Disclaimer: Star Trek Voyager and all of its characters belong to Paramount. No copyright infringement is intended.

Story notes: This is Monkee's fault. She's the one who issued the challenge with her "Chicken Fried Fanfic" and said to include: mama, trucks, trains, prisons, getting drunk and cold rain, with bonus points for a hound dog. I had absolutely no intention of touching this one with a ten foot pole, but obviously the muse had other ideas.

"Get you another one of those, buddy?" asked the bartender.

Tuvok looked up from his grape nehi. "No, thank you. I have not yet finished my first."

The bartender was undeterred. "Or maybe a nice cold beer instead?"

"I do not imbibe alcohol."

"Maybe you should," the bartender said, shaking his head. "You've got a face longer'n a whupped hound. Do you some good."

Tuvok said nothing, staring down once more. He was grateful when the bartender took the hint and turned away to wait on someone else.

He glanced surreptitiously around the smoky confines of the bar, quaintly known as the Pig N Whistle, trying and failing to get a glimpse of the captain. He did not know why Captain Janeway had insisted he meet her here, nor was he enjoying the local 'atmosphere.' The patrons were a loud and unruly lot, and obviously had not grasped the concept of personal space. He was continuously being elbowed or otherwise jostled by the men crowding around the bar, and had just about given up trying to make himself inconspicuous on his stool.

"Hey, Pointy," laughed one uncouth man, who had drunk enough that Tuvok could see why the natives were sometimes referred to as 'rednecks.' "Me and my buddies are up for a game of darts and was wonderin' if you'd like to join us?"

Tuvok considered. The man was built along the lines of an anti-grav truck and clearly had the intelligence of one as well. "No, thank you," he said politely.

"'No thank you,'" echoed the man in a mincing voice. "Well, don't that beat all? Mr. Vulcan here thinks he's too good for the likes of us."

Several of the man's friends stepped forward. "I don't know 'bout you, Bubba," said one, "but I am seriously offended by his attitude."

"He needs a lesson in good manners, Earl," agreed Bubba. "That's for sure."

Inwardly, Tuvok sighed. Why hadn't he waited outside until the captain showed up? So what if a cold rain was falling? Now, despite his best efforts, it looked like he was going to be involved in an unpleasant situation.

More men had joined the first two. A quick count told him he was outnumbered by at least six to one. He was not in uniform, so no doubt the men thought he would be an easy mark. He stood slowly.

"I do not wish any trouble," Tuvok said. Unobtrusively he shifted his weight slightly to one leg.

"Oh, it won't no trouble at all to mop the floor with you," said Bubba, leaning forward, anticipation in his voice.

At that moment, Tuvok's leg whipped out, catching Bubba off his guard. Bubba howled in pain, clutching his groin, as he went down on his knees. Tuvok paid him no further attention. His fist connected with Earl's jaw, knocking the human down, where he joined his buddy in writhing on the floor.

The other four surged forward. Tuvok grabbed one by his frayed collar and tossed him headlong down the expanse of the bar. "Hey, there!" protested the bartender, above the sounds of tinkling glass.

Tuvok dodged the chair that another man had lifted up, and noted with satisfaction that it came crashing down on the head of another brawler instead. The Vulcan's hand darted to the base of the chair crasher's neck, and dropped him instantly.

The remaining man backed away. "I don't want no trouble," he begged, his hands raised in supplication.

"You should have thought of that earlier," Tuvok said, continuing to advance.

"Please, sir," the man said, his sincerity evident in his voice. "I'm real sorry. See, I'm goin' away, and I won't come back no more."

"See to it that you don't," Tuvok said. After watching the man leave, he turned toward the bar and picked up the fresh drink which had materialized.

The bartender was wagging his head from side to side. "I am sorry for the damage incurred," Tuvok told him.

"Ah, that's just a bunch of broken glass," the bartender said. "Hell, we usually smash more'n that during the course of a normal evening. No," he said sadly, "I'm thinkin' 'bout poor Earl and Bubba here. Public brawlin' is a violation of their parole--it's back to prison for them for sure now."

Tuvok didn't know quite how to respond. He took a sip of his grape nehi.

The door opened up and a woman came in. Her auburn hair gleamed in the dim light and her black leather jacket and pants did nothing to conceal the attractive figure beneath. Heads turned as she advanced toward the bar, and she was the recipient of many admiring looks and wolf whistles.

"Oh, Mama," breathed one of the men, leering just a little too close for comfort.

"That's 'Captain Mama' to you," admonished Tuvok, stepping even closer. The man didn't need telling twice and melted away quickly into the crowd.

"Sorry I'm late," Janeway said, her eyes flicking back and forth, surveying the scene. "Did you have any trouble?"

"None whatsoever," Tuvok replied truthfully.

"Good, because we have to get moving. Settle up your bar tab, and we'll be on our way."

"May I ask what our mission entails, Captain?" Tuvok asked as they stepped out into the cool night air.

Janeway shook her head regretfully. "Top secret. All I can tell you now is we've got to be on that midnight train to Georgia..." Her voice trailed off as she fished around in her pocket. "Damn. Now where did I leave my pips?"