Last year, when Kate Mulgrew was talking about leaving at the end of the sixth season, a friend and I tried to guess what TPTB would do to replace her.  This was one of our "never really happen" scenarios.  I was originally going to use Kes instead of Seven, but "Fury" rendered that impossible. This follows the events of "Life Line", assuming that Starfleet has sent more inquiries about the "Maquis situation".

***

The decision.

Chakotay's hands were sweaty in the humid air of the alien ship.  Smoky air, filled with the sweat of alien bodies.  Kathryn and Seven, lying unconscious on the deck.

"I cannot save both," said the alien doctor in her soft voice.  "Your captain's body is failing.  The Borg may live."  She looked up at him, her violet eyes spinning in what he thought might be sympathy.  "Which one should live?"

"You said Kathryn was dying."

"She is.  But the Borg's body is strong, she could receive your captain's mind ... at the expense of her own.  Which one should live, Commander?"

Chakotay exhaled sharply.  "I -- that's almost impossible."  He stopped and thought.

Kathryn was his best friend.  He loved her.  Seven was ... Seven. A figure in briefings and astrometrics, occasionally seen at social gatherings.  He liked her, but compared with Kathryn...

This was the wrong way to go about it.

Janeway was captain.  Sure, he could command, but Starfleet had hinted that they'd rather not see him with any kind of power... could he make any guarantees to the former Maquis on Starfleet's behalf?  Could he even step into her shoes at all?

Seven of Nine was a gifted engineer.  So was B'Elanna Torres.  She had extensive knowledge of local species.  She had entered that data into the computer.  She was raising the Borg children.  With the assistance of half a dozen other crewmembers.

Seven of Nine was unique.

So was Kathryn.

Which one should live, Commander?

Forgive me...

He licked his lips.  "Janeway."

The doctor nodded.  There was no judgement in her eyes.

Judgement would come on Voyager.

***

He stood outside her door, trying to decide whether to announce himself or just enter.  She had finally regained consciousness in sickbay, but the Doctor had coldly told him that she didn't want to see anyone.  Chakotay remembered the accusatory glances.  It had seemed that the whole ship was judging him.  Or was it just the Doctor?

I'm sorry.  I never even realised you were capable of love.  I didn't know you loved her like I love --

Tuvok had told him that it was the logical choice.

Neelix had said that people would understand, eventually.

B'Elanna had congratulated him.  And then added, softly, "But I'll miss her."

He touched the chime.

Silence.

Finally he heard her call, softly, as if she was ashamed of her own voice, "Come in."

She was sitting on her bed, still wearing the torn purple unitard that Seven had been wearing.  The blond hair was loose, falling around her shoulders.  She was hunched into a ball, her right hand fidgeting with the Borg mesh on the left.

"Hi," she said.  Her eyes were filled with tears.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I'm not blaming you.  I'm not even angry.  Yet.  Just ... sad."  It was Seven's voice, but the inflections were Kathryn's.  It was an eerie sound.

"Everyone else blames me."

She managed a watery smile.  "I would be ungrateful to accuse you of anything."

He took her by the hand, his fingers rubbing over the mesh.  "It was -- not an easy decision.  And our friendship.  There were a lot of -- competing interests."

She covered his hand with her own.  "I understand.  I feel the same way."

"Will you still hold command?  I'd understand if you wanted to step down.  The crew --"

"-- Will follow me.  I wouldn't expect any less from them."  She sighed and ran a hand through her hair.  "I always wanted to be blond," she whispered.

The tears brimmed over.  Chakotay wiped them away and took her long, tall body into his arms.  He could feel the implant over her eye pressing into his neck.  He buried his face in her hair, letting the alien smell take him back to the ship...

Which one should live, Commander?

"I would make the same decision again," he told her.

She nodded into his shoulder.  "I know."

"Do you think the crew can forgive either of us?"

She pulled away, wiping her eyes.  "What choice did we have, Chakotay?"

It was my decision, Kathryn.  There was no we.  And there was a choice.

Which one should live, Commander?

He had no answer.

END

(Sorry)

Comments, questions, constructive criticism: elizabeth_barr@yahoo.com.au

Copyright © 2000 Elizabeth M. Barr

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