Episode One - Crazy Old Man
Chapter 2
Take Care
Chakotay walked with Doctor Julian Bashir and Commander Jadzia Dax to the Defiant. They were both enthusiastic to see the new ship, get their hands on the various parts that interested them most. Julian admitted he expected the medical spaces to be inadequate, judging by the schematics he'd looked at. Dax expected the opposite for Engineering, but the same for the more science-oriented systems.
"It's a warship, after all," she added.
"That's true." Chakotay held a hand out for them to enter the Defiant ahead of them through the airlock. He passed them again on the way through the warhead. He tried to ignore their wide and searching eyes on the doors and corners that they passed, and he considered how to lock them in their quarters when everything went down.
Chakotay wasn't sure how to do that.
He would have actually preferred to leave them here, but there were too many unknowns in this situation, and he didn't really know how to be a spy. If Thomas Riker didn't hold up his end of the deal due to Chakotay's dubious interest in the Maquis, he'd need to keep playing this game and return them to their duties.
He'd return to his duties. For all he knew, he'd be at this another twenty years. Maybe more. Maybe less. Until he died. It only just now occurred to him now that he didn't have anything else.
His sister. He had his sister.
"I'll want a full tour," Dax said, following him off the turbolift.
"You'll have it." Though, he wasn't sure how much good it would do them in the long-run. It would eat up time now, anyway. "We'll start on deck one, with your quarters." He stopped outside the first door and pointed at it, then the one just down the hall. "One of you. The next room is also open. If you want to drop your things inside, I'll show you to the bridge."
Bashir opened the door to his quarters, and Dax went to hers.
Chakotay had seen the size of the rooms on a station like Deep Space Nine: these were nothing like that. There was a set of bunks recessed into the wall, surrounded by panels for storage and a sink. The walls were otherwise bare except for a small replicator and a desk with a single chair. He could only see Bashir looked less than impressed.
"And these are the officers' quarters," Chakotay said with a bland smile. He took the opportunity to point to the corridor breaking off this one. "The head and showers are down that way. Communal."
Dax reappeared from her room, leaning one hand on the wall. "It's practically Klingon."
"Maybe that was some of the inspiration?" Chakotay shrugged. "I don't know."
Chakotay stepped off toward the bridge to start their tour, hearing Bashir whisper over Dax's shoulder: "I wouldn't like to be on this ship for more than a week, that's for sure…"
Well, he wouldn't.
A short walk and two corners away, they were on the bridge. Commander Worf was fiddling with the panel in the chair's armrest, but he rose when they entered.
"Welcome to the Defiant," he said, his voice booming. "Your assistance is greatly appreciated."
"Pleased to be here," Jadzia said, and looked around. "I must say, I've never seen a bridge quite like this."
"It is unlike any other Starfleet vessel," Worf said.
Chakotay gave Worf his best encouraging smile that he was sure fell flat under the rather boring circumstances. At least, he was trying to make them seem boring. "We have everyone on board from the station. We're ready for departure on your order."
Worf nodded, looked over his shoulder at the young Catullan woman sitting conn in the front of the bridge. "Lieutenant Tolran, are we cleared for departure?"
"Ops has cleared us, sir."
"Take us out." Worf sat back down in the chair. "In case you are unaware, we will be taking the Defiant in pursuit of a Maquis raider called the Valjean that disappeared into the Badlands a week ago. It shouldn't interfere with your assessments."
Dax nodded because, of course, they knew that. "I've never seen a Federation ship that could navigate the plasma storms."
Worf's grin was dangerous. "The Defiant is by far the Federation's most maneuverable vessel, and the Valjean is no match for our weapons or shields. Our orders are to take the Valjean's captain and crew into custody."
"With the exception of an undercover Starfleet officer," Chakotay said, thinking he'd be best served by talking. He'd always heard he seemed trustworthy. Most people were frankly surprised to meet him outside of class to find he was actually, apparently, easy-going. That didn't bode well for his future career in terrorism… "A Lieutenant Tuvok, under a Captain Kathryn Janeway on the starship Voyager. Her command will be underway in a week, and we'd like her chief of security on board."
"Are we expecting a firefight?" Bashir asked.
"It would be foolish of them to try," Worf said.
Under ordinary circumstances, it certainly would. Chakotay glanced between them. "We don't expect much resistance. Why don't the two of you accompany me to Deck Three?" Chakotay asked. "We'll take a quick tour, pick up our other guest, grab a bite to eat, and by then we'll be close enough to the Badlands to go our separate ways: you to engineering, the doctor to sick bay, and my guest and I can return to the bridge."
"Sounds good to me." Dax gave a game shrug, looking to Bashir for confirmation.
"Um, sure. Other guest?"
Chakotay led them back down familiar hallways to turbolifts and to Deck Three where they'd started. "Former Starfleet officer followed by former Maquis, Thomas Paris. He was in Captain Riker's crew and is a formidable pilot. He'll serve as our guide through the Badlands."
Chakotay showed them the whole of deck three, starting with the mess hall. It was, like everything else on the ship, somewhat small and certainly Spartan compared with what they were used to. They ducked into the transporter room, saw the door to Bussard collector maintenance, patted the wall behind which thrummed the main computer core, and peeked into Engineering—which may not have been as interesting if not for the Romulan there.
Her gray Romulan uniform stood out against the bright blue warp core and next to the yellow engineering uniforms. She glanced up toward them in the doorway, nodded to the engineer she'd been speaking to, and walked over to them. Chakotay spotted the other two other unfamiliar black uniforms of worn by aliens of a different sort. He'd never seen Remans before meeting these two, and found them, in a word, horrifying.
It was unfortunate, driving a wedge between the Federation and Romulan Empire by killing her later. He couldn't imagine she would be amenable to the Maquis taking the ship, and the cloaking device with it…
"Hello, Commander," the Romulan addressed him with a brisk nod.
"Subcommander T'Rul, this is Lieutenant Commander Jadzia Dax and Doctor Julian Bashir." Chakotay held a hand out to each one of them as they nodded in greeting. "The subcommander is along for observational purposes." He gave her a not-too-subtle glance before explaining, "The Defiant is equipped with a cloaking device on loan from the Romulan Empire."
Dax's eyebrows shot up in open interest.
Subcommander T'Rul's smile was thin, but her features were more round than what Chakotay could recall seeing in the few other Romulans he'd met. "Romulan interests will be served through cooperation, and my role is to see to similar cooperation between Federation and Romulan systems. Also to keep unauthorized personnel away from the cloaking device." T'Rul paused, her gaze lingering on Dax.
Chakotay couldn't help a smile, and he couldn't help but wonder if he was imagining T'Rul's, too.
Dax returned the smile. "However curious I am, I can vouch for Federation restraint. I assume we'll be testing the cloaking device on this trip before the Defiant heads through the wormhole?"
"It would be wise to test it, yes." Subcommander T'Rul sounded like she wasn't pleased with the idea of testing it under these conditions. But, then, Chakotay didn't know if she'd ever be pleased. "I am confident we've integrated the device fully with the Defiant's systems. The only reason I'm not objecting more strenuously to this course of action is because I've been told the Valjean is of no concern to the Defiant's defensive and weapons systems."
Chakotay thought he saw the flash of a sly smile on the subcommander's sharp features, and Dax offered a grin of her own.
"It shouldn't be a problem." Chakotay gave the subcommander an wink as he gestured for Dax and Bashir to head back toward the doors.
Bashir bade the Romulan a formal farewell, following closely behind Chakotay away from the Romulan. Chakotay waited while Dax gave the subcommander a parting nod. "I hope to get to talk to you later," she said, "as unauthorized personnel."
The subcommander seemed to take that well. "As I say, Romulan interests will be served through cooperation."
Chakotay showed them out of engineering before walking around to show them sickbay and the science lab—which Bashir got a full minute each to examine. Chakotay like his enthusiasm, and promised he'd get to see as much of it as he wanted after they got lunch like civilized people.
#
Thomas Eugene Paris was the classic jaded and bold malcontent to the point of being almost uninteresting except for his ambitious insubordination. No matter what Chakotay did to try to steer the conversation, Mister Paris would simply not be led… and Dax was clearly loving every minute of it.
"So I take it you and Riker didn't get along very well?" she asked past Chakotay's third attempt to guide the conversation into more mundane topics.
Not that he thought Paris was going to give anything away. If anything, his cavalier attitude was probably disarming. "Riker will tell you he left Starfleet on principle—to defend the wronged border colonies from the Cardassians. I, on the other hand, was forced to resign. He considered me a mercenary, willing to fight for anyone who'd pay my bar bill." Paris took a slurp of his tomato soup—which he'd already complained about. "He was right."
"So, what's in it for you?" Bashir asked.
"I help you find the Valjean, I get let out for good behavior. Isn't that right, Chakotay?"
Hearing his name without the title was a bit jarring, even if Paris was dressed in a casual beige suit. He'd have to get used to that, anyway. He was pretty sure the only rank the Maquis had was captain. "We'll help you at your next review," he said. "After this mission is done, we cut you loose."
Paris smiled at Dax, taking a sip of his soda, a drink popular on twentieth-century Earth. Chakotay had never heard of it before this. "Story of my life. So, what'd you two to do to get assigned to this luxury cruise?"
"Oh, we're not assigned," Bashir said. "We're permanent officers on Deep Space Nine."
Paris laughed. "So I guess you're used to such extravagant amenities."
"Deep Space Nine is—it's actually quite nice," Bashir said, almost defensively and definitely embarrassed.
Dax smiled at Bashir. "I'm the chief science officer and Doctor Bashir is chief medical officer. We're reviewing the sensor and medical systems."
"You make it sound like the ship's not quite ready to hit the Badlands." Paris arched an eyebrow at Chakotay. It meant more than anyone else at the table probably knew. "Should I be worried?"
"Oh, she's ready," Chakotay said. "Just running her through a final ringer before she shows her teeth to the real threat." He hoped the reference to the Dominion on the other side of the Bajoran wormhole was enough to throw Dax and Bashir off any distrust Paris might have introduced. "Nothing to worry about," Chakotay finished.
There was a brief silence as they attended to their meals. Paris stirred his tomato soup, Dax had steamed azna, Bashir was almost finished with his hasperat, and Chakotay contemplated his plate of spaghetti.
The radio in the mess hall crackled briefly, and the captain's stern bass echoed through the otherwise empty room. "Worf to Commander Chakotay and Mister Paris."
Chakotay tapped his combadge. "Go ahead."
"Report to the bridge. We're approaching the Badlands."
Worf didn't wait for the acknowledgement. Chakotay raised his eyebrows at Dax and Bashir in turn. "I trust you can find your way to your respective destinations?"
Bashir chuckled. "Considering sickbay's just down the hall…?"
"I think I'll actually start on the bridge, if it's all the same to you," Dax said.
"Fine." Chakotay stood up, taking his empty plate back to the replicator for recycling. So, he may have to shoot Dax, too. He'd have to get used to that kind of thing.
Thomas didn't harbor the intense dislike for Tuvok that Ayala and Seska did. But, then, he'd done something somewhat similar to Starfleet—was doing something similar. Both sides played by essentially the same rules. It was what made the Federation better enemies than the Cardassians. At least he understood them.
Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. Tuvok might be disappointed to learn that he'd learned nothing at all.
Tuvok stood when Thomas entered the bridge, nodding. "Thomas."
"At ease, Tuvok." Thomas slid into his chair, cornering Tuvok's. Another benefit of Vulcan spies was that Thomas doubted he could be an assassin. Not that Thomas considered himself valuable enough to be a target for assassination. The Maquis wouldn't even blink if something happened to Thomas. Nobody would.
"You're up early."
Thomas cast a glance toward his engineer, another former-Starfleet hopeful-officer named B'Elanna Torres. She was half-Klingon and only twenty-five years old, with a chip on her shoulder like she'd lived at least double that. To question her loyalty was to invite a dislocated jaw.
"Yeah, well, we're expecting guests." Thomas flashed her a smile, which she returned. "Report?"
"The plasma storms have been relatively calm for the past twelve hours," Tuvok said. "However, projections indicate that the currents will shift this direction in approximately one hour."
"Adjusting our heading," Thomas said, manipulating the flight controls at his right hand. The helmsman was the only other individual who could fit on the bridge under these conditions. "We probably still have a while to wait."
"Based on when they left Deep Space Nine, they will arrive in the Badlands in approximately three hours." Tuvok placidly tapped into his console, watching their position relative to the twisting plasma currents outside their little raider. "You intend to ride the storm toward the center?" An eyebrow arched. "Impressive."
Thomas set the inertial dampeners to allow the ship to be swept along more easily. "Glad you think so." He didn't consider himself an especially skilled pilot anymore—he was too old and missed too much practice to consider himself anything but a missed chance. But if the Vulcan thought that was an interesting maneuver, who was he to argue?
"We've just been scanned by some kind of coherent tetryon beam," Tuvok said a moment later.
That was oddly imprecise for his usually-specific Vulcan XO, but he decided to ignore that for the moment. "Source?" Thomas adjusted his display to show any solid objects floating out there in the storms—it would be pretty bad luck if any Cardassians decided to go hunting today.
"Unknown," Tuvok said. "There appears to be a massive displacement wave moving toward us."
"Another storm?" Thomas asked, once again switching the overlay for his display.
"It's not a plasma phenomenon," Tuvok said, just as Thomas came to that conclusion from the limited readings on his display. "At current speed, it will intercept us in less than fifteen seconds."
That, he didn't know. A few taps at his controls again and the ship-wide comm system buzzed in his ear. "This is Riker, brace for impact." Another few taps and it was off. "B'Elanna, how's the old girl's impulse generators?"
She smiled. "We'll find out."
Tuvok seemed to watch the proceeding with interest, followed by understanding. "You intend to allow the wave to sweep us into the storm, using impulse power to navigate away from the plasma storms." He began to adjust his settings to assist.
"You're a quick study, Tuvok." Thomas grinned, almost sad that he was a traitor. Having a single Vulcan in a key position was usually an ideal situation. Terrorists didn't usually get to have such luxury. He pointed the Valjean's nose away from the wave.
"Analysis returns a polarized magnetic variation," Tuvok offered. "Calculating variance."
He might have said more, but the wave hit them. The Valjean bucked and tilted, swept further into the Badlands. Thomas didn't bother with headings, focused on what was right in front of him. B'Elanna said something about damage to the warp core, but this thing didn't really go all that fast in the first place. A breeze from an ion storm two lightyears away was liable to knock the nacelles loose on a bad day.
"Thomas." Tuvok's protest at the last bump had been a little rough was only slightly less restrained than all his other comments.
"Relax, Tuvok, I think we're through." Even as he said it, he squinted at his instrument panel. Something about it looked incredibly wrong. For one thing, there was not a plasma storm in sight. "The hell? Where are we? Did we get swept out of the Badlands?"
Tuvok paused, his head tilted. "Calculating our position."
"What—the hell?" B'Elanna whipped around to her panel again, double-checking everything on it. "We should be closer to the center, not further out."
"Don't worry about it," Thomas said, though he was edging in on worry at this point. "We have almost four hours to navigate back into position." Except that the Badlands were gone. Not a single plasma storm showed up anywhere on his instrument panel. Instead, an enormous metallic structure of unknown origin hovered about one-hundred kilometers from the Valjean.
"I am reading our position to be over seventy-thousand lightyears from our original position." Tuvok hesitated, then nodded, apparently, to himself, before looking at Thomas. "On the edge of the Delta Quadrant."
"Delta Quadrant?" Thomas looked back to his panel, not that it would have helped. "Any theories?" He was pretty pleased with his calm demeanor, though he was pretty sure that was just because he hadn't quite come to terms with reality.
Seventy-thousand lightyears from the Alpha Quadrant on the Valjean was going to be an awful time. If Thomas were in Tuvok's place, he was pretty sure he'd be panicking right about now at the possibility of being on a ship full of enemies for the foreseeable future.
Tuvok was not Thomas, though. "At this moment, I have no information from which to form a reasonable hypothesis," Tuvok said, and gave his scans a second look. "Perhaps we may find more information on the space station."
Thomas turned to look at his panel again, but it was suddenly not there.
Thomas stood in the square of a beautiful city, grasses surrounding a pavilion in which an altar burned. Tuvok and B'Elanna stood next to him, almost immediately followed by the rest of the crew. All three of them looked around, and Thomas's mind raced.
This couldn't be real. Unfortunately, as the captain of a Maquis raider and not the ops officer of a Starfleet vessel, he had no way to confirm that. He doubted any of his crew kept a tricorder with them, unless they were in Engineering. But, he had the next best thing: a traitorous Vulcan XO. "Tuvok?"
"Fascinating."
Except tricorders didn't make comments like that.
"Based on my limited familiarity with Bajoran flora and religious holidays, this appears to be a recreation of a Peldor Joi festival, though I am not certain of the precise location." He glanced at Thomas, apparently looking for some direction.
Thomas didn't get to think much more about it, since what appeared to be a Bajoran vedek in orange robes ascended the steps to stand beside the flaming brazier. He announced a welcome, but Thomas was not interested in being welcomed.
The vedek directed his kindly smile on Thomas when he stepped up to the stairs. "You have come a long way, Traveler," he said, and offered him a piece of paper. "We have soup and bread. Sit down, rest, remember your Gratitude."
"No, thanks," Thomas said, lightly pushing his hand away. "My name is Thomas Riker, captain of the Valjean."
"Very well, please sit!" the vedek said, and offered the steps and the surrounding grass for his suggestion. "Everyone will be here any moment—oh! Here they are!"
Thomas glanced in the direction of the vedek's gesture. A group of what appeared to be Bajorans approached from the other side of the square. They were all dressed comfortably, and all appeared to be quite happy to be there. And, of course, none of them were on his crew. He had already picked out all his Bajoran crew members, and they all appeared to be as confused about what was happening as he was.
B'Elanna stepped up behind him, an old-style tricorder open in her hand. "They're holograms."
He grinned, counting his crew. "You think?"
She elbowed him, a small smile touching her lips, anyway. "Well, I don't know about you, but I'm not exactly interested in making myself at home here."
"Yeah. Just… don't break anything just yet, alright?" Thomas watched the holograms disperse themselves through his crew.
It looked like everyone was here—nineteen, not including himself. He made eye-contact with Seska long enough for her to nod at him, and managed to communicate with Ayala to check with everyone to make sure they were uninjured. None of the holograms seemed to be making any threatening moves—in fact, they all seemed to be doing rather the opposite. They weren't even forcing any of his people to participate in the festivities. An old man with a Bajoran lyre walked up to the steps, sitting down next to Thomas's feet.
"Well, good to see you, friend," he said. "Welcome." Other holograms expressed similar sentiments: they were glad they were here, offering them food and drink, and a place to sit. "What do we say to some music, hm?" the old man asked, apparently no one, and started playing his lyre.
Tuvok had positioned himself behind B'Elanna to get a good look at her tricorder.
"Look," Thomas said, stepping away from the old man and directing both Tuvok and B'Elanna with him. "Let's spread out. Keep scanning, and let's see if we can find anything that might be generating this… lovely place. B'Elanna…" He eyed her for a moment, deciding if it would be safer to keep her with him or send her with Tuvok. "Stay with Tuvok. I want your analysis."
Tuvok only nodded, and looked at B'Elanna as if for her agreement. They moved off together toward the edge of the park just as Seska came up to him.
"What the hell's going on here?" she asked, pressing her palm to his shoulder.
"I'm open to suggestions," he said. When she didn't offer any, only stepped in closer, he gave her arm a reassuring pat. She didn't respond. "Grab Ahni or something and spread out. Find out what you can."
"Yeah, alright." Seska nodded, a serious pall to her bright eyes, and went to spread the word.
Thomas wandered around the park near the pavilion on his own, eyes tracing over the edge of the trees in the distance. Whatever being they'd come across, their hologram technology didn't seem as resolute as the Federation's. The interactive properties seemed less-believable, though maybe that was more a writing problem than a programming problem.
Tuvok and B'Elanna seemed to be investigating a nearby structure. Gerron wandered alone toward the tree line on the other side of the park, while Seska and Ahni dropped pieces of paper into the flaming brazier to unobtrusively inspect the pavilion.
They weren't what the Federation called disciplined, but they got the job done.
"Hey!" Suddenly the old man with the lyre stood up, looking toward where Tuvok and B'Elanna had gotten into what looked like a shed on the edge of the park. "I'm not ready for you, yet!"
A bright light bled into his vision.
Thomas next opened his eyes past a fuzzy darkness… he had been drugged once in his life outside of a medical context, and this felt a lot like that. It was impossible to tell how much time had passed since he was last conscious, but he felt sluggish. Heavy. Cold. And he couldn't move. Not really.
Every organ froze with the realization. He could lift his head enough to see he was naked, turn enough to see the rest of his people were in the same position: lying on lifted metallic plots in what had to be an alien laboratory, silver and shining with sharp points and pulsing lights. It felt like his spine had been bolted to the thin bar beneath him, and he couldn't decide whether that hurt or not.
"Thomas…?"
Thomas turned to see Seska lying beside him, out of reach even if he could have lifted his arms. "Seska—" He bit his tongue, adrenaline racing through his otherwise inert body. He couldn't say it was alright. He was pretty sure it wasn't. And there was nothing he could do except keep his eyes on her for whatever horror followed.
Needles moved into position over everyone, the biggest needles Thomas had ever seen in his life. Maybe he didn't want to see what was happening to everyone else—not that he wanted to see what was happening to himself, but at the moment it seemed the better option.
He was the captain, and this was his crew. He was supposed to take care of them.
Thomas shut his eyes and tried not to think about Gerron panicking, tried not to hear B'Elanna struggling and cursing, or Sue screaming. He turned back to see Seska seizing, gasping, groaning with pain as the needle pierced her skin a few inches below the ribs. It sank in and in; he barely managed to whisper her name.
"Seska, look at me." Thomas did his best to brush off the pain radiating through his veins.
Seska turned her head and he could tell she tried to speak, but the whimper slipping from her lips didn't form any words he knew. He could only watch her hazel eyes roll back as she gave a final gasp more agonizing than the slow stab of the needle.
#
Neelix flipped the nearest switch, jumping up to hit the middle button in the center of the console over his head. The Baxial had certainly assumed a taller crew. Or, possibly, a crew at all. But there was only Neelix. The ship could function with one, though it could accommodate three. He thought sometimes that he should pick up a crewmate…
He'd been thinking that the past few weeks. No matter how he tried to avoid it, it kept reappearing in dark corners and silence and when he thought he was just about to fall asleep.
Kes wouldn't be able to reach that button any better than he could.
So he engaged all the engines and looked at the fuel gauge. It was low, but he'd been able to trade the meager amount of water he'd stolen from Maje Jabin for just enough fuel to get him to the next system. From there, he could offload some of this junk, pick up a few contacts, maybe even a hauling job if he was lucky. Things weren't quite looking up, but he was almost out of here. He'd never see Maje Jabin again.
He'd never see Kes again.
He'd been at a celebration with the Kazon on the fifth planet. Neelix had sweet-talked all the way through to the maje, and his promises of work and cooperation had been sincere. Neelix was always sincere. During the party, one of the maje's slaves stopped to make sure he had enough of some kind of dusty protein brick, and they started chatting.
Neelix had followed Kes for the rest of the night, intrigued at first that she was a fabled Ocampan. He asked her questions about her life, and, even though it had only been eight months long, she seemed to have a story for every day of it. Then she asked him questions about his life, and listened with an intensity he'd never seen from anybody. He knew he was in trouble when she laughed at his jokes, and he found himself making excuses the next morning to pay the maje a visit.
He didn't even know when in the last month he'd had time to start calling her dearest.
No matter. Neelix turned to the engines control panel and froze. Alixia watched him from the sheet image he'd pasted there. His sister was smiling, because she was always smiling. But he could see the disappointment in her eyes.
You know what's wrong with people today, Brother? He could almost hear her voice above the sound of the old engines warming up. Nobody takes care of each other anymore. Everybody is only looking out for themselves.
Neelix was one of those everybodies. She'd be ashamed of him, wouldn't she? The fact was, Neelix had done a lot of things he wasn't proud of to get here. And it seemed fair that he'd have to do a few more things he wasn't proud of to get out of here. That was how it worked.
"Well, you know, it's not like looking out for others ever got me anywhere, anyway," Neelix said.
Because, if he did that, who was going to look out for him? He'd ditched most of the partners he'd had over the years, and he'd been ditched about the same number of times. Double-crossed, back-stabbed, left-for-dead, raided, and plundered.
He could still see her smiling, this time almost patronizingly. Even little sisters had the expression down to a science. It looks to me, she seemed to say, that looking out for yourself has gotten you… here. That isn't much of an improvement, don't you think?
"You don't know what it's like out here," he added, glancing at the picture reprovingly. "Home is paradise by comparison." Or, rather, that was how he wanted to remember it. That was how Alixia would remember it, because she was always smiling.
Hm. Yes, it is. And you know why that is, Brother…
Neelix sighed. Of course, he knew why. Because we look out for each other. It wasn't that he'd forgotten, or wanted to. He hadn't meant to be this way, chasing from one system to the next trying to survive and often doing it just by leaving someone behind for the wild animals to devour in his place. He had to run just fast enough, be just wily enough, to avoid a similar fate.
"Well, what do you think I should do?" Neelix didn't turn to the picture, because he knew very well it wasn't saying a word. He was alone out here—just him, and the Baxial, and the reminder of only the very best parts of him stuck to the engine control console. "I think I should, uhm… hm." He tapped his spotted fingers on the console and thought. "Well, I've never bought a slave before."
He honestly didn't know why he hadn't come up with it before.
Because who would come up with that? For all the lows he'd stooped to, getting involved in the Kazon slave trade was unpalatable, to say the least. Also deadly and extreme.
Also because he had nothing at all to barter. Even less than nothing, now that he'd traded away the water he stole. Or borrowed. Yes, better to go with borrowed. Maje Jabin liked him; he'd forgive him if Neelix brought something worth at least as much as the water.
What did he expect? "And, oh, throw in the Ocampan slave girl on top and we'll call it even? You don't even like her." Neelix chuckled darkly, groaned, and growled at what felt like a descent into madness.
Jabin would laugh in his face. Spit in it. And then aim the nearest energy weapon at it.
"The things I do for you," he snapped at the picture of Alixia. She looked smug now.
There was a final, more obvious option. He could just… steal Kes. Kes was eager to leave, and… well, he had told her he'd come for her. He'd rescue her. He'd said that, hadn't he? And, of course, at the time he was sincere. He always was.
With a sigh he wasn't sure was resigned or contented, Neelix directed the Baxial back toward the fifth planet. The spidering array, glittering gray, hung nearby like a guidepost around the system. It moved slowly, but it always knew where the fifth planet was. For months, now, it had been pulling ships in from who-knew-where, leaving them abandoned for days, and then sending them off with a crew complement mostly intact.
A small ship was there now, and had been for some time.
The first few ships, Neelix had carefully scanned each in hopes that some outer hatch would be accessible to his port connection. Even had a bit of luck twice.
Seemed to have a bit of luck now. Its name was written in boxy lettering on its side: a sleek and mean-looking little green-chrome vessel. The Valjean had a port connector not dissimilar to his own, but the hull plating and shields seemed to not be native to it. In fact, the more Neelix looked at it, the more ramshackle it appeared. Engineers of different traditions and schools of thought had worked on this old girl, and it was a miracle of cooperation and hope she was space-worthy.
"Not too unlike you, huh?" Neelix patted the wall fondly. "No offense."
The Baxial didn't seem hurt.
"Well, what do you say we go over there and take a look? The crew will be gone a few days."
Alixia's picture hardly seemed pleased with this development.
Neelix gave it a brief frown and redirected his course to take him up to the Valjean's belly, where he had picked out a narrow airlock. "Of course, I'll not take anything it looks like they'll need," he added for Alixia's sake. "If I can get in, in the first place."
He could. The Valjean's airlock was a simple locking mechanism and sensor assembly that fit neatly with the Baxial's top hatch. That was probably more a function of the Baxial's being a cargoship: it needed to be able to dock with plenty of ships and stations to be useful at all. The Baxial told him the Valjean possessed an atmosphere mix similar to what he required, so he could go exploring without a suit.
Sometimes he could be quite lucky.
Without wasting anymore time, Neelix raced down the small hallway to the cargo bay, climbing the ladder to the top hatch. It opened to his keyed code at the top and he looked up into the alien vessel.
It was empty, of course; they were always empty. He called out anyway. "Hello?"
No answer.
The Valjean wasn't as friendly as the Baxial, with dark and narrow corridors lined with flashing red lights. Or, perhaps, that was only the emergency lighting. Neelix tried the first door he came to, finding a row of two-level cots pressed up against all walls and against a divider in the middle of the bay. He might want to be quite far away from this ship by the time the owners came back. This was a warship of some kind, and these were barracks. He counted twenty cots.
He closed the door without venturing much further. The rest of the ship was quite small, and lean. If it had any extra parts, they all seemed to be arranged and catalogued on shelves in the engineering section. The bridge was small, with only a few seats arranged at alien consoles. He wondered if this ship was probably on its way to make some kind of raid.
As Neelix stood in the bridge, another starship appeared by the array: a silver disc with blue and red lights. Emblazoned on its hull was the name U.S.S. Defiant, a small but mean-looking ship with a nose turned down as if in determination. Its engines were large for its size, and Neelix counted more than enough torpedo tubes to convince him that this edge of the system was the last place he wanted to be.
Finding no water on board, Neelix left the Valjean empty-handed.