The Counselor: Revelations

G. L. Dartt

 

The ship shuddered as the burst from the Jem'Hadar fighter struck the left nacelle, the feedback sending sparks through the conduit to the bridge, and blowing out the starboard helm control. The surge exploded in the unfortunate helmsman's face and he fell back, crying out as he hit the deck.

“Stone,” Captain Callie Fernandez snapped as she stepped over the unconscious man to take the helm. Behind her, Commander Sydney Stone, Athena's first officer, who doubled as the ship's medic, dragged the supine body out of the way.

“Captain, I'm picking up unusual readings from the port sensors,” Lt. Narek cried from his post at ops.

“More important than five Jem'Hadar fighters and a Cardassian dreadnought?” Fernandez mumbled. “Report,” she said louder. Another blow shook the bridge and a call came in from engineering.

“Captain, we have a core breach in progress,” Chief Engineer Larson's voice came over the speaker. “We have to eject.”

At the same time, Narek was reporting from ops. “It's the Barzan worm hole, captain. Forming less than two thousand meters off the port bow.”

From where she was working frantically over the helmsman, Stone looked up as there was a brief space of silence and she met the gaze of her captain. “Oh no.”

Fernandez grinned evilly at her, eyes wide and wild. “Eject warp core on my command,” she snapped her orders with wicked glee. “Plotting a course into the worm hole. Narek, load all remaining photon torpedoes and fire on my mark. Then, fire phasers at will. Keep them interested, Lieutenant.”

Stone tried to remain calm even as the life of the helmsman slipped through her fingers. There was too much damage, his injuries too severe. Even if she had been able to stabilize him and transport him to a stasis chamber, it would have been unlikely that he would survive the upcoming action. It was unlikely any of them would. With weary eyes who had seen far too much of this war with the Dominion, she rose and staggered across the bridge to the captain, leaning over her shoulder.

“Callie,” she dropped her voice warningly, “the Barzan wormhole is unstable. No one knows where it leads, and now that this end has been flipping all over the Federation, there's no telling where we'll end up when we return.”

Fernandez looked up at her even as she sent her ship plunging into the spatial anomaly, the Cardassian dreadnought following a heartbeat behind, the five Jem'Hadar fighters tailing them, refusing to relinquish their prey. “We're outnumbered, outgunned,” she told her quietly. “This is only hope.”

“Our chances of survival—” Stone began.

“Not to survive,” Fernandez interrupted and it seemed like her dark eyes filled Stone's whole universe at that moment. “To take the bastards with us.”

Stone, staggered by the words, felt her mouth suddenly go dry, her heart pounding as she reached out blindly for the rail behind her. Weakly, she leaned there as she looked up at the viewscreen filled with the multi-hued interior of the wormhole, and an aft shot of the pursuing Dominion forces who were refusing to break off.

“Eject warpcore,” Fernandez said calmly, her voice without inflection. “Narek, just as we clear the wormhole, fire the final torpedoes, targeting the ejected core. Channel all power to the aft shields.”

The last was a token gesture. They all knew it. Mesmerized, Stone watched as the wormhole suddenly gave way to the bright pinpoints of unfamiliar space.

“Torpedoes away.”

“Full impulse away from the wormhole,” Fernandez said, her hands working over the board, but it was too little, far too late.

All gazes jerked to the screen as they watched the antimatter in the warpcore, triggered by the photon torpedoes, ignite in a raging ball of flaming hell. It expanded rapidly, hungrily, destroying the wormhole utterly, and swallowing the five Jem'Hadar ships that were veering frantically to escape the wave of destruction. It swept them up without hesitation, and reached ever outwards to gobble up the Cardassian dreadnought looming over the fleeing Federation vessel.

There was a brief second when Callie met her eyes once more, a shared sense of all they had been through, and all they would miss. “Sydney.”

“Callie.” The Counselor stepped toward her, reached out to touch her, to hold her, but then the wave reached them and the universe was nothing but pain and white light and finally, merciful darkness.

 

The long, sleek form of the USS Voyager, lost in the Delta Quadrant for the past five years, sped through the stardusted heavens on route to its home port in the Alpha Quadrant some 60,000 light years and 60 years away. Lounging comfortably in her command chair on its bridge, chin resting lightly on her thumb and forefinger, Captain Kathryn Janeway regarded the fore viewscreen with something akin to boredom.

Not that she was anxious for her precious ship to be delayed or interfered within any way but the truth was, the past few weeks without any encounters of any sort, was starting to wear thin. At first, they had welcomed the stretch of unoccupied space that lay before them, using the time to rest, to make needed repairs and to work on less crucial, but still necessary maintenance on the ship. But as time had continued to pass, they were becoming a little anxious for something anything out of the ordinary to occur, even as they knew they would probably bitterly regret it when it did. It was starting to remind the captain uncomfortably of the Void, that area of completely empty space that had worn on them like a shroud, though unlike that encounter, stars were still prevalent here, if devoid of inhabited planets.

“Captain, long range sensors are picking up some sort of disturbance,” Tuvok reported suddenly from his tactical station.

Janeway shared a glance with her first officer. The bearish, handsome Chakotay raised an eyebrow, and smiled gently at her. “Be careful what you wish for,” he said, apparently having read her mind the last few moments or having had his thoughts trailing along the same path of boredom.

She stood up, moving over to the dark-skinned security chief who was moving his hands gracefully over his board. Leaning against the console with one arm, Janeway regarded her longtime friend and crewmember with an intrigued expression.

“Anything more, Tuvok?”

He raised an elegantly arched brow, dark eyes narrowed as he went over his readings. “It appears to be the aftermath of an implosion of sorts the destruction of a spatial anomaly.” He raised his eyes to meet hers. “A wormhole. Its dispersed plasma readings indicate that it is or was, the Barzan wormhole.”

She looked at him with surprise. The Barzan wormhole had originally been anchored in the Alpha Quadrant, though its other end was like the wagging of a dog's tail, appearing randomly throughout the Delta Quadrant. Voyager had already encountered it, along with a couple of Ferengi, resulting in the wormhole being destabilized at both ends so that it could literally appear anywhere in either quadrant. Now, apparently, it was no more and certainly no longer an option for returning to the Alpha Quadrant.

“What caused the destruction?” Curiosity made her dark gray eyes shade to blue.

“Unknown,” Tuvok replied. “Perhaps a closer investigation? It's not that large a diversion from our intended route.” He looked expectantly at her, though of course, he would never show much beyond that, and she favored him with a brief smile.

“Why not?” she allowed, turning back to the rest of the bridge. “It's not as if we're doing anything else now.” She walked across the lower deck to stand by the rail just aft of her fair-haired helmsman, Lt. Tom Paris. “Lay in a course, Tom.”

As he did, she glanced over at Chakotay who joined her. “It's possible that whatever destroyed it could pose a threat to us,” he noted in a low voice, not warning necessarily, merely commenting. That was his job.

“Only one way to find out,” she responded dryly with a small smile.

“Captain, I'm picking up an automated distress call,” Harry Kim said from his post at the rear of the bridge at operations. His voice rose with uncertain excitement, and they all turned to look at the youthful ensign. His dark eyes were wide as they gazed at the rest of the Command crew. “It's reading a Federation signature. The USS Athena. Call letters, NCC 99567. Guardian-class.”

“Confirmed, Captain,” Tuvok added. “The warp signature is Starfleet.”

Immediately, the atmosphere on the bridge altered perceptibly as adrenaline flooded their systems, and hearts began to pound at the unexpected words. “Increase to Warp six,” Janeway said crisply, returning to her command chair. She keyed the monitor on the left arm of her chair. “Bridge to sickbay. Doctor, we're picking up a distress call. Prepare for possible casualties.”

“Understood,” came the even tones of the Emergency Medical Hologram over the channel.

“Hail them,” Chakotay instructed Kim as he sat down beside his captain.

“No response,” Kim said after a few moments of working his console.

“Life signs?” Janeway demanded.

“Unable to determine, Captain,” Tuvok said. “There is a great deal of interference from the plasma dispersal and weapons discharge.”

“Weapons?” Tom Paris muttered from his helm. “Why were they trying to shoot a wormhole?” His blue eyes darkened as he urged another bit of speed out of the warp drive.

“Not just the wormhole,” Tuvok corrected. “I'm picking up a considerable amount of debris Captain, from at least six other vessels. There is a Cardassian signature. The third signature is of unknown origin.”

Janeway took a breath. “Drop to impulse. On screen.”

The shattered, scattered remains of several vessels drifted in the uncaring frozen depths of space, creating a treacherous navigational puzzle for Paris as he steered Voyager carefully through what had been the battlefield; to where the sight of a Federation vessel hanging lifeless before them stilled the bridge, leaving no sound but the soft chirps and murmurs of the ship's systems filling the terse air. Unconsciously, Janeway rose once more to her feet, feeling her throat close at the devastation lay waste before her.

“The Starfleet vessel's warp core has been ejected,” Tuvok said finally. “There are several hull breeches, life support is gone. There are no life signs registering.” He paused. “But I am picking up the power signatures of stasis chambers.”

These words galvanized the crew who had been struck dumb by the viewscreen. “Lock onto them,” Janeway ordered. “Beam any activated tubes directly to sickbay.” She nodded at Tom who was half turned toward her at the helm. “Get down there and help out. Take whoever else you need.” Tom dipped his head briefly and immediately turned his console over to another crewman, scooting across the bridge and into the turbolift. Janeway looked back at Harry Kim. “Try to connect with their main computer and download the ship's most recent logs. Chakotay, I want you to get an away team over there, see what you can find out.”

“On my way,” he said as he brushed past her.

She stared at the viewscreen, eyeing the shattered vessel narrowly. “What happened here?” she muttered to no one in particular. She didn't receive an answer not then.

 

A few hours later, they had some of the pieces in place after Kim managed to download some of the Athena's logs. Meanwhile, Chakotay and his team had transported over to the crippled vessel to find several dead bodies dressed in Starfleet uniforms amongst the wreckage. The team took the time to place the bodies reverently in the remaining empty stasis chambers, utilizing them as makeshift coffins before turning their attention to the ship itself, taking stock of the damage.

Back on Voyager, Janeway, Kim and Tuvok went over the logs, reconstructing what they could. The data retrieved told the story of a Federation now at war, of their allies, the Klingon Empire and, who could have imagined it, the Romulan Republic, against an old adversary, the Cardassians and an even more disturbing foe, the Dominion. Of a running battle fought over the last few days with a Jem'Hadar fighter squadron that had finally called in the dreadnought, considerably larger and deadlier looking than any Cardassian vessel Voyager's crew had ever seen before. Of the valiant last stand utilizing the wormhole to destroy the enemy, assuring its destruction even as the explosion reached out and smashed the Federation vessel. The only reason the Athena had remained reasonably intact was the fact they had been sheltered somewhat by the bulk of the dreadnought that had taken the brunt of the concussion wave.

A year previously, using an alien communications array that spanned the Delta Quadrant, Voyager had been able to contact the Federation briefly by transporting their EMH to a ship traveling on a deep space mission on the outer reaches of the Alpha Quadrant. The Doctor had spoken directly to Starfleet Command, telling them all that had happened to Voyager, before returning along the same network. A month later, Voyager received a communications package from the Federation, including some personal letters to the crew and a coded message from Starfleet Command before the array was permanently disabled. There had been no mention of a war then, but certainly hints of trouble had been passed on. Chakotay had received word in his letter from a Maquis member telling of the freedom fighters annihilation at the hands of the Cardassians who had some new ally. Now, it seemed this Dominion was threatening the whole of the Alpha Quadrant.

“Sickbay to Tuvok,” came Paris's voice over the intercom. It sounded faintly panicked and there was a lot of unfamiliar noise in the background. “I need a security team down here right now.”

Janeway looked up from the ops station where she and Harry were trying to reconstruct more of the downloaded data. “I'm coming with you,” she told Tuvok as he hustled into the turbo-lift. “Ensign Kim, you have the bridge.”

Sickbay was chaos. Nine, blood splattered stasis tubes lay scattered and empty on the deck, causing Tuvok and Janeway to pause in the entrance. They took in the sight of the seven bodies lying on biobeds, sheets drawn over the faces with chilling finality. Across the medical bay, the trim form of the Doctor could be seen, sealed off by a force field, his bald palate gleaming slightly in the harsh overhead light as he worked feverishly over an eighth victim. He was trying hard to ignore the confusion going on in the rest of sickbay.

“Would you keep it down out there?” he snapped peevishly. “I'm trying to operate.”

Tom managed an exasperated expression, but he did not take his eyes off what had him cornered against the bulkhead. Tuvok, spying the creature, raised his phaser only to have his arm restrained by the captain who reached out and grasped his wrist firmly.

“It's only a dog,” she said, looking at it with wide eyes.

An indiscriminate breed with long white and black hair, the medium-sized canine drew its upper lip back over its teeth as it glared at Paris, an almost soundless growl emanating from its chest, hackles raised threateningly.

“It was in the last stasis tube,” Paris explained from where he cowered. “It woke up before I realized it wasn't hurt.” He eyed Tuvok with irritation. “Shoot it, why don't you?”

“No one's going to shoot a dog on my ship,” Janeway snapped with an uncharacteristic edge to her voice, stepping forward cautiously.

“Captain,” Tuvok said warningly.

At the word, the dog looked over, ears rising, barked once, a brief wag of its tail, before resuming its glare at Tom.

“Easy, girl,” Janeway said in a low, soothing voice. She looked back at Tuvok. “She recognized that. Say it again.”

“Captain?” Tuvok queried, completely mystified.

Again, the dog acknowledged the word and Janeway slowly moved closer. “Easy girl,” she murmured. “Easy. That's a good girl.”

“Be careful, Captain,” Paris warned.

Almost involuntarily, the dog shifted its head to Janeway who had her hands cupped before her. Cautiously, it reached out its snout and tentatively sniffed her fingers. Carefully, slowly, Janeway slid her fingers up and over the squarish head, provoking another wag from the tail as she continued her soothing words. “That's it, that's a good girl. Yes, you're a good girl, aren't you? I know you're scared, but you don't have to be. It's okay. Good girl.”

Boggled, Tuvok and Paris watched as the growl finally stopped and the tail began to swish with regularity as Janeway petted and caressed the dog lavishly. She looked at the collar and the tiny tag that was inscribed with the Starfleet symbol, along with some writing.

“Digger,” Janeway read off the inscription. “Serial Number K9-99567. USS Athena.” She looked back at Tuvok. “Apparently she's the ship's dog.”

“I was unaware ships had dogs, Captain.”

Paris relaxed and stepped forward, freezing as the dog lifted her lip again and growled.

“Digger, no,” Janeway said immediately, voice firm. “Down.”

Obediently the dog dropped to its belly, looking up at her expectantly, awaiting her next command. Janeway smiled. “I guess she recognizes the concept of 'captain', if nothing else.” She favored Tom with an amused grin. “You can move now.”

“If you're sure, Captain,” Tom said uncertainly, moving slowly, and then at a more normal speed as the dog didn't budge from its crouch. He shook his head. “I'm sure glad it can count pips.”

Janeway nodded and walked over to the force field, raising an eyebrow as Digger immediately got up and moved with her, nose aligned perfectly at her left shin, in perfect show position. When she stopped, it did too, dropping to its haunches. “Well trained,” she noted approvingly. She motioned at the Doctor who was continuing to work, ignoring everything that had been going on outside.

“What's the story here?”

Tom joined her, and she was faintly amused to see him carefully keeping her between him and the dog. “Three had already died in stasis. The others died soon after we opened each chamber,” he explained. “Their injuries were just too extreme for us to be able to do anything for them. Massive trauma and blood loss.” His voice trailed off, face was a bit pale. “The woman in there is a commander, and is alive, barely. The dog was in the last chamber.”

“What's the woman's condition?”

“Tentative,” Tom said. “The Doctor thinks if he can get her insides put back together quickly enough, she might have a chance.”

Janeway nodded somberly. “Keep me informed.”

She walked out of sickbay, the dog trotting neatly at her side as if it had always belonged there. Tuvok raised an eyebrow at Paris significantly, then followed the pair.

 

Commander Chakotay walked into the ready room, looking around to find Janeway sitting on the couch on the upper level, under the large windows that revealed the flat blackness of space and all its multitude of stars. She was sipping coffee from her cup in her left hand as she studied a padd in her right. He mounted the short flight of stairs, smiling as he saw the furry animal stretched out on the couch beside her, its head resting on her right thigh, fast asleep.

“It looks comfortable,” he said softly as he sat down in the chair opposite her.

Janeway looked down with a smile as Digger opened her eyes briefly at the sound of the voice, recognized it as no threat and went back to sleep. “She's been through a lot,” Janeway told him. She handed him the padd and dropped her hand to rest on the shaggy head. “Digger, graduated Starfleet K9 school six months ago and was assigned to the USS Athena. She was awarded the canine Medal of Honor for her actions in the Battle at Bolian. According to her file, she has quite a few useful skills including tracking intruders, sniffing out explosives, and protecting the ship's captain.”

“I thought that was Tuvok's job,” Chakotay commended dryly, reading the rest from the padd screen. “When did Starfleet start recruiting dogs?”

“When the Dominion arrived from the Gamma Quadrant,” Janeway related. “Apparently, it's controlled by a species known as the Founders, who are shape shifters. Good enough to fool most Humans, including several in Starfleet Command when they infiltrated it to prepare for their Jem'Hadar invasion force. But they can't fool dogs, so a lot of the ships acquired their own pets and recognizing that need, Starfleet began training them formally. Digger was in the very first class.”

Chakotay let his breath out audibly. “War.”

Janeway nodded, face bleak. “We were so concerned about returning home, we never once stopped to think that there might not be a Federation there for us to return to.”

“That bad?”

“They lost DS9 briefly, and got it back. The Gamma Quadrant wormhole was mined to prevent further Dominion forces from getting through, but in the meantime, the ones already in the Alpha Quadrant have allied with the Cardassians, and operate from that sector of space. Earth's been under martial law. Vulcan was nearly occupied before the Romulans allied themselves. Planets like Betazed were.” Janeway's eyes were dark. “Those are the high points. The Federation has now managed to carry the war to Cardassian space, but it's seemed to have settled into one of attrition now. The Dominion aren't willing to surrender, and neither are the Cardassians.”

“And not a damned thing we can do about it,” Chakotay noted. “Except agonize.”

Janeway shook her head slightly, her eyes dark. “Exactly.” She scratched Digger behind her ears, and the tail thumped a couple of times on the cushions, though the soft eyes did not open. “I'm hesitant about how much we should share with the crew.”

Chakotay nodded, understanding what was making her hesitate, but not necessarily agreeing. “I think we should tell them all we know. If I were in their shoes, I would want to know what I might be facing when we get back.” The 'if we get back' was never mentioned by mutually understood consent. “Besides, if Commander Stone survives, then surely she'll be inundated with questions from people wanting to know what's been going on for the last five years from someone who's been there.”

“Stone? You've identified her?”

Chakotay nodded, eyes growing dark with sadness. “We've been able to identify all of them from the ship's records. The Athena had a crew compliment of 32.” He and the captain dipped their heads in a quiet moment of shared grief for the dead Starfleet officers. He entered some data in the padd and handed it back to her. “Sydney Tabitha Stone,” he explained. “Commander.”

Janeway looked at the image of the woman who was currently fighting for her life in her sickbay. It revealed a tall, well-built Human female in her late thirties, with strong features, high cheekbones and an elegant nose. There was a certain set to the slightly squared jaw that Janeway recognized all too well from looking in the mirror. When this woman made up her mind, a quantum torpedo couldn't alter it. The level eyes were a deep, emerald green and the hair, done up in the regulation bun, was thick, a raven black mass that probably fell midway down her back when loosened.

The rest of the file revealed an education that included a full four years at Starfleet Medical studying psychology after her graduation from the Academy and to Janeway's intrigued surprise a year of command training before being assigned to the USS Liberty, a galaxy class ship with families and civilians. Stone had served there as assistant counselor, rising to Lt. Commander until the war had forced the Galaxy-class ships to remove their civilian crew. Stone was promoted once more and transferred to the Athena. This was her third rotation of duty on the ship, having risen to the position of first officer on the vessel that had been constructed purely as a fighting ship, the living conditions lean and lacking such amenities as holodecks or even emitters. It didn't even have a sickbay with the understanding that in a war, it was best to keep the doctors safe and out of the line of fire, leaving the ships in battle to get the wounded into stasis and return to a safer port where they could then patch them up.

“She was originally a ship's counselor,” she said thoughtfully, “and utilized as a medic.”

“She would definitely be an asset to Voyager,” Chakotay pointed out, trying hard to be delicate, the 'if she lives' being unspoken, but still sitting heavy between them.

Janeway allowed the point. One of the things the ship had lacked in the Delta Quadrant, and most keenly felt, was a counselor, a person who could deal full-time with all the emotional and mental baggage that came along with being lost and alone, far from the Federation. Not to mention the dynamics of a crew that was a combination of Starfleet officers, Starfleet-turned-Maquis, Maquis civilians and a couple of people who had just ended up along for the ride like the Talaxian, Neelix, who served as ship's cook and jack of all trades. Then there was Seven of Nine, the insolent and arrogant astrometrics officer who had been a part of the Borg Collective before Janeway severed the link, reclaiming the woman assimilated at the tender age of six. Seven and Janeway's varied clashes and confrontations were becoming the stuff of legend on Voyager, and the captain wondered idly if a counselor could somehow smooth that relationship out a little.

“What's the doctor's prognosis?”

“If she can make it through the night, he thinks she has a good chance.” He nodded at the dog. “By the way, she looked after it. We found a doggy bed and toys in what was her cabin. Which, I guess, explains why she made sure it was in a stasis tube, before getting herself into one.”

Janeway raised her chin a little, and then smiled. “Are you suggesting that I shouldn't get too attached to Digger?”

Chakotay shrugged. “Just so you know,” he responded easily. “Do you want us to beam the items over here?”

Janeway nodded. “Yes, and have them placed in my quarters.”

“Un, this may not be the sort of thing to ask but,” he hesitated, then looked her in the eye. “Is that thing house er, ship-trained?”

She regarded him for a few moments, studying him intently as if she had never really seen him before. “You're not a dog lover, are you?” she asked abruptly.

“Un, not really.” He shrugged. “I'm not really into pets though if I had to make a choice, I'd probably have a cat. I like their independence and they're much easier to take care of.” For the briefest instant, he thought he saw a trace of censure in her eyes, as if he had somehow disappointed her in some deep and profound way, but it was only the slightest hint, and he was not really sure if he had merely imagined it or not.

“Digger has been trained to use the ship's facilities,” she answered coolly. “At a specific setting that I've already had B'Elanna program into the system. So, don't be concerned about surprises showing up on the deck here and there.”

“Well that's good.” He grinned at her, but she didn't return the grin and again, he wondered. “What's the plan now?”

She eased her leg from beneath Digger's head, and rose from the couch, taking her cup over to the replicator and refilling it with coffee. “What's the condition of the Athena?” she asked, sipping the steaming liquid as she eyed him expectantly.

“Well, she's definitely not going anywhere,” he told her, rising to his feet as well. “The warp core is gone and it would require a fully equipped shipyard to bring her outer hull back to space worthy condition. She's a small ship, Captain, and built for war. Mostly weapon and navigational systems. Any extra power went to the replicators. They could eat well, if nothing else. There's quite a lot we can salvage from her.”

Janeway took another swallow of coffee as she thought about that. The rules of salvage regarding Starfleet vessels were quite clear in the Alpha Quadrant. Any Starfleet vessel was to be towed to the nearest base, intact for recovery of systems. Otherwise, it was to be investigated as thoroughly as possible, and then destroyed to prevent any technology from falling into the wrong hands. Here, necessity made things a little different, but there was still one thing that could not be navigated around.

“As long as any crewmember of the vessel is still alive, that person has to be considered in command of the ship. Until we receive Stone's permission to proceed, we cannot, by regulation, take a single piece of technology off the Athena.”

“Isn't that splitting hairs, Captain?” he asked. “I doubt that she would object, even if she were able.”

She frowned faintly. “It's not going to hurt us to wait a few days until the situation has resolved itself a little more. In the meantime, have engineering restore as much life support as possible if we do have to have salvage teams working over there in the future.”

“Understood,” he said, recognizing the last as an order which finished any further discussion on the matter. He nodded and turned to leave.

Just before he exited the ready room, he snuck a quick glance back at the captain who was standing with her back to him, staring out at the stars. Digger had slipped off the couch and was sitting quietly by her. The captain's hand stroked the dog's head gently as it pressed against her leg as if it had always belonged there.

 

The light above her was just beyond her, yet she strove to reach it, even as she knew the darkness around her was so much more comforting, so much easier to live with. The light held nothing, but pain and fear. Nonetheless, it was where she belonged, despite all that she would have to face when she reached it.

Counselor Sydney Stone woke quietly, an intake of breath the only indication of consciousness. Her mouth was cotton dry, but she dared not risk swallowing, not until she had a better indication of her situation. Her ears strained as she tried to identify sounds, hearing the soft breathing of people near her, sensing the presence of at least two, maybe more.

The Dominion? Cardassians? Was she a prisoner?

“Counselor?” It was a male voice, strong but soothing, and despite herself, she opened her eyes. Clearly, they knew she was awake, and to her great relief, the trim, sparse man standing over her was Human, dressed in a Starfleet uniform, the blue of medical. On the other side of the bed, a woman, also Human, with four pips at her collar. A captain. Beyond her, a tall, broad shouldered man in Starfleet red, but with an odd sort of insignia at his throat. Something was not right. The uniforms...

“Stardate?” Her voice a rasp, unfamiliar, uncertain.

“I beg your pardon?” That was from the man, the doctor? Who wasn't breathing?

Fascinated, she stared at him even as the woman leaned over her.

“It's Stardate 52947.6,” she said, her voice a deep, throaty caress. Sydney shifted her gaze over to her. That sounded about right, give or take a few days.

“Then, your uniforms are a little out of date,” she told her ironically. Maybe this was some sort of Cardassian trick a holo-program, perhaps. If so, it wasn't very good.

The woman glanced quickly at the two other men one of which was still was not breathing, Sydney noted. God, this was weird. Then, the woman placed her hand comfortingly on the counselor's shoulder, and Sydney was surprised to feel the warmth of flesh on flesh. That was when she realized she was nude under a thin sheet. Awkward, to say the least. She felt lightheaded, clouded. It was hard to concentrate.

“I understand your confusion,” the woman the captain said. “You're on the USS Voyager, in the Delta Quadrant. We were lost here five years ago, which is why our uniforms are not the latest issue. I'm Captain Kathryn Janeway. This is my first officer, Commander Chakotay and the Doctor.”

Sydney swallowed with difficulty. “Voyager?” she echoed faintly. A vague memory surfaced, the story of a ship lost five years previously while chasing Marquis in the Bajoran Badlands. One of the new Intrepid Class ships, it seemed to her, and its disappearance had been big news at the time. She took a new look at the woman. That would explain the uniforms. The current version had been instituted three years ago, around the time of the Borg temporal incursion. “How did I get here?” Then she closed her eyes as wisps of memories started to come back to her, harsh memories. “The wormhole—” She tried to sit up suddenly, fighting the wave of dizziness. “What happened to the Athena? The rest of the crew? I managed to get all I could into stasis before life support failed completely.”

Strong, yet gentle hands pressed her back down. “Easy, Commander. I'm sorry, Counselor Stone, you were the only survivor of the battle.” The words were as compassionate as the woman knew how to be but the words with their awful import struck Stone like fists, slamming into her with the force of vicious blows.

“Oh gods,” Sydney whispered. She put a forearm over her face, covering her eyes, taking a breath as she shuddered. Then she heard a soft whimper, and she lowered her arm as a snout jammed into her side. A furry form rose over the side of the bed, two paws resting on the edge, a pink tongue dangling as Digger whined again, her whole-body wiggling as the tail wagged furiously.

“Digger,” Stone said, managing a smile. She reached out weakly, scratching the ears. “Not the only survivor after all, I guess,” she said thankfully. “Good girl, Digger. That's my brave girl. Yes, good girl. At least, you made it through all right.”

She was suddenly aware of the captain looking at her with an odd expression, and she took a moment to study the woman. Small, compact, with marvelous grey-blue eyes and auburn hair with fiery highlights, Janeway radiated a command presence that was unmistakable, a confident, quiet force that seemed to electrify the air about her. This one had experience and skill, a captain Stone knew instantly that she could trust and could serve readily.

“Down, Digger,” she said, pushing the dog down, and tried once more to rise, this time managing to sit up, tucking the sheet modestly about her as she looked about the room. It was a sickbay, clean and sparkling, unlike the cramped quarters of the other vessel.

“Where is the Athena now?” she asked, forcing herself to remember her training, steeling her voice to a calm professionalism. “The remains of the crew?”

“They're in stasis chambers in the Athena's cargo bay,” Chakotay spoke for the first time and she looked at him closely. He was tall, broad shouldered, with strong features. A tattoo, tribal, clearly non-regulation, arched over his left eye. “She's drifting a couple of thousand meters off our port bow. She's not going anywhere.”

She considered this, trying hard to organize her thoughts. She remembered the ejection of the warp core which meant the ship was limited to impulse, assuming it could ever move again which was unlikely, considering the damage it had already sustained before going through the wormhole. Leaving her and Digger stranded in the Delta Quadrant with only this Voyager as any option for returning home. As the only survivor, she was in command of the crippled ship. Stone knew what that meant. She raised her eyes to the sympathetic gaze of the captain who was waiting patiently. They all were giving her a moment to gain her bearings, to gather her thoughts. She was grateful for that.

“You'll want to salvage what you can before engaging the self-destruct,” she stated with a cool detachment. She tried very hard not to think of what Callie would have felt about what she had to do now. She reached out a hand to the captain, which Janeway accepted, somehow understanding. “I must relinquish command to you.”

Janeway nodded and squeezed the hand gently. “Computer, acknowledge this Stardate, Captain Kathryn Janeway, in command of USS Voyager call letters NCC 74656 Authorization code, Janeway Pi Alpha one one five three red.”

“Commander Sydney Stone, Authorization code Stone Gamma seven four two nine blue, acting captain of the USS Athena, call letters NCC 99567. As of this date, transfer all command of the Athena to Captain Kathryn Janeway. The command codes to release the main computer data core are as follows.” She rattled off several strings of code, surprised at how well she remembered them. She swallowed hard at the final, solemn words that made captains wince and gave even counselors pause, feeling empty inside. “I surrender my ship.”

“Transmitting to Athena. Transfer of command complete,” the even tones of the computer noted dispassionately.

Sydney felt dizzy suddenly and eased back onto the bed as the supporting arm of the captain helped lower her down. The doctor came over and looked down at her fussily.

“You've over-extended yourself,” he noted, a snippy tone in his voice.

“Why the hell aren't you breathing?” Stone snapped back with some irritation.

The captain smiled. “This is our EMH program. Our original doctor was killed five years ago.”

Sydney blinked. “Good gods, is that possible? Doesn't the program degrade after a certain amount of time?”

“You don't have to talk about me as if I'm not here,” he told them both with a frown.

“He's our Chief Medical Officer,” Janeway said dryly and favored Stone with a parting pat on her arm. “Be assured, you're in good hands.”

Sydney watched as she and Chakotay headed for the exit. Just before the door, the captain hesitated as if realizing something was missing, and looked back. Stone blinked as Digger, who had started after them, stopped, sat and whimpered, clearly uncertain. The dog looked at Sydney plaintively, soft brown eyes distressed. Suddenly, the Counselor understood the odd expression that had appeared in Janeway's eyes, one of dismay, and Stone realized there was one more transfer to make before she could rest.

“So, after three captains, you finally met one who'll love you, huh, girl?” She looked at the Voyager captain, meeting Janeway's gaze squarely, warningly. “Regulation 456 dash K9. You must promise to accord her all the rights of a crewmember. She'll give her life for you freely, but you don't have the right to take it. She may not be considered sentient under Starfleet regs, but she's not disposable either.”

“I never once thought so,” Janeway said quietly.

There was a moment of startling clarity, of total and complete comprehension passing between them, both lovers of dogs, recognizing it in the other. “Digger,” Stone said, looking at the dog who was clearly waiting for a command, a clear direction of what she had to do. “She is Captain. Serve. Protect.”

The dog barked once, as if in acknowledgment, and swiftly got up to join Janeway, looking up at her expectantly. The captain shot the Counselor one more glance, one of profound gratitude, and exited sickbay, Digger locked to her heel as if welded there. Stone was amused to see that the first officer didn't react nearly as quickly as the dog did. When Janeway moved, Chakotay was caught trailing a few steps behind.

Exhausted, Stone lay back and closed her eyes. The ship and Digger were no longer her responsibility. That left only herself and she had no idea what would happen to her now.

 

Sydney woke with a start, the unmistakable sensation of being watched penetrating the fog of sedated sleep. She opened her eyes to discover, looming above her, hands linked behind her back, an imposing woman with white-blond hair pulled severely back in a bun. Ice-blue eyes were set in astoundingly beautiful features, regarding the counselor with a disturbing directness, rather like a scientist observing a lab rat. The stranger's left brow was framed by a metallic device of some sort, while a starburst design adorned her right cheek just under her earlobe where the jawline terminated.

Sydney let out an involuntary squeak and sat up in the biobed. This person was definitely not Starfleet. Instead, she was dressed in some sort of brown, mesh-like outfit that left little to the imagination as far as her bodily proportions were concerned. Had Sydney been less startled, she certainly would have been more appreciative of those proportions.

“Who the hell are you?”

The woman's brow raised, as did the implant. “I am Seven of Nine. You are the survivor from the Athena, Commander Sydney Stone.” Her tone was controlled, detached.

“Seven of Nine? What the hell kind of name is that?”

“It is my Borg designation.”

“Borg?” Sydney knew she was gapping stupidly at the woman, but really, was this any way to be woken out of a drugged sleep? Clearly, the woman was not a Borg. Sydney had seen Borg, fought them at Wolf 359. This person was well, quite attractive, even with the assorted metallic accessories adorning her person.

Seven of Nine continued to regard her evenly. “I have come to sickbay for my weekly maintenance. However, the Doctor has either forgotten our appointment, or chose for some reason to ignore it.”

Sydney took a breath. “So, you decided to pass the time observing me?”

For the first time, there was a shade of uncertainty in the pale eyes. “I did not mean to offend you. I was curious.”

“About me?”

“Ensign Kim informed me that you were a 'headshrinker'. I had believed that was a barbaric custom practiced by primitives in certain ancient Earth cultures. I was unaware that it still existed.”

“What this 'Ensign Kim' meant was that I'm a ship's counselor,” Sydney explained, feeling her heart slow its wild gallop, regaining control of her senses. She didn't quite know what was going on here but it was becoming apparent that she was in no immediate danger of being harmed or assimilated. “It's a colloquialism, a slang expression having to do with the fact that I am a doctor who specializes in psychology.”

“Ah,” Seven of Nine responded with a brief nod. “I understand.”

Sydney looked at her closely. “The Doctor had to go down to engineering. There was an injury though it didn't seem that serious. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Are you also a physician?” Seven of Nine asked curiously.

“No, but I did act as a medic. Why are you here again? Are you hurt?”

“No. My implants require weekly servicing to maintain their proper function.”

“Oh.” Sydney took a breath. This was one of the stranger conversations she had ever been a part of. “How long has it been since you were fully Borg?”

“My connection to the Collective was severed 437 days ago,” came the response.

“And you've been here on Voyager ever since?” Sydney couldn't wait to hear the full story behind this, though she didn't think she would get it out of this woman. Seven of Nine was quite Vulcan in her demeanor, answering only what the question asked, and not volunteering anything beyond that. She suspected the Doctor would be more forthcoming, having found the hologram to be fairly gregarious.

Stone gave a little mental snort suddenly. Holographic doctors, Borg this wasn't a starship, this was a circus act looking for a Big Top. What had she fallen into here?

“Yes.”

Stone blinked as she realized Seven of Nine had just answered her last question. “How are you adapting?”

Seven of Nine raised an eyebrow. “I believe, successfully.”

Sydney felt a smile curve her lips. “That's good. Are you the only ex-Borg on the ship?”

“Yes.”

The door suddenly hissed open and the Doctor strode through. “Ah, Seven,” he said, spotting Seven. “Sorry to be late, but my talents were required elsewhere. I hope you haven't been waiting long.”

“Twenty-three minutes,” Seven informed him.

His smile faltered a bit as he noted Stone sitting up. “You haven't been bothering my other patient, have you?” he admonished.

“On the contrary, Doctor,” Sydney offered as she settled back down in the bed. “Seven of Nine has been quite an interesting revelation. Do you have any more non-Starfleet officers on board?”

“Half the ship is non-Starfleet,” the Doctor replied, gesturing Seven over to the other biobed, and as he proceeded to perform the regular maintenance on the Borg, he explained just how many there were, who they were and just how they got on board.

Sydney finally realized just what kind of circus she had fallen into.