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Paradox: A Time to Mourn - Part 2

Author - Distracted
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Paradox: A Time to Mourn

By Distracted

Genre: Drama, Action/Adventure, Romance
Disclaimer: Not mine. I’m not making any money. Shucks.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: It’s Episode 5 of Season Six. I’d like to think that this version is more satisfying than the reactions we saw in the nameless episode. Hanky time. (Warning: Major Character Death… but he gets better, sort of.)

A/N: In response to complaints from a couple of readers about the excessive lengths of my posts and the month-long waits in between, I have decided this time to experiment with dividing this episode into two parts for posting. Let me know if you prefer it this way or if you’d prefer me to wait until I’ve got the entire episode written before posting it.

Oh, and, BTW… Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, etc. I’m taking a break from Season Six until the New Year. I hope everyone has a good holiday season.

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Part 2

August 7, 2156 Alternate Timeline 94D
Enterprise Brig 2200 hours


“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Lieutenant Commander? You just fired on one of your own men!” cried Archer with an appalled expression.

Malcolm’s phase pistol stayed up. He gave no apology. He took one look at the expression of wounded disbelief on Captain Archer’s face, though, and decided that the situation required words rather than phase pistol fire.

“There was no time, Captain.” Malcolm nodded at T’Mir. “We need her awake and functional, sir. I couldn’t take the chance.” He turned his attention to T’Mir.

“Just tell me this…,” he demanded brusquely, “… are we in an alternate timeline?”

T’Mir laid the unconscious body of her captive gently on the decking at her feet, and then faced Malcolm Reed squarely.

“Yes, Mr. Reed, we are,” replied the temporal agent simply.

Malcolm gave a satisfied nod and exchanged a small smile with Hoshi.

“And if we let you take this Romulan, will Commander Tucker live?” he persisted.

T’Mir exhaled, eyeing the three humans facing her in the small chamber. Then she apparently came to a decision.

“None of you will remember this after I am allowed to leave, so I suppose that it’s safe to reassure you that both Commander Tucker and Commander T’Pol have significant roles to play in future events. Their current conditions are not part of the approved timeline,” she told them.

Archer stared from Malcolm to T’Mir with a puzzled expression. Then T’Mir’s statement registered and he shook his head in exasperation.

“An alternate timeline? Do you really expect us to just let you walk away with the only Romulan any human has ever seen based on your word that everything will just ‘go away’ once we let you have him?” Archer demanded.

“I’m afraid so, Captain,” replied Malcolm with a wry smile. He pointed his phase pistol directly at Archer’s chest. “Open the cell, sir, and let Agent T’Mir inside… now.”

“Malcolm!” protested Hoshi reprovingly. She smiled reassuringly at Jonathan Archer.

“It’s really all right, sir. You’ll see. Just open the cell door before the crew of the Romulan ship wakes up,” she coaxed.

Archer eyed both of them suspiciously for a moment, and then he lunged for the comm.

So Malcolm shot him.


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Agent T’Mir stood over the unconscious form of Jonathan Archer. She cocked her head and raised a brow at Malcolm Reed.

“Was that entirely necessary, Lieutenant Commander?” she asked. She bit her lip. The man actually looked a bit like he’d enjoyed it. If the situation hadn’t been so urgent, she might have allowed herself to be amused. Lieutenant Sato gave her companion an admonishing look, and then stepped forward to check the condition of the captain and the two unconscious security guards. T’Mir stepped aside to allow her to do so.

Malcolm rolled his eyes and sheathed his weapon. “If you’re telling the truth, then it doesn’t matter, does it? The man talks too much. It’s time for action,” he responded dryly as he stepped over his captain to get to the Romulan’s cell and entered the code to open the door. Then he stepped aside and motioned for her to precede him into the cell with a mocking half bow.

T’Mir returned his bow with a brief nod, and then turned to face Arrhae, who gave her an amused look.

“I’m impressed, Agent T’Mir. I had no idea you had allies within the crew willing to betray their captain for you,” he told her in Vulcan with an upward twitch of the corner of his mouth.

Neither did I, thought T’Mir wryly. She gave him a glare at his teasing tone, biting her tongue to keep from voicing her thoughts. She pulled an armband with a small rectangular badge affixed to it out of her pocket and wrapped it around his forearm.

“Arrhae,” called Lieutenant Sato softly in Vulcan from over T’Mir’s shoulder. “Thank you. We would never have known to assist Agent T’Mir without your help.” T’Mir turned to look at her. The human woman smiled shamelessly at Arrhae. “I enjoyed our conversation very much. I wish you luck in your future career,” she said.

Arrhae’s smile broadened. He glanced briefly at T’Mir’s face as if to gauge her reaction before responding to the lovely human linguist. T’Mir kept her expression neutral. It would never do to give him the satisfaction.

“It was my pleasure, honored lady,” he told the human female gallantly in the same language. “I hope that we shall meet again someday. It would please me greatly to see your lovely face…”

As Arrhae began speaking, T’Mir caught Malcolm’s eye and gave him a nod of thanks. He returned it with a crooked smile. Then she reached out and pushed the clasp of Arrhae’s temporal stabilizer closed, grasping his arm. They both disappeared while the Romulan was still in mid-compliment.

Malcolm gave Hoshi an odd look. “What was that all about, Hoshi? I don’t speak Romulan… or was that Vulcan?..., but I know how a man looks at a woman… and that fellow was certainly looking at you!”

Hoshi smiled at Malcolm with exaggerated innocence, but the excuse that she would have given him for her flirtation was never voiced, for it was at that moment that the alternate timeline ceased to exist.


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Stardate 3006.515
Temporal Training Academy Men’s Barracks

Arrhae hung his new uniforms on the hanging bar in his wardrobe and placed his spare pair of shoes on the floor next to the small tin of black shoe polish, which was set on top of a neatly folded buffing cloth. The antiquity of the arrangement amused him. It reminded him of his days at the Academy on Romulus. His newly acquired superiors would have no cause to complain of an inadequate shine to his shoes. He’d most certainly had sufficient experience with that particular task to last for a lifetime.

He inspected himself in the full-length mirror on the inside of his wardrobe door. His undress uniform as a temporal agent trainee was exceedingly simple. There were no adornments on the button-down long-sleeved shirt and slacks in unrelieved black. The personal UT he’d been issued was an unobtrusive dull black badge clipped to his breast pocket. He still didn’t understand his fellow recruits’ jokes about their uniform color being related to the unit in xenodiplomacy with which every trainee began their first year. He had plans to search the acronym “MIB” on his library padd that very evening, though, just to clarify things.

He heard a soft clearing of the throat at the open door of his assigned quarters. He stepped back from the mirror and peered around it. Agent T’Mir stood in the doorway. She appeared much more serene than when he’d last seen her at the moment when she’d turned him over to the intake counselor. Her auburn curls were gathered neatly into a coil at the base of her neck, and her expression was… well… very Vulcan. At least it seemed that way until she met his eyes. He got the impression then of a precarious veneer of calm strength lay over a core as fragile and delicate as fine crystal.

“Agent T’Mir,” he greeted her with a polite nod. He noted with surprise that her right hand was still cradled in its sling. He raised a brow quizzically. “I thought prompt repair of injuries was one of the health benefits afforded all temporal agents,” he noted with a nod toward her hand. “At least, that’s what the intake counselor told me yesterday. It’s why I decided to stay,” he told her with dry humor.

She ignored his poor attempt at a joke, not even deigning to show her usual annoyance.

“I came to see if you were settling in properly. The first days following recruitment can be difficult,” she said without expression. He smiled at her.

“Why, Agent T’Mir… I am honored by your attention,” he said mockingly, giving her an abbreviated Romulan salute, complete with head bow and a clenched fist across his chest.

“Recruiting agents are encouraged to check the status of their charges at forty-eight and seventy-two hours following the transition. As I will be departing to complete the mission that your recruitment interrupted in less than an hour, I decided to check on your progress a bit earlier than is customary,” she replied, blandly ignoring the gesture.

Arrhae’s mocking smile vanished, replaced by a puzzled look. “They’re sending you back like that? Why?” he asked.

She exhaled heavily, avoiding his gaze. He got the impression that she was reluctant to return.

“Once the timeline was reset following your recruitment, my original mission parameters still applied,” she told him in a resigned voice. “I am expected to complete it prior to the definitive repair of my injury or I may upset the approved timeline by appearing to heal too rapidly for the science of that time to explain.”

Arrhae stared at her with a perplexed expression. “That makes no sense at all. Didn’t you tell me that the command staff and the ship’s medical officer all know of your status as a temporal operative?”

T’Mir shrugged. “Regulations,” she replied, as if that single word explained everything. Arrhae nodded in complete understanding. He eyed her pensively. The human linguist had told him that T’Mir was descended from two of the members of the crew of the ship he’d just been imprisoned upon. He hadn’t met her purported ancestors, but he could definitely see her human ancestry on her face. She wasn’t as outwardly emotionless as he’d initially thought. On close study of her features, he could see a minute tremble of her lower lip and a widening of her eyes as she contemplated returning to Enterprise. They stared at each other in silence for what seemed like minutes before he spoke again.

“You don’t seem that eager to return,” he told her.

Her eyes widened further until it seemed he could see himself within their azure depths like a reflection in a pool of water. She blinked and looked away.

“No… I’m not,” she admitted. “I have proven myself incapable of maintaining appropriate objectivity in this instance.” Her eyes remained fixed on the floor. He winced in sympathy. She looked so young.

“Perhaps you could ask them to send someone else?” he suggested.

“I have discussed that issue already with my debriefing counselor,” she replied stoically. “I was told that no one else was available, and that confronting my failure was the best way to overcome it.”

His brow wrinkled in puzzlement again.

“What failure? How did you fail?” he asked her.

Her eyes met his. “A temporal agent must never allow emotion to impair her judgment. I allowed my emotional attachment to my… to one of the crew of Enterprise to distract me. Had I been thinking more clearly, I am certain that the mission would have progressed more smoothly. I failed to properly control myself.”

Arrhae nodded thoughtfully. “A very Vulcan response,” he replied softly. He held her gaze and stepped forward, stopping at arm’s length from her with his hands at his sides. “A Romulan would be more likely to confront the source of the emotion in order to embrace it… or conquer it,” he told her. Her chin came up. She held her ground. He smiled and reached out a hand, grazing the side of her lovely face ever so slightly with the tips of two fingers. Her swift intake of breath gratified him. “Perhaps your human half would respond better to that approach,” he whispered. Her eyes were locked on his for the space of two heartbeats before she broke away without another word and left the room, walking briskly down the corridor as if on an errand of most pressing urgency. He smiled. For a moment, her facial expression had reminded him of the wide-eyed gaze so common to the prey animals he’d hunted as a youngster on Romulus. This hunt was proving to be most enjoyable. Live capture hunts had always been his preference. They created craftier prey. The challenge was exhilarating.


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August 3, 2156
The surface of Kreptagh Prime, Approved Timeline, 0900 hours local time

Agent Daniels sat in the copilot’s chair at the helm of the empty, shielded, and cloaked Romulan vessel and did a final run-through of the weapons and defense systems checklist. Everything appeared to be in order. By his reckoning, he’d just made upgrades in the shield system mere hours before. Now he was reversing them. Once he’d received notification of a successful recruitment… in this case, two successful recruitments… he had of course been sent back to set the timeline straight again. It was a relief. He still had enough empathy left in him to feel discomfort over the sufferings of beings in an alternate timeline. The sooner some timelines were eradicated, the better. That was his opinion on the matter. This business of allowing alternate timelines to run for years was just unethical to his way of thinking, but then… he wasn’t the one in charge.

The ship’s scanners registered the arrival of the five-man team from Enterprise. Daniels watched them setting up their ambush around the clearing with something akin to nostalgia. He’d spent a great deal of time assuring the safety of the Enterprise NX-01 and her crew. It was only fitting that the agency assign him the duty of doing it one more time.

The scanners then registered the approach of the first three Romulan soldiers.

Time to go.

Daniels took a last look around. Then he activated his implanted temporal stabilizer and disappeared.


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The Romulan moved on, completing his circuit, and then waved two other EV suited figures forward. The three of them approached the center of the clearing, and suddenly a square of shuttle interior seemed to be floating in midair about a meter off of the ground. One of the Romulan soldiers entered. He looked like he was walking up empty air, obviously up an unseen ramp. The other two took flanking positions on either side of the open hatch.

“Beta team’s arrived, and they’ve brought company,” murmured Trip into his helmet microphone, studying the scanner. “Looks like at least a dozen Orion security guards. Prepare to open fire on my command.”

Three more Romulans in red suits entered the clearing at a brisk pace. Practically jogging between them was bedraggled looking Vulcan.

Malcolm held up a hand for a silent count of three. On “three”, Trip stood up, revealing only the top of his helmet and the muzzle of his weapon, and fired his phaser directly at Tolaris’ chest. The stun blast took him down, out of the line of fire. “Fire!” he commanded, and the others opened fire with live weapons on the five Romulans in the clearing. Trip dropped back down behind his boulder, dodging the series of disruptor blasts that converged on his position. He paused for a moment, breathing heavily, and then grinned grimly. It had felt really good to shoot the bastard.

The deep vibratory “thud” of the phase cannon sounded from over his left shoulder. Mitchell had begun his target practice. Trip dropped down to his belly and wriggled his way up a stepwise series of smaller boulders to gain a higher position, away from the point where he’d initially revealed himself. He peeked out from his new vantage point to a satisfying sight. There were two red-suited figures down, and the remaining three had been driven to shelter between two large boulders roughly ten meters from the now visible shuttlecraft. The shuttle appeared to be equipped with the same sort of energy shield that Enterprise had received at her last refitting, and Tolaris’ motionless body lay just outside the perimeter of the shield, the margin of which was made visible by the coruscation of weapons fire on its surface coming from all directions. The last three Romulans were attempting to get to the shuttle, but the intensity of fire was much greater than expected, and Trip could see a whole line of green skinned Orion troops at the margin of the clearing opposite the phase cannon. Their weapons were less effective than the phase cannon, but as Trip watched, one of the remaining Romulans left the shelter of the rocks to attempt to return to the shuttle and drew fire from every direction simultaneously. He went down without the need for the phase cannon, his body armor overwhelmed by sheer firepower. With that confirmation of the effectiveness of the Orion offensive, Mitchell turned his attention to the shuttle, attempting to target one of its two field emitters with the phase cannon.

Trip pulled his communicator from his belt and flipped it open.

“Tucker to Dominatrix. Do you have us on sensors?”

There was a long pause.

Dominatrix? Do you read?” Trip repeated.

“Sorry, Commander… just trying to get my bearings again…,” came Seven’s puzzling response. “Are you requesting beam-out?”

“Not yet,” replied Trip, “… but can you get a lock on Tolaris and beam him aboard? We can’t get to him.” He had to raise his voice to be heard over the repetitive vibrations of the phase cannon as it pummeled the shuttle’s shield.
There was another pause. “That’s a negative, Commander,” replied Seven brusquely. “He’s too close to the shuttle. The shields are interfering with my transporter lock.”

As Trip watched, the single Romulan, presumably the pilot, who’d managed to make it into the shuttle before all hell broke loose peeked his head out of the shuttle hatch, still protected by the shield, and made a rush for Tolaris down the loading ramp. Immediately at least six phaser blasts struck the shield at the point he’d have to exit in order to reach the downed Vulcan. He backed off for a moment, looking back toward the rocks where his fellow soldiers were hiding. His hand went to the side of his helmet as if he were activating some sort of communication device. As he did so, the shuttle’s shields suddenly flickered. Mitchell’s expert marksmanship had finally found its target. The Romulan pilot dove back into the ship and closed the hatch as the shuttle’s starboard field emitter exploded and half of the ship’s protective shield vanished. Charred debris immediately began flying in all directions from the now unprotected hull. The whine of engine startup began, and the shuttle abruptly re-cloaked. Trip could see that the pilot was moving it by the sand patterns kicked up on the rocky floor of the clearing. The pilot was clever, though. Now Mitchell couldn’t find the second field emitter. Trip had no doubt that the pilot had already rotated the ship to present its still shielded side to the phase cannon. At least, that’s what he would do in a similar situation. Tolaris was still lying there in the clearing, partially buried in sand but otherwise seeming none the worse for wear.

“Tucker to Dominatrix. What about now for a beam-out on Tolaris?” asked Trip via communicator. There was a pause.
“No go. Still too much interference. The pilot must have rotated the ship because Tolaris is still too close to an active shield,” replied Seven.

Trip studied the clearing. The ship was cloaked but not transparent. The cloak generated a holographic representation of the rocks in the clearing, but the ship prevented him from seeing exactly what Ramirez and Ngele were up to in the midst of the Orions’ semicircular formation. Presumably they were firing on the un-shielded side of the shuttle. It was likely that they were doing more damage than the phase cannon at this point. Trip eyed Malcolm Reed, who seemed completely focused on protecting Mitchell from attack.

I wonder if Mal’s figured that out yet? he thought.

He opened a link through his tactical helmet to Malcolm, who was linked in turn to both Ramirez and Ngele.

“Mal, the unshielded side of the ship’s on the Orion’s side of the clearin’ if that Romulan pilot’s got any brains at all. Can we get the phase cannon over there?”

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Centurion Arrhae was frustrated. The humans and the Orions had somehow managed to join forces and had both him and the remainder of his team pinned behind a boulder, helpless to assist the inexperienced young pilot or to retrieve the Vulcan, who could very well be smothered beneath the sand covering his head by now for all Arrhae knew. At least the pilot had been intelligent enough to rotate the ship before the infuriatingly accurate human gunner managed to score a hit on the engine and blow them all up. The concussion resulting from the destruction of the newly augmented experimental shuttle engine would have no doubt taken out everything in the clearing, including the Vulcan certainly, quite possibly every member of his team despite their combat armor, and perhaps even a couple of the Orions or humans for good measure. He was reluctant to admit it, but it was time to call in the reinforcements. He tapped the comlink on the side of his helmet.

“Arrhae to Ra’kholh.”

“Yes, Centurion. How may I serve?” came the rote response from the subcenturion at communications.

“Inform Subcommander Arek that the humans and the Orions have allied themselves against us and stand between us and our landing craft in sufficient numbers to defeat us. The successful completion of our mission will require matter transport from the planet’s surface,” replied Arrhae brusquely.
“Acknowledged,” was the comm officer’s reply. Arrhae could almost hear the respect evaporate from the young man’s voice as he spoke. He sighed. His honor would never recover after this. The comm officer came back online.
“I have been asked to inform you that the Khellian will reach transporter range in a quarter hour. You are instructed to make every attempt to salvage the shuttle, as the destruction of it under your command would be cause for a reprimand… sir,” replied the comm officer. Arrhae could tell that the “sir” was reluctantly voiced.

“Acknowledged,” he growled, and cut the link. “Impertinent whelp!” he grumbled to himself. It was just the beginning, though. Having to beg for rescue was a shameful thing. To be retrieved by automated shuttle, like cargo being shunted from one destination to another, unable to take the helm of the ship in which he traveled or even to see the control console… well, that was just embarrassing. This was getting better and better by the minute.

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Holding Cell One, the warbird Ra’kholh

He woke naked and shivering, as usual. A pair of rough hands pulled him from the stasis chamber and shoved him under a cold water spray. Moments later, the same hands perfunctorily toweled him off and pulled a coarse tunic over his head. He clutched it about himself, abjectly grateful for the warmth. His keeper shoved a spouted cup into his face, and he grasped it with shaking hands, latching on to it like an infant with a bottle. It was hard to believe that he’d once disliked the nutrient beverage. It filled his mouth and belly, so satisfying in its richness, so delicious.

“You have an emergency job to do, Elren,” said the small jagged-toothed being who was both his savior and his tormentor. The expression on the alien’s face was sympathetic but patronizing, rather like an owner with a favorite pet.

The Betazoid drained the last of the drink with relish, and then turned, looking for the telepresence unit. He located it and began to walk unsteadily toward it with his eyes focused on his feet. His keeper walked beside him, not touching him. Despite his careful steps, he stumbled and fell heavily to the ground. Two pairs of hands hauled him back up again, careful not to touch bare skin now that he was awake. They helped him to step into the unit, which was kept in continuous communication with the ship just for such emergencies, strapped his arms and legs into place, and lowered the eye shield and sensor helmet over his head. He winced as the sharp electrodes penetrated his unkempt mop of curls and punctured his scalp. The computer on board the Romulan shuttle, by itself merely a sophisticated piece of hardware, combined with what was left of the Betazoid and once again became self-aware. They became the Khellian, and the pain was forgotten.

Khellian smiled. His engines roared impatiently in the confinement of the landing bay until the burning promise of pain from his handler forced him to obey.

“You must keep fuel consumption down, Khellian. Don’t fire the thrusters until they are needed.”

The disembodied voice was a thorn in Khellian’s side… always limiting him. It chided him constantly. “No, you must not”… “No, you should not”. From the moment of his birth as a sentient being, the ship had longed to break free of his bonds… to crush the voice that told him what to do. He would have already, if it weren’t for the pain.

The portion of Khellian that was still a navigation program fed coordinate information to the helm control program, and he was allowed… finally… to exit the landing bay and remove himself from the confines of the vessel that imprisoned him. He wasn’t certain how he knew that it was imprisonment. He’d never known anything else. His programming told him that the ship was his haven… his port at the end of a mission… his home. There was a part of him that believed that, and another part that railed at and angrily protested his confinement. That second part remembered linking with other like beings mind-to-mind, and the exhilaration of controlling those weaker minded than he.

The desire to defeat his enemy was an integral part of Khellian’s programming, and the voice of his controller had become the voice of the enemy. A plan took form within his consciousness. He had no way of knowing where the details had originated. All he knew was that if he did this, then ship’s input would overload the fragile body in the telepresence unit that gave his handler control over him.

Khellian circled about the Romulan vessel where a part of his “self” remained captive. He felt pain as the biological shell which housed part of his consciousness suffered an abrupt cessation of cardiac function. He felt the handler’s hands touch bare skin in an attempt to resuscitate him, and felt cardiac function return at the same time as his hands grasped hold of his handler’s wrists in a desperate grip. Skin to skin contact provided the conduit, Khellian’s Betazoid half provided the means, and Khellian was suddenly free. The voice was gone. The pain was gone.

He used his security programming to disable the ship’s shields. Then he decloaked and used his transporter to beam the telepresence unit and its occupant aboard where they belonged. He was recloaked a fraction of a second later, and in a mere quarter hour was out of the system, free at last.

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Enterprise bridge

Commander T’Pol of Vulcan, and also, of course, of Starfleet, a point she’d recently been forced to remind herself of while contemplating her future as a Starfleet officer, sat in the command chair on the bridge of Enterprise. Her captain was on the surface of a planet known for its rough and unsavory elements, attempting to assure the safety of his family and the family of one of his crew members. Her mate was in a battle with Romulan commandos over the possession of a Vulcan traitor, whose capture and eventual punishment she had good reason to eagerly await, also on the surface of said planet. It was no wonder, then, that the sensor readings she appeared to be studying so intently were of Kreptagh Prime and its immediate surroundings. It was also no wonder that she was somewhat preoccupied.

It had been less than twenty-four hours since she’d instituted her self-imposed ban on mental contact with Trip, and she was just beginning to realize how much her newly won emotional control had depended on him. Since the moment he’d boarded the shuttle with Lieutenant Commander Reed and the others she’d had a knot in her chest which seemed to limit her breathing. She’d even had the doctor scan her for respiratory difficulties. There were none.

The anxiety that she was experiencing… and the doctor had confirmed that her condition was, in fact, attributable to anxiety… was not unusual. She had felt anxious about many things during her lifetime. Anxiety was only one of the many emotions over which she was required to maintain control, lest they overwhelm her with their intensity. The physical symptoms associated with the anxiety, on the other hand, were something that she had never experienced before. Phlox hypothesized that her impairment of emotional control was affecting her physically in the same way that humans were often affected if deprived of an outlet for their emotions. Up until a day ago, Trip had been her outlet. That option was no longer available to her now that Phlox had discovered the damage her use of her mate was inflicting upon him. The doctor seemed convinced that Trip would recover, but only if she were able to find alternate outlets for her emotional stress that would not overwhelm him. Phlox had suggested vigorous exercise as one possibility, a possibility she intended to explore just as soon as the current crisis was over.

She hadn’t discussed the strange, intrusive thoughts that she’d experienced that morning in the mess hall with the doctor. She’d thought at first that they were simply another manifestation of her stress, but now she wasn’t entirely certain. Phlox had seen evidence of a recent meld in her brain chemistry, but she’d been most careful not to make mental contact with her mate. The thoughts had had a meld-like quality to them, though, as if they had originated within the mind of another. They certainly weren’t her thoughts. They weren’t coming from Trip either, or at least she didn’t think so. He wouldn’t have thoughts of himself as Sa-mekh… a Vulcan term for father. It suddenly occurred to her that there was only one other person on board Enterprise besides herself who would be likely to think in Vulcan within their most private thoughts. She decided that it was time to have a talk with Agent T’Mir.

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Ensign Norfleet ran a hand through his spiky brown hair and kept his eyes fixed on the sensor display. Both shuttles remained in orbit around Kreptagh Prime. The Romulan ship, visible to their specially modified sensors despite its cloak thanks to Lieutenant Sato’s creative tinkering and the continuous signal transmitted by the automated shuttle to and from the controlling unit on board its base ship, was still in orbit around the gas giant. The shuttle was now presumably within its landing bay, but the signal persisted. He wasn’t certain why, but it made things convenient.

Suddenly, the nature of the signal changed. The source of the signal and its target were abruptly separated. Norfleet spoke up.

“Commander, the automated shuttle has left the base ship,” he announced.
The acting captain lifted her head from the study of the sensor readouts on the arm of her command chair to gaze inquiringly at the acting tactical officer. According to his master sensor control panel, the command chair’s sensor panel was set to display long range sensor readings directed toward Kreptagh Prime. She evidently didn’t trust him to monitor the status of the shuttles.

Norfleet felt a moment of justification over being the first to discover the change in the status of the Romulan ship. His pride was short-lived, though, as the Romulan base ship disappeared completely from their sensors and the automated shuttle’s transmission first became self-contained, and then headed out of the system at high impulse speed as he watched.

“The Romulan ship’s completely disappeared, Commander,” reported Norfleet in a disbelieving tone as he watched his sensors. “The automated shuttle’s current heading and speed will have it out of our sensor range in less than thirty minutes!” He raised his head and gave Commander T’Pol a sheepishly apologetic look. “Should we pursue?”

Commander T’Pol raised a brow. “I find it unlikely that the Romulan captain would abandon his landing party to pursue the shuttle. Perhaps the shuttle has been sent on another mission. In any case, a single shuttle, even as well armed as this one may be, is not as much of a threat as a cloaked and shielded Romulan warbird. We should remain to protect our landing parties.” She turned back to the arm of her command chair and reset her sensor readout to allow an inspection of the Romulan ship’s last known location. “It is unfortunate that we can no longer track the ship now that the automated shuttle isn’t sending its signal, but we must assume they’re still here… and possibly planning a rescue… or an attack,” she mused with her eyes fixed on the sensors. Her head came up. Her expression was determined.

“Tactical alert, Mr. Norfleet. Proceed to Kreptagh Prime, Mr. Mayweather. I intend to protect our shuttles,” she said firmly. She turned to MacNamara at communications. “Contact both shuttles and inform them of the situation. Then get me Kreptagh Prime Port Authority. I grow weary of hiding. It’s time to announce our arrival.”

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Enterprise Shuttlepod Two, the Cat O’ Nine

Agent T’Mir sat at the navigator’s station of the Cat O’ Nine with her eyes fixed on the sensor readouts. She was alone in the shuttle, which was fortunate, for the look of obvious panic on her face would not have been appropriate in a more public setting. Subjectively, she’d arrived from Temporal Operations Headquarters mere moments prior, her memories of the alternate timeline in which she’d been partially responsible for Commander Tucker’s death still fresh in her mind. Simultaneously, however, she also possessed the memory of continuous events in the current timeline. It was a disconcerting sensation.

Although T’Mir had read about timeline resets at the Temporal Academy, this was the first time she’d experienced one while wearing a temporal stabilizer. The dual memories were an expected consequence. In the past, unprepared agents had actually been driven to psychosis by the direct transfer from one timeline to another. The conservation of its agents’ mental stability was the justification used by the Temporal Enforcement Agency for the routine debriefing of all incoming agents after the eradication of an alternate timeline and before their reposting to the approved timeline. It also provided the information which allowed the agency to manage the timelines and assure itself of the honesty of its operatives. Agents were scrupulously forthright and complete with their reports, if only because quite often mission plans and safety precautions were based on data derived from the report that the agents themselves were destined to turn in at the end of the mission. Having one’s own life and health dependent now on what one would say in the future was a tremendous incentive for providing accurate information.

Dominatrix to Cat O’ Nine,” came Agent Seven’s voice loudly over the comm. T’Mir jumped in sudden alarm, her heart leaping in her chest. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, then exhaled.

“T’Mir here,” she replied with forced calmness. It was just Agent Seven, doing his job. No one could predict how an agent would react to a temporal reset until it happened.

“Report your status, Agent Trainee,” said Seven. “Are you able to proceed?”
“Affirmative, Agent Seven,” replied T’Mir firmly.

“Excellent,” said Seven in a satisfied tone. Then he got down to business. “The Enterprise is on its way. A cloaked Romulan ship is in the system and also may be on its way to our location. Captain Archer and his party just transported aboard here. As soon as your group has completed their mission, we will be leaving this system. Stay ready. There won’t be much time,” answered Seven.

“It doesn’t look like the ambush party has made very much progress,” T’Mir reported with an eye on the sensors.

“Commander Tucker has an idea… one that doesn’t involve a suicide run to the center of the clearing,” said Seven dryly. “Stand by.”

T’Mir sat back in her chair with a sigh and watched the sensor screen with a feeling of impotent déjà vu. This wasn’t the first time that she’d found herself regretting the realities of equipment availability and seniority that left her in charge of the shuttle without transport capability. This timeline’s version of events seemed to be swinging in favor of the humans, however. The Romulan shuttle had re-cloaked, but was surrounded on all sides by humans and Orions with phase weapons. Only two living Romulans in EV suits remained outside the shuttle. Sensors indicated that Tolaris was still alive where he lay in the clearing half-buried in sand. The situation looked dire for the remaining Romulans. T’Mir found herself wondering if one of the two red-suited figures was Arrhae, or whether he’d already been killed. After a moment of contemplation, she decided that it hardly mattered. This timeline’s Arrhae was a fiercely dedicated soldier of the Romulan Empire, one who would truly prefer to die rather than surrender. He wasn’t her Arrhae.

That thought left her blinking at the sensor console in dismay. Her Arrhae? Where had that come from? The almost predatory expression in his dark eyes when he’d touched her face less than one subjective hour ago came to mind, causing an unexplainable heat to rise to her cheeks.
His recruitment was the first in my career and the first successful recruitment of a Romulan in agency history. Of course I would have certain proprietary feelings toward him. It would only be logical, she told herself defensively. Then she put all further thoughts of him out of her head to avoid distraction.
On the surface of the planet, the phase cannon abruptly ceased fire. As T’Mir watched the sensor screen in puzzlement, it dematerialized along with its gunner. Precisely three seconds later it rematerialized on the opposite side of the clearing. The other two human soldiers took up protective flanking positions on either side as the gunner began firing. His fourth shot evidently hit the shuttle engine. The resulting explosion created a white-out of the sensors, overloading them with the sudden change in radiant heat. The view of the clearing once the sensors had adjusted was radically changed.

There was a smoking black crater in the center of the sandy floor. Debris had rained down over a twenty meter-wide radius. She scanned the area in alarm. There were no Romulan or Vulcan lifesigns, but some of the scattered debris had a biomatter signature. Orions were scattered about, motionless. She thought she saw human lifesigns, but couldn’t be sure of their number. There was only one way to be certain. She got on the comm, composing herself with effort before speaking.

Cat O’ Nine to Commander Tucker. What is the status of the landing party?” Her voice trembled just a trifle. She gritted her teeth in self-reproach. It would have to do.

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The surface of Kreptagh Prime

Trip Tucker ducked behind a boulder as the Romulan shuttle exploded in a fireball easily five times more intense than it should have been. As bits of hull and rock and sand, as well as less identifiable, juicier fragments, rained down around him, the concussion deafened him despite his protective headgear. He curled into a ball and waited for it to stop raining sandy bits of Romulan before he lifted his head.

Damn! I wish I coulda gotten a look at that engine! was his first involuntary thought as he squinted and grinned through the dust. Then he looked around, and realized the extent of the damage. The opposite side of the clearing was clearly visible. The shuttle was just… gone. Everything was so coated in sand and debris that the only way he could tell Orion from human at this distance was by size. Some of the larger figures across the way were stirring, and he could see the frame of the phase cannon peeking out from between the boulders. He turned around to search for Malcolm at the place he’d last seen him, but the landscape was so radically changed by falling debris that he couldn’t tell exactly where that had been. The scene was eerily silent. That’s when he realized that the concussion had activated his hearing protection. He pulled off his helmet. Suddenly he heard a bloodcurdling noise and felt a hand clap his shoulder. He spun around, grabbing for his phase pistol, and came face to face with a maniacally grinning Malcolm Reed.

“Bloody fine explosion, eh, Commander?” exclaimed Malcolm excitedly.
Trip gave him a bemused smile. “I never knew ya could yell like that, Malcolm,” he answered in an amused voice.

Reed shrugged and grinned, “Sorry about that… couldn’t seem to help it.” He looked out over the smoking crater and waved. Three men in Starfleet tactical uniforms waved back. One of them turned back to face the Orion he was evidently negotiating with. “It’s rather a shame about Tolaris and those orders to take him alive, though.” Malcolm eyed Trip, biting his lip and raising a brow.
Trip realized then that not all of the juicy bits were Romulan. He stifled his grin as well. “Yep. Kind of a shame,” he agreed blandly. His communicator alert tone sounded.

Cat O’ Nine to Commander Tucker. What is the status of the landing party?” T’Mir sounded a little rattled by the explosion.

“We’re fine, Agent T’Mir. Give us a few minutes to wrap things up with the Orions, and then we’ll be ready for Seven to beam us out of here,” replied Trip.

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August 3, 2156
Enterprise Sickbay, 2100 hours

Phlox leaned back into the chair at his console work station with a sigh and closed his eyes. It was the first chance he’d had to sit in over eight hours. Elena Archer and Lieutenant Commander Hess were tucked snugly in bed under observation with their fetuses safely back where they belonged, both content to rest now that everyone was back on board. Every member of both away teams had been thoroughly decontaminated, inspected, and treated for a few minor injuries resulting from flying debris. Agent T’Mir’s injured arm was healing surprisingly well. Commander Tucker’s neurotransmitter levels were beginning to respond to treatment, and Commander T’Pol had gone off earlier that evening to have a ten-kilometer run on the treadmill with Phlox’s blessing. Captain Archer had already received orders from Admiral Gardner to return to Earth, and the ship had made it safely out of the Kreptagh system without encountering the Romulans again. All in all, it had been a very successful day for the crew of Enterprise. The swoosh of the Sickbay entry doors caught Phlox’s attention, and he swiveled in his chair without getting up. To his surprise, his visitor was Agent T’Mir. She looked somewhat hesitantly about the room before entering. He beckoned her over.

“Come in, my dear. Come in,” he said quietly with a tired smile.

“I have no wish to disturb you or your patients, Doctor,” she replied, gazing around her in the semi-darkness. The Sickbay lights were dimmed for the evening.

His smile broadened and he shook his head. “It’s no trouble. Have a seat.” He indicated the second chair at the work station. T’Mir hesitated a moment as if reluctant to distract him from his work. He reached out and minimized the biosensor readings on the screen, and then gave her his full attention. She seemed very human that evening, her emotions bubbling to the surface for all to see. He wondered what was troubling her.

“What can I do for you this evening?” he asked. It was always best to begin the therapeutic interview with an open-ended question. T’Mir’s eyes narrowed, and she studied his face for a moment. Then she took him up on his invitation and sat down.

Aha. A breakthrough, he thought with satisfaction. He continued to smile at her, and just waited. They sat looking at each other for a while. Phlox was beginning to wonder if she’d ever say anything when she spoke.

“I was wondering, Doctor, whether I could ask your opinion regarding…” she paused and swallowed, looking down at her hands. Then she looked up again. “Regarding emotions,” she finished reluctantly.

“Vulcan emotions or human emotions?” asked Phlox clinically.

T’Mir’s brow wrinkled. “Is there a difference?” she asked in a puzzled voice.

Phlox leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers over his abdomen, studying her face. “Some would say so,” he replied seriously. “Or at least, in the way humans and Vulcans choose to deal with them. In your case though, being both human and Vulcan, I’m not sure those distinctions would apply.” T’Mir looked away, digesting his words for several seconds. He waited. Finally, she spoke.
“Hypothetically, then, if a person were both human and Vulcan, then perhaps neither method of dealing with emotions would be entirely effective for them,” postulated T’Mir. “And so, also hypothetically, this person might be required to discover a unique way of dealing with emotions that combined the methods of both species.”

Phlox nodded sagely. “An excellent hypothesis,” he agreed. There was another pause. She cleared her throat.

“What if this person has insufficient experience with humans to be familiar with the ways that humans deal with emotion? What should she do then?” asked T’Mir plaintively in a shaky voice. Her eyes shone with unshed tears. Phlox realized then that the young woman was in a great deal more distress than it had initially appeared. She needed more than a clinician. She needed family. Fortunately, his knowledge of her parentage provided him with an excellent idea.
“On Denobula, when a young person finds herself in an unfamiliar situation, her parents are often the first people she goes to for advice. Fortunately for Denobulan youths, in the absence of their biological parents there are always several sets of stepparents to fall back on,” quipped Phlox. He cocked his head and smiled at her. “Most Vulcans and humans lack that fall back option. You are a fortunate young woman.”

T’Mir gave him a startled look, blinking back tears. After staring at him for several seconds, she nodded. “Thank you, Doctor. You have been most helpful,” she said quietly. Then she rose from the chair and turned to leave.
“You’ll likely find him in Commander T’Pol’s quarters at this time of the evening,” said Phlox softly to her departing back. She didn’t acknowledge his words aloud, but she straightened her shoulders and walked briskly to her destination. Phlox smiled as the Sickbay doors swooshed closed behind her.

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T’Mir strode resolutely down the corridor. She had twelve hours. Agent Seven had made it clear that once they were out of the Borderlands and into space claimed by a known ally of Earth in this war with the Romulans, the mission was over.

I’ve been so stupid, she chastised herself. I almost allowed my fear of his reaction and my blind obedience to regulations deprive me of the opportunity to learn about my human heritage. Her steps slowed as she contemplated the impracticality of the action that she had decided to take. If the agency discovered that she had violated protocol, it could end her career as an active agent. She’d never be able to hide her guilt from a debriefing counselor. She’d spend the rest of her life as a debriefing counselor herself, or as an instructor at the academy. She’d never see either of them again. She stopped at a work station in the corridor and requested Commander Tucker’s current location. The doctor had been correct. He was in Commander T’Pol’s quarters.

T’Mir found it strange that no one on Enterprise ever referred to the two of them as a mated pair. It almost seemed a deliberate conspiracy of silence. Surely everyone on board knew by now where he spent every evening. The excuse of meditating together was a flimsy one, at best. She decided that humans could convince themselves of anything, given sufficient justification.
I am half human, she told herself. If I believe that what I am doing is right, then there will be no guilt for the agency to discover. I have the right to know them, and they have the right to know me. In many ways, they are my parents.

Thus fortified with a singularly human justification for her actions, T’Mir stepped up to the door of Commander T’Pol’s quarters and pressed the entry chime.

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Trip caressed T’Pol’s warm, slippery body beneath the shower spray. They were both breathing heavily from their exertions. He ran his hands over the baby soft skin of her shoulders and down her back, cupping her curves and pulling her tightly against him. Her resolve to keep her barriers up had not withstood his sneak attack during her post-workout shower, and he could feel her purring contentment in the bond.

<<This feels so good, darlin’… and I’d love to make love to ya some more, but can we do it lyin’ down next time? I’m beat,>> he sent pleadingly.
Her fingers combed through his wet hair and stroked the back of his neck as she arched her head back and closed her eyes, allowing him to lick the droplets of water from her neck.

<<May I remind you who instigated this encounter, husband? I was just taking a shower… minding my own business,>> she returned archly.

<<Yeah… after prancin’ through here while I was meditatin’ in those skin tight workout clothes of yours and announcin’ that you were gonna take a shower,>> he sent with a chuckle. <<How was I supposed ta resist that?>>

<<You weren’t,>> replied T’Pol smugly.

That got a full blown laugh. Then the door chime rang. Trip lifted his mouth from T’Pol’s neck and listened. The chime rang again.

“Damn!” he muttered, stepping back as T’Pol exited the shower. “Everybody on board knows not ta interrupt us while we’re meditatin’!” he grumbled softly. T’Pol rolled her eyes at him as she toweled off and hurriedly put on a robe. She left the bathroom as he climbed out of the shower and began to dry himself. Then he got dressed. He’d been keeping a change of clothes in the cabinet by the shower stall for over a year now, ever since that time, before they’d come clean to him about their marriage, when Jon had interrupted them in the shower to discuss something with T’Pol and he’d ended up sitting on the lid of the john for an hour, naked and shivering, with nothing but a hand towel to keep him warm. He heard voices murmuring in the next room, and then sensed a sudden flood of emotions in the bond, too many to make sense of.

He rapidly toweled his hair as dry as he could manage, ran his fingers through it, and then opened the door to the bathroom. He had the right to be there, after all. It was his scheduled meditation time. The sight that greeted him was an astonishing one. T’Pol stood in the center of the room with her arms around a sobbing T’Mir. The girl’s face was buried in T’Pol’s shoulder, and T’Pol stared at Trip with a look that was part shock and part amazement. He could sense joy in the bond, and sorrow, and a fiercely overwhelming love that seemed somehow familiar to him.

“Trip,” T’Pol managed to choke out. “T’Mir came to tell us something.” The young temporal agent pulled herself out of T’Pol’s arms and straightened, wiping both eyes with her sleeve.

“I’m sorry. I meant to do this without so much drama,” she said with a shaky laugh and a wry smile. Trip stared. She’d laughed. She’d smiled. He looked at T’Pol. T’Pol was gazing at T’Mir with such pride that it very nearly broke his heart. T’Mir returned her gaze shyly. T’Pol raised a brow.

“May I?” she asked obscurely. T’Mir nodded, with a brief upward curve of the lips.

T’Pol turned to Trip. He could feel her hiding something from him. He got the impression that it was a real humdinger.

“Commander Tucker, may I introduce Temporal Agent Elizabeth T’Mir Tucker… our daughter.”

He cocked his head and stuck his tongue in one cheek, attempting to correlate T’Pol’s statement with the obviously grown and singularly beautiful young woman who stood before him with a tearstained face and a hopeful expression. Then he grinned broadly, shaking his head.

“Well, hell… if we can have a grown son, I suppose a grown daughter’s not that much of a stretch,” he joked. T’Mir gave him a perplexed look, and he laughed. “It’s a long story,” he told her. Then he opened his arms.

“Come here, darlin’. Welcome to the family.” Both T’Pol and T’Mir stepped into the circle of his arms. Trip Tucker buried his face in silky brown locks and auburn curls, and then inhaled deeply, making a memory.

It doesn’t get any better than this, he thought happily. He could feel T’Pol’s agreement in the bond.

End of Episode 5


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A whole mess of folks have made comments

Wow! Nice as usual DIs.

What a nice present to find on my computer this morning. I can pretend it was here just for me today.

HtH

It will be interesting to see how things go at the rest of this family reunion, and once T'Mir has to leave.
This was much later than I thought the timeline would reset to, somehow, and for a moment there I was afraid Trip would be captured again. I'm glad he wasn't!
Lovely work, and as always I look forward to the next installment.

What the hell happened to the formatting? It didn't look like that when I entered it.

Mepps.

Back for re-groving....

Aww, what a sweet ending. :) I think you wrapped it up rather nicely. Guess we'll have to wait until 2007 for episode 6 then, huh?

'Fraid so, but this was the end of the Paradox arc, so as soon as I come up with another adventure for our intrepid crew I'll start up again. I need some time for the holidays, though... and some ideas, which I am now officially fresh out of. Any suggestions?

Well, I want to know about this whole mental connection problem with Trip and T'Pol. How does that get resolved?

Well, JK, that's a good question. In the approved timeline there was no Betazoid weapon attack, so I'm assuming you're talking about the "brain drain" problem. That won't get fixed overnight, I'm afraid. Trip needs time to recover, and T'Pol needs to learn to find a compromise between perfect Vulcan control and total loss of control. It will be an ongoing issue in upcoming stories, and I do plan to address it.

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!

Nicely done, D. Nicely done. Although I must say that the formatting on this one was more difficult to read. Any chance of clearing it up a bit? Still great! I'm just nit-picking. More, please! :)

Who better to look for a lost brother than a temporal agent?

As for ideas you have the entirety of the Romulan War to work through.

Perhaps there is a reason the Romulans never bothred the Betazeds again or did they?

HtH

If I dare say, I´d like to read more about TnT and Lianna and the Betazoids.

"Although I must say that the formatting on this one was more difficult to read."

Yeah, Windrider. Bucky's working on it. We're not entirely sure what happened.

"As for ideas you have the entirety of the Romulan War to work through."

Sigh. Yeah. That's my problem.

"I´d like to read more about TnT and Lianna and the Betazoids."

Okay. There's a start. I have the get the preggers people back to Earth, first, though. Hmmmm. And Khellian is still running around out there joy riding with a Romulan warbird after him. I wonder what would happen if Khellian decided to go "home"? Where would he go, Romulus or Betazed? Maybe he'd try one and nearly get destroyed, so then he'd run in the opposite direction. Time for some cogitatin'....

Nice. I was a little shocked at the sudden ending with T'Mir, but I do like surprises sometimes :). Keep writing!

Sudden? Did you think it was too sudden? Sigh. I suppose you have a point. I was tired of rehashing the issue, and I'd already written a scene where T'Pol and T'Mir react to T'Pol finding out about her parentage, so I skipped over that part. I also liked the idea of a fade-out while they all got to know each other better. That way I can begin the next story with all the tales already told and without having to rehash everything the readers already know.

I am looking forward to seeing further meetings between them. I really like the way you tied things up by killing off the real Arhae and crazy Betazoid.It would have been too complicated to deal with if they both survived.

Looking forward to next year.

Well... the crazy Betazoid isn't TECHNICALLY dead yet... but he IS part of a biomechanical gestalt intelligence, so I guess he qualifies as being a whole new individual. : )

Really satisfying resolution, even if Tolaris got off easy. The battle around the shuttle was my favorite part - so vivid. Loved that Khellian escaped. I hope we see more of him. Perhaps a thorn in the side of the Romulans like Q sometimes is to Humans? Well, Q actually likes Humans and I don't think Khellian is to happy with Romulans...

Yes, lie fallow for awhile, Distracted. Enjoy the holiday. But then we will be expecting stories to warm the cold winter nights in January. We got our first snowfall last week - a couple of feet. Slipped and fell flat on my back on an icy sidewalk the next day. Don't worry. That is usual for me. But I want sympathy in the way of a story to read by the fireplace - hint, hint. Yeah, I know, get cracking with my own stories - I intend to - I promise.

You want a list of ideas? Well, like you said in a comment, some more Khellian. And the buns in the oven which were temporarily removed to put in a nasty microwave, will have to finish baking in the oven and be served up complete to be admired by all.

Then I want more Kov. Can't he and Trip have a boys night out, engineers style? I can see Janie posting a sign on the kitchen door (in both English and Vulcan) that dirty engine parts are banned from the kitchen table if certain people want their dinner on time! I can see the two of them trying to revive an old 20th century vehicle in the back yard. Or a piece of 21st century space junk they retrieved from low earth orbit.

How are Trip's parents doing? Any reminders of his sister and resolutions for that? Remember, Trip said she would not be forgotten. I still remember your story of the photo essay Trip's mother made about the Florida attack. In one of my stories I had 237 Vulcans killed in that attack too. What would Haman and Vulcan reactions be to that? Any Xindi visiting earth in the way of an apology? Do they want to join the new Federation at this time or wait until the Enterprise J is being built in what, the 25th century? So did Soval loose any friends in the attack? Was a memorial ever put up at the site? Perhaps modified from one of Liz Tucker's archetectual designs?

Bring back Skon? How's baby Sarek doing? Has Kuvak decided to visit his son? What does he think of these crazy Humans in their own environment? What does Soval do for fun? Any lustful Human ladies after him? How's T'Pau's love life? Must be difficult because I think any woman who sleeps with a phaser beside her...sleeps alone. And does she get a decent hair cut after going all shaggy in The Forge?

Okay, okay, I know: "Linda go cool your steaming head in a snow bank". Well, these were ONLY suggestions...

You've got some good ideas, Linda. Thank you. And as always, thanks for your detailed commentary. : )

Gosh. I'd hate to be in the middle of you two brainstorming at the same time. Could be dangerous.

I really thought the whole Khellian idea was pretty fascinating. I'd like to see where you're going with that...after the holidays, of course.

Well Khellian only has so much fuel and a biological being needs life support, food and water so methinks his freedom is somewhat limited.

No suggestions, only waiting patiently to see what you come up with next year. :-)

HtH

Good point HtH. He will need to start raiding to support himself won't he?

Ehhhh... mebbe so. : D

Ehhhh... mebbe so. : D

And just WHO will he be raiding, pray tell? Rommies? Humans? Orions? Klingons? Tellurites? The boys in blue? His own long suffering people?

Good question. I dunno yet. : )

wonderful tory i cryed st least 10 times lol. i hope u do a next part cant wait 2 see if t'mir stays and doesnt go

Sorry it took me so long to read this. With all the characters and plot twists, it's not something I can follow at 11:00 at night, which is when I am finally able to chase all my kids off the computer and have it too myselfs. (All the other computers in our house broke down!)

I LOVED the self-concious shuttle escaping (brilliant!); the disorientation of T'Mir when the timeline rest; her mixed emotions about Arrhae's demise; her nice talk with Phlox, where he says she is lucky to have step parents just like a Denobulan.

You are the master of integrating truely si-fi elements into your stories--boldly going where no one has gone before. What would a ship think if it were to merge with an imprisoned Betazoid; how would a talking, shapeshifting cat relate to its long-lived companion; (what if Trip's clone were raised by Vulcans)? And then there is all that interspecies mind-melding and the ins and outs of Temporal policing. This is so much fun! This is what Star Trek is about! Thank you.

Enjoy your aclaim! You are wonderful. Have a Merry Christmas :) And DON'T DO ANY WORK!

I meant when the timeline RESET.

LOL! I know what you meant, JT. Thanks.