Chapter 1

“Intruder alert!” The voice was rich, deep, and oh so wonderfully familiar.

Janeway stared, almost unable to bear the joy of it, at the familiar surroundings of a starship. Not just any starship, either. With Barkley/Fluffy still wriggling in her arms, she turned and beamed at Captain Jean-Luc Picard.

“Captain Kathryn Janeway requesting permission to come aboard,” she stated in a voice that, despite her best efforts, quavered. “Belatedly.”

That patrician mien softened and melted into a warm, surprised smile.

“Kathryn,” Picard rumbled, rising and staring at her. “My God. You are literally the last person I expected to ever see on my bridge.” He strode to where she stood beside the turbolift, hand outstretched. “Welcome home, my dear. Welcome, welcome home.”

Janeway let Barkley jump to the floor, where he obediently plopped his behind down in a formal sit/stay right beside her left foot. She moved forward quickly and gratefully took the extended hand, feeling it close, warm and strong, about her own slender fingers. Tears welled in her eyes, and for once, she let them come.

“I can’t believe this,” she stammered. She heard voices talking in murmured excitement, felt rather than saw the strong presence of Will Riker loom up beside her. She had met him once before, when Q had transported him to Voyager as a witness in the trial of the alien who later took the name Quinn…. and not long after that, took his own life. Riker, of course, would have no memory of the encounter. She turned to address him. She’d forgotten what a large man he was. Shaking and laughing, she wiped at her wet eyes while extending a hand.

“Captain Kathryn Janeway. We’ve met. I’ll tell you about it later. I can’t believe this,” she repeated.

“So, Captain, I’m delighted that you’re here, but I’d like to know why and how,” said Picard, stepping back and letting her regain control. “The last we heard, you were still in the Delta Quadrant. Operation Pathfinder has only just reported making contact with you. We’d hoped that you’d make it home one of these days, but I confess, manifesting on my bridge like some sort of ghost was not what I had expected.”

He eyed the small animal. “And I see you’ve brought a friend,” he added, a hint of disapproval creeping into his sonorous voice.

Fluffy barked and wagged his tail.

“It’s a long story,” said Janeway, clearing her throat and trying to recover her usual decorum. “A very long story.”

“One which I and Starfleet Command will be very eager to hear,” said Picard.

Janeway took a breath, preparing for a debriefing, which, if she knew Picard, he’d want to hear immediately, if not sooner. Instead, he did something which took her completely by surprise.

“Whatever it is, it can wait until you’ve had a chance to freshen up and eat something.” She frowned and began to protest, but he held up a commanding hand. “I won’t hear otherwise. I’m certain that whatever journey you and this creature have been on, it’s been arduous and long.”

She stared at him. Her “journey,” or at least this most peculiar leg of it, had been approximately five minutes—most of which had been spent on Picard’s own bridge. Mentally, she shrugged. Who was she to contradict Captain Picard on the bridge of the Enterprise?

“I’d consider it an honor if you would use my quarters,” Picard continued. “Take all the time you need to refresh yourself. I’ll meet you there in an hour or so for a bite to eat and I assure you I will be all ears, eager to hear about your adventures.” With that, he turned and resumed his seat. Will Riker was still standing beside her. With a grin, he made a mock bow.

“You’re almost legendary in this quadrant now, Captain Janeway,” said Riker. “I hope you’ll afford me the honor of escorting you to Captain Picard’s quarters?”

Janeway hesitated. She had no wish to appear discourteous, but she would have been much more comfortable sitting with Picard in his ready room, sipping coffee (he’d probably order that nasty Earl Grey tea he was so famous for drinking) and telling her fellow captain all about the gateway. Who knew how long it would be open? All the others had closed. Starfleet would certainly want to hear about them, and precious time was ticking by.

“Captain, I have no wish to appear ungrateful for your hospitality, but—”

“Then don’t,” said Picard, a touch irritably. “Go to my quarters, have a bit of a rest and a bath, and I’ll meet you for dinner.”

“Captain Picard—”

“Has spoken,” said Riker smoothly. “Trust me, you won’t do well to question him.” Playfully he extended his arm. “Come on. Put aside the trappings of command for a little while. After more than five years lost at sea, you could use a little break and some pampering Starfleet-style.”

Janeway was at a loss for words. There was no way she could continue contradicting Picard, certainly not in front of his crew. Finally, she nodded, and, uncomfortable with the gesture but not wishing to appear rude, took Riker’s arm. They entered the turbolift, Fluffy trotting obediently beside her. As the doors hissed closed, she kept wondering why Picard hadn’t debriefed her at once, especially after so extraordinary a materialization on his bridge. It was out of character for him.

But then, she had been gone a long time. She knew how people can and did change.

And frankly, a hot bath sounded wonderful.

“So what’s this about you meeting me before?” asked Riker, breaking her reverie.

“You were on my ship. Courtesy of one Q,” she said. Riker’s blue eyes widened, and he laughed.

“That Q. Up to his old tricks, is he? I suppose he’s gotten bored with dour old Jean-Luc.”

Janeway raised an eyebrow at the familiar, almost condescending tone Riker used. She knew his reputation; “fun-loving” wouldn’t be an inaccurate term to describe him, but she had expected more respect from a first officer toward his captain, especially in front of someone who outranked him.

“You were a key witness in a trial,” she continued, trying to overlook Riker’s faux pas. “Q brought you to my ship in order to testify for his side. Afterward, he returned you and wiped your memory of the incident.”

That, she thought, ought to ruffle him. Instead, Riker laughed aloud. “Doesn’t that bother you? That you were snatched against your will, transported halfway across the galaxy, and you don’t even have a memory of it?”

“Not really. I mean, that’s Q for you, isn’t it? He’s not all that bad. He always means well, even if sometimes he doesn’t understand how things bother us humans.”

She stared at him, then shrugged. “I guess I have been away a long time, if the first officer of the Enterprise harbors warm and fuzzy feeling toward Q.”

Riker merely grinned.

Janeway had often lamented the fact that all other Starfleet vessels were equipped with sonic showers. The only bath that had been taken aboard Voyager had been indulged in by Neelix when he first came aboard her ship. He had been overwhelmed by the proliferation of water and had simply had to try the experience of actually immersing his entire body in the liquid.

She personally hadn’t had a real, hot water bath since she and Chakotay had been left on that planet together, when they had been infected by a disease the Doctor couldn’t cure and the only way to save both their lives was for them to remain on the planet where they’d been infected. He’d built her a bathtub, and my, how she had enjoyed it. There had been much about that time together she had enjoyed, and regretted leaving.

Janeway was surprised to discover that Picard’s quarters had a tub. Well, she thought, the Enterprise is the flagship. I would imagine Starfleet would think it a minor luxury for their esteemed Picard if he asked for it.

There was even a bottle of bubble bath perched on the side. Janeway stifled a laugh at the thought of Picard in a bubble bath, but who was she to judge? She certainly had no compunction about using up a bit of his supply. She liberally poured the liquid into the hot water, shed her uniform, and stepped into the tub.

“Oh,” she breathed. The pleasure was keen, almost painful. She lay back and enjoyed the hot water penetrating to her bones, and played lazily with the mounts of white, frothy bubbles. Laying her head against the tub’s edge, she closed her eyes and drifted….

“Mustn’t stay in there too long,” came Picard’s booming voice.

“You’ll get all wrinkled.”

Gasping, Janeway started awake. To her utter shock, Captain Jean-Luc Picard stood in the doorway to the bathing room, a smile on his lips, holding two glasses of wine. He was clad in loose-fitting white pants and a matching shirt that revealed small curls of gray hair. Comfortable-looking slippers adorned his feet.

Intellectually, Janeway knew the mound of bubbles shielded her body from his gaze, but that didn’t matter.

“Captain, this is improper and inappropriate behavior. Please close the door.” Her voice was icy, summoning all the dignity and confidence she could muster. Which, at this terribly awkward moment, wasn’t a lot.

“All right,” he said affably, stepped inside, and closed the door behind him. He stepped toward her, extending a wineglass. “This is a lovely merlot. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

Janeway snatched the nearest towel. Heedless of how wet it would get, she immediately wrapped it around her. “What the hell are you doing? I’m going to report this to Starfleet Command!”

“Oh, no, I don’t think so,” said Picard, leaning against the door and grinning.

“I do,” Janeway stated. Dignity in every movement, she rose, clutching the sopping towel around her, and stepped for the door.

“You’re late again, cadet.”

Janeway blinked. She was no longer standing, naked save for a dripping wet towel, in Captain Picard’s private bathroom, but in the doorway of a classroom. Standing at the desk was Professor Kerrigan, the woman who had become Janeway’s personal b? noir. Janeway stared, first at Kerrigan, then at the sack full of padds she carried, then down at her own smaller, younger body.

“What’s happening?” she whispered.

Kerrigan cleared her throat. The young Janeway looked up at her. “I said, you’re late again, cadet. Do you want to add more homework?”

“S-sir, yes sir. I mean, no sir….”

“Which is it, Janeway? I’ve told you before, just because your father is a notable figure in Starfleet doesn’t mean you’re going to simply ace this class.”

“I—I’m late, yes sir, and no sir, I don’t want to add more homework.”

“Then take your seat.” Kerrigan, all height and muscle and frosty blond hair, returned to her old-fashioned podium while Janeway stared aghast at the array of seats. Familiar faces stared back at her. Eddie Capshaw made his famous rubber face, crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue. She had always thought it terribly immature behavior for a nineteen-year-old cadet, and it seemed even more so seen from her true forty-something perspective.

Which seat was hers? She’d be in for a special project if she kept standing in the doorway like an idiot—

“I’m a starship captain,” she said softly, to herself. But Eddie Capshaw had heard the murmured comment and gaped.

“What was that, cadet?” Kerrigan’s voice cut through her fog.

Fluffy. Where was the little animal? “Barkley. Fluffy,” she called, and the class erupted in laughter.

“Silence!” ordered Kerrigan. The cadets tried to comply, but couldn’t quite manage to completely eliminate a few stray snorts and snickers. “Cadet Janeway, take your seat. Now. And report to me after your classes today. I’ve got something special lined up for your detention.”

At that moment, with a snicking sound of claws on smooth flooring, Fluffy/Barkley skidded around a corner and rushed up to her. Dropping the bag of padds, she scooped the animal up and felt him lick her face. Even though she clasped him to a petite, nineteen-yearold body, the memories of the true years were emblazoned in her mind. Voyager. Chakotay. Tuvok. All the rest of her incredible crew. The journey they had undergone, the losses, the tragedies and victories that had kept them going. That was what was real, was true and important, not this false classroom.

She turned to face Kerrigan. “You’re a petty tyrant, Wendy Kerrigan. You were abusing your power for years before I got here and you’re still doing it even in my imagination.”

Kerrigan straightened to her full, imposing height of nearly six feet. “I hope you like civilian life, Janeway, because you’re about this far from getting yourself expelled.”

“I graduated with honors,” Janeway retorted, warming to the task.

“I have my own command, a crew that’s as loyal and true to the ideals of Starfleet as you are bitter and false to them. I don’t know why I haven’t acted earlier. I’m going to see to it that you’re fired. I’m going to tell them everything. The last thing impressionable young cadets need is someone like you beating all the life and enthusiasm out of them.”

“You may leave, Janeway.” Hate blazed in those eyes. Janeway lifted her chin and stared right back.

“I’ll leave, all right. But I’ll be back. You won’t.”

She turned and—

—stood at the front of the room. Twenty-six faces gazed up at her with rapt attention. Janeway smiled a little, then touched the holographic display unit.

“Who can tell me what this is?”

Twenty-six hands shot up. Janeway picked the shy little girl in the back. “Cadet Anson?”

“That’s a Borg cube,” the girl whispered, barely audible.

“Correct. And what is this?”

It was a loaded question. The image of Seven of Nine appeared, looking the way she had when she was still part of the collective. The bald head, the arrogant gaze, the fit body tightly swathed in black. More hands shot up.

“Cadet Garcia?”

“That’s a Borg,” he replied with confidence.

“You’re right…. and you’re not right. Can anyone tell my why Garcia’s identification is only partially correct?”

Now there were only a few hands. Janeway picked Cadet Bedony. “Yes, Cadet?”

“It’s a Borg, but it’s also your crew member Seven of Nine. Before you liberated her from the collective.”

Janeway smiled. “That’s right.” She touched another button and a holographic Seven of Nine, most of her humanity restored, stood beside the image of her former self. Janeway had to chuckle at the reaction of some of the male cadets, and one or two of the females. Seven of Nine was indeed a strikingly attractive woman. She was almost unrecognizable as the drone she had been. Even though these cadets were familiar with her—who wasn’t? Seven was the biggest celebrity of all of them from the minute they returned home— Janeway wasn’t surprised that most of them had found her unrecognizable.

She continued her talk, showing images of Neelix and Kes, the Hirogen, the Vidiians, the Caatati, the Malons, and several of the other races Voyager had encountered during its amazing trek. Her mind drifted back to the day when she and her entire crew had been feted with a glorious parade in the heart of San Francisco.

Janeway frowned. Something was not right. She could remember the parade, but not preparing for it, nor what had happened afterward. She glanced down at her notes. They were all gibberish scribblings. There was not a single recognizable word on the padd. And beside the podium at which she stood sat a small doglike creature. When it caught her gaze, its tail began to thump happily.

“Barkley,” she whispered.

Hands shot up. She looked up, confused. “What?”

“Reginald Barclay. The one who made contact with you through Pathfinder. He was the one who brought you home.” Cadet M’Benga looked very pleased with herself.

Feeling somewhat dizzy, Janeway looked down at the creature. No, she hadn’t been talking about Reginald. She’d been talking about this creature. Barkley. Fluffy. Tom and Neelix had argued about naming him, and as far as she had heard, they never had decided….

Her hand went to her temple. A vein throbbed there. She tried to concentrate.

“Admiral Janeway?” It was young Cadet Anson, standing beside the podium. Concern was on her face. “Are you all right?” Tentatively, the girl stretched out a hand and placed it on Janeway’s arm.

Janeway, moved by Anson’s gesture, reached to pat that hand. She froze in midmotion.

“You’re not real,” she said, quietly, but with conviction. Cadet Anson stared back at her, her blue eyes wide with confusion and hurt. Slowly, lowering her gaze, the girl withdrew her hand from Janeway’s arm, curling the fingers closed and hiding it behind her back as if ashamed. Her soft cheeks turned fiery red.

“Admiral?” The voice belonged to Cadet M’Benga.

Janeway tore her gaze from Anson to regard M’Benga steadily.

“I’m not an admiral. I’m Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation starship Voyager. We’re still lost in the Delta Quadrant.” As she stated the words, she knew in her heart the truth of them. Her mind knew it, even though the evidence of her eyes might suggest otherwise. She was missing parts of the homecoming parade day because there never had been a homecoming parade, nor even a homecoming.

Fluffy/Barkley barked.

“We were leading a caravan through dangerous space,” she said, continuing to speak aloud. The cadets had fallen silent and now stared at her as if she had gone mad. Which, she supposed, to their way of looking at things, she had.

Except they weren’t real. None of this was real.

“I stepped through a gateway,” she said, her voice growing louder. “With Fluffy. And I’m not here teaching or attending an Academy class, I’m not on the bridge of the Enterprise, I’m on the other side of that gateway and someone is pulling the strings.”

She picked up the dog, felt the reassuring warmth, the thump of its heart.

“I don’t take kindly to being controlled,” she said aloud to whoever was listening. “Show yourself and let us open a dialogue. I don’t know if you’re trying to make me feel more at home or are simply toying with me. Either way, it’s not working. I can see through it.” The cadets disappeared. The room remained. Janeway took a deep breath and strode out the door.

It was the fragrance that registered first. She breathed in the scent of freshly cut grasses, the sweetness of flowers she could identify—apple blossom and roses, honeysuckle and freesia—and some achingly wonderful smells she couldn’t. The light was bright, but her eyes adjusted quickly to behold one of the most tranquil scenes she’d ever had the good fortune to witness.

Green grass, waving in the gentle breeze that had carried the delectable scents to her nose, stretched as far as the eye could see. Over there was the shimmering image of a stream. She could barely hear its happy burbling. And to her right, a large house, surrounded by a white picket fence. Huge oak trees provided shade on a warm summer day, and from one of those oak trees dangled a swing. A porch hosted two rocking chairs and a small table, upon which there was pitcher of what Janeway was willing to bet was icy cold lemonade.

“I’ve been here,” she whispered, but the same heavy sensation that had slowed her true memories to a crawl now clogged her brain. She couldn’t recall it. “Think, Kathryn, think!” she told herself in a harsh whisper. It wasn’t a real place, she knew that much, but it was real, in its own strange way.

A sudden image of a little girl and a white rabbit appeared in her mind. This whole thing reminded her of the famous Lewis Carroll children’s story, and she was most definitely cast in the role of Alice. Where, then, was the white rabbit, the one who had lured her here with the….

The gateway. She remembered now, remembered it all. The gateway was the rabbit hole into this strange, bizarre world, where the most dignified captain in the fleet had made a clumsy pass at her, where she was reduced to being a terrified cadet or elevated to the equally false rank of a hometown hero. The gateway had been real, and whoever was casting these illusions was real. No white rabbit, but a trickster par excellence.

She could identify the place now, though she did not recognize it per se. She was inside the very heart of the Q Continuum.

The door opened and closed with a bang. A little boy rushed out. He was towheaded and tanned, wearing a straw hat, shirt and shorts, suspenders, and nothing on his feet. For all the world, he looked like the classic image of Tom Sawyer. He uttered a delighted, incoherent cry when he saw her, and ran toward her. It was such a happy, living sound that it startled Janeway.

Barkley wriggled furiously in her arms. She struggled to hold on to him, but he leaped down and ran across the green grass to leap into the arms of a small boy. Both fell to the ground, joy writ plain in every movement, every laugh, every wriggle.

She had finally found Fluffy’s master.

“The boy has formed such odd attachments to mortal creatures,” came a voice right beside her that Janeway knew all too well. “Can’t imagine where he gets it.”

Janeway turned around with deliberate slowness to regard the grinning figure of Q.