Moments later, an aide called the session to order. Everyone at the table rose as an ancient Tellarite appeared from an antechamber and took his place at the head of the table. He cleared his throat loudly, though the room was already silent as any grave.
“Good afternoon. I am Ozimat, and I have been assigned to mediate the issue now before us. Before we begin, I will make my role here clear for all of the participants.
“It is customary when questions of custody are brought before the Federation Family Court that mediation between the parties is offered as an alternative to trial. The claimant—Julia Paris—and the defendants—Lieutenant Commander Thomas Eugene Paris and Lieutenant Commander B’Elanna Torres—have agreed independently to this mediation regarding the matter of the dispensation of the natural-born issue of Commanders Paris and Torres, Miral Paris. Once both parties have entered into discussion, it is hoped that they will, with our assistance, reach a mutually satisfactory resolution. Should they fail to do so, I will weigh the testimony of both parties, the respective merits of their claims, and render a final decision, which will then be filed with the Family Court.
“By agreeing to this mediation, both parties waive their claim to any further action by the court. The final decision made here will not be subject to appeal.
“Do both parties understand everything I have just said?” Ozimat asked.
Shaw looked to Paris, who immediately said, “Yes, sir.”
Julia followed briskly with, “I do, Your Honor.”
Paris wondered if he had managed to err with his first words. Shaw had told him that the mediator was a retired Starfleet admiral. His mother’s address suggested he was also a retired judge. He wondered which title Ozimat preferred.
“Your Honor,” Paris said, hedging his bets.
“Please be seated,” Ozimat said, unimpressed.
Another long silence followed as everyone took their seats and Ozimat busied himself with the padd he’d carried with him into the chamber. “Before I invite Mrs. Paris to begin what I hope will be a productive conversation between herself and her son, I have a question for Commander Paris,” Ozimat finally said.
Paris didn’t know why this unnerved him immediately.
“Yes, Your Honor?” Shaw asked in Paris’s stead.
“Good to see you again, Mister Shaw,” Ozimat said, nodding in Shaw’s direction but keeping his gaze fixed on Paris. “Commander Paris, where is your wife?”
Had the circumstances been less fraught, the congenial manner in which Ozimat inquired would have made Paris feel more at ease. Despite Ozimat’s tone, Paris felt he was being invited to step into a trap.
Before Paris could respond, Shaw jumped in. “Your Honor, Commander Torres advised the court in writing of her decision to waive her right to appear at this session. You should have it in the preliminary filings. Both Commanders Paris and Torres are stationed with the Full Circle Fleet in the Delta Quadrant. It was determined that to deny the fleet two of its senior officers at this juncture would compromise its safety. Commander Torres has agreed to allow Commander Paris to speak in her place, and his testimony will be accepted as hers for the purposes of this proceeding.”
For the first time, Julia’s eyes met her son’s and searched for the truth of Shaw’s words. Paris knew she saw it on his face. B’Elanna was furious with Julia and determined that, no matter what outcome this mediation should reach, Miral would never be taken from her. This didn’t seem to surprise Julia. If anything, it seemed to strengthen her resolve.
“I read the filing, Mister Shaw,” Ozimat replied. “I was addressing Commander Paris.”
Paris knew the absolute truth would not serve him well. He settled for the most acceptable version of it he could muster. “B’Elanna and I spoke at length about whether or not both of us should attend this session. We concluded that Miral has been subjected to more change in her short life than either of us believe to be ideal. For the last several months, she has thrived as her life has become more routine aboard Voyager. We didn’t want to disrupt that again so soon.”
This seemed to satisfy Ozimat. Paris breathed an internal sigh of relief.
“Very well. Your wife understands that her failure to appear does not give her the right to contest these proceedings?”
“She does, Your Honor.”
“Mrs. Paris,” Ozimat continued. “Were this a trial, you would address yourself to the judge or jury. It’s not. The point of this mediation is for you and your son to attempt to resolve your differences. With that in mind, I ask you to open a dialogue now with your son toward that end.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Julia said stiffly. Shifting her gaze to Paris, she said, “I hope you know how seriously it grieves me to have been forced to make this claim.”
Paris nodded automatically. Every instinct in his body cried out to make this as easy for his mother as possible.
“I was, as you know, devastated when you brought me word that B’Elanna and Miral had been killed during the Borg Invasion. My only thought was how to comfort you. During those dark days, I had never loved you more. I wanted to take your pain from you. Even given all I had lost, I was ready to assume your burden as well. It’s what a mother does.
“When you wrote to me a few months ago to tell me that you had intentionally lied about this, I was beyond devastated. I realized that for you to be capable of such a betrayal, I must have long ago stopped understanding who you were. Many of the choices you have made in your life have been difficult to accept. Over the course of several years, you seemed to put your former indiscretions behind you, but due to circumstances beyond my control, I was unable to witness that transformation. When you returned from the Delta Quadrant as a Starfleet officer, a husband, and a father, and according to your captain having given exemplary service to your ship while it was lost, I hoped for the best. I believed that the experiences you had endured had allowed you to finally grow into the man I always knew you could be. I let my heart blind me to the truth.”
“What truth?” Paris interjected.
“That you never changed,” Julia said sadly. “As a young man, you sought to avoid the consequences of your choices by lying. You chose to abandon the principles your father and I tried to instill in you, the character we tried to help you build. You turned away from your Starfleet oath. The man I thought you had become could never have lied about his daughter’s death; at least not to me. That you could, with such ease, tells me everything I never wished to know. I don’t believe you would intentionally raise Miral to follow the path you have walked. But your choices clearly indicate that you are incapable of doing otherwise. You can only teach her what you know. Her character, her future, her safety is threatened by your presence in her life.
“Granted, I do not know B’Elanna as well as I would like. There has not been time for us to become acquainted. You both lied to your father and me when you told us your marriage had ended and you were separated. Your letter indicated that it was her decision to stage her death and Miral’s, but that you agreed with it. As best I can tell, she is no more suited to raise Miral than you are.
“That’s why I have made this request, and I ask you to not make this more difficult on us than it has to be. You know I love Miral, as I love you and your sisters. You know I want only the best for her. There’s nothing you can say now that will change my feelings. If you cannot agree to my request, I’m afraid we will have to leave it to His Honor to decide what will best serve Miral’s interests.”
Paris couldn’t say for sure at what point during this recitation his compassion for his mother had vanished, but by the time she had finished, it was gone.
“Wow,” he began.
“Commander Paris?” Ozimat asked.
“I’m sorry, Your Honor,” Paris replied. “It’s just hard to know where to begin.”
“Tom,” Shaw said softly.
“Before I was a parent, I never understood why you stood by me when everyone else in my life had decided I
wasn’t worth it,” Paris said. “I didn’t know the depth of love that existed between a father and his child; possibly because my own father was incredibly good at hiding that love from me.”
Julia blanched. Paris didn’t care. She’d had her say. Now it was his turn.
“The mistake I made as a cadet was lying about my actions. I lied because I thought that, by doing so, I could spare myself some of the pain I had caused. It’s true that I have lied since then. But lying is not the issue. The question is why. I lied about my separation from B’Elanna and about their deaths to save Miral’s life. In doing so, I took unimagined pain onto myself. I saw it in you and Dad. I lived it every day I was separated from my wife and daughter. But I did it because it was the only way I could be sure that Miral would survive.
“I came here today to tell you that I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry for the pain I had to put you through. But the choices I made are not evidence that I am an unfit parent. They are evidence of the lengths I am willing to go to protect my child.”
“You make it sound like you had no other choice, Tom,” Julia said.
“I didn’t,” Paris insisted.
“Of course you did. You serve among men and women who are tasked with protecting every Federation citizen from harm. Had you told them, had you told us, the nature of the threat you perceived to Miral’s life, we would have taken all of you in and willingly died to protect Miral, should it have come to that, just as your crew did when you finally were forced to reveal your deception,” Julia said. “You lied to us because it was the path of least resistance. You ran toward that path, just as you always have. That is a path Miral must never learn to be comfortable walking.”
“The Warriors of Gre’thor have dedicated their lives for thousands of years to a single task: They were going to find Miral and kill her. They escaped from the chancellor of the Klingon Empire. You think you were a threat to them?” Paris said. “Yes, I wanted Miral safe, but I didn’t want to purchase her safety with the deaths of my family and friends. My concern, our concern, as B’Elanna and I executed this plan, was to protect those we hold dear, especially you, Mom.”
“But you didn’t protect us,” Julia said. “You simply substituted one potential pain for another definite one.”
“How did you feel when you learned Miral was still alive?” Paris asked.
Julia paused to consider the question.
“Were you even a little bit happy?”
“Of course I was.”
“Then what are we doing here?”
“That Miral has survived this long with you and B’Elanna as parents is the only blessing the universe has bestowed on any of us thus far,” Julia replied. “The time has come, however, to secure her future.”
“What do you think B’Elanna and I are trying to do?”
“I haven’t had a clue since I received that letter.”
Paris sat back in his chair. His mother had begun by saying she no longer knew who he was. He could now say the same.
“Hello, Annika.”
Seven turned from the view she had been studying: a large, furnished patio teeming with botanical life accessible to several other adjoining quarters.
Standing before her, at long last in the flesh, was a man she had only ever known in dreams.
“Axum,” she said softly.
He hesitated to bridge the distance between them too quickly. For both, this was as much a first meeting as a reunion. In two separate incarnations they had shared every aspect of their physical selves with one another. But they had never touched in the real world.
Seven’s recent dreams and the Doctor’s reports of Axum’s injuries had prepared her for the worst. For almost four years, Axum had lived as a Borg drone while still retaining his memories of his identity before he had been assimilated. That had been the mixed blessing granted by the destruction of Unimatrix Zero. Axum had escaped the Collective only to endure months of torment by the Borg queen. Driven to madness, he had tried to remove his Borg implants with what remained of his hands. The Caeliar transformation had saved what survived that process. It had been Seven’s catoms, provided by the Doctor as a therapy of last resort, that had brought him back to the world of the living.
The scars were still visible. But they were considerably less striking than she had expected. Some of the worst were now all but hidden by newly grown, sandy brown hair. A deep gash where he had removed an auditory implant ran in front of his left ear and down the side of his neck. To her surprise, Seven saw two hands lifted to take hers as he stepped closer. The Doctor had indicated that Axum had lost all but the thumb of his left hand. Obviously it had been replaced by a prosthetic in the last few months.
The only scars that really troubled Seven were those his mind and spirit had suffered. Though his eyes spoke of unrestrained joy in seeing her, the pain Axum had endured to find her lurked behind them.
Seven did not bother taking his hands in hers. She simply opened her arms as he half fell into her. Her strength held both of them upright as his gentle embrace became more intent. It might have been hours that they stood like that before they finally parted to look again into each other’s eyes.
“Where are we?” Seven asked, to break the tension.
Axum stood on his own feet, but he still held Seven by both arms. “I live here now,” he replied.
Seven pulled back, allowing him to retain their physical connection by holding her hand as she examined his quarters. The room was spacious and equipped as any standard Starfleet apartment. The large patio was a pleasant surprise, but, given how many officers working in this classified division must call it home, it seemed an appropriate luxury. The light outside was dimming, but Seven imagined that the access to open space was a welcome respite from the duties of the officers’ days. Three recessed doorways were spaced almost evenly along the walls. A replicator was tucked into a corner and likely was restricted in its uses.
“I expected to find you in a holding cell,” Seven said honestly.
Axum nodded his understanding. “I expected the same when they transferred me from Starbase 185.”
Seven turned back to Axum and searched his eyes. “I don’t understand,” she said. “The last time I saw through your eyes, you were suffering horrible torments. I assumed you were in distress.”
“Just because it’s comfortable doesn’t make it any less a cell,” Axum said. “But as to suffering, I’m afraid I don’t understand. Ever since your catoms were joined with mine, I have been treated with care and respect. No one has hurt me, physically.”
“Mentally?” Seven asked.
“I did not know until today that you were coming. My only fear, my only torment, has been wondering if I would ever see you again.”
Seven released his hand and moved toward the patio. What Axum had said appeared to be true, but her memories of his torture remained fresh.
“For several weeks, after the infusion of my catoms, I dreamed of you,” Seven said. “We shared those dreams, did we not?”
“We did,” Axum replied, smiling faintly at the pleasant memory.
“But I saw you at the mercy of a group of people who were studying you, or subjecting you to some sort of painful treatment. There was a tub of ice-cold water.” It still chilled her to remember it.
Axum was baffled. “I’m sorry, Annika. I don’t know what that was. Maybe a nightmare I don’t remember. But I promise you, ever since I arrived here, I have been provided with everything I need to live . . . except you.”
“I had to terminate our contact,” Seven admitted, feeling a strange new shame. “My fear for you made it impossible for me to function.”
“I know,” Axum said. “It was difficult at first. I could still sense you. But there was a wall between us.”
“A neural inhibitor,” she explained.
“I tried many times to breach that wall, but I never succeeded. I was forced to wait and hope that you would come to me. I knew Starfleet Medical would never release me to s
earch for you.”
“Have they told you of the plague they are fighting?” Seven asked.
“They have,” Axum replied. “They took samples of my catoms when I arrived. I attempted to resist, but when they explained the nature of the threat, I agreed.”
“As did I,” Seven said.
“I don’t really understand what happened between your people, the Borg and the Caeliar. I have read the reports they provided, and Doctor Glenn tried to explain, but none of them have told me what I need to know.”
“What is that?”
“Are we, am I, because I was once Borg, still considered a Federation enemy?”
Seven sighed. It was a complicated question.
“The Borg invaded the Alpha Quadrant. They killed sixty-three billion people before the Caeliar intervened. It was believed at that time that all Borg, other than me, had become part of the Caeliar gestalt and departed our galaxy.”
“I’ve always known you were special, Annika,” Axum teased. “But the only one?”
Seven felt heat rise to her cheeks. “The fleet I now serve was dispatched to the Delta Quadrant to confirm that theory. Since then, we have learned that very few former Borg chose to remain outside the gestalt.”
“How many others?”
“I know of thirty-four. They had been severed from the hive mind for many years and formed their own unique cooperative. During that time, they procreated. Thirteen children were born. Their parents did not accept the Caeliar’s invitation because it could not be extended to their offspring.”
“Thirty-five now, including me,” Axum noted.
“Yes,” Seven said, nodding. “And given how many once inhabited Unimatrix Zero, I suppose there could be more like you.”
“I doubt it,” Axum said.
“Why?”
“Perhaps the desire to join the Caeliar was not as strong for you. But even in my condition at the time, I could barely refuse. It was an end to so much suffering. But I couldn’t find you there. I didn’t want to be there without you.”
Seven smiled sadly. She could not say the same. Her sense of self, her cherished individuality, had kept her outside the gestalt. A million things had run through her mind at that moment, but Axum had not been one of them.
Star Trek: Voyager - 043 - Acts of Contrition Page 7
