Disclaimer:
If I owned the Voyager characters this would be on TV and I would be rich.
Since this is on fanfiction.net and I am a poor musician… You get the idea!
Author's Note: Please review, especially if you reviewed only once like way
back at chapter 2 or something but are still reading this!
Basics Part I
The
young, blue-clad girl sitting on the chrome-colored floor at the foot of her
bed tossed aside the padd she had been studying and rubbed her eyes tiredly.
This is so annoying, she thought, flipping through the spiral notebook
in which she had written everything Kes and Tom had told her about computers,
holoprograms and padds. I spend more time looking up how to GET the
information than I do actually learning anything!
When he had
noticed her writing everything he said down manually, Lt. Paris had offered to
put the information on a padd for her. Emily had rightly told him that if he
did that, she'd spend all the time she meant to spend figuring out the holodeck
figuring out how to get the information she needed out of the padd. She smiled
sourly, remembering how hard he'd laughed at that. It didn't seem very funny
now!
Finally
finding the information she needed in her notes, Emily went back to the padd
with determination. She would, by God, figure this out on her own! She hated
bothering busy crewmembers, especially with stupid things like how to read a
padd used to teach kindergarteners!
Several
long hours later, Emily threw the padd down yet again—this time with a sigh of
relief. She'd read the entire dissonant thing, and once she'd accessed the
information properly, she'd even realized that she knew everything it had to
teach! On to first grade, she thought with no small amount of humor.
Her
stomach growled, reminding her that she had missed lunchtime yet again. I'd
better eat before I do my workout, she decided, stretching her cramped
muscles. Standing up slowly, she waited for the tingling sensation of blood
flowing back into her feet to subside before moving to the replicator and
requesting a sandwich and glass of milk. She shook her head at how few
replicator rations she had left, and resolved to go to the mess hall for
dinner, regardless of what Neelix was serving.
She ate slowly, partly to avoid indigestion and partly to delay the ordeal ahead of her. Mindful of how long she had been sitting, still and tense, in one position, she did some gentle stretches before leaving her quarters and heading to the holodeck. She passed several crewmembers in the halls, receiving curious or puzzled nods in return for her friendly one. Most of the crew was not yet used to her presence on the ship, even after the two weeks she had been onboard.
"Computer,"
she said, as she stepped through the arch onto the holodeck, "activate program Starfleet
Self-Defense Training Level One."
"Hello,
Cadet," the hologram in the Starfleet uniform who appeared said stiffly. "This
is a Starfleet Academy program intended as a tutorial in basic self-defense
techniques for those who need extra practice or review. It should never be used
as a substitute for regular attendance at your scheduled Academy classes. Now
that we've gotten that out of the way," he added, loosening up and looking
directly at her, "shall we begin?"
Emily
giggled. "I wonder if T—uh—Lieutenant Paris could take that silly introduction
out of your program," she said as she followed the hologram into the center of
the room. "In our circumstances, it's really a waste of time."
The
hologram shrugged. "I doubt he could. Official Starfleet Academy programs are
very difficult to tamper with."
"I can
certainly see the logic to that," Emily conceded. "Yes, I know," she added as
his eyes narrowed. "I'm stalling. I guess we'd better get on with it."
"You were
the one who activated me and demanded that I teach you," the hologram reminded
her. "Regardless of the fact that you are not and never will be Starfleet.
Regardless of the fact that you've never in your life done anything more
rigorous than stretches for your delicate little clarinet fingers. You were the
one who decided you needed physical training so you wouldn't be a liability in
the case of an emergency. If you don't want to continue…"
"Were you
programmed with the Doctor's personality subroutines?" Emily snapped, cutting
through her teacher's tirade. "In case your hearing is malfunctioning, I said
let's get on with it!"
The
holographic self-defense coach drew himself up—and smiled. "If you are going to
serve aboard a Starfleet vessel," he said in a deceptively pleasant voice,
"there is one small lesson you should learn immediately. Do not, under any
circumstances, use that tone of voice with a person of higher rank than
yourself. And since everyone aboard this ship with any training at
all—including me—outranks you, I suggest you adopt a more humble attitude. Take
ten laps around the gym to work off that bad attitude."
"Ten
laps!" Emily burst out incredulously. "How do you expect me to get through the
rest of my lesson if I'm out of breath and—"
"Fifteen
laps," the coach amended. "And if you don't want me to make it twenty, you'd
better move. Now."
Emily let
out a loud and rebellious sigh, and moved.
For a
music student who had never even played sports in school, those fifteen laps
around the huge room were grueling. So was the hour of strength and flexibility
building exercises that followed them, and when the hologram began the last
half-hour of instruction in what Emily had dubbed "Official Starfleet Karate,"
she nearly collapsed. When the program ended she was drained and gasping for
breath. She left the holodeck and headed straight for her quarters, reflecting
on how much she hated these thrice-weekly lessons she had imposed on herself,
and wondering how the Starfleet cadets ever endured real training. This time
she didn't even see the people who passed her in the halls.
She shed
her sweaty clothes as soon as she entered her room, and went straight to the
bathroom. "Computer, activate sonic shower."
"Unable
to comply."
"What!
Why not?" the girl demanded crossly.
"Sonic
showers are offline."
"Damn!
Don't you realize that the thought of a shower was all that kept me going that
last half hour?"
"Please
restate request," the computer's emotionless voice replied.
"I wasn't
talking to you," Emily muttered, leaving the bathroom. "The showers WOULD have to
malfunction now of all times." She paused by the replicator. "I don't suppose
it would be possible for you to give me a large bowl of water and some soap,"
she said to it.
"Specify
temperature of water," the computer responded.
"How the
hell would I know?" she demanded. "No don't answer that," she added quickly.
As Emily
stood there rubbing her nose and trying to remember how to convert degrees
Fahrenheit into degrees Celsius, the ship shook just a tiny bit. I wonder if
we're in an asteroid field or something, she thought absently.
"Three
degrees Celsius," she told the computer.
To her
great relief, the soap and water appeared. She carried it to her
dresser—holding it carefully as the ship shook again—and gave herself a very
cold "sponge bath." She grinned a little. That was what her mother had
always called it, anyway. She sighed and attempted to turn her thoughts to
something else. She tried not to think about her family and the world she had
left behind, but these painful memories kept leaking in. The smallest little
thing could trigger them. When she learned something fascinating about the ship
or space, she always saw in her mind her dad's face glowing with fascination as
she explained it to him. When she sat in the mess hall, choking down some concoction
of Neelix's, surrounded by unfamiliar faces, her mind gifted her with memories
of the meals her family had always shared together. When she overheard someone
say something funny she automatically tried to remember it to tell to Trixie.
And the thought of how frantic they must be at the way she had simply vanished
made her frantic too if she dwelt on it for too long.
Realizing
that she was still thinking about her loved ones, Emily resolutely began
reviewing the fourteen million things one had to remember to retrieve
information from a padd. While she was thus engaged, the ship shook again, and
harder this time. Her bowl of water tipped onto the floor, soaking the towel at
her feet. "Damn!" It felt to her raw emotions like a deliberate personal
attack. She stalked to the replicator, heedless of the fact that she was using
up the last of her rations for the week, and shouted furiously, "Give me a
towel!"
"Unable
to comply," the computer sneered.
"Why the
hell not?"
"Replicators
are off-line."
"Great,"
Emily muttered. Grabbing her pajamas from underneath her pillow, she dried
herself off as best she could and changed into a fresh pair of clothes. As she
sat on the edge of her bed tying her shoes, the ship jolted again. If she had
been on her feet, she would have fallen.
I
wonder what's going on? she thought, a chill of fear replacing her irritation as her
memory supplied her with pictures of all those hair- raising battles in space
that had been so entertaining on TV. Remembering that there were windows in the
mess hall, she quickly tied her remaining shoe and left her quarters, steadying
herself against the doorframe as another jolt hit the ship. If there was
something out there hitting them, at least she might be able to see it.
The mess
hall was crowded. Apparently, most of the off-duty officers had had the same
idea as Emily. The windows were blocked by a row of people in red, green and
yellow Starfleet uniforms.
"Ah!
Emily! Would you perhaps care for something to eat?"
"I'm not
really hungry, Neelix," she told the exuberant Talaxian. "Do you know what's
going on? What was the shaking?"
"I'm told
that it was just a few minor attacks by Kazon ships. Nothing Voyager couldn't
handle. Now really, you should eat. Just a taste of my Laurelian pudding?"
Emily's
reply in the negative was drowned out by a collective shout from the officers
at the windows. Captain Janeway's voice sounded over the com system: "Red
Alert! Battle Stations!"
Almost at
once the mess hall was empty. All the officers seemed to know exactly where to
go. Kes, who had been stirring something on the stove, gave Neelix a quick
kiss, murmuring, "I'll be in Sickbay."
Emily was
left with Neelix, both of them staring out the windows at the Kazon ships that
seemed to be surrounding their own. She could feel the blood draining from her
face. One of the ships fired. The yellow beam arched toward them, and the ship
rocked violently. Emily fell down and inadvertently rolled under a table. She
picked herself up carefully, favoring her right wrist and hoping it wasn't
sprained. Neelix was leaning against the counter, rubbing his shoulder.
"Wh—"
Emily's voice wouldn't answer to her command. She cleared her throat and tried
again. "Where do non-combatants go during a Red Alert?" she managed.
"They
always tell me to stay at my post," the Talaxian told her nervously.
"I—don't
have a post," she reminded him.
"Then
you'd probably better go to your quarters," he said.
Emily
nodded, and turned away. She managed to get to her quarters, despite the
bucking and rolling of a ship under fire, and curled up on her bed, trembling,
trying to remember all the times the Kazon had attacked the ship and wondering
which time this was.
Several
minutes later, an enormous explosion sounded from within the ship. The lights
went out. Her bed jolted and tipped her out onto the floor. She tried to get
up, but her legs didn't seem to want to hold her. The ship pitched again and
she slid into a corner of the room. Somewhere nearby she could hear the
crackling of fire.
She
didn't know how long she laid there, eyes tightly shut, mind gibbering in panic
as the ship lurched around wildly and sounds of explosions came from different
directions. Finally the explosions stopped, and the ship grew still. Emily
opened her eyes warily, only then noticing that they were leaking tears. She
uncurled and sat up gingerly, wondering if it was over. As she looked numbly
around at the wreckage of her room, heavy footsteps sounded in the hall
outside. The crash of doors being broken open was followed by shouts of fear
and outrage, phaser fire, and low male voices grating out harsh commands. Oh,
God, we've been boarded! The thought flashed through her dazed mind in the
split second before the door to her quarters burst open, and a cruel Kazon face
glared down at her.
"Come
with me!" he yelled, gesturing with his weapon. "Move!"
Emily
tried, but her knees buckled and she fell to the floor at his feet. The warrior
grunted in disgust, grabbed her carelessly by the arm, yanked her to her feet
and pushed her out the door before him. She caught a confused view of halls and
turbolift, then, as the Kazon opened the door to what looked like a cargo bay
she saw a crowd of sober-faced Starfleet officers. Her captor shoved her
inside. She fell again as soon as he let go of her, twisting her injured wrist
painfully.
"There's
the last of them," she heard the Kazon who had brought her say to a comrade.
"We're ready now." The door swooshed shut as he left.
Gentle
hands reached down to pull her to her feet, and she tried to help them in that
endeavor by forcing her legs to support her weight. Emily looked up into the
concerned and semi-familiar faces of two ensigns, a man and a young woman, and
tried to thank them for their help, but her voice wouldn't work.
"Are you all right?" the woman asked.
She
nodded, aware that her face was tear-streaked, and that she was trembling with
fear. She looked around. On the far side of the room the Captain stood quietly
with her senior staff, Neelix and Kes close by. Everyone else stood in random
groupings around the room. No one looked afraid, though Emily knew they all
must be. Shamed, she wiped her treacherous eyes on her sleeve, ignored the pain
in her wrist, and stood straighter, trying to emulate the calm the others
displayed. She didn't notice that Ensign Kaplan, the young woman next to her,
smiled faintly with both amusement and approbation.
Suddenly
the room was enveloped momentarily in a grey fog. When her surroundings were
visible again, she and the rest of the crew of Voyager were standing in the hot
sun of a desert planet. Wary Kazon warriors with big guns surrounded them,
watching them closely. The Kazon who, she realized, must be Maje Cullah
approached the Captain, and from where she stood, Emily could just barely make
out the words he spat at her.
"A fitting end for a people who would not share their technology. Let's see if you manage to survive without it."
