Path: newsspool2.news.atl.earthlink.net!stamper.news.atl.earthlink.net!elnk-atl-nf1!newsfeed.earthlink.net!newsswing.news.prodigy.com!prodigy.net!prodigy.com!border1.nntp.dca.giganews.com!nntp.giganews.com!ngpeer.news.aol.com!audrey-m2.news.aol.com!not-for-mail Lines: 692 X-Admin: news@aol.com From: gojirob@aol.comendspam (Rob Morris) Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative Date: 11 Dec 2004 03:17:15 GMT Organization: AOL http://www.aol.com Subject: REP Voy Holiday Stories, 1/2, PG Message-ID: <20041210221715.00480.00001541@mb-m17.aol.com> Xref: news.earthlink.net alt.startrek.creative:161520 X-Received-Date: Fri, 10 Dec 2004 19:18:01 PST (newsspool2.news.atl.earthlink.net) Title : Boiled In Their Own Pudding Author : Rob Morris Contact : gogojirob@aol.comendspam (Take the first go off, then the obvious) Archive : www.southroad.com/brightfame Series : Voyager Mid S7 AU : Technically in the TNG-based 'Starting Over' Universe Type : Xmas Story Characters : Mid-S7 Voy Standard crew Relationships : P/T, Limited J/C Time-Setting : December, 2377 Follows ep : Sometime after P/T Marriage Part : 1/2 Rating : PG, for personal conflicts Summary : Its a traditional family Christmas aboard the USS Voyager...it just ---- Boiled In Their Own Pudding by Rob Morris CHRISTMAS DAY, 2378 USS VOYAGER, DELTA QUADRANT In her quarters, Captain Janeway looked and rolled her eyes as Chakotay held and shook the spoon over his baked sweet potato. "You're putting on more brown sugar?" The First Officer shrugged. "I told you. I like a lot of butter, cinnamon, and brown sugar on my yams." She pointed with an opened palm. "With all that, you might as well add marshmallows too." Chakotay looked up. "No. Those would be--candied yams. I like my yams sweet, but not that sweet." "They're already called sweet potatoes. They're called that because they're sweet. You don't have to add anything to them, except a little butter." Chakotay ignored her, and took his first bite. Janeway shook her head. "Bet you can't taste the potato through all that mess." Chakotay threw down his fork and stared over. The clang from the plate echoed for a moment. Janeway was not amused. "Watch yourself, Commander. You're walking a line, here." Chakotay's face scrunched a bit in confusion. "You're calling rank and vaguely threatening some kind of action against me--for a fork thrown against a plate?" The Captain nodded. "Yes, if I let that kind of thing go, then this voyage is as good as over." He put his hand to his head. "Kathryn, we're in private. There can be no breakdown of command when only the two of us are present, eating roasted yams." "Its called, Chakotay, a sweet potato. A baked, not a roasted, sweet potato." Chakotay plunged his fork into the vegetable, and held it up. "Better call Tuvok, Captain. Because I and my YAM are calling a mutiny. You know mutiny, don't you? The kind I helped prevent six years ago? The kind the Doctor went and undertook not six weeks ago--without having this kind of interrogation? Mind you, he didn't have someone altering his mind, like I did with Tuvok." Her face hardened. "Make your point." "Certainly. When I emerged from Teero's long-distance brainwashing, I saw raw fury on your face. This despite the fact that you knew that I was a pawn in a fanatic's game. But when the Doctor, of his own free will, decided to go against orders and leave the ship to aid an obviously unstable holographic leader, you choose to not even temporarily confiscate his emitter. Suppose his program had become unstable? Did you even check for a virus set in him by Iden?" Janeway shook her head. "And just how long would you have had me punish the doctor for? For nothing more than seeking the truth about himself and his kind?" Chakotay ate more potato, then spoke. "I don't know. How about for thirty days?" Choked by anger, the Captain was a moment in gathering herself. "Tell me you did not just go there." Chakotay's mouth distended for a second, and then he responded. "There is discipline, and then there is humiliation. You all but sawed Tom in half. Reduction in rank would have been enough. But you balance your ledgers by bludgeon." Janeway held up two fingers on one hand. "I have bent over backwards to help my crew cope with the facts of living through this ordeal. When you complained that your former crew were being shortchanged, who put Be'lanna in as Chief Engineer like that?" "If and when you do bend over backwards, Kathryn, its so you can check to be certain your fiats are being followed to the letter. Yes, you've been good to a lot of people in a lot of instances, myself included. But more and more, its like you're being magnanimous. As the Captain, you have certain authority and certain rights. But in exchange for following orders, a crew has the right to demand consistency from their CO. You've been consistent in being capricious." She got up, and walked right up to him on the other side of the table. "It is Christmas Day. You might consider giving me the gift of peaceful, quiet obedience!" "My father always told me that we shouldn't blame Christmas for the hypocrites who misused the faith behind it to oppress our people. So I won't dispute that a gift is a proper observance and a decent courtesy. But you want a gift, Captain? Look all around you. Because six years ago, I gave you true and total command over this ship!" She slammed her fist on the table. "You were no more interested in the burdens of commanding this ship than you were in commanding the Maquis! People you once worked with told me that If Eddington hadn't been such a speech-making showboat, you'dve been very content just to quietly run petty little raids through the DMZ! You didn't give me this ship so we could get home, Chakotay. You gave it to me because you knew you couldn't handle it." He got up, and headed for the door. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I can't handle deciding on a dime that we could let three officers be assimilated without consequence. Or was it? Did Tuvok's breakdown on the Borg ship make Teero's job easier? Did Tom stare back at that whole deal with the Borg, look at Seven's abduction, and decide it was alright to blow up that pollution center? Leadership by whim, Captain, leads to whims all around. So no--I can not handle that." He was out and away before another word could be said. They were still united by sheer misery of soul, though. In the quarters of Tom Paris and Be'lanna Torres, another conversation began to quietly move into uncharted and dangerous territory. Harry Kim sat and ate with his friends. "I just still can't believe she set me up like that. Two bombs in two ships--and then she tells me not to take it personally." Tom smiled at his recent bride. "I can't complain. It worked out well for us." Be'lanna smiled, as well. "Besides, Harry. Its not like this sort of thing hasn't happened to you before. You should be immunized against it by now." Harry waited for the playful punchline. When none came, he considered other punches. Be'lanna kept on, unheeding of the sharpness of her words, and their effect on her young friend. "You know, it just occurred to me. When Tom and I were stuck out in space, our air supply running out? That was when we first declared that we really cared about each other." Paris smiled. "One might even say that we declared that we love each other. Well, I might say it." Torres let the implications of that go for now. "My point was, while we were doing all that, Harry was making his infamous play for Seven Of Nine." Tom nodded, and pointed. "Now I get it!" Harry looked back and forth. "Well, then, explain it to me. I don't get it at all." Be'lanna's amused look seemed to indicate that she thought he never would, either. "Isn't it obvious? Harry, everytime your love life hits the wall, ours goes from impulse to warp. I mean, we got married while you were hauling off your girlfriend for terrorism." Tom ate three forkfuls of stuffing, then added salt to Harry's already-aggravated wound. "From the beginning. I mean, I only started chatting Belanna up because you were in one of your funks and she got impatient waiting for you to come around." Harry tried to cut this off. "I guess if you two ever want to have children, I better get left at the altar." Kim desperately hoped that his married friends would catch on, either to the bitterness or the absurd irony of his response. This was to prove a vain hope. Be'lanna merely nodded. "That just might about do it. Happily, we all know you'll get there." Tom seemed no more disposed to be cognizant of his friend's feelings. "Where would we two be without Harry?" When they turned back to their food without another word, Harry again waited for the punchline. This time, though, he stopped waiting. "You want to know where you two would be? Huh? Well, I'll tell you where you two would be. In prison. And if we follow that line of thinking, I'd be at least a Lieutenant who could feel safe that if he happened to have a bad romantic turn, it wouldn't be automatically spread all over the ship like wildfire!" Torres glared at the Ensign, but Harry just shook his head. "Stuff that Maquis/Klingon temper, Mrs. Chief Engineer. Look at the two of you. Failed Maquis and failed Starfleet both. Starfleet, paranoid as can be about a group that got crushed the first time they faced a real enemy. The Maquis, swearing oaths and making speeches while playing pirate against a bunch of anal-retentive Admirals more noted for their own conspiracies than for stopping yours. One group in a tizzy to defend one of the stupidest treaties ever written, one group giving them ammo to defend it by playing space militia. Well, the Maquis are gone, and most of the Admirals who were SOOO hot to get them had to resign after the Breen attack on Earth. Launched, might I add from the very place the other group warned about--albeit in so asinine a way, no reasonable person was going to listen anyway. I and the other people not protected by the power structure here on Voyager are the only real victims of your war. So do not sit there and play kissy-face while wearing two pips you did not earn and tell me how lame I am." He was out before they could speak to him. Be'lanna shook her head. "He honestly blames us for his life not being where he'd like it to be?" Tom held up an opened palm, pointed at the door. "Like his own lack of social skills plays no part in all that. Remember poor Penny Robinson? Mooning after Harry. Who does he end up with a crush on? Her mother. Our Mister Kim not only doesn't have a leg to stand on, he barely has a lower torso." Be'lanna looked at her new husband, tried to eat, and then looked at him again. This was not a friendly look. "You had to bring them up, didn't you? You know how I am about the subject of the Robinsons." "You mean the kids?" "No, Tom. I mean the warp-drive they stole. It occurred under my watch, and its indicative of a pattern." "And this pattern is?" Be'lanna got up, and turned away. "That what Harry said is what most people think. That I'm a lucky, petulant fool who got her job because Chakotay insisted on a politically correct power-sharing agreement." Tom ate more, then looked at her. "One, none of that is true, and two, why would you, of all people, care if it was?" Her hands met the table with some force. "If I believe it to be the truth, and if I care about it, shouldn't that be enough for you?" He downed a sliver of cranberry sauce. "No. Partly because I won't support you when you talk yourself down. Mostly because its sometimes really hard to tell when you care about something." She pulled back. "Oh, is that what we meant by that crack about declaring your love?" He wiped off his chin, and stood up. "You took the second most important day in the evolution of our relationship and talked about it like we exchanged friendship icons. We're now married, and you still can't even say that we are and have been in love unless you have to." She turned back to him. "You know, contrary to internal opinion polls, you are not perfect. One does not become perfect merely by learning from having made every single mistake there is for one sentient being to make! All this time, and you still are trying to make me into this constructively expressive, positively emotive construct. My God. You are as bad as my mother, trying to make Kahless, Jr. out of me. Around you, I'm not allowed to be grieving Maquis, driven Engineer, unhappy half-Klingon-- around you I'm not even sure I can be Be'lanna." He grabbed a blanket, and a pillow. "Another mistake I've learned from. There is no talking to or being around you, when you're like this. Noper. You've gone and decided that the universe doesn't work--again. So it is that when Be'lanna drinks the misery-tinted bloodwine, so must we all. You sure we're not already-related? Cause you just ruined Christmas as quickly as the Admiral ever could." "Well, Tom, I'm certain that Admiral Paris has had at least six happy holidays--if you know what I mean. Cause' mine is about to get a LOT better!" He walked towards the door, turned and gave a mocking salute. "Yes, Maam!" Sacked out inside the Delta Flyer, Tom accessed one selection from the vid library. *Mary--I never knew we had so many friends!* Tom flicked it off. "You don't, pal. They will turn on you." He chose another selection, one better fitting his mood and the general behavior of those onboard. *If the creature emerges from the water again, Tokyo will surely be destroyed!* Tom grinned. "Burn, baby, burn." ------------------------------------------------- Samantha Wildman and Neelix found Naomi inputting text on her terminal in the Wildmans' quarters. "Honey, what are you doing?" The girl shrugged. "I found out that Tabitha Stephens is still alive, back on Earth. I want to get a good long letter together in time for the next transmission batch. I'll record a vid for some of it, but I figured there might be more memory space available if I made most of it text." Neelix reached over and hit the save routine prompt. "Well, you can do that later. Your Mom and I have set up the Ktarrian Kaioshin feast celebration." Naomi unfroze her letter, and kept typing. "No. I already celebrated the Ktarrian feast." Her mother saved again. "That was North Continent. This is South Continent. C'mon, Naomi. Your father would want you to be part of both of them." Naomi resumed typing. "I've already been a part of every Earth ceremony celebrated in December. You've had me up since five-hundred hours. I've worn six sets of clothes, and heard all about lights that didn't go out, lights in the sky, lights of sacrifice and self-responsibility, and heard a scary story about a mean king who killed kids. The only light I want is my bedroom light as it goes out. I'm tired." Samantha sighed. "Your father and I always agreed that when we had children, we would expose them to every faith in our heritage, the better to let them decide for themselves which one to choose. And he was wicked, not mean." Naomi wasn't budging. "Well, I never agreed to any of that. And my father isn't here." Neelix laid on the charm to a child he'd always had a way with. "Naomi, your Mom just wants you to go and celebrate what she and your Dad hold sacred. This is very important to her." It didn't work. Naomi's eyes went narrow, and she nearly screamed. "I said NO!" Ensign Wildman shook her finger at her daughter. "Young lady, stop being difficult and get into those clothes. This whole agenda was one of the first things your father and I talked about, when we first let him know we were alive." Naomi turned and looked at her. "You let him know that you were alive. You let him know that I existed." Samantha nodded. "Yes. He was excited and surprised. And he reminded me of how important it is that we quickly establish the back-payment of your spiritual debt to his ancestors." Naomi slammed down her hands. "I've been going to Spirit Debt Classes for the last ten months! Since we've been talking regularly with the Alpha Quadrant, he keeps adding on more stuff. A lot of it isn't even Ktarrian!" Neelix tried again. "Naomi, your Mom and your Dad..." The child cut him off with a nearly shocking rejoinder. "...neither of whom you happen to be." The Talaxian's jaw dropped, and he fell silent. Samantha shook her head in disgust. "What Neelix was trying to say is that your father and I fell away from our faiths, as we got older. We're trying to instill you with the teachings of those faiths, so that you don't suffer in the same way." "Mom, I'm suffering now!" "NO, you only think you are." The girl moved for her bed-area, but was physically blocked by her mother. Naomi's glare threatened to consume her whole face. "I'm exhausted. All these classes, just so you and Father can feel good about your own souls. And I haven't even eaten today." "That's part of the fast in solidarity with the early martyrs." "From which faith?" Samantha folded her arms. "Today is Christmas. The Feast Of The Christian Nativity." Naomi folded hers. "Then why aren't I feasting? And why are we celebrating all these other holidays at the same time? Most of them don't even occur in the twelfth month." Neelix found his voice. "Well, honey, the fast was adapted from the pre-Reform Ktarrian Na'a ceremony. Your Mom and Dad combined them to give you a better overall perspective. The other holidays got put in because Christmas tends to be an overwhelming holiday for people who don't observe it as a religious event. They didn't want it to be subsumed." Samantha turned and looked at Neelix. "I could have said those things myself, you know. Neelix, I've appreciated your help. But I don't need back-up to have authority with my own daughter." The Talaxian's way was usually to withdraw quietly, after a fashion. This was not most days. "Well, I couldn't agree with you more, Samantha. After all, you have a rebellious, overworked, underfed, confused and angry child, who, despite having once peppered people with questions about religion, now seems set to renounce it entirely." He looked at Naomi. "She's your mother, after all, and I'm not." He made for the door, and was not stopped as he went. Samantha was showing her rage more and more, and her daughter was matching her every step of the way. "It may surprise you to learn, Naomi, that the time will come when you're not so cute, and the spotlight you seem to like so much will shift away. You won't always be the only child born on Voyager. Asking to be the Captain's Helper can also be seen as a selfish burden on a crew with much better things to do." Naomi crinkled her eyes at Samantha. "Cute? Spotlight? Mom, every time I've helped out--even if it was just making coffee with Neelix-- I hear people saying the name of some teenager who lived on The Enterprise. I finally looked him up. You know what he's hated for? Two things. Being too perfect, then screwing up later on. When you're an adult, it may be hard. But when you're a kid, you're never right. Not even once. About anything. You go and talk with somebody I've never met face to face, and all of a sudden, I'm some kind of heathen." "My heart bleeds. Now get in your outfit, or go to bed without supper." Naomi made for her sleeping area, threw out the outfit, and activated the divider on max. Samantha was quick to realize that while she could take some things back and still keep her authority, her wounded pride wouldn't allow for a single retraction. ----------------------------- In Sickbay, three beings who could choose, if they liked, to stay out of the attempts at holiday festiveness did just that. "I was overdue, in any event, for an extended stay in my regeneration alcove. I speak not as Borg, but as one still new to humanity. One light and one child may have power to redeem on levels unguessed at. But to expect that merely invoking the proscribed day of feasting will put aside all other concerns seems unwise to me. In fact, it seems to invite the raising of far grimmer concerns." "I myself chose to remain on the Bridge. We are at full stop under shields and our somewhat crude temporary non-portable cloak, so I was alone, and I found this solitude highly enjoyable. My recent failures in control weigh heavily upon me. Human emotions are, as has been noted, rarely more rampant than at a time when the false expectation of perfect happiness instead brings about nearly perfect misery. The observance itself has validity, and can be fascinating to view if kept to its religious center. But perhaps I as a Vulcan find enforced happiness an even more repugnant idea than enforced worship." "Every so often, fate steps in and reminds me that I am in fact just a program who is a sum total of other programs. For most of this day, I had my back-up on call. I was only to be activated in case of serious injury. There was none. Physcially, anyway. The replicators have been making a lot of aspirin, though. I'm made a doctor. I say, if you're going to feel joy, spread it out through the year. Don't bunch it up in one small season then complain if it spoils. Decibel levels all over this ship were so high, my program actually took note of them as a potential sign of rampant toxicity. Lets face it, the man was right. Its all a great fraud. A Humbug. Quite literally a virus that they all willingly expose themselves to, then wonder why they stop feeling good." Unspoken was the common thought between them that all their rational thinking that spared them all the foolishness also kept them forever as things apart from those they called their friends. ----------------------------------------------- 8 PM THAT SAME DAY Chakotay buzzed Janeway's quarters. She said two words. "Save it." He shook his head. "Not why I'm here, Captain. Its an emergency transmission from Reg Barclay." She rubbed her weary eyes. "Doesn't he know we're under temp-cloak? Besides, its the wrong time of day. His power usage must have been insane." Chakotay waved his hand dismissively. "He says he can get us home. Instantly. As in today." The Captain stood silent for a moment. Again, she spoke only two words, this time in weary relief. "Its over." ----------------------------- Harry saw the two in the turbolift, joined them, and spoke quickly. "The first thing you should both know is, I meant every word I said. Every last word. I had meant to say them in a nicer, more polite, better timed way. But I'm not pulling back a single statement. Because except for tone and volume, you two had that coming." He fell silent, and now Be'lanna looked at Tom. "Can I ask where you were last night?" He closed his eyes. "I sacked out in the Flyer. I'd prefer not to stay there." She shook her head. "You don't have to. But what the hell happened, Tom?" He opened his eyes and looked at her. "I guess we became grown-ups. Because I always told myself, only grown-ups understand phrases like 'don't say words you can't take back.' Now I understand. Can I have a few weeks before giving you an apology? Because right now, I can't even think about yesterday without cringing." She took his hand, though only lightly. "I can't think about it, period. I had a cousin once who made me feel as fundamentally rotten as I just made myself feel. So you have your few weeks, Tom." Harry forced a few more words out. "Look, I'm not accusing--anymore. But did anybody spike our drinks or our food?" Tom Paris, who had many times before this thought himself at last fully mature, now felt once again like reality had slapped him back. "No. That was all us." Up on the Bridge, Naomi Wildman spoke to Captain Janeway so that her mother could hear. "Captain, I was thinking that maybe I shouldn't be here when our visitor arrives. Maybe its best if only the official crew--the people who do the work--are around." Samantha Wildman looked over at her little girl. Her face had progressed to a definite 'we'll talk.' Only a direct talk with both her husband and Naomi would truly settle things, though. Revealed then would be the sudden extraordinary pressure he had received from his own family, when Naomi's existence was first revealed. Janeway was not letting her helper go just yet, though. "Naomi, I'll ask you to stay. See, our visitor is a young Starfleet officer who you, perhaps unfairly, have been compared to. And for the record, this chair and its occupants have never once resented your help. I could no more run things in the manner I prefer without you than I could without Commander Chakotay. That's not an adult talking down to a cute child. Those are the words of a CO grateful for her blessings." When Naomi nervously took her place near the lift doors, Chakotay asked Janeway a question. "You know we'll never settle everything we kicked up. So where do we go from here?" She shrugged. "Home would be my first choice." Tuvok, the Doctor, and Seven all emerged from the same lift. All three seemed to note a near-illusory whiff of ozone, a sign of either a current storm or one just passed. Their various levels of detachment seemed almost not to be in evidence. Paris spoke. "Captain, we're at the meeting point." For once, nobody had any real idea why these coordinates had been chosen over any other. Seven was looked to by Chakotay, but a light shake of her head indicated nothing present on her temporal transciever. "Captain Kathryn Janeway?" He was just there, without warning. His abilities apparently worked just as Reg Barclay had said. His face didn't contain the legendary earnestness of the early media reports. If anything, he seemed a bit drained, though whether this was a result of his journey, no one there could say. But he was less former legend than current portal to them, so the Captain rose to greet him. "Welcome to Voyager, Lieutenant Crusher." NewMessage: