Disclaimer: Star Trek Voyager belongs to CBS/Paramount. No infringement intended.
Author’s note: The unresolved issues at the end of the Voyager series have fascinated me for years, especially the relationship between Janeway, Chakotay, and Seven of Nine. This story looks at the possible scenario in which Janeway facilitates a premature C/7 wedding, deciding to ignore the fact that their futures have changed because of the Admiral’s interference with the time line. As a result, disaster strikes. What is that old saying? “Marry in haste, repent at leisure.”
Summary: Post Endgame. Janeway encourages Chakotay and Seven to get married, thinking that she and Chakotay have given up on being together. Instead, all of them suffer, and Janeway and Chakotay endure a terrible burden of guilt.
Cruel and Unusual Punishment
By mizvoy
Part 1 Called from Exile
Sanctus V
2381 (three years after Voyager’s return)
Ballinst was a bonded messenger of the well-known Hanchet Group, dedicated to finding lost individuals and delivering items into their hands at an exorbitant price. Not unlike bail bondsmen of earlier eras, their work was tedious and, at times, dangerous, for most people who disappear don’t want to be found. However, the pay was worth the risk, in Ballinst’s opinion; if he found this man, for example, his pay would allow him to take the rest of the year off.
He arrived at the top of a steep ridge, reined in his antra, and studied the beauty of the pristine valley below. According to his last readings, he should be several dozen kilometers beyond the edge of Sanctus V’s civilized district, staring into an unspoiled region that most believed had yet to be explored.
Ballinst knew better. His contact had told him that the leafy treetops of the secluded river valley concealed a log cabin, a deep well, a substantial garden, and two small sheds. He peered through his heat scope and picked up signs of a controlled fire, probably a fireplace, and several moving objects, no doubt the recluse and his animals.
He smiled in satisfaction, pleased that his quick work would garner him a generous bonus that would cover the substantial bribe he’d paid to the region’s governor. All that remained was to get his recipient to accept the package and he could return to his home world for the new year celebrations with his family.
He glanced down at the single name on his package.
Chakotay.
The horse-like antra lifted her head, shaking her mane and snuffling as she picked up the scent of the water that flowed through the valley. They had been travelling most of the day, and the poor beast was hot, tired, and thirsty, but Ballinst knew better than to rush into Chakotay’s settlement. Any man who concealed himself so completely would not take kindly to an uninvited visitor, nor would he be unprotected. There were proximity alarms to find and disable before Ballinst would be ready to walk up to him. He decided to take his time and arrive at dark, after the recluse had returned to his cabin for the night.
Two hours later, Ballinst walked his antra toward the single-room cabin. He could hear another antra snuffling a greeting in one of the two small sheds and could see a large vegetable garden that started behind the cabin and stretched down to the river. The settlement was neatly organized and maintained.
He secured his animal to a tree branch, fished the packet from his saddlebag, and stepped quietly to the cabin’s front door, knocking firmly and then holding his breath as he waited for the occupant to answer.
The door opened and Ballinst faced a tall man in his stocking feet and with a napkin tucked into his shirt. The man peered at his unexpected guest in surprise as the delivery man studied him, as well. His long, salt-and-pepper hair tied at the nape of his neck, and his face weathered and deeply tanned from long hours outdoors. His clothing was made of natural fibers, worn from many months of hard work, and his boots, parked outside the cabin door, reeked with caked mud and manure.
But it was the aroma of a delicious hot meal that caught Ballinst’s attention as it wafted past his nose and made his stomach growl. He watched as the surprise on Chakotay’s face turned into anger. He must have realized that Ballinst had damaged or disable his proximity alarms.
“Who the hell are you? And what do you want?”
“Hanchet delivery, sir,” Ballinst replied. The unspoken phrase of the company’s motto hovered between them: Delivery guaranteed-in person and on time. “My client asks that you acknowledge receipt, Chakotay.” He held the gleaming metal-clad package toward the man, hoping he’d be so surprised that he’d take it without thinking.
No such luck.
Chakotay looked down at the Starfleet-inscription on the package. “Who says I’m Chakotay?”
“The tattoo is a dead giveaway, sir.” Ballinst tried not to smile. He’d done some research into his recipient and had expected the delivery to be a challenge. Not many Starfleet captains disappear into a wilderness for years without having good reason for doing so.
Ballinst was aware of Chakotay’s history, of course. He knew that the man had resigned his Starfleet commission and fled from the Federation because of the scandal that surrounded his wife’s death, including the nasty rumors about it being a suicide. That disaster had been the last in a long and troubled life. He had been a Starfleet captain in spite of his years as a Maquis cell leader and seven years’ exile on the lost ship Voyager. He was a formidable man who was capable of slamming the door in the messenger’s face without a moment’s hesitation.
Ballinst held the package toward him as the silence stretched, broken only by his antra’s impatient snuffle. At long last, Chakotay took the packet from him, running his hands over its smooth surface in obvious appreciation of its elegant engineering. “You can tell your client that I received the parcel.”
“Actually, the client asks that I verify your identity.” Ballinst held out the delivery PADD, pointing toward the flashing square. “Just press your thumb right there.”
“You press it,” Chakotay said, in no uncertain terms, as he began to close the door in Ballinst’s face.
“Hey!” he glanced over his shoulder at the wilderness that surrounded the clearing as the delectable aroma of hot food filled his nose. “I spent the last four nights sleeping on the ground and eating cold rations. I was hoping to stay indoors tonight.”
“You’re welcome to stay in the shed. Just be damned sure that you’re gone at first light.” The door clicked shut and the bolt snapped into place.
Ballinst pressed his thumb into the receipt acknowledged square on the PADD and carefully stowed it in his pack. He walked slowly back to the tree, unfastened his antra, and led her toward the shed on the far side of the clearing.
The antra nuzzled him, and he threw an arm over her neck, grateful for her company. “I know you’re lonely, girl. So am I.” A feeling of melancholy overwhelmed him as he imagined living in this wilderness alone for months at a time. “I wonder if he’ll ever stop punishing himself.”
Chakotay watched the messenger disappear into the shed and felt guilty for turning a visitor away from his home without so much as a glass of water or a plate of food. His mother would be disappointed in his treatment of his guest; he could hear her voice as she scolded him, “You should offer him the warmth of your fire, Chakotay, and the bounty of your garden.” He wondered if she’d understand that he needed solitude to read the information that the ultra-modern package contained.
He shook his head in dismay. She wouldn’t understand any of what had happened to him since Voyager’s return. She wouldn’t understand his dishonesty, his betrayal, his brutal selfishness and self-indulgence. She would understand, least of all, his discourteous treatment of a stranger.
He sat down at the table and pushed his half-finished meal away, making room for the gleaming Starfleet security packet.
He had an idea the package was from, of course. She had done as he’d asked and had allowed him to leave, but, when she decided to find him, she had spared no expense, hiring the best people available to track him down, no matter what the price.
Kathryn. Since their first meeting ten years earlier, a day hadn’t passed without his thinking of her.
What a mess they’d made of their lives, a complete disaster, a public spectacle that had hurt the one person they most wanted to protect, the one who had trusted them, the one who was blameless. He tried to push the memories away, tried to imagine outliving the guilt that suffocated him.
“As long as we’re alive,” she’d said to him before he disappeared, “we’ll always be connected.”
He hadn’t seen her in two years, hadn’t heard her voice or felt the touch of her hand, but she’d been with him as surely as the air he breathed, the food he ate. She held his heart, and if he’d fooled himself into thinking the connection between them had been severed and that she no longer mattered, he had only to feel his racing heart to know it was a lie. The truth was that she was the only thing that mattered.
Then, in a moment of panic, he wondered if the packet was from someone else, informing him of her death in the line of duty or from some alien disease. Who knew what kind of danger she’d faced since he’d left her? He stared at the packet in fear, worried that it was not from Kathryn but from Tuvok, informing him of her passing. Even though he never saw her, never spoke to her, he doubted that he could continue living if he knew she was gone.
His hand trembled as he pressed his thumb into the unit’s release pad, watching in fascination as the container disassembled itself, spilling its single isolinear chip onto the table.