Protocols Unknown: A Decision of The Stars

Janeway Said "Mine" and the Universe Had a Meltdown

Janeway sat at her desk, but the reports in front of her blurred together, unread. The coffee beside her had gone cold. She should have been exhausted—most nights, she was—but something kept her from settling.

Something was wrong.

She couldn't explain it. There were no alerts, no calls from Sickbay. But the unease sat low in her stomach, familiar and insistent, the way it always did before something went wrong.

Her eyes flicked to the chronometer. 02:47 hours.

She ran a hand through her hair, rubbing at the tension between her brows. Something gnawed at the edges of her awareness, an instinct too sharp to ignore. She stood before she fully realized she had moved. She just needed to see Astrea. Just to—

Her combadge chirped.

"Sickbay to Janeway." The Doctor's voice was urgent, clipped. "You need to get down here. Now."

She was already out the door.

"On my way!"

Her fingers flew to her combadge as she strode into the corridor, pace quickening with every step.

"Janeway to Tuvok. Meet me in Sickbay."

"Understood." Tuvok responded with no hesitation.

The turbolift ride was agonizingly slow. Every second felt like hours, Janeway could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

She tapped her fingers against the panel, barely resisting the urge to demand the computer to move faster. When the doors finally opened, she stepped out before they had even fully retracted.

Sickbay was too quiet.

Too bright.

Her stomach clenched.

Then she saw her.

Astrea lay in the crib, impossibly small, her tiny limbs trembling, her skin flushed with fever. The soft rise and fall of her chest was too fast, shallow and erratic. The infant let out a weak, breathless sound, more a whimper than a cry.

Janeway was moving before she could think, reaching the crib in seconds.

"What happened?" Her voice came sharp, barely controlled.

The Doctor was already working, scanning, adjusting settings, his movements sharp and precise. He didn't look up.

"Her neural pathways are destabilizing. Her immune system is shutting down." A pause. Then, grimmer, "She stopped breathing for a few seconds before you got here."

Janeway felt the world tilt beneath her. Stopped breathing echoed in her mind.
The words sank like lead in her chest, knocking the air from her lungs.

She had faced death more times than she could count. She had stood on the bridge as explosions ripped through the hull, faced down the Borg, made impossible choices that haunted her in the quiet moments between battles.

But this, watching this tiny, helpless child struggle for air, this was different.

The biobed monitors let out a sharp, erratic beep. The Doctor cursed under his breath.

"She's going into respiratory distress."
Astrea's little chest jerked with the effort to breathe. Her tiny fingers twitched against the blanket, seeking something, anything.

Janeway reached down, brushing the damp curls from her forehead with shaking fingers. The baby's skin was burning beneath her touch, fever radiating off her fragile body.

Astrea sucked in a sharp, desperate breath, then choked on it.

The beeping intensified.

Janeway's stomach dropped. "Doctor—"
"She's crashing." The Doctor's hands flew across the controls. "Her oxygen levels are dropping. I need to intubate—"