Day 21
From: Kathryn Janeway
To: Captain Chakotay
Stardate: 54774.2
Auto-delivery: Protocol 1A
In all of my years in Starfleet, for all of the horrible, no-win situations we've encountered in the Delta Quadrant, through each of the times I thought that my own death was a foregone conclusion, or in the hours after surviving something truly traumatic, I've never brought myself to compose a final message.
I could say that I simply didn't have the time to dedicate to the task. I could admit that I felt such an act would be inviting my own demise. Or, I could believe I simply didn't have anything left to convey that I didn't already say while I was alive.
And, for the most part, all of those things are true. Certainly, the final statement is. Those I command know how much they are valued, how proud I am of each and every one of them for their service and their sacrifice, how much they've meant to me. At least, I hope they do.
But there is one person… I owe him more. I owe you more, Chakotay. That's why I'm writing this to you now. Because you deserve to hear the truth from me, and because I need the peace of mind.
I fully expect Voyager to emerge from this most recent series of events unscathed. I have every confidence in this crew, in you, Chakotay. Please don't take this message to mean that I was hedging my bets against your failure. And, when we're safely on the other side and you've given me my chair back, I will delete this.
But for now… just for now, just in case, there are a few things I'd like to say.
I wanted home, Chakotay. I wanted home so badly. Not only because I felt like I owed everyone, which of course I did – I do. Not just because I wanted to see my mother, my sister, even Mark again.
I wanted home, because I wanted you.
Sometimes I'd stare out my window and Earth would feel so very close. If I could just reach out into space, I could touch it. But then I'd walk back to the bridge, I'd look at the faces around me and the distance would multiply in an instant, again our journey was inconceivably long, our destination an impossibility.
But not you. In those moments, the only thing close was you.
It's been a long time since we talked about any kind of future for us beyond the hull of this ship. Two years, now? It feels like so much longer since you took me to Venice and we danced and kissed and planned. That night was comforting to me for a while, but somewhere along the line, the possibility of us became too difficult for me to think about. I locked you away with all my other hopes and dreams.
Still, a part of me never gave up believing that if we could just get back, things might be different. That free of these trappings, we might grow to be something more than a smattering of fruitless sentiments and missed opportunities.
If this letter finds its way to you, if I'm wrong and everything goes to hell, I just wanted you to know how I felt. Also know that I don't blame you. There's no one in this universe I trust more, both with Voyager, and with my own life.
If you couldn't save us, then no one could.
-Kathryn
Another evening and Sir – along with his new title – once again occupies a table in the mess hall, padds scattered about, tea in hand.
"Late night, Captain?"
The voice makes him smile. "B'Elanna," he says. "What are you still doing up? You know you should be –"
"Getting more rest, yes, I know. Get in line if you intend to scold me."
He waves her into the seat across from him. "Sorry, force of habit."
"Whatcha reading?" she asks, spinning one of the padds around to take a look.
"Captain's business," he snaps, snatching it back.
She jerks in surprise, then tenses, and he feels instantly guilty. "Sorry," he offers. "I'm just… catching up on some things."
"Well, if some of those things are composing your daily report, then I have something you can add," she says, in a decidedly less friendly tone.
"Would I be happier if you didn't tell me?"
"Yes. But you'd also be missing a piece of our gigantic, depressing puzzle. Carey called me down about an hour ago, that's why I'm still awake."
Tea acid rises in his gullet, burning his throat. Carey's concern for her well-being is second only to Tom's. If Carey called her away from sleep, then –
"He found a magnetic constrictor, Chakotay. Or, actually, half of a constrictor. It went down the centerline, shear failure right at the coupling. There's only one thing that would cause that kind of break…" she says, looking up to judge his reaction.
He sinks back in his chair. "They dumped the core at warp."
"They dumped the core at warp."
The words fall, heavy and final.
"At least we know they survived, right?" she says, trying to draw his gaze upward. One hand rests on her swollen belly. "I mean, if we're still getting stuff from them, they must have ejected the core before it breached. And they got far enough away…"
"Are you trying to look on the bright side?"
"I'm… yes. I suppose I am," she smiles ever-so-slightly. "I figure, you're always the one trying to be Janeway's bright side. And now, you're basically Janeway. It's not like Tuvok is going to come in and try to make you feel better."
Her thoughtfulness touches him deeply. "I appreciate that, B'Elanna. I really do."
"But?"
He looks up at her, rubs his brow and says, "You should get back to bed. Tomorrow will be here before you know it."
Day 22
"Computer, display Voyager's path for the last… twenty-five days," Sir says, standing before the oversized screen.
The computer chirps its acceptance and does as requested.
"Overlay a second course. Assume that on stardate 54753.5 Voyager continued through the class three nebula in grid C-five at a bearing of 118.3 mark four, average speed of warp six."
"Captain?"
Sir hears the voice behind him but does not turn around. Instead his gaze is affixed on the two diverging lines.
"Computer, continue to extrapolate course for both ships."
"Please specify parameters."
A figure approaches him from his left. "I did not realize you required time using the astrometric display."
"I'll just be a few minutes, Seven. Actually, maybe you can help me."
"You require assistance plotting an historically hypothetical course for Voyager?"
"I do."
"One moment."
Sir watches as nimble fingers laced with silver dance across the control panel. A few seconds later the two paths are laid out side by side, one red, one purple. "I am not certain what you hope to achieve by examining these separate routes."
"Neither am I," Sir replies. He leans forward, his elbows touching the console. "Is there anything out there that we wouldn't have encountered had we chosen to travel through the nebula?"
Seven cocks an eyebrow, then enters a few more commands.
"There are three star systems that will be within two light years on our present course," she informs. "Had we gone through the nebula, they would have been no closer than five light years."
"Any of them habitable?"
"There is one L-Class planet in the third system. Otherwise, no."
"Do the Borg have any history with species from this region?"
"Several," she confirms. "It would be more efficient for me to compile a report for your review."
"Yes. Please do," he says. "Computer, delete the hypothetical course." He leans further down, putting the full weight of his chin into his hands. "Nothing else out there then?" he mumbles, eyes drifting along the purple line.
"I do not understand the question."
"No… no I'm not asking you, it was rhetorical. I just… I can't put my finger on it but I feel like there's something out there." His eyes continue to go to the third star. "Computer, enhance grid H-nine."
The system zooms into view. Blue dwarf star, four planets. It's the fourth that has his eye, mostly grey, only sparse vegetation and no water to be seen. Unbidden, a single word enters his mind.
Home.
His next breath sticks in his throat.
"Computer, given current speed, when will Voyager be closest to the L-Class planet shown on screen?"
"Nine days, two hours, and twenty-six minutes."
For a fleeting moment, surely the planet before him is home. His mind is filled with images of green and blue, he can see the swirling clouds of white. A rush of euphoric happiness and warmth pass over him, but it quickly dissipates into apprehension as the planet turns back to grey.
He swallows hard and blinks away the errant vision. "Keep long-range sensors focused along our path," he tells Seven. "Let me know the instant anything shows up."
"That was my intent."
"Good. Just… good."
Day 23
Ensign Elena Harper
Personal Log
Stardate: 54780.7
These sedatives don't work for shit.
I think they've had the opposite effect, actually. I've already dosed myself with double what the Doctor prescribed, but I still feel like I want to run out the nearest airlock. I'd have better luck with coffee, I swear.
I also need to change my sheets. And my pillow. That might help. Yes, I'm going to go do that.
I'm back.
I recycled the sheets, the pillows, and the comforter. I want to do the mattress too, but it won't fit. I don't have enough rations to replicate another blanket. So, that's pretty shitty. Oh, but I cracked open that bottle of N'Tarian brandy Matt gave me for my birthday.
Mmm… yeah. The sedatives might not work, but alcohol should take the edge off. Doesn't taste half-bad either.
I'm still not ready to go back to sleep. It's a shame. I was having such a good sleep. A sound sleep. I was right in the middle of such a lovely dream. There were puppies in my dream, I miss puppies…
Refill time.
Maybe I should drink a toast to Matt. That seems appor… approrpr… like the thing to do.
To Crewman Matthew Dell. Aspiring engineer. Boyfriend. Lover of all things peanut butter.
I'm sorry you died… no, wait. That's not right. I'm sorry you're going to die. I'm really sorry you're going to die in my bed. But mostly I'm sorry I rolled over in the middle of the night and cuddled with you before I realized you were dead.
I need another shower.
I'm going to go take another shower.
I'm back.
I took another shower and had another really big glass of that whiskey. I'm feeling much better about all of this now. It's kinda funny if you think about it. Ha!
That's what I'll do, I'll laugh. Someday this will be a really fucking funny story, won't it?
Matt should shift off shift soon, then he can laugh with me. He's just going to laugh and laugh when I tell him what happened. And then, maybe, when we're done talking about how funny it is that he's going have a giant hole blown in his chest, we'll go to his quarters and I can finally sleep.
Or, maybe he'll feel like drinking with me. That's it! We'll stay up all night and play board games.
Games are fun.
It's a good thing I like games. I'm going to be playing a lot of them, 'cause let's be super honest, I'm definitely never going to ship on this sleep again.
Oh.
I think I'm gonna be sick.
Kathryn Janeway
Personal Log
Stardate: 54780.9
It's been a while since I've noticed just how very small my quarters are.
They may be the largest on the ship by comparison, but that's relative. To an apartment or a house… my mother's farm, they're miniscule, nothing more than a closet or a garage at best.
And I feel the walls growing closer with every passing minute.
I want to leave. I want to walk around the ship and move. But when I'm out, I am being judged. Without the mask of uniform and duty, I am an open target. Not that anyone would say something to my face, of course, but I am more vulnerable now than I ever have been.
They haven't heard of Harren's log. It would be too much, too devastating. And so instead, they question me with their silent stares, wonder why I've abandoned them in their time of need. I don't have the strength to defend myself, to say, "I've done this for you so that things might be different."
I've also sworn that I will not meddle in ship's business. By my calculations, another twenty-odd objects should have appeared since I gave up command. I can only guess at what they might be. More personal effects? Triage gear? Bodies, weapons? Who knows? It's driving me slowly mad being out of touch, even though I'm certain this distance is for the best. I find myself periodically checking my quarters, but there's nothing. Every sound I hear from the hallway grabs my attention; every whir of the ventilation system pulls at my ear. I'm waiting for the sound of screaming or weapons fire or a red alert.
Chakotay didn't come by today. He said he would, but... I'm not going to try to interpret what that means, about either our personal relationship or the current state of ship's business. Even if he had shown up, I wouldn't have asked more than a few, superficial questions – not of him or anyone else who happens by. I don't want to know. I don't want to affect their decisions.
So, I stay here. I pace. I read.
I wait.
I sit with my guilt. And my shame. And the walls closing down around me.
