giving 
instructions, but couldn't take his gaze off B'Elanna for very long. Al used 
this diversion to whisper to the holodoc as he dropped something into the 
doctor's medpack. The MPs parted on either side of the away team and escorted 
them to the conference room. 


Although Al Calavicci outranked either of the two women, the captain and the 
colonel spent silent moments sizing up each other. They exchanged not quite full 
blown versions of the 'Death Glare' as they warily bonded. He sensed there was a 
grudging respect for the inconvenience each had caused the other. For their 
parts, Tarani, Hernandez, Smith, Rain, and Johannsen sized up their 
counterparts. All of Warrington's people gave the admiral covert glances. He 
truly cut an imposing figure. 


Janeway waited for Warrington to break the silence. It was her home turf. 
Finally, the colonel introduced herself. "I'm Colonel Alicia Warrington. Your 
appearance here is not entirely unexpected." 


"So I gather. Captain Kathryn Janeway." 


"And you are from . . . ?" Janeway hesitated briefly and Warrington smiled. 
"It's quite all right Captain. There's nothing that you can't say in front of my 
staff. They all have security clearances." Warrington briefly introduced each 
member and Janeway did the same. 


'Warrington must have briefed them on Tom's interview,' Janeway sighed to 
herself. Maybe the truth was the simplest way to do this. "I'm captain of a 
starship named Voyager. We were exploring what you would consider deep space 
when a shuttle containing Tom and Harry got pulled into a wormhole. We followed 
and we ended up in this time and place. Our goal, our only goal is to gather our 
crew and return to our own timeline." 


"You've mentioned time twice. Then you're really not of this time?" 


"No," Janeway responded. "We belong to a different time." 


"The 24th Century?" 


"Yes." 


Rain whispered "Wow!", but Smith quickly silenced any further comments. 
Warrington made a mental note that she was going to have to talk to Rain about 
developing a poker face. 


"I see," continued Warrington. "And what are your intentions here on Earth?" 


"Colonel, I assure we are entirely peaceful. We simply want our crew back and 
then we'll disappear from your lives. No further -- " Janeway paused to consider 
the right