A/N: This is set in a universe where Tom Paris was not captured on his first assignment with the Maquis. Through some "butterfly affect" or another, this lead to the Maquis ship not getting snatched by the Caretaker, which in turn, stopped Voyager from getting Care-taken.

There is nothing profound about this story. It is being written for shits and giggles.

Reminder: In "Caretaker," Chakotay's ship (presumably) suffered casualties just as Voyager did. The Val Jean probably had a doctor, and some other officers that were killed, just like Voyager's Stadi, Commander Cavit, etc. So if you see one or two unfamiliar characters in this story, that's why; they're probably people who would have died in the Caretaker incident.

I don't own "Star Trek: Voyager."

Come alone.

Chakotay never liked those orders, always paranoid he was walking into a trap, but he obeyed them. The Maquis relied heavily on secrecy. And the endless possibility of spies or surveillances sometimes necessitated meetings between leaders without anyone but the most trusted guards, if that. Chakotay usually at least brought his best gunner Ayala. But this time Michael Eddington and Ro Laren were insistent that he meet in the asteroid alone.

"Bring her around slowly Paris," Chakotay said quietly.

"I've landed a Maquis raider in an asteroid before, Chief," Tom replied irritably.

The pilot's loose, mismatched clothing, tousled hair and five-o'clock-shadow seemed to perfectly convey what set him apart from the more passionate fighters around him, dressed for mobility adn with their hair out of the way.

"I know that," Chakotay matched Paris's irritation, "I've just noticed your piloting tends to get more reckless when certain crewmembers are in the cockpit." He made sure to put just a slight emphasis on the first syllable of the last word.

From her engineering station, Torres glanced at Paris as if looking at some kind of putrid household pest that had suddenly crawled into the helm seat. Of all people onboard, Torres had the least patience with Paris, and Chakotay was sure that was why Paris made a special effort to either impress her or push her buttons. Which in turn pushed Chakotay's buttons.

"Aaalright," Tom said, his attention back on the helm. "In we go…"

It wasn't strictly speaking an asteroid. Tom was bringing the Val Jean into one of the rock formations in the thick icy rings of a sapphire gas giant. This planet was one of the Maquis' bases, with ships parked at intervals around—well, inside—the rings. Several of the rocks and ice-chunks were rigged with force-fields and life support, allowing one to walk through them without an environmental suit, as if they were just icy caves on an M-class planetoid.

"Ready for transport," B'Elanna reported. "Be careful, Chakotay."

"Always," Chakotay replied. "Oh, and Tom, the next time you call me 'Chief,' I'm breaking your nose. This is your only warning."

Without turning to face him, Tom said casually, "Gotcha."

The place Chakotay materialized could easily have been mistaken for a Terran cave, with the stars outside simply being those of a clear night sky. Once an avid paleontology geek, Chakotay indulged in running his hand along the "cave" wall, feeling the cool the rock interlaid with ice. One couldn't see the force field through the holes in the asteroid, but from a certain angle you could see the rolling clouds of the gas giant. A beautiful view. An acceptable last view, Chakotay decided, should his most paranoid fears prove true and this meeting was a trap.

At the sound of footsteps, his hand went instinctively to the phaser on his belt. But as expected, it was only his arranged contacts, Captain Michael Eddington and Commander Ro Laren. In her snug but modest purple garments, and her elegant Bajoran earring, Ro almost gave the impression of a businesswoman rather than a military leader. Eddington, in his long leather jacket, reminded Chakotay of a heroic character from Les Miserables. Chakotay normally admired both leaders in their own way. He'd once envied the passion and heroism with which Eddington led the Maquis; but recently, that passion had begun to reach extremes that frightened Chakotay. Ro, meanwhile, reminded him oddly of an older, more mature Seska, almost representing what he hoped to help craft his protégé and sometimes lover into becoming. He hoped to god the Bajoran still retained the objectivity he admired in her, and might coax Eddington to see reason.

"I take it there's a change in the mission," Chakotay said, relaxing his hand.

"If the mission even goes through," Ro replied wearily.

"It has to." Eddington snapped.

"So what's the holdup?" Chakotay asked. "Our superiors finally considered that nuclear warfare might not be in the Maquis' best interests?"

Ro closed her eyes slowly and sighed. Chakotay had been making his feelings on his upcoming mission clear for weeks. He knew she privately agreed with him, and Ro was also outspoken like he was, so he wasn't certain what he was saying that she found disagreeable.

Eddington's catlike eyes met his. "This is war, Chakotay."

"That's right, war. Not a massacre. You want to stoop to the Cardassians' level—"

"We want you to steal a weapon the Cardassians would use against our civilians." Eddington fired. "And the Federation's, and the Bajorans' and Klingons' and god knows who else."

"And then use it against the Cardassian's. Civilians."

Pinching her ridged nose, Ro said over the arguing men, "There's a spy aboard the Val Jean!"

Chakotay froze, then shot her a look. "How do you know?"

"We have a spy." Eddington smiled, almost smugly. "Several of them, amongst the Federation. And a few with the Cardassians. This one's serving aboard a Federation ship called Voyager. Goes by the codename Ku."

Chakotay knew, from Seska, that "Ku" was the Bajoran word for "bat." Or the universal word for a Bajoran bat. He could never keep the terms for alien animals straight.

Ro sighed. "Ku informs us that Captain Janeway has an officer undercover aboard your ship. He doesn't know the species or gender or how long they've been aboard, but Ku wagers the spy's been with you for over a year."

Chakotay knew that Ro was only using the pronoun "he" as standard for undercover agents; there was a fifty-fifty chance that Ku was a "she." Turning the information over, Chakotay soon felt his blood fire up.

"So, it's a former Starfleet officer…"

"You have someone in mind Commander?" Eddington asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I just might."

Ro grimaced. "Don't tell me; Paris."

Chakotay locked eyes with her and nodded. "He was never dedicated to our cause. He's the son of a Starfleet admiral."

"Sounds like wishful thinking, Commander," the Bajoran said. "No offense. But if Captain Janeway knows what she's doing, she'll have her spy blend in a little better, and probably cozying up to you."

Chakotay swallowed. A good portion of his officers besides Paris were—supposedly—former Starfleet officers. Torres, Ayala, Tuvok, Hogan, Th'lor … he also recalled that his stellar cartographer, Megan Delaney, had a twin sister in Starfleet. And she'd been very close to her twin, before joining the Maquis. Of course, if Captain Runway or whatever her name was knew what she was doing, she'd likely assign her spy to have a back-story completely unrelated to Starfleet. The Bajorans flashed through his mind. Seska? No. Seska's venom against Cardassians and spunk for the Maqius movement was far too genuine. And so was B'Elanna's…but then again, being half-Klingon sure would give the latter a hand in method acting…

Ro sighed deeply. "Well the question now is, how do we proceed with your mission, with a Federation spy among you."

"Why the hell would we proceed?" Chakotay asked. "Give the mission to someone who doesn't have a spy onboard!"

"Not possible." Eddington shook his head grimly. "You're crew already has the clearance to enter that fortress undetected. It would take months to get another crew prepared for that, and that's time we don't have. The Ferengi scientist will be delivering that weapon to the Cardassians in four days."

Chakotay's jaw clenched. It was true, the Maquis had spent months rewiring his crew biologically to pass undetected through the Ferengi scientist's unique home security system. It had been a highly technical and complex process that Chakotay didn't fully understand—something about altering the genetics at a microscopic level to trick the Ferengi's one-of-a-kind surveillance program into thinking they were members of his species. The effect would wear off in a few months, and his crew's DNA would return to normal. By which time the mission would be complete…and Eddington's radical plans possibly being carried out.

Chakotay shook his head. "The spy probably has Voyager set to be waiting for us right when we exit the Ferengi's house for the robbery."

"That's exactly what Ku figures," Ro agreed. "He says that Voyager knows about your heist. Their plan is to be waiting for you outside Dr. Bork's home, right after you complete the robbery. See, Starfleet doesn't want the Cardassians to have the Omega Molecule any more than we do, so Janeway's going to let you do the stealing for her, and then her spy will deliver your crew and the molecule into her waiting hands."

"Then," Chakotay nodded slowly, "we need only change our getaway plan—without letting the spy find out." He sighed, passing his hand over his face.

"What matters," Eddington said, "is getting that molecule."

It took a moment for Chakotay to decipher what Eddington was telling him. When he did, he gave his superior a sharp, angry look. "You're asking me to abandon my crew? Take off with the molecule myself, and let them—"

"You're the only one we're sure isn't the spy," Eddington pressed.

"How do you know? I have a history with Starfleet after all. Wouldn't it be brilliant?" Chakotay smiled sarcastically. "The spy aboard Chakotay's ship is Chakotay."

"Ku says you were already a prominent figure in the Maquis when the spy was assigned to your ship." Eddington explained. "So you're in the clear, Commander."

So it was someone who joined after Chakotay had made a name for himself. That described about half the Val Jean's crew.

"Here's my idea," Ro's hand came up diplomatically. "Change up the entrance plan. Separate your team into subunits, and only give each group as much information as they need to complete their task. But make them think that the getaway point is still the same, then at the last minute during the mission, change your mind and give them new coordinates."

Chakotay gave it some thought, then nodded. "Well then, let's get started forming the new game-plan. I have a feeling this is going to be complicated."

The Val Jean's tiny engine room was sparsely populated tonight, the four or five engineers illuminated by the blue glow of the stout warp core. B'Elanna Torres had begun to zone, now staring out the tiny square window at the rolling clouds of the gas giant. That was one advantage of an oddly shaped ship like the Val Jean; windows in Engineering. Torres wasn't the only one distracted. Tom watched the half-Klingon from behind, his eyes traveling her short brunette hair to her tall red boots.

Torres' best friend Seska glanced at Tom from her work station near the wall, then rolled her eyes back down to her console. Only Seska and Tom themselves understood the full meaning of that look, and Tom felt the corner of his mouth turn up in a silent snicker. Things had definitely gotten interesting between him and Seska, and they were about to become a lot more interesting. But that could wait, just for a little bit.

Tom joined Torres at the window. She didn't look over at him, but seemed to sense someone was standing next to her. Her dark eyes traveling the aquamarine clouds, she muttered, "It reminds me of the ocean on Quo'nos."

Matching her quiet tone, Tom offered, "I hear the Klingon oceans are like giant hot springs. Popular spot for skinny dipping."

Torres threw him a look of wearied irritation. "Oh, it's you."

"Don't take it personally Torres," Seska sneered. "You're just the only woman onboard Paris hasn't slept with yet."

After a silence, Torres said flatly, "Thanks for telling me that, Seska."

The "Bajoran" woman's eyes bulged, realizing her embarrassing mistake. Tom laughed, at both women's reactions. "Relax Torres," he assured B'Elanna. "There's nothing between us. We both did it to spite Chakotay, didn't we Seska."

Seska wrinkled her nose, the Bajoran ridges scrunching up like an accordion, and she changed the subject. "I don't like these meetings where he has to show up alone. What if it's a Cardassian trap?"

Tom felt his teeth grit together, as he resisted the strong urge to respond to that statement. Not yet, Tom. Don't let the bitch know you're onto her, not till the opportune moment…

B'Elanna turned away from the window. "I'm not sure if you've noticed Seska, but the Maquis operate largely in secrecy."

Tom's chest tightened at the sight of the two "best friends" talking so casually. B'Elanna was clueless. Of course, Tom had been clueless too, until four nights ago. He pretended to start work on a diagnostic, glancing over that the two women every now and again.

The stark contrast between the two best friends' fashion intrigued Tom. B'Elanna looked like a space cowgirl, in her leather vest and knee-high boots. Sexy as hell, not that it was a good idea to tell her that. Actually, he told her that about three times a day, and would probably receive three black eyes for it if not for his improving skills at dodging. Seska looked like she was trying to turn the Maquis into a new runway fashion, with the large circular belt and flamboyant vest over a vibrant purple undershirt. That outfit had been a bitch to remove the night before, with the complicated belt and all those layers. And hardly worth it. What the hell did Chakotay see in that broad, anyway? Her "spirituality," probably. And her being from an oppressed people like himself. Tom's insides rolled again, as he realized he was actually pitying his commanding officer, much as he disliked him.

"I'm just saying," B'Elanna continued, before realizing that Seska was now concentrating hard on her work at her console. "Never mind, I see you're busy."

"Sorry," Seska said quietly. "I'm just trying to—"

"Seska!"

B'Elanna suddenly yanked the other woman away from the console and tossed her to the floor, just before a plasma burst emitted from her console. The few others in the engine room looked over sharply.

"That could've killed you!" B'Elanna panted.

Visibly shaking, Seska pushed herself up from the floor, staring at the console. Feeling her shoulder, she mumbled, "Thanks for saving my life Torres, but I think you broke something."

B'Elanna smiled. "I'm sure with therapy you'll learn to forgive me. Come on, let's get you to Sickbay."

Tom watched B'Elanna lead her "friend" out of the engine room, his mind speeding like an intrepid cruiser on full throttle. Now he was really curious.

He pretended to work for a few more minutes, before excusing himself from the engine room. Resisting the urge to follow B'Elanna and Seska, he headed instead to the galley. The Val Jean's mess hall wasn't much bigger than the engine room, offering the same metallic tiled floor, low ceiling, and dim lighting. Tom wasn't surprised to find a sizable crowd at this hour; a lot of Chakotay's soldiers took their dinner late, due to busy schedules. Chell was serving his usual slop at the counter. Tom got into line behind Mariah Henley, sporting her usual red headscarf. Henley gave Tom a disdainful look as the Bolian chef filled her bowl with a pale purple glop. Chell on the other hand was one of the few people who acted civilly towards Tom.

"What'll it be Paris," the Bolian asked. "Slop, or emergency rations?"

"If we can spare it, how about a little bit of both." Tom replied. "I like to dip my ration bars in your gruel and pretend it's fries with ketchup."

As Chell filled his bowl, Tom scanned the cramped little galley. As fortune would have it, the crewmember he was hoping to run into was right there. Tuvok sat in a far corner of the small galley, silently eating Chell's slop. The sight of Tuvok always made Tom smile inwardly, with the way the Vulcan's gourd-colored Maquis uniform clashed with his bland personality. Tom thanked Chell, and made a beeline for Tuvok's table.

"Hey, Tuvok," Tom took a seat across from the Val Jean's tactical expert. "Mind if I join you?"

With mild acknowledgement, Tuvok replied, "Good evening, Mr. Paris."

"Was that a 'hello' or 'goodbye?'" Tom asked, dunking his ration bar into his bowl periwinkle slime.

"Whichever you prefer," the Vulcan's eyes left Tom, as he resumed eating Chell's gruel.

Tom pursed his lips and nodded. After a moment he asked casually, "How you been Tuvok?"

"Well." The Vulcan replied. "And you?"

Tom blew through his lips. "Better than Seska! She was working at a console in engineering just a few minutes ago, and a plasma burst came out of nowhere! Almost killed her. I'm not sure if she was more upset about almost dying, or not finishing her work; whatever she was doing seemed pretty damn important to her."

Tuvok's dark eyes crept back up to Tom's face, lingering just long enough for Tom to be sure that it wasn't his imagination.

"I hope she makes a full recovery," Tuvok finally said.

"Meee too," Tom agreed, with complete honestly.

Seska fought to keep her breaths calm and regulated as the ship's physician, an Orion male named Th'lor, healed her broken arm. This body felt so small, so light and fragile. Her Bajoran hand looked tiny and pale in the doctor's large green one. Seska could remember a time when she'd had a fetish for Orions, Bolians, Andorians, and any species with oddly colored skin. That was back when she was a teenager. Voicing such desires got mixed results from adults. Her father feared she would be ostracized for desiring non-Cardassians, should anyone find out. Her mother on the other hand congratulated her daughter for having the tastes of a conqueror, like so many Cardassian males.

In any case, Seska's tastes had changed radically over the years. But Seska herself hadn't. She was the same as she'd been all her life; feisty and vicious, with the mind of a brilliant engineer, someone who strove to impress her superiors while at the same time always making sure she got what she wanted. And not a half-bad actress or liar either. No surprise she'd grown up to be a spy. Her career for the Obsidian Order had begun during the last few years of the Bajoran occupation, and then continued into the Maqius. She hadn't even needed to change her name, just shorten it.

"You're good to go," the green doctor said. "It's getting late. Best get yourself some sleep."

B'Elanna returned to Engineering, while Seska headed for the quarters the two women shared. The Val Jean had cramped, dimly lit halls that Seska had grown used to. On the way she squeezed past Marina Jor, who avoided her eye like the plague. Seska hated passing the half-Betazoid; telepaths of any kind were a pain for even the best-trained spy. But Jor was no Deanna Troi, and could only pick up the barest of emotions. Sensing that Seska was stressed, pleased or aggravated didn't make her stand out any more than the others onboard. But even so, the petite woman had learned not to question Seska with any of her usual "are you okay?" or "is everything alright?"

Seska finally found her way to her quarters. B'Elanna's side was a mess as usual, a debris field of rumpled clothing, gutted engineering equipment, and a stuffed targ she'd never admit to sleeping with. After ensuring the door was locked and sound from the room was muted, Seska dug out the tiny communicator she kept hidden under her mattress. It was a brown, hexagonal disc, about the size of an early Federation PADD. When she activated the encoded sequence, it would become a tiny monitor, allowing her to speak face-to-face with her superiors. But before her finger even touched the first button, a low voice made her freeze.

"Your superiors will no doubt be displeased by your failure to kill me."

Seska turned sharply and saw Tuvok sitting in the dark corner, pointing a phaser at her.

"What the hell are you talking about," Seska tried, lamely.

"I have been anticipating an 'accidental' power surge in any console I touch for some time now. That is why I installed a program of my own into the ship. It activates at my touch. Should anyone onboard attempt to send a man-made power surge to any station I'm operating, my program will counter said surge, sending it back to the perpetrator."

The Cardassian's jaw tightened. "How did you know."

"For the last several weeks, I have been observing not only the Maquis, but the Cardassian spy amongst Chakotay's ship. Vulcan telepathy is limited, but under the right circumstances, very useful."

Seska's eyes slowly grew wide. "That day I was rendered unconscious on Alora Prime!" she spat. "You mind-melded me in my sleep!"

"Mind-meld is not an accurate term in this instance. I performed a touch that allowed me a glimpse into your recent thoughts. And that was how I learned of your conversations with your superiors, and your plans to kill me. I am curious," Tuvok raised an eyebrow, "why you did not seek me out as an ally."

Seska grinned bitterly. "I know how you Starfleets are. My mission is serious, and I can't have it slowed down by Federation softness."

"Alternatively," Tuvok suggested, his phaser still pointed threateningly at Seska, "The Cardassians are undergoing activities that they do not want their Federation allies to be made aware of."

"What I wanna know," the new voice made both Seska and Tuvok jump.

Seska searched the room frantically, while Tuvok's heavy-lidded eyes swept the area with startled alertness, until both gazes finally landed on a spot in the ceiling. Tom Paris grinned and waved. He'd somehow removed a tile without either of them hearing or noticing. Actually, he'd probably done it before Seska or Tuvok had entered the room. Toms loose Maquis clothes hung through the square in the ceiling, as he lazily stared at them over folded arms. Like Tuvok, he held a phaser in one hand, which he wiggled a few times just to make sure they both noticed. Tom spent the next moment or two taking in their shock with amusement, before continuing.

Tom began again, "What I wanna—ah, ah, ah," he wagged his phaser at Seska, who'd been reaching for her own. "What I wanna know is, what are your real names?"

Slowly rising to a stance, Tuvok replied, "I have not altered my name for this assignment."

Seska shrugged. "Olseska. Seska was my nickname growing up anyway. And by a happy coincidence, there's a well-known river on Bajor called Seska. Pretty, exotic name that a lonely Bajoran orphan might chose for herself."

Tom just stared at them both under a contorted brow. "So let me get this straight. You didn't. Change. Your names. For an undercover mission?"

"A convincing performance is crucial," Seska said, like it should be obvious. "If we picked fake names we'd have to learn how to react to them on instinct."

"And for what organization," Tuvok asked Tom, "are you working?"

"Lady Luck," Tom carefully slid out of the ceiling, and landed on the soft pile of B'Elanna's clothes. He picked up her stuffed targ to examine in for a second, before discarding it and continuing. "My loyalties aren't hidden. I'm here to pay my bar bills. That's why I've decided to blackmail you both."

"You're even stupider than I thought." Seska's phaser came out.

But Tuvok's phaser was suddenly an inch from Seska's head. "Do not move, Seska. Or I will fire." Turning to Tom, Tuvok said, "I'm curious Mr. Paris,"

"How did I find out about you two?" Tom shifted, resting his hands on his knees, phaser now pointed at Seska. "Well Seska I found out about last week." He saw her eyes widen threateningly under her fierce eyebrows. "I wonder how many times poor clueless Chakotay heard you mumble 'tescalan' in your sleep, and thought you were saying the Bajoran phrase for 'home decorating.'"

Tuvok stared at Tom. "What does 'tescalan' mean?"

"If I remember my medical course at the Academy correctly, 'Tescalan' is a Cardassian medication used to treat Cardassian mental disorders. Of course this dinky third-rate ship doesn't have that in its database for me to double-check. But Seska had her hypospray in her pocket, so I was able to check that while she was asleep."

Seska whispered, "You son of a bitch."

"As for you Tuvok," Tom continued, ignoring her, "I just noticed Seska seemed particularly interested in you, and got suspicious. Earlier tonight, I had my answer, in the mess hall."

"Most clever," Tuvok admitted. "I have clearly underestimated you, Mr. Paris. You would be a formidable ally."

Tom's face scrunched up in confusion. "For?"

"Assisting me in my mission."

Tom slowly nodded. "Ah. Helping you…what…gather intel on the Maquis?"

"And disrupt this upcoming mission." Tuvok explained. "And ensure that the Federation starship Voyager is able to capture Chakotay and his crew."

Tom thought it over. He'd be a hero among Starfleet. He might get pardoned. His name might be cleared, even among his judgmental family. The downside was that he'd been starting to grow fond of some of the Maquis, especially Torres; but then again, all of their odds of survival would skyrocket in a Federation prison than out here fighting Cardassians. Tom had no faith, by now, that the Maquis would succeed, and frankly, had spent the last year subconsciously thinking he was joining them on a long, slow-moving, glamorous suicide mission.

"I can do that," Tom decided, nodding.

Seska smiled. "You can try, but the thing is, Voyager's not the only ship that'll be waiting for the Val Jean. My superior is going to have an entire ambush prepared."

"Indeed," Tuvok said. "Captain Janeway and I have already discussed this possibility, and have maneuvers planned. Chakotay and his crew, along with the weapon, will go to the Federation."

"And what good would that do?" Seska demanded. "You'd have the secret weapon and you'd have Chakotay's crew, but what happens from there? Chakotay and the others sit in some resort you people call a 'penal colony,' and the weapon sits in Federation storage, while the war out here rages on! The Maquis have to be defeated!"

"That's your opinion," Tom said, folding his arms.

"Don't tell me you've gone native, Tom."

Tom flinched inwardly at Seska's liberal use of his first name. Aboard the Val Jean, first names were heard only amongst close friends, and certainly Seska had no reason to use Tom's (their recent night together being the exception in their relationship, rather than the rule).

"Perish the thought," Tom said sarcastically. "I couldn't care less about the Maquis and their agenda. I guess I'm just not that sympathetic to the Cardassians either."

"If I don't deliver this weapon and this crew to my superiors—"

"Then Mr. Paris and I will protect you," Tuvok said. "You will not succeed against two of us, Seska. But the three of us together can accomplish this goal. And our 'Federation softness,' as you put it, will ensure that you remain safe. I will leave it to you to weigh the odds of each option."

Seska stood in the middle of the room, her hand clenched tightly around her phaser, the other balled into a painful looking fist.

"Two against one," Tom said quietly. "I do believe we have the controlling vote."

Seska angrily kicked B'Elanna's stuffed Targ across the floor. Finally, after a few more seconds of brooding, she mumbled, "We're going to need more than just three people to pull this off."

Tuvok cocked an eyebrow. "Was there someone you had in mind?"

"Come on Tuvok," Seska sheathed her phaser. "You've been observing this crew for almost two years now. You know not everyone on this ship is as dedicated to the Maquis cause as Chakotay is."

Tuvok gave her a long look.

Tom snapped his fingers. "Jonas! Mike Jonas." The image of Jonas's buck-toothed flashed through Tom's mind, one of the closest things he had to a friend onboard. "He's outright told me he's as much of a self-serving coward as me, just better at hiding it. He was pressured into joining the Maquis because the rest of his family was so dedicated, but by now I think he's getting sick of it."

"If his family is so dedicated, he may be reluctant to betray them," Tuvok warned.

"Openly," Tom corrected. "But if no one knew…" he shrugged. "It was just a suggestion. Who else did you have in mind, Seska?"

Seska's lip curled slowly. "How about Suder?"

A/N: I'm trying to get better at staying on top of my fanfics. This one is already half finished, and will be a shortie (four or five chapters). I'll try to update at least once every few days.

If you like Maquis-centered fics, I have a couple to recommend:

"What We Live For," by JessiKnight: An AU where Janeway's sister is in the Maquis. Chasing her sister, Janeway may end up joining in her cause. Meanwhile, B'Elanna thinks she's found love with Seska and, well, you can probably guess the rest. Only two chapters are up so far, but it's well written, and I can say from experience that JessiKnight does a great job at expanding on "Voyager" characters and alien races.

"Wayward Sons," by Admiral Byzantium: An AU where Gul Evek's ship gets Caretaken with Voyager and the Val Jean. Janeway and Chakotay, who of course were both shaped by bad experiences with Cardassians, are both confronted with the Cardassian gul. Chakotay is surprised to find that Evek isn't quite the monster he initially takes him for, and receives some pleasantly surprising news from the gul regarding the individuals who murdered his family. Very bittersweet story, that shows the Maquis/Federation/Cardassian conflict from all angles. Also contains some great moments for B'Elanna and Harry.

Finally, I beg you all to check out "Renegades," the highly ambitious fan-film that stars a handful of real "Star Trek" actors reprising their roles. You'll see Tuvok, Pavel Chekov, Icheb, Dr. Zimmerman, and Admiral Paris, along with some kickass new characters including a snarky Betazoid, an Andorian mind-hacker, a Romulan female who likes snapping necks, and the outcast daughter of Khan. Icheb fans especially should check it out; he's changed quite a bit since he stepped off Voyager! The visuals are cheap but unique, very different than "Star Trek's" usual style. It reminds me of "Lexx" or "Farscape."

Next chapter for this turkey will be up soon, possibly tonight.