Star Trek: Voyager - 042 - Protectors

by Kirsten Beyer

  “And an aide,” Montgomery replied. “No one expects you to assume normal duties immediately,” he quickly added.

  “As soon as you are ready.” Akaar nodded. “Take all the time you need.”

  Janeway paused, considering the wisdom of making a personal plea to Akaar while he was obviously in such a gracious mood. But it seemed clear to her that he had already settled matters in his mind as to her ultimate dispensation. Akaar did not intend to waste the years of experience she had accumulated. But he was the unmovable mass she would have to force into a new orientation should she wish to return to the fleet. And unless she was much mistaken, Vice Admiral Verdell was his hand-picked replacement for her. At least it was good to know that for now, Akaar did not seem inclined to recall the fleet and redistribute its resources. That would ease Chakotay’s mind, but she could not apprise him of this development.

  “Carry on then,” Akaar said and left the office briskly, Verdell trailing at his heels.

  When they were alone again, Janeway turned back to Montgomery. His doubts were real and justified. Clearly they had been planted by others, but they’d quickly found fertile ground and already formed vigorous roots.

  Acceptance seemed the easiest course. She could make Montgomery’s life, Akaar’s life, and for all she knew now, her own life, a lot easier by simply bending to the political realities before her. She would be kept busy and find new ways to contribute to Starfleet. Chakotay would continue to protect those they both loved, guiding them through the next few years. No matter how long they were apart, one day, they would find each another again.

  Let go, a strangely familiar voice echoed in her mind.

  Like hell, another quickly replied.

  “My office?” Janeway asked of Montgomery.

  “This way,” he replied, gesturing for Janeway to precede him out.

  A few minutes later, Janeway was deposited in a completely sanitized and anonymous space in the farthest corner of the floor occupied by Montgomery and dozens of other admirals. A single padd lay on her desk containing a schedule of appointments beginning that afternoon with a counselor named Pyotr Jens. If history was any guide, within days the surface of her desk would be buried beneath several more padds. The aide she had been promised had not yet materialized in her office’s reception area.

  A single flashing light on her computer terminal indicated a priority message awaiting her attention. It took a few minutes for Janeway to authenticate her identity at the terminal and acquire her new command codes, but shortly thereafter, she retrieved the message.

  Its sender was a surprise, but not unexpected. Its urgent tone was disconcerting. With the next few hours clear and a promise to fulfill, Janeway left word for her aide to expect her after lunch and headed for the facility’s transporter room.

  MONTECITO, CA

  Julia Paris, wife of the late Admiral Owen Paris, mother of Lieutenant Commander Tom Paris and Kathleen and Moira, mother-in-law of B’Elanna Torres, and grandmother of Miral Paris sat alone at her kitchen table. A Starfleet wife and mother knew better than to expect constant or even regular communication from those in her family in Starfleet. She honored their choices by accepting their absence unconditionally. Her daughters, a university professor and a doctor, had careers that kept them occupied, but their regular visits and calls filled some of the empty spaces.

  It had not yet been a year since Owen’s death aboard a distant starbase at the height of the Borg Invasion. Less than five months earlier, Julia had begun to grieve the loss of her daughter-in-law and beloved granddaughter, coping as well as could have been expected. Others had lost more. She kept herself busy reviewing the latest scholarly articles from her long-ago abandoned field of study, paleontology, and toyed with the idea of joining a research group. She had insisted that her daughters stop checking in so often. She refused to burden them with her grief.

  The losses she had suffered, great as they were, had not broken her. It had taken a letter, written by her son, dispatched from the Delta Quadrant to do that.

  A chiming from the front door jolted her, but Julia composed herself as she went to answer it. She knew that Admiral Kathryn Janeway stood outside. She had attended the admiral’s funeral and did not understand how she had been recovered and restored to life. Among the many surprising revelations contained in Tom’s letter was news of Janeway’s return, and it was the only information therein that filled her with unreserved relief.

  The rest . . . well, perhaps Kathryn, a dear family friend who had been one of Owen’s protégés since she was a cadet, would help her understand.

  “Hello, Julia,” Janeway’s warm, rich voice greeted her, and Julia’s fears were quieted. There was no mistaking the reality of her solid comforting presence, and Julia immediately opened her arms to Janeway.

  “It’s so good to see you again,” Janeway said as Julia held her close. Both women were petite, but Janeway felt strong as ever, while Julia sensed herself disappearing slowly, reduced to little more than bones covered by a thin veneer of flesh.

  “Thank you for coming so quickly,” Julia said, struggling to hold her warring emotions at bay.

  “I promised Tom I would, and when I saw your message, I didn’t think it should wait,” Janeway said.

  “Coffee?” Julia asked, her hosting skills kicking in with a vengeance.

  “Please.” Janeway smiled, and Julia led her into the kitchen, warming her own cup after pouring a large mug for her guest.

  “I only learned of Owen’s passing a few weeks ago,” Janeway began. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you,” Julia said as she settled herself in a chair beside the admiral. “I had actually convinced myself that he was invincible,” she added ruefully. “He survived so many missions he shouldn’t have. Obviously, I was wrong.”

  Janeway shook her head and placed a warm hand over Julia’s. “It’s never wrong to live in hope.”

  Julia’s faint smile vanished. “I take it Tom was the one who told you about Owen?”

  “Yes.” Janeway nodded. “I know he’s still struggling with it, but you’d be so proud of him, Julia . . . the man he has become.”

  “Then you don’t know . . .” Julia began.

  “Know what?” Janeway asked, her face clouding over with concern.

  “What he did?”

  Janeway searched her memories for a moment, but she shook her head at a loss.

  Julia’s lips began to quiver, not with sadness, but with rage. “He lied to me. Again. He promised after that business at the Academy that he was done with deception, that he had learned the error of his ways. And even when he betrayed Starfleet, he did it honestly and for a cause he could justify. But he let me believe, he let me live for months thinking that my only granddaughter was dead. His father died thinking Tom’s marriage had ended. Owen sat here with me at this very table, agonizing over Tom’s pain, trying to figure out how he had failed as a father.”

  Julia paused to collect herself. “I don’t know who my son is now or how you could possibly think I’d be proud of him.”

  The confusion writ plainly on Janeway’s face only fortified Julia’s certainty that her son had completely disgraced himself.

  “Of course he wouldn’t tell you,” she realized. “Your good opinion still matters to him.”

  Janeway shook her head slowly, interlacing her fingers and resting her hands on the table before her. “This must be a mistake . . . some misunderstanding,” she insisted.

  “It’s all here,” Julia said, her voice rising as she moved to the counter to grab the padd containing Tom’s letter. Passing it to Janeway, Julia sat again and gave her a few moments. As she read, Janeway’s confusion vanished, replaced by what looked suspiciously like understanding.

  “I see,” she finally said and sighed.

  “You can’t possibly condone what he did?” Julia asked.

  “ ‘Condone’ is probably too strong a word,” Janeway agreed, “but, ‘understand,’ yes.”
<
br />   “Subterfuge in the name of protecting the interest of Starfleet or the Federation is one thing,” Julia granted her. “The wife of a Starfleet admiral learns to live with many a half-truth. But this was a family matter. You don’t tell lies like this to your family. I remember the day he told me that B’Elanna and Miral’s names were on the casualty list. He let me comfort him. He let me go on and on about how it could be a mistake. He wouldn’t arrange a formal service for them. He made me do that. I’m actually glad his father never lived to see this, because he would never have forgiven him. I can’t either.”

  “Oh, Julia, no,” Janeway said softly. “His choices might not have been mine. But I stood beside him when the Warriors of Gre’thor took Miral from him. The threat they posed was real. His fear that they would eventually find and murder Miral was not imagined or overstated. I had no idea he and B’Elanna had concocted this ruse to throw them off. But it might very well have been the best way to keep Miral safe.”

  “Fine,” Julia conceded. “Lie to our enemies all day long. But lie to your mother?” she demanded.

  “To keep you safe as well,” Kathryn insisted.

  “Me?”

  “There was nothing to prevent the Warriors of Gre’thor coming after you, forcing you to provide them with Tom, B’Elanna, or Miral’s whereabouts. It was possible. Had they done so, you could only have told them honestly what you knew . . . that Miral was dead.”

  “Nothing could have forced me to betray Miral to anyone.”

  Vivid pain streaked across Janeway’s face. Her tone chilled as she said, “You wouldn’t have wanted to, Julia. But there are many ways they could have forced you, most of which you would not have survived.”

  Julia knew that many years ago, Janeway had been captured along with Owen by Cardassians. Owen had been tortured, and while he hadn’t spoken of it, Julia knew that the scars had been permanent. She had never known what Janeway suffered during that mission, but she sensed now that it had been something akin to what Owen had endured.

  Shaking her head, grasping for the fury now sustaining her, Julia replied, “Now I almost wished they had.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “I do. You didn’t know Tom when he was a cadet. I know you’ve read his permanent file so you know about the accident that claimed the lives of three of his best friends and how he lied about it at the initial inquiries to spare himself harsher punishment. I was the one who stood up for him, even after the truth came to light. I was the one who insisted he could survive it. My love was unconditional.

  “Owen spoke often in the last few years about his doubts, wondering what Starfleet had become in the face of so much aggression. The Parasites, the Dominion, the Borg, so many species determined to exterminate our way of life. Every time we faced them, we seemed to lose a little more of ourselves. He worried that we could no longer produce young men and women with the drive to explore the universe’s mysteries with open minds and hearts.

  “If Tom is an example of Starfleet’s finest . . . I don’t know what the hell we think we’re doing anymore.”

  “You need to give it some time, Julia. Tom, B’Elanna, and Miral are all healthy and so happy to be together as a family again. Miral is a beautiful, curious, bright young girl. Tom only learned a few days ago that the Warriors of Gre’thor were killed by the Borg. And the minute he was free to do so, he told you the truth. You need to talk to your son. Let him explain to you what was in his heart when he did this.”

  “My son? He’s not my son,” Julia replied bitterly. “When will the fleet return to the Alpha Quadrant?”

  “I don’t know,” Janeway replied, shocked by the abrupt question.

  “Most of it was destroyed, wasn’t it?” Julia demanded. “Surely Command isn’t going to leave them out there now? I assumed the fact that you are here means they can’t be far behind.”

  “We’ll know more in the next few weeks,” Janeway replied cagily, “but they are still slated to continue the mission for another two and a half years.”

  Julia rose from her seat and began to pace the cavernous kitchen. It had been designed as the heart of a house meant to be filled with multiple generations of Parises. Finally she stopped. “I don’t think so,” she said.

  Janeway stood and approached her warily. “This is a matter for Starfleet Command, Julia. It’s beyond your purview.”

  “Owen was beloved by the organization he served. I don’t think my request will fall on deaf ears.”

  “What request do you intend to make?” Janeway asked.

  “If Starfleet still considers my son fit to serve, that’s their problem. But there is no question in my mind that he is not fit to parent my granddaughter. She’s a civilian, and I can petition the Federation courts for custody.”

  The color fled from Janeway’s face. “Julia, no,” she pleaded.

  “Watch me,” Julia replied coldly.

  Chapter Seven

  VOYAGER

  Twenty-seven hours after Voyager had arrived at the edge of the cloaking matrix, Seven had devised a means to pinpoint its field generators and to render a navigational chart that would allow the ship to enter the area without impacting any of the objects currently cloaked to the ship’s sensors.

  Lieutenant Kim and Captain Chakotay stood beside her at the astrometrics lab’s main control station, studying the grainy image displayed on the room’s massive viewscreen.

  “The field generators are in subspace?” Chakotay asked, clearly seeking to solidify his understanding of the technology Seven had spent the last several minutes laying out in painstaking detail.

  “Within a triaxilating subspace fold, yes,” Seven replied. “They are tetryon based and similar in structure to the first distortion ring we encountered. They are less complex but appear to produce a harmonic resonance that sustains the cloak.”

  “I still don’t understand why we aren’t reading even minimal tachyons,” Kim noted.

  “The rotating modulations of the fold are neutralizing the tachyons, burying them in deeper subspace layers,” Seven replied. “The modulations are essential to masking the generators.”

  “How many generators have you detected thus far?” Chakotay asked.

  “Fourteen thousand six hundred and nineteen,” Seven replied. “As we move deeper into the field, I expect we shall find more,” she added. “It is impossible to theorize how far the matrix might extend beyond our sensor’s limits.”

  “This is the best image you can compile of what is hidden by that field?” Chakotay continued.

  Seven chaffed at the implied criticism. The fact that she had been able to compile the image they were now viewing was an extraordinary accomplishment. “It is sufficient for navigational purposes,” Seven replied, “but if you find it aesthetically lacking, I could create a program that would extrapolate the images in more realistic detail, though it would take several more hours.”

  Chakotay bowed his head and smiled faintly. Placing a hand on Seven’s shoulder he replied, “I’m sorry, Seven. That won’t be necessary. This is more than sufficient, and you are to be commended for a job extremely well done.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “I don’t get it,” Kim finally said.

  “The matrix, like most cloaking technology, is effectively bending the light and energized particles around the objects contained within it, thus rendering them invisible to our standard sensors. But minute traces of the objects are retrievable at the intersection point where the light and particles are refracted. Once you locate the precise frequency of the cloaking matrix, that point becomes visible. I cannot tell you to a certainty what the objects are, but their mass and locations have been mapped . . .”

  “I’m sorry, Seven,” Kim interjected. “I understand the math. What I meant to say is that what we have here is what appears to be a lot of empty space until we reach this sector,” he continued, indicating a point on the display, “which looks like part of an asteroid field.”


  “Why would anyone trouble themselves to hide this?” Chakotay asked.

  “Exactly.” Kim nodded.

  “There is one star system, almost two light-years from our present position, containing several masses of planetary configuration and size,” Seven offered.

  “Obviously we won’t know until we get closer if there’s anything worth seeing in that star system,” Chakotay noted.

  “Unless we can disable the cloaking matrix, we won’t even know then, sir,” Kim corrected him.

  “Any thoughts on how to do that?” Chakotay asked.

  “Are we sure we want to?” Kim asked.

  Chakotay appeared taken aback. “You getting cold feet, Harry?”

  “No,” Kim replied. “Exploring is one thing. But this field was put in place by someone or something a long time ago. For all we know it’s their sovereign space and this is how they encourage travelers to stay out of it. I’m not sure we have any right to try and disable their means of protection.”

  “That’s a fair point,” Chakotay replied. “Just because we’re curious doesn’t mean we are entitled to have our curiosity satisfied. But,” he added, “that distortion ring directed us here and if you’re right, it required assistance. I’d like to provide that if we can.”

  “Perhaps venturing into the cloaked area, now that we can safely do so, will encourage anyone out there who might need help to show themselves,” Kim posited.

  “I’m not yet thoroughly satisfied that we can enter it safely,” Chakotay corrected him.

  “Sir?” Seven asked.

  “Prepare a class-1 probe,” Chakotay ordered. “Plot a direct course toward that star system. Equip it to send out standard greetings on all frequencies. Let’s see if that gets anyone’s attention.”

  “Aye, sir.” Kim nodded.

  “Do you require assistance, Lieutenant Kim?” Seven asked.

  “Yours? Always,” Kim replied with a wide smile.

  Lieutenant Commander Atlee Fife ordered his flight controller, Ensign Sten Falto, to put a greater distance between Voyager and Demeter. Voyager had discovered the power sources of the matrix well before Lieutenant Url had cracked that mystery. Fife concurred wholeheartedly with Captain Chakotay’s intention to launch a probe into the cloaked area before allowing either vessel to enter it. From their present position, they would be able to access all data retrieved by the probe and be able to escape should anything untoward occur. Url had maintained contact with Voyager, and now, all both ships could do was wait.