Chapter 2

Transporter Room, Subterranean Maquis Base on Panora II, Moriya System, Terikof Belt

Valen Lojal, the young Bajoran man in charge of the transporter room, allowed himself a self-satisfied grin as he tapped his combadge.

"Lojal to Chakotay."

"Go ahead, Lojal!"

"The transport has been successful. They should all be unconscious by now."

Lojal was pleased to give his captain the good news. Chakotay's plan had been truly ingenious. He would be happy to hear of its success.

"Good work, Lojal. Beam the away team to the Starfleet vessel."

Chakotay sat smiling at the desk in his quarters. His plan was working out very well. To tell the truth, it had not been his plan alone. B'Elanna Torres, his extremely talented Human-Klingon engineer, had had a lot to do with it. She may have quite a temper, but when it came to her job, she really knew what she was doing.

During the past year he and B'Elanna had become very close, like brother and sister. He could not begin to imagine what his new life in the Maquis would have been like without her. When he had left Starfleet to join the Maquis, after his father's death a year ago, he had left all his friends, as well as his family behind. He could not risk contacting his brothers for fear of incriminating them, as well as for the risk of being tracked down by the authorities, -- both Cardassian and Federation.

As for his friends, they had all been Starfleet. Some of them were now secretly supplying him with weapons, ships, food and medicine at no small risk to themselves, but a great number of them had ostracized him after he had joined the Maquis.

B'Elanna had always been an outsider. Being half Human and half Klingon, she had never really been able to conform to either culture. Her human father had left her and her mother when she was only five years old, and her Klingon mother had always made it clear that she wanted her daughter to grow up to be a full Klingon. Thus B'Elanna felt at odds with both parts of her heritage, a state of mind which caused her a great deal of frustration and confusion. Her mother had never attempted to understand her dilemma. Instead of hugs, she got countless tales of great Klingon warriors, stories of their bravery, their pride and their struggles to overcome impossible hurdles and hardships.

With a father who had left her, a mother who did not understand her, and virtually no friends, she was as alone in the world as Chakotay.

 
Both being lonely, they had become family to each other. But she was also extremely valuable to Chakotay on a professional basis. Her ingenuity in engineering matters had been the key to creating this hideout. Chakotay often found himself thinking, how foolish Starfleet Academy had been to let her go.

The Maquis had found an ancient, deserted and long forgotten Cardassian ore mine on an asteroid orbiting Panora II, and had transformed it into a unique safe haven. The base on Panora II had already had several natural advantages: the planet was situated in the Terikof Belt, a relatively unknown region of space, separated from the Federation and the Cardassians by the Badlands. Not many ships ever came here, and if they did, no one suspected any life here since Panora II and the asteroid were both Class-K -- basically a large rocks in space. The risk of detection was minimal.

B'Elanna had transformed the ancient mine into a high tech base. She had worked miracles with the sometimes decades old technology the Maquis had at their disposal. Now they had two docking bays, a transporter room, a brig, replicators, a small fleet of -- admittedly severely outdated -- ships and an atmospheric control system that made it possible to live in the base without the need to wear environmental suits. The natural atmosphere on Panora II and its asteroid could not sustain humanoid life, since it contained neither oxygen nor nitrogen in its gas mixture and temperatures on the surface were way below freezing. However, the jewel in the crown of B'Elanna's achievements had undoubtedly been a revolutionary shielding system that made it impossible to detect the base from the outside. No known sensor technology was sophisticated enough to penetrate it.

Chakotay's thoughts returned to the present. B'Elanna would be beaming to the vessel with the away team now, together with Seska, Chakotay's Bajoran ex-lover.

Seska had been the first one to join his cell. On that day, she had told about the slaughter of her family at the hand of Cardassians during their occupation of Bajor. She wanted nothing more than pay them back for the atrocities they had committed.

Chakotay had then shared with her the tragic story of the destruction of his village, again at the hands of the Cardassians. In their mutual grief they had found comfort in each other, but Chakotay had soon realized that the relationship could not continue when she began to disobey and circumvent his orders. Her behavior had forced him to end their relationship, and although he had never really been in love with her, he often missed the comfort she had provided him with.

Seska still continued her efforts to seduce him on numerous occasions, and he knew that she did not accept that their relationship had ended, but as hard as it sometimes was, he would not give into her again. He needed to preserve a clear leadership position among his cell, and Seska had already weakened it once before.

He would not return to that situation.

Seska and B'Elanna were similar in temper and had soon become close friends, although Seska had initially been jealous of the bond between her ex-lover and the half Klingon. He could swear that he could still see her tense, every time he was with B'Elanna. Seska also was a decent engineer, and most of the time she did her work well.

She was ruthless in her battle against the Cardassians -- a little too ruthless sometimes, for Chakotay's taste. He had always had a great amount of respect for all life, and the deaths he had been directly and indirectly responsible for lay heavy on his conscience.

Seska, on the other hand, seemed to relish in the killings. It made no difference to her whether the people she killed were Cardassian or Federation. Chakotay's orders had always been to simply disable enemy ships and to keep bloodshed to a minimum, but she had repeatedly ignored his orders.

At one point he had almost thrown her out of the cell, when she had deliberately destroyed a helpless Federation runabout, taking the lives of five innocent Starfleet officers. That had been the final straw. Many times he had tried to rationalize with her, had told her that she was lowering herself to the level of their Cardassian foe, but she had simply shrugged off his comment and countered that they had to beat the enemy at their own game.

Chakotay had disagreed and told her to obey his orders or leave the cell. This time though, he had been furious, leaving her with the warning that if she were ever to fire on a helpless vessel again, he would personally see that she was delivered into the hands of the enemy, and he made it clear that he did not mean the Federation.

Apparently his threats had had quite an impact on her. Although Seska had continued to show her violent nature actively and often needlessly in battle, she had not fired on any helpless vessels again. Even if she was only obeying his orders to save her own skin, he infinitely preferred it to more unnecessary bloodshed.

Yet the fact remained that she was a cold and calculating woman. She did her job well, but did not care about any of the people around her, neither enemy nor friend. Perhaps the way life had treated her had made her the way she was -- he could not tell. But her violent nature had cost him many a night's sleep. Sometimes he wished he had gotten rid off her when she had destroyed the runabout. She was a constant worry to him. She was uncontrollably ruthless, and that scared the hell out of him.

Chakotay shook his head to banish the thoughts, which had forced themselves into his mind. Rising from the position at his desk, he began to pace his quarters, which had originally been the residence of the Cardassian gul -- the former commanding officer of this long-deserted and long-forgotten labor camp. Apparently the Cardassians had lost interest in the asteroid after they had bled it dry of its resources, and there didn't seem to be any records of the base anywhere, which of course worked to the Maquis' advantage.

The apartment was quite large and consisted of several rooms -- the word 'feudal' came to mind. There was even a luxury bathroom with a shower, and a bathtub big enough to accommodate an army. The taps were made of ore and still shone brightly -- a typical display of Cardassian decadence. Chakotay had covered the smooth stonewalls with traditional hangings of his people.

On his departure, more than half a millennium ago, the gul had left all his furnishings behind. It was extremely luxurious.

The bedroom was the quintessential epitome of extravagance. Chakotay's bed was large enough to serve at least two people most comfortably. A profligate bordeaux canopy, made of a heavy velvety material, hung over its four posts. The mattress was five times as thick as a standard Starfleet issue, not to mention the incredibly fluffy pillows and that ocean of a duvet.

The wardrobe could have accommodated all the clothes of all the members of Chakotay's cell at the same time, and still a few more after that, and one of the bedroom walls was covered entirely with an elaborately framed mirror.

The place had the look of a grand European palace of the 18th or 19th century. The floor throughout his quarters was covered in a plush bordeaux carpet, apart from the bathroom. There an intricate mosaic of precious stones adorned the ground.

The centerpiece of the dining room was undoubtedly the magnificent crystal chandelier that gracefully hung over a costly ebony table and six extremely comfortable matching chairs. Several tall splendid glass door cabinets, that had no doubt once exhibited the former inhabitant's trophies and treasures, graced the walls of the lounge room, and in the center stood an ebony coffee table surrounded by a luxury couch and two extremely comfortable arm chairs. The splendor of the interior design was completely and utterly opposed to Chakotay's simple and modest, sometimes even desperate lifestyle in the Maquis.

He sunk into one of the lavish armchairs and rubbed his chin in thought. It was turning out to be quite a day. Their sensor system had picked up the Starfleet vessel when it had passed one of their probes in the Badlands.

If B'Elanna's original analysis was to be believed, it was a completely new ship -- a prototype. The Maquis rarely acquired something brand new. Most of their equipment, including their spacecrafts, was decades old. It was a miracle that they managed to make do with the junk they had at their disposal. A lot of it was salvage, some of it was outdated technology that sympathizers in Starfleet had managed to get to them, and some of it was stolen. This Starfleet vessel was quite a catch.

The away team had beamed to the ship in environmental suits, as a protection against the neural toxin the cylinders had contained. They had beamed up eight of them, one for every two decks. Now the away team would vent the gas from the vessel and land it in the larger one of their two secret underground docking stations. He had given orders for the ship's Starfleet crew to be taken to the structure that served the Maquis as a brig. Once they had been treated with an antidote to neutralize the neural toxin they would all be interrogated, one by one. Chakotay would oversee the questioning of the senior officers personally. He could not help wondering if there were going to be any familiar faces among the crew from his time with Starfleet.

"Away team to Chakotay" a female voice came over the comm-link.

There was a glint of excitement and expectation in his eyes when he straightened a little and answered,

"Go ahead, B'Elanna!"

"We have landed the ship and are now transporting the crew to the brig."

"Well done! I'll be there in a minute. Chakotay out."

He surged out of the comfortable chair and almost sprinted towards the door, a newly found vigor evident in his step. For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, Chakotay smiled as he left his quarters.

Quickly he strode through the labyrinth of the dimly lit and endlessly winding underground tunnels of the ancient mine. The walls of the tunnels were covered in centuries old layers of limestone, and the sound of small drops of water that continuously dripped from the ceilings of the less traveled deeper tunnels lend the place an eerie ambience. Minutes later he reached what had been the cells of prisoners who had been forced to work in this mine by the Cardassians centuries ago. Dozens of the small dark cells lined a corridor on either site. The original bars, which had been rendered useless due to the ever-present corroding moisture, had been replaced with more efficient forcefields. Chakotay reached the brig just in time to see the last one go up on a cell at the very end of the corridor. Lojal, who stood there, gestured for Chakotay to join him.

"Good work, Lojal! Have you isolated the senior officers from the rest of the crew?"

"Yes, that's why I asked you to come over here. Take a look at the captain, Chakotay. There is something you might like to know."

Lojal had trouble suppressing a smug grin as he pointed at the interior of the cell in front of them.

Chakotay's curiosity was peaked. He stepped towards the barely lit cell, its only source of light being the faint shimmer of the old torches that illuminated the corridor in which the guards stood duty. Chakotay strained his eyes to look through the forcefield into the cell. Squinting, he could barely make out the form of a small and slender body clad in Starfleet command colors, which was slumped in the center of the cold, moist floor. A chignon of auburn hair reflected the few dull rays of light that had managed to pierce the darkness of the cell's interior. What was he looking at? A woman? The cell was just too dim to tell. Frowning he ordered,

"Lojal, release the forcefield!"

Chakotay stepped into the cell and knelt next to the figure on the ground. Closer up the body looked even smaller. Now he could definitely make out auburn hair, artfully restrained in an elaborate twist. A few strands of hair had escaped their confinement, softly surrounding the graceful features of a beautiful feminine face.

The Maquis captain was stunned. Somehow he had not expected Starfleet to send a woman after the Maquis, and there was no doubt in his mind that her mission had been to capture them. Stories of killings, torture and rape were a daily reality in the DMZ. He was surprised that a woman possessed the courage and madness to take on such a suicide mission. Of course, being a Starfleet captain, danger was part of the job, but he found it rather careless of Starfleet Central Command to send a woman into this hellhole, when there would have been several equally well-distinguished male contenders for the mission. Chakotay could not help feeling a little protective toward women, despite the fact that he regarded them as equals. Within his cell he always made sure that the women were given the least hazardous tasks. Usually they appreciated it, apart from Seska, of course.

He had seen what the Cardassians could do to a female, and it was not a pretty sight. They delighted even more in humiliating and torturing women than men. When it came to dealing with female prisoners, rape was always on the agenda. It was the most perfect form of torture. It not only completely subdued and humiliated the prisoner, but it also provided the captor with sexual satisfaction.

Unfortunately, this was also true of some sections of the Maquis, even within his own cell, as much as he hated to admit it.

She must be very good to command a ship like that, he thought. Moving his hand to her cheek to sweep a stray strand of hair out of her face, he was startled as his hand touched ice. As opposed to her crew, the captain had not been administered the antidote yet. He himself had given the orders for the most senior officer to be treated last, so that he could use his weakness to advantage during the planned interrogation. But in his mind he had always imagined the Starfleet captain to be a man. Had he known it was a woman, he would not have given those orders, as the specific neural toxin they had used was particularly harsh on the female physiology.

Chakotay was getting worried. The brig was not heated and he did not want her to die of hypothermia -- he had already been responsible for too many unnecessary deaths. He took her wrist into his hand to check her pulse and felt nothing. In a surge of panic, his fingers clenched tightly around the slender wrist. Then, for an instant, he thought he detected a very faint and slow beat underneath his own pounding pulse. He knew that if there were still a small chance that she could be saved, he would have to act fast; so he made a rather impulsive decision.

Without another thought Chakotay lifted her up into his arms and carried her out of the cell.

"I'll take her to my quarters, Lojal. She's suffering from hypothermia. We may have left it a little too long with the antidote."

Lojal took in the concerned expression on his captain's face and nodded.

"You'll need this!" he said, as he slid a hypospray into Chakotay's pocket.

Secretly the young Bajoran wondered what Seska's reaction would be when she discovered that her lover had taken the beautiful Starfleet captain to his quarters. She would be raging...

With ease Chakotay carried the unconscious woman through the twilight of the old mining tunnels to his quarters, surprised at how little she weighed. Once in his quarters he took her to the sleeping area and gently placed her onto his bed, positioning a pillow under her head for added comfort. He knew she would have a bad headache when she woke -- only one of many side effects of the toxin. Next he took off her heavy Starfleet issue boots and spread the duvet over her prone form, before sitting down next to her on the bed.

Her lips were purple, and she was as pale as a sheet. All the dreaded signs of hypothermia were present. He took her wrist again and allowed himself to relax when he felt her pulse growing stronger and steadier.

A smile lit up his eyes as he finally allowed himself to take a good long look at her. She could be no more than 5'5'' tall. He thought her to be in her late thirties, pretty much the same age as he -- well, maybe a little younger. High cheekbones defined her face, and by the way her chin pointed he could imagine how the ensigns she commanded would be awed simply by her presence. Certainly, she was an opponent to be reckoned with.

Despite the hypothermia she looked so peaceful in her unconscious state. He knew her expression would change drastically as soon as she awoke. His gaze traveled down her graceful neck and came to rest on the four pips attached to her blue turtleneck, indeed identifying her as the captain of the impressive vessel they had seized.  Chakotay shook his head in amused disbelief and sighed.

Abruptly his expression darkened. He would not be fooled by her appearance. He knew better than waking Starfleet captains without first ensuring that they had been restrained.

Undoubtedly she had been trained thoroughly in numerous martial arts at Starfleet Academy, as indeed he himself had been, and he was not about to take any unnecessary risks, now, that his plan had worked out so well. Not having any shackles at hand, he removed the leather belt he was wearing and used it to tie the woman's wrists to the headboard of his bed. Having reassured himself that she was restrained securely, he took the hypospray out of his pocket and administered it to one side of her neck. Now all he had to do was wait...