Star Trek Voyager: Here I Stand

Here I Stand, Part 14

Part 13

                The tactical gear felt like a second skin.

                In the months since Voyager’s return, Chakotay had spent most of his time clad in the gray uniform of an Academy professor, or the casual, comfortable clothes he wore while off-duty in Big Sur. He’d forgotten how easy it was to move – how easy it was to breathe – in sleek, black Starfleet tactical gear, even with extra weapons and communications equipment strapped to his belt and tucked into his pockets. From the tight black turtleneck to the soft-soled boots, every centimeter of the kit had been engineered by Starfleet’s Quartermaster division for stealth, silence and maximum efficiency. Chakotay and Admiral Paris had paused before beaming to Kathryn’s townhouse just long enough to change, and even though Chakotay was almost certain no danger lurked there, it felt good, damn good, to be armed and ready for anything.

                The street in front of the townhouse was deserted in the early morning fog, just as it had been at midnight. Chakotay palmed his phaser and mounted the house’s steps, trying not to think about the elation he’d felt the last time he’d crossed Kathryn’s stoop, just a few hours before. Admiral Paris stepped up behind him, tricorder in hand. Chakotay glanced through the window and into an empty living room. He exchanged a glance with Admiral Paris, who shook his head at the tricorder. “Nothing,” the older man whispered. “The security system isn’t armed, and I’m not reading any lifesigns inside.”

                “It’s possible to mask lifesigns,” Chakotay whispered back.

                “True,” Owen conceded. “Do you want to wait for Mister Ayala and the rest of your team?”

                Chakotay paused. Kathryn’s stolen car was at Crater Lake – had been for hours. “No,” he said, and reached for the old-fashioned doorknob. “We’ll be cautious, but I don’t think there’s anyone here.”

                “I agree.” But the Admiral grabbed his own phaser just the same, and Chakotay pushed open the unlocked door.

                Kathryn’s jacket was still hanging on a hook in the dim entryway, just where she’d left it the night before – and with her communicator still pinned to the lapel. Chakotay frowned at it, knowing that if she’d left of her own volition she’d have taken the comm. He took two quiet steps further along the entryway, scanning every surface of the narrow hallway for signs of a struggle.

                Nothing. Nothing visible to the naked eye, anyway. The holos of Kathryn’s niece and nephew, hanging on the wall at the end of the entryway, weren’t even crooked. Chakotay gripped his phaser and turned back to Admiral Paris. “Anything?”

                Paris thumbed the tricorder’s controls. “Kathryn’s DNA, obviously.”

                “Obviously.”

                Chakotay stepped into the living room, leaving Paris to his scans. Everything was as it had been the night before, all the books and holos and trinkets in their familiar places. There was a padd on the sofa; he picked it up and activated it, scrolling through files. I need to go over some reports and prepare a briefing, Kathryn had said, before brunch with Mom and Phoebe.

                “Brunch,” Chakotay said.

                Paris looked up from his tricorder. “What’s that?”

                “She was going to Indiana for brunch.”

                Paris cocked an eyebrow at him. “Do you think that’s where she is?”