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Summary: Janeway sends a message to the Doc.

Synopsis for Part 8: The Andorian's enjoy cold tea and flatbread.


Part 9: Anchor Bend

August 16, 2379, Time: 20:41:46
Vice-Admiral Kathryn E. Janeway's Personal Apartment, Presidio Residential District
San Francisco, Earth

The door hissed closed, locking in place with a solid "click," as he exited the apartment. Kathryn stifled a croupy groan from her temporary crash pad behind the davenport. Curling her legs into her stomach, she rolled onto her side. Everything hurt. Everything. Her entire body was raw and sore. Legs. Hips. Breasts. Cheekbones. The inside of her head thumped excruciatingly. Even her teeth and hair felt bruised. She reproached her lack of common sense for what seemed like the millionth time that evening. Her brain had been too full, preoccupied with more pressing concerns. Or maybe, the habitual, rotating traumas of the Delta Quadrant had left her unable to recognize this kind of danger at close range. She didn't know. It was too late to do anything about it all, now.

If only...

If only she had thought to alter the access code to her apartment... If only she had reported the initial violation... If only she had considered how far Ek'Norval might actually go...If only...Reginald Barkley was dead. That made four people.

"Four people, dead." The ambassador had told her.

Four people dead, because of her.

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Mark Johnson had collapsed in the early afternoon, on the day, she, Tom, and Chakotay left the Dorvan System for Betazed. The news, and the fact that Mark died later, that same evening, broken to her by her mother the next morning, in a communication patched through to the runabout via her office secretary at Starfleet Command. Kathryn didn't crumble when transmitting condolences to the Widow Johnson, reaching for Chakotay's hand as he stood stoically beside her.

The deaths of a pair of Voyager's own, Equinoxer's Marla Gilmore, and Noah Lessing, in New Zealand, reached them two weeks later. The hows and whys, as of, yet, to be determined. Tom set the craft's controls to auto-pilot, and she had replicated drinks; Chakotay leading the toast, a raised glass to "absent friends."

Travailing upright, Kathryn scaled the side of the embonpoint sofa, pulling herself up onto her feet. Ek'Norval had been exceeding clear. He would forgive her this one time, this once, for this single indiscretion, but he was done waiting. They would marry quietly, and as soon as possible. He desired children, which, despite genetic incompatibles between their species, he expected her to bear. In addition, she was not to travel anymore, anywhere, outside of work, without his express permission. Social interactions, with members not of the Raioth Household, were, from now on, forbidden unless pre-approved by him. Lastly, she was never, under any circumstances whatsoever, to have any type of contact with that "Maquis Klahz," again. (17)

If she refused to acquiesce, attempted to go up privately against His Ambassadorship, or publicly seek out the authorities without proof (of which, he stated emphatically, she would find none), he would crush her professionally. "A simple task," he guaranteed, "With your current reputation, within the 'Fleet, still in recovery.

"Most importantly," he then asserted, backhanding her neatly across the face, right before he lay siege on her in earnest. "I will ensure, without question, without mercy, that others will die."

Icheb, first, then Owen Paris, his son, and family, followed by Harold Kim, Tuvok, her mother and sister, Seven of Nine, and last of all, Chakotay.

The first four murders were merely "warning shots across the bow." Ek'Norval would follow through, of this, she had no doubt.

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During the ordeal, after a while, at some point, she stopped fighting. Overcome by superior strength, by his psychic force of will, she embraced inertia, closed her eyes, and waited. Waited for the episode to be over, waited for him tire and finish what he had barbarously begun. She set her mind adrift —away from thoughts of Mark and his widow, of poor, poor, dead Barkley, away from Gilmore and Lessing, of mental anguish, near-hysteria, anger, helplessness, of regret, and physical pain. She unanchored her ambitions, unmooring past and future promises, cast off love, her family, and friends.

Consciously, she continued until she had all but emptied the vessel, utilizing meditations Tuvok taught her during an acquaintanceship that had spanned over twenty years. "A cluttered mind, the indubitable weapon of self-defeat," the Vulcan had once said, "is what leads a man to subjugation."A cluttered mind. An empty mind. Empty the mind. She continued to let go, abnegating the weapon of her defeat. A natural fighter, personal fixity, was a trait ingrained within her core.

But, there were some things she would never yield to that blue bastard, ever. Some secrets she would keep, no matter what.

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Kathryn limped away from the davenport to the escritoire, wrapping one arm around her midsection as she leaned, heavily, onto the back of the desk chair with the other. What she needed was time... She needed to find a way to buy enough time. Time to gather proof. Formulate a plan, group together allies. Time to pull herself together. Time to fix this Godforsaken muck-up and make things right.

"Computer," she directed, activating the Comm. "Record the following message for, and send to,'The Emergency Medical Hologram, Voyager Mark One.' Current location, Whispering Man Mental Health Facility, Betazed. Encrypt the channel, audio only: SSC 31, Janeway, Bravo, Five, Two, Zero, Three." She dragged strength into lungs and gave power to her voice, "Doctor, this is Admiral Janeway, I need your help."


Notes: Parallel Lines, Anchor Bend kneipho, updated 2015

17. Andorii Terms:

Klahz: an animal known for its careless way of moving