20
Captain Kathryn Janeway placed one foot on the ground outside the Starfleet shuttle and took a long look around. Her grandfather's farmhouse had been given a fresh coat of paint, but other than that its surroundings hadn't changed in the ten years since she had last seen it. Cornfields always looked alike, and the raucous, incessant cawing of the crows served as a pointed reminder that she was back on Earth.
"Good old Bloomington," she muttered. Slinging her duffel bag over one shoulder, she reached down to grab a handful of dirt. It slipped through her fingers and formed a cloud as the dusty soil drifted back to the ground.
She heard the front door of the old farmhouse slam and looked up to see a face that, just three months ago, she would have assumed she would never have seen again. The silver-streaked hair, sharply defined cheekbones, and a pointed chin were almost like looking into a mirror.
"Kathryn?" Gretchen Janeway, her facial expression unreadable, took several cautious steps down the front of the porch.
"Mother?" The word felt strange coming out, it had been so long since she had used it this way.
Gretchen's shoulders relaxed and she began jogging forward. "Kathryn, it is you!"
When they were a few feet away from each other, she stopped short. "I heard about Voyager's return last month," Gretchen finally said. "Why didn't you call me? I was worried that you had died in that awful core breach. But nothing ever came from Starfleet."
"I was stuck in San Francisco waiting for my review board, Ma," she finally replied. "It's a long story."
Her mother harrumphed. "You could have at least called ahead. I would have put on a pot roast for you. As it is, I don't have anything ready for dinner."
"Ma, it's only eleven-hundred!" Kathryn protested, slipping into a familiar banter without really noticing. "We have all day to make dinner."
"You know full well that my pot roast takes twelve hours," Gretchen retorted. "I knew it. You've been spoiled by those replicated Starfleet rations."
"Well, not so much," Kathryn said. "We had a cook on Voyager."
"Really?" Gretchen seemed surprised. "That doesn't sound like standard Starfleet procedure."
"It's not. We picked up a local Talaxian junk dealer and he made himself at home in our mess hall." She laughed nervously. "Leola root stew is the one dish I won't be missing."
"I'll take your word for it," her mother replied with a short laugh. "Anyway, I just put a pot of tea on, but I can always brew up a pot of coffee as well if you want."
Kathryn grimaced. "No, thanks. I just finished getting over my coffee withdrawls. I'd rather not go through that again."
Gretchen frowned. "Coffee withdrawls? Well, can't really say I'm surprised. What brought that on?"
"Voyager's doctor forced me to detox during the trip back. I hadn't been making the best decisions."
As they began walking back toward the house, her mother turned to face her. "So, how long is your leave?"
Kathryn slowly let a sigh escape through her teeth. "I don't know."
"It's that bad?"
"Yes," she replied. "As I said, it's a long story."
"Well, we have all day to talk about it," Gretchen said. "Unless you don't feel like it, of course."
She stifled a yawn. "Actually, I'm feeling rather tired. Do you mind if I just take a nap on the couch?"
"Your room's still there," her mother answered.
Kathryn stepped through the front door and discovered that like the surroundings, the interior of the house had not changed much. Pine paneling adorned the walls and the old oak floor creaked with each step as she walked toward the stairs.
"I'll wake you up when dinner is ready," Gretchen said, adding with a wan smile, "It's good to have you back."
.
.
It only took two nights for the novelty of being home to wear off. Kathryn had attempted to keep herself busy by diving headfirst into the farm's chores, but they were so monotonous that she found her thoughts drifting back to the Starfleet review board.
She remembered walking into the conference room as if it were yesterday. Admiral Drazman had been chosen to preside over the review board, and she wondered briefly if that decision had been made simply to torture her.
Sitting to either side of him were Admiral Nechayev, who she recalled had also been present at her first review board, and Admiral Namimby.
"I hope you don't mind," Drazman had said in his trademark slow, monotone drawl, "that I've taken over from Admiral Paris. He excused himself due to a potential conflict of interest."
"Not at all," she lied. Anyone but Droner would have been preferred.
"Due to the length of Voyager's journey, this review board will take an unprecedented amount of time. We will all take turns to cover different aspects of the voyage, including scientific, tactical, strategic, and diplomatic procedures. In addition, Starfleet Command has requested that certain portions be reviewed for compliance with regulations by field experts.
"Finally, at the conclusion of the review, Admirals Nechayev, Namimby, and myself will make a recommendation to Starfleet Command as to your future career. Starfleet will be putting considerable weight on our recommendation so while it may not be final, it will certainly serve as an indicator of the final outcome."
The review board went straight downhill after that. Drazman, predictably, went over the logs in chronological order. They questioned almost every decision she made when dealing with the Caretaker, Ocampa, and the Kazon in the beginning. Drazman had even had the gall to ask why she hadn't set timed fuses on the tricobalt warheads so they could use the array to return home! Even if they could have equipped the warheads with the proper fuses in the heat of battle and beamed them into place on the array, who was to say that they wouldn't get prematurely detonated by weapons fire? Stranger things had happened, after all.
"In battle," she had replied, "Starfleet expects its captains to make rapid decisions that first and foremost protect their ship and crew. From the day Voyager departed Utopia Planitia five years ago, I have held fast to that principle. I most certainly was not willing to risk the safety of my crew on a long-shot chance of getting home."
"While I agree with the need to protect ship and crew," Drazman said, "tricobalt devices are one of the oldest weapons in the Starfleet arsenal and are very well-understood. It is quite difficult to accidentally detonate a tricobalt warhead given that it relies on fusion instead of antimatter."
Drazman went on to criticize her for allowing Voyager to nearly run headfirst into a singularity barely a month and a half later; the fact that he praised her for successfully finding a way out had not helped her mood very much at the time.
Then there was the matter of the Romulan captain they beamed over through a wormhole to the Alpha Quadrant twenty years in the past. This time, Admiral Nechayev chastised her for her cavalier attitude in the situation, particularly when it came to giving the Romulans information. The only rebuttal she had been able to come up with was that her crew had been stranded in the Delta Quadrant for three months at that point and they had needed the morale boost.
Nechayev had not been impressed.
She sighed and took a seat at the kitchen table, absently reaching for her black mug. Amazingly, the mug was the one item that had made it through the voyage unscathed. Not even a single chip marred its black surface.
Janeway took a sip from the mug and grimaced. Stale coffee she had grown accustomed to, but stale tea was another story entirely. Seeing no other option, she took another swig and set the mug down, then began going through the stack of mail that had accumulated over the past five years.
It was such an anachronism, she mused, but perhaps the simple charm of receiving a letter written on paper was why it had stuck around. That notion was dashed as she discarded several advertisements from the stack.
The next letter was from Indiana University. Don't they know I already graduated from Starfleet Academy? she wondered as she sliced the envelope open.
Dr. Clyde Barker, Ph.D
President
Indiana State University
Stardate 52290.5
Dear Captain Kathryn Janeway,
We would like to congratulate you on successfully returning to the Alpha Quadrant. Our hearts go out to the crew members that were lost during Voyager's five-year journey.
If you are interested in returning to Bloomington, we would be honored to offer you the position of chair of the Astrophysics Department. This position would come with full tenure in recognition of your outstanding service record in Starfleet.
Please reply to this letter or call our office if you are interested in the position.
We look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
Clyde Barker
With a snort, she crumpled the letter up and threw it in the wastebasket. Did they really think she was ready to retire, just because her career had been temporarily put on hold by Starfleet? The sheer arrogance of the idea was astounding. Never mind that IU was nowhere near her list of top universities to teach at after retirement, assuming she decided to retire in the first place.
The next letter on the pile was addressed from Mark. The memory of her former fiancée brought a twinge of pain with it, and she put the letter down almost as fast as she had picked it up. What was done was done, and she could always read it later when she was in a better mood.
Looking for something else to do, she walked over to the food stasis unit and glanced over the local commune news that was displayed on its screen. Most of it was about crops; there were plenty of requests for volunteers to help in the fields. Work like that was monotonous, best suited for those who wanted time to think.
She just wanted something to take her mind off everything that had happened in the last two months. Something she could just get immersed in and forget about little things like losing her command. The other choice was to start having sessions with a Starfleet staff therapist. She had already rebuffed her counselor several times at Starfleet Headquarters whenever that suggestion came up. What, did they think she was going to commit suicide?
Janeway laughed quietly. Having been marooned on a planet in the Delta Quadrant with Chakotay when they had contracted a seemingly incurable disease, being temporarily suspended by Starfleet was nothing in comparison. She would pull through and get her command back; that much she was sure of.
One entry in the list finally caught her eye.
Wanted: part-time engineer. Responsibilities include maintaining combines, antigrav tractors, and grain elevators. Compensation is negotiable in bartered goods. Start immediately.
A few hours later, she was halfway underneath a broken tractor at the agricultural park's equipment pool. Compared to a Type 6 shuttle, the tractor's antigrav unit was straightforward and uncomplicated; she had the unit fixed and halfway back together by the time she heard approaching footsteps. Probably just the operator, she decided.
"I'm almost done, Jimmy," she called out. "Just give me a couple more minutes."
"I don't know who Jimmy is," a new, vaguely familiar voice answered. He sounded amused. "But please, take your time."
Unwilling to break away with the machine nearly finished, she grabbed the last panel and secured it in place before pushing herself back out from beneath the tractor. When she finally had the chance to take a look at the new arrival's face, her jaw dropped.
"Captain Jellico?"
He coughed. "Actually, it's Admiral now."
"My apologies, Admiral," she blurted out, now acutely aware of the grease and dirt on the coveralls she was wearing. Just where had that grease come from, anyway? The tractor didn't have any moving parts near the antigrav unit. "I'm sorry I'm not in proper uniform."
"No worries," Jellico replied with a smile. "You're off-duty. I must admit that I'm a bit surprised to find you here. Word is that the universities are practically falling over each other to get you."
"I'm not sure that I'm cut out for teaching," Janeway replied. "I'm just doing this to keep myself busy."
"Is it working?"
She shrugged. "Not really. Nearly everything I wind up doing reminds me of something in the Delta Quadrant."
Jellico nodded. "It's difficult to adjust to life on the ground once you're used to running a starship."
"Pardon the question," she said after brushing some dirt off herself, "but how did you find me out here?"
"Your mother said that you came out this way."
"Did she." Janeway frowned. I hadn't even told her. "Anyway, Admiral, may I ask why you're here?"
"For you, of course," he replied without missing a beat.
She let out a self-deprecating laugh. "Why me? Admiral Nechayev thinks I'm an incompetent failure."
"Her opinion is not the opinion of all admirals in Starfleet," Jellico rebuked.
"So did Drazman."
"Drazman is a fossil."
Janeway snorted. "I'm glad we can agree on something. What can I do for you?"
"Would you mind walking with me? I have a shuttle waiting outside."
"With respect, Admiral, I'm not dressed appropriately for going anywhere."
"Not a problem," he replied. "I can drop you off at your house to clean up and collect your belongings."
"If I may be frank, what do you have in mind?"
"I'm not sure if you are aware,' Jellico said, "but Starfleet Command put me in charge of operations at Utopia Planitia. I think it's best if you see for yourself."