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"To..."
Admiral Owen Paris fell silent as the man in front of the Voyager memorial plaque turned to look at him, dumbfounded. Of course, this wasn't Tom. For one thing, the man was certainly the same age as himself, and for another, his son had been dead for over two years now. Still, for one happy moment, he had been sure it was his son who was there studying the plaque. But what had he expected? A miracle? In a few days it would be Christmas, but the time of miracles had been over for Owen Paris since Voyager had disappeared in the Badlands and taken his son with it.
"Sorry, I mistook you for someone else," he apologized.
"No problem." The stranger turned back to the memorial, muffling deeper into his thick scarf.
Owen now stepped to the memorial himself. The names on it shimmered in the soft light of the subtle evening illumination. He didn't have to look at all. There it was between Overdiek and Parsons: Thomas Eugene Paris, 2346 - 2371.
He didn't know what kept driving him to that memorial. It was not as if he would find forgiveness or redemption here. Nevertheless, he kept coming back to this place, silently communing with his prodigal son. He had thought Thomas' behavior after the shuttle accident and dishonorable discharge from Starfleet had been bad. He had thought the Maquis thing and the conviction had been bad. It was meaningless compared to the day he had learned that Tom had disappeared without a trace in the Badlands and nothing compared to the day his son had been declared dead along with all the other crew members of USS Voyager. Since that day, he knew how careless, stupid, and cruel it had been to break away from his own child. Since that day, he sought forgiveness. And the memorial was the place where he felt closest to his son.
Owen Paris eyed the stranger furtively from the side. By now, he knew most of the memorial's visitors. There was Gretchen Janeway, who had lost her older daughter to the fleet after her husband, Lieutenant Greskrendtregk, who had just tried to start a family with his wife Samantha when she went down with Voyager, Mr. and Mrs. Delaney, who even mourned two children with their twin daughters. But this man he had certainly never seen before. A civilian, judging by his clothes. The way he stood now, with his thick scarf, coat collar turned up, and shoulders hunched, giving him a crooked posture, he seemed like someone who wouldn't even be used to San Francisco's mild winter weather. Yet there was something oddly familiar about him.
Normally Owen Paris was not one to meddle in the affairs of strangers, but now he could not restrain himself and addressed the man once more: "Excuse me, I haven't seen you here before."
The man looked up briefly, but didn't really look at Owen. "I've never been here before. I sort of got stranded while passing through and wanted to take the opportunity to have visited at least once," he murmured, turning back to the memorial.
"You lost someone on Voyager?"
"I was there when Voyager launched from Deep Space 9," the stranger replied quietly after a short silence.
Owen nodded, that was a good reason to seek out the memorial.
"Then you may have even seen my son." He stroked the words Thomas Eugene Paris.
The stranger shrugged. "That's possible."
"Excuse me, of course you can't know that." He paused and held out his hand to the stranger. "Owen," he introduced himself. In the community of mourners, ranks and last names were beside the point.
The stranger seemed to hesitate for a moment before taking the outstretched hand, "Thomas."
"Like my son."
"My parents weren't particularly creative in that regard."
"Neither were my wife and I. We just liked the name," Owen Paris smiled wistfully and caressed the word Thomas again.
"You miss him," the stranger observed.
"Miss him?" Owen pondered the word. Something about this Thomas made Owen want to keep talking. "No, that's not it. Can you imagine what it's like to have made a monstrous mistake and there's no way to make it right?"
"Oh, yes," the man replied from the bottom of his heart.
"You know, I've thought my son was a disappointment for half his life." Owen noticed the stranger wincing and stiffening briefly. Again, Owen felt a strange urge to keep talking, to explain everything. And why not? He would probably never see the man again. So, he continued, "And now that my son is gone, I realize that I was the disappointment. I saw great potential in him, had huge dreams for him - he was going to be an admiral, at least - and put so much pressure on him that he broke. Yet it's not a son's job to fulfill his father's dreams, it's a father's job to help his child realize his dreams."
"You blame yourself?"
"Of course, if it wasn't for me, he never would have set foot on that damn ship."
"Your son was 25 years old when Voyager disappeared. Don't you think that's old enough to make his own decisions?"
"Maybe," Owen Paris admitted. "But I can't close my eyes to the fact that I just haven't been a good father to him."
The stranger sighed. "Hindsight is always wiser. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about."
"You have children?" inquired Owen curiously.
"Two." The stranger was beaming now. For a moment the man's blue eyes looked eerily familiar to Owen. "A daughter and a son. By now they're both grown up. My daughter even made me a proud grandfather six months ago. But the teenage years of the two of them were hell for my wife and me. Led to me developing a whole new understanding of my father."
"Still, I'm sure you never broke away from your son."
"No, I didn't," the stranger nodded. "But my wife has threatened several times to throw him out of the nearest airlock."
Owen Paris smirked. Even if he didn't know why, talking to the stranger did him good. He seemed to understand him as no one ever had before.
"Maybe you were right about your dreams," the stranger now reflected. "Have you ever considered that your son really did have the potential to become an admiral?"
"Of course, he had," Admiral Paris burst out. "But it should have been his dream, not mine."
Silence fell between the men, both absorbed in their thoughts.
"You know, Thomas, I would so love to tell my son how sorry I am for everything. He died without knowing what he really meant to me."
"Maybe he does know."
"You believe in an afterlife?" asked Owen Paris in amazement. Such a belief was no longer widespread among people of this century.
"Not exactly... But you can't be one hundred percent sure that he's dead. After all, the wreck of Voyager was never found - and you must admit, stranger things have happened than such a ship unexpectedly reappearing in some unlikely corner of the galaxy."
Owen Paris stared at the stranger. Had he just confided his most intimate thoughts to a crank?
"Admiral Paris!"
"Yes?" sounded in unison from two throats as Owen and the stranger reflexively turned to see a young woman with Asian features. Owen eyed the stranger in amazement. The man had straightened during the turn and now greeted the young woman with an ungracious, "What is it, Ensign?"
Owen Paris suddenly recognized both the demeanor of a Starfleet officer and that you-just-messed-up-but-today-I-am-going to-forgive-you-once-again tone of voice that senior officers in the fleet had at the ready especially for their young subordinates.
"I am sorry, sir," the woman responded exactly as was to be expected from a junior officer addressed in that tone. "Lieutenant Janeway sends word that all modifications have been completed and the shuttle is ready for launch."
"Thank you, Ensign Kim. I'll be right there."
"Aye, sir."
Owen Paris had followed the exchange of words with growing bewilderment. Now the stranger turned back to him, and looking him straight in the face, Owen suddenly recognized the warm blue eyes he had thought he would never see again.
"Sometimes dreams come true, Dad," Admiral Thomas Eugene Paris said softly, then put a finger on his lips conspiratorially. "But not a word to anyone, Temporal Prime Directive."
Snow began to fall and small white piles formed on Owen Paris' shoulders as he still stared after the man who had been so anything but a stranger and had suddenly brought forgiveness and hope into his life.