Chapter 15

“WHAT HAPPENED?” asked the Doctor, staring along with Seven of Nine at the suddenly blank computer screen.

“They alerted me that they were sending an unauthorized transmission,” Seven said. “A reasonable assumption would be that they were detected and had to sever communications abruptly.”

“But why would Dr. Kaz and Lieutenant Kim be sending an unauthorized transmission?”

“Speculation on the issue would be futile and a waste of our time,” said Seven, using the cold rationale to cover her own growing sense of apprehension. She turned to face her friend. “I was instructed not to contact the ship, and they especially cautioned me against having any communication with Captain Chakotay.”

“Chakotay? But why would—”

“Doctor,” she said icily, “do not persist in asking me questions to which you must know I do not have the answers. I am as confused as you are. I can only assume there is a dire situation aboard the vessel.”

He looked at her with his dark eyes, full of apprehension and determination. She felt herself soften. She was quite fond of the hologram.

“How can we help them?” he asked.

Seven permitted herself to smile slightly. “That is a question to which I do have the answer. They transmitted a great deal of information, which they requested our group analyze.”

The Doctor looked over his shoulder at his coworkers. “These may be brilliant minds,” he muttered, “but there are times when they behave like children.”

“They focus when it is required of them,” said Seven, keeping her voice equally soft. She straightened in her chair. “And now, I think, we will demand it of them.”

The Paris family had, for the entire time they had been present on Boreth, been the only ones who had visited the library. Tom and B’Elanna had preferred it that way, and B’Elanna realized that she’d come to think of the place as “hers.” It was just the ancient books, the scrolls, and her

well, her and the cranky librarians, but she’d gotten used to their mostly silent disapproval. All the others who had come to Boreth seemed to have a single focus—the lava caves, and the visions that they hoped to achieve there, and that was just fine with Torres.

In the last day or so, however, two other pilgrims had joined her in the quietude of the library. The place was large enough so there was no crowding or jostling for seats, but she still found that she was slightly intimidated by their presence. She didn’t know what the two large, burly males were researching, and frankly, as she stole a surreptitious glance at them now, she thought they seemed as out of place as a targ in a china shop.

They didn’t wear armor, but it was clear they were more warriors than scholars. One, the larger who stood more than two meters tall and weighed well over a hundred kilos, was missing two fingers on his right hand. From beneath her lashes, B’Elanna watched as he reached for a scroll.

Those hands would be much more comfortable curled around a bat’leth, Torres thought as the large newcomer grasped the scroll assertively. She thought she heard poor Lakuur hiss in fear, as if he expected the warrior to crush the priceless scroll in his single, powerful hand as he might crush an enemy’s windpipe.

The other Klingon was no less intriguing, though slightly less massive than his companion. He seemed the more “book learned” of the two, whispering to his companion now and then and pointing to a line in the scrolls or one of the massive tomes. Both Klingons took copious notes. They seemed to studiously avoid B’Elanna, and that suited her admirably. She had no desire to engage in chitchat with her fellow pilgrims. She was here on a mission.

This quest to learn about the Kuvah’Magh had started as a way to humor Tom, to find something that might interest him enough so that she didn’t feel too overwhelmingly guilty about forcing him to come to Boreth. Torres had fully intended to abandon the effort once his interest waned. Instead, she spent nearly every waking minute in the library now, barely taking time to eat, drink, sleep, or nurse her child. More than once Kularg had given her a reproachful look when she’d come to collect Miral after leaving the girl with him for hours at a stretch. She felt the stab of guilt, but rationalized it by telling herself that she was investigating her daughter’s future.

A future that could, if the scrolls were to be believed, prove to be very interesting indeed.

She hadn’t heard anything from Tom, but then again, she hadn’t expected to. Communications on Boreth were usually for emergencies only, or at least highly important messages. Conversations along the lines of “Hi, sweetie, the conference is interesting, talked to a Ktlonian today” just weren’t going to happen.

But that was all right. B’Elanna buried the pangs of missing Tom in her research, and the more she learned, the more excited

and, she was forced to admit, apprehensive

she became.

“And then she fired some sort of weapon on him,” Moset was saying excitedly. Sekaya watched him with a strange, detached amusement. When she had first awoken to this living nightmare, she had burned with hatred and fury. As the hours crawled by, that burning had subsided to embers. It wouldn’t take much to stir the embers into a raging flame, and she knew it; she cherished her hatred of Crell Moset. But she had now figured out what Chakotay was doing, and had no desire to hinder her brother in what was likely their best shot at freedom.

Chakotay was courting the scientist. There was really no other way to say it. He was flattering, admiring, without being so over the top that the Cardassian would catch on. There was just enough dislike, just enough judgment in his tone, that Moset still felt secure.

Secure enough to—oh, what was the slang word Chakotay had used a few hours ago when Moset had left the room—spill his guts.

Sekaya thought, with a surge of the old rage, that she wished she could literally spill Moset’s guts. It was alarming how gratifying an image that was.

She returned her attention to what the scientist was saying, and it was shocking enough that it kept her attention.

“There’s a way of holding a Founder in solid form,” Moset rattled on. “Relatively simple, actually. All you needed to do was set up a device that emits a quantum stasis field. That inhibits the biochemical process by which Changelings can shape-shift. But Ellis—that’s how I think of him, as that’s the appearance he’s had for most of the time that I’ve known him—was shot by something much more sinister. It changed him on the molecular level and locked him permanently into human form.” He preened a bit as he amended, “Well, it would have been permanent had not I come along.”

“But why?” Chakotay sounded sincerely curious. “What had he done that the Founders would be so upset with him?”

“Blazed ahead without orders, apparently,” said Moset. “Gul Dukat’s deal with the Dominion included the destruction of the Maquis. The Dominion gave him the coordinates, and most of them were wiped out.”

“But Tevlik’s moon was supposed to be spared.”

Moset’s eyes brightened as he regarded his apt pupil. “Exactly! This was the place where, if they could manage it, most of the Maquis sent their children, to keep them safe. There were more children on the moon than adults, many times more. In fact, most of the Maquis who operated out of the base were elsewhere at the time of the attacks.”

“The Founders were concerned about the lives of Solid children?” Sekaya tried to sound as curious and interested as Chakotay, but she knew she sounded more skeptical than intrigued.

His comment proved her attitude the correct one. “Oh, no, it wasn’t any kind of a moral issue. It was a practical one. The Dominion knew that Starfleet would, albeit unhappily, accept the massacre of adult Maquis, who were, after all, technically outlaws. But they feared that an attack against children might rouse the Federation into retaliation. That didn’t happen, of course, at least not at that time, but that was their worry. So Tevlik’s moon was never considered as a target.”

“But the Changeling—Arak Katal at the time—took it upon himself to tell the Cardassians about it anyway,” Chakotay finished.

“Precisely. He acted on his own initiative, as an individual, not as part of the Great Link. And that,” Moset finished, as if he had just told an exciting story to a group of wide-eyed youngsters, “was why he was condemned to be locked into Solid form.”

“But the weapon wasn’t perfect,” said Sekaya. “That’s why you were able to somehow reverse the process.”

“It’s indeed lucky that the Changeling found me. I doubt if anyone else could have done it.”

Or would have, Sekaya thought bitterly. Genetic tampering like this has been illegal for decades among all civilized, sane people.

“That’s why he’s given me my wonderful little friends,” Moset finished. “They’re my reward for all my hard work on his behalf.”

Chakotay started to open his mouth, then closed it again, frowning. Moset didn’t miss the gesture. He jumped on it like a bird on an insect.

“What?” he asked, concerned.

Chakotay said, “Nothing.”

“What?” Moset insisted.

Chakotay hesitated, and then said, “You think Ellis gave you the colonists to experiment on to thank you for helping him, right?”

“Of course, that’s what he said, and I have no reason to doubt him. I’ve done him an enormous favor.” His bright eyes narrowed. “Don’t you think I deserve that much for what I’ve done?”

“Oh, it’s not about whether or not you deserve it,” said Chakotay, as calmly as if he were talking to an old friend. “There’s no question that you do. I’m just wondering if you’re going to get it.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I think the appropriate question would be, why would you? What’s in it for the Changeling?”

The idea clearly angered Moset. “Not everyone does things simply to gain by them,” he said.

“You and I don’t, that’s true enough,” said Chakotay amiably.

Despite her new determination to play along with Chakotay’s game, Sekaya tensed in her bonds. The thought of classifying Moset and Chakotay as being of equal status from a moral standpoint infuriated her, but she kept quiet.

“But the Founders have never really been about doing things just to be nice, have they? They like to be the ones pulling the strings. Frankly, my gut’s telling me that he’s just using you and that the minute you’ve given him a viable option with this new race you’re creating, he’s going to take them away from you and use them for his own purposes.”

For the first time since she had met him, Sekaya thought Moset looked unsure of himself. Chakotay let his comments sink in, then continued.

“It sounds like he’s been a bit of a renegade from the beginning. A Founder defying the other Founders? That’s someone I’d be very, very careful of. He didn’t liberate you to be a nice guy, he did it because he wanted something from you. I think he still does. I think he wants your creations. And once he’s gotten what he needs from you

“

He let his voice trail off, but he didn’t need to say anything more. Crell looked nervous and the silence stretched between them. Finally the Cardassian rose.

“You’re trying to get me to betray him,” he said. “You’re sowing the seeds of mistrust. Ellis has done nothing but help me. I’m not going to turn my back on him now.” He strode out of the room, a bit too quickly.

“Think about it, Moset,” Chakotay called after him. “The Founders regard Solids as inferior beings. Once you’re no longer an asset to him, you’re a liability.”

Moset hastened back to his creations, fuming. It was so obvious what Chakotay was trying to do! Did he really think that Moset didn’t notice? Of course he was trying to get between Crell and his benefactor. Turn them against one another. He would do anything, say anything, to free himself and his sister. The only reason Moset even listened to him was because he was lonely, with no one else to talk to, to share his accomplishments with.

But still

Even an enemy could speak the truth.

When had the Founders displayed more than condescension to a Solid?

The Changeling had betrayed people who trusted him in defiance of his own kind. Why had he done that, if not to lay the foundation for his power base in the Alpha Quadrant?

Why wouldn’t he want a superior race, telepathic and telekinetic, capable of almost godlike powers, who would willingly obey anyone who led them?

Fear, icy and choking, now crept into the scientist’s heart. He had reached the holding cell of his creations, and now regarded them with fierce protectiveness.

“I made you,” he said to them softly. “I made you and I’m going to keep you.”