“Yes,” Miral said.
Torres mouthed a sincere “thank you” to Conlon as she led her daughter toward the door. Voyager’s chief engineer nodded knowingly, then bent to whisper something in Miral’s ear.
Turning back, Miral said, “You look beautiful, Mommy.”
The compliment nearly undid Torres. “Thank you, honey. I love you.”
“Love you,” Miral replied as she tugged Conlon out the door.
Ten days before, it would have been Tom complimenting her appearance. Torres would have reveled in his words, knowing that her swelling belly truly was a thing of beauty to him. By now he was back on Earth, preparing to meet his mother in a series of court-ordered mediation sessions meant to determine their fitness as parents and the ultimate custody of Miral and her unborn brother.
They had argued right before he left. The memory of it still stung, the only sign of life in an otherwise suddenly lonely heart. Not long before, Torres’s life was near perfect. She hadn’t seen it, of course. You never did until it was gone.
Nothing fit anymore.
With a Herculean force of will, Torres set these dispiriting thoughts aside, squared her shoulders, and departed for the shuttlebay.
Counselor Hugh Cambridge was due in Voyager’s shuttlebay for transfer to the First World of the Confederacy of the Worlds of the First Quadrant. To arrive late was to court the displeasure of his commanding officer, Captain Chakotay, and the new fleet commander, Admiral Janeway.
He didn’t care.
The computer had alerted him to the Doctor’s arrival on Voyager, and for the next few minutes, his duties could wait.
Cambridge had learned days earlier that Seven was lost to him forever. It was possible he was transferring his understandable anger and disappointment with Seven onto the Doctor.
But Cambridge didn’t think so. The Doctor had been the prime mover in the series of events that had ended with Seven’s departure from the fleet. The counselor did not make a habit of sharing personal matters with the rest of the crew. His position required a well-honed detachment. In this case, however, he had decided to make an exception. He owed the Doctor pain, and once he had fulfilled this obligation, his own was sure to diminish.
He found the Doctor standing in his small office, conferring with a nurse. Though assigned to the Galen for the fleet’s mission, the Doctor had been temporarily transferred to Voyager when Seven’s CMO, Doctor Sharak, had been ordered to accompany her to Earth. Cambridge had not seen nor spoken to the Doctor in almost two months.
As soon as the Doctor saw him, he immediately dismissed the nurse. The door had barely slid shut behind her before Cambridge said, “You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?”
The Doctor sighed dramatically. “I missed you too, Counselor.”
“Seven explicitly requested that you keep all of your research into her catoms private. She told me about your little breakthrough before the Galen left to ferry Admiral Janeway back to Earth. She was astonished that you had successfully visualized a catom. But that brilliant discovery did not release you from your ethical duty to her as your patient and your friend.”
“Counselor—” the Doctor began.
“You had no right to share that breakthrough without her permission. But you had to, didn’t you? You couldn’t bear for your genius to remain hidden. You knew what they’d do to her when they learned of her potential usefulness. But you didn’t care.”
For a moment, the Doctor appeared stricken. Then, ever so briefly, a strange serenity descended over his features. He crossed to stand directly in front of Cambridge and raised a medical tricorder between them, directing it at the counselor.
“What are you doing?” Cambridge demanded.
“You are clearly unwell, Counselor,” the Doctor replied. “I would suggest you forgo the ceremony this evening and remain here for a thorough medical evaluation.”
Cambridge stepped back, stunned. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“With me? Nothing,” the Doctor replied. “Seven did ask that I keep my research private, but shortly after I reached the Beta Quadrant and began treating the former Borg drone known as Axum, I was ordered by my superiors at Starfleet Medical to brief them on all of my work related to Seven and her catoms. Naturally, I found the orders ethically troubling, but Admiral Janeway assured me that it would be a violation of my duties as a Starfleet officer to refuse the direct order. Moreover, once I realized the nature of the medical threat now facing several Federation worlds, this new ‘catomic plague,’ I was certain that were she free to do so, Seven would agree to the disclosure. Perhaps you do not know her as well as I do, Counselor,” the Doctor said.
Not for the first time, Cambridge wished he could punch the hologram in the face.
“And the experimental therapy you decided to use on Axum?” he demanded. “You shared Seven’s catoms with him?”
“Axum was dying. His catoms had become dormant. Without the infusion he would have died. He nearly did, as it was.”
“Did it occur to you that mingling those catoms would have the unintended effect of forcing Seven to share his thoughts?”
“It did not,” the Doctor admitted. “When Seven advised me of that development, I was surprised. But Doctor Sharak was able to relieve that symptom for the most part.”
“She suffered a great deal before that relief came, Doctor,” Cambridge said.
“Seven also learned a great deal, and what she learned will undoubtedly help her as she begins her work with Starfleet Medical.”
“So you’re sleeping just fine these days,” Cambridge said.
“I don’t sleep, Counselor,” the Doctor corrected him. “But if I did, my actions in this case would not disturb it.”
Cambridge considered him carefully. Were he human, as he appeared to be, a diagnosis would be easy enough to reach. But he wasn’t. He was a sophisticated holographic program that, according to the “experts,” had transcended its basic directives and attained sentience. He was more like a new life-form, one that, until this moment, Cambridge thought he’d understood.
“You realize that because you did this, Seven will never again return to this fleet?” Cambridge asked.
The Doctor’s ire flared unexpectedly. “I did what I had to do,” he said. “I was not responsible for the plague that set this entire chain of events in motion. I do not blame Seven, nor should you, for wishing to help those now working to aid its victims. Tens of thousands of people are already dead, and hundreds of thousands more will be, unless a treatment regimen is devised. I know that the thought of standing idly by while so many suffer would pain Seven deeply. I would never interfere with a choice that was hers. And because I care more . . .”
Cambridge waited as the Doctor halted himself midthought. Confusion replaced his anger, followed almost immediately by that odd, flat, eerie calm.
“Doctor?” Cambridge finally asked.
“Seven will return to the fleet when her services at Starfleet Medical are no longer required. I will hasten that return by working without cease until I have cured the plague myself,” the Doctor said calmly, almost as if the idea had just occurred to him.
“The best minds in Starfleet have already worked without success toward that goal for how long?” Cambridge asked.
“Over a year,” the Doctor replied. “But they are not Seven. They are not me. Had we been advised earlier, this plague would already be nothing more than a painful memory.”
“Unbelievable,” Cambridge said.
“Only for those of limited imagination,” the Doctor said.
“Axum was her first love. You know as well as I do the power of primacy. Whether the plague is cured or not, she won’t abandon him again,” Cambridge said.
“Should that be her choice, I would understand,” the Doctor said. “I would be happy for her. Wouldn’t you?”
Cambridge was at a complete loss. He knew the Doctor had once loved Seven. He knew the Doctor was appalled by her cho
ice to enter into an intimate relationship with the counselor a few months earlier. He suspected that if the Doctor could not have her, he would have done anything, including forcing her into Axum’s arms, to make sure that what she had begun with Cambridge would never have a chance to develop. But to hear him now, the Doctor could have been talking about any member of the crew. The shift between vehement protestation and clinical reserve was astonishing.
It made no sense.
“Chakotay to Counselor Cambridge.”
Cambridge tapped his combadge. “Go ahead, Captain.”
“We’re waiting, Counselor.”
“On my way.”
Cambridge considered the Doctor for a moment longer, then turned on his heel and directed his hurried steps toward the shuttlebay, wondering if the Doctor had ever truly been the man so many believed him to be.
THE FIRST WORLD
The room into which Captain Chakotay and his crew were ushered to wait for their fellow officers attending the ceremony was clearly not often used for this purpose. A small metallic desk had been shoved into a corner with a plant, its large flowing lavender leaves trailing over an indiscernible vase, clearly meant to camouflage the workstation. Chairs were set along three of the four walls, and a small table placed in the center held a carafe of water with several cups stacked beside it.
Chakotay suspected they wouldn’t be here long. Neither he nor any of his crew—Fleet Chief B’Elanna Torres, Lieutenant Harry Kim, Lieutenant Kenth Lasren, or Counselor Hugh Cambridge—chose to sit.
“What do you think they normally use this room for?” Kim asked of Torres. She seemed annoyed by the question and merely shrugged. Chakotay appreciated the attempt by his acting first officer to make this situation feel normal, but he understood that the tension flaring from most of them was going to be difficult to overcome.
Ten days earlier, Torres had been separated from her husband, Voyager’s first officer, Commander Tom Paris, under the most painful of circumstances. Lieutenant Lasren, Voyager’s only full Betazoid, had been selected to attend the ceremony in hopes that his empathic abilities would be useful to Admiral Janeway as she formally opened diplomatic relations with the Confederacy. Lasren did not use his special abilities on a routine basis, and the anticipated stress of doing so was clear on the young man’s face. Counselor Cambridge could usually be counted on to lighten the atmosphere, but his mood had been excessively dark since he’d learned of Seven’s departure. Chakotay knew he needed to make time to speak with Cambridge, but there simply hadn’t been any since Voyager had returned to Confederacy space, bringing the Galen and the Vesta with them.
Not to mention the fact that Chakotay had only spoken a few times with Kathryn since she had taken command of the Full Circle Fleet, and none of those conversations had been what he’d hoped for from the woman with whom he intended to spend the rest of his life. He was eager to see her tonight, though he knew the evening would be all-business. Anticipation of her imminent arrival, however, was accompanied by a fair amount of trepidation.
“B’Elanna, Harry, Kenth, Hugh,” Chakotay said, immediately drawing the attention of all present to him, “I know things have been happening pretty fast the last week or so. There has been a great deal of change to absorb, much of it difficult. But for the next several hours, we need to set all that aside. Tonight we are honored guests of the leadership of a confederacy of planets that, as best I can tell, is the first we have ever encountered in the Delta Quadrant that rivals our Federation. Commander O’Donnell’s early reports indicate, among other things, that they are incredibly excited to meet with us and explore the possibility of an alliance with our people. I don’t have to tell you what an asset such an alliance would be for our fleet, and the Federation.
“Our galaxy seems to have grown a little smaller since the development of our slipstream capabilities. The ‘streams’ the Confederacy uses to traverse the space they claim, subspace corridors that bridge vast distances, have had a similar effect here. Even a few years ago, the thought of entering into relations with a civilization as far distant as this one would have been unlikely to hold the potential for much meaningful exchange of information or resources. That is no longer the case. Starfleet’s most important role is as an ambassador to all warp-capable cultures in the galaxy. Tonight we embody that role. Opinions of the Federation will be shaped by the way in which we conduct ourselves.
“I’m not going to bother ordering you all to be at your best. I’m simply going to ask you to consider all that is at stake here, and to remember that opportunities such as this have been too few and far between. All of the challenges we are facing will still be with us tomorrow morning. Tonight, let’s enjoy ourselves, shall we?”
“Well said, Captain,” a familiar voice noted.
Turning, Chakotay saw that Admiral Janeway had entered during his remarks. Always at her right hand was a slightly built Vulcan male, Lieutenant Decan, Kathryn’s personal aide. The Galen’s captain, Commander Clarissa Glenn, the Vesta’s CMO, Doctor El’nor Sal, and her captain, Regina Farkas, followed behind Janeway, along with Demeter’s Commander Liam O’Donnell, who looked as if he had come to attend a funeral, but he nodded in Chakotay’s direction as soon as their eyes met.
“Admiral on deck,” Kim said crisply.
The admiral bit back her amusement as she quickly ordered, “At ease.” Crossing to Kim she said softly, “I appreciate the courtesy, Lieutenant Kim, but let’s go easy on the formalities when it’s just us.”
“Of course, Admiral,” Kim said.
Turning to Chakotay, her smile widened. “Captain,” she greeted him. Her eyes held his for a brief moment, and much of the worry he’d felt prior to her arrival dissipated.
“Admiral,” he said warmly. Bending to her ear, he whispered, “You look stunning.”
Janeway nodded, accepting the compliment before moving among Voyager’s officers and greeting each of them personally. She briefly pulled Torres aside, and a firm hug between them suggested that the admiral had just availed herself of her first opportunity to congratulate Torres on her pregnancy. Soft conversations erupted all around as old friends and acquaintances greeted one another. Doctor Sal, a tall woman in her eighties, moved quickly to Chakotay’s side and, without warning, threaded an arm through his.
“I hope you don’t mind, Captain,” she offered with a sly smile.
“Not at all,” he said.
“I always like to enter a room on the arm of the best-looking man around,” Sal teased.
“I guess you’ll just have to make do with me tonight,” Chakotay teased back.
“Is my CMO bothering you, Captain?” Farkas asked, moving to stand before them.
“No,” Chakotay assured her.
“I’ve ordered her to behave herself,” Farkas said. “If she steps out of line, you have my permission to shoot her.”
“I’m sure it won’t come to that, Captain,” Chakotay said.
“Don’t be,” Sal suggested.
“It seems we are all present and accounted for,” Admiral Janeway said, raising her voice above the low din. Immediately all other conversation in the room ceased.
Gazing at those around her, her eyes bright and her face flush with anticipation, Janeway said, “I’m truly looking forward to this evening. If our schedule is any indication, our hosts have gone to great lengths to impress us tonight. Let’s allow them to do that. I know from experience that large gatherings like this can feel impersonal and become tedious. Just remember, we are the first Federation citizens to set foot on this world. Our presence here is a gift to us from those who came before; those who first braved unexplored space with a desire to expand their knowledge of the universe. I don’t pretend to know right now what may or may not come of our eventual negotiations. That’s not important now. Take this moment for what it is and make the most of it. It is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Savor it.”
Nods all around seemed to satisfy the admiral as the door slid open and a tall
humanoid in a long tunic that might have been spun from pure gold entered. As he moved, the fabric rippled, more like a liquid than a solid. A wide, long, dark metallic chain draped over his shoulders enhanced the effect by appearing to float on the fabric’s surface. Chakotay knew him to be Leodt, one of the two primary species that had founded the Confederacy. The other was the Djinari. The Leodt’s skin was a deep brown, his eyes black as pitch, and his most striking facial feature was the circle of pointed teeth his thin lips did little to conceal. Janeway immediately moved to stand before him.
“Federation representatives,” he greeted them with sincere warmth, “I am First Consul Lant Dreeg. It is my honor to welcome you to the First World.”
“It is our honor to be so welcomed,” Janeway said, clearly a rehearsed response, likely settled upon in the negotiations leading up to this moment.
“If you will follow me?” Dreeg asked.
Chakotay and Sal fell in line directly behind Janeway as the others assumed their preappointed positions for their entrance into the ceremony.
Here we go, Chakotay thought.
Chapter Two
STARFLEET MEDICAL, SAN FRANCISCO
Seven had arrived at the main entrance to Starfleet Medical at 0600 hours as requested. She was hurried down hallways, through laboratories and past offices at what felt like a breakneck pace. Doctor Sharak practically had to jog to keep up with her and the silent security officer who had appeared from behind a hidden door in the atrium the moment Seven had identified herself to the duty officer.
Two separate turbolifts and several more nondescript hallways later, Seven and Sharak were ushered into a spacious lab in which eight individuals were hard at work. Only one looked up from her data terminal when they entered. She immediately tapped her combadge, saying, “Doctor Frist, they have arrived.”
“Is everyone at work on this project so rude?” Sharak murmured to Seven.
“From what I’ve heard,” Seven said softly.
Seconds later, a Trill female, with short brown hair pulled back to reveal characteristic dark spots beginning at her forehead and trailing down her neck, emerged from a door at the far end of the room. She wore the standard blue sciences uniform under a short, bright yellow smock.
Star Trek: Voyager - 043 - Acts of Contrition Page 2
