A beginning

Part two of "Little blue world" - an AU series
by Jinny W
March 2001

Disclaimer: Paramount owns all. I'm just playing.

Summary: It's the second week of their new life in the DQ.

~~~

Captain's Log, supplemental

It's been seven days now since we started our journey back to the Alpha Quadrant. It's been a hell of a week. We've had brawls in the eating area, arguments over sleeping arrangements, lost tempers left right and centre. If it wasn't for Captain Janeway I don't think I'd be giving this experiment any chance of success. If - I say, as though we have any choice. We have to make this work.

Captain Janeway - my impressions so far. She is a remarkable woman, there's no doubt about that. Hard headed and practical. Coolly scientific but passionate about her beliefs. It was her idea to establish a small galley and mess hall. She listed our practical problems with clear foresight. Power for our engines, life support system, our few replicators. What a precious commodity they've become!

Space for living, eating, working, exercising. She said it once, uncritically: the Liberty is tiny. They're claustrophobic already, I can see the signs. I told her about our makeshift gym, and she smiled quickly and nodded her approval. She has a curiously lovely smile, but uses it sparingly. There's not much to smile about now I suppose - 70 000 light years from home. Most of her crew sent back to the Alpha Quadrant, but a handful left here, stranded with a band of legionnaires. People she was sent to capture.

They called her Captain at first, the Starfleet crew. She told them not to, once, very quietly. "This isn't my ship", she said. "You'll call me Kathryn." It wasn't a request. I never thought I'd hear that from Starfleet brass. And she's as thoroughbred as they come, a daughter of an Admiral. Protégé of another, Tom's father no less. There are no ranks like that on board this ship, although there is a hierarchy. That's something the 'fleeters will just have to get used to. We've set up a senior staff to help things run more smoothly.

Some of our day-to-day problems have been solved. Harry Kim and Kes are setting up a small hydroponics system in one our cargo bays. We've sectioned off our already scant sleeping quarters - this ship held thirty of us - to make enough space for forty three. The younger crewmembers are bunking up, the senior ones have their own small rooms. We're crowded, and we're tense, but we're alive.


~~~

For a few moments Kathryn couldn't take her eyes off the stranger in the mirror. She was clad in practical clothes - a pair of soft blue slacks, a striped tunic, a comfortable dark brown vest. Her hair, usually tightly wound in a regulation Starfleet bun, now hung in a loose ponytail tied at the nape of her neck. There was no denying it. She look completely different.

Surprisingly enough, the pragmatic suggestion about recycling their uniforms had come from Tom Paris. Of all the Starfleet crew he seemed to feel the least discomfort about their new situation. That too was curious, given that many of the Maquis disliked him personally - Tom having been a member of their crew for a short while before his capture and imprisonment. They regarded the other 'fleeters warily, but their antagonism was directed more towards the military and bureaucratic system they represented rather than to any particular person. Hence Tom's idea about the uniforms.

Earlier that morning they had crowded around a table in the newly created "conference room" - a large janitor's closet with table and chairs squashed inside - for their second meeting about supplies. Three days earlier Chakotay had formed an impromptu "senior staff", consisting of himself, B'Elanna Torres, Seska and their new Talaxian friend Neelix. He told Kathryn to choose the same number of people from her crew. She selected Tuvok, her young but bright Operations officer Harry Kim, and Tom Paris.

Together they created an interesting group dynamic, to put it mildly. At their first meeting Kathryn had watched the arguments fly back and forth with wild eyed disbelief. How would they come to any decisions in this type of atmosphere? She soon discovered how - Chakotay's word went. He listened carefully to all their ideas, threw in perceptive questions, then announced his decisions. Much to her surprise, even the most antagonistic player in the game, the Bajoran woman Seska, yielded to his authority with only a petulant glare or two. Despite her earlier fears, she came to see that in this group of rebels it wasn't a case of "anything goes". The hierarchy Chakotay had mentioned to her did operate, apparently with relative ease.

Further to her surprise, she found that her position as ad hoc first officer gave her similar authority. Her word carried weight at these meetings too - not in the final decision which belonged to the Captain - but it was obvious to all how highly he valued her opinion. She made this discovery when they were arguing about the clothes. After suggestions for food, power, and spare parts had been debated, Tom threw in his idea for recycling their uniforms.

Seska snorted derisively. "Trust you to be thinking about fashion at a time like this, Paris".

From opposite her, B'Elanna rolled her eyes. "You're not saying he actually cares what he looks like? Who'd have guessed?"

Tom pulled a face at them both. "I mean, it's not like we're going to be inspected by an Admiral any time soon. The whole 'spit and polish' routine seems a little out of place here."

Tuvok spoke up. "Perhaps if you valued your commission as others do then you would not dismiss its accoutrements so quickly."

From the corner, Neelix frowned in confusion. "Accoutrements?"

"Besides which," Tuvok went on, "our uniforms are also selected for practical reasons. They are designed to withstand cold weather, and are constructed from a polysynthetic material which has proven to be quite durable over significant lengths of time."

"Assuming you can still fit into it in fifteen years time", Seska threw in. "Now you're not marching in line on a regular basis".

Tom glared at her. "I think you're missing the point."

"Which is?" Tuvok asked.

"That we're not on a Starfleet vessel any more", Kathryn spoke up. All eyes turned towards her. Chakotay, who had remained silent while his eyes flickered from speaker to speaker, eyed her with curiosity.

"We know, Tuvok", she went on, "what these uniforms represent. And if we were on Voyager right now, perhaps there would be a point to maintaining a uniformity of standards. If you'll pardon the pun", she added. Chakotay threw her a quick smile. Tuvok raised his eyebrow to a sufficient height to convey the Vulcan equivalent of rolling his eyes.

"Go on", Chakotay said quietly.

"This isn't a Starfleet vessel", she repeated, "and we aren't a Starfleet crew. Although I still believe in the principles that this uniform represents, I don't believe that its altogether appropriate for us to continue to wear it."

Tom nodded his agreement as she continued. "Chakotay and I want to get our crews home. And we've decided that to do that, we need to work together." She looked at each person in turn as she spoke. "But how can we forge a sense of unity if the Maquis are continually being reminded of the distinction between us?"

As she finished, her eyes met Chakotay's, and she saw a flicker of something within their brown depths. Was it respect, approval, or admiration? She quickly pushed away the thought and waited for the group to respond.

"I agree with Kathryn", Chakotay said after a moment. "We can easily recycle the uniforms and replace them with civvies."

Kathryn fought back a smile at his use of the military term. Sometimes she forgot this man had also undergone Starfleet training.

"And Mr. Paris", he went on, "feel free to design your replacements to be as fashionable or otherwise as you like. Provided you don't exceed the amount of energy usage I'll allow you."

"Fashion is irrelevant", Tuvok observed.

Chakotay regarded him with a wry smile. "Indeed it is", he said, "for you Mr. Tuvok", and ended the meeting.

~~~

Now Kathryn eyed her informal reflection thoughtfully as she mused on the words she had spoken earlier. Things would be different here. Simply glancing around her tiny room confirmed that fact. Her new quarters were about one fifth the size of her Captain's rooms on Voyager. She sank down onto her bed with a sigh.

The Liberty was an old ship - not as old as some the Maquis used - but the wear and tear resonated from every bulkhead. Her own room appeared depressingly grey. She stared absent mindedly at one of the dull walls, wondering if there was some way she could brighten them up. A picture perhaps.

The thought brought a sudden lump to her throat. She had no pictures of the people she had left behind - her family, her friends, her beloved dog Molly. There was one favourite picture of herself, flanked by her mother and sister, that she always carried with her. All of those personal touches she had brought on board Voyager had been whisked back with the vessel to the Alpha Quadrant. Her only possessions now were her newly replicated clothes.

"It's irrelevant Kath", she whispered to herself. "You don't need things to survive."

A sudden wave of homesickness washed over her at the thought of her family. Voyager would have returned to Deep Space Nine by now, and news of the disappearance of her Captain and a handful of the crew would be all over Earth. With deliberate effort, she forced herself to think of those who had lost more - Tuvok had left his wife and children. One of the Ensign's Seska had kidnapped, Samantha Wildman, had left her Katarian husband. Even young Harry Kim had left a girlfriend behind. What had she lost?

She thought of Mark, of course, the childhood pest who'd grown up to be one of her closest adult friends. She and Mark had drifted into a relationship, one built on years of knowing each other, on how comfortable they felt together, rather than on real passion. She hadn't even realised that until the day Mark asked her to marry him, six months before she received the commission to captain Voyager. She'd been tempted. He would make a wonderful husband. He was kind, caring, and safe. Safe. It was that sudden insight that made her turn him down. She cared deeply for Mark. She even loved him, in a way. But she couldn't marry him. She wanted more than security. She wanted fire in her belly...

A knock at the door cut into her meandering thoughts. "Come in", she called out.

Chakotay poked his head around the door. "Your chime's broken", he observed.

"I know."

"I'll get B'Elanna to have a look at it later."

She nodded. "Thankyou."

He stepped into the doorway. "Actually that's what I wanted to see you about."

"My chime?"

"No, B'Elanna. She's having some problems with the anti-matter injection system. It isn't serious, but I was wondering if you could give her a hand with it."

Kathryn eyed him suspiciously. "She asked for my help?"

He smiled ruefully. "Well, no. She's a little independent."

"A little?" She thought of the flashes of temper the half Klingon woman had already displayed.

He shrugged. "She's hot headed. That's her way. But she's the best engineer I've ever met."

"But she needs my help?"

"They're old engines. Anyway," he went on, "you're a scientist yourself. I think she might appreciate having someone else around who actually understands what she's talking about when things are malfunctioning. I'm somewhat..."

"Unscientific?"

"I was going to say clueless."

She grinned. "Alright. I'll head down there."

"Thanks".

He glanced around the room. "You know", he commented, "you're free to do some decorating if you find this box too grim for your tastes."

Kathryn wondered again at the man's perceptiveness. "Grey wasn't ever really my colour", she agreed.

"It must be hard not having any of your own things here", he said softly. When she didn't respond he went on. "Seska and the others might make fun of thinking about appearances, but they've been living in hiding for a long time. They're used to going without. And accustomed to missing people," he added.

Kathryn stared at her hands, then looked up at him. "I was just thinking about not having any photos", she admitted.

Chakotay nodded. "Did you know your doctor has a holo-imager? He seems to be quite a keen photographer. Amongst other things. A man of many hobbies, that one."

"Dr Zimmerman?" She shook her head. "No, I didn't know that. But he only just came aboard the ship. I hardly know anything about him. I don't know most of them," she added, "apart from Tuvok."

"Well", he said with a grin, "Not that it would be an adequate substitute for your own pictures, but I'm sure the doctor will be happy to furnish you with portraits of the adventures we'll be having on the way home."

She found herself chuckling. "I'd like that."

Chakotay smiled back at her. "I'll walk you to engineering."

~~~

"I don't want her messing with my engines."

"Your engines? Last time I looked this was our ship."

"Chakotay-"

"I'm not asking you B'Elanna." He regarded the half-Klingon with a somber stare. She glared back at him, arms folded defensively across her chest.

"She was a scientist before she was a Captain. She knows her stuff. We could use her expertise."

Kathryn hovered near a rear console, trying to pretend she couldn't hear them. As they continued to argue, her eyes were drawn to one of the displays. Something there didn't look right. She leaned closer, examining the numbers.

"I'll fix this problem. I just need a few more hours."

"With her help it will take you much less time than that. Then you'll be free to come to the soirée tonight."

"What soirée?"

"Neelix has organised a crew function. He's made some space in the mess hall, and is rounding up anyone with musical talent to perform for us."

B'Elanna rolled her eyes. "That Talaxian has way too much energy. He's not going to sing, is he?"

"I don't know."

"I'd be devastated to miss that."

"I want you there, alright? Show a little solidarity."

Kathryn spoke up from behind them. "Excuse me. Are you using a Brazer-style regulator on your injector ports?"

Chakotay screwed up his nose. "A what?"

B'Elanna turned to face her. "I don't know. We installed a whole lot of new components after our last engine blowout, a few days before we headed into to the Badlands."

"Could you check?"

B'Elanna glanced at Chakotay, who dipped his head. "Do it", he said.

She ran her tricorder over the engine, than nodded. "Yep, it's a Brazer regulator. So what?"

Kathryn pointed to the readout on the console next to her. "You have a consistent point three differential in these figures."

"I know. That's what I've been trying to fix. I've had the injectors cleaned and recalibrated twice already today."

Kathryn shook her head. "That won't work." At B'Elanna's glare she went on quickly. "I mean, normally it would work. But if the problem isn't anti-matter residue inside the injectors themselves it wouldn't make any difference."

"I didn't find any residue", the younger woman admitted.

"Starfleet stopped using the Brazer regulators because they cause this feedback loop in the monitoring system", Kathryn explained. "Its only a recent development, so you may not have heard of it. The whole fleet had to be refitted."

Chakotay looked from her to B'Elanna. "Do you know what she's talking about?"

"I think so." B'Elanna walked over to the console and checked over the readings. She turned to Chakotay and shrugged sheepishly. "She's right. The problem's in the monitoring relay, not in the injectors themselves. The regulator is sending back a signal that falls outside the expected parameters, so I assumed it was a problem with the anti-matter injector itself. But with a port feedback loop we'd just need to adjust the numbers to compensate instead."

Chakotay stared at her blankly.

"She means there isn't really a problem with the engines", Kathryn said. "It's a false reading."

"Oh. Can you fix it?"

B'Elanna nodded. "Now we know what we're looking for."

"Good."

"I'd be happy to stay and help", Kathryn offered. "If you need an extra pair of hands."

B'Elanna bit her bottom lip, then shrugged. "Sure", she said with forced indifference. "We should check the other components that I picked up from that trader, to make sure he didn't palm off anything else old and faulty."

"Can you show me the engine specs?"

"They're on the monitor over there."

"Thanks".

As Chakotay left he threw B'Elanna a questioning glance. She smiled ruefully. "Tell Neelix to expect us at eight", she said.

"I'll save you both a seat".

~~~

The polite applause continued as the doctor returned to his place. Kathryn leaned towards Chakotay, who sat on the floor to her right.

"I see what you mean about the doctor's other hobbies", she commented.

"Pity the rest of the crew isn't so keen on opera", he whispered back.

"Maybe they *are* opera lovers", B'Elanna noted from her other side. Chakotay smiled to himself as both women chuckled. It wasn't friendship yet, but it was a start.

Neelix waved the audience to silence.

"Thankyou, doctor, for that... interpretation", he said. "And now, it's my pleasure to introduce to you a joint act - Samantha Wildman and Michael Hogan."

"They were both helping with the hydroponics bay this week", Chakotay observed to Kathryn as the crew clapped politely. "I guess they found they had something in common, besides a newly found skill with vegetables."

Kathryn smiled at him. "I guess so."

As the two took their place in front of the room, Hogan began strumming his guitar.

"Samantha taught me this song earlier in the week", he said. "Actually, I insisted she teach me, after I heard her humming it incessantly while she was working. I think it describes the way most of us feel right now."

He began to pluck the strings producing a slow, sad melody. Samantha listened while he played a few introductory bars, then closed her eyes and began singing.


"At my window, sad and lonely
oft times do I think of thee
sad and lonely, and I wonder
do you ever think of me?

Every day is sad and lonely
every night is sad and blue
do you ever think of me, my darling,
as you sail that ocean blue?

At my window, sad and lonely,
I stand and look across the sea
I, sad and lonely, wonder
do you ever think of me?"


Kathryn felt her breath catch in her throat as she listened to the melancholy words. She glanced around her and noted that the rest of the crew seemed similarly affected. Hogan strummed a few more bars of music, then joined Samantha in a moving harmony.


"Will you find another sweetheart
in some far and distant land?
Sad and lonely now I wonder
if our boat will ever land.

Ships may fly the stormy ocean
planes may fly the stormy sky
sad and lonely, but remember
I will love you until I die."


This time the applause was genuinely enthusiastic. Much to her chagrin, Kathryn could feel her eyes beginning to water. She tried to rub them unobtrusively, as Samantha and Michael took a quick bow.

"How about you two sing something cheerful now?" Chakotay called out, as the clapping died down. "That was lovely, but you can't leave us all terminally depressed."

Samantha grinned, but Kathryn noticed she too was wiping a tear from her cheek.

"Alright", Hogan said. "Call out your requests, and we'll see what we know."

As the crew began hollering suggestions, Chakotay leaned his head closer to Kathryn.

"Our boat will land", he said softly.

"What?" She stared up at him, startled he had noticed her moment of despondency.

" 'I wonder if our boat will ever land' ", he quoted. "It will."

She held his gaze, feeling herself oddly hypnotized by the compassionate expression in his eyes. "Do you really believe that?" she whispered.

"Yes."

"Good."

"Don't you?"

"I want to."

"Then believe it."

She continued to stare at him, her mind awhirl. Of all the crazy situations to be stuck in, she thought. 70,000 light years away from home, with a group of idealistic rebels and a handful of her own crew. What an amazing person to be stuck with. She twitched involuntarily, wondering where that thought had come from. Chakotay continued to regard her steadily.

"I know this isn't much", he whispered, "but look around you. It's a beginning."

Kathryn glanced around at the animated group, who were still calling out song titles to the performers at the front.

"Do you know Khe Sanh?" Tom Paris asked.

Hogan screwed up his nose. "What the hell's that?"

"20th century rock and roll. It's a classic."

The rest of the group groaned. Harry punched Tom in the arm good naturedly.

"You don't know the first thing about music, do you Paris?"

Tom gestured towards the borrowed saxophone Harry cradled in his lap. "Obviously not as much as you, Julliard boy, with your little pipe there."

One of the Maquis called out from the back of the room. "Watch it. That's my instrument you're bad mouthing, fly-boy."

Kathryn felt herself beginning to chuckle. Chakotay bumped her shoulder gently with his own. "You see?" he said softly.

"Yeah, I do see." She grinned at him warmly. "It's a beginning."

~~~

End of part two



"At my window sad and lonely", written by Woody Guthrie in 1939, appears on the Mermaid Ave album with music by Jeff Tweedy. Khe Sanh is a Cold Chisel song, & if you don't know it, lucky you ;)


~ read part three ~

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