Title: An Untimely End
Description: What if Captain Janeway had been able to carry out her mission to capture the Maquis in the Badlands? How would the fates of the Voyager crewmembers change? A Chakotay-POV A/U short story that does not match up with my other Voyager fanfics, for obvious reasons.
Rating: T for violence. Mild language, no sex/nudity.
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek or any of its characters, nor do I profit from them.
Chapter 1
The first time I saw her, she was a warrior.
Even through the blur and flicker of the Val Jean's malfunctioning viewscreen, Captain Kathryn Janeway makes an impression. Piercing blue eyes. Not a hair out of place. Lips pressed in a grim line.
"Captain Chakotay, you are ordered to power down your weapons and lower your shields. You are hereby charged with violation of Federation treaty. Your ship will be commandeered and you and your crew detained on Voyager until you are delivered to a tribunal, where you will be given a fair trial. Do you have any questions about the charges?"
"Surrender my ship, Captain?" I reply mildly. Around me, the other Maquis on the Val Jean are silent, riveted to the screen. They know this could mean the end for us, and I know they are sick at heart, thinking of their families back in the colonies. Only Tuvok is looking down at his controls, discreetly searching for a way to get us out of this mess, as I ordered him to do just before answering Voyager's hail. I'm still clinging to hope; the Vulcan has never failed to come through for me yet. "Why? I've done nothing wrong."
It isn't a lie. Joining the Maquis is the most correct decision I ever made. I only regret waiting so long to make it.
Those blue eyes narrow. "I have considerable evidence that says otherwise."
"What evidence?" I say.
One corner of her lips pulls up ever so slightly. "Beam aboard," she says, "and I'll show it to you."
"A tempting offer, Captain."
In a way, it is. I have never seen such a ship as Voyager. It must be a new design. Federation starships, in their ponderous immensity, usually struggle to navigate the plasma storms of the Badlands, but this small, sleek ship slipped through the gravimetric eddies like a seal through the ocean waves. It occurs to me that Starfleet probably wouldn't have wasted a state-of-the-art ship like this on an inexperienced captain. And yet Janeway looks relatively young, with no gray strands to match the ones that thread my hair. If we end up playing chicken, will she be the one to blink?
In another lifetime, I would have been eager to study the ship for myself, every inch of it, from stem to stern. Once I would have wished to captain such a ship. If I had stayed in Starfleet, I probably would be captaining a Federation ship by now.
No matter. I have a ship of my own. It may be small, the technology outdated, my crew somewhat ragtag, but it makes up for it all with heart. I have no wish to see the Val Jean dangling from Voyager's tractor beam like a mouse hanging in a cat's claws.
"I suggest you comply quickly," Captain Janeway says, looking the very picture of calm on my flickering viewscreen, and yet there is a hint of steel in her voice. "We both have the safety of our crews to consider, Captain. I would prefer to make the transfer peacefully."
"I'm not only considering the safety of my crew," I say, and I don't bother to hide my aggravation with her assumptions. This is a sore point with me, because Starfleet officers never seem to get it. "I'm also concerned about the safety of every former Federation citizen currently living in territory that suddenly belongs to the Cardassians, a race long admired for their commitment to peace and tolerance."
I can see the flash in her eyes, and I know she longs to respond to my sarcasm, but it seems Captain Janeway has some self-control, because after a quick breath, all she says is:
"This is neither the time nor place to discuss politics, Captain. I have a duty to fulfill. You have sixty seconds to comply."
I cut off the communication. Wonderful. She's given us sixty seconds to escape. I've dealt with worse.
"Tuvok?" I say.
"I believe I have identified a weakness in their defenses," the Vulcan says. "Voyager may be more maneuverable than the average Federation starship, but she still cannot change direction as fast as a smaller ship. I suggest we use our deflector dish to ignite a plasma flare. They will be forced to adjust their shielding, and we will have time to accelerate, passing close under the saucer section where they will be unable to target us with phasers. By the time they adjust course, we will have a head start in our escape."
B'Elanna immediately objects, the heat rising in her cheeks. "If we accelerate too rapidly next to a plasma flare, we could create a feedback loop and completely lose power! Shields, warp drive, everything!"
Tuvok is implacable. "There are risks, but of all the scenarios I can foresee, this one has the greatest chance of success."
B'Elanna starts to argue, but I quickly cut her off. There's no time to hold a debate, only to make a decision, and the fact of the matter is, Tuvok has proved himself to be an excellent tactician, while B'Elanna is an engineer. A good captain respects the expertise of his subordinates.
Tuvok's plan should have worked.
It would have worked, if not for the aeroshuttle.
I'd noticed it when we first scanned the ship: a small vessel tucked into the underside of Voyager's elongated saucer section. The kind that captains tend to use on an Away Mission when they want to make a better impression on someone than a little Type 2-shuttle can provide. My mind didn't linger on the aeroshuttle for long. I was more concerned about Voyager's phaser banks and torpedo launchers.
We do as Tuvok suggests. We ignite the plasma, we dive under Voyager, we punch the impulse engines. B'Elanna's fears were unwarranted; the ship's power holds as we begin to pull away from Voyager, threading through angry columns of plasma under the guidance of my hands on the helm. Voyager is turning in a slow majestic curve, while we scamper away like a field mouse.
I almost permit myself a sigh of relief but then, to our astonishment, our sensors show the aeroshuttle detaching from Voyager, then wheeling around like a hawk that just spotted its prey. In moments it is in pursuit.
B'Elanna pushes the engines as hard as they'll go, but the aeroshuttle swoops in front of us, dangerously close. For a second my heart leaps, and I reach for the phaser controls, realizing a ship of that type doesn't have aft weapons... and won't be able to withstand a barrage from us at this range.
But before I can shoot, in one smooth motion the aeroshuttle flips over its vertical axis so that it's suddenly hanging upside-down relative to the Val Jean, facing directly at us, only hundreds of meters away.
It's a move so bold, so undisciplined, so foolhardy, that I know in an instant who is at the controls. There's only pilot I know who flies like that.
Unfortunately, I don't even have time to curse the name of Tom Paris before the aeroshuttle opens fire on us.
Our shields are already weakened by the burning plasma all around us. There's no time to maneuver, no time to react. The aeroshuttle takes down our impulse engines.
And we take the aeroshuttle down, as seconds later the Val Jean, coasting forward on momentum alone, clips one of its blunted wingtips. The screech of rending metal fills our ears, and more than one console overloads, popping hot sparks up into our faces. There is fire, shouting, pain, confusion, but not for long.
The cool blue transporter beam comes, and whisks us all away.
When we rematerialize, we're in a Cargo Bay, and we're surrounded by armed guards. Janeway was ready for this. She had it all planned out. A warrior, indeed.
I quickly scan the room and do a count. The transporter managed to save us all, my entire crew.
And Tom Paris, too.
He's lying on the deck, writhing and groaning in agony, his handsome face marred with plasma burns. There's a part of me that takes a dark pleasure in his pain - after all, he's just destroyed everything my crew and I have been fighting for - but there's another part of me, the echo of the Starfleet officer that was, that is shocked at the Maquis Chakotay's reaction. Tom Paris may be an annoying, immature, unprincipled showoff, but at the end of the day, he's still just a pathetic drunk who ruined his life with his own cowardice. I should have left him in that bar in Marseilles.
As the medics carry Paris away under the furious glare of B'Elanna Torres, I notice that Janeway actually gave him a uniform to wear. I wonder what prompted that. Surely she knew his history when she took him on as an informer. What was she trying to prove? What did she know that I didn't?
The guards begin to take us out one by one to be identified, searched, treated for injuries, and then returned to the Cargo Bay. Tuvok is the first they take out, but he isn't brought back, not for hours. I wonder about that. Are they interrogating him? Why him and not me? With that Vulcan constitution, surely he would not crack easily.
Finally, when everyone else has been processed, Tuvok walks back into the Cargo Bay.
Wearing a security uniform with lieutenant commander pips.
So that explains it. That's why Janeway was able to deploy the aeroshuttle so quickly. Probably Tuvok had surreptitiously opened a comm channel to Voyager while he was explaining his plan to me. She knew exactly what we were going to do next. And she'd managed to slip an agent right under my nose, weeks before she ever confronted me face to face. With a sinking feeling, I realize Janeway really does have mountains of evidence against me, thanks to her spy.
I really hate that Vulcan, but I can't quite bring myself to hate Janeway.
She is clever, and she is brave.
A warrior, indeed.
TO BE CONTINUED
Author's note: What do you think so far?