Disclaimer: Starfleet, Voyager, and the characters used here are the property of CBS Studios. No profit is being made from this story and no copyright infringement is intended.

A/U Note: I’ve heard it said that Janeway’s love interest in “Workforce” was originally going to be Chakotay. Many J/C fans wish that the relationship would have happened, thinking that they would stay together once they returned to the ship. I decided to explore that possibility-what would happen if J/C were together on Quarra. However, I’ve made three major changes.

First: In this story, since Chakotay is one of the crew members trapped on Quarra during “Workforce,”the characters who rescue them are Seven of Nine and Tuvok (who were on an away mission) and the EMH (who was left behind on the ship, as in the original episode).

Second: The crew does not retain their memories once they have returned to the ship, and their captivity lasts six months (you’ll see why), much longer than it did in the episode. We pick up the action just after the a/u “Workforce” has ended, about three and a half months before “Endgame” brings about Voyager’s return to the Alpha Quadrant.

Third: The story required me to fiddle with timing of the Torres/Paris pregnancy, as well, making it begin on Quarra and effectively ditching the Miral Paris episodes that preceded “Workforce” in Season Seven. Sorry.

Summary: Whoever said “what you don’t know can’t hurt you” wasn’t a writer. J and C discover that an erased past can devastate the future. J and C friendship only, and a C/7 warning!

Ties that Bind

(an Alternate Universe story following “Workforce”)

by mizvoy

About one week after “Workforce”

Kathryn Janeway was struggling to feel at home on Voyager.

She could tell from the condition of the ship that it had been neglected for far too long, mothballed in a nebula during the crew’s six-month captivity on Quarra. The most essential maintenance tasks had been performed by the three remaining members of the crew: Tuvok, the Emergency Medical Hologram, and Seven of Nine. But, in spite of knowing that on a logical level, Janeway couldn’t remember being away from the ship, at all; it was as if she had awakened like Rip Van Winkle to find that everything had changed except herself.

As the captain, she had been one of the first of the crew that had been brought back from their captivity, and she had thrown herself into the task of restoring the ship to normal as a way of ignoring the gnawing worry she felt about her missing memories. She took great satisfaction in seeing the crew working together smoothly, spending long hours below decks working side-by-side with others who were just as befuddled and distressed as she was about what had happened.

In the forty-eight hours since she’d been “herself,” the doctor had restored the memories of over one hundred of the crew, and now that the captain could see that headway was being made on the ship’s restoration, she was even more anxious to keep the momentum going and put the whole experience behind her. When the doctor requested a meeting halfway through the third day, Janeway was aggravated at having to take any time away from the task of repairing the emitters in holodeck two. She intended to dispense with whatever was bothering him and return to her work as quickly as possible.

“Doctor,” she began, gazing steadily at the hologram seated to her right at the conference room table, “we all have too much work to do to waste time talking about our health.”

“This won’t take long,” he assured her. He glanced at Chakotay and Tuvok, who were sitting on Janeway’s left, gauging the level of their irritation before he continued. Tuvok was emotionless, of course. Chakotay was simply curious. Only the captain seemed annoyed by the interruption. “I’ve come across an issue we need to address at once, before much more time elapses.”

Chakotay leaned forward, his face full of concern. “Have you discovered a medical problem with the crew?”

“Yes, Commander, I have, but only with a select few.” His eyes slid to Tuvok, who still registered no reaction to the news. “We informed you that there were long-term relationships established while the crew was living on the planet.”

“Yes, of course, you mentioned that to us,” Janeway interrupted, struggling to repress her urge to protest. Of all the complications their captivity had caused, this one bothered her the most, both professionally and personally. She had noticed telltale signs that made her think she had been in an intimate relationship, yet she had no idea who her partner had been, or even if he’d been from among Voyager’s crew. The mystery of this nameless lover frightened her so much that, for once in her life, she preferred to remain blissfully ignorant of the details, a feeling that she shared with most of the rest of the crew. So far, everyone seemed anxious to return to the “status quo ante” and ignore what they’d done while on the planet’s surface.

Chakotay’s calm voice soothed her frazzled nerves. “I thought that the plan was to allow the crew to decide whether or not to be informed of these relationships. I thought, for now, we’d decided to leave them ‘forgotten,’ in the past, while we focus on becoming comfortable in our restored lives.” He glanced at Janeway, who was nodding her head in agreement. “At this point, none of us is ready to deal with repercussions of relationships that were formed in a forgotten existence.”

“I agree, Commander. What we did while our personalities and memories were altered has nothing to do with who we really are,” Janeway declared. “I think it’s best to put Quarra behind us for good and simply return to the people we were before they kidnapped us.”

The doctor frowned, “A defensible decision psychologically, at least for now. It’s difficult enough to reclaim your own identities without having to deal with new and unexpected relationships.”

“It might be that the entire crew chooses never to discover who they were involved with,” Janeway added, knowing that she, for one, would rather never know. She had enough complications in her life without muddying the water any further.

“That’s true,” the doctor agreed. “However, there are six individuals who returned to Voyager with an unexpected complication.”

Janeway swallowed. She had a pretty good idea what she was about to hear, and she dreaded hearing it. “I’m afraid to ask.”

“You know that B’Elanna and Tom were together on the planet, just as they had been on Voyager, and that she became pregnant during their captivity.”

“Of course. We’re all thrilled for them,” Janeway replied, gripping her hands on the tabletop to keep them from trembling. “The prospect of a new baby will help our morale immensely.”

“However, I haven’t told you that five human females were also pregnant when they returned to the ship,” the doctor answered. “All in the very early stages of pregnancy.”

“What?” Janeway stood up, her stomach threatening to reject the dry toast she’d eaten for breakfast. “How could that happen? Weren’t all of us up to date on birth control when we were taken from the ship?”

“Yes, of course,” the doctor assured her. “However, the last birth control boosters I administered to the crew became ineffective about five months after you were captured. By that time, many of you were involved with someone.”

Janeway frowned. “Wouldn’t the Quarrans have provided birth control?”

“They did, if the couple requested it. Apparently, a few crew members decided not to take precautions,” the doctor replied. “They probably felt secure enough in their jobs and settled enough in their relationships to want to start a family.”

Janeway sat down heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose to counteract the sudden pain that blossomed behind her eyes. “Yes. I guess that’s possible.” The room was silent as she and her primary advisors thought about how this complication would impact the crew. Finally, she turned to the doctor with a sigh, “Have you informed these women of their condition?”

“No, Captain, I haven’t.” He was clearly troubled by this omission. “The memory restoration process was potentially dangerous to the embryos’ development, so I removed them and put them in stasis during the process. They’re still in stasis.”

“And you haven’t told the mothers?” Janeway asked. “Why not?”

“My thought was that such life-altering news might complicate the mothers’ adjustment to her previous life. It’s highly unlikely that any of the women were aware of their pregnancies when we rescued them, and, of course, they wouldn’t remember now. Except for some discomfort that they could easily blame on their return to ‘normal,’ the women have no way of knowing that they were pregnant. They will never know unless we tell them.”

“And what about the fathers?” Chakotay wondered. “Do you know who the fathers are?”

“Not yet, Commander,” the doctor replied. “However, I did a simple DNA scan, which told me that the fathers are human and therefore members of the crew.”

Tuvok spoke up. “So the infants are totally human?”

“Yes, they are, which simplifies the situation.” The EMH raised an eyebrow. “I’m quite certain that we are not separating a child from its father, nor are we faced with any unusual interspecies complications during gestation.”

“Simplifies the situation?” Janeway slumped in her chair in despair, the headache firmly lodged behind her right eye. “I don’t see anything simple about this, doctor. We have five women and five men who were different people inside their own bodies, making decisions in a different setting that they are now going to have to address in their real lives.”

“Why can’t we just leave the embryos in stasis?” Tuvok asked. “I’m aware of many couples who have stored embryos for years.”

“That’s a much different situation,” Chakotay disagreed. “Those couples want to have a child together at a later date. But I’m guessing that the relationship between these people didn’t exist while they were on the ship. Is that right, doctor?”

“I haven’t scanned the embryos sufficiently to determine anything other than the father’s species,” the doctor replied. “However, Tuvok, Seven, and I became aware of several pairings among the crew while we were on the surface. If the fathers were these women’s companions, then I can say without a doubt that they were not couples on Voyager before their capture.”

Janeway’s temper flared. “I can’t believe that the Quarrans meddled in our lives like this. How dare they do this to us?” She turned in her chair and stared blindly out the window as she regained control of her emotions. “Which of you three are aware of these couples?”

“All three of us who rescued the crew: Seven of Nine, Tuvok, and myself,” the doctor replied. “We agreed at the time to keep the existence of these relationships private.”

Janeway sighed, telling herself that these three members of the crew could keep the secret better than any others, yet she found herself squirming in her seat, and glanced at Chakotay with exasperation. “Is it just me? Do you find this objectionable?”

“There’s a lot about this whole captivity that leaves me unsettled,” he admitted. “As you said, it’s as if someone else took over our bodies, and now we’re left to deal with the fallout of their actions.” He shifted in his seat to look at two of the three members of the crew who had knowledge of their liaisons on Quarra.

“Do Seven and Tuvok know which women were pregnant?” Janeway asked.

“No, they don’t. I haven’t told anyone who those women are. Nor have I implied that the women who were pregnant were the ones who were in a more permanent relationship on Quarra.” He frowned, obviously troubled. “Captain, I don’t know how these women would feel about this pregnancy or the prospect of single parenthood. At any rate, before they deal with this obstacle, they need to feel at home in their real lives.”

Janeway sighed again, wondering if she would ever feel at home in her “real life.” She shook her head. “We have to have to tell the women about their condition. We can’t escape that, can we?” Janeway glanced around the room. “What are our options?”

Tuvok spoke first. “We could simply destroy the embryos. They are not, as yet, individuals with rights under Federation law, and their conceptions came about because of alien interference. They clearly were not ‘meant to be.'”

Janeway gritted her teeth. “I dislike that choice. Whether or not the parents want the babies now, we have to assume that they wanted them at the time of their conception. And they do have rights, in my opinion, no matter what Federation law says. They should have a chance to live.”

“If we tell the women about the pregnancies,” Tuvok said, “they might be interested in carrying the child.”

“And if they aren’t interested in carrying it?” Janeway wondered, a sick feeling in her stomach. If one of the babies was hers, would she want to carry it to term? Could she take the chance of a pregnancy when she lived under the continuous stress and the imminent danger she faced every day as the captain? She had precious little time to be friends with a few chosen members of her senior staff, had no off duty time away from the ship, and was constantly harassed by the doctor about her health.

“Let’s see,” Tuvok said, lacing his fingers in front of him. “We could survey the ten crew members directly involved and ask them how they feel about the possibility of parenting a child. They could make one of two choices-either to terminate their parental rights or accept them. If both parents accept their rights, then the embryo can be re-implanted and they can work out a way to share their duties. If both parents terminate their rights, the embryos should be destroyed.”

Chakotay asked, “But what if only one parent accepts the baby? That child should be allowed to live, shouldn’t it?”

Janeway narrowed her eyes. “If it’s the mother who decides to keep the child, she can carry the baby. But what would happen if the father wants the child and the mother doesn’t?”

“Maybe there would be women from the crew who are willing to volunteer as surrogate mothers,” Chakotay suggested.

“And then turn the babies over to the fathers?” Janeway wondered, struggling to grasp the complexities of the situation. “The babies would be the sole responsibility of the father for the rest of their lives?”

“I think that’s only fair, don’t you?” Chakotay replied. “The mother would have severed her rights.”

She stood up and looked out the conference room windows, so worried about this thorny ethical issue that she’d forgotten about the compromised state of her ship. “What if there are no women to be surrogates?”

The doctor volunteered, “We could have them carried by non-human volunteers, although I would have to monitor the pregnancy more carefully.”

Janeway wasn’t happy. “Are there any other options?”

“We could attempt to build an external maturation chamber, similar to the technologies we’ve seen used by the Borg,” the doctor suggested.

“So far, the surrogate option appeals to me the most,” Chakotay said. “I don’t like the idea of a child being nurtured inside a machine.”

“Neither do I, if it’s even possible. However, I think the parents are the ones who should decide this.” Janeway leaned against the window sill and crossed her arms over her chest. “I also think that the identities of these parents should be kept private, at first. If a man or woman decides not to parent a child, no one else needs to know about it.”

Chakotay nodded. “We’ll need some time, all of us, to decide which option is the best course of action. In a few weeks, once everyone is back to normal, I suggest we announce this to the crew and allow them to think it through before we notify the parents.”

“Do we notify all of the crew, or just the humans?” the doctor asked. “Remember that these babies are totally human in heritage.”

“We should inform all of the crew at first,” Janeway answered. “Because of their unique origin, these are truly ‘Voyager’s babies.’ And, besides, whatever happens to the babies will affect every member of the crew in some way.”

“I’ll prepare a briefing and let you review it in advance, Captain.” The doctor stood. “Personally, I think having more children on the ship would make life much more ‘normal’ for the crew.”

“Well, ‘normal’ has never been a word that I felt applied to Starfleet service,” Janeway said with a sigh. “Let’s plan to announce this problem in about two weeks. That will give us time to get the ship in better shape and settle back into our routines. Before then, I’d like to meet again and discuss any further concerns that occur to us.”

With a nod, the three men left the conference room, and Janeway, distracted and troubled by the sudden complication, returned to her work with renewed enthusiasm.

Later the same day

That night, however, Janeway found sleep impossible. After spending a restless hour in bed, she finally gave up, replicated a cup of chamomile tea, and sat down to watch the stars. One moment, she considered asking the doctor to tell her if she was one of the mothers and, if so, to inform her of the father’s identity. And then a moment later, she didn’t want to know, not now, not ever. Back and forth, her mind moved restlessly as it pondered the problem.

Could she really reject her own child? She knew that motherhood would be totally impossible in her current circumstances. Her work and her responsibilities made a private life impossible and would keep her from being a decent mother. Wouldn’t they? She barely had an hour a day for her own private needs; how would she ever be able to handle the demands of a child? She would need a dedicated partner to help her.

That thought reminded her of the father-a human male under her command, for God’s sake. If she was one of the women who was pregnant, that meant that the woman called Kathryn Janeway on Quarra had loved this man deeply enough to have a child with him. In her real life, she might not know him as anything other than a familiar face, a vaguely recognized member of the rank-and-file. He could be someone like Tefler or, dear God, Mortimer Herron.

There would be inevitable complications in a liaison between the captain and a crewman from the lower decks. Could she treat him as an equal in quarters and then step into a command relationship on the bridge? She didn’t think so. And, if she gave up the child and this man didn’t, could she allow him to nurture and teach her baby without the chance to give it her own ethics and values?

The chances were good that if she terminated her parental rights, the father would have a surrogate carry it. How would she cope with having her child carried by another woman? How would she react to seeing her own child later on? Wouldn’t she want it to know its family heritage? Could she ignore a child who looked exactly like her sister or her father and not acknowledge it? Nurture it? Revel in its existence?

As difficult as this night of speculation was for her, she knew that soon five women on the ship would struggle with the real dilemma she was imagining. They could take some comfort in knowing they weren’t alone, yet the captain couldn’t take much comfort from that fact.

It was well after midnight when her door chimed. She wasn’t surprised that Chakotay, who had just come off bridge duty, stopped by for a talk. He rubbed his eyes sleepily as he entered. “The computer said you were still awake, and I figured you were probably thinking about the babies.”

“Does it bother you, too, Chakotay?”

He smiled as he sat down in the chair beside the sofa. “I’m haunted by the same issues that are bothering you, I imagine. I keep wondering if one of the children might be mine. And if so, I wonder who its mother might be.”

“It’s better not to know that. I’d rather just terminate my rights without even knowing for sure if I was one of the pregnant women.” She raised her chin defiantly, even as her heart was breaking. “That would be best for me, anyway. Never to know for sure.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I can’t be a mother and the captain of the ship, Chakotay, not if I want to do either job properly.”

He looked down, studying his hands. “Who ever parents these babies will have the entire ship to help them, Kathryn. Who can resist a baby?”

She snorted. “I already feel like everybody’s mother. Didn’t Q tell us we were the mommy and daddy of the ship?”

“He was joking, of course.” Chakotay studied her face. “You might not be one of the mothers, you know.”

“Do you think not? With my incredible capacity for complicating my life?” she laughed.

“You would terminate your rights? What if the father doesn’t? Can you carry on as usual and not be involved in your baby’s life?”

“I have no choice.” She rubbed her hands on her thighs as she thought. “Besides, if I am one of the mothers, maybe the father will also terminate his rights to the child.”

“You would put an end to your baby’s life?” He shook his head. “That might seem like a solution, but I couldn’t live with it. I didn’t deny Seska’s child when she claimed it was mine, and I certainly couldn’t deny a child I know is mine.”

Janeway repressed a feeling of dread as she feigned a greater strength than she felt. “I can see why you wouldn’t. But I could. I will.”

“Think hard about that, Kathryn, because you’ll have to live with the repercussions of the decision for the rest of your life. This would be your own baby, you know.”

“I wouldn’t think of it as a baby. It’s a mistake that should never have happened, as Tuvok said.”

He stood and stretched, giving her a wistful look. “I wish I could say that and mean it.”

They said goodnight, but Janeway remained seated, staring blindly into space. She thought to herself, “I wish I could mean it, too.”

Three weeks later, or about four weeks after “Workforce,” just prior to “Human Error”

Janeway was proud of the way the crew had calmly accepted the news about Voyager’s babies. While they were stunned by the news of the offspring conceived on Quarra, they went along with Janeway’s suggestion that only the parents would initially be informed of their identities. This way, if an embryo was terminated, no one would be stigmatized by it or have to defend their decision.

If only one parent accepted a child, the other parent would remain anonymous, to keep him or her from being singled out and to keep a distance from the parent and child later on. If, in making a decision, the remaining parent wanted to know who his or her child’s other parent was, that information would be revealed only if the other parent consented.

And finally, the uninvolved human women on the ship would be asked whether or not they would serve as a surrogate, if one or more of the expectant mothers refused to go on with the pregnancies.

The ship was abuzz with excitement as this delicate issue was discussed. Everywhere she went, Janeway found herself listening to yet another conversation about who might be expecting a child in the near future, who might have paired off on Quarra, and who might be “selfish” enough to terminate their parental rights. It was this assumption of self-centeredness that most unsettled her.

After overhearing one such judgmental comment, Janeway decided to discuss the problem with her first officer.

“Commander, I’m concerned about some comments I overheard in the mess hall last night.” She noticed that Tom Paris straightened in his seat and that Harry Kim almost leaned over the railing in front of the ops station in undisguised curiosity.

Chakotay glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Is the bridge the best place to discuss this, Captain?”

“The comments were made in public, so why would I hesitate to bring them up in public?”

Chakotay frowned at her tone of voice. She was angry, and he would have to deal with this carefully or risk a full-blown explosion. “Okay. What concerned you?”

“I heard some of the crew discuss terminating parental rights as ‘selfish.’ I don’t want anyone to suffer any kind of negative reaction if they decide not to be involved with their child. I especially don’t want that decision characterized as selfish or immoral. No one would deny a child without serious thought, and we have no right to judge them for it.” She was so furious that as she spoke her voice grew gradually louder, until she was nearly shouting.

Chakotay deliberately kept his tone at a normal level. “You actually heard someone say that terminating parental rights is selfish.”

“Yes, I did,” she tossed her head in defiance. “And I won’t have it.”

He nodded. He remembered her determination to deny her child and realized that these comments hit too close to home. “I’ll be sure to brief the entire crew on the issue, Captain, so that there is no more insensitive talk. But, I can’t change the way the crew feels.”

She turned to him, and he realized that she had lost sleep, that there were dark circles under her eyes and a nervous edge to her composure that made her less tolerant of this type of confrontation. “Make sure they know that the captain will not tolerate any insensitivity toward any individual who is not ready or who feels unable to parent to a child. Make sure they know how difficult it is to make such a decision.”

“I’ll make sure they understand.”

She nodded and made an odd face, one that seemed to be the precursor of angry tears. She stood up and headed for her ready room. “You have the bridge, Commander.”

The doors closed, and Tom turned in his seat to give Chakotay a long, worried look. “What was that all about?” he wondered. “We don’t even know who’s who yet.”

“The captain obviously doesn’t want anyone to feel pressured to do something they don’t want to do, Tom, especially something as significant as becoming a mother or father.”

“I guess so.” He shrugged. “I can see her point. I mean, B’Elanna and I also had the whole thing pushed on us all at once, but, then, we were aware of the chances along the way.”

“Exactly, you two were married before the Quarrans captured us,” Chakotay replied. “If these parents had been couples on the ship, their predicament would be much simpler to deal with. But, the pregnancies were really and truly ‘unplanned.’ And it may be that some people simply don’t want to deal with a child right now. Or ever.”

“I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’ve had second thoughts myself, Commander. I just hope I don’t have a second bun in the oven. Can you imagine that? Two pregnant women?”

Everyone on the bridge laughed, but Chakotay couldn’t help but worry about the captain. He silently hoped that Janeway wasn’t one of the women who had returned to the ship pregnant, for a dozen reasons. She was already distraught on the parents’ behalf, and he worried that she would feel even worse if she had to make the choice about being a mother at this point in her life.

“Let’s get back to work, people,” he said as he pulled up the next course correction. “We’ll have all this settled in the next few days.”

At least, he thought to himself, I hope we will.

About three days later

The day of notification had finally arrived.

All of the human crew members were off duty for two shifts to allow the prospective parents the time and privacy they would need to take in dealing with their decision. Every human on board would be receiving a message from the EMH, informing them of their particular situation, and each person had a private place to go to read their message.

Janeway waited in her private quarters. Alpha shift had ended a few hours earlier, long enough for everyone to have had dinner before receiving the news. It was a well thought-out plan, and yet Janeway was displeased by it; nothing about the situation suited her.

She hadn’t slept well in the weeks since the doctor had first informed her of the pregnancies, and she had been even more distraught since the crew had learned of it a few days earlier. She was almost certain that she had taken a lover on Quarra and that they had decided to have a child. However, the hunch increased rather than decreased the anxiety she felt.

She stopped dead in her tracks when, at precisely 1900, the computer chirped with an incoming message. She thought she might faint with apprehension until she reminded herself that every human on the ship was to be notified, even if they were not the prospective parents. Her message might say just that: you aren’t one of the mothers, but would you consider being a surrogate? There was no reason to expect the worst.

She sat down at her desk and stared at the flashing red light. “Kathryn,” she told herself, “don’t be a coward.”

She downloaded the message and, for a moment, stared at the words without comprehension. When she saw that it was the longer questionnaire, the one designed for the mother of one of the embryos, she very nearly fainted.

“I’m a mother,” she whispered, tears filling her eyes. “No, that’s not right. I was going to be a mother.”

She’d thought this situation through and had decided to read the information dispassionately and quickly choose the “terminate parental rights” box. She’d seen herself putting the whole problem behind her as a mistake that had been easily corrected. She’d have no second thoughts and no regrets about turning her back on a decision made by someone who wasn’t the “real” Kathryn Janeway, but an unknown person who had been under the influence of a drastically altered memory.

But now she was realizing that nothing so serious could be that simple. The baby was a real person, and she found it impossible to read the words “terminate parental rights” dispassionately. As if to torture herself, she pulled up recent pictures of her sister, Phoebe, and her two children. She thought of holding her own infant as Phoebe held hers, the tiny fist waving above the bright blue eyes and porcelain skin, the little body smelling of soap and baby shampoo. She could feel the baby’s short legs gripping her waist while a grubby hand bunched a fistful of uniform at her shoulder.

She stared blindly at the screen with tears in her eyes. Her decision affected something more significant than a few cells in a stasis chamber, for if the father decided to keep the child, he would no doubt find a surrogate mother, and Janeway would have no choice but to watch her own child grow up as a stranger.

She had no idea how long she sat at the computer, unable to move and barely breathing, but she eventually shut down the screen and sat back in her chair, completely worn out by the tension that had held her body immobile. She didn’t have to decide right away, she remembered. The parents were to be given several days to consider their options, and she would take that time to do some more thinking.

This was a living baby. It was her baby, and probably the only chance she would have to be a mother, thanks to their exile in the Delta Quadrant. What had been an easy choice in the abstract became a haunting impasse in reality. If she and the father both gave up their rights to the child, then it would be terminated, essentially aborted, something she’d never personally condoned and could not imagine happening. Could she live with herself if she knew that her choice had brought about the death of her child?

She went blindly through the rest of the evening, taking a long bath, drinking two more glasses of wine, and then lying in her bed staring out at the stars for hours before falling into a fitful sleep just an hour before her alarm went off.

The next morning, she awakened even more exhausted than she’d been the night before, and no closer to a decision.

One week later, about five weeks after “Workforce,” and just after “Q2″

Janeway sat alone in her ready room, even though she had long since finished her day’s work. Since she’d been notified about her pregnancy, Janeway had been immersed in the disastrous father/son relationship between Q and Q2, and she had agonized with the young omnipotent over the uneven and uninspired parenting he was receiving. She’d spent long hours contemplating the real demands that came with the rearing of a child, its rewards and its heartbreaks, and continued to mull over the decision she had to make.

Alpha shift had ended hours earlier, but she’d remained in seclusion, driven to keep her mind distracted with busy work when, in fact, she knew that her time was up. She had to make a decision, and she had to do so at once.

Her console chirped with an incoming message from the doctor. She had been expecting to hear from him. He would be calling to remind her, as gently as he knew how, of her need to make up her mind. It was an unofficial call, he explained, hesitantly, and she heard a mix of barely restrained irritation and gentle compassion when he spoke her name.

“What is the problem, doctor?” she asked, hoping he’d pick up from her officious tone that she intended to keep this particular discussion on a professional level—chief medical officer to captain rather than doctor to patient. “I was just about to retire for the evening.”

He nodded and averted his eyes. “I thought you might like to know how the crew survey is going, Captain. So far, I’ve heard from nine of the ten parents.”

She swallowed hard. So she was the only one who had yet to make up her mind. She took a sip of coffee, glad to hide behind her captain’s mask and ignore the guilt she felt for delaying the next step of the process. She prayed that he would join her as she pretended that this recalcitrant member of the crew was someone other than Kathryn Janeway. Her voice revealed nothing but a perfect blend of concern and detachment as she said, “I’d wondered about that.”

“Several members of the crew have been asking me when we would proceed with the implantation of the embryos, and I’ve explained that we’d initially decided on a week.”

“But the week is up,” she interrupted him, letting him know that she was perfectly aware of the deadline. “None of parents has elected to terminate parental rights?” She looked at him with as little emotion in her face as possible even though her heart was pounding. If the answer was that all nine had accepted their children, then she would know that the father of her child would take the complete responsibility for the baby. It might be implanted in a surrogate and raised as a stranger, but it would not be aborted.

“Actually, two parents, a father and a mother, have chosen not to be involved. Luckily, they are not parents of the same child.”

She closed her eyes and focused on breathing evenly. She didn’t want to consider what might happen if the recalcitrant man was the father of her child. She would never forgive herself if her decision meant that her child would be aborted. “And the embryos? They’re in good shape?”

“They can be stored indefinitely, Captain. I thought you understood that.”

She nodded, her hands so clammy that she rubbed them on her slacks under the desk. She wondered, briefly, if she could just have her baby kept in stasis for awhile longer, in case they miraculously found a way home in the next few months, but she pushed that idea aside. Even if they kept up their incredible pace, it would be at least seven more years before the ship reached Federation space, and she would be nearly fifty years old, too old, in her opinion, to endure the duel challenges of a pregnancy and an infant.

There was only one issue left to be addressed. “Has anyone from the crew volunteered to serve as a surrogate mother?”

“Actually, several have done so.” He studied her face warily, and she knew he wanted to tell her something important without breeching her desire for anonymity. “I wish there were a way for me to inform this last individual that the child would not be terminated if he or she chose to terminate parental rights. I think that might make the person’s decision easier, don’t you?”

“I think it might.” She relaxed a little, sitting back in her chair with relief. Her child’s father had chosen to stay involved, which meant that her child would be born and have a parent to care for it. She felt something give way in her chest, a warmth that nearly overwhelmed her.

The doctor was sympathetic. “Captain, I realize how difficult this decision might be for this member of the crew, and I hesitate to pressure anyone to make a decision like this with unjustified haste. But the others are anxious to move on, as you might imagine.”

“Of course, I can understand that.” She sighed and rubbed her right temple. “I would bet that this last crew member is aware of the deadline and intends to have the decision to you first thing in the morning.”

His whole demeanor radiated sympathy, even as he respected her desire to remain detached from the discussion. “You’re probably right, Captain. I won’t panic until then.”

Once the comm link was severed, she moved to the ready room sofa and gazed out the window for quite some time. The lights in the room, which were programmed to dim automatically after a period of inactivity, soon plunged her into twilight, and she ordered the computer to leave them off, preferring the comfort and quiet of the darkness.

She recalled the faces of the human males on the ship, thinking about what kind of father each would be to her child, wondering if he would form an attachment to the surrogate, perhaps even allowing her to function as the child’s mother. She tried to see herself interacting with him without revealing that she was his child’s mother. She tried to imagine watching another woman mother her child.

She could do it, she thought, as long as the father wasn’t someone close to her-Harry or Tom or, God forbid, Chakotay. She could play the charade-offer to baby sit, rejoice in the milestones of its life-just as she had for Naomi, just as she would for the other children. And if the surrogate became a mother to the child, she could tolerate that, as well. She would have to.

At 0200, she realized that she needed to get up and move, and so she went through her usual midnight tour of the ship, starting at energy reclamation on deck fifteen and working her way up to the mess hall on deck two, a trip that took just over two hours to complete.

She was still drinking coffee on one of the mess hall sofas when Neelix appeared at 0430 to start breakfast. She ignored his quiet entrance into the room, and, after all these years, Neelix knew his captain’s moods well enough to say hello and disappear into the kitchen without another word. He also knew that Chakotay would want to be notified of her melancholy demeanor, and so he sent a brief message to the first officer asking him to drop by the mess hall before he reported to the bridge.

Fifteen minutes later, as she was preparing to escape to her quarters, Janeway heard the doors open and looked up to see Chakotay retrieving a mug from the replicator and then heading straight for her.

“I’m not in the mood to talk,” she warned him, holding up both hands. “Not even to you.”

“Fine. Don’t talk.” He sat down across from her and sipped his tea, trying to gauge her mood from the color of her eyes. Steely grey. Not good. “I just wanted to say that I’d take your shift, since you’ve been up all night.”

“How do you know I’ve been up all night?”

“I sent a message to your quarters a few hours ago, but you haven’t read it yet.” He endured her steady gaze. “And Neelix told me you’d been here for awhile.”

“A spy ring in my midst.” She made a face. “I appreciate the offer, but that won’t be necessary, Commander. I’ll be on the bridge as soon as I freshen up.” She drained her mug and began to rise when his next words brought her to a stop.

“It’s the babies, isn’t it?”

For a moment, she couldn’t breathe, thinking he might have somehow figured out that she was one of the mothers, but then she stood up and gave him a withering look, hoping that her reaction would keep him from pursuing the subject. “The babies?”

“Today’s the day that the decisions are due. We’re going to have some expectant parents in the next few weeks, and you’re worried about all the complications that come with a generational ship. Daycare. Family quarters. A school. Protecting the children in the middle of hostile territory. I’m assuming it concerns you, because I know it scares the hell out of me.” He shrugged. “I’ll help you work out the details, Captain. We all will.”

“The details?” she laughed, wondering if he had any idea what details she was grappling with. “I wish it were as easy as it seems to be from your perspective.”

He blushed, suddenly angry with her for hiding behind her position once again. “I’ve been a ship’s captain, you know. I’ve had to make tough decisions.”

“I’m sorry, but there’s no comparison, Commander. You captained a ship filled with adults who’d chosen to put their lives at risk, who were aware of what they were facing when they signed on to work with you. You had other Maquis nearby, safe havens for refuge and refitting, times when you could set aside all the responsibility and just be yourself. You didn’t have families and children to think about, nor did you face decades of isolation in unknown, often hostile territory.” She stood taller, pulling her uniform into a better fit. “I’ve barely survived the pressure of the last seven years with just one child on board, and I know quite well that this is just the beginning. There will be more partnerships, more pregnancies, and just as Voyager has begun to show signs of serious fatigue. No, Chakotay, the babies are just the tip of the iceberg.”

He knew better than to argue with her when she was in a mood like this. “You’re probably right, but we knew at the start of this journey that we might end up a generational ship. Frankly, I’m surprised it hasn’t happened sooner.”

“Don’t belittle the problem, Chakotay.” Her eyes flashed blue ice and her voice carried across the room. He knew she was on the verge of truly losing her temper and didn’t want their argument to have any witnesses. “This is a dramatic change in the whole population of our ship and one that will have lasting repercussions.”

With a brief glance toward the galley, he stood up and took her elbow, gently shepherding her out of the mess hall. “This isn’t a discussion that Neelix or anyone else needs to hear,” he murmured in explanation.

As much as she wanted to jerk her arm free from his grasp, she relented and allowed him to lead her from the room. She couldn’t afford to let others see how deeply the idea of families upset her, nor could she let herself think about the fact that she, too, could be a mother with a child, and maybe even have a man in her life. She could have it all if only she thought she could handle the captaincy and a family at the same time.

She knew she couldn’t.

Once they were in the hallway, however, she stepped away from him and softened her stance, rubbing her face with fatigue. “I’m sorry, Chakotay. I’m tired and on edge. I’ll take your offer to fill in for me this morning, if it still stands. Maybe I’ll feel better after a few hours of sleep.”

“Of course you will. And if it’s any consolation, we’ll know exactly what we’re dealing with after today.” He caught his breath, speculating out loud about what might be on her mind. “Maybe you’re afraid that one of the babies will be terminated?”

“I just want to move on,” she whispered as she brushed past him, unwilling to look him in the eye.

He watched her walk to the turbolift and step in, turning and squaring her shoulders before she requested her deck. As the lift’s doors closed, he could tell she was overwrought with emotion, despite the fact that her eyes revealed no emotion whatsoever.

He couldn’t remember the last time she’d been up all night worrying about something other than a real threat to Voyager’s survival, but, he couldn’t help her if she didn’t tell him what was bothering her.

But then, they’d talked very little since their return from Quarra. At first they’d been too busy working to get the ship back in shape, but even after that she’d been remote and circumspect. She was one of the few people who hadn’t gossiped about pregnancies or even discussed it with him on an informal basis. But that was consistent with her respect for the privacy of the individuals involved.

He ran a hand through his hair as made his way toward the bridge. If her unusual behavior had begun after the parental notifications had gone out, he might have thought she was one of the women struggling with a decision. But she’d been quiet and reserved from the very first, as soon as the doctor had dropped the bombshell on them all, which made him think that it was just another burden placed upon her back.

Whatever the problem was, he hoped she quickly found a way to solve it, for her moods set the tone for the crew, and this mood was ominous. He shook his head, quietly addressing his absent, troubled friend, “Kathryn, if only you would talk to me about what’s bothering you.”

One week later, about six weeks after “Workforce,” and just after “Friendship One”

Janeway sat in Joe Carey’s quarters toying with a tiny nacelle for the “Voyager in a bottle” the engineer had been building for his son. Chakotay sat to her right, studying her profile and wishing he could think of something to say to make Carey’s death meaningful. Their first assignment from Starfleet had cost them the life of a reliable, valued member of the crew, and Janeway was visibly distressed.

“What do you have there?” she asked him, setting the nacelle aside and reaching for the PADD he carried. “An update on the changes we made to the planet?”

“Actually, it’s a report from the doctor. On the babies.”

Janeway froze, her eyes widening with surprise. So much had been happening in the last few days that she’d managed to forget about them. “The babies. I’d repressed that whole situation.” She took the PADD from him, almost afraid to hear what he had to say. “What’s happened?”

“The three babies whose mothers decided to carry them have been successfully re-implanted.”

“That’s good news.” She glanced up at him, once again relieved to know that she wasn’t the only woman who had given up her child. Her greatest fear had been that the crew would deduce that she was, indeed, the ice queen they’d always thought her to be.

Chakotay nodded, looking down at his hands. “One of the other two babies has been successfully implanted in a surrogate mother, but the second one has developed unexpected complications.”

“What kind of complications?” Her voice was a whisper.

“The last baby is incompatible with any of the surrogate mothers who have volunteered. In fact, it’s incompatible with any female on board.” He looked up at her, his misery nearly palpable. “It seems that the fetus carries a virus, and the doctor says that unless the surrogate already has immunity, she’ll contract the disease.”

“Are you saying that the baby has the disease, too?”

He shook his head. “The virus is dormant in the child.”

“Then couldn’t he just develop an inoculation that would protect the surrogate mother?”

“He’s tried to devise one, but the virus is complex, and he’s unwilling to risk a life unless he is absolutely sure it will work.” He shifted in his chair, unwilling to look her in the eye. “I’m the baby’s father, you see, and the baby carries the virus that stranded us on New Earth.”

Janeway gasped and gripped the edge of the table. She’d suspected that Chakotay might be one of the people caught in this impossible situation from his comments and behavior in recent weeks. In time, all of the active parents would become public, of course, but the decision had been made to maintain their anonymity until each child was successfully “on its way.” Meanwhile, she’d managed to stay busy enough to repress the possibility and distant enough from him to keep him from broaching the subject.

She turned to the doctor’s report without comment and learned the other father who was using a surrogate was Billy Telfer, a man at least fifteen years her junior. While it was possible that she might have been involved with Telfer on Quarra, chances were much better that she had been with Chakotay, just as she’d feared from the first moment this whole mess had begun. Her hands trembled as she realized that the child must have gotten the virus from both of them, from both parents, although Chakotay couldn’t be sure of that. He didn’t know if she had terminated her parental rights.

She looked up at him. “I thought we’d both been cured of that disease.”

“I thought so, too, but the doctor said that the Vidiian ‘cure’ was actually a resequencing of that part of the virus that allows it to replicate in our bodies. We still have the virus in our systems, it just can’t spread.”

“I studied the cure,” she answered, her eyes focused on a seam in the bulkhead behind him. “It was an elegant solution, and one that I really didn’t understand. The Vidiians are far, far ahead of us when it comes to certain types of medicine.”

“Too bad they’re too far away to help us now.” He rubbed his hands together and looked up at her at last, taking a deep, calming breath before he spoke. “Kathryn, I’m a desperate man, and it’s occurred to me that you-.”

She stood up and crossed her arms over her chest. “There has to be a viable solution to this problem. Perhaps we could develop a maturation chamber.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “Whatever your child needs, I promise we’ll find it.”

Before she could leave the room, he jumped to his feet and positioned himself in front of her, effectively blocking her path. “Kathryn, I have a favor to ask of you.”

Janeway studied his commbadge, hoping he couldn’t detect the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. “If you’re thinking of asking me to carry the baby, don’t ask.”

He ignored her words, rushing on before she could continue. “You carry the virus, just like I do. You’re the only other person who has a natural immunity that would prevent you from contracting the disease if you carried the baby.”

The blood was rushing through her head so fast that she felt dizzy. “You don’t know that.”

“No, but I could ask the doctor to look into using you as a surrogate.”

Her temper flared, and she glared at him. “You have no right to ask me to do this.” She started to push past him, but he grabbed her by the shoulders.

“We’re talking about my baby, Kathryn, probably the only child I’ll ever have.”

“I understand that, and I know exactly how important that is to you.” Janeway closed her eyes to keep back the tears that burned in them. “But, I will not carry the baby.”

“I’m not asking you to be the baby’s mother-”

“The answer is no!” She pulled away from him, rubbing her upper arms where he’d gripped her too tightly. She felt an icy hand squeeze her heart. This was the discussion she had wanted so desperately to avoid, the discussion that would forever ruin her friendship with Chakotay. Even though she felt her world crumbling around her, she kept her chin high and did what she had to do. “I won’t carry a baby just to give it away.”

“Women give babies up for adoption every day.”

“Not this woman. You have no idea what you’re asking of me, Chakotay. Mothers who give up their babies don’t have to watch the child grow up right under their noses, don’t have to hear the child call someone else mother after nurturing them in their bodies for nine months.” She shook her head dismissing his suggestion with an unmistakable air of finality. “Seven of Nine and the doctor can help you construct a maturation chamber. Use whatever resources you deem necessary.”

“You can’t do this to the baby,” Chakotay said as he let her brush past him and reach the door. “I know you, Kathryn. You’re a warm, sympathetic woman, and you won’t refuse to help an innocent baby, especially when the baby is your own.”

Janeway jerked to a stop, feeling as if a spear had pierced her through the heart. Her voice was a whisper. “I beg your pardon.”

“It’s the only explanation, isn’t it?” He turned toward her. “You were one of the mothers, weren’t you? That’s what troubled you about this whole situation. We were together on Quarra. The baby got the virus from both of us.”

Her throat closed, and for a moment she struggled to breathe. “I refuse to discuss this kind of wild speculation with you.”

“You’d let your own child die?” Now there were tears in his eyes, tears of anger and frustration. “What kind of a person are you?”

“How dare you!” She twirled to face him, her face distorted with fury. “All of them are my children, and none of them.”

“Kathryn, your child has the right-.”

“I have no child!” she interrupted him, fists gripped at her side. “I will never have a child while captain of this ship. The moment I destroyed the Caretaker’s array, I gave up any chance for a personal life, for a family, for happiness.” She paused, the grief on his face mirroring her own. “Neither of us knows what really happened on Quarra. All we know is that whoever the woman was who conceived your child, she wasn’t the captain of this ship, and I refuse to speculate about the life she led-the life I can never have.”

Chakotay’s face crumpled and tears spilled from his eyes. He was so angry that he could hardly speak. “Whether we meant for the pregnancy to happen or not, it happened, and the life of an innocent child hangs in the balance.”

She wanted to put her arms around him, to cry out with him against the cruel tide of fate that had broken them against the rocks of reality, but she knew that the slightest touch would break her resolve. She could not go through a pregnancy while serving as the captain of Voyager. One hundred and fifty people were depending on her to keep the ship in one piece, to face down enemies intent on destroying them, to solve a dozen engineering challenges a week, to keep them focused on their ultimate goal of home. She couldn’t settle down and start a family, couldn’t nurse an infant when there was dilithium to be mined or an enemy to be defeated.

“It didn’t happen to me!” She stepped away from him, an icy chasm forming between them. “I’ll move heaven and earth to find another way for your child to be born, Chakotay, but I will not go through a pregnancy, not for your sake nor for anyone else’s.”

A full minute passed with them glaring at one another, neither willing to give an inch. Finally, Chakotay looked away, nearly crushed with despair.

“I’m worried about you,” he whispered through gritted teeth as he slumped against the wall. “I’m troubled about what this decision will do to you and to our friendship.”

“Maybe it well destroy our friendship. I don’t know. I do know that, friends or not, I’ll do what I have to do to get this crew home. And so will you, Commander.”

He looked up at her with tortured eyes. “What kind of person are you? How can you refuse to help an innocent baby? Your own flesh and blood? Are you so stubborn and inflexible that you’d refuse to-”

She slapped him so hard and so quickly that the sting of the blow surprised her as much as it did him. Although she was horrified at what she’d done, she refused to show it, drawing her command presence around her like a shield. “By God, Commander, if you find it impossible to continue as my first officer, then step aside.”

His eyes glittered with angry tears as he covered his cheek with his hand. “Never. I’ll never step aside. You’re going to look at me every day, Captain, and remember everything you’ve thrown away.”

She shuddered and took a last look around the vacant quarters, defiant to the last. “Very well, then. See that Joe’s belongings are packed up and stored for his family. Make sure the Friendship One is properly warehoused and bring me a report on its condition before the end of the shift.”

“Aye, Captain,” Chakotay answered, too deep in despair to argue any further.

Janeway nodded and left the room without another word.

Five weeks later, about ten weeks after “Workforce,” between “Natural Law” and “Homestead”

Chakotay stood before Janeway’s desk delivering his daily report while the captain struggled to concentrate on his words. His anger still bubbled just beneath the surface, detectible in the most subtle ways-the way he sat turned away from her on the bridge, the distant and cold tone of his voice when he spoke to her in private, the calculating look in his eye whenever she ran a meeting or gave an order on the bridge. Despite her efforts to ignore his fury, she found it nearly impossible to do so when she constantly heard his words echoing in her head: “What kind of a person are you?”

Although she was sure the crew had detected no change in their behavior, she knew that her relationship with Chakotay had never been more tenuous. He had never again confronted her about the baby, yet neither of them had managed to get past the animosity that the argument in Joe Carey’s quarters had brought to the surface. He had been polite and respectful each time he dealt with her, and she’d been professional and gracious in return, but the familiar banter, the gentle teasing, the shared jokes and private dinners had completely disappeared.

She was at a loss as to how to repair the damage, and she could tell that he was uninterested in even trying to do so. Never before had they faced a problem that seemed so insurmountable, not even when she’d made a difficult alliance with the Borg, not even when she’d relieved him of duty during the Equinox disaster.

When he’d admitted to her that he was the father of the baby, he’d also confirmed her suspicion that they had been a couple on Quarra. Although he couldn’t be sure she was his baby’s mother, she knew that he suspected it was true, as if he had a subconscious awareness of their love affair that was similar to her own. She desperately wanted to discuss the situation with him, but she knew it was much too dangerous to do so, especially as long as he resented her refusal to help with the baby. Their work relationship was fragile at best, and another argument might leave it in shreds.

However, in the days and weeks since that argument, her personal hell had steadily increased in intensity. She knew that she and Chakotay were parents of the baby—a possibility that she had dreamed of many times over the last several years. She wondered about the baby’s looks, whether it would have his dark hair and eyes, her crooked grin, the “Janeway chin.” Would it ever be born? Would she ever see this mixture of herself and the man she secretly loved?

As if that wasn’t enough, as if worrying about the baby’s health and well-being wasn’t a sufficient burden, she was also tantalized by the intimacy that must have existed between them. She was fixated on the fact that on Quarra she had finally acted on her feelings, finally told him how much she cared, only to have it all erased and forgotten.

He wasn’t the first coworker that she’d found attractive. All Starfleet officers learned how to deflect and defuse emotional entanglements that would be unhealthy or would dangerously complicate their jobs. In this case, she’d been engaged, she’d been his commanding officer, and they’d been in an impossible situation 70,000 light years from home.

Both of them had known that they had to avoid a romantic involvement if they were to be an effective command team. Working with a potential lover was a difficult task, but it was much harder to work with a former lover, especially when there was no chance for one of them to transfer to another ship. They had managed to avoid this complication for nearly seven years and had forged a very satisfying friendship out of the process.

Quarra had changed that, even though their memories of it had been lost. Janeway was convinced that on some subliminal level her mind and her body acknowledged the physical and emotional bond that had existed between them. She shuddered. If they were finding it hard to work together with this veiled connection between them, she could only imagine how difficult it would be once the baby was born and they had to live with a physical reminder of their forgotten relationship.

They had been lovers. They had been lovers long enough on Quarra to decide to have a child together. They had no doubt lived together, slept together, bathed together, done every intimate and amorous thing together that she would expect to do with someone she adored. Knowing that, her heart raced whenever he spoke to her, stood beside her, or touched her in the most innocent ways. Her memory might be gone, but her body knew and remembered.

Now when he occupied the seat beside her on the bridge or in the conference room, she imagined how his hands had moved over her body and dreamed of his comforting weight and warmth as he lay with her. She watched him speak and wondered what his lips had felt like as he’d kissed her, how she had responded when he’d used them to explore the secret places of her body. She gripped her own hands in her lap, for they had undoubtedly traced the intricate weaving of his tattoo, had felt the soft spikiness of his hair, had explored the muscles in his back and chest and arms, had caressed other parts of his body that she couldn’t bear to imagine.

She had submitted to their mutual love by accepting his body into her own, by opening herself physically, emotionally, and spiritually without reservation, by conceiving a child. She had done all of that and more, and yet she remembered none of it.

“Captain?” Chakotay stared at her in expectation. “Have you heard a word I’ve said?”

She brought her mind back to the present and found herself seated at her desk with her first officer standing before her. She remembered nothing of what he’d said and could think of no excuse that would explain her inattention. “I’m sorry, Chakotay, but I’ve been having trouble concentrating today. Just leave the PADD on my desk. I’ll read it and forward any comments to you later on.”

“Kathryn, I asked you if you were all right. You’ve seem distracted these last few days.”

She laced her fingers together tightly on the desk and gave him a level look. “I’m fine.”

“We both know better.”

She tried not to fidget as he continued to study her face. Her mind whirled, struggling to come up with a red herring that would serve as a feasible substitute for her real troubles. She smiled when she thought of a solution-his most recent shuttle accident. “The close call you and Seven had when you crashed on the Ledosian home world rattled me more than I realized,” she explained. “Losing Joe Carey reminded me that we’re all mortal, I guess.”

“Is that the problem?” Chakotay narrowed his eyes, and Kathryn found herself holding her breath. He hadn’t bought her lie and was trying to decide whether or not to confront her with it. The room was silent as they regarded each other, but then his face softened, and she felt certain that he was going to let her sidestep the real issue once again. “I’m sorry that my recent behavior has made your life more difficult. That was never my intent.”

Recent behavior. She caught her breath again, realizing that his words had two meanings. He was talking about the fact that he’d crashed yet another shuttle into Vintu territory, but he was also referring to their volatile confrontation in Joe Carey’s quarters.

“I know that you would never intentionally add to my burdens,” she said, her voice a whisper. “And I want you to know that I’m sorry, too, for what I’ve had to do.”

He nodded and for a moment she thought he might say something more, that this vague and tentative discussion might blossom into a talk that would start to heal the rift between them. But then he shifted his stance and laid the PADD on her desk, letting the moment pass in favor of business as usual. “You won’t find much of interest in this report, I’m afraid. Nothing happened of note today.”

She hid her disappointment by making a lame joke. “An uneventful day in the Delta Quadrant. Just the kind I like.”

He quickly took his leave, and Kathryn sat staring at the door. In some ways, she regretted that they had not dealt openly with what was bothering them. In other ways, she was relieved.

What surprised her were the tears that appeared unbidden on her cheeks. She would have to get used to this new formality in their relationship. She would have to let him go, once and for all, especially if he managed to become a father. She would have to learn to see him with his child and not participate fully in their lives. She would have to get used to being alone. Somehow, she would have to let him and the baby go.

Immediately following the previous scene

Chakotay sat in the dark silence of his quarters, his medicine bundle forgotten on the coffee table as he stared out at the stars. He’d come here directly from his meeting with the captain, determined to seek his spirit guide and find some scrap of hope about his child’s future. But he was sure that his attempt to meditate would fail, as it always did when he had a disagreement with Kathryn Janeway, and so he had simply relaxed and spent the time thinking about his predicament.

His fury at Janeway had gradually decreased over the last few weeks, replaced at first by resignation and finally by apathy. As difficult as it was for him to believe, Janeway would not participate in their child’s life, even if that meant that the child would never be born.

He couldn’t reconcile this behavior to the woman he’d come to admire over the last seven years, a woman who was consistently compassionate about and protective of her crew. He had concluded that his understanding of Kathryn Janeway had been distorted by false assumptions and wishful thinking. He realized that he might have been emotionally attached to a woman who existed only in his imagination.

This disillusionment with his captain had crept up on him slowly since their return from Quarra and the since they had been faced with the problem of the unexpected pregnancies. She had been defensive and non-supportive from the very first, and she’d refused to discuss the reasons behind her feelings with him or anyone else, to his knowledge.

It was only after his own child was diagnosed with the “New Earth virus” that he’d blamed her uncharacteristic behavior on the guilt and sorrow she must feel at having to give up her own child-because he knew the child must have gotten the virus from both mother and father. He’d been naïve enough to think that she’d relent once she knew that he was her child’s father, but her refusal had taught him an important lesson—that he and his child were of less importance to Kathryn Janeway than her duty to the ship and crew.

He felt like a fool for having held out hope for a future beside her. Yet, giving up the dream was painful, more painful than he would’ve thought possible.

He wasn’t the only person on the crew who was grieving, however. Naomi Wildman had been overlooked in the days following their return from Quarra, and Chakotay had done what he could to become more involved in her education. Just a few days earlier, while they had been working in his quarters, Naomi had said something that had opened his eyes on his captain’s unbending attitude.

They finished her history lesson and were sharing a bowl of ice cream as a reward for doing so well.

“Your quarters look out on the left side of the ship, don’t they, Commander?” the girl asked them as they finished the ice cream and lingered for some light conversation.

“That’s right. My quarters are on the port side of the ship, while yours are on the starboard.”

“Yeah. I was talking to the captain the other day and I told her that she is always looking forward, from the bridge, from the ready room, and even from her quarters.”

“I guess I hadn’t thought about that,” he replied. “But I guess all of her usual haunts do face forward.”

“When I asked the captain about it, she said that it was just fine with her. She said that she couldn’t afford to let anyone or anything distract her from her goal of getting us home.” Naomi paused, unsure of her next words. “She said something about being a horse that was blind?”

“A horse with blinders?” he suggested, a smile pulling at his mouth.

“Yeah. What are blinders, Commander?”

“They are part of a bridle that fits over the horse’s eyes to keep the horse focused on what is in front of it. Otherwise, the horse might be distracted by other things going on around them.”

“That’s what I figured,” Naomi sighed. “Seems to me that if the captain’s wearing blinders, she’s missing out on a lot of good things along the way, and that makes me feel sad for her.”

“I feel sorry for her, too,” he admitted, but he hadn’t said that he thought the captain was too narrow in her focus, that she labeled some things a distraction when they might better be called a common, necessary ingredient of life, no matter what circumstances one lived through. “I wish she would do things differently.”

Naomi soon departed for home, but he sat alone for awhile thinking about the captain, always looking forward, always refusing to be distracted by the very activities and relationships that might help her deal with the pressure and responsibility that suffocated her.

From almost the first day of their partnership, he and the captain had disagreed on how to live their lives, and their different attitudes had shown up in dozens of ways over the last seven years. Usually, her remoteness affected only the two of them, but this time it threatened the well-being of their unborn child, a situation that he found impossible to accept.

He realized that it was time for him to start living his life for today instead of putting it off for some indefinite time in the future. Depressed, he left his quarters and wandered through the passageways of the ship, telling himself that it was time to give up on sharing a life with the aloof and “blindered” Kathryn Janeway. He was about to return to his quarters when he found himself outside an unoccupied holodeck. He paused momentarily and then called up a favorite program.

New Earth. He’d spent weeks reconstructing an exact holograph scenario of the private world he’d shared with the captain, hoping to bring her here whenever they resumed the intimate relationship that had been interrupted by Voyager’s untimely return. He walked through the forest, studied the interior of the cabin, and sat for a long time beside the river they had never been able to explore, enjoying the warm summer sun and the aroma of flowers in the wind.

Then he called for an arch and, standing under it, gazed at what had promised to be paradise. Tears in his eyes, he straightened his shoulders and said, “Computer, delete program.”

After Chakotay left the holodeck that day, he never looked back.