Star Trek: Voyager - 042 - Protectors

by Kirsten Beyer

  “Memorials are nice. They are necessary. They begin to bring acceptance to those who participate. And acceptance is perhaps the most critical of the stages of grief. Without it, it is impossible for us to continue to navigate our own lives in any semblance of wholeness. Because I honor the lives every single man and woman aboard those ships lived and the nobility of the choice they made to serve among the stars, I will accept that they were taken from us too soon by a force beyond my comprehension. I will do so because the only tribute I can offer that is worthy of their sacrifice is my continuing devotion to the duty that defines us all. But I will never forget the debt I owe them that can never be repaid or the lessons writ large by their choice to die so that we could go on living. It is not enough to make peace with this. We must consider our choices as well.

  “The Klingons begin each day with a saying: ‘Today is a good day to die.’ I’ve certainly found myself meditating on those words in some of my darkest moments. But what occurs to me now is that they are not meant to teach us to covet death or to glorify it. The truth they reveal is that every day must be lived to its absolute fullest. We must move through every moment of every day certain that the choices we are making are those we would want others to remember us by. The Klingons are not calling to the warriors within us to seek out death. They are calling us to live every moment of every day as our best selves, so that should death arrive unbidden, we may face it without regret.

  “I do not know what regrets our fellows may have nurtured in their last moments, but I hope they were few. We demonstrate our love and respect for them by dedicating ourselves here and now to doing what we must to ensure that when death inevitably comes for us, we will meet it untroubled by thoughts of what we should have done differently.”

  At this, the entire assembly rose to its feet and remained there until Captain Farkas had taken her seat beside Admiral Janeway. Chakotay caught the admiration in Kathryn’s eyes as she regarded the captain. Farkas kept her eyes forward, glued to the men and women who seemed determined to answer her call.

  Chakotay’s turn had finally come. Brief comments by Lieutenant Vorik, the senior officer to have survived Hawking’s destruction, and Lieutenant Downs, one of Curie’s few remaining crew, had preceded those of Captain Farkas.

  “Please be seated,” Chakotay said softly as he took the podium. Once the assembly was settled, he began. “My fellow officers have already paid tribute to those who served with them. It falls to me to speak briefly of the loss I am uniquely capable of addressing.

  “Project Full Circle was Captain Afsarah Eden’s vision. She spent the years between Voyager’s return to the Alpha Quadrant and this fleet’s launch going over every aspect of our journey; cataloging, summarizing, and distilling what we learned, giving meaning to all we endured by ensuring that our unique experience was not lost to future generations. Through that work, she became convinced that continued exploration of this area of space was vital to Starfleet’s ongoing mission.

  “When I stood on Voyager’s bridge the day we began our journey home and imagined the seventy thousand light-years we would have to travel, it seemed an impossible distance. It was so big, I found it difficult to visualize. I did the only thing I could. I focused on the small steps. The goal was always in sight, but the quality of the journey became my priority.

  “Afsarah Eden never tore her eyes away from the big picture. As soon as our technology caught up with her relentless passion for exploration, Captain Eden made sure that technology was put to its best possible use.

  “I know many of you might still harbor questions about her role in the recent tragedy. Among the more disappointing rumors I’ve heard is one that she only supported this mission and chose to lead it for selfish reasons. Nothing could be farther from the truth. As Commander Drafar of the Achilles has reported and I can attest, her primary concern, once the threat of Omega had been revealed, was to ensure the safety of as many of the people under her command as possible. Achilles was ordered to return to the Alpha Quadrant to preserve the lives of those we managed to rescue.

  “This might have been the only selfish choice she ever made.

  “Afsarah Eden gave her life for every single creature now in existence and for countless more to come. ‘Humanity is a stubborn thing,’ she said. ‘It hopes, even when all hope is gone.’ It is only because of her choice to hope that we are all standing here right now.

  “Every single one of you knows intimately the power this existence has to humble us. It bestows benign and beautiful gifts with one hand, wonder, awe, inspiration, and love, while wrenching those same things from us with the other. Violence, destruction, senseless conflict, and paralyzing loss are always ready to tip the scales toward despair. They teach us to fear the unknown, to risk only small things, and to temper our dreams with realistic expectations.

  “But we are the ones who grant them that power.

  “Even as she drew her last breath, Afsarah Eden refused to despair. She reached for the best in herself and in all of us, determined to vanquish the darkness. She taught me many things, but her greatest lesson, the one I will hold close when that darkness creeps near, is to put my faith in our greatest weapon and the very definition of our humanity: our capacity to hope.”

  Admiral Janeway had requested the honor of reading the names of those lost aloud, and Chakotay had agreed. As he stepped aside to grant her the podium, his heart swelled at the sight of her face. He knew she felt the lion’s share of responsibility for what the fleet had lost. But in this moment, she had clearly set that aside to serve as a focal point for the grief of all those present.

  “Thank you, Captain.” Janeway nodded toward Chakotay as she took her place. “For those of you I have not yet had the honor to meet, I am Vice Admiral Kathryn Janeway. I know that some of you attended my memorial service a little over a year ago, and having done so, my presence here now might be disconcerting. To be honest, it surprises me as well.”

  This elicited soft laughter as she continued. “I am here because those we honor now thought more of us, more of those they had sworn to protect when they began their service than they did of themselves. Each and every one of them reminds us that the work we undertake on a daily basis is perilous. But it is purposeful. It falls to us now to take our memories of each of them and sear those memories into our hearts and minds. We will never forget who they were or what they have given us. And neither will Starfleet, or the Federation.”

  After a brief pause, Janeway nodded toward the back of the room, and a few seconds later, what had been a tranquil interior room was replaced by a grassy plain beneath a star-filled sky. Murmurs of confusion diminished as the admiral continued.

  “As we speak, night has fallen on Federation Park on Earth where the sacrifice of those we honor will be forever memorialized. Even the miracles of our technology do not permit us to share the field tonight with those who have assembled there for their own ceremony. We join them in spirit for the official dedication of the monument to those lost as we recall our fellow crew, family, and dear friends.”

  Janeway’s voice remained steady as she began to speak the names aloud. “Captain Afsarah Eden. Captain Parimon Dasht. Commander Sebastian Dagny . . .” She was perhaps twenty names into the long list to come when Chakotay noticed several of the officers before him pointing up at the sky. The admiral continued, untroubled, and soon enough, Chakotay understood. Finally, the tears he had held at bay throughout the formal remarks began to fall freely in the sanctified darkness.

  As each name was read, one of the stars above the assembly disappeared.

  Chakotay watched the faces of those before him turn to solemn reflection, and he nodded faintly. Tom, Harry, Nancy, and Seven had accepted the difficult task of preparing this event. The captain was proud and grateful that they had found a way to ritualize this ceremony that was both powerful and appropriate.

  By the time the list of names neared its end, everyone in the room’s eyes were lifted to the imaginary h
eavens above. Most were tear streaked, but all seemed determined to witness the dying of the light to the last.

  When the admiral had read the final name and the room was shrouded in darkness, she paused. A moment later, a white-hot sphere burst into light above them, giving off waves of incandescence almost too brilliant to behold. Many looked away as it descended and came to rest atop a low stone basin that had appeared just before the dais through the magic of holographic technology.

  Finally, Janeway continued. “As many of you will not be at liberty for some time to see the memorial Starfleet has erected to honor the crew of the Esquiline, Quirinal, Hawking, and Curie, we felt it appropriate that each of you see it re-created here tonight. Once the service has concluded, feel free to approach it, if only to reflect on the words chosen to honor our fallen comrades. They were written by an English poet, Sarah Williams, more than four hundred years ago, and are as follows:

  “ ‘Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light; I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.’ ”

  With that, Admiral Janeway stepped aside as the entire room erupted in spontaneous, deafening applause.

  As Janeway descended the dais and moved into the crew that was beginning to intermingle, she caught sight of B’Elanna Torres moving quickly to meet Lieutenant Vorik as he stepped down for a closer look at the monument. Ignoring his Vulcan restraint, she grabbed him fiercely in a hug the moment their eyes met. Janeway continued to observe long enough to see Vorik finally return some of the firmness of her embrace. Having served with Vorik for many years, Janeway, like B’Elanna, had been relieved when she learned that he had been among the survivors.

  Chakotay remained near the podium, his head bent low as he spoke with Captain Farkas. A tall human woman in dress uniform who was likely in her eighties stood at Farkas’s other side, waiting patiently for the captain’s attention.

  Although many were casting hesitant glances toward Janeway, she was soon face-to-face with Seven of Nine.

  “How long should I wait before resetting the program to the reception hall?” she asked.

  “I’d give it a little more time,” Janeway suggested. “And Seven?”

  “Yes, Admiral.”

  “Well done.”

  Seven smiled faintly, but could not help adding, “The shift to the park setting was, as I told you, Lieutenant Kim’s suggestion. I merely facilitated it.”

  “I know you didn’t sleep last night with the extra programming required to re-create Federation Park,” Janeway admonished her. “But the effect was lovely, and I believe it meant a great deal to everyone present.”

  “Then the extra effort required was not wasted,” Seven said.

  Janeway turned as the sounds of a scuffle registered to her right. Weaving his way toward her and moving aside none too gently any unfortunate enough to block his path, was Neelix.

  She closed the distance between them and soon was enveloped in an embrace so intense, it left her momentarily breathless. When he finally pulled away, Neelix’s eyes were awash in tears of joy.

  “Mister Ambassador,” she greeted him warmly.

  “I just can’t . . .” he began. “How . . . I mean, Seven tried to explain but . . . oh, never mind, I don’t care how,” he decided, pulling her close again.

  After several minutes spent ensuring her old friend who had attended the ceremony among the representatives of New Talax of her health and well-being, a furtive tug of her sleeve ended this pleasant reunion all too quickly. Promising to find Neelix again before the evening had ended, she turned her attention to Chakotay.

  “I know we’ve got some time left, but I think Captain Farkas might be signing off a little early, and she wants to speak with you.”

  “Of course.” Janeway nodded and followed him through the crowd to a secluded area where Farkas stood alone.

  “I need to find Icheb,” Chakotay said softly as he left her side. Nodding in understanding, Janeway turned to face Quirinal’s former captain.

  Farkas’s face was set in harder lines than Janeway had seen throughout the evening, and she was clearly not in a mood to mince words.

  “How do they do that, exactly?” Farkas asked.

  Unsure, Janeway replied, “The holo-presence technology?”

  “No, the creation of the memorial,” Farkas clarified.

  Janeway shook her head. “I don’t know. I think there’s a dedicated office at Command.”

  “We do this so often as an organization, we’ve actually carved out a space in our headquarters for the planning of our memorials,” Farkas said bitterly.

  “Captain?” Janeway asked gently.

  Farkas’s eyes met hers, filled with cold resolve.

  “Permission to speak freely, Admiral?”

  Though Janeway had never known these words to be followed by any she enjoyed hearing, she stiffened her spine and nodded. “Of course.”

  “I’ve spent the last week camped out in Admiral Montgomery’s office. I know he offered you command of the fleet, and I know that the offer has been temporarily placed on hold.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’d like you to do me a favor.”

  “If I can.”

  “I’d like you to help me understand, now that all of the consequences of your past choices have been laid bare, how you’d even entertain the notion that a command such as this, a trust such as this, should rest in your hands.”

  Janeway’s cheeks stung as surely as if she’d been slapped.

  “Which choices are you referring to?” she asked.

  “The only one that matters,” Farkas replied. “The one that as best I can tell set this entire chain of events in motion. Some future version of you decided that the life she had was so unbearable, the only appropriate course was to alter the time line so she could bring her crew home early and spare them some painful losses? When you look around this room, when you feel the suffering of those assembled here, do you weigh their misery any less than yours? Because you did this, Admiral.”

  Janeway had leveled similar charges against herself constantly over the last several days, but hearing them read to her now by a fellow officer who had already earned her regard was nearly unbearable.

  “It’s a fair question,” Janeway acknowledged. “The problem is I can’t answer it.”

  “What with my ship being destroyed and all, I’ve got a little time on my hands, Admiral, and I’m here to tell you, unless you try, I’m going to spend that time making sure you never see a starship from the inside again,” Farkas said.

  Janeway didn’t doubt this.

  “When I was with the Q, I was given an unusual gift. Apart from the obvious one,” she added quickly. “I experienced the lives and deaths of many versions of myself in countless time lines. Still, I can’t tell you what specifically drove that Admiral Janeway to take such reckless actions. I can tell you that my initial response to her suggestion was to avoid any further alterations of the time line. It went against everything I’d learned, everything I believed. But I also knew, or thought I knew, the future. The consequences of inaction weighed heavy. And the fact that we might, through our choices, cripple the Borg, was a major consideration.”

  “We all know now how well that turned out,” Farkas said, not giving an inch.

  “We do,” Janeway agreed. “I can offer no defense now, nor would I, given the magnitude of my apparent miscalculation.” Janeway paused before meeting Farkas’s eyes again, this time with her own healthy resolve. “What I can tell you is that the woman who made that choice no longer exists. As best I can tell, she never will now. And if you think for one instant that I don’t spend every waking moment wondering how I could ever have come to such a place, how I could conscience such purely selfish instincts, you don’t know me at all.”

  Farkas started to speak again, but Janeway raised a hand to silence her.

  “We all have regrets, Captain,” Janeway insisted. “You cannot imagine mine,
and I would never wish them on you. But you’re the one who said we need to make every day left us a promise to do better. Those are words I planned to live by, even before you spoke them. I could never be that woman now, knowing all I know. It’s not possible. I can’t make those mistakes again. I can certainly make new ones, but I won’t live in fear of them.

  “You will, of course, proceed as you see fit. I will do the same,” she added. “And perhaps when the grief has dissipated a bit, you might take some time to walk a few miles in my boots. You saw the devastation wrought by the Borg firsthand and just survived the destruction of your vessel. I suspect we have a great deal in common, more than you’d like to admit. Perhaps one day we will meet under circumstances that will grant you the opportunity to see this. I hope so.”

  “Admiral,” Farkas replied.

  Janeway nodded sharply and turned away, certain that Farkas had ended that thought internally by adding, “Don’t hold your breath.”

  Cadet Icheb had come home. Voyager was the only place he’d ever occupied for any length of time that seemed worthy of the designation. Starfleet Academy had become familiar, comfortable. But it was transitory. His few memories of Brunali were unpleasant. And he had never known individuality among the Borg. He’d only been back onboard Voyager a few days, but he slept better in his temporary quarters than any dorm room, and the renewed companionship of old friends like Seven, the Doctor, and the Paris family had put him entirely at ease.

  Once he had arrived and ascertained the status of Voyager, Icheb had put in a formal request to Starfleet Academy that they allow him to finish his final year of studies with the fleet. He couldn’t imagine that any curriculum devised on Earth could rival the experiences he would accrue in the Delta Quadrant. He had not, however, received a response to his request.

  As he stood among the throngs of those present at the service, now clustered in small groups, Icheb wondered if he should seek out Seven to see if she required any assistance, until he saw Captain Chakotay making his way through the crowd in his direction.