Ragnarok by Nathan Archer Page B

The beauty of such things is undeniable.”
    Janeway suppressed a shudder. Much as she liked and admired her security chief, the dispassionate Vulcan attitude could still be unsettling at times.
    “Janeway to Chakotay,” she said, to distract herself, “are you prepared to launch?”
    “Yes, Captain,” came the first officer’s reply. “Whenever you’re ready.”
    Janeway signaled to Paris.
    Captain, it’s not too late for me to go,” Paris said. “Harry Kim doesn’t belong…”
    “Mr. Paris,” Janeway snapped, “I want the shuttlebay doors open and the shuttle cleared for launch. I do not want an argument!”
    “Yes, Captain,” Paris replied quietly, turning his attention back to his controls. “Shuttle is cleared for launch,” he announced.
    A moment later Chakotay’s voice came over the comm again.
    Shuttle away,” he said. “I’ll start broadcasting immediately, Captain, and then move in closer, away from the Voyager.”
    “Not too close,” Janeway answered. “We can’t afford to lose the shuttle—or any of the four of you.”
    “Don’t worry, Captain,” Chakotay replied. “I’ve had experience at this sort of thing, remember—I know how close I can cut it.”
    Janeway bit back a response, resisting the temptation to remind Chakotay that at least once he’d misjudged, which was how he’d wound up aboard the Voyager instead of still commanding his own little ship in the Maquis guerrilla war against the Cardassians.
    There was no point in nagging Chakotay. After all, he was no reckless daredevil to begin with—she glanced at Tom Paris as she thought that—and he had presumably learned from his experiences.
    She watched the screen as the shuttle appeared, the familiar boxy outline silhouetted against the glare of the raging battle; she watched as the outline dwindled with distance, dwindled to little more than a shadowy dot on the flickering mass of light and color ahead.
    Janeway didn’t really have a good intuitive feel yet for the scale of the Hachai and P’nir ships, but it seemed to her that Chakotay was going a good bit closer than he really needed to; she quickly called up the shuttle’s telemetry and confirmed her suspicion.
    “Chakotay,” she said, “back off; you’re too near. A stray shot could hit you.”
    “My shields are at maximum, Captain,” Chakotay replied calmly.
    “You’re in a shuttlecraft, Chakotay, not a starship,” Janeway reminded him, “and those people out there are throwing around one hell of a lot of energy.”
    “I’ll risk it, Captain.”
    Janeway hesitated.
    Of course, she could order him not to risk it, to withdraw—but she had to trust her first officer’s judgment. Even more than a starship captain always needed to be able to trust her officers, Janeway knew that to keep the peace aboard the Voyager, with her uneasy mix of Starfleet and Maquis crew members, she had to be seen to trust Chakotay. If that trust wasn’t evident she might well undercut his authority with the Starfleet personnel, or build resentment among the Maquis.
    If Chakotay thought he was safe enough where he was, she had to accept that.
    “Just be careful,” she said. “Run at the first sign of trouble.
    It’s not our fight and we’re outmatched.”
    “Understood, Captain,” came the reply. “Now, let me make sure my broadcast is working. Chakotay out.”
    And then there was nothing for her to do but wait, Janeway thought, wait and see whether the Hachai or the P’nir would listen to the shuttle’s broadcast offer to negotiate.
    She turned and looked about the bridge, trying to find something to keep herself occupied while Chakotay was out there in his tiny little shuttlecraft, facing those thousands of warships.
    Neelix, back by the turbolift, saw her looking about, and snatched the opportunity to address her.
    “Captain Janeway,” the Talaxian said, “couldn’t we go somewhere else now? Somewhere farther from the battle? Perhaps we could come back when