STILL NOT IN KANSAS

by Soledad

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

Some lines concerning kal-toh were directly quoted from the Voyager episode "Alter Ego".

PART EIGHT

The pool game between the blond pilot of Voyager and the Brakiri came to its final round. The two players were even at the moment, but the human still had one shot left. One shot to decide all. For the first time, Rastenn could see intense concentration on that smooth face. The human bent forward, fixing his goal one more time.

"Eighth ball in the side pocket," he murmured and made his shot. The ball ricocheted from the table border and rolled into the right pocket as if it had a navigation system of some sort.

Great applause erupted. But the Brakiri and those who bet on him were clearly enraged.

"That was not a clear shot!" One of them shouted. "The human was cheating!"

The blond pilot collected his prize calmly. "As if I'd need to cheat to beat you," he allowed himself the arrogant remark. "Have you not watched the earlier games?"

The remark, of course, was like oil poured into the fire. In a minute, there was a heated argument, the losers trying to get their money back – not from the winners but from the human who seemed the easier target. Vir moved almost by instinct to interfere, but Rastenn grabbed his arm and kept him on his place with an iron grip.

"We should stay out of this," the Minbari warned. Not that he would want the pilot to be beaten to bloody pulp, but there was no honour in getting killed in a brawl, caused by some gambling disagreement.

"B-but somebody should c-call security," Vir babbled.

"They will," Rastenn said soothingly. "The bar owner, most likely. Stay out of it; this is not our fight."

Vir wasn't completely in agreement, but he wasn't a fighter by nature, either. To his great relief, however, the strangers apparently were. Even the identical-looking, skinny women, who relied on speed and agility rather than on strength. The two males showed thorough training and seemed well used to fights, too. And the third woman…

Rastenn watched enraptured the small female whirlwind in action. Her punches were completely different from anything he had ever seen – they probably belonged to some alien fighting style – and her slim body obviously hid the strength of a male twice her size. And she was quick and deadly accurate with her aim. Rastenn thought to hear the sickening crunch of breaking bones a couple of times. Vir looked as if he could get sick any time, but the Minbari was completely smitten.

Still, the strangers were in clearly minority, and none of the locals seemed willing to risk helping them. Rastenn tried to calculate how much longer they would be able to last (especially as a few Drazi seemed to really warm up to the action) and whether security would arrive in time. He nearly missed the new actor in the play.

The human Anla'shok stormed in like a whirlwind, already kicking around while extending his denn'bok. As much as Rastenn was disgusted seeing the time-honoured weapon used in a mere brawl, he had to admit that the puny human had an excellent fighting style. He must have been taught by a great pike master – what a shame.

But at least he was able to use the denn'bok properly – and very creatively, hitting the respective weak spots of the involved Drazi, Brakiri, Pak'ma'ra, Centauri or even humans unerringly. His skills, combined with certain moves designed for the lighter build and greater flexibility of the human body, made him a mean fighter. Apparently, the humans had at least learned something in the training center of Tuzanor.

The arrival of the Anla'shok turned the tables on the attackers very quickly. Unlike the strangers he was not unarmed, and a denn'bok could cause some rather painful injuries in a skilled hand. Soon enough, half a dozen injured people of various races were lying scattered on the floor. Rastenn had to admit, albeit reluctantly, that the human was skilled indeed.

"That's enough!" a rough voice barked, and a group of uniformed humans, armed with PPGs, stormed into the casino, led by a lean-faced man whose name, if Rastenn remembered correctly, was Zack Allen. Security had finally arrived.

Lyta Alexander and Commander Tuvok from Voyager were sitting in the mess hall, sharing some herbal tea and staring at something that looked like an unordered heap of metallic rods. Tuvok called the… thing kal-toh and said that it was a Vulcan game.

"Is this some sort of chess?" Lyta asked. She was not that great at chess, nor did she particularly like it. Tuvok raised a tolerant eyebrow.

"Kal-toh is to chess as chess is to tic-tac-toe," he replied. Lyta rolled her eyes.

"Forget I even asked. Now, show me how to play this… this kal-toh."

Tuvok seemed delighted by her request – well, as delighted as a Vulcan ever could be, ensign Jurot commented mentally – and Lyta tried the game… only to lose spectacularly after the fourth move.

"A common error among novice players," Tuvok commented. "By placing the t'an on opposite sides of the kal-toh, you are attempting to introduce a spatial balance, a strategy that will most certainly fail."

"Really?" Lyta was more surprised than annoyed. "Why is that?"

"Kal-toh is not about striving for balance," Tuvok explained patiently. "It is about finding the seeds of order, even in the midst of profound chaos. May I?"

"Sure, at least I can see what I am trying to do," Lyta shrugged. Tuvok took another rod and placed it carefully. Part of the chaotic heap of rods arranged itself into a harmonic pattern."

Lyta breathed in in amazement. "It's beautiful."

"Kal-toh is not about beauty," Tuvok corrected gently. Lyta withstood the urge to roll her eyes again, but she did exchange an overly tolerant look with the Betazoid.

"That might be, but it's still beautiful. Can I try again?"

Tuvok nodded. "Certainly. That is why we are playing the game."

Lyta tried again – and failed spectacularly. Then again. And a third time. And a fourth time. The kal-toh collapsed into itself every single time. After the fourth approach Ensign Jurot excused herself and returned to her work. But Lyta was not about to give up just yet.

"The problem lies in your thinking," Tuvok commented. "Your thoughts, albeit remarkably disciplined for a human, are not properly organized. I do not think that it is your fault. Someone has obviously tampered with your mind, and that left behind traces that cannot be unmade."

"Just like the tampering with your chief pilot's mind has?" Lyta asked mildly. "It was you who put up those shields in his mind, wasn't it?"

The Vulcan nodded. "What had been done to him was inexcusable. I admit that I do find Lieutenant Paris a most… irritating individual, but using a sentient being as an involuntary data carrier and causing him great mental pain in the process that could have resulted in permanent brain damage and in a rather painful death was highly unethical."

"In other words, you felt sorry for him and wanted to give him some protection for the future," Lyta supplied. One arched eyebrow was lifted again.

"Vulcans do not 'feel sorry', Ms. Alexander. What I did was the only logical course of action."

"Of course," Lyta nodded amiably and placed the last rod. The kal-toh… twinkled somehow and rearranged itself into a beautifully harmonious structure. "Was this the desired effect?"

Tuvok seemed just a little shaken. "How did you do that? None of your previous moves pointed towards this result…"

Lyta mimicked the thing with the eyebrow flawlessly. "Call it a hunch, Commander," she replied with a wicked smile.

On the other end of the Zocalo, in one of the more elegant restaurants, Chakotay was having a good time. At first he hadn't been comfortable with the idea of something that was dangerously close to a blind date, but he had to admit that Sam Wildman had been right. Dr. Lillian Hobbs was funny, witty, intelligent, dedicated to her job and had the most pleasantly warm, friendly manners. Beyond that, the doctor reminded him of the women of his own tribe. She had olive skin, thick dark hair, a beautiful smile and the loveliest coffee-brown eyes he had seen since his youth.

In other words, Chakotay was smitten – something that hadn't happened to him for a very long time – and Sam Wildman watched him flirting with Dr. Hobbs with a fond smile. Having been a Maquis cell leader and now being first officer on a starship lost in unknown space was a lonely job, and Sam had always thought that their XO needed a nice woman in his life.

Of course, the disaster with Seska had lessened Chakotay's willingness to take the risk of a new relationship considerably. Besides, based on their private conversations – and they had quite a few of those during the recent years, forming a true friendship, slowly but steadily – Sam had come to the conclusion that it wasn't some casual affair that Chakotay needed. In the heart of his hearts he was a family man – or would have been one, had he found the right woman. Somehow, Sam doubted that anyone on Voyager would match that particular category.

But when she met Lillian Hobbs for the first time, Sam had the instinctive feeling that the doctor and Chakotay were made for each other. She could be wrong, of course, but the matchmaker in her demanded that she would at least try to bring them together. Talking Chakotay into accompanying her hadn't been an easy thing, and Lillian seemed a little shocked at first, but now that the ice had been broken they were talking like old friends.

Lillian was holding Naomi on her lap, feeding the toddler small bits of… well, whatever she was eating and caressing the tiny bone spikes on the child's forehead. Naomi gurgled in delight, her chubby little hands safely curled around Chakotay's big index fingers for leverage – they were an extremely cute sight. Sam leaned back in her seat, relaxed, and enjoyed her meal. They might have been in a universe just as dangerous as their own, but at least for the moment life was good.

Unfortunately, their respective universes seemed to share the tendency to put an almost abrupt end to all good things. Lillian and Chakotay had barely begun to exchange childhood stories when the commander's comm badge beeped.

"Torres to Chakotay."

Chakotay touched his badge with a frown. It wasn't like B'Elanna to seek contact during shore leave – unless something went wrong. "Go ahead," he said.

"You better come over here, Chakotay," Torres' low voice urged, barely audible above the loud noise of some background argument. There has been a… a problem."

Chakotay rolled his eyes. "Let me guess: Paris got in trouble again."

"Well, yes, but this time it really wasn't his fault…" Torres tried to explain.

"B'Elanna," Chakotay interrupted, "I don't want to hear any excuses. Where are you?"

"In Captain Sheridan's office."

"Terrific. Just what I needed. Wait for me, I'm on my way. Chakotay out."

The first officer rose from his seat and gave the women an apologetic look. "Please excuse me. It seems Lieutenant Paris has something against me having a little peace. Ensign Wildman, would you mind to return without me today?"

"Of course not, Commander," when Chakotay reversed to official talk, there was no use trying to change his mind and Sam knew that.

"Dr. Hobbs, I enjoyed our lunch greatly," Chakotay added. "We should do this again – next time on Voyager?"

"Why not?" Lillian smiled. "Call me, and I certainly won't say no."

"Excellent. Until later then," and with that, Chakotay was already gone.

Sam looked at the doctor expectantly. Lillian Hobbs nodded with great dignity – then she broke into a wide grin.

"You were right," she said. "He is gorgeous… and even entertaining. This will be so much fun. I really, really missed dating. I just wasn't aware of that. It has been too long."

To say that Captain Sheridan was annoyed would have been an understatement. On some days – and these days seemed to be more and more frequent lately – he had the distinct impression that the universe was going out of its way to make his life miserable. He had ceased to ask himself what else could go wrong for a long time. Station business was getting tougher with every passing day, the Shadows were closing up on the free worlds, the Vorlons were more uncooperative than ever, another attack from EarthGov's side was only a matter of time, and he had just received the message that Delenn had left Minbar and was on her way back to Babylon 5.

That in itself would have been wonderful news, actually. But with all known routes becoming increasingly dangerous, he wouldn't have an unconcerned moment until Delenn's actual arrival. He missed her and was worried sick for her safety.

And now Zack and his security detail found it necessary to herd into his office five members of the Voyager-crew with various scratches and bruises, an agitated but seemingly unharmed casino owner from the Zocalo, an even more agitated Brakiri with a broken nose, two Drazi with serious bruises (which, considering their extremely tough, scaled skin, was not a small thing to begin with), a Pak'ma'ra with a head injury, three untrustworthy-looking and obviously severely beaten up humans, a male Centauri with a bleeding nose and Marcus, who sported a blue eye and a split lip.

For some mysterious reason, Vir Cotto, the most peaceful creature in the whole quadrant, had followed them of his own free will, in the company of a young Minbari male whom Sheridan had never seen before. But again, Vir had made an amazing number of Minbari friends since his short assignment on their homeworld.

"Captain," Zack shifted his weight uncomfortably from one leg onto the other, "I apologize for the intrusion. Under normal circumstances we won't bother you because of a bar brawl, but in this case…"

Sheridan understood completely. This could cause a diplomatic incident, and that was several levels above Zack's authority.

"That's all right, Zack," he said, suppressing a sigh. "Can you tell me what happened?"

Zack shook his head. "The bar owner alarmed us that a fight had broken out in the casino because some strangers were cheating at the pool table, but I don't know any of the details."

"We were not cheating!" The blond man, whom Sheridan recognized as Voyager's chief pilot, protested indignantly. "We played a perfectly honest game of pool. Well, several perfectly honest games. It's not our fault that this guy," and he looked at the Brakiri pointedly, "has no idea how to play and still found it necessary to challenge me."

Several people from the losing side jumped in at his word simultaneously, and in the ensuing chaos nobody aside from Rastenn noticed the warrior woman from Voyager tapping that golden broche on her leather west – apparently some sort of communications device – and speaking to someone in a low voice. Barely a minute later the door opened again, and a big, bronze-skinned human with short-cropped, greying hair and an intricate design tattooed onto his left temple broke a way for himself through the agitated crowd.

The Voyager crew snapped to attention at once, and even their adversaries became suddenly quiet as the big man moved through their rows with predatory grace. He radiated an aura of danger, and nobody wanted to provoke him.

"Paris," he said in a deceivingly mild tone, "have I not warned you about getting in trouble?"

The blond pilot gritted his teeth in frustration. "Chakotay, I haven't done anything wrong!"

"Really," the man called Chakotay smiled thinly. "Then would you kindly tell me why are you – all of you – here?"

"It wasn't my fault!" Paris replied stubbornly, but Rastenn recognized defeat in those blue eyes. It seemed that the pilot was used to being blamed for everything that went wrong. Well, maybe he was a troublemaker – most humans were – but in this particular case his only wrongdoing had been that he had played with the Brakiri's hopes a little too long.

The argument broke out again, and while the three women and the dark-haired young man tried to defend the blond pilot, who refused to say anything else to his own defence, the losers were getting louder and more aggressive, trying to force Sheridan to take their side. The Anla'shok couldn't tell anything of importance, as he had arrived in the middle of the fight, and the Brakiri accused the Voyager crew of having plotted the whole thing in advance and being all part of the crime.

The tattooed officer listened calmly, but his dark eyes burned with the sort of cold anger that could have put Alyt Neroon on a particularly bad day to shame. It didn't look well for the blond pilot. Even though he was more or less innocent in the whole affair, he could not prove his innocence, as his comrades weren't accepted as witnesses.

Suddenly Vir, ignoring Rastenn who was tugging on his sleeve to silence him, raised his voice above the chaos. "Excuse me… Captain Sheridan, if I may…"

"Be quiet!" Rastenn hissed; the last thing he wanted was to catch Starkiller's attention. He had only come with Vir to keep the foolish Centauri out of harm's way. "This is not your business."

"Yes, it is!' Vir replied angrily. "This is about right and wrong, and small as this case might be, at least I have a chance to do something right." He shook off Rastenn's hand and stepped forward. "Captain Sheridan, I have watched the game and can affirm what truly happened. I can prove that this man," here he pointed at the blond pilot with a trembling finger, "had done nothing wrong. He played according to the rules of the game."

"What can a Centauri know about a human game?" The Brakiri growled – which was a rather stupid argument, as he wasn't human, either. Vir raised his chin defiantly.

"I work for Ambassador Mollari," he declared. "That makes me expert on whatever game is played on this station."

Sheridan grinned involuntarily, as there was a great deal of truth in Vir's words. Still, he was a little surprised that the young Centauri cared enough to come here and defend a human he had never met before. He even dragged his Minbari friend along.

"Can you verify this, too?" Sheridan asked the unknown Minbari. For some reason this young man awakened his suspicion.

"I am afraid I cannot," Rastenn answered evasively, cursing his bad look. "I do not know this human game." He spoke with a considerable Working Caste accent, just in case, though he doubted that Starkiller would be able to tell the difference.

"But I do know it," Vir said, "and I know that the human played a fair game. It is not his fault that you," here he looked at the losers accusingly, "started betting against him. It was you who raised the stakes, not him. And when you lost, you tried to take his money by force."

"What money?" the tattooed human asked quietly. "We don't have any currency that would be accepted here."

"The percentage that he received from the winners," Vir explained patiently. "It's a custom here, in certain circles, to bet for the winner in various games and share the profit with the player. Your pilot received the usual twenty per cent, no more and no less. These people only attacked him because he is a stranger on the station. They would never attack one from their own circle in a similar case."

"That is true," Sheridan nodded, looking at the tattooed officer. "Well, Commander, the case seems clear. I have no reason to doubt Vir's sincerity, which means that your officers here are without blame. As for the others," he looked at the losers threateningly, "I'm sure Mr. Garibaldi would love to keep an eye on them. Zack, inform him; and get them out of my office. I have more pressing issues to solve."

Zack Allen and the security detail escorted the losers out – not very gently. Vir practically collapsed in relief. Standing up for the right case was a tiring business. He flinched in surprise when the blond pilot turned to him and extended his hand.

"Thank you," Paris said. "It's a rare thing that someone would come to my defence. I appreciate that."

Vir shrugged but shook the proffered hand nevertheless. "It was the truth. And in these days one should cherish the chance to tell the truth. It's rare enough as it is."

For some reason, the humans found this amusing. Vir didn't understood why. He was telling the sad truth, couldn't they see it? But all coherent thought abandoned him when the two identically (and frighteningly) beautiful women took his arms from both sides.

"Come, join us, sweetheart," one of them said. "Now, that Tom has won us some money, we can go shopping. I'm sure you'll be able to show us the best shops, won't you?"

"I… I..." poor Vir was terminally embarrassed, but the other woman kissed him on the cheek and gave him a radiant smile.

"Of course he will," she purred. "Tom, where is our money? We did help you to put up the show, after all, now share!"

The blond pilot laughed and divided his winnings in five equal parts. "Here you are, ladies… Harry. Let's have fun!"

They left, without taking a look back, obviously a little upset with their commanding officer, and swept Vir away. Sheridan, walking the commander to the door, shook his head in amusement. "Poor Vir. He was very brave. But I wonder how he is going to survive this adventure."

"In the clutches of the Delaney sisters?" the other raised a tattooed eyebrow. "That poor thing doesn't have a chance."

Left alone in Sheridan's office for an unguarded moment, Rastenn decided to take a great risk. He practically jumped to the comm unit, rammed one of the recording crystals always in his pocket into the slot and downloaded the most recent messages. Then he left in a great hurry, before Starkiller would return and catch him red-handed.

TBC