"2366, right? I'm still in the Academy. Lucky me. Listen. Life is pretty good for me back on Voyager. I'm not about to do anything to mess it up. And, as heartless as it sounds, everything going on here is so far removed from my life, or what will be my life, that it doesn't matter. All that does matter is that I get on that ship. I don't think I'd like the person I'd become if I didn't. So just tell me, what year are you from?"

Tom hopped up onto the biobed, and swung his feet while he waited. He knew the Voyager had been declared MIA, and the search had been given up until the Doctor had one on his away mission and cleared up the misunderstanding. At least people would know they were alive, and Tom was slowly coming to terms with the possibility that meant his father wanted to talk to him. Actually talk, and reach out.

"Say, I don't suppose they'd let me at the helm? If I go a little stir crazy."