Star Trek: Voyager®: Full Circle Read online

  “Captain Eden has requested a minimum of four hours at your earliest possible convenience….

  You have rescheduled your appointment with her six times in the last three weeks. She asked me to advise you that at this time, yours is the only interview she still requires in order to complete her report.”

  “Right,” Kathryn Janeway remembered. It wasn’t that she was avoiding the captain, or Project Full Circle. But being an admiral was about prioritizing. “See if Captain Eden would be available to meet at 0600 tomorrow. If so, I can give her two hours.”

  “I will transmit your request and forward her response to you this evening,” Decan replied.

  “And the rest will simply have to wait,” she decided. “For the next few hours I don’t wish to be disturbed over anything less than the arrival of a Borg armada in Earth’s orbit,” she said.

  “If you’d like, I could contact the Borg directly and ask that they postpone any imminent actions so as not to spoil your evening,” Decan said deadpan.

  Janeway paused for a moment as his words sunk in. Finally, her face broke into a wide grin.

  “Humor, Ensign?” she asked.

  The Vulcan acknowledged her with a slight nod. “Often it provides a welcome release of tension.”

  “That it does.” She smiled. “Well done.”

  Pocket Books

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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  ISBN-13: 978-1-4391-2338-6

  ISBN-10: 1-4391-2338-1

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  For W. Fred Beyer

  “Destiny…is a fickle bitch.”

  —BENJAMIN LINUS

  CONTENTS

  PART ONE WHAT FATES IMPOSE

  PROLOGUE

  SEPTEMBER 2378

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  OCTOBER 2378

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  JUNE 2379

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  JUNE 2380

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  PART TWO WHAT MEN ABIDE

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  AUGUST 2380

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  FEBRUARY 2381

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  MARCH 2381

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  APRIL 2381

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  MAY 2381

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  JUNE 2381

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  PART ONE

  WHAT FATES IMPOSE

  JUNE 2380

  PROLOGUE

  Venice was everything Chakotay imagined it would be; perhaps more. Though the simulated version created by Tom Paris on Voyager’s holodeck many years earlier had its charms, it bore the same relation to the real thing as replicated eggplant Parmesan did to…well, food.

  If one could be struck by serenity, such was the cumulative effect of the water of the Grand Canal lapping gently beneath the Ponte degli Scalzi, the faintly pungent yet sweet taste of the air, the dim luminescence of the crescent moon hanging above, complimented by its dimmer counterparts in the small votive candles sitting atop the café’s scattered outdoor tables, and the light blanket of damp warmth that nature had tossed over the city on this summer night.

  La Zucca, the fifteenth restaurant to bear the name on the site since its establishment in the mid-nineteenth century, was close enough to the most heavily trafficked of Santa Croce’s streets that it should have been buzzing with life on a night such as this. The closest public transporter station was two blocks away, having long ago replaced the ancient Santa Lucia railway station. The “bridge of bare feet” arched over the canal less than a hundred meters in the distance. And by all reports, the food was authentic Northern Italian, and absolutely delicious. Still, the café was all but deserted.

  And Chakotay honestly wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. It stood to reason that only days after an attack by a monstrous Borg cube, residents might still be skittish about returning to their normal lives or venturing too far from home. But having faced the Borg down more than once, Chakotay could not share their pessimism. At least La Zucca had been open, unlike many other local businesses.

  If Kathryn didn’t arrive soon, he might have to go ahead and at least sample the cuisine without her. He’d already opened the first of what he hoped would be at least a couple of bottles of red wine. There would be no synthehol on the menu this evening. He didn’t think she’d mind if he started them off with a small antipasto appetizer from the menu he’d already had time to memorize. With luck, if he ordered it now, it would arrive at the same time as the admiral.

  Admiral Janeway.

  Chakotay had to smile to himself. It wasn’t that Kathryn didn’t deserve to be a vice admiral. She’d been a Starfleet captain for years before taking command of Voyager and bringing her safely through the Delta quadrant. Her record was unassailable. What Chakotay still found hard to believe, even two and a half years since Voyager’s return from its seven-year journey, was that Kathryn had so readily accepted the promotion upon their return to Earth.

  Of course, it would have been bad form to turn down the offer from Starfleet Command. And if the history of this timeline bore any resemblance to that of the “Admiral Janeway” who had assisted her younger counterpart in bringing Voyager home, it did suggest that Kathryn would continue to climb steadily through the ranks.

  But she had been his captain when they met, and for the first seven years of their life together. Though technically also a captain in his own right, Chakotay had chosen to accept the position of her first officer when his Maquis vessel was sacrificed to sav
e Voyager in their first battle with the Kazon. He still vividly remembered the sight of Kathryn, standing on Voyager’s bridge with her chin held high but her heart clearly torn as she struggled briefly with her decision to destroy the array that had brought them to the Delta quadrant and was their best chance for a timely return home. When she had finally given the order to Ensign Kim to fire tricobalt payloads at the array, B’Elanna Torres had demanded furiously to know what gave her the right to make that decision for all of them. Even Chakotay had been surprised at the time by how quickly a response had formed on his lips.

  “She’s the captain,” he had said, settling the matter once and for all.

  Even now it was hard not to see Kathryn in the light of her most compelling and inspiring role: the center seat of a Starfleet vessel. As his captain she had earned his respect and loyalty. Harder to pinpoint was the exact moment along the way when she had also won his heart.

  Still, the damage was done. In nearly ten years of discovery and exploration, success and bitter loss on the field of battle, and ultimately, the tedious demands of duty, he had never wavered in his commitment to her. Finally the time had come to make that commitment more real and permanent than fate had allowed until this night.

  In the past, he might have felt a certain amount of anxiety at the prospect. But now, the idea that he and Kathryn would move side by side into their future brought only a sense of peace and relief. It was simple. It was right. It felt like destiny.

  The only thing troubling him even slightly was the fact that Kathryn was now over a full hour late. Most likely, Chakotay assured himself, she and the rest of the admiralty were still working long hours in the aftermath of the attack. He hadn’t spoken to her, as he’d hoped to, when Voyager was finally allowed to enter the Sol system, following their deep-space mission to the Yaris Nebula. The area had been restricted after the appearance of what, by the brief reports he’d heard, had been a massive cube, and traffic in and around Earth was only now returning to normal.

  They had agreed to meet for this dinner almost a year earlier. Only three weeks ago Kathryn had reminded him of their date, as if he needed a reminder, and half-teasingly described the cruel fate that would befall him should he stand her up. He knew that in the interim she had undertaken a classified mission, but surely she was back by now. Chakotay refused to doubt that wherever she was at this moment, it was here, with him, that she wanted to be, and would be as soon as possible.

  Opposite him at her empty place was a gift he had long wished to return to her. He had first given it to her almost five years earlier, on the occasion of a slightly mortifying misunderstanding that had nonetheless been the catalyst for them finally to openly discuss their deep feelings for one another, and the duty that made those feelings irrelevant until Voyager was safely back in the Alpha quadrant. Somehow, Chakotay had managed to set his feelings aside and even halfheartedly pursue other romantic relationships, but he had survived on the hope that one day he would find himself exactly where he was now, in Venice, ready to give back the gift she could not accept when it was first presented to her.

  It was a circular mirror, edged with polished stones collected from planets Voyager had visited in the Delta quadrant. On the back Chakotay had inscribed the words When in doubt, look here.

  Struggling with his growing impatience, Chakotay adjusted the mirror ever so slightly in its place, then toyed briefly with the silver ribbon he had tied around its center. He’d seen no need to wrap it completely. Kathryn would remember. In his fidget, he managed to pull the bow off center, so he was forced to grab the mirror and begin to readjust the perfect presentation he had just ruined.

  Of course, it was at this moment that he heard soft footfalls behind him. Arriving from the transport station, Kathryn would have come from the south. Chakotay had suspected this would be the case and had chosen a table from the many that were free which would both highlight the dramatic view of the canal and the bridge, but also make it easy for her to spot him.

  An unanticipated shot of nervous adrenaline coursed through him and he fumbled the bow again. Finally he decided to toss it aside altogether and simply rose and turned to greet her, now holding the precious gift in his hand.

  Somewhere in the back of his consciousness he registered that the footsteps slowed and came to a stop as he turned. He didn’t know why this made his heart beat just a bit faster. Perhaps he was spoiling her entrance, but, mid-turn, it was too late to change course.

  Only when he had come fully around did he realize that what faint light the moon was casting fell behind the individual now standing before him, a figure he realized immediately, even in the obscuring shadows, was not Kathryn.

  “Good evening, Captain,” a deep male voice said softly.

  Fear, like ice, shot through Chakotay.

  The man stepped closer, just enough for the soft illumination of one of the café’s exterior lights to match the face to the voice Chakotay already recognized.

  “Hello, Mark,” Chakotay managed through an ever-tightening throat.

  “I’m sorry to…” Mark began, but failed to find words to continue.

  He didn’t need to say a thing. His eyes bore the weary, haunted expression of a man whose darkest demon has just stopped by for a good, long visit.

  “Kathryn told me weeks ago she was meeting you here tonight,” Mark finally offered, as if in apology. “I tried to reach you the moment Voyager returned, but things have been…well, I’m sure you know. I promised Gretchen I would…”

  Chakotay raised a shaking hand to silence him. Years ago, Mark Johnson and Kathryn Janeway had been engaged. He had married someone else after Voyager was lost in the Delta quadrant and its crew pronounced dead. When word had finally reached Earth that Voyager’s crew was in fact alive and still on course for home, Mark had told Kathryn honestly what had happened and the friendship that had been theirs long before their courtship had reasserted itself. Even now, Kathryn often enjoyed off-duty time with Mark, his wife, Carla, and their young son, Kevin.

  Chakotay needed to ask why Mark was standing here now in Kathryn’s place.

  He needed to. But he couldn’t.

  Mark was having just as hard a time saying anything more.

  Finally, in a barely audible whisper Chakotay found the strength to say, “She’s not coming, is she?”

  For a moment, Mark stood frozen before him as if knowing that to move into the next second would make the awful truth he carried with him suddenly real.

  But it was already real.

  Though Chakotay had allowed himself to be distracted by the beauty of the setting and the anticipation of her arrival, as the minutes had passed and she had failed to appear, a gnawing doubt had begun to fester. It had only taken a glance at Mark’s face for that doubt to become something more closely resembling dread.

  The truth Chakotay’s heart had known but stubbornly refused to acknowledge even now was that there was only one thing that would have kept Kathryn from meeting him on time this night.

  Finally, Mark shook his head ever so slightly and fresh tears glinted in his eyes.

  Somewhere deep in the center of Chakotay’s being a distant roar began to build. But it was still possible to keep it at bay, connected as it was to a reality that Chakotay’s heart would not accept.

  “Just tell me she’s not dead,” Chakotay said flatly. It wasn’t much, this faint possible hope, but it was enough to keep the worst from descending upon him in its full, final force.

  Mark inhaled sharply, then composed himself.

  “She is,” he replied in a grim attempt at stoicism.

  The next sound Chakotay heard was that of breaking glass as the mirror he held in his hand fell to the cobbled street, shattering.

  SEPTEMBER 2378

  CHAPTER ONE

  You and the Kuvah’magh are in danger.

  For weeks, B’Elanna Torres had been able to think of little else.

  The warning had come to her anonymously, a scrawle
d hard-copy message shoved under the heavy wooden door that separated her private living space from the rest of the monastery on Boreth. Here she had spent the past eight months studying ancient Klingon scrolls in an effort to learn all she could of what fate might have in store for her beloved daughter, Miral.

  She had come to Boreth to find her mother. Though their reunion had been brief, it had helped B’Elanna come to grips with the Klingon part of her heritage, which she had vigorously tried to ignore for most of her life. Once that was done, it had been her husband, Tom’s, suggestion that they look deeper into her Klingon past in order to banish once and for all the disturbing notion that their daughter might be the Kuvah’magh, or Klingon savior.