Neelix threw up his hands. “Always back to me!”
“They’ve been asking for a human,” Kim told Tuvok. “Knowing the Cartel, they may only allow direct contact if we give them what they want.” He turned and pleaded with Chakotay. “Please let me go. It’s my fault he’s down there.”
Tuvok said behind him, “It is not your fault, Ensign. Paris lied about his transport authorization, and he will be reprimanded if he returns to the ship.”
“If?!” Kes repeated, shocked.
“Paris has a better chance getting back with me than with him,” Kim said, pointing to Neelix. “He obviously doesn’t want to do this. But I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure Paris is brought back to the ship.”
Chakotay looked around the group. Common sense told him to send Neelix, if only to cover themselves. But Kim was right about one thing. “Motivation is the primary factor in success.” Chakotay nodded to Kim. “You can go, Ensign. Only don’t fail.”
“Yes, sir,” Kim acknowledged with remarkable composure, confirming Chakotay’s decision.
Neelix smacked Kim on the back as they were leaving. The last thing Chakotay heard was “Yes, sir, I volunteered, but when I heard you offer to go, I was determined to step aside. I can’t be standing between two good friends, now, can I?”
As the door slid shut, Chakotay turned back to deal with Tuvok.
He could understand Tuvok’s frustration, but he’d found it was sometimes better to trust his instincts. Maybe it was no accident that he had been hit hardest by the neural gas—ever since then, they’d spent too much time reacting instead of acting. Now he only had to explain that to a Vulcan.
Paris was grateful the Enforcers didn’t sedate him again—or at least that was his recollection. After they came to take Kes away, he was left alone in the room. Maybe they did it on purpose. Maybe they wanted him to think, but how could he after everything that had happened? Even that remarkable contact from Kes—in spite of how real it had felt, it could have been nothing more than chemically induced wish-fulfillment.
Paris knew there came a time when you started to think you couldn’t take any more, when you felt as if you couldn’t endure another moment.
He’d been there before, when he had lost every hope of fixing his life or repairing the damage he’d done. Then Janeway had taken him away—farther away than any of them had expected—and he thought that he had been given another chance.
A miraculous chance to change his life.
The only thing I’ve changed is jail cells.
He was right back where he started, where he always seemed to wind up.
Maybe it was his fate to languish for the rest of his life in confinement. It didn’t matter that he had crossed the galaxy, or that he had tried so hard to do the right thing—he was one of those people who belonged in jail.
He remembered trying not to cry, hating the idea that Enforcers were watching him and probably knew how he felt anyway. Then he must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, Harry Kim was looking down through the forcefield.
“That’s a relief!” Kim sighed. “I’ve been calling your name for the past few minutes. I thought you might be dead.”
“Harry.” Paris realized he was stretched out on his side of the forcefield, when the last thing he remembered was being in the corner.
“Harry. What are you doing here?”
“The pool room isn’t same without you.” Kim paced on the other side of the forcefield, examining the emission nodes.
Paris sat up, flexing his shoulders. It certainly felt as if he’d slept on the floor all night, and the room was the same—like the inside of a box, with a forcefield down the center and doors on both sides.
Harry could hardly stand still, a sure sign he was nervous. “The commander sent me to help with the interrogation.”
“Chakotay?” That didn’t make any sense.
Kim tapped the forcefield, wincing at the static. “We had to do something. Our life support is failing, and we’re down to eighteen percent of our reserve power.”
Paris didn’t believe him. Kim wouldn’t come in here and hand out sensitive information like that. “This has got to be another one of their simulations.”
Kim’s brows drew together, and his lips tightened in distress.
“Kes said they’ve been torturing you.”
“So she did come here….” Or maybe both of them were simulations.
Paris examined him through the forcefield—seeing that self-conscious dip of his head, his painful sincerity, and even the way his hair fell across his forehead—was that really Harry? Or was everything exaggerated, the exact lines of his character blurred by generalization? It was starting to make his head swim again.
Paris sighed, certain there were monitors watching every reaction. “I don’t know which would be worse—if you were a simulation or actually here. I’d hate to think what they could do to you.”
After a moment, Kim said, “You don’t look so good.”
“I bet.” Paris scratched the stubble on his chin. Were those grains of sand he felt?
“I can see it in your eyes,” Kim added, surprising him with the amount of concern in his expression. “They have been torturing you, haven’t they?”
“They still are.”
Kim lifted one hand, letting it fall again. “I’m sorry, Tom.
I’m so sorry. I wish I… I…”
Paris watched the flush rise on Kim’s cheeks as he tried to control himself. Suddenly he realized Kim was blaming himself for what had happened. That would be just like him—only how did the Tutopans know that? Still, simulation or not, he couldn’t stand seeing the kid suffer. “Don’t take it so hard, Harry. I get myself into these situations, but I always get out.”
Kim met his gaze with empathetic directness. “You can be sure of that.”
Paris grinned. “Yes, sir!”
The door behind Kim opened just as Paris heard the lock turning behind him. The forcefield vanished as two orderlies wheeled in metal tables.
Paris recognized the straps and monitors from the time he woke after Tracer had disappeared. It looked fairly ominous.
“Do you know what’s happening?” he asked, moving closer to Kim.
“Yes, I do.” Kim slipped a hand around Paris’s arm. “We’re getting out of here.”
At first Paris thought Kim was steadying him, then it felt as if a live wire burned into his skin. His breath hissed between his teeth.
“Maybe you’re not a simulation after all.”
“I am receiving a response to our subspace signal,” Tuvok announced. “The transponder has been activated.”
Finally, Chakotay almost said, expressing the feelings of everyone on the bridge. Instead, he ordered, “Open the Cartel frequency.”
“Frequency open,” Tuvok replied.
The level of distortion had been carefully adjusted so that their communications system appeared to be on its last legs. “Docking control, this is Voyager at Pylon BVO-nine-hundred,” Chakotay called out, no longer trying to hide his concern. “We’re experiencing severe system malfunctions. We intend to maneuver to a safe distance from the Hub in order to effect repairs.”
“Voyager, this is Docking Control. Do not—” Chakotay cut the transmission line in the middle of the official’s reply. “Blow the docking clamps.”
Tuvok didn’t look up from his terminal. “Ship disengaged.”
Despite the interference on the viewscreen, it was clear they were moving away from the Hub. “Explosive charge has propelled us at twenty meters per second.”
Chakotay opened the communications line again. “This is Voyager—I repeat, we are currently experiencing system-wide malfunctions—” He cut the transmission line again. “Now gently move us away from the station. We don’t want them to think we’re a threat to the Hub.”
“Aye, sir. Thrusters engaged.”
There was a slight jolt, and some shuddering as the ship responded. As they drew back, several red patrol craft suddenly emerged.
“They’re sending out Enforcers,” Chakotay said calmly.
“Distance holding at twenty thousand kilometers,” Tuvok said.
“Deflector dish powered up.”
Chakotay signaled Tala in the transporter room. “Are you ready?”
“I have a lock on both of them,” she confirmed.
“On my signal,” Chakotay told them, as a hush fell over the bridge.
“Deflector burst and transporter… Now!”
A nearly invisible distortion wave was emitted from the deflector dish on the front of the ship, neatly concealing the transporter beam channeled through the sensor window in the center of the beam.
The impact hurled the ship away from the Hub.
“Execute evasive maneuvers!” Chakotay ordered.
The ship skipped to one side, hovered, then seemed to sway backward as if out of control. A low-level laser beam slanted harmlessly past the hull.
Chakotay opened the Cartel channel. “This is not an attack! We are attempting to gain control of our systems. I repeat—this is not an attack!”
The dizzy motions continued, taking them farther away from the Hub.
The Enforcer patrols hovered at a distance.
“Tala?” Chakotay asked.
“I have them both, sir.”
“Send them to the bridge.” They would need their best pilot if they were going to pull this one off. He turned to the engineering station.
“Impulse reactor ready?”
“Aye, sir!” Carter said too quickly, as if he was desperately hoping they wouldn’t blow the entire impulse propulsion system.
“Bleed a little deuturium from the vents, first. Let’s make those patrols stand back.”
A neon stain spread behind them, and the ship did another jog farther away from the Hub. Chakotay sent another garbled message to the Cartel, warning them that their reactor was about to blow.
Kim arrived, breathless, with Paris right behind him. Kim was obviously keyed up from successfully completing his mission, and he darted to his post after returning Chakotay’s proud nod of acknowledgment. But Paris looked more bedraggled than Chakotay had ever seen him.
“Thanks for the lift,” Paris said, his voice flippant but his reddened eyes locked on Chakotay. “I understand I’m due for a serious reprimand.”
Chakotay was glad to see he understood the severity of his transgression. “Are you able to pilot, Mr. Paris?”
“Ready as ever.” He took over the conn. “Did I miss anything?”
“You’re Just in time,” Chakotay assured him. “Let’s give them a real show. Do you remember the convulsions the ship experienced when the memory core was isolated?”
“In my bones,” Paris said fervently.
“Then re-create something along those lines, only give us the signal when we’re aimed toward Min-Tutopa. We’re going to vent the impulse system and give ourselves a good hard push in that direction.” “Aye, sir,” Paris said, his eyes gleaming.
Chakotay knew it wasn’t often a pilot got to flex his muscles with a ship of this size. “Proceed, Mr. Paris.”
The Hub seemed to drop out of sight, and the starfield streaked downward as the ship did a lazy end-over-end roll.
“Gravity holding,” Kim said, obviously clenching his teeth.
“Good thing,” Chakotay murmured. He could feel the difference in the way Paris handled the ship, as if they were held in a grip of casual confidence.
“Patrol ships approaching,” Tuvok warned.
“Get ready,” Paris warned. “Now!”
“Venting impulse engines,” Carter called out.
Their ship streaked through the gathered patrol ships and was practically out of range before they could react.
“Evasive maneuvers,” Chakotay ordered. “Neelix said there’s an automated line of defense protecting the inner system—” “Aye, sir!”
“There are ten patrol ships in pursuit.” Only Tuvok could look thoughtful instead of alarmed. “Their weapons systems have the capability to overwhelm our shields.”
“I still have some fancy footwork I can pull off,” Paris tossed over his shoulder.
“According to sensors,” Kim put in. “We’ll be at Min-Tutopa before they can catch up.” He seemed puzzled. “That can’t be right. They should be able to fly rings around us.”
“I thought so,” Chakotay said triumphantly. “They want to know what’s happening on Min-Tutopa as much as we do.”
“This could be a violation of the Prime Directive,” Tuvok warned.
“Let’s hope not,” Chakotay said, letting it stand at that.
Andross crossed his arms, looking down at Janeway. “The deadline is almost here. Apparently, your people didn’t take me seriously.”
Janeway stood up, refusing to allow him any psychological advantage over her. “I’m sure they believe you, but they are unable to comply with your request.”
“Maybe they need some prompting,” Andross said.
“Andross!” Prog exclaimed from the main computer control terminal.
“You aren’t really going to hurt them, are you?”
“I’ll do whatever it takes—” “Perimeter breach!” one of the rebels announced.
Everyone in the command room instantly went on alert.
“The Cartel has issued a general warning,” Prog said. “A rogue vessel is traveling in-system.”
Andross and Prog both examined the display. Janeway strained but she couldn’t see it, and when she tried to go closer, one of the guards stepped in her way. “Vectors indicate the ship is approaching Min-Tutopa,” Prog murmured. “It will be here in less than ten intervals.”
“Shall I dispatch fighters, Andross?” one of the rebels asked nervously.
“Vessel size, power-class…” Andross muttered, searching the sensor information. He looked up at Janeway, a strange smile on his face.
“It seems your ship is coming to get you.”
“Voyager?” The captain ignored the guard, reaching the agent’s side in several strides. “My ship is traveling in-system?”
“If you can call it that,” Andross said. “They appear to be damaged.”
“I’ll bet,” Torres replied, examining the remote sensor readings next to Janeway. “Without the main computer.”
“They’re being followed by an entire squad of Enforcers,” Andross pointed out.
“The Cartel is coming here?” Prog asked, wide-eyed. “What’ll we do?!”
“Perhaps Captain Janeway’s idea will work after all,” Andross said thoughtfully.
“My idea?” Janeway repeated, as if brushing off an annoying insect.
“I suggested nothing.”