Note: This is another story from the Belle Colony universe. It takes place about 15 months after Voyager’s return (nine months after “The Caritas”).

Summary: Living a new life as a man called Tyee, Chakotay works with the Caritas and worries about the Voyager family he left behind. While on a mission of mercy, he learns some interesting facts about the Belle Colony disaster that begin to give him hope for a better future.

Disclaimer: All things Voyager belong to Paramount. No infringement intended.

Sestwan Camp (in the Belle Colony universe)

by mizvoy

The first thing Chakotay noticed when he beamed down the Sestwan refugee camp was the familiar aroma of a temporary settlement. Most prominent was the odor of food being cooked over open fires, followed by the pungent stench of farm animals kept in the paddock in the middle of the camp, and then the ever-present smell of garbage and waste quickly buried just outside the camp perimeter.

The odor mixed with a cacophony of noise-children playing, parents scolding, animals bleating and yelping, women singing over their campfires, men discussing their work-and all of it reminded him of dozens of similar transitory sites he’d visited during his time as a Maquis cell leader and in his months as a member of the Caritas. He stood still a moment, taking in the familiar surroundings, when he heard someone approach and turned to meet him.

“Tyee, you’ve come in person as you promised.” Rantoli, the Sestwan leader, held his hands outstretched in welcome. “You honor us with your presence.”

“I keep my promises, Rantoli,” Chakotay replied, extending his hands as well. “The Caritas sent what they could. It will help, but it won’t be enough.” He glanced around the camp, taking in the refugees’ obvious desperation with a practiced eye.

“Whatever you’ve brought us, Tyee, we’re thankful. We’ll make do.” The small alien stood beside Chakotay and gazed at the camp with him, shaking his head in despair as if seeing it for the first time and with a stranger’s eyes. “You must think from these conditions that we’re about to starve to death.”

“I think you’re managing to survive in an impossible situation, that’s all.”

“This way to the caves.” Rantoli led him through the camp, chattering all the way about their travels and their experiences in dodging the war, but Chakotay barely listened. Instead, he carefully scanned the surrounding area. The camp was situated on the edge of a large river’s floodplain, nestled against the towering bluffs where limestone caves offered both storage and safety to the refugees.

The planet was located in the midst of disputed territory that was claimed by both the powerful Union forces and the weaker, yet more tenacious Toroyans. The war between the two had devastated the Sestwani and other uninvolved peoples, and the Caritas tried to alleviate their suffering by providing, food, medicine, and supplies whenever possible.

The Sestwani had built their camp from a jumble of trash and debris scavenged from the spoils of the Union-Toroyan war and engineered into workable pieces of equipment. Besides the spoils of war, Chakotay noticed evidence of the camp’s close proximity to Federation space in a half dozen Starfleet survival blankets, a Federation water purifier, the faded pattern of blue stars on the worn side of a cooking shack, and other pieces of equipment that had no doubt been salvaged from a recycle bin on some Starfleet outpost or purchased on the black market.

The Sestwani were not a race as much as they were a group of survivors, a varied Maquis-like mix of species including some whose home planets were part of the Federation: Ktarian, Antosian, Bajorans, a dozen humans, among others. As he walked through the camp, Chakotay heard snatches of Federation standard woven into their conversations like a bright thread of silver in a dreary, brown blanket.

He fought back the sensation of loss and homesickness he felt, reminding himself that he’d consciously chosen to come here. The Caritas leaders had objected when he’d insisted on making the delivery to the Sestwan camp himself, because the trip would bring him dangerously close to Federation space.

“The Sestwani actually travel inside the Federation, Tyee,” Tom Riker had warned him. “If they figure out your true identity, they might decide the reward is more valuable than the supplies you offer them.”

Chakotay had brushed those concerns aside. “I’m the one who promised Rantoli I’d bring the supplies, Tom. Besides, I doubt that a spy would put up with the kind of life the Sestwani live on the off chance that I might show up.” They left unspoken the rumor that there was a former Maquis among Rantoli’s band, although he could tell from Riker’s eyes that he’d heard the rumor, too. “Besides, Chet Borlan will watch my back.”

He hadn’t told Riker about the thin smooth stone Rantoli had given him during their first meeting, preferring to keep it to himself. Now, as he walked through the camp, Chakotay could feel weight of the stone in his pocket, blood red quartz veined with gold that could only have come from the hills near his parents’ house on Dorvan V. Etched into it was a close approximation of the ancient sign he’d seen twice before in his lifetime-both times when he had met the mysterious Sky People who had visited the Rubber Tree Clan on Earth.

“I was told,” Rantoli had whispered during that dangerous meeting, “that if I gave you this, you would bring the supplies in person.”

“I’ll bring them myself,” he’d promised, taking the rock and running his fingers reverently over the engraving.

The stone reminded him of the pain he’d felt when he’d had the visible portion of his tattoo had removed, a pain that had been physical, emotional, and spiritual. He’d worn the tattoo to honor his father, but now it was a symbol he no longer had the right to wear. This was the inevitable fate of an escaped criminal who had the blood of three hundred people on his hands. He had to take on the new identity of Tyee and leave Chakotay forever behind, or the bounty hunters would be a constant danger to himself and the Caritas. He had to sacrifice not only his name, but his heritage as well.

“You must stay for our celebratory feast, Tyee. My wife has prepared zouza, her specialty, and our other cooks have prepared dishes especially for the occasion. There is no better way to honor the Caritas for their generosity than to share the bounty with you.”

“I’d be honored to stay.” He thought to himself that the Sestwani should save the food for their own use, but he knew they needed to celebrate an event like this, even if it meant squandering some of their supplies. What really bothered him was being in a community like this camp; seeing the Sestwani’s family atmosphere was pure torture to someone who had time and again lost everyone who was dear to him. He gave Rantoli a weak smile, “I accept on behalf of the Caritas.”

They arrived at the cave that served as the camp’s storehouse. Chakotay transmitted the appropriate coordinates to the orbiting Caritas ship and had the supplies beamed down in orderly bundles. Then he helped Rantoli and his people as they carefully inventoried the goods and stored for future distribution and use. By the time the work was complete, the small cave was nearly full and the sun was on a rapid descent into the horizon.

“You’ve brought us so much, Tyee!” Rantoli nearly danced as he locked the warehouse door. “I can’t remember when the cave was so full of supplies.”

“I wish I could have brought twice as much.” Chakotay wiped the sweat from his brow with his handkerchief. “But, this close to the war, we could only risk sending one ship.”

“Perfectly understandable.” Rantoli practically skipped with joy as he led Chakotay back toward the residential area of the camp. “This is indeed a day for celebration, Tyee. Now that the war is winding down, perhaps we can hope to make this a permanent home, put in our gardens, and breed herds of animals to feed us.”

“Let’s hope you’re right.” While he didn’t want to ruin Rantoli’s hope, Chakotay had his doubts about the end of the war. Although the Toroyan defeat was inevitable, they were not about to give up the cause until every one of them had been captured or killed. Over the two decades of on-and-off fighting, their enemy, the Union, had destroyed all but one or two of their larger bases, yet the Toroyans continued to fight a guerilla war with small bands wreaking havoc on the Union’s shipping lanes and keeping uninterested third parties like the Sestwani constantly on the move.

This camp was clearly transitory, ready to be abandoned quickly if the war careened in their direction. Home to about four hundred at a time, the rest of this Sestwani group roamed surrounding space in ancient vessels, picking through the spoils of battle for whatever could be salvaged. It was a precarious existence that could end in disaster in a moment’s time, and yet they seemed to find a way to stay alive.

Depressed by the futility of the Sestwani’s existence, Chakotay followed Rantoli in silence, keeping his doubts to him self as a feeling of dread crawled up his spine. He loved the work the Caritas accomplished, relished bringing medicine, food, and supplies to desperate people, but the inevitable “thank you” banquet only served to deepen his depression. He usually let someone else on the Caritas crew attend in his place, often Borlan, the man who had become his tacit partner, but this time he had an ulterior motive. This time he would attend alone in order to meet the person who had sent him the red quartz in his pocket.

“Please, Tyee,” Rantoli said, gesturing at a camp chair by an open fire, “sit down and I’ll bring refreshments.”

Chakotay sat down and turned his attention to a study of the rest of the camp. Laughing flocks of children romped in the shared yards, showing off for the stranger who had come to give them gifts. One small Ktarian girl reminded him so much of Naomi Wildman that he had to swallow back the tears. He tried hard not to think of Voyager’s crew, but the community feeling of the camp made it impossible.

A half dozen young women found a reason to walk past him and gave him shy, blushing smiles, hoping to catch his attention and perhaps snare his heart. Men went about their work, giving him a cursory nod as they passed in front of Rantoli’s tent. Young mothers tended their babies, who stared at the stranger with open curiosity. Even the animals penned in the commons regarded him with placid interest.

Bubbling under all of the routine tasks going on in the camp was a slow-building crescendo of excitement, for it was truly a festive day for the Sestwani, a day when relief had come from an unexpected source, when someone had cared enough to help them. The fact that Chakotay was the embodiment of that help turned him into a hero and made him the center of attention.

Rantoli returned with a weak bitter brew that was high in alcohol content and handed it to Chakotay as he joined him by the fire. Chakotay sipped the ale tentatively and set the mug on the ground beside him as a group of five elders joined them for a relaxing talk as the final preparations for the meal were accomplished. He listened as they told their stories, and he answered their questions about his life, sadly spinning for them the artificial biography of the Caritas member named Tyee.

Chakotay thought of the red quartz in his pocket and wondered which person in the camp knew his true identity. As he listened to the elders’ friendly banter, his eyes scanned the residents looking for a familiar face, listening for a recognizable voice. He schooled his expression and repressed his anxiety, telling himself that whoever the person was, he or she would approach him before the evening ended.

As the shadows lengthened in the setting sun, the group moved into the largest building where most of the inhabitants joined them for the celebratory feast. Besides a large variety of foods, there was music, dancing, acrobatic performances, speeches, and dramatic readings, everything that is part of the “feast cliché,” as Tom Paris would describe it. While around him the emotions were light and happy, Chakotay felt his heart breaking at their squandering of their precious supplies. He promised himself that while his presence at this banquet was necessary, he would avoid any more of these “thank you” meals in the future. If someone wanted to meet with him surreptitiously, they would have to be more direct about it.

Chakotay was not just a loner, he was alone, a man apart, no matter where he went or who he was with. He was a friend to the other twenty members of the Caritas, but even among them, his true identity was known only by a handful of trusted friends—Chet Borlan, Ro Laren, Tom Riker, and the orphanage’s eldest sister, Marilas, who had nursed him back to health.

The banquet ended with the presentation of a showy, flaming dessert that was enjoyed by everyone, especially the children who practically licked their plates to catch every sweet drop. Following the dessert, a special beverage was prepared for Chakotay, a drink elaborately concocted on a table in the middle of the room, obviously a rare and expensive draught reserved for the most exceptional occasions and the most extraordinary guests.

The steaming shot glass of clear liquid was delivered to Chakotay on a small silver tray, and he lifted the glass with great reverence, hoping that his anxiety was properly disguised. He desperately wanted to scan the drink with a tricorder and could hear dozens of cautionary voices in his head warning him about the danger of drinking or eating anything that was not also consumed by someone else.

He forced himself to smile as he studied the surprisingly cold and colorless liquid. If he paused to scan this drink with a tricorder, the Sestwani would be deeply insulted, of that he was certain. They received little respect from anyone in the quadrant and were using their precious supplies to honor him. That this drink was expensive and special was unquestionable, and he was certain that it probably carried a powerful “punch.” He decided that this was one time he needed to take his chances.

Everyone, including Chakotay, stood as Rantoli formally toasted their benefactors, and all glasses were raised in tribute-a loud huzzah of gratitude. Chakotay downed the oily liquid in a heroic gulp and immediately realized that he’d made a serious mistake. Before he could lower the glass from his lips, before he could speak a word in alarm, his eyes glazed over and the world briefly blurred in a sickening vortex. Darkness enveloped him so quickly that he was unconscious before his body hit the floor.

Narcol. The name of the powerful narcotic was the first thought that came to Chakotay’s mind when he heard the final seconds of the hypospray against his neck. Narcol was the drug of choice for bounty hunters, kidnappers, terrorists, and drug addicts throughout the quadrant because it brought on an instantaneous loss of consciousness followed by hours of absolute lethargy. It was during that state of apathy that the most desired influence of the drug was felt-absolute contentment and happiness, a total indifference toward whatever it was in real life that had burdened, troubled, or worried you-the perfect escape from reality.

The second thought that came to Chakotay’s mind was that he had been captured by the authorities at last, turned in for the reward by the Sestwani in spite of the Caritas’ generosity. He knew he should be worried that his captors might be the Cardassians, but the insidious languor of the drug made it impossible for him to feel apprehension. He struggled to open his eyes, moaned at the effort it took, and finally gave up.

“Don’t hurry to wake up,” an unfamiliar voice said beside him. “That was only the second dose of an-Narcol. I’ll give the third in few minutes, and then we can talk.” He smiled, amused that the woman would imagine that he’d care one way or other.

In his days as a Maquis, Chakotay had refused to use Narcol because of its addictive qualities. If not carefully administered, an overdose resulted in near instant death. Even worse, one dose could create an irreversible physical dependence unless three doses of the antidote, an-Narcol, was administered within twenty-four hours. Even those who escaped physical addition often struggled to put out of their minds the transitory moments of paradise the drug had given them.

He should feel relieved to know that his captors were already giving him the antidote, but he wondered why anyone would try to escape from such serenity and pleasure. The lure of the drug was, at the moment, irresistible, and he allowed himself to drift deeper into it as if he were snuggling into a feather bed-warm, soft, soothing. For the first time in over a year, he was happy and without a care in the world.

He found himself in a rural setting filled with the sights, sounds, and smells of a working farm. He recognized it as the orphanage where he’d lived during his three-month recovery from the abuse and beatings at the dilithium mine. He saw the faces of the children as they gathered around the dinner table, chatting about school, teasing each other about their innocent romances, joking with their “Uncle” Tyee, and sharing their childlike innocence with him. He heard their voices asking him endless questions as he worked in the fields, or chopped wood, or built shelves in a closet. The felt the shy friendship of the three sisters who ran the farm envelope him, and he relaxed as he witnessed again the benign trust and affection of the animals he tended, felt the sun on his skin, and shivered in the cool refreshing water of the creek’s swimming hole.

The orphanage was a complex community, demanding a combination of administrative and parental expertise that the eldest sister, Marilas, handled with the smooth efficiency of a Starfleet captain handling the challenge of command. She had been a master at handling her work, the demands of the farm-what to plant, which animals to breed, whether to sell or store the crops-as well as the demands of the orphanage and keeping house, nurturing and disciplining the children, managing the endless purchase and preparation of food, doing the laundry, finding the money that seemed to evaporate into thin air.

His time at the orphanage had been peaceful and productive, so the drug first took him there. Marilas had called him by his real name while she tenderly nursed him back to health, had comforted him as his body fought against damage and infection, and had tirelessly encouraged him as he struggled to regain his strength. She was kind, strong, and gentle, but she had tended too many damaged children not to sense in him an injury too deep for her to soothe. As much as she’d wanted to help him, as much as she needed him to help her, she knew that as soon as he was able, he would leave and begin helping the Caritas in their work.

When the day had come, she’d given him a fierce hug. “I hope you find the peace you’re looking for, Tyee,” she’d said as she looked up at him with affection in her eyes. “And I hope you find Kathryn.”

The sound of Kathryn’s name had burned through him like fire. “Who?”

“When you were delirious with fever, you called me by her name. Was she your wife? A lover? A sister?”

He shook his head, unable to speak.

“She’s still alive?”

“She’s alive,” he’d whispered.

“Then there’s hope, Tyee. Don’t ever give up hope.”

The thought of Marilas’ conversation brought him to the verge of depression, but the powerful drug drove him back toward a paradise much deeper in his past, to another strong woman who had encouraged him and given him strength. Kathryn Janeway.

New Earth.

Chakotay could smell the flowers that Kathryn had gathered on her insect hunts, large bundles of color that she’d carried home with glee each evening and spread throughout their tiny cabin with endless enthusiasm, naming each type and cataloging it in her growing database. Her scientific background had made the job a pleasant one for her, and from that time on, he associated her with flowers: delicate, beautiful, fragrant, and rare.

Sensations rushed upon him pulling him deeper and deeper into the drug’s power, immersing him in treasured memories. He thought of how he had cut the trees to make lumber for their headboards and for her bathtub, and he smelled the fresh aroma of the sawdust and the tang of the sap as the trunks were turned into lumber. He relived the hard work of smoothing the surface of her bath tub into silky glass and the hard work of plowing and smoothing the ground for her garden. He walked beside her again through the dense forest as they named trees, animals, and birds like a twenty-fourth century Adam and Eve. He relished watching the gradual disappearance of the captain from Kathryn’s behavior-first in dress, then in her hair, in the way they used each other’s names, in the growing appreciation for their unexpected compatibility and mutual affection.

He was desperate to stay in the memory of New Earth where he was surrounded by the fragrance of flowers, the sound of Kathryn’s voice, and the joy of her undivided attention. He found himself preparing to cut down the trees he had chosen for their boat, trees he had already thanked for their sacrifice, and that still stood in the forest, marked, waiting, never to be taken. In the false world created from the effect of the Narcol, he never had to let that moment of anticipation go. He could look forward to what might happen as an ever-receding future, just beyond his reach. Anything could happen. Anything.

The silky touch of Kathryn’s hair in his hands, the smooth soft skin of her warm shoulders, the brief sigh of her appreciation as he soothed her knotted muscles, all of that once again foretold a coming intimacy between them, a blending of souls . . . but abruptly, the dream evaporated.

“Nooooooo!” Chakotay cried as the third hypospray tore him from his dream. The feathery strands of the vision dispersed, leaving him in the cold damp darkness of a Sestwani tent. His heart was breaking as he struggled to hang onto the image, but then he closed his eyes in despair. It was too late, had always been too late. New Earth was gone forever. Tears filled his eyes as he opened them to see the face of a human female bending over him.

So, it was to be a Federation prison.

“They call you Tyee,” the woman said, “but I know you by another name.”

The wave of nausea surprised Chakotay, but the woman expected it, helping him lean over the edge of the sleeping pad and aim the contents of his stomach into a small bucket on the floor. Reeling with dizziness and disgust, Chakotay lay back on the pad with a groan.

“Sorry I couldn’t let the drug run its course.” She wiped his face with a cool cloth, allowing a few drops of cold water to fall into his mouth. “When you’re able to sleep it off before taking the an-Narcol, there’s no nausea or dizziness. But I don’t want the Sestwani to know about your real identity.”

Chakotay glared at her. “You’re a bounty hunter.”

“Oh, no!” she assured him, pulling the blanket up and around his shoulders. “You have nothing to fear from me. I joined the Sestwani years ago, when I left the Federation to escape from the Dominion War. I don’t want my companions to suspect that Tyee has a dangerous past. There are some desperate enough to look long and hard at the reward the Federation is offering.”

“I don’t get it.” He relaxed into the warmth of the bed. “Why drug me if you don’t intend to turn me in?”

“The Sestwani call Narcol ‘a walk of pleasant memory.’ They give it to people as a gift of gratitude, although they usually get the person’s consent first. They decided to surprise you, and I volunteered to attend you here as you go through the process.” She glanced around the small tent with a sigh. “Here, at least, we can speak our minds without fear of being overheard.”

“You’re the one who sent me the sacred red quartz from Dorvan V.”

“Yes. I wanted to make sure you came to the camp in person.”

He closed his eyes, fighting another wave of nausea. “Have I met you before?”

“We met once, briefly, when you came to see my brother at the Maquis overhaul base.” She lowered her voice. “My brother, Luis. Luis Padrillo.”

Hearing the name of the man who had planned the ill-fated Belle Colony raid took Chakotay completely by surprise and brought on a second round of nausea that was much worse than the first. The woman once again helped him empty his stomach into the bucket and lowered him gently into the blankets of the bed.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I feel terrible for putting you through this.”

“I’m the one who should apologize to you,” she answered as she daubed the cold sweat from his face with a soft towel. “It’s bad enough to be brought back early from the Narcol, but to do so and be faced with a painful memory is brutal.” She sat down beside him and tucked a blanket around his shoulders.

“You were at the overhaul base?”

“I was part of Luis’s cell, although I spent most of my time taking care of the children while the others were gone on missions. I remember you, though.” She gave him a shy smile. “I think it was the dimples. Or maybe your anger.”

Chakotay closed his eyes. “I was an angry man, all right. At myself. Starfleet. My naïve parents. The Cardassians.”

“It was an angry time.”

He studied her face in the dim light. “So you’re Padrillo’s sister?”

She nodded, “My name is Alita.”

“How did you escape the massacre?”

Her face clouded as she remembered the hundreds of Maquis cruelly murdered by the Cardassians at their lunar base. “I was pregnant and threatening to lose the child. Luis arranged to have me taken to a Bajoran colony where they had a good midwife to help me.” She sighed. “I avoided the massacre, but I lost the child, anyway. I lost everything.”

“I’m sorry, Alita. I still can’t believe it happened.”

She wiped a tear from her eye. “Once everyone was dead, I couldn’t bear to return to the Federation. I decided to join the Sestwani, and I’ve been here ever since. When word of Voyager’s return reached me, I knew I needed to talk to you. But, before I could start for Federation space, you disappeared. I was afraid they’d gotten you, too.”

He snorted. “They tried.”

“The Federation has reported that you’re dead.”

He could hardly breathe because of the pain in his heart. “They’re right, Alita. Chakotay is dead.”

She shook her head in anger. “The evidence is circumstantial, but they claim it’s real. Do you remember the bounty hunter that took you from the mines? Johannsen? The Federation claims he killed you in a shed on a planet near Alloran Core. At least, they found evidence of phaser fire and remnants of your DNA.”

Chakotay shrugged, unable to deny or confirm anything about his captor. “I don’t remember much about him. That whole period of my life is a nightmare of disconnected images.” He grew quiet, thinking about what she’d said. “Who found this evidence? How did they know where to look?”

“I don’t know.”

He struggled to sit up, managing to rest on his elbows so he could look Alita in the eye. “If the Federation really thinks I’m dead, why is there still a bounty on my head?”

She rolled her eyes. “I think they want irrefutable proof that you’re dead.”

He lay back down and stared at the ceiling, thinking out loud. “Tom Riker was worried that Johannsen would tell someone what he’d done with me and that they’d come after the Caritas. I changed my name and removed the tattoo in an attempt to disappear, but Tom decided it would be an even better idea to talk to the guy again. But Johannsen had disappeared. The rumor was that he was the one who had been murdered by a Cardassian bounty hunter that he’d double crossed.”

“Whatever the story is, he’s right about Johannsen disappearing.” She studied Chakotay’s profile. “A Cardassian bounty hunter? Do you mean to say that Cardassia has a reward out for you, too?”

“That’s what I’ve been told.”

She frowned. “I don’t think so.”

He turned to look at her in disbelief. “The Cardassians want me dead or alive.”

“Tyee, why would they care?” She leaned toward him. “Cardassia is in shambles since the war. Everyone who held a grudge against the Maquis is dead and gone, killed in battle or forced out of power. Besides, nothing the Maquis did can hold a candle to the devastation the war visited upon them later.”

Chakotay was stunned. “Supposedly, this Cardassian, the one who killed Johannsen, had offered a big reward for me.”

“So he had, Tyee.” She lowered her voice to a bare whisper. “But the reward was funded by someone inside the Federation.”

“I don’t understand.”

She nodded. “That’s why I’m here. You need to know the truth about what happened to you, both with Belle Colony and with the return of Voyager.”

“Luis found out something about what happened?” He felt his heart begin to pound. “I always thought it was Seska.”

She frowned, obviously confused. “Seska? Why in the world would she want to attack a Federation facility?”

Chakotay paused to think, realizing that the woman would have no way of knowing about Seska’s being a spy. Starfleet would never publicize that kind of information to the general public. “You don’t know that Seska was a Cardassian spy.”

Her mouth fell open. “You’re joking.”

“She showed her true colors soon after we were stranded in the Delta Quadrant. She was actually a Cardassian in disguise.”

“Wow. And you two were . . . .” Her eyes widened as her voiced tapered off. Of course, Alita knew of his love affair with Seska.

“Yeah, we were.” He could feel his face grow warm with a blush. “Don’t remind me.”

“So you’re thinking that Seska might have rigged the shield dampener in some way to cause the dome collapse.”

“Something like that.”

“Why would she want to destroy a research base like Belle Colony?”

“Who knows? Why did the Cardassians destroy Dorvan V or any of the other colony worlds?”

“You have a point.” She grew thoughtful, resting her chin in her hand. “Seska built that device while you were on the overhaul base, didn’t she? I remember Antonio talking about helping her.”

“Antonio?”

“del Toro. The guy I was dating at the time.”

“Ah. I’m sure she built it at the base, because our ship was in pieces at the time.”

“When Luis got back from the raid, he grilled Antonio about the device. Antonio swore it was a simple shield dampener. He said he checked it personally after Seska finished with it, because he never trusted Seska.”

“Antonio was a smart man.” Chakotay couldn’t mask his disappointment. “I wanted to believe she was responsible for the collapse.”

“Because it would make you feel less guilty?”

He laughed. “I’ll always feel guilty about it. I just think I’d feel better if I understood how it happened.”

“Don’t blame yourself for trusting her, Tyee. She had everyone fooled.” She shook her head. “I’m still coming to terms with the fact that she was a Cardassian.”

“Yeah, but I’m the one who did the most to facilitate her deceit.”

“She was a tactical genius-everyone knew that.” She patted his arm in sympathy. “She made herself indispensable to you.”

He rolled his eyes. “In too many ways.”

“You aren’t the first man to be manipulated by a woman-and you won’t be the last, either. And, for what it’s worth, I think she was smitten by you, too.”

He shrugged, disgusted by the memories of their affair. “My involvement with her taught me an important lesson about not getting caught up in relationships with my subordinates. She deliberately used me, and I’d hoped she’d had an ulterior motive for destroying Belle Colony.”

“You don’t think the explosion could have been a structural failure because of the caustic atmosphere? Fatigue, maybe?”

Chakotay shook his head. “Highly unlikely. Habitat domes were perfected hundreds of years ago and have lasted for decades in atmospheres even more caustic than that one.”

“In that case, something caused the dome to fail. But what?” She frowned, a worried look on her face.

“I wish I knew.”

“Well, whatever it was, I wouldn’t blame it on the Cardassians. They don’t care one way or the other about you or Belle Colony.”

“You’re sure? You really believe that it’s the Federation that’s after me?”

“Absolutely. That’s another reason why I needed to speak to you in private.” She lowered her voice. “You’re in constant danger, Chakotay. They won’t rest until they know for sure that you’re dead.”

There was a silence as Chakotay stared at her in disbelief. Finally, he choked out, “How do you know?”

“I may have been out of Federation space for awhile, but have my sources.” She shook her head at his continuing skepticism. “Do you doubt me?”

“I don’t remember you, Alita. You say you’re Padrillo’s sister, and I believe that. You remember too much about the Maquis for me to doubt you. But I served in Starfleet for twenty years, and I know that the Federation doesn’t hire Cardassians to do their dirty work for them.”

“You know that, hum?” She rolled her eyes and then whispered, “There are organizations in Starfleet that you’re unaware of. Have you heard of Section 31?”

“Section 31? Of Article 14?” He saw the confusion on her face. “The Federation charter?”

“Is that where the group got the name?”

“It’s not a group, Alita. It’s a law that suspends the normal rights of citizens when it’s necessary to protect the Federation in times of danger.”

“You’re memory is good.” She smiled, patting his arm. “But it’s also a covert organization, a top-secret part of Starfleet that works outside the law, doing whatever they want no matter what the cost.” At his scowl, she said, “Starfleet denies it exists. Not even long-term officers like you are aware of it.”

“You’re sure of this Section 31?”

“Chakotay, I’m positive of it. And if Starfleet would subvert Federation rules on a routine basis during times of peace, why would they hesitate to hire a Cardassian to get rid of a troublesome traitor like you?”

Chakotay laughed. “Well, that’s the question, isn’t it? Why would they care?”

“Because they don’t want anyone to find out the truth about what destroyed Belle Colony.”

Chakotay felt his stomach rolling again, but swallowed back the bile. “You think they did something illegal there? Why?”

She shrugged. “I have no proof, but I have a question to ask you about the raid. Luis said that he didn’t see a single living person while the two of you were inside the Colony’s dome. Did you see anyone?”

“I’ve been over and over that mission a thousand times in the last eight years,” he answered, his eyes sad. “I saw dozens of life signs on my tricorder.”

“The tricorder, maybe. But did you see anyone in person? With your own eyes?”

He shook his head. “No, I didn’t.”

“Strange, don’t you think? Like you, Luis only saw what he called ‘computer ghosts.'”

“If you’re saying that the base was uninhabited, I don’t believe it. Someone was living there, Alita, whether we saw them or not.”

“So you say.” She sighed. “Luis also said that you had a contact in Starfleet who helped you get past Belle Colony’s defenses, right?”

“That’s right. He was an officer who was friendly with the Maquis cause. He gave me some access codes that allowed us to bypass Belle Colony’s security net without setting off the alarms.”

“It’s very convenient that he came along at just the right time, don’t you think?”

“There were lots of officers in Starfleet that were sympathetic with the Maquis.”

“I’m curious. Did the same person who gave you those security codes years earlier also contact you on Voyager? Was he the same person who facilitated your escape from Federation space when you got home?”

“Yeah. Same guy.”

“How do you know that for sure?”

“His voice was the same. He used the same password we’d used when I was in the Maquis, and he knew the details of the times we talked about Belle Colony, things only he would know.”

She wasn’t convinced. “Did the man give you a name to call him by?”

“Yes, although I doubt it was his real name.”

“Let me guess. Was it Sloan?”

“Yeah.” Chakotay’s eyes widened. “How did you know?”

“Sloan was an infamous Section 31 operative during the Dominion War. He was someone we learned to distrust.”

“Was?”

“He’s been dead for years, Tyee. He was an evil man-really despicable. He helped release a horrible disease upon the Founders during the war, and then he committed suicide rather than give them the antidote.”

“He must’ve been a different person.”

“Two people with the same name? I guess it’s possible.”

“Unless it was a conspiracy.” Chakotay closed his eyes as he considered the implications of her words. “If what you’re saying is true, if there is a group that goes by Section 31, they want me out of circulation.”

“Yes, Tyee. They don’t want you to go to be arrested because a trial would allow the truth to come out.”

“The truth?”

“I think they know why the dome failed, and they want the Maquis to take the blame for it. There is something strange about the way things went down, we know that. If you go to trial, the facts will come out. If you’re dead, then the case will never come under close scrutiny.”

Chakotay was nearly overwhelmed by the thought of such duplicity. “But you have no proof of this, Alita. You’re guessing.”

“You’re right, I am. But my friends in the Federation think it’s true, too. And your friends are on the same trail.”

“My friends?” he opened an eye to look at her, a sinking feeling in his stomach. “What friends do you mean?”

Alita reached into a backpack and pulled out a sealed message chip. “I received this from some contacts inside the Federation. It’s addressed to Tom Riker of the Caritas.” She held it out to him. “It’s from Kathryn Janeway.”

He took the chip and stared at it, thinking that Kathryn had held this chip in her hands some weeks or months earlier. At last, he said, “What would Kathryn want from Tom Riker?”

“I wish I knew. Believe me, I would have read the message if I could have figured out how to bypass the encryption. The seal takes an exact DNA match or the message self-destructs.”

Chakotay studied the elaborate device with admiration. “Clever. She must have had Will Riker seal it to make sure only Tom Riker would see it.”

They both froze as they heard Rantoli’s voice outside the tent. “Alita? Did Tyee enjoy his pleasure walk?”

“I think he was pleasantly surprised by your generosity,” she replied, holding up a hand to silence Chakotay. “He’s just coming around. Give us a few minutes.”

Chakotay slipped the message chip into a pocket and struggled to sit up, his head still spinning from the aftereffects of the drug. “Was there anything else you wanted to tell me?” he whispered.

“That’s all. I wanted to speak to you privately, and I wanted to put that message into your hands myself.” She looked down at her hugely pregnant body. “As you can see, my current condition made it difficult for me to come to you.”

Chakotay smiled. “When is it due?”

“You mean, when are ‘they’ due? Any time. The sooner the better.”

“Good luck with the babies, Alita.” He patted the chip in his pocket. “And thank you for this.”

“I’m so glad that the Maquis on Voyager survived the war, even if they had to be gone seven long years to do so.” He could see the glint of tears in her eyes. “I’m so glad to see you again, Chakotay.”

He stood up and gave her a hug. “I’m glad to know you survived, too. And I’ll think about what we’ve discussed tonight.”

“Be careful out there,” she said, sobbing as she clung to him. “Go with God, Tyee.”

Chakotay beamed directly to Riker’s office when his ship entered orbit around their home planet, quickly explained the situation, and handed Riker the message chip. “I have to hear what she says, Tom.”

In the nine months since he and Ro had rescued Chakotay from the bounty hunter, Riker had never seen the man so emotionally distraught. “I’ll do better than just let you hear it, Tyee. I’ll let you listen to it alone.” It took just a few seconds for Tom to open the message and load it onto his communication unit. He stood up and placed a comforting hand on Chakotay’s shoulder. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

Chakotay sat down at Riker’s desk and studied the familiar Starfleet blue field that filled the computer screen. All he had to do was reach forward and press a button to start the playback, but he found it impossible to breathe, much less move. All the loneliness, suffering, and sorrow of the last fifteen months welled up inside and threatened to bring him to tears. Kathryn had begged him not to leave the Federation, had pleaded with him to let her help him fight the system for his freedom, but he’d trusted his secret contact, Sloan, more than he’d believed in the captain who had been his faithful friend for seven years. What had he been thinking?

At long last, he reached forward and started the message, pausing it again as soon as the familiar face of his friend filled the screen. She looked less exhausted and burdened than she had the last time he’d seen her, and her blue eyes bristled with intelligence as she peered into the screen. For a moment, Chakotay found it impossible to tear his eyes away from hers. She wore the uniform of a rear admiral and wore her hair pulled back into the despised bun at the nape of her neck, but what concerned him most was that she looked driven and sad, perhaps even depressed. He activated the message, steeling himself to hear her voice.

“Tom, I hope you remember meeting me a few years ago while we were cadets. I’ve talked to Will Riker, who helped me code this message for your eyes only, and he says that I can trust you to help me in a matter of great importance.

“My first officer from Voyager, Chakotay, was smuggled out of Federation space and practically sold into slavery by an unsavory group that operates covertly inside Starfleet command. As much as I would like to hunt these traitors down and make them pay for what they did t him, I realize that to do so would do nothing to help him now, when he really needs a friend.

“I’ve heard that you have begun a new group called the Caritas that rescues lost Maquis and ministers to the victims of the Union-Toroyan war. I ‘m asking you to rescue Chakotay. The Federation insists he was killed by a bounty hunter near Alloran Core.” She paused, a mixture of anxiety and anger filling her eyes. “The evidence is circumstantial, and I prefer to think that it’s wrong. I know he’s alive; he has to be.

“Please, look for him, Tom. Find him and do whatever you can to help him. If you need money or supplies or influence, anything that I can give you, let me know immediately, and you’ll have it. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about him and worry about his situation. He’s my best friend, and he desperately needs an ally to help him survive.

“That’s my first request. My second has to do with the ‘crime’ he’s been charged with-the destruction of Belle Colony during a Maquis supply raid some eight years ago. I’ve heard that your group has contacts inside Cardassia that have access to the records of the Obsidian Order. I need to know if they directed Seska, the Cardassian spy in Chakotay’s Maquis cell, to destroy the Colony. She prepared the device that dampened Belle Colony’s security shielding and allowed them to beam out the supplies. I can’t help but believe that she might have used the device to damage the dome and cause the failure. She wouldn’t have hesitated to kill innocent people in the pursuit of her duties. In fact, I think she was capable of doing almost anything.

“I’ve been investigating the Belle Colony situation when I can, calling in favors and using my influence to get information. In spite of my best efforts, Starfleet refuses to open their files to me, and I find roadblocks whenever I press them for more details. I saw the incredible destruction of the colony with my own eyes, yet I haven’t even been able to get a listing of the people killed in the explosion.” She paused to rub her forehead with her fingers. “There are times when I wonder if Starfleet did anything to investigate what really happened that day or if they just blamed the Maquis and moved on. I don’t want to believe that they would cover up something like this, but this covert group is capable of anything, Tom. I don’t want to believe that Starfleet would do something so deceitful, but if Seska isn’t responsible, then an ‘inside job’ is really the only other viable option to explain what happened.

“I plan to come to Draxxon next July,” she mentioned a specific stardate, “and would like you to meet me there with whatever information you can find about Seska and the Belle Colony raid. It’s outside Federation space, and I’m sure you’ll be safe if you meet me there.

“You probably think I’ve lost my mind, Tom, but I can’t help but believe in Chakotay’s innocence. I worked with him every day for seven years and know in my heart that he would never have done something like this. I suspect that there is more to this situation than meets the eye, and anything you can find out will help me. If I don’t see you on Draxxon, be assured that I’ll continue to Cardassia personally and attempt to secure the information on my own. For whatever you can do, Tom, I thank you in advance.

“If you can do nothing else, please find him, Tom. Find him and keep him safe until I’m able to find out the truth about this impossible situation.

“Janeway out.”

Chakotay crossed his arms on the top of the desk and buried his face in them. He could feel his tears soaking through the sleeves of his shirt as her voice faded, and, for the first time since he’d secretly beamed away from Voyager, he abandoned himself to his misery.

He hadn’t realized how difficult it would be to leave everything and everyone he cared for behind, hadn’t taken the time to think things through during those frantic moments after their arrival in the Alpha Quadrant. Sloan had contacted him almost immediately, warning him that the Federation had an airtight case against him, and Chakotay had conceded his guilt without a second thought. At the time all he could think about was protecting Voyager’s crew by leaving before they could do anything that could be construed as aiding and abetting a felon.

The nine months after his departure were a haze, a struggle to stay alive against overwhelming odds. The months he spent in the dilithium mine would forever be the low point of his life; at the end of his time there, he was seriously contemplating suicide as a favorable avenue of escape. Once Riker found him, he’d found a degree of happiness. The time with the sisters and the orphans had restored his soul, and his work in providing assistance to other innocent victims of war helped him feel better about all he’d done wrong in his life. But the price was too high. He missed his Voyager family more than he thought possible. He missed Kathryn most of all.

He lifted his head and stared at the monitor’s blue screen before he ran the message again, this time focusing on the sound of Kathryn’s voice and the expressions on her face rather than the meaning of her words. He wanted to bask in the memories the message revived in him, to immerse himself in the feelings that the sound of her voice created, of home, of acceptance, of safety, and friendship. The tears streamed down his face as she spoke, and he wished he could tell her he had already been rescued by the Caritas, that he was alive and well, so that she wouldn’t have to worry any longer. But as long as the question of his guilt was unresolved, it was better for everyone to believe that Chakotay was dead, even Kathryn.

And then, he felt an unreasoned surge of apprehension. What did she think she was doing? Did she have any idea whose toes she was stepping on? Had she heard of Section 31 and how ruthless they could be? They had somehow killed three hundred innocent people, sold him into slavery, and sent hired Cardassians after him to be sure he was dead. What would they do to her if she came close to uncovering whatever it was they wanted to hide about the Belle Colony explosion?

“Let me go,” he said to the woman on the screen. “Accept the fact that Chakotay is dead.” But he knew she would never listen and would never give up, no matter what the cost.

Later, once Chakotay had control of his emotions, he invited Riker and Ro into the office to view the tape with him.

“Has she lost her mind?” Riker turned to the other two in disbelief. “Kathryn Janeway is coming to Draxxon? Starfleet admirals don’t visit dumps like that!”

“We got used to dealing with the unsavory element in the Delta Quadrant,” Chakotay responded with a shrug. “She knows what to expect, and she won’t come alone.”

Ro shook her head. “If Section 31 is behind what happened on Belle Colony, they’ll eliminate her, too, even if she is an admiral. They don’t let anything or anyone stand in their way.”

Riker agreed. “I’ll bet she’s already been warned about her investigation into the disaster. She admits that she’s visited the Colony’s ruins, and I know for a fact that it’s off limits. She says that the authorities are trying to limit her access to the files, yet she doesn’t seem ready to quit. She’s going to end up in hot water, Tyee.”

“There’s no way to stop her,” Chakotay answered. “The best we can do is get the information she wants and keep her from going to Cardassia.”

“It’s just that I hate going to a dump like Draxxon,” Riker sighed, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “Why couldn’t she have picked someplace less disgusting?”

“Can we find out about Seska?” Chakotay wondered, laughing at the look on Riker’s face.

Ro smiled. “Not to worry, Tyee. I know who can find out what we need to know in plenty of time to meet her.”

He thought ahead, imagining what this Draxxon must be like. “I’m coming with you.”

“Of that, Tyee,” Ro said with a wink, “we had no doubt.”

After Chakotay returned to his ship, Ro and Riker decided on how to get in touch with their Cardassian contact. They would swing by a Cardassian outpost on one of their routine scavenging trips, pick up the information, and then stop by Draxxon on the way home.

Ro lifted the bottle of beer she was sipping and gave Tom a threatening look, “He shouldn’t meet with Janeway in person, you know.”

“I know,” Riker agreed. “He’ll have to keep his distance. It will be hard on him to see her and not be able to talk to her.”

Ro’s eyes softened. “Do you think he realizes how much he loves her?”

Riker snorted. “Not any more than Janeway realizes how much she loves him. I think their feelings are all tangled up in their command relationship and the desperate situation in the Delta Quadrant. He left before they had a chance to work through their feelings.”

“Well, we just have to be sure he doesn’t do something stupid.”

“Yeah,” Riker smiled. “If he goes back to the Federation before we get this whole mystery resolved, the two of them might very well end up spending the rest of their lives in prison.”

“At least they’d both be alive.”

“Sometimes, Laren, a good death is preferable to a bad life.”

“I don’t believe that for a minute,” she laughed. “And neither do you, Tom Riker.”

“Point taken.” He raised his bottle of beer in salute, “To a long life.”

Back on his ship, Chakotay secluded himself in his quarters, turning off the lights in favor of a few candles and the reflected light of the planet below. His medicine bundle had been lost during his ordeal in the dilithium mine, but he’d managed to replace it while at the orphanage, holding back small amounts from his meager earnings to purchase the akoonah he used for his vision quests. Since then, he had gradually filled the bundle with items of power.

He knelt on the deck and reverently opened the bundle. There, beside the akoonah, lay a link of the chain that had bound his hands at the dilithium mine and the red quartz stone Alita had brought from Dorvan V. There, too, was the paw of an oolast that had been caught in a trap Chakotay had set to catch the animal that had been breaking into the grain silo. The small animal had chewed off the leg that was in the trap, leaving behind the paw as evidence of his courageous and defiant sacrifice. Chakotay had kept the cast-aside appendage as a symbol of his own vanished life.

Chakotay pulled the isolinear chip out of his pocket and placed it beside the other items, leaving his hand on it a moment as he thought about it being in Kathryn’s hands. He smiled as he put the treasures into the bundle, closed it, and put it back on the shelf. Most nights, he spent hour or more meditating before he retired, opening his mind to what he considered to be his real life, the life of the spirit world, but this night was different.

This night, the vibrant, drug-induced memories of New Earth haunted him. He stretched out on his bunk and with a sigh of satisfaction allowed himself to remember everything in total detail about narcotic dream that had seemed like as real as their original exile on the planet. He could smell the flowers in the cabin on New Earth, could see Kathryn sitting across from him at their work table, could feel the grains of sand in his fingers as he created his painting, and could hear the laughter in Kathryn’s voice as she talked about her garden, the plants she was studying, and the inquisitive monkey that seemed to follow her around like a pet.

He should be angry with the Sestwani for subjecting him to such a dangerous narcotic without his permission, but Chakotay felt only gratitude and appreciation for their perilous gift. In his “walk of pleasure” he had revisited his personal paradise and, as a result, felt happier and more peaceful than he had in months. It was as if he had truly been with Kathryn, as if he’d spoken with her and been reassured of her lasting affection.

He remembered how she had looked and the sound of her voice from the computer screen and counted the days until he could see her in person on Draxxon. It didn’t matter that he wouldn’t be able to talk to her nor was it important that his life was still endangered. The fact that Kathryn continued to care about him and believe in him made his life worth living.

He smiled and slowly drifted off to sleep. In his dreams, hope was still alive.