Homecoming - Christie Golden [9]
“It’s not that people don’t care,” put in Paris. “It’s [24] that there are so many things we need to be doing to recover. Our resources have been depleted throughout the quadrant. We’re helping the Cardassians rebuild, mourning our dead, trying to move on.”
“I do understand, Admiral. But the things we’ve learned can help you do that.”
“And they will,” said Picard. “Everything we’ll need to learn is in your computer databanks. The information will be passed on directly to the experts in their field. The board simply didn’t need to keep you here for hours when everyone, including you, has other things to do.”
They were trying to soften the blow, of course, and she was going to let them think they had succeeded. “Speaking of which,” she said, forcing a smile, “I’d better get back to my ship. Thank you, gentlemen, and good day.”
In about a half hour, Voyager was going to be crawling with Starfleet personnel whose job it was to learn everything about all the modifications that had been made on the ship in the last seven years, particularly the new technology that Admiral Janeway had given them. As she stood in the turbolift en route to Holodeck One, Janeway wondered why the modifications seemed to take priority over all the other things Voyager had brought back with it. The tactical information on the Borg should have been the most vital information, not the shielding technology and other improvements.
The turbolift halted, and she sighed. She was not looking forward to this, but it had to be done. One of [25] the things the Starfleet engineers would analyze would be all the holodeck simulations. Janeway had told her crew that anything they regarded as “personal” could and should be deleted.
The doors to the holodeck hissed open and she entered. Laughter and music reached her ears, and she smiled despite herself.
“Katie, darling!” cried Michael Sullivan, drying his hands with a dish towel. His handsome face was alight with affection. Before she knew it, he’d caught her around the waist, whirled her around twice, and planted a kiss on her mouth. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too, Michael.” Gently, she disengaged herself from his strong arms. “I have some sad news. I won’t be able to come to Fair Haven again.”
It hurt her, to watch the light fade from his eyes. “Your journey ... you’ve made it home then, have you?” At her nod, he said, “Why, Katie, that’s wonderful. Just grand. You’ve been trying for so long. I’m happy for you.”
And he was, she had no doubt. But she was sorry for herself. Tenderly, she reached out and touched his cheek, feeling the warmth of his holographic skin, the scratch of his holographic beard stubble. He wasn’t real, but in a way, he had become very real to her. She had learned to care for him, but where she was going, there was once again a chance for her to learn to care for a living, breathing person.
She stood on tiptoe to kiss him, sweetly, gently, whispered, “Good-bye,” then turned and left. She had instructed the computer not to accept any more adjustments to Michael Sullivan from her. It would be up to [26] Tom Paris, the designer of the program, to save or delete the program as he chose.
But as far as she was concerned, when the doors closed behind her, she had left Fair Haven and all it meant—laughter, freedom from responsibility, a simpler way of living—behind.
And she was surprised at just how painful it was.
The Doctor looked up in surprise as Seven of Nine entered sickbay. She did not appear to be in a good mood. However, with Seven, that was usually a given.
“Implants acting up?” he asked.
“Negative,” she replied, then looked a bit discomfited. “I ... wished to inquire if you needed any assistance.”
“My sickbay rush has come and gone,” he replied. “Actually, the only thing I’m doing now is writing up my report for Starfleet.”
She inclined her blond head. “In that case, I shall leave.” Seven turned and strode toward the door.
“Seven, wait a minute,” he called after her. She halted. “What about you?