chapter 41

 

 

Kathryn zipped her jacket up to her chin and closed the door behind her, squinting at the brilliant sunlight on the unbroken blanket of snow. She had always loved a fresh snowfall. There was something about the untouched perfection of it that made her pause to simply absorb the peace and beauty of the scene.

And then there was the great satisfaction in being the first one to leave prints. With a big smile, she stepped out from the shelter of the porch overhang and felt her boot sink in. They must have gotten fifteen centimeters last night; Revi’s prints from her early morning visit were already covered. And it was her favorite kind of snow, too—the dry kind, that squeaked as she compressed it. She’d forgotten how much she enjoyed that sound, and spent a few seconds patting her boot here and there, just for the fun of hearing it squeak.

Having thoroughly destroyed the smooth snow on the porch and steps, she finally began the trek to the guest house, a lifetime of familiarity allowing her to stay on the invisible path. Her boot tracks would serve as a guide for Lynne, who had eagerly accepted Gretchen’s ‘offer’ to shovel the walk this morning. Just for a moment, she considered laying out a false path, but her sense of fair play got the better of her. Well, that and the knowledge that Gretchen would give her no end of grief if Lynne ended up shoveling her lawn or flower beds.

Carefully she walked up the steps of the guest house, staying by the rail in case there was ice under the snow. Stairs were always the worst due to their exposure. Indeed, her boot slipped twice, but she caught herself easily and made it to the porch with no trouble. With a hand already cold from gripping the snow-covered railing, she rang the chime.

To her surprise, it was Revi who answered. “Kathryn, good morning.”

“Good morning.” She paused, taken aback at how…normal Revi looked. “I was heading out to work, but I wanted to stop in first and see how you’re doing. Is everything all right?”

Revi stepped back, inviting her in. “I guess that would depend on your definitions of ‘everything’ and ‘all right’.”

“Okay. ‘Everything’ meaning you, I suppose, and your state of mind.” She gratefully entered the warmth of the hall and stood on the interior mat. “And ‘all right’ meaning…well, hell. I’ve only had one cup of coffee so far, do you have to ask such hard questions? How are you?”

A small smile crossed Revi’s face. “Can I get you another cup of coffee? I’d be curious to see if it actually helps.”

“No, thank you. It probably wouldn’t.” Kathryn waited.

“I’m better,” said Revi. “Got a few unpleasant truths pounded into me yesterday, though. Did Gretchen tell you?”

Kathryn shook her head. “She only said that you and she had a long talk last night. And that it wasn’t her place to share any of it.” She could see the impact of that in Revi’s eyes.

“Your mother is special, Kathryn.”

“I know. I think I’m just starting to understand that myself.” She didn’t mention the long hug she’d given Gretchen this morning, or the way her mother had held on more tightly than usual. Given Revi’s sensitivity at the moment, it just didn’t seem kind.

Nodding, Revi said, “Funny how it can take so long for us to see our parents as adult Humans instead of parents.”

“Is that what happened yesterday?”

A pause. “I think so. That’s a good way of putting it, actually. So I suppose I’m just adapting to the concept. All my life I felt betrayed because they weren’t more than they were. And now I have to accept that they never will be.” She reached out to brush a bit of melting snow off Kathryn’s jacket. “How much time do you have? Enough to come in?”

“Yes, but—is twenty minutes enough for us to talk?”

“No. But it’s enough to tell you a few things I should have told you a while ago.”

“There is nothing you ‘should have’ told me. There’s only what you want to share.”

“Point taken.”

Kathryn crouched down to loosen her boot straps. “That said, though, I’m glad you want to share it with me. That means a lot. I’ve been really worried about you. So has Lynne.”

“Like Lynne needs anything else to worry about. She’s got family issues of her own.”

Kathryn paused, looking up. “Have you still not figured out that you and Seven are her family?”

“Ah…” Revi looked embarrassed and gratified at the same time.

“And mine, too.” Kathryn stood up, pulled her feet out of the boots, and stepped closer to Revi. “Can I give my family member a hug?”

Revi opened her arms in answer, and Kathryn gratefully embraced her. It was selfish and ridiculous and very small of her, but she’d been a little hurt to learn that Revi had gone to Gretchen for comfort instead of her. The hug helped erase some of that.

By the time she left for work she understood exactly why Revi had gone to Gretchen. And the first thing she did upon arriving at Starfleet Headquarters was something completely out of character. After authorizing her spontaneous purchase, she ended the call and smiled to herself, wishing she could be home to see her mother’s face.

Better late than never, right?

 

 

-----

 

 

Tuvok looked up as the office door opened, admitting Captain Janeway. He stood immediately, though Admiral Necheyev remained in her seat. “Captain.”

“Good morning, Commander. Admiral.” Turning back to him, she asked, “Can I hope that you have news?”

“One may always hope,” he said, choosing to take her question literally. A slight movement of her lips was her only reaction as they sat together in front of the Admiral’s desk.

“Good morning, Captain,” said Necheyev briefly. “To open the meeting, I can dispense with the progress on my end in one sentence: Wiler isn’t talking.”

“No surprise there,” said Janeway. “Too bad he’s not a telepath; it would be a lot simpler.”

Tuvok concurred. Federation law prohibited the use of telepathic monitoring of any legal detainee unless the suspect was a member of a telepathic race. He recognized the fairness and necessity of such a law, but it certainly did make some things more difficult.

“It would also be simpler if we weren’t constrained by the law while people like Wiler and his employers are free to break it,” said Necheyev. “Sometimes it really does feel as if we’re trying to win a race with an impulse engine while everyone else has a warp drive. Commander, please tell me that you have more to share than I do.”

“My search of the Hamilton Foundation records has revealed a discrepancy in the reporting on the slipstream drive research,” he said. “But it was not the discrepancy I had expected. I was looking for differences between the original report and the one received by Voyager via the MIDAS array. There were none, not even at the data block level. What I found instead was that the final report delivered to the Foundation, straight from the principal investigator, withheld a vital fact that had previously been included in the abstract submitted for the 2377 Foundation conference. The abstract specifically mentioned the phase variance.”

The women looked at him with matching expressions of astonishment.

“So there never was a mousetrap,” said Janeway.

“Not in the sense that we were expecting it, no. But I strongly believe that the deletion of that information was, in itself, the mousetrap.”

“Unbelievable,” said Necheyev. “We’ve been looking at this from the wrong direction all this time, thinking someone added something to the report when they actually took it out. So our saboteur hijacked the report between its source and the Foundation and removed a small but vital piece of data. Ingenious.”

Tuvok shook his head. “It seems more likely that the information was removed before it ever left the source. Dr. Necheyev attended the conference presentation given by Dr. Trallek, and she assures me that he never mentioned the phase variance.”

“If Alison gave you that assurance, you can take it as fact,” said Necheyev firmly. “I believe a talk with Dr. Trallek is in order.”

“Precisely my thought as well. And I do not think it should be done over a video link.”

“I agree. He’s clearly involved somehow. I don’t want him disappearing before we can get some answers.”

Which was de facto permission for him to continue on his course of action. Satisfied with his foresight, he said, “The Kensington is leaving orbit in one hour and passing very near Ipsen Prime. I have already arranged passage.”

She pursed her lips. “We can do better than that, Commander. We have a new Saber class vessel at Earth Station McKinley that’s scheduled for a test run today. The run will be pushing the engine to its full capacity of warp nine point eight five.”

“Nine eight five!” Janeway appeared momentarily embarrassed by her outburst, but then continued, “How did we squeeze another point one five out of an engine that small? As of the records Starfleet sent me last year, the Saber class was still limited to nine point seven.”

Tuvok raised an eyebrow at the interruption. The Captain’s enthusiasm for engineering never seemed far beneath the surface, no matter what else was occurring. But he did not think that Admiral Necheyev would welcome this diversion from the topic.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” said Necheyev, instantly countering his expectations. “Things have changed in Ship Design, Captain. It’s one of the few branches of Starfleet that actually benefitted from the Dominion War. It’s attracting some of the best minds in the Federation, and recruiting has seen a steep increase. Now we have officers and cadets competing to get in, even those on a command track.”

“Really?” Janeway was intrigued. “There are command track opportunities in Ship Design now?”

“Not per se. But the posts have become so prestigious, and the work so rewarding thanks to the current levels of funding and recognition, that officers are willing to step off the track for a year or two simply for the opportunity to work there.”

“Well, I can certainly understand that. Few things lifted our morale in the Delta Quadrant quite so high as when we designed the Delta Flyer and the slipstream drive. Before we discovered the mousetrap, that is,” Janeway added. “But there’s nothing quite like producing a physical, tangible result from one’s efforts.”

“Indeed.” Necheyev studied her for a moment. “Would you like to see the design specs for the new ship?”

Janeway gave her a startled smile. “I would.”

“I’ll arrange it.” Turning back to Tuvok—who had watched this irrelevant exchange with some bemusement—Necheyev added, “As of now I’m changing the orders for the Tagus’s flight. It will be carrying you straight to Ipsen Prime and back. At warp nine point eight five, the round trip should take about fifty hours, including rest periods for the warp drive. Departure time was scheduled for thirteen hundred hours, but if they’re ready to go any earlier, you’re authorized to initiate launch.” She pulled out a PADD, tapped her orders into it, and handed it across the desk. “I don’t want to wait two days, Commander. I’m not enjoying having to put a security detail on Captain Janeway any more than she is.”

“Understood,” he said, accepting the PADD. “I expect to have answers soon after arrival, and will communicate them immediately. I’ll leave Lieutenant Terrill here to coordinate in my absence. She has proven helpful so far.” He saw Janeway turn to look at him, but kept his eyes on Necheyev.

“Very well,” she said. “Dismissed, and good luck.”

Wisely, he refrained from pointing out that luck had no relevance in his work.

 

 

-----

 

 

As the door closed behind Tuvok, Necheyev focused her gaze on Kathryn. “Your faith in him is well justified.”

“It’s also well earned. Tuvok and I have a long history.”

“It occurs to me that perhaps I misinterpreted your statement the day before yesterday, when you said you felt more confident with him on the case,” Necheyev continued. “You meant that at face value, didn’t you?”

With some effort, Kathryn kept her jaw shut. This was probably as close to an apology as she would ever hear from Necheyev. It was also unprecedented. “Yes, I did,” she said carefully. “Though I’m certain there are highly qualified people here, and look forward to getting to know them, the fact remains that I trust Tuvok more than any other investigator.”

“You spent seven years with no support other than your crew. It’s only natural that you would form an extremely high level of trust with them, and they with you.” Necheyev leaned back in her chair, tapping her fingers on the arms. “Have you thought about what comes next?”

“Could you be more specific?”

The chair came forward again as Necheyev rested her elbows on the desk. “Once we finish with the debriefings and the publicity tour, you’ve got six months of leave coming. So does most of your crew, or at least the ones who are staying in Starfleet. But Starfleet itself isn’t coming to a halt in that time. Half the captains in the fleet are already putting out feelers about your personnel, and they’re wise to do so. Your crew represents a significant injection of experience and skill into the pool.” She paused, a small smile playing about her lips. “You’ve an admirable poker face, Captain, but not when it comes to anger. That shows right here.” She pointed toward her own eyes.

Caught, Kathryn swallowed down the instant ire she’d felt at the idea of her crew being poached. “My crew will make their own decisions about their futures. I’m only glad that their service has made them so desirable. Being able to write their own tickets is at least some compensation for the dues they’ve paid.”

“But it’s not compensation for your dues, is it? Losing all the people you trust?”

Kathryn said nothing, wondering where Necheyev was going with this. She didn’t have to wait long.

“Do you want to go back out again, Captain?”

“I…” Kathryn stopped, startled to find she didn’t have an instant answer. “I do. But not right away. I’m ready to keep my feet on the ground for a while—and these days I have more to consider than just myself. Lynne is just now finding a home. I don’t want to take her away from it.” Not the most politically astute answer, but it was the truth.

And Necheyev seemed to expect precisely that. “It’s not common for a flag officer candidate to have a spouse with an even more powerful position,” she said.

Flag officer? Kathryn was derailed by the comment and missed Necheyev’s next few words.

“…importance to Starfleet and its goals. You’re an unusual case all by yourself, Captain, and Ms. Hamilton adds yet another interesting angle to the mix. There’s been considerable discussion as to how best to utilize the two of you.”

“With respect, Admiral, Lynne is not part of the equation as far as Starfleet is concerned. She’s not available for ‘utilization’.”

“She hasn’t resigned her contract.” Necheyev raised a knowing eyebrow. “And she won’t, either, until she knows where you’re going.”

After rejecting her first response as one that might get her in serious trouble, Kathryn said, “I’ve learned the hard way never to make assumptions about what Lynne will or won’t do.”

“Did you assume she’d get a court-martial recommendation removed from your record?”

That caught her flat footed. Lynne hadn’t said anything of the sort last night. “Excuse me?”

“I guess she did that on her own, then,” said Necheyev, apparently taking her confirmation from Kathryn’s surprise. “I know Ms. Hamilton had an appointment with the President yesterday. And oddly enough, yesterday afternoon I was informed by Data Records that they received a communiqué from the Office of the President, reversing its prior recommendation for court-martial. Of course, it was a moot point since that battle has already been fought, and Gutierrez was never going to get that court-martial convened. Nevertheless, purging your record of his request makes a big difference to your career potential. There’s nothing between you and a flag position now except your desires and the belief of a promotional board in your abilities. Which is why I’m asking you if you want to go back out. If you want your own ship again, you may have to make a decision in the next few months.”

If she thought she’d been caught out before, it was nothing compared to how she felt now. “Are…are you recommending me for a promotion?” she asked faintly.

“Not just yet. You’re not ready, and neither are we. You still don’t realize that you’re no longer operating in a vacuum, and we haven’t yet determined where you could do the most good. But as of yesterday the possibility became far more concrete. And I suddenly have a much better idea of where to apply your skills.” She sat back, pulled open her desk drawer, and removed a PADD. With a few swift keystrokes she downloaded several files from her terminal and handed the PADD across the desk. “Here are the specs for the Tagus. I’ll be interested in your thoughts. By the way, Chekrine has indicated his desire for a post at the Academy. Seems he’s missing his teaching days and wants to get back into the classroom before he retires.”

Kathryn looked from the PADD to Necheyev, her mind whirling. Rear Admiral Chekrine was the Chief of Ship Design. Not a post with great political power, but an extremely prestigious one—and one that gave its holder nearly free rein to direct the future of the fleet itself. All twelve Federation shipyards existed to build the designs that came out of that facility. It was an engineer’s dream job.

And apparently it was soon to be vacated.

“Your team built a slipstream drive while Ship Design was still stuck on a few issues they found insurmountable,” said Necheyev. “And then you found the phase variance. In addition, you’ve made structural changes to your ship that have our engineers scratching their heads. You and your staff put Ship Design to shame. It would not be a hard sell to put you up as a viable candidate to replace Chekrine—if you wanted the position, that is, and if you manage to convince me that you can merge yourself back into the command structure.” She tilted her head. “Have I actually struck you speechless, Captain?”

“Yes.” It was all she could come up with.

Necheyev laughed, startling her even more. “Good. I’ll mark this day on my calendar. No need for decisions this very moment; I’m just thinking ahead to the possibilities. Take a look at those specs and be prepared to give me your preliminary evaluation in two days.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Kathryn was starting to recover, and already itching to bury herself in the Saber files. “But I should point out that the accomplishments you speak of weren’t mine alone. Lieutenants Torres, Paris and Kim, Commander Tuvok and Seven of Nine were invaluable to that effort.”

“Of course they were. Do you think Chekrine is personally responsible for new designs? Ship Design is a team, not a single person. And it would be quite a coup if you could bring your team with you, wouldn’t it? Might even sway a promotion board.”

Kathryn could only nod. Necheyev was at least three light years ahead of her in this conversation, and she just wasn’t going to catch up.

“Now,” continued Necheyev briskly, “speaking of you and the command structure, let’s talk about your performance in the studio yesterday. You might recall it—the one where you went against all the recommendations of Communications and not only mentioned your personnel losses, but made them a highlight of the interview?”

For this topic, at least, Kathryn had come prepared. “I kept the recommendations of Communications very much in mind, but in my opinion it would have reflected badly on Starfleet had I sidestepped a direct question not just about my losses, but about a specific individual. It’s one thing to express regret about an abstract concept and then redirect the interview, and something else entirely to try that when the topic has a face and a name. That had to be addressed head on. And I did so in a manner that I felt best represented Starfleet to the people who were watching that interview and waiting for some acknowledgement of Ms. Martin and her son.”

Necheyev regarded her steadily. “In other words, you took your orders under advisement and made your own decision.”

“I was never ordered not to speak of my lost crew members. It was a recommendation only.”

“And if it had been an order?”

“That’s a moot question, Admiral. It wasn’t. Which means you didn’t feel strongly enough about the impact of such a referral to directly instruct me one way or the other. Which means that I had latitude to decide the best course of action in a situation that varied from the scenarios anticipated by Starfleet Communications.”

“Excellent defense, Captain,” said Necheyev after a moment. “While your maverick tendencies can be a thorn in my side, I have to admit that they also work to our advantage at times. In this case they did. Public response was overwhelmingly positive, which means you saved Starfleet from a potential black eye. But now you get to pay the consequences.”

“I’m prepared to do so.” Though she had no idea what they might be.

“Good.” Necheyev glanced at the time display on her wall monitor. “Your first opportunity will be in one hour. Ms. Martin contacted us yesterday—she’s coming here to speak to you about her son. We scheduled her this morning, before your appearance in Geneva.”

Kathryn sat back in her chair, her heart sinking inside her chest. “Oh, god.”

For the first time, Necheyev actually seemed sympathetic. “You made a very broad offer, Captain. I think it came from the right place, and in purely detached, public relations terms, I think it will be good for Starfleet’s image. But you’ve also put yourself into a difficult position. You lost twenty-three members of your crew. That’s a lot of tough conversations, should each of their families take you up on your offer. There’s a good reason why family notifications are conducted by trained Starfleet counselors.”

“I know.” She shook her head. “And if you had any idea how many times I wished I’d had a ship’s counselor…”

“I can guess,” said Necheyev. “And I’ll provide you with one to help you through this. But the fact remains that you made an offer on a Federation-wide broadcast, and now you’ll have to live with it.”

Kathryn straightened, stung by the words. “I already live with the knowledge that I lost twenty-three good people, Admiral. I’ve lived with that for years. And I meant precisely what I said yesterday. If those families want to talk to me, I can’t do anything less than be available for them. They deserve that and so much more.”

“That’s what I thought you’d say. And it does you credit. But I don’t want you doing this on your own.” She looked up and spoke to the comm system. “Necheyev to Sosallme.”

“Yes, Admiral,” came the sweet tones of Necheyev’s Andorian aide.

“Has the Counselor arrived?”

“Yes, she’s waiting for you now.”

“Please bring her in.”

The door opened immediately, and a familiar figure walked through, wearing the dress uniform of a commander. “Good morning, Admiral…Captain,” she said with a smile.

Kathryn stood up and extended a hand. “Counselor Troi, it’s good to see you again. So you’re my guide through the tough conversations?”

“I am.” Troi shook her hand. “And for the record, I think your response in yesterday’s interview was spectacular.”

“Thank you. I’m grateful to have your assistance in helping me keep my word.”

“I’ve reserved the solarium for your meeting,” said Necheyev. “And for the previous hour as well. If you’d like to escort Counselor Troi there, you can utilize the time to prepare for your conversation with Ms. Martin.”

Knowing a dismissal when she heard one, Kathryn nodded and turned to her new associate. “Shall we?”

“Of course. It’s good to see you again, Alynna,” said Troi.

“And you, Deanna. Thank you for making yourself available on such short notice.”

“Any time.”

Alynna? thought Kathryn. They’re on a first name basis?

 

 

-----

 

 

Gretchen was in the middle of breaking eggs into her mixing bowl when the door chime rang. “Lynne?” she called. “Can you get that?”

“Sure thing,” came the reply from the living room.

She heard voices at the door and a low laugh from Lynne, which raised her curiosity to a sufficient level that she set aside her bowl and washed her hands. Just as she tossed the towel onto the counter, Lynne poked her head around the corner.

“Got something for you. Security picked it up from a delivery person.”

“What’s that?”

The rest of Lynne’s body came into view, holding a large bouquet of lilies in a decorative vase. “Something I didn’t know you still did in this century. It’s good to know that one-eight-hundred-flowers never went out of business.”

“Where did these come from?” asked Gretchen in confusion. “And what the hell is one-eight-hundred-flowers?”

“Toll free phone number to order flowers from anywhere in the country,” Lynne explained, not helping at all. “As for where they’re from—guess you’d better check the card.” She put the flowers on the kitchen table and pulled a small envelope from their midst.

Gretchen took it automatically. It had her name written on the outside, but she didn’t recognize the handwriting. Which meant that they had indeed been ordered, as Lynne had said. But what was a toll free number?

She forgot the question as she pulled the card from its envelope.

 

For all the times I never said it—thank you.

 

“They’re from Kathryn,” she said, looking at the signature. “Real flowers? These must have cost her a fortune. Why didn’t she just replicate them?”

“Probably because replicated flowers don’t have the same scent, or so I’ve been told.” Lynne buried her nose in the lilies. “Ohhhh. Well, it’s true. These smell fantastic.”

Gretchen bent over and followed her example, closing her eyes as the bold scent hit her nostrils. “Oh my. That smells like summer. I have these in my front flower bed. What a treat to smell them in February!” She straightened and looked at the card again, a tingle of joy curling around her insides.

“What does it say? If I can ask, that is.”

In answer, Gretchen showed her the card. She couldn’t have stopped smiling if she’d wanted to, and when Lynne looked up it got even worse. She felt ridiculously gratified.

“I think I’m jealous,” said Lynne, handing it back. “But since you’re her mother, I guess I’ll overlook it.”

Gretchen carefully replaced the card in its little holder amongst the flowers. “She’s never done this before.”

“Really?”

“Really. It’s not her style.”

“You’re kidding. Well, I guess it’s just a good habit she picked up in the Delta Quadrant.”

Gretchen studied her for a moment, noting the ill-suppressed grin. “She picked it up from you, didn’t she?”

“I wouldn’t have thought so, but maybe. At any rate, that woman does have class. And that, she learned from you.” Lynne leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you from me as well.”

“For what?” Not that she was complaining.

“For being a great mom.” Lynne gave her a meaningful look. “Revi told Kathryn about yesterday. I guess it made her realize how lucky she is to have you. I of course knew that from the first letter you ever sent me.”

Gretchen’s joyous tingle faded a bit. “Well, I’m delighted that she feels that way, but I wish it had come about differently. Poor Revi.”

“I know. But you know what? The fact that Revi is even addressing this says a lot about how far she’s come. A few months ago she’d never have had the resources to handle it. So don’t feel sorry for her, Gretchen. Just cheer her on.”

“Oh, I am.” She leaned over to sniff her flowers again. “My god. Kathryn sent me flowers. Well, I guess she’s saying the same thing I am with my brownies, just in a different way.”

“Brownies? You’re making brownies?” Lynne went straight to the mixing bowl. “When were you going to tell me this?”

“When I brought you the bowl to lick,” said Gretchen, and laughed at her expression. “You look about thirteen years old right now.”

“Four hundred and thirteen would be closer.” Leaning against the counter, she added, “I’ll just stay here. It’ll save you time when you’re done.”

Shaking her head, Gretchen picked up her spatula and began beating in the eggs. Unable to help herself, she glanced back at the table, where her bouquet took up nearly half the space with its bulk.

Kathryn sent me flowers.

She set the mixing bowl back down and reached for the vanilla extract, still marveling. Not only that, but she said thank you.

It felt amazingly good. Really, there was only one other thing that could mean more, but that involved a word that no one in their family had ever made a habit of using. It just wasn’t something they said.

But then she remembered Revi last night, sitting at that very table, saying she’d just found out that her father loved her—and she didn’t care. What a terrible, terrible thing.

Maybe it’s time someone in this family started a new habit.

 

 

-----

 

 

Kathryn stood beside Troi, surrounded by the verdant greenery of the solarium and nervously tugging her sleeve into place. She had changed into a dress uniform, which served to emphasize the gravity of this meeting. In her career she’d recorded far too many messages to families of lost crew members, but never had she spoken with any of them face to face. It wasn’t a responsibility expected of captains, for good reason. But Necheyev was right: she’d made the offer, and now she had to live with it.

At least she had Troi, who had given her some excellent advice, and in the time they’d had left she’d managed to act on it. Hopefully Ms. Martin would find some measure of comfort in what she had to offer.

Through the transparent doors she saw a young ensign approaching, with Susanna Martin at his side. She looked quite different from the day before, in her dark formal suit, polished shoes and a hairstyle that had clearly taken some time.

“This is a good sign,” said Troi in a low voice. “If she was looking at this simply as a means of venting her anger and grief onto you, she wouldn’t have taken such care with her appearance. She certainly didn’t during the parade.”

Kathryn wasn’t sure whether to believe that or not, but she had no more time to think about it as the doors opened and Ms. Martin walked through.

“Ms. Martin,” she said, stepping forward with her hand outstretched. “Thank you so much for coming.”

“Thank you for your offer,” said Martin shyly. “It wasn’t what I expected.”

“This is Counselor Troi.” Kathryn indicated her companion. “She’s here to help both of us.”

Make her understand she’s not the only one unsure of herself in this meeting, Troi had said, and by the expression on Martin’s face as they shook hands, it had been good advice. She already seemed slightly more at ease.

“It’s good to meet you, Ms. Martin.” Troi’s voice was warm and caring. “Though I certainly wish it were under different circumstances.”

“Thank you.” She looked around, clutching her purse with both hands. “This is a nice place. I never knew there was a garden inside Starfleet Headquarters.”

“It was designed over fifty years ago, when Starfleet was first considering airponics bays in long-range ships,” said Kathryn, indicating the path with an outstretched arm. “But since then it’s grown into something quite different. There’s a bench by the fountain in the center; shall we?”

“I thought I heard water.” Martin took the cue and walked beside her, while Troi brought up the rear. “It’s not as big as it looks, is it?”

“No. I think that’s part of the appeal.” Kathryn turned left at a fork in the path, and within a few steps emerged into a circular open space, walled on all sides by trees, vines and tiered plantings. In the center, bracketed by three benches, was a small fountain splashing softly over natural rocks. The effect was one of privacy and serenity.

She sat toward the end of one bench and indicated the place next to her. “Won’t you sit down?”

Somewhat stiffly, Martin took her place, though she still clutched her purse. Troi sat on her other side, immediately leaning back and providing a picture of relaxed body posture as she gazed at the fountain. “I’ve always loved this spot,” she said. “I come here to think sometimes, when things get a little too difficult to handle.”

Martin said nothing, but her grip on her purse seemed to relax slightly as she followed Troi’s gaze.

“I don’t really know how to start,” said Kathryn, when it became obvious that Martin was not going to speak. “You must have so many questions. But maybe I can start by answering the one you’ve already asked me.”

Martin swung her head around, frowning in confusion. “I haven’t asked you anything.”

“You asked me, ‘what about the ones I left behind,’” Kathryn reminded her gently. Martin immediately dropped her eyes, but raised them again as Kathryn continued, “I left no one behind, Ms. Martin. Because that would imply that I forgot about them, or stopped caring, or dismissed them from my mind. I didn’t. There is no way I can forget any of the people who didn’t come home. And certainly not Joe.”

Use his name, Troi had advised. Not his formal name, not his rank, but the name he went by. Show her that you really did know him.

“I’m…I’m sorry about the sign,” said Martin. “I’ve just been so angry. A whole ticker tape parade for you, and nothing for Joe, not even any mention of him in all that news coverage. It was like he just disappeared. Like nobody cared. I wanted people to care.”

“I’m sorry that you ever felt we didn’t care.”

“I’ve felt that way for three and a half years, Captain. Three and a half years since those Starfleet officers showed up on my doorstep and said Voyager had made contact, but my son was already dead. And then they left, and that was it.”

“But that wasn’t it for you,” said Troi. “You’ve had to live with the loss ever since. And now Joe’s crewmates have come home, and it feels different, doesn’t it?”

“It’s so much worse. Everyone else is so happy.” Meeting Kathryn’s eyes again, she said, “I read about your parade and it felt like somebody slapped me. I didn’t even know about your offer until my friend called me to ask if I was going to accept…because I couldn’t bring myself to watch you on FedComm. I didn’t want to see your face.”

It hurt, but Kathryn kept her expression neutral. “I can understand why,” she said.

“I watched it after Caren called. That was a…a nice thing you did, reading off all their names. And I didn’t know about your father and your fiancé. I’m sorry for your loss, too.”

Kathryn’s heart went out to the mother who could, even in the depths of her own grief, reach out to her. “Thank you. But I didn’t read their names. I had no written list. They’re all in here.” She laid her hand over her heart. “I meant it when I said I can’t forget them.”

Martin studied her for several seconds, finally nodding slightly. “I believe you. Thank you for that; it makes me feel a little bit better.” She turned back to the fountain, watching it in apparent fascination and saying nothing else. Kathryn was just about to break the silence when a gesture from Troi caught her eye. Discreetly, Troi was giving her a hand signal that clearly said Don’t.

She sat back and waited, wondering what Troi had sensed. And then she saw Martin’s face tightening, a body language cue that she easily recognized from years at the negotiation table.

Straightening her spine, Martin faced her fully and said in a determined voice, “I do have a question for you. I need you to tell me what nobody else will. They just said he died in the course of his duty, that he was shot and couldn’t be saved. Your letter said the same thing. But I don’t know what that means. What exactly was he doing? Was it quick? Did he suffer?” Her voice caught, but she continued bravely, “They seem to think that I don’t have the right to know how my son died, just because he died in Starfleet. But I do. I’m his mother. I have the right.”

“Yes, you do,” said Troi, leaning forward. “You absolutely do. Starfleet has a policy of not providing details of death, and there are some good reasons for that policy, but you deserve the truth. I think you’re very courageous to ask.”

“It’s not courage.” A flush suffused Martin’s face, and her eyes were suspiciously shiny. “It’s a need. I have to know. I have to know how my baby died.”

Kathryn had expected it, she understood it, and she’d have asked the same thing herself if she’d been in Martin’s place. But to sit here and give details of a totally senseless death to a grieving mother…

“It was very quick,” she said as gently as she could. “He didn’t suffer at all. He was shot with a Starfleet phaser on a kill setting, which means—please forgive me for stating it so bluntly—but his body was vaporized instantly. He never knew what happened.”

The tears spilled over. “Oh, thank god. Thank god.” She dabbed at her eyes, then suddenly pierced Kathryn with a glare. “Are you sure? This isn’t some line to make me feel better? How do you know?”

“I’m sure. I was there, Ms. Martin. I saw the whole thing.”

Her eyes went wide. “You were there? What happened?”

Taking a deep breath, Kathryn told her about the distress call they’d answered, and how they’d beamed three survivors aboard, one of whom had died within minutes. Except he hadn’t died, not really, because he had transferred his consciousness to Kes, a member of her crew who was assisting the Doctor. The consciousness turned out to be that of a two hundred-year-old warlord named Tieran, who had merely been occupying the body of the man who’d died in Sickbay. And now he had taken over the body and mind of Kes.

“But no one knew it,” she said. “We didn’t have a clue. And Kes was one of my most trusted people. When we arrived at the homeworld of the two survivors, a representative was sent up to meet us. So I had the two survivors brought to the transporter room, and Kes—or who I thought was Kes— came in both a medical and ambassadorial capacity. Joe was the transporter operator.”

Martin’s mouth made a silent ‘O’ as she listened.

“He beamed up the representative. Kes and I were standing side by side, facing the transporter platform. As the man materialized on the platform, I stepped forward to greet him—and Kes pulled a phaser and shot him. Then she turned around and shot Joe. It happened in less than two seconds. I’m so sorry, but I never had a chance to stop her.”

“Just like that? She shot Joe just like that? But why?”

“It wasn’t Kes,” said Kathryn. “It was the warlord using her body. And he didn’t see Joe or me or that representative as anything but obstacles to his plan. Joe wasn’t armed, I wasn’t armed—there was no reason to expect any problems. And never in a thousand years would I have suspected Kes of bringing a phaser to the transporter room with intent to kill. She revered life. Joe thought she was his friend. So did I.”

“Did she…I mean, did he shoot you, too?”

She almost wished she could say yes. How bad would it look that she’d stood by while two people died, and then managed to save herself?

“No. I was trying to reach him while he was aiming at Joe. But I was too late. I fought him for the phaser, but it turned out that the two survivors in the room were working with him. One of them knocked me unconscious, and all three of them beamed off the ship. I woke up in sickbay.”

“So you and Joe were surrounded by enemies without knowing it.”

Kathryn blinked. “Yes. I hadn’t actually thought about it that way, but…yes, we were.”

“And one minute he was operating the transporter, and the next he was dead.”

“I’m afraid so. I wish I could tell you differently, but it was just senseless.”

She nodded slowly. “But he died on his ship, doing his job. And I know he loved what he did. At least it wasn’t in some sort of battle, with him being frightened or hurt. And it was fast. He didn’t suffer. You know, you take any tiny bit of hope that you can.” She wiped her eyes and stared at the fountain. “What happened then? I mean, what happened to Kes?”

For a moment Kathryn was surprised—why would Martin care about Kes?—but then she understood.

“She was still there, in her mind, fighting Tieran. Once we figured out exactly what had happened, we went after her with a device to pull Tieran’s consciousness out. I almost lost my Chief of Security on that mission—we tried infiltration first, but Tieran caught him because he had Kes’ telepathic abilities. Then we went in with a full invasion force. We found Kes, but by then Tieran had already transferred to yet another body. Fortunately, Kes knew him well enough by then to recognize him no matter which body he was in. She took the device and put it on the new host, and Tieran was destroyed. Your son’s killer was brought to justice. He wasn’t just contained. His consciousness was utterly eradicated.”

“Good,” she whispered. “I hope he screamed when he realized he was dying.”

“He panicked,” Kathryn answered softly. “He was terrified. The irony is that he killed Joe and took over Kes because he wanted power and immortality. But because of his actions, we went after him. If he’d left us alone, he’d have gotten what he wanted. Instead he lost everything.”

Martin’s hands clenched and unclenched on her purse, two, three times—and then she turned her head and looked at Kathryn with a fierceness that belied her dress and previous manner. “Thank you. You have no idea how much it helps to know that.”

Reaching out, Kathryn covered one of her hands. “I do know.”

The fierce look faded. “I guess maybe you do.”

After a moment, Troi said, “Ms. Martin, we both understand why you would want to know the details of Joe’s death. But we also thought you might want to know a little bit more about his life on Voyager.”

Kathryn released her hand and pulled out the PADD she’d carried in with her. “I went into Voyager’s database and downloaded some images of Joe. I know you’ve received his effects by now, but those don’t tell the whole story.”

Martin accepted it wonderingly, her eyes riveted to the image on the screen. “Oh…where is this? He looks so happy.”

“It’s a holodeck program that we ran continuously during our first year in the Delta Quadrant. It’s modeled on a tavern in Marseilles called Sandrine’s. At one time or another, almost all of our crew went there to relax.”

“He would have loved that.” Her sudden smile was brilliant. “He studied in Paris for a term during his junior year at the Academy. And I know he went to Marseilles at least once. I wonder if he actually knew this tavern?”

“Well, he definitely felt quite at home there.” In fact, Joe Martin’s expression in the image was one of ease and enjoyment. He had been photographed while talking and laughing with another crewman as both sat at a table laden with two full glasses and several empty ones.

“Somehow I never thought of him laughing when the ship was lost.” Martin stared hungrily at the image for long moments, then advanced to the next one. “And where is this?”

“That’s our mess hall. We were celebrating one of Neelix’s imaginary holidays.” At her bewildered look, Kathryn hastened to explain. “Neelix joined us in the Delta Quadrant and became our morale officer. He was always inventing reasons to have a party.”

“Just look at him. I think that’s the ugliest shirt I’ve ever seen him wear.”

Kathryn looked more closely at the image. “Oh, that’s right. We were celebrating some strange Talaxian holiday that required everyone to wear orange. Not his color, is it?”

Martin let out a bark of laughter that was just this side of a sob. “Not in a million years.”

They spent another twenty minutes going over the images Kathryn and Troi had selected, nearly all of them showing Joe relaxing. Their efforts clearly had the desired effect as Ms. Martin grew more and more at ease, her emotional fragility bolstered by a new understanding that her son had not spent three and a half years lost, afraid and alone. The images made it clear that he’d had friends, had enjoyed his time off, and had created a life for himself despite being stranded seventy thousand light years from home. And when they came to the last one, Martin deactivated the PADD and clutched it to her chest. “I hope you don’t want this back, because I am never letting go of it.”

Kathryn smiled. “It’s yours.”

“Good.” She opened her purse and carefully slipped the PADD inside, then gave them a watery smile. “Thank you so much for this. It’s so much more than I expected.”

“You’re welcome,” said Kathryn. “Thank you for coming. I’m very glad I had the chance to talk to you.”

Troi stepped in smoothly, rising from the bench and somehow getting the group back to the entrance without allowing the moment to grow overly awkward. The aide was already waiting on the other side of the transparent doors, and after handshakes and goodbyes all around, Ms. Martin left with a posture considerably more assured than it had been when she entered. Just in front of the door sensor she hesitated, shook her head, and turned around. With a purposeful step, she walked straight up to a startled Kathryn and pulled her into an embrace.

“You gave my son back to me,” she whispered. “I can never thank you enough. God bless you and keep you safe.”

Giving her a final squeeze, she turned and walked out. As the doors shut behind her, Kathryn and Troi were left alone in the greenery, watching the aide escort her down the hall.

For a minute neither of them moved, and there was no sound but the soft splash of the fountain. Then Troi put a light hand on Kathryn’s shoulder.

“That felt a bit like redemption, didn’t it?”

Kathryn was forever grateful for her sensitivity, as the counselor walked away without turning to see her tears.

 

 

 

 

---

chapter 42

 

 

“Hello, I’m sorry,” said Counselor Troi as she entered the room. “I had an unexpected appointment over at the Admin building. I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

“Just five minutes,” said Revi.

Seven frowned, wondering why Revi didn’t tell the truth. They’d arrived six minutes early, therefore they had been waiting eleven minutes, not five.

: Because there is such a thing as too much accuracy, darling. :

“Good. I do apologize.” Troi went to the replicator in the corner and ordered a glass of water. “Can I get either of you anything?”

“How about a double vodka, straight up?” asked Revi. Seven raised an eyebrow, but Troi seemed unaffected.

“I get that request more often than you’d think,” she remarked. “But I find that alcohol tends to interfere with my clients’ ability to focus.”

: Perfect. That’s what I want. :

“Now, that might actually be your goal,” Troi continued, causing Seven to hide her smile, “but it’s certainly not mine and it would be a waste of our time. So, water? Juice? I can make a very good hot chocolate—my own program.”

“I would like to try that,” said Seven. If it was a special program, the probability was high that it was a better than average drink.

“Fine,” said Revi. “I’ll have it too.”

“Coming right up. Please, have a seat.”

Seven gave some thought to choosing a different chair than their first time, just to see what Troi would say about it, but Revi rolled her eyes and sat pointedly on the sofa.

Troi walked over soon after, setting two steaming mugs of hot chocolate on the coffee table and making herself comfortable in the same seat she’d used before. Taking a sip of her water, she looked at them quizzically. “Something has changed,” she said. “Quite a lot. I’m sensing very different feelings today than I did last week.”

“It’s been a busy week,” said Revi.

Now Seven rolled her eyes. “What Revi means to say, in her inefficient way, is that she met her mother yesterday.” She intentionally left the most salient fact for Revi to relate.

: Thanks for moving us right along, : came the acerbic thought. : I was going to ease into it. :

: We only have an hour, not a day. : That earned her a quick glare, but there was no real heat in it. Seven knew that sometimes Revi needed her to take the lead, even if she grumbled about it. For the last twenty-four hours, that need had been greater than normal.

“You did! Then she kept her word.”

“Yes,” Revi conceded. “But now I wish she hadn’t.”

“Oh dear. Well, take a couple of sips of that hot chocolate, and when you’re ready to talk about what happened, I’m listening.” Troi lifted her water glass, seeming to be in no hurry.

Revi wasn’t in any hurry either, but after some encouragement from Seven—both mental and verbal—she told the story to a sympathetic Troi. In the process of describing the images being shared, both by her and Dhara, the emotions she’d managed to tamp down came surging back up again. “I don’t know where to go from here,” she finished, reaching out at last for her neglected cup of hot chocolate. “I’m not sure I ever want to deal with this again. But I started it, and now I don’t think my mother will let it drop.” She made a face. “This is already cold.”

Troi stood and reached for the cup. “It’s not ‘already’ cold, Revi. We’ve been talking for twenty minutes.”

“We have?” Revi checked her internal chronometer. “Gods, we have. I don’t usually lose track of time like that.” She looked at Seven in dismay.

At the replicator, Troi recycled the hot chocolate and ordered a new one. “It’s not uncommon when emotions are heightened.”

“It is for me. I have a built-in chronometer. So does Seven. We don’t forget the time.”

“Sometimes we do,” said Seven, sending a decidedly different, intimate set of images to Revi. The resulting smile was a balm to her soul, which had been hurting as she’d watched her partner struggle through the retelling.

Returning with a steaming mug, Troi put it on the table in front of Revi and said, “I know that your Borg systems are a big part of you, but right now you’re a lot more Human than you are Borg.”

“Thank you.” Revi picked up the mug and sipped it appreciatively. “I mean for the hot chocolate. I’m not sure about the Borg bit—right now I could use a little more emotional detachment.”

“Oh, I disagree completely. Detaching would set you back. Think of this situation as a river, shallow at the edges and deep in the center. You really need to get to the other side, but it means wading into the deep water and swimming. You’ve been in the shallows for a long time, Revi. And you just took a huge leap of courage and faith, and jumped in the deep part. Don’t go back now. If you do, you’ll just have to go through this all over again, sometime later. And probably not at a time of your choosing.”

“What makes you think this was a time of my choosing?”

“Because you’re the one who made the offer to your mother, not the other way around.”

Revi stopped in mid-sip, the shock of that zinging down their link and right through Seven’s spine. “But I didn’t mean…” She trailed off, looking at Troi with wide eyes. “It wasn’t intentional.”

“You invited your mother to share your mind and your emotions—a greater intimacy and vulnerability than non-telepaths can even imagine—and it wasn’t intentional?”

Seven gripped Revi’s free hand, wishing she could soothe away the confusion. It hurt to see her losing confidence again. Perhaps these sessions weren’t so beneficial after all.

The thought brought a tiny spark of dark amusement into Revi’s emotions. : Always ready to defend me…unfortunately, this is how counseling works. I’m not liking it, but I have to do it. :

: But it’s making you worse. : Seven was giving thought to ending the session.

“Excuse me.” Troi’s voice was calm but firm. “I watched you two do this last week, but at that time it wasn’t interfering with our progress, so I didn’t say anything. Now it’s interfering. Revi, I need to know what you’re thinking. I need you to do it out loud.”

Revi turned immediately, chastened. “I’m sorry. We sometimes forget that others can see when we’re communicating.”

“I think most of the time, uninterested observers wouldn’t pick it up. But I’m very interested.”

“I apologize as well,” said Seven, not wanting Revi to take the brunt of their correction. “However, I question the efficacy of your methods. Revi is significantly more upset and confused now than when we arrived. How exactly is this helping her?”

Troi didn’t seem fazed in the slightest. “Facing your emotions and their underlying causes is never easy. Tell me, Seven, can you repair a malfunctioning phase coil without touching it? Without taking off the external housing and getting into the complex pieces and parts that make it work?”

“You are implying that Revi’s emotions are analogous to a mechanical object. I don’t believe that’s accurate.”

“Try not to be quite so literal,” said Revi unexpectedly. “She’s right. I’m tired of being broken, Seven. If Counselor Troi can repair my phase coil, then I’m willing to do my part.”

“Revi is fortunate to have you,” said Troi. “She couldn’t ask for a more caring partner. But it’s possible to protect someone too much. I know you want to keep her safe and protect her from being hurt. But—”

“But you can’t,” Revi finished. “Not always. I wish you could.”

Seven looked from one to the other, her nascent ire subsiding under their unity. “Very well. I accept this for now.”

Troi smiled. “I’m on probation, I see. It won’t be the first time, nor the last.” Looking back at Revi, she continued, “You said your offer to your mother wasn’t intentional. Why do you think you made it?”

“I don’t know. It just came out. No, really,” she said in response to the clear expression of skepticism on Troi’s face. “It did. We were arguing about my father—as usual—and she was defending him, as usual, and then I told her that nothing had changed in all the years I was gone. She said I was right, nothing had changed because I still didn’t believe that they loved me. And then she said she wished she could be in our link for just a moment, so that I could see for myself. You have to understand, for her to even say that was phenomenal. She’s been under my father’s thumb my whole life, and he’d just as soon shoot a telepath as look at one. I couldn’t believe those words came out of her mouth. I asked her if she meant it, and she said she did. So I made the offer before I could even think about it. Believe me, I was sorry afterward.”

“You did it before you could think about it. Which means your motivation wasn’t conscious. But you did have a motivation, or you’d never have opened yourself up to such a difficult possibility. Think about how you felt when you were arguing with her. Try to remember. You were upset, angry…and then you couldn’t believe that she’d said such a thing. So you made the offer…” she trailed off, looking at Revi expectantly.

Revi stared at her. “Because…I never thought she’d take me up on it,” she said slowly. “I thought it was safe.”

“In other words, you made an offer you were certain she’d turn down.”

“And she did, too. At first. I told her it was possible, and she looked shocked, and when I asked her if she meant it she tried to dance around it. So I started to walk away. That’s when she said she’d do it.”

“But what was the point? Why make her an offer if you were so certain she’d reject it?”

Seven felt a frisson of realization go through their link as Revi heard the word reject. Suddenly she understood exactly what Troi was pushing for, and looked at the counselor with new respect. She’d had eight days to think about that encounter between Revi and her mother, but eight years wouldn’t have been enough time for her to make the logical leap that Counselor Troi had just accomplished in a few minutes.

“You chose that word intentionally,” said Revi.

“Which word?”

“Reject. Don’t even try to play innocent.”

Troi’s smile was gentle. “Sometimes it’s harder to work with patients as intelligent as you are, because they’re picking apart my word choices and looking for hidden agendas. And sometimes it’s easier, because they’re picking apart my word choices and making leaps of understanding without my having to lead them every step of the way. I’m so glad you’re the latter type.”

Revi wasn’t immune to the compliment. “So you think I made that offer because I equated Mother’s rejection of it with a broader rejection of me?”

“The more important question is, what do you think?”

After a long pause, Revi said, “I never wanted to go there in the first place. I knew it would be awful. But it seemed so cowardly not to…I guess I figured that if I made a good faith effort to connect with her, and she turned it down, then I could wash my hands of the whole thing and be done with it. It would be proof that she didn’t love me enough to try.”

“So you set yourself up for disappointment.”

“I suppose so. But she surprised me.”

Troi said nothing, letting that sink in for a few moments. Seven’s mind was whirling, and though unsure of her place in this conversation, she was burning with a need to know.

“Aren’t you going to take the next step?”

Both of them turned to look at her. “Which step would that be?” asked Troi.

“This is about motivation. We understand now why Revi made the offer. But what was her motivation for agreeing to the link? She didn’t have to do it.” She met Revi’s eyes. “You didn’t have to say yes. You were torn. You said—” she slipped into the memory, quoting verbatim— “I don’t really have a choice, do I? I said of course you do. You said no, I don’t. If I don’t do this, I’ll never know.”

“I meant I’d never know why. Why he didn’t love me, why she never protected me.”

“But that’s the conscious motivation. Counselor Troi has already proved that you had an unconscious motivation for the link offer. What was the unconscious motivation for accepting?”

“Does there have to be an unconscious motivation for everything?” asked Revi with some heat.

“Doesn’t there?”

“Not necessarily,” said Troi, frustrating what Seven had thought was an excellent flow of logic. “However, in this case I think there might have been.”

Pleased, Seven looked at Revi.

Who was not nearly so pleased as Seven. “You know, I really don’t need the two of you ganging up on me,” she said. “One of you counseling me is plenty.”

Seven drew back in hurt surprise. After the previous day and night, when she’d used every bit of her support and love to hold Revi together—

: Why are you angry with me? : she asked, forgetting Troi’s instruction in her distress.

Revi closed her eyes, the guilt instantly swamping her. : I’m sorry… :

“Ladies? Aloud, please?”

“I’m sorry, Seven. Damn.” Revi took a deep breath, trying to center herself. “Okay. I appreciate what you’re doing, and I love you for trying to help, but right now I really think I can only handle one person pushing me.”

“Counseling is hard work,” said Troi. Seven wasn’t sure who she was addressing until their eyes met as she added, “The reason some motivations are unconscious is because we don’t consciously want to know what they are. Digging down to them means getting past a layer of protective resistance. And that often results in anger as we push back against the person doing the digging. Revi wasn’t upset with you. She was upset because we’re right at that layer of resistance.”

Seven took a moment to digest that. “Do your clients often get angry at you?”

“Oh yes.” Troi smiled. “Until they figure out what the anger is really about.”

“I would not want your job,” Seven told her sincerely, and Troi laughed.

“It has its moments. But it also has great rewards.” She turned back to Revi. “You’re an extremely self-aware individual. I think you know why you accepted when your mother called your bluff. You wanted something out of it. What was it?”

A thick silence fell as Revi considered it. It was difficult for Seven to stay out of her mind, to let her jump from one thought to the next without joining her and trying to help, but she managed it by distracting herself. Looking around the office, she noted every decoration on the walls and wondered about its real purpose. This was a counseling office; surely those images and art selections were chosen for a reason. That scene of the wave crashing onto a rock—it wasn’t a scene of serenity; maybe it was supposed to inspire another emotion? A sense of power? Freedom? Perhaps destruction; water was one of the most destructive forces on most planets, given enough time for its erosive powers to have an effect.

She was so successful at her self-distraction that Revi’s voice startled her.

“I wanted an apology.”

Seven looked back in time to see Troi nodding encouragingly. “For not protecting you?”

“For everything. I wanted her to admit how fucked my entire childhood was. I want her to say my father was a bastard—is a bastard, and she was wrong for not protecting me, and that I have the right to be angry, and that she’s sorry.”

“Did you get it?”

“Part of it. She’ll never admit Father is a bastard. She defended him to the bitter end. But she did apologize for not stepping in; for not seeing it.”

“And did that help? Did you feel better?”

With a bitter laugh, Revi said, “I felt worse. I’m even angrier now than I was before. And confused as hell.”

“This may surprise you,” said Troi, “but that’s actually a good sign. The anger, I mean. Though we’ll be talking about appropriate ways to express it with your mother.”

Seven thought she was right—it did surprise them.

“Care to explain that?” asked Revi.

“Certainly. In order to be angry at how you were treated, you first have to feel that you have the right to your anger. That you deserve better. And that requires a certain amount of self-worth. Which, I think, is something you haven’t had in abundance for a while.” She smiled. “But that’s changing.”

Revi looked at her in wonder. “I never thought of anger as a positive sign before.”

“Wait,” said Seven. “Revi’s anger is a positive sign, but mine is not? I’m supposed to be learning how to manage mine, and you’re encouraging her to feel hers?”

Troi smiled. “There’s no contradiction. It’s not about the emotion. It’s about the expression of it.”

Picking up her mug, Revi raised it in a toast. “Welcome to therapy, Seven. Where confusion is the name of the game.”

 

 

 

 

---

chapter 43

 

 

Beep.

Gohat looked up at the soft confirmation. Rising from his chair, he crossed over to the communications panel and checked the results. One more command had been carried out. At this rate he would indeed be ready for tomorrow night.

Losing Wiler had been a tremendous blow. While he knew that there were other Humans receptive to Cardassian employers, he had not been the one responsible for hiring. That had been Dukali’s role, and as per their training, Dukali had never recorded any of his contact information where it might be compromised. When he’d died, the information had died with him. Gohat had been left with no resources other than the one previously contracted for this assignment—and that single resource had been neutralized before he could locate the target.

But not before he had given Gohat the means of locating her himself. Hamilton, along with the other two Borg women, was apparently required to return to her ship every four days to plug into the Borg systems on board. That was what she had been doing the night of their first attempt, and Wiler’s data showed that she had returned twice since then, each visit precisely four days apart. The last one had been three days ago, right before Wiler dropped out of contact.

Fortunately, Wiler had managed to complete the interface in time. Gohat knew enough about Starfleet systems to understand precisely how difficult that must have been, particularly without direct access to the ship. The Human had indeed been worth his fee. It was too bad he’d been picked up, but Gohat didn’t need him anymore. Once this job was complete, he had no intention of ever taking another contract on this planet. It was time to return to Cardassia. Perhaps, with a little cosmetic surgery, he could start over again. Maybe even purchase some land, and live out his days in peace.

Humming softly, he initiated the next command and sent it on its way, confident that the Starfleet personnel on Voyager would no more notice this one than they’d noticed the previous twelve. Bit by bit, command by command, he was putting together an elegant trap. It took time, since each command had to go through the interface and wait for precisely the right moment to enter the datastream, but time was something he had plenty of. There were only six more commands needed, and he had more than twenty-four hours left.

A soft chime alerted him to an incoming message. Frowning, he accessed it and shook his head. Yet another order from their employer, demanding confirmation that the contract had been cancelled. This one even included an offer of doubling the pay.

Being Human, their employer couldn’t possibly understand that this was not about pay. The moment that Hamilton had killed his friends, her death had ceased to be a contractual matter.

Now it was personal.

 

 

 

 

---

chapter 44

 

 

Alison closed the file, sent the changes to the central computer and sat back in her chair. She was done for the day, and really should go home—the rest of her staff had left two hours previously—but for some reason she wasn’t feeling all that anxious to leave. Lazy, maybe. Or maybe just in the habit of staying ridiculously late, as she had been since this whole thing with Lynne and the board had turned her life upside down.

Or maybe you’re hoping for a visitor.

She picked up her antique pen and twirled it between her fingers, examining that thought. She’d definitely enjoyed the company last night. Elise Hamilton was charming, witty and intelligent—but this she’d known for years. What she hadn’t known about was the depth of character and complexity of personality, or the previously unsuspected integrity that had led Elise to put truth ahead of family, and then turn around and tell her family member precisely what she’d done. She was willing to pay the price for her decisions. Alison found that refreshing beyond belief. She had no patience for shallow, calculating people, of whom there were depressing multitudes in her professional life. Not here in the Foundation building, for the most part. But up in the higher economic levels, the circles through which she moved as the Foundation’s public face, it often seemed as if the more wealth an individual had, the shallower and more selfish they were. As recently as four days ago, during the last board meeting, she’d thought Elise belonged in that category.

She was wrong. And when it came to judging character, she wasn’t often mistaken. That alone had made her very curious about what made Elise Hamilton tick. They’d ended up talking until nearly midnight last night, about anything and everything, and the topic apparently didn’t exist to which Elise couldn’t make an interesting and informed contribution. Well, except for nuts and bolts physics. But rarely had Alison enjoyed a conversation more.

If she were honest with herself, she had to admit that the undercurrent of doubt made it interesting as well. No matter how much her instincts and logic told her that Elise couldn’t be the one who’d hired the assassins, the fact remained that she was still a suspect—and that lent an edge to everything they said to each other.

I want to see her again, she realized. But was it even appropriate? Elise sat on the board, she answered to that board…it wasn’t exactly a supervisor/subordinate relationship, but it wasn’t completely unrelated either. Then there was the issue of her new stewardship of Lynne’s trust, formerly overseen in part by Elise. Was there a conflict of interest in that? And even if there wasn’t in the business sense, surely there was in terms of Lynne’s current situation. Alison might not be entirely certain how she felt about Elise, but she had no doubts whatsoever regarding her loyalty toward Lynne.

Then again, perhaps she should pursue a friendship, for the very reason of that loyalty. Elise was still a suspect, and so was her family. Maybe Alison could learn something.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” she grumbled, tossing her pen back onto the desk. “This is ridiculous. I need to go home.”

She was just gathering up her briefcase when her desk terminal chirped. Glancing at the caller’s name, she dropped the case and accepted. “Lynne, how are you?”

“Great,” said Lynne, holding up a small, dark, square object. “Gretchen made brownies, so all’s well in my world.”

Alison shook her head. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say your world was enviably simple.”

“Don’t I wish. Hey, do you have FedComm on?”

“No, should I?”

“Yes. They’re showing a replay of Kathryn’s speech in Geneva. Christ, the crowd’s estimated at seventy-five thousand. I’m married to a rock star.”

Alison activated her large wall monitor and quickly found the broadcast. “I’ve got it. Whoa, that is a big crowd.” The camera was panning over a vast sea of people, Human and otherwise, surrounding a central podium with a single figure on it. Kathryn Janeway looked tiny from this perspective, and utterly vulnerable on the stage. But she seemed comfortable, addressing the crowd with that easy tone of voice Alison recognized. “She sounds the same whether she’s talking to a few people or a few thousand, doesn’t she?”

“That woman would not know stage fright if it came up and bit her in the ass. I would die on a stage like that. But that’s not why I called. Kathryn gave me a heads up a little earlier; she said she had a last-minute guest at her speech. Wait a bit and you’ll see.”

“Okay.” She watched as Kathryn wrapped up her talk, accepted the cheers of the crowd with a smile and a wave, and then held out a hand to signal for quiet.

“I have someone else who’d like a word, and given that he outranks me to a significant degree, I really couldn’t say no.” A wave of laughter from the audience. “Please welcome the President of the United Federation of Planets, Ferdinand Gutierrez!”

“Gutierrez is horning in on her speech?” asked Alison in surprise. “What a moron! Grandstanding on her popularity one day after threatening to have her demoted—he’s an asswipe.”

“What?!” Lynne roared with laughter. “Asswipe? You have got to be kidding me. I swear, the things that survived into this century…” She laughed again, then shook her head. “Never mind. Just listen.”

Gutierrez had taken the stage, looking statesmanlike as usual in his dark business suit with the trademark Federation logo tie. “Thank you, thank you…” He got the crowd quieted down—Alison thought uncharitably that it had probably taken Kathryn much longer to still the applause for her—and began to speak. “I’m honored to share a stage with Captain Janeway. Her strength of spirit, her sense of hope, and her absolute refusal to give up in the face of adversity embody some of the best principles that the Federation stands for. We, too, have fought against impossible odds. We, too, refused to give up. And in the end, we won the Dominion War. But not without cost. Three years later we are still rebuilding.

“One of the greatest lessons we learned from the war is that we cannot stand as a divided federation. It was only our unity of purpose that enabled us to prevail against such a powerful enemy. A unity that came from setting aside our personal differences. But the return of Voyager has reminded us that there is still one group of people whose differences we never forgave. They violated a treaty, and for that they are called traitors. But they called themselves freedom fighters—the Maquis. The treaty they violated is the same one that Cardassia itself tore up four years later, when it attacked the Federation without provocation or warning.

“Most of the Maquis never acted against Federation members or property; in fact, their purpose was to protect the Federation property that was ceded in the treaty, and the Federation colonists who refused to leave their homes. Their real crime, in most instances, was simply to recognize the war before the rest of us did. And the vast majority of them paid with their lives, when the Cardassians eradicated their bases.

“One small band of Maquis escaped this fate, only to be thrown seventy thousand light years away from home. Thrown with them was Voyager, the ship assigned to find and apprehend them. What these two crews did is now legend. The Maquis sacrificed their ship to help save an entire species, and gave up their freedom in order to work with Captain Janeway and the Starfleet crew toward a common goal—getting home. They forged the ultimate compromise, even knowing that success might mean imprisonment. But they did it because it was the right thing to do.

“The Federation Council has been debating this situation for far too long. Voyager has been home for nearly a month already, yet her Maquis crew are trapped in a legal limbo. I say it’s time to bring them all the way home. Seven years is long enough—let’s call it time served, and free these people to go to their homes and families. I call upon the Council to end this debate and do the right thing. Just as these Maquis did the right thing, seven years ago.”

The crowd roared its approval, while on stage Kathryn turned to the President and shook his hand. With a genial smile, he used the handshake to pull her into an embrace instead, inciting even more cheers. They broke apart and turned, waving in tandem at the crowd.

“Do you believe that?” asked Lynne. “Whatever he thinks I have on him, it must be spectacularly bad. I never expected him to do anything like this. Not that I’m complaining.”

Alison watched thoughtfully as the President smiled and waved, soaking up the approval. “I don’t think so,” she said. “I think this was just his best strategic move.”

“How so?”

“He lost his gamble with you, in a big way. You gave him an out predicated on breaking the stalemate in the Council. Before that point he had a lot to lose if he took a stand on the Maquis situation and it turned out to be the unpopular one, but as of yesterday he had nothing to lose anymore, and a lot to gain. He had to act with the Council. So he just gambled again, and instead of throwing his weight around the usual way, behind chamber doors, he made a big public splash instead. And he did it in a manner that was practically guaranteed to meet with public approval. Pleading for amnesty while standing next to Kathryn in front of seventy-five thousand people? That does two things—it virtually guarantees a positive vote from the Council members, who are not going to want to look like unforgiving bastards in the face of this, and it also puts him in the front of the issue. He just took ownership of all the goodwill that vote will generate. I hate to say it, but this was genius. He’s an ass, but he’s also a good politician.”

“So by ‘good politician’ you mean cynical, manipulative, and completely bereft of integrity?”

“You don’t like politicians much, do you?”

“Do you? So far as I can tell, they haven’t changed a bit since my time. Gutierrez would have fit right in.”

Alison decided not to point out that Kathryn herself was something of a politician by necessity. “Did you notice that he used your phrasing? Some of that speech sounded like it was taken almost verbatim from the scenario you gave him.”

“Oh yeah, I noticed. He’s welcome to plagiarize all he wants to, as long as the Maquis get amnesty.” Lynne scowled. “However, he is not welcome to paw my wife. That little touchy-feely hug pissed me off. Kathryn said it was like being hugged by a Taldarian slime mold.”

Alison laughed. “Ew. That was not a mental image I needed, thank you. Oh, now we’re getting the analysts talking about the speech. I’ve seen enough.” She deactivated the monitor and turned back to her terminal. “Congratulations, Lynne. Your shipmates owe you a huge debt of gratitude. This is quite an accomplishment.”

“Well, it’s not accomplished yet. I’m not celebrating until the vote is in. And as for my shipmates—those people saved my life. They don’t owe me anything.” Lynne looked to the side and broke into a huge smile. “Hi, love! Welcome back! Alison and I just watched the replay. She wishes it could have been her getting that hug from Gutierrez.” She turned back and added unnecessarily, “Kathryn just got home.”

Alison heard a voice in the background, and a moment later Lynne scooted to the side to make room for another face in the video link. “Hello, Alison,” said Kathryn. “No, you don’t. It was disgusting. He has sweaty hands.”

“Ew!” Alison held up her hands in protest. “Stop! I don’t need to hear any more.”

Lynne took advantage of her wife’s proximity to kiss her cheek. “You were spectacular.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.” Kathryn actually looked embarrassed, which Alison found rather cute.

“You really do know how to work a crowd, Kathryn,” she said. “Ever think about running for public office?”

“Oh, that was uncalled for,” said Lynne with a mock glare. “And what the hell are you doing at the office this late, anyway? Go home.”

“Good idea, I think I will. Congratulations to both of you. I mean it. And thanks for cluing me in; I probably wouldn’t have heard about it until I checked the newsfeeds tomorrow morning.”

“You’re welcome.” Lynne looked over to the side. “Whoops, somebody just woke up. Time for the evening feeding.”

“Barney? Can I see him?”

Lighting up, Lynne said, “Sure! Hang on a sec.” She vanished from the screen as Kathryn pursed her lips.

“You’d think that kitten was the only pet in the house,” she said. “We do have a dog, you know. A perfectly lovely dog who just greeted me when I came in the door. Unlike my wife,” she called out.

“Give it up,” came Lynne’s voice from somewhere in the room. “You can’t complain; your wife was busy watching you on FedComm and thinking about how hot you look in your dress uniform.”

Kathryn instantly blushed and looked back at Alison. “I should know better than to give her an opening.”

“Yes, you should.” Lynne had reappeared and was holding something just below the level of the screen. “Okay, ready for an overdose of cuteness?”

“I’m ready,” said Alison, who was thoroughly enjoying this glimpse into their lives.

Lynne lifted her hands, revealing a tiny bundle of gray and black fur that fit comfortably in one palm. With the other hand curved protectively around him, she said, “Barney, this is Alison. Alison, meet Barney.”

“Oh, my God. He’s so cute!”

“Told you,” said Lynne with parental satisfaction.

“Molly’s cute too.” Kathryn sounded aggrieved.

“Kathryn, I’m sorry, but Molly weighs thirty kilograms. That instantly disqualifies her for cute. She’s pretty, but not cute. Besides, she slobbers on my hand every time I try to pet her.”

“That’s just a dog kiss. And how can you have an issue with doggy kisses when you’re burping and pooping a kitten five times a day?”

Alison cracked up laughing. The sight of the great Kathryn Janeway, in full dress uniform, talking about burping and pooping a kitten was just too much to handle.

“It’s different,” Lynne insisted, petting Barney’s tiny head. “Isn’t it, Barney? You’re not going to need my help much longer. Then you’ll be ready to take over the world.”

“He’s already taken over your world,” said Kathryn, but the softness in her smile gave her away. And when Lynne looked up to meet the smile, Alison felt as if she were intruding on something private.

“Did you ever find out where he came from?” she asked.

Lynne shook her head. “So far as we’ve heard, no one has reported losing a pregnant cat. I really think his mother was dumped.”

“Whoever did that needs to be taken out and shot.”

“I agree,” said Kathryn, her face hardening. “That’s unacceptable. And there’s no reason for it.”

“I just wish we’d found them earlier,” said Lynne. “It hurts to think of his littermate dying from starvation and exposure.”

Kathryn extended a finger, rubbing Barney’s cheek. “But Barney didn’t, because of you. Just remember that.” Barney turned his head and began mouthing Kathryn’s finger while Lynne petted him with obvious adoration. The scene was so impossibly domestic that Alison felt a small ache.

“Well, thank you very much for introducing me,” she said. “That is one lucky kitten, and someday I’d love to meet him in person. But in the meantime I think I’ll take your advice and head home. Congratulations again, both of you.”

After exchanging their good nights, Alison closed down her office and walked out through the quiet Foundation building. Normally she found this time of night to be peaceful, a good time to get things done, but right now the building just seemed…empty. And she was suddenly feeling tired and a little sad.

It’s just been a long day, she thought as she waved at the downstairs security guard and pushed open the door. A very crisp Denver night met her, and she enjoyed the tingling in her lungs as she drew in the cold air. But it didn’t drive out her melancholy, and as she keyed open her transport and tossed in her briefcase, she reluctantly admitted the obvious cause.

I wonder how Lynne and Kathryn would feel about an unexpected guest for dinner?

But of course that wasn’t possible, and even if it was, it did nothing to address the underlying issue.

I wonder how Elise would feel about an unexpected invitation to dinner?

That was more possible…barely.

Sighing, she powered up the engine and headed for home.

 

 

 

 

---

chapter 45

 

 

Dinner at the Janeway farmhouse was a happy affair, with the six women in attendance having plenty to talk about. The primary topic was of course the President’s plea for amnesty, and Kathryn ribbed Lynne a bit by proposing a toast to ‘the second best negotiator on Voyager.’

“Look out, Kathryn, your job may be in danger,” said Revi. “It’s the assistants you always have to watch out for. Or in your case, the personal security escorts.”

“Oh, believe me, I would never want Kathryn’s job,” Lynne said. “At least, not that part of it. The part about being totally in control and having everyone at your beck and call is pretty cool, though.”

“At least now I know you were paying attention,” teased Kathryn. “And all this time I thought you were bored out of your mind when I dragged you to negotiations.”

“I was bored out of my mind. But my meeting with Gutierrez wasn’t like those multi-day headaches you used to deal with. I had something he wanted and I wouldn’t give it to him until he gave me what I wanted. That’s just old fashioned horse trading.”

“Yeah, with the biggest stable owner in the quadrant,” said Phoebe. “So now will you let me tell Chakotay what you did?”

Kathryn looked up in surprise. “Chakotay?”

She saw her mother and Lynne exchange glances as Phoebe said, “He came into my gallery last week. I told Mom and Lynne yesterday, didn’t they tell you?”

“No.” Kathryn looked at them accusingly. “Somehow the message didn’t get to me.”

“Or us,” said Revi. “I’m so sorry we missed him.”

Her sarcasm was lost on Phoebe, who gave Revi a comforting smile.

“It kind of got lost in everything else,” Gretchen told Kathryn. “And there wasn’t really a message.”

“He was looking for you while you were incognito,” explained Phoebe. “I was easier to find.”

“Funny, I’ve spoken with him twice in the last three days. He never mentioned coming to Bloomington.” Kathryn wasn’t liking the sound of this at all.

“Well, I don’t think he forgot. We spent practically the whole day talking. He’s really a charming man.” Phoebe was oblivious to the undercurrent that had suddenly developed at the table. “Anyway, Lynne was being a hardass and said I couldn’t tell him anything about her meeting with the President. But I think that concern is kind of moot now, don’t you? The whole Federation knows. Nothing like blowing a secret wide open. So when’s the party going to be?”

“After the vote,” said Lynne firmly. “No way are we celebrating anything before it happens.”

“I think you should have it on Voyager,” Phoebe decided. “It’s poetic. Celebrate their freedom in the same place where they gave it up seven years ago. Closing the circle, you know? Besides, I still haven’t had my tour. I’m curious to see how much bigger the captain’s quarters are than the first officer’s.”

“Starfleet might have something to say about unauthorized personnel wandering all over what is currently considered classified technology,” said Kathryn. Though she had to admit, the idea of having most of her crew back on board Voyager again was very appealing. They could convert the shuttle bay into a nice party venue, especially with the bay doors open to the view of San Francisco. Neelix would be all over the idea.

“I hardly think it could be considered ‘wandering’ if I were being escorted by the captain,” said Phoebe. “Or the first officer.”

“I didn’t realize—” Seven began, then fell abruptly silent.

“What?” asked Phoebe.

“That…you had never been aboard Voyager before.”

Kathryn knew that wasn’t what she’d meant to say, and guessed that Revi had given her a silent instruction of some kind. What exactly was going on here?

“No, I haven’t. Kathryn had just taken command when Voyager went into the Badlands. And when you all finally came back here, Admiral Necheyev would only let Mother go meet you at the rendezvous site.”

“Ooo, sore point,” said Lynne undiplomatically.

“Fine, joke about it. But the fact remains that I’m the only one at this table who has never seen Kathryn’s ship.” Phoebe took a bite of food and chewed in pointed silence.

“It’s actually not a bad idea,” said Kathryn, feeling some diplomatic pressure to make a gesture toward her sister. “Having a party on board, I mean. Might be the perfect way to end our journey.”

“Can you get the clearance?” asked Revi.

“I’m not sure. It would depend on Admiral Necheyev’s mood, which in turn seems to depend on what day of the week it is.”

“The shuttle bay was not altered,” said Seven, apparently having read Kathryn’s mind earlier. “It contains no classified technology, and it has direct access through the bay doors. Surely Starfleet could give clearance for that.”

“We’ll have to park the Delta Flyer outside,” said Lynne. “The other shuttles could just be tucked up next to the bulkheads.”

“And Neelix could spend a whole day decorating. He’ll think he died and went to the Great Forest,” said Revi.

“The Great Forest?” Gretchen raised her eyebrows.

“Talaxian version of the afterlife,” Revi explained.

“Does that mean you’re going to ask about it?” Her earlier pique forgotten, Phoebe was now practically bouncing in place. “I think it’s a great idea!”

Kathryn looked around the table and sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

 

 

-----

 

 

“What’s going on with Phoebe and Chakotay?” asked Kathryn almost the moment they were alone in their room.

“I don’t know. I’m just guessing.” Lynne set Barney’s box on the floor and paused to make sure his sleep hadn’t been disturbed. “But it sure looks like she’s interested in him. And given the fact that he invited her to his family ranch in Arizona, it looks like he’s interested in her, too.”

“Great. I’d better warn him.”

“Whoa, what?” Lynne looked up in surprise. “Isn’t that a bit out of line?”

“Phoebe is a Human shuttle crash when it comes to relationships. She goes in hard and lands hard, usually with collateral damage. Chakotay has no idea what he’s getting himself into.”

“You will not do yourself any favors by getting into the middle of that one, Kathryn. Stay out of it.”

“I am not going to stay out of it! I don’t need Phoebe screwing up one of my staff.” She was getting angry just thinking about it.

“Uh, Kathryn? At the moment, Chakotay is not one of your staff. What’s really happening here?”

“Nothing changes, does it?” Kathryn walked to the window, gazing out at the moonlit snowscape. “It doesn’t matter how much time goes by or what I do, Phoebe still walks blithely in and takes over the room. All the effort I put into my working relationship with Chakotay—for seven goddamned years—and she’s going to plant herself in the middle, just like that. And he’ll never know what hit him, and when it all crashes and burns, I’ll be the one left to pick up the pieces of a working relationship that’s suddenly very awkward because Phoebe is my sister.” She shook her head. “Didn’t take her long, as usual.”

Lynne joined her at the window. “There’s some history here that I haven’t heard about.”

“Yes, you have. It’s just the same old thing. She’s done this all my life. I was always doing everything I was supposed to, and she always ran wild, and Mom and Dad said that was just how she was and they never yanked her back in line. She got away with murder, while I was working my ass off just to hear my father say he was proud of me, and he never did…” She trailed off, realizing what she was saying. “You know, I think being in this house is starting to get to me. Maybe it’s time for us to start looking for our own place.”

“Maybe it is,” said Lynne. “But in the meantime you really should remember one thing.”

“What’s that?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear it.

“Phoebe is not the woman who stood in front of seventy-five thousand cheering people in Geneva today. She’s not the woman I watched on FedComm, with a huge smile on my face because I was thinking, ‘That’s my Kathryn.’ She’s not you. I like her a lot, but I don’t admire her. I admire you. And I’m proud of you.”

Even if she hadn’t known that Lynne wouldn’t say it if she didn’t mean it, the look in those green eyes would have convinced her. Suddenly she was a little embarrassed that Lynne could see through her so easily, and at the same time grateful for that very thing. Stepping in for a hug, she asked, “How do you always know exactly what to say?”

“I don’t.” Lynne squeezed her and dropped a kiss on her head. “I probably screw it up at least as often as I get it right.”

“You get it right more often than I do.”

“That’s not true. But let’s see if I’m on a roll. I think it’s just possible that Chakotay is not the one who’ll get burned in this.”

Kathryn leaned away, keeping her arms around Lynne’s waist. “What makes you say that?”

“Why do you think he’s interested? What does he see in her?”

She shrugged. “What they all see in her. The passion, the spontaneity, the sense of being on a wild ride…”

“Does that sound like Chakotay?”

“Hm.” Put that way, it didn’t sound much like Chakotay at all. “Not really. So what do you think he sees in her?”

“I think he sees you.”

Kathryn stared at her. “What?”

“He sees the Janeway he can have. Once, a long time ago, you and he might have had something. You’ve put that a long way behind you. But he hasn’t. And now, all of sudden, there’s another Janeway available. One who’s interested in him, in the way you never were. How could he not find that appealing?”

“Damn. I’d never have thought of that.” But it was…plausible.

“That’s because you’re used to thinking in terms of Phoebe stealing your thunder, instead of you stealing hers. She will never be what Chakotay’s looking for, because she isn’t you. So unless he figures it out, and changes his ideas of what he wants, any crashing of this shuttle is probably going to be because of him, not her. What’s so funny?” she asked as Kathryn began to chuckle.

“Would you believe I’m suddenly feeling protective of my sister? Now I want to go warn her.”

Lynne winced. “Oh yeah, that’ll fly. ‘Phoebe, you should stay away from Chakotay, because you’re only going to get hurt. It’s not you he wants, it’s me.’”

“Ooo. I can just see her face.” Actually, the thought had a certain appeal.

“And I can see evil thoughts in your head.” But Lynne was smiling, and Kathryn leaned in to kiss her.

“Thank you. I feel a lot better.”

“Any time.” Lynne touched her forehead to Kathryn’s. “So, on a whole different topic, how did your debriefings go today? You didn’t talk much about anything besides Geneva.”

Kathryn jerked upright. “Oh, god, do I have things to tell you. Hold on, I want to show you something.” She hurried over to her briefcase and pulled out Necheyev’s PADD, quickly accessing the schematic for the Tagus. “Take a look at this.”

Lynne accepted the PADD. “Which ship is this?”

“It’s a prototype of a new model in the Saber class. With a gorgeous new engine that pumps up the top speed from nine point seven to nine eight five.”

“Whoa, that’s a huge difference. But…I don’t know what the Saber class is.”

“Sabers are light cruisers, about half the mass of Voyager. They’re just about the most compact ships in the fleet—small, fast, maneuverable, and heavily armed for their size. They carry a crew of forty, but can accommodate two hundred in an emergency evacuation. Cochrane warp core, dual nacelles, and get this—redundant impulse systems. They were invaluable during the Dominion War.”

“Okay. What does this have to do with your debriefing?”

“Nothing. It has to do with my promotion to admiral.”

Lynne’s jaw dropped. “What? You got a promotion and you just forgot to mention that little fact earlier?”

“No, no, I didn’t get a promotion, sorry.” Kathryn laughed at the look on her face. “I didn’t mean to get you fired up. But Necheyev is dangling a very big carrot in front of me. She’s impressed by the designs we came up with on Voyager—the slipstream drive, the Borg systems, the Delta Flyer—and she seems to think I could leverage that experience into the top job in the ship design wing of Starfleet. It would come with a promotion to rear admiral. And it would put me in charge of all Starfleet ship design.”

“Kathryn, that’s fantastic! Jesus! Why the hell didn’t you say anything before?”

“Because it’s not anything close to certain. I told you, Necheyev is dangling a carrot. First of all, these schematics are a test. She said she was just interested in my preliminary evaluation of the design in two days, but what that really means is that I need to demonstrate total understanding of the design’s improvements and possible pitfalls. And if I can suggest something that has been previously overlooked, so much the better. She also thinks I’ve gotten a little too used to being at the top of the hierarchy. This post is essentially a prize if I manage to convince her that I can reintegrate into the command structure.”

“So you’re practicing how to say ‘yes, ma’am’ and ‘no, ma’am,’ right?”

“Every morning in the mirror.”

“Well, you could practice on me.” Lynne grinned. “I think I’d enjoy it.”

“In your dreams.”

“But this would mean staying on Earth, wouldn’t it? You wouldn’t have another ship.”

“I’d be stationed planetside, yes. But it would mean you could go climbing to your heart’s content anywhere on Earth and still be just a transport relay away. And we could buy or build a house and know that we’d stay in it for the foreseeable future. Not only that, but I could offer posts to Seven, B’Elanna, Tom and Harry, Tuvok—and maybe some of my engineering department. You know B’Elanna and Tom won’t want to be shipping out any time soon, not with Miral on the way. You’d be close to your goddaughter. Tom would be in heaven—he’d get to design and test pilot new ships. Harry might not want to stay, but at least he’d have an excellent option. And Seven…well, she might have a reason not to go to Vulcan. I know that if she wanted to stay, Revi would too. And Starfleet Medical would give Revi anything she wanted if she’d sign on with them. They’ve already made an offer of her own department. Tuvok’s experience in defensive and offensive designs would be invaluable—he’s the one who came up with the unimatrix shielding on the Delta Flyer. He could do a lot of work from Vulcan, and stay with his family. I could keep almost my entire senior staff.”

Glancing at the PADD, Lynne said, “It sounds too good to be true. There’s only one thing you haven’t covered. Would you be happy?”

Kathryn hesitated. “I think so. To be honest, I don’t like the idea of giving up a ship of my own. But the truth is that if I took command of another ship, I’d be at the beck and call of Starfleet and you know, Necheyev has a point. I’m not used to that anymore. Can you see me escorting politicians to conferences, or doing glorified courier duty?”

“No way. But wouldn’t you take another science vessel?”

“Not unless it’s Voyager, and I don’t think she’ll be allowed back into space any time soon. I don’t want any other Intrepid ship besides her, and there aren’t any other science ships as good as the Intrepids. So unless Starfleet gives Voyager back to me, I’d be looking at stepping up in class. And that means Galaxy or Sovereign.”

“Which are huge and designed for extended missions.”

“Right. We’d be gone for long periods. And I’d have a crew seven times the size of Voyager’s. Which means I’d be commanding a city in space—I’d never get to know them all. It wouldn’t be the same.”

Lynne looked at her closely. “But isn’t that what you wanted when you left science and went onto the command track? Wasn’t that your goal, commanding the best ship? Picard told me at the party on the Enterprise that he’s turned down a promotion because he’s exactly where he wants to be—in command of Starfleet’s flagship. And Riker turned down his own captaincy because he prefers being first officer on the best ship to being captain of a lesser one.”

“That’s what I thought I wanted, yes. But I’m not the same person I was when I first started in command. My priorities have changed. And the biggest priority of all is right here.” She touched a finger to the tip of Lynne’s nose. “Do you want to go back out on long missions? Because I’m not leaving without you.”

“God, don’t put this decision on me. I want you to do whatever makes you truly happy. And I know that deep down, commanding your own ship gives you a special kind of satisfaction that you probably won’t ever find anywhere else. Yes, you’d be doing some courier duty if you were commanding a Galaxy or Sovereign ship. But according to Picard, the missions also include a lot of the things you love—exploration, science, first contact, humanitarian aid…”

“I know. And I can’t say it’s not tempting. But so is the idea of staying right here and getting my hands dirty again. I’d love to dive into ship design! And after seven years in the Delta Quadrant I have some pretty good ideas of what does and doesn’t work. I could really make a difference.”

“Now that I have faith in, no matter what you choose. You’re always going to make a difference.”

Kathryn paused, warmed by Lynne’s unfailing belief. With a quick kiss of acknowledgment, she said, “This isn’t a decision we have to make tonight. I may not even get the offer at Ship Design; Necheyev was just exploring a possibility. And who knows what will happen in the next few months? No matter what, I’m taking my six months’ leave. The world could look a lot different at the end of it.”

“True.” Lynne handed the PADD back. “Well, congratulations anyway. Just the fact that Necheyev is thinking along those lines is pretty damned cool.”

“Thank you. Of course, she was freed to think along those lines by a certain wife of mine who apparently negotiated more than Maquis amnesty with the President.” She still wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

“I didn’t negotiate anything except for him to keep his slimy ass out of your career. He included your admiral’s bars in his initial offer, but I told him not to do you any favors. I know you, Kathryn. You’d hate the idea of getting a promotion based on wheeling and dealing. On the other hand, I also made it extremely clear that I’d better never hear his name in association with any kind of backlash against you.”

“Oh.” Suddenly she felt perfectly fine. “That explains, then. Yesterday afternoon his office withdrew his recommendation for my court-martial. Technically it doesn’t matter, because Starfleet wouldn’t allow the proceedings, but just the recommendation itself was a stain on my record. As of now it’s been expunged.”

“Good. You’re okay with that, right? It’s not really interfering.”

“Of course it’s interfering.” She hid a smile at Lynne’s look of dismay. “But yes, I’m okay with it. That recommendation was purely political; it had nothing to do with my capacity as a captain. So it’s not something I feel any moral obligation to deal with.”

“Whew. Your morals can be tricky things to anticipate.”

“That’s not true. When it comes to my job, my morals are all good.” She deliberately lowered her voice. “And when it comes to you, they’re all bad.”

Lynne shivered. “Perfect. Those bad morals are my absolute favorites.”

 

 

 

 

---

chapter 46

 

 

“Bridge to Commander Tuvok.”

“Yes, Captain,” said Tuvok without opening his eyes.

“We’re entering the Ipsen system now. Estimated arrival is in eighteen minutes.”

“Very good. Thank you.”

He extinguished his meditation lamp and checked the chronometer, nodding in satisfaction. While he had been meditating, the Tagus had gone into another burst of high warp, bringing them into the Ipsen system ahead of schedule. It was indeed an efficient, fast ship. Captain Janeway would no doubt be entranced with it.

He had already made an appointment to speak with Dr. Trallek, using the fiction that he was a representative of the Vulcan Academy and involved in slipstream research. The name he’d given was that of an actual published Vulcan researcher in the field, in case Trallek bothered to check. It was possibly more subterfuge than necessary, but this was the most significant lead the case had yielded, and he was unwilling to take any risks.

By the time the Tagus established orbit around Ipsen Prime, Tuvok was on the bridge in civilian clothing, watching the planet on the main viewer. It was not a place most Humans would choose to inhabit. The lack of edible vegetation and the extremely thin atmosphere made it inhospitable to life, and the research facility was by necessity housed in atmospheric domes. But the planet held one great advantage for propulsion research: it was located away from shipping lanes and at the edge of a nearly empty sector of space, enabling the scientists to test volatile engine designs without burdensome regulation.

“Doesn’t look too inviting,” said Captain Jorel. “I guess we won’t be taking shore leave on this trip.”

“It is my hope that we will be leaving again within an hour of my appointment,” Tuvok informed him. “The opportunity for shore leave will be very small indeed.”

“That was a joke, Commander.”

“I am aware of that.”

Jorel, a young and—in Tuvok’s assessment—unseasoned Katarian looked at him with a broad grin. “So it’s true what they say about you Vulcans. You have no sense of humor.”

“On the contrary, we understand humor perfectly well. However, it is rare that we encounter an admirable example of it.”

Jorel’s grin simply grew wider. “Oh, well done. I guess you do get it.”

Two hours later, Tuvok was standing in Dr. Trallek’s research department, informing an assistant of his name and appointment. He reflected that whatever else Trallek might be, he was at least a capable supervisor, as the assistant had been expecting him and ushered him into Trallek’s office without delay.

“Dr. Vaalon, it’s a pleasure to meet you!” Trallek, a tall, thin Bajoran, came forward with his hand outstretched. “As you can imagine, I get very few visitors out here. I’m looking forward to discussing your work on nascent prolean pulses; it’s an area I find intriguing but don’t know nearly enough about.”

Tuvok shook the proffered hand and said, “I regret that such a discussion will not take place. My name is not Vaalon, it is Commander Tuvok of Starfleet Security, and I am here in an official capacity.”

“I don’t understand.” Trallek pulled his hand back. “Starfleet? Why? And why the false name?”

“Because I am investigating attempted murder, attempted sabotage, and the contractual hiring of assassins. In my experience, it is generally best to keep such investigations quiet until all relevant information has been collected.”

With each crime he listed, Trallek’s eyes grew wider and wider. “No offense, Commander, but what are you doing here? We’re a research lab. The only relevant information we might have on murder and sabotage would be what we read in holonovels on our time off.”

“Your slipstream drive design was almost utilized by the USS Voyager in an effort to return from the Delta Quadrant,” said Tuvok, ignoring the protest. “Until it was discovered that such usage, without countermeasures, would have a one hundred percent probability of catastrophic failure. Starfleet does indeed consider this an act of sabotage.”

“What?” Trallek appeared stunned. “How did Voyager get that design? It was never meant for practical application!”

“If it was never meant for practical application, why did your final report to the Hamilton Foundation neglect to mention the phase variance? The one bit of data that clearly renders the design unusable?”

“Oh shit.” Trallek walked back to his chair and sank down into it, gesturing weakly at a visitor’s chair opposite. “That wasn’t supposed to matter. That report was just bureaucratic filler—I had to turn it in to keep my funding. I thought it would sit in a file and gather dust. Grant reports are not the same thing as refereed publications, Commander. When I solve this variance issue, I’ll be publishing as soon as possible, believe me. With all the relevant data. I don’t know how Voyager ended up with my grant report, or why anyone would have taken such a report as the final word on my research.”

Tuvok was unimpressed with the man’s effort to deflect responsibility. “So you admit to knowingly withholding critical data from your final report to the Hamilton Foundation.”

“It wasn’t critical data to the Foundation! It was critical to me. And it was just a grant report—how was I supposed to know that Starfleet would take it upon itself to use unpublished research?”

“My report will note your deep concern for the one hundred and forty-eight lives that were at risk due to this situation,” said Tuvok dryly. “I’m certain that will go a long way toward convincing a judge to be lenient while sentencing you for fraud.”

“Fraud! No. No way. I didn’t defraud anyone, least of all the Foundation. I had permission to leave that data out. From the very top.”

Tuvok raised an eyebrow. “Someone on the board of the Foundation?”

“Yes.” Trallek paused. “This isn’t going to get her in trouble, is it? She only did it as a favor to me. This is all just a…a mistake. A case of one hand not knowing what the other was doing. There was never any sabotage.”

“Perhaps you can explain exactly what happened,” said Tuvok. “From the beginning.”

 

 

-----

 

 

Kathryn was in her third hour of debriefings when Necheyev’s aide entered the room, walked straight to the admiral, and whispered something that made her eyes narrow.

“This briefing is suspended for the day,” she announced as Sosallme quietly left the room. “An urgent matter has just come up. Captain Janeway, please stay.”

Admirals Hayes, Finnegan and Paris rose from their chairs—somewhat happily, Kathryn thought—and bade her farewell as they filed out of the room. In the sudden silence, she looked at Necheyev expectantly.

The admiral’s expression was one of fierce satisfaction as she said, “Tuvok has a name.”

 

 

-----

 

 

It took two hours for a judge to sign a warrant of arrest, and less time than that to pinpoint the suspect’s whereabouts. To Kathryn’s surprise, Admiral Necheyev ordered her to accompany the arresting team. Certainly her presence was unnecessary, and there was no lack of other ways she needed to be spending her time. But Necheyev knew this was very personal to her, and Kathryn suspected she was being tossed a bone as an acknowledgment of her toeing the line so far. She recognized the command style because she’d done it many times herself—reward the effort to date and make it clear that further effort is expected. It had worked on nearly every officer she’d used it on, but she was a bit nonplussed to find herself on the other end of it. Nevertheless, she wasn’t about to argue. It was personal, and she wanted to be there.

Now she rode in a Starfleet transport, with a team of four security staff headed by Lieutenant Terrill. When they arrived at the entrance to the property, which was protected by a security field, Terrill hopped out of the transport with a small tool kit in hand. Within six minutes she had disabled the field, replaced her tools and was back in the transport. Kathryn looked at her with new respect.

“Where did you learn that?” she asked.

“Bajoran resistance,” Terrill answered matter-of-factly. She tapped the shoulder of the crewman in the pilot’s seat. “Take us in.”

Kathryn had very little time to mull over this unexpected bit of information before the transport was settling down in front of the expansive house. The team quickly spread out, covering both the front and back of the building, while Terrill and Kathryn went to the front door and rang the chime.

There was quite a long pause before they heard footsteps approaching. Kathryn guessed that they’d been checked out by remote video first, and could just imagine the conversation that had taken place inside the house.

The door opened, revealing a very surprised Elise Hamilton. “Captain Janeway? What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry, Elise,” said Kathryn. “But this is not a social call.”

Silently, Terrill handed over the PADD with the warrant of arrest.

 

 

 

 

---

chapter 47

 

 

Alison felt a sense of déjà vu when she found Lynne calling her office at nearly the same time she had the previous night. “Hi, Lynne,” she said. “Should I be turning on my monitor?”

The joke fell flat, and she sobered at the look on Lynne’s face. “As a matter of fact, you should,” Lynne answered. “There’s a breaking report on right now.”

“Why do I get the feeling this is not good news?” Alison activated the monitor and went to her preferred news channel, which was showing a scene of—a house she recognized. “Oh my God. That’s Elise’s house. What happened?”

“Apparently Dr. Trallek had permission to remove an important piece of data from his final report,” said Lynne.

“From Elise?”

“No.” The new voice came from her doorway. “From my mother.”

Alison looked up to see Elise leaning against the frame, her body posture and facial expression betraying an exhaustion that went far beyond the physical.

“I’m sorry,” Elise said quietly. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go. My house is under siege. And I can’t face anyone in the family right now.”

Realizing too late that she was staring, Alison lifted a hand and motioned her in. With a grateful nod, Elise walked straight over to the transparent wall and stood there, looking out to the lights of the city.

“Elise just came in,” Alison told Lynne. So be careful what you say. “What happened?”

“Tuvok talked to Dr. Trallek—who, by the way, sounds like a total self-centered ass—and found out that he met with Melanie during the banquet at the start of last year’s conference. Apparently he was concerned that since the phase variance pretty much dead-ends his research, he wouldn’t get further funding. Melanie told him not to worry about it, that she believed in him. And then she recommended that he not mention the phase variance in his final report, and she’d see to it that his funding was renewed.”

“Why, that little—” Alison stopped, mindful of her audience. “Neither Melanie nor any other member of the board can ‘see to it’ that any particular proposal is approved for funding. That is my decision. I take the recommendations of my staff into account, but the final word is mine. She couldn’t deliver on that offer.”

“I don’t think she cared one way or the other, Alison. It wasn’t about funding. It was about getting that report into the pipeline, minus the little detail that using the drive would result in certain death.”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph. I can’t believe it.” A thought occurred to her. “You know, Dr. Trallek had good reason to be worried. We funded him five years ago on a subspace conduit project, and he met with a dead end on that one, too. Failure of a second project probably would have meant that we’d pull the plug. He must have looked Melanie up specifically to lobby for a little behind-the-scenes intervention. But why Melanie?”

“You might want to ask Elise that one,” said Lynne delicately.

Alison turned to her guest, who spoke without taking her eyes off the view. “My mother had a one night stand with him at the 2376 conference. I never knew about it until today. So far as I know she didn’t tell anyone.”

With Trallek? Alison thought in revulsion. There really was no accounting for taste.

“Did she hire the Cardassians?” She wasn’t sure whether she was asking Elise or Lynne, but it was Lynne who answered.

“She’s not saying. She got herself an extremely expensive lawyer and clammed up. So we’ve solved one problem, but not the big one. Unless she admits to it and calls off the contract, Kathryn and I still have to live under a rock with twenty-four hour security.”

“Or unless Wiler talks. Or Tuvok finds out who was paying him.”

“Right.” Lynne’s expression told her exactly what she thought of those probabilities. “Melanie hasn’t given Starfleet much help at all. The one thing I’d like to know more than anything else is why, and she’s definitely not answering that question. I wish someone would.”

Her last sentence was clearly aimed at Elise, who turned away and walked slowly to the couch. Alison kept an eye on her as she and Lynne finished up their conversation, ending with Lynne warning that she should expect reporters in the Foundation lobby first thing the following Monday morning.

“This is not going to be good,” Alison agreed soberly. “I’ll have to hammer out an official statement. Thank God it’s Friday—we’ve got two days of breathing space before this hits the press at full speed. But I’ll still have to release a statement tomorrow.” She paused. “I think we’ll need Brian on this one, too. Technically the Foundation is not responsible for the board, but this is still going to have our name all over it.”

“And mine,” Lynne reminded her. “But I’m thinking about changing mine to Janeway. Frankly, that name has a lot more honor right now. And it’s one I can trust.”

Ouch. Alison didn’t dare look at Elise. “Janeway is definitely a good name. But don’t let the actions of one person affect your impression of the whole family. I think there are some Hamiltons you can trust.”

Lynne got the message. “How is Elise doing?”

“Well, she looks pretty shaken up.”

“I can imagine. She must feel like the whole world got pulled out from under her feet. That’s a very lonely place to be.”

The moment they said their goodbyes, Alison deactivated the terminal. She was definitely not taking calls for the rest of the day. Tomorrow would be bad enough.

Before going to Elise, she detoured past the replicator and ordered up two chilled shots of vodka. It couldn’t hold a candle to the Stolichnaya in her kitchen, but it would do in a pinch.

“Here,” she said as she sat next to Elise. “Drink this. I think you need it.”

Silently Elise took the shotglass from her hand, tossed the entire drink back in one swallow, and set the glass on the sidetable. “Thanks.”

“Wow.” Alison had expected her to sip it. “Do you want this one, too?”

“Sure.”

Alison handed over the second glass and watched as it met the same fate as the first. After a pause, she asked carefully, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I wish I had the slightest idea of what to say.” Elise turned her head and met Alison’s eyes for the first time. “I don’t know what happened. They took Mom away and I’ve spent the last three hours at the Detention Center getting stonewalled in every direction, and they never let me talk to her. I can’t think it’s true, but…she never said a word when they took her away. She didn’t even seem surprised.”

“You were with her when she was arrested?”

“No. She was with me. It’s cribbage night. Tonight was my turn to host the party.”

Now this was something Alison would never have expected. “You belong to a cribbage club?”

“Not really. Just a group of us that get together once a month. Mostly Mom’s friends, but I’ve been part of it since I was old enough to play. So I had Mom and a bunch of women at my house, and we were having a great time, and suddenly the door chime rang without any warning from the security grid. You can imagine my surprise to find Captain Janeway there, along with a Starfleet security officer.” She gave a bitter laugh. “My first thought was that something had happened to Lynne. Ironic, isn’t it? And then the officer handed me a warrant and they both just walked in, straight to the parlor, and arrested Mom in front of everyone.” Her composure cracked, and Alison’s heart went out to her as she tried and failed to stop the tears. “Shit, I’m sorry,” she whispered, turning away.

Alison reached out a tentative hand and clasped her shoulder, unsure as to what comfort she could offer. When Elise didn’t respond she awkwardly removed her hand and went to her desk to fetch a kerchief.

“It’s clean,” she said, resuming her seat and offering the kerchief. “I swear I haven’t used it.”

Elise gave her a watery smile as she accepted the kerchief and dried her cheeks. “Thank you. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to come in here and cry all over you.”

“You’re not, and even if you were, I think it would be understandable. You’ve had a hell of a shock.”

“Shock. That’s a good word.” She folded the kerchief into a tiny square and clutched it in her fist. “I was waiting for Mom to tell Captain Janeway exactly what she thought of such treatment. There should have been fireworks. But it was like she’d been expecting it. She just looked at me and said, ‘I’ll be all right,’ and then walked out with them. I can’t…I don’t…god, Alison, my mother?” Hurriedly she shook out the kerchief again and blotted the fresh surge of tears. “Fucking Dr. Trallek turned her in,” she said in a sudden burst of anger. “I hope he never publishes another paper as long as he lives. I hope his career goes right down a subspace vacuum. Bastard.”

Alison knew she was risking their budding friendship, but she couldn’t let this stand. “Dr. Trallek’s career may very well be over. The man committed fraud. He deliberately deceived the Foundation, and believe me, I will let that fact be known far and wide when I talk to the press. He is a bastard. But not because he told Commander Tuvok the truth about your mother.”

The look Elise turned on her made her cringe internally, but it quickly morphed into resignation. “I know. You’re right. I just can’t get past it. Lynne said she wished someone would explain why Mom did it, and I know she was talking to me, but I don’t have any explanations. And I’m sure my comm unit is full of messages right now from everyone in the family and every fucking reporter in the Federation, but I have nothing to say to any of them. Nothing.”

Alison watched her for a moment longer and made a decision. “Come on,” she said, rising and holding out a hand. “It’s time to go.”

With a look of dismay, Elise allowed herself to be drawn up. “Okay,” she said a little unsteadily. “I’m sorry. I’ll get out of your hair. You’re probably going to be up all night working on a statement with Uncle Brian anyway.”

“You’re not getting out of my hair,” said Alison, still holding onto her hand. “You’re coming home with me.”

“But I—”

“No buts. Just come with me. Nobody will know where you are, and my security field will keep out any curiosity seekers. Believe me, it has before. I’ve got a spare room—though the bed could probably use some fresh sheets, it’s been a while since I had company—and you need a place to hide. Leave your hovercraft here. I’ll bring you back in the morning, if you’re ready to come back by then.”

Elise paused, then squeezed her hand. “Thank you. I’ll take you up on that offer. But I hope you have a spare toothbrush, because I didn’t plan for an evening out.”

“I have spare everything.” At Elise’s raised eyebrow, she added, “Well, I try to be a good date.”

 

 

-----

 

 

By 0400 San Francisco time, Gohat had to accept that his target was not coming to Voyager. He had waited, on edge, the adrenaline coursing through his blood as he listened for the alert. But it never came. His first concern was that the remote alert he had programmed into Voyager’s computer had failed, but a check showed no reason for that to be the case. No, his programming was not at fault. Hamilton had never boarded the ship.

He couldn’t understand it. Voyager’s computer still showed power flowing to the cargo bay, and the presence of Borg components attached to the system. The alcoves were still there, so why wasn’t she? This was the fourth night.

Perhaps the answer might be in the information archives. He turned to his communication console and pulled up the file that was automatically populated with any reference to Lynne Hamilton in the Federation broadcasts.

There were dozens tonight, all trumpeting the same thing: Melanie Hamilton had been arrested and incarcerated at Starfleet for attempted sabotage. He laughed softly. Sabotage? Well, well, well. Apparently Melanie had hired them only because her first attempt hadn’t worked. This explained her urgent efforts to cancel the contract—she must have known that Starfleet was investigating her.

Well, Starfleet now had the scapegoat it would need when he sprang his trap. He felt no sympathy for the woman; if she had been so stupid as to leave evidence of her first attempt, then she deserved her fate.

Moreover, this probably explained Lynne Hamilton’s failure to appear tonight, which meant that she would certainly come tomorrow. That was all right. He could wait.

 

 

-----

 

 

Alison didn’t get to bed until nearly two in the morning, what with getting Elise settled, discussing strategies with Brian, and working on her official statement. By the time she went to sleep she was in that strange state of being simultaneously exhausted and wired, so it didn’t surprise her at all when she came wide awake again only two hours later.

With a groan, she pushed herself out of bed. No use lying here tossing and turning; there was no way she was getting back to sleep anytime soon. Might as well go have a hot drink and read something to take her mind off the current disaster.

Bundled in her winter robe and fleece slippers, she quietly made her way downstairs, noting as she passed the guest room that the door was cracked open. Interesting. Perhaps Elise was one of those people who couldn’t sleep in a closed room.

By the time she reached the downstairs hallway, however, she knew why that door was open. The light was on in the kitchen; she wasn’t the only one awake.

Elise looked up from the breakfast nook as she came in. “Hi,” she said. “Did I wake you?”

“No. I’m just too wired to sleep. I thought I’d come down for some non-tea.”

“Non-tea?”

“Hot water, honey and lemon,” Alison explained. “My mother used to give it to me whenever I was sick, and somehow it ended up on my list of comfort foods. I have it programmed into the replicator. Would you like a cup?”

“Uh…no offense, but that sounds a little disgusting.” Elise lifted a mug that had been partially hidden by her hands. “I have my own comfort food right here.”

“What’s that?” asked Alison as she input the order to her replicator.

“Hot chocolate, with a very large shot of peppermint schnapps.”

“How large?” Alison carried her cup back to the table and settled in opposite her.

“Well, I can almost taste the chocolate.” Elise smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

Sipping her drink, Alison regarded her guest over the rim of the cup. The exhaustion was even more pronounced now, and there were lines under her eyes that she had never seen before.

“How are you doing?” she asked gently.

“Eh.” Elise waggled her hand in a so-so gesture, but Alison didn’t buy that for a second.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t actually want to know,” she said. “I’m not that polite.”

This time the smile, though faint, was more genuine. “I doubt that. You’re one of the classiest people I know.”

“Thank you.” Warmed out of all proportion by the unexpected compliment, Alison really had no idea how to respond without sounding trite. “I guess if I were truly classy, I’d go away and leave you alone again, since you don’t feel like talking. But I’m too comfortable here.”

“So I might as well talk to you, right?” Elise wasn’t fooled. “It’s not that I don’t feel like it. It’s just…you and I are on opposite sides of this one. Meaning you’re on the right side, and you have been since the whole thing started. I put myself on the wrong side.”

“Where do you get that? You’re not responsible for the choice your mother made.”

“No, but I am responsible for enabling it.” She lifted her cup, taking a thoughtful drink, then put it down and straightened in her chair. “They finally gave Mom access to a comm unit. She called me right after you went to bed. It’s true. It’s all true, everything Dr. Trallek said. She really did put Voyager at risk, and she knew what she was doing. She said when the opportunity fell into her lap the way it did, she just acted on it. I asked her why, and do you know what she said?”

Alison shook her head.

“She said she did it for me.” Elise’s voice was a mere whisper.

“Oh, Elise.” Alison reached for her hand without even thinking about it. “That is not your burden to bear. It’s not. If Melanie had asked you, you’d have said no.”

“But it is. Don’t you see? I’m the one who told her about Lynne in the first place. Remember how furious Uncle Brian was with me and Charles for not keeping it a secret? He didn’t even tell Aunt Catarina. I thought he was just being overly concerned with protocol, because surely family didn’t count, right?” She made a helpless gesture with her other hand. “Turns out family counts more than anything. This is my fault. Mom could never have made that choice if she hadn’t known about Lynne’s existence in the first place—and if she hadn’t known that we were sending all of our propulsion research to Voyager. Now she’s in prison, and Lynne has been living in fear of her life for months, and none of it would have happened if I hadn’t failed my duty as an officer of the board. Don’t tell me it’s not my burden. It is absolutely my burden. So I’ve been sitting down here, taking a hard look at myself and not much liking what I see.”

Alison didn’t know what to say. Elise was right; she should never have told her mother. But to think she was on the wrong side because of it…

“They say everyone has a dark night of the soul at least once in their lives,” Elise said. “I thought mine was Monday, when you tore me a new asshole in your office and I got a glimpse of myself through your eyes. But you know, that night I went home and thought about it and realized that I could do something about it. I could fix it. That’s why I went to see you the next night, because I was determined to make some changes in my life, and you were the first step. But now—I can’t fix this. It’s already done. My mom is in prison.” She looked down at their hands, still clasped together, and gave Alison’s a gentle squeeze. “I’d like to be the kind of person who deserves this from you,” she added quietly. “But I’m not.”

Alison clamped down as Elise tried to withdraw her hand. “Oh, no you don’t. Listen to me. Yes, you made a mistake. But that doesn’t make you a bad person. You should have been able to trust your own mother. For the love of God, you are not responsible for her actions! You’re responsible for yours. And while you can’t change what’s already happened, you can change what comes next. You want to fix this? Then fix it.”

“How can I?” Elise’s eyes were filling with tears.

“Go to Melanie and ask her to tell the whole truth. You know she hired the assassins.”

Elise jerked her hand out and shook her head. “No. I don’t know that. She told Dr. Trallek to modify that report because it was easy, and it just landed in her lap. Hiring assassins? No. That takes forethought and planning.”

“Elise…”

“No! My mother is not a murderer!”

Alison backed off. “Okay,” she said, holding her hands up. “But just listen, please. Somebody hired a cell of Cardassian assassins. And the only reason Lynne is alive right now is because she’s tougher than a Klingon targ and she killed three of them the last time they tried a hit. But—”

“She killed three of them?” Elise’s eyes were wide with shock. “She just said they didn’t get away!”

“Well, they didn’t.”

“Fuck! She killed them? Three of them? How?”

“They tried a long-range sniper attack on a ski run. She managed to dodge the phaser fire and take cover, and then she and Kathryn used their own phasers to undercut the snow pack and start an avalanche. The Cardassians were buried. But the important thing is—Elise, forget about that part, listen to me—the important thing is that there were no bodies, just a few pieces of gear. So either they had an automatic beamout, or there are more than three Cardassians in that cell and someone else beamed them out. We’re pretty sure it’s the latter, because of Jefferson Wiler. Remember him? The one Tuvok was trying to track down? He showed you Wiler’s picture.”

“I remember. He’s their Human associate.”

“Right. And two days ago he was arrested near Gretchen Janeway’s farm.”

To her credit, Elise was keeping up despite her dazed look. “So he was still working for them.”

“Yes, he was. Which means the contract on Lynne is still active. Can you imagine what that means for her, and Kathryn, and everyone who loves them? Every day, every hour they live in fear of the next attempt. Now, if Melanie is the one who hired them, then she can fire them too. She can cancel the contract. And she can give Starfleet every bit of information she has on how to find those bastards. But as long as she stays silent and under the protection of her lawyer, Lynne has no protection at all. It will never be over for her. Not until they finally succeed, and she dies.”

Elise stared at her, speechless, and Alison took it just a little further. “I know you don’t want to believe your mother could do this. But the truth is that she’s already shocked you once, hasn’t she? You would never have believed she could put one hundred and forty-eight lives at risk, but she did. In a way, hiring assassins is actually a less horrible crime, because at least they’re only trying to kill one person.”

“Oh, what a lovely way of putting it. But it doesn’t make sense. Mom did what she did for me, to keep me from losing my position as fund manager. We’re past that now; I’ve already lost the position. There just isn’t any reason for the contract to be active. If Mom was responsible for it, she’d have already cancelled it.”

“No, it doesn’t make sense. But we don’t have all the facts.”

“And you think Mom does.”

“I think that’s a very good possibility, yes.” She picked up her cup and nursed it, letting Elise process what she’d said.

“If…” Elise hesitated. “If Mom admits to hiring the assassins, they’ll charge her with conspiracy and attempted murder.”

Alison nodded.

“They don’t have any evidence right now, or they’d have done it already. So if Mom confesses, she’ll be putting herself away for a long time.” Elise looked at her in anguish. “How am I supposed to ask her to condemn herself?”

“If she confesses, and does everything she can to help the investigation, Starfleet will probably agree to a plea bargain,” said Alison as gently as she could. “Her lawyer could work that out in advance.”

“God. You make it sound so simple.”

“It’s not simple. Not at all. It’s a fucking mess, but it can still be fixed.”

“Sure,” said Elise bitterly. “All I have to do is go convince Mom to act against her best interests.”

“She already did that. Now you can convince her to do the right thing.”

Elise slumped back in her seat and pushed her mug away. “Suddenly I’m feeling sick to my stomach.”

Alison knew she’d pressed her just as far as she could go. “Hot water with honey and lemon is good for that,” she said, trying to ease the tension.

They stared at each other until a tiny, unwilling smile appeared on Elise’s face. “Thanks.”

“So that means you want some?”

“God, no. I just meant…thanks for being here. For helping me.”

“Did I? I wasn’t sure if I helped or just made things worse for you.”

“You couldn’t possibly make it worse,” said Elise in a wan attempt at humor. “But I’m grateful that you’re trying to make it better.”

“Any time. I mean that.”

They sat in silence for several minutes, as Alison worked her way to the bottom of her cup and Elise appeared deep in thought. Upon finishing her drink, Alison couldn’t see any reason for imposing on her guest’s solitude any longer. Rising, she picked up both cups. “You’re done with this, right?”

Elise looked up, her brow furrowed. “What? Oh. Yes, I’m done. Thank you.”

“Okay. I’m going to recycle these and go back to bed. If you need anything, even just to talk, come knock on my door.”

“I will,” said Elise distantly. She already seemed to be back in whatever world she’d been in.

“All right. Good night.” This time she got no answer at all. She recycled the cups and was on her way out when a soft voice sounded behind her.

“Alison?”

She stopped and turned. “What?”

“Mom said they’re allowing her to have visitors tomorrow. I already made an appointment for one o’clock. Do you think you could fly me there?”

Confused, Alison said, “Well, I could, but wouldn’t it be easier for me to take you back to the Foundation building so you can pick up your own hovercraft?”

Elise looked down at her hands. “No. That’s not what I’m asking. I meant, would you take me to the Detention Center? This is going to be a hard conversation, and I’d…appreciate your company.”

Now she understood. “That sounds like you’ve made a decision.”

Elise nodded, still not looking up, and Alison could only imagine what this choice was costing her.

“Then we’ll leave at twelve-thirty,” she said. “And if you want, we’ll come straight back here afterward. I don’t imagine the reporters have abandoned their campsite outside your house just yet.”

That got Elise’s attention, and when she raised her head, the expression on her face made Alison wish their relationship was just a little closer. If any woman ever needed a hug, it was this one.

“Thank you. I don’t want to impose, but if you’re offering, I’ll take it. This house feels like sanctuary.”

To hell with it. Alison crossed the kitchen in a few quick steps, leaned down and wrapped her arms around Elise’s shoulders. “I’m glad to offer it,” she whispered.

Elise returned the embrace with surprising force, dropping a kiss on Alison’s cheek before pulling away. “Good night,” she said.

“Good night, Elise.”

 

 

 

 

book 9 | Forward Motion main page