The Ring
Chapter 6 - Civilians
After six weeks of "debriefing" conducted in the manner of a ruthless prosecution, Starfleet released the remaining Voyager crew members with their ranks intact. There were no promotions, no bonuses, no celebrations, just the possessions they'd brought along for a three week cruise, over seven years ago, and an open door that their Maquis crewmates didn't have. Each received six months' paid leave, during which Starfleet counselors would assess their fitness for further assignments, if the crew so desired, or the possible need for early "retirement." The panel of admirals stared down from the stage of the original debriefing lecture hall as Rear Admiral Bergen gave these final orders.
"In light of the hardships you've all endured the last seven years, we expect that retirement will be the appropriate choice for many of you. During this period of evaluation, you are not to leave the planet without written permission." A few other details came out in this final statement that had not been known by the entire crew. Tuvok, of course, had already received leave on medical grounds to return to Vulcan for treatment of his neurological disorder. Seven, Icheb, Mezoti, Azan, and Rebi were considered neither Starfleet nor Maquis. According to the review panel, they were all participating voluntarily in new research on Borg physiology. The EMH had been deactivated pending further study of his programming.
Captain Janeway made one last stand when the admirals adjourned the debriefings without giving her a chance to speak. "We demand to know the location of our missing family members and crewmates," she cried, jumping to her feet as security attempted to clear the hall. "Keeping us apart is a violation not just of Federation protocols but of the Third Vulcan Convention on the Treatment of Prisoners. You are holding other species among these prisoners. There will be an interplanetary diplomatic uproar when word of this gets out!"
She'd made these protests on a near-daily basis for the last six weeks, and Admiral Nechayev rose to face her this time with an expression of great weariness. Nechayev was clearly in charge of the proceedings, although she assigned twitchy little Bergen most of the speaking roles.
"Well, I see someone's been doing a little legal research in her spare time. Captain Janeway," she said, emphasizing the rank that Janeway had been allowed to keep, for now. "Surely you understand that enemy combatants must be handled with the utmost caution. Our investigation into the Voyager Maquis is not complete, and we cannot take the risk that sensitive information might be communicated during visits. I would think you of all people would be grateful to have been spared prosecution after such a callous betrayal by your own husband. What must I say to impress upon you that these Maquis are dangerous? Once all of you have been reauthorized for duty and your security clearances restored, you will be eligible to petition for visitation with the prisoners, although of course I cannot make promises."
Janeway's hands formed into fists on the table before her. "Surely," she said, imitating Nechayev's condescending tone, "you don't consider a two-month-old baby a security risk? Surely you have no justification for keeping her from her father?"
Nechayev's eyebrows rose. "Of course not. But the logistics of removing the child from its mother and delivering it" – at which Janeway interrupted.
"Her," she retorted. Her tone was calm but her face was getting red. "She's a little girl, not an it."
Nechayev's face closed in anger. "We were trying to be compassionate by leaving the nursing child with its mother. However, if the father wishes to assert his parental rights, we can" – and Tom Paris jumped up.
"No!" he cried. "No, leave her with B'Elanna! But can't I – can't I see them, at least? Even – even under supervision, if that's how it has to be?" Janeway turned to him with obvious surprise. It was unlike Tom to plead this way, rather than delivering the tongue-lashing the admirals deserved, but his face showed only desperation. "Please," he begged Nechayev, who seemed to soften a little at his supplicating attitude.
"We may be able to arrange a visit with the child," she said, "but not with the mother, not yet."
Tom nodded in obsequious gratitude. "Thank you," he replied. Janeway sought his eyes, but he refused to look at her.
Nechayev had half-turned away, but now she stepped up to the podium again with an odd, crafty look on her face. "Perhaps we would look more favorably on your visitation request, Captain, if you would sign the annulment papers, as a sign that you've accepted the unfortunate situation in which you find yourself."
Security officers edged in from the rear door of the hall as the look on Janeway's face transformed from furious to homicidal. Emotions passed across her face and she seemed to consider various responses before her face closed in a mask of contempt.
"Go to hell, Admiral," Janeway growled, then pivoted and marched toward the exit, security at her heels.
"I guess we're supposed to feel lucky," Tom remarked to Janeway in a sarcastic tone as security ushered them from the building without further process. Their pre-packed bags materialized in a neat pile beside them as the remaining senior staff stood on the wide steps of Headquarters, staring out at a city that now looked hostile.
"I feel like leaving here is abandoning them," Harry said. "But we don't even know where they are." He looked around at the leafy campus, as if hoping to see his Maquis friends emerging from trees, climbing out of fountains, but there was nothing.
"At least we know what our next mission is," Janeway told them as she shouldered her bag and looked downhill with calculating eyes. "Let's go find our housing assignments and meet at six tonight at … at that pub down there." She pointed at a glowing sign far down the hill, where a large leprechaun was pouring a pint of beer down his throat. Without a backward glance at the institution to which she had devoted her life, she snatched up Chakotay's duffel with her other hand and set off at a brisk march toward the nearest transport station. Her silent crew fell into line behind her without question.
#
That evening, shortly after the appointed hour, Tom and Harry slammed through the front door of the pub in torn civilian clothes with fresh bruises on their faces. Janeway and Samantha Wildman sat with their backs against the far back wall, also in civilian clothes, surrounded by half a dozen members of the crew, nursing beers.
"It can't be true," Harry was saying to Tom in a low voice as they crossed the small pub. "He loved her all these years, I'm sure of it. Nobody is capable of a deception like that. It would make him some kind of … monster. And she's too wise a woman to fall in love with someone who could betray her like that. Nothing Chakotay said in that video made any sense, but everyone seems to believe it."
When Tom and Harry got close enough that she could see their condition, Janeway jumped up. "What happened to you?" she cried. "You've been attacked."
Harry frowned. "Actually, we did most of the attacking," he said, as he tried to pull the torn seam of his sleeve back together.
"You oughta see the other guys!" Tom crowed and clapped Harry on the back.
Harry winced. "Careful with the back, Tom. That's where the big guy slammed me up against the wall."
Janeway looked from one to the other in astonishment. "Why in the world would you attack someone?" she asked in a tone of maternal admonishment. They exchanged a glance but neither answered. She put her hands on her hips. "Tell me," she said. "That's an order."
Tom just looked away but Harry put a hand to the graze on his cheek and focused somewhere around his former captain's shoulder as he admitted in a low voice, "They insulted you."
Janeway came around the far side of the table and caught Tom by the arm. "Is this true, Tom?" she asked in a lower voice, so that their conversation wouldn't be audible to other pub patrons, who were beginning to notice the very recognizable gathering at the back.
He faced her angrily and leaned down to hiss so that only she could hear. "Yes it's true. Couple of guys out on the street knew us from those vids that are everywhere, one of them started asking if every man on the crew got his turn with you, so I broke his nose. I should have broken his neck!"
Janeway's face paled but she squeezed Tom's arm in an expression of gratitude. "And you, Harry?" she asked, stepping around Tom.
Harry blushed and shook his head. "I won't repeat what they said," he told her. "But they seem to believe Chakotay's statement. In their infinite wisdom, Starfleet released the vid to the press. People think he played you."
Janeway swallowed and hesitated for a moment. The triangle of her, Tom, and Harry created a small private space. Within it, she met his eyes with an awful, vulnerable question. "And you, Harry? What do you think?"
Harry brushed something from his eye before standing as straight as he had ever stood at attention. "I think I've never seen two people who love each other more, and I'll gladly step outside with anybody who says differently."
Janeway stepped forward and hugged them both impulsively. "I've been proud to serve with you both," she said as she stepped back, "but I'm even prouder to have you as friends." She gave them both her brightest smile and gestured to the server for another round of beer. But as she settled back into her seat beside Samantha, Janeway let a heavy sigh escape.
Samantha squeezed her hand. "I'm so sorry about all this, Captain. It's bad enough for the rest of us, but what they're doing to you is disgraceful. I'm sure most people are sensible enough to see through this charade Starfleet is putting on."
Janeway squeezed back, but shook her head. "No, Sam, they're not. I've heard enough in the last six weeks, and then the last six hours, to know that. If Starfleet can believe it, anyone will. People think… that I'm some kind of desperate fool who betrayed the Federation for a known terrorist. And they think if I fell into his bed so easily, I must be a raging nymphomaniac. Even one of the officers who debriefed me asked me over to his place for a drink. I can hardly walk down the street without being propositioned in very explicit terms. And there are paparazzi following me. It took me a half hour to lose them so I could meet the crew here." When Janeway finished this whispered confession, she looked up to see Samantha's mouth hanging open in shock.
"Captain, that's terrible!" Sam exclaimed. "We've got to do something!"
"The only thing that will make any difference," Janeway clarified to the whole table, which had turned to listen to the quiet conversation, "is to free our crewmates and clear their names, clear all our names. It doesn't matter what anybody says about me. I can handle it. All that matters is what Starfleet has done to them, who's framing Chakotay, and who's behind the character assassination campaign. Understood?"
Up and down the table, the crew lifted their glasses in silent, grim agreement.
#
Some of the crew had returned immediately to long-lost family and friends, falling into those welcoming arms in overwhelming relief that the rest of the crew could not begrudge. Due to the off-planet travel ban during the security review, others were waiting for loved ones who were now traveling from other planets. They spent their days supporting their comrades. And those whose dearest ones were imprisoned had no choice but to seek out any possible ally in the Starfleet hierarchy. Paris and Janeway made lists of their own and their fathers' closest contacts, many of them quite elderly, and set out on one-on-one covert visits to every person.
These distinguished officers, many of them retired, were aghast at the story of Voyager's homecoming, but most were not in a position to do much. Some made discreet inquiries, only to meet with a stone wall of security. Others didn't want to get involved, and a few even seemed to believe the falsified news reports. One of Admiral Paris's former first officers lectured Tom about following "that Janeway woman" and urged him to keep his nose clean if he wanted to see his family again. Paris came back to his and Harry's shared quarters after that interview and spent more than an hour attacking the heavy punching bag they'd installed in the main room for exactly this circumstance.
Janeway had first attempted to contact Tuvok on Vulcan, but the director of the Vulcan medical facility that was treating him informed her that Tuvok was undergoing a lengthy recovery process involving full sequestration from contact beyond his spiritual and medical support team. Janeway had no way of knowing if the excuse given by the Vulcan doctor was part of the same stonewalling she met everywhere else.
"Please accept my sincere apologies at not being able to help you," Dr. Trélan said, folding her elegant hands, "but it would be detrimental to his recovery. I cannot interrupt the treatment protocol."
"No, of course not," Janeway replied without hesitation. "You must do nothing that would jeopardize his recovery. If it is permitted, however, would you please convey that I urgently need to speak with him at an appropriate time?"
"At an appropriate time, yes," the Vulcan agreed, and ended the transmission. Janeway sat back, covered her face with her hands, and immediately initiated her first contact with Seven of Nine since the day of Voyager's arrival on Earth. The call was intercepted by a crisp female assistant who insisted that an appointment was necessary to see Seven.
"I'm sure that's not necessary," Janeway replied. "Please, tell her who's calling."
"My instructions are that everyone requires an appointment," the woman said. "It would be inefficient for Ms. Hansen to screen inquiries personally. She has an opening next Tuesday at six p.m."
Janeway therefore found herself waiting at the appointed time outside the secure outer doors of Seven's laboratory near the center of Starfleet's vast research complex, near the water in Oakland. The same assistant, who introduced herself as Ensign Palleau, immediately demanded Janeway's tricorder.
"I beg your pardon? I've never heard of such a thing at a Starfleet facility." Janeway recoiled and put a hand over the device at her hip. She was in civilian clothes for her leave, but still carried the tricorder as an inseparable part of her anatomy. "I may be on leave, but I still outrank you, Ensign."
Ensign Palleau held her ground. "You retain your rank, but your security clearance has not yet been restored. I am under orders not to permit you to enter a secure research facility with an analytical device."
With a look that could melt glass, Janeway slapped the tricorder down on Ensign Palleau's palm without a word. Palleau then led Janeway at a crisp pace to a well-lit upper-story office, with windows overlooking the bay and the name Annika Hansen embossed on the glass beside the door. "Ms. Hansen will be with you shortly. Please do not leave this room," Ensign Palleau directed.
Janeway's glare followed Palleau from the room, but Palleau did not notice. For several long minutes, Janeway took in the completely impersonal décor of Seven's office – landscape paintings that looked as if they'd been taken recently from storage, standard-issue Starfleet furniture, but other than that, not a plant, a photo, or the slightest personal touch. She stepped up to the replicator and ordered coffee. The replicator sputtered, spewed a stream of dark liquid, then, too late to catch a drop, produced a cup. The corners of Janeway's mouth turned upward. She turned away to admire the view.
It was another five minutes before Seven appeared in the doorway. "I apologize for my tardiness," she said. "I was detained by an urgent request from Admiral Nechayev."
"May I borrow your tricorder, Seven?" Janeway asked.
With a confused expression, Seven stretched out an arm holding the device. "Of course."
"One moment," Janeway said. She performed a few quick modifications to the tricorder and scanned the room for recording devices. The scan came up empty. Janeway removed her modifications, shut the office door, and returned the tricorder to Seven.
"May I ask what you just did?" Seven inquired with one eyebrow raised high.
"May I ask what your business with Nechayev is?" Janeway demanded.
Seven's gaze faltered. Janeway took a few steps toward her. Seven tried to back up, but found her desk too close behind her. At last she met Janeway's insistent eyes.
"She wanted to see me because she believes that you may attempt to compromise our research plans."
"What research plans?" Janeway asked in a low, threatening voice.
"That is classified. I am not at liberty to say," Seven answered.
"Seven," Janeway said, putting a hand to her brow and the other to her hip, "I have no idea what your research is. I probably don't care. The only reason I'm here is, first, to make sure you're okay, and second, to ask for your help in clearing the names of our Maquis crewmembers."
Seven's taut shoulders seemed to relax a fraction. "What would you require?" she asked.
"Someone is producing false videos of the crew, implicating us in crimes and protocol violations that we never committed. For the Starfleet crew, it was possible to prove during our debriefings that there was no real evidence that we had done any of the things of which we were accused. But for the Maquis – are you aware of the vid released of Commander Chakotay's supposed confession? You weren't in the room the day they showed it to us."
"I have been very … occupied by my research," Seven said, examining the implants on her hand. "I have heard discussion of the video, but I chose not to watch it. I prefer to put my time on Voyager behind me."
"Seven, I haven't seen Chakotay since the first night of debriefings," Janeway explained, taking a small step closer. Seven still resisted eye contact. "I was in the room when Admiral Paris was murdered. It happened so quickly. There was a large, dark figure who fired on both of us with two phasers, but the one for Owen was set to kill, and for me, only to stun. I was never interrogated about what happened, just detained for several hours, then freed without any explanation. I went back to our quarters that night and he was gone – then the next day they showed us the vid."
Seven shifted from one sleek, booted foot to the other. "I am sorry for this turn of events, but I don't understand what you wish me to do."
Janeway gestured impatiently. "There's so much you could do! Obtain the biosign readings from that night. They'd show where Chakotay was, and what really happened. Starfleet Security has been giving me the run-around, saying that the evidence has been tampered with and there's nothing conclusive except his confession. Surely you could get behind whatever tampering has gone on and expose the truth. I'm sure it will exonerate him."
As Janeway spoke, Seven had turned her head to stare out at the evening sky. She was quiet for a long moment after Janeway finished her plea. Finally she lowered her chin a little. Without facing Janeway, she said. "Chakotay is capable of being … calculating. I have observed that personally. Perhaps you too misjudged his feelings for you." Her eyes came up at last, shockingly blue and very cold, to meet Janeway's for only a second.
Janeway staggered back as if Seven had struck her, raising a hand to her throat. "Whatever has happened among us," she said, "he was a true friend to you. I have been a true friend to you. Won't you honor that friendship, now when he needs you most?"
Seven stood a little straighter as she watched Janeway's emotional reaction to her words. She clasped her hands behind her back and spoke to the window pane. "I have new friends," she said. "Friends who don't require anything of me but my reciprocal friendship, who aren't using me as a convenient past time until someone better is available, who don't want to shape me in their own image. I have learned a great deal more about friendship here on Earth than I ever learned on Voyager … or on a Borg cube, for that matter. These are the friendships I will honor."
Janeway stepped up next to Seven. Rather than the view, she saw the paired reflections in the glass: the tall, sleek woman beside her, and her own petite frame and determined gaze. "Even if you no longer consider us friends," she said, "you have always cared about the truth. Can you allow this sort of deception and sabotage to carry on?"
Seven looked away from the glass, down and to the right, as if considering. Finally, she spoke. "I do not believe there has been any deception. The newsvids are deplorable, but to be expected from Earth society as I am coming to know it. I am not proud of what I am discovering about human civilization. And as for Commander Chakotay, I would have preferred not to reveal to you what I have learned about him. But since you call upon my dedication to truth, I will share my data." She walked behind her desk, drew a pad from a drawer, and with a few taps downloaded information to it. She handed the object to Janeway. "You will find that Starfleet told you the truth. There was an attempt to corrupt the data, but it was by Commander Chakotay himself. He masked his biosign, and emitted a false biosign in his quarters, to hide his actions when he killed Admiral Paris and attacked you."
Janeway's eyes narrowed as she accepted the pad. With a few clicks, she scanned its contents, which seemed to confirm Seven's words. "More lies," she said, with a quick head shake. "May I keep this? I'd like to study it further."
"It is irrelevant to me. Do what you like with it," Seven said. She touched her combadge. "Ensign Palleau, Captain Janeway is ready to be escorted back to the security perimeter."
Janeway stood staring at her one-time protégé. Her earlier attitude of concern had evaporated, replaced by the same sort of cold fury she'd previously saved for Nechayev. "I guess you've finally become fully human," she said. "You've learned betrayal. I wish I hadn't lived to see this day." She gave Seven a powerful parting glare, but moved with heavy, difficult steps toward the door and reached it just as Ensign Palleau opened it from the other side.
"Ready?" Palleau asked in a bright tone.
As Seven studied her former commanding officer's back, something in Palleau's question seemed to draw up Janeway to full height and strength again, after the blow so recently suffered.
"Always," Janeway snapped, without a backward glance at Seven. She snatched back her tricorder from Palleau and shouldered past the ensign into the corridor.