AN: Big thank you as usual to northernexposure for the beta read and very helpful suggestions and to Photogirl1890 for her eagle eyes. And thank you so much, kind readers, for the positive reviews. I really appreciate them.
Chapter Two
The following day, I wake, far too early, and so starts the next chapter of my life.
I yearn to be allowed to sink back into the ignorance semi-consciousness allows. Because for a split second I believed there's a space beside me because he's in the shower, or in the kitchen making the coffee, or he's sitting on the terrace reading, pale gold in the bright morning sunshine.
Although the room is cool, I find I'm strangely hot so I push off the covers. After a few minutes, the metal taste in my mouth causes me to drag myself out of a bed that suddenly seems too large. In the bathroom I stand in front of the basin, but find I'm unwilling to look at myself in the mirror. My eye catches on the angles of the thick glass bottle of cologne on the shelf, so I close my eyes. I inhale deeply, gingerly beginning to take an inventory of my state of mind.
I discover that the bad taste in my mouth this morning is bile. I discover I'm too warm because there's a white-hot fire raging through my veins. I make no attempt to suppress this feeling, but let it flow over me. I'm so, so angry with the man I've been sharing my hopes, my fears, my life with.
With one sudden swipe, I knock the angular bottle from the shelf so it shatters on the tiled floor. The fumes that rise from the smashed remains momentarily colour my senses with him, so I turn my back on them and stalk out.
Chakotay should have asked me for help.
He should have shared all of his fear about this disaster-waiting-to-happen with me. He should have made me party to the details of all those calls he disappeared into the study to take or to make. He should have insisted I listen. But he didn't. He judged me too weak, too messed up still to trust. Or perhaps he didn't want to admit he wasn't capable of finding a way forward himself.
Really trusting someone involves sometimes swallowing your pride and asking for help. Letting them see you when you're failing, when you're forced to acknowledge that you're beaten and that you have no more solutions to offer and no idea what to do. He kept all that from me, and coped with this on his own. Of course he mentioned what was going on, but he never laboured the point. He carried on spending evenings, whole weekends, with me where we talked about anything and everything, allowing me to believe he was there in the moment with me, when, all along, the worsening situation with his sister's planet must have been preoccupying his thoughts.
Now that I'm thinking back over recent events, I wonder if he has ever trusted me since my return the way I've trusted him. It hurt like hell that he listened to Tuvok's counsel not to tell me about Mollah during our last mission together, but I forgave him. I hoped he would trust me the next time around. Seems that hope was misplaced.
He told me that he and Sekaya and their friends had done everything they could think of to try to stop the Federation from handing over the Marsadan system. Well, they may have, but I sure as hell haven't.
So, I make a decision.
For the sake of the Marsadan population, for Sekaya and her family and for the sake of a Federation that I know can be better than this, I will do every single thing in my power to stop this madness from going any further. And I won't rest until I have.
And as for the soon to be former Captain Chakotay, I try not to think about him. I try not to wonder how far they've travelled by now, what exactly they'll do when they get there. I try not to wonder who is the most restrained and sensible among them. I barely know Chakotay's cousin. Sveta I've only met twice, but my gut tells me she is probably more reckless than Chakotay. I try not to wonder what sort of organised chaos they'll find when they get there with these neighbouring rebels who offered their help. I try not to speculate as to whether Chakotay will get frustrated and attempt to take charge and coordinate their efforts. I try not to think about how many people will see his face if he does, how many might recognise him and how unlikely it would be then that Starfleet or the Federation would remain ignorant of his involvement for very long. I try not to think about the fact he could be stripped of his rank, arrested, tried and sent to a penal colony as a storm of publicity rages around us both. I try not to think about the fact that the Breen Confederacy has some of the most sophisticated weapons that we know the least about. I try not to think about Sveta's small ship exploding in a devastating white-hot flash of-
I try not to think about any of these things.
I resolve to become a thorn in the side of the President's office until someone listens to me. So, I clear up the smashed bottle, too quickly, slicing my finger on a chunk of the glass, and I shower in the lingering scent of the man I'm not thinking about.
Half an hour later, I'm in a fresh uniform, perfectly coiffed. I stand tall in the new, far more comfortable regulation women's boots – glad some things changed for the better while we were in the Delta Quadrant - and I attach my combadge, no longer afraid to look myself in the eye.
Leaving the quiet of my apartment behind, I step out into the San Francisco sunshine, fired up and ready to take on the world and any other planets foolish enough get in my way.
XxX
For the next three days my every waking hour is filled with activity. Taking care not to neglect any of my existing work commitments, I use every other available minute for appointments and 'chance' meetings I've engineered with the significant players responsible for drawing up and negotiating the agreement with the Breen Confederacy. I bend every ear I can.
One of my first calls is to an old friend of my father's, in his seventies now, who is in the highest echelons of the Federation Diplomatic Corps.
"Such a shame that Chakotay's family always seem to back the wrong horse," he commiserates.
I swallow the response his comment deserves and press on. When he asks after Chakotay himself, I tell him the cover story. He thinks a spiritual retreat is a good idea.
"I'm very glad to see your young man isn't the hothead he once was, Katie," he tells me.
Again I bite my tongue and I humour him, because I know he can open doors for me that would otherwise remain shut. And, as a result of one of the meetings he sets up for me, I make a surprising discovery.
It seems that the Marsadan system was not the only thing the Breen were interested in. My father's old friend sends me all of the internal reports I request and one of them makes an oblique reference to 'initial demands' by the Confederacy for discussion of 'another Federation asset'. There are no details to be found of what this 'asset' was. One member of the negotiating team I persuade to talk to me is evasive. The others I speak to seem genuinely not to know anything about it.
I still have the final reports and debriefings from the Full Circle mission to work on. So I burn the oil well past midnight every night, to ensure I'm still pulling my weight and avoid drawing attention to myself.
My mother calls. I feel obliged to say something, so I sketch the briefest of outlines of the events that have left me here eating a replicated soup alone on the terrace at 22.00hrs. If she's surprised by the fact Chakotay has taken himself off for two weeks she doesn't say so. But she has a soft spot for him the size of Indiana, so I'm not surprised she still thinks he can do no wrong. She expresses her sympathy for Sekaya's situation and says she hopes Chakotay and I will come over to the house as soon as he's back. When she can sense I'm not going to be drawn into conversation, she asks carefully if I'm okay. I plead exhaustion from excessive workload. She's used to my unhealthy work habits and my evasion tactics, so she accepts it all, letting me go and sending me her love. Immediately I've cut the connection I feel sick with guilt. My mother deserves better. She's always deserved so much more from the people she loves.
Once Phoebe gets wind of what's happened she's a little harder to manage.
"But how do you feel about him taking off like that? I mean you could have spent these two weeks on vacation somewhere together. You both deserve one!"
"I'm fine. I have a lot of work still to do here."
As I say this, I imagine the way she's probably pursing her lips and rolling her eyes. I know what she thinks. That I'm all cool heart and dispassionate insularity, to her fervour and gregarious sociability. Some dynamics never really change, no matter how old we get.
"Well, I think you're too long-suffering. Honestly. I'd be devastated if my partner just upped and left like that. Has he at least been in touch?"
I quickly remind her of the limited technology on Chakotay's home colony - the retreat has no long-range communications – and I tell her I have to leave for a meeting, cutting the call short.
The only time the Marsadan system makes the news again is when a group of environmentalists attempt to protest the loss of the only gallicite underwater sea caves in this Quadrant. Predictably, the piece generates little interest. Fears about the on-going security of the Federation still loom large, overshadowing environmental or any other concerns these days.
Then, before I've made any more progress, the arrival date of the Breen's first landing party is quietly made public – it's only a matter of days away now. No mention is made of what will happen to the Marsadan population. I make more enquiries and discover the Federation has already dispatched a small convoy of ships from a nearby base to evacuate anyone who does not wish to live under the new regime.
As soon as the date is announced, Chakotay's close friends call me, because they can't get hold of him.
A subdued Mike Ayala calls, says he hasn't heard from Chakotay since the day the decision was announced. Through gritted teeth, I tell him the cover story, fiercely resenting the fact I'm obliged to lie to him. He says little in response, but I get the sense he's surprised. That he'd been hoping Chakotay would do something practical that he could volunteer to help with. I'm grateful Chakotay at least had the sense to keep him out of this; he has a wife and children.
B'Elanna calls. She tried to get in touch the day after Chakotay left when she couldn't get hold of him, but I couldn't face taking the call. I sent her a message with his cover story instead.
This time, I get the impression that she and Tom are calling to check up on me.
"I'm sorry he's taken off with his cousin, Admiral." The concern in her voice brings a lump to my throat for the first time in days. I swallow it away, as she goes on. "But I guess it's probably for the best. I was worried he might do something stupid."
In the background I hear Tom's voice, accompanied by a loud screech of toddler delight. Then B'Elanna yells, "Wind-down time, wind down, Tom. Do you even know what that means? She's gonna wake Michael!"
Then she's back with me. "I'm sorry Admiral. Things are a little lively here still. It's taking me a while to get bedtime routine under control – one of my kids is a slow learner."
"No need to apologise, B'Elanna. Sounds like you've got your hands full these days."
"Yeah, well… But like I was saying, Admiral – we both know that sometimes Chakotay can drive you crazy by playing it safe. But when it comes to protecting the people he loves, well, there are times when the things he's prepared to do still surprise me. So I admit, I didn't expect him to go on some 'retreat'."
Her distaste comes across loud and clear. If she only knew…
"Yes. Well, I was surprised too."
"The situation those people are in is all I can think about right now. I wish there was something we could do. It's driving me crazy we're so powerless to help."
My eyes rake over the landslide of data padds that is my dining table. "I've been looking at alternatives the Federation has at its disposal that might also be attractive to the Confederacy," I tell her.
"Good. Let us know if we can help." Her voice lacks conviction - she doesn't really believe I'll find anything.
"I will."
"And what about Sekaya, Kalem and the girls?" she asks. "I can't believe Chakotay didn't want to take a shuttle there to fetch them himself!" She sighs. "Sorry, Admiral, that came out wrong. I'm just… confused, I guess. It doesn't seem like him to stick his head in the sand. Makes me wonder if that's really what he's-"
"No need to apologise, B'Elanna," I immediately cut her off, as her doubts are making me nervous. If anyone was going to see through his cover it'd be her, and I'm very much aware of the possibility someone may still be monitoring my calls. "The Federation have sent ships for anyone who wants to leave, so I imagine Sekaya and her family will board one of them."
"Right. Well, I'm sorry to keep you, I'm sure you're busy," she says. "We just wanted to see how you're doing. You're welcome any evening for dinner. I'll call in at your office next time I'm in the building and we'll fix a date."
"It'd be good to see you all. Send my love to my beautiful goddaughter and to little Michael."
"I will. But he's not little you know. That baby's a monster – he's already wearing clothes she had when she was two."
I find a smile tugs at the corner of my mouth for the first time in days. "Well, let's just hope they get along. Because one day you'll have a couple of strapping teenage warriors living under your roof. I imagine that could make for some lively evenings too."
"Don't. That's not even funny."
As the connection closes, I reach for the wine bottle on the table and pour myself another glass even though I'd sworn not to have more than two. My digging has gotten me nowhere fast. I'm beginning to wonder why I thought I'd be able to do more than Chakotay, Sekaya and the Marsadans already had. And, I still have work I've yet to finish, so I open the next Full Circle mission file and sag back into the chair.
As I take a large sip of the full-bodied Rioja I had looked forward to sharing with the man I'm refusing to think about, I force myself to scroll down onto the next chunk of post-mission data I'm supposed to be reviewing. An hour later, the angry growling of my neglected stomach forces me to consider taking a break. I'm just about to do so, when I find an anomalous reference – to a planet called Clavis.
Clavis. I trawl my memory. No. The name means nothing to me. Frowning, I take another small sip of wine and read it again.
Captain O'Donnell writes that they found some interesting minerals on one of the planets they surveyed at the edge of the Delta Quadrant; a considerable find, but nothing like the 'treasure trove found on Clavis'. It sounds like something I should be aware of. So, I run a search through the entirety of the 'Fleet reports and debriefing records for the Full Circle mission, but it comes up empty. Eventually, when I put the name into the Federation-wide database, I hazard on a link with that name, but it's to a classified data block entered on a stardate during our sixth year in the Delta Quadrant. It's a data block that not even my Admiral's clearance codes can open.
Adrenaline sparks right through to my fingertips as instinct tells me I'm on to something. I push my wine glass away, instantly renewed. Whatever this 'treasure trove' of minerals is, clearly someone somewhere high up has decided it's best kept secret, and I want to know why.
I call Captain O'Donnell. It's already late and he doesn't answer, but he's listed as 'home on leave'. Despite the hour, I call my assistant and then try two Starfleet friends, but no one has even heard of it.
I catch a few hours sleep and call O'Donnell again. Still no answer. The man obviously values his privacy when he's on leave. Normally, I'd respect that, but I need answers, so I'm in no mood to worry about such niceties. Less than an hour later I'm outside his house. He answers the door eventually, still in his pyjamas. After he's recovered from the shock of finding the Fleet Admiral on his doorstep just after dawn, he invites me in.
When I ask him about Clavis he explains without hesitation. A close friend of his was on the mission that explored the planet, serving on a small science vessel tasked with cataloguing the mineral composition of planets on a particular sector on the border between the Alpha and Beta Quadrants.
As I sip the truly wonderful coffee he very kindly makes for me, he explains that his friend described Clavis as vast and uninhabited. It didn't look interesting on sensors and so had probably been overlooked for years. Once they set foot on the surface, however, it became a great deal more than 'interesting'. They found that sensors had been unable to penetrate further than the first few metres of the planet's crust because of an ancient yet highly sophisticated force field protecting it. As soon as their engineers deactivated this field, they made an astonishing discovery. It seems the entire planet is made up of highly concentrated strains of several of the rarest minerals in the Federation, as well as several we've never encountered before. He tells me his friend said that the readings they took for gallicite alone were off the scale.
When I tell him that there's no mention of it anywhere in any Federation database, initially he's mystified. Then he swallows and scrubs a hand across his morning stubble, looking more than a little uncomfortable.
"I guess it's possible Craig was telling me things that he shouldn't have," he says. "If my memory serves me correctly, that conversation did come late on in the evening, after we'd been extensively sampling a rather fine bottle of whisky."
He apologises for including the passing reference in his report if it's supposed to be classified and promises to remove it and resubmit. I reassure him I will remove it myself, only to protect his friend, but that I'm actually extremely grateful that he's inadvertently brought it to my attention. I thank him for the excellent coffee and make a swift exit, leaving him in peace.
Why then would the Federation suddenly suppress all knowledge of the find? Why not offer it to the Breen instead of the Marsadan system? Especially since it seems possible the Confederacy's intelligence operatives had already gotten wind of it, if they were initially demanding to discuss 'another Federation asset'. Surely that might well have been Clavis?
Why the hell wouldn't we offer up an uninhabited chunk of minerals if it meant saving two established communities and at least one stunningly beautiful world?
An hour later and I'm back to outstaying my welcome in the office of the President. Eventually, I get my answer. The President's principal aide informs me that Clavis is considered to be of far greater strategic significance than the Marsadan system, because of its location. In addition, I learn that there is an unwillingness to allow the Breen access to these new uncatalogued minerals before our scientists have thoroughly studied their potential.
These 'negotiations' facilitated by my contact in the President's office become decidedly heated. The President's principal aide assures me that the members of the Federation council had all the salient facts about alternative assets at their disposal when they agreed to cede the Marsadan system. My gut tells me he's bluffing. When I ask what he thinks the press would make of everything I've uncovered, I'm asked to leave.
Finally armed with knowledge I can use, I retreat to my office to regroup. What I need now is for someone to call an emergency meeting of the Federation council. While I figure out the best way to make that happen, my next move might be to go to the press, or maybe to threaten to inform the Breen representatives myself that they were right to suspect the Federation had another 'asset' they might be more interested in. Those last two strategies would probably mean the end of my career in Starfleet, but I'm so damn angry about this whole mess right now, that I'm actually past caring.
While I'm still deciding what to do, B'Elanna strides in, with considerably less regard for protocol than I've come to expect of her in recent years.
I raise an eyebrow at her. "Somehow I don't think you're here to invite me to dinner, B'Elanna. Have a seat."
Ignoring my invitation, she stalks past me and reaches for the controls on my workstation. She switches to the main newsfeed and selects an item, moving it to a particular time index. Then she stands back, and crosses her arms.
I feel her eyes on me as I watch the viewer. The piece we're seeing reports that the small convoy of ships that were supposed to collect the Marsadan population has been unable to enter orbit. Apparently the recently installed network of atmospheric control satellites for the Marsadan system has malfunctioned, causing a spate of random plasma storms, preventing the convoy from entering orbit and disrupting all long-range communication with the system.
"Finally!" I exclaim, turning to her. "A piece of luck." This delay might actually buy me the time I need to make enough waves for something to change.
But B'Elanna looks decidedly unimpressed.
"It's him, isn't it?" Her eyes flash at me.
I don't know why she's saying this, but my gut tightens all the same. I consider again what Chakotay said about our calls being monitored and I wonder whether my office could even be bugged. Far fetched probably – but just in case…
"Let's take a walk," I suggest. "I'm sure we could both do with some fresh air."
Ignoring her surprised glare, I clip off both our communicators and slip them into the drawer of my desk. I switch off the viewer and head for the door, tugging B'Elanna with me.
We leave Headquarters and make for a nearby café. As soon as we're seated at a secluded table in the café garden I challenge her. "What did you mean, 'it's him'?"
"He's there, isn't he?"
My pulse quickens and I feel my brow knit slightly as I clasp my hands on the table in front of me. I school my features.
"There! See!" she jumps in. "You're not even going to deny it."
"What makes you so sure he's involved?"
"Freak plasma storms? Really? Don't you think that's just a little convenient?"
"I don't know, I-"
"They 'appear' immediately before the convoy is due to enter orbit?" She cuts me off. "In a system that's known for its incredibly stable conditions and predictable weather patterns? They haven't had a plasma storm there in millennia."
The waiter approaches us cautiously. B'Elanna pauses as he nears and he carefully sets our drinks down. I smile and thank him. The instant he's out of earshot my companion begins again.
"System wide atmospheric controls don't just randomly malfunction! They're fitted with so many secondary fail-safes."
I meet her gaze as the steam from her raktajino rises in swirls between us. "So you're saying they've been sabotaged," I test, keeping my expression neutral. "But that doesn't mean Chakotay is involved."
"I know it's him," she hisses. "I taught him how to do that. When you spend as long as we did in the Badlands you learn a thing or two about plasma storms. More than once we managed to sabotage the atmospheric control net of one or other of the colonies to make it look like plasma storms. The Cardassians always fell for it. One time it delayed them entering orbit for nearly three days."
I wonder how to proceed here, and drop my gaze to the table for a moment.
"Chakotay's out there, isn't he?" she challenges again. "He's not on some stupid 'retreat', is he?" she rounds on me. "I can't believe it's taken me this long to figure it out! I'm almost as big an idiot as he is."
My mouth suddenly runs dry. When I finally look up, I know there's no way I can maintain this charade in front of her anymore. I make her swear not to tell anyone other than Tom, and then I crack. I'm betraying Chakotay's trust in telling her, but I'll be damned if I'm going to beat myself up over that. In any case, she knew. I'm only confirming what she'd already worked out.
Once I've told her everything I know about his plans, she's even more furious.
"What the hell does he think he's going to achieve? Hold off the whole of the Breen Confederacy with a few small ships? I mean it's just ludicrous!"
Then she asks many of the same questions I asked of him as she struggles to work out why he'd do this.
I decide that I might as well tell her about everything I've managed to uncover too, and it's a wonderful release to be able to talk freely about where he really is and about what I've been doing these past few days.
"Well, we need to go there, now," she declares immediately. "We need to stop the damn fool from getting any further into this than he already is. Especially now you could be close to finding another solution. There's no point him throwing away his career for nothing!"
The measured response would probably be to tell her that seems like a knee jerk reaction, and far too hasty. That it would be better to continue pressing the advantage I've just acquired from here in the centre of the Federation. But actually, I don't feel that way at all. It sounds like a damn good idea to me right now.
If I stay here, there's no knowing what could happen there in the time it takes for the wheels of diplomacy to start turning. Chakotay was right about one thing. Once the Breen land their ships and take over, it's very unlikely they'll ever pull out again. In situations like this, possession is often still nine tenths of the law.
So we make a plan, there and then.
Half an hour later I'm back at my desk putting in a request for a ship. I say I intend to go to Marsada as a goodwill gesture, to escort the interplanetary advisor and her family back to stay with me on Earth while they decide their future. I don't refer to my personal connection to Sekaya – it's not necessary. Ever since we arrived back from the Full Circle mission, Chakotay and I have made no attempt to conceal our involvement. It's common knowledge these days.
This way, I can be there to intervene directly and bypass the long-range communication blackout. I can make contact with the groups holding out against the Breen – including any foolish outsiders who've seen fit to involve themselves. I can be there in person to contact the Breen before they enter orbit, to tell them that there is a solution in the pipeline. They should take a decorated Starfleet Admiral seriously.
Once I'm en route, I'll pursue the avenues I was considering. I'll threaten to tell the Breen myself about Clavis, and I'll threaten to go to the press, and hope that'll be enough to effect a change in Federation policy.
It may not be foolproof, but it's a plan.
Then, I'm surprised by an anonymous call – seems I had more of an impact among the President's staff this morning than I'd realised. I'm given details of an informal meeting about to take place between several key members of the Federation council. So I touch up my makeup and I appear in their hotel lobby. I join them over aperitifs. I turn up the charm, a little too far perhaps since the Councillor from Betazed seems to take rather a shine to me and presses me for a dinner date. I evade his advances and manage to make my points well enough I think. From their reactions, it's clear that they most certainly were not 'fully aware of all the salient facts' about alternative assets at their disposal. Not one of them has ever heard of Clavis.
B'Elanna had invited me to their house, so as soon as I'm done with this impromptu engagement, I head over. Like most of the senior staff from the Full Circle fleet, Tom and B'Elanna are still officially on leave for a couple more weeks, despite the fact that B'Elanna seems to be working every day. I've accepted that she and Tom will now be party to whatever I decide to do next. I wouldn't say I'm happy about what I'm bringing them into, but it is a relief not to be alone in this any more.
When I get there the pint size storm that is my goddaughter is quick to greet me. Within minutes she manages to get some sort of sticky red stuff – finger-paint perhaps – on my new linen pants.
"Oh, Admiral! I'm sorry," B'Elanna exclaims, grabbing a towel and trying to undo the damage.
Tom raises an eyebrow and hands me Michael to hold.
"I wouldn't bother trying to clean it off," he advises. "Michael is likely to burp all over you anyway."
He's not wrong.
Michael is simply adorable. There's something wonderful about the solid weight of him as he settles easily in my arms and looks up at me with his huge brown eyes. I know I once said that enjoying motherhood vicariously was enough for me, but if ever a baby could make me think about having one of my own, it'd be him. I have to admit I'm stunned by how much he's grown since I was last here for dinner with Cha-
I shove that thought far away and focus on what B'Elanna is saying. Once I've tuned in again, I discover that B'Elanna intends for her and Tom and the children to come with me to the Marsadan system tomorrow. This does give me pause for thought.
"They'll give you a ship with family quarters so that you can escort Sekaya's family back," Tom points out as he picks the gurgling Michael out of my arms to hold him against his shoulder. "We'll just be making sure such spacious quarters don't go to waste, given her family aren't really going to be going anywhere."
"As long as I'm successful, you mean."
"You'll be successful."
I'm truly grateful for his faith in me. "Thank you, Tom. It's good to hear someone say that. But are you really sure you want to come with me? All of you?"
"You don't know what you're gonna find when you get there," he reminds me. "B'Elanna already told me she's going with you. There's no way I'm staying home while she gets all the action. You could use a first class engineer and a good pilot, I'm sure."
"I won't deny that it'd increase my chances of success if you two were with me. But it's likely to be an… eventful trip and-"
"Well, we wouldn't miss it," he cuts in. "Anyway, it's time the kids went on another space run." He grins at his son. "Don't want them getting too used to having a stable planetside life, now do we?" He pokes Michael's tummy and the baby bubbles out an infectious giggle in response.
"When I get my hands on Chakotay, it'll certainly be 'eventful'," B'Elanna threatens. "If the damn fool hasn't already gotten himself blown up, I may just have to kill him myself."
Tom's eyes flick back to mine and he holds my gaze for a beat. "Something tells me you may have to wait in line."
[TBC]
