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|        rUNNING oN aN aMIGA 4ooo wITH a cYBERSTORM o6o/5o mHZ/22 mB!        |
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          :        uPLOADEd bY ZiuTek           oN nODE #03        :
          .   tIME aND dATE oF tHE uPLOAD: 20:38:54 , 08-16-1996   .
 
å
@BEGIN_FILE_ID.DIZ           -+* STARTREK-STORY *+-
 FLUNG FROM HEAVEN! written by Kit Montana
@END_FILE_ID.DIZ

FLUNG FROM HEAVEN

By Kit Montana

_______________________

	"... heaven did not seem to be my home; 
	and I broke my heart with weeping to come 
	back to earth; and the angels were so angry 
	that they flung me out."
			- Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights
________________________


	She kissed him.
	They were sitting side by side on the long couch in her ready
room, she with a mug of fragrant coffee wrapped in her hands, he with a
padd, discussing crew training and duty rotations and other mundane
details that made up shipboard life.  They'd sat like this dozens -- no,
hundreds of times -- speaking of the ship and the crew, this and that, so
when she purposefully set her mug on the table and leaned over to touch
her lips to his, he was stunned.
	As far as kisses went, it was almost without passion, an almost
impersonal gesture.  She had reached forward and gently cradled his cheek
with her hand, and then kissed him, her lips dry, closed.  It was the kiss
sister gave brother.  It was foolish, he knew, to think of it as anything
but an affectionate gesture, a show of gratitude for all that he had done
for her over the last many months since she was taken by the Kazon. 
Still, of its own volition, his heart skipped and then beat faster, and it
was all he could do not to enfold her in his arms and hold her to him.
	Something stopped him.  Something told him that she needed
maneuvering room, to be able to withdraw without consequence.  He remained
motionless, suspended in time, waiting.
	The smile she gave him when she leaned back was like sun on his
face after a week of storms.  He took her hand in his, his eyes searching
her face for a clue as to what he should do next.
	"Tuvok to Captain Janeway, Commander Chakotay.  Your presence is
requested on the bridge."
	Janeway's tender smile turned wry and she turned slightly away
from him, indicating the moment was over.  She tapped her comm badge and
spoke into the air.
	"Acknowledged.  We'll be right there."
	Silently, Chakotay cursed the Vulcan.  While he tried to accept --
even like -- the security officer, there had been too many times like
this, too many innocently interrupted moments, that made him suspect the
Vulcan sensed his feelings toward the Captain, and for his own personal
reasons wished to thwart them.  He knew that Vulcans didn't feel emotions
like envy and jealousy.  But the timing, the innocent interruptions, were
just a little too perfect to be coincidental, at least in Chakotay's mind.
	Whether it was his own wishful thinking or reality, when they
walked out on the bridge to respond to Tuvok's summons, he still felt a
connection between himself and the Captain that had never been there
before.  He clung to it, hoping it wasn't some anomaly that might slip
away like smoke in the wind.
	All eyes on the bridge were facing the viewscreen, as if a voice
were emanating from it, beckoning them all to it.  It took Chakotay a few
seconds to see what was so mesmerizing.
	Although it was only a tiny bluish smear on the huge screen, it
commanded them all, each set of eyes studying it as if it were a talisman
upon which they could wish and obtain their fondest desire.
	In truth, there was a possibility it was just that.  It was a
wormhole -- that mysterious tunnel through space that made travel of
hundreds, thousands -- even tens of thousands -- of light-years possible
in mere seconds.  The temporal physics of it were a mystery to even the
greatest scientific minds of the Federation.  However, it was generally
conceded that they were the result of space compression and contraction
after the Big Bang, and it would be only a matter of time before
Starfleet's engineers would be able to construct artificial wormholes that
would make warp drive obsolete.  In Tom Paris' mind -- Tom Paris,
Voyager's pilot extraordinaire -- that would be a sad day, indeed.
	"What have you got on it, Mr. Kim?" asked Janeway, her own eyes
narrowing to study the smudge on the screen.
	"It's small, Captain, only about half a kilometer across the
opening," replied Kim, leaning over his console to study the readings.  "I
- I'm having trouble getting accurate readings.  Lt. Torres is re-routing
power to our sensors, but we're still not getting much."
	There was a brief pause as Kim tapped on his console, trying
alternate methods to glean information from the wormhole.  He sighed.
	"Negative, Captain," he said, his voice tinged with frustration. 
"I can still only read that it's relatively stable, and it goes somewhere.
 I just can't tell where!"
	Janeway turned to her security and tactical officer, Tuvok, and in
three quick strides, she was beside him, leaning over his console, tapping
panels and calling up data on the small eye-level screen.
	"A probe, Tuvok?  Will it be able to penetrate the magnetic
field?"
	Tuvok tapped his console in concert with her.  "Possibly ...
however, it would have to overcome the turbulence within the passage.  The
energy fluctuations are exceptionally powerful."
	Janeway studied the readings before her, and then straightened
abruptly, coming to a decision.
	"Let's try it.  Mr. Kim, prepare a class one probe for launching.
One way or another, we're going to find out what's on the other end of
that wormhole."
	"Aye, Captain," snapped Kim, his voice eager.
	The probe sped toward the wormhole as a tiny dot of moving light,
disappearing into it maw without a trace.
	There was silence on the bridge as the crew waited impatiently for
something -- anything -- to be transmitted from the probe.
	"What are you reading, Mr. Kim?  Are you getting anything from the
other side?" Janeway asked finally, pacing slowly in front of her chair,
armed crossed.  She turned when she heard him mutter a curse under his
breath.
	"Sorry, Captain," Kim apologized, slightly embarrassed.  "The
probe was destroyed.  The turbulence and radiation was too much for it. 
All I could get was that the wormhole does have an exit.  Where it comes
out is anybody's guess."
	Janeway continued her pacing, looking up occasionally to study the
mouth of the wormhole, which was rapidly growing larger as they drew
closer.
	Paris broke the silence.  "I could try to take a shuttle through,"
he said.  "You could keep a transporter beam lock on me and if things got
rough --" 
	Janeway shook her head.  "An admirable proposal, Mr. Paris, but
much too dangerous -- even for a skilled pilot like you," she said, the
smallest trace of a smile on her lips.  "Let's try another probe.  Maybe
this one will get through.  Maximum shielding on this one, Mr. Tuvok. 
Launch when ready."
	Again, the probe sped into the wormhole, leaving a slight vapor
trail in its wake.  It disappeared from view within seconds.
	Harry's curse was louder this time, making Tuvok's eyebrow raise.
	"Nothing, Captain.  This one didn't even get a kilometer in before
the turbulence ripped it apart," said the operations officer.  
	Janeway, lost in thought, studying the viewscreen, seemed not to
hear.  The wormhole, at this magnified setting, filled nearby half the
screen by now.  The opening regurgitated bits of dust and sparks of energy
in such quantities that it looks more like smoke and fire extruding from
the mouth of a dragon than a spatial phenomena.
	She stood a moment longer, studying it, and then turned to her
first officer.
	"Senior staff in my ready room in fifteen minutes.  I want ideas
on how to find out what's on the other side -- and how to get through."
	The meeting was dominated by Voyager's operations and engineering
officers.  Harry Kim, for all his youth and inexperience, was succinct in
his briefing.  There was too much magnetic interference and other static
for communications to travel through the wormhole.  Probes -- even
shielded probes -- were too fragile to withstand the turbulence.  A
shuttle was out of the question -- shuttles were even more fragile than
probes, no matter how much shielding they rigged up.  He gave a sideways
glance to the engineering officer, and then yielded the floor to her.
	B'Elanna Torres, as always, found it impossible to sit still as
she spoke.  She paced back and forth, three paces one way, a sharp turn,
three paces back.  Her hands moved nervously, and she spoke as if only
addressing herself rather than her captain and the other senior staff.  
	The answer, of course, she said, was to send Voyager through. 
With maximum shielding, reflective arrays and more dampening fields that
she could jury-rig by re-routing the power from life support and other
"non-essentials," they should be able to make it through without totally
destroying the ship.
	At least, that was the theory.
	Janeway rubbed her forehead with flexed fingers as Chakotay and
other others peppered the young engineer with questions.  What were the
odds of them making it?  If they found out the wormhole lead to someplace
even farther away than where they were now, what were the odds of making
it back through to the Delta quadrant?  What were her calculations
regarding hull stressors and external pressures?
	B'Elanna answered each query quickly, almost jerkily, indicating
to Janeway that these were all question she had asked herself.  Half of
Janeway's mind took it in, while she also asked herself other questions.
	What if she took only a skeleton crew through, leaving the others
behind on the nearest Class M planet, putting fewer people at risk, and
then coming back for them if they found it was "safe" on the other side? 
What if they tried it with Neelix's ship, if the Talaxian would allow it? 
Was it right to pit her ship and her crew against this unknown for the
possibility of a shorter route back to the Alpha Quadrant?
	These questions, she knew, were senseless, a drill she put herself
through to see if she had neglected an avenue of consideration when she'd
made her decision.  They were senseless because she'd made her decision
the minute B'Elanna began her pacing and started her briefing with, "The
answer, of course, is to take Voyager through ..."
	There was no question of leaving part of her crew behind.  If they
were to make it through, she would need them all, ready for any emergency.
 The exception, of course, was Kes and Neelix -- as Voyager's "guests,"
she couldn't require them to go along, but she already knew what their
answer would be.  Kes, cool and slightly smiling, would say she felt as
much a part of the crew as Tom Paris or Chakotay (was that a twinkle of
sarcasm in her eye?) and Neelix would act hurt that she, the Captain,
would even suggest such a thing.  Of course they were going through with
them.  The crew needed them!  And besides, they wished to see this
wondrous region of space known as the Alpha Quadrant, where people of all
worlds worked together for the common good and there was water, water
everywhere.
	Janeway placed her hands on the table, signaling an end to the
discussion around her.  The room went still.  She looked into their faces
and realized they knew what she was about to say.
	"We're going to take Voyager through," she said with confidence. 
"We didn't come this far by being shy."  She gave B'Elanna a quick grin. 
"Lieutenant, let Commander Chakotay know what you need to make the
modifications you want.  Mr. Kim, I want you to work with Mr. Tuvok to do
a complete analysis of Voyager's vulnerabilities to the turbulence and
magnetic interference within the wormhole.  If you need to launch more
probes, do it, and tell me later."
	She stood and gave them all a confident smile, showing no doubt
that soon, they would be home; soon, they would all be with their loved
ones again.
	"Well, Mr. Paris, it looks like you're going to be able to put
those piloting skills of yours to the test."
	And silently, Janeway prayed that the gods were smiling on them
and this wormhole would be the doorway home.  It wouldn't furnish yet
another stinging disappointment.
	The next 48 hours were a blur.  Janeway -- the entire crew -- knew
there was no real need to hurry, but some internal clock, some homing
instinct urged them on, carrying them through exhaustion.  When Chakotay
gave his captain his usual end-of-the-day systems status reports, he noted
with some amusement that, despite the flurry of activity through the ship
as they readied it to make the trip through the wormhole, energy
consumption was down.  It appeared that the crew didn't even want to pause
to use a few replicator rations to eat.
	When she could break away from the myriad of other tasks that kept
her on her feet all day, Janeway rushed to engineering, knowing there was
little she could to do help, but drawn there nonetheless.  Torres dashed
from one console to the next, from one crewman to the next, barking orders
and making sounds that to Janeway's ears sounded suspiciously like a
growl.  Harry Kim, bending over what appeared to be a cross between a
dismantled sensor array computer interface and the guts of a cat, looked
as if he didn't know whether to dump a pot of Neelix's stew over the
engineer or hug her for working them all so hard to get home.
	It was left to Chakotay to oversee bridge operation as Voyager
hung in space before the wormhole, a constant reminder of the
possibilities -- good and bad -- the future held.  He spent much of his
time rescheduling duty rotations to give engineering and operations the
personnel they needed to get Voyager ready.
	He saw little of Janeway, who seemed to be everywhere at once,
talking to her crew and examining the modifications to the power grids. 
Not seeing her was, he thought, a mixed blessing.  He longed to see her,
talk to her, but as busy as he was, he didn't have time to consider the
impact of Janeway's kiss upon their relationship.  Did it mean nothing --
or everything?  He wanted time to consider this before he spoke with her
again.
	Besides, the little time he did have was spent on other thoughts.
	What if this wormhole took them back to the Alpha Quadrant?  What
would that mean to him -- or the other Maquis?  He'd only talked to
Janeway about this in an amorphous manner, shortly after he'd agreed to
become her first officer.  She'd guaranteed him that she would stand by
him and the members of his crew once they got back to the Alpha Quadrant. 
He'd only nodded, and marveled at her conviction that there was no doubt
they would get back.
	But now, with this real possibility facing them, he wondered what
would happen if the wormhole did take them back.  Would he be thrown into
a penal institution?  Would he be pardoned, allowed to go free?  Would he
be allowed to stay in Starfleet under Captain Janeway?
	And would she even want him?  
	As welcome, as joyful as Janeway's kiss had been, it added an
unexpected twist to his thoughts about returning home.  Here, in this
quadrant, time had frozen for him.  Each day that passed, his belief that
one day Janeway would grow to love him as he loved her became stronger.
	But now ... what if they did find their way back?  Their universe
-- the ship's and its crew's -- would be shattered.  Would the possibility
of a future with the two of them together be shattered as well?
	And what of Janeway's lover, Mark?
	His questions seemed to multiply with the passing time, and he
vowed to speak to Janeway to try to get some answers before they attempted
the wormhole.
	His chance came a few hours later, when he'd turned the conn over
to Paris and hurried to the galley for a quick bite.  The Captain was
there, padds spread before her, coffee mug in her hand and a half eaten
leola root salad by her elbow.  Without asking permission, he sat across
her and began offloading food from his tray.  She looked up, a bit
startled that anyone from her crew would do such a thing without first
asking permission, but smiled warmly when she saw it was her first
officer.
	"I'm glad you're here.  I want to talk."  
	She pushed the padds away and crossed her arms on the table,
leaning over them toward him.  She took a breath and began.
	"This may not work," she said.
	The statement startled him.  Janeway rarely voiced her doubts
about her actions, once she had made the decision.  His eyes narrowed and
he looked at her over the rim of his herb tea.
	"It will," he said.  "You'll get us through."
	Janeway smiled wryly.  "I'll drag us though, if necessary."  She
took a sip of coffee.  "I keep on thinking of all the things that could go
wrong ... "  She shook her head.  "I know we'll make it, but just in case
... 
	She paused, and looked across the room at nothing, her eyes
unfocused, lost in her own thoughts for a moment before she came back to
him.
	"If it weren't for you -- and your Maquis -- we never would have
made it this far.  The fates sent you to me -- "
	Chakotay laughed, a note of chagrin in the sound.  "Captain, if it
weren't for us, you'd still be in the Alpha Quadrant, no doubt spending
birthdays with your family and counting your Irish Setter's puppies."
	Janeway laughed with him, shaking her head.  "I don't see it that
way.  If it hadn't been your ship, it would have been another.  If it
hadn't been yours, I know we would have been destroyed back at the
Caretaker's array."
	The smile slipped from Chakotay's lips.  "Then I guess we're
lucky," he said, "and I don't think the fates would be so cruel to get us
this far only to desert us now.  We'll make it through."
	She nodded, and bowed her head slightly, peering into the coffee
cup, avoiding his eyes.
	"I wanted to tell you, if this wormhole does lead back to the
Alpha Quadrant, I'll do everything I can for you -- and the other Maquis,
of course.  I've found the Federation to be compassionate towards those
who help members of Starfleet ... "
	Chakotay waited, until the lengthening silence make her look up. 
His eyes locked with hers.  "I don't know if I can guarantee that I -- or
even most of the Maquis -- won't go back to fighting Cardassians again. 
You may find yourself advocating for enemies of the Federation."
	Janeway swallowed, and blinked slowly.  "So you've made up your
mind what you'd do if we get back?"
	The silence at the table lengthened.
	He shook his head.  "I don't know what I'll do.  Maybe, I'll go
home.  Maybe I'll stay in space.  Hell, by the time we get back, the
Maquis may not exist any more -- the Cardassians may not exist anymore ...
"
	Janeway nodded.  They'd been gone two years.  Who knows what had
happened back home during that time?  Changes, certainly, but how many? 
How much?  A sudden chill went through her, and she stood up abruptly to
cover it.  Chakotay stood, too, not ready for the conversation to be over,
but not sure how to bring up what he really wanted to talk about.  Janeway
pulled herself up straighter, putting on her official stance.
	"Well.  Lt. Torres says we'll be ready to go in six hours.  To be
on the safe side, I'm scheduling our trip for twelve hours from now.  I
want B'Elanna and you to get some rest.  Tired personnel make mistakes,"
she said.
	"So, you'll resting in your quarters for the next several hours,
Captain?" he teased gently.
	Janeway chuckled.  "Of course.  I know good advise when I hear
it."
	Sleep, of course, was impossible.  She wandered about her quarters
aimlessly, touching the things she had brought with her from the Alpha
Quadrant, wondering if, they, too, were going to find their way back from
which they came.  She read her personal logs, reviewing them from most
recent back to the days the Caretaker brought them here, pausing to
consider how these last two years had changed her.  If she recognized the
change in herself, what of her loved ones back home?  What of her mother
and father, and cousins?
	What of Mark?
	In truth, she didn't know how she felt about him any more.  She
still dreamed of him, still remembered his scent and touch and laughter. 
But within the last few weeks, sometimes, when she'd wake, she wasn't sure
that it was Mark she'd been dreaming of or ... someone else.
	She'd known nearly from the first that she was in love with Mark. 
They'd sat at the Ambassador's dinner party, discussing warp core theory,
and she's known before dessert she was going to make love with him before
the night was out.  The passion, the connection, had been remarkable from
the first.
	Now, though, she wasn't sure.  Did she love him?  Or was it
because he was ... home?
	Not for the first time, she wondered what it would be like to have
Chakotay's body pressed against hers on the bed in her quarters, to have
that perfect mouth on hers.  She shivered, feeling guilty that she was
thinking of another man when it might be only a matter of hours before
they were back in the Alpha Quadrant, and she would be with Mark.
	She sighed, and climbed into bed, willing herself to relax.  She'd
been able to sleep in a Kazon prison cell, despite knowing the next moment
might be her last.  A few disconcerting thoughts weren't going to keep her
awake now.
	She ordered lights out, and lay staring out the long narrow
porthole into the stars until the computer chimed to tell her it was time
to get up.
	All eyes were turned to her when she stepped on the bridge. 
Chakotay was there already, as was the rest of the senior staff.  Torres,
looking tired but dressed in a fresh uniform, handed Janeway a padd.
	"We're as ready as we'll ever be, Captain," she said.
	Chakotay handed Janeway another padd.  "Decks 12 through 15 and 21
have been secured.  The reflectors have been tested and are on line.  Mr.
Paris has plotted the best course through the wormhole -- as least, his
best guess as to what the best route might be ... "
	Janeway circled the bridge slowly, pausing at each station, giving
Tom a quick squeeze on the shoulder, smiling at Kim, a nod to Tuvok.
	Then as if there was all the time in the world, she sat in her
chair, and studied the padds.  They'd done everything they could to
prepare the ship for this hazardous trip.  Now, she had to prepare
herself.  She sighed soundlessly.  Soon, they would know a different
existence than the one they knew now.  She only hoped it would be a better
one.
	"Very well, Commander Chakotay," she said formally, handing the
padds to her first officer, "let's find out what's on the other side of
that wormhole.  Mr. Paris, take us through, half impulse.  And be careful
with my ship or I'll have your pips."
	Paris tapped his console.  "Aye, ma'am, half impulse.  And I
suggest we all hold on to something that's battened down tight.  This is
going to be a bumpy ride."
	The viewscreen filled with a swirling miasma of colors, flickering
with light and dark as they entered the mouth of the wormhole.  Janeway
took her pilot's advise and compressed the arms of her command chair about
her, hurriedly glancing around to ensure the other bridge crew took
Paris's counsel.  Then she took a deep breath, and held it.
	It was barely a vibration at first, detectable through the
fingertips she placed on the arm of her chair.  Between one heart beat and
the next, it grew to a quivering, causing the plastine of her chair and
the consoles to squeak slightly as unsealed edges rubbed against each
other.
	Within five beats of her heart, the ship was shaking as if it were
a rat and some giant terrier had hold of it.  Her head snapped back and
she knew that she'd suffer the effects of whiplash once this was all over.
	"How much further, Mr. Paris?" she shouted over the screaming of
the twisting hull.  "Damage report, Tuvok!"
	Paris, clinging to his console, tapped his console with one hand. 
"Sorry, Captain, can't tell yet.  Too much -- "  
	A yelp from the pilot signaled a particularly sharp jolt had
dislodged him from his seat, sending him skittering across the deck. 
Whatever he had anchored himself to proved incapable of withstanding the
battering Voyager was taking.
	"Damage reports coming in, Captain.  Auxiliary power in decks 3
through 7 out -- " the bridge lighting flashed from normal white to red --
"as well as on the bridge," finished Tuvok.  "Warp core is secure. 
Impulse power on line.  Reflectors holding."
	Behind her, Janeway felt a hand grab the back of her chair. 
Chakotay, freeing himself from the safety of his own seat, was making his
way over to Paris, who, due to the violent rocking of the ship, was unable
to regain his station.  While Voyager's autopilot was reliable, Janeway's
-- and apparently, Chakotay's -- faith in Paris outstripped that of the
computer.
	Chakotay had barely gotten Paris into his chair, when God grabbed
Voyager and wrung it in His hands.  They tumbled end over end, unsecured
padds, bits of jewelry and styluses flying to the overhead, deadly
projectiles that would pierce a cheek or put out an eye should they
connect.  Cries of pain and fear filled the bridge, along with the
computer's klaxons and feminine voice that warned repeatedly of one failed
system after another.  Over the din, Janeway heard Harry Kim's fear-filled
shouts.  "Shields down to 54 percent and falling.  Life support off-line
throughout the ship.  Hull breech imminent in decks 7 and 9.  Seal
fractures in shuttle bay two --"
	Janeway tried to shout a word of encouragement to the young
officer, knowing there was nothing she or anyone could do, but to assure
him that she was there, in command, and they would be all right, when
something hit her chest so hard that it drove the breath from her.  It
took two beats of her heart to realize it was her first officer,
somersaulting helplessly as the ship tumbled its way through the wormhole.
 She wrapped her arms around his chest, under his arms, locking them
together and praying that she had the strength to hold him.  His face was
but inches from hers, weirdly lighted by the red glow of the emergency
illumination, his eyes shut in pain, but then they snapping open to look
directly into hers.
	Oddly, her heart leaped in her chest.
	And then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over.  Voyager
righted itself, bucked restlessly, and then was still, the physics of
inertia taking them forward out of the wormhole and into space on the
other side.
	"Cut off that damn computer," snapped Janeway to no one in
particular, the repeated warnings driving her to distraction.  She
loosened her grip around her first officer and unfastened the arms of her
chair from across her lap to allow her to ease her first officer to the
floor.  Even in the red glow of the emergency lighting, she could see he
was pale, and in pain.  He gripped his right shoulder with is left hand.

"Shoulder," he grunted.  "Broken.  Leg, too, I think ... "
	She nodded, touched his face, and then turned to help her ship.
	"Tom if you're able, see if you can help Harry get ship's
communication on line.  Tuvok, find out what systems *are* working, and
see if we can re-route power to life support.  I'm -- "
	"Ship's internal communication up, Captain," interrupted Kim from
a panel under his console.  "Reports are coming in most everywhere on the
ship.  A lot of damage, hull breach on deck -- "
	"Get a damage control team down there now to seal it off," snapped
Janeway.  She tapped her comm badge.  "Stellar cartography, are you
operational?"
	There was static over the air, and then the cool voice of Ensign
de Wynne responded.  Despite it all, Janeway almost smiled.  After
tumbling through the wormhole, probably being battered within an inch of
her life, the youngster's response was cool and steady.  She was quite an
actor.
	"Stellar cartography here, Captain.  I'm working on figuring out
where we are now, but I think ...," there was a two second pause, and then
the ensign replied, her voice tinged with excitement this time.  "Captain,
the stars -- they're in the right place ... "
	Janeway froze, hoping she understood what de Wynne meant.  "In the
right place?"
	She heard de Wynne's laughter, full of tears.  "Yes, Captain.  We
-- we're in the Alpha Quadrant.  On the edge, about a hundred light years
from Nydra."
	Janeway felt her throat tighten with her own tears.  They were
near Nydra, within Federation space.  In three weeks, they could be back
at Earth.
	"Very well, Ensign.  Report to engineering to see if you can help
Lt. Torres.  Out."
	Janeway leaned over her first officer, whose eyes were closed
against the pain.
	"Tuvok, are transporters up yet?  Can we transport Commander
Chakotay to sick bay?"
	Tuvok didn't even bother to turn from his console.  "Negative,
Captain.  As it is, Sickbay is without power.  The Emergency Medical
Hologram is non-operational.  Kes communicated that she is performing
triage functions only and has requested assistance."
	Janeway cursed silently.  Wasn't anything working?
	"Are any of the turbolifts working?" she asked.
	Tuvok tapped his console.  "Lifts 5 and 3 are operational.  Lift 8
is operational between decks -- "
	Janeway didn't wait for him to finish.  The lift from the bridge
to engineering was working.
	"Tuvok, you have the conn.  I'm going to engineering.  Tom -- take
care of the Commander.  I ... need him on his feet as soon as possible. 
Harry, I want external communication up asap."
	The turbolift doors swished shut in her face.
	Engineering was something out of Dante's inferno.  Emergency
lighting sent an other-worldly red glow throughout the space, and the warp
core, while shut down, vented gases with a hissing sound.  Janeway found
her engineering officer on her back halfway under a console, spark
showering down in her face.
	"B'Elanna, report!"
	The engineer never paused.  "Captain, I can report to you or tie
down this fractured conduit before it blows ..."
	Janeway turned away to a nearby console and began a database
search of damaged systems.  Twelve items were listed under "imminent
danger to ship."  She grabbed Ensign de Wynne, who was rushing past with a
tool belt in her hand.
	"Take that where ever you're taking it, and then you're with me. 
We're going to seal down the fractures on deck 14 ... "
	Eight hours later, arms shaking with exhaustion, face covered with
soot, Janeway felt another body slide into the Jeffries tube between her
and Ensign de Wynne.
	"Can I give you a hand, Captain?" said Chakotay.
	Janeway glanced at him, never pausing.  "Shouldn't you be in
sickbay, Commander?"
	Chakotay put a hand on the ensign's shoulder, taking the plasma
sealer from her hand.  "It takes more than a broken shoulder and leg to
keep me down."
	Janeway winced, remembering how painful her injuries inflicted by
the Kazon had been.
	"Well, you've come at the right time.  We've finished up here. 
There's another fissure on deck 12 --"
	"B'Elanna's on it."
	Janeway nodded, and tapped her comm badge.  "Janeway to bridge. 
How's external communication?  Is it going to be up anytime soon?"  She
let a note of impatience creep into her voice.
	Harry's voice came back, apologetic and rushed.  "Give me twenty
more minutes, Captain.  The communication array was shirred off, we had to
reconfigure a new one ... "
	Janeway felt a flash of guilt.  Reconfiguring a comm array was
normally a three day job, not eight hours.  The ensign must have cut a few
corners, and them some.
	"Very well, Mr. Kim.  The Commander and I are on our way back to
the bridge."
	Janeway handed de Wynne her tool belt and began climbing out the
tube.  "Thanks for your help, Ensign.  I think Lt. Torres may continue to
need your assistance."
	The Ensign nodded silently and then gave Chakotay a quick glance. 
The smile he gave her made her blush to the roots of her hair.  Janeway
climbed out, leaving them for a moment.
	"A good officer," Chakotay said, as he joined his Captain.
	Janeway gave him the hint of a smile.  "Very good.  Maybe we need
to transfer her out of stellar cartography and up to the bridge -- " 
Janeway caught herself.  According to Ensign de Wynne, they were back in
the Alpha Quadrant.  For all she knew, in a few days, Ensign de Wynne
might be transferred off the ship.
	For all they knew, they all might be transferred ... 
	"Bridge to Captain.  I've got external communications up."
	A slight shiver went through Janeway.  For the first time in more
than two years, she was going to be able to communicate with Starfleet --
and home.
	Mark ... 
	"I'll be right there, Mr. Kim."
	Janeway started toward the bridge, but then paused and came back
to her first officer.
	"Well, Chakotay?  Are you ready to meet Starfleet head on?" she
asked, her eyes full of sympathy, her lips quirked in a small smile.
	Chakotay gave her a wry smile.  "No."  He sighed deeply.  "Yes. 
I'm ready."  His smile broadened.  "It's been two years.  Maybe Admiral
Necheyev will no longer be head of Starfleet Security and they won't want
a piece of me anymore."
	Janeway eyes searched his face, then the two fell in step together
and they walked, shoulder to shoulder, to the bridge.
	The bridge was crowded with repair crews -- or rather, with crew
who found an excuse to repair something on the bridge.  Janeway didn't
have the heart to order them off.  The tension was palpable.  She cleared
her throat.
	"Mr. Kim, hail Starfleet via subspace."
	The seconds ticked by until it stretched to almost a minute. 
Janeway turned to Kim.
	"I've hailed them, Captain.  It could be the array or -- "
	A figure in a Starfleet uniform suddenly appeared on the
viewscreen.  In the background was the familiar Starfleet seal.  Janeway's
heart flipped.
	"This is Lt. Commander Trey Horth at Starfleet Headquarters -- say
again, what ship are you?"
	Janeway smiled broadly.  "Commander, I am Captain Kathryn Janeway
of the USS Voyager.  We've been gone for the last --"
	"Voyager!  I'll say you've been gone!  We wrote you off more than
eighteen months ago!  Where have you been?  Wait one -- I'll patch you
through to Admiral Necheyev ... "  The Commander's face disappeared to be
replaced with the familiar blue-and-white Federation seal.  Janeway closed
her eyes a moment, trying to still the pounding of her heart.
	Then Admiral Necheyev -- a Necheyev with strawberry blonde hair
now rather than cool blonde, but nevertheless, the same woman -- was
there, standing ramrod straight behind her desk, flanked my two aides.
	"Kathryn!  Thank the gods, you're back with us!  We though you
were another casualty of the Maquis!  Welcome home!"
	Janeway felt tears sting her eyes.
	"I think the phrase, 'it's good to be home' is an understatement,
Admiral.  The last couple of years have been a ... challenge.  We've been
in the Delta Quadrant and have --"
	The Admiral's eyes widened in surprise.  "The Delta Quadrant! 
However did you get there?"
	Before she could answer, one of Necheyev's aides leaned in and
whispered something in her ear.  Janeway waited politely until he
finished, but shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other when she
saw the Admiral glance from her face to Chakotay's and B'Elanna's.
	Necheyev's eyes snapped back to Janeway.
	"We'll have plenty of time talk about this later, Captain. 
Needless to say we'll plan quite a welcome celebration for your arrival. 
We'll be sending a ship out to meet you and escort you back."  Necheyev
leaned forward, scanning the bridge with her eyes.  "I can't tell you how
pleased I am to see you all, and how delighted I am that you've come
home."
	Janeway could feel her crew stir behind her.  Admiral Necheyev's
welcome and warm words made it all sink in.  After more than two years of
wandering space like nomads, they were finally coming home -- home to
family and friends, and to a future.
	Necheyev leaned back.  "Now, Captain, we have a few things to
discuss in private.  Please patch this through to a secure comm link."
	Janeway nodded briefly and gave Kim a quick glance.  He nodded and
patched the communication into her ready room.
	Janeway sat at her console in front of the viewscreen not without
a little apprehension.  She knew the Admiral would have some tough
questions for her, but was hoping they would be put off for a few hours,
when her ship was in better condition; when she was in better condition. 
She tapped the key that activated her viewscreen.
	Admiral Necheyev's face wasn't so benevolent now.
	"Captain Janeway, seeing those Maquis on your bridge is a
desecration to Starfleet.  They are criminals.  Can you explain to me why
they are doing there and not the brig?"
	Janeway flattened her hands on the console in front of her, trying
to cool her anger.
	"Admiral, if it wasn't for those - those - criminals, this ship
and all on it would be long dead.  I could not run this ship without them.
 I thank the gods everyday they are on Voyager -- "
	Necheyev cut her off angrily.  "You seem to forget that if it
weren't for them, you never would have gone into the Badlands and been
lost.  You seem to forget that they are an enemy of the Federation."  She
paused briefly, she nostrils flaring slightly.  "It sickens me to see them
in Starfleet uniforms."
	Janeway softened her approaching, knowing that a straight on
attack wouldn't work with the Admiral.
	"Admiral.  I hope that you'll consider that the 24 former Maquis
who serve under my command have performed as well as any Starfleet
personnel and I am proud to call them members of my crew.  They -- "
	"Kathryn, in the last two years, the Maquis have been responsible
for more than two hundred and fifty Starfleet deaths.  I won't tell the
mothers and sons of those fine people that we have Maquis serving on a
Starfleet ship, serving next to Starfleet officers.  I want them out of
uniform and in your brig.  All of them.  Now."
	Two hundred and fifty Starfleet deaths!  Janeway's stomach
clenched, her heart felt as if somebody was squeezing it.  What had
happened in the last two years to escalate the conflict to this point? 
Janeway inclined her head slightly in acquiescence, knowing this wasn't
the time to fight this battle with the Admiral.
	"Aye, ma'am."
	Necheyev leaned forward to cut communication, but paused briefly.
	"And Kathryn, have that Paris boy call his father, will you?  Jake
hasn't been the same since Voyager was lost.  Maybe this will cheer him
up."
	Janeway gave her a brief nod.
	"Good.  I'll be in touch with a ship rendezvous time for you.  And
Kathryn -- we're happy you're back.  You've been missed.  Necheyev out."
	Janeway sat back in her chair, heart pounding.  This wasn't
possible.  Strip the Maquis from their uniforms?  Put them in the brig? 
Everything she'd told Necheyev was true -- they had save the ship many
times over.  They had saved her life more times than she cared to think
about.
	She walked to the replicator and ordered a double espresso.  No
use saving rations now; in a few days they'd have all the power they'd
ever want.  She sipped the hot drink, not realizing how exhausted she was
until the caffeine surged through her system.  She knew the crew was
anxious to hear what Necheyev had wanted to speak to her about.  She'd
think of something to satisfy their curiously.  But now ... now she had to
think about what to do about the Maquis.
	Her mind drifted back to two days ago, when she had leaned over
and touched her first officer's cheek, and then touched her lips to his. 
It was a chaste kiss, but it still held such keen memories that when she
closed her eyes she could feel the warmth of his lips, smell the warm male
scent of him.  She still wasn't sure what possessed her to do it.  At that
moment, it was impossible to resist, the memories of their weeks together
on that small no-name planet, and then the less pleasant memories of what
he had done to help her come back from Cullah's brutality flooding her
with gratitude.
	That was it.  She was grateful.  She owed everything to him.  He
had as much as told her that he lived to serve her, hadn't he?  He -- and
all the Maquis -- had repaid whatever debt they owed the Federation and
Starfleet a hundred times over.  And she was enormously grateful.
	Sighing, she stirred in her chair, knowing she should back to the
bridge.  The warp engines were still off line and there were thousands of
other repairs to be made.  But for the first time in two years, they
didn't seem urgent.  They were safe in the Alpha Quadrant, with no
Vidiians or Kazon ready to attack.  And she was home.
	She entered the codes, indelible in her memory, to access Mark's
comm link.
	Again, there was a wait of almost a minute as the link established
itself over subspace.  And then, there was Mark's beloved face, thinner
and more lined that in her memory, his hair grayer.  Impulsively, she
reached out to touch the screen, touch his cheek.  "Mark --."
	"Hi.  You have reached the residence of Mark MacKenzie.  I'm away
right now but if you leave your name and comm code I'll get back with you
as soon as I return ... "
	She stared into Mark's face, patiently waiting for her to record. 
She disconnected without leaving message.  She didn't want Mark's first
communication with her in two years to be a recording.
	She sighed and stood.  There was no putting it off now.  She
brushed at her uniform with sooty hands, her efforts having no effect to
improve her appearance, and with swift strides, walked out onto the
bridge.  She gave her crew a brilliant smile.
	"We're home.  The Admiral is sending a ship out to meet us as soon
as it can be arranged.  But we still have a lot of repairs to do. 
B'Elanna, are we going to have warp engines on line any time soon?  Harry,
when will full communication be up?  I know we have a few people who want
to phone home."
	There was silence, and then everyone was talking at once, the joy
of what she'd said sinking in.  Before she knew it, the bridge was in an
uproar, with people laughing and crying, and hugging each other.  In
Janeway's twenty four years in Starfleet, she'd only seen the like of it
once:  when she'd graduated from the Academy.  She turned away, her own
eyes blurring with tears. 
	That night, they held a welcome home party for themselves at
Sandrine's.  Neelix and Tom Paris hosted it, and with replicator
restrictions off, the bar nearly groaned with the weight of food and
drink.
	The demonstration on her bridge was nothing compared to the party.
 It started at 1900, scheduled so that even those on watch would have a
chance to come to at least a couple hours of the celebration.  Some came
in the black-and-red, -blue or -gold of their uniforms, but most came in
mufti -- wild, multicolored and unprofessional.
	Janeway spent an hour or so at the party, leaning up against the
bar and taking pleasure from the riotous display.  Every few minutes, one
of the holographic characters Paris had programs as waitpeople came over
to her with a drink, offered by one of her crew.  Each time she nodded
graciously, but left it on the bar, unable to relax, unable to get caught
up in the lighthearted nature of the gathering.
	Dispersed throughout the room were the Maquis crew, unidentifiable
from the Starfleet members.  They drank and laughed, told stories and made
wild plans about what they would do when then got back to their homes and
families.
	Twice, during the day she'd tried to speak to Chakotay about
Necheyev's order to put the Maquis in the brig.  Once, she'd even got as
far as asking him into her ready room, had gotten him a cup of the tea her
often drank while she sipped her coffee.  But she hadn't been able to go
through with it.  He sat next to her, on the couch as he had hundreds of
times before -- as he had when she'd be compelled to cup his cheek with
her palm and kiss him -- and she found telling him was impossible.  She,
who had poured her heart out to him daily for weeks as she told him about
Cullah and Seska and all that had happened to her.  She found it
impossible to tell him that all that he had done for this ship, for this
crew, was to count for nothing and he was to be stripped of his uniform
and tossed in the brig.
	For the first time, Janeway knew what it was to be a coward.
	It was more than a day later that she finally spoke to Mark, a day
she filled with administrative paperwork that seemed inconsequential in
the Delta Quadrant but, uncompleted, would damn her to her superiors here
in the Alpha Quadrant.
	She'd tried calling him every three hours, setting the computer to
wake her in the night.  Each time, she'd gotten the recording.  Each time,
she listened to the entire message, studying his face, noting the small
changes two years had wrought.  The crow's feet at the corners of his eyes
were deeper.  The beard was heavier, the hairline a little higher -- or
was that just her memory playing tricks on her?
	On her eighth try, the pattern broke.  Instead of the recording
immediately answering, it chimed four times, and then Mark answered.
	She'd rehearsed what she would say to him a dozen times, practiced
the smile, the witty but warm remark that would send him into tearful
laughter.  But in the end, all she could say was his name.
	"Mark."
	"Kathryn!  I've been trying to get through for hours!  It's all
over the news -- I was on Vulcan and couldn't get a comm link and thought
you might be calling me here so I caught the first shuttle back.  I -- oh
gods, Kathryn!"  His face contracted, crumpled, his hand over his eyes,
his voice breaking.
	She had so much she wanted to say to him, to tell him, but found
she couldn't say a word.  She reached out with both hands, palms against
the screen, tears coursing silently down her face.  Finally, it was Mark
who broke the silence.
	"Thank god you're back.  Thank god you're safe.  They held a
memorial service for you all -- did you know that? -- more than a year and
a half ago.  But something told me it was wrong, you weren't dead.  I
couldn't let go of you, I knew you'd come back to me.  Where have you
been?"
	She laughed, eyes still bright with tears.  "We've been trying to
get back for two years.  We've been in the Delta Quadrant and -- it's a
long story."  She swallowed, laughing again, but this time with an edge to
it.  "I guess I look pretty good for a dead woman."
	Mark smiled tenderly.  "You look beautiful.  And I want to hear
everything.  How did you get to the Delta Quadrant?  Don't tell me it was
that Q character again!  How are Fitzgerald and Delavan and Tuvok?"
	And so she began to talk, to tell him of Caretakers and Vidiians
and Kazon, and of the too many memorial services she'd been forced to
hold.  When she told him of inviting the Maquis to join her crew, he
scowled, but didn't speak, so she went on to tell of finding the wormhole
and not knowing where it lead, but wanting to come home so badly that they
took the gamble.
	Some things, though, she didn't tell him.  Part of herself she
kept back, hidden, too raw to expose over the light years that separated
them.  She didn't tell him about her three weeks with the Kazon and of
Cullah's barbarity.  Although she was healing, she didn't want to share
the memories of that harrowing experience -- at least, not yet.
	And she didn't tell him about the virus she contracted and the
months she'd spent on that no-name planet with Chakotay.  While she hadn't
so much as kissed him -- then -- something held her back from telling Mark
about it.
	Finally, she couldn't talk any longer, and she leaned back against
the couch, simply looking at his beautiful face, one emotion after another
flickering across it like firelight.  She sighed, ready to let him have
his turn at catching up.
	"So what were you doing on Vulcan?" she asked.  "Don't tell me
they're going into the starship building business."
	It was as if the firelight flickered again, and sadness filled his
face.  "I went for T'Pel's *golon*.  It doesn't seem like a year since the
accident but --"
	Janeway shot forward.  "What did you say?  T'Pel's *golon*?"
	Mark nodded.  "Yes, the one year anniversary of her death was two
days ago.  I was flattered her family invited me to attend -- "  He
stopped abruptly, studying her face.  "You didn't know, did you?"
	Janeway shook her head slowly.  Tuvok's wife dead.  Fresh tears
stun her eyes.
	Reluctantly, Mark continued.  "It was a freak accident.  They were
on their way to visit the memorial Starfleet had dedicated to Voyager. 
The shuttle they were on collided with another.  T'Pel and the children --
everyone on board both -- were killed instantly."
	The tears spilled over then, and she pressed a palm against her
eyes.  Somehow, she had expected only joyous things for their return.  She
looked up and turned her tear stained face to Mark.
	"I have to go to him."
	"Of course.  I'll be here.  Call me.  Night or day.  I'm not going
anywhere.  I love you, Kathryn."
	Janeway smiled at him through her tears.  "I love you, Mark," she
said automatically.  "We'll be together soon.  Three weeks, max."  She
kissed her fingertips and touched the screen.
	"Janeway out."
*****
	Damn you, Kathryn Janeway, thought Paris.
	She'd cornered him at Sandrine's, cajoling, needling, bullying him
for almost an hour until finally, reluctantly, he'd given in.
	So now he sat in front of the viewscreen of his computer in his
quarters, tapping in the comm codes to his father's home, only to
terminate the connection before it had gone through.
	Three times, he'd tried, and three times he'd stopped, unable to
steel himself to the task of seeing his father's face on the screen, of
hearing his father's voice.
	Damn you, Kathryn Janeway, he thought for the second time, why are
you making me do this?
	It was impossible to turn her down, and she knew it.
	He looked down at his hands, opening and closing them, noticing
the salty perspiration that had accumulated in the creases.  Just the
thought of talking to his father was making him sweat.  All that time in
the Delta Quadrant, when he'd thought almost every night of getting home,
he hadn't thought what it would be like to talk to his father again.  What
was there to say, after all?  "Son, you may have done your duty in the
Delta Quadrant, but back here you're still a lying, lazy, incompetent
piece of trash."
	He got up and went to the replicator.
	"Bourbon, Kentucky, 10 year old, neat."
	Replicator restrictions were off for the next 24 hours.  For all
her straight-as-an-arrow, by-the-book leadership, Janeway was good about
some things, like this.
	What the hell.  A quick jolt, and maybe it wouldn't hurt so much
when his father reamed him a new asshole.  Again.
	He gulped it down, head snapping back to get every drop.  It
burned, all the way down his throat, and warmed his stomach.
	Forget Janeway.  He was going to do this because it was time to
tell the old fart a thing or two.
	He tapped in the code quickly, and waited impatiently for the comm
link to connect.  It chimed only twice before his father's face was on the
viewscreen.
	A shock went through Tom.  How had his father gotten so old? 
*When* had he gotten so old?  His hair was thin and gray, and the lines on
his face had evolved into deep grooves.  The shoulders, always so wide and
straight, drooped now, as if the burdens he carried were too much.  In his
mind, Tom always imagined him in uniform, the gold trim shining, but
tonight he wore a maroon bathrobe, frayed and discolored at the collar.
	"Dad," said Paris, warily.
	The sob that came from the old man's throat shook Paris.  He'd
been so sure that he was going to communicate with his father only to be
belittled and scorned.
	"Dad, what's wrong?  Is it mother?"
	The old man shook his head.  "Tom, Tom.  You were dead, and then
Necheyev called yesterday to say you were alive ... I never told you, Tom.
 You left and I never told you that I was wrong.  I should have stood by
you.  You needed me to be your father and I couldn't see beyond my uniform
... "
	Tom's tears burned his eyes and spilled out onto his clenched
hands.
	"I made a terrible mistake, the worse of my life, son.  Come home.
 Come home, please."
	Tom let the tears flow down his cheeks without bothering to brush
them away.
	"Yes.  Yes, I'm coming home, dad.  It'll just be a few weeks now
... "

	Janeway stood at the door of Tuvok's quarters, her anxiety rising
with each second.  Three times she'd touched the door chime.  After her
second attempt, she'd asked the computer Tuvok's whereabouts, and been
told without hesitation the security officer was in his quarters.  So why
didn't he answer the door?
	Her concern and anxiety ultimately outweighed her respect for
Tuvok's privacy and she had the computer override the security lock.  She
opened the door.
	It was dark, except for a small flickering light at the far end of
the room.  Tuvok sat on the floor, his legs crossed in an impossible
configuration, hands pressed against his chest.  His eyes were open, but
they were unseeing, glazed.
	The h'vok trance, thought Janeway.
	She'd read about it, and talked briefly to Tuvok about it, but
she'd never seen a Vulcan in this pose -- probably because it was so rare,
and so personal.  The h'vok was used by Vulcans as a sort of "final
resort," when their emotional imbalance became untenable.  Janeway's chest
contracted at the thought of what the Vulcan was going through.
	Probably, what Tuvok would have wanted her to do was leave, but
she couldn't.  She couldn't leave him when he was in such pain.  She eased
down next to him and sat, leaning against the side of the bed, forehead on
her arm.
	Tuvok had been married to T'Pel longer than Janeway had been
alive; indeed, Tuvok's oldest child was older than Janeway.  
	And now his family was gone.
	It was more than an hour later, when the small candle's flame had
extinguished itself in its own wax and the two of them were in darkness
except for the wane light of the stars, that Tuvok took a deep breath and
opened his eyes.
	"Tuvok," she said, in whispered tones, not wanting to startle her
friend.
	"Captain.  You have come to offer your condolences?"  Tuvok spoke
in normal tones, without inflection.
	Janeway nodded, the pain in her chest making it difficult to talk.
 "Mark told me.  I came as soon as I heard."
	Tuvok nodded.  "It is ironic, is it not, that I have come home
only to find they have left this world."
	He said it so calmly, so matter-of-fact.
	"Yes," she said.  "Ironic."  And unfair, devastating, shattering,
wrenching.  So many words, but in the end, only words.
	Janeway stood and went to the replicator.  "Tea, I think, for both
of us.  I'll stay with you a while."
	It wasn't a request.  Tuvok, she knew, wouldn't ask, and she would
never ask him if he wished it.  It is something she knew he needed,
learned over the many years of their friendship.
	"Yes, tea.  And then I think I would like to tell you about my
wife and my children."
	Janeway's tear made a tiny splash in the filled cup she held
clenched between her hands.
	"I would be honored," she said.
*****
	Janeway was in her ready room, studying the reports on the
progress the repair crews had made on her ship, when Admiral Necheyev
contacted her.  Kim had patched it through immediately, as if he wanted to
spend as little time as possible in link with the imperious woman.
	At least, thought Janeway as she turned to her viewscreen, the
Admiral was smiling.  The question was, how long would she remain so
cheerful?
	"Kathryn!  Good to see you again.  It's all over the Mesh about
your return from the Delta Quadrant.  You'll have quite a crowd when you
arrive here.  Everybody from the director of the Vulcan Science Academy to
the Cardassian intermediary wants a piece of your time.  We'll have to put
you on the speaking circuit for the first six months you're back.  You
wouldn't mind that, would you?  I suspect you could use a little
vacation."
	Janeway gave a non-committal nod, thinking there were few things
she would like less.
	The Admiral leaned back in her chair, getting to the real reason
for her communication.
	"Melrose will be rendezvousing with you in 48 hours.  She'll be
your escort ship in.  She's only been out a few months, so she also has a
lot of supplies you might like.  I've authorized Captain Shelby to
transfer whatever you ask for.  I think two years without access to
non-replicatible stores is long enough."
	The Admiral paused, frowning.  "Melrose will also take your Maquis
prisoners aboard -- they have more brig space.  I don't want those Maquis
on board when you dock at Earth.  It'll tarnish the effect, don't you
think so?"
	Janeway gritted her teeth.  Tarnish the effect!  
	"With all due respect, Admiral, I would prefer to have my crew
intact when I arrive back home."
	Necheyev leaned forward.  "What do you mean, 'intact'?  You have
followed my orders and placed them in the brig, haven't you?"
	Janeway was silent, knowing she was on thin ice.
	Necheyev blinked rapidly, her face diffused with anger.  "Captain
Janeway, let me make this clear.  I want those Maquis confined. 
Immediately.  Or you shall be relieved of command."  The Admiral sighed in
frustration.  "If it were any other captain in Starfleet but you who did
this, that disobeyed my orders, I'd relieve them immediately.  Consider
yourself lucky."
	Necheyev paused, her eyes searching Janeway's stony face.  When
she spoke, her voice was kinder, less acerbic.
	"I know you've had a rough time of it, Kathryn, out there in the
Delta Quadrant all by yourself.  But you're home now.  You've got
Starfleet and the Federation at your back.  You don't have to make do with
traitors and terrorists as crew."  A small smile graced the Admiral's
lips.  "I suspect you'll have Starfleet officers lining up to sign on with
you -- the captain who was tossed to the Delta Quadrant and brought her
ship back whole.  You're quite a hero, you know."
	Janeway sat without speaking, knowing she was nothing of the kind,
knowing that it was only the sheer luck that brought her an incomparable
crew that got her back home.  Still, she would have spoken if she thought
she could say something to change the Admiral's mind.  Finally, the
Admiral cleared her throat, and continued.
	"It's clear, then, about the Maquis?"
	Janeway nodded.  "Yes, ma'am.  It's clear."
	"Well.  Then.  I'll have my aide call you tomorrow about setting
up the welcoming ceremonies and the like."
	"Yes ma'am."
	"Necheyev out."
*****
	She stood outside the door to his quarters a long time before she
finally touched the chime.  She'd been to his quarters only twice before,
and both times it had been to visit him when he'd been recovering from
injury.  Propriety and Starfleet tradition deemed it inappropriate for her
to be visiting her first officer's quarters at any time; to visit him in
the middle of the night was a definite breech of protocol.
	It was nearly three in the morning, the quietest hour of the ship,
with the midwatch well set and even the earliest of risers still dreaming
of home and family.  It took him more than a minute to answer the chime,
to open the door.
	He wasn't as surprised to see her as she thought he would be. 
Without a word, he got her a mug of steaming coffee from his replicator,
and settled down opposite her on one of the low brown leather chairs.
	"You've come to talk," he said.
	She took a sip of the brew, fragrant and bitter with chicory. 
Bitter.  It suited the moment.
	"I've talked with Admiral Necheyev about the Maquis," she said,
struggling to keep her voice level, normal.
	He knew by looking at her, she wasn't bringing good news.
	"We're all to be tried then?"
	She put the mug down on the low wood table and began to paced the
room, ignoring the steaming coffee, almost ignoring her first officer  It
was as if she were speaking to herself.
	"Things have changed, Chakotay.  The conflict between the Maquis
and Starfleet -- I don't know the details, but hostilities have escalated.
 There have been deaths ... Admiral Necheyev said ... "
	She paused her pacing, finally, to look out the long narrow
porthole into the stars of the Alpha Quadrant, her home.  "The Admiral
Necheyev said that during the last two years your comrades have been
responsible for more than two hundred and fifty Starfleet lives."
	She heard his sharp intake of breath, and turned to face him,
wanting to comfort him, but knowing it was impossible.
	"There must be some mistake," he breathed, looking at the deck. 
"We only fired on Starfleet vessels in self-defense, when there was no
choice ..."  He stopped, not knowing how to go on.  When she didn't reply,
he looked up at her.
	"This isn't why you've come here, is it?  To tell me this? 
There's more."
	Janeway stepped back from him, wishing that the few feet between
them would also distance the impact of what she was going to tell him.
	"Admiral Necheyev has ordered that all the Maquis on Voyager be
confined," she said, her voice tight with emotion.  "If I don't do this,
she'll have me relieved.  If I'm relieved of command, I'll lose my power
base, my ability to speak on your behalf.  I would be a dismissed officer,
a pariah among my peers.  I wouldn't be in any position to help you or the
rest."
	She spoke clearly, firmly, as if explaining the obvious to a
child.  His anger flared, his eyes red with the violence of it.
	"After serving with you for two years, risking our lives, making
it possible for Voyager to continue on its journey, suddenly you've
decided we are to be despised and locked up?" he said, his voice so cold
that Janeway nearly shivered.
	"Listen to me!  If I had a choice, don't you think I would take
it?  What will you have me do?  I can give you Voyager's shuttlecrafts,
but Melrose would have you within hours, and those of you who weren't
killed would be in a penal colony for the rest of your lives.  And I've
heard that Maquis are not treated a favored prisoners," she said, her
voice rising.  "Do you want to take over the ship?  I won't go willingly;
none of us will.  How many of us are you willing to kill?"
	He took two steps toward her to stand before her, wrists crossed
and extended to her.  "Will you bind me before you take me to the brig,
then?  Is Tuvok waiting for me outside?"
	His words appalled her.  "No!  No," she swallowed hard.  "I
couldn't do that to you, put you in the brig."  She swallowed again, her
eyes growing bright.  "Regulations provide me with some flexibility in
confining ... prisoners.  I ... I need your guarantee that you'll stay in
your quarters.  Talk to the other Maquis, make them understand --"
	"Make them understand that this is the beginning of what will more
than likely be a life-long imprisonment?"
	She took his arm then, gripping it hard, harder than she meant to.
	"You don't know that.  You better make them understand.  I won't
lock them in their quarters, but if they leave them, I'll put them in the
brig.  It's as simple as that."
	If there was a part of him that understood she was doing this
because she thought it would be best for the ship and the Maquis, Chakotay
couldn't recognize it.  His anger was too hot, his reason burned away.  He
wanted to say something to injure, to show contempt for Starfleet -- and
for her, this woman who had promised to stand by him, and then as soon as
they entered the Alpha Quadrant, followed Starfleet orders as if they were
a carrot and she were an ass.  He looked her straight in the eye, lips
curling into a vicious smile.
	"I understand.  Kathryn."
	She recoiled as if she had been struck.
	With that word, with her given name, he dismissed her as his
captain, negated his respect for her and her position as his superior
officer.  So subtle, he wondered if she would discern what he was saying,
what he was doing, but of course, she did.  The look on her face almost
made him regret his action.
	Almost.
	The doors closed behind her when she left.  Chakotay stood a long
time looking at it, trying to sort his feelings, to come to terms with his
new status about Voyager.  With a few words spoken by his Captain -- no,
*former* Captain, he no longer was to wear the uniform of Starfleet.  He
no longer carried the rank of Commander.
	As quickly as that, a few spoken words between the two of them,
and he'd lost much of who he was, of the identity he'd carved out for
himself aboard Voyager and in the Delta Quadrant.  He turned, and looked
at himself in the mirror that hung on the far bulkhead of the room.  Did
he look different?  Probably not, since the mirror couldn't see what was
in his heart.  Only his heart knew he had a new identity.  He was a fool.
	He might have sometimes wondered, in the middle of the night when
he lay in bed, when sleep evaded him and his private thoughts shook him
awake.  He'd think, "only a fool would have thought he was in love with
such a traitorous snake as Seska" or "only a fool would try to take on a
whole Kazon ship by himself."
	But he never really would have know for sure.
	He'd thought she had come to his quarters to talk of a kiss, and
of the need to -- what did she call it on the no-name planet, parameters? 
Parameters.  He thought she'd wanted to talk about how returning to the
Alpha Quadrant changed the parameters.  Yes.  The parameters would be
changed.  She would no longer be his commanding officer, she would no
longer be bound by her duties and responsibilities and command.
	Instead, she stabbed the knife into his back and twisted it.  At
least she had the grace to allow it to be painful for her.
	She made the right decision.  He knew it.  It would be the
decision he would make if the tables were turned and he were in command of
Voyager and Janeway were the Maquis.  She was doing what any good
Starfleet captain would do.  And Janeway wasn't just good; she was one of
the best.
	Still, the pain around his heart was devastating.  It was one
thing to be confined to quarters by a captain you were devoted to.  It was
another to be confined -- betrayed, really, that's what this felt like --
by someone you loved.  The thrust of her knife couldn't have been more
excruciating.
*****
	How foolish to think that a return to the Alpha Quadrant would
bring her only happiness.
	Janeway paused as she walked down the empty corridor towards her
own quarters, sagging against the bulkhead and closing her eyes, allowing
herself a few second's weakness.  She couldn't recall when her emotions
had been so conflicted, her joy so at battle with sorrow and remorse.
	She had thought that he understood her well enough to know that
Voyager was her flesh, her bones.  She had dedicated her life to Starfleet
and to what it stood for.  She had sworn to uphold the bylaws of the
Federation, and to follow all the lawful orders of her superior officers. 
She didn't always like the orders she'd received, but she followed them,
and she'd never regretted it.  Two years in the Delta Quadrant changed
nothing.
	In the quiet of the ship's pre-"dawn," she could hear the whisper
of footsteps behind her, and she straightened up quickly, rubbing a quick
hand over her face and if to wipe any trace of negative emotion away.  She
would do her duty.  She would follow her orders.
	"Captain.  Is something wrong?"
	Janeway turned quickly to see young Harry Kim standing behind her,
his face a curious mixture of concern and ... what?  His eyes were
bloodshot, and his uniform slightly mussed, as if he had forgotten to have
it cycled and put it on in a hurry.
	"No, nothing.  Do you have the mid-watch?  What are you doing up
this time of night?" she asked, giving him a small smile.
	Harry shrugged.  "Couldn't sleep.  Thought maybe a walk might
help."
	Janeway fell into step with him.  "I don't think you're alone.  A
lot of us are having trouble sleeping.  At least, that's what the Doctor
and Kes tell me."
	"The excitement, I suppose," said Harry, inanely.
	"Maybe," said Janeway.  They walked several steps in silence,
before Harry stopped and turned.
	"I don't know what I expected," he said.  "But not this."
	Janeway knew what he meant immediately.
	"Coming home seems to be different than what any of us expected,"
she said, thinking back to her first officer.
	Harry nodded, his head down.  When he looked up, his eyes were
anguished.
	"I called Libby.  She's ... she's married.  She's going to have
her first child in the spring."
	Impulsively, Janeway took his arm.  "Oh Harry, I'm so sorry."
	Harry shrugged.  "They buried us, you know?  They had a memorial
service for us six months after we disappeared.  Who could expect her to
wait for a dead man?"
	Janeway could find no words to comfort him.  
	Kim sighed quickly and took a step back, Janeway's hand falling
away from his arm.  "Well.  I guess I better try to get some sleep.  I've
got to be on the bridge in less than three hours."
	He turned away and walked quickly down the corridor, as if getting
away from Janeway would get him away from his grief.
*****
	The cup shattered on the wall behind him, sending small shards
bouncing in every direction.  A few sharp-edged ones landed on his
shoulder and he brushed them off absently.
	"The bitch!" hissed Torres through clenched teeth.  "Two years! 
Two YEARS I served as her engineering officer!  We'd have been nothing but
so much space debris if I hadn't ... "
	The young woman flopped down on her bed, and then stood up again
to resume stomping up and down the length of her quarters.
	"If she thinks she can just tell us to stay in our quarters and
wait for Starfleet to come and get us -- the woman isn't only a bitch,
she's a fool!"
	Torres stopped her pacing to stand in from of the door leading to
the passageway.  With a balled fist, she struck it repeatedly, stopping
only when the pain overrode her anger.
	"B'Elanna, what are you going to do?  Declare a mutiny and take
over the ship?  We're in the Alpha Quadrant now.  We wouldn't get two
light years without Starfleet grabbing us by the short and curlies and
yanking us back."
	B'Elanna, holding her injured hand, cast him a baleful look.
	"We can try!  Two years ago, you would have tried!"
	Chakotay shook his head.  "Are you ready to take on the people
you've served with during the past two years?  Are you ready to spill
their blood?  Harry's?  Tom's?  Carey's?  Because that's what it might
take."
	Torres shook her head.  "We can take a shuttle.  Voyager's in no
shape to chase us down, and the Melrose is still a day away.  We'd have a
chance ..."
	Chakotay shook his head.  "I promised her, B'Elanna."
	The engineer flopped down on her bed, looking down at her hands. 
When she looked up, her eyes were bright with unshed tears.
	"How could she do this to us?  For two years, we stood
side-by-side through so much -- we saved her life, saved this ship ... "
	Chakotay put his hand on her shoulder, his own anger boiling, but
knowing it served no purpose to let it out.  And besides, two years ago --
so very long ago -- he had sworn to stand by his captain.  He would do so.
 Whatever others thought, duty and obligation still meant something to
him.
	"She doesn't have a choice, B'Elanna.  They'll take Voyager away
from her if she doesn't follow orders," he said, quietly.
	Torres didn't reply, just sat on the end of the bed, unmoving. 
When she spoke, her voice was full of grief.
	"I thought she was my friend," she choked.  "I can't believe she
would betray me this way."
	Chakotay squeezed he shoulder, trying to provide some comfort.
	"B'Elanna, if she doesn't confine us, if she doesn't do what she's
been ordered to do, they'll relieve her of command.  We need her to be
captain of Voyager, to be the brave hero who brought her ship back safe
from the Delta Quadrant.  She'll speak for us, I know she will.  Better a
glorious hero than a defiled ex-starship captain."
	Torres, finally still, looking down into her clenched fists
unspeaking.
	"You'll stay in your quarters?" he asked gently.
	The tears spilled over, and she nodded silently.
	He left her without another word.  He had more than twenty other
people to tell they were now prisoners of Starfleet rather than members of
Voyager's crew.
	It was shaping up to be a rotten day.
*****
	Captain Janeway didn't bother with going to bed.  With her ship
still crippled and dozens of her crew on light duty due to injuries they
received from the trip through the wormhole -- not to mention more than 20
of her crew confined to quarters, thanks to Rear Admiral Necheyev's decree
-- she'd cut the bridge watch to allow a few additional crew members to
work on ship repairs.  Short handed, without her first officer, and with
the ship still in precarious condition, she stayed on her bridge.  After
all, it would only be a few hours until Melrose arrived, and then she'd
have more help that she knew what to do with.
	She did what she always did when she was so weary it weighed her
shoulders into a droops and made her eyes ache.  She ordered up coffee --
double strong, steaming hot -- in her favored mug and walked around her
bridge, pausing only to check a console or talk to one of the crew.
	She had, finally settled into her command chair, coffee long
finished, nerves jangling, when Harry, at communications, told her that
Voyager was being hailed by USS Melrose.
	Janeway stood, straightened her uniform with a tug, and nodded to
Kim.
	"Put them through," she said, her heart being a little faster.
	Elizabeth Shelby, captain of USS Melrose, hadn't changed in the
more than two years since Janeway had seen her.  If anything, she looked
more beautiful, more self-assured.  A small part of Janeway cringed,
knowing that she must look strained and tired.  They were friends, but
there was some rivalry -- good natured, to be sure -- between the two of
them.  More than once, they had competed for the same job; more than once,
they had dated the same man.  They had even shared the Hewett P. Tyrol
Award for Inspirational Leadership while they were Ensigns.
	"Captain Janeway, welcome back to the Alpha Quadrant!" laughed
Shelby, the smile so big on her face that Janeway could see almost all her
teeth.  She laughed back, happy to see a friendly face, happy to have
their friendship renewed.
	"Elizabeth!  You look wonderful!  I was so pleased when I heard
you were going to be meeting us.  We'll be able to catch up on the two
years we missed!"
	"We'll be there in a couple of hours.  My engineers are standing
by to help out with repairs -- and as it happens, I happened to have a
huge store of dilithium crystals on board, the latest vids from Earth, and
three cases of Saurian brandy.  Which should I sent over first?" asked
Shelby, her eyes sparkling.
	Janeway grinned.  "Elizabeth, if you don't send over all at once,
I may have a mutiny on my hands!"
	"All at once it shall be then, Kits.  And then you have the Maquis
for us?  We'll take them on board as soon as we get there."
	Janeway's smile faded.  Her heart leaped in her chest.  The
thought of the Maquis -- HER Maquis -- leaving Voyager distressed her more
than she thought it would.  She crossed her arms in front of her.
	"I'll need a little more time to get them ready for you, Liz.  Why
don't we get Voyager repaired and then I'll transfer them over to
Melrose?"
	Shelby looked puzzled, as if she couldn't understand why Janeway
would want them on board any longer than she had to, but only shrugged. 
"That's fine with me.  I'm not eager to have them on board."
	It was obvious that Shelby had no more love for the Maquis than
Admiral Necheyev.  Janeway changed the subject.
	"Dinner when you get here, then, Liz?  I'll let you sample some
real Delta Quadrant fair.  I have a Talaxian chef who does wonders with
leola roots -- a Deltan delicacy."
	Shelby smiled hugely again.  "One condition -- you let me bring
the wine and the dessert."
	Janeway threw her head back and laughed.  "A deal.  But nothing
too fattening; I'm seeing Mark in a couple of weeks."
	At the sound of Mark's name, something shifted in Shelby's eyes,
something Janeway couldn't fathom, but she let it pass.  She'd get it out
of her friend later.
	Janeway was able to leave the bridge with just enough time to
shower and change before the Melrose arrived.  Elizabeth Shelby beamed
over with more than two dozen of her crew and crate after crate of gel
packs, dilithium crystals -- and Saurian brandy.  Her crew swarmed the
ship, almost pushing aside Janeway's worn repair teams.  Shelby fell into
step with Janeway as they toured the ship.
	"Two years in the Delta Quadrant without back up and a part-Maquis
crew, and she looks pretty damn good, Kathryn.  I don't know how you did
it.  Engineering is remarkable -- looks as good as Melrose's and we've
only been out two months.  Carey must be a wonder," said Shelby, honest
admiration in her eyes.
	Janeway bristled.  "My engineer is Lt. Torres.  She *is* a wonder.
 We wouldn't be here if it weren't for her."
	Shelby looked startled at her friend's vehement reply.  "Oh. 
Well. Whoever is responsible, it looks great.  We brought the 'kight you
needed to reline the warp core, so you should have warp on line soon.  And
Lt. Tao brought over a new comm array for you.  She said you'll have
unlimited comm within three hours.  We'll be able to get underway by
twenty-four hundred."
	Chakotay -- the Maquis -- would be off her ship before the new day
arrived.  The thought burst into Janeway's thoughts violently.  Her chest
hurt.
	"Dinner?" asked Janeway, trying to cover up her feelings.  "I
asked Neelix to make you something special -- leola root au gratin.  I
know you'll love it.  We all do."
	Shelby smiled.  "I know I will.  I sent the wine on to your galley
to chill.  I hope you like this dessert -- champagne zabaglione.  I made
it.  It's my mother's recipe."
	Neelix, indeed, out did himself.  He partitioned off a corner of
the dining room for the two women, and set the table with linen and
crystal.  There were no less than five course, three of them containing
leola root.  Between the lack of sleep, the food and the wine, Janeway was
close to collapse by the time the meal was over.
	"Liz, I hate to be a party pooper, but I've got to call it a
night.  I'm beat.  And I told Mark I'd call him tonight."

	Again, Shelby's eyes shifted and she turned away from Janeway's
gaze.
	"Oh.  Sure.  Let's meet up for breakfast, then.  And give Mark my
best when you talk to him."
	It was an intuitive flash with nothing to substantiate it, but
suddenly Janeway knew there was something between Mark and her friend. 
She put down her coffee cup.
	"I didn't know you knew Mark that well," said Janeway, smiling
slightly.
	Shelby laughed lightly.  To Janeway's newly-attuned ears, there
was a slight brittleness to it.  "I knew him by reputation, and then ran
into him at your memorial service -- ," she stopped to laugh again.  "If
they didn't tell you, it was very nice.  Lots of flowers.  Your mother is
a wonderful speaker, by the way."
	She was changing the subject.  Janeway let her.
	"Yes, mother could talk the leaves off a tree."  She stood.  "Let
me walk you to the transporter pad.  Seven tomorrow, then?"
	Shelby stood.  "Seven.  At my 'place' this time.  I've got the
replicators programmed for incredible french toast with strawberries ... "
	Jane rushed to her quarters, cursing Shelby dawdling.  She had
wanted to spend some time getting ready to talk to Mark.  Now, she barely
had time to change and let her hair down.
	He'd been in her thoughts all day, stealing her concentration. 
When she'd finally talked to him, it had been joyous, a true
acknowledgement that she was finally home.
	But all day she'd thought about what she felt now was ...
different ... than what she'd felt before.
	Perhaps their relationship just needed a rekindling, a reawaking. 
From the very first, the sexual attraction between them had been powerful,
irresistable.  Perhaps that's all that was needed to put them back on the
path they walked together before.
	She slipped out of her uniform and dumped it into the processor,
and then loosened her hair and left it hanging, lose and free around her
shoulders and down her back.  Clean and soft against her skin, it felt
sensuous, almost sexual, and she shivered slightly.
	The material of the gown was cool against her skin, giving her
goosebumps and making her nipples strain against the thin material.  The
smallest of smiles grazed her lips.
	He was waiting for her when she called.  His eyes widened in
surprise when she saw her, but then narrowed with pleasure, the corners of
his wide mouth turning up.  She gave him a quirky smile.
	"I was wondering," she said softly, "if you remembered the last
time I wore this ... "
	He leaned forward, his smile matching hers.
	"The last time?  Hmmm ... I'm not sure.  But I do remember that
you didn't wear it very long ..."
	She leaned forward, giving him a glimpse of smooth firm breasts.
	"I thought perhaps you might want a memory refresher," she said, a
bit huskily.
	His smile broadened.  "It has been a long time ... perhaps a
refresher would be a good idea."
	She leaned forward a little more, allowing the strap to slip off
her shoulder.  Closing her eyes, she tried not to think of Necheyev and
Shelby, Tuvok and her crew.  Or Chakotay.  Most of all, her first officer.
 For a little while, she would indulge herself, let herself think about
being with Mark again, and their life together.  She's let herself think
about the real probability that she would get a break from the crushing
weight of command, that once they were back she would take leave and visit
her mother and her friends.  She'd go away with Mark to the mountains and
for an entire month the most difficult decision she would make was what to
have for breakfast.  She'd be able to escape the gutwrenching life and
death decisions she made almost daily in the Delta Quadrant.
	The other strap slipped off her shoulder and she lost herself in
Mark's soft, thick words.  She willed herself to relax.
	Unexpectedly, Mark's voice broke off with a slight cry, and he
began to chuckle.
	"Damn dog.  You do seem to have a talent for interruptions at the
strangest times ... "
	Janeway opened her eyes, and saw Mark, shirt open, scratching the
ears of a cocker spaniel that sat in his lap.  Janeway gave him a
quizzical look.
	"Mark!  A dog?  I didn't think you'd ever turn into a dog person."
	Mark chuckled again, and turned the spaniel to face Janeway
straight on.  "Kathryn!  You mean to tell me you don't recognize your own
Molly Malone?"
	Once, when Janeway was teen, her mother and father had taken her
to Finland to visit friends.  It had been mid-winter, but they had
combated the bitter cold with long saunas.
	It wasn't until she was drowsy and pink from the heat that they
told her she was to run down the path from the small sauna house to the
frozen lake below and jump into the hole in the ice that had been cut just
for this purpose.  She had done it, of course, as much not to disappoint
her hosts as for the experience.  The shock of the icy water had driven
the breath from her and she gulped for air -- unfortunately, while she was
still under the water.  Her father had reached down under the water and
pulled her up, sputtering and coughing.  They had hauled her out of the
water and laughingly urged her up the path to the house, but it had been a
long time before she got over the shock.
	She felt as if it was happening to her again.  She was frozen, the
breath driven from her, unable to move.  She wished she had someone there
to pull her out.
	"Kathryn!  What's wrong!  Are you ill?  Kath?"
	Mark was on his feet, hands braced on the desk where his
viewscreen sat, face full of concern.
	She hurriedly pulled the straps of her gown up and jumped to her
feet.  Without a word, she touched the key to terminate the connection,
Mark's stricken face winking out.
	She covered her face with her hands.  How could she have been such
a fool?  Why hadn't she suspected?  It was so clear now.  Yes, they had
come back to the Alpha Quadrant.  But they were not home.
	Something had happened to Voyager when they had traveled through
the wormhole.  They had traveled distance, but they had also traveled from
their own universe to another -- a universe very much like their own, but
not completely.
	In this universe, Admiral Necheyev had red hair and hated the
Maquis with an unparalleled passion.  Tuvok's family was decimated.  Harry
Kim's fianc e married another.  Paris' father loved and needed him. 
Chakotay was an outlaw.  
	And her beloved Irish setter, Molly Malone, was a cocker spaniel.
	The mandates of the Prime Directive echoed through her mind.  This
universe now knew things about the Delta Quadrant that they shouldn't have
learned until their own Voyager came home.  Would it cause harm?
	She closed her eyes and bowed her head.  What a question to ask
herself.  Of course it would cause harm.  It already had.  So anxious was
she to come home that she had harmed nearly two dozen of her crew -- two
dozen of her crew who had served her with devotion, with loyalty.  And she
had agreed to turn them over to the Federation, a Federation that hated
the Maquis and, at best, would lock them up for a long, long time.
	"Computer, what time is it?" she asked.
	"It is twenty-three zero nine," said the disembodied computer
voice.
	Less than an hour.  That was all the time she had before she had
agreed to turn over the Maquis to Shelby.  After that, it would be too
late.  Shelby would never return them to her, and Voyager, in the
condition it was in now, was too battered to take on Melrose.
	They had to leave, now.  She picked up her comm badge from her
dresser, tapping it as she pulled off her gown and began dressing in her
uniform.
	"Janeway to Carey.  Have we got warp on line yet?"
	There was a pause, and then Carey's sleep-filled voice came on.
	"Ma'am?  The warp drive?  Uh, we just got it on line before I went
to bed.  It'll take a few hours for the coolant to cycle before we're
ready to fire her up but -- "
	"Good.  I want you to get down to engineering and prepare us for
warp asap."
	There was no reply.
	"Mr. Carey, did you hear me?" she said sharply.
	This time, the reply came back quickly.
	"Yes ma'am!  Prepare for warp."
	Janeway pulled her uniform on before she made her next call.  She
tapped the comm badge again.
	"Janeway to Paris."
	Again, there was a pause as she awaken another of her crew. 
Except while his reply was sleepy, it was in good humor, and Janeway could
almost hear the smile in his voice.
	"Paris here, Captain.  What can I do for you?"
	Janeway fastened her uniform, feeling the pips at her neck to make
sure they were straight and even.
	"Mr. Paris, I want you on the bridge in five minutes.  I want you
to plot a course back to the wormhole at best speed."
	Like Carey, there was a pause, and a then a puzzled reply.
	"Ma'am?  We're going back to the wormhole?"
	Janeway didn't have time to explain.  And she also didn't want it
to get around her ship yet that they were heading back to the wormhole. 
Some of Shelby's crew might still be on board, helping with repairs.
	"Just do it, Paris, and keep quiet about it.  I'll explain later."
	She tapped off her comm badge, not waiting for Paris' response.
	She paused a moment, and then tapped her comm badge again.
	"Janeway to Tuvok."
	Unlike the two lieutenants, Tuvok responded immediately.  There
could be, of course, no sleep for him.
	"Tuvok here."
	"Tuvok, I need your help.  If I could trust anyone else, I
wouldn't disturb you."
	"How can I be of assistance, Captain?"
	Inside, Janeway sighed with relief.  "Tuvok, I need to find out if
any of Melrose's crew is on board, and then get them off as quickly as
possible, as discreetly as possible, without eliciting concern aboard the
Melrose."
	Unlike Carey and Paris, Tuvok didn't ask questions.  He merely
said, "Aye, Captain," and signed off.
	Janeway pulled on her boots and stood.  That had been the easy
part.
	On the walk down the corridor, she rehearsed in her mind what she
would say to him, but each seemed wrong, each seemed foolish.  Well, she
*had* been foolish.  There was no getting around it.
	He came to his door immediately, his face unsurprised, almost as
if he were expecting her.  He didn't invite her in, or even greet her,
just stood there, with that unfathomable look in her eyes that made her
avert her gaze.  She forced herself to look into his face, into those eyes
that screamed the unthinkable at her.
	"I've made a mistake," she said.  "I need your help."
	He moved aside so she could enter.  In two quick strides, she was
in, standing in the center of the room, armed crossed, chin up.
	"This isn't our universe," she said.
	Understanding on his part was immediate.
	"Gods!"  He turned from her, his back to her.  It made it easier
for her.
	"Will you --- will the Maquis -- help me?  We don't have much
time.  We have to leave -- now.  I can't even think about the violations
to the Prime Directive ... "  she swallowed, pausing, before going on. 
"And ... we have less than an hour before I agreed to turn you -- and the
other Maquis over to the Melrose."
	The silence in the room lengthened.
	"How did you find out?" he asked, finally.
	She swallowed.  "The Molly Malone in this universe is a cocker
spaniel."
	He barked a short laugh.  "Who knows this isn't our universe?" he
asked.
	"You, now.  Carey, Paris, Tuvok might begin to suspect, or will
soon."
	"Are warp engines on line?" he asked.
	Janeway nodded.  "Carey's there now, trying to get the coolant
cycling.  We need B'Elanna.  Carey's good.  B'Elanna's better."
	Chakotay nodded.  "The Melrose may give chase."
	Janeway nodded.  "I'm sure they will.  They want my Maquis.  They
may think you've taken over the ship and are trying to escape through the
wormhole."
	Chakotay nodded again.  "I'll talk to B'Elanna."
	"Good.  I'll see you on the bridge as soon as you can get there. 
In uniform."
	She left hurriedly, wanting to escape those accusing, dark eyes.
	Tuvok was already on the bridge, as was Paris, who cast her a
mystified look as she walked briskly to her command chair.
	"All of Melrose's crew have left the ship, Captain.  They will
return tomorrow morning," he said.
	That's what they think, thought Janeway.  She turned sharply to
Paris.
	"Mr. Paris, how long will it take us to get back to the wormhole
at our top warp?"
	Paris turned to her.  "Ma'am?  Back to the wormhole?  Why?"
	Janeway stepped down the ramp to stand behind her pilot's chair. 
"I'll explain later, Mr. Paris.  Right now, I need your help without your
questions.  How long?"
	Paris' finger's danced on his console.  "Thirty minutes, if we can
get up to warp.  I know Carey's got warp on line, but the coolant still
hasn't cycled, so I guess warp one is -- "
	"Lt. Torres is on her way to engineering.  Let's hope she can
expedite warp capability," interrupted Janeway.
	Paris looked at her in surprise at this news, but didn't say
anything.  
	Janeway turned to Tuvok.  "Tuvok, are our phasers on line?"  She
swallowed, but continued.  "What's the status of our photon torpedoes?"
	If Tuvok was surprised by her questions, he didn't show it. 
"Phasers are on line and in optimum condition, Captain.  I shall ready
torpedoes."
	Janeway gave him a quick nod, and sat in her command chair just as
Chakotay came on the bridge.  He sat next to her.  
	"Lt Torres is on her way to engineering.  I've got some of the
others working on the auxiliary computers and systems."
	Janeway gave another brief, officious nod.
	Kim, sitting silently at operation, watching the strange play that
was taking place in front of him, finally spoke.
	"Captain, Lt. Torres reports that she is ready to go to warp one
at your leisure."
	Janeway nodded briefly again.  "Mr. Paris, warp one.  Take us back
through the wormhole."
	Paris turned sharply to his captain.  "Back *through* the
wormhole, Captain?  I-I don't think I understand -- "
	Janeway wanted to bark at him, tell him that he didn't get paid to
think or understand, but the anguished look on his face stopped her.  Tom
Paris, who just hours before, had found a loving father, was going to lose
him again.
	"Mr. Paris," she said.  "This isn't our universe.  Apparently,
when we went through the wormhole, we jumped universes."
	The only sound on the bridge was the whispering sounds of the
impulse engines and the computers' chirps and chimes.
	"Gods," Harry whispered, finally.  "This isn't home."
	"Indeed," said Janeway.  "Mr. Paris, through the wormhole,
please."
	Paris turned to face the viewscreen.  "Through the wormhole at
warp one.  Aye, ma'am."
	Almost as if it were a cue, the moment they jumped to
faster-than-light speed, Kim turned to Janeway.
	"Captain, Melrose is hailing us.  They are asking where we're
going."
	Janeway turned to Chakotay.  "Testing our engines?" she asked,
trying out the lie.
	He gave her a wry grin.  "As good as any other reason," he said.
	Janeway turned to Kim.  "Please pass on to Melrose that we are
testing our engines."
	There was a few moments silence, and then Kim spoke again. 
"Captain, Melrose is pacing us."
	Silently, Janeway cursed.  She didn't think her lie would work,
but she had to try.
	"Captain Shelby is hailing you, Captain," Kim said.
	Janeway stood, looking quickly over her shoulder at her first
officer.  "My ready room, I think, Commander.  It won't do for her to see
you on the bridge."
	Chakotay left hurriedly, his face inscrutable to all but Janeway. 
And then Elizabeth Shelby, not a hair out of place, although she must have
been roused from her bed, stood before Janeway on the viewscreen.
	"Kathryn!  What's this?  Midnight maneuvers?"  said Shelby's, her
voice jovial, almost teasing.  Only Janeway recognized the undertone of
brass.
	"Sorry to get you out of your bed, Elizabeth.  I just wanted to
try out the warp engines."  She smiled, trying to make it slightly
apologetic.  "I couldn't sleep."
	There was a changed in Shelby's face.  It shifted from something
mostly benevolent to suspicious.
	"Kathryn, there's nothing wrong, is there?  The Maquis ..."
	Janeway laughed out loud.  "What, they broke out of my brig and
took over the ship and are now trying to escape?  I don't think so." 
Janeway shook her head.  "No, I was just a little ... restless.  Thought
I'd take Voyager out for a little test drive.  Why don't you go back to
bed?  We'll be back in the morning."
	It was so false, Janeway cringed inside.  But it was all she could
think of right now.  And it gave her time.  That's what she was doing --
playing for time, enough time for her to slip back through the wormhole
and back to their own universe.
	Shelby's eyes narrowed.  "Kathryn, I want you to stop.  I'm
sending my people over right now --"
	Inside, Janeway sighed.  Well, this card had been played.  It was
time for the next in this game.  She turned quickly to Kim.
	"Cut communication with Melrose.  Tuvok, ready shields.  Ensign
Kim, open ship-wide communication."
	"Communication open, Captain."
	Janeway paused, forming her statement.  As she began, Chakotay
came onto the bridge from his hiding place in the ready room.
	"This is the Captain.  In approximately 25 minutes, we will be
going through the wormhole."  She paused, letting her statement sink in. 
"I regret to inform you that while the wormhole took us back to the Alpha
Quadrant, it has also, unfortunately, taken us into the wrong universe; an
alternate universe; very much like our own, but not ours."
	Paris turned to her quickly, a look very much like grief on his
face.  She her eyes locked with his, the two of them sharing a brief
moment of sorrow.  She cleared her throat and continued.
	"We have less than 25 minutes to prepare for the transit.  Get to
it.  Janeway out."
	It is never really silent on the bridge.  The small sounds of the
equipment, notifying those who monitored each station of the status of the
various departments on the ship, filled it with gentle background noise
that usually was so familiar it was a comfort.  Janeway could hear every
chirp and beep, the human sounds on the bridge were so still.  She was
grateful when Tuvok broke the silence.
	"Melrose is still pacing us, Captain."
	"They are hailing us non-stop, Captain," said Kim.
	Janeway sat on the edge of her command chair.  "Let me know if
they change any of their tactics.  Tuvok, if they become more aggressive,
shields up."
	Janeway knew that in the bowels of her ship, in the corridors, the
sickbay, engineering, stellar cartography, air-ponics, the galley, every
crew member was frantically engaged in preparing her ship to traverse the
wormhole, but on the bridge, it was quiet, almost peaceful; the eye of the
storm.  She slowly took a breath, letting it out.  Maybe she was wrong. 
Maybe Shelby would buy her ploy and not try to stop --
	"Shields up!  Captain, Melrose is preparing to --"
	The flash of light on the viewscreen finished Tuvok's sentence for
him.  Melrose had fired a phaser blast across Voyager's bow.  Janeway's
heart leaped.  She hadn't expected Shelby to get so aggressive so quickly.
	"Steady as she goes, Mr. Paris.  We're not going to blink."
	Paris, his back to Janeway, nodded briefly, his hands even on the
console.
	Janeway counted the passing minutes.  Twelve minutes.  They only
needed twelve more minutes and they would be at the wormhole.  They'd go
through, and then they'd be safe in the Delta Quadrant ... she smiled to
herself at the thought.  *Safe in the Delta Quadrant.*
	"Captain, Melrose is firing ag--"
	This time, the ship rocked slightly.  No more tap dancing. 
Melrose was firing at Voyager now, albeit a love tap.
	"I estimate their phasers are at about 60 percent power, Captain. 
That was designed to get our attention only," said Tuvok coolly.
	Chakotay, silent through all this, finally spoke.
	"You know Shelby.  How far will she go to stop us?  We wouldn't
have a chance against Melrose."
	Janeway gave him a wry smile.  "I know *my* Shelby, not this one."
 She thought for a moment.  "But I think the answer is the same.  This
Shelby -- and the one I know -- will do anything Starfleet and the
Federation asks of her.  I'm sure Shelby has been in contact with Admiral
Necheyev by now.  And I know what Necheyev would order."
	Janeway checked the chronometer over the viewscreen.  Seven
minutes to the wormhole ... 
	She stood and walked forward to stand behind Paris.  "Mr. Paris,
any chance of getting a little more --"
	"Incoming!" called Tuvok.
	Melrose's phaser fire -- full strength this time -- caught them
amidships, and even if Voyager's shields had been at 100 percent, it would
have shook them.  But as it was, Voyager was still limping from its trip
through the wormhole.  The blast rocked them, sliding the decks out from
under feet, tossing crew members over their consoles as if they were rags.
	Still, Chakotay thought later, it was a bit of a fluke that
Janeway should be standing where she was, leaning over Paris, when the
overhead blew out and crashed down over them.  There is no doubt she saved
the pilot's life by the odd chance she was standing there, her body
shielding his.  But is also meant she took the full blow of the shattered
transparent aluminum underdome, crushing her under its weight.
	Chakotay got to her in seconds, picking lighter bits of debris
from her face.  Paris, bruised and bleeding but otherwise unharmed, looked
over his shoulder, eyes filled with dread.
	"Is she ... ?"
	"Keep your eyes on your station -- all of you!  Get us to that
wormhole!"  Chakotay spoke sharply, hoping to keep Kim's and Paris'
attention focused.
	Janeway's eyes blinked, her mouth open, trying to gulp air.  Her
lips were turning purplish blue.
	"Can't ... can't breathe ...," she panted.
	Chakotay shoved his shoulder under the edge of the dome crushing
Janeway's chest, and pushed.  Sweat poured off his brow.  His body
trembled with the effort.
	"Tuvok!" he gasped.
	Tuvok was beside him, lifting as Chakotay pushed.  It moved only
millimeters.
	Janeway face was blue by now, head back, neck muscles roped and
standing out with the effort to draw life-giving oxygen into her lungs. 
Chakotay and Tuvok pushed and lifted again, knowing if they were
unsuccessful, they were going to watch their Captain die before their
eyes.  The dome budged no more than it did before.
	One chance.  They had only one chance.  Chakotay tapped his comm
pin.  "B"Elanna, reduce artificial gravity by 60 percent on the bridge!"
	There was a pause, and then the engineer responded, her voice
exasperated and tense.
	"Chakotay, we're a little --"
	Chakotay cut her off.  "Do it, or the Captain's dead."
	In his mind, Chakotay began counting.  When he hit twenty -- a
count that lasted for hours -- he felt the gravity finally lessen.  He
gave a quick nod to Tuvok, and they lifted the dome off Janeway.
	His mouth was on hers, breathing into her, forcing air into her
lungs.  She moaned with each breath, as if it were a terrible agony.  Her
eyes fluttered open only to close again.  Her lips moved.  Chakotay leaned
over to hear the words.
	"Seal it," she whispered.  "Don't let them through."  She
swallowed, them coughed up bright red blood that stained her lips.  "Liz
will take you back ..."  She swallowed again, opening her eyes.  "Order. 
Do it."
	Her eyes were frantic with the need to make herself understood. 
He nodded.  "An order.  I understand."
	Relieved, her eyes closed.

	No one on Voyager was killed.  It was the only good thing that
could be said about their mad trip through the wormhole.
	Did Melrose try to follow them through the wormhole?  They never
knew for sure.  Kim had broadcast a warning to Shelby, telling her of
Voyager's intentions to ram two photon torpedoes down the wormhole's mouth
to collapse it, but Melrose had never responded to the warning.  And after
three more full-powered phaser strikes from Melrose, Voyager's sensors
were beyond detecting anything short of a brick wall two feet off its bow.
 
	Conspiring together, Kim, Paris, Tuvok, and Chakotay agreed that
the answer would be, to anyone who asked, that Melrose stopped short of
the wormhole, never following them in.  The four of them would be haunted
all their lives with the thought they might have destroyed a Starfleet
ship, albeit one from an alternate universe.  There was no purpose -- or
in the words of Tuvok, no *logic* -- in letting others suffer as well.
	It took them 43 hours to get life support back on line; two more
days to seal all the hull breeches and cracks that riddled Voyager. 
Finally, on the sixth day, B'Elanna got impulse power working.  It was
pure luck that no Vidiian or Kazon ship happened by to take advantage of
their weakened condition.
	During their brief breaks, over Neelix's meals of leola root stews
and steaming cups of what he called coffee, the crew discussed and
dissected their trip to the alternate Alpha Quadrant universe.  They
debated whether what had happened in the alternative quadrant might be
transpiring in their own.  Some prayed it for it; others prayed not.
	But no one suggested they should have stayed.
	During that hectic week, when it was all Voyager could do to
maintain a life-sustaining environs, Voyager's captain and first officer
never spoke except to issue orders and provide reports.  At first, it was
because it was all Janeway could do sit up in her chair.  Kes had counted
17 broken bones, not to mention so many ruptured and torn organs that
they'd had to hook her up to a computer bypass for more than a day to
allow them to heal.
	And then later, discussion became more difficult to face, both of
them afraid they would not be able to accept what the other had to say.
*****
	She found herself at his door again, in the middle of the night. 
Really, it was morning, past midnight and before the ship's waking, when
Voyager is at it quietest and the beat of the human heart is at its most
intense.  When he answered the door, he had the look of a man stupid with
sleep, the sleep brought on by the physical and emotional exhaustion of
more than a week of frantic activity to save a ship and its crew shattered
by two too many trips down Alice's rabbit hole.
	He stood back to let her in, her face was so white, the circles
under her eyes so dark she looked like some kind of caricature of the
Kathryn Janway he knew so well.  Or thought he knew, before.
	She wandered about his quarters, not speaking, not touching
anything.  He tried to read her heart, but it was a mystery to him. 
Finally, she stopped in the middle of the room, arms at her side, limp;
eyes dark.  A supplicant.
	"I've wronged you; the Maquis," she said.
	He gave her a brief nod.
	She swallowed, but remained unspeaking.  There was so much to read
in her face, so many conflicting emotions that he couldn't understand. 
Remorse, certainly.  Shame?  Maybe.  But something more.
	Her lips moved, but no words came out.  She tried again.
	"Can you forgive me?"
	She said it a flat out question.  Not, "Will you forgive me," or
"I'm sorry, please forgive me."
	Was it so hard for her to ask for forgiveness that she could
hardly speak the words?  The anger Chakotay thought was gone rose in his
heart.  He struggled to calm it.
	"Can I forgive you?"  He repeated it, because he wanted her to
know what it sounded like, to hurt her a little.
	"Maybe."
	It wasn't what she wanted to hear, and he saw something like fear
flash in her eyes.  The thought of a lifetime with a first officer who
held a grudge ... yes, he thought, I would be fearful, too.  He relented.
	"Probably . . . yes."
	So much that was in her face, her eyes, changed then.  They grew
bright with unshed tears.
	"Not today.  Not next week," he said.
	If he were a more generous man, perhaps he would have forgiven her
then -- or at least, *told* her he forgave her.  Or perhaps if he hadn't
been betrayed by love before -- first by the Federation, which he loved
and served passionately until it turned its back on his people, and then
by Seska -- he might have been more ready to absolve her.  But we carry
our pasts with us always, and sometimes their burden is too heavy to bear
without effect.
	The silence in the room lengthened, and he did not know why she
stayed on.  He turned to her.
	The unshed tears were still there, yes.  But also something he had
never seen before.  It was ...
	He almost laughed, but not with joy.  If he had laughed out loud,
it would have been filled with bitterness, with irony.
	Kathryn Janeway loved him.  She read it in her face.
	For two years, almost all his thoughts were of her.  He served at
her side.  He asked her counsel, and she asked it of him.  He held her
when she wept, taught her the way of his ancestors so that she would know
her heart with greater clarity.  They shared their lives with a
thoroughness neither had ever experienced before.
	From almost the first moment he'd come on board this ship, he
wanted to trace the margin of that stern mouth with fingertips to soften
them, to brush the fine hairs from the nape of her neck with his lips.  He
wanted to make love to her, tenderly, passionately, gently, frantically.
	How bitter.  How ironic.
	Now, it was all he could do not to throw her out.  How quick she
had been to betray him and the other Maquis once they were back in
Federation space.  How quickly she had run to Mark.  How quickly she had
fallen into the trap of answering, "yes ma'am, yes ma'am, by your leave,
ma'am," when Necheyev barked her orders.
	He knew he was being unfair.  He'd served in Starfleet, and he
knew how to follow orders.  Indeed, he'd resigned his commission before he
took one action as a Maquis rather than violate the standing orders of
Starfleet.
	Yes, her understood orders.  He would follow her orders.  He would
smile at her witty comments.  He would be the perfect first officer;
efficient; effective.  The crew would notice no difference between now and
... before.
	Only he and Captain Kathryn Janeway would know the truth.
	He told her he had an early meeting.  She stared at him a long
time, with those bright eyes, and then left without a word.
	He would not play her fool again.
*****
	She stood alone at the long porthole in her quarters, looking out
among the stars of the Delta Quadrant, as if out there, somewhere in the
void of space, there was an answer.
	In one of her many talks with Chakotay after she returned from
being Cullah's captive, her first officer asked her what was most precious
in all the universes to her.  The answer was easy.  Voyager, of course. 
Voyager was her flesh, her heart and soul.  She would do anything for her
ship.  She had watched the ship being built.  She had been its midwife,
delivering it to Starfleet.  Every bit of it -- circuits, conduits, warp
core -- was a part of her.  She loved the ship.
	Something in Chakotay's dark eyes was amused when she'd said it. 
Yes, there was understanding and empathy, but also something else, like he
knew something about what was precious to her, but couldn't tell her.  It
was as if he had a secret about her that he couldn't share, even with her.
	As she stood there, in her darkened quarters, she began to
understand what he knew.
	Years ago, she had pledged herself to Starfleet and the
Federation.  She loved the ships that made up the Fleet.  There was a
purity in the Federation and Starfleet that was noble; good.  Space
exploration and the accumulation of knowledge.  Protection of the
Federation worlds.  No one could find fault with that.  She had dedicated
her life to those ships and the men and women who manned them.  It was an
exciting, challenging life and she served with joy and fulfillment.
	Until Mark had come into her life.
	She loved Mark.  From the first day of their meeting, both knew it
was their destiny that they would be together.  They were so much alike,
knew each other so well from the beginning, that they could spend an
entire evening together without speaking, yet know exactly what the other
was thinking.  He always bought the perfect present for her birthday,
Christmas, anniversary of their meeting.  Her mother adored him.
	She looked down at the framed photograph she held in her hand. 
Mark and Molly looked back at her.  She sighed.
	Until she'd met Mark, Starfleet and her ambitions had been enough
to satisfy her.  But meeting Mark had changed everything.  She realized
her life was empty without him.  She loved him with a thoroughness that
made her complete.
	So why was her love for him -- the loved they shared -- not enough
now?  Did the time, the distance between them fade her feelings?  Was it
the uncertainty of not knowing if they would ever be together?
	She looked out into the stars again, looking for the answer, and
finding it, at least in part.
	She would always love Mark.  She knew that the minute she'd looked
into his face again, albeit only on a viewscreen.  But, just like so many
years ago, when she found her love for Starfleet and the Federation didn't
fulfill her anymore, her love for Mark didn't complete her anymore.   She
loved him, yes, but it was a love on paper wings.
	How was it possible that she had fallen in love with her first
officer?  Two people could never be so different.  Indeed, at first, she
despised him.  He'd been the cause of enormous anxiety over Tuvok.  He and
his ship had lead Voyager to the Badlands, and, ultimately, to the Delta
Quadrant.
	And when they had decided to join crews, he'd disagreed with one
decision she made after another.
	But, over time, they'd reached agreement that had finally grown to
respect, then to admiration, and finally, to friendship.
	And then, after Cullah, she had spilled out her heart to him.  He
knew more about her than anyone -- Tuvok, her mother, Mark.  It had been a
wrenching experience from which she still suffered.  And it was Chakotay
who had brought her back from the abyss.
	Was this when the seeds of her love for him begin to take root? 
She had no answer.  It was nothing like her love for Mark, which had
sprung full blown from their first meeting.  With Chakotay, it had been so
gradual that she hadn't even realized it was there.  It was a love that
grew stronger with every day; with every moment.  Unlike with Mark, it
wasn't that they were so much alike; it was almost the opposite.  They
were parts of a puzzle, a yin and yang, two pieces that came together to
make a whole. 
	Janeway sighed, and put the picture of Mark and Molly down.  What
did she expect?  That Chakotay might have grow to love him as she did him?
 To care about a woman who represented all that he turned away from, who
betrayed him?  Not likely ... still, there had been moments, when they
were down on that no-name planet, and when she had kissed him, even though
he didn't seem to return it, when she'd thought, maybe ... maybe, in this
new place, this place where pasts might as well never have existed, they
might be able to find each other.
	She sighed again.  She had an early meeting, too, and needed to
rest.  She dressed for bed and called for lights out, but lay with eyes
open, thinking.
	Chakotay.  He would forgive her, eventually, as all the Maquis
would.  She had to believe that.  It would be difficult, at first, to find
the road they had traveled before, the road they had traveled together. 
As for the path the two of them would take?  Well ...
	A small smile played on her lips.  They'd only been together for
two years.  She had nearly sixty-eight years to bring him around.
	She was a patient woman.

THE END

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