Star Trek: Voyager®: Full Circle

by Kirsten Beyer

  “You may. But Starfleet is still going, and I think you would be an invaluable asset to the fleet.”

  Seven shook her head in obvious frustration.

  “Are you ordering me to accompany the fleet?”

  Eden corrected her. “None of us, least of all me, are in any position to do that. I’m asking you to once again lend your expertise and vast knowledge to a very challenging undertaking. Many of your old crewmates have been assigned to the fleet, and I do not doubt they would be very pleased to have you among them once again.”

  “Voyager and the Emergency Medical Vessel,” Seven said softly as the weight of all she was about to lose settled upon her.

  “The EMV was actually designed for just such a mission, to provide medical support to numerous vessels in situations when there might be a high risk of casualties in deep space, where there are no Federation starbases, and where advanced medical facilities are few and far between.”

  “The Doctor, Chakotay, Commander Paris, Lieutenant Kim…” Seven began to list.

  Eden nodded. “Are all going. And the fleet is being equipped with slipstream drives so there is no risk of once again becoming stranded far from home.” Taking a deep breath, Eden asked, “May I tell them you will join them?”

  Seven didn’t even pause to consider it.

  “You may not,” she replied.

  “Do you mind if I ask why?”

  Seven struggled briefly to formulate an appropriate response. “I believe it is too soon to mount such an expedition,” she began. “I believe Starfleet would be better served by focusing all of its efforts on rebuilding its forces and considering what role it is meant to play in the Alpha quadrant, particularly in light of the recent emergence of the Typhon Pact. Further, I am needed here, both at the Academy and to look after my aunt, who is gravely ill.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about your aunt,” she said sincerely. “And I understand your other reservations. I can assure you that this decision has not been reached quickly nor made lightly. The mission the fleet is about to undertake has been on the drawing board for almost three years. If this is your final word on the subject, I understand, but I will tell you that should you change your mind, the door will be open up until the moment the fleet launches.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” Seven replied dismissively, “but I suggest you not hold your breath.”

  Eden nodded, accepting this as graciously as possible.

  “Thank you for your time, Seven,” she said, and walked quickly away.

  Eden knew it had been a long shot, but she had felt compelled to ask. There were still a few weeks remaining until the fleet was to launch. The optimist in her hoped that Seven might give the matter a little more thought. The realist believed she had already heard Seven’s final word on the subject.

  As Captain Eden hurried off, Seven found herself trembling. It had never entered her mind that Starfleet would mount an expedition to the Delta quadrant any time in the near future. The fact that they were asking many of Voyager’s former crew to lead this mission only added insult to injury. Despite the promise of slipstream technology to make the journey practical, any such relatively untested system was fraught with potential problems. These might be mitigated by the fleet’s large number of ships, but still, it seemed a huge risk.

  Further, Seven could not help but feel it was an insult to the memory of Kathryn Janeway. She had risked everything to bring her crew home, and Seven could only imagine the ferocity with which the admiral, were she still alive, would have battled anyone who dared propose such a mission.

  In every respect but one, it seemed a waste of resources. That one—determining if anything, Borg or Caeliar, still existed in the vast region of space once dominated by the Collective. Such a possibility gave Seven pause.

  The question that had plagued her for months and brought her conflict with the voice to its sharpest pitch was why she had not been asked to join the Caeliar gestalt at the moment of the Borg’s transformation. Her memory of that process had grown vaguer with each passing day, but at no time since she had first awakened could she recall actually having been given a choice in the matter. The report of Captain Picard was that the Caeliar had left the galaxy. Seven would have been inclined to accept this completely were it not for the presence of the voice and her unsubstantiated certainty that it actually came from the Caeliar. If any yet remained, the Delta quadrant would logically be the first place she would look for them. And if she could find them, they might be able to help her resolve her current dilemma.

  Intriguing as the possibility was, she could not weigh it above her obligation to her aunt. To leave Irene in a Starfleet Medical facility while she went off to pursue what might very well be a fruitless quest, would be the height of inhumanity, and unworthy of the love and generosity Irene had shown Seven since the day she returned to Earth. The Caeliar had already judged her as such, and she would do nothing now to prove them right.

  More troubling, however, was the thought that in a matter of weeks, all of those she thought of as friends would be beyond her reach. Seven had believed she had come to fully understand the concept of the word alone when she was first severed from the Collective. As she contemplated her near future, she realized that there were nuances to the concept she had never anticipated and did not relish exploring.

  Her attention was abruptly drawn to the sight of the Doctor hurrying up the path toward her, accompanied by Lieutenant Kim. Seven had stopped in to see Harry during his recuperation, but had not enjoyed the pleasure of his company since he had been fully restored to health. His grim and troubled countenance suggested that though his body might have healed, his mind might still have some distance to go.

  “What’s wrong?” Seven asked without preamble the moment they reached her side.

  Kim shared a questioning glance with the Doctor before speaking, which ratcheted up Seven’s discontent another notch.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to tell you this,” Harry began. “I still can’t believe it myself.”

  Seven looked to the Doctor, who was usually better at delivering bad news, to see that he too was stunned into silence.

  “Every morning, first thing, I review casualty reports from the Federation.”

  “A grim hobby, Lieutenant,” Seven offered.

  “It’s part of my job,” Harry replied. “Almost two months later we still haven’t been able to confirm all of those killed during the invasion.” Harry paused to take a deep, steadying breath.

  “This morning, there was a report of shuttle debris found in sector 22093, an unregistered shuttle.”

  “I’m sorry, Lieutenant, but I still do not understand the relevance,” Seven said as calmly as possible.

  “It’s B’Elanna and Miral. It was their shuttle. That sector saw heavy fighting, and they must have gotten caught in the cross fire.”

  Seven’s heart turned to cold and heavy ice.

  “B’Elanna and Miral are dead?” she said softly.

  Harry nodded.

  “And you’re sure it’s them?” the Doctor asked. “Someone might have made a mistake.”

  “Their names are on the list,” Harry confirmed. “That means someone identified whatever was left…” he trailed off.

  Silence hung heavy between them as the vivid natural hues of the courtyard turned suddenly bleak.

  “I have to…” Harry began, his breath coming quicker. “I have to tell Tom. Will you both come with me? I don’t know where Chakotay is right now, and there isn’t anyone else.”

  “Of course,” the Doctor said, placing a comforting arm around Harry’s shoulders.

  Seven followed them numbly to the nearest transporter station, adding a new item to the list of the Caeliar’s sins against her. Several years earlier she had asked the Doctor to disengage the fail-safe Borg system within her which prevented her from experiencing human emotions at too high a level of sensitivity, and she believed she had adapted well to the new extremes that were the res
ult of this choice. If she had still possessed her Borg implants, Seven would have requested that the Doctor reverse the procedure. Right now, she would have given anything to avoid the pain she knew would follow too quickly on the heels of the disorienting shock she was now experiencing.

  Unfortunately, the Caeliar had not even left her this option.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Eden’s first order of business after attending the EMH’s hearing was to report to Voyager for her daily briefing on the fleet’s status. These meetings consisted of the commanding officers of each vessel or, in Voyager’s case, the acting commander, Tom Paris, and the few engineering specialists who had been, of necessity, included in the outlining of the fleet’s mission at the beginning of March.

  Eden materialized in the transporter room to find Tom waiting for her, as usual. In the short time they had worked closely together, Eden had come to rely upon and, more important, truly like Voyager’s first officer. The irreverent young man who had found a new life in the Delta quadrant had been replaced by a more temperate version of his former self. Like his father, he now possessed a shell of tritanium around him and did his work efficiently and with professional enthusiasm. For those who were close to him—and much of the ship’s current staff fell into that category—he always had a ready smile or good-natured barb, and many of the new faces seemed already to sense that in him they would find a firm hand, but also a patient mentor.

  Paris always greeted Eden respectfully, and always maintained a professional distance in their dealings. He had never confided in her any misgivings he might have about the upcoming mission, though Eden believed he must have reservations. Still, if the rest of the crew accepted their new mission with Tom Paris’s equanimity, Eden believed that the fleet would find great success in facing the challenges ahead.

  “Good morning, Captain,” Tom greeted her.

  Eden forced her disappointment at failing to secure Seven’s services for the fleet to the back of her mind.

  “The ship commanders are assembled in the mess hall this morning,” he informed her. “The new table is being installed in the conference room. I took the liberty of assuming you would prefer not to be briefed while battling the noise of the engineers.”

  “Thank you, Commander,” she replied sincerely.

  When she did not immediately move to lead him from the room as usual, Tom asked, “Are we waiting for someone?”

  “Actually, yes,” Eden replied. “An old friend I haven’t seen in a while is coming aboard this morning.”

  “Will they be joining the meeting?”

  “No.”

  “Shall I wait for you in the mess hall?”

  “This won’t take a minute,” Eden replied as Counselor Cambridge shimmered into existence on the transporter pad.

  The moment their eyes met, Cambridge shook his head in disdain.

  “Are you here to gloat, Captain?” Cambridge asked as he stepped down to give her a brief hug.

  “Not at all, Hugh,” she replied with a wide smile. “Why do you ask?”

  “You’ve managed to retain that lovely office in San Francisco while I’ve been banished to these dreary halls for almost three years. Should I have divorced an admiral too?”

  Eden accepted his ribbing as par for the course. She knew that despite his protestations, Cambridge must be enjoying his work on Voyager a great deal or he would have demanded transfer long ago.

  “This crew has performed exceedingly well, despite your presence, Hugh,” she teased, “and since the rest of us can barely tolerate you, I’d suggest you make the best of it.”

  Cambridge nodded sagely. “Charming, as ever.”

  “I have a meeting, but I wanted to make sure you received those files I sent over,” Eden said.

  Cambridge’s face lit up appreciatively. “I did. And you were right. They’re quite lovely. Though I’m not quite sure…”

  “Just put them in the back of that terribly large brain of yours and let me know if you find any interesting comparative images,” Eden requested.

  “Glad to. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to meet with our new chief medical officer. Why a Tamarian would bother to learn Federation Standard, let alone join Starfleet, is a mystery to me, but I’m intrigued nonetheless. I’ve always wanted to know more about Shaka and those bloody walls.”

  Eden dismissed him with a nod and turned back to Tom, who was trying hard to hide his surprise.

  “Question, Commander?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I just didn’t realize you were acquainted with Counselor Cambridge.”

  “We’ve known one another for years,” she assured him. “Have you enjoyed having him aboard?”

  Tom paused, obviously choosing his words carefully. “He’s an excellent counselor, by which I mean he is usually dead-on in his assessments, but he does take some getting used to,” he finally said.

  “He thinks highly of you too, Commander,” Eden replied, then asked, “Is there any chance we’re going to finish this meeting before lunch?”

  “Only if we’d started an hour ago, ma’am,” Tom replied.

  “Then let’s get to it.”

  Three hours later Paris emerged from Voyager’s mess hall to find Harry, Seven, and the Doctor waiting for him. All three had worn similar, gloomy expressions before they had noted his presence, and all three tried much too hard to mask them the moment they saw him.

  “Hi, guys,” Tom said with forced cheer. “What’s going on?”

  Harry, who had apparently been elected the trio’s leader for the moment, stepped forward and said softly, “We need to go to your quarters.”

  “Do I need to bring a phaser with me?” Tom joked.

  “No,” Harry replied as he turned his steps toward the turbolift and refused to meet Tom’s eyes.

  A few minutes later all of them entered Tom’s darkened quarters. They had recently been refurnished and had a fabricated, “new” smell, which reminded Tom, much to his regret, of the Delta Flyer; both times he’d helped build it.

  Tom activated the cabin’s lights on arrival and turned to see his friends staring at him with great concern.

  “Okay, somebody needs to tell me what’s happening,” he said as lightly as possible under their heavy gazes. The room felt uncomfortably warm, though Tom knew full well that the climate controls were one of the few things on Voyager that were functioning perfectly at the moment.

  “Tom, I…” Harry began.

  “Lieutenant Kim, if you’d prefer…” the Doctor said.

  “No.” Harry shook his head, collecting himself.

  Suddenly, the room was not only too hot; it also seemed to lack sufficient oxygen for Tom’s needs.

  “Maybe we should sit down,” Seven offered.

  “Damn it, somebody say something,” Tom demanded.

  Finally Harry took a deep breath and blurted out, “B’Elanna and Miral are dead.”

  “What?” Tom heard himself asking, even as most of his mind untethered itself from the rest of his body and the room began to tip on its axis.

  Immediately his friends were around him, their firm hands guiding him to the sofa. Soon he was seated between Harry and Seven, with the Doctor kneeling before him. All three of them were still holding on to him, but their presence, though immediate, was somehow disconnected from the rest of him.

  Harry continued, soft and controlled. “We received the latest casualty reports this morning, and debris from B’Elanna’s shuttle was discovered. Both of their names were on the list. Tom, I’m so very sorry.”

  In a flash of comprehension, Tom was off the sofa and on the far side of the room. It was almost as if putting space between them would somehow make the message they carried equally distant.

  Hang on, part of him thought.

  “Tom?” Harry said, approaching him with the care one would give a terrified and wounded animal.

  “It’s not…I mean…that’s it, right?” Tom asked.

  “I don’t
understand,” Harry said.

  “He’s in shock,” the Doctor added unnecessarily.

  “No. What I’m saying is,” Tom went on, “that’s the only proof you have? Their names on a list?”

  “I contacted the duty officer in charge, and he confirmed the remnants of the shuttle and positively identified it as B’Elanna’s.”

  “It was unregistered,” Tom argued.

  “Every single ship in the combat zones during the invasion, Starfleet or civilian, was forced to identify itself and its occupants. I’m sorry, Tom, but it’s not a mistake.”

  “Tom, please tell us if there is anything at all we can do,” the Doctor said gently.

  “Perhaps we could contact your mother?” Seven suggested.

  “No,” Tom replied softly, shaking his head. “No.”

  “I’ll try and find Captain Chakotay,” Harry assured them.

  “Don’t bother,” Tom said coldly.

  “What?” Harry asked.

  “Get out, all of you,” Tom replied.

  “Tom,” Harry pleaded.

  “Just get out!” Tom shouted.

  Seven and the Doctor moved toward the door, but Harry stood his ground.

  “I’m not leaving you alone right now,” he insisted kindly but firmly.

  “Harry, I love you like a brother. You know that. But right now, I need a few minutes by myself.”

  Harry eyed Tom warily.

  “A few minutes,” Harry finally conceded. “But I’m standing outside that door and I’m counting.”

  Tom nodded, and all three moved out the door.

  The moment they were gone, Tom rushed to his comm station and pulled up a list of his most recent messages. Among them was an official, unencrypted notice from Emperor Kahless. It read simply, “Commander Paris, please accept the condolences of the Klingon Empire on your recent loss. B’Elanna and Miral brought honor to us all, and they will be missed.”

  Tom read and reread the message, counted the words, then read them one final time.

  Though he had guessed the moment he had seen Harry’s face what news he carried with him, he had been unprepared for the visceral response to Harry’s words. In his immediate shock he had actually feared that somehow something had gone terribly wrong.