Star Trek: Voyager: Endgame

motions. They all were.
    Pretending to involve herself with a small crystal plate of munchies, she paused and watched as Tom Paris went to answer the apartment door. In his New York casuals and with those silver temples, he had a Dashiell Hammett look about him these days—she suspected he worked on it. Well, why not?
    “Doc!” Paris exclaimed in an “about time” tone.
    Through the door came
Voyager'
s one-of-a-kind shipboard physician, looking exactly as he did the first day he was activated. Holograms had that advantage—eternal life. Dressed in civilian duds, the Doctor entered with a young woman on his arm, definitely a source of curiosity for Janeway and everyone. After all . . .
    “Mr. Paris,” the Doctor greeted merrily, and drew Paris into a particularly casual hug. “Where have you been hiding yourself?”
    “I've been busy.”
    “A new holonovel?”
    Paris smiled, not without pride. “I'll be sure to get your input before I send it to my publisher. Aren't you going to introduce me to your date?”
    “Tom Paris,” the Doctor said, beaming, “say hello to Lana, my blushing bride.”
    Paris couldn't control this particular expression. “You're married?”
    “Tomorrow's our two-week anniversary,” Lana said. A musical voice, for sure.
    “Congratulations!” Paris absorbed the news, then huffed, “I guess my invitation got lost in subspace?”
    “You should be flattered,” the Doctor said. “We took a page out of your book and eloped.”
    Lana eyed her husband. “Joe has a real flare for romantic gestures.”
    “Joe?”
    “I decided I couldn't get married without a name,” the Doctor clarified.
    Paris struck an expression. “It took you thirty-three years to come up with ‘Joe’?”
    “It was Lana's grandfather's name.”
    “Oh . . . so you're not . . .” Paris looked at the girl, and from behind the couch Janeway buried a chuckle. She'd had the same question and probably the same look on her face when she first heard about this.
What kind of a woman marries a computer-generated—
    “A hologram?” Lana finished for him. “No.”
    The Doctor raised his chin. “Frankly, Mr. Paris, I'm surprised you'd even ask. I thought we were beyond those sorts of distinctions.”
    “Are you kidding?” Paris lit up. “I think it's great! I'm in a ‘mixed marriage’ myself, remember?”
    “Speaking of which, where is that wife of yours?”
    Janeway took that as a cue and turned into the outer corridor of the spacious apartment. “They're looking for you,” she said.
    In the corridor, B'Elanna Torres peeked out and gestured her closer.
    “Why are you hiding back here?” Janeway asked.
    B'Elanna eyed the doorway. “The Doctor's new ‘wife.’ How can he have a wife? I can't get used to it.”
    “As far as we can detect, he qualifies as a life-form. You know that.”
    “Oh, I
know
it . . . I just can't
feel
it yet. Do I have to get used to everything?
Everything?”
    “No, I suppose not. When did you get back?”
    “Just this morning. I had to arrange for two special transports and one stowaway leg just to get here tonight.”
    “Good thing,” Janeway said. “If you'd missed the reunion, Harry would've started asking questions.”
    “Not to mention my loving husband, the curious Captain Proton. It always makes him nervous when I have to tap my Klingon blood.”
    “Don't tap his curiosity, whatever you do,” Janeway warned.
    B'Elanna eyed her. “You'll have to be careful too. There are rumors starting to flitter about those conversions you're making to your personal shuttle. You might have to make up a new story.”
    “Never mind the shuttle for now. It's almost finished anyway, and I'll have it moved before inspections. What did you accomplish? Am I in?”
    “The High Council had a lot of questions.”
    “What did you tell them?”
    “The truth,” B'Elanna said with a shrug, “with a Klingon twist. I told them my beloved former captain, who saved my life many times in glorious battle, would consider it an honor to submit Korath's House for consideration.”
    Janeway pushed down a twinge of worry. This couldn't be so easy. “Do you think it'll work?”
    “I'm just the Federation liaison,” B'Elanna downplayed, “but I'd like to think I have some influence. You still haven't told me why you're trying to help Korath.”
    “He's an old friend.”
    Fibs, lies, deceptions, and redirections. How much could she protect her friends—the real ones—from what she