Voyager

"I'm on a week-long scouting mission for deuterium," says Tom Paris, sipping a cocktail in the Mess Hall, "and YOU show up. Just my luck, I suppose..."

You nod, appreciating the irony. The ship's resident 20th century scholar was, you found out later, disappointingly absent from your arrival on the ship. You, certifiably born in the 20th century, made your rather...unique entrance onto Voyager just hours after he left.

"So, you gotta tell me," he says. "I mean, I've been briefed, but I want to hear it from YOU."

You smile, appreciating his attention, feeling somehow a kinship in an otherwise foreign environment. "Well, I was visiting a friend in Europe. She was a grad student, working at CERN. We were just chatting while she was processing some data when--"

"Janeway to all senior officers," a voice announces. "Report to the bridge immediately."

"Damn," says Tom, standing and straightening his uniform. "Duty calls. But I want to hear this."

"All right," you say. "We'll talk later."

"We'd better," he says before making a quick exit.

You lean back in your chair, looking down at your cup of coffee. It's nice; a creature comfort fortunately still being consumed in the late twenty-fourth century. Still, it's not quite right. The replicators, no doubt, are to blame for the slightly metallic, overcooked taste you can't quite ignore.

Still, it's hard to complain too much. Since your arrival, you've been accepted and given a home--no (well, a few, naturally) questions asked. And yet you can't help but feel useless. You never had much technological savvy to begin with, and now...it'd be like a 17th century tavern owner waking up in YOUR era, trying to figure out what a light switch is--let alone how electricity works.

Once you get back to Earth, things might be a bit easier. While you doubt interest in 20th and 21st century history and culture will generally match Tom's enthusiasm, you DO--or, did--have some experience as a teacher, and, really, wouldn't having an authentic 21st century person TEACHING his own history be a great grab for a university?

But that's...30,000 light years away. Which is...thirty years? You were never good at math...

"Hello! Mr. Time-traveler..."

You sigh, tired, but can't help but grin. "Hi Neelix."

"Something I can fix for you? I've been doing some research. A hamburger? A hot dog? Perhaps a pizza? I managed to trade some Talaxian bitter root for some--"

"Thanks, but I'm fine. Really," you say, smiling back at him. "I guess I'm just...you know, it's been great for the past week. But...what now? I mean, I'm kind of useless, aren't I? I don't know how to...how to DO anything. I mean, hell, where I come from, the laws of physics say that some of this stuff CAN'T exist, you know?"

"Well, I imagine it must be a bit overwhelming, but you musn't think yourself useless. Why, when I first joined Voyager, I--"

"I know," you say, cutting him off. "I'm just not sure I'm as resourceful as you are."

He shrugs. "Maybe. But I know for a fact the Doctor could use a new assistant. If you're willing to listen to him drone on and on..."

You shrug. His bedside manner was lacking, but he certainly seemed to enjoy the company in sick bay.