Chapter 14 "Captain," said the deep voice of Sarel, the Vulcan at ops. "You have an incoming message, recorded. It is from Starfleet Headquarters." "I thought we were still under long range communications silence." Harry looked questioningly over at his captain. Chakotay met his XO's eyes then said, "Put it through to my ready room." He shrugged at Harry, and went to receive the message. The time stamp was some days past, as if it had been relayed through several comm stations to disguise its origins. An unfamiliar admiral's face filled the screen. It was a woman with a helmet of chin-length gray hair. The voice was clipped and direct. "Captain Chakotay, I'm Admiral Rand, Starfleet Administration, following up on your recent personnel request. Sometimes such requests are dressed up to cover a deeper problem. If there's anything Administration can do for you, let me know when you're back in range. Don't bury things deep, Captain. There's always more than one way to solve a problem." As the message ended, Chakotay stared blankly at the screen. It made no sense, though the name Rand was vaguely familiar. He played it a second and third time, with no effect. At the fourth listening it struck him: Maquis slang out of a Starfleet admiral's mouth. "Dressed up" was a phrase usually meaning under cover; a ship giving false transponder codes might be "dressed up as 'Fleet." Anything "buried deep" had several layers of false trails. The message must contain another message, but how would a Starfleet admiral know how to tell him, and why? Tom. That was the only logical explanation, that Tom was behind this message. The question was how to decode it. What was the clue? "More than one way..." Chakotay tapped in the equations for Maquis code two. After a few seconds his screen flickered. The same admiral's face re-appeared, to Chakotay's mild disappointment. "Captain, we've discovered our intelligence was insufficient. There are Dominion listening posts all along your route, and you'll probably engage the enemy sooner rather than later. Alert should be heightened. Please find a way of informing the rest of the ships without making it obvious you've been warned. The Dominion expects to surprise you. You'll surprise them if you're ready for their attack. "Sorry about the nature of this message, but we thought that if we contacted the flagship it would arouse suspicion. You're the most likely candidate to find a way to pass information without it being obvious." He could do this because he was Maquis, Chakotay finished the unspoken thought. "Wolf Raider has distinguished itself in all its battles, Captain. I hope you -- " the admiral paused briefly, " -- do it again." Chakotay didn't hesitate. "Do it again," he muttered, and re-entered the same decryption algorithm. This time Tom's face appeared. "Hello, Chakotay. Admiral Rand asked me to ask you to relay her message before you view this one. Re-encrypt this back to layer two, pass the word, then run algorithm three on the original message. Talk to you in a few minutes," Tom finished with a flick of his eyebrows, his only change of expression. At first Chakotay didn't want to wait to see what Tom had to say, but he did as he was asked. He composed a message based on Rand's information, downloaded it into a padd, and took it out to the bridge. "Lieutenant Sarel, set up a matrix of transmission for this. It has to get to every ship, but it has to go as if it's routine communications." "Sir?" Sarel asked, and Chakotay wondered for the thousandth time whether all Vulcans could raise a single eyebrow. "I've just gotten word that the Dominion knows we're coming. The rest of the fleet has to be warned, but we don't want to let them know we know." "It will be done, sir." Chakotay returned to his ready room, ignoring Harry's questioning glance. He restored the original message, and ran the Maquis' third decryption program. Tom's face appeared, earring catching the light, but there was no smile of greeting. "Hello again, Chakotay. The implants are gone, and at four to eight centimeters day, I'll have my legs under control pretty quickly. Rehab will be a few more days. It hurts, but when it's done I'll be ready to fly." Tom's words reminded Chakotay of his Vision of wings and wax, but the recording didn't wait for him to muse. "The damage that Betazoid medic did will finally be repaired. "I want to talk to you about that medic. He's on your ship now, under the name Nwateo Sehm." Tom's face was, Chakotay thought, surprisingly calm. He knew his own must have turned into the granite that usually covered his deepest emotions. Tom's next words made him clench his jaw, and hardened the stone even further. "Dahl, or Sehm, or whatever-the-fuck-his-name-is is from something called Section Thirty-one. No, I don't really know what it is either, but think 'Obsidian Order'. Only on our side, supposedly. "I don't know why he's on your ship, except that something got you tagged as a possible threat to the Federation, maybe me. He used me, Chakotay. He could have fixed my legs, but he used that contraption to smuggle data chips onto Deep Space Nine and to get a Borg system from Seven." Anger finally tightened the eyes of the image of Tom on the screen, a first betrayal of expression. It was an anger Chakotay shared. "All I can tell you about him is that he's probably really a physician trained in psychiatry, and that he's very good at physical combat. He's also pretty good at manipulating people, getting them to feel what he wants them to feel. Telepathy, psychiatry, and hand-to- hand." Tom looked grim. "He's dangerous, Chakotay." Tom shook his head as if to rid himself of of what he had just had to say. "Anyway, I hope you got the bowl I sent, and I hope you appreciate the attention to detail. I didn't have as pleasant a distraction this time, but I wanted to put that reminder back in there. Maybe it's a promise." Tom swallowed and glanced sideways at the last. "Good luck and be careful, both with the Dominion and with the Betazoid. Until next time." Tom's image faded out. Chakotay dropped his face into his hands and rubbed his eyes. His anger was cold, contained. He left his ready room, consumed with the need to compare the shards of the old bowl with the new, whole one. He wasn't sure what Tom had meant by "attention to detail." Before he even reached the turbolift his intent was thwarted by a call from Harry. "Captain, the flagship is hailing us." "On screen." Chakotay turned to face the admiral leading the mission. The Trill commander spoke without preamble. "You're certain about this?" "The arrival was unorthodox, but I trust the source." "May I ask?" "Of course." Chakotay decided to leave Tom out of it. "Admiral Rand." "Administration?" The Trill's voice contained the usual disdain of a soldier for a desk-sitter. "Our briefings from Intelligence were quite thorough." "I'm sure they were, sir, but perhaps things have changed." Chakotay spoke carefully. "With all due respect, she's not asking us to change our mission, just to increase alert." "Hmm," the admiral grumped. "Damned unusual way to inform me." The sarcastic voice in the back of Chakotay's mind, the one he only ever shared with Tom, said silently, "Shut up and adjust, you unjoined blow-hard." Out loud all he said was, "Orders, sir?" "Hmph. Carry on. Flagship out." Chakotay took a deep breath to calm himself. "Harry, help Sarel implement some of Voyager's long-range sensor tricks. See if you can find out where the Dominion ships are." "Aye, sir." "Comm me if you need me. You have the bridge." Quick steps took Chakotay to the turbolift, and when he reached his deck he increased his pace. The bowl. What did Tom mean about the bowl? Sehm or Dahl had delivered it. Was that somehow related? Chakotay spread a cloth out on the table and brought Tom's bowl over to it. He took out the three river stones it held, then gently poured the shards of the old pottery onto the cloth. Tom's note fluttered to the table with the pieces. He couldn't see any flaw in the new bowl, other than some places where Tom's pattern of wolves and wings on the rim had been inexactly reproduced. Then he looked at the old shards, pieced a few together to examine them. Eventually he saw it, saw the places where the paint along the sides changed from lighter to darker. Chakotay remembered now the "pleasant distraction" that had caused Tom's paint jar to dry out a bit before the work was done. He had stopped by their quarters, still on duty, and surprised his partner painting a pottery bowl. The incongruity of Tom Paris doing ceramic hand work and the recognition that the pattern taking shape was based on Chakotay's own tattoo had overwhelmed him. He remembered pulling Tom up from his work, holding him in a long kiss, thinking over and over, "He did this for me." It was a small thing, but it had moved him, and he had taken Tom to bed with a spontaneity he rarely allowed himself. Later Tom had mentioned the flaw in the paint color, reminded Chakotay of how it came about. That afternoon must have made an impression on him, but Chakotay hadn't given it a second thought. Now he did. It was the out of character things that sometimes mattered most. It mattered to him that Tom had made a new bowl, and Chakotay's unleashed passion had mattered enough that Tom had reproduced the uneven paint that had resulted from it years ago. Or so Tom said in his buried message. Chakotay looked at the new bowl again. The paint was even all around. Was it another puzzle, Tom saying he'd reproduced the flaw when he hadn't? Chakotay had had enough of puzzles for one day. The rest of the message had been above board, with no hints and codes. Chakotay decided to assume Tom was telling the truth, prayed to the spirits that he was right, then slammed the new bowl down hard on the edge of the table. It broke into four large pieces and several small shards. Out of two of the larger fragments jutted the glitter of circuitry -- surveillance devices, he guessed. He hoped someone had been listening, and he hoped the crash had hurt their ears. Someone, probably Sehm, had switched bowls, turned a gift into spying device. Chakotay looked at the pieces. The sense of being betrayed by Starfleet was almost as deep, but different from the betrayal that was the massacre at Dorvan V. The treaty with Cardassia had not been personal, though Chakotay's own losses were great. This was personal. His loyalty was being questioned, and a gift of the heart had been perverted. Chakotay brought his breathing under control, tried to think past the anger. Sehm was Dahl, the medic who had failed to heal Tom properly, and worse yet used Tom as a data mule. Sehm had been counseling Harry Kim, helping him interpret the Visions of the Akoonah, and Harry seemed the better for it. The images were difficult to reconcile. The message indicated that Starfleet might have its own version of the Romulan Tal Shi'ar, or Cardassia's defunct Obsidian Order. The thought stunned Chakotay, slightly blunting his anger with what might best be called bewilderment. After a few minutes he stepped over to the window. The Dominion was out there, closer than they expected. That was all he should think about for now. Dahl would have to wait. Starfleet would have to wait. Chakotay felt confident that the right opportunity would come, and mused on the aphorism he'd quoted often enough to calm more rash members of the Maquis. "Revenge is a dish best served cold." He smiled at the irony, that after so long he would again be working against Starfleet. But it would have to wait until after this engagement. "Captain to the bridge." Harry's voice broke through his thoughts. "Status? "We've got something on sensors." *--* Wolf Raider had been hit twice early in the battle. Something about the second hit told Chakotay he was going to lose his ship. He couldn't have explained how he knew, but there was a dead certainty in him that she was on her last mission. His sense of grief was like the anger he had boxed up: an emotion he could not afford. He channeled all his energy into making sure that if the ship went down, it would go down brilliantly. He took risks then that he would never have taken if he meant to keep his hull intact. Harry, in the pilot's seat to replace their injured helmsman, had shot him one questioning look before concentrating on executing Chakotay's commands. Wolf Raider was going to live up to its reputation. A near-suicidal strafing run took out three Jem'Hadar ships and crippled six others. The warp core was down, and shields were only at twenty percent. Smoke filled the bridge, and small showers of sparks fell from more than a few hanging conduits. "Okay, Harry, turn tail and run!" Chakotay shouted. "Run how?" Kim called back. "Impulse power is down. All I've got are maneuvering thrusters." "Good. Turn us toward our back lines." Chakotay rose and joined Sarel at ops, ordering, "All power to aft shields." Sarel raised an eyebrow at him and Chakotay answered his silent question. "If we can't run away, we'll have to get them to kick us out." "Billiards," Harry grinned over his shoulder. Sarel's second eyebrow followed the first. "Indeed," he said, before returning his attention to his consoles. "Structural integrity may be compromised." "I just want to get us to where we can abandon ship in relative safety." The Vulcan nodded, and a voice from tactical said urgently, "Cardassian vessel has locked on." "All hands brace for impact!" It worked. The impact of the weapon on their shields gave them enough of a kick to knock over anyone not holding on or strapped in. With no counterforce from Wolf Raider's engines, it was enough to start Wolf Raider toward the back lines. They were moving, but they had a problem. The Cardassians were pursuing. "Any quantum torpedos left?" "Aye, Sir. Eight." "Give 'em six." Normally he would have guarded his resources more, but he knew the ship was not going to last. The torpedoes did their work, and the ship gained more momentum from the wake of the explosions. The ride was rough, and the problem now was the failure of key points in the structural integrity field. Sarel estimated sixteen minutes before the hull collapsed. Chakotay gave the order to abandon ship, words tearing from his throat in a grief he could not afford. As the bridge crew made their way toward the escape pods, Chakotay made a decision he knew might cost him. He sent the others on, then over Harry's objections he veered off toward his quarters. He wouldn't leave without his medicine bundle, without the Akoonah. In his quarters he nearly tripped over the tied cloth that held the pieces of the two bowls and his three river stones. They had been knocked off the table with the weapons impact and he bent to grab them. With that and the leather bundle in his hands, he sprinted toward the escape pods. He came across a few sprawled bodies on the way, and he checked each one quickly for signs of life. They were all dead from various injuries, and he felt another pang as he cataloged their names. If he survived it was his duty as their captain to honor their bravery to their families. Then he spotted Sehm pinned under a section of fallen wall. The Betazoid was only unconscious. Chakotay set his bundles down and threw off the panel. Sehm's leg turned unnaturally, and a shard of bone stuck out of the thigh. It seemed like a very long minute as Chakotay decided whether or not to simply leave him and let circumstances make his revenge. Then he had it, knew what to do with a certainty that defied logic. He hauled Sehm over his shoulder, head forward. Chakotay gathered his belongings and continued toward the escape pods. The first one he reached had already launched, and the second was sealed and would depart within seconds. The third was empty. He stepped in, and carried his burden over to the control panel. Lifting the dangling hand, Chakotay used the Sehm's own finger to set the pod's trajectory, locking in the program. Then he dumped the body on an acceleration couch. Chakotay stripped off his tunic and shirt, which were stained down the back with blood from the Betazoid's broken leg. His trousers and T-shirt had been spared, so he stuffed the bloody clothing into the pod's recycler. If he made it out of this alive, the last thing he wanted to do was explain why his uniform was covered with the spy's blood. Before leaving he looked at Sehm, seriously considering whether to break his back, to give the spy the same injury that Tom had been left with. Instead he spoke out loud to the insensible form. "The only reason I didn't leave you to die is what you've done for Harry, but I could kill you right now for what you did to Tom." Chakotay drew a breath and turned to pick up the medicine bundle and the cloth pouch. He was shocked, utterly unprepared to feel a hand grab the waistband of his trousers, a fist land on his solar plexus. Breathing became impossible, and as he bent double and failed desperately to get air, Sehm's other hand grabbed his shirt front. The small man used his leverage to bring Chakotay's face down hard onto a rising knee, twice. Chakotay felt and heard the crunch of the bone around his eye, felt his teeth cut into his lips. Sehm shoved upwards and let go, and Chakotay toppled backwards. He landed hard and couldn't get up. Part of his mind was filled with a detached annoyance at himself for being so thoroughly caught, and he thought, "Tom tried to warn me." Sehm's voice came to him, sounding oddly calm. "I met Tom Paris before I was Treyn Dahl. It was a while ago," Sehm continued. "One of my first assignments was to check out rumors of a certain blond ex-Fleet selling his ass on Ursula's Moon." Chakotay struggled to inhale, catching small breaths, but unable to fill his lungs yet. He managed to turn himself over, to push up to his hands and knees. Blood dripped from his mouth to the floor. Disbelief replaced the detached annoyance. Behind him the Betazoid kept talking. "Of course I had to be a customer to get near him. He wouldn't remember me, he was so drugged up then. I went back more than once to be sure he wasn't a threat to the Federation." Sehm said the last with irony, then chuckled dryly. "Even stoned out of his mind, he was so very fuckable. And that mouth... Well, I'm sure you know all about that mouth." Anger overcame the disbelief and brought Chakotay to his feet, rising with every intent to kill. His mind clouded by pain and rage as he turned to where the small red-head lay propped up on one elbow. The expression on Sehm's face, mocking and calculating, and perhaps a bit unguarded, caught him up. Chakotay knew he was being baited. Tom's other warning rang in his head, that Sehm was a manipulator. He became aware, with the inner sight few others understood, of a cool presence within himself. A tone of sarcastic but gentle admonishment marked the voice of his spirit guide reminding him, "Best served cold." Cautiously and without taking his eyes off the Betazoid, Chakotay retrieved his bundles, head throbbing with the pain of bending down. As he backed toward the hatch he tried to smile, but the broken bones in his face turned the attempt into a one-sided grimace. After crossing the threshold he keyed in the launch commands and heard the pod break away. It was heading straight for the Dominion lines. If they didn't kill the Betazoid by shooting the escape pod, they'd torture him for information. Torture sounded good to Chakotay, and this way his own hands stayed clean. He didn't know what Sehm had been trying to do, whether it was trapping him in the pod, or trying to get Chakotay to kill him. It didn't matter. There were a very few minutes left for Wolf Raider's captain to find an escape pod of his own, and he couldn't run. The pain of the broken bones in his face grew with every jarring step. He leaned against a wall and felt himself begin to pass out, barely able to hear the voices calling his name as he slid to the floor.