You Can't Go Home Again

Posted on Sun Feb 10th, 2019 @ 5:04am by Commander Rita Paris
Edited on on Sun Feb 10th, 2019 @ 5:10am

Mission: Earthly Visitation
Location: Earth, San Francisco
Timeline: 2396

For the beginning of her shore leave on her home planet, Rita Paris, native of planet Earth, spent a day surfing with her logical husband, as she loved the water and the beach, and surfing brought back many happy memories, now to be shared with her beloved kolinahr.

After that she’d gone to Ohio, supporting Mneih’sahe Dox in reconnecting with her human ancestry and helping her to embrace the humanity she was now beginning to accept as part of her dual heritage. The ancient astronaut had stopped to tour Starfleet Command, which had of course nearly resulted in system-wide catastrophe, and left her cut off from her past in a rather permanent way. On her checklist of places to go and things to see on Earth, this one was not in her itinerary, nor should it have been.

Yet here she stood, outside the welcome sight of the ancestral Paris homestead.

A large, stately wood and masonry home in Nob Hill, Reginald ‘Reggie’ Paris had purchased the home when he was working on building the first NX class vessel, and it had been handed down from generation to generation ever since. ‘There’s been a Paris in Starfleet since before there WAS a Starfleet’ was a popular phrase in her household, taught from one generation to the next as they grew up, went to the Academy, then shoved off for the stars.

Despite her father’s objections, Rita Paris had been no different.

After having watched Dox reconnect with the grandparents who were no longer amongst the living, sorting through their belongings and explaining the significance of human burial rituals and connecting with the dead, Rita had realized that she needed to take her own sage advice and get herself some closure. As much as Dox thought she was learning from Rita, she was teaching Rita as well, reminding her how to live right. Because being needed helped define the golden age heroine, and she was okay with that. The pugnacious pointy-eared professional was a far cry from the insecure young woman who would have avoided everyone and lived in a shuttlecraft if she could when she first came aboard.

It had been instinct that had driven her that day to crack that shell, and she'd be forever glad that she had, as it had been the first step to discovering the amazing young woman inside.

Facing the facts, Rita Paris had called a shuttle, plotted her course and dropped herself off at the shuttle stop down the block from the old Paris place. Walking up from the south, she could see the stained glass in the upper windows of the third story, just as she remembered them. The large windows throughout the house were all as she recalled, although the house was white with black trim, which was odd because in her day it had been a pale lime color with dark green roofing. But the steps were still there, the wide porch around the entire front of the house, the same porch swing- here's to craftsmanship.

Eyes filling with tears at the sight of what had and, paradoxically, had not been her family home, Rita wished she could see inside. See the kitchen again, the heart of the home, where she had spent a lot of her formative years either being urged to eat or being fat shamed. And lectured. The hours of lectures she had endured standing silently at attention, while Commander Paris had berated her, analyzing her many and varied flaws.

Never Daddy. The Commander was Daddy only in front of company.

Still, there had been good times, and Rita had always loved the house. Her father had inherited it when his father had died of an unexpected heart attack. Which she hadn't thought of in years, but the thought crossed her mind- could Clifford have killed his own father for the house and contents? He was incredibly proud of it, and it was one of the reasons he was stationed at Starfleet Command- the house was made for entertaining or meetings, small gatherings all the way up to a 300 person house party which Rita had proven on her high school graduation night. 312 to be precise.

Lieutenant Commander Larry Paris was a widower, who had raised his son without a mother, because she had died when the boy was young. Around 4, Rita recalled. Exactly the same age Albert had been when their mother had died. Staring at the house in stark shock, Rita put the pieces together. Commander Clifford Paris genuinely had been a maniac and a sociopath, as Rita had learned over the years. The man had disintegrated her on the transporter pad- accidentally, but through deliberate sabotage, to be fair. Then he'd drugged and kidnapped her to brainwash her of all things. On another occasion he had even tried to poison her. Father of the year he was not. Now, standing outside her old home and seeing it all fall into place, she could truly comprehend just what a monster he had been.

While she longed to see into the house, that was the thing about showing up to your old house after you've been gone a long time. Strangers live there now, and everything is different than you remember it. You are no longer welcome in that place.

Not that, in hindsight, it had ever really been that welcoming to her, as it was her father's home. She just got to freeload there, as he was fond of reminding her.

Producing a small tablet from inside her top, the buxom beauty of a bygone age called for another shuttle to carry her off for some closure.


Arlington was a cemetery for military personnel long ago, and had been adopted by Starfleet as where they interred their heroes. It was a no-fly zone, but she chose her entrance and her path, and took the walk. Clad in her anachronistic gold minidress uniform of more than a century ago, as she preferred. Rita Paris was an anachronism in more ways than one, and she preferred to identify as one. The lost navigator was still Starfleet and made the nod to the pips for rank, as modern personnel couldn't figure out how to read her sleeve rank ribbons. While some onlookers may have thought her in poor taste for reenacting at a solemn monument such as Arlington, the spirit of the 23rd century didn't care. She'd come on a mission, because she had ghosts to visit.

Walking through the miles of neatly ordered white tombstones, she found the one indicated on her miniPaDD, which she had decided she needed to nickname something else. Standing before the chalk white marble tombstone, Rita Paris drew in a sharp breath, then began that one-sided conversation she had counseled Mnhei'sahe Dox to have only days before.

"Hello, Daddy. It's been a long time."

The stone read 'Clifford James Paris CDR 2202-2289'. Beside him was another that read 'Albert Michael Paris CDR 2235-2346'. Beside Clifford was ‘Lawrence Paris LTCDR 2175-2228’. The plot to the other side of Albert was empty. Even in death, her brother got credit while she was overlooked.

"Hello, little brother. I told you I'd always be older than you, and look, here we are.”

“I have to say I’m impressed, Daddy,” Paris began. “I was killed in the line of duty and I didn’t even rate a tombstone. After you were the one who made the arrangements to have me murdered by transporter, in death you couldn’t even afford me that much? Not even a marker in Arlington to commemorate that I ever existed? That’s pretty damned cold.”

“Not that I should be surprised, I suppose.” The girl anachronism began pacing in short, measured steps before the stark and clean white tombstone. “When I was alive you only acknowledged me when you disagreed with me trying to actually live up to the family name and serve with distinction. I know," Rita threw her hands up in the air, "how dare I have ovaries and try to be productive in Starfleet?"

"Because it was a man’s game. To boldly go where no MAN has gone before. Yeah, I got that part. But I’ve got news for you, Daddy- I have boldly gone in so very many different ways that you wouldn’t believe. I’ve been to the edge of the galaxy, traveled in time, jumped dimensions more than once, and despite everything, I’ve done more than survive. I’ve thrived. Despite your best efforts, Daddy.”

“Remember Sonak? Well, you wouldn’t but you’re going to stand in for my father, Clifford, because I’ve got some processing to do, and for once you can’t help but sit and listen to me,” Paris muttered, knowing this was not the same man- yet, in so many ways that mattered, he was. His own daughter had transformed in the exact same transporter accident and was never reassembled into matter, so he had murdered her just as if he had done the deed itself. Clearly he had lived with it just fine. Since the daughter of the dead man couldn't be here to dress him down, her counterpart from another reality would be happy to stand in for 'local Rita'.

“Well, after the time you kidnapped me and tried to literally brainwash me, he and I stayed together. You’d hate him- he has an insatiable curiosity about the universe with no assumption that he knows it all. Calm and logical, yet he can be passionate and intense. His decisions are uncolored by fear, greed, pride or envy. He literally came through time and space just to find me. Brave and strong and determined, he's a genuine hero. So basically the exact opposite of you, Daddy."

"Oh, and he’s not human. One of those ‘darned Vulcans’ you loved to go on and on about. I married him. We’ve got a 5 year plan to finish our current assignment, then come settle down and raise the next generation for a few years while we’re young. Pointy-eared grandchildren, just like you feared, you speciesist bigot.”

“I’m serving starship duty again- it’s a long story and frankly, even dead you don’t have the security clearance, so I’ll not bother telling you. They literally hit me with the ship at warp and that saved my life. Crazy, Right? But true." Rita sighed and looked off wistfully. "Ahh, she’s sleek and powerful and beautiful, and I’m the First Officer. Yes, Daddy, someone was crazy enough to not only let me serve, but lead. Want to know something funny? Any time I have a question, all I have to do is ask, ‘What would the Commander do?’ Then I do the exact opposite of that, which usually means 'don't act like an entitled dick and have some compassion'."

"Oddly enough, my career is going quite well. Thanks for all the lessons in ‘how not to do it' over the years, Daddy.”

Pausing, Paris’ face contorted a bit. “It’s so funny. Even now I can still hear you going on in my head about how I’ll fail soon if I am doing well now. How I should never be out there amongst the stars, how it’s a man’s game, exploring the galaxy. You never believed in me, ever.” Rita sniffled, her anger starting to get the better of her, as the truth began pouring out of her with the tears.

“All those years, scholastic achievements didn’t matter, dance recitals you insisted I go to but never showed up for didn't matter. My track meets you couldn’t be bothered to attend or pretend to care about how I did. And how dare I, HOW DARE I want to go join Starfleet? Follow the family tradition? Be an officer and contribute to a crew? I know, how utterly insane of me, as you told me oh so many times on oh so many occasions. All you ever did was claw me down while I kept getting up and striving harder to please you. Because I bought into the idea that it was possible- at least right up to the first 'arranged marriage' scam you pulled with Yngvig Hoorstman at my sixteenth birthday party."

Now Rita was picking up speed as she spoke, dredging up all sorts of old wounds and irritations. "My birthday is before the fleet casts off in the Ides of March, so every year you could use it as an excuse to invite the rest of 'the boys' and politic. You were never in a single picture with me on my birthday, because you made the wives set it up and the enlisted cater it and the cadets work it and I was just an excuse for more time for yourself, you selfish prick. Because in your eyes the fact that I didn’t have a Y chromosome made me completely and utterly useless to you. A bother, a nuisance you had to protect from herself. And you protected me right into an early grave, you frog-faced failure.”

Tears were flowing now, but Rita was on a roll, and for once she was going to have her say. “Anything Albert did was golden, but I was just never, ever going to be good enough, no matter what I did. You know what? You were wrong, old man. I wasn’t good enough, I was better. Better than you ever gave me credit, that's for damn sure! I still remember you blaming me for Mom’s death. Standing there in the funerarium, with her urn of ashes because you refused to let her be buried, even though you could. Telling me that Mom had died because I was so 'difficult'. Do you have any idea how cruel that was? How I carried that around for yeeeeeeears? How damaging that was to me? And now I figure out you probably killed her too, just like you killed me.”

The tears of rage and sorrow continued pouring out of Rita Paris as the time-tossed officer wagged her finger at the tombstone, a gesture she had learned from the grave’s resident. “You were a terrible father, Clifford. You were a terrible father and a lousy commander, and my children will never know of you. I’ll never tell them what an absolute bastard you were. My children will all feel valued. They will feel like when they try their best, they are good enough. Their accomplishments will be celebrated, not derided. No favoritism. My children will never question that they are all loved, and loved equally, Daddy."

"I don’t think I ever heard you say those words to me… which, I guess I can give you credit there. At least you didn’t lie to me.”

“I’ve seen the future, because I live here now. There is equality, other races are welcomed and celebrated, and it isn’t just a human savior's game out there in space anymore. You and your pack of sexist space cowboys can all burn in hell, because this is what your grandchildren did with Starfleet. They turned it into the dream that the Federation was selling all those years, sending white men out into space hoping to contact more of the same. This is a better world than you and yours ever dreamed of, in the here and now. In this better world, I’ve got some news for you.”

“I am good enough. I am worthy to carry on the family name. I am a line officer of Starfleet, and I honor the uniform a whole hell of a lot more than you ever did. I serve with distinction and valor, and I uplift my subordinates, not work to keep them down so I can benefit like some desk-jockey weasel. I am that dream of Starfleet in our day come to fruition, Commander Paris. Not your bigoted little boys club, but a genuine effort of many worlds and cultures coming together for peaceful exploration and mutual benefit. Your inheritors are far more noble than you ever were, Daddy. Which includes your little girl Rita.”

Taking a moment to compose herself, her emotional energy spent, Rita mopped at her damp cheeks and took a deep, cleansing breath, letting her churned up emotions settle once again. “Good talk, Daddy. We should have done this years ago."

"You could never see me for who I was, and you never recognized who I’d become despite you. So enjoy your footnote in the family album, where both you and Albert apparently accomplished entire lifetimes of a whole lotta nothing. Me, I’ve got first contacts to make and people to rescue and phenomena to explore and space to travel. I’ve already had a more illustrious and interesting career than you ever did, and I’m only getting started. Goes for you too, you obnoxious jerk,” she added, flipping off Albert’s tombstone.

“So don’t expect any more visits- you are a part of my past I have been done with for decades now. You were a petty little shitbird of a man who amounted to nothing, and frankly, I’m… I'm..."

"I’m glad you’re gone. There. I said it."

"I’m glad I’ll never have to worry about rounding a corner and running into you, or getting a message from you about some promising new officer you want to marry me off to, or how much of an embarrassment I am to you. You’re the embarrassment, Daddy- you never deserved that uniform, you disgraced it. So enjoy watching me from whatever afterlife you ended up in. Because that’s all you’ll ever get to do. As I succeed and achieve, you’ll have nothing to say, like always.”

“Burn in hell, Daddy. Say hello to Albert while you’re there.”


Walking out of the vast cemetery could take time, but she had time. Rita liked to walk and think, if she wasn't running and thinking, as it helped her process- always had. Sonak said it created equilibrium in the balance between her mind and her body, thus enabling her to achieve a harmonious blend of logic and emotion that he found sublime. Thinking of her logical spouse brought a smile to her face. As she had wanted to do some things alone, he thus planned to visit Starfleet Science and perhaps the Academy. They were to meet for dinner at a yet to be chosen location, the alien astrophysicist being willing to indulge his nubile navigator's impulsive nature.

A life of adventure amongst the stars she had sought, and achieved, beyond her wildest dreams. A man far greater than any she had ever conceived of existing adored her, appreciated her, celebrated her and loved her, despite the incontrovertible fact that he had no emotions. A mighty starship was her home, filled with wonders of both artifice and individuals. Serving under a pirate princess gone rogue do-gooder, doing the dirty jobs of Starfleet. All while bringing her outdated morality that was the dream of Starfleet in her day to the equation, and insuring that they did dirty deeds while making choices based on compassion, not fear. Teaching, supporting, exploring and adventuring.

Life, for Rita Paris, was an adventure. With the intuition native to all heroes, she strongly suspected that her life would always be thus, and the thought made her smile all the more brightly. That winning smile that was unmistakable and unforgettable. The family name she'd keep- after all, it was hers, and she'd pass it on if the kids wanted to use it, not force it on them if not. The life she had led as a child simply didn't have to matter to the adult. Daddy dearest was long since worm food, and it was time the Starfleet officer, whose accomplishments by far outstripped anything her father had ever dreamed of achieving, forgot about him and moved on.

Before she left the land of the dead, the woman who graduated 32nd in her class from Starfleet Academy, class of 2255, had one more stop to make.

To see an old friend.

The statue was impressive- clad in one of those uniforms that had come along about a decade after she'd left, that the fleet apparently stuck with for decades afterward. She'd hoped the statue would be the dashing young captain she'd remembered, but this was a stouter man with longer hair, a communicator in one hand while his other hand pointed toward the stars. The legend inscribed on the base was a quote:

Some people think the future means the end of history. But we haven't run out of history just yet.

There was a monument with a tasteful reflecting pool, and a mausoleum that housed his body, which had been recovered in 2371, although he had been declared killed in action in 2293 on the Enterprise B. Busy year for him.

Circling around, she took in the tasteful monument to a fellow she'd gone to school with, who saved her and 5 others of his 'bridge crew' from flunking out of the Academy by beating the Kobayashi Maru. She'd kept up with his career, of course. Because she was a line officer and it was fleet business, she'd read the reports of the Enterprise's exploits, keeping up with him as he took command of the Enterprise and drove the famous starship out for the most memorable five-year mission of them all.

They'd not been close, because they ran in different circles. She rebuffed him only once, and he took it gracefully and never asked her again. Although that smolder and that smile and those eyes were hard for any woman to resist, and he knew it. He was handsome and charming, and he'd been a good classmate her four years at the Academy.

This wasn't the same man that she had known. But it was A version of him, and visiting with the dead, they didn't quibble with quantum reality differentials.

"Hi Jim... long time, no see..."