The entire crew huddles around me awaiting their captain's steady reassurance. I stand, unable to speak, holding a tattered uniform - all that remains of Ensign Hogan. I've lost another one. Another member of my crew has died because I've failed to protect him. I allowed our ship to be taken from us. I allowed us to be stranded on this forsaken planet.I permitted Seska to outwit me. Certainly, I should've seen her intent. I failed to protect them. As Captain, I'm charged with protecting my crew. And I've failed them. Again.
No! Stop it Kathryn. The voice snaps down hard, drowning out everything else. There will be time for guilt later. You can't protect your crew if you're wallowing in your own pity. You screwed up. Hogan's dead. There's nothing you can do to bring him back. Now you have to focus on protecting the rest of your crew.
I still can't take my eyes off the uniform. I'm responsible for this. I own Hogan's death.
Kathryn, now is not the time. Your self-pity won't bring Hogan back. You'll kill them all if you lose focus. They need you. Get control of yourself.
Right. They need me to get them killed.
Damnit Kathryn!
"This is my fault," Neelix calls out somewhere beside me. "If I hadn't told Hogan to pick up those bones."
"You shouldn't blame yourself Neelix," Kes comforts her lover gently with a tender arm on his shoulder.
Mark used to do the same thing when I was upset. How I wish Mark was here now. He would know exactly the right thing to say. Chakotay will try. He'll offer some words of reassurance: no one could know Seska's intention; we were all fooled; Hogan's death was an accident.
He'll give it his best, but in the end, it won't be the same time-tested, wordless comfort thatcomes from knowing someone's inner most thoughts, their fears, their weaknesses for years. Of course, Markwould be here – or rather, I'd be home on Earth with him – if I hadn't stranded us all in the Delta Quadrant. And Hogan would be alive.
"Stop it." The words are spoken as much to myself as to Neelix.
If anyone here's going to take blame for Hogan's death, it'll be you Kathryn - not Neelix. He was only acting under your orders.
"There's no time to worry about blame," I pause for only an instant. It's long enough to force the weakness into the recesses of my mind.
"Hogan was a fine officer and a good man. And our job is to make sure his death is the last one for a long time! I will not let this planet destroy my crew."
My training kicks in and I begin running through all necessary steps to ensure survival: The tunnels must be restricted, food and water sources located, our location secured, tools fashioned for protection, and above all else, hope of Lieutenant Paris's return must be maintained.
And for the moment, I'm able to suppress my guilt.
I close my eyes, trying desperately to drown out the memory of Voyager's last encounter with Seska. She had known exactly how we – how I – would respond when we received her distress call. She knew Chakotay was too decent a man to turn his back on his child – regardless of the circumstances surrounding the child's conception. She also knew I wouldn't allow Chakotay to go after the child alone; it would be far too risky. She knew I would self-destruct Voyager if we found ourselves in a situation where she could be overtaken. She'd known every move I'd make; while I'd failed to grasp how deceptive she was.
All she had to do was ask, and you delivered Voyager on a silver platter.
Had I really been so predictable?
Of course you were Kathryn. There's no wiggle room once you set your mind to something. And god knows you've set your mind to your – what was it Seska called them – vaunted Starfleet principles.
I roll over, hoping against experience that the voice will leave me alone tonight – that just tonight it will let me sleep.
"There's no time to worry about blame." The memory echoes through my head. "There's no time to worry about blame."
I've told myself the same thing so many times over the last four years.
We've been forced to live with near-constant crises: Kazon attacks, Hirogen hunters, Species 8472's attempted annihilation of our realm, Srivani experiments, deuterium depletions, food shortages, theft by alien species. The one constant since being trapped in the Delta Quadrant has been loss. A certain detachment has been necessary in order to keep the crew alive. In the present, there can be no emotional weakness; nothing to give them cause for concern. I must be focused on the task at hand and prepared for disaster. It's the only way I can get us home. There'll be time for regrets if we ever make it.
Of course I've heard the rumors – the hushed conversations when the crew didn't think I could hear. They believe me to be heartless, cold, lacking humanity.
Please, I plead with the voice, please let me sleep tonight.
Despite my pleading, the voice begins to rattle off names: Commander Cavit, my first officer; Crewman Lon Suder; Lieutenant Stadi; Durst; Quinn; Jonas; Darwin; Bendera; Ballard; Jetal; Kaplan; Bennet; Martin. Their faces fill my mind; beginning to blend together in an endless parade of my failures. There are so many I can no longer tell them apart. They all stare back at me, their cold, blank eyes silently conveying their disappointment. All of them gone. All of them dead. Because of my choices. Because of the decisions I made.
A pair of eyes stand out from the crowd – eyes I'll never fully escape; eyes that still haunt me. They're warm, comforting, familiar – yet strangely exotic. They're the eyes that reached into my soul and pled for their existence. Eyes I ignored.
"Each of you is going to have to live with this, and I'm sorry for that. For you are all good, good people. My colleagues, my friends, I forgive you."
These were the last words he spoke, once he realized that fighting would only delay the inevitable. The look he gave me as he uttered his last phrase is forever burned into my memory; the forgiveness, the lack of malice in those eyes. The same eyes I murdered to revive a friend.
Relax Kathryn. It's not like he's the first person you killed. He certainly won't be the last.
"Fine! You win!" I concede as I cast the blankets off. "No sleep tonight."
I hear the voice snicker. You certainly give up easily nowadays. Losing your fight, are you Kathryn?
I cross the room into my living quarters slowly. My muscles, stiff with exhaustion, fight me every step of the way. Reaching the replicator on the far wall, I stand impatiently waiting several seconds before realizing I failed to give it a command.
You're losing it Kathryn.
"Coffee, black," I bark at the replicator in frustration as my fist connects with the shelf.
Taking it out on the replicator won't solve your problems.
I watch as a cup of the steaming liquid materializes on the replicator pad. Taking the cup, I hold it in both hands, allowing the heat to warm them. When did my hands become so cold? They used to be warm – and strong. Staring at them now, they look so old, and feeble, and useless.
Now that's not fair Kathryn. Your hands are anything but useless. After all, it was your hands that cursed Justin and Daddy to an icy grave; your hands that stranded Voyager in the Delta Quadrant; your hands that murdered Tuvix; your hands that killed Quinn.
"I didn't kill Quinn!"
Now you're arguing with yourself Kathryn. I wonder what the Doctor would say about that.
"Shut up."
How I wish I could silence the voice. It's a broken record, reminding me of every failure. It's become my constant companion; never ceasing, not even for an instant.
You killed Quinn as much so as if you'd handed him the nogatch hemlock yourself. You knew he'd commit suicide. Q offered you a chance to get Voyager home. And you betrayed them. Again. And for what? Quinn's suicide? How noble of you.
SHUT UP!
He told you his intentions from the beginning. But the presumptuous Kathryn Janeway wouldn't have it. She was convinced that her persuasion alone would convince an immortal being to feel his humanity. It's laughable. Home was within your grasp and you let it slip away.
The Q aren't exactly known for honoring their word now are they? What's to say Q would've kept his promise?
Quinn kept his. Didn't he?
I cross the room to my desk and the stack of PADDs. I'll be damned if I'm forced to listen to that voice all night; not when there's work to do. And for a Starfleet captain there's always work to do. Except, thumbing through the stack, I realize I've already reviewed these. Since we entered this void, there hasn't been much work.
Hell, what I'd give for a Hirogen attack right now. I'd take the Srivani and their horrible experimentation over our current predicament. Here in the void there's nothing: no Vidiians, no system failures or supply shortages, no stars or course changes, no away missions, no Kazon, no surprises, no Hirogen, not a single crisis to distract the mind. Not even the Borg take interest in complete darkness.
There's nothing here but silence – and time. Time to think about all we've been through; all we've lost. Time to think about everything I could've – should've – done differently. Time to think about every way I've failed my crew – all of the lives I could've saved.
Here in the void, there's nothing but time to worry about blame. And that blame rests solely at my feet.