It had been a year since Voyager had made it back to Earth. Their arrival had been almost without announcement, as they had managed finally to modify the slipstream technology so efficiently that the method got them back to the Alpha Quadrant almost before they had communicated their existence. Their welcome was with restrained exuberance, for the return coincided with the final horrendous assaults with the Dominion. "Not with a bang, but with a whimper," Kathryn Janeway recalled from the old Terran poet.

After a brief readjustment period for Voyager’s stalwart crew, Starfleet was quick to assimilate their skills and talents into the escalating hostilities. The higher echelons had winked at the past transgressions of Voyager’s incorporated Maquis, for their formerly subversive insights were now welcomed as brilliant tactical designs. Many of the younger crew, Starfleet and Maquis alike, by their own requests, were assigned to ships going to the heart of the battle zones. Included with this latter group was Tom Paris, whose flying skills were in much demand. However, the rest of the senior ranked core from Voyager’s staff was kept close to Starfleet headquarters. Though their expertise, like Tom’s, would greatly aid the war efforts, they were on constant call for daily debriefings. Even the ship’s adopted hybrid, the statuesque Seven of Nine, was convinced of the necessity to share her information with the Federation’s dictums.

Six months after Voyager’s return, the years of agonizing conflict with the Dominion --- and the Cardassians --- had finally ceased. A precarious peace was in place throughout the alpha and gamma quadrants, and all of their children sought safe havens to recover from their grievous wounds.

When Tom returned from the wars, his rank of full lieutenant was officially restored. Also restored was his renewed appreciation for the woman who had grown to love him. The raw emotion of the war had stripped away all the selfishness that he had held defensively between them, and he knew now that his love for her was his sole reason for survival. Two weeks after his return, they were married. The wedding provided a brief reunion of many of the Voyager crew. The event seemed to once more solidify the deep bonding that the members of the group had for one another.

Of the rest of the senior crew, Harry had now resigned his commission, and was seriously exploring his music. Tuvok had announced his imminent retirement, anxious to resume his philosophical studies back on Vulcan; he was remaining on Earth only until final negotiations from the war had been completed and when he was satisfied with his Delta Quadrant report to Starfleet. The doctor was in his glory, expounding all the new information he had gleaned from the various races he had studied on their long journey. His information, along with the gigatrillions of data bits that had been provided personally by Seven and Neelix, in addition to the ship’s logs, were filling a myriad of Starfleet databases. Captain Janeway, now considered a political icon, was elevated to diplomatic status, a role that she had yet to decide whether she liked or disliked.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kathryn Janeway was preparing for yet another treaty conference, this one on Bajor. She had been there twice before -- a lovely planet, rich and lush, recovering from its defilement of Cardassian desecration. Morning messages awaited her response about the agenda, and her goal today was to ascertain who was attending and brief them of the issues to be resolved. She logged on her computer, its voice calling out its chronological documentation: "Stardate 55438.31"

The date burned itself into her memories... five years ago... stardate 50438.56... it had been five years... since they had said good-bye. Five years without awakening to his voice... warming with his smile... melting at his touch. Five years of living a deception, a vacuous nonexistence. Five years of trying to replace the void with Starfleet rules and regulations. As payment for her sacrifice, she was now one of the most admired senior officers in the galaxy, with reverent respect from former crewmates to anonymous devotees on the street. But life was empty and pointless, her body and spirit exhausted from the constant facade she presented to all around her.

She had wanted to speak to Starfleet about going back for him shortly after Voyager’s return; but the war efforts were all-consuming, and she knew that he would never have allowed his needs to supersede the urgent concentration on the conflict with the Dominion. No, he would not have approved of that decision. Then, five months ago, she had contacted Admiral Ross, who was overseeing the quadrant border treaties, about attempting to contact that lost distant planet via their new transquantum subspace communications array.

She and Ross had never been admirers of each other. When she was in her third year at the Academy, he had been the young lieutenant instructor of her class in theoretical tactical methods. She had proven a theorem of his incorrect in front of the entire class one day, humiliating the fledgling command officer. He still smarted from her one-upmanship, and her new-found status rested uneasily with him. So, when she approached him, his rebuttal had been swift and sure: there was to be absolutely no contact with the Delta Quadrant until all the war negotiations had been completed and all of Voyager had been debriefed to Starfleet’s satisfaction.

Kathryn had thought about going to Admiral Paris, playing upon his known affection for her, as his former prodigy. But that would have merely incited Ross all the more, and she knew that if she was ever going to be allowed to find Chakotay, she had to bide her time. Lately however, her days and nights were haunted constantly by ghostly semblances of his image and voice and touch. She desperately wanted just to know if he were alive... if there was any reason for her to continue to hope. The venom of her visions had poisoned her body and mind, and the only antidote was to seek soporific solace.

The reflection that rebounded from her window showed a woman who was neglecting herself. A increasingly tremulous hand raised itself to push back her hair, hair that was frequently falling loose from the tight twist across the back of her head. Her uniform, while always neat and precise, was starting to hang limply on a frame that was dwindling in size. Skin that once had been like porcelain was now mottled and discolored. Lines that had barely been noticeable around her eyes were deep frames for the darkened ocular orbs. The same eyes were frequently red and swollen from lack of sleep... and something else. In recent weeks, she had fallen victim to the consolation of cowards; her only comfort now was to seek nightly oblivion in an ancient liquid form. Kathryn Janeway was slowly welcoming her own doom by consuming numbing amounts of alcohol.

As she was rapidly succumbing to the despair that had wrapped itself around her with the memories, a buzz at her door announced a visitor.

"Come," she said without enthusiasm, anchoring her unsteady body by holding onto the edge of her desk.

The doors opened to her old friend, Tuvok. He, too, was showing the very un-Vulcanlike physical symptoms of emotional distress. His long dark face had a gray pallor to it; his lips thinner and more drawn since she had seen him last. He was in his dark Vulcan robes rather than a Starfleet uniform, signaling that this was far from an official visit.

He stepped over the threshold, awaiting her permission to enter. Only his Vulcan reserve prevented him from recoiling at the sight of the person in front of him. His voice seemed as sure and confident as ever.

"I apologize, Captain, for coming before contacting you."

"That’s... that’s all right, Tuvok. You know that you are always welcome."

"Captain... are you well? You do not appear to be yourself."

She laughed nervously. "Just the usual... not enough sleep."

"Yes; of course," he acknowledged, averting his eyes from the disintegrating woman in front of him.

"Please... come in," she continued. "What brings you all the way to Starfleet headquarters so early in the day?" She weaved her way over to her sofa, and motioned for him to join her. She noticed that there was some irregularity in his gait.

"Captain, I have come here with a special request. You know that I am quite reticent to speak of subjects that tend to be of... a highly personal nature. But what I would like to discuss would appear to be of importance to both of us."

He stiffened his body as he continued.

"Because of my personal discipline, it is highly irregular that incidents would... disturb me. However, for the past few weeks, my usual concentrated sleeping periods have been overshadowed by distorted shadowy images. Last night, I attempted a new contemplative technique, to recall some logic to the fleeting forms. My attempt succeeded, and I came to confront what had been haunting me.

"It was your face... your face the moment you materialized out of transport from New Earth back onto Voyager. The expression existed for only a transient moment; but in that brief time, I experienced an unbearable sense of grieving loss. As suddenly as I sensed it, it was gone, and a new, toughened expression appeared on your face... one that has been there ever since: a false face, a masked face. One that hid well your inner pain. Several times, I sensed you wanted to speak of it, but knew that when the time came, you would seek advice. Yet you have chosen to remain silent.

"Ever since we brought you back from New Earth, leaving Commander Chakotay, I thought that perhaps we had done the wrong thing."

Her faithful friend stopped, waiting for her response.

"You alone have known why he really stayed behind, Tuvok."

"I have kept your secret within me," he said softly.

"And it disturbs you as much as it has me," she responded.

"Yes. No amount of meditation or mind control has erased that memory."

"Nor can I find forgetfulness.," Janeway confessed. She turned to her longtime friend, her voice filling with anguish.

"Oh, Tuvok, I should never have allowed him to talk me into leaving him. I now know that I would have bent any rule in the universe, much less Starfleet... relationships be damned! After all, we survived with all of the ones that were formed by the time we got back here."

Tuvok listened intently, but even after her confession he was obviously still uncomfortable about something.

"Captain, there is more to my distress in addition to the image of your face. My thoughts have been greatly disturbed lately, as I know yours have been."

She looked at him quizzically. "You, too?"

"Indeed. It is almost as if... as if Commander Chakotay’s spirit is reaching out and calling to me."

Her eyes became more focused, as some deep spark had been rekindled. "Perhaps that’s what is happening to me also, but I don’t want to admit it."

She became silent, her mind trying to seek an equilibrium from its anesthetized state.

"Tuvok... do you think he’s still alive? Or... has he gone over to his... spirit world...and... and..."

Dry tears burned her eyes, as five years of grief began to surface once more. Tuvok looked at his friend, trying to decide how to help her, but obviously uncomfortable with her rare display of emotion.

"Oh, Tuvok... I loved him so much!" she said, her eyes pleading with him for some comfort.

"I know," he answered quietly. He moved over to her, and stiffly placed his arm around her. "And I think that’s why I’m here," he continued.

Sublimated emotion wracked her small frame, as she leaned against his thick robe. She wanted to disappear among its folds, comforted by his stoic resolve. As his last words finally registered with her tormented soul, she quelled her broken spirit, and pulled back, looking into his embered eyes.

"Why...you’re...here...???" she asked, each word forming its own question.

"Yes. I feel that his spirit has indeed reached out to me... and brought me here to you. He knows that my nature would be more receptive to such an outreach than yours would be."

"And... and... you think that he’s alive? Has he managed to get a communication across to us?"

"He is alive, Captain; of that I am certain. But his means of communicating cannot be documented... logically."

The glaze of depression fell from her eyes as she began to comprehend the meaning of Tuvok’s words.

The words formed slowly and came from her as wisps of breath, as she seemed unable to breath. "He’s... alive... and...and...."

"And he would like to speak to you..."

"But how...??" she questioned, her body now able to stay still, as she twisted and turned in nervous little steps. "Starfleet has already said no to an official request. And I *am* still part of Starfleet..."

"You most certainly are not in acceptable Starfleet condition at this point in time. Perhaps you could approach them again..."

"But.. we’ve been forbidden to go back into the Delta Quadrant until the Federation has had an opportunity to present treaties to all the different races with whom we came into contact. And as long as there are Borg that won’t happen! No.. we can’t go back..."

"Captain, it seems that you have forgotten all of your um... innovative skills... the very ones that you so often employed that served us so many times on our ‘journey’."

She laughed for the first time since he had arrived. "Only because some of the more... esoteric ones were tempered by your good logic."

He cleared his throat. "Yes... that was necessary upon occasion. None the less, I do believe that at this point in time, you and a small crew just might be able to ... shall we say... provide for an exploratory mission back into the Delta Quadrant... to try out a small Starfleet vessel, overhauled with slipsteam technology... just to ‘test the waters’ so to speak...

She eyes were now burning with his plan. "You mean... to just see if we could get into the Delta Quadrant and come back... and then... then... just happen to overshoot a bit..."

"Nothing illegal, Captain; just an honest engineering mistake. We all know that they occur when testing new technologies..."

"Indeed they do, my friend; indeed they do."

She pulled back from him, shaking her head in disbelief. "I cannot believe that you... of all people... you... would come up with such a devious plan."

"You both are my friends. Kathryn Janeway, over the past five years, I have watched you become as much a lost soul as he had become to us. Both of your spirits are in deep pain; now, his katra has called out to me. He says that the wounds have been honored long enough; you made a promise to him, and now it is time to keep that promise... it is a time for renewal."

Her interest was piqued; a project, a plan... a rescue of Chakotay!

"So, my fallen Vulcan friend, do you have any ideas as to how we could carry off such a little deception?"

"Indeed I do, Captain. With your permission, I would like to make a few covert inquiries. I will contact you with my results."

"Tuvok, you are a sly old fox!" she laughed.

She could have sworn she saw a quiver of a smile come to his lips.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Janeway’s conversation with Tuvok took years off her countenance and spirit. The earlier burdens of her daily agenda took on a new meaning, as she made arrangements for the treaty conference.

The following day, she appeared in her office early, looking vigorous and refreshed. Her face had a more natural color to it, and her cheeks appeared fuller and less drawn. A vivacious energy beamed from her eyes and brought light and life to her step. She greeted everyone by name and a bright "hello" or "good morning". Her long-dormant replicator sang out, and the rich aroma of her favorite coffee brew permeated the air. Looks were exchanged by all around her; they couldn’t remember the last time she had been so content. Restless in her impatience of allowing Tuvok do all the groundwork on their plan, Janeway decided to call in a few favors of her own.

A mischievous smile punctuated her face as she activated her comm module. A familiar face appeared.

"Riker here."

"Will... how are you?" she smiled her seductive best.

"Why, Kathryn Janeway! Haven’t seen you since... that briefing on the badlands treaty four months ago. How are you? I heard that you had been ill..."

"Hmmm. Bad news travels fast," she mumbled. "Just a temporary setback. I’m very much alive and kicking."

"Well, good," he grinned, his own greeting seemingly a little bit too friendly.

"Will," she continued, "I have a favor to ask of you."

"Sure. What’s up?"

She paused momentarily. "As you know, the theory that we used to return from the Delta Quadrant was a modification of several alien technologies. We have shared with Starfleet our expertise on this, but as of yet there hasn’t been time to try to adapt the slipsteam methods into the warp cores of any other vessels. I would like to demonstrate how this can be done, and I was wondering if you knew of any older vessels that are still functional but in need of overhaul? I would like to design a make-over for the ship and present my ideas to Admiral Kostman, with the possibility of developing a prototype for other modifications."

Riker listened attentively to her request, his answer coming to him before she had even finished.

"I know that the USS Albany, a Miranda-class ship, is in dry dock for some minor repairs. As you know, it’s an older class vessel, but still quite serviceable and able to reach warp 8.8. Why don’t you present your case to Kostman and tell him that I recommended the Albany?"

Kathryn could barely contain her elation. The Albany! Of course! That would fit right in with their plans. "Will, you’re wonderful. Thanks as always for your help."

"Anytime," he grinned back. He leaned back into his chair, an expression of sanguine confidence spreading across his face. "Say, Kath --- don’t you still owe me a date from about 25 years ago?"

"Mmm... and the answer is the same. By the way, I thought that you and Deanna were an ‘item’ again..."

There was a blush behind his full beard. "Don’t miss a thing, do you, Kath?"

"Never," she retorted. "I’ll get back to you."

The comm link broke, and Janeway now sat back in her chair. Next on her list --- Admiral Kostman.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kathryn Janeway’s negotiating skills were in peak form. Admiral Kostman completely agreed that it was time for her to hone her technical skills as well as her diplomatic ones. The treaty conference on Bajor was still several weeks away, and if her plans for the Albany worked out, he told her, they might shift her duty responsibilities from the conference to the refitting of the ship. At the conclusion of the conversation, she felt just like the rabbit who had begged and pleaded to be thrown into the briar patch.

A couple of hours later, Tuvok called and advised her of his efforts. He was "satisfied" with her initiatives, and thanked her for making the arrangements.

"I have located and spoken with the personnel that we might need for our endeavors. With Admiral Kostman’s approval of your proposal, there should be no difficulty in getting them assigned to the project."

"How soon can we meet?" she inquired.

"I have taken the liberty of inviting them to my quarters for a briefing," he confirmed. "Tonight."

Janeway shook her head. "Tuvok, I do believe that you are as determined about this mission as I am."

"Perhaps," he responded equivocally.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That evening, a motley group of the former Voyager crew met in Tuvok’s darkened living area: Tom and B’Elanna; Harry Kim, Seven of Nine and, of course, Tuvok and their former captain. After the initial greetings and small talk, Tuvok invited them all to be seated in the circle of pillows he had prepared on the floor, and Janeway proceeded to fill them in on a very interesting project that she had been assigned.

"All of you played prominent roles in the development of the slipstream technology modification to Voyager. I have talked with Admiral Kostman about the possibility of applying the techniques to a couple of other ships, and I’d like to have your help with this. Tuvok has been making the necessary arrangement for your transfers to the project if you are in agreement."

Tom looked at her, a befuddled expression on his face. "Uh... Captain... if this is a Starfleet program, why are we meeting as civilians?"

Janeway was caught off-guard. A logical concern for Tom, who was once more in Starfleet’s good graces.

"And I’m not even in Starfleet... why me?" asked Harry.

"I realize that we are asking you to postpone your studies; but, Harry, you and Tom know more about flying these converted vessels than anyone else."

Harry’s eyes became as wide as the window overlooking the skyline. "Fly? You want me to fly?"

Janeway calmed him. "No, no; I didn’t mean that. Just help us get the system going. A month at most, Harry..."

Seven spoke for the first time. "Indeed, Mr. Kim, it has been a while since we have been able to work together. I should look forward to your company as a colleague."

The rest of the group stifled quiet laughs, watching the blush rise in Harry’s face.

"Well, all right. But just because it’s you, Captain. One month, no more," he managed to stutter.

"Why us?" B’Elanna asked pointedly.

A cryptic exchange of looks passed between Janeway and Tuvok. "Because this project deserves only the best," she concluded. "And I know that I can count on you."

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