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From: pegeel@aol.com (Pegeel)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: NEW: "The Red Queen's Repose"  VOY, J, 10/11
Date: 1 Mar 1996 20:02:39 -0500
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"The Red Queen's Repose" c. 1996, Peg Robinson.  Pt 10
Standard disclaimers.

  "Le p'tit minou?"  
  I nodded.  
  "Mmm.  Now that I've made a start on unifying the crew, and got you  
for an ally, it's time I started working things out in the command team.  

Which means figuring out how the hell to come to some kind of balance  
with Chakotay."  
  "Minou isn't so unreasonable.  Me, I think you'll work it out easily  
enough. "  
  I smiled, and turned to go... then turned back, stepping close to  
Magda.  As quietly as I could, I asked:  
  "Magda... do me a favor.  Tell me; what *does* 'minou' mean?"  
  Her face was a picture of amused bewilderment.  
  "Cherie, you have a computer to tell you these things... all you have  
to do is ask.  Why ask *me*?"  
  "He more or less made me promise not to look it up.  Asking the  
computer would be cheating.  But he never asked me not to ask you."  
  She dissolved into giggles.  
  "*Now* who is the 'barracks-room lawyer'? "  
  "I learned from a pro.  Come on, Magda.  It's been driving me  
crazy...."  
  She kept laughing.  
  "Kitten....."  
  "What?  How did you know...  Oh.  No?  Not *really*?"  
  She nodded, tears running down her cheeks.  By then I was gasping too.  

We ended up on the benches, draped over the tables.  It was quite a few  
minutes before we could talk again.  When we finally could breath, I  
managed to get out another question.  
  "'Kitten'... why in the name of *heaven* 'kitten'?"  
  She shrugged, and chuckled.  
  "Eh, I have no objection to his people's naming traditions.  If  
anything they make more sense than my own.  But if a man *will* walk  
around with a name like 'Wildcat' it seems only fair that the women in  
his life do what they can to keep him humble about it.  Particularly  
such a one as Chakotay.  He is half in love with legend, and *someone*  
has to deflate his ambition to be a hero or he'll end up dead for love  
of a bit of drama.  And no-one on ship spoke French, so I could get away  
with it."  
  I grinned at her.  
  "I'll bet he wonders why the hell he ever let you on ship.  'Minou'.   
You're terrible.  But it's a hell of a coincidence."  
  She looked at me, baffled, then caught on, and started to chuckle  
again.  
  "Oh, no.  'Kathryn'.  How long did it take you to escape it?"  
  "Depends on how you look at it.  I suppose that's one good thing about  
being stuck here.  I may not be able to go home... but I also don't have  
to put up with my father and my aunt calling me 'Kitten'.  You win some,  
you lose some."  
  "Le minou et la minette, ils partagent une p'tite baguette."  
  "A French nursery rhyme?"  
  "No.  A Quebequoise improvisation.  'Two kittens share a little loaf'.  
Only there's a pun.  The word  'baguette' also means 'rod'.  Like  
the rod of command, you see?"  
  I sighed.  
  "It's hard enough to deal with *English* puns.  That makes *three*  
French puns in two days.  Maybe you'd better give me time to recover  
before you hit me with any more."  
  "Possiblement.  It is, I suppose, enough for now.  But I must be  
allowed some latitude, cherie, or I will fall into despair.  It is not  
everyone who must keep *two* kittens humble.  You will have to humor  
me."  
  "You're hopeless, Magda.  I think I'd better get out before you find  
some way to take over the ship altogether, and leave me out of a job."  
  She was still laughing when I left.  
  
  And so there I was, at the end of the day, standing in front of my  
first officer's door, wondering how the hell I was going to manage to  
bring us together.  It was a strange feeling.  Change was coming to  
Voyager, change I'd never foreseen, and I didn't know how to navigate  
the territory.  There weren't any charts, not even ones with a  
convenient "Here there be monsters" to tell me when I was heading into  
dangerous waters.  I raised my hand and rang the door chime.  
  
  "Who's there?"  
  I drew a breath.  
  "Kathryn Janeway."  
  More than "just Kathryn", but still considerably less than "Captain  
Janeway", or "Your Captain, mister."  I guessed I'd get to informality  
one small step at a time.  
  The silence was impressive.  More impressive was his voice when he did  
finally respond.  He sounded like he'd swallowed a large mouthful of  
coffee the wrong way, and was trying not to choke.  
  "Oh.  I mean, come in..."  
  The door opened and I stepped in.  
  I've been in a time or two before, but not often.  I don't visit  
*any* of the crews' quarters often, but I'm afraid I have to admit, I'd  
"not visited" Chakotay's quarters a bit more decidedly than I'd "not  
visited" most everyone else's rooms.  
  He's done a nice job with them.  A bit empty, but then considering he  
started with Star Fleet issue and the Maquis outfit he'd beamed on with,  
plus whatever his crew had managed to grab up for him when they  
abandoned the Maquis ship, he'd worked miracles.  Heavy on the  
southwestern geometrics, but nice ones.  Some carvings.  Thinking of  
Tuvok's talking stick I wondered if they were his own work.  A plant.   
No idea what kind.  One of the spiky sort.  A bright, patterned blanket,  
a wall hanging.  A table in the corner held carving tools, stones, a  
large piece of wood that was being carved into something; but it was   
far enough from being completed that I had no idea what he had planned  
for it.  I could see the dining area through an entry, and a bit of a  
table that was covered with food.  
  He was pretty much covered with food too... or at least with spices.   
He was trying to get rid of a towel he'd tucked, apron style, into the  
waistband of informal trousers,  but he'd managed to grab part of his  
shirt in the process and was making a mess of the whole thing.  The  
shirt was beige, not the best color I've ever seen him in, and it was  
liberally streaked with bright yellow, a deep sort of brown, a dollop of  
whitish something that looked a bit sticky.  Even a kitchen innocent  
like me could see he'd been cooking.  And if I couldn't see it, I could  
smell it.... the place smelled like heaven.  Like the Punjabi restaurant  
on DS9, or T'pel's kitchen on Vulcan.  I was suddenly aware that I  
hadn't had a real meal since the evening before... and that had been a  
salad I'd picked at, and finally returned to the recycle chute only  
half-eaten.  My stomach rumbled, and I hoped he couldn't hear it.  
  "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to interrupt your dinner.  I can go..."  
  He'd finally gotten the towel untangled from the shirt, and he stood  
there holding it like he hadn't the faintest idea what to do with it  
now.  He looked up from it, as though he'd just realized what I said.  
  "No.  It's all right.  I was just getting some stuff made ahead.  I  
was going to stick it in stasis for another day."  He gave a crooked  
grin.  "Actually, it was mainly an excuse to torture a bit of garlic and  
ginger.  I didn't kill Tuvok this afternoon, and needed to vent."  
  "Just as well.  I've made Magda an appointment with him tomorrow  
afternoon, and I'd hate to have him miss it due to a sudden onset of   
'deceased' ."  
  "You've made an appointment for *Magda*?  With *Tuvok*?"  
  "Mmm-hmmm.  She's now part of the 'Anti-Kilpatrick-Jorland Task  
Force'."  
  "When did this happen?"  
  "This afternoon.  I've resolved 'The Great Maquis Uprising'.  Or at  
least I hope I have.  At least I have Magda on my side now."    
  He thought about it a second, then grinned.  
  "You mean she won."  
  I shrugged.  
  "What can I say?  She was right; and I needed an ally.  So I  
dickered. She gets the uniforms made non-obligatory.  She gets away with  
'teaching me a little lesson', without it costing her her skin.  I get  
her help trying to pull in the Maquis, her advice on how to contain  
Jorland and Kilpatrick... and the occasional useful household hint on  
the care and management of Maquis Captains.  Seemed like a good deal to  
me."  
  "Sounds like I'm in trouble.  Oh, well.  It looks like she may be able  
to give me a hint or two about the care and management of the other kind  
of Captain, too."  
  I shrugged... and my stomach rumbled again.  This time it had the  
sound cranked up.  We both got that embarrassed look folks get when  
someone develops the hiccups on bridge, or walks into walls because  
they're talking too hard to look where they're going.  The "Oh, my, do I  
notice that, or pretend it didn't happen" look.  Then we both laughed.   
  "How long since you ate?"  
  "Not more than a decade or two.  Or at least in the last century."  
  "Come on in.  I made plenty."  
  "You're sure?"  
  "Certain."  
  I followed him into the dining bay, and looked at the table.   
Containers of good looking food *everywhere*, and plates full of flat  
breads.  My mouth was watering.  
  "You really *did* have it in for Tuvok, didn't you?  How much garlic  
and ginger died to satisfy your bloodthirsty urges?"  
  "Lots.  And I was trying to remember that there really *are* times I  
more or less like him, too.  Cooking Indian seemed like a good way to do  
it."  
  Which made absolutely no sense to me.  Mattar panir and Moglai murg  
seemed like a strange way to recall Tuvok's virtues.  T'Pel's virtues...  
now *that* made sense.  T'Pel can *cook*.  Tuvok mostly just eats what  
she makes, and looks about as enraptured as a Vulcan can.  I used to  
tease him that it was one of the things we shared in common.  We didn't  
either of us cook... and we both loved to eat what T'pel cooked.  Turns  
out we both love to eat what Chakotay cooks, too.  Lord help me, the man  
can cook....  
  I'd been wolfing down the mattar panir for a few minutes before I  
realized he was just watching me, a rather dumbstruck look on his face.   
I slowed down.  
  "Alright, maybe two centuries since I ate last..."  
  His eyes were laughing, if a bit awed.  
  "I'd say at least.  Do you always eat like this?"  
  I thought about it.  
  "Not really.  I mostly just forget to eat.  Get busy and suddenly  
realize hours later that lunch has come and gone.  Just as well.  Until  
they come up with a metabolic adjuster that doesn't create as many  
problems as it solves, forgetting to eat has its advantages. I don't  
have to spend all my time in the holodeck sweating it off."  I fished in  
my pocket, and pulled out a tangle of earrings.  The two Maquis and Star  
Fleet "Bajoran" earrings, my green glass dangles, and the extra  
"Voyageurs" earring.  I picked out the "Voyageurs", and held it out to  
him.  "A present.  I thought you might like to have one.  There's a  
story that goes with it."  
  He looked at me, and raised his brows.  
  "I get enough second looks with the tattoo.  I'm not sure I want to  
find out what people would say about my wearing a 'rebel earring'."  
  "It's not a rebel earring.  And if you don't want to wear it you can  
hang it on your wall or something.  I don't know.  Is it the sort of  
thing you'd put in your medicine bundle?"  
  He reached out and took the earring, his face puzzled as he examined  
the medallions.  
  "I don't know.  What's the story?"  
  So I began 'The Tale of Magda, the Captain, and Les Voyageurs'.  I got  
him to laugh at least three times, which I counted to my credit.  By the  
time I'd covered the ground, I'd eaten the entire container of mattar  
panir, made a bad dent in the plate of paratha, been settled on the sofa  
with a cup of hot tea, and was wondering if I was going to be able to  
stay awake long enough to get to the important part of the visit.  Three  
nights of not sleeping had hit me like a ton of bricks, and a full  
stomach and the comfort of having dealt with Magda and the Maquis were  
having their effect. I stretched and blinked my eyes, looking over to  
where Chakotay sat in an arm chair, dangling the earring and watching  
the medallions sway.  
  "So that's why geese.  I like it."  
  "Thought you would."  I got up my nerve. "Chakotay, I'm sorry I've  
dragged my feet so hard about bringing you into the command structure."  
  He blinked.  
  "Now that's a sudden change of topic."  
  "Not really."  I sighed.  "I called myself a 'four-pip science  
officer' the other day.  It wasn't really a joke...or it was the kind  
that's got a lot of truth to it.  My last command was pure science.   
Twenty crewmembers, and hardly any besides a few specialists like Tuvok  
with less than a Ph.D. in one hard science or another.  We used to joke  
that you needed a masters at least to change the toilet paper in the  
public rest rooms on the 'Mme Curie'.  I was a good Captain for the  
'Curie'.  'Voyager' was supposed to be the same kind of  assignment... 
just a bit bigger.  Then a lot of politics came together, and things 
shifted around.  Next thing I knew, I was being assigned border duty, my 
Security Officer was being shoved into undercover assignments, my crew 
was shifted from mainly scientists to standard mix... or if anything a 
bit heavy on the "military specialist" end of things... and I was 
supposed to be delighted, because I was seen as a "hard liner" where the 
Cardassian treaty was concerned."  I looked him in the eye.  "I was, you 
know.  I still am.  Magda says she's proud to be Maquis.  I understand 
that.  But I'm proud to support the treaty, even knowing what it's cost.  
Hell, in a strange way, I'm one of the people who made sure there'd be a 
treaty."  
  He looked at me, his face still.  
  "Another story?"  
  "Mmm.  Commander, did you ever have to go to Wolf 359 before you left  
the Fleet?"  
  His mouth tightened.  
  "No.  We were stationed on the Cardassian border when the Borg hit.   
After they hit we stayed on the border.  There weren't any ships to come  
relieve us."  
  I nodded, and looked down into my tea cup.  
  "I was first officer of the "Stokal" then.  Another science ship.   
When Wolf was finished, we were one of the few ships near enough to be  
first-in on the clean up.  Our main assignment was to sift the wreckage,  
analyze the bits and pieces, and try to make some sense of the kind of  
technology the Borg had used to kill an Armada.  And we were supposed  
to make an evaluation on the Federation's ability to survive another  
attack of the same kind."  I looked up. "That alone would have made me  
support the treaty, Chakotay.   We hadn't just been out-classed... we'd  
been obliterated.  We hadn't stood a chance.  And the Borg were still  
out there.... and half the Fleet's strongest ships were dead.  Half her  
most experienced military commanders were dead."  
  "So the Cardassian war wasn't expedient?"  
  His voice wasn't bitter.  It was sad.  He's too good a militarist not  
to understand the logic of my position.  
  I looked back down into the cup.  
  " 'Not expedient'.  Yes.  I suppose you could call it that."  
  "What else?"  

  End pt.10