Chapter Text
Harry Kim woke to the low hum of the bridge systems and the cold, hard deck against his back. For a moment he didn’t move, eyes flicking to the overhead lights---flickering but steady. All around him, others were beginning to stir, groaning softly as they blinked into wakefulness.
He pushed himself up, slow and unsteady. The command chair stood empty. So did the captain’s ready room. There was no sign of her.
His hand went straight to his commbadge.
"Kim to Janeway. Captain, do you read?"
Silence.
"Kim to Captain Janeway, please respond."
Still nothing.
He moved quickly to the ops console, fingers already in motion.
"Computer, locate Captain Janeway."
"Captain Janeway is not aboard."
His throat went dry.
"Computer, how many crewmen are unaccounted for?"
"Two. Captain Kathryn Janeway. Observer Thomas Eugene Paris."
He stared at the screen for a long second, then turned to the others on the bridge.
"What do we do?" he asked quietly.
No one answered.
Harry tapped the console again.
"Computer, who is the highest-ranking officer currently aboard?"
"Lieutenant Joseph Carey."
The turbolift doors opened a moment later and Carey stepped onto the bridge, wiping his hands on a rag. He looked exhausted.
"I’ve been trying to reach the captain," he said without preamble. "I came to report engine status. The warp core’s stable for now, but we’re still running diagnostics."
Harry nodded. "She’s not here. Neither is Paris. Maybe they’re on the Maquis ship?"
Carey’s expression darkened. "Might be safer if they're still on the array. I can't imagine they'd be very popular over there."
Harry hesitated, then turned back to Carey. "Computer says you’re the highest-ranking officer aboard. That makes this your bridge."
Carey looked around, then shook his head. "I can’t take that chair. Not now. I’ve got to be in Engineering. The warp core is stable for the moment, but that could change in five minutes. You’re doing fine, Kim. Hold things together up here."
Harry turned slowly to face the rest of the bridge. No Cavit. No Janeway. No command staff. Just a handful of dazed junior officers looking to him for direction.
He took a breath.
He tapped his commbadge again.
"This is Ensign Harry Kim to all hands. Captain Janeway and Tom Paris are unaccounted for. Until further notice, I am assuming command of the ship. Kim, out."
He lowered his hand and met the eyes of the officers around him. No one objected. No one looked surprised.
It was his, for now.
####
"I can't believe we were gone for six days," B’Elanna Torres said, her voice sharp as she checked the readings on the ancient screen of the Val Jean. "What was that about anyway? And where the hell did that come from?" She pointed toward the array, but she was indicating the lone and silent Starfleet vessel next to that alien structure.
Chakotay stood at the center of the bridge, arms folded. The array still loomed on the viewer, all silent menace and unknowable power.
"No idea, but maybe whatever alien force is behind that thing is responsible for both of us being here --- and I get the feeling it's beyond our power to understand it", he muttered.
“Incoming message from that Starfleet vessel”, Seska relayed as she adjusted the instrument panel.
The viewscreen blinked, resolved into the pale, drawn face of a young, fresh-faced ensign.
"This is Ensign Harry Kim of the Starship Voyager. Two of our crewmembers are missing. We thought maybe they were transported to your ship by accident.”
Chakotay didn’t move. "They're not here."
B'Elanna's hand hit a button on the old out-dated comm station, muting the conversation with Kim. "Why is an ensign contacting us? Either their captain is dead or missing. And if that's true... maybe we should take advantage of it."
Chakotay gave her a warning look, but he didn’t dismiss the idea outright.
She unmuted the conversation.
Kim nodded slightly. "Understood. Then we believe they’re still aboard the alien array."
Chakotay raised an eyebrow. "And that’s our problem because...?"
Kim didn’t flinch.
"Because we’re seventy thousand light-years from home. And whatever brought us here---it’s not finished with us. I thought maybe we could cooperate."
Torres muted the channel again.
"He's right," Torres said before Chakotay could answer. "We don’t know what that thing is. Helping them might help us too. But we don’t owe them anything."
Chakotay gave her a look. "We're not here to rescue Starfleet."
"No, we're not," she said. "But we are stuck in the same nightmare. If they trust us, that's their mistake. We do what's in our best interest---and if that happens to help them, fine."
He glanced to Tuvok---who gave a subtle nod.
Chakotay exhaled and looked toward Tuvok.
"You're with me," he said. "Ayala, too. We’re going over there. If something's wrong with their command structure, I want to see it for myself."
Tuvok gave a crisp nod. Ayala stood from his station without hesitation.
"One hour of shared sensor time," Chakotay said, turning back to the screen. "And a face-to-face meeting. We compare scans. Nothing more."
Kim nodded. "Agreed. Voyager out."
####
Janeway woke slowly, her head pounding, body cold and uncooperative. White light pressed in from above. She blinked, disoriented, and found herself lying on a narrow, unfamiliar biobed---its surface smooth but foreign, gently contoured to her body. The room was starkly lit with a clinical blue glow, the hum of alien machinery filling the silence. Across from her, Tom Paris stirred on a matching bed, wincing as he sat up.
They were barefoot, clothed in plain white garments---like bathrobes held together by a wide band across their waists. The air smelled faintly sterile, like a medical ward.
"Where are we?" Tom murmured, rubbing his face.
"No clue," Janeway replied. "What do you remember?"
"Nothing after...wait, I remember seeing the Maquis crew lying prone on these tables or something."
"I remember pain", Janeway stated solemnly, "incredible pain."
Paris nodded slowly.
Janeway shifted her weight and caught sight of something on her arm. A mottled patch of raw, reddened skin. She turned it over, grimacing. Then saw another sore on her chest, exposed in the V of her dress. "What the hell…"
Tom pulled up his sleeve instinctively. Similar sores ran along his forearm, angry and swollen.
They exchanged another look---this one darker.
Then a soft hum filled the room. A moment later, a curved doorway slid open with a quiet hiss. Three figures entered---slight in build, with delicate, symmetrical features and closely-cropped hair. Their ears were pointed similar to Vulcans’, but with unique folded structures along the outer ridges, giving them an unmistakable, alien elegance. They wore pale robes and carried scanning instruments. Their movements were gentle and practiced. One smiled softly as she approached.
"There's no need to be concerned. We won't hurt you."
Janeway slowly pushed herself off the biobed, critically assessing her surroundings.
"What's wrong with us?" Tom asked, lifting his arm to show them one of the sores.
"You’ve been very ill," the female told them kindly. "Sometimes, people who arrive this way are already sick---your condition is not unusual among those the Caretaker sends us to care for."
"Ill? There was nothing wrong with us before we were captured," Janeway said, narrowing her eyes. "Who is this Caretaker?", she snapped. "Where's the rest of my crew? Have they been harmed?"
The tall man stepped forward. "We have no knowledge of any crew. Only the two of you."
The woman picked up the conversation, softly replying, "We are on the planet Ocampa and when our surface turned to desert, our ancestors wrote of a powerful being who opened a great chasm and led them underground. That being is the Caretaker. Since then, he’s provided for us---food, energy, medicine. We’ve never seen him, not truly. But when he sends someone to us, it’s because they need help."
The man continued, "We believe that the Caretaker sent you here because you are infected with a disease which is communicable to your species. He is only trying to protect your crew from exposure."
"Wait", interrupted Paris, "Then where are the other people the Caretaker sent you to care for?" already regretting the question.
"Your condition is serious. We don't know exactly how to treat it. I'm afraid the others did not recover."
Janeway and Paris exchanged a look, and without a word, Janeway took the lead.