Holy crap! Flying an atompunk rocketship and still blowing up (Psi)Borg cubes! Some things never change. Enjoying the many "callbacks" to episodic Voyager as well.
That's a Ray Bradbury shout-out, specifically Usher II in which government "Moral Climate Monitors" have banned works of fiction. He'd take the theme further in Fahrenheit 451 in which all forms of written literature are banned (and burned).
Epilogue: STARSHIP VOYAGER BENDARA, KURT. Maquis rebel (paroled). Telfas mining colony, Ceres. BENNET, RICHARD. Spacefleet Ensign. Sydney, Autonomous Region of Australia, People's Republic of Greater China. CAREY, JOSEPH. Spacefleet Tech Lieutenant. War refugee, Belfast, United Ireland. DURST, PETE. Spacefleet Gunner's Mate. New Chicago, United Megacities of America. HOGAN, MATTHEW. Maquis rebel (paroled). Space Station DS-9. RICO, JUAN. Corporal, United Nations Space Marines. SeaDome-7, Republic of the Philippines. SUDER, LON. Maquis rebel (paroled). Martian citizen (naturalized), place of birth unknown. VANBUSKIRK, PETER. Sergeant, United Nations Space Marines. New Holland, Venus. Beneath the list of the dead were thirty-six other names with injuries ranging from broken bones to radiation exposure. Though the experience of the Third World War had greatly advanced the treatment of the latter, she would not be the only member of the crew who would need regular check-ups over the next few decades. Captain Janeway crumpled the print-out in her hands. "Joe Carey is dead?" "There was a radiation leak in the Power Room," said Chakotay. "They had to evacuate. Carey stayed behind to ensure we'd have power to the Cochrane Drive when we needed it." "I don't know what to say..." Janeway looked up at the two officers floating in the middle of her cabin. "No, that's wrong. I'll begin by thanking you for saving my life, then ask why eight men had to die in exchange. I'll ask why you disobeyed a direct order and risked the lives of every man and woman on board my ship!" "It wasn't your ship," was Chakotay's calm response. "I was the captain of Voyager and I made the decision. I hear there are three rules about being a Spacefleet captain: always keep your coverall zipped up, go down with the ship, and never abandon__" "Oh, shut up!" Janeway reached for her coffeemaker, then realized she'd seen the last of her coffee disappearing down the gullet of the Hirogen Alpha. She opened the drawer for a packet of Spaceport Classic, then remembered the Autodoc had told her not to smoke until her lungs had recovered from her decompression injuries. She slammed the drawer shut and glared at Chakotay. "I wasn't some damsel in distress that needed rescuing; I surrendered myself to the Caretaker so this crew could get back to Earth! Who are you to make that decision for all of them?" "Captain Chakotay did not act alone," stated TuV'k. "I seconded his decision, and noted that in the ship's log." 'Of course you did,' thought Janeway, studying the Martian. His features were as impassive as an Adept could make them. Asking whether logic or emotion had swayed his action would be regarded as an insult, she knew. "I don't recall anyone objecting," said Chakotay, "though I admit we didn't have time to conduct a poll. After Voyager passed through the black star portal we found ourselves in some kind of... galactic transport hub, for want of a better term. Thousands of conduits to every part of the galaxy, including our own Solar System... but there was also a convoy heading back to the Array, so I ordered Mr. Paris to skew-flip Voyager and follow them in. Then it was just a matter of persuading the Caretaker to send us after you. That was easier than I expected; we found him barricaded inside the torpedo room of a Hirogen warship while their Alpha was running amok outside with an overly-large hunting rifle. The Caretaker was quite willing to help us, once I convinced him you were the only one who knew the antidote for the berserker drug you used to infect the Alpha." "Berserker drug???" "Turns out the Hirogen aren't used to coffee." Janeway sunk her head into her hands. Her scalp itched where the hair was growing back under her wig. 'A bald captain', she thought grouchily. 'Maybe I'll start a fad'. "It's far more likely the Caretaker was trying to get you all killed," she said. "He may well have succeeded. We're light-years from the nearest star system, we have no idea how to activate the black star portal to take us home, and we blew up the only available vessel capable of traversing interstellar space." Chakotay and TuV'k exchanged a look. "Unless there's something you gentlemen haven't told me?" "It appears that while they were on the Array," said TuV'k, "several members of our crew managed to acquire the essential components of a spacewarp drive." "WHAT?! Who? How?" "I'd say it was a classic Maquis operation, but there were Spacefleet people involved as well," said Chakotay. "They traded some vids from Voyager's library for access to the engineering areas of a K'Zon warship that was being repaired in spacedock. The Caretaker wasn't joking when he said his people were obsessed with collecting esoterica. Turns out the Briori are crazy about alien cultural works." "Cultural works? You mean Plato, Shakespeare, Ayn Rand?" "Well... more like game shows, soap operas and baseball commentary. And there was a documentary on Chicago Mobs of the 1920's that they really seemed to like." Janeway was incredulous. "Let me get this straight. You're telling me that a technologically-advanced species sold us the secret of faster-than-light travel in exchange for... for the World Series and I Love Lucy: The Next Generation?" "Well, not sold, exactly..." "I believe 'theft' and 'bribery' are the correct words in Terran-English," said TuV'k. "That Wix'Iban fellow had a brother's brother's uncle who did the scutwork in the Power Room," explained Chakotay, "and he left some hatches unlocked, then Seska paid off the Briori security supervisor, B'Elanna and Carey removed the components, and Tom Paris happened to be nearby in a shuttleboat..." "So they pirated a pirate ship—very apropos. How does that help us? You can't just plug an alien gadget into a Spacefleet console and fold space at a whim! It could take years to work out the principles behind this technology!" "B'Elanna is confident that with the help of the eggheads and the Glowing Gang, she can create a tractable bubble of warped space large enough to encompass the entire ship." Chakotay removed a sheet of graph paper from his pocket and floated it across to Janeway, who snatched it out of the air. It was an engineer's sketch of Voyager encircled by a pair of giant metal tori, connected to the hull by slim spokes. "We'd have to construct it ourselves of course, without the help of a spacedock. Fortunately most of the Belters have experience in space construction work, and Cargo Bay Two has the raw material we need. We might not be able to cross the galaxy in a single bound like that cube-ship, but we could travel to the nearest star system in less than a week. I had Astrogation and Computer Deck crunch the numbers, and they reckon Voyager could get back to Earth within our lifetime." "How long exactly?" "Seventy-five years at maximum acceleration, give or take..." "SEVENTY-FIVE YEARS?!" "Which is a lot better than never," Chakotay forged on. "Even if only our children or grandchildren made it back home, they would have a better future among their own kind than in some isolated colony struggling on the verge of extinction." "There are other considerations," said TuV'k. "We now know that our Solar System has attracted the attention of hostile alien forces. We would be delivering a much-needed technological advance to the Tri-World Federation, and forewarning them of the dangers they might face." 'That wasn't what the two of you were saying earlier,' Janeway thought. Their encounter with the Psiborg Collective had clearly given them all a kick in their complacency. "It appears you have everything worked out,” she said sardonically. “What do you need me for?" "A decision," said Chakotay. "You're the captain of Voyager now. Do we set course for the Solar System, or find a habitable planet and settle down?" Janeway pursed her lips. On her desktop videograph Mark and Mollie frolicked in their never-ending loop. Family or Duty? Groundside or Outer Space? She had been given this choice before, but this time the stakes were much higher. Like any rocketship that had to operate billions of miles from the nearest planet, Voyager was designed to be easily repaired, self-sufficient in food and power and oxygen, habitable for years in an emergency. But what her officers were proposing was something their designers had never anticipated. It meant decades on a rocketship that was never meant to be an ark, their lives dependent on alien technology that could leave them marooned in the unfathomable void between the stars, crossing a galaxy that might well prove dangerous in ways beyond their understanding. The dangers they did know of were bad enough: cosmic radiation, space madness, space piracy—as long as the Briori controlled the galaxy-spanning portal network they would be in danger from K'Zon pirates or Hirogen hunters. And who knew if the Psiborg Collective had been truly destroyed? Perhaps it would be better to establish a colony—that Second Foundation of Man—but that brought its own risks. It meant landing Voyager on a planet and dismantling the ship for building materials, using its reactor to power a community but leaving them vulnerable to orbital bombardment by any passing aggressor. It meant raising children on a world where the biology would be innately hostile, evolved to co-exist with completely different forms of life. Or perhaps they could cast aside the Prime Directive and assimilate into an extraterran culture on a civilized world, become aliens adrift in a sea of aliens. Whatever resulted would not be human and know nothing of Earth. Whatever course they chose, their chances were so slim they would need more than luck, skill and determination to succeed; they would need resolve beyond the point of reason, to continue on when both logic and emotion dictated it would be better to just give up. And once they had set forth it would not be easy to stop after blood and sweat had been invested. The same pioneer stubbornness that would get them home or found a colony against all odds would make it difficult to change their course should it be necessary. Janeway keyed the PA toggle. "Now hear this. This is the captain speaking. All hands not currently on watch or in Sickbay are to muster in the messdeck." Some of those in Sickbay turned up regardless: Hyun Kim with his arm in a cast, Keshari guiding a man with bandaged eyes, Chell in a life-support stretcher carried by a couple of marines. B'Elanna Torres was there with a dozen members of the Glowing Gang, trying to look confident in the uniform of a newly-frocked Tech Lieutenant (j.g.). There was Majel Barrett with her computers and electronicists; Annika Hansen with her astrogators, chartsmen and stereographic interpreters; Dr. Zimmerman and his cosmologists, xenologists, xenolinguists, labtechs and psychotechs. There were gunners and torpedomen, radarmen and commtechs, yeomen and clerks, stewards and cooks, space-jockeys and technos and jetmen. Men and women from Antarctica to Zanzibar, from Mars and Venus and the Belt and colonies that only veteran spacers had ever heard of. Janeway was annoyed but not surprised to see Nee'Lix was still on board despite her orders, hanging from a null-gee strap by his tail and arguing with Cookie over the correct way to stew tomatoes. Even the Autodoc had turned up, stubbornly insisting it had become Chief Medical Officer by default and therefore had a right to attend crew briefings. "You're an Autodoc, not an officer!" she had replied, but had let the robot stay. Some of the crew had started pairing off, Janeway noticed. Seska was whispering in the ear of Michael Jonas, and B'Elanna had attracted several admirers including Tom Paris and Ensign Vor'K. ('A man from Mars with a woman from Venus?' she thought, 'That never works!') She would have to give some discreet advice to the girl about handling personal relationships when you were a Spacefleet officer. And what of herself? She eyed Chakotay as he handed her the wireless handset to relay her words to the rest of the ship. Thought of a man called Mark and a dog called Mollie, too distant in space and time. "We are alone," said Captain Janeway, "in an uncharted part of the galaxy. Already we have made enemies and taken losses. But we've made some friends as well, risked all to save each others' lives, come together as one crew in the face of fear and danger. And it is as that crew we shall face whatever adversity lies ahead. I've been informed that even at maximum acceleration it will take seventy-five years to reach our Solar System, but I'm not willing to settle for that. We know there are aliens out there with the ability to get us home a lot faster, and we'll be looking for them; we'll be seeking every technology and opportunity that can help us. And in doing so we shall expand the frontiers of our understanding of the Universe, we shall discover worlds and civilizations undreamed of. We shall live up to the name of Voyager, by boldly going where no-one has gone before." Someone started clapping; Janeway thought it was B'Elanna but she couldn't be sure as the others joined in, a thunderous applause filling the room. She could hear them over the intercraft as well, the entire ship resounding with cheers of acclamation. Not too long ago they had been trying to kill each other. Now they were her crew, the crew of the rocketship... no, make that the starship Voyager. And together, they would find a way home. THE END
Now that's a satisfying story! Thank you for a read that's fun on so many levels: as an example of old-fashioned genre work (a real "blast from the past," pun absolutely intended) with all of that era's fun and flaws; as a rollicking tribute to Voyager; as a smorgasbord (I was going to say "smorgasBorg," but I don't think I want to own that one) of classic sf nibblings; and as a well-written and entertaining work. Thanks for sharing it!
"They passed a law. Oh, it started very small. In 1950 and ‘60 it was a grain of sand. They began by controlling books of cartoons and then detective books and, of course, films, one way or another, one group or another, political bias, religions, prejudice, union pressures; there was always a minority afraid of something, and a great majority afraid of the dark, afraid of the future, afraid of the past, afraid of the present, afraid of themselves and shadows of themselves. Afraid of the word ‘politics’ (which eventually became a synonym for Communism among the more reactionary elements, so I hear, and it was worth your life to use the word!), and with a screw tightened here, a bolt fastened there, a push, a pull, a yank, art and literature were soon like a great twine of taffy strung about, being twisted in braids and tied in knots and thrown in all directions, until there was no more resiliency and no more savor to it. Then the film cameras chopped short and the theaters turned dark, and the print presses trickled down from a great Niagara of reading matter to a mere innocuous dripping of ‘pure’ material. Oh, the word ‘escape’ was radical, too, I tell you! Every man, they said, must face reality. Must face the Here and Now! Everything that was not so must go. All the beautiful literary lies and flights of fancy must be shot in mid-air." — William Stendahl, Usher II by Ray Bradbury (1950)