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From: pegeel@aol.com (Pegeel)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: NEW: "The Red Queen's Repose"  VOY, J, 2/11
Date: 1 Mar 1996 18:50:38 -0500
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"The Red Queen's Repose"  c. 1996, Peg Robinson.  Pt.2
Standard disclaimers.

The next day passed quietly, and I began to hope that, whether through  
prayer, or Chakotay's desire for unity, or just plain Irish luck, we'd  
avoided the storm.  First shift went by without a ripple.  As second  
shift went by I read in my quarters, relieved that I didn't have to deal  
with social unrest, or even with the unsettling intimacy of the circle.   
It was just as I was getting ready for bed, wrapped in a terry robe and  
ready for a late shower, that the first shoe dropped.  
  My door chimed.  Without even knowing who was there, or what they were  
there about, my stomach sank.  I wrapped the robe tighter around me, and  
tied off the sash.  
  "Who's there?"  
  "It's me, Kes."  
  "In..."  
  The door sighed open, and she came in, moving slowly, the bulging  
natal pouch on her shoulders like an over loaded knapsack.  Occampans  
lost the draw when it comes to reproductive arrangements... and Kes has  
had worse luck than most Occampans.  Talaxian and Occampan biology  
doesn't mix well or easily.  She looked pale, and drawn out.  
  She hadn't gotten pregnant easily. The whole story is long, and the  
science alone is enough to have provided her and the doctor with  
material to fill several treatises, but the short form is that, in the  
end, she'd had to essentially manufacture a child, and then undergo a  
lot of misery to make sure her body didn't then reject it.  It had  
worked, but at a hell of a physical cost.   She wanted the child, and  
suffered the pain and the discomfort willingly.  But still she looked  
hagged, and I often wondered watching her if the result could possibly  
be worth the cost she had paid, and was still paying.  I waved her  
quickly to a chair, and she sank down with a sigh, sitting well forward  
to leave room for the fullness on her back.  
  "Thank you, Captain."  
  "You're more than welcome, Kes.  Can I get you anything?  Coffee,  
tea?"  
  She smiled.  
  "No.  No caffeine, remember?  I have enough problems without getting  
wound up on that sort of thing, anyway."  
  "Of course.  I'm sorry.  I forgot.  Juice?"  
  She shook her head.  
  "No, nothing.  All I'd have to do is get up in ten minutes and use  
your bathroom if I did...and I'd rather *sit*.  I thought I had sympathy  
for pregnant women before... but now I can't imagine how people stand it  
so well.  My back hurts, my neck hurts, my *feet* hurt.   I spend more  
time in the bathroom than anywhere else these days...  and I feel like a  
soap bubble that's about to burst."  
  I grinned, a bit wryly.  
  "Don't look at me for comment.  I never wanted one enough to put up  
with it myself... and certainly not enough to put up with all you have.   
So tell me, why are you here?  Somehow I doubt you came to talk small  
talk about pregnancy with me."  
  Her face sobered, and one hand slid up to the curving bulge behind her  
neck, as though she were comforting the unborn child.  
  "There's trouble.  I thought you should know.  There was talk in the  
mess hall this evening... and the Maquis and the Fleet crewmembers seem  
to be splitting up, taking sides.  It's worse than I remember it being  
even at the beginning, when I first came aboard.  People are really  
angry.  The Maquis seem to have decided they've had enough of Star  
Fleet, and Star Fleet rules, and they aren't happy with their status;  
how you're running the ship.  Nothing new, but it's as though it's all  
come to a head.  And the Star Fleet officers are furious.  The Maquis  
seem to be baiting them, and they're biting back.  Neelix and I had to  
talk Bill Knowlton and Mummad Falid out of a fight... and I'm not sure  
they won't have it out later anyway."  Her eyes met mine.  "I'm  
frightened.  Neelix is more frightened.  He's seen this sort of thing  
before.  He's talking about loading us onto his ship, and leaving...  
he's afraid if this really flares up one of us will get hurt; him, or  
me, or the baby.  I've told him I have to stay at least till I've  
delivered; there's just no way we can manage that without the holodoctor  
to help. I think that's stopped him for now.  But he's scared to death.   
I'm not sure I blame him."  
  "Isn't all this a bit premature?  The circle was only yesterday.  If  
we give it a few days, maybe things will cool off."  
  She shrugged.  I can't say she looked any too confidant.  
  "Maybe.  But there's an ugly feeling.  I'm almost afraid to drop my  
mind shields.  Every time I relax I seem to get hit with someone's  
anger, or pain, or guilt."  
  I looked at her.  Her face was gray, her eyes tired and worried.   
She's aged, and that night for the first time I saw her not as a girl,  
but as a woman...a tired, frightened, weary woman.  
  "Damn."  
  I paced over to the replicator, and called up a cup of coffee, then  
stalked back to the sofa and settled back, wishing I were anywhere but  
where I was.  We sat silent for a while, me sipping my coffee, and  
wondering what the hell I was supposed to do now, Kes watching me with  
worried patience.  After a few minutes she stirred in her chair,  
restlessly trying to find a position that was comfortable.  Her eyes met  
mine.  
  "He didn't mean it to turn out like this, you know."  
  I didn't need her to tell me who "he" was.  
  It bothers me when people defend him to me. I feel like the Queen of  
Hearts in Wonderland, or the Red Queen in Looking Glass; an "Off-with- 
his-head" termagant with nothing better to do than torment the wide- 
eyed, innocent little first officer.  As though there's nothing I'd  
rather do than beam him out into space and "forget" to reassemble the  
particles afterwards.  I sipped my coffee, and tried to rein in my  
irritation.  
  "Kes, I *know* he didn't mean this to happen.  That doesn't change the  
fact that if things are as bad as you think he's handed me a hell of a  
situation to deal with."  
  She nodded, sadly.  
  "But he didn't want this.  If you talk to him..."  
  "I intend to."  
  I heard my voice turn on the words, angry and terse.  No wonder his  
friends thought I wanted to reduce him to sub-atomic particles.  
  "I'm sorry, Kes.  That didn't come out right.  Please, forgive me.   
I'm tired, and worried, and I'd hoped this would never happen.  I've  
managed to keep this a Star Fleet ship for two years now, and it looks  
like it may all be about to fall apart.  And I don't know what to do to  
undo the trouble."  
  She looked at me, her face a placid mystery.  
  "Maybe that's the problem, Captain.  Maybe it isn't something to  
undo."  
  I didn't know what to say.  I just stared at her.  She stroked the  
curve on her shoulders again.  
  "One of the things I had to accept before I could make this little  
one, was that there were some things I could change... and some things I  
could only adapt to.  You said you'd managed to keep this a Star Fleet  
ship, but it isn't true.  It never was a Star Fleet ship... not since  
you came here.  It's only pretended to be one.  Maybe it's time you  
accepted that you can't change that, and adapt instead."  
   "No matter what you heard last night the Maquis are by no means all  
saints and martyrs, Kes.  You wouldn't have liked it much on a Maquis  
ship.  I don't think you know what "adapting" to the Maquis means."  
  She hoisted herself cautiously out of the chair, and carefully found  
her balance.  Suddenly she smiled, and the youth and mischief I hadn't  
seen since she came in was there again.  
  "No.  I suppose I don't.  But neither do you.  None of us will till it  
happens, will we?"  
  "Kes..."  
  "Think about it.  They may not be what you'd have chosen, but they're  
still your people, and they're not going away.  Is it so much harder to  
accept a few Maquis than it is to accept Neelix and me?  You don't make  
*us* pretend we're Star Fleet..."  
  I thought about trying to pass Neelix off as Fleet.  It wasn't a  
pretty thought.  Neelix couldn't be Star Fleet if his life depended on  
it.  But the Maquis...  
  "It isn't the same thing, Kes."  
  "No?  I suppose you know best.  You're the Captain.  But think about  
it anyway.  Now, I have to get some rest if I'm going to be any use at  
all tomorrow.  Goodnight, Captain."  
  
  After she left, I sat fretting over the whole situation.  "One law for  
all men."  That's what Star Fleet was.   It's why I'd insisted all along  
that Voyager be a Star Fleet ship.  No exceptions, no favoritism.  Not  
for my people, not for his.  One law.  And if it was *my* law, it had  
been Chakotay's law too, a law he'd accepted once.  It was a good  
answer.  The Federation had given our worlds a unity, and an ethic  
unsurpassed in the history of our people.  The Prime Directive, the  
Vulcan concept of the IDIC.  To me Star Fleet had always seemed an  
expression of the best of that.  The best of the best.  
  And since we had been stranded here the ways of the Fleet; the  
regulations, the ranks, the rules, the uniforms, had all came together  
to supply a discipline and an equality that held our people together,  
when we could have been nothing more than a motley collection of warring  
splinter groups.  Fleet, Maquis, Deltan Natives.  Christian, Muslim,  
Jew, Bajoran Orthodox.  Instead of bickering little subgroups, each  
fighting to get our way, we were *one* group... a Star Fleet group.  The  
crew of Voyager.  Now, thanks to Chakotay's story circle, it looked like  
that unity was dissolving, and I was damned if I liked it.  But the cat  
was out of the bag, the genie out of the bottle, and I couldn't see any  
way to put it back.  
  Kes had said I wouldn't know what giving in and adapting would mean.   
But I had a sick sense that I did know what it would mean.  If I let go,  
let change come, I could see the possibilities careening out of control.  

Maquis insisting on their own identity; insisting that, if they weren't  
Star Fleet, they didn't have to live under Star Fleet law.  And if I  
gave in on that, then the Fleet personnel would feel betrayed, wanting  
the same freedoms; and I couldn't afford that.  It's easy to forget that  
a ship is an artificial environment.  It takes hundreds of  careful,  
coordinated actions to keep it running, to keep it a healthy place to  
live, to keep it strong, and able to defend itself, fast and able to  
move.  Someone had to be minding the store, living up to the demands,  
submitting to the disciplines.  If not the Fleet people, then who?  
  And there was always a worse possibility beyond the immediate one of  
discontent and unrest.  
  Mutiny.  
  It is a simple truth.  We can't survive without the Maquis.  They  
can't survive without us.  But if either side becomes too unhappy with  
the situation they may mutiny, throwing both Chakotay and me aside,  
killing all hope either of us had of return or even survival for our  
people.  The end of all hope.  
  I was afraid.  I've been afraid of that possibility for a long time,  
but that night it ate into me like never before.  I don't like to lose  
control.  I never have.  Control is sometimes the only thing that stands  
between life and death, and that's more true now than ever.  But the  
only way I could see to take back control, now that stability was  
breaking down, would be to resort to force... and lose the very things I  
most cherished about the world I'd lost, and the world I'd tried to  
create here.  Betray the standards I had struggled to uphold.. and  
betray the trust of my crew.  Including, goddamn it, the man who'd sown  
the wind, all unintended, and raised up a whirlwind for our harvest.  
  As angry as he's made me on occasion, as often as I've wished I could  
find a way to contain him in the neat confines of his rank and role...  
as often as I've wished I could have had a more conventional first, who  
never threatened the security of the familiar truths and patterns I know  
and love, he's a good man.  I like him.  In a strange way, I trust him,  
and always have.  I never would have made him first officer if I didn't,  
no matter how expedient the answer had been politically.  Only a fool  
puts a true enemy, a criminal, in the position of second in command.   
There's too much power there, too much room to take control, break your  
leader's power.  It would have been better to have left him and his  
people behind, or killed them, or locked them in the brig and struggled  
on without their help, undermanned and desperate though we would have  
been, than to trust Voyager to him if he weren't a man I could respect.   
At the least, I could have held to the fact that I was in the position  
of greater strength, with my ship, my command, with the greater force of  
crew; and from that strength offered him a lower position, and placed  
Tuvok in the second chair.  He would have had little choice but to give  
way on that, so long as he and his people were well treated.  I hadn't  
taken that route, because I'd seen a better one.  
  When I'd had to hunt Chakotay, I'd had to study him.  What I'd found I  
could admire.  He'd had to make some hard choices.  They were choices  
the Federation couldn't afford to condone.  But he'd chosen the only  
path open to him that left him clean in his own eyes... and I valued  
that.  I still do.  
  I just wish he'd stop presenting me, by accident or intent, with  
choices that leave me feeling less honorable.  
  It was a long while before I slept.  It was beginning to look like a  
trend.  
  
  The next morning the other shoe dropped.  It started with Tuvok coming  
to my ready room with a rash of reports from all over the ship of Maquis  
causing disruptions.  Nothing major; though two fights had had to be  
broken up during fourth shift, and there were several incidents of  
squabbling and threats.  But Maquis were showing up late, or not at all,  
were refusing to give reasons, or explain their actions, and there were  
over a dozen reports of "improper attire".  When I asked what that  
meant, Tuvok emptied a box onto my desk, and a pile of Bajoran style  
earrings clattered and hissed onto the smooth surface.  I looked at  
them.  
  
  "What's this about, Tuvok?  We don't have this many Bajorans aboard.   
Just Gerron, and Jinn Cherrol, isn't it? "  
  "Also Dort Ladro and Hundrin Bandil."  
  "I'd forgotten them.  They're in Maintenance aren't they?"  
  "Yes.  I'm afraid even those duties are somewhat beyond their limited  
capacities.  There was no other place to put them, however, and as they  
are technically under Lieutenant Torres' command we haven't had  
excessive trouble with them."  
  "But still, only four Bajorans, and there have to be at least twelve  
earrings there.  It doesn't make sense."  
  Tuvok's mouth compressed tightly.  
  "If you would examine the earrings, Captain, perhaps you will see the  
sense."  
  I picked one up.  At first glance it seemed the usual sort of thing  
you see all over the place when you visit DS9. A chain linking a cuff to  
a stud, and a cluster of medallions  hanging from the stud by more  
chains.  I turned it in my hand, letting the medallions slip across my  
palm.  It took a moment to hit me.  Then I saw it, and once I did it all  
came together.  
  It's odd.  The most noticeable thing should have been the medallions.   
It wasn't what caught my eye though.  It was the chains.  Gold, and a  
link pattern I had seen only two nights before, though the links in  
Chakotay's chain had been larger and heavier.  But the pressed,  
flattened link was distinctive enough, particularly as it was unusual on  
Bajoran work.  You can get Bajoran earrings a dime a dozen in the shops  
on DS9.  I have several, though I don't wear them often.  But I always  
felt guilty not buying them. Bajor has seen so much, and has so few  
sources of revenue to rebuild the planet, even now the wormhole has  
opened up.  I always ended up buying one every time I passed through.   
And I'd never seen that flat link on one.  It seemed unlikely it was  
mere coincidence that suddenly there were a dozen earrings, all with the  
same sort of chain Chakotay had displayed only two nights before.  Then  
I noticed the medallions.  
  There were three.  One was stamped with a broken chain logo, a symbol  
used by the Maquis as a rally marker when they were drumming for  
recruits in "legal" meetings and open debates inside the Federation.   
All very clean and above board but still a front for recruiting.  
  One had the symbol for the Cardassian Empire... inverted.  
  And the third was the arching, asymmetric arrowhead symbol of Star  
Fleet.  Also inverted.  
  I felt the rage rise up in me.  I spoke into the air.  
  "Computer, open a line to Commander Chakotay's office."  
  "Line opened"  
  "Commander Chakotay."  
  There was a brief silence.  I could tell he was trying to adjust to  
the delivery.  My voice hadn't been precisely friendly, or even  
dispassionate and professional.  But then I hadn't meant it to be.  
  "Yes, Captain?"  
  "I'd like to see you in my office.  Immediately."  
  There was another silence.  Then he replied.  
  "Yes, Captain.  I'll be right over."  
  I looked at Tuvok.  There was an anticipatory air to him, his hunter's  
look, and I was a bit surprised to see it.  
  "I would have thought you would regret seeing the Commander called on  
the carpet.  You've seemed closer since you started going to the circle.  

And after the circle you seemed genuinely moved."  
  Tuvok raised an eyebrow.  
  "I am a Vulcan.  I cannot be moved.  However I will confess to being  
impressed by the Commander's oratory, and by the atrocities that many of  
his former command had suffered.  That does not alter the fact that the  
incident has only served to sow discord on the ship, and presented the  
Maquis as a whole in a light that not all of them deserve.  Nor were the  
Commander's historical metaphors entirely precise. Commander Chakotay   
is not "Chief Joseph", nor are his Maquis all the embattled heroes and  
victims he perceives them to be."  
  Something stirred in me, some sixth sense, and I was suddenly sure  
that there was more to Tuvok's displeasure than he was saying, but I  
wasn't able to pursue it.  Just then Chakotay entered.  When he saw  
Tuvok, rigid and disapproving as a Puritan minister regarding an  
unrepentant sinner, he stiffened. He turned to me, but his eyes remained  
on Tuvok, wary and distrustful. 

End pt. 2