Star Trek: Voyager®: Full Circle

by Kirsten Beyer

  Seven remained standing in the small atrium, watching Chakotay’s quick survey of the room, her eyes defying him to remark upon what he saw. Chakotay stared at her for a moment. In place of the aloof, guarded presence he was accustomed to, he saw raw pain coupled with fright.

  She seemed equally prepared to fight or flee at whatever move he might make. Remaining still, he said softly, “Please tell me what’s wrong, Seven.”

  “Don’t pretend you care,” Seven shot back.

  Chakotay lowered his head slightly, allowing her to retain the illusion of dominance, and replied, “Of course you are angry with me. I haven’t been much of a friend to you or anyone for a very long time. I came here to apologize to you and to ask your forgiveness.”

  Confusion wrinkled Seven’s brow. For the first time Chakotay realized that the implants that had circled her left eye were no longer present. He had always found her beauty intimidating, but now there was a gentle quality to her features, marred only by her evident hostility.

  “Take my forgiveness, then,” Seven said coldly, “and get out.”

  “How is Irene?” Chakotay asked, ignoring her request. Wild dogs couldn’t have driven him from the house.

  “She is dying,” Seven replied almost clinically.

  “I’m sorry,” Chakotay said. “I had no idea her condition had grown so bad.”

  “Only because you have not cared to inquire as to her condition for far too long,” Seven replied, then twisted the knife by adding, “She continues to ask about you often.”

  Chakotay was appropriately shamed by this remark.

  “May I see her?”

  “She is resting right now,” Seven replied more softly. “The Doctor has provided medication to alleviate her suffering. It has proven somewhat effective, but she is unconscious now for long periods of time.”

  “Does the Doctor have any idea how long she can survive like this?” Chakotay asked kindly.

  “Days, perhaps weeks,” Seven replied.

  Chakotay stepped gingerly toward her. Every instinct in his body cried out for him to offer her the comfort of an embrace, but she moved back toward the foot of the staircase.

  “Seven, I am truly sorry,” Chakotay said, lifting his hands before him to dispel any concern she might have that he would dare breach her personal space without her consent. “This must be awful for you. Do you at least have help in dealing with her?”

  “I do not require help,” Seven retorted sharply. “I am…I am…I am Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct to Unimatrix…I am Seven of Nine…I am Seven…”

  Chakotay witnessed her strength failing her. Before she could fall to the floor, he caught her and gently lowered her until they were sitting on the lowest steps. Seven fought against him for a few seconds, but finally released herself to the strength and comfort of his embrace. Her body began to choke with sobs, and Chakotay wrapped her in a protective hug, gently caressing her soft, golden hair and murmuring soothing words until the worst of the tremors passed.

  Finally Seven pulled herself away to look up at him, her face wet with tears.

  “Don’t help me,” she pleaded.

  “Try and stop me.” He smiled.

  “No.” She shook her head, attempting to pull away from him. “Your presence is temporary. You cannot be relied upon.”

  Chakotay held her firmly by her upper arms. “Listen to me,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere. We can sit here like this for minutes or days—however long it takes for you to tell me what the hell is happening to you.”

  Seven’s eyes registered surprise. With childlike gracelessness she wiped her nose on the sleeve of her arm and inhaled quickly with a loud snuffle.

  “But you have to return to Voyager.”

  “Not right now I don’t,” he assured her.

  “You are leaving,” she insisted almost petulantly. “You, the Doctor, Commander Paris, Lieutenant Kim, you are all leaving me. Soon my aunt will be gone too and I will be alone. I must adapt.”

  “Hang on,” Chakotay said. “Voyager is leaving, but I’m not going with them. Starfleet has assigned another captain to the ship. I’m still on leave. I promise you, you aren’t alone, and you’re never going to be alone again.”

  Seven considered his words and replied, “Starfleet has made an error. You should lead the mission to the Delta quadrant.”

  “No,” Chakotay corrected her. “I am more certain now than ever that this is exactly where I am supposed to be.”

  Seven winced with pain and momentarily lifted her left hand to massage the side of her forehead.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “It will pass,” she assured him.

  Chakotay raised his hand and gently caressed the crescent from the center of her forehead to just beneath her left eye. He then delicately placed her left hand flat on his palm and searched it for traces of the technology that had once sustained her.

  “When did you have the last of your implants removed?” he asked.

  “I didn’t,” she replied. “The Caeliar did this to me.”

  “When they transformed the Borg,” Chakotay realized.

  Of course.

  “Was it painful?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She nodded. “And no. It was…it is difficult to describe.”

  “Did you have any idea it was coming? Were you able to prepare yourself?”

  “No.”

  Chakotay sighed compassionately.

  “It’s no wonder you’re frightened,” he said.

  “You do not understand,” Seven insisted.

  “Then explain it to me.”

  Seven’s wide eyes studied his fearfully. Finally she answered, “There was a moment, during the transformation, when I was part of the Caeliar.”

  “The way you were once part of the Borg?”

  “No. The gestalt was more than the Collective. There was no unifying force or will, but there was still perfect harmony. Countless individuals were joined together, but they retained their unique identity.”

  “Are you still part of the Caeliar?” Chakotay asked, his own dubiousness at the prospect quite clear in his tone.

  “No,” Seven replied. “They severed my link to the whole. They abandoned me.”

  Chakotay nodded.

  “So you glimpsed paradise, only to have it ripped away,” he said kindly.

  Seven nodded mutely.

  “And now you feel more alone than ever?”

  “If only,” Seven said ruefully.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Something remains,” she admitted. “A voice.”

  “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “It insists over and over that I am Annika Hansen. That I am no longer Borg.”

  “But you are Annika,” Chakotay said.

  “Annika Hansen was assimilated as a child. Her identity disappeared into the Borg collective. All that I am now, I learned as a Borg. All that is best in me was their gift.”

  “What about your individuality?” Chakotay asked. “You didn’t reclaim that until you were severed from the Collective.”

  “My individuality is irrelevant without my identity, and I refuse to deny the part of that identity that was once Borg,” Seven said, her voice rising.

  “Okay,” Chakotay said soothingly. “I understand. Seven, have you seen a doctor since this transformation?”

  Seven’s chin jutted out defiantly. “I was examined by several physicians,” she replied. “All agreed that I am now in perfect health.”

  “Did you tell them about the voice?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “The Federation is desperate to learn all they can about the Caeliar. If they knew of my condition, they would restrain me. They would study me. I would become more of a curiosity to them than I already am. I will not allow it.”

  Chakotay had to admit that there was a certain amount of sense in what she was saying. But he still wasn’t sure that going it alone was a wise choice eith
er.

  “It’s getting worse, isn’t it?” Chakotay asked.

  “At first it was very difficult to separate my own thoughts from the intentions of the voice. But I thought I had learned to adapt.”

  “When did that change?”

  “I recently learned that my aunt’s condition will never improve. Before I could begin to accept it I was told that the rest of my family is about to return to the Delta quadrant.”

  “Seven, your family is bigger than Tom and Harry and the Doctor.”

  “Who else is there?” Seven demanded. “Tuvok is on a deep-space assignment. You haven’t been available for months. Icheb and Naomi are only children. B’Elanna and Miral…” she choked out.

  “What about B’Elanna and Miral?” he asked.

  Seven paused. “You don’t know?” she replied in wonder.

  Fear gripped Chakotay’s chest.

  “What about B’Elanna and Miral?” he asked again.

  “They were killed during the Borg invasion,” Seven replied through fresh tears.

  Chakotay focused on his breath, which was now heaving in his chest.

  “No…no…” he gasped, unable to find another word.

  Seven took Chakotay in her arms. For the moment, she sustained them both as grief once again bared its ugly face in the center of Chakotay’s being.

  They held one another for what felt like hours. Once the worst had passed, Seven told Chakotay what little she knew of the specifics of their deaths. Chakotay listened patiently, waiting for his constant rage-filled companion to return to shatter the short-lived peace he had only begun to taste. But as time continued to pass in the darkened room, Chakotay felt only empty and inexpressibly sad. Seven shared his pain, and between the two of them, the burden became a bit lighter. As much as Chakotay knew he would need to nurse his own sorrow, he found himself much more concerned with Seven’s all-consuming pain.

  It was well past midnight when he finally left her home. He would return early the next morning, and the morning after that. They would work together, Chakotay assured her, to find a way to make sense of their recent losses and those which dimmed on the horizon.

  At least now he was certain he would not again make the same mistake he had made when he lost Kathryn. Shining through his broken heart were rays of determination and strength.

  He returned to his temporary quarters, seated himself on his living room floor, and began to meditate. Even without his medicine bundle he was soon sitting in a lush and verdant forest, staring into the eyes of his animal guide.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Harry stood on a rocky precipice, overlooking the Atlantic Ocean as it violently assaulted the small cove below. He’d transported to this spot over twenty minutes ago and still hadn’t worked up the nerve to approach the small cabin nestled beneath a dense canopy of white pines.

  He still didn’t know exactly why he’d come. He only knew that he had precious few days left in the Alpha quadrant and he needed to see more than the inside of Voyager during those days or he would lose his mind. When he thought of pristine beauty and bracing air, only one spot had come to mind. He no longer had a claim to it, but he had to see it, just one more time.

  Actually, he had to see her. But he wasn’t ready to admit that, even to himself.

  Harry had dutifully pushed Libby from his heart and mind years earlier. He’d made new friends, pursued new relationships, and come to believe that she was forever banished to his past.

  Ever since he had awakened in Starfleet Medical months earlier, he’d been thinking of her—dreaming of her. Everywhere he went in his dreams, no matter how realistic or bizarre, she was there, always in the next room, just out of sight, and always playing her lal-shak for him. And every time he reached for his clarinet, he found himself playing the tunes they had once shared as duets.

  You’re being stupid, he chided himself. She’s married. You haven’t spoken to her in years. She doesn’t want to see you.

  Still, he had come and now stood only meters from her door, with no idea at all what he wanted to say or hear.

  “Indigo!” her familiar voice called out. Turning toward her front door, he saw her emerge from it, searching the twilight for one of her beloved cats.

  “Indigo!” she called again. “Where did you run off to?”

  Taking a deep breath, Harry took a halting step forward and she turned, instantly on her guard.

  “Who’s there?” she demanded.

  Given the remoteness of her home, her sense of alarm was understandable. The isolation of the little cabin had been one of the things both of them had loved most about this quiet piece of North America.

  “It’s me,” Harry said, hoping to put her at ease.

  Libby stepped forward, squinting into the gloom.

  “Harry?”

  “Yeah,” he replied, continuing forward.

  “Oh my God,” she said once she was certain her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her.

  “I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he began, but was quickly silenced by a hug so firm it bordered on violence.

  “Oh my God, I’m so happy to see you,” Libby said. Releasing him and stepping back to get a better view, she added, “You look perfect.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” he found himself joking.

  “I would,” she countered. “What are you doing here?”

  Harry didn’t really know how to begin, so he opted for honesty.

  “I don’t know.”

  Libby suddenly grew quite still. The joy her face had proclaimed in seeing him transmuted itself into a more complicated emotion Harry could not place. After what seemed like an endless silence, she said, “You want to take a walk?”

  “That would be great.”

  Libby took the lead and began directing their steps down a small rocky path that led to the shoreline. They had hiked this little trail many times in the last six months of their relationship. It led to a favorite large rock from which a truly spectacular view of the ocean could be enjoyed, especially now, so near sunset.

  They reached the rock in comfortable silence, and Libby climbed onto its scarred surface, settling in a nook that allowed her to rest her back against the high cliff wall behind them. Harry took his own familiar spot nearer the rock’s edge, with his feet hanging over the side.

  After a few moments, Harry said, “I really don’t know what I’m doing here.”

  “I’m not complaining,” Libby replied. “It really is wonderful just to see you.”

  “You too,” Harry said. “You’ve been on my mind a lot more than usual. It’s weird. I can’t seem to make sense of anything right now. But part of me kept thinking that I should come here.”

  “It’s okay. I’ll help you any way I can. You know that, or you wouldn’t be here.”

  “I guess I should congratulate you,” he continued. “I heard you got married.”

  Libby nodded a little shyly. “Last month.”

  “And he makes you happy?”

  “He does.”

  “Good,” Harry said, not terribly convincingly.

  “You understand, Harry, that just because, I mean, I know I…” she stammered. Finally she exhaled sharply in frustration. “Why is this so hard?”

  “Everything’s hard right now,” Harry replied.

  “It is, isn’t it?” She frowned. “Everything has changed. Whatever illusions we used to have about our happy, peaceful little part of the galaxy are just gone. It feels like no place is ever going to be safe again.”

  “Exactly,” Harry agreed. “Nothing has turned out the way it was supposed to.”

  Libby looked up at him sharply.

  “Harry,” she began warily.

  “I don’t mean us,” Harry added quickly. “I mean everything else.” He paused briefly to collect his thoughts and went on. “The whole time we were lost in the Delta quadrant, I would imagine what it would be like if we ever got home. There were days when my idea of that future was the only thin
g that kept me going. I just knew that whatever happened, as long as we all made it home in one piece, everything would work out. If we could take the Delta quadrant, we could take anything, you know?”

  Libby nodded patiently, allowing him to continue.

  “The people I shared that journey with, we became a family. And now, three years later, that family has been scattered to the winds. Admiral Janeway beat the Borg I don’t know how many times on their turf, and then they show up here and kill her. Tom and B’Elanna loved each other more than anyone I’ve ever known, and even they couldn’t make it work. Right now they should be raising that beautiful little girl and instead, B’Elanna and Miral are dead and Tom is pushing all of us away. I don’t know where Chakotay is. Seven’s torn between taking calls from the president of the Federation and looking after her poor aunt. It’s not right. And no matter how I try to look at it, it’s never going to be right again. It doesn’t make any sense. It’s like I had this life, and then I somehow wandered down the wrong path and ended up in some alternate reality.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time, would it?” Libby teased gently.

  “I guess not.” Harry smiled faintly. “But this time I have a feeling that there isn’t going to be a helpful alien with a vast knowledge of subspace anomalies, or a duplicate version of Voyager for me to find my way back to.”

  “You’re probably right about that,” she agreed.

  “And get this,” Harry added. “After all we did to get home, Starfleet has decided to send us back to the Delta quadrant.”

  “I know,” Libby said softly.

  Harry turned on her, stung. “I didn’t even know until this morning. How the hell could you possibly…?”