Lotos Days
By Penny A. Proctor

ACT ONE
Day 1- Morning

She drifted in a blue-white fog, feeling pleasantly light. It was like floating, she thought, floating on a lake on an early autumn day, when the sun was still high but the air starting to turn cool. The smell was wrong, though. The smell was sterile, like a laboratory where they worked on delicate equipment. But she was lying down. Why would she be lying down in a laboratory?

She opened her eyes and found herself staring up at a mauve ceiling with an arc of soft lights pointing back at her. It was unfamiliar, and she felt the pleasantly buoyant sensation fade quickly. When she tried to sit up she realized that her arms and legs were restrained. The last remnant of pleasure faded.

"Good. You're awake. I'm Dr. Vela," a brisk voice said, and she turned her head to the right. A woman with lavender hair and wearing a white lab coat stood beside the bed. She had three pronounced ridges on the bridge of her nose, and two more on each cheekbone.

"Where am I?" she asked the doctor. "What happened?"

"This is a medical ward." Vela checked a small datapad for information. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"I - I don't know." Concentration was useless; worse, it was like walking through a strange room in the dark. There were shadows and silhouettes that she couldn't quite make out and that turned to smoke when she reached for them. "It's all a blank."

Dr. Vela smiled with what looked like satisfaction. She touched a button on the side of the bed and the restraints retracted. "All right then. Go into that room and clean up. You'll find a uniform there for you. Then come out and you'll be taken to your interview."

"My interview? A uniform? I don't understand. What happened to me? Why don't I remember anything?"

"Just do as you're told, and everything will be explained." Vela's tone made it clear she was running out of patience.

Staring at the doctor, she considered for a moment. Dressed in only a thin hospital gown, she felt exposed and at a disadvantage in any argument. She also had the feeling that Vela would not respond well to a fuss. The best strategy was to cooperate, at least for the moment.

The floor tile was cold against her bare feet and she shivered. As she headed for the door Vela had indicated, she looked around. She saw a male with pale blue hair and a ridged face carrying a tray of vials, and green-haired woman stood near a monitor, examining a cranial image. There were other beds, but they were blocked by screens and she couldn't see if there were other patients.

There must have been an accident, she decided, and I was injured. That's why I don't remember anything.

The door led to a small wash room with a sonic shower, a sink and mirror, and a hook on the wall from which a deep green jumpsuit hung. She moved over to the sink and looked into the mirror. The person staring back at her had a smooth face, devoid of ridges of any kind; shoulder-length auburn hair and blue eyes.

It was the face of a stranger. More than a stranger, it was a face that was different than any she had seen so far. The face of an outsider.

She stared for a long time, waiting to find something familiar, something that sparked an instant of recognition. When it never came, she turned away, fighting a growing feeling of desperation. It was as if she were acting in a play but she didn't know her lines; surely someone would realize it soon and hand her a script, or denounce her as a fraud and send her home.

As soon as she was clean, she dressed quickly. The uniform consisted of a white pullover top worn underneath a deep green jumpsuit that fit her perfectly. There was a large belt that seemed designed to hold tools, although it was empty. The boots were the same green as the uniform and had a comfortable heel. When she checked in the mirror again, she was still a stranger - a fully dressed stranger, but still entirely unfamiliar.

She came out and looked around. Dr. Vela was busy at another bed, but a young man with the same kind of bony ridges on his cheeks walked over to her. His hair was light green, the same color as his eyes. "I'm to take you to the interview."

She wondered whether the green was natural or chemically induced. She also wondered at the differences between them. "I'm not the same species as you."

"That will be explained," he said. He started walking without waiting for her, and she frowned. He and Vela both were rude and abrupt, but if she were going to get any answers, she had to put up with it.

The orderly led her to a small room and left as soon as she stepped through the doorway. A tall, spare man rose from behind a small desk as she entered, placed his hands together and bowed slightly from the waist. "Hello," he said. "My name is Hrano. I am your corrections officer."

"Corrections officer?" She stopped in mid-step, shocked. "Am I a prisoner?"

Hrano was the same species as Vela and the orderly, with ridges on his nose and cheekbones, but he seemed different. After a moment she realized that it was because he at least appeared to be acting with genuine friendliness. His amber eyes were almost kind as he answered her. "Why don't you sit down and let me tell you about it."

There was a single, hardbacked chair near his desk and she sat down. "Am I a prisoner?" she repeated.

"Yes, you are. You're a convicted felon and this is a penal facility."

She stared at him, trying to process his words. She was a felon? It was hard to believe, but then everything that had happened since she awoke was hard to believe. Feeling numb, she asked, "Do I have a name?"

"Your name is Kathryn."

"Kathryn." She felt the shape of it, listened to the sound. It meant nothing to her. "Why don't I remember?"

He smiled sympathetically. "I probably should have said that this is a rehabilitation facility. Our goal is to use your time here to help you become a productive, contributing citizen again."

"That doesn't explain anything. Why don't I remember?"

"Your memory was deliberately erased as part of your sentence. You've been given a unique opportunity, Kathryn. You have a chance to build a new life for yourself, without the burdens of your past, whatever they were."

Feeling stunned, she stared at him. "My memory was intentionally erased because I committed a crime? As a punishment?" The concept was overwhelming. "My God. What did I do?"

"Quite honestly, I don't know anything about your trial. That information is sealed. I can tell you that the people who are sent here are those who committed a serious crime against the Oligarchy but whose basic character is sound. The judge must have decided that your actions were the result of circumstances or environment rather than a criminal mentality." There was no doubting the sincerity in his voice. "It's not intended as a punishment, but as rehabilitation. The memory wipe is done to let your basic character emerge in a safe and controlled environment. You'll be given the opportunity to develop a work ethic, civic responsibility, even build a family if you choose – all in a community that supports you. When your sentence is up, you'll be free to leave and take your place in Gunrath'u society as a full citizen."

She sat motionless, trying to absorb all the ramifications of his words. It was hard to think things through the emotions that were roiling within. "But ... I could be a murderer and not remember. I can't even feel remorse for what I did. That doesn't make sense."

"You aren't a murderer," Hrano said forcefully, then leaned back and took a breath. He said more calmly, "You wouldn't be here in that case. You're just a victim of circumstances. I'm going to do the best I can to make your life here decent. It can be, you know. Try to think of it as an opportunity to start over."

Finally she said, "A second chance? This is all about giving me a second chance without a lot of baggage to hinder me?"

"Interesting phrasing. Yes, essentially that's it."

Still she sat without moving. Something felt very wrong about the whole situation, but she felt off-balance and unprepared to confront it. After a moment she took a deep breath and mentally counted to ten. It was obvious that he wasn't going to answer any questions about her past, so there was no point in dwelling on it. "Are you Gunrath'u, or am I?"

"I am. You ... to be honest, I don't know what your people call themselves. There are only a few of you on our island." He smiled slightly. "Does that mean you've accepted the situation?"

Kathryn shrugged. "There doesn't seem to be much I can do to change it. We're on an island?"

"Yes, an island on Gunrath. You need to know, Kathryn, that a chip has been implanted in your brain. It receives a signal from a transmitter located at the center of the island that has a limited range. As long as you remain here, you'll be fine. But if the chip ever loses the signal from the transmitter, it will begin to emit a homing signal – and that signal can cause brain damage, and even death, if it goes on more than a few minutes. That is the only restraint on you. Other than that, you will be free to live your life as you choose."

He folded his hands and looked at her earnestly. "The work is hard, and the conditions are less than optimal, but if you don't like your job assignment, we'll find you a new one. If you need help with training or with coping with your new situation, you'll get it. The living quarters are serviceable and more or less all the same, but if you don't like yours, we can change them. As long as you give us your best efforts, we'll do our best to make your life comfortable. How does that sound?"

"It sounds," she said slowly, searching for the right words, "as if rehabilitation truly is the aim here."

Hrano smiled broadly. "I'm glad you think so. If you're ready, you'll be taken to your assigned position. Your supervisor will help you settle into your quarters after your work shift. Are you ready to get to work?"

None of it felt right. There were questions building inside her head so quickly she couldn't separate them yet. But, despite his phrasing, she recognized a dismissal when she heard one. The interview was over. She stood. "Yes, sir."

Day 1 – Evening

A high-pitched siren screamed through the factory-wide communications system, and Kathryn looked up from her console. In a day of learning new processes, many of which had aural cues, that was a sound she had not heard before. "What's that?"

Across the floor, her supervisor smiled. "That," Emanni said with a smile, "is the end-of-shift signal. Your first day is done."

Kathryn relaxed for the first time in several hours. "It went quickly."

"You caught on quickly. I'm impressed, actually. Logistics and Transport is considered one of the more demanding posts. Most novices need at least a week to learn the systems." She stripped off the skin-tight gloves and dropped them in a hamper, indicating that Kathryn should do the same. "Why don't you join my husband and me for dinner? Our apartment is on the way to yours. Then we can show you where your quarters are."

"Thanks." Kathryn liked Emanni already. The supervisor was not Gunrath'u; she said her species was called Minenne. Like Kathryn, she had no visible facial ridges but her skin was a deep golden color and she had a short cap of black fur instead of hair. The most noticeable difference, though, was the grace with which she moved. She didn't walk so much as flow, Kathryn thought. "If you don't mind someone whose contribution to the conversation is likely to be nothing but questions."

"No problem. My husband loves to answer questions." Her eyes twinkled. "Sometimes I ask him things just so he can have the fun of knowing the answer."

"I doubt he'll know the answer to my questions – I want to know who I am and what I did to wind up a prisoner."

Emanni's eyes flashed with warning. "Not here," she said quietly. "Never talk about that here."

Kathryn followed Emanni through the maze of the warehouse and crowds of workers until they were finally outside. The warehouse, she saw, was at the end of a row of connected buildings marked only with numbers. They looked a little seedy, as if in need of attention if not repair. "What are those?"

"The rest of the factories. You saw the components we were loading today. Each one is made in a different factory – the fuel pods, the power relays, the communications arrays, the sensor modules. Once they're constructed, they come to Logistics and Transport for shipment to the warehouse at the sky berths, either for new construction or for repair and replacement." She tilted her head to the left, a gesture which Kathryn had come to recognize as an expression of satisfaction.

"You're content," she said, then regretted it. "That was presumptuous. I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Emmani patted her hand. "I'm hoping that you and I will be friends and friends can ask personal questions. Yes, I am content. I have a husband I love and a job that gives me satisfaction."

Kathryn shook her head. "Forgive me if I say this all feels a little surreal. I have no memory, I'm told I committed a crime but not what it was, and that I'm a prisoner – and yet, I'm strolling down a public sidewalk talking about jobs and families. It doesn't fit."

"I know," Emanni said sympathetically. "I felt the same way at first. We all do. Give it time. Eventually you'll see, this really is wonderful chance to start a new life."

"Don't you ever wonder about before? About what you did to wind up here?" It had been bothering her all day, the fact that she didn't know anything about herself. Had her crime been of violence, or of deceit? Had she been an engineer, or a physician, or a writer or a politician? Did she have family someplace, mourning her – parents or children or a husband? The questions had piled upon each other steadily throughout the work shift.

"Yes." Emanni spoke quietly. "It's only natural, I suppose. In time the questions come less often and more quietly. Life goes on, you know, and as this life becomes more real to you the need to know the past will fade. And," she said, brightening, "we can't do anything about the past so I prefer to focus on the future. And the present. And here we are."

They stopped walking, and Kathryn realized they had reached a small building that appeared to be from a different era. It was only three stories, and looked to be built of wood and brick and other natural materials. The contrast to the modern duranium and transparent aluminum construction of every other building she had seen so far was striking.

Emanni opened the door to a small antechamber that had three other doors. "There are three apartments in this building," she explained. "We're on the third floor." When they reached the top of the steps, they entered a large, open room with furniture that looked comfortable and homey.

"This is nice," she said. "Do all the quarters look like this?"

"More or less. Single and couples quarters are the same size – a main room, a bedroom, bath and kitchen. Family quarters are larger." Emanni smiled. "And families are encouraged. If I know my husband, he's probably on the deck."

She led Kathryn through the main room to curtained double doors that revealed a large balcony with a magnificent view of the ocean. Kathryn stopped, enthralled. The apartment building backed up a cliff that rose some thirty meters above the water. The land that sloped to the shore was thickly treed, sporting dozens of shades of green and yellow leaves. "This is beautiful," she said.

Emanni had already moved beyond the doorway. "Ah. I told you he'd be here."

Kathryn's eyes opened a little wider when she saw the man clearly. Emanni laughed at her expression. "Kathryn, I believe you've met my husband. Hrano, you remember Kathryn?"

"Of course," the corrections officer said. He seemed startled to see her, almost afraid, Kathryn thought, but then dismissed the notion. "I had no idea Emanni would bring you by. Welcome. How was your first day?"

"Not bad," she admitted.

"Good." He paused awkwardly, then gestured to his left. A man wearing the black and silver uniform of the fuel pod factory rose from a chair as Hrano spoke. "I brought a new friend home as well. Chakotay, this is my wife, Emanni, and her friend Kathryn."

Kathryn shivered once as she looked at Chakotay. He was from her species; his coloring was darker than hers and he had a tattoo on his forehead, but he was definitely one of her people. She felt a surge of attraction – no, she corrected herself, kinship. Yes, surely that was it. Kinship. Instinctively, she held out her right hand. "I'm glad to meet you, Chakotay."

"It's mutual," he said, shaking her hand briefly. His grip was firm and warm. "It's good to see a similar face."

"It's Chakotay's first day, too," Hrano said. He still looked distinctly uncomfortable.

Emanni laughed as she sat. "I'm sorry. I've broken that silly regulation again, haven't I?" She turned to Kathryn. "You aren't supposed to meet any other newcomers for a while yet. For reasons I don't understand, it's against regulations." Then she cocked her head and smiled at Hrano. "Fortunately, an official is here to testify that it happened accidentally."

Hrano's expression had been stern when she began but melted into open adoration by the time she was finished. "I guess we can overlook it this time."

She threaded an arm through his. "See why I like him? Relax, Hrano. It's for the best. They can probably both use a friend."

"Watch out," Hrano said wryly. "She's matchmaking again. She's been doing a lot of it since we got married."

Chakotay was still looking at Kathryn, and his look was plainly admiring. "Either way, I'm grateful."

She was pleased by his reaction to her but not ready to admit it, and certainly not ready to encourage any matchmaking on her behalf. "Don't speak too soon. One thing I've learned today is that I'm bossy and opinionated."

"That's all right. One thing I've learned today is that I'm remarkably tolerant."

Kathryn laughed. "I have a feeling we're going to get along just fine."

Day 5 – Voyager

Tom Paris entered the Captain's ready room with a stack of PADDs and a bad attitude. The attitude was attributable to three facts: even though he and his wife were sleeping in their quarters again instead of a shelter, neither of them had managed more than three hours of sleep the night before; the paperwork he had been forced to assume in his temporary role of acting first officer was overwhelmingly irritating; and Lt. Commander Tuvok was sitting at the Captain's desk. As far as Tom was concerned, Kathryn Janeway was the only person who belonged in that chair and it annoyed him to see anyone else sitting there, even temporarily. "Acting first officer Paris reporting," he drawled. "Here are the latest updates from Engineering you requested."

Tuvok regarded him calmly. "Have you prioritized them?"

"How? I have it on pretty good authority from the Chief Engineer that everything is top priority right now."

"Returning the warp drive to maximum efficiency is our first priority. Defensive capabilities follow that."

Tom sat down and shuffled through the PADDS. "According to this, main power is back for the long term, barring any more fried relays. We have full impulse capacity but warp drive is still offline and will be indefinitely, unless the Captain's mission is successful and we can get replacements for the plasma relays. Even if we get the warp system working we won't be able to use it until we have access to a spacedock to repair the damage to the port nacelle strut. This is why the Chief Engineer is a little cranky today."

Tuvok accepted the PADD. "Just the summaries, Mr. Paris. The editorial comments are unnecessary."

"Sorry. This says," and he lifted up another PADD, "that shields are at 60% and they still think 100% is doable within the week, assuming the Doctor's treatment works on the rest of the gel packs. And since we've got power to all the crew decks again, we're striking the outdoor dormitories. The only facilities still set up on the planet surface are the temporary mess hall and the tents for anyone who wants to camp out. That should make our unwilling hosts happy."

"Indeed. That is good news."

"Enjoy it, because that's all there is. The structural repairs are on hold until the replicators are on line again. Phasers are also off-line still and the torpedo system is operational only on a manual basis. The secondary relays have been fried. B'Elanna is exploring the possibility of cannibalizing the relays from holodeck one, but she isn't optimistic that will work."

Tuvok took the report, scanned it and set it aside. "Let us hope it will not be necessary to try. With any luck, the Captain has been successful in obtaining the consent of the four worlds to permit the Vordai to help us."

"Shouldn't they have reported in by now?"

Tuvok managed to frown without actually changing his facial expression. "Considering that their last message stated they would be out of communications range for up to six days, they are not yet overdue. It could be another full day before they contact us again."

Something in his voice made Tom anxious. "You're worried, aren't you, Tuvok?"

"I am not worried." Tuvok hesitated, then added, "I am, however, uneasy."

"Uneasy? As in, you have some kind of hunch?"

"It does not require a 'hunch' to recognize that we have experienced a great deal of bad luck recently."

"And things never go as planned when the Captain and the Commander are on the same away mission." Tom shook his head. "I didn't know you believed in luck."

"Luck is nothing more than statistical probability. At the moment, however, the probability seems high that the worst of all possible outcomes may have occurred."

"Well, that cheers me up no end." Tom stood. "I think I'll go check on the com system to be certain it's still functional. I don't want to miss a message from them."