The BLTS Archive - The Dark Side
Firs in The Dark Is Rising series
by Suzanne Finn (yatokahc@aol.com)
and
Julie Kirkham (arizona@exl.co.uk)

---

*WARNING* - This is definitely not a place for the delicately minded
or easily offended! This story does contain relatively graphic
violence of both a sexual and non-sexual nature. If this is something
you do not care for, then we urge you to go to one of the nice PG-13
stories in Suz's realm. It is not our intention to offend. We
therefore humbly warn you now.

*WARNING* - If you like to see the "nice amiable" Chakotay and the
"almost perfect" Kathryn Janeway, then this may not be the story for
you.

*WARNING* - This is definitely a non-canon story. If you don't like
creative history... turn back now.

DISCLAIMER - Star Trek and all its characters belongs to the mighty
Paramount. We can't say that we play nicely with the other kids when
in their sand-pit, but we do promise to put their toys back without
breaking them. Well... okay... we promise to glue them back together
before returning them!

---
AUTHORS' NOTES
---

Many good things have happened to me in the last few months. Among
them being my extreme good fortune at meeting Robert Beltran in
person. He is indeed a gentleman and an all around nice guy, with a
totally devastating smile. My other piece of good fortune is having
met my soul sister Suz, who is indeed a truly marvellous person. I am
not known for my sentimentality, far from it, but in Suz's case I will
make an exception :-) Thanks to her I laugh instead of cry, I see
light instead of dark (although after reading our work you will
wonder!). For without her encouragement, advice and kind words - as
well as her uncanny ability to wind me up :-) I would still be
scribbling my story ideas on a piece of paper and filing them under X.
I owe you big time Sis, and as such I dedicate all my efforts in this
"little" dark universe of ours to you. -- Jules

How does one follow that? You know I love you, Sis. I can't believe I
had the good fortune of having you walk into my life. Like we've said
before... everything happens for a reason... and so it is. You mean
more to me than I could ever say. And sharing something like this with
you is just icing on the cake! You honor me with your words and your
friendship. And so I return the gift. These words are for you! -- Suz

---

"Intruder Alert." droned the monotone female voice of the ship's 
computer. Bridge lights automatically dimmed, alarm klaxons sounded,
red lights  flashed, as the computer initiated red alert protocols...
the first indication  that something was wrong.

-----

The Braai leader swore under his breath as the ship went into alert 
status. Their presence had been detected almost instantly upon
transport, a  feat they had not thought the alien technology capable
of. If the aliens were  able to determine they were on board, it was
only a matter of time before  their location was discovered as well.

His eyes darkened. He didn't like surprises.

The Braai had managed to lull their alien visitors, instill assurance 
and trust, encourage the lowering of defenses, the blinding of
instinct.  Fools. Easy prey. Victims of grace, charm, generosity, and
warmth. Standard  tactics. Skills refined and perfected. In the
process of indulging this  backward race, they'd subtly probed and
studied, learned everything they could about  Voyager and it's crew.
They had learned much in the limited time afforded  them. Knowledge...
input to collusion, a plan.

Thus far, the execution of their plan had proceeded flawlessly. 
However, they hadn't expected the advanced technological design of the
alien vessel.  They hadn't expected internal sensors, automatic
warning systems...  capabilities not possessed by any alien species
they'd ever encountered. The alien  negotiators had kept the extent of
their technological superiority concealed.

He didn't like surprises.

Their mission was no longer covert. They would have to forgo most of 
phase two. They would retrieve their intended merchandise, plunder
what else  they could, in what little time they had, then retreat.

He didn't like retreat. He didn't like settling for less. Such things
indicated failure. He didn't tolerate failure. It implied weakness,
inferiority, powerlessness. Moreso, to suffer such things at the hands
of this species. Backward... vile... repulsive.

He glanced over his shoulder at his men. "Quickly! We do not have the 
luxury of time. Let's get what we came for and get out of here before
we get  ourselves killed." he barked, low. It was not his intention to
perish on a  vessel rife with depravity.

Silently, quickly, his team moved to the bay doors. The proximity 
sensors forced the doors open, revealing a large alien specimen,
weapon in  hand.

Without thought, the Braai leader fired his own weapon, once... twice. 
The alien fell to the floor with a muffled thud, its weapon skidding 
across the cargo bay floor upon impact. A black boot slid forward,
arresting it's progress. A slow smile met the leader's lips, as he
bent down to retrieve the weapon.

He didn't like surprises, unless they were subject to him.

-----

Chaos. An apt description for the rush of activity on the bridge. In 
reality, it was precise action... all aimed at making sense of the
intrusion.

"Commander, I am detecting a site to site transport in progress."

Chakotay turned his face to Tactical. Despite the stoic vulcan mask 
that met his eyes, despite the steady voice that met his ears,
experience told  Chakotay that Tuvok, too, was unsettled by the abrupt
cascade of events...  perhaps even embarrassed by them, should a
vulcan be capable of such an emotion. He  stood before a mirror; Tuvok
his reflection. He understood all too well what  Tuvok was thinking,
what Tuvok was... feeling. Intruders. How had they  boarded? How had
they bypassed the ship's security measures? Sensors indicated 
nothing. Who had initiated the alert? What the hell was happening?
"Originating  from where?"

"Shuttle bay two. The Sacajawea."

A frown marred Chakotay's usually impassive expression. He eased 
slightly forward in his command chair. "Who initiated the transport?
Who was transported?"

Tuvok returned his attention to his console, entered the necessary 
command sequence, attempted to extract, extrapolate, the requested 
information. To no avail. "I am unable to ascertain that information."

Something wasn't right. Chakotay pushed himself up from his command 
chair, turned to fully face Tactical, took a step toward the vulcan.
"What  the hell is going on?" he quietly demanded. He glanced quickly
at the empty  command chair to his right. Something definitely wasn't
right. He could feel it.

Tuvok's fingers darted over the controls littering his console, adding 
search parameters to sensor readings, filtering results, collating and 
assessing the information presented. The answers were there. But,
coming too slowly.

Chakotay took another step toward Tuvok. He needed answers, or at 
least some insight into what was happening. It was coming too
slowly... much too  slowly for the situation that was beginning to
unfold before him.

One vulcan eyebrow lifted. "There are five intruders in shuttle bay 
two." He lifted his chin, tapped his combadge, eyes fixed on Chakotay. 
"Security teams Alpha and Delta to shuttle bay two. Security team
Gamma... stand by."

"Tuvok..." Chakotay headed toward Tactical, propelled by the need to 
see the figures and sensor readings with his own eyes.

"It appears that the shuttle Sacajawea was, in fact, the point of the 
security breach." Tuvok stepped slightly to his right as Chakotay
stepped to  his side, intent on scanning the sensor data. He
half-turned his face in the  direction of the Commander. "The
intruders appear to be Braai."

"How long ago did that shuttle dock? How did they get docking 
clearance?"

"The shuttle docked seventeen minutes ago. Ensign Morris was piloting 
the shuttle. Perhaps she can shed some light on..."

Chakotay tapped his combadge, the action interrupting Tuvok. 
"Commander Chakotay to Ensign Morris."

There was no response.

Chakotay glanced sideways at the vulcan. "Perhaps not." He waited a 
few seconds more, allowing time... waiting... for a reply which he
knew  would not be forthcoming. The line of his jaw set as he lifted
his chin.  "Computer... what is the location of Ensign Morris?"

"Ensign Morris is in shuttle bay two, on board the shuttle Sacajawea."

"And unable to respond." Chakotay mumbled, his frown deepening.

"Please restate..."

"Computer..." Tuvok interrupted. "What are Ensign Morris' life signs?"

"Ensign Morris is not conscious. Blood pressure... one hundred nine 
over..."

"Computer... end query." Tuvok ordered, silencing the computer. "It 
would be logical to assume that Ensign Morris was coerced into
piloting the  Sacajawea. The timeliness of her return to Voyager would
not have been  questioned. She was scheduled to retrieve fresh food
stuffs for Mister Neelix."

Chakotay exhaled heavily, then bit the inside corner of his mouth. "I 
get the picture. We can sort through the security issues later." And
they  would. Standard scans of the shuttle should have been
performed... but  weren't. A moot point at the moment. He lowered his
gaze to the console before him,  studied the limited details of the
intrusion. Sensor data should have been more  replete. But, the
intruders had been allowed seventeen minutes. Seventeen  minutes... to
damage... to destroy... worse. He shook his head in frustration. 
"Harry, is something interfering with ship's internal sensors?"

Harry looked up briefly from his console. "There appears to be an 
intermittent power fluctuation in the internal sensor array."

"Cause?"

The cut of Harry's mouth thinned as he ran several diagnostics. He 
shook his head once. "Unknown."

Chakotay's gaze drifted from the young ensign to the empty command 
level of the bridge. *Where the hell are you, Kathryn?* She should
have been on  the bridge by now. She wasn't. Regardless, she would
have contacted the  bridge... demanded to know what was happening. She
hadn't. He tapped his  combadge. "Bridge to Captain Janeway."

There was no response.

He tried again.

Again, his request was answered with silence.

His stomach knotted. Something was terribly wrong.

"Harry, is there a problem with communications?"

"No, sir, not that I am reading." Harry shook his head as he studied 
various status displays. "However, aft sensors seem to be fluctuating.
There  is a slight power surge, but communications should not be..."

Voyager shuddered suddenly, as an explosion resounded somewhere below 
decks. The violent vibrations had not yet subsided when three
subsequent  explosions rocked the ship, in quick succession.

"Status." Chakotay demanded as he moved to the command level of the 
bridge.

"Hull breaches on decks five and six. Emergency force fields are in 
place and repair teams are responding." Harry reported.

"Security team Alpha has several of the Braai confined in shuttle bay 
two. However, there are reports of further insurgencies on decks two
and  three. Reports are consistent with the transporter data we've
retrieved from  the Sacajawea."

"How many of them are there?" Chakotay asked.

Tuvok studied the internal sensor grid for more precise information. 
The whole of the grid was unstable... victim of the attack. "Unable to
confirm."

"Sir... communications just went down. So has our aft sensor array, 
and most of the internal sensor grid. Engineering is reporting warp
core off- line and..." Harry looked up, met the First Officer's dark
eyes. "...  Sickbay has lost the Doctor's subroutine."

"Phasers are off-line. Shields are at thirty eight percent." Tuvok's 
gaze lifted to the First Officer. "We do still have torpedo control."

*What the hell is going on?* Chakotay's gaze locked on the main view 
screen... on the Braai homeworld. His eyes narrowed imperceptibly.
"Tuvok get  down to..."

"Commander, a shuttle has just left Voyager." Tom Paris announced from 
his position at conn.

Chakotay's face snapped to Ops. "Hail them."

"Sorry, sir, without communications..."

The command had been an automatic response... forced out of 
frustration. "Tractor them back, Mister Paris." Chakotay moved to
stand behind the  pilot.

"The tractor beam is not operational." Tom reported.

Chakotay looked over his shoulder at Harry. "Transporters?" He didn't 
have to ask. He already knew the answer. Harry's response was merely 
confirmation.

Harry rested his weight forward on his hands, clutching the edge of 
his console. The line of his jaw set as his eyes lifted to Chakotay's. 
"Sorry, sir."

Chakotay turned back to the main viewer. "What _is_ working?" he 
growled. He was angry, the question rhetorical. He exhaled heavily,
then turned to  face Ops squarely. "What about overriding the
shuttle's controls?"

Harry silently shook his head.

Chakotay swore under his breath. "Can we send another shuttle after 
them?"

"We can't contact the shuttle bay."

"Of course. What was I thinking?" Chakotay muttered to himself... dry,
sarcastic. His gaze darted around the bridge... frustration defining
the lines of his face. At least the bridge crew had the grace to look
equally frustrated, if not a little sheepish, as all suggestions were
tossed aside. His face grew dark, his eyes black, as he turned back to
the main view screen. He stood silently, staring, brooding, as the
shuttle disappeared into the atmosphere of the planet below.

Chakotay exhaled heavily... calmed himself. "Tuvok..." His voice 
rumbled, low, clear, firm. "... go and check on your Security teams...
assess the  situation. Tom... get down to engineering and help
B'Elanna. I want a full damage  report." Chakotay turned to face Ops.
"Harry... see if you can locate the  Captain. Give her a preliminary
report and then work on getting communications and  sensors back
on-line." Orders tripped off his tongue without hesitation, the  anger
and frustration that had been evident in his voice now gone. The lines
of  his face softened, though his eyes still blazed a fiery
blackness... a lone  indication of what lay beneath the mask. "I want
to know what just happened. I  want to know how a supposedly backward
people like the Braai were able to slip  on board Voyager, sabotage
our systems, commandeer a shuttle, and escape with  inordinate ease.
We got caught with our pants around our ankles, gentlemen. They  made
us look like first year cadets. I want some answers."

"Aye, sir." Three voices, in unison.

Chakotay turned back to the main view screen. "And gentlemen, I want
preliminary departmental reports in thirty minutes. We'll convene in
the conference room."

The pneumatic hiss of the turbo lift doors marked their departure.

"Well... at least the turbo lifts are working." Chakotay muttered.

-----

The incursion had been swift and sudden... completely without warning. 
The Braai knew exactly what they were doing, exactly what they wanted. 
What that was had yet to be determined.

And yet, he wasn't surprised by the change in color of their hosts. 
Chakotay had been suspicious of the Braai from the outset. Something
in their  manner bespoke duplicity, triggered mistrust. Even Kathryn
had agreed that  something wasn't quite right. However, Voyager had
few options, if any. The  Braai had supplies. Voyager needed supplies.
There were no other planets within  reach, even at high warp. Voyager
had few options.

In stark contrast to Chakotay's impressions, the Braai representative 
had acted promptly, properly, and with the utmost comportment. The
only  stipulation offered prior to dealing with Voyager was that
Captain Kathryn Janeway personally oversee the trade process, that she
serve as chief negotiator. She agreed to their terms. He expected no
less. However, he didn't like it. The arrangement troubled him. He'd
no choice but to accede.

The Braai were humanoid in appearance, though they stood, on average, 
perhaps half a meter taller. They looked Bajoran, except for a slight
pale  green skin tone... and a lack of jewelry sense. The males
possessed dark eyes...  solid black... as dark as the vacuum of space.
The females' eyes... bright  green. Disturbing. Uncomfortable. Eerie.
He didn't like peering into the eyes  of the Braai, male or female.

They were a male dominated species. Females were rarely seen, and 
then, only to serve the males, see to the needs of their guests...
never a word  spoken. This aspect of Braai culture was not lost on
Chakotay, and only served  to fuel his apprehension. He found it all
the more disturbing that the Braai  leadership should insist on
dealing directly with Kathryn.

Tuvok had returned to the ship, after initial contact, and reported 
the planet 'secure'. However, he'd recommended, and assigned, a
security detail  to Kathryn Janeway. Negotiation was a mercurial
process, the players just as  inconstant. He would take no chances.

Throughout negotiations, the Braai did nothing to give Voyager reason 
to question their motives, their intentions. They were a seemingly 
friendly race. Perhaps, in hindsight, a bit too friendly, ostensibly
bending over  backward to provide assistance and comfort. They'd
talked of rare contact with  visitors from other worlds. They talked
of inherent curiosity regarding the  diversity of the galaxy and the
cultures that populated it. They expressed interest  in societal
structures markedly different from their own. They talked of  the need
to present a favorable image of the Braai homeworld... encouragement 
for future contact and trade. They asked many questions.

He'd thought it strange that such a technologically advanced people 
knew so little of systems around them. Had they not ventured out?
Explored? If  they were as curious a species as they claimed to be,
why had they not  traveled the system, broadened their understanding?
They were questions left  unanswered. He'd not been given the
opportunity to indulge his own curiosity...  and suspicions.

Negotiations progressed smoothly, without glitch, without pause. 
Despite that, Chakotay couldn't shake his unease.

He should have trusted his gut, his instinct... they were seldom 
wrong. He didn't. He'd made a mistake.

And Tuvok? Yet again, Voyager's security had been put to the test... 
and failed... miserably. There would be hell to pay. Starting with
Kathryn  Janeway. Yet, somehow, Chakotay had a feeling she wouldn't be
here anytime  soon. Gut. Instinct. They were seldom wrong.

Chakotay exhaled heavily, shook his head, pushing aside his unease, 
his self-recrimination. Distractions. Emotions and thoughts that
clouded  thinking, shifted purpose. He made his way to Ops, now manned
by Ensign Hicks, a  former Maquis. Chakotay knew very little about
Hicks. He did know that Hicks  didn't question orders, was a good
fighter. He knew that Hicks hated  injustice, and Cardassians. After
the terms of the Cardassian Peace Accord had  been... settled, the
Cardassians claimed their rights to the Hyulic homeworld,  much as
they did Dorvan V. Hicks' entire family had been expunged and 
imprisoned. In response, Hicks joined the Maquis. He focused his being
on fighting,  what he termed, 'those scaly bastards'. Hicks' golden
rule... the only good  Cardassian was a dead Cardassian.

"What the hell is it with this bloody quadrant that every damn species 
feels the need to play Alpha games." Hicks muttered, to no one in 
particular, as he jabbed his fingers at the console before him,
unaware of his  Commander's approach.

"I didn't quite catch that, Ensign." Chakotay said, as he approached 
the young man.

Hicks started. "Sorry, sir, I was just..."

"At ease, Hicks." A ghost of a smile brushed Chakotay's features as he 
drew level with the console. "What's our status?"

"Lieutenant Torres reports that warp is off-line for at least six 
hours. However, sensors will be operational within the hour, as will 
communications." Hicks pointed to a typed message on the small display
screen in front  of him. The report was getting longer by the second
as it scrolled up the  screen. "Hull breaches have been contained,
and... the EMH will remain off-line for  the foreseeable future."

Chakotay nodded soberly, patted Hicks on the shoulder before he 
stepped back to the command level of the bridge. "Keep me informed."

-----

Constraints of command? Perhaps. Uselessness? No. Helplessness? Most
definitely. Chakotay rifled through the labels for his restlessness as
he settled into his command chair. Trapped. While _they_ were off
doing, he was trapped. Restless, ill at ease, apprehensive.

He glanced sideways at the command chair to his right, his thoughts 
following his gaze.

She had officially been on duty when the incursion began. However, she 
hadn't been on the bridge. She'd been in her quarters, taking a
break... a  respite. The negotiations with the Braai had been
long-winded and tedious,  spanning nineteen hours, without pause.
Prior to negotiations, she'd worked a  twelve hour shift, preparing
for planetfall and baby-sitting standard orbit,  while Tuvok and his
away team made first contact. Thirty-one consecutive  hours on duty.

With an agreement reached with the Braai, she had returned to the ship 
looking tired... exhausted. But, Kathryn being Kathryn, Captain of
Voyager and  stubborn beyond reason, she had refused to allow her name
to be removed from  the duty roster. She'd insisted on working the
remainder of her shift... five  hours more. He wasn't quite sure what
tactic he'd employed that had finally  convinced her to, at the very
least, take a break... get something to eat. He  wasn't quite sure,
but, he would have wagered a month's replicator rations  that she'd
conceded... more like caved... when he'd resorted to exploiting her 
secret weakness. His smile. Not just any smile. Rather, the one he
shared  with her alone. It worked every time. She'd offered a smile in
response, raised  a humorless eyebrow, lifted a hand in acquiescence,
then admitted that  she could use a shower and a change of uniform.

Mischief lit his eyes, colored his face, dimples impossibly deepened, 
as he'd quietly offered to... wash her back.

She'd raised her eyebrow even higher, affecting her best Tuvok 
impression, before she'd blushed, grew a bit shy. A side of her he
rarely saw.  She'd smiled warmly, sweetly, then sighed what a pity it
was that he was covering  her bridge duty. Had he been available, he
would have been more than welcome to  perform this duty for his
Captain.

"Too bad, Commander." she'd whispered seductively, then exited her 
ready room, leaving him standing there... alone with his desire.

How quickly he'd turned from flirtation to want. She'd gently brushed 
her fingers across his chest as she moved past him, en route to her
ready  room door. That single touch had sent a burning heat blasting
through him.  For a heartbeat, his smile had escaped him, replaced
with a more serious expression... laced with a hint of uncertainty and
arousal. He'd wanted to grab her, pull her to her him, give her a
taste of what she was missing. He didn't.

It was merely a game. A game they played constantly. A game at which 
they'd grown quite adept. Flirtation. Teasing. She wasn't aware of it,
but,  she had just upped the stakes. His smile had returned as the
ready room door  closed between them. He'd smiled at the new game
before them. Patience was  one of his stronger attributes, especially
where she was concerned.

That had been forty three minutes prior to the incursion. Now, he sat 
in his command chair... restless, helpless, constrained. He should
have  listened to his gut, his instinct... they were seldom wrong.

Distractedly, his right hand clenched and unclenched as his stomach 
knotted. An all too familiar portent of some impending doom.

-----

Harry Kim was the last officer to enter the conference room. Silence 
greeted him as the doors slid shut behind him. They were waiting...
for him.  The realization stilled his feet, left him uncomfortably
self-conscious.  "Sorry I'm late, Commander."

"I take it, as you are alone, that you were unable to locate the 
Captain?" Chakotay was standing, his back to the observation port, the
green and  blue of Braai homeworld spinning lazily beyond.

Harry shook his head. "I searched..."

"Have a seat, Harry." Chakotay interrupted. "When sensors are back on-
line, I think you'll find that the Captain is no longer on board."
Every face  at the table lifted, snapped to him... all, except Tuvok,
his vulcan  impassivity firmly in place. "Tuvok, would you care to
give us your report first?"

Tuvok nodded once, slowly. "It seems, Commander, that you are correct. 
While I can not confirm the exact number, it seems that at least six 
crewmembers are no longer on board... Captain Janeway among them.
Lieutenant Torres has  reported two members of her staff unaccounted
for. Stellar Cartography has  reported missing staff as well. Until
the main computer and internal sensor  array are fully operational, I
am unable to confirm the status of off-duty  personnel." An eyebrow
raised. "It should be noted, the only thing that the missing
crewmembers have in common, at first blush, is that they are all
female."

The line of Chakotay's jaw set, as he turned his back to the senior 
staff. *All female.* His gaze settled on the Braai homeworld. She was
down  there. He'd concluded as much from the moment he'd dispatched
his senior officers thirty-five minutes prior. Tuvok's report was
merely confirmation. He had not dared infer more.

Chakotay's eyes blackened as anger flared, attempted to gain voice, 
fueled by conjecture... an educated guess as to why Voyager's own had
been  taken. Presumption. He hoped he was wrong. He swallowed hard,
held anger at  bay. He was well practiced. "B'Elanna."

B'Elanna cleared her throat, cleared her mind of the somber 
ruminations Tuvok's observation invoked... ruminations shared by
everyone in the  room, without doubt... ruminations triggering a
decidedly non-Starfleet  desire for retaliation and vengeance.
"Communications is still down. Carey is  working it. Short range
communications should be back within fifteen minutes. Long  range
within the hour. Sensors should be back on-line any time." She glanced 
at the PADD she gripped in her hands. A preliminary damage report... 
personnel assigned to work the problems, and time estimates. She
didn't need it.  She knew precisely what was wrong and who was working
it. She always did.  Oddly, though, she felt the need to do something
with her hands. It took her a moment  to place the need. She snorted
in mild disgust, then placed the PADD on the  table, slid it toward
the First Officer. "These are our preliminary findings."

Chakotay did not turn to accept it. "The warp engines?"

"Off-line. They won't be..."

"Carey to Torres." the disembodied voice interrupted.

B'Elanna looked at Chakotay, who glanced over his shoulder, nodded 
permission. "Go ahead."

"Internal and short range sensors are back on-line. The communications 
array is operational... short and long range. It wasn't as bad as we 
thought. Whomever planned this attack knew what they were doing...
they just  didn't do it very well. Phasers should be operational
within five minutes,  transporters within the hour."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Torres out."

Chakotay turned partially, fixed his gaze on Tuvok. "Computer, how 
many crewmembers are not on board Voyager?"

"Seven crew members are not on board Voyager." Came the monotone 
impassive response.

"What gender are the absent crew members?" Chakotay asked. 
Verification.

"All seven crew members are female."

Unbidden images, thoughts, feelings, again assaulted the six officers
littering the conference room... images and thoughts providing
unsubstantiated motive, however despicable, to the abduction.

Chakotay turned flush with the table, fixed each officer, in turn, 
with a dark look. Despite the darkness of his eyes, his face remained
impassive... unreadable. His gaze came to rest on Harry. The young
Ensign shifted in his seat... unsettled. "Harry, I want a full sensor
sweep of that planet. I want to know where our crew is being held. I'd
also like to retrieve the shuttle. Locate it." Despite the darkness of
his eyes, his voice remained even... calm. He turned back to the
observation port, distractedly studied the planet beyond. "Tom...
B'Elanna... I want to know that Voyager can fly, at warp..."

"Warp is off-line." B'Elanna interrupted. "It will take at least six 
hours..."

"They may not have six hours, Lieutenant." he snapped. *Damn it.* He 
quickly admonished himself. B'Elanna was merely stating the facts as
she knew  them. She wasn't one to sugarcoat or pad. Fact. However,
fact wasn't what  Chakotay wanted to hear. It wasn't good enough.

B'Elanna bit the inside corner of her mouth. She understood his 
frustration, shared it. He was planning something, of that she was
certain. She  eyed him, subtly curious, ghosts of the past nipping at
the edges of her  consciousness. An apparition of a rumor long cold
touched her thoughts. Her eyes  narrowed slightly. "I'll do my best.
However... to repair the warp engines in  less than six hours would
require nothing short of a miracle. Impulse engines  are operational.
Warp? I can guarantee nothing."

"I'm a big believer in miracles." he said, his voice again calm, 
steady, even. He clasped his hands behind his back. "Do it B'Elanna.
When I mount a  rescue attempt, I want the ability to get as far away
as possible, as quickly  as possible... before they can mount another
attack. Impulse is a start.  But, I want the ability to go to warp."
He twisted his torso slightly,  glanced behind him out of the corner
of his eyes, looking at no one in particular.  "I'll need both the
Doctor and the transporters back on-line."

The apparition grabbed hold, as B'Elanna studied his dark profile 
against the backdrop of stars and planet. Hearsay. Rumor. She pushed
it aside.  "Aye, sir." She wasn't happy. However, she knew it best not
to argue.

Tuvok folded his hands, placed them in his lap, rested his elbows on 
the arms of his chair. "What are your rescue plans, Commander?" It was
obvious,  from the exchange with Lieutenant Torres, Chakotay was
formulating, if not  already putting into motion, a plan which he had,
as of yet, not shared with  the senior officers... in particular, the
Chief Security Officer.

*Not yet, Tuvok. Soon... very soon.* "Plans, Tuvok?" Chakotay feigned
ignorance. "My plans, Commander, are to get our crew back safe and
sound... as quickly as possible." Chakotay turned slowly to fully face
the vulcan, pressed his palms against the flat surface of the table,
shifted his weight forward. Eyes belied the mask. Eyes, grown
impossibly black. Eyes hooded. Eyes, refracting the embers of some
unidentifiable passion growing within.

Every officer in the room hesitated at the disquieting dichotomy that 
stood before them. They recognized the face, the voice, the manner.
But, the  eyes...

B'Elanna swallowed hard. A pale reflection. The apparition solidifying 
within her memory was but a pale reflection of the specter in the eyes
of  Voyager's First Officer. She'd seen this before. It had frightened
even the  Klingon in her. It had terrified the Cardassians, as well.
What that shadow was,  she could not say for sure. Hearsay. Rumor.

B'Elanna slowly turned away, her eyes drifting to the man seated 
directly across from her. He was looking at her... eyes narrowed,
questioning.  She shook her head imperceptibly, before again turning
her attention to  Chakotay.

B'Elanna's expression surprised Tom. Had he thought her capable, where
Chakotay was concerned, he would have labeled the shadow behind her
eyes apprehension... trepidation... fear... mixed with an unmistakable
uncertainty. Voyager's confident Chief Engineer had instantaneously
become unsure and unnerved. Why? Tom suddenly found himself drawn
again to Chakotay, to the emotionless mask he wore. There was nothing
unusual about the definition of his face. But, his eyes... Tom had
never seen Chakotay quite like this before. He had witnessed many an
emotion in Voyager's First Officer... anger, embarrassment, sadness,
more. But, the man before him now... this man was entirely different.
There was something in his eyes. Something at once terrifying and
alluring... ominous and assuring. What it was, he knew not. What it
was, unnerved the woman seated opposite.

"You have formulated a plan, Commander?" the vulcan pressed.

"I have the rough beginnings of a plan, Tuvok."

"Would you care to disclose this..."

Chakotay lifted his chin slightly, eyes still locked with Tuvok's. 
"Not yet. There are a couple of things I need to... look into first."

Tuvok considered the man for a beat, then nodded acknowledgment.

Satisfied, Chakotay straightened. "Are there any further questions?" 
he said, glancing around the table.

"Now that communications is operational, are we going to contact the 
Braai? Find out what this is all about?" Tom asked.

"No." Chakotay said simply.

Tom snorted, confused. "Why not? Surely if we can..."

"I said no, Lieutenant." Unemotional. Low.

"Why?"

Chakotay exhaled heavily. Obsidian met blue. "The Braai believe they 
have severely damaged Voyager. I want them to continue to believe that
is  true. I want them to believe we are crippled, helpless... at least
for the  time being. If we open a dialogue with them, we risk
betraying ourselves." He  slowly glanced around the table. "Any more
questions?"

Nothing.

"Dismissed." As the officers stood, he turned his back to the room, 
confronted the blue-green sphere. *Hang on, Kathryn... hang on.*

-----

As Tom stepped away from his chair, he caught B'Elanna's eye, 
requested with a glance and a jerk of his head that she follow him.

She nodded imperceptibly.

Harry noted the exchange, decided to stick close. Something was going 
on. Something regarding the Commander. He had every intention of
finding  out exactly what that something was.

Neelix could smell the slightest bit of gossip from three decks away.
Something was going on. He turned his attention to the threesome,
followed them onto the bridge.

Tuvok remained.

Chakotay knew he was there... and waited. Silence weighed the passage 
of time.

"Commander, if I may?"

A faint smile met Chakotay's lips. *You never disappoint me.* 
Exclusion. He knew the Chief Security Officer would not acquiesce to
exclusion. He  had no intention of excluding the vulcan. It merely
wasn't time yet. He  turned. "By all means."

"Sir." A sign of respect offered. "While I respect your desire to 
further distill your _plan_ , before disclosing it to the senior
staff, it is  my duty to point out..."

It was all he would allow. "Tuvok." He swallowed hard, bit his lower 
lip. "It is not my intention to keep you in the dark. It just isn't
time yet.  You've got to trust me."

The vulcan shifted his weight, lifted an eyebrow. Trust was not the 
issue.

"I need sensor data. I need details on where they are being held. When 
I have that information, we'll discuss this further." He would offer
nothing  more. Quietly, he turned and left the conference room.

-----

The conference room doors hissed open, announcing the arrival of the 
First Officer. As he passed onto the bridge, he narrowly avoided a
collision  with B'Elanna, Tom, and Neelix. It didn't phase him. He
didn't acknowledge  the incident, didn't question why they stood idle.
He merely redirected  his stride, moved past Ops, where Harry was
relieving Ayala, headed toward the  turbolift. "Ayala, report to my
office in ten minutes. Bring Gerron with you.  Tuvok..." Chakotay
entered the turbolift, spun around. His eyes locked with the 
vulcan's, as he emerged from the conference room. "... you have the
bridge."

"Aye, sir." Ayala replied, as the turbolift doors sealed the 
Commander's exit. He glanced at the questioning faces around him,
smiled, and shrugged.  Then, he too sought refuge in the turbolift...
his heart pounding, his mind  racing. Almost four years. Risen again.

-----

"All right, B'Elanna. What's going on?" Tom asked, turning to face the
engineer. He jerked his chin toward the now closed turbolift doors.
"What's up with Chakotay?"

Her eyes darted from Harry, to Neelix, to Tom. They all stood 
watching... and waiting. She had nothing concrete, nothing confirmed,
to tell them.  What she did know was only rumor... Maquis rumor. Not
exactly the type of rumor  she wanted to propagate. The line of her
jaw set. "Nothing."

"Don't give me that 'nothing' crap, B." Tom stepped imperceptibly 
closer, lowered his voice. "I saw you in there." His eyes locked with
hers.  "What's going on?"

She glanced past Tom's shoulder, to the retreating form of the Chief 
Security Officer. "This is neither the place nor the time." she half
whispered,  half hissed.

"This place is as good as any. And we're running out of time."

She exhaled heavily, as her eyes drifted to his. After a moment, she 
lowered her gaze. "All right. But it's just a rumor." Eyes lifted
again. "A  very old rumor. Nothing has ever been substantiated."

Tom looked at Harry, then back to B'Elanna. "Understood."

She moistened her lips. "When I first met Chakotay he had just 
returned from a mission he'd lead with Ayala, Gerron and Suder. There
was nothing  unusual about small team strikes. We ran them all the
time." She paused, recalling  the memories. "Over the next several
months, there were more missions...  always with the same team.
Again... nothing unusual. However, they were  always very secretive
about them. No one ever knew where they were going, what  they were
doing, or why. And when they got back... Chakotay... all of them... 
were... different." That was putting it mildly. Life in the Maquis was
life on  the edge. Whatever _their_ missions entailed pushed them
over. "A Maquis  cell is small... tightly knit. Secrets weren't
something encouraged. Secrets  weren't something easily held. They
tended to cause mistrust." She shook her  head at a memory. "I tried
to ask Chakotay once."

"And?" Tom prompted.

"He said some things were better left alone." She snorted. "So... I 
asked Seska."

"Go on." Neelix prodded.

"Look guys, this is just a rumor." B'Elanna protested. "Consider the 
source. Seska wasn't exactly reliable."

Tom gently took her elbow, squeezed it. A gesture of support.

B'Elanna exhaled deliberately, calming herself. "Seska said that 
Chakotay was merely exercising his Starfleet training."

"I don't get it." Harry stated, unsure of the cryptic comment.

She swallowed hard. "Are any of you aware of Chakotay's background 
with Starfleet Advanced Tactical?"

Tom, Harry, and Neelix looked at her with blank expressions. Even 
Tuvok, not normally prone to listen to ships gossip, found himself
concentrating  on the small group... listening.

"I'm not sure of the details. I'm not even sure exactly what 
Chakotay's role was, but... according to rumor... Advanced Tactical
wasn't all he was  involved with. Apparently, Starfleet had what can
only be described as a Black  Ops section. Something like Special
Forces..."

"The Rangers?" Harry offered.

B'Elanna laughed humorlessly, shook her head. "No. Not the Rangers. 
Not Chakotay. The Rangers are like Boy Scouts compared to these guys. 
We're talking seriously dirty tactics. They play rough and for keeps.
It's a very  small specialist group. Elite forces. Hell... I don't
even know if it's  real. Chakotay has never even intimated any
knowledge of such a group... or  an affiliation with it. It's rumor."
B'Elanna sighed, met Tom's eyes. "Do  you want to know what unnerved
me in there?" she asked, gesturing toward the  conference room. "The
look in Chakotay's eyes. I know that look. I've seen it  before. It's
been over four years, but I remember it." Torres glanced from Tom to 
the others. "And if the rumors are right... it means trouble."

"That's okay. It's the Braai that he's angry with." Harry said, 
frankly. "That has to be good, right? If Chakotay was a member of
this... elite  force, it can only be a good thing."

B'Elanna met Harry's unknowing gaze. "Maybe. But, he's called on Ayala 
and Gerron.".

"So?" Harry waved his hand in question to the significance of the 
statement.

"For the sake of argument, let's assume these rumors are true. He's 
assembling a strike team." Torres said quietly, holding Harry's gaze.

"So? If Chakotay can get the Captain and the others back..."

"Harry, do you see any Starfleet people on this team?" she 
interrupted. "Chakotay has chosen former Maquis... his Maquis strike
team. Not one  Starfleet addition."

"And the significance is?"

"Seska revealed a rumored nickname the Cardassian's had given Chakotay 
and his Starfleet team." B'Elanna spoke slowly, as if attempting to
clearly  answer a difficult question asked by a young child. "Silent
Black Death. She  said they were a sweeper crew. They dealt mainly in
covert jobs... potentially  messy and always difficult. Their tactics
were supposedly dirty. Not something  Starfleet would own up to or
condone. Apparently, they were very good at what  they did.
Apparently, Chakotay was a good teacher... Ayala and Gerron were good
students." She swallowed hard. "It was no rumor that they scared the
shit out of the Cardassians."

The group jumped as a throat cleared behind Tom.

"Report to your duty stations." Tuvok ordered, breaking up the 
impromptu meeting. "I believe you all have assignments to be carried
out. I  suggest that you get to them as quickly as possible."

"Aye, sir."

Tuvok walked to his security console and pulled up Chakotay's 
personnel file. He already knew the file intimately. He'd read it many
times prior to  his infiltration of Chakotay's Maquis cell. He'd read
it again when  Captain Janeway had asked the Maquis Captain to join
her crew. He'd felt the need to  know his enemy. However, Chakotay was
no longer his enemy. Far from it. The  Commander demanded...
commanded... respect. He'd proven his value and loyalty to  Voyager
and her crew many times over. He'd proven that Captain Janeway's trust 
was not misplaced. Without doubt, his loyalty to Kathryn Janeway was
second to  none.

Tuvok read the Commander's file again. The file held no surprises.

He again scanned the contents. Nothing unusual. Nothing to give 
credence to the rumors of which Lieutenant Torres spoke. And then
something caught  his eye. Nothing out of the ordinary... and yet
something slightly unusual. An  obscure reference to a file located in
a remote part of the system. A file  within a second file buried in an
unobtrusive personal note buried within yet  another file. One
ambiguous reference built upon another. Subtle... encrypted  then
buried in an inconsequential part of Chakotay's personal history. 
Easily missed. Designed to be missed.

Tuvok entered his security clearance code. The file remained 
inaccessible to him. The file was secured with Starfleet codes he had
never seen  before. The vulcan's brow furrowed slightly as he
attempted to override the file  lock. Again, access was denied. Even
Kathryn Janeway's clearance was not  high enough to permit access to
the file.

A vulcan eyebrow lifted, annoyed that the discovery had not been made 
earlier. Even more disturbing, the encryption was something he had
never seen  before. He would be lucky if he could crack the first
levels of the code. There  were at least eight that he could see. He
lifted his chin, glanced at the  empty command level of the bridge.

-----

Chakotay sat behind his desk, hands folded, settled in his lap, elbows 
resting on the arms of the chair. He sat, silent, considering the two
young  men before him. Young... very young. In age only. They had
witnessed,  experienced, more in their few years, than most witnessed,
experienced, in a lifetime. He'd witnessed... experienced... along
side them, though his soul had been sold long before. They weren't
innocents when he'd met them... far from. However, they didn't know
then what they knew now. He was responsible, in part. He'd always felt
a bit guilty. Thievery. He'd robbed them of so much. And yet, he'd
given them so much, or at least, that's what he'd convinced himself.

He'd been told it was like riding a bicycle. Once you'd learned, you 
never forgot. He'd never had the opportunity to validate the theory.
He'd  hoped he never would.

"Did you bring the toy box when we came aboard Voyager?" Chakotay 
quietly rumbled. He already knew the answer. He asked anyway.

"Yes, sir. It's secure in cargo bay two."

Ayala was a quiet man. Soft spoken. Unobtrusive. His manner belied his 
nature. The old saying, 'beware the quiet one', rang true... every
time. Ayala  was a quiet man. But, beneath the gentle exterior lay a
volatile  temperament.

Monitored, checked, constructively directed, Ayala fared well. Left to 
his own devices, he was dangerous. The combination of the two was
deadly.  Chakotay had counted on it. Chakotay had taken advantage of
it. Chakotay had  provided Ayala an acceptable and productive outlet
for his anger, and reaped the  benefits. Thievery? Perhaps. But, in
light of their existence at the time, it  seemed more give and take.
They helped each other, regardless the cost.

Chakotay had met Ayala during a bar fight. Chakotay had been on the 
loosing side, until Ayala, and his brother, had stepped in. From that
moment,  that were firm allies and friends. Give and take. They helped
each other,  regardless the cost.

"I want you and Gerron to inspect the box. Make sure the toys are 
still operational and the supply is sufficient to carry out an
operation.  Then report back to me..." Chakotay glanced at Gerron,
then returned his attention  to Ayala. "... only to me... when you've
completed the full check."

"Are we going in?" Gerron asked gravely.

"To get the Captain?" Ayala smiled.

Chakotay noted the smile... humorless, yet eager. It had been a long 
time since he'd seen it. "Yes." He replied easily, as he leaned back
in his  chair. He lifted his hands, elbows still resting of the chair
arms. His  fingers steepled, fingertips touching, palms separated.

"When?" Ayala pressed.

Under different circumstances, Chakotay would have been disturbed with 
Ayala's restlessness, his anxiousness. Not so now. He was grateful for
it. He  needed it. Like riding a bicycle? It might just be. "Check the
equipment. If  it's up to scratch, we go in two hours, possibly three.
We still need sensor  readings and a location." He already knew the
state of the box and its  contents. He checked it on a regular basis,
mostly to ensure that it remained  secure and posed no threat to
Voyager or her crew. There was little doubt they  would leave Voyager
when planned. He needed sensor readings. He needed to give  Ayala and
Gerron something to do, time to prepare.

"What size operation?"

"Infiltration team? Just us. I want to go in quiet. Unseen and 
unheard. No mess. No alarms. However, if we are discovered, I want a
complete  sterilization of the site. I want the Braai to know, in no
uncertain terms, what  they risk if they choose to confront us again."

Ayala glanced at Gerron, unable to conceal his rush.

"What about Tuvok, the Captain..." Gerron hesitated, unsure of how to 
voice his concern. Voyager and its crew had never experienced anything
like  what was about to happen. Despite the intent, the method was not
necessarily... acceptable.

"I'll handle Tuvok. As for the Captain..." Chakotay exhaled heavily, 
slowly. "... when she's back on board, I'll debrief her. If things
fall apart  down there and we have to fight our way out, you are not
to allude to or  discuss the sterilization... with anyone.
Understood?"

"Yes, sir." Low. Simultaneous.

"It's a pity Suder isn't with us." Gerron said quietly.

Ayala nodded agreement. "Suder was an asset on a mission like this."

Yes he was. However, Suder's nature did not serve him in a normal 
existence. It wasn't meant to be. "You have your orders. Dismissed."

Chakotay watched distractedly as Ayala and Gerron turned and left his 
office, his mind already constructing a plan, fleshing out the
tactics, the  logistics of the operation. *Like riding a bicycle.*
Skills never lost. Demons  never shaken. He'd hoped these particular
demons had remained in the Alpha  Quadrant. He wasn't so lucky.

He swore under his breath. Covert Black Ops always gave him 
nightmares. Those nightmares were about to resurface. The peace he
found was once more threatened.

"Tuvok to Commander Chakotay."

Chakotay sighed, tapped his combadge. "Go ahead Tuvok."

"Do you have a moment, sir? I would like to discuss something with 
you."

Something in the vulcan's tone arrested his attention. His brow 
furrowed. "Certainly. Why don't you come to my office."

"Acknowledged. I'm on my way."

Chakotay leaned forward in his chair, rested his elbows on the edge of 
his desk, folded his hands, cradling his chin between intertwined
fingers  and thumbs. *What would Tuvok...* He snorted as an image of
an impromptu  bridge meeting flashed through his mind. Harry, Tom,
Neelix, and...  *B'Elanna*. She knew nothing concrete. She needed
nothing concrete. Rumors were  enough. *Damn.*

-----

Chakotay sat unmoving for two minutes... waiting, formulating a 
response for what he knew to be Tuvok's intent. The rumor mill on
board Voyager was paralleled by no other in the galaxy... in speed,
activity, and accuracy. While Tuvok was not one to engage in idle
rumination, nor was he one to listen to rumors, he could not... would
not... deny the veracity of below decks talk. The vulcan had been
handed this particular bit of information on a platter... a rumor
revealed and discussed right under his nose.

There was little doubt that the vulcan had tried to verify the claims.
Chakotay expected nothing less. There was even less doubt that the
vulcan had failed in his attempt. However, failure would not deter
him... but rather lead him right to the object of the rumor.

Two minutes was hardly sufficient.

The door chime sounded.

"Come in, Tuvok."

The Chief Security Officer stepped inside as the office door slid 
open, permitting him entry. Without a word, his gaze never wavering
from  that of his commanding officer, he crossed the small room,
stopping just short of Chakotay's desk, body rigid... almost, but not
quite, at attention.

Chakotay studied the vulcan for a beat, found nothing in his demeanor 
that might betray his purpose. It mattered not. "Have a seat, Tuvok."

Tuvok glanced at the chair behind him, hesitated only slightly before 
he seated himself, folding his hands... settling them in his lap as
his  elbows rested on the arms of the chair.

Chakotay shifted, folded his own hands, rested his forearms on the 
desk in front of him. "What's on your mind?"

"Would you care to tell me when you intend to mount a rescue effort 
and what your plans are?"

Chakotay snorted quietly, imperceptibly shook his head. "We've already 
been through this, Tuvok. There is nothing to discuss, until Harry and
the  sensors can provide some useable information."

Tuvok had not expected to be offered an answer to his question. An 
adamant eyebrow lifted, as he tried another tack. "There are several 
crewmembers I would like to suggest be assigned to the rescue team."

Chakotay sighed, debated ordering the subject closed, but decided the 
action might do more harm than good. The action would only serve to
push  Tuvok further. Besides, discussing the peripheral logistics was
in no way compromising... to the effort, or himself. "That won't be
necessary. I've already chosen the team."

Tuvok's eyebrow raised even higher, in a vulcan expression of 
surprise. "You will be in command of the team?" He already knew the
answer. He had  suspected that Chakotay would lead the rescue attempt
from the moment the  Commander had indicated a plan to recover the
abductees was being formulated.

"Yes." Chakotay nodded.

"Who will comprise your team?" Tuvok pressed.

"Ayala, Gerron, and myself." Chakotay stifled the smile which suddenly
threatened to surface. Tuvok was dying to know the details, but
protocol and Vulcan logic restrained him. It was the closest thing to
frustrated he'd ever seen in this man.

"Only three of you. Surely you will require an additional team."

Chakotay shook his head. "Just the three of us."

The line of the vulcan's jaw set. "Sir... may I remind you that, as 
head of security, _I_ should be leading the rescue effort. In
addition, I do  not believe three members of an away team qualify as a
rescue attempt."

Chakotay leaned back in his chair, folded his arms over his chest. 
"That's where you're wrong, Tuvok. This particular team is very
qualified.  More qualified than you could ever imagine." He held
Tuvok's gaze for  several seconds before continuing. "I understand
your need to carry out this operation..."

"Commander..." Tuvok interrupted, attempting to assert his position. 
To no avail.

Chakotay held up a hand to silence him." I intend no disrespect, 
Tuvok... but unless you've been hiding your qualifications, I don't
think that you possess..." He paused, carefully measuring his words.
"... relevant experience in this particular field of... negotiation."

The choice of words was not lost on the vulcan. Superficially, the 
Commander's words revealed little... but what they implied revealed a
great deal,  when weighed against what he had overheard on the bridge.
"Commander, my  background includes hostage rescue tactics and
negotiation, as well as special circumstance training."

Had Chakotay not known better, he would have thought Tuvok was 
upset... or, at the very least, insulted, despite his assurances to
the contrary. "I'm  well aware of your background... and this
certainly meets the criteria of a  special circumstance situation.
Under normal conditions I wouldn't stand in  your way. But in this
instance, the qualifying factors dictate a different  approach." He
paused once again, lowered his arms to the armrests of his chair, and 
pushed himself to his feet. He clasped his hands behind his back as he 
stepped around the desk, moved to stand beside the sofa. He stared
briefly out the  viewport at the brilliant starscape beyond, then
turned back to the vulcan. "The  Braai don't speak the standard
Starfleet negotiation language, nor do they  understand it. They use a
different dialect. One that isn't recognizably  Starfleet."

Verbal posturing. Word games. Tuvok didn't like engaging in word 
games, unless absolutely necessary. In this case, he did not see the
need. He would  prefer the truth... plain and simple. And from the
games the Commander was  initiating, that truth lie buried under
hearsay and rumor. He doubted the truth  would be immediately
forthcoming. He would play the game. "How do you know that  standard
methods would be ineffective?"

"Experience."

The vulcan's gaze grew even more intense. "And you speak this 
particular dialect?"

"Yes... I do."

"Did Starfleet, or the Maquis, teach you this... language?"

Chakotay smiled faintly, humorlessy. Tuvok sought verification, not 
willing to place complete trust in the rumor mill, despite his
suspicions that  the gossip hit close to the mark. "I think you know
the answer to that." He  turned his back on the vulcan, let his gaze
drift to the stars. "Starfleet has  many departments, special...
linguistics wasn't offered on the main campus,  but it existed. The
Maquis just gave me a chance to keep my skills... honed."

"Commander, if Captain Janeway were here, I do not believe that she 
would agree to the use of these particular language skills."

"Possibly." he said as he turned back toward the vulcan, moved to the 
edge of his desk, leaned against it, his hands lightly grasping the
edge of  the desk on either side of his thighs. His eyes locked with
the vulcan's.  "However, Captain Janeway isn't here... and I feel
quite certain that she would choose  not to remain in her current
circumstance." Frustrated was an appropriate  label for the man
sitting before him, however subtle the signs. Frustration born  of
lack of control over a situation that, under different circumstances,
would  be his to manage. Frustration born of his inability to access
key files in  his senior officer's personnel record. Frustration born
of lack of awareness of  his Commander's history... and the impact
that history was having on the  present. Chakotay could understand his
frustration. "I'm going to bring her  back, Tuvok. You have to trust
me on that."

Brown remained locked with brown... steady... unwavering. "Of that I 
have little doubt, Commander. However, the ramifications of the
attempt..."

"Ramifications?" Chakotay snorted, interrupting. He exhaled heavily.
Ramifications. The ramifications would be far-reaching. He knew that.
But, moreso for himself than anyone else on board. The decision, the
responsibility, was his alone. He alone would be accountable. Kathryn
understood that. "If Captain Janeway feels the need to throw me in the
brig, then so be it. It's her ship... she's the Captain. However,
until such a time that she is once again in command of Voyager, I give
the orders... I make the decisions."

Chakotay was ready for an argument... conduct unacceptable... conduct
unbecoming a Starfleet officer. He knew Tuvok was beyond recognizing
the 'I am Maquis' response. That response no longer cut it. There was
always the truth... plain and simple. But, there was nothing simple
about the truth. And this truth was difficult to hear, for it somehow
made what was about to happen... more acceptable. It went against
everything Starfleet represented.

And yet, it was Starfleet that had created him. It was Starfleet that 
had nurtured him. It was Starfleet that had needed him. Leper.
Outcast.  Unclean. That is what he was to Starfleet, officially. But
behind closed doors,  removed from official Starfleet eyes, Starfleet
had lauded him... used him...  needed him... honored him.

No argument was forthcoming. "I understand, Commander. I would like to 
stress that I remain firm in my belief that a three man team isn't
adequate  to carry out the job flawlessly and successfully."

Chakotay eased his stance imperceptibly at the shift in Tuvok's focus. 
Perhaps Tuvok understood far more than he realized. It would gain
little to  press for a complete revelation of the truth. "Normally
there would be a four-man  team. However, the final member of the team
is no longer with us."

"Suder."

Chakotay nodded once in response. Obviously, B'Elanna had revealed 
everything she knew.

"I would like to request assignment to the team... as the fourth man."

Chakotay didn't blink. "Request denied. I need you up here, Tuvok. 
You're the only bridge officer with the relevant experience. I need
someone up  here that I can trust, someone with the right background
to help affect the plan."

Tuvok's gaze remained steady. "Then might I suggest Ensign Harlow? 
He's one of my best officers. He could complete the team."

"Don't press this, Tuvok. My team is chosen." He exhaled heavily, 
crossed his arms over his chest. He owed Tuvok more than a quick
sidestep... a  flat-out refusal. And yet, at the same time, he owed
him nothing. He knew what  Tuvok was trying to do... what he was
trying to avoid by adding a 'Starfleet'  presence to the team. He
couldn't blame the man. "This team has been through a lot together.
We've run a lot of missions. We're a unit. Adding a new member to the
team at this point will serve no purpose except to throw us
off-balance. Besides, anyone on Voyager, beyond the members of this
team, would be wholly unprepared for how we... operate." He pushed
himself up from his perch on the edge of the desk, straightened. "I
think you'd agree that it would be a tactical error to include a new
member just a few hours before a mission."

"Whether or not I agree depends upon the terms of the mission and the 
methods to be employed."

And there it was. The question. The rub. "Tuvok." Chakotay stepped
imperceptibly closer to the Vulcan, as if to stress his point. "The
average Starfleet officer is good at what they do. The average
Starfleet officer excels in the Starfleet way of life... following,
and living according to, it's principles and rules. In most
circumstances... that's enough. However, in rare circumstances, it is
not... more is required. The average Starfleet officer isn't
necessarily prepared for such circumstances."

"If you are implying..."

"Tuvok." He said, ceasing the vulcan's rebuttal. "Voyager's officers 
have had the best standard training available. However, this isn't a
standard  mission. I know the personnel on this ship. They wouldn't
like the way this team operates... it goes against most of what
they've been taught. I can't risk a member unwilling to do what is
necessary to complete this mission. I can't risk a member working
against the team. I won't beta test a new member on an actual mission,
when I can't trust their reaction to the methods required."

Tuvok was quiet for several moments. Again... little had been offered, 
but what had been offered spoke volumes. He didn't like it. If Captain 
Janeway were present, she would like it even less. The Commander could
not be  relieved of command on the basis of a rumor, on the basis of
implication. Tuvok  had little choice. He nodded his acquiescence.

They sat in silence for several seconds, each measuring the other. 
Abruptly, Chakotay reached up and tapped his combadge. "Chakotay to
Ensign Kim."

"Yes Commander."

"How are the sweeps coming? Have you been able to compile anything 
yet?" Chakotay eyes were still trained on Tuvok.

"Yes, Sir. I finished the final sweep a few moments ago. I am 
filtering some of the data... cleaning it up a bit. It should be ready
in a couple  minutes."

"Good. I'd like to you to bring the results to my office as soon as 
you've completed the filtering. Chakotay out."

Chakotay stepped back, again leaned against his desk. He tapped his 
combadge once more. "Chakotay to Ayala."

"Ayala here."

"Report."

"The toy box is intact. The toys are fully functional. I've had to add 
more supplies to meet the needs of the job."

Chakotay watched Tuvok with interest... considered the subtle changes 
in the definition of his face... his reaction to the exchange. Word
games  were enough to give credence to rumors, and yet not enough to
make the vulcan an accomplice. He knew Tuvok didn't like what he was
not hearing. "Deliver the toy box to transporter room two, and then
report to my office for the mission briefing. Bring Gerron with you.
Chakotay out."

"If I may, Commander... what exactly is the toy box?" Tuvok queried, 
an eyebrow raised in mild censure.

"It's just that, Tuvok... a toy box. Except, these toys are... darker 
issue than the standard brightly colored toys Starfleet officers are
used  to." Chakotay smiled to himself, despite the absence of humor.
Something  else for Tuvok to be frustrated about. Tuvok wasn't aware
of the toy box or  it's contents. As Chief Security Officer, his
professional pride had just  been nicked.

Normal security sweeps had not detected the box or it's contents. In 
Tuvok's experience, standard internal sensor sweeps should have picked
up the explosives and weapons charges, at the very least. The fact
that the Maquis had managed to bring the box on board Voyager without
his knowledge troubled him. And now, in light of recent insight into
the man before him, the contents of the box and what they might be
used for, troubled him even further. Security procedures had been
sorely undermined this day... as they had been on a day not four years
prior... and every day since. Tuvok shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

Chakotay noted the movement, noted the vulcan's discomfort. Tuvok 
wasn't aware of the non-detection measures employed with the box. Not
necessarily  Starfleet measures. They had been added during his stint
with the Maquis. It was  far easier to lose the box in the chaos of
battle. He hadn't been willing  to risk that. However, the fact that
he'd taken care to conceal the box, and  keep it hidden for four years
didn't bode well. No doubt, Tuvok would be  having words with Kathryn
upon her return.

The door chime sounded, drawing them from their thoughts.

-----

"Lets see what you've got, Harry." Chakotay motioned the young man to 
the wall console behind his desk.

Harry called up the schematics on the main display and, with the aid 
of a three dimensional facsimile that the computer had constructed, 
commenced with his presentation of what he'd been able to uncover and
discover. He  had just started when Ayala and Gerron slipped into the
office, moved to flank  their superior officers, then stood silently,
absorbing the details being  presented. It took Harry several minutes
to realize that's what they were  doing... absorbing. Every word.
Every visual detail. Under normal  circumstances, it wouldn't have
phased him, despite their intense concentration. But  knowing what he
now knew... it un-nerved him. He faltered.

His words soft and encouraging, Chakotay indicated that Harry 
continue.

Harry nodded, then returned his attention to the display.

"Have you found any indication of where our crewmembers are being 
held?" Chakotay prompted.

Somber lines defined the young man's face. "Yes... and no."

"It is either one or the other, Mister Kim. You either know, or you 
don't. Which is it?" Tuvok said, matter-of-fact.

Harry glanced briefly at the vulcan... almost, but not quite, 
irritated at the comment. It was difficult to be irritated with a
tendency that was  innate in a vulcan. "We detected human life signs
on our first sweep... here." He  indicated a location in a small
remote fortress, located kilometers from the  periphery of the main
population center. "The stolen shuttle is located there as  well. 
Human life signs were detectable for less than a minute, before we 
lost them... here." He indicated another location approximately thirty
meters from  the shuttle.

Chakotay stepped closer, studied the facsimile. "Do they have 
transporter technology?"

"No... at least none that we can detect. We suspect that there are 
underground passages beneath the fortress. It's possible the rock
formations are  hindering our search." Harry's finger slid to another
section of the  fortification. "There appears to be access to this
unscannable portion of the  stronghold here. Successive scans of the
area have indicated several Braai life signs  that abruptly appear...
and others that, just as abruptly, disappear.  They're definitely
crossing some sort of boundary. My best explanation is that  this is
an entrance to underground passages or caverns or whatever they are. 
I've ruled out shield or cloaking technology. There are no residual
energy  signatures that would indicate the use of such a device. If
the Captain and the others  are being held underground, and our
suspicions regarding the rock are  valid, we can't pinpoint their
exact location within the structure."

"Can you modify the sensors to penetrate the rock?" Chakotay asked 
quietly, his mind processing all the information before him.

Harry turned to face Chakotay. "Possibly, but it could take hours. 
B'Elanna would have to modify the main deflector array and, at the
moment,  she's working on the warp core." He imperceptibly shook his
head. "She won't be  happy if we pull engineers off the warp core to
work on the array. And... there's  no guarantee that the results would
be worth the effort. If you're  prepared to wait..."

Chakotay shook his head. "We don't have the luxury of time, Harry." He
moistened his lips, met Harry's gaze. "Can you get detailed holo
images of this entire site? At least the scannable portions? I need to
know precisely what that fortification looks like. Every wall, window,
door, building..."

Harry turned back to the display. "Nightfall on the surface is in less 
than one hour, Commander. I'd better get right on it."

"You've got fifteen minutes, Harry."

Harry nodded, then left the office like he'd been shot from a launch 
tube.

"Commander." Tuvok inclined his head slightly to one side, raised an 
eyebrow. "Now that you have this information, what are your
intentions?"

Chakotay met the vulcan's dark stare. It was time. He quickly glanced 
at Ayala and Gerron, then stepped to the display. "This section of
forest  appears to be the most ideal transport site. It's unguarded by
the sensor security  net they have established, and, from the way the
security net is configured,  they don't expect an attack from here...
or here. It stands to reason, they feel  they don't need to protect
this part of the forest." He indicated the  forest area approximately
half a kilometer from the north wall of the  fortification, and the
cliff area which plummeted from the east side of the fortress,  toward
a turbulent river hundreds of meters below. The river extended to the 
northwest and the south, with a dramatic S-shaped curve affecting the
bend. The fortification sat nestled in the eastern curve of the S,
bordered to the north by forest and then the gorge, the gorge serving
as a natural barrier to invasion. The gorge and river curved northwest
not more than two kilometers to the west of the fortress.

"Perhaps they know something we don't." Gerron said as he considered 
the schematics before him.

"Perhaps. But then again, maybe they don't. Regardless, it's our best 
option." Chakotay stared at each man in turn, waited for silent
agreement... or  at the very least, acknowledgment. Given.

"It appears they have concentrated their security at the south and 
west walls, and the main entrance, at the junction of the two." Tuvok
stated, his  security mind weighing the poor logic of the Braai's
defenses.

"Looking at this..." Chakotay pointed to the east side of the 
stockhold. "I would be willing to bet that there is access to the
fortress through  the cliff. However, we don't have time to consider
that as a possible  infiltration point. It might serve as an escape
route, if necessary." He turned to the  young men at his left.
"Gerron, make sure the packs are outfitted with rope, pitons  and
general climbing gear."

"Yes, Sir."

"If we beam down here..." He indicated a site on the graphic, deep 
within the northern forest. "...we'll have approximately a two and a
half  kilometer hike. If we stick to the edge of the gorge, we'll
minimize our chance of  being detected." Chakotay drew his finger
along the route.

"That is a long way to go without being detected." Tuvok interjected, 
almost as an objection.

"I agree. However, we have more chance of being detected if we go in 
from the west. Besides, we're shadows. Right guys?" Chakotay threw a
dark  glance at his two counterparts.

Their grins matched the coldness in Chakotay's eyes.

Tuvok silently considered the trio. This was a side to Voyager's First 
Officer he had never seen, even while under deep cover in the Maquis.
In  hindsight, there had been signs. But, he never would have
suspected... He paused  as an eyebrow lifted in realization. Knowing
the depth of the Commander's  history with Starfleet, it was suddenly
clear, the urgency with which he had  been dispatched to find the
man... capture him. Starfleet had considered  him dangerous. Now,
Tuvok understood the degree to which they considered  him such.

Over the next several minutes, the small group studied the information 
before them, discussing the demographics of their chosen infiltration
route  and contingency escape routes, and the logistics of escape.
Chakotay  considered three possible emergency escape transport sites:
Gamma, furthest from  the fortification and hardest to get to... only
to be used as a last  resort; Delta and Epsilon, closer and more
easily accessible... to be used if there  were injured or if the
mission was to be aborted. Aborting the mission was  not an option in
Chakotay's mind... he wouldn't return without Kathryn  Janeway.

"Kim to Chakotay." The disembodied voice interrupted the discussion.

Chakotay lifted his chin. "Go ahead, Harry."

"I've completed the imaging. It should be on your primary display 
now."

Chakotay lowered his gaze to the main display. "Thank you, Harry. We 
have them. Chakotay out."

The foursome spent the next twenty minutes studying the images. 
Voyager's high resolution scanners, state-of-the-art scan technology
at the time  Voyager had been launched, had been the key. Every brick
and tile were clearly  visible. The imaging even provided replicants
of Braai sentinels, keeping watch  over the main entrance to the
fortress and the various outer structures. The  images of the east
cliff wall and the gorge were difficult to define, the  resolution not
as precise due to deep shadows and the rock itself. However, Chakotay 
couldn't identify any immediate problems. The emergency escape
transport sites  were committed to memory, as was their insertion
point and infiltration  route.

The plan was laid.

Chakotay turned his gaze on the Chief Security Officer. "Tuvok, do we 
still have computer access to, and control of, the Sacajawea's onboard 
systems?"

Tuvok entered the query at a console, then nodded. "Yes. Capabilities 
have been restored."

"Good. Deactivate all systems except life support and main power. Lock 
it down and allow access to Starfleet personnel, voice recognition
only, code  words 'Open Sesame'. That should keep the Braai out."
Chakotay grinned.

Tuvok failed to see the humor in the order.

"Ayala, Gerron, we'll meet in transporter room two in fifteen minutes. 
Change and make final checks."

"Aye, Sir." And they were gone.

Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes until his past reasserted it's hold. 
Chakotay snorted quietly. Who the hell was he kidding? It had always
had a hold  on him. Had it not, he wouldn't have spent the last four
years concealing  it... hiding from it. And still, it had been so
long, that it was difficult to  believe that he was the same person as
the man about to emerge. He knew better.  They were one and the same.
"Tuvok, you know what to do?"

Tuvok met his superior's dark gaze. It didn't sit well with him, what 
was about to happen. And yet, some part of him trusted this man's 
judgment... especially in this instance. He'd spent over an hour with
the man...  watching him... studying him. He'd spent over an hour
listening to him  strategize. Chakotay was right... he had the
experience to recognize a Covert  Black Ops situation, had been
trained to recognize it, had been trained to  handle it. Tuvok would
do as he was ordered. "Yes, Sir. I do."

-----

Carey stood duty station in the transporter room when the strike team 
entered. He stood duty station ten minutes prior, when a large trunk
had been  delivered, as well. Ayala and Gerron had entered, quietly
deposited the trunk,  then departed... acknowledging him with a slight
nod of their heads on  their way out the door. He'd watched them
wordlessly, interest piqued by their quiet intensity. Even after they
were gone, his eyes had remained on the door leading to the corridor,
his mind focused on them. Something was up. What, he knew not.

Deliberately, his gaze drifted to the trunk. It was approximately one 
and a half meters wide, by one meter deep, by one meter high. The size
alone  was cumbersome, but from the fierce concentration that had been
etched on  the young men's faces, it was apparent the trunk was heavy
as well. Laden.

He forced his gaze downward, to the transporter console. Unless it was 
made his business, the trunk and it's contents were none of his
business.  He turned his attention to standard operations checks.
After all, transporter  control had only recently been restored.

Despite his attempts to ignore it, it beckoned him. Again his eyes 
lifted. It resembled a standard Starfleet SRC10.47 cargo bin. The
color wasn't  quite right, but the dimensions were the same. He
couldn't recall ever  coming across any such bins on Voyager. Curious.
He snorted, shook his head, again  lowered his gaze to the console
before him.

And still it beckoned him. His gaze again lifted. He took a hesitant 
step to his right... further... to a bulkhead status display on the
far side  of the control platform. From his new vantage point, an
emblem was visible.  It was distinctly Starfleet... Advanced Tactical.
His brow furrowed. He  wondered idly why an Advanced Tactical bin
might be on Voyager. He wondered idly why  it had been in the hands of
Ayala and Gerron. Curious.

Without a second thought, he crossed the small room, knelt beside the 
trunk. It was locked. The lock bore an insignia... what he could only
assume  was a division within Advanced Tactical; a Venrizyn serpent,
coiled around a Starfleet emblem. He frowned, wondering at the
imagery. A Venrizyn serpent was the deadliest venemous creature in the
Alpha Quadrant. It struck silently, the victim unaware of the attack
until long after the viper had vanished. The tips of the serpents
fangs were coated with a substance akin to a mild anesthetic which
numbed the senses to the bite. Only when neural functions began to
seize did the victim become aware of his danger. By then, it was too
late.

The insignia did not deter him. He spent several minutes attempting to 
break the lock. Each attempt met with failure, the lock unlike any he
had  ever seen. Neither his high-level engineering code, nor any
subsequent backdoor  attempts permitted him entry. Frustrated, he
returned to his post, just as the  corridor door slid open.

"Mister Carey." Chakotay said, nodding to the Lieutenant as he stepped 
through the door, arms laden with numerous small compact Starfleet
equipment  packs. He was glad to see a seasoned Starfleet officer at
the controls. A  younger crewmember might not conduct him/herself with
the utmost comportment,  uncertain how to react to the unexpected
sight of the team. But then...

Carey's mouth dropped open, his eyes widened. Three men had entered. 
He recognized the voice of the lead man as that of Commander Chakotay. 
But, the sight... The Commander was dressed, head to toe, in black
combat  fatigues. Though unlike any Starfleet uniform he'd ever seen,
it was clearly  Starfleet issue.

Black... head to foot. Even the Commander's face was completely 
blacked out. So completely, that even his tattoo was no longer
visible. He had a  black mask tucked under his arm. He wore soft black
combat boots. A chain of  clipped webbing straps fit over his
shoulders and around his waist, the straps harnessing varied holsters,
where equipment could be stabled for quick and easy access. The black
pouches were designed to emit no sound as the man beneath them moved.
There were no particular markings that identified his outfit, his
gear, as Starfleet. And yet, it was. Carey just knew.

Chakotay pulled the mask over his head. The mask covered all but his 
eyes, nostrils, and mouth. When he'd properly adjusted it, he pulled a
small wire-like headset from a pouch at his right breast. He slipped
the headset into position, flipped the eyepiece over his right eye.

Carey's frown deepened. Borg. The image the man before him presented 
was the shadow of a Borg. He wondered idly what observation Seven
might make  of the sight. It might not phase her, but the image left
him uneasy... cold.  He shook the apparition off.

The two men standing next to the Commander were similarly outfitted... 
faces masked, the skin beneath blackened. Had they not spoken, Carey
would  have been left to wonder who the men were. Ayala and Gerron.
Their voices were unmistakable.

"What the...?" Carey muttered. He shook his head, in an attempt to 
clear his mind of the questions cascading within. What the hell was
going on?  He'd been ordered to transporter room two... to beam an
away team to the  planet's surface. Nothing more had been offered.
Standard operating procedure  did not require the transporter
technician be made aware of planetside  missions. He normally didn't
ask. But, the scene before him was overwhelming.  Impulse and
curiosity warred with protocol. He stood breathless for several 
moments. Protocol be damned. "Commander..." Curiosity killed his voice
as the  Commander bent to open the trunk.

Carey watched as Chakotay unlocked the chest, pushed the lid back. He
extracted sundry pieces of equipment, handed some to his partners,
clipped others to his own webbing straps or slid them into pouches.

Carey was stunned at the small, but impressive arsenal. Each man was 
provided a small hand-held phaser, attached within reach at the waist.
Each man  was provided two knives, one of which was placed in a sheath
strapped to  the shin, the other sheathed upside down in the webbing
at the chest.

Carey paled imperceptibly as yet another knife was withdrawn from the 
trunk. The blade itself looked, at first blush, of Klingon origin. The
blade  was serrated and edged. However, the handle was too plain...
too sleek...  to have been made by Klingon hands. Again, Chakotay
provided each man with  their own.

Carey noted the ease with which the trio handled the weapons, as if 
they were well acquainted with them... had used them oft times before. 
Undoubtedly they had. The ease with which they handled the weapons was
a telling sign.

Gerron removed a fourth knife from the trunk, secreted it about his 
person. Carey didn't see where, the action too quick, too fluid. It
mattered  not. He wouldn't ask. He was suddenly discovering a new
respect for the quiet  young Maquis.

Finally, Chakotay distributed to each a small clip of throwing stars. 
They too were placed in a secure pouch.

Carey had never seen one man carry so many weapons. The team possessed 
enough weaponry to start a small war. He paused, bit the inside of his
lip,  shook his head. *That's probably their intent.*

Chakotay pulled a backpack from the large trunk, tested it's weight in 
his hand before handing it to Ayala. He did the same with a second,
and a  third. The black backpacks were opened, the contents silently
checked. Upon  completion of the inspection, satisfied that the
contents were intact, the men  pulled the backpacks on.

Compression phaser rifles were the last item to be pulled from the 
chest. Clearly Starfleet issue, but again, unlike any model Carey had
ever  seen. The entire weapon was black. No trace of reflective
material was evident, eliminating the risk that errant light might
reflect off the weapon and betray the man carrying it.

"Check the headsets." Chakotay quietly ordered.

The three men turned in opposite directions, spoke in hushed tones, 
then turned to face each other. Nods were exchanged.

Chakotay handed Ayala and Gerron several combadges, which they 
pocketed in various pouches. "The Doctor is still offline. Until his
program is up  and running, we're on our own." He proferred a small
medical pouch to each  man. "These are intended to compliment your
existing medical packs. Lets  hope we don't need them."

Silence reigned briefly as the three visually inspected one another, 
made final checks... and then they stilled.

"Let's do it, gentlemen." Chakotay climbed the steps to the 
transporter, then threw a glance over his shoulder. "Mister Carey, you
have the co- ordinates." He stepped onto a pad, turned, then dropped
to one knee, striking a  defensive posture, his compression rifle
trained on Carey. He noted, with  detached sympathy, the mild alarm in
the Lieutenant's eyes, the rise and fall  of the Lieutenant's adams
apple as he swallowed that alarm. Only a shadow of  his first
experience with Covert Black Ops. He pushed the thought aside, focused 
on touch down.

Ayala and Gerron struck similar poses, each facing a different 
direction, each ready to fire if needed. Upon materialization
planetside, they wanted  no surprises.

-----

B'Elanna quickened her stride to keep pace with the two men preceding 
her down the corridor. "Tom."

Her voice held an edge of anger, an edge of impatience. Nothing he 
hadn't heard before. "Look B'Elanna, I'm not forcing you to come
along. If  you don't want to do this... then don't."

She laughed humorlessly. "You're not forcing me? Like hell, Tom. The 
minute you decided to go marching in there, you forced me. It's not
exactly  standard procedure to send off an away team."

Tom halted, turned to face her. "What do you think I'm going to do?"

B'Elanna opened her mouth, then clamped it shut, unable to voice a 
response. Regardless of what Tom intended, Chakotay would not be
pleased. If the  rumors were true, Chakotay went to great lengths to
conceal his past... even  while he was living it. He wouldn't want an
audience.

She had stopped by Chakotay's office not quite thirty minutes before. 
She'd offered her services to the rescue party. Chakotay had smiled
and  declined the offer before the words had completely escaped her
lips. He'd gently  cradled her cheek, then pulled her into a warm
embrace. "Not this time, B." His  voice was husky, with an emotion she
was afraid to identify. Abruptly, he'd  released her, left his office,
leaving her alone. The mission  was personal. She  could tell... from
his eyes, his voice, his embrace. The Braai had messed  with the wrong
person. The Braai had reignited something dangerous in him when  they
abducted Kathryn Janeway.

She looked into Tom's eyes, sighed in resignation.

-----

Chakotay's head snapped to the right, as the transporter room doors 
suddenly opened.

Harry stopped dead in his tracks, at the spectre before him. Tom, 
nipping at Harry's heels, ran squarely into him, and nearly fell over
as B'Elanna  added her weight to the momentum. Unceremoniously, the
trio fell through the  doorway. As they regained their composure,
their gaze snapped to the men poised  on the transporter platform.

Harry swallowed hard. He had never seen anything so obviously 
Starfleet appear quite so ominous. B'Elanna was right... silent black
death. Appropos  for the killing team... for without question, that
was what they were. He  needed no more proof. Harry was suddenly
grateful that they were on his side.

"We just came to wish you luck, Commander." Tom would have wagered a 
months replicator rations that the voice he'd just heard was not his
own. And  yet he'd opened his mouth. The synapses had fired in his
brain. The words had  been spoken.

B'Elanna merely nodded at her friend, her commanding officer. She'd 
never actually seen him upon mission departure, and suddenly wished
she  hadn't now. She preferred their previous parting. That Chakotay
was the image she wanted in her mind. Not this.

Chakotay paused briefly, then turned to Carey. "Energize." Fear. That 
is what stood before him. The desired response. But, not from them.
That's not  what he wanted. He swore under his breath. *Focus.* He
would deal with them later, when he had time, when he had returned to
Voyager... and himself. Focus, he  thought, as the transporter beam
took them.

-----

Tuvok sat in the Captain's command chair as he ordered Harry to hail 
the Braai consulate. Almost immediately, black orbs stared down upon
him. The  face that filled the main screen was lined with undisguised
arrogance and  loathing. Tuvok relaxed slightly into the chair under
him, relaxation he did not feel,  but rather feigned for the benefit
of the Braai official before him. "I  demand the immediate return of
our missing crew."

"I see that you have fixed your communications systems. That will make 
it easier for me to tell you that you are not welcome here. I would 
suggest you leave... spare yourselves any further suffering."

The Braai official appeared undisturbed by Tuvok's apparent calm. It 
was obvious from his tone, his expression, his words, that he believed
the  Braai to have the upper hand, to be in the superior position. He
seemed at ease  and un-threatened. It was Voyager's turn to lull.
Turn-about was fair  play. A human saying. Insightful, despite it's
origins, thought the vulcan. "Why did  you attack us without
provocation? Why have you abducted our crew  members?"

"You had what we wanted, we _take_ what we want. We are the Braai."

Tuvok lifted an eyebrow imperceptibly. The attitude, the words, the
delivery... all reminded him of the Borg. The Borg, however, were more
matter-of-fact. The humanoid before him beamed an arrogant pride. The
Borg were arrogant, but pride was not something he would associate
with the collective. Their arrogance was more a natural state of being
than an affectation.

"In fact..." the Braai continued. "...  you are not worthy of our best
soldiers. You are nothing. You sit there on your floating whore house,
oblivious to, rather than awed by, the power before you. You have been
humbled and yet you make demands. You are weak. But then, you allow
yourself to be commanded by a female." The Braai snorted his contempt.

Tuvok straightened slightly, then admonished himself, forced himself 
to settle into the chair under him. Lull. Buy time. Divert attention.
"What do  you want?"

"Leave... or we will be forced to destroy you and your ship."

Tuvok straightened, leaned slightly forward. "You are holding several 
members of our crew. We demand their immediate return."

The Braai laughed derisively. "Or what?" His expression hardened. "Get 
out of our space... or should that be _limp_ out of our space."
Laughter  again filled the bridge as the Braai broke into another
rumbling fit.

Tuvok was forced to raise his voice in order to be heard. "We demand 
the return..."

"You demand nothing." The Braai spat.

"You arrogant, green skinned bastard." Tom growled. He was furious. 
He'd been struggling to keep quiet since the Braai had first appeared
on the  main viewer.

"Lieutenant." Tuvok admonished, as he rose from the command chair, 
ceasing any forthcoming insults from the conn.

The Braai fixed Tom with a dark stare, then again turned his face to 
the vulcan. "You are too late to make your demands. They are now ours.
We  will do with them as we please." A sardonic smile lifted the
corner of his  mouth. "They shall make someone very happy... and my
General very rich."

"Rich?" Tuvok pressed, his voice low.

"We possess the finest slave market in this sector. Species travel 
untold distances to sample our slaves and the sport for which we
_acquire_  them." A frown marred the smug look on the Braai's face, a
hint of displeasure  that Voyager was unaware of their famous slave
market. No matter. A bitter  smile replaced his displeasure. "Your
females will be put to good use."

The tension on the bridge was subtle, but palpable... the words of the 
Braai, and what they implied, animating their darkest fears
surrounding the  abduction of their crewmembers... their Captain.

The growing unease of the alien crew was not lost on the Braai. He'd 
struck a nerve... and exploited it. "Your Captain alone will fetch a
handsome  price. As for the other females, they will easily be sold to
one of the local  quean masters for a nice sum.

"You bastard." Tom rumbled, low.

The vulcan stepped forward, rested a hand on the pilot's shoulder. A 
silent warning. "I don't believe you quite understand." he said,
evenly. "You  _will_ return our crew, un..."

"You have one minute to hobble away from our planet in that sorry 
excuse for a ship." The Braai interrupted. "Otherwise, we will attack
you."

Tom snorted. *Sorry excuse for a ship?* "It's a good thing B'Elanna 
didn't hear that. She'd rip him limb from limb." he whispered, loud
enough  for Tuvok, the entire bridge crew, to hear. Despite the
tension of the situation,  a few humorless smiles surfaced at the
comment.

Tuvok merely raised a knowing eyebrow, stepped to the right of the 
pilot, lifted his chin imperceptibly higher. "You appear to be under
the  impression that we will leave without our crewmates. I can assure
you, we will  not."

Black orbs grew impossibly blacker. "We are a superior force. You will 
be destroyed." A yellow tongue moistened green lips. "You have forty 
seconds." Arrogance was quickly being replaced with anger, a hint of
panic.  Voyager was not responding as they should... as he was assured
they would.

"Return our crew." Tuvok quietly demanded.

The Braai shifted, agitated. "Our forces will wipe you from 
existence."

"Making threats is one thing. Following through is an entirely 
different matter."

That seemed the Braai's breaking point. Anger flared. "Attack 
Voyager!" he shouted to someone to his left, out of view. He fixed
Tuvok with a  cold stare. "You will either surrender or die. Perhaps
it would be best if you  die." he spat as the color of his skin
changed to something bordering on gray.

"You really should calm down..."

"We will rip you from the sky. You will desecrate your..."

"I don't think so." Tuvok stated, before ordering the channel closed.

Tom grinned, turned toward Ops, winked at Harry. Just what Chakotay 
had ordered. They'd served it up rather nicely. The grin still in
place,  he turned back to the helm. "He seemed awfully upset, Tuvok.
Do you think he'll  be all right?"

Tuvok merely glanced at the pilot, then returned to the command level 
of the bridge. "Mister Paris, prepare for defensive maneuvers."

"Aye, Sir."

"Incoming." Harry reported. "Five Braai light cruisers are heading 
straight for us. Each is about the size of a shuttle. The armament is
light...  about forty percent strength of our phasers. Our shields are
at maximum."

"Reset our phaser strength to match theirs. We don't want to scare 
them off too soon." He stepped to the command chair, settled into it.
He  glanced toward Ops. "Let us put Commander Chakotay's plan into
action."

"Aye, Sir." Harry responded as he glanced at Tom. The blue eyes of the 
conn officer were trained on him. It was time. No going back. The
image of  the away team on the transporter platform filled his mind.
There was definitely  no going back. He nodded at Tom, smiled ruefully
at the grin staring back at  him.

Tuvok quietly noted the exchange. "Bridge to Engineering."

"Torres here."

"Are you ready, Lieutenant?"

"Ready when you are, Commander."

"Very good. On my mark..." Tuvok turned his attention to the main
viewscreen... and waited. The Braai cruisers were rapidly approaching.
It was only a matter of seconds before they within weapons range. And
then, the lead Braai cruiser opened fire. Voyager shuddered slightly
from the impact, but no damage was reported. Even at full power, it
would take hours for the Braai cruisers to break through Voyager's
defenses.

Luck had been on the side of the Braai when they had raided Voyager. 
They had been totally unprepared for the attack, shields down, crew
rotation  reduced due to forthcoming shore leave, and... security,
believing the Braai posed  no threat, on stand down. Voyager believed
they were among friends. They  wouldn't make that mistake again.

Now, however, the tables would be turned. Turnabout... it indeed was 
fair play. The Braai had underestimated Voyager and her crew, and were
soon  to find out how severely they had done so. Chakotay's orders
were clear: play  with the Braai... tease them... play dead and then
kick back, slowly escalating  the intensity of the game, until it was
too late. The Braai wouldn't know  what hit them.

Tuvok didn't approve. At least, not completely. There were merits to 
the method. And, it was a method Starfleet condoned... not publicly,
but  condoned nevertheless. And yet...

The line of his jaw set. His objections were irrelevant. Chakotay was 
his commanding officer. He was under orders. Besides, he'd already 
initiated phase one.

He was now in collusion.

-----

The team materialized beneath the umbrella of a small twisted tree... 
a tree surrounded by thousands just like it. Before materialization
was  complete, each man had initiated a defensive sweep of the target
area anchored at his position. The only visible light source was a
small moon hanging low in the Braai night sky. The light reflected by
the planetoid was meager in and of itself. However, the barrier of
leaves against sky prevented most of the light from penetrating the
forest. The combined darkness of night and of forest produced near
blackness, forcing each man to rely heavily on the headset he wore.
They'd expected as much. It bothered them little. Darkness was like a
well-worn sweater... it fit well... it insulated... it comforted.

The headset each man wore was more than an advanced communication 
device. The SAT elite forces issue headset was a miniaturized and
militarized  version of the standard issue tricorder. As defensive
sweeps were made, the  headset actively scanned the area within the
scope of it's microsensors... two kilometers with no interference. The
headsets were networked, to affect data collation and result
disbursement. Results were overlaid and displayed within the eyepiece
of the unit. However, the scan results local to a given headset
remained prominent in that headset's display, allowing the operative
to distinguish his view from those of his teammates.

Within seconds, the immediate area had been scanned.

No words were spoken, hand signals the only method of communication as 
the three headed east, toward the gorge. They moved silently,
steadily,  without pause, among the trees. The low-light infrared
scanners built into the  headsets functioned well, after lying unused
for years, providing daylight  visibility, more, in the eyepiece. SAT
technology... state of the art. Within  minutes, they encountered the
gorge. Staying under cover of the trees, they altered  their course,
paralleled the gorge, toward the fortification.

The three men moved in stages through the forest. Scans revealed there 
were no life sign, electrical, or residual energy readings about them.
The  Braai security net was indeed not present in this sector, the
gorge and the  thick forest cover providing the stronghold the only
defense needed to the  north. The Braai had apparently never
encountered an alien race with transporter technology. If they had,
they would have seen the flaw in their defensive measures.

There were no unnatural obstacles for the next two kilometers. 
However, care would not be discarded. They were good at what they did.
But skill  alone did not ensure survival. They remained watchful...
guarded.

They moved among the trees like apparitions, soft combat boots 
choosing a silent path across the uneven ground. The splayed branches
overhead  were tightly interwoven, forming an almost impenetrable dome
over the  forest floor, allowing little through... even sunlight. As a
result, the ground  underfoot was clear of the typical underbrush.
Instead, it was blanketed with the  dead and decaying dropping of the
trees... leaves... branches... even some  flowers. Despite the blanket
over which they moved, silence reigned.

The forest reminded Chakotay of a great wooden expanse in the southern
hemisphere on Dorvan V, of a hunting trip his father had demanded he
participate in. The men from his tribe embarked upon a ritual hunt
twice each year. When Chakotay had turned thirteen, his father had
deemed him old enough to partake. And so he'd traveled with them. It
was his first experience with the hunt... and his last... at least
where the prey was non-human. Their first night, while lazing around a
blazing campfire, Kolopak had teased his son his ineptitude, had told
him he could not shadow the dead as every deer they had attempted to
kill that day had heard their approach and fled. The same held true
the following two days. He was sure his father knew now in the Spirit
world what he knew not in life... that his son's tread was
intentionally heavy.

Chakotay smiled to himself as he took another silent step. His father 
had taught him well.

They detected their first guards patrolling the perimeter of the 
woodland. So, thought Chakotay, not so trusting of the land's natural
defenses after  all. When they were approximately one hundred meters
from the treeline,  Chakotay signaled his team to head west, parallel
to the forest's edge.

Minutes later, they moved toward the edge of the timber. The treeline 
stood approximately two hundred meters from the walls of the
fortification, stretching toward the gorge to the east and a short
distance to the west before it curved south, shadowing the western
wall. The abrupt woodland perimeter demarked a clear flat buffer
around the walls of the fortress. To a soldier, it was known as the
killing ground... a place with nowhere to hide, a place exposed to
enemy fire.

Chakotay motioned his team to wait. They dropped to their knees, 
weapons raised, as they studied the area. Motionless, they watched as
several  Braai burst from the main gate, engaged in loud and spirited
conversation.  Chakotay studied their movements, their discussion. A
change of the guard. They  had managed to reach the main gate at a
shift boundary. He watched warily  as the guards crossed the buffer
zone to a small outpost near the woodland  border, relieved those on
duty. He watched as the retired guards disappeared  into the fortress.
He again glanced around him, the treeline, the buffer zone,  the walls
of the fortress. Guards were visible here and there... standing 
duty... on patrol. None were of immediate concern save a handful.

It was time.

Chakotay articulated commands with a series of hand movements and a 
jerk of his head. Ayala and Gerron nodded, then silently disappeared
into the  night... shadows.

Within seconds, Chakotay moved as well. He approached his target 
unseen... unheard. A shadow in the darkness. The Braai weren't aware
of his  presence until he was upon them. Death took them silently,
swiftly, then  concealed it's presence.

Chakotay returned to the timber's edge. Seconds later, Ayala and 
Gerron returned as well, their task complete. The perimeter guards
within the immediate area were no longer a threat, evidence of their
demise erased.

With a nod of his head, Chakotay led his team into the buffer. They 
melted into the darkness, crept over the killing ground, undetected.

Not quite ten meters from the gate, the team encountered two more 
Braai, engaged in a loud, and rather animated discussion concerning
moves  just executed on a board game before them. The small power
lantern resting  on the rock adjacent the game did not emit enough
light to illuminate the  sweep team less than three meters distant.
Luck was with the Braai, though they  weren't aware of it. Chakotay
motioned the team to circle wide, toward the  gate. Like a whisper,
they slipped into the fortress.

As they passed through the gate, Chakotay glanced over his shoulder at 
the discussion that had now escalated into an argument. He smiled
grimly  to himself at the stealth of his team. Like riding a bicycle?
Perhaps. The real  test lie ahead. Thus far, however, the Braai
weren't the wiser.


-----

Silence met their ears as they pushed deeper into the fortification, 
their own movement indistinct even to themselves. Stealth. They wore
stealth  like a second skin. It served to move them easily to their
next target... the  entrance to the 'unscannable' portion of the
fortress... the portal to the  underground world of the Braai. Their
course was dictated by the location of the  portal, displayed in the
eyepiece of their headsets. They attempted the most  direct route, but
their course was modified by the indicated location of  Braai soldiers
littering the fortress, and corridor configuration. They  wanted as
few encounters as possible, while keeping their route as direct as 
possible.

They managed to avoid any confrontations as they slipped from one 
corridor to the next, twisting and turning their way into the heart of
the  fortress.

And then they were there, at the portal to the inner sanctum of the
stronghold. Chakotay again signaled his team halt. Ayala and Gerron
immediately took up positions of defensive cover, as Chakotay studied
the readings in his eyepiece. From their position just beyond the
entrance, they were virtually blind, their headsets unable to provide
scans of what lay beyond. It mattered not. They would go in,
regardless. However, without some indication of where Voyager's
crewmembers, and it's Captain, were being held, things could get
messy. Very messy.

Chakotay slithered along the wall, hugging the shadows, peered into 
the dimly lit entrance. They were alone. He motioned his team follow.

Then, suddenly, ten meters beyond the portal, faint intermittent life 
sign readings registered in their eyepieces. Braai and... human.

The intermittent human life sign readings served as a beacon... the 
heart of penetration. But, as before, their course had to be modified
based on  the presence of the Braai, and the meandering of the
corridors. The  composition of the rock surrounding them affected the
headset scanners, making exact  readings difficult to obtain, to
maintain. Encounters couldn't reliably be  avoided unless they knew
what lay ahead. That, combined with their lack of  knowledge of the
layout of this section of the stronghold, made progress slow... 
precarious.

Several times they were almost discovered as Braai soldiers walked the
corridors in pursuit of their duties. None noticed the shadows fading
into the irregular dimness of the rock walls, standing dark vigil in
corners, melting into the ebony recesses of doorways. None noticed as
four of their own lost their lives and were quickly hidden in rooms,
in and under furniture.

Oddly, the deeper the team pushed into the bowels of the fortress, the 
more stable the readings grew, as if only the outer layers of rock 
contained the offending material that interfered with sensor
operations. The more  distance between them and the surface layers of
rock, the more function was  restored. That function was still
insufficient, life sign readings still thready  at best. And yet, it
was better than nothing.

As the team passed through the fortress, Chakotay directed the 
placement of small explosive charges. The devices were unobtrusively
hidden... in  boxes, in light fixtures, under furniture, behind
curtains, in darkened alcoves.  The charges appeared small...
unimpressive... to the untrained eye.  However, strategic placement
and the concentrated power of the charges would  prove that size
didn't matter. At least, not in this instance.

Thirteen point two nine minutes. From point of entry into the 
subterranean realm to ground zero. They found themselves at a locked
enclosure,  readings indicating six human life signs only meters
beyond.

Chakotay turned slightly to his right, then to his left. Six. Only 
six. He wasn't picking up a seventh rhythm. *Damn.* It could be
residual  interference from the surrounding rock. Or, it could be
there were only six to  find.

Ayala swept up the corridor to the right, while Gerron swept up the 
left, the direction from which they had just come. Satisfied the
immediate area  was clear of Braai, they returned to their Commander,
nodded the go ahead.  Chakotay hesitated briefly... momentary
confusion lighting his brow. The  absence of Braai made no sense. He
shook it off, then burst the lock. The three  rushed into the room.

Six pairs of eyes snapped to them. Six beleaguered faces. They all 
looked the worse for wear. The Braai had not been kind, the evidence
of their  treatment plain... bruises and lacerations on exposed skin,
torn uniforms,  disheveled hair. But more telling was the look in
their eyes, the cut of their  mouths, the set of their shoulders.

Chakotay's gaze moved from one crewmember to the next, seeking one 
face in particular. Instead he found fear. As the trio moved deeper
into the  room, Ensign Mary Reese, one of his Maquis crew, shrank
further back into  the room, a scream almost ripped from her...
stopped short as Chakotay pulled the  mask from his head. "Mary."

"Commander?" Shock, uncertainty, question transformed her features. It 
was his voice, and yet the man who stood before her was not
Chakotay... at  least not any Chakotay she had ever known or seen. She
shook her head. It  mattered not. He was here. An anchor. A lifeline.
She fought the overwhelming urge  to run into his arms.

He recognized her need. His blackened expression softened. "It's 
okay... we're here to get you out." His voice was smooth and soft...
comforting. He  quickly scanned the room. "Where's the Captain?"

She swallowed hard. "She was taken not long after we were brought 
here... over two hours ago. We haven't seen her since." She blinked
deliberately as  an involuntary shiver raced through her. "I did
overhear one of the Braai  say something about General Herros wanting
to personally interrogate her."  She straightened slightly, forcing
herself into Starfleet mode, attempting  to detach. "The way they
pulled her out of here... they were pretty  rough. They're worse than
the Cardassians we..."

Chakotay rested a hand on her arm, interrupting her. "Where did they 
take her?" he whispered, an edge of urgency forcing the question.

The young Ensign shook her head, shrugged. "It doesn't look good, 
Commander. If our treatment is any indication of what the Braai have
intended for  the Captain... I think she may be in trouble."

Chakotay nodded grim agreement as he studied the Ensign further, noted 
more details of her condition. "Do you have any idea which way they
took  her?"

She again shook her head. "There wasn't time to stop them... to 
question them. They dragged her out, then immediately locked the
door."

Chakotay exhaled heavily, slowly. He'd have to go in blind. His best 
guess would take him deeper into the fortress... beyond hope of
getting  Kathryn out easily. "Ayala, Gerron... get them to the
shuttle. Initiate plan  Beta." Chakotay ordered as he redonned his
mask, refit his headset.

"Aye, sir." Ayala was already moving among the women, distributing 
combadges as he and Gerron ushered them to the door, ready to make
their move.  He bent to help one young Ensign to her feet.

Despite knowing him, she pulled away... terrified.

"It's okay, Umla, you'll be fine now." Ayala smiled gently. Of the 
six, she looked to be in the worst condition... physically and
emotionally. He  felt anger scorch through him at the imagined
atrocities. Umla was so  young... not quite twenty-six. She had been
assigned to Voyager right out of the  academy. Despite her lack of
experience, her tender years, and Voyager's  unfortunate circumstance,
she remained happy. Whenever their paths crossed, a  smile was ever on
her lips, laughter not far behind. Her innocence was the envy  of many
of the Maquis... an innocence they had lost years before. No longer. 
Care would be needed in dealing with her. Care that would require
time...  something which they had very little of at the moment.

Again, he held out his hand... allowed _her_ to make the next move.

She hesitated briefly, then slowly took his hand in hers.

As Ayala led her to the door, he proffered a combadge. She wouldn't 
need it. He would be her shadow. She would get back to Voyager... if
it cost  him his life.

Chakotay moved to block the door, then turned to face the group of 
women. "This will most likely get messy. We can't afford any... 
complications. For lack of a better way of putting it... you're going
to have to suck it  up and be very quiet." Chakotay's gaze drifted
from one face to the next. They understood. No explanation was
necessary. He supposed the presence of the trio, their appearance, was
explanation enough. "Do nothing unless you are told to do so by either
Ayala or Gerron, and then do it... immediately. Your safety is in
their hands and theirs in yours. They are in complete command.
Understood?"

Six heads nodded acknowledgment. If any looks were exchanged, he 
missed them, as he turned to the men beside him. "Good luck." They
would need it.

Abruptly, he opened the door, disappeared into the corridor beyond.

-----

"You too, Commander." Mary Reese's voice brushed his ears as the door 
closed between them. He swallowed hard. Luck... he would need it too.

He turned to his right, headed deeper into the bowels of the 
fortification. As he reached the far end of the corridor, he stopped,
glanced behind  him... an old habit... verification he had no unwanted
company. Ayala and Gerron  were filing into the corridor, leading the
women from their immurement. He  smiled grimly as he noticed two of
the women now brandished the spare phasers  Ayala and Gerron had been
carrying. Resilient. Survivors. The Braai were  foolish to
underestimate Voyager and her crew.

Without further pause, Chakotay disappeared around the corner. 
Approximately twenty meters down the length of the corridor, his
headset registered  a faint human life sign, the signal pulsing red
against the smattering of blue  blips... Braai soldiers.

He crept and ducked down a myriad of darkened corridors, adjusting his 
path as he went. Avoiding the Braai was more imperative than ever.
Sending the  Braai into alert status would only serve to endanger
Ayala and Gerron,  himself, and... Kathryn.

The lighting in the whole of the fortress was less than adequate. The 
Braai lacked either the resources or the ability, or both, to enhance
the  volume of light. Or perhaps they didn't like bright lights,
Chakotay thought, as  he peered around yet another corner. The
lighting did not deter or slow  him, as the headset augmented his
vision. The infrared confirmed the corridor  was empty. With practiced
ease, he slipped silently around the corner,  pushed closer to his
goal.

He noted the idle pace of the soldiers in the building, the Braai 
oblivious to their presence. Chakotay struggled irrationally with the
concern that  an alarm hadn't been raised... that the Braai were
unaware of them. They should  have been discovered by now. Somewhere,
in the back of his mind, he'd  expected it. And yet, they hadn't been.
It had been... was... too easy.

He studied the data display in his eyepiece. The link was weakening, 
the surface rock interfering with the headset network. However, the
data  was still forthcoming, and stable. From what he could determine,
Ayala and  Gerron had not yet been discovered, which implied the women
had not yet been  discovered missing from their prison cell. The fact
that the Braai had not the  slightest notion that their fortress had
been infiltrated lowered Chakotay's  already meager opinion of them.

The Braai were half asleep. They were careless. They were over-
confident. He would exploit their weaknesses.

-----

Chakotay carefully rounded yet another bend. He was close. The signal 
in his eyepiece was strong, the distance specified not more than
thirty  meters. The concentration of Braai in the immediate area was
heavy. They  apparently held this prisoner in higher regard. Soldiers
were everywhere. And... unmistakably... Kathryn was not alone.

He pressed himself against the wall, merging with the shadows, as he 
inched down the dim passage, compression rifle raised, ready to fire
if  necessary.

Two guards leaned heavily, nonchalantly, against the wall opposite 
him, on either side of a heavy wooden door. Amusement defined their 
features... amusement at what was happening within the room beyond.
The guards  faced one another, shoulders against stone, ears pressed
against the wood panels  of the door, grins plastered on their faces.

The guard closest to Chakotay laughed out loud, muttered something to 
his colleague. In response, the other soldier grabbed at the crotch of
his  pants, rubbed furiously. Another indistinguishable remark was
made, drawing a  snigger from the soldier, who pulled at the fabric of
his pants, in an attempt  ease his growing discomfort.

Chakotay swallowed hard, his heart labored, as the implication of what 
was happening behind the door struck. *Shit.* The apparition of a 
nightmare long since buried flickered through his mind. He closed his
eyes, forced  the image of Nathan Dawson from his thoughts. This
wasn't the same. The rules  were different. She was his Captain, not
his partner. This was Voyager, not  CBO. The rules were different. Or
at least they were supposed to be. He opened  his eyes, willed his
breathing to slow, the labor of his heart to ease.

He was about to move when a muffled scream assaulted his ears... a cry 
carved out of pain, anger, fear. A cry ripped from Kathryn Janeway. It
was unmistakable.

He again clamped his eyes shut, suffocating the temptation to rush 
in... to react. He couldn't afford to loose control... not now... not
when he  was so close. He again opened his eyes, focused inward...
centered himself.

Another muffled scream pierced the corridor. The two guards laughed 
their pleasure. It was the last thing either of them did. With a dull
thud,  their bodies hit the floor, eyes wide open in shock of
unexpected death.  Chakotay leaned over them, checked his work before
grabbing their collars and  dragging them down the passage to a door
several meters distant. The room was unoccupied. Not for long, he
thought dryly. He quickly deposited the bodies in the small storage
room, then returned to the portal of Kathryn's hell.

While disposing of the guards, he had heard her scream twice more... 
pain, indignation, more. What awaited him would not be pleasant, of
that he  was sure. The line of his jaw set as he steeled himself for
what he might find.  His experience with Cardassian torture techniques
was enough to color his imaginings.

The scan data in his eyepiece pinpointed the position of four life 
signs within the room beyond the door. One was definitely Kathryn. The
other  three were Braai. He took a deep centering breath, raised his
compression  rifle nuzzle up, then reached for the handle of the door.
As his hand  applied slight pressure to release the latch, the static
laced communications channel  came to life in his ear.

"Beta intact."

Ayala's voice. Laden with static, it was still clearly Ayala's voice. 
They had made it. They were out. They were at the shuttle. He had
fifteen  minutes... fifteen minutes before the shuttle departed and
the charges that had  been set were detonated.

Ayala and Gerron would not wait. They would leave in fifteen minutes, 
with or without him. If he didn't make it, he would have to get to one
of the  alternate transport sites. His present position allowed him
only one option...  Gamma site. Under favorable conditions, gamma site
would be difficult to  reach. With an injured party, it would be even
moreso. Voyager would flash scan  the site in twelve hours, then
engage instant retrieval, assuming they were at the  site. Twenty
other sites would be scanned at the same time, to confuse Braai 
sensors, should they detect scan activity. However, as of yet, flash
scans had  been performed unnoticed... the Braai completely unaware of
Harry's sweeps  of the fortress. Half asleep. Careless.
Over-confident.

If Chakotay was not at the site, Voyager would wait another hour, then 
scan again. The process would be repeated for twenty four hours. If
contact  had not been established, Voyager was to assume the worst,
leave orbit, and  resume course for the Alpha Quadrant. His orders. He
had no doubt they would  be followed.

He calmly took note of the chronometer in his eyepiece. It was now set 
for countdown. They wouldn't make the shuttle. The sudden cry that met
his  ears was confirmation enough. There wasn't enough time. The
countdown meant one  thing only to him... detonation. The unleashing
of chaos... hell. And he  didn't want to be trapped behind the
curtain. He wouldn't do that to Kathryn.

He gripped the door handle, silently unlatched the lock mechanism, 
then swung the door open. He ducked into the dimly lit room,
unobserved. Had the  corridor been brightly lit, his entrance would
have been betrayed. He silently  thanked the Braai their ineptitude.

As quietly as the door had opened, he closed it, then slithered into 
the shadows to his right. A task easily accomplished, as the only
light  dribbled from a weak spotlight embedded in the ceiling in the
center of the  room. Shadowed objects, large and small, littered the
room, concealed by the  dark. Even without the aid of the headset, he
didn't have to see them to  know what they were. Their kin lay
scattered on tabletops exposed by the  spotlight. He'd seen rooms
similar, years ago. In his experience, rooms such as this,  devices
such as those, were designed for a single purpose.

Chakotay swallowed the bile rising in his throat, buried the memories 
again attempting to resurface. He mentally shook himself, forced a
shroud of detachment over himself. The rules were different, but the
tactics... the approach... were the same. They had to be, to ensure
survival.

He immediately hunched over, moved several paces to his right, 
crouched behind a large desk. He peered over the top of the desk,
surveyed the room,  it's occupants. Three Braai, and Kathryn. One
Braai stood, his back to the  door, and Chakotay. The two remaining
Braai were also visible from Chakotay's  current position. They were
both seated, comfortable high-back chairs beneath  them... out of
place in a room such as this. They faced the interrogator and  Kathryn
Janeway, whom he couldn't clearly see, his view obstructed by a large 
screen and a table, tilted at a peculiar angle. She was on the other
side of  the screen, strapped to the table. He couldn't see her, but
he knew she  was.

He sank lower to the ground, forced his breathing to even out,  again 
fought to control a sudden urge to show himself too soon. He refused
to give  in to the weakness. It would kill them both.

His head shot up as a pained whimper met his ears. She was breathless, 
gasping for air. Whatever she had been through... was going through...
it had  drained her. The sound that met his ears held little of the
strength of  Kathryn Janeway.

Involuntarily, he squinted in the darkness, studied the Braai. He 
could see the interrogator moving, but was unable to see what he was
doing. It  was imperative that he know. He had to gauge the danger to
Kathryn. He had  to time his strike. In one fluid motion, he stood,
stepped silently into the  shadows. He pressed himself against the
wall as he followed the perimeter of  the room, all the while
considering his targets, all the while trying to catch  sight of
Kathryn.

He crept among the shadows, a feeling of perverse pleasure washing 
over him as he debated the method he would employ in killing the Braai
before him.

And then suddenly, he stopped... his brain unable to fire the proper 
synapses to cause his feet to move. His stomach lurched, then plunged.
He  fought the taste of bile rising in his throat. He thought he'd be
prepared for  this. He thought he could handle what he would find. If
it were anyone other  than Kathryn Janeway, he might have been able
to.

He stood horrifyingly transfixed by what his eyes beheld.

Kathryn.

She had been secured to the table... spread supine, wrists and ankles
restrained by straps mounted at the four corners of the angled
surface. She was completely naked, her uniform cut from her body and
carelessly discarded on the floor. Blood ran down her arms from
lacerations on her wrists, evidence of the violent battle in which
she'd engaged with her bindings. Her left wrist appeared as if it were
broken, discolored skin swelling around the restraint that held it.
There were very few places on her perfect skin that weren't now badly
bruised or lacerated. And that was only the visible.

She was totally vulnerable... to whatever humiliation the Braai 
interrogator chose to subject her. What she had already been subjected
to was  becoming more apparent with each piece of visual information
he collected. It was  far from pleasant. The violation had been brutal
and extremely personal,  intended to cause her pain, to demean and
belittle her, to break her.

Chakotay shut his eyes tight against the image, but her suffering was 
already burned into his mind and heart. Tears of anger stung his eyes.
His  hand slid to the knife at his chest, closed tightly around the
hilt, as he vowed  cold and bloody revenge on the Braai. His anger
hardened... froze his heart,  numbed his soul. It ended here. The
Braai would not leave the room alive.

The harsh sound of the interrogators voice jerked him from his 
insensibility. The Braai was bitter and brutal as he beat her with
questions, his  hands just as unforgiving on her already battered
body. He gripped her throat,  then lowered his hands to her breasts.
Chakotay couldn't see what crime he  committed against his Captain, as
the Braai's body blocked his view. But, from  the pain etched on
Kathryn's face... He bit the inside of his cheek, drew  blood.

"I want Voyager's command codes. Now." The Braai hissed in her face. 
When she did not comply, he snorted, shook his head. "Do you like
this? Do you  want this? Is that why refuse to talk?"

"Go to hell." she rasped at her tormentor through gritted teeth.

Chakotay began to move. His optimal position was several meters 
distant... slightly to his right, at the indistinct edge of the
spotlight's  reach. He had to take care. Discovery was not an option.
As he moved, the Braai  interrogator twisted his upper body, removed
something metallic from a tray resting  on a low table beside him,
then turned back to the target of his defilement.

Kathryn screamed.

The abject fear and pain it held slammed into Chakotay. 
Uncontrollably, his fists clenched, his muscles tensed, his breath
locked in his chest.  Abruptly, he halted, crouched. *Damn it...
detach... detach.* He didn't like  where this was going. He was too
close. Emotionally. Emotional entanglement led  to failure. And he
wouldn't... couldn't... fail her.

He lowered his head, looked away, embraced the darkness, shielded 
himself in the armor of indifference.

His eyes raised to the circle of light. Yet still, the Braai blocked 
his view.

"You first, Kathryn." The Braai laughed as he turned, reached for 
another device on the tray. "Perhaps this will help you to remember."

The sound of metal scraping against metal met Chakotay's ears as the 
Braai lifted an instrument from the tray. He couldn't see what it was.
Part  of him didn't want to know. *Okay, old man... get moving.* He
again stood,  pushed silently forward. He had to do something. Now.
Time was running out.

With careful determination, he worked his way to the position from 
which he'd launch his offensive. Once there, he stilled, assured
himself that his  presence had not yet been detected, then peered
around the side of the crate  behind which he hid. He was now only
scant meters from Kathryn and the Braai.

He again studied her, attempted to determine her condition, both 
physical and mental... significant factors in what would soon follow.

Her face was littered with bruises, her eyes almost completely closed,
undoubtedly from a beating at the hands of at least one of the Braai
surrounding her. Her left eye appeared worse than her right. A deep
gash running from her left clavicle to within a centimeter of the
nipple on her right breast oozed blood, rivulets of coagulating
crimson feeding from it.

Chakotay nearly vomited when he saw what was unmistakably blood and 
urine mingling in a pool on the stone beneath the table. The blood was
hers.  The urine... he didn't know. Either way... *Bastards.* His
anger suddenly  grew darker, more intense. He retreated behind the
crate, rested his head  against the wood, reigned in his emotions.
Non-reactive. Detached. That's what  he'd been trained to be. And he
had been, until Nathan. That's when his  armor had shattered. That's
when he'd lost control. That's when he'd become  dangerous. That was
the beginning of the end. And then he found himself here...  in the
Delta Quadrant. Through Kathryn, he'd been restored. In some ways, 
she'd been his salvation.

Like riding a bicycle, he told himself.

He drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly. He checked the 
chronometer in his eyepiece, the time remaining before the
shuttlecraft lifted off,  before detonation. Approximately thirteen
minutes. *Damn.* Time was short. He  again peered around the corner of
the crate.

The interrogator now held a cylindrical instrument in his hand. The 
size and shape of the device, the heavy ridges along it's length, were
a clear indication as to it's purpose. A layer of blood coated the
instrument as the interrogator callously drew it down Kathryn's chin,
along the length of her neck, between her breasts.

She instinctively tensed as he dragged it across her navel.

Abruptly, the downward progress of the device halted. "No, my dear... 
perhaps not." The Braai smiled wryly, as he stepped closer to her.
"This time,  the pleasure shall be all mine." He carelessly tossed the
cylinder aside,  the clatter upon impact with the floor punctuating
his intent. He slowly  unfastened his belt, pushed his trousers from
his hips, allowed them to pool  around his ankles. One hand encircled
his semi-erect penis, encouraging it to  readiness, as the other was
thrust between Kathryn's legs.

Her strength, her fight, was almost gone. Chakotay could see it in her 
eyes, in the set of her shoulders, in her attempt to muster the
strength to  move, to evade the impending intrusion.

"What do you think... one of us, or all of us? What will it take to 
get the information we require?" He pressed himself against her, as he 
released his penis, slid his hand to her left breast. He wasn't
gentle. He'd no  intention of being so. At her reluctant whimper, he
smiled, straightened, then  glanced over his shoulder, nodded to his
colleagues, sitting dutifully in their  chairs.

One of the two stroked himself furiously, his breathing heavy, beads 
of sweat on his brow. He'd hoped the General would, at some point,
include them  in the interrogation... allow them to assist. The
General hadn't disappointed  him. And this prisoner? A fine subject on
which to refine his skills.

Although aroused, the other sat quietly. With practiced restraint, he 
nodded his agreement at the General's silent order, then rose from his
chair,  his hands immediately at the fastenings of his uniform.

Chakotay's hand again went to the knife at his chest, gripped it with 
such force, the bones in his fingers grated against the hard surface
of the  blade hilt. Slowly, silently, he withdrew the blade from it's
sheath, tested  the weight in his hands. To the re-emerging darkness
within, it felt like  an old friend.

The General turned his attention back to Kathryn Janeway. Once again, 
he took hold of his penis, encouraging the growing erection.

Chakotay was a meter from the General's cronies. They would die first, 
his approach effectively concealed by high-backed chairs from which
they  had watched. He checked the chronometer. Eleven minutes. He
would have to  make quick work of them. And he did. The two Braai
didn't know what hit  them, their transition from this plane to the
next swift and sudden. They slumped  to the floor as Chakotay stepped
out of the shadows, the knife still held  tightly in his fist.

The General heard not a sound as he brought his face to Kathryn's. 
"You'll get used to this, Captain. In time, you'll learn to like it."

"Never." Her voice was barely audible against the rasping breath of 
the man pressed against her.

All at once, his breath caught in his throat, his eyes unfocused, the 
hand on her bloody and bruised breast dropped. His erect penis went
flaccid as  he fell imperceptibly forward, crushing her to the table.

She noticed none of these things, her mind intent on steeling herself 
for what was to come. "Get off of me." she spat, anger flaring. She
struggled  as best her restraints would allow. And then the body
against her went limp,  shifted, slid silently to it's knees, fell
backward the remaining distance to  the floor into the puddle at her
feet. Confusion lit her brow, her mind unable  to process what was
happening. Something wasn't quite right. She should be able  to
determine what was wrong, but her mind refused to function properly.

It was only then that she saw the shrouded figure standing over the 
General, a bloodied knife in his hand. Despite the fact that her
vision was  hindered by her swollen eyes, she forced her gaze
downward, to the man at her  feet. He lay unmoving. She squinted
painfully, attempting to clear her vision...  recognized the pool of
crimson fed from the open wound across the Braai's neck.  The slash
was deep, the man's head almost completely severed from his body. 
Kathryn retched, the reaction an uncontrolled physical response. Her
mind and  heart thanked whatever gods existed, this man's demise. All
at the hands of  a dark angel. The man, standing barely a meter
distant, had delivered her  from the General and his minions, his own
intent... Her eyes sought out the  dark figure. He stood silently,
eyes lowered, focused on the man on the floor, the  knife held tightly
in his hand. "Who are you?" she whispered, her voice  chafing.

One dark eye snapped to hers, the other hidden behind some sort of 
eyepiece... no doubt focused on her as well. He stepped over the body
of the  Braai, lifted the knife. Despite the bindings restraining her,
despite her waning  strength, Kathryn pushed herself hard into the
table behind her. Her breath  escaped her as she realized his intent.
She could do nothing to stop him... save  look him in the eye as he
took her life... allow him to know, as had the Braai,  that they could
rob her of many things, but they could never extinguish her  spirit.

She hesitated slightly. There was something about him... something in 
his movement... the color of his eye... his smell. The fog pervading
her  mind wouldn't allow her to distill the knowledge, the memory.

She wasn't aware he'd moved until she felt his hand on her right 
wrist, protecting it as he drew the blade across the restraint,
freeing her.  He took even greater care with her left wrist, somehow
aware that the bone was  broken. His arm went around her waist as he
sliced through the restraints at  her ankles. He pulled her from the
table, allowed her to plant her feet on  the floor, test her strength.
She'd little left. Her legs gave way, unable  to uphold her tortured
body. She'd fallen scant centimeters when strong  arms caught her,
gathered her up, cradled her.

Chakotay carried her to the desk near the door of the chamber, then 
tenderly lowered her to it. His eyes flicked imperceptibly to the left
as he  check the chronometer in his eyepiece. Seven minutes. The
shuttlecraft was  definitely not an option... at least not on foot.
"Rescue One to Rescue Two." he  whispered, activating the comm
channel.

Static filled the channel.

"Rescue One to Rescue Two."

"Rescue Two, go ahead." Ayala's response broke faintly through the 
noise.

"Hostage one is in need of EMH, level one. Can you get a lock?"

"Negative."

*Damn it.* The surface rock. He glanced at Kathryn, bit his lower lip. 
"Revert to plan Omega. We'll head for destination Gamma. Repeat...
destination  Gamma." A green signal flashed in his eyepiece, confirmed
that Ayala had  received and understood the order.

He exhaled heavily. Omega allowed them fifteen minutes more. Time they 
would need. However, if they were discovered... Ayala and Gerron would 
detonate the explosives hidden during their incursion on lift off, or
upon  detection, whichever came first.

"Who are you?" she again pressed, her voice fading, her throat raw. 
Her right hand lifted, reached for his mask.

His right hand met hers, clasped it firmly, as his left went to his 
head. He lowered his headset, hooked it around his neck, then removed
his mask.

Tears formed, threatened to spill as she considered him. Despite the 
black face paint, the trails of his tears were obvious, the pain in
his dark  eyes... And then it struck her. "Chakotay." The word was
carried on a  whisper... a sob. Relief, gratitude, release, more,
washed over her in an uncontrollable  wave.

A tear slipped unchecked from the corner of her eye. She didn't care.
"Chak..." Her voice failed her, as he gently pulled her to him.

"I've got you, Kathryn. Everything will be all right." He stroked her 
hair, as he held her. He swallowed hard, struggled to push back his
own  emotions. "Shhhhh. I've got you."

"I thought that..."

"Shhhhh, Kathryn. I'm here. I won't let anything happen..." His voice 
broke as he felt hot tears against his neck. They were his undoing.
His lips  brushed her hair as his own tears fell, joined with hers.

-----

Ayala glanced at Gerron, who'd also been privy to the brief exchange 
with the Commander, exchanged silent acknowledgment of their orders,
then  turned to the women littering the shuttlecraft. "The Commander
has found the  Captain. She's alive."

Relief flooded the women, the release of tension palpable.

"However..." he continued. "She's injured. They won't have enough time 
to get back to the shuttlecraft. The Commander will be executing a 
contingency plan... they'll try to get to the alternate transporter
site."

"What about the shuttle's transporters?" Mary Reese offered, glancing 
at the control panel before her.

Gerron shook his head. "No. The rock upon which this place is built is
comprised of something that interferes with the signal. We can't get a
lock on them."

Mary turned to face the man. "But communications..."

"Were tenuous." he interrupted. "And communications doesn't involve 
scattering someone's atoms and then trying to put them back together
again. It's  too risky."

"How bad is the Captain? Did the Commander indicate anything?"

Ayala turned to face the rear of the shuttle, to the owner of the 
quiet voice. Ensign Alison Jaare. Stellar Cartography. She was a
slight woman.  Quiet. Intelligent. And funny. She had a decidedly
wicked sense of humor...  or so the Delaney sisters claimed. He didn't
doubt it. The quiet ones always  seemed to take you by surprise. But
now... the spark was gone from her eyes. His expression softened, his
voice lowered. "She's had a rough time." He could offer no more.

"What do we do now?" Mary Reese asked.

"Rock and Roll... Maquis style." Ayala and Gerron grinned at each 
other, at their private joke.

"What?"

The grin left Ayala's lips. "We lift off in... fifteen minutes. It 
will probably be a rough ride, so strap yourselves in." He glanced
from one  woman to the next, the turned, seated himself in the pilot's
chair.

Gerron sank into the seat next to him, continued his pre-flight 
checks, attempting to determine what, if anything, the Braai had done
to the  Sacajawea.

"Fifteen minutes? Why can't we go now? We have to go now!" A panic-
filled voice forced.

Gerron spun his chair around. "Alison, we can't go now. We have to 
give Chakotay time to get the Captain out. If we leave too soon, they
could  get caught, injured, or... worse."

"I don't care. I..."

"Alison." Mary Reese soothed. "It's all right. We're safe with these 
guys." She placed a comforting arm around the young woman's shoulders,
spoke  to her quietly.

Whatever Mary was saying, it calmed Ensign Jaare. Exhaling heavily, 
Gerron swung his chair around to confront the shuttle's main console
and  continued his checks.

-----

They were on borrowed time. It was most likely a matter of mere 
minutes before the security breach was discovered. Chakotay was
astonished they'd  gone this long without being detected. Slain guards
littered the fortress, the surrounding ground. Though hidden, their
absence alone should have raised an alert. And yet, it hadn't. The
Braai were either completely incompetent or the infiltration team had
been extremely lucky. Chakotay erred toward the latter. Even if he and
Kathryn were not discovered within the next few minutes, their
presence would soon be known, the imminent detonation the
announcement. If luck remained on his side, the detonation would aid
their escape, by creating a cover of chaos, by drawing the Braai
toward the blasts and away from their path of escape.

Fifteen minutes before the proverbial shit hit the fan. However, they 
would have to be ready to go on a moments notice, if they stood any
chance  of getting away.

"Kathryn." He attempted to release her, pull away, but she clung 
tight, unwilling... unable... both... to let go. He took heart at her 
strength. She would need it. "Kathryn... We have to get you cleaned
up... ready to  leave. Can you sit up?"

She buried her face in his chest, amidst the military webbing and the 
weapons secured there.

He tightened his embrace... reassurance... then released her. Time 
could afford no more. He had to get her ready to move. "Kathryn,
please...  you've got to help me." He felt her relax slightly, but
still she wouldn't let  go. Perhaps he'd overestimated her reserve.
Perhaps she couldn't let go. He'd not  know the full extent of her
injuries until he could examine her with the  tricorder in his med
kit, and that wouldn't be until they had cleared the fortress.  Until
then, he'd have to make do.

"Now, Kathryn." His voice sounded harsh, even to himself. He'd little 
choice. The urgency of their situation dictated his tactics. He
managed to  free himself from her grip, then helped her sit on the
edge of the desk. He  shrugged the backpack from his shoulders, pulled
it open, retrieved the met kit,  then placed it on the desk next to
her. His eyes darted around the room, searching  for a small basin...
anything that could be used as a water receptacle. He  didn't have to
look far. As he turned to retrieve it, her hand went to his  arm...
clamped down. His eyes went to hers, recognized her apprehension. "I'm 
not going anywhere... just over there to get that basin."

Her expression didn't change.

He turned to fully face her, clasped her right hand between his. "I am 
not going to go anywhere without you, Kathryn. I promise."

She nodded, reluctantly released him. Her brow furrowed as she 
struggled with her reaction. What was the matter with her? She was
Captain Kathryn  Janeway of the Federation Starship Voyager.

He returned promptly with the basin, and a small cup he had also 
found. A pitcher of water had rested on the table top upon which the
basin  rested. Rather than depleting his supply, he'd filled the basin
from it. He  carefully set the basin down, dipped the cup into the
cool liquid, then offered  it to his Captain.

Kathryn drank greedily, as he held the cup to her lips.

"Slowly, Kathryn. Try to sip it."

When she could drink no more, she sank back down atop the desk, 
exhausted and past caring. Chakotay was here.

Chakotay watched her from the corner of his eye as he discarded the 
cup, then retrieved a white cloth from the med kit. She was exhausted.
Shock was  setting in. If her condition worsened, he might have to
carry her out.

He submerged the cloth in the basin, extracted it, carefully wrung the 
excess water from it, then turned to her. He looked at her battered
body...  _really_ looked... for the first time. The lump that had
formed in his throat  when he'd first heard her scream, constricted
around his windpipe. *Bastards.*  He buried his anger, erased any
trace of it from his voice. "Kathryn, I have to  get you cleaned up.
Do you understand?"

A faint nod was her only reply.

Again he rooted through the med kit, pulled out a hypospray. A heavy 
dose of pain killer would do her wonders. He pressed it against her
neck and  injected the medication.

His hands trembled as he washed her with the damp cloth. He feared she 
might recoil at his touch, but she held still, allowed him to minister
to  her. He ran the cloth over her face, neck and shoulders, wiping
away blood, sweat,  and dirt, uncovering cuts and bruises hidden
beneath. Despite the pain  killer, she winced several times. And every
time, he offered an apology... guilt  stabbing his heart at the pain
she now suffered at his hands.

He rinsed the cloth, then again turned to her. Her eyes were upon him, 
some unreadable emotion hidden behind them. He held that gaze as he
gently  wiped the blood from her breasts. The gash across her chest
required his  complete attention. It still oozed blood. Any chafing of
the wound, even to  clean it, might cause the wound to reopen... bleed
freely. However, it had to be  cleaned. He didn't know when he might
again be able to tend her. As gently as  he could, he pressed the
cloth to the wound, then cursed himself as a small  groan escaped her
lips. "I'm sorry." he whispered, as he lifted the cloth from her.

Kathryn closed her eyes as best the swollen skin around them would 
allow, nodded for him to continue. The pain she suffered now was
nothing in  comparison to that inflicted by the Braai. The humiliation
of her state was  nothing in comparison to that inflicted by her
captors. Had it been any other  human being save Chakotay, she wasn't
sure how she would handle this. Despite the  fact that it was this
man, in spite of the fact that it was this man, she  endured. In
silence.

He again pressed the cloth to the gash on her chest, pulled it away, 
folded the blood-soaked cloth to expose a clean area, then again
pressed the  cloth to the wound. Before long, the wound was free of
grime. Blood still  oozed, the water from cloth counteracting some of
the natural healing, the  clotting of blood. However, what bleeding
was present was minimal.

Once again, he rinsed the cloth, then moved to her belly. From the 
bruising evident beneath blood, sweat, and dirt, the Braai had beat
her  severely before ever strapping her down. He could make out the
distinct pattern of a  boot heel against the pale skin of her abdomen.

And then his ministrations stopped, as if asking silent permission to 
go further. She could no longer see, silent tears burning her eyes, 
blurring her vision. She slid her right hand atop his, pushed it
lower.

He washed her legs, from the bruised ankles upward. When he reached 
the knee of one, he started on the other.

She was shivering. From what, he wasn't sure. Cold. Fear. Some other
unidentifiable emotion. He couldn't blame her. Under different
circumstances, Chakotay's actions would have been arousing... sensual,
perchance a prelude to making love. But under present conditions, it
was hell. His anger towards the Braai again surged outward, attempted
to resurface. He struggled to push his fury aside, tried to reason
that his ministrations were necessary, for medical reasons. The truth
of his argument didn't prevent the guilt that swept over him at the
invasion. Damn the Braai to hell, for what they had done to Kathryn,
for what he was required to do now.

He gently washed her thighs and hips, then rolled her slightly onto 
her side to cleanse her back and buttocks. Only one thing remained.
Even there,  there was blood. Despite his clinical reasoning, his
hands shook as he  washed her clean. His heart ached at the trespass.
It wasn't supposed to be like  this, his touch upon her body. Damn the
Braai to bloody hell.

When done, he threw the blood-soaked cloth into the basin. It was all 
he could do at the moment, to vent his anger.

His gaze drifted to her face, the tears that burned a path from the 
corner of her eyes and fell to the desktop beneath her. The tears were
not soley  because of the Braai. He knew that. *I'm so sorry.*

He mentally checked himself. He'd spent too much time already and 
there was still much to do. Her left wrist required tending. Chakotay
pulled the  med kit within reach again, rifled through the contents.
The kit had not been  supplied with everything needed to tend all the
injuries she had suffered. He'd  have to improvise... do the best he
could. He pulled out another hypospray,  filled it with a cocktail of
medications... a combination of a strong pain  killer, an
anti-inflammatory, an antibiotic and a mild sedative. Their escape 
would be hard on her already taxed body, so he increased the dose
slightly. It  would numb her to more than the pain she currently felt.

"This should make you feel better." he said as he pressed the 
hypospray to her neck. As soon as the words had escaped his lips, he
realized how  hollow they sounded.

He ran a small regenerator over her left wrist. The swelling reduced 
almost immediately. It was all he could do at the moment... there was
not  sufficient time to properly mend it. He would take a closer look
at it, and her  other injuries, when they were beyond the walls of the
fortress, out of  immediate danger. He glanced at the swelling around
her eyes, realized it  impaired her vision. Without pause, he ran the
regenerator over the injury. There  was an instant improvement.

He returned the regenerator and the hyposprays to the med kit, placed 
the bag in his backpack, then retrieved a secondary pouch. He
unfastened the  small sack, pulled out a light-weight all-weather
black combat fatigue  jumpsuit. Standard issue CBO packs always
carried a spare suit. This one was  his. It would probably drown her
small frame. At the same time, it would wrap  her in warmth, and
possibly delay the full clouts of the shock she was sure  to suffer.
He was amazed she wasn't comatose already, considering... But then, 
this was Kathryn Janeway. Strong, determined, spirited. She never
ceased to  amaze him. "Put this on." He murmured as he set the
backpack on the floor, then  helped raise her to a seated position. He
shook out the fatigues, held them  out to her.

Her hand shook fiercely as she reached out to take them.

He grasped it, steadied her, then helped her dress. He rolled the 
sleeves and pant's legs up, then handed her a spare pair of socks. As
she slowly  slid the socks onto her feet, he recovered her boots,
half-buried beneath the  tattered remains of cranberry and black...
her uniform... not far from the  instrument tray the General had used.
He brushed the uniform aside and picked up  the boots, suddenly
grateful for his CBO training.

'Be prepared for any and every eventuality when on a mission'. His 
drill commander at Starfleet Advanced Tactical had incessantly beat
that one  phrase into the heads of the small team of cadets of which
he was a member.  Any and every eventuality... whether of their own
making or that of the enemy.  The cadet unit had once discovered the
inadequacies of the standard issue  Starfleet survival pack after
being abandoned on a small moon for four days  without so much as a
working phaser or tricorder. For four days the cadets had  battled the
moon's harsh environment. They were cold, wet, hungry and severely 
riled when the rescue shuttle finally arrived. The panel of
instructors who's job  it was to evaluate and debrief the mission
showed no mercy. The cadets were  forced to wait another six hours
before they were allowed a change of clothing  and a hot meal. That
had been their first lesson in preparedness. They didn't  suffer quite
as much the next time. Chakotay had learned the lesson well.

He returned to her, helped her don the boots. "One more thing." He 
reached into the backpack at his feet, extracted a black hood, pulled
it over  her head, effectively hiding her auburn hair, her pale skin,
bruised and  lacerated though it be.

With his assistance, she slid from the edge of the desk, planted her 
feet on the ground.

When she'd gained some semblance of balance, he released her. He 
checked the reset chronometer in his eyepiece. They'd little time
left. "Ready?"  he quietly asked. At her nod, he took her hand, lead
her to the door.

The short distance to the door was anything but easy for her. Her legs 
barely held her weight. When they reached the door, she fell heavily
against  the wall beside it.

Chakotay carefully considered her. "We'll get out of here, Kathryn. 
You have my word." He smiled grimly when he felt her tiny hand squeeze
his. She  was with him.

He slipped his headset in place, scanned the corridor beyond. It was 
free of Braai. He strapped the backpack in place, swung the
compression rifle  over his shoulder, secured it by it's strap. He
removed a hand phaser from it's  mooring at his waist, checked the
setting... fully charged... set to kill. It  was now or never. He
turned to face her. She was staring back into the room,  at the three
dead Braai. Her face masked as it was, her eyes emotionless, he  knew
not what she was thinking. "We have to go." He tugged gently at her
hand.

As the chronometer in his eyepiece ran down to naught, the first 
charges detonated.

Kathryn started against his grip, the sudden noise and subsequent 
vibrations nearly buckling her legs. Chakotay yanked her to him, held
her up.  "Those are explosives. Our strike team set them. We're okay."
He released her,  again grasped her hand. "It's time to go." He swung
the door open, stepped  into the empty corridor.

Her footing was unsure, her strength waning, as she followed him along 
the darkened corridors of the stronghold. And yet somehow, the hand 
gripping hers slowly empowered her... infused her with an energy she
didn't believe  she possessed. They would make it back to Voyager, of
that she was  certain. With this man, all things were possible.

The fortress rocked as more charges detonated. Chakotay didn't resist 
the ruthless satisfaction that flooded him at the turmoil he'd
created...  the same perverse pleasure he'd felt when he'd taken the
life of the Braai  General. Revenge... pure and simple. Revenge
exacted on the Braai, for what  they had done to Voyager, for what
they had done to Kathryn. Had he the power,  he would have destroyed
the entire planet.

The Angry Warrior had returned.

-----

Countless Braai perished, crushed under collapsing walls and falling 
rock, incinerated by the rush of heat and flame, suffocated by smoke
and  debris, as the explosives detonated. Those in the immediate area,
still alive and  able to move, fled... attempted to escape the
fortress seemingly falling down  around them. Those on the periphery
of the destruction reacted no better.

Chaos took hold.

Outer walls of the above-ground portion collapsed as carefully placed 
charges removed weight-bearing walls, leaving the remaining structure
unsafe  and in precarious circumstance. As subsequent detonations
rocked the  structure, more walls, now unstable, collapsed, trapping
screaming Braai in the  rubble. Rock passageways caved in. Flames
ripped through wooded rooms, blasted down  rock corridors,
incinerating whatever lay in it's path.

Screams pierced the darkness, punctuating the pandemonium.

The Braai had been brought to their knees, made impotent by an unseen
attacker. They'd never experienced anything like it, always the
aggressor were they... always the victor. Now, they were the victim,
survival their only priority.

A lone Starfleet shuttle lifted off from the main courtyard with 
barely any notice of it's departure. Those that took notice, found it
not  imperative to follow. Ayala and Gerron's prophecy of a rough ride
did not come to  fruition. The Braai were busy.

-----

Chakotay half dragged, half carried Kathryn along seemingly endless 
corridors, moving like a wildcat... quiet, certain, alert, ready for
whatever lay  ahead. Neither the darkness nor the possibility of
encountering the Braai  hindered him. She suspected the device he wore
on his head aided him, perhaps  some sophisticated type of tricorder.
But it was unlike anything she had  ever seen before. It wasn't the
only thing she'd not seen before... his uniform,  her uniform, his
fittings, the insignia they bore. Her eyes narrowed as  she studied
the faint impression of the symbol on his sleeve... black impressed 
against black. She turned her head, studied her own sleeve just below
the  shoulder seam. Black impressed against black. Advanced Tactical.
Despite the  lighting in the corridor, the emblem characteristics were
unmistakable. But the  serpent... a Venrizyn serpent... Her eyes
narrowed further. Chakotay had been  assigned to Advanced Tactical for
many years while in Starfleet. But, the insignia  wasn't that of his
division. She shook her head imperceptibly, attempted to  clear the
cloud muddling her reasoning, her senses. Her perception was off. Her 
mind wasn't processing things properly. Perhaps that was the
explanation  for her inability to identify.

She glanced briefly at the hand tugging gently at her own. It was not 
lost on her, the looks Chakotay occasionally threw in her direction,
as if he  feared she would fall... whether down or apart, she didn't
know. She stood on  the verge of both, her body and mind at their
limits. Every explosion that  rocked the edifice startled her, her
hand jerking within his. She was  constantly looking over her
shoulder, peering into the dark recesses of the  passageways. Every
corner presented a new opportunity for fear. Pathetic, she  silently
rebuked herself. She was a starship Captain. She was Captain Kathryn 
Janeway of the Federation starship Voyager. Strong. Resolute. An
example to her  people. A starship Captain. She expected more of
herself. Despite her silent  litany, despite her best efforts to tap
some inner strength, she stood on the  edge. At times, the only thing
that kept her moving, that kept her sane, was  the hand tugging gently
at her own.

He was there.

They worked their way to the eastern wall of the fortress, toward 
Chakotay's chosen escape. The first few minutes of their journey were
perilous.  The area had been swarming with Braai prior to the recovery
of his Captain. Now  that swarm flooded past them, rushing toward the
source of the explosions.

The chaos made their progress difficult, forcing them to slow, to 
stop, to hide. Chakotay had been forced to kill two more Braai as he
and  Kathryn ducked into a small barracks, two Braai soldiers inside,
wrestling to don  their uniforms, faces still laden with sleep. He
killed them swiftly,  mercilessly, then returned to Kathryn's side.
He'd tentatively held her gaze. The  look in her eyes held more than
the reverberations of her own ordeal. The look  in her eyes reflected
some inner revulsion, confusion, disbelief, as to his  own deeds. He
swallowed the ache in his throat. In the space of a few short  hours,
her world had shattered. Even he wasn't who she thought he was. She
wasn't  prepared for the extent of the lie. He quickly averted his
eyes. He couldn't  deal with that now. The issue was secondary to
their survival.

When there was a break in the flurry in the corridor beyond, they made 
their move, slipped from the room, pressed further eastward.

Within minutes, they were alone, the Braai behind them, to the west, 
amidst the tumult. The Braai would not expect anyone to flee to the
eastern  regions of the stronghold. There were no logical egresses. He
had counted on  that. And so, they were alone.

Within a few more minutes, they reached the eastern wall... the rooms 
dotting it. Chakotay pulled Kathryn into the shadows as he scanned the 
chambers in the immediate area, verifying they were indeed alone,
looking for a room  with a view. He found exactly what he wanted,
three doors to their left. He  exhaled slowly. They would soon be
clear of the structure. They would soon be  in the gorge. Though no
less dangerous, he preferred the open air... the odds  were better.

He crept down the passage, pulling Kathryn with him. When abreast the 
door, he tested the lock mechanism. The door opened without complaint.
Quietly,  they slipped inside. The room appeared to be some sort of
office, bulky  furniture lining one wall, a schematic outlining the
Braai population center's  defense perimeter posted on another.

He crossed the room, pulled a heavy chair from behind the desk, 
dragged it to the door, then propped it beneath the latch, effectively
adding weight  to it, securing it.

He turned, eyed Kathryn. She stood, leaning heavily against the far 
wall next to a window. She was exhausted. He could tell from her eyes,
the set  of her shoulders, the way her arms hung at her sides. He
wanted nothing more  than to let her rest, but he couldn't. Not yet.

Slowly, her strength abandoned her. She sank to the floor. For a long 
moment, she remained against the wall, held in a sitting position more
by the  stone behind her than by any desire to keep herself from
slumping to the  floor. Fatigue. Shock. They were the enemy. She had
to fight them. She knew  she had to keep her eyes open, but some small
voice in the dark recesses of her  mind bid her rest, close her
eyes... just for a moment. The medication didn't  help either.
Everything felt far away... surreal. She frowned slightly.  Perhaps it
wasn't the medication, but rather the harbinger of some unwelcome 
narcosis. "Pathetic." she whispered. The remonstration failed to
conjure the  desired spark of energy. She just wanted to rest.

"Kathryn... you've got to keep moving or you're muscles will seize."

She hadn't been aware of his approach until he was upon her.

Chakotay gripped her upper arms, hauled her to her feet. Despite his 
efforts to the contrary, his grip was rough upon already tender skin.

She winced. "Just two minutes, Chakotay. Please." Her voice was 
weary... hollow.

"You can rest later. Not now." He could offer her nothing more. 
Abruptly, he shrugged the backpack from his shoulders.

She sighed, expecting his response. "What are your plans? Do we beam 
out from here?"

-----

"Not quite." Chakotay tugged the pack open, reached inside. "You can 
rest when we reach the base of the cliff." He nodded toward the now
open window  to her right.

She stiffened slightly. "Cliff? What cliff?" She looked to her right, 
to the window he'd indicated. She stepped to it, peered outside. It
was dark.  Night time. The moon was high in the eastern sky, the
already dim light it  reflected obscured even more by a thin layer of
clouds. She squinted against the darkness, suddenly recognized the
walls of a cliff below and opposite the fortress. She leaned forward
slightly, glanced downward. A gorge. The lower two thirds of the
eastern wall of the fortification was a part of the western bluff.
"You've got to be kidding." she said shakily, blood pounding in her
ears as her eyes snapped to him.

The edge of apprehension in her voice was not lost on him. "No... 
that's our way out." His voice was low, serious, as he looked up from
where he  crouched on the floor.

"There must be another way. What about Voyager? Or another exit to the 
north or..."

He stood, took a step toward her. "This is the best option we have at 
the moment, and we're taking it."

Her brow furrowed. Their best option? "What about Voyager?" she 
pressed.

He cocked his head slightly to one side, exhaled heavily. "There isn't 
time for long explanations."

"Then give me a short one, Commander." she snapped.

For a heartbeat he considered her. She'd used his rank. He doubted 
she'd done so out of habit. It was intentional. She was tired. Shock
was  threatening, held tenuously at bay by the need to escape... by
her need to remain in  control... by her need to be in control.
"Voyager is a bit busy at the moment.  They have engaged the Braai."
He checked the chronometer in his eyepiece.  "According to my
calculations, they aren't within transporter range. Even if they 
were, the rock upon which... _in_ which... most of this fortress is
built, the  rock forming the walls of that gorge, contains some trace
element or  elements that interferes with long-range sensors,
communications, and transport."

"Then why don't we head away from the rock and contact Voyager?"

He shook his head. "It's too risky. We head anywhere but out that 
window, we walk into a sea of Braai... we increase the risk of
detection. We  break communications blackout, with the Braai in a
heightened defensive  posture, we risk detection. The window of time
between contact and extraction is  too large."

"And what about going out there?" she asked, gesturing behind her.

"As far as the Braai are concerned, you're no longer here. If we don't 
alert them to our presence, we won't be followed. Even if they did
suspect  intruders, this isn't a logical escape route. At least, not
to them."

She sighed. This argument would go nowhere. He wouldn't budge. She 
could see it in his stance, hear it in his voice. Voyager was not an
option.  Still... there had to be another way. "I won't make it down
that cliff,  Commander." she exhorted.

No she wouldn't... not alone. He knew it. She knew it. Tenacity and 
the will to survive weren't enough to get her safely to the bottom.
However,  she wasn't alone. He would be her strength. "Yes you will,
Captain."

"But..."

"Captain..." he interrupted, fixing her with a dark look. "I know what 
I'm doing."

"I didn't mean to imply that you don't."

He stepped closer. "Don't second-guess me. By second-guessing me, you
compromise our safety." He moved closer still, invaded her personal
space. His voice was low, uncompromising. "Until we set foot on board
Voyager, you do as I say. Our lives depend on it."

The cut of her mouth thinned, her chin raised imperceptibly. Under 
other circumstances, she'd swear he was goading her. To provoke her...
to  anger her... to animate her. But not now. He was serious. Very
serious. Her  gaze drifted to the insignia at his shoulder. Again her
brow furrowed as  she searched for a memory, as she searched for
recognition. It was  definitely Advanced Tactical, some division she
wasn't aware of... not the one  specified in his record. His fittings
were advanced military... far more  advanced than anything she had
ever seen, even the Rangers. And the killing to which  she'd been
witness... the Braai in the barracks, General Herros... was this  the
Maquis in him? Was this how the Maquis operated? She'd heard rumors. 
But she wasn't one to take stock in rumors. She shook her head
slightly. His  history with the Maquis didn't explain the insignia.

She opened her mouth to speak, then immediately closed it. Regardless 
of the enigma before her, he was right. He knew what he was doing.
And, any second-guessing on her part would only throw a cog in the
wheels of whatever plan was already in motion. She lowered her chin
slightly, glanced into the dark gorge from the corner of her eyes,
nodded grimly.

He considered her a moment longer, then returned his attention to the
backpack. "You won't be descending the rock face alone, Kathryn...
you'll be harnessed to me. You'll be quite safe." He'd returned to the
use of her name, hoping it might comfort her. The use of her rank
seemed harsh. But she'd forced his hand. He stilled momentarily.
"You've got to trust me."

She studied him for a moment, then turned squarely to the window, 
stared into the darkness.

Her reaction surprised him. He hadn't expected resistance. Questions, 
yes. Resistance, no. Under normal circumstances, she would have been
the  first to go over the side. Nothing would have stopped her. But
these weren't  normal circumstances. Normal no longer was. The
definition had changed.

Part of her wanted to be angry with him. However, the emotion was both
unwarranted and unreasonable. He had risked much to save her... he
wouldn't jeopardize their escape route. Common sense told her he was
right. Tactical training told her he was right. Circumstance dictated
he was more knowledgeable than she regarding the lay of the land,
Voyager's situation, the Braai defense network. He was right. Still,
she didn't like it. When she thought she had a grasp on her unease,
her fear, the fog in her brain settled, once again clouding her
thinking.

She bit her lower lip, closed her eyes. *Don't give in to it. Don't 
give in.* She inhaled deeply in an attempt to clear her head, calm
herself.  Fresh air wouldn't be able to counteract the effects of the
medication he had administered earlier, but she attempted it anyway...
inhaling again... deeper. She stilled. Her nose crinkled slightly as
her brow furrowed. There was a faint odor carried on the breeze...
something burning. Her eyes opened as recognition struck. The smell of
burning flesh. She backed away from the window, uncertain of whether
to be thankful for or troubled by the plight of the Braai. Tears
welled in her eyes. At the moment, her mind could not suffer the
dilemma.

Chakotay extracted a coil of Starfleet issue rope from his backpack, 
in addition to two self-firing pitons and two harnesses. He stepped to 
the window, then leaned out, pitons in hand.

She heard the pitons fire, embedding themselves in the rock face 
outside the window. She watched Chakotay loop the rope through the
pitons, then  throw the rope clear of the wall. She watched as he
straightened, then turned to  fully face her. His eyes met hers only
briefly before he moved past her,  retrieved one of the two climbing
harnesses, then stepped to her side. He  started to fit the harness to
her. Without a word, she obediently stepped into it,  allowed him to
tighten it, then lead her to the window. He secured her to the  rope,
then helped her up onto the window sill. His hands never lost contact
with  her until he was sure she was steady. He'd risked much to save
her... he  wouldn't jeopardize their escape route... he wouldn't
jeopardize her. She knew  that. Her eyes lifted to his, seeking
reassurance from a man she no longer knew,  yet knew by heart.

He rested a hand on her upper arm.

She gained some semblance of strength from the gesture, lifted her 
hand to rest atop his. Beneath the wolf's clothing, it was still him.

"I'm going to remove the chair from the door. I'll only be a moment." 
He crossed the room quickly. Leaving the door barricaded would raise
an  alarm at some point. It would be a sign of the existence of alien
intruders... survivors. It would give the Braai a clear indication of
their escape route. He was not about to give them anything. They'd
already taken too much.

His headset told him that there were no Braai in the immediate area. 
Their descent would not have to be hastened by the threat of imminent 
discovery. He removed the chair from it's mooring, placed it behind
the desk, then  stepped to the window. He quickly donned his harness,
then clipped hers to it.  Brown met blue. "Let me do all the work.
Just hang on to me and don't touch the  ropes."

At her nod, he lowered her out the window, then followed. When he came 
abreast her, he added another clip to his harness, reinforced their
connection  by hooking her harness to his via yet another safety loop.

Her unease lifted slightly as she realized how coupled they were. She 
held still as he shifted, straddled her, then made some small
adjustments  to the fittings. She was effectively hanging securely
between his legs,  between him and rock. She wasn't going anywhere...
not as long as he was there.  She lifted her arms, encircled his
waist, buried her face in his chest.

The rope stretched slightly as is took their weight. Chakotay fed a 
meter of the fiber through the loop, lowering them. When clear of the
open  window, he pushed it shut, the room beyond returned to it's
original state.

Without pause, he initiated their descent into the gorge. Her arms 
tightened their grip on his midsection. Her face pressed harder
against his  chest. He glanced at her briefly. Even without the mask,
he wouldn't have been  able to see her face, buried so completely
against him was she. It mattered  not. Her body betrayed her. He
blinked deliberately as images assaulted him,  unbidden. The Braai had
taken so much. Damn them. He fought the urge to halt, to  take her in
his arms... comfort her. He lifted his gaze, stared at the rock  face
before him, swallowed hard, then stilled. "Are you okay?" He
whispered.

Heartbeats later, she nodded against him.

He peered into the blackness below. He couldn't see the bottom, even 
with the assistance of the headset. Despite the interference of the
surrounding  rock, his headset was able to provide the distance to the
floor of the  gorge... ninety two point zero three meters. Not far.
"We'll be at the bottom  in a few minutes."

A few minutes translated into much longer.

The darkness seemingly amplified the rush of the fast flowing river 
below. The sound of water over rock echoed and reverberated off the
sides of the  gorge, the resulting chaos of convergent noise fierce
and unnerving. However,  the river was not as fast and furious as
chaos implied. Chaos exaggerated  the truth.

The gorge was steepest by the fortress. Several kilometers along it's 
length, to the northwest, the canyon became less severe, eventually
opening  onto a flat wooded plain. The secondary transporter site was
within the boundaries  of that plain, approximately two kilometers
from the canyon's end... free of  the offensive rock. Communications
and transporter capability would be unobstructed.

Chakotay's mind plummeted to the bottom. Picking his way through a 
rocky ravine, buried in darkness, an injured party in tow, would be 
difficult. Were they in top form, the journey would take more than
five hours.  However, Kathryn... in her present condition... would
need a break when they  reached the bottom. They had a long journey
ahead of them.

He slowed their descent, fired two more pitons into the rock face, 
then relooped the rope. He verified the ropes were secure, then
continued  their descent into the darkness.

-----

The shuttle thrust and parried it's way through the barrage of weapons 
fire volleyed from the small fleet of Braai attack ships surrounding 
Voyager. The weapons fire had been aimed solely at the Intrepid class
ship, until  the Sacajawea was within sensor range of the small
vessels. The shuttle  had the element of surprise on it's side, their
appearance unexpected.  Apparently, the ground forces had not alerted
the fleet to what was happening on the  planet's surface... had not
alerted them regarding the escaping shuttlecraft.  However, once aware
of the shuttle and it's affiliation, several of the small  vessels
broke from the main foray and focused their efforts against the 
Sacajawea. The shuttle's shields tenuously held under the barrage.
However, the  firefight violently jostled the small craft. That
combined with the volume of  hits against the shield overloaded
shuttle's systems... the inertial  dampeners, communications, and the
weapons array went off-line. Shields began to  falter.

From their vantage point, Voyager looked undamaged by the Braai 
attack. They'd expected as much. Voyager was more than a match for the
Braai. She was  merely buying time... gamely allowing the Braai their
aggression. The Braai  posed no threat, save to the shuttle.

Ayala shot Gerron a dark look. They would make it... barely.

Voyager's aft shields were dropped momentarily to allow the shuttle 
access to the shuttle bay, aft phasers deftly covering the sudden
weakness to  Braai weapons and infiltration.

And then they were home free. With inertial dampeners off-line, 
piloting the small craft into the bay was no longer in their hands.
Ayala and  Gerron leaned back in their seats as the shuttle was
tractored aboard. Ayala glanced  uneasily at Gerron out the corner of
his eye. It wasn't over yet.

-----

The Doctor and a small security team watched as the shuttle door 
lowered. The Doctor surveyed the harried crew as they filed out of the
beleaguered  craft. Two crewmembers were noticeably not among them.
"Where are the Captain  and Commander?" the Doctor asked.

"Making their way to a secondary site." Ayala said, stepping from the 
shuttle, Gerron on his heels. He tapped his combadge. "Ayala to
Commander  Tuvok."

"Tuvok here."

Ayala fixed Gerron with a knowing look. "Sir... plan Omega has been 
initiated. The Captain and Commander will require extraction from
Gamma site."

The ensuing pause was minute, but noticeable, as comprehension that 
the Captain and First Officer were still planetside dawned.
"Acknowledged,  Mister Ayala. I will expect your report shortly. Tuvok
out."

The two ex-Maquis exchanged an uncertain look, then left the 
shuttlebay. It was now a matter of time.

-----

She wanted nothing more than to sit quietly, alone, and drift into the 
numb refuge of slumber. She wanted nothing more than to escape her
reality,  a reality of unwanted memories and blossoming pain. The
abseil harness  that Chakotay had fitted to her was cutting into
already sore tissue.  Despite the strong analgesic pain killer
administered less than an hour before,  she felt the extremities of
pain in her groin, thighs, and waist. The gash  across her chest
throbbed. Her abdomen ached. The drug was seemingly the only one  in
her body not completely able to cope with the misery she was
experiencing.  She silently cursed it's ineffectiveness. And yet,
indirectly, it was that ineffectiveness that kept her conscious. The
pain kept her from sleep. The pain kept her with him. The pain kept
her sane... barely.

As soon as their boots touched the rocky floor of the gorge, an arm 
slipped around her... steadied her... then abandoned her. Chakotay
unclipped  her harness from his own, freeing her. She no longer had
his bulk to  steady her, to balance her. In the long descent, as she'd
clung to him, she'd found  comfort in his presence, his solidness, his
warmth, his smell. Now she was alone.  She slowly reached out, pressed
her right palm against the rock face,  attempted to retain her
balance, her composure.

"We'll head to the north." he said as he shrugged the backpack from 
his shoulders and set it on the ground. He unclipped his harness from
the  rope, took it off, quickly shed her of her own, then stuffed them
into the  backpack. "We've got..."

Pain impaled her abdomen, followed immediately by a flood of warmth 
between her legs. She bit her lower lip, in an attempt to prevent
herself from  crying out loud. It didn't work. Her lower lip was
battered and tender, her  action causing her more pain. She couldn't
help the groan that escaped her.  She absurdly hoped the rush of the
passing river would drown out her muted  cry. She wasn't so lucky.

His head shot up at the sound. Even above the sound of the river, he'd 
heard it. "Kathryn?"

She didn't respond.

He stood, stepped to her side... rested a hand on her shoulder. "Are 
you okay?"

She nodded brusquely. "I just need to rest for a few minutes." Her 
words were almost incoherent as she doubled over, another tendril of
pain  stabbing her. She clutched her abdomen, attempted to suppress
the pain with deep  breaths. It wasn't working.

His hand slid to her elbow. "You're in pain."

"I'm fine." Her response was too quick... forced. She doubted he would 
believe her. He was right not to. Something was wrong. The Doctor
would take  care of it... when they got back to Voyager. Everything
would be all right,  when they got back. She exhaled heavily. "I just
need to rest." She spied a  large rock half a meter behind her,
settled herself upon it.

His brow furrowed with concern. "Kathryn... you're in pain. If you 
need help..."

"No." she interrupted, raising a hand signaling him cease. She forced 
her voice to soften. "It's just a twinge. I'm fine. Just tired." She 
couldn't look at him, for her eyes would betray her words.

He didn't push her.

She didn't move as he pulled away, straightened. He returned to the 
backpack, allowed her the distance she obviously needed, the distance
she  wanted. She was in pain. He knew it. Playing the martyr wouldn't
help. Playing the  martyr was potentially dangerous. However, he
couldn't deny her one of the few  means of control left her.
Controlling her pain empowered her. The pain was  hers. It was
something that couldn't be taken from her. She needed it. He swallowed 
his anger, his concern, allowed her a some leeway.

He scanned the area to the north as he coiled the rope. He knew, 
whatever was wrong, whatever was causing her pain, she was barely able
to walk.  They would most likely have to find refuge and rest. Either
that, or he would  have to carry her. There was nothing that could be
labeled as safe in the  immediate area. However, Harry's rough scans
of the gorge had indicated several  large caverns dotting the cliffs
approximately two to three kilometers from  the base of the fortress.
If he could get Kathryn to one of those, they could  rest.

He finished coiling the rope, then tucked it into the backpack. In one 
fluid motion, he closed the backpack, shrugged into it, and rose. "We
need  to get moving. We have a lot of distance to cover to reach the
extraction  site. With this terrain, it will take us five or six
hours." At the very least.

"Very well, Commander." She grated. She slowly straightened, pushed 
herself off the rock.

His eyes shot to her as he heard another sharp intake of breath. He 
couldn't see her expression, as she still wore the black balaclava,
but her  eyes betrayed the grimace on her face, the cut of her lips
betrayed the  clenching of her teeth. She wasn't going to last long.

If it were anyone else... if it were a CBO operation... it would have 
ended here. He would have administered another dose of painkiller,
perhaps  even sedated her, then he would have hoisted her over his
shoulder and  carried her out of the canyon. But, this _was_ Kathryn
Janeway. This _wasn't_ a  CBO operation. His back wasn't against the
wall... not yet. And, she  needed to do this by herself, for herself.
He would bide his time, it wouldn't be  long.

Time would tell.

"Let's go." He held out a hand to her, an offering for guidance and 
connection in the near darkness... nothing more. He wondered how she
would  interpret the gesture. Things had shifted between them...
subtly, but they'd  shifted... from the moment he'd freed her from the
clutches of the Braai General until  now. The reality of the ordeal
was assaulting her. Her body was rebelling  against the punishment
she'd suffered at the hands of the Braai, and was now  suffering
because of him. And the reality of the man who stood before her?

He glanced at his hand, wondered if she would take it. Without 
hesitation, she did. Her hand somehow seemed smaller... cold. She felt
cold. He  distractedly ran his thumb over hers, noted the cold wind
whipping through the  canyon. Despite the thin fabric of her uniform,
it was designed to insulate.  Still...

He sighed. He had to get her out of here.

-----

Chakotay deliberately slowed the pace, yet still he felt resistance to 
his forward motion. The resistance grew with each passing moment as
she  struggled to keep pace, traverse the rocky ground. He had the
assistance of the  headset, the low light and infra red settings
allowing him better-than-daylight visibility of the immediate terrain
despite the interference of the surrounding rock. Kathryn was
virtually blind. The dim light of the Braai moon provided very little
light. The near darkness combined with the heavy shadows cast by the
cliff walls betrayed the lay of the land. She tripped and stumbled
constantly, over rocks small and large. And, she was fading... fast.
He swore silently, at her stubbornness, at himself for granting it.

Every part of her ached. For the hundredth time, she stumbled, 
battered her knees on some sharp stone beneath her. She couldn't keep
this up for  long. She knew it. Her energy reserves were virtually
depleted. The pain  steadily building in her abdomen was demanding
more and more of her  concentration, concentration desperately needed
to force one foot in front of the  other, concentration desperately
needed to stay upright, concentration  desperately needed to keep the
nightmare at bay.

He stopped, steadied her, allowed her a moment. He quickly checked the
chronometer in his eyepiece. They'd approximately ten hours before the
first extraction attempt. While he hesitated to think they had plenty
of time, Kathryn was in need of rest, and they could afford a respite.
Daylight was still several hours away. Rest would best be had under
the cover of darkness. He scanned the gorge ahead of them. The caverns
Voyager had discovered were close, but still, he could find nothing,
the surrounding rock effectively preventing their detection. He
exhaled heavily. "Come on, Kathryn, not much further."

Chakotay helped her over several large rocks at the waters edge, then 
turned, pressed onward. The headset's inability to scan the caves did
not mean  they weren't there... close.

Without warning, he was jerked backward. Instinctively, he thrust his 
free hand out, caught himself before he hit the ground. Upon regaining
his  balance, he spun to find Kathryn lying on the ground behind him,
her hand still  gripping his own. A coil of weak panic writhed through
him, as he dropped to  his knees beside her. "Kathryn."

There was no response.

"Kathryn... can you hear me?" He gently turned her to her back, 
removed her hood. She was pale. The bruises littering her face
punctuated her  ashen pallor. His right hand pushed into the neckline
of her jumpsuit... sought the  artery in her neck. Relief flooded him
at the blood pulsing under his fingers.  She was alive.

He cursed himself for allowing it to go this far. Had it been anyone 
other than Kathryn Janeway, it never would have. He stood, stepped to
the  river's edge, dipped the balaclava into the cold water, silently
berating  himself all the while. Emotional entanglement led to
failure. How many times had  he been told that? He knew it to be true.
And yet... this was Kathryn. He  couldn't detach. Not completely.

He violently twisted the mask, wringing the excess water from the 
cloth. It wouldn't happen again. This wouldn't end up like Nathan.

He swallowed hard, pushed himself to his feet, returned to her side.
"Kathryn..." he urged, pressing the cool cloth against her forehead,
her jawline, her neck.

She moaned, stirred slightly, then slipped again into darkness.

He could do her no good here. They needed shelter. He set the wet 
cloth on her chest, then slid his arms beneath her, effortlessly
picked her up.  "Stay with me, Kathryn." he whispered as he turned
northward.

-----

The cave was small, not quite ten meters from the entrance to the back 
wall. The floor gradually rose through that distance, with the
vertical  clearance at the rear of the chamber barely two meters. A
fine sand blanketed the  floor, no doubt carried into the chamber and
deposited there by the river, when  the canyon was flooded. The walls
were smooth, marked here and there by  small pits, evidence of water
and time. There were two large boulders partially  blocking the
entrance, the river's edge lapping at their base. He'd been forced  to
wade through half a meter of water, scale the boulders, Kathryn heaved
over  his shoulder, then wade through yet another lazy eddy, in order
to reach  the main chamber. If the river rose for any reason it would
take seconds only  before they were trapped inside... entombed.

He was reluctant to use the cave. It offered a haven, but it was by no 
means ideal. However, it was the best option available. There hadn't
been  another cavern visible within the immediate area. He couldn't
pass this one by  in hopes of finding something better, only to be
presented with nothing.

He quickly glanced around the chamber, then dropped to his knees, 
gently shouldered Kathryn to the silt. He pulled the headset from his
head,  hooked it around his neck, then rummaged in a pouch on his left
hip. He  extracted a small torch. Between the boulders and the
overhang of the rock face outside  the entrance of the cave, light was
effectively trapped, prevented from  escaping the enclosure. Unless
one stood directly outside, peered inside with  express intent to
determine what lay within, the light would not be visible.

He turned the meager light toward Kathryn. "Damn it, Kathryn." he 
quietly spat. In the light of the torch, she appeared even more
pallid. "You  are the most stubborn woman I've ever met." She couldn't
hear him, but saying  the words eased some of his anger... at her, at
himself.

He reached toward her, then stilled. The palm of his hand was coated 
in crimson... blood. "Where the hell..." The question died on his
lips.  There was only one person it could have come from. Again he
felt panic rush him.

He set the torch on the ground, then pulled the dark hood from his 
head, dropped it to the floor. The backpack quickly followed. His
hands  plunged into the sack, searched for and found a small Starfleet
storm beacon. Upon  turning it on, light flooded the cave. His brow
furrowed at the brightness. He  briefly debated his theory that the
illumination couldn't be seen from  outside. He pushed the doubts from
his mind. It wouldn't serve to second-guess  himself. Not now.

Chakotay rummaged deeper in the pack, extracted the augmented med kit 
and the medical tricorder, then returned his attention to his
unconscious  Captain. His teeth clenched, the line of his jaw set, as
he ran the tricorder over  her. She had lost a lot of blood... far
more than was medically safe. Despite  his limited medical knowledge,
the problem was unmistakable.

She was in bad shape. Miraculously, she'd no internal bleeding. 
However, a tear in her vaginal wall was hemorrhaging... no doubt the
source of  her blood loss. Several internal organs were bruised and
inflamed. From what he  could decipher, her kidneys had been badly
bruised as well. The damage was  more extensive than mere bruising,
but was not immediately critical. Three  ribs were cracked, no doubt
making breathing difficult and painful. Her lower  right jaw suffered
a hairline fracture. And, her broken left wrist had yet to be 
properly tended. That was merely the list of the internal injuries he 
recognized.

Her body had been bruised, battered, and cut when he'd found her. 
Superficial though those wounds may have seemed in comparison to her
other  injuries, they were undoubtedly worse now... and undoubtedly
hurt like hell.  According to the tricorder readings, many of the
lacerations were now either bleeding  or weeping and ran the risk of
infection despite the medication he'd administered  earlier.

He swallowed hard, snapped the tricorder shut. Damn. He needed the 
Doctor. _She_ needed the Doctor. He was a poor substitute.

"Bastards." he spat as anger once again flared. He shook his head, 
silently berating himself. He should have seen it coming. He should
have  trusted his gut, his instinct. He should have questioned
Voyager's absolute need  to trade with the Braai. Surely there had
been other options. Had he trusted  his gut, and pressed the issue,
they wouldn't be here.

She needed the Doctor. However, he was her only option. He set the 
tricorder on the ground beside him, then pulled the backpack between
his knees  and silently began pulling equipment from the rucksack.

Two emergency survival blankets were pulled from their packaging. They 
were thin, but made of a highly durable thermal fiber. Standard
Starfleet  issue. Field tested. He stood, spread one over the silt
near the back of the  cave, where the gradient was the least, the
ground the flattest. He then  scoured the chamber, gathering several
large rocks. He piled them next to the  blanket, then directed a low
powered beam from his hand phaser at them. They would  need the heat.
He moved the storm beacon to a large flat rock near from the  blanket.
The rock would serve as a makeshift table. He then arranged the
contents  of the med kit on the remainder of the rock's surface...
medication, hyposprays,  field dressings, regenerator, tricorder,
more.

He again rummaged through the backpack, retrieved a standard issue 
billy, which he filled with water from the river, then nestled on the
heated  rocks to warm it's contents.

He glanced over his shoulder at his Captain. This wasn't going to be 
easy. He knew that he had to tend her, but he wasn't sure he could. He
snorted.  No... he knew he could. He had to. He had no choice. But the
invasive nature of  what he was about to do... She had permitted his
touch earlier, but this was  different. His conscience dictated that
he should wake her, seek her permission,  make her aware.

He rose, stepped to the river's edge, rid his face of the black 
maquillage, then moved to her side. He picked her up, then placed her
upon the  blanket, along the edge nearest the heat.

She moaned faintly.

"Kathryn?" He leaned closer, pushed the hair from her face. 
"Kathryn... can you hear me?" He rested a hand on her shoulder, shook
her gently.

She did not respond.

He swallowed hard, then turned to the contents of the med kit now 
splayed on the rock half a meter distant. He picked up a shallow bowl,
then  retrieved his canteen from the rucksack. He poured some water
from the canteen into  the bowl and placed the bowl on the heat
source, next to the billy. Several  minutes passed as he waited for
the water to warm, as he prepared the  necessary items from the med
kit, a watchful eye ever on her. Never once did she move.

He sat back on his heels, studied her face. Her lips were swollen, the 
bottom one displaying a wicked cut, now clotted with blood gone black.
The  skin around her eyes was still slightly swollen and discolored.
Mottled bruises  against ashen cheeks and chin and jaw gave her the
look of death. He brushed  the back of his hand gently over her cheek.
How close to the truth that might  be if he didn't act.

The line of his jaw set. It was time.

He went to his knees beside her. "Kathryn."

She did not respond.

His hands found her shoulders, shook her.

Still, there was no response.

He trapped his lower lip between his teeth, slowly released it, 
exhaled heavily. He shook her harder. It was all the further urging
she  required. He watched as her eyes fluttered open, pain and
confusion reflected  within.

She felt disorientated, sluggish. There was a strange fuzziness in her 
head, affecting her vision, her hearing, her perception. Despite her 
inability to bring her world into focus, one thing was clear... she
wasn't on board  Voyager. It hadn't all been some horrid nightmare.

"Kathryn."

A face floated above her. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Dark skin. His voice 
was soothing... lulling.

"Kathryn."

Her name met her ears much harsher this time... more urgent. His 
voice. "Chakotay?" The question escaped on the barest of breaths. She 
squinted slightly, attempting to bring his features into focus. "Where
are we?"

He bent closer still, watching her struggle, gently stroked her hair. 
"In a cave at the bottom of the gorge."

"I thought..." She tried to swallow, her tongue sticking to the roof 
of her dry mouth. "I thought I was..." A fit of coughing wracked her
tiny  body.

He grabbed the canteen behind him, twisted the cap off. He gently slid 
his hand beneath her head, lifted the canteen to her lips. "Sip
this... it  will help." When she'd swallowed several times, he pulled
it from her lips,  replaced the cap, set it on the ground beside him.

"Chakotay?"

"Yes." He again leaned close.

"If you can find... that hypospray..." She clenched her teeth, grasped 
at her abdomen.

He rested a hand atop hers, as if by doing so he could take the pain 
from her. "Kathryn... while you were unconscious I ran a medical
tricorder over  you." His voice was a harsh whisper.

"What did it show?"

"You've lost a lot of blood. You're hemorrhaging... from what appears 
to be a tear in your vaginal wall. If we don't stop the bleeding..."
He  paused... cleared his throat. "There are also a number of internal
bruises, some  cracked ribs, a hairline fracture on your jaw. And... "
He stopped, unable to  continue. She'd heard enough.

She didn't speak for several seconds, while she digested what he'd 
told her. Despite his limited medical knowledge, she trusted his
estimation. The  torture in her abdomen punctuated the urgency of her
condition. "How  comprehensive is your med kit?" she finally asked.

"Its basic. I have a small regenerator and several drugs. While the 
quantities are limited, they should be sufficient." He leaned even
closer, held  her gaze. "Kathryn... I can fix the external injuries,
but the critical problem  is the hemorrhaging. We have to take care of
it... now."

"I understand, Chakotay." She glanced past his shoulder, at the 
instruments and medical supplies laid across the rock. It looked as if
he were  preparing for surgery, everything laid out and ready... hot
water, regenerator,  gauze, hypospray. It was all there. She smiled
faintly, humorlessly, as she  gripped his hand, squeezed. Her gaze
drifted to his.

Her acknowledgment, her consent, had been given.

"I think I'll need your help... getting out of this." She tugged at 
her combat fatigues. She raised herself to her elbows. Pain shot
through her,  forcing a sharp intake of breath.

"Kathryn..." He lightly grasped her arm.

"I'm okay." She nodded, swallowed hard. "Just a twinge." she lied, 
through gritted teeth.

A patient eyebrow lifted. "Why don't I believe you?"

"I don't know. Why?" she asked, breathless.

He sighed. "You need a painkiller." He reached for a hypospray.

"No..." she whispered. "Not yet. I don't need that yet."

"Kathryn, if you are in pain..."

"Not yet, Chakotay." she rasped. "If we have to hike out of here, I'll
probably need it more tomorrow than I will tonight."

He bit back his anger. "This won't be pleasant, Kathryn. I don't want 
to cause you any unnecessary pain." He held her gaze for a moment,
then sighed. Tenacious... to the end. Reluctantly, he placed the
hypospray beside him... no longer within his grasp, but within reach.
"All right. But, if you think, for a moment, that I will let you..."

"I'll be okay." she interrupted. "I'll be okay."

-----

"Anything, Mister Kim?"

"No, Sir." Harry pulled his eyes from the Ops console to fix the 
vulcan with a concerned stare. He and Ayala had just completed a
sensor sweep of  Gamma site, and found nothing. He hadn't expected to
find anything. Extraction was  hours away. They were most likely still
in the gorge, their signals  undetectable. Still...

"Even at best speeds, Commander, it would take another three hours 
before Chakotay could get to the site." Ayala shifted slightly,
uncomfortable  with his need to explain to the Chief Security Officer.
The vulcan understood  the logistics as well as he did... perhaps even
better. They were worried.  All of them. The vulcan was no exception,
despite any denial he might make of  the existence of such an emotion.
"Assuming, he were by himself. But he's  not... and the Captain is
injured. That fact alone could double the time."

A patient vulcan eyebrow raised. "A fact of which I am well aware, 
Mister Ayala. However, it is prudent to intermittently scan the..."

"The Braai are closing in again, Commander." Tom interrupted.

Tuvok turned to face the main view screen, as Voyager shuddered under 
weapons fire from the small fleet of approaching Braai vessels.
"Report."

"No reports of damage or injuries. Shields at ninety-seven percent." 
came the immediate response from Ops.

"Very good." He took a step closer to the helm, as he glanced at the 
young Ensign temporarily manning Tactical. "Target the engines of the 
closest ship and return fire."

"Aye, Sir."

A streak of phaser fire shot through the void between Voyager and the 
small fleet, intent on the lead vessel. The Braai ship bucked under
the  power of the strike. The small craft's shields glowed as the
energy from the  phasers dissipated into the void of space surrounding
it. Within seconds, the  ship's shields completely collapsed, exposing
it's hull. Phasers impacted the  ship's rear engines, thousands of
tiny points of molten light exploding  outward, heralding impairment.
The ship was disabled... adrift in space.

Harry looked up from his console. "They've lost engines, weapons, and 
shields. Life support and environmental controls are still
operational."

"Mister Paris, resume standard orbit." Tuvok studied the disabled 
ship. Fifteen. The number of Braai vessels adrift, littering space
around  the planet, was now fifteen. The original attack force had
been only five ships.  However, at regular intervals, as the
intentional stalemate continued, more  ships were deployed. Seventeen
ships remained operational... at the moment. Those seventeen ships
retreated a minimal distance. Regrouped. Reviewed. Rethought.

They would attack again... soon.

Their pattern was predictable and rather unimaginative. Tuvok wondered 
at the ability of the Braai to pull off the initial raid against
Voyager.  They were a fairly technologically advanced race. However,
they weren't terribly  bright. Or perhaps their confidence in their
own ability was over-inflated.  Either way, it amazed him that they
had so easily brought Voyager to her knees. It  wouldn't happen again.

"Sir, we are being hailed by the planet." Harry announced.

"I'll bet we are." Tom muttered as his fingers darted over the helm 
controls, establishing standard orbit.

"Ignore it." Tuvok said, as he settled down in the Captain's chair.

"Letting them stew a little, Tuvok?" Tom slowly spun in chair to face 
the vulcan, a faint smile on his lips, an appreciative glint in his
eyes.

The vulcan's head tilted slightly. An eyebrow raised. "If you are 
asking if am I making them wait until I am ready, then the answer is
yes, Mister  Paris." Tuvok's eyes remained locked with the pilot's for
a beat. He then  turned his attention to the console to his left.

Tom glanced at Harry, then spun back to the helm.

-----

While havoc was wreaked planetside, limited destruction took place 
overhead. Despite Voyager's obvious superiority, none of the Braai
vessels had  been destroyed. The nuisance factor alone drove the Braai
to distraction.

The Braai Central High Command duty officers had been surprised, not 
to mention a bit mystified, by the offensive on General Herros and his 
fortress. The defense network had detected no incursion. The guards on
duty had  reported no suspicious activity. There was little question
as to who was  responsible. Impressive. They'd infiltrated without
notice... destroyed with  merciless precision.

The General's fortress now lay in ruin, thirty eight of his men dead, 
another fifty two injured. Many remained missing, the General and two
of his  senior aides among them.

Reports from the fortress were spotty at best. However, the fact that 
Voyager remained in orbit could mean only one of two things... aliens
were  still planetside, or Voyager was in no condition to retreat.
They would  assume both. However, assumptions were dangerous. They
needed verification.

So far, every off-planet attack had been curbed. Voyager was not as 
lame as they'd hoped. However, weapons capability did not imply the
ability to  leave orbit. It was quite possible Voyager's circumstance
remained tenuous.  It _was_ possible.

To add insult to injury, Voyager was denying their demand for 
communication.

The duty officers were understandably nervous. Their failure to 
control the situation was fast becoming perilous to the esteem of
Central High  Command, the Braai people as a whole. Their failure to
control the situation was  fast becoming perilous to their own small
position, and their health.

-----

From the corner of his eyes, Chakotay quietly considered his Captain, 
as he crouched beside the water swirling just within the cave
entrance. She  lay motionless, eyes closed, teeth clenched, hands
tightly gripping the  blanket covering her, clutching it to her
breasts. She was struggling... with  pain, anger, humiliation. He
snorted, looked away. Humiliation. Tears welled  in his eyes as he
lowered his head, stared at the black cloth within his  grasp, the
blood on his hands. He'd had no other option.

A silent tear burned a path down his cheek as he plunged the fatigues 
into the cold water, a lazy trail of crimson swirling away, flowing
from the  cloth.

His eyes went flat. The rage within him spilled as his mind slid back 
over the past twenty minutes. He'd had her permission to tend her
injury, to  stop the hemorrhaging. Even so, his hands had trembled as
he washed them in the  bowl of warmed water, dried them in the heat of
the rock. His hands had  trembled as they did now... from anger,
regret, fear... and apology. The violation  was necessary. He'd told
himself that repeatedly. He told himself that  now. The words, the
necessity, did not soften the deed. His hands had trembled  as he'd
turned to her, reached beneath the blanket covering her, pushed her 
knees up, spread her legs apart. His eyes had locked briefly with
hers. She'd  looked at him with a solemn softness that made his heart
lurch, then she'd  turned away, fixed her gaze on some indeterminate
point on the far wall of the  chamber, the glow from the storm beacon
catching on moisture trapped behind blue.  He'd said nothing. He could
think of no words to offer, to ease her suffering.

The medical tricorder had already provided him the location of the 
injury. However, he'd no choice but to probe for the wound... to
facilitate  ebbing the flow of blood, to position the regenerator...
to stave the threat to  her life. As soon as his fingers had entered
her, she'd tensed, inhaled sharply.  He'd started, retracted his hand,
as if burned.

"I'm sorry." The words had escaped him on a forced whisper. He'd 
silently cursed himself, his inability to detach. And then thoughts of
Nathan  had flooded him. He'd looked at his right hand, the blood
coating his  fingers and the heel of his palm. He couldn't...
wouldn't... have her blood on his  hands too.

He'd swallowed the lump in his throat. Then, as gently as he could, 
he'd again slid his fingers inside, intent on searching along her
vaginal wall  for the laceration... pushing aside the muffled cries of
pain, the muscles  tensing around him. He couldn't let her pain
distract him.

In his efforts to push aside her pain, he'd found himself wandering in
unfamiliar emotions, reality tangled and knotted with illusion. He'd
allowed his thoughts to stray to places where they had no right to go,
places he could no longer go. Places intimate. Places filled with
allure and warmth and love. Places filled with the wonder of firsts...
first kiss, first touch, first...

He'd exhaled heavily. Places that no longer existed. Places destroyed 
by the Braai, his hands upon her body evidence of their defilement.

Anger again threatened. Around every corner it threatened. He'd forced 
himself to still, then noted in horror the state of his own body.
Beads of  sweat had formed on his brow, trickled down his cheek, his
nose, his jaw line.  His breathing had quickened. He'd lowered his
head, closed his eyes  against the sight and feel of his burgeoning
erection. He'd bit the inside of his  cheek, drew blood. Spirits...
how could he? How could his body betray her so?  How?

He'd forced himself beyond his silent castigation... forced himself to 
her. However, the shame and horror remained.

Finally, he'd located the tear. If it had been any deeper, he doubted 
he would have been able to repair the damage. As it was, cleaning the
area,  using the regenerator, had been difficult. Kathryn had
fidgeted, no doubt from  pain... and more. It hadn't been easy on her.

He'd verified the reparation on the medical tricorder. Satisfied that 
he'd stemmed the flow of blood, healed the laceration, he'd escaped... 
grabbed her uniform and fled to the water's edge, with the supposed
intent of  rinsing her blood from the fabric. In reality, he'd needed
to calm himself...  center himself... give his body time to recover.

He quickly raised a hand, rubbed the tear from his cheek. His thoughts
spiraled southward, to the slowly diminishing ache in his groin. The
hand on his cheek slid to forehead, raked through his hair. He
shuddered in disgust, refusing to rationalize the reaction of his
body. There was no excuse.

"Chakotay?"

His head lifted, turned in her direction. He slowly stood, stepped 
away from the eddy, black fatigues clutched in his left hand, water
running down  his arms. Within seconds he was at her side. "Kathryn?"

She smiled weakly at his abrupt appearance, at the concern in his 
eyes, at his flushed cheeks. She'd watched him at the water's edge...
engaged in  some private battle. He was angry, of that there was
little doubt. Since  he'd freed her, she'd watched him struggle with,
attempt to restrain, a  smoldering rage, no doubt ignited by the
Braai. And yet, what troubled him as he  crouched beside the pool was
something beyond that dark emotion. "You'd better put  those by the
heat or they'll never dry."

He glanced down, snorted, smiled self-consciously. "Yeah." His gaze 
drifted to hers. "I suppose I should." It was the first time she'd
spoken  since...

He swallowed hard, stood. He again gathered several stones from 
throughout the chamber, arranged them in a pile in the rear of the
cave, heated them  with his phaser. As best he could, he wrung the
excess water from the thin  cloth, then spread the uniform atop the
glowing heap. There was a hiss and  splutter as water trapped in the
fabric heated, turned to steam. It wouldn't take  long for the cloth
to dry.

He returned to her.

"I need to treat your other injuries... at least those that I can, 
before they become more serious." He leaned closer. "All right?" At
her nod, he  knelt beside her, reached for the bowl. He tossed the
contents behind the  flat rock, refilled it with clean warm water from
the billy. "Tell me if I hurt  you." he said softly as he retrieved a
gauze pad from the rock, soaked it in  the warm water. The gash on her
chest was his first priority. His fingers  rested on the edge of the
blanket, then hesitantly pulled it down, exposing the  wound.

As skin met skin, she gasped. Her chest heaved.

His hands instantly stilled. "Kathryn?"

"I'm okay." She snorted humorlessly. "Your hands are cold."

"Spirits, I thought..." He shook his head. He threw her an apologetic 
look as he dropped the gauze on the blanket and retracted his hands.
He rubbed  his palms together, then shoved them under his arms in an
attempt to  restore the warmth the river had plundered.

The next time he touched her, she didn't flinch. She wouldn't allow 
it. She wouldn't allow herself to react. She wouldn't allow
circumstance to  control her. She wouldn't allow the plague assaulting
her mind and body to  control her. She would control _it_. She would.

Fifteen minutes passed as he treated her injuries... cleaning blood 
spent and clotted since he'd first tended her, regenerating bruised
and torn  skin. With each passing heartbeat, the evidence of her
nightmare was erased from  view. Would that he could as easily remove
it from her memory.

When he'd finished with her body, he tucked the blanket around her, 
allowing her some warmth... and some modicum of dignity.

His fingers went to her chin. He gently turned her face away from him, 
cupped her chin in his palm to hold her still.

She fought the pain, the fracture in her jaw protesting the handling.

The almost imperceptible crinkling around her eyes, the bridge of her 
nose, was not lost on him. "I'm sorry." he offered quietly, as he ran
the  regenerator over her jaw.

His words were more than an apology, the timbre of his voice betraying 
the depth of his meaning. Sorry. Sorry for the pain she suffered at
his  hands. Sorry for what the Braai had done and were now forcing him
to do.  Sorry for so much more... things she had yet to identify. Damn
the Braai. Damn them  for what they had done and were now doing... to
them... Kathryn and Chakotay.

She exhaled heavily. She was tired.

Her mind drifted to an easier time, a carefree time, a refuge, a time 
spent alone on a planet far distant. Her mind drifted to a peaceful
time  filled with laughter and comfort. Her mind drifted to a story...
an ancient  legend... her angry warrior.

She closed her eyes against tears threatening to spill. He couldn't 
ease her burden. He couldn't undo what had been done. He couldn't
erase acts  committed, despite how desperately he might want to. Was
that at the heart of his  silent battle? No, there was more to his
turmoil than some self-proclaimed impotency... something she couldn't
define. Was this shadow beside her a vision from times past? The angry
warrior incarnate? Damn the Braai. Damn them the resurrection.
Whatever his conflict, it was eating at him, killing him in some
intangible way. She turned her face to him, opened her eyes. "Don't
be."

His gaze locked with hers. The play of emotion behind her eyes was 
unsettling. So many emotions. Convoluted. "What?"

"Don't be sorry."

"Why?" he whispered.

"Because I'd hate to think where I would be at this moment if you 
weren't here... if you hadn't come."

"Kathryn..."

She raised a trembling hand, pressed her fingers against his lips, 
shook her head. Despite her condition, all that had happened, all that
she had  seen and endured, nothing could erase her gratitude.

He revelled at her touch. It was a balm to his bruised heart. He 
lifted his hand to hers, grasped it loosely, then lowered it. "Close
your eyes,  Kathryn." He smiled gently as her brow furrowed. She'd no
idea. "Maybe I'll  leave them as they are. They're rather charming.
They make you look like a panda."

Question lit blue.

"You're eyes. They're black."

Gentle understanding redefined her features. One corner of her mouth 
lifted as she closed her eyes. "Lose the black eyes. One bear-like
creature on  the bridge is more than enough."

His smile deepened. "I don't think Tuvok would appreciate you talking 
about him like that." As the other corner of her mouth lifted, he ran
the  regenerator over the tender skin surrounding her eyes. In her
faint smile, hope  remained.

When finished, he retrieved the medical tricorder. Her readings had 
improved, but not enough to ease his concern. She'd lost a lot of
blood, and  though the hemorrhaging had been stemmed, the loss already
suffered left her  weak, tired, susceptible. Despite the regeneration
of her external wounds, there  was nothing he could do to repair the
bruising to her internal organs. He could do  nothing more to ease her
physical pain, save offer drugs, which so far she had  refused. His
eyes drifted to the hypospray, still on the ground beside him... 
deposited earlier at Kathryn's insistence to forgo any medication.

He exhaled slowly, quietly, as he deactivated the tricorder, carefully 
set it down beside the hypospray. "That's all I'm able to do,
Kathryn." The  words were quietly apologetic. "How do you feel?"

"Better. Tired... but better."

She looked tired. She needed sleep. He lifted the eyepiece of the 
headset hooked around his neck to his eye, checked the chronometer.
They had  time. She had time.

She hugged the survival blanket tighter as a chill raced through her. 
"Is that suit dry yet?" Her voice trembled slightly, the chill still
with her.

He noted the slight reverberation of her voice, the imperceptible 
shuddering of her lips. He stood, moved to check the uniform. Though
the hissing  of water against warm stone had ceased, the fabric was
still damp. He looked at  her, shook his head. "It will probably be a
while yet before it's  comfortable to wear." The chill in the air
combined with the loss of blood had  lowered her body temperature. The
blanket alone wouldn't keep her warm. He had  nothing else in the
rucksack to offer her... to help. Abruptly, he moved to the  edge of
the blanket, removed the headset, hooked it at his waist, then tugged
at  the zipper at his chest, wrestled his shoulders and arms out of
the webbing and  jacket.

For a brief moment, she wondered what he was doing. And then her 
breath caught in the back of her throat, a tendril of panic twisted
through her as  she realized he was undressing... military fittings
giving way to what lay underneath. Her mind shifted to another
chamber, another uniform, harsh light against pale green flesh. What
the hell was he doing? Her eyes darted to his face, her heart
pounding. His eyes held nothing of what she'd seen in the Braai.
Nothing cold, ruthless, lascivious. It was Chakotay. She trusted him.
Didn't she? It was Chakotay. And yet, it wasn't. He wasn't who she
thought he was, not after what she'd bore witness to this day. Still,
it was him. It was Chakotay.

She swallowed hard, drew in a deep breath, pushed the images of the 
Braai from her mind. What was wrong with her? How could she doubt him?
It was  Chakotay. She blinked slowly, deliberately. Her thoughts were
clouded, her mind  still numb with panic. It was Chakotay.

Her jaw locked. She had to remain in control of her reason, of her 
judgment.

The webbing belt at his waist was all that kept the jump-suit from 
falling and pooling around his ankles. His hands went to the neckline
of his crew- necked sweater, tugged at the black knit, pulled it over
his head. Within  seconds, he was naked from just below his navel
upward... a vision that at some  point in the past would have taken
her breath away... but now, left her uneasy.

"Here..." He proffered the sweater. "It's the best I have to offer at 
the moment."

She slowly released the breath trapped in her lungs, relief easing her
apprehension. She pushed herself upright, to a seated position, her
left hand clutching the survival blanket to her chest as she reached
out with her right. The sweater was still warm as she pulled it over
her head. His warmth, his smell, clung to the weave. As she pushed her
arms into the sleeves, pushed her head through the neck opening, she
inhaled deeply, breathed him into her. She found the feel, the smell,
the warmth, familiar... immediately comforting. Odd, she thought. Only
seconds before she had been terrified. She was losing her battle.

He pulled the jacket and webbing hanging from his waist back on, then 
turned his attention to the backpack. "We should eat something. 
Unfortunately, I can only offer Starfleet field rations."

"They can't be any worse than what Neelix threatens us with." She 
answered quietly, pulling the nearest edge of the survival blanket
around her  waist, her lower body effectively insulated. She brought
her knees up, tucked the  blanket beneath her feet, then wrapped her
arms around her legs, resting her  chin on her right knee.

He snorted, smiled, glanced at her over his shoulder. She was drowning 
in his sweater. All the better to keep her warm. He doubted he would
be  getting it back in the near future, if ever. "That's debatable."
he said, as he  pulled a small foiled packet from the backpack.

"What is that?"

"I have no idea."

"I suppose it doesn't really matter. At this point, I'd eat just about
anything."

He considered her briefly. "After we've had something to eat, you 
should try to get some sleep. We still have a long way to go."

"What exactly is your plan?"

Chakotay turned, emptied the billy, filled it with fresh water from 
the canteen. "To get us out of here... in one piece." He returned the 
billy to the heated rocks, now a makeshift stove, then turned to face
her as he  waited for the water to boil.

He bit the inside of his cheek, sighed. It was time. "Ayala, Gerron, 
and I infiltrated the Braai fortification to attempt a rescue of you
and the  others."

"Only three?" Her chin lifted from it's resting place. "Why wasn't..."

"Kathryn."

The line of her jaw set. What the hell was going on? "No. You're not 
going to evade..."

He fixed her with an dark look, effectively silencing her.

Where the hell was Tuvok? Why had Tuvok allowed Chakotay a three-man 
team? Why Ayala and Gerron? What the hell was going on?

"We found the rest of the crew. Ayala and Gerron managed to get them 
out of the fortification and on board the Sacajawea. If all went
according to  plan, they should now be safely back on board Voyager."
He leaned back,  checked the progress in the billy, then turned back
to her. "In order for them to  escape this planet intact, they had to
leave without us. We're working our  way to an alternate extraction
site... a site clear of the gorge and the  interference of the rock
around us. In approximately eight and a half hours, Voyager  will scan
the site for transport. We need to be there... waiting."

"And if we aren't?"

"Contingencies exist." A wry smile slipped across his lips, lit his 
eyes. "However, I have no intention of not being there."

What the hell was going on? She watched as he turned, emptied the 
contents of the foil packet into the billy. End of debriefing. He
would offer  nothing more. She shook her head, anger threatening. He
offered her information in  fits and starts, information tinged in
vaguaries. She didn't like it. Her eyes  again fell to his uniform,
the insignia. There was more to this mission than  he was telling her.
This was neither the place nor the time to push him.  However, when
back on board Voyager, push him she would.

He routed through the backpack, extracted a spoon and a cup. Within 
seconds, he handed her the mug filled with a thick steaming soup.

She ate hungrily as he settled down next to her with a similar brew. 
They ate in silence... neither comfortable nor tense. They merely
were.

When her mug had been drained, she was surprised to find she still 
felt hungry.

Chakotay pulled an energy bar from the backpack and offered it to her.

To cap off their meal, she settled for a mug of tea, in stead of her 
beloved coffee.

Her hunger appeased, she laid back upon the blanket beneath her, 
watched Chakotay clear the remnants of their meal.

He returned what was left of the medkit to it's container, then stowed 
the box in the backpack. Within minutes, everything but the survival
blankets  were packed and ready. His hands went to his waist,
retrieved his hood and  headset.

He was leaving. As he pulled the hood over his head, it struck her. He 
was leaving. She bolted upright. "Where are you going?" He'd not
mentioned  leaving, yet his actions betrayed his intent. The thought
was unreasonable she  knew, and yet her mind clung to it, her heart to
the fear that he was leaving...  that she would be alone.

"I want to check around... make sure we don't have any unwanted 
visitors." He slipped the headset on, moved the eyepiece into
position.

"You're leaving me?" It sounded more like an accusation than a 
question.

He immediately realized his mistake. He should have warned her that he 
would have to survey the immediate area, secure it. He closed the
distance  between them, dropped to his knees beside her. He gently
grasped her upper  arm... a gesture of reassurance. "Kathryn, I'm not
going to leave you. I'm just  going outside to look around... make
sure the area is clear. I'll be back in  less than an hour. I
promise." From her expression, he knew she was torn,  not entirely
convinced. It was like watching a roller coaster, Kathryn  flying
between fear and control, rational thought and insanity. Kathryn 
Janeway, Starfleet Captain, understood the need to secure the site.
She  understood the risk of negligence. But the vulnerability and
uncertainty imposed by  the violence she'd endured... Her judgment was
clouded. He knew that. Most  likely, she knew it as well. The look on
her face was more than the struggle  between reason and fear. It was
the struggle between control and madness.

She glanced at the backpack resting against the rock to her left.

"Kathryn. Look at me." He pulled the headset and mask from his head, 
waited for her eyes to drift to his. "I promise you... I will be back
in less  than an hour." His words were slow, deliberate.

She swallowed hard, nodded. Spirits, what was wrong with her? Scouting 
the area, securing the perimeter, were standard tactical protocol. She 
knew that. How could she question his need? Were their circumstances
reversed,  she would do the same. Pathetic, she thought. Pathetic...
her fear... her  erratic behavior.

He rummaged in a pouch on his external webbing. "Here... take this." 
He extracted a compact Starfleet issue hand phaser, pressed it into
her  hand. "Just don't shoot me when I come back. Okay?" He grinned.

Again she nodded, her expression serious, unresponsive to his attempt 
at humor. "An hour?"

"No more." he said, rising to his feet. He redonned the mask and 
headset. He crossed the depth of the cave, picked the compression
phaser rifle up  from where he'd dropped it when they'd first entered
the chamber, then  dropped into the shallow water at the entrance.
"I'll see you in less than an hour,  Kathryn. Try to rest." he
whispered, glancing back at her.

She sat rigid, staring at him, gripping the phaser. He hesitated 
slightly, questioned the wisdom of giving her the weapon, questioned
the effect  it would have on her nerves. There was little he could do
about it now.  Abruptly, he ducked through the entrance and was gone.

-----

Kathryn sat motionless, staring at the entrance to the small chamber, 
phaser clutched in both hands, resting in the valley between her
raised  knees. She was alone. He'd left her alone. She understood the
prudence of checking  the surrounding area, setting a perimeter,
securing it. It would be a  potentially dangerous tactical error not
to. If the Braai suspected that she had  escaped on foot, that she had
not been on board the shuttle, they would most  certainly send
soldiers after her... after them. The Braai would know there was  more
than one of them. It would be obvious she had not escaped alone.

She snorted ruefully. Alone. She was alone. Now. Rationally, she knew 
Chakotay would not leave her. Not now. Not ever. She was convinced of
that in  her heart. And yet, her fear told her otherwise. Her muscles
constricted at every  noise... the gurgle of the water, the faint
whistle of the wind. Her ears  strained, her eyes squinted... looking
for something more.

"Pathetic." she quietly spat as her eyes lowered to the phaser in her 
hands. Starfleet issue. But, unlike any Voyager had in it's arsenal.
She  slowly turned it over in her hands, carefully studied it. How had
Chakotay come to  possess it? No doubt, it was tied to the uniform he
wore.

Chakotay. Her First Officer. Her friend. More. And after today, 
perhaps less.

Her eyes dulled as her thoughts drifted to the Braai fortress, the man 
in black hovering over the lifeless body of General Herros, knife 
dripping blood clutched in hand. Her thoughts drifted to dark eyes
locked with hers  as she lay supine on a cold desk. Eyes. The window
to the soul. His soul was  black this day, if the saying were true.
Was this the Angry Warrior of which he'd  spoken long ago? It wasn't
the Angry Warrior she'd imagined. She'd not  thought him capable of
such darkness, despite his history with the Maquis.

His actions against the Braai had been excessive... violently so. They 
had bordered on out-of-control. Or did they? He'd seemed very much in 
control. Rational. Calm. Deliberate. His excess was not an accident,
but rather meticulously planned, or at least planned for.

He'd intentionally withheld the details of the rescue. If their 
journey from the interrogation room to the eastern wall was indicative
of the  team's infiltration of the fortress, Chakotay and his team had
wreaked silent  havoc. The Maquis in him? The warrior? She wasn't
sure. The phaser in her  hands, the uniform he wore, spoke of
something far more duplicitous...  incomprehensible. Not with respect
to Chakotay himself, but Starfleet, and what it stood  for.

Prior to her mission to track him down, arrest him and his crew, she 
had read reports describing his tactics against the Cardassians. She'd
never  once witnessed similar behavior, not even in the first months
of their  exile in the Delta Quadrant, when he was more
unpredictable... more Maquis than  Starfleet. It was hard to believe
the man in the canyon beyond was the same man  she'd grown to know and
cherish over the last four years. But it was. His  actions today
corroborated the Starfleet intelligence reports of his Maquis 
activities. Somehow, the two men were one and the same.

Consequences. There would have to be consequences, would there not? At 
the very least, a reprimand. Conduct unbecoming a Starfleet officer.
And  yet, somehow, she couldn't find it within herself to condemn him,
despite  the methods, however horrific... not after what the Braai had
done to her.  Her heart lauded him. Her head told her he was wrong.

Revenge was not something a Starfleet officer sought. But she was more 
than a Starfleet officer. She was human. And this day she felt more
the  latter than the former. She had to balance the two. Somewhere
between them lay a  meeting point, a resting ground. But where? It was
a moot point. Chakotay had  exacted revenge on her behalf. And for
that, he would have to face the  consequences.

She idly wondered how far she would go to get him back should he be 
taken from her... from Voyager. Far. But would she resort to the
tactics he'd  employed? Necessary force? Would she justify it as such?
Was what he'd done any  different from tactics she'd employed, in the
name of Starfleet? Starfleet.  Again her eyes focused on the phaser
within her grasp. Her gaze drifted to the  fatigues drying a short
distance away. Obviously Starfleet. Why did she not  recognize these
things? Why was their presence on board her ship unknown to  her...
until now? Something wasn't right.

She raised a trembling hand to her temple... fighting off the pain 
that pulsed there. There were too many questions, not the least of
which was how  the Braai had pulled off the raid that had precipitated
all of this... all the  chaos, all the doubt, all the questions, all
the pain, all the fear.

Her eyes again darted to the cave entrance, a chill raced through her, 
as General Herros invaded her thoughts. She could almost feel his
hands  on her, crushing, taunting, molesting. Although intercourse had
never actually occurred, she'd suffered the invasion of hands, of
instruments. The invasion was no less vile. She felt dirty, used. The
torture, the humiliation of what he'd done, his cronies watching,
encouraging each act of intrusion, encouraging the escalation of his
abuse, left her skin crawling. Her mind reanimated in vivid detail the
feel of his hands, the smell of his sweat and breath, the taste of him
on her. It was a godsend that Chakotay appeared when he had. Had he
found her mere minutes later, Herros and his men would have...

She'd once though she could suffer that type of intrusion and emerge
relatively unscathed. But now?

A single tear rolled down her cheek, unchecked. It was quickly 
followed by another. More. A sob wracked her strained body. It too was
followed by  another. More. She buried her face in her hands, the
phaser now loosely held,  almost forgotten. She rocked slowly.
Backward. Forward. She rocked with a  grief, a fear, she didn't know
how to handle. She wanted Chakotay there, then rationalized that she
didn't. She didn't want anyone to see her in this state... even him.
Especially him.

She was out of control. Pathetic. Captain Janeway she was not.

She rolled onto the ground, curled into a tight ball, pulled the 
survival blanket up, over her head. Sometimes alone was good. She
could hide  from the universe. She could hide from Chakotay. Her brow
furrowed as she tried  to tighten the ball into which she was curled.
Her pain worsened. She  wasn't sure if it was real or imaginary. She
wasn't sure it mattered.

Silent tears slipping from the corner of her eyes, she gripped the 
phaser to her chest and prayed no one would find her.

-----

Chakotay scanned the gorge in both directions. As best the 
interference would allow, he detected no life signs, other than
Kathryn.

He turned his head slightly, glanced at the rock face behind him, the
concealed cave entrance. His thoughts slipped to the woman within. By
all appearances, she was holding up well. Appearances could be
deceiving. She had yet to say a word about what had happened to her.
From the abuse he'd witnessed, the condition of her body... he could
only imagine her nightmare. Imagination could not touch reality.

He'd wanted Herros to suffer a slow and painful death. If there had 
been more time, if Kathryn had not been present, his want would have
been  realized. The Cardassians had taught him about pain... how to
inflict, to control.  It had been years since he'd put those
techniques into practice. As he'd  descended the rock face, Kathryn
clinging to him, he'd invented and reinvented the  General's demise.
Imagination could not touch reality. The Spirits help the  green
bastards, if he ever came across another one.

He mentally shook himself, moved northward, in the direction of the
transporter site. The terrain would not improve over what they'd
already traversed. It would be rough, even in daylight. He wasn't
convinced Kathryn would make it out of the gorge in her present
condition. He'd treated her injuries as best he could. But, it wasn't
enough. She needed time to rest, to recuperate, to heal.

Out of desperation, out of frustration, he tapped his combadge.

Static met his ears.

He swore under his breath. What he'd seen as an asset in the rock 
surrounding them suddenly seemed a liability. Breaking communications
silence was  in direct violation of his original orders. But, he had
to try, for Kathryn's  sake. He hoped the Braai had not detected his
signal. If they had, the journey  to the Gamma extraction site had
just become more perilous. At the moment, he  had no way of knowing.

He halted, again scanned the area. He could detect nothing. They were 
in no immediate danger.

Abruptly, he turned southward, made his way back to the cave. 
According to the headset's chronometer, he'd been gone for forty-five
minutes. His  promise of no more than an hour had flown by.

He prayed to the Spirits she would be asleep when he returned. He 
prayed that sleep was free of invidious dreams. Her world as she knew
it had  somersaulted. He prayed her dreams, at least this one night,
remained untouched.

As he approached the cave entrance, he noted with grim satisfaction 
the light from the storm beacon was not visible from the outside.
Should Braai  patrols walk the rim of the canyon, or even the canyon
bottom, the light would  not betray them. With one final scan up and
down stream, he ducked into  the cave. As he waded through the
interior pool of water, he glanced to the rear  of the chamber.

Kathryn was lying down, curled on her side, completely buried beneath 
the thermal survival blanket. He thought her asleep, but as his foot
met  silt, he noticed the blanket moving oddly... as if the body
beneath were  gripped in a mild seizure. Panic again threatened. He
hastened the last few paces,  fell to his knees next to her, dropping
the compression rifle as he went.  "Kathryn?" Urgency painted his
voice as he placed a concerned hand on what he  thought was a
shoulder.

In less than a heartbeat, he found himself face to face with a phaser, 
as she rolled to her back, the blanket flung from her head and arms.
Her eyes  were glazed, distant. She looked at him as if she knew not
who he was. She  blinked deliberately, cocked her head to the side,
started to fire. He didn't  think. There was time for nothing but
reaction. He ducked to his right,  snatching the weapon from her
trembling hands an instant before it discharged.

"Damn it, Kathryn!" Harsh words escaped his lips without thought. An
involuntary reaction. He'd been as close to death as a man could come
and still remain breathing. Kathryn would have fired the phaser had he
not disarmed her. He wiped a shaky hand over his face. "What the hell
are you doing?" He tossed the phaser aside, the clatter as it fell
against the compression rifle lost on deaf ears.

"Chakotay?"

"Yes." he forced. "It's me." He pulled the headset and mask from his 
head, dropped them atop the weapons at his side. He exhaled heavily,
forced  himself to calm. "I told you I would be back."

"Oh dear God. I thought..."

It was then he noticed her tears, her attempt to stem the tide. His 
heart jerked, his gut wrenched. Instinctively, he reached for her,
pulled  her into his arms.

She buried her face in his chest... and cried.

"It's all right, Kathryn. I'm here. We're okay." As okay as they could 
be. As okay as she could be. He shouldn't have left her. But, he'd had
little  choice.

He held her tightly to him, gently rubbed her back, as emotions held 
in check for too long were spent, shock finally overtaking her. He
slowly sat,  moved his legs so that he straddled her, then gently
pulled her between them,  atop his lap. He tugged the survival blanket
around her shoulders to keep her  warm.

He'd never seen her as he had this day. She would say she was weak...
broken... pathetic. But it wasn't true. She was far stronger than she
realized. Even her tears bespoke an unbelievable strength, a depth of
character.

Dampness met skin. An ache rose in his throat as he realized her tears 
had soaked through the fabric at his chest. He smoothed her hair,
kissed  the top of her head.

Her breathing had slowed, become shallow and even. She was asleep. 
Still, he could not, would not, move. He sat that way for a long time,
before  lowering her to the blanket spread on the ground.

As contact was broken between them, she stirred, moaned, danced 
somewhere on the edge of sleep. "Don't leave me." she murmured.

"I'm just going to warm it up in here. The energy has almost 
dissipated." Without the heat, the air was cool and damp. It would
only serve to  aggravate her weakened condition. He brushed an errant
strand of hair from her  face. Her eyes opened, met his. "I'll be
right back."

He grabbed the hand phaser, re-stoked the nearest pile of rocks, then 
moved to where Kathryn's fatigues were spread. He picked them up,
shook them  out. They were dry. "You'll be a little warmer if you put
these back on. They're  dry now." he said, moving back to her,
proffering the uniform.

He turned his back to her as she tugged the jumpsuit on.

He shrugged out of his webbing, then retrieved his headset. He changed 
the power cell, then adjusted it's configuration. SAT devices were
compact  and multi-purpose. Anything less was a waste of technology
and space. With  a minor adjustment, the headset served as a perimeter
alarm. He positioned it  near the cave entrance. If anyone came within
five hundred meters, the alarm  would trigger... assuming the
surrounding rock cooperated.

"I can give you three hours of sleep." he said as he set the 
chronometer to wake them. He crossed the chamber, turned off the storm
beacon. The  glow of the phaser-fueled rocks was now their only light.
The faint orange glow  painted eerie patterns on the ceiling above
them, the walls around them.

He turned to her, watched the splay of molten light against her skin. 
She sat on the survival blanket, dressed in black fatigues, his
sweater still  worn beneath, the second survival blanket covering her
legs. Her face was  turned to the ceiling, her eyes darting over
dancing reflections. Haunted.  Solemn. His heart ached for her. He
would carry her burden if he could. He would  share it if she would
allow.

His feet made silent work of the distance between the beacon and the 
blanket. He sat down beside her, his shoulder brushing against hers.
"Let's get  some sleep." He reached out, grabbed the backpack, and put
it behind him,  then settled back against it using it as a pillow.

She glanced at him over her shoulder, then hesitantly followed, 
pulling the blanket with her. She turned onto her side, her back to
him. Mere  centimeters separated them. His proximity, the comfort of
knowing he was there,  with her, wasn't enough. She slowly nudged
backward, until she made contact with  his arm, his side. Despite the
touch, she remained tense.

"Are you okay?"

His voice no longer held the edge of anger, shock, fear, that it held 
earlier, when she'd almost shot him. She shut her eyes tight. She'd
almost  killed him. Her inability to control her fear had nearly cost
him his life. "I'm  sorry." she breathed.

He turned to his side, nestled behind her, brought his right arm 
around her, gently hugging her to him. Almost killing him had shaken
her. Hell...  it had shaken him. But to her, it represented a
weakness. A flaw. "Don't be."

"Without you, I am always alone." she whispered, her voice weary.

"Sleep, Kathryn." He pulled her closer.

His arms around her, enfolded in the sound of his voice, she slept.

-----

The damp coolness of the air filling his lungs, the hard bones of rock
unforgiving against his hip, slowly brought Chakotay from the shallow
confines of sleep. For a time, he drifted on the edge of wakefulness,
surrounded by the sounds of the river, the odors of dawn, the warmth
of the body nestled against his own. Self-awareness returned as his
mind reached toward that warmth.

Kathryn.

Slowly, his eyes opened. The chamber was almost completely dark, only 
a small area surrounding the stone hearth, just beyond the blanket's
edge,  awash in a pale orange light. The light, the heat, were almost
spent.

His awareness drifted to the woman lying against him. In her sleep, 
she had turned. She now lay facing him, her arms pulled into her
chest, her  face burrowed against the hollow of his neck, their legs
entwined, his arms  around her. The moist warmth of her breath
caressed his skin. The  imperceptible rise and fall of her chest
gently pressed into, then fell away from his  arm, his stomach.
Steady. Even. Soothing.

For a moment, he felt a peace so precious he would have been willing 
to sell his soul to make it last. And then it was gone. Gone, as
quickly as  the present slipped into the past. Gone, as quickly as the
past reasserted it's  hold on the present. He'd sold his soul long
ago, for reasons that had seemed just  as precious at the time.

He shifted slightly, suddenly restless. He no longer liked the 
quiet... moments such as this. They made him nervous, as they had
years ago.  No. That wasn't quite right. It wasn't the quiet that made
him nervous, but  what happened to him when his mind stilled. After
all these years, the  thought of Nathan, the sound of Nathan's
screams, the smell and feel of Nathan's  blood, the memory of Nathan's
death still had the power to stun him into  momentary immobility.

Anger flared... at himself, for showing weakness. It was a wasted 
emotion. He'd done what was required. He couldn't undo it. And still,
it  haunted him. For years, he'd buried it, he'd avoided it, he'd
ignored it. He'd  busied his body and mind, led an existence that did
not permit his mind rest. And  then he'd met her... Kathryn. From the
moment he'd set foot on board  Voyager, he'd found a peace he'd never
known, a peace he couldn't explain. Her  presence was a balm to his
soul. In her, he'd found hope.

But, that too had been shattered.

He wasn't surprised he'd wakened. His mind wouldn't let him sleep. He 
couldn't remain still that long. Old habits. Old demons.

Slowly, carefully, he disentangled himself from her. He rolled away 
from her warmth, sat up in the dim light of the chamber. He hauled
himself to  his feet, moved to where his headset, come perimeter
alarm, had been placed. He  dropped to his haunches and listened. He
heard nothing but the sounds of the  river. He retrieved the headset,
pressed the eyepiece to his right eye. There  were no anomalous
readings. The day dawned undisturbed as if it held no Braai,  no
humans, no crimes, no desires for revenge.

The chronometer indicated they had another twenty three minutes. As he
replaced the headset, he turned, glanced at Kathryn. She was still
asleep. His movement had not wakened her. He debated rousing her,
beginning their journey in the filtered light of the dawn. In the
indirect light of the sun, they could travel the remaining length of
the canyon hidden in the shadows cast by the cliffs. However, he had
promised her three hours. Three hours he would give.

He rose, returned to the blanket. He donned the webbing discarded 
earlier, then picked up his phaser lying cold against the compression
rifle  discarded along with it. He turned the phaser over in his
hands, his mind  drifting to an instant not quite three hours prior.
He'd been as close to death  before, but never at the hands of this
woman. His unfocussed gazed drifted to the  woman at his feet. His
Captain. His friend. More. After this day, perhaps less.

In one fluid motion, he crouched at her side, pulled his gaze back 
into focus on her face. He reached out, gently tucked an errant lock
of hair  behind her ear, revealing the remains of the bruises around
her eyes. They had  faded to almost nothing, but the image of what
they had been lingered in his  heart and mind, as did her other
wounds.

Abruptly, he tore his gaze from her, raised his right arm, aimed the 
weapon at the pile of rocks beside him, fired, then anchored the
weapon at his  waist. Warmth and light again filled the chamber.

He lowered himself to the blanket, pulled the backpack into his lap. 
She would be in pain when she woke. That pain would only grow more
intense as  they hiked out of the gorge. He wanted to be prepared.
After a moment of  rummaging, he removed the med kit, readied a
hypospray with the remainder of the  pain killer and anti-inflammatory
medications, then set the hypospray beside him.  He extracted a second
hypospray, already filled, the contents a drug of  last resort... a
potent narcotic not quite legal to possess or use.  However, CBO was
above the law... or at least beyond it's reach. Besides, they were no 
longer in the Alpha Quadrant. He slipped the hypospray into a pouch at
his right  breast.

He activated the medical tricorder, ran it over her. Her temperature 
was slightly elevated, evidence of a festering infection. It didn't 
surprise him. Environmental conditions and the inadequate medical
attention she'd  received encouraged it. He exhaled heavily,
deactivated the device. They would  be back on board Voyager in four
or five hours... she would be in the capable  hands of the Doctor.
She'd be okay.

---

Kathryn stirred as the smell of something brewing reached into her
consciousness, lured her from the refuge of slumber. She roused, the
smell wrapping itself around her, filling her. It was at once
comforting and taunting, akin to the smells of childhood; the
comforting smells of breakfast being prepared, a taunting reminder of
the emptiness in her belly.

Her eyes drifted open. She rolled to her back, stretched herself flat, 
then instantly regretted the movement. She clamped her eyes shut. "Oh
god."  she groaned, every fiber of her being screaming in protest,
clambering to  be heard.

"Kathryn?"

She could hear gentle concern in his voice. Her eyes opened, sought 
his. "I ache." she grumbled. "Everywhere."

"I'm sure you do." He helped her to a seated position, then proffered 
a mug. "Drink this."

"Will it help alleviate the pain?" she asked, accepting the mug, 
eyeing the contents.

He shook his head. "It's just tea. However..." He picked up the 
hypospray still lying on the blanket beside him. "... this will." He
pressed it  to her neck, released a dose of the medication, without
complaint on her  part. Her quiet acceptance of the medication
surprised him. He'd expected her to  put up a fight. The fact that she
didn't was telling. "Better?" he asked after  a moment.

She nodded, then lifted the mug to her lips, sipped the warm liquid. 
She missed coffee. It seemed ages since she'd had a cup. And yet, it
was  only yesterday. Only yesterday. Somehow, in the darkness of this
chamber,  in the warmth of Chakotay's embrace, she'd convinced herself
that what lay  beyond the entrance did not exist and that the
nightmarish memories in her mind  were but a bad dream. But in the
light of morning, in the reality of what lay  around her, she knew
they weren't.

He tucked the hypospray away, his eyes never leaving her. She was lost 
in thought, her mind wandering a path visible to her alone, her face
expressionless, revealing nothing. Her mind could be anywhere... good
or bad. Had they the benefit of time, he would have attempted to ease
the thoughts from her.

His gaze lowered, spied her toes peeking from beneath the blanket. He 
reached into a webbing pouch and extracted her socks, then grabbed her
boots,  resting beside the glowing rocks, where he'd deposited them
earlier to dry.  "Let's get these on you."

Her eyes snapped to his. The line of her jaw set. "I can manage, 
Chakotay." she grated. "I'm not a complete invalid."

He smiled humorlessly, hooded concern in his eyes. "I'm sorry. I just
thought..."

"I can manage." she interrupted, her tone softer. "Drink your tea."

He picked up his mug, studied her from the corner of his eyes. She'd 
regained a bit of color while she slept. No doubt she'd regained some
energy as  well. She could manage... at least for a while. He reached
into the  backpack, extracted and proffered an energy bar.
"Breakfast?"

A wry smile met her lips, her nose wrinkled, as she accepted it. The 
bar was rich in nutrients, but lacking in taste. Even the texture was 
unpalatable. It reminded her of dry coarse cloth dipped in an
indescribably horrid  substance. Starfleet nutritionists had spent
years developing and perfecting the rectangular monstrosity. They
swore by them. She would have wagered a month's replicator rations
they'd never actually eaten one. "Dare I say I miss Neelix's cooking?"

Chakotay smiled. In the embers of her words, hope remained.

-----

His hand met resistance. She was slowing. Noticeably.

He checked the chronometer in his eyepiece. It had taken them 
approximately three hours to cover not quite half the distance to
Gamma site.  Voyager's first sensor sweep was in ninety minutes. At
this pace, they'd never make  it. The cut of his lips thinned. He
swore silently. He shouldn't have allowed as  much time in the cave as
he had. An error on his part.

She was slowing them down. She knew it. He knew it. She could see it 
in the cut of his jaw, in his eyes as he checked the data in the
eyepiece of  the headset he wore. Despite her attempts to keep up her
pace, she  couldn't. She was giving him everything she had. But,
everything fell short of good  enough. They weren't going to make it.
She exhaled shakily, freed her hand  from his grasp, stopped, leaned
heavily against a boulder at her side. "Why  don't you go ahead and
bring..."

"Kathryn." he interrupted. He sighed, turned to face her. "Don't even 
think about suggesting I leave you here."

Slowly, she slid down the rock as her strength gave out. "I won't make 
it."

He dropped to his knees before her. Brown locked with blue. Picking 
their way along the canyon floor had been difficult for her. The
terrain was  rocky, making footing unsure and treacherous. Several
times, they were forced  to wade through the water at the river's
edge, the width of the gorge having  narrowed, the rocky terrain too
steep to negotiate. The water was cold. River  water usually was, on
any planet. But this river had not the benefit of  direct sunlight for
an extended period of time, deepening the chill. Even the  air was
cool, for reasons much the same. The exertion and the cold exhausted 
her, slowing their pace to just short of sedate. What little strength
she  had regained during their brief respite had been depleted. The
amount of  blood she had lost, her injuries, the conditions of their
route... all had taken  their toll.

"I'm not leaving you." His hand went to the pouch at his right breast,
flattened against it. Both hyposprays lay within. The remainder of the
pain killer and...

"Chakotay..."

"Kathryn. Forget it." His voice was harsh, firm. "I'm not leaving 
you." His fingers unfastened the pouch enclosure, dipped inside,
grazed the  metal cylinders. He silently debated using the narcotic.
She wouldn't be  happy. But then, he'd already accrued an untold
number of reasons for her to be  unhappy over the last several hours.
Possession and use of an illegal  substance paled in comparison to
some of those reasons.

Her eyes darted to the pouch as she raised a shaky hand to her 
forehead. "What have you got there?"

He didn't respond as he removed the hyposprays from the pouch.

Her eyes narrowed, lifted to his. He was up to something. "What's in 
those?"

He took one of the hyposprays in his left hand, held it up. "This one 
contains another dose of what I gave you earlier. A combination of a
painkiller  and a mild anti-inflammatory agent." Slowly his right hand
lifted. "This..."  He moistened his lips. "This is something a little
different."

Her eyes narrowed even further. "How different?"

His eyes darted between the hypospray and Kathryn. It was for her own 
good. "It's something that will help." He inched closer, lifted the 
hypospray to her neck.

She pushed his arm aside. "Tell me what it is."

He swallowed hard. If he told her what it was, she'd flat out refuse 
him permission to administer the narcotic. If she were anyone else, he 
wouldn't care. But it _was_ her. And despite their circumstance, it
mattered to  him. Breaking her trust would leave him in a precarious
position. He'd have  hell to pay. He snorted quietly. He'd have hell
to pay regardless. "It will  help."

"I don't need, nor do I want, that kind of help." Questions answered 
with questions. Deliberate vagaries. She didn't like it.

"Don't fight me on this, Kathryn."

"What is it?"

He inched closer, unpleasant images running through his mind, images 
of having to physically pin her to the boulder behind her, restrain
her arms. He  didn't want to force this on her. Any aggression toward
her was potentially  damaging. "I would never do anything to endanger
you... not intentionally."

No. He wouldn't. Not the Chakotay she knew. But his man? She wasn't 
quite sure she knew who he was. His evasion did little to soothe her
unease.  "What is it, Commander?"

He bit the inside corner of his mouth, his eyes growing imperceptibly 
darker. The clock was ticking. She was leaving him little choice. "An 
experimental energy booster." he lied.

"An experimental energy booster?" she laughed humorlessly, shook her 
head. "I don't think so."

The darkness of his eyes blackened even further.

'Detachment is requisite for successful extraction.' How many times 
had he had that drummed into his head? It was basic, elemental to the
survival of  the operative and the success of the mission. In times
past, he wouldn't  be at this point... in vague negotiation with the
rescued party. There would be  no discussion of tactics, no answers
given to questions asked. There  would be no idle banter. Information
was given on a need-to-know basis, and more  often than not, the
rescued party did not need to know.

Detachment. After Nathan's death he found it difficult to detach. 
Suddenly, everything seemed personal. In many ways it was. He'd a
score to  settle, and he spent his time in the Maquis doing just that.

Detachment. He could never fully achieve it with her. And so, when 
without warning he dropped the hypospray in his left hand to the
ground,  grabbed her hands, held them firmly against his chest,
straddled her legs and sat, effectively pinning her, emptied the
contents of the remaining hypospray into her neck, his heart lurched.
She fought against his grip, as much as her exhausted body would
allow. Tears welled in his eyes as he brought his lips to her right
ear, whispered, "I'm sorry, Kathryn. I have to do this."

As he leaned back, released her hands, she pounded them against is 
chest, shoved him. "Damn it, Chakotay."

He raised himself to his knees, covered her hands with his own. "Trust 
me. It will help."

"Trust you?" she spat. "How the hell can I trust you when you... when 
you..." Her chest heaved, her brow furrowed, as her world began to
spin. She  lifted an unsure hand to her temple. "What was in that?"
Her voice faded, her  words slurring slightly.

"Nothing dangerous. I promise... you'll be fine." He returned the 
empty hypospray to his pocket, then moved, crouched at her side,
watched the  initial effects of the narcotic take hold. The effects
were odd. He'd  experienced them himself. At some point during his
training, he'd been given a whole  range of drugs, from the relatively
innocuous legal medications to the more  potent illegal ones. The goal
was not to empathize or sympathize, but to gain  tactical
understanding... from a personal perspective. It was imperative that 
as many variables as possible were eliminated from a mission. That
included  the behavior of the rescued party.

"Why don't I believe you?"

One side of his mouth quirked up in a wry half-smile. "I don't know. 
But, you should." He sat back on his heels. "I've had a close
encounter with  the stuff myself." The other side of his mouth rose.
"You'll be fine."

She was enraged, but, for some reason, it no longer mattered. Her mind
clouded. Not as it had several hours before... this was an entirely
different sensation. The cloud distorted her perception, her movement,
her speech. The cloud separated the pain in her body from her mind.
She hurt, but she didn't care... not any more. Sounds and smells and
tastes existed, but were detached from her... belonging to her and yet
not belonging to her. The effects were almost that of... "Chakotay..."
she whispered, her eyes floating to his. "I'll lock you in the brig if
you've administered a narcotic to me."

He didn't respond... merely crossed his arms over his chest.

A sultry smile met her lips. "On second thought, I'll discipline you 
myself."

An eyebrow raised. One of the more interesting and immediate side 
effects of the drug... the complete elimination of inhibitions. He
snorted. She  was fortunate to have an audience of only one. And he'd
never tell. CBO  cadets studied and learned from each other. They were
like lab rats. This  particular drug was one of the more interesting
narcotics. When it took hold,  nothing was sacred. He'd been teased
mercilessly after his own brush with the  narcotic. For years.

Slowly, weaving en route, her hands raised, cupped his jaw.

He didn't pull away, even as her thumbs brushed over the stubble of 
his beard. He merely watched... and waited.

"You want to know what your punishment will be?" she breathed, her 
thumbs tracing the edges of his lips.

He swallowed hard.

She leaned toward him. Her hands slid around his neck, fingers 
intertwining, pulled him closer.

He stiffened, resisted her pull. She would remember all of this... her
thoughts, her actions, and her inability to control either. The
narcotic did not tamper with or inhibit memory engrams. As such, he
wouldn't add to her burden by allowing her to do anything she might
regret later. He moved slightly backward, attempted to gauge her
response to the narcotic. *Not much longer.*

A frown marred her forehead. "What's the matter?" she slurred.

*Any second now.*

"You know you..." A wave of weariness washed over her, the power to 
speak suddenly gone. Her body wanted to go flaccid. And then it did.
Her  vision blurred into blackness as she went limp in his arms.

She was unconscious, slumped against his chest. He held her to him as 
he leaned to the side, picked up the hypospray he'd dropped earlier, 
pumped the final dose of painkiller into her, then shoved the
hypospray in his  breast pocket. He hefted over his right shoulder,
then hauled himself to his  feet. Her arms swung loosely behind him,
brushing against his thighs. He shifted  her slightly, balancing her
weight. "Perhaps you'll realize the necessity  of this later,
Kathryn."

He retrieved the compression rifle, ensured his ability to wield the 
weapon, then set off down the canyon at a hard pace. He had a lot of
ground to  cover.

-----

"Sir, we are being hailed from the planet again. Would you like me to 
continue to ignore it?"

"Yes, Mister Kim."

Tuvok sat in the Captain's chair, elbows on the armrests, fingers 
steepled at chest height. He'd not moved from that position for forty
seven  minutes. It wasn't a difficult feat for a vulcan. However, it
was driving Harry  nuts. "We are twenty minutes from extraction."

"I am aware of that, Mister Kim."

Harry shifted, again lowered his gaze to the Ops console. All systems 
were operational and running within acceptable parameters. Nothing was
in  desperate need of his attention.

He sighed. Nervous. Restless. Anxious.

A message flashed on a secondary display. A single word. Relax. He 
smiled faintly... glanced up at Tom. Despite the pilot's gesture, his
attempt  to comfort, Harry couldn't relax. How could he? The ship had
been raided, crewmembers kidnapped. His Captain was still missing on a
hostile planet. From what he'd been told, she was injured. His
Commander had gone after her looking like the hand of death. They were
being attacked by a small fleet of Braai ships, which proved more an
irritation than a threat. Neelix's cooking had taken a turn for the
worse when the Captain had not returned on the Sacajawea. Seven was
refusing to regenerate until the Captain was safely on board. The
entire crew was wound tight. Rumors were flying, as well as scraps of
factual information gleaned by security personnel present in the
shuttlebay upon docking of the Sacajawea. Ayala and Gerron weren't
talking... to anyone. Orders, or so they said. And... they were
seventeen minutes from extraction.

If the Captain and Commander weren't there, something was going to 
give.

A warning flashed on his primary display. Sensors detected yet another 
Braai ship on an intercept course. "Incoming ship. Weapons are not
powered."  His brow furrowed as he looked up at Tuvok. "They seem to
be coming in awfully  fast."

"On screen." Tuvok ordered, calm, impassive. "Be prepared for evasive
maneuvers, Mister Paris."

"Aye, Sir."

One eyebrow raised imperceptibly. "Hail them."

Harry attempted contact, then shook his head. "No response."

"Open a channel."

"Channel open."

The vulcan's chin raised slightly. "This is Commander Tuvok of the 
Federation Starship Voyager. Divert your course or we will be forced
to open  fire."

Harry again shook his head. "Still no response. They have not altered 
their course."

"Are they going to ram us with that thing?" Tom asked, incredulous.

"It appears that is their intention." Tuvok rose from his seat. 
"Evasive pattern Omega, Mister Paris. Miss Jemmeson, target and fire
on their  main engine core."

A streak of phaser fire lit the distance between Voyager and the Braai 
vessel. The ship bucked as the weapons fire collapsed shields and
pierced the  engine core.

Harry studied the scans flashing before him. "I read a warp core 
breach. They will reach critical mass in less than thirty seconds."

"Warn them."

His eyes lifted to the vulcan standing in the center of the bridge. 
"They are not responding."

"Shields to maximum."

The small ship suddenly exploded into a billion tiny points of molten 
light, as the blast in the engine room ripped out through the hull.
The ship disappeared in a brilliant flash of light.

And then the shock wave hit Voyager. The ship rocked, shuddered, then 
stilled.

Tuvok turned to face Harry. "Survivors?"

Harry's jaw set as he shook his head. "No, Sir."

Tuvok's eyes drifted to the main view screen. A new twist. Should the 
Braai attempt something similar employing more than one vessel in
their  fleet, Voyager would be in trouble.

-----

Chakotay had made good time. Seventy minutes had passed, measured in 
butchered chunks of time by the rasp of his respiration. Twice, pain
and  exhaustion had threatened him, but he'd pushed past the barrier,
victorious, managing  to establish a quick and steady pace.

He'd slowed only to ingest an energy pill, to drink water. He'd 
emptied the canteen twice. It was near empty again. He made his way to
the river's  edge, dropped a purification tablet into the canteen,
then dipped the  container beneath the water's surface, filling it.

He hauled himself to his feet, then stilled. His thighs and calf 
muscles ached at the exertion. His shoulder and ribs protested the
weight of the  woman over his shoulder. She was by no means a heavy
woman, but the dead weight  of her body over an extended period of
time was taking it's toll. He pushed  himself past the protestations
of his body and pressed on.

For most of the journey, he'd hugged the wall of the gorge, moved 
among the shadows. The terrain was steeper, more treacherous, at the
base of the  cliffs, slowing him. He was sacrificing speed for
security. Moving in daylight  was always a dangerous option,
especially deep within enemy territory.

As the gorge had grown shallower, the ground had become less rocky, 
granting him easier footing, a quicker pace. It also provided less
cover as the  gorge widened, allowed the sun's rays easier access. The
cover of the forest  wasn't coming fast enough.

Sweat bathed his body. His clothes clung to him, sucking at the 
moisture. He'd relegated the headset to hang loosely around his neck
long ago, as  sweat dripped down his forehead, blurred his vision like
tears. His hair  matted to his head.

And then, all at once, they were clear of the canyon and under the 
cover of trees. Outcroppings of boulders littered the forest,
harbingers of the  gorge behind him. But, for the most part, the
terrain was level, easily  traversed.

A moan lifted from behind him. Kathryn. Though the drug he'd 
administered would remain in her system for hours, she'd regain
consciousness soon.

Damn. She was going to be mad, especially when the Doctor analyzed her 
blood and informed her of the particular drug he'd pumped into her.
Zehdra  427. In small doses, it was potent. In large, it was deadly.
The line between  small and large was indistinct. And as such, it had
been outlawed on most  Federation planets, save those in the system
where it was produced. Despite the  narcotic's potential lethality,
SAT found great benefit in it. Given the right  dosage, the user was
placed in a deep relaxing sleep. En route to that sleep, the  user
experienced a wealth of other side effects, those side effects the 
allure for the illegal trade of Zehdra 427. It was a mood enhancer, a
muscle  relaxer. It promoted euphoria and a complete elimination of
inhibitions. It did  not affect the user's mental capacity. If
anything, the images and sensations  experienced and imprinted in the
user's memory engrams were sharpened...  precise... vivid. However,
those images and sensations were not necessarily realized  immediately
as the user's own. The entire encounter was tantamount to an out-of-
body experience. The user saying, doing, feeling, all the while
sensing it  from a distance. It was only afterward, when the narcotic
had worn off, that  the user realized those images and sensations were
his or her own.

CBO operatives had become well versed in walking the line between 
small and large. The dose he had given her had been enough to knock
her out for  a short period of time. A faint euphoria would linger
upon waking as would the  slightly inconvenient inability to
completely control her muscles.

Damn. She was going to be mad.

She moaned again, louder this time.

His brow furrowed, suddenly unsure if the sounds coming from her were 
the sounds of waking or the sounds of pain. The position in which she
hung  over his shoulder applied pressure to her abdomen, her ribs, her
kidneys. It  hadn't occurred to him that he might be aggravating her
condition.

He lifted the eyepiece of the headset, checked the chronometer. He had 
less than fifteen minutes to extraction. He swallowed hard. They'd
still approximately a kilometer to the designated site. They weren't
going to make it. "Damn it." he growled as he dropped the eyepiece. He
pushed himself harder, determined to get them as close as he could.

He skirted a small outcropping of rocks, then froze. A Braai sentinel. 
Not quite fifty meters distant. He swore under his breath. Had he kept
the  headset on, monitored the area, he would have been aware of the
soldier  shortly after emerging from the gorge. He could have avoided
him.

As far as he could tell, the guard was unaware of their presence. 
Chakotay ducked out of sight, behind a large boulder at the perimeter
of the  outcrop. He'd little hope of getting past the soldier
undetected, not unless he  were willing to backtrack in direct line
with the outcrop and swing wide to  the east or west before again
turning north. He pressed back into the boulder,  peered around it's
side, then whipped back as he heard a mumble from behind  him... a too
loud objection at being slammed into something solid.

*Damn it.* "Kathryn, be quiet." he hissed, low, as he inched around 
the perimeter of the outcrop, retreating as far from the Braai as
possible  without leaving the cover of the rocks.

"Chakotay?" came an almost inaudible mumble.

He cringed. "Kathryn, we're not alone. You need to keep quiet." As she
muttered again, he shouldered her to the ground, propped her against a
large slab of stone. He dropped to one knee at her side, pressed the
fingers of his left hand to her lips. "Quiet, Kathryn." he ordered
under his breath. She wasn't aware of what was going on. She wasn't
fully alert.

His right hand grabbed the headset at his neck, hooked it over his 
head, positioned the eyepiece. The Braai soldier was alone, or so it 
appeared. They were positioned next to a mass of exposed rock. However
small the  outcrop, the protrusion was enough to tamper with the
headset's operations.  Readings weren't clear. "Damn." he swore as he
pulled the compression rifle from it's  harness, checked the settings.

His eyes snapped to hers. "Be very quiet." He again held his fingers 
to her lips, then slowly retracted them. Bleary blueness gazed back at
him.

She nodded. She understood.

Chakotay turned, flattened his back to the slab behind them. He lifted 
the nose of the rifle, crept back around the stand of rocks. As he
neared  a clear vantage point, he stopped, glanced over his shoulder
at Kathryn, still partially visible. Her eyes were on him. He nodded,
then carefully peeked around the boulder.

The Braai was gone.

"Where are you, you green bastard?" he quietly spat. He visually 
searched the area. Nothing. Even the headset came up clear, showing no
life signs  save Kathryn's. Damn the rock against which he leaned.

Unexpectedly, the hairs on the back of his neck bristled. Realization 
struck, too late. The Braai _had_ detected them. As he had deposited
Kathryn,  the Braai had closed in. He whipped around, his eyes again
darting to Kathryn.  She was alone. Untouched.

He swallowed hard as he closed the distance between them, intent on 
the headset display... praying silently for an indication as to the 
Braai's location. He could be anywhere. He could be circling from
either  direction along the perimeter of the rock mass. He could be
scaling...

Abruptly, he stopped, looked up at the rock mass to his right.

"Oh sh..." The word caught in his throat as a blurred mass hurled 
toward him, the flash of a blade making a brief imprint on his mind
the instant  before bodies collided, the instant before metal sliced
through webbing and  fabric and flesh. White fire burned across his
shoulder blade, down his arm, as  his body was driven to the ground.
The impact of the side of his skull with the  hard ground sent
countless points of light across his vision, like a warp- distorted
starscape... stunning him. The impact of his body with the hard ground 
forced the rifle from his grasp, sent it clattering out of reach.

The Braai's momentum carried him past Chakotay. That one instant was 
all Chakotay needed to roll away. But, he wasn't fast enough. Before
his  heart beat twice, the Braai was atop him, straddling him, knees
in his armpits,  haunches crushing his ribs, hands raised, a blade
clenched between them. The  Braai drove the blade downward, the whole
of his weight behind the effort, intent  on plunging the blade in the
his chest.

Instinct took hold. Chakotay's hands shot up, grabbed the Braai's 
wrists, halting the blade mere centimeters from his chest. He brought
his knee  up sharply, wrapped his leg around the Braai, his calf
pressed against  the man's neck and chest, simultaneously twisting his
wrists, effectively  flipping him to the floor. Within seconds,
Chakotay had the Braai in a wrist and neck  lock. Again, he wasn't
fast enough. The Braai shifted, forcing Chakotay's  grip to weaken and
slip.

As the Braai fell, he turned and lashed out with his blade, hitting 
his mark.

Crimson flowed from a deep gash in Chakotay's thigh. He ignored the 
pain. As Seven would say, pain was irrelevant, especially when
survival was  concerned. In one fluid motion, he rolled, jumped to his
feet, lowered his  headset, unsheathed the knife at his shin.

Time slowed as the two slowly circled, weighing and measuring.

As Chakotay stared into the dark orbs of the Braai, a chill writhed 
through him... a chill centered at the very core of his being, feeding
from  the well-spring of his soul. A dark fury. A contempt. A hatred.
His mind resurrected images of Kathryn, pale green hands against her
flesh... tormenting... violating. "Come on, you green bastard... let's
see what you've got." he growled as he waved his blade, goaded the
Braai.

The Braai was only too willing to comply.

There was flurry of movement...slashing, jabbing, thrusting, parrying,
dropping, rolling. And then it was over. Chakotay escaped without
further injury. The Braai didn't fare quite as well. He stumbled
backward nursing three deep cuts, one to the chest, two to his right
arm.

A twisted smile met Chakotay's lips as he shrugged in mock apology. 
"B'Elanna taught me that one." He grinned, knowing the Braai had not a
clue of  what he spoke. As quickly as it had appeared, the grin faded
from his lips.  Taunting. He was taunting the man and deriving
pleasure from it. That thought  alone should have frightened him. But
it didn't. His actions, his reaction  to those actions, left him
numb... unfeeling. He didn't care.

His face grew expressionless. "Make it worth my while." he grated. He 
crouched slightly, swung his blade back and forth, slowly,
deliberately... an  open invitation.

The Braai lunged.

Chakotay lifted his knee, snapped his leg forward. His foot connected 
with the Braai's stomach, forcing the man's breath from his lungs,
doubling him  over. The guard dropped to one knee, one hand grasping
his midsection, the  other clawing the dirt beneath him, as he gasped
for air.

"You can do better than that." Chakotay scoffed as he circled the 
struggling form.

The Braai's chin lifted, followed the course of the human circling 
him. He climbed to his feet, labored to take a deep breath, fill his
lungs.  All at once, he spun, swinging the blade in his hand,
thrusting at the dark  man.

Chakotay anticipated the move, parried the blow. "Better." he mocked. 
A contemptuous smile curled his lips.

Anger flared as the Braai rose to his feet. His skin turned a darker 
shade of green, as the blade in his hand again slashed through the
air.

Chakotay jumped backward, narrowly avoiding the blade, then lunged 
forward mounting his own attack, his fist connecting with the Braai's
jaw.

The Braai once more found himself on his knees, shaking his head, 
trying to clear the obfuscation resulting from the blow.

"You shouldn't over-extend on the offensive." Chakotay offered, 
affecting his best instructor's voice. He stepped half a meter closer,
stilled, his  blade held low, ready. "Get on your feet." he growled,
his left hand bidding  the Braai rise. He wasn't finished playing yet.
He wouldn't allow the  Braai to spoil his fun.

The Braai was incensed. He rose, raised his knife, turned the weapon 
over in his hand, his body swaying slightly, his mind gauging his
target.  Black orbs fixed on the dark man. Impudent. He could see it
in his eyes, in his  stance. He could hear it in the tone of his
voice. Impudent. Backward. Weak. One  of a species of fools. Without
further thought, he charged forward.

Chakotay could sense the man's intent, knew that this time one of them 
would die. He leaped to his right, simultaneously fending off the
thrust of  the Braai's blade with a parried block. He never saw the
second knife...  didn't know of it's existence until he felt a fire
burn across his chest as  it rent fabric and flesh, until he felt the
unmistakable pain of metal  piercing flesh and organs in his right
side, until he felt the scraping of metal  against bone, the blade
wedging between two of his ribs. His breath caught in his  throat. His
mind screamed his pain.

Laughter met Chakotay's ears, the low guttural laughter of the 
Braai... the first sound the Braai had made since the fight began. The
Braai  attempted to twist the blade, but Chakotay grabbed his wrist,
wrenched the hand  from the blade's handle. The sound of bones
snapping met his ears, quickly  followed by a cry of pain.

The Braai refused to retreat. He jerked his knee up and into the knife
protruding from Chakotay's side.

Chakotay couldn't evade the blow. The Braai's knee connected with the 
hilt of the knife, drove the blade deeper, forced the hilt into too
small a  space, snapping the ribs between which it was wedged. He
stumbled backward,  strangled the cry threatening to gain voice. He
wouldn't give the Braai the  satisfaction. "That's the last shot you
get." he hissed through clenched teeth.

The Braai was barely a meter distant, kneeling on the ground, cradling 
his broken wrist. As Chakotay spoke, the man's head snapped toward
him,  surprise evident behind ebony. The Braai had apparently thought
his prey  momentarily incapacitated. Chakotay did not squander the
opportunity. He jumped  behind the Braai, gripped the man's chin in
his palm, jerked it upward and back,  exposing his throat. Chakotay's
fingers covered the soldier's mouth and nose,  smothering his ability
to cry out loud. He pushed a knee into the soldier's lower  back,
wrenched his good arm high behind his back.

Chakotay held the Braai like that for a long moment, allowed the man 
to recognize his underestimation... his mistake. It was a cruel move. 
Chakotay was beyond caring. He could mercifully take the Braai's life
with a swift  snap of his neck, but that was too simple, too quick. He
wanted to inflict  pain. He wanted to see terror reflected in the
man's eyes. He wanted the Braai  to feel the pain and terror Kathryn
had been made to suffer. He wanted to  exact his revenge in like
measure. He hadn't the time. He'd settle for far less.

He brought his lips to the man's ears. "It'll all be over soon." he 
whispered. He released the Braai's wrist, then drove his knife into
the man's  back. "But there's one thing you should know first..." He
paused, withdrew the  knife. "Don't ever fuck with me or mine." The
words were slow, deliberate,  matching the movement of the point of
Chakotay's blade as it trailed up the  soldier's arm, skimmed the
exposed flesh of his throat. "I don't like it."

The Braai struggled weakly against Chakotay's hold, aware his time had 
run out.

Black orbs widened in terror as Chakotay slowly drew the black blade 
across the tender pale green skin of the Braai's throat.

Unceremoniously, Chakotay dropped the Braai to the ground, watched as 
his body thrashed between life and death. Slowly, life ebbed. Untold
seconds  passed before the body finally stilled.

It was over.

His breathing labored, he bent slightly, rested a hand on his 
uninjured thigh, studied the dead man... his lethal handiwork. Messy.
Death was always  messy. But this death especially so. Very messy.
Like Nathan.

A frown creased his brow. He shut his eyes, pushed the images of 
Nathan from his mind. Spirits, he hurt. Everywhere. Exhaustion
threatened as the  adrenaline that had slammed through him when the
Braai had attacked suddenly  diminished, spent with the blood of the
man on the ground at his feet. Pain  throbbed in his head. He lifted a
hand to his left temple, felt blood where his skull  had impacted the
ground. He felt a trickle run down his cheek, along his  jaw. He felt
thick fluid drip from his chin. He ran the back of his hand along the
crimson path, wiped it away.

---

Kathryn sat motionless, unable to move more from the sight before her 
than the drug in her system. Her eyes were fixed on the lifeless body
of the  Braai, stunned disbelief, horror, relief warring within her.
She'd witnessed  the entire fight... from the moment the Braai jumped
Chakotay to the last  twitch of the Braai's dying body. Chakotay had
been deliberate in every move...  fast, confident, and lethal. A
predator who derived pleasure from the kill,  from the act of killing,
toying with his prey, infusing it with terror before  taking it's
life. What she witnessed unnerved her.

Her gaze drifted upward. Who was this man? Whomever he was, he wasn't 
her Chakotay. And yet, he was.

He turned slowly, his movement stilted, hesitant. His eyes met hers. 
She'd expected something cold, deadly, frightening. Instead she found
_him_.  He took a step toward her, then stumbled, fell to his knees.

In an instant she came to life, her fear and uncertainty of the man 
before her swept aside. "Oh my God." Her eyes drifted to his side.
"You're hurt."

His lowered his gaze to the knife, buried to it's hilt in his right 
side. She'd seen it all. Oh Spirits, he'd not wanted her to see any of
it.  But...

White fire seared through his mind and body, crippling him, toppling 
him face forward to the ground. Earth connected with the handle of the
blade,  held it firm, as his body drove the blade and hilt deeper.
Pain found it's  voice as a cry was ripped from him.

Kathryn battled the drug, pushed herself to her hands and knees. The 
drug was impeding her ability to control her movement... she struggled
to  crawl. In fits and starts, she crossed the distance between them.
She reached a shaky  hand to his right shoulder, pulled him toward
her, to his back. "Chakotay?"

Dirt matted to his face and hair, mixed with sweat and blood.

"Chakotay? Can you hear me?"

His eyes fluttered open. His breath was shallow and labored. "I'll be 
okay." he rasped. "Need... a moment."

She lifted his head, pillowed it with her thighs. As seconds passed, 
her gaze raked over his body, taking in his condition. He didn't look
good. She  felt movement. Her eyes darted to his.

"We have to get out of here, Kathryn." He glanced to his left, at the 
body staring back at him. "He... he may have friends with him."
Gritting  his teeth, he rolled to his left, propped himself up on his
elbow.

"Chakotay... you shouldn't move."

"What I... shouldn't do is... irrelevant." he grated. "Help me." He 
weakly held up his right hand.

She bit back a retort. She struggled to gain her feet, then 
concentrated on helping him up. His bulk was awkward and unsteady. His
injuries, his  pain, attempted to undermine her efforts. However,
after considerable  grunting and groaning, she managed to get him to
his feet. She held him up until he  moved, began to carry his own
weight.

He draped his left arm over her shoulders for support, as he steadied 
himself, breathed. At his faint nod, they started moving.

Her brow creased with concern. "How far away are we from the 
extraction site?"

"Not quite a kilometer, but..." He fumbled for the headset at his 
neck, lifted the eyepiece. "We have... less than three minutes before
the first  sensor sweep is initiated. We'll..." He was breathless from
the effort of walking,  talking, breathing, thinking. "We'll never
make it." he forced, as he stopped.  He'd nothing left... no reserve
from which to draw. The fight, his wounds,  the pain... they had all
sucked what little energy he had left. His gaze  stumbled to Kathryn.
She fared no better, the narcotic still vying with her for  control.
They weren't going to make it.

He removed his arm from her shoulders, sank to his knees. He thrust 
out his hands, his palms flattened against the earth, his head
hanging. "Ain't  we a pair?"

She sank down next to him. "A pair of what, Commander?"

He swallowed hard, drew in a shallow breath. "Oh, I don't know... just 
a pair." He winced, raised his head, glanced at her, smiling through
the  pain. "I'm going to... chance breaking communications blackout...
when  Voyager initiates her sweep." He painfully pushed himself up,
sat on his  heels. "Maybe they'll pick it up."

The color had drained from his face, as he fought for another breath. 
The constriction in his chest forced a cough. The motion jarred his
ribs  and the blade embedded in his side. He cried out, doubled over,
fell to the  ground.

The violence of his distress shook her. In an instant she was behind 
him, rolling him to his back ."Chakotay?" Her eyes grazed the pouches 
littering his webbing. Her hands flew to a pocket, opened it, felt
inside, then  moved to another. She silently cursed her inability to
remember where he'd  tucked the hyposprays he'd used earlier.

"What... what are..." he gasped, fighting the wave of pain ripping 
through him.

"Your emergency field med kit, a pain killer, anything... where are 
they?"

"Other side." he groaned, his shoulders sagging into the forest floor, 
the fit subsiding.

She leaned over him, opened the pouch at his right breast. She pulled 
out two hyposprays. Both were empty. "Damn it." she muttered.

"Hoping to retaliate?"

Her eyes shot to his. "You have a lousy sense of humor, Chakotay."

"You... you needed it more than I did."

"Until now."

"I'll live." A lazy smile colored his lips.

She threw him a look steeped in doubt and concern. She searched the 
pouch again, found a small packet containing a field dressing. She
removed  it from it's antiseptic covering and began to clean the blood
and grime from  his face. The remnants of the narcotic in her system,
combined with her anger,  caused her touch to be less than gentle.

He winced.

She started, pulled her hand away, tried to push the anger burning 
through her aside. It was hampering her ability to function. Damn
it... too many  things were hampering her ability to function. She
clenched her teeth, forced  her concentration to the man prostrate
before her. "Where is the full med  kit? In the back pack?"

"Leave it. It's almost time." He said weakly as he closed his eyes,
concentrating on each breath, concentrating on staying with her.

"If Voyager doesn't pick up your comm signal, I'll need it. I'm going 
to have to pull that knife out?"

His eyes flew open. "No."

"Chakotay..."

"If you pull it out... I'll probably bleed to death." He drew in a 
shallow breath. Another. "Leave it. Besides... I can hardly feel it
anymore."  he lied. He fumbled for the eyepiece, lifted it to his eye.
Just a few seconds.  He'd try in a few seconds. He blinked,
deliberately, dropped the eyepiece. His  vision was starting to cloud.
"We're almost home, Kathryn." he breathed.

He counted to ten, then tapped his combadge. "Rescue One to Voyager."

There was no response.

He tried again.

Again, nothing.

His eyes locked with hers. "Rescue One to Voyager... please respond."

"Voyager here, Rescue One."

"Immediate extraction required, can you lock on?" He smiled weakly as 
he watched relief redefine the lines of Kathryn's face.

"Affirmative. Standby for transport, Commander. Have you got the 
Captain?"

His eyes slid shut. "No... but she's got me." As he slipped into 
blackness, he heard the echo of Harry's acknowledgment, the smile in
the young man's  voice.

-----

Awareness returned slowly. For a time he could only measure in 
heartbeats, he hung in darkness. He could feel every throb of his
pulse in his  temples, hear the pounding of every beat of his heart in
his ears. The rhythm  hammered out his existence, slowly, then faded,
giving way to other sensations... a  faint antiseptic smell, a low
hum, cool roughness against skin. Sickbay. He  lay still, breathed
deeply. He was in sickbay.

Harry had found them. They'd made it. They were home. Or at least, he 
was.

"Kathryn." he murmured, panic threading through him. His eyes flew 
open. Abruptly, convulsively, he pushed himself upright, then
immediately  regretted the action as his jaw slammed into the edge of
the surgical support  frame extended over his biobed.

The Doctor was instantly there, pushing him back down.

"Commander..."

His eyes darted to the Doctor's. "The Captain..."

"Is right here."

At the sound of her voice, his head snapped to the left. Relief 
flooded him. She sat perched on the edge of the biobed next to his, a
small stack  of PADDs in her hands, a haunted look in her eyes. "I
thought..."

"I'm fine, Chakotay."

"Which is more than I can say for you, Commander." the Doctor 
interjected, as he held Chakotay's jaw, ran a dermal regenerator over
the laceration  suffered from the impact.

When the hand gripping his jaw eased, he threw the Doctor a 
questioning glance.

The Doctor met his stare, even and steady. "If you will excuse us,
Commander... I was in the process of discharging the Captain. I'll be
back shortly." He circled the biobed. "Captain..." He bid her follow.

Kathryn slid from the biobed, moved to Chakotay's side. "It's good to 
have you back with us, Commander." She rested a hand on his shoulder,
smiled reassuringly, then turned and followed the Doctor to the far
side of the bay.

Chakotay watched their quiet exchange with interest. Though he could 
hear nothing, he knew what passed between them. Orders to rest, non-
committal acceptance, a shoulder offered, thanks returned. He could
see it in  their eyes, in the lines of their faces, in the set of
their shoulders. She would  never take the Doctor up on his offer to
talk about what happened to her. It  wasn't who she was.

And then she was gone.

Within seconds, the Doctor stood over him, his solemn expression 
replaced with one of distinct displeasure. Strange, Chakotay thought,
the immediate transformation. He wondered bemusedly how many facial
expressions had been programmed into the Doctor's original matrix, how
many he'd adapted to the matrix himself, in an effort to improve his
programming. Where had this one come from?

"Commander."

Chakotay groaned inwardly as he watched the Doctor's chin rise 
imperceptibly. "Doctor."

"There's something I'd like to discuss with you."

He swallowed hard.

A caustic eyebrow raised. "What can you tell me about Zehdra 427?"

-----

Kathryn finished the last of her coffee as she settled back on her 
couch. She inhaled deeply, the faint odor of the dark liquid carried
on the  familiar coolness of Starfleet-issue recycled air. Familiar,
yet different.

Since returning to Voyager, nothing seemed quite the same. The hum of 
the engines seemed more distant. The echo of her footstep against the 
floor seemed to ring hollow. The dark corners seemed darker. Even her
quarters no  longer seemed to be the haven they once were. She
absently studied the empty  coffee cup in her hand. Even this one
simple pleasure was different, as if it  too had somehow been tainted
by the Braai. She knew, in reality, it was her...  her perception... a
lingering effect of her ordeal. She knew, given time,  things would
return to the places they belonged. The promise of things to  come did
not comfort her here and now.

She lifted her face to the ceiling, rested her head against the back 
of the sofa. Entering her quarters had been a welcome relief... a
welcome  escape from the warm wishes and unspoken concerns of her
crew... their furtive  glances and comforting smiles. She'd stood
inside the door for untold minutes,  willing the tension from her
body, willing the breath into her lungs.

Her first conscious thought had been to draw a bath. The water had 
been far too hot when she'd first dropped into it. She'd not cared. In
some  strange way, it had felt good... a cleansing, a purification, of
sorts. She'd  scrubbed at her skin, hard, in an irrational attempt to
remove all traces of the  Braai homeworld and what had happened there.
It was only the pain of the  resulting abrasions that made her stop.
Her hands trembling, she'd set aside the  sponge and soap, forced
herself to still, to recline against the back of the  tub.
Seductively, the warmth had tugged at her, urging her to relax, to let 
go. For a brief time, she had... tears of shame and impotence, tears
of anger,  outrage and frustration, staining her cheeks. In solitude,
she'd wept.

At some point, her tears had failed her... she could cry no more. 
She'd plunged under the surface of the water, rubbed her hands over
her  face, removed the traces of her grief. Rather than resurface,
she'd remained  submerged, letting her lungs burn... plead for air...
controlling their function,  their need. At the last possible moment,
she'd pushed herself upward,  breaking through the plane where water
met air, gasping. She'd lost a  fundamental confidence. In what, she
didn't know, but she could feel it's absence  as surely as she could
feel the air filling her lungs.

As she'd floated on the water, she'd allowed her thoughts to drift to
Chakotay. Familiar, yet different. She'd attempted to mate the man she
knew with the man she'd discovered planetside. Somehow, they didn't
seem to fit. Aspects did... the manner in which he'd cared for her,
tended her, held her to him during the night. And yet, other aspects
didn't... the callous cold-blooded manner with which he'd dispatched
the Braai soldier, the darkness of his eyes, his soulless expression.
It was a side of him that unnerved her... a side she had never before
seen.

She lifted her head from the back of the sofa, pinched the bridge of 
her nose, squeezed her eyes shut. She'd the beginnings of a headache.
She  dropped her hand to her lap, contemplated going to bed, taking a
nap. Her body was  tired, the headache forming the first indication
that she needed rest. But,  she knew she'd never fall asleep, her mind
was too restless to abide slumber.

She leaned forward, placed the coffee cup on the table before her, 
then spied the PADDs she dropped earlier. The reports Tuvok had given
her.  Reminders. Her brow furrowed as she stared at them. The first of
many she would have  no choice but to read. Indifferent summarizations
of the events of the past  thirty-six hours. Cool. Detached.
Controlled. Things she found herself struggling  with. Things she
clung to so desperately it frightened her.

She snorted derisively, shut her eyes. Contempt at her own weakness 
cut deep. Slowly she opened her eyes. "Pathetic." she grated. She was
a  Starfleet Captain. She was better than this.

The cut of her mouth thinned as her hand drifted to the top PADD, 
grasped it. She noted the name at the top. Gerron. An eyebrow raised
as she  skimmed it's contents. The report held very little. She
suspected she wasn't far  from the truth when she surmised twice as
much information had been omitted as  had actually been included. What
it did contain wasn't even remotely  substantial. She shook her head,
retrieved the next report. Ayala. It was  remarkably similar in both
content and form to Gerron's...  the length virtually the  same, the
wording almost identical.

Irritated, she tossed the PADDs on the coffee table. Who the hell did 
they think they were kidding?

Her gaze drifted to the remaining PADD, undoubtedly containing Tuvok's 
report. With a sigh, she pulled it from the table. Where the previous
two  reports had been vague, Tuvok's was detailed and complete. He
raised some  interesting security issues and concerns. She had to
agree with some of his recommendations, in particular, those regarding
internal ships security and intruder policy. Voyager had been boarded
before, but not quite in the same manner. What made it more difficult
to suffer was that the Braai had used a ruse that was centuries old in
it's creation. And they'd played right into it. They had been far too
trusting. It wouldn't happen again. Once bitten.

If Tuvok's recommendations for security upgrades were adopted, the 
exposure to Voyager itself would be greatly reduced. She approved the 
recommendations, then continued reading.

Her brow furrowed, air momentarily ceased to flow in and out of her 
lungs as she read the next passage. In great detail, Tuvok described a
trunk of  what he claimed to be 'obvious Starfleet origin'. The trunk
itself was  unremarkably plain... similar to the standard Starfleet
SRC10.47 cargo bin.  However, the lock mechanism bore a distinctly
Starfleet insignia. Advanced  Tactical. A Venrizyn serpent coiled
around a Starfleet emblem. Tuvok did not  recognize the division.

The trunk had been on board Voyager for the last four years, it's 
existence deliberately concealed, countermeasures in place to prevent
detection  by Voyager's sensor net.

Tuvok had not the opportunity to personally inspect the contents of 
the trunk. The trunk had been sealed and locked when he'd ordered it
secured. It  remained as such. He had, however, constructed a small
and incomplete list of  it's contents from the equipment confiscated
from Commander Chakotay's  person when he'd been beamed aboard. What
had been recovered from the Commander's  person was not necessarily
indicative of the actual contents of the trunk.  However, it provided
them some insight. He'd gleaned nothing from Ayala and  Gerron. They
were under orders to provide no information.

Under orders? Like hell.

The line of her jaw set, she shook her head in disbelief as her 
thoughts drifted to the man lying in sickbay. A concealed arsenal.
Why? Four  years, and not once during that time did he reveal it's
existence. What the hell  was going on?

Trust was something hard earned, particularly in the early days of 
their exile in the Delta Quadrant. Misunderstanding and tension were
rife among  the two crews. The Maquis seemed persistently on edge,
antagonistic,  resistant. In those days, mutiny was a very real
possibility, at least in the minds  of the Starfleet crew... perhaps
in the minds of the Maquis crew as well. A  concealed arsenal would
have increased their chances. But, it had never come to  pass.
Chakotay hadn't allowed it. He had pledged his loyalty from the 
outset. Mutiny had not been on his agenda.

And yet, the fact remained... he'd smuggled weapons on board and 
concealed their existence, with willful disregard. Until yesterday.
Why  yesterday? Why did the Braai warrant exposing his infraction.
What the hell was going  on?

Tuvok had performed an range of internal sensor sweeps, to ensure 
there were no further concealed objects. However, the sensor sweeps
would not  detect objects with countermeasures similar to those of the
trunk. His  security teams were presently in the process of performing
a complete inventory of  the ship's common and storage areas. In
addition, he recommended a sweep of the Commander's quarters, and
those of Ayala and Gerron.

With an uncertain heart, she approved the action.

She exhaled heavily, steeling herself for the remainder of his report. 
Slowly, she scrolled through the words... read.

Tuvok had discovered an irregularity in Chakotay's Starfleet record... 
a highly classified and encrypted file, embedded in a small subsection 
of his personnel jacket. As of yet, Tuvok had been unable to gain to
access  the data. Even her clearance was not high enough to gain
entry. He was in the  process of attempting to crack the code.

Her brow furrowed as she recalled Chakotay's personnel record. She 
couldn't remember anything striking her as unusual or odd. Granted, it
had been  many years since she'd read the file in it's entirety, but
read it she had,  many times, before Voyager had embarked on it's
mission. She'd noticed  nothing.

She rose, walked to her desk, activated the console, brought up 
Chakotay's record. A holo image of her First Officer filled the
primary display  on the screen. He stood proudly, clad in his
Starfleet uniform, arms folded  over his chest, a hint of a smile on
his lips. The image was several years old.  Over the years he'd
acquired a few gray hairs, a few lines more on his face, a  tattoo.
He'd changed little.

Other images filled secondary displays... image taken by covert 
surveillance after Chakotay had joined the Maquis. He looked hardened,
a 'don't  mess with me' mien perpetually etched on his face. He'd
looked like that when  she'd first met him. Hard. Rough. Angry. Over
time, he'd lost that look. He'd  grown more thoughtful, less angry,
more at ease within and with himself. Until  yesterday.

She swallowed hard, glanced at Tuvok's report. Following his 
instructions, she maneuvered through Chakotay's records, searching for
and arriving at  the file in question. Despite knowing her security
clearance was inadequate to  gain entry, she entered her clearance
code. The file remained inaccessible. Curiosity, concern, and anger
coalesced. What the hell was going on? Why hadn't Starfleet allowed
her full access to the file? Oversight? Doubtful. Starfleet had been
quite anxious and painstakingly meticulous where this man was
concerned. They were hiding something. But what?

She couldn't blame Chakotay for the file. It had been buried long 
before he was ever brought on board. And yet, he was somehow knowingly
connected  to it. She was certain he knew of it's existence. She could
feel it. The  trunk, the unmistakable Starfleet insignia enough to
give rise to her suspicion.

She slapped her combadge. "Janeway to Tuvok."

"Yes, Captain."

"I'd like to speak with you."

"Of course, Captain."

"Would you meet me in my quarters?"

"On my way. Tuvok out."

She sank back into the chair, stared at the images confronting her, 
hurt, disbelief, anger building. Her eyes narrowed. "What are you
hiding?"  Who was this man? Who was this man with whom she'd made
decisions, talked,  fought, laughed for the last four years? Who was
this man to whom she'd opened  her heart?

The sound of the door chime wrenched her from her thoughts. "Come in." 
She straightened, looked up as Tuvok entered.

"Captain."

She exhaled heavily, rose from her seat, moved to stand before him. 
"I've read the reports."

A mildly disapproving eyebrow rose above brown. He'd expected nothing 
less, and yet he'd hoped for more. While he was not fully aware of
what  Kathryn Janeway had endured at the hands of the Braai, it was
logical to  assume it had not been pleasant. She needed time.
"Captain, this discussion might  best be served after you have fully
recovered."

Her expression softened, the corner of her mouth raised in a faint 
half-smile. "Tuvok, I appreciate your concern. But, I'm fine."

It was too soon. "Captain..."

"Tuvok."

His eyebrow lifted even further, in quiet acquiescence.

She moved past him, retrieved the two PADDs resting on her coffee 
table. "What do you make of these?" she asked, holding the PADDs up as
she closed  the distance between them.

Tuvok glanced at the PADDs, then lifted his gaze to hers. "They appear 
to be hiding something."

"Yes, they do. The question is... what?" She tossed the PADDs on her 
desk.

It was too early to tell. "The Commander has yet to file his report. 
Perhaps you will find his accounting more enlightening."

She shook her head. "I don't know, Tuvok. The Commander, as of yet, 
has not been forthcoming."

His chin raised imperceptibly. "Captain... to my knowledge, Commander 
Chakotay is still in sickbay. He has not had the opportunity."

She snorted. "Yes... he has. When Chakotay and I were planetside, I 
asked him, Tuvok. Point blank. He was evasive."

"Perhaps your circumstance was not conducive to a long and detailed
explanation."

Her eyes narrowed slightly at his words. For a moment, he sounded just 
like Chakotay. "Are you defending him?"

An intrigued eyebrow raised. "I am merely reserving judgment. While I 
am disturbed by recent discoveries, and the probable tactics employed 
against the Braai, I am reticent to act too hastily. From the evidence
before us,  there is more here than meets the eye."

A great deal more. She turned flush with her desk, pressed her palms 
against the hard cool surface. "Something distinctly Starfleet."

"It would appear so."

She pushed herself up, crossed her arms over her chest, glanced at 
Tuvok over shoulder. What was going on? "Where is the trunk now?"

"In my office."

"Have you been able to open it?"

"No."

She exhaled heavily, frustrated. "What about the file in Chakotay's 
record?"

"There are several layers of highly sophisticated access gates and 
encryption. The mechanism is quite unique, unlike anything I have
encountered  before."

Blue searched brown. The slight inflection of his voice conveyed much. 
He was impressed. It didn't happen often. "Can you gain access?"

He paused, considered the likelihood of breaking through, or 
bypassing, the access mechanisms. He'd succeeded in understanding the
first level of  the code, but as of yet had been unable to crack it.
If his suspicions were  close to the truth, each subsequent level
would become increasingly more difficult  to break. "I am uncertain."

Her face fell imperceptibly. "Try. I want to know what that..."

"Sickbay to Captain Janeway."

Her chin raised slightly as she addressed the disembodied voice. "Go 
ahead, Doctor."

"You had asked to be informed when the Commander was released from 
sickbay. He was discharged a few minutes ago."

Her eyes darted to Tuvok's. "Thank you, Doctor. Janeway out."

Tuvok studied her briefly, noticed the jerk of a muscle near her 
jaw... an involuntary physiological response to an emotional battle.
It was too  soon. "What are your intentions concerning the Commander?"

"I'm not yet sure."

"If I may, Captain." At her nod, he continued. "In my opinion, if the 
presence of that trunk posed a threat to Voyager, that threat would
have  manifested itself by now." His brow furrowed slightly. "The fact
that it has not  leads me to believe that the Commander bears no ill
intent."

She turned her face to the viewport.

"His loyalty to you is unparalleled."

Thirty-six hours prior, she might not have argued, but now, she wasn't 
sure.

-----

The proverbial shit had begun to hit the fan. Chakotay never would 
have guessed he would face it first in the guise of the Doctor.
Grilled.  Lying trapped under a surgical support frame. He'd offered
the Doctor no  information, save  _he_ had administered the narcotic,
he knew what he was doing,  and that at no time was the Captain in
danger. The Doctor had informed him that  he was, by duty, bound to
report his findings regarding the existence and administration of the
substance. As the substance was illegal, the report would be filed
with both Commander Tuvok and the Captain. He expected as much. He'd
understood the consequences of his actions. At least the Doctor had
granted him a reprieve. He did not intend to file the report until the
Captain had returned to duty.

His stomach growled. A wry smile split the somberness of his face. 
Food. He'd not given food a second thought, until his stomach saw fit
to remind  him of it's need.

He briefly considered dining in the mess hall, then decided against 
it. He'd replicator rations to spare. Besides, he wasn't in the mood
to spend  his meal suffering the scrutiny of the crew. He wasn't in
the mood to bear the  same disguised looks he'd been given as he'd
walked from sickbay to his  quarters. The rumors had made their
rounds. As a result, the crew was left  uncertain, daunted. The change
was subtle, but present.

He sighed as he pushed himself up from the couch, moved to the 
replicator. They all needed time. Kathryn most of all. She'd been
through a great  deal, her world forever changed.

"Janeway to Chakotay."

His chin raised. His brow furrowed imperceptibly as her voice filled 
the space around him. "Chakotay here."

"Do you have a moment, Commander?"

The crease in his brow deepened. The use of his rank had not escaped 
him, nor had the iron cast of her voice. "Yes."

"I'd like to speak to you. In my quarters."

He swallowed hard. Damn. He'd hoped he'd have more time... more time 
to prepare for this confrontation. For without a doubt, that was what
he  was walking into. Her voice betrayed her need. She knew. "I'm on
my way."

The proverbial shit was about to fly.

-----

He entered into darkness, the pneumatic hiss of the door announcing 
his arrival. In the few moments it took his eyes to adjust to the 
lighting, or lack thereof, he located her. She stood on the far side
of the room, her  back to the door, silhouetted against a brilliant
starscape. The delicate curve of  her cheek was barely visible. She
stood unmoving, silent. For all he knew,  her mind was as distant as
the stars beyond. He squinted, his eyes piercing the darkness, longing
for her to turn, to look at him.

And then she did. "Computer... lights, twenty-five percent."

He tensed slightly at the sound of her voice. It held an edge... hard, 
angry, uncertain. As the lighting increased, her gaze fell upon him,
steel  blue piercing brown. Her eyes held what her voice revealed. He
swallowed  hard as he realized, at some level, her anger unsettled
him. Not because of the  anger itself, but because of what it
represented. The events of the last  thirty-six hours had destroyed
much. Things that would take far longer to  rebuild.

She wrapped her arms around herself, took a step closer to him. "When 
were you planning on telling me?"

She most definitely knew. It hadn't taken Tuvok as long as he'd 
thought it would. "Telling you what?"

"Don't play dumb with me." she quietly spat. She snorted humorlessly. 
"It's all rather tightly coupled, isn't it? The _toy box_ and it's 
contents... the classified, encrypted, and expertly buried portion of
your Starfleet  record. What else is there? How many more lies exist?"

"I haven't lied to you, Kathryn."

"Haven't you? You've gone out of your way to conceal quite a bit, 
Commander. For four years. That trunk has been on this ship from day
one. And not  once over the last four years did you see fit to reveal
it's existence."

The line of his jaw set. His eyes grew dark. "No... I didn't."

"Why?" Her brow furrowed slightly. "Damn it, Chakotay... I thought 
we'd moved beyond..."

"We have." he interrupted. Or at least they _had_. They had moved 
beyond the days of mistrust, uncertainty, measuring, forcing it to
work. They  had. But he'd managed to destroy that. In saving her, he'd
destroyed them. He  lowered his gaze, moistened his lips. He should
have destroyed the damn thing  when the Maquis had first been brought
on board. He should have destroyed the  files. He should have... He
shrugged, lifted his gaze. "You wouldn't  understand."

"Try me."

For a moment they merely stared at one another, wearing the same 
dangerously haunted expression. He exhaled heavily, shook his head.
"Bringing that  trunk on board was a mistake. I knew that. It
complicated things. I should have destroyed it."

"Then why didn't you?"

His eyes narrowed. "The reasons are... complicated. Most of them had 
nothing to do with you, or Voyager, or our circumstance at the time.
They'd a  lot to do with me... and who I was. Leaving that trunk
behind would have been  like... leaving a part of me behind."

Confusion painted her features. "Like your medicine bundle."

An eyebrow lifted in mild surprise. He'd never really considered the
similarity. Both represented aspects of him... diametrically opposed
aspects. "In a way." He trapped his lower lip between his teeth. "It
doesn't really matter. It's here. I can't change that." He sighed.
"When our crews first combined, emotions ran high. Despite the _logic_
behind your decision to appoint me as your First Officer, there was a
lot of resentment, and a lot of mistrust... among both crews. If the
existence of the trunk had been revealed, especially in those early
days, when dynamics between the crews were tenuous and volatile...
when _you and I_ were unsure of one another... it would have been
disastrous."

Her expression darkened. "In whose estimation?"

"In mine."

"I see." Her eyes narrowed as she stepped closer. He was right. It 
would have been disastrous. Most of the crew had, on some level,
disagreed with  her decision... questioned the wisdom of the alliance
forged between she  and Chakotay and therefore their crews. Some went
out of their way to find  reasons to validate their doubt... to
perpetuate the atmosphere of distrust.  "And keeping this from me...
was that not equally as dangerous?"

"The potential was there." He exhaled sharply, looked away, more 
slowly returned his gaze to hers. "A decision had to be made... and I
made  it."

"The instant you agreed to become my First Officer, you forfeited any 
right to make that decision."

He remained silent, obsidian clenched with blue, as realization 
dawned. Control. Was that what this was all about? The overwhelming
need to  remain in control? The sudden realization that for the last
four years, at some  level, she had not been? Not completely? She had
a right to be angry. For the  _lie_... the duplicity. And for that, he
deserved some measure of punitive  action. However, for her, it went
beyond the lie. The Braai had taken much.

She again took a step closer. "You didn't trust me."

"In those days... no... not completely."

The admission hurt. It shouldn't have. It was unreasonable to expect 
absolute trust in their early days in the Delta Quadrant. She was
Starfleet. He  was Maquis. She'd been sent to retrieve her Security
Officer and to arrest  _him_. Circumstance brought them together. Only
time could make them one.  They'd had that time. What were they left
with? "And now?"

"It's not a question of trust, Kathryn. It never has been." He snorted
humorlessly, lowered his gaze, rubbed wearily at the back of his neck.
His voice lowered. "At some point, a lie is perpetuated to perpetuate
the lie... the original motivation behind that lie suddenly of less
import than the need to avoid what we now find ourselves in the midst
of." His eyes raised to hers. "It was never my intention to hurt you.
It was never my intention to undermine your position." Regret tinged
his voice. "But, revealing the existence of that trunk would raise
questions... questions for which you would demand answers... answers
which I can not give."

"Can not, or will not?"

"I am bound by an oath."

She took another step closer. "An oath to whom?"

He couldn't answer her. Ironic, he thought, that he should find 
himself in the position of protecting that which he had grown to
despise from that  which he had grown to love. Why? Because of an
oath? He'd made a commitment to  her as well. He'd pledged himself to
her as well. Honor came in many forms.

Faced with his silence, she again stepped closer. "Should I talk to 
Ayala and Gerron?"

"They don't know anything."

"It seems they know a great deal."

Appearances were deceiving. Ayala and Gerron did, in fact, know 
nothing. He'd never revealed his Starfleet background. They'd taken
what little he  was willing to offer, and never asked for anything
more. Knowledge of a  cell mates personal history was not vital to the
survival of the cell. They knew  nothing. "Their affiliation with me
started in the Maquis. They know nothing  beyond the existence of the
trunk."

"Which they kept secret."

"They were under orders."

"_I_ am their commanding officer."

"It's not that simple." he growled.

"Yes it is."

"No, Kathryn... it's not." His voice was like iron, his eyes 
impossibly black. It wasn't simple. Duplicity was far from simple. It
undermined, it  weakened, it estranged.

She took yet another step toward him, her eyes never leaving his. Less 
than a meter separated them now, the space between rife with a
tension, an  anger, a regret so thick she felt as if she were
suffocating. "You've left me  in a very difficult position. By all
rights, the three of you should be in the  brig. However... Tuvok is
of the impression that there is more here than  meets the eye. From
what I've read of his report, from what I've seen, I agree."  She
lowered her gaze, bit the inside corner of her mouth. "I want to 
understand." She exhaled heavily, frustrated, as her eyes lifted to
his. "But, I  can't make sense out of any of this... unless I know the
truth."

A muscle twitched at the side of his jaw.

"Damn it, Chakotay..." she whispered. "Help me to understand." A quiet 
plea, as she attempted to reign in the shreds of her world. She'd
always  thought him her constant... her foundation. But that
foundation was slipping. She  wouldn't let it go... not without
knowing why.

His gaze drifted over her shoulder, to the stars beyond. Duplicity was 
far from simple. And in the world in which he now lived, it was 
potentially disastrous. He was bound by an oath. But he was bound to
her as well,  by something far more profound.

Duplicity was far from simple. But, honor came in many forms. His 
voice lowered, barely above a whisper. "I am what I am. I am what you
see. I  am what you know." He paused, imperceptibly lifted his chin,
met her gaze.  "I'll tell you what you want to know, Kathryn. I'll
tell you because I trust you  with my life. I'll tell you because I
trust you as my friend. You might not  like what you discover, but
I'll tell you."

She didn't move, didn't breath... merely waited.

"My final seven years with Starfleet were spent as a member of the 
Starfleet Covert Operations and Special Forces Battalion. It's a small
division  of Advanced Tactical."

"I'm aware of the division." Starfleet personnel were aware of the 
existence of Covert Operations, and its perceived need. In some
respects, she  knew more than most unaffiliated personnel. Her
father's position within  Starfleet allowed her a more intimate
exposure to certain aspects of the  organization. And... there was
Justin. "You were a Ranger?"

He smiled humorlessly. "No. I was involved in a section that was a bit 
more... specialized."

"Meaning what exactly?"

He moistened his lips. "I was a member of an organization that went by 
the name of Covert Black Operations." His eyes narrowed at the
question  lighting her eyes. "The division title should mean
absolutely nothing to you.  CBO is highly classified. Most of 'fleet
Covert Ops didn't even know we  existed. Plausible deniability taken
one level higher."

"A covert team within a covert organization."

He nodded once. "Yes."

Her mind refused to wrap itself around the concept. It made no sense. 
"Why would Starfleet do that?"

"Even Starfleet has it's own agenda. Even Starfleet recognizes that 
the framework of the system is sometimes too confining... that
sometimes  the best rule is that there are no rules... that the end
justifies the means."

She didn't blink. What was he saying? What was he suggesting? 
"Starfleet would never condone the type of tactics you're implying."

"No they wouldn't, not officially. But behind closed doors... 
Starfleet taught me almost everything I know."

Her eyes narrowed in disbelief.

He snorted, as his mind returned to the Braai homeworld, the horror 
and revulsion coloring her features. "What did you think you were
seeing,  Kathryn? Strictly Maquis tactics?" His voice lowered, grew
cold. Obsidian  locked with blue. "Don't be naive."

"You're out of line, Commander."

He tilted his head, nodded slowly. "My apologies, Captain." Her 
precious Starfleet wasn't as pristine, as ethically lofty, as she
thought them  to be. She wasn't prepared for the extent of the lie.
The lie extended far  beyond tactics and methods. It stretched far
beyond anything she could  possibly imagine.

Slowly, he turned on his heel, crossed the short distance to her desk. 
His Starfleet record was already displayed on her console, his image 
staring back at him as he sat in her chair. His eyes narrowed as he
studied it. He  hated that picture.

He had accessed his records two days after joining Voyager's crew, 
discovered the encoded file hidden within his personnel jacket. Access
to the  file required CBO clearance, something no one on board Voyager
had...  except for him. For grins, he'd tried his old code. To his
amazement, it had  worked. Starfleet had altered very few access codes
between the time of his  resignation and the time Voyager had been
swept to the Delta Quadrant. He quietly  snorted. Resignation. An odd
choice of words. No one ever resigned from CBO...  unless it was of a
more permanent nature. One served, one retired, or one was  killed in
the line of duty. There were no other options.

When he'd resigned, he knew they'd earmark him as an unknown risk...
unpredictable and dangerous. He knew they'd target him for removal.
And they had. CBO would have succeeded had it not been for the
Caretaker.

His fingers darted over the console controls. Within seconds, an 
insignia appeared on the display... Starfleet Covert Operations.

Kathryn rounded the desk, stood slightly behind him to his left, her 
eyes fixed on the display. She'd seen the insignia before, many times. 
Justin had been a Ranger and wore the insignia with pride.

Again, his fingers moved. Abruptly, the image transformed. Black 
against black... subtle lines... forming yet another insignia. A
Venrizyn  serpent, coiled around a Starfleet emblem. Her eyes drifted
to the profile of  the man seated next to her.

The monotone female drone of the ship's computer broke the silence. 
"Voice scan required. Please specify clearance code."

"Chakotay gamma alpha zero zero nine."

"Access approved. Please specify decryption code."

"Seven five omega lambda. Covert Ops skew Chakotay eight eight six."

"Decryption code confirmed."

The display again changed, the CBO insignia giving way to another holo 
image of Chakotay. He was dressed in a black Starfleet uniform, the
SCO  insignia on his left breast, gold set against black. Barely
visible on his right  breast was the CBO insignia, black set against
black. But it wasn't the uniform  that ultimately captured Kathryn's
attention... it was him... his eyes.  Dark. Dangerous. She recognized
the face, but not the eyes. The man who'd  pulled her from the
clutches of the Braai paled in comparison to the image on the  screen.

He too stared at the image. Him, but not him. Him, a lifetime ago. 
Him, yet again. His mind drifted to a day eleven years prior, the day
the holo  image had been taken. The day represented a commencement, a
graduation, of  sorts. He had finally passed into the ranks of the
covert elite, the passage  unremarkable... intentionally so. That same
day, unit assignments had been issued. He  and Nathan had been
assigned to the same team... partners. A wistful smile  tugged at his
lips. Partners. In everything. 'Hey, Chief. We fucking made  it.'
Nathan had been drunk. 'Did you see the look on Czendric's face?'
There had  been cause for celebration. 'You fucking showed him.'
Attaining CBO wasn't easy. 'Bastard.' And they had. 'Hey... Xeeren's
thrown together an impromptu thing down at the beach. Wanna go?'
Together.

"You wanted to know the truth? There it is." He stood, bid her sit. As 
she sat, he moved behind her. He rested his hands on the back of the 
chair, stared at the image. Heartbeats later, he leaned forward, his
voice low. "Be  very sure, Kathryn. Some things are better left
alone." With that, he  straightened, headed toward the door leading to
the corridor and his escape. Honor  came in many forms.

Her gaze followed him. "Chakotay."

He stilled, turned to face her, keeping himself clenched and neutral. 
He'd opened the gates to her. He would grant her no more... not at the 
moment. She would have to find her own way through his past.

He faced her like a hard wall, body stiff, face expressionless. He had 
been badly hurt himself. By what, she didn't know. "I'll want to
discuss  this."

He nodded once, then left.

She watched the doors slip shut between them. For long seconds, her 
gaze remained fixed on the gray alloy. Slowly, she turned her
unfocused  gaze to the console atop her desk. In spite of her belief
that she was the one  who'd been wronged, she felt strangely
responsible for his pain, as if she had  wrenched his demons from the
darkness and was now forcing him to lay them bare.

She clamped her eyes shut, inhaled deeply, then slowly released it, 
attempting to calm herself. When she again opened her eyes, she
focused her  attention on the record before her.

It was all there. His recruitment into SCO, his training record, 
evaluations, counseling logs, psychiatric evaluations, mission
reports, promotion  reviews. It was all there. Every detail.

She sat in quiet awe, the information before her staggering. How had 
he kept this hidden? For so long?

He had been good. Very good. He had been considered one of the best, 
the list of commendations and honors attached to his record telling
evidence.  His specialty within CBO had been hostage rescue and
extraction. While his specialty had not precluded other assignments,
it had predisposed his team to a heavy apportionment of HRE. And they
had excelled.

His record depicted a man not unlike the one she had come to know... 
quiet, confident, skilled... a man bound by honor, loyalty, and duty.

His record was impeccable. His mission success rate had been high, his 
CBO fatality rate low. Only one mission in seven years involved the 
fatality of a team member. The statistic was unprecedented. His
ability spoke for  itself. When a position opened up on his team,
there had never been a shortage  of officers requesting re-assignment.
He had been very good.

A fair percentage of his HRE missions had fallen within Cardassian 
territory. It was suddenly no surprise, the ferocity with which the
Cardassians  had wanted him. He'd been a thorn in their side, long
before he'd ever joined the  Maquis.

One particular mission caught her eye, a mission involving the 
recovery of a name she recognized... a fellow Starfleet Captain,
George Kina. She  scanned the official report. Extraction had been
successful. No fatalities within  the team or among the rescued.
Twenty-two Cardassians dead. She idly wondered  how many of those
deaths Chakotay was directly responsible for. She swallowed  hard at
the thought.

She had spoken to George Kina upon his return to Earth. She had been 
on leave at the time and had gone to see him, to welcome him home, to
tell him  how glad she was that he'd made it back safely. He'd briefly
mentioned the  insurgency team. He'd called them a cross between the
hand of God and the devil's  own, his voice filled with respect,
amazement, admiration. 'Damn fine group of officers.' he'd offered, a
grateful half-smile on his lips. She'd quietly agreed. The Rangers
were indeed a fine group. To her surprise, Kina had laughed. 'These
guys were not Rangers, Kathryn. Take my word for it... they weren't
Rangers.' She'd dismissed the statement, believing him to be confused.
After all, he'd endured a great deal.

Now, she knew otherwise.

Kina had suffered two broken legs at the hands of his Cardassian
interrogators. One of the rescue team had carried him two kilometers
slung over his shoulder while the remaining members of the team
secured the path to the extraction site. The journey had been long,
grueling. Frankly, he'd been amazed they'd made it out alive. Kina had
not the opportunity to thank his rescuers. They had delivered him,
barely lucid, to a waiting starship and then disappeared. He never
knew who they were.

Kathryn pressed back into her chair, her gaze losing it's focus as her 
mind married memories with the information before her. Chakotay had
been  there.

Again her gaze returned to the words on the screen. He'd covered a lot 
of territory in his seven years with CBO. He'd been a part of... even 
commanded... missions, which in the normal corridors of Starfleet
Command were  believed to be acts carried out by unknown terrorists
and  counterrevolutionaries... people holding a grudge against the
Federation. Assassinations, bombings,  influencing the sway of the
political tide, more.

Incredulity flooded her as she uncovered the magnitude of the 
deception... the extent to which Starfleet had a hand in the
machinations of the  quadrant. It was all so blatantly contrary to the
Prime Directive. The Prime  Directive... that which she'd sworn above
all else to uphold. And yet... She  struggled with numb anger and
disbelief. The duplicity was staggering.

Again, something familiar caught her eye. Benecia. A non-partisan 
planet that fell along the disputed Cardassian border. Years before
the Cardassian  Peace Accord had been signed, the planet had suffered
a brutal attack, an  attack that was believed to have been the
handiwork of the Cardassians. The  starship upon which Kathryn served
at the time had been deployed to Benecia, to  provide relief and
assistance... a quick and certain response to a plea for  help from
the Benecian government. Upon planetfall, they'd discovered the dire 
need of the inhabitants. The main population center had been brought
to it's  proverbial knees. Buildings had been decimated. Power plants
no longer generated  power. Local communications had been interrupted.
Water transport had been  damaged. The planetary government had
declared a state of emergency. Despite  the devastation, there had not
been one fatality during the strike. She'd  thought it strange at the
time, but had not thought to question the oddity.  Shortly afterward,
Starfleet established an outpost on Benecia... an  invaluable
strategic asset to the Federation during the Cardassian conflict.

She leaned forward, slowly shook her head. Chakotay's team had been
responsible for the devastation on Benecia. Chakotay's team had been
sent in... to upset the balance... to force the hand of the Benecian
government... to sway the balance of power in that sector, in favor of
the Federation. And somehow, he'd managed to do it without loss of
life. It boggled the mind. But he'd done it.

Hours passed as she sifted through seven years of his life. Seven 
years she'd been led to believe were spent at Starfleet Academy,
molding young  minds in the field of advanced tactics. The lie
couldn't be further from the truth.

The reports corresponding to his last six months with Starfleet 
exhibited a marked change. CBO superiors had expressed concern
regarding both his  physical and mental health, noting a sudden and
drastic erosion of both after a  mission involving the death of his
partner... a man named Nathan Dawson. He  had become moody, withdrawn,
and uncharacteristically volatile. His final  psychiatric evaluation
intimated several causes... post traumatic stress and burn- out among
them. CBO psychiatrists recommended a sabbatical from active service.

Chakotay had refused. He'd wanted to walk away from the organization
completely. He'd tendered his resignation, but CBO had refused to
accept it. They'd instead offered him four weeks leave and a training
position. And then his father had been killed... murdered by the
Cardassians. Without warning, he'd resigned his commission and
disappeared.

Her brow furrowed slightly at the final entry in the file. 
'Termination pending.' Two words. Plain. Simple. No explanation
provided.

She exhaled heavily, leaned back in her chair, as her gaze again 
drifted to the holo image of her First Officer, clad in the ebony
uniform of CBO.  It was suddenly no surprise, the ferocity with which
Starfleet had wanted him captured.

Abruptly, she deactivated the console before her, the image of the CBO
operative blinking into non-existence. 'I am what I am. I am what you
see. I am what you know.' His words echoed through her mind,
intermingling with the story of an angry warrior, an allusion to a
darker past. What did she see? What did she know?

Nothing was certain anymore. She'd lost a fundamental confidence... in 
him... in herself.

"Computer... what is the location of Commander Chakotay?"

-----

The doors to holodeck two opened, revealing a scene that took her 
breath away... a sweet and gentle memory. New Earth. As the door slid
shut  behind her, the sunshine and heat of a sultry summer's day hit
her. She lifted her  face to the sun, closed her eyes, inhaled deeply.
A smile ghosted her lips. It  even smelled like New Earth. She lowered
her chin, opened her eyes, allowed  her gaze to drift over the small
clearing. The attention to detail was  incredible... the prefabricated
Starfleet shelter, his work area, her garden, replete  with Talaxian
tomatoes, the green of the grass, the azure of the summer  sky, the
intensity of the midday sun, the unique rustle of the wind through the 
leaves of the trees... and the smell. Incredible.

She crossed the small clearing, approached the shelter, then stilled a 
meter from the door, a rush of memories suddenly washing over her,
memories  that served only to confuse her more. Anger flared as she
pushed them from  her mind.

She'd half expected to find him sitting at his table, working on a 
sand painting, or carving. Instead she found nothing... the chair
pushed  back from his table, an empty glass next to a PADD
half-covered by a crumpled  shirt. She stepped to the table, fingered
the exposed portion of the PADD. She  picked it up, scanned the
contents. He had been working on his report... his  accounting of
their encounter with the Braai. Annoyance creased her brow at the 
lack of tangible information provided. Even here he danced around it, 
proffering vagaries and allusion. She'd been there, damn it. She knew
better. She  bit back her anger, returned the PADD to it's place on
the table. The report  was obviously a work still in progress. Perhaps
details would be filled in  on his next pass. She'd give him the
benefit of the doubt.

She glanced toward his sleeping alcove. Though the midday sun shone in
holodeck two, it was the middle of the night beyond... ship's cycle.
Perhaps he had grown tired. "Chakotay?" she called.

Silence met her ears.

She exhaled slowly, glanced around the room. Again, the attention to 
detail struck her. The room held more than she remembered... more of
him. She  roamed the shelter's interior with curious hand and eye,
noting and studying  all that existed in this replica of New Earth,
all that had not existed in the  original. The labor of his heart and
hand filled the once barren corners of the  shelter. She picked up one
small carving, turned it over in her hands, stroked  it's smoothness,
traced it's graceful lines.

"Kathryn."

Her shoulders stiffened at the sound of his voice. Slowly, she turned 
to face him. He stood just inside the doorway, clad only in loose gray 
exercise pants, his torso and feet bare. His hair was matted to his
head. His skin  glistened with sweat. His chest heaved slightly, as he
gasped for breath. He'd  been running. "Commander."

His eyes darted to the carving in her hands, then returned to her 
face.

Neither moved. Measuring, gauging.

After what seemed an eternity, he raked a hand through his damp hair, 
crossed the room to the table. He grabbed his shirt, ran it over his
face.  She'd read the file. "Have you come to personally escort me to
the brig?" he  asked, tossing the shirt back onto the table.

She couldn't respond, merely studied the man before her.

Faced with her silence, he turned, threw her a questioning glance. 
He'd intended the comment as a joke. It fell flat.

Her gaze again dropped to the intricate carving in her hands. "I 
thought I knew you." she whispered.

He swallowed hard.

"But, events of the last two days..." Her chin lifted. Blue met 
obsidian. "I don't know who you are... not anymore."

His heart refused to beat.

"I'm not sure I ever really knew."

He took a hesitant step toward her. "Kathryn..."

She held up a hand, interrupting him. "I've decided no official action 
will be taken regarding the concealment of the trunk. You were
following  orders handed down by Starfleet command. It is neither my
place nor my position to  question those orders." She paused. The line
of her jaw set. "Regarding the  events planetside... while I am
grateful for everything that you did for me,  I can not overlook your
methods. I'm placing an official reprimand in your  file... conduct
unbecoming a Starfleet officer. While such tactics may have  been
acceptable under your previous command, they are not acceptable under 
mine."

He deserved far worse. He knew that. But no official punitive action 
could match what he'd already been condemned to... what he saw
reflected in  her eyes. His gaze lowered to the object still clutched
in her right hand.  "Kathryn..."

She exhaled slowly, met his gaze at it returned to her own.

He stepped imperceptibly closer. "You _do_ know me. I can't change my 
past. I can't make it go away. It's a part of me, a part of who I am."
Regret  colored his voice, his eyes. "I've withheld that past. But,
I've never given  you anything less than me."

Tears threatened. With what felt like the last of her reserve, she 
held them at bay. "I want to believe that. I really do."

"Believe it."

She swallowed hard, carefully placed the carving on the table between 
them. It was hard to believe the hand and heart that had created such
beauty  were capable of such darkness. And yet, they were. The
wellspring of his  soul ran deep, feeding a wealth of passion...
passion that unnerved her, that  frightened her. Darkness and light...
both non-existent in the absence of one...  together creating texture,
depth. Darkness and light. Coexistent. She could not  have one without
the other. She'd had them both all along.

She wanted to believe.

---

Finis.

Storyline to be furthered in 'Dark Shadows'. Stay tuned.