STAR TREK: VOY - Homecoming, Book Two - The Farther Shore Read online

  “It’s not possible,” she said, more to herself than to the Doctor. “We cannot sleep as humans do. We must regenerate.”

  “He’s younger than you, and was Borg for a much [37] shorter time,” the Doctor reminded her. “I think he’s learned to ... adapt to his new situation.”

  Seven felt tears welling in her eyes. She tried to blink them back but they would not be stopped. They were tears of gratitude, of relief, and they poured down her face like a waterfall coursing down a mountainside.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, to who or what she did not know. “Thank you.”

  It had been a long night for Lieutenant Vassily Andropov. He’d been doing the graveyard shift for over six weeks now, and he still couldn’t get his body to get used to it. He was not a night person and it was with reluctance that he agreed to do the shift at all. He hated materializing in his apartment as the sky was turning gray outside, and the birds were just starting their daily songs. Having to drink too much coffee during his shift simply to stay alert made him jittery, and it was hard for him to unwind when he did get home and have a chance to catch a few hours’ sleep. He was grateful that he lived alone. It would be nearly impossible to maintain a relationship with this maddening schedule. And he’d be so grouchy, no one would want to live with him.

  Andropov never called for lights when he materialized at home. He wanted it as dark and easy on his eyes as possible. There was only the simplest of routines—appear in the bedroom, undress, and fall into bed. He sank down in his favorite chair and groaned with pleasure at the comfort of it. He was so tired. Well, he told himself, taking off his boots and yawning, it wouldn’t be for too much longer. He just had to soldier through a few more weeks and then—

  [38] Hands clamped down on his shoulders, holding him down in the chair. He cried out and tried to break free, but they were implacable and strong, like iron bands. A figure stepped in front of him.

  “Lights,” called the stranger.

  Andropov blinked a few times, then stared. “Oliver Baines,” he said, hoarsely.

  Baines smiled. “Well, not really, but close enough. I’m a holographic version of Baines.”

  Hologram? Impossible. Andropov’s apartment wasn’t fitted with holographic emitters. He couldn’t possibly—And then Vassily’s gaze fell to the small black rectangle at Baines’s feet. It was the size and shape of a briefcase, but with the swiftness of one trained to recognize a possible threat when he saw it, Andropov made the jump. It was a portable emitter. Even though such things didn’t exist, as far as he knew, that was what it had to be.

  Andropov struggled with renewed energy. It was futile. The being behind him—another hologram, he guessed—held him firmly. Damn it, he was one of the top people at the corrections institute, his apartment was well protected, they ought not to have been able to get in here—

  “Yes, I know, you’re wondering how we managed to surprise you with our welcome home party,” said Baines idly, taking out a piece of equipment that looked both familiar and strange to Andropov. “I don’t want to reveal my tricks just yet. But let’s just say this—your security needs an upgrade.”

  He smiled broadly, as if he had just said something that was actually funny.

  “What do you want?” Andropov demanded.

  “Why, you, Lieutenant. Or at least, your [39] appearance.” He looked at his apparatus and nodded, as if satisfied. “Excellent. You may step out now.”

  The pressure on Vassily’s shoulders was gone. At once, he tried to bolt upright, thinking to go for the phaser he had so carelessly tossed on the dresser. How easily he had been lulled into a false sense of security. But even as he tensed to rise, Baines pressed something and a force field descended. Trapped in his chair, Andropov swore angrily.

  The other hologram moved into Andropov’s field of vision. He was about as tall as Baines, and clearly male, but he had no face. Andropov gasped, taken aback. The faceless hologram turned toward him, then back to Baines.

  “Here we are, my friend,” said Baines, his voice kind. He touched a few things on his apparatus and the figure beside him began to change in front of Andropov’s eyes. It grew slightly taller and broader across the chest. Its black jumpsuit changed color, turning to gray, black, and yellow, with exactly the right number of pips in its color. Hair undulated across its naked skull, hair that was black shot through with a streak of gray. Eyes began to take shape, dark brown and large, over a hawk nose and thin lips.

  “Oh my God,” breathed Andropov, staring into a face he knew from forty-two years of looking into a mirror. His doppelgänger smiled at him.

  “Vassily, meet Vassily,” said Baines. He chuckled again.

  Now Andropov knew what Baines’s plan was. “It won’t work. He may look like me, but he doesn’t know what I know.”

  “Oh really? I think I might,” said Andropov’s double in flawless Russian.

  [40] “They will find out, eventually,” Andropov insisted, though with less certainty than before.

  “Perhaps,” said Baines. “But not before he’s done what he needs to.”

  Andropov swallowed hard. “Listen, Mr. Baines. We know the eight deaths were accidental. But if you deliberately murder a Starfleet officer—”

  “Who said anything about murdering you?” Baines seemed genuinely upset. “I’m not a monster, Lieutenant.”

  “Then ... what are you going to do with me? Just leave me here, trapped in a chair by this force field?”

  “Of course not. I have a little trip planned for you.” Baines smiled. “Call it a cultural exchange, if you will.”

  And then Baines, the double, and the room began to shimmer as Andropov dematerialized.

  Chapter 4

  SEVEN OF NINE screamed as the implacable Borg seized her and forced her down on their monstrous parody of a biobed. Janeway stood and watched, frozen, unable to move, unable to even look away. The Borg moved about their business, and merciful tears blurred the image of Seven’s arm being severed. The Borg performing the operation looked up, and Janeway stared into the dead eyes of Admiral Kenneth Montgomery.

  Resistance is futile.

  Janeway bolted upright, covered with sweat, safe in her own bed. Her heart was racing. The sound came again, as if an echo of her nightmare, but it was real and all too familiar—the sound of her computer alerting her that someone was trying to reach her.

  Still slightly disoriented from the vivid nature of the [42] dream, Janeway grabbed a robe, ran a hand over her hair, and sat down at the computer.

  “Dr. Kaz,” she said, surprised.

  “Good morning, Admiral. I’m sorry to have awakened you. I thought you’d already be up.”

  She glanced at the chronometer and grimaced when she saw it was well past nine in the morning. “By all standards I ought to be, but I haven’t been getting a lot of sleep recently.”

  It was a true remark and she had thought an innocent one, but something flickered over Kaz’s features. “I understand,” he said, his voice a bit harsher than it was before. “I know a couple of people who haven’t been getting enough sleep myself.”

  The silence lay heavily between them as they looked into one another’s eyes.

  “I see,” said Janeway, waiting for him to make the next move.

  “I think proper sleep is vital to healthy functioning,” Kaz continued. Janeway knew they weren’t talking about her. “In fact, I feel so strongly about it that I’d like to discuss some strategies for treating insomnia with you.”

  Kaz had assured her that his sickbay was not monitored, but apparently he wasn’t as certain about his computer. “I’d appreciate that,” she said heartily. “I bet you’re going to tell me I need to cut back on my coffee.”

  He laughed, caught by surprise at her quip. “Well, it would be a start,” he said.

  “Not a chance. I’ve got seven years of drinking replicated stuff to make up for.”

  [43] “Well, why don’t we meet for a cup and discuss ... other option
s for getting a good night’s sleep?”

  “Sounds good to me. I know a little café in Santa Barbara.” She gave him the coordinates.

  “Shall I meet you in an hour?”

  “I think I can be presentable by then.” She sobered slightly. “Thank you, Doctor.”

  “Just doing my job.” His face blipped out.

  Janeway leaned back in her chair, then rose to get a pot of coffee brewing. As the delicious aroma filled her apartment, she returned to her computer. “Computer, call up records for Dr. Kaz, Jarem.”

  She perused his official file and was impressed by what she saw. He had told her the truth about two of his symbiont’s histories. One, Radara Kaz, had indeed been a hugely popular and greatly honored poet. Janeway had even read some of her works. A phrase from one of Radara’s works floated to her mind:

  The Soul flutters on, in torment from its own belief

  That it is alone in the vastness of the universe;

  But Soul, extend to what you cannot see or sense,

  And brush the tentative fingers

  Of the Souls reaching blindly

  To you.

  His Maquis host, Gradak, had been equally as impressive. He had been one of the very few to survive the massacre at Tevlik’s Moonbase, though he hadn’t lived very long after that dreadful incident. Grievously wounded himself, he helped fifteen other injured, including four children, escape in a shuttle, heading [44] straight for the nearest Federation base. Gradak had known they would be captured, but at least they would be alive. Refusing treatment for himself, he brought all his charges to safety. He was unconscious by the time a Federation starship took them aboard, and died on the operating table. Fortunately, the symbiont was successfully transplanted in time to the only Trill aboard the ship, who happened to be one of the doctors. Jarem Kaz.

  Jarem himself was no slouch, either. He had a mind that liked a challenge and had developed a vaccine for Lhaj Fever in his “spare time,” according to the records. Lhaj Fever was rare but 97 percent fatal. The vaccine would save thousands on developing worlds. Even before he had been given the Kaz symbiont, he had been on record as speaking out against the Cardassians, although there had been no sign of any action on his part. His captain had been sorry to see him go, but acknowledged that Starfleet needed Kaz’s skill, intelligence, and compassion elsewhere.

  It was the last quality that intrigued Janeway most. According to both Seven and Icheb, Kaz was indeed compassionate. She’d seen his caring and intensity for herself.

  Looking at the handsome face on the screen, she said aloud, “I do hope I can trust you, Doctor.”

  They ordered their coffees to go and strolled along Santa Barbara’s quaint downtown area. For a while, they simply shared pleasantries and idle chitchat. Their meandering steps took them down to the beach. It was a gorgeous day. The sky was an intense blue, interrupted only by the wheeling of gray-and-white seagulls.

  [45] Finally, Janeway broached the subject. “Flattered as I am to think that you sought me out for my sparkling conversation, Dr. Kaz, I suspect that’s not really the case.”

  He sipped his coffee and didn’t look at her, his eyes, as blue as the sky, fixed on the ocean. “No, Admiral, it isn’t. I wanted to pass on a warning—and an offer.”

  Janeway tensed, but tried not to show it. She, too, sipped her coffee and didn’t look at her companion. “Go on.”

  “I have tried repeatedly to convince Montgomery to allow Seven of Nine and Icheb to regenerate. He has refused my request every time. I understand his reasoning, but there are steps we could take to reduce the chance of anyone contacting Seven or Icheb in their regeneration state.” He grimaced. “As if anyone would actually try to contact them. I have done everything I can with medication to simulate the effects of regeneration, but eventually there will be nothing more I can do. The effect on both of them is similar to total sleep deprivation.”

  “Which, according to Starfleet regulations, constitutes torture.”

  Kaz nodded. “Icheb, remarkably, has been able to get some sleep.”

  She turned to him now, pleasure filling her. “Really? That’s wonderful news.”

  “Not as wonderful as it seems. He still needs regeneration. Let me get straight to the point: If they are not allowed to regenerate soon, they will die. Seven first, most likely, and then Icheb.”

  “And Starfleet won’t allow them to regenerate,” said Janeway bitterly. “Seems the outcome is inevitable then.”

  [46] “Not necessarily,” said Kaz. “And your Doctor—I told you I feared for him. I was unfortunately correct. It seems that the EMH Mark Ones don’t really need surgical and medical knowledge to mine dilithium and haul rocks, so they’re going to be reprogrammed with only the most basic subroutines. Your Doctor is going to be the first so reprogrammed. Montgomery wants to set an example and send a warning to those who would participate in the HoloRevolution.”

  He turned and looked at her at last, and his blue eyes were filled with sympathy. “If he were human,” he said softly, “we’d call this a lobotomy.”

  Despite herself, Janeway’s hand flew to her mouth. It took her a moment to recover from the full blow of Kaz’s predictions of the fate of three friends.

  “Why are you telling me this?” she said at last, regaining her composure.

  “Because I took a vow before I joined Starfleet to harm no one,” said Kaz. “I won’t sit by and watch them do this to three innocent people. I can’t.”

  “You can’t get them released,” said Janeway, hoping he’d contradict her.

  “No,” he replied. “But I can get them out. With your help.”

  She scrutinized his face. “You’re taking a great risk, Doctor,” she said. “You could be court-martialed for this, barred from practicing medicine.”

  He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Part of me has died before doing what it felt was right. Sitting in a comfortable Starfleet prison for the rest of my life pales in comparison. Even if I die, the symbiont lives on. So in a sense, I’ll go on. Life and freedom are deeply [47] precious to me, as they are to any living creature, but they’re not quite what they are to humans. Joined Trills have a bit of a longer view. Besides, you run the same risks as I do, Admiral.”

  “But they’re my crew,” she said. “They’re my friends. They’d do the same for me.”

  “From what I’ve seen, I believe they would.”

  Janeway hesitated, then said, “I don’t suppose you’re particularly close with Harry Kim?”

  “Lieutenant Kim?” At her nod, he continued. “I examined him, of course, and we chatted a bit, as you and I did. But no, outside of that one encounter we’d never met. Why do you ask?”

  “No reason.” She’d been hoping to learn that Kaz might be Harry’s mysterious contact, but no such luck. She switched the subject quickly. “Radara and Gradak would be proud of you.”

  His lips twitched. “You’ve been checking up on me.”

  “I’m willing to bet you’ve been doing the same, or else you’d never be walking along the beach with me having coffee and proposing a jailbreak,” she replied.

  He heaved a mock sigh. “Guilty as charged.”

  “So, Dr. Kaz, what’s your plan?”

  When Janeway returned to her apartment, she saw that her computer light was blinking. She mused on the fact that although she was technically not on assignment, she was almost busier than she had been aboard Voyager.

  When the gold-skinned, yellow-eyed face appeared on her viewscreen, her heart leaped.

  “Good morning, Admiral Janeway,” said Data. [48] “Captain Picard has granted me shore leave for the next ten days. I am looking forward to meeting you.”

  Nothing more. No indication of whether or not he was game for the plan—which, of course, had suddenly and quite drastically been changed. Just a willingness to meet.

  Fair enough. She really couldn’t ask for commitment from someone she’d never met, especially given the present circumstances. She se
nt him a reply, asking him to come to her apartment at 1800 hours. She then began firing messages off to her former crewmen.

  When Commander Data arrived, he seemed surprised to find that Janeway was not alone in her apartment. Nonetheless, his expression was pleasant as he looked around at the expectant faces.

  “Greetings!” he said.

  Janeway made the rounds, introducing Chakotay, Paris, Kim, and Tuvok. Everyone, of course, had heard of Commander Data, but only Tuvok had actually met him. Data politely shook hands with the humans and gave Tuvok the traditional spread-fingered greeting.

  “Live long and prosper, Commander Tuvok.”

  Tuvok returned the gesture. “Peace and long life, Commander Data.”

  Data cocked his head. “An interesting wish for an android, who is technically not alive.”

  Janeway smiled. “An apt comment, Commander, considering the nature of the issue which brought you here.” She indicated a seat and he took it. She sat on the sofa next to him.

  “I assume Captain Picard filled you in ... on everything?”

  “If by that you mean did he inform me that you [49] desire to utilize my skills as an advocate for the EMH Mark One who served aboard your vessel, that you are certain that this same hologram can be invaluable in helping to halt the Borg virus that is currently spreading across the Earth, and that you suspect that Starfleet itself may be responsible for the implementation of said virus, then yes.”

  Janeway smiled. “I wish we’d had you with us during our time in the Delta Quadrant, Mr. Data.”

  “Thank you, Admiral. I doubt, however, that Captain Picard would share that desire.”

  “I’m certain he wouldn’t.” Her smile faded. “Tell me, Mr. Data, may I take it that your appearance here implies that you are willing to help us?”

  “I am inclined to do so, but I would like to hear more.”

  She leaned forward, her eyes searching his. “You’re about to get an earful. I invited my former senior staff here tonight to tell you about ... a slight change in plan. You’re welcome to rake us over the coals if you like.”