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Here There Be Dragons: Part 6

by Mizvoy

“It’s called leola root,” Harry Kim said as he pulled out a chair for Kathryn. “If it’s true that smell is a powerful trigger of memory, then this stuff should definitely bring back Neelix’s cooking.”

He headed for the replicator as Kathryn looked around the mess hall, or, as they called it, the crew’s lounge, nodding hello to the crew members sitting nearby. It was the end of her sixth full day on the Essex, and she had slipped effortlessly into the familiar routine of Starfleet’s four six- hour shifts. And she had blended quickly into the crew itself, feeling more at home with each passing day, more comfortable with the idea of what her past life had been.

She’d spent one evening interacting with the Voyager members of the crew, a second dining privately with Tuvok, and a third in a long, enlightening discussion with Seven of Nine. Tonight, Harry had offered to treat her to dinner in the mess hall, and she’d jumped at the chance to observe the crew in a more relaxed setting.

“I wonder why Chakotay never served me leola root?” she asked when Harry returned. “He did everything he could think of to help me remember my past life, especially my time on Voyager.”

“Loela root is probably something he was saving as a last resort,” he laughed, giving her a wink. “It wasn’t a favorite of the crew, although Neelix did everything he could to make it palatable. This stew was about as good as it got.” He placed the dish on the table in front of her and made a show of arranging the silverware, napkin, and drink for her meal. “We ate it because it was exceptionally nutritious, full of vitamins, and plentiful. But mostly, we ate it because we were starving, and leola root was all we had.” He lifted the cover with a dramatic flare.

At first, the odd orange and purple swirl of color caught her attention, but then the distinctive aroma assaulted her, nearly bringing tears to her eyes. “Oh, Harry,” she said, clamping her hand over her mouth and nose. “We ate this?”

“We had no choice.” He sat down across from her, picked up a fork, and speared a chunk of the gooey root, twirling it in front of his eyes. “Believe it or not, I get hungry for it now and then.”

“You must be a masochist.” Kathryn reluctantly lowered her hand and picked up a fork. She noticed with a small smile that the adjacent tables had been quickly abandoned when the leola root odor had reached them. “Does it taste as bad as it smells?”

“Some people thought the slimy texture was worse than the smell.”

“Oh, great.” She squeezed the sticky lump between her thumb and forefinger, noticing its spongy softness, and then stuck the whole thing into her mouth, nearly gagging as it disintegrated into a grainy gob of slime. She picked up her napkin and spit it out the root. “I can’t believe I ate this stuff.”

“You had to. You were the captain, after all, and you had to set a good example for the rest of us.”

She picked up the cover and placed it firmly over the gooey mess on the plate, thinking that eating leola root stew without complaint was probably one of the most demanding duties she’d had to perform in the Delta Quadrant. “And this was as good as it got?”

“I’ll get us something decent,” Harry laughed as he picked up the plate and headed toward the recycler. “Which would you prefer? Italian? Chinese? American?”

“Surprise me.” She thought to herself that dog food would taste better than leola root.

While he was gone, she looked around the room, suddenly conscious of the fact that her pale blue non-Starfleet jumpsuit made her very conspicuous. Tuvok had asked her to wear a Starfleet uniform, but she had firmly refused to do so, reminding him that her real function on the Essex was to host their tour of the Republic’s major member planets. And she insisted that they call her Ms. Janeway, not admiral, even though she could see the disappointment in the Voyager crews’ eyes at her defiant attitude.

However, she had to admit that she had enjoyed the Starfleet routine; to be truthful, she was delighted with it. During the day, when she was busy working in various departments of the ship, she relished her interaction with the young crew and was often surprised by how many of the routine tasks came back to her without any conscious effort. She appreciated the discipline and order of a Starfleet ship, as well as the variety of the daily work and the challenge of the scientific research.

Although she had been busy during the days, she found time during the evenings to read everything she could find on Voyager in Essex’s historical database. Because she had lost so much of those years, including her memories of Chakotay and the rest of the Maquis, she was fascinated by the scope and detail she found. One evening, she scheduled a few hours on the holodeck so she could walk through recreations of Voyager’s ready room, bridge, sick bay, engineering, and her quarters, but she found the exercise less than satisfactory. It was the people she missed, she realized, not the ship itself.

She had been pleasantly surprised to find that her personal logs for her entire Starfleet career had been sent along for her review. She realized that it would take many long hours to go over them all, so she chose ten or twenty logs from each of her final ten years to study in detail, planning to finish before Essex’s tour was completed. She had an increased understanding of the important work she’d done and of how Starfleet had indeed been a perfect fit for her interests and talents, a career that even now seemed to call to her.

If only Chakotay would be open to a compromise, she thought as she gazed out the window, noticing the distant distinctive red swirl of the Wilderness, a particularly dangerous finger of non-aligned space just beyond the Stengil system. She remembered the warning about the rebels known the hide there, and reminded herself that Chakotay was thoroughly integrated into the Republic. He had managed to make himself a productive member of society in his stay here, so much so that the dangers of the region were as customary to him as the threat of the Romulans or the Cardassians in the Federation were to the Federation citizens.

She missed Chakotay every minute of the day, yet she was sad to think that her tour on the Essex was nearly halfway over already. If she had her memory restored, she suspected that she would want to return to the Federation and would do everything in her power to get him to come along with her. And she was equally sure that her efforts to convince him would fail.

“Chicken pot pie,” Harry said, interrupting her thoughts as he placed the delicious-looking dish in front of her. “I ran into Naomi at the replicator, and she said the two of you were partial to it on Voyager.”

She took an appreciative sniff. “I’ll have to thank Naomi for reminding me,” she said, giving him a wink as she broke into the steaming brown crust. She didn’t have to decide what she would do yet, she reminded herself as she groaned with satisfaction at the delicious flavors of the pie. She looked up at Harry with a grin on her face. “I’ll have to find out what other secrets Naomi is keeping from me.”

Chakotay couldn’t sleep. He had carefully followed the progress of the Starfleet vessels as they had passed the checkpoints in the Republic, and had taken comfort in seeing Kathryn’s security code transmitted from the Essex each time. But the closer the small fleet came to the Wilderness, the more he worried. The conflict with the rebels in the Stengilli sector was always a potential problem.

Soon after he had taken over the Republic’s security force, he’d handed the Stengilli renegades a resounding defeat that resulted in the planet’s joining the union as a provisional member. A small band of insurgents had escaped, though, and had periodically disrupted the peace as a reminder of their dissatisfaction. They would love nothing better than to attack the ships from the Federation–his home–and exact their revenge. In hindsight, he wished he had sent more than just the diplomatic teams along with Tuvok’s ships. It wasn’t that he thought that the Starfleet vessels needed the extra protection; it was just that he wanted tactical information in a timely manner, and without Kathryn’s knowing he was checking up on her.

He shifted on his cot as he tried to find a comfortable position. He hadn’t spent a night at their house since Kathryn’s departure, deciding to sleep in his office instead. He couldn’t bear to be surrounded by her things when it was possible that she wouldn’t be returning. B’Elanna scoffed at the suggestion that Kathryn would leave for the Federation, but he knew that it was a definite possibility. There were times when he thought it was inevitable. The likelihood of her departure had been the one consideration that had made him reluctant to become involved with her in the first place. He wondered how he would survive if she left him, and then pushed the thought from his mind.

The comm unit on his desk gleamed in the moonlight, reminding him that he had promised not to contact her. How many times had he regretted that decision? A dozen times a day he thought of something he wanted to tell her, imagined what she would say about a situation, and moved to call her before he remembered that she wasn’t there, that he couldn’t and wouldn’t call her. He groaned, and sat up in bed, noticing that it was only 0300.

“Sir? Are you awake, sir?”

He turned to see a young security officer at his door and was so grateful for the interruption that he almost jumped out of bed and gave the young man a hug. “Yes, I am, as a matter of fact. What’s wrong?”

“You said to let you know if anything unusual happened along the Wilderness.”

Chakotay felt a fist close around his heart. “Something has?”

“Well, I’m not sure it’s anything really. It’s just that there are some unusual subspace distortions that are making communication impossible. I want to say it’s jamming, but it could also be some naturally occurring phenomena.”

“But you don’t think so?”

“It would be too much of a coincidence that it happened just before the Starfleet ships arrived at the Raptor checkpoint, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I do. Did the ships report in at the checkpoint?”

“It’s impossible to tell, sir.”

He got up and started getting dressed as he called out a list of orders. “Call Tom Paris and tell him to report to the orbital station as soon as possible. Have the ships in the Stengilli sector move toward the Wilderness at best possible speed. I think we’d better just follow up on your suspicions and make sure this isn’t the sign of something serious.”

The young man was obviously relieved that his hunch had been taken seriously. “Yes, sir.”

“Oh, and Ensign?” Chakotay said, giving him a dimpled grin. “Good work.”

The young man nearly burst with pride. “Thank you, sir.”

As he finished dressing, he wondered just what the rebels thought they could do against three Starfleet ships. If they thought Tuvok would just fold his hands and give up, they were in for a big surprise. And if Kathryn Janeway showed any of her former military skills, they were going to regret their decision soon enough–as long as the ships weren’t hopelessly outnumbered. He paused at his desk and picked up her picture, running his thumb across the glass. “I said I wouldn’t contact you, but I never said I wouldn’t follow you.”

His commbadge activated. “Paris to Chakotay. B’Elanna is insisting that she come along.”

“I should’ve expected that,” he replied with a chuckle. “If I told her not to come, would she listen?”

“No, sir.”

“Well then, she’d better come along.”

“We’ll meet you at the station in twenty minutes.”

“Okay, Tom.” He stopped, realizing that for the last fifteen years, he’d never faced a crisis alone because of the loyalty of his crew, both Maquis and Starfleet. “And thanks, from both Kathryn and me.”

“No problem, Chakotay. We know both of you’d be there for us.”

He closed the link and hurried to the bathroom where he ran a comb through his hair, brushed his teeth, and then found himself staring at his reflection in the mirror. “You can’t let anything happen to her. You’ll never forgive yourself.”

Kathryn discovered that she couldn’t get the smell of leola root off of her hands. She had washed them repeatedly, had smoothed on half a bottle of hand lotion one dollop at a time, and had soaked them during her long, hot bath, but when she crawled into bed, the odor was still there waiting to overwhelm her.

As Harry Kim had so accurately predicted, the aroma brought with it renewed memories. But the memories weren’t of Neelix and his cooking, they were of the emotions she’d felt during their seven-year-long exile, emotions that were assaulting her and threatening to overpower her, one by one. Worry. Panic. Struggle. Hopelessness. Isolation. Responsibility. Sleeplessness. Terror. Despair. Guilt. Loneliness. Misery. Desperation.

She found it impossible to breathe while lying down, so she got up and began to pace, rubbing yet more lotion into her hands. She realized that of all the people with her in the Delta Quadrant, Chakotay had been the one who had understood her predicament best and had been able to relieve her feelings of anguish. She thought about calling him. He’d said he wouldn’t contact her, and he’d kept his word, but she’d made no such promise, and she missed him terribly. If she could just hear his voice, she knew that she could relax and sleep. He’d want her to call him if she needed him. She was sure of it.

She headed for the comm unit and activated it, only to notice with a pang of regret that it would be the middle of the night there, not exactly the best time to call. She was reaching to terminate the connection when the computer said, “Subspace communication jammed.”

“Jammed?” she said aloud. “Computer, did you say that subspace is jammed?”

“Affirmative.”

“Since when?” No answer. “Computer, how long has subspace communication been jammed?”

“One hour and three minutes.”

“Source of the jamming?”

“Unknown.”

Kathryn turned to her console and pulled up the fleet’s location on the Republic’s map. They were right on course, but she hadn’t been notified when they had passed the Raptor checkpoint during the night. Was it possible that the bridge crew hadn’t received the usual automated request for verification from the checkpoint? If they had, she would’ve been summoned to the bridge to enter her security code, as she always was. Something was wrong. Seriously wrong.

She pressed the comm button on the console. “Janeway to Tuvok.”

There was a pause. She realized that he was probably fast asleep, but she also knew that when he spoke, he would sound as if he’d been wide awake for hours. She wondered how he managed that. “Tuvok here.”

“I think we have a situation developing. Subspace communication is jammed. And we passed the Raptor checkpoint without being contacted.”

“I see. Do you think this could be an indication of problems with the rebels?”

Before she could answer, the ship was rocked by phaser fire and the sound of the red alert siren filled the ship. “I think we just had that question answered.”

“I agree. I request that you join me on the bridge as soon as possible . . . Admiral.”

Kathryn gripped the desk as another volley of phaser fire rocked the ship. Tuvok was asking her to take charge of the situation, and why wouldn’t he? She knew Starfleet, she knew the three ships’ capabilities, and she knew the Stengilli renegades and their tactics. It made sense for her to assume command, but she still wasn’t sure that was what she wanted to do.

“I’ll meet you there, Captain,” she replied. She dashed to her bedroom, threw open the closet, and stared at the gray and burgundy uniform, the three pips of a vice admiral winking at her from the collar. Tuvok had made sure the uniform was ready for her in case she decided to wear it, but until now she’d simply pretended it wasn’t there.

A third volley hit the ship, and as the Essex returned fire, Kathryn made her decision. Grabbing the uniform, she dressed quickly and headed for the bridge.

Chakotay sat beside Tom Paris as the pilot took the shuttle on a quick tour around the battle-scarred exterior of the Essex. As much as he wanted to get onto the ship and find out about Kathryn’s condition, he was fascinated by the damage, trying to imagine how it had been inflicted and how the ship had survived. He kept telling himself that he would know if she’d been killed or seriously injured. He kept telling himself that someone would’ve informed him if the admiral had been lost.

Yet, the details of the battle were still sketchy. Although the Republic’s home fleet had reached the Starfleet ships two hours earlier, communication with Essex had yet to be restored. The accounts of the battle had come mostly from the wounded being evacuated from Essex and from the other two vessels, which had been busy with their own skirmishes at the time. Now, Essex’s crew was still struggling to restore power while the wounded were evacuated via shuttle for treatment elsewhere. Beaming through the contamination caused by multiple warp-core breeches was much too risky to attempt.

B’Elanna Torres stood behind her husband commenting on what she saw. “The port nacelle is shot–probably from a rebel ship’s warp core breech. Looks like they took out all the lateral relays along the port side–see how the exterior is peeled back? The core was ejected while they were dead in the water, because the lowest deck is split all along the keel. I’m guessing the emergency bulkhead failed, too. Tom, take us up and over.”

Chakotay tried not to panic as he saw the extent of the destruction. “I haven’t seen damage like this since Wolf 359. Did the rebels even engage the other two ships?”

“My god.” Paris brought the shuttle to a dead stop. “Look at the bridge.”

“What bridge?” B’Elanna whispered. “I sure hope they evacuated it in time.”

The top dome, the traditional location of the bridge on Starfleet vessels, had been peeled back like an eggshell, and the exterior of the primary hull had been so brutally scarred that the name and registration number of the ship was obliterated. They could see repair crews in environmental suits moving along the outside cutting away the useless pieces of metal and conduit. Through gaping holes, they could see inside the passageways of deck two where engineers were reinforcing the emergency bulkheads and opening panels in the walls to access critical power relays.

Chakotay felt sick. “I’d heard that rebels rammed the Essex, but I was hoping that they only hit the port nacelle.”

“I heard they were rammed twice,” Tom replied. “Maybe they got the nacelle and the bridge.”

Chakotay added that information to what he’d learned earlier.

Ten hours had passed from the time Chakotay had been awakened about the subspace jamming before they received the first preliminary report that a battle had taken place. The time had seemed to crawl by, and even though they were traveling at better than warp nine, they were still two hours away from the battle zone. Just as Chakotay was about to lose his patience, he had been contacted by the home fleet’s commander, Captain Argin.

“Tell me,” Argin had said, the subspace communication still distorted from the residual effects of the jamming device, “is this Admiral Janeway the same person as your Kathryn?”

“Kathryn was an admiral in Starfleet, yes.”

“You’ve been holding out on us, Chakotay.”

“What do you mean?”

“The senior Starfleet captain was injured early in the battle, and this Admiral Janeway took command of Essex.”

“Tuvok was hurt? Is he going to be all right?”

“Apparently so. He’s said to be in a ‘healing trance.’ They were attacked by six rebel ships–three destroyers and three raiders–about two hours past the expanse outpost.”

Chakotay envisioned the location, perhaps the most remote area in the Republic. The destroyers were almost an even match for the Starfleet ships, and the addition of the three nimble raiders definitely put the odds in the rebels’ favor. “How did she do?”

“The admiral? Well, when the battle ended, all three Starfleet ships were still in one piece, more or less. And only two destroyers sneaked back into the expanse to lick their wounds.” Argin’s face had broken into a wide grin. “That’s what I mean when I say that you’ve been holding back. Why haven’t you been sharing the admiral’s expertise with the rest of the security force?”

Once this first conversation had ended, more and more details drifted through the comm links. They learned that the rebels had swarmed around all three ships until they determined which one contained Kathryn Janeway; then they focused the most vicious attacks on the Essex. Captain Argin confirmed this in a subsequent report.

“Once they were close enough for direct communication, the rebels opened a channel, pretending to seek a ceasefire. When Admiral Janeway responded, the rebel leader asked her if she were the same woman who was involved with you.”

“Was it Haseran?”

“Yes, believe it or not.”

“I thought he was in prison on Pelates V.”

“So did I. Anyway, once he knew who she was for sure, he told her that he was there to kill her.”

“I’m sure that went over well with Kathryn.”

“According to my source, she just said, ‘Not today.'” Argin laughed. “I love her spunk, Chakotay. What a woman! Anyway, after that the main thrust of the battle was directed at Essex, including at least one or two suicide attacks by the raiders. I’m afraid most of the casualties were there.”

“Kathryn?”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry, Chakotay. We haven’t established direct communication with the ship as yet. The Essex is adrift and will probably have to be towed to a Stengilli dry dock for repair. In the meantime, the critically injured are being shuttled to the other two ships, and the remainder of the crew to ours. Once you arrive, I suggest you shuttle to the Essex and find out about her for yourself.”

As Tom re-engaged the engines and began their approach to the shuttle bay, Chakotay was hit with another overwhelming wave of guilt. Why hadn’t the Pelaten officials warned him of Haseran’s escape? Chakotay still vividly remembered the day that he had discovered that Haseran, the Republic’s former security chief, was actually a traitor who had been cooperating with the rebels to overthrow the Stengilli government. Once his cover had been blown, he’d escaped from Republic space only to find himself on the wrong side of Pelaten law and sentenced to ten years in jail. Chakotay should have realized that Haseran would find a way to escape or to purchase his freedom and come after him.

B’Elanna broke the silence. “Well, the good thing is that we’ll have our friends around for a couple of months. It’s going to take at least that long to get the Essex warp-capable again.”

Tom had barely touched down in the Essex’s shuttle bay before Chakotay activated the hatch. He was greeted by none other than Harry Kim.

“Welcome aboard,” Harry said. “I figured this had to be you.”

“Where’s Kathryn?” Chakotay demanded, not wanting to wait for the niceties.

“Last I heard she was on deck four trying to get the comm system up again.”

Chakotay turned to Tom and B’Elanna. “I’ll be on deck four.”

“As if we had to ask,” Tom answered, as relieved as the others were to know she was uninjured. “We’ll be in engineering. Right, B’Elanna?”

“Where else?” She winked. “Tell Kathryn we said hello.”

Chakotay, already halfway across the shuttle bay, didn’t bother to answer, his mind already planning the route to deck four. He assumed, correctly, that the turbolifts were offline and headed for the jeffries tubes. The shuttle bay was on deck nine, which meant he had to crawl through five decks, probably using a circuitous path to avoid damaged areas and work crews. From the debris he had to pick through, the stale air, and the eerie red glow of emergency lighting, he figured it would take awhile to find her. It wasn’t fun to climb five decks when the ship was in good condition, but this would be a nightmare.

“You’ll need this, sir,” a young crewman said handing him a sims beacon. “You can’t see your hand in front of your face in there.”

“Thanks. Could you tell me where on deck four I can find communications?”

“Section 44, sir. Directly above where we are now.”

“That’s good news.” He stepped through the first access panel and started crawling.

An hour and fifteen minutes later, Chakotay arrived on deck four, section 39, and stepped into the passageway. He was dripping wet with perspiration, his back was killing him, and his knees were so sore he could barely stand up. Even worse, he realized at once that the comm system was up again, which could only mean that Kathryn had probably moved on. He sent up a silent plea that she’d stayed on deck four.

He walked to the nearest wall panel and activated the speaker. “Chakotay to Janeway.” He waited a moment and repeated the call.

“Mr. Chakotay?” came an unfamiliar, hesitant female voice. “The Admiral took off her tunic, so she isn’t wearing her commbadge. She’s in the middle of a jeffries tube and can’t hear you. Would you like me to go get her?”

“Just tell me where she is. I’ll find her.”

“Junction 4-15 beta, sir.”

He looked around, realizing he was in the gamma passageway and that she would be one deck closer to the center of the ship and on the opposite side. “I’m at deck 4-39 gamma. Could you tell me which direction I should take?”

“Normally, I’d say to go forward, sir, but I happen to know the passageway is blocked in that direction. Head aft and come around. She’s in a tube that connects gamma and beta. You’ll know when you’re getting close.”

“Is she cursing that loud?” he chuckled.

The woman laughed back. “Well, there is that. But what I meant was that you’ll see several of us who are working with her in the gamma passageway.”

“I see. I’m on my way.” He wanted to run, but his knees simply refused to cooperate. Instead, he set up a brisk pace and soon found himself approaching two young ensigns, one kneeling in front of an open panel and a second one searching desperately through a tool kit in the near darkness. He smiled in relief. “This must be deck 4, section 15.”

Before either of them could answer, a familiar voice echoed out of the open access, its owner obviously struggling to keep her patience, “If you can’t find the midsize spanner, ensign, just give me the closest size you can find.”

“I’d go bigger, if I were you. She likes big tools,” he grinned, taking the spanner from the ensign’s hand and giving her an exaggerated wink. “Allow me to deliver it for you.”

The ensign grinned back. “Please do.”

Chakotay ducked into the jeffries tube and crawled to the junction where Kathryn was impatiently waiting for the tool she needed. He arrived at the opening and stopped, suddenly hesitant. Kathryn’s back was to him because she was working on the opposite side of the platform, but his relief at seeing her alive and in one piece was tempered by the fact that she was wearing a Starfleet uniform.

Here, in real life, was the outcome he feared the most–Kathryn resuming her Starfleet career and leaving him to pick up her former life in the Federation. A sense of dread and despair washed over him as he focused on the uniform that represented all the barriers and the protocols that had kept them apart on Voyager. For a moment, he considered returning to the passageway and letting the ensign deliver the spanner after all, but then he changed his mind. If she were going to leave him, he might as well face the facts here, privately, and avoid having someone else present to witness it. He swung his legs around and dropped quietly to the platform.

Kathryn didn’t bother to turn and look at him, she simply raised her right hand above her shoulder, palm empty to receive the spanner, and said, “It’s about time you got here.”

He placed the spanner in her hand. “I came as quickly as I could.”

The tool clattered to the floor as Kathryn twirled to face him, her eyes wide with surprise.

“Chakotay!” she cried, throwing her right arm around his neck and pulling him into a fierce embrace. “What a relief it is to see you!”

“Is it?” He had actually been afraid that she would act as a Starfleet admiral would, as officious and as distant as she’d been as his captain. But her reaction to his presence had been so open and genuinely affectionate that he gratefully embraced her, oblivious to the fact that she kept her left arm between them.

“When I realized that Tuvok was hurt and that everyone was looking at me to take over, I was so afraid of making a mistake I could hardly think. I thought about what might happen if my memory failed me at the worst possible moment.” She buried her face in his chest with a tiny sob. “Thank God Harry was there to assist me.”

“From all reports, you did fine, Kathryn. No one suspected that you were anything but the usual, totally confident Admiral Janeway. You definitely kicked the rebels’ butts. Captain Argin wants you to come to work for him in the fleet.”

“I was lucky that Haseran was so focused on attacking me personally. It was his weakness, and I used it against him.” She sighed, pulling back and glancing around the junction. “Unfortunately, Essex took the brunt of his fury. And we lost five crew members. So far.”

“This was my fault, Kathryn. I should’ve expected something like this might happen.”

“You mean you should’ve expected Haseran to come after us? We all thought he was in prison.”

Before he could protest, Chakotay looked down at her and realized that her left arm was in a sling. “You’re injured?”

She shrugged, lifting her arm slightly to show him the wrapping around the wrist. “It’s probably just a sprain.”

“Are you sure?” He took her small wrist between his fingers and noticed the flash of pain in her eyes. “Did the doctor look at it?”

She dismissed the idea with a wave of her good hand. “He’s busy with the critically injured. Let me finish here. Once I get our subspace communications working again, I’ll have someone look at it.”

“You’ve been working with one arm in a sling since the battle ended?” He tried to imagine how she had managed to crawl around the interior of the ship for the last six hours with her arm in a sling. Jeffries tubes were notoriously difficult on knees and wrists, and the ladders would’ve been nearly impossible. “You need to see the doctor now.”

A Starfleet engineer appeared on the ladder from the deck below. He had obviously overheard the last part of their conversation, because he said, “I’ll take over here, Admiral. Go ahead and have your arm treated.”

“If you’re going to finish this, I should go to engineering,” she said, shaking her head. “There’s so much that needs to be done before Essex can even tolerate a tractor beam.”

Chakotay disagreed. “B’Elanna’s already in engineering. If I know her, she has everything under control.”

Kathryn let him pull her toward the jeffries tube. “B’Elanna’s here?”

“You mean the half-Klingon woman?” the engineer laughed as he knelt down and opened his tool box. “I’m hearing that woman is a tyrant. She’s already restored power to the auxiliary bridge. The engineering staff is scrambling to keep up with her.”

“That’s our B’Elanna. And Tom’s with her.” Chakotay was relieved to see Kathryn visibly relax. “The worst of the crisis is over, Kathryn. You can let someone else step in for awhile.”

“Okay.” She turned to the engineer. “I already replaced the primary power coupling.”

“Yeah, I see that. We’ll have subspace before you know it, Admiral.”

Chakotay took Kathryn’s hand and led her toward the open wall panel. “Do you need help crawling through the jeffries tube?”

She smiled, but her eyes were drooping with fatigue. “I’ve been scooting on my bottom.”

He gestured for her to go first, repressing a grin. “This I have to see.”

Two months later, Tom Paris arrived at Chakotay’s house, followed the sound of chopping around to the back yard, and leaned against a tree to watch the older man split wood. Even though he was in his late fifties, Chakotay was in very good shape and attacked the work with characteristic vigor, methodically balancing the logs on a tree stump, resting the axe head on a fissure in the log’s surface, and then bringing the axe down with such force that the two halves fell to either side with a satisfying crack.

It was a warm afternoon for late fall, and Chakotay had stripped down to his jeans and boots, the bronzed skin of his powerful upper body glistening with perspiration. If the pile of split logs was any indication, he’d been chopping wood for most of the day. A great way to build up muscles, Tom thought, but also too much pure exertion for his taste.

“There are easier ways to do that, you know,” Tom commented.

Chakotay looked up in surprise. Taking advantage of the interruption, he propped the axe handle against his leg and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the sweat from his face. “Haven’t you heard that a person who chops his own firewood is warmed twice?”

“Who needs to be warmed on a day like this? Besides, a laser takes a lot less time and makes smoother cuts.”

“Yeah, but chopping has the advantage of giving me an outlet for my frustrations, not to mention making me tired enough to sleep at night.”

Tom knew quite well what frustrations Chakotay was talking about. Kathryn and B’Elanna had spent the last ten weeks at the Stengilli dry dock helping to repair the Essex, while he and Chakotay had returned to their normal duties on the Republic’s home planet. The ship’s restoration was finally complete, however, and Essex was expected to dock at the orbital station in a few hours. Tom had been on his way to meet the ship–and his wife–when he’d decided to stop by and check on his friend, thinking they might travel together.

“You aren’t going, are you?” Tom checked the time. He’d have to leave soon or risk being late, and there was no way Chakotay could clean up in time to go with him.

Chakotay picked up one half of the log he’d just split and balanced it on the stump. He rested the axe on a likely target before raising it over his head. “You guessed right,” he said, bringing the axe down with another satisfying crack. He tossed the two smaller pieces on the growing pile behind him and picked up the second half.

“Kathryn’s probably expecting you to meet her, you know.” Tom watched as the second half of the log was split neatly in two and the pieces tossed onto the pile. “You’ve got plenty of firewood there.”

“Maybe I’m expecting a cold winter, Tom.” He balanced the next log on the stump and paused, giving his friend an unreadable look. Tom had been a good friend to him since the Starfleet ships had arrived and disrupted his life, but Chakotay knew he disliked being the middle man between him and Kathryn. Better to leave matters unspoken. He returned to his work.

“She’s told you she’s leaving?”

“Not in so many words.” Crack.

“You do talk to her, right?”

“Every couple of days.” He balanced another log. “But we ignore all the important emotional issues, just as we did on Voyager.” Crack. Two more pieces hit the pile. He stopped again and stared at the empty stump. “I should’ve known better, Tom. She’s the same person she was then, memories or not. Duty and career first. I just wanted so much for it to be different this time.”

“Yeah.” Tom felt sorry for his friend as he watched him balance the second half of the log on the stump. He’d witnessed most of the interactions between Voyager’s command team both on the ship and since, and he’d always known that Chakotay had gotten the short end of the stick. And he’d always admired the man’s incredible resiliency when dealing with Kathryn, the way he’d continued to love her in spite of her seeming unwillingness, or inability, to return his devotion. “But you really don’t know what she’s decided.”

“She effectively rejoined Starfleet months ago, Tom.” Crack. “That says everything, doesn’t it?”

“B’Elanna says she hasn’t put on the uniform once since the battle,” Tom argued, desperately wanting to encourage him. “And she hasn’t just worked on the Essex. She’s spent at least half of her time out there running battle drills with our home fleet.”

Chakotay tossed the pieces onto the pile and eyed another log. “And every minute of it on the far side of the Republic.”

“You could’ve gone out there, too.”

The only time Chakotay and Kathryn had been together since the chaos following the rebel battle had been a brief meeting during a war game six weeks earlier near Stengilli territory–if you could call sharing the cockpit of a shuttle as “being together.” Every other attempt to see each other had been frustrated by the extreme distance and their busy lives. B’Elanna had managed to come home a couple of times to see Tom and the kids, but then she was focused solely on the ship’s repairs.

“Kathryn was too busy to entertain guests, Tom.”

“She was doing double duty between the Essex and the war games. B’Elanna’s been gone as long as she has, Chakotay. The kids and I have missed her, too.”

He balanced a log. “At least you know this is a temporary separation. You know she’s coming back to stay.” Crack.

“You don’t know that Kathryn isn’t.”

Chakotay picked up half of the log, balanced it, and rested the axe on it. “You’d better get going, or you’ll be late.” Crack.

“And what do I tell Kathryn?”

Chakotay picked up the second half of the log and studied it. “This side has a knot, see?”

Tom walked toward the stump and eyed the log. “The rounded protrusion?”

“The knot means that this piece won’t split evenly.” He balanced the log on the stump and brought down the axe with all his strength, but the blade stuck fast in the wood. He raised the axe, wood and all, and brought it down on the stump once, twice, three times before it gave way, a slender piece peeling off, leaving the knot in the larger section. Chakotay sighed and tossed the small piece onto the kindling pile. “The knot burns longer, but won’t fit in middle of the woodpile. The swollen part makes the pile unsteady, so it has to be on top. Or by itself.”

Tom frowned. “You want me to tell Kathryn that she’s the knot that always has to be on top?”

“No,” he laughed as he tossed the knot aside to a separate pile of uneven firewood. “Tell her I’m splitting wood.”

“That’s it?

“She’ll understand.”

Perplexed by the cryptic answer, Tom watched Chakotay pick up a new log and place it on the stump, resting the axe on it in preparation for the next blow. As he turned and walked toward his land vehicle in front of the house, the sound of the axe echoed through the hillside.

To be continued . . .