The Better Captain
Disclaimer: Star Trek Voyager, its characters, etc. are owned by Paramount.
Author's Note: Just another little installation to go along with "The Lesser of Two Evils."
Sometimes I can see my reflection in the darkness of Chakotay's eyes. I saw it when I relieved him of duty, and I didn't like what I saw. Who was that woman with the rock-hard gaze, the pressed-too-thin lips, and the icy words that battered like waves in a hurricane? Who was that woman who took what little still remained of her heart and flung it at the one person who always stands by her side, no matter what? Maybe somewhere I was justified, maybe in the tangle of reality what happened was really his fault and not mine. He should know better than to push me, but he did it anyway.
A line had to be drawn. He would say it's a line between right and wrong. But I think sometimes it's a line between what we want to do and what we have to do. I didn't want to fight with him, I didn't want to leave things the way they were. But I had no other choice.
I had to stay in control of the situation, even if it meant destroying Chakotay in the process. If I lose my control, if I lose my credibility, my ability to command this crew, it's all over. So I had to take a stand. Unfortunately, Chakotay was the first one I had to subdue under my feet.
In the end, even Tuvok began to question me, and there was no mistaking the anxiety in Harry's eyes every time I issued another appalling order. But they followed me. They followed me through every twist and turn and badly-made decision.
And now here I sit, caught in the emotional tractor beam of the moment, the internal battle raging within me as the external conflict is being waged all around.
Ransom is out there, on his ship. Setting the self-destruct.
And the control I sought has been wrenched from my hands in the final moment. When I try to save him, to perpetrate a rescue, he rejects my proposal outright. The only thing he asks is that I get the two crews safely home. And then he's gone and the only thing the viewscreen reflects is the vast blackness of space illuminated by fiery shards, the brilliant remnants of a man who abruptly transcended to nobility in his last moments of life.
I won the battle. But it was no victory.
He was wrong, so very, very wrong. But when it came right down to it, he did the right thing. Meanwhile, I am left with only the shreds of my dignity, the shroud of my disrepute. And no avenue of redress.
I guess Ransom's made it glaringly obvious which of us is the better captain.
The End