She had finally begun to feel some sense of stability, what anyone else might view as a normal life. Now Tuvok, Harry, and scores of others had been killed, Icheb and Lieutenant Torres had been seriously injured, and the captain and Commander Chakotay might not survive.
Seven found herself pacing the room. Whatever she had expected to find at the end of Voyager's journey, she hadn't prepared herself for a scenario that left her alive but many of those she cared about dead or dying. She wasn't sure why, but she began to obsess about why she had come out of the accident almost untouched. The impact of these feelings was overwhelming.
Exhaustion was gaining on her, and she knew she should attempt conventional sleep. Her mind wouldn't hear of it, though. Instead, she moved to watch Icheb as he rested--kept sedated by the Doctor to allow his injuries to heal, yet long ago out of any real danger. As she had every hour for the last five days, she opened the medical tricorder and scanned his lifesigns. His pulse was strong and steady, yet she couldn't allow herself to relax.
She stood guard by her student as she had for so long. And the unending loop of memory and guilt began again.
~*~*~*~*~
Neelix was playing a similar game only--unlike Seven--he had the distraction of an alert and curious charge. In a roll he had played since her birth, godfather Neelix was tending to Naomi while her mother was away, in this case because she was recovering in sickbay.
Naomi was only six years old, but her Ktarian physiology gave her the appearance, intellect and mental discipline of a human child of nine or ten. She was a bright and caring child, and she had thrived on Voyager, in no small part due to Neelix's love and attention.
They'd had only one difficult time in their relationship, two years earlier when Naomi's mother was lost and feared dead after an accident in the Delta Flyer. Sam had been scheduled to check in with her daughter before the crash. When the call never came, Naomi began to suspect something was wrong. Remembering his own pain at learning of his parent's death in the Talaxian war, Neelix had chosen to mislead her into thinking her mother was in no danger. Of course, Voyager was too small a ship to keep news of the missing shuttle quiet. Naomi learned the truth, and forgave Neelix only after securing his promise that he would never lie to her again. It was a promise the last few days had made difficult to keep.
When Voyager fell out of the conduit, Sam had been with her daughter in sickbay. She had been able to shield Naomi when the console above her biobed exploded, but Naomi was conscious long enough to know that her mother was badly injured. It was understandable that she would have questions about the mission, the accident, and what had happened to her mother and her friends. Neelix had to ride the difficult line of being truthful in his answers while protecting Naomi from the graphic details of her mother's recovery and the magnitude of Voyager's loss.
It was made harder by Naomi's separation from the rest of her support structure. They had left Voyager, the only home the child had ever known, and the rest of her 'family' was occupied with matters of life and death in their own lives. Seven, probably Naomi's closest friend on the crew, was keeping a constant vigil at Icheb's bedside. Icheb himself had become almost a big-brother to Naomi, and she was without his comfort now, too.
Neelix knew Naomi well enough to understand that keeping her mind occupied was the key to her coping. He devised a challenge for her to solve: use the Resnick's computer to track the ship's position and calculate the approximate time of their arrival at Starbase 32 if traveling at various speeds. So far it had worked: Naomi had been engrossed in her calculations for most of the afternoon.
Now if only Neelix could find a way to keep his own mind occupied. The sense of uselessness he had begun to feel in their last weeks on Voyager was nothing compared to these days on the Resnick. As the ship's morale officer and head chef, Neelix had grown accustomed to taking care of Voyager's crew, providing for their physical and emotional needs wherever he could. Now, the crew was in desperate need of caretaking, and there was no appropriate outlet for his help. No celebration dinner or quiet conversation could fix what had gone so terribly wrong.
He couldn't help thinking the same thoughts so many of Voyager's survivors now wrestled with. As a group, they had prepared themselves to live or die together on this dangerous and ambitious mission. Few had prepared for an outcome that left them still far from Earth and at the whim of fates and duty assignments that had taken some lives while sparing others.
Still Neelix knew he had to put on a brave face for Naomi. He forced a smile onto his face and went to check on her assignment.
~*~*~*~*~
Tom had settled B'Elanna into bed in their temporary quarters and was watching her breathe in and out when the call came through. "Carey to Lieutenant Paris." He moved quickly out of the sleeping area and over to the desk before replying. He didn't want to wake up B'Elanna now that she had finally rocked herself to sleep. He tapped the panel to lower the volume. "Paris here, Joe. What's up?"
"Tom, the captain has an incoming transmission from the USS Scobee. Starfleet command is requesting to speak with Voyager's senior surviving officer in charge. With the captain and Commander Chakotay in sickbay, I'm guessing that would be you, sir, but Captain Wheaton didn't seem to know you were on board."
Tom had been too busy working the medical triage and looking after B'Elanna to check in after he regained consciousness. He guessed he actually had forgotten to report in to the captain. He wondered, with the chaos of the recovery and the urgent transfer of the injured, if some others of the crew had gone unaccounted for as well.
Tom also took a second to reflect on the irony facing him now. 'I left on this mission a parolee/observer, and now I'm the senior surviving officer. Weird.' "Sorry, Joe, it's been a little crazy. You can pipe the call down here."
"Thanks, Tom. And...I'm glad to hear B'Elanna is feeling better."
Tom smiled. Her staff was almost as protective of his wife as he was. "I'll tell her you asked about her, Joe. Thanks." With that, Carey's face was replaced by the blue and white Starfleet logo, and the announcement screen for an incoming encoded transmission. When the Admiral's face appeared, it took Tom a split second to process what he was seeing.
"Dad." He blurted it out, but quickly recovered. "Admiral Paris," he was stammering a bit. "It's...good to see you, sir."
"Tom. I hadn't expected...." This was one for the books: both Paris men at a loss for words. "Thank God, you're alright, son."
Wow. His father hadn't known. 'Stupid, Paris, you forgot to check in, remember.' Nobody knew to tell his father he was alive. 'And did he actually call me 'Tom'?'
"I'm well, sir. Thank you." God, what was the protocol for this situation? He'd take his cue from his father's tone.
"Lieutenant Torres and the--?"
Tom wondered for a minute if the Admiral didn't know how to pronounce her first name. "B'Elanna and our baby are fine. She was pretty badly injured, but I've just brought her back from sickbay, and she's sleeping."
He saw his father take in a deep breath, and exhale it slowly. "You must be so relieved, son." Tom's head was spinning. Who was this compassionate man, and what had they done with his father?
"Yes, sir. Very relieved."
Owen composed himself slightly, but tried to keep the gentle tone in his voice as he went on. "I'm afraid I need to ask you some questions, Lieutenant, as Voyager's senior officer."
"Yes, sir," Tom replied, knowing that this part of their conversation was necessarily part of the official Starfleet record. Tom answered the Admiral's questions about the mission as best he could, describing what he knew about the transwarp conduit and how they had tried to collapse it after the EPS relays blew out. He reviewed the steps taken to prepare themselves, and what he had been told about the damage to the ship and her crew. The Admiral asked if Tom would oversee the preparation of a complete crew manifest and transmit it on a secure channel within twenty-four hours. Tom told him he would get on it right away. The Admiral then passed a
long an official message to Voyager's survivors from Starfleet, commending them on their brave service and courage in making this attempt. Tom stiffened a bit when he heard the Admiral give the order to end the official record of their conversation. 'Here we go,' he thought.
His father's eyes narrowed, and Tom would have sworn they were misting over. "Son, I can't tell you how long I have waited to see you." Tom swallowed hard; it took him forever to figure out how to respond. This was not the kind of talk he was used to from his father.
"Thank you, sir..." Time for him to speak out of character. He wished he'd been prepared for this conversation. "Dad, I want you to know...I've changed a lot since the last time we spoke." Tom's heart was in his stomach now, remembering the worst conversation of his life.
"I know, son." Owen was equally contrite. "So have I." There. It was said. The closest either would likely come to a full-fledged apology. 'Don't lose this moment,' Owen thought to himself.
"You know, Kathryn sent me quite a long letter in one of the first datastreams from Voyager. Set me straight about a few things. She told me how wrong I was about my son. She thinks quite highly of you, you know. She went into great detail about why."
Wow, Tom thought. He couldn't say he was all that surprised considering the personal interest the captain had taken in his rehabilitation, but he was moved nonetheless. "The feeling is mutual, sir. She's a remarkable woman, and I've been proud to serve with her." He paused, "I consider her a close friend." His mind drifted down two decks to the sickbay where his captain lay unconscious.
"Thomas, I hope you will give her my best when she wakes up," his father said softly.
Their time was up soon enough, and Tom closed the channel after telling his father he would see him soon. He sat there for a minute processing what he had just experienced.
"He loves you." B'Elanna's voice brought him back to reality.
He got up and moved to the bed, noticing her wet eyes as she looked up at him. He climbed in beside her and pulled her into his arms. "I thought you were asleep," he said softly into her shoulder.
"I'm glad I woke up for that," she said. "He really loves you, you know." She whispered again.
"Yeah," Tom sighed, his own eyes welling up. "Looks like he really does." He pulled her as tight as he could without hurting her or their daughter and held her until they both fell soundly asleep.
~*~*~*~*~
At 0800 hours, Tom checked in on his sleeping wife, then headed for the Resnick's bridge. He had made a promise to his father last night, and he needed to keep it. As he moved through the ship, he felt a bit conspicuous in his red and black singlet--they had known for a while that Starfleet uniforms had been redesigned, but he and the rest of Voyager's survivors didn't care to be issued new ones. In some way, these outmoded colors were a badge of honor, a reminder of what they had been through together. Besides, donning the new uniforms might imply a more permanent affiliation with Starfleet, one that many of them weren't guaranteed, himself included. No, they wouldn't make the change until they had made it home and the future of the entire crew was secured.
Tom found Captain Wheaton in his ready room. "Captain, Lieutenant Tom Paris. It's good to finally meet you."
Wheaton took a long glance at the young officer before him. Not more than ten years his junior, and looking very little like a rebel Maquis traitor. Still, he knew a little too much about this man's past. "At ease, Lieutenant. How is it that you've been aboard my ship for almost six days and this is the first time we're meeting?"
Tom stiffened a little. It had been a long while since he had been treated with this much open suspicion by a senior Starfleet officer. It was familiar and awful all at once.
"I'm sorry about that, sir. I'm Voyager's chief medic, and I was working the triage in sickbay the first three days. You probably also know that my wife..."
Wheaton cut him off. "Bee-El-ana Torres," he interjected as if reading it from a dossier, totally garbling the pronunciation.
Tom took a breath before answering. He wasn't looking for a fight. "B'Elanna," Tom corrected him, "yes. She's pregnant and was badly injured. I stayed with her in sickbay until she was released last night. I guess checking in just slipped my mind."
"I'm not interested in your excuses, Lieutenant," Wheaton challenged, coldly. "You're Voyager's senior officer in charge. You should have taken a moment to report in."
It only took Tom an instant to remember the last time he was treated this way: it was the day he came aboard Voyager at Deep Space 9. First the ship's doctor and then the first officer--what was his name?--Cavit, had spoken to Tom like he was beneath contempt, then took no time warning Harry to steer clear of him. He had shut up and taken it then. Pretended not to care. But he was out of practice; the infamous 'Paris mask' had been retired for a while now. He dug down deep to find it. Nothing. He'd have to fake it. What would Harry do? That thought only made it harder.
"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir." There had been a reason for this visit, Tom remembered. "Captain, Starfleet Command has asked me to make a formal report on Voyager's survivors and casualties. With your permission."
Wheaton paused before answering. "Fine. You'd better make it quick; we're about to release the remains of the deceased."
Tom was shocked. "Release the remains? You plan to bury them in space?"
The captain practically rolled his eyes. "We don't have enough stasis facilities to keep them on board until we reach Starbase 32. This isn't a medical transport."
Tom was livid, but he knew he needed to keep his composure. There was no way he was going to let this bureaucrat shoot the bodies of his friends into the Beta Quadrant when they were so close to making it home. Their families deserved the chance to say goodbye, and he was determined they would have it. "Sir, am I correct that most of Voyager is still intact and pressurized?"
Wheaton nodded, "All but decks 8 through 10. What's your point?"
Tom pressed on, "We could convert one of Voyager's shuttle bays into a temporary morgue. The room can be made cold enough to preserve the remains until we can get them home."
Unable to think of a reason why this wouldn't work, Wheaton nodded his approval. "Fine. You have three hours. Dismissed."
Tom was more than happy to go. 'Welcome home,' he said softly to himself. 'Welcome home.'
~*~*~*~*~
Tom had asked Seven, Joe Carey, and Sue Nicoletti to assist him with the preparations. They would beam over to Voyager and scope out the situation before assigning a crew to the detail. Seven was hesitant to leave Icheb, but B'Elanna agreed to stay with the boy. Of course, as chief engineer, she had wanted to come along, but even B'Elanna knew how impractical that was in her condition. She hated feeling like an invalid. At least staying with Icheb gave her something to do.
The four officers donned environmental suits and materialized moments later in Voyager's engine room. Seven scanned with her tricorder. "Life support is still online," she noted. They each moved to stations and began taking the pulse of their dying ship, only to find there was still a little life in her yet.
"The power grid has totally destabilized," Carey called out. "But emergency generators are still functioning."
Nicoletti was next, "The warp core is stable. Radiation levels are only slightly elivated on decks one though seven and eleven through fourteen. We have minimal life support in those areas as well."
Tom was inventorying the key systems, "The com system is down, artificial gravity is offline, and I can't check on propulsion until the power grid is repaired. Seven, how long do you think it will take to get...Seven?" He noticed his friend holding tightly to the railing of the warp core. She looked like she might faint.
"Seven, are you alright?" He took her arm and moved her toward the bulkhead. While sitting down would be pointless in zero gravity, at least she could steady herself against the wall.
"I am undamaged," Seven answered less than convincingly. "I have not regenerated in six days; I believe that, and the lack of normal gr
avity are making me a little..." having rarely experienced this sensation before, she wasn't sure how to describe it.
"Dizzy?" Tom asked?
"I suppose so," she answered.
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