Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Walter Baxter leaned through the edge of the woods, Rawski to his left and Rosa to his right, and swallowed hard, panting for breath. The three of them needed somewhere to stop—and preferably to hide—but given the sounds behind them, not anywhere distant enough, put rest to the thought quickly. 

More river. More forest. They’d been running since sun-up, since the ear-splitting sonic eruptions and the streaks of shuttles filled the sky, realizing within moments what they represented, but it hadn’t been enough.

The rifle shot that had taken down Brian Hargrove had at least been mercifully instant. 

"Lieutenant?" Rawski said. The man’s shaved head shone with sweat. 

It wasn’t like they had multiple options. The shots had come from the clearer side of the river, which mean they needed to stay in the forest rather than risking being out in the open.

If only they’d spotted something or somewhere to go.

The memory of the single shot, the soft thud, and Hargrove dropping threatened to replay itself in Baxter’s mind, and he forced it aside. Later. That’s when he’d allow that memory the space it required. Later, when they were safe. Later, when this was over. Just… later.

"We keep going," he said.

Both Rawski and Rosa nodded. If they’d had better ideas, he trusted they’d have offered them.

They drew back into the forest, exchanged one more glance, and started their punishing run again. 

They hadn’t gotten far when a loud whistling noise caught Baxter’s attention. He frowned, holding up one hand to halt the other two, and he shifted to the edge of the forest again. The noise seemed to be coming from above. 

He shielded his eyes with one hand, and had to turn his gaze a few times to finally spot the source of the noise, but he eventually did, and what he saw—multiple streaks of light, each one adding to the whistling scream—coming down apparently from orbit in multiple places, but too small to be shuttles. 

"What do you think?" Rosa said softly. 

"I’m not sure," Baxter said—which was when each of the streaks set off what appeared to Baxter to be three bursts of fireworks. A burst of blue, a burst of yellow, and a burst of red erupted behind the falling objects, and Baxter let out a puff of breath.

"Division colours," he said.

"Sir?"

"Keep your eyes on where they fall," Baxter said, doing his best to figure out which of the group of falling objects might be closest to where they are. 

"There’s more starting there," Rawski said, pointing. 

One of the second bundle of falling streaks seemed fairly close to Baxter—or at least, not as distant as the other groups. It, too, exploded in the trio of fireworks, then continued its streak down towards the planet’s surface. 

"We head that way," Baxter said, nodding. It led them deeper into the forest, but he knew what he’d just seen.

"Division colours," Rosa said, his voice rising in understanding. 

"Whatever those are," Baxter said. "They’re from Voyager."

*

"How are we doing?" Fitzgerald said, leaning forward in Aaron’s chair and trying not to allow any of the anxiety and worry in his mind to show too obviously in his tone. 

"I’m not reading Cochrane on sensors," Taitt said, working the Ops station. "Which is to be expected. If everything went as planned, they’ll be on their way back now, and the timers we set on the drops should have gone off…" Taitt’s voice trailed off. "I’m seeing active scans coming from the space station."

"Well, we knew they’d notice," Fitzgerald said, rising from the chair. He was done with pretending not to be uptight. He stepped up to the Conn, looking over Yareth’s shoulders at the navigational sensors—he’d asked her to keep an eye on the Hirogen ships in orbit.

"The ships aren’t moving," Yareth said. 

"We can cross-reference with the passive scans from Cochrane when they get back," Taitt said. "But unless I’m misreading our own scans, there are only two or three lifesigns on each of those ships—the station stayed pretty populated, but I’d say the vast majority of the Hirogen on those ships joined the hunt."

"Okay," Fitzgerald said. "The station scans, keep an eye on them—if it looks like they’re glancing our way, we might have to do more to blend in with the—"

Taitt grunted, wincing and closing her eyes.

"Zandra?" Fitzgerald said, frowning and stepping up to her. 

"Not now," she said, grinding her jaw together, and Fitzgerald blinked at first because he thought she was talking to him, but then realized…

"You’re in labour," he said.

Taitt aimed a miserable, dark-eyed look his way. "So not the time," she said.

"Doesn’t really work like that," Fitzgerald said, already tapping his combadge. "Fitzgerald to Doctor Hall. I’m bringing Zandra down to Sickbay. You and T’Prena are going to be busy for the next little while. It’s time to welcome our newest crew members."

"Understood," Emmett’s voice replied with his usual crisp delivery. "We’ll have everything ready before you get here."

Taitt slid off the chair, and paused again, wincing. "Oh. Okay, that was quick."

Fitzgerald helped her straighten, keeping one hand at the small of her back to offer some support. Ocampa pregnancies. Like everything else Ocampa, speed seemed to be calling card.

"Let’s get you to Sickbay," Fitzgerald said, pausing to glance over his shoulder at Yareth. "Yareth, you’ve got the Bridge until Alex can get up here from Engineering—keep an eye out for the Cochrane, and…" He shook his head. "You know what we’re doing. So does Alex." 

"Aye, sir," Yareth said, not even batting an eye. "Good luck, Lieutenant," she added, aiming that Taitt’s way.

"Thanks," Taitt said, with a bit of a watery smile.

He walked Taitt to the turbolift, and as the doors closed, he tapped his combadge again to summon Abol.  

If part of Fitzgerald remembered Zandra Taitt and her children dying in an alternate timeline only he remembered, he did everything in his power to ignore it. 

Chapter Text

After the first time Kem had hushed them in the dark tunnel when they inevitably made noise—because neither Ulval nor himself could walk confidently in the pitch-black of wherever in the blue hells they were, Cing’ta had done his best to slow down and keep one hand on the wall where Kem had tugged Cing’ta and Ulvan’s palms until they’d brushed a trail.

Well, "trail" was pushing it. It would be complimentary to call it a trail, and unfortunately for Cing’ta, the tiny, barely-tangible groove they were following along the smooth walls of the tunnel wasn’t carved at oversized-Bolian-male height, so he was also crouching.

He grunted as, once again, his progressed was marred by a misplaced step. 

In front of him, Kem’s soft voice, barely an audible whisper, "Kos es wen?"

"Sorry, Kem," Cing’ta replied in his lowest voice. "I keep tripping over my own damn feet." 

With a soft inhalation of breath, Kem shifted ahead of him, though his steps didn’t continue.

"What’s he doing?" Ulval whispered.

"Not sure."

And then he could see. Well, barely. Cing’ta blinked, squinting as the faintest of red glows—barely anything, really—finally turned the impenetrable darkness of the tunnels into merely the deepest of red-tinted shadows. It took Cing’ta  few moments to realize Kem had pulled something from the pocket of his well-worn pants, and at a glance, he’d call it the world’s saddest beacon, but in comparison to moments earlier, it might as well have been a solar flare.

"Oh, bless you, Kem." Cing’ta hoped his tone would carry if his smile wasn’t visible to the young Vyntadi man.

Kem, for his part, nodded once—or the vague outline of him did—and then he repeated the word he’d said the most: "Vri." Cing’ta was pretty sure translated to "Haul your damn ass, Bolian." 

They walked on. 

He’d guess it had been over an hour since they’d first heard the thumping, thunderous bass of the upper-atmospheric sonics, and he didn’t need his strategic ops training to know a crude planet-wide alert system when he heard one. Kem’s repeated "Hirogen es innek!" also would have given him enough to work with. 

From everything the crew of Voyager had gleaned from the Hirogen computers on the ship Lan and Ballard encountered in the Vyntadi Expanse, Cing’ta knew their situation was dire. The hunt was on. And this young man’s knowledge of the land meant he’d survived at least one of these events before.

Which made him the expert, and left Cing’ta a little at loose ends. He preferred to be more in charge, more aware, more functional than this. He itched to do more than follow a barely-felt marking in a wall of some long-forgotten tunnel—maintenance way, subway, sewer system, he still had no idea—but he didn’t have the luxury of choices. 

At least now he could see to step over the bumps he was starting to think were signs this was some sort of maintenance access after all. Not that he knew what it was intended to access. 

Time ticked by. Occasionally, they heard the faintest something from above—often felt more than heard, in truth—what might have been rumbles or thuds were they not underground, but not enough to make it out, and it didn’t slow Kem down, so whatever it was was neither unusual nor trouble in the kid’s mind. 

Finally, Kem paused ahead of them, and held up one hand. Cing’ta and Ulval came to a halt, and Kem pointed at the wall. 

Cing’ta squinted, then gave up and used the palm he’d been tracing along the wall to feel the groove, and… it was cross-hatched here, no longer just a single line. 

"It’s crossed here," Cing’ta whispered, shifting so Ulval could feel it. 

"Right." She nodded.

Kem held his "light" up, and Cing’ta saw the barest glint of the red light reflecting over… something. He tried to squint, but that was all he had—were things hanging in the tunnel? He couldn’t tell. 

"Oh," Ulval exhaled, clearly having a better idea of what she was seeing. "He filled the tunnel with something hanging from the ceiling—wind-chimes or something like that."

Cing’ta smiled, getting it. "A warning system."

Kem pressed himself against the side of the tunnel, then slid down to a sitting position, and started inching his way along the edge, sliding on his butt.

"Maybe you should go first." Cing’ta considered his own bulk in comparison to the lithe Vyndati. "If I mess this up, better if you two are ahead of me."

"Fair enough." Ulval gracefully slid down the wall, dodging the barely-visible glints of red reflections, which were already dimming as Kem got further ahead.

Cing’ta did his best to follow, scooching along like a domesticated targ that got caught eating something it shouldn’t have.

*

"The station activated a sensor sweep. They’re systematically sweeping the area around the planet, and so are a few of the ships left in orbit, but they’re not breaking their positions—in fact, a few of them moved to circle the station," Gara said. She stood side-by-side at the Astrometrics console with Eru, the two of them having taken over for Abol for the duration. 

Fitzgerald eyed the passive sensor readings—still fuzzy thanks to the stealth technology the Hirogen ships and station both used—but the picture painted seemed clear enough to him. "So they care more about keeping their hunt going—and that station—than learning who sent down those supplies?"

"That’s my take," Eru said. "Also, I took some time with the images the Cochrane took, and there’s something I think will explain it."

Fitzgerald nodded, and Eru tapped in a series of commands. Images Loval and Ryson gathered during their trips to put all the supply drops in orbit appeared on the large, holographic display and Eru highlighted some of the markings on the side of the station.

"There’s not a lot to work with here, and I’m not Cir…" Eru paused, swallowing. "But I compared it to what he’d put together from the previous samples, and the universal translator agrees: the prefixes on over a third of these markings?" Eru turned to face him. "They’re feminine."

"Oh," Fitzgerald said, turning his full attention back to the images of the station. "No wonder they’re holding a defensive position." Everything they’d learned about the Hirogen language—and Cir’s inferences about the culture thereof—had equated feminine with rarity and importance.

"I also think protecting any matriarchs is one of the only things that would bring them together," Eru said. "Everything else we saw—and everything we downloaded from their ship—paints a picture of individualistic, competitive culture—they’re not the type to co-operate unless there’s a major threat."

"Like how they reacted to us even touching 'their' relay," Fitzgerald said.

"Exactly," Gara said. "They don’t help each other."

"Honigsberg to Fitzgerald."

"Good work you two," Fitzgerald said, then lifted his chin. "Go ahead Alex."

"If you’ve got a moment, I believe I’ve got the answer to the question 'Why are no more Hirogen ships inbound?' Also, if you can tell Joel to head to Main Engineering, too, I think we’re ready for that plan he and Lisa cooked up."

"On my way," Fitzgerald said. He eyed the two Ocampa women again. "We can use this. Keep an eye on those scans—if it looks like they’re going to aim any of those scans our way, let me know."

"Aye, sir." Eru turned back to the controls. Her coping mechanism for her anxiety over Cir’s state seemed to be utter focus, Fitzgerald thought. 

Gara aimed a small nod Fitzgerald’s way. 

Fitzgerald left them to it, calling Crewman Swift to join him once he was in the turbolift, and headed down to Main Engineering, where Alex had the entire space to himself, and one of the side displays had all the schematics from the smaller Hirogen hunting vessel they’d previously encountered, as well as scans of the larger ships and the station itself. 

"How are we doing?" Fitzgerald said, crossing to stand beside him.

"Ryson’s just landing Cochrane now, but Loval already sent me all the scans, and… well," Honigsberg pointed. "As far as I can tell, there’s not one subspace transceiver assembly on any of the ships or the station capable of what Starfleet would have called cutting-edge back in the days of Georgiou and company."  

"Really?" Having been married to a man who loved history for over a year now—more, if he included a year that unhappened—Fitzgerald blinked at the reference. Captain Philippa Georgiou. That was over a century ago. It seemed unlikely—and then the penny dropped. "The relay."

"No necessity, no invention," Honigsberg said, semi-quoting one of Aaron’s favourite lines about the history of engineering. "I took the liberty of looking back at the readings Seven of Nine got when we’d hacked our way into the relay, and honestly, I think this group of Hirogen might be every Hirogen ship that was in range of each other before the relay went offline." 

"That’s great news," Fitzgerald said.

"We’re still outnumbered by a whole lot," Honigsberg said, rubbing his goatee.

"You wanted to see me?"

They both turned at the arrival of Crewman Joel Swift. The slender chemist had a smear of something on his chin, and his uniform had a few marks as well.

"I’d like to move forward with the plan you and Lisa came up with," Fitzgerald said. 

"I unlocked the rest of the PM-1 to be accessed by the replicator systems in the physical sciences lab," Honigsberg said. "You get to explain to everyone why they’re back on replicator rations when they get home, though."

Swift offered a grim smile in return. "I’ll accept that." He glanced at Fitzgerald. "Just to be clear, sir, this won’t be… delicate."

"Understood," Fitzgerald said. 

Swift nodded once, and left at a good clip, tapping his combadge and calling for De Moraes to join him in the lab. 

"Remember when we were hoping Joel would rub off on Evander?" Honigsberg said, with his usual sense of humour in the face of anything difficult. 

"Well, that’s how knowledge transfer works," Fitzgerald said. "It’s a two-way street."

"How’s Zandra?"

"Emmett promised he’d let us all know as soon as the twins were born."

Honigsberg blew out a breath. 

"Ryson to Fitzgerald."

Fitzgerald took a quick inhale. "Go a head." 

"Cochrane is docked and cooling. Where do you want Loval and I?"

Fitzgerald glanced at Honigsberg who nodded.

"Head to Main Engineering," Fitzgerald said. "I think Alex would like some back-up down here."

"On our way."

"That frees me up for torpedo duty," Honigsberg said. "Or, well, y’know…" He waved a hand.

Fitzgerald nodded. Their production of thoron torpedoes wasn’t a quick process, and they’d only managed to create three since getting the technology from the Entharans—and then upgrading it to Seven of Nine’s standards—but three was better than none, and Honigsberg had offered a plan of his own. 

"I’ll head back to the Bridge," Fitzgerald said. "Keep me posted." He paused, half-way to the turbolift. "Oh, and Alex?"

Honigsberg turned.

"If you could think of a way to beam through their monotonium hull plating, I’d appreciate it."

Honigsberg snorted, then did a double-take, probably because Fitzgerald didn’t join in in the laughter. "Right. I’ll… add that to the list."

"Good."

*

Evander Dimitris looked around the engineering area of the long-abandoned antigrav vehicle, trusting Lieutenant Dennis Russell to have his back. The lieutenant had done that for all the former-Maquis since they’d first been stranded in the Delta Quadrant, and was a major part of the reason they’d mostly volunteered for the night shift, serving under him while he had the Bridge during the hours Voyager went dim. 

At the other end of the small space, the crewman Dimitris was fairly sure he’d never even met before he’d woken up in the same small room with him, Russell, and Richard Henard started muttering to himself. Again.

"Nothing worthwhile here," Crewman Harren said. "Nothing’s operational, just like every other piece of technology we’ve seen so far."

Dimitris reminded himself that Lisa De Moraes was out there somewhere, and punching Mortimer Harren would only delay finding her. The man was insufferable. 

"Not looking for tech, I’m looking for…" Dimitris’s frustration with Harren shifted when he opened an access hatch and found exactly what he’d hoped to find. "This."

Harren shuffled over. "I don’t get it."

"You don’t have to. Grab Lieutenant Russell for me, would you?" 

Harren sighed, but left. Small miracles. Harren had been obstinate and angry since they’d all woken up together, and he’d broken even Russell’s seemingly infinite patience. The Lieutenant had told him to "shut up unless he had something immediately important and useful to say" and Harren had looked like he wanted to argue, so Dimitris had aimed a particularly Maquis glance his way. 

Russell stepped into the small room a minute or two later.

"Paralithium," Russell said, looking into the hatch—and immediately seeing what Dimitris had seen. There was no mistaking the transparent cell, nor what it contained.

"Yep," Dimitris said. 

Russell bit his lip. "That’ll take time." Russell exhaled. "We think we saw movement. Whatever Voyager sent us is still a good trek away."

"That’s everything I need," Dimitris said, nodding to the other cells, which clearly enough held the usual components most species used to create antigrav-to-ion drive transfers in upper orbit pre-warp vessels. "Lieutenant, how about I make you a deal?"

Russell paused. "I’m going to hate this deal, aren’t I?" He had a gentle face, and a gentle nature, Dimitris knew. But he was a smart man, a former engineer, and a damned good officer—which it almost made Dimitris laugh to think. Who’d have thought he’d ever consider a Starfleet officer good?

"I think it’s worth the time, leave me behind, but—let’s be honest—green means go." Dimitris lifted one of his broad shoulders.

Russell took a deep breath, then nodded. "Henard can keep watch, if he sees any Hirogen, if he says to go…"

"I’ll go," Dimitris said.

Russell left, and Dimitris got to work. As always, time slid into the middle nowhere while he worked, and everything about what he was doing went against all the things Elliot Copage and Joel Swift had been teaching him for months, but like an old Maquis muscle, all the moves were there, right down to the reality of doing what he was doing without a single tool to start with.

But you could make tools out of components, even inert old pieces of tech, if you had the know-how, and Evander Dimitris did. First he needed an empty cannister—emptying one of the cells that didn’t have what he needed was easy enough—and his uniform sleeve, once he ripped some off, cleaned it to the "good enough" standards of the Maquis. The siphon took a little longer (and more of his uniform) as well as some piping that resisted his muscle longer than he’d have imagined for such an old ship, but he got it done.

He’d just finished his first transfer into the empty cell—eyeballing volatile chemicals was a talent and a skill—when he heard soft footsteps and turned, saying "I’m almost—" before realizing it wasn’t Henard. He jigged just in time for the Hirogen to stab him high in the thigh rather than through his belly.

Henard must be dead, Dimitris thought, the pain lancing up his thigh and his leg all but collapsing under him, sending a second wave of agony all the way up to the small of his back. And so am I. And then, as he saw the massive Hirogen draw a second blade, he said, "I’m sorry."

The Hirogen paused, seemingly taken aback by the comment. "For delivering a poor hunt?"

"Wasn’t talking to you," Dimitris said. "I was talking to Lisa."

He shook the cannister, then slammed it against the ground beside him. The Hirogen regarded it with a narrowing of its black eyes for a half-second before the bright green explosion erupted all around them.

*

"Lieutenant?" Mortimer Harren said, eyes wide as he looked back down the hill he’d been climbing alongside Lieutenant Russell for the last half-hour, leaving the small settlement and its small antigrav port behind, though they’d been able to see it when they’d risked a glance out from the tree-line.

The massive ball of greenish-fire had levelled half the port, and had been visible from inside the trees. By the time they’d gotten another chance to look back down on the settlement, secondary fires were now burning steadily all around the former port. Black smoke billowed.

"Green means go," Russell said, swallowing once. "Come on. We need to pick up the pace." 

*

"Sickbay to Bridge," Emmett’s voice held a mix of triumph and a trace of seriousness both, which was a particularly clever bit of balancing, Fitzgerald had to admit. Good news amidst a crisis. Or at least, that’s what he was hoping for.

"Go ahead," Fitzgerald said.

"Mother and babies are all doing fine. A little boy and a little girl, James and Nen." 

Fitzgerald smiled in relief. "I’m glad to hear it, Emmett," he said.

"Now that my patients are dealt with, Nurse T’Prena and I will work on a version of the irritant Ensign Lan engineered."

Fitzgerald sighed. "I’m sorry, Emmett, but the ship on that front sailed—they’re scanning now, so I don’t think we’ll be able to make another run to the planet to set up more remote probes—even with the Cochrane." 

"Actually, sir?" Crewman Maureen White spoke up from where she’d been sitting at the Science station. The climatologist brushed some of her dark hair behind her ear, and for the first time, Fitzgerald noticed she had a few streaks of grey at either temple. "I had a thought about that."

"Go ahead," he said.

"When it comes to dispersal, you can’t come up with better than mother nature," she said. "Rather than probes delivering canisters, we could go for something a bit more basic."

"What’s more basic than those parachute probes?" Yareth said from the Conn. She’d been impressed with the parachutes and fireworks and manual combination locks Alex’s team had come with. 

"The weather," White said, with a smile. 

"Get started, Emmett," Fitzgerald said.

"Aye, sir," Emmett said, closing the channel.

"Walk me through it," Fitzgerald said, but then the turbolift opened and Crewman Swift walked in.

"We’re all ready," Swift said. "If I can have permission to take the Cochrane out." He sounded eager, but Fitzgerald turned back to White.

"Any chance we can make this a two-for?" he said. 

"Definitely," White said. "All I need is some of what Emmett and T’Prena cooks up, and some time with some atmosphere probes." 

"Need help?" Swift said.

"Absolutely," White said.

Fitzgerald nodded. "Keep me posted."

They were gone a moment later.

"At some point," Fitzgerald said, rising once they were gone. "We’re going to have to move."

"More than ready to do that, sir," Yareth said, and Fitzgerald wondered if she was thinking of Jal Karden or not. It was hard to tell, she was carrying herself with near-Vulcan levels of self-control. 

"Seconded," Darwin said from the Ops station.

"Our tactical systems are improved," Sina said. "Though not optimal at this time. Crewmen 1106 and Kaurit are still working on the aft shield emitters."

"We’ll use every second we’ve got for repairs," Fitzgerald said. "But let’s talk contingencies while we wait."

"A logical use of our time," Sina said.

*

"There it is," Harren said, and before Russell could suggest caution, the crewman was already out from the edge of the forest, heading toward the landed capsule which was—as Russell had assumed—definitely of Federation design. Even the parachute had the blue and white Federation crest on it, and while Russell was just as eager to see what was inside it as Harren, he reached out and hissed, "Harren, wait—" but only grabbed air. 

"Damn it," Russell jogged after him, glancing left and right and trying to swallow past the rising sense of panic that they were too out in the open now. The capsule—a modified probe design, he thought, but one intended to survive a fairly rough landing—seemed intact. 

"Harren!" he snapped again, and this time the crewman did pause, looking back at him with a frustratingly annoyed expression on his face.

"We need what’s in there, sir," he said.

"Everyone nearby saw that thing land," Russell said. "Including the Hirogen." 

"The big guy blew them up," Harren said, frowning.

"They hunt in pairs, at least," Russell said. "And I doubt they’re the only ones on the planet." He shook his head, regardless, because Harren wasn’t wrong. They needed whatever was in there. "Just keep your eyes up." 

Harren nodded. He had the look of a man barely holding it together, and on some level, Russell understood that. But the reality was the man needed to be careful, or they’d both be in danger. Russell kept glancing left and right and—shit!

He dove for Harren, knocking him to the ground just as a slug—an actual projectile of some kind—fwipped above where Harren had just been standing. Russell tried to stay low as he eyed the forest’s edge where he’d seen the black figure, but even flat on his stomach they were too visible to risk much more than that.

"Get behind the probe," Russell said, doing his best to scramble to his feet, move quickly, but stay somewhat crouched while he made a dash for it. Harren followed suit, but a second later another fwip denoted a second slug, and Russell felt something hit his right shoulder, hard, and it knocked him flat on his face.

It hurt. It hurt like blazes. He grimaced, and looked up in time to see Harren make it to the other side of the probe, which was at least something, and then—

The sound of a phaser made Russell turn his head away from the danger, because he was so surprised to hear the sound he needed to see where it had come from, and sure enough he caught a glimpse of a figure in operations gold standing on the other side of the clearing, firing a type-two hand phaser. 

Another series of fwip-sounds had him ducking, even as he tried to pull himself toward the probe, but he realized the projectiles weren’t coming his way any more, but were being aimed at whoever he’d seen, who returned fire a second time. 

The projectiles stopped, and Russell risked a glance at the forest’s edge.

A Hirogen lay visible, sprawled out, face-down.

"That was foolish," came a voice, and Russell looked up to see Jal Karden jogging over to their side. "Open the probe," Karden said to Harren, who was gawking at him open-mouthed. "The code is Voyager’s registry. There’s a med-kit inside. I’d left it behind in case anyone else came along, but here you are."

Russell stared up at the young Kazon man. "You’re alone?" he said.

"I woke up alone in the forest," Karden said, nodding. "I made a knife out of my intak, set pit traps, and was going to lay in wait, but then I saw the probe, and came here. I figured others would, too—and more Hirogen—so once I was armed, I lay in wait." 

"I’ve got it opened," Harren said, already digging through the interior of the probe casing. Then, almost as if he couldn’t help himself. "What’s intak?"

Karden gestured to his head, where the keratinous plates grew amid his curls of thick hair. "All nameless Kazon youth learn how to fashion basic weapons out of intak."

Russell nodded, impressed, then winced. His shoulder burned.

"Let’s look at your shoulder," Karden said. "Doctor Fitzgerald’s classes on first aid were pretty thorough. Then we need to get you two to somewhere you won’t be seen."

Chapter Text

Just one more minute, Abol told himself, cradling Nen in his arms and allowing every bit of the love he felt for this tiny, wonderful being to be felt by her. Then, with a depth of reluctance he hadn’t known it was possible to feel, he passed his daughter to his mate, Zandra. James was already in the Ocampa-style wrap Eru had given her, and he took a moment to help her settled Nen into position as well. 

Nen and James. The names he’d learned when he was in his own possible future had been the names Zandra had chosen: honouring her good friend James Barnaby, and his, Nen, both much-missed.  

"I should go," he said, though he made no move to do so, his eyes locking on his mate’s deep brown eyes. He loved her so much.

"I know," Zandra said. 

The doors to Sickbay opened, and Abol turned to see Elliot Copage arriving, with Ahn to one side of him and Jeta to the other. Copage carried a pair of thermoses. "I have a lunch delivery," he said. "And since there were people in the Mess Hall to watch the rest of the kiddos, these two wanted to come meet the babies, if that’s all right?" He smiled fondly at Ahn and Jeta, both of whom stood a respectful distance away from the Surgical bay with wide brown eyes aimed up at Abol and Taitt with total pleading. 

"As long as you don’t stay long," Emmett said, answering for them as he stepped out of the medical lab. "Both mother and children need to sleep now."

"Okay," Ahn said, nodding.

"I brought this for T’Prena," Copage said, holding up one of the thermoses. "It’s just plomeek soup, but I figured something portable was better." His hand shook, and he lowered the thermos.

"It is appreciated, Crewman," came T’Prena’s voice. She didn’t appear, though, so Copage stepped into he lab.

Ahn and Jeta both stepped up to the surgical biobed, and Taitt smiled at them.

"Hey, you two," Zandra said, in a soft voice. "This is James, and this is Nen."

"Nen means graceful in Ocampa." Ahn made the declaration as she stared at the tiny baby, her hands behind her back like she was forcefully holding back the desire to touch the infant. 

Zandra blinked, but Abol smiled. "That’s right," he said. "I take it your father’s been teaching you Ocampa?" 

"Yes," Jeta said, leaning in closer. "Their ears will grow folds like ours, right?" She looked up at Zandra.

"Probably," Zandra said, smiling. "That’s how it’s been with Setok and all the other children." 

"My father says—" Ahn started, then she stopped. Her dark eyes seemingly going somewhere in the middle distance, and Abol’s sense of her—her presence as a telepathic being, albeit one not yet quite fully grown into young adulthood—shifted. "Daddy!" she said, and then, whirling, she grabbed Abol’s wrist and he plummeted.

Voyager fell behind him, Ahn gripping his wrist—not really, this was Ocampa, this was Chorus—and her strength was a much born of panic as directed thought. Abol tried to steady her, then reached up with his other hand—Jeta was there, now too, he realized, holding his other hand—and he did his best to send comfort to them even as he reached out to the starship above him, amidst the ruined wreckage of the former Vyntadi fleet, telepathically seeking—

Kes was falling with them. Then Gara and Eru. 

It’s Cir, Abol sent into the Chorus, and as Kes and Eru and Gara took on the lion’s share of holding the Chorus together—and protecting Ahn and Jeta the most at its core—and through the twin girls, Abol realized he could feel Cir, and…

Pain.

He turned, twisting them in space, and everything that was Abol—and Tay—brought them elsewhere, and—

Abol and the others appeared on what looked like some sort of runway or landing pad, by what Abol thought might be some sort of transport, though it didn’t seem to be functional. The doors were open, however, and inside it…

There. Eru’s thought pulled them as a group, and they shifted a second time to see Daggin kneeling beside Cir, who sat on a side-facing bench, the large Ocampa man panting in pain—the handle of what appeared to be a small blade protruding from his thigh—and at the open door, Setok was leaning, peering out while doing his best to remain out of view.

Cir! 

Father!

The thoughts of children and mate drew Cir’s attention first, then Daggin and Setok. 

I’m okay. Cir’s thoughts were edged with pain, but he faced his daughters. I’m going to be okay.

That throwing knife was meant for my back. Daggin turned to face them for a beat. But the blade—it’s not near any major blood vessels. His determination projected through the Chorus, and both Ahn and Jeta trembled against Abol’s side. Also, Abol realized Daggin had a medical tricorder, and there was a medkit on the floor beside them.

You got one of the supply pods we dropped, he thought.

Yes. Daggin said. Though we had to grab this and run—they were waiting for someone to get to it.

"They’re coming," Setok said aloud.

Go now. Cir’s request held an edge of demand, and Abol turned to Ahn and Jeta. Jeta’s eyes widened, but Ahn’s grip didn’t loosen one bit. 

We’ll help him. Abol made it clear it was a promise with every bit of his being.

Jeta slipped free of the Chorus, then—after a burst of wilfulness—Ahn vanished as well.

Outside. Abol directed the Chorus, and now they were all outside—even Cir, Setok, and Daggin—all standing, Cir’s leg unhurt, though the telepathic echo of the real physical injury lay like a blurred edge across his senses. 

I’m not much clearer, he realized, even as the strength of the Chorus—strained by his own recent neurological damage as much as Cir’s injury and the distance between the seven of them—flared between them. 

The pair of Hirogen were moving slowly, but with a near feline grace. They made their way between two other of the long, rectangular vehicles, one of which had tipped over on one side and must have at some point burned violently given the charring and damage. Both held rifles, as well as multiple sheathed blades strapped to their black, fierce-looking armor, complete with the face-plates that protected the lower halves of their faces, leaving only their dark, oily eyes visible. 

Son. The thought came from Daggin, heavy with an understanding that what was being asked was no small request. Respect flowed between the two—and through the Chorus—and only the briefest hesitation from Setok, and the echo of his memories of the Ilari, and then Setok was there twice over, stepping out from the cover of the vehicle as well as telepathically projecting himself there with the rest of them.

The Hirogen raised their weapons, though of course they only saw the physical Setok, not the group of them gathered telepathically with a perfect view of their location.

Power flared. 

The rifles hit the ground with a clatter. The Hirogen screams were short, cut off almost as quickly as they started, their bodies contorting with loud snaps as Setok raised both hands, palms spread, before clenching his fists.

Abol kept the Chorus together long enough to be sure both of the hunters were dead—then closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, Emmett stood in front of him, Zandra was holding their children against her chest as she stared, lips thinned with worry, and both Ahn and Jeta were clinging to Elliot Copage.

"It’s all right," Abol said, shaking the sounds of the dying Hirogen from his mind. "Your father is going to be fine." He reached out to touch the two girls, knowing their senses would be able to feel his honesty better if they were touching him. 

*

Lieutenant Veronica Stadi held still, closed her eyes, and opened her mind, imagining herself as a single drop of water striking the surface of a perfectly still pool of water, her awareness spreading out in a perfect circle, farther and farther. 

Inhale. The ripple grew. Exhale. The ripple grew. 

This prey is cunning.

Stadi’s eyes snapped open, and her lip curled up in a mix of triumph and spite.

"Damned right I am," she said. The Hirogen mind—or, more accurately, minds—were even further away than before, though they’d split up now. She assumed they were Alpha and Beta, like they’d learned they designated two in every one of their "hunts", but so far, their attempts to either box her in or corner her had failed completely, given she’d thus far also managed to keep tabs on them telepathically.

Which she couldn’t do forever—for one thing, at some point she’d need to sleep.

At least she’d found water—potentially of dubious quality, but it had been a quick-moving stream and clear enough, and her first sips had stayed down. She’d also scrounged up a capped container from what she was fairly sure had been some sort of outdoor restaurant at one time before the sun had gone down and she’d hunkered down in the back of a long abandoned vehicle.

She eyed the ruins all around her, considering her next move. This place had been a thriving city once, and luckily, for the most part its designers had built it in a pretty typical fashion for many humanoids: a grid of streets running mostly parallel or perpendicular to each other. The buildings themselves were quite beautiful, if you looked past the vines, dirt, glimpses of carbonizing, and—hardest to ignore—how dead and quiet everything was.

She’d caught the Hirogen wondering a few times if she’d head "to the lake" but as of yet she hadn’t risked the time it would take to climb high enough—either inside or outside one of the buildings—to figure out where any lake might be. 

No, she was heading for the bright streak of red-blue-and-gold she’d seen strike somewhere on what she’d randomly designated "north", on the other side of the buildings. 

But she wasn’t heading there in a straight line, given the Hirogen hunters had wondered if she’d go straight there, and one of them—the Beta, she believed—had even been told to head straight there. She’d used the opportunity to gain distance, though not too much, just enough she could still sense them if she tried.

She put a hand over her eyes, eyeing the sun between the buildings, and how low it was getting. She doubted the Hirogen would bed down for the night. What she needed was somewhere out of the way, where she wouldn’t have left tracks, and could see them coming.

Or, y’know, failing that, a pulse compression rifle.

She closed her eyes, tapping at her neck, allowing the plexing to help her recenter herself after opening her mind for the Hirogen thoughts. 

Veronica.

Stadi turned, exhaling with utter relief and joy.

Oh, I was hoping I’d hear from you, she thought, knowing Abol, Eru, Kes, and Gara weren’t actually standing around her in a half-circle. Then she frowned. Where were Cir, Daggin, and Setok?

They’re on the planet, with you. Kes’s thoughts had the lead, and Stadi thought Abol’s presence seemed a bit more fuzzy around the edges than usual, which wasn’t like him—then again, the Chorus tended to rely on Daggin and Setok for a lot of its structure, Abol handled the distance for things like this—likely it was more difficult with only the four of them. But they’re somewhat nearby, at a transport facility closer to a lake. Kes paused. Most of the crew is on the planet. We’ve only got twenty people or so on Voyager.

Stadi shifted. I’ve been trying to work my way around to something that fell from the sky—your doing?

Yes. Eru’s thoughts this time. Weapons and supplies. 

May I give you the way to Daggin, Cir, and Setok? Kes’s inquiry took Stadi a moment to parse, until she realized Kes intended something particularly intensive. Still, Stadi nodded.

Something closer to a mind-meld than telepathic content dropped images into Stadi’s mind, and she had to fight her own telepathic reflexes to allow it. She winced as information and direction inserted themselves into her memory. 

Sorry. Kes’s expression softened with worry.

It’s fine, Stadi said, already turning her attention in the other direction. Did they get to one of those supply drops, or should I try for the one I saw first?

There was some trouble, but they already got one. Gara answered the question, and Stadi felt Eru’s telepathic presence grow rigid with barely-controlled anger. 

The Hirogen tried to hurt them. Eru’s voice had never vibrated in that way to Stadi’s senses before. Setok stopped their Alpha. Cir and Daggin managed to get the Beta, though Daggin was injured. There were layers of something in stopped Stadi didn’t intend to unravel in the moment.

I’ll get going directly to them, then. Stadi said. Though no doubt I’ll be bringing my own Alpha and Beta with me.

That’s fine. Eru’s gaze didn’t drop in the slightest. We’ll tell them. They’ll be ready. We’re going to come for you. For everyone. 

Stadi felt the Chorus shifting, and nodded once more, letting her gratefulness wash over them before they simply weren’t there. 

If the Chorus could reach her, then Voyager was at least in-system, she figured. But with twenty crew, help was asking a lot. Still. She turned and headed toward a transport facility she’d never seen but could now recall. 

With a little luck, she could be there by nightfall.

*

Fitzgerald listened with half-an-ear as Crewman Darwin co-ordinated the return of Cochrane via the Ops station. Ryson and Loval checked in, reporting success, and he took a breath, then turned to Crewman Sina. "Give me ship-wide, would you?"

Sina nodded, tapping on the Tactical station. "Shipwide," she said.

"All hands, duty stations," he said. "You know the plans. You know your jobs. We’re ready for this, and it’s time. We’re getting our people back. Report status."

Honigsberg answered first. "Main Engineering. We’re ready." 

"Sickbay is standing by," Emmett’s voice came next. "Kes is set up in Holodeck Two."

"Transporter Room One is ready," Crewman Swift checked in next.

"Transporter Room Two is ready," Crewman White said.

"Course laid in," Yareth said.

"Tactical systems are prepared," Sina said.

"We’re ready over here, too," Eru’s voice came over the channel. 

That was everyone. So much of this could go wrong.

Fitzgerald leaned forward.

"Let’s go," he said.

*

Lieutenant Scott Rollins signalled with a closed fist, ignoring the pain it sent along the defensive wound on his right forearm. He wondered if it was bleeding again, but on the list of  many things he found wanting in the change of clothing the Hirogen had provided for the crew who hadn’t been awake at the time of their attack was its colour. You couldn’t tell if you were bleeding through the black, shiny material without being in direct sunlight. 

Hirogen knives were fucking sharp. 

Behind him, Crewmen Zayra Cabot and Pierre Rahn, as well as Lieutenant Susan Nicoletti, stopped moving. To his left, Ensign Marie Kaplan gave him a quick nod, flicking two fingers at her eyes and then out towards the edge of the tall blades of thick grass they’d been moving their way through in a crouch for at least an hour now. 

He nodded. He didn’t want to send Kaplan out ahead without him, but the truth was after their last run-in with the Hirogen, he was feeling it. She was right to take the lead in recon.

For one thing, she hadn’t been stabbed yet.

Reminding himself of the truth of it didn’t help.

Rollins did his best to listen, look, and push away thinking about Dennis Madalone or Ah Lam Yuen. He and Rahn had woken up with them on the far side of these grass-fields—which Rollins was starting to think was some sort of farmland long gone to seed—and the four of them had assumed from the start the Hirogen intent of hunting them. After an overnight under starlight, they’d set to doing their best to arm themselves with basic weapons after finding water, and were considering whether or not to attempt to use their environment to their advantage—turned out Yuen was handy with a snare, and she’d used it on Cardassians in her time with the Maquis—when the loud booming sonics in the upper atmosphere had signalled the start of all hell breaking lose.

It had barely been five minutes when they’d heard the yells—and screams—from further down the field. 

They’d run. They’d been too late to save Margareta Crenshaw, and one of the two Hirogen had managed to shoot Madalone with some sort of projectile rifle even as the man threw himself at the broad alien—no doubt saving at least one of their lives—while Rollins tackled the other Hirogen before he could raise his rifle, and when it was over, Yuen had bled out from the same blade that had cut Rollins’s right arm. 

Susan Nicoletti had explained they’d already lost one of their four—Ensign Deborah Lang—while they’d made a break for it. He’d ordered that—ordered leaving Yuen and Crenshaw and Madalone’s bodies behind—because he’d known there’d have been two Hirogen hunters at least after Rollins’s group as well. 

Reminding himself of that truth didn’t help either. 

The damned rifles wouldn’t work for them—key-coded to DNA, he assumed—but the knives and blades the two Hirogen had carried were better than the simple spears they’d managed before.

Rollins glanced up. The sky was starting to darken again, which was bad. They’d be all the more vulnerable in the dark—the report on the Hirogen had been quite clear about their visual acuity, especially noting they had more complex rods than humans. They probably saw just fine by starlight. If they didn’t find the site of that package from Voyager soon—he had to assume it had been Voyager, what with the yellow, red, and blue bursts of light they’d seen—then they’d have to come up with something else.

His arm throbbed, and it almost felt like mockery. Come up with something else. What else was there but to keep moving, to stay as hidden and silent as they could, out of clear view from the rifles, and… what?

Survive.

He swallowed. Madalone. Yuen. Crenshaw. Lang. Who knew how many more?

Kaplan appeared beside him, shifting through the grass quietly. He hadn’t heard her coming. As much as he’d like to put that down to her skill, he was pretty sure it was more to do with blood loss and pain on his part. 

"It’s out there," Kaplan said, at a barest whisper. "But we’ll need to be quick to get to it. And back again." She eyed him, biting her bottom lip. "I think Pierre and I should do it, sir."

He wanted to argue, but Rahn was already stepping up beside her. 

"We’ll be quick," he said. The planetologist was a dark-haired, lean and athletically built man who had a lovely Parisian French accent that didn’t remind Rollins in the slightest of his own French relatives—his were from Quebec, after all—and damn, his mind was wandering again. 

He nodded. "Be quick."

Nicoletti waited until the two were gone to speak up. The auburn-haired woman put a hand on his good shoulder.

"You’re looking really pale, Scott," she said. "We’re going to need to rest up."

"We’ll need to stop soon regardless," Cabot added. She lifted her hand. "It’s going to get dark."

"These fields are good cover," Rollins said. "But I don’t like the idea of stopping in them—no matter how careful we try to be, we’ve left a trail easily followed." 

"We’ll find somewhere else, then," Nicoletti said. 

Rollins swallowed. Pain was keeping most of the fatigue at bay, but truth be told, he knew he was hitting his limit. 

They all froze at the sound of more movement, tensing. Rollins gripped the long Hirogen blade he’d taken from the hunter—the blade stained with his own and Yuen’s blood—and waited, seeing Nicoletti and Cabot do the same, but then the tall grasses parted, and Kaplan was back, as was Rahn. 

Both were armed with type-two phasers, Kaplan carrying two extra in her free hand. 

And Rahn had a medkit slung over his shoulder.

"New plan," Rollins said. "No more running."

Chapter Text

Cing’ta watched the Vyntadi kid check a series of small plastic tags—detritus, really—that seemed to have randomly fallen or collected on the windowsill of the powerless and long-disused underground transportation car, and realized what he was seeing.

Code.

After a moment, Kem turned, nodding, and gestured for them to follow. Cing’ta let Ulval go first—the least he could do was have everyone’s backs—and when Kem lifted what appeared to be a maintenance hatch on the side of the long-abandoned railcar, he smiled again at Cing’ta—this time with some humour, which Cing’ta was starting to realize was something Kem had in abundance.

Cing’ta eyed the opening. He’d fit. Barely. 

Again.

"I’ll go first," Ulval said softly, crawling in headfirst. Her legs disappeared shortly thereafter, and Kem crawled in after her, vanishing with even more grace and less time.

Cing’ta allowed himself exactly one moment of self-pity, then did his best to drag his body through the small rectangular opening, feeling the panel close against his foot with a soft if heavy weighted thud before he’d managed to slither his way further into the narrow space, which…

Oh.

The innards of the rail-cars interior workings has been removed, as had some of the flooring above, which meant if you crawled in through the maintenance access panel, you found yourself… 

Cing’ta managed to get his knees under him and rose up out of the floor, finding himself in a nearly gutted transportation car in an alien subway, and—for the first time since he’d woken up on this planet—smiling at what he saw.

Swords. Even by the dim red light of the barely-a-beacon Kem carried, there was no mistaking the blades hanging on one wall, which were absolutely the blades Cing’ta had seen most of the Vyntadi carrying on their newer homeworld in the Vyntadi Expanse when Voyager had visited.

Ulval gestured. "I think the kid brought us to a makeshift armory," she said softly.

"Lota?" Kem said, pulling one of the blades from the wall and handing it to Cing’ta. 

Cing’ta felt the balance of the blade, then turned and offered as graceful a display of his skill with bladed weapons as he could in the narrow, elongated space. 

Kem grinned at him. 

Ulval reached up and took a blade of her own, and Kem regarded her, his yellow-gold eyes widening. "Ulval es lota elet?" 

Cing’ta smiled as the Bolian woman showed off her own skills—he hadn’t known Ulval knew blades, though he’d guess from the way she was using it she’d learned with a lighter, more piercing style of weapon—but Kem seemed utterly stunned.

"Ulval," he said, grinning. He grabbed a smaller, punching-dagger style weapon for himself. 

Cing’ta eyed the railcar. Black cloth covered the windows on the inside, something he hadn’t noticed from the outside, and a cushions—maybe from what had been the original seating, perhaps—had been arranged on the floor in a pattern set up fairly well for a half-dozen people to sleep. He also spotted three storage containers at the other end, and when Kem saw him looking, Kem nodded and crossed the space silently to open one.

Which made Cing’ta realize the floor had been completely covered with layers of cloth as well.

"He’s not the only one who uses this space," Cing’ta said.

"He was checking for signs in the window, I think," Ulval said. "I wonder how many of the Vyntadi are still around."

"Maybe we’ll meet more," Cing’ta said. He’d certainly not dismiss more safety in numbers. He just wished they’d made more headway with the language, but he understood the need to be quiet.

Kem opened the container, and lifted out a lidded thermos-style container full of what Cing’ta truly hoped was water. Kem held it out to him, then pulled out another for Ulval, before drawing a third for himself. 

Cing’ta opened it, and sure enough, it was water. He took a healthy swallow.

"Thank you," Cing’ta said softly to the kid.

Kem considered this, then tilted his head, and gestured with his punching dagger, as though stabbing something. "Cing’ta lota Hirogen?"

He didn’t need the universal translator for that one.

"Gladly," he said, meaning it. He’d happily take the fight to any damn Hirogen Kem could point him toward. 

He closed his eyes, and took another swallow of the clean, cool water, sending a thought out into the galaxy that those he cared about remained safe, wherever they were. 

*

Fitzgerald exhaled as Voyager streaked from the ruins of the Vyntadi fleet, pushing impulse to the limit, knowing they’d need to use every single microsecond of surprise they had, and also knowing without a shadow of a doubt it couldn’t possibly be enough.

But it was something. He’d heard enough of the conversations between Ro Laren and Aaron Cavit about the intersection of Starfleet and Maquis approaches out here in the Delta Quadrant to know there were times you worked with what you could get, and you wrung every little bit out of it you could.

This was one of those times, only instead of pergium supplies or energy resources or Entharan tea he was instead fighting every instinct he had to protect those in his immediate sphere of influence—the twenty or so lives on Voyager—and was instead risking everything. 

"No hesitation, Sina. The moment we’re in range," he said, even though he knew it was an unnecessary repetition. 

"Understood," the Vulcan woman said.

Loval had taken the Engineering Station, and Abol had Science—Fitzgerald hated Abol was here instead of with his newborns, but Abol had arrived and taken the station without comment—and he had Darwin at Ops and Yareth at the Conn. 

No Scott. No Ro. No Stadi. No Lan. No Taitt.

No Aaron.

"Some of the Hirogen ships are breaking formation—only three of them," Frank Darwin said, with a note of surprise in his voice. "The rest have remained near the station." 

"Better than we’d hoped," Fitzgerald said, watching as the speck of a planet on the viewscreen began to grow visibly. "Yareth?"

"Our vector gives us wiggle room," Yareth said. "I’m going with Sulu Alpha Four." 

Fitzgerald nodded. He vaguely knew the maneuver, but now was not the time to ask her to explain it, really. 

"Locking on to all six targets," Sina said, following it up without much of a pause with, "Firing."

Fitzgerald watched the six flaring lights that were the entire remaining stock of Voyager’s photon torpedoes streak out ahead of them. It wasn’t wise to fly in the wake of torpedoes—especially if you were flying as fast as Voyager was—but timing was everything. 

The planet loomed closer and closer. 

"First torpedo detonations in ten, nine, eight…" Darwin said, counting them down. 

"Fitzgerald to Eru," Fitzgerald said. "Go in five."

"Acknowledged."

Fitzgerald eyed the command display on Aaron’s chair. The countdown was there, and at zero, the display updated.

Aeroshuttle launch initiated. 

About a dozen safety warnings about not launching above one-quarter impulse speed flashed across the small screen as well, but he ignored those. 

*

Scott Rollins froze in the tall field of grasses, his gaze snapping up to the sky at the flashes of light and faint booms.

Multiple denotations—a half-dozen, he thought—had erupted, visible in the dusk light and with the tell-tale orange flare of light he’d know anywhere. 

Photon torpedoes.

A moment later, he heard a rough, deep voice speaking softly from much closer than expected. A Hirogen voice. Not alarmed, but definitely asking a question. Some variation of "report," Rollins imagined.

He squinted into the deepening dark of the falling night. Nicoletti and Cabot had done their part, creating the "campfire" and it had clearly done its magic, attracting this Hirogen to approach through the tall grasses as they’d hoped. Rahn was further behind him, Kaplan had a sniper’s-eye-view from the abandoned farm building, which meant he could throw subtlety to the wind. 

Rollins lifted his phaser, thumbed it up a few settings, and swept a nearly ninety-degree arc through the grasses at waist-height, aimed in the direction of the voice he’d heard. The grasses hissed and smoked as the beam cut them down as effectively as a scythe might have, and about a third of the way through his sweep, the figure of the Hirogen became visible for a brief moment as it dove for cover, though Rollins believed he’d nicked the bastard—though he knew first-hand the armor the Hirogen wore would take some of the brunt of even a higher-phaser setting. 

The Hirogen rolled, coming up rifle in hand, and swivelling to take aim back in Rollins’s direction. Rollins raised his phaser again, but another phaser fired from further back, Pierre Rahn rising from his crouch and ruining the Hirogen’s shot even though Rahn’s own shot also went wide. Rollins managed to score a direct strike to the Hirogen’s left shoulder—the thickly muscled alien didn’t stagger much, but he did grunt—and the damned hunter still managed to bring his rifle back up to bear.

Then a third phaser shot struck the back of the Hirogen’s head, and the alien hunter pitched forward. The smoking hole in the back of its helmet spoke to the phaser setting. 

Susan Nicoletti stepped out of the grasses, lowering her phaser. 

One down, Rollins thought. "One left to go," he said. "I don’t imagine he’ll be as quick to fall for a campfire, though." He took a breath. "Did you see the show?" he gestured up. 

"Photon torpedoes," Nicoletti said. "I’m guessing that means—"

A swirl of blue and silver light surrounded her, and Rollins grinned at the sight, even as he felt the same transporter effect washing over him and he found himself a moment later face-to-face with Crewman Maureen White in Transporter Room Two. 

*

"Clear the pad!" Joel Swift said, already working to find more non-Hirogen lifesigns on the planet’s surface, knowing Crewman White was doing the same in the other Transporter Room, and knowing every second counted. 

He didn’t even dare glance up until he had another lock. He knew his way around sensors, sure—what science officer didn’t?—but he was no expect on the transporter. He was a chemist.

"Let me," a voice said, and Swift saw Chief Valerie Canamar—oh bless everything, a real transporter chief—stepping up beside him, even as the other five people he’d managed to lock onto all but jumped off the transporter pad. She was dressed in an odd black bodysuit, and she had a dark bruise on her cheek, but Swift gladly stepped to the side, passing her the lead and working to assist her. 

"There are scattering fields created by satellites," Swift explained quickly. "We blew a hole over one area of the planet to grab as many people as we could, and the Aeroshuttle is taking out more satellites as best she can, but we don’t have a lot of time."

"Got it. Energizing," Canamar said, already initiating another transport. "Do what you can to feed me targeting from the lateral sensor arrays."

"Right," Swift said, working. 

*

Eru believed in the peaceful understanding of other species through learning about their cultures, histories, and—of particular interest to her—their food. When Doctor Fitzgerald had invited her to a training session with an eye for becoming a more functional part of Voyager’s crew, she’d deferred—Abol, Kes, and Daggin had so clearly had both more desire and more of a path already in mind than she’d had at the time—but she’d joined his second class, and was now an important part of Voyager’s life sciences division—an A&A Crewman.

During those classes, though, she’d also learned she enjoyed piloting. Her closest mentor on Voyager, Lieutenant Veronica Stadi, said she had the talent and could chose to hone as a skill as well. She’d often taken the helm in the Holodeck recreations Fitzgerald had put them through during their training, and she’d enjoyed it.

Now, flying the Aeroshuttle and skimming the upper atmosphere of the original Vyntadi homeworld, knowing her mate was wounded on the planet below, Eru flew not just with talent or skill.

She flew with anger.

"Acquiring lock. Firing phasers," Kaurit’s cool, calm, Vulcan voice was a balm. He’d taken the tactical station—Eru had suggested it when Doctor Fitzgerald had asked her if she’d be up for piloting the Aeroshuttle—and was firing on every Hirogen satellite Eru could put within range of him with her looping, atmosphere-skimming dance around the planet. 

They’d trained together. They knew each other. Calling them friends would be pushing it—Kaurit truly only seemed close to Yareth and Velar—but Eru knew and understood the blind Vulcan, and moreover, she knew his precision, which was a necessary skill when targeting and firing phasers while maneuvering at high impulse the way Eru was flying.

"Satellite is destroyed," Gara said from the station opposite Kaurit, which was nominally set up for Science feeds. "Feeding you the next one."

"It’s going to get crowded soon," Ensign Ryson said beside Eru. Erika Ryson had the Ops station beside Eru, and was in charge of this part of the mission. Eru hoped she wasn’t going to call it so soon. Every Hirogen satellite they destroyed meant a better chance at recovering the crew. "Two Hirogen vessels are heading our way."

"Stadi said their nucleonic beams wrecked havoc on ship’s systems," Gara said, and Eru knew that was a reminder aimed at her. No doubt Gara felt every bit of Eru’s frustration and anger, but she hoped Gara also knew Eru wasn’t acting without thought or control.

No, like Lieutenant Veronica Stadi told them often: emotions were. And in this case? The anger Eru felt toward the Hirogen was fuel. 

"I see them," Eru said. "We’re better in the upper atmosphere than they are—the Aeroshuttle is designed to maneuver well there. What do you think, Kaurit—can I drop us into the clouds?" 

"I can see our targets just as well through clouds as not," Kaurit said—and Eru cracked a smile, one she shared with Ryson, who looked just as surprised as Eru felt.

Was that a joke?

Ryson nodded. "Dive."

Eru sent the Aeroshuttle down. 

"New target for you," Gara said.

"Aquiring," Kaurit said. "Firing phasers."

*

"Sir—" Yareth’s voice was full of frustration, and Fitzgerald knew what he needed to do. 

On the viewscreen, the curve of the planet’s surface hurtled past, and coming into view was one of the Hirogen vessels, which would have a firing arc at any moment.

"Shields up," Fitzgerald said, the words burning in his throat even though he knew it was the right—the only—decision. "Tell the Aeroshuttle to get the hell out of there, too." 

"Shields up," Sina said. 

"They’re acknowledging," Abol said. "I’ve also deployed all the microprobes—and I’ve got the scans, sir."

Fitzgerald wondered if Abol’s reminders of the rest of their plans had been meant as consolation for his feelings over raising shields, and met the Ocampa man’s gaze with real gratitude. 

"The closest Hirogen ship is charging weapons," Darwin said. 

"Yareth," Fitzgerald said. "Evasive as best you can—but get us back to where we need to be."

"Understood," Yareth said.

Voyager rocked beneath them as one of the energy weapon strikes lanced the shields.

"Shields at seventy-four percent," Sina reported. 

Fitzgerald nodded. They’d have to turn their back to the Hirogen to get where they intended to go, too, and that meant their weakest shields would be in the line of fire. There’d been no solution to that particular problem, but that was life. 

At the back of the Bridge, the turbolift doors opened, and a bloodied but upright Lieutenant Scott Rollins strode out. 

Fitzgerald swallowed hard. "Glad to see you, Scott."

"Glad to be here," he said, stepping up to Sina—but not taking her place, instead watching her work. 

"We’re making a break for what we’re pretty sure are former Vyntadi ships," Fitzgerald said.

"They’re firing again," Darwin said.

Voyager rocked.

"Sorry, sir," Yareth said. "I can’t shake them and get to where we’re going."

"I know," Fitzgerald said. "Sina?"

"Shields are holding at sixty percent," Sina said. "But the port emitters are showing strain."

"We might be able to use a tractor beam to deflect some of their incoming fire," Rollins said. 

"The other two Hirogen vessels are giving chase," Darwin said. "They’ve fallen in behind the first." 

"Excellent," Fitzgerald said, and he caught Rollins’s small frown, but there wasn’t time to explain. "Try the tractor beam," he said.

Rollins joined Sina, both working. 

"Lead ship is firing," Darwin said.

"Tractor beam engaged," Rollins said.

Voyager rocked again, but Fitzgerald thought it felt less harsh than before.

"Shields at fifty-one percent," Sina said.

"Approaching the debris," Yareth said. "We’re coming in a little faster than planned, sir," she added, with a trace of something he couldn’t quite place, but thought might be something like half-apology and half-pride. 

Hell, she’d earned it.

"Thread the needle, Yareth," Fitzgerald said. "I’ve seen you do it before—Abol, are we ready?"

"Aye, sir," Abol said.

Another frown from Rollins, Fitzgerald noticed, but then Yareth had them ducking and weaving between the various hulks of the closest field of former-Vyntadi ships, and the Hirogen—as predicted by Eru and Gara—followed them right in. 

Hunters don’t give up on prey in retreat, Eru had said. Which reminded him. "Frank—the Aeroshuttle?"

Darwin nodded once. "They made it to the other debris field—they’ve got two of the smaller raiders in pursuit—and we can decide later who flew it better, sir, though my money’s on Yareth."

At the Conn, Yareth let out a small laugh—and yes, this time it was definitely pride.

"We’ll pass in five, four…" Abol started a countdown.

"All hands," Fitzgerald said. "Brace for impact."

Rollins wasn’t just frowning now, he was staring, eyes wide. 

"…two, one."

"Go for Swift," Fitzgerald said.

Behind Voyager, the Vyntadi ships—long-abandoned, damaged, often open to space, and stark, bleak reminders of the massive losses the Vyntadi must have suffered at the hands of the Hirogen—exploded. The detonations sent shockwaves through Voyager, which lurched beneath Fitzgerald, and nearly threw him from his seat. Yareth grunted, gripping the conn with both hands, and at the Engineering station, Crewman Loval threw up one hand as his panel flared in a shower of sparks, though the Vulcan didn’t lose his seat or his grip.

"What the hell was that?" Rollins said. 

"Something Joel Swift cooked up," Fitzgerald said. "The Vyntadi ships used paralithium in their drives."

"He turned them into bombs," Abol said. Then, after a moment, the Ocampa man continued. "Two of the Hirogen ships were destroyed, the other is adrift."

"Aeroshuttle is reporting both their pursuers destroyed," Darwin said. 

"Our shields are at thirty-one percent," Sina said.

"Let’s go get the Aeroshuttle," Fitzgerald said. "We’re not going to have long before the Hirogen regroup." He rose from Aaron’s chair, and regarded Rollins, who was staring at him with an impressed expression Fitzgerald decided in the moment not to be offended by. 

"Let’s see who we managed to recover," Fitzgerald said. "And then I can tell you the rest of the plan. I think you’re going to hate it."

Chapter Text

Baxter ducked even as he dove behind the thickest tree he could get to, Rawski skidding to his knees beside him a second later just before two projectiles cracked into the trunk of the tree beside them. 

"Rosa?" Baxter managed, meeting Rawski’s gaze. 

Rawski’s furious expression answered for him, but he shook his head to let Baxter know what he’d feared was true.

"We picked up another two," Baxter said, shaking his head, trying to think of a way out of this. Their attempt at getting to whatever it was Voyager had sent down to them had been the right choice, but they weren’t the only people trying to see what had dropped from orbit.

Beside him, Rawski swiped at the cut that bled freely just above his left ear where he’d been grazed by one of the Hirogen’s rifle shots. The man’s shaved head glistened with sweat, and Baxter knew that despite how much time they’d both spent in the gym, they were reaching the end of their limits. 

"If we can keep uphill…" Rawski said, considering the layout of the sloped woods they were on. He wasn’t wrong. They’d managed to get upslope of the Hirogen, and that limited the Hirogen hunting parties—both of them—from clear shots.

"Agreed," Baxter said. "Catch your breath and—"

He was interrupted by photon torpedoes. They both glanced up, barely seeing the flashes of light through the dense foliage and given how far off on the horizon the explosions seemed to be happening, but the sound—and the colour, even in the deepening night sky—were unmistakable. 

"Cavalry’s here," Rawski said.

"Let’s take advantage of that," Baxter said, and Rawski gave him a quick nod.

They broke and ran. 

Another series of booms—those weren’t photon torpedoes, Baxter thought, even as he ran—followed, and they seemed much closer, relatively speaking. Like maybe they’d happened in the clouds over the forest. 

"Any idea?" Rawski asked, not slowing in the slightest in his thudding run beside Baxter.

"No," Baxter said, but then something like mist seemed to be falling all around them. Had that been thunder? Was this rain? It didn’t feel like it—it felt more like dust to him, or, actually, no. These were particulates so much smaller than sand or dirt they had their own scientific term: fines.

A cough from the bushes was all the warning Baxter had to throw himself at Rawski, knocking the larger man aside just before the Hirogen leapt from his hiding place, one of those wicked, curved blades in hand. 

Baxter managed to duck under the swing of the sharp edge—though he also caught a glimpse of what had to be blood on the serrations—and then Baxter was working on instinct, kicking out, dodging and moving in ways he’d trained back when he’d been a part of Security, doing all he could to stay one step ahead of the swipes of the Hirogen hunter’s blade—

The hunter sneezed, and Baxter kicked him in the knee as hard as he could muster. The Hirogen snarled, going down to one knee, and then Rawski was back, throwing himself onto the Hirogen’s back and knocking him forward.

Another series of sneezes coming from behind him aborted Baxter’s thoughts of helping Rawski more, and instead he twisted out of the way of a thrown blade and instead tried to adjust his trajectory to collide with the second of the two Hirogen hunters. 

No. He would not die in these fucking woods. He slammed bodily into the Hirogen, and to his surprise, the Hirogen went down with a wheezing, sucked-in breath that turned into a series of loud coughs.

Baxter grabbed at one of the knives sheathed beneath the Hirogen’s armpits, and though the hunter tried to stop him with a fumbling grip Baxter couldn’t explain, Baxter managed to pull it free and drove it deep into the Hirogen’s neck with as much of his strength and body weight as he could put behind it.

The hunter went still. 

Baxter’s whole body ached, but he pushed himself up and off, scrambling to his feet and drawing the knife out with him, crossing the space to where Rawski and the other Hirogen had fallen, and watched Rawski roll the other alien off him—the alien’s body limp.

"At least—" Baxter started, then stopped at the sight of the blade buried in Rawski’s stomach.

"At least I got him first," Rawski said, taking Baxter’s wrist and squeezing. "Get moving, sir."

Baxter knelt beside the man, but in the time it took him to examine the wound, it was over. Rawski’s chest stilled, and his grip loosened.

I’m sorry, Bram.

"Lieutenant!" 

The voice drew him out of his stunned moment, and he forced himself to grab another of the blades from the fallen Hirogen as he tried to figure out which way the voice had come from and…

A Ferengi stepped out of the woods. Kol was breathing heavy, a deep cut had lanced a cut into the large lobe of his right ear, and Baxter hoped it wasn’t all the Ferengi’s blood on the side of his face and neck. 

"I think they’re allergic to this… stuff," Kol said, nodding to the fines, which were still falling. Then the Ferengi noticed Rawski’s body, and went still. He met Baxter’s gaze. "They got Arridor, too." 

Baxter’s thoughts finally caught up to everything else, and he dragged himself up again. "We should get moving—one of the orbital drops from Voyager is nearby, and if we can get to it while they’re choking on this, all the better."

Kol nodded, but he didn’t move. The Ferengi—who Baxter had seen in the gym on a fairly regular basis, most often running on the treadmills—glared down at the two Hirogen with utter loathing. "These were the two that were hunting me and Arridor."

"Here," Baxter said, passing him the smaller of the knives he’d already taken. Kol wasn’t large, though he struck Baxter as quick, which was better with smaller blades. "I’ll take this." He picked up one of the larger, khopesh-like blades the Hirogen carried.

Kol paused a moment longer, tilting his head to one side, then the other. Baxter realized he was listening. "I don’t hear any of them." Kol lifted his head. "Which way?"

Get moving, Baxter thought, remembering Bram’s words, aiming one last glance at the fallen form of Abraham Rawski. It took Baxter a moment to be sure of the direction of the drop from Voyager, but once he had it, he pointed.

They set off.

*

"I hate your plan," Rollins said, crossing his arms—and then wincing at the still-healing wound he’d had on his arm from the Hirogen blade, despite the work Rahn had done with the medkit’s dermal regenerator.

"Are you injured?" Fitzgerald frowned at him, but Rollins raised his hand to wave that off. 

"Just sore. And if anyone is doing this—" Rollins started, but Fitzgerald cut him off.

"It’s me," Fitzgerald said. "And it’s not just because you’re clearly hurt." Fitzgerald glanced at Honisgberg, who’d joined them on the Bridge and had brought… something. It looked like an emergency transporter armband, but with some sort of modulator on it. "Alex?"

"Emmett and I are fairly sure this will compensate for what we need to do to beam you through the monotanium hull, but Jeff—" Honigsberg lifted the device, looking very unhappy, and Rollins couldn’t remember Alex ever referring to Doctor Fitzgerald by his first name before. 

"I trust you both," Fitzgerald said, already strapping the device to his arm. "It’s calibrated precisely to me, Scott," he added. "Emmett’s been working on it for over an hour. We don’t have time to sub out, and even if we did, I’d rather have you here commanding Voyager in a tactical situation." 

Rollins exhaled, exchanging a glance with Honigsberg. 

"Argue later," Fitzgerald said, turning away from them both. "There’s no time—how are we doing, Abol?" 

At the Science station, Abol didn’t turn away as he spoke. "I’m reading full dispersal from the atmospheric microprobes—that should help—and while the Hirogen are shifting the scattering satellites as best they can, gaps are forming thanks to the damage the Aeroshuttle added to our photon spread." He paused. "Two of the Venatic-class Hirogen ships are taking up positions between us and the planet; the other three have remained near the station. The eight remaining hunter-types have split into two groups of four and are taking up two positions."

"They’re setting up a flanking maneuver," Kaplan said. She’d taken over for Sina, who’d left the Bridge the moment Ensign Kaplan had arrived, citing she would be of more use in Main Engineering now they had capable Security personnel aboard.

Kes and Emmett were clearing crew for duty as fast as the could—though there’d also been wounded beamed aboard, Rollins knew—and Ensigns Kaplan and Nesterowicz had been the first two to arrive on the Bridge after him.

Yareth had given Nesterowicz the pilot’s chair with clear relief, though thereafter she’d taken a relief station at the back of the Bridge, Rollins noted.

Doctor Fitzgrerald was right. They didn’t have time. As soon as the Hirogen set up their pincer move, they’d use it. 

"You’re sure?" Rollins said, needing Fitzgerald to say it one more time. 

"I’m sure," Fitzgerald said. "Assuming you don’t have a better idea?" 

Rollins blew out a breath. They all knew he didn’t. Hell, up until a few minutes ago, he’d been fighting for his damn life on that planet. 

"Who’s piloting?" Rollins said.

"Yareth," Fitzgerald said, nodding to the back of the Bridge, where the young Rakhari woman rose from the relief station like she’d been waiting for it. 

Hell, she probably had.

"And now we’ve got Canamar back…" Fitzgerald said. "You can keep Alex." 

"Aw, thanks," Honigsberg said, rubbing his goatee.

Fitzgerald headed for the turbolift, and Yareth joined him. "Just make a lot of noise, would you?" Fitzgerald said, stepping into the 'lift.

"We’ll raise hell," Rollins said, just as the doors closed.

*

Cing’ta had an easier time crawling out of the abandoned subway car than he’d had crawling in, if only thanks to knowing what to expect, and he, Ulval, and Kem were on their way again once they’d had some water and picked up their swords. 

Kem led them further down the same underground rail passage in which the car had been left, moving quietly as always and keeping up a good pace with his dim reddish-light and the grooved markings on the wall that Cing’ta felt for here and there, though he’d gotten used to his footing on the narrow side ledge running along the track. 

Ahead of him, Kem paused. Cing’ta followed suit, and Ulval went still behind him. Kem’s hand returned to the wall and he seemed to be looking for something—or, more specifically, feeling for it— and then a barely audible click that still managed to seem loud in the confines of the tunnel made Cing’ta’s shoulders twitch. 

An arched section of the wall of the tunnel pivoted open. The relatively dim light coming from beyond it still brought water to Cing’ta’s eyes, and he glanced back at Ulval, who was staring in amazement.

"A secret door?" she said.

Kem gestured, and Cing’ta smiled at the kid. "Let me guess," he said. "Vri?"

Kem grinned. 

They stepped through and found themselves in a tiny room with… nothing else but the dim lights and three other tiled brick walls. Cing’ta frowned, but Kem closed the door from the tunnel behind him, and when it clicked shut again, Cing’ta fancied he caught a softer click from somewhere else. 

Kem reached past him to the opposite wall and crouched down, likely looking for something else but keeping his body between Cing’ta and Ulval and their view of what he was doing—smart, Cing’ta had to admit—and then rising as another opening pivoted ahead of them, and this time, the light inside wasn’t dim at all.

"Vri," Kem said again, shutting off his dim red light. His body language had relaxed a great deal, and Cing’ta wondered if that was the weapon he carried, the ability to see so clearly, or the fact they were now two hidden doors deep into wherever they were going.

He followed.

A squared off stairwell led down, and Cing’ta had a moment of climbing a very similar stairwell on Ocampa, back when they’d first arrived in the Delta Quadrant and he’d been an undercover operative in the Maquis who’d beamed down to the planet with Ro Laren. At the time, he’d still been hoping they’d find their way home and he could complete his mission ferreting out an undercover Cardassian agent in the Maquis.

Kem started down, and again, they followed. Now and then, Cing’ta spotted doorways off the various flat landings between the repeating square of stairwells, but Kem didn’t so much as glance at those. In fact, he led them all the way to the bottom of the stairwell, to a final pair of doors that struck Cing’ta as the very definition of reinforced. Massive slabs of metal, no visible hinges—or maybe they slid away?—and certainly nothing as obvious as a window.

"No handle, no access panel," Ulval noted.

"I hope there’s a secret knock," Cing’ta said. "I don’t imagine we’ll enjoy climbing back up those stairs." 

Kem stepped in front of the door and rattled of a string of something in his language—but Cing’ta heard him say "Cing" and "Ulval" as part of it—and then, with a smoothness and a remarkably quiet initial uncoupling—the massive doors split open and slide to the side. 

A trio of adult-aged Vyntadi stood waiting, all three armed with long khopesh-like swords like the one he himself was carrying. Two men, one woman, the latter of which Cing’ta would have pegged far senior to the others given the lines around her golden eyes and the soft pattern of lighter gold-brown marks that had formed on her smooth head. They regarded him and Ulval, and Cing’ta was about to make some sort of gesture he hoped translated to "don’t worry, I’m friendly" when a voice said, "Lieutenant. Crewman." 

Cing’ta shifted his gaze past the three Vyntadi. The room beyond them wasn’t large—and it struck him as something akin to an airlock, or a security access portal, with another pair of the massive doors opposite the open ones—so it didn’t take long to find the source of the voice.

Not that one could overlook the woman with the carefully gathered blond hair or the visible implant surrounding one eye.

"Seven?" Cing’ta said, surprised to see the woman. She wore clothes like the ones the Vyntadi were wearing: well worn, simple, clean but functional, in the same suite of mostly-grey. 

Seven of Nine tilted her head slightly to one side, regarding him and Ulval. "Welcome to the Vyntadi resistance," she said. "I could use your assistance with the communication array."

"Resistance?" Ulval said. 

"Communication array?" Cing’ta said, latching on to the latter rather than the former.

"Yes," Seven of Nine said. "I have been assisting in repairs, but I believe your experience with covert communications will be of value."

Kem was watching them talk to each other, and the three Vyntadi adults were regarding them as well. All seemed expectant. 

"Lead the way," Cing’ta said.

*

"You two ready?" Rollins said, feeling far from comfortable in the big chair, but forcing himself to stay seated. 

Both Kaplan and Nesterowicz offered simple—but confident—"Aye, sir"s to the question, which helped. Rollins eyed the main viewer where the planet took up most of the view, and the station above it loomed like a bad omen. 

"All right," Rollins said, glancing at Ops. Crewman David Fisher had the station now, and the blond man with the reddish-beard gave him a small nod when he noticed Rollins looking his way. 

"No unexpected motion from the Hirogen," Fisher said. "The two groups are almost in position."

"Punch it, John," Rollins said. "Same pattern as before for as long as we can pull it off—give them a good show." 

"Engaging impulse engines," Nesterowicz said, and Voyager leapt forward, on a similar arc as their last run on the planet, albeit at a lower vector. They’d keep the planet between them and the station, and the larger Hirogen ships still guarding it, but they were streaking right at a pair of the hunter’s larger, Venatic-class ships, both of which had taken up positions over where Voyager’s previous run had knocked out a great deal of their sensor-and-communications-scattering satellite network.

"Shields up, Marie," Rollins said. "And get ready to co-ordinate your target."

"Shields up," Kaplan confirmed. "Targeting vessel at one-one mark one-nine."

"Acknowledged," Nesterowicz said. 

"Power levels are stable," Fisher said. "Both groups of Hirogen ships are breaking position behind us—they’re giving chase." 

"And hopefully annoyed we broke before they could snap us up," Rollins said. He aimed one last glance at the station above the planet before it slipped out of view—Good luck, he thought—and then exhaled. "Fire."

They’d tested the Entharan isokinetic cannon after it had been installed, of course, but that had been at lower power settings and not in combat. Also, Seven of Nine had had time with it over the last month, offering "improvements." But by virtue of the cannon’s design, it had a front-facing arc of fire, which meant it was a weapon of attack, not defence, and Fitzgerald’s original fly-by of the planet had been about recovering people, not doing damage. 

That run had focused on a flight path that bought time for the transporters. 

This run? This run was about drawing all eyes and all attention.

The IK cannon released a full-power lance of isokinetic energy, striking the shields of the large Hirogen ship at one-one mark one-nine. 

"Its shields are buck—" was as far as Fisher got before the shields on the Hirogen raider collapsed and then the lance pierced the monotanium hull with a flare of orange-yellow flame and the large vessel erupted after a series of internal detonations barely a second later. 

A beat of silence followed, and Rollins imagined everyone had some variation of the thought he was having.

Take that, assholes.

"Recharge will take fifteen seconds," Fisher said.

"John, Marie," Rollins said.

"Firing phasers," Kaplan said.

"Evasive pattern delta four," Nesterowicz said. 

The barrage of phaser hits lashed out at any nearby satellite as Neterowicz tucked Voyager into an atmosphere-skimming dive, but with shields up, they had no intention of even attempting to beam anyone from the surface.

"David?" Rollins said. 

"All eyes are on us," Fisher said. "The other Venatic-class is coming in, weapons hot." 

Voyager lurched as a barrage of energy weapons fire from the other large vessel paid tribute to Fisher’s report. It felt like a glancing hit to Rollins, though.

"Shields at eighty one percent," Kaplan said, confirming that. Still, they couldn’t take many of those.

"Hołd tight," Nesterowicz said, and Voyager rocked to one side as the pilot sent them upwards along the planet’s upper atmospheric curve. Kaplan peppered more of the satellites.

"More ships inbound—but none of the other Venatic-lass vessels by the station," Fisher said. "They’re sticking close."

"As expected," Rollins said. Eru and Gara were right again. 

"IK cannon charged," Kaplan said.

"Line up a shot," Rollins said. They’d keep this up as long as they could, but he had his orders. "But keep an eye on our escape vector—we’re not here to win. We’re here to buy time." 

"Aye," came the chorus of confirmations, and Rollins gripped the arms of the big chair as Kaplan and Nesterowicz chose their next target. 

Hurry up, doc.

*

Doctor Jeff Fitzgerald absolutely wouldn’t recommend beaming through monotanium, specifically adjusted pattern enhancer or not. He had to fight off a surge of vertigo, and his vision went a little dark around the edges, but he managed to stay on his feet and—more importantly—he didn’t lower his phaser or the PADD in his other hand.

When his vision cleared, Fitzgerald noted Canamar had dropped him right on target. The large chamber in the centre of the upper, rounded section of the Hirogen space station struck him as far more comfortable than he’d maybe credited the Hirogen of being capable—opulent, even, with the cushioned, reclining surfaces and frankly pleasantly-scented air circulating—but then again, given who was with him in the room…

The Hirogen didn’t take long to notice him, which was fair. He took them in, decided "more ornate" was as good a measuring stick as any, and aimed his phaser at the tallest Hirogen in the most decorated flowing robes. Black, with silver and gold embroidery, she also bore what appeared to be a kind of crown or tiara—made of bone—gilded with what he thought might be crystal, but he’d more or less hit his limit of wanting to look at "bone tiara." 

All five of the women shifted their stances, though given they were all reclining in their cushioned stations, they weren’t exactly in a position to rush him.

Still. "Don’t move," he said, keeping his phaser aimed directly at the tiara-laden Hirogen.  

The doctor in him—and the xenobiologist—noted their broadness. They were larger than even their male counterparts, which wasn’t unusual for humanoids with their obligate carnivore biology—but their eyes were visibly different: black irises less pronounced, more visible eye-white—he’d lay odds they didn’t have the same increased night vision, though likely still better than what he had.

"You have doomed your entire ship," the tiara-wearing Hirogen said. He hadn’t taken time to imagine what the rare Hirogen woman’s voice might have sounded like, but "sandpaper and anger" might have topped the list if he had. "You have threatened mothers of Hirogen. The entire warrior line will fight for the honour of destroying you." 

"If that’s the case," Fitzgerald said, doing his best not to grind his teeth down to nothing at the sheer arrogance on display. "I might as well just detonate all the thoron torpedoes I’ve beamed throughout your station on my way out, right?" 

"You wouldn’t," she rose from her cushioned seat, and one hand crept to her stomach, but it wasn’t fear, it was… what? Incredulousness. She couldn’t imagine he’d do such a thing. 

Treasured. That’s how Eru and Gara said the Hirogen treated their rare women. She simply couldn’t imagine someone hurting her, he realized. An entire planet below her was a graveyard thanks to her and her people, but at no point did she ever consider she might be in danger. 

Fitzgerald thumbed up the setting on the phaser, and her eyes widened. She stopped moving.

"You’ve threatened and killed my family," Fitzgerald said. "You hunt and kill sentient species. You are utterly without any moral high ground, here. You don’t think I will blow you and your station out of orbit if you don’t call that hunt off?" He lifted the PADD and pressed his thumb. It started beeping in a countdown. "Try me."

Chapter Text

To Seven of Nine, the hierarchy of rank on Voyager seemed to be unnecessarily complex and often slowed efficiency, rather than acting in aid of it. As she led Lieutenant Cing’ta and Crewman Ulval back with the three Vyntadi adults—and the newly arrived youth—she considered that there were worse systems. 

Part of her wondered if she should warn the Lieutenant that the Vyntadi were a divided, opinionated people, but in her breakfast discussions with Crewman Elliot Copage, Seven of Nine had learned a human aphorism.

If you can’t say anything nice, Seven, sometimes it’s better not to say anything at all. 

Still… "I will introduce you once we return to the range of the combadge," Seven of Nine said as they walked. "But be aware the Vyntadi are not of one voice."

"I’ve never met a people who are, Seven," Cing’ta said, then added a tiny conciliatory dip of his chin. "Borg notwithstanding."

"What is this place?" Ulval said, as they turned down one of the corridors.

"An underground military facility designed to survive extreme destruction," Seven said. "It was not fully operational when the Hirogen attacked this planet—it is my understanding it is a remnant of a time when the Vyntadi were at risk of multi-continental conflicts. That time had passed before the Hirogan attack, but they maintained many of the facilities for a variety of secondary uses."

"A little like the bunkers used during the Toric Mo’tar years," Cing’ta said, referencing something Seven of Nine didn’t recognize, but Ulval’s nod led her to believe it was a Bolian reference of some sort. "They’re museums now, or used for quarantine or storage." 

Seven waited for the two men with her to open the large, airlock-like doors at the end of the hallway, and then followed them through. Inside, a smaller chamber awaited, but beyond the built-in desk area, where a Vyntadi armed with a projectile weapon nodded to them as they past, was another long hallway, and at the end of that hallway…

"The command centre," Seven of Nine said, as the group stepped inside. The semi-circle of terminal stations, as well as an entire wall devoted entirely to display screens, had been a welcome sight to Seven of Nine when her own guide—a Vyntadi man, Seref, one of the two leading them now—had brought her here, in no small part due to it being the first display of functional technology she’d seen on the planet, albeit far inferior of that of the Federation, to say nothing of the Borg. 

Vyntadi sat at about a third of the stations—a half-dozen in all of them currently staffed—and on the monitors, scrolling data mostly obscured by static or limited to alphanumeric representation was gathered. Primitive, but functional, if greatly reduced in effectiveness by the Hirogen scattering technology and the overall damage done to the technology on a planetary scale by nucleonic attacks.

"Wait. I understood you," the youth that had brought Cing’ta and Ulval said, blinking at Seven. "You speak our language?"

"These aliens have instant translation technology, like the Hirogen, but it works for all of us," Seref said, pointing to the surface of the table where Seven of Nine had placed the Starfleet combadge. Seref had previously explained to Seven of Nine the Hirogen technology had been keyed to function for their own species only. "One of their wounded had it with them." Seref turned to face Cing’ta and Ulval. "I’m Defender Seref. This is Defender Ellek, and this is Speaker Osash." 

"Wounded," Ulval said, glancing at Seven, her blue eyes surveying her. Seven realized she was looking for damage.

"Crewman Boylan," Seven said, shaking her head. "He did not survive his injuries."

"We did our best," Osash said, and Seven of Nine thought her tone not entirely dissimilar to that of Doctor Jeff Fitzgerald. "If we’d found him earlier, perhaps." 

"I’m Lieutenant Cing’ta, and this is Crewman Ulval," Cing’ta said. "Thank you, Kem, for bringing us here."

The youth—Kem, apparently—nodded. "It’s what we do. Did you want to meet the other offworlders?"

"There are more?" Ulval said. 

"No other crew were brought to this facility," Seven of Nine said. "But there are others. Two Benthans, and three C’Glynn."

"Other survivors of previous hunts?" Cing’ta said.

"Precisely," Seven of Nine said.

"I’d be happy to meet anyone you’d like me to," Cing’ta said. "But Seven mentioned something about a communication array?"

"We’ve only ever managed to get a signal to some of the closest other bunkers around the planet before," Seref said. "We passed messages to them, they passed them onward to the bunkers we couldn’t reach. We do our best to co-ordinate around any Hirogen hunts—keep each other safe, stay hidden, raise our children… But Seven of Nine thinks we can do better than that."

"Though we mustn’t be detected," Speaker Osash added, the woman’s voice dropping a little like iron this time. "Our ability to remain undetected by the Hirogen is of vital importance. It is how we survive."

"Of course," Cing’ta said. "But I have a background in sending messages without being detected." 

For a moment, Seven of Nine thought Osash’s tendency to caution would win out. 

"Your people are the first ones to ever manage to deliver technology to the planet," Osash said. "If you think they can help us…" She didn’t finish the sentence, another habit the woman had that Seven found inefficient, as it often left her wondering if the woman was finished with her declaration. 

"They did?" Cing’ta glanced at Seven.

"Crewman Boylan reported orbital drops before he perished," Seven said. "It’s how the group he was with recovered a phaser, the combadge, medkit, and tricorder." She lifted her chin. "I have integrated the tricorder into the Vyntadi’s computer system, and was about to begin work with the combadge transceiver—I believe the Vyntadi array may be modified enough to boost the signal—when we received message you were arriving." 

"Group?" Ulval said.

Seven of Nine shook her head. "Only Crewman Boylan made it to this facility."

Ulval took a breath. 

"Let’s see what you’ve done," Cing’ta said. "But I promise you, Speaker, if Seven and I can reach our ship? We’ll do everything we can for you."

Seven of Nine tried not to frown at the Lieutenant’s words. In her experience, Voyager’s officers unfailingly increased their own risks by offering aid such as he was doing now. Still—as Elliot Copage had pointed out to her—that was the only reason she was among them now.

"This way," Seref said.

*

"Line us up," Rollins said, literally jumping the gun but not wanting to waste time once the IK cannon charged for the third time.

Voyager shuddered under the lancing fire of the Venatic-class cruiser, even as Nesterowicz managed to drop into a tight curve at a higher impulse level than was strictly green lighted for the maneuver. 

"Coming about." Nesterowicz’s voice didn’t often reveal strain. It held more than a little now.

"IK cannon is charged," Fisher said. 

"Target their engines if you can," Rollins said, and Kaplan nodded.

"Aye," she said, already getting to work. They’d quickly learned the IK cannon forward facing arc added complexity to lining up a shot—their second attempt had gone wide, barely clipping the Hirogen vessel, and they’d spend the recharge time evading while they did their best to avoid the three smaller Hirogen raider-type vessels that had caught up to their position.

We’re running out of time.

Rollins gripped the armrests of the chair, ignoring the sparks behind them from the rear stations when another glancing hit struck the forward shields—they weren’t crewed anyway—and glanced at Abol. "How’s the countdown?"

"Still ongoing," Abol said. "Thoron torpedo detonating in less than two minutes."

Rollins bit his bottom lip. He did not want to be the person explaining to Aaron Cavit that his husband had blown himself up, but on the plus side, if the plan didn’t work, likely they’d be destroyed soon anyway.

"I have a lock!" Kaplan called.

"Keep her steady, John," Rollins said, leaning forward. "Fire!"

Again, it wasn’t as solid a hit as their first had been—element of surprise, and the Hirogen not expecting it—but the beam struck and landed long enough to once again pierce the larger Hirogen vessel’s shields, and then tore through the rear nacelle structure which suffered a secondary detonation. A plume of plasma began to trail the vessel, which awkwardly disengaged—or, more likely—simply couldn’t keep going with the damage it just took.

"Nice shooting, you two," Rollins said.

"Sir, I’m receiving a hail," Fisher said from Ops. 

"Doctor Fitzgerald?" Rollins said, hopeful.

"No, sir… it’s from the planet. It’s…" He paused, then glanced at Rollins with raised eyebrows. "Seven of Nine. Audio only." 

"Put her through," Rollins said, unable to stop the grin spreading across his face. 

*

"Go a—d, Se—en." Lieutenant Rollins’s voice crackled with static. 

Seven of Nine exchanged a glance with Lieutenant Cing’ta, who ducked back half-under the access panel of the antenna array that ran all the way up the length of the Vyntadi bunker. 

"That’s as strong as I can get it," he said, his voice muffled by the open panel. 

"It will suffice," Seven said, pressing the transmit button on the control panel. "Voyager. We have established communications with the Vyntadi resistance and all Voyager crew with combadges." She paused. "Commander Ro requests the locations of the Hirogen landing vessels." 

A burst of static, followed by a different voice. Crewman Abol Tay. "Send—g now."

Seven of Nine regarded the tricorder she’d networked into the Vyntadi communications array. Planetary scans, with dotted notations, began to fill the small display screen. 

"We’re in the mid—a fight up here, Seven," Rollins’s voice again. "We m—t not be able to stay in touch."

"We have what we need," Seven said. "Seven of Nine out." Then she adjusted the array to a different frequency, and pressed the button a second time.

"Seven of Nine to Commander Ro. We have the information you requested."

Ro’s voice held more of the same static from the damaged scattering fields of the Hirogen network, but Ro could still make it out—clearer, in fact, than her connection to Voyager had been.

"Get it to everyone with an active combadge," Ro said. 

"Understood. Transmitting now."

*

Rollins jolted in his chair.

"Shields at thirty-nine percent!" Kaplan reported.

"Canon recharge rate is falling," Fisher said.

"Bridge to Engineering," Rollins said. "I need those cannons, Alex."

"Cannons or shields, Scott—you can’t have both," came Honigsberg’s grim reply. "The EPS relays took a hit with that last nucleonic strike, and we’re juggling a half-dozen bypasses at once as it is."

Rollins grimaced, but took a breath. Time to play the final card.

"Open a channel to all the Hirogen ships," Rollins said.

"Channel open," Fisher said.

"This is Lieutenant Scott Rollins of the Federation Starship Voyager. Cease your attack on my vessel and your hunt of my crew or I’ll detonate the torpedoes we’ve planted on your space station and blow it the hell out of the sky." He knew Fitzgerald would have already delivered that particular threat, but given the countdown was still ongoing, for all Rollins knew, Fitzgerald had already been killed. 

A beat passed, then another, but notably, none of the Hirogen ships fired.

"I think I’m picking up weapons fire on the surface of the planet," Abol said. "Near some of the Hirogen shuttle landing sites." 

"More of the raider-class vessels are approaching," Kaplan said, then blew out a breath. "They’re slowing. Holding position aft." 

"I think we might be seeing detente," Rollins said, doing his best to relax his grip on the Command chair’s armrests. "Come on, doc…"

"The countdown on the thoron torpedoes just paused," Abol said. "It was Doctor Fitzgerald’s code."

Rollins exhaled. "All right," he said. "Now comes the hard part."

"Sir?" Nesterowicz said, turning slightly in his chair.

"Talking to people you’d rather stab with their own cruel swords," Rollins said.

"We’re being hailed from the station," Fisher said. He worked his controls a moment. "The signal is bad but… it’s Doctor Fitzgerald. Audio only." 

"Put him through."

"—tzgerald to Voyager."

"We’ve got you, Doctor," Rollins said. "Barely." 

"Have they stopped shooting?"

"They’re breathing down our necks, but yes. No one is firing at us right now."

"Good," Fitzgerald said. "Apparently there’s a rebellion happening on the planet?"

"Seven of Nine and Commander Ro," Rollins said. It seemed a succinct enough summation.

"If you can reach them and tell them we’ve got a truce we’d like to uphold, I’d appreciate it—the Matriarchs are willing to inform the hunters this hunt is over."

This hunt. Rollins swallowed. Every part of him wanted to ignore that, to allow the bloody Hirogen to be slaughtered like they’d slaughtered his own people. But Voyager was badly damaged, they were still greatly outnumbered, and they’d only end up sacrificing everything and everyone if they broke the detente. 

So instead, Rollins said, "Aye, sir," and nodded to Fisher, who started working to regain a signal with Seven of Nine.

*

Captain's log, stardate 51715.2. Repairs to Voyager continue while we stare down multiple Hirogen vessels who—so far—aren’t blinking. Both sides took heavy casualties, and the Vyntadi on the planet—as well as some of the other survivors of previous hunts—have taken control of enough of their own territory and technology that the planet is no longer entirely in Hirogen control. The fighting on planet finally reached a standstill this morning. The Hirogen Matriarchs have agreed to the truce.

Cavit tapped the button to end his entry, looking out the Ready Room windows beyond the red light of the ongoing Red Alert and directly at the large Venatic-class Hirogen vessel hanging in space across from them, and the polar-orbiting station beyond. 

The one they still had the power to destroy at the press of a button—which, frankly, was the only reason he or any of his people were back on Voyager, he knew.

His door chimed, and he rubbed his eyes. "Come."

His husband came through, jacket undone, and clearly exhausted.

"You’re back," Cavit said, rising, crossing the space, and wrapping his arms around his husband and squeezing him so tightly Fitzgerald let out a small grunt of surprise.

"Hey, hey," Fitzgerald said, gripping him back. "I’m okay."

"I know," Cavit said. "Just appreciating it."

Fitzgerald swallowed audibly. "I heard about Roberto." 

"Yeah." Cavit nodded, swallowing. Avery Roberto had been one of the four Voyager crew he’d woken up with on the planet. A former Maquis, and a man he’d not known as well as he maybe should have, but he’d literally taken a bullet for Cavit. 

And because of that, Cavit was alive, and Roberto wasn’t. 

Cavit pulled back just enough to be able to look Fitzgerald in the eyes. "The torpedoes?"

"Still active," Fitzgerald said. "Even the Matriarchs agreed to leave them be until we left—I cannot understate how much holding them hostage pissed off the males, Aaron. The threat of their safety is the only thing holding this truce in place." He shook his head. "I don’t know what will happen when we leave… The Matriarchs agreed to move on—mostly because the Vyntadi have enough of their shuttles now to fight back and they’ve already destroyed the scattering field satellites, and the Benthan, Entharans, and C’Glynn and the other survivors are going to reach out to their people, but—" He shook his head. "I don’t trust the Hirogen at all. Seven is making sure the kill switch gets transferred down to the planet before we go, and—"

"Jeff." Cavit just looked at him, then cupped his cheeks in both hands. "You can stop now. Really. Breathe. Rest."

"Twenty-two people," Fitzgerald said. "And nine still in recovery."

"I know." Cavit nodded slowly. The dead had officially been counted now. 

"I owe you an apology," Fitzgerald said.

Cavit blinked, shaking his head, dropping his hands and already protesting, but Fitzgerald gripped him by the wrist. 

"Please," Fitzgerald said. "I need to talk about everything I just did. I… understand things now, things I didn’t understand about you, with the Krenim."

Cavit stilled. "You mean your year of hell." 

"I get it now." Fitzgerald nodded. "And I’m sorry." 

Cavit took a deep breath, then let it out. Part of him wanted to remind his husband there was nothing to apologize for—both in the sense that those events had unhappened for everyone but the man himself, and that Cavit himself had let go of this months ago now—but perhaps that didn’t matter. 

Perhaps Jeff hadn’t. 

"Okay," Cavit said.

"I look back at everything since I woke up and most of the crew were gone and…" Fitzgerald blew out a tiny breath. "I barely recognize myself."

"For the record," Cavit said. "I had no intention of pointing out you flew the ship into battle where you were vastly outnumbered, and with only a skeleton crew, but if you’re going to do it…" 

"On second thought," Fitzgerald said. "Maybe just shut up and kiss me."

"Aye, Captain," Cavit said, leaning in.

"Nope." Fitzgerald held up one hand, appearing to fight off a full body shiver. "Never. Never call me that."

"Aye, husband," Cavit said, kissing him.