It did not surprise Mai that her small team had their work cut out for them when it came to the Venture. Much had been endured in the last decade: from battle at Wolf 359 to the war and all the myriad crises in between. Starfleet was filled to the brim with crewmen and officers suffering in silence; the Federation overflowing with civilians recovering from the greatest existential threat to their way of life since — no, including — the Borg.
She was a very busy woman.
Her team of counselors was too small to provide longterm care for everyone who needed it aboard the ship; instead, they were all relegated to focusing on short term work for those in immediate need. Starfleet Medical had anticipated that this style would not fit all patients or needs, and had the foresight to devise several care team schemes with civilian practitioners via secure subspace channels. That meant, on top of the three counselors she managed aboard the Venture, Mai was also coordinating with a veritable dozen through long distance communiques and reports.
Lwoda Vomel had followed her from their previous assignment on the Santa Monica. The brusquely honest Betazed was a breath of fresh air on particularly difficult days and had the keenest eye for patient triage. He could read the surface thoughts of those in the queue with brutal efficiency, and knew whose approach was most likely to work on them. Palek, silent and sure, was the sole choice for the Vulcan on the crew. His stoic and unflappable way made him popular among the more terse humans. Brigid McCreary rounded out the small team. The only non-empath or telepath among the lot, she was perfect for those who needed help but wanted the privacy of their minds respected.
They were utterly swamped.
The only saving grace was that Dr. Retz had been content to let her set her own expectations for the division. Technically, as the ship's CMO, he could be as much a thorn in her side as he saw fit. Mai was no stranger to mission doctors who intervened quite heavily in emotional health of the crew; it was no accident she had liked none of them.
He kept his distance, unless he felt strongly about one of his own patients needing her type of healing.
She saw him once a week during debriefings, just as she liked it.
One of the few patients Mai insisted on making time for consistent appointments was sitting, politely but partially slumped, in the comfortable chair Mai kept in her office.
Dark, ophidian eyes looked anywhere but at the elderly counselor.
Prior to Esket Millal, Mai had never worked with a Cardassian before. Their first three sessions had been a significant learning experience for the both of them. Esket, who only knew about the Cardassian form of therapy — which could best be summarized as re-education — had been wary and closed-off, her emotions a storm of confusion and worry. Mai had had a hell of a time determining the best approach.
By the end of their third meeting, Mai had been able to convince the girl that Starfleet's approach was diametrically opposed to Cardassia's. It had taken a heartfelt testimony from the Captain to achieve, but it didn't mean that Esket wasn't still exuding deep reservation.
At least now, all that worry held an edge of open intent.
"The Commander tells me you'll be joining T'Pel on her trip to Deneva," It was always best to begin the conversation with the future, to determine if it was a viable means to explore the past.
The girl nodded, "Father says we're going to meet one of my new brothers."
Father came accompanied with a strong feeling of trust.
Esket was certain that the Commander was sincere in his intentions to fill that role. Mai had never been able to discern if that honorific was the same she'd used for the man who'd raised her, or if she used the more carefree endearment of children.
The pang of anxiety that came with the second half of her sentence was indeterminate. Mai could not tell if meeting her adopted brother caused her concern, or if something else about the trip did. Perhaps making it alone with T'Pel? Mai had no deep read on Esket's feelings toward her adoptive mother — there was respect there and trust, but it came as an extension of the girl's feelings toward the Commander.
"It's common to worry about meeting family for the first time."
Confusion.
Mostly on the girl's face, but a little in her feelings as well, "Oh. No. Elieth and Ione write me all the time!"
Fondness. Easy affection. Esket did not worry about how they would treat her when they met in person for the first time. In fact, she looked forward to it with great anticipation.
"Something about this trip worries you, Esket. Do you know what that is?"
Suddenly bashful, the young Cardassian looked away, "I forgot you can read my mind."
"No, not your mind. Only your emotions, and just the strong ones at that."
That was the truth. Mai's people weren't nearly as adept at reading others as Betazeds were. Empathy was the name of her game, and even then she had to focus strongly on the person nearest her to feel anything at all. It was a skill that helped her counsel others, but it was hardly a crutch.
It put the girl at ease, and she confessed, "I thought you knew everything I was thinking."
"Not even a little bit."
It was a truth. A weakness that had shown its hand with Loraine Pernia. Had Mai been able to read thoughts or truly understand the origins and terminus of every emotion, she would have been able to know the Bajoran's guilt and rage after Dreon VII for what they were. Instead, she'd been left to try to verbally parse through the other woman's thoughts — which had allowed Loraine to lie.
Expertly.
Until Retz and his Betazed Deputy figured it out.
Esket nodded, convinced. Mai suspected the girl would mistrust the entire concept of therapy for a long while yet, but she could be worked with. The child wanted to trust the adults around her, even if she couldn't completely yet. That was a start. The rest would take time, and patience — the type that came with decades of experience.
Mai had it in spades.
"Would you like to talk about what is worrying you? Is it traveling with T'Pel?"
A vigorous head shake, "No. It's…it's just…"
A spike of worry.
"Take your time, Esket."
"It's just…I haven't…I haven't been on world since…"
Since the Cardassian sky had split open with fire. Since the ground shattered under artillery made for space. Since the Jem'Hadar went city block by city block executing every last man, woman and child they saw. Mai had read the few reports that were available to the Federation on the near planet-wide destruction in the last battle of the war. She knew from her own sessions with Captain Janeway that this child had escaped that horror only to cradle the corpse of her own father for hours in a cargo bay crawl space. Until the Captain herself had climbed in after the ceasefire and slowly, carefully, convinced the child to follow her out.
Nearly five years had passed since that day, and this traumatized girl had spent much of it on a Bajoran space station with little access to professional help.
"This will be a major step," Mai conceded, "Do you think you'll be ready to take it?"
"I have to try," while there was resolve in her, there was also guilt. The type that came with a child thinking they were letting their parents down.
"I think trying is admirable. What do you think about working with me on some tools you can use and exercises you can do to prepare yourself? That way, when you get to Deneva, you can be ready to try."
The young girl bit her lip fretfully but nodded.
…
Kathryn considered fidgeting but thought better of it.
Dr. Retz did fidget, which drew the arched brow of Tuvok in response— the very thing that Kathryn had been seeking to avoid herself. The two, standing on either side of her, made up something of a motley crew; although, Tuvok would surely deny that as vehemently as any Vulcan could. The Doctor's "when we were in the Delta Quadrant" this and "Mr. Tuvok once did [insert decidedly bizarre scheme]" that, always caused her old friend launch in truly creative Vulcan apologetics. It made finding ways to force her friends together in social situations something of a hobby for her.
This was no social situation, though.
They were about to welcome the one-and-only Dina Voyskunsky aboard the Venture; a fact, which Kathryn had balefully determined, neither man seemed particularly happy with. Oh, they certainly weren't plotting to get out of greeting their once-Captain. They were just wholly unenthusiastic in their reactions to hearing she was using the ship to taxi her to her next stop.
"Chin up, Doctor."
"Easy for you to say, Captain. The Admiral never called you a glorified toaster."
Kathryn looked at Tuvok in alarm. Tuvok, for his part, only gave her a solemn nod.
She tossed the Doctor a glance next, as her transport officer announced he was ready to beam the woman in question over, "We'll circle back to that later."
"I can't wait," he responded dryly, just as the Admiral materialized on the transporter pad.
Aaron Cavit had once, when he'd had a couple drinks in him after Voyager was lost, called Voyskunsky one of the most beautiful women he'd ever known. He'd then spent the better half of the next hour eulogizing his ex, whom he was meant to meet and rekindle his relationship with after Voyager's first mission. Kathryn's late-XO had mentioned his lost love only rarely after that, but each time he did it was with the wistful quality she herself got when thinking of Justin and, now, Mark.
The admiral's years in the Delta Quadrant had aged her, just as the war had aged Kathryn, but that didn't prove Aaron a liar. Tall, severe, and dark blonde, Voyskunsky had all the presence of a Klingon in a ballet. That is, she was intimidating and obviously knew it.
Kathryn, not easily intimidated, smiled, "Welcome aboard the Venture, Admiral."
Voyskunsky smiled back, a quick upward tug of her lips as she stepped down from the platform and took in her small welcoming party.
"Captain Janeway, between what Commander Tuvok and Owen have told me, I feel like I already know you. Speaking of, Commander, it's good to see you again."
"Likewise, Admiral."
The woman took a breath, then cast her gaze towards Retz, "Doctor, I never congratulated you on your posting."
The man in question affected a brilliant smile, "Better late than never."
His tone suggested he was talking about something entirely different from his new position; Kathryn made a note to tell him that swatting at the hornets nest that was the admiralty was never in anyone's best interest. Especially when the admiral in question was the latest darling of the Fleet. He'd lose whatever argument, new or old, he was dredging up here.
For now, she intervened before Voyskunsky could pick up on the challenge and began ushering the other woman from the transporter room. Aiming for diplomacy over familiarity, Kathryn chose not to bring up Aaron when she spoke next, "Commander Tuvok speaks highly of his time aboard Voyager."
Kathryn shot a quailing glance at the Doctor, who had the good sense to give her a bashful smile in return. He chose, perhaps astutely, to remain behind with Tuvok as the doors closed behind her.
"I've never known Tuvok to speak highly of anything."
Kathryn chuckled, "You just have to learn to read behind the lines."
"Yes, he did mention you two were longtime penpals."
That wasn't what she was getting at, but it was technically right so she let it go.
Kathryn remembered receiving her first letter from her friend when Starfleet made contact with Voyager. It had been short, because space was limited in those early days, but it had been the most emotional missive she'd ever received from him.
That was to say it was hardly emotional at all, but she'd been able to read between the literal lines, so to speak. It was easy to translate "I am gratified you have survived the war" as genuine happiness and relief that his friend awaited his return. He'd even taken the time to call her actions at the Battle of Cardassia "reckless but consistent with the many admirable qualities I recall you possess." She'd nearly wept, then, so 'gratified' he was alive, even after so many she'd cared about had died in the conflict around her, and so relieved he'd appraised the costs and benefits of her breaking the line and had decided she had done the right thing.
His later letters had intimated a distance in his professional relationship with his then-captain. She knew Tuvok had become Voyskunsky's first officer after her original choice had perished in the fourth year of their voyage. With the delicacy and economy of words that only Vulcans possessed, he'd been able to convey to her that his tactical and mission advice was heeded, but his personnel insights were ignored. Voyskunsky had resented his respectful camaraderie with the once-Maquis captain, Chakotay, and advocacy for the freed Borg Drone and EMH.
No, theirs had been a professional relationship built on a lack of other options, not true appreciation. It made perfect sense that the Admiral couldn't tell when Tuvok was complimenting her from when he was condemning her actions.
Kathryn couldn't hold that distance against Voyskunsky, even if she was fiercely loyal to her friend. How difficult must it have been, navigating an unmapped quadrant of space? How isolating? At least during the harshest days and weeks of the war, Kathryn had the 7th Fleet. She'd lost many friends and equals, often in a single battle, but there had always been support waiting in the wings when she needed it. Advice and company were always just a comms call away.
Replacements, even during the Federation's lowest points, were always there.
Voyskunsky had been stranded, tens of thousands of light years away. Her original crew nearly halved. The Maquis she's been sent to detain had been required to take vital roles. The people she'd chosen to man the helm, sickbay, and engineering gone. Those circumstances either killed a person or hardened them — and the admiral wasn't dead.
Kathryn decided it was best to take the attention off of her first officer.
"I've heard the Bellerophon is going to one of yours."
The admiral's smile was genuine this this time, "At least one of our Intrepids is still out there."
Voyager, the ship that had seen and done so much had suffered the worst fate for a young ship; it had been decommissioned. It was now at a dry dock on Earth, being picked apart by curious engineers eager to get their hands on its technology.
"Rumor is, they're designing a new Voyager."
"It could never replace the old."
There was a longing there, one Kathryn could begin to explain. The Venture was hers, but the Bellerophon went marrow deep. Both women had commanded the sister ships through impossible odds, and Starfleet had replaced them with objectively better postings, but nothing could replace your first commend. Not really.
Voyskunksy came out of her own reverie then, clearing her throat, "Well. Chakotay became an excellent Starfleet officer by the end of it, despite his rocky start. Your ship is in good hands."
His ship now.
...
"Report!"
Kathryn peeled herself from the floor of the bridge with considerable effort. They hadn't known to brace for impact, so most of her bridge crew were in a similar predicament, nursing impact injuries with consoles and chairs. She'd been tossed from her own chair like a rag doll, only just managing to cushion her impact with a half roll. The maneuver had only partially worked, transferring the bulk of her abrupt stop onto her right shoulder.
She could not move her arm.
Ilako was the first back to his station, "Warp core and impulse engines are offline."
"Navigation down," Taitt confirmed.
The helmsman and Ops officer were both clearly injured, but neither put up a fuss when she ordered them to investigate further. When Kathryn turned to look at the upper bridge, it was to see Tuvok at the tactical station. A thin line of green blood trailed from his temple as he stared, grimly, back.
Call it illogical human intuition, but she knew immediately what he was about to tell her.
"Lieutenant Grant is dead, Captain."
She breathed deeply once, then nodded, "Are we under attack?"
"Negative."
"Casualties?"
"Reports from all saucer decks: 148 injuries, five additional dead."
Five. Six including Grant. Likely more when the entire ship reported in.
Kathryn ground her teeth and looked around at her beleaguered bridge crew. They were all busy hunting down the information they knew she wanted. Most, like her, were sporting injuries they were studiously ignoring so they could carry on with figuring out the more pressing concern: What the hell had just happened
"The admiral?" she asked, suddenly remembering.
As if simply waiting for the question to be asked, the turbo-lift doors opened and practically spat the woman in question out.
Drying blood stained her left ear and hair. Yet, Voyskunsky appeared unperturbed. She assessed the state of everyone on the bridge, then hovered a hand over the injury as if in afterthought.
"It looks like I'm in good company, then," came her dry alto.
"Shaw to the Captain."
"Go ahead, Lieutenant."
"Good news is we should be able to get the warp core and impulse engines back online before we all die of old age. The bad news is 97 percent of our antimatter has been drained by…something."
Kathryn sighed, the effort of it causing a sharp twinge of pain to travel from her shoulder to her fingertips, "Next time, Mr. Shaw, I'd prefer to receive the bad news first and for the good news to actually be good."
"Noted, Captain."
The line closed, and she rubbed at her shoulder, "Sensors, Mr. Ilako?"
"Online. The data is static. Ensign Taylor is working with science on a protocol to find any patterns."
"Keep me updated. Mr. Taitt, distress beacons on all channels, we're sitting ducks out here."
Kathryn was already moving toward the upper bridge — not needing to wait for he helmsman to verbally respond — where she located and knelt by Grant's prone form.
His pulse was gone, skin already cooling, and his neck was at an unnatural angle. The poor man had had little time to enjoy his unexpected promotion. With Pernia's arrest, he'd stepped up, competently at that. It struck her then, as she pressed his eyelids closed, that they'd had very few one-on-one meetings.
She hadn't known him well, and now she never would.
Tuvok hovered by her left shoulder waiting for her orders.
"Coordinate with Transport One and the on-duty techs in medical."
This young officer, just minutes before so full of life, would in a few minutes time be in the morgue.
Tuvok nodded his assent.
Kathryn got to her feet, "I'll be in my ready room."
"Admiral," she spoke the next part more loudly, "would you care to join me?"
When the door closed behind them, Kathryn allowed herself to wince. It was a given that she'd dislocated her shoulder, whether or not more was going on was beyond her.
"You should have that looked at, Captain."
"Pot, meet Kettle."
"Pot met the turbolift wall, is more like it."
Both woman sat.
"Doctor Retz will make his way up here eventually, once Tuvok tells him I'm avoiding care."
Voyskunsky smiled. The expression, while ghoulish due to the blood still drying on her, was the first freely given one Kathryn had seen on her face since she arrived, "Ah, the zone defense. It was easier when the Doctor didn't have his mobile emitter."
"Even if he didn't, we had all key and community areas fitted with holo-emitters in the refit. There's no avoiding proper medical attention aboard the Venture."
The Admiral nodded, then steered the question elsewhere, perhaps sensing that Kathryn was not in the mood to discuss her CMO, "Assuming we survive this, we can delay my my meeting with Admiral Ross by only so many days. I could try to wrestle control from you, but I think my expertise is better put to use in engineering."
"I won't argue with keeping command of my ship," Kathryn kept her tone friendly but was unsure if she should be reading a threat in that statement. She knew that Voyskunsky got her start in engineering before shifting to command and knew that she'd used that expertise to help keep Voyager going through all manner of obscure unclassified scenarios (and very likely a large number of classified ones as well).
She'd rather her be a bee in Shaw's bonnet than chafe up against Kathryn's own command. It was what would be best for the ship and for the dynamic on the bridge.
"By all means, Admiral. Shaw's engineering room is your engineering room."
The Admiral stood to leave.
Kathryn fetched her PADD with her left hand and waited for Voyskunsky to reach the door before calling out, "Sickbay One is one is on the way. Let's not make medical have to track both of us down, hmmm?"