Title: Kiss of the Spider People
Series: Star Trek: Voyager
Author: Singing Violin
Rating: T
Summary: Janeway gets into some hot water with some hostile aliens. Set shortly after "Coda."
Disclaimer: They're not mine (except the aliens), so don't send me money for my story. This one might count as parody, though it's not funny.
Feedback: Yes please.
Archiving: Anywhere.
Chapter 8: Life and Death
As Chakotay lingered in the doorway, the Doctor ceased his frantic motions and stood still, almost reverently, over the captain. He then uttered one heartbreaking sentence, and Chakotay thought he felt his soul shatter as the hologram's words passed his ears.
"Record time of death, 0547 hours."
Fighting tears yet again, the commander steeled himself and exited Sickbay. There was no time to dwell on broken hopes and dreams; there was a crisis underway, and he was needed on the bridge.
"Tuvok," he spoke into the air, knowing the communication line was still open, and idly wondering whether the bridge crew had overheard the unwelcome news, "how was the ship destroyed?"
"Unknown, Commander," he heard. "Or shall I address you as Captain?"
"Negative, Tuvok," he responded quickly, though the remark had answered his unasked question: they knew. But he wasn't ready to accept it, not yet. If he acknowledged that she was gone, he would have to mourn, and he didn't have time for that – not now, not with an unknown threat that had already destroyed another ship. Moreover, to take the captain's title would be to affirm the fact that his valiant efforts to save her life had been in vain, and perhaps, that in light of his monumental failure, he was not worthy of the job he had inherited.
For a moment, he contemplated passing up the job and letting Tuvok take over. The Vulcan, of course, had known Captain Janeway longer than he, and would probably need to spend hours meditating to deal with the loss, but at least his logic would allow him to function in the meantime …
"Commander?" he heard, and realized he'd given no further instructions. Perhaps now would be a good time to let Tuvok know he was the new captain.
Chakotay shook himself then, realizing that the greatest disservice he could do to the captain's memory would be to shirk his duties now. "I'll be there in a moment. Stand by," he ordered, entering the turbolift and hitting his communicator to end the connection.
As soon as the doors closed, he slid down the wall, sinking into a heap on the floor, his head in his hands as his face screwed up. For a moment, he allowed himself the luxury of grief, and large, hot tears spilled from his eyes, trickled over his fingers, and dripped onto the floor.
He realized then that the turbolift had not moved. Hastily wiping his eyes and, with considerable effort, rising from the floor, he ordered the bridge. As the lift began the short journey towards its destination, Chakotay concentrated on composing himself. Though probably noone would blame him, it would unsettle an already upset crew if their commander showed up on the bridge an emotional wreck. He needed to be strong … for them, and for her.
When he exited the turbolift, no sign of his recent breakdown was evident, except perhaps to the perceptive Vulcan, who seemed to eye him with considerable concern as he ceded the bridge to his superior officer.
"On screen," Chakotay ordered, and instantly, the debris from the explosion assaulted his eyes. Dread settled in his chest as he turned to Tuvok, looking desperately for an explanation that did not involve a Red Alert. "Are there other ships in the vicinity?" he asked.
"None that we can detect," answered Tuvok, and the unspoken threat hung heavy in the air: if the ship that destroyed the alien vessel is here, it may be cloaked.
However, after keying a few codes at his station, he offered an explanation. "It appears we are responsible for the alien ship's destruction. I'm detecting a Federation weapons signature."
Alarmed, Chakotay stared. "Did you order someone to fire?" he asked warily, realizing as soon as the words escaped his lips that they were rather inane. After all, if Tuvok had given the order, he wouldn't have been so surprised …
"No," was the prompt response. "The command appears to have originated from Engineering."
"How is that possible?" asked Chakotay. "Someone would have had to authorize such an attack."
The Vulcan raised an eyebrow. "Indeed."
Instantly, the commander ran through possibilities in his mind. The only person who had that authority, of course, was Lieutenant Torres. But Chakotay couldn't imagine her taking matters into her own hands like that: though she was hot-headed at times, she wasn't that foolish, was she? Could her judgment have been affected by the captain's death? Then he reminded himself that she probably didn't yet know … it was only the bridge crew that had overheard over the comm. Wasn't it?
The commander tapped his communicator. "Chakotay to Engineering. B'Elanna, you there?"
"Aye, Sir," he heard. "We felt something a little while ago. Is everything all right?"
"We're trying to determine that," he answered. "What you felt was the destruction of the alien ship, and it appears the order to fire on it came from your department."
"That's not possible …" she started, but then halted. "Hold on," she amended.
Seconds later, she continued, sounding rather distraught. "I am so sorry," she stated. "I didn't realize I'd …"
Chakotay interrupted her. "Don't worry about blame right now, B'Elanna. What happened?"
"If I may," another voice interjected, "I destroyed the mother ship. I thought you would appreciate my preemptive efforts to protect yours."
Kes stared disbelievingly at the lifeless body of the woman who had served as a surrogate mother to her for the majority of her lifetime. Had the Doctor's efforts really failed? Was the captain really gone? It didn't seem within the possibilities of the universe she knew that something could defeat Captain Janeway, nor that she could essentially lose a parent for the third time in her life. She barely remembered her birth mother, and she missed her father terribly, but she knew the loss of the captain was going to be completely different, a far greater trauma, and perhaps one from which she would never completely recover.
Trying desperately to distract herself from the shock and grief, she began reading charts for the autopsy. Something caught her eye.
"Doctor," she called, her voice trembling with emotion. "You've got to take a look at this."
"What is it, Kes?" he asked, sounding quite annoyed – perhaps a coping mechanism to avoid dealing with the evident inadequacies of his program that had caused the captain's death.
She pointed at the readout. "The poison's moving," she observed. "It's concentrating itself in her muscle tissue."
Suddenly fascinated, the Doctor pushed Kes aside and began typing commands into the console. "It makes sense," he confirmed. "It's trying to digest the most edible parts of her. Before, when her immune system was fighting it, it was attempting to hide, to survive while it waited for the victim to die. That was why we couldn't get to it to counteract it. But now …"
He fell silent for a moment, then spoke up again. "Kes, get me one hundred cc's of the serum in a hypodermic needle. Now."
Scrambling, she handed him the requested item, and he set to work immediately, injecting the antidote directly into the sites at which the venom had collected.
"Cortical stimulators," he said, and again, Kes retrieved the device promptly, placing it on the captain's forehead.
"Clear," he demanded, and Kes typed a command, causing the captain's body to arch violently.
"Again," he ordered after Janeway became still once more. She jerked anew, and a beeping noise began.
"We have a heartbeat," announced the Doctor triumphantly, and Kes could have sworn the lights of Sickbay actually increased their illumination at the joyful revelation. "Oxygen," the EMH requested.
Kes obliged, placing the mask over the captain's face, which immediately began turning from its pale grey pallor towards the rosy hue of a living human being …
Why did the aliens seem angry with him? Clearly, he had done them a favor in destroying the mother ship. With the repairs nearly complete, She wouldn't have let them get away so easily a second time.
The ship's new leader and its dark-coated second-in-command regarded him intently, and he resisted the urge to shrink under the scrutiny.
"Why did you do it?" they asked him.
"To protect you," he replied emphatically, frustrated at their failure to acknowledge the obvious. "Really, I see no reason for this persecution," he added, looking towards the guards who had trained their weapons on him.
The two in command eyed each other before readdressing him. The dark one spoke. "We don't believe you."
He didn't understand why they couldn't accept a favor. By all accounts, he had saved their lives. His antennae drooped with the realization that perhaps he had completely misjudged this race. Was it possible that they were as paranoid and backwards as his own people?
The painted one spoke up. "Are there other ships in your fleet?" it asked.
"Yes, of course," he answered. "But none more powerful than the one I have destroyed. You might easily defeat them in battle."
The first-in-command hesitated before continuing. "One at a time, or collectively? What kind of retaliation can we expect for the destruction of your greatest ship and your world's leader?"
It paused, but not long enough for the tinkerer to interject. "Even if I were to condone the slaughter of sentient beings in general," it explained, "which we don't, as a rule – it seems that your act of aggression may have put us in more danger. Your ship was not threatening us …"
He interrupted quickly. "But it did! And it would have again! I protected you!" he insisted.
"That may be," answered the alien. "But you see, that is not how we do things among our people. We try to resolve conflict in nonviolent ways, mostly because we have learned that violence begets violence. I cannot judge at this time whether we can afford to stay within your space long enough to return you to your home world, nor whether you still wish to return, knowing we will tell them what you have done."
He didn't think he'd felt a greater sense of betrayal at any point during his lifetime. "You promised that I would have safe passage home in return for helping your former leader," he pleaded, his words confirming his continued desire to repatriate. "Do your people also not believe in keeping promises?"
The alien appeared to contemplate his words. "Our former leader is dead," it stated, causing an audible noise – of surprise? – to escape from the Chief Engineer and some of the others present. So his suspicions had been correct – the efforts to save its life had been futile – and yet, it seemed, the news of the death had not yet been circulated. He contemplated the implications of those two seemingly incongruous conclusions. He also mused on the clear evidence that the departure of one worshipped individual was a difficult circumstance to accept for any species, even in the event that said departure was in their best interest long-term. Shouldn't the one in command now at least be glad of its newfound authority? Why didn't it seem at all pleased with the news it had just dispensed?
The alien continued. "Escort our guest to the brig," it ordered the guards. Then, it turned back to address him. "I'll deal with you later."
Alarmed, he protested. "What about the sensor shield?"
He was shot with a look he thought might have been disgust. "I have a feeling that would never have worked," it stated, its words of distrust providing a further blow to his pride. "And if there is any hope, they can continue without your help."
"I saved your life!" he tried again as the alien turned to leave.
It halted, turning back to face him. "For now, perhaps," it amended, "and for now, we will save yours. You will not be harmed while we figure out what to do with you."
Somehow, he did not find that particularly reassuring, but left without a choice, he allowed the guards to escort him to their prison.
There was only one thing certain in Chakotay's mind, and that was that he desperately needed the captain's advice. Should they offer the alien asylum? Honestly, he didn't trust the thing as far as he could throw it, and considered it a threat as long as it was still on the ship. If it could remotely destroy its own ship on a perceived threat to who knew what – he didn't believe for a moment that its motives were altruistic – it could whimsically decide to "save" someone else by destroying Voyager. And if it managed to con B'Elanna into allowing it the access it needed to fire, he had no doubt it would find a way to manage whatever it attempted.
The captain would know what to do, if she were here. If only he could just talk to her one last time …
Well, he could, at least, talk to her, even if she couldn't talk back. Perhaps she could still help him sort out his thoughts. He made his way to Sickbay.
As the doors opened, he blinked furiously, distrusting the evidence presenting itself before his very eyes. The captain was wearing an oxygen mask, and Kes and the Doctor worked around her, setting up equipment and occasionally injecting her with hyposprays.
He gaped. Hadn't she been dead? What miracle was this? Or was it an illusion, a trick his distraught mind was playing on him? Had he passed out in the turbolift, and was dreaming the whole thing? Slowly, he crept forward, wanting desperately for his vision to be reality, but not wanting to be duped yet again into false hope. He didn't think he could take another disappointment without breaking entirely.
Or had he already broken?
He felt as if he were moving through a hazy dream as he approached her side, and the medics, still busy with their ministrations, did nothing to halt his progress, adding to his suspicions that the entire scene was playing out inside his mind. Yet, when he touched her arm, it was warm, and the heat seemed to radiate through his skin and directly into his heart, infusing it with the almost-forgotten sensation he distantly identified as hope.
Then she opened her eyes.
He began to cry, not contemplating the effect his apparent distress would have on her as her waking greeting.
The beeping instantly increased its tempo, and he felt himself being pushed aside, his hand seeming to freeze into ice as it left her skin. Unaware of his gesticulation, he continued to reach out towards her as she tunneled into the distance.
Small hands grabbed onto him then, steadying him as he realized belatedly that he had almost fainted. He felt himself being led to a biobed, and obediently lay as the Ocampa returned to treating her original patient. He watched in silence, catching only a word here and there as they seemed to struggle to keep her alive.
"Deep breaths …"
"Quickly …"
"Don't fight it."
"Trying to help you …"
Something nagged at the corner of Chakotay's mind. Somehow he knew that the captain was not being comforted or helped by the Doctor's words, though he wasn't exactly sure why.
"We're losing her," he heard, and instantly, his mind was made up. Swallowing harshly, he jumped down off the biobed and made his way back towards the captain.
"Can't you sedate her?" he found himself asking desperately.
The Doctor shot him a dirty look. "She's too weak. It'd kill her." The EMH then resumed his ineffective attempts to calm her, as she seemed to grow even more agitated.
"Something she told me …" Chakotay started. "I think she …" Why couldn't he articulate what he wanted? The words were all muddled in his head. Finally, he raised his voice to express the one coherent thought in his mind. "Let me try!"
Helplessly, the hologram stood aside and allowed the commander access. Chakotay peered down at her and attempted to enter her field of vision as she stared, seemingly despondent, at the ceiling. He reached down and brushed a lock of hair out of her face, and the beeping that echoed her heartbeat slowed slightly.
"That's good!" exclaimed the Doctor. "Keep going!"
He began to whisper to her. "Kathryn, listen to me," he said, all the while stroking her hair. "You're alive, and we're trying to keep you that way. Please, stay with us. I love you so much. Please live."
Going completely on instinct, he reached underneath her and, careful not to disturb the tubes attached to her body, gathered her frail form into his arms as the frantic beeping continued to decrease in tempo.
She weighed less than some children he had carried, and he marveled that she could still be alive as he cradled her and began to rock her. He had no doubt that, if she had the strength, she'd be crying right now, and he attempted to soothe her as if she were, holding her gently and kissing her forehead. It wasn't long before she fell asleep in his arms, and ever so carefully, he replaced her on the biobed.
"Thank you, Commander," the Doctor acknowledged. "I …"
Chakotay didn't hear the rest of the EMH's words as he collapsed to the Sickbay floor, unconscious, having finally succumbed to the shock of the morning's events.