DOUBLE DEALING - CONCLUSION: "NO PLACE LIKE HOME" 
BY MALCOLM REEVE (e-mail: 106625.3210@compuserve.com)

This is the third and concluding part of "Double Dealing" which began 
with part one: "Sisperia" and continued with part two: "Witch Hunt" 

Summary: (PG-13) Tom and B'Elanna's love is put to the test as the 
crew of Voyager takes desperate action to escape.  


*****


It had been ten days since her crew had been detained.  Since then, 
Janeway had allowed no more Maquis to leave the ship, but still 
fifteen of her crew were in detention.  And the rest had been 
confined to quarters aboard Voyager, on the order of Admiral Cabot.   

Two days earlier a strip-down crew had beamed aboard, under the 
authority of Commander William Lees.  He was a tall, handsome man, in 
his early forties, who clearly thought better of himself than of 
those around him.  Under his command a crew of engineers swarmed 
through the ship, invading every crevice, taking notes and 
measurements, striping everything down and investigating it in 
detail.  What they were searching for, Lees wouldn't say.  But he 
strode the corridors of Voyager with a proprietorial air, and 
Starfleet protocol did nothing to disguise the note of suspicion in 
his voice when he addressed the Captain.  {This is my ship now}, said 
the tone, if not the words. 

Janeway glared at her reflection in the window of her ready-room;  
uniform straight, hair tidy, face determined.  "We'll see whose ship 
this is, Commander," she told herself quietly.  Within twenty minutes 
her debriefing would start, and she planned to use every moment of it 
to her advantage.  Distance herself from the Maquis?  Never.  For the 
past three years she had defended her crew with every breath, and 
she'd brought them safely home.  Janeway smiled at the irony; now 
they were here, she was facing her biggest fight yet.  But she'd 
beaten the odds so far, and she intended to carry on beating them. 

With one last glance around the familiar ready-room, Kathryn Janeway 
picked up a PADD from her desk and strode onto the bridge.  It was 
all but deserted, manned only by Tuvok and Kim, and the unnatural 
silence made her footfalls sound too loud.  It felt wrong without 
Chakotay's steadfast presence, Paris's humor, and Torres' bright 
intensity; only ten days since their detention, but she missed them 
terribly.  This whole situation had turned into a nightmare, and she 
was seriously beginning to wish they had never returned.  But they 
had, and there was no going back.   

"Lieutenant Tuvok," she began formally.  "On the order of Starfleet 
command, I have handed over Voyager's command codes to Commander 
William Lees." 

Tuvok inclined his head.  "Aye Captain," he replied, as serious as 
ever. 

"The Commander will no doubt require your cooperation," Janeway told 
him with a small smile.  "Give it to him.  And try to find out 
exactly what it is he's looking for.  It might be crucial." 

"I shall have a full report on your desk when you return, Captain." 

 She nodded.  They both knew that she may never return.  Cabot had 
made his threat very clear; abandon the Maquis, or face the 
consequences.  She suspected that she was about to find out exactly 
what those consequences were. 

 "And now," she said, dropping the formality and stepping closer, "I 
am going to make a confession." 

Tuvok raised an eyebrow, but remained silent.  Janeway continued: "I 
assume that you are familiar with the concept of a Double-Alpha 
command code?" 

"It is an override code, embedded deep in low-level programming."  He 
frowned, "It is usually secret, and Starfleet strictly forbids their 
use." 

Janeway inclined her head in agreement.  "To coin a phrase," she 
said, "it's an old Maquis trick.  One that Commander Chakotay 
suggested, and one to which I agreed." 

"I see," Tuvok replied.  "As Chief of Security, I must register my 
protest at not having been informed of this decision." 

"Noted," Janeway replied, handing Tuvok the PADD she was holding.  "I 
have transferred the Double-Alpha command code to you, Lieutenant.  
It is on here; memorize it, and then destroy this PADD." 

With obvious doubt, Tuvok took the PADD from her hand.  "You are 
asking me to violate Starfleet regulations, Captain," he pointed out. 

"No," she said, stepping closer.  "I will not ask you to do that.  
Your judgment must be your guide; this is an extreme measure - use 
it only if you think the situation warrants it.  It will be your 
choice, Tuvok.  Voyager is yours now; take care of her." 

"I will, to the best of my ability, Captain," Tuvok replied.   

"Very well."  She turned to face Kim, who was watching her with 
thinly disguised dismay.   

"I can't believe this is happening, Captain," he blurted out, before 
she could speak. 

"I know Harry," she replied.  "But I'm going to do my best to make it 
right - we'll get them all back." 

"But, Captain, I don't understand why they're doing this to us.  It's 
just..." he struggled to find the right word, "...it's wrong." 

"Harry," she stepped towards him.  "We need to find out what it is 
they're looking for on board the ship.  Once we know that, we might 
be able to defend ourselves more effectively against their 
suspicions." 

Kim nodded, still unhappy.  "I'll find out Captain." 

"You will Ensign," she told him.  "That's an order."  Straightening 
her shoulders, Janeway took a deep breath.  "Well, Gentlemen, I'll 
see you both when I return." 

"Aye Captain," Tuvok replied, standing to attention. 

Janeway nodded once, and walked determinedly towards the turbolift.  
But as the door hissed shut behind her, she couldn't shake the 
feeling that she was speeding towards her own execution. 


*** 


The tiny radio receiver lay snug in the palm of his hand.  His 
fingers, loosely curled, held it in place as he ambled towards 
Chakotay's cell.  To all appearances, Tom Paris looked as bored as 
his fellow inmates, but in his chest his heart was pumping so hard he 
felt sure the whole prison could hear it's racing beat.   

Tom had developed certain skills during his life that most Starfleet 
officers did not possess.  Theft was one of them.  It wasn't 
something he was proud of, but life had been hard for a while, and 
you did what was necessary to survive.  And sometimes it paid off.  
The lumpy, bearded prisoner hadn't even twitched when Paris had 
lifted the receiver out of his pocket.  Tom smiled; it had been too 
easy. 

The plan was a simple one, and it had been his idea.  Well, sort of.  
He remembered the conversation he had held only that morning, as they 
all assembled for breakfast. 

 "I've been watching the guards," he had told Chakotay.  "Each time 
they go in or out of the barracks, that little badge on their arm 
flashes.  I think it's some kind of key device." 

"It opens the door for them?" Chakotay had asked, chewing a mouthful 
of food. 

"If we could just get hold of one..." Tom had suggested. 

"Impossible," Eddings had interrupted.  "You get within two meters of 
those guys and they open fire.  I've seen it.  They're real jittery." 

 "There has to be a way," Tom had objected. 

"What if we could make one of our own?" Chakotay had asked suddenly. 

"Make one...?" Tom's incredulity had only lasted a moment.  "Of 
course!  The ankle tags!" 

Eddings had frowned.  "I don't get it." 

"The electronic tags they've given us," Tom had explained.  "They 
work on the same principle, but emit a different signal.  All we need 
to do is figure out the signal emitted by the guards' tags, and then 
we can reconfigure ours to match." 

"Oh, is THAT all," Eddings had responded, clearly unimpressed. 

"Well, it won't be easy," Tom had admitted. 

"We'll need a receiver of some sort," Chakotay had told them, still 
concentrating on breakfast.  "Something to pick up their signal." 

"That'll be the hard part," Tom had agreed. 

"Not necessarily," Eddings had started to brighten.  "Not all the 
guards are honest; some contraband makes its way in here.  I could 
ask around." 

"We don't have anything to trade," Chakotay had pointed out. 

Tom had smiled, flexing his fingers.  "Who said anything about 
trading?" 

And so it was done, more easily that any of them had anticipated.  
Now all they had to do was figure out the guards' transmission 
signal, and clone it onto one of their ankle tags.  That was where 
B'Elanna came in.  Tom would tell her the plan tonight, and if 
Chakotay had already figured out the signal frequency, she could 
reconfigure his ankle tag there and then.  He smiled when he thought 
of her, until a sudden pang of longing drove his smile away.  
Ruthlessly, he repressed the emotion.  There was no time; the 
situation was desperate - they would only have one chance at this.  
He remembered the iron-faced Governor Irving, and knew without doubt 
that a failed escape attempt would mean death. 

Chakotay looked up, face impassive, as Tom climbed the ladder into 
his cell.  "Success?" the commander asked, feigning indifference. 

"Of course," Tom replied, unable to resist a grin.  But he kept his 
voice low: too many people were listening to risk saying more.  He 
sat down on Chakotay's narrow cot, surreptitiously sliding the 
receiver under the thin prison blanket.  "It's up to you now." 

Chakotay nodded.  "I'll let you know" was all he said.  Paris 
returned his nod, and left without further conversation. 


*** 


"Please sit down Captain," Admiral Cabot offered, waving his pudgy 
hand towards the lonely seat that faced the board of inquiry.  
Janeway obliged him and sat down, maintaining her dignity and her 
silence.   

She faced a panel of five men and women.  Cabot and Admiral Paris 
were there, the others she did not recognize.  They sat before a huge 
picture window that looked out across the San Francisco bay.  The 
early morning sunlight cast the scene in vivid summer colors, 
crowning the ancient heights of the Golden Gate Bridge.  The sight 
calmed her.  That bridge had stood for centuries, despite war and 
chaos, and it stood yet, proud against the morning sky.  Some things 
endured, in spite of the turmoil that surrounded them.  The bridge 
and her duty; two constants that would never be shaken. 

"Captain," Cabot addressed her, "you are aware of the purpose of this 
session?" 

"I am aware of MY purpose, Admiral.  What yours is I cannot say." 

She saw Paris scowl at that.  Good. 

"Our objects must be the same Captain.  To find the truth." 

"I know the truth," she told him calmly.  "My object is to persuade 
you of it." 

Admiral Paris leaned towards her.  His eyes were as blue as his 
son's, but there the resemblance ended.  There was no warmth or 
humor in the Admiral's eyes.  "And what IS your truth, Captain 
Janeway?" 

"That I have a good and honest crew who deserve better than the 
treatment they have received at the hands of Starfleet."  Her anger, 
born of days of frustration, threatened to break loose, but she kept 
a firm hand on it for now.  This might be her last battle for her 
crew, and she was determined to make it count. 

"Then you stand by the Maquis terrorists?" Paris persisted, his eyes 
like chips of ice. 

"I will stand by my crew until I can stand no longer, Admiral," she 
replied, pleased at the defiance in her tone.  But the cold smile 
that crept across the Admiral's face turned her guts to water.  
Suddenly she understood the stakes; she was playing for more than her 
freedom, for more than the freedom of her crew; she was playing for 
their lives. 


***  


It seemed strange, walking into engineering and not seeing B'Elanna 
hard at work.  Although, Kim reflected, it was probably best that she 
was absent; the place was a mess.  Access hatches were open 
everywhere, circuits pulled, gel packs all over the floor, people, 
strangers, poking and prying into every corner.  B'Elanna would have 
gone mad.  He sighed, and looked around him.  Spying the object of 
his mission, Kim walked determinedly forward. 

"Commander Lees?" he asked.  "Lieutenant Tuvok requested that I offer 
my assistance to you, sir." 

Lees turned his dark eyes towards Harry, a thin smile touching his 
handsome face.  "Thank you, Ensign, but that will not be necessary." 

"Lieutenant Tuvok thought that you may have some questions regarding 
the engineering set-up." He smiled in a friendly way, "We had to 
improvise a lot, so some things might seem...unusual." 

"I said, that will not be..."  The commander was suddenly interrupted 
by the arrival of a thin, over-exited young ensign. 

"Commander, I've found some!" she exclaimed.  Lees turned on her 
swiftly, anger flushing his face, and she retreated a step in the 
face of his fury. 

"Later, Ensign Reiner" he barked, before turning back to Kim.  
"Return to your post, Ensign...?" 

"Kim, sir." 

Lees nodded.  "I don't want to see you down here again Ensign Kim.  
That's an order." 

"Aye Sir," Harry replied, risking a swift glance at Reiner.  She 
stood, head bowed, fidgeting with something in her hands.  It looked 
like... 

"Dismissed, Ensign," Lees snapped, glaring at him until Kim turned 
and left.  Harry waited until he was in the turbo-lift before he 
smiled.  So THAT'S what they were after...But why? 


*** 


"Are you sure, Ensign?" Tuvok asked. 

"Absolutely.  It was part of the old dilithium matrix." 

"It seems an unlikely object for their search." 

"I'm just telling you what I saw," Kim insisted.  "Lees did NOT want 
me to see it.  I swear." 

"Curious," Tuvok admitted.   

"Very." 

Kim watched in silence for a moment, as Tuvok lapsed into thought.  
At length he spoke.  "Logically, we must test your hypothesis." 

"How?" 

Tuvok raised an eyebrow.  "If they have torn Voyager apart for a 
fragment of the old dilithium matrix, we must assume that there is a 
reason for it.  In order to determine that reason, it would be 
logical to obtain a piece of the matrix ourselves." 

Kim smiled.  "Sounds logical," he agreed. 

"I cannot countermand Commander Lees order that you should not re-
enter engineering," Tuvok continued.   

"No," Harry agreed. "But the Captain DID order me was to find out 
what they're looking for," he pointed out.  "So, I think I have a 
duty to...do what's necessary to follow the Captain's orders." 

"Agreed," Tuvok replied.   

Kim smiled.  "Then meet me in sickbay at 06.00 tommor..."  Suddenly 
realizing to whom he was giving orders, Harry faltered. 

"06.00 hours," Tuvok repeated seriously.  "I'll be there, Ensign."   


*** 


Crouched near the cold iron Gate, B'Elanna struggled to see into the 
blackness beyond.  {Was he there?}  She knew he was still alive, 
because she'd seen him that morning, lurking close to the gate, but 
not close enough to attract attention.  He'd been there, and so had 
Chakotay.  Her heart had sunk when she saw the commander; somehow, 
the idea that he was still free had allowed her to dream of rescue.  
But it was a futile dream, and she knew it.  Voyager wasn't up there 
waiting for them this time.  It probably had a new crew by now, a new 
Chief Engineer.  The thought mixed anger and jealousy bitterly in her 
heart.  She hadn't realized how much she had relied on them all - her 
crew, her family.  And now they were gone.   

A flash in the darkness yanked her back to the present, her heart in 
her mouth.  There it was again.  A small red flash.  It took her a 
moment to realize what it was - then she groaned silently...{The 
idiot!}  Cautiously she rose to her feet, the flash came closer this 
time, just centimeters from the floor. 

"Tom?" she hissed. 

"B'Elanna!" there was relief in his voice.  "You made it!"  His hands 
reached through the bars and touched hers, warm and reassuring.  For 
a moment the warmth of his touch smothered her anger, but not for 
long. 

"What the hell are you doing?" she breathed, struggling to restrain 
her anger to a whisper.  "You're still wearing your ankle tag!  
They'll track you!" 

"Shh," he warned her, sinking to his knees.  She followed suit, 
struggling to hear his whispered words.  "I had to take the risk.  
We've got a plan." 

She listened to his explanation in silence.  "So let me get this 
straight," she whispered, once he had finished speaking.  "All I have 
to do is clone the guard's transmission signal onto your ankle tag, 
in about five minutes, in the dark, with no tools...?" 

"B'Elanna, if any one can, you can."  She couldn't see his grin, but 
she could hear it in his voice, and it made her smile despite 
herself. 

"Which lunatic came up with this plan anyway?" she asked, as she 
reached through the Gate towards his flashing ankle tag.  "You, I 
suppose?" 

"You got a better one?" he retorted.   

She ignored that; of course she didn't.  "Give me the transceiver," 
she muttered instead. 

Taking her hand in his, he pressed the receiver into her palm.  As he 
did so, he raised her fingers to his lips, and kissed them lightly.  
"For luck," he breathed, in a voice slightly choked. 
"Just sit still," she murmured in reply, trying to ignore the way her 
heart was leaping about in her chest.  "And stop distracting me, 
Lieutenant Paris." 

He said nothing more, but she could feel the warmth of his smile in 
the darkness, and she grinned in return.   


***  


"Please state the nature of the medical emergency," the doctor 
requested politely.  "Oh, it's you." 

"Morning, Doc," Kim replied.  "No emergency.  I just need to access 
your station." 

"May I ask why?"  

"You can ask," Kim told him, concentrating on his work. 

The doctor's retort went unuttered as the sickbay doors swished open 
to admit Lieutenant Tuvok.  Harry turned towards him with a grin.   

"I assume you were successful," Tuvok commented. 

"Of course," Kim turned back to the terminal.  "I've been thinking 
about this all night, and I have an idea." 

Tuvok moved to stand behind Kim, watching him work. 

"Starfleet have arrested the Maquis crew because they think we might 
have something to do with the war with the Klingons, right?" 

"That is correct," Tuvok agreed. 

"So, they're looking for evidence that we weren't in the Delta 
quadrant all those years." 

Again Tuvok nodded. 

"So, the question is, why do they need the old dilithium matrix?" 

"Ensign," Tuvok interrupted, "what is your point?" 

"I'm getting to that," Kim replied. "Dilithium has an integral 
resonance; the resonance is unique to the location of its formation.  
The anomaly is so small that it makes no practical difference, but it 
should show up on a high resolution scan," Harry tapped the controls 
of the doctor's consul, and moved towards the science station.  
"Dilithium from the Delta quadrant will resonate on a frequency 0.04 
percent different from dilithium in the Alpha Quadrant." 

Tuvok inclined his head, a gesture of admiration.  "Then this could 
serve as evidence to prove our claims." 

Harry grinned again, excitement bubbling to the surface.  "I've set 
up two experiments.  One with a sample of the matrix we refueled 
back in the Delta quadrant, and a sample of the new matrix Lees' 
engineers have installed.  The other one is a control.  I've used a 
residue of the old dilithium we brought with us from the Alpha 
Quadrant, and a further sample of the new dilithium.  Those two 
should resonate on exactly the same frequency."  He moved back to the 
terminal.  "Once I activate the scan, we should be able to see the 
different frequencies quite easily." 

Kim added the final equations to his calculations, but his finger 
hesitated before he started the experiment.  If it didn't work...?  
He had pinned all his hopes on this; if he couldn't save his friends 
from this injustice it would be the end, he knew.  The end of his 
career in Starfleet.  How could he serve an organization that had 
imprisoned his best friends so unjustly? 

"Ensign?" Tuvok prompted. 

"Right," he replied, determination returning.  "Here goes." 

The screen ran through a rapid set of calculations, too fast for his 
eye to see, before it displayed the results on the screen.  There was 
the Alpha Quadrant matrix, its resonance displayed as a rapidly 
moving sine-wave.  And there below was the Delta Quadrant matrix, its 
sine-wave marginally different. 

"Yes!" Harry whooped, grinning from ear to ear.  "That proves it!  We 
have to get this to the Captain!"   

Tuvok leaned closer, inspecting the results for himself. "It appears 
that you are correct, it is..." 

Just then the doctor interrupted.  "Before you get too excited, you 
might want to look at your control sample," he pointed out.  "They're 
not the same." 

"What?" Harry asked his brief jubilation instantly extinguished.  
"That's impossible."  He turned back to the science station, where 
the doctor was observing the experiment.    

"Clearly not," the doctor replied.  "The frequencies ARE different." 

"With respect," Harry replied, gazing at the display.  "They are 
exactly the same." 

With an elaborate sigh, the doctor sat down.  "Well, to your 
optically challenged vision, they may appear so, but I can assure you 
that they are not.  Check the numerical value of the frequency." 

"It's the same," he objected. 

"Really?" the doctor seemed to be enjoying himself, and Harry was 
sorely tempted to deactivate him.  "To how many decimal places?" 

"Ten." 

"Try twenty." 

Muttering through gritted teeth, he did so.  His angry muttering 
stopped instantly.  "Well, I'll be..." he breathed.  "They ARE 
different, but so slightly it barely counts."  He paused, his brow 
furrowed in thought.  "It's almost as if the resonance is the same, 
but that it's somehow out of synchronization." 

"It's out of phase," Tuvok concluded, eyebrow raised. 

"Out of phase?" Harry repeated.  "But that means that they couldn't 
have come from the same..."  He suddenly felt sick to his stomach, 
and couldn't finish the sentence. 

"It appears," Tuvok pointed out calmly, "that although we are in AN 
Alpha Quadrant, we are not in the correct one." 

Harry said nothing.  He could only think of one thing: Libby. 


*** 


"We'll only have one chance at this," Chakotay said, his voice low.  

"Aye, sir" Eddings agreed, his eyes bright with anticipation. 

"Paris will go first, and open the door.  Without weapons, we'll have 
to rely on numbers to overwhelm them.  Once we get inside, we'll open 
up the access to the Klingon side and let Torres in, and then hope 
she can rig the transporter in time.  We won't have long." 

"I'll tell the others," Eddings told him, "we'll be ready." 

"Good luck Ensign," Chakotay told him.   

"Thanks sir, you too.  Both of you," he turned his glance on Paris as 
he spoke.  Tom would be the first in, the first target, and they all 
knew it. 

"See you inside," Paris replied with a grin.  Chakotay had to admire 
him for that. 

"Will B'Elanna be ready?" he asked Tom, once Eddings had left them. 

Paris nodded.  "I told her to stay close to the door all day.  She'll 
be ready." 

"Good.  So now we wait.  They change shift in three hours."  Both men 
lapsed into silence.  Within the next four hours they'd either be 
free or dead.  What was there to say?  But as Chakotay watched Paris 
sitting, shuffling his feet, he knew there was something. 

"What's on your mind?" he said at last, wondering if Paris would open 
up to him.  They'd never really been friends. 

"Nothing," Paris replied immediately, but then hesitated. "Well, 
something.  I guess."  He glanced up, his usual cock-sure confidence 
absent.  "I want to ask you...that is, well it's about B'Elanna." 

Chakotay nodded, but held his tongue.  He'd found it best to stay 
silent if you wanted someone else to talk. 

"We...I...that is," Paris stumbled to a halt, took a deep breath and 
started again.  "Leading an unarmed charge into a room full of armed 
men is pretty suicidal." 

"True." 

"Would you tell her something later.   If I can't?" 

"Sure.  Tell her what?" 

Paris frowned.  "You know.  Tell her how I feel." 

"I'm not psychic," Chakotay pointed out.  "How do I know how you 
feel?" 

Paris glared at him, and stood up to leave. "Forget it, then" he 
muttered. 

"Is it so hard to say?" Chakotay asked. 

Paris stared at him in silence for a long moment, until his scowl 
dissolved into an embarrassed smile.  "Okay," he cleared his throat.  
"Tell her that...that loving her has been the best thing I've ever 
done, that I would rather die now, loving her, than live a thousand 
years without having known her." He looked away, embarrassment 
mingling with other emotions on his face.  "Good enough?" 

"You're a poet," Chakotay told him dryly, his lips twitching into a 
smile.  "It's a shame you hide it most of the time.  I don't know any 
two people as shy of expressing their feelings as you and Torres." 

"Don't you?" Paris asked, turning to face him with a meaningful 
expression.  "I do."  With that, he turned and left, leaving Chakotay 
to ponder his words.  It didn't take him long to understand their 
meaning. 


*** 


"The Bridge," Tuvok ordered as they entered the turbo-lift. 

"But everything seems so RIGHT," Kim blurted out, thinking of Libby.  
She had been perfect, just as he remembered her. 

"The differences are subtle indeed.  Yet they are there.  We do not 
belong here, and we must leave." 

Kim did not reply.  Tuvok was right, of course.  The detention of his 
friends was not right; that at least gave him a sense of relief.  The 
Starfleet he knew would never act like that.  At least, so he hoped. 

"It will not be long before the authorities come to the same 
conclusion we have reached, and their reaction is difficult to 
predict.  We must be ready." 

"For what?" 

"We must be able to defend Voyager if necessary." 

Kim nodded in understanding.  "Can we get back?" he asked suddenly. 

Tuvok turned to face him.  "If there are traces of the spatial rift 
still in existence, it may be possible to reopen it from this side.  
But, I believe that the odds of success are limited." 

"We need B'Elanna here," Harry observed, as the turbo lift slowed to 
a halt. 

"Indeed we do," Tuvok agreed and stepped out onto the empty bridge.  
Striding towards his station, he turned back to Harry.  "We do not 
have much time.  Please alert me if anyone is approaching the 
bridge." 

Harry returned to his own post at Ops, and started a low key internal 
sensor sweep.  "Aye, sir," he replied, his spirits beginning to lift.  
The Voyager crew were back in business, and doing what they did best: 
wriggling out of impossible situations. 


*** 


Tom leaned nonchalantly against the cold stone wall, watching the 
heavy metal door snap shut.  It had seemed easy enough.  The guard 
had simply walked towards it and it had opened, just like an ordinary 
door.  He glanced up and saw Eddings and the others scattered around 
the area, all close enough to reach the door in a few seconds.  Out 
of the corner of his eye he saw Chakotay, he could feel the 
commander's dark eyes staring at him.  It was time.   

Adrenaline coursed through his veins as he moved away from the wall 
and headed for the door.  He thought of home, of his friends, his 
parents, and, of course, B'Elanna.  Time seemed to slow down, to 
stretch out behind and before him as he started that long walk 
towards the door.  Dimly he was aware of others following him, their 
shapes bulky and indistinct in the corner of his eye.  The door, 
steel-gray and hard filled his vision, growing huge as he approached.  
{It's not going to open}, his mind suddenly screeched at him, and his 
feet almost faltered, but he forced them to carry on.  Closer, 
closer, nothing but cold steel ahead, and memories behind.  And then 
it happened.  With a sharp hiss, the doors slid open.  He had a brief 
glimpse of a guard's bored face turning scarlet with shock and fear, 
before chaos erupted. 

Time shrank into seconds, each one an eternity.  He launched himself 
at the first guard before the man had a chance to reach for the rifle 
at his side.  Tom managed to land one fist on the side of the guard's 
head, as they both fell struggling to the floor.  But desperation 
made him faster, and it was Tom's hand that reached the phaser-rifle 
first.  He rolled towards it, firing as soon as his fingers reached 
the trigger.  The guard fell on top of him, the stench of charred 
flesh making him sick.  Around him, Paris could hear the noise of 
battle; phaser blasts ricocheted against the walls, voices shouted 
and screamed, alarms wailed, and fists flew.  Dimly, in the distance, 
he heard the door hiss shut, and the sounds of fighting became 
cramped in the small room.  Tom kicked at the corpse that lay on top 
of him, struggling to stand.  He got to his knees, gasping for 
breath, rifle ready, just in time to see the last guard slide to the 
floor at Chakotay's feet.  An angry gash dripped blood from the 
commander's left arm, and he held a phaser rifle in the other hand.  
Turning, he noticed Paris climbing to his feet.  "You okay?" Chakotay 
asked. 

Nodding his head, Tom gasped for air.  "Did we...?" he asked, 
stepping over the body at his feet with grim determination.  It 
wasn't the first man he'd killed, but that didn't make it any easier. 

"So far so good," Chakotay told him, nodding towards the steel door 
at the opposite end of the room.  "Go get B'Elanna." 

Tom picked his way through the bodies that lay scattered on the 
floor, trying not to look too hard.  He didn't want to see a face he 
recognized.  He prayed that his tag would open the door to the 
Klingon side of the prison.  It didn't.  {Damn it!}

"What's the hold up, Paris?" Chakotay called from the other side of 
the room, where he was struggling with the security lock-out on the 
transporter.  "Damn.  We need B'Elanna NOW." 

"There has to be a manual release," Paris told himself, searching the 
door.  He wouldn't leave without her, even if he could.  Which he 
doubted.  B'Elanna was the only one who stood a chance of by-passing 
the security lock-out. 

"Hurry," Chakotay called,  "We only have a few minutes." 

The door was smooth and featureless.  He looked on the walls to 
either side.  Nothing.  No, wait, there was something.  A small glass 
panel.  Picking up a phaser rifle that lay nearby, Tom smashed the 
glass with the butt of the rifle.  There was a handle, so he pulled 
it.  For a moment nothing happened, and then the door slid silently 
open.  A dozen startled Klingons blinked at him from a distance, and 
then out of the crowd burst one small figure, tearing towards the 
door.  It only took a few moments for the rest of the prisoners to 
understand, and they were soon in hot pursuit.  But B'Elanna was 
lighter and faster than any of them.  She barreled into the room, 
crashing into Chakotay where he stood by the console, and nearly 
knocking him flying.  Tom slammed the lever home, and the doors slid 
shut in the face of a large, and very angry looking Klingon. 

"What took you?" B'Elanna asked turning to Tom and breathing heavily. 

He just ginned at her, speechless with relief. 

"We've got five minutes," Chakotay warned them. 

"Right," B'Elanna tore her eyes away from Tom with obvious 
difficulty, but turned to her job with instant professionalism.  "Now 
let's see," she muttered, studying the controls carefully.  "Totally 
locked out.  Okay."  She paused, thinking.  "Right, I'll need the 
power cells from three of those rifles." 

"Three?" Chakotay repeated, clearly unhappy about losing so many 
weapons.   

"You want to stay here?" she asked him bluntly. 

"Four minutes," Tom told them.  "They've got reinforcements on the 
way." 


*** 


"But, what I don't understand Captain," Admiral Cabot repeated, "is 
why you broke the Prime Directive and deliberately stranded your ship 
in the Delta Quadrant?" 
"As I told you," Janeway answered, struggling to retain her focus 
after over twenty-four hours of questioning, "I felt that the Prime 
Directive did not apply, because we were brought there against our 
will..." 

"But the Kazon would have recovered the array, if you had not been 
there.  Wouldn't they?" 

"No, because..." 

"I think the pertinent point here," Admiral Paris interjected, "is 
that you expect us to believe that your crew would accept this 
decision.  And not only your crew, but the crew of a disaffected 
terrorist group too!  Frankly, it's preposterous." 

"It's the truth," Janeway replied, exhausted with repeating herself.   

"Captain," Paris pressed.  "What would you say if I told you that I 
had sworn testimony from your officers that what you are telling us 
are lies?  That you did in fact spend the last three years in 
Dominion territory, and that you have been sent here to spy for 
them?" 

"I would not believe you." 

The Admiral picked up a PADD, and waved it before her.  "I have a 
list here of members of your crew who have sworn to that effect.  
They have admitted the truth.  Why don't you?" 

"Show me the list," Janeway replied, outrage banishing her exhaustion 
momentarily. 

"No." Paris refused her.  "You must admit the truth first.  You are a 
Dominion spy!" 

"No!" she retorted. 

"Liar," Paris snarled.  "Admit it.  You are a spy for them, sent here 
to betray us." 

"I am not." 

"We do understand, Captain," Admiral Cabot asked her in a more 
friendly tone.  "Perhaps you had no choice in the matter?  Perhaps 
you were coerced?" He smiled sympathetically.  "If you confess your 
own guilt, and name others who share it, you will be acquitted.  So, 
come now, do you know of any Dominion agents among your crew?" 

"No." She replied again.  "I do not." 

"Just one?  Just one name?" Cabot suddenly looked concerned.  "But 
perhaps you would like some time to think about it?" he offered.  "We 
could arrange a meal, a bed...give you some time alone?" 

A bed.  A meal.  How she longed to quiet the pains of hunger in her 
belly, to close her eyes for just one moment.  But it was impossible.  
She would never give them the lies they demanded.  She looked out 
beyond them, her eyes once more resting on the ancient bridge, 
touched with gold in the afternoon sunlight.  It was still as 
immovable as her duty.  She drew breath and carried on:  "Neither I, 
nor any of my crew are, or have ever been, spies for the Dominion," 
she declared.  "That answer will never change.  Never." 


*** 


"Got it!" B'Elanna cried.  "It'll get us to the surface, but no 
further." 

"Good work," Chakotay told her.  "Now let's hope the shift-change 
shuttle is still up there." 

"Well, if not, this is going to be the shortest ever escape," Torres 
warned him. 

Chakotay smiled grimly.  "Let's go." 

"Okay, two at time," Torres said.  "There's not enough power for 
more." 

She saw Chakotay and Paris exchange a look.  Tom nodded his 
understanding:  "I'll go first," he said.  "Someone needs to get the 
ship fired up." 

"I'll go with him, sir," Eddings volunteered.   

Chakotay put a hand on the young ensign's shoulder.  "Good luck," was 
all he said: they all understood the danger.   

B'Elanna hardly dared look up from the console, but she forced 
herself.  She gave Tom a weak smile, and he winked at her.  "Let's 
go," he said, looking away.  "Their reinforcements will be here in 
less than two minutes." 

"You'll have to hold them off," she told him, starting to make the 
final adjustments to the make-shift power supply.  "This will need to 
recharge for thirty seconds between beam-outs.  There's eleven of us 
left...it'll take three minutes to get us all out." 

"Understood," Chakotay replied.   

Tom and Eddings stood, rifles at the ready.  Tom gave her a brief 
nod, and she hit the controls.  He was still watching her as he 
shimmered out of existence.  He was gone, but forcing him out of her 
mind was not so easy; she could still see his smile as she turned her 
attention back to the transporter.  "Okay, next two," she ordered, 
"Get ready." 


*** 


The familiar star-fall of the transporter was replaced by the 
unfamiliar feel of rain.  Tom dropped to a crouch immediately, 
phaser-rifle raised, and scanned the area.   

"All clear this side," Eddings reported, his back to Paris.   

"Not for long," Tom replied.  They stood on a shuttle pad that 
flattened a hill top, wide and desolate.  Low cloud obscured the 
view, but Tom could taste salt in the air.  They were close to the 
sea.  The rain was heavy, and he was soon soaked to the skin.  Wiping 
water from his eyes, he peered through the murky weather, barely 
daring to breath as he searched for sign of a ship.  Dimly through 
the rain he saw the slow blink of landing lights.  There was 
something on the pad, and whatever it was, it would have to do. 

"Come on," he urged Eddings.  "This way." 

They crept cautiously towards the small shuttle, ears straining for 
any sign of danger.  The rain continued unabated, and Tom could feel 
it running through his hair, crawling coldly down the back of his 
neck. 

"Is it empty?" Eddings asked in a nervous whisper. 

Paris motioned him to silence.  STAY HERE, he mouthed at the ensign.  
There was no shelter on the huge shuttle pad, so Eddings merely 
crouched low, his rifle aimed at the shuttle's open door, as Paris 
crept closer. 

Something alerted him.  He never worked out what it was, but for some 
reason he was already dropping to the floor when the phaser blast 
shot out of the shuttle's doorway.  He felt its heat streak above his 
head, and heard it explode behind him.  Rolling swiftly to his feet 
he returned fire blindly and dashed for the shuttle, pressing himself 
flat against the side of the ship.  It was only then that he saw 
Eddings, sprawled on the ground, his chest charred with phaser burns.  
He was thankful then for his Starfleet training; ruthlessly he put 
the grief aside to deal with later, and used the rage for his own 
purposes.  Enough was enough.  It was time for someone to pay. 

With a roar of anger, he burst into the shuttle.  The first man 
didn't even have time to shout, the second only managed to squeeze 
one shot out of his rifle.  Fury ran in his veins in place of blood, 
as he pushed further into the small ship, eager for another enemy, 
someone else to punish.  There was no one, but didn't matter.  The 
anger was focusing his mind, he knew what he had to do.  Without 
letting go of his rifle, Paris dropped into the pilot's seat and 
started the ignition sequence.  He felt a rush of fierce pleasure as 
the engines roared to life around him.   

Nerves taut, a soft sound behind him warned of danger.  Without 
thinking, he was out of his seat and dropping to the floor, rifle 
aimed and ready to fire.  His finger trembled on the trigger - and 
froze.  He stopped and took a deep steadying breath: it was Chakotay. 

"I saw Eddings," was all the commander said. 

"They were in here," Paris replied by way of explanation.  "I killed 
them." 

The noise of the shuttle's engines were suddenly drowned by a 
horribly familiar sound coming from outside.  Tom leaped to the 
window and looked out.  "It's a troop-transport," he told the 
commander.  "We're in trouble." 


*** 


"Damn it!" B'Elanna swore as the power pack dimmed again.  "There's 
some kind of power drain..." She explored the circuits for the 
hundredth time, made a slight alteration and the power hummed back 
into life.  "Okay," she called, "Gilman, Bellamy - you're next." 

As the transporter beamed the two Maquis out of the room, an alarm on 
the console started bleeping.  She glanced over and saw that it was a 
proximity alert.  There was a ship approaching the landing pad above, 
and by the look of the specs it was large and well armed.  Picking up 
the last phaser rifle she threw it to O'Neil, one of the two 
remaining Maquis. 

"Looks like you'll need this," she told him.  "Reinforcements have 
just arrived." 

"What about you, Lieutenant?" he asked.   

"Take care of yourself and Kessler," she replied, returning her 
attention to the transporter.  "You're going to have a warm welcome." 

"We'll be ready for them," he replied, giving her a grin that did 
little to mask his fear.  She couldn't blame him.  For all any of 
them knew, Paris, Chakotay and the others were already dead.  

"Ready?" she asked, as the power cells struggled to re-charge. 

"Ready Lieutenant," O'Neil said, Kessler echoing his friend's reply. 

The power level indicator winked dimly at her; she hoped there'd be 
enough to get these last two to the surface.  After that?  She'd have 
to wait and see.  B'Elanna's fingers hovered over the controls.  
"O'Neil," she said, considering her words carefully.  "Tell Commander 
Chakotay not to wait more than two minutes for me.  Tell him," she 
swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry, "tell him - and tell Paris -  that 
if I'm not out in two minutes, I'm not getting out." 

"What do you mean?" O'Neil asked in real concern. 

"There may not be enough power," she told him shortly.   

"Then I should stay, you're more..." 

"That's not an option, Ensign," she told him.  "Go.  Both of you.  
That's an order." 

"But..." 

"Get ready," she said giving them only a few seconds to prepare 
themselves before she sent them out into the unknown.  They 
disappeared in the familiar shimmer, protests still on their lips, 
and left her alone. 

"Good luck," she whispered after them, her voice quiet against the 
insistent beeping of the proximity alarm.  After a few moments she 
roused herself, and glanced down at the power indicator; her heart 
sank.  The power cells were dark and lifeless.  Holding her breath, 
she watched, hoping against hope, for the glimmer of light that would 
give her a chance at life.  Or at least a chance at a meaningful 
death.   


*** 


"We have to get her in the air," Paris yelled to Chakotay, punching 
the controls.  "Hang on!" 

The shuttle lurched upwards, safety alarms blaring: "Warning: Port 
hatch is not secured.  Warning: Port hatch is not secured." 

"What are you doing?" Chakotay shouted, hauling himself into the co-
pilot's seat. 

"They'll crucify us if we stay on the ground," Paris told him, 
watching the huge transport ship easing down towards the shuttle pad.  
"We have to be able to maneuver." 

"What about the others?" 

"Don't worry," Paris told him, giving Chakotay a quick sidelong 
glance.  "I'm not leaving without them."  {Does he still think I'm 
such a coward?  After all these years?}  But there was little time for 
such thoughts,  the battle was about to be joined.  "I can give them 
more cover from here," he explained.  "I'm not going far." 

Keeping the shuttle hovering precariously close to the ground, Tom 
turned his ship to face the transport.  Before it had finished its 
landing sequence, the bay doors opened and he could see the faces of 
well armed troops poised to spill out.  A streak of red phaser-fire 
shot from the doorway.  Without hesitating, Paris returned fire, his 
first shot hitting home and raising plumes of smoke, but the second 
dissolved uselessly against their swiftly raised shields.   

"At least their troops can't get past the shields either," Tom 
muttered to himself.  If he could force them to keep their shields 
raised, they might just stand a chance.  Peering through the clearing 
smoke, Tom began to make out two indistinct figures between the 
ships, one of them lay sprawled on the floor. "It's Kessler and 
O'Neil," he called.  "Looks like Kessler's down. They need help." 

"I've got them," Chakotay replied, leaving his seat.  "Cover me."  
Pushing past the rest of the escapees, he reached the open port hatch 
and jumped cautiously to the surface. 

"O'Neil, Kessler," Paris heard the commander yell from somewhere 
under the hovering shuttle.  "This way." 

Kessler was badly injured, and as O'Neil struggled to lift him, 
another volley of phaser fire from the transport sent them both 
scrambling to the ground.  Tom watched as Chakotay dashed out from 
the cover of the ship, blasting blindly at the smoke obscured 
Transport.  Paris joined in, sending the shuttle's phaser fire 
blazing over the heads of his friends, and trapping the troops inside 
their ship.  Between them, Chakotay and O'Neil managed to lift their 
injured friend and trot back towards the shuttle, passing under the 
ship and out of Tom's sight. 

"We've got them," a voice called from behind him, and Paris slapped 
on the shields with relief.  Turning in his seat, he watched Chakotay 
ease Kessler to the ground.  The man was in pain, but alive.  That 
was something, at least.   

"You two okay?" Tom asked. 

"Never better, Lieutenant," Kessler told him, grimacing as he moved 
his injured leg. 

"We'll get you out of here in no time," Tom told him with a grin.  
"Just as soon as Torres gets herself out, we can..."   

"She's not out yet?" O'Neil asked immediately. 

"No," involuntarily Tom glanced out at the shuttle pad.  It was still 
empty.   

"How long's it been?" O'Neil turned to Chakotay.  "How long since we 
beamed out?" 

"Two or three minutes," the commander replied, clearly worried.  
"Why?" 

O'Neil and Kessler exchanged a look that turned Tom's guts to ice.  
"What's happened?"  he asked in a voice brittle with fear. 

"She told us..." O'Neil swallowed nervously, while Kessler just 
leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes.  O'Neil 
continued, his face full of anguish, "...she told us to tell you and 
the commander to wait for two minutes.  She said...she said if she 
wasn't out by then, she wouldn't be coming.  There wasn't much power 
left..."   

Tom didn't hear the rest of his words.  Black despair tunneled his 
vision, constricted his chest; she was trapped in there.  She would 
die.  Alone.  Dimly he became aware of pain in his left hand.  
Looking down he saw blood; his fist was balled so tightly that his 
own finger nails had bitten into the palm of his hand.  He stared at 
it, unmoving, the world turning gray and heavy around him.  She was 
gone. He might have sat there in horror-struck silence forever, had a 
phaser shot not blasted them at that moment. 

The shields held, but the impact sent the small shuttle careening 
backwards.  Instinct more than training saved them.  Tom grabbed the 
controls and wrestled the ship back under control with sheer force of 
will.  O'Neil, Kessler, Chakotay and the others went flying as the 
ship spun away from the troop transport; there was a bloody gash on 
the commander's forehead when he hauled himself back into the co-
pilot's chair. 

"That was close," he commented to Paris, examining the controls.   

"Sorry, Commander," Tom replied.  "I was distracted." 

Chakotay didn't reply at first.  "Their shields are down," he said 
after a moment.  "Fire phasers." 

Tom fired, watching the phaser blast into the armored hull of the 
transport.  With his eyes still focused on their enemy, he spoke: "I 
won't leave her behind." 

He expected Chakotay to argue, but instead the commander was silent 
for a moment.  When he did speak, all he said was: "If you go back 
they'll kill you." 

"I know," Tom replied, astounded at how little he cared.  If B'Elanna 
was gone, it simply didn't matter.  Another blast from the transport 
set their little shuttle rocking:  "Warning: shields failing," the 
computer announced. 

"If we don't get out of here soon, we'll all be killed," Chakotay 
commented.  There was no fear or anger in his voice, it was simply a 
statement of fact.  But the words stopped Tom dead: they were true, 
and he knew it.  His despair was not so complete that it blinded him 
to his duty; the lives of nine men and women lay in his hands, and 
try as he might he could not ignore that fact. 

Paris looked up, his eyes locking with the commander's.  "How can I 
just leave her?" he whispered, the pain in his chest ready to burst.  
It was a pain he saw reflected in Chakotay's face; mirrored in 
appearance but not equaled in depth.   

"Don't let her death be for nothing," the commander said quietly.  
"Let her life buy ours." 

A pain, sharp and cold, twisted the life from his heart, crawled into 
his throat and strangled his words.  Tom couldn't speak.  He knew 
that the effort would release the hot, dry tears that burned behind 
his eyes, and that once released, they would never stop.  With hands 
that trembled from the effort, he turned to the controls and began to 
set a course for orbit.  


*** 


B'Elanna licked lips gone dry with tension, as she concentrated on 
the delicate task.  At her feet, discarded, lay the lifeless power 
cells, while behind her one of the communications consoles spilled 
its contents halfway across the floor.  Torres did not take defeat 
easily.  The power cells had failed her, but there was always another 
option, and she was determined to find it.  As she made the last 
connection, she glanced at the chronometer - four minutes since she 
had sent O'Neil and Kessler to the surface.  If her friends were 
still alive, they should have left by now.  She quailed from the 
loneliness of that thought, but alone or not, she was damned if she 
would let them kill her down here, in this stone tomb.  No, she would 
make it to the surface, even if she was to die there. 

"Okay Torres," she told herself.  "Get ready." 

She'd hot-wired the transporter into the power circuits of the 
environmental control system.  The energy grids were totally 
incompatible, and the raw energy surge would blow out the sensitive 
circuits of the transporter system within seconds.  If it worked it 
would transport her to the surface before it blew.  If it 
didn't....well, there'd be no second chance. 

Picking up a dead phaser rifle, she moved to the transporter 
controls.  The rifle would be useless, but she felt better for having 
it in her hands - she could use it as a club at least.  That thought 
brought Tom painfully to mind; she suddenly remembered him charging 
to her rescue when the wolves had attacked.  She had never thanked 
him, she realized sadly.  She'd never thanked him for saving her 
life, she'd never apologized for her hurtful words during their 
terrible argument, and she'd never told him that she still loved him.  
That she always had.  For a moment she almost gave in to the 
overwhelming wave of guilt-stained grief; tears welled in her eyes, 
and her fiery determination to escape fled from her blood.  But the 
moment passed. She was still alive, and while she lived there was 
hope.  Perhaps she really would escape, perhaps by some miracle she 
would one day be able to tell him everything herself. 

"Not if you hang around here much longer," she muttered to herself, 
and without further pause for doubt or regret, she hit the controls 
and activated the transporter.  She had programmed a three second 
delay, and then rushing into position, B'Elanna readied herself for 
whatever was to come; life or death. 

She held her breath as the transporter beam shimmered around her, 
then, just as she began to feel the familiar tingling sensation, 
there was a blinding white flash.... 


*** 


"Lieutenant, wait!" O'Neil yelled from the rear of the shuttle.  
"Over there, look!" 

"What?" Tom shouted back, not taking his eyes off the controls.   

"There's someone there," O'Neil replied, struggling up into the 
cockpit.   

Paris saw Chakotay leap to the window, but he dared not move himself: 
it was taking all his concentration to keep the transport grounded.  
Once that thing got airborne, they'd be in trouble. 

"There," O'Neil was pointing.  "See?" 

Chakotay was silent for a moment.  Tom held his breath.  He dared not 
even hope that it was... 

"B'Elanna," Chakotay confirmed.   

Tom felt life surging back into his soul, and in an instant the world 
turned from gray to vivid technicolor.  Hope, mixed in equal measure 
with dread fear, thundered in his heart:  "We have to go get her," he 
said urgently. "She won't last long out there."  

"Open the hatch," Chakotay replied without hesitation.   

Tom hit the controls, and the hatch hissed open, then he lowered the 
shuttle closer to the ground, not risking a landing.  Rain hammered 
down on the shuttle roof, running in rivulets down the windows, and 
making it hard to see.  Peering through the rain, Tom's eyes strained 
to see in the gloom, when suddenly... 

"There she is!"  His heart flipped over in his chest at the sight of 
her small rain-drenched frame, standing, a phaser rifle cradled in 
one arm, staring up at the descending shuttle.  {She's alive!  She's 
made it!} The thought raced through his head, leaving room for little 
else.  So, he didn't notice that the transport had dropped its 
shields until a barrage of phaser fire pummeled the shuttle and the 
landing pad beneath them.  The shuttle rocked dangerously close to 
the ground as its alarms wailed, warning them of imminent collision. 

"Firing phasers," Chakotay was yelling, as Tom took desperate evasive 
action.  When he had time to look up, his heart turned cold.  The 
shuttle pad was a mess, a phaser blast had hit close by, spraying 
rubble and dust high into the air.  But through the debris, Tom could 
see one small figure lying motionless on the ground.   

"No!" he heard himself yell, instinctively jumping to his feet to go 
to her.  But Chakotay's hand on his shoulder was heavy and strong.   

"Fly the ship, Lieutenant," the commander ordered. "We'll get her." 

Cursing silently, Tom sat down.  {Let her live!  Please let her be 
alive!}  He moved the ship as close to B'Elanna as he could, dropping 
what was left of the shields to allow Chakotay to leave.  To his left 
Tom saw the transport doors open, spilling their heavily armed 
contents onto the landing pad.  To his right, he saw Chakotay and 
O'Neil running towards the inert figure of B'Elanna.  Only the 
shuttle separated his friends from the advancing troops.  Tom turned 
the phasers towards their enemy, and opened fire.  Four men fell, but 
the rest continued their relentless advance.   

Glancing back towards Chakotay, he saw the commander lift B'Elanna's 
limp body in his arms.  Then, with O'Neil leading the way, the two 
men started running back towards the shuttle.  Tom turned away 
hurriedly.  He couldn't bare to see the way her head lolled, the 
lifeless way in which her arms and legs dangled.  {Please let her 
live!} 

The troops were closer now, and Tom turned the shuttle to face them, 
risking dropping even closer to the surface.  It seemed like an 
eternity, waiting for Chakotay to reach the ship.  The soldiers were 
so close now, he could see their faces.  Cold hard faces dressed in 
the familiar Starfleet uniform.  It was strange and unnatural.  He 
fired again, and saw more of them fall.  This time one man fired 
back.  The phaser-rifle couldn't do much damage to the shuttle, but 
with the shields down they were vulnerable.  Briefly, Tom wondered 
why the transport didn't just fire and finish the job.  {They want us 
alive}, he realized suddenly.  The thought brought a dark smile to his 
lips.  That gave them an advantage.  An advantage so slim it would be 
hard to use, but an advantage nonetheless.   

"We've got them!" the shout came at last, and Tom released the breath 
he hadn't realized he was holding. 

"Every one hang on," he yelled.  "It's going to be rough."  With that 
he fired the engines and threw the ship upwards until the engines 
were screaming.   


*** 


"Lieutenant," Kim said, double checking the data before him.  
"There's some kind of disturbance within the planet's atmosphere." 

"What kind of disturbance, Ensign?" Tuvok replied with his usual cool 
curiosity. 

"Atmospheric phaser-fire Captain," Kim told him with growing 
excitement.  "It's a dog-fight." 

Tuvok raised an eyebrow at the expression.  "Location?" he asked. 

"Confirming..." Kim looked up, his excitement barely restrained.  
"It's right above the New Zealand Penal Settlement." 

"Interesting," Tuvok admitted.  "Can you determine if any of 
Voyager's crew are among the combatants?" 

Harry frowned as he turned back to the scanners.  "No," he replied 
after a moment.  "There's some kind of electromagnetic dampening 
field around the whole installation.  The scanners can't penetrate 
it." 

"A security shield," Tuvok guessed.  "Designed to prevent 
transportation from the settlement." 

"Then what shall we do?" Kim asked.  "It has to be them!" 

"It does not.  We do not know where our crew are being held," Tuvok 
told him.  "Until we have more evidence, we will do nothing." 

"Nothing!" Kim objected.  "They could die down there." 

"If it is not them, and we reveal our hand too soon, we will have 
destroyed our only hope of escape," Tuvok warned him.  "We must be 
ready to act, but we must be patient." 

Kim scowled, turning back to the display before him.  The two 
flashing icons were mere images, but in his heart he knew what they 
represented.  They were his friends, and they were in trouble.  He 
scanned, and watched, and waited, and hoped.   


*** 


"Warning: shield failure in thirty seconds.  Warning: shield 
failure..." 

"Mute audible warning," Tom snapped, as another blast from the 
transport ship rocked their little shuttle.  "Hang on!" he yelled, 
throwing the ship into yet another stomach turning maneuver. 

"We're still not out of range of the prison's dampening field," 
Chakotay told him, hanging onto the controls as the ship twisted and 
turned. 

"We've lost shields," O'Neil called from behind them.  Tom glanced at 
Chakotay: it would only take one more hit. 

"We have to use the transporters," the commander decided.  "Paris, we 
need to get above this dampening field." 

Tom shook his head, as he scanned the controls.  With one engine 
already damaged, and the transport on their tail, it wouldn't be 
easy.  "O'Neil," he called.  "Lock on the transporter, and stand by.  
We won't have much time." 

"Aye, sir," the ensign replied, struggling towards the transporter 
station. 

"Every one, brace yourselves," Tom warned.  "We've lost the inertial 
dampers..."  He tapped the controls, readying the shuttle for it's 
sheer, perilous climb out of the dampening field's range.   

"Wait..." Chakotay yelled, as a streak of phaser fire clipped them 
slightly, shaking the shuttle to her bones.  

"What are you doing?" Tom asked, struggling to keep the shuttle on 
course. 

"Sending a distress signal," Chakotay replied.  He shrugged at Tom's 
dubious expression, "you never know who's listening." 

"No one friendly," Tom predicted.  "all right.  Brace now!"  With 
that he hit the controls, and sent the little shuttle into an 
impossibly steep climb.  The engines screamed with the effort, the 
ship shuddered and rattled, and the g-forces pinned them to their 
seats. 

"Almost there," Chakotay said, watching the display. 

"O'Neil, stand by," Paris called, the effort of maintaining the near-
vertical climb knotting his shoulders with tension. 

A violent blow suddenly pummeled the little shuttle, smashing her 
off course.  Phaser fire streaked past the window as the ship rolled 
over and over.  Disorientated, it took Tom an instant to grasp what 
was happening.   

"Warning:  hull breach," the computer told them.  Tom ignored it.  
That was the least of their problems.  Through the view screen he 
could see the ground spiraling towards them.  Instinct told him it 
was much too fast.   

"Pull up!"  Chakotay yelled. 

"Helm's not responding!" Tom replied, thumping the console in 
frustration.  Nothing.  This was it!  This was how it would end!   

"Impact in forty-three seconds" the computer told them. 

"Transport!"  Chakotay shouted, bracing himself against the controls. 

"Nothing commander," O'Neil replied in panic.  "We're still under the 
dampening field!" 

In desperation, Tom threw the engines into full-reverse.  At this 
speed, he knew, they would probably melt-down.  They certainly 
protested, and the ship started shaking so hard, Tom could hardly 
see.  But he could see enough.  The ground was still rushing towards 
them; then, for a moment, it slowed.  The engines shrieked at him, 
his teeth, his eyes, even his bones seemed to be rattling as the 
shuttle threatened to tear itself apart.  And then it stopped.  There 
was an instant of absolute silence, absolute stillness; the engines 
had cut-out.  And then they dropped like a stone.  They were in free-
fall, and there was nothing he could do about it.  This time, there 
was no way out. 


***  


"Lieutenant!" Kim called urgently.  "One of the ships is sending out 
an automated distress signal." 

"Analysis?" Tuvok asked immediately. 

"It's coded, Lieutenant," Kim replied, concentrating.  He looked up 
sharply.  "It's a Voyager code!" 

"Are they within transporter range?" 

"Negative," Kim replied.  "They're still beneath the dampening 
field." 

Tuvok nodded.  For an instant he remained motionless, until his 
decision was made.  "Stand-by, Ensign," he said at last, moving 
towards the captain's chair.  "Computer, recognize Tuvok Double-
Alpha-three-nine-seven." 

"Recognized," the computer replied. 

"Execute Tuvok Double-Alpha One."   

The computer hummed to itself.  "Tuvok Double-Alpha One complete.  
All non-Voyager personnel have been transported to McKinley 
station." 

"Ensign," Tuvok turned to Kim.  "Take the con." 

"Aye sir," Kim replied, striding across the bridge. 

"Computer, disengage landing clamps and engage impulse engines." 

"Unable to comply; that order violates space-dock safety protocols." 

"Over ride protocols and comply," Tuvok continued calmly. 

"Clamps are disengaging," Kim reported.  "Engines on-line." 

"Very well, Mr. Kim.  Take us down." 

Kim took a deep breath.  Tom should be doing this, not him.  He was 
no pilot!  Still, there was no one else.  With great trepidation, he 
set course for the distress signal, raised the shields against the 
heat of re-entry, and tipped Voyager's nose towards the planet below.  
"We're getting some atmospheric turbulence, Lieutenant."  

"I will attempt to compensate, Ensign." 

The view was spectacular as Voyager skimmed beneath the atmosphere, 
flitting through clouds, in and out of brilliant sunshine. 

"Approaching the coordinates," Kim reported, as the ship entered a 
wall of thick cloud.  He reduced speed, and dropped closer to the 
surface.  "Phaser fire is still continuing." 

The clouds parted, and Kim could see the scene below him.  A large, 
ugly looking ship of military design was firing on a small shuttle.  
As he watched, a blast caught the little ship on the port nacelle, 
sending her tumbling towards the ground. 

"They're hit!" he yelled. 

Tuvok raced to Ops.  "The transporters won't work within this 
dampening field," he said.   

Harry watched the shuttle start plummeting towards the surface, his 
heart sinking as fast as the little ship. 

"Get us in tractor range," Tuvok ordered. 

Large though the transport was, it was dwarfed by Voyager, and 
scrambled quickly out of the way of the rapidly descending starship.  
Kim followed the shuttle down.  "In range, sir," he reported 
urgently.  It was only a matter of seconds before the shuttle smashed 
into the ground. 

"Engaging tractor beam now," said Tuvok, working the controls 
rapidly.  "We have them." 


*** 


The shuttle lurched to a sudden stop, only meters from the ground.  
The impact of the halt sent them all flying.  Picking himself up, Tom 
dashed to the controls. 

"Something's got us," he yelled.  "Tractor-beam."  {Damn it!}  He 
wouldn't go without a fight.  His fingers were flying across the 
weapons controls, when he felt Chakotay's hand on his shoulder. 

"Paris," the commander said, his voice surprisingly jubilant.  
"Look." 

Tom raised his eyes, irritated words on his lips.  But the words died 
there.  As he followed Chakotay's pointing finger, he saw the most 
wonderful sight of his entire life:  Voyager floated above them,  
powerful and beautiful.  

It took a moment for them all to understand: they were alive! Voyager 
had saved them!  After that moment's silence, Tom reckoned the whoops 
of joy that echoed through the ship could probably be heard in the 
depths of the prison below. 

His own joy was short lived however, as he hurried towards B'Elanna.  
She lay unmoving on the floor, her head cradled by Kessler, who's own 
happiness was muted by his obvious pain. 

"She's alive, sir," Kessler told Tom immediately.  Those words hit 
him with a wave of relief so strong that it drove him to his knees by 
her side.  Not trusting himself to speak straight away, Tom nodded to 
Kessler, touching the man's arm in a gesture of thanks. Then he 
turned to B'Elanna; her face was pale, and her breathing shallow. Her 
hand felt small and cold in his own, and he squeezed it gently before 
laying it on her chest. 

"We need to get you both to sick-bay," he told Kessler, getting to 
his feet.  "Then we'll show them just what Voyager can do!" 


*** 


With B'Elanna and Kessler safely moved to sick-bay, Tom headed for 
the bridge. As he stepped out of the turbo-lift, Tom couldn't help 
feeling he was coming home.  Looking around, he saw Kim grinning from 
ear to ear. 

"Good to see you Tom," Harry said. 

"You too," he replied.  "And thanks Harry.  We all owe you." 

Kim shrugged.  "I just wish we'd figured it out sooner." 

Tom opened his mouth to reply, but he was distracted by Chakotay.  
"Not aboard?" the commander was asking Tuvok, alarm evident in his 
voice. 

"She was summoned to a debriefing session two days ago," Tuvok 
replied.  "And has not returned.  We hoped that the Captain was on 
board your ship." 

"We don't know where she is," Chakotay told Tuvok.  Tom recognized 
the controlled panic he saw in the commander's eyes; he'd felt the 
same when B'Elanna had been missing. 

"We can't leave her behind," Chakotay continued.  As he spoke, he 
caught Tom's eye, and despite the grim situation, he gave a self-
deprecating smile.   

"No, we can't," Tom agreed.  "So, we should go find her." 

"Where?" Kim asked. 

"Paris," Chakotay said, taking the captain's seat.  "We need to get 
to San Francisco fast - but keep us low, we don't want to run into 
their orbital defenses." 

"Yes sir," Tom replied, sliding into the pilot's seat with alacrity.  
He smiled; it was just like coming home.  "Setting speed to 
20,000kph; altitude 50 meters."  

"Fifty meters," Kim breathed, as he saw the planet's surface start 
speeding below them, "we're practically in the ocean!" 

"Relax," Tom replied with a grin.  "I know what I'm doing."   


*** 


It was difficult to concentrate.  She had to keep blinking, just to 
keep her eyes open.  The Starfleet officers before her consulted each 
other in tones too low to hear.  They had all questioned her, 
individually and together, over the past...how many days?  She could 
no longer tell.  A lesser person would have broken, she knew.  A 
lesser person would have given them the lies they wanted.  But 
Kathryn Janeway was strong.  Her body may weaken, but her spirit 
would never fail.  As the officers whispered together, she looked out 
beyond them.  The sun was setting, painting the sky in brilliant 
shades of orange and purple, its golden globe sinking to the ocean.   
For a moment she though she saw something flash silver in the evening 
sun; something tiny and far away.  Narrowing her gaze, she stared at 
it until... 

"Kathryn Janeway," Admiral Paris addressed her; she looked away from 
the sunset, and into the cold face of her enemy.  "You have an 
unhappy choice before you:  if you persist in your story of the Delta 
Quadrant, you will be convicted of a most serious violation of the 
Prime Directive," he glared at her, but she did not quail.  "You will 
be convicted of gross incompetence, of endangering the life of your 
crew and the safety of the Federation Starship Voyager." 

He paused to let that fact sink in.  Janeway steeled herself for the 
next assault. 

"However, if you admit that you have, in reality, spent the last 
three years in the Gamma Quadrant, you will be convicted of High 
Treason." 

Still she remained silent. 

"The penalty," Admiral Cabot interjected smoothly, "for both these 
offenses, is death." 

Janeway looked at him.  "Then it appears I am to die," she replied, 
knowing that her calm manner irritated them.  It cheered her a 
little. 

"There is an alternative," Cabot told her.  She stared at him until 
he looked away.  She smiled; another little victory.  Very little.  
She knew full well what his alternative was: "Repent your treason," 
Cabot urged her.  "And give us the names of those Dominion agents in 
your crew.  That will save you." 

Her attention was suddenly caught once more by a silver flash over 
the bay.  Closer this time.  She stared, not quite sure if her eyes 
were deceiving her.  Could it be...?  Her heart started pounding in 
sudden and unexpected hope.  Could it really be...?  Turning back to 
the tribunal panel, she rose to her feet.  She had a better view from 
there, and she wanted hold their full attention: she dared not risk 
them looking backward.

"I will not buy my life with a lie," she told them.  "I have told you 
the truth, and that will never change.  This," she gestured around 
her,  "kangaroo-court is a sham.  It is a mockery of justice, and I 
do not recognize its jurisdiction over me or any of my crew." 

"You are determined to die then?" Cabot asked smoothly.  "A martyr to 
what cause...?" 

Janeway ignored him.  She was transfixed.  Low, skimming close to the 
waves came a ship.  A ship so familiar that she wanted to shout with 
joy; Voyager was coming for her. 

It slowed as it approached the shore, growing larger and larger in 
the picture window.  A commotion at the back of the room suddenly 
attracted everyone's attention.  Two young soldiers burst in, phasers 
in hand. 

"What is the meaning of this?" Admiral Paris spluttered in outrage.   

"Admiral," one of the soldiers pointed his hand towards the window.  
"It's Voyager." 

The Admiral turned, and stumbled backward into the table at the 
unexpected sight of the huge Starship hovering outside.  "Get her out 
of here!" he ordered, turning back to the Captain.  "Take her to..." 

Janeway never learned where she was to be taken, for at that moment, 
she felt a familiar tingling sensation and saw the tribunal room 
dissolve before her eyes.  When her vision cleared she felt like 
crying for joy.  She was on the bridge of Voyager; she was home. 

"Paris," she heard Chakotay order, almost before she had 
materialized, "get us out of here."  She felt the thrust of the 
engines as Voyager launched herself towards the stars, and then 
Chakotay took her arm. "Are you all right, Kathryn?" he asked, doing 
nothing to mask the warmth in his voice. 

"I am now," she told him with a smile.  Looking around her, she saw 
that they were all there; Chakotay and Tom looked a little the worse 
for wear, but despite their gray prison garb, they were still 
smiling. 

"Is everyone on board?" she asked.  "Where's B'Elanna?" 

"Sick-bay," Paris told her.  She could see concern in his face, which 
made her worry. 

"There were three fatalities," Tuvok informed her as she sat down.  
"But everyone else is accounted for." 

"Who?" she asked immediately.  Her heart sank when she heard the 
names, all Maquis.  She looked up at Chakotay: "I'm sorry," she said.  
"They were all good people." 

"Captain," Kim interrupted from Ops, "We're being hailed." 

"On screen," she ordered, standing up, hands on hips, chin raised 
defiantly. 

"Janeway," Cabot's face filled the screen.  "So this is how you 
choose to die?  Very well.  You know you will never return to your 
Dominion friends." 

"For once, Admiral, you are correct," she said.  "I will not."  At 
her slight slashing gesture, Kim ended the communication. 

"Commander, what's our situation?" she asked Chakotay.   

"It appears, Captain," he replied, all cool professionalism once 
more.  "That this is not the Alpha Quadrant we were expecting.  
Sisperia has double-crossed us." 

Janeway smiled.  She had suspected, no, she had hoped as much.  "You 
don't know how happy that makes me," she replied. 

"I think I can imagine," Tom observed.   

"Can we get back?" Janeway continued. 

"There is a slim chance," Tuvok interjected.  "If the effects of the 
spatial displacement are still in evidence." 

"It sounds like we need B'Elanna," she commented, tapping her combadge.  
"Janeway to sickbay.  Doctor, respond please." 

"Ah, Captain," the doctor replied.  "Am I glad to see you.  You would 
not believe the trouble I've been having with this strip-down crew.  
They wanted to..." 

"Not now, Doctor," Janeway interrupted.  "I need you to tell me how 
Lieutenant Torres is doing." 

"Humph," the doctor sniffed.  "How should I know?" 

Tom turned around in his seat, "What do you mean?" he asked quickly. 

"I mean that she's not here.  Wouldn't even let me run a scan before 
she..." 

"Doctor," Janeway interrupted again.  "Where is she?" 

"Engineering," he told her, clearly disgruntled.  "Where else?" 

Tom shook his head, torn between a smile and a frown. 

"Janeway to Torres." 

"Torres here," B'Elanna said, sounding distracted.  "Glad to have you 
back, Captain." 

"Lieutenant, we need a way to get back through the rift," Janeway 
started explaining. 

"I know Captain," she replied,  "I'm working on it." 

Janeway smiled.  "Of course.  Keep me posted." 

A dull thud rocked the ship.  "Report," Janeway ordered, taking her 
seat. 

"We're under fire, Captain," Kim told her.  "It's a galaxy class 
star-ship.  The Defiant." 

"Go to red alert," she ordered. "Tom, take evasive action; Tuvok, 
fire at will.  We have to give B'Elanna long enough to come up with a 
way home." 


*** 


Engineering was a mess.  B'Elanna swore silently as she tripped over 
another pile of circuitry, lying discarded on the floor.  The warp 
engines were cold, and a cursory glance told her that it would take 
days to get them back on-line.  If her head hadn't thudded so badly, 
she would have been really mad.  But she didn't have the energy right 
now.  Getting Voyager back through the rift was her first priority. 

"Lieutenant Carey," she called, "run a sub-space scan of the area.  I 
need to know if there are any traces of spatial displacement." 

"I'm reading a spatial displacement at point-oh-oh-six light years, 
bearing 297 mark 64." 

"Right where we left it," Torres muttered.  


*** 


Somewhere, a corner of his mind was still Neelix.  He watched himself 
as if from behind a glass wall, saw his hands move, heard words come 
from his lips; but they were not his hands, not his words. 

He watched himself now, sitting at the feet of his Lady.  She was 
strong, her mind clearer in his head than it had ever been.  The 
small corner that was Neelix would soon be gone, and he would be like 
the other one, like Belkazem.  As if summoned by his thoughts, 
Sisperia's midnight-clad servant made his appearance.  He bowed low 
at her feet, his black robes rustling softly against the icy floor. 

"My Lady," he murmured in sibilant tones, "I come in warning." 

"Warning?" her voice was as clear and light as ice. "Of what, my 
pet?" 

"There is a disturbance - someone is attempting to re-enter the 
spatial rift, from the other side." 

In his mind, Neelix felt her anger burn suddenly bright, and recoiled 
from it. 

"Voyager!" she hissed. 

The word rang like a clarion call.  {Voyager!} He knew that name, it 
meant something to him...the vestiges of his awareness struggled to 
remember. 

"They are using a harmonic resonance field to re-open the rift," 
Belkazem added.  "Given time, it will work." 

"Display!" Sisperia commanded. 

Leaping to obey, Belkazem moved to the small console behind her 
throne.  Instantly, the wall of ice before them shimmered into a view 
screen; it showed a starfield, the heart of which was twisting in on 
itself.  Neelix watched.  He recognized it.  He'd watched something 
disappear into that twisting hole before, something terribly dear to 
him...his mind ached with the effort of remembering.  What was it...?  
In the distance, he heard Sisperia laugh. 

"Poor little Captain - how she must be suffering in that place!"  Her 
hand moved to rest on the control that lay always in her lap.  "I 
wonder how many of her precious crew they killed?" 

"My Lady," Belkazem whispered.  "If they return, they will be angry." 

Sisperia's frail head whipped around to face him, "I am angry," she 
hissed back.  "Do you think they are a match for me?" 

"No, My Lady," Belkazem conceded, bowing low.  "My Lady's power is 
unequaled." 

"Indeed it is," she agreed, returning her attention to the screen.  
"However, the array is not yet repaired.  It will be easier to keep 
Janeway and her friends in their new HOME than to kill them here. It 
amuses me to think of their despair in that place: so nearly home, 
but so very different."  She laughed, a sound as cold as breaking 
ice. 

Neelix sat up straight.  Janeway.  That was a name he knew.  Janeway.  
A friend?  No, more than that.  A leader.  Someone he trusted, 
respected, loved...Janeway.  Captain Janeway.  Captain Janeway of the 
Federation Starship Voyager.  The memories crashed in so fast it took 
his breath away.  He sat motionless, struggling to process them in 
the small corner of his mind that was still his.  Sisperia flashed a 
glance in his direction, a frown flickering across her face, but she 
spared him little attention; he was no threat, and she had more 
important concerns. 

"They are clever, I will grant them that much," she admitted.  "How 
long until they open the rift?" 

Belkazem returned to the console,  "Two minutes and nineteen seconds, 
My Lady," he replied. 

"Very well," her fingers hovered over the controls in her lap.  "Let 
them think they have escaped; in two minutes I will close the rift 
forever." 

Neelix looked about him.  He was aware now, aware as he had not been 
since Sisperia first invaded his mind.  She was still there, but she 
paid him little attention; she was blind to his awareness.  He felt 
her bitter anger, as her fingers hovered over the control that would 
seal his friends forever in the little-hell to which she had sent 
them.  He tasted her triumph, but he also tasted her fear.  She was 
not strong.  Her recovery was far from complete; if Voyager returned, 
she knew, and so did he, that his friends could destroy her.  Just as 
he knew her fear, so he knew how she would prevent their return.  The 
controls in her hands were the heart of her power.  She trusted no 
one else with them, not even Belkazem.  If those controls were 
destroyed, or even damaged... 

Neelix forced his body to move.  Very slowly he inched closer to her.  
Sisperia's attention was focused on the screen, her mind fixed on 
final revenge.  She did not notice the corner of his mind that was 
Neelix.  She had no idea of her danger. 


*** 


Tom swore under his breath as another blast shook the ship. 

"Shields at thirty-seven percent," Kim reported. 

"Torres," Janeway hit her combadge.  "How much longer?" 

"Another thirty seconds, Captain," B'Elanna replied.  "The harmonic 
resonance field has almost re-opened the rift." 

"Captain," Kim called.  "We're being hailed by the Defiant." 

"On screen," Janeway ordered.  Tom looked up as a man's face appeared 
on the screen; it was hard, his dark eyes as shadowy as a winter's 
night. 

"Captain Janeway," he said in a strangely inexpressive voice, "I am 
surprised to meet you under these circumstances." 

"Captain Sisko," she replied.  "You're a long way from home." 

He smiled coldly.  "I have a certain interest in you and your 
mission, Captain.  I'm sure you and your Dominion masters understand 
the strategic importance of Deep Space Nine." 

"I have no interest in your space station," Janeway told him.  "We 
just want to leave this place." 

"To return to your friends in the Dominion?" Sisko asked.  "I don't 
think I can allow you to do that, Captain." 

"I don't think you can stop us," she retorted. 

"I would rather not destroy your ship," Sisko told her calmly, "but I 
will, if I have to.  I'm giving you a final chance.  Your life, I'm 
afraid, is already forfeit,  but surrender now and your crew will be 
spared.  If you don't, you WILL be destroyed." 

Tom glanced over his shoulder at the captain. Her chin lifted in 
defiance as she spoke: "It may be bottom of the ninth with two outs 
for us, Captain, but don't expect me to make a sacrifice bunt." She 
turned to Kim, "End transmission."  

"Captain," Tom heard excitement in B'Elanna's voice, "The rift's 
starting to open." 

"Good work," Janeway told her.  "Mr. Paris, take us in." 

"Yes, Ma'am," Paris replied, turning Voyager sharply and heading 
straight for the spatial distortion that was beginning to register on 
his sensors. 

"The Defiant is in pursuit," Kim reported from Ops.   

"Engines at full impulse," Tom replied.  "Without the warp engines, 
this is all we've got." 

A barrage of phaser fire buffeted the ship, but the shields held. 

"Stay on course, Mr. Paris," Janeway told him calmly. 

"Ten seconds to entry," Paris said, watching the spatial distortion 
grow larger in the view screen. 

"Captain," Kim yelled.  "They're attempting to lock on a tractor 
beam." 

"On a ship this large?" Janeway asked, surprised. 

"We're slowing, Captain," Paris told her.  "But they can't hold us." 

"Tuvok, fire photon-torpedoes," Janeway ordered.  "Target their 
tractor beam." 

"Aye, Captain," he replied.  "Firing torpedoes." 

"Tractor beam off-line," Kim reported with satisfaction. 

"Four seconds to entry, Captain," Paris reported. 

"Torres to the bridge."  B'Elanna was alarmed, "The rift is changing 
Captain!  I'm trying to compensate, but it's not responding." 

"Is it collapsing?" Janeway asked urgently. 

"Worse," Torres replied.  "It's completely disintegrating." 

"Captain, shall I take us in?" Tom asked, as the first of the spatial 
displacement waves battered at the nose of the ship. 

"If we don't go now, we'll be stranded here forever," B'Elanna warned 
from engineering.  "But if it disintegrates while we're inside..." 
She left the conclusion unspoken. 

Janeway only hesitated for an instant. 

"Take us in, Mr. Paris." 


*** 


"Goodbye, Captain," Sisperia whispered, her hand poised over the 
control that would destroy the rift forever. 

Her bony finger descended towards the button, just as Neelix launched 
himself towards her.  With a fury born of desperation, he wrenched 
the control panel from her scrawny fingers, heedless of her shrieks 
of anger.  He felt her panic, he knew her fear; in his mind her 
thoughts were chaos.  He used that moment to drive them from his 
consciousness forever.   

"No!" she wailed, as he sent the controls clattering down the stairs 
of her dais.   

"They are my friends," he hissed at her, his fingers itching for her 
throat in a murderous rage.  "If you have harmed them, I will..." 

Then Belkazem was on him.  The man was strong, and one sweep of his 
arm sent Neelix flying from the dais, crashing into the icy cavern 
wall.  He lay on the floor for a moment, in dazed confusion. 

"I will kill them all!" Sisperia screamed, struggling to stand. 

"My Lady," Belkazem's voice was urgent, no longer a whisper.  "It's 
too late. We must leave now.  Before they have time to..." 

"Leave?" she shrieked.  "Never!" 

"My Lady!"  Belkazem grasped her by the shoulders.  "We cannot win 
this fight - your powers are still weak.  There will be other 
battles, My Lady.  We must choose one we can win.  And we WILL win, 
in the end." 

For a moment she stared at him with such hatred, that Neelix thought 
the man was already dead.  But the moment passed.   

"Bring me the control," she said instead, her icy arrogance cracked 
and shaken. 

Belkazem retrieved the control that Neelix had knocked from her 
hands, and returned it to his Lady.  "Help me to stand," she hissed, 
and as she rose shakily to her feet, she turned her pale eyes on 
Neelix.  Her mouth twisted into a cruel smile as she pointed a 
crooked finger at him: "And now," she said quietly, "you will die." 


*** 


"It's stabilizing again," B'Elanna told them, astonishment tingeing 
her voice. 

Ahead of them, the bright stars of the Delta Quadrant steadied.  To 
Tom's eyes, they looked like beacons welcoming them home.   

"Ahead full impulse," he reported, gunning the controls.  Another 
displacement wave buffeted them, but it was weaker now.  The rift was 
unstable as it drifted in and out of phase. 

"Total disintegration of the rift will occur in eight seconds," Tuvok 
told them. 


{Seven, six, five,...} Tom counted the seconds, as the Delta Quadrant 
drew closer, and the ship began to creak under the immense pressure 
of the collapsing rift. 

"It's losing coherence again," B'Elanna warned from engineering.  
"Diverting all power to the impulse engines." 

{Four, three, two}, "almost there..." Tom struggled for control.  

"The rift is disintegrating," Tuvok's voice was calm. 

{One}.."We're through!" Tom whooped. 

"The rift has ceased to exist," Tuvok confirmed. 

"All stop," Janeway ordered. "Kim, verify location." 

"It's the Kheljar system," he replied.  "We're back in the Delta 
Quadrant." 

Janeway nodded.  "Now," she said grimly, "I think we should pay a 
visit to Sisperia." 

"Captain," Tom interrupted, looking at his sensors, "a ship has just 
left the atmosphere of Kheljar V." 

"Analysis, Mr. Kim." 

"I'm picking up sporosistic life-signs."  Kim looked up, "It's 
Sisperia." 

"Lay in a pursuit course," Janeway barked.  "We can't let her go to 
warp!" 

"Aye Captain," Tom replied, fingers flying over the controls. 

"Captain!" Kim said suddenly, "I'm picking up a distress call from 
the planet's surface." 

Janeway frowned, watching Sisperia's ship speeding further from them: 
"On screen." 

"Audio only," Kim replied. 

"Voyager..." the words were forced through wracking gasps for air, 
"Help...me..." 

"It's Neelix!" Kim exclaimed in astonishment. 

"Are we in transporter range?"  

"No, Captain," Kim told her. 

"Tom," she said immediately.  "Change course for Kheljar V.  Kim, 
lock on and beam Neelix straight to sickbay as soon as we're in 
range." 

"Aye, Captain," Kim replied as Tom changed course.  "There's 
something else," Kim added.  "The planet has changed." 

"Changed?" 

"It's no longer an M-Class plant.  It has a nitrogen based 
atmosphere, and temperatures around 200 degrees Kelvin." 

"Sisperia," Tuvok surmised.  "It is possible that she created the 
entire environment we experienced.  When she left, she returned the 
planet to its original state." 

"And left Neelix in it!" Janeway replied angrily. 

"In range," Tom told them. 

"Locking on..." Kim said, consulting the controls.  "We have him." 

"Captain," Tuvok reported,  "Sisperia's ship has just gone to warp." 

"Janeway to Torres," she asked.  "How long until we have the warp 
engines back on-line?" 

"It'll take days, Captain," came the weary reply.  " I'm sorry.  
Engineering has been stripped to the bone by those people." 

Janeway sighed, and lowered her head for a moment.  "We'll have to 
deal with Sisperia some other time," she said at last.  "Good work, 
B'Elanna. Mr. Paris, put us in orbit around the planet.  I think we 
all need some time to get ourselves, and the ship, back together." 


*** 


Although it wasn't Earth they now orbited, the rosy glow of the 
planet below somehow seemed more welcoming than Earth's cold blue.  
Curling up in her chair, cradling one of Neelix's brews, Janeway 
allowed herself to relax for the first time since their return.  As 
she stared out of the window, she collected her thoughts. 

"Personal log," she began at last.  "We've been in orbit of Kheljar V 
for two days, while the crew, and the ship, have been recuperating 
from their ordeal.  Neelix has made a good recovery, and despite his 
sympathy for our disappointment, he seems really very glad to see us, 
and I think we're all glad to see him too."  She broke off for a 
moment, remembering her last conversation with the little Talaxian: 
he had been very excited, and kept dropping hints about a surprise 
for them all.  She shook her head and smiled, until her thoughts took 
a darker turn. 

"Yesterday, we held a memorial service for the Maquis crew who died 
escaping from prison.  I can't help but feel a personal sense of 
responsibility for their deaths; if I'd acted sooner, if I'd realized 
from the start that we were still far from home...."  She sighed.  
"Chakotay made a very moving speech.  And so did Tom, which surprised 
me; perhaps this experience will help overcome his history with the 
Maquis - I think it's always distanced him from them.  From most of 
them, that is."  She smiled again.  "Although, his relationship with 
B'Elanna right now is difficult to judge; they seem to spend most of 
their time circling around each other, casting secret, longing 
glances when they think no one is watching, but not daring to talk to 
each other!" She laughed.  "Chakotay thinks they're both too stubborn 
for their own good, but I'm sure they'll work it out, given time.  
Time is something we all need.  Time  to absorb what has happened." 

She sighed, examining her own heart.  "If I've learned one thing from 
this experience, it's that I shouldn't take the friendships I've 
developed on board Voyager for granted.  Although none of us chose to 
be here, our friends have become very important, more important than, 
perhaps, we realized until we thought they were lost to us...." She 
paused, immersed in thought for a moment.  Then she took a sip of 
Neelix's "coffee", and grimaced, setting it down. 

"Well, we'll be on our way soon," she continued.  "B'Elanna only 
spent one night in sick-bay, and has been working flat-out on the 
warp engines ever since.  We should have them back on-line within 
thirty-six hours, and then....  Then we head for home once more.  And 
if we encounter Sisperia on the way...?  Well, she'll have the lives 
of three of my crew to account for, and I WILL hold her to that 
account." 

The bleep of someone at her door interrupted her thoughts.  "Come," 
she called.  The door swished open, and Chakotay entered. 

"Am I disturbing you?" he asked. 

"Not at all," she smiled at him.  "What can I do for you?" 

"Well, it's a social call, actually," he confessed, sitting down next 
to her.   

"Oh?" 

"I'm here to invite you to a party." 

"Ah," she said, smiling, "Neelix's surprise?" 

"Probably the worst kept surprise party in the history of the Delta 
Quadrant," Chakotay agreed.  "But you know Neelix, he takes his 
position as Morale Officer very seriously: and he thinks we could all 
do with cheering up." 

"Is he right?" Janeway asked, suddenly serious.  "How are the crew 
taking this?  It must be a terrible disappointment to many of them." 

Chakotay nodded.  "Feelings are mixed," he told her.  "But no one was 
happy to see the Federation at war, and I think," he looked slightly 
surprised, "I think many of the Starfleet crew were more shocked by 
the treatment of the Maquis than we were." 

"Why does that surprise you?" Janeway asked quickly. 

He shrugged.  "I guess we'd always thought that when we got home, 
things would return to normal.  We'd be the outlaws again." 

"And now?" 

He smiled.  "And now we know that our Captain will still be our 
Captain when we do get home, and that she'll fight for us there as 
stubbornly as she does in the Delta Quadrant."   

"You can rely on it," she told him with a smile. 

Chakotay nodded, but was silent for a moment before he stood up.  
"It's good to have you back, Kathryn," he said seriously. 

"It's good to be back," she admitted.  "And Chakotay, thank you.  
Thank you for coming after me." 

He gave her a disingenuous look.  "I had no choice," he told her.  
"Voyager just wouldn't be Voyager without Captain Janeway at her 
helm." 

"Or Neelix in the kitchen?" she asked. 

Chakotay cracked a grin.  "Or Neelix, of course.  Talking of which, 
we're already late - he'll be getting impatient." 

Janeway uncurled her legs, and rose to her feet.  "Then lead the 
way," she said with a smile.   


*** 


Tom only really heard one in every half dozen of Harry's words, as 
his friend talked earnestly with Tuvok.  Leaving Libby for the second 
time had been hard on Harry, and although he wanted to help, Tom just 
couldn't focus his attention. 

"I mean, I know it wasn't really Libby," Harry repeated.  "But it 
seemed so real." 

"It was real," Tuvok told him coolly.  "But it was the wrong 
reality." 

"I know, but..." 

"These regrets serve little purpose, Ensign," Tuvok continued.  "She 
was not the woman you left behind, just as the woman I met was not my 
wife.  The Libby you know is still in ignorance of your fate.  You 
should..." 

Tom lost the thread again when the object of his distracted thoughts 
walked into the room; B'Elanna.  She had been working ceaselessly on 
the warp engines since their return, and he'd hardly had time to talk 
to her.  Time or courage, he confessed to himself.  She was avoiding 
him, it was obvious, and he dreaded finding out why.  He watched her 
as she stood by the door, until her eyes fell on him.  She instantly 
looked away, and his heart sank.  But then a moment later her eyes 
found his again, and she gave him a small, uncertain smile.  He 
grinned in return and... 

"...don't you think, Tom?" Harry asked. 

"What?" Tom replied, glancing at Kim in irritation.  "I mean...sorry, 
what was the question?" 

Harry frowned.  "You're not even listening," he accused. 

"I was..." he looked back towards the door, but B'Elanna was gone.  
"I was just...," glancing quickly about him, he saw her talking to 
Lieutenant Carey.  Discussing warp engines, Tom had no doubt. 

"Tom!" Harry exclaimed. 

Wrenching his attention away, Tom turned back to his friend.  "Sorry, 
Harry," he said.  "Libby.  Right.  I'm listening." 

Kim rolled his eyes.  "Why don't you just go talk to her?" 

"To Libby?" Tom asked.  "Well, she's on the other side of the galaxy 
for a start.   And besides, what would I say?" 

Harry gave him a very flat stare.  "You know who I mean." 

"Oh," Tom said, glancing back towards B'Elanna.  "Her."  He shrugged, 
"I don't think she wants to talk to me." 

"I fail to understand why you would make such an assumption, 
Lieutenant," Tuvok observed, "when it is clear to the rest of the 
crew that quite the opposite is true." 

Tom stared at him.  "Clear to the rest of the crew?" he asked after a 
moment. 

Tuvok raised an eyebrow at Tom's evident surprise.  "The romantic 
attraction between yourself and Lieutenant Torres is obvious.  Why 
you are both choosing to ignore that fact is inexplicable." 

"It's a question of..." he paused, considering. 

"Stubborn pride?" Harry finished dryly.  Tom just glared at him. 

"I will never comprehend the human emotional response," Tuvok 
observed, with a small shake of his head. 

"You should try understanding Klingons," Paris muttered, as he 
glanced towards B'Elanna once more.   She was still in earnest 
discussion with Carey, but as he looked, her eyes flicked towards 
him.  When she saw him watching her, she quickly withdrew her gaze, 
and took a long gulp of the drink she was holding.  His eyes lingered 
on her face, so familiar, so lovely.  He sighed. 

"Tuvok," he said, turning to face him, "you're right.  This is 
stupid.  So, if you'll both excuse me...?"  Squaring his shoulders, 
he turned and made his way purposefully through the milling crowd 
towards B'Elanna. 


*** 


"...so I thought, if we could reverse the plasma coils, just as a 
temporary fix, we could..."  B'Elanna noticed Carey's eyes begin to 
glaze over.  She was boring him; but she couldn't help it. She had to 
keep talking.  Tom was watching her, she could feel his gaze burning 
into the back of her head.  Through the noise of the crowd, she 
thought she could hear the rise and fall of his voice, the sound of 
his laughter.  She was so acutely aware of his presence, that the 
only way to distract herself was to keep talking.  And so she did, 
heedless of Carey's obvious boredom.   

Since their rescue from the planet she had hardly exchanged two words 
with Tom.  She'd been busy, of course.  Engineering was a mess, and 
everything had been so chaotic the last few days - well, that was her 
excuse.  But if she admitted the truth, she was postponing the 
inevitable.  Despite their fleeting contact in the light-less prison 
night, it was her words during their terrible fight that blazed 
brightest in her memory.  {You've betrayed everyone else in your life, 
why not us?}  She owed him an apology for that, her sense of honor 
demanded it.  Yet she shrank from the task.  She had treated him 
appallingly, and this time, surely, not even Tom could find it in his 
heart to forgive her.  She certainly could not forgive herself.  Her 
own feelings of shame and remorse were so strong that she could only 
imagine how he must feel; she had hurt him terribly, and he must 
despise her for it.  So she stayed away from him, just as he stayed 
away from her.  Each of them avoiding the hurt they knew the other 
must bring them. 

"Hello, B'Elanna."  The familiar voice, close by her side, startled 
her; it was him!   

"Tom," she said, feeling the blood rushing to her face, her recent 
thoughts only adding to her confusion.  "I was going to..." she 
trailed to a halt, not quite sure what she was going to do. 

"Lieutenant!" There was a tone of relief in Carey's voice that made 
B'Elanna wince.  "Let me go get you a drink," Carey offered, heading 
into the crowd before Tom had time to reply. 

"What's up with him?" Tom asked her, watching Carey beat a hasty 
retreat. 

She grimaced.  "I think I was boring him," she confessed.   

"I can't believe that," Tom replied, giving her a tight smile.  She 
returned it nervously, unable to meet his eyes.  This was it.  This 
was the moment.  She had rehearsed the words a hundred times, used a 
hundred different phrases, but none of them would come to her now; 
her mind was as slippery as ice, and no words would stick there.  It 
was Tom who eventually broke the awkward silence that had fallen 
between them. 

"So, how are you?" he asked.  "You look well." 

"I'm fine," she replied, tension making her voice sharp.  She tried 
to soften her tone: "How are you?" 

"Good," he nodded, sounding miserable.   

"Good," she agreed, still not looking at him.  Nervously, she sipped 
at the drink she cradled in her hand, trying to force her mind into 
action, struggling to utter the words her honor demanded.  {I'm 
sorry.}  That was enough.  {Just say it!}  But she was too slow. 

"You've been avoiding me," Tom suddenly blurted, "Why?" 

"I have not!" Her defenses sprang up instantly.  "I've been working 
double shifts!  If I don't get the engines on-line soon, the...." 

"B'Elanna!"  He knew her too well.   

Looking up for the first time, she challenged his serious stare for a 
moment, but his eyes were so clear, so honest, that her defiance did 
not last.  She hung her head.  "I guess I have," she confessed. 

"Why?" he asked again, quietly, not sounding like he really wanted to 
know. 

She was silent for a moment.  "Because YOU'VE been avoiding ME," she 
said at last.  It was A truth, but not THE truth.   

Tom shook his head, looking uncomfortable.  "I didn't think you 
really wanted to see me," he told her.  "After that argument we 
had...." 

"I know," she interrupted him shortly.   "I don't blame you for...."  
She stopped, taking a deep breath; the moment was here, and there was 
no avoiding it.  "I didn't mean what I said that day," she told him, 
staring at the floor, "but I said it because I knew it would hurt 
you, and I know you must hate me for that."  She looked up then, 
forcing herself to meet his eyes.  "I'm sorry," she said quietly.  

He gazed at her, astonishment painted across every feature.  "I'm the 
one who should be apologizing," he said in confusion. 

"You?" she asked, "What for?" 

"What for?" Tom smiled incredulously.  "Are you joking?" 

B'Elanna shook her head.  "What are you talking about?" she asked. 

"About that argument?" he replied.  "You remember?  The one when I," 
he winced as he recounted it, "when I said that a career in Starfleet 
was more important to me than you...?" He stopped and shook his head.  
"I was an idiot," he told her. 

B'Elanna paused.  "I guess you did say that," she agreed slowly.  
"I'd forgotten." 

"Forgotten?!" he was staring at her in disbelief.  

She looked up into his clear blue eyes, and smiled for the first 
time.  "I understand, Tom," she told him honestly.  "I know how 
important Starfleet is to you, to your identity, your self-respect; I 
would never expect you to sacrifice it for me.  Never." 

"Then why were you ignoring me...?" 

"Because I was ashamed," she replied, looking past him and out into 
the stars beyond.  "Ashamed of hurting you with the same lies your 
father uses against you, ashamed of not having the grace to thank you 
for saving my life on Kheljar V, and ashamed of being so self-
absorbed that I didn't even notice you were injured...." 

"It was dark," he protested.  But she shook her head. 

"I didn't even ask," she reminded him.  "You could have died, and it 
would have been my fault." 

"No," he said softly, taking her hand in his.  "You're too hard on 
yourself." 

"Too hard?" she asked, pulling her hand away.  "I treated you 
appallingly Tom." 

"You were hurt," he replied, still gentle.  "I hurt you, and you were 
hitting back.  I deserved it." 

She stared at him, refusing to understand.   

"B'Elanna," he said, stepping closer to her.  "I threatened to leave 
you.  Just like your father left you.  I hit you where you were 
already bruised.  I'm not surprised you were angry." 

She stared at him for a moment, astonished at the understanding she 
saw in his eyes; he was absolutely right, he knew her better than she 
knew herself.  She smiled grimly, and shook her head.  "I guess we 
both know how to hurt each other," she said. 

Tom reached out and took both her hands in his.  "It's because we 
understand each other so well," he told her, meeting her eyes with a 
serious expression: "Because we love each other so much." 

"Is that it?" she asked, smiling up at him, a heady mixture of 
astonishment, love, joy and desire, sending her spirits soaring.  "Or 
perhaps its just because we drive each other nuts?" she suggested. 

Tom grinned.  "That too," he agreed.  "Although, I don't know if nuts 
is quite the right word - how about crazy?" 

"Are you saying I drive you crazy?" B'Elanna asked, slipping her arms 
around his waist. 

"Every time I look at you," he replied, with a truly wicked grin. 

"So," she inquired archly, "is this where we kiss and make up?" 

Tom's eyes sparkled with mischief:  "Oh, I think we can do better 
than that," he murmured. 

"I can't wait," she replied, reveling in the delight that shone in 
his face. 

"Neither can I," he murmured, pulling her into his arms and closing 
the gap between them with a gentle kiss.  B'Elanna felt the room, and 
its bubble of conversation, melt away for a timeless moment, until a 
discreet cough brought her back to reality, snapping the room around 
her sharply into focus. Lieutenant Carey stood to one side, a grin 
spread across his face, offering them both a glass:  "I think the 
Captain's about to make a toast." 

Looking about her, B'Elanna realized that everyone else had fallen 
silent, waiting for the Captain to begin talking.  She felt herself 
flush, and glanced up at Tom in embarrassment.  But he just winked at 
her, accepting the drink from Carey with cool aplomb, and holding her 
close, one arm looped firmly about her waist.   

"Neelix tells me that this is a welcome home party," the Captain 
began.  "And so it is.  As much as that other Alpha Quadrant seemed 
like home, it was not; as much as those we met there seemed like our 
loved ones, they were not.  And I, for one, am glad of it.  The 
differences were small, but profound; suspicion replaced trust, fear 
replaced faith, prejudice replaced tolerance - it was not a place I 
could have lived in.  Not a place any of us could have ever called 
home."  B'Elanna, along with many others, nodded her agreement.   

"But it has made me think hard about home," the Captain continued.  
"About what home means to us all.  Our journey, of course, will 
continue.  With information provided by Neelix," the little Talaxian 
puffed-up with pride as she spoke his name, "Lieutenant Tuvok is 
already analyzing the technology Sisperia used to create the spatial 
displacement rift, in the hope that we will be able to use it to a 
create a passage to our own Alpha Quadrant. 

"But despite this exciting possibility," the Captain continued, "my 
thoughts of home have been changed by our experience."  Janeway 
paused, looking at the assembled crew with a warm smile.  "When I 
returned to Voyager, and saw all your familiar faces, I understood, 
for the first time, an old truth.  Home is not a place, not a set of 
coordinates on a star-chart; in the words of the ancient adage, 
'home is where the heart is', and my heart is here, with you, on 
board Voyager." Janeway raised her glass:  "Welcome home, everybody," 
she said. 

The sound of clinking glasses chimed around the room, with a chorus 
of voices echoing her words:  "Welcome home!" 


THE END!


Phew!  Did you read it all?  Wow!  I hope you liked it, but even if 
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