Marooned - Christie Golden [32]
"Yeah, but only if there's not a second ion pulse," added Paris glumly. He edged back from beneath the controls, wiping his face. "We get another one like the last one and we'll have a warp core breach on our hands."
Janeway knew what kind of devastation a warp core breach would leave in its wake, and a shudder passed through her. A good chunk of the planet would be ripped away, including a handful of humanoid interlopers from a far distant part of the galaxy.
Lwffing back against the reassuring solidness of the bulkhead, Janeway silently assessed their situation. The shuttlecraft was useless. They couldn't contact Voyager. They had no weapons, no advanced medical technology, and several of the party were injured. There was no way to predict when and where or even if the violent ion pulse that had knocked them out of the sky would recur, but should there come a second one, their quest to return home would become suddenly moot.
They were, for all intents and purposes, now marooned on Mishkara. Marooned on a planet run by a megalomaniac who held Kes captive and wanted them dead.
She could think of better situations.
Paris rose and stretched. Janeway heard the pop of stiff joints cracking. "I'm going to take a look outside and see how bad the damage is," he said.
"At least it can't get any worse," mumbled Neelix unhappily.
Paris had to manually open the door. He managed, and the ramp descended. From her position Janeway couldn't see outside, but she had a clear look at Paris's handsome features as the blood drained from his face. It had, clearly, just gotten worse.
Paris uttered an ancient, evocative Anglo-Saxon term that Janeway hadn't often heard from him.
"Captain," said Paris slowly, "We've got visitors."
Chakotay stared at the screen, at the whirling cloud of gray-green that wrapped the planet in a shroud of gas and energy. But he was not seeing Mishkara. His mind's eye was filled with the image of Kathryn Janeway as she'd looked before stepping into the turbolift. Her eyes were narrowed with determination, her chin up in that tilt of defiance that he'd come to recognize as meaning trouble.
Chakotay didn't envy Aren Yashar one bit.
His half smile of wry amusement faded as he mentally reviewed what had happened over the last two hours. The shuttlecraft had no. met them at the rendezvous point, and while Chakotay knew enough to realize that this negotiation might take time, something had aroused his suspicion. Janeway had not gone expecting to be able to talk Yashar out of his prize, she'd gone to assess the situation. She ought to have been back by now.
Unless something had gone wrong. And deep in his heart, Chakotay thought something had.
"Sickbay to bridge. Please activate your emergency medical holographic channel."
The first officer was so deep in thought that the doctor's acerbic voice startled him. Leaning forward, he did as requested. "What is it, doctor?"
"Two words: Stockholm syndrome."
Chakotay frowned. "I'm not familiar with the term."
The doctor rolled his eyes. "Chakotay hated it when he did that. The doctor was so thoroughly programmed with so many varieties of information that he found it difficult to stay patient with those not quite as fortunate. An understandable attitude, perhaps, but an annoying one.
"I assume you know where Stockholm is, at least?"
"Of course. Sweden, back on Earth."
"Ah, we're making progress. The term originated in the late twentieth century. A woman was held hostage by a bank robber-"
"Bank robber?"
The doctor gritted his teeth. "Banks were places where money was kept. Bank robbers were people who robbed the place