*23*

Voyager II,

June 11

The CMO of Voyager II snapped the microfiber cloth to its fullest capacity and began wiping down the exposed surfaces of Sickbay with the utmost care. The maintenance crew had finished, leaving the shiny new area as clean as specs required, but Dr. Mark Lewis Zimmerman wanted more. He wanted everything to gleam.

After all, he thought, he was personally responsible for many of the innovations surrounding him. The fruits of a year's worth of labor were fully realized. With a flourish, he bent over the console controlling the enhanced holographic diagnostic modeling array and rubbed what had looked to be a partial fingerprint marring the transparent protective topcoat.

At the sound of the doors opening behind him, he turned. A young ensign he didn't recognize walked in. She was blonde and quite pretty, he thought as he smiled at her. "Good morning," he said. "I'm Dr. Zimmerman. How can I help you?"

"Oh." Her eyes grew large, and she looked around Sickbay. "I, uh, I heard the new doctor had come on board."

"So Commander Tuvok tells me, but he hasn't arrived in Sickbay yet." He smiled reassuringly. "I'm the CMO. May I help you?"

"Uh, no. No thank you. Sir." She began edging backwards. "I'll just come back later - "

"Ensign," he said. The situation was beginning to have a feeling of déjà vu; this had happened many times in the past year. He made a point of keeping his tone friendly and family-doctor-y. "What's your name?"

"Mindy, um, Melinda - really, I'm sorry to bother you." Her tiny backwards slides became full steps. "Thank you, sir, thank-"

As the doors whooshed open behind her, she turned and promptly bounced off the chest of a man in a sciences tunic trying to come in. "Oh," she squeaked. "Sorry, sir. I didn't - I was - I -" Abandoning any attempt at explanation, she simply fled.

Mark was so intent on watching her leave that he didn't realize he was still holding the dust cloth. The young man pulled him back to the moment when he said, "She was sure in a hurry."

"Yes." Ensign Mindy was another in a veritable parade of biological persons with misgivings, if not prejudices, about medical holograms. At least she hadn't been outright rude. Earlier in the day, a rather burly crewman from Security had refused to let Mark conduct his mandatory physical exam. He said he would wait for the 'real' doctor. Mark planned to wait three days, order him to Sickbay, and show him how real a DRE from a hologram could be.

Then he realized the younger man was waiting for him to say something else, and belatedly recognized him. His obviously mixed ethnic ancestry gave him an unusual appearance, with brown hair, dark skin and bright green eyes. Even if Mark hadn't been reviewing the personnel dossier of his new associate only an hour earlier, he would have guessed that this was the 'new' doctor. "Hello," he said, switching the dust cloth to his left hand as he extended his right hand for a handshake. "You must be Dr. Brown."

"That's right, Commander," Dr. Brown said, but he was clearly distracted by the quality of the equipment surrounding him. His head swiveled from side to side, trying to take it all in. "Wow. Look at this. It's better than anything we had at Benecia."

"It's the cutting edge for starships," Mark said, trying to subdue the pride in his voice. Dr. Brown had just spent two years as a resident at the medical facility on Benecia, widely regarded as one of the finest medical facilities in all the Federation. If the young man was trying to curry favor with his new boss, he was off to a good start.

"It's the cutting edge for any place." He came over and looked at the panel Mark had been working on. "Is that a diagnostic array? It's the most complex I've ever seen."

"Yes, it's complex but it's simple to use." Smiling, Mark reached down and touched a control. Immediately, a life size hologram of a human skeleton materialized a half a meter in front of them. "With just a few simple commands, we project any aspect of the patient's physiology, or the physiology of any of the species in our data bases, right down to the DNA levels."

"Amazing." The young man's green eyes were shining with enthusiasm. "And that trauma unit-"

"Yes. One of the byproducts of the Dominion War, I'm afraid. We learned a great deal about the most efficient treatment of multiple casualties." It wasn't one of the enhancements he had designed. "Here, let me show you this innovation."

He led the young man over to one of the biobeds, activated the display panel above the bed and waited for a reaction.

It took two seconds, but then Dr. Brown blinked twice. "The data readouts -they've been redesigned."

"Exactly." Mark beamed at him. "Much easier to read, don't you think? And better organized."

Brown shook his head as he continued to walk about and study every panel and display. "You design guys did a great job, Commander. I can't believe someone actually passed on a chance to work here."

Mark stiffened. "Apparently, at least two of them had a problem reporting to a holographic life form."

"Well, you have to admit, it is kind of weird. Sentient or not, there's something disquieting about taking orders from something that was programmed, not born." Brown turned to him, his face pleasant enough. "Have you met him yet? Is he like a real person?"

For the first time in a long time, Mark found himself at a loss for words. Obviously, young Dr. Brown had no idea to whom he was speaking. He stared at the young man who was so oblivious to his blunder. "Yes," he finally said. "I've always found him quite 'real.'"

The doors opened again, and Tom Paris came in, holding Miral's hand. The little girl's mouth was set in an exaggerated frown, a sure sing that she was unhappy. As soon as she saw Mark, though, she smiled. "Doc!" she shouted. Breaking away from Tom, she ran to Mark and lifted her arms to be picked up. As he did, he noticed that Dr. Brown was looking at him intently.

"We're getting settled in to our quarters," Tom said quietly, "and so far, we don't like them very much. I told her that we'd find some friends."

Mark swung Miral up, and she laughed. "Hello, young lady."

"Do you live here, too?" she asked him.

"I certainly do. We're neighbors now." He jiggled her a little bit. "Look how grown up you are. You're almost too big for this."

"I'm ten," she said.

"Try again, honey," Tom said, holding up two fingers. "How old are you?"

She sighed dramatically, with the air of one who puts up with too much aggravation. "I'm two. And a half." Then she spotted Dr. Brown and said, "Who are you?"

"This is our newest doctor," Mark said. "His name is Dr. Brown. Doctor, this young lady is Miral Paris, who will be part of our crew."

"Tom Paris," Tom said as he offered his hand. "Ship's pilot."

"Zeke Brown," the young man said. His skin had darkened to a deep brown, but otherwise he seemed unperturbed by his gaffe. "Pleasure to meet you, Commander."

"So how do you like our new Sickbay?" Tom asked. "Doc here is pretty proud of it."

"It's wonderful," Zeke said. "In fact, I've already performed my first procedure in it."

Mark looked at him sharply. "What's that?"

"Open mouth, insert foot," Zeke said, facing him directly, looking chagrined. "My apologies, sir."

He sounded sincere, Mark thought, but he'd been dealing with people who sounded sincere for more than a year now. "We'll talk about it later."

Tom looked from one man to the other, and then held out his arms. "Come on, honey. Doc has work to do, and so does Dr. Brown. Let's see if we can find Delia. Or maybe Lt. Vorik. I'm sure he'd love to let you help him."

After a moment's consideration, Miral shifted her weight, and Mark handed her over to Tom. "See you later," Tom said, and Miral called, "Bye!"

"Sir," Zeke began as soon as they were alone, but Mark raised a hand and cut him off.

"Lieutenant." Mark tried to keep his voice level, but the syllables came out clipped. "You are correct that two physicians requested reassignment when they learned that this ship's CMO is a hologram. If you have any such qualms, this is the time to raise them. Once we are underway, it will be too late. There are no transfers from the Delta Quadrant."

Yes, sir." Zeke swallowed. "It's not a problem for me. I mean, I've never been around holograms much so it's all kind of new, but...I really want this assignment."

"Why?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Why do you want this assignment, Doctor?" Mark looked at him pointedly. "Do you think you'll have a chance to be in charge most of the time since I'm only a hologram? Do you think you'll get more opportunities for away missions than a junior physician usually gets?"

Zeke blinked. "You know, I hadn't thought about being in charge. I guess I figured you'd always be here. I have to admit, I did think about the away missions."

"Well, think again. With my mobile emitter, I can go anywhere. In fact, I can go to places that are incompatible with biological life." Mark folded his arms across his chest. "If you stay, you're going to be the junior physician on the medical staff. That means you'll be taking the off-shifts, you'll be doing a lot of the paperwork and you'll be taking orders from me. And you won't be treating people just because they are uncomfortable with a hologram."

The younger man didn't respond at first. After a pause of at least four seconds, he finally said, "I want this assignment because we're going to the Delta Quadrant, and it's the first planned mission there. And I want it because we're going to be interacting with the Vidiians, who seem to be decades ahead of even the Adigeons in genetic therapies. I don't know much about holograms, Doctor. Never been around them much. But Starfleet says you're in charge, so it doesn't matter to me if you're a hologram or an android or whatever."

Unfolding his arms slowly - it was dramatic, and Mark never underestimated the power of drama - the EMH kept his gaze fixed on Zeke. "All right," he said slowly, drawing out each vowel. "We'll give it a try. But understand this: if you don't work out, we'll find a place for you in Commander Torres' waste extraction team."

For a moment, just a quick, fleeting moment but more than enough to assuage Mark's concerns, Zeke looked scared. Then he smiled. "It's a deal, Doctor. It's a deal."

*24*

First Officer's Quarters, Voyager II

June 12

As he walked in he saw her, silhouetted against the stars as she gazed out of the view ports. She moved her head only slightly to acknowledge his entry. From this, Tuvok knew his wife had recognized his step-and only his step-on the carpeting. If she had heard the tread of a stranger, she would have turned to greet the visitor. After many decades of married life, despite long periods of separation, he expected no less of her.

T'Pel knew him extremely well.

Within seconds he had taken the six long strides required to reach her position. He stood beside her, his fist clasped behind his back, and looked upon the same tracery of arches and stations which made up Utopia Planitia that T'Pel was studying so intently. They watched as three small craft maneuvered their loads of building materials close to a covey of spacesuit-clad construction workers, who quickly affixed them to the skeleton of the ship which was being assembled two bays away from where the new Voyager awaited the rest of its crew.

Finally, T'Pel broke their silence. "How difficult is it to work under weightless conditions? I would think if someone moved too quickly, inertia would carry them far from their former position before they could stop themselves."

"That is known to happen, although it is rare amongst workers as skilled as these. Each one has a tether line to hold him or her in place. Maneuvering thrusters in their suits can return them to where they should be if the tethers become undone in some way. Making gradual alterations in position helps the workers guard against the unexpected and extreme movements caused by inertia."

T'Pel nodded thoughtfully. "There is a beauty to their motions. The rhythms are much like that of Terran ballet dancers. I confess I did not expect to have such an aesthetically pleasing pageant to watch where starships are being constructed. I associate a shipyard with technical pursuits rather than the arts."

"The creation of a starship requires builders who are artists as well as crafters," Tuvok agreed.

T'Pel turned to face her husband. She wore an appropriately neutral expression on her face, but the sparks of starlight reflecting in her coffee-colored eyes danced in their own aesthetically pleasing way. They often did this, he noted, when she looked at him. He suspected his own sparkled in a similar way whenever he beheld her.

T'Pel brushed her fingertips against her husband's shoulder in a signal he could easily interpret. As one, they walked to the couch and sat down close to one another. "Do these quarters meet with your approval, T'Pel?"

"Very much. I have finished my unpacking, but I left yours for you to complete, as is your preference. If I have used compartments you are accustomed to take for your own belongings, you will need to choose new ones."

"That is the penalty I must pay for choosing duty over housekeeping chores," Tuvok responded blandly. "However, since this ship has more luxurious amenities than the old Voyager, I would not be able to follow my accustomed routines in any case. I will suffer the inconvenience." He was also quite certain T'Pel had left him a fair share of the most easily accessed storage compartments. She always did, wherever they went.

"I was responsible for duties other than my housekeeping tasks this afternoon, as well. Chakotay called the first meeting of the civilian technical team, after I had reported to Doctor Zimmerman for my baseline physical at noon. While I was in sickbay, Commanders Torres and Paris arrived with their daughter to have their own physicals completed. It was a fortuitous meeting; I was able to reintroduce myself to Miral. The doctor was extremely pleased to be able to show both of us our 'Red Alert' stations as well."

"I can imagine," Tuvok remarked, with as much stoicism as he could muster. Images of the doctor's typical effusiveness when presented with such opportunities to show off paraded vividly before his mind's eye. "What was Miral's response?" Tuvok could have added "and that of her parents" to this question but did not. He could easily envision the chief engineer's snarling lips and chief pilot's rolling eyes if the former EMH had been as annoying as he were capable of being.

"Apparently her parents had already prepared Miral for staying with 'the Vulcan lady' during red alert conditions. She was fascinated by the way my robes swung as we walked to our station. She tried to 'teach' her clothing to move along the floor in the same manner as mine. I explained she would require longer clothing which touched the floor to accomplish this. Miral then asked her parents for 'long, booti-full robes' to wear during red alerts."

"And her parents' response to this singular request?"

"Commander Torres told Miral she doubted she would have time to change into robes once the red alert signal sounded, but Mr. Paris promised he would have some replicated and stored in sickbay so Miral could change into them and learn to 'glide across the floor as beautifully as Mrs. Tuvok does' as soon as she arrived at her red alert station."

Tuvok arched a disapproving brow. "A typically frivolous response from Mr. Paris, although an accurate description of the way 'Mrs. Tuvok' walks."

"I thank you for your compliment about my way of walking, as I did Commander Paris, but I disagree that his response to his daughter was at all frivolous. On the contrary, when the red alert signal sounds, Miral will promptly travel to her station to enjoy another opportunity to wear her special robes, reducing the chance she will become upset. I must remind you, Tuvok, that even our own children at Miral's age had a high probability of becoming disturbed in such circumstances. Instead, Mr. Paris has transformed what could be an upsetting situation into something to which Miral can anticipate with a degree of pleasure. This appears to be another example Mr. Paris' ability to divert others from the unpleasant realities of life."

Tuvok considered this for a moment before replying, "I must admit that it is. Mr. Paris often used his sense of humor to relieve the tension of the crew during difficult situations in the Delta Quadrant on the original Voyager. I did not consider he may now utilize it in an equally constructive manner when interacting with his daughter."

Tuvok lapsed into silence while his wife continued, "Miral is certainly a very lively child, but she also appears perceptive and is obviously very intelligent. I look forward to contributing to her formal education...Tuvok? Is something wrong? You seem to be somewhat distracted yourself."

He read concern in her eyes. "I beg pardon for my apparent inattention; I was listening to you. Captain Janeway told me only this afternoon how pleased she is that you have volunteered to teach Miral, despite your other duties, since this ship will not have the educational staff Pioneer will possess. Is Chakotay at all concerned about the time this may take away from your duties as part of his staff?"

"En route to the Delta Quadrant, my skills as a sociologist should not be overly taxed. We both anticipate I will be capable of handling both assignments. Do you believe otherwise?"

"Not at all," Tuvok quickly replied, noting that his wife was not at all pleased he might be suggesting he was. "You cannot be certain your expertise as a sociologist will not be required more than you expect, however. It sometimes seems the unexpected occurs more frequently than the expected, particularly on ships called Voyager."

"This assignment in the Delta Quadrant will not be the same as last, Tuvok, if only because it is your planned destination this time," T'Pel pointed out gently.

"Planned or unplanned, any trip through the Delta Quadrant is fraught with danger."

T'Pel regarded him gravely. "We have discussed this subject before, in great detail. I believed we were in complete accord that I should accompany you on this mission. Have you had second thoughts?"

"None whatsoever. However...I do wonder if there is another reason you have volunteered time caring for Miral. This will be the longest separation from our children you will have ever experienced. It may be difficult for you to be away from them for as long as this mission will last. Perhaps you think caring for Miral will help you fill the time you would normally expend caring for our own children. Miral, however, is the true child of her parents and very different from our offspring."

"She is, indeed," T'Pel concurred. "Miral is much younger than any of our children, for one thing. Smaller, as well-much smaller, even, than our granddaughter T'Meni."

Tuvok stared at his wife. Her brows were arched high; her eyes were bright. If she were human, he was certain, T'Pel would be laughing at him.

Tuvok stood up and walked towards the viewport. Crossing his arms, he looked out and over the half-built starship, so lost in thought he did not see the workers scrambling over its shell. Only when he felt the tracing of fingers along his arm did he become fully cognizant of the view outside and of his wife, now standing next to him. "I apologize, Tuvok. That comment was unnecessary. I may have spent too much time among humans lately for my own good."

He turned towards her. "Your comment was of no consequence. My concern is how you will respond to your absence from our family, particularly if anything causes us to remain in the Delta Quadrant for a longer period of time than we anticipate. Many milestones of our children's and grandchild's lives will undoubtedly occur without your participation. I know how difficult that can be."

She stroked his hand. The bond they shared resonated, as always when they touched each other. "Yes, I will not share many events in their lives for the next year or so, but for any parent that time comes inevitably, sooner or later. Our children are all now adults-yes, even our daughter Asil, although she is still a student. She has graduated to upper level studies at the Institute of Science and is well on her way to the independence our sons have already achieved. Sek has arranged for her to spend all of her holidays with his family, if she wishes. Varith and Elieth have also extended invitations for her to spend time with them and with those to whom they are betrothed. She has already informed them in no uncertain terms that she is grateful for their offers but plans to spend much of her free time pursuing her own interests. You know this, yet you are still troubled?"

"Varith may become espoused while we are gone..." At her skeptical expression, he added. "I wish only to give you the chance to change your mind and remain behind with them if you wish. I would not want you to regret your choice to come on this mission with me and miss key events in the lives of our children as a result."

"I am sure there will be times I will wish we could all be together, my husband, but I will face those times when they come. I believe our children fully understand why I have chosen to come with you this time, even better than you do. Do you wish me to make it clear to you now as well?"

"Perhaps it would be best if you did," he replied softly.

"Tuvok, before you returned to Starfleet, there were times, I could tell, when you experienced a sense of incompleteness. You had accepted a task as your own but had not finished it to the best of your ability. When you reassumed your commission and returned to duty, those periods of dissatisfaction quite simply vanished. I was pleased, although I wished I could share more fully in this phase of your life. Circumstances never permitted it. When I might have had the opportunity, such as during the years on Earth when you were an instructor at Starfleet Academy, I devoted most of my time to raising our family."

T'Pel raised her hand to forestall the interjection that he was about to make. "Please believe me, Tuvok, when I say I have no regrets about taking this path. Caring for our children always satisfied me completely, just as my developing interest in and choice of career as a sociologist did. However, these commitments did prevent me from sharing any shipboard postings with you. One or the other of my responsibilities always interfered."

"It is so different now?"

"Yes, it is. Our children may benefit more from this time which they will share in easy proximity to each other but far apart from us than they would if they remained near to us. Their relationships with each other as siblings, which became less central to their lives when they reached adulthood, will assume greater importance to them. We will not be near at hand when the need or desire to be with their family members arises."

"We will be able to have some contact with them via the MIDAS Array network."

"Of course. They will not wonder about our fate, as we did when you were lost in the Delta Quadrant." T'Pel hesitated for a moment. "As for me, during the meeting of the civilian scientist group today, I realized I had become part of a unique endeavor. I have never before had the opportunity to help shape an expedition of this type. Never have I achieved the level of professional satisfaction before as I did today. Perhaps it is the 'greenhouse effect' created by the closed society on a starship-I suspect I will need to collect more data on this-but already I see how the disparate members of the original Voyager's crew could develop such strong bonds with one another, from the earliest days of their journey home. If I must admit to any regret at all, it is that this is a new experience for me. Academia will never be the same. To this I can add the satisfaction of sharing this experience with my husband, to a degree I never could previously. It is quite compelling...Do you understand what I am trying to convey, Tuvok?"

"I believe I can," Tuvok said. He interlaced her fingers with his and felt his mind fall into step with hers, their bond renewed as they shared the sense of touch. "This 'greenhouse effect' is an accurate way of describing the stimulation one finds when working with one's friends and overcoming great odds to reach a goal that, at first, seems highly unlikely to be achieved."

"Good. I am pleased you understand. I have run out of words to explain it to you any further."

"You have no need for any more words. Standing with you here-in *our* quarters-is enough. Sharing this journey with you will be enough. However, we cannot deny the many challenges we may need to overcome, the risks which we must face."

"Risks and challenges always exist, Tuvok, even in settings which seem perfectly safe and ordinary. It is the sharing that matters."

The light reflecting off the half-built starship highlighted the sides of their faces nearest to the viewport. Tuvok did not know any words which could sufficiently express what he would say to her if he could. Of course, he did not really need to say anything at all to her. Through their joined hands, their bond became manifest, merging them until they were of one mind and shared that which was the hallmark of Vulcan marriage. Tuvok and T'Pel stood together, communicating all any couple could ever wish to relay to each another without uttering a single word.