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

---

NOTE - This story is the sequel to The Dark Side. If you have not read
TDS, we recommend that you do so... otherwise, this story will make no
sense!

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!

*Warning* - We are by no means trekkie techies, so should any of the
technobabble ring hollow for you... well... hey... we tried!

*Warning* - You don't like angst? We suggest you leave.

*Warning* - Cliffhanger.

---

A Note from Suz - Many thanks to Jen for beta-reading this beast. Your
input was invaluable, m'dear. Both for the story and my sanity! And
your encouragement means more than I can say. ::::: smooch :::::

And to Jules... should I say I'm sorry I got you into this? Oh wait...
_you_ got _me_ into this! I bet you'll never let me rewrite an ending
again! Love you, Sis.

A Note from Jules - Suz... My sister. My soulmate. My best friend...
not one by itself describes you yet at the same time they all do. I
think that it is safe to say that we are two minds but with a single
thought... you are indeed my sister, my soulmate and my best friend I
love you too {{{Sis}}}.

---

Astrometrics was her domain, her refuge, her retreat. She understood 
the importance of the lab, the function it served, the need it met,
and  yet, the sound of the lab doors opening, permitting entry to some
errant crewmember rankled her. More often than not, it signaled a
distraction... some trivial interruption, some insignificant and
irrelevant request.

Flesh fused with metal raised over blue in mild irritation, as she 
turned.

"Seven." The greeting was brusque, but all that Voyager's Chief 
Engineer could muster as she crossed the threshold into Astrometrics.
"I need you to  perform a long range scan." The words escaped her lips
as more an order than a  request... the set of Seven's jaw telling
evidence of her tone. However, she'd  not the time nor the patience
for diplomacy. Diplomacy required more than she  could afford at the
moment. Abrupt would have to do.

"I am still repairing the damage to the main sensor grid," Seven 
responded, turning her back on the half-Klingon, half-human. "You will
have to  wait until repairs have been completed."

The words were spoken in typical Seven-style... to the point, without 
grace, without malice; B'Elanna bristled. "And just how long will that
be?"  B'Elanna shouldered her way between Seven and the console over
which the former  Borg towered. She didn't need this. Not now.
Everything was contingent on  what the scan revealed. Everything.

Cold blue eyes confronted brown. "You are inhibiting repairs, 
Lieutenant."

B'Elanna bit back a retort, stepped aside. Her gaze dropped to the 
console to her left, the diagnostic data on the secondary display. It
wasn't  difficult to estimate the work required, the time required.
Seven had made great  progress.

B'Elanna snorted quietly... she expected nothing less. For as much as 
she and Seven clashed, she couldn't deny Seven's technical
abilities... her contributions. Seven would reject the extraordinary
nature of those contributions; those contributions were necessary,
expected. Anything less was inefficient and illogical. Despite Seven's
perception, they _were_ extraordinary... at times. B'Elanna would give
Seven that much.

She needed extraordinary now.

Engineering was still trying to stabilize the power grid. The grid was
becoming more and more unreliable... intermittent failures becoming
more prevalent since the Braai incursion. They had effected some
repairs, however, several more were needed. But, Voyager was short on
supplies. And, over time, the shortage would only worsen... precarious
degradation spreading, like an insidious virus. Her engines were in
trouble, as were half the systems on the ship.

For as much as the ships systems were separate, they were highly 
connected. Several major systems had been damaged or tampered with.
Though  failures had not been critical initially, conditions had
worsened, failures  cascading and contaminating. Things were getting
tenuous... complicated... ugly.

B'Elanna wasn't in the mood for games, for the cold shoulder, for 
this... *this shit*. "How long, Seven?" she spat.

Seven cast a sideways glance at the woman next to her. "Fifteen 
minutes, assuming you cease this interruption and permit me to
complete my  duties." She retrieved a PADD resting on the upper shelf
of the primary display,  studied the recalibration estimates, then
turned her attention to the main  console, modified various grid
settings.

Despite Seven's efficiency, despite her technical prowess, it wasn't 
good enough. "I'll help you," B'Elanna pronounced. It wasn't an offer.

"I do not require your help."

"Too bad, because you've got it," B'Elanna growled, as she entered her
engineering code, then adjusted the sensor grid synchronization data.
"I need a long range scan of this sector as soon as possible. The
sooner the better."

As B'Elanna moved to another panel, Seven stepped into the vacated 
space. "What are you looking for?" Seven probed, as she modified the 
information the Chief Engineer had input.

"Supplies. Raw materials. You name it, we need them... badly." 
B'Elanna paused, noting Seven's expression. "Engineering is running on
hope and  a prayer at the moment. The warp engines are failing. The
dilithium crystals  are on their last legs."

Seven stilled. "Last legs. I wasn't aware that dilithium crystals 
had..."

"It's an expression," B'Elanna interrupted, annoyance shading her 
tone. "The crystals aren't going to last much longer. Recent events
have placed  an inordinate strain on an already troubled system. And
that's just the  tip of the iceberg."

"The tip of the iceberg."

B'Elanna exhaled heavily. She didn't have time for this. "Another
expression... the problem with the dilithium crystals is only one of
many."

Seven inclined her head slightly, considered B'Elanna's words. "I 
see."

"I doubt you do," B'Elanna breathed, unconvinced. No one on board 
really understood how dire Voyager's straights were. No one on board
knew  what she did.

"What about standard regeneration processes?"

B'Elanna sighed, her hands ceasing their movement. "The crystalline 
matrix won't withstand the standard regeneration process. As it is,
we're  experiencing major power failures in just about every system.
Turbolifts are  stalling. Replicators have suddenly become...
creative." At the question that  lit Seven's eyes, she clarified.
"Ensign Morris requested the replication of a  power conduit
circuit-breaker for the aft sensor grid. The replicator  produced a
cup of onion soup."

Seven frowned. "I see."

"Do you? Do you really?" B'Elanna demanded, reigning in her anger. 
Seven didn't see anything. No one did. No one understood the extent of 
Voyager's trouble, the ramifications.

"I believe that I do, Lieutenant."

"I hope so, because the fabric of this vessel is unraveling... very 
quickly. We don't have much time."

For several seconds, neither spoke, neither moved, neither breathed...
Voyager's circumstance immobilizing them. Prior to the Braai
incursion, Voyager had been in need. Now, their problems were worse.
Much worse.

"The scan will be my first priority once I have completed repairs to 
the main grid," Seven said, breaking the silence, returning her
attention to  the console before her.

"Once _we_ have finished the repairs," B'Elanna amended, stepping 
closer to the former Borg.

Seven inhaled deeply as a mechanical eyebrow raised. Abruptly, she 
nodded. "You may assist me."

B'Elanna snorted humorously. Fine. She'd don the role of assistant... 
for the time being. They were making progress. _That_ was what
mattered.

---

"Kazon pus hog!" Voyager's resident Talaxian barked as he dodged to 
his left and dropped to the deck, narrowly avoiding a flare of blue
flame  threatening to singe the whiskers along his jawline. Muttered
obscenities flew as he  scrambled to his feet, threw a fire
suppression blanket over the galley's small  thermal oven. Flames
leaped from beneath the covering, licked at the chef  become
firefighter. "That was the crew's favorite dish!" he snapped angrily, 
beating at the errant flames with a damp towel. As he attempted to
smother yet  another taunting flame, the edge of the towel caught the
handle of the pan  inside the oven, knocking it from its berth to the
deck.

The sound of metal impacting metal resonated through the mess hall, 
arresting conversation, compelling heads to turn, amused and concerned
looks to  be exchanged. Unrecognizable Talaxian expletives filled the
now quiet  room.

"You okay in there, Neelix?"

The question fell on deaf ears. Neelix kicked the pan, frustrated that 
yet another meal had been lost due to reasons beyond his control. 
"Shtivokiat dung mite!"

"Neelix?"

The voice of Samantha Wildman seeped through his anger, registered. 
"What?!" he snapped impatiently.

"I asked if you were okay." Sam stood in the doorway, taking in the 
chaos surrounding the thermal oven, the disheveled and flushed
Talaxian. "It  sounded like..."

Realizing he'd an audience, Neelix attempted to reign in his anger. 
This wasn't Samantha's fault. She'd merely offered an expression of 
concern. That concern and the intent behind it subdued his temper.
"I'm fine,  Samantha. Thank you for asking." He sighed, lowered his
gaze to the floor, the  blackened pan and its equally scorched
contents. "Just look at this ... this...  this..." He shook his head,
unable to summon the word.

"Mess?" Samantha smiled sympathetically. "We can clean it up, Neelix. 
It's not a problem."

"The mess is not the problem, Samantha. This is the fifth time in two 
days that a power surge has found its way into my kitchen and
destroyed  something," Neelix complained as he gestured to the charred
remains at his feet.  The fifth time in two days. He was well aware
that Voyager was suffering from  their encounter with the Braai. He
was well aware that Voyager had been in  need prior to that encounter.
The combination of the two had left Voyager  reeling. However, food
stuffs were also suffering. He didn't need Voyager's technological
woes exacerbating the shortage, escalating the status of the food
supply from serious to critical.

It was time to give light to the problem... to complain. Again. He 
defiantly tapped his comm badge. "Neelix to Lieutenant Torres."

"What is it Neelix?"

Neelix's jaw set at the edge of irritation in B'Elanna's voice... an
irritation, a frustration with which he could identify... one that he
shared. His own irritation refused to let hers deter him. "It happened
_again_, Lieutenant."

"Neelix... I'm in the middle of something at the moment. I don't have 
time for twenty questions. So, unless you can be more specific..."

"An anomalous power surge just decimated lunch."

"A team is working the problem, Neelix."

"That's what you said the last time."

"And that's what I'll continue to say until the problem has been 
identified and repaired. Beyond that, there is nothing I can do. I
have other far  more pressing problems, like keeping the warp core
on-line."

The Talaxian stiffened. "Lieutenant, you don't seem to appreciate the
implications of..."

"Neelix," the disembodied voice interrupted. "I appreciate the 
implications, far more than you realize. However, I can't do more than
I already am.  Torres out."

The comm channel went dead, bathing the mess hall in silence.

Neelix looked helplessly from his ruined meal to the small crowd 
gathering at the food hatch and back again. A team was working the
problem. Great.  That was just great. However, that did nothing to
ease his apprehension, or the immediate need of a meal. A frustrated
sigh escaped his lips, as he again lifted his eyes to the growing
crowd of onlookers. "It seems that the lunch menu has changed... and
that service will be delayed for a little while. How does leftover
Zrglich stew and hair pasta sound?" Neelix smiled at the crewmembers,
then turned to the refrigeration unit against the far wall, wondering
how he might stretch the remnants of the previous night's dinner so as
to provide an adequate meal for the ship's complement. There was
always the option of dipping into the reserves set aside for the
evening meal, but he hesitated to do so, especially since he'd no idea
when the supply might be replenished. And the replicators... well...
until they were functioning reliably, he refused to use them.

"Neelix..." Samantha stepped into the kitchen, halted his efforts with 
a hand on his arm. "I think you should have the Doctor take a look at
that."  She indicated his right hand.

He lifted his hand, stared curiously at the angry burns and blisters 
marring it. He hadn't noticed, wasn't aware, his anger and frustration 
overriding everything else. "I never noticed it." His eyes lifted to
Samantha's.

"Go to sickbay." She glanced over her shoulder at the crewmembers 
filling the doorway. "We'll see to lunch, and cleaning the galley."

---

The sight that met him as he entered Astrometrics was one he'd never 
get used to: Voyager's volatile Chief Engineer working alongside
Voyager's  abrasively independent former Borg... with cooperation,
respect and uncommon  restraint, if the lack of free-flowing affront
was any indication. They stood  hunched over the main console of the
lab, quietly discussing _something_, casting  an occasional glance at
the map on the main astral display. His gaze  drifted to the display,
to the three-dimensional chart projected there... a map  of the sector
Voyager was currently navigating through.

He crossed the room, stopped just short of the twosome.

"Okay, B'Elanna. I'm here... as ordered. What's so important that you 
drag me from a meeting with the Captain and Tuvok?"

B'Elanna spun, startled. She hadn't heard him enter; she and Seven had 
been completely immersed in their analysis... the implications of
their  findings. "Chakotay." She nodded once, then turned back to the
console, to the  starfield projected beyond. "We have a problem."

Seven glanced over her shoulder at him, but remained silent.

Chakotay eyed the former Borg, then sighed, turned his gaze to 
B'Elanna. He stepped forward, to the young woman's side. This couldn't
be good.  B'Elanna wouldn't have pulled him from a meeting with Tuvok
and Kathryn for  anything less than critical. But, if it were
critical, Kathryn would have been  summoned. And yet, B'Elanna had
asked for him, alone... an immediate audience.  This couldn't be good.
"We have a lot of problems at the moment, B'Elanna.  What's so special
about yours?"

"Look at it, Chakotay." She jerked her chin toward the map.

His gaze shifted to the projection.

"Notice anything?" She watched his eyes narrow as they skimmed over 
the chart. At the meager shrug of his shoulders, frustration flared.
Damn it. It  was obvious. It was painfully obvious. Was he being
deliberately dense?  Was he too tired? Was he so desperate to deny the
truth that he couldn't see it?

Chakotay crossed his arms over his chest. Nothing. He saw nothing. Or 
rather, he didn't see what B'Elanna felt should be obvious, even to
the casual observer. He trapped his lower lip between his teeth. What
the hell was he supposed to be looking for? He lowered his gaze to the
astral platform. "Just spit it out, B'Elanna. I don't have time for
guessing games." His mood was fraying. He was tired. He was hungry. He
was worn. The headache that had threatened him for hours had finally
manifested itself. He'd a ship in trouble, a crew pressed to their
limits. He'd a Captain who didn't trust him, expecting his prompt
return to her ready room, explanation in hand. He didn't have the
time, or the patience.

"We have to go back."

His brow furrowed, puzzled. "Go back?" Where? What the hell was she 
talking about? And then it hit him... with a force that took his
breath away.  His eyes snapped to the sector map. No... that wasn't
it. That couldn't be it.  He was tired. His brain hadn't made the
proper connection. Synapses were  misfiring.

"We have to go _back_," she pressed, her voice low.

Go back. He inhaled deeply, slowly, in an attempt to center his 
thoughts. She wasn't saying... "Go back." He fixed his gaze on an
unknown point of  light in the myriad of stars before him. "Where?"

"Chakotay..."

He laughed once, harshly, derisively. "To the Braai homeworld?" 
Chakotay shook his head in denial. "You can't be serious," he forced,
his voice no  more than a whisper.

She leaned closer, her expression, her voice grim. "I'm deadly 
serious." As if an afterthought, a meager apologetic justification,
she whispered, "We  have no choice."

His expression grew dark, unreadable. The line of his jaw set. "Why?"

---

Speckled skin began to heal almost immediately, as the Doctor ran a 
dermal regenerator over the burned hand of his patient. As damaged
cells were repaired, blisters seemingly drained and dried, then
receded, seared flesh faded to pink and then to a hue of golden tan
not far from the normal pallor of the Talaxian.

"You really must be more careful, Mister Neelix," the Doctor 
admonished, reaching for a hypospray. "This is the third burn I've had
to treat in  less than sixteen hours." He pressed the hypospray to his
patient's neck  and released the medication into his bloodstream. "Are
you attempting to  add roast Talaxian to the menu? If so, perhaps I
should replicate enough antacid  to treat the heartburn and
indigestion cases sure to follow."

Neelix's eyes narrowed as he shot the Doctor a dirty look. "Actually 
Doctor, the thermal oven keeps overloading."

"Perhaps you shouldn't put so much in it."

A Talaxian eyebrow raised in confusion, only to be lowered in 
realization and amusement. "Overloading as in _power surge_, Doctor."

The Doctor frowned. "Of course." Odd, he thought, the meaning should 
have been known to him, but the data reference had not been processed
properly,  had not been retrieved. He wondered how many other glitches
existed in his  programming of which he was not aware. Perhaps he was
due for a series of self- diagnostics. He shook his head, shaking off
the incident, then re-catalogued and re-cross-referenced the data in
his memory matrix.

"Cooking ring number four keeps bursting into flames at the first sign 
of a power surge. I have lost six of my saucepans to this aberration, 
including my best sauté pan." Neelix' voice rose slightly at the
memory. "Not to  mention the perfectly good meals that have been
ruined."

"I don't hear the crew complaining," the Doctor muttered dryly.

"Aren't they wonderful?" Neelix noted appreciatively, oblivious to the
Doctor's intended meaning. "The crew has been very patient and
understanding."

"Something at which we have all become adept as of late." The Doctor 
set aside the hypospray. He picked up a tricorder, ran the wand over
Neelix's  hand, then retrieved a small cylinder containing a topical
analgesic, and applied  a small amount to the once damaged flesh, to
further reduce any residual pain  as the subdermal layers continued to
knit and stabilize.

Neelix considered the Doctor's words. Yes, to a certain extent, they 
all were required to be patient and understanding. It was second
nature for  most, considering the plight of the crew for the last four
years. However,  even patience and understanding had their limits, and
he suspected the  Braai had pressed the crew, and perhaps even the
ship, to those limits.

"There you are Mister Neelix. You may return to your duties. 
However..." the Doctor stated absently, as he turned to set the
analgesic aside. "...  might I suggest that until the problem with the
power surges has been  repaired, you find a more rustic method with
which to prepare meals. It may prove  less hazardous."

"What a wonderful suggestion, Doctor," the Talaxian beamed. He should 
have thought of it himself.

"Yes... well... would that all our problems were so easily 
circumvented."

---

"Go back." The words could have been imagined, Kathryn Janeway's muted 
whisper barely audible over the indistinct hum of the warp engines.
They could  have been imagined, but they weren't.

"You want to go back?" Her voice was stronger now, held an edge of
incredulity.

"It's not a question of want, but one of need."

"Spare me the semantic posturing," she breathed, her voice reservedly 
low.

The line of Chakotay's jaw set, at her words, her tone. Resistance. 
There was already resistance, before he'd the opportunity to present
the facts.  He couldn't blame her. He'd resisted it himself. However,
her resistance  had little to with Voyager's overall circumstance, of
which she knew very  little at present, and everything to do with
them... _them_: he and Kathryn. The  tension between them was thick...
had been since their confrontation following  his release from
Sickbay. With each passing moment, the tension grew, and  what little
was left of their relationship, command or otherwise, was 
deteriorating.

Their relationship had been tested in the past: when their crews had 
first combined, following his botched attempt to recover the
transporter  control module stolen by the Kazon and Seska, following
the incident with  Riley Frasier and the Borg Cooperative, following
their initial encounter with  Species 8472 and their alliance with the
Borg. Their relationship had been tested,  but they had managed to
work through the problems, strengthening their bond as  a result.

But, the past paled in comparison to the present. Their relationship 
had been rocked to its core, not because of anything the Braai had
done, but  because of what _he_ had done years before, because of what
he had done to  _conceal_ his past, because he'd allowed that past to
reassert its hold on him.  Their relationship was tenuous at best,
pressed to limits he wasn't aware  existed. They were floundering,
their foundation crumbling.

Even the fates were conspiring against them, orchestrating the events 
of some tragic irony, forcing Voyager's return.

They didn't need this. Not now.

Voyager and her crew did not need a faltering command team. They 
didn't need the possibility of returning to the Braai homeworld. They
didn't need  the possibility of permanent exile in the Delta Quadrant
should they not.

He'd argued with B'Elanna and Seven for the better part of an hour, 
hoping against hope they were wrong. But in the end, reason won out.
They'd  no other feasible options. He couldn't deny the reality of
their situation. He  couldn't fight the truth.

He swallowed hard, unwaveringly held his Captain's gaze. She had to 
hear this. Despite the brittle nature of their relationship, perhaps
in spite of  it, this had to come from him. She had to hear it from
him. B'Elanna had  offered, but he'd refused her. He wouldn't submit
anyone else to the task. No one  else was suited. He was the only one
who truly understood Kathryn's dilemma,  what she had been through,
what was being asked of her now. He was the only one  who had a hope
of accurately gauging her response, and reacting accordingly.  However
arrogant it might sound, he was the only one.

"Our options are limited." He kept his voice low, calm, his expression
unreadable. He would not, could not, allow his own uncertainty, his
own frustration, his own wounds to show.

"Limited. So much so that the best option available is to return...?" 
Her voice faded, her head lowered, as images assaulted her... images
too  fresh... images less than forty-eight hours old. The universe was
full of  different kinds of pain, ways of being hurt... more than she
had ever suspected.  The sensation she now felt wrenching her gut was
new to her. Return? To  the Braai homeworld? For a fleeting moment,
anger flared, and she wanted to rage  at him. Him. Chakotay; an
obvious and easy target, for he too was a source of  pain, an
altogether different kind of pain... a pain that cut much deeper.

He sensed her conflict, and instinctively stepped closer. "Kathryn..."

Her head jerked up. "Commander," she interrupted, voice low, eyes 
dark.

His feet failed him. Any thought he had entertained of offering 
comfort was quickly extinguished with that one word, the message her
tone  conveyed, the look in her eyes. He would not be permitted to
cross the boundary of  command. Not now. Perhaps never again.

With great effort, he swallowed his ache, withdrew behind the mask of 
command, and pressed on. "I wish I had more to offer, Captain.
However, from  what B'Elanna and Seven have been able to conclude from
scans of the region  and from preliminary reports of Voyager's
condition, we have essentially two  options. One... we continue on our
current course and take our chances with  this system. Two..." He
paused, moistened his lips, silently cursed their  circumstance, the
path down which they were being forced. "Two... we reverse course, 
return to the Braai homeworld, and appropriate what we need. This
system has  produced nothing of significant promise and scans of the
area are less than  hopeful. However, the Braai homeworld has an
abundant and relatively pure  supply of dilithium. Food stuffs can be
replenished without question. The planet  is rich in most of what we
need. We've been able to verify the planet's  resource base... that
much wasn't part of the ruse." He lowered his gaze to the  PADD in his
hands, extended it to her. "This contains preliminary status from
Engineering, scan summaries from Astrometrics, and recommendations."

She accepted the device. For a moment, she stared blankly at the PADD, 
then turned away in frustration. She stepped to the balustrade
separating  the two levels of her office, stared out the viewport.
Choices? These were her  choices? An unknown versus a recognized evil?
A potential wasteland versus a  known bounty? The possibility of
permanent exile in the Delta Quadrant  versus the possibility of
death? These weren't choices. "I have a hard time  believing reversing
course is the only choice we have. There must be other  options...
avenues that haven't been explored or considered." Her brow furrowed 
in thought as she folded her arms over her chest. "Seven's initial
report  regarding this sector indicated an M-class planet within days
of the Braai homeworld. Long-range scans had shown it to be resource
rich. We'd considered it a potential alternate, at the very least an
additional supply stop, prior to our negotiations with the Braai."

He mentally sighed. He knew the arguments. He'd run through them all 
himself not long ago. "There was no definitive evidence of dilithium."

"The scans were incomplete."

He nodded once. "True. However, the probability of the existence of a 
large enough deposit of a high enough grade is extremely low.
Statistically,  the existence of such a deposit is a rarity. Besides,
if it did exist,  we'd have detected it."

"And the probability of its existence is so low that we should risk
confronting the Braai yet again?"

"Voyager's need has become imperative," he droned, regurgitating 
almost word for word what Seven had dispensed with dispassionate
certainty. "If we  want to remain space-worthy, we have no choice but
to reverse course."

"Is that your recommendation?"

He opened his mouth, but no words formed. Why couldn't he say it? Why 
couldn't he summon the word, give her the answer that neither one of
them  wanted to hear? He swallowed hard, drew in a deep breath. "Yes,"
he forced. He  couldn't believe he was advocating Voyager return,
couldn't believe the word  had passed his lips, couldn't believe the
thought thrived in his mind. But he  was, it had, it did.

She turned, took in his tired appearance, the strain impacted around 
his eyes, the tense set of his jaw. This wasn't easy for him either.
He'd been  badly hurt himself. He'd been hurt by the desperation which
had made him reveal a  past he'd spent years hiding, a past he'd no
clear hope of ever being able  to bury again. He'd been hurt by the
fact that his past had irreversibly  altered his relationship with the
crew, with her... for better or worse. He'd been  hurt by the grip his
past had on his soul... a grip she didn't understand and  wasn't sure
she wanted to.

In some way, his hurt touched her, made her sad, dampened her anger 
and frustration... at least temporarily. "Chakotay..." she whispered.

The tension in his body eased slightly at the sound of his name on her 
lips, the emotion behind it. Perhaps there was still hope.

For an instant they merely stared at one another, unsure of what to 
say. And then, her eyes dropped to the PADD in her hands, and whatever
hope had  been sparked in the utterance of his name was quickly
snuffed out.

When she next spoke, her voice was thick with muffled strength. 
"Assemble a meeting of the senior staff in ten minutes. Include Neelix
and Seven.  I want a more detailed review of our status... and our
options."

The discussion, however meager it had been, was over. He would not be 
allowed to further urge Voyager's need. It didn't matter; she'd heard
what was necessary to hear. The wheels had been set in motion.

---

Tom and Harry walked into the conference room side by side, their 
usual easy-going banter noticeably absent. Silently, they took their
seats,  took in the rigid concern etched on the faces of those already
present...  Neelix, Seven, and Voyager's senior staff less B'Elanna,
Chakotay, and the  Captain.

The meeting had been called not quite ten minutes earlier, the purpose
unspecified. But, they all knew why they were here. Everyone present
was aware of what was happening around them, the problems plaguing the
ship. Voyager was in trouble. And beyond the distended and failing
systems, Voyager's command team was in trouble as well.

The Doctor had relieved the Captain and Commander of duty for forty-
eight hours... medical leave. Ignoring the protestations of the
Doctor, less  than twenty-four hours after returning to the ship, the
two had  unofficially returned to duty. Both had sustained severe
injuries while planetside.  That also was not enough to deter them.
Understandable. Immersing  themselves in the needs of the ship
permitted them distance... from their own  difficulties, from the
specter of what had happened on the Braai homeworld. Rumors  saturated
the lower decks... speculation as to what had happened planetside, 
speculation at the rift that now existed between them. Those in
possession of the  facts acknowledged nothing... neither confirming
nor denying the veracity of  the rumblings.

The sudden discovery of the Commander's dark past did nothing to 
temper the rumors. Instead, what was flying fast and furious below
decks was at  times both fantastic and frightening.

Tom furtively glanced at the room's occupants... distant, lost within
themselves.

Tuvok had to be reeling.

The unexpected revelation of Chakotay's past had to have been quite a 
blow to ship's security... Tuvok in particular. The Vulcan could not
be held responsible for the lack of information in the Commander's
Starfleet personnel record. However, the Vulcan had infiltrated the
ex-Maquis' cell. He'd worked beside the man for weeks. And still, he
saw nothing. The revelation had to have been quite a blow... a source
of professional embarrassment, should a Vulcan be capable of such an
emotion.

The incident with the Braai, while unanticipated, had breached 
Voyager's security measures. An apparently backward race had managed
to isolate  a weakness, and exploit it. To add insult to injury to
ship's security,  to Tuvok in particular, among them lived and
breathed a covert killing team,  apparently Maquis in make-up, but
outfitted with Starfleet issue... from an  arsenal that had gone
undetected from day one of Voyager's exile. Starfleet issue.  The
duplicity _that_ bespoke was frightening, especially if the Maquis 
rumors were true concerning Chakotay's history with Starfleet.

Tuvok had to most definitely be reeling.

As did the Captain. Her counteraction was more obvious. She wasn't as
practiced as the Vulcan in non-emotion.

Tom glanced at her empty chair, wondered what in this whole tragedy 
had caused the rift between she and Chakotay. And the rift existed.
The disparity  in the command team was quite distinct, apparent to the
entire crew, not just  those who worked directly with them on a day to
day basis. They were  somehow... estranged, but not. A brief encounter
on the bridge had led Tom to the conclusion that all was not well.
That was all it took... a brief encounter. The incongruity had
startled him. His concern for his Captain did as well.

Under less dire circumstances, Tom could have made a killing on the 
betting pool, with everything he'd heard and seen. Hell, what he'd
heard and  seen could serve as the basis for a whole new arena of
profit. However, this was  not something at which to play. With each
bit of information gleaned from  various crewmembers, pieces of a
larger puzzle fell into place. The pieces  didn't quite fit, but the
image they implied was staggering.

Tom's gaze drifted to the empty chair of the First Officer. First 
Officer, once Maquis Captain, dark knight. Chakotay had always been
something  of an enigma on board... not quite evasive, but not one to
freely dispense  more than snippets of information about himself...
discrete moments in time,  more to do with his youth than his
adulthood. In light of what the last forty- eight hours intimated, Tom
now understood why.

The potential history that the last forty-hours intimated did not 
frighten Tom. He wouldn't deny having felt some tremor of fear at the
vision in  black that had met him in the transporter room prior to the
strike team's  departure. However, it was the shock of the moment, the
unexpectedness of the  sight. It took little effort to accept the
necessity of Chakotay's potential  history, to reason the merit of it,
and move on. That's what Tom had done. That  history did not frighten
him. Rather, in some indefinable way, Tom's respect for  the man grew:
respect for the man's ability, both practiced and dormant,  respect
for the man's control of self, respect for the courage it took to
reveal  what he'd spent years concealing, respect for the heart behind
it all. Whether  or not it made sense, his respect for the man grew.

Over the years, the animosity that existed between them had vanished.
Circumstance had forced them into roles neither would have chosen, but
both had accepted. Circumstance forged a relationship neither had
wanted. Circumstance facilitated the transformation... and that's what
was it had been, a transformation; there was no single defining
moment, no lucid realization, no epiphany. Their relationship slowly
commuted. And now, he held Chakotay in high regard, valued the man's
opinion. He would even go so far as to say he fond of the man, though
he wouldn't admit as much to anyone other than himself... even under
threat of death.

A smile threatened the pilot's face as he realized Chakotay meant a 
lot more to him than the average Starfleet First Officer. Big brother?
Perhaps.  As his gaze drifted to his immediate right, met the curious
stare of Harry  Kim, the smile appeared. Kid brother? Definitely.

"What?" Harry whispered, curious concern clouding his features, as he 
wondered what, amidst the darkness, Tom had found worthy of a smile,
however  meager. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, raised a
hesitant hand to his  cheek. Did he have something on his face?
"What's wrong?"

Tom snorted quietly at Harry's concern. "Nothing, Harry," he returned 
as he patted the younger man on the shoulder.

Harry lowered his hand, nodded, responded with a faint smile of his 
own. Tom never ceased to amaze him. Even in the darkest moments, he
could find  light... something positive, something to warm the soul.
What he'd found this  time, Harry didn't know, but he envied the man
his gift.

His smile softened, as he turned his attention to the PADD in his 
right hand. As quickly as the smile appeared, it was erased. Just
prior to  entering the conference room, he'd downloaded the latest
status of the main  computer, the ODN, and peripheral systems. Things
didn't look good. The damage  wreaked by the Braai not only introduced
new problems, but intensified existing ones.  Power failures and
surges were becoming more and more common, undermining  the integrity
of every system on board. Backup systems were supposed to  kick in
when the primary system deviated outside the acceptable operational 
parameters. However, redundant systems were randomly faltering as
well, unable to  handle the extreme energy oscillation that had forced
the primary system off- line. Transfer of control to the secondary
system could not be achieved  seamlessly, even with the assistance of
Ops. The ship's status was not critical...  not yet. Engineering, Ops,
the crew had been able to fight the fires that  arose, localize the
more drastic effects. But, in time, should the power  fluctuations
continue, that might become an impossible task.

Harry bit the inside corner of his mouth, lifted a somber face to the 
woman sitting stiffly opposite him. She didn't look comfortable.
Sitting,  she never did. He found her dilemma charming in an amusing
way. He studied her  face... an intriguingly beautiful combination of
human flesh and Borg technology. Interesting, he thought, that
beautiful and Borg could coexist in the same thought.

He started, suddenly aware of crystalline blue eyes, gazing 
unflinchingly at him with childlike innocence, Borg indifference. He
exhaled slowly, deliberately, turned his attention back to the PADD in
his hand, frowned.

Tuvok sat motionless, elbows resting on the arms of his chair, 
fingertips touching, palms pressed apart. His gaze was fixed,
concentrated, the  Vulcan mask of impassivity firmly in place. Despite
the mask, disquiet  simmered below the surface. His mind should have
been occupied with thoughts of the  ship, security protocols, ship's
tactical status, systems analysis. To be  fair, some remote corner of
his mind _was_, sifting through protocol improvements  for which
approval had already been granted and implementation was already
underway, security personnel already scheduled for advanced training
and tactical support, recommendations for further enhancements already
approved by the Commander and waiting for final authorization from the
Captain, weapon's status, tactical sensor grid status, and much more.

However, the majority of his thoughts were centered elsewhere... on 
Commander Chakotay... the mystery the man now presented. Ever since
he'd  discovered the embedded file in the Commander's personnel
jacket, he had been  chipping away at the access mechanism, attempting
to crack the code and gain access to  the file. The Captain had not
inquired as to the status of his efforts since her  initial order. It
was logical to assume she no longer required access, that  Chakotay
had granted it to her, or at the very least divulged the contents of 
the embedded dossier... a history that alleged something dark and
highly classified, tinged with the distinct fetor of Starfleet.

Despite the possibility that the Commander had disclosed the contents 
of the file, Tuvok would not abandon his efforts... unless ordered to
do so.  He'd already cracked three layers of the multi-layered code.
Progress.  Great progress, considering the apparent lack of logic in
the algorithm.  While it was far from random, it was random enough.
The challenge was significant.

Neelix sat calmly in his chair, studying Tuvok's right eyebrow as it
imperceptibly rose, then returned to a state of rest, then rose again.
He doubted the Vulcan was even aware of the movement. An involuntary
tic? In all probability no. Neelix was by no means an authority, but
he would venture that most everything in a Vulcan's life exuded
intent. He debated asking the Vulcan what thought had merited the
action, then decided against. It was too bold a question for so public
a forum.

And then he found the Security Officer's eyes on him... benignly 
curious. Neelix smiled, then dropped his gaze, found something of
great  interest on the sleeve of his colorful tunic, absently picked
at the offensive mark.

The hiss of the doors fractured the heavy silence, demanded the 
attention of everyone at the table, as Kathryn Janeway, Chakotay, and
B'Elanna  Torres entered the room.

The Chief Engineer nodded a greeting to Harry and Tom before dropping 
into a chair across from them. She found it impossible to return the
smile  Tom silently offered. There was little to smile about. There
would be even  less by the time the meeting was done.

Chakotay cast a casual glance at the assembled officers, noted the 
silent apprehension, the somber mood. The ills plaguing the ship
seemed to  have slowly infected the crew. A room that at one time
would have been filled with companionable banter had faded into
stillness. He hadn't realized how much he'd hoped to walk into
something that resembled normalcy. Instead, he was met with the silent
echoes of an all too real nightmare.

He dropped into his seat, simultaneously dropping his gaze to stare 
absently at a spot on the table before him. He felt separate, removed,
an  outsider embroiled in something beyond his ability to control. He
felt tired  and worn. The sensations had increased through the day
without resolution,  reaching a point where he felt he could endure no
more. However, he'd not the  luxury of surrender. He owed Kathryn more
than that.

His eyes lifted, encountered those of Tom Paris. A glimmer of solace 
lit blue. Chakotay momentarily froze, surprised. The gesture was
completely  unexpected... especially from this man. They always seemed
to be at odds... perhaps  more playfully these days, but at odds
nevertheless. And then the  connection was broken, severed by the
voice of their Captain.

"I'm sure you're all wondering what has precipitated this meeting." 
Kathryn Janeway glanced around the table, leaned forward in her chair. 
"Voyager's operational status is deteriorating. We are facing some
rather  difficult decisions as a result. In order to best flesh out
what options are  available to us, I felt we should all be informed of
the exact condition of the  ship." She nodded to the young woman at
the far end of the table, settled back in  her chair. "B'Elanna?"

"Thank you, Captain," B'Elanna acknowledged. She stood, stepped to the 
bank of display screens embedded in the bulkhead, entered a series of 
commands, then launched into her summary... operational status of
various onboard  systems, damage sustained, repair estimates, and so
on.

Kathryn carefully studied her officers as they listened, digested with 
single intent. They were riveted. As it should be. They needed to hear
it.  They needed to understand. She needed them to understand.
Everything. The grim  truth. Only a fully informed command crew was
armed with what was necessary to  explore potential alternatives. And
she needed alternatives... alternatives  other than the _one_ offered
by B'Elanna, Seven, and Chakotay.

Her thoughts stumbled over his name. Stumbled. Faltered. Stilled.

The mere thought of him pulled at her. Chakotay. Her First Officer. A 
man she had called confidante and friend. A man who had meant so much
more.  Who was this man to her now?

She could _feel_ him. Had she not known he was in attendance, had she 
not been able to see him in her peripheral vision, she'd have known he
was  here. His presence was palpable. It wasn't the odd sensation
associated with the  feeling of being watched or feeling as if you
were not alone, it was a warmth,  a presence, him, something about
_him_. She'd felt it for years, since  New Earth. An unusual
phenomenon, a connection... one she found unsettling, yet  oddly
reassuring. She'd attributed it to their prolonged isolation, their 
solitary companionship. Over the years, she'd grown accustomed to the 
sensation... it had become something that merely was.

At some point over the last forty-eight hours, however, the connection 
had been severed... lost. She didn't know exactly when or why, just
that  it was gone... until now. Unsettling, yet oddly reassuring.

She hazarded a glance to her left. A frown marred his forehead. His 
left elbow rested on the arm of his chair allowing the fingers of his
hand to imperceptibly knead the inked lines of the tattoo at his
temple... a definite sign of a headache. He appeared to be
concentrating on B'Elanna's words, but as Kathryn's eyes traveled his
face, he without question sensed her attention. His fingers stilled,
his hand dropped silently to rest on the edge of the table, his dark
eyes drifted to her. Silent question lit his brow, followed by a
shadow of concern. Despite all that had passed between them, what did
or did not exist now, he was still with her, offering his concern, his
silent support. Unflagging. Constant.

He'd never denied her his support, but now... now she was hesitant to 
accept it, unsure of what that support might hold, what undercurrents
might  exist. He'd betrayed a fundamental trust, undermining what they
had  painstakingly built between them. He'd betrayed a fundamental
trust with a lie... a  lifetime of lies. He'd betrayed a fundamental
trust and in the process  destroyed _her_ trust... in _him_.

The sound of B'Elanna's voice intruded upon her thoughts, drew her 
attention back to the meeting. With a final lingering glance at
Chakotay, she  shook herself free of her pensiveness, turned her full
attention on the  Chief Engineer.

---

"Power fluctuations are increasing in frequency and severity," 
B'Elanna stated as she returned to her seat. "The residual effects are
widespread;  almost every system on the ship, both primary and
redundant, is experiencing  problems. This morning alone, stellar
cartography lost a station because the fail- safe didn't work during a
relatively minor power surge. Luckily no one was at the  console at
the time. Shuttlebay one experienced a loss of pressurization. The 
main force field failed. We nearly lost the entire contents of the
bay.  Lieutenant Carey and a small team happened to be working in the
bay at the time.  They managed to erect several emergency force fields
until we could bypass  the faulty junction. Airponics was flooded when
the watering system  switched on and couldn't be switched off. Even
Neelix has had problems with the mess  hall." B'Elanna glanced at the
Talaxian.

"The kitchen nearly blew up. I was lucky to escape with my life," the 
Talaxian said, holding up his frequently abused and repaired hand.
"Not to  mention the meals that have been ruined."

"Those are but a few examples. And, the effects are only going to get 
worse. Almost everything feeds off the main power grid... the main
computer,  the main navigational deflector, long range communications,
transporters,  replicators, life support, shields, weapons, the
bio-neural interfaces." The list  tripped off B'Elanna's tongue.
"Because of the unpredictable nature of the  power surges and
failures, we haven't even begun to isolate and repair the latent 
damage... and the damage could be anywhere, in any one or all of those
systems.  Even if we could isolate the damage, we don't have the
manpower to affect  repairs. We're concentrating our efforts on
essential systems... containing  potentially critical failures as they
arise."

"Can we move some of these systems to the secondary grid?" Tom 
offered.

B'Elanna nodded. "Yes... _some_ can be moved. I have teams working on 
that right now. However... the impulse engines won't generate the
power we  need to safely offload even a majority of the essential
systems. Most will  have to continue to feed off the main grid." Her
eyes darted to Chakotay. "The  incident with the Braai hurt us badly."

Chakotay's expression clouded slightly as his eyes locked with 
B'Elanna's. The incident with the Braai had hurt them far worse than
she knew.

The Chief Engineer's gaze flickered to the Captain, then returned to 
Chakotay. The Braai had hurt them badly: the ship, the crew, Kathryn
Janeway,  Chakotay... no one more so than Kathryn Janeway and
Chakotay. B'Elanna didn't know  what they'd endured planetside, what
they'd endured since. She only knew  they had suffered... greatly.
They _still_ suffered. She saw it in their eyes,  the way they
interacted with the crew and one another. And now, she was  advocating
they return to the very place, the very race, that was responsible for
it  all.

"What exactly is causing the power fluctuations?" Tom asked.

B'Elanna's gaze migrated to Tom. "A failing crystalline matrix." At 
Tom's frown, she inhaled deeply, continued. "Voyager sustained major
damage  to the main power grid as a result of the Braai incursion. The
damage wasn't  critical. In fact..." she snorted. "It could have been
a lot worse."

"Their incompetence was our good fortune," Tom muttered.

"I wouldn't exactly say that," B'Elanna snapped. "It was a miracle we 
were able to get the warp engines back on-line as fast as we did." She 
paused, calmed herself. Tom wasn't aware of how critical their
problems were.  But, he was about to find out. "Since getting the warp
engines back on-line,  we've experienced several inverse power
surges... due mainly to latent  damage sustained from the other
explosive devices detonated by the Braai.  These surges have damaged
the dilithium matrix, the magnetic sealing components,  servo
mechanisms... more. The quantum electrification of the matrix has 
drastically reduced the life-span of the crystals."

Chakotay's jaw clenched tight. The repairs to the engines had been 
hurried at his insistence. Full diagnostics had not been run prior to
bringing  the engines on-line. There hadn't been time... at least not
that he'd allowed. As  a result, peripheral problems, some of which
Engineering hadn't even been aware  of, problems that compounded one
another, were given a wider scope of  influence... including the
matrix. What had only been a minor concern two days  prior was
suddenly a critical issue.

"What about deuterium levels?" Tom asked.

"The levels are low, but sufficient." B'Elanna frowned slightly at the
question. "The problem isn't deuterium or the impulse engines. The
problem is the dilithium crystals... our ability to provide and
control power from the main grid." The Chief Engineer leaned forward,
rested her forearms on the table. "The matter/antimatter reaction
assembly is not producing a sufficient plasma stream to maintain full
power... at least not indefinitely. The dilithium crystals have
reached the end of their usefulness. They have to be replaced. And
soon."

"What about the theta-matrix? The recrystallization techniques we 
normally employ to increase the efficiency of the dilithium?" Harry
suggested.

"Under normal circumstances, that is exactly what we'd be doing. But, 
the dilithium is now of such poor quality that recrystallization won't 
work. The crystals have been to Hell and back. They've been
regenerated so many  times..." B'Elanna sighed, shook her head. "The
crystals are almost completely  drained. Recrystallization isn't an
option."

"So what exactly are you saying, B'Elanna?" Harry asked, his voice 
low, his brow furrowed. He knew exactly what she was saying. Voyager's
need was unmistakable. However, he needed to hear the ramifications
clearly spelled out, with no room for question.

B'Elanna's dark gaze fixed on the young Ensign. "The bottom line? If 
we don't replace the crystals, we have less than two weeks before
we're dead in  the water, even if we limit power consumption to what
is strictly  necessary. If we can't replace the dilithium, we will
either have to land on a planet  or drift sublight until impulse
engines or emergency environmental systems give  out. Voyager won't
fly..." Her voice trailed off. She didn't need to  complete the
sentence, the thought. They all understood the implications.

Silence blanketed the room like a shroud, weighed heavy upon its 
occupants. The loss of Voyager was unthinkable... unacceptable.

Harry schooled his thoughts, pushed. "And a massive dose of gamma 
radiation won't extend their life?"

B'Elanna smiled humorlessly. "I wish it were that simple, Harry." She 
exhaled slowly. "There is _nothing_ we can do to prolong the life of
or  enhance the output of the crystals in the assembly." Would that
there were a way.  Were there, their options would be much more
palatable than what they  faced. She turned her attention to the
Captain. "Power is _the_ most critical  issue at the moment... for
reasons beyond remaining space-worthy. The dilithium  vector
calibrations we normally perform during routine maintenance have shown 
that the magnetic seals on the antimatter containment system are
weakening. We  need power to maintain those seals. If the magnetic
confinement field  fails... we're looking at a warp core breach."

But still, there was more. B'Elanna glanced briefly at the PADD 
resting on the table before her. A mere prop. She already knew the
content almost  word for word. "In addition..." Her gaze drifted to
Tom, seeking some measure  of encouragement, support, comfort in the
midst of the affliction she  bore. "As you're all aware, trilithium is
a toxic by-product of the  matter/antimatter reaction. We've
accumulated a significant amount of trilithium resin."

Neelix's brow furrowed, not quite understanding the concern. 
Trilithium served as a superb weapons base. "I don't see the problem.
Trilithium makes  an excellent explosive."

"Exactly, Neelix. It's an excellent explosive," Harry interjected, 
exhaling heavily. "It's also highly unstable when not properly stored.
With all  the power fluctuations and system failures..." He glanced at
B'Elanna. "A  stable storage unit is critical."

Neelix sank back in his chair, as realization dawned. "I see. Can't we 
just dump it?"

"We don't _dump_ toxic waste," B'Elanna growled, her frustration 
showing. At least they didn't dump toxic waste by choice. She sighed
loudly, bit  her lower lip, steeled herself. "However... we may have
to eject the storage  unit if we lose containment."

The voice of Kathryn Janeway finally found its way into the 
discussion. "I don't think it will come to that, B'Elanna." She
wouldn't let it. She  would not allow her ship, her crew to reach that
point of desperation. "Is there  a way to implement some sort of
stopgap measure? Can we incorporate alternative  fuel sources?"

"We're already eating into our reserves just to sustain some semblance 
of normal operations. Once they're depleted, we'll be hard pressed to 
generate enough power to run a PADD let alone any stopgap measures.
There _are_  no alternative fuel sources... not on board this ship,
and not in this  sector." B'Elanna swallowed hard, leveled her dark
gaze on her Captain. "We  have no choice, Captain. We need dilithium."

"There is always a choice, Lieutenant," Kathryn volleyed.

B'Elanna held her ground. "In this instance, I have to disagree, 
Captain. We need dilithium... and soon. We are in trouble _now_."

B'Elanna was right. She wasn't prone to exaggeration or coloring the 
truth for her own gain. She was typically precise and up front.
Painfully so. Particularly when the ship was involved. Chakotay knew
she'd done her homework on this one. She'd exhausted the possibilities
and come up with only one answer. He nodded in acknowledgment, entered
the fray. "What can we do in the short term to ease the strain on the
crystals?"

"Off-loading systems to the secondary grid, which is underway. I'd 
also like to reduce the power output on the main grid, which means we
shut down  the non-essential systems currently operating off of it,
and reconfigure  the others to operate within the reduced power
constraints. Reducing the load on  the assembly may help to reduce the
severity of the fluctuations we're experiencing. I wish we could
eliminate them completely, but that won't be achieved with anything
short of a complete shutdown of the grid or a stable matrix. We'll
continue to experience random failures."

The cut of Kathryn's mouth thinned as she considered her Chief 
Engineer. Abruptly, she nodded. "Do it." Her gaze swept the table.
"Any other suggestions?"

"Perhaps we should drop from warp five to something a little more 
sedate," Tom proposed. Lower warp was inevitable once the power output
was  decreased. However, until that time, the helm didn't need to tax
the assembly.

"Agreed," Kathryn nodded. "Decrease our speed to warp two. Inform all 
other shifts that we are not to increase speed without Captain's
approval."

"Yes, ma'am."

"What about life support?" Harry prompted. "Could we shut down some of 
the decks, relocate any necessary operations to remote consoles, and 
reroute power?"

Kathryn's eyebrows raised in thoughtful approval. "Sounds like a 
reasonable suggestion. Look into the logistics of temporarily
relocating  departments to other decks. Neelix... I'd like you to help
Mister Kim in assessing  the feasibility of moving crew quarters."
Neelix had his finger on the  pulse of the crew. He was more keenly
aware of who could bunk with whom, without  threat to life or limb,
than most of the officers... perhaps with the exception  of Chakotay.
It was Chakotay's job to know. Regardless, Neelix was  capable.

"Aye, Captain," came the Talaxian's prompt reply.

"Aye, Captain." Harry attempted to conceal a smile as he watched 
Neelix puff with pride. The Talaxian wanted nothing more than to be a
productive, contributing member of the crew, beyond the boundaries of
the mess hall. He was making an admirable effort with his Security
training, but still, being assigned a task such as this did much to
make the alien feel a part.

"Seven..." Kathryn turned her attention to the former Borg. "What 
about long-range scans of this sector? As I recall, initial scans
indicated  an M-class planet within days of the Braai homeworld."

A mechanical eyebrow raised. "That is correct. However, I am unable to 
obtain an accurate assessment of the planet. Long-range scans are
unreliable  due to a problem with the deflector array."

Kathryn's attention shifted. "B'Elanna?"

B'Elanna shook her head. "The main deflector array suffered 
significant damage from a massive power surge shortly after the warp
engines were  restored. We've been attempting to make repairs, but
every time we bring the array  back on-line, the power drag triggers a
series of failures and surges that  introduce even more problems.
Long-range scans can be performed, but the sense  data is extremely
unreliable."

"Is there any way to shield the array from the cascading 
fluctuations?"

"No. But once we've shifted some of the onboard systems to the 
secondary grid, the power drag may be negligible."

Kathryn exhaled slowly. May be negligible. That wasn't a guarantee. 
She needed more, but knew it was beyond realization at this point.
"For the time  being, we'll have to rely on the scans performed prior
to our dealings with  the Braai. Those scans indicated a resource rich
M-class planet, did they not?"

"Yes," Seven affirmed.

"What did those scans reveal?"

"Preliminary analysis suggested ample vegetation and the existence of 
base mineral deposits. However, due to our distance from the system,
the  sense data was incomplete."

"How long before Voyager reaches that planet?"

Seven approximated distance from memory and current speed, then 
calculated the remaining time to planetfall, taking into account
current speed and  the ordered decrease in warp. "Thirty-eight weeks
at warp two. Thirteen days at  current speed."

"Can we maintain current speed after the reduction in power output?" 
Harry asked.

"I wouldn't advise it... not for any extended period of time," 
B'Elanna interjected. "We'd run the risk of overloading the warp
engines. And  then, for all intents and purposes, we'd be adrift." She
sighed, offered yet  another consideration. "Even if the crystalline
matrix survived the time it  would take us to make that journey on
impulse engines alone, our food reserves  wouldn't last. And there
isn't another supply point between us and that  planet." Voyager's
food reserves wouldn't last thirty-eight days let alone  thirty-eight
weeks. Perhaps not even thirteen days.

Silence descended.

Thirty-eight weeks. Thirty-eight weeks under the conditions they'd 
endured for the last forty-eight hours, under conditions most likely
worse.  Kathryn wondered at the ship's ability to endure. Hell...
there was no way  they could. But at high warp? Thirteen days was
doable. And, what lay ahead had to  be better than what lay behind...
surely. She didn't want to order her  ship, her crew to reverse
course, not if she didn't have to. She needed to know  what lay before
them... prayed it was their answer. "Seven, I'd like a copy of  the
data already accumulated on this sector, along with the preliminary 
analysis. B'Elanna, I'd like a complete report detailing warp
capability under  reduced power output. I want to know what exactly we
risk running at high warp  for an extended period of time. Also, try
to reroute maximum power to the  long-range scanners. I want to know
what we can expect from that planet."

"Yes, ma'am," B'Elanna replied flatly, unable to comprehend the point 
of the exercise. They would not reach that planet. And even if they
did, the likelihood that they'd find a measurable amount of useable
dilithium was low. Their only hope lay on the Braai homeworld.

And then something B'Elanna said struck Kathryn with an unexpected 
force. One main point of negotiation with the Braai had been the
acquisition of  food stuffs. Reserves were dwindling. Voyager's need
had not been critical,  but then, the status of the crystalline matrix
hadn't been critical at  that time either. "What about food reserves,
Neelix? Reducing replicator rations  would marginally increase our
power reserves. However, if your supplies  can't withstand the
drain..."

"Food stocks have been slightly depleted," Neelix answered, without 
answering the question.

"How much is _slightly_ depleted? I need figures, Neelix."

"Well... taking into account this morning's incident in Airponics, as 
well as the problems I've been having with cooking ring number four, I
would  estimate food reserves will hold approximately two weeks. Of
course, that also  assumes we are more... conservative in our usage."
Neelix hesitated to use the  word _ration_. Rationing food was a
measure of desperation.  Somehow,  things didn't seem that bad... not
yet. He lifted his hands, waved them slightly. "A  more accurate
estimate would be something like ten days."

"Ten days?" Tom snorted in disbelief. "And if we _aren't_ more...
conservative?"

Neelix turned to face the pilot, but offered no response, certain none 
was expected.

Kathryn's eyes shifted quickly among the faces that stared at the 
Talaxian from the perimeter of the table. Their faces betrayed what
she felt.  The situation was worse than they'd realized. They would
have no choice  but to supplement with replicators were they to
survive any journey but the  one that lay behind them. If Voyager
proceeded on its current course, they  would have to attempt sustained
high warp. Thirteen days would have to be their  mark, with no room
for error... no room for problems. "As of 2000 hours we will  reduce,
but not eliminate, replicator privileges... with the caveat that 
privileges will be restored to current levels if absolutely necessary.
Neelix, prepare a  complete inventory of food reserves. I'd also like
you to devise a more  conservative meal rotation."

"Aye, Captain."

"Before we continue..." Kathryn directed her attention to the silent 
figure at the opposite end of the table. "Doctor, have you anything to
add?"

The Doctor straightened, briefly debated mentioning the glitches in 
his data access subroutines. However, it seemed a minor problem
relative to  what he'd spent the last half hour digesting. Perhaps
later, when things had  settled. Instead he shifted his focus to the
crew. "I have some general health  concerns, Captain. Should the
status of our food supply become critical, we will  need to supplement
the crew's diet. In fact, in light of the duty schedule  carried by
most of the crew at present, the added stress and the reduction in 
sleep, I would suggest supplements now."

"All right, Doctor. I'll trust you to prescribe supplemental regimens 
where needed. Anything else?"

"No."

She nodded once. "And Doctor... I think it would be best if you 
continued operations from your portable emitter, until we've solved
our power  problems." A smile ghosted Kathryn's lips. "We wouldn't
want to lose you."

The Doctor returned the smile. "Understood. And.. thank you, Captain."

Kathryn bit the inside of her cheek, glanced toward Chakotay. The 
faint smile coloring her face faded as quickly as it had appeared. His
eyes  lifted, met hers. An unspoken question passed between them. He
responded with a  dour nod.

It was time.

---

She tore her gaze from her First Officer, cleared her throat. "There 
is another option available to us." She paused, looked into the eyes
of  her Chief Engineer, released a hesitant breath.

"We reverse course, and return to the Braai homeworld," B'Elanna 
stated simply, taking the burden from her Captain.

Kathryn watched as heads turned in mute astonishment toward the 
Lieutenant. Aside from Seven and Chakotay, Tuvok was the only officer
who seemed  not to react. It could have been the Vulcan in him. It
could have been that  he'd already considered the option, for it was a
logical conclusion.  Regardless, his self-possessed mien betrayed
nothing.

When Harry was able to break through the cognitive dissonance of his 
shock, he blinked, stuttered. "Y.. you're kidding, right?"

"Actually, it is the only logical alternative." Seven's dispassionate 
tone fractured the stunned silence.

"The only logical alternative." Tom's brow furrowed as he attempted to 
wrap his mind around what Seven was implying. "What are you saying,
Seven?  That the only choice we really have is to go back?"

"Yes."

Harry shook his head, leaned heavily against the table. "What about 
that M-class planet?"

Seven turned to the Operations officer. "Preliminary scans of that 
planet offered no definitive evidence of dilithium. It is highly
improbable  that useable deposits exist. The Braai, on the other hand,
have significant  stores of refined dilithium. We can also replenish
our fresh food reserves."

"And..." B'Elanna interrupted. "It's a hell of a lot closer."

For an instant, Harry faced her, a bitter retort twisting his lips. 
But when he met her eyes, the bitterness faded into mere incredulity.
"After  what happened, you want to go back and play nice with them?
Try one more  time?" Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice...

In a pale voice, B'Elanna replied. "Not exactly, Harry."

"Then what are you suggesting?" Tom pressed, eyes narrowing.

"That we return covertly."

Kathryn started, stared at the young woman. A covert operation? 
Chakotay hadn't mentioned this particular thread. Perhaps he hadn't
discussed  as much with the Lieutenant. Perhaps he had, but saw no
benefit in raising the  subject, in light of his past. Regardless, the
recommendation made sense. There  was no other way Voyager could
return, for the instant the Braai knew of  their presence, the battle
would begin. And, Voyager was in no condition to  fight.

She turned her gaze on the man to her left, the object of study of 
every person in the room. He sat quietly, arms folded over his chest,
eyes  lowered.

Chakotay felt about to suffocate under the weight of his past, well 
aware that every set of eyes in the room rested on him... the rumored
resident  expert. He didn't want this. He didn't want to be cast in a
role for which there  was no need. "If we return to the Braai
homeworld, we have three options," he  said quietly, eyes lifting,
resting on no one in particular. "The first is  a diplomatic treaty,
which I think we can all agree is implausible. The  second... we send
an away team to infiltrate the Braai community. They go in  disguised
as Braai, work from the inside to negotiate a trade." He paused,
inhaled  deeply.

"And the third option?" Harry prompted.

Dark eyes fixed keenly on the young man. "A black operation."

Confusion lit Harry's brow. "What?"

"We send an away team to simply _take_ what we need without their 
knowledge," Kathryn responded in a voice veined and knuckled with
disapproval.  "Under normal circumstances, I would prefer the
diplomatic approach, but that  option is no longer available to us.
The second suggestion bears some merit,  and warrants further
examination." She paused, weighing the effect of the  order she was
about to issue. It would smack of dissension. At the moment,  however,
she didn't care. "Tuvok... designate an away team for the mission,
should  we in fact return to the Braai homeworld. I'd like to see
preliminary  logistics by 0800 hours tomorrow. Include a tactical
analysis of Braai space.  Voyager will have to remain concealed.
Perhaps we can shield ourselves behind one  of the Braai moons."

Tuvok nodded his acknowledgment.

"Coordinate your efforts with B'Elanna and Neelix." She directed her 
next comments to the Talaxian and the half-Klingon. "Compile a supply
list,  with items categorized as critical and non-critical. See that
Commander  Tuvok is copied." She broke her course of orders, briefly
studied the man next  to her. He sat staring at his knotted hands.
Despite the flat expression  Chakotay wore, she knew he was angry; she
could feel the heat radiating from him. She  could guess the reason
behind his anger, but refused to give it power. Her  need to have
Tuvok in charge of the mission was imperative. "Harry, I want 
continual long-range scans... at least, as long-range as the deflector
array  will allow." She smiled humorlessly. "If at all possible, I'd
like to see what the  Braai are discussing over their airwaves. Seven,
I'd like you to work with  Engineering on offloading systems to the
secondary grid, and rerouting maximum power  to the deflector array."

Acknowledgments were quietly given.

"Captain..."

Kathryn turned to confront dark eyes. "Commander... I'll need you on 
the bridge." Chakotay's expression hardened as she effectively
grounded  him. If he'd allowed any other reaction to surface, she
missed it, as she  shifted her attention from him. "I will make my
final decision on our course of  action..." She hesitated, unsure what
to say. There was a time limit... a point  at which Voyager's needs
would require a decision. She didn't want her back  pressed against
that wall, and yet, she needed time. To think. To weigh her  options,
the risks. "... soon. In the meantime, we have a lot to accomplish. 
Therefore, if there is nothing else..."

"Captain," Chakotay interrupted, his voice hard. "There is one more 
thing."

She sat still, murmured silent and futile warnings at herself. She 
didn't want to hear it... whatever _it_ was. However, she couldn't
ignore him; he  was still her First Officer. He was one of the good
guys, or so she attempted to  convince herself over and over, and over
again. "Yes, Commander?"

Chakotay blinked back the ache behind his eyes, turned to the Chief of
Security. "If we lose the main power grid, what alternative security
protocols are in place? What provisions can we put in place for
shields and weapons?"

"I will look into the feasibility of implementing a relay through the 
impulse engines. I believe it is possible to reroute the necessary
systems."

"B'Elanna?" The lines on Chakotay's face softened as he turned to the
overwhelmed engineer. "Can you assign an engineering team to assist
Tuvok?"

She nodded.

He again turned to the Vulcan. "I'd like to review some security 
protocols with you. I'd also like to review the change specifications
before you  begin implementation." His next words flowed calmly,
without malice. "If we  do return to the Braai homeworld, we need to
be ready... for anything."

Tuvok quickly looked to his Captain.

The action was unintentional, but Chakotay caught it.

B'Elanna caught it as well, interpreted it as a request for Kathryn's
approval. She almost winced, in sympathy for Chakotay. The action
spoke volumes. The collapse it implied... She stiffened. Chakotay was
still First Officer. Despite what had happened with the Braai, despite
the ill that now existed between Kathryn and Chakotay, he was still
First Officer.

She missed the slight nod the Captain proffered, the acknowledgment 
Tuvok offered Chakotay. What the hell was going on?

"Is there anything else?" Kathryn asked. Faced with nothing but 
silence, she stood. "We have a lot to do... I suggest we get to it.
Dismissed."

The occupants slowly filed from the room, save for two... one still 
seated, the other rooted to the floor within a meter of the door.

Chakotay slowly rose, turned to leave, then froze. Tuvok stood facing 
him... silent, thoughtful. Chakotay saw himself reflected in Tuvok's
eyes,  saw himself standing alone with what he had lost written in his
face. The loss  dismayed him, angered him. "Say what you've got to
say, Tuvok," he said, his  voice low.

A Vulcan eyebrow rose as Tuvok momentarily considered his words. 
"While it is not my custom to question the Captain's orders, I feel
compelled to  offer that, in this instance, you are the better choice
to lead the away team.  Captain Janeway ..."

"... gave you an order," Chakotay interrupted. "I suggest you follow 
it." For untold seconds, they stood, locked in silent conflict, silent 
understanding, and then Chakotay shouldered his way past the Vulcan.
Short of  triggering the door, he stopped, spoke without turning.
"It's the Captain's call,  Tuvok. She made a good one." With that, he
stepped forward, stepped onto the  bridge. He had a duty shift to
complete.

---

~~~ He was not in the place he'd expected to be... the place he was 
want to find himself. Instead, he was surrounded by darkness. The air
was  still, cool and damp. He could hear the babble of water as it
traveled a moderate  course over stone and sand. The ground beneath
his boots was shallowly  pliant, the hard bones of rock offering
resistance just underneath. The air  smelled of moisture, laced with
the under-smell of something sickly sweet... an  odor he knew but did
not want to identify.

He slowly turned, squinted in the darkness. Where the hell was he?

Without warning, the air around him seemed to ignite, a lurid glow 
enveloping him. The light moiled about him like lava, but rather than
warmth,  damp cold flared against his skin.

He shivered.

And then the effulgence dimmed, faded to near darkness, a faint orange 
glow in the distance all that remained. He willed his eyes to adjust
to the  lighting. His eyes narrowed... searched the dimness, attempted
to survey his surroundings. His breath caught in the back of his
throat. He was in a cave. A cave both alien and familiar. A cave at
the bottom of a Braai ravine.

He migrated toward the center of the chamber, closer to the light... 
the stone hearth he'd fashioned for warmth., to help her survive, to
help him  survive.

Again a shiver convulsed through him, pushed him to the small pile of 
rocks. Heat radiated from the hearth. Instinctively, he held out his
hands,  palms down, to warm them.

His brow furrowed as the bone-deep chill in his hands unexpectedly 
turned to fire then numbed. His eyes dropped. His heart stopped. His
hands were  coated with something slick, thick, dark... blood.

Who's...?

He scanned the perimeter of the light, found nothing but darkness. He 
was alone.

He raised his trembling hands, released a shuddering breath, stared 
mutely at the horror clinging to them. Blood. Blood on his hands. He
closed his  eyes, swallowed hard... deliberately... forced the bile
rising in his throat  to reverse course.

Focus! He screamed at his mind to focus.

And then, he sensed her.

His eyes slipped open. "Show yourself," he whispered.

There was no movement. No sound.

"Please," he pleaded.

"You are troubled, my friend."

He again scanned the perimeter of the light, searching for the 
familiar form of his guide, but still found nothing but darkness. His
eyes narrowed.  "Why am I here?" He indicated his surroundings.

Silence met his ears.

"What is this?" he rasped as he extended crimson hands, revealing 
their shame.

Again, silence met his ears.

"What does it mean?" he snapped. What the hell did it mean? What was 
she playing at? He exhaled quickly, frustrated. "I don't understand
why  you have brought me here."

"It is _you_ who brought _me_ here," came the gentle reply.

His mouth opened, silently worked at a reply, then closed. It made no 
sense. He spun, attempted yet again to find her. "Why would I do that?
Why  would I seek a place I want only to forget?"

"Why indeed?"

His eyes were again drawn to his hands. Blood. Blood on his hands.

With disorienting swiftness, he was again engulfed by darkness. He 
could no longer feel her, her presence, her warmth. He was alone. ~~~

Chakotay didn't flinch, despite the sudden and desperate urge to heave 
himself from the floor, rush to the bathroom and scour his hands; he
simply  opened his eyes and swallowed the pain. Trembling hands
lifted, slowly turned.  Clean. His hands were clean... at least to the
casual observer. But he knew  better.

He exhaled deliberately, lowered his hands to rest in the hollow of 
his legs, attempted to shake off the remnants of the vision, the
tendrils of  fear and shame clinging to his thoughts. But the specter
of the vision refused  to let go, rasping at the edge of his
awareness... chafing at his soul.

He muttered an obscenity, clamped his eyes shut. This had not been the 
intent of his vision quest. He'd hoped to find some semblance of
peace.  Instead...

Was that what his vision had been? Some metaphysical reminder of who 
he was, and what he'd done? He snorted. He didn't need to be reminded.
He'd  lived it.

"Torres to Chakotay."

His eyes snapped open. "Go ahead, B'Elanna."

"Are you alone?"

A bewildered eyebrow rose as he crushed the vestiges of his vision. 
"Yes," he offered slowly. "Why?"

"I need to talk to you." Her voice echoed muffled misgiving.

He ran a weary hand over an equally weary face. "Now?"

"Yes, now," the disembodied voice snapped.

"B'Elanna..."

"Chakotay..." Her tone softened. "Please."

A smile crooked the corner of his mouth. He never could say no to her 
when she used that voice. He exhaled resignation. "Okay," he quietly
replied.  "But make it quick. I have things to do."

"I'm standing outside your door. You think you could let me in?"

He snorted, shook his head. "Why am I not surprised?" he muttered, 
knowing full well she would hear every word. "Come."

As the door opened to permit her entrance, he turned his attention to 
the items of his medicine bundle, carefully arranged on the floor
before  him. With deliberate care, he placed them back in the animal
skin, wrapped them.

"Chakotay?" B'Elanna called softly from just inside the door.

"Over here." He climbed to his feet, set the bundle on the coffee 
table.

"Why is it so dark in here?"

A smile again found its way to his lips. "Computer... lights. Fifty 
percent." Starlight and shadow were suddenly replaced with artificial
light,  reanimating the throbbing in his head that the darkness had so
effectively  checked. He fought the wince that threatened, turned to
his visitor. "What's up?"

B'Elanna silently stepped into the room, moved to stand before her 
friend. She eyed him momentarily, weighed the merits of the subtle
approach versus  laying it on the line. Hell, she thought, subtle was
not something she had  ever been very good at. "What happened in there
today, Chakotay?"

He frowned at the question, uncertain as to what she referred. "In 
where?"

"In that conference room. What happened?"

He stiffened slightly. "What do you mean... 'what happened'?"

She exhaled slowly. He wasn't going to make this easy. "I'm concerned,
Chakotay. I'm concerned by what I saw in there today. You've been
unusually quiet since... since you returned. Something happened down
there... something happened after you returned... something between
you and the Captain. And what I saw today..." She paused, moistened
her lips. "What's going on? What's going on between you? Kahless..."
she hissed. "the tension is thick enough to..."

"B'Elanna."

It was a warning. She knew it, but chose to ignore it. She would 
rather bear his wrath than see him suffer. "No, Chakotay. This may be
none of my  business, but it's affecting the entire ship. It's
affecting you... and your  place in this crew."

Her face showed strain, but it wasn't the strain of fatigue. He stared 
at her dumbly for a long moment before he realized that it was
sympathy...  anger. Anger, he could accept. However, he didn't want
her sympathy, nor did  he need it. His eyes flashed dangerously. "I
don't need you watching out for  me," he breathed. "I can take care of
myself."

"I used to believe that."

"What the _hell_ is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you let her walk all over you in there today."

"She's the Captain."

"And you're her First Officer. Or have you suddenly been demoted to
figurehead?" she spat.

"B'Elanna," Chakotay growled, anger tightening his glance.

"And what about the ship? The crew? What happens when the dissonance 
between the two of you interferes..."

"That's enough, Lieutenant!"

B'Elanna inhaled sharply, bit back her frustration. "Chakotay," she 
whispered fiercely. "I don't know what's going on here, but it scares
me." She  drew in a long breath, released it slowly. "You're my
friend... I only want to  help."

With great effort, he forced himself to calm, focused on her heart, 
not her words. "I appreciate the offer, but there's nothing you can
do." He  lowered his gaze, absently studied her boots. "For what it's
worth... I won't let  it get that far. I won't let the _dissonance_
between us harm Voyager or her  crew."

She wanted to believe him, but there was another person involved, one 
over whom he had no control. "At what cost to you?"

Chakotay's eyes lifted. Cost? He'd already paid the price. "I think 
we're finished here." He quietly crossed the room, stepped to the
doorway.  "Good-bye, B'Elanna."

B'Elanna sighed in frustration. "Chakotay."

"I believe that you're needed in Engineering," he droned.

She nodded. "Okay." She moved to his side, triggered the door. "The 
offer still stands... if you need anything, you know where to find me.
Day  or night." She proffered a strained smile, then exited his
quarters.

---

Kathryn Janeway had spent most of the afternoon into the evening 
closeted in her quarters, reviewing the sense data and sector analysis
Seven had  compiled, studying Engineering status, scrutinizing problem
reports, and more.  Things didn't look good.

She tossed the PADD she held onto her desk, exhaled in frustration. 
She should have been informed of Voyager's status sooner. But she'd
been given a  wide berth under the auspices of medical leave and the
need to recover. Of  course, Voyager's state had not been critical
twenty-four hours earlier. She  would give them that much. Still...

Things didn't look good.

She stared at the PADD for a moment, then pushed it aside.

Continue or reverse course... those were her choices. And yet, she had 
no choice. She knew that. Reversing course _was_ the logical
alternative. Reversing course was the _only_ alternative that gave
Voyager a chance of surviving. But, she couldn't bring herself to give
the order. Not yet, not while a glimmer of hope remained ahead of
them. Even if that glimmer existed only because of a lack of
information.

She snorted, shook her head. The ancient adage still rang true. 
Ignorance was indeed bliss.

Her thoughts turned for the hundredth time to Chakotay... the lie and 
the truth of him. Given the perspective of hindsight, she wondered
what  she would rather live with, the lie or the truth, ignorance or
awareness. The  lie and the truth, according to him, were one and the
same.

Her gaze blankly drifted, encountered her reflection on the darkened 
screen to her right. And then her gaze refocused. The screen was
black. She  frowned. How long had she been lost in thought? She'd
picked up the PADD with the Astrometrics analysis to cross-reference
some data, and then wandered.

The terminal had automatically entered a power-saving mode, having sat 
idle for too long... one of B'Elanna's ideas, inspired by twentieth
century practices. Every non-critical computer access terminal on
board Voyager had a time-out. Small relief to the main grid, but
relief nonetheless.

"Torres to Captain Janeway."

Kathryn, lifted a tired hand to her forehead, massaged her brow. "Go 
ahead, B'Elanna," she said tiredly.

"I apologize for the disturbance, Captain, but we just lost the power 
grid on decks six and seven. I'm going to have to take the turbolifts
off- line, as well as replicators and transporters, while I reroute
emergency power  through subsection alpha on deck seven."

B'Elanna sounded distracted... like she was concentrating more on what 
she was doing than what she was saying... like she didn't have time
for the conversation, but was compelled to relay the information.
Kathryn wasn't offended. "How long, B'Elanna?"

"About twenty minutes."

"All right. Inform me when power has been restored."

"Acknowledged. Torres out."

Kathryn slowly rose to her feet. It had begun. Her ship was failing... 
no longer in fits and starts, but unmistakable convulsions.

---

As Chakotay crossed the threshold into main Engineering, the brusque 
voice of an overworked half-Klingon greeted him. He stopped just
inside the  door, wincing at the lengthy, but inventive stream of
Klingon obscenities.  B'Elanna was in rare form.

He puffed his cheeks, exhaled slowly. He might as well get it over 
with.

It didn't take him long to find her, flat on her back, half buried 
under an auxiliary console. From the array of tools littering the deck
and the  harried look on the face of the young Ensign crouched over
them, she'd been  there for quite some time. He smiled sympathetically
at the young Ensign who'd  drawn assistant duty, settled on his
haunches next to her.

"Hand me the four-gauge spanner," B'Elanna muttered as she thrust out 
a hand, palm up.

Chakotay patted the Ensign's shoulder and indicated that he'd take 
over.

Barely concealed gratitude and relief flooded the woman's face. The 
Lieutenant had been in a foul mood for what seemed like _forever_. If
the First  Officer was willing to suffer that mood in her stead, she
wasn't going to  argue. She smiled at Chakotay, pushed herself to her
feet, and fled... to some  other problem demanding attention.

"Damn it, Jo, hand me the four-gauge spanner!" B'Elanna heatedly 
demanded, her extended hand jerking with intent, punctuating her need.

Chakotay scanned the tools at his feet, then rummaged through the 
small box of tools to his left. He mutely delivered a small spanner to
the waiting  hand.

"About time," the engineer muttered. "If I don't get this damn thing 
working soon..." she grumbled. "Twenty minutes. I told her twenty
minutes.  That was almost two hours ago." She bent her knees, pulled
her legs up, levered  herself even further under the console.
"Murphy's Law still applies in the  Delta Quadrant."

The faint hiss and pop of a short met Chakotay's ears, followed by the 
growl of an angry Chief Engineer. "Son of a fucking..."

"I can see your vocabulary is still as impressive as ever, 
Lieutenant," Chakotay interrupted. The smile that lit his face widened
as the woman  started, startled, tried to extract herself from beneath
the console, wound up  banging her head in the process.

B'Elanna rubbed her head, glared puckishly at him. He was the last 
person she'd expected to see... at least for a while. "You think
sneaking up  on me is funny, old man?"

"I wasn't sneaking," he said, his smile fading as he heaved himself to 
his feet.

"That's a matter of perspective." She grasped the hand he proffered, 
pulled herself to her feet.

"How are things going down here, B'Elanna?" Chakotay asked, his gaze 
sweeping over the bay. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen so
many  panel covers off, so many people working one duty shift.

"Going," she said, her own gaze following the path his had traveled. 
"I have teams pulling triple duty shifts." She jerked her chin in the 
direction of Carey and three other engineers struggling with a large
communications  panel. "Carey has been working almost twenty-eight
hours straight."

His eyes finished their circuit, came to rest on the young woman. "And 
what about you? How long have you been on duty?"

"I'm the Chief Engineer, Chakotay... on a ship with _major_ problems."

"How long, B'Elanna?"

An almost inaudible snort of exasperation escaped her. Her hands waved 
in a gesture of dismissal.

An eyebrow raised in consternation. "I want you to take a break. Go 
see what Neelix has concocted in the mess hall. Get some sleep."

"Later, Chakotay," she snapped, bending to retrieve the spanner she'd 
dropped when she'd hit her head. "I have to get this conduit bypass 
operational. All the replicators on decks one through six run through
here." She  straightened, fixed him with a hard look. "Aft turbolifts
route emergency backup  through this panel. The main sensor grid has
three relays connected to this circuit  loop." She jabbed the spanner
toward the console as if to stress her point.  "I need to finish
this."

"I understand the need. But..." Chakotay reached for the spanner, 
gently eased it from her grip, then placed it on the half dismantled
console. "...  you need to take a break. Working yourself into
exhaustion won't do you or this  ship any good."

"I'm fine," she lied.

"B'Elanna." He forced a neutral tone as he struggled with the urge to 
strangle her. There was a reason she was half-Klingon... and it was
spelled  stubborn. There was a reason she was half-human... it was
spelled stubborn as  well. There was a reason she reminded him of
himself. "I'm not here for my health,  B. I'm here by request." He
held up a hand, stalled the retort about to spill  from her. "I don't
want to make this an order." He moved his hand to rest  on her
shoulder. "Please, for their sanity as well as yours... take a break. 
Carey can finish up here."

For a moment, she said nothing, her arms crossed over her chest, 
reigning in her frustration and anger. He couldn't force her.

Mentally, she sighed. Yes he _could_. And he _would_. He was right. 
She needed to rest. She hadn't slept since the entire ordeal began,
since they'd  first made contact with the Braai. Her patience was
non-existent, her motor  skills were becoming challenged... she was
running on empty. "Okay," she  capitulated. "Okay."

"Good." He gently squeezed her shoulder, then released his hold. He 
glanced across the bay to where Carey was working. "I'll field it for
you."

B'Elanna nodded, turned to leave, hesitated.

Chakotay rolled his eyes. Stubborn. To the last. He fixed her with a 
tolerant glare, smiled gently. "The Lieutenant will notify you should
anything  of a catastrophic nature arise."

She responded with a smirk. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. Now go."

As she left the bay, she snorted. No one but Chakotay could coddle 
her... and survive.

---

~~~ A cell. She was in a cell... three walls of stone, one of cast 
bars.

A solitary lamp stood vigil beyond the bars, its flame afflicted with 
a ghostly flicker, like a pledge that it might go out momentarily, 
plunge her into darkness.

Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the room. It was empty save for a 
shabby pallet wedged against the wall behind her. The walls held no
windows,  no source of ventilation or light. Those commodities were
provided from beyond  the bars.

She stepped to the wall holding her prisoner, wrapped her hands around 
the barrier postings, peered down the passageway.

She was alone.

Cold, rough metal chafed the skin of her hands. Her gaze shifted to 
that metal... iron bars, pitted with rust, mottled with the
accumulated  residue of sweat and dirt left behind by the wretched
hands of souls long since  gone.

A flicker of pain sparked, rooted where metal met flesh. She wrenched 
her hands from the bars, stared at her palms, at the phantom pain she
had  touched, the pain that made her flesh tingle, her skin crawl, the
hair on the  back of her neck stand.

What the hell?

Her brow furrowed as she extended a hesitant hand to the ingot barrier 
before her, touched the plagued metal with the whisper of a touch...
then  recoiled at the fleeting resonance of pain that again sparked,
the rush of  convoluted memories that accompanied it. Memories...
memories not her own...  afterimages of pain suffered within the walls
of this cell.

She absently rubbed her palms together, eyed the metal and stone 
surrounding her, wondered whether the places where people suffered
were made  stronger by the residue of pain. Places such as this never
gave up their victims.  The faces changed, but the metal and stone
clung to their purpose.

A door clanged in the distance. A rumor of boots ran along the 
corridor.

Someone was coming.

Her eyes searched the darkness beyond the perimeter of the lamplight. 
The presence was drawing closer, the sound of boot against stone
betraying proximity. But still, she could see nothing... no advancing
light, no advancing shadow.

And then a figure emerged from the shadow... a figure much taller than
herself, humanoid, pale green skin... Braai.

She swallowed hard, stared at him past the bars, past the stark 
conflict of lamplight and shadow on his face, into ebony eyes.

"Where is he, woman?"

Her brow furrowed. Where was who? She didn't know who he was talking 
about.

He mistook her silence, and advanced.

"Do not defy me, whore," he warned, stepping full into the meager 
circle of lamplight. "Where is he?"

Her heart skipped a beat, her breath caught in her throat. "Where is 
who?"

"Don't play dumb with me," he growled. A heavy hand grasped the iron 
before her, thrust open a door that wasn't there.

She stumbled backward, met stone.

"I want him. Where is he?"

Before she could answer, a pale green hand snaked outward, gripped her 
jaw, forced her face upward.

"Shall I force the answer from you instead?" he breathed. "A pound of 
flesh? A blade across your belly? A barbed shaft of metal between your
legs?"

Hot breath clawed at her skin, choked her. "Go to hell," she spat.

He grabbed her wrists, crushed his body into hers, hissed in her ear. 
"Let's find our way together."

She lost movement, as if breath and blood had been swept from her. And 
then a visceral tremor started in her gut, worked its way outward,
found  voice in a scream... ~~~


She bolted upright, pushing her way through the contemptuously 
horrific layers of the lingering nightmare... her body pushing its way
through the  tangle of sheets restraining arms and legs. Her eyes flew
open, were met with  starlight and shadow. Sweat ran in her eyes,
blurred them like tears. She  quickly ran a hand over her face,
clearing her vision. Her chest heaved as she  sucked in the familiar
coolness of Starfleet-issue recycled air. Hastily swinging  her legs
over the side of the bed, she perched herself precariously on the edge 
of the mattress, willed her breath to slow, the labor of her heart to
ease,  as she ran trembling fingers through sweat-soaked hair.

A nightmare... it had been a nightmare.

It had been a very long time since she had been chased from sleep... 
since she'd awakened sweat-soaked, heart pounding, disoriented, cold.
She  was becoming reacquainted with the experience, the last two
nights telling evidence.

With a shudder, she rose, moved into the bathroom.

Standing over the sink, she filled cupped hands with cool water, 
splashed it over her face. Gripping the rim of the sink, she
straightened, lifted  her gaze to the mirror. She stared weakly at her
reflection, at the evidence of  her distress... the strain etched
around her eyes and mouth, the shadows punctuating lack of sleep, the
haunted blue.

They didn't know what they were asking. But, Voyager's need was 
indefeasible.

Shivers knotted her muscles... shivers born of the nightmare, not of 
cold. The sensation repulsed her. It was only a dream... invidious in
nature,  but a dream nevertheless.

She turned away from the mirror, removed her nightgown, and stepped 
into the shower. She stood in the tiny cell, unmoving for several long
minutes,  eyes closed, head lowered, arms hanging limply at her
sides... attempting  to blank her mind, shake the images of the dream.
But they refused to leave...  merely faded into the shadows.

Weary of the effort, she initiated the sonic shower, blasted the 
remnants of the nightmare from her body, and dressed.

Quietly, she moved into the common area of her quarters, eyed the 
collection of PADDs scattered over her desk. Voyager's need was
indefeasible.

Perhaps she would walk the ship, survey that need for herself.

---

She'd wandered the ship for hours, observing repairs, reviewing 
departmental status, surveying the climate. Repairs were ongoing...
and never- ending. Her crew was tired.

It had taken Kathryn hours to verify what she already knew. And yet 
the journey had not been in vain, for seeing with her own eyes
congealed  the need in her mind, stressed the imperative.

Her eyes lifted from the floor to the door before her. Airponics. 
Halfway through her inspection, halfway through the barrage, she'd
been  overcome with a profound need for peace... for solace. The
gentle rhythm of Airponics  had often served as a balm, on late night
ramblings through the ship.

She smiled wistfully. Airponics reminded her of a gentle heart, a 
healing smile. It reminded her of Kes.

The doors slid open before her.

As she stepped inside, it was not peace, but a decidedly masculine 
voice that welcomed her. Startled, her feet stilled. She looked to her
left,  spied an open Jeffries tube hatch.

"I'm starting to feel more at home in a Jeffries tube, than I do in my 
own quarters."

An arguably feminine snort followed. "Yeah... well... this is the 
third time I've had to reroute power through this same damn conduit
feed." The  voice was tinged with frustration. "If I never again see
the inside of this  tube, it will be too soon... Pass me that particle
tester. I'm not happy with the  flow on this conduit."

Kathryn eyed the open portal, debated making her presence known, 
chatting with the engineers. But, as she stepped closer, the words
that next escaped  the opening stopped her.

"I heard that Chakotay was put on report for something that happened
planetside."

She knew the crew would talk.

"Who told you that?"

"I overheard it in the mess hall."

Rumors were inevitable.

"Well... I wouldn't believe everything you hear. I heard Chakotay was 
going to be knocked back to Lieutenant, but clearly that wasn't true."
The  woman chuckled slightly, apparently amused by the idea.
"Chakotay's one of  the good guys. He may be a bit of a wild card...
at least according to the  buzz... but he's still one of us.
Regardless of what happened down there, he got  them back. That's what
matters."

Kathryn frowned. They didn't know what they were talking about. They 
had no idea what Chakotay had done, who he'd been... who he was. They
didn't  know. They hadn't seen what she'd seen. They didn't possess
the knowledge  she did.

"Well... _something_ happened down there."

"So?"

"So... any guess as to what?"

"No... no guesses. I think we should just let it go."

Kathryn's frown deepened. Let it go? She'd been trying to do just 
that. But it was easier said than done.

"Here... let me do that," the man offered.

"I can manage."

"I know you can manage, but I have a longer reach."

"Fine. Just watch out for that power module. It's been acting up ever 
since Torres and Carey rerouted..."

The sizzle and pop of a small electrical discharge sounded, a cry of 
pain on its heels... punctuated by a distinctive thud. "God damn!"

Kathryn started, startled.

Muffled snickering drifted out of the hatch. "I told you to watch..."

"Yeah yeah yeah," the man wheezed. "Damn... that hurt!"

"Let me see."

"No."

"I just want to make sure..."

"Ow!"

"Would you hold still?!"

"It hurts when you do that!"

"Baby."

Kathryn schooled her features, tried to control the smile that 
threatened. It wasn't funny. But it was.

"Serves you right," the woman muttered.

And then there was silence, followed by the abrupt eruption of 
laughter.

Kathryn's own quiet laughter joined in. Her crew. Despite the 
upheaval, the darkness surrounding them... there was laughter.

In laughter there was hope.

---

He stood motionless in the center of sickbay, wearing a frown. 
"Computer... what is the status of the EMH?"

"The Emergency Medical Hologram is currently deactivated."

Chakotay's frown deepened. "What?" he murmured, puzzled. The Doctor's 
program should have been operating from the portable emitter. How the
hell had  he become deactivated? "Computer... initiate Emergency
Medical Hologram."

The image of the Doctor winked into existence. "Please state the 
nature..." His standard solicitation terminated upon ascertaining the
identity of  his summoner. "Commander." He lifted his chin slightly,
smiled amiably.  "How may I be of service?"

"Doctor... why were you deactivated?"

The Doctor's brow knit with confusion, his eyes grew distant, as he 
searched for a memory he could not retrieve. He shook his head. "I
don't know, Commander."

Chakotay exhaled heavily, tapped his comm badge. "Chakotay to Carey."

"Carey here, sir."

"Lieutenant... could you spare an engineer to take a look at the 
Doctor's portable emitter?" Chakotay eyed the Doctor. "I think there
might be a problem." If some fault had forced the Doctor's program to
abruptly deactivate, the event would not have been committed to
memory.

"I'll send Ensign Roarke immediately, sir. Carey out."

Chakotay scanned the main bay, spotted the emitter on the floor not 
far from the door to the Doctor's office. He retrieved it, turned it
slowly in  his hands. There were no visible signs of damage. "Have you
been  experiencing any operational anomalies, Doctor? Any problems?"

"Not that I am aware of, Commander." He was fit as a fiddle. At least 
as fit as a hologram could be.

Chakotay nodded absently. Would the Doctor even know? Perhaps he would 
request a bank of diagnostics as well. "Until the emitter has been
checked out  and your program uploaded, you'll have to operate from
the main computer. If  you experience any problems during that time, I
want you to inform Ensign  Roarke."

"Understood, Commander. Now..." the Doctor said, eyebrow raised in 
typical Hippocratic fashion. "Was there another reason you stopped
by?"

Chakotay sighed, frowned at the emitter in his hand. "I need something 
for a headache." One that was growing worse with each passing moment.

---

Ordinarily, the wee hours of the morning would have found the mess 
hall deserted. However, multiple duty shifts were now the rule, as the
crew struggled to keep pace with the difficulties plaguing the ship.
With the added workload, and the longer hours, the mess hall
experienced a steady flow of on-duty personnel, tired and worn, in
need of a brief respite.

Kathryn Janeway had intended to merely slip in, obtain a cup of what 
Neelix was currently attempting to pass off as coffee, and leave. But,
the  sight of her Chief of Security and her Chief Engineer deep in
conversation at a  remote table on the far side of the room changed
her mind.

The twosome seemed an unlikely pair for down time, which could only 
mean that they were discussing ship's business.

The conversation in which they were engaged had to be a good one, if
B'Elanna's animated intensity and Tuvok's dark stolidity were any
indication. Night and day, those two. B'Elanna was clearly trying to
make a point, an index finger stabbing the table top before her, as if
the movement itself would clarify her position.

"... sustaining operations."

"Things have progressed way beyond that. Every critical and non-
critical system on this ship is beginning to fail. The Captain needs
to make  her decision... _now_," B'Elanna growled, again jabbing the
table with the  index finger of her right hand.

"Lieutenant..." the Vulcan responded, the lilt of his voice perfect 
placating pitch. "This decision can not be made capriciously. Captain
Janeway  must be allowed time to weigh all the factors. When she has
done that..."

"Damn it, Tuvok," the frustrated woman interrupted. "That is entirely 
my point. We don't have the luxury of time. The decision has to be
made  _now_... not later this afternoon, not tomorrow." She shifted in
her seat,  agitated, angry. "The longer she delays, the more distance
we have to cover, the  longer we have to try to hold this ship
together."

"You are assuming that the Captain's decision will be to return."

The cut of B'Elanna's mouth thinned. "It's the only _logical_ 
alternative, and you know it."

A single eyebrow lifted. "What I do or do not believe is the proper 
course of action is irrelevant."

B'Elanna shook her head. "That is _such_ a load of shit," she 
muttered, to no one in particular.

Kathryn pursed her lips. B'Elanna was angry. But, at the same time, 
there was a definite undercurrent of... defeat. No. Defeat wasn't the
right  word. She'd never associated that word with B'Elanna... and
doubted she ever  would. Tired, most definitely. Helpless, perhaps.
Not defeated.

B'Elanna exhaled heavily, glanced to her right, and froze. "Captain," 
she croaked, as Kathryn stepped to the edge of the table.

Tuvok turned, started to rise, but a firm hand on his shoulder stopped 
him, urged him back to his chair.

"Please... carry on, Lieutenant," Kathryn insisted calmly as she took 
a seat at the table.

"Captain... I'm sorry... I..." B'Elanna faltered, anger and 
embarrassment overwhelming her.

Kathryn fixed the engineer with tired blue eyes as she settled herself 
more comfortably in her chair. "No, B'Elanna. You obviously feel very 
strongly about this. Please..." she lifted a hand, indicated B'Elanna
proceed.

"I was merely attempting to point out that time is something we have 
precious little of, Captain." B'Elanna hazarded a glance at Tuvok. He
remained impassive... intent.

"And?" Kathryn urged.

"And we're wasting it. A decision has to be made, and it has to be 
made now," B'Elanna forced, eyes dark with defiance.

"I understand the urgency, B'Elanna, but there are a number of factors 
that have to be considered," Kathryn responded.

"If you understood the urgency, a decision would already have been 
made. We'd be en route to the Braai homeworld," B'Elanna hissed.

"Lieutenant," Tuvok cautioned.

"No," B'Elanna snapped, pinning Tuvok with a glare. "I won't sit idly 
by and watch this ship die. And that's exactly what's happening. Our
hope  doesn't lie in front of us. It lies behind us." She raised a
hand, pointed at her  Captain. "She needs to understand..."

"You are out of line, Lieutenant," Kathryn reprimanded, her voice low.

B'Elanna's head snapped toward Kathryn. "_Someone_ has to tell you..."

"Torres," a voice rumbled... a voice steeped in controlled inclemency,
demanding attention.

The engineer instantly ceased her verbal assault.

All three of the table's occupants turned to face the owner.

Chakotay stood quietly holding B'Elanna's glare. This was becoming an 
all too familiar scene; only this time, he wasn't the target. "Perhaps
this  discussion should be moved to the conference room," he said
calmly, never taking  his eyes from hers.

"Chakotay..."

"Save it, Torres," Chakotay muttered, stepping closer. The mess hall 
was not the place for this. Already, too many heads were turned,
intent on the  animated conversation he'd interrupted. He himself
hadn't heard much, but what  he _had_ heard had been enough. He was
genuinely surprised Kathryn had  permitted it to get as far as it had,
in so public a forum.

Kathryn carefully studied her First Officer, the dark stare he fixed 
on B'Elanna. Three days ago, that stare wouldn't have phased her. But 
now... "I think the Commander is right. This discussion is officially
tabled,"  she said, standing. "Chakotay... assemble a meeting of the
senior staff in one  hour." She nodded her dismissal, then turned and
made a beeline for the mess hall  doors.

Chakotay's gaze momentarily followed her. A silent curse on his lips, 
he turned to B'Elanna. "I'll speak to you later, Lieutenant." Without 
pause, he turned, followed Kathryn into the corridor.

"Captain." Chakotay quickened his pace, caught up with her. "May I 
have a word with you?"

She spared him a careless glance. She wasn't in the mood. Not for 
another round. But, she had not the luxury of mood. She was the
Captain. She  drew in a deep breath. "I'm on my way back to my
quarters, Commander." *Let it  go.* Sage advice from one anonymous
crewmember to another. "Why don't you meet  me in Astrometrics in
twenty minutes. I want to see if Seven has made any  progress on those
long range scans." They rounded a corner, strode toward the 
turbolift. "We'll talk afterward," she affirmed, summoning the lift.

He trapped his lower lip between his teeth. Deferment was better than 
nothing. Besides, he needed to calm down. Approaching her in anger
wouldn't  help. He nodded his acknowledgment, and silently watched the
lift doors slide  shut between them.

---

"While the resource base of the planet is rich and varied, there are 
only trace dilithium deposits. The aggregate amount is negligible. It
is of  no value to Voyager." Seven stated matter-of-factly, stepping
back to allow the  First Officer access to the sensor readout.

"A dead end," Chakotay muttered to himself, scanning the data.

"So it would appear, Commander," Seven responded dryly, eyeing the 
man. "The deflector array was brought on-line and stabilized
forty-three minutes  ago. After running a bank of diagnostics to
validate function and accuracy,  I performed several scans,
cross-referencing the results in an attempt  to identify and eliminate
potential erroneous readings. The analysis is  correct."

Kathryn sighed, her eyes fixed on the readings. Ultimately, the choice 
would have been dictated. But, she'd already made her decision, only
ten  minutes prior. Survival was imperative. "Thank you, Seven."

Seven nodded once, stepped back to her console.

Kathryn deliberately ran the fingers of her right hand over her brow. 
She was tired. She should have tried to go back to sleep. She needed
the rest.  But, in hindsight, the night, such as it had been, had
served a grander  purpose... clarified her path. She straightened as
she turned to leave, glanced  at Chakotay. "I believe there was
something you wished to discuss,  Commander."

He nodded and followed her from the lab.

"We can talk in my ready room."

There was no longer a reason to talk to her. The long range scans had 
forced in an instant what he might have spent hours trying to convince
her to  do: turn back. And convince her was what he had intended.

He'd spent a good portion of gamma shift on the bridge, mulling over 
how to broach the subject. And then something B'Elanna had said
slithered to  the surface, burned a path to his soul. *And you're her
First Officer. Or  have you suddenly been demoted to figurehead?* He'd
been playing Kathryn's  game, backing off, giving her a wide berth...
without question, without complaint.  They... he and Kathryn... needed
the distance. But they... Voyager and her  crew... didn't. By allowing
the distance, he'd permitted exactly what he'd told  B'Elanna he never
would. He'd allowed the dissonance between he and Kathryn to  harm
Voyager and her crew. Every second he'd ignored his duty as First
Officer,  he'd put them at risk... all of them.

They turned a corner, waited silently for a turbolift.

---

The turbolift shuddered, then lurched to a sudden and violent halt.

The sudden jarring dislocated Kathryn's balance, tumbled her forward; 
arms encircled her as she fell. She felt him shift his body, brace
himself  as he cushioned her body with his own. She felt the dampened
impact... heard  the breath forced from his lungs, as she fell full
atop him. "Oh God...  Chakotay... are you okay?" she said, concern
pushing her to disentangle herself,  to check him for injury.

"Yeah," he gasped, attempting to regain his breath. "You?"

"Yes... I'm fine." Her arms and legs straddled him as she pushed 
herself to hands and knees. She stilled as the turbolift again
trembled. As the  lift settled, the lights flickered then returned to
full illumination.  "Damn it," she grumbled as she unceremoniously
pushed herself to her feet and  stepped away from Chakotay. "I thought
this problem had been fixed."

Chakotay perched himself up on his elbows, drew in a deep breath, sat, 
then heaved himself to his feet.

"Janeway to Torres," Kathryn snapped as she hit her comm badge.

"Go ahead, Captain," came the harried response.

"Lieutenant... Commander Chakotay and I seem to be stuck in a stalled
turbolift between ..." Kathryn turned, studied the status display by
the control panel. "... decks five and six. What's going on?"

"I'm sorry, Captain. Lieutenant Carey and his team were attempting to 
reroute aft sensor control. During the process, a power conduit on
deck six  blew from the strain on the main power grid. We experienced
a cascading surge as  a result. I should have sufficient power
rerouted in about ten minutes."

"Ten minutes," Kathryn echoed, unconvinced. The last estimate B'Elanna 
had offered had been way off the mark. Twenty minutes had turned into
one-hundred-eighty. Of course, the unpredictable nature of the power
fluctuations plaguing the ship had hampered the Chief Engineer's
repairs, but still... Kathryn didn't want to spend her morning stuck
in a turbolift.

"It's an _estimate_, Captain," the disembodied voice replied.

Kathryn eyed her lift mate, exchanged a wary glance. "Understood, 
B'Elanna. Janeway out." Her hands went to her hips as she looked up at
the  ceiling, sighed heavily; there was always the emergency hatch.

"I think B'Elanna's going to need a vacation after all of this," 
Chakotay said with tired humor, crossing his arms, leaning against the
wall.

Kathryn snorted quietly. "We're _all_ going to need a vacation after 
this, Commander." If they survived.

She was about to order her ship to reverse course. Behind them lay 
their hope... their _only_ hope for survival. But survival wasn't 
guaranteed. The ship was failing. There was no guarantee that Voyager
would even make  it back to Braai space. If they did, they had to
maneuver through the  intricacies of a covert operation. Whether the
operation was successful or not, the  probability that Voyager would
have to engage the Braai was significant enough to  cause concern.
There was no guarantee that the ship would withstand an all- out
attack. Despite Voyager's technological superiority, their current 
difficulty left them vulnerable... to even the most backward of
species. And the  Braai were brutal; they would not spare Voyager or
her crew.

"Kathryn."

Chakotay's voice tugged her back into focus. He stood before her, 
knowing eyes locked on hers. It unnerved her, how easily he could read
her  thoughts. She blinked hard, crossed her arms over her chest.
"Well... it seems we've  got some time on our hands, Commander. What
was it you wanted to discuss?" she  asked, avoiding the expression of
concern poised on his lips.

He recognized her rejection. The dismissal in her eyes, in her words,
painfully underscored what he had given up to bring her back. He
didn't regret the decision. He couldn't. She was alive.

He bit the inside of his cheek, swallowed harshly. "Actually, 
Captain... the need for the discussion has disappeared."

Understanding lit her brow. "I see," she said, lowering her gaze to 
the floor. She remained silent for a heartbeat, then whispered,
"Hobson's  Choice."

"What?"

Blue eyes lifted, met brown from beneath dark lashes. "Hobson's 
Choice... the absence of any real alternative." She lifted her chin,
held his gaze.  "You wanted to finish what B'Elanna started in the
mess hall."

He stiffened, resenting the implication. "It was my intention to 
discuss Voyager's condition, the alternatives available to us... and
yes, urge  you to reverse course. I would have been negligent in my
duty if I didn't."

A memory surfaced unbidden... the tale of a scorpion and a fox, harsh 
words exchanged, trust floundering. "We've traveled this route before, 
Commander." But, the past paled in comparison to the present.

"Kathryn..."

She held up a hand, stopped his words. "I'd already made my decision,
Chakotay. It's not what I would have preferred, but logically, it was
the only decision I _could_ make."

"When?"

She knew what he was asking. It shouldn't have mattered when the 
decision had been made... or for that matter, why. But it did. To him.
To her as  well. "Shortly before we met in Astrometrics."

"And the long range scans?"

She shrugged. "Did little more than make me feel better about that 
decision... vindication, in a way."

He lowered his gaze, fell silent for the briefest of moments. "I know 
this didn't come easily." His voice was low, even.

His words tugged at her heart... and then anger sparked. Her chin 
lifted imperceptibly, in muffled defiance. She didn't want his
sympathy, or  his understanding. Her own pain, her own apprehension
were of little  consequence. What mattered was her ship, her crew, and
her responsibility to them.

A slight jar announced the restoration of power to the turbolift, 
prompting the occupants to straighten. Within seconds, the lift doors
opened,  presented the bridge.

---

Kathryn eased herself into the chair at the head of the table, sat 
silently, watching her senior officers file in. She watched their
faces, their  eyes. Expectant. Circumspect. Tired. Knowing.

They knew why they were here.

Neither a word nor a look was exchanged as seats were taken. They 
merely waited, their attention fixed on her.

Seconds passed like centuries in gravid silence.

"I've reached my decision," Kathryn said, without preamble. In the 
heavy space of a heartbeat, her gaze fixed on her Chief Engineer.
"Recent long  range scans have revealed that the M-class planet toward
which we are traveling  will not meet our needs. We are therefore
returning to Braai space."

The room weighed heavy with mute accession. The decision was 
unwanted... and necessary. And now it was spoken.

"We still have a significant challenge ahead of us." Kathryn leaned 
forward, folded her hands on the table, studied the faces around her.
"At  current speed, it will take us forty-two days to reach Braai
space. We all know that  food reserves will not last that long... nor
will the reaction assembly."  Her gaze again drifted to B'Elanna. "I'd
like to achieve a minimum sustained  warp factor of four. If we do
that, we're looking at approximately a four day  journey."

B'Elanna exhaled slowly, briefly lowered her eyes. "At the moment, 
Captain, we're capable of sustained warp three. We could achieve
sporadic  intervals of warp four, but the combined duration would buy
us nothing." Brown  again lifted to blue. "To achieve sustained warp
four, without risking the  assembly, we need to further reduce the
power drain on the main grid."

"Understood, B'Elanna." The risk to the assembly was substantial. 
B'Elanna's report detailing warp capability under reduced power output
had been  extremely enlightening... and discouraging. "What is our
current power status?"

"We've reduced the power output of the assembly by forty percent and 
have reconfigured the power constraints of those systems still
operating  off of the main grid. All non-essential functions have been
shut down. We're  still in the process of off-loading systems to the
secondary grid." Her gaze darted  to Chakotay, then returned to the
Captain. "Power fluctuations, though  not as severe as they have been,
are still hampering our progress. However,  rerouting should be
complete within two hours."

"And when the rerouting is complete?"

B'Elanna shook her head. "We still won't be able to achieve sustained 
warp four without serious risk to the assembly."

The line of Kathryn's jaw set. "Then warp three will have to do... for 
now. Harry..." she said, turning to the Ensign. "What about deck 
shutdowns?"

"I've almost completed the analysis, Captain." He looked quickly to 
B'Elanna. "B'Elanna and I have yet to estimate the overall benefit to
ship's  power. I'll have the report for you in an hour."

Kathryn nodded her acknowledgment, leaned back in her chair. "At warp 
three it will take us eleven days to reach Braai space. We'll be
cutting food  reserves close to depletion, and pressing the dilithium
matrix to its limit.  There's no room for error... en route or
planetside." She had the utmost  confidence in B'Elanna's ability to
keep Voyager operational long enough to get them  back to Braai space.
She trusted Tuvok's ability to infiltrate an alien  community and
negotiate a trade. But the Braai themselves... the Braai were an 
unpredictable element. She needed more maneuverability... more time
with which to  play... more of a guarantee of success. With measured
deliberation, she turned  to Tuvok. "Tuvok, be prepared to review away
team logistics, as well as  onboard security measures, by 1900 hours."
Her gaze snapped to Chakotay. "I'd  like you to join us, Commander."

Chakotay's only acknowledgment was a nod.

Kathryn rose, her officers following suit. "Tom, plot a course back to 
Braai space... warp three."

Into the maws of Hell.

---

Harry absently fidgeted with the PADD in his hands as he approached 
the Captain's ready room. Nervous. He was actually _nervous_. He felt
like  a newly graduated cadet instead of a seasoned officer. Seasoned?
Four years  didn't exactly amount to _seasoned_. But then, four years
in the Delta  Quadrant...

Perhaps it was Voyager's circumstance... what lay ahead... what 
persisted around them. Their ability to survive could easily be
threatened by  one wrong move, one bad decision. There was no room for
mistakes. The Captain  had said as much herself.

"Come."

The voice of his Captain triggered the access mechanism, opened the 
ready room doors, permitting him entrance. The Captain was seated at
her desk,  intent on something displayed on the terminal there. It
wasn't until he was  almost flush with the desk that she looked up,
smiled.

"What have you got for me, Harry?"

Harry reached out, handed the PADD to her. "This is the completed 
analysis of the feasibility of closing down decks to conserve and
reroute power."

Kathryn glanced at the PADD. "Have a seat, Harry," she said, 
indicating the chair behind the Ensign. "Where is Mister Neelix?
Shouldn't he be with  you?"

"He said something about making a new batch of chitin tuber soup for 
lunch." He dropped lightly into the chair, a grimace on his face. He
wasn't  even going to attempt to mask his dislike for the offensive
bulb.

"Chitin tuber soup?" Kathryn asked, barely managing to hide a 
sympathetic smile.

Harry nodded ruefully.

"Well," she sighed. "Beggars can't be choosers." It was a weak attempt 
at commiseration and consolation... though, for whom it was intended,
she  didn't know. She smiled gently, then turned her attention back to
the PADD in  hand. "What did B'Elanna have to say?"

Harry straightened, cleared his throat. "We're looking at an eighteen 
percent reduction in the power drain off the main grid." Hope lit his
eyes.  "B'Elanna's believes this will give us the edge we need to
attain sustained warp  four."

Kathryn allowed herself a small smile, allowed her spirits to lift... 
prayed there wasn't a fly in the ointment. "These are heavily
populated  decks," she commented, skimming over the report.

"Yes. But the labs are easily relocated, relatively speaking. And crew
quarters... well... we might be a little cramped for a while... but
the overall power benefit is worth the inconvenience."

Kathryn nodded thoughtfully. "Agreed." Eighteen percent and the 
possibility of sustained warp four. Definitely worth the
inconvenience.

"Neelix is already determining cabin reassignments," Harry grinned.

"How very kind of him," Kathryn said, faint chagrin and amusement 
coloring her features. She'd asked Neelix to assist in determining the
feasibility  of moving crew quarters, not in making assignments. He
was nothing if not  exuberant. "Tell Neelix to finalize his
recommendations by 1200 hours, and  forward them to Commander
Chakotay. Those decisions are the Commander's to make."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Have you presented your findings to the Commander yet?"

"No. He's been unavailable. However, he did say that he would discuss 
the relocation and shutdown with you once you'd reached a decision."

Unavailable. Kathryn forced her raised eyebrow to lower, smothered the
uncertainty, the unease attempting to gain voice in her mind. She'd
never doubted Chakotay's activities in the past. She wouldn't start
now.

"There is _one_ slight problem, Captain."

Kathryn shot the Ensign a look of apprehension. Here came the fly.

"Seven... I've talked to her about sharing her work space with
Astrobiomechanics and Astrophysics." Harry shrugged weakly. "She isn't
happy."

Kathryn bit back her amusement. That was it? Seven? Seven she could 
handle. "I'll talk with her, Harry."

She scanned the PADD, then leveled her gaze on the young man sitting 
before her. "Do it. I'll speak with Commander Chakotay per
requartering...  pending Neelix's recommendations. I'll make sure he
has requartering  assignments to you by 1500 hours. I'd like affected
crew moved by 2200 hours. For the  time being, start departmental
relocation. Affected departments are to move  critical equipment only.
Stress that this is a _temporary_ move. I'll message  each department
head... inform them you are coordinating the effort." At  Harry's nod,
she continued, handing him the PADD. "Download your report to the 
main database. Commander Chakotay, Lieutenant Torres, and I will need
it as reference to finalize the shutdown protocol. We'll target final
shutdown for 2300 hours."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Was there anything else?"

"No, ma'am." he said, shaking his head.

"And Harry..." Kathryn smiled. A light. They desperately needed a 
light amidst all the darkness. Leeway. They'd just bought themselves
some time.  "Good job."

Harry returned the smile as he rose. "Thank you, Captain."

---

Chakotay leaned back in his chair, face impassive, as he reviewed the
requisition list. "I have reservations about how suspicious the Braai
will become when we ask for dilithium." He set the PADD he was holding
on the table, then fixed his gaze on Kathryn. "Dilithium isn't a
commonly traded merchandise with the Braai. It's really only used for
high grade weapons, conventional powerplants, warp cores. My guess is
that power plants and warp cores are not the stomping ground of the
local trader. That leaves high grade weapons... or black market
trading for off-world purposes." He crossed his arms over his chest.
"Either way, I'd be surprised if the request didn't raise a red flag."

"I have to agree, Captain," Tuvok said, moving his elbows to the arms 
of his chair, steepling his fingers. "Not only is dilithium an
uncommon item  for trade, but... the Braai are well aware of our
needs. While they may  not expect Voyager to return, I do not believe
they will rule out the  possibility." An eyebrow raised. "It is
logical to assume that when negotiation for  dilithium is attempted,
in the quantity that we require, someone will be alerted to  the
pending transaction. The probability is high that a requisition for 
dilithium will compromise our cover."

"Suggestions?" Kathryn prompted.

"That we defer that particular request until all other items have been
appropriated."

She inhaled slowly, grew thoughtful. "Agreed." Dilithium was not an 
optional item. They at some point would _have_ to negotiate a trade.
"According  to the information you've given me, Braai economic policy
seems to allow for restrictive trade. However, our previous experience
indicated above-board contacts have peripheral, if not direct,
military affiliation. There's little doubt they know about us... even
in the private sector." She glanced at Tuvok. "We'll have to do what
we can to minimize our exposure."

Tuvok inclined his head, indicated his agreement. "I have reviewed 
Mister Kim's previous scans of the planet's surface," Tuvok said,
rising from  the conference table. He moved to the bank of consoles on
the wall  opposite him, and brought up a three-dimensional
reconstruction of the planet, then  refined the focus of the image,
zeroed in on a region in the interior of one  of the major land
masses. "Despite incomplete scans, pinpointing centers of  trade with
measurable dilithium stores was not difficult. The region that 
provides the greatest tactical advantage, as well as reasonable
proximity to one of  these centers, is here." He indicated a remote
desert region. "We'll  establish our primary base of operations along
this ridge. The location is  relatively isolated."

"How far away is the nearest population center?" Chakotay asked, 
studying the image.

"There is a small community approximately six point three kilometers 
to the northwest. However, for purposes of trade, there is a larger
community  seven point eight kilometers due south." The Vulcan
modified the image to  include the municipalities. "Sticking to the
larger population centers will  decrease the possibility of raising
suspicion based solely on the fact that we  aren't known to the
merchants," Tuvok stated, meeting Chakotay's gaze. "The volume  of
activity will serve to conceal our efforts. We should be able to 
negotiate without drawing attention to ourselves."

"Has the Doctor completed the necessary changes to the prosthetics 
database?" Kathryn asked.

"Yes."

"And the height differential?" A Braai male stood, on average, half a 
meter taller than a human male. The Doctor might be able to alter the
away  team's skin tone, eye color, and noses. But the difference in
height? There  were _short_ Braai, but not many.

A Vulcan eyebrow raised in thoughtful concern. "There is little the 
Doctor can do to alter our stature. We can however achieve a slight
increase with appropriate modifications to our footwear."

"How do you plan get to the planet's surface?" Chakotay asked,  
dragging his attention from the display to the Vulcan. A shuttle was
out of the  question. The Braai would recognize the markings. Even if
they disguised the  craft, the energy signature was unmistakable. "We
have to assume that the Braai  have stepped up their security measures
in light of our last encounter.  Transporters may alert their sensor
net."

"Neelix's shuttle?" Kathryn suggested.

Tuvok shook his head. "Mister Neelix's shuttle is known to the Braai."

"You could attempt a transport from high warp," Chakotay said quietly, 
leaning forward in his chair. "They wouldn't expect it, so they
wouldn't be  looking for it." He felt Kathryn's eyes on him. She was
studying him. Watching  him. Gauging his words... his input, his
responses. He wasn't sure why. But she  was.

"Precisely, Commander." The Vulcan eyed Chakotay, then turned to face 
his Captain. "We'll navigate a shuttle flying at high warp within 
transporter range, but on the outreaches of the security net, and
transport the  away team to the surface. In all probability, the Braai
won't expect a transport  from high warp and therefore will not be
monitoring for it. The transport  should go undetected."

Transport from high warp was dangerous. Difficulties with targeting 
scanners made the possibility of materializing somewhere you'd rather
not be,  somewhere potentially lethal, unacceptably high. However,
Voyager had little  choice. Reluctantly, Kathryn nodded tacit
approval. "And where will Voyager  be?"

"Our initial scans of Braai space detected a small distortion field 
given off by the second natural satellite." Tuvok called up an astral
projection  of Braai space, pointed to the smallest moon orbiting the
Braai homeworld. The  moon was an oddity... red in pallor, and not so
much a sphere as egg-shaped. It  had intrigued Voyager's
astrophysicists. However, circumstance had not  allowed them the
privilege of study. Nor would it this time. "The moon will serve  to
mask Voyager's presence."

Kathryn frowned slightly. "The Braai have to be aware of the 
vulnerability."

"In all probability they do. However, if Voyager were to approach the
satellite at warp, then use the distortion field to mask our
transition to sublight, our presence would not be detected."

"And," Chakotay interjected, "as far as we know, they don't run 
routine patrol off-planet. They rely very heavily on their security
net... as well as  the topography and geochemistry of the planet
itself." He glanced at  Kathryn. "As long as we keep that moon between
us and the planet, the likelihood of  being discovered is low."

Promising, Kathryn thought. Very promising. She had hoped Voyager 
would find suitable cover  close to the planet. Should anything go
wrong while  her crew was planetside, time would be a crucial factor
in recovery. "What  about communications?"

"I recommend we launch a small communications module into 
geosynchronous orbit with the second moon. The distortion field will
mask its presence as  well." Tuvok linked his hands behind his back,
stepped closer to the table.  "If we remodulate the beacon frequency
to match the natural gravimetric  resonance between the planet and the
moon, the signal emitted should appear as  nothing more than noise
caused by a gravity wave along the sensor net."

If. Should. They knew too little about the Braai sensor net... what it 
could and could not distinguish as valid alarms and erroneous
readings.  "It's an exposure."

"But a necessary one," Tuvok replied. "To limit the exposure, 
communications will be restricted. We will check in at irregular
intervals, spaced no  further than four hours."

Kathryn again nodded her approval. Should four hours pass without word 
from the away team, Voyager would know something was wrong, and that
the  away team was unable to make contact.

"The only other _necessary_ transmission would be a request for 
extraction."

"What are we looking at for extraction?" Chakotay asked.

"In the case of successful completion, the whole of the base camp will 
be transported... the away team, all equipment, all goods." At that 
point, there would be no need for secrecy. Voyager could retrieve the
away team...  assuming Voyager was capable of it... then abandon Braai
space, leaving the  Braai scrambling to react as Voyager warped away.

"And in the case of an emergency?"

---

"The whole of the base camp will be transported. Should the away team 
be unable to reach the base camp in time for transport, I have 
established a secondary site for team extraction." Tuvok recalled the
image of the  base camp site and the neighboring population centers,
on the main console  display. "Here." He indicated a small expanse
north east of the municipality.  "The terrain surrounding the
settlement is rough, riddled with small  canyons, mesas, rock
outcroppings. Transporters will be ineffective. We will have to  risk
the use of a shuttle." Tuvok exchanged a knowing glance with Chakotay.
The composition of the rock served as an effective neutralizer for
much of Voyager's sensor, communications, and transport technology.
"The secondary site is large enough to accommodate a landing. Once the
shuttle is detected, time will be a critical factor."

Chakotay inhaled deeply, ran a hand over his cheek and chin. "If the 
shuttle has to touch down, things could get ugly." Things could get
ugly  regardless.

Tuvok straightened. An eyebrow raised. "I agree, Commander. It is 
therefore my recommendation that _you_ command the extraction team,
should one be  required."

Kathryn stiffened, her jaw clenched. The Vulcan's gaze migrated to 
hers, and held. He was serious. "I think the Commander's skills would
be best  utilized on the bridge, at either Tactical or the helm."

Chakotay blinked hard, as if the action would erase the anger, 
disbelief, and ache suddenly coloring his vision.

"I disagree, Captain," Tuvok imposed.

The statement startled both First Officer and Captain.

"Commander Chakotay is the most experienced member of this crew in 
this type of mission. It would not be logical, nor would it be
prudent, in an  emergency situation, to have anyone else in command."

Kathryn's eyes narrowed as she studied her Chief Security Officer. 
Tuvok only _suspected_ what she knew to be fact regarding Chakotay's
background.  And yet, from observation and deduction, he knew Chakotay
was their best option  for success. She couldn't deny Tuvok's
objectivity. She couldn't deny the  logic.

With a reluctance she refused to reveal, she nodded. "Very well." She 
looked from one man to the other. "Commander Chakotay will lead the 
extraction team." Kathryn's gaze settled heavily on Chakotay. "Mister
Paris will pilot  the shuttle. The complement of the team will be
Starfleet." The spark of  anger in his eyes, the muscle twitching in
his jaw were not lost to her.

Maquis. Starfleet. She hadn't verbalized the distinction, but she'd 
made it nevertheless. She hadn't made that distinction in years. In
some  respect, it was wrong. For her intent had little to with Maquis
versus Starfleet,  and everything to do with the man sitting next to
her. He was not of  Maquis making, but a product of Starfleet.

Chakotay bit the inside corner of his mouth... hard... crossed his 
arms over his chest, nodded implacable assent. He knew what she was
thinking.  The thought angered him, saddened him. The fact that she
now knew of his past did  not change the man he'd been for four years.
Their previous encounter with  the Braai, her new found knowledge, had
not forced a permanent relapse  into his previous life. He was who he
was.

Oppressive seconds later, Kathryn turned her attention to the Vulcan. 
"What is your time estimate for the mission?"

Tuvok's gaze slowly traveled from the First Officer to the Captain. 
"We will require a minimum of twenty-four hours. We have no reliable 
information on the variety of goods available in the target population
center. We may  have to travel elsewhere to gather all of the supplies
required. Should we be  forced to another municipality, seventy-two
hours should be sufficient."

"All right." She nodded abruptly. "Seventy-two hours, no more. If you 
haven't acquired everything we need after forty-eight, focus on the 
dilithium." When Tuvok nodded his acknowledgment, she continued.
"Who's on the team?"

"Mister Neelix and Ensign Hickman."

Neelix was a master trader, and Hickman was a good security officer. 
The choices were sound. Kathryn rose, crossed to the wall console,
studied  the image displayed. A frown marred her forehead as question
suddenly  rose. "Seven point eight kilometers is quite a distance. How
do you intend to  transfer acquisitions back to the base camp?"

"We will secure a local means of transportation, as well as a 
repository in the settlement. Mister Neelix and I will focus our
energy on the  acquisition of goods. Ensign Hickman will be
responsible for transporting those goods  from the repository to the
base camp."

"Have we determined what we can offer for trade?" Chakotay asked 
quietly.

Tuvok glanced at the Commander. "Braai currency." He turned to fully 
face his Captain. "Mister Neelix was _fortunate_ enough to have
acquired a  sample during our previous negotiations. We will have to
use a portion of our power  reserves to replicate it. The
specifications have already been entered into the database."

She nodded consent, then snorted quietly. Previous negotiations. 
Negotiations? Hardly. The process... the word itself... was mercurial
at best. As  mercurial as the luck they would need when they'd
returned.

---

B'Elanna had been grateful for the offer. He was happy to extend it. 
Hell... he had to do _something_. But now, as Chakotay lay jammed in a 
Jeffries tube, on an all but abandoned deck fifteen, he was beginning
to regret that  offer. Deck fifteen had one of the worst Jeffries
tubes on the whole ship.  And, as luck would have it, he was there...
had been for the last twenty-five  minutes.

"How's that, B?" he asked through the open comm channel, as he made a 
slight alternation.

"The flow confinement is still too narrow."

He made yet another adjustment. "What about now?"

"Okay... that looks good, Chakotay. That's the last conduit. And, 
you're the last crewmember on the deck. Once you've vacated the deck,
we can  commence shutdown."

"Go ahead and initiate the process now. I'll be out of here in less 
than ten minutes... just as soon as I seal this panel," he said as he
set the  spanner down.

"You know, old man, your talent is wasted as First Officer."

He could practically hear the smile on her face, couldn't help the one 
that found its way to his own. He snorted good-naturedly. "Cut the
_old_  crap, B. I can still whip you fair and square in...." The
rejoinder stuck in his  throat as he twisted slightly, in an attempt
to extract himself from the access  hatch, only to find his shoulders
wedged tight. "God damn it," he muttered.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Everything's just fine," he grunted as he levered himself back 
into the tube, twisted the opposite direction. He maneuvered his arms
up,  pressed his palms against the metal above him, found purchase,
and pushed. He  pitched free, his new position offering less
resistance. When the bulk of his weight  had cleared the hatch,
gravity dragged him to the floor, the back of his  head
unceremoniously connecting with the corner of the access panel frame 
on the way down, the dull thump of the impact almost lost to the
expletive that  followed. "Fuck!"

"I can see your vocabulary is still as impressive as ever, Commander," 
the engineer mocked.

He shot a dirty look at the disembodied voice, rubbed the back of his 
head. He hated when she did that... threw his own words back at him.
"I'm  touched by your concern for my welfare," he grumbled.

Muffled laughter filled the empty hallway. "I'm giving as good as I 
got."

"I'll keep that in mind," he muttered as he heaved himself to his 
feet. He reached into the hatch, retrieved the tools still inside,
then closed  and sealed the hatch. "Begin to reroute power, and shut
down life support.  I'll be off the deck shortly."

"Aye, Commander... And Chakotay?"

He stilled, something in her tone capturing his attention. "Yeah?"

"Thanks."

He frowned slightly, puzzled. The thank you was intended for more than 
the assistance in shutting down decks thirteen and fifteen. But for
what  exactly, he didn't know. "My pleasure," he said, his tone
matching hers.

As he leaned over to return the tools to their case, the pain at the 
back of his head reminded him of its existence. "I think," he amended,
amused  sarcasm coloring his tone. "If you need me for anything else,
I'll be on the  bridge. Chakotay out." As he lifted the tool case, the
hallway darkened. He instinctively stilled, phantom tendrils of
uneasiness twining through him as the emergency maintenance lighting
kicked in, wavered, then steadied.

Movement in his peripheral vision seized his attention. His face 
snapped to the right, met dark eyes.

He snorted. A reflection. His own fucking reflection in the access pad 
above the hatch. He glanced down the corridor behind him, then shook
his  head as he realized what he was doing. Christ... this was
Voyager, not...

His jaw clenched. With deliberate calm, he turned, headed toward the
turbolift, a memory at his heels.

'I say we kill the motherfucker.' A shiver coursed through him, as the 
voice was resuscitated in his mind. Nathan had been pissed. They'd
been  interred in darkness for eight days, with nothing but the
dwindling pale yellow  glow of the downed craft's emergency lighting
to convince them they still had the  power of sight. Rations had been
depleted. They'd been forced to subsist on  whatever they could find.
_Whatever_ was, without exception, revolting. Even  the water, which
they'd processed from waste. 'Shit... Pryn's puking again.'  Illness
was an inevitability. 'Czendric is a fucking asshole.' It had been a 
tactical exercise. The timetable hadn't been worth shit from the
outset.  Chakotay had known it. He'd even pointed it out. Smug had
been the only response  he'd received. 'Where the hell are they?'
They'd missed the recovery  window, had been forced to dig in... and
wait. But then, that had been the point.  'He calls this a
contingency?... Fuck this shit!' The dim lighting flickered, 
threatened to extinguish, then stabilized at a lower level of
illumination.

'Dawson.'

The man had been kinetic. Always in motion. If not his body, then, at 
the very least, his mouth. It had made it hard to keep watch. It had
been  distracting. 'Yeah, Chief?'

'Shut the fuck up.'

Nathan had stilled at that, turned and threw him a strange look... 
then grinned impishly, blue eyes bright beneath a mop of blonde hair.
Two  seconds later, a growl had burst from the darkness behind him.

Chakotay blinked, shook off the memory. He found himself standing 
before the unreactive doors of the aft turbolift. He stood staring,
unmoving for  several seconds, then snorted. Shutdown protocol
included terminating  turbolift access to the deck... to prevent
accidental disembarkment. Only senior staff  or engineering codes
could override the directive. Without thought, he  entered his command
code to summon the lift, the shadows clawing at his back.

---

Voyager shuddered, then lurched. Lights flickered, then settled, 
returning to full illumination.

Kathryn frowned, threw Tuvok a quick glance. "Janeway to engineering, 
what happened?"

"Torres here, Captain," came the obviously weary and harried voice. 
"The dilithium crystals have degraded to the point where the assembly
is  having problems handling the current power load. We experienced a
major  surge. The aft sensor platform just went down... as did the
transporter emitter, the  tractor beam emitter, the main and auxiliary
deflector and navigational  arrays, long range sensors, EM scanners...
and the lateral scanners."

"Do we still have defensive capability?"

"Yes. The defensive shield grid and weapons grid are still 
functioning, although targeting scanners are experiencing intermittent
failures."

Kathryn rose from her seat, exhaled slowly in frustration. "Get the 
targeting scanners stabilized. Then make the navigational and
deflector arrays  your priority. If the power drag from the other
systems is too great, leave  them off-line." She stepped toward the
helm. "Tom... drop to impulse."

"Yes, ma'am."

"How long before you have the navigational and deflector arrays back 
on-line?"

"Three... maybe four hours. The power conduits and EPS junctions are 
fried. They need to be replaced."

Three to fours hours? Damn. Once decks thirteen and fifteen had been 
shut down, the power fluctuations had settled to nothing but a minor 
annoyance, even after Voyager had engaged warp four. They'd managed to
pass forty- eight hours in relative uneventfulness. But, over the last
eighteen hours, surges  and failures were again becoming more
frequent, and more damaging. They'd  crossed the boundary between
limit and load. "Very well, Lieutenant. Notify me  as soon as they are
operational."

"Aye, Captain. Torres out."

Kathryn did not return to her command chair. Instead, she merely 
stood, staring at the starscape playing over the main view screen. An
odd,  misplaced sense of panic threatened. Going back to the Braai
homeworld was like reentering a bad dream... one from which she had
not fully awakened.

The navigational array failure was like a reprieve, a stay... however
temporary; a reprieve for which her soul screamed, a reprieve that
threatened Voyager's very survival.

---

He lay sprawled among his blankets, supine, motionless, staring 
blankly at the ceiling above him. To the casual observer, it might
appear that he had  lost a fierce struggle with his bedding, that he
now lay outstretched in  defeat upon the battlefield... spent...
spoils for the victor. In truth, his  bedding lay victim, an innocent
casualty of his battle with an unwelcome  companion: insomnia.

His body was tired, but his mind wouldn't rest. He'd debated asking 
the Doctor for a sleep aid, but some small corner of his mind refused
to be  forced into the confines of sleep; sleep clenched images,
sensations, he didn't  want to face, didn't want to remember.

Chakotay turned his head slightly to the left, glanced at the 
chronometer, lone tenant of his bedside table. 0243 hours. He exhaled
heavily, as  he turned his face back to the ceiling. Smooth. Cold.
Duranium alloy.

"Damn it," he growled.

With a frustrated groan, he pushed himself upright, slid to the foot 
of the bed, perched himself precariously on the edge of the mattress,
dropped  his elbows to his knees. He ran his hands over his face,
pushed aside the  sheet that had trailed him to the edge of the bed,
and rose.

He quietly padded into the common area of his quarters. A collection 
of PADDs lay scattered over his coffee table: crew evaluations. In the
grand  scheme of things, the importance of them seemed lost. At the
same time, the  normality of the task, the lack of imperative behind
it, was inviting. So little in  the last six days had been
commonplace... placid.

There was a time when he'd cursed the possibility of living a life of
uneventful solitude, of relative normalcy. He'd done everything he
could to ensure that didn't happen. Now, eleven hours from the Braai
homeworld, uneventful solitude didn't seem so objectionable.

His dark eyes narrowed, and the cut of his mouth thinned as he 
absently studied the PADDs. His chin tilted as he stalked to the sofa
and  dropped to the cushions. With deliberate care, he reached out,
grabbed the first PADD  his fingers brushed against.

At least he could pretend.

Minutes later, he was lost in a world where troubles didn't exist... a 
world of routine and measures and order. As time slipped by, his mind
grew  weary of the task, loosened its hold on his thoughts, allowed
unwanted memories  to slip in and out of his awareness.

He suddenly found himself thinking of a day fourteen years prior... 
the day that Czendric had ripped him a new one for defying orders.

'God damn it, cadet! When I give an order, I expect it to be obeyed. 
Is that understood?'

His eyes narrowed. Yeah... he'd understood.

For the good of the team, the success of the mission, regardless the 
cost. He'd understood. The lesson had been long and hard in coming,
but he'd  learned it. He'd followed their orders to the end... until
the price paid was  more than he could suffer.

'To the end, Chief.'

After Nathan's death, he'd severed his connection. But it made no 
difference. Yet another price had been exacted.

'I don't know who you are... not anymore.'

The most recent price paid was more than he could suffer. And yet, it 
was a price he would willingly pay again if it meant Kathryn's life.
For in  her, he gained himself.

---

The transition to sublight had been uneventful. Thankfully.

Within two hours, the communications beacon had been launched, Tom and
B'Elanna had verified that the shuttle's transporters and targeting
scanners were operational, and mission logistics were reviewed again.
The away team had been fitted with prosthetics, and pigmentation
colloids had been applied.

They were ready.

Tuvok and his team were in the shuttle bay, preparing to depart.

Kathryn stared at the moon on the main view screen. Just beyond it lay 
the Braai homeworld. Their hope. "Janeway to Tuvok."

"Tuvok here, Captain."

"You may proceed whenever you're ready, Commander."

"Acknowledged."

Just beyond the moon lay the Braai homeworld. Their bane. "And 
Commander..." Her voice lowered, softened. "Good luck."

"Thank you, Captain. Tuvok out."

Kathryn settled back in her chair, focused her attention on the 
lifeless satellite before her. Many hurdles had been cleared to reach
this  point. Now they faced the most crucial one.

And all she could do was wait.

---

Disbelief painted Neelix features as he stood transfixed, watching 
Hickman attempt to fend off a drunken Braai trader. Hands pawed and
clutched  at the Ensign, trying to rid him of his jacket.

What the hell?

The tavern attracted all manner of trader, but from what Neelix could 
gather, the average patron was crude and disorderly. The common
denominator  was pretty low. The Talaxian was frankly surprised that
the young man was still  in one piece. Several tankards of what looked
like ale had been felled in the  area immediately surrounding the
exchange, the amber liquid slowly seeping  between the laths of the
table top, dripping to the floor. If alcohol was so  carelessly spent,
in a crowd such as this, it couldn't be good.

"I said _no_," the Ensign growled as he shoved the Braai trader away.

The alien stumbled backward, a wall stopping his progress. The 
unexpected impact, with the assistance of a tankard or two, flustered
his footing  and he dropped to the floor.

Angered, the Braai staggered to his feet, lunged at Hickman.

Without hesitation, the Ensign sidestepped the erratic attack. The 
Braai's momentum sent him barreling into a table, toppling it.
Tankards flew. Malediction filled the air as well, as patrons content
to sit and watch the show were suddenly thrust into the periphery of
the action.

Hickman threw a panicked glance toward the door as Tuvok's words 
echoed in his mind: 'Keep a low profile. You are to restrict your
activities to  transferring goods from the repository to the base
camp. Under no circumstances are  you to fraternize with the Braai.'

"Shit," Hickman muttered, his eyes finding Neelix. He flung a look of
helplessness in the Talaxian's direction. He didn't see the fist
flying toward him... was only aware of it as it broke across his jaw.
The impact snapped his head back, drove his body to the left. Somehow
he managed to stay on his feet, instinctively crouching, assuming a
defensive posture... ready to fight. He pulled his right arm up and
back slightly, balled his fist, prepared to strike.

"Ah... there you are!" Neelix beamed, stepping between the two. "I 
have been looking _everywhere_ for you." He patted Hickman on the
shoulder,  exaggerating the gesture. "I think it is time that we made
our way home don't you?"  The little Talaxian smiled energetically as
he eyed the enraged Braai.  "Father is waiting."

"He can not leave," the Braai spat, pointing, pitching forward, 
assailing Hickman's jacket. "The coat is mine. He agreed to the
trade!"

"I did no such thing," argued Hickman, evading the flailing hand.

"You agreed to the trade!"

"No. I. Did. Not." Hickman defended.

"Are you calling me a liar?" The Braai cocked his head, straightened.

Neelix suddenly felt very small.

"No," Hickman said, forcing a soothing edge to the word. "You're 
simply mistaken."

Without warning, a dagger appeared, pale green fingers clutching the 
shaft.

Without thought, Hickman moved, lifting his right leg, whipping it 
outward, his foot connecting with the trader's wrist. The bone
snapped. The  Braai cried out in pain and shock. As the blade
clattered to the floor, Hickman  grabbed the sleeve of Neelix's coat
and pulled him roughly to the side, out of  harms way, then once more
crouched, ready.

The Braai cradled his injured wrist, spat words the universal 
translator failed to interpret. It didn't matter... incensed
regrouping sounded  the same in any dialect. Hickman swallowed hard,
felt the first twinge of dread  as three more Braai rose from a corner
table, and advanced.

The Ensign took a hesitant step backward. "Let's get the hell out of 
here, before..." He wasn't prepared for the ferocity of the trader's
attack.  His balance was wrenched from him and he spilled to the
floor.

The tavern's patrons crowded around... pressing closer... goading the
combatants. Neelix found himself unceremoniously jostled aside, shoved
off-balance into one of the many spectators. "Sorry," he muttered
looking up into ebony orbs.

A growl was his only response.

Shit. This wasn't happening. They were done. They'd two more loads to 
transfer to the base site, and they were done. Keeping a low profile
at this  stage of the mission should have been easy. Instead...

Neelix froze. Two of the three Braai that had advanced on the scuffle 
from the rear of the bar had now joined the fight. Three on one.

And then all reason was lost. In the span of two seconds, the 
situation had turned from tense, into a full blown free-for-all...
with Hickman  stuck in the middle.

Neelix had run out of options. Hickman needed help. They needed to get 
out of the bar. If the fight continued much longer, one or both of
them would  be hurt... or killed. Their cover would be blown.

For an instant he debated his course of action, then grabbed the small 
phaser from under his jacket. Tuvok had given specific orders. No
trouble. No  use of Federation technology in view of the Braai. He
hesitantly raised his  weapon, then wincing, fired... above the crowd.

Cacophony instantly died into silence.

"Hickman?" Neelix quietly called, warily eyeing the rabble. He swung 
the weapon in his hand slowly... right to left and back again...
clearing  a path for himself.

A groan echoed from behind a felled table. Relief flooded the Talaxian 
at the sound... a voice he recognized. "Come on, let's get out of
here," he  whispered, as he neared the table.

Hickman climbed unsteadily to his feet, wiped at his chin. Blood from 
a small cut dripped to his tunic. "I hope the Doc is in a good mood,"
he  muttered, as he staggered around the table. Because, he was going
to be in serious  need of medical attention when Tuvok was done with
him. "Thanks, Neelix." He  patted the man on the back.

The movement was so quick that neither man saw it... a flurry of 
cloth, a gleam of light playing against metal.

Hickman hissed in pain as the knife plunged into his back, then fell 
forward to his knees, his right hand snaking behind his back, trying
to grasp  the handle of the knife. His hand flailed helplessly. His
eyes glazed over  as the movement sent a wave of agony through him.

Neelix whirled, squared off with the offending Braai, then aimed his 
phaser and fired.

The Braai crumpled to the ground.

"We have to get out of here," Hickman gritted as he forced his body to
unsteady legs. Neelix threw an arm around the man's waist, and half
dragged, half carried him out of the tavern, phaser leveled on the
crowd should anyone else entertain any thought of doing them further
harm.

As they stepped into the oppressive midday heat, Neelix hit his comm 
badge. "Neelix to Voyager..."

---

The turbolift doors opened, the sound of Kathryn Janeway's voice 
meeting Chakotay's ears. Full scans were being ordered. He stepped
onto the  bridge to find her hovered over Tactical next to Ayala.

"What's happened?" Chakotay asked as he hurried to stand next to her.

"I'm not sure," Kathryn confessed with concern, stepping away from 
Tactical and ushering her First Officer toward the command level of
the bridge.  "We received a garbled message from Neelix. From what I
can tell... it  sounds like Ensign Hickman has been injured. A few
seconds into the transmission,  the signal distorted and broke. We
have fragments of it, but not much."  She glanced over her shoulder to
Ops. "How are you coming with that transmission,  Harry?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm not, Captain. I've run it through several 
filters, but the message is still broken. I don't think I can clean it
up any  further."

"Okay," Kathryn said, stepping toward Ops, Chakotay on her heels. 
"Let's hear it again."

Harry's fingers danced over the console as he recalled the audio.

"Neelix to Voy... emerg... beam... Ens... Hickman... jury to th... 
Doct... Comm... vok... ondary si... Need..."

"Sounds like they have trouble."

Kathryn nodded at Harry's statement, then exchanged a grim look with 
her First Officer.

She moved away from Ops, bid Chakotay follow with a look. When she 
stood in the center of the command level, she stopped, eyed the Braai
moon on  the view screen. Forty-nine hours. All had progressed
according to plan...  without glitch, without pause... for forty-nine
hours. They were in the home  stretch. For a while, she'd allowed
herself to believe they were going to pull  this off without incident.

No longer.

"Commander..." Reluctantly, she dragged her gaze to Chakotay's face. 
His expression was unreadable. She wasn't sure what she'd expected to 
find. Perhaps some lingering darkness, a shadow of the man she'd
experienced on the  Braai homeworld, a man hardened and intent. The
man before her was none of  those things. The darkness of his eyes
betrayed nothing. "Assemble your  team."

He nodded once, then quietly acknowledged her order. "Yes, Captain." 
Abruptly, he turned, headed toward the turbolift from which he'd only
just  emerged. "Paris." The order was simple, implicit, understood.
Without waiting  for confirmation from the pilot, he boarded the
waiting lift, Paris but a  few strides behind.

"Be careful, Commander." Kathryn met his gaze across the bridge, held 
it. "We don't need any more mishaps." At her words, a smile graced
Chakotay's  face... one, Kathryn noted, that didn't reach his eyes...
a smile clenched and  hollow.

And then he was gone.

As she turned to face the main view screen, a feeling struck her deep 
in her gut, like a fist knotting her insides: fear.

Dread.

---

Paris was good. Perhaps the best Chakotay had ever seen.

Paris was even better when presented with a challenge... something 
outside the norm. Flying a shuttle at high impulse less than twenty
meters from  the ground could be considered a challenge. The slightest
miscalculation would  find the shuttle and its passengers nothing but
a trail of charred remains  scattered over the rugged terrain below.

The pilot was literally flying by the seat of his pants. Despite the
circumstance necessitating the flight plan, Thomas Eugene Paris was in
his element.

The shuttle weaved a course through a shallow canyon, created by a 
river long since dry. The canyon bottom was littered with large rock
formations:  pillars of stone spared the erosive powers of wind and
water, postings of  boulders balanced one atop another at perilous
angles, seemingly defying the  laws of physics by remaining upright.
Tom skillfully maneuvered the shuttle  around each one, at times with
only centimeters of clearance.

Chakotay stole a brief glance at the pilot. Concentration was etched 
on Tom's face. His blue eyes were intense, searching, gauging,
consuming. He'd  given up on the assistance of the ship's systems, was
flying the shuttle on  instinct and intuition... and was loving every
minute of it. Chakotay had not  questioned the man's preference. He'd
have done the same thing... preferred his own  eyes, his own gut, to
the onboard navigational computer. However, he could do  without the
slight curl tugging at the man's lips.

"Do you have to look like you're enjoying this so much?" Chakotay 
murmured gruffly.

"You've got to be kidding me, Chakotay. This is what I live for," Tom 
grinned without taking his eyes from the terrain beyond the
transparent  aluminum windows. "This is... is... so cool!"

Chakotay shook his head in amusement. Only Tom. He turned back to the 
panel at his fingertips, attempted another series of scans of the
surrounding  area. There was still no evidence of Braai ships... or
the away team. The  surrounding rock was unrelenting in its hold.
However, what prevented their  ability to scan, also served to conceal
their presence. The Braai knew they were  here, but they didn't know
_where_. That alone bought them time. "How long  before we get there?"

"Less than three minutes," Paris replied as the shuttle emerged from 
the canyon, the western bluff giving way to rocky hillocks and mesas,
the  eastern bluff continuing in a prominent ridge towering over the
arid  landscape.

As far as the eye could see, a forest of bracken clung to the lower 
half of the eastern bluff, extending downward then spreading several
hundred  meters over the desert floor. Here and there, poking out of
the necrotic gray  of the brush, stood huge knuckled trees, barren
branches spread wide,  pleading for rain. Beyond the bramble, rock lay
exposed, vulnerable to the intense  heat of day, an occasional scrub
adorning the otherwise desolate countryside.

Chakotay was vaguely reminded of the southern deserts of Dorvan V. But 
what he saw below was more rugged... harsher than the desert he was
familiar  with. He studied the bland landscape, the almost
imperceptible variation in  color. Everything about the planet was
bleak.

He turned away from the window, turned his attention to the console 
before him. Scans of the area were inadequate, the base rock below 
interfering with readings. They were still unable to ascertain the
exact location of  the away team. He trusted they'd made it to the
secondary site. If they  hadn't... they were in trouble.

For the third time since entering the planet's atmosphere, Chakotay 
attempted to establish contact. "Chakotay to Tuvok."

Static met his ears.

"We're coming up on the LZ," Tom informed Chakotay.

"Let's get ready," Chakotay said, rising from his chair, glancing at 
the two security officers already preparing in the rear of the
shuttle.

Tom swung the shuttle hard to port, then quickly starboard. The 
inertial dampers compensated, but not enough to prevent those standing
from  reaching out to steady themselves. "Touchdown in twenty," he
announced, fingers  racing over the navigational panel.

As the craft descended, Chakotay attempted to survey the small expanse 
and the surrounding hillocks. He leaned over Tom, peered out the small
portal,  but saw nothing save gray. Clouds of dust and debris had
formed, kicked up by  the downdraft from the nacelles. The obfuscation
reduced visibility to  zero.

None of the shuttle's occupants actually felt the vessel set down. 
Only the abrupt nod from the pilot, the satisfied grin that
accompanied it,  clued them in.

"Nice, Paris," Chakotay said appreciatively, as he eyed the 
dissipating surge of gray. He took one last look at the useless sense
data displayed on  the console to his right, then stepped to the rear
of the shuttle, to the  cargo bay door. Harris and Basehart, the
designated Starfleet complement, moved  to flank him as the hydraulics
hissed and the door cracked open. A rush of heat  slammed into them,
overpowering the controlled climate of the shuttle's  interior.

"Shit," Tom complained, joining the threesome, med kit in hand. 'But 
it's a dry heat' be damned. Hot was hot... wet or dry. As the bay door 
settled, he walked down the ramp. He spied Tuvok and his team on the
far side of  the small expanse, started toward them. "I'll tend to
Hickman."

Chakotay nodded, then stepped warily onto the ramp, his senses on full 
alert. He scanned the open ground and surrounding hillocks and
postings. He  drew a subtle breath, opened his senses. The smell and
taste of the air, the  redolence on the light midday breeze, the heat
in his lungs and on his uniform,  the dryness of the air... all
imprinted on him. A fundamental reaction to  survival. One made
without conscious thought. Pure instinct.

He frowned. Something wasn't right.

He looked for colors out of place, smells that didn't seem natural, 
movement or lack of it.

And then he suddenly realized what it was. Preternatural stillness. 
The area was devoid of the rhythms of life.

The sudden arrival of the shuttle was a possible explanation. Tom's 
aggressive approach could have alarmed the wildlife. Or perhaps the
Braai  homeworld held no life that could survive the harshness of a
desert existence.  Perhaps.

But he doubted it.

His gut, his instinct, told him otherwise.

Nature screamed its alarm with eerie silence.

He absently pulled the tricorder from his belt, and activated it. 
Nothing. The rock around them was a hindrance... an exposure. He
snapped the  tricorder closed and slipped it back on his belt.

Abruptly, Chakotay swung to face his team. They had a job to do... and
quickly. "I want you two to keep watch while we load the shuttle. Comm
badges are not operational. So, should anything arise, you'll have to
signal the old-fashioned way." He glanced toward Tuvok, now
approaching the shuttle, buckboard in tow. "I'm hoping to expedite
this."

"Yes, sir," came simultaneous acknowledgment as phaser rifles were 
checked.

Chakotay squinted as sunlight gleamed off the weapons. Damn, he 
thought, eyes darting to the rugged periphery of the small plateau.
The weapons were  like beacons. He bit his lower lip, swallowed his
apprehension. By the  book... the standard 'fleet book. He would not
stray outside those boundaries.

"Harris... position yourself over there." Chakotay pointed toward a 
large rocky outcrop along the eastern border of the small expanse. It
stood  watch over the open ground and surrounding hillocks, rising
several meters  higher than any other piling in the immediate area.
"Climb as high as you  can. Keep your eyes open. If anything moves...
hell, if _nothing_ moves... I  want to know about it"

"Yes, sir." With a nod, Jared Harris set off at a rapid pace toward 
the rock formation some twenty-five meters distant.

"And Harris..."

The young man stopped, turned to glance over his shoulder. "Yes, sir?"

"Keep a sharp eye toward the north and northeast. There's a lot of 
brush out there."

"Yes, sir," Harris acknowledged, then jogged away, the impact of each 
booted foot against dry earth kicking up a small cloud of dust.

"Basehart..." Chakotay turned to the young man standing quietly at his 
side. "Patrol the perimeter along the western edge." He pointed to the 
south, then swung his arm to indicated the western fringe northward.
"Move in a  semicircle from that point." Chakotay indicated the area
immediately beyond the  forward section of the shuttle. He squinted,
scanned the small expanse, then  patted the young man on the back.
"Keep low, and keep your eyes and ears open."

"Yes, sir."

"Don't venture beyond the open area."

"Yes, sir." Basehart raised the tip of his compression rifle, then 
moved off in the direction indicated by his commanding officer.

He quietly watched the young man trot off, then turned to watch the 
Vulcan close the final few meters to the shuttle.

"Commander," Tuvok said in greeting.

"Tuvok," Chakotay nodded, glancing past the Vulcan to where Tom and 
Neelix cared for Hickman. "What happened?"

Tuvok hazarded a glance behind him, then again faced the First 
Officer. "Ensign Hickman became embroiled in a dispute with one of the
local  traders. During the argument, Ensign Hickman was stabbed.
Mister Neelix managed  to extract the Ensign from the situation.
However, a phaser was fired in  the process."

"A phaser," Chakotay repeated, voice devoid of expression.

"There was one fatality."

Chakotay raised an expectant eyebrow.

"The Braai who injured Ensign Hickman."

Chakotay exhaled heavily, ran a hand across his jaw. "How is he, Tom?" 
he asked as Tom and Neelix brushed past, carrying the injured man
between  them.

"He's lost a lot of blood," Tom grunted. "He has a punctured lung, two 
broken ribs, and a mild infection. Though that has nothing to do with
his  recent injuries." At Chakotay's frown, he explained. "A reaction
to the  dermal pigmentation colloid." He exhaled quickly, adjusted his
grip on the  man in his arms. "He's stable for now, but we need to get
him back to Voyager  soon."

Chakotay nodded. "Get him on board." As he watched the threesome 
disappear into the belly of the shuttle, he addressed Tuvok. "What
about the  supplies?"

"We have managed to procure a substantial number of items on the 
requisition list. Most are at the base camp."

Chakotay's gaze darted from the Vulcan to the cart.

"After the incident with the Braai trader, Mister Neelix and I loaded 
what we could of what remained in the repository and headed here."

"The dilithium?"

Tuvok nodded, stepped to the cart, rested a hand on a large box buried 
beneath several others. "We successfully negotiated a purchase.
However, it is  not of the quality that we are used to."

Chakotay smiled. He stepped to Tuvok's side, lifted a crate. "Are the 
crystals of a warp drive sufficient grade?"

Tuvok lifted a box as well, turned to ascend the aft ramp. "The grade 
is adequate. We were, however, in the process of negotiation with a 
second source. It is unfortunate that our negotiations were
incomplete. The trader  claimed that the grade of his ware was
superior to what we already had."

"Adequate will have to do," Chakotay replied, following the Vulcan. 
"Let's get the supplies loaded. We'll beam the content of the base
camp aboard on  a fly-by after lift off." He suddenly stalled. His
eyes narrowed as he scanned  the site. The hair on the back of his
neck bristled. The uneasiness he'd felt  earlier returned. With
deliberate effort, he turned, hastened to deposit his  load.

"Neelix."

The Talaxian turned at the abrupt sound of his name.

"We could use your assistance unloading the rig," Chakotay imposed.

"Of course," Neelix nodded, bustled past Tom and the Commander, and 
followed Tuvok outside.

Five minutes and half the load later, Chakotay stilled, again scanned 
the small expanse.

The Vulcan stepped to his side.

"It's too quiet, Tuvok," he rumored, eyes intent on the landscape. 
"Have Paris get the shuttle ready for rapid departure and ascent."

---

Tuvok nodded and disappeared inside.

Chakotay trained his sight on the eastern periphery, tapped his comm 
badge. "Chakotay to Harris."

Static met his ears.

Harris made no sign of having received a signal.

Damn. "I'm going to bring Harris in. Neelix..." He turned, fixed the 
Talaxian become Braai with a dark stare. "Basehart is patrolling the
perimeter  just on the other side of the shuttle. Get him over here...
have him help with  the rest of this." He turned to Tuvok, as the
Vulcan rejoined him. "Let's wrap  this up, fast."

Tuvok simply nodded, quickened an already aggressive pace.

Chakotay set across the rocky ground, all the while casting a wary eye 
to the horizon, his unease intensifying.

The Ensign heard him, turned to watch him approach. He climbed the 
hillock, crouched next to Harris, surveyed the terrain beyond. "Get
back to the shuttle," he whispered. "Assist with the supplies. We're
out of here in five minutes."

Harris nodded, maneuvered himself down the jagged incline, then 
halted. "Sir?" he asked, glancing back up the slope, when Chakotay did
not follow.

"I'll be a few minutes," Chakotay responded, never taking his gaze 
from the horizon. "I'm going to check the next rise."

Harris hesitated briefly, then nodded. "Aye sir."

---

"Where is Commander Chakotay?" Tuvok insisted, emerging from the 
shuttle to find Harris unloading the rig, Chakotay nowhere in sight.

Harris glanced over his shoulder, to the east. "He's just on the other 
side of that piling. He wanted to check something out." The young man 
shrugged. "What, I don't know. He acted like he saw..." His words were
cut short, as  the sound of weapons fire echoed off rock.

"What was that?" Tom shouted, automatically reaching for his phaser 
and running toward the open shuttle door.

Basehart beat him to the ramp, leaped to the ground, and took cover at 
the corner of the shuttle, rifle up and ready, trained to the east.

"Can you see him?" Neelix wheezed, as he ducked for cover behind one 
of the remaining bins inside the wagon. He squinted against the bright 
sunlight, tried to spot the cranberry and black of the First Officer's
uniform.

---

Chakotay had phaser in hand when he caught sight of the Braai 
soldier... an advance scout if the dust motes in the distance were any
indication.  He slowly and silently dropped, pressed himself to the
dirt, painfully aware of  the cranberry at his shoulders and chest.

Within seconds, he spotted two more. Their camouflage was good. The 
dusty browns and grays they wore blended with the terrain... bracken,
rock,  dirt, and shadow. Despite the camouflage, they were easily
detected. Their  movement was abrupt and awkward... unlike the
movement of the desert around them.

Chakotay slowly pushed himself up on an elbow, grasped a handful of 
dirt, rubbed it over his shoulders. With graceful ease, he got to his
feet,  still crouching low, then with silent determination migrated to
his right,  in an effort to find cover. Despite the soiled fabric, his
uniform betrayed  him. The lead Braai dropped, and opened fire. The
weapons fire narrowly missed  him. He dove forward, scrambled for
cover, losing his phaser in the process.

"Shit!" he swore, at the loss... at the clamor. Weapons fire was 
certain to ignite the approaching Braai squad, accelerate their pace.

But that was the least of Chakotay's worries, at the moment. He had 
three other worries laying in wait meters away. He heard one of them
move,  grunt, then advance... in an attempt to flush him out.

"Big mistake," Chakotay growled, sliding a hand beneath the cloth of 
his trouser leg. He slowly drew the knife sheathed there, then
readjusted  his grip, testing its welcome weight. Satisfied, he slid
upright against the  stone at his back. He navigated the boulder, wary
of peripheral movement, then  stilled as he spied the Braai soldier,
back to him.

The alien stood, searching, weapon raised... without benefit of cover. 
If the scout had realized his error, it would have been too late.
Strong  hands gripped him from behind, dragged him roughly to the
ground. His last conscious  thought was that the dark blade plunging
toward him reflected no light.

---

"There!" Neelix declared, pointing toward the towering hillock from 
behind which the dusty apparition of Voyager's First Officer had
burst.

"We have company!" He shouted, sprinting across the open ground. "Get 
inside! Leave what isn't load..."

A small explosion expunged the dirt less than half a meter from where 
Tuvok stood. Within seconds, several more explosions struck the ground 
between Chakotay and the shuttle. The First Officer skidded to a halt
in the  loose dirt, and threw himself to the ground. He rolled twice,
then veered to  his left, scrambling for cover as weapons fire riddled
the ground.

Basehart and Harris immediately returned fire in the direction from 
which the attack had come.

A Braai soldier broke cover, darted toward a large boulder, but never 
made it as Tuvok took aim and fired, felling him.

Tom dove under the cargo bay ramp, positioned himself, and fired at 
will.

Back pressed flat against the boulder behind him, Chakotay forced his 
breath to slow. Damn. He should have listened to his earlier
instincts...  hastened the process. They'd have been long gone.

Maybe. He couldn't second-guess himself now. Not with fifteen meters 
between himself and the shuttle.

He inhaled deeply, released it slowly, then ducked low, peered around 
the eastern curve of stone... and spied their attackers. He shook his
head reproachfully. He should have taken them out before heading back
to the shuttle. But the only accessible cover was behind him... on a
path to the landing site and the shuttle. So he'd run. But now... a
feral smirk crept over his lips as he rolled to the side, raised his
phaser, and fired. The two Braai soldiers toppled forward into hot dry
grit.

The ground exploded around him, shrapnel flying. Chakotay threw 
himself back behind the small boulder he'd used as cover. Damn... the
troops were  arriving.

He peered around the opposite edge of the stone, then jerked back in 
place as several soldiers fired on him at once. He suddenly felt
extremely  vulnerable.

He swallowed harshly, thought hard. They were outnumbered and 
outgunned. They needed a way out and they needed it fast. _He_ needed
a way out... a  way back.

He glanced toward the shuttle. Tom was firing from beneath the shuttle 
door ramp. Neelix was concealed behind several crates in the bed of
the  rig, less than three meters from the shuttle. Tuvok flanked
Basehart near the  port nacelle. Harris was in the main doorway. The
covering fire that the  small Starfleet crew was laying down would be
ineffective for a direct run.  There was nothing behind which he could
hide in the fifteen meters between them.

He surveyed the site. A substantial piling of boulders stood less than 
ten meters to his left. Unfortunately, they were also ten meters
further  from the shuttle. Chakotay considered the position, weighed
the tactical  advantage. He could out-flank the Braai if he made it to
the rocks... come up on  their blind side... from the rear. They
wouldn't know what hit them... assuming  everything went according to
the seat-of-the-pants plan.

"I'm getting too old for this," he hissed, as he lunged to his feet, 
full pelt toward the outcrop of boulders.

Before he'd covered half the distance, a blast impacted near his feet. 
Heat seared through the material of his uniform. He swore under his
breath,  forced a harder pace. Two more meters and the intensity of
the fire increased.

Tuvok and Tom intensified their efforts, forced the Braai to duck for 
cover.

It was all Chakotay needed. "Too fucking old," he spat, throwing 
himself headlong behind the rocks. His body skidded in the loose dirt,
then  abruptly stopped as his momentum died.

He pushed himself to hands and knees, skittered to flatten himself 
against the outcrop. Grains of sand, dust, and splinters of dried wood
rained from  his cropped hair into his eyes. He blinked hard, tried to
clear his  vision. Dust choked him. He coughed once, twice, then
sucked in a lung full of air,  centered himself.

He stuck his head around the side of the piling only to be forced back 
by another barrage. Rock exploded centimeters from his face,
dispossessed fragments flying, splitting the skin above his right
eyebrow, temple, and cheek. He felt warm blood trickle from his brow,
mingle with the blood on his cheek.

Chakotay shakily swiped at the wounds with the back of an ashen hand. 
He pulled his hand away, stared at the smeared crimson. Adrenaline
surged  through him.

"Tuvok!" he shouted, turning to face the Vulcan across the distance.

"Yes, Commander!"

"Get Paris back in the shuttle and get ready for take-off. Now!"

Tuvok dropped to his knees, crawled toward Tom, still crouched under 
the ramp, directing his fire at a small group of well concealed Braai.

It was now or never, Chakotay thought wryly. He again drew in a deep 
breath, then lunged to his left, eastward, then north. The Braai,
realizing  that the aliens were retreating, preparing to escape, had
redirected their  attention and their assault... advanced stiltingly,
fired solely on the shuttle.  None of them saw his approach.

Chakotay was almost three quarters of the way to nearest unit of 
soldiers, tucked behind a small hillock, when one of the Braai spotted
him. But  it was too late. Chakotay fired his phaser. The blast threw
the Braai  backward into the three other soldiers in the group. They
too suffered a similar  fate as Chakotay met his mark.

Chakotay closed the distance, knelt behind the hillock, amidst the 
dead Braai soldiers. Wearily, he leaned against the mound concealing
him,  protecting him from further attack. He absently wiped at the
blood which still  dripped from the wounds on his cheek and temple,
then peered across the open  terrain toward the shuttle.

Tom was nowhere in sight. Good.

Basehart and Harris focused their fire upon a small group of soldiers 
to the west of Chakotay's current position. The ground was littered
with  several bodies. He could take out several more from his current
position and  then make a break for the shuttle... before any further
reinforcements arrived,  if they hadn't already.

He surveyed the distance to the shuttle. He'd have to cross fifteen 
meters without cover, but he'd have to risk it. He couldn't lay in
wait for  every member of the Braai detachment. By now, air defense
had to have been  alerted to their position. Time had run out.

He again eyed the Braai unit. Five. He had clear sights on one. The 
rest he'd have to take out as he ran for the shuttle. The odds were
against him.  He'd been in worse positions.

His gaze swung one more time to the shuttle. He found Tuvok staring 
toward him. The Vulcan instinctively knew his intention... nodded.

Tuvok rallied Harris, Basehart and Neelix, instructed them to prepare 
to lay down covering fire.

Chakotay rested on his haunches, his back pressed lightly against the 
boulder formation, checked the power cell on his phaser. It was
enough. He  raised his weapon, nodded at the Vulcan, then surged to
his feet, erupting from  his hiding place.

The element of surprise was on Chakotay's side, the unit not expecting 
to be attacked from behind. He charged forward, took bead on the
unprotected  Braai, and fired.

What happened next, he didn't know. Something heavy hit him square in 
the chest, throwing him backward, forcing the air from his lungs. He 
struck the ground heavily. The impact of the back of his skull with
stone and  earth sent countless points of light across his vision,
stunning him. Pain engulfed his body.

---

Through a thick fog, he heard his name being screamed. He rolled over, 
forced himself up on his forearms, then his knees. Without benefit of
sight  or bearing, he lurched to his feet, but his legs convulsed
fiercely, and threatened to give out.

And then they did.

"Chakotay!"

The name was more distinct this time.

He groaned his pain as he again attempted to rise... made it to hands 
and knees. Dazed, he tried to suck air into his lungs.

"Chakotay!"

His head lifted. Was it a comm signal? He raised a trembling hand, 
tapped his own comm badge to respond. Nothing. He tried again.
Nothing. Then he remembered... communications was not operational.

His vision cleared slightly as his gaze drifted to the Braai bodies 
several meters away. Realization struck. He had fired into the group,
at the  soldier closest to him. The phaser blast had hit the Braai's
weapon. The  weapon had exploded, most likely overloaded, killing all
those within a few  meters radius. Another meter closer and he'd have
joined them in oblivion. Instead,  he'd suffered a compression injury
to the chest.

"Chakotay!"

Chakotay's face turned unsteadily toward the voice. His head pounded, 
his vision blurred, then stabilized at something close to normal. Tom.
God  damn it! What the hell was he doing? He should be in the shuttle.
Had he the  ability, he'd have shouted bloody murder. But his head,
his body could produce  nothing.

He lowered his gaze, searched for his phaser. It had to be nearby. 
*Focus. Focus. Nothing else matters. Nothing but the mission.* There.
He  crawled to his left, closed a fist around the weapon.

"I'm okay," he croaked. His strength was returning, compelling him to 
stand. His body screamed its protest. He clutched a hand to his rib
cage,  drew in a ragged breath.

The ground exploded to Chakotay's right, slamming him back to the 
earth.

"Come on, Chakotay!" Tom screamed as he leaped off the ramp, took 
cover behind a nacelle. "Move!"

And then Chakotay found his voice. "Get back on the shuttle!" he 
ordered through gritted teeth. "Basehart. Harris. Pull back. Now!"
They had to  get the shuttle into the air.

Without him.

"Tuvok! Get out of here! Take off!" he barked with as much authority 
as he could muster.

Instead of retreating to the interior of the shuttle, the shuttle 
complement repositioned themselves, and started shooting... laying
down fire in  an effort to at least give him a chance.

Chakotay swore as he heaved himself to his feet and began to run. 
Breathing through the agony in his chest, he moved. And although he
knew he was  making forward progress, it wasn't fast enough... the
distance to the shuttle  didn't seem to be closing. He was drawing too
much fire. He wouldn't make it.

Chakotay dove behind his last opportunity for cover, a low shelf of 
rock. The shelf offered little protection, his legs still exposed.
Heat grazed  his calf. He instinctively drew his legs into his body,
made himself small.

Chakotay looked past the knees at his chest to the shuttle. His breath
caught in his throat as he spied three Braai flanking the ship,
rushing his crew. He took aim and fired. One soldier dropped hard.
Basehart whirled, felled the second, but not before taking a hit in
the thigh. He crumpled to the ground, managing to trip the third Braai
on the way. It was the only encouragement Tom needed to ease from his
cover, fire on the downed soldier, kill him.

"Another one bites the dust," Tom muttered, as he crawled to
Basehart's side, heaved him to his feet, and helped him to the ramp.
He lifted the man into Neelix's waiting arms.

"Paris," Chakotay wheezed. Damn... his voice was dying. Not now. Not
yet. He straightened his legs and adjusted his position to allow his
lungs more air. "Paris!" he shouted. "Get on board that shuttle!"

Tom didn't answer. He refused to acknowledge the order. Instead he
fired his phaser over Chakotay's head at a group of advancing Braai.
He wasn't going to leave Chakotay here. Leaving him meant death.

Chakotay knew they wouldn't go, not as long as he was alive. He took a
deep breath, sprung from his hiding place, but immediately dropped
back behind his cover as the firefight suddenly exploded.

The shuttle crew retreated to the interior of the craft. The ramp
began to lift.

Chakotay silently prayed they made it back to Voyager.

And then the ramp abruptly halted its journey, half open. Harris and
Tom dropped prone against the incline and again started firing.

"God damn it," Chakotay snarled.

Neelix joined the fray, positioning himself between the humans.

Chakotay's eyes clamped shut. Damn them. He'd given an order. For the
good the mission.

His eyes flew open. Okay. One more time. Into the fire.

He bolted to his feet and ran, weaving his way across the distance.
And then something hit his right hip and thigh, threw off his balance,
destroyed his forward moment, and knocked him to the ground. Pain
registered and he knew he'd been shot.

He struggled to open his eyes, saw only rock and dust, and an ashen
hand oddly still. His vision blurred. His hearing faded, the hiss of
phaser fire nothing more than a distant buzz.

He was distantly aware of a voice... Tom... screaming encouragement to
get up, move. He could do that. For the sake of the mission.

He pushed himself to his elbows, lifted his head. He saw Harris drop
his weapon, and tumble down the door plate into the shuttle, wounded.

All the while, Tom's mouth moved. But there was no sound.

Chakotay pushed himself to his knees, past the blinding pain. And then
froze as something sharp pierced his back, and then his right
shoulder. The edges of his vision started to fade.

"Go," he gasped.

As he toppled forward amidst the rain of fire, he saw the cargo bay
ramp again begin to close, the shuttle begin to lift off.

And then, Tom Paris leaped to the ground and ran toward him, the
shuttle lifting away. He heard Tom's voice, felt hands grip his
uniform jacket and pull. His last coherent thought, as he lost his
purchase on consciousness, was of how he would kill the young man...
if they survived.

---

Finis.

To be continued in 'Desecrated'.