A "Pathfinder" Vignette

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"My Father's Voice"
P. L. Heyes

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The shock hasn't quite worn off yet.

Somehow I manage to cope, burying it and all the conflicting emotions deep in a corner of my mind, which is a trick I learned long ago.

I attend to my duty, focus on my work--wouldn't do to veer off course or fly into a stray asteroid now, would it?

That's right, Tom--hide what you're feeling behind a joke.

But it works.

Behind me, a quiet sort of chaos reigns. I can hear the captain and Chakotay talking in low, excited tones. Tuvok and Harry exchange rapid-fire speculations about the data we received and how it was sent. There's a happy buzz of conversation among the rest of the Bridge crew, normally something the captain would frown upon, but not now.

I steal a glance at Kathryn Janeway. There's a rare but familiar look on her face--one of hope, softening the hard edges she's acquired in recent times. She looks like a young cadet who just came in first in her class. No fear or doubt mars her expression--she's probably already planning her next conversation with Command.

She turns to Harry, and asks him to broadcast the transmission throughout the ship. No, please, not again, not yet, I'm not ready--but mercifully he does it on a channel that excludes the Bridge. Thanks, pal. Yet it only takes a few discreet seconds to press the right controls and have it routed to my personal database. I can always listen to it later...

You can almost hear the cheers and applause breaking out on the decks below. And despite my best efforts not to think about it, I can hear again my father's voice.

It's a voice out of my worst nightmares.

But it's the one I hear in my most hopeful dreams.

It echoes down all the years of my life. How can one voice, one man, have such power? Controlling my destiny, sending me along paths I didn't want to follow. That voice taught me everything I know about success--and failure.

He's your father, Tom, my mother used to say--try to understand he really does care about you.

And no matter how I tried not to listen, tried to deny what she was saying, at times I knew she was right. I know there were times when that voice meant more to me than anything.

Reading me stories when I was sick in bed with the Rigellian flu.

Telling me about the stars and constellations on a cold night in the backyard.

Guiding me through that first flight on a rickety old shuttle.

Introducing me with pride to my first year instructors at the Academy.

I never really knew what changed first--my feelings towards him, or his towards me. When did admiration and respect turn into resentment? How did pride change to disappointment? Which of us took the first wrong step?

When was the last time I heard that voice, before today? After the hearing, the one I demanded when I was sick with grief and guilt. He didn't touch me, he could hardly look at me, but he said "I'm sorry it had be this way, son" with such bitter regret it only made me feel worse, and all the more willing to finally walk a path completely of my own choosing.

And look where it got me--sitting here at Voyager's helm, lost in tangled memories I spent years trying to forget.

Janeway's voice breaks me free. "Owen Paris always had a reputation for getting things done. He and his team won't let us down."

I wonder what he's doing, now that the contact was made but broken too quickly. Is he still in whatever lab or facility Reginald Barclay works in, taking charge and getting things done as only he can? Or is he in his office, getting ready to review all the logs and reports we sent. Damn. He'll read about the Monean incident, and my demotion, from the captain's log. Will that make him regret what he said? That letter I wrote in the brig--this doesn't count as within range of Earth to be transmitted. He won't hear my side of it.

But he did hear what the captain said about me now.

Maybe he went straight home, to tell Mom he talked to Voyager...that he talked to me.

God, I hope so.

Someone taps my shoulder, and I turn, startled, thinking it's the captain again--that she's seen something in my face and wants to offer support again. But it's only Baytart, there to relieve me. He's wearing a huge grin, as excited as the rest of the crew over the message. I manage to return it as best I can, and relinquish the helm, glad to escape. As I head for the lift, I get a comforting nod from the captain, an almost sympathetic one from Chakotay, and an overjoyed smile from Harry. For a moment I can forget my own troubled emotions and share in their exhilaration. We're not really lost anymore.

***

I wind up in the observation lounge on Deck 2, looking at the stars. If I angle my head just right, I can almost see the way to the Alpha Quadrant. To Earth.

To home? That's what this unexpected contact means to everyone else--we've heard from home, we're really on our way there. Not for the first time, I find that thought less than comforting. Earth stopped being my home a long time ago--it just became a destination, a goal to reach on the almost-constant course set by my captain.

How many times has she said that to me? "Resume our course to the Alpha Quadrant, Mr. Paris." The unspoken "Towards home" always resonates in the order.

But I am home, Captain, I want to say to her. This is my home--this ship, this refuge from the past, the place where my path led and I finally found myself. Me--Tom Paris, not the admiral's son. Voyager is my home.

That's what B'Elanna said when she rescued me from the hellish bonds of Alice. "It's time to come home." She knew how to reach me--to bring me back to the place I belonged, to where I found her, to the life we built together. She understands me in a way no one else ever has.

Thinking about her conjures her up. I know she's there by the sound of her step, the warmth in the air, even before she puts her arm around me. For a moment we stand together, watching the stars stream by.

"How are you doing?" she asks softly. Of course she's heard by now, and knows what I might be going through.

I shrug, nonchalantly, out of habit, but I know better than to lie to her. "Okay, I guess. I don't know why, but I feel--lost."

"Just when we're found?" She smiles up at me, and rubs her cheek against my shoulder. "Seven's almost done correlating the data they sent. Neelix wants us all in the mess hall to celebrate the good news." There's the faintest hint of a question in her voice, and I know she's not entirely sure I'd want to join in.

I'm not sure either. "Champagne and toasts all around?" I ask, trying not to sound cynical.

B'Elanna turns me around, studies my face. Her dark eyes are unfathomable. "Remember that letter I couldn't retrieve?"

I nod, slowly. I had tried so hard to make myself not care about it.

"And what I said might have been in it?" Her voice cracks a little.

So does mine. "I think you were just doing your best to make me feel better."

She tries to scowl impatiently, but can't quite pull it off. "Looks like I was right after all."

"I guess so," is all I can manage, as she wraps me in a huge hug I return gratefully. Contentment floods through me, and over her whispered "I love you" I can hear my father's voice again.

"Tell him...tell him I miss him, and I'm proud of him."

Maybe I do have something to celebrate. It looks like I'm on my way home, after all.

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