“Well, that’s your job right now, isn’t it, little one?” Janeway cooed.
“When it comes to mischief, her future is bright,” B’Elanna acknowledged with a grin.
Janeway turned back to face B’Elanna. “Are you well?” she asked. “Are you happy?”
“Most of the time,” B’Elanna replied, treading carefully.
“May I ask why you haven’t returned to Starfleet?”
“I just can’t right now.”
“But someday?” Janeway asked. “You’re so good at what you do, B’Elanna. And I know that Chakotay would have you back in a second aboard Voyager.”
“Yes, he’s made that more than clear,” B’Elanna admitted, “but I know Vorik is doing a wonderful job.”
“He is. But Chakotay is worried about Tom. He’s clearly missing something and my guess is it’s you and this beautiful little girl. He doesn’t complain, mind you. He’d never do that. But it’s hard to understand why you’ve chosen to remain apart when both of you clearly need and love one another so very much.”
B’Elanna picked up a small stick and began to poke the fire with it, adjusting a log and sending orange and blue sparks flitting upward.
“We didn’t make this decision lightly, Admiral,” she finally said. “And we both agree that for now, we are where we have to be.”
“If that’s the case, then I understand,” Janeway replied. “I wish it were different, but I will take you at your word, as always.”
“Thank you.”
“This isn’t forever, though, is it?”
“I can only fight one battle at a time, and right now, I’m fighting the one in front of me,” B’Elanna replied.
Janeway nodded thoughtfully.
“Okay. But remember, if you ever need an ally in that battle, you know where to find me.”
B’Elanna choked back the tears that were welling in her throat.
“I do.”
After settling Miral on her pallet for the night and giving B’Elanna another fierce hug, Janeway had transported out, and B’Elanna had spent the next several hours staring at the fire, her bitter tears falling freely.
Janeway had once again put her utter faith and trust in B’Elanna, and this time, she had let her down. She didn’t know if Janeway believed her when she had lied about the holo-emitter, but she had at least refrained from pushing B’Elanna.
A year earlier Kahless had first asked about the Doctor’s miraculous emitter, and when B’Elanna had come to understand that the emperor intended to sacrifice his work on Qo’noS to assure the safety of herself and Miral, she agreed to build the device that would make that possible. Technically it was advanced Starfleet technology and certainly not something Command would approve of sharing, even with an ally, without wading through miles of red tape and political nonsense. B’Elanna had cut to the chase and provided him with a crude copy of the emitter, in addition to programming his holographic replacement. Kahless had then returned to Cygnet IV to watch for the Warriors of Gre’thor and to set up the communications network he would require to serve as a go-between for B’Elanna and Tom.
B’Elanna wanted to believe that if she had known that this would be the last time she would ever see Janeway alive, she might have done something differently. But as she saw Janeway’s face again in her mind, her eyes filled with love, respect, and pride, she knew in her heart that there was nothing Janeway wouldn’t have forgiven her for.
Perhaps one day, B’Elanna would once again meet the woman whose encouragement and support had brought B’Elanna safely through her own doubts and helped to forge the woman she had become. Janeway’s presence and influence at such a critical time in her life had done more than anyone else’s to define the qualities B’Elanna now held most dear and would work daily to impart to her own daughter. Most surprising of all was B’Elanna’s fervent hope that should they meet again, it would not be in some human version of the afterlife, but instead, in Sto-Vo-Kor.
As B’Elanna allowed her mingled regrets and sadness to dissipate in a vision of the glorious place Kathryn Janeway now held among the honored dead, her communications panel chirped, alerting her to the presence of an incoming message.
Tom, her heart gasped as she quickly traced the transmission’s origin.
She decrypted it quickly, but found herself running the algorithms through a dozen diagnostics before she could accept that the coordinates for their rendezvous could be accurate.
Just to be certain, she then double-checked the transmission’s point of origin. Within moments all of her systems verified that the message had come from Voyager.
Her hands shaking, B’Elanna began the lengthy process of charting her slipstream corridor and compensating for the predictable subspace variances common to slipstream travel.
The coordinates Tom had sent were well within her vessel’s range, but they were also in the last place B’Elanna would have expected them to be.
It seemed that Voyager was returning to the Delta quadrant.
In a matter of days, B’Elanna and Miral would join them.
JUNE 2381
EPILOGUE
“I’m pretty sure it’s the right thing to do,” Chakotay said softly. “We’re wading into deep and uncharted waters here, but if Seven is right and the Caeliar are still out there somewhere, what other choice is there? I’m not willing to watch her fall into madness. We both know how strong she is, but I’ve never seen her so frightened. She wasn’t this vulnerable in her first few days aboard Voyager.”
After a brief pause, he added, “What do you think?”
The tall white pillar had no answer.
Not that he had expected one.
He’d long ago lost track of the time he’d spent seated at the base of Kathryn’s memorial. In the dark days following her passing he had not allowed himself to indulge in the normal and fairly common practice of speaking aloud to the dead. Before he could permit this, he would first have to acknowledge in every fiber of his being that she was truly gone. Once that bridge had been crossed, many months too late, he had realized how much he still needed to say.
The lengthy, one-sided conversation had actually freed something in Chakotay’s psyche he hadn’t realized had been caged. He had begun by telling her frankly how angry he was at her for choosing to risk her own life rather than his. Didn’t she understand how many would willingly have taken her place? Or spent the rest of their lives in the Delta quadrant rather than see her sacrifice herself to the Borg?
The moment he’d said the words, however, he had seen her face again in his mind’s eye: the grimly set eyes, the faintly lifted chin, the absolute unwillingness to accept the notion that the universe would not accommodate itself to her wishes.
“You’re the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met, Kathryn,” he’d said. “And I’d give anything to be able to watch you stand here and deny it.”
I miss you.
With that thought, the tears he had believed he was past crying had begun to fall. But living in the center of his pain were also the memories that made living without her possible.
Only then had he understood that by denying his grief he had also cut himself off from the happiness she had brought to his life.
Suddenly he saw vividly her delighted and disbelieving smile when he had led her into the woods near their temporary home on New Earth and shown her the wooden tub he had built for her; the soft glow of her face lit by candles in Leonardo’s workroom the night they had promised one another never to allow their differences to tear them apart again; the chagrin with which she had announced to him for the tenth time that her replicator had once again burned their pot roast dinner; the drowsy contentment and peace of her face in repose, the one and only night she had belonged body and soul to him alone.
Laughter had burst freely through his tears, and Chakotay had allowed his mind to wander buoyantly through their life together.
“Remember the first time you tasted a leola root? The look on Neelix’s
face when he thought he’d poisoned his captain? The first time you hustled Tom Paris in a game of pool at Sandrine’s? The day Naomi brought you her very first captain’s assistant report? The day we walked into the cargo bay wondering which of our crew would stay behind with the 37’s and their descendants and found it empty?”
It had taken hours to journey through the past—the good and the bad. But as each memory fell from his lips, it had lessened the weight in his stomach even as featherlight strands of recollection had embedded themselves permanently upon his heart where they would never again be lost to him.
Only once this was done had he brought her up to date with the challenges of his present. Chakotay had been raised to believe in a spirit world that inhabited the same universe as his own, but his brief time in that world had left him little doubt that the dead did not concern themselves overmuch with the affairs of the living. They could be a resource and a source of wisdom, but the journey after death was one’s own, and there was little use in clinging desperately to your old existence when a new and glorious one beckoned.
He did not believe that Kathryn was watching over his every move, any more than his father or grandfather had dogged his daily path. It was only polite then, when a spirit was invoked, to provide a proper context for any question you might pose.
He had no one else with whom to share his concerns for Seven. He believed even before he’d asked that she would probably already have taken the actions he was currently contemplating. Still, he made his case aloud, then listened, hoping against hope that he might sense something tangible that would assure him that she agreed.
The moon had been his only companion in the stillness of Federation Park. It had risen behind the gleaming pillar, bathing it in an almost eerie light and for hours making it the only clear object he could discern. But as it had begun to dip before him, the monument had fallen into shadow and ultimately pale darkness.
Suddenly conscious of the stiffness in his back and legs, Chakotay pushed himself up from the ground and brushed off the light droplets of condensation that had gathered on his uniform during his long vigil. He reached out for the pillar he could barely see, its cold, damp surface convincing him that it would stand as long as the Federation that had constructed it.
“What do you think, Kathryn?” Chakotay said again.
A single ray of light struck the pillar’s base, and a long shadow grew from there, stretching over the grassy hillside toward the water of the bay. Chakotay turned to see the dawn breaking, and his heart quickened its pace to greet it.
Within minutes the light began to crawl upward, bathing the white stone in a brilliance whose glare was almost painful.
Chakotay watched its progress until it reached the level of his face and for a split second glimpsed briefly his reflection.
At that moment, five simple words echoed in his mind.
When in doubt, look here.
Without further ado, Chakotay raised steady hands to his collar and, one by one, removed the pips pinned there. He then removed his combadge and kneeled at the base of the monument.
He dug briefly in the soft earth, just enough to create a small indentation, laid the symbols of his service in the hole, and covered them with dirt, packing it down to hide any trace of his final gift to Kathryn.
Rising, he brushed off his hands and turned to leave the park, absolutely confident that he had made the right choice.
Within hours he would advise Admiral Montgomery of his decision.
His career in Starfleet had come to an end.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My friends and family are my first line of support. Their patience with me as I lock myself away for months at a time to do this work is a gift I can never truly repay.
Marco Palmieri gave me my first shot at professional writing. I consider it an honor that he has yet again demonstrated his confidence in me by entrusting me with the continuation of this story.
Maura Teitelbaum has done more to ensure my ongoing sanity than any agent ought to be required to do.
A number of my fellow authors have given their very valuable time and expertise to this project. Heather Jarman is always the first to offer hers. I am ever humbled by her insight and grace. David Mack, Christopher Bennett, William Leisner, and the marvel of Trek minutiae that is Keith DeCandido have made this story better, both by vetting the manuscript and by setting the bar to which I aspire in their own brilliant work. Christie Golden started the relaunch rolling and gave me many wonderful stories upon which to build.
My older brother, Matt, has come rather late to the party, but I’m so excited to be able to introduce him to the world of Trek literature in the same way he brought me to the original series. See? I told you there was still good Star Trek to be had.
My younger brother, Paul, remains a constant source of inspiration and also has my eternal gratitude.
As the only member of my immediate family apart from my mother who never fails to read my works the moment they are published, Ollie Jane Baker is due a special note of thanks.
And finally, Lynne, who literally makes my life as it is now possible.
I could never have written this story had I not absorbed the life lessons offered to me by my mother, Patricia, my mother-in-law, Vivian, and my father, Fred. I dedicated this work to him because even as our heroes struggle to accept an unacceptable loss, I have worked daily for years to come to terms with his. He remains an example of all that one dedicated person can do. More important, I think he would have liked this book. It is a testament to the many truths he has taught me in life and death.
At the end of the day, however, the greatest sacrifice made in the creation of this work was by my dear husband, David. He not only waits patiently while I sit alone for hours writing, he then listens raptly to every word and offers his wise counsel and unfailing support. He is my life, my heart, and my love.
Too many thanks, to one and all.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
In addition to Full Circle, Kirsten is the author of the last Buffy book ever, One Thing or Your Mother, Star Trek: Voyager—String Theory: Fusion, and the Alias APO novel Once Lost, and contributed the short story “Isabo’s Shirt” to the Distant Shores anthology. Her next addition to the Star Trek: Voyager universe will be released at the end of 2009.
Kirsten appeared in Los Angeles productions of Johnson over Jordan, This Old Planet, and Harold Pinter’s The Hothouse, which the L.A. Times called “unmissable.” She also appeared in the Geffen Playhouse’s world premiere of Quills and has been seen on General Hospital and Passions, among others.
Kirsten has undergraduate degrees in English literature and theater arts, and a master of fine arts from UCLA. She is currently working on a feature film screenplay and is within spitting distance of completing her first original novel.
She lives in Los Angeles with her husband, David, and their very fat cat, Owen.
Star Trek: Voyager®: Full Circle Page 44