"BLOOD LUST" by Malcolm Reeve  
  
This story is set between season four and season five.  It is rated  
PG.  
  
Synopsis of part two:   
  
Tom and B'Elanna face hidden dangers aboard the space station.   
Meanwhile, on board Voyager, Kim discovers a new threat.  Jarek asks  
B'Elanna to make a difficult choice...will she ever return to  
Voyager?  
  
  
PART 2: PARTINGS   
   
Chapter 9: Unexpected Problems   
   
"There," Tom breathed, almost to himself, "that looks good."   
   
"Where?" Chakotay asked, peering through the screen from the co-  
pilot's seat.   
   
"Right there."  Tom pointed at a dark spot on the surface of the   
desolate space station.  Black against grey, it was hard to see, but   
pilots needed good eyes and Tom's had always been sharp.     
   
Chakotay gave him a sideways glance: "What is it?"   
   
Tom didn't answer for a moment, as he concentrated on dropping the   
shuttle closer to the surface of the space station.  When he turned   
to Chakotay a small smile played over his lips: "A way in," he said.    
"What else?"   
   
"No sign of any tactical defences," B'Elanna reported, her tone   
subdued.  But Tom barely heard what she said; the anger her voice   
loosed in his mind was as dark as the desolate station below, and it   
masked the meaning of her words.  He wasn't even aware that he   
responded only with silence.   
   
"I'm picking up some life signs."  That was Chakotay.     
   
Tom flicked a glance towards him: "What kind?"   
   
"I can't tell," Chakotay tapped the sensors in frustration.    
"Humanoid, I think, but not quite...  The sensor readings don't make   
a lot of sense."   
   
"The tritallium alloy is probably interfering with them," B'Elanna   
suggested quietly.  Tom scowled; that had been his thought too.  But   
he didn't want to share her thoughts anymore, he didn't want anything   
to do with her.   
   
Doing his best to block B'Elanna from his mind, Tom dropped the   
shuttle lower still, killing her speed; there was no point in rushing   
blindly into the unknown.  As they skimmed the surface, Tom wove   
their little ship between the tall pylons that stretched like   
skeletal fingers from the dark surface of the abandoned station, a   
surface broken only by occasional plasma flares belching blue fire   
into space.     
   
"Well, something's going on in there," B'Elanna murmured.  "I don't   
care what Harry said, that place looks unstable."   
   
Tom couldn't help himself, the words leaped out before he could get a   
hold of them: "If you Klingons are nervous" he said, "I'll go drop   
you back on Voyager before we head in."   
   
That earned him a sharp look from Chakotay, and a chorus of outraged   
snarls from the Klingon contingent.  Amid the commotion he heard   
B'Elanna's voice talking quietly, but not so quiet that he couldn't   
hear her: "Leave it Jarek, I'll handle it.  Just ignore him."    
   
Her words chimed like discordant bells in his heart, their ugly song   
bitter, yet strangely compelling.  JUST IGNORE HIM. He hated her for   
those words, for driving her betrayal so deeply, so openly, into his   
heart.   
   
A sudden jolt knocked the little shuttle violently to one side,   
enveloping her in blue flames.   
   
"Plasma flare!" Chakotay barked.   
   
"Damn it," Tom cursed, as the shuttle veered dangerously close to one   
of the pylons rising from the station's surface. "Hold on!"  No time   
to consult the sensors, Tom fired the thrusters, tilting the shuttle   
sharply away, narrowly avoiding an impact.  The world turned in his   
vision as they rolled under the momentum of the manoeuvre; the   
station was to one side, above him, to the other side, and eventually   
below him again.  Shaking momentary disorientation aside, Tom glanced   
at the helm and returned them to the course he had set.     
   
"Shields holding," Chakotay reported in an odd tone.  When Tom had a   
moment to look, he saw a decided hint of green in the commander's   
complexion.   
   
Tom grinned, his heart pumping enough adrenaline to deaden his deeper   
pain: "Sorry Commander," he said lightly.  "It's sometimes best to   
close your eyes when you have a visual reference point."   
   
"Thanks," Chakotay replied, staring doggedly through the screen,   
taking deep, deliberate breaths.  "I'll remember that next time."   
   
"Don't worry," Tom replied, "I'll try and keep us upright for the   
rest of the trip."   
   
It wasn't long before their destination was visible to the rest of   
the crew, a small rectangular hole in the side of the station's   
smooth surface.  As they drew closer, Tom saw enough to confirm that   
he had made the right choice - or, perhaps, that his guess had been   
lucky.  The crackle of power glimmered white and blue within the   
impenetrable darkness; that would give them a chance.   
   
"What is it?" a Klingon voice asked from behind.   
   
"Looks like a landing bay," Tom replied coolly.  "But the doors are   
barely cracked open."   
   
"There's power in there though," B'Elanna noted, echoing Tom's   
thoughts again, "that's a good sign."   
   
"Why?" Jarek asked.      
   
"It means we might be able to close the door; create an air lock,"   
B'Elanna explained.  For a moment Tom thought there might have been a   
coolness in her tone when she answered Jarek, but it was difficult to   
be sure, and he hardly trusted his own judgement.     
   
Dismissing the idea, Tom focused on the task ahead; "Let's go take a   
look," he said, cutting the engines and letting the shuttle drift   
closer to the narrow entry point.  Narrow, but large enough.     
   
"We'll have a metre spare," Chakotay warned him, glancing at the   
sensors.  Tom nodded, as he lined up the shuttle with the narrow   
entrance.   
   
"Tom," Chakotay sounded wary.  "You want to let the computer handle   
this?  If we impact on the..."   
   
"We won't," Tom replied, eyes fixed on the entrance.  "Trust me."   
   
"You're going to eye-ball this?"  B'Elanna's voice sounded painfully   
familiar; that combination of disbelief, admiration and exasperation   
she so often used with him.   
   
Tom allowed himself a small smile: "Firing thrusters," he said, and   
they drifted gently and easily through the narrow doorway and into   
the sudden darkness of the space station.   
   
Instantly, Tom could feel the weight of the structure around them.    
He flicked on the shuttle's flood lights, which cast the docking bay   
in stark relief, throwing strange shadows across the dark metallic   
walls.    
   
"We've entered the station's gravity field," Tom told them.  "At   
least that's working." The bay seemed more or less intact, so he   
allowed the shuttle to ease gently to the floor.   
   
"Torres," Chakotay turned around to face her.  "Any idea how we can   
get the doors closed and get some atmosphere in here?"   
   
B'Elanna came forward, standing between Tom and Chakotay to get a   
better view.  "See that?" she asked, pointing at a flickering energy   
discharge close to a pair of closed doors that clearly led to the   
rest of the station.     
   
"What is it?" Chakotay asked.   
   
"I think it's the environmental control..."   
   
She leaned closer, resting one hand on the control panel, and Tom   
didn't hear the rest of her explanation.  His mind was suddenly   
overwhelmed; she was close, close enough for him to feel the heat   
radiating from her slender frame, close enough to catch the scent of   
her hair....  Tom found himself breathing faster, his racing heart   
pounding against his rib cage.  And when her leg brushed against his   
knee he almost jumped, pulling quickly away.  He saw her start too,   
saw her turn towards him, but he looked away just in time to avoid   
her eyes.  Instead he gazed steadily at the energy discharge in the   
landing bay, doing his best to keep his face impassive, even if he   
could feel his ears burning.  B'Elanna carried on talking, but he   
didn't hear a word she said.   
   
DAMN IT, DAMN IT, DAMN IT!  he cursed silently, repeating the words   
like a mantra.  HOW CAN SHE STILL DO THAT TO ME?  Why did he still   
long to hold her?  Why did his heart still ache for her?  She'd   
betrayed him, torn out his stupid, aching heart and trampled on it.    
He should hate her.  He WANTED to hate her.  But it was hard, when   
she stood this close.  It was hard to hate her when all he could   
think of was her soft skin under his fingers, her warm voice   
whispering his name...  NO!  He sat bolt upright, trying to bury the   
memories.  That was over now.  She had chosen Jarek.  It was all   
over.   
   
"...could try emitting two permutations of a standard pass-word   
algorithm on a dispersed wave-band, until we get lucky?"  Tom only   
caught the end of B'Elanna's suggestion.    
   
"And you think that would convince the Briori systems to initiate a   
landing procedure?" Chakotay asked.   
   
B'Elanna shrugged, arms folded.  "It's worth trying," she told him.    
"If not, we'll have to use the environment suits and try to hot-wire   
the system manually."   
   
"I'd rather not risk that if we can help it," Chakotay decided.    
"Let's try the standard password algorithms."   
   
B'Elanna returned to her station, carefully keeping herself as far   
from Tom as possible.  He noticed it, and it drove another needle of   
pain into his already aching heart.  And for a moment he simply   
wanted to let go; to curl up in the darkness and cry.  He wanted to   
make her understand how much she had hurt him.  But only for a   
moment.  After all, Starfleet officers never let go.  And they never,   
ever cry.  Especially if they bare the name of Paris.  That was one   
bit of his father's advice that Tom was eager to embrace; perhaps the   
only bit.  A nasty little voice whispered to him that it didn't   
really matter.  After all, he wasn't really a Starfleet officer   
anyway - he'd failed that test long ago.  But Tom chose to ignore it.    
He had more to lose here than his relationship with B'Elanna.  If he   
let go now he would lose the hard-won respect of his crew, and, more   
importantly, his even harder-won self respect.  And he was not yet   
ready to sacrifice those to the bitterness of his personal betrayal.   
   
B'Elanna's voice interrupted his brooding thoughts: "Broadcasting the   
algorithms on all frequencies."   
   
At first nothing happened.  They waited, silently, watching   
for...something.  And then a siren began to wail.  Behind them the   
space doors shuddered grudgingly into life, and began to slide   
unwillingly closed.   
   
"The bay's repressurising," B'Elanna told them, a hint of   
satisfaction in her tone.  "It's a breathable atmosphere."   
   
The space door closed with a clang that rang through the bay, setting   
a resonance vibrating through the shuttle.  Lights flickered on, and   
off, and on again, ending up hovering somewhere between, casting a   
unsteady, guttering light across the landing bay.   
   
"Pressure and atmosphere stabilising," B'Elanna continued.  "I guess   
we got lucky."   
   
"Good work," Chakotay said, encompassing both Tom and B'Elanna in his   
glance.  He stood up: "Now let's see what this place has to offer,"   
he nodded towards the back of the shuttle.  "We've got twenty-three   
hours - let's start unloading."   
   
***   
   
Seven had her back to him and was working on the sensor display when   
Kim stepped into astrometrics.  He had to admit that she looked   
particularly good from that angle.  Of course, she was pretty   
stunning from any angle, but there was something about the way her   
hips curved down into her...   
   
"Ensign Kim", Seven turned to face him, sizing him up in one cool   
glance.  After a moment she added "Thank you for coming," as if she   
were remembering the line from a phrase book.   
   
Harry smiled at her, concentrating on her face instead of the other   
more interesting features.  Not for the first time he wished that   
someone would suggest to Seven that she wear something a little   
less... flattering.  Not that Seven seemed to mind, or even notice,   
the effect her appearance had on a large percentage of the crew.  But   
Kim knew that he wasn't the only one to find her somewhat   
distracting, to say the least; like her or hate her, you'd have to be   
dead not to feel something when Seven-of-Nine strode into the room!   
   
"What are you staring at?" she asked him abruptly.   
   
"Staring?" he blustered, "was I?"   
   
"Yes."   
   
"Oh, well," he coughed slightly, "what was it you wanted, Seven?"   
   
She turned back to the screen.  Reaching out an elegant finger, she   
pointed: "I've recalibrated the high penetration sensors, and I'm   
getting some unexpected readings from the space station's core."   
   
"Unexpected?" Kim came to stand next to her, scanning the results   
flickering on the screen.  "These are matter-anti-matter flux   
readings," he realised.     
   
"They are," Seven agreed, pointing to a second set.  "And this   
indicates a bi-phasic containment field."   
   
"It's some kind of matter-anti-matter generator," Kim surmised.  "Is   
it the power source for the station?"   
   
"Yes.  And it's failing."   
   
"Failing?"   
   
"The reaction rate is increasing - slowly for now, but   
exponentially," she began.   
   
Harry finished her sentence: "And the containment field is weakening   
at the same rate."  His heart crawled into his throat as he realised   
what this meant.  "How long?" he asked.     
   
Seven's reply lacked none of its usual cool: "The core will rupture   
in nineteen hours and thirteen minutes.  Approximately."   
   
Swallowing hard, Harry licked at lips gone suddenly dry.  "The away   
team aren't due to even report in for another twenty three hours."    
He tapped his comm badge: "Kim to Captain Janeway."   
   
"Go ahead Harry."   
   
"You'd better get down here Captain," Kim told her.  "We have a   
problem."   
   
***   
   
Chakotay had a problem.   Jarek stood in the flickering light of the   
landing bay, his men ranged behind him, with his arms folded and chin   
held high in defiance:  "We look for the way home," the Klingon   
Captain repeated.  "Nothing else.  We go home, or die trying.    
Dilithium means nothing to us."   
   
"There's no guarantee we'll find a way home," Chakotay insisted, four   
years of experience clamouring to be heard.  "But without the   
dilithium, Voyager is dead in the water."   
   
"You can do what you wish, COMMANDER," Jarek replied, his Klingon   
features exaggerated by the strange, cold light.  "WE will look for   
the way home."   
   
Chakotay considered for a moment.  He certainly had no way of   
compelling nine well-armed Klingons to do anything; his only option   
was to do the best for his Captain and his crew.  But what was that?    
Find the dilithium or search for a possible way home?   
   
"We should split up."  The suggestion came from Paris, who stood   
slightly apart from the rest, his pack and phaser rifle already slung   
across his back.     
   
Chakotay turned to him with a silent question in his eye.     
   
"Send Lieutenant Torres with Jarek and the Klingons," Tom explained   
coldly, "while you and I go find the dilithium."     
   
"But you'll need me to retrieve it," B'Elanna protested, sounding   
slightly alarmed by the suggestion.  She stood with her arms wrapped   
around herself, in a vain attempt to keep out the chill that   
permeated the station.   
   
"I think we can handle it, Commander."  Tom's reply was deliberately   
aimed at Chakotay; his eyes didn't even flicker towards B'Elanna.   
   
"I agree with Paris," Chakotay replied, making the decision.  He   
turned to Torres: "If there's a technology here that will get us   
home, I want you working on it.  Tom and I can handle a simple   
dilithium transfer."  And besides, Chakotay thought, if there IS a   
way home I want someone I can trust on the spot to make sure we hear   
about it.   
   
"If you say so," B'Elanna reluctantly agreed, tossing her head in a   
gesture of irritation.   
   
"I do," he told her firmly.  Then, walking towards the Klingons, he   
said: "Captain Jarek, where will you begin your search?"   
   
Jarek turned to a flickering panel on the wall that showed a   
schematic of the station.  The language was obscure, but the diagram   
was clear enough.  He pointed: "This looks like the command centre,"   
Jarek said, "about twenty decks above our current position."   
   
Chakotay nodded.  "A good place to start."   
   
"And you?" Jarek asked.   
   
"Engineering," Chakotay replied, indicating a position below the   
docking bay.  "It shouldn't take too long to retrieve the dilithium   
we need.  We'll try and catch up with you at the command centre.  If   
not, meet back here in twenty-two hours."   
   
Jarek gave a curt nod: "If we are not here, Commander, leave without   
us."   
   
Chakotay frowned, and glanced at B'Elanna.  "I expect to see YOU back   
here, Lieutenant," he told her.   
   
"Understood," she replied, as she hefted her heavy pack onto her   
shoulders.   
   
"And B'Elanna," Chakotay added, "if you can find a way of getting our   
comm badges to work while you're in the command centre...?"   
   
She nodded.  "I'll try, Commander."   
   
"Good," he replied.  "Good luck Torres.  Jarek."   
   
Jarek gave a brief nod in return, before he and his crew turned and   
strode towards the exit.  B'Elanna lingered a moment longer, her   
breath condensing in the chill air, and her eyes fixed on Paris.  But   
he refused to look at her, and just stood staring resolutely at a   
spot on the floor.  At last she gave up, letting a small sigh escape:    
"Good luck," she said quietly and, turning, she followed Jarek out of   
the room.   
   
Tom lifted his head as she walked away, and watched her leave, his   
jaw clenched and his lips a thin, pale line.  Chakotay sighed; he had   
a feeling this was going to be a real fun trip.   
   
***  
Chapter 10: Life signs   
   
"Seven's analysis is correct," Tuvok confirmed as he scanned the   
sensors in astrometrics.  "The station's core will detonate in less   
than nineteen hours."   
   
Janeway's heart sank; this was her fault.  She should never have sent   
them in there, blind and unprepared; it was a stupid risk.     
   
"I guess we know why the Briori were in such a hurry to leave," Harry   
commented quietly.   
   
His words shot sharp barbs into Janeway's stomach, already crawling   
with regret.  She could almost hear Chakotay's quiet voice: "There   
must have been a damned good reason for them to abandon a place like   
this - we might want to find out what that was." But she had ignored   
his advice. She'd been so sure, so carried away by the impetuous   
enthusiasm of Jarek and his crew; she had made a bad decision and he   
- and all the away team - were paying the price.  She HAD to find a   
way out of this.  "Our first priority is to contact the away team,"   
she said out loud, her voice betraying none of her self-  
recrimination.  "Suggestions?"   
   
Kim jumped in immediately: "Send in another away team to find them."   
   
"Inadvisable," Tuvok replied.  "The station is extensive, we do not   
know where Lieutenant Paris landed the shuttle, and we do not have   
time to mount the necessary search."   
   
"We have nineteen hours," Janeway interrupted.  But Tuvok shook his   
head slightly.   
   
"I'm afraid not Captain," he told her.  "The core of the Briori   
station is a hundred times the size of Voyager's warp-core; when it   
collapses, the explosion will be...significant.  Voyager must be   
beyond the reach of the subspace distortion when that occurs, or she   
will be destroyed in the blast."   
   
Harry's eyes widened in horrible understanding: "It took Tom more   
than seven hours to get through the distortion field!"   
   
"Are you saying we need to leave here in twelve hours?" Janeway   
asked, her eyes narrowing dangerously.   
   
"It would be prudent," Tuvok advised.   
   
Janeway shook her head: "I want another option," she told them.  "I   
won't abandon my crew on that station."   
   
"If we could just penetrate the tritaillium alloy with our   
communicators, we could call them back straight away..." Kim mused.   
   
"And then we would all die."  The interruption came from Seven, who   
had, until now, been observing the discussion in silence.   
   
Janeway turned to her, one eyebrow raised in a question.   
   
"If the away team does not return with a supply of dilithium, it is   
unlikely that Voyager will find another source before her warp   
engines fail," Seven explained coolly.  "We shall be adrift."   
   
Better and better, Janeway thought darkly.  But all she said was:   
"Seven's right.  We have to get that dilithium, and we have to get   
our crew back.  I won't leave without them."   
   
She looked around at the small group: Tuvok, Kim and Seven - all that   
remained of her most able crew members.  Would they be enough?     
   
With a sharp pang she regretted the loss of Chakotay's steady advice,   
his rock-like presence at her side; it was with a sense of shock that   
she understood how much she relied on his judgement, how much she   
required his support to validate her decisions - how much she needed   
him.  And not only him.  Without B'Elanna's innovative brilliance,   
Janeway's confidence in their ability to wriggle out of yet another   
tight corner was dented.  And without Tom's irrepressible humour to   
lighten even the gravest of moments, she felt the burden of her role   
weighing more heavily than ever before.  She would not leave them   
behind, she could not.   
   
Janeway shook herself.  Tuvok, Kim and Seven were, each of them,   
brilliant in their own ways, each of them more than capable of the   
task at hand.  Straightening her shoulders, she encompassed them all   
in one glance.  "Kim," she ordered, "get a message through to the   
away team; I don't care how you do it, just do it.  Use whoever you   
need to help you, on my orders."   
   
"Yes Ma'am," Kim replied with enthusiasm, glad to be doing something.   
   
"Seven, we need a way to get out of here faster than we got in,"   
Janeway continued, "I want to give the away team as long as possible   
to get back.  I'll stay here and work with you on the problem."  She   
turned to Tuvok: "You have the bridge Lieutenant."   
   
"Very well Captain," Tuvok replied, with a slight inclination of his   
head.  Then, turning, he followed Harry out of the room; if he   
disapproved of her decision, he kept it to himself.   
   
Turning to Seven, Janeway smiled. "Let's get to work," she said,   
self-reproach fuelling her determination to defeat the threat that   
faced them.  She'd beaten the Borg, she'd beaten species 8472; she'd   
be damned if the Briori would get her - or her crew.   
   
***   
   
B'Elanna shivered as she climbed in the damp, silent darkness.  There   
was little power in the Briori station, not enough to power the   
turbo-lifts, and so they had to climb.  The narrow Jeffreys Tube - or   
whatever the Briori equivalent was called - echoed with the clang,   
clang, clang of Klingon feet as they scaled the vertical ladder.  And   
an icy stream of air flowed down around them as they climbed, air   
laced with a strange metallic scent that seemed to coat her mouth and   
teeth as she sucked breath into her straining lungs.   
   
She was somewhere in the middle of the group.  Jarek led, setting the   
merciless pace, followed by Ka'Loq and others whose names she had   
forgotten.  While behind her three others climbed, their faces lost   
in darkness, although their irritated curses every time she slowed a   
little carried loudly through the dead silence.  The muscles in her   
arms and legs screamed for a rest, sending waves of fire through her   
limbs, and her shoulders burned where the straps of her pack dug deep   
into her flesh, but she paid the pain no heed.  B'Elanna refused to   
acknowledge any weakness, before these men or to herself.  Besides,   
she enjoyed the pain - it distracted her from a deeper hurt that no   
amount of rest would cure.  And so she climbed, the cold metal of the   
ladder numbing her gloveless hands, the dank air chilling the sweat   
that exertion beaded on her forehead.     
   
"Three hundred and thirty-six, three hundred and thirty-seven," she   
muttered to herself, "three hundred and thirty-eight."  Counting   
helped; it gave her mind something to do other than think about her   
protesting muscles or, worse, drifting into memories of Tom.  "Three   
hundred and thirty-seven," she frowned.  Had she said that one   
before?  Maybe.  She climbed another few rungs.  What was that, three   
hundred and forty?  No.  Three hundred and...Oh well, it wasn't the   
first time....  "One, two, three," she began again.  Clang, clang,   
clang, went the footsteps, "four, five, six," clang, clang...SCREECH!   
   
The noise echoed up from below them, a sound like stressed metal   
reaching its limits.  She stopped, heart thudding; they all did.   
   
"What was that?" Jarek's voice growled from above.   
   
No one answered.  Looping one arm through a rung, B'Elanna retrieved   
her tricorder with her free hand and scanned the area below.    
"Nothing," she whispered.  "No, wait...."   
   
Another scream of tortured metal drifted up from the darkness,   
followed by the clatter of something large and heavy falling down the   
shaft.  It seemed an age before the echoes faded, but when they did   
another, more ominous, sound emerged.  Clang.  Clang.  Clang.    
B'Elanna felt her heart crawl into her throat; someone was on the   
ladder below them.  Clang, clang, clang; it was getting closer.  She   
tapped her tricorder again, and this time it responded.  She frowned   
at the result: "It's..." she said, her voice sounding thin in the   
silence, "it's...I don't know what the hell it is," she confessed,    
"but it's big, it's coming this way - and it's fast."   
   
"We fight!" an enthusiastic voice suggested from above her.  B'Elanna   
cursed silently, wishing Chakotay, or Tuvok - or Tom, of course -   
were with her.  Someone with a cool head!    
   
"Not here," Jarek immediately replied, easing B'Elanna's mind a   
little.  "Not trapped in here.  We climb and choose the site of   
battle."   
   
She sighed.  Better, but not much.   
   
"Double time!" she heard Jarek order, and then they were climbing   
again.  But this time she didn't seem to notice the cold, or the   
pain.  Something was stalking them in the darkness, she could feel   
it.  Something that had ripped its way into the access shaft;   
something that she very much doubted was friendly.   
   
They climbed, almost running up the ladder.  But it was not fast   
enough: "I hear it!" the rearguard called, a trace of panic in his   
voice.  "I hear it breathing!"  Faster and faster; her heavy pack   
bounced awkwardly on her shoulders, and her numb fingers fumbled on   
slick metal rungs, threatening to send her tumbling toward whatever   
lurked in the darkness below.     
   
"A door!" Jarek's shout was triumphant.  She heard him kicking, his   
heavy Klingon boots clanging loudly against the metal door.  Once,   
twice, three times....  She came to a halt, bunched up behind the   
Klingon Captain as he desperately attempted to force the door.  And   
then, with a crash, it opened, spilling a weak light into the shaft.    
In an instant Jarek was out, the others following: B'Elanna started   
to climb towards the light, relief taking the edge off her fear -   
they'd made it!   
   
She had almost reached the threshold when the rearguard shrieked a   
Klingon curse that was abruptly choked off in mid-flow.     
   
"Durak!" another voice yelled below her.  "Durak!"   
   
And then silence.  B'Elanna froze.  The dim light from the doorway   
illuminated nothing beyond the man below her, who, like her, stared   
down the ladder, motionless.  But her instinct to survive soon   
overcame her panic and she forced her limbs into motion, climbing the   
final rungs and jumping from the ladder through the door.  Jarek   
grabbed her arm as soon as her feet touched on the corridor's smooth   
surface, pulling her out of the way.  Behind her came two men.  And   
only two men.  The last looked around at them all, his dark Klingon   
eyes full of anger.   
   
"Durak is gone," he told them.  "It took him."   
   
"What was it?" B'Elanna asked, pleased that her voice sounded   
steadier than she felt.  "Where did it go?"   
   
"I do not know," the Klingon replied.  "One moment Durak was there,   
the next..."   
   
B'Elanna swallowed hard.  Chakotay had picked up life signs on the   
station before they had landed; were these the Briori?  If so, how   
many of them remained?  And then another thought sent her stomach   
writhing so hard she thought she would loose her breakfast; if nine   
well-armed Klingons weren't enough to intimidate one of these   
creatures, if it could simply pick off one of their number, unseen by   
the rest, how the hell could two humans survive alone?  She felt   
herself begin to tremble: Tom!     
   
***   
   
"In here," Chakotay called, his voice echoing down the dark corridor.    
"I found it!"   
   
Tom turned away from the flickering schematic he had been examining,   
picked up his phaser rifle, and headed toward the commander.  They'd   
been wondering these corridors for hours, even days it seemed,   
looking for a way into the engineering room.  But every door opened   
onto another corridor or another long climb.  Tom sighed.  He hated   
this dark claustrophobic silence, the feeling of being trapped; it   
seemed to weigh on his chest, forcing him to take deep long breaths   
which were never deep or long enough.  He hated this place.   
   
"Through here," Chakotay said as Tom drew nearer.  The Commander's   
eyes were fixed on his tricorder: "I'm picking up massive energy   
readings on the other side of this door," he said.   
   
Tom hefted his rifle.  "Shall we blast our way in?" he asked, aware   
of the eagerness in his voice; the idea of blasting something to   
pieces right now was grimly appealing.  Preferably something Klingon.   
   
Chakotay glanced up.  "Not unless we want to risk blowing this whole   
place," he replied in his usual quiet tone.  "Let's try to find a   
manual release for the door."   
   
It didn't take long to locate the panel at the side of the door, but   
when Tom flicked it open it revealed nothing but a mess of primitive-  
looking wiring.  Switching on his flashlight, Tom peered inside and   
frowned; no manual release - they were going to have to hot-wire it.   
   
"Looks like we're going to have to hot-wire it," Chakotay said over   
Tom's shoulder, repeating his thought. "Shame Torres isn't here."   
   
Tom's frown deepened into a scowl: "I think I can manage without   
her."  MIGHT AS WELL GET USED TO IT, he thought darkly, resolutely   
withstanding an almost overwhelming wave of sadness at the thought.   
   
"You want me to have a go?" Chakotay asked, seeing Tom pause.  "I   
know a few techniques which aren't..." he coughed delicately,   
"...which aren't exactly taught at the Academy."   
   
But Tom shook his head, forcing his mind to concentrate on the   
problem.  He reached in and made a few adjustments:  "I can handle   
it," he assured Chakotay, "I know a few tricks of my own."  As he   
spoke, the door slid smoothly and silently open.  Tom turned with a   
small smile of satisfaction: "Piece of cake."   
   
Chakotay raised an eyebrow.  "I'm impressed," he confessed.  And   
then, with a straight face he added, "I'm sure our Chief of Security   
will be very interested to hear about your hidden talents."   
   
Tom chuckled dryly.  "I'll deny everything," he promised, walking   
past the Commander and stepping into the engineering room.   
   
The room was vast, although tall rather than wide.  Energy pulsed at   
its heart, through a set of three massive columns, their blue-white   
light the only illumination in the chamber.  Tom's gaze followed them   
upward until they disappeared far above him.  Yet despite it's size,   
the room felt musty; dank and cold like the rest of the station.  And    
it smelled strange.  A cloying sickly scent hung in the air, a smell   
as damp and chill as the room itself.  Tom shivered.     
   
"We're in luck," Chakotay's voice echoed loudly in the roofless   
chamber, startling them both.  He lowered his voice, and gestured   
with his tricorder. "The dilithium's over there," he whispered.    
"It's not part of the main core, and it looks like the secondary   
systems it powers are off line.  The transfer should be easy."     
   
Shrugging off his heavy pack, Tom flicked open his tricorder.  "And   
there's plenty of it," he added, "we should've brought some more   
canisters."   
   
"We've got enough," Chakotay replied.  "Let's get to work."   
   
The transfer was straight forward, as Chakotay has predicted; they   
certainly didn't need B'Elanna's expertise.  And for that Tom was   
grateful.  The last thing he wanted to do right now was admit that he   
needed B'Elanna Torres - for anything.  In fact the transfer was so   
easy, so routine, that Tom, who was never able to concentrate for   
long on the mundane, soon found his mind wondering.  To keep it from   
straying into areas that were too painful, he distracted himself with   
musing on the Briori.  Who were they?  What did they look like?  Why   
had they left the station so suddenly...and what the hell was that   
smell?  It was stronger here, and with each breath it ran queasy   
tendrils into his stomach, stirring up its contents in a most   
unpleasant way.   
   
"Hey, watch it!" Chakotay's voice interrupted his thoughts.  "Don't   
let the containment level drop too low."   
   
Tom quickly adjusted the field: "Sorry," he muttered.   
   
"Just keep your mind on the job Tom," Chakotay told him, although   
there was more sympathy than anger in the Commander's voice.     
   
Tom frowned; Chakotay had obviously assumed that his mind was on   
B'Elanna.  And the last thing Tom wanted was sympathy from Chakotay;   
he had some pride left!  To prove that he wasn't moping like a love-  
sick adolescent, Tom said: "Do you smell something?"   
   
"I'm trying not to," Chakotay replied.    
   
"I think it's coming from behind the energy core," Tom said, sniffing   
at the air.  "You want me to investigate?"   
   
"You might not like what you find," Chakotay warned him.   
   
Tom raised an eyebrow: "You think Neelix is fixing dinner round   
there?"   
   
Chakotay's mouth twitched briefly into a smile.  "Could be worse than   
that."   
   
"Hard to imagine," Tom muttered.  The transfer was nearly complete,   
and he watched the indicator on his last canister slowly crawl   
towards full.  As soon as it was complete he terminated the link, and   
sealed the lid, careful to ensure that the canister's containment was   
holding.  Sliding it into his pack, Tom rose to his feet.  Chakotay   
was still concentrating on his last canister, but glanced up briefly.   
   
"I'll just go take a look," Tom explained, answering the Commander's   
silent question.   
   
Chakotay shrugged, and returned his attention to the dilithium   
transfer.  "It's your breakfast," he said.   
   
Snatching up his phaser rifle, Tom walked cautiously toward the   
energy core.  He was close enough to peer down the shaft, and saw the   
three columns dropping away below as far as they rose above him; the   
sight almost made him dizzy.   
   
Turning away, he continued around the core.  The stench was   
definitely growing stronger, and Tom was forced to hold one hand over   
his mouth and nose to keep from gagging.  It didn't take him long to   
find the source of the smell, and the sight was almost enough to   
empty his stomach.  On the floor were two humanoid bodies - at least   
he assumed that there were two bodies because there were certainly   
two heads. Although neither head was attached to much else, and   
neither head had a face; a bloody mess was all that was left of eyes,   
nose or mouth.  The abdominal cavities of both were split open, and   
their contents spilled in glutinous, stinking pools across the floor.     
   
Tom turned away hurriedly, swallowing desperately to keep from   
vomiting.  The sight and the stench were truly appalling.  He was   
tempted to run, but there was something about the corpses that   
demanded his attention.  With grim determination he turned around   
again, and forced himself to look more closely.  Crouching down to   
get a better view, he willed himself to see beyond the horror, to   
think like a Starfleet officer.  The wounds had not been inflicted by   
any sort of power weapon; there was no burning, no clean incisions.    
Neither had they been caused by any form of blade - the bodies had   
been torn, rather than cut, apart.  And when he looked closer he saw   
something more, something that raised the hairs on the back of his   
neck.  There were teeth marks around each of the wounds; whatever had   
killed these two, it had done it with teeth and claws.     
   
Shakily, Tom rose to his feet.  "Commander," he called, "I think you   
better see this."   
   
***   
  
Chapter 11: Trapped!   
   
"Captain!" Kim's excitement travelled clearly over the comm system.   
   
Janeway looked up from her calculations and tapped her communicator.    
"Go ahead Harry."   
   
"I think I may have found a way to get a message to the station," he   
told her eagerly.  "Can you come to the bridge?"   
   
A thrill of excitement buzzed through her at Kim's words, and she was   
moving towards the door even before she answered him: "On my way."    
As the door opened she turned to Seven.  "Keep working on our escape   
strategy, I'll be back soon."  Seven's response was merely a silent   
nod.   
   
Kim turned with a grin as soon as Janeway stepped onto the bridge.    
"There's a way, Captain," he told her immediately.  "But it's far   
from perfect."   
   
"I'll take what I can get," she replied.  "Show me."   
   
"I've been working on using radio signals, at a low enough frequency   
to pass through the tritaillium alloy."   
   
"Radio?" Janeway asked.  "Our comm badges won't pick that up."   
   
"No," Kim agreed.  "But the Briori sensors will."   
   
"You've tried it?"   
   
Kim nodded.  "I figured that if the Briori were abducting beings as   
primitive as the 37's, they must have had a way to detect pre-warp   
civilisations.  And since radio is one of the most common pre-warp   
communication methods..."   
   
"...they must have a way to receive radio transmissions," Janeway   
finished, impressed with Kim's lateral thinking.  "Good work."   
   
Harry shrugged.   "Like I said, it's not perfect," he reminded her.    
"We can send a message, but they won't receive it unless someone on   
the station accesses the radio transmitters themselves."   
   
"Is there any way we can get their attention?" Janeway asked.    
   
"I'm working on that Captain," Kim said.  "I have a few ideas."   
   
Janeway nodded.  "Keep me posted Harry," she replied.  "And let me   
know as soon as you're ready to send a message."   
   
"Aye Captain."   
   
Janeway turned and left the bridge, a small smile on her lips.  There   
was hope, and that was all she ever needed.   
   
***   
   
"We should go after the creature that took Durak," Ka'Loq insisted,   
his voice booming loudly in the corridor.  "Where is our honour if we   
do not avenge him?"  A loud muttering of agreement greeted his words,   
and eight pairs of suspicious eyes rested on B'Elanna.  But she was   
undaunted.   
   
"There's more at stake here than honour!" she snapped back.  "If we   
don't find the command centre, this whole mission will be for nothing   
- we'll ALL be dead!"  All, including Tom and Chakotay; if they   
weren't already lying cold and still somewhere on this god-forsaken   
station.  She swallowed hard, pushing the dismal thought away - it    
would do neither her nor them any good.  What she needed was action.    
She needed to get to the command centre and get the internal comms   
working; it was the only way to know if they were still alive.     
   
Her thoughts were interrupted by Ka'Loq:  "Today is a good day to   
die!" he told her, gazing down with imperious Klingon eyes.    
   
His words incensed her, and her temper flared.  "Not for me," she   
growled.  "And not for my friends!  You go die on your stupid honour   
quest, I'm going to..."   
   
"Enough!"  Jarek's voice cracked across their argument as he stepped   
between them.  He rested one hand on B'Elanna's shoulder.  "We will   
find the control centre and find a way home," he told her.  And then,   
turning to Ka'Loq, he added: "Durak died well.  He is already   
feasting in Stovakor, and he is content.  We will honour him by   
returning home with the story of his final battle, so that his family   
may know that Durak died a warrior's death."    
   
Ka'Loq growled something low in his throat, but nodded slightly.  He   
accepted Jarek's decision, even if he didn't like it.  Turning, Jarek   
moved to the front of the group: "This way," he called, striding into   
the darkness without a backward glance, knowing that his crew would   
follow him.  And they did.     
   
Hefting her pack, trying to find a less painful spot for the straps,   
B'Elanna was about to start walking when a large hand caught her   
shoulder.  Startled, she looked up to see Ka'Loq glaring down at her.   
   
"You got a problem?" she snapped.   
   
"Yes," he replied.  "YOU.  Stay away from Jarek.  You are human, you   
are infecting him with your human ways - you do not belong with him."   
   
B'Elanna tossed her head: "He's as human as I am," she retorted.   
   
Ka'Loq did not loosen his grip.  "Jarek has been raised a Klingon,"   
he replied, "his heart is Klingon.  But you...you will never be   
accepted."   
   
"I don't care," she snapped.  And it was true - there was only one   
thing she cared about right now, and that was getting in touch with   
Tom.  She desperately needed to know that he was okay, she was   
frantic to see him again, to see him smile at her again.  The thought   
that he may be dead, and that he would have died believing she had   
betrayed him, made her sick to her stomach.   
   
But Ka'Loq mistook her meaning.  His grip tightened, and he leaned   
closer still: "You will care," he assured her, "you will."  And there   
was no mistaking the menace in his voice.  With that he let go of her   
shoulder, and strode after Jarek, leaving B'Elanna staring after him   
in astonishment; this was all she needed!  Taking a deep breath, she   
started walking, hurrying to catch up with the Klingons before they   
disappeared into the darkness: she didn't want meet Durak's fate,   
however much that would please Ka'Loq.   
   
***   
   
It was dark in the access shaft, dark and cramped.  Tom tried to   
ignore the oppressive closeness of the walls as he climbed the chill   
metal ladder.  Climbed, and climbed.  How long had it been?  It felt   
like they'd been climbing for hours in the darkness; his protesting   
limbs told him it had been weeks!  Giving in to their protests he   
paused for a moment, wiping at the sweat on his brow.   
   
"We nearly there yet?" he called up to Chakotay, who climbed   
relentlessly ahead.   
   
The Commander stopped, and flashed the beam of his flashlight down.    
Tom raised his free hand to shield his eyes from the sudden   
brilliance: "Hey!" he protested.   
   
"You should've spent less time on the beach, and more time on the   
callisthenics programs," Chakotay called down, smug despite the way   
he was gasping for air.   "Another ten decks to go."   
   
Tom scowled into the darkness.  "No problem," he muttered, shifting   
the heavy pack on his shoulders.  "I usually do this sort of thing   
before breakfast."   
   
"Whatever you say."  Chakotay did not sound convinced.  And, if truth   
were told, neither was Tom.  He was exhausted, and not from the climb   
alone.  The stimm shot the Doctor had given was beginning to wear   
off, and two sleepless nights were catching up with him, dragging   
wearily on limbs that trembled with fatigue.  Not that he was going   
to let Chakotay know that of course.   
   
"Let's get going," Tom said out loud, forcing himself back into   
motion.  "It's gonna be a..."   
   
"Hang on." Chakotay's voice was urgent, and grabbed Tom's attention.   
   
"What is it?" he asked, climbing up to where the Commander was   
perched, one arm looped through the ladder, examining the wall.  What   
was left of the wall.   
   
Tom climbed higher, leaning forward for a better view.  "Something's   
ripped right through it," he breathed.  "An explosion?" there was   
more hope than anything else in his voice.     
   
But Chakotay shook his head and pointed.  "Look," he said, his   
flashlight illuminating the side of the gash.  "These look like claw   
marks."   
   
Tom peered closer.  The edges of the hole were covered in something   
dark and sticky.  Reaching out a tentative hand he touched it; it   
felt thick, familiar.  He brought his finger to his nose to confirm   
his suspicion: "Blood," he said, his voice sounding small in the   
chill darkness.  "And it's fresh."   
   
Chakotay was silent for a moment.  "Let's pick up the pace a bit," he   
said calmly.     
   
"I'm right behind you," Tom agreed, and he wasn't kidding.  If he   
could have climbed with his phaser drawn he would have; something was   
out there.  Something full of claws and teeth, something that wanted   
blood.    
   
And so they climbed.  And if Tom wondered exactly who's blood caked   
the walls of the access shaft, the question didn't linger long.    
After all, it wasn't HER blood.  It couldn't be her blood.  It just   
couldn't.     
   
***   
   
B'Elanna was cold.  The chill seeped up from the dark metal floor,   
sucking the warmth from her body with each step she took.  She walked   
alone amid the Klingons, every bit the stranger.  How had she ever   
thought she could belong with these people?  She watched Jarek as he   
strode slightly ahead of her, tall and proud, his long legs carrying   
him easily through the dark Briori corridors.  He was still handsome   
in her eyes, but he could no longer enchant her.  Whenever she looked   
at his fierce, lean features all she saw was Tom staring back at her,   
his blue eyes brimming with that terrible expression of hurt   
disbelief she had seen only this morning - was it really only this   
morning? - in sickbay.  Just the memory of that moment made her want   
to curl up into tight ball of shame; she'd let him down, she'd let   
herself down.  But at least it proved one thing, one thing she had   
always known - her Klingon side was dangerous, it had to be   
ruthlessly controlled or she risked hurting not only herself but   
those closest to her, those she loved most dearly.   
   
"What was that?" Ka'Loq's gruff voice disturbed the tense silence in   
which they walked.   
   
They stopped, all straining to hear.  And then, after a moment, she   
heard it - a hiss, like the quiet exhalation of a long breath.  It   
came from behind them.  Her heart beat loudly as B'Elanna peered into   
the darkness - another hiss, and a flash of silver.  "There's   
something back there," she whispered, struggling to work moisture   
into her dry mouth.     
   
Jarek moved to stand beside her, his disrupter already in his hand.    
"We will fight here," he growled.  And at his nod, the rest of the   
party formed up in a line across the corridor.  But whether it was   
deliberate or not, B'Elanna found herself pushed behind the Klingons.    
She was about to protest when another sound distracted her.  Another   
hiss, but this time from behind her.  She spun around, fumbling for   
the controls of her phaser rifle, just in time to see a huge creature   
launching itself towards her.  Her finger squeezed the trigger even   
as she yelled a warning, and then the impact struck, driving her to   
the floor.   
   
Chaos exploded into the corridor.  The thing on top of her was heavy,   
and it stank of blood and bile.  But her phaser fire hadn't killed   
it.  Thick clawed fingers scrabbled at her head, pulling it backward   
to expose her throat.  The weight of the creature kept her arms   
pinned to her side, but her terrified eyes could at least see its   
face.  It was a nightmare creation of fangs, glinting like obsidian   
in the corridor's flickering light, and of quicksilver eyes that   
gazed at her with blank malevolence.  But most shocking of all,   
despite the creature's size, despite its distorted, animal features,   
its face was unmistakably Klingon.  It paused above her for a moment,   
huge fangs dripping with anticipation, before it bent its mouth to   
her neck.  She screamed, struggled, kicked, but to no avail.  Death   
was imminent and all her desperate mind could think of was Tom, and   
of how she would never be able to say sorry.  And then, with a   
searing burst of energy, a disrupter blast slammed into the creature.    
Its face distorted with anger as it reared up in pain.  She was free!    
Curling up her legs, she smashed her feet into its chest, heaving it   
off of her, and scrambled free of her pack and onto her feet.    
Jarek's hand was on her arm, yanking her out of the way of the   
writhing creature.  "We have to get out of here," he hissed.  And it   
was only then that she understood what was happening.  The Klingons   
had been shattered; half a dozen of the creatures were attacking   
them, and the floor was slick with Klingon blood.  It was a massacre.     
   
"This way," Jarek pulled at her, shoving her towards a door just as a   
snarl from one of the creatures told them that they had been seen.    
"Run!"   
   
The door seemed an eternity away as she slipped and slid across the   
blood-slick floor.  Jarek was just ahead of her, and behind her she   
could hear the hissing breath of the creature; her spine quivered   
with the dread anticipation of a clawed hand centimetres from her   
neck.  Desperate, she launched herself bodily through the door,   
crashing to the floor and rolling to her feet in an instant, phaser-  
rifle armed and her finger trembling on the trigger.  The creature   
was almost through the door, and she let a wave of phaser fire rip   
into its torso, just as Jarek hit the door controls and the heavy   
metal door slid shut in the creature's face: its howl of frustration   
was as cold as its quicksilver eyes.   
   
"Are you harmed?" Jarek asked as he turned away from the door.   
   
"No," B'Elanna replied.  "Just a little..." She slung her phaser   
rifle across her shoulder and took a deep breath, raking a hand   
through hair sticky with someone else's blood: "Just a little   
shaken...." she finished.  "That thing - it looked...Klingon."   
   
"It is NOT Klingon!" Jarek barked too quickly; evidently he was as   
shocked as she was.  "But whatever it is," he continued more calmly,   
"it is an unnatural creation."   
   
"We have to get out of here," B'Elanna said, looking around the small   
room.  "It won't take them long to get through that door."  The room   
was mostly empty, and dimly lit; it looked like a storage chamber.    
Conduits of some description ran along its walls, and there was only   
one door - and they both knew what lay beyond that.  Leaning her back   
against the wall, B'Elanna let herself slide to the floor:  "Any   
suggestions?" she asked.   
   
Jarek opened his mouth to reply, but his words died on his lips as   
something heavy thumped into the door, filling the little room with a   
metallic echo.  Jarek growled an instinctive response to the   
challenge: "Perhaps today IS a good day to die," he muttered, hefting   
his disrupter and taking a step towards the door.     
   
For an instant she thought she would join him; go out in a blaze of   
glory.  Why not?  Better than cowering in here, waiting for death to   
tear its way in.  Why not?  One word came to her mind.  One reason to   
survive: Tom.  If she died here she would never see him again, would   
never feel his arms around her, never hear him whisper her name.  But   
more importantly, he would never know the truth of what had, or   
rather hadn't, happened between herself and Jarek.  He would live his   
life believing that she had died loving another man.  And that was   
simply unacceptable.  Her sense of honour forbade it.   
   
"You can die if you want to," she told Jarek, climbing back to her   
feet.  "But I'M getting out of here."   
   
Jarek turned to her, and a smile touched his lips.  "You're as   
stubborn as any Klingon," he told her with obvious approval.  "Very   
well, the battle can wait."  Another crash echoed through the room,   
and Jarek almost smiled: "Although, perhaps not for long."   
   
B'Elanna nodded, no longer caring if he approved or disapproved of   
her, merely thankful for his help.  "There has to be another way out   
of here," she said, ignoring the rhythmic crash, crash, crash against   
the door.  "An access hatch or something.  Help me clear these crates   
out the way."   
   
There had to be a way.  There had to.  She wouldn't die here, she   
wouldn't die without seeing him again; she owed him an explanation   
and she'd be damned if anything would keep her from that duty.   
   
***   
  
Chapter 12: Survivors    
   
The corridor seemed large and airy compared to the cramped access   
shaft, much to Tom's relief.  But that was about as far as the   
improvement went.  The dim lighting of the failing space station did   
little to illuminate the gloom, and the air was cold and damp.  He   
shivered, and blew on his icy fingers.  Next to him, Chakotay was   
examining his tricorder, his face in shadow, but Paris was sure he   
was frowning.   
   
"Any idea?" Tom asked after a moment.   
   
Looking up, the Commander answered: "It's hard to tell - the   
tritallium interference is pretty bad, but I'd say left."   
   
Tom glanced down the corridor that extended out into flickering   
darkness, but there was nothing to see.  To the right it was just the   
same.  He sighed: "I hope you're right," he replied quietly, turning   
away and adjusting the straps on his pack.  But before he could take   
a step, he felt Chakotay's hand on his arm.   
   
"Paris," the Commander's voice was serious.   
   
Tom turned to face him in silence.   
   
"She'll be all right," Chakotay said quietly.     
   
Tom looked away, hiding his awkwardness with a laugh:  "Sure she   
will," he replied, "she's got an armed guard of Klingons after all -   
I'm sure Jarek will take good care of her."  Despite his best   
efforts, the last words were sour.   
   
"B'Elanna can take care of herself," Chakotay told him, with a   
meaningful expression in his dark eyes.  "She's always been her own   
person.  You should know that."  Then turning, he started to walk   
into the darkness.  Tom watched him for a moment, unsure of his   
meaning.  The Commander was right, of course, B'Elanna was her own   
person, but it was a thought that gave him little comfort.  She would   
walk her own path, even if it took her away from him forever.  He   
sighed, and set his feet in motion, hurrying to catch Chakotay before   
he disappeared into the gloom.  This was no place to be alone.     
   
They walked, jogged, walked, and jogged some more, down the endless,   
dark corridors.  And somehow, despite the weariness that penetrated   
every limb and joint, and a mind fogged by sleep deprivation, Tom   
kept himself going - until a strange hiss, whispering through the   
air, stopped him dead.  "What was that?" he hissed, his phaser   
already in hand.   
   
Chakotay glanced down at his tricorder: "I'm getting strong readings   
ahead," he murmured, glancing towards a point where the corridor bent   
sharply to the right, hiding the rest from view.   
   
"Klingon?" Tom asked, not sure if he was hopeful or fearful.  But   
Chakotay shook his head: "Unclear," he replied.  "The readings are   
still distorted.  But whatever it is, it's close."   
   
A sudden cry echoed along the corridor, a heart-stoppingly familiar   
cry.  And then...  "That was phaser fire," Tom whispered, his heart   
racing.  "It's her."  He broke into a run even as the words left his   
mouth, heading blindly for the sounds of violence that drifted around   
the bend in the corridor.     
   
But Chakotay was on him in a moment, dragging him to a halt and   
slamming him hard against the wall.  "Hold it!" he hissed.  "You want   
to get yourself killed?"   
   
Tom shook his arm free of the Commander's hand, and glared.  But he   
stopped, nonetheless.     
   
"Slowly," Chakotay warned him, taking the lead.  "Come on."   
   
Keeping close to the wall, Chakotay crept towards the bend in the   
corridor, his phaser drawn.  Tom followed, fighting his instinct to   
run towards the sounds of battle, the memory of B'Elanna's cry   
filling his mind.   
   
Stopping, Chakotay peered around the corner.  After a few moments he   
withdrew, his face drained of colour: "There's nothing we can do," he   
breathed.   
   
Chakotay's words drove the breath from Tom's lungs. "What?" he   
whispered.   
   
"See for yourself," the Commander replied bleakly, moving away from   
the corner and allowing Tom to see.   
   
The sight that greeted him when he peered around the corner was one   
of carnage; dim through the darkness, three huge creatures bent over   
smaller, inert forms - a limp, gauntleted hand betrayed the victims   
as Klingon.  Close by, a damaged disrupter lay fizzing as it slowly   
discharged, casting just enough light to illuminate the scene.  Tom   
strained to see what the creatures were doing, but as soon as he   
could make it out he fervently wished that the whole scene had been   
veiled in darkness; the creatures were feeding on their victims.  His   
stomach lurched at the sight, and he pulled back in horror.   
   
"God," he breathed, cold fear clawing at his guts.  He closed his   
eyes against the nightmare, but his mind's vision was suddenly full   
of B'Elanna.  If she was there....  Panic gripped him.   
   
"We should get back to the shuttle." Chakotay's voice came from a   
distance, but Tom could hear the uncertainty it held. "We have to   
protect the dilithium - Voyager's dead in the water without it."   
   
Tom swallowed, trying to find his voice.  He opened his eyes: "I have   
to know," was all he said.   
   
Chakotay frowned, struggling with conflicting loyalties.  At length   
he nodded.  B'Elanna was one of his own, a Maquis.  He understood.    
"Let's figure out what we're going to do," he said, "we're running   
out of time."   
   
***   
   
Tuvok tapped his comm badge.  "Bridge to Captain Janeway."   
   
"Janeway here Commander," came the reply.   
   
"Captain, Ensign Kim informs me that he is ready to transmit a   
message to the station."   
   
"Excellent Lieutenant, proceed."  Janeway's voice sounded absent, her   
mind clearly elsewhere.  Tuvok sighed; when the Captain was working   
on a problem, she was hard to distract.   
   
"Captain," Tuvok pressed, "the message is somewhat...unorthodox.  Do   
you wish to hear it?"   
   
"Unorthodox?" That got her attention.  "How?"   
   
Tuvok nodded towards the young Ensign.  "Mr Kim," he said, "if you   
please."   
   
Harry shrugged, and started the message.  The bridge was abruptly   
filled with music; an endless loop of a few bars.  Tuvok nodded   
again, and Kim terminated the message.   
   
"Interesting," Janeway's voice betrayed her amusement.  "Explain it   
please."   
   
"We need to send a short, repeating message," Kim began, "one that'll   
get their attention."   
   
"Why not a verbal message?" Janeway asked.   
   
"Not distinct enough," Kim explained.  "All we need to do is get them   
to tune to the right frequency.  I'm betting that the Briori system   
is continually surfing through all known radio frequencies, but it   
probably only stops on each one for a couple of seconds; we need to   
grab their attention quickly, so they'll know it's us and tune in.    
We may not have long..."   
   
"And this tune will get their attention?" Janeway asked, cutting   
straight to the point.  "How?"   
   
Tuvok saw Kim smile: "Tom will recognise it," he said, "or B'Elanna."   
   
"You're sure?"    
   
"Oh, I'm sure, Captain," Kim replied.  "I'd bet my life on it."   
   
Janeway was silent for a moment.  "The question is," she said at   
last, "would you bet THEIR lives on it?"   
   
***   
   
Despite the chill, a bead of sweat trickled down the side of Tom's   
face, ran down his neck and disappeared under his collar.  He ignored   
it, his mind focused on more important things.   
   
"There!" he whispered at last, a sliver of satisfaction touching his   
voice.  "That should do it."   
   
He flicked the controls of his tricorder and peered at the twitchy    
readings.  "I've got penetration up to 98 metres," he said, his eyes   
fixed on the data.     
   
Chakotay turned his head, not leaving his position close to the bend   
in the corridor.  "It's hard to see," he confessed, "but I think a   
couple of the creatures have left.  Can you confirm their numbers?"   
   
Tom pushed himself to his feet, and directed his newly adapted   
tricorder towards the carnage around the corner.  The data twitched   
erratically, but it was good enough.  "I'm reading three creatures   
left," he began, and then his voice caught in his throat.  After a   
pause, he added "No other life signs."   
   
A dull clang resonated through the corridor, the sound of a body   
hurling itself at something large and immovable.  Chakotay turned   
back instantly to his surveillance.  Tom crept closer.  "One of the   
creatures' is attacking a door," the Commander whispered.  "He's   
trying to get in."   
   
Hope beat like a butterfly's wing in Tom's heart: "Someone must be in   
there."     
   
Chakotay nodded without turning his head.  "That's a good bet.  Can   
you get a reading?"   
   
"It's out of range," Tom replied.  "We need to get closer."   
   
"We can't risk being seen," Chakotay told him, pulling back from the   
corner once more.  "We won't stand a chance against those creatures."   
   
For an instant, frustration filled Tom's mind.  But Tom Paris was not   
a man to be daunted by dangerous odds - they just made the challenge   
that much more interesting.  And besides, if B'Elanna was in that   
room, nothing would keep him from going to her.  Nothing.  Not even   
Jarek - if he still lived.  That thought sent a sudden, dark hope   
twisting up into his chest, but Tom quickly repressed it, shocked by   
his own emotions.  His jealously was not so bitter that he would wish   
the man dead.  And certainly not the kind of death that splattered   
the corridor walls ahead.  No one deserved that, not even the thief   
who had stolen all that was most precious to him.   
   
"We can't go past them..." Chakotay's speculative whisper broke into   
Tom's thoughts.   
   
Tom smiled, knowing what the Commander was thinking.  "So we'll have   
to go around them," he finished.  Adrenaline pumped into his weary   
limbs, and forced a thin smile onto his face.  Turning to his   
tricorder again, Tom began to study it once more: "Let's just hope   
that room has a back door," he breathed.    
   
He heard Chakotay's quiet grunt of approval: "And let's hope we can   
find it."   
   
***   
   
B'Elanna ran her fingers across the smooth metal floor of the room,   
determinedly ignoring the relentless crash, crash, crash as the   
creature continued to throw itself at the door.  There HAD to be   
another way out!   
   
How long had they been in here now?  It felt like an hour or more,   
but she knew it could not me more than half that.  Jarek had already   
given up the search for escape, and was pacing the room like a   
prisoner in a cell, his disrupter cradled in the crook of his arm.    
He longed to fight, B'Elanna knew, to end it and die with his men.    
But for her sake, he waited.  Although it wasn't easy; every drop of   
Klingon blood that burned in his veins screamed to fight, and only   
his half-human reason kept his instinct at bay.  No true Klingon   
would have been so patient.  B'Elanna admired him for that.     
   
A slight imperfection in the slick floor grabbed at her attention.    
Her eyes snapped down, and she ran her finger backwards over the   
floor.  Had she imagined it?  No.  There it was - a slight, almost   
imperceptible ridge.  She traced it for a moment with one finger   
until it disappeared.  No, it didn't disappear, it just turned a   
corner, a perfect ninety degree corner.  "I've found it!" she blurted   
suddenly.  "The access hatch!"   
   
Jarek was at her side in an instant, his thick finger tracing the   
hairline crack.  And then he turned to her and said, "How do we open   
it?"   
   
B'Elanna met his gaze for an instant, before her eyes dropped back to   
the floor.  "I haven't figured that out yet," she admitted, keeping a   
sudden flash of irritation at bay.  "But I will.  I have to."   
   
***   
   
"In there!" Tom whispered excitedly, concentrating on the data from   
his tricorder.  "One of the creatures is directly above us, which   
means that the room over there is underneath the one where..."   
   
A growl from the darkness shattered his thoughts like so many needles   
of ice.  At his side Chakotay slid his weapon free, turning slowly   
toward the sound.  Tom imitated him, his own hand reaching for the   
phaser rifle slung across his back.  As he turned, a shadow moved in   
the darkness - black on black.  And then it stepped out into the dim   
light of the failing Briori station, its features resolving   
themselves into those of...   
   
"Ka'Loq!" Chakotay let the word out as if he had been holding his   
breath.     
   
The Klingon First Officer stepped forward: "Commander," he replied   
curtly, and made a sharp beckoning gesture over his shoulder.  Two   
other figures detached themselves from the darkness, and stepped into   
the station's half-light.  One of them nursed a badly injured arm,   
but neither of them was B'Elanna.   
   
"Where are the others?" Tom asked immediately, squinting past the   
three weary Klingons, hoping beyond reason to see B'Elanna in the   
shadows.   
   
Ka'Loq growled again, deep in his throat.  And when he spoke, he   
sounded as if he were trying to convince himself of his words:   
"Feasting in Stovakor."   
   
Tom understood.  There was little semblance of honour or glory in the   
death that drenched the floor above.  "Not all of them," Tom said,   
his voice etched with tension.  "Someone's alive up there."  He   
nodded at the door behind him:  "Above that room."   
   
Ka'Loq's gaze shifted over Tom's shoulder.  "Who?" he asked.   
   
Tom swallowed, his heart tumbling over itself.  Who?  That was the   
real question.  He licked at dry lips, and when he spoke his voice   
was a dusty whisper: "I don't know."   
   
***   
   
The shriek of metal, strained beyond its limits, threatened to break   
B'Elanna's concentration as she forced her mind to search for yet   
another way to open the sealed access hatch.  Another crash, another   
shriek jarred her thoughts; the door that held the creature at bay   
buckled and protested under the force of the assault.  It was only a   
matter of minutes now, before death invaded the little room that had   
become their prison.   
   
Panic, terror, regrets and anger all crowded her mind, but B'Elanna   
refused to give them her attention.  Out of the corner of her eye she   
saw Jarek, crouched before the door, disrupter levelled, waiting for   
his last battle.  But she ignored him too.  There was only one thing   
she had to do, there was only one thing that mattered.  She had to   
open the access hatch.  Sweat trickled down the side of her face as   
her fingers ran over the hatch's phaser-scorched metal surface,   
prying, pulling, pushing, testing.  But nothing moved.     
   
A scrabbling sound snapped her attention back to the door, and horror   
clutched at her guts when she saw a clawed hand force itself through   
the twisted door, heaving, and scrabbling for purchase.  A blast of   
disrupter fire exploded into the blood covered hand, and it withdrew   
with a snarl.  B'Elanna glanced at Jarek, but he no longer had any   
attention for her; she saw the heat of battle blazing in his dark   
eyes and envied him.  Cold terror was all that ran in her veins.   
   
A smooth click, and a short hiss pulled her eyes back to the access   
panel.  She looked, blinked, and looked again.  It was moving.  Her   
heart raced as she watched, as if in slow motion, the panel dropping   
and swinging away from her.  And then astonishment stole her voice as   
she looked down and saw a face staring up at her, a face so   
wonderfully familiar that she almost wanted to cry.  "Tom!"  She   
wasn't even sure she'd said his name aloud.   
   
For an instant she just stared at him, drinking in the expression of   
heartfelt relief she saw in his eyes.  But the moment was short, and   
reality crashed in with another wrenching scream from the door.    
Turning, B'Elanna opened her mouth to call to Jarek, but for some   
reason she couldn't bring herself to say his name: "It's open!" she   
cried instead.   
   
The words caught the Klingon's attention.  Surprise was evident in   
every feature, but he bounded towards her in an instant.   
   
"B'Elanna!" she heard Tom call from below.  "Come on!"   
   
The door screeched again, metal grinding against metal; its life was   
measured in heart-beats now.  With a glance, B'Elanna saw that it was   
a long drop down, so rolling onto her stomach she wiggled herself   
through the hole until she hung from its rim by her fingertips.  She   
was bracing herself for the drop when she felt strong hands reach up   
and clasp her around the waist: "I've got you."  It was Tom.    
   
She let go, her hands supporting herself on his shoulders as he   
lowered her gently to the floor.  Tom leaned back slightly to brace   
himself against her weight, letting her slide down his chest until   
her toes touched the deck blow. For a long moment neither of them   
moved.  His hands remained around her waist and she was standing so   
close she could feel his heart racing like her own, feel the heat   
from his body radiating through the thin fabric of his uniform, feel   
his rapid breaths caressing her cheek.   
   
"Are you hurt?" he asked quietly, one hand leaving her waist and   
reaching out to gently touch her shoulder.  Glancing down, B'Elanna   
realised that her uniform was torn where her comm badge had once   
been; and she noticed Tom's fingers tremble when he touched her.   
   
Glancing up, she gazed straight into his eyes.  Even in the darkness   
their expression captivated her.  Tenderness, relief, longing; they   
burned with a blue-heat she well remembered, a heat she had thought   
lost to her forever.  Her hands, still resting on his shoulders,   
ached to reach up and touch his face, to pull him close enough that   
her lips would reach his mouth.  But her emotions overwhelmed her,   
froze her motionless in his arms.  And then a Klingon voice called:    
"Jarek!"   
   
Ka'Loq's cry slammed like a closing door across Tom's face.  Even as   
she watched, a dark veil descended over his eyes, turning their   
warmth to ice.  B'Elanna was close enough to feel his whole body   
tense as his gaze moved to something behind her.  Turning in his   
suddenly rigid embrace, she saw Jarek drop through the hatch to the   
floor.  Above him, a face from a nightmare appeared, snarling and   
snapping at the rim of the hatch.  Jarek's disrupter blasted into the   
creature, driving it back and giving Chakotay time to slam the metal   
hatch home.  Frustrated cries thundered above them, but for the   
moment they were safe.   
   
Jarek rose to his feet and turned immediately to pull his First   
Officer into a fierce embrace.  "My heart is glad at the sight of   
you, Ka'Loq," he growled.  "I feared that I alone had survived."   
   
"There are few enough of us," the Klingon replied darkly, "but I'm   
glad that YOU are among us."   
   
Clapping him on the shoulder, Jarek turned to B'Elanna, taking in   
both herself and Tom in one glance.  He nodded coolly: "Lieutenant   
Paris, my thanks.  I owe you a debt of gratitude.  You saved my   
life."  As he spoke his eyes came to rest on B'Elanna, but she could   
meet his glance only for an instant before dropping her gaze.  Tom's   
hands fell away from her and he stepped backward.  She couldn't look   
at him, but she heard him say: "YOU owe me nothing."  And with that   
he turned and walked away.   
   
The sudden silence was broken by Chakotay's calm reason.  "I suggest   
we get out of here," he said, ignoring the exchange.  "It won't take   
them long to figure out where we are."   
   
"The question is," Tom replied, his voice cold and dark once more,   
"where are we - and where the hell are we going?"   
   
***   
  
Chapter 13: A Brief Respite   
   
Harry sensed a measure of relief in Tuvok's voice when he rose to   
greet the Captain as she strode onto the bridge.   
   
"Captain," Tuvok's manners were impeccable.  "I must inform you that   
we have only thirty minutes left before we must begin our return   
journey..."   
   
But the Captain cut him off with a wave of her hand.  From the smile   
playing around the corners of her lips, Harry suspected that she had   
an alternative suggestion.   
   
"That won't be necessary," she said immediately, her smile widening.    
"I believe we have a solution."  She was undoubtedly pleased with   
herself, but Tuvok greeted her words with nothing more expressive   
than a raised eyebrow.   
   
Janeway took her seat on the bridge: "Mr Kim, we need to recalibrate   
the aft shields to a phase variant of 549.6.  How fast can you do   
it?"   
   
Recalibrate the phase variant...?  Kim's mind worked to understand   
the Captain's plan even as he answered her question: "I'll need to   
work from engineering, and it'll mean taking the shields off line to   
adjust the grid, but I think I can have it done in under three hours   
Captain."   
   
Janeway nodded once.  "Get on it."   
   
"Captain," Tuvok interrupted coolly.  "May I enquire what you are   
planning to do?"   
   
Janeway smiled at him.  "We're going to use the blast wave generated   
by the station's destruction to push us beyond the sub-space   
distortion field," she told him simply.  "Seven has calculated the   
force of the explosion, and with our shields recalibrated, we should   
withstand the blast and be pushed beyond the sub-space effect."   
   
Tuvok raised an eyebrow: "That strategy only has a 46% chance of   
success," he warned her.  "Given the variables created by..."   
   
"I'm well aware of the odds, Tuvok," she told him.  "But they're the   
best we've got.  If we don't try it, the away team are as good as   
dead."   
   
Harry saw Tuvok clamp his mouth shut, clearly disapproving of the   
plan but knowing better than to try and argue with the Captain.     
   
Janeway turned to face him: "You still here, Mr Kim?" she asked.   
   
"No Ma'am," he replied with a grin, and turned to leave the bridge.    
But before he had taken two steps the Captain spoke again: "Harry -   
any reply to our message?"   
   
He shook his head.  "No.  Not yet."     
   
Janeway nodded again; if she was disappointed, it didn't show.  "Keep   
me posted on your progress with the shields," she said, before   
turning back to her work.   
   
Kim allowed himself a small smile as the turbo-lift doors slid shut   
behind him.  Forty-six percent weren't great odds, but they'd come   
through worse; and it bought Tom, B'Elanna and Chakotay an extra four   
hours.  It was worth the risk.  It had to be.   
   
***   
   
"Chakotay," B'Elanna's voice was hushed as she came to walk next to   
him.  "We need to rest."   
   
He glanced over at her. "It's safer to keep moving," he pointed out,   
all too aware of the way his own body was crying out for a reprieve.   
   
"We'll be in no shape to fight a Bolian kitten if we don't get some   
rest," she retorted, her tone more Maquis than Starfleet.   
   
Chakotay raised an eyebrow.  "The effects of last night catching up   
with you?" he asked, not entirely in jest.   
   
B'Elanna tensed at his words, and he regretted them immediately; now   
was neither the time nor the place to discuss the matter.  So he was   
surprised to hear her say: "Yeah, guess that's it."   
   
Suspicion made him look at her again.  He saw fatigue in her face,   
weariness in her steps, but he'd know B'Elanna Torres for a long   
time.  Long enough to know that she never admitted to anything   
approaching weakness; in the Maquis, her stubborn pride had kept her   
on her feet long after stronger men had succumbed.  She wasn't   
looking at him now, and he followed her gaze to its destination:   
Paris.  Tom swayed slightly as he walked, his feet dragging, and his   
head bent down as if he were willing his legs to move.  Perhaps he   
was.  And in an instant Chakotay understood why B'Elanna was asking   
to stop.  No doubt Tom's stimm shot was wearing off, and with no   
sleep for approaching forty-eight hours, Paris was on the verge of   
collapse.   
   
"I'll speak to Jarek," Chakotay told her quietly, slightly irritated   
that Paris wasn't fit for the mission.  But, if he was honest, more   
irritated with himself for failing to notice his lieutenant's   
condition sooner.   
   
***   
   
B'Elanna swallowed the last of her ration bar, and leaned back   
wearily against the cold metal wall.  Ka'Loq stood some distance   
away, near the doorway of the large room in which they rested.   
Irritated by the halt, he had volunteered to stand watch while the   
others slept - he, of course, needed no rest.     
   
Looking about the room, B'Elanna tried to imagine what it had once   
been used for.  Upturned tables and chairs littered the darkness now,   
their angular shapes disappearing into the gloom; it reminded her of   
Voyager's mess-hall on a very, very bad day.  She smiled a little at   
the thought, and wondered if she'd ever see it again.  At the moment,   
Voyager seemed far, far away.   
   
Chakotay and Jarek talked quietly together as they ate, but their   
words were lost in the empty room.  She guessed they were planning   
their next move and wished them luck; she was rapidly running out of   
ideas.  Near them, the injured Klingon was being treated by his   
comrade.  Despite Ka'Loq's protests, Jarek had seen the wisdom in   
calling a halt - the Klingons needed it as much as the humans.   
   
And then there was Tom.  He lay close to her, curled up where he had   
dropped the moment they had stopped.  One arm was flung over his   
eyes, as if to shield them from the light, although there was   
precious little of that to disturb him, and his breaths were slow and   
regular.     
   
B'Elanna watched him sleep, traced his familiar features with her   
eyes, and tasted guilt anew.  She remembered the way he had looked at   
her just a few hours ago, the gentle way he had touched her; there   
had been love in his eyes then, she could have sworn it.  But the   
expression had been fleeting.  Jarek had opened a gulf between them,   
a bitter chasm of guilt, anger and betrayal.  And B'Elanna doubted   
they could ever bridge it.  She wondered if Tom even wanted to.  His   
anger was palpable, brooding and resentful, and for the first time   
since she'd known him, she had a small insight into the experience of   
Admiral Owen Paris.  Tom was capable of deep resentment, and capable   
of keeping it smouldering for a long, long time.  She could almost   
imagine those cold blue eyes flashing each time his father tried to   
reach out to his son.  She shivered, and hoped that she wouldn't come   
to share his father's fate.   
   
Their stop was brief.  Within two hours they broke camp.  And as the   
others packed up their belongings and swallowed a little more food,   
B'Elanna walked a few paces out into the darkness of the room,   
stretching muscles angry at being used again so soon.   
   
After a few moments she heard the soft tread of footsteps following   
her, and her heart turned a little somersault: Tom!  Trying to calm   
her racing pulse, she turned to face him.  Only it wasn't Tom, it was   
Jarek.     
   
"Are you rested?" he asked, moving closer.  Too close.  She backed   
away and found herself squashed against the edge of a table.   
   
"A little," she replied carefully.   
   
Jarek nodded.  "B'Elanna," he said, dropping his voice, "your   
Commander wants to return to his ship - he worries about his Captain,   
I think."  There was a small smile in Jarek's voice as he spoke, but   
B'Elanna ignored it.   
   
"He's worried about the dilithium," she corrected him.  "And he's   
right.  Without it, Voyager's dead in the water."   
   
"And you?" Jarek asked.  "Will you go with him, or will you stay with   
us and find a way home?"   
   
She stared at him, but didn't answer at first.  When she did speak,   
her voice sounded tight, restrained: "I'll do whatever Chakotay   
orders me to do."   
   
Jarek's gaze never left her eyes, and she knew the question he was   
asking went much deeper.  "But you are free to choose the life you   
would lead," he pressed, leaning closer still.  "Would you be cooped   
up by Federation rules, or free to be yourself, to burn as brightly   
as I know you could - as I know you should?"   
   
Federation or Klingon.  Tom or Jarek.  He was asking her to make a   
choice, only there was no choice to make.  She knew where she   
belonged: "I..."   
   
Her answer was cut short by a quiet cough.  B'Elanna turned, and was   
mortified to see Tom standing just a few feet away.   
   
"We're moving out," he told them in a heavy voice, devoid of emotion.    
His face was expressionless, but B'Elanna noticed the way his fingers   
curled into a fist around the ration bar he held, crushing it to   
crumbs in his hand.     
   
"Tom..." she called, pushing passed Jarek.  But it was too late,   
Paris had turned and was striding quickly away.   
   
She sighed, rubbed at her weary eyes, and wondered if things could   
get any worse.  When an ominous hiss drifted down from above her, she   
knew that they could.   
   
Tom must have heard it too, because he stopped walking and peered up,   
phaser already in his hand.  B'Elanna followed his gaze.  There was   
something up there, something large and indistinct lurking in the   
gloom.  But before she had time to distinguish its form, it moved,   
and in a blur of darkness dropped to the floor half a meter behind   
her.  She spun to face it and her heart froze.  For an instant the   
creature paused, giving B'Elanna a clear view of its face.  There was   
no mistaking it.  Behind her she heard Tom curse in astonishment.    
The creature facing her was Klingon.  At least, mostly so.   
   
It snarled, baring long, sharp teeth.  Its quicksilver eyes slid   
across them all as it dropped into a battle stance; clawed hands   
raised, the creature edged towards B'Elanna.  She stepped carefully   
backward, just as a bolt of phaser fire streaked past her face,   
exploding into the monster's flesh.  It howled, and chaos erupted   
around her.  Another creature dropped from the ceiling, phasers and   
disrupters blasted, filling the room with smoke and the stench of   
burning flesh.  Instinctively, B'Elanna dropped into a crouch, her   
phaser held high.  A disrupter blast from behind it had turned the   
creature's attention towards Jarek, leaving B'Elanna temporarily   
unnoticed.  She aimed her phaser at the back of the creature's head,   
but a hand grasped her arm, pulling her weapon down.  Startled, she   
wrenched her arm free and turned to see Tom on one knee at her side.   
   
"Get out of here," he hissed, his eyes fixed on the creature's back.   
   
"What?!"    
   
"Go," he spared her a brief glance, revealing nothing.  "Chakotay   
needs your help to get the dilithium back to Voyager."   
   
Behind her, she saw Chakotay retreating steadily towards the door,   
his attention divided between herself and the melee.  One of the   
dilithium packs was strapped to his back, the other - Tom's - he held   
in one hand.   
   
"You go," she hissed at Tom.  "I can take care of myself."   
   
"It's an order, Lieutenant," he replied, taking aim at the creature   
battling Jarek.   
   
"You can't give me orders!" she objected, rehearsing a familiar   
argument.     
   
Tom smiled, his gaze meeting hers for a fraction of a second.  "I   
though we sorted that out a long time ago," he said.  And then with a   
small shrug, he returned his attention to the fight.  "Anyhow it's   
Chakotay's order, not mine.  Get out of here Torres."   
   
She looked again at Chakotay, nearly at the door now.  He met her   
unspoken question with a sharp nod.  Tom crept closer to the   
creature, phaser raised, waiting - giving her time to escape before   
attracting the fight towards himself.  She watched him and her   
stomach clenched with the sudden, sick realisation that this might be   
the last time she ever saw him.  She wanted to call out to him and   
wish him luck, to tell him that she still loved him.  But she dared   
not distract him, dared not risk attracting the creature's attention.     
   
"Good luck," she whispered, too quiet for him to hear.  And then, "I   
love you Tom."  Even softer.   
   
With that she turned her back, and forced her feet to carry her away   
from Tom and towards her duty.   
   
***   
   
A gash above Tom's eye leaked blood down the side of his face, mixing   
with sweat and blurring his vision.  He wiped it away with his sleeve   
and fired again, forcing the creature another few steps backwards.    
To his right, Jarek mimicked him.  But their weapons did no real   
damage; the creature might retreat, but it refused to die.  What had   
happened to the rest of their companions, Tom didn't know.  He'd seen   
B'Elanna and Chakotay leave, but after that...?  Behind him, all was   
now silence and Tom dared not turn around to see why.  He just   
concentrated on forcing the creature into the small ante-room behind   
it, forcing it in far enough so that they could lock the door and   
make their escape.  At least that was the gist of their unspoken   
plan.     
   
Jarek fired again, knocking the creature backward with a blast   
against its chest.  Tom followed immediately with another burst of   
phaser fire, targeting the creature's legs and causing it to stumble   
back further.  The door controls were almost within reach now...just   
a few more steps.  Sensing the walls closing in about it, the   
creature snarled, its liquid silver gaze sliding dangerously between   
them.  Then, without warning, it launched itself towards Tom.  His   
response was instinctive, dropping sideways into a crouch he kicked   
out towards the creature's guts.  The impact was jarring, and sent   
Tom sprawling onto the floor.  But it stopped the creature's   
momentum.  Jarek fired, following the blast with a powerful kick of   
his own, and the creature fell backward.  Tom watched it fall, and   
before it had time to hit the ground he was on his feet, launching   
himself at the door controls.  With a loud hiss and a heavy metallic   
clang, the door crashed down, sealing the creature inside.  It howled   
in impotent anger, a chill blood-stopping howl.   
   
Breathing heavily Tom turned to face the silent room, back against   
the wall and phaser raised.  But the room was still and empty.  Only   
he and Jarek remained.  Jarek: another enemy, perhaps even more   
dangerous than the creature now howling in its new prison.   
   
Tom glanced at his rival, and his pulse quickened.  Adrenaline from   
the fight still flooded his veins, weakening his already tentative   
hold over the simmering anger he felt towards the man who had stolen   
B'Elanna.  As if he could feel Tom's icy stare boring into the back   
of his head, Jarek turned slowly to face him.  Their eyes met, a   
clash of blue-ice and dark-fire, and neither man dropped his gaze.    
The silence was long and deadly cold.   
   
At length Tom spoke.  "Relative of yours?" he asked mildly, gesturing   
towards the imprisoned creature.     
   
Jarek's eyes narrowed.  "You aim to insult me, Lieutenant?" he   
replied.  "You know as well as I, that these creatures are not   
Klingon."   
   
Tom shrugged.  "Sure as hell looked like one to me," he continued.    
Anger began to drift up through his self control, bubbling to the   
surface like swamp gas.  "It's got the same manners."   
   
Jarek moved closer, an anger of his own burning deep in his dark   
Klingon eyes.  "You provoke me, human.  Why?"   
   
"Just saying it how I see it," Tom snapped back.  But Jarek was   
right, and Tom knew it.  The anger coursing through his veins   
demanded release, and adrenaline battered dangerously at his thinning   
wall of self-control.  His breaths came more rapidly, his fingers   
curled into a fist, and his vision narrowed.  Jarek filled his view   
and his mind now -  Jarek and his anger.   
   
"You prefer to fight with words than with this, human?" the Klingon   
snapped, raising his fist in challenge.   
   
"I don't want to fight..."  Tom bit the words out, trying to make   
himself believe the lie.  I'M A STARFLEET OFFICER.  I'M A STARFLEET   
OFFICER.  He repeated the thought like a mantra, but his fist itched   
to strike out at Jarek, the object of all his rage.   
   
"Perhaps if you had fought for her, you would not have lost her,"   
Jarek suggested quietly, a smug smile tugging at the corners of his   
handsome mouth.     
   
It was out in the open now.  "I didn't LOSE her," Tom hurled back,   
struggling to keep a grip on his ebbing self-control.  "You STOLE   
her!"     
   
"Stole?!" Jarek's burst of laughter echoed mockingly about the empty   
room.  "If she was stolen," he leered, "then I have never met with a   
more willing object of theft."   
   
"You exploited her," Tom hissed, "she's not like you.  She doesn't   
understand her heritage - she's vulnerable and you..."   
   
Jarek laughed again.  "Vulnerable?  B'Elanna!" he shook his head.    
"She is magnificent!  She is Klingon to her heart, and always has   
been."   
   
"She's half human," Tom snarled.     
    
"She'll get over it," Jarek growled back.  "I did."   
   
"You don't know her.  You could never make her happy."    
   
Jarek raised an eyebrow.  "And you can?" he asked.  "You had your   
chance, human.  And you let her go.  You have no passion, no fire -   
you do not love her like I love her.  If you did, you would have   
fought for her."   
   
"I don't love her...?!" the words spluttered incoherently from Tom's   
lips like angry drops of spittle.  "You want a fight?" he yelled,   
rage washing away the last of his carefully constructed defences.    
"I'll give you a damned fight!"  And before he had even finished   
speaking, his fist slammed hard into the iron jaw of the Klingon.   
   
The blows fell fast and furious.  Adrenaline numbed any pain, and the   
sheer relief of venting anger so long restrained flooded Tom's mind   
with exhilaration.  He didn't know how long they had been fighting,   
hammering at each other, when Jarek caught him under the chin with   
one particularly powerful punch.  The impact sent him crashing   
backwards over a table, and he landed in a heap on the floor.    
Shaking his head to clear his vision, Tom scrambled half way to his   
feet.  Jarek was standing over him, hands on hips and lips twitching   
into a smug half-smile.  Behind him a shadow flickered, Tom blinked   
and dropped his hand to his phaser.   
   
Jarek saw the move, but only had time to widen his eyes in shock   
before Tom fired.  The blast shot directly over Jarek's shoulder and   
exploded into the face of a creature creeping up behind them.  It   
screamed in pain and fell to the floor, clutching at its seared eyes.   
   
Tom leaped to his feet, as Jarek spun to face the new danger.  For   
now, the creature was too preoccupied with its own pain to pay them   
any attention.  For now.   
   
"Let's get out of here," Tom suggested, stepping wide of the injured   
creature. He didn't wait to see if Jarek followed as he headed for   
the door.  But once they had left the room, Jarek seized Tom's   
shoulder, halting him.  Paris turned, shaking free of the Klingon's   
grip, eyeing his rival carefully.     
   
"You saved my life," Jarek stated flatly.  "For the second time."   
   
"So it seems."   
   
"I am in your debt," the Klingon continued.  "But I will not give   
B'Elanna back to you."   
   
"GIVE her back?"  Tom smiled.  And for the first time in many, many   
days, the smile reached his eyes.  "B'Elanna makes her own choices,"   
he told Jarek.  "You can't make them for her.  No one can."   
   
Jarek's eyes clouded slightly, and Tom's smile broadened.  B'Elanna   
would never tolerate being owned by Jarek, or by his Klingon   
traditions.  She was too human for that; she valued her individualism   
too greatly.  B'Elanna would choose for herself Tom realised, and he   
just had to hope she chose him.   
   
Jarek frowned, and glanced over his shoulder.  The creature's pain-  
sodden cries were quieter; they didn't have long before it came after   
them.   
   
"We should keep going," Jarek said, moving past Tom without meeting   
his eyes.  But the arrogance was gone from the Klingon's demeanour.   
   
Tom allowed himself another smile, and opened his mouth to reply when   
his comm badge chirped into life.   
   
"Chakotay to Paris."   
   
"Paris here."   
   
"Are you and Captain Jarek okay?" the commander asked.   
   
"A little bruised is all," Tom replied, deciding not to go into   
further detail.  "How d'you get this thing working?"   
   
"Thank Torres," Chakotay admitted.  "We found the command centre."   
   
Jarek's head snapped up.  "And a way home?"   
   
Tom could hear the reservation in Chakotay's voice.  "B'Elanna's   
working on it.  I'm sending our co-ordinates to your tricorder Tom.    
Get here as fast as you can.  Chakotay out."   
   
"I was right!" Jarek gloated.  "I knew there would be a way back.    
Your Captain was wise to trust me."   
   
Tom didn't answer.  From the sound of the commander's voice, things   
were far from straight forward.   
   
***   
Chapter 14: Inner and Outer Demons   
   
"How long?" Janeway asked, her gaze fixed on the view screen,   
watching the dark surface of the space station revolve below them.     
   
"Two hours and thirteen minutes, Captain," Kim replied in a taught   
voice.  "Still no sign of them on the sensors."   
   
Janeway nodded.  "Keep the sensor sweep going Ensign," she told him.    
"We want to grab them as soon as we can and get out of here."  Her   
voice, she noted, held a great deal more confidence than her heart,   
and for that she was grateful.     
   
Repressing a sigh, Janeway flicked her glance about the bridge.    
Aside from Kim at opps and Tuvok at tactical, the room was dark and   
empty.  Dim emergency lighting cast strange shadows in the corners,   
that flickered ghost-like just beyond her vision.  For an instant she   
thought she saw movement in the vacant chair at her side, but when   
she turned her eye there was nothing there.  Nothing but shadows.    
She compressed her lips into a tight line, trying to ignore the   
emptiness gnawing at her guts.  Chakotay was out there - her rock,   
her partner - and if he didn't return soon he would be gone forever.    
The thought turned her heart to stone and set her stomach crawling up   
towards her throat.  Could she go on alone?  Was she really that   
strong?     
   
Her jaw clenched and her pursed lips compressed into a thinner,   
harder line.  If she had to go on without him, then she would.  But   
until she had to, she would hope.  After all, two hours was a long   
time and anything could happen.  Anything and everything.   
   
***   
   
B'Elanna looked up when the door hissed open.  To her relief, Tom and   
Jarek stepped through.   
   
"Paris," Chakotay said, by way of greeting.  He nodded at Jarek:   
"Captain."   
   
"Commander," Jarek replied, sheathing his disrupter as the door   
closed behind them.  "Are my men here?"   
   
Chakotay nodded.  "They're investigating the rest of the command   
centre," he explained, with a nod towards the back of the room.   
   
As he spoke Chakotay regarded the two men carefully, one eyebrow   
slightly raised.  Both were battered and bruised and they were   
keeping a wary distance apart.  They had been fighting, that was   
clear, and with each other rather than with the creatures that lurked   
beyond.   B'Elanna sighed quietly to herself, as she noticed the gash   
across Tom's brow, the swelling beginning along his cheek bone.  Her   
gaze drew his attention, but, to her astonishment, he not only met   
her eye but gave her a small, almost self-conscious smile as he   
raised one hand to his bruised face.  "It's rough out there,   
Commander," he told Chakotay.  "Enemies lurking around every corner."   
   
Chakotay's face was unreadable.  "Probably best if you don't tell me   
too much about it, Lieutenant," he replied eventually.   
   
B'Elanna smiled to herself, and turned back to the complex work   
before her.  Whatever had happened between Tom and Jarek, it seemed   
to have released something in Tom.  He looked more like himself   
again; there was humour and light in his eyes once more, and they   
sparkled in a way she remembered.  In a way that set her heart   
pounding.     
   
"Commander Chakotay," Jarek said, "have you found the way home?"   
   
B'Elanna looked up again at the Klingon's words, and saw Chakotay   
beckon her over.  "We think there's a way," he began, turning towards   
her.  "B'Elanna...?"   
   
"I've found the source of the gravometric distortion beam," she told   
them, her eyes flitting between Jarek and Tom.  "And I can access it   
from here.  The problem is, it wasn't designed to be reversed."   
   
"Reversing a gravometric beam should not be a problem," Jarek   
interrupted.  "All we need to do is..."   
   
She held up a hand in irritation.  "I know how to do it," she assured   
him, "the problem is that we'll only be able to access the beam from   
this room."   
   
Jarek stared at her in confusion, but Tom understood the difficulty   
immediately.  "We can't send Voyager home," he said.    
   
B'Elanna nodded.  "The beam is only wide enough at this point to   
transport individuals."   
   
Jarek shrugged.  "Then send your crew home one by one."   
   
"And how do you suggest we get them here?" Tom asked.     
   
"I'm working on the transporters," B'Elanna said, answering Tom's   
question.  "There might be a way to integrate the shuttle's   
transporter system with the Briori communications infrastructure -   
like I did with the comms signal - if so, we could transport the crew   
from the shuttle bay into this room, and then send them back."   
   
"Can we contact Voyager?" Tom asked.   
   
She shook her head.  "No.  I haven't had time to look at the external   
comms system yet." She nodded towards the other side of the room.    
"It's over there, if you want to have a go."   
   
"We should be working on the distortion beam, not your   
communicators," Jarek objected.  "That is our first priority."   
   
"No." Chakotay's voice was hard.  "That's YOUR first priority.  Ours   
is the safety of our ship and her crew - we can't leave them stranded   
out there."   
   
Jarek's eyes narrowed, and he glanced at B'Elanna: HOW DO YOU PUT UP   
WITH THESE HUMANS? his eyes asked.  She smiled: BECAUSE I'M ONE OF   
THEM, her own eyes replied.  But she doubted that he understood.   
   
"Tom, see what you can do to raise Voyager," Chakotay ordered.    
"B'Elanna..."   
   
His command was abruptly interrupted.  "JAREK!" Ka'Loq burst through   
a door at the back of the room, his face dark and angry.  A stream of   
Klingon tumbled from his lips, as he gestured back towards the door   
behind him.  B'Elanna only understood one word in ten.     
   
"What's going on?" Chakotay asked, as Jarek pushed past them and   
followed Ka'Loq out of the room.   
   
She shook her head.  "I'm not sure - he's found something.  Something   
to do with those...creatures," she replied, feeling suddenly sick.   
   
Chakotay exchanged a brief glance with Tom:  "Let's go take a look."   
   
At first B'Elanna thought the room behind the command centre was some   
kind of sick bay.  It was crammed with medical equipment of all   
sorts, and large, empty stasis chambers covered its walls.  But most   
of them were severely damaged, and blood pooled on the floor of the   
room.   
   
"What the hell happened here?" Tom breathed quietly, as he reached   
out and touched the edge of one of the smashed chambers.  His fingers   
came away red and sticky.   
   
Glancing down at one of the consoles, something familiar caught   
B'Elanna's eye.  She looked closer: "This is a DNA sequence," she   
said, tapping at the screen.  "It looks like Klingon DNA."   
   
At the far end of the room, the Klingons were crowded around one of   
the chambers.  But this chamber wasn't empty.  After a moment, Jarek   
turned away, his face a mask of rage.  As he stepped back, B'Elanna   
could see inside the chamber and the sight filled her with horror.  A   
Klingon face stared out at her, its dead eyes full of terror and   
pain.  Teeth, unnaturally long, protruded through a bloody jaw, and   
its limbs were twisted and deformed.   
   
"Gural." Jarek said bitterly.  "He was my chief engineer."   
   
"What did they do to him?" Tom breathed.   
   
"They were trying to manipulate his DNA," B'Elanna replied more   
calmly than she felt.  She glanced at the console again.  "From the   
look of it, they were trying to modify his genetic code to enhance   
certain characteristics.  Strength, agility...blood-lust."   
   
"The perfect fighting machine," Chakotay suggested, coming to stand   
behind her.  "The Briori aren't the first race to try it."   
   
"Looks like things got a little out of hand," Tom commented, glancing   
around the wrecked room.  "I think the experiment escaped."   
   
"The power failure must have opened the stasis chambers," Chakotay   
guessed.  "And I think we've already met whatever was inside them."   
   
"Frankenstein's monsters," Tom muttered.  "I wonder where the good   
doctor is?"   
   
"The Briori wouldn't have stood a chance," Chakotay answered.       
   
"Good", B'Elanna breathed, her eyes still fixed on the contorted   
features of Jarek's crewman.  Her heart raced, horrified at the   
sight, and a chill sweat dampened her palms.   
   
Jarek approached them, his dark face pale with anger.  "Please leave   
us," he said quietly to Chakotay.  "We wish to mourn for our fallen."    
He took a deep,  shuddering breath.  "To die in such a way - without   
honour, the victim of laboratory experiments...."   
   
Without thinking, B'Elanna reached out to touch Jarek's arm.  "I'm   
sure Gural fought as best he could - he wouldn't have submitted to   
this willingly."   
   
"But he did not die in battle," Jarek objected.   
   
"Perhaps he did," B'Elanna suggested.  "He fought his own battle with   
the Briori - in the end, he didn't become what they wanted."   
   
Jarek nodded slightly, and raised his eyes to hers.  "Perhaps," he   
agreed.  He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, and turned back to his   
remaining crewmen.     
   
B'Elanna watched him for a few moments, but her thoughts were turned   
inwards.  The Briori had created monsters from Klingon DNA.  The same   
DNA that mapped the blueprint for her own existence - the monsters   
they had fought were within her.  Their bloodlust, their merciless   
delight in killing - she shared those traits.  The thought turned her   
stomach and she felt herself trembling.  Taking a deep breath, she   
tried to pull herself together.  She refused to submit to the cold   
fear that clutched at her soul - she would not be afraid. Turning,   
B'Elanna walked slowly back out of the laboratory, but as she   
approached the door she was surprised to see Tom waiting for her.   
   
"You okay?" he asked as she approached.   
   
Two words, but they conveyed so much.  They told her that he   
understood, like no one else, how this was affecting her.  Jarek   
could never know the daily battle she fought - he embraced his   
Klingon nature, revelled in its fire.  But she was different.  Half   
Klingon, perhaps, but half human too.  And Tom knew what frightened   
her, sometimes better than she did herself; and he knew what it was   
to fight inner demons.   
   
"I'm okay," she told him, resisting the urge to touch him.  She   
longed for the comfort of his embrace, but knew it was impossible.    
"Those creatures," she said instead, keeping her distance from Tom as   
they followed Chakotay back into the command centre.  "They're the   
monsters I've been fighting all my life."   
   
He smiled, glancing over at her.  "And you always win," he pointed   
out.   
   
But she shook her head.  "Not always."     
   
"Well, you don't..."  Tom stopped in mid-flow, tilting his head to   
one side in sudden concentration.  "You hear that?" he asked.   
   
B'Elanna held her breath, dreading the ominous hiss of one of the   
mutated creatures.  Her brow furrowed for a moment, and then she   
heard it: music.  A thin, tinny sound coming from the communications   
console.  And a very familiar tune...  Her eyes met Tom's.    
"Voyager," they said together.   
   
"Chakotay," Tom called as he dashed to the console.  "Voyager's   
trying to hail us."   
   
"What?"   
   
"It's a radio signal," Tom continued, perplexed.     
   
"It's music," Chakotay observed. "Why would they be sending us..."   
   
"It's not just any music," B'Elanna interrupted.  "It's   
something...something only we would recognise."  Her eyes stole slyly   
to Tom's face, but he wasn't looking at her.  He was, however, quite   
flushed.     
   
Chakotay raised an eyebrow, but didn't press the point.     
   
"They must be using it like a beacon - to get our attention," Tom   
guessed.  "We wouldn't normally scan for radio frequencies."   
   
It didn't take long for Tom to isolate the message, and the room   
filled with music for a moment before it faded.  Harry Kim's voice   
replaced it:  "Voyager to the away team.  You must return to Voyager   
immediately you receive this message.  The station's power core is in   
cascade failure - it will detonate at 16.05 hours.  We will be forced   
to leave orbit at 16.00.  Repeat: you must return to Voyager   
immediately.   The station's power core is in cascade failure..."   
   
"Sixteen hundred," Chakotay repeated grimly.  "That's one hour from   
now."   
   
"Damn it!" B'Elanna hissed.  One hour!    
   
"We have to get out of here," Tom urged, already heading for the   
door.     
   
But Chakotay shook his head.  "We'll never get back to the shuttle in   
time on foot," he said.  "Torres, you have to get the transporter   
working."   
   
She nodded, knowing he was right.  But there were other   
considerations...  "What about the gravometric distortion beam?  We   
could get home."   
   
Chakotay's lips pressed into a thin line.  "My duty is to get this   
dilithium to Voyager," he told her.  "But I won't hold either of you   
to that - once the transporter is working, you and Tom can choose.    
Come with me, or return to the Alpha Quadrant.  No one would blame   
you for choosing to go home.  But," he said firmly, "our first   
priority is Voyager.  We get the transporters on line first.  That's   
an order."   
   
"Aye sir," B'Elanna replied immediately.  She glanced over at Tom,   
but he wasn't looking at her.  His face was pale, and doubt clouded   
his eyes; he was wondering what to do, or, perhaps, he was wondering   
what she would do.  Stay aboard Voyager, or return to the Alpha   
Quadrant alone?  It was a near impossible choice, and one they had   
less than an hour to make.   
   
***   
  
Chapter 15: Choices   
   
"Captain," Kim's voice disturbed the tension that had settled over   
the bridge.  "I'm reading a power surge coming from the station - the   
core is beginning to destabilise."   
   
Janeway rose to her feet.  "On screen," she ordered.   
   
The image flicked to show a different view of the space station, and   
even to the naked eye, its shuddering was visible.  The dark surface   
rippled with sporadic internal explosions, and occasional plasma   
flares burst from the surface, evidence of the station's failing   
power conduits.  Janeway didn't let herself imagine what the   
situation must feel like at ground-zero.   
   
"How long?" she asked grimly.  She felt as if she had asked that   
question a hundred times in the last hour - perhaps she had.   
   
"Twenty-eight minutes," Tuvok answered her.  "We should make   
preparations to depart."   
   
Janeway nodded.  "Go to red alert.  Tell the shuttle bay and   
transporter crews to standby.  Harry, take the con - bring the   
impulse engines on line and stand by."   
   
Kim responded immediately, but his face was tight with anguish as he   
crossed the bridge to take Tom's chair.  Chakotay, Torres, and Paris   
were so much at the heart of her crew, it was impossible for anyone   
to contemplate their loss.  And least of all Harry; his two best   
friends were down there.  Janeway repressed a sigh.  She knew how he   
felt - her dearest friend was down there too.   
   
Returning to her seat, the Captain fixed her eyes on the dying   
station, keeping a vigil for her crew.  Their lives were now measured   
in minutes.   
   
"Twenty-six minutes," Tuvok informed her calmly, as if reading her   
thoughts.   
   
She nodded once, but remained silent; her sense of helplessness was   
almost too much to bare.     
   
***   
   
Another explosion rocked the station, sending Tom sprawling across   
the console.  "Damn it," he cursed, as he pulled himself upright.  He   
made another adjustment: "Try it now," he called to B'Elanna.   
   
The lights in the command centre were guttering badly as the power   
began to fail, and the dying light cast the room in jerky,   
disconnected shadows.  "That's it!" B'Elanna whooped in sudden   
triumph, "I've got it.  The transporters are on line - for now.  But   
I don't know how long they'll hold."   
   
"Good work," Chakotay told them, hefting the dilithium pack onto his   
shoulders.     
   
"The core will fail in twenty minutes," Jarek growled from behind   
them.  "We must reverse the distortion beam NOW."   
   
"There's no time," Chakotay told him, turning to face the Klingon   
Captain.  "I'm sorry, but we have to get back to Voyager while we   
can.  They're dead without us."   
   
Jarek's eyes widened, and he growled deep in his throat.  "You would   
betray us, human?" he asked in a dangerous voice.  "Where is your   
honour?"  Tom stepped a little closer, hand instinctively resting on   
the cool metal of his phaser.  Ka'Loq saw his move, and imitated it   
immediately.  Tension hissed in the room, as another explosion rocked   
them.   
   
"There's no time for this," Chakotay said, raising his hands in a   
gesture of peace.  "Come with us - there's no point in dying here   
Jarek.  Join us - we'll find another way home."   
   
Tom thought he saw a moment's hesitation in Jarek's face, but it only   
lasted an instant.  "No," the Klingon barked, "we will go home now"   
He turned to B'Elanna: "Will you help us?" he asked.   
   
Tom's heart snaked into his stomach, and his throat clamped shut, as   
he turned his eyes on B'Elanna.  She looked small, almost fragile,   
standing amid them all.  And her eyes, usually so full of defiance   
and vim, were lost and unhappy.  She looked at him, and then at   
Jarek.  "I..." she began.  "I..."   
   
"Do not abandon us, B'Elanna Torres," Jarek said, stepping closer.    
"Without you, we will die here.  Join us - help us to return home   
with the stories of our fallen comrades.  Your honour as a Klingon   
demands it."   
   
Tom couldn't speak, he could barely look at her for fear of what he   
might see in those cherished eyes.  The moment had come; B'Elanna had   
to choose.     
   
"B'Elanna," Chakotay said quietly, "you're free to follow your   
conscience.  Do what you think is right."   
   
She looked at him, eyes wide and full of anguish.  And as he watched   
her, Tom's heart melted.  All his remaining anger fell away as he saw   
her struggle with such an impossible choice.   
   
"B'Elanna," Jarek said again, holding her arm.  "Please."   
   
"I'll help you..." she began.  But her words were cut off as another   
explosion shuddered through the command centre, and plunged the room   
into sudden darkness.  It was a darkness for which Tom was profoundly   
grateful, for it hid the searing pain that B'Elanna's words had   
burned into his soul.  The choice was made; he had lost her forever.    
But he no longer felt anger, just a numb sense of loss.   
   
"We have to get out of here," Chakotay barked, shattering Tom's   
thoughts.  Power still fed the control consoles, and in their faint   
light he saw the urgency in the Commander's face.   
   
And in that instant, Tom made his own choice.  He would not follow   
B'Elanna.  She had made her decision, and Tom knew that his duty, and   
his future, still lay with Voyager.  There would be nothing for him   
in the Alpha Quadrant but regrets.  So he came to stand next to   
Chakotay, taking the second dilithium pack from the Commander's hands   
and lifting it onto his back.  Chakotay acknowledged his decision   
with a brief nod.   
   
B'Elanna watched him with wide, sad eyes.  Her mouth opened, but she   
did not speak.  His own grief clutched his throat too tightly to   
permit words, but he couldn't leave her like this, with so much   
unsaid.  Not knowing what else to do, Tom stepped forward and took   
her hand - it trembled as he held it, or perhaps it was his own hand   
that trembled - and taking off his comm badge he pressed it into her   
palm, closing her delicate fingers around it.  She stared at him   
mutely, her free hand unconsciously plucking at her uniform, torn   
where her own comm badge had been ripped away.  Tom didn't know why   
he did it, he just wanted to give her something to remember him by,   
and his comm badge was all he had.   
   
"Paris," Chakotay's voice came from a distance.  "We have to go."   
   
Stepping back, Tom dropped her hand, hardly able to believe that this   
was the last time he would ever touch her, the last time he would   
ever see her.  She stared at him, her dark eyes glimmering in the   
darkness, clutching his comm badge against her chest.  But his own   
eyes couldn't leave her, even as the tears welled behind them and the   
pain twisted his heart so hard he thought it would burst; he drank in   
every last image of her, every last moment.  At his side, he heard   
Chakotay's comm badge chirp: "Computer, lock onto my co-ordinates:   
two to beam up."   
   
The finality of the commander's words loosened the fingers of grief   
that choked Tom's throat.  He swallowed and, as the first tingling of   
the transporter beam caressed his face, he spoke: "I love you,   
B'Elanna."  And then the world faded around him, and she was gone.   
   
***   
   
B'Elanna felt as if the breath had been knocked from her lungs.  He   
was gone, but his words still hung in the air: I love you, B'Elanna.     
   
Sucking in a deep breath, she fastened his comm badge to the remains   
of her uniform, and tried to steady her trembling fingers.  He loved   
her.  It was enough to give her the strength she needed.  Turning to   
Jarek, she smoothed down the front of her jacket.  "Let's get to   
work," she said, in a voice that sounded much calmer than she felt.   
"We haven't got much time."   
   
***   
   
Chakotay slipped into the co-pilot's seat next to Paris, glancing   
surreptitiously at the pilot.  Tom's face was grey, a mixture of   
exhaustion and anguish, but his eyes were clear and his face calm and   
focused.  His fingers ran through the minimum of pre-flight checks,   
as the deck beneath them trembled and bucked with the force of   
another explosion.   
   
"Let's get out of here," Tom said at last, igniting the engines and   
raising the shuttle from the ground, spinning it on its axis.     
   
"Any idea how we're going to get through the space-doors?" Chakotay   
asked, his eyes fixed on the heavy grey metal ahead.   
   
Tom shrugged.  "We'll blast them out of the way," he replied.  The   
hard edge in his voice drew Chakotay's attention again, but Tom   
seemed to be in control.  The commander had to admire him; Chakotay   
doubted that he could have functioned so well had he been forced to   
say good-bye, forever, to the woman he loved.  That thought sent a   
worm of guilt winding its way into this mind: had he forced this   
situation on Tom and B'Elanna precisely to spare himself the same   
choice?  No.  He dismissed the idea; it was his duty to return to   
Voyager.  Without the dilithium, the ship would be never make it out   
of this dead region of space.  That was why he was going back.  There   
was no choice to make.   
   
"Targeting phasers," Paris said, bringing Chakotay back to reality.    
"Firing."   
   
The doors glowed, buckled, and eventually exploded out into the   
vacuum beyond; their way was clear.  But at the last moment, Tom   
hesitated.  Chakotay saw his hand reach up to where his comm badge   
would have been, and a spasm of pain flashed across his face.     
   
Chakotay touched his arm.  "Let's go," he said quietly.  "B'Elanna   
gave us this chance - let's not waste it."   
   
Wordlessly, Tom touched the controls and the engines fired,   
propelling the little ship beyond the dying station and away from   
B'Elanna forever.  Chakotay kept his gaze straight ahead, giving   
Paris the privacy his silent tears deserved.   
   
***   
   
"I can't hold it for long," B'Elanna yelled over the noise of the   
graviton generator.  Her fingers flew over the controls, trying to   
keep the beam focused on its destination: the Klingon Homeworld.   
   
The explosions were coming faster now, and plasma leaked from the   
console at her side.  It would only be minutes before the entire   
station disintegrated.   
   
"Is it stable?" Jarek asked, standing close behind her, peering over   
her shoulder.     
   
"It'll have to do," she growled.  "Go!"   
   
"Ka'Loq," Jarek ordered.  "Lead the men through."   
   
Ka'Loq moved towards the portal, its shifting, glasslike surface   
flickering with each fluctuation of the station's power.   
   
"Now!" B'Elanna yelled in frustration.  "There's no time!"   
   
Ka'Loq nodded at B'Elanna; a gesture of thanks perhaps?  And then   
spoke to Jarek.  "We will await you," he said, making it sound more   
like a threat than a promise.   
   
Jarek returned his nod.  "You will not wait long," he assured his   
first officer.  "Safe journey."   
   
Then, without a backward glance,  Ka'Loq, and the two remaining   
members of Jarek's crew, stepped one by one through the shimmering   
surface of the distortion beam.   
   
B'Elanna turned to Jarek, her impatience mounting.  "Now you," she   
said.  "Quickly, before the power fails."   
   
But Jarek didn't move.  He just watched her with those deep, dark   
eyes, that even here, amid the chaos of imminent destruction, had the   
power to hold her.  "You are not coming," he said after a moment's   
silence, "are you?"   
   
B'Elanna opened her mouth, but the lie wouldn't come.  She dropped   
her gaze, and shook her head.  "No," she said quietly.  "I can't."   
   
"Why not?" he pressed, taking hold of her arm.  "You belong with me,   
B'Elanna.  Can't you see that?"   
   
She pulled away, and shook her head once more.  "I don't," she   
breathed.  "I...perhaps if things were different, if..."   
   
"If there was no Lieutenant Paris?" Jarek finished quietly.   
   
B'Elanna met his gaze, and after a moment nodded.  "That's right,"   
she said.  "I'm sorry."   
   
"But your ship will be gone by now," Jarek protested.  "You'll die   
here."   
   
She swallowed, reluctant to admit the possibility.  "I can't leave,"   
she said firmly.  "I can't abandon him like this.  I have to try and   
get back."   
   
Jarek shook his head.  "You would have been happy with me," he told   
her, taking a step backwards.  "We would have done many great things   
together - songs would have been written about us."   
   
A smile tugged at the corner of B'Elanna's lips: "I already have a   
song written about me," she told him quietly.  "I'm sorry Jarek.    
Truly. Now go, while you can."   
   
With a deep sigh, Jarek strode towards the portal.  At the brink he   
stopped, and turned towards her: "I will remember you, B'Elanna   
Torres," he promised her quietly.     
   
She nodded.  "And I'll remember you, Jarek," she replied.  "Good   
luck."   
   
And then, with one quick step, he was gone and she was alone.    
Reaching up, B'Elanna tapped Tom's comm badge - it was dead, as she'd   
known it would be.  But she allowed her finger to linger over its   
warm, familiar surface for a moment, remembering the touch of Tom's   
hand when he gave it to her.  She smiled, until another explosion   
sent her sprawling onto the floor.  Hauling herself to her feet,   
B'Elanna pushed all such thoughts firmly behind her, and,   
straightening her shoulders, she turned back to the gravometric   
controls.  The calculations were complex, but her mind worked fast,   
ignoring the alarming way the power spluttered and faltered, ignoring   
the hissing plasma leaks and the wrenching explosions that shook her   
to the bone.  She only had one chance now, and she'd be damned if she   
was going to blow it.     
   
"Time for another miracle, B'Elanna Torres," she told herself, "and   
you'd better make it a good one."   
   
***   
   
"Captain!" Harry almost jumped from his seat.  "I'm picking up   
something...it's a shuttle...it's them!!"   
   
In an instant Janeway was on her feet, her heart leaping with   
adrenaline.  "Lock on tranporters," she ordered, coming to stand   
behind Harry.  "Can you hail them?"   
   
"No need Captain," Harry replied with a grin.   
   
Through a wall of static, the message was clear: "Chakotay to   
Voyager, do you read?"   
   
"Voyager here," Janeway replied, unable to mask the relief that   
flooded her voice.  "It's good to hear from you Commander, we were   
getting a little worried."   
   
"Sorry to have kept you waiting," the Commander replied, but despite   
his light tone, Janeway heard sadness in his voice.  Sudden concern   
dampened her relief.   
   
"Cut your engines and standby, Commander," she said,  "we're going to   
beam you into the shuttle bay.  Report straight to the bridge."   
   
"Understood," Chakotay replied.  "Engines are off line."   
   
Janeway nodded to Kim.  "Transport complete," Kim reported almost   
instantly.   
   
"Good."  She smiled, "Now turn this ship around and get us out of   
here Ensign."   
   
"Captain," Kim replied, his face suddenly grim.  "There were only two   
life-signs aboard the shuttle.  The commander and someone else.  I   
don't know who - they're not wearing a comm badge."   
   
Janeway felt her heart sink into her boots.  She had Chakotay back,   
but who had she lost?  Paris?  Torres?  Perhaps both.  "Thank you   
Ensign," she replied quietly.  "Take us out of here."   
   
After a few moments the turbolift door hissed open.  Janeway twisted   
in her chair, afraid of who she would, or wouldn't, see.  Chakotay   
stepped onto the bridge first, his uniform dirty and his face weary.    
Close behind him came Tom.  He headed straight for the helm, but she   
could see from the grim set of his features that something was very   
wrong.  Chakotay was at her side in an instant, and she searched his   
face for an explanation.   
   
"B'Elanna decided to go with Jarek," he said quietly, glancing   
involuntarily at Paris.  "There was a way home - we only found it at   
the last moment."   
   
Janeway nodded, her eyes following Chakotay's towards Tom.  HOW IS   
HE? she wanted to ask.  The question must have shown on her face,   
because Chakotay shook his head in a silent response; not good.   
   
"Mr Paris," Janeway called.  "Good to have you back.  Harry's laid in   
the course - would you take us out of here?"   
   
For a moment, Tom didn't reply.  His eyes were fixed on the view   
screen.  The station was wracked with explosions, and plasma fire   
spewed from countless ruptures; it was only a matter of minutes.     
   
"Tom?"  Janeway prompted, sharing a worried glance with Chakotay.   
   
"Aye Captain," Paris responded, tearing his eyes from the view screen   
and turning them towards the helm control.  "Ahead full impulse."   
   
"I've transported the dilithium to engineering," Chakotay told   
Janeway quietly.  "Carey should get the warp engines on line within   
minutes."   
   
Janeway nodded silently.  Jim Carey, her new Chief Engineer.  After   
all her original doubts about Torres, she could hardly imagine   
engineering without her.  "We're going to miss B'Elanna," she   
murmured to Chakotay.   
   
"Some of us more than..."  A sudden impact silenced him mid sentence,   
as the ship juddered to a halt.   
   
"Report!" Janeway snapped.  Now what?!   
   
"Something's got us," Kim replied.  "It's coming from the station...   
it's a gravometric beam..."   
   
"We're held fast," Tom called from the helm.  "We're not going   
anywhere."   
   
"Harry, can you pin-point its origin on the station?" Janeway asked.   
   
"Yes Captain," he replied.     
   
"Tuvok," Janeway turned, "target photon torpedoes.  Let's see if we   
can't cut ourselves loose."   
   
"Torpedo's targeted..."   
   
"No!  WAIT!"  Tom was on his feet.  "Captain - I think it's   
B'Elanna."   
   
"What?"     
   
"I think she's trying to get back to us...."   
   
"Paris," Chakotay reasoned, "she made her choice.  She's gone."     
   
"What else could it be?" Tom pressed, his eyes wide and a little   
wild.  "Who else on the station could be operating the gravometric   
array?"   
   
Chakotay pursed his lips.  "He's right," he said at last.  "There is   
no one else."   
   
Janeway rose to her feet.  "Even if it is her," she said slowly, "if   
we don't get out of range before the station blows..."  She left it   
hanging; they all knew.   
   
"You have to trust her, Captain," Tom implored.  "Please - just a few   
more minutes."   
   
He gazed at her, his face torn between hope and agony, and she   
couldn't refuse him. "Tuvok," she called.  "How long?"   
   
"Three minutes Captain," he told her.  "But I must point out that any   
delay is reckless in the extreme..."   
   
"Noted, Lieutenant," she replied, cutting him off.  "We'll wait for   
two minutes."   
   
***   
  
Chapter 16:  Last hopes   
   
The heat from the fire was intense, and it stood between B'Elanna and   
the entrance to the gravometric portal.  She only had seconds before   
the beam destabilised, and there was no time to batter at the fierce   
flames.     
   
She stared at the blue-heat of the plasma fire for a moment, sizing   
up the enemy.  Then she tore at the remains of her jacket, ripping   
out a cloth to cover her face.  The portal winked and guttered before   
her, just a meter away, and she knew that there was no more time.    
Taking a deep breath, B'Elanna held the cloth over her face and began   
to run.  The heat was intense, she felt her lungs seer and could   
smell her hair singeing, but she refused to stop.  With her eyes   
screwed tightly shut, she flung herself in what she hoped was the   
right direction and felt herself begin to fall, and fall, and fall.    
Flames lapped around her and she knew no more.   
   
***   
   
"Something's happening to the gravometric beam," Harry called from   
opps.  "Its changing structure somehow...it's..." he looked up.    
"It's gone."   
   
"Captain," Tuvok pressed.  "We must leave, now."   
   
Janeway gave a brusque nod.  "Mr Paris, take us out," she ordered.    
On the view screen, the Briori station begin to splinter apart.     
   
"Warp drive is...NOT on line," Paris reported, biting back a curse;   
if B'Elanna had been in engineering.... "I'll give her all I've got,   
but I don't know if it'll be enough."   
   
The engines responded and Voyager surged forward, just as the Briori   
station exploded like a small star behind them.  The turbulence   
struck immediately, knocking her off course.  Sirens wailed, and Tom   
struggled to hold himself in his seat as the ship was tossed about in   
the wave of destruction produced by the station's demise.   
   
"Mr Carey," Janeway's voice was clear over the chaos.  "I need the   
warp engines - NOW."   
   
There was no reply.   
   
"Bridge to engineering," Chakotay tried.   
   
Still no answer.   
   
"Captain," Kim told them.  "Internal comms ar