Star Trek: Voyager®: Full Circle

by Kirsten Beyer

  Dil was the first to greet him when he arrived in the warehouse that had become his family’s home.

  “Can’t wait to see her, huh?” Dil said, slapping Tom on the back cheerfully.

  “You’ve got that right.” Tom smiled.

  “It’s a shame, really,” Dil said.

  “What is?” Tom asked, dismayed.

  “She’s much too beautiful a ship to go under the name Unregistered Vessel 47658.”

  “You think?” Tom asked, realizing that of course Dil was more interested in the fantastic new toy B’Elanna had built than the woman herself. As Dil’s tastes ran toward more exotic and classically buxom women, and even in his darkest hours Tom had never questioned B’Elanna’s love for or devotion to him, Tom hadn’t lost a night’s sleep worrying that in spending so much time together, B’Elanna and Dil would have done anything that would have forced Tom to murder his old friend. Unfortunately, he’d had plenty of other fears to keep him up at night.

  “I have to admit, I never thought B would be able to re-create that crazy slipstream drive from scratch without Starfleet, the tech being classified and all, but damn if she didn’t. Guess the work she did with it in the DQ really sank in.”

  “She solved the phase variance problem?” Tom asked, his heart sinking. Frankly, he’d been hoping that this, the most difficult part of slipstream technology, might never be overcome and would force B’Elanna to reconsider.

  “She found a way around. A couple of algorithms I’ve never seen. She says they’re Borg inspired, which scares the crap out of me, but they sure seem to do the trick for the little UV. I don’t think they’d be as effective at compensating on a larger scale, but then again…”

  “Did she finish the defensive systems?”

  “Hell, yes. I wouldn’t want to meet B’Elanna in a dark corner of space if she was pissed at me with the phasers and torpedoes she’s loaded the ship with. Do you have any idea where she came up with the idea for a transphasic torpedo?”

  “Nope,” Tom lied.

  “They’re a hell of a thing, at least what little I understand of the theory of them. Of course, she’d eat the schematics before she’d let me look at ’em.”

  With good reason, Tom mused, as Starfleet had classified that device the moment Voyager had returned to the Alpha quadrant, right after B’Elanna had personally handed the schematics and the remaining ordnance to Starfleet.

  “But just wait until you see the holodeck,” Dil went on. “My girlfriend’s closet is bigger, but it’ll do the trick for little Miral.”

  Tears rose unbidden to Tom’s eyes at the casual ease with which Dil referred to his daughter. Oblivious, Dil continued, “I swear if there was an amount of latinum or Risan bath salts that would keep B’Elanna here, I’d gladly pay it. I’ve never in my life seen anyone as resourceful.”

  “If latinum was all it would take, my friend, I’d have stolen it long ago,” Tom replied.

  They navigated several rows of shelving loaded down with unknown containers before they entered into the open space at the end of the warehouse containing one of the most beautiful ships Tom had ever seen. Of necessity, she was a little larger than the Delta Flyer, but her lines were every bit as graceful and sleek.

  Part of Tom wanted to take a turn at the helm.

  The rest of him wanted to drop a photon torpedo on it.

  The aft hatch was open, and, bidding Dil farewell, Tom slid quietly inside.

  “B is for banana,” Tom heard B’Elanna’s voice say. “Banana. You love bananas. Can you say banana?”

  Tom hesitated to enter the forward compartment, as he was suddenly dying to know if Miral could.

  “Guh,” Miral’s halting voice stammered.

  “Banana,” B’Elanna repeated patiently.

  “Gunana,” Miral tried.

  “Almost. Try again. Banana,” B’Elanna said, enunciating each syllable. “Ba-na-na.”

  “Buh-ganana,” Miral finally said jubilantly.

  Tom stepped forward.

  “Buganana—that’s close enough,” he said, his heart torn to shreds at the sight of his wife seated on the floor of the cockpit with Miral in her lap sharing a banana.

  The instant she saw him B’Elanna’s face was filled with joy as she set down Miral and pulled Tom into a fierce hug. Several passionate kisses later she said, “I was terrified you weren’t going to get back here in time.”

  “In time for what?” Tom demanded. “You weren’t going to leave, were you?”

  “We’re ready, Tom,” she said, her eyes alight. “A few more tweaks and we can launch—before the week is out, I’m sure of it.”

  “You say that like it’s a good thing,” Tom replied.

  “Isn’t it?” she asked, her face clouding over. “The sooner we get out there the sooner—”

  “I know,” Tom cut her off. “I just…”

  Miral had lost all interest in the banana and had teetered over to her parents, but instead of jumping into her father’s arms, as her mother had, she firmly grabbed B’Elanna’s right leg and held on, staring up at Tom warily.

  She doesn’t remember me anymore, Tom thought, alarmed.

  Of course, given how little he’d seen of her in the last eighteen months, that was almost to be expected. Still, it rent his heart anew.

  Kneeling down to her level, Tom said softly, “Hi, beautiful. I’ve missed you so much. Do you have a hug for Daddy?”

  “Miral, go to your daddy,” B’Elanna encouraged her.

  Instead, Miral stayed put and managed to bury her face in B’Elanna’s leg.

  “Miral,” Tom gently coaxed again.

  A single eye poked out, toying with Tom.

  “Daddy?” she asked.

  “Come here, baby,” Tom said, reaching out for her.

  She didn’t unglue herself easily, but finally allowed Tom to pick her up. She continued to stare at him uncertainly, but at least she wasn’t pitching the fit Tom had feared. When it came to tempers, Tom didn’t think Miral would consider herself blessed to inherit either her mother’s or her father’s.

  “Do you want some more buganana?” Tom asked, nuzzling her forehead.

  “Don’t encourage her,” B’Elanna chided him.

  “Buganana,” Miral repeated, reaching toward the deck where the uneaten portion remained.

  Tom retrieved it for her, replying, “You parent your way, I’ll parent mine.”

  B’Elanna sighed deeply but let it pass.

  “How’s everyone?” she asked, obviously trying to change the subject.

  “On Voyager?”

  “Yes.”

  “According to Harry, we’ve gone from the Ship of Death to the Ship of the Bored to Death. He sends his love, by the way. And he picked up a couple of Taborian Puzzlemanias for Miral. I have them in my bag.”

  “I’m sure she’ll love them,” B’Elanna replied. “Last I heard, though, Starfleet found a Borg cube in the Alpha quadrant.”

  Tom didn’t really want to know how B’Elanna knew that. He’d heard about the cube the moment he’d arrived on Earth, about the Enterprise’s recent encounter with a vessel that had somehow gotten separated from the rest of the Collective and ended up in Federation space.

  “Chakotay says Admiral Janeway wanted to send Seven to investigate, but Captain Picard managed to solve the problem before she could get there.”

  “Why didn’t they send Voyager?” B’Elanna asked, as if that would have been the obvious thing for Starfleet to do.

  “We were in the middle of a mission at the Yaris Nebula, where I’m sure we were much more useful counting baby stars and scanning uninhabited systems,” Tom replied with disdain. When B’Elanna said nothing more, Tom went on, “So if you’re worried about Voyager’s duties becoming too hazardous for you to return, you really can put those fears to rest.”

  “You know that’s not what I’m worried about,” B’Elanna said a little more forcefully. “Kahless says the Warriors of Gre’thor are just bidi
ng their time, waiting for the right moment.”

  “The Warriors of Gre’thor don’t have the slightest idea where you are right now. And even if they found you one day on Voyager, we’d take them. You know that. Oh, and while we’re on the subject, when exactly did Kahless’s wishes become more important than your husband’s?”

  “Please, Tom, let’s not do this again.”

  “You’re getting ready to leave the quadrant, and you’re taking our daughter with you. I’d say we have at least one more discussion in us before that happens.”

  “It’s not forever, Tom,” B’Elanna fired back. “If I could return to Voyager without putting the lives of those I love most in terrible danger, don’t you think I’d do it?”

  “We’re all in danger every day we serve in Starfleet,” Tom countered. “Hell, I’d take the Warriors of Gre’thor over Species 8472 or the Swarm or the Voth any day.”

  “That was different. We didn’t have a choice when we were in the Delta quadrant. We do now.”

  “I’m pretty sure at several points in our lives together you’ve reminded me that running away from my problems was nothing but a temporary solution.”

  “I’m not running away,” B’Elanna insisted. “I’m going out there for a reason. And once I’ve done what I need to do, you and I and Miral will be a real family again and we won’t have to run from anyone. You agreed to stick to the plan. It’s the only way.”

  Tom knew a B’Elanna wall when he saw one.

  “Swear it,” he said softly.

  “I’ll do better than that,” she replied.

  After a bit of private time back in B’Elanna’s quarters, with Dil happily watching over Miral, they returned to the warehouse and Tom found himself going over his wife’s launch preparations with a fine-tooth comb. He had to admit, she’d thought of everything, right down to a holographic nanny, a Klingon who bore an uncanny resemblance to Kularg.

  At the end of that day, just when Miral had finally warmed up to him, Tom bid them both farewell. He went first to San Francisco to tell his parents a necessary, painful lie: that he and B’Elanna had decided to separate. This had also been at B’Elanna’s insistence. If the Warriors of Gre’thor were going to accept the big lie, which was still several carefully plotted months away, they had to believe first that B’Elanna and Miral were on their own, separated from anyone who might come to their aid. Tom’s parents were the first, but eventually, Tom would have to make this known more publicly for it to reach T’Krek’s ears.

  In doing so, Tom had shattered irrevocably the peace he had established with his father. Owen had harangued his son mercilessly for failing in his duty as a husband and a father, and Tom had been so stung by his remarks that he had responded in kind.

  Tom had then returned to Voyager, and literally begun to count the days until the heart he had left behind in a warehouse in Montana would once again be returned to him.

  Julia hadn’t thought her son could look worse than the night he had come home and told her and Owen that his marriage was over. Seated in the hospital corridor, hunched over in a terribly uncomfortable chair, his head resting in his hands, she could actually see the weight of the universe dragging Tom down. He looked smaller than she could ever remember.

  She had been moving through a fog of grief and shock for the last two weeks. As she approached Tom, part of her worried that if she got too close, he might evaporate before her eyes.

  She was grateful when he looked up to see her standing a few meters away and immediately rose to take her in his arms.

  Julia had promised herself that she was done with crying. She had always believed the day would come when a couple of clean-cut ensigns would arrive at her door to tell her that her husband had been killed in the line of duty. It hadn’t happened exactly that way. There had been too much chaos on high for such niceties at the peak of the Borg invasion. She had been alone, watching the Federation News Service, when she learned of the destruction of Starbase 234, and she had been forced to wade through hours of uncertainty before confirmation finally arrived that Owen was dead.

  Her first thought had been to try and reach Tom. That had proved impossible until the threat had passed days later. This was the first time they had laid eyes on each other, let alone spoken, since Owen’s death. In what had felt like the endless interim, she had survived on his swiftly worded communiqués updating her on Voyager’s progress and expected return to Earth.

  The moment she felt Tom’s strong arms around her, the tears began to pour forth again. He allowed her to sob until she had exhausted herself, then gently drew her toward the chair where he had been sitting.

  She was suddenly aware of the most strange and ethereal music and actually wondered if she might not be imagining it.

  “Do you hear that?” Julia asked her son.

  “The music?”

  Julia nodded.

  Tom knelt before his mother, taking both her hands in his, and replied, “Do you remember Harry’s former fiancée, Libby Webber?”

  Lately Julia was hard-pressed to remember what she’d had for breakfast, but the name almost rang a bell.

  “She’s a concert musician, specializing in a Ktarian stringed instrument called the lal-shak. She’s actually kind of famous. Anyway, I don’t know how she found out about Harry, but his parents told me that ever since he arrived, she’s been here. She rarely leaves his side, and most of the time she plays for him. He’s in a coma, but the doctor still thinks it might be comforting. Mr. and Mrs. Kim were adamant that she be allowed to stay. I don’t think she’s left his side for a week.”

  “That’s lovely,” Julia said.

  “I guess.” Tom shrugged. “She broke his heart, a couple of times now. And she told me the other day she’s actually getting married in a couple of weeks.”

  “To whom?”

  “I don’t know, Mom. I think she said his name was Aidan…Fletcher maybe.”

  “Darling, he’s a director of Starfleet Intelligence, isn’t he?”

  Tom paused, clearly taking this in.

  “Hmm,” he finally murmured.

  “What?”

  “Maybe that’s why she turned poor Harry down,” Tom said ungenerously. “Guess she thought she could do better.”

  Julia considered this for a moment before realizing that it was nowhere near as important as what she had meant to say to her son the moment she saw him.

  “Tom, your father never meant what he said to you that night.”

  “I know—” Tom began, but she went on, as the words she’d been holding back for Owen’s sake finally came pouring forth.

  “He loved you and B’Elanna and Miral so. He was terribly disappointed, of course. But he shouldn’t have blamed you. He knew there was more to it than that. He just—”

  “Mom,” Tom cut her off. “I know.”

  Julia was bewildered. Even at Admiral Janeway’s funeral her husband and son, united in their grief, hadn’t been able to find a civil word to say to one another.

  “How?” she asked.

  “He told me,” Tom said, clutching her hands tighter. “He sent a message, just before…” Tom swallowed hard. “He said he was sorry. He said…everything I needed to hear.”

  Tom trailed off before his own grief reasserted its stranglehold upon him.

  Julia, whose gratitude to her husband for this final gesture was now beyond words, gently pulled Tom’s head toward her heart and held him there as she had so often when he was a boy. Back then there was no problem so big that her arms and a few comforting words couldn’t solve. These days it seemed woefully inadequate, but was truly all she had to offer.

  Finally, Tom pulled away and rose.

  “How are you holding up?” he asked.

  Julia smiled faintly. “The universe all but came to an end a few days ago. But we’re still here. I don’t understand why we were spared.”

  “It has to be enough that we were,” Tom replied. “We’re never going to know the reasons why. But
as long as we are still here, we owe it to ourselves and to those who didn’t survive to make the best of it.”

  Julia gazed up at Tom, fierce pride welling inside her. Rising, she placed her hands on either side of his face and replied, “You’re so like him, do you know that?”

  “Like Dad?” Tom asked, almost incredulously.

  Julia nodded firmly.

  “He would have been so proud of what you’ve done, leading your crew through this savagery. It’s what he would have done.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” Tom replied softly.

  A soft hiss of the door behind them sounded, and Julia ended their embrace and attempted to collect herself. A lovely young woman emerged, her long black hair caught up in a disheveled ponytail and her face betraying deep-set lines of worry.

  “Don’t mind me,” she said quickly, and started down the hall.

  “Wait,” Tom insisted. “Libby, this is my mother, Julia Paris.”

  Libby extended her hand, and Julia took it graciously, saying, “What a tremendous gift you have. Your music is enchanting.”

  Libby blushed under the compliment. “Thank you. It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  Julia nodded and replied, “Thank you. But my son tells me congratulations are in order for you. You are engaged to be married?”

  Libby looked lost for only a moment, then said, “Oh, yes. I guess I am.”

  “In the shadow of these dark days, any ray of hope is welcome, my dear. Embrace the happiness that is before you, for it is upon such simple joys that the rest of us will have to begin to rebuild.”

  “Thank you,” Libby replied, her voice thick. “I will.”

  “Are you going home?” Tom asked.

  “No,” Libby replied. “They’re not going to wake him up until tomorrow morning. I just needed to get some coffee.”

  “Allow me, dear,” Julia said. “I could use some myself.”

  “Mom…”

  “I’ll be right back,” Julia insisted, and strode away, her head held high.