SINNERS AND SAINTS
By Rocky

County Cook, Ireland

Anne felt as if her head was going to explode. She had returned home the week before from five insanely busy days in San Francisco, had scarcely stopped to breathe since, but she was still frustrated that there was so much she simply hadn't had time for, so much that still needed doing now. But she *had* gotten a lot done, she reminded herself for the umpteenth time. In addition to several interviews with as many Starfleet officials as had been willing to speak with her, she and Kaylyn had discussed Admiral Paris' proposal at length and had spent most of their free time mapping out a plan of action. Mitch Dalby had joined them for part of that time, and the three of them had considered how to best shape their organization into an effective lobbying force. Keeping in mind what Paris had said about enlisting the media to their cause, they had even hired a public relations advisor.

The news had spread rapidly among the 'network', and all of the families were eager to help. It hadn't taken long to discover that Alan McGuiness had a friend whose cousin worked at the office of the Federation President in Paris. More importantly, he'd been able to schedule a meeting between President M'Renn and the newly elected officers of the Voyager Family Association.

It seemed as though she had scarcely unpacked her things, said hello to her own family, and now she had to prepare for another trip.

She was carrying a freshly folded pile of underwear from the refresher unit, along with several blouses, when she nearly collided with her oldest son coming around the corner.

"Goodness, JJ, you startled me!" she said.

"Sorry, Mum."

She placed the topmost layers of her load into his arms. "Here. Most of this is yours."

He lifted up a pair of shorts, his face wrinkled in distaste. "This belongs to Patrick, not me. It's way too small to be mine."

"Then be so good as to put in his drawer for him," Anne said, heading toward the stairs. She called over her shoulder, "And it would be nice if you could pick up and put away the rest of the laundry for me. I'm really pressed for time."

He trailed after her into her bedroom and stood watching as she started placing items in the open suitcase on the bed.

"You're leaving again?" he asked.

She didn't pause in her task of packing. "We talked about this, remember, dear? We're meeting with the President. Can you imagine that! The President of the Federation." She looked up and saw his brows draw together in a frown. "This is only going to be a short trip, just overnight, or two days at the most. Not at all like San Francisco."

"But you're leaving again! How can you just take off and leave us like this?" His tone was accusing.

His reaction puzzled her. "Yes, I'm going away, but I will be back soon, and you will *not* be alone. Nana will be here-"

He drew himself up to his full height. At nearly fifteen years of age he was already more than a head taller than she was and showed no signs of slowing down any time soon. "I'm not a baby, Mum, who needs someone to stay with me," he said angrily with a toss of his head.

"Then what do you mean?" She shook her head, then stopped and looked at him more closely. He resembled his father more and more with each passing day, it seemed, she thought idly in the corner of her mind. "JJ, I'm not a telepath. You're obviously upset, and I'd really appreciate it if you would tell me why instead of just standing there glowering at me."

It was quiet for a long moment, as he clearly debated what he wanted to say. Then, "You're never around anymore!" he burst out.

"That's not fair," she said heatedly, beginning to feel angry in turn. "I have made every effort to be here for you-I haven't missed a single soccer match, made sure I was back from San Francisco in time to meet with your teachers at-"

"That's not what I meant," he interrupted. "It's just...I don't know." He bowed his head and turned away slightly. She moved over to him and gently lifted his chin till his eyes met hers.

"You mean I'm not around when you want me to be, to have someone to talk to," she said quietly.

He nodded. "Yeah, I guess." In his eyes she saw the little boy once more, bewildered by his father's absence, not understanding why Daddy wasn't coming home and why Mummy sat anxiously watching the newsvids, jumping every time the comm sounded. Her heart clenched inside her. She couldn't fault JJ; he was feeling Joe's absence even more now that he was getting older. She had tried to make it up to both boys, be both mother *and* father, tried to make them never feel they were shortchanged by having only one parent. She had set herself an impossible task. And now it seemed she wasn't even filling her own role properly.

She passed her hand tiredly over her face. "I know you don't entirely understand, but I'm doing this for you, JJ, and for Patrick, and for all the other families. Someone has to stand up and make sure our voices are heard." She reached out and stroked his cheek, surprised to feel a faint down of hair beneath her fingertips. "I didn't ask for this job, but somehow, it fell to me. Just like no one asked your father or any of the other brave men and women on Voyager if they wanted to be flung across the galaxy, separated from everyone and everything by a distance so vast it would ordinarily take nearly a lifetime to cross. Life is full of trials and difficulties, of all kinds." She closed her eyes tightly, forcing back the tears. "What matters is how we face our trials, how we bear the burdens that God has chosen to give us."

"Father Ryan says that God doesn't give us a test that's more than we can bear," JJ said thoughtfully.

"I certainly hope so, darling, but I have to confess, sometimes I wonder about that." She forced a smile. "But instead of focusing on the difficulty, what's more important is how we greet our trials, if we face them bravely and cheerfully, or with great reluctance and complaining. Though it's very hard, I'm trying to do my best." Her gaze locked with his. "My best for all of us."

Act 4
San Francisco

The main section at the Pathfinder complex was bustling with activity, as usual. Various personnel were stationed at instrument consoles on both the upper and lower levels, rapidly feeding in data and performing correlations and probability analyses. One entire bank of computers was dedicated solely to the link-up of the MIDAS array, and two-way communication and manipulation. On the chamber's upper level, a large 3-dimensional holographic display of the Delta Quadrant was visible, with Voyager's course glowing in red. Over the past seven years, it resembled nothing so much as a giant earthworm with a case of severe indigestion, Paris thought. Numerous twists and turns and doubling back on itself, coupled with 'shortcuts' and an occasional jump of several thousand light years-yet the general direction always remained the same, toward the Alpha Quadrant. If all went well with the slipstream, another dozen or so jumps and then Voyager's journey would be at an end.

Paris stood still for a few moments, simply enjoying the air of hustle and expectation. When he was here, at the heart of Pathfinder, he was imbued with a sense of purpose, reminded again of just what they were trying to accomplish-and it didn't seem unattainable.

He turned sharply when he heard his name called. "Admiral Paris!" said Commander Craig, hurrying up behind him. "Do you have a few moments?"

"Of course," Paris replied. He waited for the Starfleet Press Liaison to catch up to him. "As a matter of fact, there's something I've been meaning to ask you, Craig."

"Certainly, sir." If Craig was a little put-out over having to wait to bring up his own issues, he gave no indication. Paris studied the slender blond man standing before him, the pale heavy-lidded eyes which gave away no secrets, the smoothly expressionless face. Oh yes, Craig was very good at what he did.

"I was checking through the newsvids over the past month," Paris said by way of preamble.

Craig looked concerned. "Is there a problem with the Voyager coverage?"

"I find it curious that there's been no mention whatsoever of the new slipstream drive," Paris said.

Craig's face changed subtly. "The drive, for all its potential, is still in the experimental stage. Therefore, an executive decision was made-"

"According to the tracking at Pathfinder, it appears to be working just fine," Paris cut in. "Our latest scans show a displacement of Voyager's position by several hundred light years. We won't know for sure the precise gain until the next datastream transmission in a few days, but there's no question that the slipstream works."

"Be it as it may," Craig hemmed, "prudence and caution dictate that we should wait for confirmation of that success before we make any public announcement."

Paris' eyes narrowed. "There's caution and then there's censorship," he said bluntly. "From where I'm sitting, it's hard to tell just what it is you've got in mind."

"Admiral Paris, surely not!" protested Craig. "Of course this is not an attempt at censorship, nor am I advocating withholding of information-without due cause. There's the security issue, first of all. But even more importantly, we have to think of the families-why get their hopes up on a mere possibility?"

Paris snorted. "Your intention here is to protect the families? Believe me, Craig, you'd be surprised at just how much they know."

A small group of people were gathered around one of the wall video monitors. Craig looked up sharply and blanched.

"...live report of the meeting between representatives of the Voyager Family Association with Federation President M'Renn, just a few minutes ago. The head of the VFA, Anne Carey, wife of Voyager engineer Lieutenant Joseph Carey, announced that Voyager has developed a new faster-than-warp drive, utilizing principles of slipstream, and is expected to be home within the year if all goes well. As expected, this news has been greeted by a major flurry of excitement, with many people wondering why this is only now coming to the public's attention-"

"If you'll excuse me, Admiral," Craig said quickly. He didn't wait for an answer before rushing in the direction of his office, already talking rapidly into his comm badge. It was damage control time, and Craig was undoubtedly already trying to see how he could spin this latest development to Starfleet's advantage.

Paris smiled humorlessly. He resumed his walk to his own office, nodding to those who had turned away from the video monitor and gone back to work.

Lieutenant Barclay and Commander Harkins were standing in the center of the room in mid-discussion, oblivious to anything else going on around them, or to the fact that they were blocking their project leader's path. Paris gave up and simply stepped around them, overhearing a snatch of their conversation.

"...it's the phase variance which has been the problem all along," Harkins was saying. "If we could solve that, then the basic instability-"

"I'm not disagreeing with you," Barclay interrupted. His hair looked distinctly rumpled, as if he had just been tearing at it in an excess of nerves or creative energy. "Yes, in previous attempts the variance kept rising, causing the quantum matrix to overload. And all attempts since to keep the variance stable, by compensating for the spatial gradients, or otherwise keeping the deflector geometry stable were failures."

"As I said," began Harkins with just a hint of exasperation.

"But what if we approached the problem from the other direction-the quantum matrix itself?" Barclay paused, almost quivering with anticipation.

"Yes!" said Harkins excitedly, and then his face fell. "No, that won't work-then you're back at square one in terms of the slipstream kinetics themselves. Not to mention the hyperdimensional progressions."

"Not necessarily," argued Barclay. "A thought occurred to me last night when I was discussing the possibility of developing real-time communication with Admiral Chapman over at the Starfleet Corps of Engineers..."

Paris shook his head as the conversation proceeded to go off in an entirely different direction. He glanced once more at Barclay, who was now waving his arms and gesturing wildly, and at Harkins who had apparently given up on the 'reasonable' approach and was trying by dint of shouting to get a word in edgewise. A more unlikely set of engineers had probably never been assembled for a project of this magnitude, and yet the facts were that without Barclay and company Pathfinder might never have gotten off the ground.

Paris sat down at his desk and quickly looked through his messages, his mind still on the scene he'd just witnessed. Why was it, he mused, that genius and eccentricity always seemed to go together? But he was grateful for it in whatever package it came wrapped in, as it had given him and the other Voyager families the possibility of hope.

Act 5
San Francisco

"In the event of any perceived irregularities during administrative review following a space mission, a Review Board will be convened. Three admirals will sit on this Board, and are empowered to call upon any experts they choose. At the end of their review, they may do one of three things: (1) determine the matter ended (2) refer the matter to a formal Board of Inquiry if they suspect a breach of regulations that do not give rise to criminal actions (3) refer the matter directly to Court Martial if criminal actions are suspected."

Manual of Operating Procedure, Starfleet Command, Section 23-alpha, Paragraph 14

"So that's it then," Gelb said quietly. He picked at his plate of sushi, then thrust his torso forward and angled his head slightly to catch Teller's gaze. The two of them were alone in the Admiralty's private dining room. "It's useless to speculate-nothing official will happen until the Review B-b-board, and *that* won't take place until after Voyager has returned."

"I'm well aware of that." Teller stirred her coffee, but did not drink it. "Based on what I saw in that meeting room, the attitudes of some of the others...I have more than a few misgivings about how it's ultimately going to turn out."

Gelb placed his webbed hand very near, but not quite touching, Teller's gnarled fingers. "There was a g-g-great deal of sound and fury, but in reality little of substance. Hayes will follow Starfleet procedure and regulations-he can't very well do anything else."

"I'm aware of that as well."

Gelb hesitated. "You are still troubled."

"An astute observation." She pushed her cup aside and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "Starfleet has changed, Gelb, and I don't just mean since the old days."

The corners of his mouth turned up. "'As sure as fry g-g-grow into fingerlings, and fingerlings b-b-begin to spawn...' Time marches on, my friend, and change is inevitable. That which doesn't change stagnates and dies."

Teller snorted softly. "Of course things change-especially over the span of a long career like mine. Or yours, for that matter. But some things *shouldn't* change. A captain's first responsibility is to his ship and crew. That's as true now as it was one hundred years ago. Even the hard-liners can't fault Janeway for her actions in that respect."

"No, they can't," Gelb said. "Although they can and do deplore her more 'unconventional' methods."

Silence fell as Teller returned to what was left of her lunch. Gelb simply waited.

"During the last decade, Starfleet Command has undergone a number of changes, not all of them welcome," she said at last. "We've always said that Starfleet is not a military organization, but the truth is that the 'kinder, gentler' image of the past is rapidly being supplanted. Perhaps this is inevitable, considering some of the threats we've faced recently." Her voice took on an edge. "During the war, many questionable activities were heartily endorsed by some of those very same admirals, actions that make Janeway's alleged violations of Starfleet regs pale in comparison. So don't talk to me about 'unconventional' methods."

"I prefer the term 'innovative' myself," Gelb said with a small gurgle. He quickly sobered. "There's a certain quality that enables a field commander to assess a situation, weigh the available options, and if the odds still aren't satisfactory, change them till they are. Call it b-b-brilliance, sheer nerve-not many of our current crop of captains have this ability."

"In the old days, Starfleet welcomed captains of her caliber, valued the mavericks above the strictly by-the-book types," Teller said sharply, then sighed. "If it weren't for captains like Janeway, where would the Federation, let alone Starfleet, be today?"

March 19, 2379

Just a quick postscript, Joe, before I send off this letter. The meeting between the representatives of the VFA-Kaylyn, Mitch and myself, along with T'Pel who came in unexpectedly from Vulcan-and the President went off very well. We weren't sure until the last moment if M'Renn herself was actually going to meet with us or if she'd foist us off on some underling-though I well remember your comments about it being a rare politician who can resist the chance for a photo-op!

M'Renn was most cordial. I've never met a Caitian before-actually, I don't think I've met any member of a felinoid species till now. I'm pretty sure that was true for Kaylyn and Mitch as well. You should have seen the lot of us-there we were, posed on the steps of the Presidential Palace, with Mitch trying very hard not to trip over or step on the Presidential tail which kept darting from side to side! I would have laughed at his discomfort, if I wasn't worried about doing the same thing myself.

The 'balance' for the holophoto couldn't have been any better if we'd consciously planned it in advance-one 'Fleeter, one Maquis, one Equinox and one non-Human. But just like Voyager itself has grown beyond these initial divisions, moved past these factions to form one unit, one 'family', so too have the relatives bonded. Once again, our common need has drawn us all together.

The President was most interested to hear about the slipstream drive and what it means in terms of the ship getting home. She offered reassurances that the people of the Federation stand behind us and support us 100% through our 'arduous ordeal' and said how proud she is of the brave men and women on Voyager.

And now I really do have to end this letter and send it off, or it'll never make it into this month's datastream. The boys and I miss you so much, Joe. We can't wait to have you home with us again.

Love,

Annie

Epilogue:

Stardate 55207.8 (March 21, 2002)
San Francisco

Paris nodded curtly to the aide in the outer room and strode into Hayes' office. The Commander in Chief was in the midst of a comm conversation. He looked at Paris for a long moment, then waved him into a chair in front of the desk.

"Yes, Madame President. I understand. Of course, it was never our intention to conceal-" Hayes fell silent. Finally, he said, "Yes, I will personally see to it." He cut the connection and closed his eyes.

Paris waited. He looked around Hayes' office; he had rarely been here. Hayes preferred to conduct his meetings in other settings, for the most part. Despite its larger size, the office was really no different from the rooms occupied by other Starfleet bureaucrats, regardless of rank. It was oddly austere. There were only a few personal touches, primarily paintings. Strictly modern, and by mostly non-Human artists. The one incongruous note was a large old-fashioned grandfather clock in the corner. Even as Paris' glance fell upon it, it chimed the hour.

Hayes at last opened his eyes; he did not look pleased to see the other man. "Yes, Owen, what can I do for you?"

Paris leaned forward, a data PADD in his hand. "The latest datastream communiqué from Voyager."

Hayes made no move to take it. "Any more 'bombshells' in store this time?" He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Nothing to compare to last month's," Paris said calmly, placing the PADD in front of Hayes. "Their first attempt at the slipstream was a success, resulting in their traveling 838 light years. In just a matter of minutes. The next attempt, after a refractory period of several weeks, should be more of the same. However..." his voice trailed off, as he watched Hayes' reaction. All vestiges of a smile had now vanished. "There's something here that I think you should see right away."

"Problem?"

"No, I wouldn't exactly call it that."

Hayes was clearly losing patience. "All right, Owen, why don't you just spit it out?"

"It's a message from Janeway." Paris leaned over and activated the PADD, calling up the particular passage he had marked earlier. "Addressed to you personally. After the usual pleasantries, she says, and I quote-"

"Never mind the exact words-what does she want?"

Paris leaned forward once more, his gaze locked with that of the Commander in Chief. "She wants some answers, Jack, about what's going on. And I can't say that she's the only one."

Hayes' eyes darted toward the clock, its pendulum swinging back and forth in a steady rhythm, not stopping or faltering for a moment. "Tell her...tell her everything's fine." He met Paris' eyes once more. "And that we're looking forward to greeting them upon their arrival home. All of them."

Note: Anne Carey and her children appear courtesy of Monkee.