Dixon Saul sighed, looking out the viewport of the Protege-class shuttle Archangel. All he saw around him was miles and miles of crackling, orange-red temporal plasma. He leaned back in the pilot’s seat of the shuttle. He’d been trapped in this temporal rift for 8 long, excruciating weeks. He thought, with more than a drop of irony, it’d been years since he’d seen the sterile walls, the sickbay where he served, the command crew he’d considered family on the USS Intrepid, his assignment since the USS El Dorado.

He looked down at his right side to see a 26-year old, Bajoran-Terran man sleeping silently. He checked the pulse of his traveling and “prison” companion, Gordon Johnson of the USS Victorious. Good, Dixon thought, he’s still in pretty good condition, even after that console exploded. Dixon remembered the incident vividly. The helm console exploding in his best friend’s face, the pain and agony he felt flow through Gordon, through himself.

He shook Gordon lightly. “Gordo, wake up. Time for breakfast.” “Wha--What are you talking about? You actually keep time??” “Yes. It helps the body reserve its sanity.” “Whatever.” Gordon got up and walked to what could be called the galley. A small replicator could hardly be considered a kitchen. Gordon punched in a code and grabbed two small bowls of a mushy, pasty substance.

“What, or who, was that??” Dixon asked with a mixture of humor and disgust in his voice. “Something called ‘oatmeal’. I like it.” “I’m sorry, Gord, but that can not be considered oatmeal. I know what oatmeal looks like.” “Like I said earlier, whatever.” Gordon began to dig in. He made a sound of satisfaction, then continued eating. Dixon took the spoon to his mouth cautiously, like the spoon was a Terran cobra, then put it in his mouth quickly, then gulped. Dixon took the spoon out of his mouth and gagged.

“Ugh! Tastes like engine coolant and dirt!!” “Ah, gee, how’d you guess??” “I don’t know. Sensed it out of you.” Both men looked at each other, then broke into hysterics. After about 2 minutes, the laughter had died down. Dixon looked at Gordon, all traces of humor gone. “Gordon, do you think we’ll ever get out??” “I don’t know, Dixon, I really don’t know.”

Flt. Cpt. Sybok stepped onto the bridge of the USS Intrepid, looking crisply at every one on the bridge. “Good morning, everyone.” He received murmurs of acknowledgment from all around. “Hello, Sybok.” Cpt. Chandra’s warm voice spoke from the XO’s chair. “Greetings, my wife.” Chandra smiled, motioning the chair to him. “So, husband, what is our mission today?” “Remember Dixon Saul, Keri?” “Jase??” She remarked. “I guess you call him that. Well, we’ve been sent to go assist in the search effort for him. We will leave for the rendezvous point in the Denalis II sector, meet up with three ships, one commanded by Dixon’s father, Garrison, then begin searching for any rift openings.”

“What are the names and classes of the ships, Sybok?” “The Akira-class USS Tecumseh, commanded by Garrison Saul, the Nova-class USS Oceania, commanded by Cpt. Jago, and the Galaxy-class USS Confederate, commanded by Cpt. James Makosei.” “I see.” Sybok leaned forward in his chair before Keri had finished her sentence. “Helm, take us out.” “Yes, sir.” Lt. JG Mike Simnick replied, typing in commands to make the Sovereign-class behemoth go faster-than-light. All of a sudden, there was a small lurching forward, then the same smoothness they had felt beforehand.

“Mr. Simnick, ETA to the Denalis II sector?” “5-7 minutes at our present warp factor, sir.” “Excellent, Lt. JG Simnick. Keep me posted.” “Aye, sir.” Mr. Simnick went silent as he begin checking up on earlier calculations. “So, Keri,” Sybok turned to his wife, “how do you think we’ll retrieve Dixon?” She shrugged at the inquiry. “I don’t know,” she said, “we’re both telepathic. Maybe we’ll sense him out.”

“Indeed.” Suddenly, the Intrepid lurched again and the starlines were replaced by white pinpricks, indicating the Intrepid had dropped out of warp. Among the white dots was 3 silver-gray dots: The rendezvous ships. Simnick’s console beeped, indicating that he was receiving a message.

“Sir,” Mr. Simnick said, “I am being hailed by the USS Tecumseh.” “On screen, Lieutenant.” The image of the stars was replaced by the face of a brown-haired man, with the same striking cobalt blue eyes Dixon possessed. Chandra figured, by her empathic senses or by a guess, it was Dixon’s father, Cpt. Garrison Saul. “Welcome, Cpt. Sybok, Cpt. Chandra, to Denalis II.” “Greetings, Cpt. Saul,” Sybok replied. “How is the search going, Captain?” Keri asked. Garrison looked down, knowing he wasn’t going to like talking about this.

“It isn’t going well, Cpt. Chandra. Morale is down, and the crews grow restless.” “I see.” “Well,” Sybok said, “you have another ship at your disposal. It might help.” “I hope so, Sybok, I really hope so.”

Dixon sat up in bed quickly, smacking his head on the top of the bunk, pain throbbing through his head. He didn’t feel anything, though, because in his mind, he felt the presence of 3 familiar beings. 2 Betazed, 1 Vulcan. “The Intrepid is here!!” Dixon yelled. Gordon, in the bunk across from him, stirred, then woke up. “Dixon, what are you talking about?” “The Intrepid is here! She’s in this sector! I can sense Cpt. Chandra, Cpt. Sybok and my Dad!” “Oh. Well, can I sleep some more?” “Yes. Sleep!” Dixon ran into the cockpit, closed and locked the door and begin to focus. He closed his eyes and placed his palms together. Focusing as hard as he could, he began to transmit a telepathic message meant for 3 people.

Keri... Sybok... Dad... his mind cried out. He dropped out of the chair he was sitting in, feeling like Athena herself was trying to get out of his head. He groaned, but knew the pain could only mean one thing: his telepathic S.O.S. had gotten out. He just hoped to the Prophets, every Betazed god, and the Terran god it got through to its destination.

In the same second, Cpt. Chandra, Cpt. Sybok, and Cpt. Saul froze. Keri heard a voice in her head that sounded familiar. She gasped, knowing whose voice it was. Keri looked at her husband to see if he had received a similar message. He returned the look, nodding. She looked to Cpt. Saul, and he nodded. Keri closed her eyes and began to think. Dixon’s alive, I know that. How do we get him out of the temporal rift, though? She realized this was a problem science and engineering was better suited to handle. She stood up, walked to the turbolift and stepped in. “Kris, come with me.” Lt. Cmdr. Hendrickson stood up and walked to the turbolift. “Engineering level.”

Don and James Abbott were doing a diagnostic on the warp core when their two uninvited guests arrived. “Hi, Keri, Kris,” James said. “Hi,” Don said, not looking up from the calculations he was doing. “Don, James, I need your help.” “What can we do for you?” James queried. “I need to know if you can modify the deflector dish to tear the fabric of the space-time continuum.” Don looked at her, his eyes as big as Klingon dinner plates. “What!?” “You heard me, Don. Can it be done?” “Yes, but the calcu--” “Do it. And inform me when you’re ready.” “Uh..yes, ma’am.” Keri and Kris walked back to the turbolift. “Command deck, level 1.”

When Keri and Kris arrived, Sybok and Saul had already triangulated the general area of Dixon and Gordon’s location. She was excited about that and waited impatiently for the arrival of news that the deflector dish modification was completed and that they could begin. Her commbadge beeped 5 minutes later.

“Keri, the modification is done.” “Excellent. But, I have a question.” “Shoot.” “What will happen if we use this? Any permanent damage to the sector?” “No... I don’t think so, but it we want to save Dixon, we better use it.” “Well, Don, we have to use it.” She looked to Sybok, who nodded, giving his authorization to use it. “Engage.”

As the Intrepid’s deflector dish began glowing, the remaining 3 ships moved away and behind the Intrepid, making sure they were nowhere near the temporal fabric saw when it fired up. Suddenly, the Intrepid sent out a reddish-blue beam out of its deflector dish, leaving in its wake, a growing field of temporal plasma. Suddenly, the beam cut away a small section, revealing a sleek, 2 decked, dual-nacelled shuttle with the numbers NCC-18081-A. It was indeed the Archangel.

“Escobar,” Sybok yelled, “tractor beam lock onto that shuttle!” “Yes, sir!” Escobar begin almost-punching in the commands to engage the tractor beam to reel the shuttle into their transporter range. A green energy beam lanced from the bottom of the Intrepid, snagging the shuttle. The shuttle began moving closer to them, slowly, but moving.

Everyone held their breath as the shuttle passed through the temporal-real space continuum terminator. The tractor beam weakened, and everyone gasped slightly. But, the tractor beam held true and the Archangel was reeled in towards the ship. Everyone let their breaths go in sighs of relief.

On board the shuttle, however, was a different story. The beam used to cut through the continuum had heavily damaged the Archangel. Dixon was in the cockpit, his forehead cut in a laceration. He didn’t notice the pain, however. His full attention was on keeping the ship together. Klaxons sounded, and Dixon hoped the power for those went out soon. He realized the area Gordon was in had suffered heavier damage. He went in to check on that section, when the computer voice sounded an alert.

“Warning. Full ship decompression in 2 minutes, 45 seconds.” Dixon began moving at a quicker pace. He went to the access door were Gordon was and opened the door. It opened and Dixon looked away. Gordon was lying on the ground. His head had a large laceration on it, running down the middle of his face. He was laying in a pool of his own blood. A busted coolant pipe was sticking out of his leg, its jagged point bloody. He tried to sense if Gordon was alive. He went to Gordon, grabbed a dermal regenerator, and began healing the cut. He tried to convince himself and Gordon that he was going to live.

“Gordon, you’re gonna make it, buddy.” “Dix-Dixon, you...are..delusional.” “Shut up.” Gordon tried to grin, but fell short. “Dixon, you’re like the little brother I nev-never had. Al-always telling me what to do, but you know I wouldn’t list-listen.” Gordon’s eyes closed, but still was breathing. Dixon blinked back tears and yelled in anguish. Just as he yelled, his body tingled with a famaliar sensation and the Intrepid’s sickbay materialized around him. He gasped as he felt a small pin-prick, then the famaliar hiss of a hypospray. He was going to ask how Gordon was, but he was too tired. He opened his mouth to speak, but fell short and into a deep, deep sleep.

Cpt. Chandra looked to Mr. Simnick, in hope. “Transporter status?” “Both men were beamed aboard. However, one man died in the transporter sequence of brain failure from the time continuum switch.” “Who was it, Mike?” “Bio-scans show it was Gordon Johnson.” Keri let a tear stream down her face. While only meeting Gordon a couple times, she had grown to like his outgoingness, his sense of humor, and the way he told a good lounge story.

“What about Dixon?” “He’s barely alive. He didn’t fare too well, but he fared better than Lt. JG Johnson, ma’am, but also, Mr. Johnson had multiple injuries, including a laceration, a stabbed thigh, and internal bleeding.” Keri nodded, then looked up as she heard an alarm go off from Escobar’s console.

“Report, commander.” “The Confederate is being pulled into the temporal wake. Its structural integrity is collapsing. Escape pods are being launched. I’m counting 50...no, 60 pods launched. I’m counting 240 survivors.” “Tractor beam them into Shuttlebays 1 and 2.” “Yes, ma’am.” Keri watched the viewscreen as the Galaxy-class vessel was pulled into the temporal disturbance. She realized something, but Sybok realized it first.

“Brace for impact!” He yelled. The Confederate exploded in a fiery rage, taking 4 escape pods with it, and 17 people. The first explosion barely shook the ship. A second explosion shook and tumbled the Intrepid, the Confederate’s warp core exploding in a pinnacle of anti-matter. Keri was flung from her chair to right behind the helm console, Sybok flung backwards, lying on the ground behind his chair, everyone else suffering less damage. Keri watched as Kris Hendrickson was flung in front of the helm console. Sybok’s voice rang loud and clear over the screaming.

“Report, Mr. Escobar!!” “Sir, the Oceania was destroyed in the explosion. No escape pods were launched. All hands lost.” Keri nodded solemnly. She silently mourned for the loss of all those people. She turned back to Sybok, getting back in her chair. “Sybok, what will happen when the rift closes?” Sybok looked at her. “I really don’t want to stay around long enough to find out.” “Agreed, husband.”

“Take us out of the sector, Mr. Simnick. Maximum warp.” Mr. Simnick punched in the calculations, then held on as the ship lurched into Warp 9.9, going as fast as they physically could. Keri looked at Sybok, smiling. One of them was finally home.

Dixon woke up 20 minutes before they docked at Starbase 7, with the crew of the Confederate, and the damaged, but spaceworthy Tecumseh. He sensed his father and felt a warm glow inside of him. He moved his head around, and saw a body under a black sheet with a Federation insignia on it. Dixon blinked back tears as he realized Gordon had died sometime when he was sedated.

Chanting a Betazed prayer, Dixon wished for Gordon to be sent to his final resting place in peace, and that he find his way home. Dixon felt two more presences in his mind: Keri and Sybok. He sighed, leaning back. Although he had lost his best friend, he was finally back on the USS Intrepid. He was home.