AN: Today's lesson? Never tempt Murphy…
"Aggh… Fuck," I peeled my face off the broken console. It gave off a spark, acknowledging that I wasn't the only broken thing around here. With the searing headache concentrated behind the eyes, I didn't know if I wanted to scream or to vomit, "How much did I have to drink last night?... Jesus, I think I saw Kirk's face and some whales…"
"I do not recall either of us imbibing in any alcoholic beverages," L'vor's voice came from my left, in the co-pilot's seat of this… shuttlecraft? A tiny piece of shrapnel stuck against his forehead, leaving a trail of green to drip down his cheek, "I believe that we have encountered a subspace anomaly of some kind. Running diagnostics now…"
Then, sudden like an epileptic seizure, my memories came back to me. We were en route to Deep Space 5 for some well deserved shore leave. We had to borrow a Type-6 shuttle as the Carpenter was getting a refit at a nearby starbase.
I looked behind my seat; Petty Officer Tarses and Lieutenant Duckland were both stirring from unconsciousness.
"Y'all feeling alright back there?"
"Ugh… What happened, Sir?" Tarses rubbed his head.
"I feel fuckin'..." Duckland almost spewed chunks all over L'vor, but managed to swallow it back down in time, "… Terrible. Commander L'vor, no offense, but never pilot again."
"I will take your suggestion under advisement," Right at that moment, the computer finished its diagnostics, "Structural Integrity is at 39%. Shields are offline, as are impulse engines. The warp core is, as you say it, totaled. Sensors and communication systems are functional, as are the life support systems… Hm… Fascinating."
"Would you like to share with the class, Sir?" I pressed.
"We are approximately 180 light-years from our original position. But, that is not quite right – All the stars appear to be in the wrong position,"
"Wrong position? How?" Lieutenant Duckland stretched in his seat, before flinching at a crick in his neck.
Then, all of a sudden, a gray ship exited warp right above the shuttle. I turned my head, I tried to read the writing on its hull, "Enterprise… NX-01."
L'vor raised an eyebrow, "I believe I may have a theory,"
Fuck, the automatic distress call – never thought that safety feature would bite us in the ass one day…
"This is the United Earth Starship Enterprise, we have received your distress call. Are you able to reply?"
I looked back toward Tarses and Duckland again, "Y'all ready to get fucked in the ass by Temporal Investigations?"
"Kill me now…" Tarses whined.
Thank God we were wearing our civilian clothes, else this would have been a helluva lot more awkward.
"And that should be it," The Denobulan CMO, Phlox, finished using the old-timey dermal regenerator over my face. All over my cheek, I felt pins and needles, "You might feel some numbness and soreness for a bit, but it should go away after a good night's rest," The doctor gave a too-wide smile and started checking over Tarses.
The first thing I noticed about 22nd century ships is that they were a helluva lot more cramped than their future counterparts. The Enterprise NX-01 was probably the largest ship in Earth's fleet and a Galaxy Glass in terms of luxury by the standards of the time… but it still felt like I was stuck in the brig of an old Klingon Bird-of-Prey.
"Mr. Tarses, before I continue your treatment… You are human, right?" Phlox asked.
Tarses, wisely, came up with a bullshit story on the spot, "Close enough to make no difference, Doctor… er… My parents engaged in some… illegal experiments. The big ears and the forehead creases are birth defects."
At this point in history, I was 90% sure they didn't have the tech to allow hybrids yet… Good catch.
And with that, we were finally let out of sickbay. L'vor and Duckland were standing right outside the door, waiting for us; next to them were two heavy looking crates.
As the shuttle didn't exactly fit inside Enterprise's shuttlepod bays, we were forced to scuttle the damn thing for the sake of the timeline. The important bits and pieces which we could get away with, as well as our personal belongings, were inside those crates.
But, that wasn't the first thing I noticed about them – they were wearing the crewman uniform of this ship instead of their civvies, prompting an eyebrow raise from me.
"Given the current geopolitical crisis, and this ships' crew shortage. Captain Archer has made an offer…"
L'vor looked about as enthused as I was about further interfering with the timeline. But we were already in the deep end just being here, and besides, we had nowhere to go; it wasn't like the 24th century where you could be dropped off at a friendly starbase within the week. Space in this era was mostly unexplored and untamed.
"Somehow, I have the feeling we're all gonna be demoted back to Cadet once we get back…" Tarses sighed.
"If we get back," Duckland added.
[Entry has been redacted by the Department of Temporal Investigations – Security Clearance Alpha Required]
[Submitting codes…]
[Access Granted – Welcome, Agent Smith]
…
Lieutenant Commander Buckley Personal Log, Stardate… Fuck if I know:
I find myself two-hundred years in the past and under the command of Captain Jonathan Archer himself. Now that I had a chance to relax and read, it is clear that somebody had been screwing around way before we arrived. This "Xindi Crisis" has never appeared in any of my history classes, but it has us in the middle of this anomaly-ridden hellhole, the so-called Delphic Expanse.
Duckland has been assigned to Tactical under Reed, while L'vor, Tarses, and I have been spirited away into Engineering's night shift. Any other time, I would have more than happy to monkey around with an old Archer Warp 5 engine. But this is the dark ages…
Lord save me from this crew of MacGyvers…
…Not that I could blame them, having to work with these Stone Age tools. But for the past week, I've been having sleepless nights over shit I see going on over here. I've also been second guessing every other step ever since I've seen the duct tape and Elmer's glue that's been holding the artificial gravity systems together.
Worst of all, I couldn't swing around my big ol' dick as SCO anymore, as everything had to go through Commander Tucker. I like the guy, and respect him as an engineer, but no offense, he's a precious little spoiled princess when it came to mortal things like safety regs. Mayweather and the bridge crew's certainly not helping with them pushing the fucking engines to more red lines than a Soviet grocery store every five minutes.
I get it! It's humanity's first warp 5 engines, and y'all wanna show off your hot ride to the local neighborhood. But please, use some fucking common sense and follow the damn signs!
I swear, I'm gonna get an aneurysm at thirty from holding back all of these ass-chewings…
So here I was, changing a broken lightbulb on Deck E, trying to push away violent thoughts of stabbing half of the heroic morons that made this crew…
Whoosh…
One of the doors opened; out came a crewman. He briefly regarded me with an inquisitive stare, "You don't belong here." He stated as fact, with no doubt in his tone.
Hmm… My gut told me he didn't belong here either… Fellow time traveler? He was certainly giving me that future-boy arrogance vibe you get from a temporal agent in one of those inevitable time travel episodes…
Was this guy from that Voyager episode? The one where they went back into the 90s. I could've sworn I saw his face before somewhere…
"Well no shit, John Connor, ya fuckin' think?"
Me and my smart mouth…
"Well, this is quite unexpected. Four Starfleet officers from the 24th century on a 22nd century United Earth ship? And Here I thought Picard's adventure in the mid 21st would be the end of it…" Daniels, if that was his real name, half-muttered as he fiddled with his future doodad.
The unofficial "time-travelers club" had assembled in his quarters, hoping to find a quick and painless solution to their temporal woes.
"Picard's Adventure? What does the Captain of the Enterprise-D have to do with this?" Duckland asked.
"You are all from the late 2380s, correct?"
The crew of the Carpenter shared awkward side-glances. "mid-2360s, Sir…" Tarses corrected.
"Oh, forgive me, I thought you were all from the Cerritos– oh wait," The future piece of tech suddenly flooded the room with a holographic graph, "Please do me a favor and forget what I had just said – I am already on thin ice with my superiors as it is,"
Ah, must have been an important ship… Was there a series I was forgetting?
"Consider it done," I leaned forward in my seat, "So is there any way you can get us back to… y'know?"
"Sorry, but no. The temporal accords are pretty clear on this – I'm not allowed to displace more than two people at a time, and even that is stretching it," The holographic projection zoomed into the center trunk of the branching mess of timelines, revealing it to a braided cord of similar events bunched together instead of just one timeline, "If it brings any comfort, your existence here will not cause any destructive changes in the timeline as what you have encountered was a 'natural' time travel event, as opposed to an artificial one."
"What?" Duckland asked.
"I think what he's saying that we're supposed to be here." Tarses guessed…
"Correct." Daniels nodded.
Duckland pinched the bridge of his nose, groaning, "…This bullshit's why I chose tactical."
"So we will have to find our own way back to the future?" L'vor asked.
"Yes. But, with all the shenanigans that Archer's crew gets up to in this timeline, I am sure an opportunity will present itself soon enough." Daniels turned his device off, the hologram vanishing in a blink of an eye, "Now if that all, I must return to my duties on this ship…"
L'vor nodded, "That will be all. Thank you for your time,"
"No problem," The crew of the Carpenter got up from their seats, "Oh, Buckley, could you stay behind for a minute, I got a few questions."
"Yes?" I turned around as L'vor, Tarses, and Duckland left.
"Your speech pattern, behaviors, and mannerisms indicate that you are from the late 20th century – you even made an obscure motion picture reference from that time period too when we first met – but all my records show that you were born and raised in the 24th century."
"Well…"
"–I already know how backwards Thauthan V is, no need to remind me," Daniels cut through my bullshit with a glare, "What is the real reason?"
"… I am not entirely sure, Sir, but I believe it involves certain forces which are… beyond reproach,"
Daniels stayed still for a brief moment, muttering something along the lines of "Fucking Q," before standing up, "Thank you, that will be all."
Once again, time-traveling nonsense had plagued Jonathan Archer's life – and it wasn't even Daniels's fault this time. Or at least, not mostly. Their friendly resident time-traveling stowaway had seen it fit to inform him that his four newest crewmen were actually from the 24th century.
Well, it certainly explained why they talked funny sometimes, and their other unusual behaviors, like why they seemed to know more about the engine than even Trip did sometimes. Or why Crewman L'vor was so damn sociable with humans compared to all the other Vulcans he knew.
Well, mostly… Even through that lens, Crewman Buckley was still an enigma. He talked like he came from a 20th century time capsule, but at the same time, he was more rules and regulations than an overly-pedantic bureaucrat from the late Soviet Union. Not that he was complaining – even with the nonexistent supply line here in the Delphic Expanse, the ship was about as tip-top shape as it could get thanks to his inspections and Trip's miracle works.
Speaking of them…
"No, no, no! Y'all are gettin' it wrong. I'm a hillbilly, he's a redneck. There's a difference," Archer overheard from another table.
He liked to occasionally eat at the crew's mess instead of the dining room, just so he could get a feel on what the crew was thinking.
"Ya got that right, Mountain Man!" Trip patted Buckley on the shoulder, a glass of bourbon in hand
"What difference? You're both from the South, and you both talk funny."
"The difference is… My ancestors were from West Virginia – a family tree full o' hard union men, both Southern Union and Coal Miner Union." Buckley, sucking down a shot of something clear, pointed at Trip, "His genteel cotton-pickin' rebel ass is from Florida, and not even the good part with all the Cuban chicks."
"Hey! At least my state has Disney World! What the hell have you got other than trailer parks and fuckin' your sister?"
Idly, Archer wondered if he would remember their existence once they leave, or would another temporal agent just wipe his memory of them. At this stage, he wasn't sure which one he'd prefer...
Before I had knew it, a whole month had gone by, and it was only just now that an opportunity had just come. In the Kovaalan Nebula, there was a subspace corridor, not unlike the anomaly that brought us here in the first place.
But, there were a few complications: one, the Kovaalans were really goddamned territorial, and two, the Enterprise NX-01 was currently docked to… the Enterprise NX-01.
It's a long story.
Unfortunately, having my ticket so tantalizingly close did not free me from my mundane chores. Thus, here I was, cleaning out the plasma injectors in the middle of the night, or what counted as night shift on a starship.
Whoosh…
The door to my right opened, revealing the captain of the other ship, as well as a few of his engineers.
"Oh, Captain Lorian, how can I help yo–"
And it was at that moment that I caught one of his subordinate reaching for something. A freezing cold tingle went down my spine – I followed my gut and leapt straight for cover, right as that trigger-happy subordinate fired a phaser at me.
Quickly, I reached for my toolbox, digging into a hidden compartment. Thank God, the phaser still had some charge left. I fired back, stunning two guys before taking cover once again. The battery was depleted now.
"–What the fuck are you doing!?"
"Who the hell is he!?" Some jackass asked.
"Buckley, asshole!" I shouted, "I'm asking again – WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING!? You want the fucking Enterprise to go Hiroshima!?"
"Buckley!? There wasn't a Buckley on the Ente–"
"What the hell are you doing!?" I heard Commander Tucker's voice – the sound of phaser fire soon after.
"Hold your fire!" Lorian ordered.
Slowly, I reached for a wrench, creeping up behind them while they were distracted.
"I can't let you do this, Lorian! We need those to go to warp!"
"I'm sorry it's come to this, but Archer gave me no other option."
And at that moment, I struck, braining one of them with the wrench. Another tried to raise his phaser, but I kicked him in the groin, causing him to collapse and drop it; I kicked the phaser over toward Commander Tucker's direction.
Looks like I still had a bit of high-school karate in me.
Lorian tried to turn around, but I locked him in a quick chokehold. I held the dead phaser directly pointed at his cranium, "Move and your head pops like a fuckin' grape in a microwave,"
The captain raised his hands up in surrender, I let go and backed off. Commander Tucker looked around at the whole situation in disbelief.
"Crewman Buckley, what the hell is that in your hand?"
"It's a phaser, Sir,"
"Don't look like no phaser I've ever seen…" No shit, it's the 24th century kind.
"Well, Sir… I have something to confess," I sighed, I guess now's a good time as any. I gestured to the half Vulcan, "He and his folks ain't the only time-travelers 'round here."
"Hwa?" I could see his mind bluescreen behind the eyes.
"I ain't yankin' your chain, Sir. Remember how that shuttle looked like nothing ya've ever seen?…" I straightened myself up, "Allow me to introduce myself again – My name's Lieutenant Commander Ethan Buckley of the USS Carpenter, I graduated from Starfleet Academy on December 15th, 2359, and I was the Assistant Chief Engineer and Safety Compliance Officer on board."
"Does that mean?..." He trailed off.
"Yep! The others are Commander L'vor, the Chief Engineer, Lieutenant Muhammad Ali Duckland, Gunnery Officer, and Petty Officer Simon Tarses, a humble engineer and one of my inspectors."
"You look a little young for a Lieutenant Commander."
"Thank you, Sir, but they gave me no choice on the promotions. The stress of the job did wonders for my complexion." I turned my attention back towards the captain, "Now, Lorian, it is my understanding that ya need yerself some fresh plasma injectors 'cause your warp system's all cattywampus?"
"Catty-what?"
"Goofed up? Not workin'? Gone to shit? Whatever you call it…" I rolled my eyes, "The point is, I wanna make you a deal. When we scuttled the shuttle to prevent it contaminatin' the timeline, I saved the plasma injectors, along with a couple of spare parts. With a lil' retrofitting, I believe I could get it to work"
"And what do you want in exchange?" Lorian considered the offer. Not like he had a choice otherwise, given his position.
"Nothing much, just–"
Captain Th'Ryn sank back into his chair, which was much more comfortable than the old one. He looked all around, at the half-completed bridge; the consoles which were already installed were top-of-the-line, just like what you would see on a Galaxy Glass. The refit was going wonderfully, and things were about a week ahead of schedule.
"Ensign Ghuji, ready to test out those fancy new sensors?"
"Yes, Sir. Bringing them online right now…" The ensign squinted at his screen, "Huh… That's strange. It's detecting large amounts of tachyon emission from this system's star."
"I guess there's still a few kinks to work out then," Th'Ryn surmised.
"Sir!" Another ensign cried out, "A warp signature, It's–"
A few kilometers from the bow of the Carpenter, a small ship violently dropped out of warp. Its nacelles blew apart in a bright explosion, spraying toxic green trails of warp plasma, but somehow, the rest of the hull remained intact, despite how chewed apart it looked.
Actually… Wait a minute…
It looked a lot like a–
"–Fucking NX-Class?" Th'Ryn caught himself muttering, "Hail them!"
On the viewscreen, a half-Vulcan captain wearing civilian clothes stared back at them, and behind him was Buckley, looking positively miserable. Nearby were L'vor, Duckland, and Tarses, also looking a little worse for wear.
Now, how the hell?
"I'm Captain Yishra Th'Ryn of the Federation Starship Carpenter. Do you require assistance?"
"That would be much appreciated, Captain," The half-Vulcan replied with a great big smile and a slight southern accent.
And unable to think of anything else to say, "Buckley… I see you had enjoyed your shore leave…"
Th'Ryn only got a pants-shittingly terrifying death glare for an answer.
Lieutenant Commander Buckley Personal Log, Stardate 41280.9:
[Redacted by the Department of Temporal Investigations]–FUCK TI–[Redacted by the Department of Temporal Investigations]–I FUCKING HATE TIME TR–[Redacted by the Department of Temporal Investigations]–NEVER AGAIN!
Commander L'vor Personal Log, Stardate 41280.8:
[Redacted by the Department of Temporal Investigations]–It was exceptionally unpleasant. But, I did have the unique opportunity to speak with then-Subcommander–[Redacted by the Department of Temporal Investigations]