Protocols Unknown: A Decision of The Stars

The End

He let the light linger a moment longer than he needed to. Just to hear her voice one last time. Then, without a word, he turned off the projector and let the silence settle in again.

Astrea turned two seven and a half months after they left Voyager. That day, a new holo memory began, timed perfectly, of course, by Q.

The stars were low in the sky. Not real stars, but the holodeck's rendering of a quiet field under an Earth sky, scattered with light that did not flicker. A gentle breeze moved the tall grass around them, programmed just enough to feel like evening.

A cluster of replicated streamers drifted lazily in the air, anchored to nothing in particular. Naomi had picked the colours. "Sky tones," she had called them. The cake, simple and lopsided, rested on a blanket near the centre, a single candle flickering against the artificial dusk.

Astrea sat cross-legged, eyes wide, hands curled tight in her lap. Kathryn knelt beside her, voice soft and steady. She leaned close and whispered something only Astrea could hear. The little girl looked up and nodded solemnly, as though she understood every word.

Around them, the senior staff had gathered: Tuvok, Chakotay, B'Elanna, Tom, and Harry all scattered on picnic blankets or perched on cushions, their uniforms rumpled and relaxed. The Doctor stood slightly apart, scanning with a tricorder more for show than necessity. Neelix, apron still on, beamed with pride as he presented a tray of snacks that had already been thoroughly raided.

Samantha Wildman stood behind Naomi, one hand resting gently on her daughter's shoulder. Naomi watched Astrea with quiet awe, remembering the first time she had held the baby in Sickbay, swaddled and blinking at the lights. She smiled, a little misty-eyed, and leaned closer to her mother.

Seven of Nine lingered near the edge of the scene, watching with a quiet intensity that never quite softened but never left. Her eyes stayed on Astrea as if memorising every detail, as if watching was a kind of promise.

"Ready?" Kathryn asked, eyes on Astrea.

The little girl nodded. Naomi gave a quick thumbs-up from across the blanket.

Kathryn leaned in slightly, the flame reflected in her eyes.

"Happy birthday, little star."

Astrea beamed.

Together, they blew out the candle.

For a moment, the holodeck held. The sky shimmered just slightly. Then the projection dimmed.

And the mess hall lights took its place.

The room was quieter now. The decorations from earlier still floated above the tables, their colours softened by the hour. Bits of cake clung to plates, crumbs scattered where laughter had been.

Naomi moved between tables, gathering empty cups with practiced care. She was still humming, quietly. B'Elanna joined her, sleeves rolled up, the two slipping into a rhythm that needed no words.

Tuvok and Chakotay stood near the far wall, discussing something in low tones. Their voices never rose. This hour was sacred.

Tom and Harry sat nearby, half-drunk mugs of synthehol resting on the table between them. Neither said much. They didn't need to. The night had done its work.

And at the centre of it all, Kathryn.

She sat near the window, Astrea cradled in her arms, the baby half-asleep. One small hand rested against the insignia on Kathryn's chest, fingers twitching faintly in a dream.

Kathryn's own hand moved in slow circles against Astrea's back. She wasn't thinking. Not really. Just holding. Just breathing. She whispered something into Astrea's hair, too soft for even the program to catch. A hum followed, low and melodic. The tune of an old lullaby, carried like a thread through time.