Star Trek: Voyager: Endgame

speak of your mother. It is a matter of some urgency.”
    Torres recalled the words her mother had spoken in Grethor, the Klingon hell:
    We will see each other again.
    In Sto-Vo-Kor.
    In Sto-Vo-Kor . . . or maybe . . . when you get home.
    Perhaps this Logt knew what her mother had meant.
    Janeway's heart lifted as Tuvok entered the room. Their eyes met, and he nodded. That was all she was going to get out of him, but it was enough. The
fal-tor-voh
had been successful. He would require regular, mild doses of medication to keep the disease from recurring, but the dreadful mental deterioration of which her future self had warned had been averted. How easily it had been accomplished; how devastating it would have been to watch this beloved friend fall to pieces slowly, irreversibly, in front of her eyes.
    She permitted herself the briefest pang of envy. Both Paris and Tuvok had already gotten to see family members, and they had been in the Alpha Quadrant for only a few hours. Of course, their situations had been unique. Paris's father had been the head of this project and had been involved on a professional as well as personal level. And getting Sek to his father had been a true emergency. They were traveling slowly on their way back to Earth, in order to get all the necessary red tape cut before their arrival. And, she thought, not to overwhelm her crew. Certainly, they wanted to get home and see their loved ones. But the whole thing had happened so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that it had been quite a shock. One of the first things Janeway requested, besides Sek's presence, was a counselor. Her request had been granted as well as she could wish. The
Enterprise
had sent its own counselor, one Deanna Troi, who had also apparently been at least peripherally involved with Project
Voyager.
Upon greeting the dark-haired, soft-spoken woman, Janeway had immediately felt confident in her abilities. Her crew was fortunate to have this capable woman to turn to.
    Tuvok slipped quietly into a seat and everyone turned his or her attention to Admiral Paris.
    The admiral didn't immediately launch into his speech. He took a moment to look at each of them in turn, smiling a little. Janeway was pleased to see his eyes linger affectionately on his new daughter-in-law. Torres had insisted on being present despite doctor's orders, and the Doctor was keeping a close eye on her. Despite the slight risk, Janeway was glad she was here.
    “There aren't words to articulate how happy I am to see you all here,” Owen Paris began. “It's difficult to believe that in a few hours you'll be home. We've been sending you information for some time, so you know about the Dominion War and its outcome. But there are some questions many of you, especially the former Maquis among you, must still be concerned about.
    “During the last days of the war there was a shortage of trained, capable officers. The situation was desperate. A general pardon was therefore offered to any of the Maquis who chose to return to Starfleet, absolving them of their betrayal and desertion, and after the massacre on Tevlik's moon, it was argued that there was no reason to doubt their commitment to the cause. To be honest, I opposed the amnesty. I did not think Maquis could be trusted. I have never been so happy to be proven wrong. The former Maquis served bravely and loyally. Therefore, I hereby extend the amnesty to all those who Captain Janeway informs me have served her so well.”
    Admiral Paris smiled, then spoke again. “Which means I am spared the unpleasant duty of escorting my new daughter-in-law to prison.”
    There were smiles all around. Come to think of it, mused Janeway, there had been a lot of smiles on this ship over the last several hours. She met Chakotay's eyes. They hadn't spoken of it—there was no point, he knew that she would have to surrender him to the authorities if it came to that—but Janeway felt a fierce surge of joy to know that he, along with every other member of the crew, would be returning home a hero, not a prisoner.
    “But it won't be a utopia to which you'll be returning, either,” Admiral Paris continued. “War is never easy, but this one has truly been a hell to endure. It's taken a terrible toll on everyone. We lost millions. We'll need all of you to pitch in and help us rebuild.”
    “You can count on us, Admiral,” Janeway assured him.
    “I'm sure I can,” said the admiral. “After all, you should be well rested—you've had