Story Notes: Take one ridiculous premise ("Chakotay and Seven of Nine are stranded on a primitive planet"), add 1001 writers, dash with a sense of irony, as well as a warped sense of humor, scatter numerous cliches, and toss in one crashed shuttle. Slip in gratuitous references to as many jungle or paradise-setting movies as possible, allow to get really, really ripe and Voila!--our version of "Natural Law."

 part 1 (Christina)

It was Seven's fault, Tom decided as he continued to pretend that there was actually something important on his console. The last thing he wanted was for Commander Tuvok to ask him if there was a problem. There was, but trying to explain how Seven of Nine Tertiary Adjuctant of some God forsaken cube had managed to plunged the entire crew into a state of depression was not high on Tom's list.

Keeping B'Elanna from using the former Borg to polish the floors had far more importance. He understood his wife's vehement response to Seven. B'Elanna had never spoken about her experiences in the collective and then there was Seven's holodeck problem.

Tom snorted, then caught his breath. Tuvok didn't say anything, so Tom let his thoughts continue.

Problem--that was an understatement. Tom had some rather interesting holodeck characters--but he had never used one of the crewmembers to indulge in his sexual fantasies (of course, this was before he married B'Elanna.)

He glanced up at the screen and the image of the bluish-green planet. Too bad the planet was inhabited--it would have been good place for some much needed R & R.

As it was, Commander Chakotay was leading a small away team to the surface to mine some much needed mineral ores. The location was far from
any of the native settlements and Janeway had ordered them to return within two days.

And just fifteen minutes earlier, Seven had asked to accompany the away team. Chakotay had (for some inexplicable reason) agreed. Janeway had
kept her mouth closed, but Tom could tell she had not been pleased with the decision. Ever since Seven's holoprogram with a holo-Chakotay as her
sex toy had been revealed, the Captain had been in a bad mood.

Fortunately, she'd left the bridge. Maybe the bridge might just lighten up. Tom desperately tried to think of a joke.

part 2 (Rocky)

It was Seven's fault, Chakotay decided, as he surveyed his surroundings from the ruins of yet another crashed shuttle. If she hadn't leaned over him at just the precise moment when he was making a delicate course adjustment, the accident would never have happened. He wasn't quite sure if one of her external implants accidentally brushed against a sensitive instrument, or if he had unwittingly touched something he shouldn't have, but he did know that it was all her fault.

He stepped out on to the surface of the lush, verdant jungle planet, being careful to duck so he wouldn't bang his head. Seven was still in the shuttle, either unconscious or regenerating, he wasn't quite sure. In both cases it seemed she just stayed in one place and did nothing. Which was a marked contrast from her usual behavior, which had her involved in anything and everything that was going on around her. Nobody on Voyager could figure out how she managed it, especially when most of them went for long periods of time without any action whatsoever.

But all these musings were getting him nowhere. He stepped boldly forth, deciding to climb a nearby hill to get his bearings and figure out where the heck they were. He could be wrong, but this didn't look like the mining area he was supposed to find.

The hill was steeper than it looked. Chakotay was chugging, puffing and sweating by the time he reached the cone-shaped summit. He loosened his jacket, cursing the Starfleet Thermaseal fabric which seemed to be stiflingly hot in the summer and freezing cold in the winter. He suspected that wasn't the original intention. He hesitated, his fingers at the opening of his collar, and then shrugged. What the hell. It was an away mission after all, and he seemed to recall something in the Starfleet Handbook about commanding officers going shirtless under duress. Or maybe that was losing their shirts…it'd been a while since he'd reviewed the pertinent regulations.

He tugged the shirt over his head, then the regulation undershirt. Thus occupied, he failed to notice the protruding rock off to the side, promptly tripped and found himself falling through the air.

Not off the side of the mountain, fortunately, but into a depression at its center. Which may not be much better, he thought in a tiny, rational part of his brain, as he continued to fall, his screams echoing off the walls. Finally, after several desperate (and futile) grabs at jutting rocks and branches from the side, he managed to stop his downward progress.

He hung there, a good 100 meters below the opening, and cursed his continued bad luck. He chanced a glance between his feet and saw, much farther down (but not far enough for comfort), an angry pit of molten lava. Even as he watched, it belched a cloud of steam upward.

And he thought it was hot before! Without any further delay, he began scrambling up the side of the volcano, his feet clinging to nearly non-existent toeholds, his fists jamming into minute depressions in the rock face. Up, up…he continued his painful progress upward, mindful that at any moment, his goose might be cooked for sure.

It seemed to take forever, but at last he topped the peak of the volcano. He heaved himself over the edge, his hands raw and bleeding, his heart pounding. He lay on the ground for a few minutes, waiting for the dizziness to subside. At long last, he took a deep shuddering breath, and got to his feet.

The sight that met his eyes was a group of bright blue aliens, clad only in leaves and animal skins, pointing primitive yet lethal-looking spears at him. He half-turned--they had him completely surrounded.

Chakotay began backing up anyway. The aliens advanced threateningly. His foot kicked a cloth bundle on the ground. It was his discarded uniform top, with his comm badge attached. Slowly and carefully he knelt down, picked up the badge and stuck it on his pants.

He cleared his throat. "Please, I come in peace," he said. "I mean you no harm." He raised his hands in supplication, hoping the Universal Translator would make his words intelligible to them.

The chief uttered something that sounded like, "Ha! That's what they all say." He gestured imperiously, and four aliens rushed forward to grab and bind the commander's arms. Chakotay noted absently that the tallest among them only came up to his belt buckle. He also noted that the spears were in fact as sharp as they looked.

"Ow!" he yelled, when one of the aliens poked him in the arm. "What'd you go and do that for?"

The aliens didn't answer. All of a sudden, one of them stopped, pointed at Chakotay's forehead and began gabbling excitedly. It was too much for the Universal Translator, especially as more and more of them took up the chant. And all of them were pointing at his head.

Chakotay's heart sank. What had he done now?

"Stop!" the chief said, raising his own spear. He cautiously approached the human, reached up and tentatively touched the tattoo. "It is the sign!"

As one, all of the aliens instantly dropped their spears, and knelt down at his feet. "The sign of the Fire God! He has emerged from his fiery mountain to greet his chosen people! All hail the Tattooed Terror, the Giver of life and sustenance!"

Chakotay gaped at the sudden turn of events. He could be wrong, but it looked as though his situation had just taken a turn for the better.

part 3 (Cybermum)

It was all Seven's fault, Kathryn Janeway decided as she headed into the turbo lift on her way back to the bridge. She had been about to step into her bath – a Phalarian bubble bath, no less – when Harry had summoned her. She took a swipe at her hair, which was all over the place, thanks her hurried preparations (that was probably Seven's fault too… she'd figure out how later), and barked "Bridge" as she tugged at her uniform and tried to compose herself. She was getting bloody sick of having to cope with every little emergency, real and imagined that the eager ensign seemed to encounter on his command shifts. And he wondered why he'd never been promoted, she thought. One more interrupted bath and he'd be demoted. She'd create a rank below ensign, especially for him. But, she returned to her original notion, this latest interruption had something to do with Seven, she was sure of it.

The lift doors opened, she took a deep breath, and strode out onto the bridge.

"Report," she demanded as she made her way to the Command Centre and stopped directly in front of her chair. Harry, she noted with satisfaction, had already vacated it and was standing at attention, as only Harry could - or would - in front of her.

"Um… yes, sir."

She didn't correct him, just raised an eyebrow and waited.

"Captain, we're being hailed."

"And…." Her hands were at her hips.

"We're being hailed by Seven…" Ha, she thought, right again.

"And someone or something who we believe is a member of the Kremlak Tribal Council," he paused for a moment and she had to consciously refrain from tapping her foot.

"And Chakotay… sort of…"

"Sort of?" Her voice rose slightly.

Tom Paris coughed, and she fleetingly wondered why he was still at the helm. She had noticed that Tuvok was at his Security Station when she arrived, but had attributed that to the Vulcan's recent statement that Harry still needed some supervision. But Tom?

"Well, the transmission was sort of … " Harry searched for the correct terminology. "Muffled," he concluded.

"Muffled?" she repeated and realized she'd better take charge now. "Open a single band channel to Seven," she ordered, "and another to …" she hesitated for a moment. "To the Kremlak" she decided. "I'll speak with Chakotay in a moment."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Janeway turned and faced the large screen in front of her. Seven of Nine's image occupied half of it. The former Borg looked a little worse for wear, Janeway noticed, not without some satisfaction.

"Report, Seven." Janeway demanded.

"Captain, there has been an unfortunate incident. The shuttle, which the Commander was piloting, has incurred some damage." Janeway noted that Seven was not above placing blame - another step forward in her constant search for her humanity – "I was attempting to correct a directional reading when he.. when we lost control and came down on the planet. I lost consciousness for a brief period and during that time the Commander disappeared."

So, she thought briefly, Chakotay lost control, and Seven lost consciousness. They deserve each other. Nope, don't go there…

"I believe we have located the Commander, Seven," the Captain told her."Stand by for further instructions. Janeway out." She turned and nodded briskly to Harry who keyed a code into his console.

When the image of the Kremlak appeared on the view screen, the Captain took a quick step forward and addressed him. "I am Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation Starship…."

The alien, who was extremely short and very blue, interrupted her with a series of grunts.

Janeway glanced over her shoulder at Harry Kim, who was frantically pounding at his console.

"I'm trying Captain," he bleated. "The Universal Translator can't seem to interpret his speech patterns."

Kathryn Janeway was starting to get a very familiar feeling in her gut. And it wasn't a good feeling either. This was not going to be an easy episode. She could tell.

part 4 (Andra)

B'Elanna was in Engineering, studiously avoiding her husband after his less than amusing comparison of her to the Delta Flyer, when the page from the
Bridge came through.

"Janeway to Torres."

"Torres here."

"Lieutenant, I just received a transmission from Seven," Janeway said. "Apparently she and Commander Chakotay have had an accident and the shuttle
is heavily damaged."

"Another one bites the dust," the engineer muttered under her breath.

"I didn't quite catch that, Lieutenant," Janeway replied.

"Nothing, Captain," she stuttered quickly. "Are they hurt?"

"Well, Chakotay is missing at the moment, but Seven seems to be unhurt." Too bad, B'Elanna thought, but wisely kept it to herself as the captain
continued. "I need to you route all available power to the communications relay, so we can boost the incoming signal. The transmission from the planet is rather weak and is causing difficulties with the universal translator."

"Acknowledged, Captain. I'll reroute some excess energy from the warp engines and enhance the emitter's reception strength. That should clear up the signal enough to get it properly relayed through the translator."

"Make it fast, Lieutenant. The natives are getting restless."

"Very short, very loud and very blue natives," Tom muttered in the background.

On the Bridge, Janeway gave her helmsman a quelling glance. "If you want to keep your newly restored pip, Mister Paris, I suggest you keep your
unsolicited opinions to yourself," she cautioned.

"Yes, Ma'am."

"The power's been redirected to the communications relay, Captain," B'Elanna chimed in. "You can give the translator another try."

"Thank you, B'Elanna. Mister Kim, turn it on."

Harry ran his hands across his panel as a burst of static spewed from the speakers, prompting the Ensign to mutter an apology before the signal cleared
and the Kremlak's high pitched voice filled the screen.

"Thank you for the gift of the Golden One," he said graciously. "She will be a worthy sacrifice for the Painted Oracle."

"Sacrifice?" Janeway echoed.

"Painted Oracle?" Tom repeated dubiously.

"Golden One?" Harry chimed in from behind them.

On the viewscreen, a clearly frustrated Seven gave the short blue being beside her an icy glare before addressing Captain. "If I understand the
Kremlak dialect correctly, Captain, it appears that they believe Commander Chakotay to be some type of deity, and they intend to sacrifice my life as a
gesture of worship."

The Bridge crew exchanged astonished looks at that, and after a long moment, Tuvok broke the silence with a single word.

"Fascinating."

Part 5 (Christina)

It had to be Chakotay's fault, Harry figured as he sat down at the briefing table. After all he had, for some reason, been the one flying the shuttle when it went down. Not that he had any feelings for Seven--not anymore anyway. She had never reciprocated--anyway he was happy with Susan.

He glanced at the door when B'Elanna entered. "Sorry, Captain," the half-Klingon said. "We're still trying to align the transporters to penetrate the planet's atmosphere."

"How long?" Janeway asked.

"Seventy-two hours, minimum."

"Make it forty-eight. The Kremlak plan to sacrifice Seven at first light in four days."

"Yes, Captain."

"Ensign Kim, assist B'Elanna," Janeway responded. "Lieutenant Paris will be in command of the rescue team, just in case." She waved her hand in a form of dismissal. "Let's rescue our people."

Harry followed B'Elanna out, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. It was Tom. "So, the ex-girl friend is with Chakotay."

"Tom," he pleaded. "She was never my girl friend."

"So you say, but too bad you weren't a hologram."

Harry bolted.

part 6 (Rocky)

It was all Chakotay's fault, Seven thought for the thousandth time, though why she kept on dwelling on that point was beyond her. Assignment of blame was irrelevant; the important thing was to discover a way out of her absurd predicament.

She supposed she should have known better than to volunteer to join the Commander's away team. It had been an impulsive decision, doubtless influenced by her recent 'explorations' on the holodeck. Her scenarios, as well as her clandestine reading of Lieutenant Torres' private stash of romance novels, had led her to believe it might be 'fun' to spend time alone with the tall, dark and handsome commander, in a shuttlecraft built for two, as well as on the surface of the lush tropical planet.Unfortunately, this was clearly a case where the reality of a situation fell far short of the fantasy.

To begin with, the Commander didn't seem ecstatic over the fact that they would be spending quality time together. She supposed the odd look on the captain's face may have had something to do with it--it was the expression she'd heard other crew members refer to as The Death Glare--but he *had* readily acquiesced to her suggestion. She was thus unprepared for his almost totally ignoring her once they were spaceborne. He'd stared straight ahead at his control panel the entire time, frequently asking the computer to verify his readings. Any course adjustments were preceded by clearly audible calculations and debate with himself, plus more appeals to the computer. Given the commander's track record, she supposed it was the correct procedure, but it still left him very little time to contemplate her carefully constructed charms.

She'd decided to 'up the ante a bit', as Mr. Paris might say, and artlessly leaned over the Commander's console, invading his personal space. She wasn't quite sure what she expected his reaction to be, but it was most emphatically not his yelping in alarm and jerking his chair back. He should have calculated that the trajectory of his chair,coupled with the current speed of the shuttle, would produce the 180 degree flip that dumped him on the floor in a most undignified position.

Before she could recover from her surprise, let alone ascertain if he was damaged in some way, the shuttle went into a sudden nose dive. If the commander had been at his station, instead of sprawled below it,disaster might have been averted. She herself would doubtless have had the situation well in hand had she not been slammed into the far wall and lost consciousness.

Seven paced the narrow confines of the bamboo cage with increasing impatience as she recalled what happened next. When she had come to in the crashed shuttle, there had been no sign of the commander. Following proper procedure, she had immediately attempted to make contact with the ship. She was gratified to see that communications were working properly. Perhaps the commander was not as inept as his performance so far indicated.

To her surprise, however, Ensign Kim, who had bridge duty, informed her that the captain was not interested in speaking with her. Surely Janeway would at least be feeling some concern over the fate of the away team. Seven had always been aware that the captain considered her a special protégé; in the past Janeway had certainly gone to great lengths to assist her in her hours of need. Seven also knew the captain appeared to derive a certain amount of satisfaction in dining with the commander; surely the news of his disappearance would be of at least minor interest.

"She's off duty now, Seven," Kim had said, cutting off any further protest. "I'm under strict orders not to disturb her unless it's an emergency."

Seven performed the Borg equivalent of a shrug and decided to take matters into her own hands. She stepped forth on to the surface of the planet she'd so looked forward to seeing, and discovered that reality had fallen short once again.

The ground was very soft and porous, so near to the crystal-clear waters of the blue lagoon, and her ergonomically-correct high heels (which through an ingenious feat of engineering enabled her to more evenly distribute her bulk around her center of gravity by an outthrusting of her thoracic implants) sank into the mud with every step. Thus occupied in maintaining her forward progress, not to mention her balance, she failed to notice the overhanging brambles which smacked her directly in the face. "Ouch!" she cried, and then sternly took hold of herself. Her nanoprobes would doubtless repair any damage. She ignored the watering of her ocular implant as one of the branches became tangled in her hair.

At least her efficient, form-fitting garment provided very little purchase for the thorns. She noticed a few snags, but no tears, and hoped that the fabric would provide a sufficient barrier to the insects buzzing around her ears.

At last she emerged into a clearing. No sign of the commander. Irritably, she reached for her comm badge.

A whistling noise made her stop short. She looked up to see the still-quivering vane of an arrow embedded in the tree, inches away from her head. She glanced at the direction it had come from, and discovered a pack of diminutive blue-toned natives staring at her menacingly.

Beings of such short stature, regardless of hue, were irrelevant, Seven decided. Nonetheless, she gave them a cold, imperious look, similar to one she'd seen the captain employ on previous occasions. "I suggest you be more careful with your hunting implements, or you may inadvertently harm someone."

The natives growled and muttered.

Seven tapped her comm badge impatiently. It must have incurred damage, as the Universal Translator did not appear to be functioning. Or else this planet had a strong Plot Device Field which acted as an unpredictable dampener on Starfleet equipment.

The natives advanced closer. One reached up hesitantly toward her face, but of course, could not reach. He pointed at her ocular implant. "The Evil Eye! She has the Evil Eye!"

Seven pursed her lips. Apparently the UT had adapted to the native speech patterns. Its functions were still in question, however, as the words she'd heard made no sense. She suppressed a sigh. Definitely a Plot Device Field.

"If you are referring to my implant, yes, it is Borg in nature, but is not inherently 'evil'," she began. "Nor am I--Ouch!" A native jabbed her in the arm with a spear. "You will cease that activity immediately."

The natives didn't listen. Several more had crept up meanwhile and now threw themselves at her. Despite her best efforts, Seven was overcome by sheer strength of numbers and went down, still thrashing. Two of the natives sat on her chest (holding on to each other as well as her neck to avoid falling off), and another four pinned her arms and legs. They bound her wrists and ankles with cords made from plant fiber. The material was surprisingly strong--she was unable to break it or free herself. She opened her mouth to scream.

The natives didn't seem to be perturbed by her screams, or her attempts to get away. One of them grinned. "Resistance is futile." They hoisted her onto a pole and set off, carrying her between them.

Since they were not very tall, Seven found various portions of her anatomy kept bumping against the ground as her captors moved rapidly into the forest. She tried to ignore the jolting. "Where are you taking me?" she demanded, though she really didn't expect an answer.

Surprisingly, one was forthcoming. "To our chief, who awaits us in the village."

"And will he decide what to do with me?"

"Yes, although he will doubtless consult with the Painted Oracle first." The one who'd spoken clapped his hand over his mouth, perhaps having
given something away unintentionally. The rest were silent.

Upon reaching the village, Seven had been dumped unceremoniously from the pole. Her other bonds were removed as well, and she was thrust into the holding area she still occupied. How it was secured, she did not know, but she was unable to force the door open. By her estimation, she'd been here for 6.3 hours; all this time, no food or drink had been provided and she was aware of increasing hunger, and more importantly, thirst.

The door creaked open. A heavily armed native stood in the doorway and gestured to her to follow. Several more guards fell into step behind her.

She was led into a large open space at the center of the cluster of huts. The chief, or so she deemed him to be, sat on a high raised chair. Off to one side, on an even higher, more massive throne carved out of rock, sat Commander Chakotay, his bare chest nearly covered in wreaths of flowers.

Seven's jaw dropped open. Before she could say anything, however, the chief motioned for silence.

"As it has been passed down for generations among the Kremlak, through the lives of many fathers and sons, so the story of the Fire God and his victory over his enemies now unfolds." Every blue head was bowed in reverence. "Blessed are we to live in the days of legend, where the Tattooed Terror emerges from his sacred mountain at the moment the Wicked One, bearer of the Evil Eye, appears in our midst. As it was said in the days of our fathers, he shall cause his fire to kindle within her and then cast her down into the pits of flame. And then the Golden Age shall be upon us."

Several thoughts rose in Seven's mind, but wisely, she refrained from acting on any of them. Instead she cast an imploring look at Chakotay, who, she noticed, also wore a crown of red blossoms upon his head.

The commander obligingly raised one hand. The chief instantly gave him his undivided attention. "Yes, Oh Great One? What is your wish?"

Chakotay cleared his throat. Seven could have sworn she saw a look of amusement in his eyes. "I am not disputing the ancient legends of your fathers," he said gravely. "But how do you know this one here--" he indicated his hapless crew mate "--is the Evil one?"

The chief inclined his head respectfully. "A thousand pardons, oh Lord of the Flame, but she bears the Evil Eye."

"That's not the Evil Eye, that's a--" Chakotay stopped and considered for a moment. "She bears other signs as well."

The chief cast an appreciative eye over the captive. "She does indeed, oh God of Fiery Heat. Do you refer to something in particular?"

"Yes. Her, her…um, hair. Yes, that's it." Chakotay's voice grew in conviction. "Behold, she is the Golden One! Does not your legend, or your Painted Oracle, tell of her as well?"

A sudden hush fell on the assembly. The chief got off his seat and looked at Seven more closely. At his gesture, the two guards forced her to her knees. The chief reached up and loosened her hair. The pale blonde waves fell about her shoulders. The chief smiled. "Indeed, you speak the truth."

The guards fell back. Seven couldn't control the sigh of relief that escaped her. Chakotay smiled at her encouragingly. "See? Nothing to worry about," he whispered. Seven chose not to comment on his smug expression.

The chief went on, "She will make a fitting sacrifice. The gods will be most pleased."

This isn't happening, Seven told herself. I'm in my cargo bay, regenerating. Note to self: do not eat any of Mr. Neelix's cooking within a few hours of retiring. She almost missed Chakotay's next words.

"Perhaps before you do anything rash, you should consult with them to make sure they are pleased."

It was the chief's turn to gape. "Consult with the gods?"

"Yes. Inform them of your intentions and ask them if they approve."

"How does one contact the gods directly?" asked the chief wonderingly. "Even the Painted Oracle only interprets signs and symbols…"

Chakotay pointed at Seven's comm badge. "By means of that amulet, the Golden One can speak to the Goddess of the Heavens, she who travels the
stars." Chakotay unobtrusively tapped his own comm badge, fastened at his waist.

The chief nodded at Seven. "Go ahead. We will speak with the Goddess."

Kathryn Janeway wasn't positive she knew exactly whose fault this latest interruption was, but she had a pretty good idea, and when she found out for sure, they were toast. As a matter of fact, as far as she was concerned, the whole lot of them were toast. Burnt toast. And definitely due for some sort of punishment. On principle.

She scrambled for her comm badge, which, of course, was directly across the room, still attached to her jacket. She hadn't bothered to remove it when she'd arrived back in her quarters after her latest conference with her senior staff - or at least what was left of her senior staff. She'd quickly shed her uniform and gotten right back into her bath. Luckily she'd had the presence of mind to set the thermostat on 'maintain' before she'd left for the bridge. She flung the PADD she'd been reading over the edge of the tub. Damn it, she thought, she'd just gotten to the good part of that novel she'd found underneath B'Elanna's bridge console. She snatched up her towel and stepped sudsily out of the tub, grabbed her jacket and spoke sharply into the lapel.

"Janeway here." She hoped that whoever was on the other end could imagine the 'Death Glare' that accompanied her response.

"Captain," Tuvok's voice was not quite as modulated as usual. "I believe it might be best if you return to the bridge."

So, she thought, I've even got Tuvok a little worried. Good. She allowed for a moment of silence. "On my way, Commander. Janeway out."

She arrived on the bridge within minutes, and strode right to her chair. She sat down, crossed her legs, flipped open her console and pressed several entries onto the data panel contained therein. There was total silence. She finally looked up and turned to Tuvok, who stood at attention at his station.

"Report."

"Captain, we have an interesting situation on the planet."

Janeway waited. Tuvok's use of the word interesting was, well, interesting.

"I think you had better see for yourself." The Vulcan nodded to Harry Kim, who was at his Ops station. Harry quickly brought the communications system on line, and the large view screen in front of them flickered to life.

The sight that greeted them brought Janeway to her feet, a hastily suppressed snort from Harry, and titters from several of the other crewmen on duty.

Voyager's first officer, enthroned, bare-chested and bedecked in flowers sat in splendour on a throne surrounded by dozens of tiny, obviously adoring, scantily clad blue creatures. Seven of Nine, looking even more bedraggled than the last time they'd seen her was looking decidedly distressed.

"Captain, can you see me?"

Janeway took a deep breath, released it and said, with as much control as she could muster: "Yes, Seven, I can. Chakotay has programmed his
comm link for video transmission."

"Then you can see," the Borg hesitated for a moment and Janeway noted the tip of a spear in the vicinity of Seven's nether regions. "Ouch. Then you can see… Oh my Captain," Seven stumbled for a moment and Janeway wondered, not for the first time, if she was actually living in some strange alternate universe and would wake up from the nightmare shortly. Very shortly, she hoped.

"You can see, oh Goddess of the Heavens that we, your humble servants; he" – she indicated Chakotay, who was brushing a stray petal from his ear, "the Tattooed Lord of the Flame" (someone behind the Captain coughed),"and I, your Golden One…" At this point Janeway choked and Seven raised an eyebrow in disapproval and continued: "Are here only to serve you. We beg you to prove to these people, the Kremlak, a fine upstanding race," Seven added this last gravely, remembering the Doctor's lessons on diplomacy, "who wish to serve you to the best of their ability, that there is no need for sacrifice of any sort. Any sort." The last was repeated emphatically.

At this point the Kremlak chief rose from his throne, where he had been listening intently, and raised his spear. "Goddess of the Heavens, if that is who you are," the Kremlak chief grunted, " Your presence in our skies is a great honour. Your emissaries, have shown impressive qualities so far, it is true. The Tattooed One rose from the flaming pit. And the Golden One's many unnatural attributes cannot be denied. However our Ancient Legends are clear. There must be a task undertaken and fulfilled before the end of the day. We would be willing to forgo the sacrifice if the other part of the prophecy is completed."

"That sounds like a reasonable request," Janeway responded. "I am sure that we can reach an agreement. What do you have in mind?"

The chief puffed out his chest and tapped his spear on the ground three times. He took a step forward and repeated the final part of his earlier recitation:
"As it was said in the days of our fathers, he shall cause his fire to kindle within her. And then the Golden Age shall be upon us."

Part 8 (Rocky)

Chakotay shifted in his seat and tried to scratch unobtrusively. The flowers that bedecked his chest were colorful and smelled nice, but darn if they didn't make him itch. They also tended to attract insects, which he fervently hoped weren't the biting kind. As it was, their buzzing was driving him crazy.

"Bug off, will you?" he muttered. "Leave me alone already."

"What was that, Commander?"

The indignant voice snapped him out of the reverie induced by the Kremlak tribal chief droning on and on about some ancient legend. He'd forgotten that his comm badge was on, broadcasting visuals and sound of the unfolding ceremony to Voyager's bridge.

"Sorry, Captain," he said hastily. "I wasn't talking to you." The last thing he wanted was to inadvertently offend Janeway. She and Voyager were the only hope for getting him out of this fix. Being taken for a god was amusing at first, but Chakotay was getting tired of playing the role. And what about Seven? What exactly did the Kremlak have in store for her?

Fortunately, the captain seemed to understand his frustration. "Steady, Commander, we're working on a rescue plan now. Just play along with the Kremlak a little while longer."

Chakotay stifled a yawn and sat up a little straighter as he tried to look interested in the proceedings.

"We will now commence with the Rite of Adoration!" As if that was a signal, the entire tribe lined up eagerly. A special stool was set up in front of Chakotay's throne. His bewilderment deepened as the first person in line approached, climbed up on the stool, tentatively touched his tattoo and then backed away.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked the chief.

"The stool is necessary to reach your exalted height, oh Tattooed Terror of the Smoky Mountain."

"That's not what I meant," Chakotay said, although earlier he'd had to ask for a different throne as the previous one had been too low and forced him to sit with his knees bunched up under his chin. "What's this Rite of Adoration about, anyway?"

The chief looked at him in surprise. "Stroking the Sign of the Flaming One is how we pay our respects, Oh Mighty and Beloved Lord. It is the Sign by which we recognized you."

"But is it truly the Sign?" questioned one of the men in the chief's retinue. "Pardon my impudence, but this one does not seem to me to have the attributes of a god."

"Hush!" said someone else hurriedly. "Do not offend the gods---they may choose to take their wrath out on you next time!" The questioner bowed his head submissively.

Finally, after everyone in line had had their chance, Chakotay was led to a stone altar, on the very lip of the volcanic shaft he'd fallen down at the beginning of this adventure. He immediately recognized the tragic figure that lay upon it. It was Seven.

"It is time," one of the tribal elders intoned. He looked meaningfully at Chakotay and gestured at the bound woman. "Prepare to kindle your fire within her belly."

"Here? You want me to--in front of everyone?" stammered Chakotay. It wasn't the blue Kremlak he was worried about, but the audience on board Voyager. "I, uh, look, no offense, but I'd rather not--"

"Not that kind of fire." The chief shook his head in exasperation and muttered "Outworlders" under his breath. He gave Chakotay a speculative look. "Unless, of course, that is what the Lord of Heat desires."

"No, no, of course not," Chakotay said quickly. "That's the last thing I'd want."

"You find it preferable for me to be burned alive in a primitive alien ritual rather than copulate with me?" questioned Seven coolly.

"Definitely," said Chakotay, without thinking. "It's not that I wouldn't want to, Seven," he added hurriedly, "but you're really not my type and besides I--"

"There is no need for excuses." Her eyes fastened on him scornfully for a moment before she turned her head away. "It is my preference as well."

"Begin!" said the chief, thumping his spear rhythmically upon the ground. Soon all the natives were beating their weapons in time.

With no other alternatives, Chakotay picked up two sticks and began rubbing them together. For a long time he stood there, hunched over, working furiously, as the beat went on. After a while, someone started a chant and it was picked up by everyone present:

"Kindle the holy fire,
The object of our desire.
The Golden One must burn--
And the gods' gratitude we will earn."

"I appreciate your reluctance to incinerate me, Commander." Startled, he looked at Seven. Was that a look of pity in her eyes? "But your stalling tactics will accomplish nothing, aside from irritating the Kremlak."

Sure enough, the natives were starting to get restless. The tempo of the beat increased, and the overheard snatches of rhyme were even worse. None of which made his job any easier.

"I'm not stalling, damn it!" he snapped. "I'm doing the best I can." Somewhere, his spirit guide was laughing. The only Indian in the Delta Quadrant, and you can't even start a fire. He firmly squashed the little voice in his head and rubbed harder.

Seven gave him a contemptuous glance, and then closed her eyes.

Even the chief was growing visibly impatient. Suddenly, one of his advisors, the one who had questioned Chakotay before, seemed to have had enough. He picked up his spear and brandished it threateningly in front of the human.

"You say you are a god," he sneered. "Then prove it! Where is our fire?"

"Yes, where is our fire?" someone else echoed. Wasn't anyone in this tribe capable of thinking for himself? Chakotay wondered. He gulped as the point of the weapon neared his throat--

"STOP!"

The voice which rang out was a welcome sound, with a familiar husky quality to it. Chakotay, relieved, looked up and then almost fainted at the sight which greeted him. Seven looked as though she already had.

The cavalry had arrived.

"Can't get it lit, Commander?"

Kathryn Janeway, Captain of the Federation Star Ship Voyager, graduate of Star Fleet Academy, scientist, explorer, and sometime diplomat had had just about enough. Here she was, on some godforsaken planet, surrounded by very short, very blue, and very armed aliens, who had decided that her first Officer was a minor deity, and her pet Borg a potential sacrifice. She'd been interrupted not once, but twice in her bath; an offense as her crew well knew, almost as appalling as speaking to her before she'd had her first cup of coffee of the day. And, to add insult to injury, she herself, it seemed, was the only one of her crew who was capable of rescuing the two of them. Even more annoying was the fact that in order to carry out the rescue, she'd had to costume herself in a bizarre ensemble, which Neelix had informed her, would serve to allay the fears of the planet's native citizens and prove to them she
was who she said she was. And how did he know that, anyhow? Only the thought that these aliens obviously viewed her as a Very Important Being
had kept her from throwing up her hands and throwing her crewmen to the Kremlak. Exploring godhood intrigued her.

"Kath... Capt...You look...oh..."

His captain stood before him dressed as he had never seen her dressed before; although, if truth be told, he had, during many a long Delta Quadrant night, imagined something along these lines. She was wearing a diaphanous gown of sky blue, which shimmered and floated and swirled around her in the gentle breezes that had started to blow just after she materialized. Her hair, which he happily noted, had grown out a bit, was arranged in a gentle twist, a few tendrils escaping naughtily. Her shoes, if that was what you could call them, were provocatively designed to show off her shapely feet. He couldn't remember having seen Kathryn's feet before. They were usually encased in those damned regulation Star Fleet boots. Her toes, and her finger nails, were painted a metallic blue, which, he realized, matched the blue of the natives, and more importantly, the intricate design that someone had carefully painted on her left shoulder and her brow. She was spectacular.

"Commander." This from Seven, who was still lying, trussed like a proverbial chicken, on the stone altar overhanging the volcanic crater, and quickly losing patience. "I believe you are drooling. Saliva is not conducive to fire."

Janeway raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow almost as high as the Millennium Gate. Chakotay took a deep breath and began again. "Oh Goddess of the skies above," Janeway's slightly lowered eyebrow was an indication he was on the right track. "We, your humble servants," he indicated the bound Borg, "are ready and willing to sacrifice ourselves to your desires." The eyebrow lifted once again, but Chakotay was on a roll.

"You, oh magnificent one... You who are our leader; our guide; our beacon in the night..." He was really getting into it now. "You who know no boundaries in benevolence. You who ..." Unfortunately, at this point, due, no doubt to the increasing amounts of hot air blowing wildly around the sacrificial altar, a number of the flowered leis that adorned his broad chest came loose, fell apart and flew up into Chakotay's nose.

He sneezed. Violently.

Janeway chose that moment to intervene. It was all very well to be adored in public, but time was wasting and her bath was getting cold.

She looked around and fixed her gaze upon the Kremlak chief, who was, along with the rest of the crowd, gaping silently at the trio in front of them, all thought of songs, chants or ridicule forgotten.

"You!" She beckoned and the little leader scurried to her side.

"Oh yessss Your High and Mightiness" he squeaked. His eagerness was most gratifying.

"What is it that you want of me and my..." she cast a quick glance at her two rather dishevelled crewmembers "...entourage?"

"Your acolytes, the Golden One and the Tattooed Firestarter," here the Kremlak leader hesitated. After all, so far no fires had been started.
But he took a small breath and continued optimistically "...have appeared from the skies as it was prophesied. We await the kindling of the Golden Flame."

"So I see," said Janeway.

"We have done as the Oracle dictated many moons ago, and each have touched the sacred sign. The sacrifice is all that is left."

"Yes, well..." Kathryn Janeway was fighting two totally opposite urges – one of which was to burst into uncontrollable laughter, and the other to allow the Kremlak their ritual offering. "We must examine this dictum thoroughly. We must obey the Oracle, of course, but I believe there might be another interpretation of the prophecy."

part 10 (Christina)

"A different--?" The tribal leader stuttered. "But..."

"There are no buts," Kathryn whispered. "I did not come down here to watch my crew...entourage torch each other. They have value to me."

She raised a hand and pointed toward Chakotay. "What is this prophecy?"

"Oh great goddess of the skies," Chakotay began with an appropriate bow of the head. "I must kindle the fire in her belly." It was all Kathryn could do not to snort at that.

"That is not what I wish." She pointed toward one of the other blue natives. "What is the prophecy?"

"It is exactly as the tattooed oracle prophesed." This native fell to the ground in a state of terror. Kathryn smiled.

"Is there no one here who can tell me the prophesy, accurately?"

The native who had questioned Chakotay's godhood earlier stepped forward. "Oh most reverent goddess of the skies. The prophecy speaks of one so chosen to join with the god of the smokey mountain. The Painted Oracle and the Golden One will appear before that union. He will bless that union by kindling his fire in her belly." She couldn't help but snort.

"And all you could think of was to burn her?"

The natives looked at the ground. She raised a hand to silence Chakotay. "Return them to their chariot. Such a sacrifice must be made in a setting worthy of the gods." She disappeared.

#

B'Elanna handed Harry a piece of cable. "Someone should take that man's license away from him."

Harry smiled as he continued to repair the commander's shuttle. "Then Tom could fly?"

"Kahless..." She tapped her combadge when it beeped. "Torres here."

"The natives are on their way."

"Great," B"Elanna snarled. "Harry, they should be here in fifteen minutes."

"It will fly. All they have to do is clear the lower atmosphere and we can pull them in with a tractor beam." Harry closed the panel as he finished speaking.

"That will do," Janeway's voice said. "Prepare to beam back to Voyager."

#

Chakotay had no idea what would happen when they arrived at the shuttle--or chariot. He figured that Kathryn had arranged for it to be repaired, but what exactly she was planning escaped him. He allowed himself a quick glance at the sacrificial victim. Seven gave him a disdainful glance. He looked away. Well, it wasn't as if he'd ever had experience playing a deity.

Part 11 (Rocky)

To any outside observers, like Voyager's crew, the procession now wending its way through the jungle was a curious sight. In the lead strode the flower-bedecked Fire God, Voyager's first officer, who had yet to live up to his title. Other than the fiery-red rash now clearly visible along his chest and arms; apparently some of the native flora didn't quite agree with him. A gaggle of cobalt blue natives hurried to keep up with him, their short stubby legs no match for the Tattooed One's much longer limbs. Every now and then some hapless person would stumble into the imprint of one of his footprints and need to be hauled out by his companions.

Behind them came another group, bearing the bound Golden One, aka Annika Hansen, aka Seven of Nine teritary adjunct of something or other, aka WonderBorg, upon a pallet, carefully guarded to ensure that she wouldn't escape. The Kremlak weren't sure what the Goddess of the Heavens had in mind, but they were still hoping they wouldn't be deprived of their sacrificial rite. Everyone was very excited--all it took was the cry of "A Burning! A Burning!" for emotions to run high. Despite their beautiful, almost Eden-like existence, it was clear the Kremlak led relatively boring lives.

Bringing up the rear, in her sapphire-colored raiment, came the Auburn One herself, the Goddess of the Starry Heavens, whose very tresses were the color of flame and whose eyes flashed with the light of the burning sun. Or so Neelix had hoped someone would say. Janeway bit back a sigh, and continued to where the shuttle lay, half-hidden by tree branches, and devoutly hoped that B'Elanna and Harry had done their part.

The procession came to a halt. The tribal leader raised his spear and muttered a benediction against evil. He then turned to Voyager's captain. "We have arrived, Oh Queen. What is thy bidding? How may we fulfill thy wishes?"

He hadn't acted quite so awed earlier, Janeway thought in passing. And what was with this sudden switch in language to second person-formal? She made a mental note to have the Universal Translators given a thorough overhaul after this episode was over. And maybe a Level 1 Diagnostic of the Plot Device Field as well. Every time she thought this thing was going to be concluded successfully, along came another damn plot complication.

"Put the Golden One down," she ordered. The natives instantly obeyed, she was happy to note. Unfortunately, they also immediately began collecting dry brush and stacking it under the bier.

Janeway rolled her eyes. Truth be told, she was more than half tempted to let the pesky little Smurfs--er, Kremlak--just go ahead with their ritual. This whole thing, from start to finish, had clearly been Seven's fault. Well, maybe not entirely--she was sure she could find some room to blame Chakotay as well. Her mind dwelled for a moment on actually going through with the sacrifice--in her official logs, she could probably get away with claiming it was a Prime Directive issue; the non-interference clause meant just that--no interfering with a culture's beliefs in any way. The scientist in her mused over the melting point of silicone gel--let's see, silicone oils had a flash point of well over 200 C…She quickly snapped herself out of her reverie. Of course, she wasn't *really* going to let them go through with it. Of course, she'd do the Right Thing and save her people. Even if this member of the crew had increasingly proved to be more trouble than she was worth.

Janeway pulled out a jeweled dagger from a strategically located sheath on her thigh, strode forward and cut Seven's bonds. She pushed the former Borg off to one side. The Kremlak began to surge forward in protest.

"Back!" she shouted, hands on her hips, and gave them a full barrage of the Death Glare. They halted instantly, cowering. "You wanted fire? I will give it to you!" She turned her gaze on the pile of brush, and to the amazement of everyone present, wisps of smoke actually began to rise from it.

Well, to the surprise of anyone who didn't know about the concealed high-beam laser controlled by the jewel at her waist. The wavelengths of energy were not visible to the naked humanoid eye. Though the Voyager crew had no doubts that the captain could induce spontaneous combustion completely unaided, a little extra help never hurt.

The natives fell to their knees, awed and terrified, as the fire burned merrily around them. Chakotay chose that moment to wrench off his remaining flowers and toss them onto the flames. "Behold!" he called, "The God of Fire adds his heat to the Burning!"

Janeway turned to him in consternation. "Stealing my thunder, Commander?" she began to say, but never got to finish. Chakotay grasped her firmly by her painted shoulders and pulled her into a tight embrace. His head bent, his mouth sought hers, and the Goddess of Heavens, the Auburn Queen, the until now (more or less) Chaste One, found herself on the receiving end of a kiss that made the ambient temperature in the glade rise ever higher. After an eternity, he released her and smiled.

The natives promptly applauded.

"Now that we have fulfilled *all* the parts of the ancient prophecy," said Janeway imperiously, trying to ignore the weak feeling in her knees, "it is time for myself and my minions to take our departure." She pushed the bedraggled and dazed Seven toward the shuttle, though truth be told, the young woman didn't look like she needed any urging.

"Goodbye, oh mighty Goddess," chorused the Kremlak. "We thank you for helping us find our way to the Golden Age. Farewell on your journey across the stars."

"You betcha," muttered Chakotay as he too made to follow Seven into the shuttle. But a pair of crossed spears barred his way. "Hey, what's the meaning of this?"

"Oh Lord of the Flame, forgive us, but *you* do not ascend in the holy chariot," said one of the natives apologetically.

"I don't?" said Chakotay.

"He doesn't?" said Janeway.

Some of the Kremlak laughed. "Of course not," said the chief in puzzlement. "He did not arrive by chariot. With our own eyes we saw him emerge from the Great Smoky Mountain, from his kingdom below. To that he must return."

"Captain…" said Chakotay pleadingly, his eyes on her face, desperate for a sign she wasn't going to abandon him.

Janeway quickly recovered. "Of course. What was I thinking? Only the Golden One and I will go by chariot." And I'm going to give that girl a talking to like she's never had before in her life, she silently added. To Chakotay she murmured, "Oh, don't be such a baby, Commander. Just start climbing down the volcanic shaft, and when you're out of sight, we'll beam you up."

"Promise?"

"Have I ever let you down?" she countered.

"No," he admitted reluctantly.

Janeway gathered her skirts with one hand, preparatory to climbing aboard the shuttle. "As tempting as the prospect may be…but we have some unfinished business to attend to later, you and I."

"Oh?" he said. His eyes darted to her lips, as if he didn't dare believe he was hearing her correctly.

"We'll have to continue these anthropological studies of primitive cultures, explore some of these beliefs a little more thoroughly, of course." She leaned over and gave him a lingering kiss. "See you soon." She waved a final farewell to the adoring blue throngs.

Chakotay stood watching until the shuttle had risen above the clouds, then sighed and prepared to descend into the volcano. He fervently hoped none of the Kremlak would crowd around the lip to watch. He cheered up a little as he remembered that with their height, or lack thereof, they wouldn't be able to see very far, so he'd be able to beam away to safety relatively soon. He cheered up even more as he remembered the quality of the kiss he'd shared with Kathryn, and her hint of more to come.

To kindle a fire in the belly, indeed.
 

The End (for now)

Janeway sat down in her seat on the bridge, enjoying the feeling of being back in civilization. Not that there weren't some enjoyable moments on the planet…but she most certainly wasn't the type to 'go native' on a permanent basis. Even her uniform felt good; the diaphanous blue gown she'd worn as Goddess of the Heavens was lovely, but undeniably drafty. And it had taken her ages to get that blue paint off her forehead…

B'Elanna Torres looked up from the engineering console. "Captain?"

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

The chief engineer seemed uncharacteristically nervous. "Um, it's been more than a hour since you and Seven returned to the ship."

"So it has," said Janeway agreeably. "Your point?"

"Chakotay," said B'Elanna flatly.

"What about him?"

"Shouldn't we beam him up now?"

Tom Paris turned around from his position at the helm. "Oh, let's give it another few minutes--you never can be too careful, you know."

"Especially where the Prime Directive is concerned," concurred Tuvok.

Harry gaped at them in surprise. "Captain, you're not seriously thinking about leaving him there, are you?"

Janeway didn't answer right away. She savored the moment a little longer, then shrugged. "All right. I guess we've let him stew long enough..."
 

The End (for real)

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