August 2378

San Francisco

He spoke flawless Federation Standard, possessed perfect visual acuity and hearing abilities unmatched by human ears. All the tests to which he had been subjected confirmed as much, yet Icheb sat stunned senseless as the tribunal announced its verdict, somehow unable to process what was happening.

“The tribunal finds that the two former Borg drones brought to Federation territory by Admiral Kathryn Janeway of the U.S.S. Voyager are legally sentient individuals, with all of the rights and privileges that status conveys.  Annika Hansen, being born on Earth, is hereby granted full Federation citizenship.  Icheb is granted permanent refugee status and will be free to seek full citizenship after a period of one Standard year, provided he maintains eligibility under Federation law …”

The room exploded with sound.  He felt someone clap him on the shoulder, hard – Tom Paris, sitting behind him.  Reporters and observers alike were shouting over each other.  The noise level was unacceptable, and Icheb resisted the urge to cover his finely enhanced ears with his hands.  Beside him, the JAG attorney was saying something to him, congratulating him.  Still Icheb sat in shocked silence, absorbing everything but taking in nothing.

For four long months he had been in virtual confinement while the Federation argued over what to do with him.  He had been provided with temporary quarters, outside which a continuous security detail had been posted.  Starfleet assured him it was for his own safety, but Icheb was quite confident he could take care of himself.  Deep down, he knew the truth.  They were afraid of him.  Afraid of him, and afraid of Seven.

Seven.  He looked across the courtroom to where she sat, looking as stunned as he felt.  Although they could not communicate by neural link, she seemed to sense his gaze and looked his way.  Their eyes met.  For a long moment, they just stared at each other, sharing in the strange moment.  Then Icheb saw something ever so slightly change in Seven’s expression.  It would have been imperceptible to anyone but him, but something in her crystal blue eyes betrayed the barest hint of a relieved, encouraging smile.  She nodded at him once, and he nodded back.  He was so grateful she was there with him.  It had been a long four months without her.

Both he and Seven were allowed to receive visitors, but had not been permitted to visit each other without supervision.  Both were rarely permitted to leave their assigned quarters.  For the last four months, Icheb had spent his days alternately continuing his Academy studies and discussing his case with his lawyer.  By night, he had spent a lot of time in thought.

“Order!” the Bolian head of the tribunal cried, slamming his gavel down on the long, curved podium at which he and his colleagues sat.  “Order,” he added, more quietly, as the din died down slightly.  Icheb could still hear the chatter going on throughout the room, but his ears hurt less now.

“As to Icheb’s continued studies at Starfleet Academy, they have been approved.  You may begin attending lectures and labs with the rest of the sophomore class when classes resume next week.  Security will be increased at the campus in light of the anticipated controversy over this decision.  Best of luck to you, young man.”

Again, the room exploded with noise.  Icheb sat shell-shocked, unable to believe any of what he was hearing was really true.  He had been created as a living weapon, fed to the Borg like a poison pill by his parents, killed thousands of drones and dozens of sentients, been rescued and rehabilitated, and then transported 50,000 light years from his homeworld only to be placed under house arrest and interrogated for months.  Now, after weeks of debate, he was finally free.

He felt like an automaton, part of the Collective once again, as he dazedly shook hands with his attorney and took his first few steps as a truly free person.  Immediately, he was surrounded by people, some familiar, some not, many with microphones in hand, extended toward his young, freckled face.  He searched the crowd desperately for a friend.  Seven, The Doctor, someone he could latch onto. 

Suddenly a friend found him.  Icheb had never been so grateful to see B’Elanna Torres.  Her half-Klingon features were drawn and tense as she elbowed through the crowd and firmly shoved them away from him.  Her husband, Tom Paris, followed close behind, looking vaguely amused at his wife’s aggression. 

“Back off,” B’Elanna warned the throng.  She spoke in the commanding tone of a Klingon warrioress, and not a one of them was willing to risk disobeying the order.

When she reached Icheb, she stood facing him and put one hand on each of his shoulders.  She was shorter than he was, but she looked him in the eyes.  To his surprise, she suddenly pulled him into a tight hug.  When she released him, she didn’t let go of his shoulders.  “Congratulations,” she said simply.  “You’d better study hard, because I expect you to report to Utopia Planitia in three years.  We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

Edmonton

“Mom.  Have you seen my Oilers shirt?”  John Quigley shouted across the small flat in the general direction he had last seen his mother wandering.  He ran a hand through his sandy blond hair in frustration, feeling anxious for no particular reason other than he was eager to finish packing and head for the transportation hub.  Still, he couldn’t leave without his lucky Oilers shirt.  His stepdad had given it to him a week before he finally left for good.  Maybe it was silly, but he didn’t want to go to Starfleet Academy without it.

Lynn Quigley emerged from the short hallway to their two bedrooms holding a glass of universe-knew-what-kind of alien liquor in one hand and his t-shirt in the other.  The liquor was bright green, and even from across the room, it smelled like the inside of a Tellarite’s ass.  She swayed as she walked.

John resisted the urge to roll his eyes and start a fight.  He didn’t have time for her shit today.  Not on the day he was finally escaping the hell he called his childhood home.

“The sonic laundry fucked it up,” said his mother, in a brutally casual tone.  She tossed him the shirt.  “Sorry.”

John caught the shirt and held it up for examination.  It was covered in holes.  It looked like his mother had taken a pair of scissors to it, and he wouldn’t put it past her.  After all, the sonic laundry hadn’t ever put a hole in anything before.  He shot his mother a baleful glare.  “Thanks,” he muttered, trying hard not to reveal the depths of his hurt or anger.  He wadded up the shirt and shoved past Lynn to go to his room, where his suitcase lay open and waiting.

Any guilt he’d had over leaving his mother dissipated as he crammed the damaged shirt deep into the corner of his suitcase, wedging it under a pile of boxer shorts.  Sure, he could replicate a new t-shirt, but that wasn’t the point.  The point was that the last gift his stepfather – the man who’d raised him from toddlerhood to ten – had given him was ruined, and he was sure Lynn had done it just to get back at him for leaving her like both of her ex-husbands had done.

She was his own mother, and she was a crazy bitch.

With a weary sigh, he slammed his suitcase shut and fastened the lock.  Once again, he dragged a hand through his hair, mussing it.  Then he made a final check of his room, looking it over one last time before he left to start his new life in San Francisco.  He took in the sight of the athletic trophies on the dresser, the holos of him with a seemingly endless parade of friends … friends who’d been fun to party with, but never really got to know him since he held them all at arm’s length.  It was embarrassing in these modern times to have an addict for a mother – someone who had every help available to her, yet refused to take it.  She loved drinking more than she loved anything else, including her own son.  He wondered how long she would last without him there to call the medics when she went too far.

He left his room and headed for the front door.  His mother was standing in the kitchen, pouring herself another drink.  “’Bye, Mom,” he said, without fanfare, as he crossed the small living area.  “I’ll call you when I get there.”

Lynn raised her glass in his direction, but didn’t answer.  She had that glazed look in her eyes that showed the liquor had finally allowed her to escape whatever the hell she had spent his whole life running from.  John knew he wouldn’t bother to call her.  What would be the point?  She’d be passed out by then.

He opened the front door to their street-level apartment and hefted his suitcase over the threshold.  Slamming the ancient steel door behind him, he hesitated for a moment and looked up and down the street he’d grown up on.  Memories of street hockey, fist fights and firecrackers filled his mind, along with kisses stolen from girls under streetlamps late at night. 

He wouldn’t miss this place, not really.

With a growing sense of hope and determination, he headed for the transportation hub.  The high-speed train that would carry him to San Francisco would leave in a little more than an hour.  Everything would be different now.  He couldn’t wait to get started. 

For a brief moment, he wondered if he was really up to what the Academy would demand from him, but he quickly pushed the thought aside.  He had worked hard for this, and he had made it. 

This was his way out.

Morgantown

 “You know, you don’t have to do this, honey.  You can defer a year, work here on the farm, figure out if this is really what you want to do.  It’s a big commitment.”  Elise O’Connor looked pleadingly at her youngest daughter, her large green eyes begging her baby not to go. 

Maren O’Connor rolled her eyes in amusement and exasperation.  “Mom, Parents’ Day is in a month. I’ll be home for Thanksgiving.  Seriously … I’m only a transport away.  Give it a rest already.”

Paul O’Connor sidled up to his wife and snaked an arm around her, pulling her close and kissing the top of her rapidly graying blonde head.  “She’s right, Ell.  She’s grown and she’s ready for this.  Hell, I’m pretty sure she’s been ready since the day she was born.”

Maren grinned.  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Dad.” 

She shifted from one foot to the other excitedly, feeling like a little kid on Christmas morning.  Starfleet was all she had ever dreamed of since she was a tiny girl lying on the endless grass outside her family’s weathered old farmhouse, looking up at the stars and tracking the tiny points of light she knew represented starships and transports and all kinds of people traveling the galaxy.  Flying one of those ships had always been her dream.  Getting accepted to the Academy had been her primary goal.

She checked the chronometer on her pocket PADD and quickly shoved it back into her pocket with an apologetic glance toward her mother.  She knew this was hard for Elise, letting her go.  Maren had always been independent and headstrong, and she knew her mother worried.  She wished she could somehow explain that this was what she was meant to do … that if God really had a plan for her, this had to be it, because every cell in her body told her she belonged in space.

Her fourteen-year-old brother Seth managed to tear his eyes away from his holo-game long enough to notice his sister’s bags were packed and she was standing near the door.  “Mar, are you leaving?” he asked.  He was obviously trying to sound nonchalant, but the look on his face gave him away – he was going to miss his big sister. 

“Can I have her room now?” Seth asked Elise.

Fine.  Maybe he wasn’t going to miss her.

“Can’t you wait until we get in the skimmer before scavenging my leftovers?” Maren asked, with false irritation.  She walked over to the sofa where he was sitting and ruffled his dark blond hair.  “Come visit me some weekend,” she said.  “I’ll show you around.  Maybe you’ll decide the stars are for you after all.”

Seth wrinkled his nose at his sister’s touch, and looked skeptical.  The younger boy had seemingly inherited his mother’s homebody gene.  He was perfectly content to sit in his room for hours programming holosims and writing algorithms.  Maren loved that stuff, too, but she saw no reason at all why she couldn’t do it in space.

“Hug your sister,” Elise commanded from her spot near the door.

“Mom,” Seth groaned, giving Elise a pained look.

Maren grinned and jumped over the back of the sofa, landing next to her little brother.  Giggling evilly, she gave him a sloppy, wet kiss on the cheek and gathered his skinny teenage body into her equally skinny arms, squeezing him tight.

“MOM!” Seth hollered, squirming in Maren’s grasp.

“Beg for mercy,” Maren ordered him, matter-of-factly.

“I’m glad you’re leaving,” Seth retorted shrilly, but the corners of his lips pulled into a smile despite himself.

“Beg for mercy,” Maren repeated, “or I'll give you the ear eel.”  She freed one arm and licked a finger, moving it threateningly toward his ear.

“Ahhh!” Seth screamed.  “No.  Stop.  No.  Okay, okay.  Mercy.  Jesus.”

“Seth,” their mother said disapprovingly.

“Sorry.  Jeez.  Sorry.” 

Maren released him and smirked at him triumphantly. 

“There’s something really wrong with you, you know,” Seth told her, shaking his head.

“I love you, too,” Maren replied. 

With a last fond look at her brother, she got up off the couch and joined her parents at the door.  She opened her arms to her mother, who pulled her into a tight embrace.  Maren could hear her sniff the tears back as she held her tight.  “Mom,” she whispered.

Elise pulled back and wiped the tears from her eyes.  “I know, I know.  You’re going to be fine.”

Maren gave her mother’s shoulder a last squeeze and a compassionate look, then turned to her dad.

“Ready?” she asked him, with forced brightness.  Her mother’s tears had sobered her mood up considerably.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Paul replied.  He picked up Maren’s two suitcases and Maren picked up her daypack.

“I love you, Mom,” she said, turning back to Elise.  “I’ll be home before you know it, you’ll see.  And you’ll come to Parent’s Day.  Won’t that be great?”

Elise nodded and gave her a long, appraising look.  “Be good, Maren,” she said.  “Don’t forget God.”

“I won’t, Mom,” promised Maren.  She stuck her hand in her pocket and pulled out her rosary.  “See?”

Elise nodded and smiled through her tears.  “Good girl.”

And with that, it was time to go.  Paul and Maren walked out to the skimmer for the thirty-kilometer trip to the transportation hub in town.  Maren looked around at the farm she’d grown up on and found herself tearing up, to her surprise.  She quickly decided it was just her mom’s influence.  As her father launched the skimmer and piloted away from the house, the tears evaporated as quickly as they had come. 

This was the moment she had been waiting for her whole life – her first step toward the stars.