Chapter Text
Chapter 3: Reparations
It was late. Far too late. Exhaustion rose behind her eyes, yet sleep was cunning prey. It evaded her whenever she sought it, so she’d given up even trying long ago. Kathryn’s fingers crowned her hairline as she leaned over the PADDs strewn across her desk. The repairs were going well. Almost 80% of the ship’s systems were back online. The computer, though still buggy at times, had regained its ability to automate warp bubble maintenance and speed. Their first few days in the Delta Quadrant had been something of a roller coaster ride. The inconsistent communication between systems left the inertial dampeners playing a constant game of catch up. Motion sickness kept the crew on a constant rotation through the sick bay.
Chakotay’s words nagged restlessly on the edges of her consciousness: why hadn't she visited the Maquis accommodations before? The Captain tried to convince herself that she had been too busy. Too busy coordinating ship’s operations. Too busy helping Tuvok run diagnostics on the sensor arrays and emergency response systems. Too busy working with Lieutenant Carey in engineering to stabilize the mag locks on the antimatter containment chamber. Again. She had been doing all of those things, yes. She had even been busy working with Neelix, trying to decide the best heading for Voyager to return to the Alpha Quadrant based on his knowledge of the Sector. The Talaxian, as she learned was his species, had traveled extensively over the entire area of the galaxy. Parsing from his detailed tales the pertinent information, however, was proving to be a skill all its own. One she hoped to master sooner rather than later.
With so little sleep and so much activity, Kathryn found herself the victim of a brutally honest inner self. It was not business that kept her away from cargo bay 2, but a deep reticence to stand up for a decision she’d made on training and convictions alone, one that her heart yet regretted. All the morals and all the laws of Starfleet couldn’t entirely shake away the last coals of doubt. A science officer’s life was filled with decisions and uncertainty, but rarely the kind that left one hundred and fifty people seventy thousand lightyears from home. Away from their families, partners, friends, comrades. The half-Klingon woman’s face still burned in the Captain’s mind. If looks could kill, Torres’ would have torn her apart like a Romulan disruptor.
She shook her head. This was far from her first command decision, even far from her first that had far-reaching consequences. Her first shift at the con they’d come dangerously close to an unstable pulsar and she’d been forced to order an antimatter detonation to push the ship away from its gravity well. She’d had a matter of minutes to make that call. By the time the captain arrived on the bridge, they were safely back on course. Fighting in the Cardassian War, almost any called she’d made was life and death, even killed. This was something else entirely.
The Maquis weren’t shy about their distaste for her. Though there were some who made efforts to conceal their displeasure and were attempting to adapt to life aboard a Federation starship, most bore their mutinous expressions openly. Hell, she would describe some of the looks she received as she walked into the cargo bay as outright hatred.
Had coming here without the proffered security officer’s been an enormous mistake? Tuvok had almost insisted. She’d hoped to convey confidence and trust in coming alone. For a moment, she had wondered if her judgment had been in error. Thankfully, whatever respect she’d yet to earn from them, their loyalty to their leader, more than made up for. That, at least, she could be thankful for. Chakotay spotted her quickly enough, it was hard for her to hide in this room, Starfleet clean and proper in a sea of battleworn earth tones. He led her through the cargo bay with the ease of someone who belonged, unquestioningly, the Maquis who’d come with him to the array at his side. They escorted her on an circuitous route about the cargo bay, one that left little mystery in the quality of the Maquis accommodations aboard Voyager.
Most had acquired blankets from storage and spread them out on the floor in makeshift beds. Each person had little more than a square the length of themselves for a personal room. Cargo bay 2 wasn’t a small compartment, but there were nearly seventy of the Val Jean’s former crew who now lived there. With the bay already more than half full of emergency supplies and equipment, they were piled in on top of each other like refugees. Chakotay’s anger seemed all the more justified in light of these cramped conditions. Given that many of them had no doubt been refugees at some point in their lives, Kathryn could only imagine the bitter taste these accommodations left in their mouths. Although, she seriously doubted, however, that such accommodations were unfamiliar. A terrorist organization wasn’t exactly used to living in luxury. Not that it in any way excused her disregard for their comfort and well-being.
She spoke with a few of her former quarry before making a brusque and final departure. Though their leader had surprised her with an open mind and there were a few more who didn’t regard her with outright hostility, they were by far the minority. Ayala, for example, was far more what she expected from the Maquis. Though he clearly respected authority, he made it abundantly clear who he thought was in charge, an attitude shared by most. Determined though she was to try to make this uneasy alliance work aboard her vessel, she couldn’t help but wonder just how prescient the prospect of mutiny truly was.
~~~
She let out a frustrated huff and started the process of pulling her hair from its bun. It wasn’t often, Kathryn thought this, but perhaps things would look better after some sleep. She glanced ruefully at the replicator in the corner, wishing beyond all real hope, that it was functioning. Coffee would go a long way to improving her outlook. Still, sleep couldn’t hurt.
That night, she dreamt of Molly and of Mark and a bouquet of roses that exploded into sparks of blue and yellow and white. When she woke the following day, Kathryn took a moment, as she had every day since the array, to allow the crushing vice of their absence to cling to her heart, before packing it away. There was work to be done.
~~~
Tuvok followed her into her ready room after a quick report of ships operations by the officers on the bridge. She couldn’t help but note that after a week of near constant repairs, uncertain crew assignments, empty positions and computer malfunctions, even her dear Vulcan friend had begun to look a little drawn. Her first impulse was to move to her replicator for a cup of coffee, in spite of its non-functional condition, but she redirected herself before her addiction to caffeine became apparent.
“What I wouldn’t give…” She sighed as she sunk down onto the couch near the window and gestured for him to follow suit.
“Captain?”
Tuvok proceeded stiffly to the couch and settled properly on it’s edge. He fixed her in an impassive stare and she waved a hand.
“Nevermind.” Her gaze wandered to the window and the darkness beyond.
Silence stretched for a while. Since their encounter at the array, they’d not had any further contact from the Delta Quadrant’s other races. Nor had she and Tuvok taken a moment to reflect on anything more than the ship's operations. The conversation that typically flowed easily between her and her old friend seemed to elude her as she sat staring out into the emptiness beyond the confines of her ship.
“Did you have something you wished to discuss?”
The captain turned to her tactical officer, “I had an interesting encounter with the Maquis yesterday afternoon.”
“Yes. I heard” he affirmed.
“Oh?” She mused.
“A few of my security officers were concerned you hadn’t brought them along. And I admit, I wish you had listened to me when I suggested it.”
Kathryn ran her fingertips across the fabric of her uniform on her knee, picking from it, a miniscule fluff of lint and flicking it away, “I must say, I’m not surprised. There is a great deal of resentment toward us about their accommodations.”
“It is not uncommon for resentment to brood accusation.”
“Among other things.”
“Logic is often lost in the presence of strong emotions.”
“Hmmm,” she agreed, “And hatred is a powerful lense.”
“As is fear,” Tuvok interjected.
Again, Kathryn nodded, “It isn't just the Maquis, who are frightened. Just the other day I was passing by engineering and overheard Rollins and Pickett talking about how they wouldn’t trust a Maquis to be left alone with a laser torch. Even I…” She trailed off.
~~~~
Heat radiated from the wall panels of jefferies tube B-47. Kathryn wiped beads of sweat away from her eyes as she sat back to take a drink of water from the bottle she’d filled before starting on repairs that morning. The damage to Voyager was so extensive even she was needed to assist in repairs. At least that is what she told herself. Besides, she needed something more to think about than the journey home and the people she may never see again. The families, friends, and lovers her crew had left behind.
Mark and Molly and Sunday morning; heavy paws on begrudging but never unwilling limbs, Mark’s annoyed groan.
Sucking in a quick breath, she ran one of the diagnostic engineering tricorders over the, hopefully, newly repaired EPS conduits. The tricorder flashed red and she swore under her breath. It had been a long time since she’d spent any time working on EPS systems.
Engineering had never been difficult for her, but the bioneural interface of Voyager presented unforeseen challenges. For one, she’d only had a month or so of interrupted study on her ship’s engineering before they were sent to investigate the Val Jean. The gel packs were meant to streamline the computer’s algorithms, increasing sensitivity and reactivity to commands. And that was all well and good when the ship’s systems were reporting the correct information to the gel packs but the caretaker's array had damaged and scrambled so many of Voyager’s systems that very few of the command consoles relayed any input accurately.
Kathryn rolled her shoulders and took a determined breath breath, repositioning the leg she now realized had fallen asleep. The conduit came apart again under her fingers with a static crackle. With her eyes, she traced the circuit through its connections back to the nearest of the gel packs, trying to note where isolinear systems would be, if she weren’t on the most advanced ship in Starfleet. Time ticked by in the half-lit silence of the jefferies tube as she disconnected and reconnected the wires.
Finally, with a satisfying hum, she heard the conduit complete the circuit. Just to be certain, however, she ran the tricorder over it again and was met with an affirming blue green glow. Content with her working in this section, she pulled a PADD from the toolkit she’d brought with her and logged the repair into the network. Carey would probably have something to say about the quality of her fix, but it had been years since she’d done much more than engineering triage or discussed the theory of ship-building. Kathryn tucked the pin she’d removed to help get a better angle on one of the wires back into her bun and tried her best to command the growing halo of sweaty frizz back into its original position. It resisted.
From the silence came a small rattle, then a clatter. The captain grasped the toolkit in her hand and listened hard, trying to pinpoint the direction from which it had originated. Not far from her, a junction joined three jefferies tubes around a deck access ladder. Even the slightest vibrations could send echoes through the mechanical equipment hidden behind Voyager’s bulkheads. The clatter came again. Closer this time, but still a ways off. The captain drew a breath to steady her heartbeat. She’d been alone in the ship’s guts for several hours and not seen another soul in all of that time. Given that she had chosen a relatively poorly staffed section, she hadn’t expected anyone to come across her while she completed her repairs.
At least one of them was a woman, although she suspected both were but more than that, she couldn’t yet discern, save for one thing, they were not part of her crew. She didn’t know her people well, but Kathryn knew them well enough to pick out their voices.
“...construction is impressive. The unity of the decks is seamless, and I’m pretty sure this is duratanium alloy on these braces.”
“Don’t tell me you like it here. This ship is so sterile. Everywhere you turn something else has been spit shined to Starfleet perfection.”
If she’d had any doubt in her assessment of the familiarity of the voices, Kathryn was sure now, that the two women were Maquis. The thunk of boots on the landing in the junction resounded as the captain made her way down the tube toward it. Her heartbeat fluttered in her throat stubbornly resisting her attempts to settle it.
“I’m not saying I like it here, I’m just saying that you have to admire Starfleet engineering.”
The second woman scoffed, “You only say that because you went to the academy. I don’t have to admire anything. It’s all so….”
A sardonic laugh interjected into the pause, “sterile?” the first woman suggested.
“Actually, I was going to say flaccid.”
“Really, Seska? Flaccid?”
“Yes. Don’t you think? I mean there isn’t an ounce of life or character in all of these ‘Starfleet’ principles. Same goes for their ships. This hunk of metal might be fancy, but it’s nothing like the Val Jean.”
The first woman let out what sounded like a low growl, “Starfleet principles. What a load of pataq. Janeway gets her panties in a wad over powerful technology in the wrong hands, and its all ‘Starfleet principles’. As if that excuses marooning a hundred and fifty people seventy five thousand lightyears from where they should be.”
“As if Ms High and Mighty actually cares about what we think. We must follow those lauded Starfleet Ideals. Rules and Regulations. If she actually cared about people, she wouldn’t have been chasing us down, she’d have been helping us fight the spoonheads.”
“She’s Earthborn. Of course she doesn’t care abo-”
The captain paused, taking a deep breath to quell the indignant anger that rose in her throat like a bad meal. Defensive anger would earn her no respect from these women. Kathryn swallowed hard and then slipped from the jefferies tube behind the Bajoran maquis. The part-Klingon woman standing opposite her stopped in the middle of her word, mouth hanging fractionally open in shock. For a moment, the color drained away from Torres’ face, but then it flooded back as she puffed up with anger.
“B’Elan-”
The Bajoran, began and then followed her comrade’s dark gaze behind her. A similar transformation overtook her face. Kathryn observed them both for a moment. Their civilian clothing seemed overworn, their expressions, though angry, betrayed the tightness of anxiety. After all, she reasoned, only a few days before she had been very much their enemy, their pursuer, their hunter. The fire in their eyes, the sneer that marred the Bajoran woman’s face, the tautness of Torres’ shoulders sent an itch through the fingers of her right hand. Science officer or not, the Cardassian War had honed her reflexes.
“Torres isn’t it?” She greeted, cooly.
Without waiting for a response she turned to the other Maquis, “And, I believe it’s Seska.”
Seska, likely in spite of herself, looked a bit cowed as she answered, “Y-yes, Ma’am.”
“I’ve just repaired the EPS conduit down B-47, if that is where you were headed. There are two plasma flow regulators that have broken another deck down. The hydraulics on airlock 2 are cracked, and the deck 14 life support systems have been spotty.” She fixed both women with a pointed stare, “Since the both of you are here, I have some… important Starfleet matters to take care of before I turn in for the night.”
Seska twitched and Torres sucked an angry breath between her teeth. Any hope either of the women had had that she’d only caught the tail end of their conversation, had vanished. Satisfied she’d made her point, she pushed between them, fastening the engineering toolkit to her belt and proceeded to the ladder.
“As you were,” She added, and then headed up the ladder.
Once she was safely in her ready room seated at her desk behind a mountain of unaddressed repair logs and crew reports, the Captain leaned forward, elbows on her desk, forehead pressed to her palms, wondering at the seemingly irreconcilable division between her crew and the Maquis. Somehow, she would have to pull them together. Somehow, she had to find a foundation on which she could build trust, respect. And not just on their part. How badly, in that maintenance shaft, had she wished for a phaser.
—----
“You did allow terrorists to board this ship without recourse.”
She jerked her eyes away from the window to meet his stern gaze with the tense fire of her own, “Letting them die wasn’t an option, Tuvok.”
“Morally, no it was not, given my knowledge of you,” Tuvok fixed her in a level stare, “But my time with them was enlightening, Captain. I must reiterate, the Maquis should be regarded with caution.”
“Please don’t misunderstand me Tuvok; I agree. However, Voyager needs crew and since we implemented Chakotay’s suggestion, repairs have nearly doubled.”
“If you ran a ship of Vulcans, few would find fault with your logic. However your crew is primarily human, as are the Maquis, so you must now deal with the consequences of more emotional minds.”
Tuvok, pulled out a PADD and handed it to her. Seven incident reports flashed on the screen. Kathryn let out an exasperated sigh.
“As you can clearly see, since we allowed the Maquis free access to the ship, incident reports have nearly quadrupled,” He pursed his lips, “While there is benefit to their involvement, it is clearly not enough to combat our differences.”
The Captain rose from her seat, dropping the report onto the table. It landed with a dull clink while she paced away. It wasn’t enough to assign them jobs. Torres and Seska were a perfect example. They felt she thought of herself as better than them, that by giving them work, they were essentially being used as convenient laborers rather than part of the crew. There had to be something…
Kathryn paused in her pacing, crossing her arms over her chest in thought as an idea occurred to her. At the academy they taught that all diplomacy relies on mutual exchange, the trading of something one side wants in return for something you require. On this, the foundation of trust is built. In extending an olive branch, two strangers, or in this case, two enemies, could become friends.
Her fingers slid over the gentle grain of the replicated grey leather that upholstered her desk chair as she used it to stabilize herself while leaning over her desk. Kathryn plucked the dossier Tuvok had written on Chakotay from atop a stack of similar PADDs. Tuvok was nothing if not thorough, and this was not the first time she had read the file, hoping that the spywork of her tactical officer might offer some hidden insight. Now though, she didn’t even read it, simply held it in her hands as she recalled his careful analysis.
Strong-willed, even-tempered, tactical. All high praise coming from her security chief. The captain glanced over the PADD at the Vulcan, who again met her gaze evenly, though the slight raise of his eyebrow betrayed his curiosity. Intelligent. Also high praise. Fiercely loyal to crew and cause. Trusting.
The last two, she thought Tuvok probably considered detractors from his character, but loyalty was something she couldn’t afford to ignore. If she were honest, she had yet to gain it from all of her own crew, yet she could be reasonably certain their loyalty to Starfleet would ensure their partial support. Kathryn had already noted the loyalty and respect the crew of the Val Jean had for their captain. She had little doubt that it reflected his loyalty to them. And before he’d resigned his twenty year commission in Starfleet, Chakotay had reached the rank of Commander. Kathryn set the PADD back down on her desk and crossed to the window.
“I’ve been giving a lot of thought about the position of First Officer.”
She glanced at her old friend as he joined her beside the river of transiting stars.
“In an ideal world, I wouldn’t hesitate to ask you, Tuvok.”
“It would be an honor, Captain.” He replied, “However, your phrasing suggests that is not your intention.”
She grasped his upper arm in apology, “We’re about as far from ideal as it is possible to get.”
“I’m thinking of taking a more unorthodox approach.” her hand fell to meet her other behind her back.
“Given your actions since we arrived in the Delta Quadrant, I would be surprised if you didn’t,” Tuvok pressed, “May I assume you have a person in mind?”
Kathryn met his question with a small determined smile before answering, “Chakotay.”
The discussion that followed her revelation was brief but contentious. While Tuvok saw the logic in offering the Maquis leader a role in the running of the ship, he considered offering him what was essentially a shared command, a dangerous gamble. He could pretend to follow her and plot to overthrow her when the Starfleet crew became comfortable. There was merit to his concerns, she conceded. But to offer Chakotay anything less would be tantamount to insult, and further damage their relationship with the Maquis.
“I feel I must point out that assuaging terrorists’ egos is not a Starfleet position or obligation.”
“My concern is preserving the effectiveness and safety of this crew, Tuvok. We’re going to be on this ship too long. Perpetuating the divide between our crews won’t help. We can’t spend the next 7 or 8 decades looking over our shoulders, fearing our fellow shipmates won’t get us home. If we’re ever going to get home, we have to become one cohesive crew. Everyone on Voyager must be able to rely on one another.”
Tuvok pursed his lips grimly as he searched her face. Kathryn’s blue eyes dared him to find fault with that.
“You can think of no other solution?”
Kathryn drew a breath, and the, with conviction replied, “Not one that demonstrates my desire to integrate our crews so effectively.”
The vulcan nodded slowly, his dark eyes pensive, “If you are certain our demonstration needs to be so extreme, then I will defer to your judgment.”
Janeway reached out, grabbing his wrist, “Thank you, Tuvok.”
It was settled. Tuvok left her to rejoin the acting bridge crew, citing a need to continue his calibrations on the photon torpedo auto targeting systems. Alone again, she drew a deep breath of the sterile ship’s air and returned to the picture windows that provided her with an unobstructed view of the unfamiliar space beyond. Brow furrowed in determination, she tapped her comm badge, which chirped its activation.
“Janeway to Chakotay.”
–End Chapter 3–