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."