Star Trek: Voyager®: Full Circle

by Kirsten Beyer

  Kahless’s message, however, put those fears completely to rest. Tears welled in Tom’s eyes, but they were not tears of grief. After more than two years he was finally almost free to live the life he had always wanted.

  Tom sighed through his tears with complete relief.

  In the days following Tom and Sveta’s brief visit, the traces of peace Chakotay had achieved prior to their arrival had dissipated completely. Now, he found himself wondering if that brief respite had been as illusory as his angry companion.

  Instead, the fear Chakotay had first felt when his counterpart had begun to laugh at him had coiled itself around his heart and stubbornly refused to be dislodged. In place of his daily hikes to take in the grandeur of the island and cleanse his mind and body, he had taken to spending long hours staring into his small campfire. His body was still, but his mind raced with furious determination.

  He had studiously avoided the thoughts that were now tormenting him: Kathryn, the many fine officers and crew he had lost while in command, the dreams of the life they would have shared after Venice, and most painfully, the persistent certainty that his life was now over.

  The only piece of technology he had brought with him was wrapped inside the medicine bundle he hadn’t opened since Kathryn’s death. The akoonah had been created by his people to facilitate the spiritual exploration of a vision quest, replacing the hallucinogenic plants used by his ancestors. He had sought the comfort of his spirit guide regularly throughout his life, but after Venice had felt no desire whatsoever to seek its counsel. He was as angry with the spirits as he was with the Borg, and frankly didn’t want to hear whatever they might have to say.

  In his long hours of quiet contemplation, however, the thought had finally occurred to him that even when one didn’t want the spirits, they never truly left you. Some would say that in the darkest times, the spirits existed to carry you through them. Chakotay didn’t really know what he was seeking in contacting them. He only knew that he had tried every other means at his disposal to make sense of his confusion and fear, and thus far found nothing.

  Chakotay unwrapped the medicine bundle and laid it out before him. Embracing his fear, he placed his fingers on the akoonah, closed his eyes, and said aloud, “Akoochimoya. Gods of my fathers, I am far from the lands of my home. I walk in darkness, alone and frightened. I ask you to find me in the darkness. I ask you to explain yourselves.”

  Chakotay’s mind began to hum. It was a common effect of the akoonah, the last physical sensation experienced before entering the spirit world.

  As he opened his eyes, the hum receded, and he found himself staring at the fire he had built that afternoon. Though it seemed to have grown lower with the passage of time, he had no memory of having walked with his spirit guide.

  Chakotay closed his eyes again, determined to force a connection.

  Blackness surrounded him.

  He floated in it, frightened and alone.

  What have I done, he cried out to the darkness, that even you have abandoned me?

  With a disarming jolt, Chakotay found himself trembling with cold.

  The fire had died.

  He was as alone in the forest as he had been in the emptiness of his vision. Hours had clearly passed, but had brought him no closer to the clarity he sought.

  Chakotay had never wished so desperately to speak with the spirits. And they had never before failed to heed his call.

  A word rose unbidden to his lips.

  “Why?” he asked aloud.

  Why what? the familiar needling voice of his usurper asked.

  “Why did she go out there alone?” Chakotay asked.

  What does it matter? She was never really yours. Perhaps she never meant to meet you in Venice at all. Perhaps she was afraid she had made a mistake.

  “I don’t believe that.”

  No. But you fear it. Who are you, Chakotay? At what point did you stop charting the course of your own life and hand it to others? To her? To Starfleet? Was that the life you wanted, or was it the life you lived with because you couldn’t think of anything better to do?

  “I made my choices.”

  Did you? Or did you run from choice? Did you want to remain in the Delta quadrant? Did you want to join Voyager’s crew? Did you want to become a captain? Or did you abide the whims of destiny, the cruelest of all mistresses?

  “I don’t know anymore.”

  Who does?

  “Leave me alone!” Chakotay shouted, warmed by familiar anger.

  You are alone. You’ve been alone for longer than you care to believe. You abandoned yourself, Chakotay. You hid behind pretty words like duty, honor, and love, and then you cloaked yourself in ugly ones: pain, anger, regret. But they mean nothing. They do not define you. Only you can do that. Only you can claim your own life. Why do you hesitate? Why do you fear?

  “I knew what I wanted and it was taken from me.”

  Then it was never yours.

  “Why?”

  With that word hanging unanswered in the cold night air, Chakotay heard a distant chirp.

  Startled, he looked about for its source and found it in the pouch he carried at his waist. The combadge Tom had left him was demanding an answer.

  Hands shaking, Chakotay activated it.

  “This is Chakotay.”

  “Captain, I’m sorry to disturb you.”

  Chakotay immediately recognized the voice and answered automatically.

  “It’s no trouble, Admiral Montgomery. What do you need?”

  “I need you to report to Command in two days.”

  Chakotay paused briefly.

  “May I ask why?”

  “I’ll explain when I see you. Good travels, Captain. Montgomery out.”

  The communication terminated, Chakotay replaced the badge in his pouch and listened to the stillness around him. Finally, he rose and began to clear his campsite.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Cambridge rose from his chair when Chakotay’s retelling of the events of August 2380 to the present had concluded. He did so not because his work with the captain was at an end, but because his lower back was shooting spasms up and down his spine after sitting in one position for over four hours.

  Chakotay abruptly mimicked his action and began to pace the small room, shaking his legs alternately with every few steps.

  “What do they usually use this room for?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.” Cambridge shrugged as he stretched his arms overhead in an effort to give the disks of his lumbar spine some desperately needed breathing room. “But I’d sell my soul right now for a really good massage therapist. Or failing that, a mediocre dabo girl might suffice.”

  Chakotay cracked a perplexed smile.

  “So what now, Counselor?” he asked.

  Cambridge returned to the table, but rather than take his seat, perched himself on its edge.

  “The obvious question, I suppose,” he replied. “How do you feel now?”

  “About what?”

  “About resuming your command?”

  Chakotay came to a halt and turned to face Cambridge, almost at attention.

  “I serve at the pleasure of my commanding officers,” he said a little too ironically.

  “That’s true,” Cambridge acknowledged, “but it’s not an answer.”

  “What do you want me to say, Counselor?” Chakotay asked with a little more heat.

  “Do I regret destroying the Orion ship? No. Was my pursuit of the Borg during their invasion of our sovereign space too aggressive? I think not. Do I recognize that since Admiral Janeway’s death many of those closest to me have been concerned about my behavior? I’m not an idiot, Counselor. We all face these things as best we can, and that’s what I did at the time and that’s what I will continue to do when Voyager ships out again.”

  “The last time we spoke, Captain, you were just beginning to recover from sinking into a deep state of shock brought about by acute trauma and further complicated by untreated
chronic depression characterized by personality changes, self-medication through the inappropriate use of alcohol, manic outbursts, denial, and barely controlled aggression. You’ve had over two months to begin to heal. How’s it coming?”

  Chakotay paused to consider his analysis.

  “I’m all better now?”

  “Your sense of humor is returning, and that’s a step in the right direction,” Cambridge replied.

  “But is it enough?” Chakotay asked.

  “Enough for what?”

  “Enough to get you and Admiral Montgomery off my back?” Chakotay bristled.

  “I think you’ve missed the point,” Cambridge replied.

  “Then please, explain it to me,” Chakotay countered. “And be sure and use lots of small words,” he added icily.

  “Why do you think Command requested this evaluation?” Cambridge asked.

  “Because calling my judgment into question has become a habit around here.”

  “Really? Why would that be?”

  “Why?” Chakotay paused, as if struck by the word. “Why?” he said again.

  Instinct drove Cambridge to straighten his posture. For the first time since their conversation had begun, he felt Chakotay was close to discovering something that had been eluding him.

  “I’m here because from the day Voyager returned from the Delta quadrant, no one in the upper echelons of Command has really trusted me or the rest of my crew.”

  Cambridge’s eyebrows shot up at this revelation.

  “I left Starfleet years ago to join the Maquis. I betrayed them. And even though the Dominion war might have opened some eyes to the rightness of our cause against the Cardassians, my fellow Maquis and I weren’t welcomed back into the fold because Starfleet understood or had forgiven us. We were accepted back because we had done our penance, seen the error of our ways, and demonstrated that we could toe the Starfleet line for seven years. After the war Starfleet needed all the able hands it could get, so at Admiral Janeway’s insistence they decided to give me a shot, but they never really trusted that they were doing the right thing. They never really trusted any of us.”

  “Upon what do you base that assumption?” Cambridge asked.

  “Right after we got home, a new Borg threat emerged: a virus conceived by a warped woman at the heart of Starfleet Intelligence. At that point we were the best qualified officers around to investigate and conquer that threat, but we were all pushed to the sidelines, suspected of actually causing the problem. Three of my people were actually put in prison. We only succeeded in stopping Covington because we did what had to be done over Command’s protests instead of with their blessing.

  “Of course, we were right. We solved the problem. And the next one at Loran II. And because it would have been bad form for Starfleet to do any different, they finally decided to give me the first officer I deserved, another officer they have serious ‘trust’ issues with, Commander Tom Paris. But I don’t imagine they were happy about it.

  “A few months later, after saving the lives of B’Elanna and Miral Paris and revealing a serious threat to the health and welfare of the Klingon species in the bargain, I was once again called on the carpet to explain my behavior. Yes, the mission to Kerovi had failed, but I have a hard time mourning the loss of our ability to interrogate a Changeling who was going to lie to us with his last breath when we were able to save countless others by our efforts.

  “The chancellor of the Klingon Empire saw fit to honor me and my crew with commendations, but Starfleet decided to reward us for taking the initiative by giving us for the next two years the most mundane assignments imaginable. Frankly, I’m surprised they didn’t throw all of us into the bowels of a warehouse to count self-sealing stem bolts, for all the use we were ferrying around diplomats and escorting supply vessels.”

  “You think you were being punished?” Cambridge asked.

  “I think no one here really understands me or my crew. I think because we didn’t serve in the Dominion war, we have always been considered somehow ‘less’ than those who did. I think they use us when it seems convenient, but no one has ever really given proper weight to the service we did in the Delta quadrant, not just by surviving it, but by gathering enough data to keep every one of your analysts busy until the end of time, had anyone bothered to actually look at it before they classified it or filed it away.

  “And I think that the disrespect we have suffered is nothing compared to the unconscionable decision to send Admiral Janeway out to investigate a Borg cube with only a science vessel for backup. They sent her out alone. She died alone.

  “No, I don’t think we were being punished. I think we have been and continue to be the victims of negligence on the part of our commanding officers that some might define as criminal.

  “Despite that, my crew and I have done everything Starfleet has ever asked of us. We have routinely gone above and beyond the call of duty, right up to leading that doomed task force to the Azure Nebula, and because we had the unmitigated gall to survive it, we must once again account for our actions.”

  Cambridge actually flinched as Chakotay crossed to stare directly into his eyes.

  “You know what? I’m sick of it. I’m sick of having my every action questioned by those who are only alive because we continually throw ourselves between them and danger. Who the hell are you to ask me to justify myself? My actions speak for me, and if they aren’t enough to convince you that I belong in Voyager’s center seat, then I have nothing more to say.”

  After a long pause, Cambridge replied with a deep sigh, “I see.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  Chakotay’s question hung in the air unanswered.

  “Turn it off,” Batiste said. “We’ve heard enough.”

  Montgomery had been struck not only by Chakotay’s words, but by the intensity behind them. And for the moment, he was inclined to agree with Batiste. His heart heavy, he switched off the monitor they had used to oversee the evaluation, rose to his feet, and ambled over to examine the view from his large office window.

  Montgomery understood Chakotay’s frustration. Command had been occupied by so many pressing matters when Voyager had made its unexpected return, and at the time it had been hard to determine how best to put the ship and its crew to use. His instinct had been to keep as many of the crew members who still wished to serve together. Naturally, those who requested transfer or extended leave were obliged. Among many there was a sense that Janeway’s crew had done more than enough already and at the very least deserved some well-earned rest.

  As the admiral in charge of Voyager’s deployment, Montgomery had conscientiously searched for assignments that would challenge the crew’s abilities. Between Kerovi and the Borg invasion, he could admit that he hadn’t done much to make Voyager’s crew feel useful. Of course, for much of that time he’d had Admiral Janeway to contend with at every turn. She had always respectfully deferred to his choices, but she also never hesitated to express her feelings about the assignments Voyager received, and she usually erred on the side of caution. Perhaps subconsciously she hadn’t been willing to see her people thrown into the deep end after all they had endured. Montgomery didn’t think he’d given Voyager any special treatment, but perhaps he hadn’t pushed them enough.

  And if he was going to be completely honest, Montgomery had wondered whether or not Chakotay was up to his assignment. All he had to base that decision upon was Janeway’s word and Chakotay’s record in the Delta quadrant. That record had been sterling, but it had also been the product of a unique set of circumstances. Montgomery had chosen to reserve judgment initially but had worried that once removed from the limited scope afforded them in the Delta quadrant, Chakotay and many of his crew might find it difficult to adjust to more routine assignments. The “initiative” Chakotay had taken during the Kerovi mission would have been understandable in a more seasoned officer. In a new captain, it walked right up to the line of re
fusing a direct order, something Montgomery would not tolerate in a Starfleet captain.

  He understood Chakotay’s anger, especially in the wake of his personal tragedy. He sympathized. But all of that had to be set aside when answering the only question on the table at the moment.

  “We can’t send him back to the Delta quadrant right now,” Batiste said, giving voice to Montgomery’s unspoken thoughts.

  “No, we can’t,” Montgomery agreed.

  “Someday, maybe. But right now—”

  “I know, Willem,” Montgomery cut him off. “At the very least he has anger issues. We may have needed a few loose cannons when the Borg attacked, but we can’t send someone who is not in complete control into the dicey diplomatic waters of the Delta quadrant.”

  “And I’m not going out there as admiral of the fleet to spend all of my time debating command decisions with a hothead who’s got a grudge a mile long.”

  “So whom do we send?” Montgomery asked, not really expecting an immediate answer. The truth was, he had wanted Chakotay to be ready to take on this new assignment that he hadn’t seriously considered any alternatives.

  “I have a suggestion,” Willem replied.

  “Who?”

  Batiste’s choice took Montgomery by surprise.

  “You don’t think that’s just trading one set of problems for another?” Montgomery asked.

  “At least it’s a set of problems I’m comfortable with,” Batiste replied. “And nobody else I can think of knows as much about the ship, the people, or the Delta quadrant. We won’t lose any time.”

  “True,” Montgomery conceded. “I guess we should wait for Cambridge’s final report before making the formal assignment,” he added.

  “Do you really think we need to? You know what he’ll say.”

  Montgomery nodded. “I do.”

  “Then I’d suggest we get on with it.”