Chapter One
Space lit up in a fury of red bursts. The Cardassian fighter turned gunning at the small raider nimbly trying to dodge the burst, its own phaser shots bouncing off the Cardassian shields.
"Damage report!"
Their leader snapped his order, shuddering as another explosion echoed behind him. Concentrating, he kept his dark eyes fixed on the view screen trying to find a gap through which they could escape.
"Shields at 60%," he was calmly informed.
"A fuel line has ruptured," a young woman snapped from beside him, sweeping black hair away from her face. "Attempting to compensate. Damn it," she swore as another explosion echoed around the small raider. "We're barely maintaining impulse. I can't get any more out of it."
"Be creative," he ordered tipping the ship away from the phaser fire.
"How am I supposed to be creative with a 39 year old re-built engine?"
"Maquis ship, this is Gul Evek of the Cardassian fourth order..."
The cobra shaped face of the Cardassian Gul glared at them over the small view screen. There was no mercy in his voice, no warmth, just the rasping sound of pain and torture.
"Cut your engines and prepare to surrender and we will..."
The leader narrowed his eyes slamming his fist against the console switching off the view screen. There would be no surrender. Not today. Not ever!
The raider rocked again in reply, another volley of shots coming in.
"Initiating evasive pattern omega, mark," he warned angling the ship first one way then the next, but never managing to dodge the blows being forced upon them.
"Shields at 50%." A dark Vulcan calmly sat on the left, unruffled by the proceedings. His dark hands moved quickly over the console, firing what they could back.
"I need more power if we are going to make it to the Badlands." It was not a statement coming from their leader, it was an order and they all knew it.
"Take the weapons off line," the young woman snapped, her Klingon half starting to get the better of her. "We'll transfer all power to the engines."
The Vulcan raised an inquisitive dark eyebrow. "Considering the circumstances, I question that proposal."
"What does it matter?" She looked back, her brown eyes fierce as she glared at him. "We're not making a dent in their shields anyway. You wanted creative," she threw at her commanding officer.
Making up his mind, the leader calmly addressed the Vulcan. "Tuvok, shut down all the phaser banks." Glancing at the woman he nodded slightly. "If you can give me another 30 seconds at full impulse I'll get us into the Badlands."
"Phasers off line," the Vulcan informed.
"Throw the last photons at them and then give me the power from the torpedo systems."
"Acknowledged." The Vulcan's fingers skipped lightly over the console. "Firing photons."
Two bolts of energy slammed into the Cardassian shields barely creating a ripple on the pond.
"Are you reading any plasma storms ahead?"
The Vulcan's eagle like eyes checked over the sensors. "One," he announced. "Co-ordinates 171 mark 43." Bracing himself, he gripped onto the console as another explosion gripped hold of the old ship.
"That's were I'm going!" Guiding the ship, the leader piloted the small radar through the dense redness of the Badlands.
"Plasma storm intensity increasing by, 14%..." the Vulcan informed as they neared. "20... 25..."
"Hold on!"
Even with dampers, everyone felt it as the ship lent dangerously to one side, for half a second threatening to full into an endless spin as it dodged the plasma storm.
"The Cardassian ship is not reducing power. They're following us in."
"Gul Evek must feel daring today," the leader joked, trying to lighten the heavy air of intensity that had settled upon them.
"They've taken a hit on their port blade," the Vulcan informed them sounding, for a Vulcan, almost relieved. "They're sending out a distress signal on all Cardassian frequencies."
That cloud of intensity rose at the sound of the Vulcan's voice. Leaning back in his chair their leader sighed a relaxed breath. "Can you plot a course through these plasma fields Mr Tuvok?"
The Vulcan studied the sensors as his commanding officer rose to his feet. "Storm activity is particular wide spread in this vicinity," he announced. "I can plot a course but I'm afraid it will require an indirect route."
"We can use the time to make some repairs."
A flash of white light suddenly engulfed the Bridge, disappearing as quickly as it came.
"What was that?"
"Curious," the Vulcan muttered. "We've just passed through some kind of coherent tetrion beam."
"Source?"
"Unknown... Now there appears to be a massive displacement wave moving towards us."
"Another storm?"
The Vulcan frowned slightly. "It is not a plasma phenomenon. At current speeds, it will intercept us in less then 30 seconds."
Grabbing his chair, the leader retook his seat in haste. Quickly he glanced at the woman to the right of him as he spoke. "Anything left in those impulse generators B'Elanna?"
"We'll find out."
"It's still exceeding our speeds," the Vulcan pointed out after the ship increased its own velocity.
"Maximum power," the leader ordered already knowing that there was nothing more that the engines could give.
"Wave is continuing to accelerate. It will intercept us in 8 seconds... 5..."
No not now! Not after everything we've been through!
2, 1...
A Week Later!
Starfleet Penal Colony - New Zealand.
The sun beat fiercely down through the blue of the clear sky. The day was warm and humid with a faint cool wind, as people moved slowly around the ruin getting on with their jobs.
"Tom Paris?"
Thomas Eugene Paris, son of a Starfleet Admiral, now a captured criminal, jumped at the sound of a woman's voice from above him. Letting his arm drop, he shielded his eyes to look up.
Above him stood a woman, cool and composed in the sweltering heat, her auburn hair pulled off her small boned face. She wore a Starfleet command uniform on her slight frame, but her authoritarian presence was summed up in her, not by the red uniform or the four solid gold pips that sparkled in the sun light.
Next to her stood another woman, younger, dressed up in the Starfleet science blue. Where the older woman's hair was tied up in a bun, this woman has let her hair down. It was a much darker shade of red, almost black, down past her shoulders to the small of her back, but the darker red looked good on her.
With the simulators between the two women,(slight frame, same blue eyes) it was obvious that they were related.
Arms folded, she gazed back down at him, her blue eyes brimming with the keen intelligence of experience.
"Kathryn Janeway," she introduced. "I served with your father on the Al-Batarni. I wondered if we can go somewhere and talk?"
It was not really a question, but Paris thrived on making a conflict out of any situation, a Captain or no.
"About what?" His boyish face tipped to look at her as he casually lent back, his voice sounding enticingly difficult.
Kathryn was unruffled by what she saw, but was instantly reminded of another guy she had once know, nearly ten years ago. Pushing those thoughts aside she focused on the job at hand without even the hint of a blink.
"About a job we would like you to do for us."
"I'm already doing a job, for the Federation," he pointed out.
A smile tugged at the corner of her lips, but she did her best to smoother it. "I've been told the Rehab commission is very pleased with your work. They've given me their approval to discuss this matter with you."
"Well then," he gave way, "I guess I'm yours." He looked at other woman and saw two full pips on her collar, a Lieutenant, then.
As they began to walk away through the shade of a great oak tree, the younger woman started the talking. "I'm Counselor Shannon Janeway."
"Sister?"
"My daughter. Your father taught me a great deal," Captain Janeway informed him. "I was the science officer during the Orious expedition."
Paris nodded, raising an eyebrow as he clasped his hands behind his back. The Orious expedition was one expedition that his father had barely mentioned. Then again, that Cardassian concentration camp had taken it out of him. He gazed inquisitively at the Captain at his side. Looking deeply he could see the effect that expedition had had on her, mentally at least, even if she did not actually show the signs physically. Yet for some reason, he could not help wonder if she was holding even more back.
"You must be good," he commented quickly. "My father only accepts the best and the brightest."
Blushing slightly she looked away from his piercing glance. She felt as if he could almost look straight through her, see her inside out.
"I'm leaving on a mission," she started shortly, "to find a Maquis ship that disappeared in the Badlands."
"I wouldn't of I were you." His voice had a casual, but serious tone about it that quickly caught her attention.
"Really!" she replied dryly.
"I've never seen a Federation Star Ship that could manoeuvre through the plasma storms."
A smile came to her lips lighting up her face for a moment, a twinkle in her eyes, as she and her daughter exchanged amused. It was a smile of affection and pride. "You've never seen Voyager," she said simply. Shannon smiled and for a moment Paris was startled at how familiar it was, and yet his never meet her before today.
They continued in silence for the next few paces, the only sounds being those of their shoes on the lush green grass, or the mild humming of the birds in the trees.
"We'd like you to come along." Shannon said.
Crossing his arms, Paris stopped and looked back and forth between them. "You'd like me to lead you to my former colleges?"
The Captain's face held steady, no emotions as she gazed back at him.
"I was only with the Maquis a few weeks before I was captured Captain, I don't know were most of their hiding places are."
"You know the territory better then anyone we've got," she pointed out turning to walk on.
He followed quickly.
"What's so important about this particular Maquis ship?"
Tensing slightly she forced herself to relax. Just tell him the truth. The Starfleet truth!
"My chief of security was on board, undercover. He was supposed to report in twice in the last six days. He didn't!"
Paris shrugged. "Maybe it's just your chief of security who's disappeared."
"Maybe!" she replied wryly. Quickly she looked away before continuing. "That ship was under the command of another former Starfleet Officer, named Chakotay."
Was that his imagination or had he just heard something important in her voice. Something more then just a cat and mouse chase to her. Fondness? Regret, longing maybe? Sadness? What was their connection? He glanced at the Counselor and saw that she too was watching her mother closely, and he had to hold back a smile. So her daughter could see it too, the girl was observant, he made a mental note about that to not give out too much around her. It showed that whatever the connection, whatever the history that was between Kathryn Janeway and Chakotay that Shannon had no idea on what that was and she was as curious as he was. Interesting.
"I understood you knew him."
And I doubt I'm the only one, he thought. "That's right," he said out loud.
"The two of you didn't get along to well I'm told."
She looked at him but did not meet his eyes. I bet you two got on better, he thought.
Stopping again he met her gaze firmly. "Chakotay will tell you he left Starfleet out of principles, to defend his home Colony from the Cardassians. I, on the other hand, was forced to resign. He considered me a mercenary, willing to fight for anyone who would pay my bar bills. The trouble is... he was right." He inhaled slightly, but it was far from a sigh. "I have no problem helping you track down my 'friends' in the Maquis Captain. All I need to know from you is, what's in it for me?"
Kathryn folded her arms, her lips forming a slight smile. "You help us find that ship, we help you at your next out make review." Getting no response she continued. "Officially you'll be a Starfleet observer during the mission."
"Observer?!" Turning away he threw his hand up in the air in mock disgust, but a reaction non the less. "Oh hell I'm the best pilot you could have."
Paris looked at Shannon, she turned and repeated what her mother said.
"You'll be an observer," she repeated firmly. "When it's over you're cut loose."
"The story of my life!" Paris couldn't help but shot back.