Chapter 3
In the brig the crew of the Federation Starship Voyager had regained consciousness. A chorus of low moans escaped from the cells as everybody became aware of the pain and discomfort, caused both by the neural toxin and the unkind surroundings. The brig was cold and wet, and some of the crew had already acquired an unhealthy sounding cough. There were no bunks, nor were there any seats or blankets. Just square cells carved from solid rock. The only place to sit or lie was the hard, cold and -- unfortunately -- damp floor. The senior officers had been separated from the rest of the crew, and were huddled together in one small cell.
"Alright, suggestions, everyone." Cavit growled half-heartedly as he massaged his temples. He had a terrible headache and was not in a mood to take over command. Where the hell was Janeway? She was supposed to handle this situation, not he. Cavit kicked himself for the hundredth time. Why had he not come up with some excuse for Starfleet Command, in order to avoid being sent on this godforsaken mission? But unfortunately he had already done that too often in the past, and Starfleet Command were beginning to become suspicious of his constant excuses. That was why he had not even tried to get out of this one. Bad choice! Why could they not just find him a desk job? That was all he really wanted to do -- work during the day and go home at night to spend some time with his wife and kids, not gallivanting around the galaxy -- one suicidal mission after the other -- in an attempt to make the world a better place, or to collect obscure scientific data from some remote part of space. He just wanted to lead a normal life.
His adoptive parents had forced him into this stupid career, and in an attempt to make them proud, he had fulfilled their wish, not even once voicing his objections. Both of them had passed away years ago, and he seriously questioned whether this had been worth all the trouble. Maybe he should ask for early retirement, or change his career path. If only they would give him that desk job...
"It appears that we have been transported to a subterranean structure of some sort and are now being held hostage by the Maquis." Tuvok stated. Cavit despised the Vulcan chief of security -- constantly goddamn efficient, perpetually stating the obvious and never showing any emotions whatsoever. It just was not natural. He was supposed to be a Vulcan, not an android.
Tuvok seemed to be the only one who was not suffering from a headache or the cold, although Cavit was sure the Vulcan had to suffer from the chilling environment more than any other crewmember, since his homeworld had an extremely hot climate. Yet he seemed as calm and controlled as ever. So he was a Vulcan, but could he not at least show a few signs of discomfort or fear? Everyone else did...
A little hesitant, young Ensign Kim asked with a slightest hint of a tremble in his voice, "Ok, so what do we do now?" This was just his luck -- his first deep space mission, and he gets to be a hostage of some terrorist group. They were probably going to torture and, quite possibly, kill him. In his wildest dreams he had never imagined his first mission to have this outcome. He had been looking forward to it so much. Being assigned to Voyager -- Starfleet's latest jewel in the crown -- had been a great honor, especially for an ensign fresh out of Starfleet Academy. His parents had been so proud of him, when he had told them about his commission. Now they were hostages of the Maquis and did not even know what to expect next -- hell, they did not even know where they were being held.
"I suggest we wait to see what the Maquis have planned for us. There is no apparent way of escape from this cell. The forcefield is extremely powerful, and the walls are solid rock. We must simply wait and see how this situation develops. In the meantime, I suggest we observe the enemy." Tuvok suggested.
Commander Cavit just rolled his eyes. "Thank you for that constructive piece of input, Mr. Tuvok!" he grunted sarcastically.
Tuvok raised an eyebrow but decided to ignore his commanding officers hostile behavior, conscribing it to the stress of the situation.
"Do you think the captain is still alive?" Stadi asked, sounding a little shaken.
"We do not have any information to answer that question at this moment. I would think it quite improbable though, that they would kill the captain. After all, Captain Janeway is the only one who knows all the specifics of this mission. She is their most valuable hostage. It would be illogical to kill her at this point."
"I suppose that's the Vulcan way of telling us to hope for the best." Carey added, genuine worry for the captain written in his features.
"What makes you think the Maquis are guided by logic?" Cavit grunted. He felt an ever-growing urge to hit the Vulcan. Thinking better of it he asked, "Lieutenant Tuvok, what do you think the Maquis are likely to do next?"
Tuvok's left eyebrow rose a little higher as he answered,
"From what I have read about similar situations in Starfleet's mission archives, I would conclude that each one of us would be undergoing interrogation. The procedures will start with the captain, followed by lower ranking officers, working their way systematically down the chain of command. They are likely to use torture as a means of extracting the information they require from their hostages. In the past, there have been numerous casualties and a few fatalities, mostly among the senior staff."
Everyone was struck silent as realization of their true predicament hit home. Cavit was the first to find his voice, albeit in a wave of sarcasm.
"That's what I like about you Vulcans! You always look on the bright site!"
"I fail to see how 'a look on the bright site' would benefit the situation, Sir." Tuvok countered calmly.
He did not comprehend the reason for Commander Cavit's ongoing hostility toward him. Was it stress related? If so, there would be problems. It was highly irregular for a commanding officer to show his agitation to this extent, especially in a situation like this, where he should attempt to be an example to the rest of the crew. Tuvok made a mental note to observe Cavit, as he sat on the ground with his back against the rear wall of the cell, closely huddled together with the other officers in an attempt to keep each other warm, whilst Cavit sat alone in a corner.
Seska was prowling through the brig like a caged lion on the lookout for prey, taking a thorough inventory of every cell. Starfleet -- what a bunch of incompetent fools! It had been so easy to capture them that she began to wonder why the Federation had ever gotten as far as it had. If she could have her way, they would not be here in the first place. She would have gotten rid of them and taken their ship only. Sometimes she wondered about Chakotay. He and his goddamn principles! She continued to measure each and every one of the prisoners, sneering every now and then and delighting in the fact that some of the ensigns were so paralyzed with fear that they could not meet her eyes. Her eyes came to rest on the figure of a young man dressed in Starfleet command colors. He was not wearing the typical pips that would indicate his rank, and that roused Seska's curiosity. He was tall and slim with short blond hair. Somehow he looked familiar. She could have sworn that she had seen him before somewhere...
"Hey, B'Elanna, come over here!" The half Klingon walked over to her friend.
"What is it, Seska?"
"Doesn't he look somehow familiar to you? The blond one in the black and red uniform."
Paris had recognized Seska the moment she had stopped by his cell. Now he saw the Maquis engineer joining her. Well, I might as well own up to it, he thought. They were going to find out anyway. He rose to his feet and approached the forcefield.
"Hello, B'Elanna, Seska! Nice to see you two again!" he said with fake joviality, pretending to be happy to see them.
"Paris?" B'Elanna exclaimed in disbelieve. She had not seen him since Chakotay had sent him to get help, when they were sitting ducks in the DMZ after a debilitating battle with a Cardassian warship. Later, news of his arrest had reached them, although she suspected that he had in reality run out on them. If he had really gotten arrested, should he not still be in a Federation penal colony? What had he been doing on the Starfleet vessel? Had he been spying for Starfleet all along? Of, course! Now it all fell into place. She felt her blood begin to boil.
"Paris, you son of a targ! Wait until Chakotay gets his hands on you!"
Oh, it was a shame that Chakotay was so fussy about the way they treated their prisoners. She would have enjoyed beating Paris into a pulp. A predatory grin had spread over Seska's face.
"I knew I'd met him before! Chakotay will tear him to pieces!"
"If he doesn't, I will!" B'Elanna snarled.
Seska touched her combadge, "Seska to Chakotay." "What is it, Seska?"
Chakotay sounded annoyed. Unperturbed by his obvious displeasure at her call she continued,
"B'Elanna and I have a little surprise for you in the brig!"
"I can't come down there now. I have business to attend to here."
"But Chakotay, it's someone you know!"
"It will have to wait, Seska!"
Seska was surprised. She had not expected him to react this way. She tried again.
"Do you remember Tom Paris, Chakotay?"
"What about him?" the Maquis leader asked gruffly.
"He was on the ship, Chakotay. B'Elanna and I think he's been a Federation spy all along!"
Anger mounted in the Maquis captain at the thought of having been betrayed by the little rat that called itself Tom Paris, and under normal circumstances he would have been eager to go to the brig to show Paris what he thought of him. But he did not want to leave the Starfleet captain right now. This was a little more important than getting even with Tom Paris. He wanted to be present when the she woke up. With great resolve Chakotay swallowed his anger and responded,
"Well, it will still have to wait. I have a lot of things to do, and I don't want to be disturbed again. Chakotay out."
Both Seska and B'Elanna stood utterly perplexed.
The color had begun to return to her pale cheeks, and her chest was rising and falling steadily and more perceptively now. She moaned softly, as she shifted a little. Chakotay looked on, as her eyelids began to flutter. Kathryn Janeway slowly drifted back to awareness. She felt like hell. A constant sharp pain in her head made her apprehensive to open her eyes. She felt so nauseous that she was sure she was going to vomit if she tried to move. There was not a single part of her body that was not experiencing pain, and she felt cold -- very cold.
She licked her dry and broken lips with a parched tongue that seemed determined to stick to her palate. Her throat burned dryly, as if she had been drinking pure acid. Dehydration, she thought, as her body trembled with the cold -- spasms that she couldn't control, no matter how hard she tried, making each and every muscle contract, causing unbearable pain. What the hell was wrong with her? One by one her senses regained alertness. Pain, nausea, thirst... she still did not dare to open her eyes, so she tried to concentrate on her other faculties. She was lying on something soft, like a couch or a bed, and she could not move her arms... A surge of panic jolted through her, as she realized that her wrists had been tied to some solid structure. Instantly the memories returned. She had been on Voyager, on a mission against the Maquis. A small object had suddenly materialized out of thin air. She thought she had heard a hiss and then... Darkness! Nothing! In shock Captain Janeway forced herself to open her eyes, wincing as the light cut through her skull like a red-hot knife. Reflex forced her eyes shut again, but fear counteracted it, and she willed them open once more.
The room spun around her, causing her stomach to turn until she felt the bile rise. Oh god, not now! Please, not now, she thought as she fought the urge to vomit. Her vision was just beginning to adjust to the light and focus on her surroundings, when a man's voice startled her,
"Well, look who's awake!"
Instinctively her head shot around in the direction of the voice, an action she instantly regretted, as the sudden movement only aggravated her pain and made her dizzy. Sitting next to her on the bed was a man. All she could make out was his silhouette against the uncomfortably bright light of her surroundings. She blinked. Janeway's eyes grew wide as her pupils adjusted, and her mind began to recognize him from the pictures she had studied in Starfleet's computer archives: Native American, the blue tattoo above his left brow, the short cropped black hair, the hawk bridged nose, the darkly handsome features... but the pictures had given her no idea of how powerful and imposing a man he really was.
He was at least six foot tall; his body was broad and well muscled. He made her feel a lot smaller than she was. There was a dangerous glint in his eyes as he watched her. Kathryn Janeway felt like a trapped animal. Her heart was racing and the nausea threatened to overpower her at any moment. She had to get a grip on herself. She would not allow him to see how terrified she was, nor was she going to humiliate herself in front of him by giving in to the urge to relief her stomach of its contents. Get in control of the situation, she thought frantically, as she suppressed a shudder, whether from cold or fear, she was uncertain. With a touch of amusement Chakotay witnessed the raging battle that took its course inside the woman, who had now regained consciousness. Her steel blue eyes were wide, staring at him with an expression of utter shock, the pulse that had been almost non-existent moments ago now visibly racing in the artery at her neck, as she struggled for composure.
"Where am I? What have you done with my crew?" she demanded when she had recovered her voice, amazed at how calm and controlled she sounded. She wished she really felt that way. The steadiness of her voice had taken him by surprise. He had not expected her to recover this quickly. Even the expression in her eyes had changed in split seconds, from pure terror to outraged anger. He chuckled at her spirit.
"You are in my quarters, in a Maquis base on an asteroid in the Moriya system. We have taken your ship and are holding you and your crew hostage."
Chakotay admired her almost Vulcan control as he explained the terrifying truth of her situation.
He continued, "My name is..." only to be interrupted by her in mid-sentence.
"I know who you are, Chakotay. I've been well briefed on your criminal activities in the DMZ."
Her voice was filled with contempt. A little taken aback Chakotay countered,
"Well, Captain, it would seem that you are one step ahead of me. You know who I am, but I have no idea who you are. Would you have the courtesy to introduce yourself?"
Janeway was in no mood to be social.
"What have you done with my crew? Where are they?"
Chakotay's features darkened a little, but he answered her nevertheless.
"We are keeping them in our brig. But I will be asking the questions from now on, and you will provide me with answers. I want you to tell me your name. I want to know what you were doing in the Terikof Belt and what your exact orders were. Start talking, Captain!"
The Maquis leader was beginning to loose his patience, his voice assuming a menacing tone, causing yet another wave of panic to encompass her prone form. Somehow, however, she managed to raise her chin a little and give him one of her most defiant glares.
"I don't cooperate with criminals. You won't get any information out of me!"
A smile tugged at his lips in admiration of her courage. She was after all entirely vulnerable, as she lay there tied to his bed.
"Why don't you tell me your name to start off with? Surely that's not classified information." he attempted.
Kathryn Janeway had absolutely no intention to tell him her name. She had always felt that people, who knew her by name, had a certain amount of power over her, even if that power was just a psychological illusion. In her current predicament, the only defenses she had left were her determination and her pride, and she was not about to see them crushed. Certainly, her name would be the very last thing she would tell this man.
"My name is none of your business..."
Her voice failed her as he suddenly surged forward and lowered his face to hers until she could feel his breath hotly on her skin. She tried to turn away, but he kept her head locked in position, placing his strong hands on either side. In her panic, her lungs failed her. Her eyes grew wide, as he literally breathed at her,
"In case you haven't noticed, Captain, I'm the one in control here, not you! I'm beginning to loose my temper with you, and -- let me give you a piece of advice -- you don't want to see that happening. It's not a pretty sight, believe me! So, I'd start cooperating if I were you!"
He did not move away when he had finished but kept his face close to hers and stared menacingly into her eyes. Janeway swallowed hard, exhaled the breath she had not realized she was holding and barely managed to suppress another shudder. She would not allow herself to be intimidated by this big Indian oath. She had coped with more dire situations in the past -- she could handle this. Pulling herself together, she spoke in a voice so extremely calm that it came as a surprise to her own ears,
"I'm Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation starship Voyager, and that is all I will ever tell you. You are asking the wrong person if you want information. I won't give it to you. I don't respond well to threats. If you want to torture me, go right ahead, but it won't get you anywhere. I will not cooperate with you!"
Chakotay was momentarily stunned. This woman, who was by all means in a completely defenseless position, demonstrated more courage than anyone he had ever met, both in Starfleet and the Maquis. Now he understood why Starfleet had sent her on this mission. He admired her courage but was not about to give up on her yet. Smiling mischievously he moved away from her.
"Well, Kathryn, I'm sure your ship's computer will eventually provide me with all the information I require. Failing that, I believe some of your crew members may prove to be a little more... cooperative."
Kathryn winced at the use her first name. Just as she had been dreading, he was using her name to gain power over her.
"Don't you dare call me Kathryn! It's 'Captain' for you!"
"Such a temper, Kathryn! You may call me Chakotay if you like!"
He grinned at her and then turned to leave the room. Janeway panicked. She could not just let him leave her like this. She had to get some answers before he could get away, had to assess her situation and find her crew. She had to know what he had in store for them. Clearly they would all be interrogated thoroughly, but was he willing to use torture or even kill? Was he going to release them at some point in the future? Were they being held to some form of ransom? She knew the Federation would never give in to the demands of terrorists.
"Chakotay, what are you going to do with us?" she called after him a little too hastily. It almost sounded as if she were pleading with him. She mentally chided herself for the lapse of control.
She was beginning to break. Chakotay could not suppress a victorious grin.
"For someone, who refuses to answer my questions, you are asking an awful lot of your own, Kathryn!"
With those words he left her to draw her own conclusions. She had too many questions and no answers to any of them. Why was he keeping her in his quarters, tied up to a bed? His bed!, she suddenly realized and froze. Her pulse began to pound in her ears, and a fist curled in the pit of her stomach. The room span around, worsening the feeling of nausea. She closed her eyes and sank back into the painless and carefree bliss of unconsciousness.