STILL NOT IN KANSAS

by Soledad

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

Some of the dialogue, as before, is directly taken from the episode "Grey 17 Is Missing". I've messed up the timeline of the actual episode a little, for which I'm truly sorry. But I needed more time and slightly different situations to insert the Trek characters.

Sorry it took me so long to update. Real Life has interfered a lot, and Chakotay was most uncooperative when it came to the romantic parts.

PART TWELVE

Security Chief Michael Garibaldi was not the sort of person to easily trust strangers. In fact, he had been called paranoid many times in his life – and not without a reason. The more surprising it was, even for himself – or especially for himself – that he had taken such an instant liking to Gregor Ayala. He felt as if he had known the other man all his life.

There was something about the burly security officer of Voyager that Garibaldi felt very soothing. While he was talkative and easily irritated, Ayala seemed like a quiet and unmovable rock in a storm. He came from a family that had been in law enforcement for three generations, while Ayala was a former outlaw, rebel and freedom fighter. And yet they had understood each other splendidly at first sight. It was a strange thing, but Garibaldi liked it.

"Now, this," he explained proudly, "is an antique Smith & Wesson .38 revolver. Used to belong to my grandmother, back when she worked for the Boston P.D."

Ayala eyed the relic in question with proper respect. He was not the weapons fanatic many of his fellow security officers seemed to be, but even he found intriguing an item this old and still in such good shape.

"May I…?" he asked, and Garibaldi handed him the gun readily enough.

"Yea, sure, take a look. You don't see something like this every day."

Ayala examined the weapon, admiring the clean lines. "Oh, she's a beauty! Do they still use projectile weapons, back on Earth?"

Garibaldi shrugged. "Yeah. Not as much as the used to since EarthForce went all over to use PPGs, though. These things can't only burn through the flesh, they also can punch a hole through the walls and bulkheads."

"Not what you'd want on a space station," Ayala agreed. "Or on a starship."

"Back home they still use them for private security," Garibaldi added. "Or for target practice. That sort of thing."

"Makes sense," Ayala gave him back the weapon. "Why did you dig it out right now?"

"Oh, I don't know," Garibaldi replied with a helpless shrug. "Ever since we severed ties with Earth, I've felt a little… uprooted. But this baby," he caressed the gun almost reverently, "this is a firm part of my family's history."

"I understand," Ayala said after a while. "When the Federation signed that treaty with the Cardassians – the one that handed our colonies over to the enemy – I felt the same way. We all felt the same way."

Garibaldi nodded in understanding. "That was what drove you into the Maquis."

For a moment, Ayala was unsure how to explain his newfound friend that the Maquis wasn't just some organization one joined. That they were the Maquis; all of them. But before he could have found the right words, the lean-faced man whom he had seen working with Garibaldi earlier stormed in, waving with some reports that he held in his hands.

"Sorry, chief…"

"Hey, Zack," Garibaldi answered absently, putting the gun away. Zack Allen started a new approach.

"Sorry for being late… I've been hold up in the Grey sector. I had a weird report…I don't know what to make of this one. They had some dead power relays last night – which means they had to check it out."

"Did they fix it?" Garibaldi interrupted.

Zack nodded, quite unsure about the whole thing. "Yes…"

"You're right," Garibaldi prompted. "That is a weird thing."

But Zack apparently didn't feel like joking. "It's not only that," he continued, concerned. "The guy did the work – and disappeared."

Garibaldi rolled his eyes. "What do you mean 'disappeared'? This is a closed station. Where can you go?"

"Well, that's what they say anyway. They've found his gear, but no trace of the guy," Zac waited for a moment. "You want me to look into it?"

"No," Garibaldi stood with a long-suffering face. "I'll do it. I like mysteries. But," he added warningly, "I hate Grey sector. I swear, there's always some damn thing going wrong. See you later."

"Sure, whatever," Zack shrugged and left.

Garibaldi turned to Ayala, "Are you coming? You can see a whole different part of Babylon 5. Besides, Grey sector is boring, and I could use some company."

Voyager

The holodeck doors opened on Chez Sandrine, and Lillian Hobbs felt as if she was stepping into another world. Into one with which she was pleasantly familiar, to tell the truth. After a holographic customer had tossed the glass doors outwards they were granted a glimpse of a large room, panelled in warm, golden-brown colours and dimly lit by beautiful, stained glass lamps. Artfully carved cabinets stood along the walls, filled with china and glasses, and there was a pool table right opposite the entrance, with some of the players, curiously, wearing twentieth-century clothes. There was even a fireplace on one side, with small tables and stuffed chairs around it.

"A French bistro!" she cried out in delight. Chakotay looked at him in surprise.

"You seem familiar with this sort of… establishment," he said, and Lillian nodded.

"I am. You see, after my parent's died, my maternal grandparents took me in. They were French and lived in Marseilles. I spent a lot of my younger years in places like this one."

"Marseilles?" Chakotay raised a tattooed eyebrow. "This tavern is in Marseilles, you know. I mean, the original one. And that," he nodded discretely towards the petite blonde woman standing behind the bar, "is Sandrine. She owns the place. It's been in her family over 600 years. So theoretically, you should know this place, too."

Lillian shook her head, regretfully. "Our respective histories seem to divide in this area. I know the harbour of Marseilles like the back of my hand, but there never has been a bistro like this." She looked around, interested. "Which is a shame, actually. I think I'd have liked it."

"Well, as they say, 'no time like the present'," Chakotay escorted her to the bar and gave the proprietor one of his killer smiles. "Bon soir, Sandrine. May I introduce you to Dr. Lillian Hobbs?"

The blonde woman, who was wearing a long-sleeved purple dress with a rather… suggestive cleavage and a silver flower in her hair, smiled at them warmly.

"Oh, enchanté," she said, offering her hand to Chakotay, who kissed it. "We haven't seen you here for a long time, Commander. Can I get the two of you something to drink?"

Chakotay thought for a moment. "Would you be willing to break open a bottle of that '46 Saint Emilion you save behind the bar for Tom Paris?"

"Bien sûr, mon ami," Sandrine replied with a sultry smile and produced the bottle in question. "Only the best for you and your lady friend."

Chakotay smiled. "Since you've grown up in France, I don't think I need to ask if you like wine," he said to Lillian, accepting the bottle and the glasses from Sandrine and navigating his date to an empty table. "This is a very good vintage – too bad it's only synthehol."

"Only what?" Lillian made herself comfortable and eyed the wine with interest.

"A synthetic reproduction," Chakotay explained. "It gives you the taste of alcohol, without the intoxicating effects."

"And that's considered bad?" Lillian asked in surprise. Chakotay shrugged.

"Not as a rule, it isn't. But sometimes… well, there are times when a little intoxication is just part of the fun." He raised his glass and Lillian followed suit. "Salute!"

They clinked their glasses and drank. Lillian eyed the bottle again, this time appreciatively.

"Synthetic or not, this is a very good wine," she judged. Chakotay grinned.

"Lieutenant Paris has his faults, but his taste in wine is excellent. Would you care to dance before we have dinner?"

"Sure, why not?" Lillian rose again, accepting his hand and followed him to the dance floor. This promised to be a very pleasant evening.

Docking bay

Both of Vir's hearts throbbed in his throat, and he needed all his willpower not to freak out when they passed the Voyager officers heading to the diplomatic section. Rastenn's unshakable calm was a source of strength, though; so he managed to look… well, only as nervous as he always did. Working for Londo Mollari was not healthy for one's nerves.

Fortunately for him, the human lady captain and her pointy-eared companions hadn't even consciously noticed them passing by. They reached the bay where the Alota was docked without any incident, and Vir took in the sleek, elegant lines of the little ship admiringly.

"This is no simple trade shuttle, is it?" he asked quietly, and Rastenn shook his head.

"No, it is not. I wish I could tell you more, but…"

"There is no need," Vir interrupted hurriedly. "Since I know now who you really are, I can guess. And the less I know, the safer it is for me."

"That is true," Rastenn touched both his fists to his chest in the warriors' greeting. "My gratitude, Vir. May your gods protect you. I hope we will meet again, under more pleasant circumstances."

"So do I," Vir replied, half-relieved that this dangerous new friend, who turned out to be no friend after all, was finally leaving. Even though he would miss their conversations. Lennier was a true friend, one whom he could trust, but Rastenn… well, Rastenn had been more fun.

"Good luck," he added and turned away, determined to go to the Zocalo and get drunk. Usually, he was not a heavy drinker, but he considered the current circumstances… unusual, to put it mildly.

Rastenn checked in with C&C and received permission to start from Lt. Corwin. He steered his shuttle out of the docking bay and felt great relief when he finally got out to open space. Granted, he was still within the reach of Babylon 5's defensive grid, but they had no reason to fire at a lonely Minbari shuttle... one registered as a participant of regular trade traffic.

He was about to initiate the jumpgate sequence, when suddenly the gate burst open, and a whole swarm of small ships came through. He recognized the configuration, of course – they were Anla'shok fighters, coming to Delenn's initiation ceremony, no doubt. Rastenn allowed himself a grim smile. The Anla'shok would be surprised by the outcome of that ceremony.

He activated the Alota's engines and jumped through the gate before it could close again. The instruments picked up the Ingata's beacon as soon as he was in hyperspace. He leaned back in his pilot's seat and adjusted his course, according to that beacon. The assignment was over. He was going home.

Grey Sector

Garibaldi and Ayala rode the elevator down to the Grey sector level where the technician was supposed to have disappeared and met Ms Jolie, the tech supervisor of the maintenance crews. She was a competent, no-nonsense woman in her early thirties, who even managed to look good in her blue uniform. Yeah, she was pretty in a feline way, with her cat-like green eyes and shoulder-length, blond hair, but that didn't explain why Ayala was staring at her with his mouth literally open.

But those were thoughts for another time, Garibaldi decided. Right now, he had a mystery to solve – an at least interesting change to the usual crime reports. Like the three guys found dead in Down Below. Which was a problem he would to return to, shortly. First, however, he wanted to deal with this one.

"Is this the last place where you heard from him?" he asked. The blonde woman nodded.

"Yes, sir. He said he couldn't find anything wrong and all of a sudden, the power grid came back on, just like that. We waited for him to check back on, but he didn't," she shrugged empathically, "and after a few hours, we called security."

Garibaldi frowned, still refusing to believe in mysterious disappearances. Instead, he squatted down to where the cover of a maintenance tunnel was clearly outlined on the floor.

"Anybody checked this out?"

The woman gave him a slightly annoyed look; she obviously didn't like when her competence was being questioned. "Yeah, we checked all the levels below, but… nada. The cover was back in place – apparently, he had finished whatever he was doing."

"Anybody saw anything?" Garibaldi pressed.

"This whole sector is mainly industrial stuff," the woman pointed out. Then she made a helpless gesture. "I'm telling you, it's like he just vanished into thin air."

"Thin air?" Garibaldi repeated, slipping into that mood Zack and Lou Welch called 'the Chief's rambling. "Why is it always thin air? Never fat air, chubby air, mostly-fit-could-stand-lose-a-few-pounds air?"

The woman looked as if she was ready to call the MedLabs at once. But she tried to remain as polite as possible when alone with a madman and an unknown person in a semi-secluded industrial area.

"I'm sorry, sir, but semantics aren't my department," she replied with exaggerated patience. "Have you got any ideas?"

"Aside from a two-week vacation in the Mars Pleasure Dome?" Garibaldi snapped. "Not a one. "He pressed a button to call the elevator. "Are you sure you've checked out here?"

"Absolutely," the woman replied, her eyes decidedly unfriendly now. "We went through all twenty-nine Grey levels."

"You mean thirty," Garibaldi interrupted. "There's thirty levels in Grey sector."

"No," the woman replied patiently. "Twenty-nine."

Garibaldi gave her a bewildered look. "But I've seen the schematics, and…"

"They say thirty, I know," it was now the woman's turn to interrupt him. "It's a mistake in the blueprints. They've rushed to get this place finished, so nobody ever counted. Not that many people get down here to begin with, after all. Take my word for it; I went down every floor of this place and counted it: twenty-nine. For sure."

The elevator arrived. She gave them a superior smile, stepped in and left, without waiting for them.

"That went well," Garibaldi commented sourly. "She is probably the most infuriating woman in the whole tech crew."

Ayala shrugged. "I found her cute," he told Garibaldi. "If you think she is difficult, you should try working with Lieutenant Torres. On her first day in Engineering, she broke Lieutenant Carey's nose in the heat of a harmless argument."

Garibaldi winced, remembering Zack's report about the half-Klingon woman and how she had beaten up two Drazi single-handedly. "Ouch! At least Ivanova doesn't beat us up. Not that I know it, anyway. So," he added, grinning, "you found Ms Jolie cute? You'd have fooled me… the way you stared at her with open mouth."

"She reminded me of someone I used to know," Ayala shrugged. "Way back, before I became a Maquis."

"A significant someone?" Garibaldi inquired. But Ayala shook his head.

"No. A wealthy Bajoran woman who had married a collaborator twice her age for his money and even after the war, she tried to blackmail her late husband's agents who were hiding their identity. No, she definitely wasn't a nice person. But the physical remembrance is eerie."

"But you still find Ms Jolie cute," Garibaldi said, shaking his head.

"Yeah," Ayala said. "You think you could set me up for a date with her?"

Garibaldi stared at him in utter disbelief. "You can't be serious! That woman is like a cold fish!"

"It's all a question of the right approach," Ayala replied. "I don't intend spending our time here on Voyager, evaluating security drills. This is the best chance to have some private life we've had in four years... or more."

"All right," Garibaldi said, "I'll see what I can do. I think Technician Robertson from C&C knows her pretty well. I can always ask her. But first, let's solve this so-called mystery here. You still game?"

Ayala nodded. "Sure, what are we going to do?"

"I'm still pretty sure that there should be thirty levels in Grey sector," Garibaldi told him. "We are going to check out the whole sector, counting the levels and see what happens."

Sandrine's

They danced for a while, swaying sensuously to the slow music, enjoying the warmth and closeness of each other. It seemed so right to both of them, almost familiar, as if they had done this together all their lives. Afterwards they could not remember who initiated the first kiss… they just realized that they were kissing, lazily, unhurriedly, in the manner of long-time lovers. As if it hadn't been only a few days since they had first met.

"That was… strange," Lillian declared when they finally broke the kiss and returned to their table to eat the excellent bouillabaisse, a speciality of the house, served to them during the time of their dancing. Chakotay raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Strange in a good sense or in a bad sense?" he asked. Lillian hit him with her napkin.

"Hey, I don't usually jump a man's bones on the first date."

"I won't exactly call this 'jumping my bones', but…" Chakotay turned serious, "you are actually right. I didn't expect this going so fast, either. So where does it leave us?"

Lillian shrugged, took a spoonful of her bouillabaisse and closed her eyes in pleasure. "Mmm… wonderful… Well, we can pretend that nothing happened. That we hadn't experienced this instant attraction, that we aren't lonely and needy and that we have all the time of the world. Or we can accept the truth like mature adults and act on it. After all, tomorrow your whole ship could be gone again; or we all could be dead. Babylon 5 is not a safe place in these days."

They ate in silence for a while. Then Chakotay put down his spoon and looked at her intently. "I'm all for accepting the truth," he said. "But..."

"But things are rushing forward too fast for you," Lillian nodded. "I understand that. So, let's slow down a little and hope that we'll both still be here tomorrow."

"Speaking of tomorrow – are you free in the evening?" Chakotay asked.

Lillian shook her head. "I've got night watch. It has to wait till the day after."

"The day after tomorrow?" Chakotay mentally checked his schedule. "Well, I can try and swap shifts with Lieutenant Rollins, I guess. Yeah, it's doable. I'll make holodeck reservations again."

"That'd be nice," Lillian said, "but I'd like to make a request. Do you have a holographic simulation of the world you call home?"

"Dorvan V?" Chakotay shrugged. "Sure. Why do you ask?"

"I want to see it," Lillian replied. "You told me stories about your homeworld when we first met, and it seems to me that it's very important for you. That it has shaped you to become the man who you are now. I want to know that place."

TBC