Disclaimer: Disclaimer: All things Star Trek belong to Voyager. I’m just taking a few of the characters for a little outing.

Summary: Kathryn Janeway decides that she must follow through on the covert meeting with the mysterious stranger, even if doing so is a dangerous gamble that puts her life in the balance.

Note: This story begins shortly after “Gathering Storm”

Tevlik Moon (A Belle Colony Story)

by mizvoy

“The caves are mined?” Kathryn Janeway frowned at Tuvok’s survey of Tevlik’s moon and then looked up at her former security officer in complete disbelief. “Really?”

“Not mines, Admiral. There are a series of explosives placed in strategic locations.”

“Why would anyone bother to put explosives in a deserted cave full of graves, broken equipment, and rubble?”

“Answering that question would require sheer speculation on my part,” Tuvok replied. “I’m also mystified by the hidden monitoring devices. Nothing of value remains in the caves, so why would someone care whether people visited them?”

“Grave robbers?” At Tuvok’s scowl, she continued, with a shrug, “The only answer I can think of is that there is something of value there.”

“Or, they believe there’s something of value there. From what I could tell, the Starfleet crew that cleaned up following the massacre did a thorough job of sifting through the debris. I can’t imagine them leaving anything valuable behind.”

“Do you think that Starfleet personnel put the explosives there?”

Tuvok shook his head. “The team’s official record makes no mention of it.”

“Official record?” Janeway rolled her eyes in amusement. “Do you think Section 31 would record its actions in the official record?”

Unwilling to commit himself without further proof, Tuvok replied, “It’s impossible to tell who did the work after all this time. However, except for these items, there’s nothing remarkable about the caves. What’s most striking, perhaps, is the extent of the damage done by the orbital phasers.”

“The Cardassians are nothing if not thorough.”

“Indeed.”

Janeway returned to the report, switching to the Flyer’s scans of the Tevlik system itself. “So you think the area has had visitors lately.”

“Yes, although it wasn’t apparent at first. The ship’s ion trail was difficult to detect until Seven of Nine went through a series of sensor modifications. We believe it visited the area only a day or two before we did.”

“Did they visit the caves?”

“No, they didn’t. And, unless they departed using the exact vector of their approach, the ship remains nearby.”

Janeway looked up in alarm. “Where are they hiding?”

“Impossible to tell. Remember that the Tevlik system is in the middle of the Badlands, Admiral. There are any number of excellent hiding places available in the region.”

“Damn.” She stood up and began to pace from one side of the scout ship’s tiny ready room to the other. “It can’t be a coincidence that the ship arrived at this particular time. And they had to see the Delta Flyer enter the system.”

“I assume that they noticed our arrival and monitored our reconnaissance mission.” He paused. “It’s possible that this ship carries the people we’re supposed to meet.”

She gave him an exasperated look. “Do you really think so?”

“While it’s possible, I don’t believe so. For one thing, they failed to make their presence known while the Delta Flyer was in the area. Maybe they’re people who’ve gotten wind of our visit to the moon and are curious about your request to take certain members of the Maquis to the caves for a memorial ceremony.” He watched as she made several circuits in front of the desk. “After all, we returned from the Delta Quadrant nearly three years ago and are only now visiting the moon.”

“I don’t think they’re from the tabloids, Tuvok, if that’s what you’re implying.” She faced him, her hands on her hips. “We have to assume that these people are here for less than respectable reasons and prepare for the worst. Since they could be from Section 31, then we have to be ready for them.”

“That would be the safest course of action.”

Janeway stared out the window at the Delta Flyer, which was keeping station beside the larger scout ship, Ardene. “It would be a dream come true for Section 31 if they could get rid of me and Ramon Cabrera at the same time.”

“A dream come true for them and a nightmare for the rest of us.”

She closed her eyes as she imagined the possible explosive outcomes of their meeting on the moon. She wasn’t happy with this situation or the haphazard way they’d been contacted in the first place, but she knew she had to see it through, no matter how dangerous it seemed. She opened her eyes. “Have you heard anything more from our original contact? Anything that might change the place or time of the meeting?”

“No, Admiral, I’ve heard nothing more in over two months, a silence which I find ominous.”

“Perhaps you’ll be reassured by this.” She returned to her desk and pulled out another PADD. “I received a message yesterday from Sveta Jablonski.”

The Vulcan’s brow rose in surprise. “Sveta? The same person who recruited me into the Maquis?”

“You, Chakotay, Ayala, Hogan, and dozens of others.” She held the PADD toward him. “On the surface, the letter is innocent enough. She heard of our intention to visit the moon and conduct a memorial service for the Maquis who were killed there. She wanted to provide additional background on some of the individuals our crew members wouldn’t have known.”

“A logical and thoughtful letter.”

“Isn’t it?” She retrieved the PADD and entered a series of commands. “However, I ran the message through a variety of cryptographic programs.”

Tuvok straightened slightly in his seat. “Is this something you do on a regular basis with your mail, Admiral?”

She laughed. “And people say Vulcans don’t have a sense of humor.” She paused while the text of the letter changed and then offered the PADD to him again. “Look what popped up when I used an old Maquis code that Chakotay shared with me, a code, by the way, that was never broken by the Federation.”

Tuvok read the message aloud. “‘Beware of ambush on moon. 31 believes RC has BC scans.'” He looked up at the admiral. “Does Cabrera have scans of Belle Colony?”

“Who knows?” She sighed and rubbed her temples with her fingers. “He told me he scanned the colony before and after the explosion, but he implied that those scans were erased by the Starfleet ship that relieved them.”

“Even so, he might have hidden a data chip somewhere on the vessel.”

“It’s possible.” She gave him a rueful grin. “And Section 31 has to wonder if he had that chip with him when the Maquis retrieved his escape pod. If he did, and if the Maquis brought him to the caves, he might have hidden the data chip there.”

“Hence the monitoring devices. And the mines.”

“It would explain a lot.”

They were lost in thought for a few moments before Tuvok narrowed his eyes as an idea occurred to him. “Admiral, if Cabrera has the scans, then the reason behind this meeting is obvious-to turn them over to you. But, why this way? Why not pick the middle of Starfleet command?”

“At high noon?” she agreed. “If he doesn’t have the scans, he might have something completely different in mind. He might hope to force Section 31 into the open.” She picked up Sveta’s letter again. “The letter says that ’31 believes RC has BC scans.’ But does he? Sveta doesn’t say one way or the other. I want to believe he has them, Tuvok, because the scans will help me convince Starfleet that Anorha’s testimony is true.”

“Lacking that, confirming the continuing existence of Section 31 would help, too.”

“It wouldn’t hurt.” She leaned back in her chair, a headache blooming behind her eyes. “Whether copies of the scans exist or not, Section 31 can’t take the chance of me getting my hands on them. They have to show up on the moon and . . . eliminate problem individuals. Like Cabrera.”

“And you, Admiral. In light of all this, we have to assume that the hidden ship is staffed by members of Section 31 who intend to ambush our meeting on Tevlik’s moon.”

“Or simply blow us up.”

Tuvok arched an eyebrow at that comment. “Whatever they plan, it will probably take place on the moon’s surface. Whether the scans exist or not, that’s where you and Cabrera will be the most vulnerable.”

She sighed. “You picked up a single ship?”

“We detected only one. Seven thought it was probably about the size of a runabout.”

“Six to eight crew.”

“Unless the ship is larger than we think.”

“We’ll assume it is. And we have our own scout ship, the Delta Flyer, and whatever vessel Cabrera arrives in.”

“Which will probably not be heavily armed.”

“Maybe not, but it can help in a pinch, even if it just gets in the way. Three to one odds sounds good to me.”

“Unless their ship is joined by other more powerful vessels.”

“Always the optimist.” Janeway scowled tossed the PADD on the desk, leaning forward to cradle her head in her hands. “I don’t like this, Tuvok. There are too many unknown variables, and I don’t like putting people in danger when the possible outcome is so uncertain. Not only that, we’re dealing with an adversary who seems to think that murder is an acceptable method for eliminating problems.”

“Would it be wise to request reinforcement from Starfleet?”

“We can’t.” She held up a hand to stop his protest. “Section 31 wants to surprise us on the moon, and we have to let them believe that they are surprising us. If we call in more ships, they’ll realize that we know they’re there. We’ll have to make do with the ships and people we have.”

“And retain for ourselves the element of surprise.”

“Exactly.” Janeway sat up and poured herself another mug of coffee. “Now, help me think this through. I want to anticipate every possible outcome and know how we intend to handle it.”

“We only have three days, Admiral.”

“Plenty of time.” She gave him a confident smile. “Now, how would you deal with this problem if you were in Section 31?”

Kagan joined Chandler in the runabout’s tiny galley for a quick meal. “Could you tell if that was that the Delta Flyer that we saw at the moon? Or was it one of the new copies?”
“You know it’s impossible to tell anything specific about a ship or its crew while inside this blasted hell hole.” Chandler glared out the tiny porthole at the swirling plasma storms that made the Badlands a perfect hiding place. “But I think it was probably the original ship. Starfleet routinely makes it available to Voyager’s senior staff since they’re responsible for its design and original construction.”

“They weren’t on the surface very long.”

“No, but they had plenty of time to find the cameras and explosives that we placed there years ago.” He rubbed his face with fatigue. “We should’ve pulled that stuff out when we got here.”

Kagan shook his head. “I disagree. They would have seen that the site had been visited recently. Better to let them find the old stuff and think they know what the threat is without tipping our hand.”

“You don’t think they knew we were here?”

“They certainly didn’t act like they were aware of us. Remember, we’re in the Badlands where sensors aren’t as effective as they are in normal space. Besides, our ion trail was perfectly masked, impossible to pick up in this soup.”

“Don’t underestimate them, Kagan. They didn’t survive for seven years in the Delta Quadrant by overlooking the telltale signs of danger.”

“Have you realized how much easier this confrontation would be if the Utavi had sent us the cloaked ships as they were supposed to?” Kagan leaned back in his chair and stared out at the plasma swarms that swirled around their ship. “We could have been in orbit over the moon and watched their every move. And we might have avoided going back down to those caves.”

Chandler repressed the anger he felt toward the Utavi. His Section 31 team leader had made it clear that the situation was being addressed by others, but he wanted to control everything about this situation. “I’m wondering how long it will be before the Utavi are made to pay for their betrayal.”

“It can’t be soon enough for me.” Kagan felt the usual panic rising up his spine as he contemplated the return to Tevlik’s moon. His wife and children had been killed in a similar orbital phaser attack just before he’d joined Section 31; in fact, he served in their honor, dedicated to doing what he could to prevent another such massacre, if possible. His exposure to the dead Maquis families on Tevlik’s moon was the first time he’d seen in person what such an attack would be like, and he’d been haunted by nightmares ever since. “I want to get this behind me.”

Chandler stood up. “I think the ship’s been gone long enough for us to come up with a game plan.” He went on talking, ignoring Kagan’s anguish with the hope that he’d soon get a grip on his emotions.

“This stop-and-go approach reminds me of crossing a creek on stepping stones,” Janeway complained. The day of the rendezvous had finally arrived, and the Delta Flyer was approaching Tevlik’s moon by dashing to a plasma storm, hiding behind it long enough to scan the region for any approaching ships, and then making the next leap to another place of refuge. “A ship would have to be blind to miss us.”
“Most ships are blind when they’re in the Badlands.” Seven of Nine sat at the ops console studying the latest carefully-modulated scans with her usual detachment. “And since vessels must be small enough to maneuver freely, the ships are that much more difficult to detect.”

Tom Paris, who had been drumming his fingers in the pilot’s seat, turned to smile at the admiral who was seated directly above and behind him. “Still, I feel like a kid sneaking down the stairs on Christmas Eve, trying to catch Santa in the act.”

Janeway smiled. “I remember doing that, too, but I was even more fascinated by the tooth fairy. When I was six, our new puppy lost a tooth. I put it under my pillow, hoping the tooth fairy would be fooled and leave me some spare change.” She shook her head and chuckled. “Instead, I woke up to find a dog biscuit.”

Paris laughed and was about to comment when Seven of Nine interrupted him. “Admiral, I’m detecting a small ship in synchronous orbit over the cave site.”

Tuvok, who was seated in the rear of the Flyer, agreed. “I’m attempting to clear the image for display.”

A snowy star field appeared on the view screen, and then was replaced a closer but still fuzzy view of a lunar surface. The ship was little more than a glint of reflected sunlight.

“Is that the best we can do?” Janeway wondered, turning to Seven of Nine. “Can we tell its size? Construction?”

“Negative,” Seven replied. “There’s too much interference.”

“Maybe we should just give up on our ‘stepping stones’ and head over there.” Paris studied the storms and laid in a course, anxious, as always, to be flying.

Janeway hesitated. She’d boarded the Flyer and had ordered the scout ship, Ardene, to take a more direct route through the Badlands with the hope that the members of Section 31 would overlook the smaller ship’s covert approach. They would lose the element of surprise if they reacted too soon.

“It’s too soon to show ourselves,” she decided, taking another look at the sensor readings. “The messages indicated a rendezvous in three hours. If this ship is our contact, then they may not be ready for our arrival. While we’re waiting for Ardene’s arrival, we can watch them.” She shifted her gaze to the screen. “Time will tell wither this is our contact making an early arrival, or whether it’s someone else altogether.”

“Do you think they might know that you’re not on the Ardene?” Tuvok wondered.

“Tuvok, after all we’ve been through in the last three years, I think anything is possible.” She turned back to Paris and Seven. “Hold our position here, but keep a course laid in, just in case we need to get there in a hurry. If nothing happens in the next couple of hours, we’ll leap to the next ‘stone’ and take another look from closer range.”

After a few moments of silence, Seven, obviously upset by their earlier discussion, said, “The lies humans tell their children seem cruel to me. An elf that comes down the chimney to deliver gifts? A fairy that rewards children for losing a tooth by sneaking into their bedrooms and leaving money under a pillow? What can you possibly find entertaining about small individuals who break into and enter your homes? I would think children would be scarred forever.”

“Oh, Seven,” Janeway laughed, “they don’t ‘break and enter.’ Human children aren’t ‘scarred forever’ by these traditions. They accept them playfully and enjoy the way they appeal to their imaginations.”

“So you say,” Tuvok disagreed. “However, Vulcans insist on grounding their children in reality rather than fantasy.”

“Which makes me wonder how Vulcans ever made it into space,” Tom answered with a glance over his shoulder. “You have to be able to imagine something before you can make it can happen.”

“Mr. Paris,” the Vulcan answered, his voice revealing the irritation he struggled to repress, “I would have to say that your case illustrates how an imagination can actually hamper an individual’s journey toward maturity.”

Janeway was about to make a comment when a claxon went off and a tactical screen automatically replaced the star field. She turned to Tuvok. “What is it?”

“A second, larger starship has arrived at the moon and has opened fire,” he replied. “And the first ship, which is completely outgunned, has taken evasive action.”

Paris hastily did a few calculations. “We could be there in ten minutes, ma’am.”

Janeway narrowed her eyes, pausing to think about what she was seeing before she reacted. She briefly questioned whether she should come to the rescue of the first ship or join in the attack with one that had suddenly arrived, but then her Starfleet training kicked in. There was a small ship under attack by a superior force for no apparent reason, and she couldn’t stop to ask whether one of them, large or small, carried a man who could help her exonerate Chakotay. With any luck, she could stop the battle before either ship was damaged.

“Lay in the course and engage at best possible speed,” she ordered Paris before turning to Tuvok. “Work with Tom’s vector so that our weapons will have maximum effect on subduing the attacking ship. And, Seven, signal Ardene to head for the moon as fast as possible.” There was a chorus of replies as Janeway sat back in her seat to wait and watch. “So much for the element of surprise.”

“We should arrive at the moon in about ten minutes,” Paris reported as he entered one course correction after another in order to avoid the plasma storms swirling around the ship.

“I hope we’re not too late,” Janeway said to herself and to anyone else who bothered to listen.

The battle played out on their screens with eerie clarity for this region of space. The small ship dodged the first salvo and gained speed by rapidly losing altitude. Using its better maneuverability, the ship swept back toward its attacker, skimming its dorsal side and landing a phaser blast along the port nacelle. Peeling away once again toward the moon’s surface, the vessel was caught momentarily by the larger ship’s tractor beam before managing to break loose, but the effort brought with it severe damage to the ship’s flight control systems and a sudden plunge toward the surface. Janeway could almost feel the vibrations of the ship’s malfunctioning inertial dampeners as it plunged into the moon’s gravity well, out of control.

“Reset the hull’s polarity,” Paris murmured, caught up in the pilot’s struggle as he watched the ship tumble toward the surface. “Flatten your trajectory.”

Janeway was about to order more speed when a phaser blast hit the small ship’s starboard nacelle and sent the vessel tumbling out of control, a plume of plasma marking its death spiral until it disappeared into the clouds covering the moon’s surface. The Flyer’s command deck was silent, the crew too shocked by this sudden turn of events to react. Janeway ordered, “Plot its path and extrapolate the location of the crash site.” Then she turned to Paris, her face dark with anger as the aggressor set course away from the moon. “Adjust our course, Mr. Paris. Let’s see what that bully can do to a ship our size.”

“Admiral, have you forgotten that we’re here to meet with our contact?” Tuvok reminded her. “I suggest that we send Ardene after the aggressor while we follow up on the condition of this ship’s occupants.”

For a moment, Janeway simply gripped the arms of her chair in frustration, yearning to bring this brutal assailant to justice, but she quickly thought better of it, grateful, once again, for Tuvok’s level head. “Thank you for the reminder, Tuvok. Notify Ardene of the escaping ship’s last known course and speed so they can intercept and subdue them. Mr. Paris, we might as well take a direct course to the moon. Best possible speed.”

Seven was her usual factual self. “This region of the moon where the ship crashed is impossible to scan accurately from space, Admiral. The natural effects of the rock and the residual effects of the Cardassian attack render our sensors useless.”

“Do what you can.” Janeway sighed, her right eye pulsing with pain. “If there are survivors, we need to find them as quickly as possible.”

Seven arched an eyebrow. “I would be surprised if anyone survived the ship’s crash.”

“Maybe they beamed to the surface before it was too late,” she replied, struggling against the pessimism that radiated from the former drone.

Seven knew better than to voice her disagreement, but a glance at Tom Paris confirmed that he did not share Janeway’s optimism.

An hour later and on the moon’s surface, Janeway felt a hypospray being pressed against her neck and gradually became aware of a man leaning over her. Even though she couldn’t make her eyes focus, she felt the pain in her chest lessen slightly and closed her eyes as she drew in a much-needed breath. She was lying on her back, and the clouds were heavy and low overhead.
“She’ll make it,” the man said over his shoulder before he stood up. “It was just a heavy stun.”

Another man answered him. “Idiot. Why did you set your phaser so high?”

“I was trying to take out the Vulcan. How was I to know the admiral would step in front of him?”

The world wavered. Heavy stun? No wonder she felt like hell. Janeway tried to listen to the conversation, but she drifted in and out of consciousness and was unable to follow everything that was said. She was comforted to hear Tuvok’s calm voice as he contacted the Flyer and reported that there had been no survivors. No survivors? Vulcans don’t lie, yet she knew that Tuvok must be lying. Where else would these men have come from but the crashed ship?

They’d beamed to the moon as close as the radiation would allow, about a mile from the crash site, and they’d immediately hiked through the moon’s rough terrain toward the proper coordinates. However, when their tricorders found no evidence of bodies in the debris, as impossible as that seemed, they had become wary. And when two armed men had accosted them . . . she moaned at the memory. One of the men had aimed his phaser, and she’d simply reacted to the threat.

“An impressive mock battle.” Where had she heard that phrase? Tuvok had said that about the two ships they’d watched dueling above the moon. Or had she said it? She could remember hearing his voice now and then as the man had treated her injury. He had argued with the two strangers, and that’s how she knew that they had been on the ship that had been forced down. Or hadn’t been. Had he said “mock battle” then or had she said it earlier? No, Tuvok had said it later, while the first man had been leaning over her. Or maybe he’d said it just before the men had appeared.

There was a different voice, scratchy, from afar. Tom Paris was talking to Tuvok. Of course. Tom and Seven were in orbit in the Flyer, but they couldn’t scan the surface. That’s why she and Tuvok had beamed down. She couldn’t make sense of his words. With extreme concentration, she listened to the end of Tuvok’s transmission. “Admiral Janeway has decided to remain on the surface and wait in the caves for our contact to arrive.”

Had she decided that? They’d discussed what they would do if there were no survivors, and waiting in the caves was one option she’d mentioned. Or had she just thought about it?

Moments later, or maybe longer, a shadow fell over her face. From high above her, a voice said, “You carry her, Vulcan.” Or maybe he’d said it before the shadow arrived, and she was just remembering.

Then Tuvok was beside her, speaking softly. His words reminded her of a joke. A type one phaser in her pocket. Was that the line? Glad to see me? Or is that a phaser in your pocket? No, Tuvok wouldn’t make a joke like that. But he had said those words. The phaser in your pocket. Hadn’t he?

She remembered scanning the crash site and being surprised by the two men with phaser rifles. She’d instinctively stepped in front of Tuvok. Rash. She wanted to tell him she was sorry for being rash. Pure instinctive reaction to being ambushed by the men. No, not rash-reckless. Tuvok had once called her reckless, and now look what she had done. She had led him into a trap. She moved her mouth to apologize, but the only sound she could produce was an incoherent moan.

She saw the outline of Tuvok’s head and his dark skin against the grey clouds as he leaned over her. He slid one arm was beneath her knees, and then the other beneath her shoulders as gently as possible. She groaned and tried to beg him not to move her, but the pain took her breath away. She felt something break open inside her chest as he lifted her from the ground. The world darkened and spun away.

“I’m sorry,” Tuvok whispered.

After an arduous climb up a steep hillside, the men lead Tuvok into a set of rooms that Tuvok knew from his previous visit had served as a major access point to the interior. Three outer chambers contained monitors that provided a 360-degree security sweep of the surrounding terrain; a secure doorway gave access downward to a larger interior chamber that had been a major security checkpoint and stronghold. From that second room, access to the rest of the large subterranean base could be gained through a wide passageway that wound deep into the moon’s rocky core.
However, the earth and rock that had covered these four rooms had been blasted open by the Cardassians’ attack, and large holes, open to the sky, provided adequate lighting into the caves during the day and on most nights, thanks to the reflected light from the moon’s planet. The entire complex of rooms, which had once been laced with security equipment and defensive weapons, had been stripped to bare rock. The only evidence of the desperate battle that had occurred here was the bloodstains where Maquis rebels had died defending their people.

“Paris to Janeway.”

Tuvok had just placed the unconscious admiral on the floor of the security chamber when her commbadge activated. He looked up at the taller man, waiting for instructions. The shorter man, the one who had overreacted and phasered the admiral, seemed distracted, even upset, by his surroundings, a fact that Tuvok filed away for further thought.

The taller man frowned. “Tell him that the admiral is indisposed and that you’ll pass on their news.”

Tuvok stood up and tapped his commbadge. “Tuvok to Paris. The admiral is busy right now, but I’ll pass on your news.”

There was a pause, and Tuvok suspected that Paris and Seven were surprised that he was replying to their hail and wondering what could be so interesting that Janeway talking to them.

“Well,” Paris finally started, “we got a message from Ardene. It seems this scout ship we saw here is loaded for bear-extra phasers, photon torpedoes, even some shields that B’Elanna thinks were inspired by what the admiral brought from the future.”

“Then they’ve engaged the vessel?” Tuvok asked.

“Like you wouldn’t believe. She said that they were holding their own . . . barely . . . when a third ship appears out of nowhere.”

“Third ship?” Tuvok watched his two captors carefully, convinced that they were as surprised as he was by this new development. The shorter man started to speak, but was hushed by his partner. “Was it hiding behind the plasma storms?

“She didn’t say. Because they were fighting for their lives, they didn’t have much time to be watching long range sensors. Anyway, this new ship arrives and unloads on the other ship big time. B’Elanna said it’s dead in the water.”

Tuvok was gratified to see the two men blanche with alarm, the shorter one breaking out in a sweat as he glanced around the ruined caves and studied the blood stains that were splattered on the walls and pooled on the floor. “And the Ardene?”

“Well, here’s the funny thing. She thought the new ship must be the people we were meeting, you know? But then the ship turned on them, too. They have impulse power, but that’s it. She said it will take them twelve hours to get moving again unless we could spare Seven’s help.” There was a pause. “Since we still have a couple of hours, she wanted to know if I could dash over there with Seven and come right back?”

Tuvok looked down at Janeway. The tunic beneath her ribcage was burned through and soaked with blood, and he wished that he could blurt out the truth about what was going on. But he was very conscious of the phaser rifles still being pointed at him and mindful of the fact that the Delta Flyer’s transporters couldn’t lock onto them while the ship was in orbit. “Any sign of what happened to the third ship?”

“Negative. B’Elanna said their sensors were still offline, so no big surprise there. You’re worried that they’re headed over this way, right?”

“The thought had occurred to me.”

“Seven tried to find the third ship on our enhanced sensors, but she couldn’t come up with anything. We can continue to scan for it while we’re on our way to the Ardene.”

Before Tuvok could reply, the taller man caught his attention and drew a line across his throat, whispering, “Tell him you need to consult with the admiral.”

“Stand by. Let me see what the admiral wants you to do,” Tuvok answered, closing the comm link and waiting for instructions.

“Tell them everything here is fine and that his short absence shouldn’t be a problem.” When Tuvok just stared at him, the man scowled. “Do it.”

“Tom,” Tuvok said after reopening the link, “everything is calm here, so take Seven to help the Ardene, but return as soon as possible.”

“Aye, sir. I’ll be back before you know I’m gone.”

When the comm link was broken, Tuvok looked up to find the tall man was standing alone and the other one walking through one of the outer rooms toward an exit. Answering Tuvok’s unspoken question, the man explained, “I sent him to get the full medkit from our ship so you can take care of the admiral’s wound. I’m just wondering if this ‘third ship’ scenario is a code you’ve set up with your people.”

“You wouldn’t expect me to admit it if it was, do you?”

The man barely smiled at the joke. “If that ship is the people you’re hoping to meet, then I’d say they aren’t terribly friendly, wouldn’t you?”

Tuvok’s face remained impassive. “We’re here to honor the Maquis dead.”

This time, the man laughed out loud. “As if you expect me to believe that.”

Water dripped somewhere close by Janeway’s head, a steady, rhythmic tattoo that caught her attention and seemed to set the pace for the pounding blood in her ears. The frigid air was heavy with humidity and smelled strangely metallic, even tasted metallic. She was reminded of a laboratory she’d visited at Utopia Planetia, but it hadn’t been so humid there or so freezing cold. Shivering, she opened her eyes to find Tuvok beside her, his gaze fastened on her bare torso.
“What?” she croaked, embarrassed to be disrobed in front of him, but he silenced her with a look. She turned her head and saw an open medical kit beside a pile of shredded, bloody clothing—her clothing. She glanced at his hands as he put a field dressing on her stomach, giving her another warning look when she opened her mouth to talk.

“She’ll be awake soon,” Tuvok reported over his shoulder to their captors. He snapped the medkit shut and lifted her up far enough to pull his oversized jacket over her bare shoulders. Again, he whispered something about a phaser in her pocket as he pressed a final hypospray against her neck.

Her surroundings came into focus. She was in a cave, lying on a smooth flat surface beside an underground creek where Tuvok knelt washing red blood from his hands. Her blood. She placed her fingers on her stomach where the thick field dressing covered a fresh phaser wound just below her ribcage. She took a deep breath, testing the pain. Tolerable, but just barely.

In the shadows, the two strangers watched her struggle to sit up without offering to assist her, each holding a phaser loosely in one hand. They wore black clothing that resembled what was worn by Starfleet rangers, but there was no sign of rank or of the familiar delta-shaped commbadge. Even so, Janeway knew they were Starfleet trained and probably members of the infamous Section 31.

“Who the hell are you?” She was resting on her elbows, nearly overwhelmed by nausea from the aftereffects of the stun, yet determined not to show her discomfort. Her right hand brushed against her trouser pocket and felt the tiny lump made by a type one phaser. In the turmoil after she’d been hit, their captors must have failed to search her for another weapon. That’s what Tuvok had been telling her. She had a phaser in her pocket.

“I think you have a good idea who we are, Admiral,” the taller man replied, “but I prefer to think of us as an interested third party.”

“More like a guilty first party,” she snapped, only to close her eyes as the pounding in her head spiked along with her blood pressure.

“Here, Admiral, let me help.” Tuvok arrived at her side and supported her as she struggled to her feet, leaning heavily on his arm as the cave wavered into and out of focus. He helped her slide her arms into the jacket and pull it closed in front, and she was grateful for the warmth it provided her. She wondered how much time had elapsed since their arrival and what these men intended to do to them. Was it time for their rendezvous? Was Cabrera going to walk into the same trap they had? As much as she hated giving up control of a fluid situation, she knew that Tuvok was in a much better position to deal with it than she was. She decided to play up her frailty and let him take the lead until she figured out what was going on.

“Is she going to be well enough to meet with the contact?” the shorter man asked as he glared at her mismatched clothing, chalky complexion, and bleary eyes. “She has to convince these people that she’s in good shape, and right now she looks like hell.”

“We saw a small ship come under attack and crash on the moon. We came to offer assistance.”

“Exactly what we expected you to do. And the meeting?”

“Meeting? We’ll begin the memorial service once the Ardene’s crew is able to join us.”

The tall man bristled with irritation. “Listen, Vulcan, I’m in no mood for games . . . .”

“Wait just a minute,” Janeway interrupted, pushing herself away from Tuvok only to have to steady herself by leaning against the wall. “Why hasn’t Ardene already arrived?”

“There have been some developments.” The tall man studied her and then turned to his partner. “Replicate some clothes for her and see what you can do about her physical condition. We still have an hour before the rendezvous.”

Although Janeway didn’t want to be separated from Tuvok, she had no choice but to allow the shorter man to grab her arm and lead her through the doorway toward the exit. They were halfway across the outer room when her commbadge beeped and everyone froze. She was being hailed by Tom Paris. The man gripped her arm so tightly that she knew she’d have bruises; she could see that he was unnerved by the situation and wondered if she could in some way take advantage of that.

“Let’s not panic,” the taller man advised him from the other room. He looked at Janeway. “Just acknowledge the call and listen to whatever he wants to tell you. But say nothing unless I tell you to do so, understand?”

She bowed her head and tapped her badge. “Janeway here.”

“Good to hear your voice, Admiral,” Tom Paris began. “We caught up with the Ardene. B’Elanna said they were giving as good as they got until the third ship appeared. Looks like the other ship took the worst of it, though. They’re struggling to keep their inertial dampeners online and refusing to answer hails. With Seven’s help, the Ardene should be underway in six or eight hours.”

“Acknowledged.” In spite of her attempt to remain impassive, Janeway’s eyes widened at the news of a third ship that had attacked both vessels. She gave Tuvok a calculated look as their two captors reacted to the bad news, but she could tell he’d heard of this development before, perhaps while she was unconscious. Obviously, their captors were as surprised as she and Tuvok were by this third vessel and worried about its apparent poor condition. The tall man quietly asked her to delve into the third ship’s location. She said, “Any sign of the third ship, Lieutenant?”

There was a pause when she’d used his rank, and Paris’s voice seemed strained when he replied, “No, ma’am. I’ve picked up Ayala. We’ll be back in orbit as soon as I can. If we see any evidence of another ship, we’ll let you know.”

“Very well,” she answered. Her dismay that the Flyer was no longer in orbit overhead was written all over her face. “Keep me posted. Janeway out.”

The four of them stood silent for a moment before the tall man cleared his throat. “Well, I’d say we’d better hurry, Kagan. Take her to the ship and get the clothes. We’re wasting time.”

Janeway gave Tuvok one last look as they crossed the room and walked through the crumbling exit into the twilight of sunset. They were standing on a ledge that had been carved out of the side of the steep bluff, a height that brought on a surge of vertigo that nearly made Janeway faint. A ship was barely visible at the bottom of the deep valley where the men had shielded it from the “crash site.” Feeling dizzy and weak, Janeway studied the tortuous switchbacks that led down to the ship with a feeling of dread and despair. She instinctively pressed backward against the wall, just inside the cave, putting a hand over her mouth in an attempt to keep from throwing up.

“Kagan? Is that your name?”

“Yeah.” He looked at her with concern. “Are you all right?”

“No, I’m not. I think I’m going to throw up. Can’t we just beam into the ship from here?” she begged. “I’ll never make it down the path in one piece in this condition.”

“The radiation interferes with the transporter.”

“Even this close?” she swallowed hard and closed her eyes. “Could you try?”

“I guess I could.” She stepped back and leaned against the side of the exit while Kagan fished a remote activation device from his pocket. Still aiming his phaser at her, he activated the device, but instead of the familiar tingle of a transporter beam, Janeway witnessed a blossom of orange light from below and then was thrown back into the cave by shockwave of a tremendous explosion. She found herself lying on her back as chunks of pulverized rock and a thick layer of dust rained down on through the gaping hole that had once been the cave’s exit.

For long moments, she saw only a blur of light and felt cocooned in an eerie silence because of the blast’s deafening concussion, but then she was desperately gasping for oxygen. Kagan, who had been standing in front of her, had taken the brunt of the explosion and had landed beside her in the cave, face down and covered by debris. She struggled to cough the dust out of her nose and mouth, spitting out a mixture of blood and mud until she could draw a ragged breath.

Still unable to hear anything but the ringing in her ears, she shook her head and peered into the inner chamber where flashes of phaser fire illuminated the room. Hoping that Tuvok had taken advantage of the explosion’s chaos to stage a fight, she began a search for Kagan’s phaser rifle with the hope of giving him some help. As she crawled past Kagan’s immobile body, she tried not to look at his back which had been ripped apart by pieces of the shuttle and was soaked in blood. Instead, she focused on the rifle that had landed on the far side of the room. Her head was spinning, she was totally deaf, and each breath brought on a spasm of coughing, but the approaching phaser fight gave her all the encouragement she needed to keep going in spite of the pain.

The air above her filled with the familiar tingle of phaser fire, and she spied the feet and legs of a man backing into the chamber from the interior room. She frantically crawled toward the rifle, reaching out for it just as the man’s foot kicked it out of reach. A hand snagged the back of her jacket and hauled her up from the floor, her back against his body.

Janeway cried out as the damaged muscles of her stomach stretched, and she wilted as he shifted her so that his arm caught her across the chest, her feet barely touching the floor. He tossed his rifle out the opening and with his other hand wedged a hand phaser under her jawbone and pressed it so hard against her neck that she was sure he’d broken the skin. Her ears still ringing from the blast and her eyes still filled with dust and tears, all she knew for sure was that she was being held as a hostage and that she was too seriously injured to fight back.

She could feel the rumble of the man’s voice as he spoke, no doubt attempting to affect his escape, and shook her head in a vain attempt to correct her hearing. He used her body as a shield, and his arm pulled the temporary bandage away from the phaser burn, bringing on a wave of blinding pain and another bout of coughing. At least the tears she shed helped clear her vision so that she could two men standing in the passageway to the inner chamber. She looked up, expecting to see Tom Paris or Tuvok, but, instead, she thought she must be hallucinating.

Cabrera was one of two men pointing phasers at her captor, but the second looked like and alien. Could it be Maraqet, the Toroyan ship’s captain with whom she and Anorha had worked? She had to be mistaken. The Toroyans were light years away, still caught up in the conflict with their enemies and stretched too thin to send a high-ranking officer like Maraqet to Federation space. She knew that she must be hallucinating or that her eyes were playing tricks on her. She wondered where Tuvok might be, sending up a silent prayer that he hadn’t been killed or seriously injured.

The men faced each other, arguing, their faces dark and menacing, until, at last, as her hearing began to return, she began to follow their conversation.

“You’re Chandler, aren’t you?” Cabrera asked. “When you aren’t borrowing Sloan’s name. And I’m guessing that . . . ,” he pointed at the body on the cave floor, ” . . . was Kagan.”

“I refuse to speak to a Starfleet deserter,” Chandler replied as he backed toward the cave entrance, keeping her body between himself and the men. “Especially on an issue that concerns security of the Federation.”

“But that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To talk to me? Isn’t that why you’re holding the admiral hostage? Because you have something important you need to get from me?”

“The admiral has obviously been misled by criminals who want to take advantage of her. I’m taking her into custody so that an investigation can be done.”

“And that’s why you shot her?” Cabrera smiled. “If it’s an investigation like the one into Belle Colony, you might as well kill her now.”

She could feel Chandler stiffen at the allegation. “We’ve looked for accurate scans of the colony.”

“So you could destroy them, right?” Cabrera laughed. “You don’t think I’m stupid enough to bring the scans with me today, do you?”

Chandler’s grip tightened around her chest, and Janeway drooped slightly as the world went out of focus. “The scans won’t matter once everyone involved is dead.”

“An honest answer at last.” Cabrera and Maraqet separated, moving to opposite sides of the chamber’s inner door in order to increase the possibility for a clear shot. “What about the others your secret work has damaged? What about the Toroyans, who were attacked through the use of your cloaked ships?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

When Maraqet spoke up for the first time, his familiar accent told Janeway that she hadn’t been dreaming. “But you do know, infidel. Their cloaked ships were developed at Belle Colony and built by the Utavi. They were your partners, and you know all about them.”

She felt Chandler press the phaser deeper under her jaw. “They were supposed to build a prototype that we could use for developing proper defense tactics.”

“Really?” Maraqet was taller than Chandler, and his eyes were menacing as he took a step closer. “They used them to assassinate our leaders and escalate a war that has killed thousands of innocent people.”

“We can hardly be held responsible if they abuse the technology, can we? Stay back!” Chandler continued to drag her toward the cave entrance. For the first time, she heard the sound of resignation in his voice, the tone of desperation evaporating as he accepted his inevitable defeat. His partner lay dead on the floor, his ship was in pieces outside the cave, and his reinforcements had been cast adrift in the Badlands. He had no hope for survival, and she knew he was steeling himself for what he thought he had to do. He was going to kill himself and probably take her with him.

“You weren’t responsible for the research, Chandler; everyone knows that,” she managed to croak, hoping to reason with him.

Cabrera recognized the change in Chandler’s attitude, as well, and gestured for Maraqet to back up. Janeway tried to imagine how Chandler might do it. If he switched the phaser to overload, the whine would warn all of them of his intention, giving them enough time to prevent it from exploding inside the caves. Perhaps he would shoot her and then allow Cabrera and Maraqet to exact their revenge, hoping to have the chance to take one of them with him. Then she remembered the deep valley behind them and imagined the two of them falling to their deaths, the most dramatic, most elegant solution of all because he would carry her with him to their deaths. She suspected he was too much of a coward to die alone.

As if to confirm her thoughts, Chandler inched farther back toward the cave’s opening, and Janeway resumed her effort to reason with him. “I’m sure you wanted to develop defensive strategies, and that will help deflect the blame for whatever went wrong.”

“Shut up, Admiral,” he replied, squeezing her until she gasped with pain. “Why wouldn’t you give up on exonerating your beloved first officer? You’re the one responsible for my predicament, and I’m going to make sure you pay for it.”

They were so close to the opening that Janeway could feel the heat of the still-burning shuttle in the valley. “You don’t want to do this, Chandler,” she whispered, barely able to speak. “I’ll do whatever I can to make sure that you’re treated fairly.”

“I told you to shut up!” he jerked her backward and off of her feet, ripping open the wound in her abdomen in the process. She could feel the blood seeping through the bandage and down her stomach as her vision blurred and pain pushed all thoughts from her mind. He man-handled her body so that he could step out onto the ledge without exposing himself to phaser fire, still keeping the phaser tight against her neck. She became aware of the men shouting at them, and she realized that she was the only one who could keep herself from harm.

Janeway felt as if time had slowed down so that she could let her mind drift away from her impossible predicament toward something completely wonderful and comforting. She smelled cinnamon, spiced cider warm in a mug with starlight streaming by the ship’s windows. She heard the distinctive cry of a scrawny primate as she bathed outdoors in a wooden tub. She saw the golden sunlight spilling through the tiny window at the orphanage, bringing with it the morning bustle of children, the aroma of baking bread, and the gentle touch of the man she loved.

Chakotay. Janeway wanted to see him again. She wanted him to be with her, not exiled to some distant part of space for a crime he didn’t commit. She’d come to this shattered moon to rectify that problem, not to give up and let some irrational terrorist end her life. In spite of her careful planning, everything had had gone wrong. Why was that? She and Tuvok had been kidnapped trying to find a crash site that had been carefully choreographed to look real, and then she had ordered Ardene pursue the ship’s phony attacker. Even the Flyer was no longer overhead ready to lend assistance.

Chakaotay would be disappointed. He had always admonished her to prepare for the unexpected event, and she’d always laughed at such a suggestion. How does one plan for the unknown? “It’s the only way a Maquis can stay alive,” he’d told her, time and again. Expect the unexpected. This time, the unexpected had been a third ship.

Maraqet and his cloaked ship were the unexpected elements. His was the third ship that had interfered with the battle, damaging both Ardene and the second Section 31 vessel. There was no way she could have planned for his arrival, and yet . . . . Hadn’t she worked with the Toroyan government to smooth out the damage done by the Federation’s duplicitous secret sect? Hadn’t she helped them find out the true origin of the cloaked ships and then devised a workable defense against them? Hadn’t she and Maraqet come to an understanding about their mutual enemies, whether they were external, like the Utavi, or internal, like Section 31? Should she be surprised that the Toroyans, grateful for her help, would travel this far to stand beside her as she faced her enemies?

Indebted to the Toroyan for his loyalty, Janeway decided to do something, anything, to fight her way through this predicament, and that resolution brought her back to life and to real time. Because she had become a rag doll drooping over his arm, Chandler had removed the phaser from her neck and was pointing it at Cabrera and Maraqet, who had been forced to move back into the interior room. As her captor waved his phaser at one of them, the other struggled to get a clear shot, but she knew that he could avoid their fire by jumping quickly.

Taking a deep breath against the pain, she grabbed her left fist with her right hand and drove her left elbow into Chandler’s stomach with every ounce of energy she could summon. Chandler grunted in pain and loosened his grip on her, allowing her to drop to her knees in front of him. Maraqet immediately fired at him, but Chandler managed to evade to duck behind her.

“I’m not dying alone,” Chandler gasped as he aimed the phaser over her head at a seam above the interior doorway. An outer portion of the wall peeled away as a hidden explosive was detonated. The ceiling, already damaged by the Cardassian attack years earlier, crumbled and slid to the floor, trapping Cabrera and Maraqet in the interior chamber and leaving Janeway alone with the man who intended to kill her. She scooted away from him toward the side wall as he aimed his phaser at her head.

She closed her eyes and waited for death, only to hear someone yelling from the ledge outside the cave and then tremendous crash of one body hitting another. She opened her eyes to see two men struggling for possession of the phaser. She had no idea where the second man had come from or who he was. He was dressed completely in black with his face painted, as well, and in the dim twilight, it was all she could do to tell which of the two was Chandler. She was looking around for something to use to help bring the fight to an end when she remembered the phaser in her pocket. She pulled it out, set it to stun, and waited for a clear shot.

There was no question that Chandler was going to battle to the death. He kept trying to manipulate the phaser so that it pointed at his attacker, but just as he was about to succeed, the other man would shift his weight or push the arm away. They were so well matched that Janeway was fascinated at the give and take she was witnessing. They would roll close to the edge of the precipice, and just as she despaired of their survival, they would crash back into the chamber, sometimes shoving the other into the rockslide that had sealed off the inner room. Just when she thought she had a clear shot, the second man would block her aim until she was trembling with anxiety. At times, Chandler’s hand would close on the phaser, and the shot would bring down more rock and debris from the ceiling. Finally, the phaser went flying out of the opening and into the darkness toward the burning ship, leaving the men on an equal footing at last.

At that moment, Maraqet and Cabrera, who were caught on the other side of the collapsed wall, began to make headway as they dug through the rubble, pushing dirt and sand ahead of them.

Maraqet’s head appeared near the top of the slide, and he yelled, “Don’t give up the fight, Tyee. We’re coming to help you.”

“Tyee?” Janeway’s head was spinning as she realized what the Toroyan had said. She struggled to her knees and shouted, “Chakotay?”

The familiar name stunned Chandler and then filled him with superhuman strength. He threw Chakotay to the far side of the room and then grabbed Janeway, pushing her against the wall with a look of pure evil in his eyes.

“I’m going to get you after all!” he sneered as he wrapped his hands around her neck. “And your precious commander can watch it happen.”

“Not today,” Janeway said, as she buried the phaser in his chest and fired. His eyes glazed over and then closed as he lost consciousness, pulling her with him as he collapsed to the floor.

Sick and exhausted, Janeway was immobilized by pain. “Chakotay?” she whispered as she struggled to sit up. “Is that really you?”

“It’s really me.” He leaned over her and then cradled her in his lap. In spite of his camouflaged face and disheveled hair, he was the best thing Janeway had seen in months. “How badly are you injured?”

She ignored the question. “I should’ve realized that you’d do something like this.” She relaxed against him, relieved to know he was all right.

“Kathryn, did you think I would let you face these bastards alone? Besides, I knew Maraqet would leap at the chance to use the cloaked vessels against the Utavis’ partners in crime.”

“Poetic justice.” She closed her eyes for just a minute to relish the feeling of Chakotay’s embrace, but when she opened them again, she found herself lying in the Ardene’s sickbay with the familiar face of Voyager’s EMH staring down at her.