Disclaimer: Star Trek Voyager and all of its characters are the property of Paramount/Viacom. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author’s Note: Many thanks to Seema for the beta.
Burden
By Rocky
She’s not a burden. At least, she doesn’t mean to be.
And really, I’m not talking about anything excessive. She’s got a whole staff looking after her, everything from medical to housekeeping to clerical needs provided for her, as befits someone of her stature. Starfleet looks after its own, especially when it comes to heroes. And even though it’s been nearly fifty years since Voyager returned, Kathryn Janeway is still remembered for that singular achievement—she came back with her ship intact, when so many others didn’t.
So I sound like a petulant child, complaining about spending a few hours a week visiting my aunt. The aunt I’ve looked up to all my life; I was four years old when Voyager came back and I still remember the excitement in the air, the thrill I didn’t quite understand when my mother announced that her sister was coming home. I remember the regal figure sweeping toward us—surprisingly tiny for such a larger-than-life figure—and how after she’d hugged my mom and grandma, she immediately bent down to me. “I’m Kathryn,” she’d said, and I was immediately struck by her voice with its rich timbre—so much deeper and assured than my mother’s—and how puffed up with importance I’d felt to know that she’d noticed me.
“I’m Katie,” I whispered, suddenly overcome with shyness.
“Your namesake,” added Mom. “She was born while you were—“
“Presumed dead?” Aunt Kathryn said dryly, a note of amusement—or was it annoyance?—in her voice.
“Away,” said Mom firmly.
“Well, I’m very pleased to meet you, Katie,” Aunt Kathryn said, her hand, which had never relinquished mine, tightening in a comforting way.
And we’ve been close ever since. Or as close as was realistically possible, considering Aunt Kathryn’s busy schedule. Even though she was no longer in command of a starship, she was constantly setting off to some planetary system or other as a diplomat, a key negotiator charged with advancing the Federation’s interests. Even after she retired, the trips never ceased, only now she was a much sought-after lecturer at science institutions across three quadrants. She’d call when she had the opportunity—she almost never missed my birthday, though as I got older I could almost see the hand of an invisible aide making sure she kept track of all her obligations. We got together in the flesh, too, once a year or so, whenever she was Earth-bound for more than a few weeks at a time.
I once asked my mother why Aunt Kathryn—aging gracefully now but still as beautiful as ever--had never married and had children of her own. Mom’s response was, “She’s a starship captain,” as if that was all the explanation needed. She never elaborated. Later on, I heard Aunt Kathryn had been engaged on two different occasions in her youth, yet nothing had ever come of those. She still appeared regularly in the newsvids covering various official functions, always accompanied by a handsome escort—for a while there was one in particular, also a retired Starfleet captain—yet ultimately, she remained alone.
So in the absence of any offspring of her own, I was the obvious choice for spending time with her now, in her waning years.
She had never lacked for visitors—and not just of the curious reporter type, but genuine friends. In a career as long as hers, it seemed she knew just about everybody who was anybody in the Federation. Her old crew were always calling when they could, even stopping by physically when possible. She cherished those contacts with her former officers, their descendants as well; the fingerpaintings and drawings of the Paris grandchildren, for example, were displayed as prominently as those done by own sons. But after her most recent hospitalization, Bram, her secretary had contacted me, saying there was a need at this time in Aunt Kathryn’s life to have her family about her.
Thus began our weekly ritual. Every Wednesday morning I’d present myself at the old Indiana farmhouse Aunt Kathryn had inherited from her parents, and which she rarely left now.
The first time I went, I was struck by the sudden changes in her. Or maybe they weren’t so sudden, maybe it had just been a while since I really looked at her and saw what she had become. She didn’t greet me at the door like she’d used to previously, but remained seated in her wing chair by the big bay window. It wasn’t until she tried to rise later on during the course of our visit that I noticed the titanium cane at her side, became aware of how much difficulty she was having in getting up. My hand shot out to help her, but she immediately waved me off. “I can do it,” she snapped, in the tone of a commanding officer to a particularly dense recruit. My hand fell back and I swallowed back any reply, the unwelcome words of sympathy, as I watched her struggle painfully to her feet.
That was my first lesson in Aunt Kathryn’s still very strong sense of independence.
Other changes slipped in gradually. Our walks in the orchard became less and less frequent. Our regular kal-toh games dwindled to nothing as well as her twisted fingers could no longer hold or manipulate the slender rods. Whereas before she had been a vibrant conversationalist, now more often than not she lapsed into silence. Most striking of all was the day I arrived to find her once-long hair had been cut short, almost like a boy’s. Even though it had been years since it had faded from red to white, it was still thick, still beautiful and she’d always worn it in an elaborate coif or bun. “It was getting to be too much trouble,” she said, waving my words away when I’d questioned her new ‘do. “When you get to be my age, you tend to simplify where you can.”
“It gives you…an interesting air,” I said, biting back what I’d really wanted to say. That it wasn’t a becoming look at all. In the absence of that frame of once-abundant hair, the planes of her face were thrown into sharper relief, her cheek bones and nose standing out starkly, her eyes deeply hooded. Her cheeks and forehead weren’t as wrinkled as many other elderly women’s, perhaps, but now the lines were more prominent. She looked… old. And when I privately inquired of her staff, the housekeeper told me that Aunt Kathryn had been finding it more and more difficult to keep her hair well-groomed on her own. Not just the loss of physical dexterity involved in brushing and pinning, but even washing it regularly was beyond her now. She was too proud to admit she needed help. So in typical fashion, she’d had it all cut off.
I began to notice other changes. She still recognized me when I came by, of course, still was happy to have me over for however long I could stay. But the stories she’d been telling for decades had altered; often now, she confused the name of one person with another, and so it was now Harry instead of Tom who’d been demoted in rank for his stunt relating to the Prime Directive on the waterworld, Kes and not Seven who’d woken up an alien race and restarted an ancient war. At first, I tried to correct her, assuming it was a simple slip of the tongue. She would look momentarily confused, then would say briskly, “Yes, of course, Harry never made it past Ensign—I couldn’t have broken him down to cadet, now could I?” Later on, she would argue: “Now listen here, I know my own crew. I was there when it happened, after all!” And still later on her confusion became more pronounced; I quit correcting her as all it did was cause a troubled expression to appear on her face and she would lose her train of thought and lapse into ever-deepening silence.
Her secretary confided other troubles. For a long time now, Bram had been quietly declining invitations for her to travel and speak at various institutions. But when she found out—he wasn’t sure how but possibly one of her other visitors let it slip—about the dedication of the new communications array in the Argolian system, she was dead set on attending.
“Of course I’m going,” she said, in her old commanding tone that brooked no argument. “It’s based on the old Hirogen technology that we used to communicate before Pathfinder. I must go and represent Voyager.”
“Annika will be there,” I pointed out, “as she was head of the research team.”
For a moment she looked puzzled. “Who?” she asked. “Oh, Seven of Nine. Yes, naturally she’ll be there and just as naturally I will be too to congratulate her.”
“It’s not an easy trip,” I cautioned. Over her shoulder, Bram’s eyes met mine pleadingly. “It will take at least 12 days at maximum cruising speed—“
“Nonsense, it’ll take no time at all to beam over!” she interrupted.
I leaned forward, taking her arthritic hands in mine and squeezing them lightly to get her to focus on what I was saying. “The array is in the Argolian system,” I said, as patiently as I could. “Not at Starfleet Command in San Francisco.”
“Oh,” she said haltingly and then straightened herself up, as much as she could. “Well, then I suppose I should see about booking myself a shuttle.”
“It’s going to be a long and difficult journey,” I said, not letting go of her hands. “And Aunt Kathryn, it’s been a while since you’ve traveled anywhere this far and I don’t think—“
“Then don’t,” she said, pulling her hands away. “It’s not your decision, it’s mine. I’m not in my dotage yet, you know. I’m still an independent adult capable of making my own choices!”
I was suddenly reminded of when my son Zack was two years old and about to throw a tantrum when thwarted from something he wanted. But Aunt Kathryn was right, she wasn’t a child. Even if she was acting like one. I took a deep breath. “Of course, you can make your own choices, Aunt Kathryn. No one is disputing that. I just think the trip will be a little more difficult than you are aware. As it is, you have a great deal of trouble walking—“
“This thing here?” she interrupted, flourishing her cane. “Just for show. The Doctor simply wouldn’t shut up until I promised I’d use it. But I don’t really need it.”
“Yes, you do,” I said, about to remind her of several recent falls. Then seeing the conversation was getting rapidly off-track, I tried again. “All right, why don’t you talk to the Doctor and the rest of your medical team about the advisability of making this trip?”
“Advisability?” she said, the light of battle not dimming in her rheumy eyes.
“Ask him what special provisions you’ll need to take for the journey in terms of medicines or other treatments, maybe about spreading out the actual travel time to alleviate the stress of warp-lag—“
She waved her hand dismissively and I let the matter drop. Not because she looked convinced—far from it, in fact. But I had long ago learned with Aunt Kathryn that it was important to pick one’s battles. So I couldn’t persuade her today. Tomorrow or next week—or even next month—it might be easier.
As I was walking to the door an hour later, Bram came up to me, clearly wanting to speak about something. I could guess what he wanted to say. “I’m not so sure about this trip being such a good idea,” I said premptively.
“Nor am I,” he said. “But the Doctor—“
“You’ve already spoken to the Doctor?” I asked, surprised.
“Yes. He feels that while it may not be easy to dissuade her, not if she’s this determined. It may be best to allow her to go.” He paused, and I felt gathering dread in the pit of my stomach. “Her condition is deteriorating, as I’m sure you are aware. Perhaps, while she can still appreciate such a gathering—I hear a few of the old Voyager crew will be there—“
“A last hurrah?” I said bitterly.
“Something to look forward to,” he said. “Aside from your visits, what does she really have in her life anymore?”
I closed my eyes, an image of the once-vibrant woman flashing before me. Aunt Kathryn, in uniform, striding down the hallway of a ship, or so I’d always imagined her. Another thought struck me. “She can’t go alone,” I said.
“No, she can’t.”
The meaning of what Bram was trying to say slowly dawned on me. “I can’t go with her,” I said immediately. “I’ve got a very stressful job, with constant deadlines. As it is, it’s not easy to always find the time to drop everything and run over here whenever there’s a crisis. And I have other obligations as well,” I added, reluctant to go into my marital problems; for all his years of service with Aunt Kathryn, this man was still a near stranger. “My family—“
“She is your family, too.”
“I know that,” I snapped. “Can’t Starfleet send some flunky? I’m sure they must have some other muckity-mucks attending this ceremony. To allow a woman in her nineties, with all the medical problems she’s experienced lately--”
“She needs someone close to her to look after her,” he said firmly. “She needs you.”
“I can’t go,” I said once more, even as I knew I had no choice.
“If she dies on me, I’ll kill her,” I said half-jokingly as I was packing. My son didn’t laugh.
“That might not be the worst thing in the world, you know,” Zach said.
I was shocked at his callousness. “How can you say that? She’s my aunt, for goodness sake, your great-aunt, and even leaving that aside, what she has accomplished during her lifetime—“
“I know all that,” he said with a shrug. “I also see what you’ve been going through over the past year or so, constantly running over there to deal with her, trying to convince her to act within her limitations…what I’m saying is, you’ve done all you can humanly be expected to do. “
“She’s my aunt,” I repeated. “And I owe her a certain duty.”
“And when does enough become enough, Mom?”
I shook my head. “I don’t want it to end like this.” Even if it would be easier, I added to myself. “She doesn’t deserve that. No one does.”
He came up and gave me a hug, increasingly rare since he’d become a teenager. “I just hate seeing you put yourself through all this, tying yourself up in knots over her.”
“Thanks,” I said. “But you know, she doesn’t really mean to be a burden.”
“Even if she is one?”
“She’s family,” I said automatically, even as I caught myself silently agreeing with his assessment.
The conversation replayed itself in my mind as I walked down the corridor of the spaceport, a few steps to the left of the anti-grav chair that glided along almost noiselessly. The young shuttle line employee chatted incessantly.
“We’re so pleased you chose to travel with us, Admiral,” she gushed. “It’s such an honor—“
Her voice was just a soothing buzz in my ear until I caught the phrase, “—and to have your daughter, too—“
“I’m not her daughter,” I cut in. “I’m her niece.”
The woman didn’t miss a beat. “Your niece, of course! I can see the family resemblance—“
Aunt Kathryn was silent. It suddenly struck me she hadn’t said a word since we’d arrived at the spaceport. I glanced at her. Her face was set in its usual severe lines, her lips slightly compressed. She looked old—and tired. I cast about for something to say, anything, just to have her respond. But she just sighed almost imperceptibly and closed her eyes.
Mercifully, we arrived at our destination within a few more minutes. Whether because of her VIP status or simply her age, we were beamed directly to our cabin. We rated a stateroom, with two small bedrooms and a central work/living area. I helped ease Aunt Kathryn into a large armchair. “Unless you’d rather lie down and rest?” I asked.
“No, this is fine,” she said, her voice rough from disuse.
”I guess I’ll get our things settled,” I said and rose to leave.
Her hand reached out and tentatively touched my arm. “Thank you, Katie,” she said softly.
“It’s nothing,” I said, straightening up with the larger of the cases in my hand.
“Oh, I’m aware it was a lot more than ‘nothing’ for you to drop everything and accompany me,” Aunt Kathryn said, wryly. “While I hate the fact that it’s necessary—“ she grimaced; I could guess how much it cost her to admit she was incapable of traveling or even living alone any more. “—while I hate it, I am glad that you’re here, with me.”
Startled, I met her eyes. “It’s all right,” I said, and this time, I meant it.
FINIS