By Alex Voy
Rating: PG
Disclaimer:
Paramount owns the characters, Voyager and the images. No infringement of copyright is intended. I make no profit from them, just enjoy writing about them.
Acknowledgements:
My thanks to Kelly for beta-reading this story -- any remaining mistakes are mine alone.
Summary:
What really happened after 'Endgame'.
"Cut. And wrap!" The director's voice was loud across the unusual silence on Voyager's bridge. The bridge crew exchanged glances. So that was it. The last scene of the last episode in Voyager's final season was finished. Their epic journey had ended. The odyssey was finally over.
The crew watched as Captain Janeway slowly rose from her command chair.
"You have the bridge, Commander," she said, her voice barely audible.
Chakotay watched her cross to her ready room. A slight frown creased his tattoo. He glanced towards the upper bridge and saw his own concern mirrored on Harry Kim's features.
Janeway closed her eyes for a moment when the doors to her ready room hissed together behind her. She took a deep breath and headed for her replicator.
"Coffee, hot, black." Cradling the cup in her hands, she walked over to look out at the vast expanse of space, the stars unmoving now that Voyager's journey was ended.
Well, she'd given it her best for seven long years. Faced the combined dangers of coffee addiction, depression, and Neelix's cooking with unflinching courage, not to mention the rigours of almost weekly changes of hairstyle. She had hoped to go out in a blaze of glory, sacrificing all for her beloved ship and crew, but the writers had decided otherwise. True, they had met her halfway and allowed Admiral Janeway to make the ultimate sacrifice, but it wasn't quite the way she would have chosen, and she wasn't at all certain she liked the idea of becoming her future self.
The door chime interrupted her increasingly morbid thoughts. Janeway ignored the first three chimes, but was finally forced to respond from sheer irritation.
"Yes?" She refused to turn away from the viewport, even though she was beginning to find the expanse of the static stars just a bit boring. She knew who it was, anyway. Chakotay, come for one of his 'concerned for the mental state of his captain' talks. She gave a slight smile as she realised that she didn't have to listen to him any more if she didn't want to. The series had ended, and she was no longer responsible for the welfare of these people or the ship.
"We need to talk, Kathryn," Chakotay said.
Janeway thought he was overdoing the friendly concern, given their circumstances.
"Better late than never, I suppose." She faced him and took a long swig from her coffee cup. "Why didn't you tell me about you and Seven? Why did I have to hear it from the Admiral?"
"It all happened so suddenly, there was no time. It was a last minute thing. I only found out about it myself a few days ago."
Janeway eyed him suspiciously over the rim of her cup. "I heard it was all your idea."
Chakotay dropped his gaze. "Well, not exactly."
"Are you suggesting it was Seven who thought up such a ridiculous storyline?"
"No, of course not. But what's so ridiculous about it?"
Janeway made a small choking sound into her cup. "Chakotay, this is you we're talking about: you and Seven of Nine."
"I don't see why you seem to find it so amusing. I thought you might be …upset." He had been about to say "jealous," but decided that maybe now was a time for discretion.
"This is about you, Chakotay, not me. Whatever possessed you to imagine the fans would swallow such a preposterous pairing?"
"There's nothing preposterous about it. Seven and I love each other. You're just going to have to learn to accept the fact."
"It's not my acceptance you have to worry about. There are a few million viewers out there who might just decide they can't believe in a relationship that began suddenly, at the very last moment, after the two of you had barely exchanged half a dozen words in four years."
"The show's over, Kathryn." Chakotay's smile held more than a hint of smugness. "Ratings don't matter any more. What does matter is that Seven and I get to spend the rest of our lives together in blissful happiness."
Janeway shook her head. "And just where do you think you're going to spend the rest of your lives? Have you even thought about the future now the show's finished? Thought about anything beyond Seven's obvious and pneumatic charms?"
He had no need to reply. The familiar blank expression on her First Officer's face said it all.
When the door closed behind Chakotay, Janeway ordered another cup of coffee and sat down behind her desk. The conversation had disturbed her more than she cared to admit, even to herself. It wasn't the sudden romantic liaison between her former best friend and her protégé that was causing her concern, but the knowledge that she had given no more thought to the future than had Chakotay.
For the past seven years, she had lived solely for the moment when she would get her crew home safely to the Alpha Quadrant. In the early years, she had dreamed that the writers might just let her get back to her old life with Mark, her dog, and Starfleet. Then, for a while, when the scripts had seemed to be leading to a future with Chakotay, she'd almost come to accept the idea. Instead, the writers had landed her with a hologram. After that humiliating experience, she'd given up trying to predict anything they might have lined up for her.
Now, she was acutely aware that there would be no more stories. Without a script and storyline, she and her crew were stranded in limbo just as surely as they had been in the Delta Quadrant. At least then, she'd had the illusion of progress. Now, those familiar, but unmoving stars outside the viewport were going to be a permanent fixture. It had just never occurred to her that the story could end before they reached home.
The door chimed again, and Janeway smiled when Tuvok entered the room. She knew where she stood with the Vulcan. There were no surprises between them, no sudden illogical relationships or weird behaviour.
"Would you like some tea, Tuvok?" she asked.
"Thank you, Captain. I would prefer coca cola."
"Coca what?"
"It's a twenty first century beverage to which I was introduced by Mr. Paris in one of his historical holo-simulations. It seems an appropriate refreshment in our present circumstance. I find it an intriguing blend of flavours, and pleasing to the palate."
"I'm afraid my replicator isn't programmed for twenty-first century recipes." Janeway ordered herself a third cup of coffee and sat down on the couch.
"Then I will instruct Ensign Kim to update its database for you." Tuvok sat down beside her. "Captain, I have been giving some thought to my future now that we have returned to the Alpha Quadrant."
"Well, I'm glad someone has." Janeway leaned towards Tuvok in anticipation. "So what do you think we should do, now that we're back?"
"Our choices are limited. Although we could remain here in the twenty-fourth century on board Voyager, I do not believe it would provide a satisfactory solution. You have stated on numerous occasions that we are explorers, and I believe our future must lie beyond the confines of this ship."
"You think we should leave Voyager and make new lives for ourselves on twenty-first century Earth?"
"It would seem the logical course of action."
"The twenty-first century isn't the ideal period of history to be stranded in." Janeway's coffee had suddenly developed a bitter taste.
"From my observation, there has never been an 'ideal' period of human history, Captain."
"So what would we do, once we leave the ship?"
"I cannot speak for anyone else, but I intend to become a diplomat. Obviously, I will be unable to return to Vulcan from this time. My studies of Earth history have revealed a distinct lack of logic in the political decisions of all governments. I believe my expertise could be invaluable in the search for world peace."
Janeway stared at him in amazement. "You really believe you'll be able to cope with the rough and tumble of Earth politics? The deception, lies, corruption, and all the self-seeking egomaniacs who ran most political systems on Earth at this time?"
"I have experienced seven years of preparation with this mostly human crew."
"I think I should be offended by that remark, Tuvok."
"No offence was intended, Captain. I was merely pointing out that I am not unfamiliar with the vagaries of human nature."
"It won't be easy to integrate the non-human members of the crew into Earth society. Maybe you will be able to knock some sense into today's world leaders." Janeway didn't really believe it was possible, but she knew it was worth a try, and what else would a Vulcan security chief do to earn a living on twenty-first century Earth?
"As a native born Vulcan, I realise I will be ineligible for the highest political offices, but I believe my experience and logic will provide a useful bridge between the diverse cultures and regimes of this time in Earth's history." Tuvok watched Janeway drain her cup and asked: " What are your plans for the future, Captain?"
"Oh, this and that, you know. Catch up on some of the things I haven't been able to do for the past seven years. I'm finally free to do what I want." Janeway rose and tried to disguise her lack of forethought by ordering yet another cup of coffee. She sensed that Tuvok was not fooled by this rather obvious ploy, but he returned to the bridge without comment.
Janeway sat back on the couch and closed her eyes, savouring the strong coffee aroma that rose with the steam from her cup. Her eyes opened at the sound of the door chime, but before she could respond, the doors parted and Seven of Nine strode into the room. Janeway sighed. She never had been able to get the security codes to resist Seven's Borg overrides.
"Captain, I wish to speak with you." Seven stood in front of Janeway and looked down at her.
"Have a seat." Janeway indicated the couch beside her.
"Thank you, but I prefer to stand."
Seven continued to loom irritatingly above her. It was the result of four years of close-up camera shots of their weekly heart-to-heart talks, Janeway realised. She was going to have to explain to Seven about the human need for personal space, but now was not the time.
"I suppose you've come to tell me about your plans for the future?" Janeway felt the muscles compress in the back of her neck as she strained to look up at Seven.
Seven's single eyebrow rose several centimetres in response to Janeway's sudden ability to read her mind. Waving her hand, Janeway added: "Why not? It seems to be the fashion today."
"Informing you of my future intentions is one reason for my presence," Seven admitted. "However, I also wish to tell you of my involvement with Commander Chakotay." She watched Janeway carefully for a response, but the Captain was drinking from her cu p and merely nodded. Seven continued, selecting her words with extreme care. "I realise this relationship may cause you concern, Captain, but it was not of our choosing. It simply 'happened' very suddenly."
"Oh, I know that, Seven. And you're right that I'm concerned about it." Janeway put down her cup and strained her neck again to look up at the former drone.
"I did not intend that you should be hurt in this way." Seven's voice was unusually gentle.
"Hurt? Why does everybody assume I'm jealous of you and Chakotay? First the Admiral, then Chakotay himself, and now you." Janeway stood up, unable to continue a conversation while her neck was stretched almost to the breaking point. "I think it's time to put the record straight on this subject. I am not jealous. I am, however, concerned for your future in this relationship. I admit that there was a time, about five years ago, when for just a few weeks, I thought maybe there was going to be something between Chakotay and me. When we were stranded together on New Earth, I thought we were going to be there for the rest of our lives. I didn't have much choice -- he was quite literally the only man in the world, so my options were limited. Fortunately, the writers decided not to pursue that course. There are thirty billion human males to choose from on Earth at this time, so why would I possibly want to be romantically involved with the man who has disagreed with just about every decision I've made for the past seven years?"
Seven of Nine stared at her captain, eyes wide with astonishment. Janeway put a maternal arm around the former Borg's shoulder.
"I'm concerned that you have been rushed into this relationship by Chakotay and the writers, with no regard for your own needs or aspirations. You have to understand that when human men attain a certain age, they frequently go through a mid-life crisis which can result in chasing after young attractive women and, during the twenty-first century at least, buying extremely impractical forms of transport. Although, given Chakotay's record with shuttle craft, I don't imagine he'd go that far." Janeway paused at Seven's expression of dawning comprehension. "Seven?" she asked.
"I am curious, Captain. What is a Ferrari?"
"Oh, Seven!" Janeway led Seven to a couch and spent the next half hour explaining the theory of the male menopause.
When a subdued and slightly dazed Seven of Nine finally left her ready room, Janeway felt in urgent need of another dose of caffeine and ordered two more cups of coffee, then had the computer mute the door chimes and initiate her highest security lock codes on the doors. She thought it unlikely that Seven of Nine or Tuvok would return to disturb her, and they were the only two people on board with the expertise to override her personal command codes. Janeway leaned back against the cushioned seat. She closed her eyes, inhaling the fragrant steam from her cup.
"Bridge to Janeway." Harry Kim's voice sounded loud over the comm system in the almost silent room. "Captain, we're receiving a subspace communication from the Delta Quadrant. It's flagged 'Urgent and personal' for you."
Janeway frowned. In theory, with the series ended, there should have been no more contact with the Delta Quadrant. Intrigued and concerned in equal measure, Janeway replied: "Put it through to my ready room, Harry."
"Acknowledged. The message is diverted." Kim's voice hesitated, then: "Captain, when you have a few minutes, there's something I need to discuss with you."
Janeway almost gave an audible groan. "Harry, Commander Chakotay deals with personnel problems."
"It's personal rather than personnel, Captain. I'd really prefer to discuss it with you."
"I'll get back to you, Ensign." Janeway cut the comm link before Kim could respond.
For just a brief moment as she activated her computer console, Janeway wondered whether by some miracle, the Admiral could have survived her encounter with the Borg Queen and was now trying to contact her. The spotted, hair-rimmed face that appeared on her screen instantly drove that hope from her mind.
"Captain! Congratulations on your return to the Alpha Quadrant!" Neelix beamed from the screen.
Janeway smiled at the Talaxian, secure in the knowledge that at least one member of her crew was already happily settled in his new 'life after Voyager'.
"Thank you, Neelix. How are things in the Delta Quadrant?"
"Ah. Er, well that's what I wanted to speak to you about." Neelix squirmed awkwardly in his chair, and Janeway felt a sense of deep foreboding. "There's been a bit of a problem. You see, I er …that is, Dexa has …well, she's left me."
"Left you? Oh Neelix, surely it's not that bad? All couples have disagreements. I'm sure she'll be back before you know it." Janeway hoped she sounded more positive than she felt.
"I'm afraid not, Captain. She took Brax onto a Valesian transporter yesterday. They're headed for the home planet -- it's three months' journey away."
"But, I don't understand, Neelix. You were so happy together." Janeway grabbed for her second coffee cup.
"Yes, that's what I thought until that Valesian captain turned her head with his fancy talk and his fancy cargo. He offered her everything she'd ever dreamed of. She's gone, Captain."
"I'm so sorry, Neelix." Janeway didn't know what else to say to her ex-ambassador, morale officer, and chief cook.
"I'm sorry, too. Sorry I ever left Voyager. I was wondering, Captain. Is there any chance of rejoining your crew in the Alpha Quadrant?"
"The transwarp hub was destroyed when Voyager came through from the Delta Quadrant, Neelix," Janeway said. "There's no way for you to get here, and anyway, the series has finished. No one is going anywhere any more."
"But, Captain…."
"I'm sorry, Neelix. There's nothing I can do."
Janeway sat behind her desk, nursing another fresh cup of coffee and staring at the blank screen of her computer console. Her confrontation with Neelix had left her with an unfamiliar sense of helplessness. She could almost feel the looming dark of depression hovering somewhere just beyond her view. For seven years, she had found a way out of every desperate situation, resolved every problem. Now, suddenly, she was no longer in charge of her own destiny or that of her crew.
"Kim to Janeway." The voice from the comm link interrupted her thoughts again.
"Yes, Mr. Kim."
"Captain, if you could spare a few minutes now, I really do need to talk to you"
"Not now, Ensign."
"But, Captain...."
"I said, not now! Janeway out." She drained the cup of coffee in one long draught and then went over to the replicator again. "Computer..." Janeway paused, suddenly aware that she had consumed six, or was it seven, cups of coffee in less than an hour? She needed a distraction, something to take her mind off the decisions she knew she was soon going to have to make.
B'Elanna. Janeway realised that in all the confusion of their violent journey from the transwarp hub, and her subsequent interviews with half of her senior staff, she had yet to meet the newest member of Voyager's crew. She smiled with anticipation and headed for the turbolift.
The door to sickbay slid open at Janeway's approach, and a missile hurtled past her right ear as she entered the room. It made violent contact with the wall beside her head and clanged to the floor, close to where Tom Paris crouched with his arms over his head. Paris looked up at the Captain with a sickly, apologetic grin and picked up the metal bowl, then dived sideways as a hypospray whirled across the room towards him.
A tray of surgical instruments crashed to the floor, its volume competing with the wailing cries of a baby and the screaming roar of an enraged Klingon, as Voyager's Chief Engineer hurled abuse and medical equipment at her cowering husband.
"Lieutenant Torres!" Janeway rarely raised her voice, but the words cut through the noise like a shaft of phaser fire.
Torres froze, a dermal regenerator poised in mid-throw. The baby's cries sounded suddenly loud in the comparative quiet when Janeway held out her hand and Torres placed the regenerator in her upturned palm. Janeway handed the instrument to the doctor.
"Is someone going to explain what's happening here?"
"Just a slight disagreement, Captain." Paris spoke from behind Janeway's shoulder, careful to keep her body between himself and his still glowering wife.
"Lieutenant Torres objected to Mr Paris's suggestion of a name for the baby." The Doctor had emerged from behind a nearby bio-bed and was sidling towards Janeway.
"Arachnia! He wanted to call our baby Arachnia!" Torres's lips curled in a snarl.
"It was a joke, B'Elanna. Just a joke," Paris pleaded.
"I don't think Lieutenant Torres found it amusing," the Doctor said from behind Janeway's other shoulder.
"I suggest you settle this matter. Now," Janeway said. She turned abruptly and gestured to the Doctor to follow her into his office. "What was that all about?" she asked him.
"Lieutenant Torres is suffering from post-natal depression. In Klingons, the condition can lead to outbursts of violence."
"Can you help her?"
"There are certain drugs available in this century, but I doubt they will be compatible with Klingon physiology."
"B'Elanna's half human. Can't you replicate something more suitable for her?" Janeway watched through the transparent walls of the office as Torres slumped onto a couch and Paris put his arm around her.
"I can only replicate what is already in the computer data base. I've never had to treat this particular condition before. Now that we're back in a pre-warp era, with no script or storyline, I can no longer initiate new and innovative treatments." The Doctor followed Janeway's gaze into Sick Bay. "I'm sorry, Captain. But my options are severely restricted now the series has ended."
"What are we going to do, now that we're back? " she asked. "Twenty-first century Earth is no place for a starship crew."
"Speaking for myself, I already have several projects in hand," the Doctor said with a self-satisfied smile. "Apparently, I'm very popular with the fans. I have already written several chapters of a handbook for holograms, which I believe will be eminently suitable for publication in any century. I also intend to begin negotiations with various opera houses, and I understand that convention appearances can be quite lucrative." He frowned at Janeway's lack of response. "Captain? Is something wrong?"
"Wrong?" Janeway gestured towards the Sickbay. "Look around you, Doctor. What's going to happen to them?"
"I believe Lieutenant Paris has plans to become a director of cult horror movies."
The horror on Janeway's face would have gratified Tom Paris had she been in the audience, watching one of his creations. "I can't allow this to happen." Her voice was little more than a whisper.
"I'm afraid you no longer have a choice, Captain."
"I've never had a choice, Doctor. For seven years, I've been flung about the galaxy at the whim of writers and producers, whose sole aim has been to increase ratings." Janeway began to pace behind the Doctor's desk. "They've introduced us to countless dangerous aliens and spatial anomalies, tortured us, destroyed Voyager itself on several occasions, and I have died more times than all the other Star Trek captains put together. Well, I've had enough." She banged her fist down on the desk, and the Doctor jumped back in alarm. "I'm not going to let it end like this. They wanted a strong, resourceful Captain, and that's exactly what they've got!"
Straightening, Janeway pressed her comm badge. "Janeway to all senior officers. Meet me in the briefing room in five minutes." She strode out into the Sickbay. "That means you too, Lieutenants. Bring the baby with you -- she's as much a part of this as any of us."
Janeway left the Sickbay and headed for the nearest turbolift with renewed vigour in her stride. Her newfound determination faltered only slightly when the turbolift doors slid open to reveal Harry Kim's harassed features.
"Captain! I was on my way to see you," he said as she stepped into the lift.
"We have a briefing in four minutes, Ensign."
"I know, Captain. But I just wanted to talk with you about my plans for the future."
Janeway's eyes glazed as Kim's voice droned remorselessly above the slight hum of the turbolift.
"... and then Libby had this idea about finding an apartment near Starfleet Command." He stopped, and Janeway turned to look at him. "But none of that can happen now, can it? I mean, once we step off this ship, we're back in a time when Starfleet didn't even exist. Libby won't be born for nearly four hundred years." Kim looked as though he was about to burst into tears.
Janeway patted his shoulder. "Don't worry, Harry. That's something we're about to put right."
When Janeway entered the briefing room, the other officers were already seated around the table. She went over to her chair but remained standing behind it. Looking around at the expectant faces, she felt a sudden surge of pride. She'd led these people for seven long years, through every kind of hell the writers had chosen to throw at them, and still they trusted her to lead them into this next, most challenging phase of their lives.
Janeway leaned forward, her hands gripping the back of her chair.
"Well, we did it. We survived against all the odds for seven years, and now we've made it home. The only problem is that home isn't quite what we imagined. The ticker tape parades and glittering receptions are not going to happen. The writers have just abandoned us here, still in space. Yes, it's Alpha Quadrant space, but we're not actually home, are we?"
"We can make new lives for ourselves here on Earth," Chakotay interrupted.
"What kind of lives are they going to be, in a past when war and poverty combined with greed and personal ambition to produce a society that is going to destroy itself in the near future?" Janeway said, her eyes moving around the table to rest briefly on each of her senior officers. "No. Staying here is not an option after all we've been through together."
"What choice do we have?" Chakotay asked. "The series has finished. It's over."
"No. It's not over." Janeway said with a slight smile.
"Explain," Seven of Nine said.
"Reruns." Janeway replied.
"I don't understand." Seven frowned.
"Our future lies in the success of reruns: repeat showings of the series around the world. The Original Series has been doing it successfully for more than thirty years. Captain Kirk and his crew are still boldly going where they've already been countless times before. We can do the same."
"I'm not sure we are popular enough with the viewing public to compete with The Original Series," Chakotay said doubtfully.
"Then we will just have to ensure that the fans don't forget us. We know from Mr. Paris's interest in this period of history that we must push the studio to make movies about us, encourage the actors to attend conventions, get onto DVDs and above all, encourage the fan fiction writers to keep posting new Voyager stories. As long as we keep ourselves in the public eye, we can make this work."
Janeway turned to look out through the viewport at the starlit void of space. "I think that deep down, most of us have known for some time that it's the journey, not the arrival, that is most important." She was silent for a moment and then turned back to face her crew. "Well, we're going to relive this journey again and again, in every corner of the world, just as Kirk and his crew are doing. We're going to live on in our own time, for a long time to come, and we're going to do it together, as a Starfleet crew."
Voyager's senior officers filed silently onto the Bridge, and Janeway took her seat in her Command Chair beside Chakotay. She leaned back against the familiar comfort of the upholstery and exchanged a glance with her First Officer, then looked around the Bridge at the expectant faces of her crew and said:
"Harry, set the ship's chronometer with a temporal feedback loop, on a seven year cycle. B'Elanna, program the warp core to emit a chronoton surge. Tom, lay in a course for the Badlands."
She gave a slight nod of confirmation. "Do it!"
