In the course of her Starfleet career, Janeway had been involved in only one extended conflict: Wolf 359. By the end of the campaign, it was clear she was emotionally exhausted, possibly clinically depressed. The loss of crew members was extremely hard on her. As her second in command phrased it, "every time someone died, the captain died a little as well." This was an understandable, even commendable, human reaction. But it was a highly dangerous reaction for a military commander. If the Federation went to war with Cardassia, when the Federation went to war with Cardassia, even the most clever and inventive captains would lose many people under their command. They couldn't afford to die a little each time; if they did, they would soon be dead themselves. And Starfleet couldn't afford dead captains, especially those who would still be in command of a starship.
So if Janeway was to be lost in the Cardassian conflict, perhaps it was best to lose her now, in a setting where her passions and talents could serve her best. In a setting where her loyalty and attachment to her crew, to Tuvok, was an asset to the mission rather than a drawback.
Of course, Janeway could not be informed of the true purpose of the mission. Starfleet Intelligence was not ready to release their latest findings to line command. Then, too, the situation was highly unpredictable. In was certainly within the realm of possibility that the Cardassians would escalate things; they could choose to retain and question Voyager's crew. In such a case, it would be better if Janeway didn't know the mission's true purpose. Once again, Starfleet countermeasures had fallen behind Cardassian interrogation technologies.
Janeway couldn't know. None of the crew could know. Starfleet Intelligence had toyed with the idea of having an "inside man": that newly assigned ensign at Operations, Harry Kim, had seemed a possible choice. He could verify that telemetry data were flowing, ensure that none of the crew noticed or suspected the convert data gathering. He had minimal loyalty to Janeway; hadn't met her, was only grateful that she had selected him to join her staff. He could easily be convinced that he should "serve the greater good." But ultimately, the idea was abandoned. It was too risky. The covert technology should function fine in autonomous mode. The crew would have too many distractions to notice any trace signatures the sensors or telemetry produced, or they would attribute them to energy phenomena in the Badlands. No, it wasn't worth the risk. Not with the Cardassians. Kim might be a screamer.
So the decision was made. Captain Kathryn Janeway accepted a mission from Starfleet, but the mission she accepted wasn't the one she undertook. Starfleet accepted her actual mission for her. As if she were a green ensign. As if the captain of a starship didn't have the right to know the condition of her ship, the terms of her assignment. She didn't. The stakes were that high. Cardassia with a weapon of unlimited destruction. Starfleet had to know.
It was interesting. Kathryn had never actually reviewed her orders for the Badlands. In the flurry of activity that preceded the mission, shuttling to New Zealand to pick up Tom Paris, rushing through flight prep to leave spacedock more than a week ahead of schedule, she had never actually looked at the orders. She knew they were approved and logged; that was sufficient. She knew what the orders said (and that was true; no mention was made of the covert activities in the official mission orders), and there far more pressing needs. But that left an open question: who signed the orders? There must have been two signature from senior command level. All missions with a high probability of vessel loss and/or crew casualty required a second signature.
Kathryn pulled up the file containing Voyager's mission orders on her desktop monitor and scanned to the bottom signature area. The name on the left was familiar, expected. Admiral Alynna Necheyev was head of Starfleet Uniformed Security. It was logical that she would have had to approve this mission. If the mission was a success, Necheyev would receive the lion's share of the accolades (and be left with the task of soothing Janeway's extremely ruffled feathers following the debrief). And if the mission failed, well, Necheyev would be the one who had to deal with all the fallout, all the crap. Kathryn silently reminded herself that, should they return to the Alpha quadrant, she should avoid all positions involving senior desk command.
Her eyes then drifted slowly to the right, drawn by curiosity, repelled by the dread of knowing. Who else would have signed the orders? Who would be willing to usurp her command and put her, her crew, at extreme risk? When she saw the name, the answer was utterly shocking; the answer was utterly obvious: Admiral Owen Paris.
What happened next had happened to her before. On several occasions, when she had been confronted with an extremely emotionally stressful moment, she found herself standing outside herself, watching to see how she would react. She almost surprised herself by speaking her first words aloud in over six hours: "Oh, God. Tom." Owen had signed the orders knowing full well that she planned to use Tom as a guide in the Badlands. She had told Owen her idea; he had said nothing, absolutely nothing, to discourage it. It would have been easy to dissuade her; she was uncertain how much of a contribution Tom Paris could make. His time with the Maquis had been brief; his information was probably outdated. And Janeway really wasn't sure she wanted to put up with the young man's bad-ass attitude, on this or any other mission. But Owen had said nothing against the idea. What had he said? God, it was four years ago. Something neutral, something unmemorable, something like, "Well, if you think he can be of some help, go ahead." Go ahead. Take my son into a deathtrap. What the hell, your dad did the same to you. And you weren't a screw-up. Jesus. Tom.
Kathryn continued to watch herself, and found it interesting to analyze the reaction she observed. Why was she so concerned about Tom? She was running out of fingers on which to count all the people who had been betrayed, all the people who had done the betraying. And the line between the two groups was disturbingly blurred: her father--yes, he'd lied to her, but had they lied to him? Justin--how much had he known? Secrets carried to their graves, graves that weren't supposed to be. So why be so bothered about Lieutenant JG Thomas E. Paris, who was alive and healthy, sound asleep five decks below, living a better life now that his last five years in the Delta quadrant. Why was Tom so troubling?
Because Tom was family. Owen's family. And Tom wasn't Starfleet. Not at the time. Jesus. What was Owen thinking? She stopped herself and tested the logic of her outrage. Did this really matter so much? Was it really valid to parse the world into neat "Starfleet / Not Starfleet" categories? Yes, yes it was. What if her father had decided to take Phoebe on the flighttest? That certainly would have made the ruse more compelling to the Cardassians--the proud father, wanting to show off his new creation to all his children. Family pride was one value of the Federation the Cardassians understood and even shared. But it was unthinkable, it was so wrong. Daddy would have never even entertained the idea. It really was different with Kathryn. She had bought into the Starfleet system. Should the system have been more honest with her? Perhaps. Perhaps it couldn't.
What justification could Owen have used? That Tom was once Starfleet? That Tom would have been Starfleet if he hadn't screwed things up and behaved so dishonorably? Did Owen see this as a chance for redemption? For Tom? For himself? Owen's motives were beyond her right now. Hell, everything was slipping beyond her right now.
What did she need to understand? What could she hope to understand? Starfleet. She had to understand Starfleet. If she could understand Starfleet, she could understand her father and Justin. She could probably even understand Owen Paris, at least as he related to her. It wouldn't explain Owen and Tom, but she would have to set that aside for now. She felt her mind quiet. She had identified the challenge; she could deal with it now.
What did Starfleet owe her? Did it owe her the truth? Phoebe clearly thought so. It was funny; of the three women in her family, Phoebe had best dealt with her father's death. Kathryn had been a mess. Well, there were clearly extenuating circumstances, but still: she had been a mess. Her mother was better than she was, but still clearly had problems. Looking back, Kathryn realized that her father's death had been a shock to her mother because she thought he had gotten beyond the danger in his career. He had over 30 years with Starfleet; he now worked a planetside position in starship design. She thought he was past worry. She was wrong. So her mother was shocked, but she coped. And Phoebe was there for her. Phoebe was there for them both.
But now Phoebe was haunted by the idea that her father was killed by a lie; a lie in which he was a knowing participant, but a lie nonetheless. That was the shock for Phoebe: that Starfleet personnel are killed by Starfleet lies. She had no idea.
Kathryn, on the other hand, had a very good idea. Lies were sometimes necessary. Especially in difficult circumstances, when dealing with a desperate enemy. Or when dealing with an enemy who possesses little morality as you understand the concept. How daunting and frustrating it must be for Starfleet Intelligence to compete with the Obsidian Order. She imagined it must be like playing tennis with an opponent who's allowed to use a compression phaser rifle instead of a racquet. Advantage: Cardassia. No, she would not condemn the methods of Starfleet Intelligence. In truth, it was amazing to her that they didn't employ even more devious techniques.
Perhaps that was the difference between Phoebe and her (and Phoebe and Mark). She and Mark had learned "the necessity of compromise." They had, in very different ways, grown beyond the illusion of Starfleet as a perfect ideal; hell, perhaps Mark never held such an illusion. Even as a child, he had demonstrated a healthy talent for skepticism, and, of course, his family wasn't 'Fleet. But Phoebe was the free-spirited child of a much admired Starfleet officer. She hadn't chosen a career in Starfleet, so her exposure to the organization centered around her beloved father, her envied sister, and the pomp and circumstance of Starfleet ceremonies. She had never heard, as her sister had, the cynical postulate circulated among Starfleet cadets: "the number of commendations awarded following a mission is proportional to the sum of the number of people whose performance was exemplary plus the number who had gotten screwed." Phoebe probably still believed what was said in Starfleet speeches, or at least thought the speaker believed it.
So when faced with some ugly truths, Phoebe couldn't gracefully remove Starfleet from its pedestal. For her, the Ideal Organization became the Evil Empire. But Kathryn knew better. She knew that, at its best, Starfleet was truly the best and brightest of hopes. And at it's worst? Well, Kathryn knew that, even at its worst, Starfleet was the "Lesser-of-the-Two-Evils" Empire.
Yes, Kathryn's father would put her life, and Justin's, and his own (of course) at risk. They were Starfleet officers who had taken a sworn oath to defend the Federation. And if she, and possibly Justin, weren't allowed to know the particulars of a given mission, well, that was too damn bad. Even Owen's actions towards her were defensible, certainly when she had been an ensign, and even when it had compromised her command. So long as they acted in the best interest of the Federation, it was the right and duty of senior officers to take whatever risks they thought necessary, for themselves and those under them. That was why it was so important that people in command hold the right ideals. That was why Owen's actions concerning Tom were so troubling.
It was not in the best interest of the Federation to put one of its civilian citizens at risk without that person's knowledge or consent. It didn't matter if that person was a convicted criminal, it didn't matter if that person had once been Starfleet. And it was especially wrong if the motive was revenge, retribution, or redemption. Damn. She couldn't go there. Back on track. Back to Starfleet; back to her.
She could make peace with her father. She could make peace about Justin (although it troubled her that she would never know the exact nature of the peace that was needed). She could even make peace, at least for herself, with Owen Paris. In some perverse way, the fact that all of them could place her at risk was a validation of their opinion of her as a Starfleet officer. All of them were more the warrior than she; Justin definitely was, Owen as well, and yes, even her father. She wondered if her father had felt a conflict between his duties as a command officer and his duties as a father. Yes, he probably had. And it was probably a credit to him, and her, that he could still make the choices he did.
And what of Starfleet? Again the question: what did it owe her? It had given her extraordinary opportunities for exploration, unparalleled facilities for science. And when she switched tracks to command, it had given her training, support, and, ultimately, the chance to captain a most amazing starship. Starfleet had educated her, trusted her, rewarded her, and, in many ways, fulfilled her. It had also lied to her, given her a number of postings without regard to her personal needs and wishes, and exposed her to danger so many times that her medical file was probably longer than her service record. But wasn't all this the agreement, wasn't this the pact, wasn't this what they all signed on to "as Starfleet officers"?
Yes, but...and here a revelation struck her. The past few months had been a time for revelations. The letter from Mark made her realize how she was using him, and the promise of home, to hold herself apart from a life in the Delta quadrant. What had she called him? "A safety net." Hmm. That was probably a misnomer. A safety net is unobtrusive; it's just there in case you fall. No, Mark and the others had been a safety harness; protecting her, but also constraining her motions, restricting her ability to run, to leap. To do much of anything other than stand in one place. She was tired of the safety harness; she would learn to live without it.
And now a new revelation, another epiphany in the Ready Room. The clarity of it was absolute and startling: She would never mean as much to Starfleet as Starfleet meant to her. She loved Starfleet; Starfleet valued her. It was not really a bitter realization, more a surprised recognition of the inherent inequity. It was necessary that Starfleet be able to function without her; she must be expendable. That was the nature, the strength, of Starfleet as an organization. It was not dependent on, could not be destroyed by the demise of, a single individual. If someone fell, another would take their place. It had to be that way. Oh, certainly, there could be great leaders and legends. But Starfleet did not falter when Kirk disappeared, nor did it wither when Spock resigned his commission. It was an absolutely necessary asymmetry in the Starfleet/officer relationship: the officer must maintain a complete devotion for Starfleet; Starfleet must be willing to lose any of its officers for good cause.
Kathryn pondered her new insight, examining it with her "remarkable intelligence," as Owen had once called it. And the logical extension of the insight reached her as well. She could spend her life in Starfleet, but Starfleet could not be all of her life. There had to be more, or she would be less. Maybe that was what had happened to Owen. He let Starfleet become everything to him, and the rest became diminished, reduced, absent. Perhaps his decision concerning Tom resulted from his inability to differentiate Starfleet from the rest of his life. The "Starfleet / Not Starfleet" parsing may be simplistic and artificial, but it was probably also critical. It was probably a necessary ingredient towards finding balance in one's life. Balance. A life.
She thought about Mark and her relationship with him. Their lives. Their balance. She wasn't really sure they had a balance. It was more a series of compromises, a set of acceptances and constraints. He knew she loved Starfleet; he was not going to share that love, or that life. He would not join her on a generational ship; he refused to be an ONSS (Onboard, Non-Starfleet Spouse). He had his own life and his own career, which was only tangentially concerned with Starfleet. He would not have children with her so long as she held a field position. If she took a desk job, joined the faculty of the Academy, he would reconsider. Until then, he was willing to love her, encourage her, care for her dog while she was on missions. But it was always there, an implicit constraint on his commitment. A way to hold back slightly, to protect himself from the potential of pain. Phoebe had said that Mark thought Kathryn indestructible, but that wasn't true. He had seen her emotionally shattered, and he knew that she was physically vulnerable as well. He knew. And he protected himself.
As for her, she was grateful for the love and support he was willing to give. She knew that what her father had with her mother was very rare, and she wasn't sure she would ever want Mark to have to go through what her mother had. She suspected that Mark had felt more than grief when he finally accepted her death. He probably felt relief, probably release: he no longer need fear for her.
So Mark was released, and was finally securely happy; he had a wife. And where was Kathryn? What did she have? She had her ship. Well, she had most of it, and in another couple of weeks she'd have the rest. She had her crew. And she had Phoebe, and Mom, waiting...keeping watch. But the watch keepers were far away; almost sixty thousand light-years away again. She needed more, here, now.
The crew. She knew everyone on the ship. She knew nobody on the ship. Oh, they were excellent colleagues, and she felt comfortable joking with them on the bridge and in the mess hall. But where were the deep friendships? With Tuvok, of course, but a deep friendship with a Vulcan, especially one old enough to be her grandfather, had certain....constraints. She loved Tuvok and valued his friendship, his counsel, more than she could ever say. But there was always certain limits to their interactions: when she could touch him (seldom), when he would indulge her wicked humor (a bit more often). No, Tuvok's made for a rich addition to a portfolio of friendships. But singularly, or as one of a very small number, their friendship could actually exacerbate her feelings of loneliness.
She felt friendly toward B'Elanna, but the command structure put a strain on their interactions. When Kathryn tried to have deep, personal conversations with her, it was as if B'Elanna thought she was being tested, as if Kathryn was probing for weaknesses. Their age difference probably didn't help either, but that should be something they could get past. In many ways, they were remarkably similar, from their humor to their temper. Kathryn had merely found ways to be more subtle about both. The potential for a deep friendship was definitely there; she just had to get B'Elanna to stop seeing her as The Captain, at least in social settings.
That certainly wasn't a problem for Tom Paris. Like her, Tom had grown up as a Starfleet brat. Pips on the collar held little intimidation for him. Tom probably felt more comfortable joking and teasing with her than anyone onboard. He knew that captains are people like anyone else. Prick them and they'll bleed; tell them a really funny dirty joke and they'll laugh, maybe even on the bridge.
But there was a tension between Tom and her as well, and she damn well knew it's source: Owen Paris. She had been one of her father's golden officers. No doubt Tom had been forced to suffer many unkind comparisons. Even on his best days, Admiral Paris was not one for cutting slack. Unfortunately, Tom probably didn't know that Kathryn and the other junior officers were likewise inundated with "my wonderful son" stories, at least they were before Tom's accident. God, Kathryn had gotten tired of hearing about "my amazing Tommy." What was that little brat doing piloting Starfleet simulators when he was barely out of training pants? (Okay, so he was five.) Weren't their rules restricting facility usage!? At some level, Kathryn was just dying to hear that Tom Paris had taken a fall, had failed at _something_. And when he did, when he failed so totally, Kathryn felt very guilty about her evil wishes.
Perhaps that had partly motivated her to include Tom on the mission to the Badlands. She really wasn't sure how useful he could be, but she wanted to give him a chance to prove himself. To her, to himself. Owen's complete abandonment of his son seemed harsh and unfair to Kathryn. Yes, Tom had fallen from grace, but shouldn't there be the chance for redemption? There should always be a chance for redemption, for a new start. Even for Tom. Even for her.
A new start. Well, that certainly refocused her thoughts to Chakotay. How many new starts had they made? There were almost too many to count. When he and his crew first joined hers. After the first mess with Seska. After the second mess with Seska. After she excluded him from her efforts to flush out the Kazon spy. On New Earth. After New Earth. After she almost died in the shuttlecraft crash. After he almost died, but didn't because of Riley Frazier. After the Borg. So many starts, such a strange dance they had performed these past four years. Could they really try again? She'd like to, especially without that safety harness to constrain her.
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