Finite Space
By Liz
chapter 3
in which our heroine hits a snag and our hero hits the skids, and Chakotay saves the day again
O
When Aaron was a small child, something happened that Amanda wouldn't hear about until months after their first night of sex. If she had, events might have been different, but Aaron rarely spoke about his childhood.
For the first few years of his life, his family was well-off, at least by occupation standards. They owned a small house on Kirandi, the southernmost continent of Bajor, in a town that was mostly out of the way of the Cardassian administration. They had managed to eke out an existence that on the surface avoided all politics. His father was the principal of a school; his mother owned and ran a small clothing shop. He had an older sister, Mari, and a pet of the sort that humans called cats and were close enough.
Under the surface, however, his father was an immensely powerful figure. He and Aaron's mother had spent time on Earth and then managed to have it wiped from their official records (otherwise, the Cardassians would never have allowed them to work on Bajor again). They'd gone as a young couple and made connections—connections that included one of the most crucial black market supply runs on the whole planet, one that had heretofore escaped Cardassian attention. Food and reactor components came through, and medicines were especially crucial, as many vaccinations could not be replicated. Aaron wouldn't learn for years to come about the stash of illicit medicines in the mysterious spare classroom at the school in which classes were never held.
Because it was during the years of occupation, the Jarro family had a plan, like any other family. A chain of people led to the source of the shipments, but a regular check-in schedule would send them into hiding if any link on the chain didn't respond. It was a flawed and amateurish safeguard, but their family had no training in espionage, and they did what they thought was enough.
When Aaron was very young, the human Aaron Mitchkoff came to visit the Jarro family. Mitchkoff was a close friend of his father's, and at the time, young Aaron didn't know any more, but Mitchkoff was in fact breaking international treaty laws by coming to Bajor—and bringing with him many of the vital supplies that Aaron's father distributed at-cost. Aaron knew the older man was human, but he had a false set of ridges on the bridge of his nose and an earring so he could pass. During this trip, Mitchkoff brought his namesake a toy horse from Earth as a gift.
Aaron was out in the small front yard one day with a neighbor's son, playing with his new toy, when two Cardassian soldiers walked by with their phaser rifles and dark eyes. All Bajoran children were taught to be quiet when Cardassians were around, and never to make eye contact. Aaron and his playmate pretended to keep playing, in hushed tones. His friend was holding the horse; he'd been preparing to send it flying (they didn't know horses couldn't fly) over a building they'd made of spare kitchen utensils. Inside the building were Cardassian soldiers, and the horse was going to the Prophets to make them rain down terror on the soldiers.
"You, boy," barked one of the soldiers. It was the first time Aaron had ever been addressed by a soldier. He and his friend stood up, frightened. "Where did you get that toy?"
His friend stuttered an answer, trying to say that he found it just lying around. They were only four or five years old. Aaron thought he would wet his pants, but he stood forward.
"Sir," he said, "it's my horse."
"Where did you get it?" The soldier wasn't shouting; he seemed calm. "Who gave it to you?"
"My father's friend, sir."
"Where is your father's friend from?"
"I don't know, sir," Aaron said, looking down at his feet.
"You're lying." The Cardassian squatted down in front of him, and took him by the shoulder. "I want you to tell me the truth, little boy. Who gave it to you?"
"Aaron!" shrieked a girl's voice. It was his sister, Mari. She was two years older. "Aaron!" she screamed, running out of the house. She came and wrapped her arms around her brother protectively. "Don't be bad, don't be bad," she whispered angrily in his ear.
The two soldiers stepped back. They exchanged confused looks. The one who had spoken to Aaron swore quietly under his breath, and the children flinched. He reached down and took the horse effortlessly from the little boy's hands.
"My horse!" Aaron cried.
"Aaron, shhh!" Mari hissed, grabbing him even tighter, and pulling him away.
"I won't hurt you," the Cardassian said frankly. He exchanged another look with his partner, then kneeled down in front of them. "I want you to do me a favor, children," he said to Mari and Aaron. "Tonight, play a game with me. It will be our secret. Take some of your favorite food and your best toy, and put it in a small bag. Tonight, my friends and I will have a race with you. When you hear a loud sound, I want you to take your bag and run very fast out the back of your house and hide. If you win, then you won't see me. Don't tell your parents, or I'll find you and you'll lose."
They stared at him, terrified.
He looked at his partner, who shrugged. "Suits me," the other man grunted. "Long as the parents don't know and the CO's happy."
"Be good," the Cardassian ordered, and with the horse in his hand, he stood up and walked away. Aaron's playmate had actually wet himself, so they ran inside to change before his mother found out.
Mari grabbed two of her mother's old shopping bags and crammed them full of cookies and juice and the stuffed animal Aaron had slept with since he was a baby because it looked like their pet, who preferred Mari's bed to his.
Aaron and Mari were sharing a room because Mitchkoff was staying in Aaron's bedroom at the front of the house. They went to bed but didn't sleep, both of them pretending to but instead spending each frightened minute hoping they wouldn't have to play the game with the Cardassian soldier.
Not long after midnight, however, lights suddenly flooded the front room, and an enormous rattling burst into the night air. Aaron screamed, but Mari grabbed the two bags at once and then took his hand and they ran through the hall to the back as their parents and Mitchkoff woke up and were just emerging from their rooms. Mari pulled him faster than he could run through the back door and the small yard into a place where the bushes would hide them. Once there, she hugged her younger brother so tight that he could hardly breathe. They were scared.
Three adult figures came bursting out of the back door as a huge machine seemed to start attacking the front of their house. Aaron saw posts and beams fly into the night sky like matchsticks. The big machinery backed up and did it again. In spite of the tremendous noise, they heard their mother scream their names.
The adults conferred in the span of a second. Mitchkoff grabbed their mother and dragged her back into the shadows of the yard; Aaron's father dashed back into the house, calling his children's names. As soon as Mitchkoff reached the bushes, they tripped over Mari and Aaron. Their mother let out a sob of relief and took them both in her arms.
Mitchkoff shielded all three of them from the loudest sound and the worst sight of the entire night: the house collapsing completely. Their father was trapped inside.
Mitchkoff didn't waste any time. He left his best friend for dead and took the family away, holding Aaron and running as Mrs. Jarro and Mari ran behind him. Aaron cried and cried but they didn't stop running until they came to a house Aaron hadn't seen before. Mitchkoff banged on the door. The secretary at the elementary school opened and rapidly ushered them inside. Later he would learn it was a safe house where they could wait to be smuggled to one of the off-world refugee camps, but for now, it was simply the place where they stopped running. Aaron's mother collapsed to the floor of the kitchen, holding her two children in her arms. Mitchkoff stood behind her, gasping for breath.
"Where's Daddy?" Aaron cried.
His mother couldn't answer. She only moaned, "I love you, I love you, I love you."
O
Blink, blink.
Blink, blink. Blink, blink.
"Are you going to look at it?" Aaron asked. "Or do you want me to read your mail for you and tell you what it says?"
Blink, blink.
"I don't know," Amanda said, twisting her fingers into a knot under the sheets.
"Well, you have to do something. That light is driving me crazy."
Blink, blink. Blink, blink.
"Is it really bothering you?"
"Yes," Aaron said, turning over onto his side and reaching an arm around her waist.
"Okay."
"Okay what?"
"Okay… I'd like you to check the mail." Any day now, word would arrive from Starfleet to say whether she would or would not get into the Academy. It might already be here. That's why she'd been unable to open her mail for the last three days. She was too scared to read any of it.
With a sigh, Aaron got out of bed and went across the dark room of her studio to the message console. He entered her codes and waited for the addresses to appear.
"What does it say?" Amanda demanded.
She saw his naked silhouette turn his head in her direction. "Give it a minute."
"Fine."
"Hey, I'm just the messenger."
"Sorry."
Beep.
"What does that mean! Is it there!"
Aaron sighed again. "No, it's not there yet. You just have three messages from me asking about next week."
Amanda smacked herself on the forehead. "Oh, that's right! I'm sorry, I've just been so preoccupied…"
He came back to bed. "Save it for tomorrow, okay?" He kissed her on the neck. "Just don't forget. You don't have to spend the whole week with us, but I want to make sure you can at least share a little time with my sister and me."
"I will, I promise."
"It's her first time to Earth."
"I'm not an expert."
"You're human. That'll do."
"Oh, thanks. Care to stick a little card by my cage at the zoo?"
Aaron sat up and turned on a light. "Amanda, what's gotten into you?"
"What?"
"You're acting crazy. What's going on? Do you not want to meet my sister?"
"Of course I want to meet her. I'm just really tense about the Starfleet application."
"Okay, but life doesn't stop just because you're really worried."
"It might stop. What am I supposed to do if I don't get in?"
Aaron didn't answer. Instead, he got up and went for his clothes.
Amanda sat up. "Wait, what are you doing?"
"This is called 'getting dressed.'"
"No shit. Why?"
"Because we've had this conversation enough times, and I don't want to have it any more."
"What, because I told you that I'm worried?"
"Yes, and because you haven't asked me once about how my week has been, how tough school is for me right now and how I might not graduate without an act of Prophecy, how much I don't know what I'll do after I do graduate—assuming I do—and how in the hell I'm supposed to pay my rent when my loans run out next month."
"Aaron, hang on. I'm sorry." She felt her face flush in regret. She hadn't meant to hurt his feelings or to neglect him.
"Yeah, I know. I'll see you later." He began walking to the door.
"Aaron!" she said louder. He stopped in the open doorway. "What are you doing? You can't just leave. Come inside. I'm really sorry."
"Yeah. I know."
"Damn it, wait! Okay, I'm not perfect. Tell me what I need to do here."
"It isn't astrophysics, Amanda."
"No, it isn't, or I'd be a lot better at it. Wait! Will you just stop getting dressed and talk to me?"
He didn't stop. She felt like she was trying to hold onto a handful of sand.
"Amanda, figure it out yourself for once," he said calmly and walked out, shutting the door behind him. She wanted to follow, but she didn't have any clothes on.
Amanda was too stunned even to cry. Had she really chased him off so easily? How could he have run?
O
Amanda waited two days to talk to Aaron—two more nerve-wracking days without a response from Starfleet, when her fight with her boyfriend was her only distraction. Contacting him was as much an ordeal as checking her mail for word from admissions. She didn't want to push Aaron, but she had also hoped that he would call her. He didn't. So, it was either call him to apologize, or never talk to him again.
It soon became obvious that he wasn't picking up or returning his messages. This was becoming very unpleasant, but she couldn't think of anything to do besides go to his apartment and force him to listen to her. That had overtones of stalking, but it was either that or give up.
In the end, she bought a single red carnation from one of the flower stalls on her way to Aaron's flat, so she'd at least get in the door. Call it bribery, but she'd back it up with real sincerity. She would.
She called him from the com box outside his door, and her heart gave a jump when he answered. "It's me," she said. "I've come to talk. Will you let me in?"
"Amanda…"
"Please," she said.
"I'm a little busy."
"I won't take long," she said. "It's cold out here, can I at least come in and warm up?" It was. The eternally unpredictable weather of San Francisco had turned cold, with a hard, damp wind blowing over the hills.
A pause. "Yeah, sure. Come on up." He buzzed her in.
Amanda hurried up the stairs as if she were rushing to a court date: the whole time she wanted to run the other way, but it would be worse if she did. Aaron had left the door ajar for her and was back in the kitchen, judging by the smell of the Bajoran dinner in the making. She put her scarf and hat on the table, which was covered in books and scrolls and electronic padds, and gingerly poked her head into the kitchen.
Aaron saw her and wiped his hands on a towel. "Hey."
"Hey," she said. She held up the flower, which now seemed utterly ridiculous. "I brought you this."
A corner of his mouth lifted. "Is that for cooking?"
"No! It's… It's pretty. It's for decoration."
"Is it?" He eyed his walls. He'd taken the minimalist approach in filling his apartment, and Amanda knew he wasn't the type to put out fresh flowers.
"Well, fine. Put it in your stew there if you want," she said. "I just brought it so I could get you to listen to me."
"I'm listening." He crossed his arms and leaned against the stove, away from her.
"I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry I've been unfair to you. I shouldn't have let myself get so wrapped up in my own business." She felt her face flushing. "I'm sorry."
He turned to where a small pile of strange-looking vegetables was heaped on the tile counter and began pulling leaves off of stems. "It's fine."
"Aaron," she said. "It's not if you say it like that. Come on. This shouldn't be so big that I can't make it up to you."
He set the plants down and sighed. He turned around. "You're right. Let's make up."
She felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders as they embraced. "Thank you."
"It's nothing," he allowed. "Kind of part of the syllabus."
"How's that?"
"That came out wrong. I just mean, in school we're reading some old Gerina Tolla works—that's a Bajoran theologian, he died during the occupation—about forgiveness. And it just happens to be appropriate now."
"Always glad to supplement the classroom training."
"Here, let me take that. Can you find a vase in the hall closet? I have to stir this."
Amanda gave him the carnation and went to the closet. On the shelf was a glass vase, and as she was reaching to get it, she noticed something else, a dark brown, fuzzy stuffed animal that looked almost like a cat.
"Aaron? What's this?"
He poked his head out of the kitchen, saw the toy, and seemed to turn to stone. "It's nothing. Can you put it back?"
She blinked, confused, but complied. She came back with the vase and gave it to him. "Are you okay?"
"Fine." He filled the small vase with drinking water and stuck the flower on the nearest window sill.
Things were already so touchy that Amanda decided to let it pass. "So," she said awkwardly. "You were talking about Gerina Tolla?"
He nodded, still not looking at her. "I was half-kidding. Gerina was talking about forgiveness on a more epic scale."
"You mean, as in forgive the Cardassians?" She frowned. "Tall order."
"You're telling me. Gerina's big thing was about how forgiveness empowers you because your mind has the freedom to love and learn and build and all of those things. Bajorans—humanoids—have a finite amount of space for their spirits. That's why we're not Prophets, right? And he said the major choice in life is how you fill that space. We get to choose between love, anger, grace, all that."
"And Gerina died because of the Cardassians?"
"Yeah, it really hurt his case."
"Does what he said apply here, to you and me?" she asked.
"Well, maybe. I was pretty mad, but then again, you're an easier case than the Cardassians. You didn't kill my father."
She realized that this was only the second time he'd ever mentioned his father. "You don't talk about your father. Does it bother you?"
He went back to the vegetables, peeling off the leaves and tossing them into the boiling pot. "You'd know that if you'd asked before."
Ah. "You're right, I should have."
"Amanda, I know things have been hard for you. I know that better than you seem to realize. Believe it or not, there are people who can relate."
Relate? A tall, handsome, well-adjusted, spiritual guru-in-training, relate to an emotionally stunted loner with a talent for self-directed kamikaze drills? She had doubts.
"Do vediks all preach forgiveness of Cardassians?" she asked, to change the subject. "Is that why you're reading up on this guy?"
"Some orders do. Others are more… vitriolic."
"What about you?"
"Middle of the road. Undecided."
"How old were you when your father was killed?"
"Four or five, human years. But that's not the only thing that happened in my life, you know," he pointed out. "I cook all the time because we didn't have a replicator until I was seventeen. I like books better than padds because we didn't have enough power cells to do our homework as kids, and I got sick of the power running out before I could finish."
Amanda walked over and sniffed the stew. It smelled tangy, almost tropical. "Did you have any kind of solar panels? High-grade miniature models have been around for about fifty years now. We used those in the Maquis."
"Next time I'm a refugee, I'll bring some along."
"Or a terrorist."
"Now that's definitely frowned upon by my order."
Amanda could hear a harder edge in his voice. "I was joking," she said. "A little dark humor. Didn't mean it."
"Right."
"What? Didn't you say your father was a freedom fighter? How is that different?"
"It's different."
"Yeah," she said, "it's different because you won and we died."
"Amanda, for fuck's sake. The war's over."
She blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Didn't you hear? Armistice, treaties, all that. It means that at some point you have to stop being angry and move on."
"Wow. I haven't read any Gerina Tolla, but if he makes you this cranky, I don't want to." She crossed to the window, looking out at the gray skies. "I know the war's over. Don't patronize me."
"I'm not, Amanda," he said. "But I think that you're still letting what happened to your family and your colony control your life."
"What the hell does this have to do with anything? You're not my shrink."
"I'm your friend," he pointed out. "I'm telling you that it's bleeding into the rest of your life. All this obsession over getting into Starfleet, as if it's the only option open to you? The way it's steamrolled everything else in your life—including me? I don't think it's healthy."
Amanda felt stung. "Fuck you."
"Amanda—"
"How dare you sit in judgment of me? And how dare you go along with what I'm doing for all those weeks, when you felt like this all along?"
"I didn't mean it like that. And don't act like I'm betraying you just by…"
"By lying to me?"
"By offering my feelings."
"Is that vedik-speak for insulting me?"
"Amanda, I don't want to fight. I want to have my dinner. Can we deal with this later, when we're not both under so much stress?"
"Fine. Have your dinner. I came over here to apologize to you," she said, "but maybe I'm not the one who's screwed up." He didn't try to stop her as she stormed out of the apartment and back into the rain.
O
A day later, the answer from Starfleet came. Amanda literally choked when she saw from where the message had come. She'd been waiting for what seemed like ten years to get this message—so many hours of work, and so much effort. Now it was here. She set down her bag, full of padds and notes from her tutoring work, and looked closer.
"Response to your application" was all the heading said. It took her another five minutes of pacing in her tiny apartment—just think, as soon as August, she could be living in the spacious cadet bunks in the Presidio!—before she could open the message. She wanted very much to call Aaron to have him come and open it for her, but, well… She thought it was better if she let him alone for a little while.
Oh, no. That meant she had to read it herself.
Amanda cleaned off the table and made the bed. Whatever the answer, she knew that cleaning house was the last thing she would be thinking about for a long time. Plus, it was a good way of staving off the inevitable.
Finally, with one last promise to herself that she would keep breathing, whatever the contents of the message, she sat down. She opened her mail reader. She pressed the sequence to open her mail.
Dear Amanda Jackson,
Thank you for your complete application to Starfleet Academy. As you are aware, this institution receives tens of thousands of applications each year for a limited number of slots.
We regret that we are unable to accept your application for admission.
Reason provided by admissions committee: FAILURE TO PASS PSYCHOLOGICAL SCREENING.
Thank you for applying to the Academy, and we applaud your sense of duty and citizenship.
Sincerely,
Cmdr. Celia Bartok, Dean of Admissions
"I'm still breathing," Amanda thought clearly after she finished reading the message. I have not stopped breathing.
She stood up and pushed her creaking secretary's chair into the small folding desk where the message console was set. She remained still for a long moment, noting the stained carpet under her bare feet—she'd kicked off her shoes—and the dirty windows that never got cleaned from the outside. There was the old dent in the wall from some former tenant, and the flimsy cabinets in her tiny kitchen. She would never get away from it all.
Amanda moved, for no other reason than she couldn't bear to remain still. Movement put just a little bit of space between her and the rejection. Breathe. Move. Go.
She opened her front door and moved into the hallway. She walked to the stairs. Her legs didn't want to go up, so she walked down instead. She left her building, and moved into the street, the wide, wide street from the days when cars moved up and down the hillside every hour of every day.
"Failure to pass psychological screening," it had said. That was the final phase of the admissions process. She knew that. She had come close.
They almost never took you if you failed your psych screening. It was a black mark.
She froze, staring at the tall, brightly painted plaster walls of the buildings around her. A black mark, her! Breathe, move… Amanda turned to the west. It was mid-afternoon, and the sun was shining on the street between the tall buildings. She moved into it so her eyes would have something to say to her brain: "There's the sun. Don't think about the letter." The black mark.
She walked fast, even faster than her normally quick pace. She attracted odd looks from the people around her as she fled in no particular direction, empty handed and on the verge of tears. A semi-coherent thought made its way to the surface: go as far as you can, it said. Get to the ocean. It's easier to breathe there. She had to regain her breath.
She hurried west. At Van Ness, the ground evened into a level surface, and she turned north. The Bay. It was only a few miles away, and she could feel the water on the air, brushing against her face. Amanda could picture it in her memory—the gray-blue waters, the gentle misty air, the wet breezes.
She hurried, gratefully feeling a shiver as the cold wind swept along the thoroughfare. The light drizzle that began as she made her way past Nob Hill to the edge of North Beach was also cold.
After marching so far through the city—with no shoes, as she'd realized not far from her apartment—the sight of green grass and trees on the gentle knolls of Fort Mason was a comfort. It was intense, too, after miles of concrete and structures. It was something different. "Failure to pass psychological screening." She needed something different, anything. She moved into the grass and breathed in the smell. There were families strolling through the late afternoon drizzle together, with no idea of what was happening in the universe.
Amanda turned west again, towards the sun. Towards Starfleet headquarters, too—the skyline stood tall against the late afternoon sky in the Presidio, between her and the Bay. She thought about running—they had accepted the results of her physical, she was in great shape, she always had been, an athlete in high school, before the Cardassians. But the monotony of walking, the jarring feel of her heel on the grass or the sidewalk, she wanted to feel the hard ground. The harsh solidity on her heels, through her ankles to her knees, her back, her teeth, was necessary.
They thought she was crazy, she realized. They thought she was nuts. She was unstable. B'Elanna had been right all along.
Amanda stopped only once between her apartment and the Bridge, and that was to crouch into a pitiful ball as she nearly passed out. There, in the hilly walkways of the Presidio, it hit her. She had nothing in her life. She had no futurebut this.
She couldn't stay still, however. She never had been able to. Amanda quickly rose, kept moving and kept breathing and kept feeling for the impact of the ground on her feet. As she moved, a small thought made its way through the humiliation. "Humanoids have a finite amount of space for their spirits," Aaron had said. "The choice is how you fill that space."
Amanda walked through the pedestrian gates to the walkway of the Golden Gate Bridge, wondering what choice she had. And she decided that Aaron was wrong. She didn't know about his, but her spirit was not finite. There was no limit to how lonely the universe could be.
The realization set her shaking, and she stopped and held onto the orange metal of the bridge's rail. To think that she would never rise above this isolation, no matter how hard she worked.
A long time passed before she could register any other sensation.
The wind blew stronger, here on the bridge. She gazed through her tears and the blowing mists to the water below, wondering about the distance to the water. What would it be like, those few, fleeting moments before impact? She hadn't come here to jump, though. Dimly, she was aware that staggering barefoot through the city and crying as she stared into the mists was at the least unusual, but the notion of ending her life simply stared back at her with a monolithic "no." She didn't know why, only that bridge suicides were only something that happened to odd, unfamiliar aliens who made their way to Earth and didn't have enough sense to know better, to keep themselves afloat.
What did they think? As soon as they stepped away from the last vestige of support, what went through their minds? The sure knowledge that the infinite capacity for misery would soon be snuffed… The sheer terror at what they'd feel upon striking the water. Did any of them feel regret, even before they jumped?
Keep breathing, keep moving, keep looking into the sun. Amanda was facing east, but she could see long shadows from the setting sun before her, even through the clouds. The mist obscured most of the Bay—she could only barely make out the outlines of the Marin coast on the far side of the bridge. Was all this sensation enough to keep her feeling for the ground beneath her feet? Why should it? She wondered.
"Nice day for a stroll, isn't it?"
Amanda turned her head to see a Vulcan man standing not far away, peering back at her curiously. He had no expression except watchfulness. He was tall with dark hair, like Vorik, and he wore a plain gray suit.
"Yes," she said. It was the first time she'd spoken since reading the message. She tasted the salty tears at the corners of her mouth.
"Are you all right?" the Vulcan asked mechanically.
"Yes," she answered. "Thank you."
He waited, then nodded, and began to move away. A gust of cloud blew between them, blurring her sight of his slow, leisurely retreat. She'd walked so far, and this was the first person who had spoken to her in all that time. She was violently alone.
Amanda turned again to the Bay. She closed her eyes, lifted her head to breathe in the air. There, that feeling—that quiet ache as her lungs inflated each time, just at the peak of the breath, that was where she saw it. An invisible net spread beneath the Bridge, one that told her, don't bother. It doesn't matter what they say… You're not so far gone as all that.
O
How long she stood there, Amanda simply didn't know, because the dope they gave her dulled the edges of what she remembered. It had to have been at least a few minutes, but more than that? Perhaps. She could however recall the sensation of a thick-shouldered body in uniform grabbing her suddenly from behind and hauling her away from the railing. He knocked the air out of her so her protests were reduced to a wheezy gasp.
Her head bounced against the concrete as they tumbled to the ground. Flashes of color flooded her vision, blinding her to any other assailants. She could hear the gasps of surrounding pedestrians as they scooted away in surprise, though. The uniformed man rolled her over and pinned both wrists behind her back.
Amanda was preparing to counter the move with the martial arts she'd learned so well in the Maquis, then again in drills under Tuvok, when a second person rushed up behind her and blocked it. With both their weights holding her down, she couldn't fight.
"What in fucking hell," she gasped.
"Remain still," one of them, the first man, told her sternly. "You'll be all right."
"The hell I will," she snapped, wheezing for air. "Get off!"
"Please relax," said another voice. It was the Vulcan who had approached her just minutes before. Amanda could only barely see his outline in the corner of her eye; the second patroller had a large hand on the back of her head, gently forcing her forehead onto the pavement. But, she could see the shadow of an arm reaching toward her with a hypospray, and she felt it cold against her neck. Knowing what it was, she flinched to avoid it, but she couldn't get away. The hypospray hissed, and the contours of the struggle dissolved as she passed out.
O
Amanda woke up infuriated. Typically, when she'd been under anesthesia in the past, she'd come to without a thought in her head, and had only gradually regained some sense of what had happened. This time, she woke up enormously pissed off, which served as some testament to how angry she'd been when they'd put her under.
She looked around her slowly, wondering what to break first. There was a thin sheet covering her, and a flimsy gown in place of her clothes. A console was set into the wall behind the head of her bed, but that seemed too sturdy. She was in a small, narrow space with dim lights—also unbreakable—and a wide doorway with force field emitters (on the outside, naturally). A young woman with blonde hair wearing a blue-shouldered Starfleet uniform stood watching her from the other side of the field.
Amanda cleared her throat, testing her voice. "Am I in a Starfleet facility?" she asked.
"That's correct," the woman said, then bit her lip.
Oh, the irony. It was almost laughable, if she were of a mind, which she wasn't. And a fucking rookie to watch over her, too boot. "Go to hell," Amanda told her guard.
"I'll get one of the doctors," the cadet said, then disappeared past Amanda's field of vision.
"Yeah, you do that." As she waited, Amanda wondered whether it would be more productive to show that she was sane, or to feign instability. She had been beautifully un-suicidal at the moment of her arrest by the Suicide Watch, so perhaps the reverse would gain her freedom.
After a minute of further seething, she heard the doors outside whoosh open and closed. "You're welcome to observe, Cadet," a male voice was saying quietly, as though to end a conversation. He was approaching her cell. Amanda decided she'd rather die sitting up, so she hauled herself upright.
The doctor was an older human gentleman with glasses—did anybody still wear those things anymore? What was wrong with lasers?—and a padd, poised and ready for data input. "Good morning, Ms. Jackson," the doctor said.
Morning, was it? "How did you know my name?" she asked, eyeing the forcefield emitters.
"It's standard procedure to check the DNA of incoming patients against Starfleet and Federation records," he explained. "I understand you served on Voyager."
"'Served' is such a loose expression."
The doctor gave her a puzzled look and made a note on his padd. "May I come in?" he asked, gesturing to her cell.
Amanda made a great show of pretending to decide. "Yes," she finally said. "You may come in."
She waited patiently as the orderly lowered the force field. The doctor climbed through, and the cadet raised the field again. "My name is Doctor Reilly," he said, extending a hand in greeting.
Amanda observed his hand, steady but pale from lack of sunlight. "Just so you know, Doctor Reilly," Amanda said, "I decided not to attack you and hold you hostage when you entered, which would have been very easy given my background in hand-to-hand. Just like I decided not to jump off the fucking bridge before your thugs came and assaulted me!"
Dr. Reilly retracted his hand calmly and pulled out a tricorder, which he used to check her over—from an arm's length away. "I'm sorry if there's been a misunderstanding."
"Holy fucking Khitomer!" she spewed. "If I'd known it was this easy to get into Starfleet, I would never have applied to the Academy. Let alone gotten myself hauled across the galaxy on a ship meant for weekend vacations! I'm surprised you can keep anybody out."
"Ms. Jackson—"
"I mean, if all I had to do to get into the heart of Starfleet was attempt to leap off the Golden Gate Bridge, or should I say, look as though I might possibly do so, then I could have been in here years ago."
"Ms. Jackson, I—"
"Be careful next time you take a stroll around the vicinity of Starfleet, Cadet," Amanda called out to the blonde girl. "You never know what will happen to you in this town! Boy, a romantic walk along the Bay just ain't what it used to be!"
"Are you finished?" Dr. Reilly said, infuriatingly calmly.
"Yes, thanks very much. I'll be on my way now. By the way, can I have the clothes you apparently removed from my sleeping body when you shot me full of whatever? I've been wondering what happened to those."
"Ms. Jackson, we can't allow you to leave just now."
"How did I ever guess."
"We realize that on occasion, the patrol brings in individuals from the bridge who are not suicidal, in fact, but that happens only rarely—"
"I always knew I was special."
"—and we have to take precautions. I'd like a specialist to see you this morning, and if she says it's all right, then we can release you. I'm sorry for any inconvenience."
"Yeah. And until then?"
"Cadet Holden here will bring you some breakfast."
"Oh, so it's a bed and breakfast?" Amanda said. "Thank goodness, for a minute there I thought you'd thrown me in jail. In that case, Cadet, I like my eggs sunny-side up."
Dr. Reilly didn't even react, damn him. "We can't provide you with any utensils with sharp edges. I'm sure you understand."
That was the last straw. Amanda glowered at the doctor. "Get out," she ordered. He was already on his way, but at least the illusion of ordering him around made her feel microscopically better.
Dr. Reilly nodded to the cadet, who released the force field and brought it up once more when he was through. "Our specialist will be along shortly," he said, and left.
Oh, the misery. Amanda got busy staring at the wall.
O
Amanda had no way of telling the time, but she assumed that it was late morning when a short and curvy woman in her forties appeared at the gate, bearing Amanda's clothes. The woman was a commander, and she also wore a blue uniform. She released the force field herself and walked through without bringing it up behind her.
"My name is Counselor Deanna Troi," the woman said, with an exotic-sounding accent. She set the clothes on Amanda's bed. "I'm here to visit with you."
"They sent a commander?" Amanda said, surprised. "Just how crazy do they think I am?"
Troi smiled. At least she had a sense of humor. "They were fresh out of lieutenants this morning."
"Excellent."
"You know Starfleet ranks, then?"
"You know I do," Amanda pointed out as she turned her back to change her clothes. "You must have read my file."
"That's true, I did read it this morning."
"Pretty colorful, isn't it?" Amanda said, stepping into her pants. "I was thinking of finding a literary agent, making a few credits."
"I'm afraid Starfleet holds the rights."
"Damn. You people run everything, don't you?"
"May I ask you something, Ms. Jackson?" Troi asked. She had large, dark eyes that seemed to take in an awful lot.
"You may ask." Amanda jerked the gown off and replaced it with her own shirt. Blechhh. It smelled of antiseptics. Where had they kept her things, a broom closet?
"I wanted to know why you applied for entrance to Starfleet Academy if you don't particularly care for rank, or for the Fleet itself."
"What makes you think I don't?" Amanda reached for the comb that Troi was offering.
"I'm empathic, you know," Troi said, "but I don't often need to call upon those abilities. In this case, the way you talk about Starfleet and to the officers is evidence enough. I realize you're quite upset—"
"How could you tell!" A few teeth broke off the comb that she jerked roughly through her long, thick hair.
"But the way you've been talking this morning doesn't indicate a great deal of respect for Starfleet."
"Is that why I'm still in jail?" Amanda laughed at the irony as she retrieved the bits of broken comb from her hair. They were like small yellow plastic flower petals that had fallen into her auburn waves. "You know, all that time in the Maquis, I was scared they'd arrest me, a little kid at war. Instead, it took me seven and a half years plus an evening stroll to get arrested properly!"
"You're not under arrest."
"Yeah. Pull the other one."
"You're under watch. Starfleet does take care of her own."
"I'm not one of her own, Commander," Amanda pointed out. "You've obviously read that for yourself."
"I have. I'm sorry; the news of your rejection must be very disappointing."
Amanda didn't answer. She didn't trust herself.
"May I ask what you're planning to do now?" Troi asked. "Or is it too soon?"
Breathe, Amanda thought.
"Amanda?"
"I don't know yet. Listen, can I leave?"
Troi hesitated. "Ms. Jackson, so far, I can't say that I would be comfortable agreeing to that."
"What!"
Troi held up a hand. "Wait, please. You're not under arrest, despite what it looks like. You can leave, but we have to be sure that you're with someone responsible."
"Commander, maybe you didn't pick up on it with your empathy, but I was actually telling the truth. I'm not going to jump, I wasn't going to jump, this was all an incredibly inconvenient mistake on the part of your Vulcan patrol officer, and why the hell do you have a Vulcan on Suicide Watch in the first place!"
"I realize that you are telling the truth," Troi said, her voice low in an attempt to soothe her patient. "But as you noted, I've read your file. In my professional opinion, Starfleet ought to have taken better care of you when you returned."
"So now I have to have a signed note before I can leave the principal's office?"
"In a manner of speaking, yes. We want to make sure there's someone in your life to help you out. It's more than just procedure, Amanda," Troi explained. "Most of your crewmates elected to pursue counseling after your return. You didn't. And from what I understand, you have been through a lot of painful experiences. I believe that you were not about to kill yourself yesterday, but your reaction to the letter from Starfleet was very extreme nonetheless. You've been living alone and out of contact with anyone from Voyager. Your choice to apply to the Academy was surprising—"
"To whom?" Amanda snapped.
"To anyone who knows you."
Amanda was about to respond when she realized what Troi was referring to. "You mean—It was someone from the crew who…"
"I'm not permitted to tell you the name of the individuals who made the judgment on your psychological evaluation, but yes. One of them was part of the Voyager crew."
Amanda felt like the wind had been knocked out of her all over again. How could they have done this to her? Who was it? B'Elanna? Tom? Chakotay? None of them were still with the Fleet, could they have done it? Who?
"You've been through a lot, Amanda. I have a feeling that you'll pull through this," Troi said, "but I want to see you leave here in the company of someone who cares about you."
Amanda opened her eyes. "Commander, read the fucking file. There is no one left."
Troi waited a moment before responding. "Please try." She exited the room, and reset the force field on her way.
O
Amanda had no choice but to call Aaron. After two hours of straining herself to come up with some other option, she simply couldn't think of an alternative, other than to stay in a Starfleet holding cell for the rest of her days, shooting dirty looks at little Miss Cadet Holden. No, she'd just have to sack her pride and ask Aaron for help.
She had Holden place the call for her, and even so, it was somewhere around dinnertime—the second watch had relieved Holden an hour ago—before Aaron came. When he did, he looked like he was on the winning side of a firing squad.
Amanda expected about as much, but she didn't want to give Beta Shift a show. "Thanks for coming," she said, not quite meeting his eyes.
Aaron didn't say anything at first. He just looked around the hallway and craned his neck to see inside the other cells, which Amanda assumed were empty, judging by the silence. "I've never been on Starfleet grounds before."
"Welcome. So, were you out or something? I've been waiting…"
He leveled his gaze on her, his gray eyes bright against his tanned face. "I was trying to make up my mind whether to come or not."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard. I almost didn't come, but I decided to do the right thing."
She stared. "Thanks very much. Once we're out of here, you can explain to me what you're thinking."
"Do I have to explain?" he said quietly.
"Are you stalling or something? Aaron, I don't know what the hell they told you, but this was a gigantic, embarrassing mistake. I didn't do anything—the Vulcan thought I was going to jump, but I wasn't. I was taking a walk to calm down, and—"
"Is that all!"
"Yes! And the counselor they have here doesn't want to let me out unless someone's holding my hand, so can you sign the fucking permission slip? I'll explain the rest later, but for right now—"
"I don't need you to explain. They told me everything."
She was glaring at him now. "So what's the problem? Are you trying to make me feel like shit by standing here and embarrassing me? Am I supposed to beg? Do you want to dismiss the cadet there so we can have some kind of kinky jailhouse fantasy?"
"Amanda!"
"'Cause I'm really at a loss."
"Are you? Let me explain something," he said. "I'm angry."
"Got that. Same here."
"And this is the first time since I've met you that you've been somewhere that forced you to do a little self-reflection, and you still refuse."
"Okay, point one," she snapped, "before I met you, I spent seven years trapped in a torpedo bay, working on self-reflection. Didn't care for it. Point two, what the fuck are you, my therapist?"
"I'm the guy who's tired of getting kicked around because you can't deal with your own problems!" he said loudly.
She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. Shouting at each other wasn't going to get her out. "Aaron, I realize that I've been in a bad mood lately. I tried to talk to you about that the other day, but—"
"But what, you thought coming over to my place and throwing everything I told you back in my face would solve the problem?"
"No," she admitted. "However, I think that the two of us standing on either side of a force field in a Starfleet mental ward isn't doing us any favors, either."
"I didn't put you there."
"Right, but you're not getting me out, which is more to the point."
He threw up his hands angrily. "Will you cut the sarcasm, just for once? If you can stoop to realize it, I'm being serious."
"So am I!" she exploded. So much for staying calm. "What the hell is your problem? I'm sorry this inconveniences you, but this whole situation is just a stupid mistake, and I didn't have anyone else to call. So once again, if you can just get me out, then we can talk more later."
"Where do I begin? The part where I'm nothing but a last resort? Or the 'just a stupid mistake?'" he demanded. "You really think that's it? Amanda. You walked three miles through the city in your bare feet, deranged out of your damn head, because you got rejected from the Academy. Life has rejections, Amanda! You can't get around it! Am I supposed to stay by your side patiently every time you flip out because life doesn't go your way?"
"Yes!" Amanda shouted. "That's what you do if you love someone."
"How would you know!"
She blanched. "What?"
"And what about the lover in this little equation you've decided on? What do I get?"
Amanda felt his words like a blow to the gut. "Are you saying I haven't given you anything? Fuck you. I have trusted you. I… I love you."
"And?" he said.
"There is no 'and,'" she said, "and there shouldn't have to be."
"I'm at the end of my rope, Amanda. You are draining me. I love you, too, but—"
"There shouldn't be a 'but,' either!"
"Well, there is. I can't be a nursemaid to your grief and anger. It's using me up."
"What are you saying?"
He looked at his feet. "I'm not sure."
"Aaron, wait. Don't do this now. Let's just get out of here so we can talk this through." Amanda stepped closer to him and reached out to touch him. In doing so, she accidentally triggered the force field, and it sent a fast and painful shock up her arm. She jumped back in alarm. "Shit," she said, flexing her fingers to bring the feeling back.
Aaron edged a little closer, but unlike her, he stayed mindful of the field. "Careful. Are you all right?" He looked so concerned.
Amanda gazed at him. His gray eyes, beautiful and serious. He'd momentarily forgotten his anger, and looked on her with… pity. Could that be it? Could all of his love for her simply be the kindness he extended to every person—was that all there had ever been? Had he never realized just what she really was, for all the times she tried to tell him?
"You don't know me, or you wouldn't ask that," she told him. She reached out the same hand and deliberately placed her palm against the force field, which buzzed angrily on contact. This time she kept it there.
"Amanda, what are you doing?" He backed away.
"Do you think I'm not strong enough to deal with my problems?" she asked him calmly. "Do you think I can't cope with pain?"
Aaron turned to the cadet. "Call someone," he told the young cadet, who rushed to the console at the far end of the corridor. "Amanda, stop it."
"You're about to leave me, aren't you?" she said. Her whole arm was numb now.
"Take your hand away!"
"This isn't suicide, Aaron," she said. "This is me. No more dismissing it. I am a mess, I'm cracked up. I'm nothing but pieces. But I'm so much stronger than you. Take it or leave it."
He looked into her eyes. He was afraid.
Not of what she was doing. Of her.
"Amanda," he whispered.
Her wrist was shaking as the muscles of her arm went into spasms and her eyes watered in pain, but she held her ground. "Get out."
There was a final, excruciating moment between them before Aaron nodded, turned, and walked away. Amanda waited until she heard the sound of the doors closing before removing her hand and collapsing to the floor in pain.
O
"So, I hear you've got yourself in some trouble," a familiar voice said. Amanda raised her head to see Chakotay standing at the gates to her cell. It was evening of the next day, and she'd hardly eaten, slept, moved, or breathed since Aaron's departure.
She put her head back down. "Who told you? Is everyone from Voyager going to stop by my padded cell now? Are they going to broadcast it on the news?" She sighed. "How much do I have to pay you to keep this quiet?"
"How many questions was that, four?" Chakotay chuckled. "One, a woman by the name of Commander Deanna Troi contacted me this morning. I was a couple solar systems away, so I'm sorry for the delay. I caught the first flight in. Two, I doubt it. Three, I don't see any camera crews. And four, don't worry. It's already on my tab"
She heard him release the force field. "Funny. I thought they'd stopped arresting the Maquis," he said as he entered.
Amanda sighed and sat up. "Yeah. I was always behind the times." She eyed him carefully. "You do know this was all a mistake, right? I wasn't going to jump."
He nodded. "Yeah, I know. I didn't think you were the type."
"It's about time someone takes my side."
"Now, about the other stuff…"
She groaned. "Not you, too. Everything I've been hearing has been people telling me, 'Sorry about the bridge, but you're still too fucked up to leave.' What do they want?"
"Relax, Jackson," Chakotay said. "I'll help you get out of here, we'll talk later. Come on."
"Really?" After two days of humiliation and the horrible visit from Aaron, Amanda thought she would run out of here at the first opportunity. For some reason, though, she felt unmotivated. There was an emptiness that had taken up residence under her breastbone, ever since Aaron had left. She could leave the jail, yes, but what for?
Noticing that she hadn't made a move to leave, Chakotay leaned against her bed pensively. "I think Troi wanted me to ask you about how you're adjusting to life after Voyager."
"Are you asking?" Amanda wiggled the fingers on her right hand in front of her face; it had taken several hours for the feeling to come back after her prolonged handshake with the force field, and she still wondered about the nerve endings. Doctor Reilly had told her she would be fine, but he'd made an awful lot of notes.
"I figure that's your business, but you can tell me if you want."
Amanda shrugged. "I've been getting by."
"Met anybody?"
She looked at her feet. "He's gone."
Chakotay didn't say anything for a bit. "I've been working for some research organizations. Administrative duties."
"Really?"
"Boring work, but the quiet life is nice. The Admiral stops by when she can."
"Commander?" Amanda said curiously. "Why are you telling me this?"
"I thought I'd come as a friend, not your officer." He shrugged. "Troi really does want me to grill you about the problems you had on Voyager, though. I hear somebody failed you on your psych evaluation?"
She blanched. "If you tell a single soul about that application, I will find you and make you pay."
"Your secret's safe with me, Jackson," Chakotay said, "but I wonder why you applied if you didn't want anyone to know."
Because I didn't want them to know when I failed, she thought.
"So, about that pysch evaluation…" he said.
"Who was it on Voyager who failed me!"
"I don't know, but it wasn't me. I promise. They didn't even ask."
"Starfleet is wrong!" she snapped.
"It wouldn't be the first time," Chakotay agreed.
"I'm fine. I'm not crazy."
"That's good." He waited for her breathing to calm. "Life in the Fleet's okay, but personally, I think you're better off. You have a lot more options that you would as another mindless drone of the administration."
"Mindless drone?"
"It's not all it's cracked up to be."
Amanda shook her head. "I never knew you felt this way."
"What?" he said, laughing. "I left the Fleet the first time because I needed to defend my home world, and the Starfleet bureaucracy wouldn't budge. You had to have guessed that I wasn't happy with the system."
"Oh…" She hadn't really thought about that, not while Chakotay was in the uniform on Voyager.
"I did what I had to on Voyager so that we could all get by," he said. "But you'll notice I'm a civilian now. Same as you."
"What am I supposed to do, though?" she asked him. She wanted very badly to lie down again. "I know Starfleet. I don't know anything else."
"You always have something else, Amanda," he said. "You're different than most people. I know your life has thrown a lot in your path, but you've always been better at looking into the fire than charting a course away from it."
Amanda hadn't thought of it that way before. Maybe he was right.
"Do you want my advice?" he asked. She looked at him; he seemed in earnest, so she nodded.
"You're a smart girl—woman," he corrected himself. "I know things have been rough for you. But try calling on your old friends. I think there are several of us who don't give a damn what Starfleet thinks. We'll help you out, but only if you ask."
"I don't even know who's out there."
"Come on, Jackson," he said. "Think. Self-pity won't get you anywhere. What about Chell? You two were stationed together almost the whole seven years. Have you talked to him?"
"On purpose?"
Chakotay grinned. "Okay, Chell might be annoying, but he's very loyal. He could be a good job recommendation, and he's the best person to go to if you want to get in touch with anyone else. Or what about B'Elanna?"
"B'Elanna?" Amanda felt humiliated just thinking about her last in-depth conversation with her former officer. "She hates me."
Chakotay's brows rose in surprise. "Hates you? Not at all."
"Please," Amanda muttered.
"Weren't you in engineering long enough to notice that B'Elanna is only hard on the people she cares about? She ignored Vorik for about four years."
Amanda giggled in spite of herself. Okay, so maybe she wasn't the only one who had a few embarrassing stories from the Voyager years.
"Besides," Chakotay reasoned, "look at Tom Paris. I've never seen her get angrier at anyone else, and look how that wound up."
"I'm not going to marry her, Chakotay."
"No, but I bet she'd give you a leg up, if you asked."
"Why do I always have to be the one to ask?"
He held up his hands in a shrug. "How else will we know you need the help? It's not just you, anyway. Look at me, I didn't have much more than you when we got back. But I sucked up my pride and dropped by the res for first time since I was twelve. One of the tribal councilmen's daughters had a lead on the job I have now."
"The res?"
"Reservation. The Cherokee out in Oklahoma still got some land that's just ours. Sorry—Indians still call it the res, it's a pre-first contact government term. Well, second contact, to us."
"I didn't know any of that."
Chakotay smiled. "Everybody's got a story. I'll spring for dinner and you can hear the rest over fajitas. Now come on. I'm breaking you out of this jail cell."
"Chakotay?"
"Hmm?"
She felt her face flushing. "I don't know where to go now."
He shrugged. "I suggest leaving this cell and coming to dinner. After that, it's up to you."