Star Trek: Voyager - 041 - The Eternal Tide

by Kirsten Beyer

  “It’s okay if you haven’t made up your mind. Or even if you have,” Harry said quickly.

  “Harry, hush,” she ordered. “The minute we got the ship back in one piece, I went to Counselor Cambridge.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. We’ve talked daily since then. And will continue for as long as I need to.”

  “Then?” Harry dared to hope.

  “You were right. Well, he agreed with you.”

  “About what?”

  “There’s nowhere to run. Life has its share of truly awful days. It’s what you do with the rest of them that makes a difference. I’m going to deal with this now. Here.”

  Harry smiled in relief.

  “I’ve got one of the best engineers in Starfleet backing me and people who are as resourceful as they come all around me. It’s not going to get better than that. But it’s something else, too.”

  “What?” Harry asked.

  “Seven hundred and eighty-five of our finest gave up their lives so we could go on living. I wanted to save them. I wanted it more than I’ve wanted anything in a long time. But there are days when you get to do the saving, and there are days when you are the one who is saved. To run away now, to let the grief consume me, to waste the chance they gave us—that would be wrong.”

  Harry nodded. After a brief pause he asked, “Are you heading to the holodeck for your morning workout?”

  “No,” she replied, “too much to do in engineering. But I’ll be there tomorrow.”

  “You want company?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay then. It’s a date.”

  “It’s exercise, Harry.”

  “Oh.”

  “Dinner, my quarters, tonight. That’s a date.”

  “Are you going to clean up around here?”

  “Nope.”

  “So you’re a love me, love my mess kind of girl?”

  Nancy nodded. “The upside for you is that I’m willing to return the favor.”

  “I’m not . . .” Harry began.

  “A mess? Oh, Harry.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Maybe not on the outside.”

  After a long pause, Harry said, “Fair enough. I’ll see you tonight.”

  • • •

  “Leave, now,” Seven ordered.

  Hugh Cambridge, who was lying facedown in blissful, semiconscious contemplation of the previous evening, murmured, “And if I refuse?”

  “You will have to explain your unclad presence in my quarters at this early hour to both the Doctor and Icheb, who are due to arrive here in the next five minutes,” Seven replied. “And I warn you, they are constitutionally incapable of tardiness.”

  At this, Hugh rolled over and opened his eyes, staring up at the graceful figure beside the bed, who was a vision of sartorial perfection. The navy blue bodysuit she wore almost made it physically impossible for him to sit up. Seven’s perfectly coiffed hair and the combadge affixed firmly to her chest clearly indicated that she was already on duty.

  “You really don’t want me to leave, do you?” he asked.

  “More than you can possibly imagine.”

  “Seven?” he said, feigning injury.

  “You are the one who has spoken quite annoyingly and at length about the necessity for balance in my life.”

  “I was talking about your human/Borg/Caeliar balance.”

  “The point remains valid.”

  “So all play and no work?”

  “Is not conducive to a healthy relationship,” Seven finished.

  Cambridge sat up on his elbows. “I’d say given the amount of work involved in the last few weeks on both our parts, we’re overdue for a little more play. We do have five minutes.”

  “Three,” Seven reminded him. “And even you . . .”

  “Don’t finish that thought,” Hugh snapped as the door chimed.

  Seven nodded with a clear I told you so expression, then left the bedroom, calling out, “Come.”

  The counselor made a dash to the ’fresher, grabbing his uniform. Looking at the two days of stubble now dotting his chin, he wondered if he should just go ahead and grow another beard, before deciding that Seven would not approve. Much to his dismay, this now mattered to him, but a thorough morning’s ablution would have to wait until he reached his own quarters.

  Squaring his shoulders and clearing his throat, Cambridge stepped out of the bedroom. Seven, the Doctor, and Icheb were seated at the room’s small dining table, sharing freshly replicated fruit and bread.

  “Good morning, Doctor, Icheb,” Cambridge greeted them.

  The Doctor’s expression was priceless, simultaneously abashed and insulted on Seven’s behalf. Icheb puzzled momentarily over the direction from which Cambridge had emerged, then looked to Seven in admiration.

  “Would you care to join us, Counselor?” Seven asked with the clearest possible subtext. Don’t even think about it.

  “Please do,” Icheb immediately requested, causing the Doctor’s eyes to protrude to the point that they appeared ready to flee their photonic sockets. “I am considering asking the Academy to allow me to complete my final year of studies here on Voyager. I would appreciate hearing your thoughts on the matter, Counselor,” he added, clearly ignorant of his breakfast companions’ desires.

  Cambridge looked briefly at Seven, who seemed genuinely torn, and the Doctor, who appeared frozen. While the thought of tweaking the hologram was tempting, part of Cambridge knew that he should respect Seven’s wishes. With what he hoped was a convincing air of regret, he said, “I would enjoy speaking with you about that at length, Cadet, but unfortunately, I have a number of appointments scheduled for this morning. Stop by my quarters later, we’ll set a time.”

  “Thank you, Counselor.” Icheb smiled, then returned his attention to his orange juice.

  As he headed for the door, Cambridge couldn’t help but add, “Seven, if you find my jacket, would you just toss it in the recycler for me?”

  “Of course,” Seven replied, her ire rising.

  “Carry on.” Cambridge smiled.

  • • •

  “And who’s that, honey?”

  “Captain Proton!” Miral squealed with delight, raising a small arm skyward in salute of the figure that had just appeared on the screen. Tom Paris had recently instituted a new ritual for those mornings when he had sole custody of his daughter. Pillows and blankets from the bed were pulled onto the living-area floor before his prized antique, replicated television set, and breakfast was served for both of them while Tom introduced his daughter to the exploits of his favorite old heroes.

  “And who’s that?”

  “Chaotica,” Miral growled.

  “And he is . . . ?”

  “A very bad man,” Miral said quite seriously.

  “That’s right.”

  Eventually they would share the holodeck re-creations Tom had created for these characters. The thought of having Miral as his “Buster Kincaid” filled him with absolute delight. But for now, the much less threatening two-dimensional versions were almost as much fun.

  Tom had his back to the sofa, and Miral was snuggled under his right arm, munching absentmindedly on a piece of toast, when B’Elanna entered and stopped, merely shaking her head in mock disappointment.

  “Mommy, look!” Miral commanded, pointing to the screen.

  “I know, sweetie,” B’Elanna replied, trying to meet her enthusiasm. “Tom?”

  “I’ll be right back,” Tom said as he extricated himself. Miral rearranged herself, collapsing onto her tummy and propping her head up on her hands.

  Tom then followed B’Elanna into their bedroom. Before she could say anything, he began defensively, “Honey, it’s just a little television. And it’s totally age-appropriate.”

  She shot him a look that effectively silenced further attempts at justification.

  “Sit down,” she said, and he instantly sat beside her on the end of the bed.

  “What is it?�
� he asked, placing an arm around her shoulders. The dark tension that had consumed her since the mission began had yet to really fade. Tom wondered if she had new concerns about what Q had done to Miral. He was committed to believing that Q had altered his daughter’s future for the better.

  “I picked up the latest communiqués from the Alpha Quadrant,” she began, pulling a padd from her jacket pocket. “It’s from Kahless.”

  He took the padd and quickly scanned its contents.

  “Is he sure?” Tom asked in disbelief.

  “I can’t see Kahless sending this if he wasn’t. The encryption codes were legitimate.”

  Tom now shared his wife’s shock. “Is this what Junior was talking about?”

  “I don’t see how,” B’Elanna replied. “The confirmation only came in the last few weeks, but this must have happened six months ago.”

  “The Warriors of Gre’thor are gone,” Tom said, trying the thought out aloud.

  “They tried to stand against the Borg during the Invasion. I’m not really surprised they came out on the losing end of that one. They may have been lunatics, but they were Klingon lunatics. Nothing would have kept them out of that fight.”

  “So we could . . .” Tom began as his mind churned with dozens of new possibilities. “We could go back to the Alpha Quadrant now without . . .”

  “. . . constantly looking over our shoulders? Yes,” B’Elanna said.

  “Then what did Q do?” Tom asked.

  “I’m kind of hoping we won’t ever really know,” B’Elanna admitted.

  Tom took a moment to study his wife, then said, “Shouldn’t you be happy about this?”

  B’Elanna only sighed heavily.

  “No, think about it,” Tom told her. “There’s a good chance Command is going to cut this mission short, and if they do, we can go home. No more worrying about Miral having a more normal life with other kids around her.”

  “Yeah, we actually don’t have to worry about that either way,” she replied flatly.

  “Honey?”

  She turned to face him, both her lips and eyes hinting at mischief.

  “Honey?” he asked again.

  “I think that sick feeling I’ve been having for the last several weeks had less to do with my precognitive abilities than my physical condition.”

  “Are you . . . ?” Tom asked, beginning to put the pieces together. “Are we?” he corrected himself.

  “Going to have another baby,” B’Elanna confirmed.

  Tom could not repress the wide grin that erupted on his face as he let out a loud yelp of excitement. He then pulled B’Elanna into a fierce embrace, which she met with equal intensity.

  “This is going to be great,” he whispered.

  “If you say so,” she replied.

  “No,” he said, pulling back and taking her face in his hands. “This is going to be beyond great.”

  “It really is.” B’Elanna finally smiled.

  • • •

  Chakotay was about to head to the bridge when the door to his quarters chimed.

  “Come in,” he said from his desk. Counselor Cambridge entered and ambled toward him in a crisp uniform, more polished in his personal deportment than Chakotay could ever recall. Wondering how much of this might be Seven’s influence, but resisting the urge to needle Hugh, he settled for, “Good morning, Counselor.”

  “Captain.” Cambridge nodded.

  “Is everything all right?” Chakotay asked.

  “You tell me,” Cambridge replied.

  “I’m not sure what . . .” Chakotay began.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Cambridge began with feigned nonchalance. “Six days ago you decided to end your life on behalf of your crew, only to have the sweet release of death snatched from your fingers by the Q, and you still haven’t told me what Omega was like for you. The woman you have been grieving for for over a year is suddenly back in your daily life, and if my conversations with her are any indication, a little worse for the wear. Our efforts to help our friend discover her true history led to her suffering the torments of the damned before she was forced to sacrifice herself for all our sakes. By the way, if they ever offer you the job of fleet commander, I’d run in the other direction. I’m beginning to think the position is cursed.”

  Chakotay nodded, then offered, “Coffee?”

  “Why not?” Cambridge agreed. Chakotay replicated two fresh cups and offered the counselor the chair before his desk.

  “My patient load has quadrupled in the last few days,” Cambridge said. “We’re not quite meeting Borg invasion statistics in terms of PTSD and grief counseling cases, but I’d say everyone could use a fairly long stretch of routine for a while. Does the Delta Quadrant ever do that?”

  “Not so far,” Chakotay replied, retaking his chair. “Am I adding you to the list of my senior officers who think we should be heading back to the Alpha Quadrant sooner rather than later?”

  “How many officers are on that list now?” Cambridge asked.

  “Captain’s privilege.”

  “Well, I’m counseling my patients to suck it up,” Cambridge replied, “of course, phrased a little more delicately. There are a handful I’d actually recommend for extended leave, unless you really think we’re going home now, in which case I’ll save myself the paperwork.”

  “You’ll know when I know.” Chakotay shrugged.

  After a long, thoughtful pause, Cambridge said, “Your Kathryn is really quite extraordinary. I’m actually pleased events have allowed me to get to know her better now.”

  “You’ll get no argument from me there.”

  “But I confess, as the only person on board who knew Afsarah well before this mission, I’m still struggling,” Cambridge admitted.

  “It doesn’t seem fair, does it?” Chakotay asked.

  “No,” Cambridge agreed. “And I’m not one who thinks it really should be or often is. But I truly despise the way the universe used her.”

  “She earned Kathryn’s respect,” Chakotay offered. “The admiral told me that in her final moments, Afsarah rejected Omega’s demands and embraced her humanity, thereby saving the Q.”

  “And while that doesn’t surprise me a bit, I wonder how many of us could have done the same in her place,” Cambridge replied.

  Chakotay sat back, remembering a conversation that had taken place only weeks earlier but now felt like a lifetime ago. “I’ve always thought the universe puts us where we need to be at any given time.”

  “You’ll forgive me for quibbling with its priorities this once.”

  “Afsarah was created to repair a damaged multiverse,” Chakotay pointed out. “And she did that.”

  “I guess I wouldn’t have minded if she could have found a little happiness before bowing to the will of a god she would never have chosen to serve,” Cambridge shot back.

  “As would I,” Chakotay agreed. “But we don’t all get that chance, do we?”

  “No.”

  After a long pause, Cambridge said, “Present company excluded, of course.”

  Chakotay smiled mirthlessly. “I’m not complaining. But Kathryn and I have never had a chance, until now, to see who we are together as more than fellow officers. I know what I want, and she seems to want the same. But there are old patterns that will be hard to fight, old habits I don’t want to see us fall into.”

  “You have your work cut out for you, my friend.”

  “And you?” Chakotay asked, unwilling to allow Cambridge any less personal scrutiny than he was dishing out.

  “What’s the saying? ‘When the gods want to punish us, they answer our prayers’?” Cambridge replied seriously.

  Chakotay felt his eyebrows rise in surprise. “I thought . . . you and Seven . . .” he began.

  “Have completely taken leave of our senses?” Cambridge finished for him.

  “If this isn’t what you want, Hugh, I forbid you to lead Seven on,” Chakotay said, his face falling into hard lines. “You should consider that
a direct order.”

  Cambridge did not wither under his forceful gaze. “Stand down Red Alert, Captain. I’m completely lost to the woman. I just never expected, that is to say . . . to have found immeasurable bliss, right on the heels of such radical chaos, just seems the height of poor taste, doesn’t it?”

  “Actually it sounds like a pretty normal reaction. Coming that close to death often inspires people to immediately reach for whatever makes them feel most alive. I think Afsarah would have understood,” Chakotay said. “I know she would have.”

  “Do you think when all of this is truly behind us, those who served with her will remember her as a woman, or as the monster who brought us all within a hair’s breadth of oblivion?”

  “Those of us who knew her will remember the truth,” Chakotay replied simply. “She held back the tide that should have swept away all of us.”

  Cambridge nodded. “That does seem the unfortunate destiny of the only two women who have ever commanded this ship,” he observed. “Now I’m wondering if captain of Voyager is a significantly safer post than fleet commander.”

  Taken aback, Chakotay said, “I hadn’t really thought of it that way.”

  “Don’t, at least not for too long,” Cambridge advised, rising from his seat. “Take comfort in the fact that as a man, your brute strength rivals that of the fairer sex of our species. Of course their capacity to endure is an awe-inspiring thing. It must be hardwired into their DNA, undoubtedly to allow them to survive childbirth and the nurturing of the young. If we weren’t built to succumb to them so completely, and didn’t require half their genetic code, we’d likely have burned them all as witches long before we had a chance to come to our senses.”

  “If this is you happy,” Chakotay said, also leaving his seat and accompanying Cambridge to the door, “I’m not sure I ever want to see you truly miserable.”

  “It’s a damned thin line, isn’t it?” Cambridge asked as the door slid open and they crossed the threshold to whatever the new day held.

  Epilogue

  “My death was a fixed point in time.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  Kathryn Janeway peered up at Chakotay through the dim light cast by the stars.