Spirit Walk, Book One

by Christie Golden

  They toasted Janeway and drank. After a few sips, Chakotay returned his half-finished flute to the serving tray.

  “Time to go on duty,” he said.

  The quick shuttle ride to the ship, a tradition held over from the times when transporter technology was iffy at best, was a pleasant one. Kim and Chakotay were at ease with one another and felt no need to make small talk. Chakotay was looking forward to greeting—and in some cases, meeting—the rest of Voyager’s crew.

  His crew.

  Kim looked up from piloting the shuttlecraft. He smothered a grin.

  “Nervous, Captain?”

  “A bit,” Chakotay admitted. “It’s not every day you get your first command.”

  “But you’ve been captain before, sir,” said Kim.

  “Yes,” agreed Chakotay, “a rebel captain of a tiny vessel that Voyager could eat for lunch. It’s not quite the same thing. Changing the subject,” he said meaningfully, “how are the passengers doing?”

  “They boarded about an hour ago. Commander Ellis showed them to their quarters. They have been informed that Astall is happy to talk with them when they feel up to it, and that we’ll be picking up a spiritual advisor as well.”

  “If they don’t take advantage of Astall’s counsel on their own, I may have to nudge them to do so,” said Chakotay. He still couldn’t believe his good luck in getting a Huanni counselor.

  Over a hundred years ago, when the Huanni first joined the Federation, they acquired a slightly tongue-in-cheek reputation for being the antidote to the Vulcans. Whereas Vulcans prized control over their emotions, the Huanni honored and encouraged expression of theirs. Many in Starfleet wondered if they’d ever temper themselves sufficiently to interact appropriately with less…enthusiastic species, but those fears proved to be groundless. After about twenty years of exposure to others, the Huanni were able to modify their behavior. They were still highly emotional, but most were quite capable of controlling themselves when they needed to.

  The revered ambassador Skalli Jksili, the first Huanni to graduate from Starfleet Academy, had been the bridge between her species and many others. After an incident with the famous Captain James T. Kirk, during which she had helped to reunite two estranged peoples, Skalli strode boldly into Federation legend. It was she who had first suggested that Huanni might be valuable counselors, provided they were properly trained in interacting with humans and other Federation member species.

  It had been a stroke of brilliance. The Huanni were capable of profound empathy and sympathy, to the point of completely immersing themselves in another’s torment. While such deep involvement was not advisable for humans, as it caused undue and sometimes dangerous stress, the Huanni thrived on it. The chemicals such feelings released strengthened their immune systems and in general improved their health. In return, they were able to provide their patients with a sincere, compassionate presence. When this natural empathy was combined with more traditional counseling methods, the result was positive for everyone. Captains clamored for them, but there were too few to meet the demand. Chakotay suspected that Janeway had, again, pulled a few strings for him. He was looking forward to meeting Astall, as well as others.

  He looked out the shuttle’s windows. They had reached Voyager, and now the viewscreen was filled with the familiar image of the ship that had been home to him for seven years. As always, he admired her sleek lines, but this time, there was something different.

  This time, the ship was his.

  Chakotay smiled as he heard a familiar voice. “Voyager to Captain Chakotay’s shuttle,” said Lyssa Campbell. “You are cleared for docking.”

  Harry smiled a little as well; for seven years, that sort of announcement had been his job.

  “Voyager, this is Captain Chakotay’s party on final approach.”

  “Voyager welcomes you,” Campbell replied. “Prepare for docking.”

  This is the real homecoming, thought Chakotay.

  Chapter

  3

  THE SHUTTLE DOOR OPENED, and Kim stepped out first. The young lieutenant stood straighter than Chakotay had ever seen him, and he looked very serious.

  “Captain on deck!” Kim announced.

  Chakotay heard the high piping sounds, and everyone snapped to attention. He strode to the podium that had been set up, his eyes flickering over the assembled crowd. He caught the gazes of Kaz, Lieutenant Lyssa Campbell, Lieutenant Vorik. Kaz winked, ever so subtly, and smiled a little. Chakotay resisted the impulse to wink in return.

  Commander Andrew Ellis, Voyager’s new first officer, stood ramrod straight. Chakotay took in the impeccable dress uniform, the regulation-trimmed mustache, the thinning hair, and the pale blue eyes, and sighed inwardly.

  Chakotay produced a small padd, cleared his throat, and began to read the formal letter that officially granted him command of the ship he so loved.

  “You are hereby requested and required to take command of the U.S.S. Voyager as of this date. Signed, Admiral Kathryn Janeway, Starfleet Command.”

  The words never varied. It felt good to be part of a tradition. This was something that his “contrary” nature yearned for every now and then.

  Impulsively, Chakotay put the padd down and said, “As everyone here knows, I served on this ship as its first officer for seven years. It’s good to be back, and also rather humbling. I’m looking forward to seeing where the new voyage takes us all.”

  Leaving the podium, he stepped forward to greet his crew, beginning with his first officer.

  “Commander Ellis,” he said formally, shaking his first officer’s hand. “Good to see you again.”

  “Thank you, sir. It is an honor to serve.”

  “How are our passengers?”

  “Very well, sir. Per regulations, I have confined them to quarters until your arrival.”

  Chakotay tried to hide his surprise and disappointment. He leaned in closer and spoke quietly, trying not to embarrass Ellis.

  “In the future, I’d appreciate it if you came to me first before assuming that all regulations apply to all our guests,” he said. Ellis’s face twitched slightly. Chakotay added, “Come by my ready room and we’ll have a little chat once we’re under way.”

  “Of course, sir. My apologies, sir.”

  “You did nothing wrong, Commander. It’s just…as a captain I’m a little more relaxed than you might be used to.”

  Something glimmered in Ellis’s pale blue eyes, then disappeared. Disapproval. Chakotay couldn’t help but wonder for the hundredth time how he and his very different first officer would manage to get along.

  “Vorik,” said Chakotay more loudly, moving on to his chief engineer. “I’m sure you’re delighted to be back on familiar turf. Only B’Elanna Torres knows that engine room better than you.”

  Vorik inclined his head at the compliment. “I can only strive to emulate Lieutenant Commander Torres.”

  “You probably won’t have as difficult a time restraining your desire to punch someone when things go wrong,” Chakotay joked, enjoying Vorik’s raised eyebrow. He was even more fun to tease than Tuvok.

  “I trust not, Captain.” The Vulcan sounded slightly shocked. Chakotay smothered a grin.

  Kaz was next. They shook hands and exchanged formal pleasantries, but Chakotay was more interested in greeting the tall, attractive woman who was standing next to the Trill doctor. She had rich brown skin and long, glossy black hair tied back in a ponytail. He could tell she had muscles beneath the uniform, and she held her head proudly, almost defiantly.

  “Lieutenant Akolo Tare,” he said, recognizing her from her holophoto. “I’m glad to finally meet you in person.”

  She took his hand. Her grip was firm, no nonsense, and she met his gaze evenly. “Likewise, Captain.”

  “You came highly recommended,” he said. “I only regret that you and Voyager’s former pilot can’t swap stories.”

  “Thank you, sir. But I’m a pilot, not a storyteller. I must admit, though, I am looki
ng forward to getting my hands on the famous Delta Flyer.”

  “Alas, you’ll have to wait. They’re still tinkering with it.”

  A flash in those dark eyes. “Let us hope,” she said, “they don’t tinker too much.”

  “Lieutenant,” he said thoughtfully, “I think we’ll get along just fine.”

  Chakotay recalled her bio. Tare was of Polynesian descent and had fought in the Dominion War. She had been awarded the Grankite Order of Tactics and the Starfleet Citation for Conspicuous Gallantry for various actions performed during that conflict. But what concerned him the most was something that had happened to her recently.

  Six months ago, Tare had had the misfortune of being one of several Starfleet officers who had been abducted by the overly zealous Oliver Baines, the man who had inspired the so-called HoloRevolution. She, along with several others, had been trapped in a brutal holographic simulation meant to demonstrate how demeaning such recreation was to the holograms. According to witnesses, Tare had been literally carried off, thrown across a saddle like a sack of goods, when she dared to stand up to Baines’s bullies.

  After she returned to duty, her commanding officer was worried about her. He had noted his concerns in her bio, with mentions of “erratic behavior” and her own request for a transfer. But Tare could give Tom Paris a run for his money in the piloting department, and Chakotay wasn’t going to hold anyone’s past against him or her.

  Chakotay turned to the woman standing beside Tare. Both women had dark skin and shiny black hair, but there the resemblance ended. Devi Patel, who had a wealth of knowledge about all things scientific, was not a large person to begin with, and standing next to the Amazonian Tare, she looked even more petite. But her reputation was equal to the pilot’s.

  “Welcome, Lieutenant Patel,” Chakotay said warmly. “Your reputation precedes you.”

  “As, of course, does yours, Captain,” she replied. Her hand was tiny in his grasp, but firm, and her eyes were bright and intelligent. With her short-cropped black hair, she looked almost Vulcan.

  He turned at last to greet his counselor. Chakotay, like many humans, found the Huanni very pleasant to look at. Their females were usually as tall as a typical human man, the males even taller, but very slender, and they moved in a graceful manner. The word “willowy” came to mind. Their skin was pale purple, their hair a deeper shade of that color, and they had ears that resembled a kangaroo’s. It used to be that you could tell the emotions of a Huanni simply by the ear position, but that wasn’t true any longer. Over time, they’d developed what he’d heard them call “Federation ears,” and now kept their telltale appendages in a neutral position unless they were extremely agitated.

  Astall stood properly at attention, her “Federation ears” in place, but her eyes were shining and her mouth curved up just a bit too much for a formal situation. Chakotay had no doubt that if they had been alone, the counselor would have given him an enormous hug. But she didn’t do so here. Instead, she extended a long-fingered hand.

  “Lieutenant Astall,” he said warmly. “I was so pleased to hear you’d been assigned to Voyager. We’re extremely lucky to have you.”

  Her large eyes twinkled, but her voice was calm. “Thank you, Captain. I am looking forward to serving.”

  Chakotay turned to the next person in line. “Lieutenant Campbell,” he said to the attractive blond woman standing next to the Huanni. “How very good to see you again.”

  Lyssa Campbell smiled, and her eyes sparkled. “Likewise, sir. I’m looking forward to being a member of your bridge crew.”

  “Much better than being stuck down alone in the transporter room, I’d think,” Chakotay replied, and Lyssa’s normally porcelain cheeks colored. A vivacious woman who thrived in the company of others, she’d been notorious for complaining about how isolating a job being the transporter chief had been.

  “Well, sir,” she said gamely, “the company will be a lot better.”

  Chakotay continued to move down the receiving line, greeting crew members both old and new. At last, he had spoken to them all. He wished it were possible for him to meet every single crew member on his ship. During his seven years on Voyager, he had come to know everyone very well indeed. It was strange, having to maintain a distance now. He hoped that he could emulate his former captain and adopt Janeway’s combination of formality and intimacy with his own crew.

  “Well, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “I can’t imagine a finer crew. Let’s get to work, shall we?”

  He shared the turbolift ride to the bridge with Kim and Campbell. A year ago, the three of them would have chatted easily on the brief trip. But this time, no one talked. No one was quite sure of his or her role yet, and there was a stiffness, an awkwardness, that Chakotay didn’t like and that he hoped would go away soon.

  He was very conscious that he was stepping onto a bridge he knew so well as its captain for the first time. He found he had to stop in midstride and deliberately make his way to the captain’s chair instead of his “usual” seat to Janeway’s left. Once seated in a chair that he had always associated with one of Starfleet’s finest, he looked around, taking in all the changes: the dark-haired woman at the conn instead of the fair-haired man, the slender blonde at ops instead of Harry Kim, Kim himself at Tuvok’s old station. A first officer sitting beside him instead of a captain. He trailed his fingers along the back of his chair.

  Change is the only certainty, he thought.

  He settled himself into his chair, aware that everyone was waiting for him, and spoke his first order as captain.

  “Voyager to McKinley Station operations. Request permission for departure.”

  “This is station operations. You are cleared to depart, Voyager.”

  “Clear all moorings.”

  “All moorings are clear, sir.”

  “Take us out, Lieutenant Tare. One-quarter impulse power.”

  “Aye, sir,” Tare replied, executing her captain’s order. “Ahead one-quarter impulse power.”

  Chakotay watched as the gray of the space dock gave way to a field of black with glittering stars. As if he were releasing his own moorings, he took a deep breath and felt his chest expand as his lungs filled with air.

  Tare spoke again. “We are free and clear to navigate, sir.” Free and clear. Both good words, Chakotay thought. “Request course heading,” Tare continued.

  “Course heading one three mark four,” he said. “To Deep Space 6.”

  Soft sounds of small pads being pressed. Then, “Course laid in, Captain.”

  And then he gave the order: “Engage.”

  The ship surged into warp, and for a while, Chakotay simply sat quietly, watching as the stars streaked by. But that halcyon moment passed quickly, and he suddenly realized that he didn’t know what to do. Should he continue to sit in the chair, the new captain in his proper place, and gaze at the screen? Should he walk around the bridge, checking in with his crew? Mysteriously excuse himself to his ready room to work on something in private?

  How the hell did Janeway manage it?

  He’d know what to do if he were in Ellis’s chair. And he’d have known what to do if he were still in the Maquis, captaining his own small ship and crew. But in these first few awkward moments as captain of a Federation starship, especially this one, he wasn’t sure of his role.

  Chakotay thought of the enormous Black Jaguar, the powerful animal spirit totem who had appeared to him when he had visited his homeworld a few months ago. Black Jaguar was all about power and focus and a clear vision of a just cause. She’d be laughing her furry tail off if she could see him now.

  The thought made him smile, and in that moment of humor, he had the clarity he sought.

  He wasn’t bucking for captain; he was the captain. He didn’t have to prove anything to anybody. He just needed to trust himself to do the right thing.

  He rose and offered his seat to Ellis. “This first mission is all about the colonists,” he told his first officer. “N
otify Marius Fortier and have him meet me in my quarters.”

  Fortier had clearly been eager for the meeting, as Chakotay had barely stepped into his own quarters when his door chimed.

  Amused, he called, “Enter.”

  There was a hiss as the door opened. The leader of the colonists was tall and rangy. Despite the fact that he had spent several years on Earth, Marius Fortier still had the bearing of someone who was not overly comfortable in formal society. Nonetheless, he shook Chakotay’s outstretched hand firmly.

  “It’s good to meet you, Mr. Fortier. I suggested we meet here rather than in my ready room because I thought we would be less likely to be disturbed,” said Chakotay. “I hope this suits you.”

  “Wherever you wish, Captain,” said Fortier. He had a very slight trace of a French accent. “I am pleased you wished to speak with me at all.”

  Chakotay wondered what kind of runaround the man had gotten.

  “I’ve nothing else scheduled for the moment, so we can take our time,” he said. “I was just about to have some coffee. May I offer you something to drink?”

  “Thank you. Vulcan spiced tea, hot,” said Fortier.

  Chakotay ordered coffee and removed both steaming cups from the replicator.

  “Sounds like you’ve developed some sophisticated tastes while you were waiting to return to Loran II,” he said, handing the tea to Fortier. “Vulcan spiced tea doesn’t appeal to everyone.”

  “Our Federation contact was a Vulcan,” Fortier explained, inhaling the aroma and then sipping the hot beverage. “She introduced me to it and I grew to enjoy it.” He arched an eyebrow and added, “I may enjoy Vulcan spiced tea, Captain, but I would not call myself nor any of my fellow colonists a sophisticate.”

  He used the word as if it were an insult. Chakotay felt a hint of amusement; for many centuries on Earth, the French were considered to be some of the most sophisticated humans on the planet, but Fortier clearly wanted no part of that aspect of his heritage.

  Chakotay indicated they should sit. After another sip of coffee, he decided it was time to quit beating around the bush. Indicating a padd, he said, “Of course I’ve read everything about Loran II’s history, but Starfleet reports tend to be a bit dry. I’d like to hear the whole story from you, if you don’t mind.”