Star Trek: Voyager: Endgame

plan. To the last of
Voyager'
s crew, even B'Elanna and Tom Paris, who were about to become parents, were willing to make good on their promise to be higher than themselves, for the good of a galaxy that desperately needed heroes.
    In the shadow of the irritated and greatly subdued admiral, Captain Janeway found herself puffed up with pride. She knew the admiral had been lobbying the crew, and she knew what response they had unilaterally given.
    The briefing room was now cluttered with coffee cups, water glasses, padds and people. They had spread out to their various stations, analyzed every last possibility, and come together to a single purpose like a cluster of surgeons about to operate on the same patient.
    Janeway sat next to Chakotay. Around the table were Paris, B'Elanna, Kim, the Doctor, Tuvok, and Seven, and over there, apart, was Admiral Janeway. Tuvok had a graphic of the transwarp hub playing on the monitor. Even small and transparent, the monstrosity was frightening.
    “Once inside,” Tuvok was reporting, “we'd fire a spread of transphasic torpedoes.”
    Seven added, “They'd be programmed to detonate simultaneously.”
    “If the torpedoes penetrate the shielding, the conduits should begin to collapse in a cascade reaction.”
    Janeway drew a breath to clear her head. This had been a long meeting after a tiring day. The explanation-sharing was giving her whiplash. She wished they'd all report to one person and that person would just say everything at once instead of the zigzag dialogue. The irony was not lost on her that this attack was only possible because of technology that Admiral Janeway had brought from the future, and they were using it to go very much against the admiral's purpose.
    “In order to avoid the shock wave,” Tuvok continued as the graphic began its theoretical collapse, “we'd have less than ten seconds to exit the hub.”
    What more could be said? The plan could be executed, could succeed, or could be their glorious last couple of minutes. Their legend would die with them. No one would really know why.
    Billions of lives. Whole planets out there trying to live and thrive, most not even knowing they were percolating fodder for the Borg. If the encompassing plan for assimilation continued on its extrapolated path, someday there would be nothing in the galaxy but Borgified life-forms. True, there would be no more death in the conventional sense. But there would also be no more life, no love or ambition, no striving for betterment, no failing and getting up from failure, no new greatness, no new dreams.
    Worth doing?
    Janeway gripped the arms of her chair. “A long time ago,” she began solemnly, “I made a decision that stranded this crew in the Delta Quadrant. I don't regret that decision. But I didn't know all of you then, and
Voyager
was just a starship. It's much more than that now. It's become our home.”
    She paused, to see if this very odd statement would have some effect on them. The only response, though, was Tuvok's brow when she uttered the uninspiring phrase “just a starship.”
    Maybe she should stop baiting them.
    “I know I could order you to carry out this plan,” she went on, more mellow than before, less posturing. “None of you would hesitate for a second. But I'm not going to do that. You know the crewmen who work under you, and you know what your own hearts are telling you. So we're not going to attempt this unless everyone in this room agrees. No one will think less of you if you don't.”
    To whom was she lying? Herself? Possibly. To them? No— they knew she already understood the answer they would give. This was all a weird performance, all for the admiral's sake—just so
she
would never again interfere.
    “Captain?” Harry Kim spoke up, probably not understanding the game Janeway was playing.
    No, of course he wasn't picking up on her subtle trick. Janeway gazed warmly at him, at his innocence, and in his boyish features and his guileless eyes she saw the myriad souls they were about to attempt to save.
    “Go ahead, Harry,” she accepted.
    He hesitated, formulating his thoughts. “I think it's safe to say that no one on this crew has been more obsessed with getting home than I have. But when I think of everything we've been through together, maybe it's not the destination that matters . . . maybe it's the journey.” He paused again, and made contact with each of them at the table. “I can't think of any place I'd rather be, or any