Star Trek: Voyager: Endgame

them. Their losses were so random, their dissatisfactions so deeply seated, he could hardly ignore the purity of her reasons for doing what she planned. Yes, there were hazards, but there always had been. Harry wasn't here to protect the whole Federation against a well-established risk factor. He was here to protect a member of his family from stepping into the busy street from which they had so barely escaped.
    She could use that. None of them were happy enough in their lives here to justify his stopping her.
    “You said,” she began, “that you and the Doctor wanted to keep things in the family. But our family's not complete anymore, is it?” A few seconds passed as she let her words work on him, and all her silent thoughts pass between them without overtalking the things they both knew. “I'm asking you to trust my judgment, Harry . . . one last time.”
    His expressive eyes crinkled a little. Janeway doubted that anyone on his bridge would even notice.
    “I'll do better than that,”
he said.
“I'll help you.”
    * * *
    Once he had made such a decision, he stuck to it. There were no more doubts or clichés running behind his expression when he beamed over to her shuttle. Together, without taking the added help of any of Harry's crew, they wrestled the deflector into position on top of the shuttlecraft and jury-rigged it into place, then fixed it to the shuttle's appropriate power streams. They spoke no more of risks.
    “If Starfleet Command finds out I had anything to do with this, they'll demote me back to ensign,” Kim commented when they were back inside the shuttle and at work on the interior modifications.
    An ironic comment, considering everything.
    “You worry too much, Harry,” Janeway told him. “It's turning you gray.”
    “This device of Korath's, it produces too much tachyo-kinetic energy. It could burn itself out by the time you get where you're going.” He looked away from the monitor that was giving him this information and added, “You wouldn't be able to get back.”
    “I always assumed it was a one-way trip.”
    She was at peace with her decision, but Harry's face was still pale with concern. He didn't point out any other drawbacks or suspicions about the technology, or that Korath could have this all completely wrong and this thing on the outer hull might be a very fancy washing machine indeed—or tissue scrambler, whichever came first. Like the first experiments with transporters, she could be betting her life on neo-voodoo.
    “Ready for the last-minute flight check?” he asked.
    “Go ahead.”
    “Cue monitor four.”
    A rotating graphic of the shuttle popped on, complete with the temporal device mounted on the hull like a hat on a rabbit.
    “You're sure I can't talk you out of this,” Harry mentioned, then answered his own query. “Right . . . stupid question.”
    He stood up, turned to her, and she gathered him into her arms. The concept of command fell away. They were two close relatives saying farewell, no uniforms, no rank.
    She broke the embrace before they were both plunged again into the whole picture of what this might become.
    Harry stepped back and tapped his combadge. “Kim to the
Rhode Island.
One to beam back.”
    * * *
    The
Rhode Island
made good on its captain's promise and warped out almost immediately. No witnesses. Harry couldn't be faulted for failing to log something he hadn't seen or traces his scanners never read.
    Again Janeway was alone. She had toyed with the idea that maybe she wouldn't feel quite so isolated now that Harry Kim was on her side, and knowing the Doctor and Reg were with her in spirit.
    Didn't work. She was by herself, with her own commitment, and she felt every moment go by with a pinch.
    Still, she couldn't shake the very real sensation of holding all their lives in her hands. She didn't really want to shake that feeling—it was very real.
    At least she didn't have to talk anybody else into letting her follow through, didn't have to trick any more Klingons or endanger any more ensigns. Now she had only to speak to the computer on her shuttle, and it would follow her every command to the smallest degree.
    “Computer,” she began, and drew a long breath, “activate the chrono-deflector.”
    A low hum with a two-note harmony vibrated through the shuttle's hull, growing in depth and volume. The power-source connection was solid. Now, if only the device didn't spin her into the tenth century B.C.—
    “Warning,” the