Disclaimer: The Oncaveat and the Jehnz-yi are mine…but the really good characters still belong to Paramount.

Chapter Rating: T…plus. Tread carefully if you are at all sensitive to blood or references of violence, please.

Notes: HUGE thank you to Cheshire for her patient help and all the strategic advice.

Chapter Fourteen

Part I

At his station, which was situated just at the beginning of the corridor leading to the individual prison cells, a lone Jehnz-yin soldier sat slumped over his desk. His broad chest did not move rhythmically up and down. He was completely still. A puddle of dark liquid spread out below him on the desktop, saturating the part of his face pressing there. The puddle no longer grew in size, but it had spilled over the edge of the furniture and dripped its way onto the floor, creating another pool of the same dark liquid between his stationary feet. Had the soldier's face been visible, it would have reflected that an expression of utter surprise was forever frozen upon his features.

The pilot stood over the soldier for a moment, breathing heavily. His hand – which still held the bloody murder weapon – was shaking. After a moment's pause, the pilot used the shoulder of the victim's tunic to wipe off the dark purple liquid staining the blade before tucking the weapon back into his own pocket.

The Oncaveat had huddled together, motionless throughout the entire act. Now, the second and youngest man spoke up through his freshly bruised mouth. "Take his weapon, too," he directed quietly. "We'll need as many as we can carry to make it out of here alive."

The pilot stopped in mid-turn, having been taken by surprise at the suggestion, but quickly saw the logic in it. He snatched the soldier's weapon from its holster, muttering something in Oncaveat about not trusting priests capable of giving sound, strategic tactical advice.

The massive tension relieved, at least for the moment, the second man grinned from ear to ear. "The same can be said for senators who can so convincingly abuse their followers."

The first Oncaveat in the line wheezed into quiet laughter. His grey-furred chest shook with amusement, and he regarded the pilot with admiration shining clearly in his brown eyes. "Quite sadistic you were with those boots, yes, you wonderfully clever girl!" Though excited, his voice was a hushed whisper like the others'. The danger hadn't yet passed, somewhere, there were still guards patrolling the corridors that lay ahead of them. "I always knew you were bright, but…stars, I never imagined this would work so beautifully. I thought we were finished for certain until you came back at him with that answer!"

The fourth prisoner stepped free of his shackles, handing the key to the next in line. A grin on his face, too, he added his opinion to the conversation, "'Didn't last long', indeed! Sheer brilliance!"

The third Oncaveat prisoner, a wizened white-furred old man, bent down to remove his chains with some difficulty as the pilot tossed the stolen weapon at the second man in the line. He caught it in his already freed hands before turning to aid his elderly companion. The pilot watched them all, reaching up and tugging at his helmet. It came off in one pull, spilling a shroud of long, milky white hair over the shoulders of the pilot's uniform, and a quiet, feminine laugh echoed throughout the corridor. "Surprised myself with that one."

Senator Acor pulled at the thick scarves that had been holding the large pilot's helmet in place. Her hands were shaking. The smile had already faded from her tawny, faintly scarred face. "I'd like to say you shouldn't have doubted me, but I was worried, too, believe me." She frowned. "Lucky I remembered that line at the last minute…"

Silence fell among the four as they witnessed the uncharacteristic doubts play across their leader's face. The momentary elation of having succeeded in the first phase of their plan had passed, and the real, precarious nature of their mission's success set in with a vengeance. The three older men pointedly averted their eyes in an effort to allow her to collect herself. Yurros stepped forward to take her free hand, which was fluttering near her neck as she compulsively twisted the end of one of the thick grey scarves without realizing it. At his touch, she stilled and met his warm eyes questioningly.

You knew this would be difficult, he told her, speaking telepathically in order to spare her further embarrassment in front of her tribesmen.

For just a brief moment, she was unguarded. She was honest with him. None of us have ever done anything like this…it's a miracle we've made it this far. I nearly killed myself escaping from a place like this once. One simple remark from that pig, and I froze up…

You hesitated, he corrected firmly.

Her eyes flashed anger at him. We almost died because I hesitated! What if that happens again? I'm not fit to lead this mission.

Yurros regarded his leader with a grave expression. That isn't true; you may not have infiltrated an enemy camp before today, but you are the only known Oncaveat in our history to have escaped from one, he reminded her.

That was sheer blind luck! We took too long in getting here…even if we can find her in this maze of cells, we can't get her out in time to use the rift. I don't know what I was thinking bringing us here in the first place!

He was neither cowed nor afraid that she was going to fall apart. So long as she focused upon her anger and her never-ending sense of duty to her people, he was confident that she would weather this storm, as she had all others. The priest was only glad that she was allowing him in at all. With a wry smile he was thankful she couldn't see, he reflected that it was when she stopped yelling at him that he would worry. He took her well-padded shoulders, and drew her forward into his embrace despite her stiff resistance. We are here because you could not in conscience stand by and do nothing while the first friend we have had in centuries suffers on our behalf. We may be too late to open the rift this year, but we cannot take the chance that he could still manage to get there. We must do all that we can to ensure that General Xi does not get his hands on the information she possesses.

He'd fed her own argument back to her. Those were the exact words she'd used to justify her unilateral decision to make the rescue attempt on behalf of the entire Oncaveat race in the first place. Recognizing them, she relaxed into him with a small smile of admiration. We could die, she reminded him. Say what you will, but it was pure good fortune that we got in at all.

Yes, he admitted. But now that we have, we must press forward. Each of us is ready to die if it means the chance of safeguarding our people. As you are.

A moment passed, and Yurros could feel her mustering her fantastic resolve. She stepped back from him and he let her without protest. "There isn't time for this." She spoke aloud, more to herself than to him. Squaring her small shoulders, she bent to retrieve the stifling helmetthat would conceal her identity and put it back on. "Someone will come looking for him eventually and discover what we've done. We have to move."

And with one deep, steadying breath, she moved forward into the adjoining corridor, leading the way for the rest of them.

They followed without hesitation.

Part II

He'd given her two hours, initially. That was the longest he'd have bet on her being able to withstand his widely renowned skills of persuasion.

She'd somehow blundered her way into breaching the security of his most prized facility and she'd snatched two of his newest playthings right out from under his nose. In the process, she'd managed to both draw the attention of his meddlesome, half-breed son and to embarrass Xi in front of him. He'd resolved to make her pay for that…slowly and excruciatingly.

He'd hated Janeway on sight. At first glance, he'd been grudgingly admiring of her sheer audacity – almost as much as he'd been incensed by it. He found her unwarranted arrogance personally insulting. The confidence was etched plainly on her smooth alien face, despite the fact that she was of a lesser race…despite the fact that she was worse, a woman… She'd stood before him, unafraid – as though she truly mistook herself for his equal.

He'd never tortured a woman for information before. That wasn't to say he hadn't tortured them…when they were available. He'd broken plenty of them down for the sake of his own personal amusement. But as far as interrogation went, he'd only had experience with Oncaveat scum and enemies of the state; they were all he was usually given to break…day after day, year after year. And he'd always been successful in that endeavor. He'd had no reason to doubt his success with Janeway. How could any woman, weak as they were, subservient as it was in their nature to be, hold up under his mighty wrath when so many of his own soldiers cowered before him like dogs? He'd given her two hours, and he'd thought himself being generous at that. Had he not been forbidden to disfigure her permanently, he'd have given her even less time before she gave in.

He'd laughed at her. He'd taken one thorough, hard look at her frail body, and in his mind she was as good as broken even before he ordered her strung up to the posts. He'd known he wouldn't have very long to wait before her prideful quips would turn into pleas for mercy that would echo throughout his main interrogation chamber. He thrived on the power of holding his victim's life in his hands and in watching the cold, hope-destroying realization set in that relief wasn't going to be forthcoming…

He'd given the human captain two hours…and twelve had passed. Garan had gone from raging impotence to fury and back again. With every moment that passed, he'd seen the glory of finally breaking an Oncaveat facilitator and accessing the lush planes of Unani territory slipping from his grasp. In the last hour, he'd had to completely resign himself to the unpalatable fact that this strange female had managed to thwart his plans.

She'd proven him wrong on all counts. The fury he'd experienced as she continued to hold out even when the pain had her lapsing into sullen silence had driven him onward to escalating heights. He'd expressed his rage with a vengeance, using her pale body as an outlet for expelling his anger until he'd finally had to admit that his usual methods were not going to be successful. And as his rage finally faded into grim acceptance, his hatred for her only escalated.

This had become personal, now. It no longer had anything to do with the information she possessed. This was about breaking her…proving to her, to himself, to everyone watching that he was in fact superior. He would prove that to her very shortly, and he knew just how to do it. It would be simple; he was a fool to have waited so long in the first place. Of course he was superior. Now, before she finally bled out all over the stone floors of his interrogation chamber, he would show her how ridiculous it was to pretend otherwise…in ways she couldn't possibly dispute.

She'd given him little tastes of victory…small, tiny glimpses into what it would feel like when he finally managed to crush her prideful spirit entirely. He'd made her scream out in pain, even when she'd bitten down so hard on her own lips that she drew blood in an effort to contain her outbursts. It had pleased him, until he realized that her occasional cries and sporadic screams were involuntary: a direct physical response to specific stimuli. Her odd eyes were devoid of the despair and the acknowledgement of defeat he so yearned to see…

Never had she given him the benefit of seeing her insufferably proud resolve waver. Not once had she pled for her life, or asked him to stop. Janeway had held onto her dignity, and throughout it all, she still managed to make her contempt for him known through the heat of her glare. It had baffled him, for a long while, and Xi had been sent scrambling to come up with a way to break her. He'd tried using her crew, to which she was so obviously sentimentally attached. He'd lied to her, painted gruesome tales of having captured her vessel. He'd gone into elaborate and painstaking detail in describing what lay in store for each of her individual followers. Using details of the few he'd personally observed from the initial communications with the ship, he'd tried to convince her that he had them all in custody. But she hadn't believed him, and he'd been forced to assume that the humans, like the Oncaveat, had some telepathic bond with one another that was still allowing her to communicate with them…

Twelve hours later, he'd finally found the key to breaking her. Ironically, it was the sheer humiliation that she hid most poorly. Try as she undoubtedly had, Janeway couldn't help visibly recoiling from his personal, intentionally cruel explorations of her alien skin. It had taken this long to realize that what he'd intended to save for after she'd been broken…what he'd intended to be a final insult added to injury...might have been the key to breaking her after all. Ironically, it would be the insult which defeated her, and not the injury.

He stared at her. All in all, he was pleased with his handiwork. She didn't have long left now. There was no questioning that her small, battered body was going to give out soon. And though the thought of it brought him great comfort, it wasn't enough. He had to break her down completely before she drew her last, cursed breath…he could not stomach anything less.

She sagged, lifeless as her body relaxed the brief fraction allowed by her bindings. Xi moved forward, deliberately scratching the tip of his index claw along the edge of an open whip mark across her chest. He heard her sharp intake of breath and smiled. She was close. So close. He could feel it. This was the longest respite he'd afforded her yet, but the general wanted to give her time to allow her mind to work against her…to allow the words, the promises he'd begun to whisper into her ear to fully sink in. Again he noted how she couldn't contain her slight shudders of obvious revulsion. It was only in the last minute or so that she had begun refusing to meet his eyes, and that pleased him immensely.

He could have ordered one of his men to relinquish his knife for the task of cutting her down, but he opted not to. These four had served him faithfully. He would not deny them the trophies they'd each collected along their standard issued weapons: the traces of her alien blood leftover from the incisions each blade had caused. She was the first of her race to be claimed by the Jehnz-yin military (or so the official record would reflect), and a supposed leader of her clan. Her blood would fetch an enormous value on the open market. No, he would deny his men their well earned compensation. Not when the wait was so obviously helping him to wear down her defenses at last…

With growing anticipation, he waited patiently for the requested blade to be produced. He placed his oiled, clawed hands on either side of her scarred waist and smiled at the way she was now deliberately keeping her gaze focused anywhere but upon him. He continued whispering, knowing it wouldn't be long before he tasted victory.