Chapter Six
The next evening, the formal ceremony went by quickly enough. The gist of the message was something along the lines of 'taking Free Trade back from the monopolies', redefining it as freedom for the little man against the forces of universalization. The speakers were well chosen and articulate, but they paled in comparison to the keynote speaker. John Durant took everyone's breath away with his passionate speech. Even Chakotay had to admit the man could captivate an audience. His presence, combined with the pomp and celebration of freedom and justice, proved magnetic. The press was glued to the spectacle, and everyone involved came off shining like gold.
Chakotay received far less attention from Durant the night after the ceremony than he had the night before. Clearly, after the ceremony concluded, his purpose had been served. As soon as the holopics had been taken, Durant had little use for him, and he no longer made an active effort to charm Janeway's former first officer. He watched Durant work the room, laughing and cavorting with high ranking officials and wealthy political enthusiasts. Janeway was never far behind him, smiling dutifully at times, but for the most part looking bored out of her mind and increasingly exhausted. The only spark of life he saw in her were in those occasional moments they caught eyes, right before one of them looked away.
He couldn't drink the synthehol because he needed a clear head to navigate his ship in a few hours, so the reception crawled by agonizingly slowly. When he'd put in enough face time to undoubtedly satisfy the PR Executive at Brenner and Associates, he retreated to his quarters to wait out the time before departure.
* * *
Janeway's eyelids drooped. She swayed on her feet with a sudden wave of exhaustion, and the glass of champagne she'd been nursing would have tumbled out of her suddenly slack grip if Durant hadn't reached out and grabbed it. God, she was tired. She looked at him imploringly.
"John, I'm tired. Please let me go back--"
"Of course, Kathryn," he said warmly, surprising her with his concession. "We've covered all the bases here. I'm ready to go if you are."
Too exhausted for scruples, she clutched his arm half for support and half in gratitude as they left the reception. By the time they reached their quarters, her legs would barely hold her. She collapsed onto a plush chair, and her head slumped back against the headrest.
"Thank you. I'm just worn out..." she breathed, her eyes sinking closed.
"Of course you are, honey. Just relax and try to sleep."
"I know you need the face time--"
"Don't worry about it. There will be other receptions. Just take care of yourself."
There was something about his tone that roused unease in her increasingly foggy mind. With an effort, she opened her eyes to catch him watching her. He looked away and began to strip off his formal dress uniform.
But...
It wasn't worth thinking about. She just needed to lie down. If she didn't get up and walk over to the couch now, she wouldn't be able to later. No matter; she could lie in this chair. She could lie here for a week. Her eyelids began to sink closed again, and she almost didn't latch onto the problem, but the thought surfaced even as her brain grew fuzzy: Durant was never this considerate, and she was never this physically drained. Never. There was something wrong here.
She forced her eyes wide open as a terrible suspicion came over her. She always watched what she ate and drank around him; she rarely took something directly from his hands. But at the receptions she disregarded that rule. She'd always assumed that he wouldn't have the audacity to drug her in the presence of others, but if he'd given her something that acted gradually enough, he could fool them, fool her...
And with that fertility drug he gave her yesterday, she knew why.
She didn't think she'd have the strength to stand up, and for a moment, her exhaustion almost compelled her to resign to the seductive lure of inaction.
Her mind flashed briefly to Chakotay, making love to her that night in Italy. Mark, Jaffen. Sex was a lovely thing, and Durant was a physically appealing man. She could force herself to accept it. He probably had a good deal of experience. Durant, tall, polished, fit... Durant...
The chill of reality roused her. Durant, the man who'd killed her family and crewmen, who'd stolen her life from her, ordered her beaten, humiliated, destroyed her friendships, ruined her happiness... Durant playing with her breasts... Durant thrusting his penis into her body... Durant's semen spilling into her vagina...
No. No that. That was too much. Not him. Not ever.
With a Herculean effort, she forced herself to inch forward and totter to her feet. Once there, her legs felt heavy as though she'd run ten miles, and her breath was coming in short gasps. She swayed, and for a moment she feared she'd fall.
Durant stood watching her from across the room. He began to approach her. "Kathryn..?"
Nearly stumbling, she flailed her hand out for the nearest weapon she could find-- a half-empty bottle of Saurian Brandy from Admiral Roman. She brought it down against the edge of the shelf and it shattered. She raised the splintered glass in front of her threateningly.
"What are you doing?" Durant asked incredulously, keeping his distance.
"What do you think I'm doing?" she yelled. "You drugged me! You goddamn coward-- you couldn't take me in an honest fight? It's not going to work... I'm not going to let you!"
Durant watched her for a second, thinking the situation over, then dipped his head in acknowledgment. "You're right. I drugged you. Go ahead and stand there. You can fight the sedative as long as you like, but it will do its work eventually." He paused a moment, watching her struggle to stay on her feet. He continued evenly, "Sooner or later, Kathryn, and from the look of you I'd say sooner rather than later, you're going to collapse. You might as well make it easy on yourself; put away the bottle and sit down. You don't want to fall on that broken glass, now, do you?"
Exhaustion rolled over her in waves, and even as Durant said his words, her legs began to tremble beneath her weight.
"I have lubrication. If I can't get you ready, I'll use it," he said as if at a distance. "I don't want to hurt you. I promise it won't hurt you. You'll probably like it. It will seem like nothing more than a pleasant dream..."
It would be easier... It might only take tonight. All she had to do was sit down and close her eyes, let the cloud drift over her, and when her mind cleared, the pregnancy business would be over and she wouldn't have to worry again... Just a dream...
She felt her legs slowly buckling beneath her, and her body sank down onto the edge of the chair. Her elbows braced against her lap as she fought her own weakness. What else could she do? Where could she go, who could help her? It was inevitable. She couldn't stop it...
Somewhere in her vision, she could see Durant approaching warily. Her arms were trembling with the effort of keeping herself upright, and she fought against her creeping fatigue. She swayed towards sleep, paused just short of it, then back again in time to see Durant closing in on her.
Her thoughts were fractured and increasingly muddled. He was watching her with an intent expression as he approached her. He reached down and pulled her up, holding her limp body against his with one arm, his free hand fumbling to release the bottle from her flaccid grip. He worked it from her fingers, and set it gently on the shelf behind her. He reaffirmed his grip around her waist, and ran one of his fingers lightly across her lips.
Her head fell backwards without her volition, and he dipped down to kiss her neck. "Don't be afraid," he whispered against her skin. His hand tickled down her body, caressing her breast, finding her nipple through her uniform, pinching at it until it hardened. The hand journeyed down to rest between her legs, his fingers rubbing her sex through her pants. "Kathryn Janeway, you infuriatingly proud woman... I'm going to make you itch for it."
The crass assertion cut through her haze. She could feel him growing hard against her side, and through her confusion emerged the realization, with cold clarity, that this wasn't a one-time deal. He could have given her something stronger to render her completely unconscious, but he wanted her awake enough to feel; he wanted her to like this because he hoped for her cooperation in future encounters. Even if she got pregnant immediately, he'd do it again. He would never risk his political career by taking a mistress; she would be the only outlet he had.
The sluggishness descended again, but she snapped back just in time before totally losing her strength. She slithered her arm back and fumbled for the bottle. Her hand brushed against the cool glass, and she wrapped her fingers around it. Durant began to ease them towards the bedroom, and it was then that she lashed out, jabbing the broken bottle blindly into whatever target it could encounter. It made contact with something solid, and she heard a cry of pain. She drove it mercilessly forward again, and saw blood spurt through her fingertips. The bottle slipped out of her limp fingers, and Durant dropped her and flinched away. She collapsed to her hands and knees, unable to muster the strength to rise. Even now her arms shook, and she didn't even think she could manage to remain kneeling.
It was then her eyes fell upon the trail of blood on the carpet. Durant's blood.
She'd stabbed Durant. She'd drawn Durant's blood.
Sudden fear and panic jolted through her at what were sure to be the consequences for this action, propelling her upright, and sending her blindly through the door and out into the corridor. The world was whirling and fuzzy in front of her, and her every muscle was straining under her weight. She tried to run through the haze, repeatedly stumbling over her own feet. She wasn't sure where she was heading, or if he was following. The world was collapsing around her as she slumped by Chakotay's door, hitting at and nearly missing the chime. Her legs crumpled beneath her, and she sank down to the floor.
Any second Durant would come, or worse, Empek.
Please, Chakotay, be there...
Her eyes sank closed as her world blurred and darkened around her.
* * *
Chakotay heard the chime, and wondered who could be at his door. He thought he'd handled all the obligatory press interviews already. He was scheduled to depart in an hour; he didn't have time for another one...
He opened the door, expecting a reporter, finding Kathryn Janeway, still in dress uniform, sagging against the wall by his feet. She looked like she'd passed out, and he stood there a split second staring at her, too stunned to move. Finally, he leaned forward, scooped her up, and hauled her out of the corridor into his quarters.
"Gods, Kathryn, are you drunk?"
Even before he finished asking the question, he saw the blood smeared on her hand and her tunic. He felt a thrill of alarm, and he laid her gently out on the floor, looking for the wound.
"Were you attacked?" he demanded. He thought he heard a faint moan. He leaned in close to her ear and asked loudly, "Kathryn, are you injured?" Her eyelids trembled. He shook her lightly and her eyes finally crept laboriously open. "Kathryn?"
She looked at him without recognition for a few moments, then, her eyes sinking closed again, she said in a slow, slurred murmur, "Please hide me."
His brow furrowed. "Hide you? From who? Who did this to you?"
Her eyes were closed, and he tried shaking her again. She showed no sign of rousing this time. He pressed his fingers to her pulse, and was relieved to find it strong. He put his hand under her nose and found her breathing steadily. He conducted a thorough visual check, and saw no wound; the blood wasn't hers.
Chakotay paused in his ministrations to catch a breath. The shock of the situation was wearing off, and he began to feel alarmed and confused. Hide her. Hide her from what, from whom? Could it be Durant? Some impulse had clearly sent her to Chakotay and not her husband.
Hide her.
Despite his powerful resentment towards her, the thought of refusing her help never crossed his mind. He removed the comm badge from her tunic and tossed it into the waste incinerator. No tracking her that way. He lifted her up onto his bed and ran a tricorder over her. It told him she was still partially conscious, and when he pinched her, he could see her eyebrows furrow in discomfort. She was conscious-- incoherent and utterly paralyzed-- but conscious.
As he expected, there was a muscle relaxant of sorts in her system. When he uploaded the molecular structure of the sedative into the computer, the computer identified it as Nerium, a drug banned in Federation space. It kicked in too slowly for hospital use, and addicted too easily for public distribution. There was a small market for the drug among a few junkies still hooked from it's brief period of legality.
He closed the tricorder. "Well, Kathryn, I always told you to cut out the caffeine, but this isn't much of an improvement." There was no response from her prone form.
Chakotay was at a loss.
She wanted him to hide her. He didn't know who was after her. He was supposed to depart soon; it would arouse suspicion from her pursuers if he delayed. Had there been a crime? Had she hurt someone? Why would someone drug her? What the hell was he supposed to do now?
The questions swirled around in his head for a few minutes as he set about packing his clothes, uncertain what else to do. It wasn't until ten minutes later that a door chime cut into his thoughts.
Throwing a glance over at Janeway to make sure she was safely concealed, he called, "Come in!"
The door slid open to reveal the massive man with the bleach-white hair whom he'd spotted only briefly at yesterday's reception. The man's cold black eyes rested on Chakotay, and Chakotay instinctively drew forward to prevent any intrusion by this man into his domain.
"Forgive me for the interruption, Commander," he said in a flat voice, "But have you seen Admiral Janeway around?"
Chakotay blinked once, twice, then said, "No. Why? Who are you?"
The man hesitated, then suddenly Durant emerged from behind the tall man, looking slightly frazzled, clutching his side as though he'd been injured and was trying to hide it. "This is Empek. He's with me, Chakotay," Durant explained with a weak smile. "A friend."
"Is Admiral Janeway missing?" Chakotay asked with mock alarm.
Empek was scrutinizing him carefully as Durant chuckled. "It's nothing, really. You see, Kathryn had a little too much to drink tonight, and you know how poor a head she has for alcohol. She left the reception early, and we're afraid she might have gotten lost on her way back."
He was a good liar. A very good liar. Between his smooth deception and the menace of his large friend, Chakotay could see a formidable force. But Chakotay was a good liar, too.
"I'm sure she's all right, then. I'm scheduled to depart in half an hour, but I could delay if you truly need my help," Chakotay said innocently, folding his arms over his broad chest.
The large man sent Durant a look, and Durant suddenly smiled dismissively. "No, I'm sure it's fine. Don't let this disrupt your plans. Thanks for your time, Commander."
Chakotay nodded, and the men traveled off down the corridor.
After the door slid shut, Chakotay wondered why, if they thought Kathryn had disappeared, they were conducting the search themselves and not summoning station security teams.
He wandered back into the bedroom and looked down at her. He ran his gaze over the dark circles under her eyes, the skin stretched taut over sharp cheekbones. So thin. He remembered that her weight always dropped sharply in stressful times. He thought back to her clear unease in Durant's office, and at the reception. Her double-pronged remark about Admiral Paris shot into mind..
He thought back further, to the first reunion. "Just one night, let's forget everything that's happened, and everything that's to come..." She'd whispered that to him. He was too far gone to dwell on her words then. They took on an unsettling new meaning now.
That reunion... the strange intensity in her eyes, her vehement appeal to leave with her immediately... The next day, her tears even as she declared her indifference to him and her love for another.
Her abandonment of her friends, the people for whom two years earlier she would gladly have marched into an inferno.
And when he thought about it, even the way she moved... tense, sharp. His sister had said it about him a long time ago, and he truly saw it now. An animal, always alert, always on guard for some new danger. She'd been safe at home for over two years, but something had kept her in that state of fear.
Chakotay decided then that she was leaving with him. He would beam her onto his ship and slip away.
If he was wrong, it would give her time to wake up and explain the situation to him without any possible outside coercion. If she had a decent explanation for him, he would allow that he'd overreacted and return her to the station. It was a mistake easily remedied, and he could always stave off her wrath by pointing out her delirious plea for his help. He'd return the company ship a day or two late, and avoid spending every night for the rest of his life wondering if he'd abandoned the one woman he'd truly loved to a pack of wolves.
But if he was right, if there was something happening...
If he was right then there was no time for delay.
