Concept by Rick
Edited and compiled by Cybermum
Written by: Voyager Season 7.5 writing staff
Prologue
It happened once a month, in a pattern established nearly a year
earlier; the atmosphere on Voyager underwent an abrupt change,
and a sense of fervent expectancy gripped the crew. Duties were
still performed as usual, orders given and followed, briefings
attended, reports filed and logs recorded. Off-duty companionship
in various forms was sought and shared, holodeck scenarios played
out, parties to commemorate birthdays, holidays, and other special
events planned, talent nights and sporting competitions arranged,
and bets placed on everything from which department would rank
highest in Seven's next unannounced efficiency survey, to who
would win the current week's pool or velocity tournament. But,
superimposed upon it all, a new focus emerged as the moment approached
when the datastream window would open and letters would again
be exchanged with those back home in the Alpha quadrant.
The increased level of anticipation and purpose always took hold
a day or two before that moment. The crew in various numbers retreated
to quarters, or sat with a cup of coffee or tea in a quiet corner
of the mess hall, or found a comfortable chair at one of the observation
windows with a view of the vast expanse of space that still separated
them from old friends and family. Then, PADD or pen in hand, they
composed the letters they would be sending home, or added finishing
touches to letters they'd been preparing since the last datastream
transmission.
Once finished, those letters were gathered and transformed into
data bits ready to be transmitted through the datastream. After
the transmission was completed, and the incoming data was received
and decoded, the letters that had come over twenty-five thousand
light years in the opposite direction to Voyager were distributed
among the crew. The element of delay was always present--the incoming
letters responding to the news, gossip, personal revelations and
requests contained in the crew's letters from the previous month's
transmissions--but each and every missive was enthusiastically
welcomed nonetheless.
The letters were read and reread, and filed away to be answered
in turn in the next month's outgoing letters. Then the crew returned
full attention to their duties and lives on Voyager, until the
moment approached when communication would be reestablished once
more.
That moment was again at hand.
Harry looked up from the PADD he was working on with a shake of
his head. Tom would kill him for missing tonight's 400 meter relay
practice, but he really wanted to finish this letter. His mother's
last letter had, again, asked about his love life. He chuckled.
What was it about parents and grandchildren--or in his case, the
lack of a girlfriend and no grandchildren?
He again wondered just what B'Elanna was up to. She'd managed
to convince Janeway she needed to use the bulk of the data stream
transfer to the Alpha Quadrant. And it had been his turn to send
a video letter. Next time.
Personal and Confidential
Dear Mom and Dad,
Sorry that I can't talk to you in person this
month. I know that you were looking forward
to it. Unfortunately, Captain Janeway made an
announcement earlier today telling us that we
would have to record letters this month due
to a data exchange with Starfleet Command
that would be taking up most of the time
allotted for data transmission. The entire
crew, including the Captain herself, is to
write letters instead.
So where did we leave off last time? Hmm...
Oh right, you were asking if I had a
girlfriend. Well to be totally honest, no.
For a while I was dating one of the Delaney
sisters. Megan Delaney, actually. And then I
did date Susan Nicoletti, but nothing ever
came of that.
So after 6 years out here on Voyager I'm
still a bachelor. Tom teases me every now
and then about having developed a crush on
Seven, but the truth is that I just really
admire her. She is so intelligent, and she
is able to solve all sorts of problems in
ways that no one else would even think of.
Okay, so maybe I do still have a little bit
of a crush on her, but really, who wouldn't.
Besides, Mom, you always told me to go for
the best, and Seven is definitely one of the
best on board this ship. I know what you're
going to say about her being a Borg and all..
but she's had several chances to rejoin the
collective, and aside from one or two early
attempts that failed, she has never decided
to go back.
You don't have to tell me... I already know.
I'm hopeless. I'm always putting my heart
out there to the wrong girl. Isn't that what
you're going to say, Dad? And maybe you are
right. Maybe I am always putting my heart
out there for the wrong girl. Sometimes I
wonder if I should be putting my heart out
there at all. But then I get lonely out
here too, and if you don't have something to
take your mind off of it, a 25 year journey
home can sure seem like a long way.
This is, I guess, as good as anywhere. Who
told you I did what? Please Mom and Dad,
don't believe everything the rumor mill tells
you. I have no idea where this one even got
started, but I have not been trying to sleep
with every women on this ship. Sorry, I
didn't mean to be so blunt, but I can't have
you believing me capable of this. Now Tom--
before he was married that is--might have
tried. And I've heard Hugh (you remember
Hugh--he used to date Libby's cousin, Teresa)
and Jack have made a pretty good attempt
at... I see I'm just as guilty as the person
who started the rumor that worried you.
Well, I've got to get going. I have a duty
shift on the bridge in ten minutes. Give my
love to the family - oh, and please don't
forget to give some envelopes to the cousins
for me. I've made arrangements with
Starfleet to credit your account with some of
my acquired pay. I'd also like you to buy
Libby something for her wedding. Thanks for
telling me--I'd hoped she found someone else.
Your son, Harry
PS I'm still an ensign. If everyone received
the promotions we deserve; we'd be a ship
full of Admirals and nothing would get done.
All was quiet on the bridge. Janeway was sequestered in her Ready
Room sifting through her latest round of reports, while Tuvok
was in the holodeck making adjustments to his latest training
program. Harry was in Astrometrics enlisting Seven's help on a
project he was working on, and Tom was spending quality time with
his wife. Their monthly correspondence with Earth had improved
the morale of the crew immensely, the bits of news and personal
data they received making them feel a bit closer to their loved
ones. Chakotay himself had been corresponding with his cousin
in Ohio, and the latest letter had included a miraculous surprise:
his younger sister Maya had not only survived the extermination
of the Maquis, but was alive and well on their home world. The
news had filled him with joy, bringing to mind memories of summers
spent getting into mischief with friends while a worshipful Maya
shadowed his every move. She had been a constant light in his
life since the day at five years old he had looked into her tiny
infant face and proclaimed her to be his personal ray of sunshine.
Hearing the doors open behind him, Chakotay glanced over his shoulder
and saw Tuvok walk onto the bridge. "Finished tweaking your
training program?" he prompted.
"Yes," Tuvok confirmed. "I believe the upgrades
I have implemented will substantially increase the efficiency
of the training exercises."
The XO hid a smile. "I'm glad to hear it," he said,
and rose to his feet. "Well everything seems to be status
quo, so I'm going to leave the bridge in your capable hands and
take care of some personal business. The captain's in her Ready
Room, but shouldn't be disturbed unless there's an emergency."
"Aye, Commander."
Relinquishing command to Tuvok, Chakotay made his way to his quarters.
After replicating himself a mug of spice tea, he grabbed a data
PADD and settled on the couch. His letter for this month was for
his sister, an attempt to put into words what had transpired over
the last six years of his life.
Personal and Confidential
Dearest Maya -
Hello, Little Sister. I was relieved and delighted
when I received Teren's message in the last data
stream that you are alive and well. After hearing
of the slaughter of the Maquis, I was afraid to hope
that you had somehow managed to survive. But
you were always Father's favorite, so perhaps
he watched over you during those difficult times.
Congratulations on your marriage; I'm certain
your Esteban is an honorable man. Teren tells
me that he is from our mother's home planet
Trebus, and shares your gift for healing. I hope
one day I will have the pleasure of welcoming
him to the family in person. And if the Spirits
are willing, you will begin another generation
to carry on your work.
Have I told you how proud I am that you are
a doctor? You had mentioned years ago wanting
to find a way to undo the damage done to Dorvan V
by the Cardassians. Your ultimate goal was to
return home and rebuild the colony. Given the
destruction of our home world, I did not think there
would be anything to return to. But your descriptions
of the efforts to rebuild Dorvan V are certainly
encouraging. The new villages being created and
the growing population would seem to indicate
that our people may yet rise from the ashes and
restore the life that was stolen from us by the
Cardassians.
I can only imagine the questions you have about
what transpired six years ago, and how I wound
up on a Federation starship in the Delta Quadrant.
Perhaps the simplest way to tell the tale would be to
start at the beginning.
By now you have most certainly heard the story
of the mysterious disappearance in the Badlands
of both my vessel the Freedom as well as Voyager.
Of all the outcomes I imagined for my fate in the
Maquis, being transported to the opposite end of
the galaxy by an unknown alien was not among
them. The Sky Spirits must have been on my side
that day, however, as aside from some minor
damage to the ship and a slightly battered crew,
I escaped the transport with no casualties.
Unfortunately, Voyager's crew was not as lucky,
and almost a third of the officers on board were
killed in the transition from the Alpha Quadrant.
It was this loss that prompted Captain Janeway
to make the decision to integrate the Maquis into
her crew. My surprise at her offer to join our crews
was only surpassed when she requested that I
accept the position of her First Officer. With the
lack of alternatives, I agreed. I had sacrificed my
own ship to protect Voyager, and spending my time
on the bridge of a Federation ship was certainly
preferable to spending it in the brig.
It wasn't easy at first, for any of us. The Maquis
were resentful at having to wear uniforms that
represented everything we had been fighting against,
and the Starfleet personnel were mourning the
loss of their crewmates. There was suspicion
and mistrust; nerves were frayed and tempers
flared. And Captain Janeway and I were having
difficulty getting past the issues of "your crew vs.
my crew" when protocol issues arose. But as time
passed, we gradually began to put the past behind
us and pose a united front for the crew. Eventually
a friendship grew from our forced professional
alliance, and it has grown into the most amazing
relationship I have ever known.
It's hard to describe my feelings for Kathryn.
From enemies to allies and now best friends, she
and I have had more than our fair share of hurdles
to overcome. I respect her more than anyone I've ever
known. She's intelligent, brave, inquisitive and
beautiful. She has made me alternately both th
happiest and angriest I have ever been, and I have
never regretted my decision to follow her. And yes,
I was in love with her, for a time. On some level
I still am, but it has changed over the years, as
have Kathryn and I. Blind adoration has tempered
into silent appreciation and deep affection, a
more mature type of emotion than the near worship
I initially felt. A little older and a great deal
wiser, I understand now that an intimate relationship
with Kathryn would not have survived some of the
storms we have weathered. Yet I am honest enough
to admit that I still hold onto the hope that the
end of this journey through the Delta Quadrant will
bring the beginning of our journey together through
the rest of our lives. And given her recent actions,
perhaps it is a hope that Kathryn shares as well.
Only time will tell.
Along with Kathryn, the crew is full of many
fascinating characters, many of whom I am pleased
to call friends.
B'Elanna Torres is our Chief Engineer, and is married
to our best pilot, Tom Paris. On the surface they go
together about as well as oil and water - she's got
the temper of her half Klingon heritage and he treats
life as a game only he can play - but somehow they've
managed to build strong foundation for their future.
Tuvok is our Chief of Security; a typical stoic
Vulcan on the outside, but as loyal and honest as
anyone I've ever known on the inside. Our Chief
Medical Officer is actually a hologram, yet
he's sentient and has a zest for life matched by
few flesh and blood beings. Speaking of which, he
apparently has developed feelings for our resident
former Borg drone, an attractive young woman
named Annika Hansen, who prefers to be addressed
by her Borg designation Seven of Nine. Neelix is
our resident 'court jester' and morale officer. He's a
member of a species called Talaxians - not much to
look at but he has the biggest heart you could ever hope
to encounter. And of course, there's Harry Kim - Ops
officer and eternal optimist. He started out as green as
grass, but his experiences on Voyager are shaping him
into an excellent officer.
Well, duty calls, so I have to go. I pray that this letter
finds all well with you and yours. My thoughts are with
you.
Chakotay
Kathryn Janeway set the last PADD down on her desk and settled
comfortably back into her chair. It had been a good session. Each
department report had been read, commented upon and approved.
It had taken a little less than three hours to go through this
week's pile and that included a conference link with Neelix in
the mess hall and Ensign Chell in security. It seemed that the
Bolian had some imaginative ideas about the opening ceremonies
of the upcoming Delta Quadrant Olympics he wanted to share with
Voyager's morale officer and co-incidentally, one of the co-chairs
of the event. Neelix, initially wary, had been convinced to give
the Ensign a chance to prove himself, and indeed had become quite
enthusiastic at the prospect of working with another 'creative
spirit'. Janeway grinned. She wondered whether she should look
forward to the Olympics or dread them. She had managed to convince
the enthusiastic Talaxian that a marathon biathlon was out of
the question, especially for his commanding officer. But she still
wasn't sure about what he would come up with in its place.
She had one more task left, but this one was not onerous at all.
Janeway pushed herself away from her desk, stood up and walked
across her ready room.
"Coffee, Janeway, special." She directed the replicator,
and couldn't suppress a satisfied smile when the mug of steaming
liquid materialized before her. "That's more like it,"
she told the machine. She picked up the cup, headed towards her
sofa and sat down. From an antique wooden secretary on the table
next to her she removed some heavy stationary and a pen. The box
had set her back one week's replicator rations, but she didn't
regret the expense for a moment. She arranged herself comfortably
on the couch, propped the box carefully on her knees and arranged
the paper on its top.
Personal and Confidential
Dear Phoebe,
I know it's been a while since I've written.
As you'd expect, I've been busy . . . with
everything, and with nothing. It's hard to
describe the rhythm of daily life on board a
ship, something I haven't attempted to do
since my first posting as an ensign more
years ago now than I care to remember. But
Voyager is at once the same and yet very
different from every other vessel I've ever
been on.
We travel through space in our little insular
community, concerned with the doings of just
150 odd individuals. Despite the monthly
datastream that Starfleet sends us we're
still so isolated. I still find it incredible
that an entire quadrant-enveloping war has
swept through and left downtrodden empires
and new regimes in its wake while we
ourselves have experienced none of it. If you
had asked me seven years ago what the next
war facing the Federation would entail, I may
have guessed at the unstable Cardassian
alliance as being a flash point, but not to
the extent of what this war eventually
became. The Dominion, the Breen . . . one
just a mysterious rumor from the Gamma
quadrant, the other a power closer to home
that we never quite understood. And to
envision the Romulan Star Empire fighting
alongside the Federation--what a strange new
world we're going to find ourselves in one
day.
And who knows how long or far off that day is
going to be. The vast distances separating us
from the Alpha Quadrant never quite seemed
real, at least in the beginning. I think for
the first couple of years, in between
staving off disaster, we kept expecting to
suddenly fall into a wormhole which would end
up leaving us within a stone's throw of
Earth, or else encounter some amazingly
advanced beings who'd send us home in the
blink of an eye. Nice fantasies, but not very
practical. Especially the latter--though I've
met Q and I will say he is indeed as capricious,
and as dangerous to trust, as all the early
reports made him out to be. No, we no longer
put our faith in false gods but rather look to
our own strengths and abilities instead.
In nearly seven years of journeying, we've
managed to cover half the distance from the
Ocampan homeworld where the Caretaker's
energy beam deposited us. Some of it has been
by luck, or chance, but we have managed to
make purposeful progress on our own. I don't
think it's going to take another 25 to 30 years--
perhaps another decade or two at most is the
most recent prediction, and in my more
unguarded moments there are times that I
actually believe it myself.
But why am I boring you with these late night
ramblings? There's something about the old-
fashioned construct of putting pen to paper--
don't laugh, though you are undoubtedly
snickering at my expense reading this,
remembering the older sister who couldn't be
bothered with her family's Traditionalist
customs and habits. Would you be surprised to
hear that over the years there has been more
than one occasion I've written my captain's
log in such a primitive fashion? There's just
something about the permanence of such a
medium that helps me to stay connected to my
humanity. Especially at times when it's been
put to the test.
I had one such experience not too long ago,
when we had a rather unexpected encounter
with a Cardassian warship. Without breaching
any security clearances I can tell you it was
an old style vessel, obviously pulled in by
the Caretaker a good 30 years earlier, right
around the time of the Nyakkan Conference. I
know that name has some significance for you.
One of the last conferences attended by
Admiral Edward Janeway, and irony of ironies,
the Cardassian Gul was familiar with Dad--and
our family as well. He actually asked me,
"Are you the scholar or the hellion?" Humph.
Maybe if I'd staked my claim as being the
hellion the outcome would have been a little
different...Lest you think it was a pleasant
reunion, think again. It's not that no one
ever told these Cardassians that the war was
over; rather they reacted as you would expect
someone in their isolated and desperate
position to behave, and I allowed sentiment
to cloud my initial judgment. But all's well
that ends well, right? I'm safe and sound,
with the exception of another molar I really
had no need for anyway, and perhaps one day
my first officer and chief of security will
stop blaming themselves.
Anyway. How are you doing? The pictures from
Kathy's birthday party last month were
wonderful. She's a beautiful little girl,
Phoebe. I know you say she looks like me, but
she's got Mom's eyes. I'm glad she liked the
Flotter doll. You sounded nervous--what'd you
think I was going to do, buy my three year
old niece a Starfleet class astral analyzer?
Give me some credit. She has to be at least
six before she could even lift one of those.
I'm just glancing over your last letter to me
--good grief, Phoebe, you never were one to
mince words, let alone now that I'm a good
28,000 light years away. As I've told you
previously, I'm the captain of the ship. They
look to me to set the tone, the direction, to
make sure that things are running smoothly.
Of course I have friends! What do you think,
I spend each evening alone in my cabin
looking at old holoimages? Honestly. This goes
back to what I was saying earlier, about the
type of community we've forged here aboard
Voyager. I don't think I've ever felt more
connected to the people I've served with...Any
personal involvement of the kind you keep
hinting at, however, dear sister, is not
feasible precisely because of the
responsibilities I have now. But please
believe me when I say my life is still busy
and fulfilling, if a little lacking in some
of the other things at the moment. But as Mom
always used to say, we can't always get what
we want; but if we're lucky we just might
find what we need.
I'm getting toward the end of my space
allotment. My chief engineer has co-opted
the major portion of this month's datastream allocation.
Tell Mom I won't have a chance to write her till next
month. And please reassure her for me that
I'm as well as can be expected and am doing
my damnedest to get home soon.
All my love,
Kathryn
"Two! Only two!" wailed the EMH.
"I'm sorry, Doctor. That's the rule. Two per person this
month. We've got a big tech transmission going out to the engineers
at Starfleet Command, so there's not much room for other messages."
"But it's critical that my letters go out this month, Ensign
Kim!"
"Well, I can check with the captain, I guess. How many do
you have to send?"
"Only twelve."
"TWELVE!!!! You've got twelve letters to send to the Alpha
Quadrant?"
"They're very short, Ensign."
Harry shook his head in disbelief. "I didn't know he knew
twelve people to write to," he muttered under his breath,
as he tapped his comm badge. "Kim to Janeway . . ."
The Doctor sniffed archly, but he was confident that Harry would
obtain the captain's permission for him to send his letters. He
was stunned when he heard Janeway's decision.
"Five! That's all? Only five?"
"That's three more than anybody else is going to get. Where
are they going, anyway?"
"Earth. Mars. All sorts of places. Are you sure you can't
. . ."
"Pick the five most important to send out now, Doc. That's
all I can do. Send the rest next month."
Grumbling, the Doctor struggled for a while, but he finally managed
to choose the five most likely to produce the desired results.
Dear Mr. Whitfield-Wilson-Jones,
In response to your recent advertisement in
the cyberzine "Holographic Adventurer," I
wish to offer your company the opportunity to
purchase a work of stunning creativity and
importance. In my travels as the Chief
Medical Officer for the Starship Voyager, I
have been able to research this story in my
downtime hours. It is very close to my heart
(so to speak), as you can well imagine.
This holoprogram is designed to educate,
edify, and enrich the spirit of humanoid and
holographic beings throughout the Alpha
Quadrant. It cannot fail to please you and
your program users.
If you are interested in obtaining more
information about this program prior to
making an offer, feel free to contact me in
care of U.S.S. Voyager, c/o Pathfinder
Project, Starfleet Command, San Francisco,
California, 94103-4774-5437, Terra. Thank you
for your consideration.
Very truly yours,
Emergency Medical Hologram
U.S.S. Voyager--NCC-74656
Seven is in good form today. The thought came to Janeway as the
velocity ball ricocheted off of two walls and almost got past
her again. Kathryn could feel a bead of sweat trickle down her
temple as she stepped to the left and extended her racquet as
far as possible, barely maintaining control of the return.
Seven's own hair was slightly disheveled, but she till managed
to converse while playing. This was "their time" as
Janeway put it, and Seven valued the specified time to delve into
questions that might be uncomfortable if asked in public. Even
after so much time on Voyager, Seven still struggled occasionally
with the social situations on ship.
"Captain, I was wondering," she hit the ball, "what
is the purpose of sending letters to the alpha quadrant every
month?
Janeway caught the ball on her racquet after the first ricochet
and returned it.
"Support."
Seven returned the ball again, "You require support? Are
you tired?"
It was because Seven had started towards Janeway to assist her
that she did not see the fast moving velocity ball angling for
her. So when bounced squarely off of her temple, it nearly knocked
Seven completely off of her feet.
Janeway moved quickly to keep Seven upright.
"No, we send letters home for emotional support."
As Seven steadied herself, Janeway released her. "You have
spoken many times about the closeness felt by your crew. Do you
not have sufficient emotional support among them?"
Janeway paused to consider this. It was true. Her crew were probably
as close as any crew in the fleet could be. Their survival required
them to be interdependent. So then why did they jump at the chance
to talk to the people back home? "I suppose we turn to different
people for different types of support. Not everyone is equally
adept at handling every issue. The people back home fill in the
gaps for us that the crew out here has been unable to fill. Despite
everything this crew has been through out here, there are some
common experiences that many people only share with few others.
Those are the people we keep close to us, and who we turn to in
times of specific need."
"Perhaps that is why I have not desired to communicate more
with the alpha quadrant. I lack common experiences with the people
there."
"Maybe," Janeway agreed. "But maybe you just haven't
thought about it enough. There are certainly people in the alpha
quadrant with whom you share the bond of family, or perhaps the
intellectually gifted. Give it some thought, Seven. We still have
a few hours before the transmission goes out."
"I will."
Janeway handed Seven the velocity ball pointedly. "It's your
serve."
Dear Captain Picard,
Although we have not been introduced, we
have met, in a manner of speaking. At that
time, your designation was Locutus and mine
was Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct to
Unimatrix One. I was in the Collective mind
with you. Since that time, I have been severed
from the Collective and restored to individuality,
as you have been. Currently I am a member of
the crew of USS Voyager under Captain Janeway
in the Delta Quadrant.
I tell you this to explain my reason for writing
to you. To my knowledge, there is no other
Human who has returned to individuality
following full assimilation. Even Captain
Janeway was subjected to only partial
assimilation and in any event, her experience
is not relevant to my purpose. I write to ask
for your candid assessment of how I would be
accepted if Voyager returned to Earth in the
immediate future.
It is true that the ship remains approximately
twenty-eight thousand light years from Earth.
However, now that regular communication with
Starfleet has been established, many in the crew
believe that we will find a way to reduce the time
typically needed for that journey. If so, we will
return to a world in which memories of Borg
assaults are still fresh. Wolf 359 was only twelve
years ago and there was a direct assault on Earth
only five years ago. I had hoped that by the time
we arrived, these events would have faded into the
past. It now seems I must consider other
possibilities, and I wish to be prepared.
My association with the Borg is easily discerned by
the remaining external implants visible in several
places on my body. I was assimilated as a small child
and as a result some Borg components have become
integral to my physical being. Voyager's Doctor, who
is both skilled and resourceful, has successfully
removed 87% of the cybernetics added through
assimilation, but the remaining 13% are necessary
to sustain me. It is for this reason that I continue to
use the designation Seven of Nine; I am no longer
truly Borg, but neither am I truly Human.
My question is not posed lightly. When I first came
aboard Voyager, a few of the crew accepted me
without fear; most, however, viewed me with
suspicion and mistrust. With time and close
association I have overcome that antipathy. I
believe I can regard Voyager as a microcosm of
Federation society, and that upon our return a
similar reaction will occur: a few will accept me as
an individual but the majority will consider me an
enemy. Unlike Voyager, I will not have the luxury
of time and close association to change their minds.
I was content with this conclusion until a few months
ago, when it was suggested to me that I may be viewed
as a symbol of hope to those who have lost family to
assimilation. For a time I drew comfort from that
thought, but then I realized it is contradictory to what
I have already experienced. I must admit, I am confused.
Captain Janeway has been my mentor but circumstances
dictate that she cannot know the current attitudes in the
Alpha Quadrant. Also, I suspect she would "sugar coat"
her answer to spare me emotional turmoil.
I do not wish to be spared; I wish only an honest
assessment so that I can plan my future accordingly.
You are, I believe, the only person in a position to
respond to my question with a knowledgeable and
candid answer.
Thank you for your attention. I look forward to
hearing from you.
Sincerely,
Seven of Nine
My Dearest Ms. O'Hanlon,
In response to your recent advertisement in
the cyberzine "Holographic Adventurer," I
wish to offer your company the opportunity to
purchase a work of stunning creativity and
importance. In my travels as the Chief
Medical Officer for the Starship Voyager, I
have been able to research this story in my
downtime hours. It is very close to my heart
(so to speak), as you can well imagine.
This holoprogram is designed to educate,
edify, and enrich the spirit of humanoid and
holographic beings throughout the Alpha
Quadrant. It cannot fail to please you and
your program users.
If you are interested in obtaining more
information about this program prior to
making an offer, feel free to contact me in
care of U.S.S. Voyager, c/o Pathfinder
Project, Starfleet Command, San Francisco,
California, 94103-4774-5437, Terra. Thank you
for your consideration.
Very truly yours,
Emergency Medical Hologram
U.S.S. Voyager--NCC-74656
Tom Paris sat in the farthest corner of the mess hall nursing
a rapidly cooling cup of hot chocolate. The room was empty - the
last dinner shift long over - and Neelix was nowhere in evidence.
B'Elanna was still in engineering. She'd warned him she was going
to be late. He knew she was working on something big, but so far
she hadn't elected to share whatever it was with him. And amazingly
enough, he realized, although he was very curious to know what
it was, he was willing to wait for her to tell him. Just a few
months ago he would have been all over her to reveal, tell, spill
or at least give him a hint. Things were so different now. He
was... he thought about it for a moment... he was relaxed. And
he trusted her. And, most importantly, she trusted him.
He started to write:
Dear Dr. Andersen,
You were absolutely right (as usual). Your
letter was a total surprise--but a very
pleasant one. Of all the people I had the
"opportunity" to meet at Auckland, you're
about the only one I would want to hear from
right now.
I had a really bad moment when I first opened
the file and saw your name, you know. I
remembered you chaired the Outmate Review
Committee. My first thought was that the
committee had gotten tired of waiting for me
to get back home to the Alpha Quadrant. You'd
decided to do my review in absentia and
ordered me to spend the rest of the trip in
the brig for overstaying my parole. I know, I
know. Just another case of Tom Paris
expecting the worst. I'm sure you've got a
whole bunch of exotic theories about why I
thought that, but I think we both know the
main reason. Anyway, I was relieved when I
read your letter and found out the real
reason you wrote.
(Congratulations on your retirement, by the
way. I hope your new private practice works
out well for you. Say hello to the missus for
me. I'm pretty sure anything has to be better
than being the Director of Psychologists for
a Federation Rehabilitation Colony, but I
understand that Christchurch is a beautiful
place to live.)
I can just see you nodding your head and
saying, "Get back on track, Tom! Stop running
away from the subject! Meet it head on." So,
I'll answer your question. Yes, I really am
doing as well as the newsvids say I am.
I'm sure you can appreciate the irony. I'm at
the lowest point of my life. Screwed up my
career, my family life, everything. Everyone
I'd ever cared about was out of my life. Then
I'm told I can take a mission that, at best,
will get me a "good word" when I want to get
out of prison, and then I'm back out there
drifting again. I get lost 70,000 light years
from home--and everything turns around. I get
my career back. Get the girl of my dreams.
Who would believe it? Maybe you're right. I
had to hit bottom before I could finally
figure out how it all works. The only down
side is that I'm heading back to where I was
a total screw-up. Everybody on this ship
wants to get home--except me.
Well, maybe not everybody. My wife couldn't
care less either. I know you've seen her
picture in the media. (I can't believe our
wedding was the second story on the newsvids
the day the news came through on the data
stream, right after the President's State of
the Federation message!) She's gorgeous,
isn't she? And just as smart and sharp as she
is beautiful. She keeps me on my toes, that's
for sure. I'm sure you'd have a field day
analyzing our relationship. I know half the
people on this ship love to play that game.
I'll let you in on a little secret though. We
were meant for each other. We're just lucky
both of us managed to get lost in space at
the same time and in the same place. I don't
even want to think about how terrible this
voyage home would be without her.
I have to thank you for a lot, Doc. You kept
hammering away at me to drop the cynical con
bit. You always said that inside me was a
good guy and a good officer, trying to hide
himself away to keep from getting hurt. It
wasn't easy, even out here, where I didn't
have to worry about the old man hanging over
everything I did and trying to micromanage my
career. I tried to sabotage myself plenty of
times out here, too, but this time, I didn't
do it. Not permanently, anyway. B'Elanna
wouldn't let me, and neither would the
captain.
One thing about your letter didn't surprise
me, Doc. I'm not shocked about your little
conversation with Captain Janeway at
Auckland. The truth is, she told me all about
it herself, a little while ago.
I don't know how much I can tell you about
our missions; I know some have been stamped
"Top Secret." This one time, though, I don't
think is any big deal. Our security officer,
the EMH, and yours truly crash landed onto a
planet inside this weird spatial anomaly.
Time didn't run the same way there, but we
didn't know that at the time. We thought we'd
been there for months and that Voyager had
long since left us behind. The captain isn't
one to give up easy, though, and we were
rescued. It turns out we were only gone a
couple of days. There wasn't any big welcome
home for us when came back--we hadn't been
away all that long as far as everyone on the
ship went, even though Commander Tuvok and I
thought we were going to spend the rest of
our lives on a planet where the big item on
the menu was spiders--morning, noon, and
night--broiled, sauteed, or in the raw.
I was feeling pretty down that everyone else
treated it as business as usual. That was the
time the captain had busted me back down to
ensign, too--and yes, I did deserve it--that
old anti-authority thing of mine again--but
that's another story. Anyway, I was feeling
pretty sorry for myself when the captain
called me into her Ready Room to talk it
over. She told me I'd done a good job (even
though there wasn't a promotion in sight for
me yet). She'd always known I had it in me,
she said.
And that's when she told me about what you'd
said to her at your meeting that day at the
penal colony. She thought she'd come on a
fool's errand. Everyone at Starfleet Command
insisted I was a worthless, spoiled 'Fleet
brat' who destroyed everything he touched, but
she'd come to see me because she didn't have
any other options. She figured she'd check me
out, decide I wasn't worth bothering with,
and then go on her way with a clear
conscience, knowing that she'd done her best
to get my help.
But she talked to you first. You told her
that I may have lost my way, but I had the
potential to do great things, as long as
someone truly believed in me and left me
alone long enough to realize I could do them.
That you had a really strong hunch this was
just the thing I needed to show the stuff I
was made of. And you warned her about my
attitude, because it wasn't the real me. So
when she met me, she saw right through my act
and offered me the mission that changed my
life. In a very real way, I have you to thank
for my being on Voyager, and for becoming an
officer again, and for my happiness with my
wife. So, this is it. I'm very grateful, Doc.
About after we get home--I'm not even
thinking that far ahead yet. Ten, maybe
twenty years from now sounds soon enough for
me. Then I might not even have to think about
whether Starfleet would want me to stay or
not. I could call it a career. I'm not sure
I'd want to stick around.
B'Elanna and I have been talking about having
a family. It's not going to happen any time
soon, we know. That human-Klingon fertility
incompatibility factor isn't likely to go
away on its own, so we're not counting on the
patter of tiny feet right now. We've talked
it over, though, and as long as we're on
Voyager, there wouldn't be any problem if we
did have a baby. We'd be on board the ship
with our "family" all around us. Everyone
here would be the kid's aunts and uncles. For
all the dangers the Delta Quadrant holds, it
would be worth it.
Once we got home, that would all change. A
decade ago, serving as a family on board a
starship was routine. I understand that since
the Dominion War it's not that way any more.
One thing I don't want to be is one of those
Starfleet dads who blows home once every year
or two, spends six weeks smothering his
family with all the advice and "fatherly
guidance" he can squeeze into one visit, and
expects to make up for all the time he'll be
away for his next tour that way. I know how
that goes. No matter how hard he tries, it
doesn't work out. A kid needs his father
around more than that. So, if I can't have my
family on board a Starfleet vessel with me,
I'm not planning on going on any Starfleet
vessels at all.
You know, I promised myself that I was just
going to write you a short answer to your
letter--say thanks, I'm grateful to you for
all you've done--thanks for writing--and that
would be it. Instead, I've written a book.
How do you do that? You always could get me
to run off at the mouth and say things I
never expected to tell anybody in the galaxy,
let alone a counselor. You haven't lost your
touch. You must be pretty good at what you
do, huh? I probably should delete most of
this stuff and keep it simple. Say the right
thing--blah, blah, blah, thanks for writing.
But I'm not going to do that. I owe a lot to
you, Doc. Being honest with you here is the
least I can do.
Thanks, Doc. Thanks for everything,
Tom Paris, Lieutenant j.g.
My Dear Miss DeLaVarese (lovely name, by the
way),
In response to your recent advertisement in
the cyberzine "Holographic Adventurer," I
wish to offer your company the opportunity to
purchase a work of stunning creativity and
importance. In my travels as the Chief
Medical Officer for the Starship Voyager, I
have been able to research this story in my
downtime hours. It is very close to my heart
(so to speak), as you can well imagine.
This holoprogram is designed to educate,
edify, and enrich the spirit of humanoid and
holographic beings throughout the Alpha
Quadrant. It cannot fail to please you and
your program users.
If you are interested in obtaining more
information about this program prior to
making an offer, feel free to contact me in
care of U.S.S. Voyager, c/o Pathfinder
Project, Starfleet Command, San Francisco,
California, 94103-4774-5437, Terra. Thank you
for your very kind consideration.
Very truly yours,
Emergency Medical Hologram
U.S.S. Voyager--NCC-74656
Neelix glanced surreptitiously at the PADD B'Elanna was reading.
He knew that no one, not even Tom, had any real idea about what
she was working on. Speculation ran rampant around the ship.
Jenny Delaney had joked that perhaps B'Elanna was writing a torrid
Klingon romance novel. Ensign Vorik had said something about Vulcans
not being curious and then mentioned that the Lieutenant had Engineering
running stress analysis tests on the warp coil. And Hickman had
kidded that maybe all she was doing was developing a new formula
for coffee for the Captain.
The complex equations that he saw on her PADD before she tilted
it away, proved that B'Elanna definitely was working on something.
"Good morning, Lieutenant."
B'Elanna turned the PADD over as she glanced up at him. "Neelix?"
"I was wondering if you would like a slice of Harast pie.
Ayala said it reminded him of banana cream pie. And you are so
fond of bananas."
"I'll try it. I'm stuck again."
"Maybe I can help?" Neelix offered as he handed her
the plate he was
holding.
She stared at it. "Neelix, banana cream pie is yellow. This
is bright red."
He shrugged. "The harast fruit is red." He watched as
she poked at it
then slowly took a bite.
His smile grew at her contented moan. "I'm glad you like
it. What are you working on?"
"Hope," she whispered as she took another bite.
"Hope??" She didn't seem inclined to answer anymore
questions, so he left. "Hope?" he repeated to himself
as he entered his kitchen and looked around.
He picked up the PADD with the evening's menu. He had to start
slicing the vegetables soon, but he had something else to do first.
Dear Madam President,
I would like to present myself. I am Neelix
of Rinax, a moon of Talax - and Ambassador
to the Alpha Quadrant for my people.
I am sure you are asking what
reasons would a government that is
over seventy-thousand light years from
Earth have to send an ambassador so far?
I admit my planet is very far away,
but I suspect that in the near future the
distance between our homes will become
far less significant.
I know Talaxia would welcome the
opportunity to meet with a delegation
from the United Federation of Planets.
Since I have lived the past six and a
third years on the Starship Voyager,
I am a logical choice as a mediator
between our two worlds. I feel that I
understand the rules of both cultures.
I have served as Voyager's Ambassador
at large for the past 3 years, and am
well versed in handling sensitive issues,
including the Prime Directive.
I regret that I will not be able to
present my credentials in person until,
well, I don't know when...But I look
forward to meeting with you, and I know
Captain Kathryn Janeway will be more
than happy to vouch for me.
Neelix stopped writing. Just what was he thinking, he wondered?
He could easily be misinterpreting B'Elanna's cryptic words. And
why would the Federation President even be interested in the Ambassador
from Talaxia? He hadn't been appointed by the Talaxian government--his
own government probably didn't even remember who he was.
He stared at the screen, then hit the save button. He would send
it.
After dinner.
G'Day, Mr. Perkins,
In response to your recent advertisement in
the cyberzine "Holographic Adventurer," I
wish to offer your company the opportunity to
purchase a work of stunning creativity and
importance. In my travels as the Chief
Medical Officer for the Starship Voyager, I
have been able to research this story in my
downtime hours. It is very close to my heart
(so to speak), as you can well imagine.
This holoprogram is designed to educate,
edify, and enrich the spirit of humanoid and
holographic beings throughout the Alpha
Quadrant. It cannot fail to please you and
your program users.
If you are interested in obtaining more
information about this program prior to
making an offer, feel free to contact me in
care of U.S.S. Voyager, c/o Pathfinder
Project, Starfleet Command, San Francisco,
California, 94103-4774-5437, Terra. Thank you
for your consideration.
Very truly yours,
Emergency Medical Hologram
U.S.S. Voyager--NCC-74656
Greetings T'Meni,
I am Tuvok, son of Sunak and another T'Meni,
and father to your father Sek. As your
grandfather, the duty lies upon me in equal
measure to see to your proper education and
upbringing. You are now beginning your
seventh year. As I am sure you have been
informed, the culmination of this year is the
ritual known as the kahs-wan ordeal. It is
more than a simple physical endurance; your
survival in the desert, alone and unaided,
depends as much upon your strength of mind as
of body. Your successful completion of this
rite of passage is the first step along the
path leading to the obligations and
responsibilities of a Vulcan adult.
However, it is not to admonish you or to
speak of privations and trials to come that I
communicate with you today. As you are aware,
at the time of your birth I was already no
longer on Vulcan. I had vanished years
earlier, in a mysterious confluence of events
which left most of the denizens of the Alpha
Quadrant convinced that we were dead, swept
off to a vast distance at which even the
marital bond between myself and your
grandmother T'Pel was so faint as to be
nonexistent. My katra was presumed to have
been forever lost. Samok, a disciple of
Surok, once asked when we truly cease to
exist for those we know and love. Many have
erred and assumed the answer lies with
physical death and separation, or the
cessation of sharing of the flame. But the
answer truly can be said to be, as long as we
remember the departed, as long as their image
remains fresh within our minds, then there is
no separation.
My daughter, it is through no choice of my
own that I was not present at your birth,
that I have missed and continue to miss many
important milestones in your young life. We
are Vulcan; we do not rail against fate or
complain of the gods when life is not to our
liking. Cth'ya, we accept what is. Yet at the
same time nothing prevents me from telling
you that I wish things had been otherwise.
Your father, as well as she who is my wife,
keep me informed of your studies. I am
pleased to hear of the development of your
intellect and of your progress in these and
other matters. It appears that you will be
well prepared for the challenges of your
kahs-wan. I salute you as you near this
important occasion.
Live long and prosper, daughter of my house
and heart.
Tuvok
Tuvok deactivated the PADD and placed it carefully on the table
beside his chair. He steepled his fingers beneath his chin and
gazed thoughtfully out of the viewport beside him. He pictured
his granddaughter reading her letter. T'Pel had sent him a holo-image
of the child. She favoured her grandmother, and Tuvok was pleased
by this. Perhaps she would read his letter while visiting with
T'Pel; his wife's letters implied there was a closeness between
them. He imagined the two of them, sitting in the garden of his
home, a Vulcan sunset casting deep rich colours on the stones
around them. T'Meni would lean against her grandmother and T'Pel
would gently stroke the child's soft cheek. Perhaps she would
speak to T'Meni of Tuvok, her grandfather.
"Naomi?"
"Naomi. I know you're here."
"Aw Mom, I was just at the good part."
Samantha Wildman peeled off her uniform jacket and tossed it onto
the couch as she made her way across their living quarters towards
her daughter's room. She leaned against the doorframe and tried
to suppress a yawn. Naomi was sitting up in her bed, a large PADD
clutched in her hand, a half finished glass of milk and the crumbly
remains of a bedtime snack on the table beside her.
"What...?"
"B'Elanna Torres lent me this really neat novel, Mom. All
about Klingons and honour and Sto-Vo-Kor and stuff..."
"Are you sure you should be reading that at bedtime, Nomi?"
"Aw Mom." Naomi repeated the mantra that seemed to her
mother to be a constant refrain these days.
Samantha suppressed a frown and went over to her daughter's desk.
She picked up a PADD that was lying there and glanced at it quickly.
"Did you finish your letter? The datastream is going out
soon."
"No, not yet." Naomi replied. "Give it to me and
I'll do it right now."
Samantha debated mentioning that it was past her daughter's bedtime
and that she should have completed the letter hours ago. Instead
she approached the bed and handed her daughter the PADD in exchange
for the one that her daughter still held.
Her reward was immediate and welcome.
"Thanks Mom." Naomi grinned at her.
"Not too late, Nomi." Her mother said and bent down
to plant a kiss on her daughter's forehead.
"Aw..."
"Mom." Samantha finished for her.
Naomi grinned again.
"Night Mom."
"Good night, Naomi," Sam replied with a smile as she
backed out of the door, which closed behind her. She sighed. Where
was her little girl disappearing to so quickly? It seemed only
yesterday she spent every spare moment on the holodeck with Flotter
and Trevis; now it was novels with "good parts." And
something that B'Elanna had lent Naomi? What sort of novel with
"Klingons and honor and Sto-Vo-Kor" would B'Elanna want
to read? Suddenly curious, Sam flicked on the PADD.
She rolled her eyes and groaned as she read the title, "Bonds
of Blood and Passion." Terrific. A Klingon romance novel.
Just what her 6 year old daughter needed! First Tom's 20th century
action movie obsession, and now love and death, Klingon style!
Sam shut the PADD off, then hesitated before setting it on the
table. She really didn't have much planned for this evening, and
her own letter to Greskrendtregk was already in the data stream
queue . . .
Settling herself onto the couch, Sam turned on the PADD to immerse
herself for a few hours into the romantic adventures and battles
of that star-crossed, meant-for-each-other pair, Valdis and Graltok.
Hi Dad,
I'm sorry I haven't written to you in a
while, but I know that Mom always tells you
what I'm doing.
I'm fine.
I've been really busy recently. Seven of Nine
has been letting me help her in the
Astrometrics lab and I'm really enjoying
that. She doesn't scare me the way she used
to - I guess now that we've had so many Borg
on board Voyager, I'm kind of getting used to
them. As a matter of fact I miss Mezoti and
Azan and Rebi - they were the other Borg kids
who were with us for a while. They left earlier this
year - Captain Janeway found Azan and Rebi's
people and we made a special detour to drop
them off. Mezoti decided she wanted to go
with them. I understand, I think. They had
been together for so long that they belonged
together. Icheb stayed though. He's the
other Borg on Voyager. At least he used to
be a Borg. I think he's mostly just a boy
now. And I'm glad he stayed. He's my best
friend on Voyager. Him and Neelix.
Speaking of Neelix, I had a great time last
night. He and I stayed in the mess hall
after the last dinner shift and we made
chocolate chip cookies. And just when they
were finished the Captain came in. Neelix
got out some chocolate ice cream and we had a
real feast. The Captain said that I deserve
to be her assistant! That anyone who can
make chocolate chip cookies like that
deserves a promotion!
I've been studying really hard recently.
Icheb has been helping me. He's really
smart. I'm thinking of taking the Starfleet
entrance exams. Don't tell Mom. I think she
thinks I'm still just a little girl. But I'm
not.
Dad, I wish you'd tell Mom that Ktarians are
more mature. It would help if you did. The
other night Lieutenant Paris ran his movie
program in the holodeck and Mom wouldn't let
me go. She said I was too young and that it
was too late. Icheb said the movie was
archaic and illogical, but entertaining.
I guess that's all for now. I'll try and
write more often. Last night the Captain
promised we'd get home soon. And I really
believe her. So I'm going to say I'll see
you soon.
I love you Dad.
Naomi
It was a rare thing to have time alone. And rarer still to know
that he had at least an hour of it. Both his bunkmates had taken
additional duty shifts, trying to earn extra replicator rations.
They had lost a fair number of them last week betting on a shipwide
pool tournament. Perhaps, he mused, they should make pool one
of the events in those upcoming Olympic games. There certainly
were enough players on board. Maybe he would suggest it to Lieutenant
Paris the next time he saw him. Or maybe not. He still wasn't
quite comfortable enough to try to be 'one of the guys'. Maybe
in time he would feel differently.
But he knew exactly how he planned to spend this precious hour.
He cleared a space on the couch. His roommates were okay, he thought.
But they weren't the most organized guys in the cosmos. He pulled
a PADD out from under the remains of last night's evening snack
and activated it.
Dear Hannah,
First of all, honey, it's all right if you
want to use your step-father's name. I wish
you could see my face instead of just these
words so you would know I mean it. I
understand, I really do. You're a whole new
family now, what with your baby brother and
all, and it makes sense that you would want
to have the same name as your mother and
brother. It doesn't mean you've stopped
loving me; it just means that things have
changed.
And no, I don't blame your mother at all for
getting married again.
Remember, the Equinox had been missing for
more than six years before word got back to
her that I was alive and on Voyager. She
thought I was dead. I'm glad she found a man
as good and as generous as your stepfather to
take care of you both. He sent me a letter,
did you know that? He told me that he
couldn't love you more if you were his own
little girl. He knows how lucky he is to
have you. It's going to be a long time
before I'm back, maybe not until you're all
grown up, and I can rest a little easier at
night knowing that you and your mom are safe
and happy.
So tell your mom and step-father it's okay to
go ahead with the adoption if that's what you
want. Just promise that you'll keep writing
to me. I miss you so much and I think about
you all the time. It seems like only
yesterday that the doctors let me hold you
for the very first time and you looked up at
me with those big, beautiful eyes. Your
mother and I were so thrilled with you.
But I shouldn't be talking about your baby
years. You're going to be ten years old this
month. I told Gramma Rose what I wanted to
give you, and she'll see that it's delivered
on your birthday. Oh, I wish I could be
there. Maybe you could send me a holophoto
next time, if there's room in the data
stream.
You asked me why I'm only Crewman now
instead of an officer. Well, it's a long
story and it has to do with some things that
happened when I was still on the Equinox. I
was so anxious to get home to you and your
mother that I did some things that now I wish
I hadn't. The important thing is that I learned
from my mistakes. It may take us longer to
get home, but you'll be proud of me again.
I'll tell you all about it sometime, but not
today. I want this to be a happy letter.
Life on Voyager isn't too different from life
on any starship in the Alpha Quadrant, except
that we're out here on our own. And don't
worry, I do have fun. The ship's cook is
always throwing some kind or party or
another, but to be honest I'm not much of a
party person and I don't know all the people
on Voyager that well. There's an airponics
garden and I putter around in that sometimes.
And we can use the holodeck when we want to.
I don't do that a lot, though; it seems kind of
pointless. They're talking about having Olympic
Games on the ship and Lt. Paris says everyone
is going to have to do something, but I don't
know. I'm just trying to keep my head low and
get my work done, and I'm getting to old to run
the hurdles any more. Maybe I can be a judge or
something.
There's a little girl on the ship. Her name is
Naomi and she was born on Voyager, but she's
part Ktarian so she's about the same size you
are. Sometimes she comes to the airponics garden
while I'm puttering around and she lets me show
her how take care of the plants. I like to pretend a
little that she's you, and that we're in the garden
behind our house in Atlanta. It's silly, I know, but
it makes me feel a little closer to you.
I have to finish up now. Tell you what - at noon on
your birthday, you close your eyes and think about me.
Because at that same exact moment, I'll be here on
Voyager, with my eyes closed, thinking of you.
I love you, Hannah, and it doesn't matter what
your last name is, you will always be my little girl.
I miss you.
Dad.
Dear Mr. CEO,
In response to your recent advertisement in
the cyberzine "Holographic Adventurer," I
wish to offer your company the opportunity to
purchase a work of stunning creativity and
importance. In my travels as the Chief
Medical Officer for the Starship Voyager, I
have been able to research this story in my
downtime hours. It is very close to my heart
(so to speak), as you can well imagine.
This holoprogram is designed to educate,
edify, and enrich the spirit of humanoid and
holographic beings throughout the Alpha
Quadrant. It cannot fail to please you and
your program users.
If you are interested in obtaining more
information about this program prior to
making an offer, feel free to contact me in
care of U.S.S. Voyager, c/o Pathfinder
Project, Starfleet Command, San Francisco,
California, 94103-4774-5437, Terra. Thank you
for your consideration.
Very truly yours,
Mr. EMH
Emergency Medical Hologram
U.S.S. Voyager--NCC-74656
Engineering was quiet. For the moment, anyhow. B'Elanna had been
working non-stop since the beginning of her shift. There had been
a problem with one of the warp nacelles and although she had assigned
one of her top teams to work on the problem, she had spent more
time than she anticipated overseeing the repairs. One of the subspace
field coils had had to be removed from the assembly, thoroughly
cleaned and replaced in exactly the same position within a very
short time or it could have been rendered useless by exposure
to possible containments. She had followed all the correct protocols
for sterilization of the area, she and the team had been dressed
in the appropriate antiseptic garb, but, as she constantly reminded
them, "You never knew in the damn D.Q."
She did a quick survey of her domain. The shift had finally ended
twenty minutes ago. The few crewmen who remained, and the members
of the much smaller gamma shift were working quietly and efficiently
at their stations.
B'Elanna scooped up a pile of PADDS that were sitting precariously
on the corner of Vorik's console and headed towards her own station.
She sat down and began to sort through them carefully. She divided
them into two piles and set one stack aside. She activated the
first PADD in the second stack and began to read, nodding several
times as she did.
"Yes," she muttered to herself. "It just might
work."
B'Elanna took a fresh PADD from the shelf beside her and activated
it.
Hello, Reg,
Thanks for the latest warp core specs you sent
in the last transmission. And thank you for your letter.
No, it wasn't too personal. We've traded
engineering data and theories several times now,
so I consider you a close colleague, and hopefully a
friend. I don't have a lot of those back in the
Alpha quadrant anymore, so I welcome any
I can get. Guess you already know that, since
the only person who's written me directly
besides you is my uncle on Qon'oS, to tell me
about my mother...
Anyway, this woman you mentioned who left a
message at Pathfinder headquarters saying she was
my cousin--well, I have a few cousins, but
none I'm close to at all. Since the message
was on an intra-Earth transferal line, she might
be someone from my father's side. I have a
cousin named Elizabeth. We played together
on occasion when I was a child, though I don't
know why she'd want to write me. I can't imagine
anyone in my father's family wanting to write me.
I haven't seen or heard from any of them in well
over twenty years. Truthfully, I consider Tom and
everyone on Voyager my family now.
Don't be too bothered because the message
was deleted. I don't really see any reason to
start up a correspondence at this late date, though
Tom thinks I should consider it. He needled me
about it in fact, even after I shoved him off the
couch. I know he was trying to be helpful in his
own way, but he just doesn't understand that my
family and his are nothing alike.
Okay, I also know he might have a point.
And you're probably reading this thinking I should
give her a chance too, aren't you? Fine, have it
your way. If she contacts Pathfinder headquarters
again, I suppose you can put her on the authorized list
you mentioned. Sorry about my lack of enthusiasm,
but I don't know what we could possibly say to each
other after all this time. Besides, she probably
contacted Pathfinder on a whim and won't call back
anyway, or maybe she had the wrong person
altogether.
I hope you don't mind if I change the subject now.
I wanted to thank you for something else, Reg--what
you wrote about working with Admiral Paris. I know
you were just recounting the project's progress,
but it was an eye-opener seeing the Admiral from
your perspective (that's what Tom calls him most of the
time, only partly in jest, "The Admiral"). He's written
to
Tom of course, but I'm sure you know Tom and his father
have a...complicated history. Their letters to each other
have tended to be polite and superficial, unlike the ones
Tom has exchanged with his mother or his sisters. I can
understand it, since the issues between Tom and his
father aren't the kind that can be resolved in letters.
They're the kind that won't be put completely to rest
until the two of them are able to meet face to face again.
Your account of working with Admiral Paris, and the
way his stoic, no-nonsense exterior doesn't hide his
fierce dedication to the project and to getting Voyager
home--well, let's just say Tom read those particular
paragraphs a dozen times. You and I both know--
and deep down Tom knows--that Admiral Paris
hasn't given up his other Command postings and
duties, and devoted nearly every waking hour to
the Pathfinder project, all to get one small ship
among the many hundreds of ships in the fleet back
to Earth. No matter what he may say in public, and
despite the fact that getting the rest of us home will
be gratifying for him, he's put his heart and soul
into this for one reason--to get his son back.
Your words helped me see Admiral Paris a little more
clearly too. In his letters he's tacitly welcomed me
into his family--as has everyone in Tom's family--but
I have to admit I still felt a little doubtful about his
response. Now I feel more certain that he does
care about Tom's welfare and happiness, deeply.
I hope that means he really does accept me, like
you said. I don't know many Starfleet admirals
who would welcome a half-Klingon ex-Maquis
Academy dropout with a quick temper as a
daughter-in-law.
Space is more limited than usual for this transmission,
so I have to end this letter soon. I do have two favors to
ask of you. Can you please tell Admiral Paris that
Tom will send a letter to his family next month? This
month he felt it important to answer a letter from an
old acquaintance.
My other favor has to do with Voyager. I have
an idea how we might be able to get the ship home faster.
It's in the germinal stage right now, and I don't want
to get anyone's hopes raised too much, so please keep this
between us for the moment. With the captain's
permission I'm sending you some raw data. When you
see it I think you'll understand where I'm going.
To go any further though, I need your help. Can you
send me whatever research you can find on the
latest warp field generation material bonding techniques?
I'd be grateful if you could send the information in
the next transmission. Also, it would be helpful if
you could commandeer the Lunar Very Large Array
and search for any Type 4 neutron stars in Voyager's
expected flight path--preferably ahead of us
by about a thousand light years, and within a cylindrical
segment of our flight path by a hundred light years.
I know it's a lot to ask, but it could make a difference of
fifteen or twenty years in our journey home, or
maybe more.
Thanks again, Reg, for everything. Good luck with
that patent application and with your new apartment.
Feel free to write me again, or Tom, or anyone on
Voyager. Even the captain. She can't say enough
good things about you. Believe me, you're everyone's
hero here, and the first person whose hand we all want to
shake when we get home.
Take care,
B'Elanna Torres
Epilogue
The monthly exchange through the datastream proceeded smoothly
as usual, and shortly the final part of the process was underway.
In fact, Harry was just about finished with his rounds. This particular
duty, which he'd taken on a few months earlier, ranked as one
of his favorites.
As much as he enjoyed filtering and interpreting data, in this
case he was now happy to let Seven focus on decrypting the official
Starfleet transmission while he helped Neelix deliver the personal
letters that had come through the datastream.
The best part about delivering the letters was seeing the reactions
on the faces of his crewmates and friends. Joe Carey's open delight
at the monthly letter from his wife and sons, Captain Janeway's
smile of anticipation at the letter from her sister, Karen Jarvis's
quiet pleasure at the letter from her fiancé, who had waited
for her and was determined to keep doing so for as long as it
took, Tom's casual acceptance of a letter from his parents that
didn't quite hide his eagerness to read it, Tuvok's impassive
response to his letter from home that was no more believable than
Tom's feigned indifference--they were just a few of the hundred-
thirty something reactions that greeted him each month. He loved
watching them all.
The delivery rounds generally took him from an hour to two hours
to complete, depending on the number of letters received, and
how many minutes he passed chatting with this crewmate or the
other. Neelix handled the large group of off-duty crew who always
gathered in the mess hall, while Harry took care of those currently
on duty. Over the past hour and forty minutes he'd worked his
way through the ship in his usual pattern, from the top--the bridge--all
the way down to engineering. Now he had only one letter left in
his possession, besides the letter from his parents that he planned
to read after his shift while he relaxed with a hot cup of Darjeeling
tea.
Harry spotted his final recipient in the far corner of engineering--or
at least part of her, in the form of one boot protruding from
the entrance of a Jeffries tube--exactly where Mulcahy had said
she'd be. He called out in greeting as he approached, "Hey,
Maquis."
B'Elanna mumbled something--probably a curse--as she repositioned
herself in the tight confines. Then she stuck her head out of
the Jeffries tube. "Hey, Starfleet."
Harry held out a PADD. "This last letter's for you."
He could tell from her expression that she wasn't expecting a
letter, though she looked curious as she took the PADD from him.
"Reg?" he asked as she activated the display. B'Elanna
and Reg Barclay had been exchanging technical information and
"talking" engineering back and forth for several months
now.
B'Elanna stared mutely at the display for several moments, her
expression one of mild astonishment. Finally, she shook her head.
"It's from my uncle."
"The one on Qo'noS?" Harry knew that uncle--K'nar, or
something like that--had sent B'Elanna confirmation of her mother's
death a couple months ago.
B'Elanna nodded slowly. "He wants to know about my life here."
"That's great," Harry replied, though he couldn't tell
from B'Elanna's bemused frown if she was pleased about it or not.
Still, he was glad someone in her family wanted to keep in touch
with her.
B'Elanna shrugged, though her effort at nonchalance was less than
convincing. "I'll read it later," she said gruffly as
she shut off the PADD. Then she gave Harry a crooked smile. "So,
are you still mad at me?"
It took Harry a second to realize that she was talking about the
datastream. He shook his head. "I was never mad, exactly."
Just a little disappointed that he'd had to put off his video
letter. "But I am curious to know why you needed so much
space this month."
"I'm working on a...theory," B'Elanna said, being evasive
again. "But as soon as I figure out if it's viable, I promise
I'll tell you all about it."
Harry decided to wheedle a little. "I don't suppose you want
to give me just a little hint about your mystery theory?"
B'Elanna cocked her head. "You want to get home faster, don't
you?"
Harry's eyebrows rose. Something to do with propulsion then. "How
much faster?"
B'Elanna grinned. "A whole lot faster, Harry."
He was all in favor of that possibility. "You know I'll do
anything I can to help."
"Don't worry, when--if--the time comes, I'll take you up
on that offer. Now, I've got to get back to work." Clearly
having said all she was going to say, B'Elanna set the PADD containing
her uncle's letter aside-- carefully Harry noticed--and disappeared
back into the Jeffries tube.
The idea of getting home much faster than the twenty-five or more
years still facing them put a spring in Harry's step, added to
the one that was always there on the day the letters arrived through
the datastream. Getting home had always been the crew's top priority,
and it still was. In the meantime, their regular contact with
the Alpha quadrant brought them all a great measure of comfort.
True, the contact was long distance in the most literal meaning
of the word, and it wasn't the same as physically being with their
families and friends back home. As the "next best thing"
though, it was pretty darned good.
Harry passed several engineers he'd spoken with a few minutes
earlier. Some of them were still avidly reading the letters he'd
delivered, and he smiled at a job once again completed to his
immense satisfaction. Then he left engineering and headed back
to his regular post on the bridge, whistling a low tune all the
way.
Addendum: Harry (Rick and Christina),
Chakotay (Andra Marie), Kathryn Janeway (Rocky), EMH (Jamelia),
Seven (Penny and Rick), Tom Paris (Jamelia), Neelix (Christina),
Tuvok (Rocky), Naomi (Cybermum), Noah (Penny), B'Elanna (Rick
and Juli17) Prologue and Epilogue (Juli17), interludes (everyone)
Next: Legacies by Jamelia and Juli17.