Chapter Text
Emptiness. Boredom. Ennui. Lassitude. The captain could think of a number of names to describe what she was currently experiencing. She also had a feeling that if she was to submit to one of the Doctor’s thorough examinations – physical and psychological – he would diagnose her as depressed. Since Voyager had entered the Void, Janeway had sunk into a deep slump and chosen to isolate herself from her crew. Of course, remaining in her quarters listening to Mahler’s 3rd symphony may not have been the best way to snap out of it. She almost wished they were under attack – at least she would have to force herself to act. Chakotay tried to get her to the holodecks, but to no avail. She certainly didn’t want to play Velocity – she scarcely had enough energy to get up in the morning. She had never felt so alone in her life and yet she didn’t want to see anybody. Not Chakotay and his empathy. Not Seven of Nine, with whom she had argued way too much lately – there was only so much individuality one could tolerate. Not Tuvok and his Vulcan calm, which at the moment made her want to scream.
Her sense of duty finally won – if there were no real enemies to fight, she could still prepare for potential attacks. When she had integrated the Maquis crew into Voyager’s, Tuvok had suggested to her that they should create holodeck programmes to provide for all contingencies. He had developed a scenario where the newcomers mutinied and had to be fought. Tom Paris had drawn on his interest for 20th -century Earth history and had recreated a World War Two scenario, where everyone had to work together against a common enemy, the Nazis/Cardassians. And just for fun, he had cast her into a leader of the then Maquis – the Resistance movement. Janeway – or Catherine, her character – was the owner of the Coeur de Lion, a bar in the small village of St Clair, in central France. Since she had nothing better to do, she decided she should go and see if it could be of any use to her. Maybe she could learn a few tricks untaught at the Academy.
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“Give me a rose to show how much you care
Tie to the stem a lock of golden hair
Surely tomorrow, you'll feel blue
But then will come a love that's new
For you, Lili Marlene
For you, Lili Marlene…”
Her troublesome Borg certainly had a lovely voice, thought Catherine as she watched Sept leaning against the piano. She was also a munition expert, and completely devoted to the cause. Or was she? Of late, several incidents had made Catherine doubt her loyalty, and in the Maquis, there was no room for traitors. Catherine bit her lips – it would break her heart if she had to – dispose - of Sept. Since the young woman had come into her life, Catherine had felt a special connection to her. She had never really wanted children of her own, but Sept had awoken all her maternal instincts. To help shape her mind had often felt to Catherine Janeway like her greatest accomplishment. And the idea that she could have been mistaken – that she had given her time and her – well, yes, her love – to a traitor… No – that just wasn’t possible. Not that Sept had really been grateful to her for having saved her from what would be a terrible death in a concentration camp if the Cardassians ever took her prisoner. Being different had become a crime under the 3rd Reich. Luckily for her, Sept had few visible traits showing what she was – her hair and clothes were disguises enough. When she had arrived in St Clair, fleeing the North of France where the Cardassians were persecuting her species, she had had almost nothing to her name. Her identity papers, stamped with a big red B, had had to be destroyed. She had no photographs of her family – no tangible memories of the parents who had been sent to their death in Cardassia, no personal belongings, and no one. A resistance movement had helped her and several younger boys and girls to escape, and Catherine had taken her in. The boys had to remain hidden, having more noticeable Borg traits than the girls, but Catherine had thought it would be better to hide Sept in full view, and that’s how the girl had ended up as part-time singer, part-time waitress at her bar.
The entry of two high-ranking Cardassians in their vert-de-gris uniforms interrupted her musings. Catherine Janeway hated them with all of her being, and even with her best acting skills, she found it difficult to muster a smile. And yet, she not only had to smile, she had to make them feel welcome – desired, even. Her own safety and that of her whole Resistance network depended on it. She was fully aware that many of the village’s inhabitants despised her for it. The murmurs of “collabo” when she shopped in the village made sure of it. So much that she tended to hide in her bar, letting her friends shop for her –Kes, a young girl who sometimes helped out with the washing-up and Neelix, the cook. As her employees, they came up for some criticisms too, but work was scarce, and people understood that Kes and Neelix had no choice if they wanted to eat. She slapped a smile on her face and went up to the bar to ask Tuvok, her bartender, for a bottle of Saint-Emilion – not the best vintage, but something palatable enough she could bring to the officers’ table. She had to know if they were awaiting more troops. The day before, she had been warned a Special Operation Executive – a radio operator – was due to arrive from England imminently. If the Cardassians caught him or her, it would be a disaster.
“Go on singing,” she hissed to Sept as she brushed past her. “They like you, and I need them in a good mood. Too much is at stake.”
The younger woman glared at her but obeyed, and Catherine stifled a sigh and went to join the officers at their table.