The Talaxian sat down and began to pour as he answered. "Everyone just seemed to be in such a melancholy mood today. You know, the captain reminded the crew this morning to get their letters ready for the datastream. I think it reminded everyone of how little time we have left. On Voyager, I mean. Before we get to Earth." His attempted recovery was unnecessary and too late, but no one pressed the issue. He tried to change the subject anyway. "You know, a lot of people seem to find this a good place to think or write."
"Particularly those with inside cabins, I'd bet," Harry interjected. This was more than a little pointed at the three senior officers surrounding him. As the second and third in command, Chakotay and Tuvok had very spacious quarters, each with several windows. And, while Tom and B'Elanna's original rooms had been interior cabins, their new 'home', while small, had a view of space as well.
"Yes I'm sure that might have something to do with it," Neelix thought. "I've seen more than a few members of the crew wander in late at night just to stare out those windows."
While they were talking, Tom took a gulp of the deep red liquid his friend had just poured and almost spit it back into his cup. He had been an experienced drinker in his day--more than a few years ago--but he wasn't prepared for the kick this spirit carried. "What did you call this?" he asked.
"Irenic Brandy. I had a few bottles stowed away on my ship before I came aboard. It's made by a cooperative of tall, slender women on an artists colony on Calvert 7. They're very talented, apparently--and absolutely insane. Some say their brandy has psychotropic properties, but that's just a rumor."
This time, Tom sipped the drink, which made it easier to appreciate. It also made his vision almost instantly blurry. The room, he noticed, also seemed to begin a barely-perceptible counterclockwise spin. The others were joining him in sampling the beverage, and each in turn noticed how quickly their bad day was beginning to feel like a good evening. After one swallow, each of the men was feeling in a bit of an altered state of mind, including Tuvok whose Vulcan physiology normally protected him from the effects of alcohol.
"I'd like to make a toast," the security chief suddenly said out of nowhere. Even though they were all feeling a little strange, his friends realized this was way out of character. His speech was perfectly coherent and not at all slurred, but everyone knew the Vulcan would be the last person to offer a toast to this group in this setting.
Neelix asked, "A toast? To..."
"...to Captain Kathryn Janeway." The men looked at each other as Tuvok continued. "My old friend. If it weren't for her..."
"I'd be in jail right now." Clearly Tom was just as disoriented, from the twisted construction of his next sentence, though his speech wasn't slurred, either. "Or I would have used to have still been in jail. Before. Or I'd be drunk somewhere."
"You sound like you're drunk right now," Chakotay chimed in, "Neelix, I feel like I've been drugged. Are you sure this stuff is safe?"
Neelix looked the commander in the eye and guaranteed, "Perfectly safe. I've been assured it is...probably safe, and I...I have no idea how safe it is. But here's to Captain Janeway." The men raised their cups, then took another sip.
"Let's vote," Tom interjected. "Favorite hairstyle." They all looked askance, but that didn't stop them from playing the game. Her 'personal reclamation project' continued, "I always liked it straight, curled under a little at the bottom, just touching her shoulders, you know?" Harry now wasn't sure whose hair they were discussing, since he could think of two women in Tom's life who had worn that style, both of whom held Tom's affections. Tuvok seemed to solve the mystery, however, and disagreed with Mr. Paris's preference.
"Up. Definitely up." This was a startling admission.
The two men were now alone on this limb, so Tom decided to drag Kim out with them. "Harry?"
"Short, right after she cut it. Curled behind her ears. That was my favorite."
Neelix was now calling up a memory. "I have to admit that I always liked it long and pulled behind her neck with that little...I don't know what it's called."
"A barrette." Tom, Harry and Tuvok said in unison. That style seemed like a second runner-up for all of them. Only one of the group had failed to cast a ballot. He wasn't impaired enough to walk into this conversation. He decided to change the subject instead.
"I'd like to offer my own toast," the commander interjected. "To B'Elanna Torres... Paris... Torres."
This brought Tom to attention pretty quickly. "Hey!"
But Chakotay continued. "A great engineer, great friend..."
"Great gams." Tom looked lost in thought. A happy thought.
"Gams?" Tuvok asked.
"Legs," Harry translated.
Tom continued, "And she has this spot at the base of her..."--eyes were raising--"...neck. Drives me crazy." The men were all looking a little wistful at this point. Tom shook his head to try and clear it. He never spoke this way about his wife to anyone, not even Harry. "Neelix, I think we should have the Doc check this stuff out. I feel...I don't think I can't feel my feet!"
Neelix, who was definitely a little...relaxed, was less affected than the others and made the call. "Neelix to sickbay." The doctor was on his way in less than a minute.
When he walked in, the tribute to the noble women of Voyager was continuing.
"To Sue Nicoletti," Harry said, raising his near-empty glass.
"Nicoletti?" Chakotay asked.
Harry continued. "Great with a hyperspanner. Talented musician. And I think she has a crush on me." The look that passed between Chakotay and Tom said they thought Harry might be engaging in some wishful thinking.
"What is going on here?" The Doctor asked, pulling out a medical tricorder and scanning each man in turn.
"I think we're drunk, Doc," Tom offered, standing and putting his hand across his medical mentor's shoulders.
"Actually, Mr. Paris, you have no traces of alcohol in your system. However, your seratonin levels are all unnaturally high. And it looks as if the centers of your brain that inhibit behavior have been chemically suppressed." He noticed Neelix's elixir on the table and scanned the bottle.
"This beverage contains a synthetic barbiturate. Gentlemen, I'd say you've all been drugged." They looked at Neelix a little suspiciously. He could only shrug his shoulders.
"How could I know?" he asked. "I traded for it over seven years ago. I was looking for water, but this was all they had. All I can remember was needing..." his sentence drifted away as he remembered why water had been so important to him all those years ago. It was all he could think of to offer the Kazon in place of their Ocampan hostage.
"To Kes," Tom offered, stepping away from the Doctor to pick up his cup.
They all nodded solemnly as they echoed his toast. "To Kes." Even the doctor looked touched at the memory of his first pupil. They were quiet for a moment.
"And to Annika Seven of Hansen Nine," Harry now offered. "And to smart, strong women everywhere."
"Here-here!" they chimed in, clinking their cups. It was Harry who suggested the next vote. "Favorite jumpsuit color." He obviously wasn't finished saluting Seven. "I always liked the blue, shimmery..."
"Gentlemen!" The doctor interrupted. He grabbed the half-empty bottle off the table before they could stop him. His next words weren't to them. "Doctor to transporter room. Six to beam directly to sickbay." They shimmered into nothingness, and the party was over.
The doctor was easily able to counteract the affects of Neelix's bad brew, and the officers had been released to their quarters with only a slight case of embarrassment as their hangover. Truth be told, however, they had come away from the experience more relaxed than they would have thought possible after such a grueling day.
~*~*~*~*~
The next morning, the captain surprised them by canceling their scheduled simulations. Instead, she called for meticulous checks of the ship's key systems, to be followed by light-duty shifts for her key people on the bridge and in engineering. They would be sending and
receiving their final Starfleet datastream at 1600 hours, after making their final preparations for the mission. Twenty-four hours from now they would make the attempt.
The schedule she issued also included a gathering to be held for the entire crew at 1830 hours in Holodeck 2. Tonight, they would celebrate together their last evening in the Delta Quadrant.
Her plans were both compassionate and practical. She knew what was on the line, and had been especially careful in allowing her crew time to spend making peace with their choice. She also knew that a well-rested and focused crew was going to have a better chance to succeed under the enormous pressures they would be facing. Plus, there was something she needed to tell them.
~*~*~*~*~
B'Elanna was still in engineering when Tom returned to their quarters at the end of his abbreviated shift. He was glad for a little time alone. He had been meaning to write his final messages for the datastream for days, yet he couldn't seem to figure out what he wanted to say or to whom. Finally, he decided to send only one letter. He sat at the desk and opened a datafile.
"Dear B'Elanna," he began...
At her console on the upper level of Engineering, B'Elanna was just finishing her final checks on the warp core. Everything looked fine. She knew she could keeping reviewing their findings for hours without seeing what she really needed to know: would this ship hold up to the stress? Would her knack for coming up with the last-minute inspiration get them through this most important of challenges? Would they make it home? As daunting as these questions were, in a way they offered her the reason to stop working for the night. Only time and the fates held the answers she was seeking. The PADDs didn't have a clue. She stacked the reports neatly and left them on the console.
She took the open lift down to the first level and glanced around her engine room. Like so many of her relationships, she had a love/hate affair going on with this warp core. But she definitely loved this room. It was her proof that she was capable and competent and needed. She wondered, even if they survived the trip, how long it would continue to be hers.
With most of her crew on light duty, she was practically alone in the huge space. Remembering the one chore she hadn't completed that day, she walked to a quiet alcove and opened a datafile. Unlike her husband, B'Elanna had always known to whom she would write in this final stream. She, too, would write only one letter.
"Dear Mother..."
Tom couldn't help but think of the first time he had dictated a 'final message' to B'Elanna. Looking back, he had many reasons to be grateful that it was never delivered. He had crashed the Flyer in an ion storm while he, Tuvok, and Samantha Wildman had been on their way back from an away mission. It was a difficult time between Tom and B'Elanna--they were only just recovering from a series of relationship-testing experiences, and things were still unsettled between them. When he thought he would die, buried in that shuttle, Tom knew he wanted his last message to be for her. Yet he couldn't bring himself to say what he really meant. That he was sorry things had gotten out of hand between them. That their time together had been the best of his life. That he loved her. Instead, in typical Paris fashion, he had made a joke about her not having to put up with his cold pizza left lying around. Only when he heard Sam's heartfelt message to Naomi did Tom realize the opportunity he had wasted. He wouldn't make that mistake again.
He spent the next five minutes detailing the ways in which he had come to love his wife, reminding her of the things they had shared and what they had meant to him. He assured her that the worst of the last six years had been better than the best of those before. He left a message for B'Elanna to pass on to their daughter, and a reassurance that he would never, truly, leave her. And he told her that he would be waiting for her. In Sto-Vo-Kor.
Finally, he encoded the message for transmission to Admiral Owen Paris, with instructions for its delivery should he not make it back alive. His most important affairs in order, he started getting ready for the party.
B'Elanna wasn't sure why she was sending this message to Miral, nor did she know if her mother was even alive to receive it. She did know there was unfinished business between them, and she knew that finding and speaking with her mother would be one of her first priorities if they did make it back. More importantly, if they didn't survive the trip, there were many things she needed her mother to know. She struggled with how to begin.
She started by acknowledging the distance between them--the more than eleven years since they had last spoken. She talked about the reasons she felt she had to leave Kessick 4 to join Starfleet, and the reasons why she quit the Academy two years later. B'Elanna discussed her decision to join the Maquis, the ways in which their struggle had been noble, and her pride in her service to their cause. She wanted her mother to know about her time on Voyager, about her reintroduction to Starfleet life, and the ways in which she had grown as a woman and as an officer. The ways in which she had reclaimed her honor.
The next part was both easier and harder. For the first time, she told her mother about Tom, a human man who had become her mate. About them falling in love and their long fight to build a relationship. She knew her mother might be disappointed--though not surprised--to hear her daughter had married a human. Afraid she had repeated Miral's mistake. But B'Elanna explained something she had only recently come to believe herself: that Tom was not like B'Elanna's father, a man who knew in his heart he wasn't strong enough to make a life with a Klingon. In some ways, B'Elanna truly felt, Tom was more Klingon than she was. And he was an honorable man, a good husband, and would be a wonderful father to their child. Miral's granddaughter.
B'Elanna spent a moment trying to imagine her mother as a grandparent. The thought made her sad. She had defended her mother against her father's criticism before he had left, then spent the rest of her life blaming her mother, herself, and their Klingon heritage for forcing him away. Maybe her own baby might be the key to reconnecting her to her family. Let's hope we get to find out, she thought sadly.
Lastly, B'Elanna struggled to say what she had struggled to face: that, while she had a long way to go, she was trying to learn to appreciate her Klingon heritage. With Tom's help and encouragement, she was slowly embracing the side of herself she had rejected her entire life. And that, perhaps, when they saw each other again, they might talk about B'Elanna's near-death experience on the Barge of the Dead, her less-than-successful celebration of the Day of Honor, Voyager's encounter with the Klingon generational ship, and the road B'Elanna was taking to make peace with that part of her background. "I've missed you, Mother," she closed the letter. "I'll see you soon."
She sat quietly for a moment before she spoke again. "Computer, encode file for delivery to Miral Torres, in care of the Federation science station on Kessick 4." Just hope, she said to herself, that there's someone there to receive it.
Similar scenes were repeating all over the ship, as members of the crew decided how to write what were probably the most important letters of their lives. Some found it easier than others. Harry, still supremely confident they would be home safely in just a few days, had written four letters, finishing them hours ago. He was spending his afternoon practicing a saxophone piece he had written a few months earlier.
Tuvok, on the other hand, was carefully considering the words he chose to send home to his wife and children. The Doctor was putting the finishing touches on a paper he had written on the medical advances he had made in the Delta Quadrant for delivery to his 'father,' Dr. Louis Zimmerman. And Neelix, ever the caring soul, was writing short messages to the families of those crewmembers who had died during their journey. He didn't want their loved-ones to go unremembered in this emotional time.
Even Icheb had a message for their final transmission, though his contained only an official request to transfer to Starfleet Academy in San Francisco should their mission be successful.
Only Seven of Nine had no plans to correspond with Earth. If she had any family there, she was unaware of them. Not that they would hav
e held any significance for her. Her 'real family,' her mother and father, had been the only humans she remembered before being rescued by Voyager. Her new family was with her now, on this ship she had come to know as her home. Instead, Seven accessed her personal log. What messages she would write would stay imbedded in the computer core until they reached their destination.
Kathryn Janeway had recorded only one letter, probably the most important of her life.
In it, she recapped the events of the past seven years though her own personal perspective. Tales of bravery and heroics bordering on the mythical. Of the people she had come to know and love, and of how they came together under the most difficult circumstances not only in the name of peaceful exploration, but in the best Starfleet and Federation traditions.
She put her soul into that letter--she needed to if it were to accomplish its task. In her time in the Delta Quadrant, she had honed her powers of persuasion to the point that she was now confident in her ability to talk almost anyone into almost anything. The evidence backed her up: she had talked Chakotay into merging their crews, Maquis and Starfleet, into one. She had forged an unheard of alliance with the Borg. She had talked Species 8472 out of invading Earth. She had even convinced Seven of Nine to explore her humanity. Surely, she had one more win left in her.
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