At least he didn’t have a padd in his hand, or any other recording device. Chakotay decided to take this as a good sign as he sat down and attempted to mimic Cambridge’s comfortable poise.
“It’s my understanding that you’ve already spoken with Admiral Montgomery,” Cambridge began.
“I have.”
“Do you need anything before we begin?”
Chakotay felt acid rising up his esophagus.
“You are performing my evaluation?” he asked slowly.
“I am.”
“Unacceptable.”
“Is it?” Cambridge asked with the barest hint of a smile.
“Do you consider yourself to be a disinterested party in this?” Chakotay asked.
“Not at all,” Cambridge replied. “But I’m also not nearly as interested as you might imagine.” Before Chakotay could register further complaint, Cambridge went on, “Has it slipped your memory, Captain, that nine weeks ago several billion people, many of them Starfleet personnel, died at the hands of the Borg?”
“Of course not,” Chakotay replied through clenched teeth.
“The final Borg attacks made the Dominion War look like a skirmish,” Cambridge continued. “Starfleet is currently short of capable officers on all fronts, and for the time being, must make do with what it has. I’m sorry if you don’t feel that I’m the best man for the job, but I’m afraid that falls into the category of hard cheese for both of us.”
“Have you been transferred off Voyager while I’ve been on leave?” Chakotay continued evenly, refusing to be baited by Cambridge’s typically blunt approach.
“No,” Cambridge said.
“And yet you still believe you can impartially evaluate events that occurred while you were under my command? Events that, if memory serves, you counseled against and protested in your formal logs?”
Cambridge didn’t even bother to ponder the question.
“Unlike most people, I’m highly skilled at separating my personal feelings from my professional ones.” Cambridge shrugged. “I’ve been asked to evaluate your current psychological status, Captain—a job for which I’m uniquely qualified, since I’ve observed you in a wide variety of on-and off-duty situations for almost three years. I already know what your mental state was. I’m here today to determine whether or not you’ve made sufficient personal progress since the last time we met to warrant once again placing the lives of a hundred and fifty dedicated members of Starfleet in your hands. If you are ready to resume command, fantastic. If not, other arrangements will have to be made.”
“But you have a personal stake in the outcome.”
“And I guarantee you that if those who have requested this evaluation find so much as a whiff of bias in my report, I’ll be the one sitting out Voyager’s next mission instead of you,” Cambridge replied. “Would it help if I assured you that I’ve come here today hoping that this goes well for you?”
“Not even a little.”
“Be that as it may, we have lots of ground to cover, Captain, and time is very much of the essence.”
Chakotay saw himself rising, overturning the table that sat between them, and pummeling Cambridge with his fists. The mental image calmed him somewhat. It also made him realize that, like it or not, as long as he sat in this room, he didn’t have the power. If he wanted his command back, he was going to have to play nice. For the first time since he had arrived, the thought occurred to him that he did want to return to Voyager, if only to wipe the smugness off Cambridge’s face in a slightly more dignified manner than in his fantasy.
Chakotay briefly considered the notion that this evaluation was a mere formality and that Montgomery had already decided he was unfit for duty. Perhaps assigning Cambridge as his evaluator was simply pouring salt into the wound.
The captain couldn’t bring himself to go down that road. Montgomery had always been a reasonable and, at times, compassionate man. Chakotay couldn’t shake the sense that somewhere, Montgomery was actually rooting for him. While he could never give Cambridge that much credit, the counselor had never lied to him nor to any of his crew. And despite his abrasiveness, he was an excellent counselor, once his patients got used to his style. Though Chakotay had never sought Cambridge’s advice when they had served together, it might be interesting to see exactly how Cambridge saw him, and the “incidents” he had no doubt been brought here to discuss.
“Very well,” Chakotay finally conceded. “Let’s get on with it.”
“Excellent,” Cambridge said, nodding.
There was a brief pause, during which Chakotay wondered if he was expected to speak. He tried to think back over the most likely ground they would be covering and assumed they would begin with the business of that Orion vessel some ten months prior. He was taken completely off guard by Cambridge’s first question.
“When was the last time you met with Kathryn Janeway?”
Chakotay found himself involuntarily digging his fingers into his palms.
“I thought we were here to discuss my performance over the past year,” he replied.
“We’ll get there,” Cambridge assured him. “But as any man with eyes and a reasonable intellect could easily see, your actions of the past year did not spring from the vacuum of space. Let’s not waste time dancing around the issue, Captain. We’re considering both cause and effect today. You have not performed at your peak since the day Kathryn Janeway died. That event is sitting in our ‘cause’ column. I’d like to explore it further for the moment. When was the last time you met with Kathryn Janeway?”
“June of 2379,” Chakotay answered as agreeably as possible.
Cambridge actually raised his eyebrows in surprise, a gesture Chakotay enjoyed immensely.
“That was almost a year before she died?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry,” Cambridge said, shaking his head, “I just assumed that for two people as close as you and Admiral Janeway, you would have been in touch more often.”
“We were,” Chakotay replied.
“I don’t understand,” Cambridge admitted, and Chakotay’s pleasure intensified exponentially. He could never remember hearing Cambridge utter those words in all the years that they’d known one another.
“You asked about the last time we met,” Chakotay replied, “not the last time we spoke.”
Cambridge replied with a weary shake of his head.
“It’s a little early in the day to be splitting such fine hairs, don’t you think, Captain?” he asked.
“You asked a question, Counselor, and I answered it,” Chakotay replied tonelessly.
“And what was the reason for your meeting?” Cambridge asked.
“Voyager was docked in Proxima’s maintenance facilities to undergo routine repairs prior to our departure for the Yaris Nebula. The admiral chose to stop by for a visit. It was purely a social call.”
“That would have been almost a year after Voyager’s mission to Kerovi and all of that unpleasantness with the Klingons?”
Chakotay nodded.
“What did you and Kathryn discuss during your social call?”
Chakotay bristled internally at Cambridge’s use of her name rather than rank, but chose to let it pass. Cambridge wasn’t going to get under his skin that easily, though Chakotay knew full well he had never been close enough to Kathryn to call her anything but Admiral.
“There wasn’t much news on my end,” Chakotay replied. “You might remember that as the year of minor missions. After our time in the Delta quadrant I suppose it’s unfair to draw comparisons, but the few diplomatic transfers and colony resettlements we were tasked with overseeing at that time were fairly mundane.”
“And how was Kathryn?”
“She was in the eighth circle of hell,” Chakotay replied, actually smiling briefly at the recollection.
“I beg your pardon?”
“The one reserved for diplomats,” Chakotay explained.
“My remembrance of Dante is that the eig
hth circle contained the fraudulent,” Cambridge said.
Chakotay had actually said the same thing to Kathryn when she’d made the reference. It pained him slightly to be reminded here and now that he had been the only person to whom Kathryn had ever loaned her personal copy of Inferno, the copy given to her by Mark Johnson as an engagement gift.
“At the time, she was having some difficulty seeing the distinction,” Chakotay finally replied.
Cambridge nodded.
“And apart from the witty repartee, was there anything significant about this meeting?” he asked.
Chakotay felt his face hardening.
There was, but he would be damned if he would share it with Cambridge. The memory of that night had been his most constant companion every day that had followed. At times it was a soothing balm, but more often it was the sword’s tip that goaded him. Often Chakotay found himself wishing Kathryn had never come to Proxima. It would have made what was to come so much easier to bear. But she had. And because she had, reality was now unbearable.
“Why do you ask?” Chakotay inquired. He had never shared the details of that night with anyone, even his closest friends. Before, he worried that such a revelation might actually jinx the future it promised. And once Kathryn had died, it no longer mattered.
“Because it’s my job, Chakotay,” Cambridge replied.
He knows, Chakotay realized—perhaps not the substance of that evening, but enough to hazard a reasonable guess. Cambridge had always possessed uncanny observational skills, and Chakotay had to allow that for months following his night with Kathryn on Proxima, his spirits had been high. Voyager’s mission to survey a stellar nursery could not account for them.
Chakotay wanted desperately to avoid such personal territory with Cambridge, but he also knew that even the appearance of withholding at this point would damn him.
As objectively as possible, Chakotay returned to that night.
STARDATE 56494: JUNE 2379
And what was the ambassador’s response?” Chakotay asked.
“That if the Federation Council was serious about establishing trade with the Syngtara, they would have sent a telepath,” Kathryn replied, smiling broadly. “I must admit, he had me there,” she added with a chuckle.
Throughout dinner they had covered similar territory. It seemed that both of them were languishing under assignments that, while certainly vital to the Federation, left a great deal to be desired in terms of excitement. Neither was anxious to return to the days when every moment might bring the threat of destruction to their ship and crew, but somewhere in the universe there had to be a happy medium. Chakotay couldn’t shake the sense that both of them were being tested for their tolerance for boredom. Both were rising admirably to the challenge, but it was unsettling.
However, Chakotay also knew that Kathryn hadn’t come all the way to Proxima to discuss the Syngtara, or the Peeth, or the Children of Fawlwath. When they’d arranged for dinner, Chakotay had felt sure that Kathryn was troubled about something, most likely to do with Voyager. He had first sensed it when they had returned from Kerovi. Every time they had spoken in the last year it seemed she ended their conversations buoyed but definitely not relieved of her burdens. These few subtle hints had turned that sense into a disquieting certainty. He had been surprised when she arrived in good spirits, and forced his concerns to the back of his mind, the better to enjoy the few hours they’d managed to steal in one another’s company.
“Whatever happened with Captain Leona?” she asked, clearly directing the conversation toward more personal matters as she poured herself another glass of wine.
“Nothing,” Chakotay replied. Voyager had briefly rendezvoused with the U.S.S. Osiris while it was under Leona’s command, and he had mentioned in passing to Kathryn how intriguing he found the Betazoid captain. Normally she wasn’t the jealous type, but immediately after they’d completed the supply transport to the first of Boreal’s six colonies, the Osiris had received an abrupt order to return to Earth, and Chakotay had always secretly wondered if Kathryn had a hand in it. Of course, that would have meant admitting that Kathryn might be concerned by a potential romantic entanglement on his part, and he never let himself really believe that was possible.
“What about you and Admiral Harlow?” he teased good-naturedly.
Kathryn heaved a weary sigh. “Let’s just say I think there’s a good reason he’s been divorced twice. He didn’t strike me as one who did well in captivity.”
Chakotay nodded, refusing to pay too much attention to the relief he felt when he heard this. Both of them had tried, unsuccessfully, to find a romantic interest worth pursuing, and both, it seemed, might be destined to remain single.
“Any new prospects on the horizon?” Chakotay asked.
“Not really,” she acknowledged somewhat wistfully.
“Good,” he replied before realizing that the word had escaped his lips.
Kathryn paused, staring at Chakotay intently. It had been an innocent enough remark, but still it sent a tangible charge through the air between them.
“Why good?” she asked lightly.
A familiar tension caused his heart to accelerate, though he kept his expression neutral.
It would have been a simple matter to shrug the comment off. Chakotay had danced this particular dance with Kathryn for years, and there was no reason tonight should be any different.
But she held his eyes with a soft, lustrous gaze. There was something challenging shining forth from the tumultuous depths, something both curious and guarded at the same time.
Chakotay found himself suddenly wondering whether or not he had misread the substance of her unspoken concerns for so long.
Part of him wanted to answer her honestly. It was good because the thought of Kathryn giving herself completely to another man had always felt wrong to Chakotay.
He had long ago accepted the reality that he loved her. Over the years that love had become a safe, predictable place, the quiet companionship of two people who have shared unique experiences and could sense without words the other’s moods, needs, and fears.
Duty that had once made anything else between them impossible was not an issue anymore. Since their return to the Alpha quadrant, they had both continued to sit in seeming contentedness by the side of the pool, occasionally dipping a flirtatious toe, but steering well clear of anything resembling a swim.
As to what Kathryn was thinking, he couldn’t say. But for his part, Chakotay had always worried that to push her toward anything else would be to lose her forever, and that he could not abide. Since they were no longer stranded together on the far side of the galaxy, the potential was always there that they might simply drift apart. He would always want more, but could certainly live with what he had of her.
When Chakotay didn’t answer her directly, she dropped her eyes and studiously began to rearrange the remnants of her dinner. The plate was pushed toward the center of the table, the napkin in her lap folded neatly atop it, and the wineglass to its right nudged a few millimeters closer to the plate.
Chakotay was seized with a sudden urge to put her at ease. He leaned forward and reached for the hand that was still fretting about the stem of the glass.
The moment their fingers met, a familiar electric charge coursed through him.
It was a simple, friendly gesture, he told himself, until she looked up at him again, squeezing his hand in return, ever so gently.
She took a shallow breath and said softly, “You know, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
“What’s that?” he asked as his throat ran suddenly dry.
Kathryn paused, seeming to consider her words carefully.
“We’ve been home for over a year and a half, and never once in that time have you offered to take me to Venice.”
A tense pit formed instantly in Chakotay’s stomach.
Of course he’d wanted to ask. As Voyager’s routine assignments of the last several months had become inc
reasingly mundane, he often found himself thinking back to their years together in the Delta quadrant and their brief reunion to recover B’Elanna and Miral. The longer they were apart, the more he missed her. But he’d been burned once, and wasn’t going to willingly tempt the flames again without some indication from her that she shared his feelings. Seeing the cautious hope suffusing her face, he actually wanted to kick himself for missing the signs that in retrospect had been fairly obvious to one who supposedly knew her so well.
Instead, he dropped his eyes to focus on their hands. His thumb began to play softly over her fingers. Without looking up he replied, “I didn’t think you wanted me to, Kathryn.”
Stealing a quick glance, he noted that her eyes were also firmly set on their conjoined hands.
Her voice deepening a bit, she said, “I thought I made myself perfectly clear back in the Delta quadrant; I never said never.”
Chakotay nodded. “That’s true. But then again, you’re still keeping everyone, me included, at a safe distance. To be honest, I always hoped my feelings would change. I tried to make them change.”
“And have you succeeded?” she asked calmly.
“Of course not,” he replied. “Have you?”
She shook her head slowly.
“Then why didn’t you say something?” he demanded.
Shrugging slightly, she answered, “I don’t know. I guess I always thought there would be some perfect time, some moment where the truth would become so obvious to both of us that we wouldn’t need words. But the more I think about it, the more it seems clear that I might live the rest of my life alone, wondering just how much I’ve sacrificed on the altar of duty.”
“All you ever had to do was say the word, Kathryn,” he replied.
“I thought I just did.”
Chakotay allowed the moment to breathe and settle.
He had always expected that if Kathryn were ever to actually open this door, he would rush headlong through it. Maybe it was the years of experience, or his knowledge of her mercurial nature, that made him hesitate now. Or maybe it was the reality that once this bridge was crossed, there would never be any going back. Kathryn wasn’t suggesting a fling. She wasn’t looking for a way to pass the time. As a rule, she threw herself into her choices with her entire being, and would accept nothing less from him.
Star Trek: Voyager®: Full Circle Page 27