STILL NOT IN KANSAS

by Soledad

Author's notes: For disclaimer, rating, etc, see Part One.

Ensign Jurot is mentioned in the Voyager episode "Counterpoint". All personal details are made up by me. Starbase 80 isn't mentioned in any of the episodes, but in the "Equinox"-novelization this is the place where Captain Ransom once served as a science officer.

Trivia:

I'danian spice pudding is an extremely caloric dessert, very popular on DS9. One of Jake Sisko's favourites.

Jestral tea was a favourite beverage of Lwaxana Troi.

Mantickian Paté is a dish once concocted by Lwaxana Troi. All the other details are my doing.

Parthas, the Acamarian vegetable dish, was served to Riker by a woman called Yuta.

Uttaberries are a blueberry-like fruit native to Betazed.

Information taken from Denise and Mike Okuda's "Star Trek Encyclopedia".

PART SEVEN

Tuvok kept his word; in the next morning, station time, Lyta received a message that the Vulcan officer would gladly meet her and give her a tour on Voyager. That the tour would be limited to the public areas was obvious. So obvious that Tuvok didn't even feel the necessity of mentioning it. But that was all right with Lyta. She wasn't interested in technology. She was interested in people. Several whole societies of telepaths – that was more than she could imagine.

Fortunately for her, Ulkesh was still seething in his quarters. Otherwise he might have insisted to occupy her during this visit, and carrying the unpleasant Vorlon inside her was the last thing Lyta wanted right now. She hoped for a quiet morning in the company of fellow telepaths, not for a spying mission.

So she was relieved when by 0800 Ulkesh had still not contacted her. That meant that – save an unexpected emergency – she would be free for the day. This new Vorlon was even more settled in his ways than the old Kosh, and nothing short an all-out Shadow attack could have forced him to change his pre-scheduled plans. Maybe not even that. Most of the time Lyta found Vorlon rigidity tiresome, but in this particular case she was grateful for it. It allowed her to make plans – well, to a certain extent.

When she reached Bay 13, a pretty, dark-haired young woman in a blue uniform was waiting for her already. She had the most exotic, Byzantine eyes Lyta had ever seen, and a soft, equally exotic accent.

"Greetings, Ms. Alexander," she said. "I'm Ensign Crisa Jurot, from Quantum Mechanics. Commander Tuvok asked me to accompany you for a short time. He's been briefly delayed – staff meeting with the captain – but will join us as soon as possible."

She spoke English very well, but Lyta could feel that it was not her native tongue – and not because of the accent alone. Also, parallel to her spoken greeting, Lyta could also feel a gentle mental brush, barely more than a caress. She looked at the ensign's ears – they were not pointed, nor had they the multiple ridges Kes' ears had.

"No, I'm not an Ocampa; Ensign Jurot smiled; she didn't have to be a telepath to guess correctly what Lyta was thinking. "I'm a Betazoid. We look like humans, but there are significant differences when it comes to the internal organs. And yes, we are a telepathic species as well."

"Was that the reason why Mr. Tuvok asked you to fetch me?" Lyta asked. Crisa Jurot nodded.

"There aren't many to chose from," she said sadly. "Initially, there were three Betazoids aboard Voyager, but two of us died years ago. And Ensign Vorik, the only other Vulcan, isn't exactly known for his social skills."

"So, you are the only one of your kind here?" Lyta felt sorry for the younger woman. This was a loneliness she knew all too well. "It must be hard for you."

"Sometimes," the Betazoid admitted. "But mostly, it isn't so bad. I have a few human friends who don't mind having me 'in their heads', as they put it, time and again. And when I really need a mutual exchange, I can always go to Kes. She has been a great help for me."

"What about the Vulcans? They are telepathic, too, aren't they?"

"They are. But they are also intensely private. "They have reached the nearest turbolift and stepped into the cabin. "Mess hall," the Betazoid said, and the 'lift swung into motion with unexpected smoothness. "You must understand one thing when it comes to Vulcans," she continued. "They are an extremely disciplined species. Humans call them repressed and often make fun of their stiffness, but there is a good reason for that."

"What reason?"

"By nature, they are a violent people. And I mean violent. There was a period in their history when they very nearly eradicated themselves, using not only weapons of mass destruction but heir own incredible mental abilities as well. According to history files, it was… ugly."

That Lyta could imagine. The secret experiments of the Psi Corps, the ones that resulted in the metamorphosis of Jason Ironheart and other frightening events, had shown her the damage uncontrolled psi-powers could do.

"How did they manage to prevail, after all?" she asked.

"Five thousand years ago, a great philosopher named Surak rose among them and started what is now called the Reformation," the Betazoid explained. "He taught Vulcans a whole new way of living, based on logic, on the complete control of emotions, on mediation and a life in the service of society. He taught them to despise violence, to the extreme that they won't even eat meat, as it would mean to kill animals for their own survival."

"Sounds very elated," Lyta commented, a little doubtfully. "And they really manage to pull it off?"

"Unless they are in the rutting season, but that only happens once in every seven years," the Betazoid replied with surprising rudeness; then she shot Lyta a rueful look. "Sorry. It's a common joke, and not even a very tasteful one. But yes, they usually manage to pull it off. But it comes at a high price. They need regular meditations to keep their control, and there are… throwbacks. It's like surfing – you can ride the waves if you are skilled enough and keep training all your life, but it is by no means safe."

Lyta remembered her short brush with Tuvok's mind – and shuddered involuntarily. "I guess a Vulcan out of control wouldn't be a very… pleasant sight."

"Trust me; it is not," Jurot said seriously. "I've only seen Tuvok on the loose once, and I'm not eager to repeat the experience. It was beyond frightening."

"What caused him to lose control?"

"Touching a mind full of violence and darkness." The turbolift stopped. "So, here we are. This is our mess hall. In order to save energy (and, unfortunately, the food replicators use a great amount of it) we mostly eat natural food. Neelix is our cook," the Betazoid nodded towards a small, stocky alien who looked like some sort of spotted skunk and wore asymmetrically cut clothes in colours so bright that they hurt Lyta's eyes. "He is also our morale officer – a function made necessary by the fact that we all have to cope with his cooking."

"I wish someone had warned me," Lyta grumbled. "I could have had breakfast on Babylon 5." Jurot grinned at her.

"Don't worry, the captain gave me some extra replicator rations to offer you civilized food. We want to make a good first impression, after all. So, what would you like?"

"I don't know," Lyta shrugged. "Something different, I guess. I can have human food on Babylon 5 all the time. Can you suggest me anything interesting?"

"Sure I can. The question is: are you up to… interesting experiences?"

"I'm not that picky. And I like trying out new things. As long as it's agreeable with human metabolism, doesn't move on its own and doesn't bite back, I'm game."

"All right then," the Betazoid stepped to one of the food replicators. "Computer, one Mantickian Paté with a big glass of uttaberry juice and one Acamarian parthas with a cup of Jestral tea. Oh, and two I'danian spice puddings."

To Lyta's astonishment, a mere twenty seconds later a big tray with two pates of steaming food, a tall glass with some milky substance, a china cup of fragrant tea and two small, square glass cups with some very appealing dessert materialized in the open food slot. Ensign Jurot grabbed the tray and carried it to an empty table in the far corner from where they had excellent view on the whole mess hall.

"Here, try this," she said, putting the plate with the food that looked like a big slice of pie before Lyta. "Despite its name, this is a traditional Betazoid dish, eaten on family festivities, usually prepared by the eldest woman of the family. And uttaberries, though native to Betazed, are a little like Terran blueberries, so they should agree with you."

Lyta carefully tried a bit of the pie – to her pleasant surprise, it was very tasty. "This is excellent," she said, taking another bite, this time a much bigger one. "What are you eating?"

"A spiced vegetable dish from the planet Acamar Three. It's called parthas," Jurot pushed her own plate closer to Lyta. "Care to try it?"

Lyta did – and started coughing violently after the first bite. "It's… really spicy."

"Oh, sorry!" The Betazoid actually blushed in embarrassment. "I keep forgetting that most humans don't share my preference for hot spices."

"It's not so bad," Lyta took a sip from the uttaberry juice; it had a wonderful flavour, one that was wild and sweet at the same time. "I do like spicy food – it just took me by surprise. I think I'll stick with my Paté, though. So, tell me something about you. How long have you been on Voyager?"

"A little more than two years," the Betazoid sighed. "This was my first deep-space assignment. I had worked two years in one of the scientific labs of Starbase 80 after the Academy and asked for a reassignment to Voyager because my second-grade cousin had become chief helmsman here. Unfortunately, she died right at the beginning of the mission."

Her sorrow hit Lyta like a tidal wave. The human telepath put down her fork and took the ensign's hand. "Show me," she said quietly.

Rastenn was surprised to find Vir on the Zocalo this early. Usually, the young Centauri spent his morning in his quarters, doing paperwork for Ambassador Mollari or studying the customs of one of the dozens of races present on Babylon 5. Contrary to common opinion, Vir Cotto was an intelligent, curious and gentle person who took his responsibilities seriously. Fortunately for him, important persons at court – too superficial to see beyond his slightly comical appearance – never took him seriously. This saved him from being killed for political reasons and allowed him to follow his own morale codex.

Today, however, Vir had apparently left his sanctuary at an unusually early time and was now sitting in one of the gambling casinos instead of his preferred bar. Looking around, Rastenn soon discovered the reason for Vir's unusual behaviour. Ambassador Mollari was at one of the gambling tables, taking unnecessarily high risks – and losing steadily.

Ambassador Mollari also seemed to be very, very drunk. Which for someone who could hold their liquor the way Londo Mollari could was not a small thing.

Rastenn climbed onto the uncomfortably high bar stool next to Vir – this was a human establishment, and humans, for a reason Rastenn didn't even try to understand, preferred uncomfortable and dangerous furniture – and asked quietly, "How long has he been here?"

"Since last night," Vir replied, without looking at the Minbari. "Gambling, drinking – and losing."

Rastenn raised a hairless eyebrow. As humans would have said, Vir looked like hell. "And how long have you been here?"

"For about he same amount of time," Vir sighed dramatically. "I had to find him first, you know."

"What is wrong with him?" Rastenn asked. "This is unusual, even for Ambassador Mollari."

"He is desperate," the lack of sleep and the concern for Londo had apparently made Vir a little careless. "His position at court is… precarious at the best. His enemies are moving against him. They have already made him kill one of his best friends. If he doesn't show any progress in making contact with these… these new humans, and that soon, he might be next. The recent meeting with Minister Virini was not… pleasant. And the minister is about to return to Babylon 5 – in the company of Lord Refa, none less…"

Rastenn stored the information for later use. Events at the court of Centauri Prime seldom remained without consequences for other races, so keeping informed was of utmost importance. Then he carefully dug deeper.

"Could this visit turn out to be dangerous for Ambassador Mollari?"

"Londo has been careless," Vir stared at the bar counter before him sadly. "He should never have accepted the services of Mr. Morden and his associates. Some favours simply come with too high a price. He should have remembered that."

But before Rastenn could ask what that was supposed to mean, they were distracted by a group of unknown people who had just walked into the casino.

Right after the staff meeting, the first group of the Voyager-crew was ready to explore Babylon 5. They wore civilian clothes – the ex-Maquis looking just a touch more martial than the original Fleeters – happy to be out of uniform for a change, but of course they kept their comm badges. Theoretically, they were to avoid emergency beam outs, but Janeway was not taking any risks.

"Better an advantage lost than a crewmember dead," she had said, and all senior officers agreed.

The first group, that would be followed by several others later, contained of Chakotay, Ensign Wildman with Naomi (she had a lunch invitation from Dr. Hobbs, whom she had promised to bring the toddler as well), B'Elanna Torres, Tom Paris, Harry Kim and the Delaney sisters. The latter two, as per usual, chose to dress identically, in order to cause some entertaining confusion. Besides, they wanted to go shopping.

"You don't even have any money that people would accept here," Harry pointed out to Megan Delaney.

The twins exchanged identical, calculating looks, then Jenny Delaney turned to Paris, practically purring, "Ooh, I'm sure Tom will think of something. After all, there's that place called the Zocalo… with all those gambling establishments…"

"Definitely not!" Chakotay interfered sternly. "Just that it's clear, Paris, you are not, I repeat, not allowed to gamble. Or to play poker. Or to do anything that would get you in trouble on your first unofficial visit."

Paris gave him a look full of innocent indignation. "Really, Chakotay, I'm not such a trouble magnet as you obviously think."

"Yes, you are," Chakotay replied, not the least convinced. "And since you are a trouble magnet, you have two choices: either you agree with the 'no gambling'-rule, or you stay here as long as we dock in Babylon 5."

"Can't do," Paris said lightly. "The captain wants me to sniffle around, remember?"

"Yes, but she doesn't want you to cause any trouble," Chakotay answered, completely unmoved. "Your choice, Paris."

Tom rolled his eyes. "All right, all right. What about pool?"

"Pool is okay, as long as you're not cheating."

"Chakotay," Tom said patiently, "when have I ever needed to cheat in pool?"

"Overconfidence comes before the fall," Torres warned him, grinning. Tom made a sour face.

"Very funny, B'Elanna. You know as well as I do that I can wipe the floor with anyone in pool."

"Anyone you know, that is," Harry added, just to tease his friend. The others laughed.

"What are you planning, Harry?" Sam Wildman asked, adjusting Naomi on her arm.

"I'll go with the others for a while, but I promised to meet Marcus for lunch," Harry answered. Then he turned to Chakotay. "And you, Commander?"

"He comes with me," Sam said. "I need someone to look after Naomi while having girl talk with Lillian Hobbs. There were several possible candidates for the job – and the Commander lost."

They laughed again and left Voyager, eager to discover the more… colourful sides of Babylon 5.

"Do you recognize them?" Rastenn asked Vir, watching the strangers like a hawk.

They didn't seem to realize that they were being watched. Taking the two identical-looking women in the middle, they strolled leisurely through the casino, aiming to the tables used for the peculiar human game called pool. A third woman, this one clad almost like a male, followed them with the smooth, feline strides of a born predator. Unlike the other two, she had short hair, shorn above her shoulders, and delicate ridges in the middle of her high forehead. Rastenn found her most exotically beautiful, in spite of her alien looks.

"The blond man is their chief pilot," Vir replied, recognizing the human male from Londo's illegal recording. "The other one is some sort of operations officer, whatever that might be. I don't know any of the females," he added, looking at the persons in question worriedly. "Those identical ones do look dangerous."

Rastenn shrugged. "They are just ordinary human females. But the third one… now, she is something. I wonder what race she might belong to. She can't be human, not with that forehead – but she is exquisite."

"You can ask her," Vir suggested absent-mindedly, still keeping an eye on Londo. Rastenn shook his head.

"No… not yet. The direct approach is not always the best one. I shall watch her a while first… all of them."

And so they watched the blond pilot playing pool. First he played against his own friends, showing almost artistic skills in the game. They took turns, paying two against two for starters, then they continued one against one. The others weren't bad either; especially the dark-haired young man and the woman with the intricate forehead ridges gave him a tough time, but in the end the pilot beat them all.

At this point they already had quite the audience. People watched the games with rapt interest, applauding the best moves, firing on the player of their choice.

Then the betting began. Humans and even a few Centauri who knew the game started to bet on the possible winner, heightening the stakes at every game, offering the winner a good percentage. Soon enough, some really good local players got interested and challenged the blond pilot.

He accepted every challenge. And he beat them all.

New players entered the game. The audience grew and so did the stakes. The tension was so high it could almost be physically touched in the suddenly very quiet casino. A Brakiri was trying his luck against the blond pilot now, and he was good. Very good.

People began to bet against the human.

The game went on and on. The chances seemed even. But Rastenn, who only watched to admire the excellent hand-eye-control this particular game required, saw something in the human's blue eyes. Something that made him shudder.

"He is just playing with the Brakiri to raise the stakes," he whispered to Vir. "He could wipe him from the table at every turn. He will undoubtedly win… and then there will be trouble."

TBC.