Note: Paramount is God. I am just a lowly worm, crawling through Paramount's creation.

This bit of fiction is dependent upon "Author, Author," and won't make much sense if you haven't seen the episode. In case you haven't seen it, the doctor writes a holo-novel about the Starship Vortex, a ship of the damned lost in the Delta Quadrant. He uses the physical parameters of the senior staff, exaggerating all of their worst faults. The doctor eventually reconsiders, but not before a bootleg copy of the program is released. I've always wondered how family members of the Voyager crew might view this program. When you haven't seen somebody in seven years, you would have to wonder how he or she might have changed...

"Truth in Art?"

It was an amazingly busy day at the Pathfinder Project. Now that two-way communications had been established with Voyager, there was exponentially more information on the Delta Quadrant to process. It certainly made it easier to justify the Pathfinder Project to Starfleet bean counters, but that was a mixed blessing. Owen Paris had rather enjoyed battling the bureaucrats on Tom's behalf; it made him feel like he was truly helping his only son. Now, he was simply processing information. But he couldn't even do that with Reginald Barclay hounding him all the time. Still, he owed the man a debt of gratitude for establishing the link with Voyager in the first place. Admiral Paris might find Barclay annoying as hell, but he always made time for him. So when his aide told him that Lt. Barclay wanted to speak with him (again!), he told her to send Barclay in to the ops center.

Barclay came striding in five minutes later, with a grim look on his face. "I'm sorry to disturb you, Admiral."

Paris resigned himself to another meandering conversation with the brilliant, but erratic, engineer. "Ah, yes, Mr. Barclay. What can I do for you?"

Barclay handed him a PADD. "I thought you'd want to see this, sir."

"What is it?"

Barclay looked even graver. "It's, umm, a holo-novel that's becoming quite popular."

Paris had to remind himself again how much he owed Barclay before he trusted himself to speak. "Well, I appreciate the gesture, Lieutenant, but ... I don't share your affinity for holographic diversions."

Barclay shook his head. "You don't understand, sir. This program ... it's about Voyager. And it doesn't portray the crew in a ... very flattering light."

An unflattering program about Voyager? Everybody in the Federation seemed to love Voyager. The romantic saga of a ship lost from home, yada yada yada. Who could have written such a thing? Barclay must be over-reacting again. Nevertheless, the man seemed to think it important that he view the program right away, so Paris decided to do just that. And the fact that he was hungry to see his son's face, even if it was just a holographic representation of Tom, well, that was completely irrelevant.

As the director of the Pathfinder Project, Admiral Paris had read all the ship's logs and the crew manifests. Captain Janeway had been full of praise about his son, and his personal file was filled with commendations. Obviously Tom had grown aboard Voyager. Paris couldn't reconcile his memories of an honorless, angry young man with the competent, decorated, married officer that Janeway described so often. Perhaps this holo-novel could give him a clue as to what Tom was really like now. But of course, his real reason for viewing the program would be because he was in charge of the Pathfinder Project. Anything relating to Voyager fell within his purview. Viewing this program was a legitimate part of his duties.

So it was that Owen Paris happily went to the holo-deck. Barclay's face should have given him a hint as to what was in that program, but the Admiral was too caught up in his own thoughts to fully digest the word "unflattering."

A few hours later, Owen Paris felt physically sick to his stomach. And all of his newfound pride in his son was gone.

T'Pel never wasted her time on holographic pursuits. She just couldn't see the logic in living in an artificial world. But when she heard rumors of a holo-program about Voyager, she immediately went to a holo-suite. It was only logical to see this ballyhooed program for herself.

What she saw disturbed her very much. Oh, not the main thrust of the program. She had met Kathryn Janeway many times, and she knew that her husband's friend would never behave in such a manner. No, what troubled her was the holographic projection of her husband. True, he was presented as a human, so it was obvious that some artistic license had been taken with the character of "Lt. Tulok," but still... The sardonic humor and open emotion on her husband's face frightened her. (Not an emotionally detached state, but there it was.) Had her husband's neurological condition really progressed that far? He had written her of his illness; but had he understated the extent of it in order to spare her "feelings"? That would be a most illogical thing to do, but then again, this disease impaired a Vulcan's ability to use logic effectively. Just how extensive was this neurological damage...?

Although it was highly illogical, T'Pel found herself regretting her decision to view "Photons Be Free!" She would need many hours of meditation to purge herself of the emotions that it had caused within her.

Chakotay's sister sat in the empty holo-suite and cried herself sick. Seven years ago, she had been so worried about her brother, that his depthless rage against the Cardassians would kill his spirit. She had actually been almost glad to learn that the Liberty had been pulled into the Delta Quadrant, and that her brother was now serving aboard Voyager. Surely a few years away from the Cardassians and the demilitarized zone would quell the storms in his soul. It looked like she was right. There were no more storms in his soul because her brother no longer had a soul. Although he had not appeared in the program for very long (and he had appeared as a Bajoran, of all things!), it was clear what had happened to Chakotay. The brutal way that he had ordered the EMH to treat Lt. Marseilles and the casual manner in which he had threatened the holographic doctor ... something in the Delta Quadrant had turned him into an unfeeling monster. This wasn't her older brother, the gentle but contrary boy that she had adored from the day she was born. She would have to face it for a second time: Chakotay was dead. The Delta Quadrant hadn't saved him from his passions; it had burned all emotion out of him. She had been less devastated when she believed him to be truly dead.

Mary Kim also cried herself sick at the end of the program. Although Harry was presented as a Trill, she recognized her son right away. At first she focused on her son's obsession with alien parasites. This program had been written by Voyager's doctor, hadn't it? He would certainly know about Harry's medical history, wouldn't he? Had poor Harry spent most of the last seven years in Sickbay, battling off various pathogens? She had spent so many sleepless nights worrying about hostile aliens, space battles and core breaches ... the thought that he might simply be sick and needing his mother had never crossed her mind before. Children always needed their mothers when they were ill, didn't they? How many times had he wished for her soothing presence, and not found her there? The image was now firmly planted in her mind: poor, sick, lonely Harry. Although there was absolutely nothing she could do for him, her sense of guilt overwhelmed her. She had failed her only child.

Once she had faced her inadequacies as a mother, she considered the rest of "Harry's" behavior in the holo-novel. He was completely self-centered, and totally oblivious to the fate of that nice holo-doctor. Harry wasn't really like that, was he? The boy she had raised was sweet, sensitive and caring. He would never behave like "Ensign Kimball." This presentation was simply wrong. Or was it? It had been seven years of hardship and never-ending maladies. Who could say how that could change a person? The sweet child that had boarded Voyager was gone; in his place was a hard-bitten, plague-ridden man. How could she really say what that stranger was really like? He had seemed nervous during their recent conversation, and desperate to prevent her from writing to Captain Janeway. Was that because Harry was afraid of what she might say to his formidable Captain (and how had she ever gotten the idea that that gun-toting monster was "a lovely woman"?), or was he afraid of what the Captain might say about him?

Every night, for seven years, she had prayed for the life of her only child. She had never thought to pray for his soul, and now it might be too late.

It was well known among her circle of acquaintances that Phoebe Janeway never played holo-novels. Although she knew that it made her sound like a snob, Phoebe could never stomach the argument that holo-novels were works of art. They were harmless diversions, nothing more, nothing less. She was endlessly irritated by the grandstanding of "holo-authors," who always wanted to expound at such length about their "masterpieces." I mean, come on! Holo-novels were impressive engineering feats, but they held no literary merit. If you needed a brainless way to kill an afternoon, then a holo-novel was a good thing; but it was nothing short of self-delusion to claim that you were enriching yourself in any way. For herself, Phoebe would always choose a good book over a holo-novel. And she often chose museums over books.

It was therefore something of a surprise when her agent handed her a copy of a holo-novel at a party. "'Photons Be Free!' Pretentious title, isn't it?"

Her agent grinned at her. "The whole thing is pretentious, actually, but I think that it might interest you."

"Oh, and why is that?"

"Because it's about Voyager. Janeway is an unusual name. Surely you must be related to Captain Janeway in some way?"

Phoebe knew her agent too well to tell him the truth. If he knew that Kathryn Janeway was her sister, he would have her doing a series of paintings entitled "Musings on Voyager," or some such tripe. He would see her pain over losing her sister as a potential goldmine. So she hedged. "The relationship is pretty distant." A sudden thought struck Phoebe. "Is ... is Captain Janeway in this holo-novel?"

Her agent grinned again. He had guessed that his rising star had some close connection to Voyager's Janeway, and that last question had just confirmed it. The Captain was probably at least a second cousin, maybe even first. Phoebe was normally much better about not giving things away; this holo-novel must be important to her. He sighed happily to himself. He would badger her into painting an entire exhibit on Voyager before the year was out. With public interest in Voyager so high right now, the credits would just roll in. But he would get into that later. Right now, he would just answer her question and see how she reacted. "Quite a lot, actually. The protagonist interacts with her more than any other holo-character."

"Hmmm. That might be interesting. You know what, Marshall? I'm actually kind of tired. I think I'm going to blow this party. If that's okay with you, I mean?"

"Absolutely. I can't have my star artiste getting fatigued, now can I? I'll give you a call in a couple of days."

"Thanks, Marshall. For letting me leave the party, I mean. I know that you like me to make contacts at functions like this." Phoebe paused, and then seemed to have an afterthought. "And, oh. Thanks for the holo-novel as well."

"Any time, Phoebe darling. Any time."

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

The first time Phoebe faced her sister in seven years, Kathryn pointed a phaser at her and then fired it at a wounded man. Everything about Kathryn in that program was horrible, including her hair. Nothing here could possibly be accurate. And yet... The program was supposedly written by Voyager's EMH. Kathryn had written about the holographic doctor in her letters home, and she had portrayed him as a friend. Surely a friend who saw her everyday would know her better than an estranged sibling who hadn't been so good about staying in touch even before her sister was thrown all the way across the galaxy.

Obviously, there was some artistic license taken in the program. Phoebe had met Tuvok before, and she could recognize the Vulcan's facial structure in that of the human security officer. She had never met Kathryn's first officer, but she had described him as having a tattoo on his face, so it seemed likely that his physical parameters had been used for the tattooed Bajoran in the first chapter. And Phoebe knew perfectly well that her sister had no affinity for guns. All of a sudden a ridiculous picture popped into her head: her diminutive sister prowling the halls of Voyager while toting around a gigantic phaser compression rifle. The absurdity of that mental image made Phoebe giggle.

But some elements weren't so funny. Phoebe was well aware that her sister could be driven, and uncompromising. Even Kathryn knew this about herself. That was why she wanted Tuvok on her ship, to give her some moral bearings. She didn't always remember where lines should be drawn. Phoebe had rather received the impression from Kathryn's letters that her first officer was much clearer about what lines could and could not be crossed; perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps Kathryn really had become as lost from herself as this program suggested.

But perhaps she was jumping the gun. She should ask Kathryn about this holo-novel, inquire about its level of veracity. She should do it in her next monthly letter. She could see it now: "Say, Kathryn. My friends and I were discussing you, and they wanted to know whether it was true that you had turned into a cynical, cold-blooded killer." Yeah, that would go over real well. Or how about this one: "Don't worry, sis, Mom is fine. The doctors gave her a physical recently, and they say that there is an unusually low risk factor for Alzheimer's or senility. So we won't have to worry about her turning into a homicidal maniac anytime soon! And speaking of homicidal maniacs..."

No, Phoebe wouldn't be writing that in this letter, or in any other. It was impossible to raise accusations like that when you weren't looking the other person in the eye. And she certainly wouldn't do it over the subspace comm message! She wouldn't even be able to phrase the question in three minutes, much less receive an answer. She doubted whether any of Voyager's friends or family members would ask about "Photons Be Free!" until the ship was home. And that wouldn't be for another forty years. Or perhaps ten, if Voyager continued at its incredible pace. It didn't matter. Even if the ship came home tomorrow, after seven years, Kathryn would be a stranger to Phoebe. And strangers were under no obligation to answer important questions just because they were asked.

A silent tear streaked down Phoebe's face as she realized that she might never know what really happened to her sister in the Delta Quadrant.

Forty thousand light years away, the EMH was feeling quite pleased with himself. Although he had initially been a little disappointed that he hadn't been granted the rights of a Federation citizen, he was content for the moment to be recognized as a legitimate author and artist.

He still thought that all of the fuss over his original draft was overblown. Nobody would really believe that Voyager functioned as Vortex did. It was ridiculous on the face of it! Certainly no one would ever mistake the Vortex characters for real crewmembers, no matter what the physical parameters. But although he still couldn't understand why the senior staff members were upset, it was clear that they were. So he would spend a couple of extra weeks on the work, just to maintain harmony. And it felt wonderful to be doing his comrades a good turn. He didn't do too many things that could be considered as "self-sacrificing," but he was starting to understand the appeal.

The Doctor asked the computer to play Rigoletto in its entirety, and then he sat down to work. He was happy to be engaged in a little artistic expression, and very happy that he was able to be such a good friend to his crewmates. All was right with the universe.

-- The End