Chapter 17

IRENE HANSEN BEAMED as she regarded her niece. “Well?” she asked brightly. “How did I do?”

“You were convincing,” said Seven.

“From Seven, that’s high praise,” said the Doctor. “I thought you did a magnificent job, Ms. Hansen.”

“I confess, when you first proposed the scheme, I was a bit nervous,” the older woman said. “I don’t like the idea of trying to fool Chakotay. But when I did it, I have to admit, it was a lot of fun. Made me feel positively young again.” Somewhat wistfully she added, “You will tell me what all of this is about? When you can?”

“Of course I will, Aunt Irene,” Seven assured her. “Once everything has been declassified.”

“I’d better let you be about

whatever it is you’re about,” said Irene. “Do keep me posted.”

“I will. Thank you again.” Seven hesitated. “You did a fine job.”

Irene smiled, waved, and signed off.

“Do you know if Lieutenant Kim was able to get the message?” the Doctor inquired.

“What I am certain of is that he was unable to receive the complete message,” Seven said, her fingers flying over the pads. “Even though he is no longer head of operations on Voyager, I have no doubt that he has remembered his skill at that post. It is entirely up to him now.”

“At least we can get this to Admiral Janeway,” the Doctor said.

Janeway wished she could have been aboard the Delta Flyer instead of being forced to sit in a conference hall and listen to the same argument being played out again and again.

The hope had been, on the Federation’s part, to convince the planets that had expressed a desire to secede to remain. Unfortunately, the plan was not achieving that goal. If anything, it was causing those who had been on the fence to opt with the Secessionists. Janeway knew that the representatives of at least two member planets had gone from unsure to certain—about leaving. She desperately hoped that there would be no more added to that number, especially not Merin Kol.

She spotted the Kerovian amar in one of the front rows and vowed to somehow find a few minutes to talk with the woman. She seemed to want to have a reason to stay, but if Janeway didn’t give her one, and a good one at that, Janeway knew that Kerovi would also turn its back on an alliance of over forty years.

The presentation ended. Janeway blinked. She’d been so lost in thought—about Chakotay, about Paris, about Kim and Kaz and the colonists—that she hadn’t paid much attention to what was going on right in front of her.

Break time, she thought. As she rose, stiff from sitting, she caught Merin Kol’s eye. The other woman smiled in acknowledgment, but was quickly obscured by the exiting crowd.

Janeway tried to make her way toward the amar, but she felt a light touch on her shoulder and turned to see Tuvok. He looked even graver than usual.

“You have another message, Admiral. Priority channel gamma one.”

Her eyes widened. Not only was this an urgent message, but it came from an untraceable source. She tasted disappointment at once again being unable to talk privately with Kol, but her duty was clear. Tuvok followed her, his silent presence a comfort, as she reached the private room where she could take the message.

“No, stay, Tuvok,” she said to her old friend as the Vulcan turned to leave. “I have a feeling I may need you, now that I’ve dispatched Paris.”

Tuvok inclined his head. “As you wish, Admiral.”

She licked lips suddenly gone dry and entered her personal data code. Old-fashioned lettering, white against a black background, scrolled across the screen.

Admiral: There is a traitor on Voyager, a mole who has been accessing confidential information about the crew and ship for several months and who has been active for years. He is Commander Andrew Ellis. He is believed to be dangerous. Take all precautions when apprehending.

The message was signed: Peregrine.

“Our elusive friend from a few months ago,” Janeway said. She recalled that the mysterious “Peregrine” had appeared before at a crucial time, his or her untraceable messages always accurate, always helpful. Previously Peregrine had given them information that had helped save their lives—and, perhaps, the lives of everyone on Earth.

“This could be a trap of some sort,” the ever-cautious Tuvok warned his former captain. “There is no way to document that this is the same Peregrine. And whoever it is, is not as up-to-date on the situation as we are. Commander Ellis is dead.”

Janeway listened to Tuvok; she always listened to Tuvok. But she was also thinking furiously, staring at the white lettering as if trying to brand it into her brain.

“Yes, Ellis is definitely dead, according to both Kaz and Kim. Not, apparently, according to Chakotay.” She turned to regard him with an intense gaze. “Dead by cuts inflicted by someone or something wielding a scalpel and leaving no trace of himself behind; dead just recently but somehow showing signs of long-term stasis.”

She pointed at the screen. “Peregrine says he’s been active for years. That’s quite a feat for someone who’s been in stasis for so long. I’m wondering if we’re looking at something much more sinister than a mole, Tuvok.”

“While we do not yet have all the facts, and the facts that we do have are perplexing and seemingly contradictory,” Tuvok said, “logic still supports your conclusion.”

He is believed to be dangerous. Take all precautions when apprehending.

So lost in thought was Janeway, her mind examining the options and coming up with only one that would fit all the evidence, she jumped when the computer chimed. At once Peregrine’s warning vanished from the screen. She had committed the few words to memory, knowing that once the message was gone, it would be gone for good. Peregrine was not about to let himself—herself?—be traced.

“Another message on my private channel,” said Janeway. “I’m in for a busy afternoon.”

Seven of Nine and the Doctor appeared, looking serious.

“For people I no longer work with, I’m seeing quite a lot of you two,” Janeway said. More seriously, she added, “What do you have for me?”

“Dr. Kaz was correct,” Seven said bluntly. “The DNA is from Guillaume Fortier. It’s been restructured and crossed with a variety of other sources of DNA to create a new species.”

Janeway forced herself not to shudder. This monstrosity was exactly why genetic engineering had been made illegal in the Federation. It was too easy to go too far, to do something horrific in the name of advancing science.

“Is it possible to reverse the damage?”

The Doctor and Seven exchanged glances. “Fortunately, Opharix is a specialist in the field of genetics. It’s hard at work on that right now,” the Doctor said. “Naturally, we have been able to offer valuable input as well. But as you know, Admiral, it’s easier to destroy than create.”

“Whoever did this to Guillaume Fortier thought he was creating,” Janeway said.

Seven’s eyes flashed in outrage. “Whoever did this needs to be found and brought to justice. What happened to the colonists is not creativity, nor science. It is a crime.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more, Seven,” Janeway said. “I’ve learned a little something myself. If,” she added, with a nod in Tuvok’s direction, “my source can be trusted.”

“Who might that be?” the Doctor inquired.

“Someone who calls himself Peregrine,” Janeway said.

The Doctor and Seven exchanged glances. “Peregrine was accurate in his suspicions the last time he communicated with us,” Seven said. “What does he have to say this time?”

Janeway recited the message, and again the two old friends exchanged glances. The Doctor sighed heavily.

“Admiral,” he said slowly, “our group has come to the conclusion that the murderer of Commander Ellis has to be—”

“A shape-shifter, possibly a Changeling,” Janeway finished for him. The Doctor’s eyes reached for his hairline, and even Seven looked surprised.

“May I ask what made you reach that conclusion?” she asked.

“It’s the only answer that fits the evidence. Ellis wasn’t a mole. He couldn’t have been. The poor man has been in stasis for six years while someone else has been impersonating him. Chakotay is acting completely unlike himself and I tripped him up on a ‘remember when’ story when I last spoke to him. There’s no trace of DNA on the body that isn’t Ellis’s own, and the mole Peregrine warned us about has been reading up on Voyager’s crew. How this all ties in with the genetic manipulation of the colonists, I’ve no idea. But I’ll find out.”

Seven and the Doctor were solemn. “What would you like us to do, Admiral?” Seven asked quietly.

“Keep doing what you’re doing. There’s got to be a way for us to return those colonists to their human state. Tuvok, Paris, and I will do what we can on our end.”

“Admiral,” said Tuvok, “Starfleet Command must be advised of the situation.”

Janeway thought hard. “Not yet,” she said, “and I’ll take that responsibility on myself.”

Controlled as his features were, Janeway knew her friend well enough to recognize surprise and disapproval on that familiar, dark face. “Admiral, I strongly suggest that you reconsider.”

She shook her head. “Think about it. The shape-shifter murdered Ellis in cold blood, after apparently going to great lengths to keep him alive in stasis for six years. Why would he do such a thing? Why kill him now, and not before? My guess is: in order to produce a freshly killed corpse when it was convenient for him to do so. How many others does he have, hidden away for just such an occasion? Chakotay for one, I’m certain of it. I’m daring to hope that he’s still alive, but if the Changeling gets wind that we know what’s going on, everyone on that ship is going to be in jeopardy. Tom’s on his way there right now. I’ll let him know what he’s dealing with. He can monitor the situation until help arrives.”

“If you are not going to contact Starfleet Command, what form will that ‘help’ take?” Tuvok wanted to know.

“I’m not sure yet, Tuvok,” Janeway replied honestly. “I’m not sure.”

Kaz was starting to see the beach when he closed his eyes for even a moment.

They walked together now, he and Gradak. Stride for stride, feet sinking into the soft sand washed smooth by the ceaseless purple tides. They were growing more alike with each step, the doctor and the Maquis. Jarem glanced at Gradak as they walked, and almost before his eyes the lines of care and fear seemed to melt from around his eyes and mouth.

Jarem was starting to listen.

He sighed and opened his eyes. Hours had passed since they had spoken to Janeway, Seven, and the Doctor, and they’d heard nothing. It wouldn’t be much longer until they reached Loran II, and who knew what would happen then. Maybe it was time for another attempt.

“Kaz to Chakotay.” He marveled that his voice didn’t sound the least bit shaky.

You’re getting good at this, Gradak thought approvingly.

“Chakotay here. What is it, Doctor?”

“Is Lieutenant Kim at his station?”

“Yes, he’s here.”

“I’ve processed the data I took on the away team, and I think he may have the beginnings of a mild case of Umari flu,” he said. “Of course I should have caught it at once, but we’ve all been a little distracted recently. I’d like to examine him again and stop the flu in its tracks.”

A pause. Kaz’s heart raced.

“Very well, I’ll send him down. Chakotay out.”

Kaz leaned back in his chair and blew out a breath. A few moments later Kim burst into sickbay.

“That was brilliant, Kaz!” the younger man exclaimed. “What the hell is Umari flu?”

“Completely made up,” Kaz said. “I thought we might try to contact—”

Kim held up a hand. “I’m way ahead of you. We had an interesting message about an hour ago. From Irene Hansen. She was incoherent and trying to reach Seven of Nine.”

“But Irene Hansen is fine! She’s one of the sharpest people I’ve ever met. She’s in full control of her faculties.”

Kim grinned. “Exactly. But whoever’s sitting in the command chair right now didn’t know that, and contacted Seven of Nine so she could tend to her poor auntie. While Seven was talking, she sent me an encoded message. I don’t think I quite got it all—Chakotay was pretty keen on wrapping up the message quickly—but I got something.”

“You know,” said Kaz, “it’s never a dull moment with you Voyagers.”

“Don’t be too judgmental,” Kim retorted, sliding into Kaz’s seat. “You’re one of us now.” His fingers flew over the control pads. “The trick,” he said, “is for me to be able to access this message without sending up a red flag at Campbell’s station.”

“Any way you could distract her?”

Kim shook his head. “We’ve attracted enough attention by getting me down here with Umari flu. Better not risk it.” He sighed and frowned in concentration. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but right now I wish Lyssa Campbell was less competent.”

The Changeling was a creature of instinct.

Instinct—not a thorough, scholar’s knowledge of anatomy or cell construction—was what made a Changeling a shape-shifter. In order to be a stone, one had to know a stone; in order to be a person, one had to know a person. It wasn’t a question of getting the freckles or moles or laugh lines right; it was understanding what made a person unique that gave a Changeling its real power.

And right now his instincts were telling him that something was about to go very wrong if he didn’t figure out what was going on and stop it immediately.

Odd, two personal messages so hard on the heels of each other. Especially odd was Irene Hansen’s appearance. Even with the medical strides made by the Solids over the years, the Changeling knew that some mental illnesses remained untreatable.

But not very many.

His fingers drummed on the arm of his chair as his thoughts raced. Not very many at all. What were the odds that Irene Hansen had one of those diseases?

And what was it Campbell had said? “Weird,” she’d called it, and weird, indeed, it was. Hansen’s condition had taken Campbell by surprise, but Kim seemed fully aware of the situation, as had Seven of Nine.

They were still some time away from arriving at Loran II. He’d wanted to drag that time out, to try to come up with a plan, but nothing had materialized. Suddenly the thought struck him that he might be better off on the planet surface, safe from detection, with Moset and his creatures to protect him.

The thought of the entities Moset was creating thrilled him. Who needed to be part of a Great Link when one had beings like that under his command? Moset was a brilliant mind, but gullible, like all Solids were gullible. The Cardassian thought that the creatures he was hard at work perfecting would belong to him.

The Changeling almost snorted in derision. As if he’d hand over such a treasure trove to a scientist.

No, they were his, although Moset didn’t know it yet. They, and the scientist who had made them, would protect him.

“Lieutenant Tare,” he said, “increase speed to warp seven.”

“Aye, sir,” she replied, her fingers moving knowledgeably over the console.

As unobtrusively as possible, “Chakotay” touched his computer screen. The beaming face of the elderly woman he’d just spoken to appeared. She looked quite healthy, both physically and mentally.

He read her bio. There was no indication there of anything wrong with her.

Irene Hansen was just fine. And, come to think of it, how had she been able to so casually contact a starship engaged in a mission?

Kim had been the first one to react as if Hansen’s mental state was not unexpected. And Kim had been called down to sickbay, to be treated for Umari flu

.

He searched the computer banks for information on the illness.

Nothing.

They were playing him. They knew something, and the two were playing him like—

“Captain?” Lyssa Campbell’s voice, puzzled, unsure.

“Yes, Lieutenant, what is it?” His mind was racing at light speed. He didn’t dare act until they had reached the planet. He was glad he’d instructed Tare to change speed.

“You asked me to monitor all incoming and outgoing messages.”

He wished he could form a tentacle of his arm and wrap it around her slender neck. Forcing himself to remain calm, he replied, “Yes, I did. What have you got?”

“It may be nothing, sir. I had a ghost earlier, this may just be more of the same.” She shook her blond head. “They really did a number on this ship.”

The Changeling decided that if he had the opportunity to do so without putting himself at risk, he would indeed kill Lyssa Campbell.

“Lieutenant, make your report.”

“Well, it looks like I’m detecting unauthorized activity. It’s as if—but that can’t be right.” Her brow furrowed.

“Chakotay” couldn’t take it any longer. He rose and strode to her station, pushing her out of the way firmly.

And that’s when he saw it.

Seven of Nine had sent a hidden message, encrypted and deeply embedded in the ordinary, everyday conversation she’d had with Chakotay about her “mentally ill” aunt.

A message that was now being decoded and read in sickbay. Where Harry Kim and Jarem Kaz were.

He was so furious that for a moment, he almost lost his form. It was with a monumental effort of will that he retained it, kept calm, forced himself to sound mildly curious.

“I see why you’re confused, Lieutenant. This is quite odd. Tare, how much longer till we reach Loran II?”

“About two minutes, sir.”

“Enter standard orbit when we arrive. I’m going to duck into sickbay and talk to Kaz. Maybe one of his computers is acting up.”

He strode to the turbolift. Once the doors were securely closed, he gave vent to his fury. His form shifted, then rearranged itself into Chakotay.

The clever bastards were on to him. Through his rage, he smiled, his lips twisting.

At least now he ought to be able to finally kill someone.