Star Trek: Voyager: A Pocket Full of Lies

by Kirsten Beyer

  But he couldn’t be for this. She had to make this choice for both of them. Either way, it was going to destroy his world, his hopes for the future, every dream he’d allowed himself to imagine since they’d met. This wasn’t his fault. She’d used him to keep her terror at a distance. That was all. There had been times she’d imagined something more and even allowed herself to believe it could happen with Harry. But not like this. He deserved better. She had to make him see that.

  “I’m pregnant,” she said softly.

  Righteous indignation fled from his face. Now it was his turn to experience shock.

  “I don’t want the baby,” she continued, just in case there was any doubt in his mind. “I’m not ready and neither or you.”

  “I don’t— Wait. Can you even . . . ?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with it. My condition won’t affect it. They, the doctors, want me to keep it so that they can harvest cells from it to repair the damage to my DNA.”

  Harry stepped back.

  That’s right, she thought. Run. I would if I were you.

  Harry didn’t.

  He looked around for a moment, as if he had suddenly been transported to the surface of an inhospitable alien world, then he dropped like a stone onto a nearby weight bench. She watched him process this minor detail. Every emotion, every thought he was having was plain on his face. He seemed to settle on overwhelmed.

  “It’s all right,” she said. “You can go. This isn’t your problem.”

  “You don’t want the baby?”

  “For God’s sake, Harry, what do you think?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve had all of thirty seconds to process this.”

  “You don’t want the baby either.”

  “You don’t know that. Remember that time you got pissed at me for thinking I knew better than you what you needed? I stopped. You need to do the same.”

  Good point. “Sorry.”

  Harry rose abruptly and took a few unsteady steps. When he reached the punching bag he seemed to seriously consider taking a swing at it, but instead grabbed it for support and hugged it with both arms.

  “If you weren’t sick, would your choice be different?”

  Nancy released a long, deep breath.

  “I have no idea. And now I’m never going to know.”

  “Pretend, just for the sake of argument. Could you see it—you and me and a child, out here, doing what we do?”

  “Not right now. A few years from now, maybe. Today, not really.”

  “But if you . . . ” Harry swallowed hard, unable to bring himself to utter the words.

  She did it for him. “Terminate it.”

  “Then you’ll die?”

  “My odds of survival go way down.”

  “Then you have to keep it.”

  “I don’t have to do anything, Harry.”

  “You’d rather commit slow suicide than raise our child together?”

  “I won’t create a life for the sole purpose of saving my own.”

  “You didn’t. Did you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then why not keep it?”

  “Look, I’m having a hard enough time sorting this out on my own. I understand why you think you have a stake in this, but you don’t. I have to do what I can live with. I’m sorry, Harry, but your needs can’t factor into this decision for me.”

  Harry rested his face against the bag. He began to slowly pound his forehead against its soft surface. After a few moments, he pulled back and nodded, more to himself than to her.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means you get to decide what you want to do about this. It means I’m not going to pressure you one way or the other. I want you to live. But I get that you need to do that on your terms. I’m not going to make this harder for you. Whatever you decide, you don’t even have to tell me. Just . . . do it.”

  “Thank you.”

  She expected this to be the end. She wasn’t okay with that, but it was necessary.

  “So, what else is going on?”

  Nancy was struck dumb. Insensate of this fact, Kim moved slowly back toward her, crossing his arms at his chest.

  “What?”

  “How are you doing otherwise?”

  “You’re not my counselor, Harry.”

  “No. I’m the man who loves you. Whatever you do, whatever you say, that’s not going to change. If you’d rather, we could just take turns beating the hell out of that thing. Or . . . hang on . . . we’re on a holodeck.”

  Harry moved to the controls and briefly scanned the menu. He tapped a few commands into the panel and the scene around them shifted. Nancy suddenly found herself in an alien landscape. They were in a forest, surrounded by tall trees. Two large white suns hung on the horizon, bathing the grove in which they stood in beautiful pink and orange light. A gentle breeze blew. As it did so, the leaves around them rustled, no, trilled softly, creating an almost musical sound.

  “What is this place?”

  “It’s a planet out here called Alastria. I visited it once, briefly. This is my version . . . it’s how I remember it.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “I know. I come here sometimes when I’m tired of thinking.”

  Harry seated himself on the ground and stared out at the sunsets. After a few moments, Nancy settled herself beside him.

  “How come you never brought me here before?”

  Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never shared it with anyone before.”

  “Don’t you have to get back to Voyager?”

  “Eventually. But with all the extra duty shifts I’ve pulled lately, I don’t think Tom or Chakotay would mind if I took a little time for myself.”

  “Do you want me to leave?”

  “Yes, Nancy. I just reprogrammed the holodeck to show you the most beautiful, deeply personal space I’ve created for myself because I wanted to be here alone.”

  Nancy smiled.

  “Stupid,” Harry muttered, lifting his arms and pulling her close until her head rested comfortably on his chest.

  They sat like that, in silence, long after darkness had fallen around them.

  DEMETER

  “I don’t believe it,” Commander Liam O’Donnell said when Ensign Icheb entered his private lab.

  “Good morning, sir. I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Icheb said.

  “That remains to be seen.”

  “That last time I came here to present my review of Lieutenant Elkins, you told me to come back when I understood. Now, I do.”

  O’Donnell sat back and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Really?”

  “On stardate 42954, an unclassified Starfleet vessel, registered as NX-00771, was destroyed because of a malfunction in its warp drive assembly. She was an experimental ship, a test bed for a new type of core powered by a series of small singularities. Forty-one Starfleet officers and crewmen along with six civilian engineers were killed. She was built at Utopia Planitia as a joint venture between Starfleet and the Federation Science Institute. She had been designed by a team of civilian experts led by Garvin Elkins. After the disaster, Starfleet terminated their work with the Institute and since then has rarely engaged in similar initiatives. Starfleet’s official investigation revealed that the explosion was caused by a breach in the containment field caused by unexpected stresses on the core during the formation of the warp bubble. Elkins was cleared of any responsibility for the accident. Still, he has not cooperated with anyone in Starfleet other than you since that time, until he decided to modify Demeter for use by the Full Circle Fleet. I am guessing he only agreed to do so because of the deep respect he has for you and in light of your close personal relationship.”

  “Those records were classified.”

  “It’s possible that you have not been fully briefed on my capacity for inappropriate conduct at time
s when our regulations place unacceptable obstacles between me and the truth. It is a tendency Admiral Akaar hopes my service with this fleet will temper.”

  A ghost of a smile flickered across O’Donnell’s face. “I wish your commanding officers good luck with that.”

  “As best I can tell, this incident is the only blemish on the otherwise extraordinary record of Lieutenant Elkins. Most of his peers believe him to be one of the most innovative engineers currently in the field. I know, from personal experience, how mistakes weigh on the minds of men like Elkins. They do not forget. They are haunted by thoughts of what they should have done differently.”

  “You’re what, twenty-something, Ensign?” O’Donnell asked. “You haven’t had time to make those kinds of mistakes yet.”

  “Of course not, sir. I understand now why you would not permit me to submit my original review to Lieutenant Elkins. I initially assumed you were being dismissive of my abilities. That was not the case. You were unwilling to risk the chief’s reaction. My review would have been an unpleasant reminder to the lieutenant of his past failures and might have unduly shaken his confidence in his choice to once again risk working in conjunction with Starfleet.”

  O’Donnell nodded somberly.

  “Which means we have a problem.”

  “It means you have a problem.”

  “No, sir. We have a problem. Demeter’s status as an experimental vessel allows for a certain amount of leeway in deviation from standard Starfleet protocols. I did not take that into account in my initial review. I would like your permission to repeat the evaluation, in light of this ship’s unique status, and when it is done, to offer my assistance to the chief to bring any systems he believes can be safely modified closer to compliance with current standards. I would, of course, defer to his judgment, given his vast experience and deep knowledge of this vessel’s capabilities. I would not presume to stand in judgment of his work. I believe I could learn a great deal, however, by observing him and offering any insights that might arise during that process. I trust the lieutenant to make this crew’s safety his first priority. But for Demeter to become more than a test-vessel, for Starfleet to invest in other similar ships, her systems and procedures will have to be brought into full compliance. This is a task Lieutenant Elkins should delegate to a trusted subordinate. There’s no reason to trouble him with these details. I am offering my assistance with this most mundane of duties. I am certain that even with my limited experience, with his assistance I can complete it to the lieutenant’s satisfaction and in the process, fulfill my responsibilities to Commander Torres.”

  O’Donnell did not reply for several moments. Finally he extended his hand and Icheb passed him the padd he had been holding. The commander read it thoroughly and tapped the screen, adding his approval to it. When he handed it back to Icheb, his eyes held a new respect for the ensign.

  “Works for me.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  27

  VESTA

  Admiral Kathryn Janeway sat alone in her quarters staring out the port at the planet below. She was sorely tempted to remain in orbit of Sormana until the final peace negotiations had been concluded. But just as this had never been the denzit’s war, this was not her peace. Nothing she or the fleet had done thus far ran too far afoul of their mission directives or the Prime Directive. She had succeeded in extricating a former Starfleet officer from a dubious situation. She had shared intelligence with two other warp-capable civilizations and was helping them to prepare to meet a greater threat, should her worst fears about the Krenim prove real.

  It was time to move on.

  This meant, among other things, that it was also time to send Voyager back to the Beta Quadrant and bid farewell to Tuvok. They hadn’t spoken since the destruction of Rahalla. Her plate had been heaped high with diplomatic requirements and she was averaging three to four hours of sleep each night. She had hoped, perhaps naively, that once they had a chance to speak face-to-face the distance Tuvok had intentionally placed between them would have dissipated. She understood his position now. She knew that he, alone, would have to walk the path toward wholeness and peace. She wondered if his experiences with the denzit had helped or hurt his chances of finding his way back to Surak’s teachings. Perhaps at some point, she might raise the issue with the other Kathryn. It would be interesting, to say the least, to hear her perspective.

  At least now there would be time.

  “Bridge to Admiral Janeway.”

  “Go ahead, Lieutenant Psilakis.”

  “The Truon has just appeared and her captain is asking to speak with you.”

  Janeway dropped her head into her hands. She had expected Dayne to seek her out again and sincerely hoped it was simply to allow her to fulfill the bargain they’d made. If he was contemplating more aggressive actions . . .

  The admiral shook her head. One moment at a time.

  “Order all fleet vessels to yellow alert and forward Agent Dayne’s transmission to my quarters.”

  “Aye, Admiral.”

  When Dayne’s face appeared on her monitor, he looked worse than she had anticipated. There hadn’t been time for a close examination when she returned from Batibeh. All she had really seen was a great deal of blood covering his face. Now large purple and yellow bruises testified to the barbarity of Tuvok’s attack. The admiral had chosen to allow Chakotay to mete out any disciplinary action. For her part, she couldn’t fault Tuvok. He had done no more than she had wanted to, despite the fact that it was clearly conduct unbecoming. She chose to believe that Dayne had instigated their disagreement and remained mindful of the fact that the extent of his injuries might have made it impossible for him to intervene with Vesta’s rescue operations. Whatever the case, Dayne’s current condition was better than he deserved.

  “It seems you have succeeded once again, Admiral, in avoiding appropriate consequences for your actions,” Dayne said.

  She had no intention of rising to his bait.

  “I have seen no evidence of further Krenim interference in Zahl or Rilnar territory. I hope this is a sign of things to come.”

  Dayne’s gaze hardened. “You owe me an answer.”

  “I do,” she agreed. “But before I satisfy your curiosity, there is one thing I’d really like to know.”

  Dayne shook his head in disbelief. “Don’t try my patience, Admiral.”

  “Are you aware that while I was investigating the temporal portals at Rahalla, I briefly visited an alternate timeline, one in which you and a man the Rilnar believe to be your brother were responsible for bringing peace to Sormana two hundred years ago?”

  “I am.”

  “Would you have to betray any closely guarded secrets to explain to me why you would have gone to all the trouble to secure a peace treaty on Sormana and then apparently undone it?”

  “I know that you believe my people’s understanding of time has given us an unearned sense of superiority. I am certain that you do not think us capable of acting from an altruistic sense of moral obligation and instead, paint all of our actions with the same broad, dangerous brush. I suspect you believe we are continuing to act with the same reckless selfishness Annorax displayed during your encounter with him.

  “None of that is true. We understand time better than you possibly could. The fluid intersection of cause and effect is not a mystery to us. But we have learned the hard way that even with the best of intentions, we can err. When we do, we take responsibility and correct our mistakes. One of the most important lessons Annorax taught us was that trying to eliminate troubling variables from temporal equations was the surest road to disaster. The consequences of destruction are much easier to predict than those of creation but they are also much harder to reverse.

  “We have known for a long time that Sormana’s fate was inextricably linked with our own. In an attempt to avert wider conflict and eliminate a number of troubling variables, we decided to try to end the war. The days after the battle of Batibeh were the most
conducive to our purpose while at the same time presenting the fewest possible counter-indications. Another agent and I, posing as Rilnar and Zahl civilians, intervened. As that timeline has shown, we were right to believe that from the ashes of Batibeh peace could rise. What we did not accurately foresee was how the Rilnar and Zahl would continue to develop in the absence of that conflict.

  “They were in the early stages of colonial expansion at that time. The Peace of Sormana filled both sides with a sense of self-righteous superiority. They decided that given their accomplishments, it was their right to dictate to other species the terms of interstellar relations. When we returned from Batibeh, our territories had been reduced by more than seventy percent. This had always been a negligible possibility according to our calculations, so small that we were willing to risk it. The much more probable outcome of our success had been stabilization of this entire sector.

  “The only way to restore the Imperium was another small incursion.”

  “You went back and killed the Rilnar and Zahl leaders the night before their peace accord could be finalized.”

  “We did not. We made sure that several individuals who were less than pleased with the prospect of peace had access to those leaders. What they did with that access was their choice.”

  “At what point in the study of temporal mechanics are the Krenim taught to master the art of rationalization?”

  “A course you could certainly teach better than I, Admiral.”

  Janeway nodded. “Fair enough.”

  “Your turn.”

  “Are your people familiar with a species known as the Q?”

  “No.”

  “They are among a handful of incredibly powerful beings my people have encountered, and for many years they have taken a disquieting interest in the Federation. A number of Starfleet captains and officers have interacted with them on several occasions. They have mastered the manipulation of space and time to a degree even you would find humbling. To them, all of us are nothing more than children, barely taking our first steps toward a wider understanding of the possibilities of sentient existence.”