Be Careful What You Wish For

by Barbara Watson

  She struggled with her composure as she continued. “But I want you to remember that Tuvok and Harry wanted this as much as anyone. They were willing to risk their lives to ensure our success, and their sacrifice will never be forgotten.” She took her coffee cup in her right hand and raised it into the air. “To absent friends,” she said haltingly.

  Her friends quietly joined in her toast before she continued. “I’d also like to acknowledge the work you’ve all done in the past week while Commander Chakotay and I were recovering. Each of you rose to the occasion under the worst of circumstances. I’m grateful to you all.”

  She knew she had to get on with business before they all got mired in their grief once more. She refocused the conversation on the task at hand. “Now our new mission begins: getting this ship put back together. B’Elanna, what’s our status?”

  Torres was glad for the diversion of her report. “Structural integrity is at 78%. That’s the best we’ll do until we get to the base. We’ve put our energies into getting more of the replicators online, and to repairing the com system. We should start on the main computer next.” B’Elanna paused to check the look on Seven of Nine’s face before continuing. “That project is right up your alley, Seven. We could really use your help.”

  She was relieved to see Seven take some interest in the project. “I would be...happy to assist you.” The words were intentionally chosen, B’Elanna suspected, to let her know things were alright. Or at least better.

  B’Elanna continued her report. “The radiation levels on the mid-decks are dropping, but not enough for us to spend more than a few hours there at a time. We won’t be moving back into our quarters for at least another day or so.”

  Kathryn realized that B’Elanna was mapping out a long-term strategy for making the ship habitable again. In light of their restricted use of base facilities, this was probably a wise move. The captain decided to frame the situation as a positive development. “We’ll be at Starbase 32 by tomorrow, and I’ve just been informed that they are in the middle of a security lock-down, so we’ll be able to stay board Voyager during our time at the Base.” No need to say why, she thought. “But I’m sure Starfleet will want to transfer us to Admiral Paris’s vessel for the last part of the trip to Earth.” Funny, she noticed, how she couldn’t bring herself to use the word ‘home’ these days.

  Tom spoke what most of them were thinking. “Do we have to?” Kathryn thought he almost sounded like a ten year old being told to go to bed. His next words were just as simple, but more thoughtful. “I’d hoped we’d be here on Voyager when we finally cross into the Alpha Quadrant. We’ve come so far with this ship. I guess I just always imagined we’d take her all the way home.” Janeway looked around at the faces of her senior staff. They seemed to share Tom’s sentiments.

  “Let’s see how things go when we get to the base,” she said. “But if there’s a safe way to do it, we’ll stay right here.” This required a few adjustments to their plans. “B’Elanna, make venting the mid-deck radiation the top priority. If we’re going to be on this ship for a few more weeks, I’m not spending my nights in the crew reading room, and I’m sure the rest of you would like to get back to your own quarters. Doctor, you’re the only member of the crew who can work on those decks for any length of time. Care to take a stab at a career as an engineer?”

  The EMH was clearly unhappy, but he wasn’t in a position to say no. “Why not,” he said sardonically, “I’ve been a tricorder, an opera singer, and a starship captain. Might as well add Malon core worker to my resume.” Janeway laughed. He had a point.

  “Thank you for your sacrifice, Doctor, but—until we make it back to Earth—everyone’s an engineer. B’Elanna, this is your operation. I think Commander Chakotay and I are going to need duty assignments.” The distraction would be good therapy for them all, she knew. And, as she always did when trying to hide from her pain, she would throw herself into her work.

  But she had one final order to give before she could dismiss her officers. “Tomorrow, we’ll be saying a final goodbye to those friends who didn’t survive to see this day. Thanks to Lieutenant Paris, Starfleet has sent a Federation medical transport to rendezvous with us when we arrive. Their bodies will be transferred as soon as we reach Starbase 32. But I thought we could hold a memorial service tonight, before we send them off on the last part of their trip home.

  “Commander,” she turned to Chakotay. “Would you be willing to officiate?” He’d become the closest thing the crew had to a spiritual leader, she knew.

  “I’d be honored, Captain,” he said solemnly. “Though I’ll ask Neelix to help with the arrangements if he doesn’t mind.” Both Janeway and Neelix nodded.

  “Then if there’s nothing else…let’s get back to work.”

  ~*~*~*~*~

  At 1900 hours, the surviving crew of the USS Voyager gathered in Cargo Bay 4 for a tribute to their fallen colleagues.

  With the permission of Captain Wheaton, Neelix had used the Resnick’s replicators to create a symbolic food item from the traditions of each of the deceased. He explained that many cultures—including the Delaneys’ Irish ancestors—considered a large meal an important part of their traditional ‘wake’ or period of mourning. In some cases, a specific food was dictated by religious custom (in memory of Crewman Weiss he’d prepared boiled eggs; for Ensign Y’Siad a basket Enob Y’Taem biscuits). Some of the dishes, Neelix admitted, had no religious or cultural significance, but were the favorites of a particular crewmember. This explained the apple pie, Tom realized—in traditional golden brown, he noticed, instead of Neelix’s usual bright green—that was put out in memory of Harry.

  It was a nice tribute, even if no one was particularly hungry.

  Neelix also contributed a Talaxian custom to the event. At his request, the room was decorated with personal items from each of their lost friends. The idea was to select a small, personal trinket which might evoke a specific memory of the deceased. (Kathryn had retrieved Tuvok’s meditation lamp, and Tom brought Harry’s saxophone.) As an item would remind someone of a happy memory, they were to share the story with those around them to conjure up the soul of the departed. While very few of the crew believed in the mystical aspects of the ritual, it was eerie the way they seemed to feel their friends’ presence whenever they began reminiscing.

  When the crew had finished gathering, the captain took her place at the front of the room.

  “We are here to pay tribute to our honored dead,” she said, beginning the customary Starfleet ritual of remembrance. “They gave their lives that me might make it home safely. Today, we honor their sacrifice with a moment of silence.” She closed her eyes and offered a quiet prayer for her crew, living and departed. After a minute, she stepped aside to give her first officer the floor.

  “We all knew and loved the fifty men and women we pay tribute to today. They were members of our family. But some of us shared unique bonds with our friends. As I read each of their names, I’d like it if one of you could say a few quick words about those you were closest to.” He began reading the names in Standard alphabetical order. Allen... Ayala... Baytart... Culhane...

  Some of the stories were poignant, like Mike Ayala’s secret crush on Samantha Wildman (or so said the Doctor, who claimed to witness the security guard’s accelerated heartbeat and flushed skin whenever they were in the same room). Some were funny, like Tom’s admission that it had been Harry who had masterminded all of the practical jokes the two used to play on their friends. Others were heart-breaking, including Crewman Jor’s revelation of her short-lived engagement to Lieutenant Tabor. But none was more unexpected that Seven of Nine’s tribute to Commander Tuvok.

  Everyone just assumed Captain Janeway would be the one to speak of her old friend. But, at the last moment, Kathryn had asked Seven to have that honor. The room was silent now as she began her tribute. “Tuvok was my mentor and my colleague,” she said softly. “But his orderly mind and love of science drew us together as frien
ds. I once had the unique opportunity to share a ritual mind-meld with the Commander—a very personal experience for a Vulcan...and for a former Borg drone—each of us accustomed to a life of emotional distance from those around us. For a moment during that contact, however, Commander Tuvok shared his deepest thoughts with me. I can tell you he was proud to serve with each of you, and considered many of you dear friends. I hope you will join me in remembering his wife, T’Pel, and his children in the time of their loss.”

  She stepped back to the Doctor’s side, and soon felt the pressure of his palm on her back. She appreciated his silent support as the tributes continued.

  Until this moment, Tom had always been dismissive of the customs surrounding death. As a child he had avoided funerals and memorial services out of fear of the unknown. Once he was older, he was able to rationalize his avoidance as a rejection of these traditions, saying they were a form of ritualized denial of one’s loss, and that the best thing one could do to honor the dead was to have treated them well while they were living.

  Then at Caldik Prime, three of his friends died in an accident that was his fault, and he adopted his own “ritual of denial”: drinking heavily.

  Now, however, he realized that the ceremonies and traditions each culture observed when a loved-one died weren’t for the dead at all; they were for the living. They existed to bookend the relationship, provide whatever closure one could find in such a loss, and allow the healing of the survivors to begin. With that revelation, however, he decided there was one last ritual he knew would have to happen before he and a certain friend of his could move on.

  When the tributes had ended and the service was over, Tom whispered something in B’Elanna’s ear, then went to find Kathryn. This was for the captain as much as for him, he knew. When he explained his request, the look on her face told him he’d been right.

  Janeway and Paris walked together to the end of the Deck 10 corridor, and Tom keyed in his security code. The shuttlebay was cold, the environmental controls adjusted to allow the room to serve as a short-term morgue. It was the first time Kathryn had come here since the accident, and the sight of fifty burial terminums arranged throughout the room was almost overwhelming to her. In one’s mind, the number could be abstract. In this room, there was only the cold reality. Fifty of her precious crew had lost their lives in her gamble to get them all home.

  For his part, Tom knew now that he’d never enter this room again without thinking of Harry. He’d never forget the feeling of anticipation they’d shared when leaving for an away mission, or the hours they’d spent tinkering with enhancements or repairs to one shuttle or another—until they’d finally gotten to build the ship of Tom’s dreams. In the Delta Flyer, they could act out Paris’s heroic holodeck fantasies for real, whether diving to the bottom of the Monean ocean, or drag racing a beautiful-but-dangerous alien pilot just before she tried to get them all killed. In each case, Harry was his faithful sidekick, his co-pilot, his regular co-star in the adventure movie that had been their lives.

  They wouldn’t be playing those games anymore, Tom knew. Harry would never captain his own starship, and they’d never sit back together as old men, reliving the adventures of their youth. For his second indelible memory of this room was of helping Vorik move his best friend’s body into his terminum, preparing Harry for the last leg of the trip back to his parents. There was no way he was going to let the Resnick’s captain leave his friend behind. One way or another, Tom was going to get Harry home. But before then, there was one other thing he had to do.

  Tom led the captain to the far end of the room and stopped when he indicated they’d reached their destination. He unfolded the gold-topped uniform jacket he’d tucked under his left arm and turned to face the captain.

  “For seven years of exemplary service as the chief operations officer of the USS Voyager, I hereby promote Harry Kim to the rank of lieutenant.” She reached over and placed a gold pip of a full lieutenant next to the ensign’s rank insignia already there. Tom then draped his friend’s jacket over the terminum, and watched as the captain placed her hand over it. She was quiet for several moments before Tom heard her soft whisper. “I’m sorry, Harry,” she said. “You earned this a long time ago. I hope you’ll forgive me for waiting until now to make it official.”

  She stepped back and let Tom have a private moment with his friend. “Hey, buddy, you outrank me now,” he said gently. “No more Ensign Eager...” He looked away before he continued. “Thanks for choosing your own friends, Harry Kim.” He fingered the new pip before he stepped away. He liked to think that Harry knew and approved of this gesture, even if it did come too late.

  He looked over at the captain, whose heart was clearly breaking. Yet he noticed there were no tears. Maybe she was cried out, he wondered. Or, maybe it was just time to start looking forward instead of back. He walked over to the other person who had taken a chance on him so long ago. “Thanks, Captain,” he said to her. She put her hand on his shoulder, and they walked the rest of the way out in silence.

  ~*~*~*~*~

  As Janeway had come to expect, Voyager’s arrival at Starbase 32 was much different than the idealized ‘welcome home’ she had envisioned for so long.

  The base personnel were gracious and accommodating, but there was an uncomfortable remoteness as she introduced Chakotay, Tom Paris, the Doctor, and Seven to the Starfleet staff. Whether it was the presence of the Maquis captain, the ex-convict, a Mark 1 medical hologram, or the reformed Borg—or just the overall strangeness of meeting people who had returned from the dead—there was a kind of distance, a tension she had felt earlier with Captain Wheaton, but hoped would be an anomaly. Their outmoded uniforms didn’t help them to blend in.

  Clearly the others could sense it as well, for as they made their way through the corridors she heard Tom lean over to Chakotay. “Rip Van Winkle,” he said under his breath. “An old Earth story about a man who fell asleep under a tree for a hundred years, then tried to go back to his life. People thought he was a freak, too.”

  It wasn’t until she walked into the Admiral’s temporary office that she felt their first truly warm welcome. As her crew was shown in and stood at attention, her old friend turned his chair to face them. She knew instantly that she would remember the look on Owen Paris’s face for the rest of her life: an unnatural combination of fear, awe, disbelief, and joy. And, she couldn’t help but notice that the admiral wasn’t returning her gaze. He was preoccupied, transfixed, as he took his first face-to-face look at the man his son had become.

  She knew the Admiral well enough to expect protocol to take over quickly. This was a formal meeting first and a reunion second, and no one was more professional about official matters than her mentor. He slowly regained his control, but his expression stayed warmer than she had remembered. “Kathryn,” he said as he stood to walk toward her. For a moment, she thought he might hug her, but he extended his hand instead. “It’s wonderful to see you again.”

  Her entire goal for this meeting was to make it through with her composure intact, but she instantly misted over in the presence of an old familiar face. “Admiral Paris. It’s good to see you too, sir. I’d like to introduce you to my senior officers.

  “Commander Chakotay,” she gestured in her first officer’s direction. She was glad to see no hint of judgment as the Admiral shook the hand of the man she had been sent to hunt down seven years earlier. “And I think you may recognize our Doctor.”

  The EMH extended his hand. “Actually, I didn’t have the pleasure of meeting Admiral Paris on my previous visits to the Alpha Quadrant,” the physician chimed in, not realizing that she meant his resemblance to his creator, Louis Zimmerman, who the Admiral had undoubtedly met on many occassions.

  “And this is Seven of Nine…” She was interrupted by the young woman she was introducing.

  “My friends call me Seven,” she interjected softly, putting to use some of her well-practiced social skills.

  “Seven it is,
then,” the Admiral said as he warmly shook her hand.

  Kathryn had entered ahead of her crew, and realized she had taken a step in front of Tom when introducing the others. She moved aside now in a gesture that felt very ceremonial. “And I think you’re acquainted with my helmsman...,” was all she could think of to say. There was an understandable yet uncomfortable pause as they all watched this most private and meaningful of reunions.

  “Lieutenant Paris,” Owen said slowly, putting special emphasis on his son’s rank. It was a silent acknowledgement of how far Tom had come, and his son took it the way it was intended.

  “Admiral Paris,” Tom returned genuinely—this time with no emphasis on his father’s title, for 'Admiral' had once been Tom’s way of reminding his father that he was often more a commanding officer than a parent. Owen also understood the significance.

  Father and son smiled at each other, and the tension was relieved. “Welcome home, son,” he choked out as he embraced Tom warmly.

  “Thanks, Dad,” was all Tom could say in return.