Title: Fire Dance
Author: Veronica Jane Williams
Contact: xkhoi@africa.com
Series: VOY
Rating: PG-13
Codes: J, C, crew
Parts: 1-13/13 NEW
Date:
SUMMARY: Summary: Kathryn finds it increasingly difficult to come
to terms with what Chakotay called "crossing the line". Her state
of mind is causing the crew, most notably Chakotay, great concern.
Set after and incorporating events of "Equinox."
DISCLAIMER: Paramount is Chief
Fire Dance
Two things inspired the title of this story:
1. A certain flower, endemic only to Southern Africa and which
grows mostly wild, belongs to the genus Leucospermum, of the
Proteaceae family. The Leucospermums are commonly called
"pincushions" and one of the most beautiful pincushions has been
named: "Fire Dance".
2. There are still tribes (particularly in Africa, and
specifically in the Kalahari, who practice a ritual fire dance.
A warrior, seeking to resolve personal (inner) conflict, dances
around a fire until he is spent. The rest of the small tribe sit
in a circle around the fire, and give their support to the lone
dancer.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:
1. My sincere thanks to Turtlewoman and The Sculptor who did a
really excellent job on especially the Prologue of this story. I
would like in particular to express my profound gratitude for the
work The Sculptor has done. She has been amazingly patient, and
her “show me, don’t tell me” instruction when she edited the
Prologue has gone a long way to make that section as smooth as
possible.
2. Ah, Ghostwriter (The Violinist) who suggested particular pieces
of music I could listen to in order to write the Prologue and
‘listen’ to the music as accompaniment to the dance. I first
became intrigued when I heard Bach’s Concerto for Double Violins
played in the film, ‘Children of a lesser god’.
3. The “Owl” Critic (Matt Rowe) who kept this project alive with
his constant encouragement to finish it.
Other credits will be given at the end of this story.
FIRE DANCE
PART ONE: PROLOGUE
"The need prevails in every single man
to rest his restless soul, so that he can -
where all may see his conflict - find the chance,
through fire's flames be cleansed in fevered dance."
- Veronica Jane Williams
Slow, low burning fires surrounding the rock were spaced so that
a person could pass through and stand on the platform.
Occasionally flames would shoot higher when fanned by the
late-night breeze. The flames licked at the darkness, creating
small orbs of warmth which pierced the chill of the air. It was
the only light given off, except for the moon trying valiantly to
break through the billowy cloud banks. On the perimeter of the
sandy enclosure a number of figures, clad in shimmering skin-toned
body suits, sat around the fire with heads bent. With arms
outstretched from their glistening bodies, their fingers
interlocked... flames licking and touching those of the next fire
next to it.
The stillness in the air was broken by the occasional crackling as
sparks shot from the flame. Somewhere in the distance the howling
of the savannah dog could be heard, sounding as a faint echo. The
glow from the fire threw the figures in half silhouette and half
relief, and exuded an aura of warmth, intimacy.
They waited.
Soft music rose up. The wailing of two violins eased slowly into
the quiet of the night, retaining its diminuendo, filling the air,
drifting, traveling... Heads went up and faces turned towards the
fire. Each face glowed in the light, each face filled with
ecstasy as they stared with parted lips at the fire. Arms and
necks glistened. Then, as if given a silent signal, their heads bent
again.
The music flowed, the plaintive notes hanging in the air, hovering
over the dancers. A gentle melody spoke in the cold breeze a
language of movement and harmony. Twin melodies in which one eased
imperceptibly to hover over the other, then, suddenly, the lower
tones of the other would dominate... yet never overtake.
Harmony.
Still the figures sat with heads bent. An observer might have
imagined that the gesture denoted merely a pause, waiting for a
cue before they would lift their heads again and look towards the
fire. It was the only direction they could cast their eyes, were
they to look up. Another, more astute observer might have said that
sitting there like that was reminiscent of reverence. Do not look
up, there is here a sovereign holiness.
There was a stir among the group as a lone figure materialised,
an apparition from the darkness. Her eyes conveyed strength, but
were tinged with sadness. They remained fixed as she moved through
a parted link in the human chain. With soft, graceful steps, toes
pointed, she moved toward the centre until she stood on the stone
surrounded by the fire.
The skirt she wore flared in numerous panels of irregular length,
each ending in a long triangular point. Deep orange combined with
yellows and reds with tiny whispers of green. The dress was a
flame, swaying serenely about her ankles, creating a sense of
movement, even as the dancer stood still. A soft, gentle murmur
rose from the dancers as they beheld the vision before them.
Her arms hanged loosely at her sides. Her fingers were relaxed,
though they trembled slightly in anticipation of the first
movement. Her head was bent, mimicking the earlier posture of those
surrounding her. She brought her hands to rest in front, with her
fingers just barely touching. Her feet were in the first position
of the classical ballet dancer.
She did not smile. In the deep glow of the fire, and with the
light of the silver moon bathing her face, she looked pale.
The violins rose, the twin tones of the plaintive melody building
gradually into a crescendo. When both violins struck one harmonic
chord, the dancer moved.
Her head jerked up, her arms rising above her head. The dancers
in the circle lifted their faces and for the first time they
could see her face.
The golden glimmer of the fire reflected on her skin and in her
eyes while her hair burned bronze. A tiara, hardly discernable,
graced her crown. It created little sparks with each movement of
her head. Arms swept upwards in a graceful, swan-like movement,
like elegant wings that unfurled and fingers positioned middle
finger towards thumb. The gesture was regal, a queen rising above
her subjects, almost disdainful as her head swung imperiously to
stare down at the seated figures. She stepped off the flat rock
and moved out of the inner circle of the fire. She began a slow
walk, toes pointed with every step, pausing momentarily as she
passed dancer after dancer.
Body swayed and upper torso swooped down then rose, only to
move into a pirouette, slow and languorously. Around the fire she
danced, single slow pirouettes forming with suddenness into an
arabesque. Her dress flared around her legs as she crouched, then
stretched herself with abandon. Her movements caused the colours
in her dress to burn as orange, reds and yellows mingled to create
a flame, becoming part of the fire that burned in the centre. She
was another flame that sprang from its source into the darkness.
A flame that moved and licked and dimmed, then flared again, with
bare feet, noiseless on the soft, sandy surface outside the fire.
She moved them with grace, rose high on her toes then curled into
a gentle curtsy before her body stretched lissomely upwards again
where her hands seemed to touch the moon.
The dancers remained still in breathless wonder as her face
transfixed them.
She danced closer and closer to the edge of the fire so that she
lost form, becoming one with the flames that rose and fell as her
movements created a slight breeze, giving life to each fire as she
passed.
The queen paused, her eyes fixed on one group of dancers.
Her arms reached out, beckoning. In movements that matched her
fluid grace, one rose and stepped forward until he faced her. For
a few tense minutes they danced around the fire in a painful pas
de deux. His arms encircled her waist and he lifted her high, only
to put her down gently, gently... Her head thrown back, she reveled
as he lifted, swung, supported and soothed. With a sudden
discordant sound from the violins, the tone changed gradually as
their movements became more frenzied. He implored silently with his
hands, then he touched her own hands, a heart-rending gesture of
entreaty. The smile on her face changed with his gestures. His arms
stretched towards her and the look in his eyes begged her
understanding. He flung his arms angrily and both hands grasped her
waist. Her body suddenly stiffened at the message relayed with his
eyes and in a swift movement he cast her away from him. With a wild
gleam in her eyes as she danced around him, and the two of them
around the fire. They circled the fire, eyes
locked...stalking...prowling...not touching, the force of will
emanating from her eyes keeping him at bay.
He spread his arms.
Let me come...
The lone dancer closed in on her: one step, another as his arms
jerked stiffly to his sides, then suddenly reached for her. The
movement caused the flames to rise higher.
A gasp from the supplicants accompanied the sudden springing of the
flames. He caught her hands, their fingers lacing as he pulled her
against him. For a second her head rested on his chest as he held
her hands to her sides.
His eyes closed. Prayer.
Come to me...stay...
Her head lifted, her eyes fixed on his. The smile changed, froze
into denial...
No! No!
The fires rose higher.
Away! Away!
Her hand pointed to the empty space. He paused, took a step
forward, but her face remained resolute as she gestured that he
leave her. One violin wailed a long, plaintive sound as the lone
dancer stood, until finally he moved away from her, his head held
high and proudly. When he reached the silent, watching dancers, he
looked at her again.
Arms gestured, pointing in determined finality to the deep darkness
where the light from the fires couldn’t reach. Her movements were
strong, angered, the fire in her dress flamed like her face and
hair. The lone dancer stood and waited.
Away! Away!
He kept his stance. His eyes, at first compassionate, slowly
filled with burning anger, yet he waited for her. The queen thrust
her hand at him, her forefinger touching his chest. He took a slow
step back, at which she, in simultaneous synchronised dance,
measured with him by stepping forward. Taking yet another graceful
step forward she impelled his reciprocal action.
Only when he was cast in darkness, did the queen pirouette once,
twice, flaming hair swinging, her face remaining a mask of anger
as she returned to the fire.
Two, three dancers rose and the tiny corps slithered forward, feet
out, arms pulled far back and necks arched. Arms pulling forward
once more completed the cycle as a single, fluid movement, which
was repeated as the queen, on the opposite side of the fire,
jumped and pirouetted. She rose high on her toes, swirled round and
round until she reached them. With a sudden jerking of her head
back and forth, neck arching as gracefully as a swan, she pushed
and beckoned yet kept them at a respectful distance.
She thrust them from her and they retreated, their faces filled
with reverence and fear. Slowly, in a concert of movement, they
rejoined the human circle and, in a gesture marking great
deference, took their places on the ground with bent heads.
From beyond the circle came five figures. Dark, ominous, deadly,
they approached with stealth. As they came level with the figures
in the circle, all the dancers rose and joined their queen, hands
high above their heads. She stood on the flat rock in the centre
of the fire, while her dancers formed a guard around her.
The five invaders edged forward, piercing the protection of the
circle the dancers formed around their queen. Her supplicants
stepped away, short, staccato steps to where they had been sitting,
while the five invaders claimed their position next to her. The
dancers hovered, their arms outstretched towards their queen, their
faces filled with supplication.
We will help...
Two of the waiting dancers advanced, then fell to the ground,
and lay still.
Enraged, the queen swooped on the ominous five, and they
scattered.
One hapless member fell prey to the queen’s anger, and in swift
strokes she struck him down. Dazed, he rose, his arms reaching for
her in a rendered plea.
The queen looked at him, and for a few silent seconds they joined
in madding pas de deux, until suddenly, she dismissed him with
disdain.
She pirouetted twice, then launched into an arabesque, a swift,
angered movement of legs and arms that shot out towards him. His
face contorted with fear as he shrank back, taking short, hurried
steps to join the rest of the dancers.
The wailing violins accompanied her as she danced around the fire
once again. Her eyes were fixed, glazed as she contorted her body,
twisted and turned. Her breathing became laboured as she became
more frenzied, her movements around the fire, painful and bitter,
searching frantically for release. Her face, once so disdainful,
so regal, became a tapestry of emotions that flitted and stayed -
pained and pleasured and punished.
Still she kept on and on, her neck and arms glistening as the
the film of perspiration from the exertion of her frenzied dance,
reflected the heat of the fire.
The dancers waited, keeping a respectful distance, understanding
the language of her dance. Feet glided, shuffled, lifted. Arms
folded and unfolded like a swan’s wings, singed at its tips as
she ambled dangerously close to the flames. Yet, it seemed that
she welcomed it, wanting the pain to release her turmoil.
She was exhausted, still she refused to stop, unable to stop as the
dancers’ hands reached out, imploring her; in endless supplication
their outstretched arms pleaded for her to cease. She was driven,
the fire drawing her inexorably closer and closer. Arms lifting
above their heads, the dancers faced their queen. In the dimming
light of the moon, the flames rose high as she stepped into the
heart of the fire. It enfolded her lovingly, searingly into its
burning bosom as she stood on the flat rock, arms stretched, with
palms turned upwards.
The dancers all rose, bowed towards the centre. Their eyes called
her, their hands beckoned her. She stood still, surrounded by the
flames, her head thrown back in nameless pain that only the fire
could heal. It took her turmoil, her inner fight, and burned...
burned...
We know, our queen...
We understand...
Slowly, she rotated on the rock, looking at each dancer, her
scalding tears joining the glistening beads of perspiration on her
neck, before the heat dried them.
Her hands reached for them, then sagged back, to hang limply at
her sides.
You are worthy...
We need you, our strong and gentle queen...
She held her hands towards her supplicants again, furling and
unfurling her fingers like the wings of a swan. The dancers
imitated her movement, their torsos swaying gently.
We are with you...
Yes...
Their soft humming fused with the violins in its final strains as
the music returned to the diminuendo, softly, softly as the fires
burned lower and lower.
I...am...done...
She stepped out of the circle of the fire. The dancers rose as one
and waited with respect and reverence.
They saw in her face, in her eyes, in her trembling fingers, the
release from the fire. They witnessed her peace. She moved forward
from the centre, towards the edge of the compound.
One group parted to allow her through.
She paused at the edge of the enclosure and looked beyond the reach
of the fire’s light. She held out her hand and beckoned to the lone
dancer who stood steadfastly all the time in the dark.
He came forward.
He touched her face with great tenderness.
Slowly, slowly her hand came up, fingers trembling as it reached
for him.
His eyes closed as her hand closed over his.
I am here...
**********
END PART ONE: PROLOGUE
FIRE DANCE
PART TWO
“In the event of imminent destruction a captain is authorised
to preserve the lives of his crew by any justifiable means.”
- Captain Rudy Ransom.
RANSOM
On the Equinox, the last fateful minutes.
Rudy Ransom knew it was the end. The aliens were all over the ship.
In a final desperate attempt, he ordered Marla beam some of the
crew off the Equinox.
They may not be happy with Kathryn Janeway’s command, but at least
they had a chance of getting home. He knew, even as he prepared
to pilot his beleaguered ship out of Voyager’s way, that Max and
some of his faithful followers were already dead.
At the last he opened a channel to Voyager again, his final
message to Kathryn Janeway.
“You’ve got a fine crew, Captain. Promise me you’ll get them
home...”
He had known there would be no rescue for him, he had known that
getting the Equinox away from Voyager would be his last deed he
would do for the Federation. A life for a life. There was no
thought of commendations, red carpets or celebratory champagne.
There was only this one fervent wish: that the other ship return
safely home.
For years he dreamed of home, for years home had been his obsession.
He killed with indiscriminate ease to attain that end. How easy it
became once the first deed led to the second and the next, until
the thought that they were doing wrong, slipped gradually from
their conscience. Killing became just another step closer and
closer to home. No rules applied for them anymore.
For a long time he had forgotten who he was. Until he met Kathryn
Janeway.
“When we turn our backs on our principles we stop being human. You
have forgotten what it is to be human, Captain Ransom,” her words
echoed.
Now he waited for his end, and the end would come for him before
the aliens would burn him from the inside and turn him to stone.
He closed communication, losing visual of Voyager, of Kathryn
Janeway’s face. He thought absently that she looked concerned,
unhappy.
.
It didn’t matter now. His hand reached slowly for the synaptic
stimulator, and with a calmness amidst the storm around him,
he attached it behind his ear.
*********
For the first time, Rudy Ransom stood on the distant shores of
Pendarin. He had never before been able to stand inside this
simulation. Before he just had a view of the pristine shores.
Always it was the same, always the very same shore, with the waves
lashing against the rocks. He was filled with wonder as he stood
on the rocks which jutted high above the raging waters. He watched
the smaller waves crashing somewhat lazily, the sprays rising and
rising until his face was wet. He raised his face and let the sun
dry him again, until the next waves came crashing again. The sound
of the heaving seas became a symphony! Sounds that he longed to
hear so often, so often!
He returned to this place a hundred times, a thousand times in his
dreams. Always, always, he felt the desire to remain, and let his
restless soul seek refuge.
Here he could forget... Here he could find peace.
He looked around him again, the stretch of beach ending in a
promontory, beyond which the endless vistas continued...
.
There was a great rushing sound in his ears, the sound of the
heaving ocean, breathing...breathing...
Oh, Pendarin!
He smelled the air and tasted the salt in the fine spray the waves
caused as they crashed inland upon the shore. Little eddies played
and danced before they retreated reluctantly to join their bigger
brothers. Their fingers curled and licked, unfurled and rolled
as they tried to get the unwilling grains of sand to join them
on their journey back to the great sea.
Rudy had read somewhere that every seventh wave was the largest of
a convoy that reached the rocks and beach. Now, after so long,
he could see it, smell it, even touch it. He could see the seventh
wave rushing towards him, crashing thunderously, with foam and
spray fanning white over the rocks before they retreated and
prepared to launch their next attack.
He smiled at the way the great waters played.
He closed his eyes and joined his hands to revere these moments.
Rudy was filled with a great peace as he looked at the sea. All
his old, old trials, his strife and turmoil was left behind. None
of that life was standing there, with him. There were no clouds,
there were no crew that depended on him, no decisions to be made,
no life forms to kill.
There was only the mighty ocean's sounds, the ever churning waters
that breathed into ebb and flow, ebb and flow. In never-ending
rhythm it throbbed the passage of time, unchanging, powerful,
undaunting. It washed over him, every sound, every splash against
his face, every little eddy that licked at his feet and withdrew,
only to come again and take away little by little some of his
pain.
The view was a blue eternity, of azure waters meeting the skies in
horizons he had only seen when he was a young man, and lately, in
his meandering dreams.
.
From afar came the sound of the gulls, swooping and climbing and
diving in majestic flight as they came nearer.
Rudy Ransom opened his eyes and squinted in the glare of the sun.
His gaze traveled over the rocks and little rock pools; he looked
at the beach, hardly a beach! But the sand lay pristine, with the
heat of the sun in shimmering layers above it.
In unending, rolling repetition the waves rushed in towards the
shore. The sea swelled and sagged, breathing, breathing, with
the waves thundering in noisy abandon.
.
His lips moved in wordless prayer:
“Oh, boundless ocean, your ever timeless tides
that guide the passing of our days!
Greet your beloved son, who homage pays,
to rest forever where the heart abides.”
*************
The bridge of Voyager.
Kathryn Janeway watched in mute shock and fascination as the
Equinox careened first to her starboard side - a final salute to
Voyager before the black sky was lit up by a fireball. There was
no sound as the Equinox, in a shower of sparks, silently bid
farewell to her people, and entered a new realm of nothingness.
Night and day - the same.
There was a hushed silence on Voyager’s bridge as each crewmember
observed with great humility this moment in which Rudy Ransom
died.
Janeway felt a lump in her throat.
“Promise me you’ll take them home...”
“I promise...” were her last words to him.
She knew as she looked at Ransom's face, that in the weeks and
months to come, that image would never leave her. She knew that of
all literature and texts she had ever read or perused even with
mild interest - books that spoke of great heroic deeds, that spoke
of tragic endings - that Captain Ransom died a great man. How
great a man could only be attested by her own evaluation in these
moments that they had tried with desperation to beam him off the
Equinox. She had known instinctively, when he recanted, that he had
returned to the man he had once been. A man once again imbued with
the essence of all that guided every Starfleet officer on every
journey, every mission: the sanctity of life before all else. He
died a man with remorse, with pride, with honour. He had, like her,
the same high and lofty ideals, the same drive to get his crew
home. And in the attainment of these grand ideals, he lost sight of
the very ethic and mores that were supposed to be his moral
guidelines.
Yet, when he recanted, in his attempt to restore and make good,
he knew he would give his life.
But he resisted her command, and with extraordinary valour turned
his ship away from them. He paid the ultimate price: his life. In
so doing, he saved them and the precious few remaining members of
his loyal crew.
His life for theirs.
He wanted some part of him to reach home.
Rudy Ransom did not leave his ship. He was the last to die.
Captain Ransom went down with his ship.
Kathryn cast her eyes to her left, to speak to Chakotay.
The chair was empty.
********
END PART TWO
FIRE DANCE
PART THREE
“The thought (of mutiny) had occurred to me, but that would have
been crossing the line.”
- Commander Chakotay.
CHAKOTAY
Chakotay was standing at his viewport, watching the streaking stars
light up the black night in a brilliant kaleidoscope of colours.
He knew by the texture of the elongated streaks, the proximity of
one colour to another, and how, just where one line touched the
next parallel to create a smooth new shade, that they were
traveling at high warp.
Strange how the streak of colour across the black canvas reminded
him of a painting, a still life, yet the ship was moving. It was
the impression of a wagon’s wheels which appeared to remain still
while the wagon sped forth on its journey.
He stood quite still, his hands behind his back, with the fingers
linked. He stared, and only occasionally, a muscle in his jaw would
twitch. He had been here, cloistered in his quarters for the last
two days. He knew that there were two of Tuvok’s security officers
outside his door. It wasn’t that he felt any need to escape that
would have given Baxter and Crewman Dirk a reason to draw their
phasers on him. The fact that he was confined to quarters at all
because the Captain was once again driven by an obsession, was
what caused him extreme concern. More than being confined here, was
the resentment he felt that Kathryn refused to listen to reason.
She was beyond that, blinded by an extraordinary desire to make
Ransom pay.
“Commander, you are hereby relieved of duty until further notice.”
A nerve twitched again.
“What’s happened to you, Kathryn?”
“I was about to ask you the same question.”
That was the last time she spoke to him.
Another nerve twitched.
She almost killed Noah.
He had never seen her so dangerously close to the edge of
damnation, where hell’s fire surely burned you for all eternity.
Ransom’s aims were no less noble than Kathryn’s.
He had given up Starfleet principles, while Kathryn reminded him
that Starfleet remained the only law, the only guiding force that
could keep all its Admirals and Captains religiously applying those
tenets to their lives.
He had to admit, the line between the self, that which made up the
person, the personality, however loved or lonely, and the rigours
of rank, was hazy. The one had an undetachable bearing on the
other. Kathryn is Kathryn for the most part because of the style of
leadership she applied. The kinds of dramatic and often
controversial decisions required of her were made because they had
to overcome almost insurmountable odds in the Delta Quadrant. Many
issues of moral and ethical proportions she had to take a stand on.
Most of them were issues of life and death, made here in this
quadrant where there were no Federation laws to guide her. Here,
Kathryn Janeway represented the United Federation of Planets. Here,
carrying out her duty, impressing those rigid laws on all around
her, turned her into a woman whom he could see, was dangerously
close to the edge. She was on her own, but she didn’t have to be.
She didn’t have to be.
How much of the captain was Kathryn then, and how much of the
woman?
No doubt, every Starfleet Captain, newly promoted to that rank,
accepted the responsibility with a lot of preconceptions still in
place, a lot of naïveté, a lot of dreams and desires to effect
sweeping changes.
Kathryn changed, and to many she appeared reserved, unbending,
implacable. Yet with that change there remained her unfailing
dedication and loyalty to Starfleet principles. They were so strong
in her that her anger at Ransom for leaving those principles
behind so soon after they were thrust into the Delta Quadrant,
sounded as an outrage.
To her, Ransom and his crew were killers. There was as far as
Kathryn was concerned, no shade of grey. They adhered to Starfleet
or they were murderers. No extenuation. She was on the warpath
for the Federation.
She was blisteringly angry that Ransom and his crew could murder
aliens to get home quicker. She took a moral stand against him,
acted on behalf of the Federation, so to speak, when she sought
to exact punishment.
.
Ransom’s primary aim: get the Equinox and her crew home.
Kathryn’s primary aim: get Voyager and her crew home.
Their methods were different.
Ransom killed life forms in order to do so.
Kathryn?
Kathryn would use violence and through it, justify her actions
and establish her control. Did that make her any better than
Ransom?
Kathryn had become Ransom. She would deliver Ransom and the
Equinox to the aliens. She would kill Noah Lessing to her own ends.
Was Kathryn any different now?
Would he ever see a different light in her eyes? Her desire for
revenge, to pull Ransom in line by whatever means, even what she
abhorred most - violence - shut out all common sense and decency.
Chakotay sighed. He had stood like that before Kathryn on countless
occasions, arguing with her, giving advice, cautioning, admonishing,
letting her know that she was about to cross the line. Every time,
every time it happened, a little bit of their friendship, their
partnership of Captain and XO was worn down further. Little by
little, the attempts afterwards to repair the damage to their
association lessened. There was something he always felt, a tiny
part of their friendship, that remained behind, that was left on
the ashes of what they prided themselves in: their camaraderie, the
famed harmony with which they worked.
One day, he knew, there will be nothing left.
When they fought over Species 8472, Kathryn had remained
implacable, and unable to get her way, always threatening to demote
this officer, confine to quarters that officer. They’ve had major
confrontations, and he always had that feeling that it became more
and more difficult to make good, to accept apologies, to see real
remorse. In short, to regain what they had before.
Earlier, hours ago really, he saw the fireball. The Equinox lit up
the black night. He knew that Voyager had not fired at it to
effect such total annihilation. The aliens must have destroyed the
Equinox. He knew there were only two of the Equinox crew on
Voyager - Lessing and Morrow, ambushed by him and Tom on that
M-Class planet, and beamed to Voyager. Did the others all die to
make Kathryn's revenge complete?
How could he know of any new developments?
He tried.
“You are denied access to the ship’s computers.”
“Yes, I know,” he sighed, “only use the replicator, and access
sickbay for emergency.”
He closed his eyes, and pictured their confrontation in the ready
room when she relieved him of duty. Her eyes had been so fearless
then, so challenging, with that great anger that simmered just
beneath the surface. Would that look be in her eyes when he saw
her again?
**
The doors to his quarters opened. Naturally, she could use her
command code override.
She stood just inside the doors, and did not move from there when
the doors slid close behind her.
Chakotay had envisaged any number of scenarios at how the meeting
would be between him and Kathryn. He thought of all sorts of
ways in which to assure her that he stood by the stand he took,
and that he was right to remind her of the folly with which she
pursued her goal. He thought that there was nothing in the
world that would deter him from always reminding her when she
was about to cross the line, and that he would do so again and
again.
Sometimes, he thought, Kathryn Janeway needed to be saved from
herself.
He could deal with her anger.
He could deal with her guilt, understand it even.
He could deal with her ever ready manner in which she always
challenged his decisions.
He could deal with quirky smiles that tried to deter him from
knowing just how much coffee she drank in an afternoon.
He could deal with her open regard, her sassiness sometimes
when they sparred whenever they had to discuss work.
He could deal with the total dedication with which she could sit
deep into the early hours of the morning studying charts. She could
be so completely focused that she’d forget he was still sitting on
her couch, listening to her quiet murmuring when he indicated he
was leaving for his own cabin.
Yes.
He could deal with all that.
He could not deal with what he saw on Kathryn Janeway’s face.
Her eyes were bleak, hollow, and there rested in them the entire
universe’s remorse.
He closed his eyes at the sight of her, where she remained standing
just inside the doors of his cabin.
.
“Commander.”
There was no smile. She appeared ashen, yet she stood on attention,
as if she were trying to exercise an extraordinary control not
to break.
Chakotay remembered snatches of conversation between them over
the years:
“Is it really a legend?”
“No, but that made it easier to tell.”
“The warrior promised he’d be by her side forever.”
“Chakotay, can you take command of this ship?”
“Yes, I can.”
“Are you with me, Chakotay?”
“Always.”
And so Chakotay, Kathryn’s angry warrior, who vowed to stay by her
side forever, made a new vow.
***************
END PART THREE
FIRE DANCE
PART FOUR
“I am going to hunt him down no matter how long it takes - no
matter what the cost.”
- Captain Kathryn Janeway
KATHRYN
She gave a curt nod to the two security officers who quarded
Chakotay's quarters.
"Dismissed."
Their austere expressions reflected her own as they prepared to
leave. She supposed her own expression could have caused that
sudden if imperceptible squaring of their shoulders. With hands
always at the ready near their phasers, they looked what their
designation determined: security. She thought as they looked at
her, that their expressions read something like:
"We may not agree with what you did, Captain, but we're here
because we were following and carrying out orders."
She watched them stride away down the corridor to the nearest
turbolift.
Orders.
Chakotay.
Chakotay had openly challenged her and disobeyed orders. Her lips
pressed firmly together as she steeled herself for the next few
minutes. She had no idea how Chakotay would react to her presence.
But she needed him.
How ironic that sounded now. She relieved him of duty because
she didn't need him. No, she corrected herself, she didn't need
his reminders that she was a neurotic megalomaniac. She didn't
need reminders that her actions and decisions were borne out of
her irrational thirst for retribution. She took a deep breath as
her hand reached for the panel and with her command override,
entered the codes.
*
She stood just inside the doors of his quarters, did not look back
when she heard the soft swoosh as the doors slid close behind her.
"Commander."
Kathryn did not move from where she stood, standing erect with her
arms stiffly at her sides. It seemed every muscle in her body
tensed. Their last encounter had been severely formal, a severity
that had an unmistakable tone of acrimony. She had been deeply
angered that he didn't support her, deeply resentful of his
intervention, his flagrant disregarding of her position on this
ship. She had been naive then, banking on all the previous times
he had had to side with her. She blackmailed him emotionally then,
twisting his very words of "the warrior who swore he'd be by her
side forever" to her advantage, simply because she wanted her own
way. What did she hope when she relieved him of duty? That he'd
say that he's sorry, he won't cross her again? That he'd remember
his promises to her, and let her make decisions regardless of
how irrational they were?
How could he forgive her behaviour now?
She looked at him, wondering what he would say.
.
Chakotay had been standing at his viewport, looking at the streaks
of light, and had turned to face her when she entered.
She took a deep breath again, then braced herself.
"Commander, I am reinstating you as first officer of this vessel,
effective immediately."
Chakotay didn't move. Like her, he stood rooted to the spot. His
eyes looked...sad.
What else did he want her to say? How many sorry's would it take
to wipe away that look from his eyes? How long would it take for
her to find their old footing again? One where they were friends?
How can she say everything that was in her heart at this moment?
There were so many things that crowded in her mind, each one
straining for such dominance that every brain cell seemed to be
under siege.
Over and over, the one thought ran like a little thread in her
mind, always there, always present:
"Say something, Chakotay, please," she said stiffly.
She watched him as he walked up to her, and stood about a metre
away. Close up, his eyes were even darker, more saddened. He stood,
endearingly so, with his hands on his hips. At least that was a
familiar gesture, as if he indicated through it that something
remained between them that was still good. He didn't smile,
though. He spoke, his voice even.
"Ransom?"
She closed her eyes. This was Chakotay. This was the man who, in
spite of everything, still cared about the fate of the Equinox's
captain. Chakotay had seen a long time ago what she had only
realised a few hours ago. A blinding, terrible accusation that he
had been right and she had been wrong.
She gave a little sigh. There was a burn behind her closed
eyelids. With fierce desperation she managed to control the urge
to burst into tears.
"Dead..."
She opened her eyes to look at him. He moved a little closer,
still hands on his hips.
“Seven and the Doctor?”
“Safe.”
"The rest of the crew?" His question was soft, and although she
expected to see some accusation in his eyes, there was none. Just
her good old Chakotay who had a heart.
"We - " She paused for a few painful seconds.
"What...?
"We were...able to transport three of them to Voyager..."
She saw Chakotay close his eyes briefly, then he looked at her
again.
"Three?"
Accusation.
"Ransom, he - he remained behind."
It was too much for her. Too much. She couldn't stand to see the
look in his eyes. It had turned to something...something... Pity,
compassion. She didn't want that. There was stricken look in her
face. She turned round swiftly, to leave. The doors slid open.
"Kathryn."
She froze.
"Look at me."
She turned slowly. There was a whisper of a smile on his face. Her
heart thumped wildly. What now?
"We have work to do, Kathryn. You and I."
She nodded, unable to say anything. He reached forward and put his
hand on her shoulder.
"I made a promise, remember?"
She didn't want to touch him, but she needed to. There was the
instinctive urge to rest her head against his shoulder, feel
his hand on her like now, and just wishing all the pain would go
away. Instead, her hand went out and rested against his chest,
like she did a hundred times in the past.
"Kathryn..."
She couldn't speak. She felt a lump in her throat and swallowed.
His hand left her shoulder and covered hers. It felt warm and
comforting.
Reassuring.
She nodded, closing her eyes as she did so.
"Yes..." her answer was soft, the sound thready, wobbly, as if she
wanted to cry.
"Then let's get to it. Our crew needs us."
She stood back, out of his embrace, still feeling hollow, still
feeling that wall of guilt bearing down on her. But he was here,
with her. She gave a sigh.
Yes, with him at her side, she could go forward.
"They need to see - "
"A united front," he completed the sentence as they left his
quarters to proceed to her ready room.
******
Chakotay didn't think his task would be easy. To stir Kathryn
Janeway out of her current state of deep reflection where he knew
her thoughts were anything but balming and restful, was easier
said than done.
Not even mentioning Neelix's potluck that the Talaxian had
arranged for them that evening could rouse her from her obvious
pained introspection. Her responses were lethargic. Like an
automaton she moved about the bridge, hardly noticing the
destruction. He thought if he looked in her eyes again, the
expression wouldn't be much different from what it had been when
she stood in his quarters. There was a shattered, bleak look about
her.
Even her "I'll bring the croutons" sounded like an automatic
response, as if she expected that was what he wanted to hear. But
he heard her tone, edged as it were, with a bitter and ironic
twist. What were croutons anyway? Mere appendages that could be
left out, and not many would miss it really. Was that an indication
of how she felt too?
An appendage?
He wished he could tell her to smile. He wished he could see her
smile. They walked towards each other until Chakotay stood next to
her. She ventured a look at him, then turned her gaze away from
him, staring almost unseeingly at the bulkhead.
“Chakotay...”
Why couldn’t she look him in the eyes? She could feel him prime
himself, waiting for her to speak.
“You know...”
He had every reason to challenge her. He had been right. She was
on the verge of supping with the devil. He had known it all along,
had tried to stem that rushing tide of her thirst for retribution.
Chakotay had been within his right to relieve her of command,
or...
“You may have had good reason to stage a little mutiny of your
own.”
She felt sick, she felt like dying. He should hate her, dammit! He
should hate her. But he was Chakotay, warrior man extraordinaire,
peaceful to the bone, at her side like he promised. She could have
dealt with that better than seeing...
She looked at him. He didn’t smile, but in his eyes there was no
censure, not now. Why couldn't he just hate her? She deserved
that. Not his kindly eyes on her that made her feel even more like
she could crawl under some rock in shame and never come out.
“The thought had occurred to me but that would have been crossing
the line.”
A pregnant pause.
There.
He said it.
He might well have said Kathryn Janeway crossed the line. That was
the way of Chakotay. No outright accusation this time, no direct
indictment that that was exactly what she had done, no exclamation
of “I was right and you were wrong” from him.
It was a statement hidden with subtleties.
It stung more than if he had accused her outright.
Kathryn had been staring down at the floor, and her eyes were
drawn to the object lying there among the debris. It was Voyager’s
dedication plaque. With trembling hands she picked it up, rubbed
away the dust from it, and looked at the name. Her voice was low
and hoarse as she spoke.
“All the years, all these battles. This thing’s never fallen off.”
Chakotay took the plaque from her, held it for a second with such
reverence.
“Let’s put it back where it belongs.”
When did she hear those words? Three days ago? Yesterday? A
lifetime ago? She heard the same words issue from her mouth, she
was holding a similar plaque in her hands. A man looked at her too.
Rudy Ransom. From a long way off the words seemed to drift towards
her. She remembered feeling a sense of restoration, of healing
then. But now, they entered her mind and her soul and damned her
anew.
“Let’s put it where it belongs.”
Her words.
An eternity ago.
She stood still, mute for interminable seconds as the import of
the words struck her. The noise of restoration on the bridge were
sounds that came from far, like a distant buzz in her head.
*
Chakotay turned to look at Kathryn again after he replaced the
plaque.
There was a bleak, lonely look on her face.
Yes.
Kathryn Janeway was in hell.
****************
END PART FOUR
FIRE DANCE
PART FIVE
“Everybody sees what you appear to be but few feel what you are.”
- Machiavelli. The Prince, Chapter XVIII
CHAKOTAY
Chakotay's hand covered Kathryn's briefly in an attempt to keep
her in her chair. Although it wasn't quiet in the mess hall, the
murmuring and occasional laughter was subdued, uneasy. It was as
if Kathryn's presence placed a damper on the upbeat mood that was
supposed to accompany Neelx's potluck. He didn't think that the
potluck would clear the air like magic, but Chakotay appreciated
Neelix's attempts to boost the morale of the crew.
The crew, normally open and relaxed even with their Captain
present, were aware of the undercurrents of their latest conflict.
Crew passing their table spoke in sudden lowered tones, then nodded
respectfully at Kathryn and Chakotay. They had been sitting here
all of fifteen minutes and already he could see how Kathryn Janeway
struggled to keep a Captain's face. She was affected, even though
he knew that the crew - their own crew - respected her decisions.
They respected her.
Chakotay grimaced. He didn't want to look too much into Kathryn's
face. It was frozen into a tight smile that he knew did nothing
for the turbulent currents that her emotions had propelled her
into. They were dangerously close to betraying her. Where she was
more often than not in supreme control of her emotions, never
letting anyone see any sign of weakness, she would lose it if she
didn't escape soon...
She made her departure most times, being very graceful when she
left a function after only a few minutes, or someone's birthday
celebration, a dance, pool on the holodeck. The crew had become
accustomed to that, and most of the time assumed that the Captain,
and sometimes her first officer, didn't have the inclination to
fraternise with the lower ranks. Kathryn was always driven, and her
appearances at crew gatherings were frought with the underlying
worry that work still had to be done. He would join her in her
quarters or her ready room where they would be busy till deep into
the night going over crew reports, navigational problems, anything
that could help them commanding an efficiently run ship.
He had seen her wavering so many times, just wanting to stay and
let off steam, but then she remembered she was 'Captain'.
"Now, if you'll excuse me," she offered as courteously as possible
when she knew she was leaving, only to escape to her ready room or
to her quarters. She wasn't really like that. He knew how badly she
wanted to be free of the restraints of duty just for a few hours.
He knew how badly she wanted to beat Tom at pool again, or join
the others in a volleyball match. But duty before pleasure, was
what she always cited, while he would see the hunger in her eyes.
The crew thought all Captains did that. It was accepted standards
according to their way of thinking, or simply, to the way they've
observed Kathryn over the years.
It wasn't true. Chakotay saw how she had to force herself on so
many occasions to put up the smile when all she felt was her own
isolation. She was so much aware of her responsibility that the
very thought of just breaking loose and being herself for one
glorious moment, never entered her mind.
"Kathryn, join me for velocity on the holodeck?" he asked her
sometimes when he could see the drawn look on her face, the
severity of her duty pulling the ends of her mouth into a perpetual
droop.
"I can't, Chakotay. Not now."
It was always her answer. Sometimes she joined him. Then he would
smile the entire evening, even go to bed dreaming of seeing her
happy again, just because Kathryn enjoyed herself for once.
Now he was aware as she must be so painfully aware, of how the crew
were staring at them. How could they not? They've just come through
hell's fire, all of them still with the events of the last few days
crystal clear in their memories. All were aware of how Kathryn...
Oh, great spirits... He groaned inwardly. Word spread like wildfire
through the ship how crazed she had been, how determined in her
quest to exact retribution. Not all blessed her decision to hunt
Ransom down. All had heard, and some had witnessed her fury, her
familiar stance of: "I will not allow anyone to kill for their
expedience."
All knew how she almost killed Noah...
"Kathryn."
"Hmmm?"
"Eat. Your salad's getting cold."
"Nonsense, salads don't - "
She looked at him then, her sad eyes getting a momentary flash of
forgotten merriment in them. It was gone before he could pin the
picture into his memory.
"I thought that would get your reaction," he said, smiling back at
her.
"You don't even like croutons," she said quietly. She picked
listlessly at her salad, the fork scratching the plate in a sound
that made him grind his teeth. He banked his burgeoning ire enough
that he could smile at her.
"I said nothing of the kind, Kathryn," he replied, "but seeing as
you insist, I shall eat mine."
He proceeded to pop a crouton in his mouth. His heart sank as he
saw her sit back, hands on her lap, staring at her food. She was on
the point of breaking. The crew's eyes were on them. He knew they
were just waiting for their commanding officers to disappear before
they sighed their relief. For once, he thought Kathryn's presence
provided a prohibiting influence.
It was not only that that created the air of unease in the mess
hall. The usual ambience that rested in the room when they could
look back on a job well done, or just shaved a year or two off the
journey, was missing.
It wasn't only Kathryn, whose tight smile masked her perturbed
spirits, that was responsible for what he noticed around him.
The crew were still in shock. It was on their faces, in their
demeanours, the quick and furtive glances to the bulkheads,
ceilings, the floors, as if the aliens would materialise and kill
them with screaming rage. Yes, that was it. He had himself lain in
sickbay after such an attack, had seen Paris cover the body of
Ensign Leigh Holt. He could well understand that they were still
filled with that fear, and their actions seemed to anticipate
any sudden movement in the mess hall. A sound - Neelix's
stew plopping and simmering - caused one or two to draw their
phasers. Tuvok had instructed all to be armed for the next few
days, in the event of the aliens returning again. Nothing had
happened so far, yet the crew were guarded.
"They are still afraid," Kathryn expressed his thoughts aloud.
"It's understandable," he answered, looking around him and
noticing the five from the Equinox sitting in a far corner in the
half dark. They huddled there, their hands clasped nervously on
the table surface.
"Of me..."
"Kathryn, you know that - "
"It's true," she said quickly.
Chakotay swore under his breath. Putting his fork down so quickly
that it clinked against his plate, it caused one or two officers
from a nearby table to look up sharply.
"That's not true, Kathryn," he said, trying to keep his voice down,
and keeping the growing anger tempered.
"Look at them," she whispered. "They are afraid...of me. It's in
their eyes..."
He felt like exploding. She was torturing herself.
"No, you look at them, Kathryn. You look," he retorted urgently.
"The shock of everything that's happened in the last few days is
still sitting in them. It will take a while before they can look
at another bulkhead without the fear that an alien will suddenly
appear through it and burn them to a cinder - "
"And...them?"
He knew she didn't want to call Noah, Marla, James and the other
two by their names. They were always 'them', as if naming them
would acknowledge their permanent presence on Voyager. Not that
she didn't want them here. They were a part of her crew now, a
part of her family. But, seeing them as invidivuals in these
moments when her anger had abated, now enforced in the most
terrifying way her own guilt, her momentary madness, her brief
descent into hell.
He sighed.
"You have to face them some time, Kathryn," Chakotay said soberly.
"I - I..."
"Perhaps not today," he offered kindly.
He saw the imperceptible sigh of relief. A stay of execution.
"Perhaps...not," she said softly, then rose from her chair. Her
eyes were clouded again as she shot a glance around the room.
Bodies stiffened, eyes turned in their direction, then back again.
A glass hovered in the air before it reached the lips. Actions that
were momentarily suspended, continued again.
"Kathryn, where - "
"I'm s-sorry. Please...forgive me. I can't stay... Make my
apologies..."
"Dammit, Kathryn."
"Please."
Chakotay looked around him, saw everyone staring at them, their eyes
following the Captain's figure as she proceeded towards the doors
of the mess hall. Her back was straight, her shoulders stiff as
she disappeared through the doors without once looking back or
acknowledging the hesitant greetings of the crew she passed.
He swore again under his breath, then looked at the still staring
Tom Paris, B'Elanna, Neelix, Seven.
"Go on, enjoy the evening," he said brusquely.
When they stood rooted to their spots, he almost barked.
"You heard me."
*****
She shivered uncontrollably where she sat on her sofa in the ready
room, her arms hugging her as if to drive out the cold.
They were watching her...watching her. Did they expect her to get
up and kill someone? Was that how they saw her? For a few days she
had been mad...mad! For a few days her anger was a couldron that
simmered, then maddeningly boiled over. She rocked back and
forth, her chest burning as the air squeezed through her lungs
and expelled in deep painful wheezes from her. One furious drawing
in of air caused her stomach to lurch. She tried to force the
feeling down, to keep calm, but Ransom's image flitted, replaced
by the fear in Noah Lessing's eyes, aliens that swooped then
retreated, Ransom again, pleading for clemency.
No...
No...
She watched in fascination how, almost in slow motion, her hands
loosened their grips where they dug painfully into her upper
arms, coming to the front where they quivered as her fingers curled
and flexed, curled and flexed. She could feel the force of a scream
rising in her, building up from deep in her stomach, up...up...
reaching her throat. It nestled precariously over her vocal chords
before she felt her ear drums stinging. There were blinding flashes
of colour as she blinked.
Her cheek burned, the tears that had formed an eternity ago in her
eyes splashed down as the scream stuck in her throat. For a moment
she was dizzy, the room spun and when it stopped turning, she
was able to focus a little.
Through her tears she saw the blur of a figure.
"C-Chakotay?"
"I'm sorry, Kathryn. You were screaming..."
He bent down, and when his face was level with hers, he took her
hands in his. Her fingers clamped around his so tightly that her
knuckles showed white. There was a deep concern in his eyes as they
settled on her. At first he thought she didn't recognise him,
her lips moving in wordless distress before she stammered:
"Chakotay, what - what have I done?"
"Your job, Kathryn... You've done only your job," he said softly.
She was not appeased as she kept repeating her own distraught words,
over and over.
"It was wrong of me, Chakotay... Wrong of me...wrong of me..."
"You stopped in time. In time, do you hear me? You stopped in time,"
he soothed. He kept his voice soft and calm, hoping that repeating
the comforting words would find a way into her heart and give her
the solace she craved. But she was too high in the throes of her
own terrible guilt about what she had done. Her eyes darted, and her
breathing was laboured as she kept rocking. She needed the doctor...
He wanted to hit his commbadge, but stopped in mid-air as he saw her
eyes widen and her face become even more stricken. She didn't want
the doctor to know. Going there, he realised immediately, would
be admitting she had a problem...
He heard the hysteria rise in her voice, the pitch higher, thinner
than her melodious register. Her lips trembled, and before another
scream had time to blow into fullness, he pulled her to him. Her
cry muffled as her face connected against him. Shifting quickly so
that he sat down on the couch next to her, her held her as she
buried her face in his chest.
"Better now?" he asked after a long time in which he held her
shaking body until the trembling stopped.
She nodded, then moved so that she could sit a little away from
him. She stared at the floor, wringing her hands together. She
looked a little embarrassed, the nervous fluttering of her
eyelashes indicating how unsettled she still was. She was, however,
much calmer.
She didn't hear him enter the ready room a while ago, so deeply
distressed she had been, and the way he rushed to her when the
first cries started... He had seen her hands, the way they balled
into fists as she lost the fight to scream. He pursed his lips. She
had been near hysteria, and his slap across her cheek was enough to
stun her back to reality.
He smiled grimly. In the next few days she would not want to be
reminded of what just happened. He could see she was embarrassed
about losing control. She had lost a lot of that in the last few
days. To have tonight's episode added to her already full plate
of remorse and guilt, was too much.
He waited.
He always waited.
She would talk.
She stole a quick glance at him, then looked down at her hands
again. She spoke softly.
" Ira furor brevis est"
"Huh?"
"Anger is brief madness..." she said soberly.
"Thus spaketh Kathryn Janeway?"
"Thus spaketh Horace."
There was a long pause before he said softly.
"It's over now, Kathryn."
She nodded.
"You know..."
"What?"
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice firmer. She gave a sob, then
sighed again. When she looked at him, he was gratified to see that
she had regained much of her composure. She reached to touch his
hand, and he wanted to smile.
Who was comforting whom now?
"We'll get through this, Kathryn - "
"We?"
"What did you think? Your first officer is doubling up as the
punching bag, the soaked pillow, the sounding board, the - "
"- voice of reason, objector, reminder that I'm out of line, best
first officer I've ever had, punching bag, pillow..." she continued.
"I mean it, Kathryn."
She gave him a wan smile, and patted his hand again.
"I know, Chakotay. What would I do without you?"
"Be lost?" he quipped.
"Yes..."
"Kathryn, my shoulders are broad. You can lean on me, as much as
you want to."
He half expected her to say that she had done enough leaning in the
last five years. He expected her to object about the role he offered
to be.
She curved her lips into her old, endearing smile, the one that
was so full of humour.
"Be careful what you wish for, Commander."
"You know my wishes, Captain," he answered, feeling how a weight
lifted from him. She was at least amenable that he stay with her,
provide the anchor in the raging storm. He knew that they've made
a start, but in the next few weeks it would not be easy. He wanted
to be there when she fell. Knowing Kathryn, these events of the
past days would stay with her. She would brood, but she would know
too, that he won't give up on her, and that her loyal crew will
refuse to let her dwell on her own guilt for too long. He squeezed
her hand again.
"Now, come," he said firmly, then almost laughed as he saw the
confusion in her eyes.
"What?"
He leaned towards her, and touched the cheek he slapped not so
long ago. He peered at it, fingered the tiny veins that burst just
below the skin.
"You have a dermal regenerator in your quarters?" he asked a little
guiltily.
"Why?"
"Kathryn," he said, mortified that her cheek showed a bruise, "you
have a bruise on your cheek."
"Oh. Chakotay!"
"I'm sorry, Captain. It was in the - "
"- line of duty?"
"Well, if you put it that way, I guess the Doctor can - "
"Commander, to my quarters. That's an order."
The crew on gamma shift on the bridge gave a cursory glance at the
Commander and Captain who stepped out of the ready room, then
proceeded to the turbolift. Tuvok kept a poker face as he noticed
the bruise on the Captain's cheek, and the way the Commander held
the Captain's arm.
He concluded correctly that the Commander had used his old, but
tested brand that was designed to bring the recipient back from
a state of panic and hysteria. The captain looked composed, not
minding how protective the Commander's fingers curled around her
upper arm.
He gave Vulcan sigh.
The quiet settled quickly on the bridge again the moment the
turbolift doors closed.
*******
END PART FIVE
FIRE DANCE
PART SIX
“Every man deserves the right to make good on his sorry life...”
- Ensign Tom Paris
TOM
“She’s doing it again,” Tom said.
“Doing what?” Harry asked where he sat with Tom and B’Elanna in
the observation lounge.
“Come on, Harry. You can see,” Tom replied barely able to keep the
exasperation from his voice.
“Okay, I see she’s not smiling. She hasn’t been doing that since
before our encounter with the Equinox. Is that it?”
“Partly, Harry,” B’Elanna responded. He leaned forward over the
table and glared at him. “The captain is taking the entire ship’s
responsibilities on her shoulders. She’s carrying that burden
alone.” She gave a scowl as she sat back in her chair again.
“B’Elanna, you don’t have to beat yourself up over not seeing Max’s
hidden agenda - “
“I should have, dammit!” she said heatedly. “Now the captain wants
to shoulder that blame too.”
“B’Elanna,” Tom said in a placatory tone, “you have already
expressed your own accountability to the Captain. She’s understood
that.”
“Yeah, and that's supposed to make me feel better, right?”
“Look,” Harry chimed in as he saw how heated the conversation
became, “all I know is that she shouldn’t have to go through this
alone.”
“You’re right, Harry. Maybe it’s time we make an all out effort to
rouse her from her state of...whatever.”
“Say it, Tom,” B’Elanna challenged.
Although not surprised, she had been outraged at Max’s reaction to
her pleas. Boy, was she glad she dropped him like some bad garbage
ten years ago. Still, it rankled that he could outsmart her this
time. It didn’t sit well on her that her ex-boyfriend got the
better of them. She was not one to gloat on the fate of the dying,
but Max’s death left her cold.
“She is unhappy. I think when Ransom died - or rather, the way he
turned around and was ready to embrace the principles which govern
Starfleet officers, affected her more than we think.”
“Tom!” Harry exclaimed, “the man killed innocent life forms to get
home quicker.”
“I know, but try to understand. Every man deserves the right to
make good on his sorry life...”
Harry and B’Elanna looked at him, and they knew he was referring
not only to Ransom. Harry gave a nod.
“Fine, Ransom recanted. But then the Captain shouldn’t feel bad
about the way he died - “
“How can you say that?” Tom said quickly. “Of course it affected
her. You just have to look at her, Harry. Her old sparkle is gone,
we’ve been looking for any sign from her in the last few weeks
that she’s over what happened.”
“She feels guilty, Tom,” B’Elanna said, her voice now somewhat
calmer. “She condemned a man for violating Starfleet principles,
then turned around and was on the point of doing the same. That,
I think, is what bugs her most.”
“You know, I think you’re right B’Elanna,” Harry said.
“Of course! Remember the time we were traveling through the void?
She was fraught with guilt too, and what did she do?”
“Locked herself in her quarters for two months and didn’t come
out.”
“And why was that?” Harry asked again.
“She felt it was her fault,” Tom said.
“Exactly!” B’Elanna cried out, then looked around to see if others
didn’t hear her. “Now all we have to do is rouse her from this
depression before she decides to keep to her quarters again.”
“How do you propose to that, B’Elanna?” Tom asked. His hand covered
hers, and the warmth of it filled her. Tom had been supportive when
she herself had gone through a similar state after Max’s betrayal.
She sighed.
“We should consult Neelix.”
“Neelix?” Harry asked, a little nonplussed before his eyes gleamed
with understanding. “Of course. One of his famous “Briefing with
Neelix” programmes, or - “
“Talent night!” B’Elanna exclaimed. “Of course! We could ask her
to perform again.”
“Oh yes? And what will B’Elanna be doing on talent night?” Tom
asked slyly.
“Play Bach’s Toccata and Fugue? Oh, come on, Tom! You know I don’t
perform, Chakotay doesn’t per - “ B’Elanna suddenly paused, looked
at Tom and Harry whose eyes held a shine of anticipation.
“Bingo,” Tom said softly as the significance of B’Elanna’s
suggestion sank in.
“Yes, bingo.”
“If anyone can get her to comply, it would be Chakotay.”
“Her Angry Warrior.”
“She busted him, Tom.”
“She reinstated him, B’Elanna. That’s got to tell you something.”
“Like she needs him when it suits her?” she asked edgily.
“That’s hardly fair, and you know it - “
“Look,” Harry said as he rose from the table, “I have to go. I’m
on duty on the bridge. See you later.” Harry walked quickly from
them, and they watched how he nodded curtly to two of the Equinox
crew who were sitting half hidden in the dark in one corner of the
lounge.
Tom looked at B’Elanna again, and sighed. She was only now coming
to terms with what Max did, and that Max had little honorable
intentions. He was a shade worse than Ransom, who at least realised
that there were still laws - noble ones - he could return to. But
Max had shown little regard for Voyager’s crew, the fate of this
ship, and had used his friendship with B’Elanna to do all he
needed to get from engineering.
“And right under my nose, Tom,” she said to him just after the
Equinox went up in a ball of fire. He had no need to be jealous of
Max Burke at the time, although he certainly bristled that B’Elanna
could so easily fall into the endearment Max had for her. What did
he have? Not even so much as an open declaration of love, much
less call her anything but B’Elanna. But B’Elanna seemed to be at
ease with Max, before he turned into the jerk he always was.
After what Max had done, B’Elanna felt very keenly her own
complicity in not recognising sooner that he had simply used her.
That angered her to no end.
Naturally, she expended some of that anger on the holodeck, and
some of it on him, when they were in her quarters or his. He was
glad that his patience paid off in the end.
He convinced her that what happened was not her fault. Max had been
on a mission, and he used his knowledge of her against her. She had
not expected Max to be that way at all. His betrayal came as a
shock to her.
Max was prepared to let them all die. B’Elanna took that hard to
swallow.
Tom surmised that the Captain had an even harder time getting
through this. She had broken faith with Chakotay. Until the end,
when Ransom turned round, she had seen him as the ultimate murderer
whom she had to stop. By then the commander had been restricted
to quarters...
“Tom, Tom...”
“Huh?”
“You were dreaming there,” B’Elanna said as she looked at him, a
teasing twist to her lips.
“Me?” he asked, looking silly at being found out.
“What were you thinking?”
“I - “ he opened his mouth, then closed it again. He looked at her
in candid appraisal. “We...need to let her know that we trust her,
B’Elanna, that we believe in her judgment - “
“Even...them...?”
Tom followed B’Elanna’s gaze, then he looked at her again.
“Even them. Look, I know it’s been several weeks now, and we have
shown as much as we needed to show, but B’Elanna, we shouldn’t
stop. Captain Janeway shouldn’t dwell on what happened to the
Equinox - “
“She wanted Ransom on Voyager.”
“I know. I looked at her, and she said: “He’s still a Starfleet
Captain. He may have forgotten that for a while, but I believe
him.”
“Tom...”
“Hmmm?”
“Do you think the Captain feels the same way?”
“Like she’s forgotten all that Starfleet stands for? I...think so,
B’Elanna. She was very, very quiet on the bridge after the Equinox
exploded.”
“She was on the same path of...destruction, Tom. She - she was
going to kill Noah Lessing, you know that. She - Tom, I think she
feels she’s not much better than Ransom had been.”
“B’Elanna, understand this, which I think the Captain should
understand too: Captain Janeway almost crossed the line. She was
about to, but I know that - “ Tom stopped suddenly.
‘What?” B’Elanna asked, clearly curious as to why he suddenly
paused.
“Have you ever danced with the devil?” he asked, and B’Elanna
looked completely stumped at what sounded to her like an off-side
question.
“I’ll tell you this, Helmboy, I have heard stories about what
Gre’thor looks like, and no, sir, I wouldn’t want to be in hell -
B’Elanna’s eyes lit up. “Of course!”
“Yes,” Tom said softly, glad B’Elanna understood him.
“Not many get the chance to break free, B’Elanna,” came his sober
statement. “Captain Janeway did.”
“Now she’s walking around unable to find peace, is that it?”
“Perhaps...”
“You could join forces with Neelix, Tom.”
“And?”
“I’d like to see the Captain smile again.”
*************
END PART SIX
FIRE DANCE
PART SEVEN
"When we turn our backs on our principles, we stop being human"
- Captain Kathryn Janeway
CHAKOTAY
"Are you coming?"
Chakotay stood just inside the doors of Kathryn's quarters, and
remained resolute as he watched her waver, then move towards
him, stop and walk back.
"I guess not," he said succinctly, then turned to leave. He knew
that would get her.
"Wait."
He paused, turned to look at her again.
"Let's go, Commander," she said, smiling smugly as she hooked her
arm through his and proceeded to the turbolift.
"Kathryn," he started once they were inside and ordered deck six,
"the time will come when I'll stop comin' a'beggin'" He looked
down at her, her hair shining bronze, glad that she agreed to spend
some time with him on the holodeck.
"Chakotay, if you do that, then I know you're coming down with
something - "
"What, you like me to beg?"
She hit his arm playfully, then turned to look down at the floor.
"You know I don't really mean to. Be patient, Chakotay..."
"Hey, it's a joke, Kathryn," he assured quickly as the lift stopped
on deck six and they alighted.
"Thank you. That makes me feel a whole lot better - "
"I should think so, considering the whipping you're going to get
in the next hour."
"Not on your life, Commander," she replied, a sudden lightness
in her step as they approached holodeck two.
"Best of five rounds?"
Her mouth curved endearingly into her familiar humorous curve. She
folded her arms, looked speculatively at him as her eyes narrowed
first, then an elegant eyebrow lifted.
"I don't come cheap at restaurant dinners, Commander. You'll be
spending your week's rations on me - "
"No way."
"Way.
He waved his arm in an exaggerated gesture of gentlemanly charm as
he indicated for her to enter. His smile deepened, and he felt
almost light-headed that she was taking time off to join him here.
"Velocity, thy name is woman."
****
Chakotay looked at Kathryn sitting opposite him. They were in her
quarters, enjoying an expensive replicated dinner. His rations.
Kathryn had enjoyed herself in the holodeck, pitting her size and
speed against his heavier frame. He was either losing his touch,
or he was so taken in by her obvious intention of making their
time enjoyable, that he lost concentration. He preferred to think
the latter. He could spend hours just watching her unwind. Then
she became all woman, all allure, the faint lines of strain that
seemed to be perpetually engraved on her face, gone, like mist.
There was always a lightness about her then, as if she didn't think
about the burdens she carried. She was serene and, he wanted
to think, happy. But mostly he wanted to think that she was at
peace. Today she conquered him at Velocity. It was the first time.
He shrugged mentally. So what? If only to see her smile and lose
that cloud in her eyes. She was naturally competitive, and that
added to the edge with which she outplayed him today.
No way could he put a damper on her recovering spirits by saying
he let her win. Even if he meant it as a joke.
It was gratifying to see the attempts she made to pull herself
from the doldrums of despair she had been in the past few weeks.
There were times, and they were becoming less frequent, that she
sank into the pits of hell. Most of those occasions he was on hand,
or, mercifully, she would hail him on her commbadge that he come
to her quarters, or the ready room. He would sit with her, talk
in calm tones deep into the night. He stayed with her until he
could see the calm settling in her again.
Sometimes she could work through it and, with ruthless
determination, force herself to put her guilt behind her, not
allow it to surface where she knew it hurt like the very hell.
He saw the few occasions they walked down the corridors and Noah
Lessing would approach from the other end. Noah would nod severely,
then lower his gaze again as he passed her. Chakotay was certain
that Kathryn didn't miss that sudden flash of fear in Noah's eyes.
Only a week ago, he almost laughed at Noah's deference when the
crewman stepped round a corner, the action so sudden that he
didn't see Kathryn until she knocked into him. Kathryn saw blue
and Lessing saw...red.
"Crewman Lessing."
"Captain!" The poor man stood immediately on attention, expecting
to be hanged. He looked like that, Chakotay thought. Maybe it was
that perpetual frown. He couldn't recall seeing Noah smile, much
less laugh.
Kathryn had to crane her neck to look him in the eye. Chakotay
didn't think Kathryn enjoyed her subjugation of the crewman, but
she did grace him with a half smile, and that damnable lifting
of one elegant eyebrow. Noah had no idea that it was her old
humorous lift, as if she were teasing him.
"We have 35000 light-years to get home."
"Yes, Sir! Captain!"
"Mr Lessing."
"Captain?"
"It's 'Captain', or 'Ma'am' in a pinch," Kathryn said while Chakotay
watched Noah's growing discomfort.
"Aye, Captain."
"On your way."
"Yes, Captain!"
Chakotay thought that Noah vanished, despite Kathryn's playful
statement that they had a long way to go still, with a fleetness
that belied his immense height. But it was Kathryn's expression
when Noah had left, that made him wince.
Her face looked haunted again. She stood motionless for a few
seconds, and he waited till she collected herself, before she said:
"The reminders will be here always, Chakotay."
"Not when you can bring yourself to confront him, Kathryn. Talk
to him. He's in hell too. Pain takes anyone prisoner. It doesn't
ask for rank or position or affiliation..."
"He was very loyal to Ransom, you know. All of them were. Here
they have to bow to a new authority, one that - "
"Don't flog yourself, Kathryn. Come, let's get away from here
and eat something. Something special Neelix conjured up."
*
"Chakotay," she had said later when they were sitting down at their
table in the mess hall, "thank you."
"For what?"
"I need your counsel, and that's the truth. I'm just sorry that - "
"Kathryn, do me one thing, please. Just one thing."
"What's that?" she asked, giving him a little smile because he
looked so concerned.
"Help me run the ship?"
He had been gratified to see her give a sigh of relief.
*
No one is immune to pain, he thought as he looked now at Kathryn
enjoying her meal. There were few shadows still lurking there; they
flitted sometimes across her elegant features, causing a momentary
somber look in her face. She would look up at him, then let the
relief in the knowledge that he was here, flow through her.
He never spoke, just nodded, or squeezed her hand reassuringly.
"You're going to have that chocolate mousse, Chakotay?" she asked.
"Huh?"
"Thought so. What were you thinking?" she asked as she scooped
a spoonful of mousse and brought the delectable dessert to her
mouth.
"Nothing."
"Who's hedging now?"
"I have no rations for this week, do you realise that?"
"That's not what I want to know, and you know that."
"Kathryn!" he said in aggrieved tones, "why are you so curious?"
"Because I beat you today, won your rations for the week, I'm
enjoying my meal, and you are quiet."
"I'm supposed to feel bad because I lost?"
"I'll let you win next time," she replied.
He snorted with disgust.
"I'll win on my own steam, thank you - "
"Fine. Then tell me why you're so preoccupied..."
"I'm just glad to see the old Kathryn, I suppose," he replied
carefully, not really wanting to ruin the ambience by drawing the
conversation to the unpleasant events of the past weeks. She could
do without those reminders.
But this was Kathryn.
"Don't patronise me, Chakotay," she said softly as she put her
spoon down and looked at him. "I'm not a child."
"Sorry."
"Thank you. There is something though, I want to give you later."
He gave her a surprised look.
"But first," she said enigmatically, "I want to enjoy my coffee."
Chakotay groaned. It was, strangely, a happy groan because she was
on her mettle again. Later they were sitting on her couch, in
companionable silence, broken only occasionally by her soft sigh,
or his shifting to a more comfortable position. It was only when he
indicated that he was leaving, pleading early shift at 0600 the
following morning, that she rose to her feet.
Why hadn't he seen it? Kathryn was, like him, like Tom, like
Tuvok! a past master at keeping a thought hidden an entire evening
without once giving herself away. She had something on her mind
all evening, although he could in all honesty say that it wasn't
something that bogged her down unnecessarily. He would have seen
that, he knew. She just wanted to impart something to him, and he
sensed that it had to do with the Equinox.
"Kathryn."
"Hmmm?"
"Why are you suddenly so jumpy?"
"Why, Commander, what can you mean?" she asked.
"Something of a nervousness, as if you're afraid of my reaction.
I don't know. I'm guessing, I suppose," he said as he too, rose
from his seat.
She vanished to her bedroom, and when she returned, she had a book
in her hand.
"Did I tell you you look lovely tonight?" he asked suddenly.
"Chakotay, think of something more original to say - "
"Fine. Captain Janeway, there are times I am totally bowled
over when you are out of uniform and dressed in anything else,
makes you look indescribably beautiful - "
"Too gushy."
"Kathryn, you look well. I mean it."
"Thank you. Here, I wanted to give you this to read."
She handed the book to him. A rather ornate, leather-bound book
that looked...well-thumbed. He turned it to read the title.
"‘The Prince’. Machiavelli."
He looked at Kathryn and frowned heavily.
"Why?"
"Please..." her tone was pleading, and he could almost swear he
heard a soft sigh, "read it..."
He raised the book with his hands as if were weighing it, then
said:
"Okay, I'll read it, Kathryn."
"See you tomorrow, Commander."
"Good-night, Kathryn."
*****
END PART SEVEN
FIRE DANCE
PART EIGHT
"Ira furor brevis est." (Anger is brief madness)
- Horace
KATHRYN
Kathryn Janeway was unprepared for the force with which Chakotay
barged into her quarters two evenings later. The second her doors
opened to allow her caller entry, a flurry moved past her. She
blinked once, twice, then jumped as a heavy object collided with
a forceful thud against the opposite bulkhead.
There was a thunderous expression on his face and she wondered
absently whether he had stewed in his quarters first to work up
such an angry facial expression before he stormed in here. Even
his tattoo seemed to glower.
His hands hanged at his sides, the fingers trembling with what
she thought was rage.
"Chakotay," she exclaimed, her voice tinged with concern, "what
is the matter?"
He pointed to the floor where the book landed, walked in that
direction and picked up the book. It lay open in his hands.
"What's the matter, Kathryn? What's the matter? *This*! This
is the matter," he fumed. She backed in alarm as he thrust the
offending book at her.
"Chakotay... I - take it you read it..." she said carefully.
"Yes, I read it, Captain Janeway. I read it."
She tried to stall him, said:
"I take it that you didn't find it to your taste..."
"You can take it any way you want to, Captain. But this, this
is not you. Get that? It's not you!"
"Chakotay, I wanted you to understand why - "
"Here, open at exactly the page that I thought you meant me to
catch the meaning and spirit of and, Captain, your *misguided*
motivation - "
"Listen," Kathryn said, "it's clear it was a bad decision to ask
you to read it..."
"Kathryn! Look here: 'The character of a people varies and it is
easy to persuade them to do a thing. And so, if necessary - if
necessary! - to arrange things, so that when they no longer believe,
they can be made to believe by force'."
"It's what happened, didn't it?"
"Dammit, Kathryn! Since when have you sought endorsement from a
sixteenth century philosophical instructional book to motivate
what happened a few weeks ago? You're bound by Federation Laws!"
Kathryn pounced on that with swiftness.
"Are they much different, Chakotay?"
"It calls for all kinds of interpretation, and you, Kathryn, are
putting your own construction on this, because you want to believe
that what you did was so heinous, so indefensible that there can
be no clemency for you!”
“Any justifiable means, Chakotay. Any justifiable means - “
“Excuse me, but wasn’t that what Ransom also said, and you condemned
him for adopting - and twisting - what is a Federation Statute?”
“Yes!” Kathryn’s cheeks were flushed. “And was I any different from
Ransom?”
"You gave me the book to read so that I could say: 'Hey, Kathryn
was right! This books says it's fine!'"
"It certainly tells me that there are things leaders do - that they
*have* to do, in order to retain control."
"Kathryn, listen to yourself! Is that a Starfleet captain speaking?"
But Kathryn's face was flushed, her eyes sparkled with impassioned
conviction. She stood in front of him, and slapped the open book
with her palm:
“Encapsulate Machiavelli in once sentence, Chakotay!”
“Kathryn, I...”
“Do it, please,” she begged.
“Use of violence is justified as a means to an end.”
“There! You see? Did you read Chapter Seventeen? ‘When a prince
is obliged to take the life of anyone, let him do so when there is
proper justification and manifest reason for it - “
“Kathryn, right now, you are as irrational as when I tried to tell
you to pull back from your personal vendetta against Ransom.”
She jerked her head so that her hair swung in her face. She pointed
a finger to the book.
“Those words glared at me, Chakotay, and I saw myself. Believe
me, it is not an image I want to have nightmares over. It’s
haunting me, don’t you see? It screamed at me that I did all those
things! Not only that, I didn't care then whether I put all of us
at risk - ”
Chakotay took the book and threw it down on her sofa, placed his
hand on her shoulders and said:
“Listen to me, Kathryn Janew - “
‘A p-prince must not mind incurring the charge of c-cruelty for the
purpose of keeping his subjects united and f-faithful - “ she
stammered.
Chakotay shook her so hard that her teeth chattered. Her eyes burned
with shame. He pushed her down so that she could sit on her sofa.
Her hands were at her sides, gripping into the upholstery of the
couch. Her knuckles showed white and, looking at her, Chakotay
realised he had work on his hands. It seemed in the seconds he tried
to reason with her, that she was implacable in her belief that her
actions were horrific, that she had become as calculated as Ransom.
She found living with it difficult, and it turned her into a
cheerless woman who thought that nothing could save her.
“Kathryn...” She looked down at the floor, her lips trembling. He
thought in these moments that she subdued the urge to cry with
such force that her eyes were bloodshot.
“T-the prince must avoid those things which will make him hated
or despised...”
“Your subjects respect you...”
“I almost killed Noah Lessing,” she said bleakly.
“You didn’t, Kathryn,” Chakotay sighed.
“There is nothing, Chakotay, nothing that can relieve this - this
searing pain I have here,” and she brought one shivering hand up
and placed it against her bosom.
“Kathryn - “
“Nothing...”
“Kathryn!”
She jumped at the tone of his voice. Only then did she look at him.
“Help me...”
“Kathryn, listen to me, will you?”
She remained passive as she sat there. He went down on his knees
in front of her and took her hands in his, clasping them tightly.
“Will you listen?” he asked again. She nodded.
“I didn’t just read the book as you asked,” he said quietly, much
of his own anger abated. “I studied other related texts in the
database as well.” He kept his eyes on her, ready for any sign that
she could panic or even hyperventilate. But she was strong and she
would keep a strict rein on her emotions. So he continued:
“You are not like that, Kathryn. The author suggested those reforms
and instructions in the context of Renaissance Florence, Sicily,
Naples and other city-states. The kind of political upheavels the
populace of the time experienced seemed to suggest that a leader
had to employ violence if necessary, to gain successful leadership.
Or to remain in power,” Chakotay added.
"Do you understand?" he asked again.
He was gratified to see her nod.
“But listen, Kathryn. Machiavelli may have had grand ideals, but
he didn’t devote much attention to the values that define the ends
of a political action, did he?”
“What you are saying,” she started softly, “is that he didn’t take
into consideration that the actual act of violence, murder,
aggression could go against the grain of the leader’s personal
beliefs - “
“You were raised to respect life, Kathryn, as we all were, and
not only through Biblical dictates. Even if killing someone -
according to the author - may be in the particular circumstance
justified, you don’t have to believe that it is right. It is our
intrinsic values that guard us against crossing the line.”
“You were right, Chakotay. All the time.”
He sighed.
“In private life, Kathryn, such acts are ethically indefensible.”
“Then why did it happen to me? Why can’t I find - “
“Remember what you said to me the other day?” he interrupted her,
knowing that she wanted to talk about the peace she couldn't find.
“What?”
“Ira furor brevis est.”
“Anger is brief madness,” she translated. She saw him smile, and
her own mouth moved into a watery imitation.
“You were very, very angry, Kathryn. Even I got the brunt of it,”
he said, his eyes suddenly twinkling.
“Don’t remind me...” she replied, little amused by his words, still
too crowded with the shame of her behaviour.
“I will, Kathryn, if only to keep you in line.”
“I want to believe you, you know.”
“You’d better. You were angry, and your anger blinded you
temporarily. Briefly! Understand?”
She nodded.
"Does that mean it makes you like Ransom? Does that mean you believe
that violence can be condoned?"
She shook her head.
"I guess not," he affirmed.
"I was angry..." she said slowly, softly, as if some new knowledge
was dawning on her. Her eyes turned to him, and Chakotay could
have sworn he saw the lightness beginning to form there. But she
was still a long way from healing...
“And in your anger, Kathryn, you resorted to measures you would
never normally contemplate. You are too disciplined, too aware of
your personal detestation at such acts of violence. Very briefly
you were obsessed at seeing justice done, at righting a wrong.”
“I was, wasn’t I?” she whispered hoarsely.
“Perhaps...”
“I put my people at risk.”
“You have to accept that it happened, and come to terms with it,
Kathryn.”
“For a while, I lost what I accused Ransom of: my humanity.”
“As I said, you turned back in time.”
“No, Chakotay, you brought me back from the brink of madness, you
stopped me from crossing the line.”
“And Ransom?”
“He...embraced his old values again. I sensed that in him when he
wanted to come aboard Voyager.”
“You know, Kathryn, Ransom had high and lofty ideals and goals.
He just chose the wrong path to attain them, even though all his
intentions were noble - “
“The tragic hero...”
“What...?”
“When he realised the error of his ways, he knew - he knew,
Chakotay, that only the highest sacrifice would give him peace
again. He gave his life, so that a few of his crew, and all of us
could be saved.”
She pulled him up so that he could sit next to her on the couch. He
shifted in order to face her. Her hand rested in his.
“You know...” she started, blinking suddenly to hold back the tears
that were forming in her eyes.
“What...?” he asked softly, then had to strain to hear her.
“All these years...you were there, as my friend and first officer.
Once I blasted Tuvok for an insubordinate act, and I told him then
that I needed him to have my moral compass checked...
“So what are you saying...?”
“You’ve become that person, Chakotay. All the time when we engaged
the Equinox - “ She gave a soft sob when she mentioned the other
ship. “All the time you were there, checking me, being my moral
compass.”
“Kathryn...”
“If I didn’t have you - “
“Kathryn...don’t punish yourself further. Please...”
“Somehow - somehow I wished that - that Ransom had someone like
you, you know. He - he didn’t,” she stammered, then found herself
unable to continue.
Chakotay held her hand in his and squeezed it reassuringly. He
could feel how she started to heave slightly, as if a storm was
beginning to toss her on the inside.
“Maybe the first officer he originally had - what was his name - ?“
“Commander Francis Njorland.”
“Died in the first week the Equinox was thrust in the Delta
Quadrant. Yes, maybe he was such a person. If he were, then I’m
certain that Ransom would have followed a different path.”
Kathryn looked at him, gave a huge sob and hurled herself against
him. It was a storm of tears that rocked her. He held her quivering
frame and soothed her until the storm abated. It was a long time
later, when her body was still rocked by an occasional shudder,
that she sat up. Her eyes were puffy from the wild bout of crying,
but he could see there was a calmness in them.
“You are the best first officer I ever had,” she said, her voice
even, with none of the stammer of earlier.
“Is that all?” he asked.
“My best friend.”
“That’s better.”
“You know me so well.”
“Kathryn...?”
“Hmmm...?”
“Are you feeling better?”
She gave him a long look, took his hand in hers and squeezed it.
“Much better. Much better,” she repeated.
“I’m glad. You can recycle the book and buy me a dinner - “
“Tomorrow night?”
“Yes. Right now, you look very tired.” He rose, ready to leave
her quarters.
“Chakotay...”
“Yes?”
“Stay, just a few more minutes, please.”
“I can see you’re tired. Go to bed, Captain. That’s an order.”
“It is?”
“You want me to tuck you in?”
“That’s not such a bad idea.”
She didn't say it, but he could see that she didn't want to be
alone.
“I’ll wait here. Just holler when you’re ready.”
She gave him a playful jab in the ribs, got up and vanished into
her bedroom area. He remained on the couch, taking the book and
putting it carefully on Kathryn’s desk. By morning she would have
recycled the copy.
.
By the time he had read through the first four chapters, his
alarm at what Kathryn tried to tell him had grown ten-fold. Then
he became angry. She was a scientific person to the bone, highly
intelligent, highly intellectual, yet she allowed herself to
believe archaic dictates because what she did, seemed to fit the
bill. Was there an aperture in such a person's heart that allowed
unhallowed thoughts to dominate her briefly?
He sighed. Tonight he believed was an important breakthrough for
her. When all is said and done, the Equinox did cross their path,
she did pursue Ransom, she did threaten to kill Noah Lessing.
These things happened, and she was only beginning to accept that
her actions were spurred by blind anger rather than by any
misguided beliefs that violence or violent acts were justifiable
means to an end. She was very deeply affected, the thought that
she almost crossed the line, filling her with intense abhorrence.
Chakotay believed that these events, because they happened and one
could not wish it away like magic and feel better afterwards,
served only to fill her with a greater sense of purpose. It may have
changed her, enriched her life with the knowledge that all men are
fallible, that when the circumstance arises, their humanity is put
to the test. Kathryn believed that she had failed, that for a while
at least, she lost sight of her principals, lost her humanity. She
had to understand that it happened to the Ransoms, and that it
could happen to the Janeways.
How she sought to live with it, how she sought to come to terms
with it, determined to a large extent on her own inner strength.
Kathryn was strong, she was strong-willed, she knew the rules
inside-out, she knew that the road to forgiveness was a hard one,
but it forged her anew.
Chakotay knew that in the next few days she would confront Noah
Lessing. To find peace, she had to make peace. Noah, he could sense,
was all ready to put what happened behind him. And for him to
hear a good word, a kind word from his Captain would go a long way
toward his personal recovery. He, too, needed to find peace, needed
to emerge from his hell, as Kathryn was slowly doing. She found
herself in a crucible that would burn her and forge her; she had
learned that she could rely on her first officer, that her crew
understood that even Captains are not immune to a moment of
madness.
Kathryn would find renewal, and so must Noah.
Chakotay started up when he heard Kathryn calling him. He had never
been in her bedroom, and felt like intruder in her sanctuary. She
was lying in bed, and already he could see the sleepiness in her
eyes. He sat down next to her, brushed a few hairs from her face,
and took her hand in his.
“Well, what story shall I read you?”
“Moby Dick.”
“Really?”
“No. Just...stay and talk, will you?”
He kept up the small talk until her eyelids drooped, and all the time
he held her hand in his.
“Chakotay...” she murmured sleepily.
“Hmmm...?”
“Thank you.”
By the time he said: “You’re welcome,” she was fast asleep.
***********
END PART EIGHT
FIRE DANCE
PART NINE
“We each make our own hell, Mr Lessing. I hope you enjoy yours.”
- Captain Kathryn Janeway
NOAH
Noah Lessing stood in the hydroponics bay, where he had been
coming every day for an hour of the precious few hours he had off
duty.
He had been drawn to this part of the ship since he was introduced
to it by Sam Wildman and her daughter. It fascinated him that
there could be a garden, so to speak, on a starship. A real garden
with plants, flowers and vegetables that the crew members of the
ship used. Neelix was especially proud of his crops that grew so
abundantly under his ever watchful eyes.
“And these?” he had asked Sam the first time when he was brought
here. He had pointed to a crop of tomatoes that looked unlike
any that he had seen before, yet was succulent and tasty.
“The Captain cultivated them herself.”
“She did?” he asked, surprised at Sam’s words.
“Oh yes. She and the first officer had been trapped for months
on a planet some years ago, and Neelix had given her the seeds
to plant there. When they were rescued again, she brought her
seedlings back. Only this time, they had blossomed into these
beautiful tomatoes you see here.”
“The tastiest item on the plate,” he said.
“So it is, if you can stand Neelix’s food.
“I can stand eating anything, Ensign Wildman,” he said that day.
“We haven’t had working replicators for months by the time we came
aboard Voyager.”
“I...understand, Noah.”
“Thank you. You are very friendly, you know, not giving us the
kind of grief we...” Noah paused, not wanting to sound like he was
complaining.
“They will learn to trust you,” Samantha said. “My daughter does
already.”
“I know! The only child on the ship. I have so many things to learn
and - and to...”
“Come to terms with?” Samantha offered kindly.
“Yes...” came his whisper, in a voice that was deep and resonant.
There was quiet for a long time, until Samantha said: “It’s hard,
Noah, but you’ll get through this. The captain - “
“The captain will forgive me the day the moon turns to blood,”
he said morosely.
“G.K. Chesterton.”
“Huh?”
“The donkey. When fishes flew and - “ she started.
“Yes...”
“It’s a difficult time for the Captain, too, Noah.”
“Yeah, right.”
He was a jittering bag of bones whenever he walked past the Captain
in the corridors. Only the other day he rounded one corner so fast
he didn’t see the Captain until she knocked into him. Commander
Chakotay was quick enough to prevent her from falling. Noah cursed
under his breath. The Captain wasn’t unfriendly, or gave him that
steel-eyed look that made him quiver. He had bumbled his way
through the apology, feeling that they were laughing at his
discomfort. Yeah, he decided, Captain Janeway was not to be trifled
with.
He didn’t mean to be rude to Samantha, and when he saw her hurt
look, he apologised quickly.
Now he looked at the tomatoes and thought of the captain.
Not Captain Ransom, the man he’d been loyal to for so long,
but Captain Kathryn Janeway.
What kind of woman was she that she could tend to these tender
plants with so much obvious devotion, and at the same time look
at him with such a murderous glint in her eye?
What kind of person could speak to Naomi Wildman in a voice filled
with so much kindness, and at the same time speak to him in tones
that seethed with rage. A soft, dangerous tone that dared him to
defy her?
That day in the cargo bay, he had known fear like never before.
He knew what the aliens could do, had seen so many of his old crew
become dessicated before his very eyes. He had seen untold misery
on his old ship, had been one of the absolute fortunate few who
survived the “Week of Hell” as they all later referred to that
first week, when their crew had been reduced to half its complement.
He had seen fear in their eyes, and had seen them freeze up even
before the aliens consumed them with white fire from the inside.
Ransom had taught them to survive, to fight so that they could
live. They were a hardened group who finally reached Voyager. By
that time he had seen too many things to make him afraid.
When Captain Janeway looked at him with her eyes as cold as steel,
he knew fear.
He knew fear because his life, what sorry part of it was left to
build up again, lay not at the hands of the unknown, or of strange
aliens, even known aliens. His life lay in the hands of a person,
woman, officer, Starfleet born and bred, who looked at him with a
look that made his heart pound erratically.
Oh yes, he tried to be brave. It made it worse. He could not
believe that she could carry out her threat. His response was
arrogant, made in the knowledge that she would never resort to
killing. So he taunted her.
He closed his eyes as he remembered insolent way in which he
spoke.
.
He had looked to Chakotay. Maybe 'The Warrior', as the five of them
called Commander Chakotay, would side with him, and not allow the
angry Captain to carry on. But that man just looked at him and said
the Captain’s on her own.
He almost died that day. Died with his hands tied behind his back
like some criminal, helpless, unable to defend himself.
He thought in that moment that only a coward could kill someone
whose hands were literally tied.
“Their mistake...” was what Ransom told them when he reported to
them on his audience with Captain Janeway the day she found out
they were using dead aliens to make fuel.
Noah snorted.
He remembered dissecting alien after alien, preparing it for
creating power; he remembered biting back his nausea every time
one of them looked at him before they died. He remembered the
lessons of his mother and his granddaddy who taught him and his
brother about how precious life is. What he did, went against
his very nature, an instinctive recoiling at the horror of
their deeds. But he followed his Captain's vision, for a long
time, even shared it.
Now he had dreams.
Aliens begging him to return their brothers...
Yeah, Captain Janeway. Just like you predicted, I am in my own
hell.
How could I live with the fact that we killed innocent life forms
to enhance our warp drive?
.
Is it enough? Noah thought as he fingered one of the small, red
tomatoes reverently. Is it enough? They’ve been on this ship
almost six weeks, yet he felt he had been here longer, and with
that, the feeling that it will never be enough for Captain
Janeway.
What more was he to do? Go into her ready room and beg her for
forgiveness?
He sighed.
It will never be enough.
He was alerted suddenly to footsteps at the entrance to the
airponics bay. It came closer, paused for a few seconds, then moved
again. Slow, measured steps that came closer and closer. He could
only make out a the black pants and boots, as the large trays were
all waist high, the highest section of each just level with his
eyes. He couldn't see the person unless he peeped round a corner,
or something.
He did so. Noah Lessing froze.
Drat!
It was the Captain.
***
He stood up straight, on attention as she approached. His arms
were stiffly at his sides, and God! If he raised his arm shoulder
height and waved it around, it would go right over her head. She
was so small, petit, really.
Dynamite.
He had never met anyone like Kathryn Janeway. Not unless he counted
his sweet sainted mother who could kill him and his brother with
just such a look as the Captain gave him that day.
.
She had to look up at him, and for the first time he didn’t
thank God for letting him grow to six feet six inches. She stared
up at him as if he were vermin, or one of those rats Naomi Wildman
claimed roamed around in Jefferies tube 32.
He wanted to die. She just looked at him, and didn’t speak for an
eternity. He cast his eyes down to look at her. Peeped was really
the word, because his eyes almost closed the way he had to
squeeze them so that he could see her. She stood quite close
to him.
He stood his ground.
Good.
She would never see the way he trembled.
She sure did enjoy making him squirm.
“Mr Lessing.”
“Captain!”
Damn. He almost added the “Sir!” after “Captain”. He might well
have shouted the designation.
What did she want with him?
“At ease, Noah, before you sprain something.”
Huh?
She waited again.
“Noah.”
Now why did her voice sound so soft? So...nice?
Noah experienced something strange. He liked this voice of the
Captain.
.
.
Almost, almost he launched into a string of:
“Yes, Captain, Sir! What can I do for you, Sir!”
Instead, he asked, almost timidly:
“Is there anything you wanted, Captain?”
He was gratified by her slight smile. Good, Noah. Feel the warmth
creeping into your heart. Just because the Captain smiled.
“As a matter of fact, Noah, there is indeed,” she said.
Noah Lessing felt the first of the huge boulders that had rested
on his shoulders the last six weeks, roll off him. The release
of it so overwhelming that he was ridiculously close to tears.
“Anything I can do for you, Captain. Anything.”
“I expect you to perform your duties to the best of your ability,
Mr Lessing.” Her voice was again stern.
“Yes, Sir!”
There. It slipped out.
“Mr Lessing, I am Captain Janeway.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Thank you. Now, Noah, about that something I wish to discuss
with you...”
“Captain?”
“Sit down, Noah, before you topple over, and I crink my neck into
a position the doctor won’t correct.”
“Yes, S-, er...Captain.”
Noah looked behind him and carefully sat down on the long bench.
She stared so long at him that he started squirming again. At last
she spoke:
“Tell me, Noah, about your life on the Equinox...”
*********
By the time he finished, Noah Lessing was exhausted. He sat
hunched, his arms on his knees, with his hands clasped together.
Where his fingers were laced, the nails clawed convulsively into the
flesh of the back of his hands.
He had not known how five years of guilt, of doing what went
against the grain of his very upbringing could find such a release
at last, and in the presence of the woman whom he thought would
never give him the time of day.
He poured his heart out.
Kathryn Janeway listened, and every word Noah spoke, every sentence
he uttered, every sentiment he voiced, became an indictment against
her.
Had Noah thought to raise his head and look at the Captain while
he spoke, he would have seen that his testimony had a shattering
effect on her.
She sat there, listening to him, watching his expressions, looking
at his hands, the way his body bent forward with his hands together
as though he were in prayer.
"We all believed in Captain Ransom. We had to. He was our commander,
and without his discipline, his vision, even his methods... if we
did not share that with him every inch of the way, we would not
have made it here, and..."
"And?" she coaxed softly, sensing his answer, but wanting to hear
it.
"And he would never have saved us..."
"He did that, Noah, I understand that now."
"Do you, Captain?" Noah asked, astounded at her words.
"I do, Noah. His only wish - his only wish was that I bring you
all home safely..."
"That was him, Captain. In spite of - in spite of what happened,
he wanted to go home."
"Yes..." The captain's voice was low, hoarse. There was something
about it that made him think she was sad, that made him think
that Samantha could have been right.
"He turned his life around."
"Captain... I was never like that. I - I am sorry. For everything."
"Noah," she said, putting her hand over his, perhaps as a
comforting gesture more than it was to stop his trembling fingers.
"We all lose sight of our principles, of everything we believe, all
rules and laws that govern the way we act and make decisions. When
that happens, we lose a little of our humanity. Not only did
Captain Ransom lose sight of that, but some of us here, too."
"Captain...?"
"It is a burden we have to carry for a long time," Kathryn Janeway
continued. "We do things that are inexcusable and imagine it is
impossible to correct it. Captain Ransom did, and - and..."
"He paid with his life," affirmed Noah.
"Yes..."
"Captain, for - for what it's worth, and it may not be worth
much, but I want to say - I want to say..."
"What, Mr Lessing?" she asked as she rose slowly.
"I am glad to be a member of this crew."
She stood facing him, while he remained seated. When he made to
rise too, she waved her hand. He sat down again.
"For what it's worth, Mr Lessing, and it means a lot to me, now:
I am glad to have you as a member of this crew."
He did rise to his feet then and stood on attention again, as he
did an hour before.
He kept his gaze fixed on some rose he spotted in one of the large
tanks three rows in front of him. He dared not look at her. The
"Old Man's Frown" that the others always teased him with, deepened
as he tried to swallow the lump that formed in his throat. His
eyes, most of the time a golden brown, darkened with emotion. He
could forego all of the next year's worth of rations, just so he
could treasure these words. Play it over in his mind whenever he
felt marginalised, whenever he felt the old guilt tripping him up,
whenever he felt he couldn't go on. To hear these words, soak them
up and believe in them... Why, he'd be like the rest of the crew.
Willing to lay his life down for her.
"Captain, I - thank you, Captain!"
"Welcome aboard, Noah Lessing."
"Captain!"
*****
END PART NINE
FIRE DANCE
PART TEN
“Mr Neelix, when I feel anything, you will be the first to know,”
- Lieutenant-Commander Tuvok
NEELIX
Neelix was in a tizz this morning. He had been accosted by Tom
and B’Elanna, who stringed Harry along for good measure.
“I swear, Neelix,” said Harry, “I’ll play Mozart’s Clarinet Concerto
again. Many times,” he qualified his statement as the three of them
stood around the counter that served as the kitchen area.
Well, er...yes, Harry. I admit it is better than listening to a
certain officer's poetry."
Neelix was sweating, the heat from the simmering Leola Root Saturday
Special causing the Talaxian to puff, blow, and dance around on one
leg. He was stirring the stew, with his comical chef’s hat tilted
way sideways as he turned his head the way the spoon moved
clockwise.
“We’ll eat your Leola Root for a week if you can pull it off,
Neelix.”
“Speak for yourself, Helmboy. I’ve had enough Leola to make gagh
look appetising,” B’Elanna piped up.
“I - I don’t think the Captain is in any mood to listen,” Neelix
complained, but Tom had his smirk in place. He could see the mess
hall sergeant’s yellow eyes twinkling. Neelix was just putting up a
token resistance.
“I think you think it’s a good idea, Neelix. Look on the bright
side. If the Captain says it’s fine, we don’t have to listen to...
him!” Tom jerked his head around, knocked against B’Elanna who was
standing practically under his arm. He pointed in the direction of
the furthest corner of the mess hall. Voyager's Chief of Security
was ensconced in his usual seat, where he could enjoy his solitary
meals undisturbed.
“Oh...him...”
“We could always ask him,” Harry piped up and was awarded with a
dirty look from all three.
"Harry," B'Elanna threatened, "you can choose the airlock you want
me to eject you from..."
"Now, B'Elanna, don't be too hard on Harry. Why, where would I get
another Operations officer to tease on the bridge?"
"M-maybe it's not such - "
"Harry!" Tom and B'Elanna chorused their exasperation.
"Still..."
There was a low noise in the mess hall. The typical rousing sound
of the lunch hour, when most crew enjoyed their meals here.
“Harry, Harry, Harry,” Neelix said, and Tom and B’Elanna burst out
laughing.
“What...?” Neelix asked as he frowned.
“You sounded like Tom, when he wants Harry to get into trouble
with him,” B’Elanna answered.
“Oh? Well...oh, well. You see, Harry, Tuvok has lately memorised
the additional forty cantos of the Vulcan Love Song Cantos - “
“Which, as you know,” Tom added, "already has thirty six!”
“I knew that!” Harry complained, as he made to leave the kitchen
area to take his seat at the able he, Tom, B’Elanna and Seven used.
“Wait! Harry!” Neelix called, and when Harry joined them again,
Neelix smiled at him. “Perhaps I can use Commander Tuvok after
all!”
“Now, Neelix,” Tom said threateningly, pulling B’Elanna closer
to him. He could feel the vibration as she growled. “You wouldn’t
want to get injured in some mysterious road accident, would
you?”
“No! I swear!” Neelix responded in alarm. At the same time Neelix
swung his hand. It was the hand that held the ladle he used to
stir the Leola Root. He swung his arm, and the Leola stew splat
in soft plops against Tom's jacket.
“Neelix!”
“Tom! I’m sorry!” Neelix cried out, but laughed when he saw
B’Elanna and Harry howling.
“You’d better be,” Tom laughed as he grabbed a cloth.
“I have an idea,” Neelix said to the three of them.
“It had better be good, Neelix. If we can’t get the Captain to
perform on talent night, I don’t think we’ll see her get out
of her present state of - “
“Melancholy and despair,” said Neelix, and the others raised their
eyebrows.
“Guilt and remorse,” Harry added.
“Just plain stubbornness,” Tom said as he wiped the offending
stew from his jacket front. He had to clean up in his quarters,
but wanted to hear Neelix’s idea of “Getting the Captain to Agree”.
“Well?” B’Elanna scowled.
“Well - well, you - you know...” Neelix bumbled, then looked in
Tuvok’s direction. The Vulcan was sitting alone, studying his
ubiquitous PADD that seemed to accompany him to meals.
“Well, what!”
“I’ll ask Commander Tuvok to recite the Vulcan Love Song Cantos - “
He jumped back as B’Elanna walked around the counter.
“Wait! Hear me out,” he pleaded, raising his hands, the hand
holding the ladle shooting Leola stew against the ceiling.
“Let’s hear,” said Harry, nodding vigorously.
“Yeah, let’s hear how Tuvok reciting boring poetry can get the
Captain to comply.”
“I’ll talk to the Commander. Don’t worry so, Tom!” Neelix assured.
“Neelix, I’m off to my quarters to get cleaned up. By the time I
return, I want to see certain developments. Understand?"
“Understood.”
Tom walked away from them, raising eyebrows from Harry, B'Elanna
and Neelix when he sauntered across to Tuvok first, spoke
something at which Tuvok nodded, then left the mess hall.
Harry and B’Elanna strolled off the their table. Where they were
sitting they had a good view of Tuvok, and the table where the
Captain and Commander Chakotay were sitting.
Their commanding officers were obviously deep in conversation,
their food seeming to be half forgotten. B’Elanna watched as
Chakotay gesticulated with his hands, the Captain actually smiling
at something he said. The Captain appeared to be fine. She had
a more animated look on her face.
She looked across at the kitchen, and saw that Neelix had left
it. When she turned her gaze in Tuvok's direction, she saw Neelix
standing next to the Security Chief. Tuvok nodded and bent down to
study his PADD again. Neelix looked to be grinning when he returned
to the kitchen.
Harry started on his food. B'Elanna grimaced. How could he eat so?
“I think the Captain is looking better today, don’t you think,
Harry?”
“Huh?”
“Kahless!”
“What were you saying?”
“Look at them, Harry. The Captain actually looks more relaxed, and
not so...fierce.
“Yes, now that you mention it...”
“Oh, rats!”
“What?”
“Look! Tuvok is walking towards the Captain’s table.”
“Great. Now we’ll not get the Captain doing the Dying Swan in
her beautiful blue dress - “
“Oh, no...” B’Elanna groaned as she saw Tuvok stand next to the
Captain.
“It’s the end!” Harry wailed. He looked at B’Elanna, looked at
her plate and asked:
“Are you going to eat your stew?”
B’Elanna’s curled her lips in disgust, then ignored Harry again.
“I guess that means ‘no’.”
He pulled B’Elanna’s plate towards him and dug in.
********
“It would not have been any effort on my part to recite Vulcan
poetry at your concert, Mr Neelix.”
“Yes, but you see, Commander, I don’t want you to feel that
we don’t like your poetry - “
“Mr Neelix, when I feel anything, you will be the first to
know,” Tuvok said with an imperious air.
“Fine, Mr Vulcan. But I hope you are not offended if I ask you
to tell the Captain you will be performing. You see, what we
really want is - “
“- for the Captain to express her horror at the unappetising
prospect of hearing me sing and recite.”
“Well, er...yes, to put it that way,” Neelix said, wringing
his pudgy hands together. His heart was pumping quite fast,
and he knew that his only lung was working overtime. Tuvok
had to act quickly.
“Mr Neelix, I daresay that it is gratifying to know that a dislike
of poetry can effect the desired result, that of - “
“- getting the Captain to come out more often, and to know that
we love her, Mr Vulcan.”
Tuvok nodded. It was what humans would term, subterfuge. Underhand
methods, a reverse psychology that would spur the Captain into
action. He was aware, as many on board must have been, that the
Captain was experiencing a trying period. He had been witness
himself to her irrational behaviour during the Equinox events. At
one point she was ready to relegate him to his quarters too. “I’ve
already confined my first officer to quarters,” she had told him in
her anger. The anger had abated, and now that she was rational,
the severity of her actions had come to haunt her. They have, as he
told Commander Chakotay a year ago when they were traveling through
the void, become her constant companions. She was crucifying
herself again and he was not averse to Neelix’s suggestion that he
prod the Captain into action.
The crew thought that the Captain, through participating in the
Talent Night, would show through that her willingness to mix again
with the crew. It would show that she was set on a course to
find herself again. It was a state of affairs that he could concur
with.
Therefore, it was in the best interest of the Captain and her crew
that he take it upon himself to address her, and inform her that
he was to recite Vulcan poetry.
The Commander himself did not like his poetry much, so it would
be an interesting turn of events to see how the Captain would
take to his announcement.
***
“Don’t look now, Chakotay, but Tuvok’s on his way here,” Kathryn
whispered as she was finishing her coffee.
“Does he have the Tuvok look, or the Vulcan look?” Chakotay asked,
amused at Kathryn’s reluctance to receive her Chief of Security.
“The...Tuvok look. I think...”
“Then it’s something he wants.”
“How do you know?”
“I thought you knew, Kathryn. You’ve known him longer than I - “
“Ah, Commander Tuvok,” Kathryn said as she cut Chakotay’s words
short when Tuvok stood next to her. He declined when she offered
him a seat.
Chakotay looked with amusement at Kathryn and Tuvok. The Vulcan
appeared serious, but Chakotay could have sworn he spotted a
shadow of a smile. Then again, he could have imagined it. Vulcans
- Tuvok - was not given to smiling. Something’s afoot. He knew
it. Looking at the way Paris made a hasty exit after Neelix
dumped some food on him again, and the way B’Elanna and Harry
huddled as usual in the corner after they had spoken with Neelix,
something was up.
Anything that had Neelix in the equation was bound to lead to
either general disorder, or a complete surprise, or better still,
one of the Talaxian’s numerous ways in which he entertained
the crew.
Now, Tuvok.
“Captain, it has come to my attention that Mr Neelix is arranging
a Talent Night -”
“I’m not performing, Tuvok,” Kathryn interrupted.
“No, Captain. But I am.”
Chakotay burst out laughing as he saw Kathryn’s horrified expression
which she tried, with little success, to change. It was too late.
Tuvok had seen it.
“Try getting out of this one, Captain,” he choked out, his eyes
creasing as he enjoyed Kathryn’s embarrassment.
“I - er...it’s not how I meant it, Mr Tuvok,” she said, then shot
Chakotay a dirty look.
“You’re on your own, Captain,” he said, still shaking.
“Captain, much as I know how you do not have much tolerance for
long-winded Vulcan Poetics, I have been asked...” Tuvok paused
dramatically, then continued: “I have been begged to inculcate in
particular the new members of our crew the unsurpassed virtues of
Vulcan culture and the value of participation.”
“Tuvok, with all due respect, have compassion on their senses,”
Kathryn said, and shot Chakotay a look that read: “and on my poor
nerves...”
“Well then, Captain, I shall have to inform Neelix that as much
as I would have liked to perform my seventy six Vulcan Love Song
Cantos, you have stated your objection to my - “
“I said nothing of the kind, Tuvok. You - “
“Then what shall I tell Neelix?”
She hesitated, then started slowly. Her elbow was on the table and
her finger under her chin in a gesture that denoted her mulling
over some possibilities. It was obvious to Chakotay that Kathryn
was going to try to negotiate something.
“Tell him...tell him...”
Kathryn frowned heavily. How to get out of this? she thought as
Chakotay enjoyed the entire scene at her expense. He watched Tuvok,
then turned his eyes to Kathryn again. When Tuvok spoke, Chakotay
could hear the proverbial nail being hammered somewhere in a coffin.
“I will stand down, Captain, only if you participate on Talent
Night.”
“Not on your life - “
“Thank you, Captain. I have the pleasure of informing you that I
shall be reciting all seventy six cantos of the Vulcan Love Song
Cantos.”
“Tuvok!”
“Each canto contains twelve verses...”
Chakotay leaned over the table and touched Kathryn’s hand.
“Do it, Captain.”
“Et tu, Chakotay?”
“Definitely.”
Perhaps there had been a misunderstanding in the way the phrase was
interpreted, but Chakotay knew the instant Kathryn got that look in
her eyes, that he was trapped.
She addressed Tuvok, but kept her eyes on Chakotay all the time.
She waited, got a light in her eyes as he started squirming. He was
stewing. He looked to his left, saw in a haze that B’Elanna and
Harry’s eyes were on them, and, horror of horrors, Paris approached
the bench too.
“I’ll perform, Tuvok, on one condition.”
“What is that, Captain?” he asked, keeping a perfect stoic
countenance.
“Commander Chakotay is part of my act.”
“No!” Chakotay shouted, jumping from his seat, flinging his hands
up. He sat down quickly again, unaware that Tuvok had already
started walking back to his table. If he cared to look, he would
have seen something unusual. Something Tuvok did that was completely
out of character and therefore more worth the mirth that the action
generated.
Tom Paris slapped Tuvok’s palms, then he turned his own palms
up and Tuvok, with perfect seriousness and timing, slapped Tom’s
palms. The two of them winked conspiratorially in Neelix’s
direction before they ambled towards Tuvok’s table.
Chakotay looked horrified. The eyes of the entire party in the mess
hall were on him. He stared helplessly around for a few seconds,
then he plunged down on his chair again.
“You can’t do that, Kathryn!” he cried his outrage.
“I just did, Commander. For once the crew shall have the...pleasure
- and she emphasized the last word - of seeing Chakotay perform.”
“I will not. I don’t want to. I c-can’t!” His hands were spread in
supplication, as if he were begging her to have mercy.
“If I can do it, you can,” she said calmly. He almost swore. Did
she have to be so damned calm today? He had a holy horror of
performing in front an audience. He had never liked doing it, was
hopeless when he was at school and the Academy.
“I stammer, Captain...”
“You won’t have to speak.”
“I won’t?”
“No. You will dance.”
“That’s even worse!”
“You’ll get over it, Commander.
“Now why do I get the feeling I’m eating my own words?”
“Well, how many times haven’t you been my anchor, telling me to be
strong, to deal with it, to live with it, you are there for me...”
Chakotay gave a loud groan. Kathryn smiled. He looked at her and his
eyes grew wide. An understanding dawned on him, as it must have on
her.
“We’ve been had...”
“Finally, Chakotay, you’ve seen the light,” Kathryn said as she
leaned over and covered his hand with her own. She patted it twice,
and sat back in her chair. She raised one eyebrow, got that twist
to her mouth again when she smiled and said:
“We’ll give them a performance they’ll never forget.”
“Captain, in that case, I’ll do anything!”
***********
END PART TEN
FIRE DANCE
PART ELEVEN
“You're the first friendly faces we've seen in months.”
- Marla Gilmore
MARLA
They were coming. She could hear them. A thousand metallic balls
that rubbed together and made a thin screeching sound. There was
an ominous ring to it as the sound changed to a high-pitched
sonorous heaviness. It bore down from somewhere above her. The
sound became a figure with long, claw-like tentacles that reached
for her. It hissed and thrust, then jolted back before it
advanced with suddenness again...
No...
Marla sat, her knees drawn up with her arms hugging them tightly to
her. Short, painful rasps escaped her. She shivered uncontrollably,
her vain attempts to stop her teeth from chattering ending in a
prolonged wheeze as the air was sucked from her lungs. Her eyes
remained dry, although the first sob started building up in her,
rising from deep in her chest, and expelling as a soft gust.
No...
Killer!
No...
The sound closed in. Another sob and she buried her head by
covering it with her hands and pressing it down so that it locked
into the cleft made by her drawn up knees and her bosom.
Go away...
The screeching became an overwhelming buzz that turned her ears
into unwilling receptacles that carried the wail to her mind where
it settled, then unsettled her fragile control. This was no moving
organ sound that filled cathedrals with its majestic reverence and
sublime harmony. The sound turned into a low buzzing; the notes
contorting and turning, whirring in crazed, discordant cacophony.
She could feel again, like so many times before, the sensation of
going under as the alien sounds terrified her first, then receded
slowly. But they didn't depart. That thought registered in her
terror-stricken mind. They never go.
She was losing consciousness. One by one, the metallic balls moved
away slowly as she felt herself falling...falling... Somewhere,
she knew her erratic breathing began to betray her again.
Stay calm....
Keep awake...
Take one breath at a time, slowly, evenly.
Come on, you can do it.
The screeching suddenly rose to a high pitch. It stung her ears
again.
No, please...!
Go away!
Slow breathing...take it easy...
You can do it.
Breathing...breathing... Painful short gasps turned into a slow,
deep sucking in of air, gradually dissipating the pain in her chest
as it eased into a normal rhythm. The death sound of the aliens
moved away slowly into the distance, until they vanished completely
beyond the bulkhead.
She waited.
No sound.
She waited.
Silence at last. It hung in the air, until Marla could hear the
faint but blessedly familiar sounds of the ship. The soft humming
sound the ship's engines made as it moved at warp speed, someone
hammering something - perhaps a broken deck plate - into place,
voices...
Marla looked around her, the confined space in which she had been
sitting, becoming familiar. Lights at the end of the tunnel.
Tunnel?
She was in Jefferies tube 27.
Only then she burst into tears.
She sat, her head buried again between her arms. Her shoulders
shook violently with the force of her crying, deep sobs that
wracked her frame.
"Crewman Gilmore?"
A voice, youthful, like a child's.
Naomi Wildman.
Marla stilled, an instant in which her overwrought mind assimilated
the calmness of the child's voice. "I'm your man"-Naomi, who
introduced herself when Marla had first set foot on Voyager.
Marla lifted her head, swiped somewhat inelegantly with her sleeve
at her wet cheeks.
"N-naomi..."
"You know, Crewman Gilmore," Naomi said as she seated herself next
to Marla, supporting her back against the bulkhead, "we should
stop meeting like this."
Marla gave a tremulous laugh.
"I - I know. The last time was in Jefferies tube 15, and the time
before that in - "
"Jefferies tube 32. Where the rats are."
"There are rats?"
"Oh yes. To think there are rats on a starship."
"I think I heard someone say they were mice..."
"Oh, no! Rats!"
Marla laughed, relieved that she had company. "You know what they
say about rats on a ship? Sailing ships, I mean."
"No. Is there a legend about them?"
"Not that I know of, but when a ship sinks, the rats swim to
shore."
Naomi's eyes twinkled. She hooked her arm through Marla's. They
sat for a few minutes quietly, before Naomi stirred again.
"Your Captain Ransom went down with his ship..."
"Yes - yes, he did, Naomi. He saved my life, you know."
"I know. He made you beam the three of you and Seven and the
Doctor to Voyager."
"He changed, Naomi. I'd like to think that he had a change of
heart."
"He must have, if he wanted you to join us on this ship."
Marla sighed, then she gave Naomi a squeeze.
"You are the first friend I made here, Miss Captain's Assistant."
"Thank you, Marla. We are a family here, if you know what I mean."
Naomi looked up into Marla's eyes, and Marla smiled.
"I know." Marla sighed, a sound that was not lost on Naomi.
"Something has distressed you again, Marla. I was looking for
you in the mess hall. You were going to explain to me about
playing the violin."
"I'm sorry, child. I - I..." Marla paused, felt a constriction
in her throat. After six weeks on the ship, she was still a bundle
of nerves most of the time in the presence of certain crewmembers.
Especially the engineering crew. She felt at home, yet displaced.
She knew her work inside out, could operate on crisis relief,
think on her feet all the time. But she had to earn their trust.
The Chief Engineer was constantly looking over her shoulder,
though she had been told that B'Elanna Torres looked over anyone's
shoulder if they thought to tamper with her precious engines. No,
B'Elanna Torres was not unfriendly, just...there. It gave her the
shivers, and caused her to doubt herself.
How could they not be viewed with distrust? Voyager lost two crew
during their battles with the Equinox and the aliens. She could
feel her neck hair rising whenever she passed some of the Voyager
crew in the corridors. After six weeks...
She sighed.
"The - the Captain wishes to see me at 2100 in her ready room,"
Marla offered.
"And?" Naomi smiled. Whenever she herself reported to the ready
room, Captain Janeway was always friendly with her.
"I - I am afraid, if you must know."
Naomi moved herself so that she sat on the opposite side, facing
Marla. In childish fashion, Naomi placed her hands on Marla's
knees, and rested her chin on her hands. Marla leaned forward and
touched the girl's hair. A singled braid was formed from her top
hair, and hanged down, reaching into Naomi's lower back. Then
Marla's hand cupped Naomi's cheek.
"Yes..." she sighed again. "I'm afraid..."
"You don't know why the Captain wishes to speak with you?" Naomi
asked, bringing out her left hand to cover Marla's.
"No."
"You shouldn't be, you know."
"I know! But it's just - it's just that I remember the look on her
face when she addressed the five of us in the board room. She
looked so...so angry."
Marla closed her eyes as she thought of how the Captain spoke that
day. Even now, she could feel her heart racing. She was now Crewman
Gilmore, plain and simple. Crewman with very few privileges on
Voyager. She felt anew the burn behind her eyelids. Several times
she hyperventilated when she felt the turbolift doors closing,
the walls coming towards her, and that sound... The second time it
happened, Naomi found her.
Now, the Captain wanted to see her. Summoned, was more like it.
Summoned. What had she done wrong? She had wracked her brain the
entire time since she had received that communication.
"It may be just a courtesy visit, Marla," Noah assured her earlier.
"Yes, perhaps to furnish more information about the Equinox."
"That scares the hell out of me, James," she replied when he piped
up.
"Come on, chin up, Marla. You've got to show your courage," Noah
said again. She had looked at Noah then, the sides of his mouth
carved with deep grooves, and the knitted brow even more pronounced.
His dark eyes looked perpetually sad. She wondered why he sounded
so different, though, as if he knew the Captain really just
wanted to have a chat with her.
"I'll try, but I- I still don't know how I will be received. You
know how she looked at us, how tough she is."
"She - she won't kill you," Noah said.
"You sound very certain. Are you beginning to like Captain Janeway,
Noah?"
Noah just smiled and repeated:
"She won't kill you."
She knew what the Captain did to him. Everybody knew.
Naomi's voice broke through her thoughts.
"Marla."
"Hmmm?"
"Smile, please? You are very beautiful, especially when you smile."
Marla's face relaxed as she smiled.
"See? That's better. Now, when you see the Captain, just remember
this..."
"What?"
"You know, rats."
"Rats?"
"Yes, rats. They leave the ship at the first sign of trouble."
Marla laughed this time.
"I get the message."
"I bet you do. Now, are we going to go to the mess hall?"
"You want violin lessons?"
"Oh, yes!"
"Oh no!" Marla said. Then her face turned sombered dramatically.
"What?" Naomi asked as they started crawling through the Jefferies
tube towards the entrance that would take them to deck 6.
"I don't have enough replicator rations."
"You don't?"
Marla sighed. On the Equinox they didn't have functioning
replicators the last months. Now she, Noah, and the other three
were on far stricter rationing than the rest of the crew. All she
could replicate so far, was the bow, and that cost her all of four
weeks of credits.
Now she had nothing, and had to work the next five months if she
wanted her own instrument... Playing on the holodeck... She had
only half an hour once a week. What was that? Nothing if she wanted
to train again...
"No, I used up all mine for my favourite meal this week," she lied.
No need to let the child know the politics and precariousness of
the situation they were in.
"Oh."
"But I tell you what. When you have your time on the holodeck, you
may invite me, and we can programme the instruments, then I can
teach you."
"Thank you Marla," Naomi said excitedly as the reached the end
of the tube.
"And Marla?"
"What?"
"I like you very much."
"I like you too, pumpkin."
*****
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Noah asked as Marla entered the
turbolift on deck 9.
“Don’t worry, Noah, it’s something I must simply get used to,”
Marla said. Noah could see the apprehension in her eyes as she
faced him.
“You could always go via the Jefferies tubes.”
Marla’s smile didn’t light up her face. The brightness Noah knew
could reach Marla’s eyes, was absent. He knew that she tried
desperately to overcome her claustrophobia. Marla had been
terrorised on two occasions by the aliens when they appeared
through the walls of the turbolifts. She had barely been able to
defend herself then, but the experience left a chasm in her
self-confidence.
“You know, I wondered about that. How is it that I don’t feel this
when I’m in the Jefferies tubes?”
“You weren’t attacked there. It was one of the few places you were
actually safe, Marla. Now, are you going, or not?”
“Deck One,” Marla said firmly, then sagged back against the wall
as the doors closed, and Noah’s face disappeared from view. Her
smile froze, and her heart started to hammer painfully against the
ribcage.
She wondered idly how it would have looked if she popped through
the port of the Jefferies tube that led into the Captain’s ready
room.
The Captain.
Breathe in deeply, Marla, she told herself. You can get through
this. The aliens are gone. Now there is only the Captain...the
Captain... You are on Voyager. There are no broken deck plates,
no bulkheads that need repairs. The replicators work, you can go
into the holodecks.
This is not the Equinox.
She looked around her in the lift, searching for the first sign of
the noise, the breach in the wall that would let the alien through.
Nothing...
Breathe. Be calm...
She won’t kill you, Marla. She is human...human...
When the doors opened on deck one, Marla stared at the wide bridge
area. There was that pilot Tom Paris at the helm. She stepped out,
froze as Tuvok and Harry Kim looked up from their stations. Both
nodded their greeting. She smiled tentatively, nodded to them, and
when she moved to her right, she saw Chakotay look up at her and
smile.
Small comfort, his friendly face.
Her stomach churned, her heart raced, and her palms were clammy.
She walked, took the two steps down, and stood in front of the
ready room door. Her lips moved, and she clenched and unclenched
her fists.
“You may press the chime,” she heard Tuvok say evenly.
She took a deep breath and pressed.
From the depths of the room she could hear the captain saying
“come”.
*****
The captain did not look up from where she sat at her desk,
studying a PADD. In the few moments Marla stood inside the door,
she could look at Captain Janeway. For the first time since that
fateful day in the boardroom, she was directly in the Captain’s
presence again.
She looked...tired, Marla thought.
She coughed, then said: “You wanted to see me, Captain.”
Kathryn Janeway looked up at last. Marla held her breath as she saw
the Captain’s eyes. There was only the whisper of a smile on the
Captain’s face.
“Ah, Crewman Gilmore. You’re dead on time,” Kathryn Janeway
said.
Marla must have imagined it as she noticed the appreciative tone of
the Captain’s voice.
Still, her state of nervous tension blotted out any relief she
might have felt as she blurted the words:
“Have I done something wrong, Captain?”
*********
END PART ELEVEN
FIRE DANCE
PART TWELVE
“Now that you’ve seen the Captain, she’s not as ogrish as you
thought,” Chakotay told Marla where she was sitting at a table in
the mess hall.
He smiled when he saw her sitting away from her usual group. They
were finally emerging from their shells, and the rest of the crew
took great pains to welcome them into the Voyager fold. Marla
looked a lot more relaxed and not as pained as she had been
before. Lieutenant Walter Baxter had been sitting with her and he
greeted Chakotay quickly before he excused himself to go to his
post.
Chakotay had been in consultation with B’Elanna, who had given him
a glowing testimonial of the Crewman’s work.
“No...” Marla replied, smiling.
Her eyes creased, and she looked happier than in the previous weeks,
Chakotay thought privately. There was a relief on her face that
made her look suddenly younger. He doubted whether she would
overcome her claustrophobia, but even in these circumstances, Marla
had to work at it. Well, there were always the Baxters and Naomis
who were on hand to help her.
“It probably went better than you expected...”
“Yes, Commander,” Marla said with a little breathless air. “It
did...” She was quiet for a while, her hands around the mug of
coffee she was drinking.
“Do you like coffee, Marla?” Chakotay asked.
“I love it!”
“Then you take after the Captain,” he said knowingly.
“She offered me a cup when I was in the ready room last night."
There was a pause, and Chakotay waited for her to speak again.
“Captain Janeway...she - she is very kind,” was Marla’s soft
response.
“Once you get to know her, Marla,” Chakotay said kindly.
“I am happy to be a part of this crew, Commander. Honoured really.”
“This is a fine crew, Marla. The best I’ve worked with, although
they were forged from two crews with so many differences at the
beginning - “
“I was very surprised to hear that, Commander,” Marla offered, more
confident now since her visit to the Captain’s ready room.
“Then you will know that you will - “
“Fit right in?”
“Taken out of my mouth. But yes, give the crew a chance. They will
embrace you. It may take a little time, but just work the best you
can, Crewman. There’s nothing here that gains more respect than your
willingness to pull your weight and more.”
Marla thought how she had already been influenced by the way the
Voyager crew worked. She gave it her absolute best. Only yesterday
B'Elanna commended her on her quick-thinking during a minor
emergency in Engineering. She had glowered under the warm praise
of the half-Klingon woman who had such a presence in her domain.
It was a wonderful feeling. On the Equinox they were constantly
battling against hostile aliens, constantly on the run, it seemed.
What precious little time they had for rest and relaxation was
spent mulling over new ways to get home faster or to protect
themselves.
Home. It was their beacon in the total dark in which they found
themselves. No one smiled much, and Captain Ransom - such an
introspective man - was always guiding them, encouraging them not
to lose faith. She missed him sometimes. She had, when they still
had access to their database, downloaded the beautiful Pendarin into
the synaptic stimulator for him. Pendarin was his home. It's where
he always went. Always. She knew he took refuge there, a place he
could experience peace.
It was not much different here, she thought. Going home. The crew
worked with understated urgency. They were in a hurry, yet never
appeared so. And, she admitted with reluctance, Voyager had a
command team that was rock-solid.
Commander Chakotay should have been first officer of the Equinox.
"Hello..."
She started from her musing when she heard the Commander's voice.
She smiled sheepishly. He was such an easy man to talk with...
“May I ask you something, Commander?”
“What is it, Marla?”
“Are you going to perform at Talent Night?”
“Not you too!”
“I think there are ripples of excitement going through the ship.
I understand you have never performed before - “
“And I think Voyager’s gossip mill is too hard at work.”
“I’m looking forward to the concert, Commander,” Marla said as
Chakotay rose from his seat.
“Crewman, don’t put your hopes up too much, will you?” he muttered.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a ship to run...”
*********
The best kept secret on the ship was about to come out two days
later as Marla, Noah, James, Angelo and Brian - the Equinox Five
as the crew referred to them in the beginning, made their way to the
Captain’s ready room.
They had been sitting at their old table in the mess hall and as
if by mutual consent they rose and proceeded to the exit. They were
watched by all who happened to have their lunch at that hour.
“I see the Party of Five is on a mission,” Chell said to Mariah
Henley.
Megan snickered delicately, then smiled at Chell. “They probably
want to make a joint representation of stating their needs.”
“They wouldn’t! They’re too scared of the Captain to say anything.
They’ll simply present their query then run for cover,” Jenny
added.
“They’re in for a surprise. I think the captain will just arch one
eyebrow, and throw them for a loop,” Chell responded. “Now me,” he
added, “I would just stand tall before the Captain and come
straight out with my request!”
“Stand tall? Chell, you have yet to see your toes, not to
mention - “
“Jenny, Jenny, stop right there!” Megan cautioned laughingly.
“Where? That part of the anatomy that - “
“That’s it! Look at them,” Chell tried to divert the focus from
himself.
“Oh, the Five are going!”
“I wish you wouldn’t refer to them as 'The Five'. It’s so not
complimentary,” Samantha said. “They’re a part of this crew now,
part of our family. They are having as much difficulty fitting in
as it was for two crews to join in the beginning - “
“Yes, and for persons like Seven, who rubbed most of us up the
wrong way in the beginning. But she made the effort, and has gained
the respect of her comrades,” Mariah said again.
“Yes, I know they are working really hard trying to shrug off the
image that they’ve been monsters.” Samantha’s voice was soft, yet
calm. The others nodded soberly.
“I’d still like to see their faces once the Captain tells them!”
Chell said, wringing his hands together as if he made a bet with
someone.
They looked to the door of the mess hall and watched Marla vanish
from view.
*
Kathryn Janeway looked at her chronometer and determined that the
chime to her ready room would ring in about five minutes. She
awaited the arrival of a certain delegation. She hadn't
specifically set aside any time for interviews, but she knew that
the knock would come. She smiled a little wickedly. She wanted to
see their faces when they received the news. This was one of the
nicest things of being a Captain of a starship, she thought. The
look on the face of an ensign or crewman or officer when they
received a special commendation made being stranded out here a
little easier. Even just a kind word. Like she found the other day
when she spoke with Noah in the hydroponics bay. It was for her a
priceless moment. She basked for a long time afterwards in the warm
feeling just seeing the look on Noah’s face, and his declaration
that he was glad to be a member of the crew. In retrospect she
realised that Chakotay was right. He’s always right, she mused. She
needed to face Noah on that score, and needed to be forgiven. As
much as she sought that, Noah desired it as well.
Taking up a PADD, she smiled again. Yes, she would love to see
their expressions. Chakotay had been here, and they had gone over
the data, making certain that it was correct.
Chakotay had just gone to take his place on the bridge. He had
finally begun to show enthusiasm for Talent Night. What she wanted
do to required a second and perhaps - depending on how creative
Tom could be with the programming - a third person to create the
authenticity she needed.
The moment Tuvok towered above her two days ago in the mess hall,
she sensed that something was afoot. Until the instant she agreed
to perform, she realised that she and Chakotay had both been set
up.
“We learned that from the master, Captain,” Tom Paris said
yesterday when she spoke with him. “Why, you got rid of a few
unpleasant personages that way in the last year alone,” he added.
She had to smile.
“You trained us well, Captain,” he said as he made to leave, giving
her an old-worlde bow.
“Thank you, Tom. It was magnanimous of you.”
“Our pleasure, Captain,” he said with his now familiar smirk that
these days denoted more his great humour than hiding old angsts.
Kathryn sighed.
The idea had taken root while Tuvok was speaking to her.
“I need to do this, Chakotay,” she said last night when they had
dinner in his quarters.
“I understand. More than you know.”
“Then you also understand why I need you with me on this project.”
“Kathryn, what I know...what I see, is the old Kathryn returning.
I also know that you never do things in half-measures. You are
putting everything into it, and so will I.”
“Thank you, Commander. It’s important that we show them a - “
“United front.”
“Yes.”
*
Kathryn gave a sigh. This time it was one of relief. Much of the
depression was slowly draining from her. She knew, as Chakotay so
correctly asserted, that those memories will always be there. But
she was recovering, and was rebuilding the fortitude to come to
terms with what happened. It was that thought, the idea that she
could look back on what happened with a clarity of mind and the
memory of it serving as a mental check against acting irrationally
that provided the freedom she was feeling now. She remembered
something Tom's father once told her:
"We turn our mistakes into learning experiences, never to be
repeated once we've been through that fire..."
It was a great man who told her that.
She had come through fire, a purifying force that left her
stripped, only to clothe her again in freedom, wisdom, respect...
Much of her recovery was due to her first officer.
She had always been so arrogant in assuming that one could deal
with sorrow, with guilt, with remorse and the inability to rise
from the ashes, on one's own. She learned the hard way that there
came a time in one's life when you had to admit:
"Help me, I can't do it on my own..."
Chakotay was truly a man of excellence.
“Paris is after all, your personal reclamation project,” his words
rang that day in her ready room, when he complained about Tom’s
insubordinate behaviour.
.
*****
Tom Paris stole a quick glance behind him as the turbolift doors
swished open. He smiled, looked across at the engineering station
where B’Elanna was sitting and winked at her. She looked at the
newcomers on the bridge.
“They’re here...” she whispered.
“Yeah. I’d like to be a fly on the wall in there,” Tom whispered
back, then quickly turned his attention to his work again.
Chakotay had also turned around, acknowledged their greetings
before he looked at the console again between the two command
chairs.
They moved carefully past Tuvok, and Noah, who formed the vanguard
of the little delegation, took the two steps down as one step and
pressed the chime. Marla and the other three cast their eyes around
the bridge before the stared at the ready room door again.
On the Captain’s signal, they entered.
******
Kathryn Janeway rose from her seat and acknowledged the five
crewmen who stood on front of her desk. They stood stiffly on
attention. They looked a little tense she thought.
“At ease, crewmen,” she said. They relaxed only fractionally.
“Now, what can I do for you?” She turned to stand at her sofa, and
first stared out the viewport before she turned to face them again.
They were quiet.
“Which one of you will break the ice?” the Captain asked. They
looked at each other, then Noah nodded.
He cleared his throat, looked a little embarrassed, then got the
“in for a penny” look in his eyes. He coughed again.
“Captain, we have come here to thank you.”
“Thank me? What for, Noah?”
“It was not something which we expected, Captain.”
“We want to let you know how much we appreciate it that you’ve given
each of us additional replicator rations and holodeck time, Captain,”
Marla said softly.
Angelo Tassoni who had been quiet all the time, said: “We do not
deserve it, Captain. It was very kind of you to award us extra
replicator credits.” He was actually smiling, Kathryn thought.
“We promise Captain, to do our best for this ship,” Noah said.
“That goes without saying, Captain Janeway,” declared Brian.
Kathryn left the viewport, and came to stand in front of them.
“I gave you all those extra rations?”
“So that we could be on par with the rest, Captain,” Marla
iterated.
“On par, you say?”
“Yes, Captain.” Noah almost barked the ‘captain’ part again. He
looked down at the Captain who looked so diminutive against him.
This time she smiled at him. His own face broke into a grin.
Noah thought he’d die in that moment.
Marla could see a hundred violins.
James envisaged replicating a bunch of roses to offer Susan
Nicoletti.
Angelo thanked his sainted grandfather that he could now have a
copy of “War and Peace”.
Brian? Brian saw little rows of choc-nut sundaes floating past him.
“All because of you, Captain,” Noah beamed.
Kathryn Janeway walked round her desk and flicked on her computer.
She looked at them as they stood at ease, hands behind their backs.
“And you want to thank me?”
“Aye, Captain.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Yes, Sir! Captain!”
That moment Kathryn delivered the blow.
“I didn’t do it.”
There was a stunned pause. Expressions ranged from gaping mouths
to popping eyes.
“What?”
“Really?”
“Captain!”
“How?”
Kathryn Janeway entered the codes into her vid-com.
“Ready, Neelix?” she asked.
“Yes, Captain!” Neelix’s smile flashed on the screen.
Kathryn turned the vid-com so that all five could have a view of
the screen. She rose from her chair and walked round again to join
the others.
“Gentlemen, Marla...” Neelix started to address the as yet to
recover five crewmen, “I have the pleasure of informing you that
every member on board the ship has donated a few of his or her
credits, to be pooled and divided equally amongst the five of you.
It is our way of showing that we wish to welcome you formally as
members of this intrepid crew, of this intrepid ship.”
Neelix paused to take a deep breath. He nudged the crewman standing
just behind him and continued:
“Even Chell gave some of his rations.” Chell waved his pudgy hands
at them, and nodded vigorously.
“I - it is an honour,” Marla said, her face still with that
incredulous look on it.
“Thank you... It means a lot to us,” Noah said, “to feel home
here.”
When communication closed again, Kathryn Janeway returned to her
seat.
“It was their idea,” she told them. “They wanted to do it, and
Commander Chakotay and I worked late last night to set it up and
activate it at 1200 today.
“I - I don’t know what to say, Captain,” Marla started,
“except ‘thank you...’”
“Well, after seven weeks on board Voyager, I’d say that you earned
it. I expect you continue with the same high standards you’ve all
adopted, and continue to show commitment and a sound working
relationship with the crew in your respective departments.”
“Aye, Captain,” they chorused.
“And Marla, you can have your violin now,” Kathryn Janeway said
with a smile.
“Thank you, Captain,” she breathed.
“Dismissed.”
*
It was five very happy crewmen who left the ready room. They walked
to the turbolift in a very dignified manner, but the bridge crew
missed nothing. Harry smiled broadly, Seven turned to face them
and said:
“You have been formally assimilated into the collective of
Voyager.”
Chakotay sighed with satisfaction. Things were finally looking
better. Kathryn was going to dance, and he was going to dance with
her. She was focused again, and last night she had been on her
mettle as his dinner companion. It was a Kathryn he liked,
assertive as always, yet soft and compassionate and fair. This was
the side of Kathryn the former members of the Equinox had not seen.
This side of her made them, like the rest of the crew, want to lay
their lives down for her.
They had experienced her style of command, and however loyal they
had been to their former Captain, they took to her leadership
naturally. They had no doubt thought that Kathryn’s absolutism at
the time of the Equinox crisis and the period immediately
following, made her unliked, unloved, unpopular. They could see how
her own crew went about their tasks, how concerned they were for
their captain. It was even possible that they could see through the
crew's reactions that Kathryn may not have been herself. Yes, anger
is brief madness...
Most of all, Kathryn’s crew helped in the last week as much in her
restoration as he wanted to take credit for. She was touched by their
concern. If ever there was a time, since they last openly disobeyed
her order by refusing to leave her behind in the void, that they
declared their faith and respect and love for her, it was now. They
ganged up on her, it seemed. They refused to allow her to dwell on
her actions. She loved her crew all the more for it. It was this
quality of the crew of Voyager that had the most positive resonance
in the hearts of Marla, James, Noah, Brian and Angelo.
Ex unitate vires.
Unity is strength.
He heard the turbolift doors slide close and knew that the five
crewman were gone.
Tom turned to look at Chakotay and his broad grin was so infectious
that the rest of the officers on the bridge smiled too.
“Commander,” he said, “thank you.”
“For what?”
“For making the suggestion in the first place.”
***********
END PART TWELVE
FIRE DANCE
PART THIRTEEN
INVITATION TO THE DANCE
Tom Paris breathed a sigh of relief as he sat back in his chair in
the holodeck research lab. The first subroutines had been
programmed for the Captain's dance alone. Three jobs were still
waiting, and would have to remain on his waiting list until all the
segments for this dance were completed. The holographic dancers
were all completed, as were the fires that had to respond to the
Captain's proximity and body temperature.
Then there was Marla's partner who had to be programmed in. He
made sure that the hologram could be called up whenever Marla
needed to rehearse.
He smiled to himself. The first thing she replicated with her
additional rations was a violin. She would still have to eat
Neelix's food for a while, but not for the long period that had
been projected as before. Then it would have been months before she
could replenish her "meagre savings" as they called it. She had
been deeply grateful to the rest of the crew for the opportunity
she was afforded of replicating her musical instrument.
"I lost my own instrument in our 'Week of Hell', when we lost half
our crew, Tom," she said shyly when she approached him with her
request. "The captain has asked me to play, as she needed string
instruments as her accompaniment."
"We are building quite a little orchestra on the ship," he had told
her a few days ago. She had been surprised to hear that Harry
played the clarinet, and that he was a member of the Juilliard
Youth Orchestra. She had been too, but probably before Harry's
time.
Now he was waiting for her to arrive at the holodeck where she was
to meet her fellow violinist.
There was an undercurrent of excitement that ran through the ship
as the crew anticipated Talent Night. Most of the regular
performers with the exception naturally of Tuvok, would be
participating. But it was the Captain's participation everyone was
looking forward to. She had been through a rough time in the last
two months. Her treatment of Noah, her pursuit of Ransom to the
point of putting Voyager and her crew at risk, had filled her with
guilt. It was, he could understand, something that made her recoil
with disgust and shame just thinking she acted like she did. He
knew very well how guilt can trip one up in unexpected moments.
She had been severely depressed since the day the Equinox was
destroyed. All of them had seen that night at the potluck, how
distressed she had been, fleeing from the mess hall with an irate
Commander ordering them to enjoy themselves.
He had to give the Commander full marks for refusing to accept the
Captain's morbidity, her brooding, flogging herself, he supposed
because she could not expiate what she had done.
Chakotay was indeed an exceptional first officer.
Tom sighed. It was something he would have liked to aspire to.
He continued in silence for the next few minutes, and when he was
done he sat back feeling greatly satisfied.
.
"It's a one off, Tom," the Captain said. "It's a special
performance with a very special message."
"I'll do my best, Captain," he assured her.
He rose and left the lab, only to meet Marla in the corridor as she
approached the holodeck.
"Ready?" he asked her. She was carrying her violin, held with such
pride that he felt a lump in his throat.
"Yes..." she said softly, unable to mask her excitement. Her eyes
were shining.
"Well, Marla, he's waiting in there. Actually, he's been asking
about who the second violinist will be for the Concerto for Double
Violins..."
"You're joking, Tom."
"Marla, go in and find out. You'll be pleasantly surprised."
Tom gave her a salute and walked down the corridor, whistling the
first bars of the Largo. Marla smiled and waited till he vanished
from view, then she entered the holodeck.
*****
It was semi-dark, and Marla could discern only the silhouette of
a figure on the far side of the sandy compound. There was a circle
of fire in the centre. She stood still for a few moments, taking in
the scene.
The figure moved so that he stood in the circle of light. Only now
she could see his face. He had his violin tucked under his arm, and
the bow in his hand. He smiled at her and she frowned.
"Hello," he said and stepped forward, holding out his hand.
Marla gave a soft gasp. She had dreamed of playing one day like this
man. They were always just dreams...dreams... so many things happened
in between. But here he was, smiling at her. She gave up wondering
at Tom Paris's genius at creating holograms. This...this...
"Mr Pinchas Zukerman?"
"Yes. I am Pinchas."
"Hello," she said shyly, "my name is Marla Gilmore."
"Ah, Miss Gilmore! I'm glad to make your acquaintance," he said as
he shook her hand.
"I am most honoured, Mr Zukerman!"
"Please, do call me Pinchas. All my friends do."
"Thank you," she replied, then started to tune her instrument, an
action he immediately followed. Notes filled the quiet air.
"What are we playing?" he asked her as he took a few strokes of
his bow over the strings.
Marla gaped at him. He was so accomplished!
"Bach - "
"Ah, his concerto for double violins."
"Yes, and we'll have the Juilliard Youth Orchestra playing."
"A wise choice. Did you study there?"
"I did," she replied.
"Good. Shall we?" he asked, then started the first bars of the
concerto.
Marla thought absently that she would never want to serve on
another ship. She was ecstatic as she joined in the harmony of
the concerto, smiling at Pinchas as he led the way.
*****
The atmosphere a fortnight later, exactly ten weeks to the day
the Equinox was destroyed, the crew of Voyager prepared for what
they declared was the most important Talent Night Neelix had ever
organised.
In all departments those crew who were on duty could watch the
entire concert, played from the holodeck, on their vid-screens.
Many crew members sat in the mess hall where screens were set up
at strategic places that groups of five or six could watch
together. Other crew who were not on duty, and who preferred to
remain in their quarters, could watch from the privacy of their
cabins. The crew on the bridge reaped the greatest benefit. The
concert was going to be relayed directly onto the main viewscreen.
Thanks to Tom, they had the best view. Naturally, the few senior
senior crewmembers who were on the holodeck had the best of the
interactive viewing. Some of them were in fact going to be part
of the main item on the programme. The Captain's dance.
It was only a very few who knew what the nature of dance was. Tom,
because he was the programmer; Commander Chakotay, because he was
a part of the act. Two or three crewmembers were also part of the
performance. Marla was in the holodeck with her Pinchas Zukerman,
to play the accompaniment to the Captain's dance.
Although most did not know the nature of the Captain's dance, they
knew at least that it was not the "Dying Swan" dance she did a few
years ago and which she reprised from time to time.
They were naturally curious. But Tom, Marla, Commander Chakotay
and the Captain remained mum. B'Elanna tried her best to extort
information from her boyfriend, but Tom was steadfast in not
giving away anything that might ruin the surprise or the import
of the dance.
And so the crew waited. In the mess hall was the greatest buzz
of excitement. Little groups huddled together. One pleasant
thing to see was that Noah Lessing sat with Susan Nicoletti,
Walter Baxter and Naomi Wildman. Brian and Angelo were with Chell
and Mariah Henley.
It was the most positive evidence that they were beginning to fit
in and make friends. Especially Noah had found that centre again,
and in the last week alone he demonstrated his willingness to
go ten extra miles. It was something that did not go unnoticed. He
was smiling a lot more now, looked far more relaxed, and Neelix,
looking at the fine young man, said:
"It seems like you've been on Voyager for years, Mr Lessing."
It was a statement that made Noah's heart swell with pride.
Yes, there was an air of peace on the ship. A period, a lull before
the next emergency would arise. Nobody thought of that now.
They were ready to see their beloved Captain dance for life and
renewal.
*****
"Chakotay..."
"Hey, are you getting nervous?"
"No."
"What's the matter?"
"Nothing." Her answer was soft, reflective. She was standing in
front of her mirror, and he stood at the entrance to her bedroom.
He was dressed in a skin-toned body suit, but he wore a long
cape over it.
Kathryn's dress was something else, Chakotay thought. It had a
paneled skirt, and the panels were in shades of red, orange and
yellow. Each panel ended in a long point. He thought that it
reminded him of flames around her calves.
"It will go smoothly, Kathryn," he assured her.
She looked at him them. On her crown was a tiny tiara that shone
in the light.
"How do I look?" she asked.
"Like someone on fire."
"Chakotay," she said as she grabbed her cape from the bed and
walked to him, "let's go."
,
Chakotay thought as he held his arm for Kathryn. She linked her
own gratefully through his, and they proceeded for her door.
The few crewmembers who were on their way to their duty stations
that evening, watched in fascination as Captain and First Officer
walked down the corridors on their way to the holodecks.
They greeted their commanding officers, then stared at them as they
passed. The crewmembers who were fortunate to witness this,
quickly spread the message to their friends, telling them that
it would not be long now. The Captain and Commander were on their
way.
They relayed this with pride. Never had they seen such a grand
manifestation of a brilliant working team of Captain and First
Officer. He stayed by her side through her traumatic weeks
when they thought the Captain would never emerge from her state
of gloom.
And here she was, smiling, joking, teasing like she used to do
before. She even graced many of them with her famous arched brow.
One she lifted whenever she was in humour, or expressed her
disbelief in a crewmember's wild imaginings.
Yes, it was they who had butterflies in their stomachs! They
rode the waves of excitement that appeared to run through the ship.
After tonight, Captain Kathryn Janeway would seal forever her
allegiance with her family, one she thought she forsook in her days
of pain, in her pursuit of something over which she later felt such
a deep remorse. She would, by performing tonight, tell them in a
visual way through her dance, all that she had been, all that she
had changed. It was for most people a difficult thing to do: to
admit to shortcomings and errors, to apologise for mistakes made
and to beg for clemency. Captain Janeway was as they well knew, a
fearless woman. She would face her demons head-on. She would, as
most people are not wont to do, be saying all those things through
the medium of dance.
******
Kathryn and Chakotay entered the holodeck. It was already dark,
with the only light coming from the moon, and the fire in the
centre of the enclosure. The dancers were sitting around the
fire. One place was not filled yet.
Chakotay looked at Kathryn. He squeezed her hand.
"Chakotay..."
"You can do it," he encouraged softly as he saw her waver slightly.
"Thank you..."
This time he gave her a gentle hug. He stood back again, and raised
her hand to his lips.
"Go well, Kathryn Janeway," he said softly, before he left to the
spot that had been left open for him.
Kathryn walked to the far side of the enclosure where she melted
into the darkness.
The dancers held hands and lowered their heads, as if in prayer or
supplication or reverence.
Marla Gilmore and Pinchas Zukerman smiled as their chins rested on
their instruments.
Soft music rose up. The wailing of the two violins eased slowly into
the quiet of the night, retaining its diminuendo, filling the air,
drifting, traveling... Heads went up and faces turned towards the
fire. Each face glowed in the light, each face filled with
ecstasy as they stared with parted lips at the fire. Arms and
necks glistened. Then, as if given a silent signal, their heads
bent again.
The music flowed, the plaintive notes hanging in the air, hovering
over the dancers. A gentle melody spoke in the cold breeze a
language of movement and harmony. Twin melodies in which one eased
imperceptibly to hover over the other, then, suddenly, the lower
tones of the other would dominate... yet never overtake.
There was a stir among the group as a lone figure materialised,
an apparition from the darkness. Her eyes conveyed strength, but
were tinged with sadness. They remained fixed as she moved through
a parted link in the human chain. With soft, graceful steps, toes
pointed, she moved toward the centre until she stood on the stone
surrounded by the fire.
Kathryn Janeway was ready to begin her fire dance.
"The need prevails in every single man
to rest his restless soul, so that he can -
where all may see his conflict - find the chance,
through fire's flames be cleansed in fevered dance."
*******
THE END
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