The Hierarchy Of Command

[bungakertas]

Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): none
Pairing(s): none
Disclaimer: Star Trek: Voyager and all attendant characters and concepts are the property of Paramount Studios. No money changed hands and no copyright infringement is intended or implied.
Summary: When half of Voyager’s crew, including the entire senior staff, are taken prisoner by the Hierarchy, the remaining crewmembers must step up and save their superiors and their ship.
Spoilers: Set slightly before “Child’s Play,” but the only spoiler there is that there is a science fair for the Voyager kids. Extremely generalized and brief whole-episode spoiler for "Tinker, Tenor, Doctor, Spy."
Author's Notes: I essentially wrote this to give all the secondary characters that I have always liked a chance to be the stars of the story for a change. I love the primary characters, don’t get me wrong. Janeway is tied with Spock for my favorite Trek character of all time, in fact. But it’s nice to get off the beaten track, sometimes.

I relied heavily on Memory Alpha for references. And Memory Beta for determining how much official, but slightly-less-than-entirely-canonical stuff I was going to use.

*~*~*

Captain’s Log, Stardate 53695.4

Several weeks ago, Seven of Nine located what appears to be a sensor echo of a distant galaxy resonating within a star cluster. When it became apparent that we would be passing close by this week, my ready room was virtually flooded with requests to take Voyager in for a closer look. I had had every intention of authorizing an away mission to gather data, but seeing the entire crew so eager to see if this really was a glimpse into a distant galaxy, I’ve decided that perhaps we should go investigate more thoroughly.

While he had never been late for a duty shift in his life, on some occasions, Vorik felt it more important to be punctual than others. On the occasion of examining such an interesting astrological phenomenon, he was as eager to view the results as he had ever been.

B’Elanna was a good chief engineer, routine maintenance and regular repairs rarely took very long and the engineering team frequently had a great deal of unoccupied time during their shift, barring combat or an instruction to reroute power from one place or another. The telemetry from the star cluster was being monitored by nearly everyone at every station, so it wasn’t difficult to keep up with the readings from the bridge even while they all completed their assigned tasks.

When the notification appeared requesting a boost to the sensors, every head in the department turned to B’Elanna, hoping for the assignment.

The chief engineer laughed. “Carey, Vorik, you’re up. Go give Harry more juice.”

Vorik joined Lieutenant Carey as they began routing power extra power to the sensors.

“Why ‘juice?’” Vorik asked. “It is a curious metaphor.”

Carey looked amused. “I don’t know. I never really thought about it before. We can always have the computer do an etymology search later?”

Vorik was about to reply in the affirmative when the panel next to them suddenly flashed red and a siren flared from the ship’s speaker. The ship had gone to alert status.

“Who the hell—?” Carey asked. They both turned, seeking some visual clue to the nature of the sudden emergency. But none were apparent, so Vorik and Carey moved towards their battlestations.

“Primary shield emitters were just destroyed by an overfly of an alien ship,” Lieutenant Torres informed them all as she took up her position in the central portion of Engineering. “It matches the configu—”

Whatever she was about to say was lost as B’Elanna dissolved into a transporter beam.

“B’Elanna!” Crewman Jor yelled, racing uselessly and illogically to the spot from which she had vanished. A transporter beam promptly vanished her as well.

“Computer, erect a level ten force-field around the warp core!” Carey yelled sharply, frustration coloring his voice. “Maintain your stations! Get the shields back online now!” He looked up.

The computer beeped compliance. Vorik’s fingers flew over his console, rerouting all the power that would usually go to the main shield array and directing it to the secondary emitters. As he worked, transporter beams began taking people out of Engineering, one station at a time, slowly coming closer to his position. Although he was tempted to rush, he forced his fingers to work methodically and rhythmically, mentally chanting “Cast out fear. There is no room for anything else until you cast out fear.”

With everyone in Engineering working on one task, the shields were back online within seconds. Unfortunately, without them, Voyager had been totally vulnerable. Half of the stations in Engineering were empty. He turned to Carey.

Carey checked the chief engineer’s station. He shook his head. “We’re not receiving orders from the bridge.”

The ship rocked, presumably under attack from the alien vessel. “Shield strength is down to seventy-two percent,” Vorik said.

“Computer, who is on the bridge?” Carey demanded.

“Deck one is currently empty,” the computer’s crisp voice answered as another volley of weapons fire rattled the bulkheads.

“Fifty-seven percent,” Vorik informed him. “Weapons and transporters are offline, and hull integrity is falling.”

Carey blinked in surprise. Then he said, “Transfer all bridge controls to engineering, security authorization Carey-Rho-five-five-three.”

“Security authorization accepted,” the computer replied. “Bridge commands transferred.”

“Who knows how to pilot this ship?” Carey demanded.

“I do, sir,” Mendez said quickly.

“Computer, conn controls to Crewman Mendez’s station,” Carey snapped. “Get us out of here, Mendez.”

“But sir, what about our people?” Mendez demanded.

“We’ll get them back, Crewman,” Carey told him sharply.

Although it was not his business to do so, Vorik quietly approved of his firmness. Mendez’s hesitation was placing the ship in danger longer than it needed to be. And until they acquired more information, a rescue would be an impossible venture.

“Yes, sir. Getting out of here, sir,” Mendez said, apparently realizing the same things himself. The warp drive began to flash faster as Voyager leapt into warp.

Vorik called up data from the sensors and scanned their sector. Without transporters or weapons, Voyager had little chance of rescuing their missing crew. It was therefore of paramount importance that the ship be repaired quickly. However, given the stealth of the initial attack, it was important that they do so in a location which would make them unlikely to be discovered. It took longer than ordinarily, due to less-than-optimal functioning of the sensors, but he was able to locate a suggestion after a few moments. “Sir,” he said, turning to Carey, “I do not think we are being pursued. And I may have discovered a good place to effect repairs.”

Carey came over to the station and peered over his shoulder. “Class D asteroid…made out of nearly solid kelbonite. Oh, that’ll scramble their sensors all to hell—whoever they were. Good work, Vorik.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Send the coordinates to Mendez,” Carey said, moving away. “Mendez, have you got it?”

“Yes, sir. Changing course,” Mendez reported. “We should arrive at the planetoid in one hour, fifteen minutes.”

Now that the situation was no longer urgent, Vorik turned his attention to the damage to the ship. It was quite extensive. The warp system was just about the only primary system still functioning, likely due to Carey’s quick force-field, since it appeared that a number of key components had been beamed off the ship. Transporters were down and not even responding to diagnostic commands. Impulse was working, but the computer was processing all impulse drive commands through secondary systems, which slowed response time considerably. Sensors were functional, but resolution was poor.

And so went the reports from every system except for…the astrometric sensors, which were apparently undergoing repairs as he examined them. The computer pathways in use seemed to be heavily inspired by Borg computing code.

“Computer, locate Captain Janeway,” Carey said.

“Captain Janeway is not aboard Voyager,” the computer replied.

“Commander Chakotay?” Carey pressed.

“Commander Chakotay is not aboard Voyager.”

“Tuvok?”

“Lieutenant Commander Tuvok is not aboard Voyager.”

Carey looked stunned. “Computer, who is the highest ranking officer currently on board?”

“The highest ranking officer currently on board is Lieutenant Joseph Carey,” the computer replied.

Carey was opened his mouth silently at this answer and did not speak for several seconds. Finally he said, “How many crew are left?”

“There are currently seventy-one crewmembers on board.”

“Display their names on my station.”

Vorik, curious, called up a list of personnel at his own station. The damage was devastating to the ship’s functioning. Every senior officer was gone, along with most of the seconds. The operations division was totally gone, as was the Doctor, the only medical staff. Even Neelix had been taken. Seven of Nine was not on the list, either, which meant that whoever was making repairs to Astrometrics was someone other than its usual crew.

He turned. “Lieutenant Carey, as you are now Acting Captain, I must report to you that someone other than Seven of Nine is repairing the Astrometric sensors using Borg technology.”

Carey frowned. He tapped his commbadge. “Carey to Astrometrics.”

“Icheb here,” came the calm reply.

Carey nodded. “Thank you, Icheb. Carry on.” He turned to Vorik. “For the time being, you’re going to have to take charge of Engineering, Ensign. I’m placing you in charge of repairs. Sensors, then weapons, then transporters, then impulse.”

“Yes, sir,” Vorik nodded.

Carey turned to leave and then paused and said, “The situation being what it is, I am also leaving you the bridge, Ensign.”

Vorik raised an eyebrow, realizing that this was indeed the case. He nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Carey strode out of Engineering, apparently deep in thought.

*~*~*

Joseph Carey had not been trained for command. He was an engineer. Period. And suddenly the ship was missing half its crew, and he was in charge? He was slightly lost. So as soon as he walked out of Engineering, he went around the corner, leaned his head against a bulkhead and gave in to a moment of panic.

The weight of responsibility suddenly crashing into him was nearly overwhelming. It was up to him to see that the ship was repaired, the missing crew recovered, and their kidnappers evaded, all without getting anyone killed or destroying their only means of getting back to the Alpha Quadrant into the bargain. Captain Janeway went up several rungs in his estimation.

Then, he took a breath. “All right, Carey, now it’s out of your system,” he told himself. Out loud, since he needed the extra confidence. “Anyway, you’re an engineer. Troubleshooting is exactly up your alley.”

And suddenly, he didn’t feel so overwhelmed. Maybe he wasn’t trained for command, but he was very good at fixing things that were broken. If he considered their situation as something to be repaired, it seemed a lot less daunting. His first job would be diagnostic. To try and find out who attacked them.

Carey made straight for Astrometrics. When the door opened, he saw Icheb’s legs sticking out from beneath one of the consoles.

“Icheb?” he called.

There was a dull thud and then a slightly embarrassed Icheb slithered out from beneath the console and looked up. “Lieutenant Joseph Carey?”

Carey wasn’t sure what to make of that. While Icheb appeared to catalogue people’s names in much the same Borgish manner Seven of Nine employed, his use of the full name and rank didn’t carry the same coldly factual tone that Seven’s did when she used it. Instead, his voice sounded hesitant and slightly uncertain. It implied that Icheb had integrated his Borg nature with his own personality, and that carried all kinds of connotations Carey did not want to consider too closely.

“Yes. It appears that, for the moment, I’m the acting captain. And that the entire Operations department has gone missing. So, I was hoping you could help me get a line on the ship that attacked us,” he said.

“Certainly,” Icheb said. He turned and activated the main viewscreen. A few more touches of his console and a graphic of Voyager appeared on the screen. “This is the computer’s record of our position a few seconds before the attack.” He touched the console again. A new ship appeared, flying out of the interference that had come from the star cluster. “This is the ship that attacked us.” He activated another function and the display began to show a representation of the attack in slow motion. “The initial strikes from the other ship disabled our shields and phasers,” Icheb said, as tiny plasma weapons lanced out from the alien ship to the little Voyager on the screen. “The alien ship then used transporters to beam key people and components off the ship, and apparently had some knowledge of where those things were located.” The little alien ship flew tightly around the graphic of Voyager, colored representations of energy beams practically raining out of it.

“Does it match the configuration of any ships Voyager has previously encountered?” Carey asked.

“Yes.” Icheb zoomed in to the attacking alien vessel, which rotated slowly on the screen. Text cascaded down the right-hand side of the screen. “They were encountered on stardate 53113.2, when during their covert surveillance of Voyager, they inadvertently accessed the Doctor’s ‘daydreaming’ subroutines, believing them to be an accurate representation of Voyager’s crew. Their subsequent attempt to take the ship was thwarted.”

“The Hierarchy,” Carey sighed.

“Apparently they analyzed the results of their failure and used it to mount a more successful second attack,” Icheb agreed. Then, more slowly, he added, “The Borg have encountered this species in the past.”

Carey did not want to hear what came next. He didn’t want to see the young man in front of him, who he thought of as pleasant, although he didn’t know him very well, speak in any way that would remind Carey of the kind of monstrosity he had been a part of. Even if it wasn’t his fault. Even if he didn’t ever assimilate anyone. The Borg terrified Carey right down to his molecules, and he didn’t want to have anything to do with any knowledge they had gained by assimilating other races, however indirectly he received it.

But, now that he was in command, he didn’t have the luxury of not being the person to hear this. He had to listen, because the information Icheb had could help to save the rest of the crew. So he nodded.

Icheb assumed a slightly stiffer stance, seeming more like a drone now than he had when speaking a moment ago. “Species 1186. Technologically advanced. Below average cognitive capacity. Social conditioning of rigid hierarchical structure prevents significant resistance and enables easy adaptation to the Collective.” He seemed to relax a bit and added, “While they do possess technology slightly superior to that of Voyager, they are uncreative and inflexible. They do not respond well to surprises.”

Carey nodded. “Good. And thank you, Icheb.”

“I am glad to be of assistance, Lieutenant.” He paused. “I am almost done repairing the astrometric sensors. Is there somewhere I should report when this is completed?”

Carey thought for a moment and then said, “Go to the bridge and try and get the main sensor array online. With our entire Operations division gone, I’m going to assign you to the post for the moment. I…hesitate to mention it, but since you were a drone, you must be capable of assisting in a tactical situation.”

“You do not need to hesitate,” Icheb said, looking puzzled, “as everything you have said is true. I am perfectly capable of performing a number of functions on board the ship, including many carried out by the crew on the bridge, as are Rebi, Azan, and Mezoti. I believe Captain Janeway’s hesitance to put us to more use on board is due to the fact that we are a good deal younger than most of the crew.”

Carey sighed. “I hate to draft you like this.”

“I want to help in any way I can,” Icheb said.

“It’s only temporary. Don’t get too excited.”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Icheb nodded. As Carey turned to go, he noticed Icheb scooting back under the console, and he relaxed a little bit. Maybe he was an ex-drone, but the kid definitely knew his way around a computer’s circuitry. Carey could respect that.

*~*~*

Lieutenant Ayala frowned at his tactical console on the bridge. The engineering teams had managed to get Voyager back together enough to put the bridge commands back on the bridge, and Carey had installed a makeshift team to cover the command deck. Vorik and Icheb had even gotten the main sensor array back up and running, although Carey was making some ominous remarks about how fast they were running through the parts in storage. Right at the moment, Aurora Jenkins—an ensign who preferred the nickname “Rory”—was landing them on Vorik’s asteroid. It had taken Icheb twenty minutes of arguing with the Ops station to do it, but he’d finally managed to get a clean enough read through a combination of Borg ingenuity and sheer persistence for her to set them down.

As soon as the ship was settled, Carey—who’d been pacing around the bridge and irritating everyone else in the room—breathed a sigh of relief. “All right. This should buy us a little breathing room,” he muttered to himself.

“Yes, sir, definitely,” Ayala agreed, hoping Carey would just sit down and let everyone relax.

And then Carey did the worst thing possible. He looked over at the tactical station.

“Ayala, take the bridge.”

Bad. Wrong. Catastrophe.

“I’m going to go join the repair teams. You are to inform me at once if anything else goes wrong.”

Ayala gave him a look that he knew was terrified. “Sir?”

Carey grinned. “Well, given the circumstances, you are the acting First Officer.”

Worse. He was nobody’s first officer. He was a security grunt, and that’s the end of it. Ayala scowled at his acting captain ferociously, with a clear but unspoken promise that he was going to absolutely slaughter the man the next time they played Velocity. “Yes, sir.”

Carey stepped into the turbo-lift. “Deck eleven.” Ayala glared him the whole way off the bridge.

And then he was gone and Ayala was in command.

This was horrible. He glanced around, hoping to see some kind of clue about what to do next. The only thing he saw was Rory Jenkins, at the conn. She was usually one to enjoy a good joke—even if it did involve someone unexpectedly being handed a job they didn’t usually perform—but was frowning heavily as she struggled with something on her console.

Deciding he shouldn’t just stand there, he said, “What is it, Rory?”

She looked up. “I’m trying to see if I can do anything about impulse control from here, but none of the usual tricks are working, sir,” she sighed.

Ayala nodded and glanced at his board. “I don’t think they’ve gotten to repairing that system yet.”

“They have not, sir,” Icheb confirmed. “Shall I keep you updated on the progress of the repairs?”

Ayala shook his head. “I can monitor them from here.” He paused, then said, “But thank you, Icheb. It’s a good impulse.”

Icheb nodded.

With most of the systems powered down and the ship stationary on the planetoid, Ayala had nothing to do except monitor the repair progress and occasionally approve power requests by the various engineering teams. It was maddening. Every instinct was screaming at him that he should be looking for a way to track down the ones who had kidnapped their people. That was his job as acting Security Chief. Unfortunately, his job as acting First Officer was to do whatever the acting Captain ordered him to which was, currently, to babysit the bridge.

Still, he didn’t want to just stand around.

He tapped his commbadge. “Ayala to science lab. Who’s in charge down there?”

“This is Ensign Kyoto, sir,” answered a voice. “Apparently…I am.”

“Status report?”

“Most of the division that is left is aiding in repairs. Myself and Jennifer Delaney have not yet been requested,” Kyoto answered.

“Good, I want you both to come up to the bridge. Begin analyzing what we know about Hierarchy ships in general and the one that attacked us in specific. We need a way to track them down,” he said.

“Aye, sir,” said Kyoto. She and Delaney arrived on the bridge only moments later, and went straight to the science station.

After a few moments, Dalaney turned and said, “Sir, may we borrow Icheb? I believe his experience in astrometrics may be useful.”

The three of them spent the next forty-five minutes uninterrupted. Still, Ayala felt a little accomplished as he was able to look over and see them working on the project. He’d ordered them to do that. Ha!

But finally, blessedly, wonderfully, Carey came back to the bridge and said, “Okay, we’re back on our feet.”

Everyone kept looking at Carey for a moment and Ayala could see his happiness at being able to report the repairs being replaced with sheer panic when he realized that he had to come up with a next step. After having the bridge watch dumped on his head earlier, Ayala was tempted to let him sweat, but they had bigger fish to fry and it would let him feel more righteously justified when he took his actual vengeance out later.

“Sir…?” And now he had to have an actual suggestion. Damn. “Erm…what if we…got everyone together? Go over what we know? We’ll need some sort of a strategy if we’re going to get everyone back.” Which turned out to be an actually decent suggestion, much to Ayala’s shock.

Carey nodded, oblivious to Ayala’s surprise at his own competence. He tapped his commbadge. “Vorik, this is Carey. Come up to the briefing room, we’re going to put our heads together.”

“Sir? Is that helpful?”

Ayala didn’t laugh, though he had to hold it back. The ship actually had a pact. Vorik was such a sweetheart—his abortive and absolutely forbidden-to-ask-about courtship with B’Elanna notwithstanding—that a fairly large number of the crew had formed an agreement not to tease him.

“Sorry, Vorik, human idiom. We’re going to collectively work on a plan,” Carey answered.

“I see. And I am on my way.”

Carey turned to Icheb and said, “You get to be the Ops division for this one. Rory, keep the bridge lights on.”

The briefing room filled up with people over the next few minutes. Vorik, represented engineering. Ayala stood in as the tactical officer, Kyoto was there for the sciences, and Icheb—the only one not in a uniform—was there for ops.

Ayala looked around in dismay. “Well, this is going to be a fun puzzle to solve.” How on earth were they going to get their people back.

“How do you eat an elephant?” Carey replied, prompting small smiles everyone but Vorik and Icheb.

“What is an elephant?” Icheb asked.

“And how do you consume them?” Vorik asked.

“An elephant is a quadruped mammal on Earth. Incredibly large,” Carey answered. “And nobody's eaten actual animals for centuries. But, if you were to eat them, you would do it one bite at a time. Which is how we’re going to approach this. Step by step, for however long it takes, until we get this solved.”

“Logical.”

“So, first order of business. The ship is back in working order, all primary systems functioning correctly. Vorik, you’ve gotten things running pretty smoothly, so I’m making it official: you’re Acting Chief Engineer until we get our people back,” Carey announced.

“I am honored to serve,” Vorik said.

“Next, have we made any progress on locating the ship that took our people?” Carey said, looking to Kyoto.

“A qualified yes, sir,” she answered, looking a little defeated. “We have managed to calibrate the sensors to detect Hierarchy ships generally, based on the information given to us during the Doctor’s encounter with them. We’ve also refined those parameters somewhat, based on what we know of their technology, in case they made some tweaks in the interim. But we don’t have not a way to be sure the one we find is the one that attacked us.”

“Unless there are a large number of cloaked Hierarchy ships in the vicinity—unlikely since they resist power utilization—we have a better than sixty-four percent chance of acquiring the right ship,” Vorik put in.

Carey looked over. “Better than sixty-four percent?”

“Sixty-four-point-two-nine-seven,” Vorik replied.

Carey frowned by finally said, “Sixty-four-point-two-nine-seven is a risk, but we’ll take it. Hopefully it pays off.”

“If it does not, it could present severe difficulties,” Icheb said. “The Hierarchy is highly compartmentalized. They do not disseminate information internally. The majority of their members will not know where our people have been taken.”

“Perhaps we should attempt to steal some of their navigational equipment? A map? Or perhaps a navigator?” Vorik suggested.

"Should we worry about the ethics of kidnapping some random Hierarchy member for actions against us that they may not know much about?” Ayala put in.

Everyone glanced at him in surprise.

“What? I may be Maquis, but I pay attention. And I’m not sure we shouldn’t kidnap one of them, but I am the security officer at the moment, so I feel like I should bring that up.”

There was a thoughtful silence.

“I think we have enough reason to kidnap one, given that they are essentially a giant criminal conspiracy," Carey finally said. "But you're right. We'll have to handle them carefully."

“Okay, next problem. We can kidnap people all day long,” Ayala frowned, “but what’s gonna make them tell us anything? Especially if we're going to go easy on whoever we take."

“Members of the Hierarchy are easily misled or frightened,” Icheb said. “We need not compromise our values to persuade them to cooperate.”

“You’re saying we should scare them into talking?” Ayala asked in surprise. “How? At phaser point?”

“The Borg are frightening,” Icheb replied.

Carey’s eyebrows drew together. “What exactly do you have in mind here?”

Icheb outlined his plan. By the time he was finished, Vorik was the only one struggling not to laugh, and even he looked a little mischievous. A little.

*~*~*

Icheb had not thought his plan was very remarkable, but the Starfleet personnel were applying terms to it such as “downright wicked” and “mean.” He had inquired of Lieutenant Joseph Carey whether they should pursue other options, which had prompted the man to laugh and inform him there was no way they weren’t doing this.

The preparations took about two hours to set up, and they decided to stage their deception in holodeck two. Icheb, Remi, Azan, and Mezoti required very little by way of preparation. Naomi Wildman was another story. It was determined they would utilize the children of the crew for what Ayala had termed the “creepy factor.” Icheb was forced to conclude that Naomi did appear extremely unsettling when they had finished preparing her for her role.

“Remember, drones do not laugh or express emotion of any kind,” Icheb informed Naomi as they put the finishing touches on their simulation. “Do not tell jokes or give us instructions that you think would be ‘funny.’”

Naomi nodded.

Icheb looked around. They were ready. “Computer. Decrease interior lighting by 45%.”

The computer issued a compliant beep and the room plunged into semi-darkness.

Icheb frowned. “Two more percent.”

The room darkened again, minutely, but it was…sufficient.

They had recreated the appearance of a Borg vessel. Several regeneration alcoves lined the wall, and interface panels had been erected on columns in the room. Icheb was not fully satisfied with the design. It lacked efficiency. But Lieutenant Ayala had insisted on this configuration for ease of access for security personnel, stationed in a hidden—if equally holographic to the rest of the room—catwalk above their heads, if the need arose.

The “drones,” however, were entirely correct. They had replicated modified versions of the dermaplastic clothing that Seven wore—all in gray—and added the appearance of multiple external implants. The result was an appearance that was somewhere between a true drone from the collective and an individual, exactly as intended.

Naomi was their true triumph, however. Based on the mission log entries from Captain Janeway and Seven of Nine, they had dressed Naomi as a smaller version of the Borg Queen. They’d used make-up to give her skin tone the translucent quality which was common among assimilated drones. The effect was especially dramatic with her exocranial ridges. And they’d added some “implants” to her forehead that were little more than blinking lights, but served to give her a regal and menacing air. Against the base of her skull were two small, round devices. One was entirely for show, to provide a balanced appearance. The other was a modified cortical monitor.

She was, every inch, a little Borg Princess, perfectly adapted to service their false collective.

Icheb’s combadge—hidden in an “implant” on his arm—chirped. “Carey to holodeck two. How’s it coming down there?”

Icheb tapped his arm to activate his badge to reply. “We are prepared. Proceed at any time.”

“Acknowledged. We’ll give you a head’s up once we’ve got someone to send down there.”

There was little to do besides wait for Voyager to procure someone for them to question, so they passed the time quizzing one another on their studies. Azan and Rebi were still disappointed in not being able to clone Naomi for the upcoming science fair, but everyone was progressing well otherwise.

“Carey to holodeck. We’ve got them.”

Icheb looked to the others. “Activate the neural link.”

“I’m still not sure about this part.” Carey’s voice was very flat over the communicator. Icheb spared a moment’s regret, but to truly act as a Borg collective—even such an unconventional one as they were going to tell their captive they were—it required true oneness of thought. Everyone in their little collective was comfortable with the idea, so no one hesitated to activate the relevant implants. Even Naomi had no compunctions activating the cortical monitor, which had been adapted to link her to the others of their “hive.”

OUR LINK IS ACTIVE. OUR THOUGHTS ARE ONE. THIS IS WEIRD.

“Naomi!” Mezoti hissed out loud.

“Sorry!” Naomi replied, making a face.

But Naomi was right. This was weird. There was a certain extent to which Icheb, Azan, Rebi, and Mezoti had all been adapted to the Borg. Something that, perhaps, they would never entirely lose. It did not feel…strange to them to share a collective mind.

Naomi on the other hand…was truly alien. She noticed so many things, and with so little focus, and seemed to flit from one thought to another with no pattern whatsoev—

“Hey!” Naomi protested. Because, naturally, being part of their temporary collective, she could hear what they thought about her thoughts.

WE ARE SORRY. YOU ARE VERY…NEW.

“I’m apologizing to myself,” Naomi mused.

SPEAK WITH THE COLLECTIVE. OUR THOUGHTS ARE ONE. BUT…WE ARE SORRY.

Icheb directed their “conversation” back to the communicator. WE ARE READY. PROCEED WITH THE TRANSPORT.

“We’re gonna go over this part in the debrief,” Carey told him.

WE WILL COMPLY. PROCEED WITH THE TRANSPORT.

There was a moment of quiet and then the shimmer of the transporter alerted them. It was time.

The Hierarchy species were short, thick, and looked somewhat like the potatoes Rebi and Azan were using in their science fair project. This one appeared even more potato-like than most, since he had been deliberately transported a short distance above the floor, leaving him to fall roughly ten centimeters and collapse in an undignified heap. Naomi had to hold back giggles at the comparison, prompting a glare from Mezoti that thankfully wasn’t observed by their target.

Focus on our task, Icheb “ordered” the others.

A LIFEFORM HAS BEEN DETECTED. PREPARE FOR ASSIMILATION.

“What! No! Let me out!” The alien shouted.

Rebi and Azan stepped forward. WE ARE THE BORG. YOU WILL BE ASSIMILATED. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE.

The Hierarchy alien surged upwards.

Be careful. Icheb wasn’t sure who the thought came from, or if it was everyone’s all at once—a common feature of a collective mind was the inability to be certain of the origin of an idea—but it was a good one all the same. Members of the Hierarchy were not particularly intelligent, but they were stocky and strong.

“I don’t want to be assimilated!” the alien shouted, looking around for a door. The door was approximately five meters behind Mezoti, but the simulation the holodeck was currently running had rendered it invisble.

DESIRE IS IRRELEVANT. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE.

“You can’t do this to me!”

WE ARE BORG.

“Janeway would never allow this.”

Naomi, that’s your cue, Icheb “said.”

Naomi stepped forwards, head lifted, with a haughty expression on her face. The other “drones” began various tasks in the room, designed to give Naomi space to directly address their captive but keep them close. All four focused thoughts of calm and order towards their spokesperson.

“What do you know of Janeway?” Naomi asked imperiously.

“If I tell you, you won’t assimilate me?”

“If you don’t tell me, we will assimilate you and find out anyway!” Naomi snapped.

Remain calm, the collective said to Naomi. Do not shout. We are Borg. The Borg always know resistance is futile. There is no need for anger.

In absolute unison, the four former drones turned to face their prisoner, faces blank and unreadable. Naomi betrayed only a very, tiny smile that, under the circumstances, appeared more than a tiny bit menacing.

“I don’t believe you! You Voyagers are supposed to be nice!”

“Captain Janeway liberated us from the Collective, but she cannot change what we are. We are Borg. In exchange for acting as her Borg Enforcement Unit, she allows us to assimilate those we think would be interesting, or useful. And you have taken not only Captain Janeway, but the leader of our Collective. You will tell us what you have done with our people, or you will be adapted to serve us,” Naomi informed him.

Icheb moved closer to Naomi, approaching the alien. His steps were slow and deliberate, arm raised towards him in obvious menace.

“Noooo! I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you everything!”

“Be efficient,” Naomi instructed him.

Clever.

The alien was beyond forthcoming. He immediately confessed to being a crewmember on the ship that had attacked them. He gave them coordinates to a storage facility only a few light years away. He also began reciting whatever tactical, strategic, and personal information he could think of. Icheb was a bit concerned that the younger children were hearing some of these very…romantic…musings about the alien’s coworkers. Still, the rest of it sounded useful and the younger ones seemed very amused by the alien’s quick and thorough surrender.

Icheb signaled to the security personnel, who quickly descended and secured the alien.

“You’re not going to assimilate me?” the Hierarchy member demanded.

WE DO NOT BELIEVE YOU WOULD ADD TO OUR PERFECTION. YOU HAVE TOLD US WHAT WE WANT. WE WILL FOREGO ASSIMILATION.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” the alien shouted as security—all of whom were clearly struggling not to laugh—escorted him towards the now-visible door one of them must have ordered up.

DO NOT CROSS OUR SHIP AGAIN. NEXT TIME WE MAY NOT BE SO MERCIFUL.

The doors closed. They were alone.

COMPUTER. RESTORE NORMAL LIGHTING.

The computer beeped helpfully. They reached for their communicators. BRIDGE. DID YOU GET ALL THAT?

“Came through loud and clear,” Carey said.

WE ARE PLEASED TO HELP.

“Can you…turn that off?”

…WE APOLOGIZE.

They deactivated the neural link.

*~*~*

Voyager was hiding in a nebula.

Carey had never thought of himself as having a “command style,” but apparently he did, and it was—according to Ayala—“sneaky.” Because they were hiding. In a nebula.

Carey felt justified in his decision, since it was a trick Janeway employed often enough. The nebula they were hiding in was a class 3, in which their guest—currently cooling off in a cell in the brig and rejoicing at his “good fortune” of being “spared” assimilation—had said the Hierarchy routinely recorded sensor ghosts. Carey privately wondered if they were disregarding detections of actual ships that were upset at having important parts stolen, but he decided not to bring it up with the prisoner. Voyager, well-acquainted with class 3 nebulae, had no problem whatsoever scanning the facility from their hiding spot. And it was exactly as their prisoner had described it.

The planetoid was almost hilariously tiny. Just barely hanging on to an M-class rating at the absolute extreme far edge of the habitable zone. There was a smattering of plant and animal life that managed to survive in the cold, and Carey had actually gone back over the crew roster to see if they had even one Andorian on board (even though he knew for a fact that there wasn’t, because even if they had been hiding in a Jeffries tube this whole time, he would’ve found them by now after doing so many repairs), but they were stuck with a human-only strike force. Vorik had been on the list right up until they’d scanned for temperature, at which point Carey had promptly removed him. The temperature of the planet being what it was, Vorik hadn’t even attempted to protest.

Everyone else bundled up in the heavy cold gear, and they were now outside the transporter room, going over their plan to raid the facility.

It wasn’t, precisely, unsecured, but even Carey—who had only just passed his security requirement at the academy—was pretty unsatisfied with the set-up. It didn’t even boast a shield. Just a signal scrambling field. Too strong to get a transporter fix on anything without an enhancer, but not so strong that the ship sensors hadn’t identified multiple lifesigns from Alpha Quadrant humanoids.

“Once a strike force is inside,” Icheb was saying as he went over their information with the strike team, “there’s not any significant internal security. There’s a minimal number of doors with locks, most of which appear to be holding cells.”

“So once we get through that interference with the transporter scanners, we’re going to start beaming things out,” Carey said. “We’re gonna have all three transporter rooms going on this and we’ve got plenty of able bodies to clear any materials from the pads. Don’t worry about going too fast for us, just hit your targets. We’ll worry about keeping up.”

Ayala nodded. “I can’t believe Kyoto came up with a plan like this. Shooting our own people. Captain Janeway’s going to strangle us all at the captain’s mast she holds.”

Carey’s mouth twitched. “At least she’ll be back on the ship to do it. Questions?”

“When can we start shooting things?” Pablo Baytart replied immediately.

Carey shook his head.

“What he means, sir, is that the plan is clear and the strike team is ready,” Ayala said.

“All right,” Carey told them. He nodded to Icheb, who set off for the bridge.

Carey and the strike force strode into the transporter room, and Carey took his place behind the controls. The strike team—Ayala; Ensigns Baytart, Lang, and Fukai; and Crewmen Jarvis and Anderson—took their places on the transport pads.

“Good hunting,” Carey told them.

“We’ll get them back,” Ayala replied.

Carey beamed the team down to the point they’d picked and then tapped his badge. “Strike team is away. Transport officers, begin your scans. Everyone else, stand by. We’re going to be very, very busy in just a few minutes.”

*~*~*

Ayala had never been a big fan of the cold, but he usually tolerated it. This planet made him long for a nice, cozy Class Y to infiltrate. Or maybe an active lava field. It was an odd sort of cold, because the air was very, very still, so you could hear every single snowflake that was touching another for five kilometers in every direction, but as soon as they materialized, Ayala felt his veins fill with ice so quickly that it felt like they should be dealing with gale-force winds. But there was no wind. It was just that cold.

“Sir?” Jarvis said.

“Crewman?” Ayala replied.

“I recommend we do this mission very, very quickly,” she said.

“I agree,” said Baytart. “And that we add hot chocolate and soup to our recovery plan.”

“Children, please focus so that I can tell Tuvok nice things about you,” Ayala returned. Not that he didn’t agree, but this wasn’t the time or place for witty banter.

Baytart and Jarvis exchanged a grin, but subsided.

Truthfully, it was a bit hard not to have a tiny amount of fun with this plan. Kyoto had come up with the essential idea. She made them little balls that mostly contained water, but it was slightly irradiated water. Not enough to be dangerous or harmful, but more than enough to give the transporter a clear signal to lock on to. She’d called it “painting” their targets. Then she’d turned out enough projectiles for the ballistic rifles they’d replicated that they could hit their target only one time out of ten and still have ammo left over after getting everything back to the ship. And the strike team had been chosen for their marksmanship. They weren’t going to miss. And Kyoto’d had all this ready to go in a half-hour. All the strike team had to do was get in quietly.

They found two of the Hierarchy aliens guarding the door. And while the ballistic rifles were their primary weapons for this mission, the team had brought hand phasers. Two carefully placed stunners later, and they guards were slumped to the ground. Ayala spared a moment to make sure none of the guards had skin directly exposed to the cold and then they were through the door.

The building had two sections at first glance. A giant warehouse with lots of stuff in it, and a lighted section in the back.

“Looks like our stuff over there,” Lang said, pointing. Sure enough, there was an assembly of Starfleet components that had been carefully set aside on the far left end of the room.

“Baytart, Jarvis, go start getting our gear. Anderson, check over the rest of the room and make sure there’s nothing left out. Fukai, Lang, with me. We’re gonna find our people,” Ayala said.

“Lieutenant,” Baytart said on a whine.

“Don’t make jokes first thing on the mission next time,” Ayala returned.

Baytart and Jarvis both gave him dirty looks, but didn’t protest any further. Probably because they knew he was right.

Ayala crept closer to the back of the room. It was technically warm compared to the outside, but not by a whole lot. Warm enough that if people huddled very, very close together, they wouldn’t freeze to death.

Provided they were not a klingon or a vulcan. So B’Elanna and Tuvok were in serious trouble in here.

There were four guards milling around. Ayala motioned to Fukai and Lang, and they three of them scrambled up to the top of the nearest stack of stolen items. People tended to look around when taken by surprise, not up, and the angle would give them a bit of cover. The three of them got comfortable and started aiming their ballistic rifles at the crew targets.

As they got settled in, Ayala heard the sound of a transporter starting up. The beam-outs were rapid. Nearly continuous. The Hierarchy was going to be very, very upset to lose all this stuff. The three of them each began calling their targets, making sure to name a different crew member, and started firing.

Ayala’s first shot caught Tom Paris, sitting at the outside of the group with his back facing inwards, full in the chest. It didn’t hit him very hard, since they weren’t out to hurt anyone, but he would probably have a welt that needed some time with the dermal regenerator. His look of surprise as he jerked in shock was hilarious, but short-lived. He dissolved in a sparkle of transporter energy almost immediately. B’Elanna, who’d be right behind him, gave a cry of dismay. Ayala promptly shot her too, and she was beamed out as well.

The guards started shouting, but when one of them was beamed away at a shot from Fukai, the other three took cover and began returning fire. The guard would be kept in transporter stasis until they had all the hostages back, at which point all of their Hierarchy guests would be summarily beamed to the facility. It didn’t slow the away team down much in their painting the hostages, and the transporter beams started looking a bit like sparkly rain in the prisoner section.

The trouble was, Voyager’s crew was obviously drugged. They were panicking, shouting, and trying to hide from the away team’s shots. Which could’ve been dangerous except that their response times were badly slowed.

“And I actually thought this would be fun,” Lang said in a quiet mumble, finally getting one of the remaining guards who was foolish enough to try and look around. “I didn’t realize we’d be terrifying everyone half to death.”

“We’re already committed. Keep going,” Ayala ordered.

They were down to only a few more targets when the last two guards tried to make a stand. And it was right then when Ayala’s commbadge started making a staticky noise. Whatever it was Voyager was trying to tell him, though, was lost thanks to the scattering field.

“Hierarchy backup ship incoming?” Fukai guessed. Then she finally got one of the guards. “Finally!”

“Let’s assume so.” Ayala raised his voice. “We’re on notice people! Double-time it!”

Bayart and Jarvis shouted acknowledgements from where they were finishing with the equipment. They finally got the last guard, and then it was a simple matter of painting about five more people.

The three of them climbed down from their perch as Anderson came running over from another part of the room. “Sir, we’ve got all the components, but we can’t account for the Doctor! He wasn’t with any of the equipment, and there’s a lot of stuff in here!”

“The Doctor was not one of my targets,” Lang said.

“Or mine,” Fukai agreed.

“Mine either,” Ayala sighed. “All right, all of you paint yourselves and get out of here. I’ll find the Doctor and make sure we get him back.”

“Aye, sir.” Anderson joined Lang and Fukai and the three disappeared.

“Hey!” Baytart’s shout was angry and tense.

“I’ll cover, keep working!” Jarvis said, sounding tense as well. And then the noise of transporters began to be interspersed with phaser fire. Ayala spared a moment to wish he hadn’t just sent the rest of their backup back to the ship, and then moved towards the source of the trouble.

He found himself coming up behind three Hierarchy aliens, all slightly snow-frosted, so they’d most likely been at guard posts too distant for a quick entry into the facility. Jarvis had taken a position on top of one of the heaviest components (targeted last for transport so as not to clog up the pad moving it), and was raining phaser fire down on the three aliens trying to get to Baytart. They were all still conscious, but if they put much more than an arm out of their cover they wouldn't be.

This was why Tuvok tolerated Jarvis' habit for bad jokes. This was why Baytart was the reserve helm officer. Despite being outnumbered three-to-one, Jarvis was comfortably holding her own and defending her crewmate. Despite being under threat and not being able to defend himself, Baytart didn't lose an iota of focus from painting his targets.

And then Ayala saw it.

The Doctor's emitter! One of the Hierarchy aliens was wearing it on his collar. Probably thought it was some kind of decoration. Ayala stunned the alien before he even realized what he was doing. One of the others turned to fire at him and Ayala had to duck.

And that left Jarvis with only one opponent focusing on her. She had him stunned only a few seconds later.

Baytart had finally reached the last piece of equipment, the one Jarvis was on top of. He shot her with a pod and waited until she was beamed away to paint the last target. The last Hierarchy alien swung towards him with a greedy expression, but Ayala was faster. He had chosen his away team for marksmanship and he was no slouch in that arena himself. Baytart was an easy target to mark, and he was caught by Voyager’s transporter before the alien could get off a shot.

Ayala and the Doctor were gonna be the last ones. He dropped his rifle, trusting the strap to catch it, and broke his cover, making a mad dash for the alien wearing the mobile emitter. Just before he reached him, he dropped into a slide, aiming a heavy kick toward’s the standing Hierarchy alien’s ankles, knocking him off his feet as he snatched the emitter off of the stunned enemy.

The alien went down heavily, falling right on Ayala’s legs. He could tell by the feel that he wasn’t injured. But now he was pinned.

The alien’s eyes widened as Ayala drew back his arm to strike a blow at whatever looked like it would hurt the most, and he rolled.

Ayala sprang to his feet, noting that the alien was a lot slower getting up. He was stocky and thick, which probably meant he could take a beating, but Ayala had a sneaky feeling it made him slow on his feet. He sprinted for the door of the facility, mobile emitter gripped as tight as he could, without a further glance at the alien. Energy bolts chased him out the door, but didn’t connect.

His commbadge crackled and he could just barely make out Carey’s voice, but nothing intelligible came through. It was a slightly more organized static than had been in the storage building, so he kept running, making for the point where they’d beamed in as fast as his feet could carry him. The cold air made it feel like he was getting stabbed in the lungs every time he took a breath, but he didn’t slow down.

He tapped his commbadge, hoping the connection would hold enough that Voyager would know he was communicating, even if they couldn’t hear what he said. “I have the Doctor! I’m proceeding to the beam-in point!”

More static. Two more shots from behind him, both going wide on his left. He kept running, pleased that the noises of pursuit behind him sounded more and more distant.

“—roaching ship! Do you—octor?” Carey’s staticky voice came through his communicator.

“I have the Doctor! I’m proceeding to the beam-in point!” Ayala repeated.

“Proceeding—beam-in point?”

“Yes! Less than one minute to—!” Ayala broke off in a cry of pain. The alien had managed to aim decently enough to get in a hit on his shoulder. The odd sharp pain-dull pain-tickle sensation of being hit with an energy weapon spread all the way down Ayala’s left side to his waist, making him feel over-balanced and uncoordinated. He stumbled and fell forward, thanking every lucky superstition he knew or had heard of that he had the emitter in his right hand. And, like any security officer worth his salt, he’d practiced falling enough that it was second nature to do it correctly by now. Still not injured enough to stop.

The alien behind him started to whoop in celebration, cutting off abruptly when Ayala scrambled back up and picked right back up running. He was only feet away from where they’d beamed in.

“Ayala? Report!”

“Minor graze from energy weapon! Have Doctor! Beam me up!” He passed the mark.

Another shot from the weapon caught him at the same time as the transporter beam.

*~*~*

Carey was very pleased to have a nice, clean, unremarkable transport when he got Ayala on board. He was alarmed when Ayala materialized, falling forward and landing flat on his face with no effort to catch himself.

“Ayala!”

Carey raced forward and knelt beside the fallen man, turning him over. Ayala was breathing, sporting a bloody nose, and had burn marks on the left side of his neck. His right hand was tightly closed around the Doctor’s mobile emitter.

The ship rocked under another shot.

Carey tapped his commbadge. “Bridge! We’ve got them! Punch it!”

“Punching it, sir,” Jenkins acknowledged. Carey felt an answering hum beneath his feet as the ship sprang to warp.

He tapped his badge again. “Carey to sickbay, medical emergency in transporter room 1. Ayala’s injured.”

“On my way,” came Ensign Jurot’s answering voice. She was only a basic medic, but until the Doctor was reactivated, basic medics were what they had. And Ayala looked like he wouldn’t need too much patching up. Hopefully.

Jurot came in with a medkit a moment later, gave Ayala a once-over as Carey worked the Doctor’s emitter from the unconscious man’s fingers, and smiled reassuringly. “He’ll be fine. I’ll see to him and send him up to the Bridge in just a few moments.”

“Are you telling me I’m supposed to be on the Bridge?” Carey asked.

“Unless you’ve been relieved, you’re still Acting Captain,” Jurot said. “The senior staff are all in treatment for varying levels of drug-related side-effects and hypothermia—nothing life-threatening, but the captain, Chakotay, and Tuvok are all still pretty groggy… Sir, I think it’s still your ship.”

Carey blinked. Then he handed her the mobile emitter and straightened up. “See to Mister Ayala, Ensign. And reactivate the Doctor as soon as possible. I’ll be on the Bridge,” deliberately pretending he’d thought of the whole thing himself.

“Very good, sir,” Jurot answered, smiling. As a betazoid, she wouldn’t need him to explain the joke any further.

Carey made for the Bridge where he found Rory at the helm, Icheb at ops, and Kyoto at the science station.

“Acting Captain on the bridge,” Icheb announced.

Carey looked to Icheb curiously.

“You are in command, and we are in an emergency,” Icheb replied.

“Can’t argue with that, I suppose. Ah…report?”

“We’re holding steady at warp 7. Other than ‘the Alpha Quadrant,’ I don’t have a specific destination laid in,” Rory replied from the helm.

“There is a Hierarchy vessel in pursuit. Their weapons are charged and their shields are raised,” Icheb reported.

“Are they gaining on us?” Carey asked.

“Yes. Time to intercept, fifteen minutes twelve seconds.”

Carey was tempted to swear a blue streak. “Okay, Rory, if you can lengthen that time at all, do whatever you can,” he said.

“Aye, sir,” she replied.

Carey moved down to the captain’s chair, eyeing it with deep distrust. So far, during this entire ordeal, he hadn’t actually had to sit in Janeway’s chair. Even when he’d ordered the ship into the nebula earlier, he’d been able to get away with standing or moving around to various stations. Still, it looked like it was finally time. He took his station with a frown and punched up a channel to engineering from the armrest.

“Vorik here.”

“How’s it coming getting the main weapons back online?”

“We will require several hours to achieve full restoration of our compromised systems. Secondary systems are operational,” Vorik answered.

“Thank you, Vorik.” He closed the channel.

Carey frowned. The secondary systems worked, of course. He was an engineer, he did maintenance on them as a matter of routine. But they were secondary for a reason. The primary systems were the ones that were designed to work at peak capacity for a sustained amount of time. If they tried to operate at full power on the backups for any major length of time, something was going to break. It was inevitable.

“Rory, are you using the viewscreen?” Carey asked.

“No, sir,” Rory replied, sounding offended at the very idea. Pilots were weird.

“Icheb, put everything we know about that damn ship on the viewscreen,” Carey said. “Kyoto, you busy over there?”

“No, sir, not really,” she answered.

“Get over here,” Carey ordered, pointing to Chakotay’s chair. “There’s got to be something on that screen we can use.”

The screen showed a ship schematic, only partially filled in, of the Hierarchy ship. Carey frowned as he studied it.

The turbolift opened behind them.

“Reporting for duty, sir,” Ayala announced.

“Take your station. We’re trying to figure out how to disable our ship of thieves,” Carey informed him. “If you spot something, sing out.”

There was silence on the Bridge for a few moments as everyone went over the information they had.

“The weapon system looks primarily Hirogen in configuration,” Icheb finally said.

“But their engines aren’t Hirogen-style,” Carey protested.

“Is that…important?” Rory asked as she tried to shake their pursuers.

“Extremely,” Carey replied. “Hirogen engines run a dicyclic warp field, and that can generate a feedback loop if that redundant cycle doesn’t have somewhere to disperse. You can put it anywhere, so long as you’re using it, but it always has to be going somewhere, and in a tactical situation, you’d put the extra power towards your weapons and shields. Which obviously is how the Hirogen weapons can run so hot, all the time, without being a drain on their other systems. It’s incredibly dangerous, of course. Any minor containment loss in the warp field that other ships could tolerate, would—in a dicyclic field—make your whole ship a little smear in space more or less immediately, but it will give you an incredible amount of power to use.

“All of that is useless, though, if you don’t run a dicyclic system! Any time you so much as thought about using a system designed to draw that much power, you’d have to turn something else off. Ideally just your overhead lighting, but if your ship starts suffering damage, then it’s going to get a lot more critical. They’re running weapons designed to draw vast amounts of power from a system their ship doesn’t even have!”

Everyone was staring at him.

“I’m an engineer,” Carey snapped. “This is how I think!”

“Four minutes to intercept,” Icheb announced in a very mild voice.

“I think what Icheb means to say, sir,” Ayala broke in, sounding unusually conciliatory compared to his ordinary self, "is that this is all very interesting, but how does it help us?"

"It means the Hierarchy ship is running a bunch of different types of technology that they didn't spare a lot of thought to fitting together in logical ways! If we can get them to fire their weapons, even once, it'll be such a drain on their power that we could probably take out whatever system we wanted. So long as they don't kill us on the first shot, that is." Carey looked over to Rory.

"Drawing their fire, but making them miss?" she said, looking concerned. "I've…never tried that sort of evasive maneuver before outside of a simulation."

Carey nodded. "We're all learning new skills today, Rory. You can do it."

She nodded, looking back to the helm.

Carey took a deep breath and stood up. "All right, Ayala, keep your phasers hot and your finger on the button. Rory, let 'em sneak up on us. Don't just give it away, but we'll need to let them get a shot off."

There was a long moment of quiet where the entire bridge seemed to hold their breath. Carey had to stop himself from bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Thirty seconds to intercept," Icheb announced.

"Rory, you're up," Carey said, looking to the helm. "Drop to impulse and come about. Cut across their weapons as you do it."

"Aye, sir," Rory said. "Impulse and coming about."

Voyager smoothly moved to normal space, turning elegantly up and around, to come downwards—from Voyager's perspective—to face their attackers. The Hierarchy ship slid into normal space—at an angle, but mostly upside-down from Voyager’s perspective—in front of them, as Rory moved them right across the front of their ship. They were the perfect target.

The Hierarchy ship took the bait, opening fire immediately. Voyager was already out of the way, though, continuing on their trajectory. The Hierarchy shots passed harmlessly over the top of the ship and Voyager slipped down to have an angle on the upper portion of the Hierarchy ship.

"Ayala! Fire! Take out those guns!"

"Firing phasers," Ayala acknowledged.

Voyager's phasers lanced out.

"Significant power reduction to their weapon systems," Icheb reported.

"Get their nacelles next. Let's not let them follow us," Carey said. "Fire."

"Aye, sir." Ayala's voice was calm, but a tiny bit gleeful as he carried out his orders. Phaser fire struck the enemy ship once more.

"Enemy warp power now minimal," Icheb announced. "We have significantly damaged their ship, though life-support remains operational and their hull is still intact. We are being hailed."

"Don't bother with a reply. I think they got the message we intended to send," Carey answered. "Rory, get us out of here. Set course for the Alpha Quadrant and put as much speed in as we've got."

"Heading for Federation space, sir," Rory acknowledged, and Voyager leapt to warp. Then she looked up from her console. “Is that it? Did we do it?”

“The Hierarchy ship is not pursuing us,” Icheb said.

“We didn’t sustain any damage in the fight,” Ayala added.

“And sickbay reports all rescued personnel will be all right after they get some rest and the drugs clear their system,” Kyoto announced, apparently reading the information off the first officer’s chair. “The Doctor sent the report himself.”

Carey grinned. “Sounds like we did it.” He took up the captain's chair again. "Stand down from red alert."

The computer gave an error beep. "Unable to comply. Voyager is not currently operating on alert status."

Carey blinked. In all the commotion, he'd forgotten to actually call the alert. He glanced at Ayala, who looked chagrinned.

"That wasn’t right, was it?" Carey said.

"I won’t tell if you won’t," Ayala answered.

Carey looked around.

“Tell what?” Kyoto said, affecting an innocent air.

Carey hit the communications channel to Engineering. "Vorik, how're you doing down there?"

"Entirely well, sir. Are we still in combat?"

Carey winced. Ordinarily, the end of a red alert would've told him that without him needing to ask.

"No, the fight’s over. We won, by the way, and without destroying the other ship. You can go back to the repairs now."

"Thank you, sir. I will do so. And, I believe the human custom is to say…congratulations? This was your first successful enemy engagement, was it not?"

Carey huffed out a laugh. "Hopefully my last, too, but thank you."

"You are welcome. Engineering out."

Carey sank back into the captain's chair and took a breath. "Thank goodness that's over. Let's chain the senior officers to the ship from now on. Sound good?"

There was a chorus of amused agreement.

*~*~*

Captain’s Log, Stardate 53702.5

Although our stay with the Hierarchy didn’t last even a full day, the damage they did in their inept drugging of the captured crewmembers has kept most of us off our feet for the better part of a week. Tuvok and B’Elanna were in particularly bad shape, being doubly affected by the drugs and the temperature, and the Doctor—the only rescued crewmember operating normally—only allowed them to resume light duty today.

Even though it took half the crew so long to return to duty, we’re discovering there isn’t really much we need to do to catch up. Ensign Vorik completed the work in restoring Voyager’s components in the first two days. Lieutenants Carey and Ayala have proven themselves an excellent command team, and the ship maintained normal functioning even with a skeleton crew. The science department has even analyzed our sensor readings from the star cluster and determined them to have been created by the Hierarchy with the specific intention of luring Voyager close. Carey included with a tactical analysis of the Hierarchy ship in his report on the action, and it went a long way to explaining why they surrendered so readily to the Doctor’s bluff during our previous encounter. I think the Doctor would take this as a greater blow to his ego if he hadn’t seen the injuries Ayala sustained ensuring he wasn’t left behind.

Mr. Carey declared himself “relieved to be relieved” when I resumed command. But after going over the reports on the events of the past several days, I can’t help but feel pride in the work of my officers.

Vorik matched his stride to Lieutenant Carey's out of habit as they rounded the final corridor to the mess hall. The end of their shift in engineering had been drawn out to ludicrous proportions as one crewman after another had inexplicable difficulties with various minor systems. Vorik was quite certain they had been intentionally delayed and found it…unpleasant.

Carey came to a stop and Vorik looked up curiously, before stopping himself, suddenly understanding why they had been subject to so many manufactured, minor crises.

Ensign Kyoto and Icheb were just coming down the corridor from the other direction, and had also stopped, looking at the two engineers with dawning understanding.

"Did you also find yourself suddenly unable to leave your workstation when your usual shift was completed?" Icheb asked them.

"Indeed. It was a very poorly executed deception," Vorik agreed.

"Oh, that's what's going on!" Ayala's voice sounded behind him. Vorik turned to see the Lieutenant with Ensign Jenkins behind them. "I thought everyone had just suddenly turned into really annoying clones of themselves."

"Surprise party in the mess hall?" Rory guessed.

"Has to be," Kyoto agreed.

"Based on available evidence, I am 100% certain you are correct," Vorik agreed.

"The whole hundred? You’ve never given that estimate before," Carey said.

"The situation has never been so obvious."

The others around him laughed. Vorik mentally noted this as a time when he had successfully told a joke, pleased that he had mastered the skill. It was, of course, inappropriate for him to indulge in humor himself, but provoking it in his crewmates built and strengthened rapport and was, therefore, logical.

"Shall we enter?" Icheb said. "These sorts of occasions often prompt Neelix to produce a cake. I am fond of desserts."

"Who isn't?" Carey grinned, throwing an arm around Icheb's shoulders. "Onward, to cake!"

They entered the mess hall.

"SURPRISE!"

Vorik raised an eyebrow. Not out of surprise, but because it was fascinating that those in the mess hall believed they had actually done anything surprising. Still, they had managed to assemble…nearly all the senior staff. Captain Janeway was present, as was Commander Chakotay. Tuvok was predictably absent, having very little use for parties and most likely having volunteered to stand the watch on the Bridge. Lieutenants Torres and Paris were present, standing near the Doctor and Seven of Nine. Naomi, Azan, Rebi, and Mezoti stood near the captain.

Captain Janeway strode forward. "For your exceptional service in time of crisis, and your rescue of the ship's crew and restoration to full function, I have officially added a commendation to each of your records. In your case in particular, Icheb, we had to actually create the record. As far as I know, you will be the first person to ever have a Starfleet commendation before even being accepted to the Academy."

"Thank you, Captain," Icheb said, looking slightly embarrassed.

"Now, Lieutenant Joseph Carey, step forward. For your outstanding service in time of crisis, and exemplary conduct as an officer of Starfleet, I am awarding you the Starfleet Medal of Commendation."

Carey, who's face was significantly redder than usual in what Vorik believed was a "blush," stepped forward so that the captain could attach the small medal to his uniform.

"Not only did you recover everything stolen from the ship, you did it without loss of life by any party," Janeway said. "You demonstrated adherence to the highest principles of Starfleet. And you made me very proud."

This prompted general applause, which Vorik unhesitatingly joined, prompting Carey's face to turn even more red than it already had.

“Now that the ceremony is out of the way,” Torres said, and gestured to the kitchen where Neelix staggered out from behind the counter under the weight of an absolutely enormous cake. Vorik glanced to Icheb. “Your prediction proved correct.”

Icheb grinned.

The festivities lasted several hours. Long enough for Naomi to regale the captain and Seven with the story of their Borg Enforcement Unit deception, prompting Seven to frown and the captain to laugh.

“The Borg would never behave in such a manner,” Seven protested. “It is inefficient.”

“But he didn’t know that!” Naomi replied.

“But it is inefficient,” Seven insisted.

Vorik observed as he ate a small piece of cake. Ayala joined him with a much larger slice. “I thought cake wasn’t a logical food?”

“It is not. However, social bonding customs among human-led groups often involve the consumption of illogical foods such as cake. Participating in some measure often indicates solidarity. Refusal to participate at all can be taken as a desire to distance oneself,” Vorik answered.

Ayala nodded. “You’re not wrong.” There was an odd pause and Ayala finally said, “I know it’s been hard for you. Getting tossed in with all us illogical aliens, the only other vulcan on board is…very different to you, no one who gets you quite the way we ought to. But you’re a good friend to us anyway. And I hope that…we give you the same courtesy. I wouldn’t want you to feel like you had to eat a cake if you don’t want to.”

Vorik looked over at his suddenly too-insightful friend. “It is true that the illogic of those around me is sometimes a source of…difficulty. But I have always valued my friends, whether they were vulcan or otherwise. I would not wish you to be something you are not. Nor have I ever had cause to think you would wish that of me. Your friendship is not…inadequate simply because you are not a vulcan.”

Ayala grinned. “Good to know.”

“And I have almost entirely consumed this slice. It would be illogical not to complete the task,” Vorik added.

“Oh, man, remind me not to let you tell that excuse to my kids when we get back,” Ayala asked.

“I do look forward to meeting them. I would also like you to meet my brother.”

“You have a brother?” Ayala said.

“Indeed. We were born only thirty minutes apart,” Vorik said.

“You’re a twin!”

“Identical.”

“Carey, Torres, get over here,” Ayala said suddenly, waving the named parties over. They approached curiously, Tom Paris and Harry Kim came along as well. “Now then, Vorik, tell us absolutely everything there is to know about your identical twin brother.”

There was an astonished and pleased reaction from the assembled parties—although he was not certain why his being an identical twin should produce such delighted responses—and Vorik rapidly found himself with a rapt audience to tell of his brother, who was also a Starfleet engineer. He should’ve brought Taurik up sooner, he realized. The conversation increased his eagerness to return home, but made the distance seem more bearable.

THE END

*~*~*

Author's Notes: Kelbonite is one of several Treky substances I looked at on Memory Alpha to figure out what the asteroid would be made of. I chose it because it not only interferes with scans, but is meant to be a relatively commonish sort of element.

Carey’s sudden inspiration on “how to be captain” does not come from any particular fascination I have with engineers (although some of my best friends are engineers, since I went to a school with a rather enormous college of engineering). Rather it is my belief that when faced with a problem, if you can find a way to approach it in terms of something you are familiar with or comfortable facing, the problem becomes less intimidating and solutions more easily discoverable.

Taurik, Vorik's twin, is of course played by the same actor. He appeared in the episode "Lower Decks" of Star Trek: The Next Generation.

Ayala's first name is never given or hinted at in the show. I have christened him "Oscar" so I would have a name to put in the tags. His first name never comes up in my story, either. Apparently I have also made up Kyoto's given name as "Miyako." Which I'm cool with, but I could've sworn I'd seen it some where in a reference to official cannon.