Mosaic - Jeri Taylor [5]
She smiled. Colloquialisms always sounded a little strange coming from the doctor, but before she could reply, an ominous hail from the bridge interrupted them.
"Chakotay to the captain."
"Janeway here."
"You're needed on the bridge, Captain. We may have a problem."
"On my way."
When she entered the bridge from the turbolift, the faces of the bridge crew looked grim. Janeway moved immediately to Chakotay. "We've been hailed by a Kazon ship," he reported. "He was none too friendly, and insisted we wait for them to intercept us. He didn't make an outright threat, but it was certainly implied."
Janeway felt a twinge of foreboding. Any encounter with the Kazon was potentially dangerous, although it had been some time since they had run into any of them; she had hoped that Voyager might possibly have moved outside the bitterly disputed turf of the various warlike sects. "Did he state his purpose, Commander? Or identify his faction?"
"He said he was Maje Dut of the Vistik, but didn't give any clue as to what he wanted."
They had never interacted with the Vistik, but Janeway had heard of them. They were a group smaller than the Ogla and the Nistrim, which seemed to be the most powerful of the groups, but they had figured in a disastrous alliance that had threatened to coalesce the Kazon into a unified force-a catastrophic prospect for Voyager, which could deal with individual factions but couldn't hope to survive a massive and cooperative Kazon armada.
Options: they could make the diplomatic choice and wait for the Vistik ship, hoping there was a reasonably benign reason for the meeting. And, after all, one Kazon ship didn't pose a particular threat. What's more, they had detected a planetary nebula nearby that might warrant some investigation. These nebulae, formed when older stars began to shed their outer atmosphere, were magnificent and fascinating. Janeway had studied the Alpha Quadrant's Helix Nebula and welcomed the opportunity to investigate another of these massive phenomena. It could occupy the time while they waited for the Kazon.
But she found herself rejecting that option even before it was a fully formed thought. The Kazon had proven time after time that they couldn't be trusted. They were warlike and volatile, and any encounter could prove hazardous. She knew that they had once been horribly oppressed themselves, but freedom from their tormentors had not resulted in growth or enlightenment; it had led only to an endless series of battles among each other, battles that frequently harmed innocent bystanders. Like Voyager. She wasn't going to jump to the whip of some unknown Kazon Maje; she wasn't willing to delay their journey by even a day to accommodate someone who more than likely would pose an unreasonable demand or a vindictive threat. She turned to Tom Paris, the young, sandy-haired lieutenant who was, as he had promised on their first meeting, the "best damn pilot" she could find. "Mr. Paris, we're not waiting around for a Kazon that won't even do us the courtesy of telling us what he wants to discuss. Continue your course for the Alpha Quadrant, warp six."
"Yes, ma'am. was Paris was obviously pleased with the decision. He was still-would probably always be-a bit of a daredevil, someone who struggled at times against the yoke of Starfleet protocols, but whose skill and intelligence were such that he could get away