This story/satire owes much to Garrison Keillor. I was listening to Prairie Home Companion the other day, and he told a story. Part of it fit the Janeway of season 5 to a T. And I just couldn't (wouldn't?) resist.
Paramount also is responsible for this creation...I really don't think I could have thought of this, if I didn't think Paramount and TPTB were ruining the character of Captain Kathryn Janeway.
The former Captain of Voyager sighed as she looked up at the night sky. Even after 3 weeks, she was still surprised that Chakotay and Tuvok had agreed with her so readily about her decision to remain on this planet. She then looked down toward the small village. She had chosen this location so she could be alone to contemplate her sins...Or rather her decisions that had brought them to this quadrant.
The villagers had accepted her wishes to be alone. They usually ignored her; rarely talking to her when she went into the village to buy supplies.
She looked at the hut she had chosen. Not one modern amenity. She deserved it. Having to eat her cooking was penance enough. She took another deep breath and realized she hated this place...Leaving Voyager had been the biggest mistake she'd ever made.
She cursed the stars and her crew. They'd seemed happy when she'd left. Even her stoic security chief hadn't phrased his farewells carefully. "Your presence on Voyager has become a detriment..."
Seven seemed the only one who was sad at her departure. And that was sad in Borg sense...
She kicked the dirt hard, gaining little pleasure in watching the ground fly away from the point of impact.
She glanced at the village again and made a decision...
Twenty minutes later she stood outside the door to the store. She smiled as a patron left and bravely stepped inside.
"It's the madwoman from the hills!" A young alien female called out. Kathryn winced, but she'd grown used to this title.
"May I help you?" An older voice said.
Kathryn nodded as she took a bottle from the shelf. Without saying anything she paid the price and started to leave. The door opened suddenly and Kathryn jumped out of the way, bumping against the bulletin board as she did. The alien who entered didn't even apologize, so she left.
For another hour she stared at the bottle. It had been years since she'd gotten drunk. It didn't make the pain and memories go away...They always came back with a vengeance and a hangover.
She started to pull the cork, but noticed a piece of paper stuck to her jacket. She pulled it off and looked at it curiously, wondering why it was written in English.
*Tonight at 2100 hours is a meeting of Captain's Anonymous.* The place wasn't that far away. She glanced at the bottle.
"Welcome to Captain's Anonymous," an older gentleman said as she looked up. "Have a seat..."
She glanced around the crowded building then sat down on the bench.
"Hair," a bald man was saying. "The best captain's are bald and proud of it..."
"Bah," another one said. She bit her lip to not laugh. His hairpiece was obviously that. Anyway she had hair--so didn't think hair was a critical consideration.
"Well, you never developed a stable relationship with anyone..."
"Neither did you. At least my son wasn't the mindless manipulations of some angry Ferengi."
She wondered what the hell she'd gotten herself into, but she sat quietly.
"That's my point. As Captains we've denied ourselves many of the basic human needs. Finding it where we can." The bald one pointed toward a tall dark man. "My friend here has a son...But even that relationship has been strained by his captaincy." He looked over the audience. "But I see, we have a new member. Welcome." He motioned for Kathryn to join him.
"Hi," she tried to smile. "I'm a Captain..."
There were sounds of sympathy and understanding from the group.
"Well, Captain. Why are you here?"
She shrugged. "I found this note..." She handed it to the other captain.
"Ahhh. I see. We were discussing relationships. How are yours?"
"What relationships? I'm Captain...I don't have time for one."
"See...She really is in dire straights. Even at home?"
She shook her head. "Not anymore. He moved on when he thought I was dead..." There were several tsks from the audience.
"And..."
"And? And what?"
"Surely there must be someone? We're Captains. Most of us have a girl in every port..." This was from the man with the hairpiece.
"Some of us have higher ideals," someone from the audience shouted.
"Really?"
Janeway shook her head. "Where am I?"
"Captain's Anonymous. A support group for Starfleet Captains. Surely you've heard of us?"
"No..."
"And as to why you are here...well, why are you here?"
"I destroyed our only way home to save a civilization that I'd never heard of..."
There were shouts of bravo from the audience--but she waved her hands. "No, no...no!! I stranded one-hundred and fifty people because of my decision. People who had no choice and lost everything..."
"People always have choices. Have you ever read Shakespeare?" The bald man next to her asked.
"Some. Why?"
"He said, 'Every subject's duty is the king's; but every subject's soul is his own.' Think about it Captain."
She stared at him. "I don't understand..."
He shrugged sadly. "Most don't--until it is too late. Your crew understands...Or rather understood--or you wouldn't be here seeking our help." He smiled sadly as he pointed toward the ceiling. "Out there is your home...your heart...your life. Don't waste it here." She looked around and found herself back on her hill holding the bottle.
"Weird..." She walked back to the hut and curled up on her straw bed.
The bottle could wait until later.
She woke with a start and pushed the blanket off her. "Lights." She glanced around her quarters. "Huh?" She rubbed her eyes. "Where the hell am I?"
"You are in Captain Kathryn Janeway's quarters," the computer responded, totally unsurprised at her question.
"I mean how?" She sat up. "A dream?" She tapped her commbadge. "Janeway to bridge. Status report?"
"All systems nominal," Lieutenant Rollin's voice said. "Is there a problem, Captain?"
"No, no problem..." She signed off and picked up a PADD. "Most curious indeed..." They were approaching a class-M planet. The very same class-M planet she'd just spent the last three weeks on.
"I don't understand..."
Most don't--until it is too late. Your crew understands...Or rather understood--or you wouldn't be here seeking our help." It was the voice of the bald man. "Out there is your home...your heart...your life. Don't waste it here."
"Home." She looked around her quarters. It surprised her just how little she'd done with the place. It was her room and had been for almost 5 years; yet it still retained its generic Starfleet look.
That would change. Something soft and pastel maybe.
She froze, then reached out to pick up a bottle on her dresser. "Champagne?" Her eyes widened as she studied the label. One of the best vintages ever. She then saw the card.
*Welcome home.*
The quote is from Henry V.