Chapter 5

IT WAS ONLY THE SECOND TIME Libby had laid eyes on the director, Brenna Covington was notorious for keeping to herself, even for someone in charge of Covert Operations and Deep Cover assignments, Earth Division. She met with agents on a “need to know” basis. Libby had been doing well in the agency and, during her studies on Ktar, had helped to uncover a plot to attack the Federation. It was not, as everyone had first thought, a Ktarian scheme, but the plan of another alien race. Libby had helped clear the people whose music brought her such pleasure, and it had been quite a feather in her cap. She was moving steadily and swiftly through the ranks, very quickly for such a junior agent. After all, she had been with Starfleet Intelligence for only six and a half years.

Until that time, she had known only what other [58] civilians knew about SI, which was little more than that it existed and that it helped the Federation protect itself. At that point, her whole life lay before her, and she was determined to live in the open, in the sunlight, in the light of her love’s adoration. Then Harry had gone, and with his absence came a darkness in her soul that was terrifying. In her grief, she had sought knowledge of what had happened to Harry, and in a confused, jumbled way had come to the conclusion that joining Starfleet Intelligence could help her find that knowledge.

Of course, it hadn’t, but in the end, it had been a good pairing. SI liked that Libby seemed an unlikely suspect, a civilian with no formal Starfleet connections. They liked that she was deceptively open-faced and appeared to be focused only on her love of performing. They liked that she was physically and personally attractive. They liked that her concerts took her all over the quadrant, for music was a universal language and appreciated even by those who wanted no part of the Federation.

And now, with Voyager’s sudden and shattering return, they liked that Libby had once been engaged to Harry Kim.

It was this that intrigued Director Covington, and it was this connection that made Libby Webber uniquely placed to do her other job—spying. When the call had come a week ago, Libby had of course gone to meet the Federation legend, and when Brenna Covington had asked her to attend the welcome-home banquet and report back, she had agreed.

“How are you handling it, Agent Webber?” [59] Covington had inquired, leaning forward solicitously. She was a pale woman—pale eyes, pale skin, pale hair—but quite attractive, and almost motherly in her concern.

“I’m all right,” Libby had replied. “A little nervous about meeting him.”

“Our sources tell us that he hasn’t made any permanent commitments,” Covington went on. “Do you think he might be interested in resuming a relationship with you?”

“I—I really have no idea. He’s been gone seven years.”

“Yet he has remained unattached,” Covington had pointed out. “As have you.”

Understanding began to dawn. “Do you want me to pretend I’m still interested in him? Romantically?”

“Would it be pretending?”

Libby said nothing.

Covington leaned forward. “I’m not asking you to do this on a whim, Agent Webber. I have information that leads me to believe that we need someone on the inside with Voyager’s crew. It would take a long time for us to find someone else with your convenient connection. It would be well worth your while,” she added.

Knowing that she was putting her career at risk, Libby had said stubbornly, “I don’t think it’s right to play with Harry’s feelings like that.”

Covington sighed. “I didn’t want to tell you this, but I see I have to. The situation is grim, Agent Webber. We’ve got a mole.”

“What?” Libby was shocked.

Covington nodded her fair head, looking somber. “There’s been a great deal of technological information leaked to the Orion Syndicate. We have reason to [60] believe that the arrival of Voyager, with its astonishing new technological developments, is going to be very appealing to the mole. He or she is going to want to get close to it, and the people who were on it. It’s a rare chance for us to flush the mole out into the open. Considering the nature of what’s been leaked, we’re going on the assumption that the mole is very highly placed in Starfleet.”

“Do you have a suspect?”

Covington shook her head. “No one suspect, although we’ve got our eye on several. None of them is below the rank of admiral. And frankly, the only ones we can rule out with certainty are the Voyager crew itself. It’s hard to negotiate deals with the Syndicate when you’re several thousand light-years away.”

“But,” Libby had said, puzzled, “if Harry’s not under suspicion, why do you need me to ... to be close to him?”

“Your fame as a concert performer has opened many doors,” Covington replied. “You think Aidan Fletcher’s commendation for the job on Ktar didn’t cross my desk? If you resume an intimate relationship with Ensign Kim, you’ll be able to accompany him to all kinds of functions. Quite possibly even on board Voyager. You’ll be moving in the same elite circles we think the mole moves in. And it’ll be a completely logical place for you to be.”

Libby felt sick inside. She almost wished that she was entirely over Harry. It would be easier to completely fabricate an affection she didn’t feel than to take her already confused emotions and point them in a specific direction.

[61] But Brenna Covington was awaiting her reply, and both of them knew what it would be.

“I think it went as well as could be expected,” Libby told Covington on the viewscreen, shaking off the memory of their first encounter. “It’s hard to get very personal in a crowded banquet hall.”

“But he believed you were interested in resuming your relationship?”

“Yes.” Libby, too, believed she was interested in resuming the relationship. She might have exaggerated a few things here and there when speaking with Harry, but not much, not much at all. The old feelings were still surprisingly strong, even after seven years. “It was difficult to speak with any of the admirals present. Harry and his parents pretty much demanded my full attention, and to leave them would have been too conspicuous.”

“That’s fine, Agent Webber. Cement the relationship first and you can worry about analyzing admirals’ behavior at the next function. You did very well. To be honest, I wasn’t sure you’d go through with it.”

Libby squared her shoulders. She needed to be truthful with this woman. “Director, I have to say that it wasn’t just a great acting job tonight. I really do still care for Harry, and I think the closer we get, the less objective I’m going to be.”

To her surprise, Covington smiled warmly. “Agent Webber, that’s just fine. Harry’s not the one in trouble. This can be as real a love affair as you want to make it. Starfleet Intelligence isn’t going to run your life for you. Lieutenant Kim will give you the access you need, and that’s all we want.”

[62] Libby relaxed slightly. “Thank you, Director. That’s good to know.”

“Despite what you may hear,” said Covington, smiling mischievously, “I’m not an ice queen.” She winked. “I do hope all goes well. Good night, Agent Webber.”

“Good night, ma’am.”

The screen went dark. Libby pressed the proper buttons and the holographic concealing panel rematerialized. She leaned back on the bed, her thoughts racing.

Oh, Harry. What are we going to do? What if it doesn’t work? I’ll hate my self for playing on your emotions.

She rose, performed her nightly ablutions, slipped into a pair of oversized, comfortable pajamas, and got into bed. One thing she knew for sure: If it didn’t work out, she’d break things off the minute the assignment was done and the mole captured. Harry deserved better than to just be used, even for a good cause.

She drifted into sleep,” and was haunted by dreams.

B’Elanna swallowed hard. Standing silently behind her, her husband, who knew every one of her volatile, complex moods, touched her shoulder gently with one hand. In the other arm he cradled a sleeping Miral.

The banquet was over, and B’Elanna was glad. It had been a strained, tense affair. First the uncomfortable reunion with her father, then the perfunctory awards ceremony. She didn’t give a damn about her own promotion, but she was smarting on behalf of Tom, Harry, Vorik, Campbell, and especially Captain Janeway. They all deserved much more than being an add-on to a lousy banquet. Just handing out those pips as if they were party [63] favors belittled the achievements of her hardworking fellow crewmen. It rankled and she was hardly able to eat a bite. Now they were alone in their room in the Parises’ household, and she had one more task to complete before turning in and putting an end to this stressful day.

Torres took a deep breath. “Computer,” she said, “put me through to Commander Logt.”

In a heartbeat, Logt’s strong, attractive visage appeared. “B’Elanna Torres,” she said. “You received my message, then.”

“I did,” Torres replied, “but I’m still confused. You said that we needed to talk about my mother, and that it is a matter of some urgency. What happened to her?”

“First,” Logt said, “how much do you know about your mother’s recent activities?”

Tired, nerves strained to the breaking point, B’Elanna snapped, “How the hell should I know anything? I’ve been lost in the Delta Quadrant for seven years!”

Logt’s eyes flashed; then she opened a mouth full of sharp, jagged teeth and laughed. “So you are a Klingon after all! I was beginning to have my doubts. And you are right. I should have realized you would know nothing.”

Although the commander had conceded that Torres’s point was valid, somehow B’Elanna felt as though she’d just been insulted. Tom’s hand gently squeezed her shoulder and she bit back the angry retort. She took a deep breath and said, “I have only just returned. Please. Tell me about my mother.”

“She came here to Boreth about a year after your ship had been deemed lost,” said Logt.

[64] “Boreth?” Torres was confused. “It’s a spiritual community, not a military outpost. What is a commander doing there?”

Logt sat up straighter, and for the first time Torres noticed the baldric that draped from her right shoulder to the left side of the waist. It was red and gold. This was one of the emperor’s personal guards.

“His Excellency Kahless wished a small military presence here,” Logt said. “It is a high honor indeed.”

Torres was certain it was, but she was also equally certain that it annoyed a military officer no end to be stationed in such a peaceful place. She hoped Logt wasn’t chafing under the “honor.” Even though she had distanced herself from all things Klingon, B’Elanna remembered well the commotion that Kahless’s return had caused. The clone created by the priests of Boreth was not the mighty warrior returned from the dead, that much was true. But apparently he had Kahless’s wisdom and dignity, and would hold the seat of emperor until the real Kahless returned to claim it. Of course he’d have an honor guard stationed at the most holy site in his empire.

“I should have recognized your position,” Torres said. “Please continue.”

Logt nodded, accepting the compliment graciously. “Miral wished to immerse herself in honoring Kahless, to petition him to bring her daughter safely home. She was a supplicant, as all are supplicants, but at one point she fell into a deep dream state. She awoke having had a vision of you, B’Elanna. She did not share the details, but she was determined to honor Kahless for the vision and went on the Challenge of Spirit.”

[65] A little ashamed of her ignorance, Torres said, “I’m not familiar with that.”

“You chose a human life,” said Logt, clearly trying not to sound contemptuous but largely failing. “You might be more familiar with the human term ‘vision quest.’ ”

Torres nodded. “I do know that term,” she said. “One goes out into the wilderness and scorns food and water, seeking an altered state in order to receive a vision.”

“It is a bit more with us,” Logt said. “One pushes oneself to the limit of physical endurance. One uses ancient techniques to make weapons to slay one’s food and fend off attacks, to make clothing and find shelter. It is a true test of the Klingon spirit. To endure so for a few months bestows great honor. To last a full year in the wild, with only one’s wits and courage, is worthy of a great ceremony.”

A sinking feeling came over B’Elanna. “My mother ... she never returned, did she?”

The harsh visage softened. “No,” Logt said, quietly. “She did not.”

Torres swallowed hard. She remembered every moment of her own vision of the Barge of the Dead. She hadn’t been sure what to call it—a dream, a hallucination, an active imagination working overtime. Now she felt the first tremblings of true belief. Her mother had had a vision of connecting with her at about the same time as B’Elanna’s own experience. She knew what Chakotay would say: Mother and daughter had shared a vision. Could it be possible? Was this more than a coincidence? Torres had never thought of herself as mystical and had in fact had to bite her tongue [66] whenever Chakotay waxed eloquent about his personal spirituality. The one time she’d attempted to enter his world, she had tried to kill her animal guide. No, the ethereal realms of mystery and magic were not anywhere B’Elanna Torres had been inclined to travel.

But now. ...

She had clung to the final words spoken by her mother: In Sto-Vo-Kor ... or maybe ... when you get home. She blinked back quick tears. It would seem that Sto-Vo-Kor, after all, would be the only place she would see her mother again.

She felt Tom’s hand still warm on her shoulder. She was so grateful for him, for little Miral. Torres cleared her throat.

“I am thankful that you felt telling me my mother’s fate so important,” she said. “But I am confused. I don’t see how it’s urgent.”

“Our tradition dictates that if a seeker is deemed lost on the Challenge of Spirit, her earthly possessions are to be destroyed within a certain time after the seeker is declared lost to Sto-Vo-Kor. That time is rapidly approaching. I thought perhaps you would wish to claim what she left with us before it is hurled into the ritual fire of cleansing.”

“Oh, yes,” said Torres. She didn’t care what it was, clothing, toiletries, even the most mundane items would have meaning for her. “Yes, I would.”

“Then you need to be here in five days at the most,” said Logt.

“Five days—I can’t possibly—”

[67] “B’Elanna,” said Tom, speaking quietly into her ear, “my father can pull some strings if he needs to.”

“And His Excellency has offered to see to it that you reach Boreth in time,” said Logt, startling both Tom and B’Elanna.

“Kahless cares about what happens to my mother’s stuff?”

“He does. Miral sought an audience with him before she left on her Challenge, to share her vision with him. Apparently, he was quite impressed. A vessel is standing by at this moment to take you to Boreth.”

“Give me a half hour,” said Torres.

“I will meet you at the holy site upon your arrival, “ said Logt. She pressed a button and the transmission ended.

“Wow,” said Tom. “That doesn’t give us very long to get ready.”

B’Elanna turned in her chair to look up at her husband and daughter. She extended a finger and ran it gently along the protruding ridges along Miral’s oh-so-Klingon forehead. She was so glad now that the Doctor had prevented her from changing a single thing. Her daughter was beautiful, perfect. A fierce tide of love swept through her, both for the infant and the man who had sired her.

“Thank you for coming with me,” she said. “I would have hated to have to leave you so soon.”

“Hey,” said Tom, gently, “you don’t get rid of this cute little bundle of responsibility that easily, you know. Or Miral either,” he added, jokingly.

She smiled, then sobered. “It could take a while,” she [68] said. “Who knows what kind of ritual they’ll make me do. They may not even let non-Klingons on the planet.”

“I’ve got nothing but free time until I’m reassigned, and all Miral has to do is grow and be healthy and loved. You just make sure we’ve got nice quarters on that ship and we’ll be fine.” He touched her cheek. “Take all the time you need. We’re not going anywhere.”

She knew he knew how much his words meant to her, and she felt a lump in her throat as she reached one hand out to her husband, the other to her sleeping child.