Takes place about a week after MISSION STATEMENT.

"Captain's log, stardate 50056. Neelix and Kes have started a list of items we might be able to use for trade. It's not something I want to do, but to survive out here we need to. Neelix says we are near several major trading centers. Resources are scarce, and we are again cutting back on energy output. We have eliminated replicator usage--with a few exceptions, mostly medical. We are still repairing damage inflicted upon us when the Kazon abandoned ship." Vindictive bastards, she thought. The Kazon had gone a replicating binge, replicating the strangest things: chocolate milkshakes; a toy train set; and a variety of aphrodisiacs. They had managed to waste most of the ship's omicron particles.

She changed topics.

"It's been eight days since the discussion with Chakotay. He's very good at making me see alternatives--like a good First Officer should. But, lately," like the last several months she added mentally. "The distance between us has nothing to do with Command and everything to do with Protocol." She trailed off--and tried to pick another, less personal, topic to put in her log.

She finally decided to stop recording, and let her mind wander. Since the recovery of the ship, there had been an increase in shipboard activities. There was a bridge tournament (a game she abhorred). Someone had started a chess club. Harry was trying to get enough people together for a small orchestra, and there was even a renaissance music ensemble. And strangest of all, Tom Paris had started the Voyager Repertory Theater. Their premiere would be Macbeth, an odd choice, but with Tom directing...

She'd heard some interesting rumors, but rehearsals had been closed to the public, and the cast and crew weren't talking. She'd given them permission to convert shuttle bay 2 to a theater--for use by all groups.

Tom covered his face with his hands in frustration. Opening night was five days away, and Ensign Hargrove was still struggling with the words to Macbeth's idiot speech. "No, no, no. 'That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing'. Again from Seyton's entrance." Hargrove was good, but for some reason he couldn't remember that particular speech.

Tom had been delighted when the Captain gave them permission to convert the shuttle bay. The transporters were very useful--especially for Banquo's ghost and the witches.

He was enjoying himself, he'd never liked acting, but being the power behind the play had always appealed to him. He remembered trying to tell his father he wanted to go to drama school rather than the Academy. He'd been 15. It was one of the few times his father had ever spoken more than six sentences to him.

He turned back to the stage. Hargrove was starting, "Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow..."

Tom held his breath and only let it out when Hargrove finished. "Yes. Good job, everybody. See you tomorrow evening for first tech rehearsal. And please arrange with Samantha for your final costume fittings. Good night all."

Jenny Delaney appeared from behind the dropcloth they were using as a stage wall, cackling. "Double, double..." Her sister, Megan appeared. Tom thought it had been a stroke of genius to cast them as two of the witches. Liza Jones from Engineering was the third. Liza could have been their older sister.

Harry woke up from his nap, lying in the corner--he was playing several parts, including Duncan. He also had to report to duty in an hour, so had been catching up on his sleep.

"Come on Harry, dinner awaits."

"I wish it would keep waiting. Leola root pie, with Tankaritian ale. I'll be having nightmares for weeks."

Tom stopped. "Double, double toil and trouble... Six grams leola root, 4 strands hair pasta, 7 liters Tankaritian ale."

The cast laughed.

Jenny grinned, "That won't cast a spell, just give you a bellyache."

"I don't think Neelix would appreciate it if you ridiculed his cooking publicly." Harry frowned, "Anyway we've made enough changes in the script."

Tom nodded. He'd already been called on the carpet four times this month for making comments about Neelix's cooking. He really didn't want to help in the kitchen. But then...

So much for an orderly, well-planned senior staff meeting. Janeway watched them carefully. Tom had just disrupted the meeting. He did have this knack of saying something inappropriate. Especially recently--and usually about Neelix's food. This time he seemed to be baiting B'Elanna as well. Fortunately Neelix wasn't at this meeting.

"Tom, you can help in the kitchen--0600 hours until 0730 for the next seven days." She had warned him.

Tom just nodded--he should learn to keep his mouth shut, he thought.

Janeway looked quickly at the others: Harry was tired--he was half way through a double shift. Tuvok seemed well rested, and Chakotay... He was watching Tom and B'Elanna with an amused look on his face.

"If we can return to the topic at hand. Yearly department reviews." Janeway remarked. Tom's crack about teaching Neelix to cook Klingon style forgotten, for the moment. "Have them completed within the next two weeks. If there's a problem, please let me know. Next item, trade. I've asked Neelix to develop a list of items we have that might usable for trade. He says we are near several major trading ports. Mr. Tuvok is preparing a report on Federation trade policy and changes in our security measures for first contact and trade missions. Each department will complete a list of items and materials they need: also any surplus items or personal items that might be useful for trade. Anything--we'll discuss what to keep and eliminate in two days. Unless there's something else, dismissed."

Kathryn Janeway watched them leave--or that is what she told herself she was doing--actually she was watching her First Officer leave.

In a world where she had denied herself many things, she had found herself having to concede that she couldn't maintain her command isolation and survive. To that end, she had started visiting Sandrine's. She smiled. She was the reigning pool champion. The mathematical precision of the game fascinated her: she loved to calculate the angles and trajectories necessary to make a shot. The only problem was that good opponents were few and far between.

She understood why so many of the crew had re-discovered their favorite hobbies and interests. Her interests had been science and reading. She didn't enjoy her holonovels like she used to--they had become unsatisfactory, boring even. That left science. Except a research project took time--time she didn't have.

She considered a new hobby--painting maybe. A holo-program with Renoir as her instructor. Music? She had taken piano lessons as a child. She shook her head at the thought of the many hours of practice before one was tolerably good--she hadn't enjoyed it that much.

The chirping of her combadge interrupted any further thoughts. "Janeway here."

"Captain," Chakotay's voice said. "We've detected several small ships. They are on a parallel course, and of a type we have not encountered before."

"Run an analysis, and I'll be right there."

Chakotay looked up quickly when she entered the bridge. "Captain, the ships are small freighters. Neelix suggested they might be traders. We are near several major trade routes."

"Interesting, have Neelix come to the bridge. We have a whole list of items we need. Mr. Kim, analysis."

"There are five ships, about 15 light-years away on a parallel course. They just appeared about 10 minutes ago. Apparently they were in an area of heavy ionization. We still have a few bugs to work out on the new sensor array program. But it is an improvement over the original."

"And the ships?" She asked.

"Small freighters, minimal weaponry, only two or three life-forms on board each ship. Cargo varies. At this distance it's hard to accurately identify what they are carrying--but one ship is apparently carrying omicron particles." Everybody on the bridge looked at Harry. Most went back to work very quickly.

She looked at Chakotay. Omicron particles--this was too good to be true. She nodded at his unasked question.

"Mr. Paris, lay in an intercept course," he ordered. "Mr. Tuvok, yellow alert." There had been too many surprises in the delta-quadrant not to take precautions.

Janeway turned to face the viewscreen. "Open a hailing channel. This is Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation Starship Voyager."

"This is Captain Xykator of the Narbezian ship Telsar. How may we help you, Captain Janeway." The answer was audio only.

"We would like to discuss the possibility of negotiating for the omicron particles one of your ships is transporting and other items."

This time there was a video transmission. The tall, yellow humanoid with long-dark-green hair braided down his back smiled. "You have very good sensors. Then you must also know we lack weapons. Yet you still want to negotiate?"

"Captain Xykator, that is not how we do business. We're working on list of items we would be willing to trade."

"We have heard of this ship, Voyager. We would be happy to negotiate with you. We only have limited supplies of omicron particles with us. Perhaps you would be interested in visiting our homeworld--there we have access to more. Captain, it will be a pleasure doing busy with someone with integrity. But, if you don't mind, we would prefer it if we could negotiate from our present positions. We're a little paranoid."

Janeway smiled--the Voyager crew could relate to that very easily. "Understood. Let us put together a list of items we would be willing to exchange for the particles. Give us about half-an-hour."

"Very well Captain. Xykator out."

"Mr. Kim, continuous scans and monitor all frequencies." She turned, "Commander, I want you, B'Elanna, Mr. Tuvok and Neelix to report to my ready room. Tom you have the bridge, if anything suspicious happens, get us out of here."

"Aye Captain."

"Mr. Tuvok?" The Captain asked after they entered the ready room.

"Captain. I've been reviewing Federation Policy on trade. They are specific in not allowing the exchange of technology or services, but policy on an exchange of goods is vague."

"Captain," Chakotay cut in. "Policy wasn't written with Voyager in mind..."

"The Commander is correct," Tuvok quietly continued. "But considering our past experiences, we should minimize the use of our technology around other cultures. Captain, if you would look at my report titled 'Security Risks and Considerations,' section twelve, you can read my proposals."

Janeway read quickly. "There are some good recommendations--especially involving first contact. I agree with you that we should avoid using the transporters."

She looked around: the others nodded their tacit approval. "Neelix what can you tell me about the Narbezians?"

"Not much Captain, I haven't dealt with them personally. I've heard a number of conflicting stories. They are sharp traders, very good at getting a good deal for themselves. In the past they have traded with many cultures, including Talaxia. Recently they seem to have settled for trading in this sector only. We are near three major trade routes and Narbezia is a major port of call. It would be very likely that they would be dealing in omicron particles. I brought our list, at least what Kes and I have completed. It's an eclectic assortment." He handed Janeway the padd.

She looked at the list for trade: T-shirts, a hammer, some dishes, and other things. She was supposed to propose this list and keep a straight face?

Somehow she did, and no one else made any jokes either. The list was modified, a few things added, others deleted and it was sent to Captain Xykator.

Xykator's response was quick and positive--for some of the goofier things on the list. They then spent fifteen minutes haggling over the price. Neelix was able to negotiate the initial cost in half. The Narbezians had with them only enough omicron particles to keep Voyager going at full rations for a month. To make the exchange, Xykator's ship would be brought on board Voyager.

"Captain Xykator welcome aboard Voyager. This is my First Officer, Commander Chakotay. Mr. Tuvok is my Chief of Security. Our Chief Engineer, Lieutenant Torres will check the omicron particles."

"Captain Janeway, it is a pleasure to be on board your ship." Xykator looked around the docking bay. "It is much bigger than it appears from the outside. Very impressive. Gyrak here will examine the wares." An even yellower Narbezian stood behind Xykator.

"Very good. Mr. Neelix will you show Gyrak the wares."

Neelix escorted Gyrak to the boxes of extra clothes. T-shirts, costumes from holodeck programs, several items from the various cultures represented on Voyager. (Almost everybody had been willing to give up something--just to get their replicator rations back, even for a short time.)

"Captain," Janeway started. "Can you explain to me why the clothes?"

Xykator laughed. "Our next stop is Tilpuria, the people there are fascinated by exotic clothing. We'll get a good price for yours. Yours are truly exotic, rare, and unique. If you are interested in further trade..."

"What else do you have?"

He smiled. "I'm sorry Captain, but we're on a fairly strict schedule. We're going to be late to Tilpuria--not too late, I always like to leave a little extra time for unseen events. But I can arrange for you to receive permission to trade at Narbezia." He added conspiratorially, "I have relatives in high places--it won't be any problem to get permission."

"Thank-you Captain, we would be interested." Janeway replied. "If you would be willing to give us star charts of the area..." Or would they have to trade for those too.

"Of course Captain. I'll arrange for a set to be transferred to your ship. Gratis. Just mention my name when you talk with the Narbezian trade officials."

"Again thank-you."

"Ahh, Gyrak the clothing?"

"First rate, Captain," the Narbezian subordinate replied.

"Very good. And the omicron particles, Captain--are they what you expected?" Xykator asked.

"B'Elanna?" She asked her Chief of Engineering when B'Elanna rejoined the group.

"They'll do: we will have to purify them."

The two Captains shook hands and the exchange was made.

From the star charts left by Xykator, Tom plotted a course to Narbezia. "Captain, at warp 6 it will take 7 days."

"Very good. Lay in the course, warp 6. Engage."

"First Officer's Log, stardate 50064. Our first contact with the Narbezians seemed to go well. They were very willing to be helpful."

Am I becoming cynical? Or did it just seem they were too helpful, Chakotay thought while he looked around his darkened quarters.

"Discipline notes. Lieutenant Paris just couldn't keep his mouth shut and has been assigned morning KP duty. Personal note: it could look like something may be developing between him and Lieutenant Torres. Other discipline notes. Ensign Lloyd had a party in her quarters last night. Security had to intervene after her neighbors made several complaints. This ship wasn't designed for privacy. B'Elanna has talked about adding some sort of sound-proofing, but other problems have always intervened."

He stopped to listen. His next door neighbor was very quiet. Rarely he could hear, like now, strains of some piece of music drift through the walls. Not that he minded. It was just that the wall symbolized the distance she was attempting to keep between them. He'd wait: time was on his side. There were already times he saw signs of the wall cracking.

He knew that one of her concerns was how would the crew react to them being together. His concern was that Tom might take matters into his own hands and... At least right now, Tom Paris was too busy to meddle in anything, even his own affairs.

They were halfway through the Tech-Rehearsal, and they had only been working three hours. Tom groaned quietly. The lights just weren't working, the lighting technicians were missing cues, and he was about to lose a third of his cast and crew to their duty shift. "Damn, damn, damn," he muttered. But he had scheduled the tech rehearsal for two days. "OK, let's call it a night. Same time tomorrow. We'll start with Act three scene two. Mike and Joan, can I see you for a few minutes?" Lieutenant Mike Forrest was the technical director and Ensign Joan Moog was the set designer.

Joan walked toward Tom. Mike was still in an animated discussion with his two technicians.

"Joan, the sets turned out well. Is there anyway we can speed up scene changes?" Tom asked.

"Practice." The blonde Ensign from Chemistry smiled. "We could use a couple of more helpers."

"I'll have the cast help. Let me know by noon what you need. Thanks Joan."

"Lieutenant. I'll get that list to you."

"Mike, what the hell is going on with the lights."

"We couldn't schedule a trial run. Tom, the last time I designed the lights for a show was seven years ago, and I had a fully automated board. We're improvising--we just don't have the right equipment and color gels to get the effects we were after."

"The colors work well, better than I had hoped, so is most everything else. It's all the missed cues. When Lady Macbeth first entered the lights were somewhere else. She is the key to this production."

Mike laughed. "And to your funeral. You have guts, Tom. So does the cast--I just hope you survive. I have the technicians coming in an hour early to readjust our cues. See you tomorrow."

Tom nodded as he turned to Harry. "God, I'd forgotten how much work this is. I'm falling asleep while I stand here, and I have to work in the kitchen tomorrow. If Neelix makes me peel Leola Root, I will put them in the witches brew."

Harry just laughed. "If you're not sentenced to scrub the outside of the ship, you may find yourself scrubbing leola root for the rest of the trip. Good night."

"Night." Tom was getting a little nervous. Three more rehearsals before the first of two performances. He'd sworn everybody to secrecy when they had their first rehearsal. His vision for Macbeth was different--strictly a delta-quadrant production.

He yawned several times. Then dragged himself to his quarters for five hours of sleep before his alarm went off.

Morning on Voyager was no different from noon or evening. The illusion was created by the necessity of having to be somewhere at a specific time. Otherwise in the dark reaches of the delta-quadrant time was an obstacle to overcome.

A long obstacle, and for Kathryn Janeway a lonely one. It was her choice, her decision not to continue anything that might have started on New Earth. He had acceded to her decision--she knew he disagreed with it--but he had tried to live with it. And as successfully as she had. She smiled. She just hid her feelings better. All that Starfleet training.

The lonely stalwart Captain. Every Captain she'd ever met may have been like that while on board their ship, but most had a private life and regular time off. Unless one counted New Earth, her last leave had been over 2 years ago. The same was true for every member of this crew too. Sure, there had been some short shore leaves, a day or two, here and there, but everybody deserved a two month--hell a full year's leave. Neither were going to happen in the foreseeable future.

She finished putting her hair up. She'd have just enough time to eat breakfast and see how Tom was handling KP before reporting to the bridge.

"Captain, good morning. Try some of my Silerian meal, with just a splash of leola root for that special touch." Neelix grinned. "The crew is raving about it." He handed her a bowl full of the stuff and escorted her to a table in the back. "I have a dark glucose based sweetener. Tom suggested we offer it. He's enjoying himself. He even volunteered to peel and grate the leola root this morning. I have to go, more customers. Enjoy your breakfast Captain."

He was off, greeting more of his customers. After 2 years he still bubbled enthusiasm. She absent-mindedly took a bite of the meal while she read the first of God knows too many year-end reports, and stopped. This was good. Neelix had served it before: she was sure he had. She took another bite--no leola root. That bitter-slimy taste wasn't there. But Neelix had said... She looked toward the kitchen--Tom was leaving to go to the bridge. He turned, nodded his head at her, then smiled. She controlled her urge to smile back. God, as long as Neelix didn't find out.

"Captain?"

"Commander, I see Neelix forced his Silerian meal on you. Have a seat." She smiled at him.

Chakotay looked at her. It'd been a while since he'd seen her genuinely smile. "Is everything OK, Captain?"

"I've been had. Try the meal." She continued to smile as he hesitantly took a bite, then returned her smile.

"Not bad. I wonder how Tom managed to dump it?"

"He volunteered to help peel and grate the stuff." She laughed quietly. "So much for punishment."

"I don't know Captain. I don't think the crew would mind having Tom punished like this more often."

"Only if Neelix doesn't find out. How much root does he have left?"

"According to Kes, not much. Neelix is worried."

"I'll work on that." She became serious. "Commander, the Narbezians? Or are we just becoming paranoid?"

He smiled. "I don't know. Just go in prepared for the worse..."

"And hope for the best?"

"Kath... Captain."

Her response to his inadvertent slip, was simply a smile. For some reason she didn't feel angry with him. "I'll see you on the bridge Chakotay."

"Captain."

She entered the bridge. Tom was at the conn, looking pleased with himself. She shook her head. "Mr. Paris, I'll be in my ready room."

"Yes, ma'am."

Tom Paris might be a damn good pilot, have the makings of a fine officer--but his sense of humor or whatever it was... He seemed to be in fine form today. She groaned. Maintaining discipline wasn't difficult, just so different from what she was used to in the alpha-quadrant. They'd already had to modify the consequences several times. Loss of replicator rations had been the major one. But that was almost moot now. No one had any to lose--until the replicators were brought on line.

Tom wasn't the only one with a sense of humor. She realized she missed the laughter she had shared with Chakotay on New Earth, and even before on Voyager.

She had for years learned to bury her own humor, to ignore the opportunities, all so she would be taken seriously as a scientist and a Starfleet Officer. Especially the latter. The higher one rose in the ranks, the more one was expected not to have a sense of humor.

The last thing Captain Janeway did before leaving the bridge at the end of the shift was to talk to Tom Paris.

"Lieutenant Paris, my ready room."

"Yes Captain."

"Lieutenant, these 'incidents' have to stop. I expect members of my senior staff to set an example during times of crisis--not complain. While I don't expect you to tell Neelix that you like leola root, I expect you to NOT make disparaging comments. Understood?"

"Yes Captain."

"And Lieutenant, I don't intend on having this conversation again." She paused. "I've reconsidered your KP duty. Since I need you awake on the bridge, your KP assignment will start in five days--after your play closes."

"Thank-you, ma'am," he grinned when she dismissed him.

Impertinent, and slowly becoming the unofficial morale officer of this ship. Sandrine's, a cheap pool-joint that had become the hangout for most of the crew, was his creation. And he was supposedly working on a new holo-program.

She looked at her terminal and flicked the record button.

"Captain's Log, stardate 50071.2. Narbezia is a major trading center in this sector, and Neelix feels we may be able to trade there for the materials and supplies we need. It's not that far off our present course, we shall arrive in six days. In the meantime, we're trying to decide what we can offer in trade that won't be violating the Prime Directive or Starfleet regulations. Neelix seems to feel that some of our excess metal samples, extra clothing, and similar items may be enough. B'Elanna asked if we could offer to repair equipment in exchange for some of the materials we are in short supply of. There are regulations about such exchanges—but considering where we are... I am considering a wait and see attitude--depending on what the material is and limiting repairs to defensive, propulsion, and other non-offensive systems. Neelix also wants to stop at a planet called Margolay Prime, to gather supplies. I told him I'd consider it."

The next three days were calm for everybody, except department heads, who were busy writing reports and The Voyager Repertory Company. Tom Paris in particular. Final dress rehearsal had been a nightmare. Lady Macbeth's costume had started to molt, and Samantha Wildman's kid was sick. Somehow Samantha had managed to repair the costume in time for the premiere.

Opening night, and Lieutenant Tom Paris was a nervous wreck. Facing the Kazon would be easier. The play would be starting in twenty-five minutes and... Where to begin. He groaned quietly. Compared to what he was feeling, the chaos surrounding him was calm.

Fifteen minutes to curtain. Funny how Shakespeare had a line for every situation. Several came to mind, 'The play's the thing,' or 'Once more unto the breach.' The latter fit his mood a little better.

The Captain looked around. It still resembled a shuttlebay. Probably with time that would change. She slipped into her seat next to Commander Chakotay. "Macbeth still seems such a peculiar choice..." she whispered.

"Not that peculiar, considering everything."

"Have you any idea what he has done to the play?"

"Only rumors, but I gather it has a delta-quadrant twist."

She looked startled, but the lights started to dim and the Renaissance ensemble on recorders, sackbutts, and crumhorns played the overture, a 'Battle Galliard and Pavan."

Tom Paris had created this production of Macbeth from the various happenings of the past 2 years. Due to budget (replicator) restraints, the characters were allusions of their all too real counterparts... The scenes were dark and ominous. The witches were found in a setting that resembled a dark cave on a desert planet. Scotland became the stars, Macbeth was decidedly Kazon and Lady Macbeth... She brought the greatest laughter when she spoke in a deadly calm voice about murdering the King. Even the Captain's face twitched at the allusion to their former nemesis, Seska

The two and half hour performance was declared to be the finest production of Macbeth ever done in the delta-quadrant. The audience had enjoyed it.

Janeway looked at Chakotay. He was smiling--apparently he had enjoyed the play, despite the references...

He looked at her. "It might have been worse..." She looked puzzled. "He might have added references to us." He watched her blush--yes her wall was cracking.

"He's thinking of doing Much Ado about Nothing, though I understand Lieutenant Forrest has requested to do HMS Pinafore."

"I requested Henry V." Chakotay added with a grin.

She looked at him quizzically.

"My first year at the academy, and I knew absolutely no one there. The drama association was doing Henry V..."

"You tried out?"

"I was the understudy for the guy who held the horse." He laughed. "No, I volunteered to help with the scenery. I ended up designing the sets for the next three shows. In the Maquis I used much of what I learned there to camouflage our bases and to blend in with the local scene, et cetera." He shrugged his shoulders. That had been a lifetime ago. He looked at her unguardedly--two years and the trust of one person had changed him. He briefly wondered what his father would have said.

Kathryn looked away quickly, the brief revelation in his eyes was a bit unsettling--especially with so many people watching. "Good night, Commander. Sleep well." The tone of her voice was reminiscent of another night so long ago, and yet not that many months ago: the night of another revelation.

Tom watched them and grinned. The unguarded moments between Voyager's two senior officers were rare and interesting to watch. He turned to talk with another well wisher, and receive the obligatory congratulations. When he turned to watch again, the Captain had left. What fools these mortals be, he thought as he walked over to the table to grab a handful of cookies and a glass of punch.