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"Captain Janeway to Starfleet Command."
The comms crackled as explosions surrounded Voyager, the transwarp conduit collapsing in its wake, shrapnel from the freshly-exploded Borg sphere flying through the sky like streaks of eerie green comets.
"Before I land this ship, I need to make one thing abundantly clear. Everyone onboard is a member of my crew. There are no Maquis, there are no Borg, and my chief medical officer has an absolute right to personhood, as established by the precedent set at the tribunal of Lt. Commander Data. Do I make myself clear?"
There was a silence, a murmur of voices, a crackle of comms, but no response. Voyager circled the crumbling conduit, engaging in an elaborate series of evasive patterns. Whoever was at the helm as a blazing hot pro, but what in the HELL was holding that ship together? The hull was made of…something. Nobody could tell. Nobody could hazard a guess.
"Any hostilities toward anyone aboard this ship will be taken as an attack on Voyager, and we will respond in kind. Is that understood?"
More silence.
"Voyager, this is Admiral Paris. Prepare for me to beam aboard and escort your crew safely off the ship. Everyone at Starfleet Command is under direct orders to allow Voyager and the entirety of her crew to safely dock and disembark. Anyone who attempts to harm or detain anyone on the ship will be staring down a Court Martial, and you can have my word on that."
Silence. Silence again. And then, finally, another voice from Starfleet Command. "Understood, Admiral. Captain Janeway, Crew of Voyager - welcome home."
Janeway allowed herself a small sigh of relief and a grateful nod to Admiral Paris as he materialized on the bridge - but she, better than anyone, knew she wasn't out of the woods yet. Friends and allies were worth their weight in gold, but there were always monsters in the woodwork. Her years-long voyage through uncharted waters had taught her this lesson time and again.
Chakotay had called her the Odysseus of the Delta Quadrant once - skilled in all ways of contending, from straightforward combat, to battles of deception and wits, to pissing off omnipotent entities every now and again and living to tell the tale.
But this was Starfleet Command. The Federation. Earth. Home.
On the one hand, there should be no surprises. It wasn't like Starfleet didn't have Voyager's entire crew manifest on hand, which the Captain had willingly and even proudly provided. It also wasn't like Starfleet didn't have an unfortunate history of being hypocritical, backwards, and even downright cruel in the face of logic and common sense when fear and prejudice reared their ugly heads.
Admiral Paris was the first to disembark, flanked by his son and his daughter-in-law. No one would dare fire on an Admiral, nor anyone he escorted. Chakotay and Janeway were right behind, Janeway holding Miral and handing her off to B'Elanna as soon as she felt certain no hostilities were incoming.
The rest of the crew filed off the ship, some eager and some hesitant, but all seeming to have very deliberately interspersed themselves with Voyager's original crew equally mixed among the new recruits they'd gained over the years. This was a Starfleet crew, all of them, and they would not be divided.
Tuvok walked alongside the Doctor, not having any reason to believe an evolved EMH with a portable holo emitter would be seen as a threat, but certainly a tempting lab rat for the wrong type of engineer or the wrong type of crooked doctor at Starfleet Medical.
Icheb was right behind them, and while a few uneasy murmurs could be heard amongst the crowd, Icheb smiled in wonder, appearing far more like a Starfleet officer with a few biomechanical enhancements than any sort of Borg.
As the crew continued to disembark, Janeway counted the familiar faces. Three were missing - Samantha Wildman, Naomi Wildman, and Seven of Nine.
It didn't take Janeway long to figure out what was going on. Seven was likely terrified - and with good reason. Naomi, who had no real connection to Earth at all, wouldn't leave the ship - her home - without Seven, and Samantha wouldn't go without Naomi.
"Excuse me for one moment," Janeway said to one of the seemingly thousands of dignitaries who had been congratulating her. She cast a quick look around to make sure none of her crew seemed to be in danger. The presence of Admiral Paris and Security Chief Tuvok helped allay those fears. No one would dare.
Icheb was excitedly talking to a few of the senior science officers at Starfleet Command, and was quickly joined by Harry Kim. It was obvious from the body language of all involved that the topic was theoretical astrophysics - some of which was no longer theoretical, thanks to Voyager's exploits - and the Science officer in Janeway recognized the joyful light in their eyes as they spoke to Icheb. They were thinking, "research fellow" not "Borg."
Janeway quickly found Chakotay, who was shaking hands with Admiral Paris and praising both B'Elanna and Tom's crucial roles in bringing Voyager safely home and keeping the ship afloat in the Delta Quadrant for seven grueling years.
Janeway quickly tapped Chakotay on the shoulder, and nodded back toward the ship. "We've still got three inside," she said quietly. "I think I could use your help."
"Please excuse me, Admiral," he said quickly, then fell into step at Janeway's side. "Let me guess. Seven got cold feet, Naomi is hesitant to leave the only home she's ever known, and Samantha won't let Naomi out of her sight."
"Something like that," Janeway replied with a half smile. As elated as she was at finally, finally returning home, she'd be lying if she'd said people's reaction to Seven hadn't been one of her greatest fears. Janeway also knew damn well that Seven had closely bonded with Naomi, and if both were equally hesitant to leave the ship, it would take far more than Samantha Wildman to prod them off.
As the Captain and the Commander approached the entrance to the ship, Samantha Wildman stepped out of her own accord. She cautiously glanced around the room, only to find herself scooped up in a loving embrace from a large Ktarrian man. Samantha's face radiated joy, then she said to her husband, "there are a few people you need to meet."
She waved to someone - or multiple someones - still in the ship, giving a brilliant smile and an "all clear" gesture. Slowly and cautiously, Naomi Wildman stepped out, eyes wide and alert, one hand stretched behind her, clearly holding the hand of another person.
As Seven of Nine stepped out behind Naomi, a hush fell over the crowd, and Naomi went rigid. She tightly grasped Seven's hand, turned to give her an apprehensive look, and asked quietly, "What's going on? Why are they all staring at us?"
Janeway and the Commander purposely strode forward to meet them, but they were not quick enough to beat a couple of Admirals to the punch - one of whom Janeway knew by reputation to be an out-of-touch relic, a bigot, and an all-around prick. Admiral Addison. The other, Janeway didn't recognize, but she appeared to be a Bajoran woman who had a warm aura about her. She probably sticks around Addison at public events to keep his idiocy in check for the press, Janeway thought to herself after quickly assessing the situation.
Samantha excitedly gestured for Naomi and Seven to join her and her husband. "Naomi, come meet your father!" she called out. "And bring Seven." Samantha grinned at the tall Ktarian. "We have a child prodigy on our hands, along with her mentor."
The enthusiasm did not seem to be shared. Rather than bounding out of the ship, Naomi's eyes widened further and she backed up until she was practically leaning against Seven. Seven looked downright terrified as the Admirals approached, and it soon became apparent that Naomi's fear was for Seven, not at the concept of Earth.
Earth, she was indifferent about. The brilliant lady to whom she'd looked up for the vast majority of her life, however, she was far from indifferent about. And Naomi, brilliant sweet Naomi, had memorized Starfleet regulations as thoroughly as she'd memorized star charts.
She was ready.
Of the two admirals, one seemed slightly fearful of Seven but more cautious than aggressive. The Bajoran woman - and if what Naomi had read in the history books and the news reports was remotely true, a Bajoran would have every reason to be cautious of a species generally considered hostile, while also understanding deeply what it means to be met with unwarranted hostility yourself. The Bajoran Admiral gave a polite nod to Seven, and kept a respectful distance. Seven returned the nod, looking every bit like a caged mouse surrounded by hungry bobcats.
She began to retreat back into the ship, but Naomi firmly grasped her hand. "You don't have to run," she said confidently. "They can't do anything to you. It's against their own regulations."
Seven responded with a subtle, nervously intrigued tilt of her head. "Explain."
"You'll see."
Naomi waited for the mean-looking admiral to approach, and then squared her shoulders and strode forward, inserting herself directly between Seven and the Admiral. "Why are you glaring at her like you're planning to do something to her?" Naomi asked.
Admiral Addison, slightly taken aback at being questioned by a child with such authority in her voice and stance, gave Naomi a withering stare. Naomi returned it in equal measure. "Well?"
By this time, Janeway, Chakotay, Samantha, and her husband had taken sharp note at the goings-on and were shoving their way through the crowd, attempting to reach the two remaining members of the crew who appeared to be squaring off with Admiral Addison.
The Bajoran admiral laid an apologetic hand on Janeway's arm as she passed, and while she said nothing aloud, she was clearly far more exhausted and annoyed at Admiral Addison by this point than she was frightened of Seven - who was clearly a terrified human who'd been through hell, not a Borg drone coming to assimilate people.
Try telling that to Admiral Addison.
The grizzled old admiral took a step toward Seven, squaring his shoulders and straightening his posture to its full intimidating height.
Naomi took a step forward, further blocking the Admiral's path toward Seven, and placed her hands firmly on her hips.
Seven, sensing the tension in the room as thick as paste, and the hostility of the stares piercing like needles, placed a protective hand on Naomi's shoulder and attempted to draw her back. "Admiral, state your intentions," she said plainly, an undertone of caution in her voice.
"I don't answer to Borg," snarled Addison, "and I order you to release that child at once."
Seven, clearly taken aback, attempted to remove her hand from Naomi's shoulder, but Naomi placed her own hand over Seven's and emphatically rolled her eyes at the Admiral.
"Release me from what, the next Astrometrics lesson? She's not a Borg, and even if she was, you couldn't do anything to her."
Addison's face began to turn an furious, flustered red. "Child, get away from her…from it…from that thing. You don't understand what the Borg are capable of, what they've done to all of us!"
"I don't care what they did here," Naomi said defiantly. "Seven is from the Delta Quadrant, and Starfleet regulations state that nobody can be made to answer for the crimes of their race or forebearers. So unless you can prove she did something HERE, you can't do anything to her."
The admiral huffed, clearly growing more agitated. The Bajoran Admiral pinched her nose and shook her head. Janeway was reaching for a phaser. Samantha looked like she was about to leap and tackle Addison. Chakotay and Samantha's husband exchanged a worried look.
Addison ignored all of it and locked eyes with Naomi, flinging his wrist toward Seven in a disgusted, dismissive gesture. "She might look human, but it's nothing but a ruse. She uses a Borg designation as her name, for God's sake. What more proof do you need?"
Naomi once again rolled her eyes. "So you can't get her in trouble for whatever some other Borg did while she was lightyears away in the Delta quadrant… so you're going to get her in trouble because her name is a number?"
Addison began to speak, but Naomi promptly cut him off.
"I don't think that's going to work," she said smugly, gesturing to a large framed recruitment poster on the adjacent wall featuring the face of a revered Starfleet legend. The phrase Ad Astra Per Aspera was inscribed in gold at the bottom. Commander Chin-Riley. Una Chin-Riley. The original Number One.
Janeway stopped reaching for her phaser and instead moved her hand to stifle her own laugh. Once she composed herself, she stepped forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with Admiral Addison. "Smart kid. And she's right. You might want to familiarize yourself with Commander Una's entire case file - including the part where all charges against her were dismissed. You see, Captain Pike exercised his legal right to grant her asylum, as she was being persecuted and hunted for her cultural practices and her race."
"This is an entirely different situation, Captain, and you damn well know it!" shouted the Admiral, anger rising in his voice. "I should have you Court Martialed for treason, harboring a Borg on your ship and allowing it to modify a Starfleet vessel in order to -"
"In order to what, Admiral? To get us home safely? To outmaneuver the Borg who were trying to chase us down and take her back? She has been a member of Voyager's senior staff for four years, and she has committed no crimes in Starfleet's jurisdiction. If any attempt is made to harm or detain her, there'll be a Court Martial alright. Yours. Now move."
While Addison glowered at Janeway, Naomi defiantly turned toward Seven and lifted her arms in a child's "pick me up" gesture. Seven, seeming confused and disoriented, wordlessly obliged, then cast fearful looks around her as she supported Namoni's weight with her enhanced hand.
"Seven! Naomi! Come on!" Samantha called hurriedly, beckoning the pair toward herself and the tall Ktarian man. The anger on Samantha's face had transformed to a satisfied smirk as it became readily apparent that Janeway could easily deal with the disgruntled dinosaur of an Admiral. The Bajoran Admiral was stifling a laugh as well.
Chakotay calmly and confidently stepped around Janeway and Addison, almost feeling sorry for Addison. Almost. He placed an encouraging hand on Seven's back and nudged her toward Samantha, with Naomi still clinging to Seven and glaring daggers at the back of Addison's head, silently daring him to turn around and say something.
Thankfully, he did not.
As the three made their way toward Samantha and her husband, Chakotay immediately outstretched a hand to the Ktarian. He smiled and shook the Commander's hand. "Commander Chakotay and Seven of Nine," he said. Seven nodded a polite greeting, her hands still full with Naomi. "I've heard so much about you both from Naomi and Samantha's letters. Thank you for looking out for my wife and daughter."
Samantha beamed with joy and began to reach out to take Naomi off Seven's hands, but quickly realized her daughter had fallen fast asleep. Seven glanced at Naomi's sleeping form. "Clearly arguing with…" She cast an apprehensive glance toward the back of Addison's head "...fossilized blowhards I believe is the appropriate term. Clearly arguing with fossilized blowhards is an exhausting endeavor. I do not envy the Captain right now."
"I think the Captain's got it covered," Chakotay said, trying to keep the amusement from his voice as he watched the scene unfold. The Admiral was nearly a foot taller than Janeway and about twice her size, yet he was clearly intimidated to the point where he was slowly backing away from her as she strode purposely forward, probably reading him all sorts of riot acts, listing all the laws he nearly broke and stating precisely what she'd do to him if he ever actually tried it. The Bajoran Admiral quickly stepped in, shooting Janeway another apologetic glance and placing her hand coldly but firmly on Addison's shoulder, making an attempt to guide him away.
Addison hesitated for a moment, and then with an icy glare toward Janeway and another toward Seven, he reluctantly allowed himself to be herded off.
Janeway and Chakotay exchanged a silent glance, one that everyone aboard Voyager had come to recognize as meaning "All clear...for now."
There were clearly obstacles ahead for many of the crew. Admiral Paris had already arranged full pardons with time served for all Voyager crew members who had previously been on a Starfleet wanted list, and Janeway had enlisted the help of Picard to ensure the Doctor was granted the same rights as Data upon their return. It was agreed that all officers would keep their field commissions and ranks, regardless of when and where they became Starfleet officers. Lord knows they earned it.
Seven, Icheb, the Doctor, and the various former Maquis had been Janeway's primary concern. Damned if she'd busted her ass all those years and done battle with time itself just to see half her crew thrown in the brig or denied the right to exist.
Luckily, Starfleet Medical was more interested in recruiting the Doctor than dissecting his program. Section 31 would probably try and get their paws on the holo-emitter, but she already had an argument ready for why confiscating the item would be tantamount to unlawfully imprisoning a Starfleet officer who had committed no crime.
Icheb was a natural social bug with a brilliant mind, and he had already begun to study for his Starfleet entrance exam. He had spent a short enough time in the collective that he came across as a quirky, enthusiastic kid - likely an aspiring science officer - who had a few mechanical enhancements. Nobody seemed to instinctively peg him as Borg, even though he'd openly discuss it with anyone who asked.
Janeway had personally confirmed that all former Maquis members of her crew had received their pardons in writing, and had been given the option of an honorable discharge or remaining in Starfleet.
Seven would be a tough one. She was one of the most intelligent and resilient people Janeway had ever met, but she was also extremely impulsive, stubborn as hell, and she had the habit of ricocheting between the two extremes of being excessively paranoid or entirely too trusting. This could be a dangerous combination for Seven if she trusted the wrong person, ran away from the right one, or pulled any number of her outlandish heroics to try and save someone she cared about.
Protect the collective. It's the one Borg trait Seven proudly and obstinately held onto.
Janeway had told Seven that Voyager was her collective, and Seven had taken it to heart. To her, her loved ones and her crew were her collective, and she would protect her collective at all costs. She'd also begun to empathize with fellow wayward souls and gravitate toward them - so for the love of any gods out there, please don't let her unwittingly bring a rat or a snake into her fold.
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Starfleet brass were assholes. Big, giant, gaping, festering assholes, rancid enough to put the galaxy's most virulent warlords to shame, and bigoted enough to make 20th Century Earth look like an egalitarian utopian paradise. Plus the coffee at Starfleet Headquarters was always cold, which did nothing to help Janeway's mood.
Truth be told, she was on the brink of publicly resigning at a banquet to be held in her honor that would be broadcast live to all Federation worlds.
Every aspect of Una Chin-Riley's case applied to Seven, and the damn Federation couldn't even respect its own laws when they felt their bigotry and fear was more important. Janeway was a hare's breath away from registering her extreme disgust on Starfleet's official record and telling the entire hypocritical organization where to stick their false ideals that they clearly had no intention of holding up.
Then Seven ran off to go join the goddamn Fenris Rangers of all things. Janeway shouldn't be surprised. Seven wasn't going to let Janeway take a bullet for her, not now and not ever. Protect the collective. Besides, Janeway would be the first to admit - Starfleet bureaucracy was woefully inefficient. Even for the most patient rule-followers in the organization, it was a tedious pain. For an impulsive, stubborn hothead prone to impromptu heroics who locked horns with authority figures on a daily if not hourly basis… it would be a veritable nightmare, even without the ridiculous bigotry.
Janeway didn't know whether to laugh or cry when, several years later, Naomi Wildman followed in Seven's footsteps.
Not soon after, when Janeway learned about Icheb's fate, she also learned that this had been the primary catalyst for Naomi to abandon Starfleet and join the Rangers. Janeway opened an extremely unofficial, extremely encrypted comm to Fenris, and sent a coded message to Ranger Seven and Deputy Wildman: "Get the bitch."
Thirteen years later, Admiral Picard would swear that Ranger Wildman's ship had rendezvoused with La Sirena above Freecloud to retrieve Ranger Seven and return to Fenris. Which was true. Just not the entire truth.
"Threat neutralized. The neutralization was, unfortunately, quick and efficient rather than what was deserved." The message came from Fenris, using the same encrypted channel and algorithms Janeway had used all those years ago.
At one point in her life, Admiral Janeway would have thought it impossible that she'd feel relief, even pride that a former member of her crew had committed a cold-blooded vigilante homicide. But as that very same former crew member had told her once - Impossible is a word that humans use far too often.
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Q and the Borg make for strange bedfellows. But somehow, they can also make for an uncharacteristically beautiful hurricane in the winds of fate, washing ashore some much-needed good fortune rather than the usual storm of unbridled destruction.
The Borg now had a rival collective who were more interested in protecting the Federation than assimilating it, and Admiral Picard had granted Seven of Nine a field commission in the process.
She was hesitant to formally accept it at first, as she refused to use a name that she associated only with people who had subjected her to abuse, betrayal, and other assorted horrors. Her parents had called her Annika as they practically fed her to the Borg. Bjayzl had called her Annika while surreptitiously extracting information that ultimately led to the brutal torture and death of her adopted son. A terrifying, xenophobic dystopia that had slain sweet, innocent Elnor for simply being Romulan had called her President Hansen.
Annika Hansen did not exist, and Seven of Nine was quite happy to keep it that way.
Voyager was where she had been reborn, and there, she was Seven of Nine. No Tertiary Adjunct bullshit, no Annika Hansen bullshit, just Seven of Nine. It was her true name, and come hell or high water, she was going to keep it.
Of course, she had to end up on the one ship with the one captain who refused to use it. Not like one more dipshit calling her Annika Hansen was anything new, but Shaw was a real piece of work. Half the time it seemed like he hated her, half the time it seemed like he grudgingly respected her, and why in the fuck did this ship not have a counselor on board when the goddamn captain was a Wolf 359 survivor who'd chosen to deal with his experience by turning into the world's biggest dick who somehow thought it would be a good idea to have former Borg as his XO?
Raffi had offered to hack Starfleet Headquarters and wipe Seven's birth name from her records, which was admittedly a tempting offer. Unfortunately, that sort of stunt stood a better chance of pissing off Shaw than alleviating the situation. He'd call her insubordinate, and he'd still call her Hansen, and it wasn't worth Raffi getting in trouble with Starfleet Brass.
Sidney LaForge, however, was an absolute blessing. So were the entire rest of her crew. No matter what Shaw called her, nobody could ever call her anything less than an outstanding First Officer.
She also noted with equal parts heart-warming gratitude and bitterly amused irony that a large contingent of the crew felt more comfortable bringing their personal concerns to her than to Shaw. If an Ex-B with visible hardware seemed more approachable than a fully human Captain, then either the whole world had gone mad, or Shaw was such a massive prick that people were more scared of him than the Borg.
This ship definitely needed a fucking counselor.
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After the horrific fiasco of Frontier Day, every ship was designated a mandatory counselor. Too little too late, but it was a step. For an organization that prides itself on exploration and seeking out life, Starfleet could be woefully backwards and slow when it came to understanding and preventing the potential catastrophes happening right under their own noses.
Shaw had been one of those catastrophes in more ways than one. She'd wanted to strangle him nearly every time they interacted, but sometimes she missed the bastard. Not the way he treated her, but the way he looked out for his crew, his no-nonsense approach to problem solving, and that he didn't think he was above getting his hands dirty when an engineering problem presented itself. These were all traits that she had come to admire in Janeway, and she came to admire them in Shaw as well, even if she did want to wring his insufferable neck or go at him with a Bat'leth approximately twice every 1.36 hours.
She'd spilled all of this to Raffi after officially being promoted to Captain and asking Raffi - it's complicated - to be her XO. Raffi had accepted, but only on the condition that Seven re-submit her Starfleet application. Something about the Bat'leth comment seemed to have given Raffi an idea, and sure enough, Seven found the Klingon version of the Starfleet application sent to her PADD.
As different cultures had different naming conventions, there were many versions of the basic Starfleet application. Trill, Vulcans, Klingons, Bajorans…all would submit their information in accordance with the customs of their homeworlds and cultures. Vulcans only had one name, Bajorans put their surnames first, and Trill names often included so many addendums the file size of their application was huge.
But why Klingon? Seven was fluent in the language and could more than hold her own in a fight, but she spoke many languages and could also best Vulcans at kal-toh. So why a Klingon application?
When it flickered into full view on her PADD, with the information already filled out for her, awaiting only her approval in the form of tapping the "submit application" button at the bottom, she understood.
Seven of Nine
Warrior and Scientist of House Voyager
Daughter of Admiral Kathryn Janeway
Mother of Icheb, killed in the line of duty, now among the Honored Dead.
Sister of Naomi Wildman, Warrior of House Voyager.
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Raffi later confessed the idea had been Worf's, and that she'd sought out B'elanna Torres for assistance in filling out the application with the correct information, not whatever bullshit Starfleet brass was peddling to try and erase the history of their own flagship's Captain.
When Seven officially took the Captain's chair for the first time, she felt like she didn't belong there - until she looked around the bridge. Raffi on one side of her - it's complicated, but it's wonderful - making smartass comments about using her Section 31 connections to get embarrassing blackmail on Seven. (Like she'd even need Section 31 for that if she was already in contact with B'elanna fucking Torres). Jack Crusher on her other side, shamelessly flirting with Sidney LaForge at the helm, who was trying so, so hard not to crack a smile.
Most of the Titan's crew had opted to stay, so there was already an easy camaraderie among them. She had requested Elnor as her security officer, and although swords were a far more unconventional weapon than phasers, it would only add an element of surprise to any unwelcome intruders.
This ragtag group of misfits and friends felt like home. It felt like Voyager. And that was all the encouragement she needed.