STAR TREK: A Long Road (Voyager Fix It Quest)

Captain Katheryn Janeway entered onto the bridge of the USS Voyager with a cup of coffee and a truly hideous, orange furred, furious cat that was trying to claw her eyes out as she held him casually under one of her arms. The mug was more important - she held it up and even, walking past the tactical consoles that were arrayed at the back of the bridge, and coming to her XO.

"Your cat's loose again," she said.

"Oh dear," D-91 said, watching as his cat swiped at Janeway's face with one bared claw. "My apologies."

"The doors do lock for a reason, Dee," Janeway said crooking her arm and effortlessly slinging the cat around on her palm. The robotic fingers of her XO took hold of the cat, which immediately began to purr loudly, pressing against the smooth metal pane that made up D-91's chest. The sleek robot's chassis looked as if it had been designed sometime in the 20th century, imagining what the 24th century might build their robots to be - making it impossibly quaint next to the modern androids that served in Starfleet. But D-91 hadn't exactly come from the same 24th century everyone else had.

He preferred the retro-future look he had going.

"Lt. Strong, how are we looking for arrival at Deep Space 9?" Janeway asked as she settled into her seat and gulped down the scorching hot coffee she preferred. The replicator kept trying to set it cooler - but she had always had just enough work in her day to not want to spend more of her free time programming an ornery computer into recognizing she liked it this way.

Amy Strong glanced over her shoulder at her captain. She still looked distressingly young for her new pips. "Uh, at warp 8? Thirty two minutes."

"Very good," Janeway said, then sighed as she blew on the edge of the coffee. "Anything new to report?"

"TacCom has officially denied Intelligence's dibs," D-91 said, then paused. "That is the human word we use right? Dibs?"

"Dibs might be a less than diplomatic term to use," T'are interjected from her communications console. She was reading transcripts flicking across her screen. She turned in her seat to flash a dazzling Orion smile at the two of them. "It makes it seem like they're petty."

"I thought you said that there was nothing more petty than Starfleet Intelligence than Starfleet Tactical Command," D-91 said, a bit bemused. Janeway chuckled into her coffee.

T'are chuckled and turned back to her screen. "I guess you could say that..."

"So, no go on letting them escape?" Janeway asked.

"No," D-91 said.

Janeway nodded, slowly as Lt. Strong lifted her head. "Wait, let them escape?" she asked. "Uh, Captain, I mean. What?"

Janeway chuckled. "Do you want me to explain that, Lieutenant, or do you want shore leave on Deep Space 9?"

"Explanation, please," Amy said.

Janeway shook her head. "When you get to be my age, Lieutenant, you'll learn to enjoy shore leave while it lasts. But, well, we're picking up a Starfleet Intelligence contact with the Marquis. And the Marquis ship with it."

Amy went perfectly still. "Ah," she said. Janeway and D-91 exchanged a glance. D-91 looked baffled, his little simplified face projection showing that he was meeting Janeway's eyes because he had no idea what subtle cue he had just missed was. Janeway gave her XO a little smile, then stood and walked up to the front of the bridge. She leaned forward, her voice soft.

"Is there something we should know about, Amy?" Janeway asked, quietly.

"It's nothing, Captain," Amy said, shaking her head.

"Amy, remember what I said, when you first came aboard?" Janeway asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

Amy tapped her fingers on the hard plastic trim of her LCARS control system. "It's never not nothing," she said, then sighed. "It's just...an old friend of mine from the Academy joined the Marquis." She bit her lip. "It's...not likely. But, then again, she was really good at her job."

"What was her specialization?" Janeway asked.

"Well, uh, tactical and security, but her job was pissing off our instructors as hard as she could," Amy said, smiling shyly.

"Ahh," Janeway said. "Well, our goal is to take them all in for trial."

Amy considered that. She still looked concerned.

"Remember, this is the Federation," Janeway added.

"Yeah," Amy said, nodding. "Yeah! Prison's not so bad in the Federation."

"That's the spirit," Janeway said, slapping her shoulder.

"Arrrrgghghhhhhhhhhh!"

"Sorry, uh...did...I do it wrong?

Palms slammed down onto the metal top of the small, dimly lit, brightly decorated, smoky bar - the sound of jangling Dabo tables filling the air almost as much as the soft conversation from every corner. Quark, the owner and proprietor of said bar, glared over the counter at the smiling, faintly confused face of one Ensign Harry Kim.

"Firstly," Quark said, aiming his finger down at the credit exchange unit he had on his counter. "You put the cost for your meal and drink in the tips section. Tips are for the wait staff. Meal costs cover the energy cost on the replicators and for the rent I pay on running this fine establishment you lovely Starfleet officers keep visiting." He spread his hands, transforming lovely Starfleet Officers, through tone alone, into 'fucking idiots'. "And despite having a sign hung up, and instructions on the check, and having been owning and operating this bar on this station under this current administration for a full standard year...you...still...don't...get it!"

Harry looked down at the check, then looked back up at the furious Ferengi, his smile even more bland and inoffensive. "So, this...is where I put the tip..."

"Which is, by custom, five percent of the bill," Quark says, casually.

"Right. Okay." Harry nodded. "And it goes..."

"To the very nice and very pretty lady who brought you the meal. And that drink you are enjoying, right now, as we speak," Quark said. Harry nodded. He looked down at his blue, fruity number. Then he downed it in a single gulp, clenched his teeth, hissed through them, then put the cup down.

"Right," Harry said. "Sorry. It's just...I kinda figured that the lady who did all the work should get the money."


Quark glared daggers at him as Harry's smile became maliciously bland and inoffensive. Harry's com-badge blipped and the computerized voice that came from it spoke directly into his ear - directed by the shaped microspeakers built into the device. //ETA: THIRTY SECONDS\\

Harry set the glass down, then hurried towards the exit.

"You're not welcome back in my bar ever again, human!" Quark called after him - but Harry was already out and into the curved promenade of Deep Space 9. "Management is labor too...someone's been talking to Rom..." Quark kept muttering.

Harry stepped past and around the kiosks that were shilling various trinkets to visitors and scientific staff on their way to the Bajoran Wormhole, then came to the window looking out at space.

One moment, there was nothing.

The next, there was the Voyager.

It appeared in a ripple of distorted space/time as the warp bubble that allowed it to slip through the universe faster than light, and went from being not there to there in a single flashing moment. The sleek bulk of the ship took Harry aback for a moment - despite reading up the technical manuals, seeing the nearly kilometer long ship, with the elongated saucer and the swept back nacelles in the real ceramic and steel was another thing entirely. A few people who had also been watching out the windows clapped and cheered. Harry's com badge chirruped again, but this time it was a human voice coming through.

"Ensign Kim, this is Chief Martinez in T-Ops. We're picking someone up from the DS9 brig, Captain wants one of our crew to be there to see the changeover from Bajoran security," the voice said.

"Got it, Chief," Harry said, trying to sound like how an officer should sound. Cool. Confident. Not squeak-eager to get his first actual real mission ever. Okay. Simple mission. Easy mission! Pick up some guy from a brig. Easy. Easy! He could do this. Harry rolled his shoulders and set off.

The man in charge of Bajoran security was not a species Harry recognized. But with hundreds of species recognized across the galaxy as being warp capable just in the Alpha Quadrant alone, that wasn't exactly unexpected. Fortunately, Harry didn't need to know his species. He just had to get his name and rank.

"And like that," Constable Odo said, his voice gravely and grave enough to put Harry in mind of several of his more terrifying instructors at the Academy. "Mr. Paris' stay with us is at an end. Here you are." He handed over a PADD with a disapproving frown. Harry wasn't sure if he disapproved of the PADD and the documentation on it, Harry Kim himself, handing a prisoner over, or just...maybe his face just looked like that....

"Thanks," Harry said, glancing past Odo to the two Bajoran constables escorting Mr. Paris out of the brig and into the open air. He was a tall, handsome looking man with short blond hair, clean shaven cheeks, and a faintly bemused, bored expression set on his face. The manacles around him were undone and the constables stepped backwards.

"Thanks for the hospitality, gentlemen," Mr. Paris said, nodding to Constable Odo - who's expression didn't change overtly, but somehow became significantly more of itself. Harry coughed.

"Mr. Paris, I'm Ensign Harry Kim," Harry said. "I'm here to escort you to the transporter bays."

"Please, call me Tom," Mr. Paris says, flashing Harry a dazzling smile and offering his hand.

---
First mission, first foot, first decision.
[ ] Harry will try and remain professional.
[ ] Eh, he seems nice! Be friendly
[ ] ...oh no, he's hot.
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