And here is the finale. I'm probably going to piss a few readers off but this was the ending I've been planning for a couple of months...
CHAPTER 15
“I don’t understand,” said Joe. He glanced around again. “I know where I am but I don’t know when. What is today’s date?”
Daniels continued to grin. “It’s about thirty seconds after you left this office the last time,” he replied.
“So I’m back in my own time?” Joe asked.
“Well, that’s kind of a slippery subject. You’re in your own chronological time. It’s been nearly nine hundred years since the return of Voyager from the Delta Quadrant.”
Joe considered for a moment. “Then Vash was able to stop Captain Picard. Oh, thank God! I was worried that I’d arrived too late.”
Daniels glanced down at his desk for a moment, then lifted his head and said, “Actually, you did and she didn’t.” Joe just looked at him, his mouth hanging open.
“Time is a tricky beast,” Daniels said, “And even when you deal with it as I do on a daily basis,” he smirked a little, “it can get slippery. You returned to your origin time when the chip failed but…” The smirked slipped off of his face. “Time re-adjusted but you didn’t. You remember a time that never was.”
Joe stared at him, confused. “But you said I was too late to, I mean, Vash couldn’t stop Captain Picard…” he trailed off.
Daniels stood up and walked around Joe to the coffee press. He dumped the old grounds and began preparing a new pot. “That’s correct. The Iconian crèche was activated.”
“Well, what happened?” Joe inquired, still somewhat stunned about his recent arrival.
Daniels paused for a moment in what he was doing and glanced back at Joe. “Why, the Iconians eventually attacked the Federation. It wasn’t pretty.” For a moment his eyes grew distant, as he relived old memories. “But you fixed it after everything was lost so, I guess, all’s well that ends well.” He grinned and returned to his task. Pouring water into the press, he squeezed the piston down into the pot.
“From what I saw of this time, the Federation didn’t fare so well. Nor anyone else, for that matter.” Joe crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head slightly to the side.
“Would you care to explain?”
Daniels stepped back to his desk for his mug. “I’ll do what I can. Things aren’t quite the way you remember around here. You didn’t stop Picard but you did do something almost as important.” He flipped open a paper file lying on the desk and perused it a moment. “Yes, that looks like the key event.” He closed the file and returned to the coffee pot to fill his mug.
Joe just looked at him, perplexed. “What are you talking about?” he asked in an annoyed tone.
“You made a difference just by being there.” Daniels took a sip.
Joe looked at the ceiling. “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time,” he commented.
“You don’t understand. Commander Riker, Picard’s first officer, was emotionally and ethically unable to keep a secret from his Captain. He not only told Picard everything he learned from you, he turned over every bit of evidence that Seven of Nine had gathered about you. That proved useful to my predecessors in Starfleet Temporal Investigations, the precursor to the organization I work for. We were able to track the dead line and predict your re-entry into the primary time stream. That’s why I was here today, in this year, month, day and time to greet you. And it saved the Federation.” He took another sip of his coffee.
Joe just gaped at him. “How did that help?”
“”Picard was depressed at first, not knowing everything that had transpired. He even sent in his resignation but a thoughtful admiral held it up for administrative reasons until after Riker cracked.” Daniels smiled at Joe, and it was as if the sun had come out. “Picard hammered at the Admiralty for years and, when he was finally promoted himself, fought the good fight from the inside. He made Starfleet listen until they were willing to hear the warning he offered. Then he went at the other major powers in the Alpha Quadrant. He formed unions and helped write treaties. By the time he died, the Alpha Quadrant was virtually unified in their quest to find a defense against the Iconians. Ironically, they showed up on his birthday, eighty-one years after his death.” Daniels glanced at the frosted glass of his door. “When the Iconians did show up they got quite the surprise.” He looked at Joe soberly. “We lost an unbelievable amount of people but we stopped them. It made the Borg Incursions of the 24th century look like a children’s brawl in the schoolyard.” He flashed his smile again. “And we only did it because of your warning. Thank you, Joe!” Daniels lifted his mug in a salute.
Joe took a moment to absorb all of this. Finally, comfortable with what he’d heard, he asked, “In the world I found, my ‘other’ self was virtually destroyed.” He grimaced at the unintentional pun and continued, “Is he still…around…now?” The look on his face was almost pathetically eager as he asked this.
“He is,” Daniels answered “but there is someone you might want to meet up with first. You remember I mentioned ‘dead lines’?” Joe nodded. “Well, we have a way to track aberrations in the time stream, uncompleted time lines from their point of divergence to the end. One of our most brilliant, young scientists discovered the method recently in terms of chronological time. Because of him, we could find you and arrange for me to be here to greet you. His work enabled us to ease you out of the dead line and into the primary time line. You’re actually only the second recorded recovery.” Daniels walked to the edge of his desk. “Send him in,” he said aloud.
The door to office ‘D’ opened and a Vulcan in a blue tunic stepped in. He approached Joe and held up his left hand in the Vulcan salute. “Joe Smith, live long and prosper.” It was S’ton. Joe smiled at him.
“I kept my promise to you,” he said. “It is better.” S’ton looked at him with a confused expression on his face. Daniels just grinned.
******************
Joe stood out in Boothby’s Garden, looking up at the O’Neill habitat ring circling the Earth. He could hear crickets chirping in the distance. He turned his glance towards the Bay, the civilian ships drifting across the water, only identifiable by the running lights that prevented collisions in the night. He looked at the autonomous power supply embedded in his IHP out of habit. Thirty hours until he needed a re-charge. It would allow him to watch the sunrise in a few hours. He smiled, satisfied. Off in the distance he could see the Union Tower where it sat above Starfleet’s headquarters, the spire twisting up into Earth’s lower atmosphere. The reflected moonlight from McKinley Grand lit it up like a candle burning from the inside. Joe thought about all he’d done and smiled. Earth had taken a beating by the Iconians but in the six hundred and fifty or so years since she’d recovered in style. Joe heard footsteps walking down the little side path he’d ventured onto. “Once, a long time ago,” he thought, “I found the bones of dead lovers here. Now, living people stroll down it, enjoying the flowers.” He glanced down at the bench at the arc of the curve. “I wonder how many lovers have sat at this bench?” he thought. The bench he had seen so many years ‘away’ from now looked somehow older , more worn, with the edges smoothed by thousands of occupants. People who had lived because of him. The person walking the path stopped next to Joe. He was dressed in comfortable clothes and had an interesting device attached to his right bicep. It closely resembled the IHP on Joe’s arm. His face reminded Joe of one he’d seen in mirrors.
“Hello,” said The Doctor, “Been here long?” Joe smiled at him. They both looked out at Union Tower. Joe considered for a moment.
“Forever,” he answered.
END
There’s an interesting story behind this story. I will wait for reader comments and then my next post will be a reaction and an explanation that most of you will either find amusing, amazing or interesting. A few may find it sad. Watch for it. 
If the situation wasn't so grave, he might enjoy his travel through history.
This little bit was wonderfully funny. It brought to mind a line from a favorite of Mr. Whoa Nellie's "The Man Song" by Sean Morey. 
