Title: Kes is Dead (Part 9)
Series: Star Trek: Voyager
Author: Singing Violin
Rating: K+
Disclaimer: TPTB own them, but they didn't do what I wanted with them, so I'm borrowing them for a bit. I'll give them back when I'm done.
Feedback: Yes please.
Archiving: Anywhere.

After touring the major areas of the ship that were undergoing repairs, trying her best to encourage all her former crewmen, Admiral Janeway returned to Engineering, where she found B'Elanna Torres hunched over a large, unfamiliar-looking metal structure.

"B'Elanna," she uttered quietly, not wanting to startle the Klingon, who appeared to be deep in concentration. The engineer looked up. "We've got impulse and warp engines now, but I'm still working on the cloak. What can I do for you, Admiral?" she asked, coolly.

"Actually," Kathryn answered, "I was wondering what I could do for you. Can I help?"

A slight smile flickered across B'Elanna's face, and she sighed. "Well, I do need someone to go into the Jefferies tubes and reroute power to the phase couplings. This thing's a monster." Then, cringing, "I know it's not, well...you know, but my people are all busy with the other systems..." She felt sheepish asking the admiral to do something so mundane, but knew that Janeway had the relevant expertise, plus, especially in case the thing didn't work, she didn't want to spread rumors about their new feature.

Kathryn nodded, looking worried. "Of course. Let me see the schematic." Then, as she studied the specs, "will this work?"

B'Elanna nodded. "It should. If I can just get these phases to line up..." Then, intrigued by something she saw, she returned to fiddling with the metal object. Janeway then left her, walked to the nearest access panel, removed it, and entered the tubes.

While she was working on the circuitry, she mulled over the information she had. Why was that ship flying so close to Breen space? What had they found? The only clue was a cryptic audio-only log from Harry before they'd disappeared.

Acting Captain's Log, Stardate Unknown,

After completing our survey of the Galaktan System, we were attacked. The captain and first officer are dead, along with twenty-seven other crewmen. We've lost life support, and it's uncertain how much longer we can survive. We're going to have to land on the nearest planet, which we are currently moving towards at half-impulse, but without sensors, we can't tell even what class of planet it is, let alone whether it is inhabited. Our other mission turned up some interesting results. I have reason to believe that an old enemy is here, working with the Breen. I can't say any more than that; it would just be speculation, and the implications if I'm right may be disastrous for the Federation. Lieutenant Commander Harry Kim out.

Who could this "old enemy" be? The Cardassians and Romulans were as weakened from the war as the Federation, and she couldn't imagine that the Klingons would trust the Breen. What was it the Emperor had called them? Dishonorable Targs?

She could think of someone she might be calling a dishonorable targ right now...

Stop, Kathryn. She willed herself not to think about it, but the image of her former first officer locked in a passionate embrace with her protégé was etched in her memory. She told herself that she had no right to interfere, that this was their business, but her heart disagreed.

Before she could stop it, she felt a knot in her throat and her eyes began to sting. Soon afterwards, she became aware of wetness dribbling down her cheeks. Oh god, not now. She stuffed her fist in her mouth to muffle a sob that came rising up out of her, unbidden and unwelcome. Fine admiral I am, she thought, hiding in a Jefferies tube, weeping like a jilted lover. Deeply ashamed but unable to stop herself, she dropped her tool, curled into a ball, and quietly cried until the beep of her communicator summoned her out of her sorrow.

"Torres to Janeway," she heard. Coughing, she tried to calm her voice, even as tears were still coursing down her face. After a moment, she tapped her communicator.

"Janeway here." Oh god, what was it I was supposed to be doing? Rerouting the power. Yes, I've finished that. "I've rerouted power. What have you got?" She knew her voice sounded huskier than usual, but prayed that B'Elanna wouldn't notice.

"We've got all the necessary systems to get out of here, when you're ready," answered the engineer. "Plus, the memorial's scheduled to end in ten minutes."

Calm yourself, Kathryn. "Acknowledged," replied the admiral. She was going to have to compose herself before appearing on the bridge. "Janeway out."

Employing her best meditation techniques while wiping her eyes, hoping that the evidence of her loss of control wouldn't be too apparent, she tapped her communicator again and, one by one, summoned the bridge crew while crawling quickly out of the access tunnels.

When she arrived on the bridge, having taken a circuitous route in order to stop at a vacant crew quarters, splash water on her face, and check her appearance in a mirror, all her former bridge crew were already at their stations. They stood when she entered, and Chakotay announced, "Admiral on the bridge."

Ignoring the constricting of her throat, she made her way to the familiar captain's chair and sat down. Chakotay sat down at her side, eyeing her with concern, but she refused to look at him.

"Mister Paris," she asked, "have you ever taken a ship into warp straight out of dry dock?"

"No, ma'am," he replied, "but I can do it." He typed in some commands.

"Good," she said. "Maximum warp. Engage."

She felt the familiar sensation of going to warp, and touched the edge of her chair tenderly, caressing it like an old lover with whom she'd been recently reunited. An apt comparison, she thought, I wish it were enough.

"How long before we enter Breen space?" she asked.

"At current speed and heading, two hundred sixty-seven hours and forty-three minutes," Tuvok replied.

"We're going to need to periodically change course and speed to keep the Feds off our tail," chimed in Paris.

"And I take it you can take care of that?" Janeway asked her helmsman.

"Yes, ma'am," he stated confidently.

"I'll be in my ready room," she said, rising from her chair and approaching the doors. But before the doors opened, she turned back to Paris, and queried, "Feds?"

He blushed a bit. "Just an old Maquis nickname."