Mary Wiecek
Excerpts from the journal of Anne Carey
Cobh, County Cork, Ireland
April 2371
It’s been three weeks now, and no word. I can’t help myself—I contact Starfleet several times a day. They have a special commlink set up for the Voyager family members. They’ve been fairly patient about it, but still, no word.
I’m trying to stay optimistic. It’s only been three weeks since Starfleet lost contact with them, after all. They may have had some difficulty finding the Maquis ship that they were pursuing into the Badlands. There may be some problem with their communications. It could be any number of things. Starships don’t just disappear into thin air. They don’t. If the ship had been destroyed, there would be debris, warp residuals, something.
But still, it’s hard. Especially with the kids. At seven, JJ is old enough to realize that something is wrong. He asks a lot of questions that I can’t answer to his satisfaction. Or to mine. Patrick is only four, but he, too, is able to sense the tension in the rest of us.
And there was one awful day last week, when the news reported that debris had been found near Voyager’s last known location in the Badlands. I can’t describe the dread and panic that I felt. I was utterly certain that it would be Voyager. I tried to imagine telling JJ and Patrick that their father would never be coming back. I actually tried to think of the words that I would use. I cried for an hour, sobbing as quietly as I could—the boys were asleep, thank goodness, so they never saw my despair.
It turned out to be debris from a Cardassian vessel. I’m ashamed of how relieved I felt. Or at least I ought to be ashamed.
And that’s just it. Hours of complete despair are followed by increasingly short moments of upbeat certainty. “Of course they’re all right,” I tell myself. “I’m going to feel so ridiculous when this turns out to be nothing.” Some days are easier than others. At times, the day to day trials and tribulations of living with two small boys make me almost forget to worry. Other times, I watch them play, and I can’t even breathe past the lump in my throat.
I’m almost sorry that it’s semester break at the University. If I were teaching, at least I would have something else to focus on for a couple of hours a day. I certainly can’t concentrate on my research right now, so I spend a lot of time at home. Waiting for the comm-channel to sound with news. Waiting for … I don’t know, something. Anything.
The cathedral bells are chiming. Looking out my window, I can just make out the silhouette of the bell tower, down toward the bay, nearly obscured by the early morning fog. This view of the cathedral is the reason that we moved here. St. Colman’s sits at the highest point of the island of Cobh and towers majestically over everything else. Joe and I fell in love with the imposing structure, and the bells. The bells fill me with a sense of hope. This place—Ireland, certainly, but particularly this island—is the very embodiment of hope. For centuries, Cobh was the port of departure for desperate Irish on their way to the promise of the “New World.” And here, where so little has changed over the years, their dreams seem almost a palpable presence. Also, in the First World War, over four hundred years ago, the survivors of the Lusitania were brought here. Here they prayed, and here they contacted their grateful families.
The thought makes me smile, and I hear one of the boys stirring. It’s time to face the day, and wait. And hope. Always hope. He’ll be all right. He has to be.
Cobh, County Cork, Ireland
January 2372
When I got a look at the date this morning, I realized that exactly ten months have gone by. Voyager has been missing for nearly a year. When they first disappeared, I was so optimistic. But as the weeks turned into months, I felt my hope fade day by day. Still, I hadn’t realized that it had been this long. Ten months.
Voyager is slowly fading from the public consciousness. No one talks much about it at all anymore, something that either infuriates me, or makes me feel resigned, depending on my mood. Starfleet hasn’t officially abandoned the search, but I don’t think that there is much else that they can do. They’ve sent numerous ships into the Badlands, but they have found nothing. The ship is never mentioned on the news anymore.
Actually, the big story in the news this week is the dedication of the Enterprise-E. It’s ironic. Joe turned down a posting on the Enterprise to join Voyager. I was stunned. I was sure he would jump at the chance to serve on the Enterprise, but he said that he’d rather serve on a new ship, and a smaller one—that it would be easier for him to work his way up. Also, as an engineer, he wanted to be on a ship that had the state-of-the-art bioneural circuitry. And he’d heard good things about Captain Janeway. That she was a brilliant engineer herself. That she was more accessible than most captains.
I never got a chance to meet her. The few times that I saw her on the news, however, I have to say that I was impressed. She was outgoing, attractive, articulate, and polished. She seemed tough, but there was also a sparkle in her eye. A warmth. I can’t help but think that a woman like that would not be easily defeated by whatever the Badlands or the Maquis threw at her.
But it’s been ten months now. And even I can’t believe anymore that Voyager is going to miraculously reappear. Superficially, our lives have gone on. I’m back at the University. The boys are back in school. The holidays have come and gone. We’re busy, but there is an incredible … void … in our lives.
There are times when I’m so angry with him. For leaving me alone. For not being here to help me raise our sons. I know it’s irrational and that it’s not his fault, but I’m angry just the same. I miss him fiercely. His laughter. His touch. His companionship—even when he was away, he was always involved in what was going on around here.
I wish that I had him here to help me through this. Isn’t that absurd? But the boys … I don’t know what to do about them. Having a father missing with Voyager has given JJ some amount of notoriety in the second grade. But it’s not exactly the kind of attention he wants. And, of course, kids can be cruel. Some of the things they’ve said to him … well, he is angry and withdrawn, and I can’t blame him. And Patrick, Patrick’s just gotten very quiet. I think it may be time for all of us to get some counseling.
Now when I hear the cathedral bells, they just sound hollow. And it’s winter, and the sun has not shone here in three weeks. The bleakness of the sky, and the season, just seems to mirror my mood. And there’s not even any closure.
I just need to know. One way or another.
Starfleet Headquarters, San Francisco, California
February 2373
The memorial service for Voyager’s crew was today. I think it’s ludicrous that they waited so long to declare them missing and presumed dead. Voyager disappeared almost two years ago. I know that Starfleet has had other things on its mind—the Changeling scare, the Borg Threat, the war with the Dominion—but two years was an awfully long time to keep stringing us along. Well, recently there’s been a lull in the hostilities, and I guess they’ve had time to exhaust all possibilities. They finally realized that they could no longer put off the inevitable.
I recognized some of the people there. I’ve seen interviews with Gretchen Janeway before, the captain’s mother, and she was there in the front row, along with a woman who could only have been Captain Janeway’s sister—there was a strong family resemblance. A handsome middle-aged man was with them as well, and I’m not sure now if the Captain was married, or what, but he seemed to be someone of significance. They looked solemn and disturbed. Well, I suppose we all did.
Everyone knows Admiral Owen Paris from his high-profile involvement with the Dominion conflict. He was there, looking grimmer than usual. I’d heard that his son was on board, although I’m not sure why. I also recognized some of the spouses of Joe’s crewmates. People that I had met briefly, years ago, under much happier circumstances. I barely know any of them, but still we cling to each other—exchange stories, and comm-line links. We form a strange family now—the ones left behind.
There were many others there, of course, whom I did not recognize. But I knew the look in their eyes. That haunted, frustrated look that I see reflected in my own eyes when I look in the mirror. There was an older Asian couple sitting next to JJ, Patrick, and me in the third row. They sat holding hands, just enveloped in sorrow. Their only child, they told me—an ensign, I think. I was as sorry for them as I was for the boys and myself.
I held out hope longer than most, but as months turned into years, I was finally forced to accept that Joe was not coming back. I tried to hold on—I’m not half-Irish for nothing, after all. We pride ourselves in our ability to keep the faith, and persevere against the odds. But eventually, reality had to prevail. My false hope was not going to help the boys.
It’s so hard, though. I miss him so much, and being a single parent is so much harder than I could have imagined. JJ is nearly ten now, and he’s slimmed down and his hair has gotten darker—he looks very much like his father. It startles me sometimes. Makes me sad, but also comforts me, in a strange way.
After the service, there was a reception. From what I heard, I gather that a lot of people have moved on—several are already planning to remarry. After my one disastrous “date,” it’s clear to me that I’m just not ready for any of that. I guess that I’m just too preoccupied with work and the boys and finding a balance in this life that was turned upside down. And there is a small part of me that just can’t make the final break until I am completely certain. I know it’s not practical, I will probably never know what happened to Joe and that ship, but it feels wrong, somehow, to move on just yet.
I think this memorial service was intended to bring us some closure. As far as I’m concerned, though, I’ll never have any closure. It’s brutally unfair not to know what actually happened to them. It’s so hard to accept that they are irrevocably lost, not without proof. Joe always told me that I was an eternal optimist, and I suppose that’s true. Right now, though, that spark of hope has become something of a handicap.
I know that Joe would want me to move on. But I just can’t.
Starfleet Headquarters: San Francisco, California
June 2375
Oh God, they’re alive! He’s alive! I can’t believe it! The news came in the middle of the night and I got to a transport station first thing this morning to beam over. I have to be here! I want to get the information as it’s released!
I don’t know all the details yet, but apparently Voyager is trapped in the Delta Quadrant, of all places. An alien called the “Caretaker,” I think, somehow transported them seventy thousand light-years from home. They’ve only now been able to contact Starfleet, by sending their emergency medical hologram’s program along some sort of relay network. The story gets confusing here, because the program materialized on an experimental Starfleet ship that had been taken over by Romulans.
It’s absolute chaos here at HQ. Clearly Starfleet doesn’t want to release much information about the experimental ship, which I think is back in Starfleet hands, yet the news about Voyager is something that cannot be suppressed, I think they’ve been getting information to us as quickly as they can, but it’s so incredibly frustrating! I want to know everything! Right now!
Where to begin? First of all, they’ve already told us that the information that they’ve received is limited—mostly medical logs from the EMH, who is now acting as the CMO. And obviously it’s not all good news. One of the first things released was a very sobering list of those killed in the line of duty. I read through those names with my heart in my throat … Bennet, Carrington, Cavitt. He wasn’t there! I found his name on the active roster—Lieutenant Joseph M. Carey, engineering. I cried for ten straight minutes, then felt awful when I saw Marie Cavitt walk by, also crying, but for a different reason. So many have been lost.
A few crew members have been gained, as well. Apparently, when the ship was pulled into the Delta Quadrant, they found the Maquis ship that they were supposed to apprehend. The two ships banded together, but the Maquis ship was destroyed while protecting Voyager in a battle. Now the crews have been combined under Captain Janeway—and she made the Maquis captain her first officer. I wonder what Starfleet thinks of that—most of the Maquis are still in prison.
Apparently, they’ve also picked up some Delta Quadrant natives: a Talaxian, and an Ocampa, whatever they are, and, most recently, a Borg that they liberated from the collective! Liberated—what does that mean, exactly? I didn’t even think that was possible …
In the statistical personnel information released today, I noticed that there have been only two marriages (neither of them involving Joe—I checked), and just one birth, and that child was already conceived when the ship left the Alpha Quadrant. I wonder a little about that. It’s been over three years—you would think that people would be pairing off more by now. Are they so unhappy? But then, it must be strange for them—knowing that they’ve left lives and people behind. How long do you wait? How do you decide when it’s time to move on? It’s similar to the quandary we at home have faced, except that they had the advantage, if you can call it that, of knowing that we were all alive and well.
It’s a quandary, actually, that we all still face. Voyager is still 55,000 light-years away, and looking at another 55 years of travel through unknown space to get back home.
I know it’s naïve and overly optimistic of me—Joe would be rolling his eyes and laughing—but I just have a feeling that it is not going to take that long. Not with Captain Janeway in command—that woman amazes me! Combining those crews was a brilliant move, to begin with. And she actually made an alliance with the Borg—I mean, can you imagine? They’ve traveled over 15,000 light-years in only three years! If she can keep that up, they’ll be home in a little over eleven years! And if she can find a few extra shortcuts … Well, it’s pointless to speculate, I suppose. But I just know it won’t take another 55 years.
They assured us that more detailed information will be released tomorrow. My mind is racing and I can’t seem to sit still! How will I ever sleep?
Starfleet Headquarters, San Francisco, California
May 2375
Piecing together information on any one individual from the medical logs is like trying to interpret ancient hieroglyphics. But we are fortunate in one respect—the ship’s EMH, oddly enough, seems to be fond of gossip! Or, as one Starfleet spokesman said, he “has included information in his official logs that is of questionable relevance, but is useful nonetheless.” Well, that may be, but I’m grateful for it. It helps me to know a little of what Joe’s life has been like in the years that we’ve been apart.
The first couple of years of the journey were quite busy for Joe. In fact, in the very first week in the Delta Quadrant, he wound up in sickbay with a broken nose. Apparently, one of the Maquis engineers hauled off and slugged him! It was a woman called B’Elanna Torres, and he now serves under her—she is the Chief Engineer! I can’t help but wonder about that. After all, Joe was the ranking Starfleet officer left in engineering after this “Caretaker” abducted them. I mean, I know that Joe was nowhere near qualified to become chief engineer under normal circumstances, but this Torres person hadn’t even made it through the Academy. And punching people isn’t exactly acceptable Starfleet procedure. Perhaps it was a political decision. Maybe the captain had to put some Maquis into positions of authority to secure their cooperation.
But who knows what really happened. The ship still seems to be in one piece, so perhaps Torres was qualified after all. There are no further reports of her punching people, so I guess that was an isolated incident. I hate to say it, but Joe just might have provoked her. He can be awfully arrogant. And I have to admit there have been times when I wished that I could punch him too! I’m sure that once she settled in and Joe calmed down some, they got along just fine. Joe’s a good person, and a consummate professional. And in a way, maybe it’s good that Joe won’t have to deal with the pressure and stress of being a department head.
There was more trouble for Joe in those early days. He and another one of the engineers, an Ensign Seska, were both suspects when it was discovered that someone had been giving Federation technology to an alien species. Eventually, Joe was exonerated when the EMH discovered that Seska was actually a Cardassian who had infiltrated the Maquis ship. But I can imagine how angry Joe must have been to be considered a suspect. And how hurt.
I wish that I could hear all of Joe’s stories—so much has happened to him. Engineering, for some reason, seems to have a disproportionate number of Maquis personnel. It may only be because that’s where many of the fatalities occurred in the initial incident, and that’s where there were the most slots to fill. Or perhaps it’s just a reflection of the qualifications of the Maquis. In any case, engineering has certainly been a turbulent place. In addition to the Seska incident, there was also a murder. One of the Maquis engineers, an Ensign Suder, murdered one of the Starfleet engineering crewmen in a pathological rage. Good God, an actual murder! What kind of place is that? It could have been Joe!
There was another violent death in engineering as well. Ensign Jonas, I think, was thrown into a plasma field in a struggle with the Talaxian I mentioned. Apparently, the ensign had been exposed for making a traitorous alliance with Seska. Flaring tempers, intrigue, murder … never a dull moment in engineering. Why couldn’t Joe be mapping stars in stellar cartography, or something?
Apparently, things have settled down in engineering now, but the ship itself has had quite an eventful three years. It’s hard to believe that so much could happen to one ship in so short a time. Voyager was commandeered twice, the crew exiled, and they’ve run into one hostile species after another. I lost count of how many times they’ve gone into battle! The entire crew was nearly killed by some kind of “macrovirus” that swept through the ship. And then they ran into something called “Species 8472.” Janeway considered them so much of a threat that she formed an alliance with the Borg to defeat them—the Borg! What could be bad enough to warrant that?
It’s so frightening. They’re completely alone out there. I pray that Starfleet can find a way to help them somehow.
There’s very little information about Joe in the more recent medical logs, and it’s enormously frustrating. I know that we were lucky to get any information at all, but I want to know so much more. I’m forced to rely on the nonconfidential sections from the medical logs of other crew members to garner information. For example, there is a mention of someone spraining an ankle, which the EMH noted, was the ship’s first “talent night injury.” Now that is a useful bit of information! They have talent nights? How wonderful! But I hope to God that Joe hasn’t played “Toora Loora Loora” on his armpits in front of the entire crew. I know the kids find it hilarious, but surely he wouldn’t … Oh, he might at that! Ah well, as long as he’s happy, I guess.
I do hope that he is happy. I like to think that he is finding time for recreation and for the things that bring him joy. The doctor’s logs also mention parties, and luaus, and skiing excursions on the holodeck. It seems as though, despite the lack of marriages, a strong sense of community has developed among the crew, and that’s comforting.
And that brings me to the one thing that the doctor’s logs aren’t going to tell me—the one thing that I most want to know. Has Joe found someone else? Had he given up on ever getting home? I know he wouldn’t betray me if he thought there was any hope, but surely he’s been discouraged, and lonely, as I have been. But then, I haven’t moved on. I never gave up on him. Did he give up on me? I really need to know …
I’m trying not to speculate, even if it’s all that I can do. I’ll just have to hope for the best, and content myself with the knowledge that he is alive and well, and that he is serving with a captain who seems determined to persevere and get that ship home.
I just wish that I could get a message to him. There’s so much that I want to say.
Cobh, County Cork, Ireland
June 2375
Starfleet has found a way to send a message back through the same communications network that the EMH program came through. They’ve given all immediate family members an opportunity to send a brief message—and they’re going to make the attempt tomorrow. That doesn’t give me much time!
I sent the boys next door and made myself some tea, but now I’m just sitting here with my thoughts in a jumble. What do I even want from him? An indefinite commitment? Is that fair—for either of us?
Perhaps I should be practical and realistic about this. They’re still so far away, and there certainly isn’t any guarantee that they’ll find any short cuts. I can’t put my life on hold forever, and it’s unfair to expect him to, either. Perhaps the most reasonable thing to do would be to release him. I love him, and I want him to be happy.
But … I want him to be happy here, with me. With us. I just don’t know what to do …
And now it’s five o’clock and the cathedral bells are ringing, flooding me with longing and hope. I just know that they’ll find a way. I’m sure of it. And now I know what I’m going to say.
I just wish that I could talk to him—actually talk to him. I’d give almost anything to hear his voice, just once.
Stardate: 51501.4
My wait is finally over—one of the letters was mine! I’ve heard from Annie! Her message, it’s … God, it’s wonderful! It’s exactly what I wanted to hear!
Dearest Joe,
Since we found out that you are alive, I have been beside myself with joy, and the boys can’t stop grinning. I can’t begin to tell you how much we miss you. We talk about you often, wondering about your day. The children have grown so much, you wouldn’t … well, of course you would recognize them, especially JJ—he looks exactly like you. Patrick has been making up outrageous stories about your adventures and regaling us with them at bedtime. You have saved the ship dozens of times, haven’t you?
There is so much that I wish I could tell you. We’re doing fine—all of us, as are your parents. Your father’s health had been a bit shaky, but the news of Voyager seems to have rejuvenated him. They both send their love, of course.
I’m still with the University—and I’m up for tenure, a year early. Last year, I was offered a position at Oxford, but I turned it down. I couldn’t leave Cobh, and this house that was so full of memories of you. Now, I’m glad that we stayed.
I’ve not moved on, Joe. I can’t say that I never lost hope, but as long as there was any question … I just couldn’t bring myself to give up on you. And I know that you’ll say that I’m being hopelessly optimistic, but I still believe in my heart that you’ll be coming home to us—maybe not tomorrow, but soon. So I want you to know that I’ll be waiting for you. For as long as I can foresee right now.
We’ll have to use our judgment, of course. If years and years go by—five … ten … twelve—then perhaps it would be right for us to move on. I don’t want you to spend a lifetime lonely and unhappy, and I know that you don’t want that for me either. But for now, know that I am still here for you.
I do hope that Voyager and Starfleet will be able to use these relay stations indefinitely. To be in regular contact with you would be wonderful. And I’d love to be able to send you images of the children. But for now, I’ll try to be grateful for the knowledge that you are alive, and that Voyager is trying to find its way home.
I love you, Joe, always. Come home soon.
Yours,
Annie
* * *
My head’s been in a fog ever since I read it. I hadn’t dared to hope … But I should have known. Annie is so strong. She has always been unflaggingly optimistic, and a hopeless romantic. It used to drive me crazy, but not now! I should have known that she would still be waiting.
Until I got the message, the whole day had been off-kilter. The mood in engineering has been grim. Something happened to the Maquis. I can only speculate, but I know that Commander Chakotay met with them in the morning, and now they’re all—well, sad and angry and preoccupied. I offered to take Torres’s shift, but she just shook her head and said something about needing to be busy. I wound up taking Ayala’s shift instead—he looked like he was ready to explode. Something happened. They’ll tell the rest of us when they’re ready.
None of them even looked up when Neelix bustled into engineering with a padd. Vorik looked, though—I saw him do it. He pretends to be Vulcan stoic about it all, but he wants a letter from home as much as anyone else. But this time, Neelix looked right at me and smiled, and I knew. I should have shown more restraint, but I sat down on the deck right by my station and read the message straightaway, once I could stop my hand from shaking long enough to activate it.
I don’t know how long I sat there after I read it, and I don’t remember when I started crying (on duty, no less), but when I looked up I saw that Neelix was still there, and that he’d knelt down beside me with a sympathetic expression on his face. He asked if I was all right, and I was still crying, but I was laughing, too, when I assured him that it was exactly the news that I’d been hoping for. I tried to pull myself together and start acting professional, but then Torres came over, smiling kind of sadly. She told me that she was really happy for me. She really seemed to mean it, too.
She ordered me to “knock off early,” which was probably sensible. She had to know that I’d be worse than useless for the rest of the shift.
So now I’m rattling around in my empty quarters, clutching a four-year-old picture of my wife and sons. I don’t know how I feel. I’m overjoyed and relieved to know that Annie and the boys know I’m alive and are still there for me. But at the same time … I don’t know. We’re still so far from home. When will I ever see them again?
I hope we can find a way to keep that array intact. There’s so much I want to tell her—that I didn’t move on, that I miss her and the boys desperately, that I love them …
I just wish there were a way for me to talk to her, even briefly. I’d give almost anything to hear the sound of her voice.
I don’t know what to do with myself … I feel so restless. I don’t really want to be alone, yet I don’t want to talk to anyone right now, either. Not about this.
I’ve got it! I just checked, and I can get into holodeck two in twenty minutes. I’ll run my Cobh program. I’ve only used it twice since we’ve been out here—I found the memories there too depressing. But now I think it’s exactly what I need. I’ll sit on the porch and watch the fog roll in—if I close my eyes, maybe I’ll actually be able to feel Annie’s hand on my shoulder, and hear the boys’ laughter. I’ll set the program for five o’clock, so I can hear the cathedral bells chime.
I love those bells—they’ve always filled me with a sense of hope. I know I’ll be with Annie, and the boys, again.