Über den Autor und weitere Mitwirkende
Kirsten Beyer was a cocreator of the acclaimed hit Paramount+ series Star Trek: Picard, where she served as writer and supervising producer for season one and a coexecutive producer for season two. She has also written and produced Star Trek: Discovery and is currently a coexecutive producer on Star Trek: Strange New Worlds. She is the New York Times bestselling author of the last ten Star Trek: Voyager novels, including 2020’s To Lose the Earth, for which she was the narrator of the audiobook edition. She contributed the short story “Isabo’s Shirt” to Star Trek: Voyager: Distant Shores Anthology. In 2006, Kirsten appeared at Hollywood’s Unknown Theater in their productions of Johnson Over Jordan, This Old Planet, and Harold Pinter’s The Hothouse, which the Los Angeles Times called “unmissable.” She lives in Los Angeles.
Leseprobe. Abdruck erfolgt mit freundlicher Genehmigung der Rechteinhaber. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.
Star Trek: Voyager: Acts of Contrition
Chapter One
VESTA
Commander Liam O’Donnell had never served on a ship the size of the Vesta. He estimated it could hold twenty Demeters, the special mission ship attached to the Full Circle Fleet that was his responsibility. He lost his way three times between the shuttlebay and Admiral Kathryn Janeway’s quarters.
It was possible he wasn’t lost, so much as dreading making his request of the fleet’s new commanding officer. He paused for almost a full minute once he reached her door before activating the chime and announcing himself.
“Enter,” the admiral said.
No turning back now.
“Commander O’Donnell,” Janeway greeted him as he stepped over the threshold to her private office and residence aboard the Vesta. He had seen her once before, at the memorial service on New Talax, and they hadn’t spoken that evening. She was shorter than he remembered—diminutive, in fact—but her stature was the only small thing about her. A genuine smile of welcome radiated over her fair face as she moved toward him, extending her right hand and grasping his firmly. Her presence easily filled the room, giving the space a warm, homey feel. She even made the incredibly restrictive full-dress uniform she wore look comfortable.
“Your reputation precedes you, Commander,” Janeway said as she shook his hand. “I’m so pleased to finally meet you, and eager to hear more from you about the last few weeks you’ve spent with the Confederacy. It goes without saying that your work thus far with the fleet, your efforts to communicate with the Children of the Storm and to aid the wave forms recently discovered, has been exemplary. I trust I can count on more of the same from you.”
O’Donnell sighed as he released her hand. No one who knew him had ever been this happy to see him.
“Thank you, Admiral,” he responded uneasily. He noted her smile falter and added keen awareness to the list of attributes he was in the process of applying to Janeway.
“Obviously there won’t be time now to hear your full report,” Janeway began.
“No,” O’Donnell agreed.
“The Ceremony of Welcoming begins in less than an hour.”
“Yes—about that,” O’Donnell interrupted.
Janeway stepped back, analyzing him without making her attention feel intrusive.
Quite the diplomat, O’Donnell added to his list.
“Is there a problem?” Janeway finally asked.
“Depends,” O’Donnell replied.
“On what?”
“Your definition of the term, Admiral,” O’Donnell clarified.
“Go on.”
“Request permission not to attend the ceremony tonight, Admiral,” O’Donnell said.
He read more curious amusement than anger at his request, which was a good start.
“Why?” she asked.
“I’m really not good at parties,” O’Donnell replied.
The admiral crossed her arms at her chest, her eyes shining mischievously.
“This isn’t just a party, Commander,” Janeway said. “It’s a diplomatic mission.”
“All the more reason you don’t want me there,” O’Donnell insisted.
“You’ve been the Federation’s chief representative among the Confederacy for almost two weeks,” Janeway said. “Was it a mistake to ask you to assume that role?” she asked.
“No, Admiral,” he assured her. “One-on-one, small groups, I’m fine. When there’s a specific problem in front of me to solve, I’ll gladly talk your ear off. But large groups like this; I never know what to do with myself.”
“So small talk is the issue?”
“I would have skipped my own wedding reception had my wife allowed it.”
Janeway chuckled. She seemed to consider taking mercy on him, but the amusement fled quickly from her face.
“Request denied, Commander,” she said with finality.
“Admiral,” O’Donnell began.
“You are one of a handful of officers already acquainted with many of the diplomats who will be present tonight,” Janeway said. “They’ll be expecting you to make casual introductions. And they will most certainly note your absence and might take it as an insult.”
“Aren’t they more likely to take my genuine discomfort and displeasure at attending the function as an insult?” O’Donnell asked.
“If you allowed yourself to betray any of those emotions, I’m sure they would,” Janeway replied. “So you will be your best, most personable self tonight. Do I need to make that a direct order?” she asked.
“It wouldn’t help, Admiral,” O’Donnell said. “I did not make this request lightly. I’m not here simply because I believe there are a thousand things I could do with the next few hours that would be more constructive than attending this ceremony, although there are. I cannot pretend to be something I am not. It’s a valuable skill but one I never took the time to acquire. My feelings will be read clearly on my face, whether I wish them to or not. I would spare all of us the accompanying embarrassment. Commander Fife is prepared to take my place and will much better serve our interests.”
Janeway looked away for a moment, clearly reflecting on his words. Finally, she said, “A few months ago, your ship was captured by the Children of the Storm. There were no telepaths aboard your vessel, so you could not communicate directly with them. Based solely on their behavior, you decided that their primary interest in Demeter was observing the growth cycles of the botanical life-forms aboard. You were willing to risk your ship, your crew, and your life on this intuitive leap. To gain their trust, you departed your vessel in an environmental suit and used an untested tool to inject a hybrid life-form you had created into one of the Children, hoping that it would grow.”
Janeway’s clear blue eyes locked with O’Donnell’s. “Did I misread or misremember that report?”
“No, Admiral.”
“You risked death for that first contact, Commander. Why are you unwilling to risk considerably less for this one?”
O’Donnell’s eyes remained fixed on Janeway’s. “The Children had earned my respect and my compassion. For all our apparent differences, we were kindred spirits. I cannot say the same for the Confederacy.”
“Why not?”
O’Donnell shrugged. “They’re rich. They’re powerful. They believe they are the center of the civilized universe,” he replied. “Their charms and social graces could induce insulin resistance. The only species they’ve ever encountered that was immune to their hospitality or unimpressed by their technological accomplishments was the Borg. That’s about to change, and while part of me is curious to see that realization take hold, the rest of me already knows how this story has to end.”
“And how is that, Commander?” Janeway asked.
“With disappointment,” O’Donnell replied.
Janeway considered his words, then said, “That’s always a possibility. But those of us tasked... 
