(By Penny A. Proctor.  See Chapter 1 for disclaimers)

March 31, 2430

The party. He hadn't thought about the party for years. Despite the late hour, Jake poured through his padds until he found the one he wanted, the one he had recorded fifty years ago that very night - his own notes from the night Starfleet and the Federation finally welcomed Voyager home. In some ways, these were the notes that started him on his obsession with Kathryn Janeway.

 

Dictated Notes of Jake Sisko, dated March 31, 2380

Man, what a party. It's like Starfleet hoped that if they threw a bash that was big enough and important enough, no one would notice that it was really, really late. Voyager made it home six months ago but that little fact, and all the legal wranglings that have gone on since, are best forgotten tonight. Tonight, at last, is about celebrating the fact that the Lost are Found once more, thanks to a combination of raw courage, blind determination, and dumb luck.

(I heard a Voyager crewman say that tonight – I think her name was Gilmore. It sounds good. Have to use it if I ever go further with this idea.)

Everybody who is anybody in the Federation was there last night. Even President Jaresh-Inyo and his wives came, and they are notorious for avoiding social functions. The last time anything on this scale happened was the celebration of the end of the War. Mala Nwasi got the assignment from FNS – she gets all the glitz and glitter work – so I almost didn't make it. Fortunately, the Bajorans still regard me as the son of the Emissary, so Ambassador Poremb included me in his party when I asked. Dad, if you can hear this, thanks.

It was weird being a guest, not a reporter. I couldn't turn off my "ear." (Okay, I was studying everybody. You didn't have to be an empath to sense a lot of different emotions in the room.)

Necheyev and Jellico came together. (Note -- They've been seen together a lot lately – anything to it? Find out.) I swear, Necheyev hired someone to paint that smile on her face – I've never seen anyone so damned determined to look happy. One of the funniest things I've ever seen was when Chakotay came over to shake her hand – Mala was about a meter away, so the Admiral had to be gracious, but she was as stiff as if she were shaking hands with a cobra.

The Firsters are wounded but not dead. They're probably going to lick their wounds for a while then strike again. The fight isn't over.

Annika Hansen – Seven of Nine – whatever she calls herself – arrived with Zimmerman, Barclay, and the Voyager EMH. In the immortal words of Julian Bashir, wow. Wow. The woman wore a dress that covered her from neck to ankle and was still the sexiest thing in the room. The Borg should have used her as a recruiting poster – millions of men would have volunteered for assimilation. But I don't think she's got a clue about the effect she has on anyone afflicted with testosterone. She seemed uncomfortable with the attention she was generating, and was quick to take the arm of the EMH.

 

"Ms. Hansen, I'm Mala Nwasi from FNS. Can you share your thoughts on tonight's events?"

"In my opinion, this celebration is overdue. Captain Janeway and the crew should have been recognized for their achievements as soon as they returned to the Alpha quadrant."

"Why did you apply for Vulcan citizenship when your parents were citizens of Earth, albeit through colonial ties?"

"I fail to see why that is relevant."

"Please, Ms. Hansen, the public wants to know."

Annika Hansen – Seven of Nine – looked uncertainly at her companion, the EMH with the unprecedented mobility. He leaned into the microphone. "Seven feels more comfortable in an atmosphere of logic and emotional discipline."

"But surely, as a human being, you must find the Vulcan approach to life restrictive." Mala completely ignored the hologram.

Annika Hansen took note, and straightened. "I find that Vulcans generally are far more cognizant of their surroundings and courteous to strangers."

But the EMH did not need a champion. "We felt that Seven had a better chance of avoiding vivisection if she were a citizen of Vulcan."

Mala's eyes widened. "Ah, ah, yes, well… you… you're a sentient hologram, aren't you?"

"Correct." The Doctor's eyes gleamed.

"But I understand that Starfleet has declared you to be the property of Dr. Lewis Zimmerman."

Zimmerman, who had been standing aside, stepped forward and clapped a hand on the shoulder of the hologram. "That is an interim step until we can establish sentience. The Doctor is as deserving of recognition of intelligent life as you are." He stopped, and ran his eyes up and down Mala, then added, "maybe more."

 

Mala is great with a debate on hem lengths, but she was out of her league with that group.

Captain Janeway arrived with a large group that included her mother, Admiral Patterson, her sister and brother-in-law, her former fiancée and his wife, Commander Chakotay, and Commander Tuvok with his wife, three sons, two daughters-in-law and daughter. Starfleet had finally approved all of Janeway's field commissions, promotions and commendations and most of the former Maquis had chosen to remain in the service, at least for a while. Few of them had any home left to go back to, and Starfleet at least provided a haven while they re-acclimated themselves to the post-War Alpha quadrant.

I began to notice something odd. All the men were coming in dress uniform, the stark white that had been adopted a few years ago. Most of the women, including Janeway, were in formal evening gowns. The result was terrific – a lot of really gorgeous women in dresses that flattered them and added some color to the evening. I thought Captain Janeway looked especially good. I hadn't seen her since the end of the Maquis trial, and she looked rested, even younger. The deep blue dress fit her like a column of smoke and turned more than a few eyes. I had not seen her laugh before, and she did a lot of that last night. It made her sparkle.

The Paris contingent was even bigger. Admiral Paris and his wife, Tom Paris and B'Elanna Torres, three Paris daughters and their husbands, Torres' mother (on the arm of Lt. Commander Worf, who was sent as the personal representative of Chancellor Martok), Lt. Kim and his parents and a petite, pretty Bajoran woman that I was pretty certain was from the Voyager crew but couldn't place immediately.

B'Elanna Torres stopped a few conversations herself. She wore a black dress with tiny little straps and deep slit on one side. Stunning. (If all the women on Voyager looked like the Captain, Torres and Seven of Nine, I don't know how the men ever got any work done. It must have been fantasy central.) Admiral Paris couldn't wait to show her off; he dragged her away from conversations with others at least three times that I saw.

 

"Come with me, B'Elanna, I want to introduce you to Ambassador Gorlo." Admiral Paris didn't wait for his daughter-in-law to answer, but linked his arm with hers and led her across the floor.

"I can't believe how much he's changed," Tom Paris said, watching them.

"Yes, he has changed. The War did that." His mother took his arm, but continued to look at her husband. "You know how he supported the Treaty of 2370. He honestly thought it was for the best. When the Cardassians allied with the Dominion, he was devastated."

"For pete's sake, Mom, anyone could see that coming. I never understood how Dad, of all people, could trust the Cardassians. Not after what they put him through."

"It was because of what he went through that he wanted the Treaty to work so badly. He wanted to spare you – to spare all of your generation – the war that would come if there was no Treaty."

Tom shook his head. "Some things you can't avoid, Mom. You just have to live through them as best you can."

Cinda Paris looked at him with an expression that almost glowed. "I know. So does your father. He has changed, Tom." Then she grinned. "He's changed, but not completely. He's still opinionated, stubborn and defensive when challenged. But he is so proud of you, Tom. When the first reports were received from Voyager, and we learned of everything you had done, I thought he was going to burst with pride."

Suddenly Tom Paris looked shy, almost embarrassed. "Well. He seems to have taken a shine to B'Elanna."

"And to his grandson. Tom, he loves you. And he loves little Harry, and I think he's well on his way to loving that remarkable woman you married. But don't kid yourself. Eventually the old problems are going to resurface."

"You mean, he doesn't realize that I've changed."

Cinda smiled. "You've changed, but not completely. You're still opinionated, stubborn and defensive when challenged."

He looked at her with surprise, but bit back his first impulsive words. Finally he smiled. "Sounds familiar."

"Oh, Tom." Cinda hugged him. "You are so much his son – and very much your own man. You don't have to try to fit into his vision for you any more. When the two of you argue – and you know you will – do me a favor and remember that."

 

I did a lot of eavesdropping last night. Couldn't seem to help myself. The table behind me, the group standing beside me, the people in front of me for the line at the bar…it really was shameless of me. But it was fascinating.

The senior staff of the Enterprise was there, although I have no idea why. I know Picard was on Janeway's jury and Troi worked on Project Pathfinder, but that hardly seems to justify pulling the Enterprise back to Earth from the Romulan border. Montgomery Scott arrived with them, which surprised me, since I thought he'd gone back to Timor colony after the Maquis trial.

 

"Neelix and I, we're going to open a pub right here in San Francisco."

Lt. Commander Tuvok raised an eyebrow. "A pub?"

"That's right." Neelix was beaming. "A real Aberdeen waterfront type of pub. Scotty's going to tend bar, and I'll handle the kitchen and the business end."

"I thought you were happy on Timor," Geordie Laforge said.

"Ah, so I was, laddie, so I was. But I'm getting too old to be a handyman, and besides, I've a yen to spend my golden years here on Earth now that I'm not a fugitive from justice any more."

"Golden years," LaForge scoffed. "You'll outlive us all."

"Have you actually sampled Mr. Neelix's cooking?" Tuvok asked.

"Yes, he has," Neelix answered quickly. "We could use a pastry chef, though. You should taste Tuvok's desserts, Scotty. He's a genius."

Tuvok straightened slightly. "Tempting as the offer is, I must decline. I will be returning to Vulcan tomorrow. Starfleet granted my request for an assignment near my family."

"Too bad," Scotty said, draining the contents of his glass. "I love a good dessert."

 

The other really big surprise came when I got in the line for the bar. Captain Picard and Commander Chakotay were directly in front of me. Neither of them noticed me, so I did my best to seem to be utterly disinterested in everything going on around me. It's something I learned to do during the occupation of DS9, and have gotten better at since.

"It’s good to see you in uniform again, Commander. It suits you."

"Thank you, Captain. Coming from you, I take that as high praise."

Picard glanced about, apparently making certain that no untrustworthy ears were pointed their direction. Either he didn’t see Jake, or didn’t count him as untrustworthy. "I know that you turned down an amnesty for your people to go on trial, and I want to thank you. That must have been hard for you, but the trial exposed the true nature of the Federation First movement. It was an important victory."

Chakotay looked at him with a bemused expression. "You make it sound like a war."

"In a way it is – the timeless war against repression in any form. I’m glad to see you back in uniform because we need people of your caliber with us to keep up the fight." He smiled. "What are your plans for the future?"

"We’ll be at the Academy for at least a year, as faculty and as students – we’ve got a lot of catching up to do. After that…" he shrugged. "It depends."

Picard nodded. "Yes, I heard that most of your senior staff would be at the Academy for a while, although I understand that Commander Tuvok is returning to Vulcan."

"Yes, he wants to be closer to his family."

"Who can blame him? Although I confess, I was hoping to persuade him to take a post on the Enterprise. I need a good Security officer."

Then the line moved again, and they suddenly they were at the bar and able to order drinks. Picard requested a glass of red wine and a glass of champagne, then Chakotay placed the identical order. "Champagne for the ladies?" Picard asked.

"My Captain believes that celebrations require champagne."

"A woman of discriminating taste." He lowered his voice again. "Commander, between the two of us, the Enterprise is going to need a first officer soon. Would you be interested?"

Jake had to control himself to avoid betraying his interest in the conversation. The Enterprise in need of a first officer? Was Riker finally taking a command of his own, or was Picard moving up to the Admiralty?

Chakotay did not seem to share his curiosity, and he was visibly careful with his phrasing. "I’m flattered, Captain, but there are a number of issues I need to work out before I can answer that."

Picard nodded. "I understand," he said as he accepted two glasses from the bartender. "Keep it in mind, though. If things don’t work out as you hope."

 

After cocktails, there was a formal dinner followed by a lot of speeches from admirals and dignitaries, most of whom had the good sense to be brief. Then came the inevitable round of toasting, most of it predictable. The entire crew of Voyager was apparently the "guest" of honor, because very few of the toasts focused on a single individual. I wonder if Janeway requested this. She seemed sufficiently embarrassed by the attention given to her crew, and acutely uncomfortable when any praise was sent in her direction.

There are two that I remember vividly this morning. The first was by Admiral Paris.

"Ex astris, scientia. It has been the motto of Starfleet since its earliest days. Our primary aim has been to find knowledge in the stars, from the farthest reaches of our galaxy. Voyager has brought us more knowledge than any of us ever dreamed – not just the dimensions of a hitherto unknown quadrant, or the composition of a natural particle fountain, or even just the characteristics of new cultures and societies. Voyager has brought us a new knowledge of ourselves - a realization that despite our differences, despite our histories, despite our weaknesses and vulnerabilities, we are stronger together. We can learn from each other and in the learning, become better than we were. Voyager has brought us the knowledge that there is hope for a future of peace. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the crew of the USS Voyager and her captain."

The other one I remember for a different reason. Rear Admiral Edward Jellico, author of the Treaty of 2370, avowed Firster, suspected agent of Section 31, rose coolly. Jellico had indeed been the only member of the court-martial panel who voted to convict Janeway, and his feelings were unmistakable as he gazed first at Chakotay, then at Janeway.

"The Federation provides our best hope for a society built on the principles of freedom, order and peace. Let us renew our dedication to its safety by pledging vigilance over its foundation and unrelenting enmity to those who would threaten it. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the United Federation of Planets."

No one missed the veiled threat in his words.

After dinner, there was dancing. Lots of dancing. I managed a few numbers myself – although not with a Voyager crewmember. The CMO from the Enterprise is a fantastic dancer. Should try her again if the opportunity arises.

Sometime after midnight, I went out to one of the balconies that border the ballroom of the Robert April Memorial Center. Force fields keep it temperature-controlled, so that even though it was still a little raw outside, on the inside we had the illusion of a lovely spring night. Potted plants lined the walls, some of them taller than me; I think were brought in just for this occasion. I really didn't intend what happened next, but it happened before I could do anything about it. Maybe my reflexes were dulled by the amount of wine I had consumed during the evening – all of it real, nothing syntheholic served at this party unless specifically requested.

I was at the back of the balcony, studying one of the plants – it looked like a Bajoran fichus, but I didn't think it could be – when a woman came outside to join me. She walked straight to the railing and looked out at San Francisco Bay without noticing me. It took about two seconds for me to realize that it was Captain Janeway who was studying the reflection of the moon on the water with such intensity. My first reaction was to pounce; she had declined every request I made for an interview, and I wanted to show her I was not her enemy. But something about the way she stood made me hesitate; her stance reminded me of Dad, when he had something he wanted to think through. Before I could make up my mind whether or not to disturb her, a man came out from the ballroom, and I stepped back into the shadows. It wasn't that I wanted to listen so much as I didn't know how to get away gracefully.

 

"Want some company?"

She smiled at the familiar voice. "You? Always." She held out a hand, and he took it, standing beside her. "It’s finally over, Mark. We’re truly home, at last."

"How does it feel?"

"Honestly? Like I fell through a time machine. So much has changed. I thought I was prepared for it, but every day something new crops up to remind me that time didn’t stand still while we were gone. You know what happened just now?"

"What?"

"Admiral Korso’s wife spent ten minutes raving about Robinson’s Ragout, and I thought she was talking about a restaurant." She shook her head. "Apparently it’s the novel that won the Pulitzer Prize last year."

He smiled. "An understandable mistake. And I’m willing to bet that even if you had been in the Alpha quadrant the past seven years, you still wouldn’t have known that. It wasn’t your kind of book." His smile faded. "Kath – if I ask you something, will you answer honestly?"

"What?"

"Was I right to tell you about my marriage? I’ve been afraid I hurt you unnecessarily."

She looked back out at the bay. "By the time I got your letter, I was hoping that you had moved on. Still, I have to admit, it threw me. I guess there was a part of me that thought you’d always be waiting for me. When I got over that, I was happy for you, and frankly, it was one less thing for me to feel guilty about." She smiled. "And I do like her. You’re good together."

"We are. You know, if you had stayed in the Alpha quadrant and we got married, we would have been comfortable and content and we might never have realized that there could be anything more than that. But you know that now, don’t you?"

She caught her breath. "Yes. Yes, I do."

"I like him. You’re good together."

"Don’t jump to conclusions."

"What’s the problem? Now that you’re home, everything should work out for you."

A sigh escaped her. "It’s not that simple. I’m not ready for a long-term ground assignment yet. In the last few weeks, I’ve realized how much I miss being out there –" her hands swept across the sky – "exploring. But as long as we’re both in Starfleet, they won’t let us serve on the same ship if we're in a relationship. We could take different assignments and see each other once a year on leave. That’s not enough. I want more of him than that. He’s part of me, maybe the best part."

"Then you’ll find a way. You always do."

She leaned her head against his shoulder. "I love you, Mark. You know that."

"Yes. And I love you. All I want is for you to be as happy as I am."

They stood in silence for a moment, looking out at the moonlit water. Then Mark straightened. "I should get back. Want to come with me?"

"In a few minutes. It’s a little warm in there." She turned back to the view, and did not see that as Mark Johnson left the balcony, Chakotay walked past him. The two men exchanged a look of silent understanding.

Chakotay moved quietly to stand beside her. "Are you all right?"

"Yes. We were talking about the future," she said, taking his hand in hers.

"I’ve had a few of those discussions tonight myself. Did you reach any conclusions?"

"Only one." She slipped both arms around his waist and held him lightly, not standing too close.

"Funny, me, too." He closed his arms around her in the same way and smiled at her.

"Tell me."

"You first."

Her smile faded suddenly, and her expression became serious. "All right. Wherever we go from here, we go together."

"That’s convenient, because it is exactly the conclusion I reached."

"It won’t be easy."

"It never has been." His head bent to kiss her, but he jerked up at the sound of a nearby voice.

"Hey, here they are!" Tom Paris stepped outside, apparently oblivious to the fact that his commanding officers were standing with their arms around each other. "You two have to come back inside. Harry is about to propose to Celes out on the dance floor. You don’t want to miss it."

He ducked back inside. With arms around each other’s waist, Kathryn Janeway and Chakotay followed him.

 

The whole time they were talking, I was busy wishing I could melt into the tiled floor of the balcony. Eavesdropping was one thing, but this was intruding on a very personal moment and I felt like a voyeur. At the same time, I couldn’t help wondering at this turn of events. Things seemed to have moved pretty quickly for them since the trial.

I've never actually been in love. I thought I was, a couple of times, but it always turned out to be a passing fancy, an infatuation. Someday, I hope that a woman looks at me the way Janeway looked at Chakotay, and that I look back at her the way he did. I hope that someone makes me light up just by coming up behind me. I hope someone matters that much to me and I to them.

I better go to bed. I’m getting sentimental and that's a sign I've been up too long. I just wanted to get this down while it was still fresh.

 

March 31, 2430

Jake poured a little more merlot into the glass in front of him. That night was why he known that Green was wrong, why he had always known that Janeway was more than the official portrait issued by Starfleet. With a half smile, he raised the glass. "To love," he said, just as he had toasted Tom Paris. In the end, it was perhaps the only sentiment that mattered.

-To Be Continued -

On To Chapter 7