Today, billions of stars glistened brightly like diamonds in a blanket of never-ending space. Every star seemed to exert a generous amount of illumination, gleaming amidst the dusky surroundings. It was as if something momentous had happened; one could almost feel exuberance in the air just by staring at how brightly these stars were twinkling. Did they know something that the rest of us did not?

At the moment, nothing seemed different. Inhabitants went on in their daily lives, in their home planets, carrying on doing what they had come to find routine; and business in this part of the region went on as usual.

Out in space, few cargo shuttles flew back and forth, making their way to their assigned destinations (wherever that may be) as the trailing light of the nacelles subsided through space as the shuttles continued in its journey, piercing in sound as they wooshed through space. It was as if they were in a hurry—probably pilots and crewmen eager to complete their last mission before they retired for the day.

Amongst the pack was a familiar shuttle; a slightly larger shuttle and more sleek in design. It looked alien in comparison to the neighboring shuttles, yet, in many ways, it appeared to conform to designs of the surrounding shuttles.

The shuttle moved boldly forward. With its unique and engaging alien design, the shuttle stood out from the rest, appearing as if all other shuttles were onlookers who were awed by the magnificence of it. The light from its upper left, which reflected onto its hull, accentuated its existence even more, giving it a sense of importance, as if a spotlight was deliberately concentrated on this foreign shuttle.

Swiftly, it flew past all the other shuttles, travelling past them as fast as the shuttles passed it, flying through space ever so gracefully. For a few seconds, it continued to fly at a constant speed, travelling forth in a linear course. Soon after, it altered its heading, veering to the right. The familiar shuttle seemed to have arrived at its journey's end. It decreased its speed to prepare for port.

Luckily it did.

Not far in front, a speedy shuttle lurked before it, bisecting its path, but both left unscathed (thanks to the skill of the pilot aboard) and carried on.

A few more metres in the peripheral range of the familiar shuttle, a structure appeared-another familiar sight.

It was a multi-leveled structure having a strange design to it, but it was suiting. Two sets of three metallic silver saucers stacked on top of each other like meat on a kebab, conjoined by two narrow structures, allowing passage between them. On each of the three saucers, featured several levels of windows made of durable transparent aluminium, allowing people inside to view out into outer space. An orange-reddish glow cast onto its tritanium shell by an adjacent celestial body—a rather large gaseous red planet-saturated in tones of yellows and reds.

No life resided here on this Giant. The austerity of the planet's properties did not contribute toward human colonisation. Even with Starfleet's most advanced technology, it would be a deadly mission if they ever sent any of their people down there; the poisonous gases and the huge pressures that existed in the atmosphere would most likely be disastrous towards its people and their accoutrements.

The alien shuttle which was several million kilometres from the tritanium structure adjacent to the planet decreased its speed as it switched to thrusters. Having no trouble at all, the shuttle's pilot maneuvered into the opening that was situated on the tritanium structure-Jupiter Station. Slowly, the shuttle made its way into the opening and docked.

"Powering down..." Tom Paris flicked the last switch off as the hum off the ship systems went to a soft, low hum before everything ceased. Paris swivelled out of his chair, in a hurry to get back to his wife, B'Elanna Torres and their newborn, whom were both on Earth.

After a tough but adventurous seven years in the Delta Quadrant, Tom Paris—and the rest of his fellow crew members for that matter—were back in the Alpha Quadrant. Finally they had made it home. Not too long ago though, they were tens of thousands of light-years from home, contemplating their fate.

They had really struck it lucky this time. The crew had come upon one of only six transwarp hubs in the galaxy. On one of these hubs, thousands of transwarp conduits connected to all four quadrants, allowing access to virtually anywhere in the galaxy. Something so powerful, something this extraordinary would bring about potential terror if fallen into the wrong hands. And it had. The Borg controlled this little gem in the galaxy—rather, big gem.

The Borg being there was one of their problems; getting through them would be a big mission... at first. When they didn't have the technology, it was suicidal to go up against the Borg, but having technology from the future, they had the option of attempting the dangerous mission. Voyager's crew had defenses against the Borg which worked against them. But in their minds, they knew that entering the conduit and leaving the hub intact would pose a great threat to the Federation and the rest of the galaxy. The questions they had to ask themselves were: should they take this window of opportunity, enter through one of the conduits, get home and let the Borg have this hub and ultimately control of the entire galaxy—or, destroy the hub and find another way home? It wasn't an easy choice.

This seemed all too familiar...

Seven years ago, the same predicament lay in front of the crew. The same questions were asked when the USS Voyager and its crew arrived in the Delta Quadrant: destroy the Caretaker's Array (their only way home), or take this piece of technology as a way of returning home and risk the lives of the Ocampan and any species the Kazons happen to have under their control. The fate laid solely on the decisions of the captain, Kathryn Janeway; all she had to do was to give one order and the crew's fate was sealed.

Janeway saw similarities between the two predicaments. It was like looking into a crystal ball of the past. Except this time, she had the support of her crew; she wasn't alone on this decision. Nevertheless, she was not going to make the same mistake this time; she was going to devise a plan to get home, all the while, destroy the transwarp hub, sealing passage between the Delta and Alpha Quadrants.

That was exactly what Janeway and the crew did. They got to have their cake and eat it too. They came home in a spectacular fashion, blasting a Borg sphere after leaving a transwarp hub, and then were escorted back by hundreds of Federation vessels which greeted the USS Voyager. Everyone who was fortunate enough to have survived this far, was home safely along with extra crew—Seven of Nine, Icheb, the Equinox crew, Naomi Wildman and not to forget the newest addition: Tom and B'Elanna's baby girl.

It had been a few hours since their arrival back to their native quadrant, and it had been that long that Voyager had been docked inside Jupiter Station. All members of the Voyager crew had already left the ship.

Starfleet was not going to release any official information of this until tomorrow. Only immediate family was contacted. They had been convoyed off Jupiter Station on shuttles and back on Earth.

Tom Paris had volunteered to help out with the transport, since he was the only one—apart from a few members of the Voyager crew—who could efficiently pilot the Delta Flyer. He had preferred to be by B'Elanna's side, but she insisted that he help out... again.

As he walked along the corridor, still in his red and black Starfleet jumpsuit, he thought of how the surroundings seem almost... fictitious. Right now, he felt many feelings, many feelings that he himself couldn't put a word to for each of them. It was difficult to express how he felt inside, but one feeling he could describe was the feeling of incredulity.

There were so many things that he couldn't believe. Paris was at a place in his life where everything was at a perfect balance. When he left Earth years ago, he never imagined that his life would ever come around full circle.

Of course, his circle wasn't drawn without rough, off course lines; one that wasn't drawn proportionately. There were periods of divergence as he became more lost in life during his Academy years; and digressed even further into the void when he was with the Maquis. It became evident that completion of his circle was far beyond his reach. But being on Voyager, it steered his 'pen' back on course to make ends meet.

He was a convict when he first boarded the ship seven years ago; and what automatically came along with the label were distrust, worthlessness and prejudice no matter how competent he was. Paris walked around with this label stamped onto his forehead and it, in a way, dictated his life. Everyone expected him to act like the label he carried.

So he did. He didn't bother to fight the prejudice that accompanied it and proved them right. It was the easy thing to do, but it damaged his reputation even more. Like having a clean rug ruined by a red wine stain, then trying to lift it off with a strong abrasive, but instead of helping, the stain got bigger, making it even worse. He even began to believe that his life was supposed to be this way.

That was until he was given the second chance. To some people, life on Voyager was like hell (probably only a handful), but to Tom, it was redemption for all the misdeeds in his life. Everything that he managed to lose was attained back through his posting on Voyager—the rank, his status as an elite pilot. But most importantly, he regained his integrity and respect as well as existence as a human being.

He turned his life around; he even started a family. To return home as a hero with a loving wife and child, he couldn't imagine a better life. For once, instead of thinking of living day to day, he found himself envisioning a future—a good future.

Paris had stepped back on the floors of the USS Voyager. It would probably be the last time he'll step foot onto his home away from home that had given him so much.

He waited for the turbo-lift to stop at his last destination—The Bridge—where he would pick up the last crew member.

The grey walls that was surrounding him didn't seem so dull at the moment—in fact—he found comfort in them, looking back at how many times he stood in this turbo-lift, in anticipation to occupy his seat at the Helm. Then his mind wandered to what they'd do with the ship. Would they send Voyager out again in a few months time; would they leave her in storage, or would they display her in a gallery somewhere in San Francisco? He hoped that—since Voyager was still in pretty good shape—her service to the Federation would not end here. Paris hoped that someone else would be able to occupy his position that he—at times—had found joy in on another mission. She deserved more than one outing.

The hum of the turbo-lift had stopped which meant Tom was at his destination. The turbo-lift door opened for him as he stepped forward to reveal an empty and illuminated Bridge. It was quiet, inanimate, all wall consoles and station consoles—idle.

"Captain?" Paris called for Janeway when he hadn't spotted her.

A hand rose from under the handrails. "Over here, Tom."

Janeway had been sitting in her command chair, her back sunk into the chair; almost slouching. Her short strawberry-blonde hair clung to the black leather of the chair, ruffling it a little.

"Shall we go?"

Engaged in her thoughts, his question went through one ear and out the other.

"It's strange we're not in the Delta Quadrant anymore. The feeling... I've never imagined it to be quite like this. You've wanted this for seven years and you imagine all the great feelings you'd be feeling—then—when you finally achieve your goal, what you thought you'd feel is nowhere near what you expect; the achievement isn't all it's cracked up to be. Instead, you miss what you had. It's an odd human emotion don't you think?"

"Maybe it hasn't sunk in yet—what we've actually achieved," Paris offered.

"Maybe..."

After a moment of silence, and realising his captain wasn't going to move an inch, he continued the conversation, "Well, to me, it feels like R&R, still in the Delta Quadrant, on a planet."

Janeway straightened herself up then moved her head slightly behind, leaning against the back of the chair. "Hasn't sunk in yet—that sounds right."

Idly, she turned back to the front to follow the lieutenant's movements. He headed past her and towards the front of the Bridge to end up at the Helm. Paris took a seat, in silence for a moment as he slid his fingers across the helm controls, feeling its smooth surface underneath his finger tips. He sighed.

"What is it, Tom?" Janeway queried, noticing his deep exhale.

"I'm going to miss this old girl—"

"Old?" Janeway interrupted all of a sudden.

He turned his chair to face his captain, "You know what I mean, Captain. She's not exactly state-of-the-art anymore. Have you seen some of the shuttles they have now?! They're sleek, polished. An engineer working on its hull would probably slip right off because of its design."

Janeway smiled at his comment, imagining the image in her mind. "No, I guess you're right, but I hope she'll at least head out on a few more missions before her time comes." She stood up to pace around the Bridge, gazing into the ceiling lights above her. The light that was emitted, reached her eyes, making her pupils contract. When it began to hurt her eyes, she moved her eyes to look at the rest of her surroundings.

Janeway, having been on this Bridge for seven years, never realised how beautifully designed it was, and especially never really appreciated how robust the ship she received was. She wasn't too sure what she did to have sustained its structural integrity for so long. But now, thinking back on it, she considered herself incredibly lucky to have survived the harsh elements of space and all the hostile confrontations.

How many times had she come close to never making it home?

So many times she was close to losing everything. The Vidiian encounters were a handful—attacks towards her ship, attempts to mutilate her crew to obtain healthy organs to treat the Phage. The only exception was the female Vidiian named Danara Pel who had no objectives to harm Voyager and its crew; where at one point, saved her and her commander from being tied down on a planet for what could have been the rest of their lives. Her encounters with the Kazons and the Hirogens were another. They had forced her and her crew to surrender control of the ship a couple of times, and in many occasions, even forced them to abandon ship. But it wasn't these encounters which faltered her the most. The frequent Borg confrontations were unquestionably the confrontations that made her heart jump a thousand times over.

When they entered the Delta Quadrant, she knew—the crew knew—that it was not going to be smooth riding with every race they encountered. There was a possibility that they'd befriend a few of the natives during their long trek home, but, undoubtedly, they were going to make a few enemies too. They all knew from the beginning, their ultimate foe would be the Borg Collective—a race which had quite a large territorial presence in the Delta Quadrant and a race notorious for its hunger for world-domination and perfection-seeking, casting quivering fear to anyone who ran into them. These encounters were just too close for the heart to bear.

She was also certain that other things prevented her from making it home; the universe was just too powerful not to have played a part in preventing her and her crew from making a successful journey home at least once.

From her knowledge, she knew that aliens and alien phenomena stopped her and both the ship and the crew withstood it, but as for how the crew feared against other things that may have happened which she had no way of recalling or knowing, she didn't know. She, her crew or her ship may have died or have been destroyed many times and she wouldn't have ever known. Temporal anomalies had that effect on things. Maybe it was luck, maybe it wasn't. At least they were alive.

It didn't matter now. It was fortunate that everything worked out for the best; it could have been totally the opposite. Everything that was supposed to return was returned safely to the Alpha Quadrant.

"Voyager definitely has a bit of juice left. I really would like to take this ship out again." Janeway nodded, agreeing to her thoughts.

"Be careful, Captain," Paris warned her:"you never know what you might be wishing for."

Janeway smiled. "How's B'Elanna?"

"She's being treated in the Starfleet medical centre. B'Elanna and the baby are doing fine."

"That's good. So what have you decided to name her?" Janeway asked on the topic of the baby's name.

"We discussed a few names..." Paris replied. Like most parents, they didn't want a name which might bring about adolescent behaviour from immature individuals.

"And what have you come up with?" Janeway asked.

"Miral—after her grandmother."

"Sounds lovely, Tom. I must pay her a visit when I get back."

"She'd love that."

Janeway slowly broke her fixation on Voyager's walls, heading back to the command centre as she acknowledged every single object she passed. "Speaking of getting back, we better head back ourselves."

"Aye, aye, Captain," Paris said with an agreeing tone, having already had the thought of heading back several minutes ago.

Janeway made her way towards the turbo-lift. When she stood in front of the door, she stopped and waited for Paris to catch up with her. "Are you ready?" she asked Paris when he reached her.

"Ready for what?" inquired Paris, baffled.

"For a new beginning."

"Yeah, I am... But before I move forward, I need to thank someone for allowing me to be in this position."

Inwardly, Janeway halted. Was he implying her? She gazed upon the tall, comely man. Could he be one who didn't think she ruined his life with that one controversial decision she made seven years ago?

"It wasn't all hell, Captain—at least it wasn't for me. Thank you for bringing me on this mission. I never really thanked you for giving me that chance to show what I really am capable of." He let a smile through. Janeway fathomed his words. Tom Paris had just subtly thanked her for everything.

So many years she had been carrying the guilt which ate at her day by day as each of them passed. For a while, she felt like she had been hissed, booed, and thrown at her, were rotten eggs. The first egg didn't hurt much, but as each hit her progressively, they became more inflicting, slowly hurting her more and more. Even when the hissing, the booing and the throwing stopped, the contents of the egg, the smell... everything stayed with her. It never quite washed off.

Although she had now brought the crew home and they didn't blame her anymore, she still felt the guilt—the guilt of depriving the crew of seven years which they could have spent with their family and friends. They wouldn't have had to rebuild the relationships; acquaint themselves with everything again. She didn't think that anyone would go as far as thanking her for the seven years. But here Tom was, thanking her for it all. Hearing those words from Tom made her feel cloyingly sentimental inside, maybe even thankful.

Janeway gazed at the man's visage, thinking how much he'd change. She gave him another smile in response. Janeway extended her arm around to the farthest shoulder, giving Paris a gentle pat. "Well, you were one of the best Starfleet pilots out there. I only wanted the best."

The door to the turbo-lift of the USS Voyager closed as the two officers stepped off the Bridge. Her captain had left the Bridge. Empty and silent, the Bridge was finally left in solitude. Voyager's journey was over.

"Welcome home long lost Voyager. Starfleet and the Pathfinder project team want to congratulate you all on your successful return. It's been long overdue."

Admiral Paris stood before the Voyager crew and a few of his colleagues, having the first honours to greet the crew. All one hundred and forty eight or so crew members occupied a rather spacious conference room in the Starfleet Command complex.

Some of them had been standing inside this room for several hours, while others had only been there for a couple of minutes.

With the amount of time the organisers had, the room was crudely decorated to welcome home the men and women who had spent almost a decade out in deep space. At the front of the room was a large presentation screen where the Starfleet logo would usually be displayed while on stand-by mode, but right now it displayed looping scenes of Voyager's spectacular entrance through a fragmented Borg sphere captured by telecommunications devices in space.

Hanging from the ceilings with sturdy string, a large 'welcome home' banner draped from one end of the room to the other end of the room with the words: 'Welcome home Voyager'. These two were the only decorations in celebration of the return.

Admiral Paris scrolled his eyes across the ensemble as he continued in his speech. "It's a wonderful sight to see you all back here again. I think I can say on behalf of the Pathfinder team and Starfleet that we've all been waiting for this day to come; the day when you all return home safe and sound.

"It's been long; it's been hard on all of us..." The admiral paused for a moment as he began to recall the reactions and feelings on the day the Federation realised Voyager's absence. "No status reports, severed communication, absolutely no evidence for us to go on. Seven years ago—that was what we were presented with. Prompted by all of this, the Federation entered into a state of alarm. How could the Federation lose an entire starship without any idea to where it had gone—and an entire crew...? Unbelievable.

"We asked ourselves many questions, speculated; afraid of what may have happened to the crew. The menacing thought of something grievous happening to the crew ran through everyone's mind.

"We spent almost four unrelenting years searching for you, trying to find any shred of evidence of what happened on that day. But all we had was your last known position in the Badlands. Eventually, we had to settle on the fact that you were lost, that we were never going to find the answers we were looking for. We had to declare that the valiant crew of the USS Voyager had been killed in action while serving the Federation.

"Then, fourteen months after having proclaimed the crew's fate, your Emergency Medical Hologram arrives at our doorsteps, giving us the good news that you were all alive, but catapulted over seventy thousand light-years in the far reaches of space in the Delta Quadrant. We didn't know what surprised us the most—that you were catapulted all the way into that part of the galaxy, or that you survived so long without any aid from the Federation.

"Nevertheless, we were all relieved to hear the news. It gave us new hope. With our hopes re-ignited, spirits lifted, we were motivated and inspired again to look for ways to bring you all home. Indeed we endeavoured, but endeavouring to find ways was all else but successful. That was until a dedicated and determined man—you could almost say this man was obsessed with the Voyager crew—came aboard to offer his services and time in helping establish communication between the crew and the Federation, making the first breakthrough," Admiral Paris added, a little joke on his part. A few chuckled in response (mostly from the people who knew him well).

"Reginald Barclay: If it weren't for this man's dedication and persistence, his theories—even though sometimes they may get him into a lot of trouble—we wouldn't have had verbal and visual communication with the crew. It was the most satisfying accomplishment for the Pathfinder team when we heard Captain Janeway's hail at the console in the laboratory, and a very emotional day for us all.

"So now, I'd like to hand over the stage to him. Lieutenant Barclay." Admiral Paris stepped aside as a somewhat nervous Barclay took the stage.

"I didn't prepare anything," Barclay whispered to the admiral. All Admiral Paris gave him was a reassuring smile and a pat on the back: you'll think of something. Barclay stood for a while in silence absorbing his audience, trying to calm his nerves down. His hand became restless. Perspiration on his palms sweltered, causing him to become aware of how nervous he really was; and in his mind, he visualised how he must have appeared to the audience while he stood up there.

Tensely, he rubbed his hands together to evaporate the sweat build-up. Slowly, he began, building up confidence, "I-I-I'm-m-m s-s-so happy that the crew of Voyager is here, back home... uhhh-uh... This great crew deserves to come home." Barclay caught a perplexed audience. His intentions of what he wanted to say weren't perfectly clear to them. He glanced down momentarily to gather his thoughts, trying to reword his sentence. "You were, you were, f-f-ar from home," he said, struggling to explain what he meant, "You were lost, in a... vicious... u-under f-f-ferocious circumstances." He exaggerated. "Imagine all those horrible, hostile aliens—" Again, the crew gawked strangely at him, eyes wide open. He was certainly an odd character. Barclay shook his head, realising he was going off on a tangent. "After what you've all been through, it's high time you came home. I don't think anyone could imagine how hard... frustrating it must have been to be in a situation where you were faced with such odds. Over seventy thousand light-years! That's a long journey for anyone to survive through; and to think that you had to keep that optimism alive, it must have been difficult at times.

"The Pathfinder project was founded on that reason... uh... to provide another source of hope, t-t-o to have you know that there is a team in Starfleet who is ent-t-tiiirely dedicated to getting Voyager home." As he spoke, Barclay's right fist stamped the air, emphasising significant words with it, his intonation varying in amplitude. At times, his manner astonished the audience, making them jerk, twitch, stretch, or raise various facial parts.

He calmed down. "I looked forward to coming to work everyday—making some new friends, working on something I feel so passionately about. Each day was filled with new hope; that maybe today would be the day that we make a breakthrough and get Voyager home." He then sighed to his thoughts. "Now that Voyager is home, there is no need for the Pathfinder project. I'm sad that the mission of the Pathfinder project has come to an end..." Barclay let a sombre facial cast come into sight, letting that cast speak for his inner thoughts and feelings. Then, a smile erupted on the peculiar man. He looked up, his mood lifted to the sight of the Voyager crew. "...but it gives me pleasure to know that you are finally home amongst familiar faces... It's wonderful, wonderful to have you home. I'm sure your families and friends will be ecstatic to see you all alive and well, like I am—" He paused. His mouth was open, ready to express more of his thoughts, but his mind's reluctance in expressing them, stopped him. He nodded an uneven nod, deciding that that was the end of what he wanted to say. Barclay stood back into line with the rest of the Pathfinder team and the admirals behind him.

Admiral Paris took the stage once again. "Thank you, Lieutenant," Admiral Paris said, casting a curious facial expression in response to Barclay's unusual display during his speech. "To business. We've contacted your families."

Families...

"I know how you all must be looking forward to returning to your loved ones, but we must exercise procedure. The crew will need to be debriefed. That will commence in thirty minutes time. I encourage you all to have a bit to eat and drink before it begins between now and then. It will be then, after the debriefing, when you will be reunited with your family and friends."

The debriefing was what was expected after having gone on a mission like this. Some found it to be very beneficial, sharing their thoughts and feelings relating to the events during their time in the Delta Quadrant. Some were less appreciative of the purpose which the debriefing served, but nevertheless, both parties found that it did provide them some emotional release.

Like most debriefings—especially of this kind where crews had been subjected to unusual circumstances—it was a long and arduous meeting for everyone. All up, it took three hours.

"Thank god that's over with," Mortimer Harren voiced.

"It wasn't that bad was it?" Billy Talfer replied. "I thought it was good."

"I think it was just a waste of time."

Tal Celes, who was standing on the right of Talfer, gave him an insinuative look. "Of course you would say that. You're always so private, so isolated."

For a moment, Harren didn't respond to her remark, slightly offended. But maybe, to some extent, his good friend was right to say that.

After their away mission with the captain, where they confronted a dark matter entity, Harren had thought about the events that occurred there and the things said. Captain Janeway had asked him if he ever wondered what it'd be like to interact with some of the crew members around him, if he ever felt like making a few friends aboard Voyager. Talfer, on behalf of Celes, offered Harren their friendship. For a short while, he didn't want their friendship.

He preferred solitude. It was in this manner that he worked the best; he found that he got his work completed faster. Another advantage of working alone and not having friends or associates was that he didn't need to worry about having his theories and hypothesis being stolen through their conversations with others. It could be just paranoia, but that's what he was terribly afraid of. He supposed, that being alone, it also gave him peace and quietness without having people interrupt him when he's on the brink of making the greatest discovery known to man.

It was true—as much as he liked this solitude aboard Voyager—sometimes he did wonder what it'd be like to be a part of a conversation with someone else other than himself. Occasionally, he found himself in this transitory wonderment, imagining of sharing his thoughts and his work, having them respond to them and give him praise for his ingenious theories. Contradictory to his fear: yes, but everyone, including him, wanted attention and some of that adulation for his incisive comprehension of his field of expertise.

So, after a few weeks following the mission, he did take up that offer of friendship from Talfer and Celes. It certainly made his journey through the Delta Quadrant less lonesome.

"It feels like a therapy session. I never liked counsellors... Especially in front of all the others..." Harren finally responded, dismissing that last comment from Celes.

"I think it's necessary. We may not have been on many away missions, but some of the other crew members went through a lot of things; they'd have seen a lot, experienced a lot of things..." Talfer placed his right hand on his hip. "Not you though—you're always down there on Deck Fifteen. You wouldn't even know if the crew had been assimilated by the Borg, leaving you all by yourself, still pondering about your theories," Talfer quipped.

Again, Harren didn't take lightly to it. His facial expression suddenly dropped into a grim cast towards the joke. It wasn't the least bit funny. Harren had hoped that he had rid some of that reputation by now. He didn't like others making that same assumption all the time, especially when he had made an effort to interact with the crew now. Secondly, he would notice if the crew were assimilated by the Borg. He was not that oblivious to his surroundings.

"I would notice," Harren retorted.

Talfer, noticing Harren had taken offense into his joke, tried to rectify the situation, "Ah sorry. It was just a joke. I didn't mean anything personal."

He casually dismissed it. Personal or not, guess it was his fault for building up that reputation in the first place. Gritting through his teeth, he spat his words out, "It's alright."

Talfer breathed easier when Harren excused him for unknowingly offending him. He continued in silence with his friends, making his way to the auditorium where further instructions from the admirals were to be received.

Suddenly a thought entered his mind. It occurred to him that he, Celes, Harren and the rest of the crew had been on a rather unique mission—they had been lost, stranded over seventy thousand light-years from Earth, had faced some extraordinary things, and they had returned from it all. During their years, he was sure that they'd have been broadcasted throughout the quadrant about them and the situation.

Talfer turned to face Celes, but directing his next question to both Celes and Harren. "You think we're celebrities?"

"Celebrities," Celes' facial cast lit up, surprised to the social rank Billy expressed them to be, "I don't feel like a celebrity, but imagine that—us: celebrities," Celes pondered aloud.

"I don't think so. The captain would be known as a celebrity; the senior crew—yeah. But us? Probably not," Harren said.

"Maybe if we mentioned that we were part of the crew of Voyager, then maybe we'd get some sort of reaction—although, this time, I think I'll have to agree with Harren," Celes added.

Talfer sighed. "I guess not, then. We were never really amongst the action on Voyager were we?"

"Nope," Celes agreed, suddenly feeling insignificant.

Celes' family would welcome her home, giving her all the attention. She would occupy the spotlight for quite a while within her family, but as a whole, the world, the media would be focused on the command officers and the junior leaders of the crew.

This whole entire celebration, the hype, it wasn't for them. They had a place in this celebration only because they were a part of Voyager. But the truth was, they wouldn't be noticed, be fussed over. This spotlight wasn't going to be focused on her or her friends; she was microscopic in comparison to the captain... the commander... the chief engineer... et cetera... et cetera... et cetera.

Nevertheless, it did feel good to be a part of this crew; and whether they participated tremendously or not, they had gone through this journey through the Delta Quadrant just like the captain and senior crew, just like everyone on board; they were a part of this unique crew.

"Captain!" Celes called to her, suddenly spotting her in front.

Janeway was a few metres ahead of the three crewmen. She turned around to meet the direction of the call. "Celes, Billy, Mr. Harren."

"How was your debriefing, Captain?" Celes thought to ask.

"A cathartic experience—that's all I can say." Janeway smiled. "How are you doing, Celes? Excited to see your family?"

Celes glanced around at Janeway's company. She suddenly felt out of place. Alongside the captain was the commander, the lieutenant commander, Ensign Harry Kim, and Seven of Nine—all of which were heads of departments.

"I'm doing well. Yeah, I can't wait to see them!"

"Me neither," Kim shouted from behind of Janeway and Chakotay. "I'm looking forward to seeing my parents too. I hope they've set up a big surprise party to welcome me home!" The crew smiled.

"You'll find out soon, Harry," Chakotay said.

"How are Lieutenants Paris and Torres doing? Have they picked a name for their baby girl yet?" Celes asked, making small-talk.

"Tom told me that they've decided to name her Miral, after her grandmother." Janeway then turned to peer over her shoulder to ask the other two crewmen. "What about you, Billy, Harren—how are you doing?"

"Great thanks, Captain," both Billy and Harren more or less said.

"That's good."

"We're here," Chakotay said as the group approached the auditorium entrance where they were to await for instructions before they headed out to the welcoming committee, to their family and friends.

A gentle breeze blew across a winter's night in San Francisco. Most of the stars in the sky were shining at full intensity, while a full moon was set high in the night sky—both defeating the darkness, ruining its mastery over it. Underneath the Golden Gate Bridge, the murky waters (on account of the darkness) glistened as the moon's reflection floated on the water's surface, bringing forth the weak flowing ripples to view. It was a cold night, but the chilly climate didn't stop a crowd from coming to see the Voyager crew.

It was dark outside—only the lights from surrounding buildings and street lights provided illumination. Regardless of the lack of proper illumination, the atmosphere was electric. A crowd—the welcoming committee—gathered on the grounds of Starfleet, impatiently waiting for the crew's appearance.

The bustling excitement from the crowd was overwhelming. The noise could be heard, probably, as far as several hundred metres from the site. The families were there of course, and the many who were not related to any of the members of the crew in any way, skipped dinner just to see this momentous occasion, just to see these heroes return.

There wasn't a large group from the public, but it was more than expected, especially on a cold night like this. The public were situated behind a tape which Starfleet had placed out so that they wouldn't intrude in the reunions of the crew and family members. In this public crowd, there were, of course, some who were just curious, but most of the people who came, were aficionados of Starfleet and its organisation... and particularly, of the USS Voyager.

Held high above the heads of the public, little flags bearing the Starfleet emblem were swung vigorously back and forth in the air. The rapid movements reflected how excited these people really were towards all of this—either that—or they were freezing their bodies off from the cold, and the only way was shivering their way towards warmth.

Eagerly the public waited, but not as eagerly as the people who had some sort of relationship with the crew.

The family members and friends anxiously waited in front of the public. Not guarded by a tape barrier like them, they stood about ten metres in front of the entrance of the building. Any moment now, they were going to come out, but 'any moment' was not soon enough for them. Already, they had waited over five hours.

From the very moment they were notified of the crew's return, they dropped everything in their paths and left for this location: the Starfleet grounds. Then they stood there to watch the sun set as the stars and the moon rose into the sky, while they waited for the crew to get through their debriefing.

Suddenly, out of the blue, a voice echoed through the crowd, "The admirals... the crew—I think they're behind them."

It was spoken in a normal tone, like the volume in a conversation, yet, for some reason, even over the level of noise present, it was heard by everyone. Maybe it wasn't the words, but the action of one individual. The sudden flicking of one head towards the direction where the admirals were, contagiously spread through the rest of the crowd, like a Mexican wave.

Curious to see if this upheld any truth, if the crew was really coming out, they held their breaths, eyes wide open, necks stretched to its pinnacle, staring at a common point. Each and every one of them wanted a clear view of the one hundred and forty or so crew members who were to step out from that entrance. Which crew member was going to appear first? Which family would get to see their loved ones first?

Then again, it didn't matter who came out first. At least these families had the chance to reunite with their long lost loved one. Many families didn't have this chance—the Carey family, the Cavit family, the Hogan family, and many more others who didn't make it for example.

Although it didn't compensate for the loss, families knew that when a member of the family chose their profession as a Starfleet officer, confronting danger day-in and day-out was part of the job—that, was the reality they had to come to grips with each time their loved one went out on a mission. Sometimes, if it meant that they had to die for the job, then it had to be done. So, the ones who were fortunate enough to have survived through to the end would return home from their mission and be able to see their families again, and the others who weren't, would never return, but would be remembered for their courageous sacrifice.

Conversations between peers deadened to a low murmur, bodies shivering and rubbing of hands abstained for a moment as the crowd became paralysed by the prospect of the crew's arrival.

Five Starfleet personnel appeared through the door of the Starfleet Headquarter's building. Following, were several security detail keeping a watchful eye in case anything went wrong and they had to step in. Hands clasped behind their backs, dressed in formal uniforms, the Starfleet personnel and the security detail lined the front of the building. The door shut behind them. No crew followed behind them.

Several minutes past and still there was nothing. The doors were still closed, the admirals, Starfleet personnel and security detail stagnant in front of the building. What was happening? Where was the crew? They were just standing there, gazing past the crowd. Realising this moment was not it, gazes averted from the entrance. How long were they going to keep them waiting? Patience was wearing thin. It was freezing cold and it was beginning to test their tolerance.

Then unexpectedly, the light emerged through as the doors to the entrance once again opened. Nothing appeared for a few seconds, but this time, the few seconds of anticipation was well worth the wait. The crew of the USS Voyager appeared through the door.

Every family's heart skipped a beat as they realised that their years of waiting for their return was finally over. Each family approached closer to the entrance, but still allowing air to be breathed without suffocating the crew by being too close. Their eyes scanned the group, looking for the familiar face they've longed to see for seven years.

"Do you see him?" an Asian female asked her husband as she looked at the ensemble of the Voyager crew. She stood in amongst the group, about two lines back.

"Don't worry. I'm sure we'll see Harry soon," her husband reassured her.

"I hope so." She clutched the thin black casing she had in her hands and arms tightly and pulled it into her chest as if the casing was her son.

Almost three quarters of the crew had dispersed around the area, each of them greeted by their family and friends with a tight embrace, but she still didn't see her beloved son. She started to panic. Had something happened to him in the last month she had not been in contact with him?

"Mom. Dad!" a male voice called. It was Harry Kim. He was alongside Janeway, Chakotay, Tuvok, Paris, Torres, Seven of Nine, The Doctor, and Icheb. They were all at the back of the group—the last to arrive onto the scene.

Quickly, Harry Kim ran towards his parents with a grey bag over his right shoulder, leaving his colleagues. Kim weaved in and out, grinning widely as he made his way past everyone around the area to reach his family. Janeway smiled as her eyes began to gleam irrepressibly against the light.

"Harry my boy!" Kim's father said to him.

"Well, Mom, Dad, I'm home! I'm still an ensign. I'm sorry I wasn't able to be promoted in the last month..."

His mom hugged him, laughing at his joke, all the while, tears flowed down her cheeks. She couldn't imagine feeling any greater content than at this moment, except for the time when she gave birth to him. "Don't worry, Harry. I didn't expect you to get a promotion in the last month..." She looked at him in the face, cupping his head into her hands.

Harry had grown from a young naïve man to a much wiser man who had seen a lot, experienced a lot. She could tell this from one gaze into his brown eyes.

"Harry, I know you will, and expect you to one day reach your way up there, but if it takes you a little longer, then let it be. I can't ask anything more of you if you do your best and try your hardest to get to the place you want to be. If you can do that then that will be enough for me."

Kim smiled as he watched a thin layer of water fill his mother's eyes. A tear rolled down her cheeks—like the many that had a few seconds ago. "Mom, don't cry." He moved to clasp his mom in his arms. Feeling a sting in his eyes, his throat tensed, finding himself struggling to swallow, he tried to pull them all back, but his emotions overpowered him. As embarrassed as he was with this sudden eruption of emotions, he chuckled and soon let them flow freely to the surface.

"We're proud of you, Harry," Kim's father added, moving to join his wife and son in the embrace.

Meanwhile, standing several metres from the main crowd, disconnected from the emotions exhibited by the rest of her colleagues, stood a rather intimidated and anxious Seven of Nine. It wasn't that she didn't have faith in Captain Janeway's abilities to bring the crew home today, but she had never thought that they truly would be home this time. It was so sudden.

Earth was her birth place, but her real home—disregarding her time in the Collective—was on the USS Voyager, like it was for Naomi Wildman. In a way, she considered Voyager to be the place she grew up in. It was where she learned and experienced things; it was the place where she took her first bite of food, a place where she learnt to dance and socialise, it was the place where she learnt about humanity—not to mention—developing her first serious relationship. Everything she knew now was learnt on that ship. That ship was her home. She supposed she could continue learning here, but it was going to be harder to get used to.

It wasn't just one hundred and forty crew members now, in a confined place, on a starship, where everyone was your friend. No—it was billions of people, on a planet, where some were still uncomfortable being around Borg yet; some still had animosity towards them. An ex-Borg wasn't any different. She was once Borg and that's what would settle in their minds. It was going to take a little more time for them to get used to.

"Come on, Seven. She's calling for you," Voyager's holographic doctor pointed out Seven's aunt for her. The Doctor was standing slightly behind her. Having already caught up with Doctor Zimmerman while Voyager was docked on Jupiter Station, he figured that maybe Seven would have a little apprehension during this reunion and opted upon accompanying her. The Doctor pushed her along slightly, encouraging her to progress towards her approaching aunt.

"Annika!" Seven's aunt called again. Reluctantly, Seven took a step forward. Then she took another and another. Not before long, she was face to face with her aunt and family she had brought with her to meet Seven.

"Annika." She then gazed to her right where two gentlemen were standing. "Who are your friends?"

"I apologise. This is The Doctor and this is Icheb," she gestured with a glance, respectively. Both The Doctor and Icheb nodded in acknowledgement of Seven's introduction.

"It's nice to meet you both. I suppose you two have been looking after her for me."

"I try, but I don't think Seven needs looking after. She's a very self-efficient woman," The Doctor replied.

Seven's aunt smiled. She turned her attention back to her niece. "Annika. You're so beautiful. Come here: give your aunt a hug."

Seven quiescently stood while her aunt invited herself to wrap her arms around her. Having only had conversations through data stream communications in Astrometrics, she found the act peculiar. To her, this woman who was embracing her in her arms was merely an acquaintance, and in her mind, she just hadn't known her long enough to call her, family. Nevertheless, she found herself acknowledging their relationship:

"Aunty."

Standing afar, only metres from the entrance the crew of Voyager had exited from, was Kathryn Janeway, watching her flock—proud, happy, and relieved. Her burden of returning the crew home before it was too late was finally realised today. The anvil that laid on her shoulders everyday was at last, hoisted up, relieving the extremely aching muscles she had.

For the past seven years, the guilt moved in and had come to be very familiar with its habitat in Janeway's mind. It turned from a house guest to a house pest, staying well beyond her hospitality. No matter what, or how much good she did, she just couldn't shake it off and make it leave. But, there was a silver lining in all of this—guilt was the feeling that kept her so persistent and so determined to get to the day that was today.

She looked upwards, up at the sky. Beautiful stars gleamed as clouds travelled hastily across them. The lights surrounding the vicinity shone bright and piercing against the sombre sky, hurting Janeway's eyes. Having been so rapt by the ever satisfying sight of the reunions, she hadn't realised that the lights were shining directly into her eyes. Not wanting to move from the position, her eyes squinted to relieve them from the intensity of the light, but it was of little help. It still hurt her eyes. Unwillingly, she moved to her left, moving to where the light wasn't interfering with her sight so directly. As soon as her eyes adjusted to the change of lighting, she continued to watch the display in front of her.

Janeway peered slightly to her right. A smile erupted as she felt elation towards the sight of Harry Kim and his parents. His mother was handing Kim a black casing of medium size. She assumed it was the clarinet that she hadn't allowed Harry's mother to give him when they were preparing to leave Deep Space Nine to the Badlands all those years ago.

Harry was so happy; it was the widest smile she had ever seen on him. Janeway smiled. Her smile was just as big as Harry's, maybe even bigger. She had succeeded in her mission.

It had been an hour since the admirals, the crew, and the welcoming party had gathered together for the customary speeches which took place outside—the same place the welcoming party had gathered before the arrival of the Voyager crew. By now, almost every admiral assigned to work on the Pathfinder project had spoken and the crowd was getting restless in anticipation to hear the crew speak.

Understanding this temperament, the admiral who was speaking currently, opted to conclude his speech prematurely. "I've probably gone on long enough and I'm sure you all would like to hear the crew speak now. So I'll hand over the stage to Voyager's captain—Kathryn Janeway," Admiral Paris shouted loudly as he announced her name.

Captain Janeway motioned to an erected platform. Despite the cold weather, she felt hot. She looked around her, at the crowd. They were all wearing layers of clothing, while their hands rubbed against each other, breaths also visible as they blew into their hands. She, on the other hand, was tugging at her skivvy, trying to rid that uncomfortable clinging feeling; try and give her skin some room to breathe.

As she neared the stage, Janeway composed herself to look professional. She also decided upon stepping onto the stage, that she was going to make this speech brief. It had been a long day. It was not late—only ten at night—but after her confrontation with her age-old adversary, the Borg Queen, she was tired. She wanted to finally be able to crawl into bed, sleep until tomorrow afternoon and not worry about anything.

"Captain, are you alright?" Admiral Paris inquired, noticing her discomfort as she approached the stage.

She smiled. "I'm fine, Admiral. Thank you," the microphone casually picked up her voice to say as she took the stage. "I'm just slightly heated, but I'm sure you all are very much the opposite so I'll make it as short as possible so you can all go back to your warm homes.

"First of all, thank you all very much for greeting us in such short notice and under these conditions. It's a wonderful sight to see you all out here. The supports you all have given us have been an addition to our determination to get back home.

"To my crew. We've been through a lot in the last seven years—that's almost a decade together. So it isn't surprising that we've become close, so close that I consider you to be family." Janeway then panned the crowd, looking at the one hundred plus crew members amongst their family and friends admiringly, smiling.

"I hope that we will keep it that way, keep in touch for a long, long time; because it would sadden me more than ever that we end our camaraderie here just because our mission is finally over.

"And finally from me, thank you all for being the great crew that you are. Without your efforts, we might not be here, celebrating our return home with family and friends."

Janeway stepped off the platform, while Admiral Paris ended the evening off. Everyone began to get out of their seats as each family made their way home with their lost family member. Most probably would go home and continue to catch up with family and friends, continuing the excitement through to tomorrow morning, others choose otherwise. Janeway though, she was going to enjoy a nice night at home with her mom and sister, relax in a bath tub, then go to bed—no parties, just a quiet night at home.

"It's a heart warming sight isn't it?" a masculine voice said from behind. Janeway turned around and looked up.

"It is," she said to him.

"We did it, Kathryn, we made it home," he said in a soft tone.

"I just hope they don't find it hard adjusting to all the changes that they have missed in the years that we have been away. A lot changes when we have been away this long, Chakotay."

He put two firm, comforting hands on her shoulders. "Kathryn, they'll be okay, they'll adjust." Janeway nodded as he stood for a while, keeping his left hand on one of her shoulders as they both turned their attention to the dispersing crowd. After a moment, he turned back to Janeway and nodded placidly. His eyes said it all, using them to tell Janeway his thoughts before he also departed the grounds.

Janeway continued to stand for a while longer, until most had departed. Once most had, it was then she began to make her way back home. It was a new start; a different environment—an environment which one could almost think to be alien after having spent seven years travelling through space on a starship, where some minds have gotten used to thinking that their permanent residence was aboard the Voyager. But from this day, it was a different look to the future for Janeway and the crew—a future on Earth...

THE END