Star Trek Voyager: Unworthy

by Kirsten Beyer

  Chakotay seemed to share the heaviness of Seven’s spirit. Seven had resented his absence as Irene’s condition had worsened. Now she understood that his struggles had blinded him to the suffering of others. She could not condone his behavior, but she had accepted his apology.

  “Would you like to say something?” he asked kindly.

  Seven paused.

  “What is there to say now?” she asked.

  Chakotay smiled faintly. “Imagine she were standing here with us. What would you tell her?”

  Seven tried to do as he suggested. Staring out over the clear blue water, a color she suddenly realized had been close to that of Irene’s eyes, she began.

  “I saw Icheb today.”

  It seemed odd to mention something so trivial at such a moment, but she couldn’t help herself. Irene had always shown a lively interest in even the most mundane details of Seven’s life.

  “He received the highest marks in his class this year, as we suspected he would. I do not yet know what specialties he may pursue in his final year as a cadet. We didn’t have time to discuss it. He did, however, express his sadness at your passing. I am certain that when he came to the house he was hoping you might have left a few slices of strawberry pie for him. It remains his favorite.”

  After a long silence, Seven suddenly found it easier to remember what Irene had looked like in better days, and the memory of her aunt’s patient eyes gave her strength to continue.

  “I am departing Earth tomorrow,” Seven said. “I am not well, and I believe that to restore my health, this journey is necessary. I do not know when I will return.”

  Seven tried unsuccessfully to swallow the discomfort that was rising in her throat. “I can never truly thank you for all you have given me. You were unexpected.”

  Tears began to flow down her cheeks, but she didn’t bother wiping them away.

  “Your home became my favorite place. Your memories of my father brought him back to me more clearly than all his logs ever could. Your support enabled me to adapt to my new life here, and your generosity has shown me my own deficiencies in that regard. I will miss you. But I will adapt. You would expect nothing less of me.”

  Seven turned her tear-streaked face to Chakotay and saw that his eyes, too, were glistening. He took the urn from her arms so she could loosen the lid in preparation to scatter Irene’s ashes.

  Seven took the urn and stepped to the edge of the shoreline. Before she emptied it, she whispered, “I do not know if you can hear me, but if you can, I want you to know that I love you, Aunt Irene. I will remember you and all that you have given me.”

  Seven gently tipped the urn on its side and scattered the ashes into the bay.

  She started to turn back to Chakotay when a new and frightening thought formed in her mind. She tried to accept it as part of Irene’s greatest gift to her. Annika Hansen had been little more than a blur, an indistinct memory and a semi-familiar face in old family photographs until Irene’s remembrance of her brother’s only child had been added to Seven’s own. Now that little girl was more real to her than she had ever imagined, and though she feared her power and her pain, she could not deny that Irene had brought her back to Seven in a way not even the Caeliar could have managed.

  “Annika wishes you peace,” Seven finally said.

  And so do I, she thought sadly.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  After more than two weeks of tests and tweaks, the fleet had flawlessly demonstrated to Eden’s satisfaction that traveling within the same slipstream corridor was both possible and safe. They were currently grouped not far from what had once been Deneva and was now an ashen shadow of its former beauty, and within hours would travel their first major distance to the terminus between the Beta and Delta quadrants.

  Eden entered her ready room and found her ex-husband, Admiral Willem Batiste, sitting at her desk.

  And this day started out so well, she mused.

  Willem had remained in his quarters during most of the test period. This might be evidence of his confidence in the fleet’s commanding officers. But Eden knew his penchant for micromanagement too well to believe it. He wasn’t hovering over her shoulder because he was working on something else. Odds were, unless she managed to unintentionally get in his way, she would never know what it was.

  He studied her monitor with a scowl, clearly not pleased by what he saw. His rugged face had a taut, almost pale quality this morning, and she believed his short, fine black hair was finally beginning to betray him in small flecks of white and an overall loss of sheen.

  You were a lot more handsome when I married you, Willem, she thought. Up until the moment she accepted this command, Eden wouldn’t have hesitated voicing such a comment. Once he became her superior officer, everything about their relationship had changed once again. She secretly believed that the only way they would ever survive this mission together was if they both took professionalism to unexplored heights. She didn’t know which of them would break first, but she didn’t want it to be her.

  “What in the blazes has your chief engineer done to the deflector array?” the admiral asked gruffly, without looking up.

  Eden bit back the first five replies that came to mind and settled for, “The precise calculations necessary to compensate for the phase variances required a few minor alterations. I can assure you, it’s still within regulations. ”

  “And you approved this, Captain?”

  Tension knotted the tops of Eden’s shoulders as she straightened a little and replied, “I did,” with just enough residual tone to dare him to second-guess her. She couldn’t resist adding, “I thought it might be nice, since our mission is to explore the Delta quadrant, if we actually all arrived there together and in one piece.”

  Batiste let her sarcasm slide, asking, “When are we going to depart?”

  “Tom tells me we should be under way in the next few hours. It’s important we get this right, so I’m willing to give engineering all the time they need.”

  “Tom?” Batiste echoed with a hint of disdain.

  “I’ll call my senior officers what I like, Admiral,” Eden countered. “I find a more congenial manner instills both trust and respect.”

  “They’re not your friends, Afsarah,” Batiste reminded her.

  “Neither are you, Admiral.”

  Eden wished she could have taken those last words back but was spared further self-recrimination by a chirp from her combadge.

  “Ops to the Captain.”

  “Go ahead, Ensign Lasren,” Eden replied.

  “We’ve been hailed by a civilian vessel, the Alpha Flyer , Captain. They are requesting permission to come aboard and meet with you .”

  “Who are they?”

  “The request was made by Seven of Nine.”

  Eden’s heart actually paused for a moment at this news. She had offered Seven a position with the fleet weeks ago and been rather perfunctorily dismissed. It seemed too much to hope that she had changed her mind, but if there was even a chance, Eden would be more than happy to hear her out.

  “Allow the ship to dock, and escort Seven to the conference room,” Eden replied as she turned back toward the door. Before she reached it she was conscious of Batiste’s presence at her heels.

  “I’m sure this is nothing you need to trouble yourself with, Admiral,” she said pointedly.

  “I’m as curious as you are, Captain,” he said, smirking.

  Repressing a sigh, Eden made her way across the length of her bridge to the opposite set of conference room doors.

  She and Batiste endured only a few moments of silence before the doors slid open. Seven’s regal figure entered, followed by the last person in the universe Eden ever expected to see aboard her ship: Voyager’s former commanding officer, Captain Chakotay, wearing a casual pair of slacks, a tunic, and a jacket.

  “Hello, Seven,” Eden said, crossing to extend her hand to hers, which Seven accepted. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  “Thank
you, Captain,” Seven replied.

  Turning to Chakotay, Eden extended her hand to him and said, “You’re out of uniform, Captain.”

  Chakotay smiled with a hint of self-deprecation as he replied, “It’s just ‘Chakotay,’ Captain Eden. I resigned my commission several weeks ago.”

  The admiral was standing a few paces behind Eden as she took in this startling news. Finally Eden relieved Chakotay’s discomfort by adding, “I don’t know if either of you have met the admiral of the fleet, Willem Batiste.”

  As they exchanged polite greetings, Seven said a little harshly, “The admiral and I have met.”

  She likes him less than I do, Eden realized.

  The captain motioned for them to take a seat as she and Batiste situated themselves across the table.

  “To what do I owe this unexpected honor?” Eden asked as they were settling themselves.

  Without betraying a hint of enthusiasm, Seven said, “You had indicated that my presence would be beneficial to the fleet. I have come to offer my service.”

  Eden felt her face breaking into a smile until Willem broke in to ask, “Why?”

  “Admiral?” Seven said, inclining her head ever so slightly in his direction.

  “You refused Captain Eden’s offer the first time it was extended,” Batiste replied. “I want to know why you’ve changed your mind.”

  Something defiant and a little hostile flickered across Seven’s alabaster face.

  “My circumstances have changed since the last time we spoke,” Seven said evenly. “Initially, one of the most significant obstacles was the health of my aunt. She has since passed away.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that, Seven,” Eden said with genuine sympathy.

  “Thank you, Captain,” Seven said. “In addition, it is my understanding that part of this fleet’s mission is to confirm that the Caeliar are gone. I believe my assistance in this respect would be valuable to the fleet.”

  “You think they’re still out there, don’t you?” the admiral said, as if confirming a long-held suspicion.

  “As I said when I was interviewed by Command, I am not certain what I believe,” Seven replied. “But I would like to investigate it further and a posting with this fleet is the only way to accomplish it.”

  Batiste sat back in his seat, considering Seven with obvious skepticism.

  Worried that he might actually kill her proposition without even uttering another word, Eden quickly said, “We would be delighted to have you aboard, Seven.”

  “Before you agree, Captain, I must make you aware of certain matters relating to my personal health, and must advise you of the terms under which I am prepared to accept this assignment.”

  Batiste had barely inhaled to retort that setting “terms” was not her place when Eden preempted him, saying, “By all means.”

  Seven paused to collect herself, an odd sight to see as she was one of the most unflappable people Eden had ever encountered. Finally she said, “When the Caeliar transformed the Borg, I was briefly connected to the Caeliar gestalt. It was a unique experience and one that is difficult to describe. I was severed from that link but since that time I have continued to sense a presence in my mind. Please understand that I am in perfect physical health. However, over time, this sense of a lingering connection to the Caeliar has remained and actually grown stronger.”

  “What is the nature of the connection?” Eden asked.

  “I can only describe it as a voice,” Seven replied.

  “What does it tell you?” Batiste asked warily, beating Eden to the punch.

  “It says that ‘I am Annika Hansen,’ over and over again.”

  “That is your human name,” Eden said.

  Seven nodded. “It has been my preference since I separated from the Borg to designate myself as Seven of Nine. I do not understand why the insistence of this voice that I am Annika is so troubling, apart from the fact that Annika essentially ceased to exist at the age of eight. Obviously I am no longer Borg, but I have struggled over the years to establish an individual identity which encompasses the best of what is human and Borg within me. The voice seems to insist that I must disregard a vast part of my life. I have found that most troubling. If we can successfully locate the Caeliar, whom I believe might still be out there, they might be able to help me resolve this issue.”

  Eden allowed herself to sit in silence as the implications of Seven’s words arranged themselves in her mind in a long series of bright red flags.

  “So you aren’t so much offering your service to the fleet as requesting our assistance,” Batiste finally said.

  Chakotay had sat in placid silence until now. His eyes flashed briefly as he said, “For many years now, Seven has responded time and again to any and all requests made of her by Starfleet. She has never accepted a commission. She has served diligently and loyally whenever and wherever she was asked, including at the Palais de la Concorde during the Borg Invasion. Never in all that time has she made a personal request of Starfleet. I think it’s the least Starfleet can do.”

  “And what’s your interest in this, Chakotay?” Batiste asked with a healthy dollop of condescension. “Are you using your free time to transport wayward civilians around the quadrant?”

  “I requested Chakotay’s presence,” Seven objected, “and the only thing I ask is that you allow him to remain onboard as my advisor.”

  A veritable bouquet of new flags shot up in Eden’s head, but she held her peace. It was clear that Seven needed to accompany the fleet, but it was equally evident that her presence, even in a diminished capacity, would be a great asset. The captain questioned Chakotay’s motives in accompanying Seven, but did not doubt that if she refused, Seven would change her mind.

  “Do you find that arrangement acceptable, Chakotay?” Eden asked.

  “I do,” he said sincerely. “Seven and I have been friends for a very long time. She saved my life and the lives of Voyager’s crew more times than I can count. To assist her now as she works through this difficult issue is the least I can do for her.”

  “Captain, a moment?” Batiste interrupted.

  With a deferential nod, Seven and Chakotay rose and excused themselves, moving to stand outside the door where a security officer stood at attention.

  “I think we should refuse their request,” Batiste said before the air had settled.

  “Admiral, did you ever actually read the full text of the report I prepared for Project Full Circle on Voyager’s time in the Delta quadrant?”

  “Many times, as you well know.”

  “May I point out a few salient facts. Seven is an extraordinary individual. Everything Chakotay has said about her service to Starfleet is true. More important, Starfleet wants to confirm that the Borg and Caeliar are nothing but a memory, and it’s possible that Seven is now the closest we might come to a living, breathing Caeliar detector. We already know that if the Caeliar don’t want to be found, they won’t be. They’ve turned xenophobia into an art. She can help us. And we can help her. It’s a win-win from where I sit.”

  “What about Chakotay?”

  Eden shrugged. “As long as he limits his activities to advising Seven, I can accept it. I can also think of a couple hundred ways that another person who’s actually been in the Delta quadrant could come in handy.”

  Batiste considered her words, or more accurately, if Eden still knew him as well as she thought she did, calculated the force requirements in continuing to argue the point. “You actually think the man who used to command this ship is going to be content as a civilian advisor to one crew member? I couldn’t do it, and I don’t think you could, either.”

  “He’s not going to have a choice, Admiral,” Eden replied coldly.

  “It’s your ship, Captain,” he finally replied, rising from the table and exiting the room to the bridge.

  “Damn straight,” she muttered before signaling the security officer to allow Seven and Chakotay to re-enter.

  Eden then graciously
accepted Seven’s terms, asking only that she report at once to sickbay for a full medical evaluation. The captain then ordered that until Seven had successfully resolved her issue with the voice, she would also be expected to meet regularly with the ship’s counselor, Lieutenant Hugh Cambridge.

  To Eden’s surprise, Chakotay agreed that Counselor Cambridge would be most helpful. But he suggested that Voyager’s former EMH, with his vast knowledge of Seven’s prior medical history, might be better equipped to treat Seven than the new CMO.

  Eden agreed and ordered Paris to assign them quarters. The captain then returned to the bridge, where she ordered the Achilles to retrieve the shuttle and stow it aboard the fleet’s engineering transport. Normally she didn’t second-guess her decisions, but Eden found herself wondering how complicated this mission was going to get.

  And we’re not even in the Delta quadrant yet, she thought, shaking her head.

  Eleven days after B’Elanna arrived at New Talax, her shuttle was once again in working order. Neelix had assigned a team of eager engineers to assist her. B’Elanna discovered that what they lacked in expertise, they more than made up for in curiosity and enthusiasm.

  Unfortunately, the same could not be said for the three doctors and six medical technicians who staffed the asteroid base’s infirmary. Dr. Hestax, a wizened, spindly man who looked as if a strong wind might blow him over, had been the first to tend to Miral once B’Elanna confirmed that her temperature was definitely running high. The fever had soon given way to a general lethargy and inability to keep down solid foods. Hestax had initially prescribed rest, liquids, and constant attention. The doctor hesitated to deliver any antiviral therapies as he could not be certain that the hybrid child’s physiology would tolerate them. “Best to wait it out,” he said sagely the night Miral had arrived in the emergency ward for treatment.