Rating: R (For subject matter, not language or sexuality)
Disclaimer: All characters herein owned by Paramount Studios and various other
entities. No copyright infringement intended.
Summary: A future Harry Kim answers a Starfleet deposition on his most
bemoaned subject...Kathryn Janeway.
---
-When you are older and speak of this-and you will-please be kind- Deborah
Kerr, Tea and Sympathy
---
To: Starfleet Command
From: Lt. Commander Harry Kim, First Officer, USS Devi
Re: Deposition, Investigation, Kathryn Janeway
---
"In the desert I saw a creature, naked, bestial, who, squatting upon the
ground, held his heart in his
hands..."
"Crane. Stephen." The poetry recital drifted in from my right side...her
kitchen, I realized immediately.
Stepping in, I had to shake my head...she had left the security codes open.
Stupid, Captain, I mentally
berated, this is Earth, not Voyager. The neighbors aren't half as neighborly.
Her head angled up, turned, lips curving. "Open door policy works rather well.
The crew, you understand.
Being home is still novel enough that they want to see the captain. Give them
a
few weeks. They'll beg
for locked doors."
"It's dangerous." I pointed out, not doubting that she already realized.
Change
of subject, no use arguing
with a forcefield. "Happy New Year's."
"Are you aware...Harry." She waved me to the chair opposite, standing, and as
she moved from the
shadows, I realized that she wasn't in uniform. Not even dressed, just draped
in a startlingly bright
kimono. Almost scarlet, it heightened her pallor and brought color to her
cheeks and lips. I wondered if
that was the purpose, she hadn't looked healthy or especially attractive in
anything else lately. "Are you
aware that at this very moment...barring temporal snarls...on the planet
Regaas
a hundred thousand
souls are dying?"
"You spend your evenings researching trivia like that?"
She smiled, sipping coffee, leaning against a wall. "It's custom, you see.
They
believe that in order to
please the ancestors and protect the future from idiots and
overpopulation...honor, duty, and all those
lovely tidings...a certain number of sacrifices must be made. It's brutal,
ugly. We used to do it. The
Vulcans used to do it. Other races have, do, or will. The Federation doesn't
cover all borders, or protect
all lives, and nor should it."
"Why the topic?" After seven years, I knew enough to foresee a point, even if
it wasn't clear yet.
She sat again, hands curling around the mug. "Regaas used to be among prime
Federation worlds. They
were respected, feared, eventually subjugated. Not in any literal sense of the
word, of course, the
Federation never forces itself upon any civilization. It all began very
innocently, a treaty during Kirk's
time. I believe he may have even initiated the talks. A few decades after,
they were
industrialized...supported by trade and import. Then, contact with another
Federation species ended in
plague...nearly eighty percent of the population died. All but a very few of
the other twenty percent were
weakened, or deformed, or...it was a disaster. The Regaans blamed the
Federation, and withdrew into
their former isolation. As far as we can tell, future generations were mix and
mingle...most healthy, a few
deficient. The deficient are killed in ceremony each year at this time. No
Federation ambassador has ever
reached any diplomatic peace with them. Some have never made it back alive."
"So you think we...the Federation...are just a by blow of good fortune, doomed
to eventually cave back in
on our own foundation..."
She shook her head, swiftly, chuckling. "I don't know that I was thinking that
big, its tantamount to
treason in this time of hardship, but...on more personal levels, I suppose
that
good fortune never comes
without collateral loss."
"Voyager."
"They plan to rebuild her from the keel up. Turn our lady into a warship.
She's
proven herself in battle,
and she's needed. They don't want me to captain. I'm up for promotion."
And the prospective Admiral didn't looked too happy about it. "Then fight it.
She's your ship."
"Is she? Here?" Janeway's gaze was deep, penetrating. "In the Delta Quadrant,
yes, I suppose so. She
was our ship. Here, she just happens to be a particularly gleaming registry in
a database of a dozen like
her. I won't recognize her, after the refitting. It won't feel like home. But
then, neither does home."
"I spoke to Chakotay's sister today, trying to contact him." I tried a subject
change...no lighter topic,
Chakotay, but less universally shaking.
She closed her eyes. "Oh?"
"And he doesn't have a sister."
The eyes flew open, brow cocking. "I knew it."
I had to grin. It had been ship wide fodder, of course, when the Commander had
announced his
long-distance call intentions that long, long ago day...none of the records
indicated siblings, and none of
the Maquis had remembered a mention.
"No sister. I spoke with a woman named Taya...yeah, that's where he got the
name suggestion. His
daughter."
She sipped thoughtfully, less surprised than I had expected. "He wasn't
married."
"No." Not by any official record, at least. "She was born while he was still
in
Starfleet. 2365. Raised by a
foster mother. The biological one died, at the hands of the Cardassians. She
was half-Bajoran, their
daughter is a quarter. He tried to be there, but with the Maquis and...well,
she lost him to the Delta
Quadrant."
"Gods, it must have killed him to have been so far from her." She echoed my
original thoughts...but
maybe that was the secret. In the Alpha Quadrant of that long ago, Chakotay
might have been a
single-minded rebel, but once stuck in the Delta Quadrant, he had just been a
parent, looking for a way
home. Maybe it had killed him, the part Kathryn Janeway hadn't.
She spoke again, staring beyond me, eyes shadowed, focused in thought. "So
there I have his reasoning.
I always wondered how such a strong-minded man could agree to integrate back
into Starfleet so easily.
He just wanted to get home, and knew staying the rebel would dash that
possibility forever. It wasn't our
common goal he was fighting for, was it, Mr. Kim? It was his, only his. He
made
the journey with us, not
for us, milked his prison ship for her worth. How very, very damned ironic."
I decided not to continue the enigmatic search and tell. "She said he and
Seven
were off on business, but
they've settled on Bajor."
"And he didn't bother to tell any of us. We're dead to him, aren't we, Harry?"
Capable, elegant fingers
gripped the coffee mug, lips thinning. Shaking her head, she stood, pulling
glasses out and motioning to
the already uncorked Romulan Ale on the counter.
"I don't hold my drink well, even synthenol." No lie there, my last excursion
had ended up with waking
floating somewhere off the port nacelle of the Devi. Nude. That one had nearly
knocked me from First
Officer to Crewman.
She smiled, wryly. "We all have our moments, Mister Kim. Very frankly, there
are entire months of my
life I can't account for, by drink or drug or simple mental blockage. The
human
mind is hardly infallible. I
admire the man who can turn away an unwanted memory without the help of
addiction or insanity."
"Like Chakotay."
"He always did have his ways, didn't he?"
"He'll never be dead enough to you." I drew from her earlier comment, watching
in fascination as she
downed her third glass. Most human females keeled over at one Romulan Ale. It
empathized her position.
Strong. Numb. Untouchable, certainly undefeatable. I hadn't missed that side
of
her very much.
"Oh, he's dead to me." Her eyes met mine, level, clear. "Only the dead haunt
quite so well." Then,
shifting, she dropped the glass, watching it shatter on the hardwood floor.
"I'm ruining your New Year's,
aren't I?"
"I've had worse." I moved too, then, rising with discomfort. She was drunk, I
realized, in her own
command way, and a mean drunk at that. Mean and melancholy. "Maybe I should
call the Doc and get
you a hypo..."
"You don't want to break his heart that way, not after he believes he's done
so
well with us all."
No, I didn't. "Actually, the reason I came to see you involves Medical. I ran
into Counselor Troi. She
seems to find you behind in your appointments."
"I haven't gone to any."
"Don't do this to yourself, Captain."
Her smile was swift, amused, razor sharp, as she swept the glass shards up and
tossed them in a
recycler. "I hate shattering your hero worship, Harry, but I am only human. I
have my days." Her hand
touched mine briefly, meant to reassure. "Bajor, you said? I may pay a visit,
drink in the fresh air."
"I don't think that's wise." But then, how unwise could it have been? Either
she stayed there, dwelled on
her lost command, drank, became a bonified 24th century louse, or she tried a
shot at rediscovering her
friend, her soul...her soulmate. Nothing would stop her from going. I just
hoped she wouldn't stay.
She went, the next day. You tell me Starfleet received a note of resignation
that same morning, and her
uniforms and com badge. I don't know about any of that. She contacted Tom
Paris
and B'Elanna Torres
and I in Marseilles, told us she was off on a vacation, not to worry, as if we
hadn't become so good at
worrying about her giving it up then was even possible.
You tell me that she never made it to Bajor or Chakotay, that Ezri Dax,
concerned about more missed
appointments, found her in her guest suite at Deep Space Nine, in a pool of
blood, with her wrists and
throat and chest slashed. You want me to tell you whether or not a homicide
investigation should be
launched. Should I lie for public relations, give security something to muse
over? As a First Officer of the
'fleet, I should. You guys like public relations coups.
As her Ensign, her friend, her could have been lover, I'm not lying. I've only
known one person capable of
destroying Kathryn Janeway, and that was Kathryn Janeway herself. Looks like
she succeeded. Leave it
be. She left me her own little note, from Deep Space Nine, and I firmly hold
it
to be a suicide note.
'In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial
Who, squatting upon the ground
Held his heart in his hands
And ate of it...
I said, "Is it good, friend?"
"It is bitter-bitter," he answered.
"But I like it, because it is bitter
And because it is my heart."
---
Deposition Transmitted
---
Updated Case Status: Closed
Signed Recommendations:
Cmdr. Deanna Troi, USS Enterprise
Lt. Commander Ezri Dax, Deep Space Nine
Witness: Adm. Owen Paris, Starfleet Command.
Subject: Kathryn Janeway
Cause of Death: Suicide
---
Disclaimer: All characters herein owned by Paramount Studios and various other
entities. No copyright infringement intended.
Summary: A future Harry Kim answers a Starfleet deposition on his most
bemoaned subject...Kathryn Janeway.
---
-When you are older and speak of this-and you will-please be kind- Deborah
Kerr, Tea and Sympathy
---
To: Starfleet Command
From: Lt. Commander Harry Kim, First Officer, USS Devi
Re: Deposition, Investigation, Kathryn Janeway
---
"In the desert I saw a creature, naked, bestial, who, squatting upon the
ground, held his heart in his
hands..."
"Crane. Stephen." The poetry recital drifted in from my right side...her
kitchen, I realized immediately.
Stepping in, I had to shake my head...she had left the security codes open.
Stupid, Captain, I mentally
berated, this is Earth, not Voyager. The neighbors aren't half as neighborly.
Her head angled up, turned, lips curving. "Open door policy works rather well.
The crew, you understand.
Being home is still novel enough that they want to see the captain. Give them
a
few weeks. They'll beg
for locked doors."
"It's dangerous." I pointed out, not doubting that she already realized.
Change
of subject, no use arguing
with a forcefield. "Happy New Year's."
"Are you aware...Harry." She waved me to the chair opposite, standing, and as
she moved from the
shadows, I realized that she wasn't in uniform. Not even dressed, just draped
in a startlingly bright
kimono. Almost scarlet, it heightened her pallor and brought color to her
cheeks and lips. I wondered if
that was the purpose, she hadn't looked healthy or especially attractive in
anything else lately. "Are you
aware that at this very moment...barring temporal snarls...on the planet
Regaas
a hundred thousand
souls are dying?"
"You spend your evenings researching trivia like that?"
She smiled, sipping coffee, leaning against a wall. "It's custom, you see.
They
believe that in order to
please the ancestors and protect the future from idiots and
overpopulation...honor, duty, and all those
lovely tidings...a certain number of sacrifices must be made. It's brutal,
ugly. We used to do it. The
Vulcans used to do it. Other races have, do, or will. The Federation doesn't
cover all borders, or protect
all lives, and nor should it."
"Why the topic?" After seven years, I knew enough to foresee a point, even if
it wasn't clear yet.
She sat again, hands curling around the mug. "Regaas used to be among prime
Federation worlds. They
were respected, feared, eventually subjugated. Not in any literal sense of the
word, of course, the
Federation never forces itself upon any civilization. It all began very
innocently, a treaty during Kirk's
time. I believe he may have even initiated the talks. A few decades after,
they were
industrialized...supported by trade and import. Then, contact with another
Federation species ended in
plague...nearly eighty percent of the population died. All but a very few of
the other twenty percent were
weakened, or deformed, or...it was a disaster. The Regaans blamed the
Federation, and withdrew into
their former isolation. As far as we can tell, future generations were mix and
mingle...most healthy, a few
deficient. The deficient are killed in ceremony each year at this time. No
Federation ambassador has ever
reached any diplomatic peace with them. Some have never made it back alive."
"So you think we...the Federation...are just a by blow of good fortune, doomed
to eventually cave back in
on our own foundation..."
She shook her head, swiftly, chuckling. "I don't know that I was thinking that
big, its tantamount to
treason in this time of hardship, but...on more personal levels, I suppose
that
good fortune never comes
without collateral loss."
"Voyager."
"They plan to rebuild her from the keel up. Turn our lady into a warship.
She's
proven herself in battle,
and she's needed. They don't want me to captain. I'm up for promotion."
And the prospective Admiral didn't looked too happy about it. "Then fight it.
She's your ship."
"Is she? Here?" Janeway's gaze was deep, penetrating. "In the Delta Quadrant,
yes, I suppose so. She
was our ship. Here, she just happens to be a particularly gleaming registry in
a database of a dozen like
her. I won't recognize her, after the refitting. It won't feel like home. But
then, neither does home."
"I spoke to Chakotay's sister today, trying to contact him." I tried a subject
change...no lighter topic,
Chakotay, but less universally shaking.
She closed her eyes. "Oh?"
"And he doesn't have a sister."
The eyes flew open, brow cocking. "I knew it."
I had to grin. It had been ship wide fodder, of course, when the Commander had
announced his
long-distance call intentions that long, long ago day...none of the records
indicated siblings, and none of
the Maquis had remembered a mention.
"No sister. I spoke with a woman named Taya...yeah, that's where he got the
name suggestion. His
daughter."
She sipped thoughtfully, less surprised than I had expected. "He wasn't
married."
"No." Not by any official record, at least. "She was born while he was still
in
Starfleet. 2365. Raised by a
foster mother. The biological one died, at the hands of the Cardassians. She
was half-Bajoran, their
daughter is a quarter. He tried to be there, but with the Maquis and...well,
she lost him to the Delta
Quadrant."
"Gods, it must have killed him to have been so far from her." She echoed my
original thoughts...but
maybe that was the secret. In the Alpha Quadrant of that long ago, Chakotay
might have been a
single-minded rebel, but once stuck in the Delta Quadrant, he had just been a
parent, looking for a way
home. Maybe it had killed him, the part Kathryn Janeway hadn't.
She spoke again, staring beyond me, eyes shadowed, focused in thought. "So
there I have his reasoning.
I always wondered how such a strong-minded man could agree to integrate back
into Starfleet so easily.
He just wanted to get home, and knew staying the rebel would dash that
possibility forever. It wasn't our
common goal he was fighting for, was it, Mr. Kim? It was his, only his. He
made
the journey with us, not
for us, milked his prison ship for her worth. How very, very damned ironic."
I decided not to continue the enigmatic search and tell. "She said he and
Seven
were off on business, but
they've settled on Bajor."
"And he didn't bother to tell any of us. We're dead to him, aren't we, Harry?"
Capable, elegant fingers
gripped the coffee mug, lips thinning. Shaking her head, she stood, pulling
glasses out and motioning to
the already uncorked Romulan Ale on the counter.
"I don't hold my drink well, even synthenol." No lie there, my last excursion
had ended up with waking
floating somewhere off the port nacelle of the Devi. Nude. That one had nearly
knocked me from First
Officer to Crewman.
She smiled, wryly. "We all have our moments, Mister Kim. Very frankly, there
are entire months of my
life I can't account for, by drink or drug or simple mental blockage. The
human
mind is hardly infallible. I
admire the man who can turn away an unwanted memory without the help of
addiction or insanity."
"Like Chakotay."
"He always did have his ways, didn't he?"
"He'll never be dead enough to you." I drew from her earlier comment, watching
in fascination as she
downed her third glass. Most human females keeled over at one Romulan Ale. It
empathized her position.
Strong. Numb. Untouchable, certainly undefeatable. I hadn't missed that side
of
her very much.
"Oh, he's dead to me." Her eyes met mine, level, clear. "Only the dead haunt
quite so well." Then,
shifting, she dropped the glass, watching it shatter on the hardwood floor.
"I'm ruining your New Year's,
aren't I?"
"I've had worse." I moved too, then, rising with discomfort. She was drunk, I
realized, in her own
command way, and a mean drunk at that. Mean and melancholy. "Maybe I should
call the Doc and get
you a hypo..."
"You don't want to break his heart that way, not after he believes he's done
so
well with us all."
No, I didn't. "Actually, the reason I came to see you involves Medical. I ran
into Counselor Troi. She
seems to find you behind in your appointments."
"I haven't gone to any."
"Don't do this to yourself, Captain."
Her smile was swift, amused, razor sharp, as she swept the glass shards up and
tossed them in a
recycler. "I hate shattering your hero worship, Harry, but I am only human. I
have my days." Her hand
touched mine briefly, meant to reassure. "Bajor, you said? I may pay a visit,
drink in the fresh air."
"I don't think that's wise." But then, how unwise could it have been? Either
she stayed there, dwelled on
her lost command, drank, became a bonified 24th century louse, or she tried a
shot at rediscovering her
friend, her soul...her soulmate. Nothing would stop her from going. I just
hoped she wouldn't stay.
She went, the next day. You tell me Starfleet received a note of resignation
that same morning, and her
uniforms and com badge. I don't know about any of that. She contacted Tom
Paris
and B'Elanna Torres
and I in Marseilles, told us she was off on a vacation, not to worry, as if we
hadn't become so good at
worrying about her giving it up then was even possible.
You tell me that she never made it to Bajor or Chakotay, that Ezri Dax,
concerned about more missed
appointments, found her in her guest suite at Deep Space Nine, in a pool of
blood, with her wrists and
throat and chest slashed. You want me to tell you whether or not a homicide
investigation should be
launched. Should I lie for public relations, give security something to muse
over? As a First Officer of the
'fleet, I should. You guys like public relations coups.
As her Ensign, her friend, her could have been lover, I'm not lying. I've only
known one person capable of
destroying Kathryn Janeway, and that was Kathryn Janeway herself. Looks like
she succeeded. Leave it
be. She left me her own little note, from Deep Space Nine, and I firmly hold
it
to be a suicide note.
'In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial
Who, squatting upon the ground
Held his heart in his hands
And ate of it...
I said, "Is it good, friend?"
"It is bitter-bitter," he answered.
"But I like it, because it is bitter
And because it is my heart."
---
Deposition Transmitted
---
Updated Case Status: Closed
Signed Recommendations:
Cmdr. Deanna Troi, USS Enterprise
Lt. Commander Ezri Dax, Deep Space Nine
Witness: Adm. Owen Paris, Starfleet Command.
Subject: Kathryn Janeway
Cause of Death: Suicide
---
