That was ominous, thought Kathryn, as she stood alone in the arena.
She turned all around, waiting to see an opponent.
If she fought Klingon warriors one by one, perhaps she could knock them out without truly harming them.
She strained her eyes and turned again. The emptiness bothered her more than she wanted to admit.
Are they going to shoot me from a distance?
Should I take the bad signs at face value and beam us all out?
Would that lose us all our chance to go home?
She continued looking in the emptiness.
Staring at the abyss.
And then she saw them.
Starfleet uniforms.
Figures that looked familiar, even at the distance.
Kathryn startled, gut clenching in horror.
Suddenly a figure moved forward.
Standing in front of her was a man Kathryn had not seen in almost seven years.
She nearly spoke to him, as he stood there solid and moving towards her.
But he can't be here.
There was an eerie, strange feeling as her mind slowed down. She blinked at him.
Commander Cavit, Voyager's original First Officer.
The graying hair, the tall forehead, the distinctive walk she had noticed every time she had seen him.
It was him, exactly. He had not aged a day.
He can't be here.
She had seen stranger things as Voyager's Captain, but still.
He can't be here.
Another figure came close. A woman's figure this time, young and slim, and Kathryn knew her before she could see the face.
Stadi.
No. Neither of them can be here.
It's not impossible. But it can't be true.
Kathryn shook her head, her mind was cloudy and she could not think.
She had a very, very bad feeling about what would happen when they reached her. They were both moving very slowly, but they would reach her.
She stepped back, and back. And stared.
And behind the two of them another figure. And another. And another.
They were going to reach her.
They were going to reach her.
She stepped back and back.
And hit the stone wall behind her.
She looked from side to side frantically, but there was no door.
There was no door.
She had dropped the ba'leth.
When had she dropped the ba'leth?
They were moving closer and closer. The figures, dozens of them.
They were closer now.
The crew she had lost to the Caretaker.
She could see more faces now. She did not recognize them all.
Her very being clenched. Body, heart, and soul.
She did not recognize all the faces of her crew.
They had died on her watch, and she did not recognize them.
Names she would never forget. Faces she had forgotten.
She screamed.
Her hands went to her face as Cavit came closer. She ran, as he came so close she could feel his breath.
Get it together Kathryn. It isn't him.
The Caretaker wasn't your fault, she thought, rubbing her arms and keening. The Caretaker wasn't your fault. No one could've predicted that. It was his murder, not yours.
You would've given your life on that mission, you know you would've. All of these are Starfleet Officers, she forced the thought, raising her head to look out at them, at the sea of uniforms and pips, primly cut hair and stiff shoulders, All of them knew the risks. All of them felt the same.
It isn't your fault.
This isn't real.
With that thought, Kathryn saw it, her ba'leth in the middle of the arena. The figures had moved away towards the back, as they were following her. She ran, and dove, and grabbed it, and then ran towards the figures, knowing she had no choice.
She yelled, and screamed, and slammed the Klingon weapon down on Stadi, seeing her young, beautiful face distort, and then disappear.
Her heart clenched in her chest, aching and burning, but she continued, dashing the weapon through all of her crew, dozens of them, long dead, buried forever in the farthest reaches of the Delta Quadrant.
Too long, far too long later, she stood in the middle of the arena alone, and collapsed into a sitting position with her ba'leth on her lap, panting.
Finally, she stood again.
Is it over? she thought, as lights flickered in the ceiling overhead.
No, she thought a moment later, as more figures appeared, I should have known that it wasn't.
She recognized them all this time.
Every name. Every face.
She had had some time with all of them.
Some time, but not enough.
Ensign Strickler
Crewman Emanuel
Crewman Bandera
Ensign Jetal
She took in a quick breath and braced herself as waves of pain rushed through her body.
There were no excuses this time.
These deaths were on her.
Her captaincy. Her decisions.
Trapping them in the Delta Quadrant.
What tactic to take. Who to ally with.
When to move and where.
It was all on her.
All these deaths. It was her fault.
No matter the exact circumstances.
She had set all of their deaths in motion.
She clenched her jaw, breathing in deeply and ignoring the solid block of pain in her stomach.
It made no difference in what she had to do.
She raised the ba'leth.
It's not them.
Ahni Jetal's young, slender figure walked forward.
She ended just like Stadi had.
Just as she had in life.
The figures kept coming.
Hogan. Kaplan. Martin.
Each one her responsibility. Each one her mistake.
Durst. Darwin. Bennet.
She felt the ba'leth get heavier.
Not even halfway through, she thought in desperation.
It's not them.
They kept coming.
Her shoulders ached now.
She did not want to keep looking at their faces.
But she had to.
She was the Captain.
The Captain takes responsibility.
Even when she doesn't want to.
She thought, back clenching, as she raised the weapon again.
Even when she would rather lay down and die.
Still, the determination that had kept her going for over six years kept her standing.
Kept her raising her weapon, and fighting for her life.
I will not leave my crew to fight alone.
I won't abandon them, when they're not home yet.
I can't.
She screamed, and brought the ba'leth down again and again.
And then they were gone.
She collapsed to her knees, and keened.
Altogther over 50 Voyager crewmembers dead on her watch.
Over 50 that she had just stabbed into nothing.
She cried, sobbing into her hands, as her hair covered her face.
It must be over now.
And then she heard them.
Footsteps.