Kathryn let out a wry laugh and hung her head. Was this her lot in life - a series of almost-but-not-quites?
Chip's lips had been inches from hers - or maybe hers had been inches from his - when a tall, Siran boy appeared at the mouth of the cave, drenched from head to toe, panting incomprehensibly. Like a shot, Chip unlocked a nearby storage locker, grabbed a couple of gadgets, and rushed after the boy into the pouring rain. "The river-" was all he offered by way of explanation. If he'd said anything more, it was drowned out by thunder.
Kathryn breathed a sigh of relief and leaned back against the cave wall. She was relieved, wasn't she? She took two long, steadying breaths and probed her feelings objectively and methodologically, as Tuvok had taught her to. Relieved, yes, but also disappointed at the interruption and guilty for feeling that way. Not for the first time since crash-landing in Vilra did she wonder how she could even thinkabout another man when she and Chakotay were... when she and Chakotay were... what? What were they to each other. She had strong feelings for him - no, be straight with yourself, she chided - she loved him; as much as she sometimes denied it, she knew it to be true. But did he love her? He hadn't said it in years, but didn't he show it in infinite, incalculable ways? In the way he met her outside her office, steaming cup of coffee in hand; in the way he'd spent a day with her mother, learning to bake her favourite brownies; in the way he'd bought a doggie bed so they wouldn't have to keep lugging hers between their apartments. But he'd also had that thing with Seven. Sure, it had been short lived - they'd broken it off days after Voyager's return to the Alpha Quadrant - but the point was that it had happened, and he clearly hadn't taken her feelings into account. So why now did it feel like she was cheating on him?
Then there was Chip. From the moment she'd seen him bathed in the dim glow of the fire, she'd felt she'd known him. Their easy, unencumbered interactions over the past few days had only cemented that view. She was certain he cared for her - he'd shown her more than just the kindness of strangers - or was she seeing what she wanted to see? Feeling what she wanted to feel? Vilra reminded her so much of New Earth that Chakotay hadn't been far from her thoughts since she'd found herself stranded there. Perhaps it was only natural, in her condition, that she should subconsciously fixate on one of her most comforting memories. So it was just transference then, nothing but animal instinct and science. If that was all it was, then she could control it, she told herself firmly, but still her mind strayed to the softness she'd seen in Chip's eyes.
What she needed was a distraction. She couldn't make head or tail of the fishing net that Chip had discarded at her feet - not that she even knew how to mend one. No, she needed something more suited to her expertise and, looking around, she soon found it in the hulking lump of metal along the back wall. Chip had implied that the computer was beyond repair, but given all the messes Voyager had found itself in over the years, she'd probably done more with less. It was the perfect project and if she fixed it, not only would she be helping the Vilrans, but she might be able to establish communications with the Homestead.
Gingerly, using the cave wall as leverage, Kathryn eased herself over to the console. In the shadows it had looked a molten mess, but on closer inspection, she realised that it was just antiquated and singed. She struggled to pry off the damaged access panel, but once she was in, it didn't take long to diagnose the problem - a power surge had blown out several relays, including the communications array. Since there was a back-up generator, she only had to bypass the primary power supply and damaged relays to reboot the system. She tinkered for a moment and a satisfying beep indicated the start up sequence had begun.
Repairing the communications array would be more difficult - the part would have to be replaced and since she couldn't just replicate a new one, Chip would have to add it to his shopping list. She chuckled; the fates were certainly conspiring to keep her in Vilra until the supply shuttle showed up... unless - an idea came to her abruptly - she could reconfigure the resonator coil that Chip had salvaged from the Georgiouto the console's specifications. It would be a stop gap measure, but she only needed the communications array working long enough to get a message to Captain Lundy and his crew.
Energised by her plan, Kathryn scoured the cave for Chip's pouch and quickly found it in the storage locker he'd left open in his haste to leave earlier that evening. It was heavier than she expected and her shoulder protested when she lugged it out of the compartment. Since she couldn't both lift it and sift through its contents, she emptied it onto the floor. She'd apologise to Chip later, sure he would understand.
She spotted the coil easily - it was by far the largest of the items - and was about to reach for it when a familiar, silver device caught her eye. She thumbed it open and was met with the familiar whirring of a medical tricorder. In fact, now that she was looking closely, amongst the odds and ends were various other Starfleet-issue devices that could only have come from the Georgiou - a Type 2 phaser, a hyperspanner and a medical reader tube. She'd known that Chip had salvaged parts from the Georgiou, but why had he kept the medical devices from her? Surely even he understood how useful they could be.
The console chirped indicating that the reinitialisation sequence was complete. Ignoring the pain in her arms, Kathryn hurried to the console and sifted through its programme history. Chip had said that the computer had been damaged four days ago; her shuttle had crashed four days ago - she was beginning to suspect that wasn't a mere coincidence. She rolled her wrist impatiently as the list of recently used applications began to load. The last programme run had been some sort of transporter system. That was strange in itself - she wouldn't have expected a computer this old to be able to run such a sophisticated programme; no wonder there'd been a power surge.
She tapped a few commands and called up the transporter log. What it revealed was so unbelievable that it took a few, long moments for the puzzle to fall into place. None of it - not the shuttle crash, not Jorell's death, not her being here - had been an accident. Chip Tehja had orchestrated it all.
She felt a migraine coming on and pressed her palm to her brow in to keep the pain at bay. How could she have been so stupid?
"Kathryn, what are you doing?"
She turned to see Chip taking two tentative steps towards her, worry and confusion etched on his face.
Instinctively, she lunged for the phaser by her feet. Ignoring the rush of lightheadedness that accompanied the sudden movement, she levelled it at him shakily. "Stay the hell away from me."
His gaze drifted from her to the computer and back again. "Kathryn," he said placidly, as he edged closer, his hands held up in the universal signal of surrender. "It's not what you think."
"Isn't it?" She demanded, flicking the phaser in his direction, indicating that he should back off. "Do you mean to tell me that the shuttle crash was an accident? That you didn't kill my pilot? Haven't been trying to keep me from leaving?" The pain in her head seemed to amplify, vague recollections pricking her mind. "And for what? To stop the deal? I don't know what this Good Samaritan act has been about, but I can't tell you this - the Treaty will be signed. Starfleet doesn't negotiate with terrorists."
"You don't understand," Chip said, brushing a damp lock of hair out of his eyes. If she didn't know better, she'd have thought he looked genuinely remorseful. "It wasn't supposed to happened this way. I just wanted to talk... I just needed a way to talk to you."
"Is that what we've been doing these last few days?" She scoffed. "Talking?" Mustering energy reserves she didn't know she had, Kathryn reached for the tricorder with her injured hand. Keeping her phaser trained on him, she crossed to the mouth of the cave. "I don't know what you're playing at and I don't intend to find out. I'm leaving."
"It's dangerous out there. The rive-"
"As far as I'm concerned," she snapped, "it's no more dangerous than being here with you."
"Kathryn, please. You don't know what you're getting yourself into. You can't go."
Kathryn hoisted her phaser higher and narrowed her eyes. "Watch me."
B'Elanna crouched under the bar, her heart thumping wildly. Clutching Miral tightly against her chest, she brushed a drop of blood from her cheek. Miral was crying loudly, but her wails could scarcely be heard over the ruckus around them - glass was shattering and chairs and tables were being upended as people rushed towards the door.
Next to her lay the limp body of the man she'd been speaking to - Birj, Chip Tehja's former engineer. He'd been describing how the Jedburghs had kidnapped Admiral Janeway when a loud blast rocked the establishment and Birj had toppled out of his seat. Stunned, B'Elanna had looked up just in time to see the leather-clad pe'taQ she'd been watching earlier aim his weapon at her. She'd taken cover under the bar just as he fired.
She tapped her personal transport device. All it did was make a plastic, clicking noise. Knowing she had only moments before the man rounded the counter, she hugged Miral even closer and ducked between the furniture to join the crowd pressing towards the door.
People were screaming and shouting. Driven by single-minded purpose - to keep her daughter safe - she shoved and elbowed them out of her way. Once free of the bottleneck and out on the street, she headed for the cover of the closest alleyway.
A loud blast cut the air and she stumbled. Pain exploded in her shoulder and the personal transport device she'd been clutching clattered to the ground. At all the jostling, Miral's cries ratcheted up a notch.
B'Elanna glanced over her shoulder and saw her assailant staggering towards her, his weapon cocked. She picked up the pace. Running erratically, she threw herself down the narrow alleyway just as several more blasts sounded out behind her.
The passage zigged and zagged. B'Elanna took several turns, hoping to lose him in the maze of backstreets, but soon had to pause in a narrow doorway to catch her breath. With Miral strapped so tightly to her chest, it felt impossible to take in enough air. The burning sensation in her shoulder wasn't helping either. She reached up to assess the damage and winced when her hand made contact with thick, sticky fluid.
"Shhh..." She tried to silence Miral so she could listen for her pursuer. Even if she had managed to lose him, Miral's cries were pretty much sending up a flare.
She fumbled in her pocket for her tricorder. With panic bubbling in her chest, she struggled to decipher its readings. Focus, she willed herself. Think.
A dampening field had been erected over the bar. It covered a two mile radius, but she only had a little further to go to clear it. And then what? Her mind raced. She was helpless without the personal transport device.
"Shhh..." she whispered again, somehow setting aside her racing heart to rub Miral's back soothingly. As if sensing her mother's desperation - or, perhaps, impending danger - Miral's cries softened enough for B'Elanna to hear footsteps coming down the passage.
Keeping to the shadows, B'Elanna pushed on a little slower this time, tracing the route the tricorder had mapped for , left, left, and then... B'Elanna reached a fork in the passage. Which way?
The footsteps were getting louder; she didn't have time to consult the tricorder. Sending a silent prayer to Kahless, she went left - and quickly found herself at a dead end. Pressing herself into the shadows and hoping against hope, she whipped out her tricorder and frantically entered in a few commands.
"Torres to Homestead," she whispered desperately, tapping her combadge.
Her assailant rounded the corner.
"Two to beam up. It's an emergency!"
He levelled his weapon at her, a smirk flirting across his face when the comline crackled with static.
B'Elanna braced herself against the wall. "Pleas-," she said, ready to beg for her daughter's life if not her own.
The man's finger tightened around the trigger.
The blast echoed loudly in the cramped space, but B'Elanna and Miral were already engulfed in the shimmering blue of a transporter beam.
"Wait - so you're saying that Admiral Janeway's still alive?" Harry asked, cautious optimism creeping into his voice.
B'Elanna nodded glumly. "Just barely, from the sounds of it."
She was sitting in the Homestead's briefing room, next to Harry and across the table from Commander V'rok, the ship's first officer. Miral sat tucked in the crook of her arm, so B'Elanna could also press a piece of gauze to her wounded shoulder. They'd offered to treat her before the debriefing, but she'd refused - time was of the essence. "I think they have Tom and Chakotay too."
"No... they don't," Harry said uncertainly, stealing a glance at his commanding officer. "They're here."
"Here?" B'Elanna look around, as though expecting her husband to pop up from beneath the table.
"Admiral Paris has confined them to quarters," V'rok offered stoically. In true Vulcan fashion he pressed on without missing a beat. "Did your contact inform you where we might expect to find the Jedburgh stronghold?"
B'Elanna nodded. Accessing controls embedded in the table - and nodding gratefully at Harry when he took Miral from her - she uploaded the data from her tricorder and projected a holographic map above the table. "It's somewhere here." She zoomed in on a vast green area in the Northern Hemisphere. "I didn't have the chance to get more specifics."
"I think he played you." Harry huffed. "We scanned that region and didn't pick up any lifesigns."
"You wouldn't have. There's some sort of interference that renders scans of the area meaningless. He showed me how to compensate for it, but we'll only be able to scan at short range."
"How short?" V'rok asked.
"Ten to twelve meters."
"What?" Harry exclaimed, wrinkling his forehead. "That'll take days!"
"About eight." B'Elanna confirmed. "I think we might be able to extend the range of further, but it'll take at least a day to make the necessary adjustments."
Harry turned to V'rok. "We should send a team down now while B'Elanna works on the sensors. I can lead it."
V'rok seemed to be considering his options. B'Elanna jumped in before he could opine. "You'll have to be careful. There are booby traps."
"Booby traps? Why? What kind?"
B'Elanna shrugged. "He didn't specify. I guess snares, mines, other pressure triggered devices. I wouldn't expect them show up in scans either."
"Chakotay should join the team too. He's an expert in this sort of thing."
B'Elanna nodded and that seemed to settle things. "I'll make a start on the sensors," she said, standing.
"I'll assemble the away team." Harry rose too and handed Miral back to B'Elanna.
They were almost at the door before V'rok cleared his throat. "Commander. Lieutenant," he said firmly, stopping them in their tracks. "The plan will have to be cleared with the Captain and Admiral Paris, not to mention the Siran government."
Harry ran his hand through his hair. "The Captain's still in meetings with Keja. He won't be back for hours!"
B'Elanna looked between V'rok and Harry in alarm. "We don't have that kind of time," she growled. She outlined the details of Tehja's ultimatum to the Siran president. "We have to get going now!"
Unperturbed, V'rok considered his options. "How much longer do we have?"
"28 hours and 54 minutes," a fourth voice chimed in seriously.
B'Elanna turned to see a middle-aged human man in command red stride purposefully into the room. Tom, Chakotay and Seven followed closely behind. Then, for good measure - having stolen a glance at Seven, who looked ready to interject - Captain Adrian Lundy added, "give or take a Borg minute or two."
Kathryn stumbled her way through the Siran jungle. In the dark of night and with the rain pelting down in sheets, it was impossible for her to see more than a few feet ahead. The tricorder was no help either - it wasn't even picking up her lifesigns.
At this hour, the sounds of the jungle had changed; were becoming more ominous. She stowed her tricorder in the waistband of her slacks in favour of the phaser and plucked her wet blouse away from her raw skin. It was a futile effort - the moment she let go, it clung uncomfortably to her body as though attracted by some magnetic force.
The sensible thing - especially in her state - was to find a hiding place and wait for help to arrive, but the Vilrans would know all the good hiding spots nearby and she wanted to take advantage of the inclement weather to put as much distance as possible between herself and him.
She knew exactly who he was now. Her memories were returning like pinpricks of starlight against the night sky. Chip Tehja was a man so opposed to the Federation treaty, that he'd tried to blow up the Siran parliament. Even President Keja had mentioned him, alluding to other acts of terror not captured in Starfleet's dossiers. "But you needn't worry, my dear Admiral," Keja had said with a pat to her forearm and a sidelong glance at his ever-present Commander-in-Chief. "One man and his band of misfits are no match for the might of the Siran military."
But she had almost met her match in Chip. She couldn't believe she had been so gullible. She prided herself on years of finely honed institution and instinct - she'd outsmarted Kashyk, outplayed the Hirogen and outmanoeuvred the Borg - yet it had all gone out the window the moment a man had treated her with kindness and made her feel desirable. Not that she could have done anything differently, she supposed. She'd been at his mercy the moment her shuttle crashed.
Yeah. She scoffed. But that didn't mean you had to try and kiss him.
No-o, he tried to kiss you, she decided.
But why? He obviously hadn't plucked her out of the sky just to play house, but in their four days together, he hadn't once mentioned the Treaty. Perhaps he meant to kill her - although, despite his lies and subterfuge - she didn't truly believe that. What's more, she hadn't been lying when she'd said Starfleet didn't negotiate with terrorists, so he had very little leverage there either. He had, however, gone to great lengths to keep her from returning to her ship; but what could a delay to the signing ceremony possibly achieve?
She was so caught up in the question, that it wasn't until she was almost knee-deep in water that she realised she'd walked straight into the river. Its level was much higher than she remembered and the sandbanks piled high on either side of the riverbank suggested that the Vilrans thought it would rise even further. I supposed this is better than no luck at all, she thought to herself, adjusting her route to follow the river downstream - the water would help mask her tracks and, she hoped, lead her to the city or at least another, friendlier, village.
Phaser at the ready, her eyes constantly flitted between the trees, on the look out for wild animals or pursuers. It never occurred to her that other there might be other dangers lurking, so the expletive barely made it out of her mouth as the ground beneath her gave way and she found herself falling down a deep, narrow pit. Her hands clamoured desperately for some kind of hand-hold, but there were none. Even as she was falling, it occurred to her that the sides were too smooth and the pit too round for this to be a naturally occurring phenomenon.
When she landed, it was with a thump, her head smacking her head against smooth stone. By the time the phaser hit the ground beside her, she was already unconscious.
A/N: Sorry for the delay - I have to say, I've never felt more nervous about a story (probably because I've never written one where JC wasn't the sole focus / with so many different plots lines running in parallel). Your feedback has really helped keep me motivated - thank you!
As always, do let me know your thoughts...