The Autobiography of Kathryn Janeway

by Una McCormack

  There were naturally debriefing sessions where my own judgement came under scrutiny, not least my decision to separate the DNA of Tuvok and Neelix at the cost of Tuvix. What can I say? I myself am unsure of the rights and wrongs of that decision, and thinking about what I might have done differently will continue to haunt me for the rest of my life. I also felt a deep and continuing responsibility toward the lives lost during our voyage home, and especially the crew members lost on that first, terrible day in the Delta Quadrant. I paid a visit to the relatives of each person that I lost, to return personal effects, and to bring home memories of them too. People like Joe Carey, Lyndsay Ballard… Even Lon Suder had a mother who’d missed him. Visiting the family of my old friend Laurie Fitz was by far one of the hardest things I have ever done. I have never stopped regretting asking him to come aboard Voyager. He was a fine doctor, and a good friend, and his death is one of the biggest regrets of my life.

  * * *

  While there was no question for me that my future lay in Starfleet, this was not the case for many others that served on Voyager. I would say that no more than a third of the people who returned to the Alpha Quadrant continued in Starfleet, and most left within the first eighteen months of our return. Speaking to some of these at our regular reunions, they tell me that they found it hard to fit back into the old routines, and the distance between their own experiences, and those of colleagues who had come through the Dominion War, was too great to bridge. Voyager had been their home, but Starfleet no longer felt that way. They would have continued to serve under my command, but that was not an option. Voyager, my fine ship, was decommissioned shortly after our return. The wear and tear of those seven years had been too hard on her, and what had been state-of-the-art technology had fallen behind the rapid technological advances necessitated by the Dominion War. Voyager had served her purpose, even as she retained, in the minds of those had served on her, her status as home.

  But even without a ship, and even as so many of us moved on, we have kept a kind of cohesion as a crew. We have regular reunions, and even a kind of base. Tiring of my pleasant but impersonal quarters at Starfleet Command, and realizing that it was time to have a real home once again, I have found myself a place on the Irish coast, in County Clare. A fine old Georgian country house, with plenty of bedrooms and a roaring fire, where you can “tuck up warm,” as the locals say, after a day walking along the Wild Atlantic Way. (Those coastal paths are marvelous for walking the dog.) We hold all our reunions there, and of course the house is open to any of my old crew, whenever they need it, whether I am there or not. A haven—not Fair Haven, perhaps, but better, because it is real. The crew of my first command remain just that— My Crew—and I hope they know that their captain will always be there for them. Our experience was unique, and while a great deal has been written about us, or said about us, it’s only we ourselves who understand what it was really like.

  Some, like me, have stayed in Starfleet. Surely the most successful of these was Harry Kim, now captain of his own ship. My last act as captain of Voyager was to give him a long overdue promotion to lieutenant. I would have skipped a couple of ranks if I’d been able: Harry surely deserved it. (His speed of promotion since has made up for it, however.) I finally met his parents, and apologized for not picking up his clarinet, and also his fiancée, now his wife, Libby. I would say that of all of us, Harry has had the most success integrating back into his old life in the Alpha Quadrant. To some extent, I think that this was because such a substantial part of him was always still there. He was the one who had set the most store by returning home, who was young enough to keep his optimism alive, when the rest of us on some level believed we were stuck for good. But Harry’s trust paid off in the end, and he’s a father of four now. That keeps him out of trouble.

  Tuvok too had no trouble returning to his old life, although this was for slightly different reasons from Harry. His family life and career in the Alpha Quadrant were so well established that seven years was a relatively small part of the whole. Tuvok always kept things in perspective. He had been married for many years, his children were more or less grown-up, and, while he missed the birth of his granddaughter, she was still young when he returned (I was there when he met her, and I am sure that I saw something suspiciously close to a tear in his eye). He was there for the arrival of all seven subsequent grandchildren. I am very glad to be able to report that the degenerative neurological condition that the Doctor diagnosed shortly before our return to the Alpha Quadrant was indeed cured quickly after a mind-meld with Sek, and that there have been no side effects or recurrences. Tuvok has had a long career at Starfleet Intelligence since our return, although he spends increasing amounts of time in meditation back at home on Vulcan, and I suspect that his retirement there is coming soon.

  What of Voyager’s unlikely lovebirds, Tom Paris and B’Elanna Torres? Who would have believed that a relationship that began against the backdrop of a Maquis ship, was sparked by being flung together seventy thousand light-years from everything familiar, and was watched avidly by all their colleagues, would have had such success? And their marriage has been by any measure a tremendous success. Tom Paris was one of those who decided that Starfleet was no longer for him—or, perhaps, in his case, he no longer needed it. Tom, returning to the Alpha Quadrant, found that he had no need now to prove himself to his father. More than that, the desire was no longer there. The physical distance had been enough to establish the necessary emotional distance. He could love his father, and respect him, but he no longer had the desperate need for his attention or approval that had sent him off on such a destructive path. Tom’s service on Voyager spoke for itself. Within six months he had resigned his commission. He and B’Elanna have a home in the south of France, near the coast, where Tom looks after the children and now has a successful second career writing holodramas (my mother was of help here), and flying whenever he can. You’ll of course know him as the creator of Captain Proton. Altogether, it’s a good way of life for Tom. He is completely content. I hear on the grapevine that he’s thinking of renovating an old movie theater…

  It is B’Elanna who has stayed in Starfleet, finding that her experience on Voyager, and the seniority and respect it earned her, has more than wiped away the disappointment of her time in the Academy. About a year after our return, she confided in me that she was self-conscious of the fact that she had not, technically, graduated from the Academy. You know, the thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. If anyone has graduated from the University of Life, it’s B’Elanna Torres. I put her name forward for an honorary doctorate, based on her service on Voyager and her exceptional work as my chief engineer, and I am glad to say that the Academy accepted the nomination with alacrity. It was a source of great pride to me to be able to give the citation, to see her in her finery accepting her degree, Tom bursting with pride alongside her, little Miral clutching their hands. This honor was the least that B’Elanna deserved. After her difficult and confusing childhood and setting herself on a course to self-destruction at nineteen, she has matured into a bold, fierce, intelligent, and capable woman, the heart of a loving family. On her return to Earth, she was able to reconnect with her father, John, and reestablish that relationship. She has found a large family back on Earth: cousins, and their children, all of whom have welcomed her.

  Tom and B’Elanna have a son now too, Eugene Owen, and he is the apple of his mother’s eye. Dear lord, all of those who know B’Elanna as stubborn, cranky, and entirely immune to flattery marvel at the sight of her with her son. She melts like butter when he is around. With Miral she enjoys a bond so grounded in love that even the tumults and clashes that inevitably come from putting two strong-willed women in the same household cannot shake it. It is as if B’Elanna has had the chance to revisit and rework her relationship with her own mother in a way that has allowed her to transform it. There are quarrels, of course there are, but Miral has never doubted that her mother loves her, and that makes all the difference.
Besides, she has Tom wrapped around her little finger. She has a huge amount of his charm, as well as his daredevil approach, and a fine dash of his confidence. I have no doubt that whatever she chooses to do in life, she will make a huge success.

  What about Owen, my old captain, now Admiral Paris? I wondered, when Tom announced his resignation from Starfleet, whether Owen was putting on a brave face about the news, but, having spoken to him about it, I know that this is not the case. He is genuinely, unconditionally proud of Tom—and completely besotted with Miral. Watching them, I see how grandchildren have the capability of transforming the bonds between parent and child: in Miral, Owen is given a chance to make good the mistakes he made with Tom. He can encourage her, and, most of all, he can enjoy her. She is not, ultimately, his responsibility—although she is his joy. Miral may yet choose Starfleet— although she is as stubborn as her mother and as wild as her father. I think she would make a superlative test pilot. When I see her, I remember twelve-year-old Tom Paris, having the time of his life on the flight simulators. Maybe Aunt Kate can take her out there soon. It comes in handy sometimes, having an admiral or two in the family.

  What of those crew members who only existed because of Voyager, who would not now be living their lives had it not been for the fact that we brought them into existence? What about our Doctor, for example, who came online after the death of my dear Laurie Fitz, and who has surely exceeded whatever expectations his programmers might have had? I think the Doctor might be the one who has most embraced life after the Delta Quadrant. And why not? His mobile emitter allowed him to travel wherever he liked, and the matter of his sentience was resolved as soon as the Starfleet tech experts encountered him… I naturally hesitate to say “in the flesh,” which would surely be offensive; in person surely covers it. Could anyone, meeting the Doctor, doubt his personhood? Recognized as sentient, recognized as his own person, the Doctor was able to do whatever he chose. He promptly resigned from Starfleet and has taken up the cause of photon rights (my mother, ever the activist, has been a great help, and they talk about collaborating on a children’s book, explaining the issues involved). It is surely only a matter of time before the law catches up with the reality. He lives a very full and busy life, attending concerts, playing golf with Reg Barclay, driving a very fast car. Of all of us, he’s the one that most embraced his celebrity status. It helps his cause, and, it must be said, he enjoys being in the limelight. I see no relationship on the horizon. (A side note here on Reg Barclay, our honorary crew member, who fought in our corner for so long. I was proud to be there to see him collect his Daystrom Prize, for his work in establishing the first two-way transgalactic communication. An honor richly deserved.)

  Perhaps the person that I worried about most was Seven of Nine. Our arrival back in the Alpha Quadrant, and the subsequent disbanding of Voyager’s crew, meant that her “collective” was coming to an end. I was always concerned that this would be a kind of second trauma for her, the removal of support structures that had helped her in those first few tentative steps toward regaining her humanity. Her nascent relationship with my first officer, while short-lived, was crucial here, giving her some continuity with her Voyager days, while allowing her to make the transition to a new way of life. With Chakotay, she made a journey back out to the world where she grew up, and with his guidance, was able to lay a few ghosts of the past to rest. Although she has never discussed this with me directly, I understand obliquely from Chakotay that Seven has passed through what was surely a necessary stage of anger with her parents for their part in her assimilation into the Borg. She should never have been on that ship with them and, while she cannot change the past, she can come to terms with it.

  Seven has reconnected with her family, most notably her aunt, although the gap between the memory of six-year-old Annika and the reality of Seven herself must have been a hard one for Irene to come to terms with. Seven spends a great deal of time with Samantha Wildman’s family, remaining as close as ever to Naomi, who is, in effect, a much-loved younger sister. Samantha’s spouse, Greskrendtregk, has accepted this extension to his family with equanimity. But where Seven has truly come into her own is through her work. She is, of course, of tremendous importance to Starfleet, not only as their special advisor and expert on the Borg, but also because of her phenomenal skills and talents. She is a key member of a significant Federation think tank, where she has access to whatever resources she requires. This is a fascinating group (I understand there are several augmented human members), although Seven does not often speak of their work in detail. And of course, there is still Icheb, whom I put in her care all those years ago, and for whom she has always come through.

  And what of my first officer? What of Chakotay? How has he fared on his return to the Alpha Quadrant? I was not surprised, when the moment came, to see that it was the special circumstance of Voyager that allowed Chakotay to become Starfleet again. He resigned his commission after eighteen months back in the Alpha Quadrant, whereupon he and B’Elanna took a journey out to the old DMZ to pay their respects to their fallen Maquis comrades. Since then he has spent a long time traveling around North America, and also around colony worlds settled by Native Americans. He sees himself as doubly dispossessed: his ancestors forced from their lands when my ancestors arrived, and then his own family removed from their home when the DMZ was formed. He has found himself a task in life, reconnecting these places, learning about their histories and traditions, healing, perhaps, some of the wounds caused by those multiple evictions. He often drops out of communication for months at a time, suddenly turning up again, sending me a message from wherever he is, or arriving without warning at my mother’s farm (my mother likes him very much). Sometimes he accepts a university post, where he will teach history for a while, before returning to his travels. When he is on Earth, we see each other every week, as we always did; he comes to my home in Ireland for dinner, and we talk about how life brought us together, and where it might take us next. My dog loves him.

  * * *

  I am, of course, Starfleet till I die. I dreamed of captaining my own ship as a little girl, and I worked hard, kept dreaming, and turned that dream into reality. Being a Starfleet captain turned out very different from how I imagined it would be. I made many mistakes along the way, and there are some decisions to which I am still not entirely reconciled, but I did my best in unusual circumstances. I hope history won’t judge me too harshly.

  What of my life now? It is full, it is busy. I am an admiral, with all the responsibilities and headaches that entails. There are perhaps too many briefings in my life, and not enough ship time. Still, I would not have it any other way. When I am weary of talking to others, or listening to others, or have become tired of being inside, I walk down to the academy campus, where my career started all those years ago, and I find the rose garden. Sometimes Boothby (yes, he’s still there) steals an hour or two of my time to help him, and I feel better for it, as I always did. Whenever I visit, there are roses on my desk the next day, as reward for my efforts. I go whenever I can.

  I will be there later this morning, not in my capacity as under-gardener, but in dress uniform, as Admiral Kathryn M. Janeway, where I shall be giving the commencement speech to this year’s new crop of graduates. I have done this speech two or three times in the past: I love this task above all. What a joy to see these young people, at the very start of their careers, so full of life and hope and ambition. It reminds me that my job now, above all, is to create the conditions whereby they can flourish in Starfleet and have long and productive careers, marked chiefly by exploration rather than by conflict. I find it a great responsibility.

  I shall speak to them about courage, and how life can take you around the long way, and how they might find themselves having to answer questions that they never anticipated, and that they may not like the answer that they come up with. But most of all I want to tell them that there is no better job, and no better life, and that if I had my time over, I would do the
same again. Every graduating class is special, but forgive me if this one is particularly special, because this time the audience includes one Ensign Amelia Janeway.

  She is, of course, my daughter. My mother and Phoebe, believing me dead, and receiving all my worldly goods, including my frozen eggs, could not help themselves, and decided to have something of me live on. Phoebe and Yianem have brought her up among their girls, although she has always known who she is, in truth. Three mothers: how lucky can one girl be! Not to forget all those others who will be looking out for her across the years, within Starfleet and without: Commanders Torres and Tuvok, Captain Kim and Admiral Paris, Tom and the Doctor and Seven and Chakotay. They would do anything for her. Later, after she has graduated, our whole family—my mother, her daughters, her granddaughters, all the grandparents—will gather together and celebrate her success. Tomorrow morning we will go flying together, and that evening she will join me and Chakotay for dinner. Life is full of surprises: you can be whisked away at a moment’s notice, and then come back to treasures that you did not know you had left behind. This life of mine has been a good life—and will, I hope, long continue to be so.

  EDITOR UNA’S ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My grateful thanks to:

  Cat Camacho—for fine editorial guidance, and for giving the trolley solution to the Tuvix problem.

  Max Edwards—for being such a mensch.