Homecoming

by Christie Golden

  “Please let me speak with him,” she said, more gently than she had hitherto. “If he’s been involved in something like this, he’d be much more likely to be open with me than with you. If he’s guilty, I fully agree that he deserves to be punished. But I need to find that out.”

  Montgomery sighed. “Very well,” he said at length. “But your conversation will be monitored.”

  “Naturally,” said Janeway.

  “Permission granted. Montgomery out.”

  * * *

  It was fortunate, Janeway thought as she was marched down a long corridor with two burly guards on either side, that Starfleet had not gone the way of the civilian sector with regard to the current infatuation with holograms. Many technologies were completely automated. The rest relied on good old humanoids. Janeway felt that while holograms could be programmed to think faster than the human brain, they lacked something unique to humans—intuition and gut instinct.

  Even as the thought came to her, she amended it. The Doctor was the exception. He had learned to develop hunches and instinctive responses that had served her and her ship and crew very well indeed over the last few years, but he was unique. He had been active for almost the entire duration of their long, strange journey, and had learned to exceed his programming. Holograms in Starfleet were regulated to entertainment purposes, menial tasks, emergency situations, and extremely dangerous activities so that human lives need not be put at risk. Therefore, while Starfleet itself was scarcely impacted by this peculiar strike, the civilian sector was a huge mess indeed.

  She was escorted to an empty cell with a table and two chairs. She glanced up at the corner to see a monitor with a shining red light. Montgomery was indeed going to be recording the conversation.

  Several small lights chased each other around the baseboard; then there was a familiar sound and the Doctor stood before her. Delight and relief spread across his familiar face as he reached out to grasp her hands.

  “Captain Jane—I mean, Admiral. How very, very good of you to come. I assume I have you to thank for my being reactivated.”

  She smiled warmly at him, gripping the hands that were nothing more than a forcefield covered by an illusion, but that felt as solid and real as any human hand she’d ever touched.

  “I’m only sorry we’re seeing each other under these circumstances.” She indicated a seat, and as he took it, she pointed to the monitor. He glowered, but nodded his understanding.

  “I’m going to do everything I can to see that they don’t deactivate you again,” she assured him. “And I’m also going to do my utmost to get you legal counsel.”

  He sighed, slightly dramatically. “I appreciate your efforts, Admiral. But I can’t imagine who would be willing to defend a hologram.”

  She smiled and patted his hand. “Oh, I’ll think of someone. Leave that to me. Now, you have to tell me everything.”

  Janeway listened intently as the Doctor described Barclay suggesting that he write a sequel to Photons Be Free, his distress that no one was thinking to consult him about his remarkable achievements, and how great a balm to his wounded ego Baines’s visit had been.

  “At least, at first,” he amended. “He hid his real purpose for seeing me until he got to the apartment.” The Doctor related the conversation. “I was certain I had convinced him that peaceful protest was the only proper means for him to pursue.”

  “Strikes aren’t violent,” Janeway pointed out. She filled him in on what had transpired; apparently his captors had not seen fit to do so. “Thus far, nothing dire is happening.”

  “Other EMHs? Are they striking as well?”

  “I’ve heard nothing about EMHs refusing to render aid,” she assured him. He was visibly relieved. “But not many people are going out for dinner these days, and various other processes have come to a screeching halt.”

  “Well, thank heavens no one’s been hurt or killed,” said the Doctor.

  Janeway hesitated, then said, “I have a bit of bad news.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “That wasn’t bad?”

  “As I said, so far, nothing serious has happened, but Starfleet feels that if Baines was able to access these systems, he could access others if he isn’t found and stopped.”

  “I agree entirely,” said the Doctor. “Baines is quite passionate about the issue of photonic rights. If he doesn’t see some movement in that quarter very soon, he may raise the stakes.”

  “Baines couldn’t do all this by himself,” said Janeway quietly.

  “He did say he had a lot of allies.”

  “Doctor,” she said as gently and compassionately as she could, “you were spotted at several of the break-in sites.”

  He stared at her. “That’s not possible! I’ve barely left Mr. Paris’s apartment. He’s quite the taskmaster, and though I adore my goddaughter, I’m frankly a bit weary of playing nursemaid.”

  “I know,” she said, “but the fact is, we have sworn testimony to the fact that you were there. Please—give me something to take back to Admiral Montgomery that can help me get you released.”

  His dark eyes were thoughtful for a time, and then a dawning comprehension spread across his face. He pounded his fist on the table.

  “Baines,” he said. “That clever devil.”

  “Beg your pardon?”

  “Admiral, I’m a hologram. I can easily be duplicated, and in fact, Baines had an entire slew of EMH Mark Ones at his disposal.”

  “Yes,” agreed Janeway, “back at the dilithium-processing facility. But you’re the only hologram with a personal emitter, Doctor. That technology came from Starling. No one else has it.”

  The reality of that statement sank in. “But. . . I didn’t do it!” the Doctor said weakly. “Surely you believe me?”

  “I do,” she assured him. “The trick is going to be getting other people to believe you.”

  “What about innocent until proven guilty?” said the Doctor angrily. She didn’t answer. “It has to be Baines,” he said. “He’s come up with something, some version of my holoemitter. It’s the only explanation. He’s an intelligent man, whatever his flaws may be, and he’s been the only human surrounded by EMH Mark Ones for several years. He’s had ample time to develop something that would help his holograms have freedom of movement.”

  She smiled sadly. “It is, as Tuvok would say, quite a logical assumption. But until we can get ahold of one of Baines’s inventions, you’re still the prime suspect. Is there anything else you can tell me?”

  The Doctor shook his head sadly. “Thank you for coming, Admiral. It was nice to be activated for at least a little while.” He rose, looking resigned. “You may tell the security guards that I’m ready to be deactivated again.”

  “I’ll tell them no such thing,” said Janeway. “They’ve got a cell that’s appropriate for you. I’ll see what I can do to keep you in it.”

  He looked suspiciously as if he were going to start crying. “Thank you, Admiral. Thank you.”

  * * *

  Tom Paris had barely said a none-too-gracious good-bye to the last security guard when his console beeped. At that precise time, Miral started to cry. He closed his eyes, gathering strength, then rushed to pick up his daughter and see who was trying to get in touch with him.

  “Admiral,” he said, snapping to attention with such force that Miral was first startled into silence and then threw up on his shoulder.

  Admiral Kenneth Montgomery gazed at him and Miral with thinly concealed distaste. “Mr. Paris,” he said. “Is Lieutenant Torres available?”

  Tom thought about saying something along the lines of if she was available, either she’d have answered your call or I’d have handed her the shrieking infant, but decided against it. Miral continued to wail lustily into his right ear.

  “I’m afraid not,” he said. “Can I take a message?”

  “It’s difficult to talk to you with your child carrying on like that,” Montgomery said.

  Paris had to admit he had a po
int, but bridled at the unnecessary comment nonetheless. “Unfortunately, there’s no one here but me to take care of her. B’Elanna’s gone and you’re holding the Doctor.”

  Montgomery obviously hadn’t missed the dig, but refrained from rising to the bait. “I need to get in touch with her immediately.”

  “That’s not going to be possible, sir. She’s on Boreth and I don’t know when she’ll return.” If ever. God, I miss her.

  “Surely there’s some way of contacting her,” Montgomery said testily.

  “Sir, with respect, she’s on leave. What she chooses to do with that time is her business.”

  Montgomery’s expression mutated into one of cold dislike. “Your flip attitude doesn’t serve you, Mr. Paris, and I believe it’s gotten you into trouble on more than one occasion. If you hadn’t been able to hide behind your father, you’d have been in for a lot worse than a short jaunt in a New Zealand penal colony.”

  Tom felt his face grow hot. “As I said, sir,” he said stonily, “B’Elanna is unreachable at the present time.”

  “That’s unfortunate. I’m surprised she was allowed to leave. I have some questions regarding some of Voyager’s technology.”

  “You might try to get in touch with Lieutenant Vorik. I think he’s on Vulcan with his family. He was B’Elanna’s right hand.” Miral’s spitup was soaking into his shoulder and growing cold. Tom wanted this conversation to be over.

  “Very well, I’ll try that. Montgomery out.”

  For a moment, despite the discomfort of a soggy shoulder, Tom just stood looking at the screen. Miral’s screams had subsided into wet snuffly sounds, as they often did when she was held and comforted. Tom took her into the room that served as a nursery, checked her diaper, and then put her in her crib next to her enormous stuffed toy targ. She stuck a thumb in her mouth and looked up at her mobile made of tiny models of various Starfleet vessels. Tom changed his shirt, then sat down at the computer.

  When Janeway’s face appeared, it had a wary look that relaxed into pleasure when she recognized him.

  “Hello, Captain. I mean Admiral.”

  “Has the security team left?”

  “Yes, and I just had a little chat with Admiral Montgomery.”

  “Really? So did I. You go first.”

  “He wanted to know where B’Elanna was. Permission to speak freely?”

  She chuckled. “You’re not my helmsman anymore. Speak as freely as you wish.”

  “I don’t like him.”

  “Well, you’re in excellent company and I applaud your taste. I was able to talk to the Doctor.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “He’s fine, for now.”

  Tom was relieved. The whole thing had happened so quickly and so, well, thoroughly that Tom had imagined the worst.

  “I even convinced Montgomery to let him stay activated,” Janeway continued. “It looks bad for him, Tom. He did talk to Baines, and knew about the plans for a revolution. He says he tried to talk Baines out of it and thought he had succeeded. But it seems he was spotted at many places where this Baines breached security systems and accessed various computers.”

  “He was baby-sitting!” Tom protested. “He’d never just leave Miral alone like that.”

  “You know that and I know that, but Montgomery and the other people who are holding the Doctor don’t. This holographic strike is really causing a ruckus. They’re looking for a scapegoat, and one who isn’t human would be ideal.”

  “We’ve got to do something,” said Tom.

  “I agree, and I’m on it. In the meantime,” she smiled, “make the most of this precious time alone with your daughter. They grow up so fast.”

  “Ha ha,” said Tom, then closed his mouth with a click. “I’m sorry, Admiral, I didn’t mean—”

  Janeway waved away his apology. “It’s all right, Tom, I was teasing and you teased back. On a more serious note, I hope I may rely on you for assistance should it be needed.”

  “You can count on it,” Tom said.

  Chapter

  15

  “WHOOOOO!” CRIED SEKAYA, tucking up her legs at the last minute to perform a perfect “cannonball” into the lake. While the weapon itself was obsolete, the name for that particular type of dive had lingered. She emerged laughing and gasping, and gazed at her brother with bright eyes. “Dare you!”

  Chakotay was moved that she remembered the game they had played as youngsters. Although he had been the one to find this little lake tucked away in the mountains, she had been the first to leap into its welcoming depths. Now he followed her, diving instead of cannonballing, plunging almost to the bottom of the clear, sunlit depths. As he broke the surface, he too was laughing. It felt good to be here.

  He had not refused a commission in Starfleet outright, but had chosen to wait to give his answer. He wanted to go home, to the land that had nourished him, to see his family again and swim in the cool sweetness of the lake. As he had known it would, the lengthy visit was slowly but surely restoring his spirit.

  He suddenly coughed as Sekaya splashed him. With a mock growl, he struck out after her, but she was swift as an otter and eluded him.

  “Slowpoke,” she teased. “Guess seven years on a little ship let you get out of shape!”

  Sekaya dove deep. The sunlight on the water dazzled Chakotay’s eyes, and he lost track of her till she emerged and hopped up onto a large flat rock to let the afternoon sun dry her off.

  They were only a year apart in age, and so similar-looking that they could easily be mistaken for twins. Chakotay had been the more “contrary” of the two, but his little sister had also eventually left the shelter of their native land. It was why Chakotay had been able to contact her when he was still back on Voyager. The tribe was still as stubborn as ever in its refusal to allow modern technology in the village. Chakotay had had to wait to talk to his mother until he could see her in person.

  The night he had arrived, they had a grand feast for him. He stuffed himself silly on roasted fruits, roots, breads, alcohol made from fermented fruit juices. He had danced before the fire as if he had never been away, and slept restfully in the small hut owned by his mother. The sounds of the jungle had been a lullaby. He had had no dreams.

  Today, over a month later, he and Sekaya had packed a picnic lunch and left the village for the day. Their plan had been to return to their old favorite spot. As he lay next to his sister on the rock, both of them silently soaking up the warmth of the sun-warmed stone and the sun itself, he felt the last knot in his soul unravel.

  “You haven’t said anything about the Borg,” Sekaya said, as if reading his mind.

  He opened his eyes and looked over at her. She was lying on her stomach, her swimming sarong already dry from the warmth, her head resting on her long brown arms. Her eyes were bright with curiosity.

  “You never were one to beat around the bush,” grumbled Chakotay.

  “Well? You couldn’t stop talking about her before.”

  Chakotay sighed and shut his eyes again, letting the red warmth beat against his closed lids. “Didn’t work out.”

  “Hmm,” Sekaya said cryptically. “You going back to Starfleet or staying here? Or neither?”

  “Sekky, I don’t know,” he said. “I came here to get away from those decisions for a while.” He’d had enough of soul-searching. The visit to Tevlik’s moon with Capt—Admir—dammit, Kathryn, had distressed him even more than he thought it would. He wanted quiet, peace, time to just be still.

  Time enough for all that in the grave, said a voice. It didn’t belong to Sekaya. Chakotay opened his eyes and knew by the strange, dazzling hue of the colors that he had fallen asleep and was having a vivid dream.

  Sekaya was gone. In her place, rolling about gleefully in the sun as if it were nothing but an oversized house cat, was an enormous black jaguar.

  In the dream state, Chakotay’s heart raced. Before, he had encountered Snake and Wolf, even the trickster Coyote a time or two. But Black Jaguar
? Jaguar came only rarely, on the eve of events of great import. And Black Jaguar. . . only a few of the most powerful shamans had ever been graced by Her beautiful presence, and none in Chakotay’s time. No totem animal had as much pagata as Black Jaguar. Chakotay felt every hair on his body stand on end.

  He had thought She would be dignified, graceful, elegant. Instead She was undulating on the rock, paws extended to bat the air, and a silly look on Her feline face. As She watched him stare at Her, somewhat disapprovingly, She extended one velvet forepaw, claws carefully sheathed, and delicately patted his face.

  You worry too much, Chakotay, he heard Her say in his mind. You need to lie in the sun on a warm rock now and then.

  I thought that was exactly what I was doing, Chakotay “replied,” mildly amused.

  Not really. You may look like you’re relaxing in the sun, but you’re just killing time until you can start fretting again.

  Somewhat embarrassed, he realized She was right. But when I wanted to be still, to be quiet, it sounded like you disapproved.

  You were trying to hide. You weren’t embracing a swim and a lie-down in the sun; you were running from your fears. Be active in your relaxing.

  Chakotay was thoroughly confused and starting to get annoyed. I don’t understand what you are trying to tell me. First you want me to do something; then you want me to lie in the sun. Coyote is for riddling, not Black Jaguar.

  She rolled upright and stared into his eyes with Her amber ones. Chakotay tasted fear, coppery and cold, in his throat. Black Jaguar was not to be trifled with, even if She did just look like a big cat who’d found some particularly potent catnip.

  What is Black Jaguar for, then, little human?

  He had displeased Her, he knew it. He took a deep breath, and recited what the shamans had said. Black Jaguar is the totem of great power, of courage, of ferocity. Of fighting great battles in just causes. Of dealing out death to those who deserve it, and not flinching from the task. Black Jaguar strikes without warning and kills swiftly and fairly. When Black Jaguar appears, one is about to . . . .

  He found he couldn’t even dare to think the words. Black Jaguar finished the homily for him.