Author's note:

I'm glad everyone seems to like this little tale. Glad people liked the POV of the Spirits of Good Fortune; that could've turned out stupid but doesn't seem to have. Here's another chapter for you all. Renember Chakotay's hearing? Some things come into play from that...

JadziaKathryn: Will they find the escape pods? Here's where we find out.

Escapefreak: (whose name keeps getting autocorrected – I know it's little E, big S): Yes, Kathryn has saved the Romulans.

Katharina-B: Glad you liked the Spirits. Will Kilbourne get away? (jarring organ chord) Well, we'll have to see...

Webster82: See Katharina-B for the jarring organ chord. Will Janeway prove Section 31 exists? We'll have to see.

Saavik: Ironic, yes. Still, Seven needed a role other than extracting crazed engineers from Jefferies tubes...;)

PG, pongo, and BW: Thanks for your enthusiasm.. Glad you like the story.

Captain's log, Stardate 55035.2

These past two days have been extremely busy on Voyager.

We're docked at Deep Space Nine, undergoing repairs from our battle with the spyship. Mr. Kilbourne is in custody in our brig, along with those of his crew we were able to retrieve. Our officers have been aboard the spyship.

Ultimately, we've only got the hole of the donut. Virtually everything aboard the captured spyship was encrypted. We defeated them in battle, we have them in custody...and we can't even figure out how to unlock the helm. Mr. Tuvok and Seven have attempted to decrypt the codes, but found them extremely complex. According to Seven, even with all of Voyager's computing power, it would take us two thousand years to crack it. I know it's not Ransom in my brig, and I know that's not Equinox. Those are the only names I have for them; so far we can't put a real name on either the man or the ship.

The personnel have been of no more help. They have given names, which don't appear in any Federation database I can find. Fingerprints, DNA patterns, eye scans – none of it traces back to anything. They refuse to say anything more and have requested counsel. Unfortunately, I'm bound by Federation law, and even though I know it would be wrong to duplicate what I did with Mr. Lessing, it's tempting. Why can't there be a Marla Gilmore among them?

All we've been able to come up with is the notes that Ransom took on Equinox. It's frightening to read them. His job was to crack Marla Gilmore, and he went about it with scientific precision. Induced dizziness and nausea, REM sleep deprivation, psychological pressure, isolation, confinement, mind-probing techniques – it's all meticulously documented and arrayed. This sort of science has no place in civilized society.

I am pleased to discover that Marla held out far longer than they believed she would – far longer, in fact, than most people would in those circumstances. I am flattered that Section 31's Psyops division credits me with giving her that moral outlook – that even under the influence of heavy drugs, neural stimulation, and a carefully duplicated Equinox, she held out because she wanted to hold onto the morals that we showed her.

Starfleet Command has reacted quickly – almost too quickly. Starfleet Intelligence has arrived to take command of the spyship. I'm hoping they will have better luck, but frankly I'm loath to let that ship out of my sight. Commodore Bass., who has been in charge of the charges pending against my Maquis crew, will be arriving on DS9 as well. He's been more than fair. If he wanted to, he could have them all thrown in the brig of his ship and taken back to Earth in chains to stand trial.

Marla Gilmore and Noah Lessing remain on Voyager in guest quarters. Mr. Lessing seems none the worse for wear. The Equinox EMH has requested to defer his transfer to Jupiter Station while his former crewmates are on the ship, and it is a request I have granted. His technique of using an old transporter pattern to restore damaged organs – almost from backup, as it were – is truly revolutionary. It's been theoretically possible for years, but he is the only one who figured out how to do it in the real world.

It's odd – the Equinox EMH designed a procedure to process living beings into fuel, and yet his technique has the potential to save untold millions. Tremendous evil and powerful good all in the same skin – or photons, in his case.

Marla Gilmore herself is doing about as well as can be expected. She's coherent and knows where she is. Dr. Bashir has stayed on board to treat her. After the treatment she received from the EMH on board the false Equinox, she doesn't trust either of the EMH's we have on board. She's remained in her quarters since being released from sickbay. I haven't had the chance to speak with her, although I plan to.

Kathryn Janeway took a sip of her coffee and paused reflectively. The door chime buzzed. "Pause log entry," she said. "Come."

Chakotay entered, looking somewhat nervous. "Commodore Bass will be here in half an hour," he said. "He said he'll take charge of the prisoners, and then he...well, he's going to talk about our cases. I imagine he'll want to talk to Gilmore, too."

She understood why he was nervous. Bass was the judge who would ultimately try him and the rest of the Maquis. She would take responsibility for them, but ultimately the decision rested with the commodore. She let out a sigh.

"All right," she said, and pushed back her chair. "I have to talk to her, then. Get her ready for it."

Chakotay nodded. "Dr. Bashir's with her now. You may want to talk to him, too. She's had a rough time of it."

"I know," Janeway said reflectively, and paused.

"Something wrong?"

"Well...have you seen the notes that Ransom took on you and me?" Janeway asked.

Chakotay shook his head. "I haven't had time," he said. "I've been getting the ship up and running, and meeting with my own counsel and trying to explain that I wasn't fleeing." He chuckled.

"I did," Janeway said reflectively. "Do you know that some of their psychologists thought that we wouldn't care if an Equinox crewman disappeared? That we would look the other way?"

Chakotay shrugged. "Then they didn't know us very well," he said. "I never cared too much what other people think about me. I'm the one who has to live with myself in the end."

She drummed her fingers on the desk. "You're right," she said. "Still, it bothers me. These people were brutal, but they were reasonable. They looked at the evidence and decided that. I shouldn't let it bother me, but it does."

Chakotay put his hand atop hers. "Kathryn, look at what you've done. I assure you, you've more than redeemed yourself for anything you might have done wrong."

"I know," she said, and sighed. Only around him could she ever lower the captain's shields. Those four pips on her collar meant that she always had to be sure of herself. The crew needed a captain they could have faith in. Chakotay had always been her sounding board, someone who she could safely lower those defenses around. She could tell him her doubts, her fears, her mistakes. That had been a very valuable and necessary thing throughout the lonely years in the Delta Quadrant.

"I wonder, though," she continued. "Did I help set any of this in motion? Was I too hard on the Equinox crew? I stood by the Maquis, but not them. If I could've done something differently...,"

He shrugged. "You can't be too hard on yourself," he said. "You wrote this Bass fellow on a few of their cases. You don't need to second-guess yourself, Kathryn. You took this crew from Vulcan to Bajor because you wanted to track down your errant crew." He smiled and raised his palms. "It's all turned out all right. Don't you think?"

"I hope so," she said.

Her combadge beeped, and she answered it.

"Captain to the bridge!"

She could tell by Harry Kim's voice that the situation was urgent. Getting up, she strode quickly to the bridge, Chakotay behind her. The bridge held an air of tension.

"Report," she said curtly.

"The spyship is gone," Harry said.

Her brow wrinkled. "What do you mean, gone?" she demanded.

Harry shrugged. "There were some officers from Starfleet Intelligence who were on it trying to decrypt its command codes. It looks like it cloaked and disappeared. It's just...gone."

Her lips twisted in anger. "Can you track it?" she asked.

"No," he said.

From the security station, Tuvok raised an eyebrow. "Unfortunate as this is, it is not surprising. The cloaking device aboard the ship was of excellent design. From what we do know about Section 31, it is likely that they would retrieve one of their ships in the event it fell into the hands of others."

Janeway sighed. "We still have the people, though. Maybe one of them will talk."

Perhaps Kilbourne knew something. Scotch that; he definitely knew something. What he would tell her was quite another thing. According to the schedule, she had an hour before Commodore Bass reached the ship. There would be enough time to check out Kilbourne and talk to Gilmore at the same time.

So she strode down to the brig. Most of the agents recovered from the spyship were in secured quarters on deck 9. Kilbourne was in the brig. She didn't want to take any chances. He was sitting on the bunk when she entered, his clothing neat and clean. He eyed for for a moment.

He really didn't look like much: a gray man. He was older, balding, and quite calm. No wonder he passed so easily through society. Your eyes just slid off him unless you knew what he was.

"Mr. Kilbourne," she said simply.

"Captain." Kilbourne dipped his head in a nod. "Is something wrong?"
"Your ship seems to have disappeared," she said. "I want to know what you know about it."

"How would I know anything?" Kilbourne smiled. "I'm in your brig. Speaking of which, I did inform your security guard that I would like to speak to counsel and that I didn't want to make any statements until one was appointed."

"I'm well aware of your rights," she said coldly. "I assure you they'll be respected. Far more than you ever respected Marla Gilmore's."

It was damnable. She had been on his ship. She had him in her brig. And yet he was right: she couldn't interrogate him. She couldn't do even a hundredth of the things he had done to her crewman.

"You're not getting out of there until you tell me what you know," she said.

Kilbourne smiled and shook his head. "Actually, Captain, you're wrong, and you know it. You can't keep me in this brig forever. Eventually, I'll be transferred to Deep Space Nine's brig, or transported to Earth, or Vulcan, or Bajor...some other brig, in some other place. Beyond your control."

He was right, and she knew that, too.

"Tell me about your ship," she repeated.

She had an hour. In that hour she could put him in a cargo bay and fire up the Ankari summoning device and let the Spirits have a chat with him. She could lock him in an airlock and open the valves, letting the atmosphere out slowly and see if that jogged his memory. She could order Tuvok to mind-meld with him. She could let Noah Lessing and B'Elanna tag-team him; given the circumstances they would gladly put aside their differences to beat him to a pulp. She could shoot him with a phaser set on the lowest setting until the phaser burns made him a bit chattier.

But if she did any of those things, she would become him. She'd condemned Rudy Ransom for violating his oath; how could she do the same? How could she justify having punished the Equinox Five if she decided the ends justified the means, too?

"It's no longer under your control," Kilbourne said. "And that's all you need to know. Oh, don't worry. I'll have things to answer for. But really, Captain Janeway. I'll tell you this much. We have been around for longer than you have been alive. We were there when the first Enterprise was launched. Did you really think we didn't have contingency plans for when things went wrong?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Perhaps I can't eradicate Section 31," she said, "but I can assuredly deal with you."

"Perhaps," Kilbourne said. "Perhaps not. We'll have to see."

"Kilbourne, I've already informed the Romulans about the virus. I'm going to suggest they seek out mutagenic particles along the Neutral Zone," Janeway said sharply.

That seemed to surprise him. "Really?"

"Yes. Oh, don't worry. I didn't tell them why. I sent them the information I was able to retrieve from Equinox's computer. Yours was well encrypted, I'll give you that. Equinox's was not. Standard codes. My officers were able to crack those."

Kilbourne's eyes widened. He said nothing for several moments. Then he shook his head and looked at the floor.

"The Romulan attache aboard Deep Space Nine was most receptive," she added, and smiled coldly.

"You're not just a misguided idealist, are you?" he asked. "People like you would destroy the Federation. Don't you realize that not everyone in the galaxy shares your nicey-nice morals? It's people like me who protect the Federation so that people like you can live in it peacefully."

She gave him the glare that had intimidated plenty of errant crewmen over the years.

"How dare you," she said. "How dare you! I didn't live in the Federation for seven years, Mr. Kilbourne. I had to bring my ship and crew across seventy thousand light-years of space. Don't patronize me with your talk of how you protect me. I've seen your means of doing it. Kidnapping innocent people, torture, murder."

She leaned in very close to the force field, and if she'd had a phaser she would have shot him in a heartbeat, commodore coming or not.

"Call me a misguided idealist if you like, Mr. Kilbourne. I got one hundred forty-six souls safely home. I'm a starship captain. My crew looks to me, and I lead them as best as I possibly can. I don't want or need your protection. You're no patriot."

Kilbourne chuckled. "Ah yes, the righteous indignation," he said. "You've done the Federation no favors. Now, when war with the Romulans comes, people may die because you had to be a Girl Scout."

"And how many would have died if your scheme had succeeded?" she asked.

"Many. Billions, we projected. But all enemies."

She shook her head slowly. "So that justifies it?"

Kilbourne shrugged. "We're not going to see eye to eye on this subject, Captain. Let's make a deal. I'll spare you the 'the ends justify the means' speech; you spare me the 'we must do what is right' speech. I do salute you, though. You won against us, and that's not easy."

Janeway narrowed her eyes again and stood stolidly.

"Thank you," she said curtly. "I'll tell you again, though. I may not be able to get rid of Section 31, but I will get rid of you. I have your picture, your DNA sequence, your fingerprints. I'll broadcast them to the Romulans, the Cardassians, the Breen – anyone who would be interested. By the time I'm done with you you'll be better known across the quadrant than I am. Section 31 will have no choice but to dump you." She chuckled. "You can sue me for defamation of character if you want, but you'll be useless. And need I remind you, I have your victim in my custody. Do you think your fake Ransom and Burke will stand up for you? The crimes they committed can get you life in a penal colony."

He thought for a moment and smiled. "We'll see. They know what the risks are."

He didn't mention what Janeway feared most: that they would, eventually, be taken off the ship to some other form of imprisonment, and once out of her sight they would be quietly released. He didn't need to. It was clear on his face. She strove to keep her own face calm.

"I'd prefer to wait for my counsel before I say anything more," he said calmly, and lay down on his bunk, dismissing her. He closed his eyes and did not speak again.

Janeway stalked away from the brig, feeling empty and unfulfilled. She'd won this victory, and they had already taken some of it away from her. But she'd be damned if they took it all away. Political ramifications mattered nothing to her. This was about right and wrong.

She couldn't torture Kilbourne; she couldn't force him to talk. She could, and she planned to, destroy his usefulness to Section 31. She had a feeling that Ransom and Burke would break; they were psychologists, not warriors. Marla Gilmore could verify that they, indeed, had held her captive on a fake Equinox. That much she could prove. Perhaps facing long prison terms would get them to talk.

If I were in his shoes, what would I do?

Exactly what he was doing: shut up and wait. Did he have other agents under his command? Almost assuredly. He'd gotten his spyship back. She just knew it.

She would have to have guards placed around Marla Gilmore's quarters. The first thing she would do if she was in his shoes was eliminate the witness. Or perhaps bring her back into Section 31's custody.

She had to see Marla anyway. When they'd beamed her to sickbay, she had been in rough shape: crying, hysterical, and out of contact with reality. According to Dr. Bashir, they'd gotten her sedated and worked on flushing the drugs out of her system.

"Bridge to Captain Janeway."

She tapped her combadge. "Go ahead," she directed.

"Commodore Bass is here."

She sighed. "I thought we had an hour," she said.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, he must've made it here faster than we thought. He's in transporter room one."

She let out a hiss. "On my way," she said, and headed for the transporter room.

Commodore Bass was much as she remembered him from Chakotay's release hearing on Earth. He was tall and silver-haired; the picture of a distinguished Starfleet judge. He smiled at her with brilliant white teeth. Take away the uniform and he would make an excellent politician.

"Captain Janeway," he said. "It seems that you've had quite the exciting week."

"Of course, sir," Janeway said. That sir tasted odd in her mouth; she hadn't had to call anyone sir in the Delta Quadrant. "I'll assemble the Maquis."

It didn't take long to assemble everyone involved, and soon enough they were all in the conference room. Commodore Bass sat at the head of the table. He examined the Maquis and those Starfleet officers who had assembled to support their colleagues.

Some stared at him with sullen anger; others looked hopeful. This was the man who would determine their immediate fates. He looked them over calmly, not giving an inch.

"As you know," the commodore said, "all of you are on pretrial release. Your release conditions mandated that you keep the court apprised of your whereabouts. Voyager was supposed to be in orbit of Vulcan, conducting a goodwill tour. You are not. You are, in fact, closer to Bajor." His tone was stern.

Janeway cleared her throat. "Commodore," she said, "Voyager left Vulcan on my orders. These people are not responsible."

Bass turned his head and looked at her for several long moments. "Captain Janeway," he said icily, "you do realize that you were ordered to go on this goodwill tour."

"We had an intruder on board," Janeway said. "We had to investigate, and we discovered a plot by--,"

"I've heard," the commodore said. "The point is, you had obligations. I could, if I wanted to, order you all confined to the Starfleet Justice Annex back on Earth."

Janeway saw B'Elanna's lips twitch. For a moment her heart larruped in her chest. B'Elanna's temper was legendary. If she went off on the commodore, she'd end up back in jail until her daughter was old enough to go to Starfleet Academy.

"Commodore? Sir?"

Here we go, Janeway thought. "Lieutenant Torres--," she tried to interject.

"Commodore, we came here to help out one of our fellow crewmen. One under my command. Her name is Marla Gilmore. You might remember her, Commodore. You were presiding over her case, too. You decided she could go if she resigned. Well, some people got a hold of her, and they did some pretty terrible things to her. When we got there she was ranting like a maniac and hiding in a Jefferies tube. I had to drag her out kicking and screaming. " She appeared to be thinking about saying something more, but decided to hold it back.

"She's down in guest quarters now, holding onto her sanity by a thread. That's what we came here to do. To help somebody who needed us. Just like we did in the Maquis; we helped people who needed us. Our captain offered us the chance to remain on Vulcan. But we stayed. We stayed because this is our crew, and our ship, and we don't turn our backs on our crew. No matter what. If we have to go to jail for that, so be it."

Janeway tensed. It was actually pretty light for B'Elanna. Even so, the commodore did not look terribly happy.

"I realize that...Lieutenant." He cleared his throat. "For the time being, I am going to continue your release in Captain Janeway's custody while this situation is straightened out. I expect to be informed as to every move of this ship in that time. I'll expect to see you all on Earth in thirty days. Dismissed."

The atmosphere in the room turned from tense to jubilant. The Maquis were clearly pleased. The commodore looked around, smiling like a beneficent and beardless Santa Claus. There was celebration in the air as the Maquis filed out. He turned to Captain Janeway.

"Captain, I'd like to see you privately, if you don't mind. And we'll need the doctor who has been treating Ms. Gilmore."

Uneasiness gripped her in a slithery grasp for a moment. "Of course," she said. "My readyroom, just off the bridge." A combadge tap and Dr. Bashir was on his way. The commodore smiled gregariously as they waited.

"You seem to be quite the loyalty-down captain," he observed. "You've fought for your Maquis. And you came quite a way for one crewman."

Janeway smiled tightly. "I stand behind my crew, Commodore," she said tightly.

The commodore nodded. "Perhaps more than you should," he said drily.

For the second time, Janeway felt uneasy. "And why is that?" she asked. "This crew has done a lot."

"Oh, I wasn't referring to them. I was talking about Gilmore," he said dismissively. "This was an awful lot of effort for a woman who brought such shame to Starfleet."

Janeway swallowed. He outranked her, and he could take people she cared about and throw them in jail; diplomacy was in order. Even so, he didn't understand. That was how things could start: just by not doing anything. Turning your back and going about your business.

"I felt it was the right thing to do," she said, deciding to hold it at that.

The commodore nodded. "Well," he said, "you've done excellent work. I'll be glad to provide you some support. That''s basically what I'm here to do." He took a PADD and worked busily for a few moments.

The door opened to admit Dr. Bashir. The commodore smiled brightly up at him and handed him the PADD.

"Doctor, if you'd just sign that," he said in a businesslike tone.

Dr. Bashir scanned the PADD and frowned.

"This is an order to commit Marla Gilmore to a psychiatric hospital on Earth," he said, sounding puzzled.

"That's correct," the commodore said matter-of-factly. "I've signed it already. Just sign it and we'll get this matter taken care of."

Janeway frowned and found herself suspicious. "Why does she need to be sent to a psychiatric hospital?" she interjected.

The commodore sighed. "According to your engineer, she was insane. So we're just trying to get her some help. That's all. I'm trying to take a few things off your plate, Captain Janeway. She'll be out of your hair, and she'll get some help. How does that sound?"

From the darkening of Dr. Bashir's face, he was thinking the same thing she was. But that seemed ridiculous. Commodore Bass had been in Starfleet's Judge-Advocate Division for years. He had a stellar reputation and years of service.

"She isn't a danger to herself or others," Dr. Bashir said. "There is no need to confine her to a mental hospital. She doesn't meet the standard."

The commodore gave him an even look. "Captain Janeway's engineer said that she was ranting and waving a phaser. It qualifies. It's just for thirty days. She's not capable of taking care of herself right now, doctor. A psychiatric hospital is exactly where she needs to be right now."

There it was again: a cold finger touching her guts. The commodore sounded reasonable, sure. But was this his real goal? Or was this simply a means of conveniently stashing her away?

Dr. Bashir gave her a troubled look from those liquid eyes. There was something she sensed in him that was kindred to her own unyielding ethics. On the subject of Marla Gilmore, his view was simple: she was his patient, and he cared only for her well-being. There was an elegant simplicity in that she admired, even if her own feelings towards the Equinox engineer could never share that simplicity. The right path, and none other, however, was something she instinctively understood and embraced. When the doctor spoke, his tone was thoughtful.

"She's troubled, yes. She can be treated without being locked away. B'Elanna Torres is entitled to her opinion, of course. Until she's graduated medical school, her opinion should not be considered in Ms. Gilmore's treatment."

The commodore sighed. "I'm just trying to help," he repeated. "There are other factors. It's complicated."

"This is not," Dr. Bashir said with finality. "I will not sign this order, commodore. It is not medically necessary."

For a long moment, the commodore eyed Dr. Bashir levelly. No one spoke. Janeway strove to keep her face calm.

Was he doing only what he said? Or was there something more? Perhaps he only meant to help an she was being paranoid. Or perhaps he meant to secrete Gilmore safely away somewhere where it would be easy to make her disappear. Perhaps worse: perhaps there was another Nova-class vessel somewhere, just waiting for a drugged and helpless woman to be brought to it again.

"Actually, commodore, I have a question," she said in as non-confrontational a voice as she could muster.

The commodore turned and looked at her calmly, not a hair out of place. "Of course, captain."

"On Earth, at Chakotay's hearing, you told me that Marla Gilmore was no longer part of Starfleet, and thus not Starfleet's problem."

A brief pause. What thoughts were grinding away in his head? She couldn't get any idea, and that was unnerving.

"Yes, I did say that," the commodore acknowledged.

"So...if she isn't a Starfleet officer....then I guess I'm just curious. You're a judge with Starfleet Judge-Advocate General. How do you claim jurisdiction over a civilian?"

The commodore exhaled slowly.

"Dr. Bashir," he said slowly, "you're dismissed. Thank you for rendering your medical opinion."

Calmly, Dr. Bashir rose. He turned to her for a moment and smiled in a silent but clear message: Good luck. The door closed behind him, and then it was just her and one of Starfleet's best-known judges.

"Captain Janeway," the commodore said thinly, "I am just trying to help. This situation...is delicate."

"I'd like an answer to my question, sir," Janeway replied.

He stopped and seemed annoyed. "If you want to know, for one thing, she was found on a stolen Starfleet vessel. That gives me jurisdiction. I'm not lying to you, Captain. I'm a judge. I was a lawyer before that."

"I'm not a lawyer," Janeway responded. "I'm a starship captain, and I'm a scientist. As a scientist, I can tell you I see an...interesting pattern."

The commodore tilted his head and looked at her patiently. Below his silver hair, his eyes were very dark. They bored into her with restrained intensity. It took courage to continue on. She had it.

"Angelo Tassoni, dishonorably discharged and released. Noah Lessing, dishonorably discharged and released. After Noah Lessing was released, he was captured by Section 31 agents and his mind was probed."

The commodore seemed to tense. Or was it her imagination? She couldn't tell.

"And once Section 31 has appropriate information from which to construct psychological profiles of Ransom and Burke, Marla Gilmore was released. But she wasn't dishonorably discharged. She was allowed to resign. In exchange for her resignation, all charges were dropped. That was...rather lenient of you, Commodore. A fabulous offer for a woman in her position. She accepted it. She's not stupid. She's released that evening...right into the waiting hands of Section 31. Conveniently, the holocameras at the jail go offline for the first time in thirty years – as soon as she leaves, and they don't turn back on again until she's been snatched off the street and taken off the planet."

Her eyes narrowed. "I'm not a lawyer. I'm a scientist, and that pattern is strongly suggestive of one theory: that Section 31 had a hand in Starfleet's Judge-Advocate General. Someone who helped every step of the way. Someone who methodically paved the way for them, freeing Noah Lessing and then giving Marla Gilmore an offer so lenient that she'll accept it and be released...which gives Starfleet plausible deniability in her disappearance a few minutes after she's out."

The commodore took a few moments to reply. "She stayed loyal to her captain when the others mutinied. I felt it was the appropriate decision. There are two who are insisting on their innocence, and they want a court-martial. Captain, perhaps you feel a court-martial would have been the best solution for all of them."

"That is the typical way Starfleet personnel accused of crimes are dealt with," Janeway observed.

"That's true. Let me tell you something you might not like to hear, Captain. The Equinox crew committed crimes, that much is obvious. That said, a court-martial of the Equinox crew – particularly Gilmore and Lessing – would have been a lot less cut and dry than you think it would be. If the reports on how you treated Noah Lessing after his capture are anything close to true, you could face a court-martial yourself." His finger stabbed the air at her. "Your Maquis commander ordered Gilmore to give him the codes."

Janeway nodded. "It was a battle situation," she said sharply.

"Perhaps it was. It's also a clear-cut case of forcing someone to incriminate themselves, and as you may recall, the Federation Constitution forbids that sort of thing, and it's the sort of thing that can get an officer removed from a command position. A defense counsel fresh out of law school could have gotten the schematics suppressed! You searched Ransom's vessel without notice or warrant. I can think of several good counselors who could have gotten that thrown out. You're Starfleet's best hope right now. Do you really want to run the risk of a court-martial yourself? Or getting your Maquis first officer busted down to Lieutenant with no hope of ever holding a command position again? Don't you realize how much mud would've stuck to you in a court-martial of either of those two? "

Janeway stared him down, not caring about his superior rank. "If you feel I've overstepped the line, call a court-martial," she said.

Commodore Bass stared her down for a few moments before nodding, leaning back, and letting out a heavy sigh.

"We'd prefer to handle this privately," he said finally.

Janeway let herself openly glare at him, unmindful of the consequences.

"You're a judge," she said. "How can you work for them?"

"I don't," he said simply. Then he leaned forward and spoke with real conviction for the first time.

"Captain, I'm trying to avoid a war. Do you know what would happen if the Romulans found out everything? They would not be too happy, I assure you. Now look. The spyship is gone. Those weren't Starfleet Intelligence agents on it; you should have figured that out by now. What's it going to take, Captain Janeway? Do you want command of a Sovereign-class vessel? That can be arranged."

"Not at that price," Janeway said simply, and gritted her teeth.

"The charges against your Maquis can be quietly dropped," he offered. "The Cardassians want them extradited, but they're weak and will be for years. You want to make sure you've got your first officer by your side? I can do that."

Janeway closed her eyes. "I want what is right. I want those men to be punished for what they have done."

Bass sighed heavily and pondered. "You're not making this easy," he said.

She smiled coldly and told him the same thing she had told Rudy Ransom in the same room. "It's never easy. But when we turn our back on our principles we stop being human." Her lips twisted in anger. "I'm not dealing with you, Commodore. I want those men punished. I want this stopped. If I don't get it, I'm going to the Romulans, the Breen, the Dominion – anyone who will listen."

The commodore choked and jerked in his chair. "You'd start a war," he said. "Do you know how many have already died? Don't you know how stretched Starfleet is? There are Starfleet officers serving now who did things in the last war...that they shouldn't have. We're not in shape to fight another war, Captain."

"Then do what you're supposed to do, Commodore," she said sternly, not giving an inch. "Do the right thing. The just thing. Punish those men for their crimes."

He sighed and slumped. His hair seemed to slump with him.

"All right," he said weakly. "I...I need something to show for my efforts. Give me Marla Gilmore."

Janeway shook her head instantly. "No. She stays here. I'll appoint Noah Lessing as her guardian, if the doctor feels she needs one. He stays here, too."

He sighed. "Captain, you're risking the safety of the Federation for a couple of mass murderers."

Janeway chuckled coldly. "If you wanted to try them, you should have," she said icily. "As far as I'm concerned, they're my crewmen. And I never...never...leave a crew member behind."

He let out a heavy, long breath. "This may be more difficult than it had to be," he said. "Just remember...I offered. This could have gone much easier. Now, I do have legal papers entitling me to take custody of Mr. Kilbourne and his crew. Are you going to respect those warrants, or were you planning on warping off somewhere else with all of us in the brig?"

Janeway sighed. "No," she said. "Take them, Commodore. Just remember what I've said here today. I assure you I can and will do what I said I would."

"I'm aware of that," Commodore Bass replied, but he looked heartsick.

"Take your prisoners," Janeway directed, and gestured to the door. "Take your prisoners and get off my ship."