Unworthy - Kirsten Beyer [15]
“He isn’t,” B’Elanna was relieved to be able to tell him truthfully. “But how did you know that?”
“Admiral Janeway, of course,” Neelix answered. “I’m still the Federation’s official ambassador to the Delta quadrant and as such receive regular, or fairly regular, reports. Though, to be honest, lately the reports have been few and far between,” Neelix trailed off. “Actually, it’s been more than a year since the last communiqué arrived from the admiral. Did you by any chance bring a new one or perhaps a message from Samantha or Naomi?”
B’Elanna felt her face fall. She had long ago accepted the harsh reality of Kathryn Janeway’s death. She grew suddenly cold as she realized that Neelix would have had no way of knowing.
They reached the entrance to Neelix’s quarters, and B’Elanna nodded for Dexa and Brax to enter with Miral as she pulled Neelix aside. Her eyes began to burn with fresh tears as she said, “I don’t know how to tell you this, Neelix.”
Neelix was no stranger to tragedy. Sensing B’Elanna’s pain, he took her gently by both hands and squeezed a little of his strength into them.
“Better get it out quickly, then,” he said.
Swallowing hard, B’Elanna said, “Admiral Janeway is dead, Neelix. She died investigating a Borg cube that entered the Alpha quadrant over a year ago.”
Neelix’s eyes widened briefly, as did his mouth. Finally his head began to move slowly back and forth.
“That’s not … I mean it doesn’t seem,” he stammered. As his breath began to come in short, quick bursts, he finished, “It’s not possible.”
“I’m so sorry, Neelix.”
Only then did she see his face begin to contort as he visibly struggled to hold back the tears.
Icheb stood at attention, his default position when in doubt, as Chakotay ushered Sveta inside. She wore a simple brown tunic of light fabric, belted tightly by a dark leather strap at her small waist. Beneath the tunic were a pair of loose trousers and soft, well-worn boots. Her dark eyes scanned the room in a manner which suggested to Icheb that she lived in a constant state of curiosity or alertness. Though the top of her head barely reached his shoulders when she finally came to face him, Icheb sensed a taut, wiry strength in her.
“I’d like you to meet an old friend of mine,” Chakotay said by way of introduction. “Sveta, this is Icheb.”
Icheb automatically extended his right hand, and Sveta shook it more gently than he expected.
“Hello, Icheb.”
“Ma’am,” he replied.
“Why am I here?” Sveta asked, turning to face Chakotay.
“I’m going to attempt a Pacrathar.” was Chakotay’s puzzling reply.
Sveta’s face quickly transitioned through surprise and concern before settling on reticence.
“A what?” Icheb asked.
“It’s a sort of vision quest, but it is unique in that it is not performed by an individual. It is the creation of a joint meditative state,” Chakotay explained.
“Joint as in, including me?” Icheb asked, dismayed.
“Kaslo was a long time ago,” Sveta interjected with an unmistakable hint of warning.
“I know,” Chakotay said, “and if you’re not up to it, I completely …”
“Oh, I didn’t say that,” Sveta said, cutting him off. “But I would like to know what would make you willing to risk it, especially considering how things turned out last time.”
“A friend needs my help,” Chakotay replied. He then went on to share a little of Seven’s history with the Borg and the Caeliar. Soon enough, Sveta nodded, apparently satisfied.
“But how is this supposed to help her?” Icheb asked. And how exactly did things turn out last time? he wondered.
“Over the last several days, Seven has been lucid most of the time. This morning she received word that her aunt died, and I believe this triggered some sort of psychological break. She’s conscious, but she won’t talk to me. I don’t know any other way to reach her.”
“And why aren’t you taking her to a doctor?” Sveta asked.
“Seven doesn’t trust Starfleet to evaluate her objectively at the moment, and frankly I can hardly blame her. I believe she is now being sustained