by Diane Carey
the fact that they were a long way from out of this. Janeway deplored the fact that he really was doing his job, trying to see if his captain were dividing her causes in a time when they needed full concentration on survival.
"Ransom wasn't an engineer or a warrior, Kathryn," Chakotay reminded. "He was a man who worked on high-flown theories, not hard physics. He thought in terms of leaps of probability. The reality of time and distance was more real to him because his ship would take twice as long to get home-not seventy years, but a hundred and fifty. They had no chance of getting home in their lifetimes, Captain. The Prime Directive? It feels pretty far away when one of those aliens hits you and sucks the life out of you. Take it from me-"
"I felt it too, remember?" Putting distance between them, she went behind her desk but remained standing.
"And it worries me what it might've done to you," he admitted. "Seems to me you're holding a different measuring stick up to Ransom than we've ever held to ourselves. We've stopped entire wars that would've happened if we hadn't accidentally been here. There are those who will argue that we were wrong, that we had no business tampering with destiny, even if the destiny was ugly. Do regulations condemn any and all interferences? Or just the interference that goes sour? What kind of rule is that? 'Don't interfere, unless it all turns out well'?"
"We stopped that warhead to save-"
'To save the ship," Chakotay said forcefully, "not to stop a planetary catastrophe. That's my point. If our
ship hadn't been in danger, would you have argued it wasn't our business to get between the business of two planets? Maybe that civilization's next Stalin is alive and well now because we stopped a disaster from happening. Ransom saved his ship his way, and we saved our ship our way. Yes, I know, this can drive a person crazy. Morality-what a problem!"
He flopped his arms uncharacteristically and the new skin on his cheeks flushed.
"Maybe you'd better leave," Janeway invited. "This isn't helping."
Raising his voice just a little, Chakotay moved to meet her as she stepped across the back of the desk. "It'll help if I understand your underlying motivations."
Janeway fumed, trying to isolate herself, trying not to think of him at all, but only of her own ground-glass responsibility. "It's my duty to make the call on Ransom and take him into custody. What I hope or understand doesn't matter anymore. I'm forced into the role of prosecutor. I represent the law here. Our law. His law."
At this, she visibly fought to control herself, to retain some of her old evenhandedness beneath the weight of her prosecutorial mantle.
"I understand his reasons, Chakotay. They're reasons, not excuses. Sometimes we have to step back and say that holding back is part of what our training and our obligation and our oaths are about, and we will hold ourselves to the ethics even though we die trying."
As Chakotay watched, hard-eyed, Janeway retreated deeper and deeper into the sanctuary of protocol, the
only place she felt safe. Her struggle showed in her face, a leathery mask of deep suffering.
"I have to keep us on the side of regulations," she said, "and interpret them strictly, even though I understand their elastic application in practice. That's not my job here now. My job is to uphold the strict interpretation, and also what I believe is right"
Chakotay braced his legs. "I'm just cautioning you, Captain, which is my duty. In my opinion, you're forcing yourself to defend a line you've never visited. We're a long way from home, just like Ransom. How desperate will we have to be before the laws of civilization break down under the laws of survival? Do you think we can never be that desperate? Don't forget... I know what it's like to have my ship overwhelmed completely."
In a move that surprised him, she shot up from her chair and met him in that challenging stance, with the desk between them and the gulf widening.
"Be careful, Commander," she warned. Her voice was a shredded wreck. "Don't you talk to me about lines and edges. I represent a standard of behavior that we certainly will uphold on this ship, in this quadrant, with anybody we encounter, and we're going to hold Rudolph Ransom and every single one of his crew accountable. Is that clear enough?"
Caught by the intrigue of moral turmoil, Chakotay leaned forward with his fists on the desk. "You've seen bad types before in this quadrant, Captain. Why are you so worked up about Rudolph Ransom and his crew?"
"Because they're humans! They're not just other 'bad types'!"
"So? Are you so race-conscious that they're any worse than Klingons or Borg or any other thousand races who might spawn a bad egg? Somehow we have to hold humans to a higher standard? Or are you afraid," he roared, "of how it reflects on you?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you know the same survival instinct might get a grip on you someday, and you have to crucify Ransom in order to beat off your own inner ghosts. I think you have to make the law of civilization win or you might break down like he did. You can't let him get away with this because you see too much of yourself in him, the same dark side that every commander has to possess in order to command effectively. Are you overreacting because you don't like the image Ransom lays on humans or are you afraid of what you might become?"
Itching in her stained and t orn uniform, throbbing with muscle strains, bruises, and a pounding headache, Janeway slammed the desk chair out of her way so hard that it struck the viewport rail. "Chakotay, that's damned well enough!"
His lips drew back with conviction and his black eyes blazed as he turned for the door. "Aye, Captain, but remember while you're on this witch hunt... the witch is in the mirror."
CHAPTER 12
"WHY'D WE STOP?"
"This planet has a pathogenic atmosphere. It'll keep us from being detected while we make repairs."
Ransom responded as Max Burke came back onto the bridge and saw that they were in orbit around a peaceful looking planet that was entirely fern-green except for the poles, which were silvery.
Noah Lessing looked up from his station. "We also found a few deuterium deposits."
'Take an away team," Ransom told him. "See if you can localize the ore."
Burke squared with Lessing as the latter stood up. "You won't be protected from the aliens. Arm yourselves with phaser rifles. At the first sign of trouble, we'll beam you back."
"Aye, sir."
When he left, Ransom took his place in front of Burke and asked, "How're things going with the codes? Has that girl decided to talk?"
"No, she's decided not to. And with a Borg, that's a permanent fix. Their doctor is dissecting her Borg mechanics. He seems to be enjoying himself. Last time I was in there, he was actually singing."
"Singing?" Ransom chuckled. "You mean, like music?"
"You know ... 'De ocular node's connected to de sensory node, de sensory node's connected to de cortical node ... de cortical node's con-' "
"Max! Stop while we're both sane. Our doctor never sings, does he?"
"No, he's not half as much fun as this guy."
"Let's go down there," Ransom said, leading the way. "I want to talk to her."
Burke kept up with him easily as they hurried through the ship. "It won't do any good. Janeway's got her completely brainwashed. Seven doesn't know how to be logical anymore. She's just completely loyal."
Ransom shrugged. "A captain could do worse in a crew member, Borg or not."
Smiling, Burke shook his head. "I wish you'd make up your mind if you're going to hate Janeway or not, so I know what to do!"
"I don't hate her. Hell, I hardly know her. She's just the obstacle I have to get past right now, Max. How that happens is up to her. I'll do what I have to, whatever it takes to get us home. If she gets in the way, I'll run over her." He held up a hand as they approached the re-
search lab. "Don't talk about it in front of Seven. Let's see if we can move her."
They strode in to an admittedly disconcerting sight- The Doctor had Seven strapped to a table, and he was dissecting her
brain by going through her Borg eye socket.
The Doctor was finishing a sentence "-being unfettered by ethical subroutines has made me far more efficient."
As they approached, Ransom and Burke both winced at the condition of Seven on the table. The eyepiece she normally wore now lay on the table's glossy surface. They could see the Borg circuitry in her head, twice as disturbing because this head now turned to look at them with its one human eye.
"Status," Ransom asked, pushing down the insides of his stomach.
"I'm going to extract her cortical array," The Doctor said. "It contains an index of her memory engrains. But once I've removed it, her higher brain functions-cognitive skills, language-will be severely damaged."
"Is there another option?"
"If I had several weeks, but you said time was of the essence."
This wasn't good. Did everything have to be a trial?
He moved to Seven. Please let her be sensible as well as loyal.
'Tell me the codes," he ordered.
"No," she said.
"Janeway was right about one thing. You are unique ... it would be a shame to lose you."
Seven regarded him icily. "Your compassion is irrelevant."
Ransom leaned forward a little. "Do you think this is easy for me? The sight of you on that table... but you're leaving me no choice!"
"No choice," she repeated. "You say that frequently. You destroy Me forms to attain your goals, then claim they left you no choice. Does that logic comfort you?"
His hands started to shake. What she didn't know was that he was beyond comfort. "The codes."
"You will have to destroy me to obtain them."
Agonized by her stubbornness, Ransom also admired her stalwart sense of purpose. He understood it, too. Die if you must, for something worth dying to protect. She spoke of choices-this was one of those.
He nodded to The Doctor, who picked up a medical tool and began working again on the young girl's exposed circuitry.
As Ransom stiffly led Burke out of the room, he heard the bizarre sound of The Doctor beginning to sing. " 'The reticular node's connected to the occipital node'..."
In Voyager's sickbay, awful things were happening. Ugly, unfortunate things. Captain Janeway paused as she came in the entry vestibule, held in place by the argument going on in the medlab. Neelix's voice ... and The Doctor's.
"I heard about this but I just couldn't believe it, just couldn't believe the rumor that our own doctor was committing some kind of vivisection experiments!"
'This isn't vivisection. This is an autopsy."
"Is that what you call it? This alien deserves a decent burial! Or a cremation... or something other than this!"
"Don't you have some pots to clean?"
"The captain won't allow this!"
"It's a medical emergency. Sickbay is my jurisdiction."
Her stomach tightening at the mention of herself, the captain, knowing how that changed the tenor of almost any conversation on board, moved slowly forward and peeked into the medlab.
The doctor was picking up a laser scalpel. On the diagnostic table before him, an alien body lay spread grotesquely, its tail hanging over the edge of the table. The creature was partially dissected already, but Neelix had The Doctor by the arm and was holding him back from continuing, the two engaged now in a primal dance of defiance.
"I can't let you!" Neelix swore.
"Remove your hand," The Doctor threatened, "unless you want it amputated."
"You wouldn't dare!"
As they straggled for control of the laser scalpel, a terrible guilt swarmed over Janeway and she stepped into the room. "Please state the nature of the medical emergency," she said, trying to be wry.
As they halted their actions and stared at her, she saw that her attempt at lightening the moment had failed.
"Captain!" Neelix's face was flushed nearly orange.
"He took these remains from the biolab without authorization!"
"I'm working on a way to counteract the alien toxins," The Doctor flatly explained. "Which means I'll have to dissect a few corpses."
Neelix swung to face him. "What if we find a way to communicate with these beings? We may need to return their dead intact! As a gesture of goodwill!"
"Fine!" The Doctor's arms stiffened at his sides. 'Take it away. Give it a proper burial. And while you're at it, make room for some of Voyager's crew."
Suddenly, cold down to her feet, Janeway felt the insurmountable problem shift from their shoulders to hers. The arguments had been posed and now had to be arbitrated. That was her role, her burden.
She looked at the dead alien, the animalistic face, the teeth, claws, sharklike body, and tried to empathize with it as a fellow intelligent being... but she couldn't find the link she needed to decide more in its favor than in her own living shipmates' favor. A delayed image of Chakotay's crinkled-cardboard wounds and his nearly fatal experience haunted her suddenly. What if she could find an antidote by dissecting these bodies? What if she could help her own at the others' expense?
"Proceed, Doctor," she said, her voice a box of gravel.
The Doctor's icy expression took her by surprise. "I'll need two more."
Neelix's eyes crossed to her, filled with anguish and disappointment. He said nothing. Absolutely nothing.
"They're already dead," she argued, more with herself than him.
He still said nothing. Instead, the ultimate hurt, he turned and walked out of sickbay. Neelix, speechless?
"Rumor has it," The Doctor began as Janeway started to leave and now turned back, "that we've lost track of the Equinox."
"For now," she told him. "But we'll find them."
"Please inform me the moment you do," he said.
Janeway parted her lips to ask him why a medical program would make such a request-and make it sound like an order-when he seemed to realize he'd made some kind of faux pas and immediately said, "In case there's an armed conflict I'll want to prepare for more casualties."
Something about the way he spoke, the way he glanced at her but didn't really look at her... Janeway gave in to her own troubles and decided his explanation made sense.
As long as there was a reason.
"Come in."
Captain Janeway sat at her ready-room desk, studying a desktop monitor that showed several points of repair and adjustment going on all over the ship that needed her diligent surveillance. Beside her was a PADD that disturbed her very much. How close was she coming to that "line" both Ransom and Chakotay talked about? She could barely feel her legs, she was so tense.
Chakotay strode in, looking remarkably normal for what they'd all been through, except for the dirt on his uniform and the expression on his face.
"You wanted to see me?"
Careful of her tone, Janeway picked up the PADD. "It's not like you to submit recommendations in writing."
He stood before her desk and clasped his hands behind his back. "The last time we spoke, you weren't exactly receptive."
"I'm afraid I'm not going to be very receptive this time either," she warned. "It's an interesting idea, but the Ankari are fifty light-years in the wrong direction."
He nodded. "I understand that. But they're the ones who introduced Ransom to these life forms. It stands to reason that they might be able to communicate with them. Tell them to call off their attacks."
Lowering her voice, Janeway tried not to sound abrasive this time. "Our first p riority is to find Ransom." When he was silent about that-no longer challenging her decision, though he still obviously disapproved- Janeway snatched the angle away from the philosophical problem. "Still no sign of nucleogenic particles?"
"Not yet."
"Then he couldn't have gotten far. Without his 'enhanced' drive, his ship's only capable of warp six."
She tapped her monitor and brought up a file, then gestured to it. "I've been studying his service record. He's had his share of run-ins with hostile aliens. It seems that when he's being pursued
, he tends to hide. At Epsilon Four, he ran into a Klingon Bird of Prey,
and played cat-and-mouse for three days in a nebula before the Klingons finally gave up." She got up then and started pacing to get her back and thighs to relax. 'Two years later, he eluded a Romulan warbird by taking his vessel into the atmosphere of a gas giant."
Chakotay remained silent. No opinions. No observations. Could he be that hurt?
She looked at him. "Go to astrometrics. Start looking for the kind of place you'd hide if your ship were damaged."
Argue with me, would you, please?
He stood still for a moment, then unclasped his hands. They fell to his sides. "Yes, ma'am."
As he left the office, Janeway closed her eyes. The breath sank out of her as if she were a pitcher being poured. He had his orders ... that wasn't the way she'd hoped things would go between them.
Feeling a hundred years old, she moved to the viewport and gazed out at the nearest star system, a foggy blur on the edge of a stellar dust cloud. Blue, mostly.
Was he right? Was Ransom? How long before she had to admit they weren't going to make it back to Earth? Not this way, dogging along under conventional power. They couldn't go on being a little isolated island of Federation law, all by and for themselves. Ransom had realized that right away, and she had condemned him for it. Was he right? Could they never possibly succeed under conventional power?
It's not fair, but he's still accountable. It's a reason, not an excuse. Because I haven't walked in his shoes, I can't judge him? Yes, I can.
At what cost, Chakotay? We have to live with each other, all of us in this floating fortress. What cost for us?
As she gazed out the viewport at the stars, the mindless stars, she saw her own sorrowful reflection in the port window. Hair mussed, dirty, frayed. Fierce lines bracketed her mouth. Her eyes were undescribable.
The witch in the mirror was one unhappy lady.
Tranquility base ... the alien coastline. Ivory sand, lapping crystal-colored water, wide-winged birds.
Ransom breathed deeply, conning himself that he was breathing the cool windborne air of the shoreline instead of the stuffy recirculated stuff of a half-crippled ship. This was a good place, wide and free. Sprawling with life. Birds, bugs, lizards ... not like the Skeleton Coast.
