1-14 The Cathors

Captain Janeway decides to surrender her ship. Voyager rescues another ship...

Voyager and characters (except the Colonel) in this story are copyright of Paramount. No resemblance is intended to any person alive or dead.

The story line additional characters and the Colonel are my own.

Constructive criticism and comments are welcome on e-mail story@rgower.f9.co.uk .

If like me you like to know why things occur like they do, I would heartily recommend you start at chapter 1-01 Castaway.

This story is rated PG13 on the UK sensors ratings

©R Gower 2000

Through the blackness of space the Star Ship Voyager sped silently upon her course, a course that would eventually lead most of her crew to a place they once knew as home.

Most of its crew dreamed of journeys’ end as a happy event, with joyous reunions with loved ones, promotions, possibly the chance of never having to take another journey in a space ship. For some, like Neelix the ships cook and self-appointed morale officer, it would herald a new life after the destruction of everything he knew. For others like Naomi Wildman, asleep in her mother’s quarters, it would be the start of new challenges and the loss of her surrogate family, the crew of the Voyager. For Seven of Nine, the destination gave the journey a goal, a purpose. The arrival meant less to her, than the journey and the company she now had.

None of these thoughts were going through Captain Kathryn Janeway's mind, as she tossed and turned in her bunk. She was desperately seeking sleep and peace from the thoughts that were plaguing her mind. Her mind was playing on the range of errors she had made and the near disasters she had led her ship and crew into, the enemies she had made, Hirogen, Borg and others. The latest near disaster had been less than 48 hours ago, when she had allowed herself to become friendly with a race that enticed males for use as procreation systems to rescue their own race, then used wormholes as garbage disposal chutes to remove anything that was of no further use. Her ship had been rescued by Seven of Nine, who managed to identify the mechanoids that had been substituted for her and the rest of the landing party. A woman whom she had once thought of as an automaton herself. She and her landing party, had been rescued by the Colonel, a self-confessed cynic and caveman, a man whose own world had long ago, disappeared to make way for her own. The time before the same two people had rescued her ship from the Borg. As her tortured mind scanned back over the previous two years, their names and faces kept standing out as her rescuers from the disasters that had looked impossible to escape from.

It seemed so unjust, the way they operated together to rescue her from her own blunders, treating it as their duty, then carried on following her orders without question. Not that she had anything to reward them with accept her verbal thanks and mentions in the logs, which they brushed off and in the case of the Colonel objected to.

The Colonel was the most difficult to understand of the two. He had commanded far more men in far more hostile and desperate circumstances and come out alive and victorious. What must he really think of her clumsy actions, she wondered, why should he follow her orders so faithfully.

Finally she gave up the unequal struggle, rose from her bed, dressed and approached her replicator.

"Coffee, hot, black," She ordered huskily, her throat dry.

The machine shimmered and a mug appeared. She took it and sipped at the contents.

It could taste like coffee, she reasoned, it had been a long time since she had last tasted the real thing, it was the right colour and definitely liquid, but it was not hot. In a fit of pique she threw the mug at the replicator. It broke and the brown contents dripped over the machine and the floor.

It suddenly dawned on her what the Colonel must have suffered as he tried to get to grips with the technology they had insisted on teaching him to use, the frustration he must feel trying to make it do as he wanted without knowing how or why it worked. She couldn't make the technology work either and she was supposed to know all about it.

She stumped towards the door, out into the dimly lit corridor outside and stalked the corridors alone in her own pool of depression. It was 05:00.

The ships automated scrubbing system changed the polarity of its protective shielding, dislodging the dirt and dust that gathered around any solid object in space. It dislodged a small meteorite from outside the Captains window, no bigger than a thumb it faintly glowed green as it disappeared into the blackness of space, unnoticed by anybody or anything.

Seven of Nine woke early that morning. She felt strangely relaxed after the previous nights activities. She had demonstrated her holodeck programme of Brains Nightclub, enjoying the close coupled dancing and smooching. She had teased the Colonel, comparing him unfavourably with his mechanical surrogate. He, in his turn, had responded in the way she had hoped and had patiently waiting for him to do since that one night of love on G57452. This time, she decided, had been even better, he had been more reactive, proving to be passionate, gentle and caring. She gazed at him fondly, wondering at how a single person could change the attitudes of another so completely and seemingly so easily. He was lying with his back to her, holding her left hand with both of his, her arm laying easily beneath his neck.

The Doctors’ efforts to instruct her on how to socialise with ordinary humans, so as to put them at their ease, had failed, she remembered sourly. She had been unable to respond naturally and in his recommended fashion. She had, she reflected, been as fake as the Colonel often accused the Doctor of being.

The Colonel however had accepted her as she was and without any special effort on her part and actually liked and encouraged her naturally direct style. Not that she had not tried to effect a few, sometimes clumsy, romantic surprises on him and she had enjoyed the sense of achievement as he had smiled, laughed or blushed. Nor was their relationship always smooth, but their disagreements were few and were nothing like as stormy as those witnessed between Lieutenants Paris and Torres.

Idly she speculated if he could be provoked into reaction again when he awoke, she desperately wanted to re-experience the erotic sensations she had felt the previous night. She hoped it would not take another six months for her to break his resistance again.

She glanced at the chronometer on the wall, it was barely 5:00 AM, it would be another thirty minutes before he woke naturally. She snuggled up closer to him, kissing his neck, grazing it with her teeth, simultaneously letting her right arm slide over and down between his legs and stroke his sensitive areas. She was rewarded as she felt him harden and stir.

"You really are a naughty girl," he mumbled drowsily.

"The doctor's romantic fictions suggest that these actions have a pleasurable effect," she whispered in his ear, gently nibbling the lobe.

He rolled onto his back, giving her better access. "They are most pleasurable," he assured her, "But are usually only used by people who want something specific."

Gently he pulled her on top of him, kissing her on the neck as she settled, then ran his finger tips gently down her back, making her squirm as they tickled her flanks. "What do you want, Miss Nine?" He whispered.

"I wish to assimilate you!" She whispered back, fiercely, "Resistance is futile."

"With treatment like this, who's resisting?" He queried with a grin.

Gamely she pinned his hands down by his head and struggled into a kneeling position on his stomach. "You are being unusually reactive. Why?" She challenged, a little surprised at how easily she had managed to get him aroused.

"This is hardly the time!" He moaned, squirming under her as his excitement grew.

"I wish to know?" She demanded.

Teasingly she slid forward to pin his arms with her knees.

"Because there is the most beautiful creature in the galaxy sat on top of me, who for some wholly inexplicable reason seems to think I am wonderful. Because she is doing things that are terribly distracting. Because I love and want her so very much. Because there are no ghosts looking over my shoulder anymore. Because I've spent two days in the company of a spider woman that wanted me for herself, but had no thoughts for my feelings or how to get me to want her. Because I'm a man! Please!" He pleaded. With a huge effort he lifted his head and planted a kiss on the inside of her thigh, then slumped back again.

She gasped as his teeth grazed the sensitive skin. "You explanation is acceptable," she agreed willingly, sliding herself back down his chest, taking his hands in hers again.

He slid his hands above his head, forcing her to lean forward, her breasts dangling over his face. He kissed them, making her gasp again at the erotic sensations.

Their cavorting was interrupted by the door chime.

"Bugger!" He hissed in frustration, sitting up, with a surprised Seven of Nine sliding onto his lap.

"Who is it?" He called, wrapping his arms around his lover and kissing her passionately.

"Kathryn Janeway!" The voice floated back.

Startled they looked at each other, flashes of guilt passing across their faces.

"It's all right!" He whispered, recovering quickly, "If she doesn't think we're close by now she must be blind and stupid. The Captain is neither. Nor does she think we're at it like rabbits, at least l hope not!"

"Two minutes please, Ma'am!" He called, swinging them both out of the bed.

Quickly they dressed, then whilst Seven straightened the covers on the bed the Colonel opened the door for the Captain. He was surprised by her obviously distressed state.

"Please, I've got to talk to somebody!" She pleaded immediately the door opened, "I'm sorry if I woke you, but Seven says you’re always awake about now."

"We were awake, Ma'am," the Colonel admitted gruffly, "But otherwise engaged."

"I'm dreadfully sorry, I'll go away," she apologised.

"Your not going anywhere, Ma'am," He commanded sharply.

"Besides I suspect the moods been lost and I'd feel guilty about it later," he added more gently, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Come in, sit down and tell us what brings you banging on the door at crack of dawn."

He turned to Seven of Nine, "Please, Miss Nine, could you get the Captain a hot, strong black coffee, she looks as though she needs it."

The Captain did as he bid and sat timidly in one of the easy chairs. She felt something hard behind her, reached back and pulled out a teddy bear. She looked at it dumbly, then raised a questioning eyebrow at the Colonel.

"It's Miss Nine's, Ma'am," he admitted, "I don't know why she has it, I've never felt the need to ask."

"It was a gift from crewman Naomi Wildman," Seven of Nine announced without a trace of embarrassment, turning back from the replicator with the Captains coffee. "She believed it would bring comfort and help me sleep naturally."

"Did it work?" The Colonel asked with interest.

"I am uncertain. The current arrangements are more satisfactory." She handed the steaming cup to the Captain, who sipped its contents appreciatively.

"Are you the only one who can get the replicators to work properly?" She asked, "I've been trying to get a hot coffee from mine for months!"

"I was unaware there was a fault with the replicator system. I shall repair it this morning," Seven agreed calmly.

The Colonel interrupted the conversation. "I don't think you came here to complain about replicators, Ma'am. Or arrange a new work detail. What's on your mind?"

She took a deep breath. "I'm going to step down as Captain!"

Seven of Nine slumped into a chair in shock. the Colonel leaned forward slightly in his, it was the only visible display of emotion he showed at the surprise he was also feeling.

"Very good, Ma'am. Could I persuade you to explain the reason for your decision?" he asked gently.

"Because I'm making too many mistakes. I'm having to rely too much on others to rescue me from catastrophes of my own making, especially on you two, it's not fair. I'm going to kill us all long before we get home!" She exclaimed.

"Which mistakes would these be, Captain?" He asked, keeping his voice gentle.

"The Valorians, Hirogen's, Tharg's, Borg's, simply being here!" She exclaimed.

"I see. What about the decisions that weren't mistakes?"

"I haven't made any!"

"Excuse me, Captain. But even in Star Fleet, if you were in the habit of making serious mistakes, you would not have been made Captain." he commented gently

"How long have you been in the Delta Quadrant?" He asked, quickly changing the pace of the conversation.

"Nearly Seven years," her reply was hesitant, as she wondered where he was going.

"What was the crew complement when you arrived?"

"One hundred fifty-one."

"And the current crew complement?"

"One hundred forty-three."

"And the number of near total disasters?"

"Too many!" She cried.

"If we ignore the interlopers, Mr Neelix, Miss Nine, Miss Wildman and myself, you have lost just twelve crew in over six years of sailing in a region where there is no support, no friendly bases, no rest and no chance of proper repairs, hardly evidence of major errors," he pointed out. "I've lost three times that many in that many minutes."

"But you were involved in wars, you expect to lose people in war! I've never been in a war!" She protested hotly.

"Yes, it was in war," he admitted, "But there are similarities to your position, surrounded by hostiles and the unknown. I've also lost more men than that through training and illness and they hurt even more!"

"What is the definition of a good Commander, Captain?" He asked, changing the focus again.

"A good Commander understands how to operate a Star Ship," she offered.

"Bollocks!" He snapped, "If that were true, why would you have one hundred forty crew? Try again?"

She shut her eyes and concentrated. "A good Commander makes a decision and follows it, using their crew in the method best suited to each person."

"Much better!" He beamed at her.

"A good Commander knows damned well they can't do everything. So he uses the people around him to do it for him, that’s what they are there for. When he has made his decision, he sticks with it until successful." He reinforced her definition.

"If we take your first meeting with the Borg, could anybody else on the ship, me for instance, have come to the same decision and make it work?"

"No," she admitted, "But you would have found another way."

"I probably would, but it may not have been as successful, nor would I have had Miss Nine to appreciate," he admitted.

"If you needed a good pilot, who do you turn to?"

"Tom Paris!"

He nodded, "Could you have operated in the physical way required to subdue the Tharg, or release the ship as quickly as Miss Nine did in the circumstances?"

"No," She admitted.

"So you chose to follow my instructions, at that time, knowing that if you wished I would give up and follow yours. Why?"

"Because you knew what you were doing, it's your natural environment, nobody could do what you achieved," she blustered.

He nodded, "Perhaps, it was a circumstance I've met before and knew how to deal with it, so you let me get on with it, as a good Commander does," he agreed.

"Face it, Captain. You are bloody good at your job. Yes you make mistakes. We all do. The art is not in avoiding mistakes. It’s in getting out of them. If that means you had to rely on a caveman to act like a thug, or a Borg to be able to tell the difference between a real man and a mannequin, who cares, it works and it will keep working as long as you remember that those people are there to help you do yours!"

"If you decide to give up, who will you ask to take your place?" He asked gently.

"I think you would be the ideal candidate. You react better to hostile situations than Chakotay!" She stammered.

He shook his head, "Sorry Ma'am, I'm in the wrong service. I can't drive your ship for you. If you take the Star Fleet rank you awarded me, then there are at least sixty others better qualified, otherwise you'd be surrendering to a foreign power, it's not on."

"Chakotay then!"

"He will refuse. He knows he can't do what you have done for the last six years, he's not inventive enough. Tuvok might, but he would work entirely to Star Fleet rationales and they don't work too well in the midst of the outback, away from any form of support. That leaves your Lieutenants and they are not command experienced. The crew trust their Captain to get them home, not me or anybody else, they trust her to trust them to help her do what is needed," he commented gently.

"Would you take some advice from me?" He asked.

She nodded dumbly.

"Don't tell anybody of your decision. Take a couple of days on Sick Parade and give yourself a chance to think," he suggested calmly.

She nodded again, getting up to leave.

"Do you understand French, Ma'am?" He asked, as she moved to the door.

"Yes!" She replied, "Why?"

"Have you ever read Voltaire, Ma'am?"

"No, Why?" She asked again.

"Nor have I," he replied amiably, "But one of my men did and he translated a passage for me, he thought it apt for the position we were in at the time. It went something along the lines of, 'Everything is for the best, in the best of possible worlds,' for a Frenchman it seems remarkably perceptive. Everything is fore destined so they say, Ma'am, it will work out right in the end, it's just that we may not be able to see what the end is until we get there. Whatever you eventually decide, I will accept it and fight for your right to make it as the Captain, even though I may not like it," he vowed.

"If you wish for company whilst your deciding, Miss Nine and myself are at your disposal, but we won't try and change your mind. We'll discuss the weather, Mr Neelix's cooking, Naomi Wildman's bruises, anything except the Captain and her private problems."

"Thank you!" She managed to say as she fled out the door.

"Hells Bells!" He cursed as the door closed, suddenly animated. "We are in deep shit!"

"It is a problem," Seven agreed. "But you will get her to change her mind," she added loyally.

"We can try. At least she told us first. But I am going to have to talk to Commander Chakotay first."

"The Captain came to us because she thinks you will treat the conversation as private as you did with me," Seven pointed out.

"Perhaps she did, but I made no reference to it. This is too important. The safety of the ship is involved. I think you might be the best person to look after the Captain though. She will think I am aiming to get her change her mind and she would be right, she will be less certain about you, especially if you can avoid the subject?"

"I will comply," she agreed reluctantly, uncertain that she could perform what he was asking.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her gently. "You'll do fine! You're only person who can get the Captain to see things in black and white," he whispered, gently encouraging her and kissing her, before leaving.

He found Chakotay in the Mess eating breakfast.

"Good morning, Sir!" He announced cheerfully, "May my mug and I join you?"

Chakotay looked up with a smile, "Of course, where's Seven? You two are just about inseparable."

"Not so inseparable we can't do our duty, Sir!" the Colonel assured him sitting down.

"Okay, so what do you wish to talk about?" Chakotay asked shrewdly, "You haven't had breakfast, so something is on your mind. Is there a problem?"

"Yes, Sir!"

"Seven?"

"No, Sir. Surprisingly enough, I think we are quite content with each other. The problem is rather more serious than that and I'd rather discuss it somewhere more private."

"What is it?" Chakotay asked, alarmed by the Colonel's vagueness.

"May I suggest my quarters in fifteen minutes, please?" The question was asked more as a demand than a request and ignored the questioning look.

Chakotay sighed, "Okay, but it had better be good. Kathryn isn't feeling well this morning, so she's not turned up for the shift. I was about to order the Doctor to make a house call."

"That would not be a good move just at the moment, Sir. Please wait until after we have talked," the Colonel responded quickly.

"Why?" Chakotay demanded sharply.

"Fifteen minutes, Sir," was all the reply he received as the Colonel rose from the table and drained his mug. Chakotay watched him leave pensively.

He arrived at the Colonel's quarters ten minutes later.

"What is the problem? What is going on?" he demanded as the Colonel dragged him into his room.

"The Captain is unwell," admitted the Colonel, "But it is something that the crew and the Doctor should not be allowed to know about until there is no choice."

"Is it terminal?" Chakotay asked quickly.

"Not directly for her maybe, but very possibly for the crew and the ship. If you'll take a seat I'll explain," the Colonel offered.

Quickly he went over the Captain's visit that morning.

"So you see, Sir. I think the Captain wants to be talked out of her decision. Otherwise, she wouldn't have come here! But if it gets recorded by the Doctor, things will be a lot more difficult and it’s not something he can simply pump her full of drugs for. The crew needs a strong Captain. Otherwise, morale will suffer badly. If the Doctor finds out so will the crew." He finished.

"Do you know the ailment and how to treat the problem?" Chakotay asked reasonably.

"I know the problem, it's a form of what we used to call, 'Trench Happiness', she has been in the firing line too long. The treatment is simple in theory but very difficult to achieve, especially on the ship. Cure is a lot more difficult."

"Okay, what's the treatment?" Asked Chakotay.

"Rest and Recuperation they used to call it. A total break from the daily life of the ship and lots of good company," came the Colonel's reply. "The trouble is, if we are put in a dangerous position any time soon, she will be out of her cabin like a shot and try to take control and everything will be put back to square one."

"You seem to know a lot about it. You've suffered from this, haven't you?" Chakotay challenged.

"Yes, Sir! Probably for most of my life, just living for the next chance to die," the Colonel admitted. "But I think I have the cure now!"

"Seven of Nine?" Suggested Chakotay shrewdly.

"She has given me an awful lot to live for," the Colonel admitted, blushing.

"Falling in love is not an option that the Captain has opened herself to," Chakotay pointed out.

“I know, Sir. There was a time I would have agreed with her, but not now, and not here!"

“My relationship with the Captain finished before it began, she stopped it short. You’re not suggesting I should try and take it up again are you?” He demanded quietly

“That is between you and the Captain, Sir! Not me,” the Colonel responded frankly. “But it might be worth making her aware of it again. If that is the case?" The Colonel suggested shrewdly.

Chakotay nodded, accepting the suggestion at face value. "If I can't tell the Doctor, who can I tell, Tuvok?” He asked

"Provided he leaves the records alone, then I would have no objection," the Colonel admitted.

"And what do you propose to do?"

"I'll wait until she asks for me to go and see her, or there's no choice. To go before that would be counter productive."

"What happens if you fail?"

"It will be your problem. I'll support the decisions of the Captain of the Star Ship Voyager, but I will not get involved in any internal disputes, other than protection of the noncombatants and non Star Fleet crew."

"Thank you. You’ve made your stand point very clear," remarked Chakotay grimly getting up to go. "Why don't you take over the ship?" He asked from the door, "You could do it!"

"As a Star Fleet ship, there are too many people who have seniority, Sir! The only way I could take it, is if it was surrendered to me as an officer in Her Majesties Army, then I would drive it like I drove my own men. Do you want reveille played at 05:30 every morning, parading to salute the Union Flag, then two hours’ hard physical labour and drill, before breakfast, Commander?"

"I suppose not," he agreed. “But I am going to bring the Doctor in, whether you like it or not. If you fail, he’ll have to do what he can,” he warned and left.

Seven arrived outside the Captain's door about an hour after the Captain had left her quarters, she was lugging two cases with her. She rang the chime, announcing her presence.

"What do you want?" A wretched voice came from inside.

"I wish to repair the faulty replicator," Seven called.

"Come in then!"

The voice seemed, to Seven, to be far less then the Captain's usual firm manner. She entered nervously to find the Captain gazing dejectedly through the view port. The Captain turned as she entered. The sight was upsetting, her eyes were red from crying, her hair was a mess and uniform badly crumpled.

"You won't change my mind," the Captain said, as Seven pulled the cases into the room.

"I am here to replace your replicator, you stated there was a fault with the unit," Seven replied coolly. "I was not intending to make you change anything."

"He sent you though didn't he? He thinks you can make me carry on as the Captain by simply listening?" She challenged.

Seven of Nine answered the question with an upturned eyebrow. "If you wish to talk, I will listen," she agreed cautiously.

She looked at her sharply. "He has, hasn't he? He's made you into a clone of himself?" She claimed. "All those hours you and he have spent together, he's made you think and act like him. Under all that, 'Seven is far too intelligent to be like me,' nonsense he's manipulated you to act and think like him."

Captain Janeway's words stung Seven of Nine like a slap across the face and she flushed with unaccustomed anger. "The Colonel has never tried to make me like him. It has always been the opposite. He has always offered alternative ways of thinking and accepts the combinations I have chosen," she said as calmly as she could manage, she could feel anger rising.

"But you have always taken the view he prefers. You're his clone and he manipulates you!" The Captain screamed back.

"I would prefer to emulate the Colonel, with his faults, than a Captain that wishes me to be as narrow minded as she is!" Seven shouted back, fleetingly giving way to her temper. She stopped and swallowed hard, struggling to regain her senses. She almost managed it before the next onslaught.

“So you follow him, like a faithful dog, copying him!” Captain Janeway snapped.

"His view points offer a wider scope as to the term, acceptable, than the opinions that you use and would have me use! He actively believes races and individuals should believe and do as they desire, provided they do not wish to impose them upon others without their acceptance. The definition is acceptable and matches the ideals claimed in Star Fleet doctrines!" Seven argued back, struggling for her orderly tone. She could feel her fists clenching and unclenching in involuntary anger and made a conscious effort to stop it happening, never before had she been so close to a show of naked anger and aggression with the Captain.

"So he thinks the Borg are good! But he fights them!" Snarled the Captain. Trying to pick a fight with the blonde who was still trying to regain control after her previous outburst.

Seven finally managed, with a supreme effort, to regain her self control. "He believes they act in a way that is acceptable to the Borg," she corrected her. "He resists them when they try to impose their beliefs on others without their consent."

The Captain fell silent, she had deliberately taunted the tall ex-borg, for something to let loose at, she had almost succeeded she realised but had finally and significantly failed to score. Her anger dissipated and she returned dejectedly to the view port.

Seven, sensing the skirmish was over turned to the replicator. She pondered the Captains comments as she removed the panels from the machine, wondering if she had been right. Had the Colonel deliberately manipulated her feelings to match his. Their beliefs were certainly similar at face value, she decided, but considering them more deeply, they were not identical. She believed in the technology that surrounded her, for instance, he believed in the people that shared their lives. He had simply accepted the difference, as had she in the end. He had introduced her to many of the beliefs she now held and had offered her alternatives, challenging her to explain her reasoning for them until she was comfortable with the concepts. Try as she might she could not find a logical argument against his methods or see anyway he had influenced her decision by manipulation. In the end she decided her beliefs were her own, the fact that many were shared with the Colonel was an agreeable coincidence.

After two hours of replacing, testing and tuning she achieved what she thought would be an acceptable result. "Coffee, black, 70 degrees Celsius!" She commanded.

A cup shimmered into existence before her. She took it and approached the Captain with it, she was still gazing out the window.

"Coffee, Captain?" She offered the peace offering quietly.

The Captain turned and looked at her, momentarily puzzled, then spying the mug in her hand took it gratefully. Carefully she sipped the beverage then looked up, "Thank you! It even tastes of coffee!"

"The system has been tuned to suit your command parameters," Seven informed her casually. "There were some components that were out of specification. They have been replaced."

"I'm sorry for what I said earlier," the Captain suddenly confessed. "It's just you and the Colonel are so close to each other, so similar in your approach to things, it hides the differences. He could never get that replicator to produce a cup of coffee."

"His abilities with replicator technology are limited," Seven agreed candidly. "His solution to obtaining a cup of coffee would be to grow the required beans. It would be inefficient in the current circumstances."

"You see! You work together. You cover his deficiencies, just as he covers yours. You’re a perfect team!" The Captain claimed.

"We are efficient," she admitted. "But so also are the rest of the crew that form the ships collective," protested Seven.

"But not in the same way you and the Colonel do. You are so close you automatically know what the other wants and needs and simply does it!"

Seven considered the comment for a moment then in inspiration she said. "You are lonely!"

The statement thrust the Captain back in her seat.

"You feel that you cannot talk to somebody, to discuss and resolve your inadequacies. You think you must be alone to maintain your status as Captain," Seven continued remorselessly.

"Yes!" The Captain admitted quietly.

"You are in error!"

"I am the Captain! I must keep a certain distance from the crew. Otherwise, I would not be able to perform my duty! I have no choice!" Captain Janeway protested, "Even the Colonel would agree with that."

"I have observed that the Colonel maintains different attitudes to suit the requirements of the moment," Seven commented. "He is gentle and kind off duty, formal but friendly on duty, yet displays great authority and firmness if there is a circumstance that requires it. He achieves these characteristics with everybody, including me. Perhaps you should do as you have accused me, attempt to emulate him?"

"But he is not the commander!"

"According to Sergeant Major O'Neil, he acted similarly with the men in his regiment. None of them would be prepared to deviate from the orders he gave," Seven commented. "We have also followed his commands and instructions when it has been necessary to do so. He is still a commander and takes command when needed, but he is prepared to be a subordinate to the commander of this vessel, you!"

"To be like the Colonel, you would have to be the Colonel!" The Captain exclaimed desperately. "I've never met anybody like him!"

"Perhaps," Seven agreed, "Apart from those aboard this ship, I have had little opportunity to meet humans on an amicable basis. The Colonel himself would observe, 'You do not know what you can do until you try'," She paraphrased. "Perhaps you should discuss your problems with him? Our discussions were of great benefit to me. He would do the same for you. It may enable you to adapt?" She offered.

“But you two got so close to each other through them. He could get that way with me. It would put your relationship at risk?” The Captain suggested timidly.

Seven of Nine swallowed. “It will not put us at risk,” She assured her bravely.

She left the Captain to her thoughts.

“The Captain is unwell, but we need to keep it quiet, for the good of the ship as a whole,” Chakotay announced to Tuvok and the Doctor in a private meeting.

“I see,” remarked the Doctor unimpressed. “What is the nature of the illness?”

“Trench Happiness, Doctor,” The Colonel put in quickly.

“There is no such condition!” The Doctor responded immediately.

“Believe me there is,” the Colonel argued. “It’s been called many things in the past, lack of moral fibre, combat fatigue, this, that or the other syndrome. Basically you get to the point where you’ve seen so many dangerous situations, that the only thing that keeps you going is danger. You’ve been lucky, the condition hasn’t surfaced very often as far as I can make out"

“Why wasn’t I told about it sooner? I could treat it?” The Doctor protested hotly.

“What would you do?” Demanded the Colonel. “Pump her full of sedatives, mark it up in the records, then peer cross-eyed at those medical texts on human emotions that you still have?”

“I would have examined her and prescribed suitable treatment.” The Doctor began.

“Sedatives!” The Colonel interjected.

“Probably,” the Doctor admitted reluctantly.

“They don’t work. I’ve been on them!” The Colonel announced sharply. “All they do is hide the symptoms for a while, then you need progressively higher doses until it all crashes down around you.”

“Look, Doctor,” he continued more gently, “I know you can treat almost anything, upto and in many cases including death. But this is one that only the Captain can treat with the help of a few close friends. But if you record it, it will leave a doubt in the minds of everybody, especially her and those who don’t know her well.”

"You believe you can cure the Captain's disorder without assistance," Tuvok challenged.

The Colonel sighed heavily, this was proving as difficult as he had feared.

"No, I can't," he admitted, "I'm going to need help. Your help. We can't cure it, but we can treat it. It must be worth at least trying before the Doctor finishes her off with drugs."

"I agree," Tuvok announced at last. "What do you propose we should do?"

"Nothing out the ordinary. She's not feeling well. Simply run the ship, but avoid running to her with minor problems. You should both know how she will react by now," he said.

"And if something serious comes up?” Asked Chakotay.

"Don't worry about it, she will be there giving orders again and we will be back at the start again."

"If the Captain will act as before, why should we be worried now? Your statement lacks logic, Explain?" Tuvok demanded.

The Colonel shook his head sadly. "I'd have thought with all that Vulcan mind control, you at least would understand," he chided.

"Look at me, if you want to know why you should be worried! I've acted aboard this ship in accordance to my regulations, sometimes even beyond them, agreed?"

They nodded uncertainly.

"But when I have done so I've offered myself for judgement according to your regulations, feeling guilty because I may have failed or broken rules. I've got away with it for many years, because I always had somebody to judge me, but it still broke me in the end. The Captain hasn't got that luxury, aboard this ship, here in the Delta Quadrant, she is the last word of judgement, there is nobody else," he explained, then continued.

"We have just finished another potentially disastrous adventure. There is nothing more to do except wait for the next event. She has gone to bed thinking about what happened, suddenly part of her mind decided that the whole thing was her fault along with everything else. But there are still the rest of her thoughts there, the strong ones that allow her to make life and death decisions. But they have been worn thin by the need to continuously make them, they need time to recover before they need to stretch again. When she needs them, they will be there, but unless they're allowed to recover properly they will become more stressed and more likely to break when really needed. If it happens in a real crisis then we will all die, but here and now we know of the problem, we can try and do something for it. She is the best Captain we have or are likely to have for a while. We need her!" He finished with the plea.

It was Tuvok's turn to sigh, "I believe you are correct," he agreed reluctantly.

"We will try treatment your way, but you must keep the Doctor fully informed," Chakotay decided.

"Sir!" The Colonel responded. "Please remember this isn't some physical ailment that the Doctor can just apply one of his potions and fix in a moment. It will take time!"

All returned to their duties, carefully avoiding the subject of the Captain again.

The Colonel repaired to the Science Laboratory, where he had almost set up base over the last week. His musings before he had been caught up with the Valorians, had been directed at the aim of impressing and genuinely wooing Seven of Nine. This was still the goal, now, thanks to the Valorian Princess, he had an idea to go with it. He started to scavenge through the manifests of samples and specimens that the ship had gathered over the years it had been in the Delta Quadrant, cross linking the manifests with the material descriptions, then physically going to inspect likely candidates, for what he wanted.

His search was interrupted by B’Elanna Torres. “Colonel?” She asked nervously.

“Lieutenant? I don’t suppose you could help me a little, please?” He asked hopefully, secretly relieved by the interruption.

“Yes, possibly, what do you want?” She said, momentarily nonplussed.

“Ideally some gold sheet. The computer tells me it can’t produce it. That was after it told me it couldn’t define the measurements. There are times. I could really throttle Napoleon.”

“Why do you want gold? Who was Napoleon?” She asked in total bafflement.

“Napoleon was a French Emperor, dictator you’d probably call him now. He was responsible for nearly twenty years of war in the late 18th Century. Of more importance to you and me, is that he introduced the system of measurement you use now, it replaced feet and inches I still think in. I’d thought I’d managed to teach the computer to convert things properly, but I’ve missed a few definitions,” he smiled guiltily, as if admitting a foul deed.

“As for the gold, I know I can make what I want with gold. It’s the most malleable metal I know of and I can work it and rework it until it goes right.”

“Oh! There are better metals for that than gold,” she claimed. “There’s Kryolyte, Chamelolyte, Rubinite and a couple of others.”

“Do we have any? What are they like?” He asked with interest.

“Rubinite is a deep red, very soft. It’s used as a lubricating surface. Chamelolyte changes colours in different lights. Kryolyte almost glows yellow,” she described, “We should have some in Engineering.”

“They sound absolutely perfect, even better than perfect actually. Can you spare some?” He asked with enthusiasm.

“What do you want it for?” She demanded.

“A little gift for my fair lady,” he admitted. “The Captain says she won’t appreciate flowers, just as well really I’ve never really appreciated them either, but she is still a romantic under every thing so a small token might not go amiss.”

“And you’re going to make it?” She asked incredulously.

“Yes! I could never get a replicator to produce what I want,” he agreed.

“I wish Tom could do something like that,” she said enviously.

“Is that why you’ve come to see me?” He asked catching her intonation. “Everybody has their abilities, Lieutenant. I can work metals because I learned the tricks to keep up with my men. But I can't fly a Star Ship as naturally as Lieutenant Paris, nor do I have his imagination, or your abilities with engines and systems. They are all more important in these wonderful days of science than the simple ability to work with your hands,” he pointed out quietly.

“Yes, they probably are,” she agreed. “But there are things you do better than anybody else, that are just as important. I want to know if Tom does really love me. Seven suggested I should talk to you.”

He looked her up and down carefully. “Do you really want me to tell you, or do you want to find out yourself from Lieutenant Paris?” He asked eventually.

“I want to know!” She claimed fervently.

He nodded. “Yes he loves you,” he agreed, “But like all sailors and flyers he doesn’t know how to prove it or commit himself because of the choice available.”

“What should I do?”

“You either wait for him to catch up with himself. Though that may not go the way you want. Or if you’re determined then you nail him yourself, hard!”

“Just like Seven had to do with you?” She asked smiling.

“No,” he denied with a laugh, “Soldiers tend to travel slower than either of the other Services. It means we arrive after the party and have to be grateful with what’s left. Can you blame me when I find that the most precious jewel hasn’t been snapped up by some fly boy?”

“If she didn’t nail you hard enough, then I don’t think I can do it any harder. She was working on you since you arrived, even if she didn’t realise,” she laughed.

“I'm sure it wasn't like that!” He declared. “But I confess I’m happy the way it seems to have panned out.”

“So you think I ought to propose to Tom?” She queried, serious again.

“Or manoeuvre him into a position where he can’t do anything else, as you see fit,” he agreed. “But I’d strongly advise you to make sure it is what you both want. Marriage is a set of vows that can be very difficult to live with or break if it goes wrong. If it is any help the Captain thinks you could both cope. Personally I think it will be a struggle for you both. You are both hot headed. If you survive the first three years, then you’ll cope with the rest,” he finished lightly, with a smile.

“If that is your opinion then I’ll do as you suggest, I’ll ask him at the next ships dinner, he’ll find it difficult to refuse then,” she said happily. “But when are you going to marry Seven?” She asked impishly.

“When I have a future?” He suggested gently.

“You have a future, it’s Seven of Nine,” she laughed, turning for the door. “I’ll send some materials up so you can make your gift, but if you ask me the only thing she wants from you, is you!”

He could hear her still laughing as the door closed behind her.

In the immediate absence of the materials he needed for his scheme, he settled down to consider the position of Tom and B’Elanna and their tempestuous love affair. If they did seal the knot, it would certainly be one of the most lively and exciting marriages imaginable, he decided. But there was potential, they certainly loved each other, in a closed and personal way.

It could work, given encouragement, perhaps there may even be a way to help the Captain in the process, he thought. Eventually he pulled the small leather bag he always carried with him from inside his shirt and examined the contents, carefully he put aside a golden sovereign and three small gems from the collection he had acquired on Earth, then touched his communicator.

“Colonel Samuels to Lieutenant Paris.”

“Paris here Colonel, what can I do for you?”

“When you have a couple of minutes, could you pay me a visit in the Science Lab, please?” He asked gently.

“Sure, what’s up?” Came the curious reply.

“I’ll let you decide when you get here,” he replied cryptically.

“I’ll come now,” Tom Paris announced quickly, “If the Commander will permit me.”

On the Bridge he looked at Commander Chakotay questioningly. The Commander nodded his approval, though he too was in the dark, but guessed that the Colonel was upto something that would undoubtedly help with the Captain’s problems.

Released from the Pilots seat Tom hurried to the Science Lab to meet the Colonel. He entered the door almost at the run, to be brought up short by the Colonel’s first question.

“How much do you want to continue to enjoy Lieutenant Torres’s affections?” He asked bluntly.

“I don’t know!” He stammered, caught short by the question, “Why?”

“Because she is as ready for you as she will ever be. All she needs is some sort of signal,” the Colonel announced firmly. “If you want to give her the signal, then I think I can help you. If not then you had better go to Engineering now and tell her so, it will be easier for everybody.”

Tom Paris swallowed hard. “What can I do?”

“I don’t know how you work now, but in my time it was customary to offer a gift to impress the lady when proposing. I think I can help you with the gift, if you want?”

Paris thought hard for a few minutes, head bowed in concentration. Finally he looked up, “I don’t know if I deserve her, but yes, it is time I made it official,” he agreed.

“No man ever fully deserves the affection of a woman, it is their prerogative to offer it and withdraw without reason to whoever they wish,” the Colonel commented wryly. “But are you sure? It will mean the end of your freedom, hanging up your philandering ways, the start of the sort of commitment that makes Star Fleet look like a voluntary charity?” He probed hard, challenging the young Lieutenant to commit himself.

“Yes, I’ll do it!” He announced firmly.

The Colonel smiled. “Good, I won’t feel so bad about the speed of my relationship with Miss Nine now. But I warn you, if you go back on your word, it will be a race between Lieutenant Torres and me to see who can rip you in half first!”

Again Tom Paris found himself swallowing hard. “What do you suggest I do now?” He asked quietly.

The Colonel pointed to the bench. “On the bench there are a gold sovereign and a choice of small gems. If you wish, I can teach you how to make an engagement ring for Miss Torres, your personal gift to prove your pledge.”

Tom approached the bench curiously and examined the contents. “Where did you get the Sovereign and the gems?” He asked wonderingly.

“It’s part of my retirement collection,” the Colonel admitted.

“That leather bag! But that’s all your personal things, isn’t it?” Paris exclaimed, “They’re all the things you own! What about Seven’s, won’t you make one for her?”

“I think your needs are greater than mine, so take what you need. I’ve still got some left if and when I need it. I’m sure Her Majesty won’t object to breaking her coin and I still have my silver shilling to prove my allegiance,” The Colonel assured him. “The coin has enough gold to make three rings, provided you don’t go wild, an engagement ring and two wedding rings. Tradition has a large centre stone and a cluster of smaller stones around it, but as this is your first attempt I suggest keeping it simple, either a solitaire or perhaps a couple of flankers around a central stone.”

From the small selection Tom Paris slid out a stone. “This one!” He claimed.

The Colonel nodded approvingly. “A fire opal, very appropriate considering, but not the easiest to set. How about flanking it with these?” He slid out six tiny stones, about 3mm diameter, they sparkled in the strong lights of the lab. “I’m sorry I don’t have enough for a proper nest, but I think you’ll find it quite difficult enough and you’ll have the cool of diamonds to grace the fire of the opal?”

Tom Paris nodded nervously. “What do I do now?”

“To start, put the stones in a bag and keep them safe. Then you carve a setting. I’ll show you.”

Tom did as was suggested then sat and watched as the Colonel sliced a lump of wax from a block. “Don’t worry about the band, we can fit that after you have a setting. You need to keep the wax at a working temperature, firm enough to carve, but that isn’t difficult, this stuff doesn’t melt in your hand like the Dopping wax I was taught to use,” the Colonel announced, then proceeded to sketch out and demonstrate how to carve and shape the mounts for the stones using his fine wire tools and his pen knife.

Handing the wax block to Tom, he watched critically as he started to work the delicate material. “Don’t try and take too much at a time and remember you have seven stones to set next to each other. Take it with you and some of these tools and come back when you think you’re nearly there, or get stuck.” He suggested. “You’ve plenty of time and if you really cockup there is plenty of wax.”

“Who taught you to do this sort of thing?” Tom asked, realising that it wasn’t going to be a simple task.

“One of my men was a forger. He forged coins. He was also a superb goldsmith. I had him teach me, it was something to do on a humanitarian mission,” the Colonel admitted. “He was the one that first made a silver wreath, like the one you’re wearing. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve an appointment.” He left Tom examining his wax block, wondering what he was going to do next.

The Colonel’s appointment was as usual a lunch date with Seven of Nine. Less usual he took a packed lunch from the Mess and headed for his rendezvous in Astro metrics. He found her as he expected working at her console, she didn’t turn as he entered, it surprised him a little.

“Dinner is served, M’Lady,” he announced cheerfully, laying out the picnic Neelix had prepared for them. “I think Neelix thought we had a hot date on the holodeck,” he said, examining a bottle of synthol wine and its content suspiciously.

He tasted it. “It’s a good thing I’m not a connoisseur of wine,” he grinned, “It tastes like communion wine, too much blackcurrant.”

Finally she did turn to face him, she looked pale and drawn, as though she had been fighting off the desire to cry. Immediately he left their lunch and moved to hold her.

“It was difficult wasn’t it,” he consoled softly, “I’m sorry you had to face the Captain alone, but you are the only person she will listen to at the moment.”

He pulled her close, gently holding and stroking the back of her head as she laid it against his shoulder. “You can let go now,” he whispered.

She did so. “I had a desire to strike at her,” she sobbed. “She claimed you had made me a clone of you. That my thoughts and opinions were all yours, that you put them there. Did you?” She pleaded.

She made to bury her head in his shoulder again, afraid of the inevitably honest answer, but he stopped her, gently holding her chin up. “I probably have to some extent,” he admitted quietly.

“I’ve tried hard not to, deliberately leading you away at times and tried to make sure you had reasons for your decisions and beliefs. But it was inevitable you would collect some of mine, just as I’ve collected some of yours and for the same reasons. That is what love is all about, subconsciously changing ourselves and each other to suit,” he tried to explain. “If you believe I’ve deliberately tried to make you like me, then all I can do is say, ‘I’m sorry,’ and withdraw with as much grace as I can muster.”

“But if you’re a clone of me then I must logically be a clone of you as well. Is it such a bad thing to be accused of, if you’re really in love? 'I’m a clone of Miss Seven of Nine, the most wonderful woman in the Galaxy', with your permission I’d like it as part of my epitaph?” He asked gently.

She pulled away and glared at him. “You should not be so frivolous about such things,” she scolded him coldly. “I have considered the Captains statements. I believe she was in error. She also realised her mistake and claimed we made ‘A perfect team,’ because of the way in which we work together.”

“That is also true most of the time,” he agreed with relief. “But if you were teasing me just now, it was in poor taste. You are all I’ve got to hold onto in this galaxy, please don’t scare me like that!”

“I wished to witness your reactions before I confirmed my opinions,” she claimed calmly. “They were as expected.”

“You know you can be a terrible woman at times?” he chided gently, recovering some of his composure. “There are times you are as delicate as a Chieftain Tank, even compared to me and I love you for it!”

Their musings were interrupted by Chakotay over the intercom.

“Colonel to the Bridge, immediate.”

“ It looks as though it’ s my turn to be in demand,” he commented lightly, pecking her on the forehead. “ Try not to take everything the Captain says to heart, just at the moment. A lot of it she doesn’t mean the way she says it. Think of what you went through with this,” he tapped the implant at the base of his skull. He gave her another grin, grabbed a sandwich from Neelix’ s picnic and stepped into the lift.

Seven of Nine, suddenly realising she was also hungry examined the spread. Some of it she could not identify, obviously concoctions that Neelix had prepared suitable for a ‘hot date’. She made do with a simple sandwich and a glass of wine, before returning to her terminals.

The Colonel stepped off the turbo lift, slammed to attention and saluted in his customary single smooth action. “ Lieutenant Colonel Samuels, reporting as ordered, Sar!”

“ When are you going to accept you are part of the ships crew and stop doing that?” Sighed Chakotay from his seat, half turning to face the tall soldier.

“When I’m forced into Star Fleet uniform, Sir,” came his smooth reply.

“Heaven forbid,” Chakotay smiled, “Nobody would survive that!”

“We’ve picked up a distress call from a vessel,” he continued more seriously. “We’re on course to meet it, do you think it should be brought to the Captains attention?”

“It’s your call, Sir. Nothing to do with me,” the Colonel responded flatly.

“But you don’t think it wise?” Chakotay persisted.

“It’s in the logs. If she wants to know what’s going on she’ll look, Sir,” the Colonel opined. “It strikes me you are performing as she would.”

Chakotay nodded, appreciative of the Colonel’s tacit approval. “We’ll be in range of their ship in about thirty minutes, will you meet them in Transporter Room 2 and give them the once over? They call themselves Cathors.”

“As you wish, Sir!” The Colonel saluted and turned for the Turbo Lift again.

Six figures materialised on the transporter pad, to be met by the Colonel and two security guards. He saluted the figures as they stepped down.

“Lieutenant Colonel Samuels at your service. It is my duty to welcome you aboard the Federation Star Ship Voyager, Sirs,” he pronounced crisply, eyeing them carefully. All six were about medium height thick set humanoids. They wore white cassocks, under which he caught a glimpse of a metallic undersuit. It puzzled him, chain mail didn’t seem quite right in space, even to him.

The grey bearded lead figure examined the tall straight green clad soldier carefully. Finally deciding that he was acceptable he spoke imperiously. “I am Galdor, First Knight of the Knights of Cathor. I thank you for rescuing us, there are however items aboard our ship we must remain in the possession of, this will be possible?” He made it sound like a demand, it made the Colonel bristle.

“If you can describe the items, Sir, then perhaps I can place your request with the Captain,” the Colonel claimed unimpressed, the Knights voice grating at his patience.

“If you are not the Commander of the vessel then who are you? Why do you carry the sword of command? Are you not a knight?” Galdor demanded.

The Colonel felt for and gripped his sword protectively. “I’m the chap who has detailed to greet you, Sir” he replied evenly, “As for the Sword, I’ve lived with and fought with it for more years than make sense, I’m not about to let it go. Now if you will be so kind as to follow me, I’ll take you somewhere where you can refresh yourselves.” So saying he headed for the door.

“I must see your Captain immediately!” Galdor demanded again, standing where he was.

The Colonel turned slowly, struggling with an urge to lash out at the imperious clown that seemed to be trying to order him around. “I shall arrange that as well, Sir. Now please follow me,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

He led them to a reception room and supplied them with food and drink, he noted that whilst the others took food, Galdor had not and was glaring at all and sundry. He left the room and turned to the security guards that had followed them. “Knights or not, they ought to be a little more grateful,” he commented quietly. “Lock the door and don’t let the bastards out until I return.”

“Sir,” they replied in unision.

He made his way back to the Bridge.

“I know it’s against all Star Fleet protocols, but I think we might have been better off leaving them to rot, Sir!” He admitted to Commander Chakotay.

“Their lead chap, Galdor, describes himself as Lead Knight of the Knights of Cathor, he is a nasty piece of work,” he described. “Keeps demanding that we should pull some stuff from their ship. I can’t say anything for the others, they haven’t said anything yet, they just seem to follow him.”

Chakotay nodded, “It seems reasonable, what does he want us to fetch?”

“I don’t think he wants to tell a minion, Sir. He wishes to speak to you, I suspect literally,” the Colonel predicted.

Chakotay sighed, “Okay, bring them up to the Conference Room, I’ll talk to them,” he agreed. “Bring the Security detail.”

“Sir!” The Colonel responded and turned for the lift.

“The Commander will see you now, Sir!” He announced as he re-entered the room in which the six knights sat.

“That is your Captain?” Galdor demanded.

“It is our acting Captain,” the Colonel agreed. “Our Captain is indisposed at present, the Commander acts on her behalf.”

“Not acceptable. I must speak with the Captain,” Galdor demanded.

“That is not possible, Sir. You will see the Commander or no one.” The Colonel insisted. He turned to square up to Galdor. For two minutes they glared into each others eye’s, each seeking to break the others stare. It was the red eyes of Galdor that broke their gaze from the steel grey of the Colonel’s first.

“Very well,” Galdor snorted, “But this is an insult to the Knights of Cathor.”

“Objection noted, Sir,” the Colonel agreed amiably, glad that the match hadn’t continued any longer, his eye’s had started to water as well during the contest. It had been a close run thing. “If you will follow me?”

They followed him in silence to the Conference Room.

“First Knight Galdor of the Knights of Cathor, Sir. Commander Chakotay, Sir,” he introduced them formally in the Conference Room, then took station in the unusual position near the wall opposite Galdors position.

Chakotay noticed with some alarm that the Colonel was gripping his sword. Brushing his concerns away for the time being he turned to the knight. “On this ship we generally welcome guests as friends, the Colonel is one of our best friends, please remember that,” he commented mildly.

He continued more sharply. “What happened to your ship?”

“We were set upon by hostile ships. We destroyed six of the eight, but were disabled in combat the other two fled.”

“Is this a hostile part of space? We havn’t detected any other ships in twenty light years and there does not appear to be any debris,” Chakotay queried. “When were you attacked?”

“Three weeks ago, as I said the remaining vessels fled.”

“Strange, we should pick up something even after that much time,” Chakotay mused.

“The Colonel says you would like us to pick up some equipment from your vessel. What is it?” He asked quietly.

“The nature of the equipment is not relevant. I must insist on it being brought to your ship and have it powered,” Galdor demanded noisily.

“I can’t bring it aboard if it could be a danger to the ship,” Chakotay pointed out reasonably.

“It is sensor equipment to aid our quest,” Galdor admitted reluctantly.

“Quest for what?”

“That is not relevant. You will collect the equipment and follow it’s directions,” Galdor demanded.

“I can’t bow to threats or commands like that,” Chakotay snapped. “We have rescued you from a failing vessel, we can take you to an inhabited planet, there perhaps, you can negotiate for a vessel to allow you to continue your ‘Quest’. But I’m not going to wander of on something different to our own quest.”

Galdor reacted immediately leaping from his seat and a long shimmer of light appeared in his hand, a laser sword. “You will do as I demand or we will take your vessel from you!” He screamed, lunging at Chakotay with it. He sat rooted to his chair in shock.

As quick as Galdor had acted, the Colonel, who had been watching him closely, reacted as quickly. The moment he saw the stocky knight move, he drew his blade and was moving towards the table. He slammed the flat of his blade down hard on the knights wrist, slamming both wrist and sword to the table and pinning it there.

“Let go of the toy and ask your friends to do the same with theirs,” he hissed dangerously.

“You have struck a Knight of Cathor. The punishment is death,” Galdor screamed, trying to lever his wrist from under the steel of the Colonels blade.

“As you are still standing and complaining, I can assure you I haven’t struck anybody yet,” the Colonel assured him, his voice quiet and dangerous.

"Security to the Conference Room," one of the two guards started to talk into his comm badge, before he was brought short by a knight placing a knife at his throat.

“You, a weakling, are challenging me?” Galdor shrieked. “You are no match for us.”

The Colonel smiled coldly, baring his teeth. “I'm not challenging you or anybody else. I'm simply doing my duty, don't try and test me for how far I'm prepared to go, you won't like the answer," he growled. "Release your weapon, slowly, Have your chaps drop their weapons, then I'll let you up."

With a sudden thrust from his free hand Galdor shoved the Colonel away, then stood challenging the small Star Fleet complement. "It is time to put your sword down," Galdor challenged the Colonel sharply.

Watching him carefully the Colonel walked slowly around the table, sliding his sword into his scabbard. He passed the knight holding the Security Guard. As he did so another blade appeared in his hand, which he swung violently, burying it deep into the armpit of the knight. He screamed, dropping his knife, as the Colonel grabbed the damaged arm and swung him violently into the wall. He dropped to the deck senseless. He swung back again, his sword drawn again, crouching at the ready.

"I warned you Sir. I am not a knight, but I can and will fight to protect this ship and crew and I'm not put off by the sight and smell of blood. I urge you to drop your weapons now. I'm not in the mood to argue any further!" He growled.

"Permission to engage the enemy with relevant force, Commander?" He added in the silence, as Galdor attempted to size him up.

Chakotay nodded, picking himself up off the floor, he had been shocked by Galdor's action and more than surprised at the speed of the Colonel's response, nor did he think the Colonel would take a lot of notice of his opinion if he didn't agree to his request. "Galdor, I'd do as the Colonel says. We've seen him take on seven times your number and come out almost unscathed, you've seen how quickly he can deal with your people. Surrender," He urged the bearded knight.

"I am First Knight, I cannot be defeated!" Galdor crowed and lunged in the direction of the Colonel.

The Colonel was expecting it and stepped aside as he lunged, bringing the pommel of his own sword around to strike him in the chest.

Recovering they turned to face each other again, menacing each other with their respective blades.

The bystanders, knights and Star Fleet alike, pulled back as far as they could, watched in a mixture of fear and fascination, as the two protagonists circled each other.

The Colonel stopped moving, but continued to watch Galdor step sideways to attempt to gain an advantage. He was a concerned at the possible reaction if his all too real steel blade met the energy blade of his opponent, he suspected that it would not come out well. He made to test his supposition by feinting clumsily to the right. Galdor easily parried the blow, but not before the Colonel managed to withdraw the blade enough so that only the tip was caught by the blade. The result was not as he had expected, the steel blade was not visibly effected, but an electric shock sent a jolt of pain screaming up his arm, almost numbing it. It was all he could do to prevent himself screaming in pain, as Galdor took a swing at him, forcing him to parry hard and another bolt travelled up the arm. He let the two blades slide along each other as he closed the distance between them and punched Galdor in the face, leaping back before he could retaliate. He was rewarded as blood spurted from his nose.

The blow did not seem to slow Galdor, he came forward again, swinging his sword in an attempt to cut his fighting foe in half. Again the Colonel parried the blow, stepping back quickly. This time he hardly felt the pain as he felt the familiar rush of adrenaline start to surge through him. He feinted to swing from the right again, allowing his opponent to swing his blade up to meet it, then turned his blade under his opponents'. It ripped into the material of the habit, but was checked by the armour underneath. It didn't worry him, it was the first point scored. The final blow would have to be a lunge to penetrate the armour, he reasoned clinically.

He kept up the impetuous, pushing his enemy back by a rapid series of swings, swipes and rapier fast thrusts and parries as his opponent tried to check his advance. He didn't seem to notice another security detail enter the room and join the spectators.

Galdor found himself beside the door, a female security guard standing in front of it, her weapon poised nervously, unsure as to who to shoot. He grabbed at her and sent her flying towards the Colonel, who was approaching for another lunge. Desperately he turned his blade to one side to avoid her, but was unable to prevent her physically slamming into him, forcing him to struggle to keep his balance.

Galdor sensing an advantage dived forward as the Colonel pushed the young woman aside. Too late to attempt to parry, he desperately tried to fling himself aside from the oncoming energy blade, but felt the searing pain from his side as it penetrated his uniform.

If Galdor had expected his wounded foe to start to fight defensively, he was badly mistaken. The wound seemed to inflame him to new levels of effort. Another series of rapid swings, lunges and feints emanated from him, that had Galdor desperately parrying and backing away again. He tried to lunge himself, but found the Colonel leaping past his blade and smashing his fist into his face again, the half guard from the handle gouging into his face as he staggered drunkenly away, missing the chance to slice through his opponents side as he leapt back again. Again the Colonel advanced, pushing Galdor back through the door onto the Bridge.

Reasoning he had to try another attack if he was to have any chance to defeat this obviously mad green clad human, he picked an opportunity where the Colonel was swinging the blade, to attempt a lunge himself. Amazingly the Colonel didn't seem to try to get out the way, but seemingly managed to checked his swing and brought his blade out in front of him, pushing forward with it as Galdor thrust forwards. Too late Galdor realised his mistake, his desperate thrust would strike home, but the mad human was prepared to take it, in exchange for the wound he was going to inflict. Desperately he tried to throw himself aside, but the Colonels blade followed him. His own blade deflected by his attempt to change direction, buried itself into the Colonels shoulder. The Colonels blade pierced his stomach, with him screaming in a mixture of pain from his wound and victory as he twisted the sword viciously before withdrawing.

Galdor collapsed immediately, dragging his sword out from the Colonels shoulder as he did so. The Colonel kicked it away, then returned to the Conference Room, clutching his shoulder as he did so.

"Anybody else want to be obstructive or rude?" He hissed in defiance.

His question was met by numb faces and a clattering of weapons as they were discarded. The Knights of Cathor were known throughout the Quadrant as noble and effective fighters, capable of taking on many foes in close combat. Now they had met one who knew how to fight their sort of combat and win against their greatest swordsman. As a man they bowed deeply to him. One of the Knights announced, "We accept your rulings. Hail, Master of Cathor!"

"Bugger off!" The Colonel hissed, "I'm nobody’s master, just a soldier doing my duty."

He turned to Chakotay, "I apologise, Sir. He would not surrender. With your permission, I'd like to pay a visit to the Doctor? I don't think these chaps will be a problem anymore."

Finding his voice at last, Chakotay nodded. "Carry on Colonel, I’ll get Seven to tell you off for that stunt, you’re more likely to listen to her. Tuvok, restrain these 'Gentlemen' and take them to the Brig. I'll decide what to do with them later."

"Commander!" Tuvok acknowledged, producing restraints.

“Your action was foolish. Your action could have led to your death!” Seven of Nine admonished the Colonel severely, as the Doctor finished running a regenerator across the Colonel’s shoulder.

“He was going to prove stronger than me in the end,” the Colonel commented, “That energy sword was killing my arm of in degrees, I wouldn’t have lasted much longer. I had to lead him into a mistake, otherwise we’d all be minions to these ‘Knights’. Do you know anything of them?”

“They are religious fanatics. The Borg have no designation for them, they are small in number and unsuitable as drones,” she recited.

“That follows,” the Colonel agreed thoughtfully. “But why decide I’m to be their ‘master’?”

“They believe themselves to be undefeatable in combat. You defeated their leader, you must logically be stronger than them, so they have taken you as leader,” she said calmly.

“So, other than dying, how do I get out of it?” He asked brightly.

“You cannot. They will follow you,” she responded bluntly.

They were joined by Tuvok. “The Knights have taken you as their leader, perhaps you should interrogate them?” He suggested impassively.

“I’ll chat to them a little later,” the Colonel agreed. “After feelings have cooled?”

“Very well, I shall inform the Commander,” Tuvok said stiffly and walked away.

An hour later the Colonel, Chakotay and Tuvok convened in the Brig. He picked up one of the weapons that had been taken from their prisoners and entered the cell holding the youngest. He looked about thirty-five a small and downy blond beard was starting to show on his otherwise youthful face.

“I assume a beard is a token of wisdom for your people?” He asked the young man casually, examining the weapon.

“Yes Master.”

“I haven’t worn a beard in my life, I don’t suit them,” he admitted lightly. “It won’t suit you either. I suggest you give up on it until your hair goes grey like the others. Don’t think it brings wisdom either, Galdor proved the lie in that.”

“What is your name, Son?” He asked gently.

The knight eyed the weapon the Colonel was toying with uneasily. “I am Paul Sant, Master Junior Knight of the Gathor,” he replied nervously.

The Colonel nodded. “Well Mister Sant, if you want to stay on the right side of me, stop calling me Master? I am Colonel Samuels, you may address me as Colonel or Sir!” He suggested, “I’ve no intention of joining you or your religion and I suspect that you won’t want to follow me or mine either.”

Paul Sant nodded and whispered dumbly, “Sir!”

The Colonel appeared not to hear him, he was studying the buttons on the handle he was holding. “This toy has other uses than a sword, hasn’t it?” He asked. “Care to tell me what they are?”

“Yes, Sir!” Paul Sant replied immediately. “It is our weapon and tool. It has settings to project an energy bolt over long distances, a surgical knife and sabre, torch, cook food, anything we need.”

“Fascinating,” He pressed a button and the Sabre leapt into existence, followed by an energy bolt as he touched another one. The Bolt crashed against the wall beside the Knight, causing him to duck impulsively.

“I'm most dreadfully sorry," he apologised. "But I do like toys, but not too good with them! Perhaps you will teach me how it works at some point?” Guiltily he laid it down between them.

“Yes, Sir!” Paul Sant announced with relief.

“Would you care to tell me and my colleagues outside just who you are and what happened exactly? For instance you weren’t attacked anytime recently were you? It was more through your own efforts that you were in distress wasn’t it?” He challenged.

“It is a complicated story,” admitted Paul Sant, eyeing the sword and the Colonel carefully.

The Colonel noticed his glances. “Don’t even think of trying to reach it, Mr Sant,” he suggested quietly, resting on the cells drop down table. “You will be dead before you got halfway. Cooperate properly, and perhaps I can give it back to you along with what we call ‘parole’, you will be allowed to walk around the ship in the company of security personnel. It isn’t ideal, but it would be a start.”

Paul Sant, looking the tall human square in the eye, seeing nothing but determination and honesty there, started his story.

“Several millennium ago our race found a weapon. It was the ultimate weapon, it would create fear in the hearts of our enemies and they would destroy themselves. But it was terribly dangerous, it acted upon us as well. It is said many Cathorians died when it was tested,” he looked for understanding from the Colonel.

He nodded, “It is claimed that my race had a similar weapon, called the Jerricoh Trumpet. As I recall it had a similar effect on it’s creators, so they destroyed it. Why didn’t your people?”

“We couldn’t. It was too powerful,” Sant exclaimed. “It was based around four crystals, they were different colours, red, blue, yellow and green. So we split them apart, we didn’t realise the effects that each crystal had by themselves, until too late.”

“What effects? Radiation? Poison?” The Colonel prompted.

“Nothing like that but more deadly,” Sant admitted. “Each crystal has it’s own resonant broadcast frequency that effects the minds of living beings, it makes them change their character and destroy themselves. A brave man could become a craven coward, a happy man so depressed that he kills himself, always a change for the worse.”

“So they were split apart, what next?” The Colonel prompted.

“We sent two of the crystals into space, aiming them for the sun. But they were intercepted by a a cuboid spaceship, of the like we have never seen.”

The Colonel’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Commander Tuvok do you have an image of a Borg Cube?” He asked sharply.

“Colonel?” Tuvok asked curiously.

“Oh, just a little history being snapped into place,” the Colonel suggested. “Borg history I suspect! If you could provide the requested item?”

“I’m sorry for interrupting you, Mr Sant. Pray continue, whilst we wait for Commander Tuvok.”

“Our astronomers watched the vessel leave our system until it couldn’t be seen any longer, fearing the worst. All they saw was a flash as it exploded.” Sant continued dutifully. “It was decided that it was too dangerous to send anymore out into space, because of what happened, so they gathered together a body of the finest priests to form a Knighthood, who’s task was to guard the stones and seek out the remains of the two that were lost. A great ship was built to carry them on their quest and the two remaining stones put with them.”

“If they’re so powerful, why put them together?” The Colonel interrupted.

“If the stones are together, they are comparatively inert and require energy to release their powers. But when they are powered they are many times stronger than when they are on their own, and can be focused,” Sant explained.

“They found one of the crystals quickly, in less than one hundred years, but the fourth we have been chasing for over a millennium. It is the smallest and most powerful, but we were closing on it. We detected a power surge from it less than a day ago in this sector. That was part of the reason Galdor wanted our sensors aboard your ship!”

Alarm bells started to ring loudly in the Colonel’s mind. “Your last sensor detection, was it about eighteen hours ago?” He asked urgently.

“Yes!” Sant replied in surprise.

The Colonel shot a glance at Chakotay, who nodded that the significance of the event had not passed him by.

“Can the effects of this crystal be reversed?” He asked.

“I don’t know!” Sant replied nervous again at the questioning, “Gwyndal may know. Why?”

Again the Colonel looked towards the Commander. “May I tell him, Sir?”

Chakotay nodded his acceptance.

“At some point this morning our Captain suffered a severe mood swing, she is systematically giving up on everything she believes in. Would that be atypical of your crystal?” He asked quietly.

“It could be,” Sant admitted. “The severity of the effect depends upon the mind they are acting upon.”

“I think we may well bring you equipment aboard,” the Colonel confessed, “How big is this stone you are looking for?”

“I’ve never seen it, but it is very small, about 25mm in diameter,” confessed Sant.

“Bugger!” Breathed the Colonel, “Talk of needles in a haystack. Do any of your people know enough science to explain what this thing uses for a broadcast, we may be able to enhance our own sensors?”

Sant nodded, “I can do that,” he offered.

“Good. Now you say it was only part of Galdor’s reasoning to bring his equipment. What was the main one?”

“He handled a crystal,” Sant announced. “He was the Second Knight, he started to covet the red crystal, then the blue. They started to affect him and he challenged and killed the First, but the fight disabled our ship.”

“What happens if all four crystals are brought together again?”

“We will assemble them, then find a way to destroy them properly,” announced Sant promptly.

“You hope?” The Colonel suggested mildly, "Your friends may think differently when they are in their hands.".

Tuvok returned and handed the Colonel a holo image maker. “Do you know what this ship that stole the two crystals looked like? Did it look like this?” He asked gently, handing the holo imager to Paul Sant.

He caught his breath sharply. “Yes, that’s it. Who are they?” He exclaimed.

“They call themselves the Borg now,” the Colonel explained. “I suspect your race may be guilty of a far more heinous crime than creating a weapon you couldn’t control, everybody seems to achieve that, sooner or later. You may be guilty of creating what must be one of the most unpleasant races in the Galaxy as well!”

"In the mean time I thank you for your candidness. If you will excuse me, I'll talk to the Commander and see if he is prepared to accept your statements and your offer of assistance." He saluted the knight and left to form an impromptu discussion with the Commander and Tuvok.

"Do you believe him?" Chakotay asked immediately.

"The story is a little too 'Swords and Sourcery' for my personal tastes, Sir," the Colonel admitted. "But I don't believe in Science particularly either, scientists rarely seem to have much control over their inventions. I think he was being honest to the best of his ability. Commander?"

"I am in agreement with your summary," Tuvok agreed. "Why did you wish for an image of a Borg vessel?"

"The Borg had to have a creator of some sort," the Colonel pointed out. "Miss Nine does not know their home race, but does know of the knights. From your records the Borg don't appear to have a core race to draw their numbers from, so they must have been some form of advanced race before they became what they are. These crystals may have been a catalyst. I'm sure you could provide a workable hypothesis of how?"

"And this green crystals relationship to the Captain?"

"You heard him, the crystal did what ever it does at about the same time the Captain broke, you work out the probabilities. I think we are going to need their help and equipment, Sir?" The Colonel suggested.

"If you're worried about them and their security, I'll take care of them?" He offered.

"Agreed," Chakotay responded readily. "If they are prepared to accept our authority, then they can be released."

"Sir!"

The Colonel turned back to the cells. "You heard the Commander, if you are prepared to swear acceptance of his authority, then I can release you. If you do so and break your word, then none of you will end up here again, I'll see to that," he warned.

Paul Sant was the first to stand. "I pledge to follow your commands Sir!" He declared.

"I'm not asking you to declare for me," the Colonel pointed out. "Your pledge goes to the Captain of this ship, is that acceptable?"

Sant considered the question, then looked up. "Yes Sir! If I am under your command."

The Colonel shot a glance at Chakotay, who nodded his agreement. The Colonel silently released the forcefield and handed the young knight his weapon.

"Anybody else?" He queried, turning to the other captives. "You Sir?" He asked a burly dark bearded knight. It was the Knight he had attacked earlier.

The knight bowed to him. "I am Gwyndal, the Second Knight. I will serve you," he declared.

"Good. I think you could be invaluable. Anymore?" The Colonel declared, releasing his door.

One by one the rest of the knights stepped to the front of their cells and vowed their service.

"Excellent," the Colonel enthused. "I'm afraid these will have to serve as living quarters for the time being, until we can arrange something more suitable. In the mean time let us have a look at your equipment and these damned crystals, then we can start looking for your needle."

Two hours later, Chakotay, Tuvok, Torres, Seven of Nine and the Colonel were standing in Cargo Bay 1 looking at the pile of equipment beamed aboard from the Cathorian ship.

"How long to assemble what is needed?" Chakotay asked.

"We can rebuild the equipment in ten hours," Paul Sant announced. "It will be ready to accept power tomorrow morning."

“Is that acceptable to you, B’Elanna?”

“Fine,” she agreed casually, examining parts with professional interest.

“Where are the crystals you have?” The Colonel asked. “May we be permitted to examine them?”

“They are kept in the casket by the wall,” Gwyndal informed them. “It is dangerous to look at them without training.”

“Then how do you know they are still there?” The Colonel protested. “You’ve already admitted that one of your number removed one to handle, are you sure he put it back? You are also going to need us to help destroy them when we find the last one.”

The knights looked at each other uncertainly. “We have not checked, Sir!” Paul Sant admitted at last, “Only the First Knight is permitted to view them.”

“You what!” The Colonel exploded in a mixture of anger and exasperation. “Somebody has rifled through a strong box illegally and you haven’t checked to see if anything is missing? You’re either incompetent or stupid! Commander Tuvok would you care to examine their box and its contents? Then we can find somewhere where they will be safe!”

“But it is not safe!” Argued Gwyndal hotly.

“Nor is leaving them with you!” The Colonel answered bluntly. “I’d put a lot more faith in the Commander’s Vulcan mind control techniques than religion.”

Tuvok approached the casket carefully with his tri-corder active. “There are no emissions from the box,” he announced as he reached it. “I shall have to open it.”

Chakotay nodded his acceptance, whilst the Colonel subconciously gripped his weapons.

Pausing impressively, Tuvok lifted the lid off the casket and peered in. To the watchers it appeared to be an anti-climax, nothing happened, no flash of light and Tuvok didn't go instantly mad. Instead he commented impassively, "There are three crystals, in order of size they appear red, blue and yellow, a fourth space exists for a small stone. There are some weak signals showing on the tri-corder, however I am unable to ascertain their composition."

"Are you sure they are your stones?" The Colonel asked pointedly of Gwyndal. "Not replica’s?"

Gwyndal moved forward as did the rest of the crew, craning for a better view.

He looked them over carefully, "They are the crystals," He said simply. "They do not show any form of power reading unless they are activated. That is what makes them dangerous."

"Then what activates them?" B'Elanna asked curiously.

"We think they are triggered by thoughts. Certain thoughts give off an energy wave that is caught by the crystals and they magnify them and send them back, reinforcing the thought."

"So if I thought at them I should fall madly in love with the Colonel, they would broadcast back at me and I would be?"

"They don't work like that!" Gwyndal protested.

"They work on the subconcious level, particularly when the victim is asleep, and take negative thoughts," he explained. "Each crystal takes in a particular range of thought waves and responds accordingly."

"Typically, what thoughts does the green one use?" The Colonel asked carefully.

"Any feeling of failure, that is why it is the most dangerous, it reinforces the feeling that the others create."

"How?"

Gwyndal sighed. "I'll try to explain," he said. "The red crystal usually acts on feelings of missed opportunity, the yellow on guilt, blue on desire. If any of those feelings is heightened to extreme levels then the victim starts to feel as though they have failed, even if they didn't feel as though they had failed before. Each crystal amplifies those feelings a thousand fold and they then feed each other using the green crystal as a catalyst."

"I think I can see how it works. It amplifies things until the only way out is to destroy yourself," the Colonel suggested. "Is there a way to stop it working?"

"You must hold the crystal that caused the last amplification," Gwyndal responded quietly. "But hold the wrong one, or holding the right one for too long, would have catastrophic consequences. It is almost impossible to treat."

Chakotay and the Colonel looked at each other sharply, their hopes for a cure for the Captain seemingly dashed.

Finally the Colonel spoke up, "Please, carry on with your work. Mr Sant would you help Miss Nine and Lieutenant Torres to calibrate our sensor system to help find the missing stone. I'll arrange for refreshments to be sent down to you at suitable times." He turned and dragged Commander Chakotay out the cargo bay with him, Tuvok following them.

"How do you want to play this, Sir?" He questioned as the door closed behind them. "If the Captain had suffered a simple breakdown I'm fairly certain we could have affected a treatment, in time. But with an external source and an obscure one at that, I'm not sure what we can achieve."

"What do you suggest?" Chakotay asked hopefully.

"I've nothing to suggest," the Colonel admitted. "I've met brainwashing before, but this is way outside my experience."

"Commander Tuvok, if we could get the to Captain agree to a mind meld could you rummage around for a few clues?" he asked.

"The term 'rummage around' is inappropriate," Tuvok protested. "However given the seriousness of the situation it may be possible to carry out an investigation."

The Colonel turned back to Chakotay. "I think it might be nearly time to get the Captain involved. I think it might be your turn to talk to the Captain, Sir! Today is you normal diner date isn’t it?"

Cahotay sighed. “Do you really know what everybody on the ship is doing or going to do?” He queried quietly.

“No Sir,” he assured him with a smile. “Only the important players, Senior Officers and the ones responsible for making the ship work.”

“What do you want me to do?” Chakotay sighed in resignation.

"Kathryn?" Chakotay called, as he entered Captain Janeway's quarters.

Kathryn Janeway looked up from the book she was seemingly engrossed with. "What do you want?" She demanded tiredly. "If you're here under the Colonel's instruction, then go away!"

"It's our regular dinner date, remember?" Chakotay pointed out. "These, however are the Colonel's idea," he presented her with a box.

She took it cautiously, and removed the lid to uncover chocolates. Fleetingly a smile flashed across her face. "I bet they are all my favourite centres as well!" She remarked.

"Nougats and caramels, yes," he agreed. "As for tonights dinner, I thought we could go to the holodecks, for a night on the town?" He suggested.

"Where?" She demanded guardedly.

"There was a little restaurant outside the Academy, you remember? Served French cuisine?"

"Jean Paul's. I remember, I've not been their since.." She broke off suddenly, remembering.

"Since when?" Chakotay prompted gently.

"Since my last dinner on Earth, before I took command of Voyager," she admitted. "I was with Mark, he promised to wait for me to return!" She added despondently.

"Well, I don't have to wait!" Chakotay intercepted smoothly. "May I escort you?"

She smiled suddenly, "I don't suppose it matters much anymore!" She confessed, then added despondently, "I'm not going to see the results."

With some difficulty, Chakotay hid the alarm he was feeling at the Captains resignation. "May I take your arm?" He offered optimistically.

She sighed deeply. "I suppose it won't harm anything, to have a last night out. Your not going to try and persuade me to do anything?" She asked nervously biting her lip.

“If you’ve made up your mind, then I know I’ll never be able to change it again,” Chakotay admitted freely. Taking her arm he escorted her from the room.

Chakotay was working hard to follow the Colonel’s recommendations and advice, to keep the Captain talking without mentioning the ship. He was running out of ideas and they were almost through the final coffee, but she was responding to his questions and he was, to his surprise, finding out a lot more than he had ever dreamed of learning about his Captain’s personal life before Voyager. He was ev