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  For Lynne

  “Everything we see is a perspective, not the truth.”

  —Marcus Aurelius

  “The truth will set you free, but first it will make you miserable.”

  —Unknown

  HISTORIAN’S NOTE

  Admiral Kathryn Janeway leads the Full Circle fleet—Voyager, Vesta, Galen, and Demeter—on a mission of exploration in the Delta Quadrant. The landscape is quite different since a lone, lost Starship Voyager was trying to find her way home. The fleet is charged with discovering what has changed in the Delta Quadrant since Voyager was last here and the ultimate power in the quadrant, the Borg, departed.

  This story begins in June and continues through July of 2382.

  Prologue

  STARSHIP VOYAGER

  And how is the most recent addition to our crew this morning?” Admiral Kathryn Janeway asked as she settled herself on the side of Commander B’Elanna Torres’s bed and stared lovingly at the tiny face of the newborn boy sleeping soundly in his mother’s arms.

  “He’s perfect,” Commander Tom Paris replied from the other side of the bed. He stood beside Captain Chakotay, who had accompanied the fleet admiral to the Parises’ quarters.

  Torres glanced up at her husband. Tom had worn the same sleepy grin for the first thirty-six hours of his son’s life. Their daughter, Miral, who was about to turn four in a few weeks, was curled up beside her mother, studying her brother’s face and stealing shy peeks at those who had intruded into her family’s sanctuary.

  “He certainly looks that way,” Janeway agreed.

  “Would you like to hold him?” Torres asked.

  “Absolutely,” the admiral replied, smiling. Torres gently transferred the baby to Janeway’s arms. He yawned as he settled himself in unfamiliar territory. “Hello, little one,” she greeted him softly.

  “Does he have a name yet?” Chakotay asked.

  “Michael,” Miral replied before Paris or his wife had a chance.

  “Michael Owen,” Torres added.

  Janeway smiled broadly. “Named for his grandfather and great-grandfather. Those are some large boots to fill, young man. But don’t worry. You’ve got plenty of time.”

  “What was great about my grandfather?” Miral asked.

  Paris moved to sit across from Janeway and pulled his daughter onto his lap. “Your grandfather was Owen. You met him when you were too little to remember. Owen’s father was Michael. Your grandfather’s father is your great-grandfather.”

  The small ridges on Miral’s forehead, testament to her Klingon heritage on B’Elanna’s side, grew more pronounced as her eyebrows scrunched together. “But what was so great about him?”

  Paris chuckled. “A lot. I’ll tell you the whole story when we head to the park later this afternoon.”

  “Can we go now, Daddy?”

  “Not yet, sweetie. We have company.”

  “Did I have this much company when I was born?” Miral asked.

  “No, you had more,” Torres replied.

  “You were born on a very important day for all of us,” Janeway said. This pleased Miral, who favored the admiral with a smile.

  “The day we came home,” Miral said.

  “That’s right.”

  “But why did we go home if we were just going to come back to the Delta Quadrant?” Miral asked.

  “We came back so we could learn more about this part of our galaxy,” Chakotay offered.

  “You should have learned enough the first time,” Miral suggested. All four of the adults laughed knowingly in response.

  Janeway spared another long look at Michael before handing him back to Torres. “He’s beautiful, B’Elanna. Congratulations, to all of you.”

  “Thank you, Admiral,” Torres said.

  “Seconded,” Chakotay added. “I’m formally ordering you both to take as much time as you need before returning to duty. Harry’s had plenty of practice filling in for Tom and I understand from Counselor Cambridge that Lieutenant Conlon will be officially reinstated this morning.”

  “How’s Icheb doing?” Torres asked.

  “As well as can be expected,” Chakotay replied.

  Torres wondered what that meant, but chose to let it pass. Michael was stirring and would no doubt require another meal momentarily.

  “We’ll let you get your rest,” Janeway said, rising.

  “Feel free to stop by whenever you like, Admiral,” Torres said. “You seem to be a natural at this. He screams his head off when Tom holds him.”

  “Already wise beyond his years,” Chakotay teased.

  “Clearly,” Paris agreed.

  “When are you going to have a baby?” Miral asked of Janeway.

  A sudden, awkward hush descended. Torres broke it. “Miral, it’s not polite to ask such personal questions.”

  “It’s all right,” Janeway assured her. “Babies are a wonderful gift, Miral, but not everybody chooses to have one. This is one challenge I intend to enjoy vicariously.”

  “What’s vicar . . . vicarus . . . ?” Miral asked.

  “I’ll let your parents explain that one,” Janeway replied with a wink at Paris.

  Torres looked toward Chakotay and noted a brief flash of something . . . disappointment, perhaps, in his eyes. She hadn’t slept more than two hours at a time in the last three days, so she might have imagined it. The captain moved quickly to join the admiral, stepping aside to allow her to leave the room before him.

  When their visitors had gone Paris scooched Miral over and settled himself beside his daughter on the bed. He stared contentedly at his family. “Do you think . . . ?” Torres began. Tom’s eyes were closing before she could finish her question.

  Returning her gaze to her son’s face, Torres said softly, “She doesn’t know what she’s missing, does she?”

  1

  STARSHIP GALEN

  What were his exact words?” Seven demanded of Ensign Icheb.

  The newly minted young officer paled, highlighting the irregular red blotches burning his cheeks. “Commander O’Donnell said that I should not set foot in Lieutenant Elkins’s engine room again without a direct order from Commander Torres or Admiral Janeway.”

  The Doctor lowered his head to hide his amusement.

  “And did you report this to Commander Torres?” Seven continued, simultaneously shooting the Doctor a warning glance.

  “Not yet,” Icheb admitted.

  “You should do so at once,” Seven suggested.

  “I was assigned to assist the commander. I do not believe she will find this evidence of my obvious inadequacy helpful,” Icheb countered.

  “Commander Torres is fine, Icheb,” the Doctor interjected. “I was with her a few hours ago. She is understandably exhausted, but not yet buckling under the stress of the inevitable sleep-deprivation the next several days will bring.”

  “And she did order you to evaluate and rate the current operational efficiency of each fleet vessel’s engineering department,” Seven added. “She should know how those under her command are responding to your input.”

  “They’re not the problem, Seven,” Icheb insisted.

  Seven took the padd that rested on the table next to Icheb’s untouched breakfast plate and read silently for a few moments. When the Doctor had joined Seven and Icheb in Galen’
s small mess hall for an early breakfast they’d had the room to themselves. The entrance of Lieutenants Benoit and Velth signaled that alpha shift was about to begin.

  Icheb glanced toward Galen’s chief engineer, Benoit, who nodded in greeting toward the ensign.

  Seven sighed, returning the padd to the table. “While it is true that Lieutenant Elkins might find strict adherence to Starfleet protocols tiresome, the inefficiencies you have highlighted here are all accurate.” As she continued, the Doctor reached for the padd and began to peruse it. “Regulations apply to everyone, whether they believe they know better or not. Lieutenant Elkins’s compliance is mandatory, not optional. And Commander O’Donnell should not prioritize placating the egos of those he supervises above requiring them to perform their duties appropriately.”

  “Six hundred nineteen?” the Doctor gasped.

  Icheb’s and Seven’s heads instantly turned in unison toward the Galen’s holographic chief medical officer.

  “You cited Elkins for six hundred nineteen violations?” the Doctor asked.

  “Each violation contains a citation to the applicable regulation,” Icheb noted.

  “I see that,” the Doctor said. “But Icheb, surely the years you just spent at Starfleet Academy acquainted you with the chasm that exists between humans and perfection. Did it not occur to you to prioritize your findings and perhaps present Chief Elkins with a series of more manageable recommendations?”

  “While onerous, the requirements Starfleet places on engineers to constantly monitor every system under their purview are both necessary and attainable,” Icheb replied. “Your Chief Benoit is proof of that. I found only twenty-six violations in his department and he accepted his review without question.”

  “Galen is even smaller than Demeter,” the Doctor reminded the ensign, “and she hasn’t seen near the action in recent months that Commander O’Donnell’s ship has. Never mind the fact that Chief Benoit has access to dozens of highly specialized holographic engineers who are programmed to perform their duties to regulation specs and to do so without the need for rest or the inclination to complain when a task is mind-numbingly boring.”

  “Be that as it may,” Seven said, “Icheb is performing an essential duty, and he should not be reprimanded for the failings of others.”

  “Seven, do you want Icheb to succeed at his first assignment with the fleet?” the Doctor asked.

  Seven appeared momentarily stricken. “Of course I do.”

  “And have you heard him refer obliquely and directly to his perceived failures up to this point? He didn’t ask us to meet him this morning to lie to him, or worse, to shift the blame for the challenges he is now facing onto others. He knows he is not living up to his or B’Elanna’s expectations. Our job is to help him find a way to do that.”

  Seven sat back. “What do you suggest?”

  “For Icheb to be able to perform his duties effectively, he must gain the confidence of those he will interact with on a daily basis. Otherwise, his ability to function as Commander Torres’s personal aide will be severely limited.” Turning toward Icheb with sincere compassion, the Doctor continued, “I know it is difficult. We could talk continuously for days and barely scratch the surface of the challenges I have faced over the years in establishing realistic expectations of our fellow officers and developing mutually respectful and productive relationships. But you don’t have time for that. Commander Torres has just given birth. She needs you to function as her eyes and ears for the next several weeks as she recovers and sees to the needs of her family. Your job is to make her life easier and worry-free, not to nit-pick her subordinates into defiance.”

  “But—” Seven began.

  “And you,” the Doctor continued, “do our young friend here no favors in suggesting that he is not, at least in part, responsible for creating discord. Being right is important. But that’s not the only thing being asked of him anymore. He also needs to be sensitive to the feelings of his compatriots and to the reality that none of them are going to be willing to submit to the overly officious will of a green ensign. Learning does not end when one graduates, Icheb. The coursework changes, but the process continues.”

  “You are suggesting that I lower my expectations?” Icheb asked. “They are no more than I demand of myself.”

  “I am suggesting that you not use your abilities, or Seven’s, as the only means of measuring performance. You were both raised by the Borg, a species that believed perfection was attainable. Those you are now supervising in Commander Torres’s stead were not.” After giving this a moment to sink in the Doctor asked, “How many of the violations you presented to Lieutenant Elkins would you consider critical to ship operations?”

  Icheb looked to Seven before replying, “Twenty-three.”

  “The magnetic constrictor retuning . . .” Seven suggested.

  “Twenty-two,” Icheb allowed.

  “Take a revised evaluation directly to Commander O’Donnell as soon as possible, highlighting only critical suggestions for improvement. Apologize for wasting Chief Elkins’s valuable time and ask that the commander pass along your recommendations.”

  “And if Commander O’Donnell refuses?” Seven asked.

  “He won’t,” the Doctor replied. “He’s not questioning your position or authority, nor is he blindly defending his officer. He’s testing you. This is how you pass that test.”

  “Is it your intention to give Icheb the same series of instructions in social skills you provided to me when I first came to Voyager?” Seven asked.

  The Doctor’s program paused momentarily as it attempted to access memories that no longer existed. The immediate chagrin on Seven’s face indicated that this lapse had not gone unnoticed.

  “Forgive me,” Seven said quickly. “I was referring to a series of interactions that began on stardate 51652.3. You were attempting to assist me—”

  “It’s all right, Seven,” the Doctor interrupted. Much as he was growing to treasure Seven’s attempts to provide him with the data about their early years together that had been purged from his matrix in order to simultaneously rid it of a Seriareen consciousness determined to steal his holomatrix, this was not the time. “Icheb needs to get to work, and you have a meeting aboard the Vesta to attend, don’t you?”

  “I do.”

  “I believe the Doctor’s suggestions are valid,” Icheb said as he rose from his seat and collected his full dish of fresh fruit and utensils. “Thank you both.”

  “You are always welcome,” Seven said. “Report back to me when you have spoken to Commander O’Donnell.”

  “I will,” Icheb promised.

  Seven followed Icheb with her eyes as he hurried toward the replicator to recycle his breakfast.

  “He’s going to be fine, Seven. It will take him some time to adjust. But he’ll get the hang of it. You did.”

  “It is still difficult to watch someone for whom you care deeply struggle.”

  “Don’t try to take it away from him,” the Doctor suggested.

  Seven turned back to face him. “I won’t.”

  As they rose to begin their duties, the Doctor asked, “Did the social lessons you referred to actually help you become better acclimated to your life aboard Voyager?”

  “They were extremely tiresome,” Seven replied honestly. “And yes, they did.”

  The Doctor smiled. He could not help but believe that no matter how much data he had lost when Xolani had attacked his program, nothing essential had been taken from him.

  VOYAGER

  Lieutenant Nancy Conlon was impatient for this meeting to end. Counselor Hugh Cambridge was the last officer required to sign off on her complete recovery from the incident of a few weeks prior that had left her briefly dead and temporarily comatose. Cambridge and the Doctor had done exemplary work. She was more than ready to return to engineering and get on with the rest of her life.

  Cambridge sat opposite her in a deep black chair, his long legs crossed at the knee with
one swinging idly as he perused her updated medical records. He spoke without lifting his eyes from the padd. “I see you have already resumed your normal exercise regimen.”

  “The Doctor was concerned about some early motor weakness, but it has improved in the last several days,” Conlon reported.

  “And the headaches?”

  “Gone. And I don’t miss them.”

  Cambridge nodded as he continued to read.

  “What’s this about bananas?”

  “Banana pancakes. B’Elanna introduced me to them a few months back and ever since I woke up I’ve been craving them. I was begging for them long before the Doctor rescinded my dietary restrictions. Even increasing my potassium supplements didn’t help. Lieutenant Neol took pity on me and snuck me a serving. The Doctor was not pleased.”

  Cambridge chuckled. “I bet he wasn’t.” Finally setting the padd aside, the counselor looked up at his patient and said, “Which just leaves the most important question.”

  “Nothing,” Conlon said simply.

  “Still?”

  Conlon shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. The last thing I remember, I was in the main holodeck, reviewing the most recent access logs. The next thing I knew, Harry and B’Elanna were arguing over my bed.”

  Cambridge shook his head. “Obviously we have no baseline for a case like this. You are the only person on record who has ever survived Seriareen possession and the expulsion of that essence.”

  “All I had to do was die.”

  “And that doesn’t bother you?”

  “Given the alternative, no. Besides, I’m in good company: Lieutenant Kim, Admiral Janeway. The dead don’t often stay that way on this ship, do they?”

  “Some do,” Cambridge replied. Conlon detected a faint note of genuine regret from him. “Of course your death took place under medical supervision. You were revived the moment the Doctor could confirm that Xolani had left your body.”

  “Isn’t it a good thing that I don’t remember? Yes, the idea of it is traumatic to think about, but it’s almost like it happened to somebody else.”