The Lost Voyages

The "Star Trek – Voyager" that could have been

by Soledad

CARETAKER

Alternate pilot episode

Disclaimer: All Star Trek belongs to Gene Roddenberry and Viacom or whoever owns the rights at this moment. I don't make any profit out of this – I wish I would, but I don't, so suing me would be pointless.

Rating: PG-13, for some rather disturbing images.

A/N: Beta read by Brigid, my sincerest thanks. All remaining mistakes are mine alone.

Sidhe Ranma, would you contact  me personally? I'd do so myself, but you didn't leave an email address.

INTERLUDE: LOST

The deck lurched. Chakotay flew from his seat and knocked Sito off her feet. The small, fragile-looking blonde rolled over expertly and – hard to believe – landed on her feet again. Then he remembered that back on the Enterprise Sito had been working out with the Klingon security officer. She had the equivalent of a green belt in Klingon martial arts. Such things can harden a person – make them able to survive a Cardassian prison camp. Or an encounter like this.

Darkness. With a roar, the bridge erupted in flame. Chakotay was slammed to the deck again. With half an eye he saw Torres and Suvuk grabbing the fire extinguisher, trying to quench the flames. Dalby, however, at any other time the first one to run doing damage control, crouched down to the deck, cradling the broken body of Gerron in his arms.

When the Crazy Horse righted herself, Chakotay drew in a lungful of smoke, coughed, and pushed himself to his knees. The billowing smoke clutched at his throat, stung his eyes; breathing had become increasingly difficult. He wiped away the sweat trickling down his face and noticed absently the dark red wetness soaking his sleeve.

"Report!" he demanded, taking a look around.

What he saw didn't improve his mood a bit. The bridge lay dark and smoldering, illuminated only by the sparks raining from damaged consoles. But Suvuk had returned to his own panel already – as a Vulcan he was stronger than most of the crew.

"We have suffered considerable damage," he reported calmly, "but no hull breach so far, if the remaining sensors are working reliably."

"I suppose it's lucky that the Warp engines were down already," Torres, almost as unbreakable as the Vulcan, was working furiously at her console again. "Had that – whatever it was that hit us – caught us in Warp transit, a core breach would have been impossible to stop."

"Casualties?" Chakotay asked the Vulcan. Suvuk tilted his head.

"Unknown. Internal communication is down at the moment."

Of course. Why not? When they needed the damn intercom most, it would crash on them. Chakotay gritted his teeth, fighting his nausea.

"What about Gerry?"

"He's hit his head pretty hard," Sito replied, pressing a hypospray against the young Bajoran's neck, "but he'll live. That thick hair of his dampened the collision a lot. How do you feel, Captain?"

"I'll live, too," Chakotay grimaced. "Now, since intercom is dead…"

"I'll have to go and look after the crew personally," Sito finished for him, already repacking her medkit. "On my way, sir."

Chakotay nodded his thanks, suppressing a smile over Sito's still flawless Starfleet manners. If only Captain Picard knew where his teachings had come to fruition…

"Send Seska up here if you see her," he added. "We need someone at the sensors."

Sito acknowledged with a brief nod and left. In the background Gerron was groaning softly. Then Chakotay heard Dalby's reassuring murmurs and smiled, despite their desolate state. The hard-bitten man really went out of his way to protect the kid.

The door groaned open again, and in came Seska, business-like and efficient as always. Chakotay couldn't help but admire the strength of that woman, in spite of the fact that Seska's stubbornness – her strength, as she preferred to put it – was the very thing that drove them apart. Still, he wouldn't have her any other way, and while they had failed as lovers, they still remained good friends. Most of the time, anyway.

"What do you need me for?" she asked in the same mocking manner as always. As if she expected the answer to be "for my bed".

"Sensors," Chakotay replied curtly. He was in no mood for Seska's games. He still liked her, even though their intimacy belonged to the past, but at times Seska simply didn't know when to hold back. It was no secret that she still hoped to revive their relationship.

The Bajoran realized that she had crossed that invisible border of Chakotay's patience – again! – and stepped to one of the dead sensor consoles without a further comment, her rigid stature broadcasting clearly that this wasn't over yet. Still, just as Chakotay had expected, she was able to force the instruments to respond in less than ten minutes – only to bend over the readings with a frown.

"What the hell… Suvuk, have you ever seen anything like this?"

The Vulcan stepped to her side, and after half a minute a deep furl appeared between his upswept brows.

"The readings are… inconclusive," he decided in that blank manner that always meant utter surprise by Vulcans.

"What is it?" Chakotay asked, his stomach clenching.

"We seem unable to define our current position," Suvuk explained calmly. "The constellations surrounding us don't show any similarity with anything in Bajoran – or Cardassian – space."

"Just how far has that displacement wave hurled us?"

"That is currently unknown, Captain. I suggest we initiate an interlink frequency with the astrometrics database for clarification."

"Do it. How long will it take until we find out anything useful?"

"My estimate, imprecise as it is, would be at least two hours, Captain. Our on-board computer is rather slow in processing scientific date."

Of course it is, Chakotay thought sourly, the Crazy Horse is not a science vessel. But out loud he only said, "No problem. In the meantime we can get a few things repaired and the wounded cared for. Ken, take Gerry to his quarters, then come back and help B'Elanna with the repairs."

Dalby reluctantly nodded and scooped up Gerron in his arms. "I wish we had at least a sick room," he said. "I hate to leave him alone like this."

"So do I, but this is not a Starfleet cruiser, and you know that, Ken," Chakotay replied.

Growling some mild obscenities, Dalby left the bridge, and Chakotay focused his attention (or what was left of it after his head injury) on the comm system. With Warp engines down and impulse engines almost gone, they hung dead in space, and he didn't like being so completely helpless.

Of course, he knew his way around an engine room and was able to make small repairs – nobody in the Maquis could afford to be ignorant – but right now he wished he had attended more engineering courses while still at the Academy. By the shape his ship was in right now, the basics simply weren't enough.

"Let me take a look at it, Captain," a soft voice said, and Hogan's young face swam into his sight.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. Hogan shrugged.

"Tabor can't manage in the engine room without B'Elanna. He asked me to fetch her."

"Then do it!" Chakotay said through gritted teeth. Damn nausea was rising in his stomach again.

"I already did," Hogan replied. "She told me to stay here and make myself useful, So, sit down and let me kick some sense into the comm system, okay?"

Chakotay realized that Hogan was right. The young human used to be an engineer, working in the shuttle maintenance center in the Volan Colonies before the Federation let them fall into Cardassian hands. He was an orphan, raised in the family of his maternal uncle, one Bill Samuels, who got tortured to death by Gul Evek's investigators. After that, Hogan took his uncle's place in the Maquis – and proved to be a real asset. Not only did he know his job well, he also managed to get along with Torres. Their colony had some Klingon citizens, too, and Hogan had learned how to handle their tempers early on. Chakotay was extremely grateful for that.

"All right," he said, sliding gingerly aside to give Hogan a little room at the pilot's console. "Who else is down there?"

"Just Tabor, B'Elanna and Jonas, so far," Hogan answered, frowning over the shape of the bridge. "Jarvin is on his way but has to check the transporter first."

"How bad is it? Chakotay asked quietly. Hogan shrugged again.

"Bad enough… but nothing that B'Elanna can't put together again – assuming that we'll be left alone long enough to do the repairs. Where are we right now, by the way?"

"That," Suvuk replied dryly, "is something we still are trying to ascertain at this time."

Hogan snorted good-naturedly – due to the mixed population of the Volan Colonies he was used to Vulcans, too. Or Bolians, for that matter. In fact, he could get along with almost everybody. Except Cardassians, of course. But that was not his fault.

They all worked in silence for a while. Chakotay found the dermal regenerator he kept under his console and tried to repair the cut on his forehead. Without a mirror, it was a little complicated, of course, but he managed to do it, just as he usually managed to shave without a mirror. He'd have liked a hypospray against the splitting headache, but the only medkit was the one Sito was using. Besides, their medical supplies were running low and had to be saved for the really serious cases.

"Comm system is coming back online, Captain," Hogan reported. Chakotay nodded – and winced, making a mental note to avoid such gestures in the foreseeable future. Maybe he did have a concussion, after all.

"Hail the runabout!"

Hogan tried – in vain. "No answer, Captain."

"Damn!" Chakotay gritted his teeth again, this time to fight his frustration. "They got through the plasma storm with us, where can they be?"

Hogan shrugged – his usual reaction to new problems that kept emerging on the Maquis ship at any moment.

"Perhaps these runabouts aren't that tough, after all. Just because something is fancy and shiny…"

"On the contrary," Suvuk said. "Runabouts, though small in size, are remarkably resilient. If the Crazy Horse managed to resist the efforts of the displacement wave, despite her less-than-ideal condition, it is logical to assume that the runabout did so as well."

"I hope so," Chakotay murmured, switching to internal communication. "Bridge to Sito. Casualties?"

"We've lost Lanca. And Tamal is in pretty bad shape," the young woman replied in a neutral voice.

Chakotay suppressed a curse. Lanca was one of their oldest team members – even-tempered, experienced and tireless. He'd miss the man. Just as he'd miss Tamal, should the hot-headed young cell leader from Ronara Prime not survive. Tamal didn't belong to his cell. He was taking the place of old Macias on their homeworld. It was an accident that he was on board and he was badly needed at home.

"Understood," he said with a heavy sigh. "Seska, what's with that viewscreen? We need a look around!"

"Almost there," Seska was working with that typical, intense concentration of hers. "All right, it should come back online about…now!"

Suvuk had turned back to his reading already, and that furrow appeared between his brows again. "These readings make no sense," he commented in a manner that was almost a complaint.

But none on the bridge paid him any attention. All eyes were fixed on the unbelievable view before them, and after a long, stunned silence, it was Chakotay who finally formulated the question on everybody's mind.

"What the hell is that?"

TBC

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Note: Tamal is a character known from TNG ("Preemptive Strike") and DS9 ("Defiant"). Ronara Prime is the planet in the DMZ where the Maquis abducted Ro Laren until they checked her story in "Preemptive Strike". Old Macias, the cell leader of that particular colony, was killed by Cardassian assassins in that episode.