Star Trek: Voyager®: Full Circle

by Kirsten Beyer

  “I know that,” Chakotay replied angrily. Tom might arguably have loved B’Elanna more than Chakotay did, but the captain had loved her longer. And Miral was as dear to him as his own child.

  Kathryn stepped between them. “I realize the situation is delicate, but there has to be another option.”

  “What would you suggest, Admiral?” Chakotay asked, barely concealing his distaste for being second-guessed at this moment.

  “Were it up to me, I’d alter course right now for Boreth,” she replied calmly.

  “We have our orders,” Chakotay insisted.

  “To hell with our orders,” Tom interjected.

  “Commander,” Chakotay said harshly, reminding Tom in one word that this was not the time or the place to push too far. He then looked back to Janeway, who stood with her arms crossed at her chest.

  “If you’re worried about the fallout from Starfleet Command, I could pull rank and take the heat for you,” Kathryn suggested.

  Chakotay shook his head warily. “You wouldn’t.”

  Kathryn gave it a few seconds’ thought, then dropped her arms to her sides in defeat.

  “No, I wouldn’t,” she replied, “and I apologize for even suggesting it. This is your ship. I’m a guest here. And I would never do anything to imply that you don’t have my full faith and confidence.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “But I still think we need a better option,” she added.

  Chakotay looked to Tom, then back at Janeway. She knew all too well the many pressures that were being weighed and measured: his duty to Starfleet, his love for B’Elanna and Miral, his concern for Tom, and his certainty that to intercede at this point could well set off an interstellar incident.

  Command is a wonderful challenge, except when it isn’t, she thought bitterly.

  Finally Chakotay tapped his combadge.

  “Captain to the bridge.”

  “Go ahead, Captain,” Harry Kim’s voice replied.

  “Alter course and proceed at maximum warp to Qo’noS.”

  After a brief pause of surprise, Kim replied, “Aye, Captain.”

  Tom looked at Chakotay with gratitude. Kathryn knew that her face betrayed that as well, mingled with respect.

  Now why didn’t I think of that?

  “We have two weeks to reach Kerovi,” Chakotay said in a tone that brooked no discussion. “A detour to Qo’noS will only take a few days. We’ll contact Martok directly and ask to be allowed to assist with his investigation. If he approves our request, we’ll notify Starfleet Command. If not, we’ll resume course for Kerovi.”

  Tom’s gratitude faded somewhat. It wasn’t everything he wanted, but it was a start.

  “Thank you, Captain,” Tom said.

  “Is there anything you can tell us about what B’Elanna was doing on Boreth since you left, or who might wish Miral any harm?” Chakotay asked Tom.

  Tom eased a frustrated sigh. “Not really,” he replied. “We were translating and studying ancient texts, looking for more information about the Kuvah’magh. B’Elanna wanted to learn more about her Klingon heritage, for Miral’s sake, and it seemed as interesting a place as any to start.”

  “Did she find anything to add to what you already learned about these prophecies from our encounter with Kohlar?” Kathryn asked.

  “Not while I was there.” Tom shook his head. “But…”

  “But what?” Chakotay asked.

  “I don’t know,” Tom replied. “I’ve talked to B’Elanna every week since we’ve been apart, but lately, I hate to say this, something’s felt a little off.”

  “What do you suspect?” Kathryn asked as kindly as she could.

  “I think she’s hiding something from me,” Tom finally admitted. “I wanted to ask, but then when she agreed to come home…”

  Chakotay placed a hand on Tom’s shoulder.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll find them.”

  Tom nodded, though his agreement didn’t betray much hope.

  “But by the time we get to Qo’noS, we need to know more than we do now about anyone who might have done this,” Chakotay added.

  “What are you going to do?” Kathryn asked.

  “I think it’s time we asked the smartest people we know for a little help,” Chakotay replied.

  Kathryn smiled for the first time since she’d heard from Worf.

  I should have thought of that too.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Captain Eden had read and reread the paragraph in question three times before she realized that Tamarras was standing at her desk.

  As she looked up, her aide said, “Please pardon the interruption, Captain, but Admiral Batiste asked me to advise you that he is transporting over.”

  “Let me know when he arrives,” Eden replied, dismissing her.

  It was nice that she could look forward to her ex-husband’s arrival with only mild annoyance. Clearly this indicated a healthy level of personal growth on her part. Eighteen months ago, just after the separation, which she had briefly allowed herself to believe would only be temporary, being in Willem’s presence for either personal or professional reasons had been significantly more troubling. Devastating was probably closer to the truth.

  Eden didn’t know how it worked for other people, but she was constitutionally incapable of shifting emotional gears with Willem’s seeming ease and grace. It was not okay with her that one moment they had been partners, lovers, and, most important, friends who had built a life together and the next they were no longer any of those things. It had not been okay for months. It had remained not okay until her good friend Ken Montgomery had gently suggested she might avail herself of the services of a counselor.

  Luckily, she had seen the wisdom in Ken’s suggestion. She had reported to Starfleet Medical and been assigned to Doctor Hugh Cambridge. They had met regularly since then for very productive sessions, and over time she had come to see that what she had called a marriage had been nothing of the kind. Strangers who regularly found themselves seated together on a morning transport might have found that they had more in common than she and Willem. They would certainly have been more polite to one another. In reasonably short order, rather than grieving over the loss of a relationship that she had once believed was all she could have hoped for, she had realized that what she and Willem had once shared had been born of need rather than love and both of them were definitely better off alone than they had ever been together.

  Things had further improved when she had been transferred to Project Full Circle. Though the project fell under Willem’s authority, he rarely interfered with the team’s nominal leader, Admiral Montgomery. Come to think of it, Eden had to wonder why Willem wanted to see her today. It had been over a month since they had last spoken.

  She returned her attention to the report she was writing, resolved to continue working rather than waste time speculating. Soon enough she’d know why Willem was darkening her door.

  …inhabited by a loosely affiliated group known as the Mikhal Travelers, encountered on Stardate 50396. Reports indicate that the planet in question had been settled more than ten thousand years earlier. Artifacts of this ancient civilization were discovered by the Mikhal and revered as objects of beauty. There is no indication that the Mikhal were aware of any deeper meaning to the artifacts. References to the artifacts also found briefly in the personal logs of Crewman Kes. Further analysis recommended based upon…

  But this was where it got tricky.

  Further analysis and study of these artifacts was actually critical as far as Eden was concerned. But her knowledge of that fact could not be supported by anything in Voyager’s logs; it could only be supported by evidence buried in Eden’s subconscious mind. At least she assumed it was her subconscious. Nothing in her conscious mind suggested there was anything of interest or value in the artifacts discovered on this remote planet almost seventy thousand light-years from Earth. Until she had seen a holo-image of one of the carvings—taken by Kes, an Ocampan f
emale who had accompanied Voyager on her journey for only three years—Eden had read nothing terribly interesting about the artifacts and certainly would not have referenced them in her analysis.

  After Eden had seen the image, it had stirred something within her—something that felt strangely like a memory.

  She needed to know more. Her gut told her that this was important, but until she could prove it, her instinct would never be taken seriously.

  Afsarah Eden despised not being taken seriously.

  She had learned that from her time with Willem.

  As a result, Eden tended to overcompensate. Since she was aware of this proclivity, she chose to think of it as a personality quirk rather than an annoying fault. She was not sure that her superior officers, particularly Admiral Montgomery, agreed with this assessment, but that was not her problem at the moment.

  Right now she simply needed to decide how important it was to include this paragraph and its implied recommendation in her initial report.

  A chime sounded, and after she called out, “Come in,” the door of her office hissed open.

  Willem Batiste noted that when he entered Afsarah’s office, she didn’t bother to look up from her computer. She would keep him waiting as long as it suited her. As he was technically her superior officer, this might be construed as insubordination. But he had also broken her heart, and this meant that rank or no, there would always be a fair number of delicate eggshells strewn between them and he would do well to tread lightly. Their relationship had become decidedly amicable in the last year, and it served his interests to keep it that way.

  He could wait. A little passive aggression never killed anyone.

  “What can I do for you, Admiral?” she finally asked, still refusing to tear her eyes away from whatever she was working on.

  “Good afternoon to you too, Afsarah.”

  This earned him a glance of interest from her dark, almond-shaped eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” she said lightly. “Was I being rude?”

  “I prefer to think of you as highly motivated and commendably focused,” he replied cordially.

  This was enough for her to stop working altogether and turn to face him with her full attention.

  “Now I know I’m in trouble,” she said flatly.

  “Why would you say that?”

  “You’re being nice.”

  “I’ve always been nice,” he said with mock defensiveness.

  “It’s your story. You can tell it any way you like.”

  “You’re looking well, Afsarah,” he went on, ignoring the barb.

  “Thank you, Willem,” she said appreciatively. “You look exactly the same.”

  He didn’t ask her to clarify. What she thought of how he looked was really of no concern to him one way or the other.

  “Would you like something to drink?” she offered. “Iced tea with mint, perhaps?”

  “I would.” He smiled. She had always been so eager to please him, and usually succeeded, knowing exactly what he would prefer to drink on this unseasonably warm afternoon. That constant comforting attention had been hardest to lose when they separated. Fortunately, this small reminder of that loss barely stung anymore.

  It stung even less when she tossed her head toward her office’s replicator and said, “Feel free to help yourself.”

  Willem crossed dutifully to the replicator and ordered two iced teas. Once they had materialized before him, he returned to her desk, taking the seat opposite her and placing her glass well within her reach.

  “How is your report coming?” he asked casually.

  “It would be coming much better if I could nail Kathryn Janeway down for more than a few minutes at a time,” Eden replied.

  “Then you’re not finished?”

  She paused, giving him a hard stare. Eden wasn’t a telepath, but when she looked at him like that he always felt underdressed, if not completely exposed.

  “What’s your interest, if I may ask?” she finally countered.

  “For the moment, that’s none of your concern,” he answered, hoping to imply professional necessity without being too cagey.

  The right side of her mouth curled upward. She seemed equally amused and intrigued.

  “Admiral Montgomery indicated that I should take all the time I needed to complete this analysis,” she said. “Admiral Janeway has been unavailable for the last several weeks, though I’m assured she’ll remedy that when she returns from her current mission. The only other senior member of Voyager’s crew that I’ve been unable to interview is their chief engineer, B’Elanna Torres. Admiral Janeway informed me this morning that her current whereabouts are unknown. Assuming she’s not dead, I’ll interview her the moment she returns to Earth. Until then, I’m afraid you and Admiral Montgomery are just going to have to wait.”

  Willem nodded politely. He had expected as much. Ken had been copying him on all of Eden’s status reports, so he already knew that her final analysis would probably not be complete for several more weeks.

  He just wasn’t sure he could wait that long. Though Eden was unaware of this fact, he had been the one to suggest that she be transferred from technical analysis to her current assignment. Batiste had never met a more tenacious individual, and her kind of research was exactly what he needed if he was going to get enough evidence to support his proposal in a timely manner.

  He wasn’t sure if taking her into his confidence at this point would help to grease the wheels. If Eden disagreed with him, Vulcans would dance naked in the streets before she would aid his cause.

  But if she could be made to see reason…

  There was no one in the universe he would rather have at his right hand in a fight.

  Batiste rose and returned his glass to the replicator to be recycled. He remembered all too well that cleaning up after him had been a pet peeve.

  “I would appreciate it if you would keep me apprised of your progress,” he said simply. “In the meantime, I’d like a copy of whatever you have completed up to this point.”

  Eden’s eyes betrayed her deep desire to understand why, but to her credit, she only nodded in the affirmative.

  He was almost at the door before she said, “You’re really not going to tell me why you’re so interested all of a sudden?”

  His interest wasn’t sudden. It was exactly nine months old at this point.

  “I really can’t,” he replied, as if it pained him more than her.

  “Have a good evening, Admiral,” she acquiesced, returning her attention to her computer. “I’ll forward you a draft file before I leave tonight.”

  He nodded and left her alone with her curiosity.

  The admiral hated playing these games. But soon enough, they would no longer be necessary.

  Once he was gone, Eden allowed herself only a few moments of consideration before deleting the questionable paragraph. Now that she knew her analysis would be scrutinized by Willem, rather than just Ken Montgomery, she absolutely couldn’t risk including it.

  At least not until he tells me exactly what he’s planning, she decided.

  If her history with Willem was any guide, she might very well be the last to know.

  The scene that met B’Elanna’s eyes was disorienting. She knew she was deep in the bowels of the Kortar, an old but well-maintained warship of a class she didn’t recognize. She assumed that the space where she now stood with Kahless, Logt, T’Krek, and dozens of his brethren had originally been a cargo hold. But she could have sworn she was standing outside on Qo’noS at night. Only the deep, musky odor she associated with too many Klingons in too close quarters and the absence of a breeze seriously distorted the illusion.

  The moment they had entered the vast space, Kahless had smiled in recognition. On Qo’noS, this place was called Qa’Hov. B’Elanna had distant memories of touring it as a child. She had long ago banished the memories of her first visit to her mother’s homeworld because her most vivid recollections of those times were of the many Klingon
s who stared at her with contempt. Now that she understood that most Klingons stared at any stranger the same way, she took it less personally, but at the time it had only reinforced her desire to be anything but half Klingon.

  The shrine reproduced here was part of a public sector of the Kartad Forest. The monument at the shrine’s center, a stone obelisk less than six meters tall and roughly a meter square at its base, hadn’t been terribly impressive when she was a child. Had she fully comprehended when she was a little girl that the obelisk was twelve hundred years old, she might have mustered a little awe. Staring at the perfect re-creation of the monument that the Warriors had constructed aboard their ship, she discovered some of the wonder she had been unable to summon in her younger days. B’Elanna didn’t understand why it was necessary to keep it in a cargo hold when a holodeck would have done just as well, but everything about the Warriors she had observed up to this point, especially their antiquated uniforms, suggested that they didn’t do anything the easy way, or the modern way.

  The deck was split-level; a deep circular trench surrounded the obelisk, approximately four meters in diameter. But the sky above, an exact replica of the stars orbiting Qo’noS, was the most breathtaking part of the illusion, and the piece that necessitated a vast volume of space within the ship.

  B’Elanna remembered the shrine as one of many on Qo’noS dedicated to Kahless. She couldn’t recall what particular deed worthy of epic song he might have performed at this site, and she felt a little bad about that. The wide gaping holes in her knowledge of Klingon history had been perturbing enough while she wandered among the other pilgrims on Boreth. Standing in the emperor’s presence, it was downright embarrassing. She felt certain that in the actual shrine there were at least a few plaques that would have filled in the missing pieces for her. T’Krek had apparently not felt it necessary to add these details for this re-creation.

  The assembled warriors began to arrange themselves in a circle around the trench. Only when she reached the lip of the indentation did B’Elanna notice the glints of light reflecting off metal below. The trench was filled with bat’leths, lying end to end in a perfect but incomplete circle. Now that she was a little closer to the obelisk, she also noticed for the first time that it was not simply smooth, polished stone. It was actually quite rough, and was pitted throughout with long gouges that scarred its surface.