“Others?”
“Axum was Borg. He should have joined the Caeliar gestalt.”
“Most likely,” Chakotay agreed.
“But what if he didn’t?”
“The only Borg we know of that refused the Caeliar’s offer was in unique situations,” Chakotay replied.
“Unique, like possessing a mutation shared by only one in a million Borg and aware of themselves as individuals apart from the Collective for several years prior to the Caeliar transformation?” Cambridge demanded.
“A fair point, yes,” Chakotay agreed.
“I know how powerful the urge to join the Caeliar was. The pain it caused Seven to refuse is something I can’t contemplate. Your reports on Doctor Frazier and her people show similar sentiments. The need to care for their children gave them the strength to refuse the Caeliar.”
“Why would Axum refuse?” Chakotay asked.
“If perfection was all the Caeliar was offering, it doesn’t hold a candle to Seven,” Cambridge replied.
After a moment, Chakotay nodded. “If Axum remained outside the gestalt, how could he contact her now, even subconsciously? We’ve already seen the limits of Seven’s catoms when it comes to telepathic communication. She lost contact with Riley when we moved a few light-years from their system. Tens of thousands of light-years is an impossible distance, isn’t it?”
“Tell me you’re not going to lose a little sleep tonight wondering that very thing,” Cambridge replied.
“Hugh,” Chakotay said. “Seven has shared more of herself with you, here in the real world, than any other man she has ever known. She would never treat that lightly. We’re likely going to be out here for years. Build something that will banish all memories of her past.”
Cambridge raised a wary eyebrow.
A ship-wide alarm sounded bringing Chakotay immediately to his feet. Tapping his combadge he said, “Captain to the bridge. Report.”
“Sorry, sir,” Waters replied. “There was an overload in waste processing. It’s already been locked down. The alarm was canceled on site.”
“By whom?” Chakotay asked. It was a procedure that required command-level clearance.
“Commander Torres,” Waters replied.
Relieved, Chakotay started to sit again but thought better of it. What the hell was B’Elanna doing in waste processing right now? In fact, why hadn’t she been in astrometrics with everyone else a few minutes earlier?
“Go,” Cambridge said, joining Chakotay on his feet.
“If you need to talk more about this,” Chakotay offered.
“I won’t,” the counselor said.
“Stop it!” B’Elanna shouted as the alarm trilled again.
“Warning. Processor XVB-Nine-One-One-Three cannot complete required function,” the computer’s maddening voice advised.
“I said . . .” B’Elanna began as she tried to force the support stretchers of the bassinet she had replicated past the interface and into the bowels of the matter reclamation system.
“B’Elanna?” a worried voice called over her shoulder.
“Warning,” the computer began again.
“I just . . .” B’Elanna said, heaving with all her might until a pair of strong hands grasped her arms from behind and gently pulled her back.
“Leave me alone!” B’Elanna shouted, turning on her most unwelcome savior. When she saw it was Chakotay, her anger and intensity quickly vanished, replaced by mortification. “I’m sorry, Captain. I didn’t realize it was you.”
“What the . . . ?” Chakotay began, but paused as he got a good look at the item B’Elanna had been trying to force into the processor. He looked again at her in exasperated confusion. “Is this Miral’s?” he asked.
“She hasn’t been small enough to sleep in one of these for more than three years, Chakotay,” B’Elanna chided him.
Chakotay’s gaze then moved to the pile of other items B’Elanna had clearly intended for waste reclamation. They included a number of toys and devices only appropriate for an infant. Confusion turned to deep sadness.
“Were you pregnant again?” he asked softly.
“Am,” she said. “I am pregnant again.”
He stepped back, releasing a huge sigh of relief. His face was soon lit with absolute jubilation. “Congratulations, B’Elanna,” he said warmly. “That’s wonderful.”
“I’m sorry you had to find out this way,” B’Elanna said. “I was going to wait a few more weeks, just until we were into the second trimester, before telling anyone.”
“I understand,” Chakotay said. “Obviously I won’t say anything. But, Tom?”
“He knows,” B’Elanna assured him.
“So . . .” Chakotay said, gesturing to the pile.
Placing her hands on her hips, B’Elanna shrugged. “I wanted to get a head start, figuring out how to balance what the baby is going to need with all the new stuff Miral needs. I’ve reorganized our quarters six times in the last six days. I know it’s not your problem, but I don’t know how four of us are going to make this work.” With this admission, she felt tears rising to her eyes. Wiping her nose to head them off, she returned to the bassinet and tried to break off one of the end slats.
“Wait,” Chakotay ordered.
“This was stupid,” B’Elanna said. “We’re not going to need this for months. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Come with me,” Chakotay said.
“I can’t just leave this here,” B’Elanna insisted.
“That’s an order, Commander,” Chakotay said.
She dutifully followed him out the door and down the short hall to the turbolift. B’Elanna kept her head down, torn between embarrassment and frustration. When they entered the turbolift, she turned to him and saw him staring down at her, his face lit with joy. He placed an arm around her shoulder and said softly, “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”
Intrigued, B’Elanna followed him out of the lift a few moments later into the halls of deck three. She was confused when he finally stopped at a familiar pair of doors. “What are we doing here?” she asked.
Chakotay only smiled as they entered the largest single living space B’Elanna had ever seen on an Intrepid-class. Once the door had slid shut behind them he said, “Welcome to your new quarters, Commander.”
B’Elanna studied the layout of the space for a few moments. “This is the fleet commander’s suite.”
“It was designed to the personal specifications of Admiral Batiste. Afsarah hated it and would probably have had it reallocated in short order had she lived. Admiral Janeway will never abide its existence for her personal use alone.”
The Starfleet officer in B’Elanna counseled her to tread carefully, but then, she had never been the best Starfleet officer. “Don’t you think Admiral Janeway might want larger quarters?” she asked delicately enough, but not too delicately for her meaning to be unclear.
“I don’t know what the admiral’s plans may be upon her return,” Chakotay began, “but whatever they are, they will not require a space this vast to accommodate her.”
“Or you?”
“No,” Chakotay assured her.
“You haven’t talked about getting married?” B’Elanna asked frankly. In for a meter, in for a kilometer, she decided.
Chakotay smiled again, as if the thought pleased him to no end. “No,” he replied. “There hasn’t been time. We’ve had a lot on our plates, and there’s no reason to rush anything.”
“But you are going to marry her?” B’Elanna demanded.
Chakotay’s face fell into more serious lines, and his eyes clearly commanded her to drop it.
“Chakotay?” B’Elanna said, unwilling to let it go.
“If I have my way, I will spend whatever is left of my life by her side,” he replied.
“And you’re absolutely sure she’s not going to mind you giving away all of this?”
“It’s my ship.” Chakotay shrugged. “So, here are your orders, Commander.”<
br />
“Orders?”
“For the next several weeks, Voyager and Demeter will continue to assist the wave forms in reviving the Ark Planet. You will delegate as many of your duties in that regard as you can. The majority of your time is to be spent transforming this space to accommodate you, Tom, Miral, and your new child.”
“This pregnancy is killing me,” B’Elanna finally admitted. “If I’m not nauseated beyond belief, I’m ravenous. Either I can’t sit still or I’m completely exhausted. It’s like there’s no middle ground in my life anymore.”
“Remind me of a time when you were comfortable in any sort of middle ground?” Chakotay teased.
“Thank you, Chakotay,” she said more seriously.
“Come here,” he said, opening his arms to her.
She accepted his embrace and rested her head for a moment on his chest. “I’m so happy for all of you,” Chakotay said softly.
“Me, too,” B’Elanna said as she pulled away. “But do me a favor?”
“Another one?” He smiled.
“Don’t tell Tom. I want to surprise him.”
“How are you going to do that?”
“I’m pregnant and half out of my mind,” B’Elanna replied, “but I’m still me.”
Chapter Eighteen
INDIANA
“Kathryn?” Gretchen asked.
“Hmm?” Janeway said with less than half her concentration. Her eyes were fixed on a particularly large pumpkin that had been taunting her for weeks, and she had all but decided that today was the day. Tonight, there would be pie. For several days after, there would be spiced pumpkin bread. Her stomach rumbled pleasantly at the thought.
“Darling?” her mother said more urgently, and this time, Janeway looked to her right. Her mother knelt beside her, gardening tools at the ready as they planned their assault on the patch of fall vegetables in Gretchen’s garden. Gretchen rose to her feet and stood with a hand shading her eyes, peering intently at the long road that led to the house. Janeway followed her gaze and was flabbergasted to see the form of a man in a Starfleet uniform making his way toward them.
It was difficult to identify him at first, but soon he came close enough for his blue science uniform and balding pate to settle the matter.
“Doctor?” Janeway called, coming to her feet.
Startled by her voice, the Doctor turned his steps from the path that led to the porch and quickly found the way that led to the rear of the property. “Admiral!” he called with apparent relief as he hurried toward them.
“I thought you said you wouldn’t be disturbed,” Gretchen said softly.
“It’s all right,” Janeway assured her. And it was. The last few weeks had been like no others in her life. They had done more than restore her spirits. They had rejuvenated her. Long hours spent doing simple things with her hands as she and her mother revisited their shared past had been a gift she’d never thought to give herself. Her mother was still a hard worker, but she so loved the work she did, it never felt like an obligation. Janeway felt the same about her profession, but it was extraordinary to have spent time reveling in someone else’s garden. It was a complete change of pace. Days started and ended earlier, following the gentle rhythm of sunrise and sunset. Real weather had become a treasure. They’d had a bit of rain, but most days began cold, warmed nicely in the afternoon, and ended colder. The coffee Janeway had always cherished had been a substitute for lost energy. Hot decaf or tea at the end of a day of manual labor felt like a reward. The food they had eaten, fresh from the ground, was sublime. It filled her, nourished her, and satisfied her completely.
But Janeway knew that this all-too-brief respite was temporary. She sensed with each passing day that its end was coming. Rather than create undue anxiety, however, this knowledge had allowed her to live more fully in the moment.
Whenever Command finally got around to analyzing her evaluations and deciding on her next post, Janeway knew she would be ready to accept it. And most surprising of all, she no longer had a preference. She would happily go where she was needed most and allow the future to unfold on its own. Janeway no longer had the slightest bit of interest in shaping it, forcing it into a form she thought she could manage. This time spent away from Starfleet had taught her that seeking such control was a waste of time, if not a complete illusion, and that her energy was much better expended opening herself up to each day ready to accept whatever it brought. She fervently hoped that she could remember this wisdom when duty called and brought along with it the rigors of schedules, meetings, and reports.
When he finally reached them, the Doctor took a moment to peer at Janeway, bathed in the light of an Indiana autumn, and wonder at what he saw. The admiral had discarded her uniform and wore a simple, long brown tunic over timeworn canvas pants with several handy pockets. A kerchief was tied at her neck, helpful for collecting sweat and dirt, and her face was smeared with a fair amount of soil.
“If I’d known it was this bad,” the Doctor said seriously, “I would have come sooner.”
Janeway laughed deeply and opened her arms to him. “It’s good to see you, too,” she said as he accepted her embrace.
“Doctor,” Gretchen greeted him a little warily.
“Hello, Mrs. Janeway,” he said, extending his hand.
“What brings you all the way out here?” Gretchen asked.
“It is the only way to make contact with your daughter,” he replied. “Since the mountain would not come to me . . .” he began.
“Some sort of emergency then?” Gretchen asked.
“When isn’t it?” the Doctor answered. “I apologize for interrupting this . . . what is this exactly?” he asked.
“Gardening,” Janeway replied. Turning to Gretchen she said, “I’d love something cold to drink.”
Gretchen understood and resigned herself to acceptance. “Can he . . .” she began.
“No, thank you,” the Doctor said.
As Gretchen trudged toward the back porch, Janeway said, “Don’t you dare start on that pumpkin without me.”
Gretchen favored her daughter with a knowing smile tossed over her shoulder as she opened the back door screen.
“I mean it, Mother,” Janeway added.
“Admiral?” the Doctor asked, clearly puzzled.
“Let’s take a walk,” Janeway said. Something in her still wanted to keep Starfleet away from her newfound peace for as long as possible.
They hadn’t gone far along a narrow path that led to the apple orchard when the Doctor said, “Is this really how you’ve been spending your time?”
“Yes,” Janeway said simply.
“Are you aware of anything that’s been going on in your absence?”
“No.”
“Do I need to scan you for possible alien possession or replacement?” the Doctor asked.
“No,” she said. “I needed some time. So I took it.”
“I expected to find you at Utopia Planitia when Galen arrived there,” he said. “I’ve sent you several transmissions in the last few weeks, but received no responses.”
“Decan didn’t . . . ?” she asked.
“Decan,” the Doctor repeated, menace in his tone, “has become an unmovable barrier between you and the rest of the universe.”
“Good.” Janeway smiled.
“For you, perhaps,” the Doctor chided her. “Are you aware that the Vesta’s time line for completion has been extended by ten days in your absence?”
“No.” Janeway shrugged. “Why?” she finally asked.
“I don’t think Admiral Verdell and Commander Drafar are capable of speaking a cordial word to each other. Nor are he and I, for that matter. He is the textbook definition of noncommittal.”
“The fleet is his responsibility,” Janeway said. “If he’s not getting you what you need, talk to Ken Montgomery.”
“What I need is you, Admiral,” the Doctor said heatedly.
They had reached a shaded line of trees, and Janeway placed a f
oot at the nearest trunk, resting an arm on a low-hanging branch. The question was there, waiting to be asked, but Janeway knew that to ask it was to bid farewell to the peace she had discovered here. She had already accepted that her reprieve would be temporary, but she was reluctant to part with it. Her affection for the Doctor, however, forced it from her lips. “What’s going on?”
“Axum remained under my care for two weeks after we last spoke. It was all I could do on his behalf. His recovery was truly miraculous.”
“Not with you as his doctor,” Janeway said.
“When I could stall them no longer, he was taken from me, and no one will tell me where he is now. But I am certain he is not recuperating, as I was told.”
“What else would he be doing?”
“They’re using him, Admiral, as a test subject.”
“I’m sure Starfleet Medical will want to study him, but it will be a painless process and certainly they will not harm him or do anything to jeopardize his recovery,” Janeway said.
“I’ve spent more than three weeks with the doctors in whose tender care he now rests. His recovery is the last thing on their minds.”
“What’s the first?”
“I’m not supposed to tell you this,” the Doctor began.
“Does it have anything to do with the sudden reallocation of medical resources to Coridan, Ardana, and Aldebaran?” the admiral asked.
“Then you know?”
“There were rumors before I left of an illness that has appeared on those worlds.”
“More than an illness. Starfleet Medical and the Federation Institute of Health are desperate to find the cause and a cure for what they are calling a new plague: one they believe is caused by exposure to catomic matter.”
“Is that even possible?” Janeway asked.
“I’ve seen their preliminary research, and I’m convinced it’s completely impossible. But don’t try and tell them that. I educated them as best I could. They confiscated all of my files on Seven and all of Galen’s on the fleet’s interaction with Doctor Frazier’s people. I even heard them discussing the possibilities of sending an expedition to Arehaz.”
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