Chakotay set the data padd onto the wide arm at the right of his command chair, then activated the computer situated between his and the captain's stations. He reviewed the scrolling data one last time, then, satisfied, clicked the computer off and lowered the screen. The improved recycling plans were going well, and for that he was glad. He felt it was his duty to see that the crew recognized the importance of reusing everything on hand, and it appeared that they were taking his many recent sermons on the subject to heart. The bottom line of the situation was they didn't have enough supplies to warrant throwing any away. Besides, he hated to see anything go to waste.

He glanced around the room, noting the routine of the crewmembers on duty. A relaxed atmosphere pervaded the Bridge, giving Chakotay a feeling of ease and control. At times like this, when things were quiet and everybody was working smoothly together, he had a distinct understanding of the role he filled in that orderly discipline that was intrinsically Starfleet. And he admitted to himself that he liked that feeling of belonging. It was something he had spent much of his life searching for.

He sighed. Unconsciously he raised his fingers to rub at the tattoo imprinted over his left eyebrow as he watched the crew go about their responsibilities. When he realized what he was doing, he pulled his hand away and stared at the tips of his fingers. Then he chuckled to himself. Occasionally he still entertained the idea that the design was going to rub off on his fingers, leaving them stained with ink. That, of course, would never happen. The tattoo was permanent, a constant reminder to himself of his father and that man's battle to save his age old way of life. His Indianness, Chakotay had always called it.

What a dumb word, he thought with a sudden frown. But at the time, it was the only word the younger, uneducated Chakotay could give to his father's strong sense of heritage. It was a link he'd often referred to with a mix of scorn and distrust, and he had gone to great lengths to avoid any tie to such an association himself. In fact, the avoidance had eventually brought him to Starfleet and the life he now led; a life of endless duties, repetition, and an existence in space.

How can you breath up there in those cramped spaceships? his father had asked him during each visit home after his commission from the Academy. Chakotay always fought the urge to retort that he could breath just fine. Even in his rebellious struggle, he had a hard time being openly disrespectful of his father. It was difficult, Chakotay thought, to respect his father while scorning the culture he represented and protected. It had frequently left him feeling confused and uncomfortable after those rare visits home. Uncomfortable, he decided, because though he tried, he couldn't completely deny the same culture in himself. Even while he threw himself into the career of a Starfleet officer and all but ignored his biological family, that attraction was there, waiting to grab him when he least expected it.

Now there was nothing to cause further frustration. Chakotay's father was dead, and he was thousands of light years away from the heritage that he had spent the first part of his life disowning. So he wondered why he still experienced that familiar pull to honor his father and his people.

Chakotay shook his head, letting the motion distill his thoughts. It was all too big for him to think about for very long at any one time. He had managed to stem his thoughts this time before the occasional feelings of despair overwhelmed him.

But, no, it wasn't despair, he ruminated, unable to stop himself from pursuing the subject. It was more often guilt. The truth was he didn't know much about his own people. He had trouble keeping a clear concept of their ceremonies, and he had little understanding of their language. And now that he had no way to seek out that lost knowledge, it bothered him. The computer could tell him only so much. The rest he had to piece together from buried memories and instinct.

Which led to another dilemma. Was that instinct he often relied on a genetic part of his tribe, his heritage, and hence a part of him? Or was it just the best guess of a guy stuck far from home and searching long distance for his origins? Is that why he had started observing the tribe's traditions and ceremonies? To attempt an understanding of something he may never completely grasp?

That struggle for understanding was what the tattoo represented, he suspected, though that hadn't been his original reason for having it burned into his skin. At first he thought if he wore the sign of his ancestors, it would show that he had accepted his responsibility to his people. He told everybody, including himself, that the design honored his father and his fight, but Chakotay wondered about that now. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he used it as a sort of penance, a way to purge his feelings of guilt for not being there when his father had most needed him.

Commander?

Chakotay looked up quickly, torn from his meditations. Ensign Kim had spoken to him. Yes, Ensign, what is it?

A relieved expression passed across Kim's face, causing Chakotay to speculate that perhaps Harry had had to make several attempts to get his attention. He silently scolded himself for his mental lapse on the Bridge even as Kim said, Sensors are picking up a plasma storm 900,000 kilometers ahead of us, directly in our flight path.

Tuvok grunted from his position at Tactical. Although Tuvok would never consider it grunting, the commander reminded himself. I too am picking up the storm, Commander, Tuvok reported. It is extremely dense and charged with polaron particles. I suggest we change course to avoid any contact with it.

Chakotay smiled. He wondered what Tuvok would do if he decided not to take his suggestions. He'd probably say that I am not being logical. By all means, change course, Lieutenant Paris, he said aloud.

Paris readily complied. Aye, sir. Changing course to zero four five mark six.

That should keep us well away from the storm, Chakotay approved. Carry on.

He watched Paris skillfully manipulate the helm controls. The ship moved slightly to port in response to the lieutenant's commands. The motion was so smooth that only those on the Bridge, who knew of the order, would even be aware of it. But Chakotay could feel the change in engine vibrations through the soles of his boots and knew he would sense the course change even if he'd been sitting in his office several decks down. He'd practiced a great deal before he could feel such changes in a ship's operation with any success. But many years in space had given him the opportunities necessary to perfect the discipline the awareness required.

If only I had paid as much attention to the tribal traditions as I did to vibrations, he gently chided himself. But he had never been interested in the ancient ways of his people. Ships and space travel had always been far more fascinating to him. If only his father had accepted that! It still pained Chakotay that he and his father had never come to an understanding of each others' gifts. Space filled Chakotay's soul just as the tribe filled his father's. The fact that his father refused to honor his chosen path influenced Chakotay to forsake the tribe in return. Both father and son had believed that he could be part of the tribe or part of space, but not part of both.

And now?

Was it possible to be Indian and not Indian, Chakotay asked himself. Probably as possible as it was to be of Starfleet and not of Starfleet. He knew he was both, a knowledge his father had never quite managed to grasp. Since coming to the Delta Quadrant, he had attempted to maintain a balance between the two halves of himself. Now that there were no outside forces, no Maquis fight calling to him and no Starfleet regulations interfering, he could concentrate on being who he was rather than what others thought he should be. Some days he had better luck than others.

His attention diverted from his thoughts as Captain Janeway seated herself in the chair next to his. He was so lost in thought that his head jerked up in surprise; he hadn't even heard the door to her ready room open and close. Since she had spent the morning reviewing duty schedules, he'd had plenty of time to indulge in his own meditations. But now he didn't want to appear lax in front of the captain. Chakotay forced his attention back to his neglected duties. He watched Janeway give a cursory scan of the Bridge personnel, and he let his eyes join hers in wandering from station to station.

The commander took it all in, making himself observe everything as a small price to pay for his recent lack of concentration: Tuvok at Tactical, B'Elanna's empty Engineering station, Paris at the helm, Kim at Ops, the two ensigns currently assigned to the science station at port and the three other science crewmembers manning the various stations aft of the command level, then back to Janeway.

She was staring at him appraisingly. Commander, is something wrong? she inquired.

No, he quickly assured her. Everything is running smoothly and we have no negative reports of any kind.

She smiled, a slight lift of the corner of her mouth. Yes, it's almost too quiet. I appreciate it, but it makes me suspicious at the same time. I think I'd rather know what the rest of the quadrant is up to. Chakotay nodded and smiled back. She looked at him more closely, then continued, But I wasn't referring to the ship's status. You look - she hesitated, ...disturbed.

Figures. One day he might learn that he couldn't slip anything passed Janeway. I was just - He paused to look at her, the words to confess his thoughts on the tip of his tongue. But.... - just thinking, he merely answered with a secret, sad sigh.

She heard the sigh, and a brief flicker of hurt crossed her face before she composed her features into a more acceptable mask of polite interest. Very well, was all she answered.

Chakotay hated to see that look in her eyes. She thinks I don't trust her, he thought. Nothing was farther from the truth, but he wasn't sure he was ready to share his thoughts with anybody just yet. He took a deep breath and calmly asked, When I get it all figured out, would you like to hear about it?

Her features lightened and she smiled softly at him. Yes, I'd like that."

Chapter 4 || Contents || Chapter 6