Chapter 16

“HEY THERE!” Astall said brightly, peering over Kaz’s shoulder.

He gasped and started in his chair. “Damn it, Astall, I didn’t hear you come in.” He quickly closed the screen, hoping she hadn’t seen what was on it. He wiped a hand across his forehead.

She eyed him speculatively. “You seem a bit jumpy,” she said. “How is Gradak?”

“We’ve reached a truce, I think,” he said. He was going to have to keep so much from his friend now that he was glad of being able to tell the truth about this, at least. The two hosts had indeed seemed to reach a sort of truce. Kaz was going behind his captain’s back, practically committing mutiny, and the Maquis was satisfied with this development.

“Talked to Vorik yet?”

Damn. “No, not yet. I’m working on something here.”

The Huanni folded her arms and cocked her head. Her long ears were pricked forward, indicating the strength of her current focus.

“We had a deal,” she said. “You promised you’d do a mind meld with him.”

Kaz gazed at her, his thoughts racing. He had no practice in mental control. There was no doubt in his mind that once Vorik had initiated the intimate contact, the Vulcan would immediately know everything that Kaz knew. And he might feel differently about the information.

Vorik might take it to Chakotay. And that would be disastrous.

“Look,” he said at last. “There are things going on, things I can’t tell you about. Important things. Right now, everything is under control. But I can’t take the time to—”

It was the wrong thing to say. “Can’t take the time? Jarem, you’ve got another person sharing your mind and you’re telling me you can’t take the, what, fifteen minutes to mind-meld with Vorik?”

She can be annoying, can’t she? The thought was Gradak’s, but right now Jarem shared the sentiment. He knew and liked the Huanni, knew that she was just looking out for his well-being and that of the crew they had both sworn to serve. But right now, well

annoying was an excellent word.

“Astall,” he said as calmly and as carefully as he could, “I know you are aware that on a military vessel, which is essentially what this is, sometimes there are things that happen on a need-to-know basis. And right now there are things that you don’t need to know.”

“I know that you’re in a difficult place right now,” she said gently, totally disarming him. “I want to help you, Jarem. Don’t shut me out like this.”

Jarem Kaz deliberately pushed Gradak to the back of his mind and closed the door. He reached for Astall’s pale purple hands, running his thumbs along the short, soft fuzz that coated them.

“You’ve been a wonderful counselor, and a good friend to me,” he said, looking into her eyes. “But you can’t help me right now. I need you to trust me.”

Her huge purple eyes searched his, and tears welled in them. She blinked them back, striving to maintain her professional demeanor despite her almost overwhelming emotions.

“I’m worried about you,” she said.

“I know, but right now it’s all right. I need you to behave as if nothing is going on. If you feel you have to check in on me from time to time, that’s fine, but you can’t take me off duty. Not now.”

Quietly she said, “How do I know you’re not suffering from delusions, Jarem?”

He smiled slightly. “Like I said. You’re going to have to trust me.”

She sighed deeply, squeezed his hands, and released them. “I’m popping in every hour,” she warned him, “and if I see something going on that I think you can’t handle, anything that might make you a danger to yourself or this crew, you’re going off duty so fast your head will roll.”

His smile turned into a grin. “I think you mean spin.”

“No, I mean roll, with all that that implies,” she said. “Darn it, Kaz. You’d better be right.”

She stalked out of sickbay, her ears flat against her head shouting her annoyed distress.

Kaz let out a sigh of relief. That had been close—too close. If only someone would get back to him. He had done all he could do at this point.

It wasn’t just a matter of knowing the right codes, Libby Webber thought to herself as she continued to research into the identity of the mole. She was curled up on her bed surrounded by padds, munching on cheese and crackers and absently brushing off crumbs. Captain Skhaa, who had been several worlds away at the time, seemingly had accessed sensitive documents from Voyager. His fingerprints and retinal scan had all been utilized in order for him to gain access. Those were hard things to forge. It could be done, but—

Libby froze.

Her thoughts tumbled over one another. She sprang from the bed and raced to her computer, eager to see if her hypothesis was correct. Her eyes flew over the information as she called it up. She was assembling the pieces now, and they were starting to form a complete picture.

A terrifying, dangerous picture.

If she went on the assumption that the mole was her chief suspect, suddenly everything fell into place.

For the first time in her career with covert ops, she put her emotions ahead of her duty. She had to contact Harry, make sure that he was all right.

“Sir, I have an incoming message,” Campbell said.

Kim’s stomach clenched and his hands began to tremble slightly. Through sheer willpower, he forced them to steady, forced himself to continue to stare at his console, revealing nothing. He felt sweat gather at his hairline.

“Who’s it from?” Chakotay’s voice was sharp. He sounded as tense as Kim was feeling. Surreptitiously he glanced over at Campbell. She was grinning and winked at him.

“It’s for Lieutenant Kim, sir. Libby Webber.”

Kim blushed furiously. He usually loved hearing from Libby, but of all the times she could have tried to contact him, this had to be the worst. He felt every pair of eyes on the bridge staring at him.

“You’ll take it here, Mr. Kim,” said Chakotay. “Please keep it brief.”

Libby’s face appeared on the screen, and she seemed startled and embarrassed to realize she’d be talking to the whole bridge crew.

“Um, hi, Harry,” she said. “I just wanted—”

“Libby, I can’t talk to you right now,” he said, aware that Chakotay was watching him intently.

“Oh,” she said, trying not to look surprised and hurt and failing. “Sure. I’m sure you’re very busy with your new duties.”

Against his better judgment, he said, “Libby, I’m sorry. There’s just a lot going on right now. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

She blinked hard and smiled courageously. “I understand. Okay. Talk to you later.”

The screen again filled with stars streaking past as they continued on to Loran II. Kim kept his eyes on his console, but he wasn’t surprised to hear Chakotay say, “Until this mission is concluded, let’s have no more personal messages in or out, shall we?”

“Of course, sir. Understood,” Kim said. Lyssa looked uncomfortable, and the newcomers to the bridge, Patel and Tare, studiously attended to their stations.

Suddenly Lyssa made a small sound of annoyance. “Another message, sir.”

“Please tell me it’s not a personal one.”

A frown marred her pretty face. “I wish I could, sir, but

sir, it appears to be from Irene Hansen.”

Kim’s head whipped up, but Chakotay appeared not to have noticed.

“Irene Hansen,” Chakotay repeated. “On-screen.”

Was it Kim’s imagination, or was Chakotay drawing a blank at the name? Chakotay—the real Chakotay—would know exactly who this was. Everyone knew Seven’s jovial aunt. But why would she be—

Irene Hansen’s lined face appeared on the screen. Normally, she always had a hint of her smile and her eyes twinkled. Now, however, she had put on no makeup. Her hair was unkempt, and her eyes darted about.

“Chakotay?” she said in a shaky voice. “Chakotay, is that you?”

“Yes, ma’am. What can I do for you?”

“Annika

I want to talk to Annika

.” Her gaze wandered off to the right, and she fell silent.

For the briefest instant Kim was terribly worried. Then he realized what was going on—what had to be going on. Irene Hansen had a sharp mind and was in full possession of her faculties.

“Ms. Hansen,” said Chakotay, his voice starting to sound harsh, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Seven isn’t on Voyager anymore.”

Irene set her mouth, looking like a stubborn child. “That’s just silly. You shouldn’t try to trick an old woman like that, Frederick. I want to talk to Annika, and you should put me through to her right now.”

“Mute,” Chakotay said to Campbell, who quickly obeyed, looking surprised and embarrassed for poor Irene Hansen.

Kim swallowed and followed his gut hunch. “Sir,” he said, “Seven’s aunt has been this way for some time.”

Now I’ve done it, he thought. If somehow this really is Chakotay, he’ll know I’m lying. Irene Hansen was at his send-off party, for pity’s sake

. Good thing no one else on the bridge was there

.

“I’m sorry about that, but she’s got no business interfering with a starship on an important mission,” Chakotay snapped irritably.

A huge wave of combined relief and horror washed over Kim.

It really wasn’t Chakotay.

“May I alert Seven? She’ll want to talk to her aunt,” he said, shocked at how casual his voice sounded.

“Chakotay” considered this. “Let me do it,” he said, and Kim’s hopes fell. He had thought that Seven might be trying to contact them privately by sending her aunt as a “front.” But if Chakotay contacted her, there’d be no chance for her to tell Kim what they might have discovered.

“I’ve got Seven, sir,” said Campbell.

Seven of Nine’s lovely, cool face appeared on the viewscreen. “Captain Chakotay,” she said. “What a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you?”

Kim didn’t dare risk looking up at her; he didn’t want to give the game away. He concentrated instead on his console—and his eyes widened.

The woman was brilliant. She’d anticipated every possible problem. She was currently sending him an encrypted message, piggybacking it along the official channel. Quickly he began to download it.

“Seven, your aunt is trying to contact you,” Chakotay said bluntly. No hellos, how are yous.

Her eyes widened slightly. “I apologize, Captain. My aunt has been having

some difficulty lately. I hope she did not cause any problems.”

“No, but I thought you might want to know.”

“Thank you. I will contact her immediately.”

Kim almost had it. Keep talking, Seven, he thought fiercely.

“Is there anything else, Captain?”

“No. Chakotay out.”

Kim hoped he was the only one who caught the flicker of distress that passed over Seven’s face, like the faintest ripple in the surface of a pond when a stone was tossed into its depths. He hadn’t gotten all of the message, but he’d gotten most of it. Now to crack the code and share whatever information was there with Kaz.

“That was weird,” said Campbell. “I didn’t know Seven’s aunt was having problems. I’m so sorry to hear it.”

“You’re on duty on the bridge, Campbell,” said Chakotay. “Attend to your station.”

Campbell’s fair face turned bright red. “Aye, sir. My apologies, sir.”

The strain of the façade must be getting to the impostor, Kim thought. He wasn’t even trying to ape Chakotay’s mannerisms and demeanor anymore.

Kim burned to get at that message, but he didn’t know how he would manage to excuse himself from the bridge and escape the eagle eyes that belonged to someone who wasn’t Chakotay.

Libby thought Kim’s voice was so controlled it was almost cold. She was startled, but immediately logic kicked in and she thought: He knows something’s going on. I should have realized that would happen. Harry’s not stupid. At least he’ll have his wits about him.

She wanted so badly to discuss it, to ask him what he knew, what was going on, but she couldn’t. She had to play the role of pretty, bright, talented girlfriend, and besides, it was obvious she wasn’t going to get a chance to speak to him privately. So she let her face register the hurt she knew she ought to be feeling. It’s too bad we can’t be allies. I hate deceiving him like this.

Once his face had disappeared from the screen, she shifted gears immediately, going into the detached, emotionless state that had become such familiar territory over the last few years. She knew she was going over Fletcher’s head but didn’t care. Libby would be able to explain it to him; they had a good working relationship and he relied on her judgment.

Libby sent the message.