Atonement

by Kirsten Beyer

  “New boots?”

  “Just replicated. Like ’em?”

  “Black has always been a great color on you. It matches your soul.”

  “I’ve completed the routine physical evaluation of our new ensign. He’ll be assigned to Voyager?”

  “That will be up to Admiral Janeway.”

  “He seems like a good kid. His sense of humor could use a little work. He takes himself a bit too seriously.”

  “After all he’s seen in the last few months, I don’t know how he could do otherwise.”

  El’nor nodded, placing her hands behind her head and leaning back. “It’s a fine line, Regina.”

  “Perhaps, but I’ve never had much trouble figuring out which side of it was the right one to stand on. I’m not surprised that men like this Commander Briggs exist. What defies belief are the actions of his superior and subordinate officers. And what scares the hell out of me is the thought that if Tom Paris doesn’t piss off his mother and end up in a position to help Seven and Sharak, the whole story probably ends very differently.”

  “I’ll admit I was tempted to tender my resignation to Starfleet Medical when you told me about that classified lab. If they knew what was going on and condoned it, that’s evil. If they didn’t, they’re criminally obtuse. But then I realized they have the same problem we do, only on a larger scale. We lost too many seasoned officers during the Invasion. Those left behind lack experience and judgment and are living with varying degrees of PTSD. We face existential threats on a fairly regular basis out here. The folks back home are not accustomed to seeing devastation on that scale and getting right back on the horse.”

  “I’m not willing to chalk Briggs’s actions up to a neurosis, El’nor.”

  “No, he was a special kind of sick. But the fears that allowed him to justify his megalomania are common.”

  “You think it’s widespread?”

  Sal nodded. “Yes. And I think it’s going to make the next several years, if not decades, very hard for the Federation. Balancing security against the values we hold dear requires commitment.”

  “Do you think the Caeliar are still out there?”

  “Somewhere. Along with the gods only know how many other strange new life-forms. But if history is any guide, most of them will be friendly enough; jackasses in their own special ways, but worth meeting, nonetheless.”

  “The Confederacy was not that bad.”

  “Yes, they were. But it’s good to be reminded from time to time what it looks like when the scales tip too far toward self-preservation.”

  “Don’t start. Commander O’Donnell will be back shortly. You can trade self-righteous judgments with him.”

  “Is he single?”

  “Get out of my ready room, El’nor.”

  VOYAGER

  “Daddy!”

  Miral had either grown or started lifting weights during Tom Paris’s absence. She almost knocked him off the transporter pad when she rushed him and jumped into his arms the moment he materialized.

  “Baby,” he said, pulling her close and reveling briefly in the smell of her fine black hair and the feel of her little arms and legs wrapped around him.

  B’Elanna waited as he carried Miral down from the pad and didn’t bother trying to disentangle her as she pulled her mother into the embrace, holding to both of her parents for dear life.

  “I missed you both so much,” Paris said as he held all that was best in the universe in his arms.

  B’Elanna stepped back and studied his face. Catching his infectious grin, she said, “I take it all went well?”

  “You doubted me?” Paris teased.

  “Never,” his wife assured him.

  In the solitude of their bedroom, once Miral had finally fallen asleep in hers, Tom told B’Elanna the story of the last few months. She listened patiently, holding him close. He knew better than to expect her to join him on the same page as far as his mother was concerned. It was enough that she refrained from insisting that no matter what happened, Julia would never see her grandchildren again. Two years from now, they might have to face a difficult conversation. For now, there was no reason to push it.

  “Did you do anything interesting while I was gone?” Tom finally asked.

  B’Elanna pulled back, propping her head up on her elbow. “Not really. We left without securing an alliance with the Confederacy. Oh, and we found Meegan.”

  “Really?” Tom asked, sitting up. “How did that go?”

  “We’re still here. She’s not. We almost lost Nancy Conlon.”

  “Is she going to be all right?”

  “The Doctor thinks she will, but for now, we just have to wait and see.”

  “This is not a great time for Voyager to lose her chief engineer. You’ve got enough to worry about,” Tom noted.

  “I know.” After a moment, B’Elanna said, “The women of the Confederacy are expected to do nothing but bear and raise children from the time their bodies are capable of procreation. It’s a societal norm held over from the early years when replenishing their dwindling population was a problem. I met a few of them, and they thought I was the one whose priorities were out of line.”

  “Did you . . .?” he began hesitantly.

  “You think I got into a physical altercation with another pregnant woman?” B’Elanna asked, semiseriously.

  “No . . . never . . . of course not.”

  “At first I wanted to. Beating some sense into them and the men who flourish under that system was tempting. But now I don’t know.”

  “Okay, you are officially scaring the hell out of me.”

  “We made a choice to have a family. I owe Miral and our son the best I can give them. They need my time, my energy, and my undivided attention. When they’re older, things will be different. But right now, I think I need to look again at my choices. There’s only so much of me to go around. I’ve done both jobs as well as I could, but I don’t think I’m doing either of them well.”

  “Miral is fine.”

  “She is. She’s a trooper. And I keep her busy. But pretty soon, she’ll have to share me with more than you and my duties.”

  “The fleet is still in one piece.”

  “I’ve made more than a few critical errors over the last several months: potentially fatal errors.”

  “Are you saying you want to resign your position?”

  “I don’t want to. But I’m starting to think I should.”

  Tom lay down again and pulled B’Elanna close to him. “Whatever you decide, I will support you. You know that. But I don’t know if letting go of being an engineer, the thing that has defined you, will help as much as you think it might. There will be regrets.”

  “I’ll just have to live with them.”

  “Or . . .”

  “Or what?”

  “Is it possible that the problem is the amount of work you’ve been doing alone?”

  “Maybe.”

  “What if we got you some help?”

  “What kind of help?”

  “We already have Kula, and now that I’m back, you’ll have an extra pair of parenting hands. It’s your position as fleet chief engineer that’s overwhelming.”

  “The engineering staff of all four vessels is stretched as far as it should be. I won’t have people working extra shifts to pick up my slack.”

  Tom smiled. “How about a new ensign assigned as your personal aide, someone who could review all requests, prioritize your reports, and help you create a realistic schedule? You know, help.”

  “An ensign? It would take me longer to train them . . .”

  “What if the ensign was Icheb?”

  B’Elanna sat up. “Icheb?”

  “Yep. And it just so happens, you’re sleeping with the officer in charge of personnel for the starship to which he has been assigned.”

  “That’s right, I am,” B’Elanna said, nestling closer to her husband. “Of course, Harry won’t be acting first officer after tomorrow morning, so I
should probably ask him to put in a good word with you before he steps down.”

  “Aw, come on,” Tom pleaded. “How am I supposed to get that image out of my head? Don’t do that.”

  “Never leave me again, and I won’t.”

  • • • • •

  The Doctor had been right.

  Hugh Cambridge had been wrong.

  From the moment Cambridge received word that Seven had returned to the Delta Quadrant aboard the Home Free and would be at liberty to see him within hours, he had turned that disquieting, impossible truth over in his mind.

  Just because she was back, all would not necessarily be as it had once been. He would not know until he saw her. His dread of that moment intensified with each second that passed. He tried to keep busy. He refrained from contacting her directly. She was required to attend several briefings. Duty first.

  By the time his door chime sounded, Cambridge had convinced himself that whatever her intentions, both would be best served by sacrificing the pleasure of their intimacy in favor of a safe professional relationship. He had already grieved her loss once. There was no reason to do so again.

  Then Seven stepped into his quarters.

  I am an idiot, Cambridge remembered immediately.

  She did not throw herself into his arms. She did not smile warmly. She stood before him, her lithe, intoxicating body clad in a deep-plum pantsuit, a knit shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She had aged in the last few months, though it was not evidenced by deep lines or dark circles in any of the telltale places. Her eyes spoke of revelations she would rather have been spared. They were tinged with defiance.

  Conscious of the dangers posed in allowing this bewitching creature to again take his heart in her hands, Cambridge stepped toward her until they stood less than half a meter apart.

  Why does it feel as if she might still be in the Alpha Quadrant? he wondered. It was entirely possible, he realized, that she might have returned, but not for him.

  “I have been unfaithful to you,” she said without preamble.

  Accept whatever wretched apology she may offer and allow her to leave while your dignity remains intact.

  “I don’t recall either of us taking any vows before you departed,” he uttered to his disbelief.

  Her head tipped slightly to the right.

  “You deserve to know the truth,” she said.

  “Had you come to me with any other story, I would have known you were lying.”

  “You expected me to betray you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I should go.”

  Yes.

  “No.”

  “Do you require details?”

  Yes.

  “No. There is only one question I would appreciate you answering.”

  “Ask.”

  “Why did you come back?”

  Neither of them moved for a very long time.

  Finally, Seven took a single step forward, closing the distance between them to millimeters. Bowing her head slightly, she rested it on his left shoulder, her forehead gently touching the rough flesh he had refused to shave in anticipation of her arrival.

  Her warm, real, sweet presence, along with the scent of spiced honey, banished all thought beyond the truth that, apparently, he could forgive this woman anything.

  This was a problem.

  Hugh Cambridge didn’t give a damn.

  Lifting his arms, he wrapped them around her.

  • • • • •

  Lieutenant Harry Kim entered Captain Chakotay’s ready room with his final report as acting first officer in hand.

  “Lieutenant,” Chakotay greeted him.

  Kim offered him the padd and turned to go.

  “Have you given any thought to how we should proceed now that Commander Paris is back?” Chakotay asked.

  Kim paused. “I assume he will resume his duties as first officer, and I will return to my previous post.”

  Chakotay lifted his eyes to meet Kim’s. “You hated the job that much?”

  “No,” Kim said immediately. His captain waited silently for him to continue. Finally he said, “I think we both know I’m not quite ready for it.”

  “We do?”

  “I almost killed a man on the bridge during a crisis situation because his people had harmed someone I care deeply about. If it happened again tomorrow, I think I would do the same.”

  “And you believe that means you’re unfit for command?”

  “It was conduct unbecoming an officer.”

  “Harry.”

  “It means I’m weak.”

  “It means you lost control in a moment of passion,” Chakotay corrected him. “Lacking sufficient experience to respond in the best way possible to every situation is not the same as weakness.”

  “It feels the same.”

  “I know,” Chakotay said. “Were you able to play a perfect sonata the first time you picked up your clarinet?” he asked.

  “Of course not.”

  “No. You practiced, for how many hours?”

  “Thousands. Tens of thousands, maybe.”

  “You were acting first officer for a little more than a hundred days. You think that’s enough time to decide once and for all what you’re capable of?”

  Kim said nothing.

  “I’m going to add two gamma shifts per week to your duty roster going forward. You’ll have the bridge,” Chakotay said. “Go another two years without almost killing anyone, and we might just make a command officer of you.”

  “I . . . I don’t know what to say, Captain.”

  “ ‘Yes,’ followed by ‘sir.’ ”

  “Yes, sir,” Kim said.

  GALEN

  Gamma shift was well under way when a soft knock sounded on the partition separating the Doctor’s private office from his sickbay.

  “Lieutenant Conlon,” he began without looking up, “I will not approve your transfer back to Voyager until—”

  “Hello, Doctor,” Seven interrupted.

  “Seven?”

  As she stepped into his office, a genuine smile played over her lips. “Are you busy?”

  “I am. But I am also pleased to see you.” He rose from his chair. “Is something wrong?”

  “I missed you,” she replied. “A great deal has happened and I wanted to, that is, I hoped we could talk.”

  “Of course,” the Doctor said, gesturing for her to sit. Once she had settled herself, he did the same. “I trust you saw Axum again.”

  “Yes. He was not the man I remembered or expected to find.”

  “A great deal of time had passed, Seven. And he had suffered in the interim.”

  “I know.”

  “And the plague?”

  “Cured.”

  “How?” the Doctor demanded. “Did you find a way to reprogram damaged catoms?”

  “I did. We did.”

  “You and Axum?”

  “And the others the Caeliar left behind.”

  The Doctor leaned forward. “Tell me how.”

  “I will,” Seven replied. “I’ve learned a great deal about my catoms since last we spoke. And I will share all I have discovered with you. But not tonight.”

  “Then . . . why?” the Doctor began.

  “Before I transported over, I spent some time with Counselor Cambridge.”

  “Of course you did. I’m sure he was relieved to see you.”

  Seven gazed at him warily.

  “I know how important he is to you.”

  “Doctor, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Doctor,” Seven said simply, “I have known you for many years. You have been one of my closest friends. You are every bit as important to me as anyone I assign that designation. Something has changed. I sensed it before I departed, and I apologize for not taking the time to address it then. I should have. You have changed. I do not understand the differences I perceive in you now. If I have injured you personally, please tell me how and allow me to make amen
ds.”

  “Did the counselor suggest you speak to me?”

  “No. Why would he . . .”

  “I’m sorry, that was unfair,” the Doctor said quickly.

  A brief silence followed during which the Doctor calculated the odds that anything short of the truth would result in Seven departing his office in the next several hours.

  Once those calculations were done, he began to speak. He told her what Lewis Zimmerman had done when confronted with his concerns regarding Seven’s relationship with the counselor. He explained the initial modifications his creator had made to his program and the enhancements Lieutenant Barclay had added after he had been damaged by Xolani’s first attempt to hijack his program. He confirmed that in banishing Xolani, he had lost many essential memories of their past relationship forever. He admitted that while he understood that this course of events had been predicated upon his deep affection for her, it was no longer possible for him to feel as he once had, given the fact that those feelings could not be supported in the absence of the contextual data he had lost. He expressed regret but assured her that he had made peace with his choice.

  Seven listened in silence, asking only a few pertinent questions. When she seemed confident that she had grasped the magnitude of what had transpired, she asked, “If you could somehow restore those lost memories, would you do it?”

  “I can’t,” the Doctor said flatly.

  “Then you do not wish to remember?”

  “I do, but . . .”

  “The first real memory I have of you after you had removed as many of my Borg implants as possible, I was standing in the cargo bay. I had just completed a lengthy regeneration cycle. You stood before me, describing the modifications you had made to my hair and eyes.”

  The Doctor smiled. He didn’t remember.

  “You were so pleased with yourself,” Seven said. “I immediately respected your sense of self-assurance. You were not plagued with the same fears and doubts as the others I had met. It was refreshing.”

  The Doctor allowed this moment, this new memory in the process of being created, this experience he would relive in the future in perfect clarity, to settle into his permanent long-term memory files.

  Epilogue