Chapter 1: Year One

Chief Helmsman of Voyager's Personal Logs

Exerpts from the Personal Logs of Thomas Paris in the Delta Quadrant

by jamelia

Introduction by Admiral Miral Paris-Riker (ret.)

Over the years, many people have begged my family to publish the personal logs recorded by my parents from 2371 to 2378, during USS Voyager'sepic journey through the Delta Quadrant. While my parents still lived, neither had any desire to prepare their logs for publication. My father always said his holonovels spoke well enough for him. My mother ridiculed the very idea anyone would want to bother to read her logs. "I'm an engineer," she always said, "not an author. I leave that sort of nonsense to your father."

After our parents' passing, my brothers John and Owen, and my sister Kathryn and I, met and discussed what we should do, as our parents bequeathed all of their papers to us jointly. By the terms of their wills, we had to reach a consensus or do nothing with them at all.

We were inclined to follow their lead for several reasons. One, it was simply easier. There was just so darn much material to wade through. None of us was willing to take on the job. Since many members of Voyager's crew had published memoirs over the years, with our parents prominently featured in all of them, there seemed to be little need. Besides, even this long after Voyager's return to the Alpha Quadrant, some of the material contained in the logs is classified. And finally, the huge elephant in the room: we were sure they would need extensive editing because their active sex lives were bound to be a prominent feature.

No child really wants to think about his or her parents' sex lives. We look around, we see how many children in the family, and we know our parents had sex at least that many times during their marriage. While we know it isn't likely to be the only times our parents indulged, we prefer not to contemplate how many other times, let alone learn any of the details.

With my parents, once we were old enough to know what sex was, that preference simply was not an option. I do not wish to convey the idea that my parents were ever inappropriate in front of their children. Far from it. However, they took such obvious joy in being together, we really couldn't miss the evidence. My mother was half-Klingon, and my father tried to encourage her to explore that side of herself - with him - as often as possible.

I remember when I was about 5 or 6 years old. I asked my father if I could come and play with them instead of going to my own bed, because it sounded like they were having a lot of fun. Kathryn was too little to play with (she was barely a year old at the time). He said no, I was too young for that sort of game. I asked him how old I would have to be before I could play games like they did. His answer: "Oh, about thirty."

When, like most children, my school friends clued me into the Big Mystery, I immediately understood what sorts of games my parents played at night (and sometimes at other times of the day, when they thought they were alone), marked by the thumps of heavy objects bouncing off of the walls; the sound of the dermal regenerator that my father used so frequently in the morning before shaving; my mother cleaning up a broken piece of pottery, humming cheerfully. (If one of us ever broke anything, she gave us a stern lecture to be more careful around fragile objects and then forced us to clean up the mess ourselves.)

When we finally read their logs, we found our expectation in regards to the probability of their sexual content was not ill-founded. My mother had the regrettable tendency to forget to stop recording before they began activities rather more personal than most personal logs contain. My father's logs included very frank self-appraisals of his own bad behavior habits, especially during the early days (and sometimes he forgot to end the recording when heavy objects started to get thrown, too).

So we came to a consensus. We agreed not to publish them.

And then that obnoxious book came out, purporting to be my father's logs. "The Voyager Logs of Thomas E. Paris" is a total fabrication, not to mention character assassination of the worst order. My siblings and I forced ourselves to read through it in order to compare it with the genuine article. I can state unequivocally, and my brothers and sister will back me on this, that not one of those "logs" was dictated or written by my father. The style is inconsistent with the very individual "voice" he used when he dictated or wrote his logs. We have his true logs describing many of the same incidents, and they are totally different from what this counterfeit version alleges. The most scurrilous sections came word for word from the memoirs of crew mates, but all of them were taken from their recollections of my father during the first year or so of the journey. In later sections of their memoirs, after they got to know him, they repudiated these earlier perceptions as being inaccurate depictions of my father's character. None of these clarifications made it into "The Voyager Logs" text.

My father himself admitted that much of the first year, and into the second, he acted very badly (my mother would always mutter "total pig" whenever the subject came up). He said he didn't like himself very much at the time. Because he felt tremendous guilt over the accident that took the lives of his friends at Caldik Prime, as well as shame about ducking responsibility right after it happened, in his own eyes he had been a total failure. He tried to cover up his feelings of inadequacy by acting like he didn't care. It took quite a while for the others on the ship to realize not only that he really did care a very great deal, but that he was prepared to sacrifice his life, if necessary, to save the lives of his crew mates. From some of the events, in fact, I believe it's a miracle he lived long enough to father any of us.

The worst accusations, however, had to do with the assertion he married my mother because he wanted a regular sexual partner; and since he had already dated everyone else on Voyager, she was the only one left. According to that book, he had to "make do" with her.

If my family ever discovers who wrote those logs, we will sue for libel. My father was as devoted to my mother as she was to him. During the memorial service for her, he confided to my husband and me that he was ready to go any time, because my mother told him she had no intention of going into Sto-Vo-Kor without him, so he'd better not be late. He died less than six weeks after she did. We are all convinced it was of a broken heart.

Because of the popularity of this bastardization of my father's life, however, my family finally determined it was worth the time to sift through the actual logs and publish what we could. It has taken me almost three years of full time work, since my own retirement from Starfleet, to edit this material.

I have been asked by many to publish my own memoirs. After this experience, my answer will always be, "Not a chance." Anyone wishing to read a biography of my life will have to nag my son Thomas or my daughter Kiara for one. I'm never going to do this again.

I must give convey all my love, thanks, and gratitude to my husband Thomas Riker for his patience, support, and fact checking. Since log entries often had to be made some time after a crisis had ended, the Stardates do not always accurately reflect of the timing of the events described. His willingness to do research to check on facts like this to enable us to correct what we could prior to the publication of this volume was invaluable. I also must thank my sister Kathryn Paris Reed and my brothers John and Owen Paris and their families for contributing their time, energy, and recollections so that these logs can be made available to you.

Especially, I thank my parents B'Elanna Torres and Thomas Eugene Paris for being the best, most loving parents ever.

We miss you all the time, Mom and Dad. With any luck, we'll see you both in Sto-Vo-Kor someday.

-Miral Paris Riker

San Francisco, Earth, November 8, 2458

Year One:

Personal Log, Thomas Eugene Paris, aboard U.S.S. Voyager, Stardate 48315.6

How's this for a kick. Thomas Eugene Paris, making a personal log entry on a Starfleet vessel. Ha! I'd better not get used to it. Captain Janeway's made it oh, so very clear that this is going to be a very short trip. A little vacation from my comfortable digs in New Zealand. She said if I helped find the Maquis vessel that had gone missing, I'd get a good recommendation at my next review. Right.

A protégée of my father's is certainly going to just love what Tommy Paris has to offer. Especially when it's exactly nothing.

I keep telling the Feds I don't know anything, and they don't believe me. The Maquis are long gone from Malagra, I know that. All the Maquis. I can't help them. But at least I'm free, for as long as it lasts. It may only be a few weeks before I'm back in Auckland, but I'll enjoy it as long as I can. With luck, at least I'll get laid.

On the shuttle ride to Deep Space Nine from the transport, I thought I had a shot with Lieutenant Stadi. I always thought that Betazoids didn't read your minds unless you said it was okay. One of the rules of being a good little telepath. I think she broke the rules there, for a moment. Or maybe I did come on a little too strong. Hell, she's the first woman I've had a crack at since . . . well, since I got stashed into prison.

Janeway really was pretty cordial to me, though, I have to admit. Not like Cavit and the doctor. Fitzgerald? Yeah, I think that's the doctor's name. I can do without those two, with their snide remarks. Harry - Harry Kim - asked me why they were freezing me out, and I told him I was tired of telling the story. I don't figure I need to bother. It's only a matter of time before they fill in the kid on my glorious career.

Not long at all.

Harry's a good kid, even if he is naive. That Ferengi was going to skin him for every credit he possessed! I actually enjoyed hanging out with him. Too bad it isn't going to last. It was almost like back on the Exeter. Before it all went so bad.

Anyway, we headed out of DS9 a few hours ago and we're headed for the Badlands to see if we can find my good old friend Chakotay and his lovely consort Seska. And whoever else is with him.

Chakotay, I could give a rat's ass about turning in. He always thought I was a damned spy anyway. Seska is undeniably one of the worst c . . . no, I'm not going to use that word any more, even in a personal log. I promised myself I wouldn't think that way again, not act like such a jerk any more. Let me just say that throwing that bitch Seska's ass in jail would be a pleasure. Almost worth going back to jail myself. But . . . .

Oh, God, please, let Laren not be with them anymore.

End Personal Log

Personal Log, Thomas Eugene Paris, aboard U.S.S. Voyager, Stardate 48317.2

Ran into Stadi today. She wouldn't even say "hello." Guess Cavit or Fitzgerald got to her. Too bad. Dark hair. Betazoid black eyes. Great bod. Smooth forehead . . . .

Don't go there, Tommy boy. Let's just say, hey, you can't have everything.

The captain called me into her ready room this evening. She showed me what this Tuvok had on the Maquis crew. It's the Val Jean he was on. Definitely Chakotay's ship. No mention of Ro, thank God. Knowing how she notorious she is to Starfleet, I can't imagine Janeway's security chief not mentioning her if she were with them.

God, I hope she isn't dead. Or captured. I'm sure I would have heard about her capture, even in Auckland. She heard about me screwing up at Caldik Prime when she was in prison on Jaros II.

No, I won't believe it. She's fine. Ro Laren finally just came to her senses and went home, to Bajor, where she belongs. I hope. I hope her Prophets help her find peace.

Anyway, we talked a little about what I knew of the Badlands. I told Janeway I didn't know much. I was tempted to tell her that the biggest Maquis hideout was at Port Hakkarond on Delistor. Visiting that charming place might have been fun. Such wonderful memories! The lovely Garinta, charming flower of womanhood. Getting rolled in an alley. Getting beaten half to death. Laren and me, in that crummy room, with the sun shining on her body, that last morning . . . . No, all the memories from there weren't bad, were they?

I didn't tell Janeway that, finally, because for all I know, that's where they really are now. There were enough sympathizers in Port Hakkarond, I know that. And I really don't want to betray the Maquis, not really. Chakotay and Seska are one thing. The whole movement? That's another. It may not have been my fight, but they were fighting against injustice, against the Cardassians. I don't think they were wrong.

It's funny. I tell the truth, and they don't believe me. Maybe I should just tell them I am the Maquis. Or maybe that dear old Dad, most forgiving parent in the known universe and Starfleet admiral par excellence, is the ringleader of the whole damn organization.

I wonder how Admiral Paris would like spending some up close and personal time in the same prison as his only son?

No, Mom doesn't deserve that. And the sad thing is, everybody would probably believe that lie!

I'll just go on, telling Janeway the truth.

I don't know a fucking thing about the Maquis.

End Personal Log

Personal Log, Thomas Eugene Paris, aboard U.S.S. Voyager, Stardate 48321.9

The Delta Quadrant. I'm in the fucking Delta Quadrant, over 70,000 light years away from home. The chances of me getting back to New Zealand in my lifetime are almost nil. Especially since all the Maquis are ready to kill me for "betraying" them, my lifetime isn't going to be all that long anyway.

Isn't life grand.

Actually, I guess I should be happy to be alive. A lot of people aren't. I can't say I'm broken up about the loss of Cavit and Fitzgerald. But poor Stadi. She had actually smiled at me when she walked down to take the conn. It's really too bad. Maybe there could have been something there. She was a pilot, too. Stuck out here, maybe, eventually, I would have been able to break through with her. There was something about her. Maybe we could have had a future together.

I'm deluding myself. I don't have much of a future, do I? I'm going to be spending the rest of my life waiting for somebody to stab me in the back.

I'm glad we got Harry Kim back from those Ocampa, though. He's a great kid. Not very smart, hanging around with me. When one of the Maquis on board finally gets me, they're liable to take Harry out, too.

I'm not sure it was a smart thing to do, saving Chakotay's life like that. He still hates me, even if the captain claims he's my "protector" now. But I just couldn't leave him down there to die. He might have been glad to leave me down there. Maybe it wouldn't have been such a loss if I was the one who'd been stuck down there. We needed him to get away from those Kazon thugs, when he crashed into the array. Or the Kazon ship, come to think of it, I think that's what he did. It'll be easy for Janeway to make the Maquis and the Voyager crew into one with his help. His people respect him. And like I said, it's some kind of Indian thing. He owes me now because I saved his life.

Yeah, like he really cares.

End Personal Log

Chief Helmsman's Personal Log, Stardate 48323.7

I can't believe I'm actually able to dictate that. Chief Helmsman. Lieutenant (j.g.) Thomas Eugene Paris. Only a field commission, but am I going to worry about that now? I've got at least 73 years to enjoy that commission, assuming I don't do anything to screw up again. And I'm not going to screw up anything again. I don't ever want to do anything to disgrace myself with Janeway. She actually believes in me.

I still can't believe Chakotay's put out the word that anyone who does anything to me has to answer to him. He's going to be pretty damn busy, I bet, trying to keep me from being attacked by anyone. His crew is just itching to get at me, but they'll have to wait their turn. The Starfleet crew figures they've got dibs on getting me, because they all seem to have gotten the low down from Cavit and Fitzgerald about my dubious Starfleet achievement at Caldik Prime. There isn't anybody here that likes me, except Harry. And maybe that sweet little Ocampa thing, Kes.

I'd love to get something going with Kes, but that odd little alien boyfriend of hers, Neelix, gave me the evil eye when I said "hello" after I got my commission back. I don't know what there is about him, but I have this really strong hunch that I'd better not mess around with his girlfriend. He seems like the kind who can take care of himself. I have to respect anyone who can keep a piece of junk like his ship flying, too. Talaxian, he is. Just one of the many new alien species we can expect out here in the Delta Quadrant. If the Alpha Quadrant is any gauge, I figure we'll run into a couple of friendly species for every unfriendly.

Wait, the Borg are from the Delta Quadrant. The scales might be tipped there, just a tad.

Borg, Kazon, Talaxian, Ocampa. I don't much care, as long as I am far, far away from dear old Dad. Things can't be any worse out here than they were at home. I'm back in Starfleet again, but I don't have to put up with The Admiral's expectations. Maybe I've lucked out by being thrown into Paradise.

Now, if I can just find somebody to sleep with. We've got 161 people on this ship, but only half of them are women. I'd better hurry and find someone soon. People are going to be pairing off. I'll have to see who I can find who's reasonably good looking and easy to get along with, because I'm not about to count on finding a woman on shore leave. I don't think there're too many women like Kes, who are willing to hook up with somebody who's headed to the other side of the galaxy. It's going to have to be somebody on this ship. Not a whole lot to choose from.

It would be great to find somebody who could be my best friend, not that I can expect that. I'll never find anybody like Ro Laren again. That kind of love comes along once in a lifetime, if you're lucky.

That little Klingon engineer, though. Torres. I wonder, is she the one Ro kept teasing me about? The one she said she had to keep me away from, because she knew I'd like her forehead ridges? She really is a beauty, but she's a tough broad. She saw me giving her the once over in the mess hall and told me that if I tried anything with her, she'd cut off my balls and throw them into another quadrant. I laughed, but the thing is, she made me nervous as hell. I wouldn't put it past her. She could be a very good time. Wild sex. That's the rep for Klingon women, not that I've ever had one. They're usually not my type. Monogamous types aren't my type.

Paris, quit dreaming. She's a Klingon, for God's sake. She'd never in a million years have anything to do with a dishonorable jerk like you. Besides, she seems to like Harry. If he can ever stop moaning about his Libby, Torres will be right there. She likes him, I can tell. Hope Harry is smart enough to know what he's got there.

End Personal Log

Chief Helmsman's Personal Log, Stardate 48441.7

That Torres is some hot number. Man, she flattened Carey with one punch. Broke his nose. Then Janeway made her Chief Engineer.

I wish I'd have thought of that. Hey, Dad, let me punch you in the mouth so I can get promoted to admiral.

Nah. It's a Klingon thing, I think.

I can't believe I'm getting shoved into field medic duty, though. Supervised by a smart computer program, yet. Life in the Delta Quadrant. A new surprise every day.

I think I'm going to have to do some holodeck programming for my entertainment, because the only ones who'll talk to me, other than Harry, are holodeck characters. Computer program bosses. Computer programmed friends. Hey, things are looking up for me. As long as the computers are working.

End Personal Log

Chief Helmsman's Personal Log, Stardate

I finally found out about Ro today. I asked Seska, who of course cut me dead and refused to tell me. Torres took pity on me, though. She told me that Ro went back to Bajor, after paying off my bar tab at the tavern in Malagra. I can't remember the name of the place now. Ro was "kind of upset" about my "screwing up" and "getting myself caught." While that's not exactly what happened, it's okay. As long as she got back okay, that's all I care about. I know I have to let go. I'm never going to see her again.

There are some very attractive women on this ship, though. Ensign Brooks is a knockout, but she's another Harry - engaged to somebody in the Alpha Quadrant and wouldn't even think of dating anyone. Torres is great looking, but she's half Klingon. I'm lucky she even talks to me. Nicoletti is attractive, but she's aloof. That leaves the Delaney sisters. They're probably the most beautiful girls on the ship, as long as you like long-legged redheads with dazzling smiles. Unfortunately, they come as a matched set. Double-dates only. There's a few guys who seem to think that means wild orgies. Not hardly. The double dating thing is a great way to keep guys at arm's length.

It's a good thing that Jenny's made it known she's attracted to Harry. Really attracted to him. Megan seems like she'd be more my type, the fun-loving type. She's not prejudiced against me, either. I'm not sure why that is, but I'm not looking a gift horse in the mouth.

Did I really say that about somebody I want to date? God, I disgust myself sometimes. But with only 77 women on this boat, I can't be too picky.

End Personal Log

Chief Helmsman's Personal Log, Stardate 48547.8

We had a very interesting adventure yesterday. We found this nebula that was loaded with omicron particles, and the captain was just itching to get some. Our energy situation has been going from bad to worse lately, and our replicator rations have been cut to very little. Just about the only thing we have enough power to do is go to the holodeck, because that's powered by a separate energy supply. Not that I'd like to give up any holodeck time just to get a cup of coffee, but the captain certainly might. When she saw that nebula, her eyes lit up and she ordered us to go inside. Didn't look like a coffee shop to me, but that's what the captain saw.

Too bad it was really a living entity. We ended up having to waste one of our photon torpedoes to blow enough of a hole in the creature to get out. Then we had to go back inside to heal the wound up. We almost got caught again, but we managed to slip out before the wound totally healed up. Neelix came up with another planet that might help us with our energy reserves, so hopefully all goes well.

One other thing happened. I had shown Harry my Paris 3 Holodeck Program, "Chez Sandrine," my recreation of Sandrine's bar in Marseille. It's not exactly the same, but I put a lot of work into it over the past few weeks so it will be a fun place for me to go. I'm making it a public program. The rest of the crew (except for Harry, of course) still doesn't like me much, but they're welcome to go have some fun there, too.

Of course, I had Ricky there. Ricky, the fully functional holographic woman. I always put her in my programs. Then there's the pool table. And what's a pool table without a pool shark? So Gaunt Gary is in there, too. I might not have needed to add him, though. The captain came into the bar. I thought we'd be able to fleece her of her replicator credits, but the joke was on us. She's a shark herself. Won every game she played.

And I couldn't resist a little fun when I programmed the bar. Since I had Ricky and Sandrine for the guys and girls who are so inclined, I had to do something for the fair sex of our crew, so I stuck in a gigolo. Torres was not amused. She called him a pig - and said I was one, too, for inventing him.

What can I say? I guess I do have my piggy moments. Had to admit, I was a bit hurt when she said that. Hurt, but a little bit thrilled, too. A strong negative reaction is better than no reaction at all, right?

It could have been worse. She could have punched me and broken my nose, like she did with Carey.

End Personal Log

Chief Helmsman's Personal Log, Stardate 48599.1

Well, I'm back.

This personal log was potentially one of the shortest ever in the annals of personal logs, because I almost spent the rest of my life on Banea, reliving the death of a murder victim every 14 hours. That's their punishment for murder. According to our EMH, eventually it would have been a death penalty for me. I'd have gone insane or suffered irreversible brain damage if it had gone on much longer. Thanks to Commander Tuvok, who did that Vulcan mind-meld thing with me, we were able to prove I wasn't the murderer, from what was in the memory itself. The murderer was shorter than me, for one thing. The piece de resistance, though, was Tuvok's very special witness. It's not often that a little dog who can testify in court, but that's what happened when he identified the Banean doctor who was the real culprit and a traitor. They were transferring stolen state secrets about weaponry to the Numiri, who are at war with the Baneans. The data was buried within the memory. I owe Tuvok big time, and I told him so.

Harry asked me if I wanted to go to Sandrines tonight to celebrate. I wasn't in the mood. Instead, I sat around in my quarters by myself, thinking. Yeah, I do reflect upon things every now and then. Probably not often enough. Maybe that needs to change. I really need to do it more often, because I know what got me into trouble. I can't seem to stop myself from doing the cherchez la femme thing. I'm always flirting with pretty women. Not that that's a bad thing in and of itself, but when they're married women, you're asking for trouble. Not only that, but Lidell Ren was one of those late 1940's to 1950's film noir bad girls, like Barbara Stanwyck in "Double Indemnity," with me playing the Fred MacMurray chump role. Her husband was older, but he was a good guy. I shouldn't have ever let myself get near enough to her for her to play me the way she did.

Dad always said my gonads were going to get me into trouble, and the way I almost hooked up with Lidell Ren, they were certainly dragging me into the biggest trouble of all. I didn't sleep with her. I don't even know if we did anything, really, except for flirting with each other. I'm still not sure which memories were really mine and which ones were planted by that murderous Banean doctor, the one who was really Lidell's secret lover. What a set-up. The guy who was in charge of my punishment was the traitor working with the Numiri. How do I get myself into these situations? By letting my gonads do the talking, that's how.

I'm out here, and I've got a chance for a new start, and I almost blew it big time. I'm still thinking of myself as that failure and loser who screwed up his career by not being honest when he needed to be, after Caldik Prime. I sacrificed myself for Chakotay and his Maquis crew, and they still don't see it. Maybe that's what I deserve, because I acted pretty badly around them, until Laren set me straight. And then I lost her, too. I'm not sorry about what I did to save her and the others, but I need to stop feeling sorry for myself. I lost her. I landed in prison. It happened. I have to accept it. If I keep setting myself up like this for failure, I'm going to continue to be just that.

I can't say I'm going to swear off women forever, but I've got to be a bit pickier. I need to develop a taste for women who are worth going after.

Too bad the selection is so limited on this boat. Megan is a great girl. I'm not sure she's one I'd want to spend my life with, but I might not have any other choice.

Now, if Kes ever decided to break up with Neelix, she might be a possibility. She's beautiful, sweet, and surprisingly spunky. Life with her would be short, though. The Ocampa life span is only something like eight or nine years. So short a season.

End Personal Log

Chief Helmsman's Personal Log, Stardate 48664.2

Seska is a Cardassian. I never liked the bitch, but I have to admit, I never saw that coming. She had her DNA altered so she would look Bajoran. The Doc figured it out, finally. She tried to say she had a blood transfusion when she was a kid, and that's why she didn't have any Bajoran blood factors.

I wish I could tell Laren about her. She always said Seska was a snake. Bingo, Ro! Right on the money. I guess we know who the spy for the Cardassians on Malagra was.

She's gone, of course. The traitor defected to the Kazon, of all people. Good riddance.

I feel sorry for the Maquis who trusted her, like Torres and Hogan. I have to admit, though, that I do feel for Chakotay. I mean, he not only trusted her, she used to be his lover. He slept with her! Makes my skin crawl just thinking about it.

End Personal Log

Chief Helmsman's Personal Log, Stardate 48792.9

I am totally bummed. Pete Durst is dead. B'Elanna Torres is a basket case. And we left that helpful little Talaxian whose name I never did learn stuck in that Vidiian hellhole. I feel like shit for not saving him, too.

I'm glad Chakotay came to save B'Elanna and me - well, the human half of B'Elanna, anyway. The Klingon half got turned to toast by that mad Vidiian doctor. It was so strange to see B'Elanna like that: the human half, who was terrified half the time and felt like she was a coward, and the Klingon warrior woman who was so strong but ready to smash anyone's nose to smithereens at a puzzled look. Harry told me that "Maquis," as he calls her (nobody else dares to, certainly not moi), alternately is scornful and mortified of her Klingon side. She seems to think everyone would hate her if it comes out. To me, what little I got to see was wildly exciting. But when B'Elanna was turned into a pure human, and was so upset, I got a chance to find out why she felt that way.

Where they lived on Kessik IV, she and her mother were the only Klingons. She said no one ever was really nasty to them, but when her human father abandoned them, B'Elanna was convinced it was because she looked Klingon.

Now, this doesn't make sense to me. The man married a Klingon. Why would he be disgusted by a daughter who looked like his wife? Okay, so they split up. These things happen between two people who are human, even the most beautiful humans, sometimes. There's more to a marriage than looks. I don't know how my mom would have ever hooked up with my dad if it only had to do with appearance. Mom is gorgeous. Dad is barely okay in the looks department.

I have to admit, B'Elanna was so freaked out by being turned into something she isn't - even if it was what she always thought she wanted - that she probably wasn't thinking straight. Later on, she got control of her emotions and helped Chakotay get us out of there. Her Klingon half literally died in B'Elanna's arms. I confess, I wanted to comfort her right there, and then in Sickbay afterwards, when the Doc checked both of us over. Chakotay took over, though, and pretty much shooed me out the door. B'Elanna has to stay in Sickbay while the Doc reintegrates her Klingon DNA into her human body. She apparently needs it for digestion or something.

I went back later to visit her. We talked a little. She asked me not to tell anyone what we'd talked about in the Vidiian prison. I promised her I'd keep her secrets - like tying a scarf over her forehead to hide her Klingon ridges - as long as she didn't tell anyone about my father scalping me with military haircuts when I was a kid. She actually laughed a little when I said that. I think she's going to be okay.

I'm sitting here now dictating my log, and I'm trying to decide which B'Elanna face I prefer. To tell the truth, I think she's one of the most beautiful women I've ever met no matter which face she's wearing. I think I prefer her real, combination human/Klingon face the best, but the B'Elanna who was all human was a babe, too.

I've been visiting this holodeck program for a while now. It's got a World War II setting, based on a text novel I found in our databanks. One of the characters is a pregnant Frenchwoman who gets knocked up by a Nazi officer. She wasn't really a collaborator. Brigitte was working for the Resistance, so when this Nazi she was spying on came on to her, she was stuck; she had to become his lover or blow her cover. I think one of the terms they used in that war was "comfort women," actually. That was probably closer to the truth. Comfort for the Nazi, and humiliation for poor Brigitte. Still, Brigitte was very brave. I never thought the face they supplied for Brigitte was quite right, but I couldn't ever find the right one to substitute for her from the ones available in the holodeck libraries.

I think I can get hold of some views of the human B'Elanna face from the ship's visual log and use them for the character, because that's the perfect face for Brigitte. Of course, once she's back to herself, B'Elanna will probably break my nose if she sees herself in that program. I'll have to remember to make sure she never visits it!

Personal Log Addendum

Well, I did it. I've got the Brigitte face reprogrammed. She's beautiful. I think the real B'Elanna is beautiful, too, of course, but once the Doc has all her Klingon DNA infused back into her body, I'll get to see B'Elanna's real face any day. The only way I'll ever see the totally human face again is on the Holodeck.

For all the bad memories I've got from this Vidiian nightmare (leaving the Talaxian behind - numero uno), the good ones came from those hours we spent comforting each other, when we shared stories about when we were kids. I learned more about B'Elanna Torres on those couple of nights than I have about just about anyone on this ship, with the exception of Harry. It's not too much to say I'll treasure them forever, because I wasn't Tom Paris the Pig to her then. I was her friend and her protector.

Whenever I visit this Sainte Claire program and see Brigitte's face, I'll remember those nights with B'Elanna in the mines. How close we felt, for a little while, at least. It's not likely we'll ever feel that close again. She prefers to hang around with her "Starfleet," Harry Kim. Too bad Harry is still so hung up on his fiancée Libby that he hasn't figured out B'Elanna could be his for the taking. He'd be lucky to have her. Unfortunately, B'Elanna still sees me as a pig.

But I'm still bummed we didn't save the Talaxian.

End Personal Log

Chief Helmsman's Personal Log, Stardate 48977.1

It's not every day you see a 1936 Ford pickup floating in space. To see one in the Delta Quadrant is ridiculous. But there it was. We beamed it into our cargo bay and the captain let me crawl around inside it. I was in heaven! We discovered the old AM radio in the truck was picking up an ancient SOS - that's a very old form of distress call, for the benefit of anyone who I might give access to these logs in the future - coming from a nearby planet. We headed there, but we couldn't use the transporters or even a shuttle because of interference from the atmosphere. So, the captain let me land Voyageron the planet! First time for everything!

On the same day, I get to investigate a genuine ancient ground car and then get to land Voyager on the ground. And then, who do we find frozen in a cryostasis unit? Amelia Earhart! I got to meet THE Amelia Earhart, the famous "aviatrix," as they called her back then, in person!

I remember reading all the theories about how Amelia and her navigator Fred Noonan disappeared over the Pacific Ocean in 1937, when she was trying to become the first woman to fly around the world. Most people thought she'd crashed into the ocean and was killed, or maybe she was taken captive by the Japanese. Nope. A UFO snatched them and brought them out here to the planet of the Briori. Unbelievable. Fred was there in stasis, too, and so was a Japanese soldier named Nogami and a few others. Needless to say, they were shocked when they found out where and when they were!

How often do you get to speak to someone about what life was like 400 years ago - and they actually know, because they were living then? I was excited, but the captain almost wet her . . . wait. These may be my personal logs, but even here I shouldn't be THAT crude. Let's just say she was more excited than any of us to meet Amelia. She had been one of Janeway's heroes and a big inspiration for her growing up.

Man, the only thing better would be to travel back through time to the 20th century myself! Too bad that will never happen.

Oh, yeah, these Briori were willing for us to settle on their planet. The captain was worried we wouldn't have enough crew willing to go on for us to fly Voyager. I did think about staying, because who knows what I'll face if and when I ever get back to Earth? But I couldn't let the captain down, and I wasn't the only one. None of us opted to stay there. We all stayed with the ship. I think Amelia was a little tempted to come with us, too, but she finally decided to stay on the planet. It's too bad. I bet as one pilot to another, we could have had some great discussions if she'd come with us.

End Personal Log