Star Trek Voyager: The Gift

Star Trek Voyager: The Gift 36. The Paris Mercenary

Nathaniel Harrow cleared his throat nervously as Chakotay stalked onto the Bridge, standing stiffly by his command chair without sitting in it, the Valjean crew had all noticed recently that he avoided sitting in that chair. In fact, they’d been noticing a lot of things in the past month, ever since they’d escaped from Terok Din. The change that had affected them all was the tension that now filled the Bridge, or anywhere their commander went, so thick that a knife slicing through it wouldn’t have dispersed it. His mood had darkened and although Terok Din had undoubtedly taken its toll on him as well as every one of them, that wasn’t the most popular theory accounting for his suddenly brittle temper. Whatever was troubling Chakotay though, wasn’t dragging down their performance as a Maquis unit, after repairs had been completed this month had seen some of their most effective strikes against the Cardassians and the Federation alike, but the same couldn’t said of the crew’s morale. Where easy camaraderie and a supportive atmosphere had once existed, drawing them all together, presently conversation was stilted and nerves were under constant siege by an unvoiced strain.

Nathaniel coughed when Chakotay regarded them all silently, his sleepless eyes lost deep in thought. Several of his fellow crewmembers glared at him disapprovingly, fearing that one of the eggshells they were walking on might be broken, but Nathaniel felt oppressed by this unnatural silence. However, it was the relentlessly optimistic Chell, guileless as ever, who actually spoke up. “What are our orders now Chakotay?” he asked pleasantly.

Chakotay’s hand moved to his face as he sighed, tempted to rub his eyes, but his professionalism kicked in. “We’ve to go to Neliki IV to recruit a new pilot, apparently there are a few skilled men there who are sympathetic to our cause.”

“But I think you and Mr Tuvok are doing a great job piloting the ship!” Celes piped up enthusiastically.

“Obviously the Maquis leaders don’t think so.” Seska remarked drily from the back of the Bridge. If the tiny Briefing Room they had always used previously hadn’t had its electrics knocked out back at Terok Din, Chakotay would’ve taken this meeting in there and locked Seska out, but as it was the Bridge, with its free access, would have to do.

He saw Celes blush in mortification and smiled at her reassuringly. For a moment everyone saw a glimpse of the old Chakotay. “Thanks for saying so Celes but Tuvok and I actually agree with this order, we’ll need a truly professional pilot to get us anywhere near Deep Space Eleven’s satellite station.”

B’Elanna took in a sharp breath. “They want us to attack that new armoury? They’ll have ships patrolling that surely? It’s deep into Federation space.”

“That is precisely why we require a skilled covert pilot.” Tuvok pointed out.

There was a short pause before Seven’s, level, detached voice was heard. “Either way, we cannot ignore that installation. According to messages that I’ve decrypted between Deep Space Eleven and Starfleet Headquarters, those weapons will be shared with the Cardassians to suppress the Maquis. We cannot allow that, these weapons are so volatile they must be kept adrift of the main station.”

“Seven’s right.” Chakotay said softly, his serious gaze taking in everyone else while skipping quickly over Seven herself. “This could be our most vital assignment yet.” He breathed another sigh as he read the apprehensive expressions around him, “But let’s not worry about that right now, we need to get that pilot first.”

“Yes sir.” They chorused quietly, many noting that Seven didn’t join them, already moving towards the door. That was another sudden change that had occurred in the past month, the palpable strain between Chakotay and Seven. Their relationship wasn’t infused with the sparking animosity that now characterised the one between Chakotay and Seska, but it was drifting into skilful avoidance and even indifference, which was much more unsettling for observers than a little bad blood between former flames. Whatever their initial impressions, and feelings, towards the ex-drone had been, all of the crew had had to accept her inclusion as a condition of their own. They’d grown used to the fact that she was Chakotay’s constant shadow, and he her guide. Everything indicated that they had been happy that way, but now something had pulled them drastically apart. Just now, Chakotay had religiously avoided looking at her, when previously he’d always at least glanced at her every so often even when talking to others, as if checking on her. Seven was displaying similar behaviour. She’d never been talkative, but now even the enquiring blunt questions she’d always been confident to ask Chakotay went unsaid, she stuck to facts even more strictly than Tuvok.