Angel

ANGEL

ANGEL

By
Morticia
58/60

Disclaimers:
Part 1
 

HARRY
From
the moment the great Jean-Luc Picard arrived on the HPTS, everything had had
the weird quality of a dream. One minute I had been a desperate Maquis terrorist,
stealing an Admiral’s yacht, setting off on a hopeless quest to save my best
friend from the wrath of Starfleet herself. The next minute I had become good
old Ensign Kim once more.
It
boggled my mind.
Captain
Picard had immediately logged pre-dated orders authorising my ‘crew’ to commandeer
the yacht. He had filed charges of mutiny against the HPTS crew who had resisted
our ‘legitimate’ take-over and had transported them all directly from the Admiral’s
quarters into the brig of DS9. He had advised us all to change back into our
Starfleet uniforms, and then he had sent a priority communiqué to Starfleet
to advise them of the truth behind Captain Janeway’s actions.
We
had warped towards Dorvan, racing against time, and he had taken the opportunity
of our journey to tell us EVERYTHING. I had suspended disbelief and listened.
Actually, I think I was in too much of a state of shock at that point to question
anything he said.
He
was Tom’s father.  I couldn’t believe
it, and yet I could. I clearly remembered a feeling of recognition when he had
smiled at me in the DS9 Brig and suddenly the familiarity of his smile made
sense. Besides, Tom’s mother stood at Picard’s side, her own expression such
a mingling of embarrassment and pride at his announcement that I couldn’t doubt
the truth.
To
be honest, for a moment, the news actually hurt me. I felt stupid. Here I had
been charging off to save Tom like some holovid hero without a chance in hell
of actually doing anything useful and all the time Jean-Luc Picard himself was
in Tom’s camp. Why had I been so arrogant as to think I was the only person
that Tom could depend on?
Me,
Harry Kim, who hadn’t even been able to protect him on Voyager.

Then
I threw away my feelings of self-pity and jealousy. So, okay, Picard was a tough
kick-ass Captain who had skills and resources to help Tom that I couldn’t even
dream of matching. Even so, where the hell had he been for Tom in the last 30
years? I respected Picard and I would follow his orders BUT I was damned if
I was going to blindly trust him.
Besides,
even if Picard pulled off the impossible, Tom was going to need me. His whole
life and identity would be shattered by Picard’s announcement.
So
okay, who wouldn’t prefer to be the son of Jean-Luc Picard than Admiral Asshole
Paris? Then again, discovering that Picard had chosen to ignore that fact for
his whole life would surely reawaken Tom’s own feelings of worthlessness and
abandonment.
Tom
might need Picard’s power and connections but, most of all, he needed a friend.

So
we had crewed the yacht to Dorvan and had obediently obeyed Captain Picard’s
orders, even as we grew more and more aware of Starfleet’s failure to reply
to our priority communiqué. Then I had become increasingly uneasy at the progression
of the Captain’s communication with the Heran Senior.
How
dare he?
What
made him think he could waltz into Tom’s life like this and play god? 
It was too damned late for him to do this ‘caring father’ routine. It
was all very well, looking at the situation logically. Yes, anyone who didn’t
know Tom could imagine that Picard’s deal with Plano was reasonable.

Captain
Picard was known for his diplomacy. He had compromise honed to an art form.
But he didn’t know Tom. That was the crux of the matter. He may have found some
belated sense of responsibility to his son, but he had absolutely no idea of
what made Tom tick.
Otherwise,
he would know that giving Chakotay to the Herans would be signing Tom’s death
warrant.
So
I said nothing. I simply began to plan a new little mutiny. Hopefully it would
never be necessary but, just in case, should all else fail then holovid Harry
was going to don that Maquis leather once more.
~~~

JEAN
– LUC
I
could feel the waves of silent condemnation from my companions as I closed my
connection to the “Milton.” I had just made a pact with the devil in their eyes.
Except Plano was no devil and his cooperation was crucial if I was going to
extricate Tom from this unholy mess he had landed himself in.
I
had no intention of ‘throwing Chakotay to the wolves.’ The idea of him being
forcibly separated from Tom was anathema to me. Yet the possibility remained
that it would be his only chance of survival. I had no doubt that Owen did not
intend for him to live long enough for a court-martial to clear his name.

The
Herans might yet be the only people who could protect him from Owen’s long and
wrathful arm. Surely Tom would understand and accept my bargain with Angel’s
father. Plano and I were in the same position here, both trying to gain for
their only son his true desire in the knowledge that the gift might destroy
him.
Of
course, Plano held all the cards. Not only could he offer Chakotay a sanctuary
I could not but he also had the love and trust of his son. Tom was hardly going
to welcome my arrival in his life with open arms, regardless of whether my attempts
to clear Chakotay’s name were successful.
Which
was another point that worried me greatly. The reply to my message to Starfleet
should have arrived hours ago. The evidence of Janeway’s deception, supported
by Tuvok’s suicide, was sitting on Admiral Necheyev’s  desk. So where was my reply? Why hadn’t the ‘fleet ships been
called off their pursuit?
Harry’s
slightly panicked voice interrupted my reverie.
“The
Enterprise has changed orbit, Captain. She has us in sensor range and is approaching
on an intercept course.”
Perfect.
All I needed was ANOTHER father to deal with now.
“All
stop, Harry. Open a channel.” There was no point in avoiding the inevitable
confrontation.
“Incoming
transmission, Sir.”
“On-screen,”
I snapped, turning to face my Nemesis.
Will
Riker’s smiling faeameeamed back to me from the Enterprise Bridge.

“Good
to see you, Captain. May I come aboard?”
I
smiled and nodded, but my voice was all business when I spoke.
“Where’s
the Admiral?”
“He
took a shuttle and an away team and departed for the surface two hours ago.
We waited until we were sure he had landed safely and was out of communications
range and then we came looking for you.”
“How
did you know I was here?”
“Where
else would you be?” Will laughed.
A
few seconds later he materialised on the small bridge. He gave Deanna a friendly
wink and then turned his whole attention to me.
“Why
did he use a shuttle?” I asked and Will filled me in with the details of the
electrical storm over Dorvan Central.
“He
was forced to land over 12 kilometres from the settlement so we have probably
still got about an hour to get there first,” he finished.
“Why
didn’t he take you with him?”
“He
apparently decided that my loyalty to him was questionable,” Will replied with
a feral grin.
“Is
there no way to adjust the transporters to compensate for the disturbance?”

“No,
Captain,” Geordie piped up from the Enterprise. “Data and I have tried every
known configuration but there is no safe way to beam through the storm.”

“We
have to get there before him,” I stated and turned back to Harry.

“Open
me a channel to the “Milton.””
~~~

CHAKOTAY

Everything
took on the strange quality of a dream, or more strictly a nightmare. 
The man I loved enough to defy the whole galaxy for, was preparing to
face a physical and mental challenge that would inevitably kill him. 
He was preparing to die in agony before my eyes and I would not allow
it.  It was not a lack of faith
in Tom that fed my panic.  Time
and again, he had proven himself to be so much more than I or anyone believed
or expected.
I
admit that no one had been more surprised than I when he had dragged his emaciated
body across Quark’s and felled Angel with a punch. 
Yet, he had.  And, in so
doing, he had proven that the spirit of Tom Paris was greater any physical weakness
of his own body.
But
this was the Wkangana, a ritual designed to test the purity of a Shaman. 
Traditionally the combatants would spend weeks or months preparing themselves
for the ordeal, fasting, purifying themselves, mediating, and finding their
inner power.  No one could simply
walk in and say, “I’m here, do it to me!”
We
were desperate.  These were desperate
times.   But these were MY
people, MY beliefs and if anyone were going to suffer to satisfy my people’s
capricious and bloodthirsty Spirits, it would be ME.
I
was physically in great shape.  I
had spent years learning the meditative techniques necessary to survive the
ceremony.  Unlike Tom, I actually
truly understood what the Wkangana was. 
It was inconceivable that the damned romantic fool really knew what he
had agreed to.  Most of all, it
had been MY choice to bring us here to this place of judgment and it had been
my decision to choose Tom over Angel that had led us to this point.

“I
accept the challenge of Wkangana myself,” I announced loudly to the Elders.

“You
cannot,” Wabashaw replied.  “The
Spirits have made their wishes known to us. 
The son of our greatest enemy will face their judgment.”  His face had lost its paternal expression. 
His eyes had glazed with the unmistakable gleam of fanaticism. 

I
had to get out of there.  I had
to grab Tom and the others and get us the hell off this planet. 
Suddenly my people were alien to me, their Spirits were vicious and petty;
their cruel traditions were more dangerous than any weapon the Federation’s
arsenal threatened.
In
that moment, I realised that I no longer believed.
I
charged between Wabashaw and Nayib, heading for the door at a run, my voice
bellowing in a war cry that made most of the Elders freeze.  I pistoned my body through the shocked crowd, my outstretched
fists bowling them out of my way with the force of my rage.
Yet,
each Dorvanian I felled became a barrier to my goal.  My impetus was impeded each time my shoulder struck and heaved
another of my people.  The force
of each impact slowed my charge.  There
were simply too many of them.  I
was slowly surrounded and finally the sheer weight of their numbers bore me
to the ground where I was held until my limbs were bound with leather thongs.

I
howled my anguish and despair.  I
cursed and screamed.  I denied their
right to judge us.  I begged and
pleaded to be allowed to simply take Tom and leave. 
I offered to accept Angel’s claim on me if only Tom were safely returned
to his people.
No
matter my curse, promise, or plea, my words fell on deaf ears.  Nayib was openly crying and pleading on my behalf, his former
air of righteousness shattered by my distress. 
Yet, still, Wabashaw was unmoved.
His
voice was chillingly gentle as he told the Elders to carry me to the sweat lodge
to witness the Wkangana.
~~~

THE
DOCTOR
A
new electrical current sparked through my mobile-emitter and I felt my holographic
matrix flickering as my program desperately tried to compensate for the interference.

“What’s
happening to you?” Neelix squeaked in panic.
“The
storm is playing havoc with my holo-matrix,” I replied, my voice sharp with
annoyance. Chakotay had provided me with the specs of this planet but they had
obviously been woefully inadequate. The climate of Dorvan was supposed to be
temperate. There had been no mention of storms that rose from nowhere with enough
electromagnetic disturbance to make even the solid stone walls of our room shimmer.

No
wonder Dorvan had no technology to speak of, nothing mechanical could survive
this kind of electrical assault.
According
to my internal sensors, the atmospheric disturbance over Dorvan Central was
so great that the charged protons and neutrons were heating so rapidly that
the quarks that held matter together were dematerialising.
Yet
this was impossible. The heat required to annihilate material even the size
of a human being would require 1000 billion degrees – or the energy equivalent
of a hundred 1-megaton hydrogen bombs.
~~~

SENIOR
PLANO 
“Let
me understand you correctly, Picard. You are asking me to provide you with one
of MY shuttles so that you can get to the surface and help your son steal Chakotay
from my son?” I asked incredulously.
“I
have checked the shield modulations of your vessels. Your superior technology
will enable me to penetrate the edge of the electrical disturbance and land
within a kilometer of Dorvan Central. Unless I ar bef before the Enterprise’s
away team our sons will be merely haggling over Chakotay’s body.”

I
pondered his words for a long time. If this Admiral was as dangerous as Picard
suggested then who knew what violence might erupt on the surface. I couldn’t
take the risk of Angel being harmed in the crossfire.
“Very
well, Picard, you may take one of our shuttles,” I said eventually.

“Thank
you, Senior,” he said with such gratitude that I couldn’t resist adding, “Therefore
if thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink: for in so doing
thou shalt heap coals of fire on his head.”
But
he merely smiled at my reference, seeing no true malice in my words for indeed
there was none.
“However,
there is a condition, Picard. I am entrusting the safety of my son to you. Whatever
happens, you must give me your solemn oath that you will protect Angel above
all else.”
“I
will do all in my power to protect your son, but in all honesty, I have to tell
you that for me Tom’s safety will come first,” Picard replied.
I
appreciated his honesty but still I stiffened with fresh indecision.

“I
will protect your son, Senior, with my own life,” came the authoritative voice
of the tall man at his side. I searched my memory to remember his name. Riker,
that was it. He had been on the Enterprise with Picard all those years ago.
He was a Primal but his ancestors had been genetically enhanced. His youth,
strength and superior genes would serve Angel well.
“I
accept your promise, Will Riker,” I replied solemnly and watched him blink in
surprise that I had remembered him.
“May
I ask a question, Senior?” he asked with appealing humility.
“Certainly,”
I replied expansively.
“WHY
are you helping us, really?”
I
decided that his honest question deserved an honest reply.
“George
Bernard Shaw wrote ‘There are two tragedies in life. One is not to get your
heart’s desire. The other is to get it.  I would prefer my son to suffer
the disappointment of the former than the heartache of the latter. Hera is no
place for one such as Chakotay.”
 ~~~

 THE
DOCTOR
The
rumbling thunder that provided a steady bass rhythm to the wailing wind for
the last few hours has finally registered in my head as a rolling drum beat.

“I
want to know what’s going on, and I want to know NOW!”
Our
Dorvanian host/jailor/whatever gave a nervous gulp at my angry words. The way
my holo-emitter was violently flickering on and off had already made his bronze
face pale and my angry words made his eyes dart in fear.
Intellectually
he understood that I was a hologram, but between his inexperience with technology
and the surging fury of the storm, his heart had seemingly decided that I was
some form of demon.
“The
Spirits are angry,” he finally whispered and I rolled my eyes in exasperation.
My program may have been unable to compute the scientific reason for the storm,
but superstitious hocus-pocus was hardly a logical response. I sighed at the
ceaseless capacity of humans to be stupid. It was at times like this that I
was genuinely amazed that anyone had managed to create ME at all.

“And
when ‘the spirits are angry,’ what usually happens?” I asked and was frustrated
by his nervous shrug of ignorance.
It
was imperative that I learnt the extent of damage that this storm would create.
I was becoming seriously tempted to surrender myself to the Starfleet vessels
in orbit. I had done what I had set out to do, and helped Tom and Chakotay escape.
Was there really any point in remaining here and seeing my matrix collapse?
Whatever future Starfleet offered me was surely better than annihilation.

Yet,
Seven had once told me, “survival was not enough.” She had faced the choice
of returning three of her old Borg companions to a lifetime in the collective
or to give them a few short weeks of life as individuals. I had argued that
as a Doctor I had to protect life, that a full life as a drone was preferable
to death as an individual.
I
was wrong, she was right. I had finally conceded that I would myself rather
die as an individual than return to my former non-sentient existence as a simple
EMH. So perhaps, I would now ‘die’ on Dorvan and that decided, I realised it
was time to stop worrying about the fact and concentrate instead on my flesh
and blood companions.
“Where
are Chakotay and Tom?”
“In
the sweat lodge. The ceremony of Wkangana has begun. Tom and Angel have offered
themselves in sacrifice to appease the Spirits.”
~~~

JACQUELINE
“I’m
going with you,” I said firmly to the three men.
Jean-Luc,
Will and Harry all gave me looks of complete disbelief and I could see the denial
in their eyes.
“I
understand you wanting to come, Jackie, but I can’t allow it. The Heran shield
modulations should hold against the storm but there’s no guarantee. I can’t
risk your life,” Jean-Luc replied.
“I
didn’t ask for your permission, Jean-Luc. I AM coming with you.”

“As
am I,” came the calm authoritative voice of T’Pel.
Jean-Luc
looked helplessly between us, seeing hopefully that there was no way we would
be denied.
“Please,
Jackie. Your presence will only hold us back and distract us.”
“You
think so?” I answered haughtily, “then in that case perhaps YOU need to pay
more attention to your mission. My son, OUR son, is down there, Jean-Luc, and
I AM going whether you wish me to or not.”
“Make
that FIVE to beam to the Milton shuttle bay,” Jean-Luc told Sue in defeat.

~~~

THE
DOCTOR
“Sacrifice?”
Neelix screamed at the Dorvanian “They are being sacrificed? You’re KILLING
them?”
“It
is the Wkangana. The spirits will choose which of them is pure of heart. The
victor will survive. The loser will be taken to the other side and the Spirits
will be appeased.”
“Well
that’s all right then. That slimy Angel is going to pay the price for his treachery
at last,” Neelix replied with a satisfied grin.
I
looked at him in horror and decided that ALL organic life forms were stupid.

“What
exactly IS the Wkangana? How is the victor chosen?” I demanded as panic made
my already battered sub-routines flurry in renewed agitation.
~~~

ADMIRAL
OWEN PARIS
“Where
the HELL are we?” I screamed over the howling wind.
“The
tricorder won’t work, Sir.”
“I
KNOW that, you’ve been telling me that for the last two hours. We are, however,
on a road and you SAID it was leading to the settlement.”
I
was exhausted. My uniform was in tatters from the violent whipping of sand and
grit from the vicious wind. Myriads of cuts on my bare face had finally dulled
from sharp stinging to a frightening numbness and the top of my head was bleeding.
We were being forced to walk so bent over to protect our eyes from the sand
storm that my sparse hair had given up on the effort to protect my scalp.

I
had ignored the away team’s pleas to turn back. I was Admiral Owen Paris. No
fucking storm was going to defeat me.
“It
is, but we are making such slow progress against the wind that I have no idea
how far we’ve come, Sir. We could still be miles away or it could be 100 meters
ahead.”
Since
the dust clouds were so thick, I had to concede that there could be a building
5 meters in front of my nose and I wouldn’t see it until I walked into it.

Yet
I knew, somewhere deep in my bones, that time was running out.
“Proceed,”
I ordered firmly and struggled back into the storm.
~~~

THE
DOCTOR
“That’s
barbaric,” I gasped in disgust. “I can’t believe a so-called enlightened society
would allow such disgusting cruelty.”
“It
is the way of the tribe. The Spirits have ordained the ritual,” the Dorvanian
replied with the serenity of that particularly sickening human trait - blind
religious conviction.
I
felt my program shudder under the impossible burden of processing the information
I had received.
“Don’t
you people have any conscience? Tom Paris is an ill man. His body has suffered
traumas I can’t even begin to describe to you. He is dangerously underweight.
He can barely walk. He is psychologically impaired by post-traumatic stress
disorder. How in the name of sanity can you do this to him?”
The
Dorvanian blinked in confusion.
“We
have not done anything to him. He volunteered to perform the ritual. He can
stop it at any time before the summoning of the spirits. He only has to ask
and he will be released. We are not making him suffer. Both he and Angel have
agreed to the ritual.”
“And
Chakotay agreed to this madness?” I shouted in fury. The Dorvan blushed a little
at my question.
“No,”
he confessed reluctantly. “He attempted to stop it.”
“And?”
I demanded.
“The
elders ordered him bound. He will be released after the ceremony is complete
to join whichever mate the Spirits choose.”
“Just
a minute,” Neelix interrupted. “You said ‘He can stop it at any time before
the summoning of the spirits.’ What did you mean by that?”
“Until
the participants have proven their ability to withstand the Wkangana, the elders
will not summon the Spirits for their judgment. Either combatant can simply
admit defeat until that time. The longer the challengers suffer the Wkangana,
the more unbearable their physical torment becomes. There will come a point
at which their spirits will be forced to leave their bodies and face each other
in combat in the spirit realm.”
“You
mean they both DIE?” Neelix squealed.
“Not
both of them. The victorious spirit will be able to re-enter his body again,
if he is brave enough to return to the pain. The loser is unlikely to find the
courage to do so and will remain on the other side. Besides, the spirits will
not be satisfied unless a sacrifice is made.”
“So
both COULD survive,” I asked, completely disinterested in whether the ‘spirits’
were satisfied or not.
“Our
legends tell of such a happening, when both combatants returned to the mortal
plain. But the Spirits were angry and cast fire and flood on the people until
the blood debt was paid.”
“I
can’t believe this. You say it is a test of spiritual purity? That’s absurd.
The ceremony you describe will inevitably be won by whoever is physically stronger.
Angel is twice the size of Tom. He is in complete physical health. I can barely
imagine him or anyone facing the Wkangana, but Tom is an invalid. He won’t last
10 minutes of your torture!” I shouted at the Dorvanian.
“Really?”
The Dorvanian asked with a gentle smile. “The Wkangana began three hours ago.
Do you hear the beating of the drums?”
I
nodded.
“They
tell us that the ceremony continues.”
Three
hours? Three HOURS? I didn’t even stop to contemplate my action. Probably just
as well. I reacted before my ethical subroutines had a chance to kick in and
stop me.
The
Dorvanian hit the floor with a resounding thud, his jaw already swelling from
my holographically enhanced punch.
Neelix
was gaping at me in amazement.
“Come
on,” I urged him. “You heard what he said. Chakotay is tied up. He can’t help
Tom. It’s up to us.”
We
sped for the door. I had a terrible feeling we were too late. Whatever was left
of Tom Paris after three hours was probably past even my medical abilities to
heal.
I
grabbed the doorhandle and pushed it. For a moment I thought it was locked and
then I realised that it was the weight of the storm winds that trapped us. I
drew heavily on the power cells that feed my matrix and the additional strength
enabled me to force the door wide.
The
wind caught and crashed it open with splintering force.
“Come
ON,” I yelled at Neelix and burst out into the swirling dust cloud. It took
a moment for my visual receptors to adapt sufficiently to pierce the red haze
and then I spotted the outlines of the building from where the drumbeat was
rolling.
I
was impervious to any weapons the Dorvanians might have. My superior holographic
strength would easily allow me to overcome any resistance to my rescue effort.
I remembered the words of a dearly missed friend.
“Resistance
is futile!” I yelled towards the building and charged.
~~~

NEELIX
I
couldn’t believe the Doctor had hit the Dorvanian, although after his description
of this Wkangana idiocy I nearly jumped up and cheered.
I
have to admit, however, that the thought of following him into the vicious storm
was enough to make me pause at the door.
I
swear, it wasn’t just wind, it was a tornado out there. I could imagine myself
being swept off my feet and flown away by the swirling air currents, never to
be seen again.
I
had never before in my life so regretted my choice to join Voyager, and given
my reception at DS9 that was definitely saying something.
But
Tom was suffering, dying perhaps, and Tom was my friend.
I
charged out after the Doctor. Actually, I staggered after the Doctor, tripping
and stumbling as I tried to keep the stinging sand out of my eyes.

I
heard his battle cry of, “resistance is futile,” and then he exploded.

There’s
no other way to describe it.
His
holographic image flickered and blazed as the electrical currents surged through
his matrix. Then his image expanded, blazed with the heat of a warp core, and
then simply disappeared.
His
mobile emitter hit the floor and then, even as I hurled myself after it, the
tiny machine was caught in an eddying current and swept away.
The
Doctor had gone.
~~~

JEAN-LUC
The
tiny craft was battered by the storm. We were hurled like flotsam and jetsam
in the atmosphere of Dorvan. I had taken a calculated risk, deciding that a
vertical 40% trajectory would be shorter and easier to traverse than bypassing
the storm and then trying to fly horizontally through it in such a mountainous
region.
Despite
the pounding the shuttle took, still the absence of solid rock in our path each
time we were flung violently off course was somewhat comforting. The shields
were holding, inertial dampers were still on line and we were making definite,
if slow, progress towards our target.
Our
main problem was going to be landing. The shuttle’s navigation systems had gone
haywire as soon as we hit the leading edge of the storm. The atmosphere was
so full of blood-red dust clouds that visual perception was down to a few meters.

Somehow
we were going to have to land on a spit and a prayer, literally guessing where
the ground was and then hoping for the best. I had taken a few wild rides in
my time, but this was the mother of them all.
Poor
Harry was shaking like a leaf, Will looked decidedly green around the gills
and my own stomach was lurching in a most unpleasant way. Yet both Jacqueline
and T’Pel were staring serenely out of the view port as though the mysteries
of the universe were contained in those swirling eddies.
Again
I checked the useless sensors. We HAD to be approaching Dorvan Central and my
maps of the region had indicated a huge mountain in our path. Yet all I could
see was red dust.
“We
have to abort the mission,” I said finally, my heart breaking with my words,
but what use would Jacqueline and I be to Tom if we were smashed on a mountainside?

“No,”
Jacqueline and T’Pel said simultaneously.
“We
can’t see, we have no sensors, we can’t land,” I explained and both Harry and
Will nodded their reluctant agreement.
“There
will be a way,” T’Pel said with a placid smile.
Then
Jacqueline released her seat belt and glided across the cabin, her graceful
walk unimpeded by the violent rocking of the ship. It was this anomaly more
than anything that made me listen to her words.
“Trust,” she whispered. “Believe, Jean-Luc.”

~~~

ADMIRAL
OWEN PARIS
“I
saw something, Sir, something up ahead.”
I
swiveled to look at the Ensign. His name escaped me but what was left of his
uniform indicated Security so I was inclined to believe him, even if the storm
was now so thick that I couldn’t see the officers behind him.
“WHAT
did you see, Ensign?” I roared back over the howling wind.
“For
a moment there was a gap in the storm, Sir. I saw wh cou could only assume to
be a building.”
“How
far ahead?”
“Well,
I can’t rightly say. It would depend on the size of the building, wouldn’t it?”
he replied with the kind of logic that only a security officer was capable of. 
I swear the only thing worse than a Vulcan was a human who ‘thought’
like a Vulcan.
I
turned my back on him in disgust. No matter. If it was in visual range at all
then we were nearly there.
Chakotay
was MINE!
~~~

DATA,
Acting Captain, The Enterprise
“We
have an incoming transmission from the HPTS, Sir,” Crewman Jardine told me from
Ops.
“On
screen.”
The
viewscreen was filled with the excited face of Counsellor Troi.

“We’ve
just received the reply from Starfleet Headquarters,” she told me, her chest
heaving so much with excitement that Ensign Collins nearly fell off the Helm.

“What
do they say?” I asked.
“It’s
encrypted for the Captain’s eyes only,” Deanna replied in frustration.

“There
is no way to contact him,” I reminded her sadly.
“I
know. That’s why I’m going to transfer the file over to you. You’ll have to
decrypt it.”
I
nearly fell out of the command chair myself.
“That
is a confidential file,” I replied in shock. “Regulation 403.02 clearly states
–“
“It
is addressed to the Captain. YOU are the Captain. Open the damned file,” Deanna
shouted, stamping her feet in fury and making her chest wobble enticingly.

I
probably shorted several circuits as I digested her words. Of course she was
wrong, but she was right, too. The information in the file could be crucial
to Captain Picard and the only way of knowing whether we had to get it to him
was to open it ourselves.
“Transfer
the file,” I agreed and she gave a whoop of joy and bent to operate her console.

There
was a thud as Jardine followed her cleavage downwards and struck his head on
the ops console.
”When
you have picked your mouth up off the floor, Crewman, perhaps you would transfer
the file to my ready room?” I said and watched him blush furiously.

I
smiled in satisfaction. My newly installed sarcasm routine seemed to be working
perfectly.
~~~

ADMIRAL
OWEN PARIS
The
drumbeat drew me like a beacon. I left the rest of the away team quivering in
the sanctuary of the building we had literally found by walking smack into it,
and followed the summons.
I
wanted to go alone. I wasn’t sure why. Well actually I was. I wanted my first
crack at that bastard Chakotay to be unwitnessed by Starfleet do-gooders.

It
took me several minutes of fumbling around the edge of the building before I
located the door. And then, heart in mouth, I stepped inside into darkness.

The
air of the room was thick with a cloying sweet stench. The only light came from
scattered flaming torches and the dull glow from a wide central stone-lined
fire pit. Little light escaped now from the fire. It had obviously burned for
several hours until its flames had died to dull red embers that had been banked
with greenery. The hot heart of the fire chewed hungrily on the wet leaves,
enveloping the room in a thick, choking fog.
It
took several minutes for my eyes to adjust to the hazy gloom. It was only then
that I saw the figures suspended over the fire pit.
Two
men were impaled and dangling in an obscene crucifixion. Four thick hemp ropes
had been fixed to the central roof beam and each man was suspended by means
of two ropes. Each rope ended in a vicious metal hook that pieced through the
men’s pectoral muscles and then up into their shoulders.
Red
streams of blood ran down their naked bodies and dripped slowly from their toes.

The
victims’ faces were distorted by agony, the flickering shadows only helping
to emphasize the harsh lines of suffering drawn on their faces.

All
around the room, the gathered Elders chanted and swayed, their eyes glazed by
the narcotic fog. Only one of the observers was silent. Chakotay. He was bound
by similar thick rope to a stake near the doorway. Slowly he turned his grief-stricken
visage to me. His bronze-skin was stained with soot and the ravages of tears.

When
he spoke, his voice gave witness to countless hours of screaming fury. His raw
throat rasped at me beseechingly.
“Tom,
you have to save Tom.”
And
it was only then that my horrified brain finally accepted that one of the crucified
men was my son.
I
drew my phaser and aimed it at the crossbeam. Nothing. Just as the tricorders
had failed to work, so did my weapon. I charged forward with a howl, but countless
Dorvanians stepped into my path. Exhausted by the three-hour storm trek I found
my blows did not even seem to penetrate the Dorvanians. Their drug-glazed eyes
were impervious to my screams of protest and uncaring of my swinging fists.

For
the first time I felt some kinship with the outlaw, Chakotay. I understood the
helpless horror in his eyes.
Yet,
it was his fault. It was all his fault. Unable to release my impotent rage in
any other way I strode up to his bound figure and smashed my hand across his
face.
“YOU
BASTARD!” I screamed at him, as my son’s life dripped inexorably to the floor
behind us. “It’s YOUR fault.”
“I
know,” he whispered brokenly.
And
I didn’t care that he was tied, that he couldn’t defend himself. I sent a flurry
of punches into his stomach and chest.
It
felt so good to finally strike someone who could feel pain that I didn’t stop
until my own knuckles screamed their protest.
Chakotay
was sagging in his restraints, his body attempting to double-up in agony, his
breath coming in tortured gasps. Yet it wasn’t enough, he wasn’t suffering as
my son suffered, as I suffered. I fumbled for my phaser and saw a relieved glint
in his eyes. The stupid bastard actually thought I was going to kill him and
put him out of his misery.
Back
when Tom had still lived in our home he had loved 20th century films.
No matter what punishments I devised whenever I found him dreaming instead of
studying, watching vid’s instead of learning, he had incessantly begged, borrowed
and stolen films to watch and escape into.
Sometimes,
after confiscating them, I had watched them myself. And they were good, I grant
you. Suitable recreation for an Admiral, I mean, not for a student who continually
failed to reach the top of his class.
But
the films I enjoyed most were the Westerns. They struck a chord in me. The good
guys wore white hats; the bad guys wore black. There was no pussyfooting around.
The law was the law and the bad guys all died.
What
made me think of this? It was the idea of pistol-whipping.
Such
a strange, soft phrase. Such a barbarically effective punishment.

And
so that’s what I did to Chakotay.
Of
course, a phaser is not QUITE the right shape, and it breaks too soon, but by
the time I had finished I was sure that his agony was as great as my son’s.

And
with that thought, I finally remembered my son. 
What the hell had I been doing? I needed to fetch the away team; perhaps
they could help me break through the crowd.
~
Perhaps Chakotay could have helped you. Perhaps you deliberately ‘forgot’ the
away team until you had had the chance to beat Chakotay to a bloody pulp? ~
an insidious voice whispered inside my head.
~
Damned nonsense, ~ I told myself, ~ any father would have done the same. This
was Chakotay’s fault and he had to pay the price. ~
Thus
reassured of my own intentions, I headed for the door of the sweat lodge, only
to see it burst open and Picard entered, followed by Jacqueline, Riker, Kim,
my away team and some Vulcan woman.
“Where’s
Tom?” Picard cried as though it had anything to do with him. I almost enjoyed
raising my hand to Tom’s body and seeing him almost collapse.
“Chakotay!”
Kim cried and leapt past me to where the unconscious Maquis was hanging in his
ropes, his face battered almost beyond recognition, and began frantically untying
his restraints.
I
turned away disinterestedly and instead watched Picard attempting to break through
the immovable crowd.  I had forgotten
the evidence of the bloodied broken phaser in my hand until I was unexpectedly
spun around by the young oriental.
“How
dare you?” I snarled as he manhandled me, and then his fist connected with my
nose and I screamed in pain as it exploded in a fountain of blood.

~~~

JACQUELINE
I
looked up at the dangling, blood-covered corpse of my son and a feeling of calm
descended.
I
heard Jean-Luc screaming at the others, “Cut him down, get through and cut them
BOTH down.” But his words were meaningless nonsense.
Across
the hazy room my gaze met with the deep brown eyes of a middle-aged woman. Her
face was lined with suffering, weathered like fine leather and yet it exuded
serenity. She nodded at me and her lips out-lined the words “trust, believe.”

And
I blinked slowly in acknowledgement.
Whatever
was to happen now would happen.
I
felt T’Pel’s hand slip into mine and squeezed it gratefully as we waited.

All
around us the men fought uselessly against the throng. They did not understand.
Perhaps it was only a woman who could. Perhaps that special place inside a woman
where the spark of new life could grow somehow linked intointo the mysteries.

Something
magical was going to happen here. I could feel it. My son, his life, his future,
all our futures, would be decided here and now in this sacred place.

Just
as, at the last minute, a clear channel had opened in front of the shuttle and
guided us to land directly outside this place, so would the mystery of Tom finally
be unfolded.
 

Go
to part 59