DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns the characters from The Next Generation and Voyager, but the rest of the story belongs to myself and m.c. moose. Please feel free to reproduce this story for personal use as you like, keeping the disclaimer/author/e-mail information in tact. For use elsewhere, please ask for permission.
SPECIAL THANKS to Annick, EM Bonner, Jen and of course, m.c. moose for your comments and suggestions. Where would we be without beta readers?
Copyright 1999 by NODA
noda@win.bright.net
*********
*Auld Lang Syne: Chakotay's Verse*
Chakotay looked at the goblet Janeway had set before him. He knew he was procrastinating; looking for excuses to leave the past in the past. But she was right. It was time to exorcise his demons. The way his memories haunted him this evening was evidence enough he hadn't gotten over the experience, even after nine years.
Kathryn's hand still rested on his shoulder, affectionately squeezing the tense muscles. "I didn't think this was going to be so difficult," he laughed nervously.
"I know it's hard to start," she said. "How about I give you the same opening you gave me? Where were you when you first heard?" Chakotay's mind drifted, almost against his will to his posting of nine years ago: tactical officer of the USS *Gage*. An Apollo class ship defending sector 21749 from the Cardassians. As the memories started to come unbidden, Chakotay wasn't sure which left the worst taste in his mouth--the blood wine he'd toasted Kathryn with or thoughts of that New Year's Eve. Sighing, he chose the lesser of two evils.
Reaching for the goblet, he held it in both hands. "Here's to exorcism," he tried to joke, but the smile on his face turned to a grimace even before he took a long drink from the cup. "Where was I when I first heard?" he asked rhetorically. "Outside the mess hall of the*Gage*. I had just been using every bit of what I thought was my considerable charm to worm my way out of attending the New Year's festivities the rest of the crew had arranged. . . ."
*********
Chakotay surveyed the crowd gathered in the mess hall. Several of his crewmates occupied the tables, all discussing varying aspects of what they hoped for the evening, the new year. There were the usual speculations on who would end up with whom once the party started to wind down, as well as estimates on how much real alcohol each planned to consume. Chakotay shook his head slightly as he finished up his mug of tea.
"Is this seat taken?" he heard a feminine voice ask. Raising his eyes, he saw Ensign Denia Barrc, who, more often than not, was his replacement on the bridge. Her black eyes were set off by the robin's-egg blue of her skin and she was smiling at him. He couldn't help but grin back. She had an engaging smile and he'd always enjoyed the verbal battles they had, each trying to out-do the other as they flirted. Chakotay was aware of Denia's more-than-casual interest in him, but he'd never considered her anything more than a friend. It wasn't because she was Bolian; it was more that she just didn't have that certain something he felt he needed to enter into a more serious relationship. Not that it stopped him from being flattered by her attention, though.
"Have a seat," Chakotay offered. "So, what's up?" he asked conversationally.
"Oh, nothing much, you were just sitting here all alone so I thought I'd come see if you wanted some company." She leaned over and looked in his cup. "Looks like you're through. Were you getting ready to go?"
Chakotay wondered if he should tell her the truth. Rise to leave, or get himself some more tea. Suddenly an idea struck him. If he and Denia switched shifts, he could get out of attending the party. He'd already been accused of being something of a recluse; if he had to work, he had a legitimate excuse.
"I was just going to have another cup, " he said, standing. "Can I get you something?"
"No thanks," she replied. Chakotay returned with his mug, noting the wistful look on Denia's face as she gazed at the groups of gossiping crewmen.
"I wish I didn't have to work tonight, " she sighed. I don't follow Terran traditions, but I do hate to miss a good party."
"Why don't we switch shifts?" Chakotay suggested, as if he hadn't pre-meditated the offer.
"I can't do that. What about you? Don't you want to go?"
"Not particularly. Actually, you'd be doing me a favor."
"How could my going to a party possibly be doing you a favor?" she asked.
"Well, I'm not really much of a drinker, and that seems to be the theme of the evening. If I'm not on duty, I'm sure John or one of the others will drag me from my quarters, insisting I attend. He thinks I spend too much time alone."
"You *do* spend too much time alone," Denia said. "Besides, I was hoping for a dance," she said, dragging her booted foot not-so-accidentally across his shin.
Chakotay gave her his best dimpled smile, the one that practically guaranteed results, especially with women. "Switch shifts with me, and I promise I'll come down on my break for a dance."
Denia didn't take long to consider her options. "I don't see how I can lose," she purred, rubbing her hand across his. "You'll clear it with Commander Rutara?"
"Consider it done," Chakotay said, pleased it'd been so easy to convince her.
"Well, since I don't have to be on the bridge, I guess I should be getting ready to go to a party," Denia said, rising. "Don't forget you owe me a dance," she said, allowing her hand to rest on his arm slightly longer than necessary. Chakotay was surprised to find her lips suddenly on his.
"I don't suppose you'll be around at midnight, so I thought I better get my kiss while I can."
Chakotay blushed at the attention they were attracting. "I'll see you for that dance," he said, trying to appear nonchalant.
*********
Chakotay was on his way to his quarters to catch an hour or two of sleep when he heard the chirp of his commbadge.
"All senior staff report to the bridge." Well, so much for a nap, he thought. If the Cardassians were acting up, he wouldn't have needed to switch shifts with Denia--he'd be the one called to duty. Of course they'd be aware of Terran holidays; no doubt they'd chosen this day just to be a pain Starfleet's side. He guessed he could see their point. Captain Janacek would probably have employed a similar tactic on a Cardassian holiday.
Chakotay sighed as he entered the turbolift. Just more useless needling. The Cardassians would fire a few shots; the *Gage* would fire a few shots back. They'd shake each other up a bit, take out a minor system here and there, then go back to circling each other. Same old story. Neither side wanted an all-out confrontation, so they played their little games. Chakotay was tired of it. What he was more tired of was being called to the bridge to handle a maneuver ensigns could do in their sleep. But Janacek must have a reason he wanted the "elite" on the bridge. Maybe the bastards were up to something else.
Chakotay was surprised at the chaos as he stepped onto the bridge. Junior officers were being relieved by senior members, the captain was busy with a subspace transmission. The noise level was almost deafening. The computer was reciting statistics. Officers at duty stations briefing their replacements on the latest information the *Gage* had received. There was an admiral on the viewscreen issuing orders, giving coordinates of a rendezvous point at Wolf 359. Momentarily stunned, Chakotay was galvanized into action by Ensign Stevens motioning him to the tactical station.
"What's going on?" Chakotay asked, still trying to take in the activity on the bridge.
"Something about the Borg," he answered, obviously frightened at the possibility. Stevens was a raw recruit, straight out of the Academy. Even the small skirmishes with the Cardassians had left him shaken. It was no wonder Janacek had called Chakotay back to the bridge.
"Tell me what you know," Chakotay said as he began checking the weapons complement. They still had about a hundred photon torpedoes. Phasers were charged. They were as ready as they were going to be.
"Not much," Stevens said, calming the tremor in his voice. "Admiral Hanson just came on a few minutes ago. From what I can tell, the Borg are headed towards Earth, and Starfleet's decided to take a defensive position at Wolf 359."
Chakotay motioned Stevens to be quiet as he caught the tail end of Hanson's orders: proceed to Wolf and join the armada. He supplied Janacek with a set of coordinates, telling him to get there as soon as possible.
Janacek stood and faced his crew. "Nice of you to join us again, Commander," he addressed Chakotay, who'd only recently finished his scheduled shift.
"What's our weapon's status?" Janacek asked, joining Chakotay at the tactical station. Outlining the available firepower for his captain, Chakotay began to wonder about the shield's ability to withstand Borg weapons. He understood the Borg to be capable of self-transport through conventional shields.
"Sir," Chakotay asked. "I've heard our shields aren't adequate when it comes to Borg technology. Perhaps if I worked with Lieutenant. . . "
"Here's the specifications for modifying our shield harmonics," Janacek said, handing him a PADD. "It's not foolproof. In fact, it may only buy us a few seconds from what I understand, but it may be long enough. Let's hope so." The captain clapped him reassuringly on the shoulder and descended to the command deck.
"Lieutenant Parson, what's our ETA to Wolf?" Janacek asked his helmsmen.
"At current speed we should be there in less than eight hours."
"Well, that gives me some time to prepare the crew," Janacek commented, looking to his executive officer.
"Would you like me to inform them, Captain?"
"Thanks for the offer, Jace, but I think this is one I've got to handle. I'll be in my ready room for a moment. You have the bridge, Commander."
Chakotay paid little attention to the fact Janacek had left the bridge. He knew the man was no doubt organizing his thoughts on how to inform the crew of their new orders. He didn't envy him. Everyone knew what their chances of coming out of this unscathed were, and the odds were not in the Federation's favor. He'd never embraced his father's beliefs, his religion, but he found his mind on it now. What was the old Earth expression? There are no atheists in fox holes? Well, situations like this certainly forced a person to take stock of his life, even if he didn't have long to do it. The possibilities of an afterlife didn't frighten him so much as intrigue him. At least he'd know once and for all if the spirits his father prayed to were truly his ancestors or simply a faith built on hope. A lot of good that knowledge would do him though, once he was dead.
Programming the computer to continually adjust the shield harmonics, Chakotay hoped to keep the *Gage* one step ahead of the Borg, but he knew that was a longshot. He'd spoke with Commander Shelby the last time he was at headquarters, and she had painted a pretty dismal picture of what the Federation's chances were if they engaged the Borg. He tried to remember any weaknesses she might have mentioned, something he could use in defense of the ship. Unfortunately, all he could recall was the ineffectiveness of their weapons against Borg technology.
Chakotay barely registered Janacek's announcement to the ship. He told them of the confidence he had in them, that he was proud to be their captain and to serve with them. Kind of a mixed pep-rally/farewell speech all rolled into one, Chakotay thought darkly.
*********
"Captain, we're coming into range of Wolf 359," Lieutenant Parson informed the bridge.
"Slow to impulse. Adjust course to 789 mark 32."
"Holy Gods," someone breathed as the sight of gathering starships filled their viewscreen. It seemed inconceivable that anything could break through a line of ships like that. Then they saw it. So massive, it dwarfed the fleet to the size of toys.
"I didn't order a magnification," Janacek said turning to Ensign Riga.
"I haven't changed the mag factor, sir," the young woman at Ops informed him.
"Jesus Christ," another voice muttered. "Talk about death in a box."
"Cut the chatter!" Janacek ordered. "All stop. We'll hold this position until we hear from Admiral Hanson, but I want those engines ready to jump to warp on a moment's notice. You got that Mr. Parson?"
"Yes, sir!" The pilot responded, fingers flying over his console.
"Tactical! Are you ready?"
"Yes, sir!" Chakotay answered.
"Keep those weapons on-line and watch the shield harmonics," Janacek needlessly reminded him.
For a moment, the Borg cube hung in space. "Now!" they heard Hanson's voice over the commlink. Suddenly there was a burst of light and motion as the Federation fleet moved into position, firing on what they hoped were vulnerable areas of the Borg ship.
A blast to their port side sent Janacek and Rutara flying from their chairs. Picking themselves up, Janacek called,
"Report!"
"Minimal damage, shields still at ninety-eight percent," Chakotay informed him, clutching the console in an attempt to keep his balance.
"What about on their end? Are the torpedoes having any effect?"
"Negative, Captain. Their shields are repelling them."
"Why am I not surprised," Janacek hissed. "Continue to fire. I don't know how much good it will do, but it may distract them long enough for some of the other ships to do some damage."
Chakotay fired a volley of torpedoes, concentrating where he thought their shield generators would be located. Suddenly, a massive Borg energy beam completely destroyed the *Bellerophon,* killing all hands on board. Chakotay swallowed hard and looked quickly away from the viewscreen. He couldn't afford to be distracted, but the thought of 350 lives suddenly wiped from existence shook him profoundly.
Just then the *Gage* sustained a direct hit that took out four decks-- mostly crew quarters--which fortunately were vacant.
"What happened to those shields, Mr. Chakotay?" Janacek snapped.
"I. . .I'm not certain, sir! They were fully functional! The Borg weapons just passed through them as if they weren't there!"
Another blast rocked the ship. "Well you'd better find a way to compensate Commander! We're sitting ducks without those shields!" Janacek yelled.
Chakotay nervously ran a hand through his hair. Okay, he could do this. He just had to figure out the right combination of frequencies. He was practically a genius when it came to encryption codes, and this wasn't that much different! Why couldn't he stay ahead of them? His fingers worked on the console almost as if he were playing a musical instrument.
"I think I got it!" he cried triumphantly as another blast hit the ship. That explosion was deflected, but the next wouldn't be. The Borg had already adapted their weapons to correct for his variances.
The Borg kept up a constant barrage, quickly breaking through any attempts Chakotay made to repel their attack.
"Captain," Chakotay called out. "I'm not able to adjust the frequencies fast enough! I recommend we. . ." His sentence was cut off midstream as the ship took a direct hit. It was chaos. Plasma suddenly began to vent onto the bridge. Several panels exploded, instantly killing their operators. VanDerslay was--oh, gods! He was dead! If Chakotay hadn't been knocked back by the blast, he would have been one of the victims he now saw sprawled on the bridge floor. Sela Riga was one of those victims. The young Ops officer lay splayed across the floor as if she'd been making an "angel" in the snow.
He stared at her lifeless body, shocked at her sudden death and his own reaction. It wasn't like he was fresh from the Academy. He knew crewmates could die. Perhaps he had become complacent of late. He knew they were fighting with the Cardassians, but it was never anything serious. Most injuries had been minor, with the Doctor patching them up with a bandage or two and an analgesic. The two sides fought each other, almost as if for something to do.
But this engagement--this confrontation with the Borg--*was* serious. This was the real thing. And Chakotay realized he wasn't entirely equipped to handle the true implications of war. When Janacek's voice jolted him back to reality, he realized he'd frozen, staring at his dead comrades.
"Damage report!" Seconds passed before Janacek repeated his order. "Commander! I need a damage report!"
"Uh, yes, sir," Chakotay finally responded. "Weapons are off-line and shields are off-line. Life support down to fifty percent. Engineering is reporting a micro fracture in the warp core, estimating a breach within fifteen minutes."
"Eject the core!" Janacek ordered, checking for lifesigns on his first officer. Shaking his head, Janacek looked to his tactical officer.
"I can't, sir. That last blast fused the controls."
"Lieutenant Sarnak!" Janacek called to his chief in Engineering, "any way to manually eject the core?"
"Negative, sir. The magnetic constrictors that are preventing an immediate breech are now frozen, preventing the ejection of the core." The dispassionate Vulcan voice seemed to bring a measure of order to the bridge, even though the news was dire.
"Options?" Janacek asked his few remaining bridge officers.
"Our only choices are the shuttles and escape pods," Parson offered as he retook his seat, wiping at the blood streaming from his forehead.
"I agree, Captain. At this point there'll be nothing to salvage on the ship should we stop the core breach," Chakotay added, his voice raised to almost shouting to be heard over the warning klaxons and venting plasma.
It went from bad to worse. Suddenly three Borg drones appeared on the bridge, advancing towards the captain and Parson. The third was headed towards him, but Chakotay had the advantage of being the furthest from the drones and closest to the turbolift. Firing his phaser had no effect on the advancing Borg; and Chakotay watched in horror as the drones injected tubes into first Parson's neck, then seconds later Janacek's.
For a moment he stood transfixed, unable to comprehend what had just occurred. He'd seen the reports on Borg assimilation techniques, but reading wasn't the same as witnessing it with your own eyes. The vampire-like nature of the Borg's conquest left him reeling. It was then Chakotay realized he was now the senior officer left on the bridge.
A sort of unreal calm descended on him. Calling for a ship-wide evacuation, he ran to the turbolift, only to realize it too was off-line. The remaining Borg was advancing towards him, in no hurry, as if he had all the time in the world. The human's assimilation appeared a foregone conclusion.
Picking up a piece of debris, Chakotay swung it at his would-be assailant, knocking him--it--off balance, giving Chakotay the few seconds he needed to make it to the Jefferies tube, and with any luck, to deck two where he could join others in accessing an escape pod.
Chakotay grabbed the sides of the ladder's rails, sliding all the way to the next deck. Emerging from the tube he saw several more drones materializing in the corridor, intent on assimilation of the crew. Those who were not using their useless phasers either managed to make it into the escape pods or were instantly assimilated. Chakotay tried to block out the sounds of the screams, but there was no where to turn to avoid them.
"Sarnak!" Chakotay shouted, slapping his commbadge. No answer. He tried to hail anyone in Engineering; but there was no response. If only he could some way detonate the warp core now. Not only would he be saving his fellow crewmembers a fate worse than death, but maybe they'd take a hefty number of the bastards along with them.
"Computer, how long until the warp core breach?" he asked, shepherding as many crewmembers as he could into the escape pods. As soon as one was full, he sent it off, moving to the next one, constantly working on adjusting his hand phaser to a different frequency.
He got off three shots before the weapon was rendered useless.
"Ten minutes to warp core breach," came the slightly distorted voice of the computer. It was slow in responding, obviously many of the computer's functions had been damaged during the attack.
*Gods!* Chakotay thought, *in ten minutes they could assimilate the entire ship!* His mind raced to think of another alternative. Self-destruct! His mind suddenly supplied.
"Computer, initiate auto destruct sequence!" he called, backing towards a pod. "Authorization: Chakotay beta-four!"
"Insufficient security clearance. Command-level authorization required."
"Son of a bitch!" he swore, slamming his palm against the bulkhead. There was no one left who could issue the orders. . .the ship's command personnel were now part of the Collective.
He had one other option, but he didn't hold out much hope for success. "Computer, Tactical Officer override, authorization Chakotay alpha-one."
"Unable to comply."
He didn't know if it were still his lack of security clearance or damaged circuits, but there was no point in trying to convince the computer it was okay to blow up the ship.
Standing near the hatch of a pod, he watched in almost sick fascination as a drone approached him.
"Resistance is futile," the drone recited, his eerie voice sounding like a chorus speaking as one. "Your biological and technical distinctiveness will be added to our own."
"Not today," Chakotay sneered as he stepped into the pod, closing the hatch. Activating the eject sequence, he watched as the *Gage* fell away. He suddenly and irrationally thought of his promise to Denia; and the image of her being assimilated making him shudder.
Shielding his eyes from the glare as the *Gage* exploded, Chakotay couldn't remove his gaze from the carnage before him.
Starfleet's finest had been reduced to rubble, an artificial asteroid belt circling the Borg cube. He couldn't believe it when he saw six shuttles emerging from the perimeter of the battle arena and assume an approach course towards the Borg ship. A suicide run? Who'd been crazy enough to attempt such a stunt? What could five shuttles do that over forty battle cruisers hadn't been able to accomplish? He was joined at the viewports by the ten other survivors in the pod.
"They're crazy!" one woman observed. "They're being tractored in!"
"They had to know that's what would happen if they made a run at the cube," came another voice.
"What good is suicide at this point?" a man next to her asked.
"Beats the hell out of assimilation," someone else joked grimly. Normally such a comment would have seemed tasteless in the face of their friends' and comrades' fate, but something about the gallows humor that relieved the tension in the cramped pod.
"Oh my God!" someone cried. "They've taken the ships inside!" There were brief flashes of light as the shuttles exploded. "They're using their ships as bombs! That's what they were trying for all along! They're stopping them!" A cheer went up but was soon quelled. The explosion of the shuttles stunned the Borg a bit, but it hadn't really even slowed the cube down.
Chakotay turned and faced his fellow escapees. Someone needed to provided and anchor, if not a lifeline. "Let's see what we can do about rendezvousing with one of the rescue ships," he ordered. "Set a course for the nearest ship."
"It's the *Pasteur*, sir" a male ensign informed him.
Chakotay ran a hand over his face. "Set a course. Best possible speed," replied Chakotay, taking a seat on one of the benches lining the pod. They'd had room for at least ten more, but now there were no crew members left to bring with them.
Shaking off that thought, Chakotay turned to a crewman cradling her arm.
"How're you doing, Crewman?"
"Fine, sir. Likely just a break. Easily fixed." She tried to smile, but it wouldn't quite come. Chakotay could tell she was fighting her emotions, trying not to cry. He wished he had the liberty of breaking down, reacting to what had just happened in the last half hour. Had it really only been a little over an hour since they'd arrived at Wolf? He'd lived a lifetime in that hour.
"We're about fifteen minutes from the *Pasteur*," the ensign informed Chakotay along with the rest of the pod's occupants. He simply nodded, not wishing to break the silence that had descended on these people. All had the same glazed look; and Chakotay himself was pretty sure he shared it.
"They've resumed firing!" someone called out, rushing to the viewport. They're firing on the shuttles!"
"What about the pods?" Chakotay asked, moving to a viewport.
"They seem to be ignoring them. At the moment," came a response.
"How long to the *Pasteur* now?" Chakotay called out.
"Still twelve minutes!"
Chakotay prayed to every spirit his father had ever told him of, hoping that somehow the few escape pods would make it to the rescue ships, that they'd be safe once they were on board. Not so much for himself, but for his crewmates. He understood how those shuttle pilots had sacrificed their lives in the hope of buying the rest of the fleet some time. He would have done the same if he'd thought of it. He wished he had.
The same ensign started suddenly, staring outside the port. "Incoming fire! Phaser. . ." An energy bolt violently rocked the pod, knocking the inertial dampeners and artificial gravity off-line. It didn't destroy the pod completely, but sent it spinning, tossing the already injured people inside about, like dice in a cosmic game of chance. Screams and groans filled the pod as bodies crashed into one another, many of them dead or dying. Chakotay's head slammed against a bulkhead, dazing him until the pod suddenly stopped its erratic course.
Who had fired on them? Chakotay briefly wondered. It had to have been a stray phaser blast from one of the shuttles. The Borg seemed interested solely in the shuttles as targets for their weapons.
Chakotay now lay at the bottom of a pile of bodies. He tried to ignore his own injuries, concentrating on remaining conscious. Knowing at the least he'd suffered a concussion, he shook his head, fighting the urge to sleep.
Looking up he saw why the pod had been returned to its upright status: two drones stood inches from him. Chakotay wasn't sure if they registered his lifesigns or not. He hadn't spotted any type of analysis device, but then who knew about the Borg? They could be one big walking tricorder, scanning for materials for the Collective.
Chakotay froze as the drone closest to him produced two tubules from the top of his right wrist, injecting them into the neck of one of the bodies on top of him, mere centimeters from his own neck. The Borg technology started to take over the man's body, but halted suddenly, as if the creature was having trouble accessing the systems it needed to continue the assimilation process.
"These units are severely damaged. They will serve no useful purpose," the collective voice spoke. As fast as the Borg had appeared, they were gone. If not for the half-assimilated body lying on top of him, Chakotay could almost believe he'd imagined the episode. Almost. He started to panic. The weight of the dead bodies was crushing him. He couldn't move his arms or legs, and the sight and smell of so much death made him frantic. He tried to calm down, slow his rapid breathing, but the more he thought about calming down, the more agitated he became, wanting desperately to move. The last thing Chakotay remembered was the sound of his own screams echoing off the pod's walls.
*********
Bright lights. Sounds beeping. Subdued voices. Chakotay's eyelids fluttered. The last memory he had was of darkness. Where was the light coming from?
"Doctor, I think he's coming around."
Chakotay felt his eyelids being raised, an even brighter light flashed before him. Struggling against the restraints, he felt a hand on his shoulder, calming words.
"It's all right. You're safe, on the *Pasteur.*" The voice was feminine, with a slight accent. He still couldn't see her because of the harsh lighting and his own immobility.
"Why can't I move?" he whispered, voice hoarse with dryness.
Helping him take a sip of water, the accented voice said, "You were having some pretty violent dreams, I had you restrained so you wouldn't injure yourself further. I'm Dr. Pauren. Can you tell me your name?"
"Chakotay, Lieutenant Commander Chakotay of the USS *Gage.*"
"Very good. What's the last thing you remember?" the doctor asked, leaning forward to look into his eyes. He saw hers were green, her blonde hair twisted up into a professional-looking knot. Chakotay could feel her examining his body as she continued with her questions.
"I was in an escape pod; there were two drones. . .the Borg! The battle! What's happening?" he cried, fighting to sit up.
"Relax, Commander, it's all over. You've been unconscious for two days."
"Two days?" he said incredulously. "What happened? The Borg?"
"They were stopped, just short of Earth. No one seems to know much about that. As for the battle, all we know is the drones were suddenly rendered inactive. Once they started moving again, they transported back to their ship. Then the cube left for Earth."
Chakotay lay silent. The battle was all over. As quickly as it had begun, it had ended. Starfleet must have taken some terrible losses. The carnage he'd seen. . . . It was sobering to realize how easily the Borg had smashed through their defenses. He'd never been in such a one-sided battle before. The skirmishes with the Cardassians were just that. Both sides fairly evenly matched, a battle's victory going to the most resourceful leader. But this hadn't been like that. Starfleet couldn't even hold it's own against the tide of the Borg. He didn't know what force could have stopped them from their advancement on Earth, he just thanked the gods it had.
"My escape pod, we're there any survivors?"
"I'm sorry, you were the only one. And I had my doubts about you for awhile." Chakotay could hear the smile in her voice.
"Is it possible I could have these removed?" he asked, wiggling his hands against the wrist restraints.
"In just a moment. I have to do one more scan, and it's extremely important that you don't move."
Chakotay's eyes circled around, hoping to see what she was doing. "What kind of a scan?" he asked.
"Just checking to see that there's no residual damage from your surgery. You were pretty banged up; it's going to be a few days before you start to feel better. You had a brain hemorrhage, several broken limbs, as well as some damage to your liver and spleen. I've repaired everything, but I'm still concerned about your brain scan."
"Don't worry, Doc. I've been told I've got one of the hardest heads in Starfleet," he tried to joke. He felt her hand on his shoulder again.
"Be that as it may, it still warrants observation," Dr. Pauren said as she turned to leave. "Don't go anywhere."
"Very funny, " he said. "Can't you take these off? They're really starting to make me claustrophobic."
"If you can manage to keep still, I'll have them removed."
"What about sitting up?" he asked.
"For short periods it'll be all right; but seriously, the less you move, the faster your recovery will be," the doctor warned. "I'll check back on you later. Ensign? Would you help our patient here?"
"Yes, ma'am," came another disembodied voice. "If you'll just relax, Commander, they'll come off easier," the woman's voice assured him. As soon as he was free, Chakotay sat up. He couldn't explain his need to be in an upright position. Perhaps his urge to move was due to his last memory: lying immobile beneath a pile of bodies. As the restraints fell away, he felt as though he'd truly breathed for the first time since regaining consciousness.
Looking up, Chakotay froze. The Ensign assisting him was Bolian. Memories of Denia's happy face as he promised her a dance flashed before him; he knew he must be staring.
"Commander?" The young woman asked him.
"I, uh, I'm sorry," Chakotay stammered. It's just that you remind me of someone I know. . . I used to know," he amended.
The woman smiled sympathetically at him. "A Bolian, I assume," she said. "What was his name?" she asked quietly.
"Her. Her name was Denia. Denia Barrc. She was an ensign assigned to the. . . "
"*Gage*, I know." She said, obviously distressed. "There weren't a lot of Bolians at the Academy," she explained, looking away. "Denia was in the class ahead of me, but we became friends. Same race and all, I suppose."
"I'm sorry she didn't make it," he said, truly meaning it. Chakotay felt his eyes glaze over. Surely *someone* else from the *Gage* had survived!
"Ensign. . . ."
"Mol, sir. Madra Mol."
"Think under the circumstances we can dispense with rank?" he managed a small smile.
Smiling back, she replied, "I'm think that can be arranged."
"Madra, where are the others from my ship?" She appeared uncomfortable, looking around the room, anywhere but at him.
"There are none," she swallowed, trying to contain her emotion. "At least on the *Pasteur.* Maybe some of the other pods reached the *Noble.*
"Gods, I hope so," he said, struggling with the thought that he could be the sole survivor. "I saw the Borg tractoring many of the shuttles to their ship, but surely some of the pods got through," he said looking around the sickbay. It was filled to capacity; where had all the people come from if not the pods and shuttles?
"Yes, some of the outlying ships got many of their people off, but the *Gage* was on the front lines. As for the pods, most were empty. The Borg assimilated a good portion of the people who'd managed to escape the ships. It's a miracle that *you* survived."
He didn't feel particularly blessed to be alive. The only one of a crew of over 300? He couldn't deal with the implications; it was making his head pound. Lying down, he tried to apologize.
"I'm sorry, Madra, but I think I need to rest."
"I understand, Com. . .Chakotay. If you feel like talking, just let me know."
"Thank you," he said automatically, not even hearing her words. He closed his eyes, but all he could see were visions of the Borg and how close he'd been to becoming one of them.
*********
Chakotay awoke to screams. At first he couldn't place the sound, it was high pitched, sounding like a child, but that was impossible, he thought as he struggled to sit up. Starfleet wouldn't have sent any of the generational ships to the battle, would they? The cries came again and Chakotay located their source. It was indeed a child, a boy about ten from the looks of him. His brown hair was matted to his head, drenched in sweat as he struggled against the restraints that held him.
"Let me go! Let me go!" he cried again in his sleep. Madra stood near-by, trying to calm the boy, but her words weren't reaching his fevered mind. Swinging his legs over the side of his biobed, Chakotay tried to stand. He was a little dizzy, but he felt compelled to see the boy. It was slow going, but eventually he made it to the end of the vast sick bay.
"Chakotay! You shouldn't be up!" Madra scolded, attempting to return him to his bed.
"No," he said adamantly. "I want to see him." Nearing the bed Chakotay recoiled in horror. From the distance he'd been at on his biobed, he hadn't seen what was wrong with the boy. Looking now, he saw the reason the child's cries were so frantic. His skin had the beginnings of the mottled gray of the Borg.
The sight reminded him of the crewman the drones tried to assimilate in the pod. Chakotay shivered. "What happened?"
"His ship strayed into the battlefield, or rather the ship he was on," Madra corrected.
"But how? Any civilian ships would have been warned."
"Apparently his ship hadn't gotten the message, or not until it was too late. It was a small transport vessel, about twenty-five people on board. Seems you have something in common," Madra said sadly, looking up at him. "He's the only one to survive from his ship as well."
Chakotay couldn't look away from the boy. No doubt he'd witnessed the assimilation of his parents and possibly other family before the drones attempted to assimilate him as well.
"He hasn't been fully assimilated," Chakotay said in a soft voice..
"No, we were able to beam him off the ship before he was completely taken. The others weren't so lucky. We retrieved about ten. . .people," she said, as if the term was no longer applicable. "But this little guy was the only one who hadn't been totally assimilated. Dr. Pauren has been working 'round the clock trying to reverse the process."
"Is that possible?" he asked, shocked. He thought once the Borg technology started to take over, there was no stopping it. That fact terrified him, reminding him of a venomous bite for which there was no cure.
"Dr. Pauren seems to think so. She says disengaging the connections to his nervous system is going to be the tricky part."
"Tricky part," Chakotay grimaced. "It's amazing she's accomplished what she has; that he's still alive."
"Yes, it is," Madra told him. "Since the Borg ship was destroyed, the assimilation process now seems possible to reverse."
Chakotay swayed as he clung to the edge of the boy's biobed.
"Okay, enough questions; you have to get back to bed. Dr. Pauren's going to have my blue head on a platter as it is." Reaching her arm around Chakotay's waist, Madra helped him back to his bed.
For once he didn't argue. He was worn out, just from walking across sickbay. Dr. Pauren had said it would be a few days before he felt normal? Physically, perhaps, but emotionally was another story. Staring at the boy, he'd felt a surge of reactions. Sympathy, anger, guilt, terror, relief. All rolled into one confusing knot in his stomach. Feeling the emotions raging within him, Chakotay wished he'd had some training in Vulcan meditative techniques. He could use a little clarity right now. But he dismissed Vulcan philosophy as the same "mumbo jumbo" as his own people's beliefs.
No doubt he was going to need help dealing with the past few days. He had no idea where that help would come from.
*********
Ironically, help came from a half-assimilated boy--a child who had become the embodiment of every terror Chakotay had ever experienced. The following day, he returned to the boy's bedside. The fever had broken, and Chakotay could hear the sounds of weeping. Risking another lecture from the doctor, he rose to see what he could do for the child.
"It's okay," Chakotay said, placing a comforting hand on the pale skin of the boy's arm, somewhere between the normal slightly pink of Caucasians and the sick gray mottle of the Borg. He even felt cooler to the touch. His eyes had the same lifeless appearance drones had, but the boy turned to look at him with curiosity.
"Who are you?" he asked, oddly unafraid of the stranger next to him.
"My name is Chakotay," he told him. "What about you?"
"Aaron," the boy replied.
"Pleased to meet you, Aaron," Chakotay smiled.
"Are you in Starfleet?" Aaron asked him. Chakotay looked down at the blue hospital gown, realizing it wasn't obvious as it had been a few days ago.
"Yes. I was on one of the ships in the battle."
"I figured," Aaron said, still sniffling. "Everybody here is. My dad always hated 'Fleeters."
"How come?" Chakotay asked, genuinely interested. It wasn't too often he came across someone who had animosity towards Starfleet.
"He said they're always sticking their nose into everyone else's business. That that's the reason the Federation is having trouble with Cardassia."
Chakotay smiled indulgently at him. It was a common misconception that Starfleet went looking for trouble and found the Cardassians. But that didn't mean most citizens of the Federation didn't support the organization.
"The primary goal of Starfleet is exploration," Chakotay tried to explain.
"Exploring with a phaser," Aaron replied.
Chakotay almost smiled again. "Are those your words or your father's?"
"They *were* my father's," he answered angrily. Suddenly, the wrath was gone and Aaron was turning his head as much as he could with the clamps holding him down. "Dad thought the warning was just more of Starfleet's trying to control the sector. It wasn't until it was too late he realized the ships were all there because there was a problem. He tried to go back the way we came, but the ship was caught in a tractor beam and these. . .things beamed on our ship and started attacking the people." Aaron's unnatural-looking eyes started leaking tears again as he recalled the sight of his family and the others being assimilated.
"My dad told me to run, but there was no where for me to go, no place I could hide. I hid in a maintenance access tube, but they found me anyway. I don't know how they found me; I was so quiet! There was this woman--she was all gray and had these funny tubes coming out of her, and she started coming towards me. One of these claw-like things went into my neck and I started to feel like there was something crawling inside my skin, like it was bugs on the inside or something. Then I was here and they strapped me to this bed. I haven't been up since. The doctor said she needs to remove some of the Borg stuff. That's the first time I knew what they were. I heard of 'Borg,' but I never knew what one was. They were just stories you told to scare the little kids; I didn't think they were real."
Chakotay's hand didn't leave Aaron's arm as he pulled a tall stool over to sit by his bed. "I'm sorry you had to find out they were real by almost becoming one of them."
"I don't know that I'm not," Aaron said, sadly. "I used to hear them, calling to me, telling me 'resistance is futile,' whatever that means."
"Just that you have to fight to stay here, with us," Chakotay smiled at him. Aaron looked at him again, as if appraising the man at his bedside.
"You don't seem like a 'Fleeter," he said.
"Probably because I don't have my uniform on," Chakotay supplied.
"No," he said, almost squinting his eyes. "No, it's something else. Like you're a part of them, but your not at the same time." Chakotay shifted uncomfortably, recalling the words of some of his shipmates, about how he held himself apart from the others, how he spent too much time alone. They hadn't accused him of being aloof--he wasn't--he just wasn't the "joiner" most of his crewmates were.
"So, are you a telepath?" Chakotay joked, a bit uncomfortable that Aaron's observation hit a little too close to home.
"No," he giggled. "Mom says I know people." The mention of his mother sobered him once more.
Chakotay was at a loss for how to respond to him. He knew how Aaron felt, unsure of how to refer to the recent deaths.
"I'm sorry about your family," he said sincerely. "I lost everyone on my ship too."
"How many people was that?" Aaron asked.
"Over 300."
Aaron's eyes widened. "Wow. That's a lot of people." Chakotay merely nodded. "Chakotay? How many do you think died altogether?"
Aaron's candid nature surprised him, but he found it refreshing at the same time. Most of the people he'd talked to since he'd regained consciousness seemed to gloss over the details of the battle, from the number of ships lost to the body count.
"I don't know; they haven't really told me much about what happened."
"Why not?"
Chakotay didn't know how to explain it. He knew why, even though he didn't agree with the doctor's reasons. "I guess they thought I'd been through enough," he told him.
"But that's stupid!" Aaron protested. "You were there! What could be worse than that?"
Chakotay couldn't seem to stop grinning around the boy. Aaron expressed what Chakotay himself was feeling with such simplicity, he was envious. When had he lost that ability?
"I guess they think talking about it right now isn't such a good idea, although I suspect it won't be long before they're insisting I talk about it to the counselors." Chakotay wondered what determined the proper amount of time beyond events that signaled the time to discuss what had taken place. The rest of the crew was no doubt discussing what happened; why should he be excluded from their speculations when he could tell them what *really* happened?
"I still think it's silly," Aaron reiterated.
"Me too, buddy."
Chakotay sat with Aaron for nearly an hour more, before Dr. Pauren threatened to tie him down in order to get some rest.
"I'll see you later," Chakotay said, allowing Madra to help him again.
"Okay. Don't forget you promised to tell me the story about how the world began," Aaron reminded him.
"As soon as I can get away from all these doctors," he said in an exaggerated voice. He heard Aaron's answering laugh as he made his way back across the sickbay.
"You're really good with him," Madra said, supporting him. "I never thought I'd hear him laugh. . .after what he'd been through."
"He's a good kid," Chakotay agreed. "He reminds me a bit of my little sister, Lakita. I know he's not over what happened, but hopefully he's not quite so scared."
"I think you accomplished that. What about you? How are you doing?"
"Better, actually. Talking to Aaron seems to help." He smiled, as if surprised by the notion that a boy could help calm his own fears. Seeing the changes the Borg had wrought on him allowed Chakotay time to examine the assimilation process in a nonthreatening environment. Although he thought the Borg's method of integration heinous, he couldn't help but admire the level of sophistication their technology had achieved. But he was determined Aaron was going to recover. He'd find a way to help him. Perhaps if this one child could be saved, he wouldn't feel the loss of all the others quite so deeply.
*********
Over the next few days he, and Aaron developed a close relationship Chakotay couldn't quite explain. Upon waking he had to assure himself that the boy was still on his biobed, monitors registering his lifesigns. If Dr. Pauren could have spared it, Chakotay knew she would have posted a guard to keep him in bed. As is was, he spent more time at Aaron's side then attending to his own recovery. There was something about talking with the boy that calmed him, took his mind from the images of his dead and dying crewmates. Aaron seemed to be improving with the contact as well. In fact, Chakotay surmised, it was probably the reason the doctor *hadn't* assigned a guard.
*********
Chakotay's eyes opened slowly. He'd had his first full night of sleep since waking on the *Pasteur* days ago. He was disoriented for a moment, but then the images came rushing back to him, the reason he was on a strange ship, in the sickbay. Working his way into a sitting position, he looked over to Aaron's bed. It was empty. Perhaps they'd moved him to a different area to perform the surgery Aaron mentioned. Chakotay'd spent long hours with him yesterday, trying to convince the boy that he'd feel much better once the doctors operated on him. He felt a great deal of satisfaction that he'd been able to allay Aaron's fears.
Chakotay was sitting on the edge of his bed when Madra came by to check on his vital signs. He felt confident, the best he'd felt in days, and he greeted his nurse with a bright smile.
"Well, now that's something I could get used to seeing," Madra said. "What's got you in such a good mood this morning?"
"I finally slept!" he practically crowed.
"If this is what a little sleep does for you, we'll have to see you get a lot more of it!" She smiled back at him. She pressed a hypo to his neck saying it was probably the last of the medication that he'd need.
"That's a relief," he said. "So, when do I get out of here?"
"Relax, Chakotay. Just because the doctor's easing you off the painkillers doesn't mean you're fit for duty."
He knew she was right, but he did feel better than he had a few days ago. "How's Aaron doing?" he asked her, taking a sip of the water she'd handed him. "Dr. Pauren was going to work on removing some of the ganglia from his nervous system today wasn't she? I figured he was still in surgery since he's not in his bed."
Madra remained silent as Chakotay babbled on cheerfully. Her attention seemed riveted to the instruments on her tray.
"Madra?" he asked, confused by her silence. "Madra?" he repeated, touching her shoulder, causing her to turn to face him. There were tears in her eyes and Chakotay felt as if someone had just punched him in the stomach.
"I'm sorry," was all she could manage before the tears came in earnest.
"No," he said, shaking his head in denial, fighting his own battle against tears. "No, that's not possible! He was fine last night! He was laughing! Making jokes! He was okay!"
Madra placed a comforting arm on his. "There were complications," she explained. "When the drones became inactive, the adult assimilation victims seemed to reject the Borg technology. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to be the same with children. That's why Dr. Pauren had to perform the surgery in the first place. Maybe it's some kind of fail-safe, to make sure Borg 'children' remain with the Collective, I don't know. All I can tell you is that once the doctor started to operate, it became obvious she'd never be able to remove all the tendrils that were wrapped around his spinal cord. She tried though. For hours, until it was apparent she was doing more harm than good. She decided it was best just to leave him for the time being. That perhaps as he matured he'd develop the ability to disengage himself from the technology. She closed him up, but then, for no apparent reason his vital systems began to shut down. She tried everything to resuscitate him, but nothing worked," Madra concluded. "I'm so sorry, Chakotay. I know how close the two of you had become."
"It's my fault," he mumbled. Looking up at Madra, he stared straight into her eyes. "I'm the one who persuaded him to let the doctors try. He was scared, I told him that things would be better if he had the surgery. If he hadn't, he'd still be alive!"
"But what kind of life? As half-Borg? He couldn't live without life-support; and there was no guarantee that once he was older he'd automatically shed the Borg components in his system."
"So you're saying that it's better that he died?" Chakotay cried, unable to believe she thought death a more acceptable option.
"No, only that sometimes people die for a reason. I miss him too, but there are times death means the end of suffering."
"He didn't seem to be in pain," Chakotay continued to argue.
"That's because he was so pumped full of pain suppressants," Madra rationalized. "You could have stabbed him and he wouldn't have felt it. I'm not saying this wasn't a tragedy, Chakotay. I just think maybe under the circumstances it was the best for him."
Chakotay wanted to see the logic in her words. Perhaps in time he could come to have a similar objective view, but at the moment, all he knew was the Borg had taken yet another promising life. But what was one more in the scheme of things, right? What was one boy's life in comparison to the thousands of other's that had been lost? He tried to be callous about it. Tried to see him as just one more casualty, but he couldn't. All he could see were the boy's animated features as Chakotay told him stories, the way Aaron laughed when Chakotay relayed tales of his own youth. Lying back down, he felt the suppressed tears begin to flow; he did nothing to stop them. Aaron left no family behind. The least Chakotay could do for him was mourn his death.
*********
*Medical leave,* Chakotay raged to himself as he paced the counselor's outer office. Until he was given a clean bill of health from the counselor, he wasn't allowed to return to active duty. It had been six weeks since the events of Wolf, and still they wouldn't reassign him. The *Pasteur* had finally returned to Earth a few weeks ago, after Starfleet was certain they had all the survivors. Chakotay couldn't help but think if the ship had returned sooner to Earth or a starbase, Aaron might have survived. According to Madra, the doctors on the *Pasteur* hadn't had much of a choice over the boy's operation. Apparently Borg children were placed in maturation chambers until they were fully developed. Aaron was neither fully Borg nor human. His human systems couldn't take the Borg modifications, and the technology couldn't survive without support from the Collective. Torn between the two alternatives, surgery had been their only option.
Gods, the thought of that boy preyed on him! He couldn't figure out why he'd been so affected by Aaron's death. It wasn't as if he'd known him long, but the memory of his mottled skin, and glazed eyes haunted him like a specter. No doubt it was one of the things the counselor would try to get him to talk about these terrible memories.
He didn't want to be here, but it was necessary if he wanted another posting. Did he want another ship? Could he be sent back to the fighting with Cardassia as if nothing had happened? Even as short-staffed as Starfleet was in the aftermath, they'd insisted he meet minimum requirements to return to duty--and satisfying the counselor was one of the criteria. The staff counselors were so backed up with survivors, he'd had to wait weeks for an appointment. That was the worst of it. Weeks to wander around Earth, no duty, no direction. Chakotay supposed he could have used the time to do some sightseeing, visit some of his favorite spots in San Francisco, but he certainly didn't feel like taking a holiday. Somehow the thought of engaging in normally pleasurable activities seemed the ultimate insult to those who'd perished at Wolf. As if their sacrifices had meant nothing, that he could simply turn the page and go on with his life. Part of him wished he could, but he was trapped between acceptance and denial, the same as Aaron had been caught between being human and becoming a Borg.
"Commander Chakotay?" A man's voice addressed him, causing Chakotay to look up from his pacing. "I'm ready for you now."
Chakotay ran a hand over his face, a slight sheen of perspiration manifesting itself as evidence of his nervousness. The shadow of a beard scratched his palm.
"Please, have a seat, Commander," the man said as he guided him into his office. "My name is Dr. Tabor, and as required by the Medical Disclosure Act, I have to inform you I'm a Betazoid." The counselor recited the information, as if were part of his title. Chakotay briefly shook the dark-haired man's hand, taking a seat some distance from the doctor.
"Do you have any objections to discussing what happened with a telepath?"
"You tell me, you're the mind reader," Chakotay answered caustically. Dr. Tabor smiled indulgently, as if this attitude were nothing new.
"According to my information, you're one of the few survivors from your ship," Dr. Tabor started. "How do you feel about that?"
Chakotay grit his teeth. This is what he'd been hoping to avoid. Upon his return to Earth, the questions had been about his state of health: How was he doing? Had his injuries healed? Now the doctors had moved to the emotional questions: How did he feel? What kinds of dreams did he have? How close had he been to his crewmates? There would be no end to the probing.
"Lucky," Chakotay said. "I feel lucky."
"Not 'fortunate?'"
"I said lucky, didn't I?" Chakotay snapped testily. "It was the luck of the draw. I was in the right place at the right time, so I'm the one who got out alive."
"So why do you feel so guilty if that's how you truly feel?" Tabor asked quietly, making notes on a PADD.
"I didn't say I felt guilty."
"You didn't have to."
"Oh, right. You can probably 'read' that, can't you?" Chakotay taunted him.
"Commander Chakotay, I'm not reading your mind right now any more than you're reading mine," the doctor stated calmly. "The observations I've made have been based upon what you've told me, and *how* you've told me. You seem to think I'm manipulating you in some way. If that's how you feel, perhaps I should suggest a different counselor."
Chakotay sighed and looked away from Tabor. "I apologize, doctor. All I need is for you to clear me for duty and we can end this. You can talk to someone who really needs your help."
"And you don't think you really need my help?"
"Frankly, no. I've seen my share of dead bodies. Granted the numbers here were a little disproportionate at Wolf, but I've gotten over battles in the past. I have this time."
"But you've never encountered an enemy quite like the Borg before, have you? A ruthless killing machine with no concept of 'mercy.' They weren't Cardassians who torture for information. The Borg accept nothing less than total compliance, with every person they encounter, be it a Starfleet officer, or a young boy."
Chakotay's head snapped up at the doctor's reference. "I thought you said you weren't reading my mind!"
"I'm not. Your emotions, perhaps. I can't help that any more than you can help seeing me when you look at me. This information comes from your records on the *Pasteur.*
*Bastards!* Chakotay thought. What else had the crew of the medical ship put in their reports? "He was an unfortunate victim the same as the rest," he said, trying to control the tremor in his voice.
"But he was more than that to you," Tabor prodded.
"Look, doctor, you're busy; I want to return to duty. Just sign the damn PADD and I'll get out of your hair."
"I don't respond well to threats," Tabor stated.
Chakotay took a calming breath. "I didn't mean it to sound like a threat. I have nothing more to add to my previous statements. It wasn't a pretty sight, but warfare never is. I just want to get back to doing my job again."
"And I'm afraid I can't authorize that," the doctor said, rising and placing the PADD with Chakotay's file on his desk. Crossing his arms and leaning back against the table top he said,
"I don't feel you're fit for duty. I think the next time you're in a crisis situation you'll freeze, reminded of these unresolved events, presenting a danger to your fellow crewmates. I'm sorry, Commander, but until you're willing to be more honest with me, with yourself, I can't in good conscience recommend you for active duty."
Chakotay bristled under Tabor's nearly condescending attitude. "Fine," he said through clenched teeth. "Thank you for your time, doctor." Chakotay wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing how enraged the man had made him. No doubt the Betazoid felt that emanating from him as well.
*********
Chakotay sat silent, contemplating the cup of blood wine before him. He hadn't realized he'd been twisting it in his hands as he'd related his story to Kathryn. Stopping the motion, he took a drink of the metallic-tasting wine, signaling the end of his narration.
Kathryn waited a moment then said, "That's it? You're ending it there? What happened with Starfleet? Obviously you were reassigned before you. . .left voluntarily."
Chakotay smiled at the way she glossed over his "defection." He knew she'd come to understand his reasons for leaving, possibly even condoned it under the circumstances.
"After the episode with the counselor, I found I was left without direction. I'd been associated with Starfleet for ever, it seemed. Suddenly I found myself 'homeless.' I think I found that notion even more unsettling then my memories of Wolf."
"So why didn't you just talk to the counselors? Surely after a few sessions they would have cleared you for duty; Starfleet needed every officer they could get at that point."
"I can't explain why," he said looking up to meet her eyes. "Maybe it was some subconscious way of getting me to resolve my past, I don't know. All I am sure of, is it was the beginning of a reconciliation with my father."
"I thought you said you'd never had the chance to fix things with your father before his death," Kathryn said.
"Well, not in a permanent way," Chakotay agreed. "I hadn't spoken to my father since I'd left for the Academy, but there he was, welcoming me home without judgment, without censure. At first I hadn't realized what a gift he'd given me: the unquestioning love of a parent. When I came to realize what a generous man he was, I started to rethink my rejection of my people, their beliefs. If such a man could come from them, perhaps there was some merit to his teachings and philosophies after all. I knew having a more mature perspective helped shape my new-found interest in my tribe, but mostly it was due to the fact the I saw Kolopak as a man, not just my father."
Kathryn simply nodded, as if she were recalling her own experience when she'd finally seen her parents as more than just guardians. "How did you get back onto service?" she asked, standing, then motioning him to join her on the sofa.
"I started to learn the ways of my people, using the *akoonah* to contact the spirits. It wasn't easy. I had a lot to learn, but I'd found some measure of peace. At least enough to convince a different counselor I was capable of performing my duties. As you said, Starfleet was short of personnel, especially officers; they weren't particularly picky at that point. You know the truly ironic part? Two months earlier, I couldn't get reassigned, then on my second try they promoted me to first officer on the *Gettysburg.* I'll never understand internal politics," he smiled.
"That was Madolyn Gordon's ship, wasn't it? I never met her," Kathryn commented.
"I think you would have liked her. You remind me of her in several ways."
"Oh? How's that?"
"You're both strong willed, quick thinkers, opinionated," he ventured, sneaking a look at her. "And a little too good at worming confessions out of me," he concluded with a grin.
"Opinionated, huh?" Kathryn teased. "I guess I can't really argue with you there. You wouldn't be the first to accuse me of it." There was a comfortable silence for a moment before Kathryn spoke again.
"But Wolf wasn't the last encounter you had with the Borg," she reminded him.
"You're not going to let this go, are you?" he parried.
"I had to give you every last gory detail; I think you owe me the same."
"No," he sighed, "it wasn't my last encounter with the Borg as you well know." He didn't need to tell her he was thinking of Riley Frazier and her "cooperative." She'd just mentioned her memories of the woman who'd manipulated him for her own purposes.
"I suppose on some level I was looking for the good in her claims. That they'd managed to transcend their being part of the Collective. I almost *needed* to believe something positive could have come out of the carnage of Wolf. When she first approached me with the idea of using the neural link to heal my injuries, I was prepared to die rather than submit to the will of the Borg. But when it came right down to it, I chose the risk of trusting her. I wasn't ready to die. I prayed to the spirits she was being honest with me, that the link would only be temporary. At first it appeared she'd been truthful with me. My injuries healed, and I'd had the chance to experience what the cooperative meant to her, to all of them. I can't describe what a seductive feeling that was. To be a part of something greater, a part of every mind I touched. In some ways it reminded me of my people, the feeling of community I'd lost there because of my own short-sightedness." Chakotay paused and took another sip of wine before he continued.
"Of course it wasn't until later I realized Riley and the others had a hidden agenda. Once again I'd been a victim of the Borg, even if it was the 'watered down' version of the Collective."
Kathryn nodded. "You were after our encounter with them. You were so hard on yourself when there was no possible way you could have known what they were planning. You're still being hard on yourself," she chided gently.
"Remember the story I told you about the fox and the scorpion? I knew first hand what it was like to betrayed by someone who denied her true nature. I *wanted* to believe Riley and the others, just as you wanted to believe the Borg could be trusted when we encountered them and Species 8472. That's why I fought you so on your decision to form an alliance with them. I *knew* how duplicitous they could be, even if they did have good intentions." He didn't want to get into an argument over this with her. Their most recent experiences with the Borg had been a point of contention with them; he wasn't looking to open that wound again.
"You know," Kathryn said, looking down at her hands, "I never fully realized what it must have cost you when I asked for your help in establishing a neural link with Seven so we could sever her connection with the Collective."
"You knew what Riley put me through," Chakotay said neutrally. There was no accusation in his voice, merely a statement of fact.
"Yes," she said. "And I should have been more sympathetic to that instead of thinking of a Borg drone first."
"Now who's being too hard on herself?" Chakotay shook his head. "Kathryn, you saw beneath the hardware, beneath the attitude to the woman Seven is. . .becoming," he said, using her term. "Once again I was too short-sighted for that. All I saw was a Borg who I was convinced would never be anything more than a 'scorpion.' You showed me how wrong I could be."
"Yes, she's surprised everyone," Kathryn conceded, "even me. Oh, I know we've got a lot more 'growing pains' to go through, but I'm really very proud of her. And you."
"Me? Why me?"
"Because even though linking back up with the Collective was the last thing you wanted to do, you were willing to do it for the ship. For me," she added softly.
Chakotay shifted on the sofa, slightly embarrassed. "I'd do it again."
"I know you would," she said, looking at him, her eyes full of meaning.
The atmosphere in her cabin was starting to feel a bit oppressive, a bit too personal for the tone of the evening. "How do you feel about a change of scenery?" he asked, rising from the sofa, offering her his hand.
"What did you have in mind?" Kathryn asked cautiously.
"How about we visit the 'scene of the crime?' I'm sure the mess hall is deserted at this hour. We can grab an early breakfast, before the rest of the crew shows up."
"Sounds like a good idea, Commander. I can't believe the thought of breakfast actually sounds appetizing," Kathryn said, motioning him through her door.
"I'm sure we're not going to have to fight anyone off for some of Neelix's bright green concoctions today," he joked, his mood obviously lighter than when he'd entered her quarters.
They walked side-by-side through the empty corridors, chatting about nothing significant, until they reached the mess hall. As the doors retracted both their jaws dropped.
"Gods," was all Chakotay managed to get out as he surveyed the room. Kathryn was speechless.
"Think they had a good time?" Chakotay asked, his gaze falling on the chaos of the mess hall.
Kathryn swallowed, "They better have." Confetti, streamers, crepe paper, empty beverage cups and bottles lay everywhere. Balloons rested against the ceiling, released from their restraints.
"I don't remember its looking like this when we left," Chakotay ventured.
"I guess once 'mom' and 'dad' left, the kids decided to cut loose."
"'Morning, Captain, Commander!" Neelix cheerfully greeted them, a container in his hand, attempting to remove some of the debris from his domain. "Quite a, what's the word you Humans use? 'Blow-out' huh?"
"To say the least," Kathryn said sternly, but there was no real anger in her voice.
"Leave it to me, Captain. . . I'll have this place ship-shape in no time!" he said, impossibly cheery for the task that lay before him.
"Neelix," Kathryn said, stopping him with a touch of her hand, "you don't have to do this. There *is* supposed to be a clean-up detail assigned to take care of this."
"Oh, I don't mind, Captain. I doubt I'll be very busy this morning anyway. Most of the crew won't be in the mood for breakfast, if you know what I mean." As if to illustrate his point, two crewmen, a man in gold and a woman in blue stumbled through the doors of the mess hall, leaning on each other, giggling over some private joke. They didn't even bother to straighten up at the sight of their superior officers staring at them.
"I see your point," Kathryn said dryly.
Chakotay couldn't suppress his smile as he whispered to her, "A few hours earlier, we were the 'walking wounded;' looks like we've passed it on."
"Only they had a choice in the matter," she said, turning to look at him, as the crewmen slumped into seats at a table at the far end of the room. "We weren't quite so lucky."
Chakotay looked down soberly at his Captain, the woman he was privileged to call friend. "Granted we didn't have a say in where we were, when we were, but after all the contact we've both had with the Borg, it's rather amazing we lived to tell about it, don't you think?"
"I suppose you're right. The odds certainly shouldn't have been in our favor. I guess we're both too stubborn to be assimilated," she smiled affectionately, nudging his shoulder with her own. "What do you say we get some breakfast?" she suggested, turning to brush past him. Chakotay halted her momentarily by taking her hand. Kathryn gave him a quizzical look as he began to speak.
"Kathryn. . . ."
She stopped. Chakotay's voice was soft and serious as he continued. "I'm not sure how to tell you what a gift you've given me tonight. I *really* thought I'd put it all behind me, but in retrospect, I see it's always been there, governing my actions without my even realizing it. I guess what I'm trying to say, rather ineloquently," he laughed, "is that you've helped chase away the ghosts. Dr. Tabor would have approved of your methods," he said, grinning shyly.
Kathryn squeezed his hand once, for emphasis. "It's no more than you did for me, Chakotay. I may have had more opportunities to discuss what happened, but it's not the same. . .Talking to someone who wasn't there. You were. You knew what I was trying to express without my having to articulate it. I should be the one thanking you."
As if realizing belatedly that this conversation was taking place in the public mess hall, Chakotay moved slightly away from Kathryn. Only his eyes still smiled into hers. "This isn't exactly how I had envisioned spending this night," Chakotay confessed, "but I'm glad we did." But the only crew in here were slumped over the table, heads on their arms. Neelix was busy in the far corner of the kitchen. Chakotay felt a surge of boldness. Pulling Kathryn close, just for a moment, he kissed her gently.
"Happy New Year," he smiled.
. . .And here's a hand, my trusty friend And gives a hand o'thine We'll take a cup o'kindness yet For Auld Lang Syne.
The End
