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

Tuvock, considering, said: "I believe that this Neelix is the most logical person to talk to - being an outsider who has been here for some time, his perspective will not be shaped by cultural pressures that the rest of the Okampa face."

C'Nola nodded, and T'are shrugged.

"Better than walking around, asking random people," she said, glancing at the poor people around her - enough time had passed to make it clear that their motions were repetitive and shallow. Laughter came sporadically, and seemingly at random, as memories resurfaced in minds ravaged by a trauma she could only guess at. "...lets get out of here."

The cargo hold bay doors shut and Harry and B'lanna walked inside. "Well," B'lanna said. "It's actually a pretty intact fighter, all things considered. Good...shooting, I guess."

"Thanks," Harry said, as they looked at the Kazon fighter. It was a broad, fifteen meter wide triangle, with a nacelle sticking out of the bottom and phasic cannons built into the nose like heavy bore kinetic weapons. The hole blown through the hull looked like it had lanced right through the cockpit and the pilot had either ejected or...

Well. Harry tried to not think about it.

"Shocked Starfleet actually shoots at things," B'lanna said, shaking her head. "They never seemed to do it when it fucking mattered."

Harry flushed. "We were under attack."

"Oh?" She turned to face him, her voice dripping sarcasm. "Were we under attack? Just because people were shooting at us? I thought we're only under attack when the fucking Senate says we're under attack!"

"Hey, I didn't vote for it," Harry said, holding up his hands.

B'lanna snorted. "Fucking representative democracy is an excuse for the politically unengaged to allow atrocities on their fucking watch. We might as well be fucking Klingons." She started towards the ship.

"Aren't you-" Harry started, but knew it was the exact fucking wrong thing to say before it was even halfway out of his mouth. B'lanna had taken out a tool from her toolkit and she swung around, and glared right at him.

"Shut your mouth," B'lanna growled. "And, fucking...read a goddamn book." She turned and began to wrench open the sides of the fighter, tugging away components with a bit more force than she needed to. She muttered something under her breath that...well, didn't sound like Klingon. It definitely wasn't Federate, though. "Farkakte...need him...fucking Lock in kop..."

Harry, nervousness filling him like a thick cloud, picked up a spanner and held to her when she got to a snarl of incredibly crude copper wires. She snatched it from his hand, glared at him, then went back to work.

On the bridge, Tom Paris was thinking about getting the same kind of coffee Janeway was tormenting his nose with. He was thinking about the fact that he might be seventy thousand light years from home and his father, Admiral Paris. He was thinking that he might never see Earth, or his father, or his extended family again.

In short, Tom Paris was about five seconds and one trip to the replicator away from dancing a little jig.

Which was when he noticed something that made his brows knit and his heart jolt. He sat up, then tapped at the tactical controls that he had available while on the conn. It took less than a second for the computer to confirm. "Uh, Captain," he said, turning to look back at her. Janeway raised her eyebrows slightly, her coffee halfway to her lips. "The Val Jean is gone."

"Did the engine shutdown not prevent it from losing containment?" she asked, sitting up.

"No, no, it's not gone as in exploded. It's gone as in it's gone."

"Warp trail?" Janeway asked.

"None," Tom said, then softly. "Shit, I'm picking up an uptick in neutrino flux. Like a-"

"Cloaked ship," Janeway said. "Yellow alert, get Wacoche to the bridge!"

Tom Paris began to calibrate the sensors to lock in on the faint flux put out by cloaking devices. While he couldn't target exactly where the Val Jean was, he could at least detect its movement. It looked as if it was gliding along using RCS microthrusters only - painfully slowly, but in the close in confines of the orbital arena, they'd be underneath the Voyager in under a minute. He maneuvered to a higher orbit, sliding out of plane with the effortless ease that only an impulse engine could allow - turning a minute long intercept into one that would exhaust the RCS on the Cardassian ship before they were halfway there.

Wacoche entered the bridge at a jog. "Captain?"

"Your ship just turned on its cloaking field," Janeway said.

"That's impossible - the ship was broken and empty," Wacoche said, frowning.

"The impossible happens every day in Starfleet-"

"We're getting hailed," Tom Paris said. "From the Val Jean."

"Put it-" Wacoche and Janeway both spoke at the same time. She glared at him and he held up his hands, apologetically. "Put it on screen," Janeway finished.

The screen blipped up and...

Standing there was a very pretty, very young, very obviously terrified Cardassian sailor. She had short black hair, piercing blue eyes, and was hunched over a console in a bridge that looked just as battered and beaten up as the Voyager bridge - but without anyone having effected even basic repairs...beyond what appeared to be a wild mass of cabling and isolinar accelerators that connected the port weapon console to the conn in the most rushed, slapped together hack job that anyone on the Voyager had ever seen. The Cardassian sailor was dressed in a CUSN uniform, with what seemed to be a Glar - their equivalent of an Ensign.

"What the f-"

"Glar Seska, CUSN, serial number 908-881-88," the Cardassian barked. "I have a fully repaired and functional disruptor cannon aimed at your secondary hull - cease maneuvering and stand down a-and..." Her voice broke, slightly. "And tell me where the hell we are."

"We're in the Delta Quadrant," Janeway said, standing up, her voice placating. "Please. There's no need for any violence." She paused. "...did...did you stow away on the ship?"

Seska looked like she was trembling. Her head jerked up and down. "Y-...Yeah."

Wacoche winced.

Janeway did some mental math...

That meant this eighteen year old Cardassian kid, maybe right out of her cadet courses, had been hidden on that ship, subsisting on emergency rations and keeping out of sight of the occupying Maquis, for two weeks.

Seksa's hands shook. "O-Okay...Delta Quadrant. I...I will...head home. You can keep your ship and your Maquis, and I can head home." She said, her voice near to panicking.

Janeway gestured Wacoche back, realizing that if Seska noticed him on the camera, things might get...tense. He, fortunately, recognized the precariousness of their situation - even if Seska's jerry rigging was only up for running a single shot through the disruptor cannon...if she hit their shields and got even partial penetration, then she had a good chance of sheering a chunk of the entire ship right off the hull and leaving them in a barely maneuverable wreck.

"Do you think this is the place?" C'nola asked.

"It seems highly plausible," Tuvok said, while T'ara covered her mouth with her hand, trying to hide her giggling.

The rectangular building that rose from the corner of one of the busy main streets of the central city - where people were regularly taking out their handheld communicators to snap pictures of the visiting aliens - was dominated by a big holographic image of what was presumably Neelix, waving at the crowd, while a glowing holographic sign floated above the door, revealing that the restaurant itself was named...

NEELIX'S!

"Shall we?" T'are asked as she started towards the door. Tuvok nodded and walked with her, while C'nora brought up the back. The entrance opened into a large, glittering restaurant, full of very scantily dressed Okampa women bringing meals to various Okampa men and women, while the stage had an Okampan singer - a woman in a bright red slit dress, holding her microphone tenderly as she crooned a song that the universal translator snapped to the nearest cultural equivalent.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here! Some visiting aliens, how marvelous!"

The voice was deep, baritone and cheerful. T'are turned and found herself shaking hands with none other than THE Neelix himself. Talaxians were either taller than Okampa, or Neelix was a tall example of his kind. He had the body of a muscular, strong man who had hit the latter stages of his life cycle and was beginning to go, as the humans said, faintly to seed: His belly was big, even if his shoulders remained broad and slabbed with muscle. He had furry tufted ears, tufted cheeks, and an array of spots on his neck and cheek that accentuated a faintly cattish attitude to him - which made C'nola narrow her eyes skeptically, as if she was the only person who was allowed to have cat-like features.

T'are, meanwhile, was just...enjoying the grip. She felt the twined joy and sorrow - the joy of feeling someone just taking her hand and squeezing, and the sorrow of knowing Julian never would again.

"A pleasure, a pleasure," Neelix said, kissing her knuckles, then taking Tuvok's hand and shaking it as well - no kiss for his knuckles. He offered to C'nola, but she projected such an intense air of fuck off and no thanks that he smoothly turned back to face them. "What can I do for you in my, ah, humble eatery?"

"Humble," C'nola says, flatly.

"We're attempting to ascertain the realities of the Okampan material conditions," Tuvock said.

"Well," Neelix said. "They, which is to say, uh, we, we have everything we want - safety, free food, homes." He smiled. "The only thing that I need right now, actually, is your name."

"Tuvok. I am a Vulcan," Tuvok said. "This is T'are, an Orion, and C'nola, a half-catiain, half-human hybrid."

"Wow, four species in a three person group - quite efficient," Neelix said, laughing. "You'll be giving the Takers a run for their money."

"Quite," Tuvok said. "Now, tell us, are the Okampans naturally short lived or is it a byproduct of their situation?"

"Well, I don't rightly know," Neelix said, shrugging as he did so. Subtly, without being caught by any of the Starfleet officers, his finger tapped the collar of his bright red jacket. Two Okampan men quietly slipped into back rooms of the club and restaurant. "I'm not really interested in prying into their affairs - I'm just here to brighten their days, make some food, and for my lovely Kes." He waved at the woman on the stage, who giggled and waved back.

"What is she, four years old?" C'nola snarled.

"Please, she's a lovely two," Neelix said, huffing and shaking his head. "Four, really now."

C'nola looked ready to claw his eyes out.

Neelix, unaware of this, beamed. "Do you all want to come back to my offices, where we can discuss your travels in a more comfortable environment? I have Deberrian Whisky!"

---
CURRENT MOMENTUM: 0
CURRENT SCENE TRUTHS: (on ship) "Locked on Neutrino Flux" [Advantage] | (Away Mission) "Everything Is Perfect In The City" and "Ambient Tachyon Energy"

Please Use Plan Votes!

In Space
[ ] Try and talk Glar Seska down.
[ ] Fuck it. Her cloak is down, we have a lock on her general area, do a wide angle transport and beam her onto Voyager before she does something stupid.
[ ] Write in

On Da Ground
[ ] Might as well. Whisky sounds nice.
[ ] You don't trust this Neelix. Leave... (vote for up to two)
[ ] Write In