notes: Sorry about the gap in updates. For those who don't know, I was in the hospital for the majority of this last week. It was an altogether unpleasant (read: nightmarish) experience, and I intend to never in my life go back. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. It gave me a lot of grief, and it's not the best...but hopefully it's still enjoyable!

Part XVII: De Aere Ad Lucem Viridem

Chakotay woke to the taste of copper in his mouth and a roaring pain behind his eyes.

He sat up gingerly, feeling each of his limbs in turn. They tingled and ached, and with each movement it felt as if a dozen ants crawled along the inside of his skin. It made his teeth hurt and his head spin, until the only thing he could do was lean over and throw up what was in his stomach.

"It has quite the aftertaste, doesn't it?" a voice asked from beside Chakotay.

Chakotay sat up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "You can say that again," he said, turning to look at the person beside him.

It was Tom.

Voyager's pilot looked about like Chakotay felt. He was pale, his lips and eyes too red for his face, and his hands fluttered against the cloth of his pants in nervous agitation. Singe marks marred the shoulder and stomach of Tom's uniform, and a bloody abrasion stood out in stark relief on his right cheek.

The smell of bile was thick on the air, making Chakotay's stomach clench in uncomfortable knots. The red alert had still not been turned off, though it had been silenced, and the corridor in which he and Tom sat was intermittently bathed in scarlet light and shadow.

They sat against the left-hand wall, their backs to the bulkheads. When Chakotay rose up onto his knees to peer over Tom's head, he saw that many more members of the crew seated or kneeling, clumped together in twos and threes or huddling miserably over their knees. Kaminoan guards walked up and down the line, guns held at the ready. He counted at least five, and he guessed there were more hidden by the curve of the hall.

Damn, Chakotay thought, settling back down. How the hell are we going to get out of this one?

"We've gotten ourselves in quite the pickle," Tom said, unconsciously mirroring Chakotay's thoughts.

"We have," Chakotay agreed. Keeping his voice low, he added, "Any ideas?"

Tom shook his head. "I'm afraid not," he said. "Do we even know what they're after?"

Chakotay's stomach unexpectedly clenched again, and for a long second all he could do was focus on breathing as his gorge rose. Memory flashed back and forth across the black of his eyelids as he leaned over, eyes shut tight, and tried not to throw up again; he saw her, again and again, lying limp on the corridor floor, Kes and The Doctor held at gunpoint beside her, the Kaminoans circling around like vultures around a carcass.

"Commander?" Chakotay heard Tom say, and then felt a hand fall on his shoulder.

"I'm fine," Chakotay said through the waning nausea. "I'm fine." He straightened, clenching his hands tightly together in his lap.

"Do you know what they're after?" Tom asked. He looked at Chakotay shrewdly, bright blue eyes piercing in the fresh wave of crimson light.

Chakotay nodded. "I do," he said.

"And?" Tom asked, when Chakotay did not offer anything else.

"Kathryn," Chakotay said. Then, more firmly, "They were after the captain."

Tom frowned. "The captain?" he asked. "What do they want with her?"

"They said something about some "trials" she was supposed to complete," Chakotay said. "They called her the Chosen."

"The Chosen?" Tom echoed. His frown deepened. "That doesn't sound good."

Chakotay shook his head. "No," he said weakly. "It doesn't."

"So, what do we do?" Tom asked.

"I don't know," Chakotay said. He buried his face in his hands and, muffled by his palms, said again, quieter and weaker, "I don't know."

They had her. After weeks of chasing them, the Kaminoans had finally caught up—and this time, Voyager had been on the losing side. Which meant they had her, and could now do with her whatever they wanted.

And what was it they wanted from her? What trials were she was supposed to complete? What did it mean that she was "the Chosen"? Were they going to kill her? Experiment on her?

"Do you think this has anything to do with what's been going on with the captain?" Tom asked.

Chakotay's head jerked up. "What do you mean?"

Tom looked long and hard at Chakotay, blue eyes burning embers set in the shadows of his face. "Something was going on with the captain," he said, voice low and hard as iron. "I don't care what you said—something was wrong, and we knew it."

Chakotay swallowed thickly and looked down at his hands. Tom's voice was even, but the iron carried and uncomfortable bite to it.

"What was it?" Tom asked. "And do you think it could have anything to do with the Kaminoans?"

Of everyone Chakotay thought he would finally confide in, Tom was nowhere near the top of the list. He had not even been on the list, in fact. While he was no longer the irresponsible, impossible young man he had been, he was yet impetuous and hot-headed, and was not someone Chakotay would have ever dreamed in confiding to.

Yet here Chakotay was, sitting beside Tom beneath the watchful gaze of their captors, with Kathryn captured and possibly dying beneath their hands. Suddenly the daunting prospect of confessing what he knew was no longer so massive—even to Tom. The words rose in his mouth, large and impossibly potent, impossible suddenly to keep to himself.

"She's been sick," Chakotay told Tom, looking up and meeting his gaze once more.

Tom pulled a face. "Yeah, we'd gathered that much at least."

Chakotay shook his head slowly. "No," he said. "She's sick—really sick. We had to resort to a cold-water bath twice to bring her temperature down."

Tom's eyes widened. "Damn," he murmured.

"Just before I was captured," Chaktoay went on, "I got a call from The Doctor. He was calling for backup. He and Kes had the captain in a supply closet on Deck Four, and there were Kaminoans looking for them. He said the captain needed medical attention."

"Well?" Tom asked, when Chakotay didn't continue.

"Mike and I went to help them. When I found them, Kes and The Doctor were being held at gunpoint, and they had Kathryn laid out on the ground. Just before I was stunned, I saw them pick her up."

"Shit," Tom breathed. "And you think her sickness has something to do with her being the Chosen?" Tom asked.

"I don't know," Chakotay said softly. "But they had her for twelve hours. That's a long time for nothing to have happened. And they've spent so much time and so many resources trying to recapture her—I don't know how the two things couldn't be linked."

Tom opened his mouth, but before he could speak a harsh voice cut him off. "On your feet," one of the Kaminoans ordered, stepping close. "Put your hands on your head."

Chakotay shared a look with Tom before nodding once. They rose slowly, linking their hands atop their heads. Over Tom's shoulder, Chakotay watched as the rest of the crew began to follow suit.

Once everyone was standing, their Kaminoan guards stepped closer still to prod them into a straight line. For half a moment, Chakotay thought about jumping the nearest guard—but then he dismissed that idea as foolhardy and stupid; jumping the guard would do nothing but get himself, and those who followed his example, shot. While he and his crew outnumbered the Kaminoans, the Kaminoans were armed and his crew was not—and they were prepared for an attack. It would be better by far to wait for a more opportune moment to effect their escape.

With harsh voices, the Kaminoans ordered their prisoners to start walking. Chakotay obliged grudgingly, as did the rest of the long, shuffling line.

They were led through the winding corridors, Kaminoans walking alongside the Starfleeters with guns trained and expressions harsh. They muttered when the Starfleeeters tried to slow, or tried to drag their feet. "Move on," the Kaminoan guard closest to Chakotay snapped, and moved to give him a shove.

They were halfway to their destination when Chakotay realized where they were going: Shuttlebay 2. The realization sunk through Chakotay's mind like a lodestone, and felt like a punch to the gut. This isn't good, he thought, even as he rounded the last corner and came face-to-face with the open shuttlebay doors.

Voyager's shuttle sat in its landing dock, hulking and silver and squat next to three smaller ships that were of alien design. They were made of a sleek black metal that was dully reflective, with wings that angled sharply down from the main compartment like shark fins. There were wide, yawning hatches at the back of the shuttles, and each of them stood open and waiting, landing ramps lowered to the floor.

They filled Chakotay with a lurking, gnawing sense of dread.

"Groups of fifteen," barked the Kaminoan that had pushed Chakotay. The captives responded only after a long few seconds of sullen resentment, and they shuffled their feet and slouched their shoulders, silently resisting the order with every second.

The guards moved among the Starfleeters, pushing and shoving and hassling them until at last they were satisfied with each group. The Kaminoans then prodded their captives toward the waiting shuttles.

Chakotay and Tom were at the back of their group as they were led up and into the last of the shuttles. The metal landing ramp echoed under their booted footsteps, loud and hollow. And then the green-lit shadows of the shuttle interiors swallowed them, and they were ghosts in the faint light.

They were led through a circular door, which rolled back into the wall with a hiss and a clank, and into a wide storage area. The floor was grated, the walls seamless metal panels that glowed with terminal interfaces. Small, green-hued lights sat in recesses in the ceiling, blanketing the compartment with an eerie, uneasy glow.

"Sit," one of the Kaminoans ordered.

Grudgingly, Chakotay obeyed. Tom sat beside him, shooting him a black look as he did so, a dark question buried in his eyes. How much longer? he asked, and his hands curled into fists in his lap, white-knuckled and trembling.

Chakotay shook his head. Not yet, he warned Tom silently. They were at even more of a disadvantage now; Chakotay and his crew were split up, and were seated. Their armed guards had not only the advantage of weapons, but the advantage of leverage. To try to fight back would be futile at best.

The door ground shut, and the floor shivered and began to thrum. The Kaminoan guards took seats on the benches that lined the walls, guns resting on their laps, eyes hard and heavy on their captives. The engines whined—and then Chakotay felt the lurch of movement, of inertia dampeners realigning as the ship exited Voyager's artificial gravity.

The trip was short. No more than three minutes later, the floor gave another lurch, and then the engines began to whine down. The Kaminoans stood and, motioning for their captives to stand, hustled them back the way they had come and out of the shuttle.

Chakotay found himself in a huge loading dock. Half a dozen shuttles like the one that had transported him and his crew sat on launch pads. The walls were the same seamless paneling that had formed the shuttle walls, but the light here was bright and yellow and came from floodlights mounted from the ceiling. Two large doors sat open opposite the forcefield that protected the ship from the vacuum of space.

"Come," the leader of the Kaminoans said. The rest of the guards tightened around Chakotay, Tom, and their crew, and then marched them away from the shuttle and toward the doors. As Chakotay peered around himself, he saw that another of the docked shuttles was in the process of divulging more of his crew.

They were led through twisting corridors and into a lift which took them down to a lower deck. The green light of the shuttles followed them, interspersed with the warmer, yellower lighting. Chakotay and his crew moved as slowly as they could, and Chakotay spent the time trying to memorize their path, the hall junctions, the paneling—anything that would give him and his crew an advantage when at last they made their bid for freedom.

At last they came to a long corridor with open rooms to either side. The shimmer of a forcefield, and the lack of furniture but for benches that lined the walls, gave Chakotay an idea of where they had been taken: the brig.

"Inside," the leader said, running one of his hands over the glowing panel to the side of the first cell. The forcefield flared then fell away.

Chakotay was about to step across the threshold after Tom when, to his surprise, he felt a heavy hand fall on his shoulder. He turned, and looked up into the leader's dark eyes.

"Not you," the leader said. "You come with me." He hit the wall panel again, and the forcefield sprang back into life.

Chakotay glanced at Tom, standing just on the other side of the forcefield. Tom nodded. I've got this, he seemed to say.

Chakotay nodded in return.

"Lead the way," he said, turning and looking up at the Kaminoan again.

The Kaminoan grunted, likely hearing the derision in Chakotay's voice. But he merely pushed Chakotay down the hall and, with his gun planted in the small of Chakotay's back, took him back the way they had come.