Star Trek: Voyager: Endgame

a pretty long break.”
    There was a general chuckle, and Janeway knew the admiral meant nothing negative by the remark. Nonetheless, it stung. This hadn't been a seven-year picnic. They'd been in some terrible battles. She'd lost good people, and had suffered her own private pains at the things she'd been forced to do . . . and forced not to do.
    At the same time, in a way they had been lucky. Who knew who would have survived and who wouldn't have, had they all been in the Alpha Quadrant during the Dominion War? Maybe she'd have lost even more crewmen. But maybe they could have made a difference, too. Shortened the war, somehow.
    She shook the thoughts off, both the good and the bad. The situation was what it was. They were about to come home, and, as the admiral had said, pitch in and help the Alpha Quadrant rebuild.
    “And now,” the admiral was saying, “there's someone else you need to meet.”
    The air beside him shimmered, and when the image solidified, Janeway saw the large-eyed, earnest Reginald Barclay. His face split into an enormous grin.
    “Gosh,” he said, “it's so good to finally get to see you all.”
    And regardless of what either Janeway or Admiral Paris had in mind, the room erupted into shouts and whoops as her well-trained, disciplined senior staff literally overturned chairs in order to embrace the man who had risked everything to bring them home.



CHAPTER 2

    W HEN J ANEWAY MATERIALIZED IN THE TRANSPORTER ROOM OF THE
Enterprise
, she was pleased and flattered but not altogether surprised to see that none other than Captain Jean-Luc Picard was present to greet her.
    “Permission to come aboard,” she said lightly.
    “Very happily granted,” he replied, stepping forward with his hand outstretched. Janeway grasped it and swiftly covered it with her other hand.
    “Kathryn,” he said heartily, his hazel eyes warm with affection. “My God, it's good to see you. I could scarcely believe it when I saw
Voyager
soaring toward us out of that cloud of debris,” he said. “We had been ready to fight the Borg, not welcome home a lost traveler.”
    “What can I say?” she quipped. “I like to make an entrance.”
    “Now that, you certainly did,” said Picard. He extended an arm, indicating that she should precede him. “We had hoped you'd make it home one of these days. We just never imagined it would be quite so soon.”
    She smiled as they walked down the corridor to the turbolift. This whole meeting with Picard had a resonance that he could not possibly understand. Perhaps one day she'd tell him about it.
    “I understand Reginald Barclay served with you before being assigned to Project
Voyager,”
she said. “I must congratulate you. We'd still be quite a long way away if not for his diligence.”
    “Hard to believe that he used to be our problem child, isn't it?” Picard replied. “Yes, he's done us all proud. We've got a few moments before the, ah, ‘Inquisition’ begins. Would you care to join me in my ready room for a cup of coffee?”
    She was pleased that he remembered her fondness for the beverage. She was about to accept when she thought about someone else who had a great deal to do with the fact that
Voyager
had made it safely home. That someone had given her life for all of them, and at the very least, she deserved a toast with her favorite beverage.
    “Do you know,” Janeway said, “I think I'd like to share a pot of Earl Grey with you instead. I have a hunch that I'm going to learn to like tea.”
    * * *
    The debriefing began at 1300. Picard, Captains Rixx and DeSoto, and Admirals Paris, Brackett, Montgomery, Amerman, and Berg were present. Janeway was reminded of having to give her orals back at the Academy. Thanks to Barclay,
Voyager
had been able to transmit ship's logs covering several years, so Starfleet had already accessed much of what her crew had learned in the Delta Quadrant. If it had not been for that, Janeway imagined her debriefing alone would have taken days. As it was, there were only a few perfunctory questions, and when Janeway tried to elaborate, Montgomery, the admiral in charge, cut her off curtly each time.
    Admiral Kenneth Montgomery had a long, lean face with piercing gray eyes. With his thick, fair hair and muscular build, he could have been strikingly handsome, but there was an iciness about him that discouraged anything but the most professional, to-the-point interaction. She knew him by reputation only: he had been one of the