Disclaimer: Paramount Pictures owns Star Trek, Tom Paris, Kathryn Janeway, Harry Kim, Chakotay, Tuvok, Kes, Telek R'Mor and B'Elanna Torres. No copyright infringement is intended. The story however is mine.

Author's notes: Although I've been watching Voyager off and on since its debut, I've only become immersed in it within the past month and a half. Recently I rewatched the first half dozen or so episodes from Season One, and found myself intrigued by the premise of Eye of the Needle. I began wondering what kind of messages the crew would have sent via the Romulan commander R'Mor. If anyone else has used this idea, I'm not aware of it. Any errors in continuity or canon are mine. (Anybody know any good Romulan curses? I couldn't remember any, so I made one up.)

Feedback is appreciated -- I consider this a work in progress. This is my first post here and my first Voyager story, so please be gentle! If anyone's interested in seeing me continue this, let me know. I've already got several other parts in the works. Send roses or brickbats to redshoes@ix.netcom.com.

Dedicated to Perri, who gave me my first introduction to Voyager fanfic and for lighting the Parisian spark, and to Melody, Mary, Tiz, Pam and Cathie for fanning the flames. Kung Pao, baby!

Letters from the Delta Quadrant Part 1

by Katherine Fritz
(redshoes@ix.netcom.com)

The Romulan commander looked with disgust at the small data chip. "Where in the seven hells did this really come from, and why is it messing up my life now?" He picked it up, threw it in a reader slot, activated it long enough to read a line, then angrily hit the eject button. "K'rath! I don't have time to deal with this!"

He thought back to the young Romulan civilians who had brought him the recordings, with the ludicrous story that their father Telek R'Mor, who had died four years before, had 20 years previously made contact with a Federation ship through a collapsing wormhole into the Delta Quadrant. And they claimed that their father had sworn to the captain of that ship that he would do his best to see that the messages were passed on to Starfleet. A Federation ship. The Delta Quadrant. Gods above.

Not to mention that at the time of the alleged encounter, the supposed Federation ship claimed to be from 20 years in the future. It gave him a headache just thinking about the time paradoxes. He rolled his eyes, thinking of how he had rid himself of the two young Romulans. Still, they had insisted upon his help in getting the messages to Starfleet and left him with the data recording. He still wasn't sure how he had held onto his temper throughout the preposterous interview. They had been most persistent.

He sighed. He supposed that he had to at least bring the recordings to the attention of his superior officer. Pass the headache on. Yes, that was a good plan. Perhaps I should read it all. Be prepared for the inevitable questions about the ridiculous thing. He picked up the chip and stared at it as it lay on his palm. After a moment, he sighed again heavily, shoved it into the slot and began -- gods have mercy on me -- to read.

Dear Dad:

If they'd asked me a few months ago if I wanted the opportunity to send a message to you, I think I probably would have laughed in their faces. It must be some measure of how I have changed that I wanted to do so now.

I don't know how much you know about what led me to be here, and I don't know how much you'll ever know -- I guess if you're reading this, you'll have some idea. The last time I saw you was at my court-martial, the day you disowned me. I suppose you know what happened next, or at least the bare outlines -- that I joined the Maquis, got captured on my first mission and sent to New Zealand Penal Settlement. I don't know exactly what made me do it -- I wasn't thinking very clearly at the time. All I know is that I was desperate to fly again, and the Maquis were desperate for pilots.

But I guess I was never destined to be an outlaw. What a laugh: I joined up so I could fly again, and maybe in some way deep down to let you know how much your disapproval didn't matter to me. After all, how much more disgrace could I heap on the family name after the court-martial but to join the Maquis? And I knew how much you would disapprove of the Maquis. Of course, the joke was on me when I got caught just a few weeks after I joined up, and they threw the book at me and threw my ass in jail.

Prison was bad, though not so bad that I couldn't survive it. I think it was the first time in my life that it didn't matter that I was an admiral's son. In that sense, I guess, it was good for me. I don't think I'll tell you anything else about prison now. If I ever get back to the Alpha Quadrant, I'll tell you then. Maybe. So let's just say it was bad. and leave it at that.

Then Captain Janeway came for me. She told me she served with you aboard the Al-Batani. I made some flip remark that she must be good, because you only accept the best and the brightest. She let that pass without comment. Thing is, I know now that she is good. The best. I hope you knew that then. If not...well, now you know.

Anyway, she made me an offer I could hardly refuse, though I didn't tell her that. She probably knew, though. I'm sure she saw right through me when I asked her what was in it for me. I would have done just about anything to get out of prison.

So she took me aboard Voyager as an observer, as their guide to capture a missing Maquis ship. Not that I could tell them a whole lot -- it wasn't like I'd been with the Maquis long enough to learn much of anything about their operations. Well, the long and short of it is that she ended up giving me another chance -- she gave me a field commission of lieutenant and made me the conn officer and chief pilot of Voyager. Some joke, huh? I can see you rolling your eyes.

Funny thing is, the joke was on all of us. All of us except Captain Janeway, maybe. She gave me back my life and showed me how to be responsible without making me feel like the eternal screw-up. She believed in me -- she made me believe in myself. I will always owe her for that. This may sound strange to you -- it does to me, even as I reread it -- but because she gave me my life back, I would give mine for hers. Yeah. I would do that, if she asked me. Or even if she didn't. Not that I expect it would ever come to that, but there it is.

Here's something else I need to tell you: I used to hate you, Dad. I really did. I guess you must have known that on some level. Maybe that's why you decided to wash your hands of me after the court-martial.

I know it was hard on you, raising such an ungrateful child. I know I acted like an ungrateful child, long after I was no longer a child. But I want to tell you how hard it was trying to live up to your expectations. I don't think I can ever once remember you telling me I'd done anything right. You always found fault in some way. Did your father treat you that way? I wonder sometimes. But even if he did, you managed to rise to the occasion and make something of yourself. Living up to the Paris tradition by becoming a distinguished member of Starfleet, an admiral. I guess I must have been a huge disappointment to you.

I suppose it's no wonder. In comparison, I know I must have looked pretty bad to that long line of illustrious Starfleet Parises. I'm sorry that I couldn't give you what you wanted.

You see, all my life the only thing I ever wanted to do was fly. It was the only thing I was ever really any good at. I lived for it -- when I was flying, I was free. Free of the pressure of being a Paris. Free of you and your disapproval. Free of my own fears. After Caldik Prime, after the Maquis, when I ended up at Auckland, that was what hurt me the most -- not being able to fly. Thinking I would never fly again. I was dying inside. And the first time I laid eyes on Voyager, I think, is when it finally hit home what a hash I'd made of my life. As soon as I saw that ship, I wanted to fly her, and I knew I'd never get the chance. That was a knife in the gut that I can still feel, especially knowing I was responsible for the wound because of what I'd done.

Do you have any idea how hard it was to grow up with you as a father? You're an exceptionally tough act to follow. Maybe I just never really wanted to be an admiral, I dunno. I don't hate you anymore, though. Another clue that I've changed, huh? Not that I think we would ever be bosom pals. Sorry.

And I have to say now that, in some strange way, I'm not sorry I turned out the way I have, and that I made the choices I did. I wouldn't be the person I am now, otherwise, and I'm finally learning to live with that person. Of course, who I am is not the person you wanted me to be, and there's not a lot I can do about that. You know, I didn't even know what the problem was until I came to the Delta Quadrant and Captain Janeway gave me another chance to figure it out. I'm pretty sure now that it's -- fear. Or to be more precise, fear of failure.

Ha. I guess that must sound pretty dumb, considering how often I failed in your eyes. It's true, though. I wasn't afraid of you, or of succeeding -- I was afraid of failure. Trouble was, the idea of success was so much more foreign to me that I become self-destructive. I was sabotaging myself, setting myself up to fail over and over again. You see, as much as I was afraid of failure, I knew how to deal with it, because it was familiar territory. Success was the great unknown, and I didn't know how to deal with the unknown. It was easier to retreat to a place that I knew intimately. And believe me, I was intimately familiar with dealing with failure. It was almost a drug how I sought it, failure. I think now that I've finally kicked the failure habit.

Yeah, I really have. You know what I live for now? Making people proud of me. People like Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay and B'Elanna Torres and Kes and Harry Kim.

Have I mentioned Harry? This'll hand you a laugh for sure, Dad: Ensign Harry Kim, Starfleet through-and-through, straight-and-narrow, by-the-book, bleeds Federation blue -- and he looks up to me. Me -- Mr. Screw-up Admiral's Son Gone Bad himself.

I can just see you shaking your head. Well, you know, sometimes I shake my head, too. How'd that happen, I'm sure you're asking. It didn't take much, believe it or not -- I saved him from the clutches of a Ferengi about to take him for all he was worth. Not that it takes much to expose a Ferengi souvenir scam, for gods' sake. Seems like that was all it took, though. Harry must have been the only person in the galaxy who didn't know who I was, though -- when a couple of helpful shipmates on the Voyager clued him in on Caldik Prime, he just asked me if it was true. I told him it was. He asked me why, I said what's the difference, I lied. I told him I knew he'd been warned to stay away from me, told him he should listen to them, that I wasn't much of a good-luck charm anyway. Know what he said? "Nobody chooses my friends for me." That Harry. Gotta love him.

Guess what else, Dad? I've got friends here. Yeah, really. Harry was the first, but he wasn't the last. Real friends, not like some of those lowlifes I used to hang out with, not sycophants trying to suck up to the admiral's son, not trophy friends who wouldn't hang around if their parents or you hadn't had some political motive in mind. It's nice. Real nice.

So it's ironic -- here we are stuck out in the Delta Quadrant, and I'm probably the only one who really doesn't want to go home. I wish I wanted to go home, so I'd be in sync with the rest of the crew, but the truth is that I really don't. I've found a place here, made a mark, found my niche, and it feels like home to me.

So maybe I'll see you again sometime, but I have to tell you, I really hope I don't. I've found myself, found my freedom, and I'd just as soon keep it, thank you very much.

Sorry about that, Dad.

Tom

End Part 1

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