Shadows of the Night, Part XXIII

The entire crew of Voyager stood in the shuttlebay, row after row of the crew standing at attention. Captain Janeway stood at the center of the two columns, Ens. Kim just behind and to her left. In fact, the only person on the ship who wasn't in this room was Amb. Picard, who was unfortunately forced to remain in his quarters to help protect his anonymity. Everyone had to believe he was dead unfortunately. The only thing even more unfortunate was the news of genuine death.

"Friends," Janeway said with a somber tone, "We stand here today to mark the passing of one of our own. Thomas Eugene Paris has been with this ship since her first mission, when we were forced against our will into this very area of space. During the time since he proved himself to be an outstanding officer and an exceptional pilot. I think it's fair to say that if it were not for the piloting skills of Tom Paris, we never would have made it home again. And I know this ship will not be the same without his nostalgic outlook and his irreverent attitude." She tried to hold her voice steady. "We wish you well on your new voyage, Mr. Paris."

With that Harry stepped forward to the torpedo shaped coffin. Since Tom had in fact been disintegrated during the attack Harry had selected his best friend's toolbox, an odd choice to anyone who didn't know Tom Paris. He placed it inside and closed it up, stepping back with crisp military steps, his grief evident to the captain as he resumed his position. The torpedo was beamed to the bay and fired remotely. Janeway noticed B'Elanna jump a little at the sound of the firing; she was probably taking this pretty hard, she thought. They watched the coffin streak away into the blackness.

After it was over Janeway returned to her ready room, hoping to bury herself in work. With the Enterprise gone Riker had asked Voyager to take command of the fleet should the Borg make an unexpected advance during their absence. It had taken her as a bit of a surprise, seeing as how the Sovereigns in the fleet were better equipped than their older Intrepid-class ship, but Riker had felt that their experience with the Borg was more important.

She sighed as she heard the door chime. "Enter," she said wearily. Please don't let it be B'Elanna crying, she thought, I just might start myself. She was surprised to see it was the Doctor, looking a little the worse for wear. "Am I intruding?" he asked.

"Not at all," Janeway said, relaxing into her chair. "What can I do for you?"

The Doctor sat down, a little ill-at-ease. "I'd like to make a request captain. I realize that the timing isn't very good for it, what with the recent news of Mr. Paris-"

"Doctor," Janeway interrupted, "What is it you're asking?"

"It's about Seven of Nine, captain," the Doctor said.

Of course, she thought. With their grief over Tom they'd completely forgotten about the news from Deep Space 13: that their former shipmate was, in fact, comatose. It seemed that this was the day for tragedy. "What about her?" she asked.

"With your permission, I'd like to go to the station where she is. I think I can be of some assistance."

"Dr. Bashir is very capable," Janeway replied. "He's one of the best in Starfleet."

"Absolutely," the Doctor replied, "I don't wish to impugn his medical expertise. But the fact is he hasn't had any experience dealing with Borg drones, I have. There may be something he's missed because of this, something which I could provide."

"Doctor," Janeway said with weariness, "I understand your concern for her; we all feel that way. But the chances of you providing anything to solve the problem that Dr. Bashir hasn't already thought of is very low."

"Captain-"

"While the real chance exists that the Borg may attack us while you're gone, leaving us without a doctor."

"The nurses are quite capable," the Doctor said.

"Yes they are, but they're not physicians."

The Doctor appeared flustered. "Captain, please."

"I'm sorry, but you have a duty to perform."

Finally, resigned to her decision, he stood up and left. Janeway pulled out a PADD to get started but her mind wasn't on it. Poor Seven, she thought, we saved you from being a drone only to turn you into this. After a while she tossed the PADD down on the desk and leaned back, rubbing her eyes. The Empire... somehow it always came back to them, didn't it. Even when the Borg were involved. She ground her teeth in quiet rage. Thrawn had seemed practically charming, and now Tom Paris was dead, and Seven was in a coma, and it was a direct result of her decision to work with the Empire. She'd destroyed two members of her crew, dear friends, all because she was so blinded by the prospect of bringing them home.

Janeway's eyes flicked up, and she happened to see the monitor on her computer terminal. It was off, so all she saw on the black screen was the reflection of herself. You're being punished, Kathryn. You screwed up, and Species 8472 was wiped out because of it. Now you're going to watch it happen to those around you. Everyone close to you is going to die... and it will be all your fault. The Federation will be conquered or assimilated, and that too will be your fault. You unleashed this nightmare on an unsuspecting galaxy with no thought of the consequences, and this is your punishment. You have to watch... 'til the horrible end, 'til there's nothing left in you but the rage and the hate that have already become your constant companions. A bitter old woman standing in the eye of a hurricane as death whirls about her. And you deserve every minute of it. You took the hyperdrive from the Empire, and in so doing you stole fire from the gods, and now you pay Prometheus' price. And never forget, Kathryn, that those whom the gods will destroy, they first drive mad.

Chakotay jumped to his feet as the crash came from the captain's ready room. He raced inside and found Janeway standing over her desk, her monitor shattered, her right hand still in a fist, covered in blood and black fragments. "Captain?" he said, and she looked up at him, with the expression of a woman who had just peered through a window into hell itself. He hit his commbadge. "Doctor, report to the Ready Room on the double."

The Doctor finished applying the dermal regenerator to Janeway's hand. "You were very fortunate," he remarked. "The hand is a very complex thing; one bad cut and you can suffer all kinds of serious, possibly even permanent, damage." She didn't seem to be listening. "Captain," he said, "this obviously wasn't an accident. I'm going to have to report this in my medical log-"

"Go ahead," Janeway rumbled. She flexed the hand a couple of times. "Brief the medical staff on any experiments you might be running," Janeway said. "I'll have a shuttle take you to Deep Space 13."

"Captain, no matter what you offer, I can't falsify records-"

"I'm not asking you to," she said. "I'm asking you to save her." She took a deep emotional breath and covered her face. "I've got to save one of them, at least. I've got-" She just sat there, never finishing the remark.

"Tom, Seven," the Doctor said, "they were hurt by the Empire, not you. If you're not careful, captain, you'll destroy yourself."

"Then save her, Doctor," she said. "Because God help me, I'm afraid of what losing any more of them will do to me."

Luke, Riker, and two security personnel from the Enterprise beamed down to this rocky outcropping on the forested planet. The alien's ship was finally visible to them, much larger than a runabout, but far smaller than they had imagined. There hadn't been a word so far, but he had flown slow enough for Luke to guide them to this planet, so he, whoever he was, clearly was interested in some kind of a dialogue.

Riker's attention focused on the here and now as the door to the craft appeared. It seemed to have been part of the ship's hull a moment ago, no seam visible to their eyes or the tricorder. Then a man stepped out. A big man. Riker, who had gotten used to being one of the tallest men on his ship, found it strange to be looking upwards at this... mountain. No, mountains tend to be pointed, he had more of a, rectangular appearance. Security was ready, holding their weapons so they could be fired quickly without actually pointing them at the alien. Well, he thought to himself, this is the moment. He stepped forward very carefully, his hands in plain view. "Greetings on behalf of the Federation," he said in a clear voice.

Riker had witnessed and participated in dozens of first contact situations. He knew what could happen next: friendship, hostility, distrust, song, screaming, dance, a myriad of possibilities. He thought he was prepared for everything this alien might say or do, he was wrong.

"Uh huh," he replied.

Riker floundered a little at this point. The one thing he hadn't expected in a first contact situation was indifference. "We mean you no harm," Riker began.

"That's a relief," the alien muttered.

"Er, we want to talk to you," Riker finished.

"So talk already," the alien said. "You're not christening a ship, so get on with it."

"Um, yes," Riker said, looking back at Luke with uncertainty. They had discussed some ideas on what might happen and what they'd do, but this wasn't one of them. Luke shrugged at him. "Well, we'd like to say-"

"Look, skip to the end," the alien said with barely restrained frustration. Unfortunately, Riker didn't know what to say, he was too surprised to remember all the things they'd wanted to discuss. "Listen," the alien said with a sigh, "Why don't you think it over while I go get some grub, okay?" He started lumbering back to the ship.

"Why don't you allow us to prepare you dinner," Riker blurted out. The alien stopped and turned around. "We'll make whatever you like to celebrate our meeting."

The alien stared at him. "Uh huh." He sighed. "Yeah, alright, why don't we go to your ship."

"Excellent," Riker said as he tapped his communicator. "Enterprise, five to beam up."

"Sir," came the reply, "I'm only able to get a lock on four of you, the other's scrambling the sensors."

"I'm not turning this off," the alien said, although what exactly he was referring to was unclear.

"Belay that order," Riker said. "Send down a shuttle." He eyed the alien as he cracked some bones in his shoulders and upper back. Who is he? he wondered, and what are we getting into?

Borui stepped into the sickbay as Dr. Bashir went about his daily business. Fortunately for all concerned they'd learned to stop bickering and do what they could to help Seven, but unfortunately nothing seemed to be working. Dr. Bashir had been trying some synaptic stimulants that would hopefully get something going in her cerebrum, while Borui had been using audio-visual stimulations in the hopes of creating some kind of response. But all was for naught; Borui didn't detect the faintest glimmer from the young woman, and she wondered if she ever would. It was then that Col. Kira arrived.

"Dr. Bashir, counselor," she said, "This gentleman is the Doctor." A smiling man with a receding hairline nodded towards them. "Captain Janeway, her former commanding officer," Kira said, indicating Seven, "thinks that he can help."

"Does she really?" Bashir remarked, returning to his work. "Personally, I don't find it very funny."

"It's not meant to be," the Doctor said coming forward. "I'm here to help."

"Oh thank God, we're saved," Bashir said without enthusiasm.

"Julian," Kira said with surprise. "What's the matter with you?"

"I just find this entire thing in poor taste," he replied.

"I'll bet your barber says the same thing," the Doctor replied.

"Wait. Someone tell me what's going on," Kira demanded.

"Easy," Borui said. "He's a hologram," she pointed at the Doctor. "He's not real."

"Real is in the eye of the beholder," the Doctor replied.

"A hologram?"

"An EMH Mark I from the looks," Borui said.

"And the most primitive of all," Bashir added.

"I resent your implication," the Doctor said. "While the Mark I line was deficient in certain areas, over my eight years of experience I've more than learned to compensate for them. I am up-to-date on all medical practices and bring in a host of unique techniques I learned in the Delta Quadrant. I've been published three times," he said with satisfaction.

"Look, this is all very fascinating, but I have a station to run," Kira said as she left. "Work this out."

"Well," Bashir said, "Since you did come fifty-thousand light-years, have a look."

"You're too kind," the Doctor said, coming around the bed. Borui couldn't help but smile at his behavior, and the way he made Bashir uncomfortable. He picked up the medical tricorder and ran it over Seven, watching the results closely. "I see her neural activity has ceased. Did you use a cortical stimulator?"

"No," Borui said smugly, "He most certainly did not."

"Good," the Doctor said, "That would overload several of her implants and cause a complete synaptic collapse, which would have killed her."

"Are you sure?" Bashir asked.

"I maintained her implants for years," the Doctor replied. "I also removed several that were dormant. I've had extensive experience with Borg bio-technology and I can tell you that that would have been lethal."

Borui felt her face flush a little as Dr. Bashir grinned at her across the table and slapped the Doctor on the shoulder. "You know," Bashir said happily, "I think the three of us are going to get along just fine."

"Peachy," Borui replied, trying to ignore Bashir's smug attitude. Being telepathic didn't make it easy.

The senior officers -at least the ones who were still on the ship- sat around the table with their new guest. The alien's cuisine had been rather straightforward: big lumps of various meats. The chair squeaked under his weight when they had sat down, but it was plain to see that it was mostly muscle that was weighing him down. Luke sat immediately to Riker's left, Geordi to his right, the alien a few seats down on his left.

"Do you give any speeches before you eat?" the alien asked. "If so I hope it's not so long that the food gets cold."

"I... think it's safe to begin," Riker said. He half-expected him to grab a whole hunk of meat and tear it off with his mouth like a Klingon. Instead he carefully cut off selections of various samples and piled them on his plate, also taking some of the side dishes. Riker took a small bite of his food as he thought. What kind of a creature is this? He goes just up to the point of being rude without actually crossing that line. He seems uncouth but not uncivil.

"So," Geordi said after about a minute, "I don't think we've been introduced."

"No," the alien said, "we haven't," and kept on eating.

Ever the optimist, his first officer pushed on. "I'm Geordi Laforge."

The alien took another bite. "Your mother must be proud," he replied.

Even Geordi hesitated at that. "And you are?"

"Hungry."

"I see," he said, looking over at Riker who was doing his best to keep a straight face. So far the alien seemed intent on keeping his identity to himself. Even Luke couldn't learn anything from him.

"All right," the alien said as the meal began nearing its end. "Now is the time to exchange information." He cracked his knuckles; it sounded like the Enterprise popping rivets under decompression. "To start things off, I'll tell you who I am, you tell me how you were able to spot me through my cloak."

Riker looked over at Luke, who nodded slightly. "Agreed," he said.

The alien took a long gulp of wine. "You can call me Kalib. My real name is based on a collection of subsonic noises, so you wouldn't be able to hear it if I said it. I deal in information." He set down the cup and began refilling it from the large pitcher that was now nearly empty thanks to him. "So?"

Riker turned to Luke. "I found you," Luke said. "I felt your presence near our ship."

"Don't lie to me," Kalib said. "Telepaths can't penetrate my cloak."

"No they can't," Luke said. "I'm not a telepath. And I can say that I can't sense your thoughts right now or tell your emotions."

Kalib stopped and put down his utensil, then walked over to Luke. You could probably fit two of the Jedi into this guys armor, Riker thought as he towered over him. He stared at him, hard. "Alright, you're not breaking through my cloak," Kalib said as he returned to his seat.

"You can read minds," Geordi asked.

"Naw, but if he could he wouldn't have like what he'd just seen," Kalib said with a small grin, shoveling some more pork into his mouth. "Okay, you're not a telepath. What do you mean that you sense my presence?"

"Let's just say I'm in tune with the forces of life," Luke said.

Kalib sprayed wine all over Lt. Lightner as he coughed out the mouthful he had. If he noticed the victim he didn't show it. "No," he said quietly. He stared hard at Luke. "No..."

"What is it?" Riker asked as Lt. Lightner got up and headed for the replicator to get a towel.

Kalib grabbed Lt. Commander Sullice and flipped her out of her chair. Before anyone could even think he pulled out a throwing knife and tossed it at Luke, who slipped out of the way, rolling backwards off the chair. Riker had his phaser out and fired at him, but the beam stopped harmlessly against his armor. He quickly switched the setting to lethal as Kalib threw a second and third knife with unbelievable speed, Luke slipping out of their way as he pulled out and ignited his lightsaber. Riker aimed and fired at Kalib's head, and the alien fell over. Riker and Luke carefully came around as Geordi pulled out his phaser. What now?

"Ouch!" the deep voice rumbled from somewhere under the table. "You shot me in the face you Hfellian!!!!" He stood up and knocked over the table, a surprising feat considering it was bolted to the floor. "I oughta play show and tell with your organs!" Half his blue beard had been burned off and his face was slightly blistered, but other than that, it seemed Riker had only succeeded in getting Kalib angry. Quickly he set the phaser to sixteen and hoped that if he fired he didn't miss and blow out the bulkhead.

"What's going on?" Luke demanded, surprising calm considering he'd just been the target of an assassination attempt.

"You anticipated the blades," Kalib said, his voice assuming a more normal tone. "I thought you might just be lying, but it's true isn't it. You can move things with your mind?"

Luke shut down his lightsaber. "Yes."

"You can have an influence over half-wits," Kalib continued. "And you can ignore pain if necessary."

"Yes," Luke replied.

Kalib smiled just a little, but Riker and Geordi kept their phasers trained on him. "You are touched."

"What?"

"You are one of the touched. I should have known. The timing, of course, the timing is perfect."

"What timing?" Riker demanded.

Kalib beamed at Luke. "He's going to destroy the Borg."

Go To Part XXIV
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