Into the Fire by Trekgrrl

"Kathryn." Rayna Merris gently tapped the slumbering woman on the shoulder.

Smoke grey eyes opened blearily, blinked, then focused on hers. "What time is it?" The sands of sleep lingered in her voice.

"0600 hours."

Janeway nodded, shifting to lie on her back. Red hair cascaded around her face like threads of fire. It stood out in sharp contrast against the pillow's white fabric. Long-fingered hands scrubbed over her face, but she made no effort to rise.

Considering she collapsed on the sofa just after three this morning, it is no wonder.

For two weeks, Voyager had been slogging its way through the blast ring of an exploded star. This entire sector was saturated with synchrotron radiation…whatever that was. Rayna neither knew nor cared. Particle physics had bored her to tears during her Academy days, but from snippets of conversation she'd overheard in the Mess Hall, supernovas apparently generated gamma rays the likes of which the Maker, Himself, could not envision. The next parsec was flooded with them. Radiation levels were appallingly high causing health concerns and sensor interference. As a result, everyone had been given inoculations, shields were on maximum, and the vessel was quite blind.

Janeway, Chakotay, and Tuvok and been all but living on the Bridge. She'd seen her old friend only twice, and the other two not at all…

…until last night, when the captain had shown up at her door. Rayna didn't even let Janeway finish a softly mumbled apology before tucking her on the couch. Waking the woman after so short a time went against the unnerving strain of protectiveness that had bloomed in Rayna's hearts where her guest was concerned, but trust was a fragile thing. If Janeway were to be comfortable, she must be assured that Rayna would guard her position as captain. That meant rousing her on time.

Why is it important that she trust you?

Rayna could not say, and refused to be troubled by it. Feelings were, by nature, irrational; looking for reason where logic held no sway was a fruitless enterprise.

"Coffee's on the table," Rayna said softly, placing the beverage down.

Janeway covered her eyes with an arm, but otherwise did not move.

She needs a few more hours.

Suggesting that would be equally useless, so Rayna did not waste her breath. Instead she moved toward the replicator and asked, "Breakfast?"

"I'm not hungry." Came the weary reply. A crooked smile filled with self-deprecation blew over Janeway's face, and quickly vanished. "Just give me a minute."

"A whole minute?" Rayna flashed her guest a wicked grin that went unnoticed. "I have a waiting list for the use of my sofa. Since you're the captain, allowances can be made, of course, but oh the inconvenience."

The statement earned her a sardonic glower. "I've got to get to the Bridge."

Rayna returned the glare with her best sugary smile. "Of course you do. Sensors gain an additional two million kilometers when the captain is glaring at the viewscreen."

A whispered giggle burst from Janeway's lips, and the grey eyes lightened imperceptibly. The joy quickly faded in the wake of so much reality, and the human's face became somber once more. "Why do I always end up here?" she asked idly. Confusion drifted by on the air currents.

"To be is to be somewhere." Rayna crossed the room to stand near her friend. Friend…the word still felt strange to her. She brushed aside the sentiment. "Unless you're an extra-dimensional entity, but I'm certain that it must get vexing after awhile, being everywhere and nowhere all at the same time."

The captain's gaze became warmer, and Rayna found it difficult to bear. So too was the wave of affection that bathed her in disquieting contentment. Clearly she was becoming too attached to this woman, and that promised nothing but trouble.

Kathryn's husky alto compelled her attention. "What time do you go on duty?"

"Not until 1100 hours. Neelix took the breakfast shift." Was it possible that this obsessively driven woman was contemplating an extension? Rayna caught the glimmers of doubt behind the gray curtain of fatigue.

"Would you mind…" Suddenly Kathryn seemed uncertain of herself. "Would it be all right if I imposed a little longer?"

Rayna grinned down at the woman indulgently. "For someone who is so obviously intelligent, you are such an idiot." She reached down and pulled the blanket up beneath the captain's chin. "I'll wake you at ten."

*********************
It was nearly 1045 hours when Janeway ascended the Bridge. Her first order of business was to dismiss Chakotay, despite his protestations. The poor man looked dead on his feet. Afterward she made her way to each station, taking the psychological pulse of her crew.

Tom Paris had a shadow of stubble marring the square plane of his jaw line. There were bags beneath his watery blue eyes. "Captain," he greeted, apparently reading her intention. "I go off duty at 1500. I'm good until then."

She held his gaze for a moment, but the light of concentration in his eyes seemed steady. "All right, Lieutenant," Janeway agreed, "but not one minute past that time."

"Aye, ma'am."

Ensign Kim, she learned, was ordered to his quarters an hour ago. The crewmember subbing for him was a fellow named Hickman. He was normally assigned to Astrophysics.

That left Tuvok as the only other regular from Alpha shift still on duty. Janeway made her way to his station.

"How are you?" she asked quietly, briefly touching his sleeve.

"Well. I took my rest 49.3 hours ago."

Of them all, he was the most unaffected by the grueling schedule. His face was a little drawn, but otherwise, he seemed impervious to fatigue. There were times when she envied the Vulcan constitution.

"And you, Captain?" Deep brown eyes studied hers before returning to his sensor readout. Like her, Tuvok had adopted a hushed tone, something reserved for personal conversations and designed to protect their privacy.

"I'm fine," she assured him, an instinctive response, and quickly followed up with, "Really. I racked out for a few hours." Discussing personal business on the Bridge was not her first choice of activities, but sometimes it was the only opportunity anyone had.

He gave her a friendly glance. "That was sensible." There was a knowing flicker behind the darkness of his eyes.

Right. So he knows where you were sleeping. Probably everyone else on board does as well.

Janeway studied the viewscreen. It displayed nothing but interstellar murk. A few stars managed to pierce the dismal fog, but that was all. "I see we're still as blind as a Covian bat," she pronounced, her mind preoccupied. She truly hated Voyager's grapevine. Paris and Kim routinely crashed in one another's cabins, and it wasn't even discussed. As captain, everything she did was put under a molecular scanner.

"Indeed." Tuvok's expression did not alter…and yet…did somehow. "Your presence on the Bridge has not extended sensor range."

His comment caused her give him a sharp glance. "Excuse me?"

"It is a common myth among captains, according to Rayna."

"I see she wasted no time in contacting you." Janeway's thoughts had turned stormy. It hadn't occurred to her that Merris would carry tales, even to Tuvok.

Black brows lowered slightly. "We spoke briefly three days ago, Captain. She inquired after you, and upon learning that you were still on the Bridge, indicated that you might be operating under that particular misconception."

Janeway blew a sigh. She was prickly as a porcupine when it came to that woman and could not for her life think why. "Merris said something like that to me, this morning."

He nodded. "I see. You were concerned that she spoke about the content of your conversation, a natural reaction." His fingers made precision adjustments to Voyager's scanners. "Please be assured that Rayna's discretion can be counted on."

That was high praise coming from Tuvok. Janeway absorbed the reassurance, and found herself suddenly curious. "She talks about me? What did she say?"

Suave, Katie. You sound like a high school student trying to pass a note in study hall.

Luckily Tuvok's telepathy was not sufficiently strong to penetrate her consciousness without physical contact. He made a notation in his log before answering. "Only that you and she were friends." His eyes skittered over to meet hers. "It is not a title she bestows lightly."

Their conversation was prematurely derailed when the sensor panel suddenly came alive. Off-key alarms announced that something unusual had been encountered.

Janeway headed for the command chair. "Report," she demanded as she strode.

"We are picking up an automated distress signal, Captain." Tuvok's voice was as unperturbed as ever. "It appears to be Talaxian in origin."

Talaxian?

Neelix's people had been defeated by the Haakonian Order, but many had fled to the stars in search of a new home. Janeway frowned as she thought. It was possible that one of them had become sucked into the Dead Zone, just as they had.

"Can you bring it on screen?" She already knew it was doubtful.

Tuvok confirmed her suspicions. "Negative. There is too much radiogenic interference."

"Distance?"

"Point zero, zero three nine light years."

About two hours at warp three. Her mind completed a rough set of calculations in an instant. "Set a course," she instructed.

Paris acknowledged her command, his graceful fingers already flying over Voyager's controls.

"Shall I contact Mr. Neelix or Commander Chakotay?" Tuvok asked.

"No." Janeway turned her head to look at him. "There's no way to tell how old it is or if anyone is still alive." She saw no point in raising Neelix's hopes, and Chakotay had just turned in. "We'll call them if this pans out."

Settling back into the cushions, she tried to force her mind to focus on business. It proved to be a difficult task. During the last few days, thoughts of Rayna had intruded on her often. She could dismiss them after a fashion, but they inevitably returned, sneaking up on her consciousness. Without warning, she would be overwhelmed by flashes of memory.

Like the warmth of her arms on the holodeck…

Though the embrace had begun as an act of comfort, before it ended, Janeway could not rightly say who was comforting whom. It hadn't impacted her then, but as days passed, the remembered sensations crept to the forefront of her awareness.

...the slender strength of her body...

Like now. Try as she might, Janeway could not stem the flow of distraction.

...her velvety cheek nestled against your neck...

She had forgotten how good it felt to be held, and now that the need had been awakened, yearned to feel it once more.

Maybe you've just been alone too long.

Maybe, and if that was the price for getting her crew home, so be it. Her decision had stranded them in the Delta Quadrant. Solitude was a paltry sacrifice in comparison.

"You always did pick the hardest path."

She frowned at that, because it had been said in her father's voice. Memories of him occurred with less frequency than those of Rayna, but it seemed that his ghost still haunted the mansions of her mind. At least this one wasn't a holographic illusion.

What makes you so sure the last one was?

No. This was not a road she wished to travel. For the ten thousandth time, Janeway thrust the topic of her father aside. It was something she needed to deal with, but not now.

Her inward gaze moved to the viewscreen once more. It hadn't changed a jot. All the micropulverized debris reminded her of the old stories of dust storms in the Plains.

So much for gaining another couple million kilometers…

*********************
Rayna got to the Mess Hall on time and within two hours was assigned to lunch delivery. As had been the case for the last several days, the on-duty crew could not break for chow. She and Neelix carried the meals to them. It turned out to be an excellent way to see all areas of the ship.

The 'lift doors closed and she requested her destination of Voyager's computer. Deck 15 was her last stop. It was a cramped area with industrial lighting, a dreary departure from the glistening world above, but one that evoked pleasant memories for Rayna. Her uncle had owned a small fleet of Orion "freighters," a label which was more generous than "pirate ships," but less accurate. They were small, swift of engine, and equipped with cloaking devices the Romulans would have envied. What interior space remained was given to cargo bays and hidden compartments. Hallways and cabins were crammed together leaving little room to breathe.

Voyager's lower decks were much the same, tight and twisting like a bowl of pasta. Plasma relays provided a constant hum of power. The bulkheads vibrated a little more strongly because of it. There, Voyager's heartbeat pounded to an anti-matter rhythm and sang of dilithium dreams. Something about it quieted the restlessness of her spirit, much like being with Kathryn.

The ride down ended, thankfully. Rayna was thoroughly sick of thinking about the captain.

Turbolift doors opened to chaotic activity and showers of golden sparks.

"Dalby!"

The unmistakable voice of B'Elanna Torres sounded from somewhere to the starboard. Rayna glanced outside to clear her path before rolling the cart of food trays out. She guided them to one side of the corridor and parked. A sharp popping from above her head preceded fresh fireworks, and Rayna ducked downward to avoid being caught in them.

Looks like First Contact Day.

Her mind briefly recalled the colorful displays over the San Francisco Bay. They'd even fabricated the Vulcan hand salute in a brilliant barrage of yellow and white.

"Get this pile of forshak out of my way," Lieutenant Torres growled. The half-Klingon gave the cart a shove, sending it careening back toward the turbolift doors. She had a repair kit hung over one shoulder and tools sticking out of her tunic pocket.

Rayna yielded ground. Obviously now was a bad time for meal delivery. In her effort to move aside, she almost collided with a tallish crewman. His brown hair was cropped short and the line of it foretold of baldness sure to follow. Similarly dark eyes raked over her face in an angry glance. "Do you mind?" he hissed. "I'm trying to assist the Lieutenant."

If you keep at it, you are bound to succeed sooner or later.

She'd once owned a broken chronometer. The time was perpetually frozen on 0239 hours, but it still managed to be right once a day. Up until her latest assignment, she'd kept it as a lesson in humility.

This human radiated hostility as he brushed past, and she heard him whisper, "buddy fucker," under his breath. It was an old naval term, a survivor from the days when vessels like this rode waves not stellar winds, and it referred to someone who betrayed a shipmate.

Ah.

Neelix had reluctantly admitted that some crewmen harbored a grudge where Ayala was concerned. They either thought she'd caused his aberrant behavior, or that she'd been over-quick to kill him…or both. Regardless, there was a powerful undercurrent of resentment, especially among the former Maquis.

Rayna pushed her cart to port, that seeming the less active direction. At the very least, no incandescent pops of electricity crackled along the conduits. Two crewmen were normally stationed at the plasma relay. One had his back to her. The other she recognized.

Noah Lessing was a gentle sort of man. His skin was medium complexioned, rather like Tuvok's. He had short, close-cropped hair and was clean-shaven. "Hi, Cooky," he greeted, and nodded toward the cart of food. "What is it this time?"

"Critter fritters and bug juice," Rayna returned, just as she had yesterday.

Lessing was one of the only crewmen who went out of his way to engage her in conversation. She'd learned over time that he and a few others on Voyager had come from a Federation starship called the Equinox. Encountering other 'fleet members should have been an occasion for joy. Instead, Neelix related a tale of genocide, betrayal, and destruction.

"Figures." The slender black man came over to get his meal.

Behind him was a Bajoran male. His young-looking eyes locked onto hers with the force of a tractor beam. There was no avoiding him this time.

Piss.

She'd quite forgotten about Crewman Gerron Jin. His bent was not only to talk to her, but corner her for a lengthy interrogation. Rayna had been ducking him for days. Running away from problems was always the easiest solution…until they caught up with you, cornered you, or confronted you…the three "c's" were deadly.

"I know you," the boy said without preamble. Conviction, almost defiant in its intensity, seeped from him to wash over her empathic senses. His ebony eyes glittered icily like chunks of basalt beneath binary stars.

"You think you do." Rayna pulled out a tray and held it out for him.

He made no effort to take it. From the smoothness of his facial skin and the lack of depth to his nostril ridges, Rayna figured Gerron's age to be about twenty-two or twenty-three. Counting her time in hibernation, it had been more than twelve years since she'd worked the Cardassian theater. He would have been a child.

Footsteps behind her preceded the scent of Torres' frustration. Rayna blinked as the turbulent emotion whipped past her with gale force.

"Is there a problem here?" The Chief's terse demand echoed off the metal bulkheads.

"No ma'am," Rayna answered and thrust Gerron's tray at him.

He took it, eyes still boring into hers.

"What about it Gerron?" It seemed that Torres was not satisfied. The Klingon bulled her way over and confronted him.

Gerron dropped his eyes and clammed up. In that instant, Rayna saw a vulnerable shyness about him; it was both innocent and familiar. The memory of a small boy, bleeding from his nose and mouth flickered across her mind's eye.

"Leave him be." The words escaped Rayna's lips before she could check the impulse.

Nothing for it now.

For good measure she added, "I can see which side of your parentage you favor." Most hybrids were sensitive when it came to their breeding. That kind of vulnerability could be easily exploited.

It worked all too well. Torres' furious countenance turned toward her. "What did you say?" she growled. Small hands bunched into fists and fury rendered the Chief's features into a savage mask.

Bull's eye. You are Brig bound, Ray-Ray.

However, she didn't have to go there by herself. "Why should I repeat myself for a worthless taHqeq?" It was the worst of all Klingon insults, and to properly bring it home, Rayna accompanied it with a disdainful sneer.

Torres froze for the barest instant. The next, she was lunging forward, and Rayna was forced to twist out of the way. Air displaced by Torres' fist brushed past Rayna's jaw.

Oh, she's fast….The Brig may well be the least of your worries.

There was a dull thud as Gerron heaved his tray aside. Both he and Lessing converged on the raging Klingon before she could strike again. They struggled to restrain her.

Torres responded with a battle cry worthy of Kahless, himself. Rayna soon gained a healthy respect for the engineer's knowledge of curses. She was highly skilled, taking in both Deltans and Orions in equal measure and including both sets of grandparents, all the aunts and uncles, plus several non-existent siblings.

It all came to a sudden stop as the klaxon sounded.

********************
"Red Alert," Janeway ordered. Voyager's lighting dimmed and pulsing lines of red illuminated the surrounding walls. Instrument panels stood out more sharply amid the gloom, making them easier to read.

They'd dropped out of warp only moments before and opened a hailing frequency to the Talaxian vessel. There had been no answer. Without warning, a swarm of small ships emerged from the radiogenic fog, weapons charged and locked.

Paris was already initiating evasive maneuvers. She felt the pitch and yaw of Voyager sharply change. Inertial dampers kicked in to compensate.

"Who the hell are they?" she demanded.

"I am reading Vaadwaur signatures, Captain," reported Commander Tuvok. "Seventeen total ships." There was a brief pause, then, "They are breaking into three distinct attack groups, firing particle cannons."

Vaadwaur?

"Phasers," she ordered. Her hands gripped the command chair's arms more tightly. It had been no more than three months since they'd encountered that species, or what was left of it. Once proud conquerors, the Vaadwaur used a series of intricate subspace corridors to ambush unsuspecting planets. They'd been defeated by a coalition of alien governments. Only about six hundred of that war-like race remained, preserved in bio-pods beneath their homeworld's surface.

Until we woke them up.

Tremors shook the Bridge.

"This is Chakotay." Her communicator crackled to life. "I'm on my way."

"Shields at ninety-one percent," Tuvok reported coolly. "We have destroyed two of the fighters and disabled three more."

"Tom." Her urgent prompting was unnecessary. She could see how fast his fingers glided over the controls.

Once more Voyager trembled.

"They are targeting our engines and weapons systems," Ensign Hickman called out from Ops.

Another strike caused one of the plasma relays to overload and white-hot electricity rained down.

Lt. Paris shouted over the hissing, "Direct hit. We're losing impulse engines."

The turbolift doors schnicked open and her first officer staggered toward his chair.

Janeway spared him a glance and aimed her next directive at Engineering. "Reroute emergency power."

"Aye, Captain," a cool voice responded.

It wasn't Torres, but Janeway had no time to investigate the Chief's whereabouts.

Information continued to pour in from Tactical. "Two more Vaadwar vessels have been destroyed."

"Vaadwaur?" Chakotay sounded as mystified as she felt. He called up the command console.

The staccato impacts of particle cannons tap danced over Voyager's shields with alarming regularity. Janeway digested the sounds; a glance at the readout near her chair confirmed her fears. "They're firing in successive bursts. Each strike progressively drains the shields."

"Confirmed," Tuvok answered. "All attacks are focused on shield grids 3, 12 and 13."

Bridge, weapons control, and Engineering…

Another violent impact rattled the bulkheads. Janeway heard a metallic hiss followed by a harsh crackle of energy. Tuvok's cry of pain set her into motion toward his station. Chakotay followed. Plasma fire wicked up from the array of instruments. Her friend was down. She could see that his face and right arm were badly burned. Blood dripped from his forehead.

"Medical team report to the Bridge." Janeway checked Tuvok's pulse, relieved to find it strong and steady.

"We're losing aft shields." Tom's warning was an instant too late. An explosion from the stern sent Voyager careening to port. Both she and Chakotay went flying. Janeway was tossed against Tuvok's station. She bit off a scream as tendrils of fire scorched through the back of her uniform, crisping the flesh beneath. Hickman pulled her free.

"Boarding clamps are being deployed," Tom's voice was distant, distorted by the malevolent hiss of flame.

Of all races, the Vaadwar must not get hold of Voyager's technology.

She heard a magnetic hum from overhead; the ship shuddered as contact was made.

"Janeway to Computer. Initiate self-destruct sequence. Authorization: Janeway pi-one-one-zero."

"Acknowledged."

Thank God it was still working.

"Self-destruct sequence requires secondary authorization from one of the following personnel: First Officer, Security Chief, or Chief Engineer." The computer continued the standard protocol.

Only Chakotay did not answer.

Janeway twisted about, pushing away from Hickman, and finally found her first officer. He was unconscious, trapped beneath a collapsed section of decking.

The ablative armor of Voyager's hull started to whine. She slapped her communicator. "This is the Captain. We are being boarded by the Vaadwaur. You are authorized to use any necessary force to repel them."

Ensign Hickman deserted her long enough to access the small weapon's locker located near the turbolift.

"They're coming directly to the Bridge," Tom announced. "I show additional intruders on Decks 12 and 13."

"Here," Hickman shouted, and tossed the helmsman a hand phaser. Another was given to Janeway.

She checked it out of habit.

Full charge…good.

A circular pattern opened in the ceiling just above the command chairs. Hulking shadows in brown battle armor descended. Targeting scopes illuminated the eye pieces of their helmets with a baleful red glow. They carried ion pulse blasters, huge cylindrical rifles that combined particles with light. Green jets of energy shot past Janeway, striking Hickman full in the chest. He collapsed without making a sound.

Janeway returned fire, but her beam merely crackled along the armor's surface. The soldier she'd targeted took aim at her and fired. Something hot and sharp struck her in the shoulder. She bit back a scream.

"There are too many!" Tom was hunkered down near the conn, trying to lay down suppressive fire.

They were losing the Bridge.

Lock out non-Starfleet personnel.

It was the only option left.

"Computer." Janeway fell to one knee as her vision swam. Why was she so weak? The wounds on her back didn't feel that bad. "Initiate security lock out. Authorization…" They marched on her position, rifles ready, but did not shoot. She couldn't raise her arm. The phaser just hung there, limp and useless. "Janeway phi-zero-zero-six. Ignore all commands fr-"

One of the men brought the butt of his weapon crashing down on her temple, sending her into darkness before she could finish.

*********************
"Engineering, report!" B'Elanna Torres heaved aside a torn piece of plating.

Half the corridor on Deck 15 had collapsed. There was no getting to the turbolift.

"Sensor readings show at least four hull breaches." Ensign Dalby called from in front of one of the consoles. We've got intruders on the Bridge, Decks 5, 12, and 13." His features were taut with tension. "There's no answer from the Bridge."

"Lt. Vorik, here." Her badge squawked to life. She heard stress underlying the Vulcan's normally placid tones. That was bad. "We were forced to disengage the warp drive." The hiss of ruptured plasma relays made for ominous background noise. "Impulse engines are down, and the ship is adrift. We have port thrusters only." She heard him tapping a touch screen. "Life support is marginal, but still functioning on all decks. Transporters are inoperative."

A light touch on her elbow made Torres twist her head around. Crewman Merris inclined her head gracefully; its pristine flesh was marred by burns and scrapes. "Truce?" she asked without rancor.

Torres nodded. Voyager needed all hands and grudges would have to wait.

Black eyes bore into hers like neutridium drill bits. They were preternaturally serene. "Have everyone switch over to emergency channel zero-two-theta. It is encrypted and will be more difficult to monitor." The intelligence officer's even, calm voice provided a soothing counterpoint to the chaos.

You should have remembered that, BLT.

In all her life, Torres had never gone from absolute fury to gratitude in such a short span of minutes. She activated her communicator. "This is Lieutenant Torres. Per incursion protocols, route all communications to the designated secure channel. Rotate the frequency every hour in accordance with emergency procedures."

Section by section, the crew acknowledged her command.

Merris was still regarding her in that cool, steady manner. "Who are the Vaadwaur?" she asked, as if there were no more important question in the universe.

Torres made her way to the nearest control panel and brought Voyager's internal sensors online. "They're what's left of a race that was wiped out nine hundred years ago. We encountered them when we set down on their old homeworld to make repairs." The power grid on Deck Twelve was malfunctioning. She dispatched a repair team to it before continuing her answer. "We found a few hundred of them in bio pods beneath the planet's surface. How they ended up in the Dead Zone is anybody's guess."

"Torres to Vorik." She switched communications targets. "Transfer helm control to Engineering." They needed to stop drifting.

Vorik's next message caused her blood to ice over. "I cannot. Captain Janeway initiated a command lock out of all essential systems. Navigation, weapons, and transporters are all inaccessible."

"Son of a cave sloth!" she ranted. "I'll try to override it from here."

Torres entered a series of commands. The computer informed her in unflustered letters that it was unable to comply with her request. To add insult to injury, it also let her know that the Secondary Command Processors were down. She smashed her fist against the bulkhead.

Peripherally she saw Merris move slightly to one side and heard her activate her commbadge. "Neelix are you all right?"

"I'm a little shaken up, to be honest." The Talaxian spoke in a hoarse whisper. "Naomi and I are hiding in the Jefferies tubes."

It might have been her imagination, but Torres thought she saw relief pass over Merris' shuttered features.

"Seven of Nine to Lieutenant Torres."

B'Elanna was never so pleased as to hear the dispassionate Borg's voice. "Go ahead."

"I have configured the sensor arrays in Astrometrics to conduct an interior scan. There are fifty-eight Vaadwaur life signs on four decks. Communications with the Bridge are severed and there has been no response from individual commbadges. You are the highest ranking officer I have been able to contact."

The words sunk past Torres' ears and lodged somewhere in her windpipe. Suddenly there wasn't enough air.

She had no time to react.

Gerron's voice called from down the smoke-filled corridor. "Sixteen plasma relays have malfunctioned. Level Ten forcefields have been erected around all damaged sections."

"They're wearing powered armor!" her comm link emitted a new voice. Small arms fire pulsed once, twice. "We can't penetrate it with hand phasers." There was a loud crashing sound and the thrumming sound of larger weapons. "Fall back! Fall back!"

The communicator crackled a final time and became silent.

Ghuy'cha.

Torres had never aspired for captaincy, and found the prospect of command utterly terrifying.

"Designate your first officer." Crewman Merris spoke again in that cool, almost unconcerned tone. When the Deltan woman had walked back over, Torres could not say. "I believe Ensign Dalby is the next highest rank."

"Right," Torres stammered out. "Dalby, you're it."

The former Maquis looked just as happy about his promotion as she did about hers, but he nodded grimly. "Gerron, Lessing," he commanded. "Check the tubes and make sure they're clear. We'll need to climb topside since we can't get to the turbolift."

The two crewmen set to work immediately. While they did so, Dalby accessed one of the storage lockers and pulled out a few hand phasers. They were the only weapons available at this level.

Torres reached for her comm badge once more, but hesitated. In all her life she had never once thought she would give this instruction. "All hands, this is Lieutenant Torres. We've lost contact with Captain Janeway and the Bridge crew. As of this moment, I am assuming operational command of Voyager. Ensign Dalby is Acting First Officer."

A barrage of communication ensued. Information poured in from several decks. It deluged her senses and quickly became overwhelming.

"This is Kim. Give me a rendezvous point, and I'll meet you there." His voice was pitched just a hair too high, but was otherwise reasonably calm.

There was scarcely time to breathe, much less answer him.

"Lieutenant Torres. This is Crewman Bonneville. I've got 10 security team members on Deck 14. The armory is intact and uncompromised, but we can't open it."

"No one can," Merris assured, "not even you. With the Secondary Command Processors down, the computer cannot recognize you as Acting Captain."

Which meant that Janeway's lock out was impregnable.

Torres turned to stare at the woman. The security mechanism designed to protect Federation Starships from falling into hostile hands now kept them from accessing the very things they needed to repel the invaders: helm control, weapons arrays, and heavy ordnance.

We've either got to rescue the command staff or restore the processors.

"Bonneville, stand fast. Torres to Sickbay."

"Go ahead, Lieutenant." Hearing the Doctor's voice was also a relief.

"Status of the Bridge Crew?" Every comm badge transmitted the life-signs of its wearer to the ship's computer. If no one up there was answering it meant they were incapacitated or... She refused to complete the thought.

Though she'd never believed in a god, Torres sent out a silent prayer. Janeway was the closest thing to a mother she had left. Chakotay had been her mentor and a dear friend, and Tom…Tom had woven himself into the tapestry of her soul. They had to be all right. There was no other option.

She closed her eyes.

And received an answer. "Captain Janeway, Commander Chakotay, Commander Tuvok, and Lieutenant Paris are alive, but injured. They all need medical treatment." The EMH paused a moment, and when he continued, his voice had gained greater urgency. "According to the readouts embedded in the captain's communicator, her vital signs are fluctuating. I'm detecting foreign chemicals being introduced into her physiology. They appear to be a combination of sedatives and hallucinogens."

What the fuck?

Merris supplied the answer, even as she accepted a phaser from Ensign Dalby. "They have discovered that they cannot access Voyager's systems without the captain's authorization codes. Drugs are normally the first step in conducting an interrogation." The Deltan's eyes had become chunks of black rock, more than simply unfeeling. They were inanimate.

In contrast, Torres was livid. Nobody hurt the captain, not on her watch.

"We have to get her," she announced, half expecting Merris to argue. Most likely they should repair the secondary processors, override the access codes and take functional control of the ship…or some such bilge.

Instead the slender Deltan merely activated her communicator. "This is Merris. How many Vaadwaur are on the Bridge, Seven?"

The former Borg answered immediately, "I count 11, 8 of which are in full armor."

Merris digested the information then asked, "Can you get an accurate scan of it?"

"Yes." Several seconds passed. Then, "We also have information on their technology in our databases. I am sending the schematics to the nearest computer station. Lieutenant?" she addressed Torres. "It is unacceptable for Captain Janeway to remain a captive."

"Don't worry Seven," B'Elanna tried to be reassuring. "We're hatching a plan even as we speak." She cut communications. "Right?" The latter comment was directed to the others.

They looked grim, but determined. All of them gathered around the console's display.

The Vaadwaur wore exo-skeletons that were reinforced with tritonium, just like their underground chamber had been.

Fuck. We'll need plasma charges to make a dent in that shit.

Neural connections in the helmet and electrodes distributed throughout the limbs made it probable that the machines also enhanced the physical strength of the soldiers wearing them.

This just gets better and better.

"Are those magnetic field generators?" Merris pointed to small, powered modules embedded in the boots.

"Looks like it," answered Lessing. He leaned forward to tap the screen and zoom in on the tiny images. A tense smile played at the corner of his mouth. "I take it you didn't ask that as a rhetorical question, Cooky."

"Battle armor is normally equipped with a magnetic component in case of Zero-G conditions. However," Merris squinted her eyes at the technical readouts that scrolled past, "they normally have to be reconfigured to compensate for variations in metallic composition. Can we tell if they have done so?"

Torres checked the read outs being gathered from Astrometrics, though she could not understand why Merris was so interested. "It doesn't look like it. Why?"

A frigid smile decorated the Deltan's face, but did nothing to awaken the deadness of her eyes. "The first things we will need are several pairs of gravity boots."

It took a moment, but Torres eventually caught on. Turning off the artificial gravity would transform the heavy exo-skeletons into floating hunks of metal. "You're nasty." She gave the other woman a look of frank appreciation. "I like that."

Merris acknowledged the compliment with a minute twitch of her brows. "It will only work once. After that, the Vaadwaur will no doubt make the necessary adjustments. However, it will provide the bonus of easily moving the wounded." The intelligence officer conducted a weapon's check, then moved to the open maintenance shaft door.

"Give a push and they'll float along." Torres followed, giving her badge a smack. "Bonneville, we're going to make our way up to you via Jefferies tubes." At Torres' nod, Lessing jogged to one of emergency storage chests. He pulled out several med kits and an emergency repair kit. She made her voice calmer. "In the mean time, try the compression phaser rifles from the ancillary weapons lockers. They may have better luck against the Vaadwaur's armor. Seven, Kim," she addressed the other two. "Meet us on Deck 6."

Both of them acknowledged her transmission. Seven added, "I am attempting to modify our phasers with Borg nanoprobes to make them more effective." There was an edge of anger coloring the normally flat voice.

One thing I can't deny: Seven loves the captain.

They gathered at the Jefferies Tube. With the exception of Merris, everyone looked at her as if she were going to say something brilliant, or at least were hopeful that she would.

I only wish I felt like a genius, right now.

Torres blew out a shaky breath. You can do this, she thought. You fought the Cardassians with less. This is nothing more than another resistance movement.

She met each person's eyes, one pair at a time. "We're going to rescue the senior staff. It's a long climb to Deck 1, and there are hostiles in between. With Voyager's systems locked up, they won't be able to track our communicators." She brought up a layout of the Bridge. "There's a tube that opens here." Her finger pointed out the entry point. We can get to it from Deck 6. "Before that, we have to access the industrial replicators on Deck 11, and order up some gravity boots."

She hoped that her tone was confident, and did not betray the quivering of her insides. Things must have worked out okay, because Dalby gave her a thumb's up.

"All right then." Torres drew in one final breath. "Let's go."

***********************
Chakotay's mind swam a long, winding river back to consciousness. He was first aware only of pain, a dull, monotonous hammering in his skull that radiated down the left side of his face. He blinked, but only one of his eyes obeyed. The other felt hot and swollen. Grey carpet cushioned his head. It was scratchy against his cheek.

Memory returned in a swirling rush of images: flashes of light and bone-jarring rumblings that only a storm born of battle could spawn.

The Vaadwaur…

His arms were restrained behind his back. He tried to sit, and could not. The flexing of muscle caused a grinding agony in his ribs. An instant later, something heavy forced him down. The deck struck him with the force of a photon torpedo, and Chakotay was momentarily paralyzed. Through the white-hot haze of torment, he heard disembodied voices. They spoke gibberish at first, but the universal translator immediately morphed the sounds into words.

"Have you reached Engineering?" Someone uttered in a menacing hiss.

"No sir." Static crackled at the edges of the words, and Chakotay could hear the sounds of live fire. "There are forcefields erected every ten meters in all directions. We cannot deactivate them."

"Nothing works!" This voice was closer. A dull thud of flesh against metal was accompanied by a string of frustrated curses. "This derelict vessel is worthless to us."

"The first officer is awake, sir."

Steel-hard hands grasped Chakotay's shoulders and bodily lifted him up. The Bridge whisked past. He saw Tuvok, still unconscious on the deck. Half of his face was marred by angry-looking burns. Lieutenant Paris was propped against the Ops console, bound hand and foot with some kind of shackles. Drying blood caked about an ugly cut on his cheek and dribbled from one ear. His eyes were closed as well.

Where is Kathryn?

Without warning Chakotay was slammed down into the port command chair. The pressure on his arms was horrible, as if red-hot needles were being driven up his elbows. Pain throbbed in his right shoulder and was echoed in the pounding of his skull.

Above him was a moving mass of metal and lights. Brown armor flickered red in time with Voyager's alert status. It whirred and hummed as its wearer moved backward from him. Overlapping plates shifted. Heavy metal feet clanked, and the unblinking eye of an ion blaster stared at him from inhumanly large hands.

Chakotay turned his head, wincing as the world around him listed. The dizziness subsided after a moment. Janeway was seated next to him. She was bound, hands behind her back. Blood was congealed beneath her nose and flowed freely from a split in her lower lip. The wound looked fresh. A scorch mark on her shoulder told him she'd been shot at least once. His nostrils detected the sickly sweet odor of burned flesh. He could see curled bits of uniform flaking off from the back of Janeway's neck.

"Captain," he croaked. His windpipe was desiccated, as dry and barren as the deserts of Vulcan. He couldn't see how badly she was burned.

She didn't answer immediately, and before he would call again, someone wrapped cold fingers around his throat.

"Greetings, Commander Chakotay."

Gaul…

The pinched, cruel face of the Vaadwaur commander swam into focus. Dark eyes stared into his with all the warmth of a cobra contemplating a mouse.

"Janeway, Kathryn." The captain's voice was slurred. "USS Voyager, Starfleet Identification Number: 1789236-01."

"Enough!" Another Vaadwaur stepped past Gaul and struck Janeway's face with a vicious slap. Her head snapped left and new blood ran.

Chakotay threw himself against the hand that restrained him, only to be grabbed from behind and pulled back. Armor encased claws dug into his shoulders and he choked back a groan. Every breath seemed to move razor blades through his chest.

The Vaadwaur seized Janeway's hair and jerked her upward. His mouth was close enough to spray her with spittle as he hissed. "We know who you are and who you work for. We want the authorization codes."

"Merin," Gaul's chill tenor carried an edge of impatience. "Calm yourself." His beady eyes once more faced Chakotay. "As you can see, some of my subordinates prefer more heavy-handed methods of interrogation." Subtle changes in his face created a parody of reluctance. "Your captain has proven remarkably resistant to our drugs. Torture may be our only recourse."

The alien leader straightened, but his eyes never left Chakotay's. "Can we give her more, Doctor?" he purred out his question.

The answering Vaadwaur was one Chakotay had never encountered. He looked older than the others. "In her present condition, it would be dangerous. Her burns…"

Merin suddenly pushed a hand against Janeway's chest driving her back against the command chair. Her face twisted, and she cried out in pain. "…are useful. What are the access codes, Captain?"

"Leave her alone damn you!" Chakotay ignored his chest, his shoulder, the brutal, unfeeling hands that held him in place. Worry for her blistered his heart.

"Chakotay?" Janeway's eyes clenched shut. Color drained from her face. "The crew? Are they safe?" Her head lolled back into the cushion. "J-janeway, Kathryn…"

"Let her go," Chakotay demanded. He struggled in vain to free his arms, tried to rise, to kick…anything. The restraints would not yield.

This time Gaul cackled out a vicious laugh. "You can end it any time, Commander. I'm certain that you know the proper codes. Give them to us and we will provide your comrades with medical treatment."

To his left, Merin continued to toy with Janeway. "The codes, woman!" He dug his thumb into the wound in her shoulder.

The captain gave a hoarse cry before repeating her name and rank.

Chakotay ground his teeth together. The only way to help the captain was to get her out of here.

Come on, Sudea. You were an Advanced Tactical Instructor at the Academy.

How many were there? His eyes darted about, taking in the towering soldiers encased in metal. Six, at least. They wore bulky exo-skeletons. Armor like that lacked maneuverability in close quarters, but was highly effective in withstanding light fire.

We'll need rifles, at least. Type-IV Phaser Cannons would be better. He tested the restraints on his wrists.

Tighter than a tachyon beam.

The fact was, he wouldn't be getting out of here without help.

Chakotay turned his head in Janeway's direction. She was pale, sweaty.

I'm sorry, Kathryn.

Something sharp pierced his neck and the world around him blurred. The Bridge lights became haloed and indistinct. He saw Gaul backing away. In his hand was a sliver of metal that glinted.

A needle…

Unnatural lethargy settled over Chakotay's limbs. His thought processes became chaotic and maddeningly slow.

Gaul's face filled his perception. "We need those codes, Commander." His breath was fetid, oiling its way into Chakotay's nose. "Give them to me, or I will have Merin begin removing pieces of your captain."

No.

Chakotay's mind abruptly fractured. Part of him became a distant, unemotional observer of the tableau occurring on the Bridge. It calmly reminded him that there were risks in serving the Federation, and repeated lessons learned decades ago during senior command training.

"Sooner or later, you will be captured by hostile forces."

In those days, they'd all thought Admiral Sanjit Singh was one of those over-zealous martinets who foretold doom at every turn.

"There are races who have forgotten more about inflicting pain than you will learn in a lifetime."

Twinkling brown eyes had smiled at them all and yet had been deeply saddened at the same time.

"You believe you are invincible, that no one can break you. You are, all of you, mistaken."

Even as Chakotay stared at his captain, the woman who had become his teacher and best friend, his mind engaged a series of mental barriers.

The instructor's sing-song voice played on within his mind.

"Disorientation is the first of many steps in the process. Drugs, sleep deprivation, locking you in total darkness…" The old man paced sedately, forwards, back, speaking to the room in a disassociated manner. "Torture is the least of your worries. It is what they will do to your comrades that will truly torment you."

"Chakotay." He gathered moisture and spat into Gaul's face. "USS Voyager. Starfleet Identification Number…"

Gaul's fist smashed into his cheek, loosening teeth and drawing blood. The salty taste of it filled his mouth and gave him new ammunition. He used it to decorate the Vaadwaur's angular face with glistening drops of scarlet.

Janeway's voice drifted through the drug-induced haze. "Daddy," she called.

She never talks about her father. For her to summon his spirit, means that the drugs are extremely potent.

"Not real…" The captain shook her head, staring past her interrogators at the viewscreen. "You aren't real."

Merin spun away in disgust. "Perhaps we should begin executing her precious crew one by one."

Fiery blades of panic and fury sliced through Chakotay's gut; he gritted his teeth, and was silent.

"First comes blackmail. Tell us or we will torture, kill, maim…" Admiral Singh waved an arm through the air. "The list is endless. "Tell us or else." He paused, and his eyes became haunted by unseen phantoms. "Only they mean those words. And you will have a sad choice to make."

"So we have become barbarians now?" The physician moved to Janeway's side and checked her condition with a strange sort of scanner.

"We need those codes," Gaul replied, and turned his attention back to Chakotay. His face and tunic had been wiped clean. "I will kill your captain. Make no mistake."

"Or…my personal favorite…" Singh had laughed without humor, a dry, rattling sound that reminded Chakotay of rustling leaves. "Bribery. If you tell us what we want, we'll give you, your crew, your friend, whoever, medical treatment, a shower, a tachyon particle beam… All lies. All of it."

There was a roaring in his ears. The world around him spun in a perverse carousel of motion. Lights flickered in multicolored bursts that danced in a carnival of fantasy. Chakotay heard music, like an organ or calliope, only twisted into discord.

It is only another type of vision quest, he told himself. You have learned from childhood how to ride the altered states of your mind.

He began the ritual…

A coo chee moya. I am far from the sacred places of my grandfathers. I am far from the bones of my people, but I ask on this day of uncertainty for the spirits of my ancestors to guard me and mine from harm.

His totem-cat returned. Stealthily it moved, past the unseeing Vaadwaur guards, through the winking scarlet glow. The Jaguar sat on its haunches near his chair and growled a song of malice.

The captain's head turned toward him and their eyes met. Grey layers of drug induced fog parted for but an instant. "Hold on," she told him. Then the moment was past and he felt his thoughts unhinge and fly to pieces.

*******************
The auric beams from phasers lit up the corridor like flashes of artificial lightning. They were answered by green jets of blaster fire. Rayna ignored it all. They'd been bogged down on Deck 6, Section 12 for several minutes. The Vaadwaur boarding party from Deck 5 had apparently moved downward. Whether their vessels had detected the rescue team's movement or this was all just an accidental meeting, she could not say. But it was wasting time.

Bonneville and his security team were gamely laying down suppressive fire with their compression rifles. So far it was all they could effectively do. It took too many shots to truly damage the heavy armor.

"Fuck." Torres dropped her filament probe.

Rayna picked it up, and handed it to her. They were both hunkered behind the firing line, dismantling two hand phasers. The underpowered units had proven to be less than useless…so they were being repurposed into grenades. She and Torres had begun the process a few seconds ago. It was painstaking work. Phasers were an unforgiving lot when it came to messing with their innards. Precision and patience were the best tools. Unfortunately, Rayna's runaway thoughts interfered. She wanted to be on the Bridge. Now.

Concentrate.

The instructions were buried in her unconscious, but her hands remembered. They had performed this task several thousand times in training.

First, deactivate the prefire control assembly by severing the neutrillium monofilament between its two central nodes.

That was far easier said than done. 'fleet scientists had designed these weapons to discourage tampering.

Seven of Nine had apparently been quite productive. She'd managed to fabricate an interface between her sensors in Astrometrics and Sickbay. Detailed information on the Bridge crew's condition had been gathered, none of it good.

The Doctor said that Tuvok's condition was deteriorating; plasma burns had damaged his lungs, and he was experiencing respiratory distress.

Set the beam control assembly to manual override.

Janeway was in shock from the combination of her injuries and the large amounts of drugs flooding her system. Her brain activity had become erratic. The situation was already dire; it bordered on lethal.

She replaced the outer casing. Torres had done the same. Their eyes met and Rayna saw grim determination reflected in the other woman's gaze. She nodded. Both of them set the beam intensity to maximum and held down the control button.

The whine began. According to the textbook, it was a "conductive acoustic effect," which exponentially increased in volume and pitch. There were exactly thirty seconds from the moment it started to the moment of detonation.

Twenty-five seconds…

Twenty…

Ten…

"Fire in the hole," Rayna announced, the usual warning for such things. Who knew why anymore?

Bonneville and his team pulled back and retreated down the hallway at a run. She and Torres darted forward, staying low and tossed their presents down the corridor to the waiting Vaadwaur. They scrambled backward immediately and threw themselves to the deck.

The world erupted in an argent flare which was blinding even through Rayna's closed lids. Thunder rolled in a deafening echo.

Like a storm at sea…

Though Rayna had not often been in all-out combat, the metaphor seemed appropriate. Everything, battle included, had a rhythm all its own.

She opened her eyes in time to see Bonneville roll to his knees, his feet, then jog back to the intersection. He stuck his head around the corner cautiously. "All clear," he confirmed, then whistled in sardonic appreciation. "Fire suppression subroutines are still working, but boy is Engineering going to have a mess to clean up."

"We always do," quipped Lessing. The dark-skinned man rose, glancing at Rayna with not a little humor. "You security types are only good for blowing things up."

Rayna clambered upright. She flashed her teammate a brief grin, but did not feel the least bit happy. Worry was not an emotion to which she was accustomed. On Romulus, in another life, she had felt it before. Tuvok had been sick with the fever of Pon Far. He was irrational, out of control. Being with him had been a desperate act, and one which had touched her deeply. It was the first, and last time she had been intimate with someone. The remainder of her liaisons had merely been sex.

Now her friend was in danger, and fear for him was devouring her calm. Worse, was the creeping sense of dread which leeched into her hearts at the thought of Kathryn's torment. There was this…desire…this overwhelming desire to warp time and space so that she could be there to make the horror stop.

Madness, Ray-Ray.

Too true, and it was a dangerous madness, clouding her mental acuity with emotional distractions.

It was the last thing she needed, especially given the riotous passions being transmitted by her current companions. Tension, fear, and anger made the atmosphere thick enough to chew. Everyone had a hair trigger, herself included.

After casting a last glance toward Bonneville and seeing his thumb's up, Rayna turned to collect the wounded, and found Gerron standing there.

Speaking of dangerous madness… The boy had been behind her every step of the way. If she stopped too quickly, his head would no doubt slip into her nethers.

Which might be quite pleasurable if he can hold his breath long enough.

Unlikely. Bajorans had no more stamina in that department than did humans.

You do know him.

Another line of thought she had neither the leave, nor the inclination, to follow…

She reached Ensign Dalby. The former Maquis' face was bathed in sweat and his breathing was shallow. He'd taken a blaster shot in the gut two decks ago. They'd given him something for pain and tried to stabilize him, but there was little they could do. Without medical treatment, he would die.

Fortunately, Torres and the Doctor had proven remarkably resourceful. Holodeck 2 was running a mass casualty response simulation, courtesy of the lieutenant's quick thinking, and the EMH had transferred himself there. From comm traffic, several injured crewmembers had already arrived. Thoron generators were being used to hide from scanners, and the Jefferies tubes had become a veritable underworld of illicit travel.

Dalby glared up at her through bleary brown eyes. "Why does it have to be you who helps me?" he grouched.

Rayna found herself remarkably tolerant of the cantankerous ensign. It took courage and character to insult someone to their face…or at least showed lack of taste and/or common sense. No matter. His agenda was not hidden.

"Come along, sweetness." Rayna needled him as she and Gerron lifted the man up. Each threw one of Dalby's arms over their shoulders. "One so charming as you must be saved."

"Fuck you, Spook." His voice was thick with pain and painkillers.

"I don't take advantage of the less sexually mature," she purred.

Reconnaissance intel from other decks was being fed, spoonful by spoonful, to Torres. Voyager's crew were improvising resistance efforts. They were outgunned, and so took the fight to a less direct level. Hatchways were being sealed and forcefields erected wherever possible, anything to cause delays or inconvenience to the Vaadwaur. Some truly spiteful soul on Deck 5 had inverted the disposal sequences on the latrines, causing a slippery, aromatic mess that played havoc with traction. Armored soldiers were sliding about in a small river of filth.

I would love to meet the one who thought up that gem.

Past the intersection, the corridor became a ruined tunnel of charred metal and Vaadwaur body parts. Their blood ran black as midnight upon the carpet, and mixed with soot to soil the pristine silver walls with ebony droplets. All were dead. Rayna forbore the urge to smile, but felt more than satisfied with the level of carnage. Her only regret was that it had been over so quickly. Death was more mercy than they deserved.

A gesture from Torres caused them all to flatten back against the bulkhead. Their reluctant leader proceeded forward at a crouch. Bonneville followed, rifle at the ready. Tension stretched nerves to a snapping point for interminable seconds, then…

"Harry?" Torres' hushed call was echoed though a nearby commbadge.

"Yeah." The Asian's voice was both joyful and relieved. "We've set up check points the intersections nearest to the holodeck entrance. "I take it the explosion was your doing."

Torres waved them all forward. Lessing and Gerron breathed out long sighs of air. Rayna and company followed. Two more security officers secured the rear as they moved.

Scant minutes later, they were surrounded by illusory medical staff. A moving ocean of green, black, and white swept past lines of biobeds in an unending tide. Two nurses were conducting triage at the hatchway. They scanned Dalby and immediately had him moved to a biobed. Rayna's last sight was of the ensign being carted away on a gurney.

The familiar nausea overtook her senses, but she ignored it. Holo-sickness was the least of her worries.

"Miss Rayna!"

She turned toward the sound to find Naomi Wildman running toward her, Neelix close behind. The waif slammed into her like a pillow tossed from a catapult and wrapped two wiry arms around her waist. Rayna's empathic senses were submerged beneath a pool of welcoming relief. For a handful of heartbeats, she could only stare mutely at the top of Naomi's blonde head.

What in Sul's name do you do with this?

Finally, Rayna managed to pat the child's shoulder.

Neelix grinned at her widely. He, too, was a geyser of happiness. "It is good to see you. I've grown accustomed to having an assistant in the Mess Hall."

"Merris!" Torres called for her attention.

Rayna extricated herself from Naomi's grasp, giving her one last pat, and moved over to a small knot of uniforms gathered around the holodeck's control console.

Bundles of wire, spliced in multiple places ran across the floor. Three or four computer terminals had been pieced together in a makeshift command display. On it was a miniscule schematic of the Bridge. Seven of Nine indicated eight scarlet blobs of light. Her normally perfect bun of hair was loose and strands of it fanned outward in random directions. "Ensign Kim and I have managed to divert a portion of the Astrometrics sensors to this display. These," she indicated the red dots, "are armored guards. They are posted as follows: one on either side of the turbolift doors, three are flanking the port side of the main Bridge, and three are flanking starboard." One metal tipped finger indicated three smaller dots, also in red. "The remaining Vaadwaur are not wearing battle armor. The Captain's Ready Room is sealed from the inside." Though her expression and tone remained as mechanical as ever, Rayna detected a look in those arctic blue eyes which reminded her of a photon torpedo the moment it locked on target.

"That follows," Torres agreed. "The Ready Room holds Captain Janeway's computer; it would be protected under the security lock out. They'll have to either blow the door or cut their way inside."

Seven nodded. "The Briefing Room is currently vacant, but the Vaadwaur have access to it."

Ensign Kim moved forward. "The captain and Chakotay are positioned in their command chairs. Tom is here," he indicated a point near the Ops console, "and Commander Tuvok is here, by Tactical." Deft movements of his fingers on the touch screen caused the view the shift. "These are the Jefferies tubes accessing Deck 1." He highlighted the shafts in yellow, then returned the display to the Bridge. "They all intersect in a small cargo hold, here," a rectangular section of the ship flickered green, "next to the turbolift and abaft the Bridge module." The display zoomed in. "From there, three secondary shafts run: one to the Briefing Room, one to the Captain's Ready Room, and the last to a hatch by the Engineering Console."

Rayna digested the information carefully, only half listening when Torres showed where they could cut power to the gravity generator. Her impatience was growing. The Vaadwaur might begin executing the Bridge crew as a means of blackmailing Kathryn. When it did no good, they would escalate the torture.

You might lose them both e'er this is over.

Of all things she despised, having personal feelings interfere with business was the worst. Nothing good ever came from caring. Pain was the inevitable consequence.

The Doctor joined them briefly. "We need to counteract the drugs that have been used on the captain and Commander Chakotay, then stabilize their injuries. Unfortunately, I can't accompany you. There are too many wounded." His artificial voice was laced with genuine regret. "When we encountered the Vaadwaur previously, we were able to download a considerable amount of data on their civilization, including detailed medical files. I've uploaded everything onto this tricorder and preloaded this hypospray with different neutralizing compounds." He extended both devices. "Run a bioscan, then use the tricorder to program the proper combination of chemicals in the antidote."

Ingenious. Rayna's admiration for the Doctor's skills increased.

"Good work, Doctor." Torres accepted the two devices.

His lips compressed into a thin line. "Be careful," he glanced about the group, "all of you." Then the holoman departed.

Torres delegated Lessing and Gerron to replenish the medkits before continuing, "We'll field two groups of five. Bonneville, take half your squad to the Captain's Ready Room. You should be able to override the seal from the inside. Seven, Merris , myself, and two others will enter the Bridge proper via the J-tube. Each team grabs the prisoners closest to their position and bugs out. Nothing fancy. Merris?" Dark, serious eyes slid to meet Rayna's. "Suggestions? You're the closest thing we have to Special Ops."

Now that is truly frightening.

Rayna kept the comment to herself. It would hardly inspire confidence. Far be it from her to point out the galactic difference between being a spy and being a commando. "A distraction would be beneficial," she offered, brow furrowed in concentration. "If we modified a few hand phasers so that they emitted a brief pulse of high-intensity light, it might overload the targeting scopes of our opponents, and it would certainly blind those not shielded by plate mail." She used the antiquated human term deliberately. It sounded far less intimidating to be going up against obsolete technology, than to be taking light weapons into a heavy infantry engagement.

"That's doable," Torres confirmed. "If we bypass the energy sequencers but overload beam control, it should put out about 2.2 million candlepower for half a second or so."

"They should be deployed before full breach is made," Rayna added. "That would mean opening the maintenance hatch on the Bridge first, and dispersing one or two, then killing the gravity and making entry. And you can't go." She nodded in Torres' direction. "You're the Officer in Charge, now."

Fury once more darkened the half-Klingon's eyes and seeped over her features. The string of curses which followed would have made the sagest Klingon proud.

Before anyone else could interject, Rayna continued. "Now that Dalby is down, Kim is your second-in-command. He can't go either."

Seven of Nine shouldered her way forward. "I will lead the rescue party," she volunteered.

Torres looked none too happy, but reluctantly agreed.

"I'll take the ensign's place." Crewman Gerron Jin raised his hand.

Rayna almost groaned in frustration. It was a near thing. Just when she was looking forward to a few minutes without her corporeal shadow, the Bajoran whelp found a way to stick around.

Despite the unwanted company, her mood was brighter. A little payback did wonders for morale. Perhaps she would find a way to off the three armorless Vaadwaur in the thick of things. There would be no time to pay any of them special attention. She hoped that would change before their race was driven to extinction.

There is no room for emotion in business.

It stopped being business when they hurt my friends. Now it is vengeance.

************************
Janeway heard screaming. She was aware of pain, the searing agony that crisscrossed her back setting nerve endings ablaze, the stiletto of torment that pierced her shoulder, and a throbbing ache that radiated down the right side of her head.

"The codes." Voices yelled at her, demanding answers she could not, would not give. Each refusal had a price, and the cost was counted in pain.

Metallic claws clamped onto her wounded shoulder. They squeezed and she realized that the person shrieking in agony was she. The pressure eased. She collapsed into the chair, her head lolling forward. Try as she might, she could not lift it.

"The codes."

Someone grabbed her hair from behind and jerked her head up.

Where was she?

The world around her swirled in and out of focus. Colored lights dappled across her awareness like will o' the wisps.

There were faces amid the shifting backdrop. She knew them. Gaul and his cohort, Merin…enemies….

Tell them nothing.

Where was her crew? Janeway tried to look about, but could not. The grip on her hair was too firm. She had seen Chakotay before. Was he all right? Though she wanted to call for him, her jaw would not obey. It felt heated and swollen.

"Where…" Her voice came out in a hoarse croak. "The crew…" Movement was impossible, though she tried, in vain, to rise. Metal bands around her wrists cut into the skin and veins. Her fingers were numb and useless.

"Give me the access codes, Captain. We will release your crew unharmed if you cooperate."

Her eyes tried to identify the speaker, but he was only a blur.

Lies.

"Janeway," she wheezed through the cotton of her throat. "Kathryn…" and bit back a wail when sharp metal tore at the wound in her shoulder. Blood flowed in a trickle down her arm, a wet, warm sensation that was almost pleasant.

The shadows occluding her vision shifted.

There was Chakotay. Her first officer was tied to the helmsman's seat. He was bleeding from the nose. Scarlet fluid streamed over his chin to drip on the carpeted deck. Each liquid sphere fell in slow motion as if time, itself, stood still.

They gave you something.

Part of her mind still functioned. It was sequestered to one side, commenting lucidly as if this whole affair were some sort of macabre sideshow.

Likely it was a hallucinogen combined with a mild sedative. It will affect perception and judgment.

Fragments of bygone lessons in interrogation techniques replayed with uncanny clarity.

Her eyesight temporarily cleared.

Chakotay's tunic was torn away. It hung in strips from his waist, exposing huge, purplish bruises. One of the Vaadwaur punched him in the side, hard. She could see her friend's face blanch bone-white and heard him moan.

"No." Janeway railed against the hand clutching her hair and tried, unsuccessfully, to free her wrists. She had to protect him, had to save him. "Stop." The words were empty and worthless.

"Tell us what we want to know, and we'll give him medical attention."

Never.

Her mind regurgitated the litany of name, rank and ID number, and was rewarded with more pain, blinding in its intensity.

"Not much longer, my bird." Her father's voice…. She'd heard it earlier, an ethereal whisper amid the harsh demands of her captors. Edward Janeway stood before her clad in full dress-uniform, chest crowded with medals. Warm, grey eyes locked onto hers and were filled with love.

Not real.

The part of her conditioned to command reported its observations in a sing-song monotone of dispassion. Hallucinations were normal when under the influence of drugs. Nothing could be trusted. No one was what they appeared. Then she smelled it…the spicy-sweet aroma of her father's cologne.

A short hiss at her neck heralded more fractures in her awareness. Voyager's lights began to swirl about as if fevered. They gained shimmering halos, which expanded and contracted in tandem with the trip hammer beating of her heart.

Daddy?

"I'm still here."

He was kneeling beside her. Janeway saw him clear as if she were once more on Earth.

"The codes." Hard flesh impacted her face and teeth loosened. Coppery blood filled her mouth.

Cruel hands pushed her violently back, sending her back into spasms of torment. Was that her crying out or Chakotay? Janeway didn't know anymore. Only her name and rank were real, but she did not recite them. The pain would come whether she spoke or not.

More demands. More threats. The Vaadwaur grew horns and flame spouted from their nostrils.

Another illusion. Pay it no heed.

Her pulse was erratic. She could feel it, could feel the pressure of her heart as it battered her chest. It was hard to breathe; the air in her lungs moved more like sludge.

I'm so tired…

All she wanted to do was sleep…

It would be so easy to slip away…

But her ship…her crew…

"You do not let go, Captain." It was the Admiral. He looked so stern. "Do you hear me?" Suddenly his face was all she could see; his voice all she could hear. It rumbled in her ears, echoing without end. "You hold on to life." His head snapped upward and tilted, as if listening. "And while you're at it," a crooked half-smile formed, "you might want to hold on to the chair as well."

Impossible though it was, she could feel his fingers guide her hands into gap between the chair's back cushion and its seat. Janeway dug in instinctively. In an instant the world erupted went nova. Radiant incandescence burned past her clenched eyelids to set her mind on fire.

Then she was weightless. Janeway strained to keep her grip. Her legs drifted upward. All around, the Vaadwaur were floating languidly toward the ceiling. It would have been funny if she didn't hurt so badly.

Heavy, clanking footsteps warned of a soldiers approach. Blonde hair and glacial blue eyes filled Janeway's perception.

Seven.

No. More lies. Do not trust your senses. That section of her mind which still functioned issued its warning.

"Captain." She knew that voice, or thought she did. Then a metal clad hand reached toward her shoulder.

Another trick.

She kicked out, striking the enemy in the thigh. The move caused her to lose her grip on the chair cushion and she was airborne.

More voices, none of them real; none of them trustworthy. "No," Janeway protested as hands tried to pull at her. She lashed out with both feet, thudding them into something solid; the impact sent Janeway spinning through the air to collide with one of the armor-clad Vaadwaur. His gleaming claws reached for her and she twisted away, hard enough to tear open the wound on her shoulder. Pain gave her clarity of purpose. They would not take her quietly.

************************
Rayna followed Seven across the bridge at a dead run. The duct by the engineering station put their group closest to Chakotay and Janeway. When they moved into position, Seven had claimed the captain, leaving no room for argument.

That left the first officer for her.

Time stalled as if caught in the obdurate grasp of a black hole. Her eyes swept the scene, taking in the lazily floating Vaadwaur as they drifted toward the overhead, lingering a fraction too long on Kathryn, then noting positions of the three warriors without armor.

There he is.

Bound and apparently unconscious, Commander Chakotay sailed on the air currents just above the helm. His uniform was ripped to shreds.

Tear the clothes off a man to a make him feel powerless. Make a woman strip off her own to degrade her.

Grim lessons in interrogation techniques excreted from the bowels of her memory.

Rayna veered toward him. Little droplets impacted her face.

Blood.

The crimson fluid liberally coated Chakotay's face, staining his chest and the remnants of his t-shirt. Pain coated the air with its caustic signature. Its boon companions fear, desperation, and anger struck her senses head on and buried her alive beneath an avalanche of chemicals. Even so, she registered that some of the blood belonged to Kathryn, and more faintly, some to Tuvok. All of it caused her emotions to ice over with a frigid kind of rage.

Keep moving.

The gravity boots beat out a hollow rhythm on the carpet and sounded like some angry child banging the floor with a hammer. It was distracting. She was accustomed her movements being silent.

Something heavy collided with Rayna's back just as she reached up toward Chakotay. They sent her stumbling forward to crash into the conn. There was a sharp cracking sound from her side, and a brief pulse of pain. It dissipated immediately, drowned in a flash flood of endorphins.

Rayna recovered, ducked beneath the flailing arms of a floating soldier and turned to confront her attacker.

It was Janeway.

The captain was fighting against Seven of Nine as if the Borg were the very emissary of the Underworld. Rayna's eyes took in her friend's bruised face, swollen jaw and bleeding shoulder.

They beat her.

She struggled against the besetting urge to abandon her mission. The need to comfort Kathryn and simultaneously kill her assailants caused Rayna to hesitate.

Seven attempted once more to take hold of the captain, and was met with a whimpered protest and kicking feet.

Failsafe.

The term flashed in neon across Rayna's memory. Capture by hostile cultures was always a danger. Starfleet devoted countless training hours to prepare its command staff for that eventuality. Failsafe was the penultimate of that program. It marshaled every shred of willpower and channeled it into resisting. Kathryn no longer trusted her senses. Only a recognition code would snap her out of it.

Blaster fire erupted, dispelling the surrealistic instant of calm. Bursts of emerald fire struck the deck, sent a console into a sparking fit, and etched jagged black burns on the bulkheads. It was likely panic fire. Even for seasoned troops, Zero G was supremely disorienting. They had no real target at which to aim, but the random shots could be just as deadly, and there was no way to predict their direction.

We don't have time for this.

They couldn't fight both the captain and the Vaadwaur. Lacking an alternative, Rayna moved to assist Seven. She grasped Janeway's uninjured shoulder, and ignoring the unsettling pang of guilt that burned in her belly, and squeezed hard on the trapezius nerve bundle. Kathryn went completely limp.

"Go," she shouted to a shocked looking Borg, and turned back to her original target.

She reached Chakotay and snagged him by an ankle. At least she didn't have to try and carry the man. He was half again her weight. Rayna dragged him through the air as she ran back to the maintenance tube.

Fire lanced across her thigh. From the intense burn, it was very likely from blaster fire. More hormones poured into her system, relieving the pain. Her eyes sought the source, and found one of the unarmored Vaadwaur pointing a pistol at her.

Oh look. It wants to play.

Before she could even draw her phaser, a stream of golden light blazed past her and struck the Vaadwaur center mass. He transformed into a white hot silhouette and vanished.

Twisting her head back around, Rayna saw the taut face of Crewman Gerron squinting over a compression rifle.

Figures.

Fortune never smiled on her when she wanted to avoid someone.

Seven had already pushed Janeway through the opening and crawled inside. Rayna did likewise with Chakotay, then tapped her youthful guardian on his shoulder. Gerron followed her inside and secured the hatch.

There was no time for first aid. They crawled down the tube with their weightless charges. Rayna cringed inwardly at the blistered flesh peeking through the scorched holes in Janeway's uniform. The burns were inflamed and oozing. Bruises and blood marred the woman's noble features.

Kathryn was still unconscious, but that wouldn't last long; when she awoke her training would reassert itself, and she would continue to fight.

They beat her.

The thought would not leave her alone. It teased her from the edges of her reason.

Outrage flared but briefly and then seeped away leaving only a chill vacuum in its wake. Rayna savored the quiet. Her mind had become so clear, so honed in its purpose that she was almost giddy. The Vaadwaur had incurred a debt that could never really be paid, but it would be more than entertaining to attempt collection.

To her eye, Chakotay was in no better condition. One of his legs kept twisting at an odd angle and was probably broken. His face, like Kathryn's, was swollen and bloody.

They were nearing the cargo hold. A team of crewmen were waiting there with gurneys and medkits. Once they'd all rendezvoused, Engineering would restore gravity.

Which will allow the Vaadwaur to follow…

An hour glass turned over in Rayna's mind and measured seconds in bone dust, not sand. Lessing, Bonneville and the others soon arrived. Everyone was accounted for, and all prisoners had been retrieved. Within minutes the injured were positioned over the mobile cushions. Their magnetic cuffs were deactivated and removed.

Rayna keyed the communicator in her head and made contact with Torres. "We have reached the rendezvous point."

"Acknowledged." The lieutenant's voice held a note of triumph and relief. "Well done, all of you."

The familiar weight of her body returned immediately, sending the floating restraints clanging to the deck. Rayna removed the clunky boots. Her thigh wanted to protest, but was outvoted by her endorphins, a state of affairs she was content to leave as is.

One by one, the rescued officers were secured to gurneys. She moved to Tuvok's side and gently caressed her fingers over his brow. The skin of his face was raw and occluded by peeling flesh and blisters. Each shallow breath wheezed and rattled its way through moisture.

I cannot lose you, old friend. That thought stabbed through her stomach.

Lessing administered a hypospray as she watched, and her friend's breathing eased.

"No." Janeway's desperate protest pulled Rayna to her. The woman had regained consciousness, and once more was fighting off perceived attackers. This time she had both her arms free. Several staff struggled to hold her down. They wanted her to lie on her side, to protect her injured back, but Janeway's desperation gave her strength. Four people, including the Borg tried to restrain the woman still enough for Lessing to program the hypospray of antidote. And they were losing the battle.

Seven attempted to calm her captain, but Janeway cringed away from her soothing touches. The Borg's brows wrinkled in confusion. "She does not recognize me."

"It's called failsafe mode." Rayna pushed past Lessing. "The 'fleet builds in safeguards in case of capture. You need to give a command level rescue code."

From the lights of understanding in the Borg's eyes, Rayna knew Seven was familiar with the term. Then the impassive features became deeply regretful. "None of the ones catalogued by the Collective are current."

Rayna bit back curse. It wasn't Seven's fault. Wolf 359 had occurred in 2367; any knowledge gained from assimilated captives would no longer be valid. Considering the eclectic mix of crew on this vessel, Tuvok was the only person guaranteed to know any of the recognition sequences.

And mine are nigh eight years old. Useless.

She could feel Kathryn's pain pouring through her skin, could sense the fear and absolute determination fueling the woman's struggles. It could not be ignored.

Give her another nerve pinch.

No.

In truth, she could not bear the thought of causing more pain. Rayna pressed her fingers against the captain's neck feeling the raging pulse point there. She leaned near, brushed her lips across the human's ear and whispered to her of rain. They were old words, learned as a child on her grandmother's knee. Promising cool respite from heated agony, they triggered deep hormonal changes in Rayna's body. Glands responded, secreting invisible messengers that seeped through her skin and "spoke" to Janeway. Pain retreated, vanished, but Rayna needed more than that. She needed Kathryn to know her.

You have only touched her like this once.

Once is enough. Her body should remember.

It was communication at its most primitive, more basic than any code. To Rayna's relief, her friend responded. Rigid bands of muscle yielded, and the captain's struggles eased.

"Butterflies." The susserant word was scarcely audible, and Rayna did not understand what it referenced. Nor did she care. It was enough that her friend no longer suffered.

She pulled back and the gray eyes gazing back at her were free from the veils of torment.

"It's all right now, Kathryn." Rayna sighed in response, caressing a finger down the woman's sweat-coated neck. "You're safe."

Lessing used the modified tricorder, then administered the hypospray of antidote. Almost immediately he pulled out a second 'spray, likely corophizine. The powerful antibiotic would eliminate the possibility of infection.

Janeway didn't flinch. "Safe," she repeated softly, radiating trust that weakened Rayna's knees.

Sul make me worthy.

That thought caught her unawares. Not since childhood had she asked the sea goddess for favor. It never did any good. The Deep was a fickle wench, as lief to sink you as bear you up.

"I've got action." Crewman Bonneville was staring downward at a tricorder. "Twelve Vaadwaur signatures just entered the J-Tube in the Briefing Room."

Seven got them all moving. The gurneys would make the Jefferies tubes with difficulty, but they would make it.

We will be too slow to outrun the Vaadwaur.

That was a distinct possibility. Rayna motioned to Lessing to give her the medkit. Relieving pain had its price. Between the stitch in her side that warned of a broken rib, her wounded leg, and the supremely stupid move of helping Janeway, her body would soon require recuperation. She could ill afford to fight off slumber in the middle of a battle.

She selected two ampoules of Cordrazine, loaded one in a hypospray and tucked it, and the second vial, in her waistband. The powerful stimulant would forestall her descent into coma-like recovery…at least for awhile.

You'll be out for six hours behind taking that shit.

It seemed her mind had an endless supply of irrelevant information with which to clutter her synapses. A coma later was infinitely preferable to a coma now.

Lowering the stretchers down the ladder to Deck 2 proved to be an arduous, and time consuming process.

"Seven. Report," Janeway's weak, but steady alto queried. It seemed the captain was beginning to stir. Rayna handed the woman down to Seven and let the Borg deal. The two passed quickly beyond her range of hearing.

You definitely should have nerve pinched her. No doubt the noble idiot would soon be trying to move on her own power.

She guided Chakotay through the open hatchway, then Tuvok. Her old friend seemed better; his dark face held a more natural color.

Knots of tension eased in her spine, and Rayna dared to hope that he would recover.

The last gurney slid downward. Lieutenant Paris had not so much as grunted during the entire process. She spotted a tiny trickle of dried blood in one of his ears. In humans that was a bad sign. Some nameless shipmate monitored the pilot's condition, staring gravely at the display on a medical tricorder.

"They've reached the cargo hold." Bonneville glanced up at her. He and Gerron had lingered behind to assist with the wounded. "We're not going to make it at this speed."

A not unexpected, but unfortunate development. They would need to delay the Vaadwaur.

"Use your phaser to weld the hatch shut." Rayna suggested. That would slow the pursuit. She contacted Seven and relayed the plan.

"Understood." The Borg would have climbed back up, but Rayna waved her to continue on. She did the same with Gerron, but the Bajoran man ignored her.

Bonneville adjusted the beam on a hand phaser and drew the golden light down the hatch's edge. Metal fused and hardened. "Did I ever thank you for saving my life?" he asked while he worked.

"No, and I was rather hoping you would spare us both the awkwardness of the moment," Rayna rejoined.

He laughed and sent her a friendly glance. "And here I figured you for one of those simpering, sentimental types, you know…like all spies." Dimples emerged on his cheeks as a tight-lipped grin formed.

Camaraderie. Rayna recognized the sensation. She hadn't felt it for a very long time, and it disturbed her to the core. Most of her career had been spent on solo-assignments. The care of others was a heavy burden and she preferred to travel light.

I have to get off this ship.

Becoming enmeshed in the shining chains of teamwork and fellow-feeling was a trap she could ill afford. Caring clouded judgment and instinct.

Bonneville finished up and they took off after the others, sliding down the ladder, feet to the outside, then crawling into the next horizontal run. Gerron kept his watchful black gaze on Rayna as if she would disappear into thin air, and she ardently wished she could.

Distant clanking confirmed that the Vaadwaur had reached the hatch. She smiled. Just setting up impediments was extremely satisfying. Spite very often didn't require much effort.

************************
Janeway's mind cleared incrementally. She made Seven stop long enough so that she could modify the command lock out, still restricting the Vaadwaur, but allowing 'fleet personnel access. Someone took advantage of the momentary pause and ran an osteogenic stimulator over her jaw. Knitting bone tingled, and the swelling decreased.

They had exited the Jefferies tubes minutes ago to avoid a ruptured plasma distributor. The corridor was empty and silent, but they moved through it at a jog.

Twisting her head, she saw Seven of Nine in the lead. Seconds later they paused at a new maintenance hatch. A crewman tried to open it. He failed. Two others joined him.

"Where are we?" she asked, gingerly sitting upright. Itching from her back told her that the burns had been covered with synthetic skin. There was a cloth sling securing her right arm. The blaster wound would require surgery.

No time for that.

"Deck 3." A young black man ran a medical tricorder over her. He looked up from the screen as the other two gurneys pulled along side. "Welcome back, Captain."

It was Lessing. His terrified features had become branded on her conscience. Confronting him and the raw patches of her guilt was the last thing she wanted to do. Surprisingly, however, there was no reproach in his manner. Janeway took note of the scrapes and mild contusions that dotted his face. His uniform was a little worse for wear, too.

"Are you all right?" She hoped her voice was confident.

"Fine, ma'am." He put the tricorder away.

"Good." Janeway hopped down, keeping her one good hand on the gurney…just in case her legs were uncooperative. She walked unsteadily to each stretcher and briefly touched the injured officers. Concern competed with absolute fury for dominance in her psyche. "How are they?"

Lessing answered, "They're stable. We have a hospital set up in Holodeck 2."

That was smart. Very smart.

"It's jammed." One of the crewmen at the Jefferies tube hatchway pronounced. He aimed a tricorder at it. "More plasma leakage. Fire must have fragged the controls before suppression measures kicked in. I'll try to override them."

Janeway's lethargic thought processes could not produce the man's name. Higgins, maybe?

The stately form of Seven stepped back into view. She carried a phase compression rifle that bristled with strange looking diodes. "Lieutenant Torres has transferred all Bridge functions to Engineering."

Janeway nodded. "Damage report?"

"Starboard thrusters have been restored. Impulse and warp engines are still non-functional." The taller woman's impassive countenance shifted just enough to express disapproval that Janeway was standing. "We have detected new breaches on Decks 15, 10 and 8. Fifty additional Vaadwaur troops have boarded."

"Heavy infantry?" Janeway could already guess the answer.

"Yes."

Damn it.

"What about transporters?"

"They are still offline."

Light footfalls announced the arrival of Crewmen Merris, Bonneville and Gerron. The three all bore the tell-tale badges of combat: cuts, bumps, and streaks of grime. Janeway's eyes lingered on Rayna unbidden, taking in the singed hole in her uniform pants and the charred flesh beneath. Her new friend held an elbow pressed close to her left side, in a protective manner.

She's hurt.

When Janeway looked up, it was to find the bald woman with one white brow cocked upward and pale glimmers of amusement decorating her eyes…which immediately roved to Janeway's injured shoulder and back as if daring her to speak.

That battle will have to wait, Katie.

"You should not be standing," Seven declared. The taller woman glared down at Janeway. "You have been shot and the wound requires treatment."

"I'm fine." It was almost true. From the corner of her eyes, Janeway saw Crewman Merris begin a snap inspection of her fingernails, an action which did not quite conceal the evil smile that had crossed her elfin features.

Let's take a page from Rayna's book on conversation and change the subject. She glanced down at the rifle in Seven's hands. "Modified with Borg technology, I take it."

"Yes. The Vaadwaur' tactical exoskeletons proved resistant to both type two and type three phasers. Compression rifles were only moderately effective."

Nothing like a little Borg adaptation…

Janeway quickly assessed the tactical situation. Her thoughts were finally flowing in some modicum of order. First priority was obtaining medical care for the wounded. Then she had to get to Engineering. If the Vaadwaur wanted a war this badly, it was time to give them one. "Are the turbolifts operational and secure?"

Her question sent half the rescue team reaching for their tricorders. Within seconds several heads were nodding, but it was Seven who answered. "The shaft is clear to Deck 8, where it appears that the Vaadwaur have broken through the doors. All but two of the lifts are functional."

"Fine." Janeway commandeered a hand phaser and gestured down hallway. "We'll take the turbolift from here." That would be a faster method of travel…now that the lock was lifted.

There was a muffled explosion from down the corridor.

"The Vaadwaur have blown open the hatch to J-Tube 1B." Bonneville squinted down at his tricorder. "I figure we have about twenty seconds before they reach this location"

Everyone was immediately in motion. The fast pace made Janeway lightheaded, and the world around her started a slow, starboard list. She gritted her teeth. Weakness was unacceptable. Someone slipped an arm around her waist and hoisted Janeway's good arm over their shoulders.

Rayna.

She knew it before cutting her eyes to look. How was another question entirely....

Apparently the same way you knew it was her before, when she called you back to reality.

How she had accomplished that feat was yet another mystery.

The run seemed to last forever, though Janeway knew from experience that time did odd things during high stress.

There it is.

Seven reached the 'lift first and keyed it. The doors opened with merciful swiftness.

"Get the wounded in first," Janeway ordered, still leaning on Rayna. Her vision swam in and out of focus.

Pull yourself together. It was a command easier given than obeyed.

Gurneys were crammed inside with their attendants sandwiched between. Janeway could swear that some of the crew were holding their breaths to make additional room.

At her nod, Crewman Lessing called for Deck 6, and the doors started to shut.

Which was when Merris shoved her inside without so much as a "by-your-leave".

Janeway's shoulder complained loudly at the violent maneuver. She slammed into Lessing's chest good-arm first. His arms surrounded her waist feeling both extremely powerful and yet gently protective, all at once. Even more miraculous was that he somehow avoided the burns on her back.

"Son of a bitch!" Janeway cursed aloud, something she never did in front of subordinates. "Who are we missing?"

Lessing eased her upright, but kept a steadying hand on her elbow. "Seven of Nine, Bonneville, Gerron, and Merris." His voice and expression were absolutely neutral.

Anything else would have moved Janeway to apoplexy. She was damn well sick and tired of being managed.

The 'lift doors opened to a 'fleet security detail bristling with weapons. Harry Kim had a bandolier slung across his chest that contained extra power packs and additional hand phasers. Like Seven's his rifle was liberally sprinkled with extra wires and flickering lights. Dots of soot bedecked his rounded face. Equally black hair fell in disarray over his forehead. "Captain," he greeted and motioned for them to disembark.

"There's another group," she informed him tersely, stepping aside so the car could empty.

"Yes, ma'am. McCallister, Ryson, wait for it." Kim adjusted his grip on the compression rifle.

McCallister looked to be in his mid thirties. He had a nasty looking gash on his cheek that was caked with dried blood. At Kim's order, he pulled a tricorder and made adjustments.

Homing in on their commbadge signals.

Janeway's mind spewed out snippets of information with its usual speed. That was comforting. It meant that at least her cognitive ability was back to normal.

"Status." She wanted to linger, to wait for the remaining team members. Instead Janeway fell in step with her ensign.

Are you worried, or do you want to light into Merris?

That would be an added bonus.

"Sir?" McCallister's query cut Kim's reply short. "The group on Deck 3 is moving away from the turbolift. It looks like they're under fire."

He held out the tricorder for inspection, and there were at least a dozen red-coded enemy signatures converging on her crew.

The Vaadwaur came too close. They didn't want to lead them here.

It was a perfectly reasonable tactic. She would have done likewise under those circumstances, but the thought she might lose anyone else….

Anyone? This is Seven and Rayna you're talking about.

This could not become personal. If her emotions became engaged it would paralyze her.

"Let's go," Janeway ordered them all to make for the holodeck. The willpower it took to redirect her attention back to the strategic overview was disturbing in the extreme. Her heart was racing, fueled in its pell-mell rhythm by worry and fear. "Status," she prompted Harry once again. Facts and tactics were the only cure for this malaise overtaking her mind.

Security officers ringed the party. They moved in concert, the ones in front scanning forward for signs of trouble, the one's aft keeping track of their rear.

"We've erected Level 10 forcefields at all Jefferies Tube access points on this deck," Harry began a quick run through. "Armed officers are posted at the holodeck entrance, and a forcefield has been set up there as well. Torres has got repair teams dodging the Vaadwaur and fixing what they can. Plus, she's dispatched a squad to the Armory."

"Good." They would need the munitions. Now came the part she dreaded most. "Casualties?"

Kim glanced at her gravely. "Six confirmed dead, and over thirty wounded."

It was actually better than she'd expected, considering how sudden and well-coordinated the Vaadwaur attack had been. Even so, the deaths weighed heavily on her conscience.

She tore her thoughts free of that mire. "Whose idea was it to cut gravity?"

"Merris thought if it." Harry sent her a grim smile. "Unfortunately sensors indicate that the Vaadwaur have realigned the magnetic fields produced by the armor."

"You got the sensors back online without lifting the command lock?" Janeway was impressed.

Her admiration only increased when Harry replied, "No, Seven and I jury rigged a display console using the sensor arrays in Astrometrics. Main sensors are now accessible, though."

They passed a damaged section of corridor. Janeway's brows plunged down as she took in the carnage of broken armor and body parts. "What did this?"

"Phaser grenades." Kim used the colloquial term. "B'Elanna's team cleared a path to the hospital with them."

More 'fleet soldiers greeted them as they reached the holodeck. The mass casualty simulation was fully operational. Nurses and medtechs bustled about in a purposeful dance of healing. One of them waved a medical tricorder in her general direction and Janeway deactivated him without hesitation. Others swarmed around the stretchers.

Her chest loosened a bit now that Chakotay, Tuvok, and Paris were safe, and in a place where they would receive care. The Doctor was summoned and ordered all three immediately sent to surgery. Seeing him in action was also reassuring. Irritating the hologram might be, but he was an excellent physician.

"Captain!" Lieutenant Torres shouted a greeting as she jogged over. The woman's dark eyes roved toward Paris as he was carted off and her brow wrinkled in concern. "Is he going to be all right?" she asked a passing nurse.

"It's too early to say," the hologram replied, and continued on.

The not knowing is the hardest part. Janeway could empathize with Torres' plight. Tuvok was her oldest friend; Rayna was her newest. And Seven? Seven was, in so many ways, her wayward daughter, much like B'Elanna. Right now they were all in danger. "Report, Lieutenant," she prodded gently, yet again trying to dispel the feeling of dread that gathered in her abdomen.

Torres beckoned her to follow. It looked as though a corner had been reworked into a forward command post. Janeway spied a Master Situation Display and several smaller screens on either side of it. Red and green dots moved in random patterns across all of the images. Flashing sections of the ship warned of structural damage.

"We've got just over a hundred Vaadwaur on board, most of them in armor."

The news brought a frown to Janeway's face. Those were bad odds.

B'Elanna touched one of the consoles and a set of schematics was displayed. "We retrieved one of the helmets," she pointed to a singed hunk of metal sitting on a table just to port, "and got a more detailed scan of its targeting controls and body/exoskeleton interface. Harry and I have just begun analyzing the readouts." Her normally expressive features were concentrated. Tension hummed along her clenched jaw and tight shoulders.

"Is Engineering secure?" Janeway noticed more than twenty Vaadwaur signatures on that Deck.

Torres nodded. "The Vaadwaur have been trying to reach Engineering since they first boarded. There are forcefields every ten meters; Gilmore and Vorik rerouted several power couplings to reinforce them. So far two have been overloaded by blaster fire, but the rest are holding strong."

"Good." Janeway gave Torres' shoulder a reassuring pat. "Is there any sign that the Vaadwaur are aware we've transferred helm control?"

That at least made the half-Klingon smile a little. "No, ma'am. Harry hacked into their comm system. They've ramped up efforts to get to Engineering, but it seems to be a response to the forcefields."

That's something, at least.

One hundred troops…. Voyager still held strength in numbers, and had the advantage of fighting a defensive war. They knew the ship and had control of her systems.

The armor, Kathryn…we need to neutralize the armor.

Plasma charges would likely be effective, but they would do just as much damage to the surrounding structures.

If you're going to destroy the ship, just activate autodestruct and get it over with.

Her eyes began tracing over the helmet schematics. The technology was older; there had to be a way to defeat it. She followed the spider web of sensors that lined the helmet's inside surface. Neuro uplinks fed data to the Vaadwaur's central nervous system, and interfaced their brain's commands with the reactions of the suits. At the center was a central processing core. The circuitry was relatively primitive, but effective.

The answer is here. I know it.

Voyager's computer systems were shielded from every sort of threat from viruses to outside intrusion. They were hardy against radiation, electro-magnetic instability, and …

That's it.

"B'Elanna." Her sharp tone caused the other woman to snap her head up. "I'm not seeing EMP shielding."

The Chief Engineer's fingers flew over the console at warp speed. Suddenly her face became triumphant. "There isn't any." She smacked her commbadge. "Vorik, Gilmore. I need you to oscillate the resonance frequency of the Plasma System power taps so that they emit a broadband, high-intensity burst."

"You wish to generate a non-nuclear electromagnetic pulse?" Vorik's Vulcan equanimity was very much intact.

"Exactly," Torres verified. "About 200 nanoseconds should do it. Voyager's systems are shielded from the Compton recoil electrons and photons, but the Vaadwaur armor isn't."

"Understood. It will take approximately three minutes to realign the power taps. Any personnel in the immediate vicinity of a ruptured plasma relay will be rendered unconscious."

Janeway nodded to B'Elanna. Unconscious crewmen she could deal with. Dead ones she could not. "Do it."

Dismissing the internal display, Janeway brought up external sensor readings. They had six ships attached to the hull, ugly blobs of metal that reminded her of leeches. Working with only one hand was tedious, but she called up the old scans of Vaadwaur warships. "Their main computer processors aren't hardened either," she relayed to Torres.

That set the half-Klingon's mental wheels to turning. She edged Janeway to one side and began a series of lightning-fast calculations. "We lost several shield grids during the attack, but if we," her hand movements altered, entering a series of commands, "force a harmonic reset and re-modulate the frequency, we could generate an energy flare that would approximate EMP." The ridges lining Torres' forehead deepened as she looked up at Janeway. "We could disable the parasites attached to our hull."

Janeway's tactical mind performed a quick review. There were seventeen enemy vessels when we started. Two were destroyed and three disabled in the first volley, two more in the second…plus the six used for boarding. Only four enemy ships would remain.

"Do we have enough energy for a few phaser shots?" she asked.

Torres cast her eyes on another monitor. "Maybe a dozen."

That will have to do.

"We'll have to time this to the millisecond." Janeway drew a cleansing breath. She still could not banish the worry gnawing a hole in her stomach. "Contact Vorik and tell him to put his best officer on tactical, and B'Elanna," she added, sending the other woman a speaking glance. "If this doesn't work…"

Torres raised her chin a notch. "I know. We'll make it happen." She opened a channel to Engineering and began to relay instructions.

***********************
Rayna's leg had started to hurt. Her brain registered the pain in an off-hand manner. It had more important things to focus on. Heated green energy ricocheted off the starboard bulkhead near her shoulder and left a darkened streak in its wake. They'd led the Vaadwaur on a merry chase around Deck 3, hopefully buying time for the rescue team to reach safety. Now all they wanted was a convenient exit. Unfortunately their opponents had other ideas. The turbolift had four armored grunts posted there and two more were guarding the Jefferies Tube hatch. That left nowhere to go.

Your usual destination…

Having company on the trip to oblivion, however, was an unwelcome development, for all its novelty. She preferred to meet her Maker alone…that way she could curse Her in private. Maintaining the dignity of the divine was always wise.

They reached a dead end. Forcefields barred their passage. According to Crewman Gerron, Voyager's main computer core lay beyond them. Stretching for five, full decks, the huge structure required massive amounts of ventilation to keep it running cool. Those shafts would provide an escape route…if they could get to them.

Seven entered the access code to deactivate the first forcefield. The other two had their rifles trained back down the corridor. Rayna merely leaned against a silver wall. The tell-tale throb in her leg warned that her body's chemical compensation was at an end, a precursor to recuperative shutdown. She pulled out the hypospray of stimulant and applied it to her neck. Immediately, her pulse and thought processes picked up speed.

Kneeling, Rayna began to disassemble her hand phaser. Seven had not had time to add any Borg technology to the device. It produced a lovely lightshow as it bounced off the Vaadwaur's armor, but that was all. However, the boom it made when overloaded, would be most satisfactory.

Heavy, metallic footfalls warned that the enemy was near.

"It is done." Seven's announcement caused them all to scurry backward.

An instant later, and the forcefield crackled to life once more. If Rayna's memory served there were three more between them and the core, each with a more complicated access code. Right now they were sandwiched between the first and second.

You're trapped here.

Panic attempted a coup. Her heart rate trebled.

If I had remembered my phobia a tad earlier, I could have saved the stim.

At least her sense of humor still functioned.

The first forcefield sparked with blue fire as the Vaadwaur blasters struck its surface. A bunch of metal-clad soldiers had taken up firing positions in the corridor. Their rapid shots made for a neon waterfall of turquoise and green as they impacted the energy barrier. Rayna thought she heard one of the enemy soldiers shout a disgruntled curse. That made her smile.

Her spiteful glee was short-lived. An unarmored Vaadwaur, muttered instructions she would not discern to his troops. Something about his bearing told her that he was accustomed to command. Immediately they began to systematically target the edges of the forcefield.

Eight soldiers with heavy blasters, firing in rapid succession will probably cause the forcefield to collapse, sooner or later. Rerouting power to it would be a timely proposition, and time was one thing of which they were in short supply. Her narrowed eyes met those of the squad leader and found them glittering with cold intelligence. The dark orbs skittered away from Rayna's to rest on Seven of Nine. Hatred ignited within their depths.

"We need to kill him." Rayna put the cover back on her weapon and stood. Hate that implacable was impervious to both common sense and fear. That made for a supremely dangerous opponent.

Seven glanced up from the keypad she worked on. "That is General Gaul, the leader of the Vaadwaur." Her tone was passionless as ever, but contained a razor's edge of anger.

Is it indeed?

Rayna experienced one brief moment of pleasure before her mind became barren of feeling. Terror and fatigue drained into the vacuum of her soul.

Here was the creature ultimately responsible for the harm inflicted on Tuvok and Kathryn. Here, within a few scan meters.

Fortune finally smiles upon you, Wind Child.

Now all she had to do was dump her companions, pretend to surrender and throw down her weapon…just after she pressed the fire button and initiated the destruct sequence. In thirty seconds, this blight named Gaul would reach several thousand degrees Kelvin.

A strong hand grasped hold Rayna's upper arm. She snapped her gaze to find Crewman Gerron standing next to her.

"Don't." He stared at her with knowing eyes.

"Don't what?" Rayna hissed. She tried to extricate herself, and failed.

The Bajoran puppy hauled her backward when Seven cleared the second forcefield. He was surprisingly strong. When Rayna resisted, Bonneville yanked hold of her other arm and helped him.

They pinned her against a bulkhead as Seven reactivated the barrier.

Bonneville had a quizzical look on his face. "All right Gerron, I've backed your play. What gives?"

I would be interested in the answer myself, Rayna thought, before I crush his genitals with my knee.

"I've seen that look before, on Bokter loxKardasia." Gerron's words caused a chain reaction of memory inside Rayna's brain.

Victory for Cardassia…

It was both a slogan, and a place. The space station orbited Taspar, one of several outlying worlds in the Cardassian Union. Listed formally as a "Recycling Station," it broke down decommissioned vessels and turned the scrap into building materials. 'fleet Intelligence had dispatched her to investigate it because of reports that Bajoran children were being sent there.

She'd expected to find a thriving den of child labor and slavery. As it turned out, that would have been a kindness.

The outermost shield collapsed in a violent flash of azure. The Vaadwaur began laying down a new barrage automatic fire. Energy sizzled across the field filling the air with a crackling roar.

"Seven," Bonneville urged in a tight voice.

The Borg's fingers were a blur of motion on the next keypad, but nothing was happening. "Voyager's computer has registered the Vaadwaur assault, and has engaged its emergency defense systems. I will have to override them before it will accept my access codes."

Excellent.

Rayna found herself hoping for failure. She did not want lose the opportunity to eliminate Gaul. Of course it would mean sacrificing the other three as collateral damage.

I can live with that.

Perhaps you can, but can Kathryn?

"I was there," Gerron pushed against her chest, hard. His black eyes were ablaze with passion. "I saw this same look on your face as you stabbed the Commandant."

It was you?

Images of a little boy weeping silent tears played like a silent movie across her consciousness. Bokter loxKardasia was trying to recycle more than ships. They were brainwashing Bajoran children. It had taken months of surveillance and the seduction of several workers before she'd found the right Cardassian. Gul Fahad was a clumsy pig in bed and out, but once his sexual appetite was sated, he was easy to manipulate. A few compliments and reverent awe at his esteemed position, and he happily took her for a tour.

The children were subjected to every form of brutality from rape to sodomy. They were forced to watch their parents be tortured, listening to a recorded voice tell them that Bajorans were weak, that Cardassians were stronger, smarter… She had swallowed down disgust and revulsion until she choked on them.

Fahad took her into what he called a "school room." Horribly thin, the children were being forced learn the Cardassian alphabet. Food was their reward for compliance. Starvation was their punishment. The guards had laid out a table filled with Bajoran sweets. Several children were being allowed to eat.

"Our star pupils," Fahad proclaimed. He stepped behind a podium at the front. "See." His words were directed toward the children who refused to write, "Learn well and you will eat well."

Black gloves veiled his hands. Rayna remembered them clearly. Flat and non-reflective, the fabric seemed to suck up the light. At Fahad's gesture, two guards brought in a small boy.

There were bruises on his face. Every finger was deformed and swollen.

"Unfortunately," Fahad's voice took on a note of pained reluctance, "there are those among you who refuse to accept our assistance." He plucked a knife from his boot. "Here you are, my dear." The hilt was extended toward Rayna. "I will give you the honor of conducting today's lesson."

She'd taken the blade. How much blood had it spilled?

The Bajoran boy looked up at her with eyes devoid of hope, too tired to even be afraid.

No one should have their innocence ripped away. Rayna recalled a perverse calmness creep over her mind. Her orders were to infiltrate and report, not interfere. Good. A little rebellion, now and then, was good for the soul. Still, one did what one could. On Orion they had a saying which she repeated in an absent whisper: "I am only a small blade," she buried the knife hilt-deep in Fahad's throat, "but you'll feel me."

She tried to block out the memory.

Reality conspired to assist her. The final forcefield between them and the Vaadwaur whined its last and fell. Bonneville and Seven immediately began to fire. Gerron joined them, and Rayna brought her thumb to the phaser's trigger.

There was a hard-edged pulse of energy that swept over her skin. Her eyebrow hair stood on end.

It was gone less than a breath later.

*********************
"Fire," Janeway ordered.

The display erupted in a volley of yellow light as Voyager's main phaser bank came to life. She watched, her heart scarcely able to beat, as the beams struck the remaining Vaadwaur ships.

"Direct hit." Lieutenant Torres was monitoring a sensor array. "Two of the enemy vessels have lost propulsion."

Deck after deck began to report in. The Vaadwaur heavy infantry was frozen in place; their suits of armor transformed into metal prisons.

Good, now to disable the remaining ships… Come on, Voyager, Janeway silently coaxed. You can do this.

She ardently wished she was down in Engineering; being a spectator was not a role with which she was comfortable.

A second round of phaser fire flickered across the display.

"Yes!" B'Elanna's clipped cry of victory told Janeway all she needed to know.

"Engineering to Captain Janeway," Vorik's cool tenor called. "We have successfully disabled the weapons systems on the remaining Vaadwaur vessels. Our phasers are now offline."

Talk about cutting things close…

"What about the ones attached to our hull?" Janeway looked toward Torres. The last thing she needed was for them to open fire at point-blank range.

The half-Klingon tapped commands into the console. "Completely non-functional, Captain." Her relieved grin shone like a homing beacon. "You did it."

"We did it," Janeway corrected. "Open a hailing frequency to the lead Vaadwaur ship."

Torres nodded, and the central monitor displayed the image of an enemy captain. His features were fuller than those Vaadwaur Janeway had previously encountered. He was bleeding from a scrape across his forehead.

Eyes that were startling blue-green met hers. "Before you offer terms, Captain," he began, in a basso voice so deep you could almost feel it reverberate in your chest, "I am not in command. You must speak with General Gaul."

Janeway's eyes narrowed as her ire was raised. "I will speak with whomever you like, but for the sake of your vessel, I suggest you make your own peace." She gave him a confident half-smile. "Otherwise, I assure you, we will not hesitate to blow you out of the sky."

A sharp glance at Torres caused the woman to cut communications. "Captain," she began. "Remind me never to play poker against you."

"Here's hoping they won't call our bluff." Janeway scrubbed a hand across her temple. "Find Gaul. We need to end this."

*****************
Rayna watched in rapt fascination as one of the Vaadwaur soldiers crashed to the deck with a thunderous bang. The others stood stock still, as if they had locked eyes with a Basilisk. Only Gaul was still mobile. He stared, open-mouthed, at the frozen warriors, and then turned on heel to flee.

Oh, no. I think not.

Rayna gave pursuit without a second thought, wishing that she hadn't repurposed her phaser. It would be so much simpler just to shoot him. His knees would be her first choice.

There were footsteps behind her, and they were gaining.

Your leg…

The fucking hunk of flesh seemed to be spontaneously producing glass shards, and ramming them into her muscles with every step. Her side was little better. Each breath brought with it a grinding stab of pain.

Oh fuck it.

She squeezed the trigger, and her phaser began to keen.

No turning back now.

The Vaadwaur leader pulled out a blaster pistol a