Strange New Worlds 8

by Dean Wesley Smith

  I set the mug down and watched the steam curling up into the air. “I know what you mean.”

  “Bad day?”

  “More like a bad couple of weeks,” I replied, not looking up.

  Gaby watched me as if gauging my mood. “Coming home again has been hard on you, hasn’t it?”

  I hesitated for a moment before answering. “Harder than I ever thought it would be,” I told her at last. I turned and stared out the window at the rain, not certain that I could say any more.

  “Want to talk about it?” Gaby asked, her voice quiet. “I’m willing to become an El-Aurian for a little while if you need me to.”

  Her pun made me smile. “That’s very kind, but I don’t want to burden you with my problems.”

  “It’s no trouble at all for me,” she said with a wave of her hand. “But I’ll understand if you can’t talk about things right now. At least I have the pleasure of your company.”

  Gaby rose and patted me on the shoulder, then returned to the counter. As I watched her fill a large insulated carafe from the percolator, I started to think, Why am I holding back? I knew that I needed to talk to someone before I exploded, but who could I turn to? Not to those counselors and certainly not to my poor mother. I’d put her through enough hell with my depression after Daddy died years ago to burden her again. No, perhaps the kindness of a stranger was just the therapy I needed, and I decided to take Gaby up on her offer before my overwrought brain could analyze it any further.

  “Are you sure you’re willing to listen?” I asked as Gaby approached the table again. “I have a lot of baggage to unload.”

  She laughed and began to refill my mug. “Everyone does, my dear. I can’t imagine that yours is any heavier than most.”

  “Don’t be too sure.”

  Gaby settled at the table again, her expression turning serious. “Well, I can tell it must be quite a weight, because you look like you haven’t eaten or slept since you got home.”

  “Not much,” I admitted. “I’m afraid I haven’t had the time, with all these debriefings, celebrations, and other duties to attend to.”

  Gaby looked up from filling her own mug. “More duties? After seven straight years of duty, I’d have thought you’d be on leave by now, spending time with your family. You have a mother and sister, don’t you?”

  I winced at the mention of yet another source of guilt. My mother always said she understood every time I left home for one of my visits to the families of my fallen crew, but I could see the look of hurt that she tried to hide. She deserved a better daughter than I’d been lately.

  “Technically, I am on leave,” I said. “But I still have some obligations to my extended family that require the attention of their captain.”

  Gaby smiled, giving me a look of admiration that I didn’t deserve. “You truly are a remarkable leader, Kathryn, to sacrifice time with your own family and spend it with your crew’s.”

  “It’s a very small thing considering some of their sacrifices were more costly than others.”

  She seemed to understand the implication, and nodded. “Oh, that is sad, isn’t it? The inevitable losses. I know that as Starfleet, you live with that risk every time you go on a mission, but I suppose that doesn’t make it any easier to bear.”

  “Especially when I could have prevented some of those losses.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I paused and swallowed hard, swirling the remnants of lukewarm coffee around in the mug. Here it comes, I thought, finally admitting the thing that’s really bothering you. Say it, Kathryn. Get it out in the open at last.

  “I gave the order that stranded us in the Delta Quadrant. I’m the one responsible for putting my crew in harm’s way by placing the future of an alien race above their needs. Because of that decision, they all suffered for seven years. Now there are twenty families suffering because their loved ones didn’t make the journey home.”

  “But you’ve been in a command position for a long time now,” Gaby countered. “You’ve made decisions that cost crew their lives before, haven’t you? What makes this time so different?”

  “This time the stakes were too high, the consequences too absolute.”

  “And you feel like you betrayed them.”

  “I did betray them!” I slammed my hand down on the table, spilling some of the coffee. “I could see it in their eyes. I had to face them with that knowledge every day for seven years until we came home. Now I have to face their families and try to explain why and give them meaningless words of sympathy over and over again. The hypocrisy of it all makes me physically ill.”

  The silence hung thick in the air after my outburst, broken only by the hiss of steam from the percolator. My rudeness shocked me, but Gaby seemed unperturbed.

  “Gaby, I…I am so sorry. I don’t know what just happened,” I stammered, surprised to find my hands shaking.

  She quickly laid her hand over mine, a compassionate expression on her face. “It’s all right. You have nothing to apologize for.”

  “But I shouldn’t have lashed out like that.”

  Gaby cocked her head to one side. “Well, you did warn me that your baggage was heavy, but I had no idea. That’s a terrible burden to carry around for seven years, Kathryn. And now you’ve taken on the burden of comforting all of those families. How do you find the strength?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t think about it. It’s my responsibility.”

  “Yes, I suppose it is, but that still doesn’t take away from the fact that you gave those families an extraordinary gift with your personal visits. I doubt that they found your words meaningless.”

  “It didn’t seem that way with some of them.”

  “Perhaps you were expecting too much,” Gaby said. “After all, they’re just now coming face-to-face with the reality that their loved ones really aren’t coming back. You should forgive them if they acted upset.”

  “They aren’t the ones who need forgiveness.”

  Gaby set her coffee down and paused for a moment, her gaze never leaving me.

  “Do you think that you need to be forgiven?” she asked quietly.

  I shook my head and released a ragged breath. “I don’t feel that what I did can be forgiven.”

  “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

  “Gaby, I don’t know what to believe anymore. I feel so empty, so dead inside.”

  She pressed her lips together and nodded. “I don’t doubt it. It sounds as if you haven’t given yourself a moment’s peace since you got home. You’ve done so much for others, Kathryn. Don’t you think it’s time to give yourself a little of that compassion?”

  I sat back and folded my arms. “You’re not going to tell me to write down my transgressions on an old-fashioned piece of paper and then burn it, are you? Because I’ve heard enough of that kind of therapeutic nonsense from the counselors.”

  Gaby laughed. “Don’t worry. I don’t believe in that baloney either. No, I’m afraid that old-fashioned common sense is all I have to offer.” Then she leaned forward and folded her hands on the table. “There is one thing I’ve learned, though. It is absolutely necessary for you to let go of this hurt. If you don’t, it will only keep on hurting you.”

  I sighed in exasperation. Hadn’t I already been told all of this? “I want to let go, but I don’t know how.”

  “Maybe you could begin by looking at all of the good you did in those seven years instead of the bad. Think about that alien race you mentioned. What would have happened to them if you’d made the decision to come home instead of helping them?”

  “Another, more powerful race would have exploited their world and enslaved them.”

  “Then, given those circumstances, do you think that your crew would have made the same decision?”

  “Without a doubt. They’re the finest Starfleet has to offer.”

  “Then I believe you already have their forgiveness. All that’s lacking is for you to forgive yourself.”

&nbs
p; If only it were that easy, I thought, gripping my mug a little too tightly. “But there are still so many questions I need answered,” I said aloud.

  Gaby smiled patiently and poured more coffee. “Always the scientist, aren’t you, wanting tangible evidence for everything. You never will know the answers to those questions, Kathryn. No matter what we do, things will always happen to us that are beyond our control. None of us are guaranteed a calm passage in life, only a safe landing. So the best you can hope for is to be true to yourself and your beliefs, and know that you did the best you could with what you knew at the time.”

  “I’ve tried so hard to do that every day.” But was that true? Had I really tried hard enough?

  “With your self-confidence and determination, I don’t doubt it,” Gaby said. “Just remember that while all decisions in life have consequences, it’s our strength of character that dictates how we deal with those consequences. I sense that your character is very strong, much stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

  I shook my head and stared into the black depths of the mug. “I don’t feel strong anymore.”

  “Oh, it’s there, deep inside. And it will help you find the peace that forgiveness brings. But don’t expect it to happen overnight. Forgiveness is something that you must struggle for every day, sometimes for years. You have to share this with your family and crew, not just with me. That’s the most important thing to understand. You cannot do it alone.”

  My fierce independence balked at that idea. Teamwork within a crew I understood, but this was too personal. “I don’t know if I can do that. I am alone in this matter.”

  Gaby reached across the table and grasped both of my hands. “You aren’t alone, Kathryn. You never have been. There are so many people out there who love you and that includes your crew. I know it will be difficult, but it’s up to you to reach out and take that first step.”

  But could I do it? Could I really overcome years of personal barriers and share this pain with someone else? Then I looked into Gaby’s eyes and realized that was exactly what I had been doing for the past hour. And strangely enough, my burden did feel lighter. Finally I understood what it was I had to do.

  “I feel like I’ve already taken that step,” I told Gaby.

  She beamed at me and patted my hand. “You have indeed. Now keep going. This is a challenge, and somehow I get the feeling that you never back away from a challenge.”

  I returned the smile. “Not one that I know I can win. But there is one thing…”

  “What is that?”

  “I only wish that I had a sign, some kind of sign that the scientist in me will recognize to let me know that things really are getting better.”

  Gaby sat back and smiled again, not one of her friendly smiles, but an odd, cryptic one that made me a bit uncomfortable.

  “When it comes, you will know.”

  Both her smile and response seemed strange, but I decided to let it go. There were some things best left unquestioned. I glanced outside and noticed that the rain had slowed to a drizzle.

  “Are you responsible for stopping the rain as my sign?” I asked.

  “Now that I can’t take credit for,” Gaby said, holding up her hands.

  “No, but you can take credit for making me feel a little better about things,” I said, pushing back from the table.

  “And for making you a great cup of coffee,” she added, stepping beside me.

  I laughed. “That, too. I hope I repaid you properly.”

  “You did indeed, my dear,” Gaby said. She reached for me, and I gratefully accepted the embrace. “Thank you for a pleasant evening, Kathryn.”

  “Thank you for showing me how to take that first step.”

  “As you said, you’ve already done that,” Gaby said, stepping back. “Just remember to take your time and focus on what’s really important.”

  “I’ll remember. I promise.”

  I gave Gaby one last hug, then left the coffeeshop, turning back once to wave good-bye. Outside, the rain had stopped completely, and the famous San Francisco fog had returned in force, blanketing everything in thick gray swirls.

  My head spinning with emotions, I wandered down the now empty street with no idea of where I was going. I only knew that I desperately needed to cling to this new feeling that everything was going to work out. Before I knew it, I found myself back at Starfleet Memorial Park at the bottom of the hill below the new markers. I hadn’t intended to go there. Or had I?

  I stood there, gathering my courage, then forced myself to start up the hill. With each step, I kept telling myself that I could do this, that I could face them now and ask their forgiveness. But what would they say? Would they give me the absolution I so desperately needed?

  Then suddenly, it was too late to turn back. I was standing there before them, wisps of dark fog curling gently about their stones. Lyndsay Ballard was first, then Marie Kaplan and Ahni Jetal. Next was Joe Carey, the hardest of all to bear. I touched each of their markers, the memory of their faces so clear in my mind, looking as I remembered them: Starfleet’s finest, dedicated, loyal, ready to serve. And this time the stone didn’t feel cold.

  As I reached the end of the row, I suddenly became aware of another presence, not spiritual, but flesh and blood. The person was standing opposite me next to the markers of the Maquis crew. Wary, I slowly approached, wondering who else would be crazy enough to be standing in a graveyard in the middle of the night.

  As if answering my question, the fog cleared long enough for me to catch a glimpse of my companion. The face belonged to a handsome, dark-haired man, the olive skin of his forehead marked by a distinctive tattoo. Despite his wet hair and disheveled appearance, I would have known that face anywhere. The old cliché about it being a small universe popped into my mind, and I allowed myself a smile.

  “Out for a midnight stroll, Commander?”

  Startled, the man turned, his dark eyes wide when he saw me.

  “Kathryn?”

  “Hello, Chakotay,” I greeted my best friend and first officer, more than a little flattered by the huge grin that spread across his face.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “Paying my respects.”

  He nodded and ran his fingers through his wet hair. “Me, too. I don’t know why, but I’ve been dreading this. I finally worked up the courage and decided to come despite the late hour.” He paused and drew in a deep breath. “I’m glad I did,” he said at last.

  “I understand,” I replied softly. “Better than you know.”

  We fell silent for several moments, not the awkward silence of strangers, but the companionable understanding of old friends. We walked together down the row of gravestones, taking time to read each one. I couldn’t explain it, but having him there beside me once again just as he’d been for the past seven years made the burden of my guilt feel even lighter. Perhaps Gaby was right. I couldn’t do this alone.

  When we reached the end of the row, Chakotay turned to me as if waiting for orders. I took one last look, then nodded. He took my arm and guided me back down the hill. We didn’t speak again until we reached the street.

  “Well, despite the occasion, it’s really good to see you again,” Chakotay said as we walked along.

  “You, too,” I replied. “I wish I could say it’s been a long time, but actually it’s only been six weeks.”

  “And four days,” he added with a twinkle. “But who’s counting. I’d heard you were in the city today, but I thought I’d miss you. Aren’t you staying with your mother in Indiana most of the time?”

  I thrust my hands into my jacket pockets. “I am, but I had some personal business here that needed my attention.”

  “And everywhere else in the Federation. I also heard you’ve been keeping both the local and interplanetary transports very busy.”

  I sighed inwardly. Gossip was as old as the universe itself. “I see that the Starfleet rumor mill is still going strong.”
<
br />   He shook his head. “Actually, I heard it from my Maquis friend, Sveta. She’d been in contact with Hogan’s family, who told her you’d been there for a visit.”

  “Yes, I saw them last week, along with Michael Jonas’s family.”

  “How many more did you see?”

  “All of them.”

  Chakotay stopped suddenly. “All of the families of the crew we lost?”

  “Yes, Chakotay, all of them.”

  He stood there and stared at me, a strange, hurt look in his eyes. “Why didn’t you ask me to come along?”

  “They were my responsibility.”

  “They were my responsibility, too, Kathryn. Why did you think you had to bear that burden alone? I would have helped you if you’d only asked.”

  Of course, he was right. But once again, I’d allowed my stubborn sense of duty to overpower my better judgment and offended my friend in the process. I couldn’t bear any more reproach, especially not from him.

  “I’m sorry, Chakotay. It was never my intention to leave you out. I just haven’t been making very good decisions, now or then.”

  “There’s never been anything wrong with your decisions, Captain,” he told me. “If there were, we wouldn’t be standing here today.”

  “Then, you think I did the right thing?”

  He looked confused for a moment. “I’m not exactly sure what you’re referring to, but I think it’s safe to say yes.”

  That was all I needed to hear. “Thank you, Commander.”

  “For what?”

  “Just thank you.”

  Chakotay looked at me intently for a moment, then nodded as if deciding not to question me further. He knew me well enough to let it go.

  “Listen, I know it’s late, and it looks like you’ve had a rough day, but would you mind sharing a friend’s company and a cup of hot coffee for a while?”

  I looked at Chakotay in amazement and smiled. Two offers of companionship, one from a kindly stranger and the other from my best friend, all in the same day, were almost too good to be true. Besides, one could never have enough coffee.