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.

Author's notes: I've skipped the silly farm scene from the pilot, as I haven't made up my mind about alternate possibilities yet. The main storyline continues after the two crews have been returned to their respective ships.

My heartflet thanks to Brigid for beta reading.

CHAPTER NINE: STRANGE BEDFELLOWS

He jerked awake as from a nightmare. A nightmare about an endless room, clean and antiseptic and surreal in its impersonal, blue-white light. A room with slabs in neat, even rows along both walls, like examining tables in an enormous morgue after some unknown disease wiped out the population of a whole village. Slabs with a naked body on each – humans, Vulcans, Bajorans, Bolians, a Klingon – his very own crew, unconscious and unresisting, with wires and probes coming from the metallic ceiling and piercing their bodies in a dozen or more places. And somewhere behind him young Gerron was screaming again like a frightened animal.

Chakotay came awake, with Gerron's scream still in his ear, on the damaged bridge of the Crazy Horse. His head throbbed, but otherwise he felt all right… more or less. Climbing to his feet, he looked around and could see Suvuk, Hogan and Seska lying on the deck, among the debris, but not Torres. Oh, right. B'Elanna had gone down to Engineering. And Hogan had just repaired the intercom before they were abducted.

He staggered back to his seat and fell into it heavily. Spirits, my head is killing me! With a somewhat clumsy move, he switched on the system praying that it still worked. "Chakotay to Ayala. You still here, Greg?"

"Sure thing, Chak," the deep, rough voice of his second-in-command answered almost immediately, and Chakotay let out a relieved sigh. Once again, his childhood friend proved as reliable as an antigrav-unit and almost as indestructible.

"Are all accounted for?" he asked.

"Don't know yet," Ayala replied. "I'm about to check it out."

"Come up to the bridge, it will be easier from here now that the comm system is working."

"You got it, Cap. Ayala out."

The others were stirring, too. Suvuk had already returned to his sensors but Seska sat holding her head with both hands, obviously suffering from a headache as well. Hogan remained lying on the floor, eyes tightly shut, groaning with pain.

"Suvuk, can you tell me where we are?" Chakotay asked, trying to ignore the suffering of the young engineer. At the moment there was nothing he could do to help Hogan. Sooner or later Sito will arrive, but in the meantime he had to deal with more urgent matters.

The Vulcan consulted his instruments – the few that were still working, that is.

"Affirmative, captain. According to my readings, we are still at the same coordinates as before our… abduction: orbiting the lower section of the Array."

That was less than stellar news, but Chakotay was used to it by now.

"And how long were we down… wherever we were?" he asked.

Suvuk checked the ship's inner chronometer. "Approximately three days, eighteen hours, fifty-four minutes, Captain."

"Four days!" That was unexpected, but not entirely surprising. If he had not dreamed the whole thing, the entity that had snatched them must have performed a thorough physical examination on each and every crewmember – if not worse. On the other hand… "I assume this was a long enough time for our computer to process the astrometric data?"

"Indeed, Captain," replied Suvuk, giving the readouts a cursory glance. "We are able to confirm our current position now."

"Glad to hear it," Chakotay fought his impatience. Former experiences had taught him that it was no use in dealing with Vulcans. "Well, would you mind telling me where the hell we are?"

"Hell, though somewhat exaggerated, may seem the appropriate definition, at least for human crewmen," the Vulcan answered, one eyebrow climbing slowly up to the roots of his hair. "Unless the computer is damaged and has made a grave error, we are 70,000 light years from the Badlands. In the Delta Quadrant."

Chakotay needed a full minute to absorb this particular piece of information.

"How could a displacement wave – any displacement wave – hurl us across the Galaxy?" he finally asked.

"It cannot," came the calm answer of the Vulcan. "Not the ones I know of, at least. I assume we are dealing with alien technology here, Captain. A technology that is far superior to ours."

"You got it dead on, Suvuk," Ayala, arriving just in time to hear the big news, could always appreciate the infallible Vulcan talent of stating the obvious. Actually, he found it comforting. "It seems the fight against the Cardies is pretty much over for us, huh, Cap?"

"I wouldn't be so sure," Chakotay said. "That Array has brought us here, obviously. For whatever reason, it let us go again – I think it can get us back home, too."

Ayala rolled his eyes. "Try to be realistic here, Chakotay. Whoever it was that brought us here, they apparently didn't care for our wishes a bit. Do you really think they will waste their time and energy to get us home?"

"I don't know," Chakotay sighed. "But I do know that we can't get home on our own. So, unless we want to spend our lives in the Delta Quadrant, our best chance is to try talking the entity into helping us."

"Well, good luck!" Ayala's sarcastic tone left no doubt about how much hope he had in that.

"We are all the makers of our own luck," Chakotay quoted the old saying. "But first we must do some repairs. Even if we could persuade the entity to send us back, the ship wouldn't survive another transfer in her current state."

"That might be a problem," Ayala said dryly. "I've just spoken with Tabor on my way here, and it seems that B'Elanna has not shown up yet."

Chakotay paled. Aside of the fact that they had no chance to keep the ship together without Torres' instinctive talents, the fierce half-Klingon was his friend, and he was not willing to leave her behind.

"Anyone else missing?" he asked.

"No reports yet," Ayala accessed the com system from another station. "I'm still checking."

Chakotay nodded and turned to Seska, who was standing at the sensors again. "Any sign of the runabout?"

"None," the Bajoran replied with a frown. "But we seem to have another problem here – a big one."

She switched the image to the big screen, and they all watched with sinking hearts the sleek, predatory-looking white ship of unmistakable Starfleet design floating peacefully at a higher section of the Array.

"There were rumours all over DS9 about Starfleet commissioning a new Intrepid-class ship," Ayala commented softly. "With bioneural circuitry to maneuver through plasma storms…"

"To hunt us down for the Cardies," Hogan added with a scowl. "Captain, that ship has come for us!"

"No doubt," Chakotay nodded. "But how did they get to the Delta Quadrant?"

"Presumably the same way we did," Suvuk said.

Chakotay nodded again. That made sense. If the Fleet ship was looking for them already while the entity was fishing for new victims, it could easily have been caught in the net.

"Lifesigns?" he asked. Seska shook her head.

"None so far. The crew is probably still being examined down there." She looked up with a gleam in her eyes. "Chakotay, that ship is empty right now. We could simply beam over and take it!"

"We could, if our transporter was in working order," Suvuk replied. "Or if we had shuttlepods to ferry over at least a skeleton crew. Or if our thrusters were reliable enough to maneuver us into their docking bay, without ramming the ship by accident."

Chakotay gritted his teeth in frustration. No, he didn't really believe that they could take over the Starfleet ship with the small crew of the Crazy Horse, not when the Starfleet crew could be returned at any moment. He had been a Starfleet officer, he knew the efficiency of that organization all too well. But the thought of bringing his people a new ship that was not about to fall apart under their feet was tempting nevertheless.

"Our best hope is to find Torres and get away from here before the Starfleet-crew returns," he said. So, repairs are our highest priority. Hogan, go down to Engineering and help the others get our Warp-drive online. We'll make the smaller repairs up here ourselves."

Hogan nodded and left in a great hurry. Chakotay looked at Seska.

"Scan the Array. Try to find Torres. And keep that Starfleet ship under constant surveillance. At the moment her crew returns, we need to get out of here, even if we have to get off and push the Crazy Horse."

"Sure," the Bajoran replied, switching on a few more instruments that miraculously still worked.

"Suvuk, Ayala," Chakotay pulled out the EETK(1) from under his console, "help me with the repairs! Time's running out."

They worked furiously and in almost complete silence for some six hours after that. Fortunately, the damage to the bridge systems was less serious than originally thought – now that nobody was shooting at them or otherwise trying to kill them all, they could concentrate on their work, and one by one, the stations came back to life… well, most of them. One wall of consoles remained dead – burned as black as space, beyond any hope of repairs. But they could do without them, for a while, and Torres was capable of rebuilding them from the scratch if necessary, given enough time and the right resources.

Time they were going to have aplenty, if they couldn't make the entity send them home. Finding Torres, however, was a different issue. Their sensors still couldn't penetrate the array, nor could they find any M-class planets in reach. Not to mention the runabout that was still nowhere to be found. If it made it to the Delta Quadrant at all, that is.

"Chakotay," Seska said urgently, "I can read lifesigns on the Starfleet ship – more than a hundred. It seems the crew has returned."

"Damn!" Chakotay hit the intercom. "Engineering, give me everything we have. Power up the engines, we have to put that Array between us and the Fleet ship!"

"Sixty percent impulse is all I can give you, Cap," the voice of Tabor answered. Chakotay activated the manual controls of his pilot console.

"I'll take it." He keyed in a series of short sequences and the Crazy Horse began to move away, slowly but steadily – only to come to a dead stop at once. "What the hell…"

"They've tractored us," Ayala reported grimly. Chakotay bit back another curse. He knew they couldn't break the tractor beam of the bigger, much more powerful Starfleet ship. Damn them anyway, for making their first priority the capture of fellow human beings trapped here, in the Delta Quadrant!

"Do we have phasers?" he asked. Suvuk gave him the Vulcan eyebrow.

"On minimal power."

"It'll have to be enough. Aim at their tractor emitters."

"That could knock out our impulse engines again," came Hogan's voice through the still open comm channel.

"Impulse engines won't help us very much if we are tractored in and thrown into their brig," Chakotay replied, turning to Suvuk in fury. "Reroute all power to the phasers and take out their tractor emitters, now!"

For a moment, the Vulcan seemed to hesitate (which was a very strange reaction, especially coming from him), then he carried out his orders with his usual efficiency.

"We are free," Ayala reported.

"Raise shields," Chakotay ordered, not wanting to be beamed out of his own ship, and rerouting all available power to the thrusters (since impulse engines had been knocked down, just as Hogan had foreseen) he made a very risky move – he directed the Crazy Horse right to the narrow opening between the two nearest "sails" of the Array. Theoretically, they would be protected by the Array's own, unique forcefield there, and if they were lucky, the Starfleet ship would be unable to penetrate that forcefield. Nor could it follow them in there.

"Chak," Ayala shook his head in admiration, "sometimes I think you are truly insane."

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

Tom came to in sickbay, where he had been before being snatched away by… well, whatever it had been that snatched them away. Looking around he could see several previously injured, but now apparently hale crewmembers, staggering to their feet. The dead bodies were gone from the examination tables, and at the opposite wall four incubator units were humming quietly, a tiny, blue-grey fishhead, attached to life support tubes, squirming in each one.

"How friendly of you to return… all of you!" the sarcastic voice of the EMH greeted him. "Although it was probably not necessary to do so at the same moment. We are crowded enough here as it is, without healthy people taking up valuable space."

"Believe me, Doc, we had no choice in this one," Tom stood slowly, not entirely sure his feet would hold him. Surprisingly, they did. "How long were we… away?"

"Three days," the EMH replied, "in which time I had to sit down and study the crew manifest and the medical database, as nobody cared to turn off my program."

"Three days?" Tom repeated, alarmed. "What about Stadi? And your nurse?"

"Nurse T'Prena is in healing trance, from which she will awake shortly," the hologram answered. "As soon as she is able to return to duty, I will operate on Lieutenant Stadi. Her condition is serious, but not beyond help, and it will not deteriorate during a few more days in the stasis unit."

Tom nodded absently, trying to find the source of his uneasy feeling. Something was definitely wrong, but he could not determine what.

"Could you explain what has transpired?" the EMH asked. Tom shook his head.

"Not really. It seems that an alien, a technically very advanced one, has abducted us to that Array out there. I have vague memories of an enormous medical lab, with very unpleasant instruments poking and probing me in the most… private parts of my body, but that's all. I have no idea were we have been and why."

The hologram frowned, ethical subroutines kicking in full gear. "Were these examinations painful? Did the alien perform experiments on you?"

Tom shrugged. "I don't know. I can't remember having felt any pain, although I heard Harry scream… "he trailed off, realizing what had been bothering him all the time. "Harry, where is Harry?"

He could not seen Harry anywhere in Sickbay, and the kid should have been in Sickbay, since the crew seemed to have been returned to the exact location they had been taken from. Tom turned to the nearest computer grid. "Computer, locate Ensign Kim."

"Ensign Kim is not on board of Voyager," the goddamn machine answered, without even bothering to search first. Tom felt real panic rising from the pit of his stomach. This was not good, not good at all!

He tapped his comm badge. "Paris to Captain Janeway."

"Go ahead," a voice, as cold as the computer's, answered. Oh, to hell with her!

"Kim didn't come back with us," Tom reported. "He must still be over there."

"Acknowledged," the impersonal voice said. "Computer, how many crewmen are unaccounted for?"

"One," Tom didn't even wait for the computer to elaborate; it's answer already reached him at the Sickbay doors. "Ensign Harry Kim."

"Hail the Maquis," Janeway ordered.

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

"Cap," Ayala, now having communication full under control, looked up from his work station, "it seems your little stunt has made the Fleeters nice and mad enough to talk to us vermin. They're hailing us."

"Are they now," Chakotay felt amused, despite their fairly hopeless situation. "Be a gentleman then, and put them through."

A clearly irritated woman in a red Starfleet uniform and Captain's pips on her collar appeared on the viewscreen. One of those genderless, all-career types that sometimes made life in Starfleet a real pain. Especially when they were in a higher position. Like Admiral Nechayev, to name one.

"Commander Chakotay," she said in a voice that grated on his nerves like a fingernail scratching the window plane. "My name is Captain Kathryn Janeway."

Chakotay's eyes narrowed. Kathryn Janeway. The perfect little girl of Admiral Edward Janeway. The perfect little aide to Admiral Owen Paris and the other brass who had sold dozens of Federation colonies to Cardassia. Of course he had heard of her – in more than twenty years of duty, it was inevitable, even though they had never actually met. Until now. And this was a meeting Chakotay could have lived without.

"How do you know my name?" he asked, though the answer was obvious. With that sneaky little ship of hers, capable of maneuvering through plasma storms, they could have had only one purpose in the Badlands: to hunt down the Maquis. And being a former Starfleet officer, Chakotay knew he stood fairly high on their wanted list. Starfleet never took it kindly when someone dared to disagree with their politics.

"We were on a mission to find you when we were brought here by the Array," Janeway told him in the imperial manner of a born Starfleet brat.

"To find us," Chakotay repeated silkily. "Do you think that would be all it takes? To find us? We may be outnumbered and outgunned compared with your ship, Captain, but we are resourceful. People like you have forced us to learn how to fight against impossible odds. People who have sold us to the enemy."

At first is seemed that she would snap at him, but she restrained herself fairly quickly. She is no fool, Chakotay realized, I'll have to be careful. Edward Janeway was a skilled and ruthless diplomat – she might have inherited these skills.

"Easy, Commander," she said soothingly. "I'm not your enemy."

"Maybe not at the moment," he replied, not buying the buddy number for a second. "And, by the way, in these days I am called Captain. I may not be Starfleet anymore, but I do command my own ship. You'll show me the same respect I'm willing to show you, or this discussion is closed."

That brought forth a reaction – as if he had slapped her in front of her whole crew.. which, in a sense, he had. But, to her credit, she swallowed it, knowing that according to the law he was right. He had left Starfleet in the regular way, was no deserter, and even though the Federation was not on good terms with the Maquis at the moment, a spaceship captain was a spaceship captain.

"My apologies… Captain," she said, with an emphasis on his rank that was worth an insult. "But the fact is, I'm not after you this time. One of our crewman is missing, and I'd like to know if he was transported back to your ship by accident."

Chakotay looked at Ayala, who shook his head slowly. "No. But this does show a certain pattern, doesn't it, Cap?"

"Yeah, it does," Chakotay turned back to the viewscreen, to the impatiently waiting woman. "A member of our crew is missing too," he didn't find it necessary to tell her which one. "It seems the entity who controls the Array has more in its mind than just scientific investigation."

"It also seems that you and I have the same problem," Janeway answered. "I think it makes sense to try and solve it together, don't you?"

Chakotay snorted. "Now what reason should I have to trust you any further than I could throw your ship with bare hands?" he asked sarcastically. "Are you not the person who was sent out to hunt me down? Hasn't your very ship been built to terrier us out of our last hiding place? No, Captain Janeway. I'll never trust anyone in a Starfleet uniform anymore – or any ship that wears a Starfleet signature."

"Chakotay, the DMZ is thousands of light years away," Janeway told him, her frustration clearly getting the upper hand. "I don't think that what's back there means much right now, right here, do you?"

"It still means everything to me," Chakotay replied sharply. What was the woman thinking that he was, a complete fool? "And so to you, if you ask yourself honestly. The necessary compromises of the moment won't change my principles any more than they change yours. But," he added rather unexpectedly for his own people, "synchronizing our rescue efforts might prove useful. Stand by to beam three of us over to your ship."

He cut the transmission before she could answer and raised a hand to stop his own crew from protesting.

"Please, don't. I know it's a risk. But we need to find B'Elanna, and their sensors are doubtlessly ten times better than ours. Not to mention that we couldn't tell them that our transporter is not working… and I don't want anyone of them sniffling around my ship."

Ayala nodded, reluctantly. It made sense. "Whom will you take with you?"

"You and Suvuk," Chakotay replied promptly. "Arm yourselves and be ready to shoot your way free. Seska, you have command. Work on that transporter. They don't seem to have shields at the moment, so it would be good if you could beam us out in case Captain Janeway is feeling treacherous."

The Bajoran nodded with grim determination. "I won't let you end up in a Fleet brig, Chakotay, don't worry."

"Good," Chakotay said. "Drop the shields and open a channel."

"Channel open."

"Chakotay to Starfleet vessel. Three to beam over."

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

Tom reached the bridge at the same moment and froze beside Janeway at the operations console when he heard the familiar voice.

"They're powering down their engines," Rollins reported. "Dropping their shields."

"Beam them over, Mr. Rollins," Janeway turned to face the center of the bridge, moving to rest her hands on the railing in expectation. Like a she-mantis before jumping her prey, Tom thought involuntarily.

The transporter effect began to take place in front of the shattered helm, summing in the usual, high-pitched whine. Janeway stepped down beside her command chair, waiting for the three separate figures to solidify completely before addressing them.

They materialized with their backs to each other – classic fighting formation – and with their phasers drawn. One of them, a black Vulcan, lowered his weapon immediately, though, unlike Chakotay and the dark-haired, grim-faced man on his other side.

Oh no, Tom realized in despair, he's brought Greg with him! Why did it have to be Greg, of all people? Why couldn't he leave Greg back in command? Chakotay was usually not foolish enough to believe the honey-covered Starfleet promises.

"Watch out, Captain! They're armed!" Rollins, drawing his own weapon, was already starting down toward her level.

Of course they were armed. Being abandoned by the Federation, then hunted by Starfleet and finally lied to and turned upon by the very people one fought with could damage a person's ability to trust for the rest of their lives. Tom shook his head. Had anyone really expected the Maquis to beam over to the very ship that had been sent out to find them unarmed?

Janeway obviously didn't. She spun to Rollins, shouting, "Put down your weapons," directing the order to the half-dozen already armed crewmembers as well.

"You won't need those here," she added, waving at Chakotay's phaser.

"Maybe," the big Maquis replied, "but I'd like to be the judge of that, if you don't mind, Captain."

"There was a brief clash of wills, then Janeway shrugged as if she had the upper hand anyway; then she smiled at the black Vulcan side warmly. "It's good to have you back, Mr. Tuvok."

The smug triumph in her voice made Tom wish Chakotay would shoot the Vulcan on the spot. He despised spies and traitors more than everything; it was the sad irony of his life that he was seen as one himself – by both sides. Chakotay, however, showed impressive self-discipline, staring simply at the Vulcan, who turned to him, hands clasped behind his back, and told flatly.

"I must inform you that I was assigned to infiltrate your crew, sir. I am Captain Janeway's chief of security."

It took a moment until all the ramifications of this statement sank in. Chakotay, after a moment of studying the Vulcan's impassive face, slowly holstered his phaser and motioned to Ayala to do the same, admitting his defeat.

"Were you going to deliver us into their waiting hands, Vulcan?" he asked, but his sarcasm lacked any real bite. The trust among comrades had been broken, and nothing could ever change that. The fact that he didn't call the Vulcan by name – an ancient, ritual custom of his people – clearly showed that the traitor was dead for him. Not a person. Not even an evil person. Just dead meat he was too disgusted to even touch.

"My mission was to accumulate information on Maquis activities," Tuvok replied in that cold Vulcan manner that made his people so unpleasant to work with at times. "And then deliver you into their 'waiting hands'. That is correct."

Trust a Vulcan to make an already tense situation even worse, Tom thought, bracing himself for the inevitable, for in that very moment Chakotay turned away from Tuvok, jaw and fists clenching – and discovered him standing on the upper level of the bridge.

"I see you had help," he said in a low, terribly cold voice. Tom suppressed a sigh, knowing he'd never be able to prove to Chakotay – to any Maquis – that he had not betrayed them, not when he was captured, nor was he about to betray them now. Not even Greg would ever believe him.

"It's good to see you too, Chakotay," he said glibly, just to save face.  But all he could see were Greg's dark eyes, full of hurt disappointment. Of course they were. Why should Greg, why should anyone of the Maquis give him the benefit of doubt? After all, he was standing on the bridge of the hunter ship, in a Starfleet uniform – a rankless one, granted, but a uniform nevertheless.

"At least the Vulcan was doing his duty as a Starfleet officer," Chakotay spat, though the look he actually shot towards the Vulcan could have frozen Hell over. "But you...!" He looked at Tom with a disgust reserved for particularly low and disgusting lifeforms. "You betrayed us for what? Freedom from prison? Latinum? What was your price this time?"

"Chak," Ayala said quietly, "remember, we don't know anything about last time. We never found any hard proof…"

Tom knew this didn't mean that Greg actually doubted his guilt. But Greg was not the man to judge before knowing the facts. All the facts. And Chakotay knew that, too.

"You have always defended him," was all he said. "I told you he'd stab you in the back one day. Now you can see what he really is worth: nothing."

Hurtful as his words were, everyone who knew Chakotay could tell that he was just about to give the whole issue a second thought. Unfortunately, Janeway was not one of these people; and she chose this particular moment to interfere – and make everything worse. A lot worse. Kathryn Janeway never did things by halves.

She stepped purposefully in front of Chakotay, pushing her face into his personal space, chin struck out challengingly, and planted a hand of his chest warningly. What was the matter with the woman, touching everyone in reach anyway?

"You're speaking to a member of my crew," she told him coolly. "I expect you to treat him with the same respect as you would have me treat a member of yours."

Oh great, she has just declared me her personal project, Tom thought in despair. If the Maquis didn't see a traitor in me before, they surely will do so from now on.

But out loud he only said, "Why, Captain, I never knew I was actually a member of your crew. All along, I thought I was just some Starfleet 'observer', unworthy to clean the aft deck with a toothbrush. Or do you think I believed for a minute that you wouldn't throw me back to jail after all this was over?"

There was no need to play games anymore. They were in the Delta Quadrant, Greg and the others had indeed been betrayed, though not by the person they thought, and there was no hope to knit the trust that was now broken, forever. He could lay his cards open onto the table.

"Mister Paris," Janeway was furious, of course. Not only had her benevolent efforts been repelled, but her given word had been questioned as well, and that was something she was not used to. "I gave you a promise, and I did intend to keep it – as long as you kept up your end of the bargain."

"My end of a bargain?" Tom laughed quietly, and everyone, Starfleet and Maquis alike, felt a cold shiver running down their spines. "I never promised you anything, Captain. You came and hauled me out of jail in the hope I'd help you to find your little lost security chief. You never really asked me if I wanted that 'bargain' at all."

"Sure you did," Chakotay growled. Why shouldn't you? You were in prison!"

"Now, I'll tell you what, Chakotay," Tom started getting angry, too. "I only had eight more months in prison, and I was in the secure wing, where nobody could touch me without being severely punished for it. I had regular meals, I was clean and I had a lot of time to think. Beats the gutter where you picked me up in Marseilles any time."

"You were caged in a cell," Ayala pointed out. "It must have driven you crazy. You are claustrophobic."

"I began to learn to live with it," Tom replied simply. "All I had to do was to stay put and shut up, and for the first time in my life, I was actually willing to do just that. But then, I was… drafted."

"So you were lying to me all the time?" Janeway demanded, her eyes blazing with cold fury. Tom shook his head.

"No, Captain. I just didn't tell you the whole truth. You might have learned much from the Admiral, being his personal protégée and all that, but I used to be his son. Very few people can beat me in this game."

He knew he had just cut down his credibility in the eyes of the Maquis – and probably in the Starfleet crew as well – to nothing, but he was sick and tired of all the mind games he had been forced to play lately. Now that all was out in the open, he didn't really care what would happen. He was just tired. Period.

"If you are so fond of your cozy little jail cell, we can arrange for you a retour ticket any time," Janeway said with a mildness that never reached her eyes. Tom didn't even flinch.

"Do as you wish, Captain. This never was really about me. But I believe at the moment you have more urgent matters to deal with."

"True," Janeway nodded, switching back to command mode with impressive self-restraint. "We have a lot to accomplish, and I suggest we all concentrate on finding our people and getting ourselves back home."

So that you can sand me back to jail, Tom added for himself, but basically, he agreed with her.

The Vulcan moved away from Chakotay to stand at Janeway's side, making his true allegiance very clear. Chakotay clenched his jaw but restrained himself.

"Based on my initial reconnaissance, Captain, I'm convinced that we are dealing with a single entity in the Array," Tuvok said. "I would suggest that he scanned our computers in order to select a comfortable holographic environment. In effect, a waiting room – to pacify us, prior to a biometric assessment."

Tom tried to separate the Vulcan's complicated speech patterns and translate them into plain, accessible English. "An… examination?" he asked.

Tuvok gave him that typical Vulcan look that expressed his forced patience with the slow and erratic thinking process of human beings.

"It is the most logical explanation," the Vulcan said. "Why else would we have been released unharmed?"

"Not all of us were," Tom reminded him pointedly. "Which raises the question: what could a green Starfleet ensign and a Maquis warrior have in common that might pique the interest of such an advanced alien being?"

"Whatever the answer is, it is down on that Array," Chakotay said slowly.

"And that is where we are going now," Janeway added. "Tuvok, break out the compression phaser rifles. Meet us in Transporter room 2 in half an hour. We'll divide into two teams. While Chakotay and I look for Kim and…"

"Torres," Chakotay supplied.

"And Torres, your job is to find out as much about this array as you can."

"Aye, Captain," the Vulcan replied, giving the alien structure on the cloudy viewscreen a doubtful glance. But Janeway stuck firm to her courage.

"It brought us here; we have to assume it can send us home."

"If the alien is willing to use it that way," Chakotay added. "Because I don't think that we could acquire anything by force."

"Afraid not," Janeway agreed, ushering him and Ayala after Tuvok. "Mr. Rollins, maintain red alert. Keep us on constant transporter locks…"

"Captain?" Tom knew it was risky to interrupt her this time, but he couldn't help himself. This was too important. Harry was too important. "I'd like to go with you," he said simply.

Those cold, unforgiving eyes softened a little. "If this has something to do with what Chakotay said…"

"It doesn't," for the first time in his dealings with her, Tom opted for the truth, fully aware of the fact that he was offering her excellent blackmail material with that. "I'd just…. I'd just hate to see anything happen to Harry."

She gave him her usual, measuring stare, guessing – correctly – how much it had cost him to simply trust. Then she nodded, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Come on. Maybe you're not such a waste, after all."

Tom shook his head in amusement, uncertain whether he had been insulted or given a compliment – then he followed her into the turbolift."

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

End notes:

(1) Emergency Engineering Toolkit. Yes, I know that there probably isn't such thing and that Chakotay isn't an engineer. It's just like repairing your own car without the help of a car mechanic, OK?