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Summary: Chakotay discovers Admiral Janeway’s personal logs and nothing is ever the same again. Post-Endgame. J/C

Echoes from the Future

by Mizvoy

“Seven was better today, Chakotay,” Kathryn Janeway said after taking off her jacket and collapsing onto his sofa. Her weekly Friday afternoon trips to the medical facility in San Antonio were taking an emotional and physical toll, but she refused to change her grueling schedule. “Apparently, she’s been working steadily with the small debriefing team and is fine as long as she isn’t exposed to strangers.”

“That’s a good sign. Maybe she can gradually become acclimated to earth after all.”

“I thought so, too. She seemed genuinely glad to see me, but after awhile she started talking about returning to astrometrics to complete her shift. She became obsessed with Voyager, refusing to discuss anything else, and then, when she discovered that the door to her room wouldn’t open, the doctor had to come in and sedate her before she became completely irrational.”

“Because you were with her, she thought she was still on Voyager,” Chakotay said as he handed her a cup of coffee and sat down beside her, “where she truly longs to be.”

“Yes. She felt safe there. Her world was familiar and circumscribed by the shields and bulkheads of the ship.”

“And the crew was her collective.”

Kathryn took a deep sip of her coffee with a sigh, leaning back on the sofa and closing her eyes, grateful for the opportunity to unwind with a dear friend. “Thanks for letting me come by here on my way home every week. The emotional strain of seeing her wears me out, and no one understands what I mean by that better than you.”

He knew what she meant. They both cared about Seven and hurt deeply for her. He took her hand with a weak smile, his voice almost wistful. “Did she ask about me?”

Kathryn lifted her head from the cushion, her eyes dark with sympathy as she shook her head. “No, but I told her what you’ve been doing, you and everyone else. She listened.”

He enveloped her small hand in both of his. “I’ve accepted the fact that what might have been on Voyager will never happen now.”

“Because of that damned emotional dampener that the doctor removed,” she pulled her hand back and stood up to pace in anger. “I can’t believe that those two chose that particular day and time to remove the Borg device and allow her to feel emotions more deeply, just as we were preparing to enter the hub and come home. And I can’t believe they did it without talking to me first!”

In spite of the fact of his budding romance with the former drone, Chakotay hadn’t known about Seven’s emotional dampener until it was too late, until she was already in trouble, and because of that he shared the captain’s guilt. After all, Seven had undergone the procedure because she wanted to explore a deeper, more physical relationship with him, only to have it backfire. “She didn’t realize how profoundly it would intensify her lingering fear of the Alpha Quadrant.”

“Well, why the hell not?” She turned to look at him, her eyes flashing. “Emotions aren’t all good, Chakotay. She’d lived with us long enough to know that. If she could feel love more deeply, she could feel fear more deeply, too, and anxiety, and panic.” She stopped and pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to relax. “I’m sorry. None of this was your fault, yet I’m taking it out on you.” She took a deep calming breath, lowering her voice as she said, “Seven was almost paralyzed by fright when she thought Arturis would bring us home two years ago, and that was while the dampener was functional. Did either of them stop and think for a moment about her mental well-being?”

“Obviously not.” Those final days on Voyager were otherworldly to him, as unreal as a holodeck scenario. There were times when he felt as if his few dates with Seven were figments of his imagination, especially now that he and Kathryn had started to explore a more intimate friendship, especially now that Seven refused to see him at all.

Kathryn turned and walked to the large window that overlooked a lush mountain valley in Montana. She loved the rustic beauty and seclusion of the cabin Chakotay had borrowed for his first few months out of Starfleet and found herself coming here often, and not just for the view. “The admiral would be so disappointed.”

“I beg your pardon?” Chakotay asked as he came up behind her.

She looked at him over her shoulder, comforted, as always, to have him to talk to about her worries. “I was thinking about the admiral. In many ways, her trip to ‘correct’ the past was successful. Most of the crew has readjusted to the Federation. The Maquis are free. Tuvok is receiving the treatment that will keep him from losing his mind. But Seven.”

“She’s beginning to trust the workers at the hospital, right? Besides working with the Starfleet debriefing team, she’s let her Aunt Irene visit. The doctor said it would take time for her to recover from the emotional trauma she suffered, so we’re going to have to be patient.”

Kathryn turned to him, her eyes brimming with tears, her face hopeful. “Do you really think she’ll recover, Chakotay?”

“The doctor does.” They’d shared so much over the last seven years, bared their hearts and souls to each other so many times that Chakotay could almost hear her thoughts. She felt guilty about Seven, responsible for her well-being. And so did he. They both would do whatever it took to help her recover and continue to develop into a complete human individual.

She looked down at her hands, her face so full of pain that he immediately put his arms around her and pulled her close. “Oh, Chakotay. What did I do to her?”

“You didn’t do anything to her.” He remembered their panicked hunt for Seven in the hours following their explosive return to the Alpha Quadrant. She’d shown no outward sign of distress as she walked off of the bridge and simply disappeared from internal sensors. Every deck, every compartment had been physically searched without success until Kathryn had found the former Borg drone cowering in the corner of the captain’s own bedroom, where she begged to be hidden, to be protected from strangers. She’d been sobbing and incoherent for the first few days, and she’d refused to see anyone but the captain and the EMH, the individuals she’d trusted most in her early years on the ship. “She just snapped, Kathryn. You had no way of predicting that would happen.”

“Well, I should’ve thought about it. I should’ve stopped to think about what I was doing. I was in too much of a hurry to use the future technology before the Queen figured it out.”

“And Admiral Janeway was manipulating you like a master.”

“She tried to, anyway,” she agreed, snuggling into his embrace, suddenly wanting nothing more than to get warm and comfortable and take a nap. “The admiral wanted to make sure your marriage lasted, yet her actions prevented it from happening. I’m so sorry.”

He sighed and pulled back to look her in the eye. “Don’t apologize, please. Maybe Seven and I married in the admiral’s timeline, but you know as well as I do that our future won’t be the same as her past. It couldn’t be.” He waited until she nodded, and then pulled her close again. “Besides, you overestimate what had happened between Seven and me. A few dates. A couple of kisses. That’s all.”

She relaxed a little more, sagging against him. “I’ve wondered, so many times, why the admiral did it. She must have been terribly unhappy to destroy twenty-six years of history. Yet, when I asked her about it, the only reason she’d give me for breaking the temporal prime directive was that the crew deserved better than what they got. That she . . . no, that I . . . I needed to think of the crew first, for once, and put their welfare before the welfare of strangers.”

“I’ve wondered about her reasons, too.” He pulled away from her, leading her back to the sofa. “How about a neck rub while I tell you about what I discovered today.”

He sat down on the sofa, and Kathryn slid to the floor in front of him, pulling her long hair aside to give him access to her aching neck and shoulders. In the months since their return, their friendship had reasserted itself. They’d spent nearly every day together during the first few weeks helping the crew debrief, reconnect with home and family, and pick up the threads of their past lives and careers. Long hours together without conflicting shifts, ship’s business, or Starfleet protocols had allowed the long-dormant attraction between them to start smoldering again.

So far, they had indulged in brief moments of physical comfort, a hug, a backrub, the touch of a hand. And even though they no longer needed to work together so closely, they seemed to gravitate together often, several times a week. Kathryn came by his remote cabin every Friday after her visit with Seven. Chakotay found a reason to beam into San Francisco once or twice a week, usually meeting her for dinner. They both knew it was just a matter of time before they crossed the barriers that had limited their relationship on Voyager. All they needed was a gentle push.

“You were doing some exploring?” she said, groaning with pleasure as his warm hands smoothed the knotted muscles in her shoulders.

“Cyber exploration,” he said, chuckling. “Cleaning up the last of the files from Voyager’s data banks, the ones no one knew what to do with.”

“And?” She’d closed her eyes and leaned against his right knee as waves of pleasure and relaxation ran through her. She couldn’t imagine that there was anything of interest left in the computer after their exhaustive debriefing.

“I found something from the admiral.”

She sat up, suddenly alert. “Admiral Janeway?”

“Admiral Janeway. I found a series of messages that had been encrypted and saved as drafts. They were entitled ‘Personal Logs.'”

She turned to face him, her hand on his knee. “Well, of course she’d keep a personal log! Why didn’t I think of that? I’ve always kept one. Mark used to tease me because I kept a personal log even when we were on vacation.”

“Some habits are impossible to break,” he said, giving her a wry grin.

She struggled to stand, and he helped her rise from the floor and sit beside him. “You say they were messages. Were they addressed to someone in particular?”

“Well,” he drawled, pulling his ear in embarrassment, “actually, they’re addressed to Commander Chakotay, First Officer, Voyager.”

“She was sending her logs to you?”

He shrugged. “I imagine she was thinking of her Chakotay, don’t you?”

Kathryn grew thoughtful, and then nodded. She could see herself addressing her logs to her best friend. “Yes, I imagine you’re right. What did they say? Did she say why she came back for us?”

“Actually, I haven’t listened to them. I wanted to wait and talk with you first.”

“Ah. The temporal prime directive.” Kathryn closed her eyes, trying to imagine what the admiral might say, what terrible events had been part of her past.

“That’s part of it.”

She opened her eyes and stared at him. “You’re thinking this could be very personal.”

“If you don’t want me to hear them, I understand.” But, she could see in his face how much he wanted to listen with her, how much he wanted to understand the older, sad, driven Admiral Janeway, to come to terms with the reasoning behind her actions. They both wanted to understand.

“No, listen with me,” she said, taking his hand. “I don’t have any real secrets from you anyway.”

Chakotay leaned forward and picked up a PADD, handing it to Kathryn for decryption. It didn’t take her long to figure out the code and queue up the first of the messages. She looked at him almost nauseous with anticipation, and he pulled her closer, putting a comforting arm around her shoulder.

“We both know this isn’t really you,” he assured her.

With a skeptical nod, Kathryn activated the PADD.

Message 1

To: Commander Chakotay, First Officer, Voyager

From: Admiral Kathryn Janeway

Subject: Personal Log

Disposition: Hold as draft

Dear Chakotay,

I’ve been unable to establish a personal log for myself separate from the captain’s. The computer seems unwilling to distinguish between us, and I’m too tired to rectify the problem. So, I’ve decided to use draft messages to record my thoughts instead of a real personal log. I doubt that anyone will ever hear them, but making a daily record of my thoughts is a habit I started while still a cadet, almost fifty years ago, and it’s a habit that’s served me well over the years.

Did you know that my personal logs are all addressed to you? Of course, you wouldn’t. I started addressing them to you about the time we lost Seven of Nine and stopped talking to each other in person. How many years has it been? Twenty-three, give or take a few months. Too many. Of course, you’ll never hear these, just as you never heard the others, but that doesn’t matter. I’ve never stopped needing to talk to you. I know you so well I can hear your answers in my head, anyway. Can you imagine what the captain would think if she knew that I talked to a dead man? She’d probably think I was certifiably insane. Maybe she’s right.

When I materialized on Voyager’s transporter pads today, twenty-six years ago for us, I saw your younger self and a sane Tuvok standing there side-by-side looking at me with guarded skepticism and curiosity. Both of you perfectly healthy and alive. Have you ever heard the expression “my heart leapt up”? I always thought it was poetic nonsense until today when I literally felt my heart leap in my chest at the sight of the two of them. But while I was tempted to run and throw my arms around them, they were aloof, distant, hesitant. They were thinking, Who is this old lady? What is she doing here? Is this some alien trick or a visitor from an alternate reality?

And then, there was the captain staring at me with her cold, grey, calculating eyes. I always thought my eyes were more blue than grey. And so piercing. I had no idea. She didn’t want to believe what she was seeing, and I can’t really blame her for that.

As I walked through our ship today, each time I saw one of our dead crew alive and going about their duties, I reacted badly, as if I’d seen a ghost. The worst was when I first saw Seven. She walked into Sickbay, healthy and officious as always, and I thought I was going to faint. I’ve felt so guilty about her over the years that I actually try not to think of her at all. Seeing her sent a bolt of electricity through me and it was all I could do not to make a fool of myself. I was tempted to touch her just to prove to myself that it was really Seven, that she was really alive and not just a dream, or a vision, or a figment of my imagination.

I know you’re wondering what she’s like. The captain, I mean, not Seven. I wonder if she’s what you remember her to be. She seems odd to me, but I can’t quite figure out what the problem is. We talked in the ready room, before she took me to sickbay to have my identity confirmed, and she wasn’t about to take on face value that we were the same person. She would never consider doing this, coming back to change the past. The glorious Temporal Prime Directive prohibits it. Such a bureaucrat. Damn the protocols, all of them, Chakotay. I bet you never thought you’d hear me say that. There are so many things I never said.

I remember what you said to me the night you died. We weren’t more than a week from Federation space, Chakotay. A week! You asked me to stay with you until the end, so I turned the ship over to Tom, brought my most comfortable chair to sickbay, and sat beside you for three days and nights. You slept peacefully most of the time and were delirious at others, but you had moments of lucidity, moments of clarity. “I always knew you would do it,” you said to me. “You got the ship home. But, Kathryn, at what price?” And your eyes were soft, like they used to be when we were so close, when we were still friends. The price was your death, and Seven’s, and so many more. The price was the crew’s happiness. I wanted to get you home, too, Chakotay. Without you, without them, it was just a hollow victory. I still marvel that you died just as we entered Federation space, as if you stayed beside me just as long as you’d promised and no longer.

The captain wants to know why I’m here. She’ll ask me again, when the time is right. I’ve spent the last ten years studying every possible moment of our logs, looking for the missed chance, the overlooked opportunity. The hub was it. The only one. That’s the now of my presence, but not the why.

You were right, my dearest friend. I got the ship home. But not the crew. Home wasn’t there for them any more. Children were strangers, grown and gone. Spouses were remarried or dead. Parents were a distant memory. Friends were long forgotten. Even the buildings had changed. And, after twenty-three years with just each other for company, we had a hard time letting go of Voyager. I felt like I’d walked into a parallel universe, not my home, not earth. We all felt that way. We didn’t feel like we were home. In fact, we felt as if we’d just lost home all over again. Sometimes I even felt jealous of the ones who died.

The crew suffered, Chakotay. They floundered, and they needed you. I needed you. Oh, I was promoted. Voyager was made into a museum. Tom wrote holonovels. B’Elanna wowed the engineering world. The doctor eventually found a wife. Harry finally got a ship of his own to command. The children found work, careers. But our crew, all of us who made the entire journey, we were artifacts, out-of-date remnants of the past. We didn’t fit in, couldn’t find a place that felt comfortable, like home.

I’d failed. I’d taken too long. Twenty three years was just too damned long. So I spent the next ten years looking for a way to succeed in spite of my past mistakes. I found the temporal device that brought me here. I took the shuttle and dared them to stop me.

I’m here to keep my promise, the one I made when I destroyed the caretaker’s array. This time, the crew will get home, not just the ship.

I’ll do whatever it takes to make it happen.

Chakotay stopped the playback with the cold, determined tone of the admiral’s last words still ringing in his ears. The voice-only recording had been torturous to hear, filled with stops and starts, long pauses, even moments of such emotion that the admiral had nearly sobbed. He’d felt an irrational desire to comfort the woman whose voice was so much like his captain’s, even though he knew she was dead and gone.

Kathryn had listened stoically, controlling her reactions, until she heard the admiral describe Chakotay’s death. She’d stiffened in her seat and moved away from him to sit on the rug in front of the fireplace and watch the fire as the words washed over her. Now, she crossed her arms on the hearthstone and rested her head on them, burying her face from Chakotay’s view.

“Kathryn?”

She looked up, tears shining in her eyes. “She told me that Seven had died. She said that Tuvok was insane.” She took a deep breath, brushing tears away as they spilled onto her cheeks. “But I didn’t know she’d lost you, too.”

“What I can’t believe is that we stopped talking to each other. How did that happen? Because I was involved with Seven?”

“No. Because of Seven’s death. She said Seven was injured during an away mission and died just as she returned to the ship. She died in front of her eyes, cradled in your arms. I can only guess that there must have been some problem regarding the mission, some problem she blamed herself for.” She turned to watch the flames. “Maybe the admiral took one too many risks with Seven’s life.”

He got up and picked up a couple of logs for the fire, kneeling beside her to poke the fire and place them on the embers. He put his hand on her shoulder, his eyes warm with sympathy. “It’s not going to happen, Kathryn. We won’t stop talking. I promise.”

She smiled at him, putting her hand over his. “I need you, Chakotay.”

“I’m a seven-year habit.”

“You’re more than that.”

He grinned and stood, lending her a hand as she stood up beside him. “We might as well keep listening, don’t you think?”

She nodded and followed him back to the sofa where he reactivated the PADD.

Message 2

To: Commander Chakotay, First Officer, Voyager

From: Admiral Kathryn Janeway

Subject: Personal Log

Disposition: Hold as draft

I spent the day, my first full day here, working with B’Elanna in engineering. What a wonderful engineer and person she is, and the baby, Miral, not born yet, but right there with us. I have to watch myself, make sure I don’t say something that will spoil the surprise of her daughter’s birth for her. The first of our babies, Chakotay. Miral Kathryn Paris. I still get tears in my eyes to think of the first time I held her, the first time I heard her name. You always called her M. Kathryn to tease me. At least for the first few years of her life, before you stopped using my name, before I became the captain full time again.

God, Chakotay, I missed you. I miss you. But, I was too proud to tell you so. Pride. Such a waste.

The shielding technology is ticklish on this old ship, but B’Elanna wasn’t fazed by it. I sometimes think she must have a grease monkey in her genetic history. She’s the best at the business end of science. Theoretically, I can keep pace with her, but she’s a marvel at getting the theory into reality. I thought it’d take a week to get the shields on line, but now I think maybe just another day or two. Sooner, she says, if she could go external. I actually think she considered replicating a maternity environmental suit so she could supervise the exterior modifications, but Tom put his foot down.

I wish I could tell her about the miracles she performed for us. You were so right to insist she be made chief engineer. Remember the Bal’Ha’Tar? The nebula Harry christened “the thorn bush”? The Pall-Malkt? So many miracles. We got used to it. Just another day at the office.

And she was my friend, those last years, after I lost you, after Seven. Tom, too. They were never close friends, like we had been, because they had each other and because I was always the captain. But they were there when I needed someone, and they were there for you, too. They were a conduit between us, a universal translator. “Chakotay thinks you’re going too far,” they’d say. “He wants you to consider another option.” It wasn’t fair to do that to them, Chakotay. We should’ve been stronger.

This crew is so polite to me. They don’t know what to think of me. I’m the antithesis of the captain, approachable, friendly, unburdened. I’m what she wants to be, but can’t. It’s starting to affect her seriously, I can see it. No one can live with that pressure so long without serious psychological damage. You can tell that by looking at damaged me. She does look at me and is horrified to think that she’ll become me someday. Maybe she won’t. Maybe Kathryn can resurface, come back to life now, maybe it’s not too late.

Anyway, I’m having such fun with the crew. The Delaneys. Sam and Naomi. Ayala and Chell. Harry. All of them. For me, this is a party. A farewell, welcome home party. I spent forever in the Mess Hall eating dinner, walking around, talking to the crew. They’re going to be happy. They’ll get home, and home will still be there waiting. I can’t wait to see their faces when they see earth on the viewscreen, when they meet their loved ones.

Kathryn gasped as she stopped the playback, twisting in her seat to face Chakotay. “She expected to come back with us! I’d forgotten that!”

“Yeah.” He thought back to the first time they’d seen the Borg hub, with the admiral triumphant on the bridge, waiting to see Kathryn’s reaction. “She couldn’t believe that you didn’t just duck into the transwarp conduit and head for home the way she wanted you to.”

Kathryn sighed, her eyes unfocused. “I couldn’t do it like that. It was too easy. Too short-sighted.”

“Too selfish.” He cupped her cheek in his hand, forcing her to look him in the eye. “She’d gone too far in the other direction, you know. She was putting her crew ahead of strangers when she should’ve seen the potential good she could do by taking some risks.”

“She’d lost too many people taking risks,” Kathryn argued. “She’d lost too much by letting anything stand between her and her goal.”

He shrugged. “Eventually, you both got your way. A perfect compromise.”

“Not perfect. She didn’t get to see the crew happy, Chakotay. I cheated her out of that.”

“She volunteered to distract the queen.”

“You know how I always wanted to sacrifice myself for the ship. To give up my life as atonement for all the mistakes I made.”

His voice was soft with emotion. “She finally got her way.”

Kathryn silently reactivated the PADD.

Message 3

To: Commander Chakotay, First Officer, Voyager

From: Admiral Kathryn Janeway

Subject: Personal Log

Disposition: Hold as draft

Dear Chakotay,

After spending all day yesterday with B’Elanna, I decided to assist Tuvok and Chakotay today with the installation of the torpedoes and the modification of the torpedo launchers to accommodate their larger size and bulk. We spent much of the time at the bridge’s tactical station, tweaking the targeting sensors and adjusting the panels for the higher resolution required.

What a pleasure it was. My face is tired from the silly grin that I wore all day long. You two had resolved most of your differences by now and promised to be one of the best support teams a captain could hope for. No wonder the captain is so confident with you two beside her. Sad to think that Tuvok would be so confused and helpless in a year. Sad to remember that the person babysitting Miral Paris would be watching him, too. Such a terrible loss.

Balance. You were balanced, the two of your. Logic and intuition. And funny. Tuvok the straight man and you the clown. I watched the captain on the command deck beneath us and wanted to shake her. Does she know how precious you are? Does she appreciate what she has or just take you for granted, thinking you’ll always be there for her. I know I took you for granted. I paid dearly for that.

Of course, you promised to always be there for me, Chakotay, and you were, as much as you could be. But I couldn’t, or didn’t, reciprocate. I wasn’t there for you as you needed me to be. I wasn’t there for Tuvok, either. I was so busy being captain, I forgot to be a friend. So when you pulled away, I had no choice but to let you go. It was too late by then, anyway. Much too late. We’d lost our chance for happiness.

I could see how uncomfortable she was, the captain, while we were working and laughing together at tactical. When she wasn’t staring at her computer panel, she stared at me, and who can blame her? I must fascinate her, this older version of herself, so chock full of information on what’s ahead of Voyager and of her. So threatening. I know her crew better than she does. I’ve known them so much longer. She glanced up at us every chance she had as she did her job, her face a carefully arranged mask. But I could tell how much she wanted to know what we were talking about. If I had said the word, she might’ve joined us, but I was too selfish to share those precious moments with her. She was probably too proud to accept anyway.

She especially wonders about us, Chakotay, you and me. Did the parameters ever change? Did anything ever happen? But, I think she knows the truth of it. She knows herself well, and she can probably tell by the way I act around you, flirty and almost shy, that nothing happened. The captain makes sacrifices for the crew, gives up on her need for companionship, for friendship, for intimacy. And love, Chakotay. Love.

Not that she doesn’t love the crew. They love her just as they loved me. I didn’t see it, and neither does she. She thinks their loyalty is to the captain, to her rank and position, when the love is for her, Kathryn Janeway. So flawed. So human. So blind, Chakotay. Why couldn’t you make her see?

Not your fault. My fault. Mine.

Today was a gift, a precious gift from the temporal gods. No headaches today, only joy. All of it lost so soon. Tuvok in just a year. You a couple of years later.

Oh, God, so soon.

Tomorrow night, I’m dining with them, Chakotay and the captain. The day after that, we reach the nebula and go home. And everything will change for the better. At least, I hope so.

“The dinner!” Chakotay paused the playback again, turning to Kathryn. “Do you remember the dinner?”

“How could I forget?” Kathryn’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “I’ve never felt so threatened in my life. I felt like there wasn’t enough of you to go around. The admiral kept looking at you as if you were dessert!”

Chakotay laughed. “It had been a long time since you’d looked at me like that. I rather liked it.”

“Chakotay! She was old enough to be your mother!”

“She was you, no matter her age. But, she managed to take the wind out of my sails pretty easily.” At Kathryn’s curious look, he continued. “She knew I was seeing Seven, even if you didn’t. I knew, as soon as she asked me about my love life, that I had no more chance with Admiral Janeway than I’d had with the captain.”

Kathryn smiled. “She asked you about your love life? What a rascal.”

“You weren’t the only one being manipulated.”

“I wonder how she felt about the dinner?”

“Let’s listen, shall we?”

Message 4

To: Commander Chakotay, First Officer, Voyager

From: Admiral Kathryn Janeway

Subject: Personal Log

Disposition: Hold as draft

Dear Chakotay,

I can’t sleep. Again. Same old story. I tell myself it’s because we’ll be home tomorrow, because they’ll be home tomorrow. That’s part of it, of course, but not all. Not nearly all.

I keep seeing them together, the captain and you. Such close friends, so dear to each other. Intimate. Well, almost intimate. In perfect sync, for now, and comfortable, at home together. They were both there when I arrived at the captain’s quarters, no doubt having talked through the plan, step by painstaking step, and probably the dinner with me, too. Remember how we used to do that, Chakotay, for hours and hours? Such a good team.

This time, I was the one that was on the outside looking in. You weren’t my Chakotay, and I was painfully aware of it. He was so there for her, a silent presence and support. She leaned on him all night, counted on him to direct the conversation away from the flash points, to smooth the ruffled feathers as she pressed me for information. She wants desperately to understand me, to figure out why I’m here. He wants to help her, although I think, on some level, he understands me already. He knows that for some reason I feel like a failure, that I didn’t keep my promise. He suspects the future I lived was a disaster.

To the captain, I’m like a repository of data in an alien language, and she’s seeking the Rosetta stone. I know every inch of the route between here and earth and every minute of the next twenty-six years, but I won’t be translated. She doesn’t need to know all that because tomorrow she’ll be home and it simply won’t matter. Between you and me, I enjoy frustrating her.

Okay, I’ll admit that I don’t like her much. How could I? Look at what she’s going to turn into, Chakotay. Look at me and you’ll see what she becomes. Think about what she did to us. To the crew. So arrogant. So cock-sure. So altruistic, so noble, so proud. I want to tell her to wake up and smell the coffee. The anger I’ve felt at myself all these years is now targeted at her.

You remember how she is, of course. All those terrible things you said to me after Seven died were true. I can see it now. Hell, I could see it then, but I thought that was how it had to be. How I had to be to survive. So short-sighted. So foolish.

I saw Chakotay with Seven earlier today in the mess hall sharing lunch. It’s already begun, but just barely, I think. I’d wondered if it had. She’s oblivious, of course, locked up in her ready room, the ivory tower. But then, he’s not really gone yet. He’s just glancing around, his attention just beginning to wander. And no wonder. Seven years. She wouldn’t stop him even if she knew. I didn’t when I found out. I told myself that my heart could take it, that I could live through it. I thought I could. This is the result.

I asked him about Seven during dinner tonight, and he nearly died of embarrassment, so it must be very new, not very serious yet. He glanced toward the bedroom, where the captain had gone to use the head, panicked that she might hear us, but I assured him she was still unaware. I told him she’d want him to be happy. It’s the truth. I wanted him to be happy, and I wanted Seven to be happy, as well. I thought if you two were happy, I’d be happy, too. Love is like that. It blinds you.

My mother always told me the best gift for someone you love is something you’d like to receive yourself. That’s what I gave Seven. My best gift. The thing I wanted myself.

At least you knew better than to ask me to do the honors, Chakotay. What was the name of the planet where you two were married? I’ve repressed it. It might as well have been called Hell, for what I remember of it. It was disgustingly perfect for a wedding. There were too many flowers; the lake was too blue; the music too romantic. Everyone all dressed up and laughing. Joyous. I didn’t stay long. With Tuvok gone, someone had to be on the bridge. I made my excuses very early, too early. Everyone noticed. I didn’t hug or kiss the bride. I didn’t dance with the groom. I told myself I didn’t give a damn.

By then, we were stretched so thin in the command ranks that we never shared shifts the way we did those first seven years. The seat to my left was so completely empty I considered making it into a plant stand. A nice rubber tree plant. Maybe a rhododendron. The emptiness there matched the hole in my heart. Maybe it was the years I spent on Vulcan or my friendship with Tuvok that made me think I could decide how I felt about things, could simply stop feeling. I’ve paid for that self deception for over twenty years. Too long.

At least, by using the transwarp hub, the captain will have the chance to meet someone new, to find someone to love. And she won’t have to watch you and Seven struggle to make your marriage work, won’t lose you along the way and find out, too late, how much she needed you or how much you needed her. So lost. So lonely.

I left the captain’s quarters early, saying I was tired. They believed me; I’m an old woman in their eyes. I saw how they looked at each other, their eyes locking, connected. I thanked them for the evening. I thought about checking on them later, seeing how long Chakotay stayed on, but I was afraid he’d be with Seven. I couldn’t bear to know that, even if the captain didn’t suspect.

Remember those nights we spent together? Those weekly dinners? I’d lounge on the sofa while you sprawled on the chair. You always managed to bring some sort of hard cider or wine from some alien planet, and we’d splurge and let ourselves get a real alcohol buzz. Stars streaming by. The comforting hum of the engines. Harmony. Peace. Relaxation. How we laughed and talked. How we shared the stories of our lives.

Why didn’t I see what was happening, Chakotay? Why didn’t I know I was already home?

The silence was deafening. Kathryn sat with her eyes closed as she listened to the quiet, agonizing voice of her future self. Her heart was breaking for the woman who had endured such pain. She could feel Chakotay beside her as he’d stopped the PADD again and opened her eyes to see him leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands.

“Chakotay?”

He looked back at her, tears in his eyes. “She really cared about him.”

“Of course she did.”

“Of course she did? You can say that?” His face contorted with anger. “How could she care so much and not tell him so?”

“What choice did she have, Chakotay?” She stood up, walking to the window to look up at the stars. “She didn’t know what else to do.” She faced him. “She wanted him to be happy, and she knew she couldn’t make him happy.”

“But Seven didn’t make him happy, either. She admitted that.”

“She said their marriage was rocky. Lots of marriages are at first. What would you expect, anyway, marrying a former Borg? They needed time, time they didn’t have. The admiral came back to save Seven’s life, to restore his wife to him. It wasn’t about herself.”

Chakotay walked to her side, taking her shoulders in his hands. “Not at first, anyway.”

“What?”

“She wanted you to be happy, Kathryn. She wanted you to find someone to love, someone to be with. She said that, too.”

Kathryn shook her head. “No. She wanted to hurt me.”

“Is it so awful to want everyone to have a better life, even herself?”

“It’s like suicide, Chakotay, erasing one’s life. Temporal suicide.”

“Not if it was a miserable, lonely life.”

Kathryn studied his face. “She said you understood her.”

He shrugged. “I trusted her more than you did, that’s all.”

“Because?”

“Because she was you.”

She stepped away from him, hands on her hips. “You keep saying that, and it makes me angry. She wasn’t me. She was a bitter, manipulative know- it-all who broke the law. I wouldn’t do that.”

“You can’t know what you would do. She spent sixteen more years out there than you did.”

She saw the admiral’s face during their confrontation in Voyager’s passageway, the cold determination to have her way, to force her younger self to do her bidding. “She was just trying to manipulate me.”

“Is that so bad? Isn’t that part of being in command, making a decision and convincing everyone to follow you?”

“Is that what I do?” she said, suddenly looking around the room as if seeing it for the first time. “Here we are, Chakotay. Just as she said. Sprawled on the sofa, talking things through.”

“We forgot the cider,” he teased. And then he saw the stricken look on her face. “What? What did I say?”

“I was just thinking. What if I lost this? What if we didn’t talk like this any more? I would miss this so much, too much.” She looked down, studying her hands. “Suddenly, I feel sorry for her. I wonder how she survived.”

“We don’t have to lose this, Kathryn.”

“Let’s not.”

“Okay.”

She laughed. “I feel like making it a pinky promise.”

“A what?”

“You know. Sealing the deal with a handshake or something?” She extended her hand, and he took it, pulling her into an embrace.

“Or a kiss?” he whispered, his breath warm in her ear.

She tilted her head up to him, brushing his lips with hers softly. “Sealed with a kiss,” she agreed, pulling away, leading him back to the sofa. “But let’s finish this first.”

He followed, picking up the PADD as they sat down together. “I think the fireworks were about to begin,” he said, smiling at his double entendre as he activated the next message.

Message 5

To: Commander Chakotay, First Officer, Voyager

From: Admiral Kathryn Janeway

Subject: Personal Log

Disposition: Hold as draft

Dear Chakotay,

How I wish you were here to see this arrogant, prideful, cocky, ridiculous woman! Captain Kathryn Janeway, Starfleet Queen. We were almost there! In less than a minute, we would’ve been in the slipstream and on our way home. Right now, I’d be cooling my heels in a brig somewhere for breaking the temporal prime directive while the rest of them rejoined their families. The shields were holding, the torpedoes were doing their magic. Her eyes were like saucers and I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying, “I told you so.”

Then she saw the hub. She’d been expecting a wormhole, of course. She looked for you first, as I always did. I always looked for you in those days, remember? Then she looked at me, and it was not a happy moment. I knew she would pull out, could see the wheels turning, and I knew I’d never talk her out of just going back and heading for home. I was afraid of what she would plan. I tried to pull rank with Tom Paris, ordering him to go into the hub, but he ignored me. He followed her orders to turn around and here we sit.

I wish you could’ve heard her chew me out in the ready room a few minutes later. Masterfully done. Just enough rancor and self-righteous indignation, but not too much. A delicate touch. I almost complimented her on it. Instead, I reminded her of my rank, and then she reminded me of her brig. Funny, really. She finally realized how willingly she’d let me manipulate her, and she was mad as hops. I bet she’s still fuming.

When she called the senior staff to the ready room, I knew exactly what she was going to say: “Let’s destroy it.” Ridiculous. Impossible. But will she listen to me? Did I ever listen to reason, Chakotay, once I’d made up my mind? No. And the rest of you. You just follow her. Find a way, she ordered, and you all scurried off to do her bidding like good little Starfleet officers.

I’ll talk her out of it. We aren’t lost yet. The queen can’t have adapted to the new technology this quickly. I’ve got all the ammunition I need to make her do what’s right: the future. All the deaths. Tuvok’s insanity. Seven dying in your arms. The division between us that doomed us both to years of loneliness. The countless battles and casualties.

I’ll make her listen. I’ll force her to do the right thing.

Oh, Chakotay, I can’t let it happen again. I can’t let her watch Seven die in your arms. I can’t let her see Tuvok’s raving dementia. I can’t have you turn away from her the way you did from me. I can’t let it all happen again, all those years, and for what? Nothing. Nobody at home waiting for us. Failure and sorrow and frustration.

No. Not again. I’ll break the captain’s heart if I have to. She has to listen to reason.

Kathryn held the PADD in trembling hands, deeply affected by the words her older self had spoken. “Chakotay, I think she was crying.”

“I think you’re right.”

“But she was so tough, so sure of herself. I can’t believe she was ever this emotional about anything.”

He smiled. “Many people would say the same thing about you, Kathryn.”

“Those last words sounded selfish, didn’t they? Not wanting to see herself suffer.”

“She was talking about keeping you from experiencing her hardships, Kathryn, not herself. I thought she didn’t like you.”

“Oh, she didn’t. She couldn’t have said what she did to me later if she’d had any feelings for me whatsoever. Seven’s death. Tuvok’s insanity. Twenty-two more deaths in our crew.”

“My marriage to Seven.” He watched as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“That, too.”

“Why would she hurt you if she wanted to help you?”

“Because she was convinced that she knew better than I did what was the right thing to do, Chakotay. She was arrogant and prideful. She was my judge and jury.”

“She wanted all of us to be happy, why not you, too? Because she blamed herself? Because she wanted to atone for her poor decisions?” He shook his head. “But she just said she wanted to keep you from suffering.” He grew thoughtful, taking her hand in his and rubbing her palm with his thumb. “Maybe she’s a little confused, just beginning to realize that you’re a different person than she is, even though you’re her ‘predecessor.'”

“I’m confused, too. At first, her concern was only the crew, and she saw me as an obstacle, an obstruction to the completion of her goal. Why? She must have known that I wanted to get the crew home more than anything.”

“I think she was angry at herself and taking it out on you was a way to punish herself as well.”

“Yet, she seems to be changing here.”

“Yes. She seems to be. It was after this that she tried for the last time to manipulate you into just using the hub to get home?”

Kathryn nodded. “She’s ready to pull out all the stops. And, boy, did she.”

“Yet, only hours afterwards, she came to you at last and offered to help you get home and destroy the hub at the same time.”

“Yes. She joined me in the mess hall in the middle of the night. For the first time, she treated me with respect, as an equal.”

“Then this next message is crucial to understanding her, Kathryn. There’s just two more. Let’s listen.”

Message 6

To: Commander Chakotay, First Officer, Voyager

From: Admiral Kathryn Janeway

Subject: Personal Log

Disposition: Hold as draft

Dear Chakotay,

My efforts to change her mind have failed. They think they have a plan. It will fail, but they brush aside my twenty-six years of additional experience as if I were speaking in tongues. They believe in their cause. They have such faith in each other. They can see the hub exploding in their dreams, and they’re determined to make their dreams come true. I’d help them if I could destroy the queen in the process. Oh, how I’d love to watch the queen die. Sweet revenge for what she did to Seven.

I got rough with the captain. I told her about the twenty-two members of her crew that would die in the rest of her journey. She replied that losses happen. I told her about Seven’s death, in her husband’s arms, your arms. She blinked, as if I’d hit her between the eyes, but she let the news of your marriage to Seven pass without so much as a comment. As if she didn’t care, as if I didn’t know better. She said she could avoid Seven’s death, all the others, too, now that she knew it was coming. So, I told her about Tuvok incurable, progressive disease, and that shook her. There was nothing to be done for that. She didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want to face it.

Part of it she simply didn’t believe. Her eyes clouded when I told her that you and I were never the same after Seven’s death. She didn’t believe it, couldn’t believe our friendship would end. She hasn’t learned the lesson yet, hasn’t tasted the bitter pills I swallowed. Even something as beautiful as our friendship can die. You blamed me for your troubled marriage, for forcing you to turn to Seven, to someone else, for the love and companionship you needed. How Seven resented me because I was a shadow between you. How I tortured myself for failing to help you work all this out.

This captain doesn’t know how many years I told myself I wasn’t hurting, wasn’t in pain. The captain thinks she can ignore her heart’s wishes by chanting over and over to herself that she doesn’t care, she doesn’t care, she doesn’t care, she doesn’t care . . . until she forces her heart to believe it.

But the heart has a language all its own. I betrayed us all, hurt us all, because I never learned that language. Love can be vicious, cold, and ruthless when we deny its existence, Chakotay. It can tear us apart, leave us gasping for breath. I learned that the hard way.

After I failed to make the captain change her mind, I went to astrometrics and tried to warn Seven about it, tried to talk her out of helping with this ridiculous plan. I told her how her death would destroy those who loved her-especially you and me, Chakotay-but she responded with the captain’s altruistic drivel. Give up your life for the Greater Good. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. “It’s a far, far better thing I do . . .”

Seven never really understood love, Chakotay, no matter how hard you tried to show her. She couldn’t pin it down, couldn’t find a definition that worked. And she never really knew who you were. That’s what hurt me the most. How could she? They’d taken her soul, and that was what you wanted and needed from her. It was painful to watch you struggle to find balance. Yet I simply watched, when I could’ve helped. I should’ve helped.

You tried so hard, Chakotay, to teach her, to be for her what she needed you to be. Maybe with time you would’ve solved the mystery of Seven. You were right to blame me. The Queen killed her, but only because I asked Seven to take the risk. Such hope for happiness that day by the lake when you married her. Such failure. All of us, such sad cases.

Someone’s at the door. Computer, pause recording.

I’m resuming this log some hours later. It’s now after midnight. I’m awake, of course, brooding. I’m making myself think things through without your help, Chakotay, and tonight, I’m finding it difficult. I miss most those long talks, those moments of clarity we found together. You made me look at things from different angles, from different points of view.

I’m finally willing to accept the idea that this captain is not me. Nor is she my enemy, Chakotay. She can change, do better than I did. By working against her, I’m hurting everyone all over again.

It was the doctor who came to see me a few hours ago. I knew when I saw him at the door that he was bringing bad news or he would’ve simply summoned me to sickbay. When he went over my initial physical more closely, he discovered traces of the experimental drug I’d taken, chronexaline, to protect me from radiation poisoning during my trip from the future. I know it was a risk I shouldn’t have taken. You wouldn’t have approved, and you would’ve been right, but I thought it was the only way I could get back here without killing myself in the process.

But now I learn that I took too much, a fatal dose. Ironic, isn’t it? The drug that was supposed to protect my life is going to take it. Damage at the submolecular level, he said. I have a week before the symptoms begin. A week, at best.

I’m dying, Chakotay. So, you see, dear friend, this really is a one- way trip, no matter what I do or say. And since there’s no hope for me, I might as well make my death count for something.

I keep thinking about how much the crew loves the captain. They loved me, too, didn’t they? Even you loved me once. I loved all of you back. I loved you back. What was that twentieth century song Tom found? “Can’t forget, won’t regret what I did for love?” So, I’ll do this for love.

Why not? Why not go out in a blaze of glory and take the damned hub with us? Why not take the queen off of her throne in the process? It could work. The captain and I could do it if we worked together.

The computer says the she’s in the mess hall, probably brooding like I am. Maybe I can help make this crazy plan succeed. Maybe by doing that, I can reclaim myself, Chakotay, the woman who was your friend. The woman you once loved. Maybe she can save me from who I’ve become, even as I prevent her from becoming me. Maybe I’ll see the queen brought down. Two queens, really. The Borg queen and the bitter, lonely admiral locked in a final battle to the death. A fitting endgame.

“Dying? Did she tell you she was dying, Kathryn?” She looked away from him, standing up to walk to the window. Her silence was an answer. “She did tell you.”

“How else do you think I could let her go to the queen like that? I couldn’t let her commit suicide, Chakotay.” She turned and looked at him, a stricken expression on her face. “I knew. And the doctor confirmed it. She was dying. It was just a matter of days.”

He buried his face in his hands, the memory of the white-haired, older Kathryn nearly overwhelming him. He stifled a sob as he realized the dilemma the older woman had confronted alone, the decision she’d made so that her death would have meaning. “I’m relieved to know it. Her death has haunted me. I’d thought so many times that I should’ve talked her out of it.”

“I should’ve told you about the drug. And I would’ve told you, sooner or later.” She walked to him, placing her hand on his head in a gentle caress. “She would’ve wanted you to know the truth. She wouldn’t want you to feel guilty.”

He raised his head, reaching up and taking her hand, holding it against his cheek. “You volunteered to take her place.” He said it as if he knew it were true, as if it were fact.

“Of course.” She sat down next to him, a weak smile on her face. “That’s what I do, isn’t it? Futile gestures of nobility?”

“Not so futile this time. But, I’m glad she talked you out of it.”

She took his hand. “I didn’t want her to die, Chakotay. I’d hoped she would find a way to follow us, but . . .”

“It’s been months without a sign.”

She nodded. “She’s gone. Even if she survived her confrontation with the queen, the chronexaline would’ve killed her by now.”

“She said something about an endgame? Isn’t that a chess term?”

“Yes. Once the conclusion of the match is clear, the final moves often include the mutual sacrifice of the queens.”

“The queens.” He smiled, pulling Kathryn into an embrace. “You realize that this last message will be a farewell of sorts.”

“Perhaps we should respect her privacy and not listen to it?”

He buried his face in her hair. “I think she left this for us, Kathryn. Think about it. Why leave behind a series draft messages addressed to me unless she wanted us to hear them?”

“I guess it’s possible.”

“She knew where she was going, that she wouldn’t be back. Why not just erase the messages as her last act on Voyager? Why leave draft messages for Chakotay unless she thought we’d eventually hear them?”

Kathryn pulled back, giving him a thoughtful look. “You realize that this could be her final attempt to manipulate us?”

“It could be her final chance to tell the truth. Whatever the reason, we have to listen. We’ve come too far to quit now.”

Kathryn nodded reluctantly, tears threatening. The last message had touched her deeply, and she wasn’t sure how she would react to more of the same. “I’m not sure I want to hear this, Chakotay.”

“We’ll listen together.” He pulled her close, shifting so she could slide her arms around his waist and pillow her head on his shoulder.

Message 7

To: Commander Chakotay, First Officer, Voyager

From: Admiral Kathryn Janeway

Subject: Personal Logs

Disposition: Hold as draft

Dearest Chakotay,

I’m going to help them, probably at the cost of my life. Or what’s left of it. The captain thinks I’ll have time to break away and follow them through the hub, but then I’d lose my chance to watch the queen die. I won’t be following them. I don’t even want to. I’m dying, anyway, so I might as well go out on my own terms.

What really waits for me in the Alpha Quadrant, dear friend? I’d be my mother’s age. I’d be thrown in prison for breaking the temporal prime directive. I’d be an albatross around the captain’s neck, probably ruin her future career. No, I’ll do this for them, all of them. For us.

I’m not telling the rest of them goodbye, just the captain. They don’t even know who I am anyway, and never will, thank God. The captain . . . Kathryn . . . won’t become me, but someone much better. They’ll all get home, really home, before it’s too late, while home is still there waiting for them.

I couldn’t tell you goodbye again, anyway, Chakotay. Once in a lifetime is enough. Too much. If you were still alive, what would you say to me right now, I wonder? Probably accuse me of trying to be the martyr again. Well, why not? Why the hell not?

I have only one regret, now that Voyager will be home without me. I never told you how I felt. We stopped talking in person, Chakotay, but I never really stopped talking to you. I never stopped needing you. All those personal logs. Thousands of them. All addressed to you. I never told you that I still look for you, still wait to hear your voice, still miss you.

I still have the plans to the boat, did you know that? I brought them with me from New Earth-for posterity, I suppose. I always . . . hoped . . . that we could find another river to explore, but we never had that chance, never found another New Earth. I always hoped. Even now, when you’ve been gone so long, I still hope. It isn’t logical, I know. Maybe I hope for her. For them. For Kathryn and Chakotay. Happiness. Peace.

Kathryn. That’s who she is. You still call her Kathryn. They still have a future, while all I have is the past. Not even the past, any more. Echoes from a lost future.

You’re wondering if I can really do this, aren’t you? So am I. I’ve never faced the Borg before without you, Chakotay. I always had you to come home to.

Why not do it, though? I feel like the real me again. Restored. Strong. Idealistic and invincible. Your people believed in the spirit world. Perhaps we’ll be together there. Maybe there I can learn the language of the heart and tell you what I feel, what I should have told you every day for the last thirty three years.

I love you, Chakotay. I’ve always loved you.

Except for Kathryn’s quiet sobbing, the room was utterly silent when the message ended. Chakotay comforted her by gently rubbing her back and tried not to over-react to the admiral’s final words, tried not to be overwhelmed by the quiet passion of her voice. She’d always loved him? He was so stunned by her revelation that he couldn’t think of a thing to say.

“I’m sorry, Chakotay,” Kathryn said at long last, pulling back and wiping her wet cheeks with the back of her hands. “I need a handkerchief.”

He watched as she made her way to the replicator and returned with some tissues, pausing to blow her nose before she sat down and looked at him with red-rimmed eyes. He realized that they’d spent so many hours together in so many circumstances that he’d become oblivious to their mutual attraction, that he’d learned to ignore it as an unwanted and unnecessary complication to an otherwise ideal command relationship. And then he realized that all of that had just changed.

“Was that the truth?” he asked her, knowing that she’d understand exactly what he was talking about.

“The truth? Was what the truth?”

He scowled, put out with her deliberate attempt to be obtuse. “You know what truth I’m talking about, Kathryn.”

“I think you know the truth.” She looked at him evenly, as if she were stating the obvious. “Surely you know how much I care about you. How I’ve always felt.”

“I don’t think I do.”

“Chakotay! You’re my closest friend and confidante! You know me better than anyone else in the galaxy!” She looked at him expectantly, and then finally realized that he was serious. “You don’t know?”

“If I’d known, do you think I would’ve considered dating Seven of Nine?”

She gestured toward the window, where the moon had risen, bathing the valley in a creamy light. “Out there in the Delta Quadrant, on Voyager, it didn’t matter what I felt. I couldn’t act on my feelings, and I wasn’t about to ask you to wait for a future relationship that might never happen. I wasn’t about to keep you from finding happiness with Seven, if you could.”

“That was the admiral’s biggest mistake,” he said, sliding closer to her, reaching out to touch her shoulder. “That was her biggest regret. I wasn’t happy with Seven. I couldn’t be happy as long as I still loved you. Besides, we aren’t out there any more, Kathryn, so if you know the ‘language of the heart,’ there’s no time like the present to use it.”

She didn’t hesitate. Her voice was soft, and her eyes revealed a vulnerability he’d never seen before. “I love you, Chakotay,” she said, unconsciously repeating the admiral’s words. “I’ve always loved you.”

He smiled, leaning in to kiss her gently. “Everything’s going to be different, Kathryn, better.”

She sighed, snuggling into his chest as he pulled her to him for a more passionate embrace. For the first time in years, she allowed her feelings for this incredible man to overwhelm her, to blot out every other thought and distraction. She turned her head toward the window, thinking about the admiral’s logs. “She did it for love, Chakotay. The admiral came back because she loved you. And Seven. And all the others. She loved the whole crew.”

He smiled, “And I think she learned to love you, too. She learned to love herself enough to want you to be happy.”

Kathryn thought of her last meeting with the admiral and the warmth and affection that had radiated from the older woman’s smile, such a change from her initial attitude of arrogance and superiority. “Maybe you’re right. I think, by the end of her visit, that she’d rediscovered herself through me. She learned to like herself again.”

“That’s what you do for people, you know. Give them second chances. Help them correct their mistakes and find a new, better direction for their lives.”

She laughed. “You’ve won my heart, Chakotay. Flattery will only make me wonder what other demands you’re about to make of me.”

He lifted her face so he could see into her eyes. “I think you know what demands I’m about to make of you, Kathryn.” He kissed her and felt her press her body closer as she moaned into his mouth. “I want you to stay with me for the weekend. I want to make love to you, sleep with you, wake up with you tomorrow morning, and Sunday morning, too.”

“Is that all?” she smiled, a wicked gleam in her eye as she cupped his cheek in her palm. “You want a weekend?”

“I want the future,” he replied, smiling down at her. “I want a future with you that Admiral Janeway would never think of changing.”

“Admiral Janeway.” Her eyes clouded. “Those logs break my heart, Chakotay. Such a sad story. So much sorrow and loss and pain. And worse yet, no one to grieve for her.”

Chakotay stood and held his hand out to her. “She wanted us to find happiness, Kathryn, and peace. She wouldn’t want us to dwell on her death.”

Kathryn took his hand and let him pull her up and into an embrace, slipping her arms around his waist. “Happiness and peace, Chakotay?”

“And love, Kathryn. She wanted us to find love, too.”

“I think you’re right.” She looked up at him as she suddenly grasped the truth. “She wanted us to find those logs, didn’t she? She wanted us to have this conversation before it was too late.”

“She claimed to know better than you did what you needed to do with your life, Kathryn. Does the fact that she orchestrated this moment make it any less real?”

She studied his face, realizing that the why or how of this moment didn’t matter at all. She’d never been surer of a relationship in her life. “This is real, Chakotay. Never doubt that I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. “I wish we could tell her how grateful we are for what she did, for her sacrifice.”

“The best thing we can do for her, Chakotay,” Kathryn replied, her voice muffled by his chest, “is to be happy.”

Admiral Kathryn Janeway stood in Voyager’s guest quarters and studied her image in the mirror. Her uniform was snug and perfect, her hair smooth and gleaming, and her eyes no longer red-rimmed from the tears she’d shed while making her final log entry, her final farewell to her past. The tears had cleansed her, somehow, and made it easier for her to face the Borg queen without fear. All the loose ends had been tied; all the plans and preparations were in place.

She turned and looked at the PADD on the coffee table, the one that she’d used to encrypt her personal logs, and hesitated. “You should delete them, Kathryn,” she said to herself, “or you’ll inadvertently muddy the timeline.”

She picked up the PADD, imagining Chakotay or the captain finding the messages and listening to them, perhaps together. What harm would it do if they knew the torment and sorrow of her life when their future would, by necessity, be completely different? Maybe it would help them stay friends.

Besides, chances were good that no one would ever find the logs. Chances were good that whoever found them would delete them as useless drafts without even reading them.

“No,” she said, erasing the messages from the PADD, but leaving them on file in Voyager’s mainframe. “My gift to you,” she said to no one in particular, “a message from a lost future. A warning.”

She surveyed the room for the last time, tears threatening. It was so hard to leave, to say goodbye again to Voyager and the crew, but she knew that she had no choice. She was dying, and she was determined to take the queen with her, to distract the Borg long enough for Voyager to escape and destroy what they could of the hub. This ship, this crew would get home. Captain Janeway would see to that. It was her ship, after all.

A tiny grin brightened her face. Captain Janeway, Kathryn, was really something. She’d come back expecting not to like her younger self. But now, after working with her on this desperate plan, she discovered that she was proud of the captain, proud of the woman she’d once been. The captain would go far once she returned to Starfleet. She would look to the future instead of obsessing over the past, and she would be happy. She would be happy and at peace. And, with any luck, she wouldn’t be alone.

The admiral checked the chronometer one last time and realized it was time to go, time to meet the captain in shuttle bay one. Straightening her shoulders, she left the room and headed for her ship, anxious to play the endgame with the Borg queen, anxious to let Voyager’s new future begin.