Chapter Text
For the first time in seven years, she feels desperation.
The hope is slipping through her fingers, like rope pulled so fast she can’t grab onto it to yank it back, and her hands are stinging from the burn.
Voyager is heavily damaged. The warp core is non-functional and fuel is critically low. There’s only a limited supply of food left, three weeks at most, and not enough power to divert to rations to make a substantial amount. Sickbay is full of injured.
She can’t think about the two people she lost.
The Borg cubes just keep coming. They’re everywhere, and with technology that a crippled Voyager can’t match. She’s not sure how they got away this last time. Next time, they won’t be as fortunate.
That’s what’s driven her here, to an M Class planet she knows nothing about, inhabited by a race that isn’t in any database. Even Neelix doesn’t have much information to share, except that they are called The Nairzel and, though space-faring, don’t often venture too far from their own world. Judging by the readings they’ve gathered from the planet, there likely isn’t any need. Its rich in natural resources and, most importantly, fuel sources.
And now, its their last hope.
“Captain, it would be wise to let me go in your place. We do not know if this race is hostile or ammenabile to trade,” Tuvok is firm, his posture even stiffer than usual from the vertebrae that had been rebuilt after he’d been thrown across the bridge by an explosion. Yet he’s still trying to spare her at the cost of his own safety. She can’t allow that.
What if she loses him next? Fails him next?
“No. The commander and I will go. You’ll have Voyager.”
What she doesn’t tell him is that he is the only one she trusts to do what has to be done if they didn’t come back. To take Voyager and leave them behind. He’s done it before. He could do it again.
They leaveVoyager tucked beyond a moon, and boarda shuttle toward the green swirling planet in the distance. Her head aches from where it met with a railing on the bridge during the battle, and the leola root oatmeal isn’t sitting well in her stomach. Beside her, Chakotay bears a line of angry pink skin behind his ear, and scars across his knuckles on his right hand. Were they new? She didn't recall seeing them before. She wondered if those are from the battle or from boxing.
Does he still box? She honestly isn’t sure. They’ve seen less of each other lately, weekly dinners becoming monthly, and then less still. How long has it been since the last one?
A month? Two?
It's been a hard year, the worst they've had. There are so many demands on her time, her energy, and he probably feels the same way. Time and over-commitment would be an easy way to explain the distance between them.
But it's not the truth.
The decisions that have to be made are never black and white anymore. They’ve often found themselves on different sides of a chasm filled with grey, until it blurs the bonds that had always held them together.
The old comfort she used to feel when she slid into a shuttle next to him isn’t there any more. Instead they’re both quiet, going through the launch sequence and then reporting in on sensors and readings with a reserved efficiency. There are no jokes. No small talk.
“All set, Commander?” she asks when she’s finished her own pre-flight checks.
“Not all of the navigation systems are fully functional, but we’ll make it work.” Chakotay’s eyes are on the myriad of controls in front of him, his face hard with concentration.
They’ve barely crossed into the atmosphere when a tractor beam catches the shuttle, a melodic voice telling them they’ve crossed into the space of the Nairzel. Kathryn takes a deep breath, and tells them that Voyager is in dire need of supplies and fuel. They are simply explorers and have little to trade, but will offer up whatever means are necessary. A long silence follows. She catches Chakotay’s eyes and sees the tension reflected back in them. If this doesn’t work, if they wouldn’t see her, there were far more lives at stake then just the two of them.
But, for the first time in what feels like months, they catch a stroke of luck. The prime minister and council will see them.
Shortly after landing, she and Chakotay are ushered into a large, utilitarian hall. The space appears to be built from the wood of massive trees, soaring above her head and crossed with honey-colored beams larger than any she’s ever seen. Windows twice her height line both sides of the hall, and the light streaming in makes everything seem to glow with an earthy warmth. The space feels natural, but powerful.
If it weren’t for the high stakes of this moment, she’d revel more in the beauty of it all.
At the front of the room, seated a table hewn of darker wood, sit five people she assumes are the Nairzel leaders. They’re not so unlike humans, save the deep ridges across their cheeks and jaws, and wide, nearly black eyes that stare down at her with an unsettling intensity. They all have short dark hair, only the rounded figures giving away that two members of the group are women. They’re all dressed similarly as well, earth-toned pants and shirts, with no ornamental jewelry. When one of them stands, she sees they’re all at least a head taller than even Chakotay, and powerfully built, muscles flexing under the skin.
She briefly thinks that, if the Nairzel attack, they don’t stand a chance in hand to hand combat. Even if they weren’t injured and half starving.
“I am Kon, prime minister of the Nairzeli people. This is our council, one member from each region of our planet.” Kon’s voice is flowing and smooth, but Kathryn isn’t foolish enough to think that means he is friendly. His gaze is unwavering and astute, as if he already knows that he has the upper hand.
Chakotay is right beside her and a half step back, the place he’s been for seven years. He waits for her lead, and stays quiet as she pleads their case to the Nairzel. It's a tricky thing, not to sound destitutbe when you are, in fact, just that. She has no idea if she can play on their humanity, especially without the risk of seeming too weak.
There’s little movement from the Nairzel as she finishes her request. No indication if they’ve come across as sympathetic travelers or conniving intruders. At least, she thinks, no one’s arrested them yet.
Kon stares at her for a long moment, with an expression that makes her feel suddenly lightheaded. The wooden wall behind him seems to beat, vibrations rippling through the surface and out toward where she stands. It's as if the flooring, the towering ceiling, even the air around her, has a pulse all its own.
As soon as he breaks eye contact, the feeling stops.
“We must talk. Wait here.”
The Nairzel council leave to discuss their request, leaving her and Chakotay under the watchful eyes of two guards at the door. She wants to tell them they don’t need to worry, they’ve nowhere to run to. Her feet still aren’t quite steady beneath her, and she feels Chakotay’s hand brace her elbow.
“You okay?”
Kathryn squeezes her eyes closed, focusing on the floor beneath her feet. “Fine.”
“Any idea if they’ll help us?” Chakotay asks quietly.
As has often happened lately, she’s annoyed by the question. “I have no idea. If they don’t, I’m out of options.”
She almost snaps it at him, but keeps her voice low for the sake of the guards. It's not his fault they’re in this situation. That responsibility is hers alone.
When the Nairzel file back in, Kathryn knows immediately it's not good news.
“My counsellors are unable to reach an agreement on whether it is wise to help you. You have little to offer us in return, and we try to avoid entanglements with unknown races. The motives of others, we have learned, are often driven by greed and the lust for conflict.” Kon’s dark eyes swirl. The room threatens to roll beneath Janeway’s feet again, but she grits her teeth against it.
No, this can’t be happening. She won’t allow it.
Kathryn feels the dread sink into her stomach like a stone as she forces herself to level a calm stare on Kon, squaring her shoulders to withstand the blow of disppointment. Beside her, she sees Chakotay take a half step forward.
Neither can afford to lose their tempers now.
"We are not here to benefit ourselves-" he starts, but Kon is quick to cut him off.
"Who are you here for?"
The answer echoes in her chest.
For Voyager.
"Our people. Our crew. You must understand that," Chakotay spreads his palms wide, his voice even. "What can we do to gain your trust?"
One of the other Nairzel, a shorter male on the far right with a scar across his neck, speaks up. His voice is deeper and rough-edge. Something about him makes him seem older than the others.
“Let them earn the right.”
There’s silence for a moment, and Kathryn watches as Kon deliberately turns to make eye contact with each of the members of his counsel. There’s a nod of agreement from each one, some hesitant, some immediately. Whatever decision was just made about their fate, it's unanimous. Nerves ripple through her stomach.
Kon stands and folds his arms, and Kathryn feels Chakotay straighten beside her.
“It's decided. If you would like the aid of the Nairzel, you will travel The Course.”
********************
Two Nairzel emerge from the back of the hall, each bearing a rolled document, and place them in Kathryn and Chakotay’s hands.
“These are the maps of the Course,” Kon says.
She and Chakotay exchange a quick glance, before they each begin to examine the paper. The material unfurls in a fluid motion, the paper crinkling against her fingertips.
It's beautiful.
Muted colors and brushstokes paint a landscape of both terrain and history. The dark line of the route seems to flow in a sweeping, natural manner, traversing jagged marks and spirling sketches with an almost artistic quality. History bleeds through every stroke.
When she glances up at Chakotay, she seems him studying the map with a quiet intensity mixed with reverence.
This isn’t just a map, it's a part of who these people are.
The Course, they’re told, is a trek over a hundred kilometers long, through rugged terrain, ending at the site of the first settlement of the Nairzeli. It's not quite clear what happens once they reach the end, except that then the Nairzel will decide if they are worthy of assistance. Compared to some of the alien rituals they’ve encountered, it seems fairly straightforward.
Travel The Course. Succeed. Trade.
The alternative isn’t one that Kathryn is prepared to consider.
***************
They have a chance now.
Chakotay can see the way Kathryn’s eyes light up at the possibility of this last-hope mission actually succeeding. She’ll try anything, do anything, if it means giving the crew a chance at survival. Over the years he’s watched Kathryn walk through fire for these people time and again without a second thought for her own safety.
One would think that after all this time he’d be used to the way she sacrifices herself without hesitation. In truth, he would do the same. As fraught as things have been between them, however, he still feels that prick of worry in his chest as he watches her consider the task before them..
It seems they’re about to enter the inferno one more time.
While he can tell that Kathryn has turned all her attention to this suddenly thrust upon them venture, he can’t help but feel a slight hesitation when he does the same. He’s studied ancient maps before, and the parchment in front of him is recminiscent of relief maps of earth. Though he can’t decipher every marking, it's clear that the path is long and arduous, zig zagging from the jungle, to a river, and then what appears to be a mountain pass. Beyond that seems to be a desert. Beyond that…he isn’t sure what the terrain holds.
The route, they're told, must be traveled on foot.
Slowly, it's becoming clear to him. This journey will not be one taken lightly. This path is not one from which everyone returns. Right now, he needs to try to give them the best chance possible.
“We’ll need supplies-” Chakotay tries to suggest, but Kon waves a large hand at him.
“No weapons. We will provide you with the supplies.”
It takes a good deal of negotiation, but Chakotay manages to convince Kon to let him keep their tricorders. After all, they have no idea what plants are edible, what water is safe to drink. The Nairzeli leader is reluctant, but eventually concedes. It's a small victory, but it gives Chakotay a fledgling hope that perhaps the goal might actually be for them to survive the course.
“This is traditional?” Kathryn asks, her eyes categorically taking in every aspect of the map. Chakotay can see she’s trying to learn everything she can while also memorizing any visual markers that could aid their journey.
"We have each traveled the course, all who sit on the council. Here, we show our worth. It is fair.”
“It's a way to prove oneself?” Kathryn says slowly.
“In a way. But it's much more than that. You will see.”
“And if we do this, you’ll trade with us?” Chakotay affirms. He’s not about to head off into the jungle without a guarantee this will pay off. They’ll lose precious time, and resources if the Nairzel don’t hold up their end of the bargain.
“If you conquer the course, the Nairzel will help you.”
It's at least a ten day journey, maybe longer, as far as Chakotay can tell. He and Kathryn are already both nursing injuries from the battle, and they haven’t had rest in days. Still, he sees the hard look in her eye that means she’s doing this, one way or another.
And he’ll be damned if he’ll let her do it alone.
“It is agreed?” Kon asks, his eyes moving from one to the other.
Kathryn’s answer is immediate, as he knew it would be. “It is agreed.”
*****************
They’re allowed to send a message to Voyager and given a few hours to rest. The Course must begin at dawn, they’re told, just as the sun crosses the horizon. Someone will take them to the Rohall, the hilltop, when it is still dark.
Kathryn tries not to think about all the ways this will most likely go horribly wrong. She and Chakotay don’t know the terrain, the vegetation, what animals might inhabit the planet. If the council is any indication of the average Nairzeli citizen, they’ll be completing a task usually done by a species that is taller, stronger, and faster. They only have a couple of weeks before all remaining reserves on Voyager will be depleted.
Chances of success, as Seven would say, are not measurable.
It's still a chance though, which is more than they had just hours ago. That knowledge, that hope, burns inside her as she stands in front of the Nairzel. There are 150 lives linked to hers and Chakotay’s, depending on them. Even though she’s carried the weight of their safety for years now, some days it still weighs heavier.
Today, perhaps, most of all.
She and Chakotay are led down a long hallway, plank walls lined with tapestries etched in a written language she doesn’t understand. The floors are a swirling dark green stone, like jade but somehow deeper and dappled with golden flecks that seem to glow as she passes. She can’t resist the urge to brush her fingertips across the wall, and is shocked when it feels warm beneath her touch. There is so much about this place, she knows, they can’t begin to understand.
It's clear the Nairzel have been here for a very long time, and though they have developed advanced technology, they still remain devoted to the natural world. The woven artwork shows the landscape of the planet, and there are carvings of leaves and flowers etched in the wooden beams that cross above her head. It's an interesting contrast, and, despite their situation, she wishes she could learn more about them.
She and Chakotay are left in a small room with two cots, a table with food, and two satchels lumpy with supplies. It's clearly a room made for this purpose, the walls covered with paintings of a journey through the jungle, a boat down a river, a trek to a mountain summit. She wonders how many others have sat here before heading out on this exact path.
“Here, you can prepare,” says the Nairzeli woman who has led them there. “Eat. Rest.”
They have six hours.
Then, they’re left alone.
Kathryn tries to focus on the small amount of supplies they’ve been given, examining each item and tucking it into her sack. There’s a blanket, small flat rectangles of bread, bluish fruits not too different from apples, a knife with a curved blade, and a map drawn on shiny parchment. Along with their tricorders and two canteens, it's all they have.
Chakotay leans over her shoulder to appraise the identical set of items meant as his own. “Well, that’s something anyway. We’ve been stranded with less, though I wish like hell we had our phasers.”
She has to swallow back the urge to object. It's not even that he’s wrong or that he means to chastise her. In fact, he’s almost certainly right, and she probably should have pressed harder to be allowed some kind of weapon for protection. Maybe it's just that they’ve disagreed too often lately, or that she’s simply clinging to being in control in order to keep her fear at bay.
“We’ll have to make do.”
Chakotay nods in agreement, and lowers himself into one of the ornately carved wooden chairs at the small table. “We should eat and get some sleep. We’ll need our strength.”
He turns his attention to the food and scans the pile of what looks like a bumpy red fruit, dried meat, and a selection of small brown nuts, with his tricorder. “It's safe, have some.” He extends a piece of fruit in her direction, but she shakes her head.
“Kathryn-”
It's the chiding tone in his voice that she knows is concern but always feels like admonishment that makes her bristle. Doesn’t he understand that there’s this knot in her stomach that formed the moment they left Voyager and has been twisting tighter ever since? It's the pull of the people who are waiting for her to somehow find another miracle for them, to pull another rabbit out of her hat.
What if she’s out of magic tricks this time?
“I’ll give the map another look, plan out how far we need to travel each day. There are some terrain features here I can’t quite decipher. But yes, you should definitely get some food and rest.”
Frustration flashes across his face, and she sees him start to object. A year ago, even two, he would have. And she may have admitted her fears, her doubts, about whether or not they can do this.
But that’s not who they are anymore.
“Get some rest.” she tells him again, gentler this time.
Chakotay hesitates, but then takes a seat on one of the beds with his own bag of supplies. After a quick inventory he leans back against the wall and closes his eyes. She’s not certain he’s asleep, or simply resting. Still, they don’t say anything else to each other.
It's not until his breathing is heavy and deep and she’s memorized every curve of the map that she goes to take a piece of fruit for herself, bites carefully. It's tart, almost bitter, but not unpleasant. She prefers it to sweetness.
When she curls her body onto her own cot and closes her eyes, she still sees the dancing shapes of mountains and valleys behind her lids. And she still feels the weight of the 150 lives who are counting on her return.