The BLTS Archive - It Takes Two to WaiTango
ninth in the Festive Occasions series
by Sasscat Bu-to-y (fitchett@netaccess.co.nz)

---

Disclaimer:  Paramount own the characters, I just write the stories.

Mihi:  Nga mihinui ki a koutou.  Ko Ellen Milholland taku hoa. Ko
Zeborah taku tuakana, ko Amiroq. te KiTfox taku teina.  Ko Sasscat
Bu-to-y taku ingoa.  No Aotearoa ahau.  Ko tenei te koorero o te
Tiriti o Waitangi.  Tena koutou, tena koutou, tena koutou katoa.

Author's Notes:  This is the ninth in my Festive Occasions series,
based on Waitangi Day - which is a *Kiwi* holiday.  And sure, we
haven't had the best of luck with it (demonstrations, occupations,
protests, land claims...) but hopefully this story will, er, represent
the good aspects of Kiwi culture.  <pause>  No it won't.  Never mind.

(c) Sasscat Bu-to-y 1999

---

Kathryn walked towards the mess hall doors... then changed her mind
and walked past them, towards the nearest turbolift.  Not the nearest
turbolift, actually, but to get to the other one she'd have to go back
the way she'd come, past Tom and B'Elanna.

Tom and B'Elanna.  Together.  She hadn't thought it would ever happen
again, but the way they'd been acting together...  The way B'Elanna
had looked at her sympathetically and said, /Tom's got something to
tell you.../  The way B'Elanna had teased him as Kathryn had walked
away, /You must still love her an awful lot./

/The hell I do,/ he'd retorted.

/The hell I do./

Kathryn leaned heavily against the wall and clutched her stomach
tightly, as if she could hold the pain inside.  She clenched her eyes,
as if that would stop the tears, and shook.

"Captain?" someone asked in surprise, and she opened her eyes again.

Alina Morrison, a slight young thing with hair like a cloud of
burnished charcoal down to her ears.  They'd gotten to know each other
a little during _waiata_ practice.  Kathryn straightened, wiping her
face and putting on her captain's mask.  "I'm--"  She cleared her
throat as her voice quavered.  "I'm fine, Ensign, thank you."

Alina looked at her sceptically.  "Permission to speak freely, si--
Captain?" she asked.

Kathryn didn't have the energy to call her on the slip.  "Go ahead,"
she said tiredly.

"You don't look very fine, Captain."

"Looks can be deceiving, Ensign," Kathryn said in a dangerously soft
voice, setting down the corridor again for the turbolift.

"Maybe there's something I can do to help," Alina said, hurrying after
her.  "I mean, people say I'm a good listener..."

Kathryn turned her head to look at her.  "You're very persistent."

"Yes, Captain," Alina told the floor, clearly expecting to get chewed
out.

Kathryn stepped into the turbolift without answering, and after a
moment's hesitation Alina followed.  "Deck two," Kathryn said.

She watched Alina out of the corner of her eye.  The girl was staring
at the turbolift doors, chewing on her lip, with her hands clasped
uneasily behind her back.

"Tell me," Kathryn said softly, and saw the girl start; "do you have
any family?"

Alina frowned in surprise at the question.  "Yes, Captain.  My father
lives on Ralakin Prime, and I have a brother in Starfleet.  Last I
heard, he was stationed on the Jehovah."  She turned, expression
sheepish.  "Captain, a lot of us in the boon-decks wanted to thank you
for getting us those letters from Earth, and, well, never really
worked up the courage...  It meant a lot to us."

"It meant a lot to all of us," Kathryn corrected gently, but refrained
from pointing out that if it hadn't been for her, they wouldn't have
needed to get the letters.  They could have been home.

"Still," Alina said firmly, "you're a sweetie."

Kathryn smiled despite herself and stepped out of the turbolift.
Alina followed, a little more sure of herself now, but hesitated again
when they reached Captain's Quarters.

Kathryn opened the door and motioned inside.  "I don't bite, Alina."

Alina took a breath and stepped in, looking as if she expected a
chu'taQ dagger to come flying out of the wall at her.  "Wow...  It's
so *big*!" she exclaimed.  "The place is positively *agoric*!"

Colony slang, Kathryn reflected with an inner laugh.  She moved to
join Alina in the middle of the room.  "Captain's privilege."  She
gestured at the couch.  "By all means, take a seat."

Alina perched herself precariously on the sofa, then leaned back into
the soft cushions.  "Oh my..." she sighed.  "This is absolutely tera."

"I'm glad you approve," Kathryn said dryly, sitting beside her.
"Alina..."

Alina shifted around in the cushions to look at her.  "Yes, Captain?"

"Call me Kathryn," she said quietly.  "Somehow I don't feel very...
captainly, at the moment."

"Kathryn," Alina agreed easily.

Kathryn nodded, now that that was settled.  "When I--  When the
Caretaker's array was destroyed, was there... anyone else you left
behind?"

"Armichael," Alina said, almost savagely.  "When we got the letters,
last year - no, the year before last," she realised.  "Aw shoot, I'm
never going to get used to that.  Twenty-three seventy-six, twenty-
three seventy-six," she recited.  "Anyway, mine was from my brother,
Yoshua.  He said..."  She was silent for a moment, twisting her head
to stare at the stars in a painfully familiar gesture.

"Armik had been having an affair," Alina continued softly.  "A little
after we disappeared he sprung with the linnie and took all my gear
with him.  Of course," she laughed a little, self-consciously, "about
two months later she found out about him and this street-lin, and
packed him out.  Don't know where he went after that."

"I'm sorry," Kathryn said quietly, trying to sort through the slang.
Linnie?

"Aw, don't be sorry," Alina said earnestly.  "If I hadn't disappeared
out here, who knows how long the lin would have been carrying on
behind my back?  No, it's better this way."

"What's a lin?" Kathryn ventured.

Alina looked up in surprise, then looked away.  "It's, um, kind of
a...
well, it's a horrible person," she said euphemistically.  "And a
linnie is a girl-lin."

"And a street-lin?" Kathryn prompted.

Alina kept her eyes averted.  "A, um, a prostitute," she muttered.

"Oh."  Kathryn absorbed this for a moment.  "So a street-linnie is a
female prostitute?"

"Now you're catching," Alina said.  "You don't slang much, do you?
You're an Earther, right?"

Kathryn nodded.  "Indiana," she explained.  "Farming folk."

"It's not *farming* on Earth," Alina scoffed.  "Not with that weather
net to keep things easy.  Real farming is out on the colony worlds,
where a bad turn can ruin your crops for an entire season.  Armik
always hated farming," she remembered.  "Aw, he was just a..."  She
floundered for a moment, looking for the right disparagement.

"Vulky?" Kathryn suggested.

Alina burst into laughter.  "*Vulky*?  That's so cute!"

"It's Earth slang," Kathryn said, feeling a little miffed.

"I know, I know," Alina said, waving her hands to calm herself down.
"*Vulky*--"  She cracked up again, holding her stomach and almost
rolling onto the floor.  "That's pure tera, that is.  Oh la," she
exclaimed, waving her hands, "*vulky*.  Oh!"  She laughed a little
longer before finally managing to calm herself down, wiping tears from
her eyes.

"Yes, Captain," she agreed solemnly, "Armik was just about as 'vulky'
as you get."  The quotation marks were audible.

"I told you to call me Kathryn," Kathryn growled, because it was the
only answer she could think of that wouldn't leave her feeling even
more woefully unsophisticated than she already did.

"Kathryn," Alina reminded herself.  "Catch.  So, Kathryn, why were you
so upset back then in the corridor?"

Kathryn was silent for a moment, turning to look at the stars.
Finally she asked, "What sort of rumours are floating around the lower
decks--"

"Boon-decks," Alina corrected.  Kathryn gave her a look, and she fell
silent.

"What sort of rumours," Kathryn repeated firmly, "are floating around
about me and Tom Paris?"

Alina jerked back to regard her in utter astonishment.  "You and Tom
Paris?  You mean like--  You?  And *him*?  Boy-girl together?"

"That would be none, then," Kathryn said brightly.  "Or at least, none
yet."

That brought Alina back into focus.  "I promise, Ca-- Kathryn, I won't
say a word."

Kathryn shrugged sceptically.  "At this point, I'm not sure I even
care anymore," she said.  "Well.  Me and Tom."  She sighed slightly.

"You hate each other," Alina protested.  "In _waiata_, you never even
look at each other.  You--  You had a split?" she guessed.

"Do me a favour," Kathryn said tiredly.  "Try and speak Standard for a
bit."

"Sorry," said Alina, looking completely unrepentant.  "You fought?"

Kathryn studied the stars for a moment, distorted slightly by the
window.  "It's a long story.  We were... spending more time together -
you know how it is; not quite together, not just friends."  Alina
nodded.

"Well," Kathryn continued, "one night I... I invited him in here.  He
refused."  She didn't mention the times he hadn't refused.  No need to
go into excessive detail.  "I suppose I overreacted a bit," she
admitted.  "He was mad at me for a while, for that, and then..."  She
shook her head.  "I thought it was for that, but he's still angry.  I
don't-- don't understand him."  She sighed.  "And now he's back with
B'Elanna."  It still hurt to remember the two of them like that.

Alina was silent for a few seconds.  "It sounds like he's as bad as
Armichael.  How long 'tween the split-- the fight," she corrected
carefully, "and him with Lieutenant Torres?"

"A couple of weeks," Kathryn said dismally.

"Vulky lin," Alina muttered.

Kathryn nodded.  After a moment she glanced across at the ensign, an
eyebrow raised.  "*Vulky*?"

Alina laughed.  "What can I say, you're a bad influence on me."

Kathryn raised her eyebrow again, then looked back out at the stars.
"Damn, but I wish I knew why Tom was so angry."

"Ask him," Alina suggested.  Kathryn winced.

"I'd really rather not--"

"You'll never find out if you don't ask him," Alina insisted.  "Don't
be such a 'phobe, Kathryn."

Kathryn gave her a carefully neutral look.  "I suppose," she said
eventually.  "It's late.  You'd better go."

"Wouldn't want people thinking I was your reeter," Alina giggled.

Kathryn sighed.  "Okay, what's a reeter?"

"Like a street-linnie, but nicer," Alina explained, ducking her head
slightly.  "Streeter -- reeter.  Catch?"

"Catch," Kathryn echoed awkwardly.  "You'll have me turning into a
regular colony girl at this rate."

"You'll be a boonie," Alina chortled.  "That'd be tera.  But you're
right, it's late.  See y'round."

"Right," Kathryn agreed as Alina headed for the door.  "Goodnight,
Alina."

"'Night, sweetie."

                                  =/\=

Despite her promise, Kathryn didn't ask Tom the next day... or the
next.  "I'll speak to him soon," she told herself, but he was always
with B'Elanna or Harry and Kathryn's heart was always pounding.

She was on the Bridge, telling herself that ny minute now she was
going to call Tom into her ready room - any minute now - and ask him
what the hell was going on, when Harry looked up from his station and
announced, "We've got an unknown ship on an intercept course,
Captain."

Kathryn stood, but didn't take her usual measured steps down to the
Conn.  "On screen."

It was slightly reminiscent of a Kazon ship in design; tall, with a
cruve hanging down at the stern like a curled up scorpion.  However,
it was more of a smooth Federation grey in colour, with elegant blue
and gold lines along the side they could see.

"How soon until they're in hailing range?" Kathyrn asked.

"Two minutes, Captain."

Well, fine, then.  Kathryn sat back down and crossed her legs, the
image of unconcerned assurance.  In reality, she was just bored.  She
hated these waits; they always seemed so endless.

An eternity later, Harry reported, "We're in hailing range, Captain."
She was just about to order a hail when he added, "They're hailing
*us*."

"Open a channel."  She stood back up to face the viewscreen.  "I'm
Captain Kathryn Janeway, of the Federation starship Voyager."

"Captain Irsolna Pelt Kaver," the alien introduced himself, "of the
Alskan vessel Wildusa."

There was the obligatory moment's silence while they each regarded the
other.  There was no way to be certain how tall Pelt was over the
viewscreen, but Kathryn guessed he was a head taller than her.  His
ears and nose were ridged, a strange balance of Ocampan and Bajoran,
and his eyes were tawny.  His golden-brown hair was soft and long,
falling about his shoulders, and held away from his face by an
iridescent blue band around his head that complemented his blue-grey
tunic.

The moment ended.  "I was sent to officially welcome you to Alskan
territory," Pelt said.  "May I ask your intentions?"

"We're just passing through," Kathryn assured him.  "It's rather a
complicated story, but we were stranded a long way from home and we're
trying to get back."

"That should be allowed," Pelt said with a nod.  "Do you have any
documentation for your pilots?"

"Documentation," Kathryn repeated curiously.  "What kind of
documentation?"

"Licenses," Pelt explained with a sigh.  "Verification of their
training.  We can't allow just anybody to fly a starship through our
space.  Thank of the navigation hazards, the risks - it would be
unthinkable.  You must have some documentation."

"Of course we have their reports from Starfleet Academy," Kathryn
said, ignoring the fact that they hadn't all been to the Academy.

Pelt frowned.  "I don't think the Intra-system Transport Ministry will
allow that.  You'll have to have your pilots tested on Kiel."

Tom stiffened defensively.  Kathryn rolled her eyes and ignored him.
"Where exactly is Kiel?" she asked Pelt.

"Twenty-three light years in the direction we came from."

That was almost exactly on Voyager's route.  "How long would the
testing take?"

"A week, if your pilots have had the training you say they have.
Perhaps less."  Pelt smiled.  "So, shall I send over a squad of
*licensed* pilots to fly you to Kiel?"

Kathryn glanced at Chakotay, who shrugged slightly.  Technically, they
shouldn't let aliens see their technology, but she was damned if she
was going to take a detour around Alskan space just because her pilots
didn't have the right qualifications.  "All right," she agreed.  "I'll
arrange quarters for them."

"There will be six," Pelt supplied.  "Oh, Captain, I should explain;
we have a technology that can transport people instantaneously from
place to place--"

Kathryn smiled at the familiar speech.  "So do we, Captain Kaver,"
she said, holding back a laugh.  "You should be receiving the
coordinates of our transporter room," she nodded at Harry, who touched
a few keys on his console.  "I look forward to greeting your people
there."

"Coordinates received," Pelt said.  "They should be ready and arriving
in a few minutes.  Thank you for your cooperation; Wildusa out."

Kathryn nodded formally as the screen went blank.

"I don't need to be *tested*," Tom burst out, swivelling to glare at
the bridge in general.

Kathryn barely glanced at him.  "You do now, Mister Paris.  Unless you
want to be reassigned to Sickbay permanently.  I would have thought
the next few weeks would be enough for you."

He lifted his chin slightly to frown at her.  "Yes, Captain."  He
looked about to say more, then swivelled back to frown at his console
instead.

Kathryn headed for the turbolift, nodding at Tuvok.  "Get a security
team and meet me in transporter room one.  Chakotay, you have the
bridge."

---

The Alskans materialised in an arrowhead formation, each carrying a
streamlined gold-flecked suitcase.  The point of the arrow, presumably
the one in charge, was a tall woman with the same golden-brown hair as
Pelt and the same tawny eyes.  Her hairband was a deep red, rather
than Pelt's shimmering blue.  Her tunic, a dappled pinkish-grey, was
almost Romulan in style, with a wide sash around the waist the same
deep red as her hairband, leggings and boots.

Evidently the Alskans were firm believers in colour coordination.

"Captain Janeway," the arrow-point said.  "I'm Pilot Irsoltu Sutha
Galen."

"Pilot Galen," Kathryn said with a warm smile and another nod.
"Pleased to meet you."  She pondered the similarity of Sutha's
'Irsoltu' and Pelt's 'Irsolna'.  Were they related?

Sutha glanced at her squadron, dressed in uniforms similar to hers but
in forest green, with pale green tunics.  "Alyltu Ver Dejar will take
the first shift," she said, "if that's all right with you, Captain."

"Fine," Kathryn said, wondering which one was Ver.  "Commander Tuvok
will show the rest of you to your quarters."

Sutha nodded crisply and stepped off the platform.  Four of the five
other pilots followed, pausing only for one to take the suitcase of
the woman still on the platform.

Tuvok escorted the squadron out, accompanied by his security team, and
Kathryn nodded at the single green-clad pilot left.  "Ver Dejar?"

"Of course."  The woman, long hair a striking silvery-white, finally
stepped off the transporter platform.  "I expect you'd like to get to
Kiel as quickly as possible.  Where is your piloting station?"

"I'll take you there," Kathryn said.  "It's not far."  At least, it
wasn't far to the turbolift.

"So, what's involved in these tests?" she asked cautiously as they
walked down the corridor.  Ver would have been striding if Kathryn had
let her.

"Training simulations, for the most part," Ver said curtly.  "Assessed
by qualified instructors.  What you might expect from a piloting
course."  Disdain oozed from her voice.

Kathryn forced a smile.  "Of course," she said politely, and didn't
ask any more questions.

"Bridge," she said as they stepped into the turbolift.  "Navigation's
at the front of the bridge.  Our pilot can show you how it works."

"I'm sure she can, but I expect I can work it out myself without too
much trouble," Ver said coolly.

"I'm sure you can," Kathryn imitated, "but I'd prefer our pilot to
explain it to you."

Ver made an irritated noise.  "Very well," she said politely.

The turbolift doors opened and Kathryn stepped out.  "Mister Paris,
this is Ms. Dejar.  I'd like you to show her how to use the piloting
station, if that's not too much trouble."  The politeness in her voice
belied the subtle jab in her words.

"Not at all, Captain."  Tom eyed the Alskan pilot with deliberate
appraisal.  "I look forward to working with you--  I'm sorry, I didn't
catch your first name?"

Kathryn gritted her teeth.

Ver gave him a scathing look as she strode around the bridge to his
station.  "I am Alyltu Ver Dejar.  You will address me as Pilot, and
you will keep your eyes to yourself."

"Yes, ma'am," Tom muttered.  "You better hope you don't need to come
to Sickbay in the next few weeks," he added, almost inaudibly.

"Mister Paris," Kathryn said sharply.  "The Alskans are our guests.  I
expect you to treat them with some respect."  'The same respect as
you'd give to me' didn't seem entirely appropriate.

As always, Tom held her eyes for just long enough to make her think he
wouldn't back down this time, then - as always - dropped his eyes.
"Sorry," he muttered, only a little louder than his earlier threat.

Kathryn nodded at Chakotay and walked into her ready room, telling
herself it wasn't so much a retreat as an acknowledgement of the work
she had to do.  Besides, Ver's arrogant manner was getting on her
nerves.

---

"Paris to Janeway."

Kathryn pressed a key on her computer terminal, mouth suddenly dry.
"Janeway here."  He looked angry.

"_Waiata_ practise started ten minutes ago, Captain.  Were you
planning on gracing us with your presence, or were you just going to
hide in your ready room all day?"  He sounded angry, too.

She straightened and tried to pretend it wasn't her fault.  "I'm busy.
There's this little starship I'm expected to captain from time to
time; perhaps you've heard of her?"

"The one you're letting those aliens pilot?  Yeah, seems to ring a
bell.  Look, Captain, I don't have time for these games.  I've got a
concert to organise here--"

"Well, you can organise without me," she snapped.  "I know my piece; I
don't need to attend every little rehearsal just to sit around and
watch you beat your chest all afternoon."

Tom raised a sarcastic eyebrow.  "Oh, you don't?  I guess we'll see
you on the day of the performance, then, Captain."

She opened her mouth to protest - but there were people watching in
the background, and dammit, she did know her piece.  "Fine.  Janeway
out."  She cut off the commlink and buried her head in her hands.  How
had it gotten to this?

--

/Captain, I have a *great* idea./

Kathryn looked up as Tom entered her ready room.  /Oh?/ she asked
warily.

/Well, you know how I mentioned we ought to have a Hallowe'en party?
And you objected because it was only culturally relevant to a small
portion of the crew--/

/I haven't changed my mind,/ she said before he could get his hopes up
again.

Tom just smiled.  /Time will tell.  Anyway, I've got one for next year
- February the sixth./  He passed her a PADD with a picture of a woman
in some kind of flax-woven dress, and a man in a grass skirt.  /It's a
New Zealand holiday, Waitangi Day.  It was a forum for everyone to air
their grievances, stage protests, that sort of thing./

/You want me,/ she started slowly, /to hold a holiday where the crew
get together to complain about all my decisions./

/Yes-- no!  It's more like-- well, a little,/ he admitted.  /But it'll
be good for morale.../

/It won't be good for *my* morale./

/I figured you might say that./  He leaned forward earnestly, eyes
dancing.  /The other option is to go for a much more traditional
approach.  A _powhiri_:  singing, dancing, a couple of speeches, maybe
a _hangi_ -- feast,/ he translated quickly.  /Two tribes joining
together in celebration.  Very symbolic,/ he pointed out.

/Mm hmm,/ she said sceptically.  /Keep going./

/Well, I'd recruit a group of the crew and teach them the _waiata_,
the songs, and we could put on the performance... some Maquis, some
Starfleet, to really drive the symbolism home./

He was giving her that look she remembered from when he'd 'recruited'
her to play Queen Arachnia.  /Who did you have in mind?/ she asked
warily.

He grinned.  /Well, *traditionally* the most important people of the
community would have to take part.../

/No,/ she said, shaking her head.  She would have backed away if she
hadn't been sitting down.  /Absolutely not./

/Come on, Captain,/ he pleaded with a smile.  /It'll be fun--/

/No!  I am not going to humiliate myself in front of the crew!/  She
was laughing despite herself, leaning back into her chair.

Tom sighed again, with a deeply disappointed look on his face.  /Fine,
then, be that way.  Would you at least do a tiny welcoming song at the
beginning?  Three, four lines, no more.  It has to be you,/ he
insisted at her look.  /It's got to be the highest-ranking female of
the host tribe.  That's you./

It occurred to her that, technically speaking, she hadn't actually
agreed to hold the festival at all.  She couldn't bring herself to
point that out, though; not when his eyes were shining with more
enthusiasm than she'd seen in them for a long time.

/I suppose.../ she said slowly, making a big deal out of finally
giving in.  Tom beamed, and she had to remind herself to keep
breathing.

/Great!  I'll see you at _waiata_ practise./  He nodded goodbye and
sauntered out of the ready room, looking remarkably pleased with
himself.

Kathryn smiled at her computer terminal, shaking her head.  Maybe, one
day, she'd tell him how she felt... no, it probably wouldn't be a good
idea.  She glanced at the PADD he'd left behind and took another look
at the costumes.  Were those flax dresses *really* supposed to be that
low-cut?

--

Kathryn stared at her computer terminal, remembering.  A silent tear
rolled down her cheek.

---

continued in the tenth story in the Festive Occasions series
'Bleeding Hearts Are Still Red'