She lay curled up on the porch swing, hands tucked under her head, drowsing, listening to the sounds of home. The slight rocking of the swing in the breeze and the play of speckled sunlight through the leaves kept her in that sweet limbo between sleep and life. She could hear her mother in the kitchen through the screen door. Gretchen was canning peaches and the smell of the scalding fruit and the clank of jar against pan were as familiar as an old friend. Home. She was home.
Kathryn absorbed it all, felt it right to the bone. Content to drift, wanting somehow to believe that it could heal her. She could hear Molly in the fenced-in yard, barking and chasing something. She smiled. The dog wanted to be nowhere but on Kathryn's lap when she could manage it. There wasn't room on the swing for both of them when she wanted to nap, but every night she welcomed the warmth of the dog curled up next to her-it kept her from dreaming too much. She had pretty much decided that captains really shouldn't go anywhere without a dog.
The summer breeze almost allowed her to believe she was 18 again, just beginning. She stretched her arms and turned a little, lifting her face to the sun. The swing creaked and then resumed its easy sway. In her mind she relived that last summer at home. She could see herself in exactly the same spot, lolling as she waited for her father to return for dinner. He had been home more than usual that year and they spent evenings talking politics and Starfleet and where her career might take her. She drank it all in as gospel, knowing that it would take every edge she had to get a ship before she was thirty. And that's what she had wanted. She groaned inwardly at the memory of her zeal. In the next breath she wondered if she would ever feel that way again.
The screen door creaked as Gretchen stepped out onto the porch, wiping her hands on her apron. She held the door to keep it from slamming and stepped to the edge of the porch to lean against a post, scanning the backyard.
"It's almost two-thirty," she said in a quiet voice.
Kathryn stirred and lay still for one moment before stretching and sitting up, running her hands over her face.
She sat for a little longer, looking over the backyard, an unconscious mirror of her mother's attitude. It was a silence perfected by many years of a daughter who favored her father, of a mother's patience for her daughter's need to take everything on herself.
"Storm's blowing up. Should get some rain."
The younger woman nodded and stood, still stretching, and went inside.
Gretchen stepped from the porch into the yard and unlatched the gate to let Molly out now that Kathryn was awake. The dog made a beeline for the screen door and sat in front of it, waiting for her mistress.
Gretchen closed down the shed at the back of the yard in anticipation of the thunderstorm and returned to the porch to take her daughter's spot on the swing. She watched the wind blow the trees thinking that they needed the rain. It would arrive within a few hours by the look of the clouds. Clear the air. She looked over at Molly, who now resembled a dog of two instead of twelve. Her eyesight and hearing were not what they used to be, but she was certainly a different dog since Kathryn came home. She looked back over the yard, realizing that the same could be said of the whole family.
Molly's small whimper and wagging tail alerted her that Kathryn had returned to the door, now in uniform--the uniform that Gretchen had finally learned not to resent after losing her husband to it and then her daughter for eight years. Kathryn tugged on the sleeves of the tunic to straighten it.
"Phoebe will be here for dinner."
Kathryn frowned a little and gave her mother a narrow look, stifling a sigh. The days she spent at Starfleet were the worst of it and her family conspired to be home when she returned. On each trip she was reminded yet again that she had to prove she was fit for duty. Fit for another commission. After enduring several homegrown cheering-up sessions, she had taken matters into her own hands. She stayed in San Francisco until the worst of the mood passed before returning to Indiana, for her family's sanity if not her own.
The dog's whine and tail-thumping grew in intensity, a paw on the door, as Kathryn turned and left through the front door. Gretchen called the dog and Molly finally jumped up beside her and nuzzled her hand. "I know, Molly, I know."
********
Kathryn cooled her heels in the outer office of Admiral Nechayev, idly watching the news feeds on display. The session with the counselor had gone about as per usual. The same questions and responses. How she was adjusting, how she was fitting in with her family these days. How did she feel about returning to the Alpha Quadrant? How did she think she was adapting to not being on a starship? She finally blew up and told the counselor that she would fit in fine if they would just give her another command. She was a Starfleet Captain, by god, and what she really needed was a ship. The woman, by now accustomed to the Janeway temper, would nod gravely and assure her that it would happen in time. Kathryn calmed down and soon the session was over.
She glanced over at the ensign working as the Admiral's assistant. He had by now recovered from the initial hero-worship that all of Starfleet seemed to exhibit when Voyager first returned. She was now just another appointment. He reminded her of Justin in a way--young, broad-shouldered and a little cocky. He happened to look up and smile at her briefly, and she saw that it was a smile he saved for those women whom he considered ancient. She sighed and looked back to the screens.
The news was about the annual Federation conference, currently considering applications for membership. She recognized several of the delegates--her peers from the academy who had advanced significantly while she was gone. One or two even looked a little pompous and she tried to imagine herself on their career track, but couldn't do it. White dress uniform, glad-handing diplomats at endless receptions to give more than they got, make that deal, all in the pursuit of power. She preferred the cowboy diplomacy of the delta quadrant-there was always more at stake. At least it seemed that way.
Finally, the chime sounded behind the ensign's desk and he looked up and nodded in the direction of the door. So much for fame. He had asked for her autograph the first time she came to see the admiral.
Admiral Nechayev sat behind her desk, a neat regal woman with grey hair. She had been one of Kathryn's role models as a cadet and then as an ensign. She tried to emulate the admiral's style, tempering her own fiery command mentality with a bit of the older woman's cool competence.
She stood and extended a hand warmly. "Kathryn, it's good to see you."
"Admiral." She shook hands firmly and sat down across the desk from the older woman. The admiral looked not a little tired. "How are you?"
"To be honest, I'm just glad to see someone who is not trying to maneuver me into some untenable political position." She raised her eyebrows at the Captain with a twinkle in her eye as she lowered herself back into her chair. "You're not here to do that, are you?"
"Of course not, Admiral," Kathryn answered with a smile of her own.
"Glad to hear it." She pushed the padd she was holding onto the desk and relaxed a little. "How are things?"
"About the same. I'm bored. I feel fit." Kathryn bit back the ever-present urge to vent her frustration. So far it had not done anything but make things worse.
"Enjoying the time with your family, no doubt."
"Yes, of course." Kathryn looked down at her hands, realizing they were clenched tightly. "Is there any news on the court martial?"
The Admiral cleared her throat and leaned forward in her chair. "We've been over this, Kathryn. It's all a political thing. You know Paris and I will never allow it to happen. It's just taking longer than we thought. The vituperative is worse with the conference going on, that's all."
"I would rather let it proceed and get it over with, once and for all. I deserve that, at least." Her voice became hard and angry, and she stood and strode went to the window, biting off the rest of her words.
She felt the Admiral come up behind her, looking out at the same view. Someone else giving me space, she thought. Family, friends, now all of Starfleet, giving me space. She resisted the urge to run.
"How are the counseling sessions going?"
"Shouldn't you be telling me how they are going? Counselor Fipps creates those reports for you, doesn't she?" and she nodded towards the padd on the desk.
"Yes, but I also know that what she doesn't tell me is almost as important as what she does. I would like to hear it from you."
Kathryn sighed and looked back out the window. It was a beautiful view--probably the best in the building. "She wants me to say it wasn't my fault. She wants to be assured that I won't hesitate to make a critical decision next time. She wants me to smile more. She wants me to get out more. To get a boyfriend. I tell her that what I want is to get the legal process over and get another command." She turned to look at the Admiral full in the face. "I can't believe that you can afford to have a senior captain sitting at home doing nothing, especially one with my experience. Not with all the losses to the Dominion."
The Admiral's face fell a bit. She looked back out of the window. "I'll be honest with you, Kathryn. We need every officer we can lay hands on. Things are brewing again with the Romulans, and the Cardassians are making noises like they would join them in creating their own version of the Federation." She sighed and rubbed her temples in small circles, eyes closed. "We can only hope they are not able to take in the Borg as well."
"That's a possibility?"
"Just between you and me, yes." The admiral straightened and crossed her arms in a less military pose. "Latest intell has all sorts of rumors of the Alliance, as they call it. I think it won't be long before your court martial becomes moot, considering your experience in dealing with the Borg. No one else has had as much direct contact with them as you--except Picard."
"The virus we infected them with may take care of that issue."
"I've read the reports. I certainly hope you have disabled them, but we can't count on that."
"I would agree. However, Species 8472 is another matter."
"Species 8472?"
Kathryn smiled. "Miss my lecture on 'Native Species of the Delta Quadrant'?"
"I skimmed the debriefings. Nothing looked too dangerous." She had the grace to looked embarrassed. "Species 8472?"
"They probably didn't jump off the page because they live in fluidic space and have developed only primitive means of transportation to the Alpha Quadrant. But if they were able to align themselves with the Cardassians or the Romulans, they could easily defeat anything we could throw up against them. Our only hope would be to join with the Borg and keep from being assimilated."
"They are that powerful?"
"Yes."
"I see." The admiral was clearly impressed. Nechayev returned to her desk and picked up the padd again, considering the information on it. "I actually called you here today because the Federation conference will be ending in a few days. Those few hotheads clamoring for your court-martial will be satisfied with the results. They will understand that you have not damaged any important relationships and the proceedings will be a dim memory. As for returning you to duty, I will see about the delay."
Kathryn thought she heard a tone that meant the counselor would be told to release her. She took a full breath and bowed her head. Her father had always counseled her to stick to the facts, the regulations, and stay on good terms with at least one admiral. His advice appeared to be paying off yet again.
Nechayev continued, "My guess is we will need you here to start with--" and she raised a hand as Kathryn snapped up her head, beginning a protest "--pending a new commission." She looked back at the captain, and spoke with regret coloring her voice. "If I could have waved a wand and made the whole mess go away, you know I would have. It's not that simple anymore. I also appreciate that you could have gone public with this whole mess and had the whole Federation on top of us for trying to court-martial our most famous captain. I can assure you that will not go unrewarded, at least not on my watch. As for now, I will see what I can do."
For the first time in months, Kathryn allowed herself to hope. She had in fact considered going public with the whole business, but decided that her father's advice was good enough so far. She either believed in Starfleet or she didn't.
She considered the admiral's expression carefully before crossing her arms and approaching the desk. "There is someone else who could really help us, a member of the Voyager crew."
The Admiral cocked her head as if sensing something she didn't want to hear.
"My astrometrics officer, Seven of Nine. She produced the nanoprobe technology that ultimately defeated Species 8472."
"The Borg drone? She wasn't really Starfleet, was she?" Distaste was clear in the admiral's voice. It was Voyager's Borg connection in part that was hindering her efforts to keep the court martial from happening.
Kathryn chose her words carefully. "Not technically, no. But she was a member of the crew. She would prove invaluable in fighting either group."
The admiral considered it. With the political climate deteriorating quickly, they were going to need all the help they could get, Borg or Ferengi. "I will consider it. I would like to need to interview her, though. Any idea on where she might be?"
"Last I heard she volunteered as a subject for a study of Borg assimilation/reintegration."
"I'll see what intell has on her."
"Thank you, Admiral." She paused, realizing that the load on her shoulders had lifted a bit and that maybe her mood wouldn't be so bad tonight. "I do appreciate what you are doing for me. Not everyone would be willing to help me and my crew the way you have."
The admiral smiled. "You still consider them your crew, don't you?"
"I've read all the studies on long-term deep space missions. I am familiar with the techniques the counselor is using to treat my culture shock. I know that I need to let go. But I still consider them my family. I think in some ways I always will." She hardened her voice. "But I am also ready to take command of a ship again."
The admiral chuckled at the vehemence of the remarks, and Kathryn relented, tempering the words. "I am willing to trust your judgement on this matter."
"Thank you, Kathryn. Believe me, the way things are going, it will come about much sooner than you think." She came around her desk to shake hands warmly. "Go back home. Eat, drink, be merry. Come back in a week and I should have some news for you by then."
********
After leaving headquarters, Kathryn strolled through the academy grounds, feeling the muscles in her neck and shoulders relaxing for what felt like the first time since she returned home. As she wandered through the gardens, she found herself wishing that Boothby were there. He always knew what to say, whether you were an admiral or a cadet. She could certainly use some of his encouraging words about now.
She nodded at the underclassmen who passed by her, smiling and calling out, a few whistles.
They could not help but recognize her, the most famous captain of the Federation. She also saw not a few gazes linger on her four pips, eager for command, just as she was.
She walked down to a restaurant on the way to the waterfront, the one she always liked from academy days. It was the place she had chosen to clear her mind before returning home. The coffee shop smelled of roasted beans and chocolate, a homey atmosphere that gave her instant peace of mind. She had the place to herself in the middle of the afternoon and drank her coffee slowly, watching people pass by on their way to shopping or work or home, getting on with their lives. She turned over her conversation with the admiral in her mind, looking at it from every direction to see if her hope and the admiral's last words might be justified. Wondering if it would really be all right in a week.
When she left, she found herself walking down to the Voyager museum. The much-traveled ship had been dry-docked and modified to accommodate organized tours. She could see its large oval shape peeking between buildings as she walked down to the waterfront. She had not been onboard since the celebration at the opening three months ago. Today was the first time she had felt like revisiting and smiled as she walked quickly down to the entrance. Each and every scar on the hull was familiar as the lines on her hand, each elicited a memory of their journey-a phaser burn from one battle, a patch from a hull breach, scrapes from a battle with a nebula or an ion storm. But she had brought them home.
A transport took her to the engineering airlock entrance and she arrived just as three large school tours were leaving, all abuzz with tales of Maquis and Borg and Talaxians, arguing about whether transwarp would really ever work.
She skirted around the children and their teachers, not wanting to make a fuss and approached the museum clerk. He did not recognize her immediately and offered her a padd with specs and history of the ship while explaining that she only had a few minutes before closing. When she spoke, he recognized her immediately and she eased his embarrassment with a genuine smile and a plea to let her roam on her own.
She signed an autograph for him and he winked as he told her, "Take all the time you like. Just activate the airlock security panel when you leave. If we can't trust her with you, well . . ."
"Thank you, ensign."
He came around the counter to dismiss the tour guide, a polite generic copy of the EMH program. She eyed the doctor as she stepped onboard and thought it was bad enough that he didn't know her, let alone that he was polite.
********
It felt good to be back on her ship, even though it wasn't hers anymore. She touched the panels at the engineering consoles and found that they had been disabled--showing only generic specifications for the ship's systems. When she looked a little closer, she saw that the warp core and systems had been replaced with mockups. It wasn't just not her ship anymore--it wasn't even a real ship. The curators had carefully reconstructed all the modifications--she could clearly make out the conduits B'Elanna and Seven had installed to attach the transwarp drive.
She stepped through the doors of main engineering to walk the halls of Voyager, much as she had when in command, settling her mind in ways no other activity ever would. She passed crew quarters, making a game of matching up names and faces with each doorway. There were panels here and there that she remembered opening for one reason or another. She did open one access hatch, but drew the line at actually entering a jeffries tube. She didn't miss it that much.
She worked her way to the bridge, stopping by the familiar places that had been her community for eight years. Sickbay had another holographic doctor who didn't know her treating an injured holographic Kazon, and the three holodecks were running Captain Proton, da Vinci and Fair Haven. She was grateful not to see Arachnia but disheartened that the Maestro didn't know her. Curious, she went into Fair Haven to find Michael, but there were only a few people there, generic villagers who didn't know her. She had given up seeing him in the end, never really able to believe in programmed love. She was grateful yet again that Starfleet could not exhibit personal program modifications without approval.
The mess hall had a holographic Neelix selling Talaxian food, but like the jeffries tube, she thought she would never be that hungry again. It brought a smile to her face to realize that one thing she really appreciated about home was her mother's cooking.
When she reached deck 1 and stepped onto the bridge, it was not the blow she had braced herself for. The sunlight streaming through the viewports made the usually elegant panels look plain and everyday. It could have been the bridge on any ship. She stepped up to conn and touched it to get warp status. It reported warp 4 and she smiled. Going nowhere fast. She turned and looked at her old seat for some time before finally going to sit down. She felt a rush of adrenalin as her body remembered the feel of command. She touched the console on her left and found a set of records from their third year in the Delta Quadrant displayed. She scrolled through them idly, wondering at their inanity.
She leaned back and closed her eyes, trying to imagine it all again, her crew around her. But instead of one instance, one crisis, they all crowded her at once. How many times had she stood here with the fate of 141 souls in her hands, giving an order that would place them in peril. Not knowing if she were doing the right thing, just knowing that she had to what she thought was right. Sometimes she gambled and won, sometimes she lost. More wins that losses on the whole, though.
Suddenly, she didn't want to think about it anymore. It was gone now. Voyager would never fly again. She had been so focused on getting them home that she had never thought past it. She had succeeded in bringing them home, but found herself lost at the end of the journey. She sighed and felt her body relax a little more, making peace with her past one day at a time.
When she allowed it, her mind wandered to the one place she had avoided in her tour of the ship. She had consciously passed it by, not sure if it were just too painful or that she would not be able to stand the disappointment. She still hadn't decided if she wanted to go there now--maybe she should wait for another visit, another time when she felt a little stronger. But all her life she had not been one to shirk the inevitable. She faced her problems head-on, damn the torpedoes. Sometimes it was a little more painful that way, but it was cleaner.
********
She stood in front of the doors to astrometrics for some time before deciding to enter. She remembered the last time she had stood there, while it was still her ship. She had hoped for a private goodbye with Seven, time to reassure the young woman that things would be all right, to be reassured by Seven's indomitable self-confidence. She also wanted to make sure Seven would know to stay in touch.
Instead, the vultures had descended. Voyager returned so quickly, with so little notice, that scientists were already huddled around her and Echeb, tricorders blinking and beeping. She and Seven had exchanged only a handshake and a look before they had been divided by the scientists and then the reporters who wanted the two of them to pose for a final picture. She regretted that she hadn't had time to plan ahead, to make the time to deliver a personal goodbye. Seven had not attended the opening ceremony for the museum, so it had been nearly six months now. Kathryn wanted to know that Seven was happy, to know that she had done the right thing by severing her from the Borg and dragging her home. That some good had come from being lost for eight years. And now she was gone.
On that day, in astrometrics, Kathryn had been overdue for the marathon debriefing of an eight-year mission. She had no idea that it would be as ugly as it had been, that by the second day she would realize that a court-martial was a real possibility. From the beginning, she made it clear that she was in charge, she was responsible for everything that happened on her watch. She had accepted the blame in exchange for their discretion. No one knew, not even her family. So she was the last one still languishing. Chakotay, Paris, Torres--all of them had scattered to visit family, or gone into hiding from the Jem Hadar.
Standing there in the hallway, the loneliness hit her like a wave. She fought back tears and pulled herself together. Get a grip. This was not her Voyager. This was only a facsimile, a model. Those eight years were real. This was not. Finally, she wiped her face on her sleeve, squared her shoulders and stepped up to activate the doors.
The sight awaiting her took her breath away.
Instead of the sterile, generic representation she had seen in all the other departments, astrometrics was alive. A star system she recognized from their last year in the Delta Quadrant glittered on the screen. The panels and consoles blinked and beeped. And there was Seven, back to her, bent over a console. A holographic Seven, but Seven nevertheless.
She stepped into the room. "Hello, Seven," she said, amazed at how the tears shrouded her voice.
The fingers stilled on the panel, the shoulders straightened in surprise. Seven turned slowly, placing her hands behind her back automatically.
"Captain."
Janeway blinked again and again as she realized that this was really Seven, not a hologram. It was really her, she kept saying to herself. It was really Seven.
They stood for what could have been an eternity, both startled into silence. It was an insane moment for Janeway. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry, to hug the first member of her Voyager family she had seen in three months or revert to the professional mode that Seven preferred. Then she thought she saw the younger woman's lower lip tremble, perhaps a tear in her right eye.
She closed the distance quickly and gathered the young woman in a fierce awkward hug. Seven returned the embrace gingerly, not really familiar with the customs surrounding seeing old friends again after a period of time. She felt the hug was comforting, sufficient to ease the rapid beating of her heart.
Janeway released her and stepped back, regaining her composure quickly. "I apologize, Seven. I didn't intend to embarrass you."
Seven nodded briefly and released her grip on Janeway's arms, returning her hands to behind her back.
"I am glad to see you, Seven," she said through tears and a warm smile.
Seven gazed at the captain, overwhelmed. Then she realized that the captain did not have anything to wipe her face with and retrieved a cloth from the replicator for her.
Janeway accepted it with a grateful smile, "Thank you." Kathryn took a deep breath as she felt her voice become stronger, adjusting to the influx of emotion.
She wiped her eyes and face before realizing that Seven had not said "You're welcome." When she looked up at Seven, she was again keying the console, her fingers beating a rapid tattoo of beeps.
She could not see Seven's face, so she assumed at first that she had merely interrupted something important. That Seven had simply thought the conversation concluded and returned to work.
Kathryn smiled, feeling something break loose inside, falling back into place.
"I'm sorry if I disturbed you. I hadn't really planned on coming down here today. I just felt the urge for some reason."
Seven continued at the console, not looking up.
When Seven did not reply, she tried again. "Is there something I can help you with? I might be a little rusty, but surely an old beat-up captain is worth something." Janeway unconsciously placed a hand on Seven's forearm as she looked at the panel.
She heard Seven take in a full breath. "No, Captain." Her voice was small and gravelly, as if she were fighting her own tears. "I am experiencing .. . " and her voice trailed off.
"Yes?"
She took a breath and turned to face Janeway. She started again. "I did not anticipate seeing you here. It evokes a very strong emotional response. Although it is illogical, I wish to be back in the Delta Quadrant. I wish to be back among my friends on Voyager."
It had not occurred to Kathryn that Seven would still need her instruction, still need help finding her way. She had been so swallowed up by the problems with Starfleet that she hadn't thought it through. "It is called homesickness. Wishing to be someplace familiar. With family."
"Yes. It is overwhelming. Painful but pleasant in some ways. I have experienced it several times since we arrived, but never so strongly as now." She paused as she looked at the captain. "You experienced this emotion about being on Earth while we were in the Delta Quadrant."
"Sometimes. Mainly when there was not enough to keep me busy."
Seven now considered the face before her a little more carefully. Captain Janeway looked thinner, if that were possible. There was a looseness to her step that was usually so measured. She looked a little older, more tired than the collection of images in her eidetic memory. B'Elanna would call it 'ragged around the edges,' something she never believed possible for her captain. In some ways it made the homesickness worse. Unlike her human shipmates, she could always replay events from their journey from memory, be able to precisely document the differences.
"What are you doing here? I thought you were helping with a scientific study of the Borg." Kathryn discarded the soiled cloth in the replicator panel and turned back to face Seven.
Seven had returned to the cool, composed woman of Voyager. "I left the project when it became clear that the scientists in charge were moving too slowly. They did not allow me to present my findings without checking and cross-checking them many times using outmoded protocols."
Kathryn had an immediate sense of what the project had been like and suppressed a smile. Seven was used to working on a ship where time was of the essence. No quibbling, no second-guessing, most of the time they could not actually test something before implementing it. Her calculations and judgement had proven themselves time and again and the young scientist was not used to being cross-questioned by procedure-bound technicians. On Voyager, it always seemed that Janeway demanded warp drive back online in ten minutes. She chuckled inwardly at the mental image of the Borg fighting the traditional scientists tooth and nail. "So, do they know where you are?"
"I do not believe them capable of finding their own offices without assistance. A simple series of misdirections and evasions will confound them for weeks." Her eyes glittered to match her cool arrogance. "I am not even sure they will notice my absence."
Janeway finally laughed outright at that. "You are probably right." She turned to the main console and touched the display. "Why didn't they dismantle astrometrics like the rest of the ship?"
"They did. I have been replicating replacement systems and transporting them back on board to reconstruct the lab." She stood taller and spoke in a proud voice. "I have also enhanced performance by 15.3%."
Kathryn nodded her acknowledgment, not realizing how automatic the gesture was. She also crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, leaning against the console. "Do I want to know why you're doing this?"
Seven looked confused. "I do not know, Captain."
Janeway rubbed her forehead, wondering how bad it could be. Bad enough to endanger her commission? The thought brought her up short. It was as if a light turned on somewhere and dispelled the fog of the last few months. When did I start worrying more about my career than my crew? Than Seven? In the end, it didn't matter whether or not she got a new commission. If they didn't believe in her, couldn't assess her value to Starfleet, she didn't want it.
She raised her chin and spoke clearly. "Tell me."
"I am preparing for my journey back to the collective. I will free as many drones as possible and destroy the Borg who resist."