“Go,” she said again and exhaled, and as she did so, it began to disperse. Soon enough it vanished into nothingness. She looked again for the mirror, but it was gone. She was alone.
She felt . . . whole.
She expected to feel cold and empty. Instead, opening her eyes, she discovered a strange, almost heady sense of calm, not unlike that which accompanies vigorous exercise.
Austen smiled and waggled a finger toward her face. Janeway retrieved a few tissues and wiped away the last of her tears.
“I’d like to never do that again,” Janeway said softly.
“You won’t have to,” Austen assured her, “not like this. Once you get the hang of forgiveness, it becomes a habit. It isn’t what we lose that defines us. It’s what we refuse to release.”
Janeway chuckled. “Just before I left the fleet, Chakotay tried to tell me that my life now could be a blank slate. But I couldn’t feel that until now.”
“It’s good, isn’t it?”
“It’s better than good,” Janeway replied. Sitting back, she asked, “How did you do that?”
“I didn’t do anything.”
Janeway smiled wryly. “Thank you, just the same.”
Admiral Kathryn Janeway wasted no time. She returned to her office and collected all of the data she and Decan had compiled about various issues relevant to her command. She left explicit instructions for Decan, knowing he would follow them to the letter.
Walking down the hall to Verdell’s office, she was pleased to find him otherwise unoccupied. Janeway sat with him for a little more than an hour, summarizing her primary concerns and offering him all of her data. She advised him to seek out and utilize Decan to the full extent of his abilities.
She wished him well.
By early afternoon, Janeway reached her mother’s house in Indiana. Gretchen was, of course, delighted to see her.
Over several pots of warm tea, they chatted long into the night. In the wee hours, she fell pleasantly exhausted into the bed in what had been her childhood room and enjoyed the first dreamless sleep she could remember in years.
She awoke late the next morning and joined her mother, who was already busy in the garden. Apart from her final required evaluations, which turned out to be kind of fun as they no longer mattered, and a few pleasant follow-up appointments with Counselor Austen, she did not return to San Francisco, nor did she continue to follow the progress of the fleet.
Chapter Seventeen
VOYAGER
The astrometrics lab was packed with anxious officers. Seven and Lieutenants Harry Kim and Nancy Conlon stood at the room’s main data terminal finalizing their preparations. Behind them, Commander O’Donnell, Captain Chakotay, Commander Paris, and Counselor Cambridge stood with their eyes fixed on the lab’s viewscreen. Kim maintained an open channel with Ensign Gwyn at the helm, just in case the ship needed to move quickly. But in his heart, he knew they wouldn’t. He also had a secondary channel open to an away team on the surface consisting of Commander Fife and Lieutenant Lasren.
It had taken Kim, Conlon, and Seven, working in close consultation with Commander O’Donnell, two days to devise a means to teach, or more specifically, to add to the wave forms’ current programming parameters. The first problem had been finding a way to bring the proctors into normal space at will. The sentries’ attention they knew how to get, but the sentries did not suit their needs. Conlon had suggested replicating small items that might pique the proctor’s curiosity that were not already present on the ship. Everything within the ship had already been scanned and would therefore be ignored as non-threatening. O’Donnell had suggested using simple unfamiliar life-forms safely housed in probes. Seven had been the one to suggest the infinitely simpler course. A few hours of experimentation with harmonic waves designed to disrupt subspace revealed a simple frequency that forced the wave forms to emerge. This action occasionally alerted several sentries, and the process was refined until only proctors were summoned.
At that point, Kim was ready to provide the proctors with rudimentary data, but Seven had refused, pointing out that they were training these creatures and should proceed slowly. Two days and dozens of tests later, they could summon the proctors at will and were ready to begin giving them more complicated tasks.
They had begun by sending out several newly developed probes. The casings were standard, but they had been designed to transmit only on the appropriate frequency. The proctors were instructed to move to a specific coordinate, then to move between a series of coordinates, to bring the probe to a designated location on the planet’s surface. Finally, the proctors were to move a small population of Monster’s pack to a new habitat five hundred kilometers from their present range. Once the wave forms had grown accustomed to this method of data transmission, they seemed impatient for more. Over the past twenty-four hours, several proctors had emerged, uncalled, from subspace and came near Voyager and Demeter’s position as if hoping that by showing up, some task might be assigned to them.
Thus far, all of the tests had demonstrated unequivocally that the wave forms were capable of following instructions. Today’s test was the only one that mattered, though. It was the first test that crossed the line from the wave forms doing the work required to providing them with material that they would not otherwise be able to create. They were moving into rudimentary terraforming, and if the proctors could not grasp or accomplish what was required, everyone’s hopes for the planet were going to have to be rethought.
True to his word, Chakotay had not hindered the team’s efforts nor placed any time restriction on them as long as the proctors continued to demonstrate progress. He seemed as anxious as the team that this final test should succeed.
O’Donnell had synthesized a new bacteria: one that needed to be delivered to an arid region of the planet. It was designed for its specific climate, but in order for it to thrive, it would need a little encouragement. This meant that the proctors would have to alter local weather patterns, a more complicated but not impossible task. It was new territory for all of them, and Kim’s breath stilled as everyone in the lab watched the probe’s launch from Voyager.
“Look at ’em go,” Conlon said softly as a number of proctors raced toward the newly ejected probe. As soon as one surrounded it, the others that had attempted to reach it first ceased their motion but remained nearby.
“Come on,” Kim added under his breath. Phase one required that the first proctor to intercept the probe realize that it had to share the data provided with other proctors. This was a task no proctor could perform on its own. He smiled with relief as the wave form elongated its shape enough to allow its edges to touch several of those who had lost the race.
“Is that supposed to happen?” Paris asked from the back of the lab.
“It is,” Kim replied. “They’re sharing the information.”
“As long as you’re sure,” Paris said softly.
Moments later, the probe was speeding to the surface of the planet, safely contained within the first proctor, and six others followed its course.
“Voyager to Commander Fife,” Kim called over the comm. “You should be able to detect the arrival of the probe.”
“Confirmed,” Fife replied, all business. “We are reading the probe’s telemetry and confirm it is on course.”
“Man, those things can move.” Lasren’s voice came softly from the background of Fife’s open channel.
A light chuckle came from Conlon at Lasren’s enthusiasm.
A few moments later, Kim said, “Fife, report.”
“The probe has passed through the upper atmosphere and is slowing. It has now reached optimal orientation for dispersal.”
“Are the pods opening?” O’Donnell asked.
“Aye, sir,” Fife replied.
O’Donnell moved to Kim’s side and clapped a congratulatory hand on his shoulder.
“They did it,” he said softly.
“The proctors have demonstrated the acquisition of a ne
w skill,” Seven allowed, “but the harder task remains undone.”
O’Donnell shook his head at Seven, a gentle smirk on his lips as he replied, “Oh, ye of little faith.”
“The pods have been released, and the contents are being distributed among the seven proctors who received the data,” Conlon reported, bringing everyone’s attention back to the lab’s viewscreen. It displayed different views of the plain where Fife and Lasren’s shuttle had landed. The shuttle’s sensors would provide the clearest data about the test and its readings were instantaneously transmitted to Voyager.
The probe floated several meters above the surface. The pods containing the necessary bacteria had been transferred to seven discreet proctors, and their gentle back and forth motions suggested they were releasing the contents of the pods in a perfect dispersal pattern.
“Now comes the really hard part,” Conlon reminded Kim.
Turning to address the group, Seven said, “We have now reached a new level of complexity in terms of programming the proctors. If they clear the final hurdle, we can safely assume that they will be capable of performing all of the functions required to revive the Ark Planet.”
“I still say we’re nudging the letter of the law toward maximum tolerance,” Paris said dryly.
“It may not matter,” Conlon interjected, her gaze fixed on the screen where from every angle the landscape appeared to be as hot and dry as ever.
“The last phase of this test is the most difficult,” Kim pointed out. “It may take several hours for us to determine whether or not the proctors can successfully alter atmospheric conditions to the necessary configuration.”
“Can the bacteria survive that long?” Chakotay asked.
“Almost,” O’Donnell replied.
“If you’d prefer not to wait, I can . . .” Kim began.
“Fife to Voyager,” Fife’s voice called from over the comm. “Ambient temperature is falling.”
“How much?” Kim asked.
“Two degrees in the last four minutes,” Fife said.
“A good sign.” O’Donnell smiled at Kim.
Everyone remained silently engrossed for the next few minutes watching, clearly worried that speaking might break the spell the proctors were casting in the atmosphere above the planet.
It was Paris who ended the silence. “I’ll be damned,” he said softly.
Kim’s smile broke into full force as everyone watched Fife and Lasren rush back to the safety of the shuttle to avoid a massive deluge that had just begun to fall from the heavens. He turned to Conlon, who temporarily abandoned protocol and grabbed him in a firm hug. Seven simply stepped back and nodded to O’Donnell.
After a round of boisterous applause, everyone in the room broke ranks to congratulate Kim, Conlon, and Seven. Kim watched as O’Donnell pulled Chakotay aside and did his best to separate their words from the ebullient chatter filling the lab.
“Well?” O’Donnell asked.
“You’ve made your point,” Chakotay replied, extending his hand.
O’Donnell took it and shook it firmly.
“I take it we’re going to be here awhile,” Paris said.
“Everybody get comfortable,” Chakotay said. “We’ve got six weeks of hard work ahead of us.”
“And in the seventh, we’ll rest?” Cambridge asked lightly.
“Somehow, I doubt it,” Paris replied.
For the first time since their arrival in the wave form’s system, Chakotay felt unreserved satisfaction. The work that Kim, Conlon, and Seven had done to establish communications with the proctors was outstanding. He no longer cared whether it could technically be construed as a first contact. It was an accomplishment worthy of their mission statement, and the fact that the Ark Planet would be revived was a bonus. His crew would be busy but not under constant threat and expending their efforts on work that all could take pride in.
This was a good day.
Most of the assembled officers were still in astrometrics, peppering Kim and the others with questions related to their specific work to come. Chakotay watched as Counselor Cambridge silently moved to the lab’s door and left, a decidedly dour look on his face.
Curious and certain his crew had matters well in hand, he followed the counselor and caught up with him as he entered the turbolift.
The two men stood silent in the turbolift. Chakotay allowed the tension growing between them to become uncomfortable before Cambridge finally blurted out, “Six weeks?”
Offering the counselor his most amiable face, Chakotay replied, “Is that a problem, Counselor?”
“Of course not, sir,” Cambridge replied. Chakotay did not believe him for an instant.
“Aren’t you the one who told me that what this crew needed was a fairly long stretch of routine? This is about as close to routine as things get out here.”
The turbolift doors slid open on deck four, which housed Cambridge’s quarters. Chakotay considered continuing to the bridge, but he stepped off behind Cambridge at the last moment. They walked in silence until they had reached his door, when the counselor turned on Chakotay and said, “Is there a problem, sir?”
“You tell me.”
“I have nothing to do,” Cambridge replied.
“If boredom is your issue,” Chakotay began.
Cambridge raised a hand to silence him and activated his door, motioning for the captain to precede him inside.
Chakotay was relieved to see Cambridge’s personal space in relative order. He had seen these quarters in more shocking states and knew that their condition often reflected the counselor’s own. Whatever was troubling Hugh had not yet reached crisis levels.
“Can I offer you something?” Cambridge asked as he moved to the replicator and ordered a synthetic scotch.
“I’ll take some hot cider,” Chakotay replied.
“Are you a hundred and fifty years old?” Cambridge asked as he dutifully fulfilled Chakotay’s order.
“It’s a little early in the day,” Chakotay replied, accepting the steaming mug. “But I’ve got a fairly lengthy report to begin, so whatever this is, could we move it along?”
“I don’t like this place much,” Cambridge finally admitted. “I’m ready to move on.”
“Because it’s boring?”
“Because something more challenging will better focus the crew’s minds,” Cambridge replied.
“According to my first officer, the entire crew is performing at peak efficiency,” Chakotay argued. “They just established contact with alien technology and are utilizing it to work a miracle. You don’t think that’s challenging?”
“For some of them, maybe . . .” Cambridge began.
“I’ve got waste reclamation conduits that could use a good scrubbing if you really can’t find something useful to do,” Chakotay suggested.
“Don’t be absurd,” Cambridge snapped.
“Then what . . . ?”
“Bloody hell, Chakotay,” Cambridge said, “did Seven ever tell you about Axum?”
Chakotay was momentarily stunned by the question. With Cambridge, Chakotay usually found himself on the receiving end of wisdom. However, the counselor was clearly at a loss. It was hard not to revel, just for a moment, at this unexpected reversal. Had Cambridge’s difficulty in asking not been so evident, Chakotay might have made him suffer a bit. Repressing a smile, the captain moved to the chair Cambridge normally occupied for counseling sessions and sat.
Cambridge shook his head but followed Chakotay’s lead, taking the “patient’s” seat opposite him.
“She did,” Chakotay finally replied.
“When you and she . . .” Cambridge said then cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable addressing this. Years earlier, Chakotay and Seven had a brief romantic relationship that had long since deepened into friendship. It was inappropriate for the counselor to ask his captain for personal information, and they both knew it.
“We spoke about him before we were involved,” Chakotay clarified. “I w
as there when she was first brought back to Unimatrix Zero. It was a confusing time for her. And I also spoke at great length about the place with Kathryn.”
“Do you believe Seven still harbors unresolved feeling for him?” Cambridge asked.
“You’re not asking as her counselor?”
“Of course not.”
“Then you need to discuss it with her,” Chakotay said gently.
“I have,” Cambridge bellowed. When he had calmed himself he went on. “As best I can tell, she is withholding nothing. Seven claims they were involved in that fairyland they shared during regeneration but that she has no memory of the relationship. She’d put it so far behind her, it never even came up in our counseling sessions.”
“How did Axum come up?” Chakotay asked innocently.
Cambridge turned away; Chakotay realized he didn’t want to answer that question. “She’s dreaming about him,” Cambridge finally said softly. “She speaks his name in her sleep.”
“Hugh, I really can’t hear this,” Chakotay said. “It is disrespectful to Seven.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Cambridge said bitterly. “If I had anywhere else to turn, I can assure you I would.”
Chakotay believed him. The situation was further complicated by the fact that someday, he might find himself on the other end of this conversation regarding him and Kathryn. Not that Kathryn and Hugh had ever been intimate, but as the ship’s counselor, there would be lines Cambridge could not cross either.
“I can tell you this,” Chakotay said. “Seven doesn’t lie. Have you considered the possibility that what you now share with her is simply awakening repressed memories and dreams are the safest way for her to deal with them?”
“Thirty-some odd years of counseling experience hasn’t completely escaped me, Chakotay,” Cambridge replied. “If that were the only possibility here, I’d be fine. It’s the others that have me worried.”
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