“Lieutenant Tuvok, access the array and initiate the program to send us home.”
The tone of her voice held none of the hours of agonizing soul-searching she had partaken of. It reflected none of the time she had spent combing through the Starfleet databases available to her looking for some precedent case — but there was nothing to account for finding yourself flung 70,000 light years across the galaxy, confronted with the welfare of an entirely subterranean civilization of mildly telepathic creatures of a planet with no nucleogenic particles in its atmosphere. And even if there had been, it would have been little comfort to her conscience.
“Aye, Captain.”
Janeway repressed a shudder at the sound of Tuvok’s acknowledgment. She glanced warily at the screen, worried that the approaching Kazon ships would interfere. They were bound by the Prime Directive not to interfere. Every Starfleet-trained bone in her body agreed with her and that was what mattered — wasn’t it? She had a responsibility to her crew to get them home.
A brilliant flash of light blinded her to all other attempts at explanation.
^\/^\/^
“Report!” she ordered somewhat unsteadily. The ship had come through the return relatively unscathed in comparison to their first trip.
“Shields are down. Warp drive off-line,” stated Ensign Kim.
“Where are we?”
“The edge of the Badlands. Storms aren’t very active today.”
“Just the same, I’d like to see us out of here as soon as possible. Set the shortest course and engage impulse engines, Mr. Paris.” She wondered if anyone else heard the steel that had worked its way into her voice.
The silence that quickly pervaded the bridge was broken a few moments later.
“Captain, we’ve just cleared the Badlands.” Paris’ voice was tinged with regret. It wouldn’t be long now — before he was back at the penal colony.
“Set course for Deep Space Nine, Warp 4 as soon as we get the warp engines back. Mr. Tuvok, inform Starfleet Command of our little adventure.” She turned to regard Chakotay, still seated at one of the surplus stations. “And inform security we’ll have some people to fill the brig.”
Chakotay stood in silence, noticing B’Elanna move before she spoke.
“You can’t mean you brought us back here just to hand us over to Starfleet? We would have been better off in the Delta Quadrant.”
“Commander,” Janeway started, turning towards the Maquis leader, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to place your crew under arrest.”
“I understand, Captain.” Indeed, he did, but understanding and acceptance were two completely different things. Chakotay signaled all the Maquis on the bridge to relinquish their freedom to the newly arrived security detail. He had to drag B’Elanna by the arm, but she broke loose for just a moment, fixing Harry Kim with a look that, coming from anyone else, would have burned his brain to the back of his skull.
“Thanks a lot, Starfleet,” she said before she was once again being hauled to the turbolift.
Harry ventured a modest glance at the captain; surely there was some way that they could … but when the captain indicated that if he wasn’t going to say something, he should return his attention to his station, Harry broke the gaze. The captain was a captain for many reasons, and he knew that the ability to make tough decisions was one of those attributes.
^\/^\/^
Janeway slumped onto the couch in her ready room, draping an arm over her eyes, hoping that the soft thrum of the ship would help to reconcile her with the decision she had just made, the judgment she had just cast. But there seemed to be no solace for her, even now that she was in the relative security of the Alpha Quadrant once again. They would be at Deep Space Nine soon enough; what was she going to tell Starfleet? True, she had captured the renegade Maquis, regained her security officer — but at what price?
Her mind recalled the two people whose acquaintance she had had for too short a time: a rather enthusiastic Talaxian who had been more grateful for water than she herself was for that first cup of coffee in the morning, and an enigmatic Ocampan. A pang of sorrow filled Janeway; the girl, Kes — so much had been waiting just under the surface, ready to explode into a world of exploration and knowledge, much like the Ocampan civilization itself. Now what kind of life would she live — if she did live? Scavenging? Running from the various Kazon factions?
“Come in, Tuvok,” Janeway said, sitting up to look at her friend. Forefinger and thumb tried to massage away the stubborn headache threatening her sanity at the edge.
“Captain, the reports you ordered on the weapons systems,” Tuvok stated calmly, approaching her with padd in hand.
“Efficient as always, Tuvok. It’s good to have you back on board.” Janeway tried to stand and move towards her desk, but fatigue was starting to take its toll and her step faltered.
“Captain…” Tuvok started, but he stopped himself short, unsure of what to say, bounded by Vulcan pragmatism.
“I know, Tuvok, I know. I should rest.”
“That would be advisable. Starfleet can wait a few hours for your report on this mission, especially when you consider they would have otherwise been kept waiting three-quarters of a century.” Tuvok tried to instill his words with logical persuasion.
“Tuvok,” Janeway said as she sat back on the couch, “do you think I made the right choice?”
“Under the situations, it was the logical course of action.”
“What makes you think that?” Janeway asked, narrowing her eyes slightly, in search of an infallible argument.
“As a Starfleet officer, you are bounded by the Prime Directive not to interfere. As a Starfleet captain, you are responsible for the well-being of the members of this crew. The only logical course of action was to return.”
“But the Maquis were part of this crew in a sense, Tuvok, and I can’t see as I’ve done them any good bringing them back to incarceration.”
“Captain, may I remind you that it was the Maquis who decided to become fugitives.”
“I know, Tuvok, I know. I’ve heard the arguments a thousand times already, every time I close my eyes. I guess I was just hoping you’d have some cure-all Vulcan points of wisdom to set my mind at ease.” Janeway felt a small smile pull at her face.
“Sometimes the logical course of action is not always the easiest.”
“In that case, Tuvok, this has got to be one of the most logical decisions I’ve ever made.” She stared out at the stars as they streamed by. “Inform me once we’ve reach DS9. And see if you can arrange a stop-over at the station for a few days. I think the crew is going to need some time to accept everything that’s happened these past days.”
“Aye, Captain.” Tuvok was gone as smoothly as he came, and Janeway found herself surrounded by an interminable silence, one that echoed over thousands of light years.
^\/^\/^
Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation starship Voyager stepped onto the Promenade of Deep Space Nine. She would have no need to explain who she was here; people would recognize her as a member of Starfleet by the very clothes she wore. They would be able to tell she was a captain, and eventually with the knowledge that Voyager was docked at the station, they would know who she was.
There was no fun in that.
Why, in the Delta Quadrant, each encounter had required an introduction, the formation of a relationship with someone who had never heard of you. Not that word didn’t travel fast, but it seemed a bit slower than in the Alpha Quadrant. It had been a glorious experience.
The scent of coffee tugged at Janeway’s tired spirit. Perhaps if she had a cup and just sat down for a while at the Replimat — not that it would change any of the choices she had made, nothing could do that. Maybe, though, it would help her to accept those choices.
“A lot of good it does to ask the computer where someone is if you don’t know where the place is. If I had been thinking straight, I would have just followed my nose to the coffee. I get the feeling that’s what you did.”
Janeway froze in place. She knew that jovial voice, that light, tender sound that she had almost given up hearing for seventy-five years. Frazzled nerves caused her to spill her coffee as she stood and spun around.
“Mark!” She wrapped her arms tightly around him, threatening him with a bear hug that would squeeze every ounce of life from him. “How … when…”
“I came as soon as I got word that Voyager had disappeared. I don’t know why, but something told me I had to be here when you got back.”
When you got back … The words echoed in Janeway’s mind. When, not if. And if they had never returned?
“Come on, I’ve got quarters here. Maybe it would be a better place to talk.” He guided her gently by the elbow. “Besides, there’s someone who I think would like to see you.”
“Oh, Mark, you didn’t, not in her condition.”
“I didn’t have a choice. Nobody would take care of her while I was gone. Don’t worry, I consulted with the doctor and I almost think she had a better trip than I did.”
Nothing compared to mine … Janeway pushed the thought aside, and plastered on a smile that she hoped wouldn’t be too hard to produce in the future.
^\/^\/^
She had to get out, out of the small, confining space they had locked her into. She had to get out, had to escape.
Don’t let her get to you, Torres, she’s just mad. She wouldn’t be Klingon if she wasn’t. B’Elanna tried to fight her Klingon blood, hoping that it would calm down enough for her to get some rest. Even in the cell, guarded against escapes, the Klingon in her still felt the need to try.
If we got out, we could get revenge. We could make her regret ever turning us over to these pah’tahks!
Yes, revenge. That would taste very good.
^\/^\/^
Harry Kim strolled the Promenade in a day-old uniform, looking at the vibrant lights and the throngs of people of all species that he knew so well. Bolians, Vulcans, Humans, Ferengis, Bajorans, and so many others.
But no Kazon, no Talaxians, no Ocampans.
He spotted Quark, still trying to pawn off the same cheap crystals on some clue less soul. And a week ago he had been that clue less soul. He had been ready to plunk down latinum just to avoid making a scene.
Now … now he had survived being thrown across the galaxy, infected with a fatal disease as some dying alien tried to create a new caretaker for the Ocampans, encounters with the Kazon-Ogla, and another trip back across the galaxy. Back where he started.
B’Elanna was in jail, so was Tom. It wasn’t fair. They were good people who had just made a few mistakes along the way. Any one of them could easily have been him and he, them. Easily.
Perhaps all too easily.
^\/^\/^
Funny, he didn’t remember the gray walls being quite as condemning last time. They had always just seemed to mock him, but he had mocked them right back. That way they kept their distance, and he kept his, and nobody got hurt.
Nobody else, that is.
But it hadn’t worked that way. He had let people get close, to step inside the gray walls and forcefield he always had around himself in his mind. Hell, he had even risked his life to save theirs.
Who knows, maybe it will do you some good at your next hearing. Until then, you have a lovely trip back to your accommodations back in New Zealand. Lucky you.
Yep, that summed up Tom Paris all right: lucky.
^\/^\/^
It was a few moments before security tracked B’Elanna Torres down. In unfamiliar territory, and with a Changeling as Chief of Security, she had barely been free five minutes before the deputies apprehended her.
And something in the back of Odo’s mind recognized something burning in her eyes, something that even eclipsed the fever of Klingon blood.
Insanity.
^\/^\/^
Janeway sat in her quarters aboard the Voyager. Mark had offered his quarters, but something had pulled her back to her quarters, her ship. So many things had changed in the past few weeks. Tom Paris had been returned to the New Zealand Penal Colony, to serve out a reduced sentence. B’Elanna Torres had been placed in a high security asylum, the victim of a revenge-induced insanity. It was said that she was constantly murmuring plots against the Federation, plots against Janeway and the Voyager. Harry Kim was back in Starfleet with a fervor after taking leave. Projections for his advancement were already running high, but Janeway had noticed a change in him, a very palpable change. There was something about him that was missing, some key element to life gone from his eyes.
And it was all her fault.
She had guided them down these new paths. She, and she alone, was responsible for where they were now. She had made the decision to bring them back.
The only constant was Tuvok, who remained his stoic Vulcan self.
Starfleet had been in virtually constant contact with her, nailing down every last precious detail they could about the brief visit to the Delta Quadrant. It had actually come as a welcome relief from doing nothing. It had filled the seemingly endless hours that she now had as the Voyager sat in dock at Deep Space Nine. Most importantly, it had numbed her.
Every day she was getting better at describing the Ocampa in a scientific manner, in providing Starfleet Intelligence with descriptions of the Kazon and their armaments, in explaining the Caretaker’s story and its failed quest, in making the decision to return to the Alpha Quadrant. Yes, she was getting good at telling the story, of making Starfleet understand and believe her, and, most importantly, convincing herself.
^\/^\/^
Five years later…
Janeway sat at her desk, reading the message Tuvok had delivered her over and over again. Her mind flashed back to the first time she had met Harry Kim, an eager-to-please ensign, shipped fresh from the Academy. But he had been good at his job, showing enormous amounts of potential. In the short time he had served under her, she had recognized something in the young man, something bound to take him far and high up in the ranks of Starfleet’s elite.
And now this. Janeway’s memory clung to Kim’s face, the one he seemed to have plastered on after returning from the Delta Quadrant. There was a mask slipped over the true Harry Kim, transformed into an automaton of sorts. There was always determination, always a sense of purpose and goal in his steps. Quickly he had shot up, making youngest captain in Starfleet’s history at twenty-six. Nothing could stand in his way. His orders were exact, precise, and none doubted him.
None, until now.
For while Kim’s ship, the Vega, had waited at Starbase 297 for a standard upgrade, Kim himself had disappeared. His quarters onboard the Vega had been searched in hopes of finding any clue as to where he had gone or why, if it had been a planned action. There were some reports that he had been kidnapped by one of the few struggling Cardassian-Dominion factions left in the Alpha Quadrant, but that was one of the more farfetched ones. And the reason lay in what was in Kim’s quarters, or rather, what was not. Despite a situation normal, with a place for everything and everything in its place, there was one thing missing: a weathered and worn clarinet.
Janeway smiled a small smile as she remembered talking to Harry’s mother, telling her there wasn’t enough time to retrieve the instrument before Voyager‘s mission into the Badlands. Kim had retrieved it readily enough upon return, but what if they had not returned? What if they had remained in the Delta Quadrant, making their way home over thousands and thousands and thousands of light years? What then?
What now? Suspicions had been confirmed as much as possible about Kim’s disappearance: his career in Starfleet had taken him full circle, from being part of a mission to track down a group of Maquis to becoming a part of the group himself.
“You’re sure about this?” Janeway asked, wearily laying down the padd.
“Starfleet Intelligence has significant reason to believe that Captain Kim has defected to join the Maquis,” Tuvok clipped.
Janeway ran a shaky hand over her face. The past few years had not been kind to her, and every day added to her load. Her body was wasted, appearing almost ill to some. Ambition had been washed away on some tide of regret. She stood from her desk, turning to face the window.
“Such a different life, Tuvok,” she said, eyes scanning the arid land before her. “I, for one, never thought I’d ever end up living on Vulcan.” She turned back to face her friend. “Did you?”
“I must admit, the possibility did escape me.”
“So much for logic.” Janeway smiled softly, adding the air of a joke to the statement. “You should know, Tuvok, that it is that damned persistent logic of Vulcans that’s kept me sane all these years. That’s why I had to live here. I had to surround myself by the safety of logic, immerse myself in a culture based on it. It is the very foundation of my life now, and you, my friend, are one of the pillars.” Janeway remained like a statue, taking in the friend before her, one of the few people who had stood beside her over the years. Mark had, as well, but for all the effort, he fell short of helping her. He fell short of understanding her, and when she had decided to make the move to Vulcan nearly three years ago, he had fallen short of following her.
A glint of light caught her eye, and Janeway spun, happy for the distraction. If she could focus on the ordered outside world, perhaps the chaos inside her would disappear. “I never thought I would ever see the day when I left Starfleet. And then four years ago, I did. I left Voyager, entrusted her to someone else, resigned my commission, and tried to forget. Mark and I traveled for a few months, looking for some place to settle, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t settle, not when I was still running from myself. And then three years ago …” Janeway paused, a lump rising in her throat coupled with a chuckle. “Three years ago I get a message telling me there’s a position open on Vulcan for a scientist. A planet full of them, and there’s an opening.”
“It was a fortuitous turn of events.”
“Indeed. I never have thanked you for what you did for me, Tuvok, whatever it was that opened up this position for me. It has given me the chance for some precious little peace in my life.” Janeway lowered her head, turning it slightly to direct her comments at the man standing behind her.
“Captain, it was…”
“I know, Tuvok, I know. Sometimes, though, even a Vulcan cannot hide everything. I can hear it in your voice, every time you call me ‘captain’ as if we were still out there, among the stars. But if calling it ‘fortuitous’ helps your logic, than fortuitous it was. Quite fortuitous.”
“Kathryn,” he said quietly, placing a hand on her shoulder.
And Kathryn Janeway, captain emeritus of the U.S.S. Voyager, knew there was no point in stopping the tears; knew that for a Vulcan this was a very significant act; knew in that moment that she had never been nor never would be alone; knew that she had a friend yet in this world; and knew that nothing more needed to be said.
Tuvok considered the woman in front of him. A long time friend, once his captain, and a person who had been burdened with a very heavy load in life. Somewhere, deep beneath his Vulcan skin, his heart cried for this woman, wept with the knowledge of the pain she had suffered and would most likely always suffer, grieved for the part of herself she had lost. But that was deep beneath his skin, buried under years and years of Vulcan stoicism.
Finally, after several moments of silence, the hand slipped, reluctantly, from her shoulder. Janeway turned slowly, making a quick effort to wipe the tears from her face as a courtesy to her Vulcan friend.
“Thank you, Tuvok.”
“You do not need to thank me, Kathryn.” He nodded curtly and turned to leave.
And that was when it happened. Without warning, it felt as if her throat closed up, a fire building inside her chest. The room swam before her eyes, and she knocked over a vase reaching to support herself against her missing balance.
“Captain?”
“I…” What was it? What was going on? Thoughts were in her head, pictures in her mind, but who were these people? And then the fire was there again, threatening to consume every last fiber of her body, threatening to reduce her to nothing. Her mind flashed, back to Voyager, back to the array that had started her on this damned path, back to the people she had encountered…
And the impact hit.
Even Vulcan reflexes and agility did not allow Tuvok to reach her before her body hit the floor. He felt for a pulse and was knocked off-guard. Through the contact came one piercing scream made of thousands of voices, some young, some old, one of them Kathryn’s, all pleading for one thing and one thing only:
Help.
^\/^\/^
The contacted emergency team arrived almost immediately.
“She’s suffering cardiac arrest,” the doctor said calmly. A nurse administered a hypospray and soon the alarms of the doctor’s tricorder calmed as well. “She should be transferred to a hospital as soon as possible for further monitoring. Do you have any ideas on what may have caused the attack?”
“No.”
^\/^\/^
Janeway’s room had been turned into its own hospital. Tuvok had decided that whatever had brought on the attack, it was something Janeway was going to have to deal with herself, and she could accomplish that more efficiently in familiar surroundings. It was all quite logical.
But Kathryn had yet to awaken from her attack. None of the doctors knew why, and none wanted to risk giving her a stimulant to wake her forcibly. And so Tuvok waited for Kathryn to awake from her coma.
^\/^\/^
She tried to fight the white light surrounding her. It was suffocating, deadening. Things were so silent, so still. It was almost relaxing.
And then the fire came again. She tried to back away from it, to distance herself, but hands reached out for her through the fire. Charred hands, that flailed and grasped at her, pulling her back into the fire, back…
Tuvok noticed the moment Kathryn started to move. She kicked at her sheets, pushing away at air, seizing in some unseen captivity. And yet all of her vital signs were normal. What was happening to her?
Her body kicked out one last time and then in some move marked with phenomenal fluidity, her body folded in on itself, curling into the fetal position. Her muscles were still twitching, the anxiety apparent. After nearly a week of patient waiting, Tuvok made a choice.
Placing his fingers on her face, he hesitated a moment to wipe away the tears wrenched from her eyes. He looked closely at her face, noting the many worry lines that had appeared over the past five years. And then he continued.
“Your mind to my mind. Your thoughts to my thoughts…”
^\/^\/^
The first thing he noticed was the absolute stillness. Nothing made any sound, not even the fire consuming Kathryn. Curled up in the middle of the flames, he knew in an instant that she was being burned, but that the flames pierced her skin without damage, striking instead at her very core. He pulled her from the flames, hoping for some response, hoping that she could aid him, but her body just remained on the ground.
And Tuvok noticed the flames. He saw that they were not mere flames, the type one might use to light a candle or a fire; they were much more intense, as if set off by a phaser or torpedo of some sort.
He watched the flames, burning unnaturally amidst the white. Saw scenes of power conservation, and its ultimate futility. Saw families huddling together in one last communion, knowing their destruction was imminent.
Saw a woman dying after living only two-thirds of her life; dying even as she tried to rally protection through the use of their minds; dying, with one regret on her mind: that she had not been able to convince the crew of the Voyager to stay and help her people.
Saw her, dying, thinking of the woman she had begun to respect, the woman now the focus of this fire.
And Tuvok knew the source of Kathryn’s coma, knew why she had been forced into cardiac arrest, knew that the past never truly is left behind. He knew the latest position given to his once-captain; he knew what she was now.
The brunt of the last cry of an entire civilization, its forgotten telepathic power lashing out across space, as it was destroyed.
By the Kazon.
^\/^\/^
Tuvok slumped back into a chair, the intensity of the meld overcoming him. He was just about to drift off to a restorative sleep when Kathryn moved.
Weary eyes fluttered open. Janeway uncurled her body, slowly, as if afraid any quick movement might break her. Quietly, she became aware of where she was and who was intently focused on any movement she made.
“Tuvok?” she asked, her voice consumed by fatigue. Her eyes closed once again, too heavy to be supported any longer. She felt a hand smoothing the hair away from her forehead. A cool hand, that seemed to shake only slightly.
“I know, Kathryn. I know.” Janeway soaked in the soothing voice, knowing that there was more than mere understanding in it.
^\/^\/^
Some of those who knew Kathryn Janeway well often noted that she was never quite the same after the coma. She was quieter, withdrawn, isolated — with the exception of Tuvok and his family. The change in Janeway, however, did not escape Tuvok’s expert Vulcan eye. It was palpable and for the better. There was a sense of somber closure in Kathryn’s life now. And despite the guilt she felt, for Paris’ re-incarceration, for driving B’Elanna to insanity, for causing Kim to abandon a prominent career in Starfleet, for captaining the ship that left a civilization to fend for itself through slim chances, for leading an entire crew through a horrendous experience, despite all of these reasons, she would be able to move on and lead her own life once again…
~The End~