Chapter 3

LIEUTENANT COMMANDER TOM PARIS FELT as if his brain had turned to oatmeal after his first set of briefings from Admiral Janeway and Commander Tuvok.

“Wow,” he finally managed after they’d finished. “I think it would be easier for me to recite the entire contents of the Royal Protocol document.” He paused. “Backward.”

Janeway smiled and reached to squeeze his hand. “Don’t worry. I don’t expect you to remember everything, just to be a bit familiar with it. Here’s a padd with all the information. You can peruse it at your leisure during the rest of the trip.”

Paris glanced with longing up toward the bow of the little vessel, where the stoic Vulcan sat at the Delta Flyer’s controls. “I’d rather be piloting.”

“Of course you would,” said Janeway, “and I’d rather be sitting where Captain Chakotay is now. But we must all make sacrifices, Tom.”

Paris looked at her then. “Permission to speak freely, Admiral?”

“Of course.”

“Do you miss it that much? Being a captain?”

Truth be told, he expected a quick, pat answer along the lines of “I serve at the pleasure of the Federation” or something like that. But she took his inquiry seriously, leaning back in the seat and regarding him thoughtfully.

“Actually, no,” she replied. “I did at first, a great deal. But now I wonder if that was because I had to be captain for so long. Even on shore leave, over the last seven years I really never left the captain’s chair. It was such an unusual situation that being captain became more in-grained in my self-identity than I think it would have otherwise. I like to consider myself well rounded, Tom. I like to think that if I hadn’t been a starship captain, I still would have contributed to making my world—my quadrant, my galaxy—better, no matter what I chose to do with my life.”

A little humbled by her honesty, Paris replied, gently, “I’m certain you would have.”

She smiled and nodded, accepting the words. “But this is the path I chose, and it led to a very interesting seven years. So yes, when we made it home, it was a little hard to let that go. Especially considering the circumstances surrounding our return.”

Paris couldn’t help but grimace. That had been a bad, bad time.

“But once the dust settled, and I was able to move forward, I realized that I still have a lot to contribute to Starfleet and the Federation. I’m enjoying what I’m doing

and enjoying being able to pull some strings now and then to see that the right people get the right sort of opportunities.”

Tom felt himself blushing.

“So,” she continued, “do I envy Captain Chakotay? You bet your pips I do. I love that ship, and I loved being its captain. But you don’t necessarily want to trade places with someone just because you envy them.”

“I think I’m beginning to understand, Admiral.”

“You will. It’s one of those maturity things.” She winked. “You know a tremendous amount about a great many things, Tom. And what you’ve undergone over the last seven years has catapulted you forward in the experience department. But a lot changed while we were gone, and we all need to make sure we’re up on it.”

Tom stared at the padd and sighed. “You’re telling me.”

Janeway continued to watch him intently. “How are you and B’Elanna doing?”

The question caught him by surprise. “We’re doing great,” he said, wondering where this was leading.

“How’s life on Boreth?”

“It’s

interesting. Cultural immersion.”

Her lips curved in a grin. “That’s one way of putting it, yes.”

“It’s been difficult, but if it’s what B’Elanna wants, then I’m all for it. Recently we’ve been spending a lot of time trying to dig up some information on the scrolls that Kohlar referenced.”

“About your little Kuvah’Magh?”

Tom grinned, slightly embarrassed. “I know it seems egotistical, but if you had a daughter who had possibly featured in another culture’s savior prophecies, wouldn’t you be curious?”

“Naturally. Find out anything?”

“I found out that I might want to become a vegetarian,” Tom replied. “There’s a little creature on Boreth called a paagrat that they eat and they use as parchment. It’s pathetically adorable.”

“Chakotay could give you some pointers. But honestly I can’t see you settling for risotto while your pal Harry’s devouring a steak.”

“You’re probably right.”

She hesitated, then said, “You realize that if I can get you a first officer position, you’re going to be away from your wife and child for long periods at a time?”

He nodded. “Of course. That’s part of the job.”

“And B’Elanna is all right with this?”

“Yes,” said Tom firmly. “She’s been very supportive.”

Janeway smiled, gently. “Maybe because you’ve been so supportive of her and her needs. It’s not every human male who could tolerate living on Boreth for six days, let alone six months.”

Tom shrugged, a little uncomfortable with the intimate direction this conversation was taking. “She’s my wife. I love her and I love Miral. Why wouldn’t I do whatever she needed to make her happy?”

“That attitude is why she’s willing to do the same for you,” Janeway said. “Fortunately, with a little luck, you won’t be gone for seven years if you are assigned to another starship.”

“And thank God for that,” Tom said, and meant every word.

The Changeling materialized on the surface of Loran II. Meticulous as ever, he had checked belowground, with equipment untroubled by the technology that so disturbed Starfleet’s, to make sure there would be no troublesome Starfleet officers in the area to witness his appearance. He’d deal with them soon enough, but for now he needed solitude in order to complete his plans.

Lying on the ground beside him, eyes closed, pale face turned up to the sky, was the real Commander Andrew Ellis. The Starfleet officer was one of several humanoids that the Changeling kept in stasis, ready to be produced when needed at moments like this. His breathing was starting to deepen as he worked his way back to consciousness. Ellis had been in stasis for many years now; it would take him at least several seconds to revive.

Which would give the Changeling more than enough time to put his plan into action.

He hesitated as he looked down at the face that was so familiar to him. He had been impersonating Ellis for seven years now. It had been in this body that he had been—

The recollection of the lost years, of the agony of what he had been forced to endure, sent a shudder of rage and loathing through him. A second ago he had been thinking of Ellis with compassion, almost as a companion on a long, bitter journey. Now suddenly the Solid represented everything against which the Changeling had been struggling for so long, and his task, far from being a difficult one, suddenly seemed easy. Seemed enjoyable.

He had brought with him a long, sharp scalpel. It was something that was normally out of place in a high-tech science laboratory, but fortunately for the Changeling, Moset liked to utilize more “primitive” technology from time to time. And for the Changeling’s purposes, a laser scalpel wouldn’t quite do the job.

Ellis was coming out of stasis now. His breathing grew steady, and beneath the still-closed lids his pale blue eyes darted about. A hand twitched.

The Changeling struck. With more pleasure than he thought he would experience, he leaned over the human and began to lacerate him with the knife. The first few cuts weren’t deadly, and Ellis’s eyes flew open at first shock of pain. He struggled, still groggy, still unable to coordinate the movements of his limbs in order to defend himself and save his life. He stared up into the face of a Starfleet captain, that utter shock costing him precious nanoseconds.

It was a lost battle from the beginning. The Changeling had had enough of the game and quickly darted in and slashed Ellis’s throat. Scarlet fountained onto the ground as Ellis spasmed. Quickly the Changeling stepped back. He didn’t want Ellis’s blood on him; not yet, anyway.

It took longer than he expected for Ellis to die. Finally the human lay still. His eyes were wide open, staring at nothing.

“Good riddance,” muttered the Changeling. “I was you for too long, Ellis. Now I’ll never have to wear your pale, pinched face again.” He was tempted to kick the body, but refrained. He had a job to do.

The Changeling imagined how he might look if he had been attacked by the creatures. Gashes on his face, certainly. On the throat, too, but not too deep. He wanted the look of a narrow escape. Nothing too extensive, nothing requiring Kaz’s tender loving care upon immediate return. Just some cuts and slashes

The wounds began to appear as he visualized them. Two claw marks raked his face and continued down his neck. Was Chakotay right-or left-handed? He realized he didn’t know and cursed himself for not being more observant. To be safe, he created a few shallow scratches on both lower arms, as if he had held them up to protect himself.

Three across the abdomen; enough to tear the uniform and bleed a little, but nothing to arouse real worry.

Excellent.

He tapped his combadge. It was time to begin the performance.

“Chakotay to away team,” he said, his voice tense but still calm, still in control. “Report.”

Silence. The Changeling frowned. Perhaps his creatures had not obeyed his orders to frighten, not kill.

“Kim here.” His breathing was ragged. “Captain, we’ve come under attack.”

“I know, so have we. Any casualties?”

“Sir? Are you on the planet, too?”

That’s right, thought the Changeling. “Ellis” never told them that Chakotay and Sekaya had also taken a shuttle down.

“Affirmative. I repeat, any casualties, Lieutenant?”

“Negative. Patel’s been hurt pretty badly, but I think she’ll make it. Niemann, Kaylar, and I were all knocked unconscious and we’re scratched up. Are you all right?”

“We lost Ellis and Sekaya,” the Changeling said, putting just the right amount of grief and stoicism in his voice.

“Sekaya? Oh, Captain, I’m sorry,” said Kim, sincerity radiating in every word. The Changeling shook his head, grinning. They were so easy to manipulate, these Solids.

There’ll be time for grief later. Where are you right now?”

“We’re where Commander Ellis told us to report, at the main habitation area of the colony.”

“I want everyone back to the shuttlecraft immediately. Prepare for liftoff the minute I join you. We’ll have to—damn it!”

He pulled out his phaser and fired at a tree.

“Captain, what’s going on?”

“I’m under attack!” It was difficult to keep the amusement out of his voice. This was simply too much fun. But he deserved a little fun, after the years of pain he’d suffered. After all the Solid nonsense he’d been forced to put up with.

“Do you need assistance?”

“Negative! Get back to the shuttle!” cried the Changeling, still firing. “Chakotay out!”

Smiling, he replaced his phaser and looked down at Ellis’s body.

“Time for you to make your last journey, my friend,” he said, lifting the body easily.

Brendan Niemann was treating Patel with the medikit when Kim trotted back to them. She was able to sit up now, though she looked very weak. She had obviously lost a lot of blood. Her eyes widened at the expression on Harry’s face.

“The captain?” she asked.

“He’s here, and he’s under attack. He wants us to get back to the shuttle and he’ll meet us there.”

Kaylar didn’t miss the fact that Kim had not mentioned anyone else. “Commander Ellis?” she asked, her voice catching slightly.

“Dead,” said Kim bluntly. “And

and Sekaya, too. She came down with him.”

“Poor Captain Chakotay,” said Patel, her voice faint.

“Poor you if we don’t get you to sickbay soon,” said Niemann. “Can you walk?”

“I think so,” Patel said, but the minute she got to her feet she went pale and her knees buckled. Fortunately, she was a small woman and Niemann was a large man. Gently he picked her up in both arms. She winced, but made no sound.

“All right, Patel?”

She nodded.

“Let’s go,” said Kim, and headed back toward the shuttlecraft. Inwardly he felt sorrowful and sick. He’d made fun of Ellis, along with everyone else, and now the man was dead. Killed on his first mission as first officer. And Sekaya—she wasn’t even Starfleet. She’d just come along on the mission to help her brother. Kim thought bitterly that his second assignment on Voyager was shaping up to be at least as rough as his first.

He stayed on point. Niemann followed, carrying the injured Patel as carefully as he could and still move quickly. Kaylar brought up the rear. She and Kim both had their phasers out. Kim’s nerves were strained and he tensed, ready to fire as they made their way back to the safety of the shuttlecraft, where they would await their captain and, perhaps, the bodies of their fallen comrades.

One thing Kim was certain of: the colonists’ homecoming, once a joyfully anticipated occasion, had turned into a nightmare.