Star Trek: Voyager - 043 - Acts of Contrition

by Kirsten Beyer

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  For my Jack

  HISTORIAN’S NOTE

  Billions killed by the Borg, hundreds of starships destroyed, a new threat in the rising power of the Typhon Pact, but the United Federation of Planets will not let this define who they are and what they will do. Starfleet Command will continue the mission of the Full Circle Fleet (Star Trek: Typhon Pact—Rough Beasts of Empire).

  The Starship Vesta, the test bed of the new slipstream drive, has been tasked to the Full Circle Fleet. The new fleet commander is an officer known for succeeding with limited resources: Vice Admiral Kathryn Janeway.

  The still rising death tolls from an insidious new illness leads Starfleet Medical to believe that a possible catomic plague threatens the lives of every Federation citizen. Seven and Doctor Sharak, along with Commander Tom Paris, travel back to Earth to try to help.

  In the Delta Quadrant, the Confederacy of the Worlds of the First Quadrant warmly welcomes Voyager, Galen, and Demeter. Captain Chakotay is grateful for the reception, but he knows the horrors that were committed to create the Confederacy. He does not completely trust them (Star Trek: Voyager: Protectors).

  The story begins at the end of January and continues through February 2382 (ACE).

  “The spirits of our foolish deeds haunt us, with or without repentance.”

  —GILBERT PARKER

  Prologue

  GALEN

  “I’m sorry, Reg, but I just don’t see it,” Vice Admiral Kathryn Janeway said.

  Lieutenant Reginald Barclay barely refrained from taking the companel before him in both hands and shaking it in frustration. The Galen’s captain, Commander Clarissa Glenn, often reminded her crew to breathe during moments of extreme stress. Barclay took her advice before responding to the new commander of the Full Circle Fleet, an officer he had known and respected for years.

  “Sector JLX-16 of SB-11989 was initially scanned by Voyager’s astrometrics sensors during your first visit to New Talax,” Barclay began.

  “Reg, that was more than four years ago,” Janeway said. “The sensor resolution of the sector you reference was barely adequate to display basic topography. We weren’t interested in details.”

  “Still,” Barclay continued, “the surface of the asteroid in question was undisturbed at the time of those scans.”

  “As were thousands of others,” Janeway interjected. “But since then, Nacona and the Talaxians have mined hundreds of local asteroids and radically altered their surfaces.”

  Barclay refused to be deterred. “Six discreet holes, their depth less than five meters and less than half a meter in diameter, are visible now at Sector JLX-16. That is not consistent with mining operations.”

  “They barely register as holes, Reg. I agree that if that’s what we’re seeing, they didn’t occur naturally. But we’re not well-versed in Nacona’s mining protocols, or the specs of his vessels.”

  “I could ask Neelix for those specs,” Barclay suggested. “He’s been trading with Nacona’s people for years now. I’m sure he has current information.”

  “No,” Janeway said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “We’re less than an hour from rendezvous with the Demeter in Confederacy space. We’re out of communications range with New Talax, and will be for the next several weeks. We already have intelligence that puts individual Voth near enough to Neelix’s people to make me very nervous. If you ask Neelix for anything, he’s going to want to know the reason why. I can no longer order him not to, and because his curiosity will always trump his sense of self-preservation, he’s going to go out to that asteroid and take a look for himself. We cannot risk instigating a confrontation Neelix could not possibly hope to survive while we’re too far away to answer a distress call.”

  “Galen could go back, just for a few hours, to confirm these results,” Barclay suggested, going all in. “If Meegan was there, and if she buried six of the original Neyser canisters on that asteroid, there might still be one or more left behind. If we got to them before she returns . . .”

  “That’s three big ifs, Reg,” Janeway said patiently. “I understand how important this is to you. I’ve already told you that I intend to make finding Meegan a priority. Our orders are to focus our efforts on opening diplomatic relations with an interstellar confederacy that could prove to be a valuable ally to the Federation in the Delta Quadrant. Once we ascertain the potential viability of that alliance, I will have the latitude to spare resources to confirm your hypothesis. Until then, the matter is closed.”

  Barclay bowed his head, hoping to hide his disappointment.

  “If you find anything else, notify me at once,” Janeway said. “And try not to worry, Reg. We’re going to find her eventually. I promise.”

  “Of course,” Barclay said. “Thank you, Admiral.”

  Once his commanding officer signed off, Barclay rose from the desk in his quarters and paced his small cabin fitfully. It was possible that Admiral Janeway was right. He could be seeing six holes at Sector JLX-16 because that’s what he needed to see to provide evidence of Meegan’s actions since she had departed Voyager aboard a stolen shuttle. With her, she had taken seven containers containing the consciousness of individuals the Neyser had deemed worthy of permanent incarceration. Should those canisters have been opened and the inhabitants allowed to possess others the way they had taken control of Meegan, the most advanced hologram Barclay and Lewis Zimmerman had ever created, the damage they might do was unthinkable.

  And no matter what Admiral Janeway said, that damage would be his fault.

  Chapter One

  VESTA

  Commander Liam O’Donnell had never served on a ship the size of the Vesta. He estimated it could hold twenty Demeters, the special mission ship attached to the Full Circle Fleet that was his responsibility. He lost his way three times between the shuttlebay and Admiral Kathryn Janeway’s quarters.

  It was possible he wasn’t lost, so much as dreading making his request of the fleet’s new commanding officer. He paused for almost a full minute once he reached her door before activating the chime and announcing himself.

  “Enter,” the admiral said.

  No turning back now.

  “Commander O’Donnell,” Janeway greeted him as he stepped over the threshold to her private office and residence aboard the Vesta. He had seen her once before, at the memorial service on New Talax, and they hadn’t spoken that evening. She was shorter than he remembered—diminutive, in fact—but her stature was the only small thing about her. A genuine smile of welcome radiated over her fair face as she moved toward him, extending her right hand and grasping his firmly. Her presence easily filled the room, giving the space a warm, homey feel. She even made the incredibly restrictive full-dress uniform she wore look comfortable.

  “Your reputation precedes you, Commander,” Janeway said as she shook his hand. “I’m so pleased to finally meet you, and eager to hear more from you about the last few weeks you’ve spent with the Confederacy. It goes without saying that your work thus far with the fleet, your efforts to communicate with the Children of the Storm and to aid the wave forms recently discovered, has been exemplary. I trust I can count on more of the same from you.”

  O’Donnell sighed as he released her hand. No one who knew him had ever been this happy to see him.

  �
�Thank you, Admiral,” he responded uneasily. He noted her smile falter and added keen awareness to the list of attributes he was in the process of applying to Janeway.

  “Obviously there won’t be time now to hear your full report,” Janeway began.

  “No,” O’Donnell agreed.

  “The Ceremony of Welcoming begins in less than an hour.”

  “Yes—about that,” O’Donnell interrupted.

  Janeway stepped back, analyzing him without making her attention feel intrusive.

  Quite the diplomat, O’Donnell added to his list.

  “Is there a problem?” Janeway finally asked.

  “Depends,” O’Donnell replied.

  “On what?”

  “Your definition of the term, Admiral,” O’Donnell clarified.

  “Go on.”

  “Request permission not to attend the ceremony tonight, Admiral,” O’Donnell said.

  He read more curious amusement than anger at his request, which was a good start.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “I’m really not good at parties,” O’Donnell replied.

  The admiral crossed her arms at her chest, her eyes shining mischievously.

  “This isn’t just a party, Commander,” Janeway said. “It’s a diplomatic mission.”

  “All the more reason you don’t want me there,” O’Donnell insisted.

  “You’ve been the Federation’s chief representative among the Confederacy for almost two weeks,” Janeway said. “Was it a mistake to ask you to assume that role?” she asked.

  “No, Admiral,” he assured her. “One-on-one, small groups, I’m fine. When there’s a specific problem in front of me to solve, I’ll gladly talk your ear off. But large groups like this; I never know what to do with myself.”

  “So small talk is the issue?”

  “I would have skipped my own wedding reception had my wife allowed it.”

  Janeway chuckled. She seemed to consider taking mercy on him, but the amusement fled quickly from her face.

  “Request denied, Commander,” she said with finality.

  “Admiral,” O’Donnell began.

  “You are one of a handful of officers already acquainted with many of the diplomats who will be present tonight,” Janeway said. “They’ll be expecting you to make casual introductions. And they will most certainly note your absence and might take it as an insult.”

  “Aren’t they more likely to take my genuine discomfort and displeasure at attending the function as an insult?” O’Donnell asked.

  “If you allowed yourself to betray any of those emotions, I’m sure they would,” Janeway replied. “So you will be your best, most personable self tonight. Do I need to make that a direct order?” she asked.

  “It wouldn’t help, Admiral,” O’Donnell said. “I did not make this request lightly. I’m not here simply because I believe there are a thousand things I could do with the next few hours that would be more constructive than attending this ceremony, although there are. I cannot pretend to be something I am not. It’s a valuable skill but one I never took the time to acquire. My feelings will be read clearly on my face, whether I wish them to or not. I would spare all of us the accompanying embarrassment. Commander Fife is prepared to take my place and will much better serve our interests.”

  Janeway looked away for a moment, clearly reflecting on his words. Finally, she said, “A few months ago, your ship was captured by the Children of the Storm. There were no telepaths aboard your vessel, so you could not communicate directly with them. Based solely on their behavior, you decided that their primary interest in Demeter was observing the growth cycles of the botanical life-forms aboard. You were willing to risk your ship, your crew, and your life on this intuitive leap. To gain their trust, you departed your vessel in an environmental suit and used an untested tool to inject a hybrid life-form you had created into one of the Children, hoping that it would grow.”

  Janeway’s clear blue eyes locked with O’Donnell’s. “Did I misread or misremember that report?”

  “No, Admiral.”

  “You risked death for that first contact, Commander. Why are you unwilling to risk considerably less for this one?”

  O’Donnell’s eyes remained fixed on Janeway’s. “The Children had earned my respect and my compassion. For all our apparent differences, we were kindred spirits. I cannot say the same for the Confederacy.”

  “Why not?”

  O’Donnell shrugged. “They’re rich. They’re powerful. They believe they are the center of the civilized universe,” he replied. “Their charms and social graces could induce insulin resistance. The only species they’ve ever encountered that was immune to their hospitality or unimpressed by their technological accomplishments was the Borg. That’s about to change, and while part of me is curious to see that realization take hold, the rest of me already knows how this story has to end.”

  “And how is that, Commander?” Janeway asked.

  “With disappointment,” O’Donnell replied.

  Janeway considered his words, then said, “That’s always a possibility. But those of us tasked with making first contact must always remember that where there is common ground, the opportunity to move beyond disappointment toward mutual understanding and acceptance also exists.”

  “Of course, Admiral,” O’Donnell agreed.

  “I’ll see you in the shuttlebay at 1800,” Janeway said, dismissing him.

  “Aye, Admiral.”

  VOYAGER

  As Commander B’Elanna Torres’s fingers slipped and failed to close her full-dress jacket for the fifteenth time, she cursed under her breath. Her daughter Miral was watching her closely, and she took great delight in repeating every word that fell from her mother’s lips at the most inopportune moments possible.

  Come on, Torres thought, gritting her teeth, wiping her sweaty fingers on her pants and redoubling her efforts.

  “There’s still time to replicate a new one,” suggested Lieutenant Nancy Conlon, Voyager’s chief engineer and one of B’Elanna’s closest friends. Conlon wasn’t attending the ceremony and had offered to play with Miral until her bedtime. Both were sprawled on the floor of Torres’s quarters amidst magnetic building blocks, but neither had eyes for anything at the moment beyond B’Elanna’s attempt to force herself into her dress uniform.

  “I don’t need a new one,” Torres insisted. “This is already a full size larger than my normal one.” Releasing all of the air in her lungs and pulling her abdomen into its flattest orientation, she refused to take another breath. Finally, the jacket relented.

  “See?” Torres said, raising her hands to pose for them.

  Conlon bit both of her lips to hide a smile.

  “What?” Torres demanded.

  “The point was for your pregnancy not to show, right?”

  “Yes,” Torres replied.

  “Mirror,” Conlon suggested.

  Dropping her arms, B’Elanna ducked into her bedroom and examined her reflection in the full-length mirror affixed to the wall beside the threshold. There was no arguing that the jacket was now closed, but it was already pulling apart and the fabric stretched unflatteringly across her stomach. More important, the short waist of the jacket emphasized her rounding lower abdomen rather than drawing attention away from it.

  “Damn it,” Torres said without thinking.

  “Damn it,” Miral instantly repeated from the living room.

  “Miral Paris,” Torres said, the warning clear in her voice as she returned to the living area and crossed to the replicator.

  “Sorry, Mommy,” Miral said instantly.

  As Torres hastily ordered a new dress uniform jacket a size and a half larger than normal and extra long, she wondered if whoever had designed these torture devices had ever considered the possibility that a pregnant officer might need to wear one. Miral came to her mother’s side and, looking up, asked, “Is the baby still a secret, Mommy?”

  Draping a hand over her daughter’s sho
ulder and pulling her close, Torres replied, “No, honey. Not anymore.”

  Miral turned back to Conlon and said, “I’m going to have a baby brother.”

  Conlon laughed in genuine delight. “I know. It’s exciting, isn’t it?”

  “And I am going to teach him everything I know.”

  “I bet you are,” Conlon said.

  “And I will be the mommy and he will be the baby.”

  “Whoa there, kiddo,” Torres said, pulling on her new jacket and relieved by how much better it felt than the first. “I’m always the mommy.”

  “But when you and Daddy aren’t here, I get to be the mommy,” Miral insisted.

  “You get to be the big sister,” Torres corrected her gently.

  “That’s a lot of responsibility,” Conlon said. “I was a big sister, you know.”

  “You had a baby brother?”

  “I had a baby sister.”

  “Where is she?”

  “She’s home.”

  “My daddy went home,” Miral said, her face suddenly clouding over.

  Fully dressed and able to breathe, Torres bent to one knee to meet Miral at her eye level. “That’s right, honey. But he’s going to be back before you know it.”

  “Before the baby comes?”

  “Definitely,” Torres assured her.

  Miral sighed. She was doing her three-and-a-half-year-old best to accept the sudden departure of her beloved daddy. It had been more than a week since he left, and her fits of sudden sadness were most intense near bedtime and first thing in the morning. “I want my daddy,” she finally admitted softly.

  “I know,” Torres said, pulling her into a tight hug.

  “I was thinking that instead of playing here tonight, I might take you to one of my favorite ice cream shops on the holodeck,” Conlon said, rising and crossing to Miral.

  “Ice cream?” Miral asked.

  “Do you like hot fudge?”

  Miral’s eyes widened as she nodded.

  “Me too,” Conlon said with a wink. “You ready?”