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“Paris, evasive pattern gamma!” I shout above the din of battle from where I stand on the command deck, my hand braced on the railing behind the helm as I glance down at Tom.
“Aye, Commander.”
I hang on to the railing, feet spaced wide for stability, as the ship tilts and the inertial dampers try to keep up with his piloting skills.
Glancing at Harry, I growl, “Where the hell did they come from? I thought the Benians had a defense network?” The ship shudders before he can respond.
Voyager was attacked without provocation. Kath—my Captain is on the planet below, and I viscerally feel the distance between us. The fear of a broader attack, including the diplomatic palace where she attends our trade talks, flashes through my mind, but I shake it off. I can’t allow any distractions while I command the bridge. I’m so used to having her here, defiantly protecting her ship and crew from danger with steel in her voice. But she is absent, so I call out the tactics to protect her ship.
Turning to Mike at the tactical station, “Prepare a full spread of torpedoes targeting both weapons and engines, and fire on my command.” Mike and I are always in sync, having battled together on the bridge of the Val Jean in the Badlands. In fact, Voyager’s entire bridge crew works seamlessly together, after what the Delta Quadrant has tried to throw at us.
I pivot back to Tom, “Pull the Archer Maneuver,” and he executes a perfect 180-degree twisting flip, positioning us face-on with our attackers.
“Now, Mike!” I shout out. I feel the small jolt that signals the firing of multiple torpedoes at once. I stare up at the viewscreen, watching the fiery streaks extend toward the enemy ship. Three explosions flare on their gray-green hull, and the knot in my gut eases, if only a little.
=/\=
The negotiation table is cool under my palms and I lean against the smooth stone, gathering my composure.
“Forget the tea, Ambassador. I need a way to communicate with my ship,” I say as calmly as I can, but the man shrinks away from me nonetheless.
“I– I‘m terribly sorry, Captain Janeway, but there’s nothing we can do. The Kathoan rebels took out our communication network and with the battle interfering with our–”
Twice already, he’s recited the minimal information the defense department has given him, and the vein on my temple pulses harder. Maybe the fault is mine for asking. The diplomatic palace isn’t part of the chain of command and in times of trouble, protection is the only thing it receives.
I gaze at the dozen aides gathered around the long table, trying to find a face with an answer I want to hear, but they all dodge my stare.
“Tuvok, any word from Voyager yet?” I ask, like I haven’t been asking that very same question every two minutes now. I know I’m snapping, but at least Tuvok can take it.
“Nothing, Captain.”
“Keep trying. I need to know what’s happening up there.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Not bringing up my tactical error is pure kindness on Tuvok’s part. He did warn me. The battered defense network, much more comprehensive than a peaceful planet should require, and the brusque first hail from a military officer, questioning Voyager's motives before rerouting the call to the ambassador abundantly apologizing for the rude welcome. I should have listened. He is my tactical officer, after all, but I was too focused on our urgent need for trade.
The Ambassador looks at me, twisting his fingers, another useless apology in his eyes. Earlier, I rather enjoyed his gentle demeanor and subtle diplomacy, leading us to a swift and pleasant agreement, but now, that soft politeness only adds to my frustration.
“I’m certain our joined forces will overwhelm them in no time, Captain Janeway.”
I try to understand. He’s a diplomat, not a soldier. In his world of dinners and treaties, battle and bloodshed do not exist. He has no idea how badly I need to get back to my ship, no understanding of personal responsibility for the lives of others. Cannot have. Still, he’s not the enemy either.
I let my head fall forward and focus on the tiny cracks in the seemingly solid stone, then lift my gaze and offer him something I hope will pass as a reassuring smile.
“Yes, I’m sure the situation will soon be under control.”
“I’m so sorry,” he manages once more, and for one dreadful moment, his words sound like condolences.
The impression passes as soon as it appears but leaves a tightness around my chest and I can’t stay still anymore. Before I say something I’ll regret, I turn to leave the room. “Keep me updated, Tuvok.”
No one dares to follow, and I step into the sunshine alone.
The sky is as blue as it’s been all day, the wispy clouds and peaceful moons indifferent to the fate of one alien ship. I gaze at the ocean, but the beauty only highlights my failure.
What’s the worth of a captain who isn’t there to defend her ship and crew? Who doesn’t fight with them, for them, and, if needed, die for them? Who returns to them only when the flames have died – if there’s even anyone to return to anymore.
I breathe in deep, searching for a calm that’s nowhere to be found.
=/\=
Mere seconds before our torpedoes impact their ship, I note the launch and approach of one last salvo of torpedoes from the enemy ship.
“Shields at maximum!” I roar, hoping that it will be enough to protect Voyager as Paris tries to dodge their impact. The ship shudders under my feet and my knees buckle, but with my hand locked onto the railing I stay upright.
The worst is over, but the adrenaline in my blood keeps my heart pumping overtime, thrumming in my ears. Is the battle over? Are there additional attacks on the Benian capitol city?
I turn toward the back of the bridge. “Harry, Mike, any sign of an attack on the diplomatic palace?” Tension grips me awaiting their response, as their hands fly over their consoles.
They both assure me that the planet below seems just as it did a few hours ago, even though communications are down and we can’t reach the away team. I try to hide the wash of relief at my unrealized worries. She is hopefully safe, but I imagine her reaction to downed comms during the unprovoked attack, and I suspect she is deeply frustrated, even angry. I pity the Benian officials trying to placate the auburn spitfire.
I return to my duty. Voyager took several direct hits, especially at the beginning of the surprise attack, and I try to recollect where the weapons struck Voyager’s hull. What got damaged? Who got hurt? How bad is it?
“Damage report,” I request from Harry, hoping the word fatality will not cross his lips.
“Breaches on decks 9, 10, and 11. Forcefields held but sections 25 and 26 sustained heavy damage on all three decks, especially deck 11. Many injuries, but no fatalities reported yet.”
My breath caught. The heart of our ship. “Engineering?”
“Casualty reports are still coming in, but it looks bad. At least one large explosion, residual fires are being suppressed.” Harry couldn’t disguise the worry in his voice.
“Dispatch the rescue-and-repair crews to Engineering immediately.” I slap my combadge, “Chakotay to Engineering.”
Expecting to hear the voice of my favorite Klingon and longtime friend, I’m jolted by another voice. “Vorik here, Commander.” His voice is strained, whether by smoke or injury, it’s not clear.
“Is the warp core secure?”
“Yes, sir, it was locked down, but has since gone offline. We still have impulse engines.”
“Very good. Rescue-and-repair crews are on their way to you. Where’s B’Elanna? Why didn’t she pick up this call?”
His pause is unwelcome. “The Lieutenant was very close to the source of the explosion.”
Of course she was.
“I managed to make my way over to her and based on her severe injuries, I called for an immediate emergency transport to Sickbay, before catastrophic cascade failures disabled the transporters. We have more injured here, we could use a medic.”
“Tom.” I wave off the pilot to his next duty, sending the medic toward the turbolift, and Baytart slides smoothly behind the conn. I try not to think about whether B’Elanna will survive her injuries, and what that would mean for Voyager.
“Okay, once things have stabilized down there, get to work on the transporters. The Captain will want to return to the ship immediately. Chakotay out.” With every fiber of my being, I know that Kathryn would want to be on her bridge right now.
=/\=
Sixteen wounded, three decks destroyed, warp drive offline, and engineering burned. Still, what hits me most is the silence in sickbay. The bright lights, the colorful displays, the motionless form under the medical arch.
B’Elanna.
Only not the B’Elanna I know. Not the woman of fire and fury, of more energy, determination, and skill packed in one person than anyone I’ve ever met, but a mere shell of that woman, her spirit elsewhere, waiting for a miracle to bring her back.
I greet the Doctor with a confidence I don’t feel and walk to the bed where B’Elanna lies.
Her cuts and burns are healed, the blood cleaned, her features at perfect peace as if she was only sleeping, but before my hand comes to rest on her shoulder, a thought crosses my mind. Uninvited, unwanted, darker than a winter night. A feeling so strong it seems like a premonition – or maybe a memory. That if I touch her, I won’t find her soft and warm, but already beyond our help, her injuries too great, her cold skin and still form proving my biggest fears have once again come true.
Then my fingers make contact, her arm all heat and muscle and iron will, and the swell of relief within my chest subsides only because the Doctor chooses that moment to speak.
Plasma burns and a few broken bones, he says. But most of all, severe head trauma. Give her a day or two, he adds in that annoyingly self-assured tone of his, a tone I welcome and cling onto as the unchangeable truth.
She’ll be alright. She’ll live.
This time, my choices didn’t cost anyone’s life. This time, I didn’t condemn the people I’m supposed to protect. This time, unlike so many times before. Like that day surrounded by snow and ice and freezing winds, the merciless fingers of black waters taking away more than anyone should be asked to accept.
The drop is steep and I recognize it well, the abyss familiar and welcoming, but this is not the time to stay. I shake my head to rid the images, to pull myself afloat again, and follow the Doctor’s voice back to the light.
“Are you alright, Captain?” he asks, eyes filled with compassion and worry, and I arrange the mask of calmness, my facade of certainty back into place.
If we had a counselor onboard, I would not be able to escape, but with this man, I have a deal. Unspoken yet unbreakable.
I won’t admit, and he won’t question. Not until he absolutely must.
=/\=
Kathryn has been reserved, withdrawn even, since her return from the Benian planet. Normally such a successful trade mission elicits a lightness in her step and smiles on her face, but these seem notably absent this time, even more so when she returns from sickbay. She has lingered with us on the bridge longer than she normally would, almost as if she is loath to leave the nerve center of her ship. I know that she is anxious to read my report on the battle, so I excuse myself to go work in my office.
I settle at my desk with a cup of tea, mentally preparing for the task at hand. As I sink back into my memories of the battle, the clash and smoke return to my senses. I can feel the fear clenching my midriff and the tension in my shoulders. I blow out an exasperated breath. Just the facts. I know I need to focus on the facts, making my report as clinical as possible, since my Captain has an uncanny ability to read the emotional context of nearly every scenario.
All scenarios, except the one that pertains to her and I in the Delta Quadrant together.
I blink and realize that my fingers have stilled on the console before me. I’ve caught myself–again–thinking about the woman I have pledged to follow, vowing to carry her burdens whenever possible. And so I’ve reached the same point that I always do, leaning back to think about what is possible right now in the face of so much impossibility. What does she need in this moment? I think about her uneasy stoicism upon her return from Benia, and I think I know what is bothering her. But I’ll need a quiet place and time to get it out of her.
With that resolved in my mind, I return to describing the battle tactics for my report.
When it’s completed, the computer tells me the Captain is located in her ready room, and I set forth with purpose in my step. Entering the bridge, I briefly get a status update from Tuvok before striding over to trigger her door chime.
Upon entry I grin, “Earlier than usual for once, Captain,” waving the PADD in my hand as I approach her desk.
She looks up somberly from her console, not responding to my grin, which fades.
She hungrily reaches for the report, thumbing it on. Her expression is hard to judge as her eyes flick ceaselessly across the words. She lowers the PADD down, raising her coffee cup. “The Archer Maneuver?” she asks with a raised eyebrow, as the cup comes to her lips to partly hide a shadow of her trademark smirk. The small sparkle in her eyes over the rim of the cup betrays her humor.
My grin restored, I am quick to encourage her. “And since I was not at the helm, it was executed flawlessly amidst the barrage of weapons fire.” I am not above self-deprecation for the sake of cheering her up, pulling her out of a spiral.
Her face falls at my last words and I regret them immediately. My mind had still been filled by the battle. Damnit. My heart squeezes painfully, and I’m not sure I’ve hidden my concern, “I’m sorry, I–”
She stops me with her raised palm, releasing a defeated sigh. “It’s alright Chakotay. Thank you for the timely report.” She sets her coffee down and leans on her elbow with her hand to her brow. The spread of her fingers on her forehead hides her face, and I am certain this is an informal dismissal.
I take a deep breath. I’m about to push forward when she wants me to recede, but I am certain this is what she needs in this moment, so I do my job. “We’ve both got a lot of work ahead of us today–maybe we can talk later?” I can’t keep the hope out of my voice or my eyes.
She lowers her hand and looks up at me, staring for a long moment as if trying to decide what to do with me. I see the moment she relents, when her eyes soften briefly and she nods with a blink. She’s not smiling, but she now knows that I’m here for her. She tilts her head toward her door. “Dismissed,” she says softly.
“Aye, Captain,” I reply just as softly, and I feel her watching me as I turn away, returning to the rest of my duties.
=/\=
The whiskey burns just right. Not enough to mute the voices or to wipe away the images, but like a welcome reminder of every wrong step I’ve taken.
I drink slowly and savor the flames.
It’s hard to recall now, but once, I thought I would be an excellent captain.
An admiral’s daughter, smart and diligent, how could I not be? Starfleet values were the air I breathed since I was a child and even though my original goals were elsewhere, my loss, that loss, would surely polish my natural ability to its brightest shine, help me grow to become a captain not only sharp and skilled but compassionate and wise. A captain capable of achieving any goal and overcoming any hardship the endless space would throw my way. A captain worthy of the fastest ship and the most dangerous missions and a crew I was free to choose however I saw fit.
That’s what they told me. That’s what I told myself. That my loss wasn’t in vain but had a silver lining. Not a purpose – how could the death of two people I loved more than my life ever be meaningful? – but something that might eventually serve a greater good. If only I worked hard enough and never gave up.
As I did. At least I thought I did.
But then I found myself the captain of a lost ship and a wounded crew, struggling to survive in unknown, hostile space, and the very first day proved that the trust placed in me was more than I deserved.
I take another drink and lean back on the couch, staring at the distant, indifferent stars, the doubt I keep suppressed rushing to the surface and pulling me under.
Every enemy I make, I wonder if that result was inevitable. Every trade I scrape together, I wonder if I could have done better. The Federation is so very far away, its rules and regulations created in circumstances so different from ours. Is it absolutely necessary to follow each and every one of them, or should I bend them a little here and there, to help make our lives easier right now?
In the beginning, everything was much clearer, the ideals easier to uphold. But the deaths... those are what get to me.
I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to losing someone under my protection. Does anyone? Who knows, maybe it’s a requirement, the final test of captaincy, to not feel that cold blade of fear in your gut when you lose control in the midst of battle, when you realize the power is slipping through your fingers and you’re left in the hands of fate, to win or lose however the universe decides. Or when you find yourself caged on a paradise planet, unable to do anything to help while your ship is under attack and lives are once again at stake because you didn’t do the one duty that’s yours and yours alone, to make sure the planet and its surroundings really were as safe as they appeared.
The glass has emptied, but as I pour myself another drink, the door chimes.
I don’t need to hear his voice to know it’s him. Of course it’s him. Whenever I’m drowning, he’s always there.
=/\=
I’m granted entrance without questioning, in spite of the late hour. Kathryn has discarded her jacket and sits at the couch with a short glass of amber liquid, probably Irish whiskey and probably not her first tonight. That indicates her mood more clearly for me than a few words might. I offer a status report and she offers a glass. I motion for her to stay seated and retrieve the glass from the cabinet. We know each other’s quarters as well as our own.
Sitting down at the couch near to her but not too close, close enough to reach out to comfort her if I need to while respecting her personal space, I set down my glass and she gives me a tipple. I take a sip and a bracing inhale through my teeth to cool the burn in my throat. We sit quietly in each other’s presence for a minute or two, Voyager’s command team sharing a moment together at the end of an arduous day. I start my status report by telling her how the engineering team really pulled together today, accomplishing all high priority tasks–the warp core is back online–and moving on to the cosmetic repairs that will keep Voyager looking ship-shape. I make the observation that this state of heightened teamwork occurred in B’Elanna’s absence, or perhaps because of her absence, that they reported they were all pressing to restore the engine room before she returns to duty. I hope that my story sinks in as an allusion to her own situation, but she visibly stiffens at the mention of B’Elanna’s name, and I feel a rise in tension next to me on the couch.
She huffs and shakes her head while she looks down, obviously chastising herself as the cause of B’Elanna’s current recovery in sickbay. She insists on taking blame for the merest scratch to our crew. I need to snap her out of this trajectory, so I go in hard and fast, but continue in my soft tones.
"You're not the center of the universe, Kathryn," I say and her head jerks up. The confusion and hurt in her eyes isn't what I intended, but at least it pulls her from the dark pit she's spiraling herself into again. "What I mean is, Voyager's success or failure isn't tied to your own prowess…or even your presence."
The objection is already on her lips, her justified yet narrow point of view cemented in her squared shoulders, but I refuse to give her the chance to speak.
"You are important, of course you are, but there are a hundred and forty-five other people on board Voyager. Look, I know what they tell you at command school. I’ve been there. The praise, the pressure, the impossible expectations they pour on new captains, but you're not that naive anymore, Kathryn. Out here, the crew looks to you for more leadership, more guidance, and more inspiration than is expected of a typical Starfleet captain. It’s exhausting, I know that. But in the same way, you should trust them to be more than just a typical Starfleet crew. They’re so much more than that now. You are invaluable to all of us, but not irreplaceable. I'm sorry, but with or without you, they're well capable of running the ship and defending it too, and I think you know this."
To my surprise, she closes her mouth. Actually considers my words, no matter how harsh they may seem.
"Are you saying I'm being self-centered, Chakotay?" she asks then, lacing her fingers on her lap.
I can't help but smile. "No. I'm saying you might want to consider leaving some of the burdens for others to carry. One person can only do so much. That's why a ship has a crew, and you have all of us here with you. And it doesn't make you any less a captain if you let go of the guilt and share a little of that responsibility with others. It might just free you to be an even better captain, if that’s at all possible."
We sit side-by-side for long minutes, sipping our whiskey, as she seems to consider my words, and even nods to herself at one point. The relaxation of tension is palpable, and I breathe more deeply into the expansion. This isn’t exactly a happy moment, since she’ll need to claw back into anything resembling a good mood, but I am filled with peace, knowing that I helped her today.
I reach over to squeeze her hand where it rests at her side. I hold her hand a moment or two longer than necessary, “Sleep well, Kathryn.”
“You too,” she replies with a soft smile.
I take my leave, knowing I will worry about her for a bit before falling asleep, but I will sleep deeply after such an exhausting day.
=/\=
Sleep takes time to arrive.
I don’t mind.
His voice lingers long after he’s gone, each word moving over my soul, soothing the pain I’ve carried since I was young, healing the wounds that have been the driving force for everything I’ve strived to achieve in my life. Showing me a different path, a slow journey toward forgiveness. Like he’s probably been doing since the day we met.
He’s strong in a way I’ve never been. Wise in a way I’ve always hoped to be but could never quite reach. How he does it is beyond my grasp. He’s experienced loss too, only loss on a scale I cannot even imagine. And still, he looks at the world with calm confidence, never doubting himself or the people around him, trusting everything to evolve for the better despite the past proving how horribly misplaced that trust can be. How quickly a person can lose everything. His home, his family, his people. His way of life.
How he manages to spread that inner peace anywhere he goes, his mere presence making the air lighter and the future brighter, is another mystery. But I am grateful. For his friendship and his advice.
Usually, he's more subtle, but he reads me well, a little better every day, and maybe he knew a gentle nudge wouldn't be enough today.
He’s right, of course. Even though Voyager is my ship, we’re not inseparable. Even though the people on board are under my command and protection, they’re not dependent on me. If one member of the crew falls, someone else will take their position. Likewise, if the captain is lost, someone else will resume command. Everyone is valuable but no one is irreplaceable. Not even me. And while that revelation may sting, admitting those truths does open up a new perspective. One I think I’ve always known but never quite accepted.
No, I cannot be there on the bridge every second, scanning for the dangers ahead, ready to react and strike down anyone or anything threatening us. On a journey this long and dangerous, I’m bound to sometimes lose. I cannot make the right decision every time, and I cannot save them all.
One day, I might not even be able to save him.
But if I keep myself at the center – my ship, my crew, my responsibility – I’ll not only lose sight of what’s possible and reasonable, but I’ll also rob others of the chance to step up and shine. And myself the chance to break free of the choking grip of responsibility, the neverending guilt for not doing more, not being more, the shadows that slowly suffocate the best I can give this crew.
Hope.
The most important source of strength we all need to survive.
I roll over and pull the blanket up to my chin, smiling into the pillow.
For being such a kind, gentle man, Chakotay sure is devious. Dragging me from the darkness only to tell me I'm not irreplaceable. Claiming there's strength in weakness, control in letting go, then showing me a path where I'm not expected to be infallible but where I'm allowed to breathe a little more easily instead.
A tempting prospect. But even though his arguments seem valid, the leap is huge. Then again, I'm not alone. As always, he's offered to walk by my side, which is fortunate, because while I may not be irreplaceable to Voyager, Chakotay most certainly is irreplaceable to me.