Star Trek: Voyager®: Full Circle

by Kirsten Beyer

  Chakotay studied Cambridge’s face. The righteous indignation that had sustained his tirade had evaporated as quickly as it had come, and a weary calm settled over him.

  “And, Counselor?” he asked again.

  He was utterly shocked by Cambridge’s response.

  “And I couldn’t possibly agree more,” the counselor said.

  Chakotay found himself struggling to remember the number of times prior to this when Cambridge had so readily agreed with him.

  None came to mind.

  “You couldn’t?”

  “Absolutely.” Cambridge nodded. “I just can’t believe it’s taken you this long to come out and say it.”

  Chakotay thought about it.

  “Neither can I,” he replied with a faint smile.

  “Captain, I meant it when I said that I hoped this session would go well. Most of the time I’ve known you, I’ve found you to be thoughtful, compassionate, balanced, and wise. Even after our first conversation, I never made the time to locate Voyager’s escape pods, because you are the only starship captain I’ve ever served under who didn’t make me worry constantly that I’d need to use one. And that didn’t change when Kathryn Janeway died. Grief humbles the best of us. And while you walked terribly close to the line, you never really crossed it. At times I may have disagreed with your choices or wanted to make certain you were considering all of their implications, but I never lost respect for you or your position. I watched you battle your demons into submission until they struck with such crippling force that any sane man in your situation would have needed to find an island and spend some time regrouping.

  “My only concern then, and now, is that the healing process is not complete. And for reasons that elude me, you continue to stubbornly refuse help from those around you who are most anxious to offer it. It’s not serving you to try and do this alone. It’s not like you.”

  “No,” Chakotay replied honestly. “It’s more like her.”

  “Admiral Janeway?”

  “I can’t tell you the number of times we had that discussion during those seven years,” Chakotay went on. “I never understood it until the job was mine. I always thought it was one of her only weaknesses.”

  “So you think this is learned behavior?”

  “I think the job forces a certain amount of distance. And I think my particular circumstances fooled me into believing that the rest of the distance was necessary.”

  “You weren’t ready to confront your pain.”

  “I’ve done nothing but confront it every day since she died. I can’t get away from it.”

  “But you can’t make peace with it either. What’s stopping you?” Cambridge asked kindly.

  Chakotay pulled out the chair closest to him and straddled it, resting his arms on its back.

  “Not knowing why.”

  “Why? Why what? Why she died? Why our best laid plans are the playthings of the gods?”

  “No. Why she went out there in the first place. Why she would risk so much, my happiness and hers, for the sake of curiosity.”

  Cambridge pushed himself off the table and stood before Chakotay, his arms crossed.

  “Is that what you really believe, Captain?”

  “I don’t know what else to think. She told me more important things were at stake than her life, and in a way, hindsight proved her right. But it still seems the dumbest way possible to assess a potential threat.”

  “Captain, are you aware of Voyager’s new orders?” Cambridge asked.

  Chakotay was startled by what seemed like an abrupt course change in the conversation, but replied, “No. Admiral Montgomery wouldn’t tell me until this evaluation was complete. Are you?”

  “Voyager is about to lead a fleet of nine vessels on a long-term assignment to the Delta quadrant.”

  Chakotay felt certain that someone had just sucker punched him in the gut.

  “What?”

  “The mission was only finally approved in light of recent events. But Starfleet has been considering it ever since you returned. For almost three years, Admiral Janeway was the plan’s most vocal opponent.”

  A rush of images bombarded Chakotay’s mind. Kathryn’s admonishment to be careful how much excitement he wished for, her silent preoccupations, his certainty time and again that she was worried about something she could not or would not share with him. And finally, the look on her face the last time he had spoken with her via subspace, her headstrong determination trumping her fear.

  “She knew,” Chakotay said, as the pieces fell into place. “She knew and she wouldn’t tell me because she never intended to let it happen. Did she go out to investigate that cube so that we wouldn’t have to?”

  “She went out to investigate that cube in hopes of convincing Starfleet Command that there was no need for you or your ship to return to the Delta quadrant.”

  Chakotay took this in, his heart breaking anew at the only weakness Kathryn possessed that had been greater than her capacity for self-reliance: her capacity for self-sacrifice.

  “How do you know all this?” Chakotay finally asked. “If Kathryn couldn’t tell me, why are you free to do so?”

  “For the moment you’re my patient, and to deny you this information would be cruel. Doctor-patient confidentiality prevents me from telling you how I know this, but suffice it to say, I know that what I am saying, while common knowledge to only a few in the uppermost echelons of Command, is true. You have labored too long under a serious misconception. And that misconception has colored every action you have taken since her death. You assumed Kathryn made a foolish choice. You assumed it because you had seen her make similar choices in the past but had always been there to put a stop to them. You haven’t been blaming her, as you should have. You haven’t even been blaming the Borg, though they became the target of your rage. You’ve been blaming yourself. You weren’t there for her when she needed you most. And so she died alone. Had she died in any other way, you would have come to accept it long before now. And you would have been spared the need to transfer your anger. You’ve been beating the hell out of yourself for months and in the process beating the hell out of everyone around you who wanted to see you stop your own foolishness. It’s created a crisis you have been unable to resolve because your pain has been in charge instead of your mind.”

  Chakotay nodded. Usually he hated it when Cambridge was right.

  Usually, but not today.

  “You tried to tell me this a long time ago,” Chakotay acknowledged wearily. “That she was the one I was really angry with.”

  “You weren’t ready to hear it. But it’s right for you to be angry with her. She made a choice, without consulting you, which shattered your hopes for the future. But it’s also right, and absolutely necessary, that you forgive her for that choice. Understanding why she did it should make that possible in time. She did it not because you meant too little to her. She did it because you and all of those she led through the Delta quadrant meant infinitely more to her than her own life.”

  Chakotay pushed himself up off the chair and began to wander a bit aimlessly around the room.

  “We’re really going back to the Delta quadrant,” he mused, finding the concept difficult to accept.

  “With slipstream drives,” Cambridge added. “It’s not like anyone intends for the fleet to become stranded out there.”

  “It actually makes sense,” Chakotay conceded, “now, more than ever.”

  “So I must ask you again the question I asked a few minutes ago. Are you ready to lead that mission, Captain? Are you ready to go back to the Delta quadrant?”

  “What do you think?”

  “What I think isn’t nearly as important as what you think,” Cambridge countered. “You’ve obviously found the path, but you’re still going to have to walk it, and I don’t believe it will be easy. But I do believe it will be easier in the presence of the men and women you have come to think of as family. If you don’t want to do this, you shouldn’t.”<
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  “She’d never forgive me if I didn’t,” Chakotay said.

  “That’s not a good enough reason to accept the mission. You’re going to have to get used to not doing things for her. You cannot continue to define yourself by her expectations. I think that’s why you found yourself floating in the darkness when you attempted that vision quest. You’ve lived so long in the shadows of her accomplishments, hopes, and dreams that you’ve lost the ability to decide anything outside of that context. It’s one of the ways you’ve kept her close to you. But it’s time to let her go.”

  “I don’t know if I’m ready to do that,” Chakotay admitted.

  “Fair enough. But every day you don’t is one more day you’re wasting.”

  Chakotay stopped pacing and turned to look at Cambridge for what felt like the first time. They had begun, years ago, on the wrong foot, and Chakotay had never really given the man a fair chance after that. Taking a deep breath and pulling himself up straight, he crossed to the counselor and extended his hand.

  “Hello, Hugh,” he said simply. “I’m Chakotay. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

  “The pleasure is mine, Chakotay.”

  “With your permission, I think I’d like to return to my ship now.”

  “Permission is not mine to grant,” Cambridge replied. “But I can give you my recommendation.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Not at all, Captain.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Eden wasn’t surprised when Tamarras ushered Willem into her office a few hours after his visit that morning. But she rose automatically to her feet at the sight of Admiral Montgomery trailing behind him.

  “Good afternoon, sir,” she said respectfully.

  “As you were, Captain,” Montgomery replied, gesturing for her to resume her seat as he and Willem took the two vacant ones opposite her desk.

  “I’m pleased to report that Utopia Planitia’s engineers have confirmed that all of the new slipstream drives are now ready for their test runs. We’re still waiting on personnel for final assignments to the Demeter and the Achilles, but we should have them by the end of the day. All senior staff have received notice of tomorrow morning’s briefing.”

  “Excellent work, as usual, Afsarah,” Montgomery replied.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “I’m afraid, however, that there is going to be one last change to our senior crew assignments for the fleet.”

  Eden stole a glance at Willem, who was at his most inscrutable, folding her hands on the desk before her and replying, “What change is that, Admiral?”

  “Captain Chakotay will not be resuming command of Voyager for this mission.”

  Eden nodded, grateful in a way that Willem’s earlier visit had left her prepared for this unfortunate eventuality.

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Admiral.”

  “Not as sorry as I am to say it,” Montgomery countered.

  “If you’d like to review a list of alternatives—” she began, but Montgomery cut her off.

  “That won’t be necessary. Willem and I have already conferred on the matter, and we have made our selection.”

  “Oh,” Eden said, truly surprised. “Very well. Who is the lucky captain?”

  “You are,” Montgomery replied.

  “I beg your pardon, sir?” Eden said automatically, certain she hadn’t heard him correctly.

  “Apart from Voyager’s old crew, no one here knows more about their past or the new fleet than you, Captain,” Montgomery said calmly. “I realize it’s been a few years since you served on a starship, but your record in that capacity as well as in your more recent assignments is exemplary. In addition, you have spent the last several months establishing a rapport with the fleet’s officers and crew. Neither of us believes there is a better candidate for the post. Congratulations, Afsarah.”

  With that Admiral Montgomery rose and extended his hand to Eden.

  Eden stood and shook it firmly, even as her heart tried to pound its way out of her chest.

  “Thank you, sir,” she said with forced restraint.

  “You’re to report to Voyager first thing in the morning for the senior staff briefing and continue your preparations for launch from there. I realize this is sudden, and hope it will not be too much of a personal inconvenience to you.”

  “Not at all, Admiral,” Eden replied.

  “Then we’ll leave you to it,” Montgomery said with a nod as Willem rose to follow him out.

  “Admiral Batiste, a word?” Eden requested.

  “Of course.” He smiled.

  Montgomery did them both the courtesy of continuing on his way without comment.

  Once the door had slid shut, Eden practically launched herself around her desk to confront Willem.

  “Are you out of your mind?” she demanded.

  “May I remind you, Captain, that you are addressing a superior officer, and your new fleet commander?” he said without a trace of amusement.

  Eden stopped short, shaking with impotent shock. Their mutual tendency to casually disregard their respective positions had just come to an abrupt end, but it was going to take some getting used to.

  “Permission to speak freely, sir?” she asked with a look that dared him to deny her.

  “Granted,” he said congenially.

  “While I am honored by the confidence you and Admiral Montgomery are willing to place in me, I have reservations about accepting this position.”

  “Such as?”

  Eden spent a moment mentally prioritizing her objections, but the greatest wasn’t hard to enunciate.

  “You and I don’t do well in the same room together most of the time. We haven’t worked closely since our divorce, and sometimes I believe the only reason we’re both still alive is because we’ve steered clear of each other as much as possible since then. I was willing to go out on a limb with you to get this mission approved because I truly believe in it, but if you’ve got concerns about Captain Chakotay’s baggage I’d love to see how they stack up next to ours.”

  “You underestimate both of us, Afsarah,” Willem said gently.

  “Please don’t do that,” she replied forcefully.

  “Don’t do what?”

  “Don’t pretend that this is easy for you. And if it really is, don’t insult me by making it so obvious.”

  “I’m dead serious,” Willem said. “I can’t believe the idea didn’t occur to me sooner than this morning. You have immersed yourself in Project Full Circle since its inception and have dispassionately analyzed every facet of Voyager’s time in the Delta quadrant. You are an outstanding commanding officer. You are professional, discreet, courageous, and adventurous. You can’t tell me that the part of you that isn’t pissed at me right now isn’t thrilled by the opportunity.”

  Eden shook her head. “Part of me…maybe…” she admitted, “but the rest of me isn’t going to like serving under you one bit.”

  “All I ask is that you give me a little time to prove you wrong,” Willem said. “I have unwavering faith in your ability and mine to set aside our personal issues. It is our duty, and nothing is more important to either of us than that. And frankly, there’s no one I would trust more to stand beside me when things get tough. You want me to say it? Fine. I need you on this mission, Afsarah. The fleet needs you. You’re not serving me. You’re serving the Federation. And if, in time, we both realize that this was a colossal mistake, other arrangements can be made.”

  Eden considered Willem cautiously. He was saying all of the right things. And while it was asking a lot, it was nothing compared to what many Federation citizens and Starfleet officers were grappling with at the moment.

  She was suddenly conscious of a new thought. Kathryn Janeway had faced death to protect many on board Voyager who were once again being sent into the belly of the beast. She had set aside personal and professional concerns to do her duty and had always placed the needs of her people above her own. Eden’s sense of guilt and remorse
could never persuade her to accept this challenge, but her heart stirred at the thought that dedicating herself to Janeway’s cause might, in time, grant her absolution.

  She didn’t really trust Willem anymore. She hadn’t since the day he had asked her to leave their home. But she had learned to trust herself again. And she could not refuse to do for Voyager, or the rest of the fleet, less than she was asking of them.

  “Very well, Admiral,” she finally said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” Willem replied.

  Counselor Cambridge had been waiting for several minutes in Admiral Montgomery’s office for him to return. His session with Chakotay had been intense and exhausting, but its successful resolution had filled Cambridge with new purpose. Voyager and the fleet were about to face a daunting task, but he no longer believed that Chakotay’s presence would make that task more difficult. Voyager would once again soon be in the hands of its most capable leader.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting, Counselor,” Montgomery said briskly as he entered his office.

  “Not at all, Admiral,” Cambridge said as he stood to make his report. “I have completed my evaluation as ordered and wish to present my findings.”

  “Aren’t they going to be presented in writing?”

  “Eventually, but don’t you want to hear the short version?” Cambridge asked.

  “Actually, that won’t be necessary, Counselor,” Montgomery said, taking a seat at his office’s small conference table.

  Cambridge joined him, asking, “Why not?”

  “I witnessed your session with the captain and am certain that we have already come to the same conclusion. We’ve selected a replacement for Captain Chakotay, and for now he will remain on leave, pending future reassignment.”

  Cambridge blinked several times as he stared open-mouthed at the admiral. “I’m sorry, you witnessed my session?” he asked.

  “Time is of the essence in this matter, Counselor.”

  Cambridge was annoyed but not surprised by Montgomery’s actions. He chose to let the breach of his patient’s confidentiality pass. Instead he asked, “Did you witness all of it?”