Chapter 9

SPECIAL FRIENDS, PARIS THOUGHT, were the ones you could call on to help you unpack. He’d supplied the pizza and beer, and Harry, Lyssa Campbell, and the Doctor had answered his plea for assistance. They were munching happily—well, all except the Doc, of course—in Tom’s new apartment. They were halfway done. Most of Tom’s furniture was in place and now they were unpacking smaller knickknacks.

“Surprised to see you here, Doc,” Lyssa said between bites of a large pizza with pepperoni, mushrooms, and green pepper. “Thought this was a little lowbrow for you.”

“Well,” said the Doctor, his holoemitter firmly in place on his sleeve, “I must say, these hands were hardly designed for unpacking mugs that say [110] ‘Universe’s Best Dad’ on them, but I am nothing if not versatile.”

“Hey, I like that mug,” Tom protested, but he was grinning. It was good to see his old friends again. Miral certainly kept him busy, but with B’Elanna gone he was missing his Voyager companions terribly. “So, Harry, you and Libby looked a little tight at the banquet. I guess things are going okay?”

His mouth full of pizza, Harry still managed a grin. Swallowing, he said, “Better than I could have hoped.”

“That’s our romantic Harry,” said Lyssa, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “So, tell us, Harry.”

“Yeah, tell us all about it,” echoed Tom. He said it only to watch Harry blush.

“We’re still getting reacquainted,” Harry said a little shyly. “We’ve both changed a lot over the last seven years. Sometimes it’s a little awkward.”

“And sometimes it’s not, huh?” Lyssa waggled her eyebrows meaningfully and they all cracked up. Even the Doc smiled. At the sudden outburst of mirth, Miral woke up and began to wail. Smoothly Tom picked her up out of the crib and walked around with her. The gestures were natural to him now after a month of practice, and he was barely aware of his gentle movements on her back that soothed and calmed the fussy infant.

“Lyssa, come on!” said Kim.

“We’re just teasing you, Mr. Kim” said the Doctor. “We merely wish for you to be happy, and it seems as though you are.”

“Yeah,” said Kim. “I am. But it’s hard. On the one hand, you’ve been so close, and on the other, you don’t [111] really know who each other is now. Libby’s different—much more assertive and to the point.”

“I’ve listened to several of her recorded concerts and she’s quite magnificent,” said the Doctor. “She has every reason to be confident of herself.”

“Of course she does. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, in fact I like it. But it is different and it takes some getting used to.”

Miral burped. The rag Tom had put on his shoulder for this express purpose was quickly soaked. “So does this,” he said, grimacing.

After lunch, they finished putting things away. By the time everyone was ready to leave, the small apartment was completely set up. Tom tried to encourage them to stay, but Harry had a date with Libby and Lyssa had to hit the sack in order to be rested for a big day of hiking along the Continental Divide. Only the Doctor lingered for a while longer. Miral had returned to sleeping for an hour or two, but now was awake and fussy. The Doctor immediately took her from a tired Tom, and to Tom’s astonishment, she quieted down at once, her eyes fastened on the Doctor’s face.

“You really would make a great baby-sitter,” Tom said, marveling. “You’re amazing with her.”

“As I told you the day she was born, I’ve downloaded everything there is to know about the care, feeding, and handling of both human and Klingon infants,” said the Doctor.

Tom replicated another beer and sat watching the Doctor. An idea began to occur to him. Feeling his way [112] tentatively, he said, “So, do you have a year’s worth of speaking engagements lined up?”

The Doctor wrinkled his nose. “Hardly. This complete and utter lack of interest on Starfleet’s part in what I have achieved over the past seven years is quite unexpected. If anyone wants to speak to me at all, it’s about Photons Be Free.”

“Well, isn’t that a compliment?”

“Yes and no. I’m proud of my creative work, of course. In fact, I’m considering a sequel.”

Tom tried not to let his apprehension show.

“And yet, while that is a significant achievement, and obviously far-reaching in its consequences, I want to be recognized for my excellence in my field.”

Tom thought about how he’d feel if he were known for creating Captain Proton instead of for his piloting skills. “I can understand that,” he said.

“So the short answer is no, nor am I likely to.” He hesitated, and Tom sensed there was something more.

“You’re lonely,” Tom said.

“Yes, Mr. Paris. I’ve no purpose anymore. I suppose I should be grateful I haven’t been farmed off to Lynarik Prime to serve in the dilithium mines like the other EMH Mark Ones. Mr. Barclay is kind, but he has other things to do than entertain a bored and lonely hologram.”

“I don’t,” said Tom affably. “My wife’s out of town and it’s just me and the kid. How’d you like to share quarters for a while? I’m sure Miral could only benefit from spending some time with her godfather.”

The Doctor brightened, and Miral cooed happily.

* * *

[113] Icheb heard the excited whispers and giggles. He felt heat rise in his face and tried to ignore it.

“It’s him! It’s the Borg kid!”

“He’s kind of cute.”

“That’s so cool ... wonder what it’s like to be a former Borg. Think he’ll be allowed to compete in track?”

He adjusted his pack, filled with a couple of padds and some nutritional supplements, and continued looking at room numbers. He had been living on the grounds since departing Voyager, but only in the last two days had other students begun to arrive.

“Um, hi,” a voice beside him said. He looked down to see an attractive dark-skinned cadet keeping stride with him. Her curly black hair was cropped sort. Large, liquid brown eyes were fastened on his. He felt his blush growing.

“Greetings,” he said.

“I’m Eshe Karenga,” she said, sticking out her hand.

Awkwardly, he shook it. It felt small and warm in his own. “I am called Icheb,” he said.

“Yeah, I know. I just wanted you to know that everyone’s very excited about your being accepted into the Academy. Are you going to be helping teach some of the classes that deal with the Borg? I’m sure you’ve got lots of fascinating insight to share with us all.”

Why was his heart fluttering so in his chest? His words, when he was able to summon them, sounded halting and trembling. “Um, I haven’t been asked, but of course I’d be helpy to hap—I mean, happy to help.”

She laughed. Icheb was mortified. “That’s cute,” she [114] said. She slowed down. “Here’s my first class. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

He glanced at the number. “It is my first class as well,” he said.

“Really? What a coincidence,” said Eshe. “Maybe we can sit by each other. I don’t know a lot of people here yet.”

“Neither do I,” he said, and as he followed her into the classroom he couldn’t help but wonder if it really was a coincidence after all.

The students filed in and took their seats. Built into each desk was a small computer. When it was deactivated, students could easily write on the desk, lean their elbows on it, sometimes catch a furtive snooze. When the computer was active, it performed like any other console. Icheb was busy inspecting it. Unlike most of the freshman cadets, he was thoroughly familiar with its functions. Mildly interested,” he began to tap in commands. He was so engrossed in what he was doing that he didn’t notice the excited buzz of the other students halt abruptly.

“Since it is obvious that you know so much about the computers, would you like to teach the class, Cadet Icheb?” came a cool adult voice.

Icheb’s head whipped up. There was the smallest of instants when he was alarmed and embarrassed, but then .0006ths of a second later he realized he recognized the speaker.

“Commander Tuvok!” he said happily. Tuvok raised an eyebrow and Icheb cleared his throat and sat straighter in his chair. “Forgive me, sir. I thought you were going to stay on Vulcan.”

[115] “And such an assumption gives you carte blanche to ignore your professor?”

Icheb fought and failed to keep the smile from blossoming on his face. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eshe looking at him with wide brown eyes and, if possible, an even greater sense of admiration.

“Negative, Commander. I apologize.”

“Good. This course is called, somewhat creatively, Out on a Limb.” Clearly Tuvok did not approve of the colorful title. “It will deal with how to handle security situations when one is not within reach of Starfleet Command. Cadet Icheb, I have concerns that our former contact may inhibit you from learning all that you might in this course. I am going to request that you be transferred.”

“Commander!” Icheb was frantic. He wanted to stay, with Eshe, and with a familiar face standing at the head of the classroom. “I assure you that I do not expect any preferential treatment.”

“Nor will you be in any danger of receiving it,” Tuvok replied coldly.

“Commander Tuvok?” It was Eshe, raising her hand shyly. “Permission to speak?”

“Go ahead, Cadet—”

“Karenga, Eshe Karenga. With all due respect, sir, you are the only instructor teaching, um, Out on a Limb this semester, and it’s a required course. It would not benefit Cadet Icheb to wait a full year.”

Tuvok frowned. “Perhaps you are right. You may stay, Cadet Icheb.”

Icheb breathed a sigh of relief, even as he realized that Tuvok was going to be harder on him than on any [116] other cadet who passed through that door. Let him. Icheb knew he was up to whatever Tuvok had to dish out. He risked giving Eshe a quick, grateful smile, then activated his computer when Tuvok instructed. It was going to be a wonderful year.

 

He had many offers to go out for dinner that night, but he found himself a bit overstimulated from six classes and the interaction with so many strangers, so even though Eshe gave him her most winning smile, he declined. Besides, there was someone in particular with whom he wanted to share the events of this exciting day.

When he reached the small room in the student dormitories he now called “home,” complete with a small regeneration alcove just big enough for him to squeeze inside, he made a beeline for the computer. He desperately hoped she’d be available.

“Yes?”

Disappointment knifed through him when an older woman’s face appeared on his screen. Almost immediately, though, he realized who this must be.

“Ms. Hansen?”

“Yes?”

“My name is Icheb. I’m a friend of Seven’s from—”

“Oh, of course, I know your name. Annika speaks of you often and so warmly. Let me get her, you just hang on. ...”

Icheb found himself staring into the room as Irene Hansen darted off to find her niece. He smiled a little; apparently, some people even now weren’t as comfortable with viewscreens as others. After a few minutes, [117] Seven’s face appeared. She was trying to maintain her usual icy demeanor, but a slight smile and glowing eyes betrayed her pleasure.

“Icheb.”

“Hello, Seven.”

“I assume you are contacting me to report on your first day of classes at the Academy. I trust all went well?” He filled her in, saving the surprise about Tuvok for last. She listened attentively. Finally she asked, “Were you ... bothered in any way?”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“We were Borg. Earth’s human population seems to be by turns fascinated and horrified by us.”

“Well, I did get a little bit of attention.” He hadn’t mentioned Eshe. Somehow, he didn’t want to.

“You need to be prepared to—”

“Oh, for pity’s sake, Annika, let the boy enjoy being popular.” Seven’s aunt again, chiming in on the conversation. Seven looked nonplussed. Clearly, she had thought she was alone. Icheb tried not to laugh when Irene stuck her head into viewing range.

“Icheb, why don’t you come on over for a homemade dinner and some strawberry pie? I’ve got a chicken in the oven, with potatoes and gravy and biscuits, and Annika and I are watching our girlish figures.”

“Aunt Irene!” said Seven, flustered.

“Ms. Hansen, I would love to come. When would be convenient?”

“You just hop over to one of those transporters whenever you’re ready.”

“Seven, is this acceptable to you?” Icheb asked.

[118] Although Seven looked annoyed, she also looked a little pleased. “It is satisfactory,” she said. Which, for Seven, meant that she was delighted.

 

B’Elanna swallowed hard, waiting for Tom’s face to appear on the viewscreen. When it did, her heart lurched. He was holding little Miral, who was making popping noises with her mouth and waving her arms around.

“Hi,” Torres said.

“Hi,” he said.

“This is the last time I’ll be permitted to contact you until after ... after this is all done.”

He nodded. “I know.”

“If anything goes wrong, the priests won’t know about it for a while. So you shouldn’t expect to hear anything, positive or negative, for some time.”

“Mommy’s just so upbeat, isn’t she, honey?” Tom said in a playful, high-pitched voice to Miral. The child squealed and tried to grab his nose. “Don’t worry,” he said, looking up to face his wife. “You’re where you need to be. I know that. I’m very proud of you.”

For a moment, she couldn’t speak. “How did your folks take it?”

“About as expected. I’ve moved out on my own now. Well, almost on my own. The Doc’s my new roommate. Listen, we should seriously consider keeping him on. I think he missed his true programming. He’s a great nanny.”

“I heard that,” came the Doctor’s dry voice from another room. Tom looked vexed.

[119] “Excuse me,” he said. He rose and went to close the door.

B’Elanna laughed, and suddenly all the pain and apprehension was gone. Tom knew she was doing the right thing, and so did she. They would be all right, whatever happened to her. The only thing she wished was that she could hold her daughter and kiss her husband one last time.

“I love you so much, both of you,” she said.

“We know. We love you, too.”

She couldn’t bring herself to say good-bye and hoped he would end the conversation first. He made no move to do so. As she reluctantly moved to terminate the conversation, Tom said quickly, “B’Elanna—”

“Yes?”

“Qapla’!”

She smiled, and touched the button. The screen was now filled with the insignia of the Klingon Empire. Torres took a deep breath, held it for a second, then blew it out, steadying herself. She’d wanted to say good-bye to the rest of her friends from her Voyager days, and her father as well, but the rules were rigid: one final, farewell message.

She had completed it. Now would come several weeks of prayer, meditation, and work on her ritual garment. The delay chafed B’Elanna terribly, but she knew she had to observe the form if not the substance of the ritual.

Someone was depending on her.

 

The six-year-old human girl was quieter than the Bolian doctor had ever seen her. He examined her with the [120] medical tricorder and the good, old-fashioned sense of touch as her worried mother spoke.

“She had a little bit of a stomachache last night. We thought it was just from an extra helping of cake, but then she woke up like this,” Erin Matheson said, wringing her hands. “So pale, and quiet ... it’s just not like her!”

The red-haired, freckled Kara was usually a bit of a trial when Dr. Graalis saw her. She laughed, squirmed and grinned, or if the pain was bad, shrieked with agony and outrage. She was hardly ever sick. Graalis had been her doctor for most of her life, and mainly what he saw her for were the usual cuts and scrapes of a lively, playful youngster.

This was altogether different. She had hardly any color and was so still it was spooky. Kara didn’t answer when spoken to, and her flesh felt cold to the touch.

He sighed. “Ms. Matheson, we’ve been told to be on the lookout for something like this. I’m not sure, but I think it might be something called Xakarian flu. She has all the symptoms.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” Erin said.

“It’s only recently been seen on Earth. The symptoms are unusual pallor, lack of appetite, chilled body temperature, and often delusions. It’s not lethal,” he assured her.

“Thank God,” she breathed.

“However, the treatment is a long one, and to contain the spread we are going to have to quarantine you, Erin, and Mr. Matheson.”

She blinked. “Is that ... is that really necessary?”

“I’m afraid it is.”

“But if it isn’t lethal—”

[121] “This comes directly from Starfleet, Ms. Matheson. They evidently think it’s important. I’ve been instructed to report it, and you should be ready to transport to the quarantine site within an hour.”

Erin played with her daughter’s red ringlets. Kara stared into space. Graalis suppressed a shudder. But, Starfleet Medical had assured him the virus wasn’t lethal, and he believed them.

Two hours later, Starfleet Medical came for him, too.