8

Unfinished Business

"The fishermen know that the sea is dangerous and the storm terrible, but they have never found these dangers sufficient reason for remaining ashore."

-Vincent van Gogh

=/\=

Nothing. That was what his search had turned up so far: nothing. Chakotay had been over every iota of data that Starfleet had collected on the Maquis during the Dominion War. He had focused his attention on Sveta and her cell, but nothing he had seen could convince him that she had planned the Paris bombings. He and Sveta had been close, and he couldn't imagine her deciding to murder innocent civilians, even if it meant escape for her and the other Maquis.

Chakotay sat back in his chair with a sigh, rubbing his temples. He couldn't stand sitting and waiting for someone to do something, so he had decided to do a little digging. As he learned more about the mysterious disappearance of Sveta's ship, it became clear to him that he would have to go to Deep Space Nine to find out what had really happened. Since Starfleet had asked him to remain in San Francisco until the matter was resolved, that didn't seem like the most prudent course of action at the moment.

His computer terminal beeped, indicating an incoming subspace transmission. He felt a wave of anticipation flow through him, hoping it was from Kathryn. He'd only spoken to her once since she'd left for Br'nai over two weeks earlier. He answered the transmission eagerly, but it wasn't Kathryn's face that appeared on the screen before him; it was Harry Kim's. One look at Harry's face told him something terrible had happened, and Chakotay's anticipation was replaced by fear. "Harry, what is it?"

Kim swallowed hard and looked like he might cry. Chakotay feared Harry's words before he said them. "It's Admiral Janeway."

"What happened?" Chakotay fought to keep his voice calm. "Is she all right?"

Harry took a deep breath and steeled himself before he said, "She's dead, Chakotay."

Chakotay felt as though time had stopped. He couldn't move; he couldn't speak; he couldn't breathe. Several moments elapsed before he found his voice. "That's not possible."

"I can hardly believe it myself."

"What happened?"

Harry recounted the details of the Enterprise's mission to Br'nai. "I should have kept her safe, Commander. I'm sorry."

Chakotay could see the guilt eating away at Kim. "It's not your fault, Harry," he said, although his insides felt cold. Harry hesitated, and Chakotay looked at him closely. "There's something else, isn't there?"

"I'm not sure if I should even mention it."

"Tell me."

Kim told Chakotay about his misgivings - his certainty that the Br'nai doctor had been standing right next to the admiral at the time of the explosion and the knowledge that he'd heard her voice after she was supposed to have been dead.

"You think she's still alive?" Chakotay asked, fighting against the hope that began to rise in him.

"I don't want to get your hopes up, Commander," said Harry, "but I think it's possible."

Chakotay's mind began to race. What motive would the Br'nai have for faking Kathryn's death? Perhaps there had been more to his instinctive dislike of V'tan than the ambassador's unsavory personality. "Harry, send me all the data you have on the explosion. In fact, send me all the data you collected during your time on the planet. I'm going to see what I can do here."

For the first time in the conversation, Kim's eyes held the glimmer of a smile. "Aye, Commander. I'll speak with Captain Picard about it, but I'm sure he'll agree. I'll transmit the data right away. Let me know if there's anything else I can do to help. Kim out."

Chakotay would be able to do his own analysis of the facts, but what he really needed was someone whose investigative skills far outclassed his own, someone whose impeccable logic wouldn't be compromised by his strong feelings, someone who always got to the bottom of any issue, no matter how complex. It was time to call an old friend.

...

The light was too bright. It hurt her eyes, and she closed them again to avoid the harsh whiteness. Images came rushing at her: beaming down to the planet, her brief conversation with Dr. M'hel, burning agony. She remembered pain searing along her back as if it came from the inside of her body. She remembered a bright light shining in her eyes and voices around her speaking a language she couldn't understand.

Kathryn Janeway's eyes snapped open. Where was she? She squinted as her eyes adjusted to the light and slowly turned her head to one side and then the other, testing her mobility. She seemed to be able to move, and she sat up, taking in her surroundings. She was in some sort of cell - four solid walls of the same grey metal alloy, furnished with a single cot. A small doorway on one side of the room led to a tiny bathroom with a toilet and sink. She stood slowly and began to run her hands along the walls, looking for a defect or any sign of a mechanism that might open a door, but she found nothing. Her mind was racing. Where was she? She guessed she was being held by the Br'nai, but what did they want with her? Hoping to ease the soreness in her aching muscles, Kathryn began to walk slowly around the room and set her mind to formulating a plan.

...

"Come in, Commander Chakotay," said Admiral Nechayev as she gestured towards her office.

Chakotay entered and saw that not only Admiral Ross, but also Ambassador V'tan was present. After his last encounter with the Br'nai ambassador, Chakotay had hoped to avoid him, but he tried to hide his disdain and extended a courteous hand, which the ambassador took reluctantly. "Ambassador V'tan, it's nice to see you again."

"Have a seat, Commander," offered Nechayev. Her office contained a spacious anteroom with a conference table where there was plenty of space for the four of them. "Commander, I understand you wish to discuss the incident that occurred on Br'nai last week."

"Yes. I wish to present some new evidence regarding the supposed death of Admiral Janeway."

"Supposed death?" asked Nechayev. "Have you uncovered proof that the admiral is alive?"

"Nothing conclusive," Chakotay admitted, "but I believe we have enough evidence to warrant further investigation."

"Who authorized you to conduct an investigation, Commander?" asked V'tan.

"Captain Picard of the Enterprise. What Lieutenant Commander Kim told me about the incident didn't add up, and Captain Picard authorized him to share his findings with me. I thought the investigation could use a fresh pair of eyes, so I contacted Lieutenant Commander Tuvok and transmitted the data to him."

"Tell us what you found, Commander," said Ross.

Chakotay took out a PADD and laid it on the table. "When he analyzed the data more closely, Tuvok discovered that one of the compounds involved in the explosion is a derivative of utritium."

"Utritium?" asked Nechayev, turning to V'tan. "What are your people doing with utritium?"

"We experiment with a many chemicals in our research facilities," replied V'tan smoothly. "I can't tell you the details of how we use this one."

"Can't or won't?" asked Chakotay, but he silenced himself when Ross glared at him.

"Commander, are you suggesting that I might have had something to do with Admiral Janeway's death?" the ambassador asked indignantly.

"Did you?" Chakotay snapped, unable to hold his tongue.

"I'm sure the commander meant nothing of the sort," Nechayev cut them both off. "Ambassador V'tan, utritium is an extremely volatile compound that is frequently used in explosive devices. Can you tell us what it was doing in your research laboratory?"

"As I said, Admiral," replied V'tan, his cool exterior returning, "we use many chemical compounds in our scientific research. I can assure you, we are not employing it for any activities that are illegal on my world. Beyond that, I have no information to give you."

Nechayev sighed. She didn't much like the ambassador's explanation, but she had to accept it. She made a mental note to send further investigative teams to the Br'nai research laboratories and turned back to Chakotay. "Was there anything else, Commander?"

"If Admiral Janeway was killed in the lab, there should have been some evidence of it: residual DNA, her communicator casing, but there was nothing in the data the Br'nai sent us. Doesn't this strike you as a bit odd?"

Before either admiral could reply, V'tan spoke up. "Obviously, you missed the final evidence our investigation uncovered, Commander."

As Chakotay regarded V'tan, he could have sworn that the alien's silver eyes were mocking him behind his implacable expression. "What are you talking about?"

"The Br'nai investigative teams found residual DNA from Admiral Janeway right near the site of the explosion. Here, take a look." V'tan produced a PADD from somewhere within his long black cape and handed it to Admiral Ross, who examined it and passed it to Chakotay.

Chakotay stared at the PADD. There it was, Kathryn's DNA on samples of material from the research lab. "This can't be right," he said under his breath.

V'tan heard him. "It most certainly is right, Commander Chakotay. At our last meeting, you accused me of having something against you. Perhaps it is you who has something against me, trying to cast suspicion on my people for what was only an accident."

"Ambassador," said Nechayev, trying to smooth things over, "no one has accused you or your people of any wrongdoing. Commander Chakotay and the admiral were very close; it's only natural that he would want to exhaust every possible avenue of investigation before accepting her death." She paused. "Are you satisfied, Commander? You've seen the proof with your own eyes."

Chakotay pursed his lips together. Was it possible that Kathryn was really dead? "May I take this?" he asked, holding the PADD. Nechayev nodded. Chakotay knew that he should let the matter rest, but he couldn't. This was Kathryn's life. He turned to V'tan. "Ambassador, now that that the lab is safe again, would you consider allowing a Starfleet team to investigate the scene?"

"I'm afraid that would be impossible. By now, reconstruction has already begun. We cannot allow outsiders access to our classified research."

Chakotay bit his tongue, holding back the accusation of a cover-up. He knew that it would not serve him to antagonize the admirals any more than he already had.

"Ambassador," Nechayev said, "thank you for your assistance in this matter." She turned to Chakotay. "Commander, I'm sorry for your loss. I wish there was more we could have done for Admiral Janeway. We will all miss her."

As anger welled up inside of him, Chakotay acknowledged Nechayev and Ross tersely, then stormed out of the room. It was all just a little too convenient. The ambassador showing up with the exact evidence he needed at the precise moment he needed it? How could the research lab already be under reconstruction so soon after the accident? On top of that, there was something about the Br'nai ambassador that gave Chakotay the creeps; he didn't trust V'tan at all. And Kathryn. Was she really dead? His breath caught in his chest when he considered the possibility. She couldn't be gone, not with so much of her life still ahead of her, not with so much unfinished between them.

...

A white light shone directly in her face, blinding her, as a deep male voice spoke words she could not understand. She could not see anything but the blinding whiteness, but she could feel cold, clammy hands on her arms and legs. Someone grabbed her, restraining her movement and shouting unintelligible words over her head, and she cried out in pain. A pinprick in her side, and then a searing fire in her blood told her she had been injected with something. She tried to call out, but her mouth would not respond to her brain's commands, and the voices and sights around her melted into a blurry fog.

"Kathryn, where are you?" her mother asked in despair. "You said you would be safe. Please don't leave me again, my golden bird. I've already lost you once. I cannot stand to lose you again."

She tried to call out to her mother, to tell her that she was here, that she needed help, but her lips would not move. She could not speak. Mother, I'm here! she thought, but no one could hear her. Hazy figures swirled in front of her vision, but she could not distinguish one from another.

"Kathryn." This time the voice was Chakotay's. "We have so much unfinished business, don't we? Do you regret that we never revisited the conversation we started in Paris? I do."

Again, she tried to open her mouth, to tell him that it was better this way, for the conversation to be left unfinished, since she was lost and would never return to him.

Although the power of speech deserted her, he seemed to read her mind. "Don't think that way, Kathryn. Don't give up. You will find a way out of this place. I know you. You will find a way."

Kathryn awoke suddenly, gasping for breath as she realized that she had been dreaming. It took her several moments to realize that she was back in her prison cell, lying on her cot. She had tried to keep track of the days at first, but day blended into night, and she had lost count. Three times since her capture, two Br'nai males in white tunics had entered her room and injected her with some kind of sedative. Afterwards, she awoke, disoriented. It terrified her that she could remember nothing about what happened to her during these periods of sedation.

At regular intervals, a Br'nai girl in a simple brown dress brought her meals. The girl's comings and goings had allowed Kathryn a glimpse of the corridor, which was lined with imposing figures dressed in black and holding long rifles. She had pondered escape, but even if she could overwhelm the serving girl, she would never be able to get past the guards. She had tried to speak to the girl and the men who came to sedate her, but none of them would breathe a word to her.

She stood from the bed, testing her muscles, and felt a sharp pain shoot down her back. "Oh!" she cried, bracing herself against the wall. She took deep breaths, allowing the ache to subside before she tried to move again. She walked slowly along one wall of her cell, loosening the tight muscles in her back and willing the throbbing to lessen.

To distract herself from the soreness, Janeway turned her mind to other questions. Had Starfleet attempted a rescue and failed? Were they negotiating for her release? What had happened to Harry, who had been with her when she was taken? Was he being held in another cell? If he was, she knew that her top priority had to be to get to him.

She wished she knew what the Br'nai wanted with her. No one had made any demands or asked her for anything. She feared that they were extracting information from her by force and using her to gain access to classified tactical data while she lay sedated on one of Dr. M'hel's operating tables. Did the Br'nai plan to attack the Federation? If so, why were they pretending to be the Federation's allies? Why give them valuable technology? Or had she been captured by the insane Dr. M'hel without the sanction of his government? He had been the one who had invited her to return to the surface. Her mind raced through endless possibilities and explanations, and she began to catalogue them, determining which ones were most likely and formulating hypothetical scenarios in her mind.

Her thoughts were interrupted as the door to her cell slid open, revealing Dr. M'hel. "Admiral Janeway," he said in his high pitched, nasal voice, "I trust that you are enjoying your stay."

"This is an outrage, Doctor. The Federation will not tolerate this crime. Kidnapping of a Starfleet admiral..."

M'hel cut her off. "Everyone in the Federation thinks you're dead, Admiral, so don't count on the gallant Captain Picard coming to rescue you."

Kathryn froze. M'hel's statement confirmed her worst fears, but she wasn't willing to take his word at face value. "Starfleet is very thorough. Captain Picard would never leave Br'nai without incontrovertible proof that I was dead."

"They have incontrovertible proof," M'hel replied smoothly. "Proof which I provided for them."

"What do you want, Doctor? Why am I being held here?"

The corner of M'hel's mouth turned up in a sneer. "Was it just a few days ago that you were sympathizing with the poor inferior creatures in my laboratory, Janeway? Well, congratulations. You've just become the latest addition to their ranks."

"You won't get away with this."

M'hel laughed, emitting a hideous noise as his face contorted in an expression meant to resemble joy. "I think I already have, Admiral." He looked triumphant as he scurried away down the corridor, and the door to the cell closed behind him.

Kathryn, left alone, seethed. She refused to be used as a lab rat by the maniacal Br'nai doctor. She would find a way out of this. She didn't know how yet, but, somehow, she would get out of this cell.

...

Carefully, Chakotay unrolled his medicine bundle, placing it on the floor of his living room. He dimmed the lights and put his hand on the akoonah. "Akoochemoya. I seek the guidance of the spirits in the ancient tradition of my people." His eyes drifted closed as the akoonah lulled him into unconsciousness.

Chakotay found himself in a dense forest at dusk. The afterglow of the sunset loomed on the horizon and a hawk screeched as it glided over his head. He often met his animal guide in this place, and he wasn't surprised when she emerged from the underbrush.

"You are troubled," she said.

"Yes."

"What troubles you, Chakotay, son of Kolopak?"

"I don't know what to do," he admitted. "I've always believed in accepting whatever life deals me and making the most of it."

"But you cannot do that now?"

Chakotay sat down on a large rock, inhaling the damp, earthy scent of the forest. "My... friend is dead, or that is what I am told. I always thought I'd know somehow if she died. I don't know why I've believed that, but I have. Now I know I need to accept the truth, but I don't want to believe she's gone."

His spirit guide circled him, regarding him carefully. "Unproven facts are not facts, Chakotay. Remember that. Remember..."

Chakotay's eyes snapped open, and he looked down at his medicine bundle, his spirit guide's words still ringing in his ears. He gritted his teeth in determination. Unproven facts are not facts. Unbidden, Kathryn's voice entered his mind: "Someday I may have to let go... But not today, okay?" Not today, he thought, his resolve strengthening as he closed his medicine bundle and replaced it on the shelf. Not today.

...

The oven timer beeped, and Gretchen Janeway walked towards it to remove her casserole. Since Owen's call that morning, she had been moving about in a daze. Kathryn was gone, again. When Voyager had disappeared, Gretchen had held out hope for a long time, and when Starfleet finally made contact with her daughter's ship in the Delta Quadrant, she had felt as though her prayers had been answered. Now, she couldn't help but wonder if another miracle was too much to ask for.

Gretchen felt the tension in her shoulders as she pulled out ingredients for a salad. Kathryn, gone again. Was it true? She didn't want to believe it, but as a woman who had been dealing with Starfleet her entire adult life, she knew that eventually, she might have to accept it. As she pulled apart a head of lettuce, anger rushed through her. Starfleet had taken her beloved Edward from her too soon, and then it had taken her daughter away for seven long years. Would it now claim Kathryn's life before she even reached the age of fifty? Was Gretchen doomed to outlive her entire family? As she shredded the lettuce into smaller and smaller pieces, angry tears began to stream down her cheeks. Over and over, she pulled at the lettuce, ripping it as if its destruction could bring back her daughter.

The comm beeped, and Gretchen wiped her eyes, answering the call with a dishtowel in hand. "Mrs. Janeway?" A familiar face appeared on the viewer.

"Chakotay. Please, call me Gretchen."

Chakotay peered at her through the screen. "Are you all right?"

She became conscious of her tear stained cheeks. "Oh... yes... Of course. I'm fine. I was just... chopping an onion."

Chakotay gave her a soft smile. "Onions always make me cry. Can you imagine, a big guy like me, tears streaming down my cheeks, all because of an onion?"

Gretchen couldn't help but laugh. She knew he hadn't believed her for a second, but she appreciated his attempt to lift her spirits. "You didn't call me talk about cooking."

"No. I called to talk about Kathryn."

"Owen told me the news this morning." She studied his image; Chakotay appeared to be struggling with something, trying to decide whether or not to tell her. "What is it?"

"I don't want to get your hopes up, Mrs. Janeway..."

"Gretchen," she corrected him.

"Gretchen. But I thought you should know. I'm not convinced that Kathryn is dead." At her sharp intake of breath, he held up a hand. "I don't have any solid proof, but there are a lot of things that don't add up. I wanted you to know that I'm going to do my best to find out what really happened, and to find Kathryn... if she's alive."

Gretchen let out a long breath. "Thank you, Chakotay. I guess the odds aren't in our favor."

"Kathryn's an expert at beating the odds."

"So she is. She's come back to me more than once."

He looked away from the screen, his own emotions threatening to spill out. "Me, too."

"Chakotay, if anyone can find out what happened, it's you. I know we've only met a few times, but I feel like I know you - from Kathryn's letters." He looked up in surprise and Gretchen cocked her head in a gentle way that reminded him so much of Kathryn that he had to bite back a cry of anguish. "I know you'll do everything you can for her."

He nodded, unable to summon the words for a reply.

Gretchen's heart went out to this man. She knew that he and Kathryn had been close friends, knew from Kathryn's letters how he'd cared for her in the Delta Quadrant, and she suspected that his feelings for her daughter went deeper than mere professional courtesy. From the haunted look in his eyes, she had an inkling of what Kathryn's disappearance must be doing to him. "I just took a casserole out of the oven, Commander. Indiana's just a short transport away from San Francisco if you'd like to join us for dinner."

"Thank you, Mrs... Gretchen, but I have a lot of work to do."

"Of course."

He looked at her closely. "Will you be all right?"

"I'll be fine. Phoebe and her family are on their way here right now."

"Good. You know how to reach me if you need anything."

"I'll be fine, Chakotay. But thank you."

"I'm going to do everything in power to make sure that Kathryn comes home to you."

"I know you will, dear," Gretchen replied, swallowing her tears. "I know you will." As she ended the communication, she could only hope that what was in Chakotay's power would be enough.

...

Voyager came to life. For the first time in almost two years, her bridge hummed with activity. Doors swished open and closed like unused lungs expanding and contracting, and panels that had long been dark suddenly illuminated. The bustle of red, yellow and blue uniforms moving through the ship revived her like an infusion of new blood.

In engineering, B'Elanna Torres checked one last reading before she looked at Vorik with a small smile. "Bring the warp core online."

Even Vorik felt a hint of anticipation as he replied, "Yes, ma'am." With a burst of blue light, Voyager's new warp core began to pulse gently, the heart beating at the core of a living, breathing ship.

Lieutenant Commander Tuvok walked through the ship's corridors, his destination: the bridge - the ship's mind, if she were an organism. Tuvok was hardly sentimental, nor did he think of Voyager as a living entity the way many of the human crew did - he had heard Admiral Janeway talk to the ship on many occasions - but the activity aboard did almost make it seem as though the vessel had been resurrected from the dead, and Tuvok felt satisfied.

He had known for some time that he would captain Voyager's test run after his work at the Vulcan Science Academy had led to the successful development of the slipstream drive. What he had not known was that he would get word of Kathryn Janeway's apparent death just four days before the launch. When Commander Chakotay had contacted him and asked for his help in reviewing the data surrounding her disappearance, he had not hesitated. There were too many inconsistencies for his liking, and, like Chakotay, he felt further investigation was warranted. Despite his findings, their hands seemed to be tied where Starfleet was concerned. However, if he knew Kathryn Janeway, she would find a way to let someone know she was alive, if indeed she was.

The turbolift doors swished open and he stepped out. "Captain on the bridge," Tom Paris said with a smile, and the bridge crew stood to greet him.

"At ease," Tuvok said, taking a few steps and settling into the captain's chair. "Bridge to engineering. Status."

"The warp core is online," Lieutenant Torres responded. "Slipstream drive is functioning within normal parameters. We're good to go down here."

"We will test the warp drive first. Bridge out." Tuvok turned to Paris. "Helm?"

"All systems reporting normal, sir," Tom replied with a wink. Paris was like a small child at times; he could barely contain his excitement.

Tuvok checked in with the remaining departments and set his gaze straight ahead at the view screen. "Take us out, Mr. Paris. One quarter impulse."

"One quarter impulse." The docking clamps released with a small jolt and Voyager moved forward slowly, her hull sparkling under Utopia Planetia's bright lights. She emerged from the docking bay into the vast expanse of space, and at the helm, Tom Paris grinned. This was where he belonged.

"Set a course. One four seven mark one eight. Warp one."

Even though Tom had never been hugely fond of the stoic Vulcan, he was glad it was Tuvok and not some uppity Starfleet captain who had been chosen for this mission. With the exceptions of Chakotay and Kathryn Janeway, there was no one he'd rather have in the command chair than Tuvok. Tom felt a wave of melancholy wash over him. This was a moment that Janeway would have wanted to see. The news of her death had hit both him and B'Elanna hard, but after hearing what Harry had to say, they were hopeful that somehow she was still alive. Tom blinked and brought his attention back to the task at hand, examining the course at the tips of his fingers. He couldn't stop the thrill that ran through him; he was the first pilot at the helm of the first Starfleet quantum slipstream powered vessel. He smiled again. "Course plotted and laid in, sir."

"Engage," Tuvok ordered.

With a flick of Tom's finger, Voyager's new warp drive burst into action, propelling the sleek, silver ship forward in a streak of blue light.

...

"Professor Chakotay! Professor Chakotay!" He whirled around as he heard the voice and saw Gabrielle running up behind him. As he turned, he noticed a figure clad in inconspicuous grey following in his footsteps. He had noticed the man a few moments earlier as he had left his office at the Academy, and here he was again. He looked as though he was trying to make sure no one noticed him. It was the sort of thing most Starfleet officers might not pick up on, but in the Maquis, Chakotay had learned to recognize a tail when he saw one.

Gabrielle reached his side, and he greeted her as he began to walk again, pretending he had not noticed the man. "Cadet."

"I was wondering if you'd be willing to look at my paper, Commander."

He chuckled. "You finished it already?"

"It's just a draft. Do you think you'd have time to look at it over the next couple days? I could really use some pointers." Chakotay was distracted as he casually glanced behind them. "Professor?" Gabriella prompted.

The man was still trailing him. Any hopes he'd had that his suspicions were unfounded were quickly evaporating. "Oh, sorry, Gabriella. Yes, I'd be happy to take a look at your paper."

She peered at him, her dark eyes filling with concern. "Are you all right, Commander?" she asked. "I heard about Admiral Janeway's disappearance." Gabriella could sense the emotions twisting inside of her teacher - fear, anger and sadness, but also hope.

"Thank you for asking, Gabriella. I'm fine."

"Okay." She regarded him doubtfully. "I know I'm just a cadet and all, Commander, but if there's anything I can do to help, please let me know." Her voice was filled with compassion for the teacher she admired.

"Thank you. I'll let you know."

"Well, here's my paper." She handed him a PADD. "Have a good evening, Commander."

"You too, Gabriella." Chakotay continued on his way and covertly observed as the man followed him home, remaining at a safe distance. He didn't think that his pursuer knew he had been noticed. Stealth was a trait that Chakotay had learned as a member of the Maquis, and he hadn't lost his touch in the intervening years. He hadn't made an attempt to lose his shadow; he was curious to see how far he would be followed.

He arrived at his apartment and sat at his desk, pondering what to do. The man had followed him all the way home, and a simple scan with a tricorder revealed that not only did he remain outside Chakotay's apartment, but he had been joined by a second man. Drumming his fingers on the desk, Chakotay considered his options. He could confront the men directly, but he doubted that would yield any results. He could report them to Starfleet, but, for all he knew, they were Starfleet officers sent to spy on him; it wasn't outside the realm of possibility the way Nechayev and Ross had been acting recently. He couldn't send a communique; if he was being watched, then chances were good that his communications were being monitored as well.

It had been six days since Kathryn's disappearance, and his every attempt to instigate an investigation had been dismissed. After his unsuccessful meeting with Admiral Nechayev and Ambassador V'tan, he had asked Tom Paris to appeal to his father. Admiral Paris had been understanding but apologetic, and had contacted Chakotay personally to explain that even his hands were tied. Starfleet had made their priorities clear, and investigating Admiral Janeway's death wasn't one of them.

This concerned Chakotay deeply. In the past, Starfleet would never have let something like this go so easily. V'tan's explanations and evidence seemed all too convenient. Why couldn't anyone else see that? Or was he so emotionally involved that he was the one who couldn't see clearly? He shook his head. Tuvok had acknowledged the inconsistencies in the data, too, which meant that he wasn't merely reacting emotionally. As soon as he could, he planned to show Tuvok a copy of the information V'tan had presented at the meeting.

Chakotay had decided what to do; he just had to figure out how to execute his plan. He turned on the news vids and allowed them to play in the background to mask the sound as he packed a bag with some spare clothes. He downloaded all the information he would need from his computer terminal onto a data chip and packed it along with his tricorder. Changing out of his uniform, he donned brown leather pants, a loose fitting maroon shirt and a matching leather jacket. He removed his communicator and left it on the table next to his Starfleet pips, wondering if he would ever wear them again. Once again, he was putting his career on the line to do what he believed was right. The thought both frightened and exhilarated him.

He programmed his spare tricorder to emit a false bio signature. Unless his trackers entered the apartment, they wouldn't know he was gone. Leaving the lights on and the news vids running, Chakotay opened the bathroom window. His apartment was one floor up, and he poked his head outside, looking around. The back garden was deserted, and he hoisted himself out of the window and jumped to the ground, landing hard at the bottom of the three meter drop. He felt a sharp pain jab through his ankle, but he ignored it, intent on his mission. He sneaked along the wall of the apartment building, crawling on his knees to avoid being seen by any of his neighbors. When he cleared the building on the opposite side of his own apartment, he broke into a run. The sooner he got out of here, the better.

...

Rain was not uncommon in San Francisco, but on this particular night it was falling with unusual vigor. Seven of Nine sat back against the couch, listening to the pitter-patter on the roof of her small townhouse. While many crew members from Voyager had taken apartments near Starfleet Headquarters, Seven had decided to try something a little more adventurous. After her break-up with Chakotay, she had felt the need for a change in her living situation, so she had found a small, two bedroom townhouse on one of San Francisco's many hills. One bedroom housed her regeneration alcove; the other contained a bed for guests. Her aunt had come to visit from Sweden a couple of times, and sometimes Naomi Wildman liked to spend the night after a tutoring session. Naomi had assisted her in decorating the second bedroom.

The living room decor was sparse and efficient, just the way Seven liked it. She sat on the small sofa, and Voyager's EMH sat across from her in one of the simple chairs near the coffee table. He frequently came by in the evenings, and they shared many conversations. In some ways, the Doctor understood better than anyone else what Seven had gone through on their return. He was the only other adult crew member from Voyager who'd had no pre-established life or family in the Alpha Quadrant. She had grown increasingly grateful for his friendship over the years, and he had been an understanding listener when she had chosen to end her relationship with Chakotay. She enjoyed his companionship and the fact that, unlike many of the men she dated, he appreciated her for more than her physical attributes. He was telling her about a particularly annoying nurse at Starfleet Medical when the door chimed.

"Are you expecting company?" the Doctor asked.

"No," Seven replied, standing. "I will see who it is." She walked out of the living room and down the hallway into the entryway. She checked the monitors, and when she saw who stood outside, she opened the door immediately. "Chakotay!" she exclaimed. "Come in. You are wet."

"I guess I forgot to pack an umbrella." The sopping man entered the warm, dry house. He put his bag down and placed a hand on the wall to support himself as he removed his boots. When he put weight on his right foot, he cried out in pain.

"You are damaged," observed Seven with concern. "Let me assist you. The Doctor is in the living room."

"Good timing," Chakotay replied wryly as he leaned on Seven and limped into her living room, dripping on the wood floor as he walked. Adrenaline had kept him going as he ran the two miles from his apartment to her home, but now his right ankle throbbed in pain.

"Commander Chakotay," said the Doctor with surprise.

"He is damaged," said Seven. "Assist me." They helped Chakotay sit on the couch, and the Doctor pulled out a medical tricorder as Seven wrapped a warm blanket around Chakotay's shoulders.

"Seven, where's your emergency med kit? The commander has a sprained ankle - an injury that has been compounded by the fact that he has been running on it for a substantial distance." The Doctor looked at Chakotay disapprovingly.

"Well, I couldn't exactly walk out my front door."

At this statement, both the Doctor's and Seven's eyes flew to Chakotay. Without moving her gaze from Chakotay's face, Seven handed the Doctor the med kit. "Why not?"

As the Doctor treated his swollen ankle, Chakotay told them everything that had transpired since Kathryn's supposed death, including how he had been followed home from work that day. He showed them what Tuvok had uncovered as well as the data V'tan had presented in their meeting. As the Doctor looked at the PADD, he shook his head. "This can't be right."

"What do you mean?" asked Chakotay.

"If the admiral had been as close to the center of the explosion as the Br'nai claim, these scans would show pulmonary contusions or pulmonary barotrauma. Anyone that close to the center of an explosion of this magnitude would have suffered from at least one of those conditions, but these scans show no sign of pulmonary trauma."

Chakotay's heart thudded loudly in his ears. "What are you saying, Doctor?"

"There's no way the admiral was as close to the center of that explosion as the Br'nai claim."

"I should have noticed there was something off about that report."

"It's unlikely that you would have, Commander. It takes a practiced physician to be able to notice these details."

"Chakotay," said Seven sharply, "the question isn't why you didn't notice it. It's why no one at Starfleet Command did. Surely they had this data examined by Starfleet Medical."

"You would think so," Chakotay replied, "but I'm not sure anymore. I don't know who we can trust. It could have been Starfleet who sent those men to watch my apartment. Something strange is going on here, and I have to believe that at least some of the admiralty is involved."

"Are you suggesting that Starfleet admirals are conspiring against one of their own?" the Doctor asked.

"They probably think they're doing what's best for everyone, but they're so scared stiff of another Dominion War that they can't think straight." His ankle healed, Chakotay stood and began to pace the room. "We have to find out what happened to Kathryn."

"What do you suggest?" asked Seven.

"First, we need to know if she really went to Br'nai. Maybe Starfleet has more information about her disappearance than they're letting on."

"Why would Starfleet conceal information about Admiral Janeway's death?" asked the Doctor.

"They wouldn't," answered Seven, "unless they had something to do with it."

The suggestion sent a chill down Chakotay's spine, and he stopped pacing, placing his hands low on his hips. "I don't want to believe that, Seven."

"It would explain their strange behavior," the Doctor pointed out.

"Chakotay," Seven said, "you can't be the one to access Starfleet records on Admiral Janeway. If it was Starfleet that sent those men to your apartment, they'll be watching for your login to any Starfleet database."

"I know. But Admiral Janeway's aide has a high security clearance as well as access to all of her files." Chakotay got a glint in his eye - one that Seven knew meant he had a plot up his sleeve. "I think we should give him a call."

Two minutes later, the three of them stood around Seven's comm panel, talking to Michael Ayala. Chakotay explained the situation and Mike stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I'll see what I can do," he said. "Let me get back to you."

The comm panel went blank, and Chakotay resumed his pacing. "Commander, you should rest that ankle," the EMH cautioned. Chakotay gave the Doctor a withering glance and ignored his advice. Seven knew better than to interfere and busied herself in the kitchen.

Ayala called again about an hour later. "I couldn't find anything," he said. "I'm sorry, Commander. All records indicate that Admiral Janeway did, in fact, go to Br'nai, and that Starfleet does believe her to be dead."

"At least that means Starfleet's not involved," Chakotay said with a small sigh of relief.

"Perhaps," countered Seven. "Starfleet has been known to employ covert agents who operate outside the Starfleet mainstream, such as Section 31."

"But where does that leave us?" Ayala asked. "We still know nothing more about the admiral's disappearance than we did an hour ago."

Chakotay grimaced. "Looks like we have to go to Br'nai and see for ourselves."

"But we don't have a ship," the Doctor spluttered, "and Starfleet certainly isn't going to let you take one to Br'nai if they're refusing to even listen to your doubts about the admiral's death."

Seven stopped all conversation when she said quietly, "I have a ship." Everyone turned to look at her, stunned, and Ayala squinted at her through the screen, but she didn't seem prepared to elaborate.

"How will we get through the planetary sensor grid?" Chakotay asked. Seven pursed her lips, reluctant to continue, and Chakotay put his hands on his hips, familiar with her expression. "What ship, Seven?"

"It's an experimental prototype shuttle. Starfleet asked me to design a vessel that would effectively combat the Borg."

"And you've done it?" asked Ayala through the monitor, the admiration obvious in his voice.

"The shuttle is not complete, and most of its systems have yet to be tested."

"How do you know it's safe?" asked the Doctor.

"I don't."

"And the planetary sensor grid?" Chakotay pressed.

"I perfected the multi-adaptive shielding which my parents invented. When the multi-adaptive shields are engaged, they automatically compensate for any sensors in range. They adapt on the spot to mask the shuttle from any sensors that scan the vessel."

Ayala whistled softly under his breath while Chakotay crossed his arms over his chest. "Does Starfleet know about these shields?" he asked. "Because if they do, they've probably already adjusted the planetary sensor grid accordingly."

Seven shook her head. "I believe the multi-adaptive shielding would be considered an illegal cloaking device according to the Treaty of Algeron."

"Seven!" the Doctor exclaimed, "you're taking a terrible risk. What will happen when Starfleet finds out you've violated the treaty?"

"Starfleet wanted me to design a shuttle capable of combatting the Borg. That is what I have done."

"But when the admiralty finds out, you could be imprisoned! Or worse!" the EMH moaned.

Chakotay couldn't keep a bemused grin from his lips. "And you can get us access to this shuttle of yours?"

"Commander..." the Doctor began.

Seven cut him off. "Yes. But we must act quickly, before Lieutenant Barclay and Commander Harkins arrive for the day. Accompany me."

"Let me get this straight," the EMH said. "We're going to steal a highly experimental prototype shuttle that has never been tested. We're going to activate an illegal cloaking device and then we're going to countermand Starfleet's orders and risk inciting an intergalactic incident by provoking the Br'nai."

"You got it, Doc," Ayala said from the screen.

"Are you coming, Doctor?" Chakotay asked. "No one will blame you if you choose to remain here."

The EMH looked at Chakotay, and then at Seven. He emitted a dramatic sigh. "I'll come with you. If I don't, you'll probably manage to get yourselves killed. But don't blame me if we all end up in prison over this."

Less than an hour later, the Doctor, Chakotay and Ayala were following Seven into the depths of the Pathfinder lab. She used her access codes to get them past the main rooms and into her private research area. They followed her to a hidden underground launch pad and found themselves face to face with a class of ship they had never seen before. It was sleeker than the Flyer, designed with aerodynamics in mind. The vessel had a triangular shape and its silver panels took on a greenish hue. Seven lowered a ramp at the back of the shuttle, and Chakotay, the Doctor, and Ayala hurried aboard.

Seven took the pilot's seat and Chakotay sat in the co-pilot's chair. The controls were completely unfamiliar to him, and the ship's interior looked more like a Borg vessel than a Starfleet ship. "Initiating launch sequence," Seven said. "Engaging multi-adaptive shielding." The ship began to rise, and the ceiling of the launch pad opened to reveal the sky above them.

"Here goes nothing," Ayala quipped.

Hang on, Kathryn, Chakotay thought. If you're still alive, hang on.