VIRTUAL TREK: THE ALTERNATE ADVENTURES
V-Trek was a fan-run project which intended to rewind the Star Trek franchise back to 1994 and send it in a new and hopefully better direction. On this 10th anniversary of its genesis, I'll be re-uploading the material we completed for its three shows: The alternate third season of Deep Space Nine, a complete reboot of Voyager and an all new series, Star Trek: Exeter. The following is a re-edited Director's Cut of our Voyager pilot, Displaced. Thanks go to Allen McDonnell, Chris Devlin, Jamie Brinkman, Catherine Bruce, Cathy Christian, Marion Willett and the rest of the team who made it a pleasure to work on.
STAR TREK: VOYAGER #1.01 - DISPLACED
Unhappy with a new treaty, Federation colonists along the Cardassian border have banded together. Calling themselves The Maquis, these colonists continue to fight the Cardassians.
Some consider them heroes, but to both the Federation and Cardassian governments, they are outlaws.
Phaser fire flashes across the viewscreen, illuminating the small bridge. Consoles explode to the Captain's left, making him wrap his foot even more tightly around the base of the pilot's chair. He ducks his head slightly as sparks from the console threaten to singe his close cropped hair. At the same time he types in a new sequence. "Initiating evasive pattern Omega, mark."
"Another fuel line has ruptured," B'Elanna shouts from the post to his right. "We're barely maintaining impulse. I can't get any more out of it."
Captain Chakotay swings the ship around again. "Be creative!"
The engineer explodes what he's sure is a Klingon expletive in his direction. "How the hell am I supposed to be creative with a thirty-nine year old rebuilt engine."
"Maquis ship!" The grey, leathery face of a mature Cardassian flashes onto the viewscreen. "This is Gul Evek of the Cardassian Fourth Order. Cut your engines and prepare to sur-" Chakotay interrupts his piloting only long enough to close the comm channel with the side of his hand.
Something shoves the ship from behind. "Shields at fifty percent," Tuvok reports from Tactical.
Damn! Chakotay twists a look at B'Elanna. "I need more power if we're going to make it to the Badlands."
B'Elanna snorts. "Well we all need something don't we." She bites her lip frustratedly as she manipulates her console, then blinks as an idea hits her. "Take the weapons offline. We'll transfer all power to the engines."
Tuvok lifts his head and arches an eyebrow. "Considering the current circumstances, I'd question that proposal at this time." The ship is rocked again as if to prove his point.
B'Elanna glares at him. "What does it matter? We're not making a dent in their shields anyway." Chakotay sighs and she turns her glare on him. "You wanted creative."
Not wanted, didn't have a choice, Chakotay thinks bitterly. "Mariah?"
"I can handle the differential," the brown-haired woman to B'Elanna's side tells him.
Chakotay comes to his decision. "Tuvok, shut down all the phaser banks." He turns back to the engineer. "If you can give me another thirty seconds at full impulse, I'll get us there." B'Elanna nods quickly and gets to work.
"Phasers offline," comes Tuvok's voice.
Chakotay orders Tuvok to fire the remaining torpedoes and transfer power from those systems. The bolts of firepower shoot out of the ship's reverse cannons and impact on the warship's shields. "Are you reading any plasma storms ahead?"
"One," the Vulcan replies. "Co-ordinates one-seven-one mark four-three."
"That's where I'm going." The ship responds sluggishly to Chakotay's commands.
"Plasma storm density is increasing..."
Chakotay only vaguely hears Tuvok reciting the increases in density. He doesn't need to hear him. He can feel it with every move of the ship.
"The Cardassian ship is not reducing power. They're following us in."
"Gul Evek must be feeling daring today." Chakotay and the others watch as the Cardassian warship attempts to follow their path. It's not long though before a plasma discharge rips along the belly of their enemy.
"Their engines are disabled," Tuvok reports. "Gul Evek is sending out a distress signal on all Cardassian frequencies."
Chakotay smiles slightly as Mariah and B'Elanna turn and high-five each other. "Tuvok, can you plot a course through these plasma fields?"
"Storm activity is typically widespread in this vicinity. I can plot a course, but I'm afraid it will require an indirect route."
"Good. We can use the time to make some repairs." Chakotay stands up and moves away from the helm. He nearly smacks his head on the roof as he stretches his stiff back. He needs a rest, they all do. Before he can ponder this any further though, a white light strobes through the ship, ending almost as soon as it began. "What was that?"
"Curious!" Tuvok's voice cuts across the bridge. "We've just passed through some kind of coherent tetryon beam."
Chakotay's heart thumps in his chest. Could the Cardassians have developed new weaponry. "Source?" he asks, pushing the thought out of mind.
"Unknown," he answers, as Chakotay squeezes back in beside a frowning B'Elanna. "There now appears to be a massive displacement wave moving towards us."
"Another storm?"
"It is not a plasma phenomenon. The computer is unable to identify it."
"Put it on screen," Chakotay orders. He gazes as an ellipse of brilliant white light rushes towards them.
"At current speed it will intercept us in less than thirty seconds," Tuvok interjects.
Chakotay glances desperately across to B'Elanna. "Anything left in those impulse engines?"
She growls something in his general direction. "We'll soon find out." Her fingers play over the controls once more.
"It is still exceeding our speed," Tuvok cuts in.
Chakotay doesn't bother acknowledging. "Maximum power."
"You've got it already," B'Elanna shouts. "There's nothing left."
Chakotay prays silently. Not like this. After everything we've been through, everything we've dreamed. Don't let us lose our lives like this.
"The wave will intercept in 8 seconds... 5..."
Chakotay locks his feet around the base of the chair, his hands frozen to the control panel. He clenches his teeth, damning the Federation for the ill thought out treaty, damning the Cardassians for chasing them in here, and damning the explosion of nature that's about to slam into them.
The wave claws them open like a rotten fish until the ship streams its viscera a molecule wide into forever, into nowhere, into everywhere.
Not like this!
[OPENING CREDITS]
Federation Space Station, Deep Space Nine.
"Thomas Paris," Constable Odo says gruffly as a tall, light-haired man wearing the traditional grey of Federation prison clothing, walks out of the airlock on docking bay two, followed by a dark-skinned Starfleet Security officer. The prisoner's arms are behind him, his hands unwillingly locked together.
"The one and only," Tom responds, smirking at him.
Odo snorts as the guard taps quickly on a PADD and hands it over to him. "All yours," the officer tells DS9's resident shapeshifter as he roughly pushes Tom across, making him stumble slightly. "We'd appreciate it if you didn't return him."
"I'll see what we can do," Odo nods, with a little smirk all of his own. The officer turns on his heel and goes back through the airlock, the hatch closing behind him.
"He likes me really," Tom says brightly as Odo walks him out of the docking ring.
"I'm sure you're bosum buddies," Odo replies drily. After a minute of walking in silence, they both enter the turbolift. "Ops," Odo commands.
Tom looks sideways at the alien with the unfinished looking face. "Do you happen to know why I'm here? Not that I don't appreciate the chance of a vacation, but this place wasn't exactly what I had in mind."
"You'll find out when you get to the Commander's office," Odo says curtly. He doesn't like this propensity humans have for 'small talk'.
Tom shrugs and humours the Constable's obvious desire for silence. Eventually the doors slide back revealing Central Ops, which is its usual hive of activity. Tom looks around, quickly flashing the patented Paris smile at a woman with Trill markings, before he's forced up the steps to the office. Glancing back he sees the woman shake her head, but with an amused expression.
The doors part mechanically and Odo walks him inside. Standing behind the Cardassian control-desk is a woman in command uniform. His eyes instinctively land on her collar. Four pips. "I thought you said this was a Commander's office?" Tom asks idly, half-turning his head towards Odo.
"It is Mr Paris," the woman answers as Odo opens his mouth, then closes it again. "The current occupier though was kind enough to allow the use of it for this meeting."
"Very kind of him," Tom drawls. He briefly studies this officer. Probably in the wrong half of thirty, but she could pass for younger without any wide stretch of the imagination. Neck length, russet coloured hair flatteringly frames a face which is free of age lines and her physique seems reasonably athletic, so she probably isn't stuck behind a desk in the course of her work. As Captains go, she's a positive looker.
"He's a she actually," the Captain says as she walks around the table, "but that doesn't matter right now." She sits casually on the edge of the table, ignoring Odo's fleeting look of disapproval. "I suppose you're wondering why you're here."
"The thought had crossed my mind once or twice," Tom replies neutrally.
"Well, allow me to introduce myself first." She smiles as she extends her hand. "The name's Kathryn Janeway."
Tom furrows his brow for a moment. "Love to oblige, Kathryn, but I don't think certain people trust me with my hands free."
"That's Captain to you," Odo growls at Tom, glaring at the inappropriate use of her first name.
Raising an eyebrow at Odo's tone, Kathryn stands and walks around Tom, seeing the handcuffs for the first time. "Are those really necessary?"
"He is a prisoner, Captain," Odo tells her, getting increasingly confused. "It's standard procedure."
"Let me put that another way then. Remove them," she states firmly.
Odo can see that she's serious. Grumbling to himself, he inputs the release code on the small linking panel and the cuffs snap open. He takes them off and Tom with some relief starts rubbing his wrists.
"Now if you'd leave the room," Kathryn continues, "I'd like to talk with Mr Paris in private."
"Captain, you-" Odo begins to object.
Kathryn merely stares at him, bringing her index finger to her collar and tapping on the pips as if she's merely waiting for the Constable to move, not reminding him of her rank. With a faint shake of his head, Odo leaves the office, looking curiously at the Captain before the doors close again. Tom has to admit some empathy with the shapechanger at that moment. He knows most of Starfleet's rules inside and out and this is pretty irregular.
"It's Kathryn," she affirms to Tom after a moment, shaking his hand. "Protocol would prefer that you call me Captain, but I don't think this little discussion warrants the title. Contrary to popular belief, we're not on duty twenty-four hours a day." Her mouth quirks up in amusement as she makes her way back to the table and turns to lean on its edge.
Tom is surprised at her demeanor. Most officers once they reach the Captaincy lose all sense of humour. Privately he wonders if this is simply an act to butter him up for something.
Kathryn looks mildly concerned when he doesn't respond as she expects. "I hope that six months of prison hasn't resulted in you losing the capacity to smile?"
Tom forces a smile onto his face. This Captain is an odd one.
"Better. It isn't genuine, but it'll do."
Tom's face falls again. "Maybe if I had something to smile about," he tells her, folding his arms. He's getting impatient with whatever game she's playing. "What am I doing here?" He knows he's being impudent, but doesn't much care. What's the worst she can do?
"Mr Paris," she starts, then pauses. "May I call you Tom?" she asks, leaning forward slightly.
"You can call me anything you want if it results in you getting to the point sometime before Christmas," he answers with more than a hint of sarcasm. It doesn't seem to faze the Captain any though.
"Alright Tom, here's a tale of mystery. An intelligence agent was assigned to infiltrate a Maquis vessel some time ago, but has missed every one of his timed communication windows for the last two weeks. Starfleet has declared the vessel officially missing."
"Maybe it's just the agent who's missing," Tom interrupts, playing devil's advocate.
"Maybe," Kathryn repeats, though clearly she doesn't believe that. "But here's where it gets interesting. The Cardassians volunteered sensor information from one of their Galor Class warships, indicating the Maquis ship's destruction inside the Badlands, courtesy of a plasma storm. However our own scans show no sign of debris."
Tom shrugs. "A plasma storm doesn't necessarily leave any debris, if it's violent enough."
"True. But there would still be a warp core resonance trace somewhere in the area," Kathryn counters.
"No trace huh?" Tom thinks about that. "You're right, you have yourself a mystery. None of this tells me why I'm here though."
"I'm just getting to that part. You see I've been ordered to take my ship into the Badlands and find out exactly what's happened to both the Maquis vessel and our agent."
Tom smirks. "Good luck with that. I've never seen a Fleet ship that can manoeuver those storms."
A hint of a smile crosses Kathryn's lips. "You've never seen the Voyager. It's been specifically designed to operate in that kind of environment. Problem is none of our officers know the territory very well... which is where you step in."
Realisation quickly dawns. "You want me to guide you through the Badlands and help track down this ship." Kathryn's expression tells him that he's hit the nail on the head. "Why me?" he asks. "I was only with the Maquis a few weeks before I was captured. There're other prisoners with more information on the Badlands than I have."
Kathryn slowly stands up. "None of the others are familiar with this ship's Captain though."
Tom's curiosity is definitely piqued now. "So who is it?" he asks, when Kathryn doesn't offer the information right away.
"His name's Chakotay." She twists around and takes a PADD from the desk, glancing at it. Tom goes stock still at the mention of the Maquis' name, then nods in understanding at what else is required from him. "Rumour has it that the two of you didn't get on," Kathryn continues with an air of innocence as she lifts her eyes back to him.
"There's the understatement of the year," Tom informs her. "The guy's talked himself up onto this pedestal; the man who left Starfleet on principle to defend his home colony from the Cardassians. A noble man fighting for an honourable cause. Then I come along. A discommendated mercenary willing to fight for anyone who pays my bar bills. The antithesis of everything he stands for. He made no secret of the fact that he hated me. And you know what? The feeling's mutual."
"So naturally you'd jump at the chance to be the one who helps bring him in," Kathryn says quickly, reeling him in.
"Not so fast!"
Kathryn tilts her head as she taps the corner of the PADD to the palm of her other hand.
Tom eyes her for a long moment. "You're right, I'd love to see the big guy get his comeuppance. But first I need to know one thing. And I think you know what that is." He might as well go for broke here. A willing source is a more reliable one after all. She knows that, or at least she should.
Kathryn relaxes. This isn't anything she wasn't already expecting. Flipping the PADD round, she hands it over and lets Tom examine it. "One get out of jail free card," she tells him, "which will be signed, sealed and authorised as soon as we return to DS9. That is what you were fishing for wasn't it."
Tom's mouth opens slightly. He expected he'd have to haggle, but this needs no counter offer. "How did you...?"
"I have my connections," Kathryn tells him enigmatically. Tom's mouth involuntarily upturns as he realises this is real. "Now there's a genuine smile," she says. "See, you can do it when you try."
"I guess so." He looks at her slightly puzzled as she takes back the PADD and makes her way around the desk, sitting down in the piece of furniture actually designed for that purpose for the first time since he walked in. "You know, you don't act much like any Captain I've met."
"I should hope not," Kathryn replies with a mock shudder. "They're all so dreadfully stuffy." She taps at the controls for a moment. "We leave tomorrow at zero-nine-hundred. In the meantime I've assigned you quarters to spend the night in and some replicator credits for food, clothing, etcetera." She looks him over. "No offence, but you don't suit prison grey."
"I never thought so either," Tom agrees ruefully.
"Please give this to the Transporter Chief upon your arrival," she says as she stands up and hands him a different PADD. "I'll see you on board in the morning. Docking pylon three."
Taking that as his cue to leave, Tom nods once and walks out of the door, looking vaguely smug as he's greeted by Odo's stern face again. The Security Chief exchanges a look with Kathryn, then harrumphs before escorting the uncuffed Tom to the habitat ring.
The doors push together and Kathryn is left alone. So that was Tom Paris. "Nice to have met you at last," she whispers to herself, before looking back down at the launch schedule.