SINNERS AND SAINTS
By Rocky

Act 2

Pathfinder Offices, San Francisco

Paris sat in his private office at the Pathfinder office. A complicated star chart, tracing a trajectory that carefully skirted the black holes and other celestial phenomena at the center of the galaxy, was visible on the computer monitor. Commander Harkins had been in earlier, with Lieutenant Barclays' latest projections regarding Voyager's most likely course. But Paris wasn't looking at the screen. Instead, his gaze was fixed on the small holophoto in the corner of his desktop.

The photo showed Tom as a very young man, in uniform, during his first Starfleet posting. He was smiling, the ghosts of Caldik Prime not yet looking out from his eyes. Nearby were other pictures of the Paris children-Tom along with his older sisters Kathleen and Moira-in various stages of growing up. There were also pictures of Kathleen's and Moira's children and spouses. But the most recent photo of Tom was from that first tour of duty; there was nothing to commemorate any of the milestones of his life past that date.

Owen shifted uneasily in his seat. It had been just under a week since he had conveyed the latest results from the datastream to Hayes' inner council. He sighed in frustration. Here he sat at the heart of the Pathfinder project-Voyager's lifeline to the AQ-and he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being kept in the dark, not knowing exactly what was going on with the ship and her crew. He strongly suspected that there had been additional meetings that Hayes didn't notify him about. He briefly debated whether or not to make a stink about it, or at least call Hayes and ask for information. His hand hovered over the comm link for a second or two, then dropped to the surface of the desk. He knew quite well why he wasn't being included any longer.

In the utter silence, the uncertainty of it all weighed on him. In a way, he felt like he was back in those terrible days when Voyager was first lost. He remembered sitting through a meeting at Headquarters, retracing the ship's projected route in the Badlands, playing and replaying the last message received from the ship, then sifting through reports from Starfleet vessels combing the area. They had found no debris or other evidence that Voyager had been destroyed. All part of determining whether the Cardassians could be trusted, if their claims of having nothing to do with either ship's disappearance could be verified. Everyone in the room that day was well aware that Tom Paris had been aboard Voyager as an observer, in exchange for early parole from the prison facility in Auckland. At the end of the session, one of the other admirals had turned to him and simply said, "I'm sorry about your son, Owen."

Paris winced as he remembered his harsh reply, "Don't be. I lost him a long time before he ever set foot on Voyager."

He had long since repented of those words, even he before heard Tom was still alive. As he had at least a hundred times before, he hoped he could have a second chance, but he was all too aware of what a fragile thing hope is. Voyager was still so very far away; their situation was still so very dangerous. And in today's rapidly shifting political climate, who knew what they would be returning to?

His chrono beeped. 1800. Suddenly, he switched off his monitor, swept the PADDS from the desk into a drawer and strode toward the door. His aide, Lieutenant Chung, looked up, clearly startled by the admiral's unexpected appearance at such a early hour.

"I'm going to knock off early today, Chung."

"Yes, sir."

"If anyone tries to get in touch with me," Paris said, then paused.

"You'll be at home, sir?"

"Yes. I'll be at home."

Paris walked through the corridors toward the exit, mechanically responding to greetings he scarcely heard. He was thinking of Voyager's near-disastrous attempt with the transwarp. For the past week he'd carried around the knowledge of Voyager's new drive, keeping it strictly to himself. He hadn't revealed the slipstream to Alicia, because he didn't want her to be hurt again, have her hopes raised yet again for no purpose. But perhaps now it was time to confide in his wife.

Alicia Paris saw the flitter through the window, and wondered why her husband was home so early. She had just finished wiping her hands on a towel when he came in.

"Hello, dear," he said and gave her a perfunctory kiss. She cast a series of quick looks at him, trying to determine if something was wrong. It was hard to tell; Owen was not the type of man who typically wore his emotions on his sleeve. To a casual observer, his face was set in its usual placid lines. However, she could tell by the faint tightness around his mouth that he was upset. No, she corrected herself, not quite upset. But he was definitely on edge.

With forced lightness, she said, "This is a pleasant surprise- I wasn't expecting you at this hour."

He mumbled something non-committal, as he made his way over to the comm link in the foyer. "Any messages?"

"Nothing important. Moira called. They just came back from a week up at Lake Tahoe."

"Did her boys have a good time?"

"Yes." She paused. "Would you like some dinner?"

"Did you eat yet?"

"Yes, but-"

"It's all right, I'm not hungry."

"Don't be silly, Owen. You have to eat something." She went over to the replicator and tapped in a quick set of commands. She carefully picked up the steaming bowl that materialized and placed it on the table. "There you go-plain hot tomato soup. Your favorite."

Owen sat down at the table and picked up the spoon. He began to eat slowly, almost disinterestedly. Alicia watched him with a growing sense of unease. Finally, he laid the spoon down and turned to her.

"There's something I haven't told you."

"About Voyager?"

If he was surprised that she jumped to that conclusion, he gave no sign. "Yes, about Voyager. As you know, they've left that planet-"

"Tom wrote about that in his letter. They were spending a few weeks at an alien space dock to complete repairs, and then they'd be resuming their course for home." Suddenly she stopped, assailed by a terrible fear. "Did something happen to the ship? Or to Tom or B'Elanna or the baby?"

"No, no, nothing like that," he said reassuringly. "As far as I know, everyone is all right. And as far as the ship itself is concerned, Kathryn made a comment that it hasn't been in such good condition in *years*."

"Then what's the problem?" she asked, still concerned.

"They've got a new experimental drive. A faster one..."

"B'Elanna was able to fix the transwarp coil?"

He shook his head. "It's a total loss, from what I've heard. And anyway, there were problems with it that they weren't quite able to overcome-witness the crash in the first place. No, this is an entirely different drive. Slipstream."

"How did they come up with something so quickly?" Alicia asked, puzzled. She got herself a cup of coffee from the replicator and joined him at the table.

"Apparently, one of the other engineers, Carey, had been working on it, off and on, over a long period of time, but when they opted to develop the transwarp, he shelved his ideas. But over the last six months he began working on it again."

"Carey? You mean Anne's husband." Over the last two years Alicia had been in occasional contact with the woman, and had applauded her efforts to try and forge connections between the various Voyager families. Privately, Alicia had been grateful. It would have been only natural for Alicia herself to take on that role, but she hadn't wanted to for several reasons. Aside from her natural reticence and dislike for public speaking, she didn't feel entirely comfortable as it was her husband who was the admiral in charge of the Pathfinder project. Far better for someone else to be in the spotlight, as the official face of the Voyager Family Association.

"Yes, Joe Carey. Apparently B'Elanna is not the only talented engineer on board, though Kathryn still considers her indispensable." He smiled briefly. "But Voyager's got slipstream now, and apparently they've been able to work out the problems with it. If all goes well, they'll be home within the year."

"But that's wonderful news! I can't believe Tom didn't mention it." She stopped short, suddenly realizing that news of the slipstream hadn't appeared anywhere. And Owen himself had not mentioned it till now. "What's wrong?"

He sighed and ran his hand through his thinning hair. "Not everyone thinks it's such good news."

She caught the undercurrent at once. "Not everyone at Starfleet, that is."

"Exactly."

Alicia didn't interrupt as Owen recounted the meeting he had been at a few days earlier, when the datastream had first arrived, as well as the different attitudes held by the various admirals. She didn't react until his last sentence.

"But I will no longer be sitting in on the meetings."

Alicia asked, "Why not? That doesn't make any sense."

He pushed his chair back, but did not stand. "My hands are tied, Alicia, due to the inherent conflict of interest." He exhaled sharply. "My son and daughter-in-law are members of Voyager's crew, as well as my soon-to-be adopted son," he said, referring to Icheb, the young Brunali recovered from the Borg. "And of course it's well known that Kathryn Janeway was my protégée. Any argument I make regarding the treatment of the ship and crew won't be given as much weight because of all these factors."

Alicia sighed. She knew better than anyone that Owen had never given or asked that others give Tom preferential treatment; in fact, to avoid even the appearance of any impropriety, he had made things that much harder on him all the years he was growing up, continuing through Tom's early years in Starfleet. And Owen had completely turned his back on his son when the truth finally came out about what happened at Caldik Prime.

Alicia rose and carried their dishes to the recycler, then picked up a sponge and began wiping down the counter. How long would Tom have to pay for bearing the Paris name? She glanced back at her husband, saw him sitting with his head in his hands.

To any outside observer, the Paris marriage had always been rock solid. No one guessed at the major strains it had undergone around the time of Tom's summary departure from Starfleet, compounded by his subsequent involvement in the Maquis, and made rapidly worse by his capture and sentencing to the penal colony in Auckland. She had come close to leaving Owen then, but in the end she had stayed. She hadn't been sure why at the time. Only later, after Voyager was lost, had she become aware of just how much Owen himself had suffered. And not, as she'd angrily accused him, because of the way the Paris name had been dragged through the mud. No, Owen genuinely loved his son, even if he did have difficulty expressing it. For too long she had been blinded by her own anger, her own hurt for her son, to realize it.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, her grandmother used to say. Incredibly enough, that seemed to have been the case for Owen and Tom. Maybe they had to undergo the physical distance, the fear of losing one another for ever, in order to begin taking the first few steps toward each other again. And now that Voyager's return seemed imminent, it wasn't fair to think the chance could be snatched away from them once more.

Her heart was full of questions she could not ask. Would Owen still be able to find a way to fight for Voyager? Would Tom understand his father wasn't abandoning him? There were other people involved here as well, an entire ship load of people, with families who cared about them and had already given them up for dead once. What about them?

Instead, she said, "If they're so worried about a conflict of interest, then most of the Admiralty should disqualify themselves from making any decisions regarding Voyager." She waited till Owen looked up. "Most of them are on a first name basis with Kathryn Janeway, either taught her or had her serve under them at some point in her career. Are they willing to recuse themselves?" She smiled bitterly. "No, I didn't think so."

Owen came up behind her, and slipped his arms around her waist. "Alicia." Slowly she turned. "Alicia, I agree with you. But that's the way it is." He lifted her chin till she was looking straight into his piercing blue eyes. "But just because *my* hands are tied doesn't mean there isn't another way."