Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Day 1

Doctor Jeff Fitzgerald entered the Astrometrics Lab beside Doctor Emmett Hall, who always seemed to add a little bit of a jaunty kick to his strides when he was wearing his mobile emitter. The piece of twenty-ninth inspired technology that Fitzgerald himself had more-or-less palmed from a crooked purveyor of temporally-displaced inspired technology had been key in making it possible for the emergency medical hologram to take on the role of Chief Medical Officer on Voyager.

A role he himself had once held, though these days his position as Ships Counselor concerned the mental health of the crew, instead.

The rest of the Senior Staff had gathered, and Fitzgerald smiled to see a few other faces as well, most notably Seven of Nine and Crewman Abol Tay, who stood side-by-side near the railing on the raised area of the lab before the large blank curve of holoprojector space.

Fitzgerald left Emmett standing near Lieutenant Veronica Stadi, the ship’s pilot, and made his way to join his husband, Captain Aaron Cavit. Cavit aimed one of his boy-scout smiles at Fitzgerald, and Fitzgerald resisted the urge to give him a quick peck on the cheek, knowing it would embarrass him in front of the others.

Which, honestly, made it a bit harder to resist, not easier. But he managed. Just.

“We’re all here,” Cavit said, nodding to Lieutenant Zandra Taitt, who stood just to the left of Abol and Seven. “Did you prepare a speech?”

“As much as I know how much Commander Ro and Lieutenant Honigsberg love a good speech, Captain, I decided not to,” Taitt said, a warm smile reflecting the humour in her dark brown eyes that Ro and Honigsberg returned good-naturedly with laughs of their own.

“Not even cake?” Lieutenant Scott Rollins added, sending another wave of smiles and chuckles through the group.

“Not even,” Ensign Sahreen Lan shook her head. “Seven thought it was irrelevant.”

When Seven of Nine simply raised one eyebrow at being added into the banter, Fitzgerald felt a small rush of pride at her reaction. She’d been making real strides in how she handled the give-and-take of social interactions, and frankly, he thought she’d been doing an amazing job of it.

“Well, I’m ready to see how it works,” Stadi said, nodding at the large blank curve behind Taitt, Lan, Abol, and Seven. “Since I’m the one who’s trusting you to tell me which way to go.”

“No trust required, Lieutenant,” Taitt said, turning and tapping on the control panel.

As Fitzgerald watched, the entire Milky Way Galaxy appeared on the display, star after star appearing as pinpoints of light in the incredible spirals out from the centre mass, the vast array of colours of stellar masses, nebulas, plasma, and other phenomenon all in seemingly perfect display across the back wall of the lab.

He heard Aaron’s sharp intake of breath beside him, and looked at his husband in time to see the genuine, openly admiring awe in the man’s pale blue eyes. Aaron loved this sort of thing. The man was an explorer to his core.

“That is incredible,” Cavit said. “And this data is live?”

“Yes,” Seven of Nine said, as though that answer would be enough.

Fitzgerald felt his lips twitch.

“So, I’m not afraid to ask,” Rollins said, raising one hand. “How?”

“Astrometric sensors measure the radiative flux of up to three billion stars simultaneously,” Seven of Nine said. “The computer then calculates our position relative to the centre of the galaxy.”

“It’s part Borg, part Federation, and a whole lot of genius,” Lan said, gesturing to Seven, herself, and then Abol and Taitt in turn, ending with a little shrug.

“Stellar Cartography has been making do with our long range scans and running astrometrics with the raw data to create star charts and plot a course to the Alpha Quadrant,” Abol said, picking up the thread. The Ocampa man seemed both excited and proud, and Fitzgerald knew how much this project mean to him. The Ocampa had all excelled in their individual pursuits, but Abol’s love of the stars and the ways the galaxy worked seemed infinite. “But with these new dedicated systems in place…” He turned to Taitt, who smiled, and accessed the controls again.

On the display, the galaxy zoomed in somewhat, and a line appeared, curving from near one edge of the galaxy down to the familiar territory of the Orion Arm.

“That’s our new course home,” Taitt said.

Fitzgerald had to swallow around a lump in his throat. Home. As much as Voyager had become home to him, and these people his family, seeing that course made him think of his great-aunt, great-uncle, and so many other friends, former crew…

“By my estimates this trajectory will eliminate five years from your journey,” Seven said.

“Our journey, Seven,” Lan said, correcting her with a gentle teasing note in her voice. “You’re stuck with us now, remember?”

“This is fantastic work, all of you,” Cavit said. He stepped up to the controls. “And if I wanted to look at where we are now…” He reached out and tapped in a few commands, hesitantly at first but apparently finding the interface more intuitive than Fitzgerald imaged he himself would.

The galaxy zoomed all the way back to the start of the course home, and multiple sectors of space flickered into being all around the single image of the Intrepid-class starship at the centre. Their ship. Voyager.

“Is it just me or are there a lot of M-class planets on the horizon?” Honigsberg said.

“We’ve been calling this area of space The Goldilocks Grid in Stellar Cartography,” Taitt said, with a smile.

“Let me guess,” Fitzgerald said. “It was Billy’s turn at naming?”

“Yes,” Abol said, with a small trace of surprise. “How did you know?”

“Crewman Telfer’s humour is aligned with Doctor Fitzgerald’s,” Seven of Nine said, and Fitzgerald regarded her. “No doubt he sensed the similarity,” she added.

I think I just got burned by the Borg. When he saw Aaron’s delighted grin, he cleared his throat, deciding to change the topic. “Any friendlies?”

“Spatial grid zero zero five,” Seven of Nine said. “Primary species, the Zahl.”

“These are the people the Nassordin aimed us at, right?” Rollins said. “I know Cing’ta and Moore have heard good things.”

Fitzgerald smiled at the “heard good things” euphemism for Lieutenant Cing’ta’s “Cloud” program, which monitored and tagged subspace communications Voyager overheard, then sent them to their A&A department to help them choose paths towards what they hoped would be friendly species.

“Technologically advanced but non-confrontational,” Seven said, apparently agreeing with Rollins. “Their resistance quotient is quite low.”

Fitzgerald winced, but kept his voice gentle. “I’m not sure we should really refer to new species we encounter that way, Seven.”

“No, it’s good,” Rollins said, shaking his head. “I’m all for a tactical point of view, Doctor, and you know I’ve been trying to recruit Seven since that whole dom-jot maneuver with the B’omar, not to mention all that cloak-and-dagger with the Srivani.”

“I prefer astrometrics,” Seven of Nine said, with complete certainty.

“I can dream,” Rollins said.

“Bridge to Captain,” a voice interrupted. Lieutenant Dee Arkinson, Fitzgerald thought. She often had the swing-shift on the Bridge.

“Cavit here,” Cavit said.

“We're being hailed. A vessel off the port bow.” And, after a pause. “They’re arming weapons, but… they’re not exactly a threat, Captain.”

Fitzgerald found himself almost smiling at the descriptor from Arkinson, but his husband was already on the move.

“We’re on our way,” he said.

*

On the Bridge, Fitzgerald drifted to stand behind the command rail, while the rest of the Senior Staff—minus Emmet, who’d gone back to Sickbay—took their positions from the swing-shift crew.

The ship rocked gently beneath Fitzgerald’s feet, and he blinked, looking over at Ensign Deborah Lang, who was just stepping away from Tactical as Rollins took the position.

“They're firing on us, Captain,” she said, with a complete lack of alarm.

“It's a small ship, fifteen lifesigns,” Rollins said. “I’d say warp four engines, at best, and limited directed energy weapons.” The ship rocked slightly again, and Rollins turned to Cavit and added, dryly, “Shields are down to ninety-seven percent, sir.”

Cavit let out a small huff of a breath. “Open a channel, Scott.”

Fitzgerald looked at the screen as a uniformed man appeared, the channel framed such that he was the only one visible. His brown uniform struck Fitzgerald as particularly military in cut—something he’d never used to consider upon meeting a new alien species, but marriage to Aaron Cavit tended to come with a lot of discussions around military history, uniforms included—but otherwise he’d have guessed a fairly baseline humanoid, with facial features quite in line with humanity, beyond some blue-green patterning to either side of his forehead, above what looked to be circular keratin plating or perhaps bone ridges on either temple.

“Hello,” Cavit said. “I’m Captain Aaron Cavit. Can I ask why you’re shooting at me?”

“You will reverse course immediately,” the man said, with enough self-importance to give the B’omar Sovereignty pause. “This region is in dispute. You have no business in Krenim space.”

Fitzgerald’s stomach clenched with a cold shock, his amusement with the puffed-up man vanishing. Krenim. The word—the name—was one they’d been dreading. Like most of them, Fitzgerald had hoped the Ocampa flinging them across ten thousand light years of space had changed Abol’s glimpses of the future, but apparently not. He glanced at Cavit, but to his surprise, Aaron didn’t look at all concerned.

“We’d been informed we were entering Zahl territory,” Cavit said. “Mr…?”

“Commandant.” The Krenim man snapped. “The Zahl have no legitimate claim here. They have taken what is ours. Reverse course or be destroyed.”

Fitzgerald sucked in a breath, but as he looked around the Bridge, he realized no one else seemed even slightly worried, either, not even Taitt. He frowned. Sure, this Krenim ship didn’t seem to pose a threat, but they knew the Krenim Imperium could—would?—do significant damage to Voyager.

“Commandant,” Cavit said. “I’m sure you’ve noticed by now our shield technology is more than a match for your weaponry. I’ve got an invitation to speak with the Zahl, and I’m not going to miss it. Now, if you want to explain why you think—”

“No discussion!” The Commandant was yelling now. “No compromise!”

The screen blanked out, revealing the small, low-warp ship again. It turned with a burst of thrusters, and then began moving off.

“They’re leaving,” Rollins said. He sounded amused.

“That was… something,” Lan said. She wasn’t even hiding her smile.

“Technically, his attack calls for yellow alert,” Cavit said. “Scott?”

“Aye, Captain.”

Cavit shook his head, then turned back to Arkinson. “I think I can hand the Bridge back to you, Lieutenant. Given we can run rings around them, maybe just avoid any Krenim between here and the Zahl.”

“Aye, Captain,” Arkinson said, nodding.

Fitzgerald shook his head. “Aaron,” he said. “That was a Krenim.”

“You know something about them?” Cavit turned to face him, his expression curious, but still not remotely alarmed. “Did one of the Nassordin mention something about them?”

Doctor Jeff Fitzgerald stared at his husband, then Lieutenant Taitt, then Rollins and Ro and every one of the Senior Officers in turn, but not a single one of them seemed remotely concerned.

“The Krenim were the aliens Abol warned us about,” Fitzgerald said. “Remember?”

Cavit frowned, glancing at Ro, then Rollins, then Taitt, mirroring the same journey Fitzgerald’s own attention had just taken around the Bridge. “Anyone?” he said.

They all shook their heads.

Fitzgerald swallowed. “Zandra,” he said. “Can you call up Abol’s report?” Abol had kept a lot of his glimpses of the future to himself—he and Aaron had agreed on that, from the point of view of not wanting the crew to second-guess themselves—but he’d chosen to report on the broad strokes of his journey, especially the threats, and he’d agreed he’d come forward in a crunch when or if events came to pass he’d been forewarned of.

Taitt tapped on the Science console, and Fitzgerald watched her scanning Abol’s report.

“There’s no reference to Krenim in Abol’s report, Doctor,” Taitt said, after a moment. Her dark brown eyes met his. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t understand. When Abol’s temporal duplicate send him zipping around into the future, Abol told us…” Fitzgerald started, then blinked. Temporal duplicate. That was what had happened to Abol, what had given him the information from the future.

Time travel.

With a dull shock, Fitzgerald realized this wasn’t the first time he remembered something the rest of the crew didn’t.

“We need to talk to Abol,” Fitzgerald said. “Right now.”

Aaron nodded at him, taking him by the arm and leading him to the turbolift. Unsurprisingly, Zandra Taitt joined them.

“Astrometrics,” Cavit said.

The turbolift started moving, and Jeff Fitzgerald reached out and took his husband’s hand. It wasn’t something he did often, and even less so in front of other crew, but right now, he needed the grounding it afforded him.

Because unless he was mistaken, something was very, very wrong.

And thanks to that godforsaken entity Q, Fitzgerald himself might be the only person who’d even know it.

Chapter Text

Day 1

When the door to his Counselor’s Office chimed, Jeff Fitzgerald took a breath, lowered the PADD he’d read at least a dozen times by now, and said, “Come.”

That it was Aaron was by no means a surprise. His husband, the Captain of Voyager, had unzipped his uniform jacket, though he still had it around his shoulders, and if the scent coming from the thermos he was carrying was any indication, he’d come bearing coffee—and his other hand seemed to be carrying a small jug of cream, which only went to show how seriously he’d affected the man.

Replicated cream—for Fitzgerald to “ruin” his coffee with—was a sign Aaron was seriously worried.

“I’m okay,” Fitzgerald said.

“Liar,” Cavit said, putting the thermos and cream on Fitzgerald’s desk, and then picking up the two lovely gold-trimmed white mugs that Fitzgerald kept in the centre of the low table beside the chairs where he usually sat while he counselled the crew of Voyager in their one-on-one sessions, alongside a teapot most often filled with one of Voyager’s own, Garden-grown teas. Cavit poured one mug worth of coffee, though he only filled it two-thirds of the way, then another for himself, filling it. He added the cream to Fitzgerald’s before pushing it towards him. Then Cavit reversed the second chair and sat down, facing him. “Talk to me, Jeff. Now.”

“That’s not exactly the greatest bedside manner I’ve ever received, Aaron,” Fitzgerald said, though he picked up the mug and took a swallow. Voyager blend, made from the roasted seeds from the Kona coffee trees that grew in the Arboretum.

“How about if I remind you I love you?”

“That’s better.”

Cavit waited, and Fitzgerald sighed.

“Well, you heard Abol,” Fitzgerald said, hearing the frustration in his own voice and not able to do anything about it. “He’s never heard of the Krenim, and at no point during his bouncing around through time does he recall Voyager being badly damaged at the hands of the Krenim Imperium. Nor losing access to Sickbay.” He blew out a breath. “I’ve read the full report he gave you—minus whatever things you and he agreed he should keep to himself—and… most of it? Most of it is the same as what I remember him telling me. I think.” Fitzgerald put the PADD down. “Because honestly, the first time he went over it with us, the parts that really stuck with me were the Krenim Imperium, because they were somehow responsible for destroying Sickbay, and the idea we might someday catch up with Equinox.”

“Of course,” Cavit said. “Of course those would be important to you.”

“So,” Fitzgerald held the mug between his palms. “Given Emmett and Kes have given my brain a good looking over and I’ve got no signs of neural trauma, and nobody else seems to recall anything about it, I’m left with two possibilities.” He held up a finger, trying to keep his voice steady. “One, I’m just imagining it somehow.”

“Which I know you well enough to know isn’t the case,” Cavit said. “Nobody is thinking that, Jeff. No one.”

“Really?” Fitzgerald smiled. “Because every time I re-read Abol’s report, I get a little more convinced.”

“Then stop reading it,” Cavit said, taking the PADD from him. “And say the other possibility out loud.”

Fitzgerald took a breath, and raised his second finger. “Two, whatever godforsaken thing Q did to me that lets me know when something has happened to our timeline is still working. Which means something happened to the timeline.”

Cavit reached out with his free hand and wrapped Fitzgerald’s fingers up in his grasp.

“That one,” he said.

“So what do we do?” Fitzgerald said. That had been the thing chasing itself around in his head for hours now. If something had changed the timeline, what should he do? What could he do? He had no idea.

“Well,” Cavit said, taking a deep breath. “To start with, you finish your coffee. Then we go back to our quarters, and you have a bath.”

“Aaron,” Fitzgerald sighed, trying not to roll his eyes, and failing.

“Fine, fine,” Cavit squeezed Fitzgerald’s fingers. “I’ll join you. You don’t have to beg.”

Despite himself, Fitzgerald laughed. “I’m being serious, Aaron.”

“So am I,” Cavit said. “I love you. You’ve been awake all day. This must be frustrating and confusing and I can tell it’s making you second-guess yourself. So you’re going to have coffee, a bath, and we’re going to bed, and you’re going to get eight hours of sleep. We’ll be meeting with the Zahl Ambassador in a couple of days, and we can ask him about these Krenim then.” He paused, and when Fitzgerald looked into the man’s beautiful pale blue eyes, Cavit was looking at him in that way he had of making Fitzgerald feel completely seen. “You’re not alone. Taitt and Abol and Seven of Nine are already coming up with scans I’ve never even heard of before. Kes and Daggin think there might be something they can do as a Chorus, too—something to do with how they touched that parallel branch of space-time when we had Tuvix on board…” Cavit shook his head. “I didn’t really follow all of it, if I’m being honest.”

Fitzgerald smiled again, which he knew damned well had been the point.

Aaron still hadn’t let go of his fingers. Fitzgerald carefully lifted his cup with his bad hand, and took a long swallow of the coffee. “Thank you,” he said.

“I love you,” Cavit said.

“I love you, too.”

“Good. Now drink up. We have a date with our bath-tub.”

Chapter Text

Day 4

Counselor’s Personal Log, Stardate 51260.1—The last three days have been completely uneventful, and while we’ve picked up a few small, low-warp vessels matching the Krenim ship we encountered three days ago on long-range sensors, there’s been no other incident on our journey to Zahl space, and the Ambassador has beamed aboard. I’m off to meet him. I think I’m still holding some hope the Ambassador has some answer to my worries, but given the situation—how could he?

When Fitzgerald stepped onto the Bridge, he saw Ro had the Big Chair already, and she nodded at him. Beyond her, two large ships dominated the view on the viewscreen, but Fitzgerald couldn’t help note they appeared rounded, softer in their presentation to the point of seeming almost benign. Not like the Krenim vessel, with its sharp lines.

“I’m late,” Fitzgerald said. “Aren’t I?”

“The Ambassador just arrived,” Ro said, which was a polite ‘yes, you are,’ on her part. He aimed a quick smile her way and headed for the Ready Room door, wondering if anyone was watching him with that look he’d caught a few times over the last few days—concern, mostly, but a dash of pity included—and decided not to find out.

He kept his eyes straight ahead, and tapped the chime on the Ready Room door.

“Come.”

Aaron’s voice did its usual trick of calming him, and Fitzgerald stepped in to find Cavit and the Ambassador were seated at one of the upper-level sitting areas in the Ready Room, between what he thought was a crop of Ocampan Black tea in one of the containers Daggin and his team maintained there.

Both rose at his arrival.

The Zahl ambassador was tall, and handsome, and his warm, brown skin, cranial ridges, and darker markings across his ridged temples, nasal line, cheeks and chin-bone evoked a softer-edged Klingon aesthetic to Fitzgerald, especially given the man’s broad smile and spread hands at his arrival.

“Ah!” the Ambassador said. “You must be the Captain’s husband and the Ship’s Counsellor, yes?”

“I am,” Fitzgerald said, climbing the step up to join them and holding out his hands in turn, which the Ambassador clasped together and squeezed. “Doctor Jeff Fitzgerald. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“And I you,” the Ambassador actually pulled him in for a full-body hug, which would have been unexpected had Eru and Cir not told them to expect it from what they’d gathered from the Nassordin. The man even made a little purring sound deep in his chest, like a cat. Also, beneath the man’s soft and stylish robes, he felt surprisingly solid and strong.

When the Ambassador released him, he added. “Kir Tiffs, Zahl Ambassador. But please, call me Kir.”

Yep. This man was like a Klingon, only cuddly. Fitzgerald liked the Zahl a lot already.

“Then call me Jeff,” Fitzgerald said.

“As I was just telling Aaron,” the Ambassador said. “While you travel in Zahl territory you travel among friends. And I apologize for your mishap with the Krenim.”

Cavit gave Fitzgerald a small nod. Permission, really.

“About that,” Fitzgerald said. “I was wondering if you could tell us anything about them? They seem to think this area of space belongs to them?”

“The Krenim dominated this space many years ago. They possessed deadly weapons based on temporal science, and it kept them in power for a long time,” the Ambassador said.

Fitzgerald fought to keep his expression even. Temporal science. He saw the same careful expression on Aaron’s face, too, but they didn’t interrupt the Zahl man, who continued to explain.

“A generation ago we fought the Krenim. We defeated them and took back the planets that they had annexed, dismantled their military forces.” He lifted both hands, as though somewhat embarrassed by the reality. “Their ships still wander our territory making grandiose claims. Don't let them trouble you.”

Fitzgerald could only nod, because they absolutely troubled him.

“When you say temporal science,” Cavit said. “Do you mean time travel?”

“Oh, no,” the Ambassador gestured with both hands again, and Fitzgerald thought it was something like a human’s shrug, meant to imply something not worth discussing. “Their torpedo technology shifted out of phase in some way.” The man smiled. “I’m afraid I’m not a scientist, so that’s about as strong a grasp on the subject as I have.”

“I know the feeling,” Cavit said, with a warm smile in return. He met Fitzgerald’s gaze long enough for Fitzgerald to nod back at him.

You okay? Cavit’s eyes said.

I’m okay, Fitzgerald tried to reply in kind. 

“Now, tell me about Voyager.” The Zahl man touched Cavit’s shoulder with one of his big hands. “A single ship alone, half a galaxy from home… How exciting for you!”

“Well,” Cavit said, cracking a bit of a grin. “It wasn’t by choice, but—”

“Bridge to Cavit.” It was Lieutenant Scott Rollins, their tactical officer, which Fitzgerald thought couldn’t bode well. “Sorry to interrupt, Captain, but I’m afraid our Krenim friend is back. And he’s demanding to speak with you. By name.”

The Zahl ambassador stiffened, and Cavit blew out a short breath, though Fitzgerald thought he caught an edge to the humour that seemed forced, given what the Zahl man had just told them.

“This way,” Fitzgerald said, once Cavit had passed them by. He wanted to be on the Bridge, and there was no harm in having the Ambassador there, too. It wasn’t like the man also didn’t have two ships, both of which were larger than Voyager, present as well.

Surely the small Krenim ship couldn’t be a threat.

Fitzgerald walked with the Ambassador until they were both behind the command rail, where they could be out of everyone’s way while Aaron handled the conversation.

“On screen,” Cavit said.

It was indeed the same Krenim man as before, the one who’d referred to himself as a Commandant. He looked ready to chew nails, as Fitzgerald’s great-uncle would say.

“You wanted to speak with me?” Cavit said.

“You've ignored our warnings, and now you consort with our enemy,” the Krenim man said.

“Leave this space or I'll seize your vessel and send you home in a cargo container,” the Zahl Ambassador’s words were unexpected, and quite a bit harsher than Fitzgerald would have expected from the purring, hug-delivering man of moments ago.

The Commandant bristled, and Cavit held up his hand. “Let’s take a moment,” he said. “We’re not here to conspire with anyone, Commandant.” Cavit took a breath. “In fact, we’re just passing through. By no means do we need—”

“Captain?” Ensign Sahreen Lan interrupted. “There’s a spatial distortion heading this way. I can’t get any readings beyond a leading edge…” She frowned, then glanced up, her dark eyes growing wider. “It’s massive.”

“Origin?” Cavit said, while the Krenim Commandant on the screen sputtered out something about not being ignored. Fitzgerald looked at the Zahl Ambassador, but he seemed just as surprised as everyone else.

“Astrometric data is coming in, Captain,” Lieutenant Zandra Taitt said from the Science Station. “It’s coming from a vessel near the Zahl homeworld.” She looked up, frowning enough to put lines on her forehead.

“What?” the Ambassador’s voice shook with concern.

“It’s a massive build-up of energy,” Lan said, then frowned. “Temporal energy.” She exchanged a glance with Fitzgerald.

He swallowed.

“The space-time shock wave is going to hit us in less than one minute, Captain,” Taitt said.

“Stadi, maximum warp, keep us ahead of it for as long as—” Ro started, but the pilot shook her head.

“I can’t get a stable warp field, Commander,” she said. “We don’t have warp drive.”

“Shields to maximum,” Cavit said, and as he spoke, he turned and faced Fitzgerald, already heading for the Big Chair. He didn’t look away as he added. “All hands, brace for impact.”

“Ambassador,” Fitzgerald said, taking the Zahl man by his arm and pulling him towards the rear stations, where they could brace themselves against the wall—

A rush of light washed past him, and for half a breath, Fitzgerald’s whole body grew rigid and his senses raced away as though he were on the edge of fainting—his vision clouded from the edges inward, sound vanished, even the sense of the deck beneath his boots lessened to the point he seemed to be floating—and then—

*

Jeff Fitzgerald stood by the furthest biobed in Sickbay and carefully ran a dermal regenerator across Ensign Deborah Lang’s right temple with his good hand. His left hand, wearing the neural assistance rig, cupped her chin as gently as he could.

“And that will… do… it.” Fitzgerald’s words fell off. He frowned, looking left and right. Sickbay held over a dozen wounded, and the red alert light status lights were lit. He heard Emmett’s voice from the surgical bay, and Nurse T’Prena answering, and saw Kes and Sullivan both moving between the other biobeds, dealing with what looked to him like burns, fractures, and lacerations, as well as Ensign Kovar, who was helping Crewman Lydia Anderson, who gripped her shoulder, and even Arridor, the Ferengi Physician, seemed to be at work—he seemed to be readying hypos, passing them to Kes or Sullivan as they reached out to him.

“What happened?” Fitzgerald said, aiming the question at Ensign Lang. “How were you hurt?”

“One of the Krenim torpedoes hit deck eight,” Lang said, and the way she said it made Fitzgerald think this was something she’d already said. “The shields did nothing,” she added, in the same tone of voice, as though she believed he should already know all this.

If only that were the case.

Krenim torpedoes. They hadn’t had torpedoes just a moment ago, only weak energy weapons. But the Zahl Ambassador had said…

Voyager jolted under his feet, hard, and Fitzgerald grabbed Lang’s shoulder to make sure she didn’t topple right off the biobed.

Behind him the doors opened, and two more crew arrived—Serious Murphy, who was all but carrying a limping Crewman Ulval in. The woman’s gold operations uniform jacket was stained with her bright blue Bolian blood, all across her left shoulder and down to her left wrist.

Fitzgerald left Lang, arriving at Ulval’s side along with Kes, who was already scanning the Bolian woman. Andreas Murphy explained how a conduit had ruptured and Ulval had been cut deeply by a sheared off piece of paneling.

He needed to talk to Aaron, but it would have to wait.

*

Captain Aaron Cavit struggled back to his feet and saw Commander Ro Laren kneeling beside Ensign Todd Mulchaey, who’d been manning the Engineering Station when it had ruptured. Half the man’s face was burned, and the blood on Ro’s hands made his breath catch.

Ro shook her head at him. “He’s gone.”

Damn it.

Cavit eyed Rollins. “Status?”

“Shields are at seventy percent,” Rollins said. “But they’re not stopping those torpedoes—they’re firing again!”

“Brace!” Cavit said, and Voyager rumbled with the impact.

“They’re hailing,” Rollins said.

About fucking time. “On screen,” Cavit said. The face of a Krenim officer, a Commandant, if he was remembering their insignia correctly, appeared on the viewscreen. “Commandant,” Cavit said. “Please hold your fire. We have no conflict with you, and intended no offence—”

“Your presence in our space is provocation enough,” the Commandant said, in a tone that barely registered boredom.

“We attempted to hail your ships, but they opened fire the moment they saw us, and have been chasing us for four days,” Cavit said. “No one will speak to us, or even tell us where your borders are.”

The Commandant sighed in a put-upon way, then aimed dark brown eyes his way. “State your identity.”

Finally. Progress. “I’m Captain Aaron Cavit, of the Federation Starship Voyager,” he said.

“And your reason for violating our borders?” the Commandant said, still sounding as though he were reading from a prepared script, and not a particularly interesting one.

“We didn’t mean to,” Cavit said. “If they’re marked, I’m afraid we missed it—we’re trying to get home. If this is your space, we’ll go through whatever channels you have for passage—”

“No,” the word came out with the first real emotion the man had shown: disdain. “You will submit to the Krenim Imperium. I would prefer to seize your vessel before it is too badly damaged. Surrender now and I will forego the execution of your crew.”

Cavit swallowed, hard. There was no way that was happening. “I’m not going to let you do that, Commandant.”

“Then prepare to be boarded,” the Krenim man said, and the screen flicked back to the image of the Commandant’s warship, the channel closed. Those ships, larger than Voyager, and better armed with their damned torpedoes, had been harrying them for four straight days.

“All hands, battle stations,” Ro called out, taking her seat. Rollins relayed the call.

Cavit managed to get to his chair, sparing a glance for the dead man by Engineering. Mulchaey wasn’t going to die for nothing. Not if he could help it.

“Lan, how long before we get warp engines back online?” Cavit asked.

“Any minute now, Captain,” Lan said, working her panel rapidly.

“Another torpedo,” Rollins called out. “Three seconds to impact!”

“Evasive, Stadi,” Ro said.

“Aye, Commander,” Stadi said, leaning as she tucked Voyager into a tight spin with thrusters and the impulse engines in tandem and straining inertial dampeners enough they all rocked in their stations.

It almost worked. The shudder that came a moment later, however, painted the effort as not enough.

“Glancing hit on the secondary hull,” Lan said. “Could have been worse.”

“Nice flying Stadi,” Ro said, then faced Cavit. “We can’t fight these torpedoes. Not with them passing right through the shields.”

“Bridge to Engineering,” Cavit said. “Alex, I need warp engines. Now.”

“I can give you warp six,” Honigsberg replied.

“We’ll take it,” Cavit said. “Stadi.”

“Engaging at warp six,” Stadi said.

Silence fell on the Bridge, though Cavit could hear the hissing of the ruptured panels behind the former Engineering station.

“They’re not pursuing,” Lan said.

Cavit rose, and Ro stood as well, when he knelt down to lift Mulchaey’s body, she was already there, helping him, and before they could get the former ensign two steps, two of Rollins’s men, Madalone and Larson, took the body from them.

Cavit exhaled. Mourn later. Get them through this first. He turned. “Status?” he said.

“Sickbay is reporting fifteen wounded,” Rollins said, not bothering to add the death on the Bridge, given they’d all witnessed it. “Main power is down. Environmental is out on deck seven and eight, and the main computer is offline.”

“We’re running on back-ups, Captain,” Lan said. “For now.”

“Long-range sensors?” Ro said.

Lan shook her head. “We hadn’t gotten them back from the last attack, but I’ve got short range to work with.” She pushed some of her dark curls back behind one ear. “I’ll keep an eye out, feed any hits to navigation as soon as I’ve got them, Commander.”

“The Cloud?” Cavit said, turning to Rollins. “Did we at least set that in motion?” This was the first ship to deign to respond to their hail.

“The packets went over with our hail as soon as they answered,” Rollins said. “Cing’ta and Moore will start monitoring.”

“That’s a win,” Cavit said, meaning it. Cing’ta’s viral communications program would—with any luck—start spreading among the Krenim vessels and flag communications that mentioned Voyager by name. “Stay on full tactical alert,” Cavit said. “Taitt, Lan, I need to know everything we can learn about those damned torpedoes—we need to find a way to counter them.”

“They’re chroniton-based,” Taitt said, wiping at her forehead with the back of her left hand. Cavit realized she had a small cut above her left eyebrow, and it was bleeding.

“Lieutenant, you’re hurt,” he said.

“It’s just a small cut, Captain,” Taitt said.

“Send your readings to Seven and Abol,” he said. “Lan can work with them. And get someone to look at your head.” He forced a smile. “We count on your head, Zandra. We don’t want it damaged.”

For a moment, she looked like she wanted to argue, but she nodded. “Aye, sir.”

“The Commandant made it pretty clear they’re going to take Voyager,” Ro said, coming up beside him and dropping her voice low to keep the observation between the two of them.

Cavit nodded. “And if we turn around, we’ll end up running right back into the ships already chasing us. The Commandant wants to impound Voyager. I don’t see how we reason with these people. Their borders aren’t marked in any way we can see, and we’ve only got short-range sensors to dodge them with.” He crossed his arms, and aimed a wry smile her way. “Any ideas, Maquis or otherwise?”

“Ideally, they tell us their plans via the Cloud,” Ro said. “Cing will keep an eye out. But I think the Maquis idea we’re looking for is to go to ground, Captain. What we really need is somewhere to catch our breath and give Alex time to make repairs. I could see if the Astrometrics Lab’s original readings had anything we could work with close by, and work with Stadi to get us there.”

“Good plan. Go ahead.” Cavit nodded. “Hell of a week,” he muttered.

Ro offered him a wan smile, and headed for the turbolift.

*

Fitzgerald stepped onto the Bridge and swallowed. Two of Alex’s people were working to repair the Engineering station—both Vulcans from the Hera survivors, he thought, Valek and Loval—and while they’d already dealt with the worst of the charring from the overload, some marks remained. He noticed Loval’s prosthetic leg didn’t seem to be bending quite enough to allow the Vulcan man to lie flat on the deck of the Bridge and reach under the consoles with ease, and made a mental note to talk to Emmett about it when he could. Maybe they could make an adjustment.

Mulchaey died there.

Ro wasn’t on the Bridge, he noticed, and so he stepped down into the Command area, where Aaron was at work on the command console built into his Captain’s chair. He glanced over when Fitzgerald sank into Ro’s seat.

“Tell me,” Cavit said quietly.

“Mulchaey was the only loss,” Fitzgerald said, knowing where he had to begin. “Crewman Ulval is in surgery, and we’ve got eighteen others who are wounded, but all signs are pointing to complete recovery.”

Cavit exhaled and nodded. Then he frowned at Fitzgerald. “What’s wrong? There’s something else, isn’t there?”

Fitzgerald nodded, and glanced around the Bridge. Everyone was working, their heads down—Lan’s voice was a low constant as she reached out to the various Damage Control teams working throughout the ship—but he wasn’t sure if this was the place to have the discussion he needed to have.

“Can we talk in your Ready Room?” Fitzgerald said.

Cavit blinked in surprise, but nodded, rising. He led the way, pausing to put a hand on Stadi’s shoulder long enough to say, “You have the Bridge, but if you want to keep flying—”

“I’m good here, Captain,” Stadi said, not looking away from her readings for a moment.

Once they were in the Ready Room, Cavit took a moment to pick up two books that had fallen from the shelves below his auxiliary monitor, and then faced him, his pale blue eyes softening. “What is it?”

“Bear with me,” Fitzgerald said. “This is going to be strange.”

Cavit frowned, but nodded. “Okay.”

“Do you remember having a conversation with the Zahl Ambassador about the Krenim? Or how I remembered the Krenim from Abol’s report?”

“I don’t know who the Zahl are,” Cavit said, shaking his head. “But we all remember Abol’s report about the Krenim. If only they’d marked their borders, we might have avoided them.”

“The Krenim are a threat again, and now Abol remembers them, too?” Fitzgerald said, and at Aaron’s deepening frown, he held up one hand. “I need a second.”

Aaron opened his mouth, but then closed it, giving him the time.

“Okay,” Fitzgerald said, once he’d slotted things in to some semblance of order in his mind—not that order meant much given what he was dealing with. “Here’s the thing. The timeline changed about two hours ago—only I’m realizing now this is at least the second time, not the first—and I remember things differently than everyone else on board, thanks to Q.”

Cavit stared at him for a beat, then another, then finally spoke again. “Walk me through it.”

Fitzgerald exhaled in relief, then started talking.

*

By the time Jeff Fitzgerald finished speaking to the Senior Officers—plus Cir, Eru, and Cing’ta, who Cavit had added to their meeting—the mix of apprehension, worry, confusion, and outright wonder on the faces of those gathered left him wishing he’d had more time with Aaron before this meeting to find ways to soften the impact of everything he’d just said.

Then again, more time was the last thing he needed.

“To be clear,” Taitt said. “Whatever the Enterprise Q did to you, it’s made you sensitive to changes in the timeline—but you don’t remember the last four days unfolding the way we do?”

Fitzgerald nodded. “That’s right.”

“So you didn’t gain retroactive insight into a new timeline,” Taitt said. “Not like when the Comet Q was attempting to end his own existence.”

“You’re right.” Fitzgerald frowned, because Taitt was right. He hadn’t thought of it. “That time, I remembered the other timelines…” He shook his head.

“Those were reset, though,” Taitt said, taking in a short breath. “Not changed. There’s a difference.”

“Sure there is,” said Rollins, in a dry deadpan that Fitzgerald related to completely.

“From a quantum mechanics perspective, they’re not the same thing,” Taitt said.

“The point being, someone is messing with the timeline, and in this particular timeline, the Krenim are both powerful and aggressive, and weren’t stopped a generation ago by a people only Doctor Fitzgerald here can remember,” Cavit said.

“The Zahl,” Fitzgerald said. “Picture a hug-loving Klingon. With purring.”

“Okay, that’s an image,” Lan said, blinking.

“Do you know where these Zahl are?” Ro said.

“That’s a good idea. We could certainly use an ally in this timeline, given it’s the one we’re… in,” Stadi said, then frowned, like she wasn’t sure she was making sense.

“I don’t exactly spend a lot of time looking at Star Charts, I’m afraid,” Fitzgerald said, feeling himself on somewhat uneven ground, but then he realized he did know. “Wait, no. When we rolled out the Astrometrics Lab, you wanted to see where we were, and Seven of Nine called up Spatial Grid 005.” He smiled. “Their homeworld was located there.”

Taitt was already up, and stepping past where Cir, Eru, and Cing’ta were standing to access the main display in the Briefing Room. “Here we go…” She tapped in a few commands, and a section of space appeared. “Spatial Grid 005. On the edge of the Goldilocks Grid…”

“It looks different—the borders, I mean.” Fitzgerald stared, wishing he’d paid more attention. “Less occupied planets, but I’m fairly certain that Class M world right there…” He turned to face Lan. “That was the Zahl homeworld. And you and Taitt both said something about a massive build up of temporal energy, emanating from the Zahl homeworld, right before everything changed.”

“If you say so,” Lan said.

“We did stop there,” Taitt said, bringing up Voyager’s flight path. “Ensign Kovar took down a team. He and Daggin found wild nuts, those apple-like fruits…” She turned to Cir and Eru. “And something else. I’ve forgotten.”

“Mushrooms,” Cir added.

“Right,” Taitt said, turning back to Fitzgerald. Her dark eyes were sharp, and he could almost imagine her turning the problem over and over in her mind. “But it wasn’t an occupied planet. No intelligent species.”

“And then the Krenim showed up and attacked us as we were breaking orbit,” Rollins said.

Fitzgerald just shook his head. He had no memory of any of those events.

“Are we thinking this could be Q?” Ro said.

Fitzgerald sighed. He had no idea. Except… “The Krenim use temporal technology in their weaponry.”

“Their damn torpedoes,” Rollins nodded.

“Our shields barely slow them down,” Honigsberg said, rubbing his goatee. “And they do a hell of a lot of damage to our systems when they impact—which is also a function of their temporally phased nature, I think.”

“What have we learned about the Imperium?” Cavit said, facing Lieutenant Cing’ta and the two Ocampa. “I know you haven’t had a lot of time, or much to work with, but anything might help.”

“We’ve received a couple of packets,” Cing’ta said. “They’re talking about us, and would really like access to a ship as fast as Voyager.”

“And by ‘access’ you mean ’take,’” Rollins said.

“Yes,” Cing’ta said. “We crossed into their borders, and they believe that gives them the right to take it from us.”

“Borders they don’t even try to mark,” Stadi said. “Which makes it easy for people to do exactly that by accident.”

“It’s consistent with their culture,” Eru said. The Ocampa anthropologist stood with her hands clasped together in front of her, which Fitzgerald knew she did to take some of the pressure of the mitral sacks where her soon-to-be-born children were growing to either side of her rib-cage, on her back. She was such a small woman, even for an Ocampa, but she lacked nothing in her presence or confidence. “We’ve only had four days of monitoring their broadcasts, but they are arrogant, colonial, and very much of the opinion they belong in a position of dominance.”

“They call it Fen,” Cir said. “A concept I’d place somewhere between the idea of fate and will. They believe they deserve a prosperous future, and simply don’t consider they can fail; other species are lesser, and to be ruled.”

“Like Manifest Destiny in the Americas on Earth,” Cavit said. “With a dash of the Klingon treatment of their Jeghpu'wI’.”

“Those are both weak-points,” Ro said. “The first is arrogance, which leads to assumptions. The second is oppression, which breeds resistance. We can work with either.”

“Agreed,” Cavit said. He exhaled, and Fitzgerald recognized Aaron gathering himself to deliver news of an unwelcome reality. “I know what Doctor Fitzgerald is experiencing puts a question mark on, well, everything, but right now, this is the timeline we’re in. We prioritize repairs, finding a path out of Imperium space, and keeping away from them. Understood?”

The words were met with a chorus of “Aye”s and nods of agreement.

“We’ll also make time for a memorial for Ensign Mulchaey, once we’ve got primary systems back online,” Cavit added, softening his voice.

“Thank you, Captain,” Honigsberg said. Fitzgerald offered Honigsberg a small nod as well. Mulchaey had been well liked, especially among the engineering crew.

The meeting broke. Taitt, however, waited while everyone else left, and Fitzgerald noticed Aaron didn’t return to the Bridge either. When it was just the three of them, he lifted his good hand. “Why do I feel like I’ve been held after class?” He cracked a smile to show he wasn’t actually put-out, just curious.

“Funny you should put it like that,” Aaron said. “Zandra wants to send you to school.”

“Pardon?” Fitzgerald said, glancing at the Science Officer, who lifted one shoulder.

“Doctor,” Taitt said. “You’re the only one of us capable of noticing when these changes to the timeline happen. It seems to me it might be a good idea if you were a little more educated in the sphere of temporal mechanics.”

Fitzgerald blinked. “Biology and neurology are one thing, Lieutenant.” He blew out a sharp breath. “But temporal mechanics is a long way off from my comfort zone. I'm a doctor, not a physicist.”

“Abol has a way of explaining things,” Taitt said. “And Seven of Nine has the Borg perspective. And I’m told I’m a good teacher.” She smiled. “I’d like you to work with the three of us. If there’s another change in the timeline there might be valuable knowledge the rest of us will simply un-know. But if you know it—and better yet, understand it—you can tell us.”

“Right,” Fitzgerald said. He’d only remembered the location of the Zahl homeworld by chance. Taitt was entirely correct. If this happened again, they’d need better than that. “I guess I’ll go sharpen my pencils.”

Chapter Text

Day 11

“Captain, I’ve got two more Krenim warp signatures ahead of us,” Lan said. “They’re on an intercept course.”

Cavit bit back a curse, exchanging a glance with Ro, who gave him a small nod of frustration in return. “So much for the gas giant,” she said. The planet had been Taitt’s best suggestion for a “hidey-hole,” but with two Krenim warships ahead of them, that wouldn’t work.

“How long until they intercept, Ensign?” Cavit said.

“The first ship in just under an hour,” Lan said. “The second is about fifteen minutes further off. They’re cruising at warp five-point-five.” Lan glanced up after her pronouncement, pushing some of her curls back behind her ear.

That was the fastest they’d seen any of the Krenim vessels going thus far. Voyager was faster, which was about the only thing they’d had going for them for what was soon going to become two hellish weeks of dodging these bastards.

“Bridge to Engineering,” Cavit said.

“If you’re about to ask me what I’m guessing you’re about to ask me,” Honigsberg’s voice came over the channel with some humour—albeit of the grim type—which made Cavit smile in spite of the situation. “The answer is maybe three or four more hours at warp six. But we really need to drop out of warp to make some repairs, Captain. Those torpedoes did a number on the warp coils, and even One can’t crawl up in there when they’re this hot.”

“Understood,” Cavit said, then exhaled. “Taitt, do we have a second-best hiding spot?” He eyed the Science Officer, who’d been working non-stop at the Science Station for nearly ten hours now, going through the information Seven of Nine, Abol, Ensign Murphy or Ensign Hickman had been feeding her from the Astrometrics Lab. They might not have their long-range scanners completely back online, but the astrometric arrays were still working.

They could at least make some very well-educated guesses.

“There’s a trinary star system at fifteen mark seven that’s putting out some pretty intense triolic interference and radiation,” Taitt said. “If we can put it between us and the Krenim, they should lose us.” She blew out a breath. “Though we’d be close to losing sight on them, too, Captain—I believe we can adjust our sensors somewhat to compensate.”

“From our scans of their ships our sensors are better than theirs,” Rollins said.

“But we won’t have a clear view on them, either,” Lan said.

Cavit looked at Ro, checking in—he trusted her tactical acumen, but he didn’t see a better option.

“Not a bad trade,” she said.

He had to agree. “I’ll take it. Stadi?”

“Dropping out of warp and adjusting course,” Stadi said.

Cavit watched the stars return to pinpricks for the brief moment it took for Stadi to adjust Voyager’s heading, and then they leapt to warp again. The sound of the warp engines, usually a healthy thrum that lulled him to sleep at night, grew rougher than it had been even just moments before. He inhaled, but before he could call Engineering, Alex beat him to the punch.

“Engineering to Bridge,” Hongisberg said. “Sorry Captain, but it’s going to be two hours, not four.”

“Understood,” Cavit said, then leaned forward. “Stadi?”

“I’ll get us there, Captain,” the pilot said.

“Our friends will get there in just over an hour and ten,” Lan said. “But we’ll be on the wrong side of a whole lot of noise, from their perspective.”

“By then I’ll dive into the system and start a top-tier game of hide and seek at impulse,” Stadi said. “I was the reigning champion at sensor-dodging in my third year at the academy.”

“I don’t remember sensor-dodging being a part of the education,” Cavit said, with a small smile.

“You followed all the rules,” Ro said.

“It was invite only, sir,” Stadi said.

“I’ll try not to take it personally. I spent most of my time clocking extra engineering courses.” Cavit nodded at Ro. “Speaking of which, you have the Bridge. I’m going to see if I can lend Alex a hand.”

Ro dipped her chin. “Aye, Captain.”

He rose, pausing by the Tactical Station on his way to the turbolift. “Weapons status?” he said.

“Phasers are back online, and I can probably generate eighty percent on shields, but those torpedoes of theirs…” Rollins said, shaking his head. He didn’t have to say more.

Krenim torpodoes ignored their damn shields, and just that one glancing hit to the nacelle had them down to warp six as it was.

“Do what you can,” Cavit said, and stepped into the turbolift.

*

Jeff Fitzgerald watched the image Seven of Nine had called up on the main holographic display of the Astrometrics lab, and found himself tilting his head to one side, like his great-uncle’s Irish wolfhound when it encountered an unexpected noise.

“You are not following,” Seven’s voice was declarative, as usual.

He wasn’t sure if it would have felt more or less humiliating had she phrased it in the form of  a question, honestly. Her beautiful blue eyes didn’t contain any pity or frustration, at least. That was something.

Behind her, the möbius strip continued to rotate.

“I understand the object itself,” Fitzgerald said, nodding to the möbius strip. “Taking a strip of material, rotating it half-way, and then attaching it creates a single surface. It’s the metaphor of it for a predestination paradox part I’m not…” He paused, and looked at the image again, and would have sworn he felt an audible click in the centre of his brain, a sensation he hadn’t had since he’d been a first year med-student and nearly buried under by his Xenobiology Anatomy 101 course and had finally—finally—grasped the reflexive adaptive nature of the Vulcan circulatory system. “Unless… Do you mean the predestination paradox isn’t the loop itself, but the twisting of the strip, which then creates the single surface, which is the whole inescapable loop part?”

Seven of Nine’s eyebrow rose. “Almost.”

He’d take an almost. He’d been at this for a week, and felt no smarter nor educated than when he’d begun, but he was at least starting to have the feeling of a man who’d fumbled around in a pitch-black closet for so long he could kind-of remember where he’d last encountered a particular piece of cloth by texture.

He still had no idea if it was a coat or a scarf, mind you.

“It’s more like the twist both created and is created by the strip itself,” Abol said. The Ocampa man didn’t interject much when Seven of Nine was speaking, but when she paused to check-in with Fitzgerald, it was often Abol’s interjections that gave Fitzgerald any hope of feeling like this would go somewhere.

Eventually.

“Which denotes the paradoxical nature of the temporal event,” Seven added, as if somehow that helped.

And, to his surprise, after a moment, it did.

“Because what you’re both saying is it doesn’t matter whether or not there was, is, or will be an initial starting temporal event—a time-traveller setting something into motion, say—because once that loop exists, it’s self-sustaining and self-creating?” He’d started more confidently than he’d finished, and heard the hesitation and question in his voice by the end of it.

“An imperfect analysis,” Seven of Nine said, with a slight tilt of her own head. “You are still attaching creation, which is irrelevant to this temporal construct, but you are essentially correct.”

Fitzgerald could have thrown a fist into the air and whooped, if he hadn’t imagined Seven of Nine’s reaction to such an action. But Abol was beaming at him, and there was definitely something to be said of winning the approval one of the singular most intelligent people Fitzgerald had ever encountered.

“Okay,” Fitzgerald lifted his PADD, trying to recall where they’d begun this journey four hours ago. “So, the reason we went down this rabbit-hole was for me to get a grasp on how I remembered entire timelines when the Comet Q was destroying Voyager in his attempts to end his own existence, but when this timeline shifted, I’m only recalling time the way I remember it, which means…” He tried to make his grey cells function as well with temporal mechanics as they did with neurological science via sheer willpower. “This isn’t a closed loop. We’re not on one of those möbius strip temporal constructs, we’re still in something linear.”

“A partially suppositional conclusion,” Seven of Nine cautioned, but then she nodded. “But I would agree.”

“Me too,” Abol said. “This is fallout rewriting a current reality, and the... Let’s call it a ‘quantum lock’ the Enterprise Q gave you makes you aware of up-temporal shifts, rather than being changed along with them.”

“And we’re using up-temporal to mean changes that occurred in what feels like the past to me, sort of like further up a stream, because, as we spent three very frustrating days discussing, ‘the past’ is actually more like a dimension or a place rather than something that happened and is done and gone.” Fitzgerald lowered his PADD, feeling more confident about that one.

“Correct,” Seven of Nine said, again. This time without any qualifiers.

“Okay,” Fitzgerald said, taking a breath. “And this is why those scans you attempted a week ago gave you nothing, no sign of changes to the timeline, and left us with nothing beyond my own memories to work with?”

“In part,” Abol said, and Fitzgerald tried not to groan because ‘in part’ from Abol sounded an awful lot like ‘Sit down, Jeff, we’re about to throw more mind-bending time stuff at you’ even with his dark brown eyes being all gentle-like.

They were interrupted, however, by Aaron’s voice.

“Cavit to all Senior Officers. Report to the Briefing Room.”

Fitzgerald blew out a breath. “Okay, thank you both, again. I’ll try and re-read this and—”

“Cavit to Seven of Nine. Can you join us in the Briefing Room?”

“Acknowledged,” Seven said.

“I’ll handle the Astrometric scans until Ensign Hickman gets here,” Abol said. “Take whatever time you need, Seven.”

Fitzgerald and Seven left together.

*

“Thanks for coming,” Cavit said, when Seven arrived alongside Fitzgerald. She simply dipped her chin in response, and Cavit waited until they took their seats. He remained standing, with Lieutenant Cing’ta—their Bolian strategic operations and intelligence specialist—who’d originally delivered some bad news to him just a few minutes ago.

Once everyone had sat, Cavit ripped off the bandage for everyone else.

“We know how the Krenim keep finding us,” he said, then nodded to Cing’ta.

“They’ve been co-ordinating their efforts since we arrived in this trinary system,” the broad Bolian explained. “Which makes for a lot of comm traffic. And thanks to some fine tuning from Ensign Lan, the Cloud system, and some luck, we grabbed enough fragments of their transmissions despite the interference, and Cir parsed those into actual discussions and the short of it is they’re looking not just looking for our warp signature, like we’d been guessing.”

“It’s the variable warp geometry,” Cavit said.

Honigsberg groaned out loud, and Ro blew out a frustrated breath. Cavit had gone through the same journey when Cing’ta and Cir had brought the news to him, so he let it play out a second. Then he saw the frown on his husband’s face, and decided to save him asking the question. Jeff had been facing down more than enough of his own ignorance, to hear him tell how his lessons with Abol, Seven, and Taitt had been going.

No need to make him admit more out loud.

“We can’t hide it,” Cavit said, and saw his husband’s face fall in understanding. “Variable warp geometry is inherent to the Intrepid-class design. It’s how we have such an efficient warp field, how we learned to stop causing the cumulative damage to subspace, and it creates a fingerprint on our warp field no matter how much we vary the warp field itself—if you know how to look for it—which apparently the Krenim do.”

“Right,” Fitzgerald said, then he smiled, though, which surprised Cavit, until Fitzgerald turned to Seven. “Which is why you asked Seven to join us.”

One step ahead of him. Aaron nodded.

Seven of Nine’s expression didn’t shift much, but her blue eyes did go to the display of the warp field Cing’ta had pulled up on the Briefing Room’s display.

“We’re hoping for a Borg solution,” Cavit said. “Any immediate options you can think of, Seven?”

“No,” Seven said.

That was it. Just ‘No.’

Despite himself, Cavit cracked a small smile born as much from fatigue as actual amusement. Lan audibly chuckled. Stadi aimed an odd stare at Seven of Nine, who still didn’t look away from the display.

“What about non-immediate?” Stadi said, and Cavit frowned, because surely Seven of Nine would have known he’d be open to—

“I have two theoretical options,” Seven of Nine said.

Or, okay, maybe not.

Everyone turned to face her.

“Neither may be suitable,” Seven of Nine said, with a hesitation Cavit hadn’t seen from her before.

“Let’s hear them.”

“Voyager’s nacelle pylons are an intregal part of the variable warp geometry,” Seven of Nine said. “Discontinue their use, and the fingerprint will be greatly reduced.” She raised one eyebrow on the word, like she found the metaphor crude at best.

Which, in fairness, it was.

“If the pylons aren’t positioned,” Honigsberg said, rubbing his goatee. “The subspace repeaters aren’t aligned correctly, which makes the warp field nowhere near as efficient… but Seven’s right. They wouldn’t have that fingerprint.”

“How much less efficient are we talking?” Ro said.

“With the current degradation of the warp coils from that torpedo?” Honigsberg’s gaze shifted to the middle nowhere, lost in thought. Cavit had a vague idea of the math he was doing, but trusted Alex to get to a more concrete number than he would via guestimation. “Warp five? Maybe.”

“Not faster than the Krenim,” Stadi said.

“With repairs?” Cavit said.

“We don’t have the verterium cortenide reserves we need for real repairs,” Honigsberg said, shaking his head. “But if you’re asking me for the best patch-job we can come up with with what we’ve got on hand… and assuming we get the time we need…” He sighed, blowing out a breath. “Five point three? Maybe five and a half, on the outside.” At Cavit’s grimace, Honigsberg lifted his hands. “Captain, what we really need is to land, crack open open the nacelles, and do actual maintenance. What we’re doing right now is crawling around inside and dealing with what we can handle from the interior, without compromising the ability to go to warp at the drop of a hat.”

“I understand,” Cavit said, and he did. None of this was ideal.

“You said you had two options,” Ro said, turning back to Seven of Nine.

“I could attempt to create a transwarp conduit with Voyager’s main deflector,” Seven of Nine said.

“We’ve been working on some transwarp simulations for a while now,” Lan added. “They’re… iffy.” She lifted one shoulder when Cavit looked at her. “Not the creating of a conduit—I trust Seven’s math there, and it looks like we could probably do it. But traveling through a conduit…” She shook her head. “The reality is, Voyager isn’t designed for it, and we’d have to modify Structural Integrity, rebalance the EPS relays—all of which I’d be willing to try, but not while we’re being chased… and in most of our simulations, there’s a significant down-time at the other end.”

“Long-range sensors are functioning at about half their usual range. Astrometrics will give us a picture of the star systems, but not whether or not there are Krenim ships in those systems,” Taitt said. “How well could we even see where we’d be going?”

“Not well,” Seven of Nine said. “As I said, it may be unsuitable.”

“That’s one word for it,” Rollins said, glancing at Cing’ta. “Given what scraps you and Moore have picked up about the size of Krenim space, there’s every chance we’d pop out in the middle of a bunch of their ships, still in their territory.”

“And not have warp drive when we got there,” Lan said.

“Let’s put transwarp in the not-now bucket, then,” Cavit said. He eyed Honigsberg. “If I’m remembering the specs correctly, bypassing the variable nacelle pylon actuators is an option for emergency warp in case of structural damage.”

“That’s right,” Honigsberg said, nodding. “It’s an override option in case the pylons won’t function—the tradeoff being lower speed.”

“Even without variable warp geometry, any warp signature leaving this system that isn’t Krenim is going to get their attention,” Rollins said.

“Then maybe getting their attention is exactly what we need to do,” Ro said. She was looking at the display, and she had that little tug on one side of her lips that Cavit noticed she got when she came at a problem from a fresh angle.

“Commander?” He smiled, intuiting he would already like this answer from that tell of hers. She had a different look when it was an idea he wouldn’t enjoy. It was just something about the satisfaction in her eyes.

“Faking a variable geometry warp field with warp-capable probes,” Ro said, glancing at Lan. “You could do that, right?”

Lan grinned. “Oh, I’d be delighted.”

“We know there are currently three ships looking for us, and our best guess is they’ll find us in, what—three hours?” Ro said, looking at Taitt, who nodded. She’d been monitoring the Krenim vessels as best she could through the massive interference put off by the trinary stars. “Let’s give them at least three decoys to chase, preferably before then.”

Cavit nodded. “There’s our plan. Alex, stay on repairs. Lan—the probes are yours. How long will you need?”

“If we want four decoys, falsified warp signatures…” Lan squinted, considering, then glanced at Honigsberg. “An hour and a half, if I can steal some hands from you, Lieutenant? Atara, Loval, and McKenzie?”

Honigsberg nodded. “Deal.”

“Seven, I’ll bet you’ve got some warp field configuration tricks I don’t know, don’t you?” Lan said.

“I do,” Seven said, with complete confidence.

“Let’s get to it,” Cavit said.

*

Fitzgerald saw the flicker of confusion on Aaron’s face when Aaron realized he’d arrived in the Ready Room bearing a covered Mess Hall tray, which was quickly followed by a grimace of realization on Aaron’s face, which Fitzgerald allowed to pass without comment.

Though he really wanted to comment.

“I missed dinner,” Cavit said, stating the obvious.

“Almost everyone is running past their shifts,” Fitzgerald said, trying to be gracious about it, but he put the tray rather pointedly between them on Aaron’s desk, nudging aside the two PADDs Cavit was working with, and then turning his desk monitor away. And off.

He took the chair opposite the desk, with what he hoped wasn’t too obvious an indication he was staying put to make sure his husband ate a meal.

Cavit coughed a sound that could have been a laugh. “This feels like a doctor’s orders moment, not a husband moment.”

“Oh, it can be both,” Fitzgerald said.

Cavit lifted the tray’s lid off, the steam off the bowl of vegetable stir-fry fragrant with marob root.

“Thank you,” Cavit said, picking up the bowl and a fork, and digging in. Once he’d chewed a mouthful, he paused long enough to ask, “How are you doing? How was your day?”

“Not going to lie,” Fitzgerald said. “I don’t mind the break I’m getting, having Seven helping Lan with those decoy probes.” He took a breath. “It was nice to spend some time in the my office feeling competent, talking to people. I know Seven, Zandra, and Abol aren’t intending to make me feel like I should have a dunce cap on my head at all times, but…”

Cavit scoffed around another bite of food, pausing to swallow. “You’re hardly a dunce, Jeff.”

“Fine,” Fitzgerald said. “It’s not quite that bad, but this isn’t coming naturally to me.”

Cavit filled his fork again. “I can imagine.”

The Ready Room door chimed, and Cavit lowered his bowl. “Come.”

“Keep eating,” Fitzgerald said, pointing at him.

Aaron didn’t grace the command with a response, but he didn’t rise when Ro and Rollins entered together.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Rollins said.

“Just so long as you let him have dinner while you talk,” Fitzgerald said, crossing his arms and enjoying the way it made Aaron squirm a bit in his seat.

But at least his husband did take another bite.

“The cortenide problem,” Ro said. “We still need a solution to get Alex what he needs for the warp coils. And Scott and I might have one.”

Fitzgerald watched, interested. Rollins was standing a little bit stiffly, like he was resisting being at attention with some effort, and Ro was aiming a very direct look at the Captain.

Cavit swallowed, lowered his fork, and said, “I’m going to hate this plan, aren’t I?”

“Probably,” Ro said, with a tiny nod. Fitzgerald wondered how Aaron could tell. He found Ro Laren one of the toughest poker-faces to crack in the entire crew.

“I was thinking about how Cing’ta and Cir figured out the method the Krenim are using to track us,” Rollins said.

“The variable warp geometry,” Fitzgerald said.

“Right,” Rollins said. “We can remove that variable from Voyager by disengaging the pylons, and we can create decoys with the warp probes. But I realized we also have access to options that won’t show up on the Krenim sensors like Voyager does.”

Fitzgerald frowned, but Cavit let out a sigh. Clearly he was one step ahead.

“You’re talking about shuttles,” Cavit said.

“We have three options that don’t have Federation signatures at all,” Ro said. “The Pel, the Kinell, and the Ferengi Shuttle.” She paused. “We also have the Cochrane.”

“I talked to Ensign T’Pala,” Rollins said. “We still have a little over half the Kelbonite-Fistrium compound we got from the humans on Arde. I originally hoped we might be able to use it on the Aeroshuttle—it’s more maneuverable, and has a few more tactical options—but there’s not enough of the compound remaining. There is enough for the Pel’s hull, plus retrofitting shutters.”

Aaron was still chewing, but Fitzgerald could tell Aaron’s initial instinct had been correct. He hated this plan.

“We could take the Pel and the Cochrane and go hunting for verterium cortenide when we launch the probes—shadow them just long enough to get some distance from this system, then drop out of warp and power down to hide from the Krenim sensors until they pass by,” Ro said. “After that, the Pel and the Cochrane can strike out with Astrometrics’s best guesses for where we can find the cortenide—or a friendly face. The Nassordin did mention the Garenor as someone we might reach out to.”

Fitzgerald nodded. He remembered that—only, in his memories, the Nassordin had suggested the Zahl first, then the Garenor. Only now, the Zahl didn’t seem to exist any more, thanks to something that had happened ‘up-temporally’ from now.

“Why the Pel?” Fitzgerald said. “Why not one of our shuttles?”

“The Pel has Vidiian sensors, and an axionic computer system,” Rollins said. “And her interior volume allows for more options and crew. It’s almost as big as a runabout, and now she’s been upgraded to include transporters, phaser strips, shielding…” He lifted a hand. “It’s not the Aeroshuttle, but the Pel is solid for hunting down minerals.”

“If something goes wrong, Voyager can’t come to the rescue with any real speed, not with our nacelle pylons locked,” Cavit said. “And if you call for help, the Krenim will hear it.”

“Stadi and I will take the Cochrane,” Ro said. “Between the stealth capabilities and the enhanced dilithium, we should be more than capable of either hiding or getting the hell out of their way.”

Fitzgerald couldn’t argue with that assessment, not with Stadi and Ro working together.

“And the Pel?” Cavit said. “She doesn’t have the enhanced dilithium.”

“No, the Pel’s size didn’t make it worthwhile,” Ro said. “But with stealth and a good team, I think they can take the quiet option. I’d like to send Cing’ta. He’s already used the Pel’s systems with the Cloud, and that would give them even more of an edge in staying ahead of the Krenim patrols.” Ro paused, and Fitzgerald thought the way she said it she was expecting some pushback. “Baytart has flown the Pel the most. Ballard and Meyer know the Pel’s systems.”

“And Cing’ta thinks he can use the Cloud program to give us a way to keep in touch, albeit with delays,” Rollins said.

“We’d be able to send packets out, by creating bursts of the the same ‘background noise’ the system already uses—it won’t be quick, but it won’t require open channels,” Ro said. “And it’ll just look like static to any Krenim ship.”

“If you’re leaving, and Stadi’s leaving, I’m not sure I want to have Cing’ta gone as well,” Cavit said. “Not when he’s piecing together fragments for Cir and Eru—it’s our only source of intelligence right now.”

“In that case, Ensign Moore,” Rollins said. “He’s been working with Cing’ta for months, and knows the Cloud almost as well. And he’s got a decent head on his shoulders for tactical situations.”

“And we put Russell in command instead,” Ro said. “He’s also clocked time with the Pel, and he’s calm in a crisis, quick on his feet.”

“Good choices.” Cavit narrowed his eyes. “You both already ran through all my expected objections to this plan, didn’t you?”

“Why do you think I didn’t ask to command the Pel, sir?” Rollins said.

Fitzgerald swallowed a smile of his own. Well played, Scott.

Cavit took a breath. “Get T’Pala’s people started on the Pel. If I’m right about how long it will take, we might not have the Pel ready for launch by the time the probes are done, but you and Stadi can take the Cochrane.”

“Aye, sir,” Ro said, and the two of them left.

Fitzgerald could see Aaron’s discomfort with the idea of sending people out among the Krenim, but he also couldn’t fault Ro and Rollins their logic. Aaron stabbed his fork into his bowl, then stopped.

“It’s a good plan,” Fitzgerald said. They needed the verterium cortenide, and they needed somewhere safe to make repairs. Their time among the trinary stars of this system was running out, and Honigsberg’s “patch job” wouldn’t hold forever.

“I know,” Cavit said, finally taking a bite. “Doesn’t mean I can’t hate it.”

Fitzgerald reached out to pat Cavit’s forearm, but they were interrupted, again.

“Bridge to Cavit,” Taitt’s voice came over the comm, tense. “From what I can make out among the interference from the stars, the Krenim ships have adjusted their search pattern again. I think they’ll spot us in less than twenty minutes at this rate.”

“How are we doing on the probes?”

“Two are ready to go,” Taitt said. “We might have a third in time, but it’s not a sure thing.”

“I’ll be right there,” Cavit said, shovelling another bite of food into his mouth before putting the fork back into the bowl. Fitzgerald stood with him, and they headed for the Bridge together.

“Looks like we might be making a break for it at the same time as the probes,” Cavit said.

Fitzgerald exhaled. So much for any of them getting some rest any time soon.

Chapter Text

Day 21

First Officer’s Log, Stardate 51308—Stadi and I have managed to return to Voyager after ten days dodging Krenim warships in the Cochrane. We were only partially successful in our mission.

“She’s got more scars,” Stadi said, as less and less of the clouds of the gas giant’s atmosphere remained between Cochrane and Voyager on their approach. Their descent mostly smooth, with only the occasional rumble as they shifted through different thermal layers, the jolts had lessened over time, but Ro barely registered them.

Instead, her attention was exactly where Stadi’s was: the scars. Ro considered the two carbonized streaks on the port edge of Voyager’s saucer and tried to imagine the impact from Krenim torpedoes that might result in the markings.

One glancing hit, perhaps even partially absorbed by the shields, but the other looked like a more direct hit, and she thought she saw fresh paneling among some of the dark scorch-marks, which meant breaches.

Someone had likely been out on the hull repairing that. 

More than the obvious damage, though, she noticed how dim the ship seemed. The windows weren’t bright, and the Cochrane’s sensor scans, despite them being so close to an Intrepid-class starship, weren’t showing the power levels she expected.

“We’re close enough, and the atmosphere is dense enough,” Ro said. “Even if there are Krenim in the system, they won’t hear us. Hail them and let them know we’re home.”

“Aye, Commander,” Stadi said, doing just that.

Rollins answered.

“Welcome back, Cochrane.” He sounded tired, but pleased to hear from them. “Head around back. We’ll open the door for you.”

Within minutes, they were coasting into Voyager’s Main Shuttlebay.

*

Unsurprisingly, Lieutenant Honigsberg was with Captain Cavit when they finally popped the rear hatch of the Cochrane. The Chief looked tired, and there was visible stubble to either side of his usually neatly maintained goatee, but at the sight of the three canisters tucked behind the two seats of the Cochrane, he rubbed his facial hair all the same, grinning.

“Is that all for me?” he said.

“Verterium cortenide,” Stadi said, gesturing with one hand. “I know it’s not as much as you’d hoped, but we got as much of it from the rogue asteroid as we could in our EVA suits. You weren't kidding about how stubbourn that stuff is.”

"Three canisters is plenty," Honigsberg said. "I owe you."

“Good to see you both,” Cavit said, with a warm smile aimed their way.

“It’s good to be back,” Ro said.

“T’Pala and I can handle the post-flight, Commander,” Stadi said, and Ro took her up on the offer, stepping down from the shuttle and joining the Captain. She glanced up, and had her suspicions from earlier confirmed by the lighting in the Main Shuttlebay.

“Grey mode?” she said.

Cavit nodded. “Partly to keep a lowerer sensor profile, but also from damage to the EPS grid—two torpedo hits in the Trinary system during our dash out of there. The chroniton radiation from those torpedoes flooded three decks worth of the grid, and we’re still realigning it.” He let out a breath. “Quite a few of the relays overloaded, and there are still intermittent surges. We were lucky no one was seriously hurt. Between that and the warp coils…” He shook his head. “Slow going. But I’m getting used to the view, and I always liked green.” This last he said with a forced smile, and Ro mirrored it.

Hiding in a gas giant wasn’t ideal for many reasons, not the least of which was how the view out of every port revealed nothing but claustrophobic smears of blue-green.

“How about you two?” Cavit said, once they were in the turbolift. “I don’t know if we got all of your packets through the Cloud—there hasn’t been a lot of Krenim activity in this system, and the gas giant makes listening in tougher as well.”

“We spent most of our time hunting the three asteroid fields Taitt highlighted for us. Third was the charm, but we didn’t get as much cortenide as we hoped.” She rolled her neck to the left and the right. “I am not a miner, but we got it done. We dodged a lot of warships. They’re definitely still looking for us.”

“The last message we got from the Pel made it sound like they’d made it as far as the nebula Taitt highlighted for them,” Cavit said. “And they've made successful friendly contact with a Garenor ship.”

“That’s good news,” Ro said.

The turbolift doors opened on the Bridge, and the initial relief Ro felt at being back there was shaken when she noticed more signs of imperfect repairs—more carbonization above two of the rear stations, a section of burned carpet—and on the Master Systems Display, more than a few amber notations.

And that’s after ten days of recovery work. They were hit harder than I thought, Ro realized.

Ro spotted Lan at Ops, and Rollins at Tactical. Both met her gaze with small nods of welcome.

“Let me get you up to speed,” Cavit said. “And then you can head down to the Mess Hall, and then grab some shut-eye.”

“I’m fine, Captain,” Ro said, though she had to admit sinking into her usual seat felt much, much nicer than the co-pilot chair on the Cochrane.

“If you don’t do it when I suggest it,” Cavit said, in a lower voice meant to carry just between the two of them. “Then my husband will probably make it an order—he’s been pretty clear about how rest is a 'biological imperative.'”

Ro cracked a smile. “Fair enough.”

“Okay,” Cavit said, taking a breath. “We’re on grey mode, as discussed, but tactical systems are almost recovered from the damage we took in the trinary system…”

*

An hour later, Ro stepped into Voyager’s Mess Hall and came up short at the sight that greeted her. Ribbons had been hung to either side of the serving area, and a large tray covered with small, rounded pale pink… somethings lay front and centre alongside what appeared to be two different offerings of wraps, and two large urns the crew used to keep hot drinks warm. The decorations seemed out of place with the mood, let alone the tray of... whatever they were.

She couldn't conjure up much motivation to find out about the decorations or the food, though. She just hoped one of those urns had coffee, Trabe firenut or otherwise. Or cascara. She wasn’t sure she could face down drinking floral Ilidarian tea, or even Ocampa black, which she found similar enough to Earl Grey to be enjoyable in a pinch. She wanted something with kick. Especially after the ten days of rations and mostly-water she’d had on the Cochrane, which was their only option whenever she and Stadi had kept the shuttle powered down to remain as close to undetectable as possible, which had been almost the entire duration, barring times they were at warp. 

“Commander,” came a voice, and Ro turned to see Crewman Celes Tal behind the counter now, a warm smile of greeting that almost didn’t have any nervous energy to it. She had a smear of some sort of white powder on her red uniform tunic, and seemed to be running the Mess Hall solo today. “You’re back.”

“We are.” Ro stepped up to the counter, trying to summon some enthusiasm for an exchange with Celes, who—despite leaps and strides—still often seemed as jumpy as a palukoo. She eyed the decorations, and the pale pink offerings on the tray, deciding the latter made for a safer topic. “What are these?” 

“The Delta Quadrant equivalent of daifuku,” Celes said, pronouncing the final word carefully. It meant nothing to Ro. “It turns out Vostigye rice is perfect for mochi—which is a kind of sticky rice pastry from Earth, once you pound it, which Cir and I spent a few hours doing—and if you stuff mochi with something sweet, you get deserts like these: daifuku.” Celes’s smile wobbled a bit, but she continued. “I wanted to offer something for the third anniversary—I’d intended cakes, but we’re on grey mode, which means replicator use is limited. Then I remembered Eru making mochi for Ensign Kyoto, and we already had all the ingredients, so… celebratory Mislenite beanpaste daifuku.” Celes gestured to the tray. “Enough for everyone to have two. So please, take yours, Commander.”

Ro did so, using the tongs to place the surprisingly soft and squishy little pink ball onto a plate, then glanced back at Celes. “Third anniversary?”

“Three years in the Delta Quadrant,” Celes said, and Ro realized with a jolt it was exactly that, to the day.

Ro paused, tongs still in hand. “I’d forgotten.”

“Everyone has had a lot on their mind,” Celes said. Her gaze went to the windows, where a smear of green and blue gas was all that was visible, before they returned to Ro. Celes cleared her throat. “We’ve got two kinds of wraps—I’m going to suggest the spicy chadrekab for you, the other is a bit more Vulcan to taste—and for drinks we have Ilidarian tea and Rakosan sweetflower hot chocolate—the pink drink.”

Ro tried not to let her dismay at the beverage options show, but Celes seemed to pick up on it regardless, and the younger Bajoran woman looked both ways before leaning forward. “I have some leftover firenut kernels from yesterday, already ground. It should be enough—at least to make make you one mug.”

“Thank you,” Ro said, nodding, not even pretending she wasn’t both grateful and willing to abuse her position for the drink. She grabbed herself a wrap while Celes moved off to make the coffee. Looking around the Mess Hall, Ro couldn’t help but think the combination of the greenish light from the gas giant’s atmosphere and the dim overhead lighting of grey mode made the crew look even more washed out and tired—though the green undertone flattered some of the Vulcan crew, she decided, spotting Crewman Aravik and Ensign Kovar sitting together at one of the small tables.

Most of the crew were quiet, Ro noticed. She didn’t often contribute to the jovial conversations common in the Mess Hall, but noting their lack made her take measure. Hopefully, the Pel would manage to get word to them about the Garenor, and they’d be done with the Krenim Imperium sooner, rather than later. She noticed Crewman Ulval was up and about again, but then realized the Bolian woman wasn’t in uniform, instead wearing a deep grey sweater, and given how she was sitting with Rebecca Sullivan, Ro suspected this was perhaps one of Ulval’s first trips out of Sickbay since she’d required such intensive surgery.

At least they hadn’t lost anyone since Mulchaey.

Celes returned with her firenut coffee in one of the Venture mugs, and Ro took it, her wrap, and her daifuku to an empty table, starting her meal with a deep swallow of the earthy Trabe drink. After a moment, she gave into her curiosity and nibbled the first of her soft, squishy “anniversary” treats, and found herself pleasantly surprised. It was sticky, though the outside was coated with something pink and powdery, but the taste of the paste within and the mochi as a whole wasn’t overly sweet like so many human desserts. She quite liked it.

She turned her head long enough to catch Celes’s attention, and lifted the rest of the daifuku, offering a nod and a smile.

Celes beamed.

Ro started her wrap, leaving the rest of the treat for afterwards. Her mood, thanks to Celes’s small gesture, had definitely improved.

*

Lieutenant Dennis Russell’s mood soured when he saw Moore’s expression, but Russell did his best not to let it show too much, even though it was just the two of them in the crew area at the aft of the Pel, the Vidiian shuttle they’d been on for over a week now.

“You’re not smiling, so I’m guessing this isn’t great news?” Russell said.

“Sorry, Lieutenant,” Moore said, with a grimace, taking the other side of the booth that sat four if each pair didn’t mind each other’s company. Ensign Tom Moore was one hell of an attractive man—blond, dark brown eyes, broad, tall, and a chiseled chin that belonged on a holonovel hero more than an actual living human—and the Australian accent often made him seem inherently approachable somehow, which Russell knew had led to some interesting situations between Moore and Ballard, as well as Moore and Sveta, and Moore and at least four other women during their initial few months in the Delta Quadrant.

But Moore didn’t seem quite so driven to find company these days, not since he'd been assigned to work with Lieutenant Cing’ta most of the time.

“Tell me,” Russell said, offering Moore the flask of Ocampa Black Ballard and Baytart had left for him after their turn for a meal break.

Moore took it, pouring himself a cup of the tea, then exhaling. “The Krenim subspace communication network relay we passed had an identification code that I realized matched the Krenim location marker from some of the comms we decrypted. It occurred to me that if I was right, I could infer from the markers on other Krenim subspace messages what the rest of the network might look like, and…” He lifted the mug, taking a sip before continuing. “It’s big. Bigger than we thought.”

“So you're not think we'll be close to the edge of Krenim space when we meet up with the Garenor?” Russell said.

“No,” Moore said. “I think the Garenor have a small territory of their own, but I don’t think their space gives us access to a path around Krenim space at all. I think they’re completely surrounded.”

Russell resisted the urge to close his eyes or groan, and nodded. “That Garenor merchant ship still made it sound like we’d be welcome—even if they seemed terrified to be caught talking to us. I think I’d still like to keep going.”

Moore nodded. “I agree—the Garenor are our best bet. I just didn’t want to get your hopes up.”

“Right,” Russell said. “Thanks, Tom.” He lifted his own mug of tea. “On the other hand, maybe the Garenor can at least give us an idea of the closest way out of Krenim space.”

Moore smiled at that. “Here’s hoping.”

“Baytart to Russell,” Ensign Pablo Baytart’s voice came over the overhead comm. “Sorry to interrupt your break, but Kimble just picked up two more long-range scans that could be Krenim. Do we go dark again?”

“Absolutely,” Russell said, already rising, though he carried his mug with him. It wasn’t far to the Bridge of the Pel, and their interior comm channel defaulted to ship-wide. “Drop out of warp and power down—do they look like they’re heading this way?”

“No, Lieutenant. Looks like another patrol,” Meyer’s voice answered.

Russell stepped past the four bunks, two set into either wall, and then through the hatch into what was a two-person transporter Chief Tamal and Crewman Canamar had managed to adjust to the Pel’s power systems with a lot of work and a shuttle transporter module. One set of doors later and he was on the Bridge, sliding into the seat beside Pablo Baytart, who had the Conn. Meyer was at one of the two side-stations, manning the sensors, and Lyndsay Ballard had the other, where she was already at work powering down the Pel to minimum support levels.

“Closing the outer shutters and switching to passive sensors,” Meyer said, and in front of them, the view of the stars vanished as panels descended over the windshield. Coated with a Kelbonite-Fistrium compound, their hull—alongside their power levels down to nearly nothing—shouldn’t show up as much of anything on sensor sweeps, especially not at longer ranges.

“Can we still track them with passive sensors?” Russell said, glancing back at Meyer, though he had a feeling he knew the answer.

Meyer’s shaved head tilted to the side as he worked the station. Slim and soft-spoken, he was one of Ro Laren’s former Maquis, and truly gifted with computers and analysis, and had been key in getting the Pel’s axiomatic computer system to shake hands with Federation technology during the shuttle’s refit.

Eventually, he turned, his dark brown eyes uncertain and shaking his head. “Sorry, Lieutenant. Not with passive sensors. They’re too far away.”

“Not surprising. Keep an eye out,” Russell said. “Same routine as last time. We’ll extrapolate their course, take a peek when we think they’ve passed us by, and then try to keep creeping our way to the Garenor.”

“We really should have brought a deck of cards,” Ballard added. “I could have taught you all cribbage by now.”

The blond engineer could always be counted on for a dash of humour, and Russell appreciated it. "Next time," he said.

"Anyone want to learn to juggle?" Baytart said.

"But then how would you stand out?" Ballard teased, and Baytart laughed.

They all settled in to wait. Russell did his best not to look too often at Ensign Baytart’s handsome profile, because if Ballard caught him doing that, there was no doubt she’d offer up more than a dash of humour about it.

And he wasn’t sure she wouldn’t do it in front of Pablo, either.

Chapter Text

Day 30

“Computer, activate the Emergency Medical Hologram,” Kes said.

Doctor Emmett Hall shimmered into being with a smile, beaming at her, then seemed to notice the dim lighting in Sickbay. “I take it we’re not celebrating the end of grey-mode and my return to full-time operation?”

“No, doctor,” Kes said, with a small pat on his shoulder for his obvious disappointment. “But we are about to have a reason to celebrate.”

Before Emmett could ask, the doors to Sickbay opened, and Crewman Cir led his mate, Crewman Eru in. She was flushed, breathing heavily, and though she seemed to be in some discomfort and holding her hands to her sides as though to alleviate pressure in her back, she was also smiling widely.

“It’s time,” Cir said, with an edge of worry.

“Ah, I see,” Emmett said, with a broad smile at Kes.

“Nurse T’Prena is on her way,” Kes said. “I’ve already set up the birthing frame.” Kes gestured behind Emmett, where a framework had been set up; a horizontal bar Eru would stand and hold onto while she did the more physical portion of her delivery, which would likely be within the next two hours at most.

“Let’s get you changed,” Emmett said, pulling a robe they’d had ready for a few weeks now from one of the drawers, and joining Cir in leading Eru into the surgical area, where she’d have a modicum of privacy.

The Sickbay door opened again, and T’Prena arrived. The Vulcan nurse joined Kes.

“Eru’s labour has begun, she’d just getting changed. I set up the frame already,” Kes said.

T’Prena’s hands drifted to her stomach, where the curve of her own pregnancy was visible in her maternity uniform jacket. Kes wondered if she was thinking of her own delivery of Setok, and how it hadn’t gone to plan. If so, it didn’t show.

“I will prepare the bassinets,” T’Prena said simply, then stepped away.

Emmett, Eru, and Cir returned, Eru now wearing a fairly typical Ocampa maternity gown—albeit one they’d had to program into the replicator from scratch—and Kes felt Eru’s joy, and yes, some worry, in her own mind.

Everything will be fine, she sent to Eru. We’ve got Emmett, I’m here, as is Nurse T’Prena.

Eru smiled, her elfin features telegraphing her joy as much as her thoughts did to Kes’s senses. “I’m ready,” she said.

“I can imagine,” Emmett said, with a trace of humour. “Given how much the little ones have been pressing on your sciatic nerve bundle.”

The comment made Eru laugh, which Kes thought had been the point.

“Do you need anything to drink?” Cir said, then glanced up at Kes. “You said it was important to hydrate.”

“Some water would be nice,” Eru said, and Cir all but ran to the replicator in Emmett’s office.

Kes raised an eyebrow.

“I’m just giving him something to do,” Eru said softly.

Kes nodded, understanding.

The large, broad-shouldered Ocampa man returned, with water in a lidded-cup with a straw. Kes gave him credit for the forward thinking in choice of container, even if he was perhaps a bit early in holding it at Eru’s lips for her.

Still, Eru took a sip, and smiled at him after. “Thank you.”

Kes smiled. When her turn came—which might only be a matter of another month and a half, or perhaps two now—she imagined Li-Paz would be similarly driven to do something. He, like Cir, was a man who preferred to have actions to take in the face of a crisis.

Eru winced, and let out a series of puffing breaths, leaning against the side of the nearest biobed, and then straightened. She lifted her chin. “Computer, I just had another mitral contraction. What was the time between this and my previous one?” She must have logged it in the computer at the time, which was smart.

“Four minutes, thirty-one seconds,” the computer replied in its smooth, feminine voice.

“Let’s get you into position,” Emmett said, as T’Prena returned, pushing a double-compartmented delivery bassinet, already powered on and ready to receive what would soon be Voyager’s two newest crew.

The light above them shifted, turning red and flashing twice, with the sound of the alarm far too familiar over the last month following.

“Red Alert,” came Commander Ro’s voice. “All crew to tactical stations.”

Cir’s dark brown eyes widened, and Eru let out a small gasp of shock.

“We’ll let the Bridge handle whatever that is,” Emmett said, in a calm, soothing voice aimed entirely at Eru. “You and I have other things to focus on. Nurse?”

T’Prena helped Emmett maneuver Eru to the birthing frame, and Eru reached up to grasp the bar. She took a deep, even breath.

“Krenim,” Cir said. His warm brown skin darkened, and he swallowed. “Has to be.”

“Emmett’s right, Cir,” Kes said, taking his hand. “You help Eru. I’ll handle anything else that might need our attention. I can call Rebecca, or Ensign Kovar if I need to.”

Cir nodded. As he stepped toward his mate, a jolt ran under the deck beneath their feet and they all worked to keep upright as the red alert continued all around them.

*

“Warship is closing,” Lan said. “Weapons hot.”

“Raise shields, Scott,” Cavit said, though he knew better than to rely on them. “Time to test the modulation Taitt and Seven came up with from the last scans.”

“Shields up,” Rollins said, working his station. “Modulation in place.” He glanced at Cavit. “Phasers ready and aft torpedoes loaded.” Cavit heard the slight question in Rollins’s voice—they only had nine photon torpedoes remaining.

Cavit nodded at him. They’d use them if they had to. “Time to intercept?”

“Forty-five seconds,” Lan said.

“Roni, those vectors tell me they’re going to try and drive us back towards their friends back by the nebula,” Ro said, looking at the small flip-up monitor in her chair’s arm. “Don’t let them take the lead.”

“I’m ready to dance,” Stadi said, spreading her fingers across her controls.

“If the latest shield modulations aren’t effective,” Cavit said, “I want as many scans of the inbound torpedoes as possible, Abol.”

“Aye, Captain,” the Ocampa man said from the Science station. “I’m feeding everything down to Lieutenant Taitt and Seven.” He didn’t sound particularly confident, which was unusual for the slim Ocampa man, but Cavit didn’t have time to dwell on the fact.

“Ten seconds,” Lan said.

“All hands, brace,” Cavit called out to the open channel. “Damage Control teams, stand by.” It was a familiar refrain already. Too familiar by far this last damn month.

Ahead of them, the Krenim ships appeared, and Cavit shifted into acting, reacting, and controlling the fight on Voyager’s terms, forcing all other thoughts, doubts, and worries to silence themselves for now.

There’d be time enough for them later.

*

Ensign Bahni Swinn’s eyes opened slowly, and Kes smiled down at her, putting a hand on her shoulder to stop the engineer from trying to shift. “Don’t move. You’re going to be very dizzy, Bahni. There was a rupture in your inner ear. I’ve repaired it, but your sense of balance is going to be off for a few days.”

“The whole room feels like it’s sliding to one side,” Swinn said in a rough voice, grimacing. “It’s like being on a roller coaster.”

“A what?” Kes said, taking a moment to accept a hypo from Arridor, who’d come to man the pharmaceutical station again after the first wave of wounded had arrived in Sickbay. She checked it—not out of distrust, just out of medically sound habit—and gave him a brief nod of appreciation.

Anti-nausea medication. Perfect choice. She pressed it into Swinn’s neck as the Ferengi stepped away. As always, she had no sense of Arridor—the Ferengi didn’t leave an impression on her telepathic senses—but his mannerisms always spoke volumes. He met her gaze these days, rather than dismissing her as “female.” He still didn’t speak much, and she caught a proud edge to his voice the rare times he did that let her know he was still forcing himself to accept his role as a lesser member of the medical team, given the gaps in his knowledge, but she couldn’t fault his efforts to learn how to function as a medical technician at all.

“Roller coasters are rides on Earth that are designed to make you dizzy,” Swinn said, after a breath or two. “That feels better now.”

“You can thank Arridor,” Kes said, holding up the hypo.

“Thank you, Arridor,” Swinn said, raising her voice just enough to carry.

“I’d add it to your tab,” the Ferengi said, which made Swinn smile slightly. “But the hew-mons don’t charge.”

Kes shook her head. That was the closest Arridor had to “you’re welcome” in his arsenal, it seemed.

“How’s Valek?” Swinn said, her voice softer now. “And… Jerry?”

Crewman Valek and Crewman Jerry Platt were both part of the damage control team Swinn had been leading to deal with a fractured plasma conduit. The conduit had ruptured before they could get it locked down.

“Valek is going to be fine,” Kes said, then took a moment to squeeze Swinn’s right shoulder gently. “But I’m afraid Jerry’s burns were too severe.”

Swinn took a shaky breath. “I… I thought so, when everything blew up in his face, but we had to… had to drag him out of there anyway… had to try…” She swallowed, hard, a tear escaping her right eye.

“Of course you did,” Kes said. “And believe me when I say there was nothing you could have done.” She squeezed again. “Now, get some rest. Wendy will be here after her shift—it’ll go better if I can tell her you’ve been resting when asked.” Kes winked, invoking Swinn’s partner, Ensign Wendy Drapanas, with no small awareness of how much impact it would have.

“Oh, that’s a low blow, Kes,” Swinn said, though her smile belied the faux sternness in her voice. “You know she’ll treat me like a baby even if I’ve slept for days.”

Almost as if on cue, a pair of infant-sized voices rose behind them, cries at first hesitant, then rising in insistent volume. Kes turned, catching just a glimpse of Emmett and T’Prena placing the two newborn Ocampa in the bassinets for their initial scans. As she watched, Cir placed one of his big hands on each of their tiny chests, with such delicate hesitancy Kes’s breath caught at the care and love inherent in his gesture.

Both infants soothed near instantly.

“Okay, that’s incredible,” Swinn said, and Kes looked back down to see Swinn had turned her head enough to watch. “They just stopped crying. How’d he do that?”

“Ocampa infants can sense other Ocampa by touch when they’re born,” Kes said, turning back to watch the babies. Eru had joined Cir, and was leaning against him, between his outstretched arms, still in her maternity robe, and though she looked sweaty and exhausted and pale, she smiled down at the babies as well. “They know their father is with them.”

When Swinn didn’t respond, Kes looked back at her. She’d fallen asleep.

Probably for the better.

Kes checked on Valek—she’d keep him in the induced coma for another eight hours to ensure the dermal regeneration was complete repairing the ugly, green-and-brown third-degree plasma burns across his chest and neck before he woke—and then paused by the other three patients she still had—two on cots Rebecca Sullivan had set up against the walls in the lab for the more critical patients they’d wanted to keep an eye on here, before she and Doctor Fitzgerald had moved on to the Life Sciences Lab, currently being used as a temporary spillover for what Sullivan jokingly called the “bumps and bruises” injuries—before finally making her way to where the new family waited.

Eru was seated now, though she leaned forward in the chair—no doubt her mitrals would be sore until they healed back over—and she and Cir had one child each in their arms, and they both whispered quietly to their children.

Kes paused where T’Prena and Emmett stood, not wanting to intrude on their moment.

“Everyone is stable, Doctor,” Kes said, taking the moment to keep him in the loop. “I’d like to keep Valek unconscious until this latest round of dermal regeneration is complete—I know Vulcans have a higher pain threshold than most species, but that’s no reason for him to suffer.”

To Kes’s surprise, it was T’Prena who replied to her assessment. “That is logical.” She paused. “And kind.”

“No less than I’ve come to expect from Voyager’s newest doctor,” Emmett said, and Kes blinked at him, because his words took a second to filter through her mind, the way things often did after a time of crisis, when the crisis had passed and she could return to a normal flow.

“Pardon?” she said.

“It’s officially past the last day of your residency, Kes,” Emmett said, then offered a wide smile. “Or, I should say, Doctor Aren.”

Kes blinked, then turned and looked at one of the displays. Sure enough, the stardate had ticked over while she’d been working. And she hadn’t even realized…

“Congratulations, doctor,” T’Prena added.

“Thank you,” Kes said, with a real rush of gratitude. “I have you both to thank for my success.”

T’Prena dipped her chin. Emmett’s smile only grew. Then, with a quick glance at the new parents, he added, “I suppose I’ll have to be turned off soon, now the battle is over and we’re back to grey mode, but before that… Come meet our newest crew. I’m afraid we’ll also have to wait to replicate your lieutenant pips.”

Kes followed him—her mind was still catching up, and it took her a moment to remember that, yes, her officially becoming a doctor would in fact come with a brevet rank of junior-grade lieutenant—and finally got a good look at the two Ocampan infants. Swaddled in soft yellow blankets, the tiny beings seemed perfectly content snuggled against their parents. They favoured Cir’s colouring—their skin a warm brown—but Kes thought she could see some of Eru’s features in their chins and noses, which had what Doctor Fitzgerald had once called an “elfin” cast.

“How are you all doing?” Kes said, in a soft voice.

“Wonderful,” Cir said, and the waves of grateful love washing off the man made fresh tears spring to Kes’s eyes. Beside him, Eru simply nodded, apparently beyond words—and clearly more than a little ready to sleep, no matter how happy she was. Cir tipped the baby slightly, so Kes could see her sleeping face. “This is Ahn. And that’s her sister, Jeta.”

Kes smiled. The Ocampa tradition of naming children for honoured elders and missing friends was one she was entirely familiar with, and yet the invocation of Ahni Jetal’s memory still caught her off guard.

This time, she didn’t hide the tears. Happy tears, mostly. Li-Paz would love this. They’d been going back-and-forth on naming decisions of their own, and she half-wondered if this would make him consider naming their daughter after a namesake of their own, perhaps. They had nearly a dozen names on their PADD of “final” choices, but kept making changes.

“It’s lovely to meet you,” Kes said, smiling at the sleeping Ahn and Jeta. “Welcome to Voyager.”

Behind her, the doors to Sickbay opened, and she saw Lieutenant Honigsberg step in holding one hand close to his chest, and expression of pain and frustration turning his goatee up at one side. She spotted blood between two of his fingers, dripping down the back of his hand.

“Get some rest, all of you,” Kes said. “But if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work.”

Chapter Text

Day 32

Counsellor’s Log, Stardate 51337.8—We’ve spent the last two days dodging the latest round of Krenim attacks, and the wear on the crew is becoming as much of a concern as the damage to Voyager itself. Our inability to defend ourselves from the Krenim’s torpedoes has left the crew feeling vulnerable in a way that I’ve not seen since we faced the Borg or Species 84—the Undine.

I’ve cleared Ensign Swinn for duty, though in better circumstances I would have preferred to give her more time to process a co-worker’s death. I can thank Kes for some of my work being done for me, though. Kes reiterated so many times to Swinn that there was nothing she could have done that Swinn didn’t spiral too far into survivor’s guilt, and with Ensign Valek awake and on his feet, she seems to have taken it to heart. Also, Swinn’s partner—Wendy—is empathetic and supportive without letting Bahni ignore the reality of loss and recovery.

So. I believe Swinn will be okay.

I’m less sure of Kieth Ashmore. Last night, he and Li-Paz were repairing the holographic emitters in Astrometrics from the fallout of the attack two days ago and another one of those surges hit, ruptured another conduit, and threw a wall panel at them. Ashmore himself was fine, but both Li-Paz and Billy Telfer ended up in Sickbay—Billy broke his wrist and elbow, Li-Paz ended up with a concussion and a cut to his head that looked much worse than it was, like most head wounds—but Ashmore’s closest friend circles included both Jerry Platt and Todd Mulchaey, and running around the ship trying to fix systems isn’t Ashmore working through his grief, I don’t think.

If anything, it’s acting as a distraction so he doesn’t have to think, and this latest incident has him more off balance than ever, but so far he’s refusing to talk to me about—

The red-alert siren interrupted Fitzgerald at his desk, and it barely came with enough warning before the deck seemed to drop away beneath him. He gripped the edge of his desk and watched as his personal monitor tipped over the edge, and heard a shattering sound he was pretty sure was one or both of the two fancy white-and-gold mugs he’d taken from the Amundsen.

Or maybe it was the teapot.

Fuck. He should have packed the damn things away. His own fault.

The jolt passed, but the siren continued. He took a breath and rose, knowing he needed to get to Sickbay even if he was supposed to have gone back to his quarters half an hour ago, but he barely made it two steps before another jolt sent him careening into the wall of his counselor’s office.

He grunted. They were getting pummelled. He resisted the urge to call the Bridge for an update—what help would that do?—and made it to his door just in time to be knocked clear off his feet by something much worse than the other jolts. The sound of twisting duranium, flashes of light from small overloads and explosions, and the smell of something burning hit him in quick succession before he was flung a second-time, harder than the first. 

He slammed into the wall opposite his office door and instinctively curled up in a ball and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to judge how hard he’d just connected with the bulkhead. He took a shaky breath—the air smelled and tasted smoky—taking a mental inventory. Nothing felt broken, but he’d bet he’d have some interesting bruises.

Given how he’d just been thrown to the ground in the hallway outside his office despite the gravity plating and inertial dampeners and structural integrity fields, Jeff Fitzgerald was pretty damn sure something had just breached the goddamned hull.

And nearby, if he was a betting man.

Move, Jeff. Move.

He uncurled and lifted his gaze, half-expecting to see emergency forcefields, and realized he wouldn’t be heading to Sickbay after all. Ahead of him in the corridor, a good chunk of the ceiling had come down, along with some of the surport structures beneath, and his path to Sickbay was well and truly blocked. When the glanced the other way, he caught sight of more damage just around the curve of deck five’s corridor.

Oh no.

Losing direct access to Sickbay made him shiver. Abol’s report. One of the things Abol had witnessed during his ricocheting around in time had been losing Sickbay. They’d done everything they could think of—reinforcing the EPS conduits between repairs, structural integrity bypasses—but…

Fitzgerald climbed to his feet, moving down the corridor and ignoring the ache in his thigh and the way his shoulder protested. At least he could get to the turbolift.

“I know, so we can change it,” he said, a personal mantra he’d kept mostly to himself. “I know, so we can change it.” His thigh didn’t get worse, and his shoulder wasn’t too painful. He started jogging. With luck, he could go down to deck six, run all the way around the damn deck if he had to, then come back up on the other side of—

Another hit sent him staggering, and he barely made it into the turbolift upright.

“Deck six!”

*

Li-Paz coughed twice, then pulled himself to his feet. His head ached a bit with the effort, but luckily, the last hypo was still doing its job and he didn’t want to throw up, and his vision didn’t blur. Which meant Kes wouldn’t give him another lecture on taking it easy, he hoped.

Rolling off the biobed hadn’t been intentional, but once he was back on his feet, he realized it might very well have saved his damned life. The front half of Sickbay’s upper bulkheads had collapsed, and the bottom half of the biobed he’d been on only moments ago was now crushed beneath the twists of the grey duranium polyalloys he’d noted were a particularly boring vista just an hour earlier while he and Billy had been talking—

Billy!

“Billy?” Li-Paz turned, and with a rush of relief saw Crewman William Telfer—Billy—lay on the floor beside the first biobed, and though his eyes were closed and he was curled up against the wall, he was visibly breathing. Li-Paz knelt beside him, and gave his shoulder a quick shake.

“Hey, Billy. You with me?”

Telfer coughed, then opened his eyes. “I landed on my bad arm, and I really, really don’t want to try and stand up on my own.”

“Let me help,” Li-Paz offered, and together, they got him up, albeit slowly. Telfer winced, cradling his already injured arm.

“Computer,” Li-Paz said. “Activate the EMH.” They’d been in Sickbay on their own—Sullivan had stepped out to check on some of the crew recovering in their quarters, and T’Prena was off-duty, and they’d both promised Sullivan to lie down and sleep.

Thank the Prophets Kes wasn’t here, Li-Paz thought, even as he worried about where she might be, and if there was damage there, too.

With a shimmer, the EMH appeared—then a wave of static seemed to blur his edges, and his voice crackled ominously as she spoke. “Please ss-ss-ss-tate—” he didn’t finish the sentiment, instead shaking his head and frowning at them. “Something’s wrong.”

Luckily, the control console for the EMH’s program was on the non-ruined side of Sickbay. Even better, Li-Paz knew the system well, no stranger to its maintenance and diagnostics, and he rushed to it. The series of blinking amber and red notations that greeted him made him exhale in concern. The blinking alerts looked all the more dramatic given most of the overhead lights were off, and the few remaining seemed to be failing in turn, dimming visibly over seconds.

All of which is bad, Li-Paz thought. He remembered his time training with Doctor Jeff Fitzgerald, and one of the tenets of medicine Fitzgerald had said carried over well to nearly any emergency: triage. Assess, prioritize, deal with what you can.

But he also couldn’t help but note it was dark and getting darker.

Who you are in the dark.

“We need to transfer you to your mobile emitter,” Li-Paz said, pushing past the distracting thought and focusing on the EMH problem first. It was the biggest issue, given all the failures flashing across the display in front of him. “The Sickbay holographic computer took one of those power surges, and you’re minutes from decompiling.”

“Paz,” Telfer said. “He can’t.”

Li-Paz looked up, and saw Telfer was looking at the collapsed bulkhead. It took him a second to realize what Billy meant.

The mobile emitter lay under that rubble somewhere. Even if it wasn’t crushed completely, it was off, and they had no way to turn it on, let alone space around it for Emmett’s holographic matrix to form.

“Okay,” Li-Paz said. “Plan B.” He started working at the console. Maybe he could fix the Sickbay holographic matrix? Or at least isolate and protect the EMH program within it from those surges—it did run on a mostly-isolated system for exactly that reason…

Beside him, Emmett shimmered and snapped, blurring with lensing distortions.

“I’m destab—ing,” Emmett said, with some alarm.

“All crew!” Above them, Ensign Sahreen Lan’s voice came over the comm channel. “Evacuate deck five immediately!”

Telfer lifted his gaze, and reached for one of the medical tricorders, opening it awkwardly with his good hand and scanning. “There’s a build-up in the EPS grid. It’s cascading all through the deck.” He exchanged a glance with Li-Paz, his brown eyes widening with fear. “We’ve got maybe three minutes, but…”

Li-Paz nodded. Billy swallowed.

“Okay, Doc,” Li-Paz said, turning back to Emmett. “This computer isn’t going to be here much longer so… Plan C. I’m sending you to Holodeck Two. Assuming I can get a clear system pathway.” He frowned as he tried once, then twice—both times bumping into damage that made the transfer impossible. They’d barely had the main computer running on backups before whatever had just happened.

It was worse now.

“Paz, B—lly, you need to evac—ate,” Emmett said, his voice more choppy and interrupted than even just moments before, but audible enough.

“Emmett, the doors are blocked, and that Jeffries Tube access runs alongside the EPS conduit the length of this deck before it connects to the next vertical shaft,” Li-Paz said, not bothering to spell it out. Billy had a wrecked arm. And while Li-Paz might be in good shape and less injured, that was one sprint he wouldn’t be making in the next few minutes, definitely not at a crawl.

Telfer joined him at the console. “What about a shuttle computer,” Telfer said, voice shaking, but determined. “We were using them to handle some of the processing for Astrometrics. Networking them remotely to crunch the data—can we do that for Emmett?”

“He can’t run on shuttle computers but we can definitely use them as a network to get a connection to Holodeck Two… You are a genius, Billy,” Li-Paz said. He started working faster, and—yes!—the shuttle computers were still online. He remotely shut down their connection to Astrometrics, and redirected the network, but it was taking time.

“I’ll set up the access to the Holodeck,” Telfer said, working the controls with both hands, despite grimacing in pain as he did so. “You get the transfer started.”

“On it,” Li-Paz said. They worked side by side. Seconds ticked by. The lights grew dimmer still. Whole sections of the control panel were shifting from amber to red, and then blinking out completely.

“You m—st at l—st try,” Emmett said, still crackling, moving to the Jeffries Tube access and reaching down to open the hatch, but his hand passed right through the handle. “You c—n’t just—”

“Emmett,” Li-Paz said, looking up and meeting the holographic doctor’s gaze. “Take care of my wife.”

“And tell Tal and Andreas…” Telfer started beside him, then had to stop, choking.

Emmett looked a them both, nodded, opened his mouth to speak, but then vanished in a wash as his program transferred away.

“He’s in the holodeck,” Li-Paz said, confirming it just a moment before the console went completely dark.

A loud rumble and a series of explosions began, not far, and echoing within the bulkheads, and Li-Paz grabbed William Telfer into a tight hug, and said “Thank you” into his ear once again, knowing without Billy’s help, he might not have been able to ensure Emmett would still be around to help Kes when his child was born.

*

“Report!” Captain Cavit’s heard how raw his voice was, and cleared his throat.

“Sections ten through fifty three on deck five have been destroyed,” Ensign Lan’s said, and Cavit eyed her, watching her stand and working both her panels. “The overload stopped there, at least—the reinforcement worked. That… could have been much worse.”

Given the alarms sounding, Cavit knew it had been damned well bad enough.

“Casualties?” Cavit said, coughing once after the word.

“So far, ten wounded,” Rollins said, clearing his own throat, likely against the smoke in the air the environmental systems still hadn’t managed to clear out. “Some critical. Doctor Aren and Nurse T’Prena are setting up triage in Holodeck two—Emmett’s program just came online. In Holodeck Two.” He glanced up, his blue eyes widening in surprise.

That was good news, at least. But another series of chimes made Rollins look down, and this time, all pleasure vanished from his features, and he set his jaw. Don’t say Jeff. A selfish thought, and not one befitting a Captain, but Cavit couldn’t stop himself. Don’t you dare say Jeff’s name.

“Four deaths,” Rollins said, looking up. “Crewman Emmanuel, Ensign Strickler, Crewman Li-Paz, and Crewman Telfer.”

“Billy and Paz were in Sickbay,” Lan said, after a moment. “They must have been the ones who transferred Emmett’s program.”

The Bridge fell silent for a moment, and Cavit took a deep breath, resisting the urge to allow the four names to settle into his bones like some malignant disease, nor allow himself the relief at knowing his husband had made it off deck five in time. Forward. They had to keep moving forward. The only way out is through.

“Are we away?” Cavit said, rising from his chair. It had cost them two photon torpedoes of their own, but the twin Krenim ships that had cornered them hadn’t immediately given chase.

“Aye, sir,” Stadi said. He heard the tension in her voice.

Emmanuel. Strickler. Li-Paz. Telfer. Cavit promised himself he’d mourn later. Promised he’d given everyone time to mourn later.

You keep making promises, Aaron.

Cavit cleared his throat. At least the haze on the Bridge was clearing. He faced Lan. “Ensign, organize a full survey of the ship. Deck by deck.” He took a breath, then turned to Abol, who’d been manning the Science station. “Any luck with the torpedo variance?”

“I’m afraid not, I—” Abol blinked, shaking his head. “I—” He swallowed.

“Abol?” Cavit said, crossing over to him. He hadn’t seen Abol off-balance like this before.

“It’s now. This is…” Abol’s dark brown eyes widened, and he looked almost panicked for a moment. His hands clenched into fists on his controls. “It’s what I saw.”

Oh. Cavit nodded. Of course. They’d seen this coming—in fact, they’d tried to avoid losing Sickbay, though it hadn’t worked, though from what Lan had said, their attempts to shore up Sickbay might very well have saved Voyager from even worse damage.

“Take a second,” Cavit said quietly, squeezing Abel’s shoulder.

“Sorry,” Abol said, apparently breathing through the moment. “I’m all right now.” He exhaled. “I got more data, and I’ll send it to Zandra—Lieutenant Taitt.”

Cavit nodded.

“All right,” Cavit said, turning. “Ro, Stadi—play keepaway as long as you can. There are still two more of those ships out there somewhere, and without long range scanners, we won’t get much warning. Scott, Sahreen—priority to propulsion and defensive systems.” He took a breath. “You all know your jobs.”

The chorus of “Aye, Captain”s didn’t erase the ache in his chest, nor the fatigue he knew they were all feeling. But it gave them purpose, direction, and focus.

It would do. For now.

He returned to the centre of the Bridge, and Ro rose, meeting him there. Likely, she knew what he was going to say next. She often did.

“With your permission,” Ro said, surprising him by speaking first. “I’d like to be the one to speak with Kes and Celes.”

“It’s my job,” he said. “You don’t have to—”

“Aaron,” she said, her voice low enough to give them privacy over the sounds of everyone co-ordinating ongoing damage control around them. Her dark eyes met his with real pain, not something she allowed him to see very often. Li-Paz was one of her own. And he thought maybe Ro had more of a relationship with Tal Celes than he’d realized as well. “Please.”

She didn’t use his name often, nor “please.”

Cavit nodded. “Okay.”

Ro left the Bridge.

Less than ten minutes later, Stadi picked up what might be the warp signatures of the other two warships, and they were back at red alert.

*

Jeff Fitzgerald stepped through the door to the quarters he shared with his husband and eyed the spray of objects all over the floor. Their shared bookshelf had come free from the wall, and the copies of his great-uncle’s books, Aaron’s own collection, and a few potted plants had been the primary victims.

It took him nearly a count of ten to work up the energy to start collecting the books and to do a quick attempt at tidying the plants, though one of the pots had shattered completely. As he rose to his feet with an armload of the books, a soft click sounded and he only realized what it was after two of the books came free from his grasp and fell back to the ground again.

His neural bands had run out of charge. His left hand had reflexively loosened its grip now he didn’t have the assistance of the device sending the signal from his brain to keep gripping, and he sighed.

He left he books on the floor, putting the ones he’d managed to hold onto on their low table, and then spent a few minutes tugging the rig off his left hand, undoing the wrist release and sliding each finger free awkwardly before looking for the charging station. It had fallen off the desk, but he found it and set it back up to charge again.

Then, though multiple pieces of art had fallen off the wall, one chair was on its side, and there was still dirt and plant from the shattered pot on the carpet, Jeff Fitzgerald sank onto the couch and closed his eyes.

Exhausted. The word was most often used in euphemism, but it had a clinical definition, too. He didn’t think he was there yet—sleep still helped, and after sleep his mind seemed sharp enough—but he knew better than to assume the same state among the entire crew, especially the engineers, who’d had the least rest of anyone on board.

The door opened, and he opened his eyes to see his husband step inside. He wanted to get up, to go to Aaron and give him a hug, but it seemed physically beyond him. Luckily, Aaron seemed to be on the same page, and instead joined him on the couch, and they leaned into each other, each wrapping one arm around the other.

“How are… How’s Kes?” Aaron said. “And Celes and Murphy? And…” He paused, as though he knew there should be another name, but he couldn’t call it to mind.

“Joel Swift,” Fitzgerald said, reminding him of who had been Gus Emmanuel’s partner.

“Right, Joel.” Aaron rubbed his eyes with his free hand, like he was attempting to force the name into his mind through the bridge of his nose. “Damn it. Joel. That’s who Emmanuel…” He blew out a breath, shaking. “How are they?”

“Shocked, sad, grieving,” Fitzgerald said. “It’ll take time, and they’ll need help, and Kes...” He swallowed past a thickness in his throat. Kes would be giving birth to Li-Paz’s child, as soon as a month from now, by their best estimates. “Emmett told us Billy and Paz got Emmett’s program out of Sickbay, barely in time. The mobile emitter is gone, but thanks to them, we still have him.”

Aaron shifted, and a moment later their foreheads were pressed together.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Cavit said, and his body shook after the words were out, but only once. He didn’t tip over the edge, or start openly crying. Fitzgerald knew he wouldn’t. Not while the ship was so damaged, not while others were grieving.

But he knew exactly how Aaron Cavit felt.

“I need to get back to Main Engineering,” Aaron said. “But I wanted to stop by and see you.”

“You need to sleep. We all do,” Fitzgerald said, pulling his forehead back and frowning at the man he loved. “We can’t keep up this pace.”

“I know,” Aaron held up a hand. “But half of deck five is open to space, Jeff, and…” He swallowed, visibly, another tell he’d never have allowed if he wasn’t as tired as he was.

“I’m okay,” Fitzgerald said, knowing where his thoughts had gone. His office was on deck five.

“I know.” Aaron nodded, then took a breath. “But we have to have structural integrity at least partially restored on deck five or the next battle will be our last. We can’t afford to wait.”

Fitzgerald wanted to argue. In fact, on a very real level, it was his job to argue. But instead, he tried to find a middle ground. “I assume Sahreen and Alex have brought in everyone we can spare?”

Aaron nodded. “They have. And Seven thinks there’s a Borg technique we can use with the SIF arrays—it won’t fix the damage to deck five, but it’ll create a static…” He blinked. “Something. Something that will get us back to warp.”

“Six hour shifts, maximum,” Fitzgerald said, trying not to allow himself to react even worse to seeing his husband stumble over an engineering solution like he just had. When Aaron opened his mouth, Fitzgerald held up his hand. “And everyone already on shift gets one hour more, and no longer. I’m not suggesting, Aaron. Emmett will back me up here, but he doesn’t need to. This is one hundred percent my job. Mentally—and physically—the crew is at their limit. People need to eat and sleep and grieve. Go to a four shift rotation. Now, and no double shifts. At most one-on-one-off.”

His husband reached up and took his face in both hands. “I love you.”

Fitzgerald smiled. “I love you, too. Don’t deflect. And be back here in one hour, or else.”

Aaron kissed him. “Aye, counselor.”

Chapter Text

Day 40

Fitzgerald stepped into Holodeck Two and tried not to stare at the trio of engineers and the project they’d been working on for the last week. He recognized perhaps a third of what he saw, and that was only from going over specs with Alex and Sahreen back when they’d had an unexpected alternate timeline guest—Tuvix—on board.

“That’s… bigger than what I was expecting,” Fitzgerald said, noting the three components, the cabling, and trio of Kolhari tetryon power cells currently keeping everything… doing whatever it was doing.

At his words, Chief Dean Tamal, Crewman Valerie Canamar, and Ensign David Martin all gave him various levels of amusement in their glances, though it was the Chief who spoke first.

“The fetal transporter in Sickbay was specifically designed to do what it did, Doctor,” Tamal said, wiping the back of his hand against his chin, and leaving a tiny smear of coolant there. “We’re working with what we had in stores. But I promise it’s up to the job. And we believe we’ve compensated for the quantum resonance given we’re using parts from the Amundsen’s transporter.”

“So no chance of a baby-swap with an alternate timeline, then,” Fitzgerald said, raising one eyebrow.

“Emmett already expressed his concerns about that too, Doctor. He has been keeping an eye on us, every step of the way,” Ensign Martin said, which made Canamar chuckle. Martin’s soft voice was doing a remarkable job of diplomatic understatement, Fitzgerald would wager.

“In his defence, Emmett’s probably getting a little stir-crazy,” Fitzgerald said, kneeling to inspect the targeting sensors. Or at least he thought that’s what he was looking at.

“I can hear you,” Emmett’s voice crossed the space of the Holodeck. “I promise you my personality subroutine is quite stable, despite being once again limited to a single room on the ship.”

Fitzgerald made sure to keep his back to Emmett while he aimed a particularly eloquent expression of his own at Canamar, Tamal, and Martin. Canamar had to turn bodily away, fighting off laughter with a soft, coughing noise.

“Didn’t mind to imply otherwise, Emmett,” Fitzgerald said, turning to face the hologram, who crossed the Holodeck to join them. No other program was running—the rest of the space revealed only the exposed grid of the holographic emitters—but one full side of the Holodeck had been converted into what was currently passing for their Sickbay. A crew bed surrounded by scanners re-purposed from various systems into something approximating a bio-bed, with displays set up around it, and stacks of both med-kits and their current supply of pharmaceuticals. Daggin and Nurse T’Prena occupied the space, T’Prena on the bed in her maternity gown, Daggin in his uniform at her side, as was Kes—

Fitzgerald blinked in surprise.

She cut her hair.

Kes’s long, tumbling gold curls had been returned to a short, utilitarian cut, and though it still flattered her, Fitzgerald couldn’t help but apply a particularly human psychology to the change. Sure, many pregnant women cut their hair before birth, and Kes had taken to wearing her hair tied back after she’d started wearing her own maternity tunic, but he didn’t think this was about preparing for the arrival of her child.

No. This was about something else.

Pain.

Fitzgerald glanced at Emmett, but the hologram merely dipped his chin a fraction and shook his head, the motion barely there-and-gone.

All right then. Emmett’s message wasn’t difficult to interpret: Not now.

Fitzgerald fought the urge to disagree. He’d approached Kes a few times over the last week, since the death of Li-Paz, and while she’d admitted to her loss and grief, he didn’t think she’d truly been facing her own feelings, instead working to build their “Sickbay” and helping the last of the badly wounded moved to functional quarters to recover. She’d pointed out those were all “more important” and she wasn’t wrong, exactly, but he also knew she’d rebuffed speaking with Atara Ram, even after the brief memorial they’d managed for the four losses. Atara had been Li-Paz’s closest friend. It wasn’t like Kes to avoid him.

But despite his instincts, Fitzgerald grudgingly had to admit Emmett was right. Right this very moment, he couldn’t deny they had enough on their plate.

“How are you all doing over there?” Fitzgerald said, crossing the space to join them.

“T’Prena’s contractions began an hour ago,” Kes said. “Much like what we saw with Setok’s birth, the celerity isn’t desirable for Vulcan physiology.”

“Doctor Aren and Doctor Hall both agree the logical approach is the fetal transport, as we’d discussed previously,” T’Prena said, her voice as calm and even as always, even with a shine of sweat on her forehead.

Fitzgerald nodded, and glanced at Daggin. The Ocampan botanist had an almost Vulcan calm of his own, though his gaze remained firmly on T’Prena. Their last experience of childbirth had been far from ideal. Here they were again, this time without even a functional sickbay. Daggin’s hand rested on T’Prena’s exposed shoulder, and Fitzgerald would have laid even money they were sharing a telepathic connection. 

“We’re ready,” Canamar’s voice drew Fitzgerald’s attention back to the engineers. The tall, dark-haired woman stepped back from their kitbashed fetal transporter, which was now humming and powered up.

“So are we,” Kes said.

Fitzgerald glanced at Kes again. Her voice, her bearing, her focus were all-business. T’Prena was a Vulcan patient, sure, but Kes hadn’t so much as offered her an empathetic glance. He had no doubt about Kes’s medical skills, nor did he worry she wouldn’t handle the two fetal transports, but…

When this was over, he was definitely going to have to find a way to ensure a discussion with Kes.

“Then let’s begin,” Emmett said. “No reason to keep the little ones waiting any longer than we have to, and the sooner we’re started, the less strain on our mother’s systems.”

*

Captain Aaron Cavit stepped out of the turbolift on Deck eleven and felt the change in temperature against his skin. For half a moment, he considered alerting the Bridge to a potential environmental issue, then remembered where he was.

The Vulcan crew. Honigsberg kept it warmer down here, for the Vulcan crew. In fact, it took less strain on the environmental systems that way—the ship had less work to do compensating for the power conduits that ran through this deck—and given the deck was designed with its own environmental sub-systems due to being where the diplomatic and environmentally adaptable quarters were kept, it hadn’t even been difficult to accomplish.

When they’d brought the survivors of the mostly-Vulcan crewed USS Hera on board, they’d shuffled crew quarters, moved all the Vulcan crew to this deck—and a few others who didn’t mind the heat, like Crewman Chano—and warmed the place up for them.

He hadn’t gotten down here much since then. He passed Crewman Valek, who nodded and said “Captain,” purposefully on his way somewhere with an engineering kit. The man was one of their damage control specialists, and Cavit had seen him more in the past month than he had since the man had come on board.

Like everyone else with a level three engineering rating or above, he’d likely not stopped moving beyond eating or sleeping since their first run-in with the Krenim.

The thought made Cavit consider getting himself back to work—he’d taken to spending his time on the Bridge as much working on getting systems restored from the Engineering station as he had sitting in the command chair, and he’d noticed no less than three unlit light panels already on deck eleven—but thought about what Jeff would say if he did.

Instead, he finished his trip to a particular door, and tapped the chime.

The door opened a moment later, and Crewman Daggin offered a friendly smile at the sight of him, holding a swaddled baby in his arms.

“Captain,” he said, warmly, with a small measure of surprise.

“I wanted to meet the newest members of the crew,” Cavit said, looking down at the new crew member in question against Daggin’s chest. “I won’t stay, I promise, but if it’s possible to say hello?”

“Of course it is,” Daggin said, smiling wider now. “Come in.” He stepped back, and Cavit followed him into the quarters Daggin shared with Nurse T’Prena, and found the latter sitting on their small couch, holding the other child.

“Captain,” T’Prena said, with a small nod.

“I won’t stay,” Cavit said, raising one palm. “I just wanted to say hello to these two.”

T’Prena didn’t respond to that, but her expression didn’t seem any less open to his presence, either, which he took as a positive sign.

“This is our daughter, T’Ral,” Daggin said, stepping closer to Cavit. Cavit smiled at the baby, who was fast asleep and looked more-or-less Vulcan to him, which reminded him of Setok, who had appeared much the same before the telltale Ocampa folds had formed in the pointed tips of his ears as he aged.

“Nice to meet you, T’Ral,” Cavit said softly.

“And our son, Arev,” T’Prena said. Cavit went to her side, crouching to look at the little boy. He smiled down at the sleeping baby.

“Welcome aboard, Arev,” Cavit said, then noticed their darkened replicator—grey mode—and what he thought were gaps on their shelves. Had something fallen and broken? He hadn’t been in their quarters before. I only wish you were joining us at a better time, you two. He rose, nodding to the parents. “I’ll leave you to it. Let us know if you need anything.”

“We have everything we need, Captain,” T’Prena said.

“We will, Captain,” Daggin said. Then the two regarded each other, T’Prena’s eyebrow rising, and Daggin shaking his head slightly.

Cavit hid a smile, but then the lights flickered. Power-trouble, even in grey-mode, dealt with his amusement, banishing it before that smile had even had a chance.

*

Fitzgerald saw the hesitation when Aaron spotted Ro in their quarters, and for a moment, he second-guessed their approach. But no. Aaron stepped the rest of his way into their quarters and waited for the door to close behind him, and then faced them both.

“Should I sit for this?” he said, and to his credit, Aaron looked more amused than worried.

Ro gave Fitzgerald a quick glance, and he decided to take the lead. “Sure, but only because I’ve got tea.” He lifted the flask. “Last of the Ocampa Black until the container in your Ready Room gives us another crop.”

Aaron crossed the space and took the couch opposite where he and Ro were already sitting. Fitzgerald tried not to take any sign of the fact he’d positioned himself there, and poured his husband a mug of the tea, and passed it over.

“So, I know you only break this out when you’ve got hard discussions to have,” Aaron said, raising the mug in Ro’s direction. “Let’s hear it. I’m guessing this is about Alex’s latest report?”

Ro lifted her own mug, taking a swallow first. “Doubling up quarters buys us more time, and by concentrating crew on the decks with Daggin’s green walls, those numbers are better than our initial estimates—a month, even—but all that assumes we don’t come under more attacks that damage the environmental systems.”

“Or that we can’t continue repairs,” Aaron said, his soft blue eyes flashing with that optimism of his, and Fitzgerald gave him a tiny smile over his own mug, because of course Aaron wanted to note they were assuming the worst here.

“Granted,” Ro said.

Aaron took a swallow of his tea. “You and Stadi thinking of using the Cochrane again?”

Ro lifted a PADD off the table, and Fitzgerald noticed it left a few lines on the surface. Apparently, at some point in that last attack, the table had been coated in some sort of fine grit. He hadn’t noticed. “Not just the Cochrane.”

Aaron took the PADD, and looked at it. Fitzgerald watched, noticing the way his husband clenched his jaw after a few seconds, and how he took a deep breath before he looked back up. “This is an evacuation plan.”

“A contingency, yes,” Ro said. “And there are two scenarios there. One is a partial evacuation—we retain a skeleton crew, power down eighty-percent of the ship. The other is a worst-case.”

Fitzgerald waited, and Aaron kept reading. “Raft Protocol?” He frowned, glancing up. “Name’s familiar, but I don’t recall the details on that one.”

“Ensign Martin’s idea,” Fitzgerald said, leaning forward in his own chair. “It’s what survivors on the Ahwahnee did after Wolf 359—they interconnected escape pods, functional shuttles, lifeboats, what power they could get from one of the Ahwahnee’s fusion reactiors and networked their life support, comm systems… they called it ‘the Raft.’ Wolf 359 survivors collected on it until the rescue ship could get to them, the…” Fitzgerald frowned, blanking on the name of the first ship that had made it to Wolf 359 after the devastating Borg attack.

“Acadia,” Aaron said. “Now that you’ve said it, I remember. They stretched life-support long-past specs.”

Of course he knows who came to their rescue. Fitzgerald smiled at the man he loved.

They let him keep reading. Finally, Aaron lowered the PADD. “All the shuttles, the Aeroshuttle, the Kinnell and the Ferengi shuttle and we can get most—or all—of the crew off Voyager with a more than good chance of finding somewhere to land, if we use the Cochrane, and the Pel, once we rendezvous with them, to scout ahead. Two solid plans,” he said. He lifted his mug. “I hate them.”

Ro actually laughed at that, and Fitzgerald turned to her, surprised at the sound.

“They’re contingencies,” Ro said again, chuckling once more before her expression returned to something closer to normal. “I hate them too, Captain.”

“Talk to the department heads,” Cavit said. “I don’t know if we can add drills to the schedule given repair work…”

“I’ll handle it,” Ro said. “The four-shift rotation gives us some flexibility.” She finished her tea, and put the mug down, rising. “Good night.”

“Thank you, Ro,” Fitzgerald said, since he was fairly sure Aaron wasn’t going to be offering thanks for the contingency plans. Ro gave him a rather knowing nod in return.

Aaron’s attention flicked to her long enough for him to add, “Good night,” and then Ro was gone.

Once she’d left, Fitzgerald took a moment to wipe the table, then checking his neural rig and deciding to turn it off and remove it for the night.

Aaron frowned at him as he undid the bands. “You’re taking it off?”

Damnit. Caught. “Saving the charge.” Fitzgerald tried to keep his tone light.

“We can afford to keep it charged, Jeff,” Aaron said, but then the realization probably hit him that the allocation for the neural rig’s charge came from the environmental systems, which meant… “We can’t, can we?”

“It’ll be fine,” Fitzgerald said, but Aaron took his hand by the wrist and tugged him across the distance. Fitzgerald sank down beside him, not resisting, and Aaron wrapped both arms around him.

“Cing’ta managed to pull a packet today from the Pel. We could be at the Garenor border in a week.” He breathed out, closing his eyes. “All we need is a place to stop, to make repairs… Or a way to stop those torpedoes…”

“Having a contingency plan isn’t giving up,” Fitzgerald said, pressing his forehead to Aaron’s.

Aaron smiled, though he didn’t open his eyes. “I know.” He took a single, deep breath, then opened his eyes. “How are you? Other than planning that little ambush.”

“Ambush?” Fitzgerald pressed his good hand into the centre of Aaron’s chest and gave him a little shove. “Really?”

“Fine.” Aaron kissed his forehead. “Unexpected impromptu briefing.”

“Uh-huh,” Fitzgerald said. He stroked Aaron’s chin. “You have stubble.”

“It’s been a long day,” Aaron said. “Also, you just deflected, which I only noticed because of how often you call it my move.”

“Damn, when did you get so insightful?” Fitzgerald said.

“I married you,” Aaron said, shrugging one shoulder. “Inevitable.”

“And flattery, too…” Fitzgerald rewarded that with a kiss, then pulled back. “My day was about as you’d expect, Aaron.”

“Who?” Aaron said. “Whatever you can tell me. I mean, if you can tell me.”

Oh, how Fitzgerald loved Aaron’s understanding of the limits and confidentiality of his role as Ship’s Counselor. “There’s no one I need to pull off duty, but I won’t lie, Aaron. We need that place to stop for more than just repairs.”

“Kes?” Aaron said.

“Kes,” Fitzgerald said, though he had no intention of including more details than confirming names. “Ashmore.” He flashed on Andreas Murphy—“Serious Murphy” as he was so often called—who’d come to talk to Fitzgerald to talk. He’d started by saying he was worried about how well Celes Tal was handling the death of their partner, Billy Telfer, and then the stoic security officer had burst into sobs, coming almost completely undone. Andreas had only admitted after that had been the first time he’d allowed himself to cry, not wanting to ‘let Tal down.’ He knew Celes was doing much the same. “A few others.”

Aaron pulled him tight against his chest. “I could sleep right here.”

“Bed. That’s an order.” Fitzgerald pressed Aaron’s chest again.

Aaron kissed him again. “Aye, sir.” Despite the playful tone, Fitzgerald knew full well Aaron’s thoughts were still very much on Ro’s PADD, and once they were beneath the soft yellow blanket together, Fitzgerald listened to his breathing for nearly an hour, knowing he wasn’t asleep by the strength of each exhale, each shifting of Aaron’s position beside him, and despite wanting to be sure Aaron slept, Fitzgerald drifted off first.

Chapter Text

Day 47

While he ate, Lieutenant Alexander Honigsberg tried not to stare too openly as Crewman Andreas Murphy and Crewman Tal Celes knelt in what had already become colloquially known as “the Kid Brig” among Voyager’s less serious crew. The couple, behind the low gates and among the pillows in what had once been a small seating area in the Mess Hall, were holding an baby each, cooing and chatting and playing with them while Crewman Eru and Crewman Cir sat at one of the other tables, deep in conversation with Lieutenant Cing’ta and Lieutenant Rollins, both of which looked like they were adding more bad news to their PADDs by the second.

For babies only a little over a month old, they sure were aware, active, and paying attention to everything Serious Murphy and Celes were doing.

Then again, he’d seen how fast Setok had grown up first-hand, and Setok was half-Vulcan. Ahn and Jeta—the names gave him a small sting of memory of Voyager’s former shuttle engineer, though not as much as the first time—were full-blooded Ocampa. From what he’d gathered from Li-Paz, Kes had said by a year old, Ocampa were functionally young adults, the equivalent of a sixteen to eighteen year old human.

Li-Paz.

Honigsberg turned back to his meal, his mood plummeting, and found staring at the spiced vegetable wrap no help in diverting his thoughts. Spicy food made him think of Li-Paz, too. The systems engineer had been a very large fan of heat in his meals. Then his gaze noticed the deep dent in the surface of the table—from the impact of where one of the Mess Hall supports had cracked after the same attack that had cost them deck five—and the visible reminder of the damage brought other names to the surface.

Platt. Mulchaey. Emmanuel. Strickler. His eyes flicked away from the dent and back to Celes and Murphy. If you really looked, you could see how their smiles were different. More fragile than before.  Which brought another name to Honigsberg’s list.

Telfer.

“Can I join you?”

Honigsberg blinked, finding coming out of his dark thoughts taking a bit more effort than usual, and seeing Ensign Sahreen Lan’s slight frown of concern when he didn’t reply right away.

“Sorry, of course,” he said, nodding. “My dented table is your dented table.”

Lan sat across from him with a wrap of her own, but she reached out and touched the visible cleft in the surface of the table. “I’ll add that to the list.”

“Pretty sure it’s already on there, just… very far down,” Honigsberg said, aiming for humour but feeling like he he might have missed, landing somewhere closer to sardonic.

Lan, who’d worn her yellow headband to keep her dark curls of hair mostly drawn away from in front of her eyes, chuckled anyway. “Probably.” She picked up her cup, raised it, then put it down again, not even taking a sip.

“Everyone’s sick of the Ilidarian tea,” Honigsberg said. “Don’t feel too bad. Maybe the Garenor will have something a little better to offer us, when we get there.”

“That’s two more days of this tea first, though.” Lan grimaced. “I know Kovar and Daggin are doing their best,” she said. “But between you and me, Lieutenant, I am this close to seeing if I can grow a Trabe firenut bush in my own quarters. I’m sure Michael would help me.” She blew out a breath, then eyed him. “You look exhausted.” Her own eyes had dark shadows beneath them, too. He imagined she was getting about as much down-time as he was—which was to say, they were both following the letter of regulations as much as they could, without running afoul of Doctor Fitzgerald or Emmett.

“Thanks. So do you,” he said, raising his mug of the floral, offered-every-single-day-this-week tea and forcing himself to swallow it. According to Celes, the Ilidarian tea offered the best nutritional option of what they had available via the Gardens for Vitamin C, and some other vitamins (or were they minerals?) he hadn’t known off-hand. With the replicators running at grey mode levels of power, Voyager’s own food generation had been adjusted away from flavour and toward caloric and nutritional value.

It wasn’t just the Ilidarian tea. Hongisberg was also sick to death of Talaxian chadre’kab, and if he saw another gamma plomeek before this year was over, it would be too soon.

At least Celes, Cir, Gara, and Eru still seemed to be able to scrape enough together to continue the wraps for lunches, and marob root was so quick to grow and had been a popular trading staple that they had a tidy supply of it in its dried and ground form, which let them spice the wraps—and the endless plomeek soup—somewhat.

“At least we’ve still got marob root,” he said, voicing the thought aloud, and lifting his cup again in an impromptu toast.

Lan gave him a less-than-amused look, but raised her own mug to clink it with his.

“Thank you, people of…” He frowned. “Who gave us marob root again?”

Lan blinked at him, brown eyes unsure, and after a second, she shook her head. “I want to say the Numiri? Was it the Numiri?”

“I can’t remember.” Honigsberg clinked her mug anyway, and swallowed more of the flowery tea. “But thank you, whoever you were. Without you, we’d be eating chadre’kab and Arde potatoes and all the other high-calorie foods without even hope of—”

He didn’t get to finish his well-intended joke, as the red alert siren interrupted. Lan’s eyes had slid past him to the windows of the Mess Hall, and he turned in time to see the flare of light of a Krenim warship dropping out of warp.

Most of the Mess Hall were up and moving before the announcement for tactical stations had even started, and Honigsberg’s group—Lan, Rollins, and Cing’ta with him—made it to the turbolift before it was finished. Honigsberg gestured for Lan and Rollins to go ahead of him, and they stepped inside.

“Bridge,” Lan said. The doors closed, and a moment or two later, opened again. Honigsberg stepped inside with Cing’ta.

“Main Engineering,” he said.

“Deck Fifteen,” Cing’ta said.

The turbolift started to move.

A few seconds later, they were both flung to one side as something hit the ship, hard.

As Honigsberg felt pain lancing up his back, the tubolift went dark and he heard the emergency clamps engaging. Two damn days, he thought. They were so close. Just two damn days from the Garenor, and now—.

Another impact broke his train of thought, his head connected hard against the side of the turbolift, and he slumped to the floor, all the sight and sounds and pain dimming around the edges and tipping over into darkness.

*

“Stadi, evasive,” Captain Aaron Cavit said, gripping both arms of his command chair and trying to come up a plan. The problem was, they needed to stay on course for Garenor space, which didn’t give them a lot of options.

“Impulse engines are sluggish,” Lieutenant Veronica Stadi said, working the Conn with audible frustration.

“EPS on deck eleven was hit,” Ensign Kashimuro Nozawa said from Ops. “I can’t restore them.”

“Reroute what you can,” Cavit said, calling to mind the recent update from Lan and Honigsberg before he’d sent them on their meal break. “The bypasses on deck ten were finished, Kash.”

“Aye, Captain,” Nozawa got to work, but it wouldn’t be fast enough, Cavit knew.

“Another incoming torpedo,” Ensign Deborah Lang’s voice warned them, and while Stadi did her best, Cavit saw the inevitable on the viewscreen even before Voyager twisted and shuddered beneath them.

“Are they having any luck calling for friends?” Ro said, glancing at Lang.

“Still jamming their frequencies, Commander,” Lang said. “Assuming they don’t get too far from us.”

“The new shield modulations didn’t work,” Taitt said from the Science Station.

“Do we have phasers?” Cavit said.

“Dorsal emitters are offline,” Lang said, shaking her head, then her gaze lifted. She was a slight, smaller woman, but her voice held iron as she added, “The ventral arrays are still active.”

“How are we doing with those bypasses, Nozawa?” Ro said.

“Coming online… now!” Nozawa said.

“Stadi?” Cavit said.

“One barrel-roll coming right up, Captain,” Stadi said.

“Target their torpedo launches, Lang,” Ro said, and Lang nodded, already tapping commands into her console.

“They’re coming about for another run,” Taitt said.

“They don’t change their attack patterns much, do they?” Cavit said. “Typical bullies.” The Krenim were arrogant bastards, that was for sure. Then again, why would they alter their tactics given they always had the upper hand?

On the viewscreen, the Krenim Warship seemed to twist in a barrel-roll of its own. Only the fact all the stars were doing the same denoted it was Voyager making the maneuver, not them.

“Fire phasers,” Ro said.

“Firing,” Lan said.

The two ships passed each other, Voyager completing her corkscrew in the process.

Cavit watched the screen. The shot was solid, and struck true. He eyed Nozawa, who tapped his console twice, then lifted his gaze. “Some damage to their shields, but their torpedo launchers are still active.”

“They’re locking on with their rear torpedo launchers,” Lang said.

“All hands, brace for impact,” Cavit called out.

“I’ve got another warp signature,” Taitt said. “It came out of nowhere, Captain…”

“More Krenim?” Cavit said. One warship they might be able to deal with, but two? Beside him, he saw Ro straighten in her chair, and wondered what trick she might be preparing.

“No,” Taitt said, frowning. Then her expression shifted into a broad, relieved smile, and she looked up and met his gaze, her voice softening, tempered by emotion. “Captain, it’s the Pel.”

*

“The Krenim ship is launching their torpedo,” Crewman Kimble Meyer said.

“Now, Tom!” Lieutenant Dennis Russell said. He didn’t have a station, instead standing on the small, rounded Bridge of the Pel a step behind where Meyer and Ensign Pablo Baytart had the Operations and Conn stations, with Ensign Lyndsay Ballard to one side of him at the Engineering console and Ensign Tom Moore at tactical to the other.

“Firing phasers,” Moore said.

Russell wished he could have opened the damn shutters, but instead all he could do was look at the sensor readouts over Baytart’s shoulder. They’d kept the Pel dark for as long as they could, from the moment they’d noticed the Krenim Warship lying in wait on Voyager’s path. They’d only fully powered up as they’d finally reached the two fighting ships, and if this desperate plan of his didn’t work…

On the sensor readouts, the Pel’s phasers swept across the space directly in front of the Krenim warship, set to as wide as dispersion as possible, and—

The explosion registered on the display as a red blink of light, followed by multiple updates on the status of the Krenim vessel itself.

Yes!

“You got it!” Meyer said, turning in his chair to grin at Moore for a breath before turning his attention back to his console. “You blew it up less than a fifty metres out of their torpedo tube. Their shields are fluctuating, Lieutenant, and their aft torpedo launchers are offline.”

“Don’t give them a moment to breathe,” Russell said, putting a hand on Ensign Baytart’s shoulder. “Pablo, how clear a shot at their engines can you give Tom?”

“Just watch me,” Baytart said, and Russell had to grab Baytart’s other shoulder to stay upright when the Pel seemed to tip below his feet, its inertial dampeners straining against the high-impulse maneuver Baytart initiated.

“I’ve got a clear shot at their port impulse engine and thruster assembly,” Moore said.

“Fire,” Russell said.

“Firing.” Moore’s voice remained cool and even.

“Direct hit,” Ballard said. “I’d say we did some damage—their vector is drifting, and their thruster assembly seems to be firing in an attempt to compensate.”

“Their energy weapons are coming online…” Meyer’s voice, unlike Moore’s, rose a little, which was fair given their circumstances. They weren’t Voyager. They couldn’t take much in the way of hits from a Krenim warship, not even with the shielding they’d adapted to the Pel’s power and computer systems.

“Pablo,” Russell said, and realized he was still gripping the man’s shoulders, which was perhaps not the most Lieutenant-in-Command stance he should really be taking. He shifted his grip to the back of Baytart’s chair. “Keep us behind them—I don’t want to be in range of their forward torpedoes.”

“If you can give me another shot,” Moore said. “I’m happy to take it.”

“Voyager took three hits,” Ballard said. “But it looks like they’ve still got partial weapons online, too.”

“We can’t hail them to co-ordinate,” Meyer said. “They’re jamming all local subspace signals.”

“So our friends here can’t call for help,” Moore said.

“Grip tight, Lieutenant,” Baytart said. “Tom, I’m going to drop us under their exhaust.”

Russell had just enough time to brace himself before Baytart sent the Pel on an arc that was close to a near-intercept with the warship, and in passing Moore got off another two shots. The second of which clipped the same already damaged engine they’d targeted before, and this time the sensors reported a series of cascading eruptions along the warship’s engine assemblies—including some internal.

“They’re adrift,” Meyer said. “I’m seeing no controlled movement beyond minor thrusters. Their shields are down.”

“They have life support and partial forward weapons still,” Ballard said. “It looks like their auxiliary power systems are stable.”

“Recommend a gentle tap to their transceiver array, Lieutenant,” Meyer said, turning in his chair. “Then we can all beat a hasty retreat without them calling anyone in to chase us.”

It meant leaving the ship without a way to call for aid itself, too, Russell knew. It wasn’t a particularly Starfleet thing to do, though he couldn’t fault the logic. It didn’t exactly surprise him the idea had been floated by Meyer, a former Maquis.

“Very gentle,” Russell said, realizing they’d not be able to speak to Voyager until they were all sure the Krenim ship wouldn’t be able to call for help—Voyager couldn't dare drop the signal disruption. Meyer was right. This was their move.

“Aye, Lieutenant,” Moore said, his Australian accent a bit thicker this time. Russell wondered if that was a tell for Moore’s approval—or disapproval. No way to know. The man played it cool, otherwise.

“I’ll open the shutters,” Ballard said, and Russell exhaled as the view of the stars, and Voyager and the Krenim warship came into view.

Voyager was upside-down relative to them, and hadn’t corrected the position relative to the Krenim vessel either. Russell imagined there was a solid reason for it, but didn’t imagine those reasons boded well for Voyager’s condition. He noted a fresh impact site near deck ten or eleven, too.

“Target locked. Firing,” Moore said. Twin strikes from the Pel struck out at the Krenim warship’s subspace transceiver array.

“Kimble?” Russell said.

“I’m seeing no subspace activity from the warship,” Meyer said. “They’re signal dark.”

“Voyager seems to have seen what we did,” Ballard said. “The scattering field is down.”

“Hail them,” Russell said, relieved.

“Hailing,” Moore said.

A moment later, the face of Captain Aaron Cavit was on the viewscreen set between the front two panels. The man’s pale blue eyes gained lines when he smiled at them, but Russell’s engineering background noted the smoke visible on the Bridge.

“Thanks for the timely arrival, Lieutenant. We weren’t expecting to see you for another two days.”

“We saw our friends here head your way,” Russell said. “Thought we’d follow, just in case.”

Cavit nodded. “Glad you did.”

“Captain,” Ballard spoke up. “The Krenim warships forward weapon systems are still active.”

“We noticed,” Cavit said. “If you all wouldn’t mind waiting to come back aboard, I’m going to suggest we get back on track for Garenor space right away, before the Krenim figure out a way to turn around.”

Russell smiled. “We’ll be right behind you, Captain,” he said.

“Voyager out,” Cavit said.

“Match their course and follow as soon as they’re underway,” Russell said, patting Baytart’s shoulder and squeezing before realizing he’d once again put his hand on the man. He let go. “And fantastic flying, Pablo.”

“Thanks,” Baytart said, flashing that handsome smile of his Russell’s way.

Russell hoped he wasn’t blushing. Hearing Ballard hide a small scoffing noise behind a rogue cough, he figured that particular hope was for naught, though.

*

“Captain, Damage Control teams are reporting the turbolifts are down,” Nozawa said.

“Nineteen main power relays are severed thanks to the damage to the EPS grid on Deck Vulcan,” Ensign Kieth Ashmore spoke up from the Engineering Station, where he’d been monitoring the warp engines since they’d decided warp two was safe enough—for some definitions of “safe”—in their current condition. When Cavit turned to look at him, Ashmore cleared his throat, slightly abashed. “Deck eleven, I mean.” The man looked exhausted.

Oh. Deck Vulcan, Cavit realized where the nickname had come from after a moment’s thought. Clever enough. The turbolifts being offline also explained why Rollins and Lan hadn’t gotten back to the Bridge. 

“Okay,” Cavit said, visualizing his options and not liking how short a list he had. “Internal sensors?”

After a few strokes on his panel, Nozawa tilted his head. “Partial. I’ve got residual chroniton surges throughout the internal sensor arrays, and similar spiking in the EPS grid…”

“Meaning we can’t see much of anything?” Ro said, getting Nozawa there with perhaps a bit more alacrity than the thorough man would have used on his own.

“Aye, Commander,” Nozawa said.

“Open a channel shipwide,” Cavit said, glancing at Lang.

She tapped on her controls, then nodded.

“This is the Captain. Turbolifts are currently offline, and we only have partial internal sensors. Damage control teams are going to be slow, and we don’t have a full picture to work with. Wherever you are, pair up, grab tricorders, and scan your local sections—don’t assume anything, full caution is merited at every intersection and behind every door—and report in to the Bridge with your findings.” He took a breath. “We are two days away from the Garenor, and we’re maintaining warp to get there on schedule. We will get there. Stay sharp, stay focused, and do the next thing.”

Ro met his gaze and nodded, once, and he dipped his chin at Lang.

“Channel closed,” Lang said. After a moment she added. “Initial damage reports are coming in.”

“Good,” Cavit said. “You three?” he pointed at Lang, Nozawa, and Ashmore. “The moment you can get someone here to replace you, you’re done. You’ve been on duty for what, nine hours now?”

“Nearly ten,” Ro said, rising and staring each of the ensigns down, and Cavit had to force himself not to crack a grin when he saw Ashmore open his mouth, make eye contact with Ro, and then close it again.

Their murmured “Aye, sirs” were good enough.

He faced Ro. “We need to find Alex and Lan,” he said, dropping his voice. “But they were already burning the midnight oil themselves.”

Ro nodded. “I’ll work with Lang.” She paused before stepping away form him. “How many hours have you been at it, exactly?” Her dark eyes met his frankly, but with her chin rising just a little.

“I think the same as you,” Cavit said, crossing his arms.

A tiny smile curled her lip upwards on one side. “Fair enough.”

Cavit made his way up to the Ops station as Ro joined Lang. He didn’t want to crowd Nozawa, but intended to have Nozawa re-route the damage reports to the Mission Ops panel on the rail. He could help categorize and organize whatever crew were nearest whatever problem from there.

*

“All right. Next up? Top five holidays,” Honigsberg said, doing his best to sit as still as he could against the wall of the turbolift, where he’d been sitting beside Lieutenant Cing’ta for what felt like days.

Probably closer to six hours, though. He was hungry. And tired. And thirsty. Also, a fresher wouldn’t go amiss…

Beside him, sitting in most of the remaining space not taken up by the collapsed support beam nearly bisecting the turbolift’s interior space, the big Bolian considered for a few moments. “My wedding journey was definitely number one—Fesia and Arja organized staying at a cabin in an original old-growth forest on one of the original Bolian colony worlds—Forr’Cli-D—and Em’ta was so relieved he wouldn’t have to speak to anyone else other than the three of us for nearly a week.”

“Your husband wasn’t the social type?” Honigsberg said. This wasn’t the first time Cing’ta’s choices among his Top Fives had included a reference to his husband and wives, but it was the first time he’d said much about his husband.

“Em’ta was never the most social man,” Cing’ta said, and Honigsberg saw the bittersweet smile, and wondered if maybe he should have picked a different topic, but he went on. “I don’t think I can put an order to these three, but definitely going back to Bolarus to spend time with Arja’s family, a wonderful trip to Andoria I took on my first shore leave—gorgeous ice caves—and as cliché as it may be, Risa. Little place called Toller’s Rest. Run by a Trill couple.”

“That’s four,” Honigsberg said.

“Number five would definitely be this time I was trapped in a turbolift with the chief engineer for a little over five hours,” Cing’ta said, in a respectable deadpan.

“People only usually flatter me when they want me to fix something,” Honigsberg said, narrowing his eyes—then regretting it when it make pain spike through his forehead where he’d clocked himself against the turbolift wall. “But I’ll take it. You’re not bad company yourself.”

“I’m just honestly blanking on a fifth, Lieutenant.” Cing’ta winked. “We Bolians tend to think in fours.” After another moment, he glanced at Honigsberg directly again. “Top Five assignments.”

Honigsberg blew out a breath. “Oh, that’s a good one. Okay…” He paused considering.

“You have to stop and think?” Cing’ta said, and that jovialness was back. “Don’t immediately have the urge to say ‘Voyager’? What was it—getting stranded on the other side of the galaxy, the current situation, or the current company?”

Honigsberg laughed—which he imagined was Cing’ta’s intent—then sighed. “I’m going to get sappy. Fair warning.”

“Oh no,” Cing’ta raised one blue hand—half of which was visibly darker with bruising. “I’ve only been tapping that tree for the last four hours… How will I cope if you hammer in a spile of your own?”

Honigsberg blinked. “I have no idea what half those words were.”

Cing’ta waved his hand. “Go on. I interrupted.”

“The Bradbury,” Honigsberg said. “I was the assistant engineer there, after my first tour on the Ventura. Prototype of her class, which meant we got to tinker with her engines all the time, and…” He trailed off, feeling foolish.

“And…?” Cing’ta said. He shifted his weight against the wall.

“And I met someone while I was assigned to the Bradbury.” Honigsberg remembered his first glimpse of Trooper Patrick Reese with almost painful clarity. Even in a group of ground troops, he’d stood out. Tall, broad, handsome, with that way of looking at Honigsberg like Honigsberg might be a cool glass of water on a particularly scorching day. Honigsberg blinked, coming back to the moment. “Bradbury did a lot of personnel transport—a great way to test new warp field geometry—and Reese was on one of those runs.”

“Ah,” Cing’ta said, with a particularly sharp look in his dark blue eyes. “Not a lot to do on personnel transport runs.”

“We found ways to keep busy,” Honigsberg said, not even trying to dodge Cing’ta’s gaze.

Cing’ta laughed.

Honigsberg rubbed his temple with one hand. The ache spiked with the movement.

“Your head?” Cing’ta said, softening his voice.

“Remind me to suggest we start stocking medkits in every turbolift.” Honigsberg gave in and closed his eyes for the relief it offered from the flickering light, but vertigo followed, just like every other time he’d closed his eyes. “Surely there’s somewhere we can tuck a hypo, at least.”

A grinding noise made him open his eyes, and as he fought off the trace of dizziness again, the turbolift doors cracked apart. Honigsberg looked up and saw multiple hands worth of fingers sliding into the gap—four of them tipped in metal—before either side of the tubolift doors were forced open by Seven of Nine and Ensign Michael Murphy.

Behind them, Crewman Abol Tay slid a medkit off his shoulder. “Someone call for a hypo?”

“Definitely,” Honigsberg said. He slid one foot under himself, but Cing’ta put a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t try to stand up,” Cing’ta said, then turned to Abol. “He was in and out of consciousness for a while.” Cing’ta rose beside Honigsberg. “He hit his head pretty hard.”

“How’s the ship, Seven?” Honigsberg said, as Cing’ta left the turbolift and started speaking quietly with Ensign Murphy, freeing up the room for Abol to kneel beside Honigsberg. The whine of the medical tricorder seemed to pierce his skull.

“During the last attack nineteen main power relays were severed,” Seven of Nine said, her voice as uninflected as ever, despite the dire announcement. “The entire turbolift system is non-operational.”

“The EPS manifold?” Honigsberg said, running through the scenarios that might end up with such specific fallout.

“Yes,” Seven agreed. “On deck eleven. We were on our way there when Crewman Tay’s tricorder picked up your lifesigns.”

“I’ll join you—although, where are we, exactly?” Honigsberg’s head throbbed at the thought of climbing through too many Jeffries Tubes.

“Deck ten, but you’re not going anywhere, Lieutenant,” Abol said. “You definitely have a concussion, and until Rebecca or Kes or T’Prena can get down here, you’re stuck with me—and while I paid attention in Doctor Fitzgerald’s emergency response classes, a concussion is a bit beyond my skill level, I’m afraid.”

Honigsberg took a deep breath to argue, but Seven of Nine interrupted.

“Ensign Murphy and I will continue to deck eleven,” she said, her blue eyes meeting his. “We are capable, and you are injured.”

“Right,” Honigsberg said, and Abol pressed a hypo to his neck. The pressure and pain in his head lessened considerably, but it was no panacea. “Right,” he said again. “Do me a favour, and try and buffer whatever remains of the EPS manifold, would you? If more of those surges are flying around, we don’t want to lose any more relays, and—”

“I understand,” Seven of Nine cut him off, then eyed Crewman Tay. “Do you need further assistance?”

“No, I’ve got him,” Abol said.

“Ensign,” Seven said to Murphy, stepping back out of the turbolift. “This way.”

Fun Murphy fired a quick, amused look Honigsberg’s way, and then said, “Coming.”

*

Seven of Nine paused her crawl through the Jeffries Tubes of deck eleven by the next sealed hatch and lifted her tricorder. The spikes of chroniton particles were heavily clustered in the next section.

“I believe we have found the source of the problem,” she said.

Behind her in the tube, Ensign Murphy’s own tricorder sang. “Agreed.” He paused. “I’m not seeing any signs of coolant or concentrations of other contaminants, though unless I’m mistaken, is the emergency forcefield up over the outer section of the hull there?”

“You are not mistaken,” Seven of Nine said. “Atmosphere remains stable.” She eyed the ensign, who had a tendency to frivolity she sometimes found tiresome in Astrometrics or Stellar Cartography, but had been focused and efficient enough over their last few hours working together.

“Let’s take a closer look, then,” Murphy said, as she thought he would.

It was, after all, the appropriate decision.

Seven activated the hatch and it slid to the side. The two of them moved forward, though Seven was closer, so she caught sight of what was in the next section before Murphy did. She halted as soon as she was clear of the hatch, raising her tricorder again.

Beside her, the ensign spoke quietly. “That explains the chroniton surges.”

Crystalline and showing some fractures from the impact, the Krenim chroniton torpedo pulsed and glowed where it was embedded in the tube ahead of them, the tip embedded in the EPS manifold.

“Seven of Nine to Bridge,” Seven said, tapping her combadge.

“Go ahead, Seven,” Ro’s voice came through.

“There is an undetonated chroniton torpedo lodged in the starboard Jefferies tube on deck eleven, section two.” She raised her tricorder, confirming the worst. “The warhead is still active.”

“Don’t touch it,” Ro said, and Seven allowed herself a brief rise of one eyebrow at the superfluous instruction. “We’ll who we have nearby to help you disarm it.”

“Check quickly,” Seven said, and beside her, Ensign Murphy made a noise she couldn’t quite identify—it might have qualified as a laugh, though it was somewhat curtailed.

“I don’t like the degradation curve I’m seeing,” Murphy said.

Seven eyed her own tricorder readings. “Agreed. The data points to destabilization.”

“Ro to Seven. Lieutenant Rollins is two decks above you and Crewman Sina is at the other end of deck eleven.” Her voice held an edge. “They’re on their way.”

“Commander,” Murphy spoke up. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Ensign Murphy is correct,” Seven said, her eyes still on her tricorder. “I believe we have less than four minutes before the torpedo detonates. It appears to have a subspace trigger—I do not believe we can transport the torpedo without also causing detonation.”

“Clear out of there, you two,” Ro said. “We’ll isolate the section as best we can.”

“Commander Ro,” Seven interrupted, even as Ensign Murphy started to shuffle backwards. “If we can determine the exact temporal variance of this torpedo—”

Murphy stopped shuffling. “Then we can get the shielding right.” He met Seven’s gaze, dipping his chin in apology. “Sorry.”

“We need to drop a forcefield around that section,” Ro said. “You need to be out of there, sooner rather than later.”

Seven, though, was already lifting her tricorder and scanning. Beside her, Ensign Murphy worked the panel on the Jeffries Tube hatch. “We’ve got a couple of minutes, Commander,” Murphy said. “We’ll use them. I’m setting up the hatches to close behind us.”

Seven didn’t add to the conversation, instead focusing the tricorder scans to penetrate the chroniton particles and trying to find the exact temporal variance. The distortions were particularly dense, though, and she found herself adjusting through multiple algorithms.

“Seven? Murphy?” Ro’s voice did not sound pleased. “I need you to be moving. Now.”

“We may never have this opportunity again,” Seven said, still working her tricorder—and finally making headway with the chroniton interference. The torpedo was audibly whining now.

“Leave. That’s an order.”

Seven stared down at the display—there! She almost had it.

Ensign Murphy’s hand on Seven’s shoulder, pulling her.

“The temporal variance is one point four seven microseconds,” Seven called out, even as she allowed Murphy to pull her back through the first hatchway. They barely made it to the second before the whine of the torpedo reached a fever pitch. The crackling sound of a force-field snapped into place behind them, humming with power.

“Look out!” Murphy’s arms wrapped around Seven, pulling her bodily against the wall, where he covered her with his own body and—

Light, brighter and hotter than anything Seven of Nine had ever encountered in her life up to that moment flared all around them, and Seven of Nine’s breath—and awareness—was lost in the pain and the shock of it.

Chapter Text

Day 49

Ensign Sahreen Lan rolled over in her bed, feeling the comforting warmth of the man sleeping beside her even as the soft chime she’d set six hours earlier made its unwelcome arrival. She considered resisting her standard morning routine—but gave in.

She slid what she knew to be her typically Trill-cold palms between the covers, seeking out the source of the warmth beside her, and finding some of her favourite parts of his bare skin to palm.

“Monster!” Ensign Michael Murphy gasped with a jolt, rolled in the bed, and wrapped his arms around her, tugging her hard against his body and pinning her hands against her sides.

Lan laughed. “I’m sorry. Were my hands cold?”

“Every morning.” He pressed his lips against her cheek, then continued their morning routine. “Every. Single. Morning.”

“You’re just so hot,” Lan teased, managing to get her fingers to his exposed—and ticklish—waist.

“I swear, if you tickle me…” Murphy said, his tone amused and teasing in equal measure…

…and also, just a little, forced. Like Kejal, when forced to entertain people who were important to him, even though his ability to sustain enthusiasm in social gatherings was limited at best. Or Pasha, forced to navigate academia for lab-access or asset allocation…

Putting on a face. Putting on a show.

They were both doing it, and she knew it, but when she kissed him, she attempted to impress with her lips alone how much she loved him, how much she wanted and needed him in her life, and how much she knew he was going through something she couldn’t understand.

He returned the kiss, and followed it up with a long, tight hug.

Her chime sounded again.

“You need to get to work,” Murphy said. And then, with a soft release of breath. “Computer, lights.”

She blinked as the lights in their quarters rose, knowing what she’d see, and preparing for the misty and clouded, but still mostly detectably brown, eyes of the man she loved to aim in her direction, but not see her.

“You’re right,” she resisted the urge to lie back down on top of him, to press her cheek against his chest and listen to his heartbeat—in four lives, had she drawn as much comfort from anything as much as she did from Michael Murphy’s chest?—and pushed off from the bed, wishing they’d restored the sonic showers but knowing that would still be a while. She found her undershirt, tugging it on over the bra she’d slept in—neither felt gritty yet, at least—and then paused to look at Murphy, who’d sat up in their shared bed now. Barely a trace of the scars remained to either side of his eyes, or on his neck or upper shoulders, which had taken the worst of the heat and blast of the Krenim torpedo that had blinded him. Seeing his hair still seemed wrong to her, though—they’d trimmed it down to nearly nothing given how much of it had burned away—and the stubble on his chin was quickly becoming a short beard, but finding a charged shaver had become a bit of a luxury since that last attack.

“You’re staring at me,” Murphy said, and his lips turned up in a playful smile that—again—she couldn’t help but detect as ever-so-slightly performative.

“You know how I feel about you without your shirt,” Lan said, firing back just as playfully.

His chuckled, and it finally felt mostly genuine. “Flirt.”

“I’m going to be in Main Engineering for the next six hours—”

“After you’ve eaten, right?” Murphy said.

“I’ll grab something, yes,” Lan said. She found her trousers and pulled them on. One pair of socks and her boots later, and she just needed her uniform jacket. When she shrugged her first arm into her sleeve, she saw he was still sitting in the bed, his face tracking her movements, though she knew he was doing it by sound, not sight. “You’ll be okay?” she said, grimacing at her inability to hide the concern in her voice.

She knew he didn’t like the question, in any variation. “Are you okay?” “How are you?” They’d been stricken from their everyday, and she’d just broken that unspoken rule.

He took a breath, and exhaled. “I’ve got my first practice with Kaurit today.”

“The tactile interfaces?” Lan said, finding her other sleeve and putting her arm through. Kaurit, like Murphy, was blind. For the Vulcan technician, however, working with tactile interfaces and wearing a sensor web and otherwise making the adjustment had been something he’d been working on for years, not two days.

“That’s right,” Murphy nodded. “Doctor Fitzgerald’s idea. Until we get Sickbay back up and running, we can’t fashion a sensor web for me, but Kaurit said there was no point in waiting to begin my initial training given I’ve got down-time. He’s a laugh a minute, that Kaurit.”

“I’ll bet,” Lan said. She crossed the space and put her hand on his shoulder to warn him she was right there, then leaned in and gave him one more kiss. “Love you, fun human.”

“Love you, too, grumpy Trill.”

She swallowed something rough, and headed out to start her day, pausing at her window long enough to pick up her combadge and pin it in place, looking out and seeing the horizon of the Garenor Colony’s largest moon, and wondering just how long the stretch of craters, dust, and rock would be her view.

And wishing she could share it—or any view—with Michael.

*

When Kes entered Holodeck Two—“Sickbay”—and paused only a few steps inside the large doors, Fitzgerald knew he’d made a misstep, and started adjusting his planned conversation. Instead of Kes’s new normal—acknowledgement with a nod or brief eye-contact with a professional, detached smile—her entire body language shifted to wary.

“Hi Kes,” Fitzgerald said. Beside him, Emmett seemed to decide now was a perfect time to cross to the far end of the space and do an impromptu inventory on their pharmaceuticals. Emmett nodded at Kes in passing, but Kes’s attention remained entirely on Fitzgerald.

“I was under the impression I was here to meet Lieutenant Taitt,” Kes said.

“She’s coming in,” Fitzgerald said. He’d have to be direct, as he’d already known, but Kes’s demeanour didn’t give him a lot of confidence she’d be open to all but the most perfunctory of discussions. “But I wanted to talk to you, and you’re avoiding me.”

Kes frowned at that, and he wondered if she was considering arguing with his statement. She must have realized she didn’t have a leg to stand on in that particular regard, though, as she simply nodded, confirming it.

“I’m not a telepath, Kes,” Fitzgerald said gently. “And neither is Emmett. We can’t feel what other people are feeling, or know what’s going on in their minds, but it’s pretty clear to both of us that you’re struggling—and with every reason.” He gestured to their makeshift biobed, then realized at her stage of Ocampa pregnancy, she’d likely be less comfortable if she lay down. “You’d probably rather stand, right?”

Kes nodded, but she at least finally closed the distance between them. He regarded her, really looking, and saw the hint of shadow under her eyes, the tightness in her jaw, and how her hands were almost closed into fists at either side of her maternity tunic.

Their best guess had her a month away from giving birth. Carrying a single child, unlike the usual Ocampa twin birth, meant she didn’t have as much strain on her back as a typical Ocampa mother, but it also meant the weight she did bear shifted more than usual, among the mitral sack evolved to give enough space for two children to develop.

She lifted her gaze, and Fitzgerald waited for her, allowing the moment to play out, letting himself simply be there—not offering advice, not even words—and relying on Kes’s telepathic sense of him to do some of the heavier lifting.

He felt for her. He empathized for her. He wanted to be there for her. He believed in her. He cherished her.

“It’s not what you think,” Kes said, finally. She glanced at Emmett, gesturing with one hand to include him in the conversation.

Emmett put down the medical supplies, giving up on his entirely unconvincing act to join the two of them.

“What do you mean?” Fitzgerald said, once Emmett had joined them.

“I know you think I should be grieving Paz,” Kes said. “And… in my way, I think I am.”

“In your way?” Emmett said, which was the question on Fitzgerald’s mind, too.

“I talk to him,” Kes said, lifting one shoulder. “I believe in his comra is still with me. Knowing he did what he did…” She glanced at Emmett again. “That he spent his last moments making sure I’d have you to help me? It… helps.” She took a shaky breath. “I miss him. I wish he was here, especially…” She placed her palms against her sides, not needing to spell out exactly what she meant. Giving birth alone. Raising their child alone. Their child never meeting her father.

“Of course.” Fitzgerald nodded, then swallowed. “Kes, you seem… cut off to us.” He exchanged a quick glance with Emmett, who nodded once at him, and Kes, but allowed Fitzgerald to continue the discussion. “And again—neither of us are saying that’s unusual, or even unexpected—we’re just worried about you.” He paused. “So when you say it’s not what we think…”

“When the overload happened,” Kes said. “I was in the life sciences lab.”

Fitzgerald blinked. “You were?” Prior to the destruction of deck five, the life sciences lab had turned into a spillover, a kind of step-down unit for injured crew. But Kes was supposed to have been off duty then, Fitzgerald had thought, but then he remembered Kes had been in the Holodeck by the time he’d managed to get himself there.

He hadn’t noticed her quick presence there at the time. It had just seemed like Kes being Kes.

Kes nodded slowly. “Li-Paz was in Sickbay, and I couldn’t sleep. It’s not unusual for an Ocampa mother-to-be.”

Emmett smiled. “We saw that with Eru, certainly. She barely slowed down.”

“Right,” Kes said, with the faintest smile. “I wasn’t going to be able to sleep, so I went to check on the people in the lab. Then the attack happened, whole sections of deck five collapsed. I was with the injured crew when we got the evacuation notice.”

“You helped them get to deck six, as I recall, and then to the holodeck,” Emmett said.

“Yes, but…” Kes cleared her throat, and blinked rapidly. “When we got to the Jeffries Tube access, I helped everyone get in. I climbed in after them. Then I saw Ensign Strickler and Crewman Emmanuel at the far end of the corridor. They were running, but…” She swallowed. “There wasn’t time. The relays started overloading, whole sections exploding.”

Fitzgerald realized what she was saying—and not saying. He reached out, and took her hand in his. “You had to close the hatch, didn’t you?”

Kes nodded, the first tear he’d seen her cry in the last seventeen days escaping her right eye. She sniffed.

“Kes,” Fitzgerald said, wishing she’d told him about this earlier, but understanding why she’d held it in instead. Since joining Voyager, Kes had truly found her calling. She healed. Closing that hatch, even though it was absolutely the only choice she could have made. Saving the lives of herself and all the others in the Jeffries Tube network moving between deck five and six, including potentially even himself at that point, was the logical, correct choice. “I’m so sorry you had to make that decision. It was the right decision. The only decision. And I know that doesn’t help.”

Kes swiped at another tear. “I keep thinking about triage.”

It was an apt analogy. Triage included learning how to make those cold, hard choices about saving the most lives in situations where you couldn’t save everyone. As a surgeon, he’d hated every single one of those moments in his own career as a doctor, and he knew the power they had to return in darker moments, coiled and waiting with the most useless, painful question in the galaxy: but what if..?

“If you hadn’t closed that hatch,” Fitzgerald said. “It would have led to the loss of more life. It’s absolutely triage.”

“Your objectivity was sound,” Emmett added. “And necessary.”

“I know that. I do.” Kes took a shaky breath. “But I can’t shake knowing I chose to do it. Veronica says feelings are.” She blinked a few times, wiping away more tears. “But when I let myself feel how I feel… guilty and ashamed…” She shook her head. “Working helps. Healing others. I don’t know what else to do.”

Fitzgerald squeezed her hand again. “Stadi’s not wrong. But if you’re willing, I’d like to maybe sit down with you later, maybe after your shift today? We’ll talk about it. And that might help, at least a little. But you don’t have to face those feelings alone.” He allowed himself to remember those awful times he’d been faced with similar circumstances, and he saw Kes’s beautiful blue eyes register something as she met his gaze. Her telepathy, he assumed.

“I’ve been there,” he said, wanting to be clear.

“All right. After my shift.” She smiled, then uttered a tiny fragile laugh. “I need to get myself together before Lieutenant Taitt gets here for her pre-natal check-up.”

“Go ahead,” Fitzgerald said.

“I’ve managed to prepare a nutritional supplement,” Emmett said. “It’s not a standard pre-natal vitamin hypo, but if I do say so myself, it’s a good substitute.”

“Show me,” Kes said, sounding a lot more like herself, and following Emmett to the stacked supplies.

Fitzgerald left them to it. He had more crew to visit, and not enough time in any given day to do it. And without his office on deck five to work with, not to mention everyone working as much as they could now that Voyager had landed on the Garenor Colony moon and they could focus entirely on repairs, finding these moments to speak had only grown more difficult.

Not to mention he still had to find time for his latest “class” with Seven, Taitt, and Abol later.

*

“Do you mind waiting for me in the Mess Hall?” Lieutenant Zandra Taitt said, her voice carrying to Seven of Nine in the confined space of Astrometrics despite Taitt using a softer tone than usual. The Lieutenant touched Crewman Abol Tay on his shoulder while she continued. “If you and Seven get started, I can meet you there and play catch-up.”

“Of course,” Abol said, with a broad smile Seven of Nine had noticed seemed reserved for Taitt alone. Their relationship was one of a few on Voyager Seven was exposed to on a regular basis, and she found it equal parts fascinating and confusing.

Lieutenant Taitt left, and Abol faced Seven. “All set?”

“I have explained to Sublieutenant Velar, Ensign Bristow, and Crewman T’Kaal what should be accomplished before our return,” Seven said.

All around them, the Astrometrics lab flickered, with more than half the screens blank, and the main holographic display hemisphere currently dark. The lab’s sensors needed repair, as did the projection matrix. Ideally, when Voyager returned to its journey once repairs on the moon were complete, they would be able to offer a complete view of space ahead of them.

“Great,” Abol said, though Seven noticed what she believed was amusement coloured the word. She often seemed to amuse Crewman Abol Tay in ways she didn’t understand. On occasion, she found the sensation irritating.

Today was one of those occasions. “You are amused.” She didn’t phrase it as a question, exactly, but it was a request for clarificaiton.

“Come on,” Abol said, not doing so. “Zandra told us to go ahead without her. She’ll catch up.”

Seven of Nine followed the Ocampa man out of Astrometrics, at which point he did turn to face her. “Your efficiency,” he said.

It took her a moment to connect his phrase with her statement. “My efficiency amuses you?”

“You’re very direct,” Abol said. He led the way to the Jeffries Tube access, and opened the hatch, nodding to two passing engineers carrying multiple lengths of plasma conduit casings before climbing through the hatch.

Seven followed him. “And my directness is amusing,” she said, once she’d closed the hatch behind her.

Abol started up the ladder, and Seven followed.

“It’s more like seeing Sublieutenant Velar and Crewman T’Kaal on the receiving end of your directness is amusing, Seven.” Abol’s voice floated down to her from above. “I’m not sure I can put this into words—humour is more about feelings—but there’s something satisfying, even if it doesn’t really speak well for my character, about watching the Sublieutenant react to your… declarative nature.”

“I have found Sublieutenant Velar, Crewman T’Kaal and I to have a similar dispositions,” Seven said, not finding any clarity in Abol’s explanation.

“Exactly,” Abol said, with a small laugh.

Seven sighed, putting this down to another conversation she’d likely have to consider later. Perhaps she could ask Doctor Fitzgerald about it. He was often helpful when it came to untangling the seemingly endless social nuances of Voyager’s crew.

But the thought of speaking with Doctor Fitzgerald didn’t bring its usual conflicting sense of frustration and comfort. No, the prevailing sense she garnered from the idea of a discussion with Voyager’s counsellor was harder to pin down. Her emotional loquacity continued to evolve, but she had relative confidence the word she sought was dread. 

They swapped taking the lead at every other ladder, a habit among all the Voyager crew using the ladders between decks that gave them a moment to breathe, though Seven thought neither herself nor the Ocampa needed the pause. She had nano probes in her bloodstream capable of adjusting her blood oxygenation requirements, as well as dealing with excess acidity in her musculature, and Abol Tay appeared quite fit.

It did, however, afford more opportunity for “small talk” which Seven thought might have been part of the reason the crew adopted the habit in the first place. So much of Voyager’s functionality seemed designed to include opportunities for discussion, useful or otherwise.

On deck six, Abol paused as he stepped to the side at the landing to allow Seven to climb ahead, and noted, “You’ve been working very hard since we landed on this moon.”

“There is much damage to Voyager,” Seven said, climbing.

“Yes,” Abol said. “But you’ve been showing up to your shifts with our partial sensor scan analyses already completed and ready to be sent to the Bridge.”

“I do not require as much rest as the rest of the crew,” Seven said. “I work on the sensor data in my quarters, since Doctor Fitzgerald has not allowed a return to eight-hour shifts.”

“Six-on-six-off,” Abol said, stating the name of the current hour rotation the crew worked under. “I get that. But it’s not just about physical rest, Seven.”

She stepped off the ladder at deck five, and Abol climbed past her.

“I find it more restful to work,” Seven said. “And it ensures the full load of data is completed, despite the personnel situation.”

Abol paused in his climb, and looked down at her. “You mean Billy. And Michael.”

Seven’s awareness of the emotion—dread—returned. “Voyager operated with less than a full complement of stellar scientists before the loss of Crewman Telfer and the injuries Ensign Murphy sustained. Yes.”

Abol didn’t answer, instead returning to his climb, and Seven found herself hopeful that would be the end of their conversation. Instead, when he stood to the side on deck four and she reached the same level with him, he said, “Seven,” in a voice that gave her pause, and made her step off the ladder herself, opposite him.

She regarded him, waiting.

“When we rebuild a real Sickbay,” Abol said. “There’s every chance Kes and Emmett will be able to restore Michael’s sight. You know that, right?”

“Yes,” she said, controlling the word with effort to leave it clean, simple, and declarative.

Abol shifted. The man’s dark brown eyes seemed to flick back and forth between as he regarded her. “You’re not responsible for handling the work Michael can’t do.”

Seven swallowed. The direct mention of the ensign who had bodily shielded her from some of the worst of the explosive heat and light of the torpedo explosion conjured more emotional reactions again. Ones she didn’t wish to categorize. “The work must be done. I can do it.”

“Right, but…” Abol started, then shook his head. “Right.” He took a breath, looking back up the shaft. “The scans you got of the torpedo were important,” he said. His gaze returned to her. “You and Michael gave us the last piece we might need to make effective shielding against those torpedoes.”

“I am aware,” Seven of Nine said, then reached for the ladder and began climbing again, as though the movement might leave the conversation—and the dread—behind her. “I have a proposed configuration to go over with yourself and Lieutenant Taitt—and Doctor Fitzgerald.”

“That’s great news,” Abol’s voice rose up the shaft from beneath her. “And ahead of schedule. Again.”

“As I said,” Seven said, reaching for the next rung. “I find it more restful to work.”

*

Though Aaron Cavit itched to get tools back into his hands and physically repair something, he made his way back to the Bridge one rung of the Jeffries Tube ladder at a time, and reminded himself that when all this was done, he needed to put a little more gym time onto his own schedule. Climbing his way through Voyager for the last two days had certainly reminded him just how long it had been since he’d done timed climbing drills at the Academy.

Climbing out in the rear corridor behind the Bridge, he took a moment to straighten his jacket before coming through the door onto the Bridge itself, and smiling at the sight of Crewman Gara and Chief Basil McMinn already waiting for him.

Both were early, and it didn’t surprise him one bit.

All around him, the Bridge was a flurry of activity. Commander Ro Laren stood leaning over Lieutenant Veronica Stadi’s station at the Conn, where Stadi had pulled up star charts on her display, while Ensign Sahreen Lan and Ensign Bahni Swinn seemed to be calling out various sections of the ship to each other across the Bridge, Lan at Ops, and Swinn at Engineering. Cavit noticed Lieutenant Scott Rollins wasn’t at the Tactical station, then remembered he and Crewman Sina were scheduled to work in the Torpedo Control room.

Cavit gave a quick “just a minute” gesture to Gara and McMinn, and paused by Lan’s station. “How are we doing?”

The Trill woman pushed an errant curl behind one ear. “Environmentals should break fifty percent by the end of the day, Swinn’s teams have almost finished chasing down the last of the surges in the power grid, and Taitt thinks she and Seven might have a shield calibration update for us before our scheduled meeting tomorrow.” Lan’s dark eyes flicked up to meet his. “We’re working on one warp coil at a time from each nacelle—just in case we don’t have as much time as we hope to put everything back together before liftoff—but EVA teams are making good progress—especially since 1106 is out there bouncing around in the lower G like he was built to do it.” She tilted her head to one side. “Give us a week, and I think you’ll have warp eight.” She cracked a wry smile. “Alex says warp seven, but I think he’s being too Starfleet about it.”

“On behalf of Starfleet engineers everywhere,” Cavit said, returning the smile, “hedging is a proud tradition.”

“If you say so, Captain,” Lan said, chuckling and getting back to work.

Cavit joined Gara and McMinn, and then gestured to the doors to the observation lounge. “Are our guests on board?”

“They are,” McMinn said. A sandy-blond, slender man, McMinn’s genteel propriety rarely failed him, but Cavit thought he saw an edge in the man’s posture.

He eyed Gara. “They’re still nervous?” he said.

“They are.” The Ocampa woman’s dark brown eyes held a similar hesitation to McMinn’s, but her broad smile was at least partially reassuring. “But they’re a compassionate, considerate people. They just have frightening neighbours.”

“Right. Well, let’s go officially say thank you,” Cavit said, leading the way to the Observation Lounge. Normally, he’d host dignitaries in the Mess Hall, or his Ready Room, but the Mess Hall was one of the few places the crew had right now where they could gather—not to mention everyone eating there, given the replicators were still on grey-mode—and his Ready Room had only half its lights working, and Crewman Daggin and Ensign Kovar had relocated some of the portable gardening containers into the space from the Arboretum, which—along with most of Deck eleven—was still barely getting power. He barely had room to get to his desk between the Delta gooseberry bushes, let alone hosting someone else.

Stepping into the Observation Lounge, Cavit noted McMinn and Gara had at least scrounged up some offerings for the two aliens already present. A teapot in the centre of the table, along with a small spread of finger-food had been arranged for them, and it looked like both Garenor had partaken of the offerings, given the mugs and napkins in front of them.

“Hello,” Cavit said, offering his hand. “My name is Captain Aaron Cavit, and I cannot thank you enough for allowing us this opportunity to catch our breath and make repairs on our ship.”

The two aliens rose, and Cavit through Gara’s description of them seemed completely on point. Humanoid, and initially reminding him somewhat of Efrosians, given their long, white hair, he saw nothing but compassion and understanding in their surprisingly bright, almost chartreuse yellow eyes. Both wore simple silvery-grey tunics and darker trousers, unadorned with any real markings beyond a rounded device attached to their shoulders, which he thought might be a communication device, much like a combadge.

The first of the two Garenor accepted his handshake, and then the second followed suit.

“I am the colony Reeve, Anjin Maht, and this is my Prime Alderman—and my nephew—Wofan Maht,” the first spoke. “Your lieutenant Dennis Russell did not understate your ship’s design, Captain. We were both so curious to see a vessel from the other side of the galaxy.”

“I only wish she was in better shape so I could give you a full tour,” Cavit said, spreading his hands in what he hoped translated as genuine regret. “But I don’t want to make you climb ladders.”

The younger of the two Garenor—Wofan, the Alderman—bowed his head. “Of course, Captain.” Then he shared a look with the Reeve that gave Cavit pause, and made him think McMinn and Gara had been right—compassionate or not, these two had some bad news to deliver, he thought.

“You’ve already given us an opportunity we sorely needed,” Cavit said, deciding he could be the one to show grace here. “If there’s something you need to tell us, I’d rather hear it sooner than later.”

The Reeve let out a soft breath. “You are quite observant, Captain,” Anjin Maht said. “As I mentioned to your Lieutenant, I spoke with the rest of the colony leaders about your requests.”

Here it comes, Cavit thought. “Yes?”

“We are the furthest colony from the Garenor homeworld, Captain,” the Reeve said. “Our growth, our imports and our exports, all are strictly regulated by the Krenim Imperium, who audit us on a regular basis. Most of what you requested, we cannot provide—the lack would be noticed, questioned, and…” Anjin Maht sighed. “Punished accordingly. One of those audits will be in six more days.”

“Then we’ll leave in five. We absolutely don’t want to get you into trouble,” Cavit said. “Even if all you can offer us is five days here on your moon, we’ll accept it gratefully.”

“We also believe you may be able to use our space to avoid the Imperium for some of your journey, at least as far as our Homeworld,” the Prime Alderman said. “We do understand your plight, and wish we could offer you more than the cover of a magnetic pole on our moon and some crop cuttings.” Cavit could hear a trace of shame in the man’s voice, as well as frustration. From what little he’d seen of the Garenor colony via sensors, however, he understood well enough that the Garenor could never hope to withstand the might of the Krenim Imperium.

Pissing them off by helping Voyager was out of the question.

“As Captain Cavit said,” Gara said, sliding smoothly into the conversation as always. “We appreciate both your situation and your help.”

The Garenor smiled at her, then the Reeve returned his gaze to Cavit. “We have arranged the foodstuffs already, assuming one of your shuttles can collect them?”

“I’ve already arranged it, Captain,” McMinn said. “And we’ve got some of that marob root Gara was telling you about for you, as well, and a few other seedlings we believe might flourish in your colony.”

“We thank you.” The two officials bowed again.

Cavit returned the bow, and then tapped his combadge. “Cavit to Pel.”

“Go ahead, Captain.” Russell’s response was immediate.

“Our Garenor guests are ready to head back to their Colony,” Cavit smiled at the two aliens. “If you wouldn’t mind playing transporter room again for us?”

“Right away, Captain.” Russell said.

A moment later, the two Garenor disappeared in a shimmer of blue and silver light.

“Five days,” Cavit said, glancing at McMinn and Gara. “I’ll let the Senior Staff—and engineering—know. What did we end up acquiring, food wise?” He’d barely been aware of the deals Gara and McMinn had been trying to spin, given everything broken on Voyager, but he trusted the two to have done their best.

“This is a farming colony world,” Gara said, picking up a PADD from the table. “And they weren’t overstating how much the Krenim require them to tithe, but the Garenor have some nutritionally dense vinebeans—Daggin compared them to Terran soybeans—as well as something they call sunweed greens.”

“That doesn’t sound particularly appealing,” McMinn admitted. “But we tried them. They taste a bit sharp, but I’m sure Eru and Tal can deal with that.”

Cavit blinked, and Gara smiled at him. “The closest analog Daggin could come up with there was dandelion leaves.”

“I’ve had dandelion wine,” Cavit said, chuckling. “Can’t say it’s a favourite, but I trust you both. And Daggin and the Mess Hall, of course.”

“On the topic of wine,” McMinn said. “The Garenor don’t ferment any beverages, but they do have a steeped drink that isn’t made from the sunweed—it’s made from the bark of a local plant.”

“Similar to cinnamon,” Gara said, guessing Cavit’s next question.

“At this point, anything that isn’t Illidarian tea is going to be cheered, I think,” Cavit said.

“Aye, Captain,” Gara said.

“Go ahead and get started,” Cavit said to the two of them, and they nodded their heads and left, Gara placing her PADD on the table for him. He eyed the teapot and considered pouring some for himself, but the scent of the floral Illidarian tea made him change his mind.

He couldn’t wait for more of the Ocampa black to reach the harvesting stage.

Exhaling, he tapped his combadge. “Cavit to Honigsberg.”

“Go ahead Captain,” Honigsberg said.

“If I said we had five days, and weren’t going to be getting anything in the way of mineral or material aid from the Garenor—beyond having a place to park—where does that put us?”

“It puts us with functional warp coils, warp seven or maybe seven-five,” Honigsberg said, after a brief pause. “It doesn’t give us what we need to repair the hull damage to deck five, though, so warp seven wouldn’t be a great idea.”

“With the pylons locked it’s more like six anyway, no?” Cavit said.

“Good point, Captain.” Cavit could hear Honigsberg’s smile. “Lan’s teams will be able to make headway with the environmentals and the power grid—I hesitate to promise something on her behalf, of course, but looking at her updates I’m thinking we’ll have partial turbolifts within another  day or two. If we stick to keeping everyone double-bunked and focus on specific decks…” Honigsberg paused. “Five days is not bad at all, Captain.”

“Good to hear,” Cavit said. 

Chapter Text

Day 65

“Two Krenim warships on an intercept course!” Rollins called out from Tactical. “They just dropped out of warp ahead of us. One-five mark one-one and two-three mark one-six.”

“Stadi, evasive,” Ro said, leaning forward in her chair, and considering their limited options. “Ortegas-beta-nine.”

“Aye, Commander, drop and roll,” Stadi said, and a moment later, Voyager fell away on its relative Z-axis, rolling to present its ventral phaser arrays—the dorsal arrays were still patchy—and as she turned to tell Rollins to fire, the turbolift door opened and delivered the Captain to the Bridge.

“Target their torpedo launchers,” Ro said to Rollins, who nodded.

“Firing,” Rollins said.

Ro faced Cavit as he took his seat. His uniform jacket was unzipped—probably he’d been hands deep in a panel when the red alert had been sounded—and she gave him a quick précis. “Two Krenim warships, they dropped out of warp close—probably used the same plasma drift cover we did.”

“Their shields are holding,” Lan said, from Ops. “And their torpedoes are coming online.”

“The shield modulation?” Cavit said, looking to the front of the Bridge where Taitt had the Science station.

“Newest configuration is up and ready,” Taitt said. “No way to know if—”

“Inbound!” Rollins called out.

“I can’t shake them,” Stadi said.

“I’m giving you everything I can for impulse engines,” Lan said. “Re-routing from auxiliary.”

Voyager twisted, the stars on the viewscreen in a near corkscrew as Stadi worked to present both of the attacking ships with as limited a profile as possible. The twin streaks of light of the Krenim torpedoes grew brighter, brighter…

“All hands,” Cavit called out. “Brace for—”

Voyager lurched, and the sound of impacts, one after the other, came only a moment before the bone-jarring jolts of what Ro knew could only be terrible—if not catastrophic—damage.

Above them, one of the support struts gave way.

*

Captain's log, stardate 51429.9. The moment we left the plasma drift we’ve been using to avoid the Krenim since we left Garenor space, a pair of Krenim warships ambushed us. Their torpedoes put the final nail in the coffin of the power grid on deck eleven—it’s offline.

Twelve casualties—most of them injuries. We lost Cabot and Djanrelian, and Emmett and Kes are currently unsure if Sakan will recover. Counselor Fitzgerald tells me that would be a major loss to the former-Hera crew in particular, as Sakan, the second-eldest of the survivors, is very much a mentor among them.

The power grid loss sent chroniton surges ricocheting through ship’s systems, and the replicators went offline. On the plus side, we’ve been running on grey mode, so replicators had been generating us a tidy supply of rations alongside the bare minimum we were using them to provide before this, but on the negative side, those rations are going to hit morale, and morale can’t take many more hits.

The Krenim won’t let us leave peacefully. Cir, Eru, and Gara have made that clear from their understanding of their sense of the Krenim concept of “Fen,” or fated superiority through willpower. It’s not willpower they have, it’s those damned torpedoes.

We lost the two warships though—the repairs we made on the nacelles and the incredible work Seven of Nine and Lan put together to reinforce the structural integrity fields around the wounds of deck five gave us enough to work with to out-run them, though there's further strain on the superstructure throughout deck six and four. We can't do that again.

There has to be a way out of Krenim space that we can reach before they destroy us. I won’t give them Voyager, or my crew—their Fen would have us all killed anyway. I don’t see a diplomatic solution. And Taitt and Seven’s work on adjusting our shields continues.

So we keep moving.

*

Zandra Taitt crossed her arms and looked at the display in Astrometrics, where instead of the wide array of stars, the display showed shield harmonics, and readings taken the moment each of the two Krenim torpedoes had pierced Voyager’s shields on their way to tearing up deck eleven.

Beside her, Abol Tay and Seven of Nine also watched, both of them silent as she tapped the interface railing enough to bring up the shield modulation specifics right down to the most minute detail.

“They match,” Abol said. “We aligned them perfectly.”

The door opened, and Doctor Jeff Fitzgerald entered, joining the three of them. His beard, like the beards of so many of the men of Voyager, had started to grow in enough to be considered as such, rather than just stubble.

She had to admit, it suited him, which wasn’t something she could say for quite a few of the crew, her own partner among them. Abol’s beard only seemed to exist on his chin and upper lip, and only half-heartedly grew down either side of his face.

It wasn’t an optimal look on the otherwise handsome man she loved. It had the unfortunate effect of making him look like a teenage boy.

“I brought lunch,” Fitzgerald said, holding four silver packets and carrying a flask. “For while we work.”

Taitt realized her mind had wandered again, and she nodded at him, conjuring a smile from somewhere, and reaching out when he offered her one of the ration bars. Trying to inject some humour, she said, “What feast do we have today?”

Fitzgerald glanced at the wrapper after he handed a bar to Seven of Nine, and then Abol. “Nutrition bar four,” he said, squinting at the label. “It says this will taste like granola and raspberries.” He lifted his gaze back to Taitt, his steely-grey eyes offering a similar forced humour to her own. “Any wagers?”

“Given our situation, taste is irrelevant,” Seven of Nine said, unwrapping the bar and then pausing before taking her first bite. Taitt realized she hadn’t really seen Seven of Nine eating much in the Mess Hall—she took her meals back to her quarters, perhaps—and idly wondered if there was a reason.

Abol had already bitten off a bite, chewed, and swallowed. “That’s not bad, actually,” he said, and she loved him for his optimism. Still, it gave her the courage to open her own bar and take a bite.

She had to admit, as the taste of something perhaps adjacent to a raspberry and the crunch of a structure not entirely dissimilar to an oat spread through her mouth, she didn’t think her partner was too off the mark.

“Hm,” she said, nodding.

Fitzgerald was unstacking four cups and pouring his flask into each. To Taitt’s utter relief, it was plomeek juice, not more Ilidarian tea, even though she wasn’t a huge fan of the tomato-juice like beverage.

After he’d poured, Fitzgerald looked up, frowning at the display. “You matched it.”

“We did,” Taitt said, glaring at the display as though her attitude might change the results. “Our shield harmonics were perfectly modulated for those torpedoes. The readings Seven got were spot on.”

“But ineffective,” Seven of Nine added, with a grimness she didn’t often offer up. Taitt glanced at her, and Seven looked away, taking another bite of her meal bar and absently smoothing the front of the plain purple tunic as though to brush off a crumb that wasn’t there.

“Okay,” Fitzgerald said, in the less-than-sure voice he used whenever they were on the topic of temporal mechanics, despite the progress he was making thanks to the three of them teaching him what they knew. “So our initial thought was to align the shields to the same frequency to stop the effectiveness of the torpedoes being temporally phased—which hasn’t worked.”

“Correct,” Seven of Nine said.

“But I thought two equal levels of temporal phase were the equivalent of aligned temporal existence,” Fitzgerald said, then frowned, and glanced at Abol. “Did that make sense?”

“It did,” Abol said, taking another bite and smiling broadly. “No caveats required.”

“Huh. Look at me,” Fitzgerald said, finally taking a bite of his own meal ration. He paused after an initial chew, made a soft noise that could have passed for grudging approval, and then chewed more, looking at the display.

Taitt did the same. Fitzgerald was right. They’d been under the impression that matching the point-zero-four microsecond temporal flux of the torpedo would be enough. But it wasn’t. Which meant…?

Which meant what?

“We’ll have to try to come at this from another side,” Taitt said, though she didn’t really have much of an idea of where to start on that front.

“Another side,” Seven said, stepping forward and starting to tap on the panel. Taitt’s readings vanished from the display, and she stepped back, taking no offence at all to Seven of Nine taking the lead. What might have come off rude from someone else Taitt had learned to understand was only Seven being efficient.

Taitt knew better than to interrupt. Seven would explain when she was ready.

A series of images began to appear on the display, and Taitt looked up, blinking at the results for a moment until she started to understand what she was looking at.

“Did you invert the variance?” Fitzgerald said, frowning at the images spread across the astrometric lab display.

“We have been trying to match our shields to the temporal variance of their torpedoes,” Seven said. “That did not function as expected. But I believe if we also match the deflector array to the inverse of that variance…” She tapped a few more commands in, and Taitt watched a model of the new shield harmonics snap into place.

“Neochronitons,” Taitt said, a slow-smile spreading across her face.

“Lieutenant?” Seven said, frowning.

“Something I’m not really supposed to know about yet, which is a long story for another day, but here’s the short version: a subset of chronitons exist before the event that creates them—neochronitons—though they function linearly from our limited perspective, but in many ways, they’re an inverse.” Taitt smiled, nodding faster and faster as her thoughts caught up to Seven’s theory. “Seven, you're right, these torpedoes… They’re not just functioning with a variance of point four-seven microseconds, they’re functioning with that variance inverted, at the same time.”

“So…” Fitzgerald eyed the display. “We had half the shields?”

“An oversimplification,” Seven of Nine said. “But essentially correct.”

“But now we have all the shields we need?” Fitzgerald said, taking a bite of his meal bar.

Taitt grinned at him, and tapped her combadge. “Taitt to Honigsberg. Got a moment, Lieutenant?”

“If it’s a quick one,” Honigsberg’s voice came over the channel. He sounded stretched, and tense, and she couldn’t blame him—the man and his people had been running non-stop for two months now. “What can I do for you?”

“Can you meet us in deflector control?” Taitt said. “I think this time, we might—”

She was cut off by a red alert.

“All hands to battle stations.” Commander Ro Laren’s voice, firm and clear, followed. “Krenim vessels approaching. Repeat, all hands to battle stations.”

Taitt exchanged a look with the others, and Fitzgerald held up his hand. “I’ll go to the Bridge, tell them you’re working on it. Go.”

Taitt nodded, and the three of them started for deflector control at a run, calling out and explaining what she needed to Honigsberg as she did so.

*

Crossing down to the command area—and stepping around a fractured piece of the ceiling support they’d yet to drag to the side—Cavit glanced up when he saw Fitzgerald come onto the Bridge, and frowned in surprise when his husband took the Science Station.

“Taitt, Seven, and Abol might have those shields for you,” Fitzgerald said in explanation—and confidently—and Cavit felt a surge of love for the man as Fitzgerald sat down and worked the panels, bringing up what appeared to be temporal variations of their shield harmonics.

“Scott, how are we doing?” Ro said.

“Dorsal phaser arrays are still only partial, but ventral and aft are online,” Rollins said. “Torpedo launcher is still unresponsive.”

Cavit took his seat beside Ro.

“I can fly upside-down for as long as you’d like,” Stadi said, with a sly humour Cavit knew was intended to bolster morale as much as it was to remind them she had the talent and skill to get them through this. “It’s space.”

“They’re within visual range,” Lan said.

“On screen,” Cavit said.

On the viewscreen, a single Krenim warship and two patrol vessels appeared, the smaller ships flanking the larger. With typical Krenim arrogance, only the warship moved forward, leaving the other two ships behind.

“Oh, now that’s just insulting,” Stadi said.

“I’ll take their overconfidence rather than three versus one,” Ro said. “Escape vector?”

“Evasive Sulu-alpha-four should give Scott a few good shots as well as a shot at getting around their two little friends,” Stadi said. “But it’ll be tight.”

“Any word on those shields?” Cavit said.

“Working on it,” Fitzgerald said.

“Initiating Sulu-alpha-four,” Stadi said.

“Here they come—they’re vectoring for an intercept,” Lan said.

“Time to dance, Stadi,” Cavit said.

“Aye, Captain.”

*

While Seven of Nine initially followed Lieutenant Taitt and Crewman Tay into Deflector Control, she had attempted to construct a conversational structure that would allow the most efficient option to take place, without causing undue social stressors. She had learned early in her interactions on Voyager that declaring herself the most capable often “rubbed people the wrong way” as Doctor Fitzgerald put it, and was about to offer to take the lead when Lieutenant Taitt spoke first.

“Seven, panel’s all yours. Abol and I can re-route the power feeds, but you’re faster.”

“Acknowledged,” Seven said, pleased the social interaction would not be necessary, and reminding herself to recall in the future that both Lieutenant Taitt and Crewman Tay understood when efficiency trumped such trivial matters.

“Lieutenant?” Crewman Richard Henard, stepped to one side as Seven, Taitt, and Abol moved to get to work.

“Shield modulations,” Taitt said, summing up their focus in the two words. Henard, a middle-aged human man with brown hair and a patchy beard that had grown in over the past short duration like most of Voyager’s crew, simply nodded, and gave them the space.

Seven got to work. Her fingers moved over the consoles, and she inputted phase variance equations, spreading the power flow Crewman Tay and Lieutenant Taitt fed into the main deflector to the appropriate modulations. Temporal equations, phase variance algorithms, inversion patterns; her mind moved from one to the next without pause, and her fingers never slowed.

“Bridge to Taitt,” Cavit’s voice came over the channel. “Status on the shields?”

“Almost,” Taitt replied. Seven did her best to ignore the discussion, a skill she’d doubted she’d be able to develop, but had—as Doctor Fitzgerald had told her it would—become almost second nature.

“Sooner rather than later, Lieutenant,” Cavit said.

Seven input the last of the calculations, then restored full power to the main deflector.

*

“I can’t lose him,” Stadi said.

Cavit took a breath, and glanced at Rollins. Rollins shook his head. Come on.

“They're targeting the bridge,” Lan said.

Cavit gripped his armrests, and opened his mouth to order the evacuation of the Bridge.

“Temporal shielding is online,” Fitzgerald said.

“They’re firing,” Lan said.

“Stadi,” Cavit said, not having time for anything more.

“Aye, Captain,” Stadi said, and Voyager rolled, pitching enough with a burst of thrusters that they all rocked in their chairs, and on the viewscreen, Cavit saw the streak of light that was one of the Krenim torpedoes missing them by what appeared to be a matter of metres.

The flare of light that followed meant the second torpedo had found its mark. Cavit braced himself, but…

A mild jolt. That was it.

“Shields are holding,” Rollins said, and the relief in his voice—and some wonder—was undisguised. “No damage.”

“Yes,” Fitzgerald hissed under his breath, but Cavit caught it. He rose from his chair, feeling every bit of that joy along with his husband.

“Open a channel,” Cavit said.

“Hailing,” Rollins said. Cavit watched him, and Rollins gave him a quick nod. The Krenim were listening, even if they weren’t showing up on the viewscreen.

That was fine by him.

“This is Captain Aaron Cavit of the Federation Starship Voyager. Those torpedoes of yours aren’t a problem for us any longer.” He crossed his arms, hearing the anger in his own voice and deciding he didn’t need to do a single damn thing to cover it. “Now that we don’t have to spend all our attention dodging you, I suggest you consider how well your defences fare against our weapons and maneuverability.”

A second passed, then another.

Cavit glanced at Ro. She raised one particularly eloquent eyebrow.

“No answer,” Rollins said.

“That’s bullies for you,” Cavit said. “Return to our previous heading, best speed.” He looked around the Bridge. The dirt and broken support column, the grit on the uniforms of everyone on duty, the short, untended beards on Rollins and Fitzgerald and Culhane—not to mention his own, which was growing in in a particularly distressing shade of silver. They were badly compromised. He didn’t want to take Voyager into any more battles.

“Engaging at warp five,” Stadi said, a moment later.

That was well within the range of their vessels. Cavit glanced at Rollins. “Anything?”

“The warship is pursuing, but their weapons aren’t powered,” Rollins said, after a moment.

“The patrol vessels stayed behind,” Lan said. “There’s a lot of comm activity from them.”

“No doubt they’re telling everyone we can handle their torpedoes now,” Ro said, rising and joining him. “As far as we know, we’re the first to ever manage that particular feat.”

“When we get the replicators back online, I intend to replicate something nice for Taitt’s team,” Cavit said. “Maybe champagne?”

“I think she’s more a fan of Amarula,” Fitzgerald said from the Science Station.

Cavit grinned at him. “Amarula it is,” he said. “Okay.” He clapped his hands. “Let’s get back to work on repairs. I’d like—”

“Captain!” Lan said. “There’s a spatial distortion heading toward us.” She glanced up, her dark eyes locking on his. “It’s massive.”

“Jeff?” Cavit said.

Fitzgerald was up and moving to Lan’s display even as she continued to work.

“Sensor readings are having trouble locking on to its makeup,” Lan said. “I can't identify it, but it looks like a  shockwave in the fabric of space-time—coming from a position about twenty light-years away.”

Fitzgerald had reached her side, and he swallowed, then look at Cavit. “It’s the same as last time.”

“Shields to maximum,” Ro said, but even Cavit could hear the futility in her voice. If this was a change in the timeline, there wasn’t much likelihood of anyone but his husband even knowing about this once it passed them by—and changed them in its wake.

Cavit met his husband’s gaze and tried to tell him with a single look how much he loved him and trusted him. “You know everything we’ve learned. You can tell us,” he said.

Fitzgerald nodded, looking pale and shaken, but determined.

“I can’t outrun it,” Stadi said.

“All hands, brace for impact!” Ro called out.

A flare of light washed over the Bridge.

*

Fitzgerald forced himself not to close his eyes, not wanting to miss a single moment of the changes that would follow the wave of temporal energy, knowing there might be clues in even the smallest detail and…

…nothing changed.

He frowned, and found the same expression reflected in Aaron’s gaze.

“Report,” Cavit said.

“The shields…” Rollins said. “They went down to eighty-nine percent, but they remained stable, and… Captain, the Krenim warship. It’s… not.”

“What?” Cavit said.

“On screen,” Ro said.

Fitzgerald turned and looked at the viewscreen along with everyone else. The ship there was smaller, and—to him—felt rather familiar.

“That’s closer to what it looked like the first time we met it,” Fitzgerald said. “In the first timeline I remember, I mean.”

“Ensign?” Cavit said, stepping up to join Fitzgerald and Lan at the Ops Station.

“That’s a Krenim ship, for sure. The hull markings, power signatures, metallic composition, but it's barely half the size of a warship, and the tactical systems are far more limited.”

“It has one torpedo launcher and directed energy cannons,” Rollins said. “And I don’t think the torpedoes are chroniton-based.”

“It’s not just this ship,” Stadi said. “The other two patrol vessels aren’t there. And there are hardly any other Krenim ships in the immediate vicinity.”

“They’ve been herding and chasing us for weeks,” Ro said. “And now they’re gone?”

“New timeline,” Fitzgerald said. “Just like last time—only this time the shields protected everyone on board from the changes.” He faced Aaron, taking a breath. “This is what it was like for me, before, only this time it’s everyone.”

Cavit swallowed, then lifted his chin. “Cavit to Taitt. We just had an other timeline change, only this time your shields protected us. Can you, Abol, and Seven give us an idea of exactly how widespread the changes to the timeline are?”

“We’ll need some time to bring Astrometrics back online, Captain, but I believe so, yes.”

“Do it,” Cavit said. He shifted to speak to the Bridge. “Focus on repairs. Ro, Lan, co-ordinate with Alex. Scott, keep an eye on what remains of the Krenim—if they so much as twitch, I want to know. Stadi… your best guess on our way out of whatever passes for Krenim space now.” Then his pale blue eyes turned to Fitzgerald. “Our enemies just turned into nuisances. I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but let’s go talk to Taitt. I think we need to figure out what the hell is going on.”

Fitzgerald nodded, in complete agreement on that front.

Chapter Text

Day 70

“Seven of Nine to Fitzgerald.”

Jeff Fitzgerald winced at the voice waking him from sleep, and felt Aaron stirring beside him as well, but forced himself to pull his good arm free from the yellow hand-spun Trabe blanket they slept under and push himself up to sitting.

“Go ahead,” he said, his voice rougher than usual. He cleared his throat, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. What time was it? Unfortunately, the beautiful clock Aaron had built during their time on Báisteach had fallen off the wall during one of the earlier Krenim attacks and been hopelessly shattered. It, like so many other parts of their quarters, currently lay in a container with other detritus they’d yet to find time to deal with.

“Astrometric sensors have come back online,” Seven said. “I believe you and the Captain will both wish to see the results of my recent scan.”

The remnants of sleep burned away at the news. He nodded, even though Seven couldn’t see him, and said, “We’re on our way.” When he turned to look at Aaron, he saw the man’s eyes were already open and allowed himself a brief moment to kiss his husband's forehead—still not a fan of the bristles on Aaron’s chin—and then they both got up to get dressed.

As he pulled on his undershirt, he grimaced at how gritty it felt. There was only so much to be done with a sonic wand, but personal comforts like their showers and shavers—and even his neural rig—were much further down the long list of repairs to expect them back any time soon. Even the mirror in their fresher was cracked, thanks to the surges those chroniton torpedoes sent through all systems, including the gravity plating.

Voyager’s corridors were another reminder of the damage they’d taken. Fitzgerald watched Aaron take note every charred plating surface they passed, even as they exchanged nods with the crew moving in the opposite direction. Even with the six-on-six-off rotation in place, with half of Voyager’s decks depowered or outright exposed to space, the ship felt crowded. Everyone was bunked up at least two to a cabin, and while all the department heads attempted their best to hotbunk the schedule, the lack of personal space was having an effect on everyone.

Fitzgerald reminded himself to look into how soon they might repair another crew quarters deck.

In Astrometrics, Fitzgerald saw Abol Tay and Zandra Taitt had already arrived before them, Zandra still wearing her silk sleeping cap, though they’d both changed into their uniforms otherwise.

Seven of Nine and Crewman T’Kaal stood side-by-side at the controls, and the display was once again a full spread of holographic stars.

“Is this a live feed?” Cavit said, with a soft smile that reminded Fitzgerald just how much the man had been born to explore. The mere sight of the galaxy seemed to have restored some of what he’d lost over the last few months.

“It is,” Seven of Nine said. “Crewman T’Kaal and I managed to restore the sensors and stabilize the power levels approximately fifteen minutes ago.”

Given Alex and Sahreen had estimated it would be another day, Fitzgerald tried not to smile at Seven’s usual delivery of having done something faster than expected with all the verve one might mention it was raining. T’Kaal, for her part, merely nodded. Honestly, the two were cut from the same cloth.

“Did the previous database survive intact?” Abol said, though he asked as he stepped up to one of the side control panels, and was already tapping in a command.

“It did,” Seven confirmed.

“Okay then,” Cavit said. “Let’s have the before shot, shall we?”

When Abol, Seven, and T’Kaal all frowned at Cavit, Fitzgerald had to clear his throat around a rogue laugh.

“He means the scans from before the temporal wave hit,” Fitzgerald said, once he was sure he could say it evenly. Taitt, he noted, wasn’t meeting his gaze, pointedly staring at the display with a tiny twitch in the corner of her mouth.

“Understood,” Seven of Nine said, nodding to Abol, who tapped in a command. The view of the galaxy swooped in to a much smaller portion.

“Spatial grid zero zero five,” Seven said. "The Goldilocks Grid." Her voice softened just a trace, using the late Telfer's naming practice.

Fitzgerald wallowed the dry sensation in his throat. Billy. He pulled his attention to the spread of star systems now on the screen. He’d spent enough time trying to memorize the local area of space to recognize it. He almost had it memorized.

“And here are the borders we managed to map out via scans, Cing’ta’s packets, subspace frequencies, power signatures and the like,” Abol said, tapping again, and four coloured areas overlaid themselves on the map. The hostile-red marking the Krenim Imperium was by far the largest, but Fitzgerald recognized the allied-yellow denoting the gentle Garenor, as well as other local polities they’d yet to make any contact with. The green ahead of them carving a narrow path surrounded by more Krenim Imperium space denoted a people known as the Ram Izad, and another, further ahead and not as entirely surrounded by the Krenim was marked as the Mawasi. Fitzgerald only vaguely knew the names—Cir and Eru had picked them up out of scraps of subspace conversations—but at Taitt's preferred colour-coding scheme let them all know what they were looking at. Allies, enemies, unknowns. 

“The Krenim Imperium territory expands over more than two hundred star systems, nine hundred plants, and their fleet numbered in the thousands of warp capable vessels,” Seven said.

“And now?” Cavit said.

Seven tapped on her controls, and Fitzgerald’s breath caught at the results. Not a single star moved, of course, but the patterns of colour denoting borders and territories shifted massively.

“Same space, completely different borders,” Taitt said, shaking her head in wonder.

At first, it was the amount of shrinking of the red zone denoting the Krenim Imperium that caught Fitzgerald’s eye, but a second later, something else occurred to him, and he frowned. “What happened to the Garenor?” he said.

The yellow colour highlighting an allied species in local space had vanished.

“The temporal shockwave emanated from their homeworld,” Seven of Nine said, then, after a brief pause, she added, “The planet is no longer populated.”

“What?” Cavit said, but Fitzgerald reached out with his good hand and gripped the edge of the railing that surrounded the holographic display, a slick, sickly sort of vertigo washing over him, because this wasn’t the first time. "What about their colonies?"

"Gone," Seven of Nine said, after a moment. "A series of Class M and Class L worlds, mostly uninhabited, though some appear to have been colonized by other species."

“Just like the Zahl,” Fitzgerald said. “None of the rest of you remember them, but they were there.” He pointed at what had been the Zahl homeworld, which was now—in this second timeline since they’d vanished—an empty class M planet.

“Astrometric data indicates that the instant the shockwave appeared, the Garenor species vanished,” Seven said.

“Erased from the timeline,” Fitzgerald said.

“Not just the timeline,” Taitt said. “History.”

Cavit faced her, frowning, but Fitzgerald realized what Taitt was saying.

“Up-temporally,” Fitzgerald said, and when Cavit turned the frown his way, he realized he’d just done the thing Abol and Seven and Taitt did to him on the regular, and had to fight off a smile at finally being on the other side of that expression. “Meaning they weren’t just destroyed, all of history shifted to react to a timeline where they didn’t exist. No one else knows it, because that shockwave transitioned everyone into this new timeline but we do because…” He glanced at Seven of Nine. “The temporal shielding?”

“Likely,” Seven said, nodding.

“It’s a causality paradox, Captain,” Taitt said. “That temporal shock wave eliminated the Garenor, and all of local history changed.”

“And before the Garenor, it was the Zahl,” Fitzgerald said. “And given I remembered a different timeline before the Zahl were erased, I assume the same thing had happened before that, too, only I didn’t notice until we met the Krenim ship and no one else seemed worried about it."

"Right," Cavit said. "You said for a while none of us—Abol included—knew about the Krenim beforehand."

"Exactly," Fitzgerald said. "Someone or something is excising species. It feels surgical to me. Cutting an entire species out of the timeline to change everything.”

“An intriguing theory,” Seven of Nine said. “Perhaps the Krenim are responsible. They do possess temporal technology.”

“Why would an aggressive, colonial species reduce its political power and influence?” T’Kaal said, speaking for the first time. “According to Lieutenant Cing’ta’s findings, the Krenim of this timeline no longer even referred to as an Imperium.”

“Good point,” Cavit said.

T’Kaal tipped her head slightly, but didn’t speak again.

“I feel like we’re missing something,” Fitzgerald said. 

“We are,” Taitt said. “Seven, did we manage to see exactly what happened at the flashpoint of this shockwave? Maybe if we take a look at where it started, we could—”

Voyager shifted beneath their feet, a persistent rumbling that only grew in severity.

“Senior Officers to the Bridge,” came the voice of Lieutenant Dennis Russell, alongside the siren of a red alert.

*

Fitzgerald joined Taitt and his husband for the ride back to the Bridge, and when they arrived, he saw Lan and Rollins had beaten them there. Rollins didn’t have his uniform jacket on, but he’d pinned his combadge to his undershirt.

Once he got a glance at the viewscreen, though, Fitzgerald drifted to a stop beside the Command rail, even as Aaron continued down to where Lieutenant Russell was rising from the big chair.

What the hell is that?

The dark-grey ship on the viewscreen was much larger than Voyager, with an almost spherical structure supported at one end, above a cylindrical main hull from which six identical supporting claw-like angled lengths bent around a trio of open rings positioned beneath. The central, cylindrical structure appeared to generate power for the ship itself, judging by a flare of light centrally visible, and the final ring at the end of the supports held what almost looked like a crystalline lens in place.

It could have been beautiful, that lens, if not for the sheer sense of menace in ship gave off otherwise.

“U.T. says the markings are Krenim,” Russell said. “But it’s not like any of their ships we’ve seen before.”

"Agreed," Lan said. "Metallurgy is denser, the superstructure is more complex—better even than the warships in design—and sensors are having trouble getting much from the interior. I'm not sure why."

Behind them, the turbolift delivered Ro and Stadi. Both paused only a moment before they passed Fitzgerald, taking their stations.

“It's because that vessel exists in a state of temporal flux, Captain,” Taitt said.

“She's right. It's just like their torpedoes," Lan said. "It’s slightly outside of regular space-time."

Fitzgerald stared at the ship, his sense of foreboding growing by the moment.

“If it's like their torpedoes, can we adjust weapons to match their temporal flux?” Rollins said. “Apply what we did to the shields to the phasers?”

“Good idea,” Cavit said. “Taitt?”

“Maybe…” Taitt lifted a PADD and tapped on it, synchronizing whatever it was she’d just downloaded from her station, and then rising and crossing the Bridge to join Rollins at his station. “Scott, can you bring up the emitter variances for me?”

A wash of cool, blue-white light swept the bridge. Fitzgerald glanced up, wincing even though no physical sensation accompanied it. 

“They’re scanning us,” Lan said.

In a swirl of light faster than their own transporters, Rollins and Taitt vanished. Taitt’s PADD clattered to the ground. Fitzgerald jolted at the sound. “Aaron!”

“Get then back,” Cavit said, facing Lan. He nodded at Ro, and she ran up to take the tactical station.

“I can’t get a lock—their combage signals shifted out of space-time,” Lan said.

“We're being hailed,” Ro said.

“Put them through,” Cavit said, turning back to the screen.

Fitzgerald tensed as the screen shifted to reveal a single Krenim man, older, with the temple markings circular dermal or bone structures they’d seen in the few other Krenim who’d bothered to respond to a hail. The man’s brown uniform struck Fitzgerald as somehow more severe, more militaristic than any they’d seen among the Krenim before.

“State your identity.” The man’s cool, dispassionate tone and pale off-grey eyes barely seemed to register their presence as worthy of note.

“I’m Captain Aaron Cavit of the Federation starship Voyager,” Cavit said, and Fitzgerald could hear the barely restrained anger in Aaron’s voice. “Where are my crew?”

“We’ve transferred your crewmen to my vessel for further analysis,” the Krenim man said.

“When you say we,” Cavit said, crossing his arms. “Who do you mean?”

“I am Annorax of the Krenim Imperium,” the man said. Then with the first sign of actual interest he’d displayed, he added, “Your ship does not come from this quadrant.” It wasn't a question.

“That’s right. Most of the people on board come from homeworlds sixty-five thousand light years from here.” Cavit paused, and when he spoke again, this time his voice had the measured quality Aaron used for diplomacy. “Mr. Annorax, we’re just trying to get home. We didn’t arrive in the this part of the galaxy on purpose—we were brought here against our will.”

“I see.” The dismissive tone was back in Anorrax’s voice.

This man doesn’t care.

Fitzgerald waited. Aaron’s shoulders had tightened, but his tone didn’t change. “You said you belong to the Krenim Imperium,” Cavit said.

“Yes,” Annorax said.

“The Imperium doesn’t exist,” Cavit said. “We just watched it vanish, in front of our eyes, just like the Garenor, and the Zahl.”

Annorax’s gaze snapped to Cavit’s on the viewscreen, and Fitzgerald thought it was the first time they’d done anything particularly interesting, as far as Annorax was concerned.

“You know them, too,” Cavit said. “Is there any chance you could shed some light on what happened to them?”

“That doesn't concern you,” Annorax said. “What is important is that you understand that I bear you no hostility. But you have diverted me from my mission.”

Fitzgerald frowned. No hostility? That sounded ominous.

“Your mission—as in, removing entire species from time?” Cavit said, the diplomatic tone Fitzgerald was used to from Aaron had given way to something more like shock now. And horror.

“You're a long way from your world,” Annorax said, with a resignation that chilled Fitzgerald. “In a manner of speaking, so am I. Unfortunately, only one of us can go home again. Your sacrifice will restore the lives of countless millions. I'm sorry.”

The transmission switched off with a soft chime, replaced by the view of the Krenim vessel, which began to shift its position ahead of them.

“Massive energy is building up in the core of that ship,” Lan said. “It reads like some kind of weapon.”

“Ro, shields,” Cavit said.

“Shields online,” Ro said, just as the Krenim ship aimed itself directly at Voyager, and a bright wash of energy burst from beneath its spherical main structure, was channeled into the crystalline lens-like structure at the end of the support arms, and then flared across the space between the two vessels to wash over Voyager.

The ship shivered beneath Fitzgerald’s boots.

“The shields are weakening,” Ro said, frowning. "It's not draining them, exactly, but..." She shook her head. 

“That weapon is like a focused version of the shockwave,” Lan said. “It's literally pushing us out of the space-time.”

“He's trying to erase us from history,” Fitzgerald said. “Voyager, and everyone on it.”

“Options,” Cavit said.

“It’s a massive ship,” Stadi said. “And it's Krenim—in every timeline we've encountered them, their best has been warp six at most. I don’t think something that large could keep up with us. It doesn't look built for speed.”

Cavit raised his chin. “Bridge to Engineering. Alex, unlock the pylons.”

“Captain, the damage to deck five and deck eleven—”

“I know,” Cavit said. “Do it anyway.” He paused, then raised his voice. “Cavit to all crew. Evacuate decks four, six, ten, and twelve. Emergency bulkheads will be activating shortly. Take shelter in interior sections of the ship.”

“Aaron,” Fitzgerald said, coming down around into the command area, but keeping his voice low to carry just between the two of them. “What about Rollins and Taitt?”

“We can’t get a lock and we can’t stay,” Cavit said, meeting his gaze with the calm, stillness in his eyes Fitzgerald only saw when he was controlling himself with sheer willpower. “We’ll get them back. But we have to go.” He raised his voice. “Engineering, report!”

“Pylons unlocked, Captain,” Honigsberg’s voice was grim.

“Shields are starting to buckle,” Ro said.

“Stadi,” Cavit said. “Warp seven.”

Stadi leaned forward, tapping in the commands and the familiar sound of Voyager’s nacelles shifting into a warp position—a sound he hadn’t heard in over a month—brought no comfort to Fitzgerald in the moment. A moment later, they were at warp. The ship, however, didn’t hum with its usual elegant thrum of warp engines in use.

It rumbled. It growled. Then it groaned, almost as though Voyager felt pain.

“Any signs of pursuit?” Cavait said, glancing back at Ro.

Ro shook her head, and was about to answer when the groans shifted to a series of sharp jolts.

“We’re losing sections of the outer hull,” Ro said. “Multiple atmospheric venting of outer sections on deck four, six, and twelve…” The ship jolted again, the sound more of a scream than a growl this time. “And ten. Starting to show stress on deck nine.”

"Evacuate deck nine," Cavit said. 

“Emergency bulkheads appear to be holding,” Lan said. "But the damage to the hull is wrecking havoc with internal sensors."

“Casualties?” Cavit said, his voice soft.

“Reports are coming in,” Ro said, after a moment. “We may have lost three people, Captain—we won’t be able to know for sure until we can restore internal sensors and get into the sections in question.” Ro’s own voice had steel in it. “Recommend we maintain warp seven for as log as we can.”

It was the right call. Just like Aaron’s had been. Just like leaving Scott and Zandra behind.

Fitzgerald closed his eyes anyway, wishing none of those things were true.

Chapter Text

Day 73

Captain Aaron Cavit stood in the ruin of his Ready Room, a single PADD in hand. His desk lay at a crooked angle, the large wall monitor he’d had installed dark and cracked from one side to the other, and even though various containers had filled the upper level and a great deal of the space in the lower level, half of them had still managed to find enough room to tip over, spilling dirt and plants onto the floor of the once-pristine place. He'd fallen behind in keeping them upright.

He'd fallen behind in more than that.

He put the PADD down on his desk, pausing to make sure it wouldn’t slide off, then knelt by the first tipped container, righting it. The delta gooseberry bush it contained seemed to be all right, and he did his best to scoop up as much of the spilled soil as he could, dropping it into the container. The soil seemed a bit dry to him, but it wasn’t like they’d had much time to consider the state of their plants, really. He couldn't remember the last time Daggin or Kovar or Bronowski had been in here.

The door chimed.

Cavit sighed. “Come.”

It was Jeff, of course. He stepped inside, looking as tired and drawn as everyone on Voyager had begun to look over the last three days—hell, the last few months—and said, simply, “First group is ready, Aaron.”

Cavit nodded, grabbing his PADD. His husband was right. This quite literally couldn’t be put off. They had to start acting, within the next hour at the latest, and that was just a fact of breathable atmosphere.

They'd escaped being pushed out of time, but that didn't mean they weren't going to run out of it in another way.

Stop it. Be the Captain, damnit.

“Let’s go then,” Cavit said. “It’s a long climb down to the shuttlebay.”

*

Fitzgerald watched his husband step out into the crowded shuttle bay and had to work hard not to let the pain in his own chest show on his face. He couldn’t imagine doing what Aaron was about to do, and he knew how much this cost the man he loved.

So, he’d square his shoulders, and stand with the rest of the remaining senior staff facing the rows of crew in front of them, and be there for Aaron the only way he could.

“Voyager has been our home for over three years now in the Delta Quadrant, but she can’t do that for us any more,” Cavit said. “When we first arrived, we had to learn what it meant to be a crew made up of Starfleet and Maquis, and we’ve been lucky enough to have been joined by Ocampa, Kazon, Rakhari, Cravic, Denobulan, Orion, Bolian, and Vulcan crew not just from one other ship, but two—and history—not to mention some time-traveling felines.” He paused, and Fitzgerald saw the ripple of good humour the reference to Jewel and her kittens made throughout the crew. Cavit lifted his hands. “In truth, we stopped being just a crew years ago. We’re a family—a chosen family, as Alex's holographic Stonewall Inn characters would say—and while Voyager can’t carry this family right now, we will continue to carry each other.” He aimed his gaze at the crew. “And that’s the plan. Lieutenant Cing’ta’s cloud program has been transferred to the Aeroshuttle, but every shuttle and escape pod has access to packet-reading and sending software. Use it to co-ordinate your journey with each other. Go onward. Work together, find each other, make allies, trade what you can, and keep heading home. You have the maps from astrometrics—use them to get out of the Goldilocks Grid. You have the temporal shielding designs—do your best to find ships with deflectors powerful enough to use them.” He turned, glancing at the remaining senior officers behind him, his eyes locking with Fitzgerald’s for a moment, and Fitzgerald gave him the smallest nod.

You’ve got this, Aaron. I love you.

“Some of us will stay on Voyager. We’ll attempt to get to you on the other side of this spatial grid, and we’ll continue our journey when we catch up with you—after we recover Lieutenant Taitt and Lieutenant Rollins. But I’m telling you now: you keep going. Somewhere out there are allies. New ships you can join, like we joined with the Trabe, or the Acacia, Argala, and Zooabud. The Krenim temporal warship is likely looking for Voyager’s warp geometry. For that reason, Lieutenant Russell will be taking the Pel out in the lead ahead of the Aeroshuttle. Jal Karden’s Trabe shuttle, and Kol and Arridor’s Ferengi shuttle will likewise flank the Pel at a discrete distance to further act as scouts. Don’t forget: somewhere out there is Equinox. Somewhere out there is home.” Cavit paused, seeming to speak to every individual crewman in the room before he continued. “We’ll find you again. Somewhere out there, we will be our family, again.”

A beat passed, then another.

“Group one, you have your assigned shuttles, escape pods, and groups,” Cavit said. “Safe travels.”

As one, the gathered crew began to move. Ensign T’Pala had lined up the Savitskaya, Jemison, Kondakova, Kelly, and Yang, their rear hatches open. After those initial five launches, Cavit knew the next would be the Pel, the Kinnell, and the Ferengi shuttle—all three of which were less maneuverable inside Voyager’s shuttle bay than standard Starfleet Type 6, 8, and 9 shuttles—and then it would be down to the shuttle pods and escape pods, which could only travel at impulse speeds, but thanks to Ensign Martin’s Raft Protocol, would be linked up together into structures capable of getting them to the closest Class M world Seven and Abol had found for them. A first staging area for the more than ninety crew unable to fit in the warp-capable options they had.

Fitzgerald waited with Honigsberg, Lan, Ro, and Stadi while the initial flurry of motion began, and then moved to join his husband, who still stood watching the crew—his crew—climb on board shuttles, or leave the shuttlebay, heading to their assigned escape pods.

“We need to get to the Aeroshuttle launch bay,” he said. “They’ll be ready to go pretty soon.”

Cavit nodded, then turned, offering him a quick, soft smile before he exhaled and put his game face back on. They joined the rest of the Senior Staff.

“I’m going to go check in with Cing’ta, but how are we doing, you two?” he said, aiming the question at Lan and Honigsberg.

“Environmental will be able to handle those of us sticking around,” Honigsberg said, rubbing at his beard with one hand. Fitzgerald had never seen it quite so unkept. “We’ve lost nine decks, dropped power to two more, and are running everything else on grey mode.”

“We’ve kept the Deck Two escape pods, and the Cochrane, as you asked,” Lan said.

Fitzgerald blinked, realizing Lan was right. The Cochrane, their sleek class-two shuttle with the same dark kelbonite-fistrium coating the Pel also now sported, wasn’t among the line of readied shuttles. How had he missed that?

“Cochrane is for you two,” Cavit said, glancing at Ro and Stadi.

Both women frowned, and Fitzgerald realized whatever plans he had for them to use the Cochrane, Aaron hadn’t told either of them ahead of time.

“Captain?” Ro said.

“Project Taymon,” Cavit said, handing them the PADD he’d been carrying.

“You named a project after Taymon? I didn’t realize we were that far gone.” Honigsberg said, cracking what Fitzgerald thought was a particularly unamused smile—and with just enough of an edge he realized Honigsberg didn’t know anything about this either. In fact, even Lan looked tense.

Aaron didn’t tell anyone. It might have made him feel a little better about not being included, except instead it made him worry. What the hell is Project Taymon?

“He wasn’t all bad, at least not by the time he left us,” Cavit said, and even chuckled. “It seemed fitting.”

Ro, scanning the PADD, lifted her gaze to Cavit, and passed the PADD to Stadi, who started reading as well. “You’re sure? Convincing them might be a hard sell.”

“Completely,” Cavit said. “And that’s why I’m sending you two. You’re both very convincing.”

Ro nodded, a faint there-and-gone-smile acknowledging the compliment.

Stadi, having apparently read enough of it herself, let out a short breath, then nodded. “Understood.”

“Okay,” Cavit said. “We’ve got a schedule to keep. You should be able to launch Cochrane once everyone else…” Cavit paused, clearing his throat. “Has launched.”

Ro nodded.

Fitzgerald was about to ask for someone to explain this mission to him, but instead, a voice interrupted them.

“Captain?”

Fitzgerald turned, not sure if he was surprised or not to see Jal Karden and Yareth standing there, quietly waiting to speak to the Captain, but Aaron turned to face them with a warm, open smile.

“Cadets,” Aaron said.

At the word, Fitzgerald realized both Karden and Yareth had chosen to wear their cadet uniforms—operations gold across their shoulders, for their planned work in Security and Engineering—and with a cool rush, he also realized it was possible they’d never actually finish their training.

“Captain, if you need my shuttle to scout—and I agree, you do—I don’t mind if I’m not on it,” Karden said. “We both don’t. It carries four—if you want to put four more capable officers on the Kinell, I would understand.”

“We already assigned four capable crew to the Kinell,” Cavit said. “And that includes the two of you. Besides,” Cavit lifted one shoulder, and cracked a small smile. “Technically, it’s your shuttle. Dimur gave it to you, not me. I’m asking you to do this, not ordering.”

Jal Karden seemed to take that in for a moment. The Kazon, who’d come to them so angry and bitter, seemed to straighten. His lean frame had grown in the years since he’d come aboard, and he snapped off one of the smartest, sharpest salutes Fitzgerald had ever seen.

“Thank you, Captain,” Karden said.

“Yes,” Yareth added. “Thank you, Captain.” She paused, the young woman’s eyes dropping before rising again and, a flush spreading along the gentle rounded and smoothed facial ridges that arched around her eyes, she added. “We’ll see you later.” She sounded like someone making a vow, with an iron in her voice Fitzgerald didn’t often hear.

“Bet on it,” Cavit said. Another vow.

The two left. Fitzgerald watched them go—Karden had taken Yareth’s hand—and keeping them in sight until they turned the corner to where the Trabe shuttle Karden had named for his brother awaited them, in the secondary bay.

“Let’s go,” Cavit said, and started walking. Fitzgerald followed, absolutely keeping pace so he could ask his questions once they were in the Jeffries Tube.

*

“Aaron, what’s Project Taymon?”

Cavit eyed his husband. “I’m impressed you waited this long.” They’d made it past the first three junctions on their trek around the damaged portions of Voyager that would get them to the Aeroshuttle’s docking bay beneath Voyager’s primary hull, and Cavit had honestly thought it wouldn’t be more than one.

“I can be patient,” Fitzgerald said, and Cavit was glad he could grin to himself, where Jeff couldn’t see it, before he answered.

“I’m sending Ro and Stadi out to make as many friends as possible,” Cavit said, stepping to the side at the top of the latest climb, letting Fitzgerald catch up. “Gathering allies.”

Fitzgerald climbed carefully, his left hand not as strong or as capable of maintaining a grip without a charged neural rig. He relied on his right, and watching him climb sent a stab of pain through Cavit’s chest.

He hated seeing Jeff without his neural rig. The moment they could spare some power, he intended to find a way to recharge it for him.

“Huh,” Fitzgerald said, coming up to eye-level with him and stepping off the ladder. “Except there’s no way you’d keep it quiet if it was something that simple.”

Damn. Cavit took a breath. Better to just say it, then. “According to both sets of scans we have, the Mawasi and the Nihydron both had run-ins with the Krenim Imperium in the timeline prior—where the Imperium were more powerful. I told Ro to give them everything we have on the Imperium timeline, and everything they’d need to build temporal shielding of their own for their own ships or facilities—in return for whatever help they could spare us in the form of supplies, aid, or passage.”

“What?” Fitzgerald stared at him. “Aaron, the Prime Directive—”

“It’s the Temporal Prime Directive, that’s important here, actually,” Cavit said, cutting him off before he could get too far. And, maybe, because as much as he’d had all these discussions with himself and come to this conclusion, the ground beneath his feet might not be as firm as he was telling himself it was. 

Fitzgerald leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “What do you mean?”

“That man—Annorax—is committing acts of temporal genocide. What he said, about how he was like us, in a manner of speaking, but that only one of us could go home? How our sacrifice will restore the lives of countless millions, and how he was on a mission?” Cavit shook his head. “For three days, I’ve been playing that over and over in my head while Voyager fractured and tore herself apart. We just lost five more good people—because of Annorax. The entire crew is splitting up. We might not make it, not against those odds—but we’re going to try to get out of the range of whatever the hell it is that man is trying to do to history—but if giving temporal shielding to other species can even slow him down in committing even one more atrocity?” Cavit exhaled. “Then we have to try.”

“Okay.” Fitzgerald’s steely-blue eyes seemed to be looking for something in his gaze. “Why didn’t you talk to me about it?”

“I’m the Captain,” Cavit said. “Ultimately, it’s my call. And…”

“And?” Fitzgerald said, his voice soft, and his gaze flicking as he looked into Cavit’s eyes. A line appeared between Fitzgerald’s eyebrows, his jaw flexed, and Cavit had to fight the urge to look away.

“And I didn’t want you looking at me the way you’re looking at me right now,” Cavit said.

“How am I looking at you, Aaron?” Fitzgerald said.

“Like you’re not sure I can handle this,” Cavit said.

Fitzgerald’s breath audibly caught. “Aaron, I don’t think that. At all.”

Cavit felt a knot in his chest loosen by the barest amount, except somehow the ground felt even less sure. “I’m glad.”

Fitzgerald smiled at him; a brittle, worried smile. For the first time since Cavit had married the man, he wondered how truthful Jeff had just been.

“Okay,” Cavit said, shoving the feeling down. “Time to say goodbye to the kids.”

Fitzgerald nodded. “Right.”

*

The port Aeroshuttle bay status boards flickered, but the main console remained online and showing the docking hatch was functional. Lieutenant Cing’ta was just helping Eru and Cir climb down the Aeroshuttle’s dorsal hatch, each carrying one of their children, when Fitzgerald climbed out of the Jeffries Tube access. T’Prena and Daggin stood waiting next, their children in hand, and behind them, Lieutenant Walter Baxter and Crewman Gara stood waiting their own turn.

“Looks like you’re on schedule here,” Cavit said, in the same confident, calm voice he’d used in the Shuttlebay.

The crew turned, but Eru waited until she was on the last step before turning to raise her barely-visible head above the edge of the hatchway. “We are, Captain.”

“Chief Tamal and Kes are already on board—she’s sleeping, but he’s got the engines powered up and ready to go,” Cing’ta said. “I’ve got the Cloud system up and running, and I’ll be coordinating with Moore on the Pel, Bristow on the Kinnell, and Drapanas on the Ferengi shuttle. I’ve tied in the read-only system through Tactical on the Bridge. We’ll leave your trail of…” Cing’ta paused. “Breadsticks?” The big Bolian lifted one eyebrow, like he knew it was the wrong word, but couldn’t come up with the right one.

“Breadcrumbs,” Cir corrected him. The broadly-built, brown-skinned Ocampa smiled, and Fitzgerald couldn’t help but return it. Trust their brilliant Ocampa linguist to know the right word for an Earth idiom.

“At least I knew it was bread,” Cing’ta said, shaking his head and reaching out his hand to help guide Cir on his own trip down. In Cir’s arms, one of the twins wriggled, but didn’t cry out.

“Appreciate it,” Cavit said.

“All the medical supplies are on board?” Fitzgerald asked T’Prena.

“Yes, Doctor,” T’Prena said. “The Aeroshuttle will function adequately for medical intervention, should a need arise, and when it is time.” T’Prena glanced back at the visibly-pregnant Gara.

“Good,” Fitzgerald said.

Cir and his daughter had vanished down the hatch, and Daggin stepped forward next. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t add to any goodbyes, ever stoic, and T’Prena followed him. Baxter, on the other hand, paused. “Thank you for this, Captain,” he said, placing one hand at the small of his wife’s back in gentle support. Gara leaned against him. The two—parents to be of impending triplets—would be as comfortable as it was in their power to make them on the Aeroshuttle.

“Take care of each other,” Cavit said.

Fitzgerald and Cavit watched until the hatch closed, then stepped into the monitoring room for the launch itself. The Aeroshuttle dropped away, then slowly turned, revealing ever more stars beyond, until finally it was out of sight and the doors closed beneath.

The launch bay re-pressurized. Fitzgerald eyed his husband, and saw the muscles working in  Cavit’s jaw.

“Seven of Nine to Cavit.”

Fitzgerald watched his husband shake off whatever dark thought he’d been allowing. “Go ahead, Seven.”

“1106 has returned from deck eleven. Are you ready for our damage report?”

“I am. It’ll take me a while to climb down there.”

“Understood.” Cavit turned to face him. “On the plus side, now I can kiss you a lot more often—no crew to witness.” He leaned in and did just that, with a wink. “I’ll see you later. Go ahead and take the Bridge, would you? The final checks for the evacuation will be waiting.”

Fitzgerald nodded, and Cavit headed towards the Jeffries Tube access hatch.

The climb gave him plenty of time to think, especially when, about half-way on his journey, Fitzgerald heard the first dull clanks and soft vibrations that he realized denoted escape pod launches.

Evacuation, his husband had called it. They weren’t abandoning ship, they were… evacuating. And he was sending Ro and Stadi out there to…

“How am I looking at you, Aaron?”

“Like you’re not sure I can handle this.”

Pausing at the bottom of the ladder access point on deck two Lan and Honigsberg had cleared as the path to the Bridge, Fitzgerald replayed the conversation, Cavit’s orders—Project Taymon—and had to admit it did seem like the Temporal Prime Directive would apply. 

In fact, it wasn’t even a stretch. Someone was altering the timeline, Starfleet regulations were pretty clear about not allowing changes to the timeline and…

We sent Taymon back to the Nyrian prison ship armed with as much knowledge as possible for the species we’d found there to hopefully defend themselves against the Borg and the Undine, by uniting in their defense. Now his husband was doing the same, with temporal shielding in hopes local species could defend against these temporal attacks. Even the name Aaron had chosen for it made sense.

So why did he feel so off about it?

For three days, I’ve been playing that over and over in my head while Voyager fractured and tore herself apart. We just lost five more good people—because of Annorax.

That. Fitzgerald allowed himself one moment to close his eyes, inhale, and exhale. That was the problem, right there. He knew Aaron Cavit, and he loved the man, but right now he didn’t think the man he loved was being honest with himself. And then there'd been that kiss and wink. On the surface, genuine, but beneath?

Because as much as everything Aaron Cavit had said and did was technically true, Fitzgerald could help but think his husband wasn’t trying to unite people in defense against Annorax, wasn't holding his own, wasn't looking at the universe as he'd always done.

No, Fitzgerald couldn’t help but believe Aaron Cavit wanted to punish Annorax for what the Krenim man had done. And the truth was, that wasn’t a bad thing. It wasn’t even an unjust, nor immoral consideration, either. It was sensical, valid, and—hell—appropriate.

But Aaron wasn’t letting himself admit it, which…

Well.

Fitzgerald hadn’t come up with thoughts on how to even begin that particular conversation by the time he’d reached the Bridge. He sat at the Conn on the otherwise empty Bridge, after stepping over the still-present broken support beam that had fallen from the overhead dome, and pulled up what information he could from the ship’s internal sensors, which had taken a beating during the damage across the six decks exposed to space during their warp seven retreat from Annorax’s ship.

Fitzgerald had visibility on the launched escape pods, shuttles, and Aeroshuttle, and he did his best to cross-reference with the plan as it was, nodding to himself as the pods connected into their “Raft” configurations, courtesy of Ensign Martin’s Wolf-359 knowledge. He went back and forth from the file of the plan to the readouts, manually cross-checking, until…

“Off by one,” he said. The personnel count, a program Ensign Lan had set up as a kind of stop-gap measure given the main computer wasn’t capable of tracking who came and went in areas of the ship without functioning internal sensors—which included more than a few of the escape pod access areas—and saw he was one count short.

“Computer, who is still aboard Voyager?” Fitzgerald said, knowing the likelihood of a useful answer was small.

“Internal sensors are offline,” the soft, feminine voice replied.

“Right,” Fitzgerald said. He checked the comm systems, which were functioning, albeit barely in some areas of the ship. “How about this: Computer, which combadges are active within Voyager itself?”

“Captain Aaron Cavit. Doctor Jeffrey Fitzgerald. Lieutenant Alexander Honigsberg. Ensign Sahreen Lan. Crewman Abol Tay. Automated Personnel Unit 1106. Doctor Emmett Hall. Seven of Nine.”

“Okay, that’s right…” Fitzgerald said, then stopped. Because it wasn’t right. “Computer, did you say Emmett’s program is currently active?”

“Affirmative.”

Fitzgerald tapped on his controls, bringing up the details of Holodeck Two, and sure enough the EMH program was online. That didn’t make sense. The holodeck had it’s own power source—currently at just under forty percent remaining—but they’d shut it down, given they currently had no way to recharge the holodeck power cells once they ran dry, and the only reason to turn it back on was if Emmett was needed.

So who turned Emmett’s program back on?

*

“You’re back?” Emmett said, the hologram feeling a rush of pleasure as his program came back online—a sensation he assumed was akin to that of an organic humanoid waking up, refreshed, after a good night’s sleep. He attempted to connect to the ship’s computer, but found the holodeck was still disconnected from most of the ship’s feeds, including most internal sensors, and most frustratingly, the chronometer. “How long was I inactive?”

“I’m not back,” Doctor Kes Aren said, her soft voice low and calm. “I didn’t leave.”

“You didn’t leave?” Emmett said, facing her with all the gravitas he could muster. “Kes, why wouldn’t you leave with the others?” 

“Because I’m in labour, Doctor,” Kes said. “Mitral palpitations started about twenty minutes ago, and… I couldn’t go.”

Emmett regarded the Ocampa woman, and noticed the sweat on her temples, and her elevated breathing. Her labour had, indeed, begun. “I see,” he said, his algorithms switching to the delivery subroutines, branching out into the xenobiological sub-folders assigned to Ocampa and Bajoran birth processes. “Let me set up the birthing frame we used for Eru, and then we’ll get you changed into a robe.”

Kes reached out and touched his forearm. “You’re not going to tell me to go?”

“No.” Emmett put his hand over hers. “You’re allowed to choose your physician, Kes. Besides,” he squeezed her hand. “I promised your husband I would look after you.”