Homecoming

by Christie Golden

  Her heartfelt plea, known as the Borg Entreaty, had been eloquent and poignant. At the core of it, it begged to enact a waiver of the rights due Federation citizens if any Borg involvement or influence was suspected. Anyone could be arrested and detained for the course of a full year without specific charges being filed if sufficient evidence could be provided that the individual was being manipulated by the Borg. It was odd, to have such a lyrical, famous speech plead not for freedoms, but for imprisonment and a waiving of inherent rights.

  While Elliot’s tearful words had fallen on sympathetic ears, and the Borg were dreadful and terrifying, the motion had not passed. It was too much, even for that emotional time.

  So this was what had happened to Harry, to Tom and to Lyssa and the other hundred and fifty or so people who had served loyally for seven years on Voyager. Her lover and friends had been hauled off to prison, just because this pompous Starfleet—

  “And of course, we’re going to need your agents to find out who they had contact with.”

  “What?” cried Covington, starting up in her chair.

  “You heard me. I need Covert Ops to start tracking down everyone every Voyager crew member had contact with from the minute they beamed on Earth.”

  Libby had never seen Covington at a loss for words before. “You mean to tell me,” she said slowly, “that you want my agents assigned to finding out every single person that every single Voyager crew member made love to, had dinner with, met, shook hands with, or passed on the street over the last six weeks?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

  “You’re insane. That’s impossible. I haven’t the staff to spare. I’d have to call about half of them out of deep cover and remove them from operations that have been in place for years. Have your staff do the grunt work if you want it done so badly.”

  Montgomery smiled, then handed her a padd. “These are your orders from the president,” he said. “You are to comply with everything I’ve asked of you. This is a Federation-wide threat, not a Starfleet internal problem. You find the civilians. My people will handle the Starfleet personnel.”

  Judging by Covington’s expression as she perused the padd, the order was genuine.

  “And by the way, you commandeered Trevor Blake some time ago. I want him back.”

  Covington seemed to be having difficulty controlling her emotions. “Blake has been assigned to Covert Operations. He’s not completed his mission with me yet.”

  “Didn’t you hear what I said? You are to comply—”

  “You’re in my realm now, Montgomery,” snarled Covington, looking like a tiger. “You want Blake? You get the president to order him off his assignment. You don’t get to do it. Blake’s needed here.”

  “What the hell is a scientist needed for Covert Operations for over four years?” Montgomery exploded. “I need him on my team! Tell me why you need him so badly and maybe I’ll reconsider.”

  Covington stiffened, her slim body as rigid as if it were made of metal.

  “That’s classified information, on a need-to-know basis. And you, my old friend, don’t need to know.”

  “Why all this secrecy? Why are you hiding this from me?”

  She smiled, nastily. “That’s why it’s called Covert Operations, you—” With a huge effort, she got herself under control. For a long moment, they stood glaring at each other. Finally, Montgomery straightened to his full height.

  “Start with the command crew first—Janeway, Chakotay, and so on.” He rose. “I look forward to reading your report as soon as you know anything.”

  It was a dismissal, and both Libby and Covington knew it. Libby’s cheeks burned with embarrassment for her boss, but Covington’s pale face didn’t change color.

  “If you’re trying to keep this quiet,” she said, “this is a pretty poor way to go about it.”

  “We’re playing up the HoloStrike,” said Montgomery. “That’s enough to keep people’s attention focused. And I trust you and your agents to be discreet in your assignments. Also, tell your people to be watchful for the symptoms. The Borg virus isn’t immediate; it can take a while before it manifests completely. They should watch for fever, lack of energy, and loss of appetite.”

  Libby thought that the symptoms were vague enough to describe a few dozen harmless conditions and wondered how many people dealing with a simple bug were now going to be imprisoned for the bad luck of getting sick.

  “Good-bye, Brenna.” He left.

  Covington watched him go, her eyes boring holes in his back. Libby heard the hiss of the door closing. Covington took a deep breath and touched the controls on her desk.

  “Did you get all that, Agent Webber?” she asked.

  Libby had to clear her throat before she could speak. “Yes, ma’am. Indeed I did.”

  “It answers the question of what happened to Mr. Kim. And it certainly temporarily removes many people who could stand in the way of someone trying to deliver Voyager’s technology to the Orion Syndicate. Hell, for all we know, the Syndicate could even be behind the virus.”

  “Montgomery is growing increasingly powerful,” said Libby quietly. “There aren’t many who can stand in his way right now. All he has to do is point a finger and suddenly they’re in prison.”

  “It’s an alarming thought,” agreed Covington.

  “Ma’am. . . are you really going to take your agents off deep-cover assignments?”

  “I’ll do what I have to do, Agent Webber, as will you.”

  Libby nodded. “Shall I turn myself in, then?”

  Covington considered. “No, not just yet. I know where I can find you. I want you to stick to Montgomery. Watch him. Of course, I can’t ask you to hinder the investigation.”

  “Of course not,” Libby said dutifully. But the implication was there. “Do you—how long do you think they’ll hold the Voyager crew?”

  “I don’t know. I’m guessing not long, especially if they want to keep this hush-hush. It’s probably just a matter of asking them questions and running tests. But we’ll have to see.”

  Libby returned to perusing old reports with a renewed vigor. She now had a personal grudge against Admiral Kenneth Montgomery, the traitorous mole who had imprisoned her beloved, and she was going to see that the bastard was brought down.

  Chapter

  19

  IT HAD BEEN A LONG NIGHT, but Li Wu was only moderately tired. A night of brisk business always energized him. The rain had cleared up shortly after Libby Webber had given up on her date—Li would never stand her up if he were dating her—and the Green Dragon hummed with activity well into the small hours of the morning.

  Wang had gone home around eleven-thirty, after bidding the last guests good night. Li Wu had stayed to make sure the kitchen was properly cleaned up, the dining area spotless in anticipation of the crowds that would start showing up tomorrow for lunch, and that in general all was in order. He had closed up the shop and was about a quarter of the way home when it started raining again.

  He swore. He’d left his umbrella in the ceramic, dragon-shaped stand by the door. Stupid San Francisco weather. Sighing, Li turned up his collar against the cold splash of the raindrops and half-ran back to the restaurant.

  He had just opened the door and was reaching for the umbrella when the Green Dragon exploded.

  * * *

  When Janeway entered the prison’s sickbay, she was prepared for anything, except what she got.

  She and her entire crew had been treated with suspicion and thinly veiled hostility. Only the command crew had been informed as to why they were arrested and brought in, and they had been ordered to secrecy. She was pleased that Montgomery seemed a bit embarrassed, but not mollified in the slightest. In fact, she was outraged. If any crew in Starfleet had reason to hate the Borg and to want to keep them away from Earth, it was Voyager’s. They were being treated like common criminals, summarily hauled in and grilled. It was the opposite of what should have been done. There were thr
ee people in prison who knew the Borg better than anyone, and one of those had more medical knowledge than any other ten doctors combined.

  There were too many things she didn’t know, either, and that angered her as well. She knew that somehow, Kevin Johnson had been turned into a partial Borg, and that he and his family had disappeared. Where, she didn’t know. Allegedly they and Molly were under quarantine, but she wasn’t sure if she believed that.

  She didn’t know if Kevin was the only one, or if Borg were spontaneously popping out of every gopher hole from San Francisco to China. She didn’t know why Seven and Icheb were suspected or if they would ever be released.

  So when she walked into sickbay, it was with her head held high, her eyes narrowed in defiance, and a chip on her shoulder the size of a small shuttlecraft.

  The doctor had his back to her when she and her “escort” entered. “I’ll be with you in just a moment,” he said, holding up his left index finger and finishing entering data with his other hand. He turned around and his eyes lit up as he recognized her.

  “Admiral Janeway! I’ve so wanted to meet you.” The light in his bright eyes faded somewhat. “Although not under these circumstances. Thank you, Lieutenant, that will do.”

  The burly guard left, and the admiral and the doctor stood regarding one another. Janeway had to admit he was strikingly handsome, with his thick, curly dark hair and intense blue eyes. A strong, masculine face with a sensitive mouth was framed by small dots disappearing into his collar. A Trill, then. He extended a hand and indicated the biobed.

  “Please, Admiral. I don’t like this any better than you do. I’m sure I won’t find anything to report, so let’s get this over with quickly.”

  “Oh, why the rush?” said Janeway acidly. “I’m in no real hurry to get back to my cell.”

  “If I don’t find anything, Admiral,” said the doctor, “then you’ll be released.”

  Janeway raised an eyebrow, trying not to hope too hard. “In that case . . . .” She hopped up onto the biobed.

  “Thank you.” He picked up a medical tricorder. “My name is Jarem Kaz. I’m very sorry for what you and your crew has had to go through, but it really was necessary.”

  “Was it?” she challenged him. He didn’t meet her eyes. “The command staff was informed that the Borg are somehow involved,” she continued, watching him closely for his reaction. “I don’t suppose you’d care to fill me in on any further details about what’s been going on.”

  Kaz smiled, ruefully, Janeway thought. “I wish I could, believe me. What’s happening here is frightening on a variety of levels.”

  “You speak pretty freely for a top-level security clearance doctor,” Janeway said.

  Again, Kaz smiled, his eyes on the instrument. “One of my former hosts was the equivalent of a Poet Laureate on Trill, and the one after that was a Maquis. It’s a combination that leads to lots of lyrical free thinking.”

  Their eyes met, and Janeway liked what she saw in their blue depths. She returned his smile.

  “I gather that all those you’ve previously examined have been permitted to be released? Or did you find a few Borg in my crew?”

  “Besides Seven of Nine and Icheb, you mean?”

  Janeway stiffened. “They have been liberated from the collective. I’d bet my life that they are not being manipulated by the Borg in any way.”

  “And I agree with you a hundred percent,” said Kaz, surprising her. “I’ve said as much to Admiral Montgomery, but my opinion doesn’t seem to be enough to bring about their release, or even get them a regeneration chamber.”

  Janeway decided to take the risk. “You said you were a free thinker, Doctor. Are you enough of one to do what’s right?” she challenged.

  “Admiral, you know I have my orders.”

  “If they involve holding people you know to be innocent who could help you stop a Borg infestation, then they’re stupid orders,” she said, bluntly.

  “I’m not privy to everything. There could be logical reasons why Starfleet is proceeding in this manner.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  His blue eyes told her all she needed to know. The seed of doubt had been planted.

  Kaz sighed and stepped back. “Your blood pressure and your heart rate are slightly elevated—no surprise there, considering the circumstances. Your cholesterol has dropped slightly from its baseline. Apparently prison agrees with you.”

  “I don’t agree with it,” said Janeway. “As a matter of fact I’m—”

  The door hissed open. A guard rushed in. “You need to see this. Both of you.”

  He touched the screen of Kaz’s computer, and an image of Oliver Baines appeared. He was in the middle of a speech.

  “. . . I deeply regret,” he was saying. “But there are always victims in a war, even the most just war. Holograms are not like those who made them. We—they—obtain no pleasure in murder. All of the attacks last night were on buildings that we believed to be empty. If the Federation had responded by calling a council to discuss holographic rights when the HoloStrike first began, as we requested a full three weeks ago, there would have been no need to escalate to violence. We grieve the loss of life, but it will not slow us down. A deleted hologram has the right to be mourned as much as a slain organic. Until we have equality, we will not rest.” He smiled, as if at a joke. “We don’t need to.”

  His image disappeared. Janeway whirled on the guard. “He said something about loss of life. What’s happened?”

  The guard didn’t reply at first, looking uncertainly at Kaz. Kaz uttered an expletive and said, “I’ve given her a clean bill of health, she’s about to walk out of here a free woman. Talk to us!”

  “Yes, sir,” said the guard. “There was a coordinated attack on hundreds of buildings across the world last night. The HoloRevolutionaries under Oliver Baines have claimed full responsibility for it. Eight people were killed. They say that they assumed that the buildings were empty at the time. They were restaurants, theaters, sports arenas—places that used to have holograms but now have living people providing the entertainment. Apparently the attack was not supposed to have resulted in casualties.”

  “Intention is all well and good, but when there are dead bodies it goes out the window,” Janeway said, pressing her lips together. “Dammit. Baines should have listened to the Doctor. He’s now a murderer, intentionally or not. Starfleet might have ignored a strike, but they’re not going to ignore corpses.”

  Kaz looked troubled. “I agree with you, Admiral.” He turned and regarded her intently. “And I fear for your Doctor.”

  So did Janeway.

  * * *

  Libby was surviving on strong coffee and catnaps.

  In the time since the conversation between Covington and Montgomery had taken place, she had downloaded every scrap of information she had access to. It was a lot. Grim determination buoyed her at first and kept sleep at bay, but as the hours stretched into days, she found herself surrendering to twenty-minute naps to keep from lapsing into deeper, more time-consuming sleep. She’d need stimulants if she had to keep this up much longer.

  She had reread Covington’s report on Montgomery, going over it with the figurative fine-toothed comb, and found in it more than enough circumstantial evidence to damn Montgomery to a lifetime in prison for treason. But the odd thing was, when she tried to cross-reference the information using other documentation, almost everything fell apart. A few hours ago, she’d summoned all her computer training and successfully accessed the less-secure levels of Montgomery’s own office. Nothing there helped her case against him, either.

  Even worse, the deeper she dug, the more she found discrepancies. Covington’s report had Montgomery in one place, supposedly meeting with his Orion Syndicate contact, when Libby knew for a fact that he’d been elsewhere. Still other things were supposed intra-office memos that Libby found no record of in Montgomery’s own computer systems. What was going on?

  She leaned back and
rubbed her gritty, red eyes. Maybe she should take a break, have a good, long sleep and a solid meal. She knew from experience that sometimes working too hard made one careless, likely to overlook something that was right under one’s nose. But time was passing too quickly. Montgomery was now in charge of several projects, all so conveniently interlinked, and if he were allowed to get away with it—

  Her console chimed softly. Someone was trying to reach her. Covington again, no doubt. Maybe she had more information.

  Wearily Libby touched the controls, and her eyes widened to see the face of Harry Kim.

  “Harry!” she cried. She almost said, They let you go! But just in time said instead, “Where have you been?”

  He smiled, looking as tired as she knew she must appear to him. “I’m not permitted to say, but I’m back now. I’m sorry I stood you up. If I’d been able to contact you, I would have.”

  “I know, honey,” she said. “Whatever it is, I’m sure you had a good reason.”

  He looked solemn. “Did you hear about Li?”

  She bit her lip. She wasn’t given to hysterics, but she’d had so little sleep recently and the thought of poor Li—“Yes, I did. It’s horrible.”

  They fell silent. Then Harry blurted, “I want to see you.”

  Libby had a brief, violent war with herself. There was so much more to read, so many pieces of a puzzle to put together. And yet, she was so tired that she knew she wasn’t thinking clearly.

  “I’ll be right there,” she said softly.

  * * *

  “Any news?” Irene Hansen’s face, normally so bright and cheerful, looked aged and gray. Janeway felt for her.

  “I’m sorry. They’re not going to release her or Icheb any time soon, but they’re being well treated.” It was a partial truth. Seven and Icheb’s unique part-Borg nature required unique treatment, which they weren’t receiving. Thank God Dr. Kaz was a sympathetic man.

  “Will they let me see her yet?”

  Janeway shook her head. “I’m afraid not, Ms. Hansen. How are you holding up?”