Chapter Text
Prologue
He starts with the bedroom, emptying the wardrobe into a storage box he’s brought with him. There’s only a handful of dresses, a pair of light shoes, casual wear for a relaxing evening on the holodeck or on shore leaves. Like him, Kathryn could always replicate the day-to-day pants and grey shirt, the red and black top, and the dark boots when the need arose for a clean uniform.
She’s only taken the clothes she had on her back when she left the bridge, Chakotay suspects. He doesn’t know. She’d organised her getaway out of sight, securing a shuttle hours before her departure using an encrypted security code Seven and B’Elanna have not cracked since she left a week ago.
She couldn’t ask the crew to sacrifice two more years of their lives, she’d told him. She wouldn’t make that mistake again, she’d said, her mind already made up. She’s always been one step ahead of him. Why had he thought this time would be any different? Now she was lost on the other side, lost to a journey the class two shuttle would never manage.
His half-baked mutiny had come too little too late. She’d outplayed him, setting the site-to-site transporter to access the shuttle from the bridge and blocking the tractor beam until she was out of reach. With the vortex in sight, he had had no choice but to follow her orders to free Voyager of the night, leaving her behind.
Sporting a top speed less than half that of Voyager, the small spacecraft will take four years minimum to cross the void. And with no planets to refuel from, there’s no way Kathryn can make it, even if she could survive being alone in a spacecraft the size of Voyager’s bridge. Too short a range is B’Elanna’s final verdict.
The shuttle will become a tomb, drifting forever in darkness while Voyager continues towards home.
He shoves the contents of the dresser drawers in the box and slams them shut. After taking a few deep breaths, he turns to the bed. It’s big enough for two, like his. Starfleet might frown on fraternisation, but their furniture standard shows they’ve never wanted to prevent two warm bodies from taking pleasure and comfort in each other. Empty beds and empty souls cry for companionship even if for a single night.
This bed has only ever seen one occupant, though. His bedroom is, after all, touching the common bulkhead which is thick enough not to let any sound through. But he would have seen her bring a late one-night date back to the ship. Maybe, like him, she preferred the anonymity and discretion of shore leaves, with their forgettable encounters and meaningless sex.
He throws the light blanket aside, and his hand trails over the cold sheets. A week after her disappearance, the signs of her last night on board are still visible in the crumpled sheets. The pillow is askew, and he can see her sleeping with her arms hugging it like one cradles a child.
It must be fate, or irony more likely, but she slept on the right-hand side of the bed while he favours the left, the same positions they’ve held for years on the bridge before she forced him to captain Voyager. And like her command seat, his hand only touches cold air now.
In the drawer closest to her pillow, he finds the holoimage he’d seen on her ready room desk for many months at the start of their journey, until it was gone one day. Her dog, Molly and…? The name is at the tip of his tongue, and he works to dredge it up from his memory. Mark. Funny how he remembers the dog’s name better than the salt-and-pepper man’s.
The frame joins her clothes inside the box, and the bed sheets end up in the recycler. There’s nothing under the bed and the left-hand bedside drawer is empty. She’s not one to spread herself, it seems, and fill up the space around her, while he’s pretty sure he’s got a couple of books on the side he rarely uses, maybe a pair of socks too. He had expected to come across more of her personal possessions in what is—was—her most private room. She probably just crashed on the bed at the end of too many and too long shifts, no energy left for anything than sleep, like him. Four years of soldiering through and the prospect of seventy more of the same never make for an easy rest, unless one is too tired to care.
Moving to the bathroom, Chakotay spots a jar of soap, a nearly empty bottle of shampoo that smells of her, and a few items of make-up. He is no expert, but the shelf looks bare, as if the long journey home and the night outside have also robbed her of the small pleasures of being a woman.
Catching his reflection in the mirror, he wonders what she had last seen there before making the fateful decision to stay behind. Had it been the resolute Captain’s gaze, all sacrifice and tactical rationality? Better one than many; better I than any of my crew, she must have told herself while making her last decision as captain.
Or had it been Kathryn, already lost and alone? Because of him. Because he had not been there for her.
He grips the edge of the sink, head low, his chest hurting. Because he had reminded her of her duty instead, when all she needed was a shoulder to lean on for a few weeks. He couldn’t have done more damage if he had yelled at her to snap out of her funk.
When he lifts his head, there are only guilt-ridden dark eyes looking back. He swipes the shelf with his hand, and the mementos of Kathryn’s morning routine tumble into the side recycler.
Turning away, he stands on the threshold of the dim bedroom, blankly looking at the empty space void of anything of hers.
He’s gone through the same chore before for dead crew members. He’s learnt to clear his mind, so it doesn’t hurt thinking of the waste of a life now held in small personal things, things whose meanings are lost to anybody than their rightful owner.
It's not working this time.
~Torres to Chakotay~
He stirs and straightens his back before hitting his combadge. “Chakotay here.”
~Neelix has just finished a stocktake of the emergency ration store.~ “So?” What does he care about emergency rations?
But B’Elanna is patient with him. As she has been over the past seven days. ~He checked the results against the one he did when we entered the void. Then he re-did the inventory. Twice.~
Chakotay waits, not trusting his voice. He has already guessed where this conversation is going.
~There’s a couple of months worth of one-person ration packs missing. That’s it. Despite what she told us, she knew from the start she wouldn’t survive the journey, Chakotay.~
No need to ask whom B’Elanna is talking about. He closes the comms without saying a word, then he lifts the box and walks out of the bedroom.
The living room is next, his gifts to her taking pride of place on the shelves: a blue-grey quartz he’d picked up on an unknown planet; a small wooden bird he’d carved while they were marooned on New Earth. On the couch, there’s a brightly coloured shawl he’d given her for her very first birthday on the ship, just a few weeks after they had arrived in the Delta quadrant.
They had taken a late afternoon stroll together, past busy shops on a friendly planet, a rare occurrence in Kazon territory. It was getting chilly, and he draped the soft fabric over her bare shoulders. She spun around with the brightest smile on her face, the worries of the past weeks gone with the setting sun.
He tries to catch that slice of time again, but his fingers close on nothingness as she turns away, her back to him and her shoulders bearing red again.
Bringing the shawl to his face, he breathes in deeply, catching a faint scent of her. It’s not enough.
It’s not her. It’s just some thing she left behind. Like everything and everyone else.
He wraps the small objects in the shawl before placing them on top of the clothing. It eats at him that he can't be certain she has taken anything personal with her. It’s as if she had been sure of coming back. More likely it was to delude him she could be made to stay when all she wanted was to leave.
Twenty minutes later and he has cleared Kathryn’s private possessions from her quarters. He stands near the door to the corridor, the box at his feet. Three thin books sit near the silent console terminal, a Please, take them scribbled with his name on a card. He slides the note inside the cover of the Dante volumes and puts the books on the lid. A last look confirms the room is bare of any trace of its former tenant, save for memories frozen in his mind.
“Computer, site-to-site transport to cargo bay two.”
The box goes inside a grey trunk at the end of a long rack of shelves. After locking the electronic hatch, he types in its owner’s name, the letters glowing faintly in the gloom of the vast space, like its neighbours. With the books held tightly in his hand, he leaves the cargo bay to start his shift.
Are you ready to captain this ship? she’d asked, and he’d made a promise right then, a promise he must keep for the captain. But that is not him. Not yet. This ship was not built for him, and the seat on his right will stay empty for all the days and nights to come.
Until the time when he won’t notice the void at his side any longer, and that terrifies him the most.
Chapter 1 - The best-laid plans of mice and men
“Commander Riker, will you report to my ready room?” Picard’s voice sounded loud and clear in the nearly empty bridge.
“Immediately, sir.”
Riker got up and pulled on the hem of his uniform top. “You’ve got the bridge, Ensign.”
Not waiting for an answer from the young woman at the helm, Riker strode up the ramp towards the ready room. The Enterprise was in orbit around an unremarkable planet, waiting for a delegation to come on board on its way to Earth to discuss their world’s involvement in the Dominion War. Riker hated these mundane missions where the Starfleet flagship was used as a mere ferry for dignitaries. The Enterprise-E deserved better.
Picard was standing at the replicator. “Please sit down, Will. Coffee?”
“Thank you, sir. Black, one sugar.” In nearly ten years working under Picard, it was the first time he could remember his captain offering him coffee. Or calling him by his first name while on duty. Riker’s interest piqued.
Picard handed him a cup before sitting behind his desk. “I've received a communication from Admiral Gustafson. She wanted me to sound you out for a promotion.” Before Riker could protest, Picard put his hand up. “Your continual refusal has made you something of a problem for Starfleet Admiralty. She’s decided to make it my problem.”
“Sir, you know my position. No other ship comes even close to the Enterprise. I am quite happy to stay as your second-in-command as long as you’ll have me.” He grinned while sipping on his coffee. “Unless you are ready to retire, sir?”
Picard shook his head with a smile of his own, but didn’t take the bait. “The last time I met Admiral Gustafson, we attended a full performance of Wagner’s Ring. All nine hours of it. I am telling you this to help you understand that she is a very patient woman. However, even her patience has limits. That’s why she approached me. As a friend.”
“Then I’m sorry to decline your friend’s proposal, sir.”
“Will, as much as I appreciate the Admiral’s company, she’s hardly a close acquaintance. But you, on the other hand, are a totally different matter. Please hear me out.”
Riker nodded. This conversation had been on the cards for a long time. Offers of a commission had regularly popped up on his computer terminal, although less frequently since he had refused the captaincy of the Melbourne back in ’66. Or was it ’67? Using Picard to sound him out was a new development however, and one he wasn’t sure he liked.
“Starfleet is looking for a captain for a brand-new ship,” Picard continued. “A top-secret project I knew nothing about until Admiral Gustafson told me about it. The ink on the ship’s blueprints is not even dry, so to speak.”
Riker found himself interested despite his wariness. “Top secret?”
Picard smiled over the rim of his teacup. “I thought that would draw your attention.” He slid a PADD across the desk and settled back in his chair. “These are the plans of the first of what Starfleet hopes will be a new line of very advanced ships. Admiral Gustafson didn’t go into the details of the propulsion system, but from what I’ve read she wasn’t bragging when she said these ships will be like nothing we’ve seen before. The engineers working on the project assured her that they would reach and maintain warp 9.9999 for an indefinite period.”
Riker did a quick calculation in his head. “Twenty thousand light-years in a year?” He was going to add ‘that’s impossible’, but he thought better of it.
“Minimum. The prototype might fly even faster to test the new engine to its limits.”
“A proper shakedown will be a challenge, though.” Riker flicked through the blueprints, most of them so heavily redacted as to be unreadable. “If the engine develops faults, the ship could find itself stranded thousands of light-years from the nearest Starfleet base.”
“And that’s why Starfleet is asking for you specifically. They want a captain with experience of deep space and who can think on their feet. The Dominion War has created many vacancies for ambitious officers to take over, but this particular project needs somebody on the bridge familiar with long-haul missions.”
Riker put the PADD back on the table. “I can’t say I’m not tempted, but I am comfortable where I am.”
“Will, you have refused promotion after promotion even though your experience and worth would be much better used leading a crew and ship than as a first officer. And there’s more. Since our latest brush with the Borg, Starfleet is not keen to risk the Enterprise in battle again.”
A frown came over the captain’s face, and Riker could only imagine Picard’s frustration. “It does make for rather boring shifts, sir,” he admitted.
“Quite so, Number One. The Enterprise is being used for trifling missions, and I don’t see that fact changing in a hurry. That’s one negative of being the fleet’s flagship. The worlds which support the Federation against the Dominion want to see the biggest and most famous Starfleet ship coming to their shores. It’s a diplomatic gesture the Admiralty is only too willing to embrace. This is why this promotion is an excellent opportunity to prove your mettle.”
Riker didn’t disagree in principle, but he wanted to know a bit more. “Any idea what the ship’s missions will be?”
“I don’t think a decision has been made yet. The launch is scheduled for a few months’ time, but they want somebody who will become intimately familiar with its capabilities and potential before its first flight.”
“Wouldn’t a captain with an engineering background be more suitable?” Riker picked up the PADD again. The prototype was small, barely bigger than a Nova-class starship.
“You know as well as me that it’s not a typical command path. However, if Starfleet had wanted somebody with such a background, they would have asked for one. They didn’t.”
Riker was feeling contrary. “There are many captains around without a ship. Why not ask them?”
“Oh, I’m sure the Admiralty has got a long list of potential candidates, but that is not the here and now. You are their first choice. I checked.”
“In other words, I should be flattered.” Curiosity was battling with caution in his mind.
“You certainly should. And, if I may, hear my advice. Starfleet can’t force on you a promotion you do not want, but Admiral Gustafson made it clear that your worth is being questioned at the highest level the longer your refuse to step up. Being comfortable is never what a Starfleet officer should aspire to, and it would be a pity if you were to sacrifice your career because of your loyalty to the Enterprise.”
“Or to its captain,” Will said with a large smile.
Picard inclined his head, not losing his seriousness. “I’ll be sorry to see you go, Will, but times are changing. We’ve lost too many good crews and captains over the past decade. The Enterprise has been tasked with becoming a training ship for senior officers on the fast track. It’s a necessary job, but hardly a glamourous one. Nor will it be challenging. You will not be doing your career any favours by helping me baby-sit bridge officers.”
“That’s a waste of the Enterprise’s capabilities. Are you going to accept?”
“You know that I have refused a promotion to the Admiralty several times. Unfortunately, that means I have to obey orders, Number One.” Picard stood, bringing the meeting to a close.
Recognising the gesture for the dismissal it was, Riker got ready to take his leave. “I'll talk to Deanna. We might need some time to decide on what’s best.”
As he walked past him, Picard put his hand on Riker’s shoulder. “One more thing, Will. It’s a rare occasion when a captain takes possession of a new ship and picks his own crew. Don’t squander that opportunity. You will find it a demanding task, but a very rewarding one. I’ve never regretted the choices I made when selecting the crew of the Enterprise.”
Riker gave a last glance at the elegant and slick lines of the 3D model of the ship turning slowly on the screen of the PADD. The galaxy was suddenly looking very small.
The doors of the ready room opened, but Picard stopped just before the threshold. “Remember the words on the bridge plaque: ‘To boldly go where no one has gone before.’ I think the new ship will make this dedication very proud.”
After days sitting blankly at the shuttle helm, all alone and with nothing to do except for hurtling down a roller coaster of emotions, Kathryn asked the question she had avoided thinking about since she’d decided to board the shuttle.
“Computer, calculate how long the shuttle’s current fuel reserves will last on maximum warp speed with a one-person crew.”
Class two shuttles were the workhorse of Starfleet starships. Not famed for their speed, but reliable and sturdy enough to withstand a handful of cadets on their first unsupervised flight training exercise. And in case they got lost, the fuel tanks were meant to last until a rescue. The Cochrane II had double the fuel capacity it had started with, because the Delta quadrant was no place to get stranded, the chief engineer had said one day, when putting in a very valid argument to upgrade all the shuttles. Only Chakotay had seen the captain wince at B’Elanna’s words.
~The shuttle fuel reserves will last three months and fourteen days at maximum speed,~ the computer intoned in its genderless voice.
The answer pleased her at a barely conscious level. As if there was hope hidden in those figures. She had thought she was on a one-way journey to oblivion in half that time, but this small craft, mainly used for planetary away-missions and scarcely large enough to carry four people in comfort, would sustain her for three times that, although well short of the four-year journey she had boasted about on Voyager’s bridge. She patted the helm in appreciation.
“What systems would consume the most energy over that period, from highest to lowest?” Unlike the cat of old, curiosity could hardly kill her.
~Engines, shields, environmental system, replicator, navigation, communication array, computer operation, weapon standby, short and long-range sensors, sonic—~
“Stop.”
There wasn’t anything else to be curious about out there, in that darkest of night. It was unlikely she would meet anybody in this void, hostile or otherwise. The Malon ship was no more, and the local inhabitants had disappeared. They probably didn’t even know there was a small vessel crossing their space at snail’s pace. However, radiation still permeated the surrounding night. She would need to maintain shields to ensure her own safety for a while longer. If a protracted death was what she wanted.
“How long would the fuel reserves last with shields at minimum, and weapon system, comms and long-range sensors offline?”
~Sixteen months and three days.~
She whistled, surprised at the figure. One more year. Now she was getting interested. She might as well investigate further, an intellectual exercise if nothing else. Something to pass the time and occupy her mind for a little while before the dark thoughts simmering in the background returned with a vengeance. “Specify the current settings of the environmental system,” she asked.
~Temperature of twenty-four degrees, sixty per cent humidity, twenty-one per cent oxygen, full illumination for eighteen hours, waste and air recycling systems at optimum capacity for one person, Earth-like artificial gravity.~
“And the replicator settings?”
~The replicator is set to provide three warm meals and two litres of drinking water a day, as well as clothing, entertainment articles and medical supplies.~
And shitty coffee, as her tastebuds could attest. She fleetingly wondered what kind of ‘entertainment articles’ had been programmed into the replicator database. She should have checked who had flown the shuttle last before taking it.
“Computer, do the same calculation but with an ambient temperature of twelve degrees, quarter illumination and one cold meal a day only. Air cycles at minimum levels. Eighty per cent Earth gravity.”
~Two years and two months.~
Still two years short. No way the sixty meal pouches she’d reluctantly pilfered from Voyager’s stores would stretch for that long. She would be long dead, sucked up dry by the night outside, the shuttle becoming a tomb.
But it was close.
She sipped her now tepid coffee. It was not a given that the shuttle would reach the end of the void by itself anyway. “What if all available energy was diverted exclusively to the engines?”
~Six years and four months.~
She sat up as her heart missed a beat. Six years. Even if the void was larger than Voyager’s sensors had estimated, six years would be plenty enough to leave it well behind and give her time to find a place to replenish Cochrane’s fuel reserves. She had not thought that possible. She had not thought at all about her own survival, full stop. Saving the crew from the Malon and getting Voyager through the vortex so it could get to normal space had been her sole goals. Swamped by the melancholy of her own mind, she had not wanted to think about staying alive. Her death within the tritanium walls of the Cochrane II had been a given from the moment she’d planned her mission, and until now it had only been a question of when rather than if.
Was there a chance that she might escape the void after all, and fly again through a space with planetary systems, suns, and maybe even friendly people?
Now that there was a possibility she could live, as tiny a probability as it was, it filled her with a burning desire to escape a fate she had foisted on herself in a moment of pure despair. She owed it to Chakotay to live. Because if he felt just a tenth of the feelings she had for him, to believe her dead would devastate him. And even though there was no way she could ever let him know, she would fight to survive. She owed him too much to give up.
Her fingers flew over the helm console. “Computer, shut down weapon system and external comms. Maintain current course. Reduce shields to minimum, and set the environmental and replicator controls to the levels I am inputting now.”
~Acknowledged.~
The light dimmed immediately, while the temperature took a few more minutes to reach its new setting. She huddled on the seat, her mind in turmoil.