Skate Away

By Laura Schiller

Based on Star Trek: Voyager

Copyright: Paramount Pictures (characters, setting); Joni Mitchell (song lyrics)

After almost three years living on Kobal, the woman formerly known as Ensign Lyndsay Ballard still kept track of Earth's calendar. It was a habit she could not seem to shake. Gazing out at the rain pouring down her round window and onto the lush green gardens outside, she found it incredible that, about seventy thousand light years away, snowflakes were drifting from a soft gray sky.

It's coming on Christmas, they're cutting down trees.
They're putting up reindeer, singing songs of joy and peace.
Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on …

Montreal would be ablaze with Christmas lights by now, their rainbow colors reflected in the snow. She'd watch the Santa parade going down Ste Catherine's, probably getting squashed by the crowds, warming her hands on a hot gingerbread latté. She'd spend whole afternoons on the indoor ice skating rink at the Bell Centre with its cheesy carol remixes, or better yet, on the Saint Laurence River under the stars. Just glide, her arms out to catch the wind, her hair streaming behind her like a comet. Back when she'd still had hair, of course.

But it don't snow here, it stays pretty green.
I'm going to make a lot of money
and then I'm gonna quit this crazy scene.
Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on …

Chetko City was too hot and too humid for snow. Q'ret's garden grew orchid-like flowers the size of her head and trees with bright blue, green or purple fruit. They were lovely, and by now she could call them by name and recall their culinary and medicinal properties almost better than those of Earth, but at night she still dreamed of snow-covered pines and the smooth glide of ice under her skates.

How ironic, considering she'd wasted her last chance to skate with Harry on Voyager's holodeck in favor of dinner with the Captain. Especially after working so hard to get back to Voyager in the first place. If only she'd known it was her last chance …

Lyndsay Ballard had been an expert on irony. Jhet'leya still was. That didn't mean she had to enjoy it.

I wish I had a river so long
I would teach my feet to fly …
Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on.
I made my baby cry …

She still remembered teaching Harry to skate, back when they were cadets in San Francisco. They had laughed themselves silly at his wobbly legs and windmilling arms. Sometimes she'd pushed him from behind, sometimes skated backwards in front of him, holding his mittened hands and shouting encouragement, watching his face gradually light up with pride as his movements became smoother. She remembered the snow melting in his dishevelled black hair, and the warmth in his almond-shaped eyes as he looked at her. Or was it only his later confession that re-colored her memories now?

"I let you teach me how to skate, even though I hate the cold, because I'm crazy about you. I have been since the day we met."

He tried hard to help me, you know, he put me at ease.
And he loved me so naughty, made me weak in the knees.
Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on …

Q'ret would tell her to forget her kin-staika, her past life, and all that belonged to it, that Lyndsay was dead and Jhet'leya was a new person. But if there was one thing she absolutely refused to forget, it was Harry Kim. Harry folding her clothes with military precision and rolling his eyes at her when she tossed them away; Harry closing his eyes to play his clarinet; Harry politely informing her in the nighttime shadow of his quarters that he would really like to kiss her right now. Harry close to tears as he said goodbye. The best and dearest friend she'd ever had, and she'd left him behind of her own choice.

Well, I'm so hard to handle, I'm selfish and I'm sad.
Now I've gone and lost the best baby that I ever had.
Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on …

Q'ret's patience was admirable, really. During the first months of her reanimation, he had weathered all her anger, her terror, her sarcasm and her demands to to get back to Voyager with calm affection, as if she really were his daughter. He had even reimbursed the local shuttleport for the stolen vehicle she'd used to get to Voyager. He was in fact the only father figure she had ever known, since Professor Ballard had walked out on the family when she was three years old. Jhet'leya felt guilty every time Q'ret replicated a berry salad, or redecorated her room in her favorite red, or did anything to make her feel as if the suburban bungalow in Chetko might become a home.

Oh, I wish I had a river so long
I would teach my feet to fly …
Oh, I wish I had a river that I could skate away on.
I made my baby say goodbye …

It was ridiculous and pointless to miss Montreal, she thought. The city she'd grown up in wouldn't recognize her now. It would be Voyager all over again, only worse. She would be stared at, gossiped about, probably scanned by Starfleet scientists as a medical curiosity. Her own mother wouldn't recognize her.

Was she being disloyal to Earth, to Voyager and to Harry by leaving them behind? Or was it disloyal to Q'ret to still miss them? Is it possible to be homesick when you're not even sure where home is?

It's coming on Christmas, they're cutting down trees.
They're putting up reindeer, singing songs of joy and peace.
Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on …

Sitting by the window, watching the downpour gradually slowing to a gentle drizzle, Jhet'leya was distracted from her reverie by a tug on her sleeve. She looked down into Tynsiya's grinning face.

"What's up?" she asked her foster-sister with an irritable sigh. It seemed she couldn't even brood in privacy.

"Will you take me hoverboarding?" asked the ten-year-old.

"Not in this rain, silly," replied Jhet'leya, rolling her eyes. "How many times did Q'ret tell you? You'll ruin your board, get it all rusty."

"It's not that rainy." Tynsiya's purple eyes opened wide in the imploring look common to all children across the galaxy. "How can you just sit there instead of having fun? Own the day, Jhet'leya! Pleeease?"

She was right. Damn it, the little girl was right. Her home, her family, her language, even her DNA was different now. If she lost her personality, what would be left of her?

"I hate it when you use my motto against me," she grumbled, uncurling herself from the bowl-shaped chair. "Get your jacket. Let's go."

Tynsiya squealed and ran for the closet.

Later on, Jhet'leya skimmed above the swollen banks of the Suzumiya River on her hoverboard, her scarlet raincoat streaming behind her like a comet. Tynsiya was flying ahead of her, shouting encouragement, and she leaned forward and bent her knees to catch up. It wasn't ice skating, but it was something she could learn to love. It wsn't peace, or joy, or a sense of belonging … but it was a start.

"Nothing like being shown up by a ten-year-old," she muttered, smiling despite herself. "Hey, wait up!"