Author: Dave Rogers
E-Mail:daverogers@geocities.com
Rating: PG
Summary:Late season three, after "Real Life". Three shuttlecrafts are sent out to investigate a nebula; four come back.

Disclaimer: Star Trek Voyager is Paramounts. It does not belong to the guy who wrote this story.

It seemed as though Voyager might survive. Three years had taken their toll on the ship, her essential stores, and in a few cases on her crew, but with the Kazon and the Vidiians both far behind and the Borg, for all the signs of their passing, yet to be actually seen, life in the usually hostile Delta Quadrant was starting to take on a gentler aspect. So as Kathryn Janeway finished the last few drops of her morning cup of coffee - the one cup of the genuine article she permitted herself each day before showing her solidarity with the crew by tolerating Neelix's best efforts at a substitute - and left her ready room, she felt a pleasant sense of anticipation. Days in the Delta Quadrant were rarely dull, but scientific curiosity was starting to supplant the survival instinct as the main source of excitement. From the previous day's sensor readings, in fact, it seemed that today was a good day for curiosity.

"Good morning, Commander." She greeted Chakotay with a smile as she sank into the big chair, and he smiled and inclined his head in reply. "Report, Mr. Kim?"

"I've analysed the region using the ship's sensors, Captain, but the ion flux appears to be blocking out most of the signal. We're getting flares from somewhere inside the region every seven minutes, and they're causing temporary loss of all sensor and viewscreen data." He paused to read some calculations from his console. "The nebula extends at least a hundred light years in all directions. Going round it could add about two months to our journey time, but I can't tell whether there are any risks if we go through it."

Janeway took a moment to study what lay ahead of them on the main viewscreen. It was close enough for some details to be visible now, and what she saw only whetted her appetite for knowledge. Extending over the entire field of view of the screen was a dull grey cloud, emitting a faint light that seemed to vary only very slightly from point to point. No stars were visible through it, so far as she could tell, but beyond the outer fringes of what appeared to be a normal dust cloud, bright points of light could be seen, sometimes growing in brightness, sometimes fading, sometimes disappearing altogether. And around each point of light, there was a faint, almost imperceptible swirl of colour, like the surface of a soap bubble, slowly spinning as the colours split apart and merged again. She thought it might be the most beautiful stellar phenomenon she'd ever seen.

"I'd prefer not to add to our journey time if possible. Besides, it would be a shame to pass up on taking a closer look, don't you think?" She gave Harry Kim the full force of her smile, which grew even more intense as she watched the young ensign's nervous grin in return. "Okay, everybody. I need some theories. Any idea what it is, whether we can go through it unharmed, any ideas for collecting more information, I want to hear them."

Tuvok clearly had some misgivings. "Captain, the phenomenon that this most closely resembles is a cluster of protostars - new stars in the process of formation. It may be that this is a dust cloud that is beginning to form into new solar systems, and if so, we may experience unpredictable gravitational effects in traversing it."

"That shouldn't bother us, Captain," chimed in Tom Paris from the conn. "It can't take more than a week to get through at maximum cruise, and Voyager's manoeuvrable enough to avoid the worst of it. Anyway, I'm sure Engineering can keep us in one piece for a few days." He smiled sweetly in response to the furious glare he received from B'Elanna Torres, at the engineering station.

"I'm not happy with the idea of blindly rushing in without knowing what we're going to find when we get there," mused Janeway. She felt it best not to add a comment about that approach having got them into enough trouble before, but it seemed from the nods and noises of assent from around the bridge that the message had got through. "We need to gather more information. Tom, get us as close as you can without placing the ship in any danger. B'Elanna, Harry, Tuvok, see if you can come up with any ideas to enhance the ship's sensors. We'll have a senior staff meeting at 1400 to discuss our options."

A brief chorus of "Aye, Captain" from round the bridge was the prelude to a quiet remainder of the shift.

Tom Paris slouched back into his chair and idly picked at his leola root stew with a fork held in his outstretched right hand. His attention was elsewhere, however, as he intently studied the padd in his left. He was so absorbed in his studies that he was taken completely by surprise when a hand reached over his shoulder and snatched the padd out of his hand. He turned round with a cry of protest at the ready, but swallowed it as he saw the exotically ridged forehead of the offender. Asking B'Elanna Torres not to do something was, in his experience, probably the best way of ensuring she did it - unless that was his intention, in which case his reverse psychology always seemed to fail dismally. In this case, he decided to settle for a rather weak, but generally safe, "Hey there, B'Elanna," and he was rewarded by a friendly smile as she sat down opposite him.

"Payback time, Paris," she said with an evil grin.

"I don't know what you mean, Lieutenant," he countered with an innocent expression.

"Time to take a look at *your* reading tastes, Lieutenant." Tom groaned silently. He shouldn't have let this happen, not after his comments on "Warrior Women at the River of Blood". Unfortunately, he suspected B'Elanna would find his literary tastes just as amusing, if not more so. His suspicion became grim reality as she started to read.

"Let's see... Emperor Knarr laughed insanely as his army of robot minions rushed to the attack. Roddy Rockwell fought bravely, but as his laser pistol sputtered and died, its charge exhausted, he fell beneath their weight of numbers. Before he passed out, his last words of defiance rang through the room. You'll never get away with this, you insane maniac!" She struggled to keep a straight face. "You'll never get away with this? What an original line."

"Hey, show some respect, Torres. This is history, culture, the beginning of a great literary tradition..." He stopped before she laughed out loud. "Okay, it's not great art, but it's genuine mid- twentieth century pulp science fiction. Haven't you ever heard of Roddy Rockwell, Rocket Ranger?"

For some reason, the title seemed to plunge Torres into outright hysterics. "Roddy Rockwell, what?" she finally managed to gasp.

"Rocket Ranger. Rockets, remember? Chemical fuelled reaction motors. That's how the first spaceships were launched. Didn't you take HSE at the Academy?"

Torres' laughter stopped suddenly, and Tom mentally kicked himself. History of Space Exploration was a third year course, and he knew perfectly well that she had left some time in the second year, though his most tactful hints had yet to persuade her to explain why. But just as he was about to make matters worse by apologising, she gave him an evil grin, and said, "Well, I guess it's my turn to study what makes *you* tick. You can have this back in a couple of days. Actually," she corrected, looking through more of the text, "maybe it won't take that long."

"You know, that's not a technical manual either," Tom feebly called at Torres' retreating figure as she left the mess hall.

"I can tell," was her parting shot. "They're better written."

There was a full turnout at the senior staff meeting. Neelix was, perhaps, a little superfluous, but it was hard to resist the Talaxian's enthusiasm for... well, Janeway had yet to find anything he *wasn't* enthusiastic about. In this case, his enthusiasm for finding out more about the region of space ahead of them was as plain to see as was, unfortunately, his total lack of practical suggestions for doing so. Kes, on the other hand, was almost apologetic about her presence, yet was the first person there to come up with any useful information.

"Captain, I can't be certain about this, but I can sense life in the nebula. It feels very alien, and I can't get a clear impression, but it feels like there's something in there."

"Sensors aren't detecting any life signs, Captain," put in Harry Kim. "But then again, they aren't detecting anything much."

"Which brings us back to enhancing the power of the sensors," replied Janeway. "Did anyone come up with anything?"

"I've tried fine-tuning the sensor emitters," said Kim a little sheepishly. "I've got about a five per cent improvement, but it's not much help."

"It is an improvement, however, Mr. Kim," put in Tuvok, to Harry's eternal gratitude.

"We could re-configure the emitters to produce polaron bursts," suggested Torres. "That could cut through the interference. We used the technique in the Maquis when we were in the badlands..."

"...and blew up the sensor network in the Liberty, if I remember rightly," interrupted Chakotay with a grin.

"Do you have a better idea?", countered Torres with a touch of anger.

"We can save that for a last resort," put in Janeway quickly, "but I'd like to have another option, if anyone can come up with one."

"Actually, Captain," said Tom Paris lazily, having carefully chosen his moment, "there is an idea we could try. It's rather an old one, but it may be worth it."

"Go on, Mr. Paris," Janeway drawled, trying not to show any signs of amusement at the surprised look on Harry Kim's face or the irritation on B'Elanna Torres'.

"Phased sensor arrays," announced Tom proudly. He paused for a moment for effect, and looked round the room to gauge the response. Chakotay, Neelix and Kes hadn't reacted, clearly waiting for him to continue. Kim's look of surprise had taken on an air of puzzlement, and Tom made a mental note that his friend clearly still considered him an intellectual lightweight. No cause for offence, of course; just a useful piece of information to be filed away for future amusement. Tuvok, of course, showed no reaction at all. The Captain's face showed a touch of indulgent pride; clearly she had some idea of what he was getting at, and he tried to pretend he didn't feel an inner glow at having impressed her. But B'Elanna's face, now that was the most interesting of all - over and above the fact, of course, that it was B'Elanna's, and therefore interesting in its own right. Her look of annoyance faded rapidly, as comprehension dawned; and then her face lit up with excitement, and Tom's heart leapt as she cast a dazzling, excited smile in his direction. If this was the effect his bright ideas had on her, he'd better work on having a few more.

"We can use a shuttlecraft for a base station," B'Elanna replied, her eyes glazing slightly as her mind started plotting out polar diagrams and phase responses.

"That's what I thought," replied Paris, returning her smile. "Send out two shuttlecraft..."

"Three," interrupted B'Elanna. "We'll get full directional coverage..."

"...with two shuttles and Voyager as the bases," continued Tom, becoming more absorbed as his own excitement started to take over.

"Three shuttles, and Voyager as a central location for data processing," Torres' breathing seemed to have speeded up now, "then we get more even signal distribution..."

"...and it's easier to compensate for path differences..." Tom felt a warmth growing in his face.

"...because there aren't any..." A wisp of hair caught in the light as it fell across Torres' cheek, and she quickly brushed it aside.

"...and we get enhanced sensor power..." Tom felt his heart racing, intoxicated by her nearness.

"...and finer resolution..." B'Elanna's eyes had not strayed from his, and they shone brighter than the stars outside the stern viewports.

"...and a better geometry because we don't have to use back- scattering..." There was only B'Elanna, filling his world and drowning his senses...

...and a nervous cough from Harry Kim. Suddenly, both Paris and Torres looked round in embarrassment, and both faces turned beetroot red. Janeway's face was half hidden behind her hands, raised above her as if in prayer with her chin resting on her thumbs. Chakotay was so obviously not laughing that... he was very obviously not laughing. Kes and Neelix were both smiling broadly at them, Harry was trying to look just about anywhere else, and Tuvok's eyebrows appeared to be trying to reach the top of his head.

"Sounds good to me." Janeway picked up the conversation after a rather obvious pause. "Harry, how about those flares from the nebula?"

"Voyager can block them out pretty well indefinitely, Captain," replied Harry with a touch of relief. "The shuttlecraft shields should hold them off for about five hours. Any more than that and there may be a radiation hazard for the crew."

"We can live with that," replied Janeway. "B'Elanna, get to work on three mobile sensor units. How soon can you have them ready?"

"Four hours, Captain," replied B'Elanna, her professional composure restored now.

"Chakotay, Tom, Tuvok, you can each take one of the engineering staff in a shuttle. B'Elanna, you're with Chakotay," as she gave Paris and Torres a quick glance to check for signs of disappointment, "and you can assign two of your team to go with Tom and Tuvok. Any questions?" After a more routine few seconds' silence, she continued, "Then let's get to work. Dismissed."

"It's working, Captain," announced Harry Kim from the Operations console. "I'm getting full sensor data out to maximum range. I can map a route right through the nebula from here."

"I'm glad to hear it, Mr. Kim," replied Janeway. She hadn't been keen on the idea of having three shuttlecraft spread out around Voyager all the way through the nebula; apart from limiting their speed, it would have left six valuable crew members dangerously vulnerable. "Recall the shuttlecraft when you've got all the data you need."

"Aye, Captain," replied Harry. "Entering course into the navigation system now." He tapped his commbadge. "Kim to Chakotay, Tuvok and Paris. We've got all we need now, you can return to Voyager."

Three replies came: "Thank you, Mr. Kim" from Chakotay, an efficiently brief "Acknowledged" from Tuvok, and an irreverent "Race you back?" from Tom Paris.

Janeway's frown had nearly dissipated when, a few minutes later, Harry Kim stammered out a brief announcement. "Um... Captain, we may have a problem here."

"What sort of problem?"

"We sent out three shuttlecraft," continued Harry, almost talking to himself.

"Go on, Mr. Kim," replied Janeway patiently.

"Captain, the shuttlecraft are within range of Voyager's sensors."

"Yes, Mr. Kim?" Janeway's patience was starting to fray a little round the edges.

"Captain, there are four of them."

As the shuttlecraft made its steady way back towards Voyager, both B'Elanna Torres and Chakotay found themselves so bored that they were almost looking forward to whatever Neelix's deranged culinary imagination had dreamed up for them. The sensor unit had worked flawlessly, and as a result B'Elanna, in particular, had had absolutely nothing to do.

"I suppose it's quite pretty to look at," commented B'Elanna, breaking the silence as she looked at the swirling colours of the nebula, "but this is the most tedious job I've had in weeks."

"Boredom isn't such a bad thing, Lieutenant," smiled Chakotay. "I recall a few times in the last three years when I'd have been glad of a little more boredom."

"I guess so," reflected B'Elanna. "It's just... I don't know, it's so much simpler when we're fighting to stay alive. There aren't any difficult decisions to make."

"What decisions would those be?" There he was, obviously not laughing again.

"You're giving me that look again, Chakotay. The same look you gave me in the briefing."

"You were pretty impressed by Tom's suggestion." Chakotay's innocent face clearly denied any implication in the remark, but B'Elanna's hackles rose almost immediately.

"It's my job to pick up on that sort of thing, isn't it? Anyway, it seems to have worked," she retorted defensively.

"No arguments there, Lieutenant." Chakotay obviously wasn't going to say any more, but the innocent look was slipping.

"What? Paris and I discuss engineering, and suddenly the whole ship's talking about us? He's just a friend."

"Of course he is," replied Chakotay, failing to avoid smiling.

"Some people should just keep their minds on their work," concluded B'Elanna, turning to switch off the sensor unit. As she did so, a padd fell to the deck between them. She made a quick grab at it, but Chakotay was nearer.

"Roddy Rockwell, Rocket Ranger? I thought you preferred more adult material."

"It's just something of..." B'Elanna tried to think of an excuse, but failed. "Something of Tom's, okay? I borrowed a padd off him. What's wrong with that?"

"Should there be anything wrong with it?" replied Chakotay with open amusement. But B'Elanna suddenly seemed to find something extremely important to adjust in the sensor unit, and Chakotay realised he'd caught all he was likely to catch on this particular fishing trip. "Chakotay to Voyager. Request permission to return to shuttle bay."

"Permission denied, Chakotay," came back Janeway's grimmest voice. "There's something out there with you, and I'm not letting anyone back on board until I know they are who they say they are."

B'Elanna was already typing furiously at the shuttle's engineering control pad. "Sensors show three other shuttles. Where the hell did we get the fourth one from?"

Janeway's voice continued. "We are reading life signs from all four shuttles. It appears that there is some shape-shifting life form native to this region that is imitating one of our shuttlecraft, but with the current sensor status, we are unable to determine which one it is. All shuttlecraft, please stand by until further notice."

B'Elanna continued her investigations for a few more minutes, then tapped her commbadge. "Torres to Janeway. I've checked out all the other shuttles, and we're not seeing any illusions or sensor reflection effects. There are enough slight differences between all four to be certain they're all real, but we don't have a clear enough signal this close to the nebula to determine which one's the odd one out."

"Okay, let's try something simple," came Janeway's voice. "Voyager to all shuttlecraft. Execute a one hundred and eighty degree turn to port, wait five seconds, then reverse turn to face Voyager, on my mark. Three... two... one... mark!"

The four shuttles, as one, turned away from Voyager, waited, and turned back again. B'Elanna thought she heard a curse from Chakotay.

"May I make a comment, Captain?" Tuvok's dry tones issued from the speaker now.

"Go ahead, Tuvok."

"We appear to be faced with a classical problem in logical deduction. In order to determine which is not a genuine shuttlecraft, we must look for some property or attribute which a shapeshifting life form cannot share. Might I suggest..."

"Shut up!" This time it was Tom Paris' voice, with a touch of panic. There was a silence lasting several seconds, then he continued rather sheepishly, "Shut up, *sir*?"

"Kindly explain yourself, Mr. Paris," ordered Janeway in a tone of amused irony.

"Captain, this shapeshifter's copied a shuttlecraft so well that we can't tell it from the real thing. It looks like it's copied our communicators and universal translators too. If we talk about how to tell which is which, at best it'll just copy whatever we do. At worst, we might give it some more ideas. It hasn't made any obvious moves yet, but if it's hostile we could have a big problem."

After another brief silence, Janeway replied, "Agreed, Mr. Paris. Here's how we'll do it. Each shuttlecraft crew, try to come up with a way to demonstrate, clearly and unambiguously, that your shuttle is genuine. As soon as we get the message, we'll tractor you in." Her voice faded as the nebula flared, and for a few moments Chakotay and Torres were flying blind, protected by the safety blackout screen on the front viewport. Then Janeway's voice came through again. "Make it good so we're certain. And we can assume that we won't be able to try anything twice." Harry Kim's voice sounded indistinctly in the background, then Janeway concluded, "You may be interested to know that our sensors now show another two shuttlecraft. You'd better hurry while we're still dealing with manageable numbers."

Tom Paris was, presumably, the first to try to demonstrate his authenticity. One of the shuttles started to go through a series of impossibly complex manoeuvres, combining loops, barrel rolls, Immelmann turns and corkscrew dives in a graceful aerial ballet that clearly bore the signature of the Best Darn Pilot in the Delta Quadrant. Chakotay and Torres watched, impressed, until suddenly Torres swore in Klingon. "Nice try, Tom," she muttered under her breath.

"Something up?" asked Chakotay.

Torres pointed to another section of space nearby. Two other shuttlecraft were matching the first's moves perfectly, clearly piloted with the same skill and grace. B'Elanna suddenly found herself chuckling, despite the gravity of the situation.

"What's funny, Lieutenant?" Chakotay sounded slightly disapproving, but B'Elanna knew him too well to be concerned.

"Just think what those two are doing to Tom's ego. There are a couple more Rocket Rangers to compete with." Suddenly an idea struck her. "Rockets... Chakotay, if the fakes are life forms, they might not be able to eject any mass!" She tapped a few controls, then said, "Hold on tight. I'm venting plasma from the warp nacelles."

"Captain, one of the shuttles is ejecting plasma," came Kim's urgent voice on the bridge. "It must be one of ours - none of the others are responding."

"Bring them in, Mr. Kim," ordered Janeway. A tractor beam stabbed out as the shields dropped, and within seconds the shuttle was safe inside Voyager. But as the shields went back up, Voyager was rocked by a sudden impact. "Report, Mr. Kim."

"Captain, two of the other shuttlecraft tried to follow ours in." There was another lurch. "They seem to be trying to batter their way through the shields!"

"Divert power to strengthen the rear shields, Mr. Kim. Let's hope that's enough to put them off."

"Captain, I'm sensing some emotion from them," said Kes quietly from behind. Janeway looked round in surprise; she hadn't realised the Ocampan was even on the bridge. "They're angry at us. They want to harm us, but I can't tell why."

"Janeway to Paris and Tuvok," began Janeway as Chakotay and Torres emerged from the turbolift. "The replica shuttlecraft are to be considered hostile, repeat..." Her voice faltered as Voyager was shaken by another impact "...hostile. Voyager is under attack. Raise shields and prepare to defend yourselves." Then, to Kim, "We can assume that the two shuttles attacking us are the fake ones. Try to keep track of which one's which."

The viewscreen suddenly darkened as the nebula flared again. "Sorry, Captain," said Kim as the screen cleared again. "There are now seven shuttlecraft in sensor range, and all of them have their shields raised. And three are venting plasma - they must have brought some surplus material with them. We won't be able to use that trick again."

"Understood, Harry. B'Elanna, what's the status of the shields?"

"Holding, Captain, and it looks like they're giving up this attack."

"Mr. Kim, see if you can hail them."

"I've been trying, Captain. There's no response."

"Then we'll wait, and hope someone comes up with another idea."

B'Elanna Torres rarely felt uncomfortable on her frequent visits to sickbay, but since they generally involved maintenance of the EMH program her perspective was a little different to that of Tom Paris, who she knew found the place rather oppressive. Now, as she lay on the biobed with the EMH scanning her, she began to sympathise with his point of view a little more. Chakotay had been in and out in minutes, but the EMH had insisted on her staying for more tests, and his characteristic air of smug superiority had done little to reassure her.

"Unfortunately, Lieutenant, it appears that the Klingon half of your physiology has made you a little more susceptible to the radiation from the nebula. There is some cellular damage, which will require some highly complex intervention to repair."

"Fine," she seethed through clenched teeth. "Get on with it."

""Lieutenant, let me remind you that this procedure requires highly precise and expert treatment." The EMH almost sounded hurt by her tone. "I would advise you to relax. Your physical tension may complicate the treatment required, although," a touch more vanity was evident in his voice, "still well within my considerable abilities."

"Relax. Great." B'Elanna's voice was dangerously quiet. "How am I supposed to relax when..." She stopped, wondering exactly why it would be so difficult.

"When Lieutenant Paris is still in danger?"

"When the whole ship might be in danger! I should be doing something, not lying here listening to..." She cut herself off again, but for a different reason. She knew the EMH was only a computer program, but she thought better about the cutting remark she was about to make because, irrationally, she didn't want to hurt his feelings. "Tom Paris can look after himself."

The EMH said nothing more. His subroutines had not originally been set up to include a high degree of empathy, but he found Lieutenant Torres a valuable source of data for correcting that lack. The disparity between her comments and her very obvious feelings was impossible, he felt, for a program of his sophistication and complexity to miss.

Ensign Vorik was well trained in the intricacies of sensor systems, and since Tuvok was piloting one of the shuttles, it had seemed logical that Vorik accompany him; the two Vulcans could work efficiently together, without the unpredictable influence of emotions from the less self- controlled species on Voyager. He was beginning, though, to have doubts now. He had been told of the danger involved in staying away from Voyager for more than five hours, and as the shuttle's chronometer ticked away the last few minutes of the third hour, as the shuttles around him multiplied, and as he considered the Captain's most recent orders, he began to feel, irrationally, as though the shuttlecraft's interior was becoming a little smaller. He carefully applied the correct emotional control technique, but was disturbed to find that its effect was insufficient. He decided to broach the matter with his older and more experienced companion; but this would take considerable tact.

"May I request your opinion on a matter in which your experience is greater than mine, sir?" Tuvok could not possibly be embarrassed by an opening like that.

"Go ahead, Ensign."

"It is possible that the humans in the Cochrane are experiencing difficulty in logical analysis of the tactical situation due to their emotional responses. In your experience, is this likely to be the case?"

Tuvok considered the question carefully. "In my experience, Ensign, the emotional responses of humans are somewhat muted compared to," our own, he was about to say, then realised this was not a subject for polite discussion. He quickly amended his response to "some other species. In fact, at times their responses may increase their efficiency, by some means which remains a mystery to me. That is, at least, typically the case where Starfleet personnel are concerned."

"But it is possible for an individual's efficiency to be impaired by a disturbed emotional state, is it not, sir, when that individual is not trained in emotional control techniques?"

Tuvok nodded. "That is not uncommon, Ensign."

Vorik took a deep breath as he clamped down rigidly, for a moment, on his rising panic. "Or when that individual is inexpert in certain techniques?"

Tuvok raised an eyebrow. This was approaching the realms of tastelessness. "Such inexpertise is generally limited to members of other species who have attempted to acquire Vulcan techniques." Or, in simpler terms: Drop this subject. Vorik understood, and fell silent.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, Tuvok spoke again. "It is necessary for me to acquire some knowledge of the sensor systems on this shuttlecraft, Ensign. Logically, a mind meld would be the most rapid means of acquisition." In response to Vorik's look of incomprehension - both of them knew perfectly that Tuvok knew how to use the sensors - he continued, "That would allow knowledge of the required techniques," with a slight emphasis on the last word, "to be transferred rapidly."

Hope flared anew in Vorik. "I agree and consent, sir," he replied, a little too quickly. Then, after a pause, "I believe that would be a logical resolution to this situation." Which situation, neither of them wished to say.

"My mind to your mind." There was no barrier between them. "My thoughts to your thoughts." There was no Tuvok and no Vorik, as the familiar chant rang between them. There was a mind with two aspects, a younger, more volatile yet more flexible aspect, and an older, rigid and durable aspect, which together made a whole. If some knowledge passed from one aspect to the other, it was a matter of the utmost privacy what that knowledge was, and which way it passed; yet the younger aspect of the group mind lost some sense of agitation, and gained some of the peace inherent in its other half, and was content.

But there was an unexpected side effect. The group mind, larger and more powerful than the two individuals who had existed moments before, was able to reach out into the space around it, and call for a familiar companion. And with its doubled power, it was able to make that friend hear, and understand, and act.

"Captain," came Kes' quiet voice on the bridge. "That one." She indicated one of the growing crowd of shuttlecraft on the viewscreen. "Tuvok is there."

There was no hint of a pause from Janeway, no request for proof or explanation. Simply an order. "Mr. Kim, drop the rear shields and beam them in!"

It seemed like days since the senior staff had last met, but, looking at the time on her display, Janeway saw it was only some eight hours. Eventful hours, maybe, but that was hardly unusual in the Delta Quadrant. What was unusual, though, and disturbing, was the absence of the cheerful face and irritating remarks of her senior pilot. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that B'Elanna Torres was agitated, although she knew that any suggestion that she was worried over Tom's predicament would provoke a hot denial.

"Let's get started." Everyone else was here, and Paris wasn't likely to turn up any time soon. "Our first priority is to recover Lieutenants Paris and Nicoletti, with or without the Cochrane. After that, we can decide what to do about these shuttlecraft. Harry, any ideas on how to tell the real shuttle from the imitations?"

"Nothing we haven't already tried, Captain. Full spectroscopic analysis shows no difference, warp engine emissions are identical, we can't get a directional fix on the communications from the Cochrane because of the interference from the nebula; we've even tried firing a low intensity phaser beam to look for differences in shield emissions. If our sensors weren't masked by the nebula we might be able to see something, but right now they're a good enough copy to fool everything we try."

Janeway grimaced. This wasn't what she'd wanted to hear. "Tuvok, let's hear your tactical analysis."

"The situation is somewhat ambiguous, Captain," replied Tuvok. "Certain acts on the part of what, for want of a better term, we may call the pseudo-shuttles, indicate hostility towards Voyager; however, their hostile acts have been noticeably ineffectual, and none have been directed towards the genuine shuttlecraft. Logically, therefore, we might conclude that..."

Tuvok's conclusions were interrupted by a hail over Janeway's commbadge. "Lang to Captain Janeway. There's something going on I think you should see, ma'am."

"On screen." The monitor in the briefing room showed in image of the main viewscreen. The shuttlecraft, now some twenty-five in number, appeared to be clustering closely, and even occasionally bumping against one another. As the senior staff watched, it became clear that the whole group was moving away from Voyager, into the nebula, and presumably taking the Cochrane with them. "It appears that the situation has changed, Mr. Tuvok," commented Janeway.

"Indeed, Captain. However, this development is not inconsistent with my hypothesis."

"Let's hear it, then, Tuvok. But make it quick."

Tuvok paused briefly to choose his words. "I believe that the pseudo- shuttles believe our shuttle to be one of their species, and Voyager to be some other species - possibly a predator."

"Why wouldn't they just see Voyager as a ship?" asked a puzzled Torres.

"Because, Lieutenant, these beings appear not to utilise technology. Indeed, considering their ability to navigate space unaided, it seems unlikely that they would need any technological aids. The concept of a ship may well be quite unknown to them."

"But why would they see us as a threat?" added Chakotay.

"They have observed us, in their eyes, literally swallowing two of their number, and are now attempting to protect a third. If this is the case, we need merely to explain our genuine nature to them, and they will presumably desist."

"Not that easy if we can't communicate with them," replied Janeway. "Harry, still no response to our hails?"

"Nothing, Captain."

"Broadcast a standard first-contact greeting on all Starfleet channels until further notice. They may not be talking, but let's at least hope they're listening."

"Aye, Captain."

"Now, how do we retrieve our people, or at least find out which ones they are?"

"If we sent out another shuttlecraft," began Torres.

"No," interrupted Janeway. "No more shuttlecraft. That'll only make things worse."

"Chronoton emissions," said Kes in a faraway voice. "Voyager's shuttles may be emitting a residual chronoton signature, since the Krenim..." She paused in confusion, and the room fell silent around her. At last, she recovered, and continued, "Forgive me, Captain. That hasn't happened yet."

Janeway gently laid a hand on Kes' arm. "It's all right, Kes. We all understand. There are some things it's better to wait to find out."

"I could divert full sensor capability to lifesign discrimination," said Kim. "We might be able to tell them apart if we can get them to spread out."

"Any ideas how we can do that?" Janeway looked at Tuvok.

"None at present short of mounting an attack on them, Captain," admitted Tuvok. In response to Janeway's look of concern, he continued, "All the pseudo-shuttles appear to have effective shields, no doubt mimicked from the originals. If we carry out a mock attack, using low-intensity phaser blasts, it should be possible to scatter them without causing damage. There is, however, one other option. I suggest we give Lieutenants Paris and Nicoletti more time to give us a signal. At the present rate of movement, it will be another hour before the radiation level presents a serious danger to them."

"I don't want to leave it that long," replied Janeway. "Even if we can split them up, we want some leeway in case there's more trouble."

"Then, Captain, I recommend we wait another thirty minutes, then make a simulated attack on the pseudo-shuttlecraft. If we can create sufficient confusion among them, we should be able to isolate each one in turn for an individual scan."

"Thirty minutes more, then," decided Janeway. "Dismissed."

Aboard the Cochrane, Tom Paris was starting to regain some of his characteristic cockiness. He still regretted his earlier throwaway comment of "No problem!" before starting his futile aerobatic display, and the memory of the patronising glance from Nicoletti had been a subduing influence for a couple of hours. But now, he felt his mind was beginning to work again.

"So let's think what we know about them. They're alive, they can mimic our shuttlecraft, they understand our communications and they seem to be intelligent."

"And they're capable of high-gee manoeuvres," added Nicoletti without a perceptible hint of sarcasm.

"They can live and move in zero-gee and vacuum, so they don't need starships of their own," continued Tom doggedly. "They probably think the Cochrane's a single life form, same as them. Right?"

"Right." Nicoletti started to take an interest in Tom's musings now.

"So the last thing they'll be expecting is for one of us to go EVA. It'd be like, I don't know, your stomach going for a walk on its own."

"Don't remind me. Mine nearly did when you did that outside loop." She clearly wasn't going to let him forget.

"Sue, I'm serious. Here, you take the controls while I suit up. Once Voyager sees us they'll know we're..." His words tailed off as the nebula flared again.

"Right, Tom. If that happens while you're out there, they'll be pulling in one shuttle, one engineer and a piece of toast."

"Do you have a better plan?"

"Yes. Let me go." As Paris started to protest, Nicoletti raised her voice. "Voyager needs a good pilot more than it needs another engineer. Besides, if I left you out here, the chief would kill me."

"Damn. Is there *anyone* on board who doesn't know about us?"

Nicoletti smiled. "Just the chief, I think."

"Okay, you go," Paris relented. "But take care."

"I will," replied Nicoletti as she rapidly suited up. "See you in Sandrine's."

The airlock cycled, and Paris was alone.

"Captain, someone's just gone EVA from one of the shuttles," reported Harry Kim. "I've identified the shuttle, and the computer's tracking it."

"Can you beam it in, Harry?" asked Janeway.

"Negative, Captain. The others are crowding round it more closely now. But I've got a lock on the person in the EVA suit."

"Drop shields and beam them in." There was a silent pause on the bridge, then Janeway's commbadge chimed.

"Transporter room two to Captain Janeway. Lieutenant Nicoletti is safely on board, Captain, and reporting to sickbay."

Janeway looked round at her chief engineer. B'Elanna made no comment, and her face kept its composure, but her hands were gripping the front edge of the engineering console, and her white knuckles gave her face the lie. "We'll get him back, B'Elanna," murmured Janeway softly, but made sure it was too soft for Torres to hear. Then, turning back to face the viewscreen, she felt the familiar tone of command enter her voice as she rapped out, "This has gone on long enough. Red alert."

"Phasers set to 5%, Captain," reported Tuvok as the siren sounded.

"Thank you, Mr. Tuvok. Prepare to open fire. Mr. Culhane, take us towards the centre of the group of shuttlecraft, half impulse. Harry, keep a tracker on the Cochrane and be ready to beam her aboard. B'Elanna... Damn it! Where did they go?"

As Voyager moved forwards, the swirling cloud of shuttles had at first started to spread out slightly, but as the distance between them closed the group had bunched together even more tightly. But as Voyager moved into firing range, there was a sudden blue glow from dozens of small warp engines, and in an instant the whole group was gone.

"Captain, the nebula's masking their warp signature," said Harry Kim in a desperate voice. "I can't trace their course. We've lost them."

Janeway thought she heard Torres breathe a half-stifled "No!" from her right, but when she looked round the engineer was working at her panel. She looked back ahead, and tried to keep her voice steady. "Mr. Kim, keep scanning the nebula. They must have gone in there somewhere. We'll find out where, somehow."

Meanwhile, for Tom Paris, a bad day was continuing to get worse. He'd seen Nicoletti dematerialise in the transporter beam, and the fair certainty that she was safe seemed some kind of consolation; but then, moments later, the Cochrane had been caught up in the warp envelope of two dozen passable imitations of Federation shuttlecraft, and now he was... where? Outside the forward viewport, there was nothing to be seen but a swirling grey emptiness, reminiscent of some of the quieter regions of the Badlands from his brief Maquis days. As he pondered the question, though, there was a sudden swirl of faint colour ahead of the Cochrane, and a faint light began to pulsate in its centre. He watched, fascinated, as the light changed colour and its intensity grew, and then gradually saw it begin to take on a shape. It was a hauntingly familiar shape, even before he could fully recognise it; a shape that had been a vital part of his life since childhood, and was irrevocably associated with his greatest triumph and deepest shame. More prosaically, he realised as recognition dawned, it was a shape that had been annoying him in its multiplicity for the last five hours. It was yet another of those infernal shuttlecraft!

A shuttlecraft with a difference, though, as it turned out. As its final form took shape, the communicator on the Cochrane activated, and a voice sounded over the speakers. The voice, in its way, was as familiar to him as the shape of the unformed shuttlecraft had been, but this time recognition was slower to dawn.

"That's better," said the voice. "Now we've got you in here I can get a better look at some of the details." The voice was human, male, North American and rather flippant in tone. "Do you always make it this tough on people who try to rescue you?"

"What do you mean, rescue me?" He still couldn't quite pin down that voice.

"Come on, Paris, that thing was trying to eat you alive! It got both of your friends, and we barely got you away in time."

Suddenly, recognition dawned. "That's my voice! You're talking to me in my own voice! What the hell are you?"

"My apologies, Mr. Paris" came the a different voice from the speaker. He nearly burst out laughing - it was Tuvok to the life, right down to the turn of phrase. "If my original choice of address causes you any discomfort, I will employ this one," the voice changed, "this one," in Chakotay's voice this time, "this one" - B'Elanna's voice coming from an alien in the shape of a shuttlecraft was strangely unsettling - "or this one," and he nearly jumped out of his seat at Janeway's dry tones.

"The first one will do fine, thanks," Tom stammered in surprise. "I may just take a while to get used to it. I don't hear my own voice that often." He thought for a moment longer. "How did you know my name?"

"We scanned that thing inside you - I guess that must be your brain, right? We got the name, the language and the voice. It's easier now we're back home, and we're only getting one set of thoughts now." The voice suddenly sounded rather worried. "Hey, that bit that fell off you, that looked like another brain - is that where the other set was coming from? Are you okay? You're not going to die on me, are you?"

Suddenly, Tom found himself relaxing, as what had been a threatening situation turned into rather an amusing one. The alien seemed to have picked up some of his personality along with the language. "Oh boy, have I got some explaining to do," he laughed. "Where do I start? Hey, how about telling me your name?"

"We don't use them," replied - this was crazy, but how else could he think of it - replied the shuttlecraft. "They seem like fun, though. We might give them a try. Can I use yours?"

"Too confusing. Everybody needs a different one. Can't you get some other name out of my memory, or something?"

"Got it!" replied an excited shuttlecraft. "Roddy Randall, Rocket Ranger. It's right at the front of your mind. Is that OK?"

"Perfect," said Tom with a mischievous smile. "Let me suggest a few more for your friends..."

Harry Kim and B'Elanna Torres were fast running out of ideas. The nebula remained as stubbornly impenetrable, given only a single sensor site, as it had for the whole day, and both were conscious that Tom Paris' margin of safety from the radiation had only a few minutes left to go. Both were so deeply embroiled in the business of trying to amplify, boost, clarify or define the sensor readings that neither grasped the full significance of Tuvok's announcement.

"Seven shuttlecraft have just emerged from the nebula, Captain. Their leader is hailing us."

"On screen, Mr. Tuvok."

The grey, swirling expanse on the viewscreen faded to reveal the grinning face of Tom Paris. "Shuttlecraft Cochrane here, Captain - the real one this time."

"Report, Mr. Paris." Janeway frowned at her helmsman's flippancy.

Tom Paris made a visible effort to look serious. "Captain, I've established contact with the inhabitants of the nebula. Now that they understand the difference between a life form and a starship, they seem to be very friendly, but," his face took on a rather strained, conspiratorial look, "ot-nay oo-tay ight-bray." He winked at Janeway, and while she tried to decipher the backslang he continued, "Let me introduce my friends. From left to right, meet Buck Rogers, Flash Gordon, Roddy Randall, Kimball Kinnison, Captain Proton and Jim DiGriz."

"Captain, another shuttlecraft is hailing us, voice only," broke in Tuvok. "From the voice, however, it also appears to be Mr. Paris." He gave the helmsman a disapproving glare.

"Hey there, Captain Janeway," said the voice, and everyone on the bridge looked closely at the viewscreen. Tom Paris' lips appeared not to be moving. "This is Flash Gordon speaking. Mr. Paris has explained all about these ships you use. They sound like a lot of fun." On the viewscreen, Paris' face took on a helplessly apologetic look, but Janeway suspected there was more than a hint of amusement behind it. "Sorry we got mixed up there. I hope we didn't hurt anyone."

Janeway took a few deep breaths. If this is some sort of joke, Paris, she thought, you're a dead man. Although she was no telepath, she could sense that, behind her, B'Elanna Torres was thinking much the same thing. Keeping a steady voice, she replied, "No harm done, Mr. Gordon."

"Please, call me Flash," replied the shuttlecraft. Janeway turned away from the viewscreen for a moment. When she turned back, her face was frozen in a most unnatural expression.

"No harm done, *Flash*," she continued in a slightly shaky voice. "Since Mr. Paris," she tried to give Tom an angry look, but realised she wasn't up to it, "has already explained all about us, I have a favour to ask of you. Would you and your people..."

"Quagaars," interrupted the shuttlecraft. "We got that from Mr. Paris' mind too. With a double A," it added proudly. Janeway wondered idly what the origin of that ridiculous name might be; from what little she knew of the individual names they had taken, she suspected the worst.

"Captain," Tuvok quietly interjected, "May I speak privately with you?"

"Excuse me one moment... Flash," said Janeway, and motioned for Harry to mute the transmission. "Yes, Tuvok?"

"Captain, there is the question of the Prime Directive. The Quagaars appear to have replicated Federation technology. It is unclear what effect this could have on their cultural development."

"True, Tuvok, but it looks like there's not much we can do about it. We'll just have to live with it on our consciences." Tuvok gave a nod of acknowledgement. From the smile on Janeway's face, her conscience on this matter wasn't going to cost her any sleep.

Janeway motioned to Harry to reopen the speech channel. "Janeway to -" She gritted her teeth, not for the first time, "Flash. As I was saying - would you and the Quagaars allow us to travel through your space?"

"Oh yeah, Tom explained," replied the shuttlecraft. "You can take a short cut through the nebula, sure, no problem. We'll even show you the way across. In fact, if you don't mind, we'll come along for the ride. To tell you the truth, it gets a bit boring round here. You're the first aliens we've ever had pass through."

"Thank you, Mr... Flash. Mr. Paris," she said in the best I'll-talk-to- you-later voice she could manage, "we're dropping shields. Return to the shuttle bay, and report to sickbay for a check-up."

"Aye, Captain," concluded an amused, but exhausted Tom Paris.

His visit to sickbay was to be delayed a little, as it turned out. As he left the shuttle bay, Tom Paris was confronted by a furious B'Elanna Torres.

"Damn it, Paris, what the hell did you mean by pulling that stunt? The Captain was worried sick about you!"

The Captain, right, thought Tom. "Pulling what stunt? The Quagaars went to warp and dragged me with them. I didn't have much choice."

"You could have... I don't know, you could have done something. And what about Harry? He's been worried too. You just don't think!"

"The Captain and Harry. Anyone else worried about me?" asked Tom with a broad grin.

"You just... you're..." B'Elanna realised she wasn't making much sense. Suddenly, it struck her how ridiculous she must look. More calmly, she continued, "You're back, and you're okay. That's what matters." And for one glorious moment, Tom found his arms full of half-Klingon engineer. "Go on, get to sickbay," she said softly as she pulled away from him.

As she rushed off in the general direction of Engineering, Tom watched her for a moment. Where had that little outburst come from, he wondered? It looked like he was getting through to her at last. And with a hopeful smile, he turned and headed light-heartedly for his least favourite location on the ship.

The Quagaars stayed in constant contact with Voyager for the days it took to traverse the nebula, and at times their constant questions, and their ebullience every time they learned something new, made Janeway wish for the gentle, quiet, reflective calm of Neelix's kitchen. But as a consolation, there were the aerobatic displays that groups of them would indulge in from time to time. Tom Paris had begged, pleaded, nagged, complained and eventually volunteered for a month of double shifts in sickbay just to be allowed to join in occasionally, and eventually she had relented and allowed him an hour of what her logs simply referred to as refamiliarisation training; what aspect of shuttle piloting could possibly be unfamiliar to Paris, her logs shrouded in a tactful silence. The cheerful shapeshifters had the intelligence, and to a large degree the temperament, of Terran dolphins, and when at last Voyager reached the far side of the nebula, many of the crew felt a sense of - not exactly loss, but perhaps a slight regret.

Only Tom Paris seemed unwaveringly cheerful, as they left behind them a thriving community of sentient shuttlecraft. He explained it away, to anyone who asked, with some explanation about the aerobatic display; and, in truth, he was more than a little pleased that his piloting was good enough to keep up with the Quagaars, who were quite literally born to it.

But there was another reason, one he felt it might be wiser to keep to himself. The Quagaars had not only mimicked every detail of Voyager's shuttles, they'd done a pretty good job of imitating the crews as well. Confronted with twenty-four shuttles crewed by himself and Nicoletti, though, he'd felt rather odd about the pairing. Try as he might, he'd been unable to persuade the Quagaars to dispense with crews altogether, but in the end he'd worked out a solution he felt happy with. He'd also managed to keep the communications between them limited to voice only, so nobody on Voyager - and particularly, not one specific person on Voyager - would find out.

It was quite a romantic thought, really, Tom felt, especially from him. The Quagaars were not prone to death as Humans understood it, creating themselves from the energy field in the nebula or returning themselves into it as and when it suited them. So left behind Voyager, a host of Tom Parises sat at the controls of their shuttles, each with B'Elanna Torres forever by his side.

He'd never tell her. She'd kill him.

THE END