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Shutter Author: Rebeckah The door chimed and I sighed. I knew before we arrived that I - that all of the Voyager crew - would find instant notoriety. I knew, but I didn't really know, if you understand what I mean. Fame is tiring, and I just wanted a little time to recover, to adjust to the reality that we had made it home. I needed the time to comprehend that my burden was really gone. I was no longer responsible for marooning my crew in a distant quadrant of the galaxy - I no longer needed to worry with each away mission or strange new microbe. Life in the Alpha quadrant was no guarantee of security, but at least it was home, and anyone who died here would die on their own, not on my orders. "Is a few days of peace and quite too much to ask?" I wondered to myself, already knowing the answer. "Of course it is." I replied to myself, fixing on a neutral smile and heading for the door. Duty still held me in an iron grip, and I knew that I was an example to the entire Alpha quadrant. Starfleet expected me to be a good example for them, and that meant being gracious to nosey reporters. The door slid open, and I paused, words of greeting frozen on my lips. I recognized this one. She'd been there at the disembarking ceremony. Around her neck hung the antique camera that she'd used to capture my moment of thanksgiving at our homecoming. The flash had caught my attention and brought me back to my feet as our eyes met across the clamoring crowd. Her presence was as surprising as finding life in that nebula had been. Thanks to the Doctor's hobby, I knew what she was doing, although I thought flat pictures had gone out of fashion centuries ago. Suddenly I realize that we've simply been standing in the doorway, staring at each other. "Can I help you?" I ask, suddenly curious about what she wants. "Uh, yes. Yes, actually," She stutters, obviously not your run-of-the-mill reporter. Most of the one's I'd met had probably come out of the womb asking questions non-stop. "You're a reporter." I try to help her out, knowing that a shy person often performs better within the framework of an assignment. Suddenly she reminds me of Kes, although they look nothing alike. She shakes her head. "No, no ma'am." (I manage to hide my wince - I hate to be called "ma'am"! It always makes me feel a hundred years old.) She extends her hand, the free one, the one that isn't holding the photo. "Lynn Barnett. I'm a...photographer...for, uh, NewsNet." I can't help but smile at her obvious discomfort. Now I know why she reminds me of Kes - she has the same youthful enthusiasm hampered by a lack of experience in dealing with people. "A photographer?" I ask. I know that she is, but explaining her chosen profession will help her to feel at ease. I suppose it's that nebulous similarity to Kes that makes me feel so protective of her. She nod slowly, and I invites me in. After all, we can't spend all day on the doorstep. I motion her towards the couch and offer her a cup of coffee, relieved when she accepts the coffee. Not everyone likes that bitter brew, but I've always seemed to deal better with those that do. Perhaps it has something to do with endorphins or something. "I wasn't expecting to find a photographer at my door." I observe from the kitchen as I pour our coffees. Perhaps some casual conversation will put her at ease enough to actually come to the point. Not that her presence bothers me anymore - I'm actually finding her company somewhat refreshing. It's a novel and welcome experience to find a reporter who doesn't pester one endlessly with questions. Then again, if a picture paints a thousand words, I suppose she's gotten an entire novel from me. I hand her the coffee and sit into the chair next to the couch. There's a moment of silence as she takes a careful sip of the hot beverage, her eyes closing momentarily in a bliss that I am very familiar with. I approve - coffee is almost as serious a business as chocolate. The photograph she'd been clutching at the door was lying on the glass coffee table in front of the couch, and I pick it up as I set down my coffee. It's nothing less than a work of art. She captured, not just the image of our return, but the spirit of it. The photo is horizontal, and I crouch slightly off-center, to the right. My face is pointed towards the ground and my hand is raised slightly above it, the faintest trickle of dirt trailing towards the ground. A section of Voyager's disembarking ramp is visible behind me, raising up towards the edge of the photo and Voyager. Around me is the crowd, movement and noise somehow captured in the frozen moment, personifying movement and technology. I am surrounded, and yet, all alone. I feel my throat close up as the memory of that moment rushes back; the joy, the relief, the inexpressible feeling of homecoming. I know that billions of beings will see this picture, and for a moment I feel naked and exposed. "This is the picture you took." I say, somewhat inanely. "A "still" photograph. I didn't know anyone bothered with the time and effort anymore." "It's a dying art," she replies, her youth and shyness transformed by a sudden dignity. For her it was more than an art, it was an expression of herself. Suddenly I saw yet another facet of this stranger. She was a rebel. A quiet rebel, uninterested in forming an army to join in her rebellion, but a rebel nonetheless. "I'm here because my editor feels that any quote pulled from an interview wouldn't do the image justice. He feels...it needs to come straight from the source." I smile, a little sadly. Her editor is both right and wrong. If it must have a caption then it would be best to get it directly from me, yet I feel certain that anything I might say would only detract from the impact of the image. And how can I possibly sum the last seven years into a short caption? How can I possibly convey the indescribable rightness of our return to the mother planet, the ultimate womb of life? How do I express my knowledge that everyone on Voyager felt that same moment of cosmic completion, whether their home world was Earth, or Vulcan, or even a small ship in between galaxies? Well, I have to try, for myself as much as for the young woman looking at me with such hope on her face. I nod, and sigh, and begin to speak. "We are all born, in some way, from the salt and rocks of this earth, whether we be Terran or Vulcan, Talaxian or Viidian. The only truth we know from that moment is that we will one day return to that earth as the very minerals and sands that comprise it. Even those who feel that their place is not among their birthplace, but the stars, are granted no exceptions to this golden rule. "I, myself, once believed that I was at home among the stars and nebulas, that indefinite spans of discovery were the only satisfying purpose in my life. But seven years of separation from my birthplace has taught me that my rightful home is not among gaseous anomalies, but here: among stones and common dirt. It is this driving force that made those seven years livable. " It wasn't what I wanted to say, but I'm a starship captain, not a journalist. Nonetheless, it seems to satisfy the girl, who smiles gratefully at me. As she rises to leave I stop her. "Wait." I say, a hand stretched out. "Before you go - could I have a copy of the picture? One without any caption?" "Of course." She blushes, and I can tell that I've pleased the artist in her. Well, she deserves the recognition. I would never have guessed that a simple black and white still photograph would capture such a climatic moment so perfectly, but it did, and I'm grateful that this girl did so. I know that with that picture I can remember that instant. Not just the situation, but the feelings that went with it. There are things that no words can ever express, but a picture can still paint a thousand words. FINIS Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to their owners/creators/copyright holders. This fan-written fiction intends no infringement on any copyrights. |
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