Little Eelo

The nature of being with the Maquis was constant movement. We were on permanent active duty, taking one mission after another with little or no break in between. For those of us who had come from Bajor, Valo, Earth, or another Federation planet, we had no home other than a ship and a temporary base in the Badlands.

The colonists, at least, could still visit their homeworlds. For many, however, this was even worse than being cut off from home completely. Colonies had been turned into war zones where Cardassian militarism ruled with brutal force over the small Federation communities living there. The more that Cardassians oppressed them, the more people resisted. The more resistance people showed, the harder they were punished by Cardassian soldiers. It wasn't long before the Union began decimating entire settlements in single military strikes, slaughtering insurgents and their families without regard for innocence.

To the Cardassians, outsiders were guilty by default.

All of the Maquis felt like refugees to some degree. We were uprooted trees, and not all of our roots had come cleanly out of the soil from which we were pulled. We left pieces of ourselves behind in places of great pain. In this, at least, I was no different from the rest of them.

When I first arrived, the Maquis leadership didn't know what to do with me. I suggested they put me on a medical treatment team so I could assess and treat mental health concerns, but they refused.

"We don't have time to stop and talk about our feelings here," they said. I tried to explain why my work was so important for their cause, but they wouldn't listen. I told them counseling didn't have to take long, that even just basic interventions while patients were in the hospital would help, but it was pointless.

I was nothing but a pretender in their eyes—a child bringing toy knives to a disruptor fight. I never experienced the hardships they had known for most of their lives. I grew up on a Federation starship, never needing to work or pray for my next meal, never being persecuted for the ridges on my nose or for being born too close to Cardassian space. I had only known peace, adventure, and opportunity, while these people had known endless betrayal and abuse. Eelo or not, I would have to work twice as hard to earn their trust and respect.

Within a week's time, I was at the flight control center—or 'conn' for short—of a runabout, waiting to make my first flight through the nefarious Badlands. I knew that I would not be the only new recruit testing that day, but I was entirely unprepared to see the familiar, handsome face of my old academy best friend, Tom Paris.

A year before I left Earth, Tom was dishonorably discharged from service in Starfleet. He pled guilty to falsifying reports in order to cover up his own piloting error, which had cost the lives of three fellow officers. Once the verdict was issued, he disappeared without ever saying a word to me.

Yet, there he was on that junky old runabout, ready to test for a piloting job with the Maquis. When he stepped into the cockpit, all tall and muscular with his dirty-blonde hair and sharp blue eyes, I couldn't decide if I wanted to kiss him or punch him. His expression moved from surprise to shame, but he quickly hid both behind a practiced, charming smile.

And I caved, just as I always did with him.

The test went like old times. Navigating through plasma storms in the Badlands was effortless, as if we shared a single mind. We both passed the assessment with ease, although the instructor seemed to be more than a little irritated by our constant childish banter.

Within a week of our flight test, I learned that Tom had vanished. It wasn't until much later that I found out where he had gone, so I did my best to shrug it off and carry on with life. After all, there were more important things to focus on.

Having proven my skill at the conn, I was able to rejoin the cell Marnah commanded. I worked as a pilot, translator, and code-breaker in the months leading up to the Federation-Cardassian Treaty of 2370. Once the treaty was signed, and several Federation-occupied worlds were ceded to the Union for appeasement, everything rapidly changed.

The day Marnah introduced me to Chakotay at the base on Daenyr I, I knew things were about to be very different for me.

"Ja'ital," she said, gesturing to a tall, well-built man of about forty. "This is Chakotay. He and I used to be colleagues at Starfleet Academy."

My heart stuttered the moment I saw him. His skin was tanned and his black hair was salted sparingly with grays. His bone structure was solid and squared, and he sported the sort of lean muscles and calloused hands that spoke of cadet-drilling and manual labor. Above his left eyebrow was some kind of tribal tattoo that one couldn't help but notice right away, making him look all the more distinguished.

With a polite smile, he extended his hand towards me. "Glad to finally meet you, Eelo."

Most Terrans weren't familiar with Bajoran etiquette regarding names—that family name came before given name, and that anyone outside of family and friends was expected to call someone by their family name. Given that Chakotay had worked with Marnah, it was safe to assume he was aware of those customs.

Still, being addressed properly by a Terran felt strange.

My windpipe constricted as I reached out a hand to grasp his, likely making my expression look awkward. I cleared my throat. "Thank you, sir. But, please, call me Talia."

His eyebrows rose, and his tattoo with them. "After just a handshake?"

"I grew up among Terrans, and am much more accustomed to using my given name."

He nodded and released my hand. "Alright. I'll call you Talia as long as you promise not to call me 'sir.'"

I smiled. "Deal."

Leaders who came from the colonies were pushing to integrate the Bajoran cells with their own—to present the Maquis as one united entity fighting for revolution. Who better to set the example than Eelo Fayeni's daughter?

And Marnah wanted me somewhere good.

Chakotay didn't need me per se. He was a fair flyer, and he could have gotten along just fine without me. But he wanted someone at the conn so he would be free to give more attention to commanding the crew.

As for me... well, I couldn't say I minded the change very much. In Marnah's cell, my mixed heritage and Starfleet upbringing made me an outsider. Some flat-out resented me. I was respected because of who I was related to, but I was never an equal.

In Chakotay's cell, however, my history was barely an issue. I wasn't treated differently because of my family name. I earned respect based on nothing more or less than what I had to offer—my skills, my intelligence, my attitude, and my actions.

Finally, I found a place for myself in the Maquis.

It took a good bit longer to address the growing sexual tension between myself and the man that Marnah had transferred me to. Chakotay's first contact in the Maquis was a woman named Seska Paqu—one of Marnah's recruits from a Northeastern province of Bajor. She had a reputation for being hot-headed and impulsive, but she was wickedly smart and unafraid of taking risks. It was Seska who managed to find Tom again, and she used their mutually hedonistic impulses to convince him to run supplies for the Maquis on a small cargo ship he acquired. For a time, he seemed to truly captivate her.

Then, she met Chakotay.

Before they even laid eyes on each other, Seska and Chakotay were a dark catharsis waiting to happen. Chakotay's spirit had been shattered by a brutal Cardassian attack on his tribe. He lost his home, his parents, and any hope of reconciling the troubled relationship with his father—a loss he would hold against himself for years to come. Seska, on the other hand, was a twisted piece of work after having grown up in one of the worst labor camps on Bajor. Not even the Valo Bajorans could relate to the horrors she had witnessed. She threw herself at Chakotay the moment they met, and his wounded heart never stood a chance.

Dark hair and green eyes made Seska a rare and highly-valued kind of beauty, even in her native province. Marnah had taken one look at her and known she was born of old nobility. Truly, she was a great asset to the Maquis.

She was also one of the most toxic people I had ever met—more toxic even than the Starfleet bureaucrats who pushed me out of the service. Seska had wormed her way into Marnah's good graces, then threw that away to snag her new cell leader by the hip. But I saw her for the user she was, and I despised her.

To his credit, Chakotay broke off the relationship within a few weeks of falling into it. I'd hoped he might want someone new to warm his bed, but he insisted on sleeping alone. Starfleet Command frowned on superiors having relationships with subordinates, and try as he might to fight it, Chakotay was still Starfleet at heart.

The night Chakotay and I finally came together was quite nearly the day we died. We were two torpedoes away from destruction when I managed to shake Gul Torak in the Badlands. As soon as we set down on Daenyr I, the crew went straight to the courtyard on base and broke out whatever liquor we had stashed away.

Normally, when attracted to someone, I was pretty forward about it. I didn't like wasting time. For weeks, I buried my attraction to Chakotay because I knew he needed space to grieve his losses and adjust to his new identity as a traitor to Starfleet. It wasn't an easy adjustment to make—I knew that quite well—and Chakotay was a very private person.

On that night, however, with the alcohol and adrenaline running hot through my veins, I decided that I just didn't care anymore. As the crew trickled away to their bunks, I nudged Chakotay's leg with mine.

He didn't react, staying focused on the task of peeling a label from a bottle. Firelight danced along the glass surface almost the same way it moved in his eyes.

"How many times am I going to have to touch you before you do something about it?"

He smiled. "A few more, maybe."

Leaning closer to him, I purred, "Then tell me what I have to do for you to take me to bed right now."

"Promise me Fayeni won't gut me if I do."

I laughed. "You can stare down Guls who would love the chance to torture you to death, but Marnah scares you?"

He met my eyes, his own full of genuine respect. "She's a powerful warrior and a fierce protector."

That moment, my bravado vanished.

I smiled, not to be coy or flirtatious, but out of genuine appreciation for his words. "She won't gut you. Actually, she has a lot of respect for you." I put a hand on his knee. "She also respects me as an adult who can make my own choices."

He brushed a lock of hair away from my face and tucked it behind my ear. "And this is what you want tonight?"

I slid my hand from his knee to his thigh, heart thudding at the smoldering look in his eyes. "This is what I want tonight," I whispered.

Then, pressing my lips to his, I uncorked the need that I had kept stored in my belly for so long and poured every last drop onto his tongue.