SHAKEN, NOT STIRRED

"Ten kilos! That's how much they stole!" Neelix was not a happy camper. In fact, he was as angry as she'd ever seen him. For emphasis, he slapped his palm against the conference table. "This time!"

Captain Kathryn Janeway stifled her sigh, pinched the bridge of her nose, closed her eyes, opened her eyes, and then settled her gaze on the angry Talaxian. The huffing and the puffing movement of his neon yellow, chartreuse and orange patterned jacket was almost mesmerizing.

"Someone is stealing leola root?" Kathryn Janeway tried her best to say this sentence in her most captainly, professional manner. Matters weren't helped by the twinkle she espied in Chakotay's eye. Not to mention the fact that he was biting his knuckle to keep from laughing out loud over Neelix's perturbation.

"These…thieves!" Neelix complained. "This is the third time in over twenty days where our beloved leola root has been stolen!"

"For what purpose?" Tuvok questioned.

Neelix glared at Tuvok. Puzzled. "What do you mean?"

Tuvok continued. "Clearly, they are not stealing the leola root to eat it..."

Janeway felt compelled to give a warning kick to her First Officer's ankle under the table, to keep him from expressing himself.

"…They have no need to do so. You serve enough leola root during our meals to satisfy any leola root craving."

"So true," Chakotay mattered to mumble under his breath.

"But, what could they be doing with the leola root?" Neelix argued, trying to understand what was happening.

"Dry wall… boot waterproofing… modeling clay… warp core sealant… cement steps…" Lt. Torres muttered under her breath in answer to Neelix's question.

Janeway did her best not to smile as she listened to B'Elanna's' litany.

"Mr. Neelix, I promise that I will look into this matter and find the culprit. And his cohorts." Janeway stood, then focused her death glare stare at the one person in the conference room who had been doing his best to appear to be completely innocent during this discussion.

"I've already put up security cameras! They didn't catch a thing!" warned Neelix.

This information caused Janeway to pause. Whomsoever was stealing the leola root was not your typical I hate leola root saboteur. For many a disgruntled crewman had tried to rid Voyager of the curse of leola root in the past. Usually, one plate full at a time.

But to work around security sensors and cameras? This was not a mere prank.

She settled her suspicious gaze upon her prime suspect. "Mr. Paris!"

"Yes, Captain?"

His response sounded too bright, too practiced, to Janeway's ears.

"You're in charge of the investigation. Find out who is stealing the leola root!"

"In my spare time, Captain?" Tom suggested.

"No, when you're on duty. In fact, spend half a duty shift each shift on the investigation until the culprit is caught." Janeway looked at them all. She just had to say it. "Neelix, Mr. Paris will get to the root of this theft - as soon as possible."

Tom grinned, not really believing that the captain really, really meant what the captain had just ordered him to do.

"Dismissed," she ordered, using her most serious, professional voice. She looked at her still-grinning first officer. "Commander, please stay."

As soon as the conference room door was closed, Kathryn sat back down in her armchair, and joined in with Chakotay's amused laughter..

"And what do you find so funny, Chakotay?"

"Sending Paris to investigate Tom. Brilliant, Kathryn. Just brilliant."

She had to laugh again. "Yes. I'm going to enjoy watching him squirm - to see what excuse the unholy trinity come up with for the missing leola root."

"They could have just spaced it."

Janeway touched a button and checked her padd. "Actually, if Neelix's figures are correct, over the past twenty-two days, two-hundred-and-two kilos of leola root have disappeared."

"That's a lot of leola root." Chakotay came over and looked at Janeway's padd. "What the heck are they doing with it?" He straightened up. "Computer, other than the mess hall, the airponics bay, and food storage, where else is there any leola root on board the entire ship?"

"There is no other storage of leola root on board Voyager, other than the plant growing in Neelix's quarters," the computer dutifully informed the commander.

Chakotay's dimples grew larger. "Only Neelix would have leola root as a house plant."

=/\=

"Harry, we're in trouble," Tom Paris announced to his friend as he cornered the man in the near-empty mess hall. He included B'Elanna in his blanket statement, since she was waiting for him too.

"How so, Flyboy?" B'Elanna just had to ask as she wondered why every time Tom Paris was in trouble, she ended up getting caught up in whatever 'trouble' there was that Tom had created.

"Someone is stealing leola root!" Tom announced.

"And we're the committee chosen to decide just which Starfleet award should be bestowed upon this brave soul?" Harry just had to ask.

"No. You don't understand. Someone is stealing leola root!"

"And the problem is?" Harry and B'Elanna asked together.

"It ain't us!"

Harry looked at B'Elanna and then back to Tom. "What do you mean - it ain't us?"

"Exactly that. I didn't steal the leola root. And nothing personal Harry, but somehow I don't think that you'd go around stealing leola root without telling me."

"And as for me, Flyboy?"

"Bel, if you were stealing the leola root, you'd be slamming the leola root out the shuttle bay door, one piece at a time with your bat'leth. And yelling the appropriate Klingon war cry of victory."

"Well, you're wrong there, Tom. Do you know how badly leola root juice would corrode my bat'leth blade?" She finished off her rattichino. "Besides, Klingons don't have war cries for victories over vegetables."

"That's because the Klingon High Command has never had to eat leola root on a daily basis for years…" Harry observed.

B'Elanna nodded her head in agreement.. "True. If they'd been subjected to the Talaxian leola root torture regime like we have, they'd have come up with something - suitable."

"We're getting away from the point, here," Tom warned.

"And that is?" Harry asked.

"Someone is stealing leola root, and I'm, that is we are getting blamed for it." Tom announced.

"Well, that's true enough," Harry dutifully replied. "Whenever anything suspicious happens on board Voyager, you're the first one who gets blamed. And because we're your close associates, we're included in the accusations too."

"The Captain calls us her 'unholy trinity'," B'Elanna added.

"Precisely my point." Tom looked at his friends and lover. "Someone on board this ship is framing us! And to make matters worse, the captain has assigned me to catch the thief."

"I knew it," Harry announced. "Chakotay is trying to set up his own betting pool network, and he thinks that taking bets on you catching yourself is the perfect place to start!"

B'Elanna started chuckling. "Captain Janeway is brilliant. She sent a thief to catch a thief thinking that the thief would then have to turn himself in…"

"Bel, are you calling me a thief?" Tom sounded wounded over this character assassination.

The chief engineer only rolled her eyes.

"So, now what?" the ever-practical Harry asked.

"We have to catch the real thief and clear our names!"

Both Harry and B'Elanna groaned out loud.

=/\=

Chakotay glanced over at his friend and security officer, and then studied the padd on his office desk again. Mike Ayala was seated in the chair across from his desk.

"Tell both crewmen that they are to be fined three days worth of replicator rations. And their holodeck privileges are suspended for one week." Chakotay looked over at Ayala. "Unless you want me to personally discipline the two crewmen myself?"

"It's not so much that they got into a fight, Chakotay. It's how they got into the condition both were in before the fight started, that I find to be the problem."

Chakotay looked over that data, then groaned. "Look into it, Mike. Then give me the report when you have the answer. That's when I'll inform the captain about this."

=/\=

7 of 9 patiently waited for Lt. Paris to answer her question.

"What did you say?" Tom croaked.

"Lieutenant Paris, I asked you if this costuming complied with spy unit zero-zero-seven's established parameters."

Tom was having trouble breathing. For 7of 9 was dressed, or rather undressed, at the moment. She was also painted solid gold.

"What movie night?" he babbled.

"Your cinematic event schedule listed the 20th century movies GOLDFINGER and DIE ANOTHER DAY as a double feature. I studied them and found them to be an intriguing example of puerile masculine fantasy. I have decided to analyze this area to further my understanding of human sexual relationships. Based upon the physical reactions of most of the males on board this ship, I accept that I have the qualifications to attend as a Bond girl."

"Oh, that you indeedy do," Tom giddily agreed as he studied the nearly nude golden blond. "But, I don't think that the captain will like… would approve… That is... Before you paint yourself gold again for tomorrow, I suggest that you put on a bikini. All of the most memorable Bond girls wear them."

"Pussy Galore was naked…"

Tom couldn't control his automatic response to that Bond girl's name even as he did his best not to cast his eyes downward. "I don't think that the captain would like it…" he managed to choke out, somewhat coherently.

"You keep saying that, Lieutenant. I will analyze what the captain will or will not like. The captain is not a prude." Seven considered his words. And mentally researched her files for more information about Bond movies. "Understood, Lieutenant."

She pivoted and entered her Borg alcove to regenerate.

Even though Tom loved B'Elanna, Seven's lack of costume had made quite a physical impression on him. He needed to calm down. So he walked about the bay, mentally noting that on one table there was a case of olives in cylindrical glass jars. Green olives stuffed with red pimentos.

A minute later, on another table, he noticed the large chrome cocktail shaker. And he began to put two and two together.

When Seven researched a role, her research was Borg-thorough. Very thorough.

Idly, he picked up one of the traditional martini glasses. "Shaken, not stirred," he muttered to himself. Then he picked up the martini shaker, about to mimic pouring it, when he realized that there was liquid in the shaker. He poured. The ice might have diluted it a little bit because it had been removed from its stasis unit, but at his first sip, Tom realized that he was tasting the best martini he'd ever encountered.

It was also real. Real alcohol.

Tom picked up another martini shaker, and sniffed. This one held real alcohol too. He looked at the dozen or so shakers set in stasis, stacked neatly in crates ready to be transported to the holodeck. Seven evidentially had been planning ahead for tomorrow night. And she was planning a cocktail party.

His next thought was about where Seven could have found such liquor. So Tom went a-sleuthing. He found the crates of Gordon's gin. He picked up and opened one of the bottles and sniffed. It smelled like gin. He tasted it - it was synthehol gin. So he started opening up other crates. The were bottles of Kina Lillet's. Another stasis container contained curling lemon peel. A large box was filled with little plastic swords. He just knew that they had to be olive picks.

He tried to remember the official recipe for an 007 martini. He was sure that it included vodka. And it had to be the vodka that was the real alcohol in his martini.

So where was the vodka?

He paused to take another sip of his martini, when he heard something kerplop.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Not quite believing what his ears were telling him, he went in search of the source of the noise. And found it in a fairly large storage chamber. Even though he was imbibing the proof, he still could not believe his eyes. For there, in front of him, was the prettiest home-made still he'd ever seen. Copper gleamed. Brass glistened. Some sort of thermal heating unit hummed a happy little tune. And from a shining brass tap, pure moon shine dripped, dripped, dripped, into an open container.

Tom had built a still or two in his time, but nothing he'd ever done even came close to the perfection of this engineering feat. He put his palm underneath the dripping spout. Then sniffed and tasted the drops he'd collected. Sure enough, it was vodka. The smoothest, silkiest vodka that he'd ever tasted.

Placing down his glass, he started to thoroughly inspect the set up, mentally running through a check list of the necessities in order to make good hooch.

What was Seven using as mash?

It was then that Tom realized that a good portion of this chamber had holo-emitters. And there was a quiet hum. For shielding. And that was when he knew…

It took but a moment to find the holographic wall and pass through it, entering a small airponics bay, full of shelves of growing leola root - a root that some sort of Borg enhanced growth beds was rapidly turning into tubers. Tubers that apparently could be turned into the best-tasting vodka in the universe.

Tom picked up a tuber and sniffed it. It still smelled moldy - like leola root potatoes, as was now the case.

Tom poured himself another drink, slid down the side of the wall into a sitting position, and laughed out loud as he finished that one off.

Then he began to make plans.

=/\=

At 2200 hours, Tom buzzed Chakotay's doorbell.

Chakotay opened the door, somewhat surprised to see Tom Paris on the other side, for he'd been anticipating someone else.

Tom grinned. Even as he bravely held up the door jamb.

Chakotay recognized that particular grin. And wondered what kind of hot water Mr. Paris was in now.

"I found out what happened to the leola root," Tom announced as he walked into the commander's quarters.

Deciding that this was a good enough reason not to point out to the ensign that the commander had not exactly invited him inside of his quarters, Chakotay stood there in his navy blue satin striped silk pajamas, waiting for the explanation.

"And?"

All Paris did was place the crate he was carrying down on top of a low table. He pulled out a chrome plated shaker. And then a glass. He put a tiny sword with three olives on it in the glass, poured the liquid over it, and then handed it to Chakotay.

"What?"

"Drink," Tom advised even as he filled another glass for himself.

Chakotay did. And knew that he was tasting liquid silk as it slipped over his lips and slid ever-so-smoothly down his throat.

"A still?"

Tom nodded.

"Paris, do you know what the captain will do to you if she finds out that you built a still?"

Tom only giggled as he began drinking his fourth double martini of the night.

"That's where you're wrong, sir. I didn't build this still. I only found it. And an airponics bay where the missing leola root has been growing tubers. Turn the tubers into mash.. And, voila! You have the best potato mash vodka I've ever tasted."

"That's impossible. I did a scan looking for the missing leola root in all its forms."

"Easy, schmeezy… The bootlegger just put up a lil' ole shield to prevent anybody from detecting the concealed airponics bay - you try saying that twice - and the leola root. And the still. Prettiest still I've ever seen…I've seen some beauts in my day…"

"Nothing personal, Tom, but though you're bright - you're not that bright."

"So true..."

"Bel's going to kill you once she realizes that you've turned her in."

"Ain't Bel, Chaky."

Chakotay ignored the nickname. "Who else? Tuvok?"

"Guess again," Tom suggested as he decided to make a dinner out of his olives.

"Seven?"

"I'd give you a wooden cigar if I had one…"

Chakotay's doorbell chirruped.

She was wearing peach satin. And a matching peignoir that only highlighted her décolleté. And she also didn't need to be invited into her neighbor's quarters. Tom would find this an interesting bit of information in about twenty-four hours. Right now though, he just merrily waved as the captain entered Chakotay's quarters.

She eyed the pilot sitting on Chakotay's couch trying to get the last olive out of a bottle - the hard way. A drunken ensign was not what she had planned for her night.

She turned her iced blue glare on her first officer.

"Report?" was all she asked, in spite of the fact that she wasn't dressed like the captain. And that her feet were bare.

"I don't know exactly where to begin, Kathryn, except with this." He handed her his martini glass.

Still eyeing him as if she were very suspicious of this situation, she took a sip from Chakotay's glass. Then another.

"Oh my," was all that she said finally said. She finished off the drink - in three gulps. Then she studied the man on the couch who never did quite finish off the last olive before he had passed out.

She looked down into the crate on the table and saw another bottle of olives. And the two martini shakers. She picked up the blue plastic crate.

"Come along, Chakotay. Let's let Mr. Paris sleep this off. Between his head in the morning, and B'Elanna wondering where he's been all night, we don't need to put him on report." Her smile was not sympathetic. "He'll be punished enough."

Chakotay dutifully followed her, grabbing Tom's glass as he passed by.

As soon as the door to her room swooshed close, Kathryn placed the crate on her table, sat down on her grey sofa, and then calmly observed, "So now we know what those two drunken crewmen were drinking yesterday before they started fighting in Sandrine's."

Chakotay mentally groaned. The captain always seemed to know everything. One of these days he was going to find out her sources… "Kathryn, I swear I was going to tell you as soon as Mr. Ayala gave me his report."

"Do we know where the still is?"

"Apparently. Mr. Paris discovered it this evening. Along with the martinis."

She handed Chakotay her empty glass. "Do tell."

Chakotay poured out more martinis for both of them, added two olives to Kathryn's glass, and then handed her back the stemmed glass.

"Right now, Mr. Paris is placing the blame on Seven."

Kathryn started choking, but waved her commander away just in case he was thinking of doing some sort of Heimlich maneuver. It took her a few seconds before her throat cleared.

"Se-ven?" she enunciated.

"That's all I know. That, and the fact that apparently she was using some sort of shielding to keep us from discovering her private airponics bay where she is growing the leola root into potatoes."

She choked again. But this time it was not from the martini.

"Chakotay, are you trying to tell me that we could have been eating potatoes all these years? Real potatoes? Instead of leola root? Home-grown potatoes? French fries? Potato chips? Hash browns?" She started moaning.

She drained her martini glass, put it down and then permitted him to comfort her. After a few there, there nows…, she reached for Chakotay's still full glass. And brought it to his lips. Giving her the kind of smile - with dimples - that melted away any thought of resistance, Chakotay then took a deep drink from the glass.

Kathryn suddenly shifted, to end up on his lap. And liquid spilled over her right breast soaking the silk. Her nipple stiffened.

"Mustn't let it go to waste…," the commander advised his captain. He lowered his lips, moving aside the satin.

"No, we mustn't…" she sighed, with pleasure.

All thoughts about the moonshine was kissed away.

=/\=

Chakotay was still smiling as he re-made his bed. Just in case Tom would wake up from the noise he was making moving around his quarters, he wanted to give Tom the impression that he'd spent the night in his quarters. He was folding his pajamas, about to place them under his pillow, when he heard Tom moan.

He eyed the hung-over Tom Paris. It had been a long time since Tom had acquired this kind of 'what year is it?' hangover.

Taking pity on the ensign, Chakotay handed Tom a hypospray.

"The cure."

Tom merely groaned before he pressed the spray against his neck. A few seconds later, he sighed, "Ahhhh…" Then he stretched, braced his hands on the coffee table, and pushed himself upwards. The first thing that Tom noticed was that the crate of martinis was missing. The second thing he noticed was that he wobbled. Just a little. So, he sat back down.

"I think I need a hair of the dog, Chakotay…"

"I think, Mr. Paris, that the last thing that you want to do is go to B'Elanna still smelling of spirits."

"Well, since you put it that way, Commander…," Tom grinned, "…you'd better make it a double."

Chakotay couldn't help himself. He had to smile at Tom's trademark irresponsibility. "Well, if thoughts of an angry Klingon won't keep you sober, imagine then, how the captain will react when you show up at the staff meeting hung over or drunk."

Tom stretched again, automatically noting the made bed, the mug of tea on the dining table, and Chakotay ever so nonchalantly pulling on his boots.

"Speaking of the captain, wasn't she wearing something pink last night?"

"You made so much noise when you came here, the captain had to come over and see what was going on."

"Well that explains the pink thing. But it doesn't explain where the crate of martinis went." He thought he heard Chakotay grumble an expletive under his breath. "Where's the crate, Commander?"

"The captain took it with her last night."

"Did she like the martini, Commander?"

"Yes," Chakotay mumbled.

Tom stood and grinned. He was actually feeling pretty good, for he'd replicated a first hangover hypospray over an hour ago, when he'd noticed that the commander's bed had not been slept in. So he just lay in wait for Chakotay to return to his quarters. Pretending to be asleep and fooling prison guards, etc., was a skill he'd acquired during his New Zealand prison days. His ploy seemed to have worked on Chakotay.

Tom had a very good idea as to where Chakotay had spent most of the night. So he sauntered over to the door, and when it slid open, he casually asked before exiting, "Wasn't that pink thing a negligee?"

=/\=

Captain Janeway did not say a word as she walked behind Mr. Paris and Seven, as they entered the storage room that Seven was using for her still. A few moments later, Seven lowered the shielding to her private airponics bay. The captain inspected everything. Even though she was impressed by the Borg perfection of this illicit operation, her stern expression did not alter.

"Seven. Explain."

The Borg nodded. "Tonight is Bond night at the movies. Per the Doctor's advice to me about expanding the parameters of my social relationship with the crew, I chose to create a controlled situation where I could experiment with social interactions. "

"Becoming a Bond girl will definitely improve your relationship with some members of the crew," Tom pronounced.

Seven had learned to ignore Tom Paris. She continued. "Upon further study of the culture of James Bond, I decided that providing the crew with an accurate, authentic replica of this icon's favorite drink was a suitable gesture."

"Seven, are you trying to say that you set up an experiment where your fellow crewmembers would be drinking vodka, in order to see what happens?"

"That is correct, captain. I am interested in seeing how males and females would react to me when drinking."

Kathryn knew that she shouldn't be dismayed over Seven's experimenting, but still, she needed to have a conversation with the doctor about the nature of the human interactions he was teaching the former Borg drone.

"But real alcohol, Seven? Surely you know how many rules you're breaking…"

"I am a civilian. Those rules do not apply to me. And, I was doing requested research to discover purposeful uses for leola root."

Janeway interrupted her. "Requested research? Who requested that research?"

"You did, captain. Forty-three days ago, you said something about finding out if leola root could actually be good for anything."

Kathryn groaned. "I remember that dinner, Seven. It was unforgettable. I said something after eating leola root gazpacho, leola root lasagna, leola root salad and leola root bundt cake with creamed leola root frosting…"

"I started researching effective uses of leola root that night. My research led to discovering the results of distilling the leola root tuber. Seventeen days later, when I learned about the Bond martini as a cultural metaphor for mid-twentieth century mores, I decided that my fellow crewmembers could benefit from my research. I had found an acceptable use for the leola root."

"What a miracle!" Tom mumbled under his breath.

"And you couldn't have asked me about this before you used ship's resources?" the captain queried.

"I wished for the discovery of this use for leola root to be a surprise. Besides stealthily removing the leola root demonstrated the lack of security for food storage." A ghost of a smile crossed over her lips. "It also annoyed Neelix." Seven stood in front of her still. "Do you wish for me to disassemble the distillation device, captain?"

"Yes."

"And the airponics bay?"

"No, now that we've got potatoes, we're just going to have to teach Mr. Neelix how to cook them properly."

"Captain," Chakotay interjected, "may I suggest that the remaining bottles of vodka be put into storage?"

Kathryn eyed her first officer, considered his idea, and was glad that he'd been the one to suggest it. If it had been Tom Paris, she would have automatically had to have said 'no' - just on principle. "Yes. One never knows when the doctor might need organic antiseptic, or we have a first contact situation where the diplomats might appreciate a good martini..." She could not control the twinkle in her eye as she added, "… at Sandrine's."

"Thank you, captain!" Tom was very pleased at this suggestion. "Captain, uh, speaking of martinis…"

"Yes, Mr. Paris?"

"Seven's idea of a martini bar during tonight's Bond night intermission…"

"May occur." Janeway directly faced Seven. "You, however, will make sure that no one has more than two martinis each, tonight. And there will be no drinking after twenty hundred hours for any member of tomorrow's alpha shift."

"That is acceptable, captain," Seven stated. "I must change my suit, now, captain."

"Seven - need any help in getting into your costume?" Tom politely asked.

=/\=

Kathryn watched the stars go by for a while, and then sighed in delight as she felt gentle fingers massaging warm, scented oil into her bare shoulders. Little frissons of pure pleasure radiated from the touch of his magical hands.

"You're pretty relaxed already, captain…" a soft voice whispered into her ear, as he lingered for a while, nibbling on her earlobe. "Want me to stop?" he whispered against the nape of her neck.

"You do, commander, and you'll be a crewman in the morning."

"Down," he ordered as he climbed onto the bed, straddling her nude body. Complying with this order, she blissfully smiled as flesh met flesh again. Soon, she'd be reciprocating, massaging Chakotay in the ways that he appreciated. But first, bliss…

"Quite a night," she lazily commented, a long time later.

"Thank you," he chuckled, as he still nuzzled her breast. For Chakotay, it wasn't just the act of love-making alone that he enjoyed. For now, being free to hold Kathryn, before during and after their loving, had become one of the most profound , treasured experiences of his life.

"Oh, you…" She swatted his shoulder, but then found her hand lingering, caressing his chest muscles. She just couldn't resist touching him. She'd restrained herself for too many years, and now, every chance she got, she found herself touching him, discovering his body anew every time she held him in her arms.

She sighed aloud, disappointment crossing her face, when he sat up.

"I think I'll take a shower."

"Care to make it a bath?" she suggested. A smile crossed over her lips, for even in the low lighting, a naked Chakotay was a sight to behold.

"I'll join you in a moment."

She rose. He couldn't help but watch her walk away. Coming or going, Kathryn Janeway was all woman - his woman. And she was more glorious that he'd ever envisioned.

He smelled scents of bay, sandalwood and Betazoid lavender when he entered the bathroom. Kathryn was already in the tub, waiting for him.

He walked over to her, carrying two martini glasses and a cocktail shaker on a tray which he placed by the side of the tub.

"We're off duty tomorrow, aren't we?"

"We are…" The thought of another twenty-four hours in his arms was somewhat appealing.

"Good thing." He stepped into the tub, sitting down to face her. "It will take that long for your perfume to wear off of me."

"You don't like my choice of bath oils?"

"I love the way you smell, Kathryn. But if we both enter the bridge, smelling alike, well even Harry could figure out our relationship."

"So what do you propose, Commander?"

"I suppose we could take a shower together, later on…" He hit her with his dimples again. Then, he handed her a martini, letting his fingers brush against her breast as she took the glass from his hand.

"Or, we could just tell the crew…"

Chakotay leaned back against his end of the tub, thoroughly inspecting the love of his life as he watched her enjoy her martini.

When she was finished, she moved a lot closer to her lover, her eyes lighting up with wicked mischief. Chakotay noticed this too.

"Not that I am complaining, Kathryn, but what has gotten into you tonight? You seem insatiable," he remarked as he enjoyed her stealthy maneuvers as she got even closer to him. She leaned forward and kissed him deeply. He put aside his empty glass.

"Well, let's just say that I found the Brosnan James Bond of DIE ANOTHER DAY to be an inspiration," she whispered, when she could breathe. "It seems I like my men tall, dark and handsome…"

Considering what Kathryn was now stroking again, Chakotay couldn't help but be grateful.

=/\=

"I tell you, Harry, this will make us rich!" Walking about the airponics bay, Tom gestured toward all of the rapidly growing leola root. "Everyone on Voyager will get a share of this. After all, we're the ones that suffered for so long. Once we get back to the Alpha Quadrant, well introduce leola root to the universe and beyond - Leola Vodka has a nice ring to it.."

B'Elanna eyed Tom. "You mean, because it's a such a cheap root to grow, it's a root that will grow in just about any climate or condition short of a Hell class planet, and because it produces such a superior vodka, it will become a valuable commodity."

"But what if they're no longer drinking vodka when we get home?" Harry gloomily asked, trying to tamp down too much of Tom's enthusiasm.

"Trust me, Harry. As long as there are people imbibing, there will always be a demand for a vodka martini."

"What happened to the Bond martini recipe?" Bel was curious.

"Vodka martinis use twice the vodka per drink, therefore we will make more of a profit," Seven announced from the airponics doorway. "I have finished disassembling the still. I have stored the parts in Cargo Bay Two. It can be readily reassembled whenever it becomes necessary."

Tom was broadly smiling, as he tossed a tuber up into the air. Seven caught it.

"You know what they say - where there's a still, there's a way."

The End

Followed by the cocktail party sequel "Meet Me Tonight at Seven. Black Tie."