Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Captain’s Personal Log, Stardate 48546.1: We’re almost a month into our time in the Delta Quadrant, and we just hit the tipping point of half our time with the former Maquis on board Voyager. Slicing up our time here into measurements already feels like a habit—in a year, will I be thinking about how I’ve been the Captain of Voyager as long as Captain Janeway was? Or will we already be home? As the first officer, I had dealings with so many of the crew on a regular basis, but now that responsibility lies with Commander Ro. And while I’m finding I miss the one-on-one interactions with the crew, I can’t help but wonder if that’s just the way it is when you’re the Captain. You get the big choices. Like Cing’ta’s subspace communication “Cloud” program. In the Alpha Quadrant, I’d consider it an affront to privacy and ethically unthinkable. Out here? Out here, all I can think about is how we’re alone, and that “cloud” might warn us of the next Vidiian ship, or the next hostile alien race we don’t even know about. We’ve set some specific parameters for the program, and it’s definitely our best chance of finding the Equinox or the Vulcan ship that may very well be out here with us, but… am I just rationalizing?

Captain Aaron Cavit entered the Mess Hall, taking in a deep breath and enjoying the scents of the room. He’d never really considered the idea of an actual kitchen on a starship before—replicator technology really did more-or-less replace the need—but with their power reserves the way they were, and crew doubling-up in quarters so they could squeeze efficiency out of the engines, the kitchen became a bright spot on the ship. Crew congregated in the Mess Hall for more than meals, and the lounge on the other end of the deck rarely saw as much traffic.

The morning shift had yet to begin, and as such, the place was bustling. He noticed Crewman Sullivan, the former Maquis medic, and Ensign Lan, the Trill who was his operations officer and also a former Maquis, having a conversation at one of the tables, and then saw Lieutenants Stadi and Taitt, and one of the Ocampa, Abol, at another table. He paused, scanning the rest of the room.

Durst was eating with Rollins and Swinn and Ballard. Vorik and T’Prena were at the same table, though they weren’t speaking. Stiles, Vance, and Sveta were together at another…

None of the former Maquis were sitting with Starfleet crew.

“Good morning, Captain.”

Cavit turned. Gara, Eru, and Cir were all in what used to be his Personal Mess, but was now the kitchen. The space gleamed. Honigsberg had used most of his week off recovering from his operation to set up the space, and the result balanced efficiency with style. Vacuum storage, shelves, and storage lined the back wall, and a series of convection surfaces lined with pots and pans curled around the corner of the space. What had once been a visor a captain could lower to view the windows of the Mess Hall was now a serving area, with a wide shelf. Heating lamps and serving dishes kept things warm to one side, simple baskets held fruit on the other.

“What can I get for you?” Gara said. She wore deep red tunic today, which really suited her warm brown skin. The Ocampa tilted her head, nodding at the various options. “The hash browns are still our most popular, and I’m told the ginger-beet juice is just the right mix of spicy and sweet.”

“Is there any coffee left?” he asked, biting his lip.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Captain. The night shift tends to run through the allotment we replicate.”

“I want to be sad, but…” Cavit sighed. “That’s totally fair. I’ll try the beet juice. And the hash browns.”

Gara served it up for him. The hash browns looked crispy, and were mixed with other vegetables, alongside a spicy scent that made his mouth water.

“Eru’s going to make frittata tomorrow for breakfast, as well as a Vulcan breakfast fruit,” Gara said. “Gespar.” 

Cavit looked past Gara, and saw Eru moving through the kitchen with purpose while Cir chopped vegetables. The small blond Ocampa was humming to herself, and looked like she was truly enjoying herself. Cir, on the other hand, looked like he barely fit in the space, and was trying to tuck himself into a corner.

“I know I’ve said this before, but you all know you don’t have to cook for us, right?” Cavit said. “I can rotate Mess detail among the crew.”

“Don’t you dare take this away from me,” Eru said, turning to face him with a little smile.

“You can take it away from me,” Cir said, without turning. “I love growing the plants. I don’t love chopping them.”

“He’s kidding.” Eru gave Cir a little nudge. “Mostly.”

“I’m serious, though,” Cavit said. "If you want assigned help, we'll make that happen."

“We know, Captain.” Eru said, stepping forward. “I find food fascinating. Not just the flavours and textures, but the culture behind it. For instance, the potato. I was reading up on the history of the potato in Earth cultures, and it crossed oceans, fed swaths of people, featured in famines…” She shook her head. “Food is a remarkable way to learn about a people.”

Cavit, who enjoyed history himself, found himself nodding. “You should read up on the spice trade, and tea. It’s not pretty, I’m afraid. Humanity had some barbaric practices for much of its history, but you could honestly say entire nations rose and fell on spices.”

“I will, Captain,” Eru smiled.

“And we’ll hear all about,” Gara said, though she said it playfully enough. She handed Cavit a glass of the spicy beet juice, and he paused long enough to sip it in front of her.

She wasn’t wrong. It was really good. He raised the glass and nodded at her, swallowing.

“And that’s me done,” Gara said, wiping her hands on a towel. “Kitchen’s all yours, Eru.”

He hadn’t realized Gara had been keeping the kitchen open through the night shift. He seriously needed to find time to sit down with the Ocampa and not only thank them, but ask them what he could do to make their lives easier.

Cavit took his plate and glass, and turned. Everything he’d been thinking about the two crews came back to him once he saw the tables again, and he considered his options.

“Captain,” Fitzgerald said, raising his hand from the table beside Taitt and the others.

Cavit made a point of pausing at Sullivan and Lan’s table. “Good morning,” he said.

They both looked up at him, and while they didn’t look explicitly uncomfortable, their “Good Morning, Captain”s were formal. He forced himself to nod and smile, and then sat with Fitzgerald.

“You’re up early,” Cavit said to Fitzgerald, who had never been a morning person.

Fitzgerald raised a mug. “I’ve noticed the earliest birds get the coffee.”

“Ah,” Cavit picked up his glass and took another sip of the beet juice. “This is really good, too.”

“But it’s not coffee,” Fitzgerald said, as if that made everything clear.

Cavit shook his head, and started on the hash browns. They were spicier than he’d thought they’d be, but not overpoweringly so. “I need to find a way to thank the Ocampa,” he said, pointing his fork at the plate once he’d swallowed the potatoes.

“That’s a very common sentiment right now,” Fitzgerald said. “I’m told the Maquis crew pooled their replicator rations and gave them to Gara to come up with some of the ingredients the Ocampa can’t grow yet for a Bajoran dish.” He shook his head. “I can’t remember what it was called. Some sort of wrap.”

“Hasperat?” Cavit said.

“That’s it,” Fitzgerald said, then he frowned. “What? You have that face you make when you’re worried about something.”

Cavit leaned back. “I make a face?”

“It’s more of a thing your eyes do,” Fitzgerald said, and glanced down. “Don’t worry about it.” He looked back up. “What’s wrong?”

“The Maquis crew,” Cavit said, quietly.

“What about them?”

“No, it’s what you just said. You called them ‘the Maquis crew.’ I don’t like that we’re still thinking of them that way.” He nodded to the left and right. “Have you noticed we don’t mix?”

"Twenty seven people joined us two weeks ago." Fitzgerald took a swallow of his coffee, then shrugged. “It's going to take time, Aaron.”

Cavit supposed that was true. He let it go, taking another forkful of the crispy hash browns and enjoying the bite. Once he swallowed, though, he turned back to the doctor. “Now, what, exactly, do I do with my eyes?”

“Oh, well, look at that,” Fitzgerald said, wiping his lips with a napkin and tipping his coffee mug one last time. “I really need to get to Sick Bay. Get my day started. Kes is shadowing T’Prena today. She’s asked about receiving emergency first aid training, and it can’t hurt to have more people trained, can it?”

“Uh-huh,” Cavit said, smiling in spite of himself.

Fitzgerald patted his shoulder as he passed. Cavit turned back to his plate, and realized he did have at least one person he could be entirely himself around, and that was something.

He’d just finished his final bite when his comm badge chirped.

“Bridge to Cavit.”

“Go ahead?”

“You wanted to know when we were ready to test the Cloud?”

He nodded, even though Ro couldn’t see him, and picked up his glass for a last swallow of the beet juice. “I’m on my way.”

Chapter Text

It always seemed strange to step onto the bridge at the start of a shift when Voyager wasn’t moving. Cavit glanced at the viewscreen, noting the starfield, and went to the Captain’s chair. He hadn’t yet reached the point where sitting in the big chair felt “right” but over the last month it had at least stopped feeling so completely wrong. It was progress, and he’d take it.

“How are we doing?” he asked Ro.

Commander Ro turned from the small display built into her chair. “Dawkins and Cochrane set off during the night shift, as planned,” Ro said. The two class-2 shuttles were their final test of Cing’ta’s Cloud system. “Cochrane is holding at the edge of hailing range, and we’re just waiting for Dawkins to do the same with them.”

Cavit looked up as the turbolift opened again. Lieutenant Stadi arrived, relieving Ensign Bronowski. They shared a brief pleasantry in passing. Rollins arrived next, taking Tactical, and after a few more minutes, Ensign Swinn came and took Ops, which surprised him. Ensign Sahreen Lan had been assigned last time he checked, but Ro nodded to Swinn, so he assumed the change was already approved.

Another reminder of his being a step further removed from the crew.

While Taitt relieved Crewman Telfer, he leaned in toward Ro. “Commander, you’re in the position to hear any of the concerns of the crew.”

Ro met his gaze. She had remarkably dark eyes. “I am.”

“How are they doing? It’s been a couple of weeks since we joined as one crew, and it’s been a month since we got here.” Cavit shifted in his chair to face her more directly. “How are they handling everything?”

He noticed her glance at Crewman Telfer, who stepped onto the turbolift with a particularly blank expression before she answered. “It’s a mix,” she said, pitching her voice to be private between the two. “Everyone to their own best, of course, and the department heads are keeping me in the loop for any major issues.”

“I wish we had a counsellor on board,” Cavit said, thinking of that look on Telfer’s face, and Doctor Fitzgerald’s wounded hand, and his own unease in certain places of the ship: his quarters, the ready room.

Ro tilted her head. “I often… resisted… talking to counsellors.”

“You?” Cavit couldn’t help mock scoffing. “I’d never have guessed.”

Her rare smile felt like a reward. “I know. I’m so cuddly.” She glanced around the bridge. “I think this project will help, in more ways than one.”

“The Cloud, you mean?”

She nodded. “For one, it’s a Maquis solution to a Starfleet problem, and it’s got a lot of the crew feeling proactive.”

He understood that. “And the other ways?”

“Cing’ta’s Cloud is a very important piece of Maquis information gathering back in the Alpha Quadrant,” Ro said. “Starfleet learning about it would be a big hit to the movement. When I came to you about it, I’d already discussed it with the former Maquis crew, and they all agreed it was worth using here. For the greater good, for our own safety, and as the best chance to find both the Equinox and the Vulcan ship, if they’re out there. Despite what it would mean if we find our way home sooner rather than later.”

Cavit felt a rush of warmth through his chest. “Thank you,” Cavit said. “I really needed to hear that.”

“Well, we’re lucky Cing’ta was with us,” Ro said. “I don’t think any of the other Maquis could have re-created his program.”

The turbolift opened again, and Lieutenant Honigsberg came onto the bridge. Both he and Durst were back in uniform as of this shift. He gave a little nod as he passed Cavit, and went to the Engineering station. Cavit checked the display in his arm rest.

Everyone was early. It felt like a good sign.

“How long until Dawkins should be in position?” he asked.

“If they followed their flight plan, ten more minutes, Captain,” Ensign Swinn said.

“I’m bringing the Cloud online,” Honigsberg said. “We’ve isolated the interface so it’s read-only from any of Voyager’s systems, but it’s ready to go.”

“And the parameters?”

“Local tests all checked out fine,” Honigsberg said. “Mentions of Vulcan, the Federation, the Equinox, the use of Federation Standard hails…” He rolled one hand, his fingers spinning. They all knew the list they’d put together to trigger the Cloud’s interest. “But this is the real test.”

Cavit settled back into his chair to wait.

*

“Doctor?”

Fitzgerald was surprised to see Rebecca Sullivan at his office door. Since the two crews had merged, Sullivan had happily taken the night shift. Given her first response and field medic training, it was a good fit. He certainly appreciated passing the Sick Bay to someone capable before turning in for the night, and they caught up at the end of each other’s shift. Which had been quite a while ago now.

He thought she’d be asleep.

That the brunette stood there with Sahreen Lan, who he was pretty sure should have been on the bridge, didn’t make him feel any better. The Trill woman didn’t seem to want to make eye contact with him, either.

“Sullivan,” he said. “Lan. Everything okay?”

Sullivan glanced at Lan, and his sense that something was wrong grew stronger.

“Come on in,” he said.

Both women entered. Sullivan remained standing, as did Lan, so he got up from his chair to put them all a bit more on even footing. A few more moments passed.

“At some point,” Fitzgerald said. “I’m going to need one of you to speak.” He kept his tone light and open, striving to crack the tension a bit.

Lan exhaled in what could almost be called a laugh if he was very forgiving with the description. “I’ve been dealing with something, and it’s not a big deal, but Rebecca thinks I need to let you know about it.”

Fitzgerald glanced at Sullivan, but the woman’s attention was entirely focused on the Trill woman.

“Something health related?” Fitzgerald said.

“Maybe,” Lan said, finally meeting his gaze.

“May I?” Sullivan said.

Lan nodded.

“Sahreen’s isoboromine levels have me concerned,” Sullivan said.

Fitzgerald crossed his arms. “In what way?” Low isoboromine levels could spell real danger for a joined Trill like Sahreen and her symbiont, Lan.

“They’re elevated,” Sullivan said.

That caught Fitzgerald off guard. Elevated? “I’m not a specialist in Trill physiology, but I don’t think I’ve read anything about elevated isoboromine before.”

“No,” Sullivan said. “I looked it up in the database, and I couldn’t find anything, either. But her levels are five percent higher than the upper limits usually seen.”

Fitzgerald turned to Lan. “When you say you’re handling it; handling what, exactly? Are you having symptoms?”

“Memories,” Lan said. “It started just after the away mission to the Vidiian planetoid. Everything seems to be jogging my memories. Vividly. Not quite on the level of a flashback, but… strong.” The woman shook her head. “It was extremely distracting at first, but I’ve adjusted for the most part. It’s not impacting my duties. Commander Ro said I should check in with you, but by the time everything was done with the Vidiians, Rebecca was on duty, so I asked her, and…” She shrugged. “There was nothing really wrong.”

Fitzgerald nodded slowly, turning to face Sullivan. Rebecca Sullivan thinned her lips. “Lan preferred to keep things between us,” she said, confirming his impression that Lan hadn’t wanted to talk to him at all about this. “And that was fine, of course, until last night’s scan showed the elevated isoboromine.”

His respect for Sullivan—which had already been on solid ground—grew in that moment. He appreciated her handling both of Lan’s confidentiality and in convincing her to come see him. He got the impression nudging Sahreen Lan to do something she didn’t want to do wouldn’t have been an easy task. “What are you thinking?” he asked.

She regarded him for a few seconds, then turned to Lan. “I’d like us to do a full scan. I’m not a specialist in Trill physiology either, but I’d prefer to scan the symbiont, too.”

“I’m sure there’s no reason to bother the doctor with all that,” Lan said. “He scanned me when I first came aboard, Rebecca.”

“Right,” Sullivan said. “So let’s see if anything has changed, shall we?”

Lan tried to stare Sullivan down, but Sullivan didn’t blink. Lan exhaled, and turned to Fitzgerald. “She’s not letting me leave without a scan, is she?”

“I wouldn’t try to win against her,” Fitzgerald said, then raised his hand as though he was trying to shield his voice from Sullivan. “She scares me to death.”

Sullivan rolled her eyes. “You’re both very funny.”

“I keep telling people that,” Fitzgerald said. “But no one believes me. This way, ensign,” Fitzgerald said, pointing to the biobeds.

*

“We’re in position,” Ensign Tricia Jenkins said. “Dropping out of warp.”

The shuttlecraft Dawkins slipped out of warp. Off in the distance, she could see a nebula, and once again it struck her just how far from home they were. The nebula was beautiful, but wasn’t one she’d ever seen before. In fact, it was likely no one from the Alpha Quadrant ever had, unless they’d somehow stumbled on the same path one of the other ships the Caretaker had stolen from the Alpha Quadrant.

It didn’t seem likely.

“Want some water?” Cing’ta said. 

Jenkins tried to warn Crewman Cing’ta, but he rose so quickly from the chair at Ops there wasn’t time, and he hit his head on the roof of the shuttle. He spat out a string of words she assumed were Bolian curses, and rubbed at his head.

“Are you okay?” She winced on his behalf.

“Yes.” The large Bolian managed a rueful nod. “Who designed these shuttles?”

“Class-2-phobic?” she said.

“No.” He shook his head. Then, as though reconsidering, he frowned. “Pardon?”

“It’s a Starfleet joke that’s not particularly funny. Class-2 shuttle. Claustrophobia.” She tilted her head. “Get it?”

“I get it.” He eyed the ceiling as he stepped back into the rear part of the cabin, where it was tall enough—just barely—for the Bolian to stand. “Did you want some water?” he repeated his question.

“I’m fine, thank you.” She’d been a little nervous about sharing the space with the broadly-built Bolian for this mission, but he’d been mostly quiet on their trip thus far. It wasn’t just his being a former Maquis, which was enough to give her pause, but more that Cing’ta wasn’t like a lot of Bolians she’d met in the past. Even beyond his size or how quiet he seemed to be. He struck her as intensely focused.

She wondered if it had to do with his past as a Maquis. Or whatever past had led him to joining the Maquis in the first place.

It wasn’t the sort of thing she could just ask, though.

When he returned, he had a cup of water with him in one hand. He carefully slid back into his station, and called up the sensors. “I’ve got Dawkins at the edge of hailing range,” he said.

“Now we wait,” she said.

As if on cue, the comm channel lit up. “They’re hailing us,” Cing’ta said.

“By all means,” Jenkins said.

Cing’ta opened the channel.

“Shuttlecraft Cochrane to Shuttlecraft Dawkins. We show you out of warp and in position. This is a hail.” The woman’s voice was amused, as though she felt slightly ridiculous hailing with nothing to say. It was Ensign Kalita, another of the former Maquis crew, and she was flying with Crewman Li-Paz, another former Maquis, a Bajoran engineer. 

“Shuttlecraft Cochrane,” Jenkins said. “We read you. That was, indeed, a hail. In response, I am now mentioning that I, a shuttlecraft pilot, am from the United Federation of Planets, and belong to Starfleet.”

“Understood,” Kalita said, with the edge of a laugh in her voice. “Cochrane out.”

The channel closed.

“She seems fun,” Jenkins said, just to break the silence that followed.

“Kalita?” Cing’ta said, without taking his eyes off his panel. “Yes, she can be fun once she trusts you. Just don’t get into a poker game with her, unless you feel like losing all your replicator rations.”

“Noted,” Jenkins said. “Though I happen to have a wicked bluff.”

“Now we hail them,” Cing’ta said. “Only this time we don’t mention any of the trigger phrases.”

“All yours,” Jenkins said, waving her hand.

Cing’ta sent the hail. “Shuttlecraft Dawkins to Shuttlecraft Cochrane, come in.”

A moment later, the channel opened. “This is Shuttlecraft Cochrane,” Kalita said.

“We found a lovely nebula here. It would match Li-Paz’s eyes. Just thought you should know.”

“Received and noted, Dawkins,” Kalita said. Behind her, they could hear a man’s laughter. “Cochrane out.”

Jenkins, who’d been watching her readings like a hawk, shook her head. “I didn’t see anything happen in the communication systems.”

Cing’ta looked her way. The big man’s face, which was often so intimidating, had relaxed just a little. “That’s how you know it’s working.”

She smiled. Okay, she was starting to like the big lug.

“Now we wait for Voyager to tell us if it worked,” Jenkins said.

“It worked,” Cing’ta said. “But you’re right. We’ll wait for Voyager to confirm it.”

“Do you want to scan the nebula?” Jenkins said. “While we wait?”

Cing’ta shrugged. “Why not?” He started tapping on his console. He frowned, stopping. “Wait.”

“What is it?”

“Twenty mark four seven,” he said.

She pulled up the navigational sensors. The heading Cing’ta mentioned was directly towards the nebula, which made sensor readings a bit harder to pinpoint against the background noise of the nebula itself, but…

“I see it.”

A ship. On an intercept course.

Chapter Text

“The Cloud just received a packet, Captain,” Honigsberg said. He turned his head.

“Go ahead,” Cavit said.

“Shuttlecraft Cochrane to Shuttlecraft Dawkins. We show you out of warp and in position. This is a hail.” Ensign Kalita’s voice was rough with static, but certainly clear enough to understand. A second later, Ensign Jenkins replied.  “Shuttlecraft Cochrane, we read you. That was, indeed, a hail. In response, I am now mentioning that I, a shuttlecraft pilot, am from the United Federation of Planets, and belong to Starfleet.” The second message had even more noise than the first, but just as before, it was understandable.

“They sound like they’re having fun,” Stadi said.

“A few hours in a class-2 shuttle will do that,” Honigsberg said.

“That came in through the lateral buffers?” Cavit said.

“Compressed into one packet.” Honigsberg nodded. “And the comm systems didn’t even notice it happening. If I hadn’t hadn’t been watching Cing’ta’s Cloud system, I wouldn’t have known it even happened.”

“And the delay?” Ro said.

“About five minutes,” Honigsberg said.

Cavit smiled at Ro. “So far, so good.”

Ro turned to Swinn. “Next hail, Ensign.”

“Yes, sir,” Swinn said. She opened a channel. “Voyager to shuttlecraft Cochrane. Proceed with second test.”

“Understood,” Ensign Kalita said.

“I’m hunting through the lateral sensor buffers and even though I know what I should be looking for, I can barely detect that something came in,” Honigsberg said, while they waited. “Remind me again why we assigned Cing’ta to security instead of engineering?”

“No poaching my people, Lieutenant,” Ensign Rollins said. Cavit was surprised the younger man had spoken up for himself, and even more surprised at the trace of humour. It was nice to see him relaxing a bit into his role, and entering the bridge banter.

“Spoilsport,” Honigsberg said.

Cavit shared an amused glance with Ro.

“Hail from Shuttlecraft Cochrane,” Swinn said.

“Any new packet yet?” Cavit said.

“No,” Honigsberg said, but it could take time, and they knew that.

“Put Cochrane through,” Cavit said.

“Cochrane to Voyager,” Kalita didn’t sound amused now. She was all business. “No reponse from the Dawkins. And they’ve moved out of comm range.”

Cavit rose. That wasn’t right. They’d been clear about the parameters of the test. “Where are they going?”

“If I had to guess, Captain, I’d say it’s evasive maneuvers,” Kalita said. “I’m not reading much more than that, there’s some interference on long-range sensors. Li-Paz is working on it. We can plot an intercept course, but at warp four…”

“Do that,” Cavit said. “And we’re on our way. We’ll rendezvous when we catch up to you.” He turned to the Conn. “Stadi, best speed to the Cochrane. We’ll pick them up and then find Dawkins.”

“Aye, sir.”

*

“Did you feel that? We just went to warp,” Lan said, from inside the surgical bio-bed. “I should—”

“Ensign Swinn knows what she’s doing,” Sullivan said, cutting her off. “You’re fine, and we’re going to check the symbiont.”

Lan made a noise that wasn’t an argument, exactly, but a sound of born of frustration. Fitzgerald didn’t comment, not wanting to make anything worse. Instead, he tapped the arm of the scanner, and it hummed. Lan stared at the ceiling of the surgical bay. “You should really change the colour of the ceiling in here,” she said.

“So I’ve heard,” Fitzgerald said. “We’re scanning the symbiont now.” The results for the Lan symbiont were populating on the display.

“That looks more-or-less within parameters of normal, doesn’t it?” Sullivan said, eyeing the readings. Clearly, she’d done some reading on symbionts, regardless of her claims of not being a specialist.

And while Fitzgerald didn’t disagree, exactly, there was still something off. Much like the isoboromine levels in Sahreen’s brain, many of the readings from the symbiont seemed just to the high edge of normal. The vermiform being wasn’t unhealthy, not by any means, but its metabolism was running high, as were its oxygen levels, and its neural activity.

“Doctor?” Lan said.

Fitzgerald shook his head. “I agree that most of the readings appear within a normal range, but some of these are a bit high.” He pointed at the readings in question. “I’m not sure why the Lan symbiont is working so hard.”

“Working?”

“For lack of a better word,” he said. He turned back to the scanner on the biobed, adjusting the detail on the microcellular analysis. It would take longer, but he wanted a concrete reason for the symbiont’s apparent state of heightened biological activity. “Honestly, if anything the symbiont is thriving,” he said. Then he frowned, remembering something. “Wait. Thriving.”

“Doctor?” Sullivan said.

He recalibrated the bio-bed. “When Lan and Honigsberg were taken by the Caretaker, the symbiont fared much better than the host. I remember thinking it had barely been affected at all.”

“That’s right,” Lan said. “I remember.”

The biobed trilled, and Fitzgerald pointed at a reading. “There.”

“What is that?” Sullivan said, frowning.

“Sporocysitian DNA,” Fitzgerald said. “A tiny trace amount, but it’s there. And there.” He pointed again. “Two places.” He magnified the results. “It could be the start of growths like the ones we saw before.”

“I thought you flushed all the Sporocystian genetic material from our systems?” Lan said. To her credit, she didn’t seem angry about it, just concerned. Which was fair enough, he had to admit.

“I did. Or, the vast majority of it,” Fitzgerald said, looking down at her. “What remained should have been dealt with by your immune systems by now.”

“But it wasn’t.” Lan said. “I thought you said it didn’t harm the symbiont like it harmed me?”

“It didn’t. And I need to stress I don’t think it has,” Fitzgerald said. “If you look at those growths…” He frowned, tracing a finger across the display. “Look at how they don’t seem to be harming any of the symbiont’s tissues, and look to be developing their own blood vessels.”

“Can you remove them?” Lan said.

Fitzgerald looked away from the display, and shook his head. “No, I can’t.” He closed his left hand into a fist. “But if there is any danger—”

“Rebecca?” Lan said, rolling her head on the pillow to face Sullivan.

“I’m not a surgeon, Sahreen. I’m a medic.”

“If it comes to it, the EMH could do it,” Fitzgerald assured her.

Lan fell silent for a moment, but nodded. “When?”

“I’d like to take some time first,” Fitzgerald said. “Do some research. Right now, I’m not seeing any signs this is an immediate concern, and it’s possible the symbiont will handle these tiny growths itself—which would also explain its heightened state.” He looked at the readings again. “The growths on you and Honigsberg were like tissue rejections. These aren’t growths in that sense, this isn’t the symbiont fighting off foreign DNA. This is more like…” He stopped, his voice dropping off. A cool realization hit him, and he just stared at the display.

“Doctor?” Lan said.

“Computer,” Fitzgerald said. He needed a second pair of eyes. Or what passed for them, given their situation. “Activate the Emergency Medical Hologram.”

The EMH shimmered into being. “Please state the nature of the medical emergency.”

“No emergency,” Fitzgerald said.

“Of course not,” the EMH said. “Why would there be?”

“I need a second opinion,” Fitzgerald said. “Here and here.” He pointed at the readings, and the paired growths.

The EMH tilted his head, and once again Fitzgerald marvelled at the smallest details programmed into the hologram. It honestly looked surprised. “Fascinating,” the hologram said.

“Could someone explain the fascination?” Lan said.

Sullivan put a hand on Lan’s shoulder. “Doctor?” she said.

Fitzgerald turned to answer, but once again, the hologram spoke first.

“I suppose the most correct response is to congratulate you, Ensign,” the hologram said.

“What?” Lan said.

“Sahreen,” Fitzgerald said, taking control of the conversation back from the hologram and firing off an annoyed look at the program before turning his attention back to the Trill woman. He took a moment, met her gaze, and made sure he spoke softly. “They aren’t growths, Sahreen. Your symbiont—Lan—is pregnant.”

*

“Any luck hailing the Dawkins?” Jenkins said, dropping the shuttle into another steep impulse dive.

“No,” Cing’ta said. “And it’s definitely a Kazon shuttle.”

“They’re not giving us a path back toward Voyager,” Jenkins said. “I don’t suppose it’s one of the friendly Kazon? The ones we worked with, rather than the ones that tried to kill us?”

“No idea,” Cing’ta said. “Incoming torpedos.”

“That clears that up,” Jenkins said, zagging the shuttle. The torpedo streaked past them, and then exploded ahead of them. The ship jolted, hard. She pulled the Dawkins into a tighter arc.

“Shields are holding,” Cing’ta said. “More torpedoes. They’re firing a spread around us, not at us.”

Jenkins saw it on her navigational sensors and blew out a breath, adjusting course again. There were precious few vectors between the exploding torpedoes. “They’re herding us.”

“Agreed,” Cing’ta said as the ship rocked on the edge of another shockwave.

The sensors lit up with a second reading. And then a third. “More shuttles,” she said.

Cing’ta worked his console. “I see them. Given the vectors, I think they all came from that nebula. More inbound.”

“And no idea how many of them were in there,” she said. “I’m running out of options here,” she said.

The next series of explosions left her with one path open, and it clearly led them toward the nebula. The shuttle rocked with the shockwaves of the various torpedoes.

“Shields at eighty percent,” Cing’ta said, then shook his head. “They’re not trying to hurt us.”

“They’re trying to capture us,” Jenkins said.

Cing’ta looked up at her, then around the cabin of the small shuttle. “They want the shuttle.”

“We can’t let them have it,” Jenkins said.

“I don’t think we can stop them,” Cing’ta said, pointing at the sensor readouts. Two more Kazon shuttles were inbound.

Jenkins’s heart sank. He was right. “We can hold them off as long as we can,” she said.

“Or maybe we need to let them catch us,” Cing’ta said.

Jenkins blinked. “What?”

“We need to open a channel, and we need to surrender,” Cing’ta said. Jenkins was about to reply and protest in-between redirecting the shuttle to the narrow opening the torpedoes were leaving her, but then Cing’ta laid out the rest of his plan.

Chapter Text

“Cochrane is aboard, Captain,” Stadi said. A ripple of relieved tension ran through the minds around her.

“Lay in a course for the last known position of the Dawkins,” Cavit said. “Best speed.”

“Aye, Captain.” She’d already laid in the course, and put Voyager back into warp.

“Have Ensign Kalita and Mister Li-Paz report to the bridge as soon as they can,” Ro said.

“Aye, Commander,” Swinn said, and relayed the message.

Stadi kept her concentration focused on her navigational sensors, and the distance countdown she’d set to the last position of the shuttlecraft. She knew Jenkins, had recommended her for this mission specifically because she was a capable pilot with a sharp mind and a good instinct. If she’d left the designation position, it wouldn’t have been for anything less than a truly important reason.

Like self-preservation.

She took a breath, keeping her calm. As scenarios went, these the only times she struggled with being a pilot—when there was no way to go faster, to get to a position to help immediately. “Best speed” wasn’t maximum warp. “Best speed” was a discretionary balance of available resources and the pilot’s understanding what the engines could handle.

In other words, if they were too late, she’d have to live with her choice. She’d made this choice before. She’d make it again. But she never enjoyed the tiny niggle of doubt that would remain with her until they caught up with the Dawkins.

The turbolift doors opened, and she felt two new minds come into the immediate foreground. Screening them out was second-nature, but she’d noticed more than once how often the thoughts of the former Maquis hit her just a shade louder than the regular Starfleet crew.

“Report,” Cavit said, getting right to the point.

“We were about to send the second hail,” Ensign Kalita said, taking the lead. “But just as Li-Paz opened the channel, they started moving. Before we could hail them, they’d slipped out of communication range.”

“I transferred the sensor logs to the computer,” Li-Paz added.

“I’ve got the logs, Captain,” Ensign Swinn said.

“It looked to me like they were trying to avoid someone,” Ensign Kalita said. “Not us—the angle is off for that—but someone else.”

“Send the co-ordinates to the Conn,” Ro said.

“Aye, Commander.”

Stadi watched the readings populate on the panel to her left. “I agree, Captain. Ensign Jenkins is taking evasive action.” She also agreed with Ensign Kalita on her other point: this wasn’t Jenkins running away from them for any reason she could conceive of. The angle wasn’t efficient enough for that, and what could possibly be the reason? Even with their head-start, there was only so far they could go in a shuttle at warp four.

“Captain!” Honigsberg said. “I just got a packet from the Cloud system.”

“Let’s hear it,” Cavit said.

“Shuttlecraft Equinox to any of the five approaching Kazon shuttles. We are on a peaceful mission. Please cease fire.” A moment later a different voice, male and unknown to them, replied. “Equinox. Power down your vessel and prepare to be towed. Or be destroyed. Your choice.”

“Shuttlecraft Equinox?” Swinn said.

“We set the Cloud system to prioritize any mention of Equinox,” Honigsberg said. “Jenkins and Cing’ta knew that. Mentioning Equinox would push that packet to the top if there was limited time to forward packets on the next signal.” He worked his station for a few seconds. “The answering comm signature aligns with our previous interactions with the Kazon.”

“Five Kazon shuttles,” Ro said.

“Any sign of the shuttle being destroyed?” Cavit said.

“Nothing on long-range sensors,” Ensign Swinn said. “If the shuttle’s warp core breached, I should be able to see something by now.”

The sense of tension returned to the bridge. Stadi eyed the distance tracker.

The numbers dropped lower and lower.

*

Sahreen Lan stared out at the streaks of stars at warp, her cup of ginger-beet juice more-or-less untouched beside her. She wanted nothing else but to go to the bridge and take over for Swinn, but she’d traded the shift with Ensign Swinn to satisfy Sullivan’s nerves about the symbiont, so technically she was off duty, and now…

Well.

“My I join you, Ensign?”

Lan turned, not having registered anyone’s approach. One of the Ocampa, Kes, offered a polite smile. She carried a small plate of mixed vegetables and a little bowl of some sort of sauce. Lan couldn’t help but notice most of the other tables were empty—with everyone going on with the missing shuttle, everyone on shift was at their duty stations—but she couldn’t work up the effort to turn the Ocampa woman down.

“Of course,” Lan said.

Kes sat. “I’m told we recovered the first shuttle?” She picked up a pale green stick—celery, Lan thought—and dipped it in the pale orange sauce, coating it and taking a bite.

Lan nodded. “That’s right. And they’ve got a good idea of where the Dawkins might be.” To give herself something to do, she forced another swallow of the juice. It was good, but it might as well have been ash right now. Her head was still spinning with the single word: pregnant. It wasn’t even technically the correct word, given everything she knew about symbiont biology.

Or, rather, what she thought she knew.

Kes took dipped another vegetable. She didn’t say anything else, just sitting there with her, and Lan took a moment to consider the slim, fair woman. When they’d first met, Kes had been pretty rattled: the one person she’d known from her time on the surface of her homeworld who hadn’t harmed her instead let her down in a different way. The Talaxian scavenger—Lan couldn’t remember his name—had dismissed the Maquis as “scruffy pirates” and told Kes she should stay with him. Kes hadn’t wanted to walk away from the people who’d rescued her. She’d managed to talk the Talaxian into trading his star charts and ship’s database with the Maquis for supplies he needed, but even that had been grudging.

Honestly, Lan had thought the man a jealous little rodent of a being, but it had been clear at the time Kes had been hurt. Now, though, she looked almost serene as she ate and looked out at the stars.

“I heard you’ve been training in Sick Bay?” Lan said, not even sure why she was asking. Distraction, most likely. Keeping the mind busy on one topic to avoid another was a well-practiced and inherited Lan trait through four lifetimes now.

Kes smiled at her, a broad, genuine smile that Lan couldn’t help but reflect back at her. “I’m really enjoying it. There are so many differences and similarities between species. I’ve already learned so much more about the Ocampan brain than my people were aware, and T’Prena says I’ve barely scratched the surface.”

Lan faced her fully, taking another sip. “Have you read about telepathically transmitted viruses and diseases yet?”

Kes’s eyes widened. “No, I haven’t.”

“They’re quite rare, given how few species are telepathic, but they’re fascinating. My first host, Pasha Lan, was a biologist.”

“That’s right, you’re a joined being,” Kes said. “Is your symbiont in telepathic contact with you?”

“No,” Lan shook her head. “After joining, our nervous systems intermingle on a biological level. The brain-waves of symbiont and host are very close to being in synch, though they are still separate brains with separate patterns of their own. In many ways, I’m more of a ‘we’ than an ‘I.’ Sahreen and Lan.”

Kes nodded, then paused, glancing down at the table. “I noticed you were in Sick Bay earlier,” Kes said, softening her already gentle voice. “I hope everything is all right.”

Lan blew out a breath, turning back to the streaks of stars out the windows.

“I’m sorry,” Kes said. “I didn’t mean to pry. I have a tendency to curiosity I’m told can be a bit much.”

“No,” Lan said, shaking her head. “Honestly? Your candor is refreshing. I’m just trying to figure out how to answer your question.”

Kes dipped another vegetable. “I’ve never met people as knowledgable in medicine as Doctor Fitzgerald and Nurse T’Prena. And they have that holographic doctor, too. And Rebecca Sullivan. I’m sure whatever it is, these people will be able to help.”

“The symbiont is reproducing,” Lan said. The words were out before she could stop them, and she realized as she spoke just how much she needed to say them to someone. To anyone, really.

“That’s wonderful,” Kes said, smiling, though then her smile dimmed as she noticed Lan’s expression. “Isn’t it?”

“I honestly don’t know. It’s definitely unprecedented,” Lan said. “Symbionts usually produce offspring in the pools on the Trill homeworld, between hosts, a few times in their lifespans. They exchange genetic material with another symbiont, and then each gives birth to a single offspring inheriting a mix of the genetic material of the two parent symbionts. The symbionts in the pool raise the offspring collectively, socializing them until they’ve matured and are ready to be joined with a host. But here on Voyager? I’ve got no pool, no other symbionts, and somehow my symbiont is having two offspring, all while Lan is joined with me.” She took another sip of her juice, and tried to ignore how her hand was shaking. “And that’s just the start of the issues I’m facing down.”

Every step of this would be uncharted territory and she barely felt capable of even beginning to contemplate everything ahead of her.

Kes regarded her. “That must be frightening.”

“It is,” Lan said, turning to her. “And none of the Lan hosts have been good at being frightened.”

“Has your symbiont given birth before?”

“No,” Lan said. “None of my previous hosts had children, either. I’m the fourth. Three previous lives, no experience what-so-ever with being a parent.”

“Ocampa only have one chance to be parents,” Kes said. “When we enter the Elogium, our reproductive phase.” She tilted her head. “And we usually give birth to two children. Sometimes three.” She ate another vegetable. “But rarely, just one. I was an only child. Many of my people considered it a sad event. A lost opportunity. My father, though, said it just meant he could give all his love for me.” She shook her head, clearly lost in thought. “I miss him, but he was a wonderful father.” She turned to Lan. “He had one lifetime of memories, and lived his whole life in our city. You have four lifetimes of memories to draw upon, and have seen more of the galaxy than any parent on my homeworld. I can’t imagine you being anything other than a wonderful mother, Sahreen.”

Lan swallowed, not quite up to replying, though she managed to meet Kes’s gaze and offer a tiny nod. Then, she eyed the vegetables. “Those look really good.”

“Eru has more.”

“I think I’ll get some. Dr. Fitzgerald said the symbiont had an elevated metabolism. Humans have this saying about eating for two.” Lan paused. “Though I suppose in my case, I’m always eating for two, and this is more like eating for four.”

“In that case, definitely get the sauce,” Kes said, with a little smile.

*

“Dropping out of warp,” Stadi said. She glanced up at the viewscreen as the warp trails returned to a static star field.

“Sweep the area,” Ro said.

“Scanning,” Swinn said. “No sign of debris, but I am reading faint traces of weapons fire consistent with Kazon torpedoes.”

Stadi brought up the navigational sensor sweep, and started running it through filters of her own. At the same time, she loosened her reflexive mental barriers, but she felt nothing beyond the crew around her. She wasn’t surprised, given the distances likely involved, but it was another tool at her disposal and she was going to use everything she had.

“So there was a battle,” Cavit said. “But there’s no sign of the Dawkins having been destroyed?”

“No sign of a warp core breach at all, Captain,” Swinn confirmed.

“Can we detect the shuttle’s ion trail?” Ro said.

Stadi eyed her own readings, and waited for Swinn to confirm what she was seeing.

“No, Commander. The torpedo fire has scattered any readings that might have been there.”

“Okay,” Cavit said. “We’ll set up a search pattern and work our way out from this point. We know the Dawkins was here, and we know when, so we can work forward from here.”

Stadi turned. “Or backward,” she said. “Can we determine the order the torpedos detonated relative to each other?”

“Via the dispersal patterns?” Honigsberg said. “Probably.”

“What are you thinking?” Cavit said.

“It’s just, there’s no sign of any of the torpedos actually hitting Dawkins. Which made me consider why else the shuttle had been fired upon. And Jenkins was clear they were being fired upon, by five vessels. Jenkins is a skilled pilot, but dodging the incoming fire from five shuttles in a class-2 shuttle?” Stadi shook her head.

“You think they were herding her,” Ro said, getting it.

Stadi nodded. The longer she worked with Ro, the more she enjoying having a First Officer who’d spent much of her career at the Conn. It was like they could speak in shorthand.

“I’ll timestamp the detonations,” Swinn said. “It’ll be approximate.”

“It shouldn’t matter as long as we can get them relative to each other,” Stadi said.

“Put it on the viewscreen,” Cavit said.

Particulate and energy patterns appeared in space, then zoomed backwards from single points of eruption. After a moment, time stamps appeared by each point of origin.

“Play it forward, and mark any vectors from the shuttle’s origin point that are left open,” Stadi said.

Swinn did so, and it quickly became clear the torpedo fire was doing exactly what Stadi and Ro had said: the Dawkins had been herded. The Dawkins began by curving away, but soon was forced to turn around and head almost directly back along a nearly reverse trajectory.

“Project their heading,” Cavit said.

Stadi was already ahead of him. “The course leads one eight four mark four seven. To this nebula.” She brought it up on screen.

“Sensors are having trouble penetrating the nebula. I’m picking up high levels of omicron particles.” Rollins said. “If there’s a ship in there, the nebula could be masking them, and any ion trails.”

“I think we can assume there are at least five Kazon shuttles in there,” Cavit said. “Which likely means one of their larger ships, too, or even one of their warships.” He nodded at Stadi. “Set a course for the nebula. Keep scanning for the Dawkins.” He turned and went back to his chair, sitting. “Red Alert.”

Chapter Text

When the door to the room opened, Jenkins raised her head and braced herself, but the Kazon man who stepped through stopped in the doorway. Behind him, she could see another Kazon man, armed, but not much else. Tall and russet-skinned, the Kazon barely glanced at her before turning all his attention to Cing’ta.

“You are in Kazon-Oglamar space,” the man said. It sounded as much like a threat as a declaration. “What species are you?”

“I am a Bolian,” Cing’ta said. “My name is Cing’ta.”

“She is yours?” the man said, briefly deigning to turn his attention to Jenkins.

The Kazon-Oglamar were definitely patriarchal, she thought, deciding to keep quiet. She might be the ranking officer, but if their large captor was as misogynistic as he was coming across, she wouldn’t be doing them any favours trying to assert any sort of authority. She tried to note any differences in his appearance from what she’d seen in the briefings about the Kazon-Ogla, but if there were obvious differences in the man’s clothing or the design of the keratin-heavy growths on the man’s head, or even his cranial ridges, she didn’t immediately spot them.

“We crew the same ship,” Cing’ta said.

It seemed he was on the same page about not revealing the actual hierarchy at play.

“Not any more,” the man said, a simple declaration that didn’t seem to affect him much emotionally one way or the other. He wasn’t crowing. He was stating a fact. “I am Maje Jal Korat. You will restore the systems of your craft and give it to us. In return, you will live as slaves of the Kazon-Oglamar. If you do not, we will kill you, and our people will unlock your craft on our own.”

Jenkins was glad she’d had time to lock out the shuttlecraft’s systems, and she’d used a pretty solid series of encryptions, but she didn’t doubt the Kazon-Oglamar would manage to get their way into the shuttle’s subroutines eventually.

“You won’t,” Cing’ta said. “The ship is keyed to our DNA. The last Maje we dealt with considered us allies, not slaves.” Cing’ta spoke with the full rumble of his deep voice at the surface, and crossed his arms across his broad chest. “I don’t imagine he’ll be pleased to learn you’ve angered our crew, or our ship.”

The DNA lockout was a lie, but it was a good one. Jenkins continued to watch the two men. For the first time, some emotion played on Jal Korat’s face: annoyance. “We have no record of your ship.”

“That’s because it’s just a shuttle,” Cing’ta said. “Our starship, Voyager, battled alongside your people as allies. If you don’t believe me, ask them. We saved Kazon lives that day.”

Jal Korat and Cing’ta stared each other down for a few more moments before the Kazon stepped back out of the door and it closed behind him. Cing’ta waited a moment longer, then turned to Jenkins, waiting.

“Nicely done,” she said.

“Sorry. He assumed I was in charge, so…” Cing’ta shrugged.

Jenkins waved a hand. “Let’s not break any of their illusions.” She looked around the small room, which didn’t offer much—the walls were scuffed, and the room was nearly bare, excepting two shelf-life beds and the lights above them, one of which flickered slightly. “Does this strike you as a cell?” she said.

“More like a barracks,” Cing’ta said, after some consideration.

She nodded. “I agree. They’ve covered a panel there.” She nodded at a spot by the door. “But this feels repurposed.” They’d taken their communicators, unfortunately, but that didn’t mean they had to give up completely. “If we can pull it open, we might be able to open the door from the inside, but there’s still the guard outside.” She took a breath. “Good call getting them to reach out to other ships.”

“Do you think the Kazon-Ogla and the Kazon-Oglamar are related, or is it just a coincidence?” Cing’ta said.

“I’m no linguist.” Jenkins shook her head. “The main thing I hope is if they’re not allied with the Kazon-Ogla, that they’re not the sect we were fighting alongside the Kazon-Ogla. The ones with the three carriers like this one that were destroyed?”

“That would be less than ideal,” Cing’ta said. He eyed the shelf-bunks, then knelt down beside it. “It’s bolted on, but I can probably get one of those legs off this bunk.”

“Do it,” Jenkins said. “Then we’ll try prying that panel open. If nothing else, maybe I can clock him with it the next time he’s too busy dismissing me as a lowly woman.”

Cing’ta reached under the bunk, and gave the leg a solid yank. The whole bunk jerked, but it didn’t come free. “Voyager should be here by now. It didn’t feel like we went to warp.”

Jenkins had to agree. They’d taken as much time as they could coming aboard, landing the shuttle in the large carrier ship’s bay, and locking down the systems right up until the Kazon had arrived in the landing bay and forced them to exit the shuttle under threat of fire. Then they’d been marched straight to this room while, presumably, the Kazon took their first look at the shuttle and realized they had no access. In all that time, the ship had thrummed with power, yes, but nothing that felt like the shift to warp speed. That didn’t mean they couldn’t have covered a lot of ground, but it was still a good sign.

Their job was clear: get themselves back to the shuttle and off the Kazon carrier, or to do everything they could to survive long enough to be rescued. Behind her, she heard a short, sharp crack.

“Got it,” Cing’ta said, holding out the narrow piece of metal.

*

Stadi tried not to let her frustration seep into her voice. The closer they got to the nebula, the less she could see around them. It was like searching a cargo bay with a candle. “Any chance we can clear up the navigational sensors, Swinn?”

“The omicron particles are still interfering with sensors,” Swinn said. “I’m attempting to compensate.”

“If we weren’t here to rescue the Dawkins,” Honigsberg said. “I’d suggest we’d gather those omicron particles. We could use them to top up our power reserves.”

“Maybe later,” Cavit said.

“The particles are deeper in the nebula,” Taitt said. “We’d have to go much further into the nebula to get them.” She shook her head. “This is one of the strangest formations I’ve ever seen. The outer edge is remarkably consistent, and the interior is nearly unreadable.” She looked up at the screen. “It’s an excellent hiding place.”

“In that case, let’s not limit our sensor range until we have to,” Ro said.

“Agreed,” Cavit said. “How are we doing, Stadi?”

“I’ve plotted a search grid around the outer edges of the nebula, starting with our best estimate of where they would have entered the outer layer.” What Taitt had just said sank in. “You said the outer edge of the nebula is consistent?” She spared a quick glance over her shoulder at the science station.

Taitt nodded. “Very.”

“Does that mean we can we see if any areas have been recently disturbed?”

Taitt smiled. “I can try.” She got back to work.

“Finishing the first grid,” Stadi said, turning her attention back to her own displays. It was slow going, and tedious, especially with the sensors so hobbled. “No sign of the Dawkins.”

“Next grid, Lieutenant,” Ro said.

“Aye, Commander.”

She’d just set in the course when Honigsberg spoke again. “I just got a packet on the Cloud system.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Feeding it through the universal translator,” Honigsberg said. “This one wasn’t sent or received through a Federation comm channel. Definitely Kazon.”

“Maje Jal Korat to First Maje Jal Valek. We have two prisoners of the starship Voyager. Their shuttle is impressive, and we have brought it aboard. They claim to be allies to the Kazon-Oglamar. Advise.” The static on the playback was the roughest yet.

“Kazon-Oglamar?” Ro said. “Are they an offshoot of the Kazon-Ogla?”

“The Tallaxian database just lists them as another sect,” Rollins said, bringing up the information at Tactical. “His interactions with the Kazon were all basically him running away.”

“How long ago was that signal timestamped?” Cavit asked.

“Best guess comparing it to the timestamp on the Kazon signal we got from the Dawkins…about fifteen minutes?” Honigsberg said. “Their comm systems aren’t as detailed as ours.”

“Depending on how close the other Kazon ships might be to the nebula, they very well could have gotten an answer by now,” Ro said. “And if they didn’t use one of the key words to trigger the Cloud, we wouldn’t know.”

Stadi looked at her readings. “Do we know if the packet came from inside the nebula, at least?”  It they were looking for a needle, at least they could be sure it was the right haystack.

“Given the noise on the signal, I’d bet on it,” Taitt said.

That was good enough for Stadi. She turned her attention back to the search grid. They’d almost completed the second sweep.

“I think I’ve got a disturbance worth noting,” Taitt said, speaking up again.

“Where is it?” Cavit asked.

Taitt put it on their screen, highlighting the position, and what—to Stadi—looked like a very mild disturbance in the edge of the cloud. Still, Taitt was right. Everywhere else along the nebula was remarkably uniform.

“We’d be skipping ahead three grids,” Stadi said. “But we could go back after if it doesn’t pan out.”

“Agreed,” Cavit said. “Adjust course.”

Stadi shifted Voyager’s path, and she watched the section of the nebula Taitt had highlighted creep closer.

*

“The good news is I understand the mechanism,” Jenkins said, pitching her voice low. In front of her, the panel lay bare, and the inner workings were open to them now. “The bad news is, all I can do is close the door.”

“It’s already closed,” Cing’ta said.

“They removed everything but the closing and locking mechanism from this side, then sealed the panel. I’m guessing they figured that was enough to turn this into a cell.”

“They’re not wrong.” The large Bolian had been leaning against the door, his ear pressed to it while Jenkins worked. So far, he’d heard nothing.

“I may be able to transfer the closing mechanism to where the opening mechanism was. If they were at all similar…”

“Someone’s coming,” Cing’ta said.

She hastily closed the panel, though it didn’t remain as completely even as before. They moved back, arranging themselves spread a few feet apart. She gripped the piece of metal behind her back, closing her hand over it tightly, and waited.

The door opened, and Jal Korat was back.

And clearly angry.

“Your Voyager destroyed three Kazon-Oglamar carriers!” The man aimed all his ire at Cing’ta. “The First Maj has demanded your shuttle, and wants us to bring him to you. Thanks to your lies, what should have been mine will be his.” He drew the last word out almost into a hiss of fury.

Cing’ta took a step back, and the Jal Korat took another step toward him, drawing his weapon, what looked to Jenkins like a disruptor. “At this point, I don’t care if you give me the slightest excuse to execute you,” he said.

Jenkins inched her way around the edge of the small room. Outside, the single guard was still watching, but he was watching Cing’ta and Jal Korat staring each other down. She edged closer and closer to the door, willing the guard not to notice her.

“The technology in that shuttle could still be yours,” Cing’ta said, raising his hands. “I can show you how. But I told you, it only responds to my DNA.”

Jenkins hopped forward and slid her fingers into the panel. The guard outside saw her move, and turned his weapon toward her, but by the time he fired, the door to the small room had shut, and the blast hit the door.

Jal Korat turned to see what the noise was, frowning at her, but he kept his weapon trained on Cing’ta, so Jenkins cracked him across the side of his head with the cot leg, swinging the metal as hard as she could. The man grunted, tipping, and Cing’ta grabbed the disruptor out of his hand.

The door to the cell opened again, and the guard stepped in, aiming his weapon at Jenkins. She dove, and the beam missed her by barely a breath.

Cing’ta fired at the man, hitting him square in the chest. He went down with a small grunt.

Jal Korat moaned, raising a hand to the side of his head.

“What do you think?” Cing’ta said, as Jenkins got back on her feet and scooped up the guard’s disruptor. “Back to the shuttle? Do you remember the way?” They’d both tried to memorize every step of their journey from the Kazon docking bay to this room. It hadn’t been far, or particularly picturesque.

“I think so.” Jenkins nodded. “Let’s go.”

The ship shook. Alert lights flashed in the open corridor.

“Phaser hit,” Cing’ta said.

“That has to be Voyager,” Jenkins said. They did a quick search of Jal Korat while he weakly protested but he didn’t have their communicators. That left one option. They sealed Jal Korat and the guard’s body in the room behind them, and started for the the docking bay.

Chapter Text

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Jenkins snapped, peeking past the bulkhead long enough to confirm what she’d seen in the launch bay.

“What?” Cing’ta said. “More Kazon?”

“I don’t think so,” Jenkins said. They’d dodged the few they’d heard coming on their way to the launch bay. It was clear their “quarters” were at the bottom of the ship, far from any command areas. It had worked to their advantage, thus far. “At least, I don’t see any. But take a look.”

The big Bolian did a quick glance around the corner. When he leaned back again he met her gaze. “Why would they remove the window?”

She took another look. The window on the pilot’s side of the shuttle lay on the ground beside the shuttle, with carbon scorching clearly visible on the Dawkins itself. It hadn’t magically reattached itself to the ship and made things easy for them.

As to Cing’ta’s question? “I don’t think they liked being locked out of the shuttle.”

New plan, then. She took stock of the rest of the bay. Six of the Kazon shuttles, with their odd top-heavy design and long landing struts stood in the launch bay, though there was enough space for at least four more. She was starting to think these Kazon-Oglamar had a supply issue.

She still saw no people, but it could easily be assumed some Kazon were on the level above them, which was open to the launch bay and behind a series of dark windows.

“Thoughts?” Cing’ta said, when she ducked back again.

“Three of them,” Jenkins said. “One, how fast do you think we can figure out one of their shuttles? Two, how long before they realize their Maje isn’t reporting to the bridge? And three, is that enough time to blast our way out of here and leave a surprise?”

Cing’ta’s grin was all the more bright given the white of his teeth against the dark blue of his lips. “I like our odds, personally.”

*

“The Kazon vessel is coming out of the nebula,” Rollins said. “We definitely hit them with that phaser spread.”

Cavit watched. On the viewscreen, the carrier-sized ship broke through the purple-blue clouds of gas. One of the large vessels, he noted, but so far only one. Tactically, they had the advantage, except for their crew being on the Kazon vessel. Assuming they were still alive.

“Swinn, scan for Jenkins and Cing’ta,” Ro said.

“Working on it,” Swinn said.

“Their shields are up and their weapon systems are powered,” Rollins said.

“Hail them,” Cavit said.

“Channel open.”

“This is Captain Cavit of the Federation Starship Voyager,” Cavit said. “You have two of our crew and one of our shuttlecraft. Return them. Now.”

He eyed Rollins, but the brown haired man just shook his head.

“No reply, sir.”

“Okay,” Cavit said. “Target their shield emitters with the phasers. Let’s see if we can change their mind about talking.”

“Firing phasers,” Rollins said. “Direct hit. Their shields are holding.”

“Swinn?” Ro said.

“I can’t isolate individuals, but there are two readings that could be Human and Bolian life signs. I definitely think they’re on board, but between the interference from the nebula and the shields I can’t lock on or beam them out,” Swinn said.

“They’re maneuvering to get away from the trailing edge of the Nebula, Captain,” Stadi said. “They might be trying to get clear enough to go to warp.”

“Keep them hedged in,” Cavit said. “Rollins? We need their shields down.”

“Aye, sir,” they both said. Voyager drew closer to the Kazon vessel and more phaser fire streaked between them.

“Another hit.” Rollins shook his head. “Their shields are still holding.”

A moment later, Voyager rocked as the Kazon vessel began returning fire.

“Shields at ninety percent,” Rollins said. “Plasma torpedoes.”

“They’re trying to make us back off,” Ro said. “Get the space they need from the nebula.”

Cavit agreed. “Keep on them, Stadi. Rollins, we’ll do more damage if you target their shield emitter with a photon torpedo.”

“Aye sir,” he said, then, after a moment, added, “We have thirty-eight torpedoes.”

“Do it,” Cavit said. He couldn’t replace the torpedoes right now—or any time in their immediate future—but he couldn’t replace his crew, either. Easy math.

Voyager rocked again as another volley of plasma torpedoes struck them, even as Rollins announced a direct hit. “Their shields are still up,” he said, frustration clear in his voice, “but they’re rotating the ship, trying to stop our line of fire. Clearly we’re hurting them.”

“Sir, they’re launching a shuttle,” Swinn said.

“What?” Cavit turned his head. Swinn tapped on her console and brought it up on the main viewer. Sure enough, a single Kazon shuttle sped out from the ship. Followed a few moments later by another, and then another.

“Are the shuttles any danger to us?” Ro said.

“Their armament is minimal by comparison,” Rollins said.

“We’re being hailed,” Swinn said.

“Open the channel,” Cavit said.

A burst of static, and then silence.

“Swinn?”

“The Kazon carrier is jamming the subspace frequency.”

“Sir,” Rollins said. “The carrier just fired on the lead shuttle.” On the screen, they saw a single plasma torpedo strike out and hit the shuttle, which jolted from the hit and started to trail a dark plume behind itself.

“They’re leaking deuterium,” Swinn said. Then she leaned forward. “Sir, the life signs on the shuttle… It’s hard to tell with the interference from the nebula, but I don’t think they’re Kazon.”

“Beam them aboard,” Cavit said. “Stadi, get between them and the Kazon ship if you can. Rollins, lay down cover fire with the phasers.”

Another pair of “Aye, sir!”s followed, and Cavit watched the shuttle on the viewscreen.

“Isolating their bio-signs,” Swinn said. “Transporter room one, do you have a lock?”

“Almost,” Chief Tamal’s voice was tense.

“They’re firing again,” Rollins said.

“Stadi,” Ro said.

“On it,” Stadi said.

Voyager’s shields clipped two of the three torpedoes the carrier ship had fired, but the third passed them by, and struck the shuttle. It started spinning, clearly out of control.

“Transporter room?” Cavit said.

“I’ve got them captain.” Dean Tamal’s voice was relieved.

“Captain,” Ensign Jenkins voice came over the channel. “We set the Dawkins to self-destruct. There’s about a minute left.”

“Stadi?”

“Aye, Captain,” Stadi said, pulling the ship away. The Kazon vessel launched another series of four plasma torpedoes their way, two striking, two missing. Voyager rocked with the hits.

“Shields at seventy-five percent,” Rollins said.

Cavit watched the distance between them grow. “As soon as we’ve got enough distance from the nebula, take us to warp,” Cavit said.

“Aye, sir,” Stadi said.

A moment later, the rear of the Kazon vessel erupted with a bright flash of light and the large ship began a slow tilt, clearly losing attitude control.

“They’ve lost power to their port impulse engines,” Rollins reported. “Their core seems stable, though, and they’ve maintained their shields.” He glanced at Cavit. “I don’t think they’re in immediate danger.”

On the viewscreen, the two shuttles had turned back toward the listing ship.

“Let’s choose the better part of valour,” Cavit said. “Stadi, the moment we’re clear.”

“Going to warp in thirty seconds, Captain.”

*

Ro touched the chime on the Ready Room door and waited.

“Come,” Cavit’s voice over the comm said.

Ro stepped through into the space and found him at his desk.

“The damage reports,” Ro said, raising her PADD. “It’s all minor. Nothing to worry about, beyond the loss of the Dawkins. There’s a suggestion from Lieutenant Durst that Honigsberg put in here, and I think is worth exploring. He’s suggesting we up our shuttle complement to eight, replacing the shuttlepods as we can.”

“It’s not a terrible idea. I’m surprised he didn’t push for more resource allocation for the Aeroshuttle,” Cavit said, taking the PADD. “Honigsberg said Durst’s been working on it in his spare time since we got here.”

“That’s in there, too, but it’s more of a long-term goal given the state of our resources.” She sat. “As soon as we’re not in grey mode, I think he’ll be asking for more. But replacing the shuttlepods seems wise. A shuttlecraft can do everything a shuttlepod can, but a shuttlpod can’t go to warp.”

“Unfortunately, grey mode is still our day-to-day. That little battle cost us some reserves, and a torpedo.” Cavit glanced over the request on the PADD, then nodded. “The shuttles are a great idea. Consider it approved.”

“Done,” Ro said. Then she waited. Cavit didn’t ask her into his Ready Room often, she’d noticed. He usually preferred to chat with her on the bridge, unless there was something that he didn’t necessarily want the crew to hear right away. She was betting this was one of those times.

“Did you see the packets the Cloud system has been picking up?” He said, turning his monitor around to face her. Multiple packets were displayed on the screen, translated from the Kazon dialect by the Universal Translator into simple standard text.

“I did.” Ro said. Cing’ta and Jenkins convincing this local Maje to call other ships to confirm who they were seemed to have set off the kind of ripple effect they’d hoped for. The Cloud system was up and running and sending packets back and forth among the Kazon-Oglamar ships, even more so after they’d left the carrier in more-or-less one piece. It had called out for assistance from other nearby Kazon-Oglamar vessels.

“They’re warning each other about us,” Cavit said. “I’d hoped the Cloud would help us hear about the Equinox or the Vulcan ship—hell, even the Cardassians—but instead the chatter is all about us. Our reputation is preceding us, quite literally.” He turned his monitor and tapped to a new screen before turning it back to her. This time it was a display of local space, with markings from where the packets had generally come from. “A lot of the packets came from ahead of us, on our course back home.”

She’d noticed that, too. The Cloud didn’t make for a perfect mapping system, given the way the system had to delay and obfuscate the outgoing signal packets, but there was no mistaking what the pattern suggested in a general sense. “The Kazon sects seem to have a lot of territory among them.” And while Voyager outclassed the Kazon ships in most respects, they didn’t have numbers on their side. “We’re going to be adjusting our course a lot if we want to duck and weave around them.”

“Is that your way of asking if I’m considering a more direct path?” Cavit said.

“I know we haven’t worked together long.” Ro shook her head, smiling. “But if I thought it was better just to ram straight though the Kazon, I’d say so.”

He laughed. “True enough. And you’re right. It’ll take longer, but it’s safer.”

She agreed. She was about to leave when the door chimed again.

“Come,” Cavit said.

Fitzgerald, Sullivan, and Lan entered. Though Ro didn’t know Fitzgerald well enough to read the man easily, it was clear to her both Sullivan and Lan were doing their utmost to seem almost casually calm.

“Doctor,” Cavit said, nodding at the group. “Crewman, Ensign. What can I do for you?”

“Would you like privacy?” Ro said, rising from the couch.

Fitzgerald and Sullivan both looked to Lan, but the Trill shook her head. “I have some news, and I wanted to tell the both of you first. I’m going to need some accommodations, and I’m not even sure what they’ll be as of yet, but Doctor Fitzgerald insists you’ll make it a priority.”

“Then I’m sure that’s true,” Cavit said. 

Ro didn’t say anything. She waited. Lan was rarely indirect like this, and honestly looked like she was working herself up to speaking.

“Thanks to the Caretaker,” Lan said, drawing her hands across her stomach and speaking like someone tearing off a stuck bandage. “My symbiont finds itself with impending offspring.”

*

Cavit crossed into the Mess Hall, stifling a yawn, and approached the serving window to the kitchen.

“You’re up early,” Gara said. She’d done something different with her hair today, tying most of it back under a loose red scarf.

“I had a lot to think about last night, and didn’t end up sleeping well,” he said. “Though don’t tell anyone. Captains are supposed to be indomitable.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” she said.

“Is there coffee left?”

“You’re in luck,” Gara said. “You’ll get the last cup.”

“The last one?” he said. He glanced around the Mess Hall, checking who was around. It was too early for most of the morning shift to have arrived, and hardly anyone from the night shift had been relieved yet. As a result, the place was almost empty, mostly off-duty middle-shift crew, and one of the Ocampa, Abol, who sat by himself apparently raptly reading what looked to be at least three PADDs.

Notably, there were no blue uniforms present.

“Dr. Fitzgerald isn’t here yet,” Gara said.

When he looked back at her, she raised her eyebrows, apparently guileless.

“If that’s who you’re looking for,” she added, with a little shrug.

Okay. Maybe he should worry more about inscrutable than indomitable. At least with Gara. He cleared his throat. “What are the other drinks this morning?” He wanted to at least appear to consider taking the coffee for reasons he wasn’t sure he wanted to explore without having had coffee in the first place, which was an unsolvable coffee paradox.

“Right now I have two, at least until Eru gets here. Tomato juice with a hint of black pepper, and a hot mint tea. I also have some frittata left, if you’re hungry and don’t want to wait for Eru. I think she’s planning to make a hot oatmeal dish of some kind.”

“The tea, then,” Cavit said. “And I loved the frittata, so I’m happy with that.”

Gara plated him some of the egg dish and poured him a mug. She passed them over and he paused before turning away. “Gara, if anyone else asks for the coffee,” he said. “I’m wondering if you could tell them…” He drifted off, wondering how far to go with this. Feeling foolish about even considering it.

“We’ve run out?” Gara did a perfectly respectable imitation of someone not lying about the last cup of coffee.

Cavit raised his mug, and went to find a seat before the flush he could feel rising up the back his neck made much more of an appearance. He sat at an empty table, and took a sip of the tea. It was nice. Not overly sweet, and exactly hot enough.

Someone laughed, and he turned, the noise catching his attention. At the furthest table, he saw Ensign Jenkins and Crewman Cing’ta sitting together, both still in uniform despite having some time off after their rescue. Whatever the Bolian was saying in his deep, rumbling voice, it was making Ensign Jenkins laugh and shake her head, holding up one hand as if to brace herself. He watched the Starfleet officer and the former Maquis for a few seconds more, Jenkins now taking he lead in whatever conversation they were having and making the Bolian laugh in turn, and then the door to the Mess Hall opened, and Dr. Fitzgerald approached the kitchen serving window.

“Morning, Gara. Any coffee left?” the man asked, hopeful.

“You’re in luck,” Gara said. “You get the last cup.”

Cavit turned his attention back to his plate, hiding his smile behind a mouthful of frittata.