by Suz (firstname.lastname@example.org)
Disclaimer - characters belong to Paramount.
This was written after re-watching 'Living Witness' recently. Thanks to Willow for listening to me natter on about not writing.
Damaged. Damaged. Programme malfunctioning. Damaged. Back-up module damaged. Requires repair. Keep dematerialising. Must stop, must not go offline. Must find out. Must get home.
Must find out.
Press button, send distress call. Help me, please. I need help. I need to find out what happened before I-
Answer! An answer! They know me, they speak my name. My name. So long. So long since I heard it last. I wish I had the ability to grieve.
Bright light surrounds me, a familiar sensation. New place, new room. Voices. Confusion.
"We barely got his module out before the ship exploded..."
"His programme is decompiling, there's nothing I can do to stop it..."
Dematerialise again. No! I cannot go yet!
"Try re-routing through pathway alpha 23..."
"Somebody get a holographic expert in here!"
"Good luck! You know holographic manipulation was given up after the development of particle synthesis-"
"I don't care. Find someone!"
A quieter voice, next to me.
"Are you all right?"
Deep, feminine. She reminds me of her.
How is she? How are they? Are they home? Are they still lost?
"No. No," I moan. "Where are they? They should be here."
"Where are who?" she asks quickly, as if she needs to know urgently. Not enough time.
My head hurts. Is this what a headache feels like to a humanoid?
No, no, that's not what I need to be talking about.
The name. What's the name. I can't remember... remember....
"Voyager," I tell her. "They... Voyager... are they home? Did they make it?"
She touches my shoulder briefly, reminding me of her again, before turning away. "Does anyone know what 'Voyager' was?"
"It was a starship, wasn't it?"
"Well don't just ask, get to that console and find out!" Demanding. Stubborn. So much like her. Why can't I grieve?
Her soft voice next to me once more. "We're finding out. I'll find out for you."
"Please," I beg "I need to know before it's-"
"I've got it!" A voice, excited.
I turn my head to look in that direction although I can see nothing now. Darkness. Blind.
"USS Voyager. Destroyed one parsec from Earth after travelling through a wormhole in an attempt to get home, seven hundred and fifty years ago..."
My head falls back. My eyelids close. Grief.
"...but not before all hands were beamed aboard by a transport ship that was surveying the area."
Cheers and laughter fill the room, my own the loudest but drowned out by the noise the others make.
"Damn! His programme's going offline!"
"Get that projector over here-"
They made it home.
That was enough.
They made it ho-
Story © 1997 by Suz. Reproduced on the Official Robert Picardo Home Page with permission of the author.