Part 1: 
PRIORITIES

PART 2:
DECISIONS

PART 3:
LOOSE ENDS
 

SEGMENT 2

PART 4:
BY ANY MEANS 
NECESSARY

PART 5:
SACRIFICE

PART 6:
CONSEQUENCES
 
 

SEGMENT 3

PART 7:
THE FIVE STAGES 
OF GRIEF

PART 7 (continued)
Appended 3/11/01

PART 8:
ABSENT FRIENDS
(added 3/11/01)
 

SEGMENT 4

PART 9:
HOMECOMING
(added 3/26/01)

EPILOGUE
(added 3/26/01)

by Barbara Watson (samzmom@aol.com)

Segment 1 of 4.

NOTE: A plain-text version of this story is available by request. Just email me.

RATING: R for some mature and graphic situations. 

CODES: P/T, J/C, 7/D, 7&T, P&K, P&J 

SPOILERS: Serious Season 7 spoilers, especially "Drive," "Lineage," "Imperfection," and "Prophecy." (Plus spoilers for "Someone to Watch over Me," "Resolutions," "Extreme Risk," and lots of other pre-season 7 episodes.)

SUMMARY: After nearly exhausting their resources, the crew is forced to decide whether or not to make a risky attempt to reach home. Starts approximately five months after "Lineage."

NOTE: This story was started in the long holiday dry-spell between "Flesh and Blood" and "Shattered" as we waited for the new season seven episodes to continue. It's my take on how the series might have ended, and reflects canon up through "Human Error," then the powers that be and I part ways. It's L-O-N-G, but what could I do? I was possessed.

DISCLAIMER: You would think the people who work for Paramount invented Star Trek! Ooops. They did. They own all things Voyager, including some of my favorite characters. I'm just dressing them up and playing "Barbies" with them. Michael Taylor wrote "Drive," which I quote occasionally throughout this opus; Voyager fans all know this and understand that I'm not taking credit for his work or that of any of the professional writing staff of the show. I own this story, however, and would like to be credited for it wherever it appears. 

PART 1: PRIORITIES

They were in the new Delta Flyer. He was kneeling on the jump seat facing her; she sat on the panel alongside. He ran his hand gently down her arm and leaned up to meet her eye to eye, so close she could feel his breath on her lips as he spoke. They had been discussing the relative merits of 'the mushy stuff,' and so far they had reached agreement on 'the kissy stuff' and the 'you're the most important person in the world to me' stuff. While she loved making up after a fight, this had been bigger than their standard-issue argument. This one was for keeps. And he wasn't done. 

"Then there's the 'happily ever after'..."

"How does that one work?" she wondered.

"Traditionally it requires a proposal..."

B'Elanna had been smiling to herself as she slept, just before being jolted awake, as she always seemed to be at this point in the dream. It was a recurring one she had dreamed at least once a week for the last ten months. She always had the same reaction, too: to reach out her right hand and feel for the warm body lying next to her. If her hand felt the confirmation that this had been more than just the wishful thinking of her subconscious, she could usually drift back to sleep in a few seconds.

Some nights, like tonight, her hand found only an empty space, and her mind would bring her to consciousness until she could remember why. 'He was there when I fell asleep,' she knew. Her sore muscles and lack of sleepwear were proof enough that she hadn't gone to bed alone. 'It's--what time is it--0520. Ugh. Think...It's Tuesday. Okay, he's in sickbay.' Only when her mind had found her husband could she relax and try to go back to sleep.

Torres stretched and rolled onto her belly--or tried to before her momentum was blocked by the reminder of why that was a bad idea. Over seven months pregnant, there was only so far she could roll onto her stomach. Her hand reflexively stroked her child as she changed her strategy and rolled once more onto her back. Nope. She wouldn't be stretching out face down for a while. It didn't matter anymore. There was no getting around it; she was awake.

She swung her feet to the floor and sat there for a moment before standing. She knew the Doctor wouldn't approve of her getting so little rest in her condition. But, since he was offline for at least another three days, it wasn't likely he would ever find out. Besides, the ship's chief medic, on duty in the doctor's place, wasn't around to tell on her. And his absence was the reason she couldn't sleep in the first place. Tom had sickbay duty every other morning now that the power rationing limited their access to the EMH. And, without Tom there when she drifted awake, B'Elanna found that she just couldn't relax enough to drift back out.

All for the best, she thought. With Voyager in this condition, it was better if the chief engineer were awake and working. The last three months had been brutal. The most direct route to the Alpha Quadrant was taking them through a kind of dead zone. Not a void--thank goodness--there were stars and planets. But their scans had shown an unsettling lack of life in this area. No alien cultures, no space-faring species. While it was nice not to worry about being attacked by a hostile alien ship, they also found themselves without trading partners with whom they could barter for supplies. Scans of the habitable planets had also revealed a disappointing lack of edible plant life or valuable mineral deposits. All this after almost seven years without a thorough refit, on top of accumulated stresses and damage that would have kept three engineering teams busy for six months had they been anywhere but the Delta Quadrant. Voyager was aging prematurely. And the pregnant chief engineer had no choice but to be concerned about her first baby, her ship.

Finally shaking off the last cobwebs of sleep, B'Elanna stood up and headed for the shower. Her day would be starting a little early.
 
 

Torres wasn't the only one having trouble sleeping. Captain Janeway had been out of bed for almost thirty minutes before her chief engineer's dream had even begun. Sitting on her couch, staring out into the darkness and nursing a cup of coffee, she reflected on her crew's changing fortunes. It never seemed to fail that, as soon as life had settled into some semblance of normalcy on Voyager, the rug would be pulled out from under them. The delusion that her crew had only to point themselves in the direction of home and start flying was crumbling around them. This ship's technology had saved their lives hundreds of times over, yet it was never designed to go without a refit this long. Actually, it had been a testament to their good fortune that things had held together as well as they had. It was also a testament to her crew and the Herculean job they had done maintaining the ship under such difficult conditions.

How long that crew could keep themselves going was another worry. While they had been putting up with replicator rations and leola root inspired cuisine for years now, it had only recently become necessary to start rationing their total energy use. The holodecks were off limits except for training and emergency simulations. No more resorts, no vacations, no fights with imaginary beasts to clear the mind and let the crew forget. Even the EMH had volunteered to deactivate himself unless he was needed. This added yet another strain, as she had to assign crew to cover the basic medical needs in his absence.

The best and worst of times: Starfleet's monthly datastream kept them in touch with their goal of reaching home, but it couldn't help but remind them of how far away they were from achieving it. News from home added a kind of urgency to their quest. Parents could see evidence of their children's growth, and got letters full of stories of the milestones they couldn't share. Friends and families told tales of joy and pain, but to a crew that could be nothing more than third-party observers in the events of their lives. Births and deaths, graduations and marriages all continued without them there. With no quick way home, she wondered sometimes if it hadn't been easier to accept the potential length of their journey before the letters started arriving.

Kathryn took the last swig of her coffee and set the empty cup on the table. While she longed for another, her rations allowed her only two cups a day, and she needed to spread them out to keep herself going. 'Must set an example for the crew,' she thought. She pushed herself to stand, stretched, and headed for the shower. 
 
 

She stepped onto her bridge a full two hours before the start of the alpha shift, startling Harry enough that he almost jumped out of her chair. "As you were, Mr. Kim," she said gently. "I'll be in my ready room." 

"Aye, Captain. Good morning." She smiled back at him before she stepped down and through the doors to her office. Harry eased back into the chair, secretly happy that she wasn't coming to claim it early. He enjoyed the command experience he was getting on these occasional gamma shift assignments. It was no secret to his friends or to his captain that he wanted to be sitting in the "big chair" one day. The last few months had taught him some important lessons about how much he still needed to learn, however. Lessons that had stuck with him. He'd be ready when the time came.

His daydreams were interrupted again, a few moments later when the first officer stepped out of the turbolift. Harry stood to yield the bridge, but Chakotay waived him back down. "Relax, Harry. I'm not here to relieve you." The commander moved to the captain's ready room door and signaled. It swished open seconds later, and he stepped inside. 

Harry settled back into his seat, glancing only briefly at the ensign now looking up at him from the con. "As you were," he said, smiling to himself. He could get used to this.
 
 

Chakotay greeted the sleepy woman at the desk in front of him. One cup of coffee was clearly not enough, he noted to himself, but he respected her sacrifice and the desire to set an example that inspired it. "Good morning, Captain," he smiled at her. "Sleep well?" That it was 0558 and they were both on duty was answer enough to that question. 

"Very funny," she joked back at him, smiling. "Someone else I see looks less than 'bright-eyed and bushy-tailed' this morning." 

He grinned. "You know," he offered, "I'd lend you some of my rations if I thought one more cup would make a difference." 

She was smiling broadly at him now. "Not a dent, and you know it." They held each other's glance for a moment, enjoying as they always did their morning banter. It felt like several minutes before she noticed the PADD in his hand and asked, "Did you find something?"

Chakotay sat in his customary chair across from her and leaned forward. "Nothing too exciting. Scans indicate that there are a few Class M planets on the far reaches of our sensors, but lifesigns have been inconclusive at best." 

The captain sighed at the all-too-familiar news. "Let me guess: no signs of warp signatures, no mineral deposits, and no food." His eyes darted down before coming back to meet hers. 

"A few pre-warp civilizations, but the Prime Directive precludes us from making first contact." He was talking to the Queen of the Prime Directive, he knew, at least in her heart. Funny how even Kathryn Janeway had found reasons to rationalize bending General Order One on some occasions. He knew this wasn't going to be one of them.

"What's our status, Commander?" she asked. "How long can we go before this becomes critical?" 

Her first officer punched the display on his PADD and read out the report. "With energy rationing in place, we have reduced dependency on the replicators by fifty-six percent. Food stores should hold up for at least another ten weeks, but airponics isn't able to keep ahead of our needs. We'll need to find mature, edible plant life within the next six weeks to maintain any sort of safety margin. Power reserves are equally critical. We've got to find some raw deuterium and dilithium within the next eight weeks if we're going to refine it ourselves before our reserves are drained. If there were a source of refined minerals, we could last another twelve weeks, but nothing we've seen indicates any civilizations with that kind of technology in this region." He was quiet for a moment and let her absorb it all. It was crunch time and they both knew it.

"I can't believe we have made it this far only to be stopped by supply shortages. We've never gone this long without encountering some kind of opportunity to replenish our stocks. There has to be something we haven't considered." She moved to the couch by the window. Staring out at the stars always seemed to free her mind for the next burst of inspiration. One had never failed to come. Almost never. Chakotay moved to stand near her, wondering if she would come to the realization on her own. It was clear when she spoke again that the thought hadn't entered her mind. Or if it had, she wouldn't give it voice.

"Send Harry and Tom out in the Flyer. Have Tom plot a route that covers the most territory in the shortest time--and ask Neelix to go with them. Have them scout for anything they think we might be able to make use of. We've got a creative bunch here--an idea has got to come." She shifted slightly as the next thought came, "And divert some of the power reserves to Astrometrics. Maybe Seven can help point us in the most productive direction. The captain glanced back at her first officer, and could tell from the look on his face that he was going to make a suggestion she wouldn't like. "What is it?"

"I'd like to recommend that you add something to their checklist." Here it came. "I think they should make an evaluation of possible sites for colonization in case we run out of ways to keep the ship functioning." 

She was going to surprise him, she knew. "Fine." He straightened as she continued. "You're right. We're running out of alternatives. We have to be prepared for all contingencies." She cut him off as he started to reply, "But you should know that I consider that option a worst-case scenario, and I have no expectation of settling down anywhere but Bloomington, Indiana. Do I make myself clear?" 

She wasn't scolding him; her smile would have told him if he didn't already know. She was just reviving one of their favorite games, arguing over when or if they might ever have to concede the trip home. "Understood," he said smiling back at her. "I'll make the arrangements right away." He excused himself and left for his office. 

She stared for a moment at the door after it closed behind him. For the first time in almost seven years, she had to consider the possibility that they were coming to the end of their journey.

~*~*~*~*~

Tom was half way through the pre-flight checklist and Harry still hadn't joined him on the Delta Flyer. Tom knew his best friend had worked the gamma shift last night, which meant Harry had no chance to sleep before they were to leave on this mission. Normally, Tom would have wanted his copilot at his sharpest when riding shotgun for him, but there were no signs of hostile aliens in this neck of the woods, and he was sure he could cover any lapses Harry's tired mind might make. 

Not that Tom was feeling that well rested. He went on duty in sickbay at 0500 trying to catch up on reports the Doc would normally have filed, and he had been due on the bridge at 0800. Stupidly, he hadn't gone to bed early considering the day he had ahead of him. Well, he had gone to bed early, but B'Elanna's back was killing her and she asked Tom to massage it for her. There was no way, after ten minutes of skin-to-skin contact with her body that he was going to be able to calm down enough to go right to sleep. His checklist was routine enough that he could let his mind review their late-night gymnastics as he worked. He laughed to himself that B'Elanna wondered how he could still find her so attractive with her distended belly, swollen ankles, and a chronic backache. His joke, reminding her of some of the more appealing changes to a pregnant woman's body, fell flat, as he would have expected. But his desire was sincere nonetheless, and she knew it. She really did seem especially beautiful to him in her condition, even if she didn't feel it herself. He must have been smiling at the thought, when Harry finally showed up.

"Wipe that smirk off your face, Paris, I'm in no mood to spend the day with a cheerful pilot." Well, if that wasn't throwing down the gauntlet. 

"Really, Harry? I thought you got all pumped up by the thrill of command," Tom kidded. "Don't tell me you're feeling the burden instead?" 

Harry was happy to play along, despite the annoyed tone in his voice. "I'm feeling the burden of sleep-deprivation, and you know it. Some of us lose sleep for less enjoyable reasons than others, you know." Caught. Tom knew too well the sorry state of Harry's love life, and conceded this battle, happily.

"I'm almost through the checklist," Tom changed the subject, but continued to smirk. "Did Chakotay brief you?"

"Yeah," Harry answered, his brow beginning to furrow. "What do you make of this 'scout for colonization sites' plan? The captain isn't seriously considering setting down some place, is she?" 

Tom took a deep breath before he answered. He knew Harry wouldn't want to hear what he was going to say next. "If she's smart, she is. Look Harry, we've been through the briefings--if we don't find some mineral deposits and some food soon, we're going to have to think about stopping while we still can. That or risk running adrift too far from any reasonable camp site." Tom couldn't stop himself from saying what he was thinking. They knew each other too well for that kind of pretense. "Frankly, it wouldn't bug me all that much."

"Well, it would bug the hell out of me!" Harry retorted. "I have never planned to spend the rest of my life stuck here in the middle of nowhere with no chance of getting home. I'm for continuing no matter what." 

Yep, Tom thought, they really were going to fight about this. "Well," Paris said more harshly than he meant it, "I'm glad it's not up to you, then."

"You can't tell me that you don't care if we never get back to Earth," Harry interjected. "You don't care if you never see your family again?" 

Tom's answer was less vehement. "My family is here, Harry. All the family I'll ever need is on this ship."

"Well mine is on Earth and I have every intention of seeing them again," Harry snapped. "Besides, if you think I'm going to be stuck playing Ensign Eager for the rest of my life, you're crazy."

"Face it, Harry," Tom couldn't seem to stop himself. "It's the curse of the baby brother. Trust me, I have three older sisters. They'll never see me as anything other than the annoying little kid they used to push around." He didn't mean to imply anything, but Harry made the inference anyway. 

"And you'll never see me as anything other than Buster Kincaid, your trusty sidekick. I'm not a wet-behind-the-ears ensign anymore, Tom, though that's probably the only way you'll ever treat me." Ouch. Where did that come from, Tom wondered. Harry wasn't finished his target practice. "Besides, not everyone is as lucky as you are to have your family stranded with you." Bull's-eye. Harry had learned a lot of things from Tom in their years as best friends. Unfortunately, knowing the most pointed way to lash out at someone you care about had been one of them.

They were quiet for a long moment as Tom finished the checklist and Harry began to download their course from Seven's Astrometrics data. The ensign was calming down just enough to realize he had said some things he regreted. Tom did have family back home, Harry knew, and his complicated relationship with them was an ongoing source of pain for his friend. He quickly realized he'd been unfair. Having such a bad relationship with your father that you don't mind being stuck on the other side of the galaxy couldn't be considered lucky by anyone's standards. 

And Harry knew there was more to Tom's reluctance than his unmended fences with his dad. They both knew there was a very real chance Tom's commission could be revoked and he'd be kicked out of Starfleet--for the second time--if they ever made it home. And Paris was married to a Maquis. B'Elanna, Chakotay and the others might even face jail time by some of the crew's estimation. Harry didn't believe that, of course. He had too much faith in Starfleet and Federation compassion to think his friends would be treated as anything other than returning heroes. Still, if he were in Tom's shoes...

"Hey, I'm sorry okay." Harry said, breaking the silence. "I'm just tired, you know."

"Me, too," Tom answered softly. "Besides, you could be worrying about nothing. Maybe today we'll find the motherload of ore and a fly-through grocery store and our troubles will be behind us." Tom didn't believe that for a moment, but he really hadn't intended to pick a fight. Changing the subject seemed like a good idea.

"Sure," was all Harry could say. They finished the rest of their preparations in silence.

~*~*~*~*~

Word of their mission had been passed to the rest of the senior staff. Seven had to give the captain credit for considering colonization as an option, though she suspected Commander Chakotay had been behind the idea. Still, she wasn't sure how she felt about the prospect. Part of her had gotten caught up in this crew's enthusiasm for returning to the Alpha Quadrant. She had even spent considerable time reviewing Earth's geographical and cultural database to prepare herself for the possibility that it might become her new home. Still, she knew enough about the Federation's encounters with the Borg to worry that she might be an unpleasant reminder of lost loved-ones to too many of Earth's residents. She had a firm philosophy, however, about not worrying over that which she could not control. No matter what course the captain chose, Seven was sure she would ultimately adapt.

She was less sure about Icheb. He had a real gift for astrometrics and had just begun his training as a Starfleet cadet. Icheb had his whole life ahead of him, and Seven wasn't sure he would be happy trapped on an isolated planet in a deserted region of space. She knew the crew would look after him. Everyone had grown to respect the young man's intelligence and intellect. And his bravery. He had almost sacrificed himself to save Seven's life, and it was a debt the whole crew seemed to want to repay.

'Speak of the devil,' she thought as her pupil appeared behind her. Her next thought was that she must be spending too much time with Lieutenant Paris these days if his annoying Earth idioms were coming so easily into her mind. "I have blocked off two hours this evening to review your preparations for the quantum theory examination," she offered, her fingers quickly moving to change the search specifics on her display screen. She wouldn't mention the away mission to Icheb. It would be inappropriate, and she wanted to avoid causing him unnecessary alarm.

"Ensign Kim says I should 'ace' the test, if his tutoring has been any indication." Icheb was incapable of bragging, she knew. He was only being honest. 

"I have no doubt you will," she assured him. 

He moved to stand in front of her, an idea obviously forming in his mind. "I have been considering my career options in light of my progress," he offered. "Barring any unforeseen opportunities or technological developments, it is possible that this ship might take half a generation to reach the Alpha Quadrant. It seems prudent for the captain to prepare for a transfer of command at such time as she reaches an advanced age. I believe I should begin preparing myself for that eventuality." 

Seven almost grinned at his presumptuousness, even though he had a point. "I see," she said thoughtfully. "Perhaps you should complete your Academy training before you make plans to take command of the ship." 

Properly chastened, Icheb nodded. "Of course," he said, his fair cheeks reddening. "I'll see you at 1800 hours, then."

In addition to her amusement at Icheb's grand dreams for his future, Seven felt a tinge of sympathy for her student. He had no idea that he might have to change his career plans before he'd even get a chance to graduate. She turned her attention back to the star map in front of her and began scanning once again.

~*~*~*~*~

B'Elanna was taking her first break of the morning, giving her tired feet a rest. She knew she really ought to trade in her uniform boots for something with more support, but that would be a concession to her condition and she would never give up without a fight. To his credit, Tom never mentioned it, volunteering to rub her sore feet each night before she could even ask. She was getting impatient with her body these days, and looked forward to reclaiming it for herself once the baby came. Well, she might loan it out for recreational uses to a certain pilot she had come to love. But no more long-term boarders--not for a while anyway.

Knowing the impulsive nature of the couple, everyone assumed the pregnancy had been accidental, and that was partially true. While they both knew they wanted children at some point, they assumed the natural incompatibilities in human/Klingon DNA might make conception difficult, and used a genetic 'roll-of-the-dice' as their only method of contraception. It was ironic, then--when they discovered B'Elanna's pregnancy--that it was genetics that almost undid them. Unexpectedly, seeing a holographic projection of their daughter had triggered a series of emotional reactions B'Elanna had been unprepared to face. Memories of her own childhood began to surface, and revived feelings she had thought she had resolved. Feelings of being an outcast--ugly. She felt that her appearance, her temper, and the uncivilized people it symbolized had driven her cherished father away from the family. When she feared a child with a Klingon face and disposition would ultimately find the same rejection and loneliness that had been handed to her, B'Elanna had gone so far as to alter the Doctor's program to convince him to resequence the baby's DNA to factor out the quarter of her heritage that was Klingon. 

Tom had stopped her in the knick of time. But the experience had cost them both dearly. Tom had been appalled at what B'Elanna had considered, and horribly wounded that she might think he would ever abandon her and their daughter. Tom was the only person B'Elanna had ever told of her agonizing childhood, of her hatred of her ancestry--and of her belief that she had driven her father away. Since that first conversation--a lifetime ago when they had been trapped in a Vidiian prison (B'Elanna having been cruelly split into her human and Klingon selves, and long before either had any idea of how their relationship would progress)--Tom had begun studying Klingon culture and ritual. He found himself fascinated by the code of honor and passion of this maligned people, and by his new half-Klingon friend who rejected that part of herself. 

Only recently, a few days after convincing her that they would never repeat her parents' fate, Tom told her the truth: that the day so long ago, when he found himself comforting the human B'Elanna and marveling at the Klingon B'Elanna, was the day he first fell in love with her. She was so much more complex than he had seen before, with a plate of emotional armor that hid the vulnerable woman inside. And she was so full of pain. They were the same, he realized that day. He could never reject her Klingon nature. The complexity it brought to her character was what had drawn him to her. 

Ironically, it was another 'Klingon encounter' that had sealed the deal. She and Tom had been good friends for almost two years by this time, and she could tell he was interested in a deeper relationship. She began to notice the ship's most visible ladies' man ignoring not only Megan Delaney and Sue Nicoletti, but just about every female on the ship. He began asking her out, making jokes about her love life, and finding opportunities to be alone with her. B'Elanna, of course, pretended she didn't notice. After all, why was this guy--who had proven he could have most of the women on board--suddenly showing an interest in her? She didn't trust him. She didn't trust in herself. So she made it into a game: he'd look longingly at her when he thought she couldn't see, she'd intentionally ignore him. Ultimately, she found herself taking her own secret glances when his attention was diverted. Never more than that, though.

Then on what was supposed to be a simple away mission to the Sakari home world to mine some gallicite, she was suddenly out of her mind with a 'blood fever', a life-threatening hormonal imbalance that drove her to either mate or die. It had been induced by Ensign Vorik, a misguided Vulcan in the throes of the pon farr. In B'Elanna's compromised condition, she had admitted her attraction to Tom. Well, more than that, she had practically assaulted him, including biting his face in an act symbolic of laying claim to one's mate. Tom feared that she was too impaired to make such a choice, however, and he refused her advances. Mostly. Fearing for her life, Tom did ultimately agree, and even seemed to enjoy her Klingon-inspired foreplay. Once again interrupted by fate (and a fistfight with a livid Vulcan), they hadn't gotten very far before it was all over, and B'Elanna's fever was purged through the battle with Vorik. Still, for the bulk of a very difficult day, Tom had seen her in full-out Klingon passion. And he admitted afterward that he wouldn't mind seeing it again. That's when she knew, too; this was a man she could love.

Now, after all they had been through, she had risked their entire future by forgetting that Tom Paris was not John Torres. This man would stay. How stupid she had been, she now realized. Tom had always encouraged her to explore her Klingon heritage. Hell, he was better with a bat'leth that she was. Of course he'd accept a part-Klingon child, just as he had sought out and loved her. It was B'Elanna who had to accept their baby. And perhaps, reflected in his eyes, she could see what Tom had come to love about her, and begin--once and for all--to accept herself.

Her thoughts snapped back to reality as Joe Carey appeared before her. "Chief, I've finished the warp core diagnostic and I'm concerned about these new microfissures." B'Elanna and Joe had come a long way since their first days in the Delta Quadrant when she had punched him out in front of the entire engineering staff. If not for Captain Janeway's controversial choice of B'Elanna as chief engineer, she would be reporting to Carey now. This issue was long put to rest, however, and Joe had come to respect the fiery half-Klingon as the best person for the job. 

He let her review the PADD before he continued. "Some of us are concerned that we might have a hard time going back to warp without a significant layover for repairs." She was suspicious now, but she tried not to give herself away. Engineering had the reputation for having the most accurate rumor mill on Voyager, a fact that confounded her since she had openly refused to feed into it. Had Joe heard that they were investigating colonization sites? She chose a deliberately vague reply to avoid answering his deeper question.

"Tom and Harry are on a survey mission right now to see if they can replenish our power reserves. When they find something, we should be able to replicate the parts we need without a major delay." Okay, she really meant 'if' instead of 'when,' but her leadership instincts guided her to act more optimistic than she felt. Buy it, Joe, she silently hoped. 

"You know, Lieutenant, there are rumors that they're actually searching for a place for us to set down--permanently. The captain wouldn't really do that, would she?" 

Don't take the bait, B'Elanna, she told herself. "Carey, you know Captain Janeway intends to get this crew home if she has to carry us there on her back. I can't be worried that you're letting this gossip distract you. I need you and everyone else focused on holding this ship together. Understood?" Her tone was gentle, but firm. He nodded. 

"You know, Chief, I got a letter from my wife in the last datastream. My oldest son is graduating from high school next month." He looked so sad, and she understood his pain. "He was up to here when I last saw him," Carey continued, gesturing just below his chest. "She tells me he's taller than I am now." B'Elanna didn't know what to say, so she just held his gaze as long as she could. He took a moment then walked back to his console to begin his next task.

She knew if they ended up settling on one of the nearby worlds, the odds said they would be there for the rest of their lives. If it came to that, the duty to tell her staff would fall to her. She had no idea what she would say. Shaking that thought from her mind, she grudgingly got to her feet and went back to work.

~*~*~*~*~

Harry and Tom had finished their tenth survey without sharing more than perfunctory updates on their findings. Harry had been brave enough to break the silence the last time. Tom knew it was his turn. "Did you mean what you said, Harry?" A vague choice of an ice-breaker.

"What do you mean," Harry replied. He had said a lot of things this morning. Some of them he meant more than others. 

"Do you really feel like I treat you like a kid?" Tom clarified. 

Harry didn't want to antagonize the situation any more, so he hedged a little before answering. "That's not exactly what I said," he answered. It was helpful that he couldn't see Tom's face during this conversation. It was awkward enough without having to look him in the eye. 

Tom apparently didn't agree, since he was putting the Flyer on auto-navigation and turning around in his seat. "I'd like to know what you did mean," Tom pushed gently, realizing that the Delta Flyer was rapidly replacing Voyager's turbolift as his 'heart-to-heart conversation' location of choice. "You told me a few months ago that you were tired of always playing Buster Kincaid to my Captain Proton. I guess I didn't realize how much you meant that." 

Harry still couldn't quite look at Tom. He didn't want to hurt his best friend. But he didn't want to lie to him either. "I guess I'm worried that, if you of all people don't see me as capable of more than just following your lead, nobody on the ship will ever really take me seriously. Harry Kim: Tom's little buddy. Tom's sidekick. On shore leave, in the holodeck, we're always doing what you want to do. I'm getting to the point that I can't even tell where your hobbies end and mine begin." He got the courage to hold Tom's gaze before he continued. "Some days I feel like Harry Kim is just the short shadow of Tom Paris." There it was, out in the open.

"Do you think I've intentionally done anything to make you feel this way?" Tom really wanted to know. "We tease each other, Harry, it's just what we do. You've always given as good as you've gotten. As I recall, I latched onto you when I first came on board. You were a good friend to me, Harry. Better than I deserved at the time, as I recall. But the irony in all of this is that I'm the one who's always looked up to you." This was uncharacteristic sentiment from Voyager's chief cynic, and it made his friend a little uncomfortable. Tom clearly wasn't through, though. 

"I was a great pilot when I came here, Harry, and I knew it. But I was lousy officer material. I had a bad attitude and a smart mouth and a talent for getting myself into trouble. I meant it when I told you I thought of you as the conscience I never had. And I really did try to be more like you. I don't think I ever would have been taken seriously by the crew if they hadn't seen you so willing to accept me as your friend." Tom was right and Harry realized he had been a little hard on him. Maybe it was Harry Kim who needed to let go of the image of Ensign Eager.

Tom must have seen the softening in Harry's expression, and he reverted to typical Paris wit. "And I'd probably be babysitting for B'Elanna and Vorik if we hadn't both become such good friends with you." They both laughed out loud at that absurd idea. "You know," Tom went on. "I've always wanted to give the Buster role a try. And I'm sure my Captain Proton jacket would fit you better these days than it fits me." Without holodeck access it was a hollow gesture, but the sentiment behind it had been real. 

"I'm thinking about a new program," Harry offered, taking the same glint in his eye he had just seen in Tom's. "Captain Sulu and the adventures of the USS Excelsior." 

Ugh, Tom thought. He even wants to play Starfleet. "Just don't cast me as the young Vulcan security officer," Tom quipped. I don't think I could pull off a convincing Tuvok!" They grinned at each other before Tom turned around and took control of the stick once more. Thank god that was over.

No more than five minutes passed before their sensors picked up the pre-programmed signs. "Paris to Neelix," Tom called out over the comm. "Looks like we'll be needed your services after all."

~*~*~*~*~

The senior staff was gathered in the briefing room to hear the away team's report. The news was mixed at best. Harry was summarizing their geological findings. "We found no significant deposits of the key minerals needed to power the ship on any of the planetoids we surveyed. What we did find was unrefineable because of the levels of contaminants present." 

It was Neelix's turn. "We brought back some seeds from the tenth planet of the fourth system, but it seems to be winter on the only significant landmass, and there was no mature plant life. At least nothing edible." That was some admission, Tom thought, considering Neelix's broad definition of the word.

"Gentlemen, I thought you said there were some positive findings to report," the captain challenged. 

Harry and Neelix looked to Tom, who couldn't help but catch Harry's eyes before he began. "Captain, we did find a Class M planet in the sixth system. It has crude mineral deposits that could easily be converted to energy, but it's incompatible with Voyager's technology. There's abundant fresh water, but most of the landmasses seem to have been scorched by seasonal wildfires recently. They destroyed most of the edible vegetation and animal life." 

Janeway couldn't avoid asking the next question. "And that's a positive finding...?" 

Tom took a deep breath. "The planet fits Federation guidelines for colonization for a group our size. The natural resources won't support a starship, but could easily maintain a permanent settlement. And the land could be terraformed rather easily."

There it was. A viable option staring her in the face. She couldn't bring herself to look at Chakotay. "Opinions," she spat out. Her first officer was wise enough to keep his mouth shut, and she was grateful.

"I think we should press on," Harry jumped in. We still have several months of reserves, and seven years of experience that tells us that we'll come across the materials we need somehow. We've had to ration before. It's always worked out in the end." 

Janeway knew his bias and eternal optimism and factored it in. "Seven?"

Seven of Nine turned her chair slightly to face the captain. "I can't agree with Ensign Kim. Long-range astrometric scans show no significant civilizations within reach of this vessel under our current operating conditions. We have a responsibility to keep this crew safe that supercedes any personal desires to reach Earth. I believe we should send a comprehensive survey mission to confirm the away team's findings, and begin preparations for colonization." Two down, six to go. 

Tuvok was next. As always he was deliberate in his choice of words. "Your priority has been very clear, Captain. Reaching the Alpha Quadrant has always been our primary mission, and we have taken great risks in the past to achieve that goal. Either scenario presents problems. But I believe the logical course would be to continue on our journey until no other options remain." 

Kathryn knew her friend was guided by Vulcan logic, but she had to factor his bond to his family into his calculated answer, even if Tuvok would have argued dispassionately that he was incapable of falling victim to emotional influences. "Your turn, Mr. Paris." 

Tom's eyes moved to meet Harry's as he considered what he would say. He looked away before he began. "I'm with Seven, Captain. Based on what we saw today in the Flyer, there's not a lot out there we can use. The planet we found isn't the Garden of Eden, but we could make due. Our survival has to take priority." He turned back to look at his friend. "I'm sorry, Harry." The ensign forced himself to nod at Tom; he knew they didn't agree on this topic. 

The captain saw the looks that passed between the two friends and imagined that the conversation during their away mission must have been pretty tense. She wondered if Tom realized that, if they did have to set the ship down, he might never fly again. Could he live with that? Of course, these days her helmsman had other priorities besides piloting. "B'Elanna?" 

"Well, I guess if Tom's staying...," she'd picked up her husband's habit of lightening a tense moment with humor. "Captain, I have serious doubts that we can keep this ship going long enough to make it to a more hospitable area. We could be adrift long before we find what we need. I don't think we have a choice." 

Janeway now had the opinions of her bridge crew, but Neelix and the Doctor had earned the right to be heard. "Doctor, is there a medical consideration you would like to point out?" 

The EMH had an opinion on every topic, she knew. But his very existence was at stake, if their holographic technology lost its only source of power. "I'm a doctor, not a psychic. However, I have some serious concerns about our dwindling food reserves and the long-term nutritional requirements of this crew. Assuming you can preserve some of our key technology..." they all followed his less than subtle meaning, "it may be a wise precaution to look for a new place to 'put down roots.' Literally and figuratively." 

Janeway nodded. "Mr. Neelix, we have brought you very far from your own home on our quest to reach ours. How do you feel about the prospect of giving up our journey?" 

Their morale officer had been struggling to keep the crew in a positive frame of mind ever since the energy rationing was put into place, but--with even less variation in their meals, no way to blow off steam on the holodeck, and their fears about the gloomy prospects for the future, there was little he could really do to keep spirits up. Janeway actually thought she could see the strain on Neelix's own mood. Ever the diplomat, however, his gentle reply was what they all might have expected. "I've been looking forward to touring Earth, as the only ambassador from the Delta Quadrant. But I wouldn't want you to risk your lives on my account. I'm happy with my life here with this crew. I'll support whatever decision you feel you need to make." The Talaxian had become a source of strength for them all these past few years. His selflessness never ceased to amaze the captain, and she smiled at him warmly.

She didn't bother to ask Chakotay in front of the rest of her staff. She not only knew his position, she knew he could make a compelling and eloquent argument for it. She'd let him do that, but privately. Janeway told the group she would take their opinions into consideration and notify them of her decision as soon as she had made it. She watched her officers--her friends--file out of the briefing room and she was sorry for the burden of this secret conversation she couldn't allow them to share with their staffs. 

Her first officer followed her quietly across the bridge and into her ready room. Neither spoke until they were inside and seated on the couch. Even then, it was a few minutes before the right words came. "Tell me why we shouldn't do this," she said to him, taking Chakotay slightly off-guard. 

"Wouldn't I be arguing your case, Captain?" he asked. 

"Yes. But I need to know that you understand why I'm loathe to consider it." Fair enough.

"We've made a promise to this crew," he began, "that we wouldn't give up until we got them home to their families and friends. Giving up now, when they've finally made regular contact with those they've left behind might be too painful for many of them to accept." Good. He was taking her challenge seriously. "We also have some small chance of finding what we need before our options are exhausted. How would we live with the possibility that, had we had only continued a little further, we might have come across the supplies, or assistance, or the uncharted wormhole we needed to make it all the way home." He was seeing the value of her exercise. These were compelling reasons to push on. "Finally, settling here would be accepting defeat. And Janeways never accept defeat."

Her head jerked up at that last comment. "Speaking from your long personal experience as a Janeway, I suppose?" She smarted at the truth he spoke. 

He smiled gently back at her. "Only from my long personal experience of following a Janeway into one unwinnable battle after another only to come out victorious against all the odds. Kathryn, you've flown with deliberation into the heart of Borg territory, stealing Seven right out from under their noses. You fought and defeated species 8472, only to turn them into allies when you realized their true nature. You incited a Borg civil war, and turned a young Hirogen into a budding pacifist. I can't imagine you finding it easy to surrender to a few microfractures and an empty airponics bay." God, he knew her so well. She was determined not to let her stubborn pride make this decision, however. For the first time, more than half of her senior staff members were making a well-considered argument for giving up their journey. She had to take them seriously.

"You could see yourself," she asked him sincerely, "making a life on that burned planet, with no chance of seeing your home, your friends, or your colony ever again?" 

This question was almost too easy for him to answer. "Most of my family was killed in the war with Cardassia. My career I surrendered to take up their fight. All my friends who aren't dead or in prison are on this ship. I've already made a new life for myself in the Delta Quadrant, Kathryn. It doesn't matter so much to me whether that life is aboard this ship or on a new colony in a remote part of space." He looked deeply into her eyes before he spoke again. "And I can imagine an even better future, free from the protocols and proprieties of the chain of command. Where we're men and women first and officers second. Our new lives could start now." She was blushing, and could feel the pained look in her eyes as he continued. "All sorts of possibilities exist on that 'burned planet.' My people have always respected fire as a source of renewal. Maybe this is our sign to start anew on that scorched land."

She reached out her hand to touch his face, and he moved his up to meet it. She gently pulled away from him, and stood and walked to her desk. "I'll let you know my decision in the morning." She had her back turned to him now. "Goodnight."

He only hesitated a moment before he moved out the door. Kathryn Janeway put her hands firmly on her desk and closed her eyes. How could she ever bear to make this decision? Yet she knew it was hers alone. "Computer, lights to 30% illumination." She had to think. She wouldn't be going back to her quarters this evening.

~*~*~*~*~

B'Elanna's day hadn't started off too badly. This morning, when her dreams led her to pat the other side of her bed, she found the warm body of her sleeping husband right where it was supposed to be. She had woken up anyway and rolled her less-than-agile body on to her side so she could study his sleeping face. People had always described Tom as "boyish," an observation lent great credibility by his often-infantile behavior. But in these moments, as she watched him peacefully asleep, her feelings for him were almost maternal. He looked all of five years old, his face free from worry and his breathing soft and deep. She could have kept up her motherly fantasies if she didn't ultimately find herself staring at those lips. There was nothing maternal about her feelings about them. Even though he needed his sleep, she couldn't stop herself from placing a small kiss on them. She knew this might wake him up, but there was only so sorry she could be about that.

"I'm having this wonderful dream," he mumbled without opening his eyes, "...that I'm being kissed by a beautiful woman who doesn't know when to let sleeping dogs lie." 

Where does he get these expressions, B'Elanna wondered. "I guess that puts you in the role of the sleeping dog," she whispered back at him before kissing him a little less gently this time. 

"Ouch," he groaned, his eyes opening. "I guess I did that one to myself." He was awake enough now and rolled her gently onto her back before making his own claim to her lips. "But you're certainly well cast in the role of the beautiful woman." His interest soon outstripped his energy, however, and he found himself draped over her shoulder, unable to do more than fantasize about advancing their play. "I need another half hour," he murmured, and was back asleep before she could even respond. They ended up sleeping right through the alarm, and had scrambled to get dressed and out of their quarters in enough time to grab breakfast before their shifts.
 
 

Three hours later, and her day was decidedly less enjoyable. B'Elanna was crawling through a Jeffries tube on deck ten, her belly practically scraping bottom, as she and Seven headed to check out a confounding mystery surrounding some damaged power couplings. There was a time, she remembered, when working with Seven in such cramped quarters would have been enough to ruin her whole day. Things had changed between them recently, though, and the women--the two best engineering minds on the ship--had reached a comfortable truce. 

In a way, B'Elanna considered, Seven might have even saved her relationship with Tom. When he had cancelled their vacation plans ten months ago to race the Delta Flyer, B'Elanna had taken it as a final omen that she and Tom were a bad match. Without even knowing it, Seven had given her one final inspiration, to replace Harry as Tom's copilot in the trans-stellar rally. As it turned out, that race that had become the impetus for their impromptu wedding, and the source of B'Elanna's favorite recurring dream.

Luxuries like racing for sport and a weekend on the holodeck seemed almost unimaginable to her now. She dragged her engineering kit with one hand, as she and Seven finally reached the damaged coupling. She heard herself grunt as she turned over onto her bottom and pulled her legs beneath her. Seven couldn't help but hear her, too. 

"You are experiencing discomfort from the pressure of the fetus on your major organ systems?" Always one to ask the personal questions, that Seven. 

"More on my musculature than my organs, if you must know," B'Elanna answered a little stiffly. Seven was sensitive enough now to know that the observation made the lieutenant uncomfortable, but she had never known a pregnant female and she had some questions. She moderated her tone, slightly, out of consideration for B'Elanna's feelings, and because she knew it would increase the probabilities of receiving a response. 

"I am familiar with the overall anatomical impact of a pregnancy on the female body. I am curious about the sensations, however. Are you connected to the fetus's nervous system?" she asked. 

"Seven, I'll make you a deal," B'Elanna replied. "As long as you keep working on rerouting that coupling, I'll answer the questions I can. But I want to get out of this Jeffries tube as soon as possible before my back seizes up, agreed?" 

Seven considered this a fair trade, as she could easily concentrate on her repairs and the lieutenant's answers at the same time. "Agreed," she replied.

"First of all, I'm far enough along in the pregnancy that I would prefer you refer to it as a baby or a child rather than a fetus, if you don't mind." 

Seven picked up the hyperspanner. "Agreed, though you are technically inaccurate in your description." Borg precision, B'Elanna thought.

"And no, my body feels sensations caused by the baby, but I am not directly connected to her nervous system." Those sensations had begun at a remarkably early seven weeks, with a flutter the EMH had identified as kicking. "That's why the Doctor needs to monitor my pregnancy; something could go wrong with the baby and I might not be aware of it." Seven hadn't considered this. As a Borg, she had been linked to other drones even with no physical contact. The idea that one could maintain such total individuality from a creature growing inside your body seemed curious. The thought made B'Elanna seem more fragile in her mind, though she wasn't sure why. 

"The sensations you experience," Seven pressed on, "are they painful?" 

"Sometimes," B'Elanna answered, moving her tricorder over Seven's work. "When she starts to kick vigorously. I'm pretty sure this baby is going to share her father's love of sports." An odd assumption, Seven thought, though she didn't pursue it. 

"You mean your body has been kicked from the inside?" Gee, she really didn't know anything about this, B'Elanna realized.

"Kicked, punched, rolled over, and--if I didn't know it was impossible--I'd swear bitten. It comes and goes depending on whether the baby's awake or asleep and how active she's feeling. But she's given me a few painful moments in our last few months together." They were almost ready to seal up the compartment and move on.

"Childbirth has been described in the medical texts as the most pain a humanoid body can endure," Seven offered. "If this is the case, I wonder why so many would volunteer to experience it." 

B'Elanna wasn't sure how to respond. "Well, I guess you just don't think about the pain until you're already committed." Sort of like love, she thought to herself. "And let's just say that the circumstances surrounding conception are pleasant enough to make one occasionally forget about the potential consequences." Wow, this was more than she expected to share with her Borg crewmate. 

"You are referring to copulation, I assume." Typically clinical, B'Elanna thought. 

"Yes, however I am designating that topic off limits for the purpose of our agreement, since I think you have collected more than enough information about Tom's and my sex life." The memories of Seven's 'research project' were making the engineer sorry she had ever allowed this line of questioning. Surprisingly, Seven didn't push it.

"Anyway," B'Elanna regrouped, getting back to the original question. "Childbirth is only painful without the assistance of medical intervention. I have every expectation that the Doctor will see to it that I am as comfortable as possible while the baby is being delivered." 

Seven's next question popped into B'Elanna's head at the same moment her colleague started to speak it. "Considering our dwindling energy reserves and the real likelihood that we will be in the process of colonizing a new planet, aren't you concerned that the proper medical facilities won't be available to you at the time of your delivery?" 

This hadn't really occurred to B'Elanna before this conversation. "Shut up, Seven," she snapped back, effectively ending their deal.  "Let's get the hell out of this tube."

"Senior staff to Astrometrics," they heard Chakotay's voice over their combadges. Great, B'Elanna thought, it's going to take me forever to crawl out of here. Seven seemed to have had the same concern. 

"Lieutenant, I believe we might make faster progress if I were to carry your engineering kit." Ugh! Being dependent on anyone didn't sit well with the engineer, but depending on Seven was almost too much to bear. Yet, she had a point. 

"Thanks," was all B'Elanna could muster. Her embarrassment only grew as she found she also needed to take Seven's hand to make the transfer from the tube to the maintenance shaft's ladder. With Borg assistance, the women reached the briefing only moments after their colleagues.
 
 

Harry was already at work behind the Astrometrics main console when the women walked through the door. They could sense an anxious energy in the room, and it was obvious that those already gathered had been eager for Seven, in particular, to arrive. Chakotay was pacing a hole in the floor and Captain Janeway's voice had that high-pitched yet gravely squeak to it that they both recognized as a sign of her agitation. "Seven, B'Elanna, we're receiving the new datastream from Starfleet, and there's an encoded message bearing Lieutenant Barclay's secure encryption code. The heading on the file has the designation we were told to expect if a viable rescue plan had been found." She tried to contain her nervous energy. "Harry's verified the validity of the code. It looks like this could be the one we've been waiting for."

Tom and B'Elanna shot looks at each other. With less of a blind motivation than their friends to get home at any cost, they tended to be skeptical of these 'gifts from the gods' that occasionally appeared on Voyager offering a painless and fast way back. They had been proven right time and again, including the last time they got such a transmission from Barclay, in the form of a holographic doppelganger who had almost gotten them all killed. After that near-tragedy, Starfleet had tightened security on the Pathfinder project and had created the new encryption protocols, but that didn't stop the couple from doubting that this could be the miracle path home. If the codes had been verified, though...

Seven had already begun assisting Harry, accelerating the decryption. Never content to standby and wait, B'Elanna moved to the secondary access console and began data integrity checks of the portions Harry had already decoded. She found no indication of tampering. Indeed, as she watched the technical specifications of the plan scroll past her eyes, her engineer's mind told her that this might actually work.

Five minutes later the download, decryption, and verification of the datastream were complete. As Voyager's senior staff looked up at the projection screen, it was Reg Barclay's now-familiar face they saw. "Captain Janeway, we have been evaluating the data you provided us on Borg transwarp conduits, and Starfleet's best scientists have been working to see if there is a way we can solve some of the problems you have encountered in opening a stable conduit without a Borg transwarp coil. We think we've found a way." Glances shot around the room at warp speed. 

"The Pathfinder staff has been working closely with the engineering team that designed the Intrepid class ships, and we think Voyager can be safely adapted to open a narrow-beam singularity, very similar to the transwarp concept. The specifications are enclosed. I have been asked by my superiors to mention that this plan requires some significant adaptations of Voyagers systems." 

Reg paused. He was a reticent man, and his expression showed a thinly-veiled apology as he continued. "These modifications will require you to scavenge components from several of the ship's key systems. Once you adapt these systems, it's unlikely that the ship will be able to exceed warp four again. Of course, that's not a problem if the conduit opens as we expect. However, if you are able to open and enter the conduit, any instability in your warp engines or deflector array might cause the singularity to collapse. Prospects for Voyager's surviving such an event would not be good."

"Captain," Barclay continued, his nervous voice turning soft, "we understand this would be a major gamble for you and your crew. But we believe it can succeed. If you elect to make the attempt, we have estimated the modifications should take your engineers approximately twenty-five days. That would allow you to notify us of your decision, and send along any..." he stammered, "...final...personal messages in the next datastream before you open the conduit. We would then make all necessary preparations to receive you on this end. We look forward to hearing your reply. Barclay out." They stood together silently for a moment before the Captain finally spoke.

"Well, I don't supposed we should have expected something easy," she mused. "But somehow I didn't think it would be so 'all or nothing.'" She paced a few steps before turning back to face her crew. 

"B'Elanna, work with Seven and Harry to make a complete analysis of this plan and its risks," the captain instructed. "What's the earliest you could make your recommendations?" 

The three officers looked quickly at each other. "I think we would need about six hours to review the material and evaluate our current status," B'Elanna answered for them. 

"Good," the captain replied. I'll see you all in the briefing room at 1600 hours.

~*~*~*~*~

The remainder of the alpha shift seemed to crawl by, as the bridge crew waited for the engineering team to make its recommendations. With Voyager currently heading pretty much in a straight line to nowhere, Tom spent a long while at the conn thinking about the decision the captain was going to have to make. He had just been preparing himself for a life as a colonist, when they were once again teased by the prospect of making it home to Earth. Just as he had during the last "false alarm," when Reg's hologram assured them they'd be home in days, Tom reviewed in his mind the contingency plans he had devised to deal with the various welcomes they might receive upon their arrival.

Scenario A: They're welcomed home as conquering heroes. His standing in Starfleet is restored, B'Elanna's given Academy credits for her practical experience as Voyager's chief engineer, they take an exciting-but-stable joint posting on some nice ship, and they and their daughter live happily ever after. This was Harry's prediction. Tom, having never been able to sustain a run of good luck in his life as long as he had on Voyager, thought the odds of this to be 50/50 at best.

Scenario B: They arrive in Federation space, at which time the Maquis are immediately arrested as terrorists. Tom is sent back to the Federation Penal Colony in Auckland to finish out his sentence, and is stripped of his operator's license, effectively ending his career as a pilot. If this gloomy outcome proved true, Tom could come up with only one positive thought: maybe he and B'Elanna could share a cell.

Scenario C: They're welcomed home warmly, but cautiously. B'Elanna and the other Maquis are pardoned for their crimes, and Tom's sentence is commuted, but there won't be a Starfleet career in either of their futures. The big question in this scenario was how they would spend the rest of their lives. Tom secretly thought this was the most likely outcome, and he wasn't sure how he felt about it. He knew only two things: he'd want to be able to keep flying and he needed to be with B'Elanna and the baby. Pretty much everything else was negotiable.

He was also unsettled at the thought of seeing his family again. He was such a different person from the young man they had last known. Even his mother and sisters, whom he had forced out of his life so as to spare them the shame of his crimes, had known him most recently as a misfit who hadn't lived up to his great potential. He had refused their visits while he was in Auckland, and he knew that had hurt them. Now that they were able to communicate by letter each month, he had tried to tell them how much he had grown up during his time in the Delta Quadrant. But his official record from Voyager--which he knew his father had access to--could be open to interpretation: his being busted back to ensign for a year after trying to save the Monean ocean, his subsequent thirty days in the brig for disobeying orders, even his having married a Maquis. From so far away, it was possible that Tom still looked like a rebel who couldn't play by the rules. He knew Captain Janeway didn't see him that way, but, from Earth, out of context...he had his doubts if it seemed he had learned any lessons at all.

Then there was his father. Tom had really believed that no amount of time or talking could put that relationship right. He couldn't remember the last time he felt like anything but a disappointment to Admiral Paris, and their time apart before Voyager was lost had been filled with anger, bitterness, and pain for them both. They had been out of each other's lives long before Tom landed in New Zealand. He would never forget their last conversation, in the foyer of his parents' home in San Francisco, as Tom returned from Starfleet headquarters after the hearing that stripped him of his commission. 

In all of their difficult times while Tom was growing up, he had never heard his father so livid. He had known Owen didn't think very much of his abilities (a difficult thing for the Admiral to bear, Tom imagined, since he only accepted the 'best and the brightest'), but their's had always been a 'cold war.' Tom would disappoint his father, feel horrible, give a tepid apology, then beat himself up; his father would lecture him about his lack of focus and sloppy study habits, then freeze him out for the next week. After Tom had confessed to his lie about the accident on Caldik Prime, however, there was nothing cold about their fight. 

The crash, his father had told him, showed that even Tom's piloting--the one thing the Admiral grudgingly acknowledged his son excelled at--left something to be desired. And Tom's cover-up of his role in the deaths of his friends was more than just dishonorable, it was stupid. Idiotic. A disgrace. The combination of Tom's guilt, humiliation, and years of being made to feel like a disappointment to the Paris lineage had come to a boiling point. They had screamed things at each other that day--evil words that would be difficult to take back.  Owen threw his son out of the house and told him to stay away. A year later, drunk and desperate for someone to pay his drinking debts, Tom was recruited by Chakotay into the Maquis. Six months after that he was captured and jailed. Another year later, and he was 70,000 light years away from home and presumed dead.

He would never forget that afternoon in San Francisco. But he would also remember another day, just a few years ago, and the surreal feeling of sitting on Voyager's bridge, hearing his father's voice for the first time in years, telling Tom's captain and everyone else who could hear that he was proud of his son and missed him. The memory still gave him chills. 

Since the regular data exchanges over the MIDAS array had begun, he had written exactly two letters to that California home he had been summarily thrown out of, but he had addressed them to both of his parents. The first told them about his marriage to B'Elanna. They second let them know about their coming granddaughter. Usually, he spent his allotted space in the datastream trading messages with his sisters. Their letters had been full of love, support, and questions about his life. He enjoyed their correspondence so much, he had really come to look forward to the monthly 'mail call'. 

Okay, so maybe there was room for him to start over with his family. Someday, if they ever made it home. 

~*~*~*~*~

Unlike their colonization reconnaissance mission, there was no way the senior staff could keep the news about Starfleet's message a secret. B'Elanna had needed to include her engineering crew in figuring out the repair timeline and component analysis, and Carey and Sue Nicoletti helped the senior officers run probability scenarios on the Pathfinder scientists' experimental plan. Thanks to the infamous engineering rumor mill, word of their possible rescue had spread to every deck well before the briefing began at 1600 hours.

"Report, B'Elanna," Janeway instructed as she took her seat. 

Her chief engineer walked to the wall panel and displayed a graphical simulation as she spoke. "Starfleet has come up with a way for us to create a narrow column singularity that--according to their simulations--can be targeted to open and close as we direct. The concept is not all that different from the transwarp conduits the Borg use, except that we'll use a controlled antimatter explosion to open the rift, then use the deflector array to expand and 'steer' it."

"An anti-matter explosion?" Tom interjected. "That could tear the ship apart!" 

"That's the ingenuity of this plan," Harry replied. "Starfleet has found a way to focus the energy of the blast into the fabric of space using a highly-charged tachyon burst from our deflectors at the precise moment of the detonation. That's what opens the wormhole. We just fly Voyager into the mouth of the singularity and wedge the rift open in two hundred meter increments in front of the ship. The angle of the deflector burst determines the direction we head."

"You make it sound simple," Chakotay interjected. "What's going to keep the ship from breaking apart under those extreme stresses?" 

Seven spoke up, "We significantly enlarge and enhance our shield emitters, boosting their power with a secondary warp core built from components salvaged from Voyager's shuttles." 

B'Elanna added, "We essentially build a new power grid just for the shields. The enhanced emitters project a narrow-focused structural integrity field just inside the deflector wedge."

Janeway was concerned, "You keep referring to this 'narrow-focus'-- how narrow are we talking?" 

The three engineers exchanged glances. "Pretty narrow, Captain," Torres answered. "We'll have about ninety meters clearance around the entire ship, excluding the wedge itself." Even Tuvok's eyes seemed to widen at the news of the tight squeeze. 

"Let me get this straight," the captain sighed. "We'll have to create an untested, controlled antimatter explosion, pry open the tear it will create in the fabric of space to form a theoretical wormhole, then use our untested shields to keep us from being crushed as we travel through it. If we manage to succeed, we'll have to steer the deflector pulse, the structural integrity wedge and the ship though a spacial rift with only ninety meters clearance separating us from the singularity?" 

B'Elanna shrugged as she answered. "That's pretty much it, yes."

Janeway was standing now, pacing toward the windows. "It's so obvious, I can't imagine why we didn't think of it before," she said under her breath. Her sarcasm was a reflection of her disappointment. This was going to be very risky, at best. "Seven, this plan adapts Borg science in a way we've never tried. What's your reaction?"

"I believe it reflects unconventional thinking," Seven said in a measured tone. "But I think it has the possibility to succeed." 

Janeway turned to her resident expert on Voyager's systems. "B'Elanna?" 

Her engineer was clearly making a dozen calculations in her mind as she spoke. "We would need to be traveling above warp 2 to open the conduit, so we would have to repair the new microfissures in the warp nacelles before we could attempt it. If we gutted the shuttles, and used some of our energy reserves to replicate the things we can't salvage from other places, I think I could reinforce Voyager enough to hold things together for a while." She looked at Seven briefly, but without malice before she went on. "Though the last time we tried something similar without a Borg transwarp coil, we ended up ejecting the core." B'Elanna remembered having described that day as the worst of her life. At least, in most respects it had been. "I'll still need to spend some time reviewing their plan for stabilizing the tachyon field before I could feel comfortable recommending this." 

Janeway agreed, "Of course." She turned back to her staff, "So, will it work?"

Seven spoke first, "We ran the data through the main computer. Our probability studies show a sixty-two percent chance of success." Not great odds, Tom thought, as an experienced gambler. 

"There's more, Captain," B'Elanna continued. "Even if we are successful in opening the singularity, any number of things could go wrong. The wormhole could destabilize, crushing the ship. It will be challenging to steer the deflector accurately. We could over- or under-shoot our target rather substantially. And, if we graze the singularity...the forces would likely tear the ship apart."

Harry, of course, saw things a little more optimistically. "To be fair, Captain, in the simulations run by Pathfinder's team, they figured out how to anticipate and avoid most of the major systems issues in enough time to correct them. I think, with some practice on the holodeck, we could get our success rate even higher." 

Oh, Harry, B'Elanna thought to herself. So desperate to get home, he would take almost any risk. She knew he wasn't the only one on the crew who felt that way. As a matter of fact, Harry's chief competition for the 'we've got to make it home at any cost' prize now had this decision in her hands. The captain didn't seem thrilled with the burden. Her tactical officer was about to make it more difficult.

"Captain, I believe there is something else we must consider." Tuvok didn't display the same outward signs of tension as his crewmates, but he knew as well as they did what was at stake. "It seems to me that we must confront the truth that, if this plan does not succeed, it is likely this ship will not survive the attempt. And, in light of our already critical supply shortages, I believe we must begin work immediately if we are to commit to this course of action." 

"Is that your recommendation, Commander?" Janeway wondered. 

Her security chief steepled his fingers in the familiar Vulcan way and brought them to his chin as he considered his next words. "There are times when a strictly logical interpretation of the facts fails to yield a clear path." The captain nodded in her friend's direction. This was as close as a Vulcan could come, she supposed, to saying he wasn't sure what they should do.

"B'Elanna, make sure the entire senior staff has access to your data. I want you all to go over it exhaustively. I think we need some more information before we can make a decision." This was uncharacteristic. 

"Before we make a decision, Captain?" Chakotay asked. 

"Commander, if these odds don't improve, we may be forced to allow each member of the crew to make their own choice between attempting this jump or settling down in the system we explored yesterday. I have no plans to force that decision on them." She paused. "Or on any of you. Dismissed." 

END PART 1

~*~*~*~*~

PART 2--DECISIONS:

Tom and B'Elanna were reviewing the data from opposite ends of their couch, their legs casually entwined, when their door chime sounded. "Come," B'Elanna called without standing up.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you," Chakotay said as he stepped into their home. This was unusual. Though the first officer was very close to his chief engineer and former Maquis partner-in-crime, he and Paris generally kept each other at a friendly arm's length. It was rare for him to come to visit them both alone and without an invitation. 

"Not at all," the pilot offered, swinging his legs over to touch the floor.

"I'm surprised you're not watching that television," Chakotay quipped, gesturing to the circa-1950's set B'Elanna had built for Tom during a long two-week away mission over a year earlier. "I understand that B'Elanna has gotten hooked on something called a 'soap opera.' It sounded...interesting." 

She glared at her friend, as her husband laughed and answered. "Energy rationing. Unfortunately, it's one of the many luxuries we've been doing without lately."

Chakotay nodded, looking more serious as he remembered how difficult the last few weeks had been on them all. He imagined that Tom, whose favorite activities all seemed to require some machinery or holodeck simulation, was feeling the pinch more than most of the crew. Of course, he did have a beautiful young wife to keep him busy. It seemed to B'Elanna's friend that the time she and Tom had been forced to spend together--without the distractions of the television or the holodeck--had been good for their relationship. After what he knew had been an incredibly volatile courtship, they seemed to have finally settled happily into their lives together.

"I see you're catching up on some reading instead," Chakotay said, indicating the PADD's they had both been pouring over. "Let me guess: it's a thriller about a group of daring explorers who are trapped far from their homes, who decide to risk everything in a suicidal attempt to make it back to their families." 

Tom grinned. "It's a best seller, Chakotay. Everyone seems to be reading it." The commander returned the grin before becoming serious once again.

"I was hoping I could talk to you both about another story I've heard of: it's about a brave group of travelers, too, only--in this story--they band together to forge a new life for themselves on an isolated but charming little planet in the middle of nowhere." 

"Does it have a happy ending?" B'Elanna furrowed her brow in her 'I know where this is going' look. 

"Funny you should ask," Chakotay answered. "It's one of those stories where you write your own ending. I was hoping the two of you could suggest something...." 

Tom stood and pulled over a chair for their guest, before returning to his place on the couch. "What did you have in mind?" he asked as he sat back down.

"It's no secret that the three of us and some of our colleagues face an uncertain future should we make it back to Earth," Chakotay began. "That's not to say that we haven't all worked hard to make sure this ship and our friends made it safely home. It's also no secret that we're going to be faced with a choice soon, between taking an incredible risk with the lives of everyone on this ship, and deciding, instead, to make a home for ourselves here in the Delta Quadrant. I was wondering if you two have decided what your choice will be."

B'Elanna looked at Tom for a moment, then replied, "We haven't really talked about it. I guess I just assumed until today that the captain would be making that decision for us." 

Tom had been staring softly at her as she spoke. He hadn't told her about his 'Scenario A-C' contingency plans. He didn't want her worrying about the fact that two of the three would force serious changes in the lives they had built for themselves. Tom had been thinking about their options, ever since the captain hinted at the briefing that she would allow the crew to choose for themselves. Still, he wasn't sure what choice he and B'Elanna would make. "What are you suggesting?" he asked Chakotay.

"I'd like the two of you to come with me to talk to the captain," he answered. "Help me make the case that this plan is too dangerous to consider. I'm afraid, if I plead my case alone, she'll question my motives." He didn't have to say what he meant by that. It was no secret to any of the senior staff that Chakotay was deeply in love with their captain. Her feelings were less obvious, but not in question, or so believed everyone in their inner circle of friends. Staying in the Delta Quadrant would mean making new lives as civilians--ones without the restrictions on a commanding officer fraternizing with her first officer. The only future anyone could imagine where Chakotay and Kathryn Janeway might make that life together, as a just a man and a woman. Tom had lived long enough with the uncertainty of his future with B'Elanna that he wondered sometimes how Chakotay kept himself together this long. Working so closely each day with a woman he adored but couldn't have must have seemed like slow torture. It was one of the many things, over the last six-plus years that had made the lieutenant respect his first officer so deeply.

"To be honest with you, Chakotay," Tom began, " a few days ago I was all for landing Voyager on the closest Class M planet and never looking back. When our only other option was drifting until we ran out of food and fuel, the choice seemed pretty clear to me. Now," Tom considered, "now, I'm not sure how I feel." He glanced back to his wife, wondering if B'Elanna felt the same. In many ways, she had more to lose and less to gain by making it back to Earth; Tom's sentence in Auckland was almost over, and he was now in cautious-but-regular contact with his family. B'Elanna hadn't spoken to either of her parents in over a decade--wasn't even sure they were alive, in fact--and she had yet to stand trial for her actions in the Maquis rebellion. Tom knew that she and Chakotay had been pretty successful pirates and smugglers during the Cardassian War. He wasn't sure Starfleet would have any choice but to prosecute them if they returned. 

Chakotay seemed to know the best way to convince him. "I know you'd do anything to protect your daughter and the life you've built for yourself with B'Elanna. Starfleet's plan involves huge risks, Tom. Risks that might be worth it if we didn't have another option. But we do. You said it yourself yesterday; that planet you and Harry found. There's a chance for a safe, normal life there--for all of us. If we can convince Kathryn to hear us out."

"And what makes you think she would listen to us?" B'Elanna asked, not sure what path she'd choose herself if given the opportunity. 

"Kathryn's very protective of both of you, you know," her friend answered. "Her 'personal reclamation project,' her surrogate daughter, and--especially--her 'goddaughter-to-be'. I'm hoping that she'll realize the incredible risk she'd be asking you to take if we were to go through with this plan."

"That's a little emotionally manipulative, don't you think?" Tom interjected, putting his wife and Chakotay on edge unexpectedly. "Sounds like a job for me," he continued, smiling.
 
 
 

The computer told him he'd find her in her quarters, though somehow he had expected the ready room. Almost no one interrupted the captain when she was off duty, Tom mused, but he was on a mission of mercy for a friend. Besides, he thought, maybe this conversation would help him decide what it was he wanted to do. He pressed the enunciator and the doors swished open a moment later.

He was surprised to find his captain wearing a simple, pale green dress, not the uniform he was so accustomed to seeing her in. Like this, in the warm surroundings of her shipboard 'home' and without the trappings of her command, Tom realized how slight and vulnerable she looked. "Sorry for the interruption, Captain" he offered as he took a step inside her door. 

"Tom," she said a bit surprised. "Come in. What can I do for you?" 

"I wanted to ask your permission to name the planet we found yesterday." She was a little thrown by his comment, which had been his intention. 

"You want to name the planet?" she mimicked back to him. 

"Yes, ma'am. I'd like to call it, New Phoenix, like the mythical bird. It rose out of the ashes, too." 

Janeway considered Tom's request for a moment, then motioned him to the seat across from her couch. "I suppose this means you and B'Elanna won't be joining us for the rest of our journey?" 

Tom looked deeply into her eyes and replied, "Actually, Captain, I was thinking maybe New Phoenix might be the final stop on the journey for all of us."

The captain started to interrupt him, but he continued, "I've been thinking about the promise you made to us when we were first stranded out here by the Caretaker. You said you wouldn't stop until you got us home." 

Janeway's eyes misted slightly as she answered, "Yes I did. And I still have every intention of making good on that promise, Mr. Paris." 

He nodded his head gently, "I know you do. I just thought you might consider that getting us home might not mean getting us back to Earth. We've been together as a kind of family for almost seven years now. Many of us are closer to the people on Voyager than we ever were to those we left behind. I know there are some, though, that left friends and family back home; people who would do almost anything to get back. But I've been wondering...is it really worth risking their lives when we have the chance to live--all of us--on a new home right here in the Delta Quadrant."

"Tom," the captain began gently, "we have had plenty of opportunities to give up this journey, to set down on any one of dozens of habitable planets and just start over. I've been pretty clear about my priorities. Giving up just at the moment when we're handed a chance to finally..." 

He knew what she was going to say, and interrupted her, but kept the gentle tone as he went on. "Things were different, Captain. We had a functioning ship with ample supplies and no reason to think that would ever change. Under other circumstances, we could wait a few months, refine Starfleet's plan, try to improve the odds. But Voyager doesn't have a few more months in her. As you said, it's all or nothing this time. Are you prepared to risk this ship and her crew on this one chance to get it right?"

She was more than aware of what was at stake, yet she knew Tom had a right to ask. After so many years of struggling to straighten out his life, now, finally, on the other side of the galaxy, Thomas Eugene Paris had found himself. In his communication with her through the datastream, Tom's father had congratulated and thanked the captain for finally straightening out his son. She had immediately disavowed him of that notion. She may have given Tom the opportunity, but it was Paris himself who had turned his life around. She was proud of what he had become, and had grown terribly fond of her young friend--and the volatile and brilliant woman he had married. And she knew they now had their own young family to consider. She knew she couldn't ask them to come with her. She was just sorry Owen Paris wouldn't get to reconcile with his son in person.

"Tom, I would never ask you or anyone else to risk your lives on this gamble. That's why I've decided to offer the crew the chance to stay behind on your 'New Phoenix,' if that's what they want. We can leave behind what's left of our supplies, shelters, and terraforming equipment. I might even be persuaded to part with the Delta Flyer...." She knew the ship was more Tom's than Voyager's anyway. She also knew if was a rather empty gesture, since the Flyer required the same absent power sources as its parent ship, and would soon be planet-bound itself. She continued, "But as long as anyone on board thinks the risks are worth it, I have an obligation to try to get them home. It's a promise I made to this crew and to myself." She was resolute and he could tell.

"So, you're going to risk it no matter what," Tom said as much as asked. 

"Yes. I hope you can accept that," she answered firmly. They sat considering each other for another moment before Tom chose to speak again. 

"You're the bravest woman I've ever met," he said sincerely. "Though I'm sure you'll understand if I ask you not to mention that to B'Elanna." They smiled warmly at each other before he continued. "I wonder, sometimes, what my life would be like now if you hadn't busted me out of that prison." 

She laughed, "It wasn't exactly a 'jail-break,' you know!" 

Tom chuckled softly, then added tenderly, "I'll never be able to repay you for what you've given me." 

Her eyes misted over a bit as she considered how far they had come, together, since that first sarcasm-filled conversation on the lawn of the Penal Colony grounds so many years ago. Almost seven years. A lifetime. She was going to miss him. "Sure you can," she assured him. "Just hang onto the man you've become here on Voyager--that's the real Tom Paris. Never forget it. That's payment enough." 

They stood and he began to head for the door before turning back to face his captain. "I'm not sure everyone on board will find it so easy to accept your sacrifice," he said. 

She smiled, knowing all too well to whom Tom was referring. "Did you volunteer for this mission, Mr. Paris, or were you recruited?" 

He grinned. "A little of both," he admitted. "He's just trying to look out for you." Of course. As he had for as long as she could remember. 

"Good night, Tom," she said softly. 

"Good night, Kathryn," he answered.

~*~*~*~*~

Tom and B'Elanna were lying in bed, staring quietly at the ceiling, wide awake and holding each other tightly. They had spent the rest of the evening studying the data on the rescue plan, and now knew all too well how dangerous the attempt might be. Any navigational error, any minor system failure, and the ship could be torn to bits. It would require a kind of precision that couldn't be guaranteed in Voyager's current condition. 

They had also come to the same conclusion: if the crew had any chance of making it through, they would need all of Tom's finesse at the helm and all of B'Elanna's bag of engineering tricks. That alone had made the decision for them: if they stayed behind, ensured their own safety, they would be condemning their friends to near-certain death.

"You're sure," Tom confirmed.

"Yes," B'Elanna whispered. "You are, too." Their reassurances comforted them, each one knowing that the other was firm in their mutual decision. Tom leaned over and gently kissed the top of his wife's head. That's how they stayed, silently, until they both finally drifted off to sleep.

~*~*~*~*~

The captain had cleared the mess hall of all but her senior staff, Neelix, and Samantha Wildman. As the mother of the only other child aboard Voyager, Janeway knew Sam faced a more complex decision than many of the others aboard the ship. Her responsibilities as Naomi's mother held equal weight to her duties to her ship and captain. 

Kathryn didn't want to have this meeting in the formal atmosphere of the briefing room. This was a 'kitchen table' conversation, and they should be in the place they had all come to feel the most comfortable. After sharing some quiet talk and Neelix's poor excuse for coffee, the captain called them to order.

"As you know," she started, "I have decided to move ahead with Starfleet's rescue plan. I have also made it clear that each of you must decide for yourself whether or not to join me, or, if you choose, to stay behind on the colony we will form on the planet I am now calling 'New Phoenix.'" She winked quickly at Tom as she continued. "Unfortunately, those who are staying must decide quickly. We have less than a month to complete the structural repairs and equipment modifications before the next datastream to Earth. We will also need to balance the supplies for the colony based on its size. I trust you have all given this careful consideration." 

She stared with the easiest first. "Mr. Kim?" 

Harry didn't hesitate. "I'm with you, Captain. I'm staying right here." 

She nodded. "Mr. Tuvok." 

Her old friend was also easy to predict. "I also intend to stay with the ship." 

Neelix volunteered next, "And I think I'd like to come along, too, if that's alright, captain. I really have had my heart set on becoming an ambassador." 

Ensign Wildman patted her friend's arm. "Naomi and I will be staying, too, Captain. She's never met her father. I can't deny her that chance. Plus, she would never forgive me if we left Neelix." 

Janeway smiled. "Seven?"

"I have analyzed the data and believe you will be unable to succeed without my assistance. I have also come to look forward to seeing Bloomington, Indiana. I will stay." The captain was clearly moved. It looked like Tom and B'Elanna might have their new home all to themselves. 

Her chief engineer spoke up before she was asked. "Tom and I discussed it for a long while last night and...we'll be staying with the ship, too." 

The others were clearly surprised, but to say that Harry was stunned was an understatement. "What about making a new home with your family in the Delta Quadrant?" the ensign asked his best friends. 

"That's just it, Harry," Tom answered. "Our family has decided to try for home. And we want to stay with them." Kathryn was choked up. After her conversation with Tom the night before, she was sure they had decided to leave. Now she was grateful for many reasons, not the least of which was the boost to their chances provided by the unique talents of these two young officers. 

"I guess its unanimous, then," Chakotay chimed in.

Of course he wouldn't leave without us, Kathryn realized. "I guess it is," she replied, reaching over to squeeze her first officer's hand, not concerned at all who was watching this show of affection, for they were among friends. "I can't tell you how much it means to me that you have all decided to see our mission through. But we have 136 others to ask. Department heads, convene staff meetings as quickly as possible. You can report back to me at 1200 hours." She didn't bother saying 'dismissed.' This had been a family meeting, not a briefing.

She watched as her friends rose from their seats and headed for the doors. Harry couldn't seem to contain himself, and hugged B'Elanna tightly. Tom put his arm around his best friend's shoulder and the three walked out together. A moment later, only her first officer remained behind.

"You're disappointed," she said to him softly. "I'm sorry." 

Chakotay's face held that kind of peaceful resolve she had seen him use so often to mask his pain. "A bit," he admitted. "But I never expected you to be anyone other than who you are." 

She smiled sadly at his observation. "I made them a promise." A story he knew all too well. 

"Yes. Then...," he said with more conviction than he really felt, "let's get on with keeping it." He stood and held out his hand to her. She took it, and rose to stand next to him. They walked together toward the mess hall doors, still quietly holding hands. As the doors swished open to reveal the corridor, Kathryn gently squeezed his fingers, then let go. They walked back to the bridge, arms at their sides, in silence.

END PART 2

~*~*~*~*~

PART 3--LOOSE ENDS:

Three weeks had flown by. The adaptations to Voyager were almost complete, and her staff was nearing exhaustion from the pace necessary to make their deadline. Now, only four days remained before the next datastream. 'We might actually be ready,' Kathryn thought to herself as she reviewed the engineering reports. It had helped that she had her entire staff pulling double shifts. In the end--despite her concerns about losing half of her crew to New Phoenix--only a handful had even seriously discussed it. And those lost interest when they found out their friends wouldn't be joining them. 

United now in their goal--and with potential success so close at hand--they found these weeks energizing, despite the grueling workloads. Sitting in her ready room, the captain granted herself the luxury of stopping her work for a moment to gaze out her windows at the stars of the Delta Quadrant. Soon, she thought, this place will be just a memory. What surprised her were her mixed feelings at that prospect.

Not that she had ever seriously considered staying behind in this desolate region of space. But she had to admit to herself that Voyager's time so far from home had been, in most respects, the most exciting and meaningful of her life. She had been given an extraordinary opportunity to explore, a huge thrill for any scientist, and her passion for the process of discovery had never waned. She had also found something else: a kind of kinship with her crew that she never thought possible. 

The captain reflected for a moment on something she had said to her old friend Tuvok while sitting on this very couch almost seven years ago. 'I never seem to have the chance to get to know any of them. I have to take more time to do that.' Things had changed. She and her crew had nothing but time as they made their way home, and this journey had not only allowed her to connect with them in ways she never had before, it had brought friendship--deep, meaningful connections--particularly with her eight closest advisors. The thought of splitting up this family, which would be inevitable should they reach their goal, was bittersweet for her.

But she had said something else to Tuvok that day. Remembering her conversation with T'Pel, his wife, just before their mission to the Badlands, she knew how painful it had been, Vulcan or not, for this woman and her children to be separated from her mate during Tuvok's undercover mission with the Maquis. That day in her ready room, now even further away from their homes, she made the first of many commitments to her crew. Like Tuvok, nearly everyone had left family or friends behind. Herself included.

"I'll get you back to them. That's a promise, Tuvok." And, if everything went according to plans, in a little less than a week, she'd finally deliver on her word.

Her door beeped and brought her back into the moment. "Come in," she called out, and Neelix stepped gingerly into the room. He had only been in her ready room on a few occasions during their trip, and he found the surroundings intimidating, still. 

"You sent for me, Captain?" She ushered him to the seat across from her desk and moved to sit opposite him. 

"I have a top-priority mission, Mr. Neelix," she said to him with mock seriousness, "that only you can carry out."

~*~*~*~*~

Tom Paris was in pain. Not the physical sting of an injury or illness, but the psychic pain brought on by seeing someone you love hurt. The fact that the damage was inflicted by his own hands only made the situation worse. Yet he knew it had to be done.

He put down the hyperspanner and yanked on the panel with all of his strength. The Delta Flyer's shield generator was torn from its housing and handed off to Seven of Nine, who was cataloging the salvaged parts. 

"Sorry," he said under his breath, a look of grief washing over his face. The Flyer was not only Voyager's most advanced shuttle, she was Tom Paris's first-born, a ship he had conceived and fought for, helped build and rebuild with his own hands, and had piloted skillfully more times than he could remember. He had proposed to B'Elanna here; it was the sight of their unconventional honeymoon. And, even though he knew it was for a good cause, it was hard to see her torn apart.

Seven could sense Paris's somber mood--unusual, she noted for someone normally so jovial. "You seem disconcerted, Lieutenant," she inquired. "Is something wrong?"

Tom passed her the shield power coupling as he answered, "It's just tough to see a good friend used as an organ donor before she's even dead."

Seven noted his macabre sense of humor, one of the things she most appreciated as she got to know Tom. "Perhaps a memorial service is in order," she wondered out loud. 

Tom realized how morose he must have sounded, and laughed softly. "Requiem for a Shuttlecraft. Perhaps the Doc could compose an opera for the occasion."

Something he said seemed to change Seven's mood. Tom noticed she closed down a bit, and seemed a little distracted, herself. Curious, he probed to find out why. "Have you given any thought to what you'll do if we get back to Earth?" 

Tom suspected Seven had to be a little apprehensive about the reaction she'd receive if they were successful. "I am uncertain how to prepare," she admitted. "However, I am confident that I will adapt." 

No doubt, Tom agreed. Seven's most difficult transition--from Borg to human--was almost complete. He was sure someone with her intelligence and adaptability could survive just about anything now. Clearly, that wasn't why she was suddenly preoccupied.

He turned his attention to the power grid and began to dismantle the relays. "I'm sure you'll do just fine," he assured her before continuing his fishing expedition. "You know, it will probably be the rest of us who have trouble fitting in. We're a pretty strange group, you know. An ex-convict, a few dozen Maquis rebels, two reformed Borg, and a sentient hologram. I'm not sure what Starfleet will make of us all." She tensed again. He was narrowing it down. 

"You know," he tested, "I think Icheb is going to enjoy the Academy. He might even make captain before Harry!" Tom handed her the starboard coupling, and snuck a look at Seven's expression as she responded. 

"I believe Captain Janeway may sleep better when Icheb can choose from all of Starfleet for his first command," she offered. Okay, so it wasn't that...

He knew the Maquis held no particular interest for the former drone, and his parole status was clearly not the source of her concern. The process of elimination left only one stone unturned. "And I don't know what they're gonna make of the Doc," Tom mused, watching her face. Bingo. 

Paris may have been the only one on the crew who knew about the Doctor's infatuation with Seven. He remembered, with some embarrassment, the bet he had made with his medical mentor about the former drone's ability to survive a real date, and his regrets when he stupidly blurted out their wager in front of her. Only then did Tom realize the budding romance he had interrupted. But it was too late; Seven was hurt and angry. Mostly at the doctor, it seemed. She seemed to close herself off after that. And Tom had never seen her on another 'date.'

Over time, though, as Voyager's chief medic, Tom had the opportunity to watch the Doctor and Seven on many occasions. Whether either of them acknowledged it, the EMH was clearly still smitten with her. And they had developed a deep friendship, Tom knew. But was it possible Seven was starting to return the doctor's deeper feelings?

"I'm sure his medical advances will be of great interest to the Federation," Seven said a little less than confidently. 

"Sure," Tom answered, though he was less than sure the Doctor would be afforded the kind of respect and freedom he had found on Voyager. The rights of sentient holograms were, ironically, more clearly established in the Delta Quadrant, Tom knew. He had to admit, like Seven, he was also a little worried about the Doc's future.

Seven changed the subject. Sort of. "Lieutenant, you think of the Delta Flyer as an entity," she stated as much as asked. 

"In a way," Tom acknowledged. "She's been a good friend. She does what I need her to do, always comes through in a pinch, and she's saved my butt on several occasions." Seven was going somewhere with this, but Tom wasn't sure where. 

"Yet she is only a ship," she replied. "Cables and conduits and deck plating. She has no consciousness." 

Tom nodded. "I guess I just enjoy thinking of her as having a personality. It's comforting, in some strange way, to think she's looking out for me."

Seven continued, "Do you think it is healthy for you to invest so much emotion in a relationship with a machine?" 

Somehow, Tom suspected she wasn't talking about him and the Flyer any more. "I know she isn't alive, if that's what you mean. And I would never let my feelings for her get in the way of my real relationships." His one experience with a pseudo-sentient ship had guaranteed that. 

Seven pressed on, "But you think a relationship with a machine can be an acceptable form of self-expression?" He had to be careful how he answered.

"With a ship like the Flyer, maybe not," he had to be honest. "But like I said, she's not sentient. Now, if you're asking if I think relationships have to be human-to-human in order to be real, I guess I'd say no." He hoped this was the right advice. "Take the relationship B'Elanna and I have with the Doctor. He's mechanical of sorts, yet he's as real as any of our friends. You know, we've asked him to be our daughter's godfather." 

Seven had heard this term used between Neelix and Naomi Wildman, and she knew it to be a symbolic role reserved for the one chosen to raise a child in a parent's absence. "You trust the Doctor to care for your child?" she asked, confirming his meaning. 

"Why not?" he replied. "Who better to look out for her than the best doctor in the galaxy?"

This was getting too serious for Tom's tastes. A change of mood was definitely in order. "Now if he starts teaching her how to sing opera," Paris warned as he ducked into the access bay, "Maybe we'll have to reconsider." 

~*~*~*~*~

Harry and B'Elanna had been working in engineering all afternoon, reinforcing the warp core and scanning to make sure they had found and fixed all of the microfissures. It was mind-numbing work, and not particularly physical, but the very-pregnant chief engineer was exhausted. "Verify these figures with Nicoletti, then...." She was mid-sentence when she stopped suddenly and leaned against the console. 

Harry grabbed her arm, "That's it, Maquis, you're sitting down." He pulled a rolling stool over from the next station, and forced his friend to sit. 

"Giving me orders, Starfleet?" she grimaced, taking the seat anyway, but continuing to work. "I outrank you, Ensign." 

Harry pulled himself up straight and swaggered as much as Harry Kim could swagger. "Not for long, if I have my way." 

B'Elanna chuckled, "I forgot; as soon as we get back you're going to be knocking on doors, demanding that long-overdue promotion." 

They both smiled. "Yep, and I'll expect you to remember that when I'm your senior officer!" This comment made his friend a little pensive, and Harry wondered for a moment what he had said to upset her. B'Elanna knew all too well that, should they make it back, she wasn't likely to appear anywhere on a Starfleet chain of command. She wondered how she would face that if it came.

"Hey, Mommy, are you okay?" That seemed to snap her out of it. 

"Mommy?!" the Klingon half of her inquired forcefully. "What happened to 'Maquis'?!" 

Just hearing her say the word made Harry realize what might have bothered her about his joke about outranking her. "Well," he answered with a sweet mischief, "you're not really a Maquis anymore, are you? And you're certainly about to become a mommy." 

She glared back at him, "And you're about to be an uncle, and if you don't stop calling me 'Mommy' I'm going to make you practice screaming your new title!" No need to explain that reference. Their vocabularies had been equally polluted by 20th Century Parisisms. 

"I don't know why it bugs you so much," Harry kept at it. "Tom loves it when I call him 'Daddy.'" 

B'Elanna smiled a little at that thought. Her formerly irresponsible, still irrepressible husband was looking forward to being a father. He was going to be great at it, too, she knew. "Well, take your abuse out on him, if you don't mind."

"I would if I ever saw him," Harry complained. Their duty shifts the past few weeks had been on separate critical projects, Tom overseeing the salvaging of Voyager's shuttles, Harry and B'Elanna putting those scavenged parts to use in modifying the ship. And there were very few sit-down meals in the mess hall these days. 

"He misses you, you know," Torres offered. 

"Me, too," Harry replied glumly. "We had a kind of big fight before all this happened," he said solemnly. 

"Yes, I know," she replied. Of course she knew. Tom told her everything. "He thinks you're still upset with him for wanting to settle down on New Phoenix." 

Harry chuckled. "That's funny. I though he was still mad at me for wanting to keep going." 

They smiled sadly at each other. "You're the little brother Tom never had, Harry," she said softly. "He could never stay mad at you. In fact," she almost stopped herself, but decided it was too late, "he's doing all this for you."

Harry looked at his friend quizzically. "Doing what for me?" She was committed. 

"Ripping apart the shuttles, his precious DeltaFlyer, making his hundredth flight simulation of the trip through the wormhole. You're the reason we didn't stay on New Phoenix, Harry." She looked him in the eye. "He didn't want to stay there without you. And...frankly, neither did I." 

Harry's eyes were misting over. B'Elanna had to do something to get her friend focused back on their work before he made an emotional display and embarrassed them both. "Besides, Starfleet, who do you think is going to be a role model of fine upstanding behavior for our child? It certainly won't be either of us!" It worked. Harry grinned. 

"Tell you what," B'Elanna offered. "Our quarters, 1900 hours. Dinner's on us. I think you and a certain pilot are long overdue for a double date." 

Harry's eyes opened widely at that one. "And who do you recommend I bring for my 'date'?" 

She smiled snidely at him, "After six and a half years, Harry, you don't know any of the sixty-two women on this ship well enough to ask one of them on a date?" 

Tom really was a bad influence on her, Harry decided. "Never mind," he backed off. "I'll think of someone...."

Their rest break over, the two engineers turned back to their consoles and got back to work.

~*~*~*~*~

As it turned out, Harry didn't need to proposition a woman to join him for dinner. Word came at 1400 hours that the captain was requesting her senior staff meet in her quarters at 1900. Their instructions: no uniforms, get dressed for dinner. Rumor was that Neelix was seen coming and going from their commanding officer's cabin all afternoon, and those passing by as the door opened noticed blending aromas they could only describe as 'mouthwatering.' 

Janeway had disappeared from the bridge at the end of the Alpha shift, and hadn't said a word on her way out. Not that this was unusual these days. The bridge was currently staffed by junior officers, while her key personnel were knee-deep in the critical modifications of their vessel.

It was almost time. Kathryn looked around her home, satisfied. She wanted this night to be perfect, and Neelix had done a wonderful job making it so. In these times of rationing and shortages, there were limits to how much she could do. But leave it to her morale officer to make a little go a long way. Her two 'orders' for the evening: no leola root and no Talaxian spices. She did agree to let her friend replicate the ingredients and cook them himself, but with strict orders to follow the recipes to the letter. He had grudgingly agreed. 

With characteristic Borg precision, Seven arrived at exactly 1900 hours, on the arm--the captain noted--of her chief medical officer. The lanky blonde was dressed--uncharacteristically--in a wrap-around mid-thigh magenta dress, and her hair was down, swept up only behind one ear. It almost took Janeway's breath away to see her friend looking so...comfortably human. "Seven," she said as she welcomed them, "you look gorgeous. Where did you get this dress?" 

She would have sworn she saw Seven's cheeks redden slightly. "I have had it for some time, Captain. It was a gift..." she looked over at the doctor, "from a friend." 

Janeway caught the look and smiled at the Doctor. He had altered his program parameters to change from his uniform to a rather dashing tuxedo. "You're looking quite handsome yourself, tonight, Doctor," she offered.

"Thank you, Captain," he said. "A new subroutine, also a gift." Now Janeway was sure a hologram couldn't blush, but still...

The door chimed again. "Make yourselves at home," she said, motioning them into her living area. She answered the door to find Chakotay, holding a single red rose from the airponics bay. "You shouldn't have," she said as she met his gaze. 

"Technically, it's not edible," her first officer noted as he handed it to her, "so it wasn't subject to rationing." He stared into her eyes intently, throwing her off balance as he always seemed to in social settings. Soon his gaze moved to what she was wearing, appreciating the simple cream silk pantsuit he had seen several times before. She was sure she was blushing now. She immediately diverted his attention. 

"Say hello to Seven and the Doctor," she said softly, meaning only to get his eyes off of her for the moment. They walked over to the seating area where the first two to arrive were, strangely, standing. 

"Good evening," Chakotay offered. 

"Commander," Seven acknowledged. 

"I think, in this setting, if would be best if you called me Chakotay," he suggested. Suddenly the ex-Borg's date looked a little put out by the familiarity. Their hostess, however, was surprised to see that Chakotay hadn't seemed to take much notice of the change in Seven's appearance. She wasn't sure if she liked the oversight or not. Luckily, the door signaled a timely distraction for them all.

She moved to press the release (shouting 'come in' seemed impolite when one was expecting guests, she felt), and was happy to see her old friend. "Tuvok, welcome," she said warmly. 

The door was just about to close as Neelix came rushing up, pushing a serving cart full of dishes. "Wait for me," he called out, pushing into the room, the smells of his cooking wafting in after him. "Dinner is served," he called.

"Thank you, Mr. Neelix, but we'll have to wait a few minutes. Some of our guests haven't arrived." On cue, the door sounded, and the captain moved to admit Ensign Kim. "Harry, welcome," she said, "any clue when we might see the Paris/Torres family?" 

Harry grinned, sheepishly, on his friends' behalf. "They're on their way, Captain," he said. "B'Elanna was having a little trouble...," god, she'd kill him if she knew he was saying this, "...finding an appropriate dress that...fits." Kathryn and Chakotay smiled at the thought. 

Yes, Voyager's latest wager wasn't the traditional 'guess the sex, weight and delivery date' baby pool. At least two of these three questions could be easily answered with a standard medical tricorder. No, Voyager's version was a little less kind. 'Guess the date B'Elanna's uniform gives way.' The chief engineer spent a lot of time grousing over the fact that the end of her pregnancy was coming just as their replicator rations were cut off. And, since she was only the second pregnant woman to live on Voyager, Sam Wildman having long ago recycled her maternity clothes, B'Elanna gamely squeezed herself into the tight 'six months gestation' size uniforms every day. It was a matter of time, everyone knew, before the laws of tension and fibers won out. Harry hoped his friend never found out about his own wager in the pool.

"Can I get anyone a beverage while we're waiting?" Neelix offered, playing host in his customary fashion. "Wine, coffee, Sarealen tea?" 

The group was impressed. "And how did you come to be in possession of these delicacies?" Commander Tuvok asked. 

The captain spoke up, "I have opened up the replicators this evening," she said smiling. "Each crew member, at the completion of his shift, will find sufficient rations for a nice, replicated meal waiting in their quarters. Tonight, we celebrate." With that the last of her guests arrived.

The doors opened to reveal the couple, showing almost none of the tension the others knew they had just experienced. Everyone was anxious now to see what B'Elanna would be wearing, and her garment was a testament to her husband's creativity. Having helped her rip apart her closet, finding nothing she could squeeze herself into, Tom had finally handed her a long sapphire tunic he had worn on those days when he was feeling less than fit, himself. The oversized shirt on his wife's small frame made for a lovely maternity mini-dress, actually showing off the engineer's shapely legs rather nicely. Crisis averted. Her friends, of course, were careful not to mention that they recognized her dress as Tom's 'fat' shirt. They all valued their lives as well as B'Elanna's feelings.

"I was getting ready to send out a search team for you two," the captain kidded them. "Glad you could make it." 

Without even glancing at his wife, Tom answered, "I'm sorry, Captain, I was late coming off duty then I couldn't find one of my shoes." Kathryn smiled that he was covering for his wife. This was one of the only ways she could think of that B'Elanna needed her husband's protection: wherever possible, he always tried to spare her embarrassment. 

"We're just glad you could make it. Come in and make yourselves comfortable." They walked in and took seats on the couch across from Chakotay and Harry, as Neelix took their beverage order (a draft beer for Tom and berry juice for B'Elanna).

The captain took a moment to look around before she moved to join them. Here were her friends, the eight people closest to her in the world. After seeing them under such extreme strain the last few months, it was so nice to watch them relaxing, happy, dressed and acting like civilians without a care in the world. This is the way it should be, she felt. She considered each one carefully: enjoying the easy banter between Tom and Harry, the way her pilot's hand never left B'Elanna's knee as she joined in their conversation, the respectful verbal jousting of Tuvok and Neelix--even the now obvious affection in the eyes of the Doctor as he spoke softly with Seven. How could she have missed that before, she wondered. It was only when her eyes made it around to Chakotay that she realized she was being examined, herself.

"So, Kathryn," he offered, "Somehow I think you gathered us all here for more than just dinner." She walked to place a hand on his shoulder and the other conversations stopped.

She smiled warmly at her guests. "According to my estimations, the modifications to Voyager in preparation for our journey are complete. And, while we still have simulations and systems checks to complete, I feel that this crew--after service above and beyond the call of duty in the Delta Quadrant--deserves to enjoy some of our last few days in exile." She took a few steps closer to them. "Therefore, I am restoring replicator rations to their pre-crisis levels and reopening Holodeck 2." As she expected, Tom and Harry looked the most excited at that news.

"Captain," Tuvok interjected, "do you think it's wise to deplete our energy reserves? If we are unable to complete our mission...." 

She finished his sentence her own way, "...then it is unlikely that we will be needing our energy reserves." They were quiet for a moment. They all knew there were only three real options in their future: fail to open the conduit (meaning a likely retreat to colonize New Phoenix), open the conduit and make it home safely (in which case Starfleet would meet them with all the supplies they needed), or open the conduit and die inside it. Despite the Vulcan's concerns, Janeway's logic was sound. "Besides," Kathryn continued, trying to restore the mood, "we've earned this. A few days to remind us of what we have had here together, I think, isn't too much to ask. And, with that in mind, Mr. Neelix has been slaving over a hot stove all afternoon. Shall we eat?"
 
 

The dinner conversation had been full of stories, reminiscing about the 'best and worst of times' as the Doctor often called them. After Janeway laid down the ground rule that no one was to be referred to by rank, herself included, the atmosphere had been one of a grand family dinner typical of a holiday celebration, though everyone enjoyed watching Harry's discomfort at calling the captain "Kathryn." 

Neelix had kept his word, and the meal was perfectly prepared and seasoned. They lingered at the table long after dessert, just savoring the company and the time away from their duties. It was well after 2330 when the Doctor mentioned the time.

"Lieutenant Torres, if I'm not mistaken, you are thirty-minutes late for bed." 

Always 'thrilled' to be hovered over, B'Elanna started to argue the point only to have Tom give her a gracious way out. "Well, you might not be tired, but I am. Let's go." B'Elanna begrudgingly agreed. 

"Kathryn," she said a little uncomfortably, "thank you so much for this night." 

Her captain hugged her friend gently. "Pleasant dreams, B'Elanna." The two smiled warmly as Janeway moved on to Tom. "Thank you," she said softly as she leaned in to hug him goodnight.

"For what?" he asked sincerely. 

"For staying," she replied. Tom returned her hug before putting his arm around B'Elanna's shoulders and walking to the door. 

"Wait for me," Harry called to them. His social safety net was about to walk out the door, and he decided to take that as his cue to leave. "I'll walk with you." He turned to Janeway and almost extended his hand. "Goodnight, Cap-Kathryn," he caught himself awkwardly. 

Sparing the ensign the embarrassment of either hugging or shaking hands with his captain, Kathryn put her arm on Harry's shoulder and walked with him to the door. "Good night, Harry. And--don't worry--it'll be 'Captain' again tomorrow." He smiled in relief and followed Tom and B'Elanna out into the corridor.

She walked back to the table in time to see the Doctor rise and hold Seven's chair. This was a switch, Janeway thought to herself. Usually one had to kick the physician out of any party he attended, often after a long-winded commentary or ponderous speech. Maybe because a hologram couldn't eat, he had extra time to sit around thinking of things to say. Tonight, however, he seemed to be in a bit of a hurry to go. 

"Well, if you will excuse us, Kathryn, I think we'll call it a night." 

Seven looked at him quizzically. "'Call it a night?'" she asked? 

"An expression, Seven, meaning excuse oneself, head for home, you know...." 

Seven inquired, "'Hit the road'?" 

The Doctor looked slightly exasperated. "Yes, exactly." 

She nodded. "One might simply have said so." If Janeway didn't know better, she would think Seven had been flirting with him, in a Borg kind of way. Again she wondered what she had missed about this relationship? 

"In any case, thank you for a lovely evening," the Doctor said as he took his hostess's hand and kissed it. 

"Yes...Kathryn," Seven said almost as haltingly as had Harry. "Thank you for your hospitality." Janeway smiled at what she now realized was a budding romance--though, from the look in the Doctor's eyes, she felt perhaps he had been infatuated for quite a while. 

"Thank you both for coming," she said. "See you tomorrow." The Holodoc stepped aside to 'hold open' the door for his date then followed her into the corridor.

Chakotay and Tuvok had moved to the sitting area, while Neelix loaded the dirty dishes into the recycler. The captain joined her friends, taking the open seat on the couch next to her first officer. "This was a lovely evening, Kathryn," Chakotay offered. "I think we all needed it." 

Tuvok agreed, "It does seem a logical way to boost staff morale before a difficult assignment. I was reviewing the staff productivity logs, and have found a 47% decrease in efficiency ratings, especially for those crew in the..." 

Neelix had finished his cleanup and stood watching the scene before him. Voyager's tactical officer had begun rambling on about crew efficiency and duty shifts, totally oblivious to his two senior officers seated before him. They, in turn, seemed to be unaware of the Vulcan prattling on about mundane ship's business in front of them. From the look in their eyes, all of Commander Chakotay's attention was being focused on the captain. All of her energies seemed to be going into avoiding the commander's gaze. One of the many side effects of Neelix's years as morale officer was a keen understanding of when to jump into a one-sided conversation.  If ever he saw two people in need of a rescue, now was the time. He cut off Tuvok in mid-sentence. 

"Well, I'm finished here, Captain, so I guess I'll be going. Mr. Tuvok, I could use your help getting these serving utensils back to the mess hall, if you wouldn't mind." He walked over to Tuvok, gently grabbing his arm and pulling him up and toward the door. 

The Vulcan's eyebrows raised in typical fashion, as he extricated his arm from Neelix's hand. "Mr. Neelix, may I point out that I was engaged in a conversation, and that you seemed to have no difficulty getting your equipment down here without my assistance?" 

All too true, Neelix thought, scrambling to think of a good reason for them to leave. "Yes, but I would have to make several trips to collect everything, and I'm sure the Captain is getting tired." 

Janeway was slightly confused at her chef's insistence, "Actually, I'm..." 

She was cut off by Chakotay, who was now standing behind her. "I think it's very kind of you to offer to help Mr. Neelix, Tuvok. I'm sure he could use your assistance." Tuvok regarded him suspiciously--this entire situation defied logic--and it seemed his captain was looking a little confused herself. 

"Very well," the security chief replied, still smelling some kind of conspiracy, "I will assist you." 

Neelix smiled and handed Tuvok a large serving dish that would have easily fit onto the cart he was pushing. "Thank you very much, Mr. Vulcan," he said to Tuvok, practically pushing him out the door with his cart. When the way was blocked, preventing the Vulcan's return, Neelix turned back to the captain and said softly, "There was a half-finished bottle of Ktarian Merlot--I left it on the table with two glasses if you would like a nightcap." He winked at her then completed his exit, along with a very annoyed Vulcan. 

Now I understand, she thought. She took a deep breath before turning around.

~*~*~*~*~

Seven and the Doctor had reached the turbolift without speaking. "Deck 8," he said when the doors closed. 

"But sickbay is on Deck 5," Seven pointed out. 

"Yes, I know, but it is customary to accompany one's date back to her home at the end of the evening." 

She considered this for a moment. Seven usually knew her own mind quite well. This experience, however, was confusing. She and the Doctor had been sparring affectionately for over four years now, and she considered him her best friend. She couldn't deny, though, that--had he been a human male--she would probably have sought him out for a romantic relationship. He was not a human male, however. Was she a human female, though? Certainly, in almost every physiological respect, the answer was yes. But she felt uncomfortable in the presence of 'real' men--socially speaking, of course--and had found none of them her intellectual equal. And the Doctor was sentient; everything about him was 'real' in its own way. These contradictions were very unsettling to a mind that craved order.

She had begun to question her own motives. Was she using the Doctor as a way to avoid a human relationship? Were her feelings real? Could one have a serious relationship with a being who was only questionably 'alive.' Her conversation in the Delta Flyer kept replaying in her head. Clearly Lieutenants Paris and Torres considered the Doctor real enough to be their child's godfather. And she knew her own friendship with him to be genuine as well. Why did a romantic relationship feel so different, so suspect? Yet she had made up her mind to use this night to test her feelings about changing the nature of their relationship, even though she knew there might be no going back.

She also knew that the 'walk home at the end of the date' usually resulted in a 'goodnight kiss.'

The lift doors opened, and they began to walk slowly to Cargo Bay 2. "Seven, I was wondering..." he said haltingly. The Doctor was clearly nervous, an unusual state for him. She found it strangely endearing. "Have you considered how you will spend your holodeck time?" 

An unexpected question. "I don't plan to 'spend' it at all. I have never seen the value of creating an artificial reality as a means of entertainment." She wasn't judgmental in her tone, just honest. 

"Indeed," he suggested, "a holodeck can help one test out new social situations in an unthreatening environment. I thought, perhaps, you and I might combine our allotments and practice some...new social scenarios. In anticipation of our arrival on Earth, I mean. Certainly you'll want to be prepared for any new...relationships you might develop once you arrive." 

Seven considered this. "Almost like a shuttle simulation?" she offered. 

He frowned. "I guess you could put it that way." Not the most romantic analogy, he feared. They were just steps away from Seven's 'front door.'

"As I recall, Doctor, the last time we used the holodeck to simulate a social situation, you ended up wagering with Mr. Paris on my success." 

A painful reminder, but true. "I have apologized for that, Seven," he said sincerely. "Besides, in that situation, I was your teacher and you, my pupil." If there were a bravery subroutine, he was about to engage it. "I thought, perhaps, in this scenario, I might be your.... That I might have some things to learn, myself. That, perhaps, we could learn them together." 

Seven considered her friend's obvious vulnerability. "In that case, Doctor," she said as they stopped in front of her door. "I would agree to sharing our allotted time." 

The Doctor was now smiling widely, and swept her hand into his, bringing it up to kiss her knuckles. She quickly pulled it away. Before he could look hurt, she offered. "If I am correct, this is technically our third date." He supposed on one level that was true, but was still unsure of the significance. "I believe social protocols dictate that, on one's third date, a kiss on the lips is the appropriate end to an evening." Before he could say anything, she leaned over and gave him a gentle, almost schoolgirlish kiss. Before he could even react, she pulled away. "Goodnight, Doctor," she said, and the cargo bay doors swished shut behind her. 

"Goodnight, Seven," he said to no one, and wandered slowly back to sickbay.

~*~*~*~*~

Now alone in her quarters with Chakotay, Kathryn found herself wishing for the safety of the larger group. She and her first officer had shared a private dinner once a week for over six years before the rationing began. This was a different situation, she knew. No longer were they to be trapped indefinitely in the Delta Quadrant, the only representatives of Starfleet determined to keep their protocols intact. A little more than a week from now, everything would be different. Yet neither had any idea what that would mean.

"We've been here alone before, Kathryn," he broke the silence. "I don't remember you being this nervous then." He had taken Neelix's suggestion and poured them both glasses of wine. 

Her hand shook a little as she took hers. "What makes you think I'm nervous?" she asked, as if it weren't written all over her. 

"You forget that no one knows you better than I do," he answered, walking back to sit on her couch. She followed him and sat beside him, though a comfortable distance apart. He decided it would serve his interests best to get her mind off of her discomfort. Torturing her was not what he had in mind.

"Have you given any thought to what you want to do when we get home?" he wondered. 

"Actually, no," she answered honestly. "I know I want a big sloppy kiss from my dog! Irish setters don't live much past ten, unfortunately, and Mark says he thinks Molly is hanging on just to see me." 

While the thought of Kathryn kissing her dog had done nothing to make Chakotay jealous, the mention of Mark was another story. "How is he doing?" he asked. Her ex-fiancée was a sore subject for them both. 

"He's doing well, actually. He and his wife are expecting a child, not too long after Tom and B'Elanna's baby is due." The life she could have had, but didn't. Now it was her who wanted to change the subject. "How about you? Have you made any plans for the future?"

"That's a little difficult for me at this point," he offered. "I have no idea how much control I'll have of my own destiny. At least for the next seven to ten years." He was grinning, though neither of them found the prospect of his imprisonment amusing. 

"You know I'll do everything in my power to make sure the charges against you are dropped." She moved to sit closer so she could touch his arm resting on the back of the couch. "You and B'Elanna, and the rest of the former Maquis, you were fighting for a cause you believed in deeply. And, in the end, you were proven right about the Cardassian treaty. Your service on this ship has been exemplary. You've earned the right to your freedom, your commission...." He was unconvinced. 

"My commission." His salvation and his prison. "I think it might be a little optimistic to think I'll be allowed to keep my rank." 

Perhaps, she thought. "But I need you here with me," she said impulsively. 

"As your first officer?" he asked pointedly. Her whole body straightened as she realized the implication of her statement and of his question. Before she could answer, they heard the call. 

"Carey to Commander Chakotay." 

He paused a second before responding. "Chakotay here." Kathryn looked away from him. 

"I'm sorry to disturb you, sir, but there's a minor coolant leak--nothing dangerous--but I have to take the mains offline to repair it. I need someone with level six security access to authorize the shutdown. Normally I would call Lieutenant Torres, but you asked me not to wake her." 

The first officer continued looking at his captain as he answered, "I'll be right there, Lieutenant. Chakotay out." He put his wine glass on the coffee table and headed for the door. "Saved by the bell," he said to her over his shoulder, only a little sarcastically. He was hurt, she knew. 

She watched the door close behind him, still wondering how she would have answered his question.

~*~*~*~*~

This was a big day for Tom Paris. Despite their late night at Captain Janeway's party, he had gotten up early, practically sneaking out of bed so as not to wake his sleeping wife. However, as a half-Klingon (and as a pregnant woman, for that matter), her sense of smell was particularly acute, and she was now calling out to the living area from their bed. "Tell me you're not having that for breakfast!" she groaned. 

"What?" he asked, his mouth still full. There was soon a very pregnant woman, hands on her hips, standing alongside him.

"Tom, pizza for breakfast?!" She was shaking her head. 

"Hey, we didn't need to use our replicator rations for dinner last night, so I thought.... It's been so long, B'Elanna. Besides, cold pizza for breakfast is an old Earth delicacy." 

She smirked at him and sat down, pulling off a slice for herself. "I thought I was the one who was supposed to have cravings," she joked, taking a bite. Not bad cold, she thought, but said instead, "You'll make yourself sick." 

He shook his head, his mouth still half full. "I see you're not worried about getting sick yourself," he observed. 

"Redundant stomach," she reminded him. 

"Lucky girl," he joked leaning over to lick some stray sauce off of her lip. They kissed for a while until B'Elanna flinched and pulled away.

"Ouch!" Her hand had gone to her belly. 

"Are you okay?" Tom asked, a little worried at how close she was getting to her due date. Well, what they thought would be her due date: no one knew what impact her combined genetic structure would have on the length of her pregnancy. 

"I'm fine," she said, still grimacing a little. "I just got a swift kick in the gut," she explained. "If I didn't know better, I'd think your daughter doesn't like pizza for breakfast," she kidded.

"How come she's 'my daughter' every time she kicks you?" Tom put his lips close to her belly and spoke in a fake-fatherly growl. "Don't make me come in there, young lady!" For the double and triple entendre, B'Elanna smacked him hard on the head.

"Hey!" he whined. "I'm not the one who kicked you, remember." 

She couldn't help but laugh. "You're going to be a bad influence on this child, you know," she scolded him. 

"I hope so," he said softly, now kneeling in front of her, eye to eye. When he spoke, his eyes squinted just slightly, in what she found the sexiest of his many expressions. "I've been a bad influence on her mother, and that's worked out pretty well." He kissed her deeply, practically pulling her off the chair. He held her so tightly, that this time he was the one who cried out. "Hey! She got me that time!"

B'Elanna laughed, "Actually, she got us both. You know, maybe it isn't the pizza. Maybe she doesn't like to see her parents kissing." 

Tom's eyes narrowed at that thought. "She'd better close her eyes, then," he said, moving back into their clinch, "because she ain't seen nothin' yet." He stood up quickly, swept B'Elanna into his arms and carried her back to the bed. It was less a grand romantic gesture than a hostage-taking. The pizza would be even colder before they got back to it.

~*~*~*~*~

Chakotay had published the duty roster for the next four days to the personal database of each member of the crew. With it, he had sent out a blank holodeck schedule for each person to request his or her ninety minutes. Requests started pouring in immediately. Not surprisingly, he could see a pattern of crewmembers he suspected were pooling their time, trying to make the most of their last chance for a real break before heading home. 

A macabre thought entered his mind: that in some ways, this might be a metaphorical 'last meal and cigarette' for the crew--a last glimpse of pleasure before being sent to their deaths. He shook off the thought and kept working.

This is a surprise, he thought. Harry had booked his time for that same evening, in between the segments reserved by Jenny and Megan Delaney. He would have thought Harry and Tom would join forces, maybe play one of their holodeck role-playing games. Ten minutes later, however, he saw Paris reserve his time and B'Elanna's for the last night available. Recognizing that they probably were looking forward to some private time alone, Chakotay realized that this might be the last chance any of them may have to get their relationships in order before their dangerous trip home. 

He found himself booking the last three hours--his time and the captian's--for the final available timeslot, just after Paris and Torres. He then touched the screen and pulled up the ship's status reports. He needed to get his mind back on his work.

~*~*~*~*~

The mess hall was now reopened for the duration of their trip, and--even though they had enjoyed a non-traditional breakfast in their quarters, Tom and B'Elanna came in to look for Harry. While Tom stopped to pour a cup of Neelix's coffee, B'Elanna--ruining the running wager by wearing a newly-replicated, properly-sized uniform--searched the crowded room for their friend. 

She found him huddled over a PADD with--of all people--the Delaney sisters. As she got close to their table, Jenny elbowed her sister firmly in the side and said, "I think we should get to work." 

Megan saw the engineer approaching and agreed. "See you tonight, Harry," she said as they stood and walked to the door. 

"Megan, Jenny," B'Elanna said as they passed her. She squeezed herself into the chair Megan had vacated and glared across the table at her friend. "What was that about, Harry?" she asked. 

He smiled guiltily. "I need your help," he said with a touch of mischief. He explained his secret plan to her quickly, before Tom arrived. She was happy to play along. 

"You're looking wickedly into my wife's eyes," Tom said as he took the seat next to B'Elanna. "I'm not the jealous type, but you could at least have the decency to flirt with her behind my back," he said grinning at them both. 

"He's on to us, Harry," she said in mock seriousness. "The marriage, the baby...looks like our little diversions didn't work." She kissed Tom deeply on the lips. "I have to get to engineering," she whispered softly before she stood up. "Defend my honor," she demanded gently before she walked away.

"Wow, that was pretty...passionate for the mess hall," Harry said, surprised. B'Elanna was always a little shy about public displays of affection, even after she and Tom were married. 

"Let's just say we had a good morning," Tom grinned. 

Harry's reaction wasn't so pleasant. "That's more information than I need, thank you," he said, then changed the subject. "So, what time are you off duty tonight?"

Tom knew Harry had booked holodeck time that evening, and he also knew the Delaney sisters' time bookended his friend's. "Why, what are you up to?" 

Harry was a lousy liar, but that didn't mean he had to answer Tom's question. "Just be in your quarters at 1800 hours. That's an order." Harry stood up and winked at his friend before walking away. 

"Yes, sir," Tom called out to him, being careful to sound sincere. Of course, he wasn't about to walk into Harry's trap blindly. He downed the last of his coffee and headed for the bridge.

~*~*~*~*~

Tom knew B'Elanna was in on it when she made a flimsy excuse to work late. Never one to disobey a direct order--okay, almost never--he returned to his quarters promptly at 1800. He found his Captain Proton outfit laid out carefully across his bed. He smiled and quickly changed out of his uniform. "Harry, I can read you like a cheap novel," he said as he pulled on the jacket, probably for the last time. He grabbed his goggles and headed for Holodeck 2.

The program was running when he arrived. Megan and Jenny were deep into their roles as the Twin Mistresses of Evil, Demonica and Malicia, and Harry was in typical Buster Kincaid trouble as our hero entered the story. "Die you twin demonesses of darkness," Captain Proton cried out as he drew his comatizer. Suddenly, from out of nowhere, came the mad Doctor Chaotica, his henchmen locking the Captain in the dreaded Dememorizing Chamber. "It's...up...to...you now, Buster," Proton called to his trusty sidekick. " When they activate the Chamber, I'll barely remember my name. Only you can save the President of Earth. I only hope you...." 

With that, Chaotica pulled the switch, and the lights of the chamber flashed brightly. I don't remember writing this part, Harry thought, as he watched Tom writhe in mock agony. With that, however, he swung into action, knocking the weapons from the hands of the evil Twins and comatizing the henchmen with Proton's discarded gun.

For the next four hours, Buster Kincaid helped his bravery-impaired Captain out of one dire straight after another, cornering and losing Chaotica and his evil henchwomen time after time. There was also, Harry noted, a protracted plotline where Buster was subjected to the horrors of 'torture' at the hands of the dimpled Demonica--with not a single interruption from our still memory-deprived hero. Finally, having accomplished their goal of rescuing Earth's 'President,' Proton's memories seemed to return to him. 

Three minutes before their time was up, the story ended and our heroes were victorious. "Computer, remove characters," Harry called out as Megan and Jenny walked toward them. 

"Great game, Harry!" Megan said, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. 

"Thanks for talking us into it," Jenny said, rubbing her hand on his arm. The twins gathered their props and called for the exit.

"Yeah, great story, Harry," Tom said in mock innocence. 

"Sure," Harry answered, "except that it isn't the one I wrote." He looked at his best friend as it all dawned on him. "You changed the narrative parameters file so Buster would be the hero of the story." 

Tom smiled at Harry and put his hand on his friend's shoulder as they walked toward the exit. "Computer, delete program," was all Tom would say in reply. "I think we're done with Captain Proton, Harry. Next time, it's the Excelsior and a different famous captain...who looked a little bit like you, if I remember my history texts...." The friends went back to Tom's quarters to have a beer and fill B'Elanna in on their adventure before calling it a night.

~*~*~*~*~

The next day had been an uneventful one for Seven of Nine. She had spent the bulk of it assisting Lieutenant Torres in a complete warp core diagnostic--her standards of perfection being more important than ever as they completed their preparations. No anomalies were found, however, so there was little to divert her mind from the evening ahead of her. 

At 1800 hours, she met Icheb in Astrometrics to help him review the materials for an examination Commander Tuvok would administer the next day. The lesson in stellar geometry was rudimentary, even for her pupil, but she tried to immerse herself in the exercise to keep her thoughts from straying. It hadn't worked.

1930 hours came eventually, and Icheb excused himself to meet Naomi and Samantha Wildman. He was tutoring his own student, it seemed. Seven was glad Icheb and Naomi had each other for company. They were Voyager's only children and she knew from personal experience that being different could be isolating. Her pupil had taught her a valuable lesson recently about the trap of self-reliance. Tonight, if all went well, she might take her first steps in exploring mutual dependency. She left Astrometrics for Cargo Bay 2, glad that her 'roommate' was otherwise occupied.

Tonight's attire was the first piece of clothing she owned that had not been designed by her 'date.' She knew the element of surprise was important when dressing for an evening out, and wanted her outfit to represent her own developing tastes. The dress was longer than the one she had worn a few nights ago--mid-calf--and was less restrictive at the waist and bust, with what the computer described as an 'empress' collar that wrapped gently around her neck. It was simple, but lovely. She had designed it in the shades of blue and purple her 'tailor' seemed to like on her so much. Her hair she would wear down, but with strands on either side pulled back and clipped behind her head. She finished dressing and, for the first time in her adult life--except for a few fleeting hours in Unimatrix Zero--she felt more like Annika Hansen than Seven of Nine. It was disquieting and exciting all at once.

Unlike their last date, Seven would meet her escort in the holodeck. He asked to have a few moments alone in the scenario before she arrived. It was now 2004. She left for the quick turbolift ride to Deck 6.
 
 

To say that the Doctor was nervous was a bit of an understatement. Everyone knew he could reach an intensity that was almost manic, but he had never experienced such extreme 'butterflies.' He wanted this evening to be perfect, knowing the value his date placed on perfection. A tough standard to hold oneself to in a social context, he feared. Still, he would need his renowned precision tonight.

Right on time, the doors opened to reveal a vision in lavender and sapphire. He had never seen this dress before and the effort he knew had gone into it was deeply touching. It practically took his holographic breath away.

"Hello," he said in a voice unusually subdued for his program. "You look stunning." He hoped Mr. Paris's lessons on extending a compliment to a beautiful woman were as effective on Seven as they had apparently been on B'Elanna. 

"Thank you, Doctor," his date replied. "You look...lovely, yourself." Had this been an actual social lesson, he might have corrected Seven's choice of compliments to something along the lines of 'handsome,' or 'dashing.' As it was, he was happy just to think she thought him 'lovely.' He, too, was wearing something new, a subroutine Lieutenant Torres has created for him of a classic navy blue suit with a bright white shirt and thin tie. Something she had seen on a 20th century actor known as 'Cary Grant,' she said. He assumed he had to thank Mr. Paris for that as well.

Seven looked around the holodeck, trying to place the setting. "Where are we?" she inquired. 

The Doctor moved to stand next to her, then turned with a sweeping gesture to indicate their location, "Earth. European continent, an ancient city known as Venice. A city of canals, esteemed artists, and romance." He wanted to impress her without scaring her off. So far, it seemed to be working. The piazza he had chosen was deserted except for a table for two, perfectly set, and a sky full of stars. What illumination there was came from a full moon and several discretely placed lanterns. Somewhere, unseen musicians provided romantic underscoring for their evening.

The two stood awkwardly for a moment, as each tried to think of a way to break the tension without destroying the mood. "Are you hungry?" he asked, hoping that was the right choice. 

"I am," she said, remembering not to blurt out that she had forgotten her nutritional supplement in her distraction that afternoon. 

He showed her to the table, and held her chair as she sat. "Champagne?" he asked. She nodded and he proceeded to fill both their flutes.'Holographic champagne she surmised, not really minding, since synthehol made her very lightheaded. It was, of course, the only kind the Doctor could drink. "The Chateau St. Michele is holographic, but your meal is quite real," he offered, seeming to answer her unasked question. "I wouldn't recommend tasting my entree, however," he said, "empty calories," a touch of his sly humor surfacing. This was the Doctor she knew, and it helped to put her at ease.

They spent the rest of their dinner making pleasant conversation about the things they both enjoyed: music, speculating on the IQ's of various crewmembers, spinning theories on the nature of intelligence. They were long past the 'so, where do you come from,' stage of their relationship, yet they were each novices in the delicate dance of courtship. Still, they relaxed enough to let their equally wicked senses of humor out, and the evening was going well. A brief lull in their conversation provided the Doctor an opening he had been waiting for.

"Would you care to dance?" he asked. 

Seven hesitated only a moment before answering. "I'd love to," she said trying not to sound like her stiff self. The Doctor stood and took her hand, but paused before helping her up. "Computer, play musical selection Paris 2341," he instructed. The tune was familiar to Seven as soon as she heard it, and she looked quickly into his eyes.

"This song always reminds me of you," he said softly as he moved her to an open area away from their table. The vocalist began as he twirled her slowly into his arms. 
 

'There's a saying, oh, says that love is blind. 
Still we're often told, 'seek and ye shall find.' 
I'm gonna seek a certain man I've have in mind.
Searching everywhere. Haven't found him yet.
He's the big affair I cannot forget.
Only man I ever think of with regret...'

To the lovely strains of Ella Fitzgerald, the holographic Doctor and the former drone swayed slowly in each other's arms, each holding the other tight. As the song wound down, the Doctor sang its final refrain softly into Seven's ear, "Won't you tell her please to put on some speed, follow my lead, oh, how I need...." Before he could finish the phrase, the beautiful woman in his arms turned her head slowly to face him, and began what history would record as the first ex-Borg/sentient-hologram passionate kiss.
 
 

They danced some more before the evening was over, and--with The Kiss out of the way--each relaxed a bit and enjoyed their time. It was over too soon, and the Doctor repeated his gesture of walking his date to her door. They didn't talk much as they moved through the corridors, but every time they were sure they were alone, he would subtly reach over and take her hand. He was surprised at how easily she let him. Too soon, however, they were at the familiar door to Cargo Bay 2. They stood there for a moment, gazing at each other. Seven broke the quiet.

"I had a wonderful time this evening," she said, remembering her lessons in the social graces. 

"So did I," her date offered, equally polite. "I hope we can do it again sometime." He started to take her hand to kiss it, then stopped to check the corridor in either direction. Seeing no one, he gently moved his hand to the nape of Seven's neck and pulled her into another long kiss, which she willingly returned. 

Pulling back after several moments, she gestured to the closed door and said softly, "I'm sure Icheb is already regenerating." Right. She didn't 'live alone.' 

The doctor smiled ironically, thinking of his own housing situation, then took a small step back from her before saying, "Then I guess this is goodnight." This time he did kiss her hand, and slowly walked away as he heard the large bay doors open and close. 'If this relationship is going to go anywhere,' he pondered. 'One of us is going to need to request living quarters.' 

~*~*~*~*~

Rumor was that Tuvok had declined his holodeck rations, preferring instead to save the ship's energy. Neelix had considered joining Naomi for a chapter of 'Flotter,' but he remembered their daunting mission, and elected instead for a visit to his family on Rynax. 

It had been painful for him to recall the tragic deaths of his parents and siblings, so he had never recreated his family before now. This was a new program he wrote--with Ensign Kim's assistance--just for the occasion. He was willing to face his guilt and sorrow now, if it meant one more time with those he loved. No matter what, he would never see another Talaxian in all likelihood, nor would he ever set foot on his home planet or its moon. He wasn't all that sorry. His life on Voyager had been better than any he could have dreamed of before his friends had come along. He'd rescued Kes, spent three years with her, gotten to be a godfather twice over, and had done his part, he hoped, in easing the burdens of those he had come to think of as his new family. 

He sincerely hoped to see Earth in a few days. 'If that wasn't to be,' he thought, 'I'm ready for whatever comes.' Still, this last glimpse of his home and his family brought him more peace than pain. He was glad he had chosen to visit one last time.

~*~*~*~*~

B'Elanna had asked Tom to let her program their final time together in the holodeck. After having played 'Captain Proton' with Harry for four and a half hours a few nights before, he didn't really think he could say no. Plus, he was curious to know how she would choose to spend their final 'vacation' before this long ride ended. She was waiting for him now, at 2002, and he would finally know what she had planned.

Just like she had for his game with Harry, B'Elanna carefully selected Tom's wardrobe for their 'date.' He wasn't surprised to see the loud Hawaiian-print shirt and a pair of cut-off shorts lying across their bed next to an oversized beach towel and his favorite pair of 'too-cool' sunglasses. He was changed in a matter of seconds. He picked up the towel, and put the sunglasses over his hair like a headband. He could have guessed there'd be a beach involved. He practically whistled his way down to Holodeck 2. 'If those holoemiters could talk,' he thought as he went.

When the doors opened, however, he had to admit he was surprised. This wasn't the tropical oasis he had come to expect from his heat-seeking missile of a wife. It was a beach, he saw immediately, but it was only moderately warm--definitely not the baking sun of the equatorial region. The sand before him abutted a long row of shops, low-rise motels, and beach homes, all pressed tightly up against a wooden boardwalk. Boys in long shorts and knee socks rode bicycles up and down the walkway. There was the sound of carnival music, and the beach was full of small canvas huts. He could smell roasting peanuts and a sickly-sweet aroma he recognized from his childhood as caramel popcorn.

About twenty feet down the boardwalk, he saw B'Elanna in a rather demure sundress. Oh, she had exposed her arms and legs to the warm rays of the sun, but it was hardly the skimpy bathing suit he had come to expect when sand and water were nearby. She was standing with her back to him, looking out over the ocean, an oversized basket on a bench next to her. He took it all in as he moved to join his wife.

"Hi," he said, a little at a loss for words. "This is amazing." She smiled back at him, pulling his sunglasses down to cover his squinting eyes. "Coney Island?" he asked. 

"Atlantic City, New Jersey," she said, "circa-1948. I thought you might enjoy it." 

He was confused. "Wasn't Atlantic City a gambling resort?" He was pretty sure of his history. 

"Much later in the 20th Century," B'Elanna answered, proud that she had stumped him. "In this era, it was a summer family resort, known for its long boardwalk, clean beaches, and something known as 'amusements.'" She still hadn't quite figured that one out, though she assumed the computer had thrown some in for authenticity.

"So, what's in the basket?" he asked. Is it our 'lunch'?" Sure, it was odd to be eating lunch at 8:15 in the evening, but the program was clearly indicating a mid-afternoon setting. 

"No," she said rather cryptically. "This isn't a basket," she laughed, catching him in his second historical error of the trip. "It's called a bassinette." This was a word he hadn't heard before. She saw his blank expression. "A 'baby basket'." He was still confused. They wouldn't need any sort of 'baby basket' for at least another few weeks, as his wife was still obviously very pregnant. B'Elanna pulled very close to him before she explained. "I asked the Doctor to extrapolate and age enhance the prenatal scan he took during my last exam." She removed the sunglasses she had just placed on her husband, and stepped aside to reveal her handiwork. Lying in the basket was a small infant, a girl, with medium brown hair, dozing eyes of a dark bluish-brown, and the softest of cranial ridges. Tom held his breath as he took his first real look at his daughter.

Of course, he and B'Elanna had seen a rudimentary holographic projection of what their child might look like--based on her DNA--when they had first learned of the pregnancy. In fact, it was that projection, clearly showing their daughter's cranial ridges, which had triggered his wife's fears about having a part-Klingon child. That was a different kind of experience, however. Like looking at a crude animation. Now, wriggling under a soft blue blanket, was a three-dimensional, thoroughly life-like photonic version of their little girl. One that could be touched and held. Tom was stunned. 

"Of course, she's only a hologram," B'Elanna said softly, filling in the long pause while her husband looked down in wonder. 

"She's so beautiful..." Tom said, reaching down to lift the now sleeping form up to his arms. When he looked up at B'Elanna's face, his eyes were wet. She choked back her own tears as she reached up to wipe his. After all of her agony over her child's mixed heritage, B'Elanna now saw only perfection in the small bundle Tom held close to his chest. "I can't believe...she's so small," he marveled. 

"She is now, but I've programmed her to grow at an accelerated rate. We only have three hours, and I thought maybe--" 

He interrupted, "Maybe this is our one chance to see her grow up?" The fact that this might never come to pass in reality wasn't lost on either of them. 

B'Elanna didn't want to think of it that way, though. "I thought you might enjoy her more at an older age, where you could chase after her. She'll grow at a rate of a little less than one year per hour. She should be walking before we have to go." 

In practice for what he hoped he would soon learn out of necessity, he held his sleeping child to one side and leaned over to kiss her mother, sweetly and with all the emotion this moment held for them both. When she pulled away, it was only to get on with their 'day'. 

"Now, if you want to lay her back down, I see a hot dog vendor with our lunch." 

She saw Tom move toward the bassinette before stopping and looking back to her. "Don't they make things--harness things--so you don't have to put them down?" he asked.

"It wouldn't be historically accurate for the time period," she warned. 

"I don't care," he said and meant it. 

She reached into the basket and pulled out a sort of knapsack already sized to fit Tom, and strapped him into it, with the opening tight to his chest. "It was called a 'snugglie,' of all things," she whispered to him as she fastened it and sat their 'daughter' inside. "I thought you might refuse to put her down, so I researched my options. I didn't want to have to hand feed you, too." 

He now had at least ten more reasons to love his wife forever, he thought, the smallest of which was now sleeping soundly against his heart. As they started to walk, he put his arm around B'Elanna's waist far enough that he could feel their real child press against his hand. This beat Tahiti, he thought. Any day.
 
 

The next three hours were filled with cooing and laughter, and tiny fingers holding large ones as she first suckled, then chewed, then held on for support during tentative first steps. They played on a blanket in the sand, later moving inside one of the beach tents for a break from the sun and some privacy. They didn't dare take a nap, a normal beach activity for the couple, for fear of missing out on this time with their 'child.' When the toddler drifted off to sleep during one of her pre-programmed 'growth spurts,' however, Tom took advantage of the opportunity and began another of their favorite beach pastimes. 

This wasn't one of their wild Klingon escapades, however. Today, in deference both to B'Elanna's condition and their heightened emotions, their activity amounted to tender touches and deep kisses, with some long, silent moments of just listening to each other breathe. 

For the last thirty minutes of their all-too-precious time, Tom suggested they remove the holographic child to spend some time alone with their real one. They each hugged and kissed the toddler before asking the computer to take her and the other holographic characters from the program. They then sat for a long while, together on the beach, Tom supporting B'Elanna from behind and rubbing his hands over her belly, her arms draped softly around his propped-up knees. The time-accelerated sun was setting behind them as they watched the first of the stars appear on the horizon. Finally, out of time, they stood and walked arm-in-arm to the door.

Thin air parted to reveal the exit to the corridor and B'Elanna began to step through. "Aren't you going to turn off the program?" Tom asked as they were leaving. 

"No, I've been asked to leave it running," she said softly as they began the trip back to their quarters.

~*~*~*~*~

Chakotay deliberately waited five extra minutes before making his way to the holodeck. B'Elanna told him of her plans, and he knew the couple would probably want their privacy after such an emotional evening. Besides, he didn't want to have to pretend to be anything other than preoccupied with his own future for the next few hours. He was relieved, when he reached the doors, to find the program still running, but the room empty. He stepped inside and took a look around.

Time to make a few changes, he knew. "Computer, run subroutine Chakotay Alpha 3 Gamma." Instantly, the distant sounds of boardwalk crowds were replaced by the lonely roar of the surf as it crashed to the shore. On the beach in front of him appeared a large veranda, attached to no other structure, but offering an uninterrupted view of the ocean. On its marble surface was a long, deep-blue velvet couch facing out to the sea, with a replicated bottle of Moet 2285 and two delicately-cut crystal glasses in an ice bucket alongside. The moon was now out and full, casting a blue glow over the entire beach. 

'Nice work, B'Elanna,' he thought. The beach wasn't his idea of the most romantic setting, but he wasn't doing this for himself. He had asked his friend to come up with something Kathryn would enjoy. They had agreed upon this almost immediately. 

He still had ten minutes before she was to arrive. He took a moment to prepare himself for what he was going to say. Also to prepare himself in case she decided not to come at all. This was risky for both of them, he knew, but he hoped he was about to make it less so. 

Only a minute late, his heart stopped and restarted as he heard the doors open. He turned around to see her in an emerald version of that same silk pantsuit he knew so well. She kicked off her sandals and carried them as she started to walk toward him, tentatively, across the sand.

"This is nice," she said, hoping to sound casual. "The mid-Atlantic coast of North America, if I know my oceans correctly." 

He smiled, "Always the scientist." She was stepping up onto the firm decking, but chose not to put her shoes back on. Instead, she walked slowly toward the ocean side, and took a deep breath of holographic salt air. He followed a few paces behind. "Do you have a theory as to why I asked you here?" he teased. 

"I'm not sure I'd have to apply the scientific method to determine that," she answered. "Chakotay..."

He wasn't ready to let her take control of the conversation. "You might be surprised," he said a little slyly. "I wanted you to know about a decision I've made." 

Wow. 'Decision' sounded so finite. And indicated something that might be out of her control. She hated having someone else make decisions for her--too long in the center seat, she surmised, though she knew this had been true as much in her youth as in her career. "Really," she said softly. "A decision to..."

"Quit." His answer was firm and short, yet still ambiguous. 

Quit what? Quit waiting for her to come to her senses? Quit looking at her in ways that made her knees weak? Quit going home alone to an empty bed after a long talk with her over an intimate dinner in her quarters. She found no way to voice these questions, instead repeating his word back to him. "Quit?" she asked. Deep breath, Kathryn.

"Starfleet." 

And exhale. "What?" was all she could come up with in reply. 

"I've decided to resign before I can be dismissed," he answered. "As soon as we get home. I've been thinking about this for a long while, but I knew--as long as we were stuck in the Delta Quadrant--that it was important for my old crew to have me continue to serve as first officer. And I felt my training and experience could help us all get home. These years on Voyager have been extraordinary. They reminded me of why I went to the Academy in the first place. Working with honorable people, a chance for peaceful exploration, getting to learn about different cultures and to share some of our values with those we meet." He was sincere. "I'm not a bit sorry to have had this experience." He took a few steps toward her before continuing.

"But I've also been reminded of the ways all these rules and protocols can enslave a person. We've come across countless peoples we could have helped were it not for the almighty Prime Directive.' Starfleet stood by and let diplomatic process give my father's killers a strategic advantage, yet how often have we been forced into a similar situation ourselves? It will only be worse when we get home." 

Janeway suddenly noticed that he seemed to be trying to convince himself as much as her. Was he playing 'Maquis' to give her a reason to reject him? Was he steeling himself for the possibility that the choice to stay or leave the service might be out of his hands? She couldn't tell, but something about his arguments seemed a little forced.

"What will you do?" she asked, hoping his answer would reveal the truth. 

"If I'm allowed to choose my next career, I've decided to request an anthropology fellowship at the Goodall Center in South America," he answered. So, this wasn't an idle impulse; he had thought this out, she was now sure. "I thought maybe I would settle down on Earth for a while. Get back to the kind of work I enjoy the most. Maybe write a paper on unveiling the Mars Explorer mystery in my spare time." This was it, then. He was going to leave her. This setting was all about breaking the news.

"I also thought I might look up someone I got to know a few years ago." It took her a moment to follow this turn in the conversation. "A woman I had settled down with briefly a while back." Was he just trying to hurt her, now? "She reminds me of you, a bit," he went on. "Her hair was red, but longer, and she was devoted to science, too. We set up a small homestead and started to make a life together, but circumstances separated us before we could make any kind of long-term commitment to each other." He began taking slow, measured steps toward her. "She liked to take long, hot baths, and she had the most adventurous spirit of any woman I have ever known. I haven't seen her in about five years." 

The math added up before his story did. 'New Earth.' He was talking about their time on 'New Earth.' "Chakotay..."

He was now standing in front of her with his finger across her lips. "I've spent almost every day since that time trying to figure out how to win her back, if we should ever see each other again. I'm not sure she'll have me, but I could never live with myself if I didn't at least try." He started to lean in to kiss her, but she pulled away and took his hand, walking him over to sit on the couch. They faced each other, and this time it was her turn to speak.

"My people have an ancient legend," she began softly, co-opting a technique he had used so long ago, "about a great female warrior, a woman so strong, she needed nothing but her sword and her shield for protection. She set out on a great quest, to hunt down and capture another warrior, a man who knew only anger and rage. She was prepared to battle her opponent to the death. But a great storm came, and swept their armies far from home. These two warriors realized that--to save their men and return to their village--they would have to work together to lead their people to safety. Soon they realized that the reasons for their battle were unimportant. They had come to know and understand the other's true nature, and they made a solemn oath--never to forget that what united them was of more importance than their divisions. And each devoted his life to the other's happiness." She reached down and took his hand before she continued. "But the brave warrior was now her soldier, and the weight of their journey was hers. Her duty and her honor would keep her from him, until at last they reached their homes." She looked into his eyes through the mist in her own. She remembered. He was touched.

"'Is that really an ancient legend?'" he quoted her. 

"'No, but it made it a lot easier to say.'" With that, they smiled at the irony of their lives, and she, finally, leaned over to kiss the brave warrior who had fought so gallantly by her side for so long.

"I've been in love with you for six years," he said softly as their lips parted, deciding that someone in this relationship had to get the courage to speak in something other than metaphor. 

"I know," she said. "You understand why I couldn't..." 

"I understand why you felt you couldn't return my feelings." 

She laughed a bit at that. "Return your attentions," she corrected. "The feelings I have definitely returned." This was a huge admission and she was glad it was finally out there. "At first, there was Mark, or the memory of him. I think it took me a while to realize that there wouldn't be any shortcut home. I was engaged to a man I loved, and I would be faithful to my heart. Little did I know that, by the time I was able to let him go and move on, he had already beaten me to it." She looked only slightly wistful at the memory. "And there was my duty to this crew. How could they trust my objectivity, my authority..."

"If they knew you were romantically involved with a subordinate. I do understand, Kathryn. You live and breathe Starfleet regulations. I've come to accept that as part of who you are. But we're almost home. A week from now, I hope to be on my way to becoming another Federation civilian, going about the business of making a life for myself. Tell me that life can include a stubborn, rule-following, Starfleet captain."

She smiled, searching her mind for any reasonable objection to his plea. She supposed she had so many years of practice keeping him at an emotional arm's-length, it would take a while for her to get out of the habit. "I'll have my command, and my assignments," she warned him. 

"And I'll have my expeditions and research," he hoped. "Just avoid any coherent tetrion beams, and come home to me once in a while. I've gotten used to waiting for you, Kathryn. Just don't make me wait my whole life." This time, he initiated the kiss, and she was glad to return it.

"I have no plans to live in the top of a tree in the Amazon Rain Forest," she said turning to lean her back against the couch and gaze out over the water. 

"Can you see me in farm country?" he asked honestly, taking her right hand in his left and intertwining their fingers. 

"I'd like to," she said playfully. He pulled their interlocked hands up and kissed hers. 

"We could alternate," he offered as they began to talk about a future. A time when, maybe, a Starfleet captain and a learned anthropologist might have nothing more to worry about than where to make their home.

They sat there on that couch, looking up at the stars, talking about choices of hometowns, the places they could go to dinner, planning his introduction to her sister, their mutual love of dogs (thank god--that would have been a deal-breaker). Then they opened the champagne and toasted to the future. A future they could only talk about, because--for now--he was still her first officer, and she his captain. They had waited almost seven years. They could wait another seven days.

END PART 3 of 9

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