The Anniversary Waltz
A story celebrating unity and peace
by
vanhunks
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Paramount owns the characters, Janeway and Chakotay and...Seven of Nine
NOTE:1) I was intrigued by the rules of the competition and naturally, just the mention of it being an "anniversary" contest, triggered instantly an old song I listened to when I was a child, "The Anniversary Waltz". This story, though named the same, bears no resemblance to the song. So when I thought of "anniversary" I pondered on the things - trivial and important - that could be celebrated, other than birthdays and weddings, of course.
2) I've done a little bit of online research for pictures of the urn such as seen here in this story. I worked on the premise of Chakotay's interest in archeology and anthropology.
3) My daughter is a ballroom dancer and in the last four years I've learnt a lot about this sport and this story is in a way a tribute to all the great partnerships in dancesport - Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, Luca and Loraine Baricchi [mentioned in this story], Michael Wentink and Beata, etc.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: Sheila, for agreeing to look at the story. Thanks!
SUMMARY: An anniversary to celebrate the joining of a Maquis and Starfleet crew into a Voyager crew. A partnership made in heaven. An urn with mystical powers and who is the Goddess of Virtue? Set 3 years after their return to the Alpha Quadrant.
*
PART ONE
Ketarcha Prime - 2381
"We are ready to test the atmospheric grid again," Annika Hansen told her colleague. Eager fingers moved dexterously over the panels as she kept her eyes on the large screen in front of them. Ketarcha Prime rotated lazily inside the grid that enveloped the planet.
"A good thing that we have been able to allow for a few apertures along the polar areas of the two hemispheres. The largest of our vessels will be able to slip through without compromising the grid when the plasma storms hit the planet."
"It's not an unknown occurrence on other homeworlds, though Ketarcha may be the first to demonstrate a grid that can filter and correct electromagnetic fluctuations while we will be able to manipulate the apertures at will."
"Good work, Annika. Ketarcha Prime has long needed your expertise."
Annika's mouth twisted into a smile, but she kept her eyes on the screen, watching as plasma storms ravaged the planet all along the equator and spread to the polar caps. She set the atmospheric cover in motion. Three vessels entered the planet's atmosphere at different openings while the storms ravaged. Amyal made a little sound of satisfaction as he saw the vessels slip through with just enough space and time before the opening closed again seconds later. The ships glided safely through when the cover momentarily halted the flash storms at the openings.
"I am pleased with the results," Annika stated.
"We should be able to submit our findings in a week," he replied.
Because he stood so close to her, Amyal could see a slight trembling of her fingers as he cast her a quick glance.
"You will have to do the submissions alone, Amyal. We are leaving for Earth and will return only three months later. You know that."
"He does not love you, Annika Hansen." The Ketarchan's green eyes glowed like a cat's in the dark as they rested on her. She blinked once and clenched her jaw. It was the only sign that his words cut into her. She returned his gaze.
"You are wrong. He is faithful to me - "
"Fidelity must come from his heart, and his heart is not with you."
"If that is a measure of a man's fidelity, then is not every man unfaithful?"
"You know what I mean, Annika Hansen," Amyal replied. He thought he was already too presumptuous to have said that her partner didn't love her. But he was right, and so was every man and woman who had come to know them, and especially the few friends they made. "When we see you together there is little connection. I have seen how my own parents had a bond that those who looked at them could see was as tangible as sand on the ground. I know that his heart is not with you, Annika."
"Why are you saying these things to me? My feelings have always been just and Chakotay has returned my feelings."
"Your eyes betray you when you speak, even while you speak those words with so much conviction."
"He will never leave me. That is enough for me."
Amyal Pravin sighed again. Annika's shoulders squared in the resolute manner he had learned in the last three years, belying the emotions that roiled inside her. He could never understand how she could be content with a life that was not fulfilling for her. Once, a year ago, he had observed her while she had been working at her station. The experiments to perfect a new atmospheric grid had been in its infancy then. Annika's dedication was legendary on Ketarcha Prime and she had already made remarkable strides in the planet's search for ground-breaking technological advances. Thanks to her, a new astrometrics laboratory had been built similar to the one they had on the starship Voyager, and now their long range sensors were enhanced by 40%.
That day he had seen how a tear escaped and rolled down her cheek and Annika had been unaware that her cheeks were wet. Up to that time he had not known that the woman who was once a Borg could cry. Always, she had been impassive, her face rarely revealing emotions or even becoming animated when she did feel anything. Sometimes she smiled, and most times, when in the company of the dark haired man who researched Ketarcha Prime's archeological sites and its eight thousand year old cultural history, Annika's eyes had been alive. The way her greyish-green eyes flickered, and the little smile that occasionally relieved the severity of her features, Amyal could see that she was happy. That was before their first visit to Earth. Amyal gave a sigh. When they returned after their second visit, Annika looked different, her eyes filled with sorrow whenever the warrior wasn't in her presence.
"Then you must explain to me," Amyal persisted, "why you could not smile for days after your second visit to Earth..."
"You must understand that Chakotay - "
Amyal smiled, briefly interrupting Annika as his hand lifted at the same time. She rarely called the dark warrior by his name these days.
"Chakotay?"
"He is of that world, Amyal Pravin. I cannot deny him the opportunity to visit Earth."
"You are of that world too. Is it not your home...your...heimat?" he asked.
"Heimat is where my heart is, and my heart is with him. I cannot stop him if he wishes to return - "
"And is that not, by that same definition, where Chakotay's heart is? It is not just the beautiful blue planet, is it?"
"Chakotay...loves Earth..." Annika replied, sounding unwilling to concede to Amyal's statement.
"It is more than that. But I grant you, Chakotay is drawn to Earth the same way I long to be back on Ketarcha Prime every time I have traveled off-world. I can never wait to be back. I cannot imagine never seeing the condors circling over our canyons, or hearing waterfalls deep in the heart of the Maluti Mountains that give life to our rivers."
"You are sentimental, Amyal Pravin."
"So are you, only you hide it deep inside you. You should let yourself hear the sounds of your world - the cry of the beasts, the way the rain sifts down softly on damp leaves, or the wind sings a gentle song or the waves of the ocean crash against the rocks." Amyal smiled, his eyes filled with yearning as he continued, "One look at our Maluti and my soul finds rest."
"There, you are not only sentimental. You are a poet too."
"Ah, Annika. Isn't poetry the very expression of a man's soul?"
"I do not understand."
"It is...how shall I say? Finding sense in images and symbols, understanding that one single word can resonate into a world of emotion. Your warrior, Annika... There is poetry and the love for beauty in his soul."
"And Amyal Pravin knows Chakotay well enough to say he is a poet?"
"I do. One day he told me that he understands the loneliness of the condor..."
"He shared that with you?"
"Have you ever sat alone and you watched a beautiful sunset? You desire fervently that there is someone with you, someone who will understand what you understand, see what you see through your eyes...only to find there is no such person? Do you know what hunger is then? The expression of all beauteous things means discovering a kindred soul and sharing that beauty, Annika, and - "
"And what, Amyal Pravin?" Annika asked, her eyes remaining riveted to the screen. Amyal wasn't fooled. She was denying that the spark they had all seen the first year she and Chakotay had been on Ketarcha, had quietly faded. Annika bore her burden with dignity. He knew she was unhappy. Once, he hoped that he could find a path to her heart the same way the warrior Chakotay did. While his soul reached for his mountains and the cry of the condors, he wished many times that Annika could share his dream.
"When you experience beauty and shares it with another, it should resonate in that person's heart, Annika, if the one with whom you share truly understands your own instinct to find beauty in little things... Chakotay has the heart of the poet, the artist, of all beauty..."
"You are cruel," she replied, and he saw how her face became strained, as if she tried to prevent herself from weeping.
"I do not mean to be. But do you not think it is time now to face that which is real, and to accept that what Chakotay feels he needs to share with one in whose heart he can find resonance?"
"Perhaps," she conceded with a little smile, "but he...chose to be with me, and I am grateful - "
"Grateful, not happy?" Amyal pounced.
This time it was Annika who turned sharply, her attention momentarily away form the screen. She looked to him like the lone condor of the canyons, the one whose mate was killed and the people living around the canyons could hear her crying for many days.
"I am...content."
"You must leave for Earth again in a few days, and already I see your restlessness. Each time you have returned, your eyes - "
"What, Amyal?" Annika cut in a little sharply. Amyal thought she was afraid to hear his next words, yet, her stance was brave, as brave as he thought she could be when knowing her mate was not with her in spirit.
"The hollow look in your eyes became even more hollow, and the beauty of your face became like the statue of Our Goddess of Virtue on the wide plaza of Ketarcha City."
"I love him, Amyal Pravin. I cannot deny my own heart," she admitted finally to him.
"I know, Annika." Amyal leaned forward to touch Annika's cheek with long, bony fingers that trembled slightly at the touch. There was in his own heart a yearning, in his eyes a deep compassion. He saw how her eyes closed, saw how they opened again to fix on him, unwaveringly.
"They dance, did you know?"
He didn't, but the scientists at the Institute knew that the quiet warrior pined and they knew that there was another woman.
"Dance? Is it special?"
"Every year...a celebration. They dance. It is a tradition."
"In our culture, there was a ritual dance," Amyal said and Annika's eyes lit up.
"I did not know that. Explain."
Amyal thought how strange it was that she didn't know, since her mate who studied Ketarcha's history, knew of it.
"Eight thousand years ago. We - we were not always Ketarchan, Annika Hansen."
"And the ritual? What was its significance?"
"It was very special. Then, the Ketara was at war with the Anarchs."
"The Anarchs?"
How could she not know? Annika had lived on Ketarcha for three years. Amyal sighed again.
"Yes. They were an aggressive warrior race and when it seemed that both races would be annihilated by constant war, our Goddess of Virtue, claimed by both sides as their deity, pleaded for peace."
"The goddess whose statue graces the plaza of Ketarcha City."
"Yes. Then they celebrated too, with a ritual dance. It was long ago. We are one race now."
"Ketarcha...of course," Annika responded as realisation dawned on her. "Unity was achieved and - "
Annika's eyes turned dark as she spoke, and there was a faraway look in them. Amyal touched her shoulder this time and held her so that she could look at him.
"We have been at peace since then," he said quietly.
"I desire peace, Amyal Pravin."
"Then, perhaps, it is time you made a decision. I cannot bear to see the hollow eyes become more hollow. I cannot bear to see you look lost for many, many weeks after you return. Let him go."
"I wish I could do that. I - I am a coward."
"Only of the heart," he said, smiling kindly. "But if you desire peace, you must accept the sorrow, Annika Hansen. Peace does not come without a price."
"A price," she whispered, her voice sounding thoughtful. "Can we never avoid the price one must pay?"
"No, and you will never be more in touch with your humanity than when you do..."
"You sound like...her... "
"Admiral Janeway?"
Annika flinched.
"Yes."
"Then you know her words, Annika. A single act of compassion... Once, you told me that yourself."
Annika turned to look at him again, a sad little smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
"Not only are you sentimental and a poet, Amyal. You are a philosopher."
"And you...you know your truth."
She turned her attention to the screen. Ketarcha Prime looked beautiful and aloof.
"Shall we continue our experiments then, Amyal Pravin?" she asked, turning the conversation away from her sorrow.
"Let us get to it."
The next few minutes they worked quietly, focused once again on their project. Once, Annika stopped suddenly, caught his eyes on her. She smiled. Perhaps it was good that there was no mirror nearby, Amyal Pravin thought. Then Annika would have seen how her smile never reached her eyes, and how her eyes looked like they were deep pools. She looked again like the lonely condor that cried unendingly for her mate.
********
He liked using twentieth century implements to excavate in the deep trenches the students and volunteers had started digging three years ago. All over the second continent were similar excavations, more than fifteen metres deep. Eight thousand years of silt, plasma storm damage and natural evolution of the planet's surface had buried the old civilisations. Just closing his eyes Chakotay could imagine seeing potters at work, kilns fired, industry that kept the villagers occupied. He imagined he saw children running around, their laughter bright. He imagined he saw their parents, eyes indulgent yet ever watchful as the children ventured too far from their elders.
The tiny hammer and chisel and brush he used were his only instruments, although he kept his scientific tricorder at hand. Patiently chipping away at rock, hours spent prising the fine details of animal remains, or pottery, or finding valuable artefacts, relics of ancient civilisations... The patience, the deep concentration required in his work kept him busy. He preferred it that way. He didn't have to think then, think of Annika and think of home and think of Kathryn.
While many of the artefacts would have been traced just by the chemical and mineral composition, and using a simple scientific tricorder, it was too easy, too 24th century, Chakotay had decided long ago. He relished the painstaking hunt, second-guessing a group of villagers living eight or seven, or six thousand years ago.
The trenches, almost all of them the size of small villages, had been carefully dug and Chakotay had watched with pleasure as they came to life - irrigation troughs, the outer walls of homes, the inner walls, places where he thought had to be a kitchen, or, since they found so many symbols relating to a deity or worship, the house's worship room. Here they recreated whole towns, industries. Every village had a little square; it was easy to determine, since traces of brick walls surrounded a clearing where there was nothing inside. Did the elders sit here and deliberate the running of the town? It was possible. They could even have celebrated some ritual - dance of fertility, life, fire, rain... These sites were by his nomination already declared heritage sites, not to be destroyed or tampered with.
His students and volunteers had been enthusiastic, and most of the artefacts and pottery they found had already been classified and housed in Ketarcha's seven Museums of Antiquity, spread over its seven continents. He had been given permission by the Council of Ordinance, Ketarcha's governing body, to ship some of the relics to Earth for display there, and for the duration of his teaching stint at the Academy.
His work on Ketarcha was almost done, and his careful chipping and brushing had revealed little of late. But he knew he'd find it eventually. Ketarcha's historical documents mentioned several potters of ancient times who fired urns and painted images on them, images that had, according to legend, special powers. They hadn't found one yet, and the little clicks of frustration that accompanied the discovery of yet another implement or artefact that was not what he was looking for, became more and more evident.
"It is only a myth, Professor," one of his Ketarchan students told him. "Our historical documents only mention it in passing. Nothing was, as you earthlings say, written in stone - "
"Never think that there is no truth in myth and legend, Rojan. They also tell you that the urns possess the power to bring peace into the heart of the one who beholds it. That is the way of the myth. I believe we will find it..."
"And the myth also told you the images will start dancing when two people with the same heart look at the beautiful urn?" Rojan was only humouring him, and he hadn't taken offence.
"Exactly."
"But do you not think, Professor, that to search for one artefact with special powers, based in myth we know not to be real, defeats the purpose of our excavations?"
"Not when it takes its place among all the others and we see things in context. When you look at Ketarcha City's exhibition, don't you think that something's missing from it? Like it needs one elusive element to complete it, to bring unity? When we put it there - once we've found it - everything falls into place and we will know who danced with the Goddess of Virtue..."
"Ah, our Goddess. I think, Professor, you are a romantic."
"I have been accused of being a philosopher, too. But aren't you the least bit curious as to the magnificent events that surrounded the unification of Ketara and Anarch?"
"You mean pleading for peace and stilling the angry heart of the fiercest warrior of Anarch?"
"I mean just that. The Potter of Primos was reputed to be the most revered. He lived in this village - "
"We'll not find it, Professor."
"Do you want to challenge me on that?"
Rojan had given a sheepish laugh. "When you do, and if the myth is fulfilled, which two hearts will make the Goddess of Virtue dance?"
"We should continue, Rojan. Let's not get personal here, shall we?"
"As you wish, Professor," Rojan replied, then gave a smile that was too all-knowing.
Now Chakotay was still looking, and the elusive urn remained just that - elusive. Frustrated, he hit the rock hard, then cursed as he realised he was being careless. He felt a creak beneath him. Frowning, he touched the ground and knocked on it. There was a hollow sound and he realised instantly he was sitting on top of a chamber with a roof of some kind that was unstable. Before he could move away, the ground gave under him.
"What - !"
"Professor!" one of the students shouted. "Be careful!"
It was the last words he heard before he plunged into the dark depths. He landed with a soft thud and guessed he couldn't have fallen more than fifteen metres.
"What the - ?" he muttered as he peered into the darkness, with only a thin shaft of light coming from above him. No one peered over the gap from his fall and he was glad. The ground appeared to be unstable. For a moment he cursed himself for not setting his tricorder on scan. But it was too late. He had taken a tumble, but wasn't hurt much.
"Professor, are you alright?"
"My backpack! Throw it down here," he cried out, rubbing his leg at the same time. "Be careful. Slide on your stomach, Rojan!" Chakotay couldn't see in front of him, and the light blinded him as he looked up. He gave a cry when his backpack hit him as it was thrown down. "Keep away, will you? I don't want more ground to cave in," he ordered.
"Yes, Professor!"
Seconds later, his wrist light was attached and he peered around him. There was a narrow tunnel in the cavern wall and his first instinct was to enter the tunnel and walk through it. He looked around and saw no other doors or access ports. His frustration had evaporated and the adrenalin was pumping again. He breathed in deeply as he started to walk, the light from the main cavern dimming as he moved further and further away from where he had fallen through. After about thirty metres, he found himself in another cavern, smaller than the first and appearing to be a place of worship. There were torches braced against the wall. Realising that his phaser was also in his pack, he quickly lit the first torch, surprised that what appeared like bitumen was still working after such a long period of time, even though it gave a very low, smoky orange hue. Light swelled slowly into the room as he lit the second torch. His idea that it was a chamber of worship was confirmed. An altar stood near the front wall. At least, he presumed it to be an altar. Flicking on his tricorder to scan, the stone tablet dated several thousand years.
"Eight thousand years...the oldest so far..." he breathed in awe as he reached for the little object that stood on the altar. It looked like a chalice. He touched the surface of the altar, swept across it and saw when he looked at his hand, there was no dust. The little chalice had a smooth surface too, and he frowned as he touched it. Nothing happened. He curled his fingers around the thick stem, pressed it down on the altar. Still nothing happened.
"So much for thinking it was a switch..." he muttered.
He stood for several seconds, wondering what to do next, stubbing his toe against the base of the stone block. Then something happened. He heard a sound, and turning in the direction of the sound - about two metres to his left - was just in time to see a thick slab of rock moving away slowly, like a door without a hinge.
Chakotay gasped and stepped forward, the chalice forgotten. His feet carried inexorably to the new opening created in the wall.
"Strange..." he murmured as he noticed that dim light emanated from somewhere in the room as he crouched through the new, low passage. When he stood upright in the new room, his eyes were instantly drawn to the source of the light. Glowing darkly in hues of orange, blue and red, the urn stood in the centre on a metre high pedestal. "I don't need this..." he murmured again and switched off the wrist light. The contrast between the gleam and dark was now more pronounced. "The Urn of the Potter of Primos... It can only be his..." he whispered as he stepped closer. He stared long at it, noting the play of figures on the belly of the large jar, about fifty centimetres in height. "Dancing figures..." It seemed to him that the light moved, flickering slowly, or swelling out and back as he kept his eyes on the urn, not daring to look away. The light reached for him, touched him, finding a receptive heart that embraced it warmly. "Oh, great spirits!" In his mind he saw again the ancient ritual, with the Goddess of Virtue moving gracefully in eternal dance.
The urn shone darkly, completely free of dust.
"It's as if he fired and painted the urn only days ago... What marvel of a man was this?"
Only when he heard the dim voices of his students, Chakotay moved and with the greatest care he removed the urn, wrapping it gently in soft cloth he always kept in his backpack before he retreated to the entrance. By that time a rope ladder had been dropped against the wall of the first cavern and minutes later, he blinked in the sharp sunlight.
When he looked at the young men and women who remained at a small distance away from the unstable ground, he noticed how they looked at the object in his hand. They too, saw the figures, frozen in eternal dance.
"You were right, Professor," Rojan whispered when he found his voice at last.
"Yes...yes, I was, wasn't I?" Chakotay responded, holding the precious urn up. The figures, only two of them, were locked in dance, repeated right round the artefact, although their poses were different with each new image. The woman wore a long, gossamer garment and the warrior... Chakotay shook his head in disbelief as he kept gazing at the images.
I
must show Kathryn this... She will understand and know the truth...
******************