Author's Note: This vignette assumes that the reader is familiar with "Anamnesia."

In Praesens Luctus
by  ragpants
 

"Chakotay is dead."

Seven's words dropped from her lips like nuggets of neutronium.

No, not neutronium. Collapsarium.  Neutronium had only immense weight, immense gravity; collapsarium--the degenerate matter at the heart of black holes-- destroyed everything it touched, obliterating it in burst of fierce heat before crushing it into nothingness.

That was how she felt. A flashburst of white hot loss followed by illimitable emptiness. No sound, no color, no light, no laughter.

No hope.

The abyss yawned at her toetips and she teetered on the brink.  All her might-have-beens and little fantasies, all her foolish dreams and formless yearnings, all gone in a speech that spanned a single breath

Janeway shut her eyes against the vertigo that threatened to overwhelm her. She could not give into grief. No here. Not now. She fell back onto what had always sustained her: duty, discipline, control, compassion.

She opened her eyes, the words of sympathy and condolence ready on her lips. Seven was a widow now. It was her duty to acknowledge that, to extend to her a commiseration on her loss.

But Seven had vanish like some ill omened raven in a Edgar Allan Poe fantasy. For a brief moment Janeway was tempted to believe she had imagined it all, that she had experienced some sort of illucidity or hallucination, although she knew it wasn't true.

She extended shaking fingers to touch the dully gleaming metal canister that stood carefully centered on the table. A funerary urn. She recognized the simple functionality of it immediately. She allowed her fingers to touch it, to feel the cool solidity of it beneath her fingertips.

Oh god, it was real!

Chakotay was dead.

Her commbadge beeped discretely. Janeway placed her hand over her heart. "Janeway here."

"Admiral, Admiral Sekkar conveys his respects. The transport you requested is standing by at Gate 23-C. We have immediate departure clearance. Your window for making your connection with the passenger liner, Convergence, is diminishing."

"Understood," Janeway said briskly. "You may expect me momentarily."

Janeway took a deep breath, pausing to gather herself and restore her public persona.  Standing, she reclaimed her book and briefcase, tucking the former under her elbow and slinging the latter over her shoulder. She picked up the urn and for a brief moment wasn't sure what to do with it, whether she should tuck it under her arm too or simply carry it in her hand.

In the end she decided to place the container inside her carryall,  alongside her keynote speech for the conference she was enroute to and the schematics for a new type of sensor system she was designing. Her fingers spasmed tight over the top of the canister as she settled it and she could release them only with an immense effort of will.

"Please," she whispered aloud, though she wasn't sure to whom she spoke. "Later. I promise. When I'm alone. Then, then I'll remember. I can't now. I can't afford to remember now. " She squeezed her eyes shut and squeezed the pain back inside her heart where it wouldn't show.

 Then, shouldering her bag, Admiral Janeway strode out onto the concourse.
 

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