The Sequel to "Yesterday's Terrors"
Chapter 1"20:00 hours, my quarters?" she asked with a smirk on her face.
"Yes, Ma'am." Chakotay grinned and left.
They had made love that night, but never again since. The latter had by no means been their choice. No, it had been hers. Starfleet had given her an ultimatum. If she wanted to retain her captaincy of the U.S.S. Voyager she had to end her relationship with the renegade Chakotay, nip it in the bud so to speak. And like so many times before in her life she chose her career over her personal life, for without Starfleet Kathryn Janeway was like a fish out of water. It was an integral part of her. Starfleet had shaped her life for as long as she could remember, first through her father, then through the Academy and now directly through Headquarters. She could not part with it anymore than she could stop breathing. It had been with her for too long. Chakotay, on the other hand, had only just entered her life. Surely it could not be that difficult to let him go... or so she told herself.
Six months shore leave... That's what they had lumbered her with. Too much stress, suspected trauma, etc.
"Take it easy for awhile, Kathryn!" She hated the patronizing sound in Admiral Nechayev's voice when she had spoken those words. Starfleet Command had forced her to see half a dozen counselors, all of which had come to the same conclusion: stress. She needed a break. A break ... they had no idea! She was itching to get back into space. Anything was better than this. It was not just that she was bored, but rather that she did not want time to brood over recent events. And she still had three months leave left...
Recent events intermingled with those over a decade old until they became indistinguishable. She had become so desperate for a distraction from the unbidden reflections, which constantly occupied her mind that she had actually asked -- no -- 'begged' for a desk job. Of course they had refused. The truth was that they were loath to trust her with anything right now, and she was very much aware of it. Unstable, that was the label she had been given by her superiors. And the worst thing was, they were probably right...
Even Kathryn had begun to doubt her own ability to function since her capture on the asteroid. Failure. She had failed. Failed to remain objective. Failed to remain calm and unbiased. The truth was that her earlier experiences as a prisoner of the Cardassians had instantly made her sympathetic to the Maquis cause, whether she had initially been willing to admit that or not.
To make matters worse she had begun to have feelings for her Maquis captor, a psychological condition which all of her counselors had been quick to diagnose as "Stockholm Syndrome". Amazing, how there was a name for everything out there...
"Stockholm Syndrome," named after the capital of Sweden on Earth, referred to a bonding between captor and hostage. It was first diagnosed in a woman who initially began to sympathize with, and then later developed romantic feelings for the bank robber who was keeping her hostage in the Swedish capital sometime back in the twentieth century. Kathryn Janeway was under strict orders to keep away from Chakotay, for her own sanity's sake, as Nechayev had put it.
"Stockholm Syndrome"... she had laughed at first. Absurd, wasn't it? Why was it so difficult for people to accept that she may actually be in love with this man for no other reason than that she truly liked, respected and desired him? However, as time went by, Kathryn herself was not so certain anymore that her feelings for Chakotay had not simply been a natural psychological response to her situation. A simple chemical reaction induced by fear, a form of survival instinct. After all, she would not be the first hostage to suffer from "Stockholm Syndrome". On top of that she was pretty sure that Starfleet was not going to give her another job unless she kept her distance from Chakotay. And so she had decided to simply forget him. It couldn't be that difficult.
Shore leave. She had spent the first week at home, in her mother's house in Indiana where Kathryn and her sister Phoebe had grown up. Her return there turned out to be a step in the wrong direction. Her sister, with whom she had never really seen eye to eye, had decided to leave her flat in L.A. and help mothering 'poor Kathryn'. Her mother and sister had been so concerned, so caring. Every five minutes they asked if there was something they could do for her. She was never left alone, and even if she went up to her room to brood in peace, Gretchen or Phoebe would intrude into her privacy in no time to see if she was all right and to try to 'cheer her up'. They were suffocating her.
In those days Chakotay contacted her house several times a day via her communications console, asking to speak to her. She refused to answer, ignored his messages, and deleted them mostly without even opening them. Each time it broke her heart, but she told herself that it would soon get easier. Then the messages stopped, and she was surprised to find that the silence was even more painful than ignoring the constant barrage of questions and declarations of affection.
Old friends and neighbors also came by seemingly by the truckloads to see 'poor Kathryn'. She became restless, and in the end she just had to get away. She did not want people's pity and concern. She knew they meant well, but it was driving her crazy. Watching her terminal for hours on end in case there was another message from him was driving her crazy. So she had departed without leaving a forwarding address. The only person who knew where to find her was Nechayev.
Kathryn stood still, taking in the natural beauty of the secluded valley. Soft green hills rose to each site, covered in grasslands, pine trees and heather, except for their granite peaks on which feral goats roamed. Water fell from springs on the mountain peaks, gathering in a stream in the center of the valley. The ground in the immediate area surrounding the stream was soggy, so that her hiking boots left deep imprints in the soil, and the bottom legs of her pants were stained with mud. The gray sky lent the surrounding nature a haunting appeal. Not a soul was to be seen. No houses disturbed the untamed beauty of these wild environs. Closing her eyes, she sucked the cool, fresh October air deeply into her lungs. It helped clear her mind. Soft drizzle caressed her tired features. The bleating of sheep sounded from somewhere nearby, and a dog barked in the distance. Ireland... of all the places to hide she had chosen the Emerald Isle.
She had always wanted to come here since, like so many North American's, she had some Irish roots somewhere in her family tree, but somehow she had never found the time before. Ireland had not changed much throughout the centuries. It was still almost as deserted as it had been five hundred years ago, especially now that the tourist season was over. The landscape here reminded her of her Victorian holonovels. This must have been what Yorkshire had looked like during the Bronteë sisters' lifetime.
The rain was getting stronger, and she pulled her waterproof jacket closer around herself. She had better returned to the cottage before the ground got too slippery. She had rented secluded nineteenth's century brick house with the burgundy painted wooden window frames, shutters and doors for an unlimited period of time. It was roughly five kilometers away from the nearest village and came with a small annex stable which provided the home for the only of transport at her disposal: a brown mare that she had a great time riding through the hills. The landlord had told her about a reliable shuttle rental company in a nearby town, but she had not considered it for a single minute. The idea of flying over the ancient landscapes in a modern shuttlecraft was grotesque. Long walks and rides, cozy nights around the open log fire with a hot toddy, a good read and her dog, an Irish Setter named 'Molly' -- that was what she wanted. And it was exactly how she had been spending her time here.
But the idyll was disturbed by the dreams that returned night after night. Time and again she heard his voice, calling her name, pleading with her to come to him. And each night she would flee from that voice down a long, dark corridor, but the voice was stronger. It followed her, caught up with her, grew louder and louder until she had to hold her ears. But her hands alone could not keep the voice out. It went straight through them. She turned around to look at him, and each time she looked into the pained features of Chakotay. Then the voice would stop. She would take a step towards him and his face would slowly distort into the malignant grimace of Gul Camet. At this point her own screams would shake her out of her restless sleep. Her sheets would be soaked with perspiration, her hair sticking to her neck and shoulders, the nightgown clinging to her skin. She would change the bed linen and nightgown, then take a long real water shower. Sonic showers where still a rarity in the Irish countryside, and she was more than glad about that. After the shower she would sit up in front of the fire and watch the sun slowly rise over the mountains, and sometimes she would be surprised to discover that tears had run down her cheeks without her noticing it.
Kathryn walked through the burgundy painted wooden door that seemed to creak more with every passing day. A tail-wagging Molly jumped up to greet her and almost succeeded in throwing her over. Then Kathryn was startled by a familiar, although long absent beeping sound. It originated from the much neglected computer console on the oak dining table next to the window in the lounge room. She quickly moved towards it and activated the console. It was a message from Starfleet. They were calling her back...
Tuvok sat motionless in the lotus position in the middle of the Vulcan desert. He had gone to Seleya, a dark mountain that rose in the heart of the endless sand dunes of the desert, the most sacred site on Vulcan. Decades ago he had taken a pilgrimage here, taking only his ritual belongings and walking all the way there for months. That trip had almost been his death. This time he had taken an easier approach and joined one of the daily transports to the sacred site.
For months now he had spent his time in meditation, getting in touch with his Vulcan roots, so to speak. His captain, Kathryn Janeway, had been suspended from work, and rather than taking a posting with a different captain, he had chosen to follow her example and requested extended shore leave. Starfleet had granted his wish without hesitation. For all they knew he could be going through the pon farr. One did not ask questions when a Vulcan requested extended shore leave...
The distant cry of a sehlat startled Tuvok out of his meditative state. He opened his eyes only to see that T'Kuht, the Vulcan sun, was already setting on the horizon. It was time to return to shelter. Soon the beasts of the desert would come to hunt for food, and he did not intend to serve as such. He began the climb to the monastery that was situated halfway between the foot and the peak of Seleya.
Suddenly the voice of M'Fau, his teacher and mentor, entered his mind. She was conveying a telepathic message.
Tuvok, hurry! You must leave. Starfleet requires your immediate return to Earth...
Chakotay's heart sank. There was nothing left but ruins. Trebus, [according to Jeri Taylor's novel 'Pathways', that's his homeworld] his once green and populated homeworld was now a deserted, scorched spot in the Demilitarized Zone. The Cardassians had incinerated everything that his people had worked so hard to built here. An entire civilization destroyed. Why he had returned to this dismal and godforsaken place, he could not fathom.
He stood on the burned plain that had once been his village. Nothing was left here but melted rock. His entire family had died here, their bodies vaporized. Apart from some very distant relatives somewhere in South America, Chakotay had no living relations.
After the rather hostile debriefing Starfleet had let him go, fitting him with a tracking device that was embedded under his skin and taking his promise to remain available for a secret mission into Cardassian space at some point in the near future. He was not supposed to leave the planet without permission from Starfleet Command. Chakotay had looked forward to a bit of a break. He had hoped to spend some time with Kathryn, but much to his bewilderment she had completely ignored his messages. She refused to talk to him. Eventually he had gone to her house to put her on the spot and find out what was wrong between them, only to find that she had left a week earlier for an unknown destination. No one seemed to know where she was, although Chakotay was sure that someone in Starfleet had her forwarding address. However, no one in Starfleet Command was about to do him any favors. He had reached a dead end. He just could not understand why Kathryn would not talk to him.
Baffled and hurt he had tried to forget her. First he had sought out some of his old friends from his time in Starfleet, spending several weeks with some. But after more than two months of imposing on various old acquaintances, he had to find somewhere else to go. Uprooted as he was, he decided to search out the remains of his homeworld. After wrestling with a number of Starfleet officials he gained permission to leave the planet on condition that he was to report back to Starfleet Command every 24 hours with details of his whereabouts. He had arrived on Trebus a week ago. Apart from him there were a few science teams examining the effects of the Cardassian energy weapon that was used to incinerate almost the entire planet, and searching for the legacy of the people who had once called this planet their home.
It had been a huge mistake to come here. If he had felt lonely before, he now felt completely forlorn and deserted. Chakotay decided to take the next transport off the planet and return to Earth. He packed the few belongings he had and settled on the ground with his medicine bundle for a final attempt at a vision quest on his homeworld.
The portable long-range communications device Starfleet had equipped him with, so that he would be contactable at all times, beeped...
All dressed up in uniform, the quintessential Starfleet captain, Kathryn Janeway strode down the path towards the main building of Starfleet HQ. It was a truly beautiful day. Cadets from the adjacent Starfleet Academy building had spilled over onto Headquarters' meticulously maintained lawns and flowerbeds, no doubt much to the chagrin of the legendary Boothby. Kathryn smiled a little as she recalled the old gardener who seemed to hold all the wisdom of the Federation.
The sky this morning was of a deep azure, only here and there spotted with tiny white puffs of cottony clouds. The cries of seagulls from the nearby San Francisco bay mixed with the joyful banter and laughter of Starfleet's hopes for the future. The air was alive with sailing birds and cruising small shuttlecrafts that seemed mime them. The bright rays of the sun reflected from the Golden Gate Bridge.
Kathryn's quiet demeanor did not betray the agitation she felt. On the one hand she was glad to be back. After all, she was about to emerge herself in a veritable mountain of work, which was exactly what she had longed to do ever since Voyager's return from her mission in the Badlands.
But she would also have to face Chakotay in only a few minutes. No doubt he would want to know why she had so obviously shunned him. No doubt he was angry with her, or worse -- hurt. Probably a good deal of both. She wanted to crawl back into her sanctuary on the Emerald Isle, but she knew she would have to face reality sooner or later. And her Irish refuge had not turned out to be as uplifting as she had hoped. The dreams had haunted her each night -- dreams of him and of Camet. Maybe it was best for them to meet again. Maybe their renewed encounter would help to drive out some old demons, and some not so very old ones, too. And anyhow, she was not usually in the habit of running away from problems. She preferred to stare them right in the face. If only the fluttering in her stomach would cease...
Footnotes:sehlat:
A Vulcan predator, indigenous to the desert, resembling a bear with six-inch fangs. Very dangerous when hungry, which they are most of the time since there isn't much food to be found in the Vulcan desert. Can be tamed when caught at a very young age, and some Vulcan's keep them as pets.