Jan Stevens
Alone. In total darkness. No sound. No movement. Only the black and the pounding of her heart. It was so loud, she knew that the thing must hear it as well.
It was near. Her tricorder hadn’t detected it, but she knew she wasn’t alone on this strange ship. She could feel it waiting patiently for her to move, to make a mistake. Trickles of sweat stung her eyes, but she dared not reach up to wipe it away.
There. An almost imperceptible displacement of air passed by her. Then she felt a presence.
It was coming.
Her trembling hand inched toward the phaser at her side. Instead, she accidentally brushed against a panel. In an instant, the chamber flooded with an eerie orange light revealing a gruesome scene.
Bodies. All around her lay dozens of bodies in various states of decay. She recoiled in horror and backed away into the arms of a corpse. It fell against her, its icy, dead fingers wrapping around her neck. Before she could scream, the corpse opened its mouth and spoke.
“It’s too late.”
Captain Kathryn Janeway sat bolt upright, the sound of her own scream echoing in her ears. She sat perfectly still, breathing heavily, then sagged in relief against the cushions on the sofa where she’d fallen asleep and scrubbed her face with her hands.
What a terrible nightmare. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a dream this disturbing. Most of the adventures she and the Voyager crew had experienced after being stranded in the Delta Quadrant were frightening enough to give them all nightmares for years to come. God knows, she’d had her share. But somehow this seemed different.
A strange chirping noise from across the room made her start again. The door chime. Janeway chided herself for being so jumpy and glanced at the chrono. 2350. Whoever was calling certainly was burning the midnight oil.
She stood and ran her fingers through her short auburn hair. “Come.”
The door opened to reveal her first officer holding a stack of padds. Chakotay’s expression became apologetic when he saw her mussed hair and rumpled uniform.
“Captain, I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” He took a step backward. “Perhaps this should wait until tomorrow.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Janeway said, motioning him inside. “You know that I’m a night owl. Besides, I’m really glad to see you.”
“Well, after putting up with crew evaluations all day, you’ll be the first person,” he said with a sigh. “At least the day’s almost over.”
Janeway walked toward the replicator. “Rough one, huh? How about some coffee?”
Chakotay suppressed a yawn. “No, thanks. I don’t plan on staying awake much longer. But some herbal tea would be nice.”
“Herbal tea it is.” Janeway gave the computer the order while Chakotay placed his stack of padds on her desk.
“Kathryn, are you all right?” he asked, sounding concerned.
Janeway turned to face him. “Of course. Why?”
Chakotay shrugged. “I don’t know. You looked a bit unsettled when you answered the door.”
Janeway handed him the tea and smiled. Sometimes it was uncanny the way he could read her moods.
“Actually, my nap wasn’t as restful as I’d hoped,” she told him, sitting on the sofa.
“Nightmare?” he asked, settling beside her.
She nodded. “One of the worst I’ve ever had.”
“Want to talk about it?”
Janeway remained silent for a moment, trying to decide what to tell him. Chakotay seemed embarrassed and looked down at his hands.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“Oh, you’re not prying,” Janeway said. “I didn’t answer right away because…well, I don’t know where to begin. It was like something out of one of those old twentieth-century horror films that Tom Paris likes so much.”
“That bad?”
“Bad as in horrible, not as in poor taste.”
Chakotay laughed. “Then it couldn’t have been like one of Tom’s films.”
Janeway didn’t respond to his witty remark. She stared at the cream swirling in her tea, disturbed that it was the same color of orange as the light in her dream. She gasped when she felt a hand on her arm and looked up into Chakotay’s dark eyes.
“Hey, you really did have a bad one, didn’t you,” he said softly.
“I’m all right,” Janeway said. “I’m just unsettled because the dream seemed so real, almost like a premonition.”
Chakotay looked concerned and set his tea on the table. “It’s so strange you said that. Last night, I had a disturbing vision quest. It, too, felt like a premonition.”
Janeway sat up straighter, a feeling of foreboding coming over her. “Do you think we’re just on the same wavelength, or is something else going on here?”
“I don’t know, but…”
The shrill sound of a communicator signal made them both jump.
“Bridge to Janeway.” Harry Kim’s voice sounded eager.
Janeway sighed in relief and answered the hail. “Go ahead, Ensign.”
“Sorry to disturb you this late, Captain, but I thought you’d want to know we’re receiving a distress signal…from a Federation vessel.”
Janeway and Chakotay exchanged a startled glance and rose from the sofa in unison.
“On my way, Mr. Kim,” she said, heading for the door. She looked over her shoulder at Chakotay. “Maybe we should have had that coffee after all. This may be a long night.”
When Janeway stepped onto the bridge, she was not surprised to find Commander Tuvok, Voyager’s security officer, already at his post. She nodded to the Vulcan and continued down the steps behind Chakotay to the lower deck of the bridge.
“Report.”
Harry Kim sprang from the captain’s chair. “Captain, we picked up the distress call when we entered this sector. It’s a very faint automated signal, but it bears a definite Starfleet signature.”
“Origin?” Janeway asked, settling into her chair, relishing that it was still warm.
“The signal is coming from a class-three nebula approximately fifteen million kilometers away,” Kim said, bounding up the steps to his station at ops.
Behind him, the bridge turbolift doors swished opened, and Tom Paris, Voyager’s helmsman, stepped through.
“I heard there was some excitement up here,” the red-haired lieutenant said as he made his way to the lower deck, rubbing his hands together.
Kim narrowed his almond-shaped eyes. “Isn’t it a little past your bedtime, Tom?”
“Nah, my better half gave me the okay to stay up late,” he said with a grin. “Besides, it isn’t every day we get a distress call from a Federation ship, and I don’t want to miss out.” Then he seemed to remember himself and turned to Janeway. “That is, with your permission, Captain.”
Janeway bit her lip to hide a smile and nodded. “Take your station, Lieutenant. Plot a course to the nebula and engage when ready.”
Paris seated himself at the conn, cracked his knuckles, and started tapping in commands at the console. Janeway exchanged amused glances with Chakotay and leaned toward him.
“How do they find out about these things so quickly?” she whispered. “Sometimes I think good news travels faster than gossip on this ship.”
“Infinite gossip in infinite combinations at warp speed,” Chakotay quipped.
Janeway laughed. “Something like that.”
“Approaching the coordinates, Captain,” Paris said.
Janeway straightened in her chair. “All stop, Mr. Paris.”
“Captain, the distress signal is much stronger, but I cannot get an accurate reading on its origin,” Tuvok reported.
“On screen.”
The viewscreen sparkled to life, revealing an elliptical mass of orange and violet swirls reminiscent of Earth’s strato-cirrus clouds at sunset.
“Just your garden variety nebula,” Paris said, unimpressed with the colorful display.
“Does it pose a radiation hazard?” Janeway asked, turning to Kim.
The young ensign stared at his console, then shook his head. “Some random theta radiation, but nothing significant. Shields should protect us.”
Janeway stood and walked over beside Paris. “Then let’s have a closer look. Take us in, Tom, one quarter impulse.”
“Aye, Captain.”
The ship moved slowly, pushing forward into the miasma until it surrounded them and obscured the stars. Static charges like lightning in a summer storm crackled across the hull in a dazzling array, the bright flashes reflecting off the nebular gases, bathing Voyager’s bridge with a warm orange glow.
The display mesmerized Janeway, and she stared at the viewscreen with growing apprehension. It was too much like the scene in her dream, so much so that she started to hallucinate figures of broken bodies in the whirling mists.
“Captain, are you all right?”
Tom Paris’s voice jolted her out of her reverie. She discovered herself gripping the back of his chair so tightly that she’d dug her fingernails in. Janeway released her grasp, annoyed that she’d allowed herself to become distracted.
“I’m fine, Mr. Paris,” she replied, ignoring Chakotay’s worried stare. “Status, Ensign Kim?”
Kim shook his head. “Nothing on sensors yet.” He leaned closer to his console. “Wait a second. Now I’m getting something. There appears to be a clear space in the center of the nebula, almost like the calm in the eye of a hurricane.”
“And the signal?”
“It’s transmitting stronger than ever now,” Kim said.
“Is it coming from a beacon or is there a ship in there?” Chakotay asked.
“Try about a hundred ships,” Paris said, his voice quiet.
Janeway turned around and stared in rapt fascination at the viewscreen. As the gases thinned, Voyager drifted into an open space filled with an eclectic assortment of ships jumbled together like scrap metal. Several designs were recognizable from species they had encountered. Others were completely alien. Many appeared ancient from their hull decay while a few looked as if they’d just left spacedock.
Paris whistled. “Have you ever seen so many ships? There must be one from every Delta Quadrant species we’ve met and then some.”
“It’s like a graveyard,” Kim said softly.
Janeway shuddered at his choice of words. “Let’s make sure of that, shall we? Life signs?”
Kim consulted his sensors. “None.”
“Captain, several of the ships still have active power systems,” Tuvok said.
“Where is the Federation vessel?” Chakotay asked.
“There.” Paris pointed to the lower right quadrant of the screen. “Right between the Vidiian warship and that Malon freighter.”
Janeway stepped forward. “Maximum magnification.”
Kim adjusted the screen, bringing the small ship into clearer focus.
“From the design, it looks like a Nova-class exploration vessel,” Chakotay said. “The hull is too degraded to make out the registry, though.”
Janeway considered the situation and wrapped her arms around herself, an uncharacteristic gesture. Usually she stood with her hands on her hips, ready to meet any problem head on, but this time, she couldn’t shake the growing uneasiness she felt. Something wasn’t right here, something she couldn’t explain, and Kathryn Janeway didn’t like mysteries. Why were these derelict ships hidden inside a nebula in the middle of nowhere? What had happened to their crews? She didn’t realize she’d voiced the questions aloud until Chakotay spoke.
“I don’t know, Captain, but I don’t like it,” he said. “We may have stumbled onto the hiding place of some alien scavengers. We should be watching our backs.”
“I concur, Captain,” Tuvok said from behind them. “I am not detecting any residual energy signatures from vessels recently in the area, but I would advise caution before proceeding.”
The counsel of her two closest friends comforted Janeway, and she felt her anxiety ease. But only a little.
“Agreed, gentlemen, this isn’t your run-of-the-mill distress call, but we are obligated to investigate despite the circumstances.” The captain returned to her chair and began issuing orders.
“Yellow alert. Increase power to shields, and run a full sensor sweep of this junk pile. We don’t want any surprises.” She nodded to Paris. “Bring us alongside the Federation ship, Tom.”
Paris tapped in the command, and Voyager moved closer to the mass of ships. As they passed under the hull of the Federation vessel, Janeway noticed a strange symbol resembling an escutcheon painted on the engineering hull. The sight of it brought on a sudden sense of deja vu. Something about this ship seemed familiar.
“Harry, is it possible to tap into that ship’s computer?” she asked.
“I’ll try, Captain,” Kim answered, concentrating on his displays.
Janeway chewed on her thumbnail and stared at the vessel, wishing she could remember where she’d seen it before.
“That’s an odd marking for a Starfleet vessel,” Chakotay said from beside her. “Looks like an old eighteenth-century Spanish coat of arms.”
Janeway’s head snapped around at his remark, and she drew in a quick breath. Of course!
“Captain, the ship’s computer core is badly degraded, but I’m in,” Kim called out. “The ship is a long-range exploration vessel registered as…”
“The U.S.S. Anticipation,” Janeway finished for him.
Kim raised his eyebrows in surprise. “That’s right. How did you know?”
“The captain is Jose Pizarro, an old academy friend of mine,” Janeway replied. “He was somewhat flamboyant, always bragging that he was a direct descendant of the original Spanish explorer. I lost touch with him after graduation.” Her eyes narrowed as she stared at the damaged ship on the screen. “I wonder how he ended up out here?”
“Perhaps he became a victim of the Caretaker, as we did,” Tuvok said, referring to the alien entity responsible for stranding them in the Delta Quadrant.
Janeway nodded her head. “Perhaps. In any case, we owe it to the crew’s families to discover what’s happened here.” She rose from her chair and turned to Kim. “Harry, is there an atmosphere on board?”
“Yes, Captain,” Kim replied.
“Very well. I’m leading this away team. Harry, Tuvok, you’re with me.”
The Vulcan’s dark face became stern. “May I remind the captain that this is an unknown and potentially hazardous situation. It is unnecessary for you to place yourself at risk.”
Janeway anticipated his disapproval and held up one hand. “Objection noted, but this is captain’s privilege.”
“Somehow I get the feeling I’m not invited to this class reunion,” Chakotay said, trying to hide his concern behind a smile. “Sure you don’t want me to make your apologies?”
“Not this time,” Janeway told him gently. “I need you here just in case.”
He sighed in resignation. “Understood. I’ll keep a transporter lock on you at all times.”
“See that you do,” Janeway said. “The bridge is yours, Commander.”
She called for Voyager’s chief engineer, B’Elanna Torres, and Seven of Nine, the ex-Borg, to join them, then motioned for Tuvok and Harry Kim to follow.
Armed with phasers and tricorders, the away team transported onto the Anticipation’s bridge. And into total darkness.
The blackness unnerved Janeway. It was too much like the dream again, and she started when Tuvok switched on his wrist beacon beside her.
“Can we get some lights on in here?” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
The away team scattered to various stations while Janeway activated her own beacon and swept it across the cozy, and empty, bridge. Dim emergency lighting flared to life after a moment, confirming her findings.
“Looks like nobody’s home,” Torres commented, looking up from the bridge engineering station.
“‘No bodies’ is right,” Kim said. “The internal sensors are still active, and I’m not detecting anything.”
“Are you certain, Mister Kim?” Janeway asked.
“Yes, Captain. I’m not detecting any organic residue that would indicate bodies in a state of decay. However…” He leaned closer to the science console he was monitoring and frowned. “This is strange. I am picking up a lot of bio-electric interference from the lower decks.”
“Bio-electric interference?” Janeway stepped over to the console to look over his shoulder. The readings made her shudder involuntarily. The last time she’d seen this phenomenon was when Voyager had become infested with huge, parasitic macroviruses. The thought that her away team might not be alone on board the Anticipation made her skin crawl, but she forced herself to stay focused for her crew’s safety.
“Could this interference be coming from the nebula?” Janeway asked Kim.
The young ensign shook his head. “I don’t think so. I can’t explain it any more than I can explain the crew’s disappearance. They must have abandoned ship.”
“I do not think that was the case, Ensign,” Tuvok said from across the bridge. “The escape pods are all in place, as is the Anticipation’s shuttlecraft.”
Janeway felt bewildered. “So what happened to this crew?”
“I am at a loss as well, Captain,” Tuvok said. “Unless they were abducted or transported to another vessel, their apparent disappearance is inexplicable.”
Janeway pressed her lips together and placed her hands on her hips. This mystery was becoming tiresome. She stepped over to the captain’s chair, but resisted the urge to sit out of respect. This was Jose’s ship, not hers, but she drew strength from standing there all the same.
“All right, people, it’s time to solve this puzzle. Tuvok, review the tactical systems. I want to know if they were attacked.”
“Yes, Captain,” the Vulcan answered.
Janeway turned to the rest of the away team. “B’Elanna, I want you and Harry to do a visual search of the lower decks. Let’s make sure no one is left on board. Seven, try to access the ship’s logs. Maybe they can give us some clues as to what happened here.”
Torres stepped forward. “Captain, if we don’t find anything, I’d like permission to bring over an engineering team to salvage some components for Voyager. This is a rare opportunity for us to get Starfleet-compatible parts for backup.”
Janeway hesitated for a second. To her, it felt like robbing a tomb, but she knew Torres was right. Voyager desperately needed those components. Practicality won out over sentiment, and she nodded. “Granted, Lieutenant. Report to me every ten minutes.”
Torres acknowledged the order, then disappeared behind Kim down the bridge Jefferies tube access.
“Captain, the tactical logs show nothing of interest,” Tuvok said, looking up from the console he was monitoring. “The phasers have not been fired recently, nor can I detect any residual weapons signatures on the hull. There is no evidence of an attack.”
Disappointed, Janeway sighed and placed her hands on her hips. She’d hoped the Anticipation’s crew had put up a fight. “Oh, well, at least that’s one thing we can rule out.” She turned to Seven of Nine, who was working at the communications console. “Any luck with those logs, Seven?”
Seven of Nine shook her head. “I cannot access them. The data stream appears to have been damaged by the nebula’s radiation. However, I may be able to reconstruct them using Voyager’s computer.”
“Very well,” Janeway said. “Download the logs and take them back to Voyager with you. Report to me here as soon as you have something.”
Seven nodded and interfaced her tricorder with the Anticipation’s console, then tapped her combadge to request transport. Janeway stood aside and watched the shimmering transporter effect wash over the ex-Borg. Suddenly, the beam seemed to surge, then fade before stabilizing at last, disappearing along with Seven.
Janeway exchanged worried glances with Tuvok. “What was that?”
The Vulcan consulted the console before him, then looked up, a perplexed expression on his usually stoic face. “Unknown. Preliminary scans indicate nothing out of the ordinary with the transport beam.”
The captain wasn’t convinced and tapped her combadge. “Janeway to Voyager.”
“Chakotay here. Everything all right over there, Captain?”
“That’s what I want you to tell me,” she replied. “Seven just transported over with a download of the Anticipation’s logs. We observed what looked like an interruption in the beam during transport. Is she all right?”
“Stand by,” Chakotay said.
The silence over the communicator lasted only a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity to Janeway. These strange occurrences were adding up too fast, so much so that her gut feeling told her something terrible was about to happen. At last, Chakotay interrupted her negative thoughts.
“Captain, Transporter Room Two reports that Seven’s transport was without incident, and Torres’s engineering team beamed out with no problem. Nothing out of the ordinary is happening over here.”
Janeway wished she could say the same. “Nevertheless, something strange did happen here. I want a level one diagnostic run on all transporters. Report to me when it’s complete.”
“Aye, Captain,” Chakotay said, severing the communication.
Janeway turned back to Tuvok, who was walking slowly around the tiny bridge, his tricorder at arm’s length. “Any ideas?”
“Perhaps,” the Vulcan said. “I am detecting a slight phase variance near the station where Seven was standing during transport.”
“A phase variance? Can you tell what’s causing it?”
“Negative,” Tuvok replied, “but it is localized, and the intensity is fading exponentially.”
“Are you detecting any other variances on the ship?”
Tuvok consulted the sensors, then shook his head. “None at this moment, Captain.”
Janeway stared at him, that ominous knot of dread in her stomach growing stronger. “Let’s be certain that this phenomenon really is localized,” she said, tapping her combadge. “Janeway to Torres.”
“Here, Captain,” the engineer replied.
“Have you observed any problems with the transporters? We’ve detected a phase variance on the bridge which interfered with the confinement beam when Seven transported back to Voyager.”
“We noticed something similar when we sent over some components to Voyager’s cargo bay,” Torres told her. “But we didn’t think anything of it since that’s not unusual when transporting unshielded phase couplings.”
Janeway exchanged a worried glance with Tuvok. “For the time being, hold off on any further transports. This variance may be nothing, but I want to play it safe until we can find out what’s happening. Tuvok and I will join you in a few minutes.”
“Acknowledged,” Torres replied.
Janeway motioned for Tuvok to follow her. “Let’s get down there, Commander. Something strange is going on here, and I don’t like it.”
“Another of your hunches, Captain?” Tuvok asked, one eyebrow raised.
“Perhaps,” Janeway said. She grabbed hold of the Jefferies tube ladder, then looked at him over her shoulder. “But save calling me an irrational human until after the away mission, could you?”
“On the contrary,” Tuvok said. “For once, I agree with your trepidation.”
Tuvok’s admission didn’t make Janeway feel any better. They climbed down five decks through the cramped tunnel, the captain’s anxiety growing with each step, her sixth sense on full alert. Although common sense told her she was being ridiculous, she was convinced something terrible had happened on board the Anticipation and that her crew was about to step into a trap.
In the Anticipation’s cargo bay, Janeway found Kim and Torres hunched over a science console while three engineering crew members stood to one side next to several containers of spare components.
“Captain, we may have something for you,” Torres said, glancing up at her arrival.
Janeway stepped up beside her. “What have you found?”
“After you detected that phase variance on the bridge, we ran a multispectral scan of the cargo bay,” Kim said. He pointed to a graphic display. “There are multiple areas of localized phase variances in here. Almost like what you’d see when a cloaking device is in use.”
Janeway swallowed hard. “I’d like to know what, if anything, is being hidden here. Do we know the variance frequency?”
Torres shook her head. “Not yet, but we have the computer running an algorithm to isolate the exact frequency. It should be done…” The computer made an insistent beep. “About now.”
“This is strange,” Kim frowned at the readout. “The frequency isn’t in subspace, but the infrared spectral band.”
“That should make it simple, then,” Torres said, tapping the controls. “All we have to do is adjust the cargo bay’s lighting to…”
“Ow! What the…” One of the engineering crew suddenly slapped his neck as if stung. Then he began to claw at the air before him, his eyes wide with fear. “Get it off me, get it off me!”
Janeway’s phaser was in her hand in an instant, but she hesitated, unsure of what to target.
“Porter! What’s wrong?” Torres asked.
“It’s…it’s…oh, God!” Porter screamed in agony, then disappeared in a shimmer of orange light, the sound of his scream echoing in the cargo bay.
For a moment, no one moved, too stunned to act. Janeway recovered first, galvanized by the apparent loss of one of her crew.
“Lieutenant Torres, make that frequency adjustment. Now!”
Torres tapped the controls. The cargo bay lighting winked out for a second, then came back on, flooding the chamber with orange light. Flooding their vision with a horrific scene.
“Oh, my God!” Harry Kim whispered.
Bodies. All around the cargo bay deck lay bodies. Some were intact, others mere skeletons. A few were wrapped in some sort of webbing like the silk that spiders used to encase their prey.
This time, Janeway didn’t recover from the shock. She grasped the edge of the science console in a death grip. The dream! That terrible dream was coming true before her eyes. Despite all of her experiences, all of the battles and ordeals she’s been through, none of her command training had prepared her to confront her own subconscious.
For the first time in her life, she couldn’t act. She stood paralyzed with fear, unable to move, to even breathe. It took the steadfast voice of an old friend to jolt her out of the trance.
“Captain, I believe we have found the Anticipation’s crew,” Tuvok said quietly.
Janeway looked at him and released the breath she’d been holding. For once she was grateful for his matter-of-fact approach. “It would appear so, Commander.”
“But where’s Porter?” Torres asked. She stepped away from the console and stared down at the deck. “He fell right here, but now there’s no sign of him.”
Janeway gripped her phaser with both hands to hide the fact that they were shaking and moved to the spot where her crewman had vanished. “He couldn’t have gone far in this short period of time. Can we scan for his combadge through the phase variance?”
“I’ll try readjusting the cargo bay sensors,” Kim said, his voice cracking.
“Look, Captain.” Torres knelt down next to the stacked cargo containers. “There are marks on the deck like something was dragged.” She pointed across the cargo bay. “They lead to those containers near the bulkhead.”
Tuvok raised his phaser, then stepped past Janeway, gesturing for the two remaining engineering crewmen to follow. She watched them move cautiously along the path which terminated at the closed door of a large container. Tuvok positioned himself on one side, motioning the crewmen opposite him. When they nodded ready, he pressed the control and opened the door.
Inside was Crewman Porter, his upper body partially covered with the gauzelike webbing.
And hovering over him was a creature.
It was unlike any lifeform they had encountered. Part insect, part gargoyle, it focused two glowing orange eyes on the Voyager crew, raised four spindly legs above its bulbous head and screamed like a banshee. Then, before anyone could react, it scurried past them at warp speed and disappeared inside the open Jefferies tube, the orange light glinting off its sleek black body segments.
A stunned silence descended on the cargo bay once again. But this time, Janeway didn’t falter in her duty. This thing was not part of her subconscious. Now that she had something concrete to fight, she easily slipped back into her command mode.
“Harry, can you track that lifeform on sensors?”
“Uh…I don’t…” Kim stammered.
Janeway ground her teeth, then stepped beside the ensign and practically shouted into his face.
“Report, Mister Kim.”
Kim flushed red and bent over the console. “Sorry, Captain. The entity is moving away from us toward the bridge.”
“Keep scanning for it,” Janeway told him. “I want to know where that thing is at all times.”
“Captain.”
Tuvok’s hushed voice called her over to where he and Torres stood above Porter. The Vulcan sounded anxious, but only someone who had known him as long as Janeway would notice the subtlety. His disposition did little to comfort her.
“Is Porter alive?” she asked.
“Yes,” Tuvok replied. “But we have no way to assess his injuries any further due to the phase variance.”
He demonstrated by trying to touch the crewman. Janeway gasped when his hand passed through the man’s body as if he were not there.
“Can we adjust the transporters to beam him back to Voyager under quarantine?”
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Torres said. “But we’ll need to use pattern enhancers.”
“Get them set up,” Janeway ordered. “We’re getting out of here as soon as you’re ready.”
Torres and the engineering crew moved to carry out her order. After they were out of earshot, Tuvok touched Janeway’s arm.
“Captain, there is something else you should know,” he said, his tone ominous.
Janeway looked into his eyes. “What is it?”
“The phase variances that we detected here in the cargo bay are of the same frequency as the variance that occurred on the bridge.”
Janeway felt all the blood drain from her face.
“Are you certain?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
“Positive.”
Without hesitation, Janeway tapped her combadge.
“Janeway to Voyager.”
“Chakotay here.”
“Commander, there is a strong possibility that you have an intruder on board. Go to General Quarters Four alert.”
“Acknowledged,” Chakotay replied. “Who are we looking for?”
“Not who, but what,” Janeway said. “The intruder is an insectoid creature that is out of phase with our environment. Lock onto Tuvok’s tricorder and download the data containing our scans of the creature and its exact phase frequency.”
“Download in progress,” Chakotay said. “Do you authorize terminal force to deal with this intruder?”
Janeway hesitated at the question. The killing of any living being was as repugnant to her as these creatures appeared to be. Without a doubt, they had killed the entire crew of the Anticipation. But why? Had the Anticipation injured them or violated their space in some manner? Were they trying to protect themselves like the subspace-dwelling creatures exploited by the crew of the Equinox? That incident was still too raw, too fresh in her memory. No. Killing a creature they knew almost nothing about went against everything she believed in.
“Negative, Commander,” she replied. “We don’t know enough about these creatures yet. Adjust phasers to stun only. And have sickbay stand by. We’ll be transporting back shortly with one casualty. Inform the Doctor that his patient will be out-of-phase.”
“Understood, Captain.” Chakotay said.
Janeway turned to find the engineering crew setting up the last transport pattern enhancer. Torres spoke into her combadge, giving the transporter chief instructions, then faced to Janeway.
“We’re ready, Captain.”
Janeway nodded. “All hands, prepare for transport.”
The away team gathered inside the pattern enhancers. Kim left the science console and stood beside Janeway. While they waited for transport, he spoke softly to her.
“Captain, I want to apologize for freezing up back there,” he said, contrite. “I know I put everyone’s lives at risk, and I’ll accept whatever reprimand you see fit.”
Janeway looked into the young man’s dark eyes and smiled, remembering a very green ensign and his first day on Voyager when she’d told him to stand at ease before he strained himself. A different officer stood before her today, one who had gone above and beyond for his crewmates time and again. Of course, he’d erred, but this time, she couldn’t fault him for his shortcomings, which were no less than her own.
“I think, considering the circumstances, you performed admirably, Ensign,” she told him. “Just chalk up one more to experience, hmm?”
Kim relaxed and returned her smile. “Thanks, Captain. I won’t forget this.”
Suddenly, the science console where Kim had been working started beeping. The young ensign stiffened and drew his phaser, his eyes wide.
“Perimeter alert!” he shouted, turning toward the Jefferies tube access.
Before any of the others could draw their phasers, a black shape shot out of the Jefferies tube screaming in fury.
“Harry, look out!” Torres cried.
Kim brought his phaser to bear, but the shot missed. The creature knocked him flat, then impaled him with some type of stinger. Kim screamed in agony, trying to fight the thing off. Janeway reached for him, but it was too late. In the next second, he shimmered out of phase.
Tuvok fired at the creature, but the beam passed through its body with no effect. He quickly made an adjustment to the weapon and fired again. This time, the creature was thrown back. It howled in rage and coiled to strike again. The last thing the away team saw before the transporter effect took them was the creature flying through the air, its spindly claws mere centimeters from the captain’s face.
When the away team rematerialized, Janeway thought for one disorienting moment that the transport had failed. Transporter Room Two was shrouded in dim orange light reminiscent of the Anticipation’s cargo bay. Only the comforting presence of her first officer let her know that she was back on Voyager and safe. But for how long?
“Captain, are you all right?” Chakotay asked. “We detected a second phase shift just before you beamed out.”
“A creature attacked Harry before we could transport,” Janeway told him, unable to keep the despair out of her voice as she stepped off the transporter.
“Damn,” Chakotay swore softly. “That makes thirty-four of the crew attacked.”
Janeway stared at him in disbelief. “Thirty-four?”
Chakotay nodded. “So far. These things move incredibly fast, so there could be more injured in lockdown we don’t know about yet. All we’ve found have been sent directly to sickbay under quarantine, including Harry and Porter. And thanks to what Seven of Nine discovered in those logs you sent back with her, the Doctor has a head start on treating them.”
“What has she found?” Janeway asked him, following Tuvok out the door into the corridor.
Chakotay kept stride with them. “I think you should go to astrometrics and hear it for yourself,” he said. “It might make you change your mind about using terminal force.”
Janeway stopped short and turned to face her first officer. “Are you saying she’s found an unequivocal reason for it?”
“Straight from the mouth of your old classmate,” Chakotay replied.
Janeway stared at him, then hastened her step toward the turbolift. In astrometrics, she found Seven of Nine standing at the main console. But her attention was drawn to the image frozen on the main screen.
“Jose,” Janeway said softly, staring at the face of her friend. He looked like he’d been through hell, and she said as much.
“Your assessment is correct, Captain,” Seven said to Janeway. “Most of the Anticipation’s logs were unrecoverable except for the last four stardates. Fortunately, this final log entry made by Captain Pizarro survived. It is most revealing.”
Seven queued up the log entry and initiated playback. The image of the handsome Hispanic reappeared on the screen, his blood-shot eyes haunted as in one who has seen too much.
“This is Captain Jose Pizarro, commanding officer of the U.S.S. Anticipation, United Federation of Planets. If you are receiving this transmission, please heed this warning. Avoid the derelict ships inside this nebula at all costs. My crew has fallen victim to what I can only call space parasites, nonsentient creatures which exist out of phase with normal space, but can be seen by using infrared spectral lumination. They are vicious beyond words, driven by instinct to use other living beings for food and procreation. They overwhelmed my entire crew before we could discover a way to destroy them. Please, save yourself and others. Avoid this nebula at…”
Pizarro never finished the warning. Janeway pressed her fist to her mouth in horror as she watched a black shape hurl itself at Captain Pizarro. It thrust its stinger into his neck, and he screamed in agony before fading into oblivion.
When the display terminated, Chakotay turned to Janeway. “Captain Pizarro’s intention was to launch this message in a warning buoy. Obviously, he never had the chance. However, we do.”
“And we should do so quickly before the same thing happens to Voyager,” Seven said. “I have adjusted the internal sensors to track the creatures’ phase variance to aid the security teams in a more efficient search.”
“What are your orders, Captain?”
Janeway stood statue-still, her fist still pressed against her mouth staring at the blank screen. She could feel the gazes of her officers on her, waiting for her to make a decision. But at the moment, they were inconsequential compared to the tormented gaze of Jose Pizarro. His senseless death would be the impetus of nightmares for a long, long time. Then she thought of those eyes as belonging to Chakotay, Tuvok, or Seven. Or Harry, who had already felt the agony caused by these creatures. Killing still was repulsive to her, but this time, an old friend helped make the decision a bit easier.
Janeway felt a hand gently touching her arm and realized that Chakotay was standing in front of her.
“Captain?”
She took a deep breath, comforted by the company of her present friends, and placed her hands on her hips, her old self-determination reasserting itself full-force.
“I don’t like the idea of destroying beings we know so little about, but Captain Pizarro was a competent scientist, and I trust his assessment of this situation.” She turned to face her security officer. “Tuvok, tell your security people to uplink their tricorders with astrometrics. All phasers are to be set on kill.”
“Aye, Captain.”
As Tuvok exited astrometrics, Janeway took out her own phaser and made the necessary adjustments. She looked up to find Chakotay watching her as if trying to gauge her mood. He gave her a slight nod and smiled, a subtle gesture of his support. It was enough.
“Well, come on, Commander,” she said to him. “We have some bugs to exterminate.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, following her out the door.
In the corridor, the dim orange light set Janeway’s nerves on edge, and she tightened her grip on her phaser. No one should have to act out their nightmares, but here she was right in the middle of hers. Uncertain of her resolve, but determined nevertheless, she forced her fear aside, then took the point, nodding at Chakotay to follow.
They made their way around the deck, step by step, section after section, with no sign of the creatures. In several areas, the lighting had failed, the nearly pitch black only heightening Janeway’s already overactive imagination. Twice she thought she saw a black shape moving in the murky shadows, but each time, it was nothing. They were entering another darkened section when her combadge suddenly beeped. Janeway almost jumped out of her skin.
“Tuvok to Janeway.”
The captain sighed in relief and relaxed against the bulkhead. “Go ahead, Commander.”
“Captain, we have eliminated one of the creatures,” he reported. “We tracked it to Deck Fifteen where it crawled inside an airlock.”
“I hope you blew it the hell into space,” she said, her acerbic tone eliciting a smile from Chakotay.
“Affirmative,” the Vulcan said. “However, you should be aware that the second creature has disappeared from sensors.”
Janeway straightened, catching her hair on the bulkhead. “We’ve lost the ability to track it?”
“Temporarily,” Tuvok said. “We must rely on visual contact until Seven recalibrates the sensors.”
Janeway sighed, not at all pleased with the chain of events. “Keep me informed.”
She severed the connection, then looked at Chakotay, who was staring at a point over her head. “First the lights fail, then the sensors. I hope the phasers aren’t next.”
“Kathryn, don’t move!” Chakotay’s voice was a harsh whisper.
“Remain perfectly still.”
Janeway felt her blood run cold. At that moment, she realized that it wasn’t the bulkhead snagging her hair. Above her, she heard a low hiss like air escaping from a balloon and a soft rustling noise. She clenched her jaw and swallowed hard.
“Do you remember the time I suggested you shoot an apple off my head for the talent contest?” she whispered to Chakotay.
“Yes,” he answered, never taking his eyes off the space above her head.
“Well, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
“Me, either.” Chakotay slowly raised his phaser. “And if it’s any consolation, I don’t want to be captain.”
“Good. Because I’m not ready to retire just yet.”
The next second, the bulkhead exploded in a blinding white flash. Janeway pitched face first onto the deck, gasping for breath against the dust from the fire suppression system and the acrid stench of burned hair. She tried to rise up, but didn’t have the strength. Then a pair of strong arms lifted her.
Janeway looked up into the handsome face of her first officer. She’d never seen a more welcome sight and sagged back into his arms.
Chakotay smiled down at her. “I’m not ready for you to retire, either.”
Janeway returned the smile and let him help her stand. Just then, her combadge beeped again.
“Seven of Nine to the captain. Sensors have just detected the creature in your section. Do you require assistance?”
Janeway stared down at the mass of black goo smoldering on the deck, then looked up at Chakotay, who tried unsuccessfully to suppress a laugh.
“Thanks for the warning, Seven, but we’re fine,” she said wryly.
“We’ll let you know if things get too ‘hairy.’”
With that, both Janeway and Chakotay burst out laughing, leaving one very confused ex-Borg hanging on the other end of the comlink.
At midnight two days after leaving the ship graveyard in the nebula, Janeway was awake as usual. Therefore it didn’t surprise her when the door chimed.
“Come.”
Chakotay walked in with another large stack of padds. “Am I disturbing you this late, Captain?”
Janeway laughed and motioned to a chair. “It’s only midnight, way before my bedtime.” She watched Chakotay set the padds on her desk, then flop down in the chair with an exhausted sigh. “Is this a business or a social call?”
“Both,” he said. “I thought I’d drop off the reports concerning the ‘incident.’”
Janeway noticed his inflection on the word. No one had been able to talk about their encounter with the creatures, not yet.
“And the other?” she prompted.
Chakotay leaned forward and folded his hands. “I wanted to see how you were doing, even though I already know what you’ll say.”
“Then you know I’m fine,” she said. “Most of me, anyway.” She ran her hand over the top of her head where her hair used to be. Chakotay winced at the gesture.
“I’m really sorry about that,” he said, looking apologetic.
“Oh, don’t worry. As soon as the Doctor finishes treating the injured crew, he’s promised to help regenerate my hair. In the meantime, I’ll have to make do with an anti-Mohawk.”
They shared a laugh, then both fell silent for a while, each lost in their own private thoughts. Chakotay broke the silence at last.
“We were lucky this time.”
“I know,” Janeway said. “I just keep wondering how many more of our nine lives are left.”
“Enough to get us home some day,” Chakotay said. “And with the right captain at the helm, we’ll get there.”
“I hope you’re right, because I was serious about not retiring yet.”
Chakotay smiled, then rose from his chair. “I know you were, but I thought I’d bring you a gift anyway.” He pulled a small velvet pouch from his pocket and placed it on Janeway’s desk.
“What’s that for?” Janeway asked.
“Don’t worry, it’s not a gold watch. Just a little something to commemorate your continued success,” he said, stepping to the door. “You can open it later.” He gave her a knowing smile, then disappeared into the corridor.
Curious, Janeway walked over to the desk and emptied the pouch’s contents into her hand. When she saw what was inside, she smiled and clutched the small object against her breast. Then she retreated to her bedroom and placed the gift on her bedside table, ordering the computer to extinguish the lights.
As she pulled the covers around her, Janeway felt at peace for the first time in many days. Just before she fell asleep, she turned on her side so she could watch the soft starlight reflecting off the polished wooden apple with a heart-shaped hole carved through the center.
Widow’s Walk
Mary Scott-Wiecek
Excerpts from the Journal of Anne Carey
Starfleet Headquarters—San Francisco, California
August 2377
Voyager came home today. Tens of thousands of people came to watch the damned thing soar triumphantly past the Golden Gate Bridge, as fireworks exploded overhead. All around me, upturned faces gazed almost reverently at the ship. They all seemed so happy, and all I could feel was seething anger and resentment. If Voyager had gotten back just two months earlier—two MONTHS—Joe would have been on board, too. Joe would still be alive.
At one point, the ship nearly grazed one of the towers on the bridge. I guess whoever was piloting had decided to do a little bit of showing off. The crowd gasped, but I just had the unbidden, bitter thought, “Now wouldn’t THAT be ironic. To come all this way and blow up over San Francisco Bay in front of all these people.”
God, I’m awful. I want to be bigger about this, but it’s just so hard. Every Starfleet spouse knows that casualties are a part of the job. It can happen to any of them—or any of us, for that matter—at any time. But the sequence of events in Joe’s case was particularly brutal. First, the ship disappeared, and I went four years without knowing whether he was dead or alive—struggling to hold on to hope despite the terrible odds. Then, when we found out that Voyager and her crew were still alive, it seemed my faith had been rewarded. The ship was still fifty years away, of course, but it was something. Eventually, Joe and I were able to exchange brief, written messages. Then, just eight days before he was killed, I finally got to see him over a viewscreen. We only got three minutes, and the connection was bad, but oh, to see his face again, and hear his voice…God, I was so happy. I walked around in a euphoric haze for a week.
Then that grim-faced admiral showed up on my doorstep and turned everything to ruin.
It just isn’t fair. I keep saying that to myself, like a petulant child. But it isn’t. And now, in one of life’s great ironies, his ship has come home without him.
So I suppose I can be forgiven for not being ecstatic about the return, like the rest of the crowd. On the news tonight, back in our suite, I saw that family members of the crew had been cordoned off in a special section on the waterfront in Golden Gate Park during the fly-by. I recognized so many of the faces—we’ve gotten to know each other over the years, almost like a family. I felt the briefest flash of happiness for them before my own sorrow—and yes, resentment—returned.
I keep wondering why I’m putting myself through this. I could have stayed home. Why did I transport myself halfway across the world to subject myself to this anguish? Well, I know the answer to that, really. I had to come, because JJ wanted to be here, and I couldn’t let him face this alone.
I’ve only made brief entries in my journal over the past couple of months, so I haven’t really recorded how troubled I’ve been about JJ. At first, I thought I was overreacting—that I just wanted something to worry about other than myself—but now I’m beginning to think there’s actual cause for concern.
I don’t think JJ is grieving properly, if there is such a thing. I don’t pretend to be an expert; after all, I’m not even sure that I’m grieving properly. But JJ—he hasn’t even cried, to my knowledge. He’s been a little too stoic, even for a fourteen-year-old boy. And when I’ve heard him speak of his father’s death to his friends, he always says, almost proudly, that his father died “in the line of duty,” or “on Voyager, serving Starfleet.” It’s almost as if he feels his father’s death is romantic—like he can’t separate it from the whole of the Voyager “story.”
He’s been obsessed with that story for the past three years, ever since we learned that Voyager had not been destroyed, but was stranded in the Delta Quadrant. He read every article he could get his hands on about the crew and their situation, and he’s studied the actual ship, too—the blueprints and the specs. He knows more about “bioneural circuitry” than any child his age should know.
It’s his father’s fault, of course. Joe instilled sentimental notions of exploration and space flight into him from an early age. I still remember the two of them sitting at the kitchen table, meticulously constructing everything from sailing vessels to simple starships inside small glass bottles. We have a picture of JJ proudly holding the first one he completed “all by himself,” a small sailboat. Back then, I thought it was sweet. Now, I just find it disturbing. Perhaps I should just have a widow’s walk put onto the house—I could wander around up there, grieving for my lost husband, and watching helplessly as my son follows him over the horizon. JJ is already talking about Starfleet Academy. It terrifies me. I knew the risks when I married Joe, but I never considered that either of my boys might deliberately choose that life, too.
When we learned of Voyager’s return on the newsvid last night, and of the celebration that Starfleet had planned, Patrick had no interest in coming. I can’t blame him. He was only four when his father left. I’m not even sure he has any real memories of him. JJ, though—he wanted to come the minute he heard. His whole face lit up. I couldn’t believe it. I nearly chastised him for it, because my first thought was that he just wanted a close look at the ship, his obsession. But then I decided that I’d better tread carefully. JJ does have real memories of his father, fond ones, no doubt intensified by his absence all these years. I decided that perhaps he needed to see the ship’s return—that maybe it would give him some kind of closure.
But when Voyager sailed by tonight, I looked over at him, and he was as riveted and awestruck as the rest of the crowd. It felt like a slap in the face, but I was careful not to say anything. I know JJ must feel the loss in his own way, but his attitude about that ship hurts and saddens me. I don’t understand it; it just doesn’t seem right. And I don’t know what to do about it.
Cobh, County Cork, Ireland
September 2377
As time passes, I’m beginning to accept Joe’s death. My counselor tells me that it’s a gradual process. I had a bit of a setback when Voyager returned, because then I had to accept that, too.
I’m still furious, of course, but I’m beginning to realize that there really isn’t anyone for me to blame. Or, rather, there is, but blaming him is irrelevant. The bastard who shot my husband in cold blood is alive and well and, thanks to Voyager, thriving in the Delta Quadrant. Oh, I know his story—his circumstances. I know the Friendship One probe indirectly devastated his planet and put his people through hell. But I wonder…now that he’s healed, and his planet has been decontaminated—does he feel any remorse for what he did? Is he sorry? Does he have any idea what he took from me? From Patrick? From JJ?
Wondering about him is pointless, I suppose. He’s half a lifetime away from me, just as Joe’s body is. I’ll never come face-to-face with him, which is probably just as well. I’m just going to have to accept that it was a hostage situation that went badly awry. There is nothing that I, or anyone else, can do to bring back my husband.
In the beginning, though, I wasn’t so philosophical, and I didn’t just blame him. Back then, I blamed everyone. I blamed Starfleet, for being so inherently dangerous. I blamed the misguided fools who sent out that probe in the first place, for not considering the consequences of their actions. Naturally, I blamed Captain Janeway, for…just being the captain, I suppose. For not anticipating the danger and finding some way to prevent it. And for not bringing my husband’s killer to some kind of justice.
My shock and pain made me very bitter. I didn’t let it show, though. The stoic facade of a bereaved Starfleet spouse slammed into place the minute I saw the admiral at my door, and it didn’t waver for weeks. When Captain Janeway contacted me from Voyager the day after it happened, I considered it just something I had to get through. A token expression of condolences from her, for protocol’s sake, and a subdued “Thank you, Captain” from me. I was a little disarmed by how emotional she was and how genuinely sorry she seemed, but I couldn’t respond in kind. I had to keep my mask in place, or I knew I would shatter.
I received two other comm calls from Voyager that first week. One was from Joe’s supervisor, Lieutenant Torres. She spoke of his skill as an engineer and his professionalism. She told me that when she’d been chosen as chief engineer over him, he’d promised her that she’d never get anything less than his best, and that he’d been as good as his word. She told me that she had a great deal of respect for him, and was deeply sorry for my loss. I could tell that she meant everything she was saying. Then she smiled a little, and added that he had spoken of the boys and me all the time. She told me that she’d been on duty with him when he’d gotten his first letter from us, and that he’d wept. Joe, naturally, hadn’t mentioned that to me. It was nice to know.
The other call came in two days later from a Lieutenant Tom Paris. Joe had mentioned him a couple of times in his letters, and I knew that they were friends. Lieutenant Paris told me that Joe had offered him parenting advice and was the only person on the ship who truly understood his fixation with ancient sea lore and sailing vessels. He also told me that he had been part of the landing party on Joe’s final mission. He told me exactly how the events unfolded, and how, in the last instant, when everyone realized what was about to happen, Joe stood tall and didn’t flinch. He said that Joe had “died well.” I must have looked taken aback, because he apologized immediately, explaining that his wife was Klingon, and it was a Klingon phrase. I understood, though. In fact, I found it somewhat comforting to have an account of Joe’s last moments.
Even back then, as bitter as I was, I couldn’t help but be moved by these calls. These people had used their personal comm time—time they could have used to contact their own loved ones—to reach out to me, someone they didn’t even know. And that wasn’t the end of it, either. In the next data stream, I received over a dozen written letters from other Voyager crew members, all expressing their sorrow, and sharing stories and anecdotes about Joe. I was overwhelmed by the letters, but still grieving too deeply to really appreciate what they meant.
Yesterday, though, I got out the padd those letters were on, made myself some tea, and sat out on the front porch to scroll through them again. This time, I truly understood how special his time on Voyager must have been. The crew was obviously close—close in a way that only people thrust together in extreme circumstances can be. And they were in an area of space where no human had gone before. Perhaps, in some ways, Joe saw the whole adventure as the culmination of all of his childhood dreams of exploration. I know he missed me, and the boys, but surely he also understood what an extraordinary journey he was on.
As I was sitting there, a ship pulled into Cobh harbor, and the cathedral bells began to chime. I was suddenly overwhelmed by memories of Joe. We chose this house together and would often sit out front and look down at St. Colman’s and the harbor while the boys played in the yard. When I closed my eyes, I could almost feel him sitting there beside me and hear the sound of his voice. I could picture every nuance of his smile. I began to realize how fortunate I was to have the time that I did with Joe. Even in these past few years, separated by half a galaxy, and communication sporadic at best, I knew—down to my very core—that he loved me, and that we were joined in spirit even over all that distance. A marriage that solid is so uncommon. As strange as it sounds, I know I was lucky, even though it ended much too soon.
Last night, I tried to share my epiphany, and my new, healthier perspective, with JJ. I thought he’d be pleased that I understood, at least a little, how he feels about the Voyager story, and his father’s place in it. But he was oddly subdued. He said all the right things, but his heart just wasn’t in the conversation. My counselor has advised me not to push him, so I didn’t. I did leave the padd of letters with him, though, and before I went to bed, I saw him looking through them. Maybe it’s a start.
Cobh, County Cork, Ireland
September 2377
Captain Janeway came to see us today. She’d called ahead, so we were expecting her—I even let the boys stay home from school. I didn’t know what she wanted, but I figured they should be here. JJ was beside himself with anticipation, though he tried not to let me see it.
She arrived right on time, in uniform and a little out of breath from climbing the hill from the transport station. That alone saddened me. Whenever Joe would come home on leave, he’d complain about that climb. It’s especially difficult for people who’ve been living in an artificial environment for an extended period of time.
I wanted to be gracious and ask her how it felt to be home, but the words stuck in my throat. After all, Joe would never know. But I invited her in, introduced her to JJ and Patrick, and ushered her into our front room. I saw her looking at JJ in subtle disbelief—he so strongly resembles his father. We made idle small talk as we all settled into various chairs around the room. She seemed genuinely impressed by the town, the harbor, and the cathedral. I tend to forget how beautiful this place is, especially if you’ve never seen it before.
I offered her tea, which she politely declined, and then an awkward silence descended on the group. She took a deep breath, and then she opened the small satchel she’d brought with her.
“I know Starfleet has already sent over most of Joe’s personal effects,” she told us, “but there were a couple of items that I wanted to bring to you personally.”
She unfastened the satchel and pulled out a thin, flat, metal case with a Starfleet insignia on the lid. I knew what it was immediately, and I swear I could actually feel that familiar “Starfleet spouse” mask fall into place. If she noticed my frozen, perfectly appropriate somber expression, she didn’t let on. She’s probably seen it before, anyway, especially if she’s delivering all of these medals in person. She opened the box and looked down at the medal soberly, then she handed it to me.
“The Medal of Honor,” she told us, unnecessarily. It is posthumously awarded to all Starfleet officers who die in the line of duty. I couldn’t stand to look at it, so I snapped the case shut, and said, “Thank you, Captain,” automatically. The case had closed rather more loudly than I had intended, and another awkward silence filled the room. I hadn’t meant to do that.
I’ll give her this, though. She handled it well. She’s professional, yet somehow she lets you know that it’s personal to her as well, just as she did when she spoke to me from Voyager shortly after Joe’s death.
“I just wanted you to know,” she told us, and her voice broke, just a little, “that Joe was a fine officer and a good man. He was an enormous asset to engineering, and he served Voyager and her crew with distinction.”
The words were nothing unusual, I know, but they were heartfelt. Moved again by her obvious sincerity, I couldn’t speak right away. Since JJ, too, was uncharacteristically silent, Patrick was the one who murmured “Thank you, Captain,” that time. JJ reached over and I handed him the case. He opened it and looked at the medal. He was fingering it absently when Janeway pulled a second, larger case out of the satchel. I didn’t know what this one could be, so I watched her face. She smiled slightly and ran one finger fondly over the case before she opened it. At first, I could only see the top half of the container, which was well padded with some kind of foam or insulation. Then she carefully lifted something out of the bottom half and set it down gently.
Someone gasped. It was probably me, although it might just as easily have been JJ or Patrick—they were as stunned as I was. There, sitting on the table before us, was a small model of Voyager in a bottle. It was beautiful—even I could see that, and I’m not a carafologist. The workmanship and attention to detail were exceptional, but it was more than that. Just looking at it, I could tell that Joe had put his heart into this one—it meant something to him.
It meant something to us, too. The three of us stared at it, numbly. Finally, it was Patrick who wordlessly went into the next room and retrieved JJ’s from the mantel. He set it down next to Joe’s. JJ’s was slightly larger in scale, and he had chosen a different shape for the bottle, but seeing them side-by-side like that…My eyes filled with tears. Half a galaxy apart, and they’d both lovingly crafted the exact same thing. I looked over at JJ in time to see his face contort with emotion. He stood abruptly, excused himself, then hurried out of the room.
Captain Janeway looked sad and sympathetic. We spoke quietly for a few more minutes, and then she left.
That was over two hours ago. I’ve been sitting here in the front room ever since, writing this, whenever I can tear my eyes away from the two ships on the table. Joe’s, I can see now, is missing a nacelle, which is still in the case. It pains me more than I can say that he never got the chance to finish it.
JJ is still in his room, but I haven’t been up to check on him. I don’t need to. In my heart, I know he’ll be all right, now. He finally feels a real connection to his father’s death, and he’ll be able to grieve, accept the loss and move on.
And I will have to do the same. In the end, there is no other choice.
Cobh, County Cork, Ireland
October 2377
When I walked past the two ships on the mantel this morning, I glanced over at them, as I always do, and something caught my eye. I looked a little closer, then realized that Joe’s ship now has both nacelles. JJ must have put it in place over the weekend. I picked it up and studied it—the connection was seamless. If I hadn’t already known which nacelle Joe attached, I would never have been able to tell.
I had to put the bottle back on its stand with deliberate care, because my vision was already blurring through the tears in my eyes. For I know now, with complete certainty, what I must have suspected all along. JJ’s interest in Starfleet is not just a phase. He’s going out there, like his father. It’s inevitable—they’re just too much alike. They both have the heart of an explorer, and the eye for detail of an engineer. He’s leaving—it’s his destiny.
And me, I’ll just have to let him go…and hope for the best.