Homecoming

by Christie Golden

  But when she saw Tom’s nearly ear-to-ear grin—the grin she saw only when he was so happy he simply could not wipe it from his face, no matter how hard he tried to play cool and collected—she knew that her worries had been for nothing.

  And when the imposing Admiral Owen Paris, practically a legend in his own time, reached toward her with outstretched hands, clasped her own, and kissed her warmly on the cheek, she almost wept.

  “My son always had an eye for beauty,” said Admiral Paris. “I’m pleased to see that he has learned to value character as well. I’ve read your captain’s report on you, Lieu—B’Elanna. Both of you seem to have won her respect and affections.”

  “Thank you, Admiral,” she said, her voice thick.

  “You may call me Owen, if you like,” he said. “Now, let me see this lovely little grandchild of mine.”

  Torres handed Miral over to her grandfather and reached for Tom’s hand. The older man handled the tiny infant with surprising grace, smiling down into her little face with obvious pleasure.

  “You handle babies quite well. . . Owen,” said Torres, trying out the name with caution.

  Admiral Paris smiled. “I’ve certainly spent enough time with them. You never knew, did you, Tom, that I was the one in charge of diaper changing?”

  Judging by Tom’s dumbfounded expression, he clearly did not. Torres smothered a smile at the thought of this distinguished elderly man changing Tom’s soiled diapers, but the ease with which he carried Miral made his statement believable. He looked down at his new daughter-in-law and the smile faded somewhat.

  “Tom and I discussed your family situation on our way here,” he said. B’Elanna felt the heat of embarrassment rise in her cheeks. “I understand that you are without family.”

  “Not entirely correct,” she said. “My father. . . chose not to be with me and my mother when I was young. I spoke to him for the first time in years just weeks ago. I have reason to believe that my mother died while we were in the Delta Quadrant.”

  “That was what Tom said,” Admiral Paris confirmed. “I wanted to tell you that now you do have family. You and Miral are now dear and valued members of the Paris clan. My wife and I will love you like our own child.” He turned to look at Tom and said, “And that is a great deal indeed.”

  Torres smiled, even though she felt like crying with joy. “Thank you, sir. That means a lot to us.”

  “Now, when Voyager first appeared,” Admiral Paris continued, “we of course immediately notified all families. Nearly everyone has recorded messages from loved ones. Once I learned who my new daughter-in-law was, I checked to see if we had any for her. We did—two.”

  Torres’s breath caught. She couldn’t think of any one person who’d want to send her a message, let alone two. Admiral Paris handed them to her. “If you’d like to view them in private, Tom and I can—”

  “No.” B’Elanna spoke swiftly. “You are my family now. Whatever this is, whoever sent it, you can watch it with me.”

  After a moment Tom nodded and activated the viewscreen.

  A handsome man with Torres’s dark hair and eyes appeared. B’Elanna stared. Father. It appeared that he’d been serious after all about wanting to stay in touch. She hadn’t let herself believe it.

  “Hello, B’Elanna,” he said softly. “I got your letter. I’m glad you wrote me. It’s so good to hear from you, know that you’re well.” He hesitated. “I have a lot of explaining to do. I hope you’ll let me do it in person. I want so badly to see you again, to try to put things right. . . if they can be put right. If you don’t want to see me, I’ll understand. But I want to let you know that I love you, and that I’m sorry. Maybe you’re old enough to understand that, and forgive me. I won’t come to the banquet if you don’t want me to. I’ll wait to hear from you. If I don’t. . . well, that’s my answer, and I won’t bother you again.”

  He blinked rapidly and his eyes looked very bright. “I love you, my little one. I hope to see you soon.”

  She felt Tom’s arm around her, felt Admiral Paris’s sympathetic gaze. She swallowed hard.

  “Do you want to see him?” Tom asked, very softly.

  “I—I don’t know,” she managed. She fumbled for the second message and handed it to Tom. “Let’s see who this one’s from.”

  Tom inserted the disk. A lovely but stern Klingon visage appeared, one Torres didn’t recognize, and said, “I am Commander Logt. We must soon meet and speak of your mother. It is a matter of some urgency.”

  Torres recalled the words she and her mother had spoken in Grethor, the Klingon hell:

  We will see each other again.

  In Sto-Vo-Kor.

  In Sto-Vo-Kor . . . or maybe. . . when you get home.

  Perhaps this Logt knew what her mother had meant.

  * * *

  Janeway’s heart lifted as Tuvok entered the room. Their eyes met, and he nodded. That was all she was going to get out of him, but it was enough. The fal-tor-voh had been successful. He would require regular, mild doses of medication to keep the disease from recurring, but the dreadful mental deterioration of which her future self had warned had been averted. How easily it had been accomplished; how devastating it would have been to watch this beloved friend fall to pieces slowly, irreversibly, in front of her eyes.

  She permitted herself the briefest pang of envy. Both Paris and Tuvok had already gotten to see family members, and they had been in the Alpha Quadrant for only a few hours. Of course, each of their situations had been unique. Paris’s father had been the head of this project and had been involved on a professional as well as a personal level. And getting Sek to his father had been a true medical emergency.

  Even though the blue-green globe hovered tantalizingly in sight, they were traveling slowly on their way back to Earth, in order to get all the necessary red tape cut before their arrival. And, she thought, not to overwhelm her crew. Certainly, they wanted to get home and see their loved ones. But the whole thing had happened so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that it had been quite a shock. One of the first things Janeway requested, besides Sek’s presence, was a counselor. Her request had been granted as well as she could wish. The Enterprise had sent its own counselor, one Deanna Troi, who had also apparently been at least peripherally involved with Project Voyager. Upon greeting the dark-haired, soft-spoken woman, Janeway had immediately felt confident in her abilities. Her crew was fortunate to have this capable woman to turn to.

  Tuvok slipped quietly into a seat and everyone turned his or her attention to Admiral Paris.

  The admiral didn’t immediately launch into his speech. He took a moment to look at each of them in turn, smiling a little. Janeway was pleased to see his eyes linger affectionately on his new daughter-in-law. Torres had insisted on being present and the Doctor was keeping a close eye on her. Despite the slight risk, Janeway was glad she was here.

  “There aren’t words to articulate how happy I am to see you all here,” Owen Paris began. “It’s difficult to believe that in a short time you’ll be home. We’ve been sending you information for some time, so you know about the Dominion War and its outcome. But there are some questions many of you, especially the former Maquis among you, must still be concerned about. I requested and was granted permission to be the one to give you the news.

  “During the last days of the war there was a shortage of trained, capable officers. The situation was desperate. A general pardon was therefore offered to any of the Maquis who chose to return to Starfleet, absolving them of any wrongdoing, and after the massacre on Tevlik’s moon, it was argued that there was no reason to doubt their commitment to the cause. To be honest, I opposed the amnesty. I did not think Maquis could be trusted. I have never been so happy to be proven wrong. The former Maquis served bravely and loyally. Therefore, I hereby extend the amnesty to all those who Captain Janeway informs me have served her so well.”

  Admiral Paris smiled, then spoke again. “Which means I’m spared the unpleasant duty of escorting my
new daughter-in-law to prison.”

  There were smiles all around. Come to think of it, mused Janeway, there had been a lot of smiles on this ship over the last several hours. She met Chakotay’s eyes. They hadn’t spoken of it—there was no point; he knew that she would have to surrender him to the authorities if it came to that, although they both knew she’d fight tooth and nail to get his sentence commuted—but Janeway felt a fierce surge of joy to know that he, along with every other member of the crew, would be returning home a hero, not a prisoner.

  “But it won’t be a utopia to which you’ll be returning, either,” Admiral Paris continued. “War is never easy, but this one has truly been a hell to endure. It’s taken a terrible toll on everyone. We lost millions of lives. We’ll need all of you to pitch in and help us rebuild.”

  “You can count on us, Admiral,” Janeway assured him.

  “I’m sure I can,” said the admiral. “After all, you should be well rested—you’ve had a pretty long break.”

  There was a general chuckle, and Janeway knew the admiral meant nothing negative by the remark. Nonetheless, it stung. This hadn’t been a seven-year picnic. They’d been in some terrible battles. She’d lost good people, and had suffered her own private pains at the things she’d been forced to do. . . and forced not to do.

  At the same time, in a way they had been lucky. Who knew who would have survived and who wouldn’t have, had they all been in the Alpha Quadrant during the Dominion War? Maybe she’d have lost even more crewmen. But maybe they could have made a difference, too. Shortened the war, somehow.

  She shook off the thoughts, both the good and the bad. The situation was what it was. They were about to come home and, as the admiral had said, pitch in and help the Alpha Quadrant rebuild.

  “And now,” the admiral was saying, “there’s someone else you need to meet.”

  The air beside him shimmered, and when the image solidified, Janeway saw the large-eyed, earnest Reginald Barclay. His face split into an enormous grin.

  “Gosh,” he said, “it’s so good to finally get to see you all.”

  And regardless of what either Janeway or Admiral Paris had in mind, the room erupted into shouts and whoops as her well-trained, disciplined senior staff literally overturned chairs in order to embrace the man who had risked everything to bring them home.

  Chapter

  2

  THE NEXT MORNING, WHEN JANEWAY MATERIALIZED in the transporter room of the Enterprise, she was pleased and flattered but not altogether surprised to see that none other than Captain Jean-Luc Picard was present to greet her.

  “Permission to come aboard,” she said lightly.

  “Very happily granted,” he replied, stepping forward with his hand outstretched. Janeway grasped it and swiftly covered it with her other hand.

  “Kathryn,” he said heartily, his hazel eyes warm with affection. “My God, it’s good to see you. I could scarcely believe it when I saw Voyager soaring toward us out of that cloud of debris,” he said. “We had been ready to fight the Borg, not welcome home a lost traveler.”

  “What can I say?” she quipped. “I like to make an entrance.”

  “Now that, you certainly did,” said Picard. He extended an arm, indicating that she should precede him. “We had hoped you’d make it home one of these days. We just never imagined it would be quite so soon.”

  She smiled as they walked down the corridor to the turbolift. This whole meeting with Picard had a resonance that he could not possibly understand. Perhaps one day she’d tell him about the “fun” that Q had had with the two of them.

  “I understand Reginald Barclay served with you before being assigned to Project Voyager,” she said. “I must congratulate you. We’d still be quite a long way away if not for his diligence.”

  “Hard to believe that he used to be our problem child, isn’t it?” Picard replied. “Yes, he’s done us all proud. We’ve got a few moments before the, ah, ‘Inquisition’ begins. Would you care to join me in my ready room for a cup of coffee?”

  She was pleased that he remembered her fondness for the beverage. She was about to accept when she thought about someone else who had a great deal to do with the fact that Voyager had made it safely home. That someone had given her life for all of them, and at the very least, she deserved a toast with her favorite beverage.

  “Do you know,” Janeway said, “I think I’d like to share a pot of Earl Grey with you instead. I have a hunch that I’m going to learn to like tea.”

  * * *

  The debriefing began at 1300. Picard, Captains Rixx and DeSoto, and Admirals Paris, Brackett, Montgomery, and Amerman were present. Janeway was reminded of having to give her orals back at the Academy. Thanks to Barclay, Voyager had been able to transmit ship’s logs covering several years, so Starfleet had already accessed much of what her crew had learned in the Delta Quadrant. If it had not been for that, Janeway imagined her debriefing alone would have taken days. As it was, there were only a few perfunctory questions, and when Janeway tried to elaborate, Montgomery, the admiral in charge, cut her off curtly each time.

  Admiral Kenneth Montgomery had a long, lean face, tanned and weathered from what looked like years in the sun, and piercing gray eyes. With his thick, fair hair and muscular build, he could have been strikingly handsome, but there was an iciness about him that discouraged anything but the most professional, to-the-point interaction. She knew him by reputation only: He had been one of the key players in the war that had just recently ended. Janeway could easily see him in that role, and was grateful that Starfleet had had him.

  But what did men like that do when there was peace?

  More attention was given to Voyager’s interaction with the Borg. Even there, the questions were specific, and Janeway was none too gently urged to reply with equal specificity. Montgomery leaned forward when she began to speak of the most recent battle. From time to time, Janeway could see his jaw tensing.

  “Now,” Montgomery said when she had done, “aside from your dealings with the Borg, where did you acquire this latest technology with which Voyager is equipped?”

  She smiled a little. “Well, it’s actually Starfleet technology. You just haven’t figured it out yet.”

  Montgomery glared at her. “An official debriefing with three captains and four admirals is no place for jokes, Captain Janeway.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I assure you, Admiral, I fully appreciate the seriousness of this matter. If I may be frank, I’m wondering if everyone here does. We seem to be racing through this debriefing when—”

  “You say this is Starfleet technology, Captain,” Montgomery interrupted. “Explain.”

  Choosing her words carefully to keep the explanation as brief as possible, Janeway explained about her future self returning to save Voyager and help them destroy the Borg transwarp hub. Montgomery’s icy eyes flashed as she spoke and his jaw tightened, but he did not interrupt.

  Janeway finished. There was a long, cold pause. Finally, Montgomery said in a flat voice, “Do you have any idea how many general orders you’ve violated, Captain?”

  “Ken,” said Paris gently, “first of all, she didn’t do it. A twenty-six-year older version of her did. And besides, you’ve got to admit there are extenuating circumstances.” The admiral’s words were delivered in a calm and mild fashion, but his face was hard. Montgomery seemed about to retort, then nodded.

  “We’ll send over some of our best people and begin analyzing this. . . this futuristic technology immediately. This hearing is over.”

  He picked up his padd and rose abruptly. Janeway, startled, met Picard’s hazel eyes. He seemed as puzzled as she. Without any further interaction, Admiral Montgomery strode out and was followed by several others. Picard and Paris remained as Janeway gathered her notes.

  “Admiral Paris,” she said, “permission to speak freely.”

  He looked troubled, but replied, “Granted.”

  Janeway put her hands on her hips and stuck her chin out
. “That entire briefing lasted less than an hour,” she said to them. “We’ve been gone for seven years. We’ve accumulated data on over four hundred completely new species. We’ve had more interaction with the Borg than anyone in this quadrant, and we’ve managed to beat them nearly every time. We’ve successfully liberated a humanoid boy and a human woman who was assimilated when she was six years old. We’ve got an EMH who’s exceeded his programming far beyond expected parameters, and we’ve got an entire crew that has performed not just well, but exceptionally. And Starfleet gets all it wants to know in under an hour?”

  She was aware that her words were irate, almost belligerent, but she’d been given permission to speak her mind. It was Picard who answered first.

  “It’s going to be difficult for you to understand this, Kathryn, but. . . while everyone in Starfleet knows about your adventure, and is delighted that you made it safely home despite the incredible odds, you aren’t going to be as feted as you might have been had the war not happened.”

  “It’s not that people don’t care,” put in Paris. “It’s that there are so many things we need to be doing to recover. Our resources have been depleted throughout the quadrant. We’re helping the Cardassians rebuild, mourning our dead, trying to move on.”

  “I do understand, Admiral. But the things we’ve learned can help you do that.”

  “And they will,” said Picard. “Everything we’ll need to learn is in your computer databanks. The information will be passed on directly to the experts in their field. The board simply didn’t need to keep you here for hours when everyone, including you, has other things to do.”

  They were trying to soften the blow, of course, and she was going to let them think they had succeeded. “Speaking of which,” she said, forcing a smile, “I’d better get back to my ship. Thank you, gentlemen, and good day.”