Day 19

Sir finds the captain by the large viewport, hands clasped behind her back. A single padd sits on an otherwise empty desk.

He stops just below the first step and waits.

"Something, Commander?" she asks to the stars.

"Only if you have a minute."

"If it's good news, you can have an hour."

He tugs his ear and looks to the floor. "Not exactly."

"Ah. Well, let's have it," she says, meeting his eyes only briefly as she turns. He follows her as she walks to take a seat behind the desk.

"I found something in my office yesterday, in a desk drawer," he begins. "I'm not sure how long it's been there. I may have missed it early on." He pulls the object from his pocket and closes is quickly in his fist.

"I know I should have reported this as soon as I found it. But I had to try to make some sense of things first," he explains. "There's only one reason I can think why I would have this in my possession… I'm hoping you'll have another explanation."

He avoids her eyes and outstretches his hand, offering her the small, velvet pouch he's been clutching. She pours the contents into her palm and discards the bag to the desktop.

With her fingertip, she touches each of four gold pips and then, out of instinct he thinks, she checks the back of the communicator.

She measures their weight and sighs into the silence; he tries not to think about someone removing those adornments from her corpse.

"I should have brought them sooner," he apologizes, a wave of remorse filling him.

"It's fine, Chakotay." She deposits the objects into her drawer without another look. "I've got something to show you, too."

She picks up the padd from the center of her desk and regards it seriously. "Crewman Harren came to see me last night. He found this after his shift." She taps the record against her palm. "It's a personal log, dated thirty-four days from today."

"That sounds promising. What does it say?"

"A rather candid future-Harren accuses me of making a very bad decision which resulted in the near destruction of Voyager and the death of a great number of our crew. He blames me, specifically and solely, for what happened."

She hands him the padd, then rises from the chair and returns to the stars, patiently waiting for him to finish.

A great many things race through Sir's mind while he reads the log. Mostly, though, he feels as if he's seen this before. The sense of déjà vu is overpowering and mixes with the written words, is jumbled and churned around, melds with speculation and fear in his mind, and he has to keep re-reading the same sentences over and over again.

When he reaches the end and remembers to exhale, he finds that his lungs are burning.

"Seventy-three people," he whispers. But all he can focus on is that she will, indeed, be one of them.

"There can be no refuting it now, Chakotay." She turns from the window to face him. "Something devastating is going to happen. We don't know what, or exactly when, but one thing is clear. It will be my fault."

"Something happened to them, yes. But are you willing to put that much stock in Harren's personal log? He's obviously been through a lot, it's possible –"

"Harren's been known to stretch the truth, known to hold a grudge. But I can't believe he'd outright lie."

"Maybe he doesn't have all the facts?"

"He has more facts than we do. And from what he said, this clearly involves me."

"You're the captain, everything involves you." She's about to counter when he raises his hand and she stops short. "It's beside the point. You keep referring to this future as a given. Did this happen? Yes. Already, but not yet. The changes we've made so far may have been enough to alter our fate."

"I don't believe that. Our course hasn't changed," she reminds, then she starts ticking items off on her fingers. "Tuvok still broke his toe, Celes's vase shattered in the exact same way. The tricorder readings, and Henley's painting…"

"I know it all seems like damning evidence, and maybe you're right," he concedes. "Maybe we are following a similar path. But either way, you have to believe that when the time comes, you'll make the right decision."

"I obviously didn't make the right decision the first go around." Her fists are balled at her sides. "What makes you so sure I'll make it this time?"

"Because, I trust you. I trust you to use what we've learned and your instincts to keep this crew safe, just as you've done a hundred times before. And I'll be here to help you do that."

"You won't be if I put you in the brig," she fires back.

He stumbles over the heat carried by her unexpected words. "What?"

"Come on, Chakotay. You know what Ayala brought me from inside cell number two."

"My rank insignia?" he recalls. And while he remembers that meeting, he cannot conceive of how he forgot to ask her about it sooner.

"Your rank insignia."

Sir lets go of an exasperated breath. He is tired of running around in circles with this woman, at times he just wants to shake her. "Do you really think that you put me in the brig?"

"A part of your uniform was in there, Chakotay. At some point you will be in that cell."

"Maybe I was interrogating a prisoner."

"Maybe you staged a mutiny." She takes an imposing step closer towards him.

"Not this again." He massages his brow, shaking his head in disbelief.

"There was a Maquis bomb on my bridge."

"Your bridge?" he asks, incredulous at her use of language. "Really, Kathryn? A mutiny? How many more years is it going to take to prove to you –"

"Ayala killed Jacobson," she deadpans. "We all heard the recording."

"We don't have solid proof of what happened to Jacobson. He could have mistaken his attacker. Maybe he was the aggressor, or Ayala was under the influence of a drug or an alien. It could have been friendly fire," he argues, his blood beginning to boil. "There are a million things that could have happened and I was under the impression we wouldn't be jumping to conclusions."

"Fine, forget Ayala. Forget the Maquis mutiny. Maybe you disagreed with me and I threw you in the brig. I've done it before."

"I remember, believe me. And I also know that you won't do it again. We've come a long way since… Ransom." The name sticks in his throat.

"Have we? What's the saying about history repeating itself?"

"Do you honestly believe I'm the enemy here?" He takes a step toward her, they're near enough now that he actually could shake her if he wanted, and oh he's so close to doing just that as frustration radiates off of both of them. "This isn't like you, Kathryn. All of this second guessing and running in circles. What's really going on?"

She's staring into his eyes. He's hit the proverbial nail on the head, there is something else she's hiding, something deeply personal and for the first time, he knows exactly what it is. She's paranoid, depressed, over-worked, and most of all, she's terrified. In that moment, holding her gaze, he thinks, maybe, she might open up. This could be it, this could finally be when she cuts the bullshit and actually admits –

The door chimes, and the moment is lost.

She exhales and dips her head. "No. You're right. I don't believe this is about you. I just… I need some time to think." Her voice imparts a forced calm. "Have dinner with me tonight; let's actually do it, no matter what. We have to get away for a few hours and talk."

He waits a moment, claws at the urge to get their lost connection back. But then simply nods his agreement and takes a step away. His heart is pounding but he's grateful, at least, for a chance to resume this later.

Sir passes Tuvok on the way out and heads straight for his seat on the bridge. From there, he looks out to the stars. Each tiny pinprick pierces his vision, each of her nervous and accusatory words ring in his ears. And all of it compounds to make his throbbing headache even more unbearable.


While their conversation may have been light, their dinner certainly wasn't. Belly full, slightly inebriated, and certainly more relaxed than he's been in weeks, Sir moves with the captain from the dining table to their familiar places on the couch and adjacent chair. He pours her another glass of wine and motions to the book resting at the center of her coffee table.

"Moby Dick?" he asks, eyebrow raised. "Doing a little light reading?"

"Not exactly. You've read it?"

"Hasn't everyone?"

She shrugs. "I actually hate Moby Dick. The symbolism is much too blatant, I like things with a bit more subtlety. And quite frankly, I just don't need to know that much about whale anatomy."

This amuses him. "Okay…" he chuckles. "So, why don't you pick something else?"

"It's not the book I was reading, it was the inscription on the inside cover. Have a look."

Sir sets his glass down and does as asked.

Katie,

As you take to the sea of stars for the first command of your career, remember this: Not all battles need to be fought. Not all battles can be won. Choose your foes wisely and not selfishly. Above all else, you have lives to protect.

-O.P.

He stares at the page a moment longer, tries to determine who the initials belong to, but in his hazed state draws no useful conclusions. He closes the cover.

"Admiral Paris gave me this book when I was handed my first command," she says, taking it from him.

"Not exactly uplifting," he breathes, reaching again for his glass.

"Tom isn't entirely wrong about his father. Owen can be a harsh and highly critical man. But he is also pragmatic. His advice has never led me astray." She moves a finger over the embossed cover. "I've only had an occasion to revisit this inscription a few times in my career, all of them on Voyager," she says after a time. "Right after I destroyed the Caretaker's array. Again, when I made the alliance with the Borg. The last time I pulled it off the shelf was when we were in mid-pursuit of Ransom."

"I'm sensing a pattern," he says carefully.

"All of those times, I knew – or I thought I knew – who our foe was and how far into the right I stood. I weighed our risks, tried to be logical. But this time… this time is different."

"We don't know who our enemy is."

"That's just it." She sets the book down and looks him square in the eye. "I do know, Chakotay. You asked me earlier what was really going on. Nothing is wrong… it's just that I've finally realized."

When she looks up at him, all he can see are her glassy tears.

"I'm the enemy. I'm the one I've been hunting all these years. It's me."

"Kathryn, you're not making any sense."

"I'm looking at this book again," she says, ire leaching into her already shaky voice. "It means that I'm questioning what I'm about to do. And every other time I've been in this very same spot, things have ended – or almost ended – very badly. They've ended in the death of my crew. I can't let that happen again, Chakotay. I can't."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I'm going to look past the words written here and think about what the admiral – what Owen – would say."

He bites his lip, his fingers dig impulsively into his own thigh. "Which is?"

"He'd say, 'Katie.'" She straightens her chin, exhales the emotion from her voice. "'If you can't trust yourself to make the right decision, put your trust in someone else.'"

Sir has seen this coming, of course. He's noted the signs, but now that the moment has arrived, he's entirely unsure of what to say. And so, he says nothing at all.

"Tomorrow, at the start of alpha shift, I want you to assemble the crew."

His eyes widen and he is suddenly very sober. A half-formed memory ignites adrenaline.

"Don't worry," she says, holding up her hand. "I'm not going to take off in a shuttle. But I am going to hand over command to you."

"You're serious?"

"The only thing I can say for sure about this whole mess is that I need to be removed from the equation. There is a chance that without my influence, different decisions will be made. Voyager can still meet a better fate."

The captain is the one who will wait now. He needs a surprising amount of time to form a coherent thought against the storm of emotions that are raging. He tempers the urge to lash out at her and instead goes for a more diplomatic approach.

"Let's assume for the moment that you're right and something you do causes a disaster."

"Okay." She relaxes back into the cushions.

"You and I have very similar command styles. Ninety-nine times out of one hundred, we agree."

"I know."

"Then you know that walking away probably won't make much of a difference."

"Maybe not," she concedes, looking to her folded hands. "But right now, this is the only decision I can make that will almost certainly be different than anything that was done before. Harren says in his logs that I was the one calling the shots. And now I won't be. But beyond that, I need to step back. I need… clarity. Perspective."

He knows there's more, and that this is extremely difficult for her to say. When she speaks again, he's not at all surprised at the emotion in her voice.

"The crew deserves the best leader it can have, and I've realized that, at the moment, I'm not that person."

He shakes his head and stares into his wineglass, finding nothing more than a few drops there. But then, in the middle of searching for a way to protest, he begins to come around to the idea. It is as if a switch is flicked, and he no longer wants to argue.

If she's honestly not confident in the command chair, then she shouldn't be there. If she's really having problems maintain perspective, then she should be removed. And he can do this. He can lead. He can get them to safety. He should be the one to do it. Yes. Why hasn't he been there all along?

But, he mustn't rush this.

"I'm sorry you feel like there isn't another way," he says softly. "I would never believe that taking you off the bridge is in the best interest of our crew."

A guarded smile broaches her lips, she reaches across the space between them and places a tentative hand on his knee. "I appreciate that... But it seems I already had my chance and I failed. I trust you, Chakotay. When it comes to keeping us all safe, right now, I trust you much more than I trust myself."


Day 20

Ens. Harry Kim
Personal Log
Stardate: 54769.1

Oh boy, what a day.

Where to begin? Ah… well, before my shift even started, the senior staff and all of the department heads were called to the bridge. In all our years on Voyager, I can only recall a handful of times a meeting like that has taken place, and let's just say it's never been to throw a party.

Janeway and Chakotay came out from the ready room at precisely 0800 hours. You could have heard a pin drop when the captain launched into her speech, Chakotay at a perfectly still parade-rest behind her.

She talked about how proud she was of each and every one of us. She talked about the strange situation we were currently in. She talked about faith and trust. She asked for our support one last time.

Then she turned to Chakotay and said, "I hereby resign my rank of Captain. All rights and privileges, duties and responsibilities therein."

It was a show, really. Just a formality. The command codes had already been transferred, the decision long since made. It felt like finality on stage. Nothing we could have said or done would have changed a thing. A little bit of warning would have been nice though… I wonder if even Tuvok knew.

I remember the last time Captain Janeway tried to hand over command to Chakotay. He came to us, implored us to stop her and support her. He knew that her life, her ability to stay in command, was worth any risk we had to take. But not this time. This time, he shook her hand, said, "I relieve you," and there was a smile on his lips and in his eyes.

He wanted this.

How? How could he want this?

At the outset of this mystery-turned-horror novel we've been living the last weeks, we had a 'no secrets' policy. The command team told us everything. But something has changed. I'm no longer read in. It's not just the mystery objects that scare me. Not even the news of my own death scares me anymore. But the secrets, the strange glances. The hidden things scare me.

I'll do my duty. I'll obey every command. I'll follow Captain Chakotay across the galaxy if I have to.

But you'd better believe I'm keeping all of my senses trained on that chair. And I won't feel comfortable again until I hear Chakotay repeat the words she left us with.

"I stand relieved."


It is the middle of gamma shift before Sir can have unfettered access to the tactical station, free from the prying eyes of his ever-attentive security-chief-turned-first-officer.

He has carefully assigned the roster for the evening. Harry Kim is on duty in the big chair. Jenkins is at the helm, Blaine at ops.

"Com– Captain," Kim stutters and jumps to his feet when Sir strides out of the turbolift.

"As you were, Mr. Kim," he replies, moving toward the back console. "I'm only checking a few things."

"Anything we can help you with?"

"Just keep your eyes ahead and let me worry about what I need."

Sir's fingers work deftly over the controls. A rerouted algorithm here, a pre-programed subroutine there. He ties the control of multiple, major ships systems together neatly into a single command-override. He's about to save the program when a thought pops into his head.

"Ensign," Sir says, drawing his eyes down a level. "Actually, there is something you can do for me."

"Of course, Sir."

"Would you go get me a cup of coffee?"

Kim's eyebrows rise and he pauses. "Coffee?"

"Problem with your hearing, Mr. Kim?"

Blonde-haired Jenkins turns slightly and sends an amused glance towards the ensign.

"One… coffee. Coming up. Um…" Kim looks uneasily to the other two officers on deck. "Anyone else want anything?"

Blaine shakes his head.

"I'm okay, thank you," says Jenkins, a hint of amusement in her voice.

Kim silently exits through the back hall.

Sir's attention snaps back to the tactical station. He works a few more keys. A quiet chirp issues from the console between the command chairs and Sir moves with purpose to silence it. He deletes the notification, confirms the authorization sequence, and departs the bridge before Kim returns with his coffee.