A Star Trek: Voyager Short Story
By Adrian Hilton
Chakotay had slept fitfully, and the attempts to match B'Elanna's drinking rate had been futile at best. As he stood in SFO's regional shuttle terminal waiting for the 11:34 departure to Indiana, the quiet but persistent intra-skull thumping reminded him that he had lost track of the drinks by 02:00, and that it would have been a good idea to quit then. Either the alcohol or the cigar had left the roof of his mouth feeling like it had been pickled in a jar of formaldehyde for a month.
He looked out onto the tarmac through a rather fetching pair of shades that he had bought from a small shop off the Castro a week or so back. They were very stylish, mirrored lenses with blue-steel frames and did not look incongruous on him, but they were above all very good at cutting out light and that was very welcome this morning.
Now that the numbing effect of the alcohols had worn off, aided by a double latté (hold the milk) from the terminal kiosk, he was able to contemplate the forthcoming day. Little of its prospects appeared to hold any potential for fun. He briefly considered a tactical retreat to the sandwich store. This option was swiftly rejected when he thought of what B'Elanna would say. Very few vowels would be involved.
A baseball cap-wearing elderly gentleman noted his nervous pacing and decided to act.
"First flight in a shuttle, son?"
Chakotay was startled for a moment, but decided to play along.
"First for a while."
"Ah." The man nodded sagely. "Bad experiences?"
"I've had more than my share of crashes," admitted Chakotay. "It's always nerve-wracking when you're trusting your life to someone else." Ask any of his passengers screamed the voices in his head.
"Don't you worry, now," the man assured him. "They've made these contraptions real reliable now. I've been flying between Indiana and California every month for years now, and never the hint of a problem."
"Whom do you visit?" Chakotay sat down beside the man, glad of a distraction from his horde of problems.
"My son and grandchildren," The man pulled out his wallet and extracted a photo. Chakotay painfully focused on it. A tall blond-haired man was marshalling four children to stay within the limits of the camera, with mixed success. Chakotay was impressed with the man's coordination.
"They look a lively bunch." The man grinned.
"They wear James down now and then, that's why I go over. He needs a few days every month to go do his own thing. Normally my wife comes with me, but she's at a conference this week so I'm on my own."
The man looked Chakotay up and down appraisingly. "You got a young lady?"
Chakotay shook his head. "It's never really worked out."
The man grinned again -- or was it more of a smirk? "Look around Indiana when you get there. Might see something you like."
He held out his hand. "Edward Santiago. My friends call me Ted."
"Chakotay." Ted's grip was strong, but not crushing.
Ted proved to be a good travel companion. He had been in the Marines when they were skirmishing with the Klingons before Khitomer, and had good stories to tell. Chakotay, not short of his own battle experiences, found the tales of hand-to-hand fighting and ship-boarding captivating. He tactfully avoided mentioning that one of his best friends was a Klingon, but Ted didn't seem to have anything against them per se. There was a warrior's respect for a worthy opponent, and a distaste for the Starfleet REMFs with which Chakotay could sympathise.
When pressed about his own life, Chakotay carefully short-circuited his Starfleet and Maquis experiences, extending his time in San Francisco from four weeks to seven years and recalling his life on the settlement without reference to which planet the settlement was actually on. Conscious of the mixed feelings towards the Maquis held by many on Earth, he turned the conversation back to Ted's family. Ted was only to happy to oblige, chest swelling with a grandfather's pride.
Santiago Jr. had been a life support systems mechanic in a Starfleet dockyard; his parents had been proud of his skills, but Irene Santiago could never understand why he hadn't gone for his Lieutenant's commission. Ted, a sergeant for much of his military service, understood better. James was happy with his work, riding a career towards deep-space engineering without most of the crap that accompanies rank. Then something came out of an unexpected quarter and hit him at Warp Ten...
Ted pulled another photo from his wallet. "Stadi. James married her twelve years ago." Chakotay saw a shy smile above an Ensign's pip and below the black-on-black eyes of a Betazoid. "First we knew about her was when James invited us up to the station for the marriage." Ted gave a wry smile. "He wasn't ever a great one for communicating. Even then, I think it only occurred to him to invite us after Stadi explained what a wedding involved. Maybe that's why Stadi and he got on so well -- they didn't need to talk to say how they felt. Nor did we," he chuckled, "you could feel the two of them through a foot of duranium. Though it was kinda weird to have a daughter-in-law who knew what you were thinking." It occurred to Chakotay that it would be much, much worse to have a mother-in-law with the same ability, but he let this pass.
"All of us loved her to bits. She and James settled on the station, and the grandchildren started arriving like there was no tomorrow. She'd split with her parents when she joined Starfleet -- they weren't keen on their only daughter taking up a military career -- and she treated Irene and me like we were her real mom and dad."
"She was a top-notch pilot, scared the hell out of me when she snuck us into the station hangar and flew us around and between the Lunar Mountains in a shuttle for an hour once, but the kids thought her so cool for it. Having a mom who was the station's best pilot carried a lot of cred in school. James worried when she went out on missions, but she was rarely away for more than a week, and we knew she could surf her ship on the crest of a supernova."
"What happened?" Something was nagging at Chakotay, though he couldn't quite place it.
"She was commissioned as a Lieutenant for her first deep-space mission." Ted paused, his face clouding over. "She was killed five days into it. We didn't hear for months -- her ship was missing, presumed lost. James was holding on, hoping that she had survived; when word finally came through, he came apart."
There was a dark silence for a moment. Then Ted shook his head.
"If it hadn't been for the kids, I don't think he would have made it. He threw in the job, came back with the kids to live with Irene and me for a while. For a couple years he only lived to take his children through each day, help them grow up and be there whenever they needed a parent. They could feel that he needed them too; with Stadi as a mother they couldn't read minds but they could feel hurt and loss."
"Anyhow, when James' youngest, Jody, went off to school James took a job as a mechanic in Bloomington, near where we brought him up. He works part time; enough to support the family, with the Starfleet pensions. I think he just wants to do something to clear his head. When Irene and I look after the kids he goes down south to hike the plains, alone. Maybe one day he'll be ready to find someone new, but not for a long while."
Ted sighed and slapped Chakotay's shoulder. "You don't want to listen to an old man going on about his family, youngster. Tell me a story about yourself. I can't believe that you've been a Vulcan monk for your entire life -- tell me about some of the hot San Francisco women you've served."
Chakotay laughed and accepted the challenge. "Well, there was one time when I was marooned on a desert island with just a shelter, a beautiful woman and a few monkeys..." He launched into a slightly edited tale of the sojourn on New Earth. As the bathtub took shape and memories of the weeks on the planet returned, his hangover and worries receded.
It was perhaps well for his peace of mind that he had no knowledge of the details of the call that B'Elanna was putting through to Gretchen Janeway at that moment.
Annika woke, and briefly panicked to find herself half-suffocated. A flail of the arms cleared the duvet from her face, and she panted for a moment while the rest of her senses came on line. She was in a bed, in a house, in Indiana, on Earth, with her Captain ten yards away. She was safe. Relieved, her breathing slowed and the world came into focus.
Tactical advice from Tuvok came to mind. "When in an unknown environment, do not rush to reconnoitre. Allow your opponents to make the opening moves, locate them and make your plans." Very different from the undoubtedly effective Borg tactic of hoovering up all opponents in a systematic manner, but perhaps more appropriate in this situation.
She lay in bed a while longer, assessing the scene. A strong sunlight glowed behind the curtains, giving a soft yellow light to the room. Its apparent angle indicated that the morning was young. Some birdsong could be heard in the stillness, but no movements from the rest of the house. Annika was in no hurry to move; the bed was warm and comfortable.
After a while she detected a familiar tang in the air. At first it was elusive, but gradually strengthened until a memory kicked at her. Coffee! The Captain was almost permanently surrounded by the smell on board Voyager. Employing faultless logic, Annika deduced that where coffee was, so would Kathryn Janeway be. She slid out of bed, pulled a jumper over her pyjamas and headed for the kitchen.
Annika's reasoning had been excellent, but incorrect. When she wandered into the kitchen Kathryn was nowhere to be seen. Instead Gretchen Janeway was there, already dressed, pouring out a mug of coffee from the pot.
"Good morning, Annika. Coffee?" Gretchen pulled another mug off a stand which looked like a bush that flowered into coffee mugs.
"Thank you." Annika glanced around, and Gretchen spotted the movement.
"Looking for Kathryn? She won't be up for a few hours yet, I'd say." The kitchen clock was reading just past eight o'clock. "Since she got back she's not slept less than ten hours a night." Gretchen handed over a steaming mug. "Phoebe's not much of an early riser either. Come onto the deck and keep me company."
Annika successfully masked her fear and obediently followed Gretchen out into the sunshine.
A rocking chair and porch swing provided a cozy place to sit in the warmth, and a few trees at the edge of the long garden broke up the light enough that it didn't blind one. Gretchen took the rocking chair, padded with cushions to protect her older bones. Annika carefully perched on the swing. She was disconcerted by its movement but adapted her position to maintain balance.
The sunlight showed Annika the lines on Gretchen's face. For the first time she realised how old Kathryn's mother was. The years on Voyager had made her take youthful appearances for granted. Even Tuvok, the oldest on board, looked younger than the rest of the senior staff -- the semi-juvenile Harry excepted.
"Kathryn told me that you've been with your aunt for the past couple of weeks," Gretchen offered, sipping at the coffee.
"It has been strange," Annika admitted. "I have few memories of before I was assim- when I was younger." She had discovered that not everyone accepted her Borg history as well as the Voyager crew. "I did not recognise my aunt when I saw her, though she remembered me well. She talked of times that I did not remember, and it was hard to know what to say." She took a careful nip of the coffee. It fired the taste receptors in her mouth, and pulled her head back into the mug for a longer swig.
"You like the coffee, hey?" Gretchen was smiling. "Kathryn used to look just like that when she got her first coffee of the morning. I'm still not quite used to the Kathryn who's returned; she hasn't touched the stuff since she came back. Are you sure that she wasn't switched with a clone while you were out there?"
It took a moment for Annika to register this as a funny. The Doctor had briefed her on clues that indicates that someone did not intend a statement to be taken as literally true. Gretchen was good at concealing most of those signs, but the slight twitch of an eyebrow gave her away.
Relieved that Gretchen wasn't testing her, Annika relaxed a little. "Both you and Kathryn have been very kind to me here. After four years on Voyager I have found it very hard to live anywhere else. But this house is like a new home. It is the first time I have felt at peace."
Gretchen looked at her searchingly. Annika had seen that look before, usually wielded by a Captain on a quest for an answer. Such quests had seldom failed, and she sensed that determination was very much a Janeway family trait.
"That's a very nice thing to say, Annika. This house has been in the family for many years; Kathryn and Phoebe grew up here, and before that Edward -- my husband -- and I made it a home. I've been here more years than, perhaps, I care to remember. But of times I've wondered whether I've just been selfish and made it a nest for only myself. For someone to come visit, and say what you said -- that means a lot to me."
Annika cast around for a reply, and found none. Fortunately Gretchen's senses were at least as sharp as her daughter's, and she gently nudged the conversation along.
"What do you want to do, now that you're back on Earth?" She remembered Annika's astronomical talents. "Are you ready to settle under one set of stars?"
"Settle?" Annika thought on that for a while. "I do not know. Perhaps I had settled on Voyager. It took many months for me to feel comfortable with the people there, but they worked to make me welcome, find me a place in the ship to work and bring me into their Collec- into their family." She curled her legs up onto the swing. "But there were only one hundred and fifty people on Voyager. There are one billion three hundred million on Earth." She shivered, despite the warmth of the morning.
"So start small!" Gretchen laughed, a clear and loud laugh that gave Annika a start. "Annika dearest, I've lived a long time, and I don't know one billion people. We have huge cities on Earth, yes, but we also have small towns, villages, and even hamlets. There are only maybe two hundred people who live around here. I know most of them. We are, if you like, a ship's company. Some join, some leave, but we steer our ship through the years together."
She pointed out across the yard. "That house over there, that belongs to May and Tony Arsenio. They used to work in New York, but moved out here when city life was too much for him, about six years back. When they first came, they knew nobody. Now Tony's the first man we go to for any problems with a replicator, May writes a scandalously funny column in the local newscast, and we wouldn't be without them."
She turned back to Annika. "Putting down roots isn't easy. I won't lie to you and say that it will all just happen. There will be times when you feel as if the whole world is shutting you out. But believe me, one day you will wake up and find that you are part of something bigger than one."
"You never know," she added with a twinkle, "when you do wake up, there may well be another head on the pillow beside you. You're a beautiful young woman; sooner or later you'll find someone to share all this with."
"Once I thought that I had." Annika's eyes fell, and Gretchen read the pain that covered her face.
"Oh! Oh Annika, I'm so sorry. I've been a dumb and thoughtless old woman."
Annika, despite the hurt, knew that she shouldn't show it. She swallowed and raised her head, drawing on what Harry Kim had once called her 'poker face'. "No, it is not important." She left the swing. "I should dress. Thank you for the coffee."
Gretchen watched the young woman disappear into the hall. Half of her wanted to run after Annika, hug her, tell her that everything would be all right. The wiser but sadder half held her back.
Annika felt the pricking in her eyes as she climbed the stairs. To her relief Kathryn and Phoebe hadn't yet appeared. She managed to hold her composure until she had the door closed behind her, then the grief washed over her and she fell to the bed, choking back sobs.
The gentle chiming of the video console drew Gretchen from the deck into the kitchen. She glanced at the calling address -- San Francisco? Someone at Starfleet wanting to contact Kathryn? Her daughter had made it plain that she would rejoin Starfleet in her own time. Gretchen's eyes narrowed, and as she pressed ANSWER expected a Starfleet dress uniform to appear on screen.
The young woman on the other end of the connection wore a Starfleet shirt all right, but it was open at her neck and decidedly casual. Her red hair and forehead ridges marked her as anything but a conventional Starfleet bureaucrat. Gretchen had met a fair few 'crats in her time, and they tended to have the temperament of a Vulcan (or, in the case of Starfleet Finance, a Ferengi), rather than the fiery blood of a Klingon.
"Yes?" Gretchen was puzzled rather than annoyed.
"Mrs. Janeway, I'm B'Elanna Torres. I'm a friend of Kathryn's from Voyager."
Gretchen had to pause for a second before she could recall the woman's face from the news broadcasts when Voyager arrived at Earth. Hadn't she been the one who married Owen Paris's son?
"Hello, B'Elanna. I'm afraid Kathryn's not around at the moment..."
"Good," interrupted B'Elanna. "I figured she'd still be in bed. Listen, Mrs. Janeway, I'm sorry to be rude but I need to ask you something really, really important."
Gretchen's eyebrow rose. "Go on, B'Elanna. This is about Kathryn, I guess?" She remembered more about B'Elanna now. Kathryn had written about her Chief's passion, loyalty and friendship. Gretchen saw some of this coming through in the young woman's eyes and urgent tone.
"Right," B'Elanna confirmed. "In about two hours a man will be arriving at your front door. Kathryn hasn't invited him to stay; she and he haven't spoken in about a month. Nevertheless it is incredibly important that you let him in, put him and Kathryn in a room and lock it. Don't leave anything breakable in the room and make sure that it's got a reasonably thick carpet."
"A carpet?" Gretchen was struggling to catch up with events, though was starting to put the pieces together.
B'Elanna realised that she was supplying too much detail and backed up. "Whatever. The carpet's not vital. But you've got to get him and Kathryn together. They've spent seven years trying, with a great deal of success, to screw themselves out of any chance of happiness. I think I've finally made him see the light, but Kathryn might take some persuading."
A man's voice came into the conversation. "Chief Torres?"
"Bug off, Riley." Torres half-turned for a moment and gave a glare to someone off-screen. "Sorry, ma'am. Where was I? Oh yes; you know how stubborn Kathryn can be when you try to make her do something smart?"
"Oh yes," admitted her mother.
"Let's say that she's not mellowed with age." B'Elanna grinned. "Kathryn's been a good friend to me over the past years. I love her, but she can be so pig-headed." Gretchen, remembering one or two trenchant comments about the Chief Engineer from her daughter's letters, bit her tongue. "The only way we're going to make this work is to present her with a fait accompli."
"And after we do, what then?"
"Then - " The man's voice, slightly petulant, had come back again. "I need your signature on both the sheets, otherwise -" B'Elanna stretched one arm off-screen and the voice was choked off. "Then we cross our fingers and hope."
Gretchen, carefully not noticing the suppressed gurgling noises from the viewscreen, had one more question. "Who is this man, B'Elanna?"
"His name is Chakotay." B'Elanna glanced off-screen again. "I'm sorry, ma'am, I've got to sort something out here. Give me a call this evening at home." A contact number flashed across the bottom of the screen, and the console gave a quiet chirp to acknowledge receipt. "Bye."
The videoscreen went grey, and Gretchen walked back to the deck. This time she did not go to the rocking chair, but instead down the steps and out onto the lawn. The sun was now rising to its zenith, and had probably started to poke fingers around the edge of the curtain in Kathryn's room. It wouldn't be long before she had a pair of sleepy-eyed daughters in her kitchen, harvesting their breakfast.
A small rockery halfway down the garden was blanketed with peonies. Careful of her joints, Gretchen kneeled in front of it and started pulling small weeds from the edges. After a while she started speaking, quietly but clearly.
"She's done it again, Edward." Gretchen paused and sighed. "I started to wonder whether she'd ever get it right. But maybe this time she can -- maybe her friends have done what we couldn't."
The garden was silent for a moment. Then a small wind came up and carried sounds of laughter from the house down the lawn. Gretchen looked up, and saw Kathryn's pink dressing gown through the kitchen window. Another day had started.
Go on to Part 5
Back to Part 3
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