Fireworks broke high across the inverted reflection of the city lights on black water. San Francisco Bay shimmered with colored streams and rediscovered the night sky. On the newly refurbished Golden Gate Bridge, an icon so long established that no one could imagine these waters without the great suspended structure, thousands upon thousands of spectators cheered at the spectacular explosions in the sky. The city in its dazzling livery, millions of jewel-like lights bundled into geometric shapes, began to flicker on and off from building to building in a coordinated tribute. Though the bridge was old and the fireworks an ancient art, this was a supremely modern scene that could only happen in a population center.

Out of the gauzy clouds the enormous cetacean body of the starship swept downward, almost touching the teaming balustrades, only to rise at the last moment. The reflection of her nacelles glowed brightly in the gunmetal water below as her oblong primary hull rose to blow the geodesic fireworks into a blizzard.

On the bridge, the crowd roared and waved their arms wildly. The ship passed over their heads in a tidy maneuver, came about, and made another pass.

The starship looked somewhat old-fashioned now despite the patches of alien armor defiantly fixed to a quarter of her hull area, and the other three-quarters scratched and scarred by turmoil. She was like an old warhorse, still holding her head up despite her bleeding flanks and ratted mane.

"These should be familiar images to everyone who remembers the U.S.S. Voyager's triumphant return to Earth after twenty-three years in the Delta Quadrant. Voyager captivated the hearts and minds of people throughout the Federation, so it seems fitting that on the tenth anniversary of their return we take a moment to recall the sacrifices made by the crew."

The newscaster wasn't very inspiring. Maybe he'd overrehearsed.

Still, quite a show. That business of the city lights' flashing in a coordinated performance was a new thing. Well, new ten years ago.

Ten years. Seemed like forty.

And twenty-six years in space, lost, toying daily with hopelessness, struggle, challenge, isolation... whush.

Funny how the toughest tests in life could turn out to be the best part of life. The things people often said they wanted most -- peace and quiet, easy advancement, security -- weren't really the most satisfying experiences after all, or the ones that kept people together.

Thus, nostalgia. Kathryn Janeway found herself peeling back the pages of her life to that stressful quarter century rushing at high warp through the Delta Quadrant, out of place, away from comfort, without help, struggling by the day to keep a ship and crew together with a single ideal and making sure that ideal didn't fade.

Had she been right or wrong to push them onward? There had been other civilizations they could've joined, lived out a life on some nice planet, more fulfilled, have other careers, more family, a chance to be captains themselves if they wanted. Maybe if she'd known then about the twenty-three years...

Oh, how old was that question? Older than the whole voyage, now. Old and shriveled. She'd combed her hair with it every morning since the ship found itself propelled seventy thousand light-years into deep space with no shortcut home. She'd made a decision and stuck with it. Why look back now?

But twenty-six years...

She picked up her old coffee cup, one of the last links to her great long struggle, and turned it a little to avoid the chip in the rim. Six times she'd had to rescue this cup from attentive yeomen who wanted to get her a new one.

"Earlier today in the Tri-Nebulas," the newscaster went on, "corruption charges were brought against a Ferengi gaming consortium--"

"Computer, end display."

Janeway stood up from her Victorian couch and moved past the Bombay wicker table to the vast curved window. In the soft glass she caught a faint echo of her silver-streaked hair and rather liked the image. Maybe she was indulging herself with a touch of vanity, but other than the streaks, she thought she hadn't changed that much. A few lines here and there -- a few.

Beyond the reflection lay the always stunning expanse of San Francisco Bay and the bridge. This fan-shaped wing of apartment buildings had been architecturally designed to give all residents this view. It had become a favorite living space for many admirals who wanted to remain close to Starfleet Command but not live on the grounds. To Janeway, though, the bridge and the bay meant something more, she truly believed, than to all the other admirals. At least something different.

She hoped that after today it would still mean something good.

Invasion.

Another reunion.

The apartment was filled now with people, all kinds of people, human and alien, young and old, Starfleet and otherwise -- the surviving members of the Voyager's crew and their families. Thank God some of them had enough time left to have families. Drinks and hors d'oeuvres, soft music, laughter, some smiles. Janeway hovered behind the umbrella tree and watched as one of the kids approached Harry Kim and tapped his arm, breaking a conversation he was having with somebody else.

Kim was a Starfleet captain now with his own starship, the only one of the remaining crew who had pursued such command. The studious effort had taken him a while and grayed his hair, but he'd made it. Oh, yes, Janeway had to admit to herself that she'd pushed a few buttons for him, and he had a leg-up just from the Voyager's reputation. Why not?

"Hello," Kim said to the child at his elbow.

"What's your name?" the little girl asked.

"Harry. What's yours?"

"Sabrina."

"Naomi's daughter? You've gotten so big?"

"I don't remember you."

"I haven't been to one of these reunions in four years." Kim straightened, rather proudly. "I've been on a deep-space assignment."

"For four years?"

Janeway smiled. To a child, this was eternity.

"Compared to how long I was on Voyager, it seemed like a long weekend. Can you find your mother for me? I'd love to say hello."

The little girl nodded and merrily departed, giving Janeway her opening. She wanted to talk to Kim, but only to him, not to a knot of smiling relatives trying to pretend they were having a great time -- again.

"Here you are, Captain," she began, circling in on Kim with a fresh drink for him.

"Thank you, Admiral." Kim nodded toward the little girl. "I haven't seen her since she was a baby."

"It's amazing how fast you've all grown up," Janeway said.

Kim shrugged, then his smile faded. "How's Tuvok?"

"The same." She wanted to tell him the truth, but this was more gentle.

His expression suggested he knew more than he was saying. "I thought maybe I'd go see him tomorrow."

"That would be nice."

And it would be nice if we were more honest with each other.

"I'm sorry I missed the funeral," Kim went on. "I should've been there."

Janeway took his hand. "You were on a mission. Everyone understood." They looked at each other in mutual discomfort, but with genuine affection too. "It's good to see you, Harry."

She started to say more, but her throat closed up. There was no clever way, after all. How could she tell him she needed him and his ship out of her way?

This reunion was the tenth time she'd fielded these awful sensations, so much that she had come to dread such events. People had been kind and generous, certainly... she'd been given citation after medal after doctorate after award, and each one diminished her sense of accomplishment. As she glanced around at the faces of her crew, her friends, the awareness of being a celebrated central figure in this great drama of space exploration pressed her again with the feeling that she'd failed. She couldn't shake it.

Every time they had a reunion, they wanted to feel more like they were home, and every time satisfaction slipped a little farther away. They'd been lost for twenty-six years, the prime of each of their lives. When they'd returned, their families had grown, died, changed, forgotten, or dreamed of possibilities no longer possible. The Voyager had done the impossible -- it had come back from the dead.

The crew had stayed dead.

She had brought them back, but too late. Though she had dreaded this reunion, it galvanized her sense of purpose. Her mission wasn't over.