This is an alternate version of the events of Voyager.
Four ships navigate through the vastness of space.
On the bridge of the biggest ship a station beeps.
The Helmsman checks it out and then stands and walks to the captain and whispers into his ear.
The captain is silent for a few seconds. "How long will it take us to arrive?" "Two and a half days at present speed." The captain nods and the Helmsman returns to his station..
The captain takes a deep breath and then makes an announcement to all of the ships.
The ships alter course.
Meanwhile on a space station an alarm beeps: they have been scanned by an unknown source.
It is 0315, in the depths of Deep Space Twelve's night shift. The command deck is populated only by junior officers, most of them there on punishment duty, and one Orion waitress who was kind enough to provide drinks and a deck of cards when she came to visit.
Lieutenant Avery, the ranking officer, is nervous and jumpy. He is convinced that something is bound to go wrong on his watch. This is not an unusual state for him to be in, but it is compounded by two facts: one, all of the ensigns under his command this shift are in various stages of intoxication and two, nothing has happened since he came here and his personal statistics dictate that something catastrophic must happen to him in the first six months at any post and it hasn't happened yet...
"Relax Avery, this is a dead end post. The only things that happen out here are clogged senors and Red Alert drills." Ensign Rowe grumbles.
"Yeah, the only reason that retired admiral is here is to inspire us to do better and get off DS12." Ensign Jacobs adds. "Red Alert drills are completely pointless."
Rowe nods in agreement. "Nothing has ever happened in this backwater and nothing ever will. This is the end of the line; the most boring post in Starfleet history." They all go back to their game, ignoring Avery's suggestion that they get back to their posts.
Avery winces. There is a lot of lighthearted flirting and playful name calling, but at the rate they're drinking it's only a matter of time before things get completely out of control.
An alarm suddenly wails.
Lieutenant Avery jumps and turns toward tactical.
Ensign Williams sighs, sets down his cards and makes his way to his station.
"Four ships are heading our way, warp four. They are of unknown origin, some of their components appear to be . . . Borg." he reports, his voice trembling with fear at the end.
Lieutenant Avery watches in growing horror as the ships approach the station, while the others hurriedly pack up their game.
The ships come to a stop in front of the station and everyone jumps at the soft beep at communications as they are hailed.
Ensign Rowe leaps to his station. His face pales. "We have an incoming transmission." he reports. "What do we do? I should call my mom." His companions give him odd looks. "Think about it. We're about to be assimilated by the Borg. The last time I talked to my mom we had a fight. What if those are the last things we ever say to each other?"
"I say we don't answer it." Jacobs says. "I mean all they are going to say is 'we are the Borg. You will be assimilated. Resistance is futile.' Sooo, if we don't answer, they can't say it and we're safe."
"First of all, I'm pretty sure that wouldn't work and second, if it isn't the Borg than we would be offending someone." Avery answers.
The ensigns get in an argument as to whether that would actually work. Avery tries to call them to order with little success, growing more and more nervous as the minutes tick by. Finally he shouts, "Inform Commander Richardson that we have visitors and answer the transmission."
They open communications, but Rowe forgets to turn on visual. Immediately spooky voices intone, "We are the Borg. You will lower your shields and prepare to be assimilated. Resistance is futile." Rowe nearly faints.
A firm male voice scolds, "I expect that you will not do that when they actually -"
"Pardon me, Captain but it seems they have already responded to our hail." An uncomfortable silence follows.
"If they responded, why haven't they said anything?" another voice whispers
"Maybe they're scared I mean we have the fire power to take them." A female voice said.
"Or maybe they heard a couple of idiots pretending to be Borg," the firm male voice suggests scathingly.
Lieutenant Avery clears his throat. "I'm umm...I'm Lieutenant Av-Avery...of Deep Space...Deep Space Twel-" Avery stutters in his nervousness.
"Just spit it out already," a frustrated male voice snaps.
Jacobs completely drowns out a female voice snapping, "You are out of order, Lieutenant Paris," with his objection to his companion being insulted, which, due to his inebriation comes out in the form of the rather crude insult.
Another female voice, responds coldly that if that was the case than surely his own mother was a Kazon harlot.
Ensign Williams responds that her father was a Denebian Slime Devil.
The captain of the unknown ship orders him to take it back immediately, which just spurs them on to greater heights. Avery makes a few vain attempts to rein his officers in before he puts his head in his hands and waits for the fleet to open fire on the station.
Meanwhile, Admiral Owen Paris is having trouble sleeping. He retired to the Ba'Ku homeworld some years previous, but was asked to take this brief assignment and accepted. He only just arrived yesterday and has not gotten used to station time. He wanders the empty hall pondering the problems he noticed that day and considers how best to approach Commander Richardson. As he passes the command deck, he hears raised voices. He turns aside with a frown to investigate.
He enters the bridge entirely unnoticed. One glance takes in the junior officers exchanging insults with an unknown crew on audio channels only, their commanding officer slumped in his chair moaning, and the waitress from the cantina watching it all with avid interest. He also notes a half-concealed bottle of alcohol and a stray card. His frown deepens into a look of disapproval bordering on disgust.
He opens his mouth to demand what's going on only to hear a voice snap: "Owen Paris I know what you are about to say and if you do I'll have the doctor surgically shut your mouth for you!"
"I beg your pardon." Admiral Paris snaps.
The heads of the bridge crew turn in the direction of the voice and several of them pale. Lieutenant Avery tries to stand to attention and collapses into the command seat.
Admiral Paris takes charge. "Lieutenant, put you head on your knees and pull yourself together. One of you idiots get the Lieutenant a drink." Williams jumps immediately to do so. "As for the rest of you: would one of you explain what, exactly is going on here? Insulting the crews of other ships is not part of our regulations, so you had better have a good explanation for doing so."
The ensigns declare in unison, "They started it." Admiral Paris raises an eyebrow expressively. They look away.
"I will be speaking to you about this later. For now, you, Ensign Jacobs go wake Commander Richardson and get him up here. And Ensign Rowe, why is there no visual?"
"Fixing that now, sir." Suddenly everyone is very busy about their tasks. Admiral Paris catches the waitress by the arm as she tries to slip out unnoticed. "I expect I will never see you in this room again without permission." She nods. "Then take the bottles and the cards when you go. And don't miss the one by Lieutenant Avery's foot." She scurries to comply and disappears just as Rowe gets visual up. He turns to look, satisfied that he will be able to get to the bottom of the situation without interference from Commander Richardson.
He is positive that the red-skinned male, with white and black markings on his face standing in front of what appeared to be the captain's seat is of an alien race not yet encountered by the Federation, nor the green-skinned woman near the back. However, others seem to be familiar. One seems to be a Vulcan, while the man at the helm appears to have Klingon blood, and one seems to be pure human. He does not recognize the uniforms, though they clearly denote rank and vocation. Another oddity, it appears that one of the women is holding a baby. He disapproves on general principal.
"Now, then. Let's get this mess straightened out. You are approaching Deep Space Twelve. I don't know who started this fiasco or for what reason. If it was our people, I apologize for their unconscionable behavior. However, your convoy does constitute a possible threat to this station, so I need you to state who you are and your purpose in entering Federation Space."
The one he assumes to be the captain takes a step forward. "I fear we must apologize as well. We were treated rudely by your people, but it shames us that we became involved in such a childish debacle." The man gives a half bow. "I am Luke Sora Miko, captain of this ship." He gestures to the woman at his right. "My first officer is Erin Hansen," He continues, gesturing to each in turn. "Rowan Kim is at Operations, at Tactical we have T'Lali, our Chief Medical Officer is Shannon Akiko Miko." He scowls at the helmsman, but does not introduce him. "And we are finally home."
"We have lived our whole lives on this ship. Our parents were the original crew of the USS Voyager."
Admiral Paris chokes. "Could you repeat that?"
"This is the USS Voyager NCC-74656."
After an uncomfortable silence, Admiral Paris sighs. "U.S.S. Voyager was lost in the Badlands nearly forty years ago."
"Lost doesn't mean destroyed." The Klingon human hybrid objects.
"Owen Paris this is your final warning." The captain hisses in an undertone.
Admiral Paris looks confused. "No he has a point, ships have disappeared only to turn up again and...did you just call him Owen Paris?"
Captain Miko blinks in confusion. "Yes I did. Owen Paris is his name. What else would I call him?"
Admiral Paris just barely hears the red-skinned woman whisper, "Well you often call him idiot."
Admiral Paris ignores the side comment, turning his attention to the helmsman. "What was you father's name Mr. Paris?"
"Thomas Eugene Paris, sir." Owen Paris responds promptly.
"Do you have any proof of that claim?" Admiral Paris asks intently.
"Aren't you a little young to be an admiral?" Owen Paris responds.
"What?" Admiral Paris asks, shocked.
"Owen!" Captain Miko growls.
"It's a fair question." Commander Hansen disagrees. "He doesn't look much older than us and unless things have changed a great deal, I doubt that StarFleet promotes people our age to admiral."
"See!" Owen says triumphantly.
"You know Owen, my sister always comes prepared." Captain Miko says slowly. "And I'm sure that she'd be more than happy to stitch your mouth shut."
Owen gulps and glances between the captain and the doctor.
"All of you are acting like children! Cut it out!" Admiral Paris snaps.
Rowan Kim raises her hand timidly.
Admiral Paris sighs. "Yes." he asks.
"It occurred to me. We told you all of our names, but you haven't told us yours yet and StarFleet protocol states - "
"I am Admiral Owen Paris." he replies.
"Thanks, Dad." Owen mutters.
"The same Admiral Paris that sent Voyager after the Maquis ship?" the Vulcan asks curiously.
"Star Fleet sent them, I was only the messenger."
At this point, Commander Richardson finally arrives and demands to know what is going on and why it can't wait until morning. Admiral Paris explains the situation to him, then adds, "I have to contact Star Fleet about this. We will need to verify their identities and for that we will need specialists and special permissions to allow them access to the station."
StarFleet High Command sends back the reply that they will send what is needed and that Admiral Paris is in charge, but they expect frequent reports. It takes a week for the specialists and a few heavily armed starships to arrive. In the interim, the Voyager crew sends over all of their medical files, ship's logs, and other records to help confirm their identities.
The crew members assigned to examine the logs discover links to holodeck programs in many of the entries. They immediately inform the admiral, who has them set up the holodeck to play them. The first one they watch leaves the Admiral impressed and he begins watching from the beginning. The crew members looking through the logs decide to take the more interesting approach and simply play the ones that seem the most interesting as soon as their shifts are done.
What do you think?