Once his face had disappeared, Eden bowed her head as the weight and heft of the responsibility she had accepted landed squarely upon her shoulders. Until this moment the true nature of the challenge before her had been an idea.
Suddenly, it was real.
She took a few shallow breaths, then called out, “Computer, bring up personal file Eden Delta Mikhal.”
The moment the first image of the ancient carving that had been discovered by Voyager on a remote planet in the Delta quadrant appeared before her, its deep colored lines dotted with bright specks of reflected moonlight, her heart jumped, just as it had the first time she had seen the image.
What no one had realized, not the Mikhal who admired the carvings, or Kes, who had been intrigued by them, was that they were not just art left by an ancient civilization.
They were a map.
Or part of a map, at any rate.
How Eden knew this, she couldn’t say because much of her own past was shrouded in mystery. She knew she was not a native of the Alpha quadrant. The brothers who had raised her, an eclectic pair of scientists and explorers who had never been a part of Starfleet, had told her comforting lies about her past: how they had found her on an uninhabited planet as a young girl and nursed her back to health. She had no memory of her life before that time, or most of her early years with her “uncles.”
All she knew for certain was that her true history, whatever it was, wasn’t nearly as simple as they would have had her believe. Once she had reached adolescence, and she had learned all they had to teach her, they had agreed that theirs was no life for anyone with Afsarah’s potential. They had brought her to Earth, and she had been accepted by an elite preparatory school before gaining entrance to Starfleet Academy. She corresponded with them regularly throughout her years of study, but once she began her active duties as an ensign, their communications had become sporadic at best. Twenty-three years ago, they had been lost in a doomed attempt to try and reach the Gamma quadrant.
Eden had mourned their loss and gradually come to accept it. Her life in Starfleet was everything they had promised it would be when she had expressed childish misgivings about leaving them to attend school. Ultimately, she had resigned herself to the fact that she would probably never really know who she was or where she had come from. And given all that her life had become, she wasn’t sure she cared.
And then Eden had seen a single image in Voyager’s logs and read it as plainly as if it had been written in Federation Standard.
She had decided then and there that someday she would be forced to leave her comfortable and predictable life behind to seek out the people who had made the carvings thousands of years earlier and learn more about them.
Of this much, she was certain: whoever they were, they were her people. And if she was still alive, odds were, other descendants of theirs had probably survived as well.
When Willem had first suggested assigning Voyager to the Delta quadrant, Eden had been thrilled with the notion that Hugh Cambridge could be relied upon to examine the carvings firsthand on her behalf. His passion for an archeological mystery had been piqued when she had transmitted them to him, just as she had expected, even without understanding the full extent of her personal interest in them.
Tantalizing as this mystery was, it alone would never have compelled her to support Willem’s plan, especially over Kathryn Janeway’s strenuous and repeated objections. The specter of the Borg had been more than enough fuel for that fire. But it had been all she had needed to overcome her many concerns about serving so closely with Willem and to accept the position as Voyager’s captain for this mission.
She would keep her promise to Chakotay. She would see to it that when their work was done, Voyager’s crew, along with the rest of the fleet, was returned safely to Earth.
They were all leaving their home for a time.
But maybe, just maybe…
Afsarah Eden was on her way back to hers.
“Bridge to the captain.”
“Go ahead, Mister Paris.”
“We have clearance to launch.”
“I’m on my way.”
Eden closed her private database, rose from her desk, and walked with her head held high onto the bridge.
One of the few aesthetic changes to the bridge for this mission had been the addition of a third seat to the two command chairs originally designed for Voyager. Admiral Batiste was already seated in the one to the right of center, though it would usually be reserved for Counselor Cambridge from this point forward. Paris rose from the one to the left as she entered, calling out, “Captain on the bridge.”
Eden took a moment as she strode purposefully to her place to acknowledge the faces of her crew. Lasren, Kim, and Patel nodded with brisk determination. Aytar Gwyn, her short cerulean hair freshly spiked for the occasion, sat at the conn with the pent-up energy of a Thoroughbred racehorse champing at its bit. Tom Paris stood with the reserve of a seasoned veteran, clearly hoping for the best but ready for the worst. And Willem actually looked happier than she could remember at any time since their honeymoon, though he did his best to hide it behind a mask of condescending composure.
“Alert the fleet to stand by,” Eden said as she took her place in the center seat.
“Aye, Captain,” Lasren replied.
“Helm?”
“Yes, Captain?”
“Let’s not keep the Delta quadrant waiting.”
“No, sir,” Gwyn said with anticipation.
“Take us out.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
B’Elanna sat in the cockpit of the ship she had privately christened the Home Free. Miral had spent the last hour and a half fighting her mid-morning nap but finally worked herself into a frenzied exhaustion and curled up on her bunk in the rear compartment.
It was hard to believe that after the years of fear, planning, building the most advanced shuttle ever imagined, and worst of all, the torture of being separated daily from Tom, it was nearly over. Her life since the moment Miral had first been taken from her on Boreth had become purgatory. Her work and the joys, large and small, Miral brought daily to her had made it bearable. But B’Elanna had never lost sight of the real prize: a life with Tom and Miral in some distant part of the galaxy where the Warriors of Gre’thor would never find her.
Once her shuttle had launched, she had spent months perfecting the use of her slipstream drive, charting a random course through largely unexplored areas of the Beta quadrant. In all that time she had not laid eyes on her husband and had received precious few but vital reports from Kahless. She had managed to keep abreast of the happenings in the Alpha quadrant, most importantly the Borg invasion, but easily avoided the strategic centers that had been targeted. Once the worst was past and she was assured that Tom had survived, B’Elanna had realized that the devastation inflicted upon the Federation might provide the precise circumstances she required to end her private nightmare. She was tired of hiding and tired of running and more than ready to use whatever might be at hand to bring this part of her life to a close.
Tom would have to see this opportunity as well, and given his circumstances, the destruction of so many Starfleet ships, the chaos the Federation had to be experiencing in the aftermath, and the death of his father, she wasn’t actually expecting to hear from him as soon as she had.
Several weeks earlier the day had finally arrived. Kahless had sent an encoded message indicating that she should dump her cargo—the fragmented remains of a decoy shuttle that matched hers precisely, coated with DNA samples from her and Miral—in a sector that had suffered heavy damage. Carefully maneuvering through the charred hulls and debris of a battle so massive she couldn’t bear to think of the casualties, B’Elanna sowed her cargo and then set her course for a distant nebula, where she would await her final communiqué from Tom. That message would provide the rendezvous coordinates where she would finally be reunited with Tom, and from there, the rest of their lives could begin.
Th
e only thing she knew for sure at this point was that the reunion would not take place in the Alpha quadrant. B’Elanna wondered how Tom had managed to secure leave and the transportation that would make this possible, but trusted that she would learn these details soon enough. She also wondered how Tom would feel about leaving his home and, most important, his mother behind for the rest of his life. But she could only assume that he had made peace with this necessity and that given the alternative of placing his mother’s life or his daughter’s at greater risk, Tom would stay true to the course they had laid out together.
For her, there was little to regret leaving behind in the Alpha quadrant. Before departing she had slipped away from her base in Montana for a brief reunion with her father. He had fussed over little Miral with the same affection Owen and Julia had always displayed. But he had also understood her choice, once she had explained her intentions to him in strokes broad enough to ensure his safety, should he be questioned, but detailed enough to put his mind at ease. She knew that when the time came, Tom would do the same for Julia and would simultaneously pass along B’Elanna’s apologies, respect, and love for the woman who had given her the greatest gift she had ever received, her son. Leaving behind these two people, and the love they would shower upon her and Miral, was her greatest regret. But there had simply been no other way to protect them and the life of her daughter and ultimately provide Miral with something resembling normalcy.
A quiet chime from her operations panel alerted B’Elanna to the time. It was midday by her ship’s chronometer and, by Klingon custom, time to honor the dead.
For most of her life, B’Elanna had failed to observe these rituals. But once she had found herself alone and adrift in unfamiliar space, she had drawn comfort and strength from this daily practice. The list of those to honor had grown unacceptably long in the past few years, but this simple remembrance brought with it an unexpected measure of peace. She often thought back to the many hours she had spent with Tuvok on Voyager, attempting to rein in her aggression through the use of Vulcan meditation techniques he had patiently explained and demonstrated. She still wondered to this day that it had taken her so long to come to understand that running from her heritage, particularly her Klingon nature, would never provide her the serenity she desperately sought. The time she had spent on Boreth, searching for her mother, and then seeking the truth about her daughter, had been a mixed blessing, but it had taught her that there was more wisdom in her Klingon blood than she had ever credited.
Dimming the cabin’s interior lights, B’Elanna took a moment to release all thought of the past and future and bring herself fully into the present. Once she had achieved a pleasantly empty tranquillity, she began to speak softly.
“Kahless, we implore you to remember those warriors who have fallen in your name. Lift them out of the cavern of despair and reveal yourself to them in all your glory. Remember those who fought valiantly to secure the empire and those who died to protect their allies within the Federation; remember Kularg, son of Grav, remember L’Naan, daughter of Krelik; remember Miral, daughter of L’Naan; remember Owen, son of Michael; remember Kathryn, daughter of Gretchen…”
With each name, a vivid image would form in B’Elanna’s mind. Usually they were moments in time she hadn’t realized she would cherish until she had begun to honor the dead in this way: Kularg bending his forehead to touch Miral’s as she reached up to tug his beard; her grandmother teaching B’Elanna to sing her first Klingon songs; her mother’s face glowing by firelight when B’Elanna had told her that she had named her daughter in her honor; Owen laughing unrestrained while sharing a story of Tom’s misspent youth the night they had first shared a meal as a family; and Admiral Janeway, the last time B’Elanna had ever seen her alive…
STARDATE 56265: APRIL 7, 2379
Spring had barely begun, and the nights still remembered winter’s chill in the mountains of Montana. B’Elanna had been living at Dil’s facility for six months and had made a habit of taking Miral away from the grime and dust and steady work of shuttle construction for more quality and uninterrupted time on the weekends. A small river tumbled through a canyon only a few miles from the warehouse. Saturday morning would begin with a hike into the canyon’s rugged heart. Miral would invariably insist on walking beside her mother, but after the first hour would consent to being carried the rest of the way on B’Elanna’s back.
As they walked they would discover anew the natural beauty around them. Everything was green and fresh. Miral would pluck wildflowers with her pudgy fingers and glow with delight when she remembered their names from one week to the next: buttercups (buttewrcus), starworts (stawts), and blue-eyed Marys (boo-wy mays). Once they had made camp near the river, they would busy themselves collecting firewood and chasing lizards, a pastime of which Miral never wearied until she actually caught one. After an early dinner, as the sun began to fall below the ridgeline, B’Elanna would entertain Miral with her favorite stories. Invariably they were of Tom, exploring an ocean world, losing a shuttle race in order to propose to her, or wrapping Miral in animal pelts and holding her for hours through the long winter nights on Boreth.
B’Elanna treasured these outings and was unpleasantly surprised when she heard a rustling to the south of their camp one night. Someone was noisily following the river toward them, and her first act had been to reach for the phaser that was always close at hand.
In the fading light B’Elanna had soon made out a slight and feminine form. She had already begun to lower her phaser when Janeway’s familiar voice had beseeched, “Don’t shoot. I come in peace.”
B’Elanna had not hesitated to rise and hurry to meet the admiral, who immediately enveloped her in a firm hug.
“It’s so good to see you, B’Elanna,” she had said, her eyes alight.
“And you,” B’Elanna replied, surprised by the knot that caught in her throat at the unexpected sight of one so dear.
“Where is she?” Janeway teased, peeking around B’Elanna to spy Miral, who had looked up from the ant races she was monitoring the moment her mother had left her side. Once Miral had caught her eye, she had ducked for cover behind the log that was their campfire seat, but Janeway had eventually coaxed her out by approaching the log gingerly and coming to rest several feet from the child before bending to the ground and “discovering” a group of burrowing earthworms, which instantly captivated Miral.
By the time B’Elanna had seated herself again by the fire and offered Janeway some water, which she gratefully accepted, Miral had climbed into the admiral’s lap and begun to wipe her filthy hands all over Janeway’s otherwise pristine uniform.
“It’s beautiful here,” Janeway said, then added, “I hope you don’t mind a little company?”
“Not when the company is good,” B’Elanna replied honestly.
“Tom told me where to find you. Voyager is still en route back to Earth from Cestus III or I’m sure he’d have led me here himself.”
“We’ll see him in a few days,” B’Elanna replied, wondering why a note of defensiveness had suddenly crept into her voice.
“Unfortunately, I’m here on business,” Janeway admitted.
“Really?” B’Elanna said, truly puzzled.
“The strangest thing has happened.” Janeway nodded. “A lunatic attempted to take over the Federation Embassy on Qo’noS and during the brief period in which he held it, he demanded that the High Council reveal that the Federation had actually replaced the Emperor Kahless with a hologram.”
B’Elanna swallowed hard but managed to keep her face neutral.
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not. Of course, at first we all assumed this was nothing more than further evidence of his insanity. The strange thing was, when the emperor finally appeared, he was, in fact, a hologram.”
“Huh.” B’Elanna attempted to display surprise.
“And not just any hologram,” Janeway went on. “He was actually using a version of a holo-emitter frighteningl
y similar to the one used by our very own Doctor.”
At this B’Elanna couldn’t even find a sound to make.
“The good news is, Ambassador Worf was able to retake the embassy, and for now, the fact that the emperor has gone absent without leave and replaced himself with a hologram is still a closely guarded secret, which I trust you will not repeat.”
“Of course not.”
“Starfleet is helping in the search for the flesh-and-blood emperor, and I’m hopeful that when he is found he will clear up this little mystery. Meantime it has fallen to me to try and make a little sense of it. The bottom line is, there aren’t that many people we know of who could have created a holo-emitter so similar to the Doctor’s. I’ve already spoken with him and with Seven, and both of them are every bit as unnerved as I am.”
“I see.” B’Elanna nodded.
“I realize, of course, that for the last many months you and Miral have been living here and probably have less than no interest in such political matters, but I have to ask, B’Elanna. Do you have any idea who else might have done such a thing?”
B’Elanna forced herself to return Janeway’s even gaze.
“I’m sorry, Admiral, I don’t,” she said.
Janeway continued to stare into B’Elanna’s eyes, and B’Elanna told herself she wasn’t seeing disappointment reflected back at her.
Soon enough, Janeway turned to study the fire and said softly, “I see.”
Miral had finally relaxed into Janeway’s arms and was beginning to fall into a well-earned sleep.
“I’ll take her if you like,” B’Elanna offered, reaching out.
“It’s all right,” Janeway replied wistfully. “I don’t get to see nearly enough of either of you anymore. I’ll hold her a little longer if that’s okay.”
“Of course.”
After a brief and uncomfortable silence Janeway said, “She looks so like you, B’Elanna.”
“You can’t see them now, but she has her father’s eyes,” B’Elanna replied. “And his funny crooked smile, especially when she’s doing something she knows she’s not supposed to.”
Star Trek: Voyager®: Full Circle Page 43