Written for Delwin in the VAMB Secret Summer exchange.
Talk to Tom
Letters spelling out 'Pathfinder Center' splashed in cheerful red above two sturdy doors dutifully named 'push' and 'pull'.
The Pathfinder Center was the public face of the Pathfinder Project. During his brief cross galaxy visit, Voyager's holographic doctor had passed along enough data to initiate the Pathfinder research project and to open this information center to the public. There'd been long lineups since opening day. People couldn't get enough of Voyager, the miracle ship.
It was Admiral Paris' custom to visit the Center's displays and meet with Lt. Commander Mishvahl before continuing on to the research lab. Although it wasn't strictly necessary to visit the Center on his inspection tours, he liked to be thorough.
Admiral Paris stood back from the entrance to allow a school group to crowd into the lobby. Despite one of the parent-supervisor's best efforts, several children pushed forward in eager anticipation.
"There it is. That's Voyager!" The excited children broke away from the beleaguered parent-volunteer to "ooh" and "aah" at the large detailed model hanging high above their heads. The teacher-in-charge skillfully corralled them over to the marshaling area to wait for their tour to begin.
The Center took up the lower floor of a spacious building set in a non-restricted section of the Starfleet complex. A theater inside the lobby ran the story of Voyager's disappearance from the Badlands at twenty-minute intervals. Visitors could then tour recreations of various Voyager departments, including sickbay, engineering and the bridge. Touch screens along the way invited the visitors to solve hypothetical problems and to plot a route home for the crew.
A large screen to one side of the hall displayed the names and faces of Voyager's crew. Numbered pads could be used to activate a short biography of the selected crewmember. A few deceased members of the crew were omitted from the display at the families' request.
A lively group gathered around the screen, engaged in an animated discussion about which crewmember to choose first.
"What about Captain Janeway?" one suggested.
"Everybody chooses Janeway!" her companion complained.
"How about this one, Cha-ko-tay? He's kind of cute in a 'rugged, older guy' kind of way."
Her date wasn't impressed. "Nah, I don't see it. Besides, he's one of the Maquis."
"So what? I agree with Dana," said another young woman. "He has an interesting face. I think it's nice that some of the Maquis are alive out there. That slaughter was awful. I vote for him."
Her companion didn't agree either. "I don't! The Maquis are terrorists. If they weren't dangerous, they wouldn't be in prison. Pick someone else!"
"Why are you so against the Maquis?" another asked. "Personally, I'll take the Maquis over the Cardassians any day. I don't mind having a look at this guy. "
Their exchange of views threatened to turn into a heated argument when a self-appointed voice of reason chimed in. "Look, this is all history now. We need to move past it. The Maquis should do the same. Let's drop this and pick someone else."
The rest of the discussion was lost in the noise of the school group setting out on its guided tour.
One fact was clear to Admiral Paris and to the rest of Starfleet too. Public opinion about the Maquis was sharply divided. Fortunately there were enough 'safe' crewmembers with Starfleet backgrounds serving on Voyager to satisfy the public's hunger for good news. The Admiralty dealt with the controversy around the Maquis by sidestepping the issue and downplaying their presence on Voyager. Starfleet didn't need another wave of negative public opinion.
The Federation Council had taken heavy criticism for its decisions during the war with the Dominion. The public wanted the truth and then complained when they got a truth they didn't want. They demanded strong action and then recoiled from the results.
The Council deflected that displeasure onto the Admiralty. Starfleet found itself a convenient target for a whole range of unrelated grievances. The lone starship working its way home from halfway across the galaxy provided Starfleet with a golden opportunity to refurbish its public image, and Starfleet was determined to make the most of it.
Captain Kathryn Janeway was a definite asset. She had attained hero status in the public mind. Popular opinion was that she was virtually guaranteed a promotion if her ship ever made it back.
Other crowd draws were less obvious choices. The Delaney family had attracted a lot of sympathy when they lost not one, but two daughters. Their happiness at getting both of them back was contagious.
Voyager's youngest adventurer, Naomi Wildman, was popular with children and with parents of young children. There was a six-month waiting period for schools to send classes on the educational tour.
Ensign Kim's mother was a treasure. A holographic version of Mrs. Kim told the story of how her son forgot his clarinet when he reported to Voyager. The ship left before she could get it to him. Her son's clarinet now sat in a place of honor in a case in front of a large seating area. Musical concerts were held there every weekend.
For now, the public interest in Voyager was high. It was Owen Paris's job to get data flowing in from the Delta Quadrant before that interest faded.
Owen had no illusions that Starfleet targeted him for this assignment because of his service record. He knew that they wanted the father figure with the prodigal son, the touching symbol of humanity in a faceless organization. When the selection committee first offered him the position, they expected him to jump at the chance to head the Pathfinder Project. They didn't know him as well as they thought if they expected him to do that.
Admiral Hayes had oozed overblown confidence at their interview. "Owen, the selection committee appreciates all that you've experienced with Voyager. We want you to take charge of the Pathfinder Project. "
Owen Paris was well versed in Starfleet politics. No matter how much he wanted this assignment, he had too much experience to accept the assignment as a 'favor'. He'd be relegated to the status of puppet, with the project little more than a pawn in the political games at the Admiralty. The crew of Voyager deserved better than that. Owen turned Hayes down.
"That is generous. But I'm afraid I can't accept. Tell the committee that my answer is no."
Admiral Hayes deflated faster than a punctured balloon. "What do you mean, 'no'?"
"My personal interest in Voyager disqualifies me from the assignment. I couldn't guarantee that my decisions would be as impartial as they should be."
"But … ?"
Owen Paris was an experienced tactician, and a pretty good fisherman too. He set the bait. "The only way I'd even consider accepting the committee's offer, is if they guaranteed that the project would have all the staff and resources needed to ensure the best results possible."
Owen almost felt sorry for Admiral Hayes. Hayes was a decent man. Starfleet used him when it wanted to project sincerity. But Hayes wasn't in the same league as a negotiator like Alynna Nechayev.
Pathfinder got its expert staff. Budget requisitions passed with few questions. That could change. There was a faction at the Admiralty that was still angry that Owen Paris had forced their hand.
His visit to the Center completed, Owen left its bright lights and made his way to an inconspicuous door on the side of an unremarkable building in a more secure part of the grounds. This door opened to authorized personnel only. There were no signs posted here to direct visitors. Anyone who entered either knew the way or waited for an escort. Admiral Paris was a regular visitor. He didn't need a guide to find his way around. Commander Harkins met him anyway.
Commander Peter Harkins ran day-to-day operations at Pathfinder Research. He was a steady man, knowledgeable about the field with the administrative skills necessary to keep the project on track. Commander Harkins also understood the politics of this assignment. He knew about the pressure to establish regular communication with Voyager.
Harkins gave Admiral Paris a quick update and then led him to a screen on the upper level of the main lab. "We've been able to refine our estimates of Voyager's most likely current position in the Delta Quadrant," Harkins explained. "I've had one of my staff program the data onto a map."
Harkins directed the admiral's attention to a gridded map showing an area in the Delta Quadrant between Voyager's last reported position and Earth. Harkins pointed out three of the grids.
"We can reasonably assume that Voyager is now in one of these three sectors. It won't be long before we can use the MIDAS array to direct signals to the Delta Quadrant at hyperspace speeds. A message that would normally take years, could reach Voyager in days."
"Impressive. Will they be able to respond?"
Harkins shook his head regretfully. "No sir, but at least they'll know that we're still looking for them."
At this point, a voice piped up from the lower level. "Excuse me, Admiral Paris. There may be a way to establish … two-way communication with Voyager." Lt. Barclay stumbled over his words, but managed to get the gist of his plan across.
Owen was intrigued. However he respected the chain of command and directed his next question to Commander Harkins. "Is there any merit to what he's saying?"
Harkins shifted uncomfortably. "Mister Barclay has a tendency to get ahead of himself. Unfortunately, what he's suggesting is beyond our abilities."
Barclay made up for his unclear speech with an extra measure of determination. "What do we have to lose by trying? I think we're forgetting that there are a hundred and fifty people stranded in the Delta Quadrant!"
A wave of shock swept through the lab at Barclay's inadvertent tactlessness. No one dared break the silence.
Like any parent who ever lost a child, Owen lost a part of himself when his son went missing. He'd felt like a four-wheeled cart trying to roll along on three wheels. Even now, every once in a while something unexpected happened to throw him off balance.
Admiral Paris carefully composed himself. "I have a son on that ship, Lieutenant. I haven't forgotten that fact for a single moment."
"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't … I didn't mean to…
Commander Harkins stepped in quickly. "Take the rest of the day off, Reg. That's not a suggestion!"
Admiral Paris let Commander Harkins handle the personnel issue. He concentrated on finishing his inspection. By the time Owen left the building, he was badly in need of some fresh air. His office was only a short distance away. He used that as an excuse to walk instead of using the building-to-building transport.
All the flowerbeds on the grounds were beautifully kept. However, without Boothby's touch, the gardens at Headquarters lacked soul. Alternating rows of light and dark hostas marched across matching rectangular beds. Plants never violated protocol by spilling onto the walkways.
Despite the uninspiring flora, Owen sat down on a nearby bench to breathe in the unfiltered air outside the walls of Starfleet Headquarters. Owen knew about walls. After his 'gentle' treatment at the hands of the Cardassians, Owen built walls of his own to hold back his pain. It took a while, but he gradually learned other techniques for coping. When he thought that Tom was dead, he'd fought hard to keep from slipping back into darkness.
"One hundred and fifty people." That's what Lt. Barclay had thrown at him. Owen turned the number over in his mind. He'd been responsible for more lives than that in the past. But this case was special.
As soon as he took charge of the Pathfinder Project, Owen pushed his staff to get messages through to every family of every crewmember killed when Voyager was abducted from the Alpha Quadrant. He made sure that the families knew, before any word about contact with Voyager leaked out, that their loved ones were not among the survivors. There was no way that he was going to let them be hit with false hope when the news about Voyager broke.
The Voyager Celebrations were hard on these families. Some put on a brave face. Others wanted nothing to do with Voyager. Dr. Fitzgerald's family was one of those. Voyager was supposed to have been his last posting before he returned to private practice. His husband asked that his name not be listed at the Pathfinder Center.
Voyager's resurrection also unsettled the lives of those whose family members were still on the ship. Of course they were happy that their loved ones were alive. They got to compose short personal messages that were included with the technical data sent back to Voyager through the alien network that the holographic doctor used. However, there was no way to know how much of the transmission got through. The system collapsed soon after and there was no reply.
So now what? Were the families expected to put their lives on hold? Some spouses of Voyager crewmembers had already moved on. Two remarried when Voyager was officially declared lost. Even without this kind of complication, families felt conflicted. It might be years before they could be reunited - if ever.
There were awkward moments. Owen chose to make a personal visit to John Torres, the father of the ex-Academy Maquis who was Voyager's Chief Engineer. Owen had met B'Elanna Torres when she was a cadet. Owen didn't know her well. But it was hard not to notice a cadet with so much potential who started brawls in class over engineering problems.
John Torres almost resented Owen. He was embarrassed that this stranger knew more about his grown-up daughter than he did. Owen understood and took pity on him. Owen promised to inform him as soon as two-way communication with Voyager became possible. He left Mr. Torres in a pensive mood.
For Owen, the most difficult visits were to the families of crewmembers who had survived the initial abduction only to perish sometime after that. These families had given up on their loved ones and mourned them while they still lived. They felt they had been cheated out of those lost years. Their previous grief seemed hollow, even false. They mourned anew.
Ensign Kaplan's death was especially hard on her parents. It had happened so recently. Their grief was painful to see.
It had been almost two years since Pathfinder sent its messages to Voyager. It might be years before they made contact again. Owen knew that there was always the possibility that when they heard from Voyager he'd discover that Tom had been killed in the interval. Owen tried to banish the thought from his mind. He couldn't. He wanted to know. He needed to know whether to hope or to mourn.
Owen stood up from his bench and brushed an imaginary speck of dirt off his trousers. If he sat too long, rumors would fly up the Admiralty that something was wrong with Owen Paris. He deliberately examined the nearby foliage to provide a plausible excuse for stopping here. Meticulous attention to detail, no matter how trivial, wasn't considered a flaw.
Owen set off at a brisk pace back to his office. If he worked through lunch, he could make it home in time to have dinner with Julia. She was leaving in the morning to spend the day with their daughter. Kathleen was heavily pregnant with her second child. Life did go on.
Owen's afternoon passed uneventfully. Afternoon slipped into evening and he did indeed make it home in time to dine with his wife.
The next morning the Paris household got off to a particularly early start. At the last minute, Julia decided that she wanted to stay with Kathleen for a while. Despite taking the time to help his wife pack and see her safely on her way, Owen made it to his office before the official workday began.
It was no surprise for Owen to find his secretary already at her desk when he got to his office that morning. It was a surprise to see that Nicole was not alone.
Lieutenant Barclay scrambled to his feet as soon as he saw Admiral Paris. He nervously cleared his throat. "Admiral, you're here! I mean, Admiral, if I could just have a word …"
Nicole stepped in smoothly. "Admiral Paris, I have the reports that you wanted to review before your afternoon appointments. This latest one from Commander Harkins is rather interesting. You may want to read it first."
She steered Owen toward his office as she spoke. She pitched her voice so that the persistent lieutenant wouldn't miss her next words. "I've already explained to Lieutenant Barclay that your schedule is full." She shut the door behind them and sighed in relief. "That man won't take 'no' for an answer. He's like a cat determined to climb the drapes. No matter how many times you put him down on the floor, he climbs right back up!"
"Cat?" Owen questioned. It was an unusual reference for Nicole to make in a professional context.
"I have cats on my mind right now," Nicole explained. "Lt. Barclay spent the last half-hour telling me all about his cat. The lieutenant explained, in great detail, how it won't be a problem for him to wait here all day because his neighbor is taking care of 'Neelix'."
"I can order security to throw Mister Barclay out if he's causing you a problem," Owen offered.
"I can handle him. He's just sincere and incredibly determined. It's refreshing actually. He's gotten himself worked up. If we force him to leave, I'm afraid that he'll go off and get into some kind of trouble."
"You? Afraid?" The admiral commented. "I find that hard to believe."
Nicole shot him a look of exasperation. Although Owen Paris would never admit it, his son inherited his teasing sense of humor from his father. The only difference was that Tom was much less inclined to rein in his humor.
Nicole placed the padd with Commander Harkins' report on top of the pile on the admiral's desk. "Commander Harkins has temporarily taken Lt. Barclay off the Pathfinder Project."
"Is his work unsatisfactory?" Owen asked. "I'm disappointed. I was hoping that his idea might eventually be put into practice."
"Lt. Barclay may be getting ahead of himself, but his basic research is sound. Commander Harkins explains that Mr. Barclay has been pushing himself too hard and needs a break."
Owen never asked how Nicole knew so much about the content of even confidential reports. He did know that she never broke protocol by reading his copies.
"Apparently, Lt. Barclay created holographic versions of members of the Voyager crew," Nicole told him, drawing on information from her unknown sources. "Commander Harkins says that Mr. Barclay has been spending time with several of them, including Tom."
Owen was taken aback. "You're kidding. Are you sure it's safe for him to stay in your office?"
"He's harmless," Nicole assured him. She sorted through the rest of the padds on Owen's desk. "Will you be working late tonight? I can have the kitchen send you up some dinner."
"I'd appreciate that. I'll be staying overnight tonight. Mrs. Paris is going to be at Kathleen's for a few days."
"Oh?" Nicole commented as she finished organizing the admiral's reports.
"It's nothing like that. Julia just wants to spend time with Kathleen."
"Uh huh."
Owen ignored her second comment.
Nicole stopped at the door on her way out. "I'd be curious to see what Mr. Barclay came up with for his holographic 'Tom'."
Owen glanced up from his reading, but she was gone. He 'harrumphed' and pulled up the sub-file that contained samples of Lt. Barclay's holographic creations.
Barclay had captured the characters' physical parameters fairly well. His Kathryn Janeway looked the part. However, in Owen's judgment, Barclay's Janeway was all surface energy with none of the inner dynamism that Owen had recognized in the young officer serving under him on the Al-Batani.
Owen flipped through other samples. He was less familiar with these. Finally he got to Tom.
Like his Kathryn Janeway, Mr. Barclay's Tom Paris was a pale copy of the real Tom. It troubled Owen that he couldn't put his finger on what is was that was missing in this version of his son.
Owen prided himself on being clearheaded where his children were concerned. He loved them and wanted the best for them. He considered it his job as a parent to do all he could to help them to be the best that they could be, especially in Starfleet. Owen knew, better than most, what awaited Starfleet officers out in space. When Kathleen and Moira decided against Starfleet, Tom became the focus of all his efforts to prepare quality officer material.
Owen was aware of Tom's strengths. The most obvious of these was Tom's exceptional piloting skills. Owen made sure that Tom had every opportunity to develop into a top pilot.
What pleased Owen more, and fewer people noticed, was Tom's leadership potential. Even before the growth spurt that gave him a height advantage over his peers, Tom was the one who led them on their adventures. Tom took them on some wild rides. He got his friends into scrapes. But he also got them out again. Owen deplored the scrapes but took great pride in the leadership skills.
For Owen, Tom's strengths took care of themselves. He focused instead on what he saw as Tom's weaknesses. These were the areas that needed his attention.
It frustrated Owen that Tom sabotaged his opportunities with his candor. Tom refused to dress up the truth in diplomatic language. He wasn't rude. Julia made sure that all her children were polite and had good manners. Tom said what he thought, sometimes at the most inopportune times. His career future would be so much brighter if he toned down his candor and edited his words.
Owen spent years lecturing Tom to consider the consequences of his words before he spoke.
It was bitterly ironic that one of the few times that Tom did edit himself was at Caldik Prime.
"Damn!" Owen growled. "What is Nicole up to, getting me to think about Tom when I have all this work to do?" He pushed Commander Harkins' report aside and moved on to the rest of his padds.
After a working lunch, Owen began his heavy schedule of afternoon appointments. He was expecting the next one when a signal from the outer office interrupted him. "What is it, Nicole?"
"He's still here. He won't go away."
Persistence deserved some kind of reward. Besides, Nicole had put up with Lt. Barclay long enough. "Send him in."
Lt. Barclay came in looking the very picture of a man who had been waiting outside a door all day. Admiral Paris revised his intended two minutes upward. "You have five minutes, Mr. Barclay."
"Admiral, I've refined my idea. I've simplified it. All I'm asking for is a chance to try, and if I'm right it would mean a chance to talk to Tom."
Owen involuntarily glanced at the photo of his son on his desk. Lt. Barclay's words cut deeper than Barclay realized. It had been a long time since he'd really talked to Tom.
Talking to Tom was like talking to a bulkhead. Tom could be sitting a meter away and still not hear him. Julia told Owen that Tom might listen more if he stopped lecturing him like a cadet at the Academy and tried talking to him like a son. After Caldik Prime, Owen resolved to do better, if he ever got another chance. The thought that Lt. Barclay's proposal could give him that chance was tempting.
It was a temptation that Owen forced himself to resist. This was a line he couldn't cross. He wouldn't use his position to undermine Commander Harkins. He wouldn't use his power in Starfleet for personal advantage.
"I'll order a review of your findings. If it's concluded that your ideas are valid, I'll instruct Commander Harkins to pursue it. That's the best I can do."
Lt. Barclay's five minutes were up. He had no option but to leave and make room for Admiral Paris' three o'clock appointment - which led into another appointment, and then another.
Nicole came into Owen's office to check with him before she left for the day. "The kitchen is short-staffed tonight. It will be an hour before they can bring up your dinner. I'll hurry them along if you'd like."
"There's no need. I can wait." When it came to gratifying himself, Admiral Paris was a patient man. "I have notes from today's meetings to look over. That'll keep me busy for a while yet."
"Lt. Barclay told me that you're going to send his plan along for further review. Do you want me to take care of that before I go?"
"Leave it until morning."
"His plan sounded promising."
Owen picked up Lt. Barclay's padd. He weighed it in his hand and he weighed Nicole's words. She'd listened to Barclay talk about his proposal, and his cat, for more than half the day. She probably knew more about both of them than anyone. She wouldn't mention Barclay's plan to him now without good reason.
"Maybe I'll have a closer look at it, when I'm finished with my notes," he conceded.
"You'll tell me tomorrow if there's anything I can do to help?"
"I will. Good night, Nicole."
"Good night, Admiral."
"Now why did I say that?" Owen asked. Even if Lt. Barclay's plan held promise, the experts were the ones to determine that. Proper procedure demanded that it then be routed through Commander Harkins.
Owen was half annoyed with Nicole. But he valued her judgment - and appreciated her concern. Julia and Nicole made quite a pair. They were always trying to nudge him along – 'for his own good'. Julia said that she had to keep nudging him because he was too stubborn to move on his own.
Owen thought back to Nicole's reaction to Julia's visit. The last time that Julia paid an extended visit to Kathleen was when she found out that Owen had put his message to Tom at the end of all the other messages in the transmission to Voyager. It was what any good leader would do - put his own needs last.
Julia didn't see it that way. She'd sacrificed her own chance to send a message to Tom so that her son could get the message he needed to hear from his father. Then Owen had gone and done this. "If you want to put yourself last, that's your business," she'd said angrily. "Don't expect me to be happy that you put Tom last!"
Owen sighed. He hadn't looked at it that way. He was afraid to think what else he had missed seeing over the years.
Dinner finally came. Nothing fancy, his stomach couldn't handle food and strong emotion at the same time. He shared that trait with Tom and Moira. Kathleen took after her mother. Food was her friend when she was upset.
Owen traced around the outside of Barclay's padd with his finger. He really should put it with his outgoing messages and send it to the experts. That's what he should do. But he couldn't do it. He wouldn't put Tom at the end of the line again. He began to read.
After that, there was no turning back. Security logs showed that Lt. Barclay and Commander Harkins were both over at the research lab. This was as good a time as any to talk to them about Barclay's plan.
Owen walked in on Lt. Barclay and Commander Harkins in the middle of a discussion of some kind. "There you are! I reviewed Mister Barclay's plan. I think it's worth an attempt."
Commander Harkins quickly put an end to Owen's enthusiasm. "He's already tried, Sir, without your authorization. It didn't work."
Owen felt the limb he had climbed on crack and fall to the ground. He'd circumvented protocol, broken his own rules - all for nothing. "You've put me in a difficult position, son. I was hoping to …"
A new voice, one long absent, hailed them from somewhere. "Starfleet Command, come in."
It was Kathryn Janeway. It may have been years since he last heard her voice, but Owen recognized her immediately. He breathed a single word, "Voyager!"
There was so much that Owen wanted to say to his son. But he was the Admiral in Charge. He had to consider all the people on the ship.
"This is Admiral Paris. How are your people holding up?"
"Very well. They're an exemplary crew your son included."
Who did he think he was fooling? What was he still trying to prove? Kathryn knew he wanted to talk to Tom. Julia knew. Nicole knew. Even this Lt. Barclay knew. "Tell him… "
Tell him what? Of all the words he wanted to say, which words did Tom need to hear from his father?
"Tell him I miss him. And I'm proud of him."
Half a galaxy away, Owen's words found an orphaned ship, entered its bridge and made their way to the helm. Tom struggled to maintain his composure when his father's words reached him. Emotions ruled. Kathryn squeezed her pilot's shoulder to help him hold on.
To Owen, the silence dragged on for hours during the milliseconds it took for a reply to come back.
Junior officers weren't admirals. Protocol dictated. Tom couldn't speak, so Kathryn spoke for him. "He heard you, Admiral."
And Owen could breathe again.
All too soon, Kathryn's voice faded and Voyager was gone.
They held a celebration on Voyager. They held one at Pathfinder too. Owen sprang for the champagne. For protocol's sake, the staff drank their champagne at the Center instead of in the lab.
Harkins called his staff in early to join the celebration and help direct the new data to the appropriate Starfleet departments for study. From the sound of it, cartography was planning to do some celebrating of its own.
Two hours before dawn Owen finally headed back to his office apartment. He wasn't in a hurry to get to bed. It was too early to call Julia without disturbing Kathleen.
Owen stared up at the dark sky. He couldn't see the stars clearly. The wind was picking up and the stars flickered in and out as black clouds raced across the blacker sky. At this time of year San Francisco faced the wrong direction to even pretend to see the stars of the Delta Quadrant. Owen didn't care. He searched the sky anyway. It was making the gesture that mattered - like stepping outside the walls of Starfleet to sit under the sky. It was his way of letting down his walls with his son. It was his way of reaching out to connect with Tom.
He'd talked to Tom.
Tonight, Tom had heard him.
Now began the long wait to find out if his son would answer.
For all of his patience, Owen Paris was now a very impatient man.