Chapter Text
CHAPTER 1 INTRODUCTION
I don't think there has ever been a time that I wasn't intrigued by people. Sitting on a bench in the grounds of the great Smithsonian, watching visitors approach the imposing buildings, I'd see expectation on their faces, or curiosity from off-worlders, a twist of the mouth that would - to me at least - indicate the recollection of a painful memory. Then I'd always wonder about the story behind a face or expression and the sagas that would flow from such an expression. I was a young Academy cadet then, with hopes of being published, for telling stories had become my lifeblood.
More than anything - now serving as first officer on a constitution class vessel - I pictured myself sitting in my deep chair and conjuring up tales of woe, of despair and sadness, of great achievements and descent into madness. I'd imagine the conflict of understanding the divide between poet and prince or the union of both. I'd create heroes and heroines who would be defined by their strengths, their weaknesses, their leadership, the triumphs and failures that would shape them and those decisions that would break them.
Stories that would be whimsical, tragic, heroic, tales that charged at the heart of the reader, and most of all, impart a sense of reliving the tale himself, of being right there and agonise, rage, rejoice with the characters. Yes, that had been my dream from the moment I saw a little girl sitting on a swing in a park, thinking what sadness lurked in her expressive blue-grey eyes. I was only seven years old then and looking at her I wondered what wounded her so. Even now I remember the golden hair drawn back in an engaging ponytail , her fair skin, her childish face, hands that appeared to clutch the chains of the swing, her little knuckles whitening at the force of her hold. A storm of words poured from me as I imagined the darkness that enveloped her. I wrote and the urge to create never left me.
Like an oracle, I believed I knew what tormented people by a simple touch so unobtrusive it might not have been a touch at all. Then their entire lives were laid bare, visible only to me. I observed men and women walking along a plaza and imagined the things that drove them - love, tragedy, hate, anger, the sadness of accepting change often seen in the despair etched upon their faces. Perhaps not so much despair as a cry for understanding. And then the stories formed in my head and they visited me in the deep of night while I slept, intruding on my dreams. I'd get up and play a few arpeggios on my cello before easing into the gentle strains of a Faure sonata - so soothing - as characters played around in my head, loathed to leave until I'd hammered out scenes of my latest story.
While people attempted to hide their emotions and even managed to do so successfully, the irony never escaped me - something troubled them. Always something! Perhaps friends, near and dear like family might suspect things best left concealed, these individuals have always provided me with stories as yet untold.
I continue with this introduction in the exploration of two individuals I was commissioned to study. I'd heard, like every officer in the Federation, of the extraordinary return of a starship long believed lost.
Like so many people I was just as intrigued months ago by the return of the USS Voyager, an intrepid class vessel that had been lost in the Delta Quadrant and quite unexpectedly reappeared seven years later in the Alpha Quadrant via a Borg transwarp conduit. Guided to the Alpha Quadrant by her gifted command team, Voyager's return was the stuff great novels were written about. Like a hungry dog, I'd practically guzzled all the newsfeeds pertaining to the event, even as I was serving on the USS Louanda at the time. I'd walk along the corridors and it seemed Voyager created a buzz among the crew of fresh exciting news to feed their starving curiosities. There was lightness in the steps of those who passed me, looking at me as though I was the king of scuttlebutt. Clearly, they assumed that a first officer of a constitution class vessel who happened to be a writer should know everything. Never speaking a word to me, I knew that they'd all speculated about the crew of Voyager, of relationships formed and broken, of mourning, loss and mostly, her command team - Janeway and Chakotay. Speculation was rife about them. Crew drooled over the high romance they conjured about those two. I knew something about Janeway at least - her fiancé Mark Johnson married my cousin Wanda, but that was a conversation for another time.
Then, months later, my editor called me to a meeting the moment the Louanda docked at Earth's orbital station. I was to meet with him at his hideout in Hallstatt, a picturesque Alpine village in Austria. It's a peaceful place, its beauty causing pained gasps in visitors who seek to repose there after a stressful week, a time away from bosses who bayed, spouses who nagged, deadlines… Nestled against the mountain, the village overlooks Lake Hallstatt, its gleaming waters in the late afternoon sun nothing but breathtakingly miraculous. Naturally, Hallstatt village could never compete with Beaver's Lodge in Curry County, Oregon in the Pacific Northwest. I usually returned to my lodge after every mission to soak in the peace of my surroundings - alone, just me, the beavers, my cello. This time Kjel called. Wouldn't say why, leaving me to speculate like mad.
"Something you'd be interested in, Ethan," he'd said in that soft wheedling voice of his. Damn, sometimes I want to throttle the man.
My curiosity knew no bounds. A story was appearing out of thin air it seemed, with all sorts of characters, plot points, themes and conflicts dancing around in my head. Or did Kjel Y Badr have something else up his sleeve? I'd done a few book signings because he'd practically ordered me out of hiding. Some Earth-bound humans and Vulcans relished the feel of books in their hands, meeting the author, that sort of public relations thing. Kjel was very happy with sales from my latest novel, so why call me now when he didn't really need to?
Unless.
The conjectures and possible story outlines suddenly froze into nothingness the second I entered Kjel's lounge. It disappointed me, having to leave them all behind! Familiarity waived such mundane things as pressing chimes when entering Kjel's house.
I was utterly surprised to see Admiral Owen Paris, his son Tom Paris and another officer of Voyager. She was introduced to me as Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres, Tom's wife. Kjel, effusive as always, introduced me to them. What were they doing in Kjel's home? I wondered where my outlines and stories had flown to prior to meeting with Kjel. Suddenly there was nothing! Hopefully not for long!
Members of Starfleet Command and returnees from the Delta Quadrant were the last people I expected to see in Kjel Y Badr's home and it piqued my interest - a strange yet familiar frisson traveling through my body. Whatever it was, was never to be ignored as a possible new tale on my creative horizon.
Admiral Paris was a reader of my works and called himself a proud owner of signed copies of Songs of a Wayfarer and Warrior Mine. He knew me from our Wolf 359 days and had since maintained contact with me. I had no time to feel an overblown sense of pride. I wrote so that people could read. That was the deal. My contract was with my reader and if the good admiral liked what he read, that satisfied me. But why were they there?
The admiral's and Kjel's effusive greeting had my hackles rising instantly. They wanted something, that much was clear. Tom Paris and B'Elanna Torres were more reserved as they acknowledged my presence. I sensed it was not about my proposed new work or book signings which I hated anyway or delivering a talk at some university. Four pairs of eyes speared me as if I were a messiah arriving on a chariot of fire to deliver them from misery as possibly the only living creature in the universe with an answer to their prayers.
Then the talking started. They seemed to fall over themselves to deliver their requests. I shook my head at the Babel of confusion. My ears strained to catch whole phrases and sentences from individuals until I raised my hand to slow them down a bit. Actually it wasn't that bad but I had this image of a group of kids trying to convince a parent they'd seen a yeti on their front lawn.
The moment they started making sense, a spectacular story unfolded before me. Their quest: Ethan Bellamy, writer, cellist and starship officer to write the story of Kathryn Janeway and Chakotay, commanding officers of the USS Voyager, lately returned to the Alpha Quadrant. I had to intrude on their most private moments, thoughts and sensibilities to find out what it was that made them strangers to one another. I could understand Kjel who saw in everything the possibility of a new saga. But the Paris trio appeared more concerned about the fate of their command team, worry etched on their faces, imploring me to be the answer to their plight.
I wanted to scream "I'm a writer, not a counsellor!" Still, I remained all ears!
"By the time Voyager docked, you could cut the hate and tension between them with a knife," Tom Paris said, his hand gestures reminding me of my cousin Wanda who constantly gesticulated when she talked. I once asked Wanda whether she'd stop talking if she halted her wild hand gesticulations. Of course, with Tom Paris you kind of expected it, being at the conn of a starship with hands all over the array of panels.
"They were true friends, the absolute best in leadership of our crew, but all that changed in the two months before we returned home. Now, they've each gone their own way and I know Chakotay must love her." Lieutenant Torres' words were as fiery as the anger and exasperation that appeared to rush from her eyes and heated cheeks. Even her ridges seemed to be flaming in consternation.
"When I send them into deep space, Commander Bellamy, they should have ironed out their differences by then," Owen Paris remarked.
"Command team on the same vessel? We're in - "
"I know where we are, Bellamy," Admiral Paris huffed.
"By which time they should declare everlasting love and devotion!" Tom said.
"That too," Admiral Paris blustered. "Whether they're on the same vessel or not."
"I don't do romance," I countered. I delve into characters' psyches, divine their destinies, find points that could end in victory after evolution of their characters through their many and varied experiences. I must write a story about Janeway and Chakotay? I was suddenly intrigued, despite my own lofty ideals about literary writing and not giving in to melodramatic little love tales.
"We believe that you can do something, Commander Bellamy, to knock those heads together and let them sit at the same table - "
"Preferably in the morning after…you know what I mean," said Tom.
"They are both allergic to counsellors and counselling," said B'Elanna, a kind of desperation in her voice.
I tried to think of Kathryn Janeway, pictured her in my mind's eye - the newsfeeds, publications of her and of Commander Chakotay, press hounding them. Once I actually saw her in the gardens of Headquarters. From a distance only, but her bearing, the faraway look in her eyes… I thought she must yearn for space and the stars again. She looked exposed, hurting. A memory assailed me, of a distant time when I was seven and saw a lonely little girl on a swing… Could that have been an earlier version of Kathryn Janeway? When accosted by a passer-by in the garden, Janeway's raw stance changed instantly as she addressed the visitor. And Chakotay, in the presence of a tall, statuesque blonde woman, smiling but his eyes were hard, flinty. Pictures everywhere of them. Janeway hurting and I was to probe the origin of that pain.
Strange how things came to me in the hour I sat talking with Kjel Y Badr, Admiral Paris, Tom and B'Elanna. Like a fractured picture, a shattered mirror, the pieces shifted gently into place.
They laugh, but they weep inside.
"What do you want me to do?" I asked.
"Do what no one else could do - puncture the hard shells they've grown around their hearts. As a writer, you study human emotions. You talk to people and they tell you things without saying a word! Like that! They refuse counselling, and who can blame them? Somewhere, something went radically wrong with them. Let me remind you, Ethan, they are very, very good at hiding their feelings."
"Whatever it takes, Commander Bellamy," said B'Elanna. "There is love there."
Whatever it took.
*
I hastened to Beaver's Lodge to begin outlines and ideas for my new project. By the weekend Rourke would be home from the Academy, looking forward to climbing Coniston Peak and camping out at Deer Lake. Rourke became the centre of my world. Wanda had wanted to take him on an extended excursion and Rourke had been over the moon "going away" with his aunt. What private hell I had been flung into at the time was only moderately ameliorated by the fact that Rourke had not been on the Bellerophon when the Borg destroyed it and Mélisande and Piers died.
"You're going to write about Voyager, Dad?" Rourke asked while we were climbing. The weekend had arrived faster than I expected and Rourke's arrival simply surprised me out of practical hibernation.
"Indeed. My new project. Setting up interviews with some Voyager crew. The captain and commander will probably be last on my list." Too early yet to let him know that my mission was more than just Voyager; it was to knock two heads together.
"Admiral Janeway is teaching quantum mechanics. She's …maybe a bit sad, I think. I can see it in her eyes."
I turned to Rourke, whose green eyes mirrored my own - quite a shock to see it on someone else. He looked earnest.
"I heard Captain Chakotay is also teaching at the Academy - "
"Only senior cadets full time, Dad. He teaches us on a short term basis only. A few classes. We love it, me and James."
"James?"
"Lieutenant Rollins' son. His dad married Marla Gilmore…"
I thought that was good to know. Perhaps ask Admiral Paris to pull a string or two…
At the end of the weekend with aching muscles after climbing Mount Coniston, Rourke returned to the Academy while I set about moving around pieces of a giant jigsaw puzzle which included Voyager, her crew, Janeway and Chakotay and a love that would not die.
It was immense, this journey.
*******************
END CHAPTER 1