Cruel and Unusual Punishment

By mizvoy

Part 7: The Storm

March 2379 (One year after C/7 wedding)

“I thought we might finish before lunch.” Janeway sounded triumphant as she and Chakotay entered their students’ mid-term grades into the academy computer, effectively ending their duties for the next seven days. An entire week of spring break stretched before them, and Janeway was anxious to do something fun for a change. “I have a great idea. Let’s call Seven and have her join us for a celebratory sail at the lake.”

“Seven is regenerating,” he replied flatly, glancing at the clock. “And as soon as her cycle ends, she’s leaving for Jupiter station.”

“You mean that she’s attending that cybernetic conference after all?” Janeway frowned. “Doesn’t she realize that she’ll be missing your first wedding anniversary?”

“I reminded her of that.” He shrugged, trying to hide his disappointment from her. “She said that celebrating the date of our marriage was irrelevant and suggested that we simply ‘commemorate’ the occasion next weekend.”

“I’m sorry she feels that way, but I can’t say that I’m surprised,” Janeway replied. She thought back to the informal wedding a year earlier and felt guilty for her part in making it come to pass. “She never has been one for parties.”

“No, and she doesn’t mince words about it, that’s for sure. I don’t know why I let it get to me anymore.” He seemed so depressed that Janeway was tempted to give him a hug.

Instead, she smiled as an idea occurred to her. “Why don’t we go sailing without her? She won’t mind, since she’s busy with plans of her own, and we can just make a day of it, have a picnic lunch, and arrive back home before dark. If you want, we can even return in time to see her off.”

“That won’t be necessary,” he replied with a sigh. “She won’t be expecting me to be there. We had a big argument this morning before I came to work and said our goodbyes then—more or less.”

Janeway put a comforting hand on his arm. “She might change her mind. In the meantime, it can’t hurt you to take some time off and relax.”

“Sailing on Lake George?” He gave her a skeptical look. “I don’t mean to be a pessimist, but isn’t it cold in New York this time of year?”

“Usually.” She laughed and shook her head. “They’re having an unusual heat wave, thanks to the fact that the Breen took out the weather net during the war. There is an ongoing debate between the traditionalists and the modernists over whether to rebuild the weathernet or not.”

“Let me guess. The traditionalists want to return to ‘real weather’?”

“Exactly. In the meantime, the climate is a little unpredictable. But, even so,there’s a heater on the boat that should take the chill off.”

“Okay, I’m convinced.” He stood up and gave her a dimpled grin. “Let’s get going!”

Janeway’s face lit up, and she immediately started thinking through her plans for the outing, excited about the chance to spend some leisure time with her best friend. Even though she and Chakotay worked together on a daily basis, they seldom spent their free time together doing something fun without having Seven of Nine in tow. An afternoon alone with him was just what she needed to chase the doldrums away.

“If we take the right kind of lunch, we can eat on the boat,” he suggested. “I’ll pack the lunch, and you arrange the transport.”

“Deal.”

When they arrived at Lake George, they were in too much of a hurry to get out on the water to bother opening up the cabin, which had been shut down for the winter. Instead, they went directly to the dock and prepared the boat for the water.

Chakotay remembered his first visit to the lake the previous year. He had been amazed to find a sleek, modern craft instead of the primitive sailboat in Janeway’s holodeck program. The real vessel was the model of modern technology—a motorized sailboat with every bell and whistle known to the twenty-fourth century.

His amazement had been obvious, and Janeway had offered a simple, if logical, explanation. “On the holodeck, there are no surprises and the safeties can be set to prevent injuries. In the real world, anything can happen, and I don’t like to take chances.”

While she activated the boat’s equipment, he loaded their supplies and sifted through the storage bins for pillows, towels, and tableware. Minutes later, they motored out into the middle of the lake where they dropped the drift anchor and made themselves comfortable on the prow of the ship, nibbling sandwiches and vegetables, sipping icy white wine, and relaxing in the unusually warm sunshine. The light breeze cooled the heat of the sun while the waves gently rocked the boat, lulling them into complacency.

By mid-afternoon, Janeway made a quick trip to the head and decided to check on the weather while she was in the cockpit. She studied the weather map and then inched around the cockpit to deliver a less-than-favorable report to her former first officer.

“I checked the weather, and they’re saying that this region is in for a Nor’easter later in the day.”

He lifted his head from the pillow to look at her. “Nor’easter? Isn’t that a pretty powerful storm?”

“It can be, but it’s early in the season.” She plopped down beside him and placed a pillow against the angle of the windshield. “Plus, the radar shows the low pressure system still pretty far to the south, so we have a few hours before we need to head back to the dock.” She reclined on the pillow and closed her eyes, enjoying the chance to doze in the warmth of the sun.

“Good. I’m too full to move at the moment.”

The lake was glassy smooth and peaceful. They were far enough out on the lake that all they could hear was the sound of the gentle swells rocking the boat. She wasn’t about to cut their afternoon short, for this kind of respite was what she’d dreamed of on those terrible days in the Delta Quadrant—an afternoon relaxing in the sun on Lake George without a care in the world.

After a few moments, Chakotay broke the silence. “Do you think they should rebuild the weathernet?”

“I’m torn about it. For years, it artificially limited the severity of Earth’s weather until we’ve taken the mildness for granted. Letting nature take its course adds an exciting element of chance, don’t you think?” She shifted to look at him, shading her eyes from the sun with her hand. “More like old times?”

“I guess so, although many people suffered and died because of severe storms in the ‘old times.’ I’ve even heard some people say that the weather is harsher than it used to be before the weathernet was built.”

“I’ve heard that, too, as if the climate is trying to find its balance again.” She squinted up at the blue sky. “We probably shouldn’t take any chances with this Nor’easter. Instead of tacking back to the port with the sails, we’ll use the engines. That way, we can stay out here as long as possible. Agreed?”

“Absolutely. I’m in no hurry to leave,” he answered.

“Just relax, then. We worked our tails off this morning grading all those papers, and we deserve some rest and relaxation.”

Their friendly chatter sputtered out and died as they dozed, completely oblivious to the storm that was bearing down on them from the Atlantic Ocean. They were at peace, relaxing in each other’s company, when the first drops of cold rain splashed on their faces and reminded them of the weather forecast. When they saw the black clouds bearing down on them, they realized how careless they’d been.

“Kathryn!” Chakotay sat up as the waves, kicked up by a cold wind, pitched the boat steeply to port and sent the picnic basket and everything else not tied to the boat into the churning water. He grabbed the edge of the deck with one hand and Janeway’s arm with the other, managing to keep them from sliding overboard as well.

Janeway gripped his arm as the rain drenched them, pulling herself toward his ear so he could hear her over the rolling thunder. “Either we lost track of time or the nor’easter arrived sooner than they predicted!”

He studied the slate grey clouds that rolled ominously over the hills toward the lake, the wind strengthening as it tossed the boat and sent icy needles of spray against his face. “This is going to get rough.”

“I’ll go start the engine,” she shouted as she grabbed the railing along the edge of the cockpit and made her way aft. “You pull up the drift anchor and take the wheel.”

“Aye, Captain,” he replied in acknowledgement, pausing to loop a rope around his hand as he edged toward the prow, glancing back to see Janeway disappear behind the cockpit. As he struggled to pull up the anchor, he saw ominous whitecaps lining up to push them even farther from the shore. It took a herculean effort to pull up the anchor and secure it, but he was relieved to finish the job and hear the comforting sound of the engine come alive.

He had just turned toward the stern when a bolt of lightning snaked out of the clouds and struck the mast, throwing him backward and knocking him senseless with its deafening roar and blinding flash.

When he regained consciousness, he found himself dangling from the side of the boat with his legs in the water and the rope around his wrist keeping him from disappearing into the waves. Cold and still half blind from the lightning, he sent a silent prayer to whoever had installed the boat’s safety system and he slowly pulled himself back onto the boat. He felt his way along the edge of the cockpit, drenched and shivering in the wind that threatened to tear his clothes from his body.

He found the conditions inside the cockpit a little less extreme and sagged against the pilot seat as he tried to assess their situation. He was surprised to find the consoles blank and dismayed that the view from the low-set cockpit was so limited. There was a deeply-angled windshield along the front and narrow windows along the side, but none provided a decent view of the weather. He struggled to access the battery power for the controls, his heart was still racing from his brush with death, when Kathryn emerged from the hatch and came forward to join him.

“Were you hurt by the lightning strike?” she asked him.

“Nearly blinded, is all. Were you hurt?”

“I was below deck.”

They were both soaked to the skin and shivering with cold. The open back wall of the cockpit did little to protect them from the swirling wind and rain, so Janeway pulled out a couple of rain slickers, donning one and giving the other to Chakotay. The sky was dark and the clouds were so low on the water that they obscured the shoreline completely. Chakotay felt as if his universe had shrunk to a cloudy circle of white-capped water about 25 feet across. He grabbed the wheel and eased the bow into the rows of waves while Janeway fiddled with the GPS access and tried to bring the instrument panel to life.

“All the instruments are malfunctioning,” she shouted to him over the wind, “probably shorted out by the lightning strike.”

“Great. Do we have a compass? It isn’t as accurate, but we can steer in the general direction.”

“It’s out, too.” She shook her head. “That lightning strike fried everything. We’re going to have to depend on visual cues.”

“You must be joking.” He gestured at the fog and then turned to her. “Kathryn, there are no visual cues. I can’t see ten feet ahead of the boat!”

“Let me think.” She opened a compartment and tore thought the contents, finally pulling out a tricorder. “We can use this to scan for the shoreline. If you keep us going at about 145 degrees as shown on this screen, we should eventually find ourselves in the neighborhood of our dock.”

Chakotay straddled the pilot’s seat and gripped the wheel with one hand while he took the tricorder in the other. He squinted at the tiny screen in dismay and then glanced at her. “This isn’t much help.”

“Do the best you can,” she ordered, exuding confidence in his ability, just as she always did on the bridge. Unless his bleary eyes were deceiving him, she almost seemed to be enjoying herself. “Watch for the finger of land that’s toward the east of the cove where our dock is located. If we come in just west of it, the trees will block the wind. When you feel that change, immediately cut the engine and let the current take us right up to the dock.” She stood beside him, one hand firmly gripping his shoulder as she gazed into the clouds. She was excited by the challenge, and Chakotay wondered if all Starfleet captains lost their fear of danger as a matter of course. “You know, Chakotay, the exciting part of sailing is the element of chance.”

“If you say so,” he replied, giving her a skeptical look.

The normally calm, blue waters of the lake were transformed into a raging monster by wind, rain, and fog. On the small boat, everything that hadn’t been tied down disappeared overboard, bobbed awhile in the water, and disappeared. The engine strained as the boat fought against the water that washed into it and a ferocious headwind. Wave after wave washed over the bow and into the boat as Chakotay worked to keep the bow pointed in toward the Janeway cove. Even the sails, which had had been tightly bound to the mast, began to work loose and flap in the wind, adding to the overwhelming noise.

“We’re taking on too much water,” Janeway shouted, at last, as the ship seemed to settle into the waves. “I’m going below to start the pumps.” She paused a minute, and then added, “Remember your question about the weather net? I’ve changed my mind. They should definitely rebuild it.”

He grinned at her as she went through the galley directly behind him and down a hatch to a narrow space between the lower deck and the bottom of the boat. She had just disappeared when he spied the two life jackets that were stowed beneath the console in front of the copilot’s seat. He pulled one out and put it on, shoving the second one into the seat beside him for Kathryn to don as soon as she returned.

Minutes passed as the boat labored on, fighting to stay afloat, but making steady headway toward the shore. He heard a faint sound as the pumps activated and hoped that they would restore some of the buoyancy that the water had stolen from them.

Then, he heard an unusual roaring racket that drowned out everything else, even the rain that pelted against the windshield. He looked up to spy a gray spinning cloud that barreled toward him out of the fog.

“What the hell is that?” he wondered, putting down the tricorder and gripping the wheel with both hands. “Please, not a tornado.

At that moment, Janeway crawled out of the hatch and into the deck, making her way forward to the cockpit when she saw the tip of a tornado through the windshield. It brushed against the waves to port and then swerved toward the boat as if caught by some sort of magnetic force.

She watched in fascination as the tornado caught the top of the mast, twisting the thick beam and snapping it free just three feet above the deck. It fell toward the stern, smashing the roof of the cockpit just as the sail ripped loose and caught the wind, jerking the little boat violently backwards in the water. Janeway was thrown against one of the deck seats, and then she slid across the smooth surface until she smashed against the back railing so hard that she saw stars. Moments later, the mast and its flapping sail came crashing down on top of her with a terrible roar that swallowed up her scream.

In the cockpit, Chakotay had been thrown violently against the pilot’s seat and was now lying beneath it looking up toward rolling clouds now visible through the roof of the cabin, which had been peeled away by the mast. Shaking his head to clear the rain from his eyes, he pulled himself up from the deck and struggled back to the wheel, using an arm to protect his eyes from the driving rain that blew in through the shattered windshield.

He realized in panic that the boat was once again settling in the water, even though the engine and the pumps were still running. Confused, he tried to figure out what the problem was and then realized that the broken mast and sail were trailing behind them in the water, creating enough resistance to keep them from making any headway. He was about to leave the cockpit to cut away the debris when Janeway emerged from under the mast with a laser cutter looped around her wrist.

“I’ll cut this loose,” she hollered, waving him away. “You keep the boat pointed in the right direction.”

He nodded and returned to the helm, surprised that the tricorder had disappeared. With a sinking feeling, he knew that he was steering blind with no instrument to help guide the ship in the right direction. He didn’t even know how close they were to the shoreline.

“This is bad,” he said to himself, peering into the fog. “This is a disaster.”

He glanced back and saw Janeway clinging to the railing at the back of the cabin as she frantically severed the lines that kept the mast attached to the boat. She was almost finished with the task when he realized that the boat would surge forward as soon as the debris was cut free.

“Kathryn!” he shouted, trying to warn her. “Let me know before you cut the mast loose.”

“What?” she answered, turning to him just as she severed the last tangled line and let the twisted heap slid off the stern and into the lake.

Finally freed from the drag of the debris, the boat immediately shot forward, throwing Janeway back into the tangled remains of ropes that littered the aft deck and nearly tossing Chakotay out of the cockpit. He somehow managed to hang onto the pilot’s seat, wrapping his arms around it for dear life, when through the wispy tendrils of fog, he picked up a smear of green whipping past the boat.

He realized that they had just passed the finger of land to the east of the cove. As if to confirm his suspicions, a strong current caught the boat and, because he hadn’t been at the helm to cut power, the boat sped ever faster toward the shore, plowing through the water toward the dock that was directly ahead.

“Brace for impact!” he shouted over his shoulder, hoping Janeway could hear his warning over the uproar of the storm. He shifted the engine to reverse and threw the wheel hard to starboard, even though he knew that his efforts were too little, too late.

Seconds later, the boat drove itself into the dock with a spectacular, splintering crash that was quickly drowned out by the fury of the storm.