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One Giant Leap
Part 1 of 1
Synopsis:  Alternate ending to "One Small Step."

One Giant Leap

    "Seven, this isn't working!" Tom Paris cursed, slamming his hand into the console.

    "Damaging yourself would not help any, Ensign," the former Borg replied.

    "Yeah, but it sure as hell would make me feel better," he retorted.

    "Explain."

    "Forget it."  Seven-of-Nine glared mutely at him and went back to her scanning of the debris field.  "Why are you mad at me?" Paris asked.  "All I did was fly the ship in here!"

    "You are correct, Ensign.  It is Commander Chakotay's fault we are stranded here.  It was he who ordered you to tractor the command module, the action which resulted in our being stranded in here."  She punched the buttons for emphasis.  The console beeped its protestation.

    "Damaging the console isn't going to help much either, Seven," Paris said, feeling aching muscles straining as he stood.

    "A joke.  Thank you, but it has failed to diffuse the tense situation."  She scanned the debris field again.  "The ellipse has been in subspace for nearly eight hours, now.  We could be anywhere in the galaxy."

    Tom nodded, dropping heavily into his seat.  "A lot of good that does us, since we're never getting out of here."

    Seven's console beeped pleasantly.  She leaned forward and examined the readings.  "Perhaps you were incorrect.  Sensors indicate there are remains from an old B-class shuttlepod, bearing one-four-eight mark two."

    "B-class?" Paris gasped, fingers already laying in the course heading.  "How did that get here?  Scratch that, is it's isolinear converter intact?"

    "I believe so."  She stood.   "I will inform the commander."  Paris nodded, his eyes affixed to the viewscreen.  Seven stepped through the door and down the short ladder into the aft section of the Delta Flyer.  "Commander," she began, approaching his bed.  Chakotay's face still bore plasma burns.

    "What is it, Seven?" he asked, wincing in pain.

    "I have found the remains of a B-class shuttlepod in the debris field.  Its isolinear converter appears to be intact."

    Chakotay struggled up into a half-sitting position.  "How long have we been in sub-space?"

    "Approximately eight hours," the Borg replied.  "It is likely the ellipse will drop out of sub-space within a few hours."

    "Good.  Get over to that shuttlepod and get the converter."  He winced again, and fell back onto his bed, gasping for breath.

    Seven, despite her anger, was worried about him.  He had gradually been weakening and there was nothing Paris could do for him with the limited medical facilities aboard the Flyer.  "Of course, Commander," she replied.  She stepped forward and reached for her environmental suit.

    "Paris to Seven."

    Seven picked her commbadge up.   "Seven here."

    "We're in transporter range.   Get over there and get back with that converter."

    "Understood."  She pulled on her helmet and stepped onto the small transporter pad.  "Proceed, Ensign."

*      *      *

    "Let's hope to God this baby works," Paris muttered under his breath.  Seven's sharp auditory implants picked up the comment.

    "God?"

    "A part of the religion I grew up in, Seven."  He didn't want to go into it now.  Let her ask more questions about humanity later. "Try that now."

    The isolinear converter, a few years older than Paris himself was, sputtered to life.  "All right!"  Paris howled.  He nearly ran to the helm console.  "I have propulsion and shields!"

    "Primary systems are back online," Seven confirmed, "Life support, tactical, even the replicators.  Until the ellipse drops out of sub-space, however, we can do nothing.  Explain your religion."

    Tom frowned.  "It's sort of a family tradition.  Nobody really practices it anymore."

    "But your family still remembers it," she pointed out.

    "Yeah," he replied, sighing.   "At least last I checked."  When Seven got one thing into her head, there was no stopping her.  "Thousands of years ago, humans were polytheists--they believed in more than one god."

    "I am familiar with the term.   Continue."

    "About three thousand years ago, a group of people called the Jews began worshiping one God alone.  They were persecuted by the Romans, who believed in many gods.  The Jewish prophecies told of a Messiah, a Savior, who would come to them."

    "Prophecies? The prediction of the future?"

    "Yeah.  A man was born, by the name of Jesus.  He grew up and lead a lot of the Jews to found a new religion called Catholicism. This Catholic Church lasted for two and a half millenia, until after the founding of the Federation."

    Seven nodded. "Impressive.  Many other religions have lasted longer than that, however.  Take, for example, the Klingons--"  Her console beeped.  "Ensign Paris, I believe--"

    The Flyer shuddered, nearly careening into a large chunk of hull plating from the remains of a massive ship before Paris got it under control.  "What the--?" he swore.

    "The ellipse is dropping out of subspace," Seven replied.

    "As long as we're closer to home, I'm taking us out of here!" Paris replied, powering the impulse engines.   "Paris to Chakotay, sit tight back there!"

    "Tom? What's going on?"

    "The ellipsoid is no longer in sub-space," Seven reported.

    "Then I'm getting us out of here!"  Paris keyed in a few commands into his console, aiming the Flyer for the wall of the anomaly.  The shuttle rocketed forward, whipping through the debris at break-neck speed.

    "We are approaching the wall."   The two held their breaths as the swirling orange approached.  "Ten, nine, eight--" Seven began counting.

    Paris began sweating.  What if they were tossed back in again?  Where would they be if they did get out safely?

    "--Two, one.  We're clear," Seven breathed.

    Tom slumped in his chair.  "Thank God."

    "I thought you said you didn't practice that religion," Seven replied.  Paris turned and looked at her questioningly.  "A joke, Ensign."

    The sensor board beeped, and Paris turned back to helm controls.  "The anomaly is headed straight for a vessel," Seven announced.  "It is a Starfleet vessel!"

    "What?" He punched the controls, shooting the tiny vessel forward.  "We have to tell them how to adapt their shields!"  The ex-drone nodded grimly.

*      *      *

    "Sir," Lieutenant Commander Data reported.  "A massive object had appeared ahead of us.  Its readings are consistent with a graviton ellipse."

    "On screen," Captain Picard of the Enterprise-E ordered.  The screen shifted to show a raging orange ball racing for their ship.  "Options, Mr. Data."

    "The ellipse is known to be attracted to electro-magnetic emissions.  It might be possible to modify a torpedo to emit an electro-magnetic signature greater than our own," the android replied.

    "Picard to LaForge."

    "LaForge here," the engineer replied immediately.

    "Geordi, modify a torpedo to emit an electro-magnetic pulse of five-thousand megajoules and make it quick," Picard replied.

    "Aye, Captain," the man replied.  Picard knew he would not hesitate to carry out his orders.

    "Mr. Data, take us away from the ellipse, maximum warp."

    "We can't create a stable warp field, sir."

    "Take us to full impulse!" Picard ordered.

    "Aye sir."

    It was obvious to the captain-- painfully obvious--that the anomaly would overtake them in a few short minutes.

    "Sir," Data interrupted his thoughts.  "A small craft has just come out of the ellipse.  It is headed right for us!"

    "Can you identify it, Mr. Data?"

    The android frowned.  "The hull configuration is unknown to the ship's--its warp signature registers Starfleet, Captain!"

    "Starfleet?" Commander Riker demanded.

    "Yes, sir. They are hailing us!"

    "On screen!" Riker ordered.

    The viewscreen shifted to an image of two people, sitting in what could only be described as a cockpit.  "I'm Captain Jean-Luc--"

    "Sorry, Captain," the man in the front, vaguely familiar to Picard, interrupted.  "No time."

    "Change your shield modulation to the following frequency and variance," the woman said.

    "I've received the information," Data replied. "Time to impact is thirty seconds.  Shall I implement it, sir?"

    "May I ask--"

    "The shield configuration will make you 'invisible' to the ellipse," the woman replied.

    "Make it so, Mr. Data."

    On screen, a shower of sparks flew from a console.  The woman raced to the panel and tore it away.  "The isolinear converter has failed!" she told her companion.

    "Seven, if you don't have a nything good to say--"

    "The changes have been made," Data reported. "Impact in ten seconds. Nine, eight, seven--"

*      *      *

    Seven leapt from her seat, tearing the panel away from the converter.  "The isolinear converter has failed!"

    "Seven, if you don't have anything good to say, don't say it.  I'm trying to get us behind the Enterprise!  Maybe their shielding will help protect us."

    "What's going on?" Captain Picard demanded of them.

    Tom wasted no time replying.   "C'mon!" he begged the Delta Flyer.  "Don't give out on me now!"

    "--Three, two, one--" Paris heard the golden-skinned pilot of the Enterprise announce.  Then, from behind him, he felt a tremendous jolt.  The ellipse! he thought.   Then there was a moment of sharp pain, beginning at his fingertips and running up to his brain, and he knew no more.

*      *      *

    Picard saw energy surge up the young pilot's arms before the connection shorted.

    "The vessel was grazed by the ellipse as it passed us," Data reported.  "It is heavily damaged.  Structural integrity is intact.  The ellipse completely missed us, sir."

    "LaForge to Picard.  I've got that torpedo ready for you."

    The captain sighed.  "Thank you, Geordi, but we won't need it now.  Picard to Crusher."

    "Crusher here, Jean-Luc."

    "We're sending you injuries, Beverly.  Picard to Transporter Room Two."

    "Henson here, sir."

    "Get a lock on the people on board that vessel and beam them directly to sickbay."

    "Aye sir.  Henson out."

    "Mr. Data?" Picard asked.

    "There are three lifesigns aboard the ship, captain, two are weak.  All are human," the android replied. "Sir, one of them is Borg!"

    "What--?" Picard began, but was, again, interrupted.

    "Sickbay to Bridge.  I have them."

*      *      *

    Captain Picard and Commander Riker walked into Sickbay.  Lying on biobeds were three forms, two male, one female.

    "Jean-Luc," Doctor Crusher said, gesturing for the two officers to enter her office.

    "Data said one of the three was Borg," Picard said.

    "Only partially Borg, Captain," Crusher replied, bringing up the temporary medical file on the woman.  "Most of her Borg implants have been removed, but some, such as her ocular implant, are still intact.  She is not a part of the Collective, though."

    Picard breathed a sigh of relief.  "What about the other two?"

    "Both human males. Both had plasma burns, but the older man's had been treated fairly well.  I'd estimate there wasn't much in the way of medical technology on that vessel."   Crusher turned away from the small computer and faced her captain.  "Both men were wearing out-dated Starfleet uniforms, but were aboard a ship of a design we've never seen before. It doesn't make sense."

    The captain frowned.  "Are any of them able to speak?"

    "The woman was only mildly injured.  I sedated her only because I registered Borg implants in her system, but she will be fine."  Crusher picked up a hypospray as the walked out of the office.

    Picard spared a glance at the men on the biobeds and stopped at the foot of the younger man's bed.  "I'll be damned," he swore, incredulously.

    Riker had to perform acrobatics to keep from running into him.  "What is it?" he asked.

    Crusher stopped mid-stride and turned toward Picard.  "Is something wrong, Jean-Luc?"

    The captain pointed at the bed's occupant.  "I thought I recognized that young man earlier.  That's Tom Paris."

    "Admiral Paris' son?  But wasn't he killed--"

    Picard shook his head.  "Voyager contacted Starfleet command from the Delta Quadrant about two years ago.  The news was released to the families concerned and to the highest-ranking officers in the fleet.  The captain gave Paris a field promotion to lieutenant, as I recall, and made him her chief helmsman.  If I remember correctly, they also had a former Borg crewmember named Seven-of-Nine."

    "What about the other one?" Crusher asked.

    "I think he would have to be Commander Chakotay."

    "Chakotay?" Riker asked, rubbing his clean-shaven chin.  He missed his beard.  "The former Maquis leader?"

    Picard nodded. "Voyager was sent to find his vessel after it disappeared in the Badlands."

    "LaForge to Picard."

    "Picard here," the captain replied.  "What is it, Geordi?"

    "The shuttle bears the registration numbers '74656.'  If I'm correct, that would mean this shuttle belongs to the USS Voyager, but that ship was destroyed years ago!"

    "Not really, Geordi," Riker replied.  He turned to Picard.  "I remember Deanna saying that Lieutenant Barclay was working on the recovery program at Starfleet Communications."

    Picard nodded.  "Geordi, Voyager isn't destroyed, but the question is 'how did that shuttle get here from the Delta Quadrant?'"

    "The Delta Quadrant?"

    "I'm calling an officers' meeting for 1100 tomorrow, Geordi.  By then, our guests should be able to provide us with some answers."

    "Aye, Captain," the engineer resignedly said. "LaForge out."

    Crusher, at her captain's nod, pressed the hypospray against the blond Borg's neck. After a few seconds, her gray eyes fluttered open.  "You are Captain Picard," she stated flatly.

    "Yes I am.  Are you Seven-of-Nine?"

    "I am.  How are Commander Chakotay and Ensign Paris?"

    "They will be fine," Crusher replied, scanning her with a medical tricorder.  "I treated their burns and internal injuries."

    "Thank you," Seven replied.   "What of the Delta Flyer?"

    Picard assumed she meant the small ship. "We towed it into the shuttle bay.  My chief engineer is--"

    "LaForge to Picard!"

    "Picard here."

    "This ship has Borg technology in it!"

    Seven closed her eyes. "We melded Borg and other Delta Quadrant technologies with Starfleet when we designed the shuttle."  She opened her eyes. "The technology is passive."

    Picard smiled.  "It's all right, Geordi," he told the engineer.  "Sit tight. I'll send you an expert in a little while."

    Seven closed her eyes again.   "Captain," Crusher said.  "She appears to be suffering from symptoms similar to chronic fatigue."

    "I must regenerate," the Borg answered.  "It has been, by my approximation, thirty-one hours since I last regenerated."

    "We don't have any Borg alcoves on board," Picard replied.  "Picard to LaForge."

    "LaForge here."

    "Geordi, I want you to rig up something similar to a Borg regeneration alcove."

    He could hear the frown in Geordi's voice. "Sure, Captain.  LaForge out."

    "Thank you, Captain," Seven said.  "You may want to have your engineer look through the Flyer's computer banks, as well.  There will be more specific information on the Borg technology."  Gathering her strength, she sat up.  "He will require my assitance in constructing the alcove."

    To Picard's surprise, Seven got to her feet and headed for the door of Sickbay.  With one last glance back for her friends, she disappeared into the corridor.

*      *      *

    Chakotay blinked back to consciousness.  A woman with reddish hair stood over him, holding an object an each hand.  He belatedly realized that she held a medical tricorder and wore a strange Starfleet uniform.  She set the objects down and turned to speak to someone out side Chakotay's field of vision.

    He struggled to sit up, but found his arms unresponsive.  He felt detached from his own body, his thoughts fuzzy.  One thing Chakotay did notice, however, was the absence of the pain that had so recently accompanied every breath.

    "Lie still, Commander," the woman ordered.  "Jean-Luc?"

    A bald man stepped near the doctor, also wearing a Starfleet uniform.  "Commander Chaoktay, I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Enterprise."

    It took a moment for his words to register in Chakotay's brain.  "The Enterprise?  We're in the Alpha Quadrant?"

    "We are currently in the Beta Quadrant, but we are in transit to Earth."

    Chakotay again tried to sit up.   "Seven... Tom?"

    "Seven-of-Nine is helping our engineer create a makeshift Borg regeneration alcove.  Mr. Paris is still recovering," the aristocratic captain replied, as the doctor injected Chakotay with a hypospray.

    The fuzz in his brain cleared as soon as the medicine hit his system.  Sitting up, he spied Paris lying on the biobed next to his, breathing deeply and easily.  "What happened?" he croaked.

    "Your vessel came out of the graviton ellipse, bearing for us.  Your two companions transmitted changes in our shield configuration, which rendered the Enterprise invisible to the ellipse.  The Delta Flyer, however, was struck by the edge of the ellipse as it passed."

    "What happened to Tom?"  It was becoming easier to speak and move.  He swung his legs over the side of the bed.  After a moment of dizziness, his vision cleared, and he could look at the Enterprise's captain and doctor without them swimming before his eyes.

    "He was hit by a plasma discharge when the Delta Flyer was struck."

    "So was..."  He trailed off.  The events of the previous day struck his now clear mind.  If he hadn't ordered Paris to take the Aries IV command module under tow...

    We would be back on Voyager by now.  Kathryn, B'Elanna, I'm sorry.

    "Most of the damage to your tissue was repaired by the time we got to you," the doctor was saying.

    "Tom did that," he replied, remembering.  Glancing down at his medical gown, he chuckled lightly.  "You suppose I could get some real clothes?"

    Captain Picard smiled and tapped his commbadge. "Picard to Riker."

    "Riker here," came the cheerful reply.

    Chakotay smiled. William Riker sounded exactly like Thomas Riker, whom Chakotay had once worked with in the Maquis.  If this Riker was as "gung-ho" as his double described him, the man would be easy to get along with.

    At least he is now, he thought.  Six years ago, I might have thought otherwise.

    "On my way," the Enterprise's first officer replied to a question Chakotay hadn't heard.

    Chakotay risked the nausea and stood.  Surprisingly, his feet supported him and his stomach did not betray him.  "How long before Paris wakes up?"

    "Another few hours, at least," the doctor assured him.  "I want to be sure he recovers fully."

    "He was the one who treated your injuries?" Picard asked, a hint of skepticism in his voice.

    Voyager's first officer nodded.  "He's our ship's medical assistant. He won't admit it, but even the doctor says he does a pretty good job."

    Picard and the female doctor exchanged surprised glances as the double-doors at the end of the room slid open.  It was a moment before Chakotay recognized Riker without his beard.

    Riker shook Chakotay's hand firmly.  "Will Riker.  If you'll follow me, I'll get you a uniform and a hot meal."

    "Chakotay.  I was Thomas' commanding officer for a short time while in the Maquis."

    Will grinned.  "My 'brother,' eh?" He shook his head, chuckling softly. "So, what's it like working with Kathryn?"

    "I wasn't aware the two of you knew one another."

    "We met only briefly, while at the Academy.  She was on the science track, and I remember boasting to her that one day I'd captain my own ship.  I actually told her she could be my science officer."  He grinned.  "Look which one got a captaincy first."

    "She's like that," Chakotay replied.  "Once she sets her mind to something, it's all-but impossible to change it.  A perfect example is telling her that our ship is stranded 70,000 light-years from home, and that we'll never make it back to Earth in our lifetimes.   Does she listen?  No, and five years later, we're 40,000 light-years closer."

    Riker laughed.  "Her friends and I all told her that taking the 'Scorcher' as her advisor was crazy.  She'd already made up her mind that Admiral Paris was the only person who could sponsor her junior thesis."  He shook his head again.  "Let's get you some quarters, shall we?"

*      *      *

    In a world of confusing darkness, he heard a familiar voice say, "Wake up, sleeping beauty."  The voice had a name attached to it, as well as a face.  Both should have been familiar.

    "C'mon, Paris.  Wake up.   I'll tell B'Elanna if you don't."

    The name swam up out of the inky blackness: Chakotay.  The voice was his, and B'Elanna was someone very important.

    Without opening his eyes, Tom Paris mumbled, "Anybody get the registration off the shuttle that nailed me?"

    "That's our Tom, all right," Chakotay announced.

    Even though it felt like there was a sandbag on each eyelid, Paris pried them open.  Three figures slowly shifted into focus above him: Chakotay, Captain Picard, and Doctor Beverly Crusher.  He recognized the last one from the file on Borg physiology Voyager's holographic doctor had assigned him.

    "Hi," he croaked.

    "How are you feeling, Mr. Paris?" Crusher asked.

    "I'm tryin' not to," he replied honestly.  A hypo was pressed against his neck and he took a deep breath as the medicine worked its wonders on him.  "We're on the Enterprise."

    "Yes," Picard replied, his voice every bit as powerful as the man's presence.  He wasn't just in a room, he owned it.  "The Delta Flyer was struck by the ellipse when your isolinear converter failed."

    "That's a tough little ship," a new voice added.  Paris managed to turn his head enough to see a tall, barrel-chested man approaching.

    That must be Commander Riker, he thought.  He felt brave and tried to sit up.  His arms, however, didn't feel like cooperating.

    He leaned his head back.  "Tough, yeah.  She's taken on a planet and survived."

    The three Enterprise officers glanced questioningly at Chakotay.  "Long story," he replied simply.

    "Mr. Paris, we have quarters and a uniform waiting for you.  We're currently on our way back to Earth.   A friend of ours is in a little bit of trouble, apparently, and has asked for our assistance," Picard said.

    Tom pulled his arms under himself and managed to sit up.  "I feel like I've been trampled by a herd of elephants."

    Crusher smiled.  "You were struck by a plasma discharge.  You're lucky to be alive."

    "Yep... That explains it."  His speech and thoughts had cleared greatly.  "Where's Seven?"

    "Regenerating," Chakotay replied.  "Can you stand?"

    Paris grunted, swinging his legs over the edge and gradually shifting his weight.  When all of his weight was on the floor, he nodded to his first officer.  "Did somebody say something about clothes?" he smiled.

    "And food," Chakotay replied, helping his younger companion toward the door.

    "Amazing," Picard remarked as the doors closed behind the two Voyager crewmen.

    "He's done a lot of growing up," Riker remarked.  "It's been... what? Almost ten years?"

    Crusher frowned. "Since what?"

    Picard smiled at Beverly.  "That young man once applied to be pilot under my command.  He had a remarkable flight record, and was well on his way to becoming a fine officer.   The day I made my decision to choose him from the other pilots applying for the post, his name disappeared from the list."

    "We never found out why, either," Will added.  "The second time we met him, security officers from the Bradbury led him to the brig, and we returned him to Earth.  As I recall, Worf nearly lost patience with his bad attitude."

    "Worf?" Crusher gasped.   The big Klingon Chief of Security was known for having a cool head, and being able to tolerate even the most irritating of people, including Ferengi.   Beverly found it impossible to believe that the slightly sarcastic but talented young officer she had just seen had stretched Worf's patience to its limit.

*      *      *

    "Just how strong is the hull?" LaForge asked.

    Paris looked up from his plate of replicated fried chicken and grimaced.  "It's a tetrabirniam alloy with polymetallic plating."

    The Chief Engineer nodded, his disconcerting blue eyes, with their strangely-shaped pupils, growing wide.  Even though he was good company and friendly enough so that Tom felt he had known him for years, Geordi wasn't the Chief Engineer he would like to be sharing lunch with.

    "It has Borg weaponry as well as shielding, doesn't it?"

    "Yeah, but our shields won't adapt like theirs do.  We just don't have a computer complex enough to imitate the Collective."  Over Geordi's right shoulder, he could see Seven enter the room, looking out-of-place and uncomfortable in one of the new-issue Starfleet uniforms.

    Which reminds me, when I get back to Voyager, I'm going to suggest that we change our uniform style, Paris thought.

    If I get back.

    He dismissed that thought immediately. "Excuse me, Commander," he said, standing.  Seven was used to having her nutritional requirements filled by Neelix, rather than having to find something in the replicator on her own.

    "Ensign Paris," Seven acknowledged.  "It's good to see you on your feet."

    "Thanks, Seven.  Do you need help with anything?"

    Seven stood and contemplated the replicator.  "I am familiar with the use of a replicator," she began, "but I am unsure what foods will provide the supplements I require."

    Paris crossed his arms.  "And we don't have Neelix here to fill those requirements for you, do we?"

    "Obviously not," she replied.   "Would you assist me in choosing 'regular' foods?"

    "Sure thing."  He thought for a moment. "Computer: garden salad with croutons and French dressing, a glass of milk, and a helping of breaded shrimp."  The replicator hummed to itself before producing the asked-for items and utensils.

    As he helped Seven carry her food to the table, Tom noticed Geordi staring at the Borg with wide eyes.  Geordi wasn't the only man in the room staring, of course, but his strange eyes were locked adoringly on the beautiful woman.

    Oblivious to the attention she was receiving, Seven strode over to Geordi's and Paris' table and set down her salad and glass of milk before seating herself.  After Paris had set down the plate of shrimp and seated himself, Seven reached for her fork.

    "Ensign," she said.  "Are you certain this provides the required nutrients?"

    "Yeah," he answered, aware that he was receiving incredulous looks from LaForge.  "Vitamins A and D and calcium are in the milk; B, C, and K are in the salad; fiber and protein are in the shrimp; and starch and potassium are in the croutons."

    "Starch?"

    Paris couldn't resist grinning.   "For good posture."

    Seven eyed him specutively.   "I fail to see the humor."

    "Later.  Eat the salad first."

    LaForge, having gotten over his initial shock at sitting next Seven, managed to ask, "I read something in your ship's database about a 'quantum slip-stream' drive.  What, exactly, is it?"

    "It's a type of propulsion," Paris answered.  "It goes at about the same speed as Borg transwarp, but doesn't require the finding a conduit."

    "Really?  Have you used it before?"

    "A few times," he answered.   "The last time we tried to use it, we nearly destroyed Voyager.   Actually, we built--Seven!"

    "We could use the slip-stream drive to get back to Voyager," she finished.  "We should be able to synthesize the needed bendamite crystals faster with better technology available."

    "Whoa, whao... wait," LaForge said.  "You mean this thing will actually work for the Delta Flyer?   If you get the right crystals?"

    "That is correct," the Borg woman replied.  "When we designed the Delta Flyer, we ensured that its hull configuration would allow it to safely travel in slip-stream."

    "Not to mention that it would be versatile enough to travel in atmosphere and, uh, even water," Paris added.

    "And, of course, rock," Seven pointed out.

    "Touché, Seven," Tom grinned.  "Your sense of humor is getting to be almost as bad as mine."

    "Rock?  You two are losing me," Geordi said, trying to follow the verbal sparring.

    "The Flyer was hit by an ion storm once, and crashed through several kilotons of rock," the pilot explained.  "All we lost was some hull plating and most of our oxygen."

    They sat in silence while the Enterprise's chief engineer absorbed the latest news.  "Oh," he said simply.  Then, "You got an air-and-space to travel underwater?"

    Paris could feel a blush creeping up his cheeks. "Yeah," he answered.

    "The Flyer has also been used to travel at transwarp, as well," Seven said.  Tom silently commended her for changing the topic.

    "Who designed her?"

    Paris smiled, hearing LaForge unintentionally stick the feminine pronoun on the ship.

    "Ensign Paris designed the vessel and I added the Borg technology to the design," Seven admitted, "but we were aided by Lieutenant Torres, the chief engineer; Ensign Kim, the operations officer; and Commander Tuvok, the tactical officer."

    "And, consequently, some of the best friends a person could ever have," Tom added.

    "But the two of you did most of the actual designing," LaForge stated.  "That's an impressive little ship."

    "Yeah," Paris found himself saying.  Suddenly, he wished that he was back on Voyager, not sitting in the mess hall of the Enterprise.  He almost laughed at himself.

    When I was in the Academy, he thought, I wanted nothing more than to be on this ship. Now that I'm here, I'm wishing I was on another.

    "Ensign Paris," Seven interrupted is reverie, "there is a hard object in this creature."

    "What?  Oh."  He almost flushed with embarassment.  "Shrimp has a tail.  Don't eat that, just bite the rest of it off."

    "Thank you, Ensign."

    "Call me Tom, Seven."  This was at least the third time he'd tried to tell her.  "I probably should have told the computer to replicate boneless shrimp."

    Seven had given up on trying to use the fork and knife to seperate the meat from the bone and began picking up the breaded shrimp by their tails and pulling the meat off with her teeth.   Despite his homesickness, Paris grinned.

*      *      *

    He dreamed of B'Elanna, being comforted by Harry Kim at the memorial service for the crew of the Delta Flyer.  Tears were hidden in the eyes of everyone at the service, excluding the Vulcans Tuvok and Vorik.  He wanted to reach out to them, to tell them not to worry, that he and Seven and Chakotay were alive.

    His ghostly hands passed right through them.  Out the window of the mess hall, he could see three oblong objects being shot into space toward a brilliant blue star.

    Then B'Elanna buried her face against Harry and cried.

    Paris jerked upright in bed.   Not his bed, of course, but the one in the quarters given him on the Enterprise.  His wildly beating heart gradually slowed and until he no longer heard the pounding of the blood in his ears, but the throbbing of the warp core.

    With the ear of someone who had spent years traveling in space, he realized that the throbbing was different.   The Enterprise was no longer traveling at warp.

    "Picard to Commander Chakotay, Ensign Paris, and Seven-of-Nine, please report to the Bridge."

    With a sigh, Paris climbed out of bed.

*      *      *

    Paris and Chakotay exited the turbolift together.  The sight on the viewscreen caused a twinge in Paris' stomach and he heard Chakotay's sharp intake of breath.  A shining blue marble, Earth, hung in center of the screen.

    Seven, already on the bridge, turned to her friends to see their reactions.  "We've arrived at Earth," she said, stating the obvious.  Tom felt his knees turn weak, but he grabbed onto a nearby console for support.

    Picard turned to them.  "We haven't yet contacted Starfleet Communications," he said.  "We thought you might like to introduce yourselves in person.  Counselor Troi--" he indicated a short, dark-haired woman of obvious Betazed heritage at his side--"is transporting to the surface shortly."

    "Well," Paris grinned.  "Give me fifteen seconds to pack and I'll go, too."

    "Me too," Chakotay added.

    "As will I," Seven chimed in.

*      *      *

    Chakotay sat on a park bench.

    "Commander," Seven said.  "We should continue on to Starfleet Headquarters."  She looked clearly uncomfortable with the idea.

    The big Indian shook his head.   "I just want to sit here and breath the air for a moment," he said.   "I haven't been on Earth for almost nine years."

    Paris sat down on the bench.   "And I haven't been here for six years."

    Not knowing what else to do, Seven sat on the bench beside them.  "I was last here when I was two years old.  I barely remember it."

    For a long time, the three members of Voyager's crew sat on the park bench, breathing in the air of a world they had all long left behind.  Suddenly, Paris laughed.

    "What?" Chakotay asked.

    "Here we are," the younger man replied, "three members of the crew of a lost starship, all wearing Starfleet uniforms."  He chuckled.  "And if it hadn't been for Captain Janeway, none of us would be wearing these uniforms.  Somehow, I'd always thought that she'd be the first of us to set foot on this planet again."

    "But instead, three of her reclamation projects do," Chakotay finished.  "It is kind of funny."

    "Not to mention the fact that I was one of the least enthusiastic members of the crew about returning to Earth," Seven added.  The three sat in silence, gazing at the Golden Gate Bridge in the distance.

    Chakotay's commbadge chirped, causing them to jump.  "Enterprise to Commander Chakotay."

    "Chakotay here."

    "Counselor Troi has asked for your assistance," Picard said.  "Have you reached Starfleet Headquarters yet."

    "No," Chakotay admitted.  "We were enjoying the scenery, actually."

    "I thought you might," the captain replied, and they could hear a smile in his voice.  "We'll be beaming you to her location. Enterprise out."

*      *      *

    "Deanna, I don't know what to do!  I've been banned from the Pathfinder project!" Lieutenant Barclay cried.

    "Reg," Counselor Troi replied soothingly, "it seems to me that you have holo-addiction again.  You've become obsessed with Voyager and her crew, and the only way to get rid of that kind of addiction is with reality."

    "I know," Barclay said.  "I've tried.  But Admiral Paris dismissed my idea and Commander Harkins banned me from the project."

    Troi smiled.  "All right, Reg, but I have a plan to bring you back to reality."  A knock sounded at the door.  "Why don't you get that?"

    Barclay hesitated, unsure of what he'd see at the door.  Would it be Geordi and Data?  Picard and Commander Riker?  Doctor Crusher and Worf?

    Slowly, he opened the door...

    ...And stared dumbfounded at the people standing outside.  It was clear none of them recognized him, but he knew two of the three.

    "Commander Chakotay?  Tom Paris?" he managed to gasp.

    "And Seven-of-Nine," Chakotay said.  "Is Counselor Troi here?"

    Troi pulled the door open wider.   "I'm here.  Mister Barclay is a part of the Pathfinder project, the team at Starfleet Communications responsible for contacting Voyager."  She smiled warmly.

*      *      *

    "So what is it you want us to do?" Paris asked from the back of the transport vehicle.  "Help Lieutenant Barclay get his job back?"

    "In a manner of speaking," Troi replied.  "Actually, I was hoping you would help validate his plan, as it seems that there is only a short span of time in which to implent it."

    "It is feasible," Seven replied.  "By creating a smaller wormhole, that allows it to be more stable, yet still enables a narrow communications beam to pass through it."  Barclay smiled adoringly at her.  "We could also provide you a more approximate location for Voyager, so you would not have to 'guess.'"

    "Thank you," Barcaly replied, finally sitting up straight in his seat.  "This means a lot to me."

    "I just want to be able to tell B'Elanna and the captain we're okay," Paris said.  Barclay looked at him curiously.

    The vehicle stopped and settled back to the ground and the passengers disembarked.  "Why are we at Academy Headquarters?" Paris asked suspiciously.

    "Well," Barclay began.  "I have to get my plan approved, first."

    The party entered the building and stepped into a turbolift.  "Eighth floor," Barclay ordered.

    "Where are we going?" Chakotay asked.

    "Unless I'm mistaken," Paris said, his expression dark, "we're going to my father's office."

*      *      *

    Admiral Paris' office, six years ago, had been covered with pictures of his family.  Pictures of Parises from all generations, at important events, and pictures of his wife and three children.  But tragedy had struck his family, and even though some of the pain and regret had been alleviated two years before, Owen Paris kept just one picture in his office.

    It was a picture of his only son.

    "Sir," his secretary, Captain Klennman spoke over the comm system.  "Mister Barclay is here and he has some friends with him... oh, my!"

    "What's going on?" he demanded, rising to his feet in anger.

    "Sir, I believe you should come out here.  Right away!" she replied.

    Admiral Paris stalked over to the door, contemplating whether or not to call Security.  But Nicole hadn't sounded frightened, just... shocked.  He reached out and opened the door quickly.

    Lieutenant Barclay stood nearest the door, face flushed with his customary embarrassment.  Behind him was a man with a tattoo on his forehead, a blond woman with a metal piece above her eye, and a short, dark-haired woman whom he recognized as Commander Deanna Troi of the Enterprise.

    Behind her, lowered to the floor but rising slowly to meet his gaze, were a pair of blue eyes the same shade as his own.  The nose between those eyes was aristocratic, above a pair of lips pressed into a thin line.  Sandy blond hair topped the face.

    "Hi," was all Tom Paris could say.

    "How...?  Son... I don't understand," Admiral Paris sputtered.  He'd always thought himself a strong and intelligent man, but what his eyes were telling him was completely... crazy.

    Stiff, and formal, the younger Paris began introductions: "My friends are Commander Chakotay and Seven-of-Nine."

    "How?" Captain Klenmman asked for her still-shocked employer and long-time friend.  "Is Voyager home and no one told us?"

    "No," Chakotay said, shaking his head.  "We were the crew of a shuttle that we took into a graviton ellipse, then it jumped back to subspace, taking us with it."

    "A graviton ellipse?" Barclay asked.  "How's that possible? The ellipses have always shredded the vessels they collided with!"

    "I modified the shields," Seven explained simply.  "The modifications enabled us to safely enter the ellipse.  After leaving the ellipse, we were rescued by the Enterprise."

    "Impressive," Admiral Paris managed to say. "And Voyager is still in the Delta Quadrant?"

    "Yes, sir," Tom said.  "Seven has looked at Lieutenant Barclay's plan for contacting our ship and she thinks it will work."

    "Seven is a Borg?" Klennman asked.

    "I was Borg," Seven answered.  "But not any longer.  I was seperated from the Collective three years ago. Since then, I have been serving as a member of Voyager's crew."

    "Sir," Barclay finally managed to say.  "Time is of the essence.  I--if we don't try this with-- within twenty-four hours, we may never get this opportunity again."

    "I'm not sure about it," the admiral began.  "It all seems purely hypothetical."

    "The Borg once used a very similar manner to create a faster means of travel," Seven said.  "It was abandoned when a transwarp drive was assimilated, because of the amount of energy required to open such a large wormhole.  All we would need is a small wormhole to slip a signal through."

    "And it never hurts to try," Chakotay added.

    Admiral Paris contemplated this briefly.  If what had been impossible, his son's sudden return to Earth, had come true, surely the hypothetical could also be done.

    "Nicole, contact Commander Harkins.  Tell him that I approve of Mister Barclay's plan and want to give it a try."

    "Aye, sir," Klennman smiled.

    Admiral Paris turned back to his office.  "Mr. Paris?" he asked.  "Could I see you in my office for a minute?"

    Troi grinned and slapped Tom on his back, shoving him toward the office door.  "Go on," she said.  Helpless, Tom looked to Seven and Chakotay, and they nodded him onward.  Sighing, he stepped into the room and shut the door behind himself.

    The first thing Tom Paris noticed was that the many pictures of the famous Parises had been removed from the walls, and the picture of ten-year-old Tom and his older sisters was gone from the desk.

    "Sir?" he questioned.

    "Don't 'sir' me, son," the admiral said, leaning against the desk.  "I missed you.  You have no idea how much I hated myself after I heard Voyager was missing and my last words with you were angry.  I'm proud of you, you know, becoming a lieutenant and the chief helmsman for Kathryn.  She's a good captain and deserves the best."

    The younger Paris flushed, unsure of how to deal with the unexpected praise.  "Uh... Sir, I mean, Dad?   I... got into a little... trouble."

    His father's brow furrowed.   "What kind of trouble?"  Unsure of how else to explain, he pointed to the single pip on his collar.

    "Oh."  The admiral was silent for a moment.  "How did it happen?  Start at the beginning."

    "Well, we encountered a planet of water--no core, no mantle, just solid water--but it was losing containment.   I knew how to stop it but... the people had the Bureaucracy from Hell and it would take weeks--maybe months--before they actually did something about it and then it'd be too late..."

    "I'm listening."

    "Um... I decided to... help them myself.  But Captain Janeway ordered me to return to the ship... but I didn't... and I fired a torpedo to force them to rebuild their oxygen refineries.   No damage was done because Voyager fired a torpedo that destroyed mine."  He hung his head, wondering how he'd ever managed to say as much as he had in his letter.  Maybe because I wasn't standing in front of him.   His father had always made feel like a small bug under the scrutiny of a entomologist.

    "You... attacked their oxygen refineries because they wouldn't listen to reason?"

    Tom wouldn't meet his father's gaze.  "Yes, sir."

    "I said, don't 'sir' me.  You believed so strongly that what you were doing was right, you were willing to risk everything?"

    "Yes, sir--um, yes."

    Admiral Paris closed his eyes.   It was time to pass judgement.  He remembered, from his childhood, the parable of the Prodigal Son.  "Then," he said finally, "as an admiral, I find you at fault--"

    His son's shoulders slumped in defeat.

    "--But as a father, I'm proud you attempted to follow through with something you so firmly believed in."

    Ensign Paris' eyes lifted from the floor.  "You--you mean that?"

    "Of course, son.  Even though I was disappointed the time you quit the Parrises Squares team to join the ski team, I was proud that you stuck with the sport you decided on, even after you'd hit a few bumps on the way."  It was strange to the normally reserved man to pour his heart up, but his feelings had been trapped in his heart for six years and were desperate to get out.

    Tom stared, dumbfounded, into his father's eyes.  He'd never heard his father speak this way.

    Ever.

    Unsure of what else to do, he held his arms out like a small child and hugged his father tightly.  Admiral Paris seemed surprised for a moment, then hugged back.  For long, silent moments, father and son embraced, both fighting and all-but-failing to keep their tears from falling.

    Finally, the older Paris drew his son to arms length.  "Let's go talk to your captain."

*      *      *

    It was another silent day on the bridge of the Voyager.  Many times, Kathryn Janeway found herself gazing distractedly at the empty chair to her right.  She missed the unspoken reassurance that poured from the tattooed Indian.  She missed eating dinner with him.  She missed seeing his smile first thing in the morning.

    She missed the long discussions about what it was to be human with their child-at-heart resident Borg, Seven-of- Nine.  Seven had come a long way in her quest for humanity.  Janeway had come to think of the blond woman as a younger sister.

    Janeway also missed seeing the sandy-colored head of Tom Paris at the front of the room.  She missed the banter between Paris, Kim, Chakotay, and Tuvok that had kept the whole voyage from being depressingly boring.  Ensign Kim, Lieutenant Torres, Neelix, and even the holographic Doctor seemed to have lost their happiness.

    They'd braved Borg attacks, some of the most dangerous species the galaxy had to offer, ship-eating creatures, and passed through a binary pulsar.  An adventure into the center of the graviton ellipse had seemed innocent, a simple fact-finding mission.

    But it had cost Janeway the lives of three of her closest friends.

    "Captain," Kim interrupted her melancholy thoughts, his voice full of excitement for the first time ina long time.  "We're receiving a transmission on the Starfleet emergency channel!"

    "The Delta Flyer?  Put it through!"

    Static burst through the comm system.  Kim quickly filtered out the static.

    "Voyager come in.  This is Lieutenant Reginald Barclay from Starfleet Command.  Please reply.   Repeat, this is Lieutenant Reginald Barclay from Starfleet Command.   Please reply.  Voyager come in..."

    Janeway felt a pang of disappointment, but she cleared her throat.  "Starfleet Command, this is Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Voyager.  We read you."

    After a long moment of silence, they heard, "Voyager, this is Admiral Paris.  We're sending you information on hyper-subspace communications relay and we are currently gathering letters from the family members of your crew."

    Janeway swallowed hard, her throat tight.  "Sir," she began.  "I have bad news..."

    "What is it, ma'am?" a familiar voice called.

    "Tom?"

    "And me, Kathryn."

    "Chakotay?"

    "I am here too, Captain."

    "Seven? You made it to the Alpha Quadrant?" the captain gasped.  Kim looked ready to leap over the railing and run around the ship, screaming the news to the whole ship.  "Mr. Kim, broadcast this message over the comm system.  Chakotay?  How did you get there?"

    "The ellipse dropped out of subspace in the Beta Quadrant," Paris answered.  "We were rescued by the Enterprise and returned to Earth.  The Flyer is still in one piece, in the Enterprise's shuttle bay."

    "Lieutenant Barclay has promised to work with us on reconstructing a quantum slip-stream drive for the Delta Flyer.   We hope to return to Voyager with fresh gel-packs and other supplies."

    "This communication line will be open for another two hours," Admiral Paris said.  "In that time, your crew needs to make their personal letters and we will gather and transmit as many as we can."

    "Thank you," Janeway breathed finally, and she knew everything would be all right.

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